#Aleksander doesn’t need that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvelmusing · 1 year ago

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Modern!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you find yourself with nowhere to live, your friend Alina offers you the perfect solution - her Uncle Aleksander’s empty townhouse. What you don’t know is that Aleksander’s security cameras watch your every move, and Aleksander himself is almost instantly captivated by you.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dom!Aleksander, reader is staying in Aleksander’s house (supposedly) without his knowledge, subtle mafia vibes, power play, voyeuristic vibes from Aleksander, unspecified age gap, reference to oral (fem receiving), slight cnc vibes (no verbal consent but a safeword is established), smidge of size kink, very subtle hints that Aleksander wants children, he’s quite intense but she’s into it.

A/N: happy christmas everyone!

My Masterlist

Aleksander receives an alert the moment his front door is opened. One glance at the screen of his phone reveals that Alina’s key card had deactivated the alarm system.

It isn’t unusual for her to invite herself into his townhouse in one of the affluent boroughs of the city. He rarely uses the space himself, preferring his smaller apartment in Central Os Alta due to the vicinity to his workplace. What is unusual, however, is that she has company today.

Aleksander has an extensive number of security cameras and microphones placed throughout his home. It helps to ease his paranoia and sate the need to control his surroundings. He doesn’t tend to check on Alina when she visits, leaving her to her own devices, but your presence has his interest piqued.

Alina doesn’t bother to take her shoes off, per usual. But you do. After dragging your feet over the doormat - twice, one foot after the other - you tug off your shoes, placing them neatly beside his shoe rack before hurrying to catch up to Alina as she heads towards the kitchen.

He’s proud of the townhouse, a space he had curated as a safe haven for himself and a currently non-existent significant other. Seeing you stare, lips parted as your eyes drink in the furniture and decor in what seems like awe, has a warmth gathering in his chest. He will admit, your admiration of his house is rather adorable.

Curious, he unmutes the sound on the security feed, just in time to hear your voice as you ask tentatively,

“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”

Alina opens up a cupboard, retrieving a bag of snacks which she examines with a small frown, before she rips the packaging open and begins to munch on the treats inside. She shrugs through a mouthful.

“He barely ever stays here.”

“But you did ask him… didn’t you?”

Aleksander vaguely remembers Alina mentioning a friend of hers that needed a place to stay. What he doesn’t remember is giving her permission to accommodate said friend in his house. But he watches Alina nod, scrunching up the bag as she finishes her snacks.

“He wants someone here to receive his parcels,” she says, tossing the crumpled wrapper towards the bin. She misses.

He doesn’t order anything to his house. All his parcels are delivered either to his work or his apartment. The townhouse is his hidden treasure, though strangely he doesn’t loathe the idea of letting you stay there. Perhaps he should place a few harmless orders, to aid Alina’s lie. Something inconspicuous, that you might enjoy, like a monthly flower subscription. He likes the thought of you assembling a cheerful bouquet in his living room.

“And you’re sure he doesn’t want any rent,” you say, picking up Alina’s rubbish and placing it in the bin. You’re already a perfect houseguest, though he hopes you might be able to feel comfortable enough to relax in his house.

Aleksander almost feels offended by your suggestion and is relieved when Alina shakes her head.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m the one staying here. Besides, you’re like my sister. What’s mine is yours.”

“Even your Uncle Sasha?” you ask with a shy smile and this tiny glimpse at your humour has Aleksander wanting to devour you.

Alina grins.

“Especially him.” She pushes away from where she’s been leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’ll give you the password to his grocery account. Order whatever you like.”

That nervous expression returns to your features.

“Are you sure?”

“He gives me an allowance that I never use. You can have it.” She opens one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging through the contents despite Aleksander’s meticulous organisation. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. “Here’s a key card to disable the security alarms and the wifi password.”

Aleksander watches you take the objects slowly, holding them in the palm of your hand before closing your fist around them protectively. Alina gestures upwards towards the rest of the house.

“Pick whatever bedroom you like best.”

Unknown by you, the moment you choose Aleksander’s bed to sleep in you become his.

»»---------------------►

As the owner of the internet router at his house, Aleksander can see what sites you visit while using his internet - a power that he abuses fully. He enjoys the insight into your thoughts and interests. The questions you have about the world and the things that make you happy.

During his lunch one day, Aleksander is scrolling through your recent search history when he spots something interesting. His name. Initially just a google search. Then you had examined his Instagram and Facebook, before moving onto his company website.

He’s tempted to pull up the security feed and rewind it back to the moment you had first typed his name, just to see your reaction to what you’re seeing. Especially when he sees how long you had spent reading the tabloids and swiping through images of him. It seems he has captured your attention.

»»---------------------►

It takes a small nudge from Aleksander for you to stop buying only the necessities during your grocery order. Just a few small taps of his thumbs and he adds enough random baking supplies for you to perceive it as an accident when it arrives.

One day, Alina visits him at work, a small box of cupcakes tucked under her arm. Instantly, he recognises them as one of your creations. He had watched you bake them yesterday head bobbing to your music as you had decorated them with an adorable frown of concentration and a smudge of buttercream on your face.

He waits until she leaves before cracking open the box, allowing the sweet sugary scent to invade his senses. The moan that escapes him during his first bite is obscene. He wonders whether your cheeks would flush with heat at the sound. His mind wanders, thinking of kissing the cream off your cheeks.

Aleksander finds himself imagining what it would be like to come home to you, the house warm and inviting as you await his arrival with a sweet treat and an eager smile. He would sink to his knees on the kitchen tiles, slide your skirt and apron up to your waist so that he can kiss your pretty cunt until his name is the only word you can manage.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander hates seeing you cry. But that job of yours was doing you no good. Waking up early to catch the bus and arriving home so tired that you don’t have enough energy to cook yourself a hot meal. Now, after Aleksander has pulled a few strings, you can sleep for as long as you like and spend time creating food that brings you joy.

He has already logged onto his grocery account and amended your weekly order to include a few recipes you wanted to try and some additional treats in an attempt at lifting your spirits. All he wants is for you to be happy.

He’s sorely tempted to go to you now. To wrap his arms around you, hold you against his chest and kiss the crown of your head while murmuring reassurances that this was for the best. He doesn’t like seeing you so despondent. He wants his happy girl back, who tends to the flowers and reads curled up in his armchair beside the fire.

He could just go to you. It’s his house you’re staying in after all. But he doesn’t want to rob you of your safe place. If he turned up now, he knows you would feel pressured to leave, even when you have nowhere else to go. His sweet girl, so terrified of taking up too much space. One day, very soon, he will be able to appreciate you how he longs to.

»»---------------------►

He thinks you might be trying to kill him.

Aleksander’s home gym is a room occupied by a treadmill and a few stray pieces of equipment that he hardly ever uses, there to fill the space he hopes will one day be converted into a nursery.

Currently, you’re stretching yourself out over a yoga mat he didn’t even know he owned, twisting your body into a rather enticing position. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, shifting in his seat to alleviate some of the ache in his throbbing cock.

Whilst he’s glad you’ve found another hobby to fill your time - and the thought of your improved flexibility pleases him - he almost wishes he hadn’t checked in on you. Now, he is going to have to sit through a meeting and resist the urge to continue watching you.

»»---------------------►

Once a week, Alina stays over with you, spending the evening catching up and talking about all manner of things together. Aleksander likes to listen in while he’s working, imagining that he’s actually in the office across the hall from the living room.

Alina’s suggestion of a blind date for you makes him stiffen, lifting his eyes away from his papers and onto the screen. He’s somewhat glad that you seem apprehensive.

“I thought you didn’t like Mal?” you ask Alina, fidgeting with the edge of the velvet cushion in your lap.

She shrugs.

“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he won’t be right for you.”

Aleksander can say with absolute certainty that Mal is nowhere near the right man for you. He can remember when Alina was infatuated with the boy. If he strings you along like he did with Alina, Aleksander won’t be able to stop himself from interfering.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t be mad, but I might have already made a reservation for you.”

“Lina!”

You swat her with your cushion - almost playfully - but Aleksander can see your anxiety in the set of your shoulders. To hell with not interfering. He mutes the sound on the screen, picking up his phone and dialling a familiar number.

“Zoya, I need a favour.”

»»---------------------►

He needs to play this carefully. With Zoya’s intervention at the bar where Mal was meeting his friends for a drink beforehand, he will never make it to your date. Aleksander needs to leave you waiting long enough to be relieved by his arrival, but not so long that the rejection damages your self esteem. From a corner of the restaurant, he watches your face carefully.

Each time a waiter appears, he sees you grow a little more agitated, fidgeting with your fingers as you insist that your date will arrive soon. It’s only once he sees you inhale shakily that he decides to pick up his coat and stroll over to your table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Embarrassment touches at your features as you glance up at him, then the tables surrounding you as you seem to assume he’s asking to take the chair to his own table. He watches your lips press together before you shake your head and gesture defeatedly at the chair.

“It’s all yours.”

He smiles widely, draping his coat over the back of the chair before he sits down.

“Thank you, milaya.”

The look of surprise on your face is delightful, even more so when recognition sparkles in your eyes.

“Mr Morozova.”

He’s exceptionally proud of the feigned confusion he spreads over his features.

“Do we know each other?”

“You’re Alina’s uncle.”

“Yes,” he says, the hint of a question at the edge of his tone. Ducking your head bashfully, you tell him your name.

He repeats your name slowly, as if it is the first time he’s ever spoken it, trying to ignore how wide your eyes are at the sound of your name on his lips.

“Alina mentioned you were looking for a place to stay in the city. Did you manage to find somewhere?”

You seem startled at the thought of him remembering you.

“Oh, yes. I did, thank you.”

He smiles. Alina had lied to him, telling him that she was the one staying at his house. Whilst he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, the urge to make you squirm a little pokes at him.

“Do you like where you’re living now?”

He watches you shift nervously in your seat, but your response is earnest.

“Yes, I do,” you admit quietly. “It’s lovely.” He hums indulgently, hoping you might continue speaking, and you nod. “One of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.”

He wants to keep you forever.

Instead, he offers to buy you dinner, which you agree to after a little convincing from Aleksander. He asks for your order, calling the waiter over to place it for you both.

Now that you’re front of him, after watching you through a screen for so long, Aleksander can’t look away from you. In such proximity, he can observe every minute detail. The way you fidget with the charms on your bracelet. The way you attempt to be subtle when you glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.

He drinks in the sight of you, warmth in his chest as you tuck into your meal. He will admit, he pays little attention to his own plate, choosing to watch as you eat eagerly with soft sounds of pleasure in response to the taste. All the while, he coaxes you into conversation and by the time you’ve finished you seem much more relaxed in his presence.

Aleksander leans back in his chair, swirling the wine around in his glass with nimble fingers. With a polite gesture to the waiter, he orders another bottle of wine. When the waiter mentions dessert, Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you. He can see the nervousness creep into your eyes at the thought of asking for more.

After you refuse his offer, he orders a plateful of dessert that he intends on sharing with you. When it arrives, he takes a few mouthfuls for himself before he offers a spoonful to you.

“Come on, milaya. I bought it for us to share.”

When you relent, leaning forwards to take the spoon from him, he retracts his head, pulling it out of your reach.

“Ah, ah. No hands. Let me.”

After ducking your head bashfully, you look down to avoid his gaze and Aleksander can see how flustered his words have made you. Still, you nod obediently. He moves the spoon back towards you, feeding you the dessert when you open your mouth for him.

He stares as your eyes flutter closed and you hum in delight at the rich taste with a pretty smile on your face.

Saints, you’re so perfect.

Aleksander pays the bill. He keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant. He frowns at the sight of goosebumps prickling over your skin.

“Where’s your coat, milaya?”

“Alina gave me a lift here and I left it in her car.”

He tuts quietly in disapproval.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Aleksander places his coat over your shoulders, thick wool draped over your frame to shield you from the cold. He smiles at the sight of you, helping you tuck each of your arms into the sleeves. “There we go.”

You give him a bright smile and begin to play shyly with the buttons at the front of his coat.

“Thank you.”

“Let me give you a lift home.”

Immediately your smile falters and you refuse his offer.

“Oh no, I’m fine walking, thank you.”

“You’re walking?” The moment you nod he begins to shake his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not living in the city centre. It’ll be too out of your way.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mr Morozova-”

“Call me Aleksander, please.”

“Aleksander,” you state slowly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m not going back to my apartment tonight.”

There’s a waver in your voice as you say,

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head.

“I have a house not far from here.”

He watches the internal struggle play over your face. Realisation. Anxiety. Words scrambling from your mind to your tongue as you attempt to create a confession. Sweet girl. Always so honest.

“Aleksander, I…” He watches you wring your hands, the sleeves of his coat covering all but your fingertips. “Alina’s been letting me stay at your townhouse. I’m so sorry for not telling you.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, he smiles at the valet, standing behind you as he waits for the man to retrieve his car keys. Leaning down, he presses a pacifying kiss to your temple, smoothing his hands over each of your shoulders, stroking your biceps. He can see the confusion in your eyes at his reaction.

“We’ll discuss this at home, darling.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, though he doubts you would ever openly disagree with him. He feels you shiver at the command in his voice and a thrill runs through him at the thought of you enjoying the role he has picked out for you.

The short walk to the car is silent, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall. Aleksander keeps his arm around you, ensuring you don’t slip on any ice. He holds the passenger door open for you and keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire journey, ignoring your squirming.

“Aleksander,” you whisper. “I really am sorry.”

“Not now, milaya. Let me concentrate on the roads.”

He feels your skin flush with embarrassment at his condescending tone. The snow has quickly covered the world in white, thick flurries falling faster with every passing moment.

When you finally return home, he slips his coat from your shoulders, hanging it up in the hallway as he nods at your shoes, a silent order for you to remove them. With the height of your heels gone, you seem so much smaller than him as he looks down at you.

“I do not tolerate lying, milaya.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Morozova. I can move my things out now-”

He presses his thumb against your mouth, index finger curling under your chin.

“I do not want to hear another word from those pretty lips of yours. Safeword is shadow. Understood?”

Excitement sparks in your eyes as you realise what is happening, and when you nod obediently Aleksander feels his cock throb. He knows you will enjoy this. He knows your preferences - what you search for when you’re eager to get yourself off.

“Good girl. Now go pour me a drink.”

Aleksander settles down on his favourite armchair in the living room, watching as you unlock the alcohol cabinet and pour him a small sample of whiskey, the liquid falling smoothly into the crystal glass. He stretches his legs out; his knees always ache during the cold weather. Soaking in a hot bath with you is certainly an enticing thought - perhaps for tomorrow evening.

There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you hand him the glass.

“Thank you, milaya. Be a dear and take my shoes off - I can’t reach them too comfortably at my age.”

With fumbling fingers, you manage to untie his laces and loosen the shoes away from his feet, slipping them off easily enough. The sight of you between his thighs, kneeling on the ground is utter perfection. He smiles down at you, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.

“There’s a good girl. Place them in the hallway for me?”

In the time it takes you to move into the hallway and place the shoes down on the rack beside his front door, Aleksander has freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and underwear, hissing slightly as he grips himself.

When you return, the sight of him has your footsteps faltering in the doorway. He leans his head back, watching you through hooded eyes and a tense jaw. He sees your eyes widen, like a little deer in headlights. He sees your gaze flicker down to his exposed cock and your thighs tremble as they press against each other.

He tilts his head at you.

“Come sit on my cock, milaya.”

A slight shake of your head.

“It won’t fit.”

“Yes it will. Come here.” Still you don’t move. “I won’t ask again.”

His tone has you stumbling forwards.

As you struggle to straddle his lap, he pushes the hem of your dress, velvet smoothing easily upwards to reveal bare skin. The underwear you’re wearing is nice, though he knows you own much prettier sets. That knowledge reassures him that you hadn’t intended on sleeping with your date tonight.

Retrieving his drink from the table beside him, watching you with a self satisfied smirk as he lifts his glass to your lips.

“Some liquid courage for you.”

He breathes out a soft laugh when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste; evidently you must have swallowed more than you were anticipating.

“Now let’s have a look at what we have here,” he muses, pushing the gusset of your panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, flushed and glossy with arousal. A perfect little mess. “Have you been in this state since we arrived? Or during the car ride home?”

He can feel your body burning as you admit,

“Since dinner, sir.”

“Oh sweet girl, have I left you wanting?”

“Please,” you whisper weakly. He brushes the head of his cock over your quivering entrance, grinning at the sound of your whimpers.

“Let’s start with the tip, shall we?”

He begins to ease you onto his cock, stretching you out slowly and a small cry escapes from your lips at the sensation. Sweat glistens over your chest as you heave in a few hurried breaths.

Aleksander praises you with every inch, telling you how perfect you are as you writhe and buck against his hold. Once you’re fully seated on his cock, he runs his hands over your thighs soothingly, encouraging you to relax as your cunt continues to twitch around him.

He tugs the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts for him to fondle freely. His hands wander over your body, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Almost absentmindedly, he begins to play with your nipples, pressing kisses from your forehead down to your jawline.

“Such a pretty sight. How are you feeling, my love?”

“So full,” you whine, on the verge of tears. “So good. Aleksander.”

“That’s it, darling.” He holds onto your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

A weak shake of your head that doesn’t convince him. He suspects you can’t even convince yourself that you don’t want this. Nevertheless, he can’t help but argue with you.

“Who’s been housing you, and feeding you, these last few months?”

He watches your expression crumble in defeat, giving in to your desire.

“You have.”

“That’s right, milaya.” He grasps onto your hips, encouraging you to begin bouncing on his cock.“You have no idea..” The feeling of your cunt squeezing him like a vice makes him groan, hands gripping your trembling thighs. “…how difficult it’s been to resist buying clothes for you as well.” His words are breathless, panted out against your lips as he presses your foreheads together. “Dresses and skirts and pretty lingerie sets. But we have a wedding to save for, don’t we?”

His question seems to catch you off guard, as an obscene moan is ripped from the back of your throat. He rolls his hips upwards, notching the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you that makes you clench violently. Something akin to a sob heaves at your shoulders as you tremble.

“I’m going to spoil you, darling. I want my ring on your finger. I want you in white lace and diamonds.”

Aleksander moans at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He keeps one hand on your hip, occasionally stroking the tense muscles of your abdomen, the other hand cupping your face so that he can kiss you.

He sees your toes curl, calves twitching as your cunt pulses an erratic beat that makes pleasure rocket down his spine. Aleksander moans your name softly, over and over until you’re shaking with overstimulation as you near your climax. When you begin to plead, he hushes you soothingly.

He knows you haven’t touched yourself in quite some time. He knows that the orgasm you’re seconds away from will unravel you completely. He can’t wait to see it.

“Let go, milaya. I’m right here,” he says warmly as he reaches down to rub firm circles over your swollen clit. “Cum around my cock like the good girl you are. Let me have you.”

Aleksander would consider it something of a religious experience, watching you lose yourself to pleasure. To see something so intimate, so sacred, in such proximity, when he has only ever seen you through a screen for months. The orgasm that hits you is lengthy, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your cunt pulses around him. Every movement, every sound you make, is so breathtakingly beautiful that he stares openly at you with his lips parted in awe. His beautiful girl. His.

That final thought is what pushes him into completion, spilling inside you with a deep moan. He looks down at where the two of you are joined, admiring the glistening mess there. He kisses your forehead as you slump down against his chest. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you stare down at the buttons on his shirt, fidgeting with them absentmindedly.

“I can leave, if you’d like,” you suggest in a quiet murmur. He places his hands on your lower back, keeping you pressed to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You would freeze out there.”

Aleksander lifts you upwards, squeezing your hips gently as he does so, and his cock slips out of you. He leans forwards, kissing you again as he tucks himself back into his trousers. He sucks on your lower lip, dragging it lightly between his teeth as he buttons up his trousers with one hand.

“Stay,” he says.

The smile you give him is shy as you nod, whispering,

“Okay.”

He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. Instantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, coiling yourself around him as he carries you up the stairs.

Some of his cum slips out of you, as he lowers you down onto his sheets. He presses his fingers against your cunt, pushing his spend back inside you where it belongs. A quiet groan catches in his throat at the sensation of your warm cunt clinging to his digits, desperate to keep him inside. He curls his finger, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Aleksander grins when you cant your hips forwards mindlessly.

“What a mess we’ve made. Let me clean you up, milaya.”

Then he ducks his head between your thighs and enters heaven.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander nudges the front door closed with his hip, his hands occupied by shopping bags. He kicks his feet together to dislodge some of the snow stuck to the sole of his shoes, wondering if you’re still asleep.

He finds his answer in the kitchen; you’re dressed in one of his t-shirts. At the sound of him approaching you turn, wide eyed as he stands in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair. He notices your tears immediately, staining your cheeks as you sniffle.

“Milaya?”

“I thought you left me.” The words wobble on their way out. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you’d left me.”

He lowers the bags, stepping towards you to take you into his arms. After the events of last night, it seems you’re in a somewhat fragile state. He folds his arms around you, giving your body a gentle squeeze as you press yourself tightly against his chest.

“The snow is getting heavy. I thought I would stock up on some essentials to last us until the weather improves,” he explains calmly. He hears how your breathing shakes with emotion. His clothes are still cold from his trip outside and you are delightfully warm. “As if I could ever leave you, my sweet girl.”

He kisses your forehead and your grip on him tightens.

“I’m here,” he murmurs gently, swaying the two of you from side to side as he strokes his hands down your body.

He ducks his head down, hooking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head backwards so he can kiss you properly. His lips move slowly against yours, palms cupping your cheeks tenderly.

He ensures that you remain attached to him as he puts the perishables away, your arms looped around his neck and your body nestled into his side. Then he abandons the rest of the shopping, opting to bend you over the kitchen countertop, shoving his trousers down so that he can drive his cock into you.

He heaves a sigh of relief at the sound of your breathy gasp, kissing over your neck as you scramble for purchase against the marble.

“That’s it,” he breathes out with a smile, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of your throat. “Isn’t that better?”

Aleksander grips at your waist, dragging you towards him, delighting in your moans as he rolls his hips forwards. He curls a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to bring your attention to his face. His nose grazes against yours as he insists,

“I meant every word I said last night.”

He leans in, kissing you throughly until he has to stop and breathe. Lowering his hand, his fingers circle your clit, causing you to jerk forwards with a soft moan as he sucks on your lower lip.

“I’m not letting you go, milaya.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

#aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone au #the darkling smut

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lilu787788 · 17 days ago

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I’ve been thinking a lot about why some younger viewers seem to express such intense hatred for Aleksander, and even for those who love or support him. It’s something I notice more and more often — this aggressive, almost moralistic rejection of morally grey characters like Aleksander. And I don’t think it’s just about disliking him. There’s something deeper going on in how fandom spaces function today.

A large part of it, I believe, comes from the way stories are consumed online now. Platforms like TikTok or Twitter encourage fast takes, simplified narratives, and black-and-white ideas of who is “good” and who is “bad.” People aren’t always interested in nuance anymore. It’s easier to reduce someone like the Darkling to a red flag or a toxic man than to sit with the discomfort of a character who does morally questionable things, but also loves, suffers, and fights for a better life for the Grisha and all of Ravka. Grey areas are not trending. Moral certainty is.

I’ve also noticed a dominant narrative — the girlboss versus let’s say villain storyline. Those young people want Alina, Zoya, Genya to “free themselves” from him, and in doing so, they erase what was truly complex, painful, and layered between them. The romanticization of strength often forgets that real strength can come from understanding, not just rejection. And sadly, if you dare say you understand Aleksander or believe he had genuine feelings for Alina, you’re suddenly accused of romanticizing abuse. There is no space for symbolic storytelling or fictional dynamics that aren’t meant to mirror real-life healthy relationships.

Another issue is the casual misuse of psychological terminology. Words like “manipulator,” “gaslighter,” and “grooming” are thrown around without understanding their meaning. These young fans just follow the crowd and, like a frenzied inquisition, throw accusations. Aleksander is a character shaped by centuries of trauma, loneliness, and war. But instead of examining that, some people just diagnose him in fifteen seconds on TikTok and declare him irredeemable. It’s lazy, dishonest, and more importantly, it shuts down real conversation. I also think some people need to feel like they’re on the “right side.” If they hate the Darkling, they can prove they’re morally superior. In my opinion, that points to low self-esteem. It makes liking him feel like a flaw, or worse, a crime. In some fandom spaces, it turns into a ridiculous purity contest.

And if your interpretation doesn’t fit the mainstream narrative, suddenly you become a bad person. It’s such a toxic dynamic, especially when fiction is meant to give us a space to explore difficult things.

Honestly, I think many misunderstandings around Aleksander come from people who’ve never had to think deeply about war, power, or survival. People don’t relate to the Darkling just because he’s charming or a tragic figure. A A lot of us understand him because we know what it means to live in a world shaped by conflict — to watch systems collapse, to see the innocent suffer while leaders look the other way. And even if not, basic human empathy and emotional maturity, combined with historical knowledge, allow us to see more and, most of all, to avoid jumping to judgment. We don’t behave like an angry mob with pitchforks ready to burn someone at the stake. On a side note, I’ve been thinking about doing a post that points out how some parts of the fandom — especially certain Crows, Zoya, Nikolai, Genya, and Malina fans — act a lot like the Drüskelle.

Aleksander is not a villain. He is someone forged in blood and fire, who made impossible choices in a world that gave him none. People who have studied or lived close to the realities of war know that moral clarity is a luxury. He also fought for people who were hunted, tortured, erased. He refused to stand by while Grisha were murdered, burned at the stake, dissected like lab animals, or sold into slavery. And even though his methods became brutal, his cause was never about selfish gain. It was about protecting people like him in a world that never would.

Loving the Darkling is about recognizing the complexity of someone who stood between oppression and survival. It’s about understanding that some stories aren’t clean, and some leaders don’t have the luxury of kindness. Aleksander’s tragedy is that he knew he had to become a monster to stop the world from killing his people. And whether you agree with him or not, that kind of narrative deserves respect, not shallow rejection.

Fiction should be a place where we can explore those hard truths. Not everything is meant to make us feel safe. Some characters exist to make us think, not just to give us flashy action scenes or quick thrills. Let people explore stories the way they need to. Let them love the characters who challenge them. You don’t have to agree. Sometimes it’s just fiction and sometimes it’s the way we try to understand our own shadows.

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call-sign-shark · 5 months ago

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

Summary: A public confrontation during dinner escalates and leads General Kirigan to show his quiet but firm protection of you to everyone. Especially Zoya.

Words: 4K

TW: graphic mention of injury, humiliation, reference to past prostitution, slight alteration of canon events: Zoya was never Kirigan's fav.

Part IV - The Fear Within

Previous || Masterlist || Next

As you walked out of the training room alongside General Kirigan, his shadow-like presence enveloping you entirely, murmurs erupted behind you. They were only whispers and yet sounded as loud as the cacophony of screams and cries that followed the frightening silence after a bomb exploded.

Did you see what she did to Zoya? The way she almost tore her apart?

Broken ribs, one lung reduced to mush, heart badly injured, the healer who took care of the arrogant Squaller couldn’t believe such damages were the result of a Grisha. While Heartrenders had always been the most feared and valuable soldiers of the Second Army, none of them could induce that much damage with one sole flick of the wrist. Let alone a beginner who had only used her abilities a few times. The origins of your power remained a mystery for everyone including Zoya, yet she was at least sure of one thing: hadn't General Kirigan intervened, she would have died today in a painful, gruesome way.

Following the incident, you had quietly followed the Black General through the corridors until he stopped and turned to face you. His dark eyes, darkest as the blackest moonless night, had bore into you, as though searching for something.

“You need to control it,” He had said, his tone still firm but the pace of his voice slower, for he was carefully choosing his next words, “Your power is immense. I can feel it pulsing around you like a chained beast… But it’s dangerous.” He let out a long exhale through his nostrils, “You can’t let anger guide you.”

The weight of guilt you felt in your weaving chest became heavier, settling over you like an anvil, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Aleksander interrupted, his gaze softening ever so slightly, “But intention doesn’t matter when lives are at stake.”

You simply nodded, unable to find the words to respond, and watched him disappear upstairs with his black kefta dancing behind him like shadows lingering in his wake.

Weeks passed and life at the Little Palace soon fell into a rhythm for you — a rhythm laced with unrelenting tension and exhaustion. Days were a grueling cycle of harsh training sessions where you pushed your limits under the watchful eyes of Ivan and the disdainful stares of your peers. As for your nights, they weren’t any better. Here in this foreign place, terrifying memories of your past impatiently waited for you to sleep in order to plague your dreams, turning them into nerve-wracking nightmares. And when the nightmares wouldn’t come, it was the shadows that crept into your room at night, seeming to carry Aleksander’s presence with them and to watch you as you rolled over in your bedsheets.

Despite everything, there still were moments where you could breathe again and they were when Fedyor spent time with you. Admittedly, you had found an unlikely friend in him considering how everyone carefully avoided you, but his cheerful disposition, unwavering kindness, and humor gave you a sense of normalcy in a world that constantly reminded you that you didn’t belong here. Nevertheless, Fedyor wasn’t always there, his frequent missions for Kirigan leaving you alone to fend off the cold hostility and wariness of the other Grisha. You couldn’t blame them though, not after almost killing a well-known figure of the Little Palace in front of their eyes.

Kirigan too was rarely present during the day, the last time you truly spoke being your last discussion about the necessity of learning to control your powers. For weeks, your encounters with him were fleeting — just brief moments stolen between his duties as General and your relentless training. Yet, even in his absence Aleksander was always there, making you silently understand that he was watching over you. Not in a way that felt overbearing but in a manner that made you hyper-aware of his presence nearby.

Sometimes it was a brush of his warm hand against your freezing one as he handed you a training sword. Some others, a shared glance across the room that made your heart miss a beat. Or the way he stood a tiny bit too close when he spoke to you, his voice a velvet promise that made your skin prickle. Each time, his intensity steadied you and unnerved you all the same for you hated how easily he seemed to consume your thoughts for some unknown reasons.

Once, during a passing encounter in the hallways, Kirigan stopped beside you, his void-like and unfathomable gaze sweeping over you as if carving every detail of your face in his memory.

“You’re improving,” He said with an even tone, though his somber pupils gleamed when the Palace’s light hit them at the right angle.

You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through your spine, nor control how your pulse quickened a little under his scrutiny, “Thank you, General.” You replied, your tone neutral despite the inner turmoil he triggered in you. His lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile that disappeared as fast as it had come before he walked away, leaving your heart racing even more. Why the fuck am I feeling like this whenever he’s around? you thought.

Since your childhood, you have always considered yourself an anomaly. Like an island detached from the ocean of emotions that seemed to flood the others so effortlessly. You were cold, unfeeling, almost clinical, which had often left you wondering if something fundamental within you was broken. Like, an essential piece of humanity missing. Joy, sadness, empathy — they had always felt more muted than they should have been, like distant echoes you could experiment but never fully grasp.

But not with him.

The weight of him was thrilling each time he entered the room and you hated it. Hated the loss of control, the way your supposedly buried emotions now surged to the surface like a storm breaking through the calm waters. To be honest, you didn’t know what unnerved you more: the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the room or the way you found yourself wanting to be looked at like that by him. And there was more to it, something deeper. It wasn’t just about his commanding presence nor the unbearable tension when your skin brushed his, but it was a pull. A tug at something unseen within you. As though your souls had already known each other in another life, an unspoken murmur of recognition that both terrified and soothed you. You couldn’t understand this foreign ache of familiarity in his presence.

The ache of something that called you home.

The dining hall was alive with chatter, filled with a background noise that only served to highlight how utterly alone you were even surrounded by the crowd of Grisha who lived here. Prior to going downstairs for dinner, a gifted tailor named Genya had asked you why you weren’t wearing the red kefta given to the Heartrenders. To this, you had simply replied “Why should I bother? I’m not one of them” and proceeded to leave, closing your grip on the collar of the white and comfortable fur coat you had found in your bedroom’s closet. Quickly sneaking into the dining hall, you walked to the far end of a table and sat there.

With your gaze fixed on your plate, you were trying hard to ignore the whispers all around you. As always, the other Grisha avoided you, their fear palpable and their resentment an unpleasant feeling that washed over you. Fedyor’s absence was particularly striking tonight. How much you would have loved him to be next to you, listening to his stories and laughing at his gossip but here you were, without an ally.

You were about to bite into your fork when the room fell silent with the kind of quiet that only preceded trouble. Wondering what was happening, you looked up and quickly understood: Zoya had stepped into the dining hall and was approaching you, a cruel smirk playing on her pretty lips.

“Still sitting alone, I see. Fitting for someone like you.” Her voice was loud enough to draw the attention from the nearby tables. Attention… Everything you didn’t need.

You didn’t respond, keeping your pale eyes firmly on her as she slowly moved her wrist to make the content of the cup she was holding swirl. It was probably wine.

Unfazed by your silence, she leaned closer and continued to taunt you, “You know, for someone so dangerous you’re awfully quiet. And out of place. Like a wolf pretending to be tame.”

“And you’re awfully chatty for someone who begged for her life a few weeks ago.” Your words felt like sharp shards of ice that pierced through her ego. “Have you finished yet? I’d like to eat without having to bear that stupid voice of yours.”

But Zoya wasn’t finished.

“Tell me first... What does it feel like to be the monster even among deadly Grisha?”

This time, your grip tightened on your fork as Kirigan’s words circled in your mind like a broken record. You need to control it. You need to control it.

“Struggling to reply? Here, let me help.” Joining words to deeds, the Squaller let out a bitter giggle and, with a theatrical flourish, she lifted the cup she was holding and dumped its contents —a thick, deep crimson liquid — onto your white outfit. The splash of its cold content against your chest made you freeze instantly. It was the metallic scent that hit you first and made you understand what the liquid was even before you saw the dark crimson stains on your dress and coat: it wasn’t wine. It was pig’s blood.

A chorus of gasps echoed through the room, overhung by Zoya’s and her friends’ laughter that rang hollow in the silence.

“Red suits you far better, Sankta!” She sneered.

Rage suddenly boiled beneath your skin, making your body stiffen and your little hands tremble – not with fear, but with a fury so cold it scorched you alive. And even though the whispers and laughter around you were deafening, resounding like a thunderstorm, you could barely hear them above the buzzing in your ears. For a moment, your vision blurred as you stood up in one violent motion, your chair falling to the ground with a loud thud. Your brutal movement led Zoya to take a step back, anticipating your reaction and potentially violent way to attack her back but nothing came.

You stood rigid in front of her with blood splattered on your diaphanous skin and white outfit, your chest heaving as your quick, shallow breaths resounded in your skull. The crimson streaks soaked the fabric and created a grim contrast with your pale, delicate figure. Of course, you’d have loved to erase the smug smirk on her lips by pouncing on her and ripping her face with your own sharp nails in an animal-like fit of rage, but your body was petrified. Your eyes burned with uncontrollable anger, unblinking, as your fists clenched at your sides, even more trembling under the weight of the humiliation.

“You—” Your throat went dry before you could say something else, your resentment so deep that it strangled you, choked every word you wanted to utter and every insult you wanted to scream.

“What’s the matter, little Saint?” Zoya tilted her head, beaming.

“Is this how we treat one of your own, now?”

The shadows in the corners stretched toward the two figures standing, creeping slowly in black smoke curls, and the more they came close, the more it seemed to feed the storm that was building up inside you. As the atmosphere became heavier, silence fell again in the room and hushed all whispers as the Black General appeared, emerging through the thick fog of his darkness. Without wasting time nor condescending to glance at Zoya, Kirigan moved toward you with an unsettling calm, his pace conveying determination and his boots echoing softly against the luxurious stone floor of the dinning hall. The two obsidian of his eyes, sharp and as dark as midnight, locked onto you as if you were the only person in the room worthy of his attention. And despite the silence, the weight of his presence was deafening.

When he reached you, General Kirigan stopped, standing close enough for you to feel the shadowed intensity as well as his power radiating from him. Not a single word was uttered, not a sound escaped his charming lips. Instead, his hands rose, unhurried and confident, to undo the few closed buttons of your blood-splattered fur coat. The gesture might have been simple, but it carried a startling intimacy as his fingers brushed gently against the edge of your collarbone when he lifted the coat away and let it fall at your feet. The intense feeling of humiliation still crashed against you like brutal rogue waves crashing against the shore, rendering you unable to hold his gaze. As you bowed your head, your fierce nature momentarily flickered at the sight of your ruined dress with its thin white fabric soaked through and clinging to you like a second skin. But even drowning in humiliation, the light touch on your collarbone sent a surge of electricity through your whole body.

In this moment suspended in time, Kirigan’s eyes dropped, lingering on your body for a bit too long. Surprisingly, his expression held no disgust or pity — only something unreadable, almost reverent. Something scorching, making you feel exposed both physically and emotionally to the extent that your breath hitched in your tight throat. As if he had stripped you naked with the sole power of his eyes.

“Look at me.” The Black general said in a low voice, the very top of his index finger delicately pressing under your chin to force your gaze to meet his, dizzyingly deep and intense.

Blood rushed quicker in your veins in return, every fiber of you reacting to him in an uncontrollable instinct. It was only then that he shrugged off his own black kefta in a fluid movement, but the subtle care with which he unfolded the luxurious garment and wrapped it around your shoulders was anything but cold or impersonal.

The fabric of the kefta was thick and warm, its weight providing a comforting and protective embrace that immediately calmed both your fury and feeling of shame down. Finally, your petrified body came back to life as you batted your doe lashes as though you had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. It had been the unmistakable scent of him — earthy cedar, spiced amber, and a fragrance darker, undefinable — that had helped you emerge from that feral state of rage. A hypnotizing, reassuring smell that enveloped you like a shield and anchored its owner’s presence in every thread.

He patted your shoulders, then took one step back just enough to give you more space. “You’ll sit with me,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the tension like a blade, and his tone leaving no room for argument.

You almost opened your lips to speak but restrained yourself to do so for the way he uttered his order had been truly disarming. It wasn’t a question, not even a suggestion. No, it was a statement, one that accepted no debate. And even though the only thing you truly wished at this moment was to run away from this hellish place and lock yourself in your bedroom, you still followed Kirigan when his hand pressed lightly to the small of your back to guide you forward under the glance of every member of the assembly and a gutted Zoya.

One step after the other.

The dining hall seemed to fade as he led you across the room, his touch steadying your trembling steps and giving you the strength you lacked to ignore all the pairs of eyes that were riveted on you. Once he reached his table, Aleksander pulled out a chair, the scrape of wood against the floor creaking, and he gestured for you to sit. Hesitation crept into you but the way his dark, shining eyes softened ever so slightly — not in kindness but in reassurance — encouraged you. Moreover, pushing him and rushing out of the room wasn’t an appropriate option anyway so what else could you do besides sinking into the seat? He took his place beside you as the officers seated at the table exchanged confused looks but knew better than say something for their deference to the General was absolute.

The dinner unfolded, and exquisite plates followed, but the humiliation you had suffered earlier lingered, giving you a bitter taste in your mouth. And there were their eyes, their fucking eyes staring at you in a way so nerve-racking that you wished you could have plucked them out of their sockets with your nails.

It was halfway through the meal that Kirigan’s gaze flicked discreetly toward you, with an expression still unfathomable. One look was all it took for him to sense the unease that seeped through every bit of you. Maybe that was why, hidden beneath the table, his hand sought yours. You froze slightly, surprised at the sensation of his fingers finding you, warm and firm, and lacing yours together without hesitation.

“Let them stare. They’ll grow bored of it really soon.”

The gesture was grounding, a silent lullaby for your soul, and relaxed you enough to allow you to exhale a shaky breath.

“I feel like an animal in a bloody zoo.” You whispered, the word ‘zoo’ spat with disgust as it painfully reminded you of the Menagerie. For the umpteenth time, Aleksander seemed to read through your thoughts for his gaze briefly dipped to your wrist, catching the faint outline of a tattoo partially obscured by the sleeve of his kefta you were wearing and that was too large for you. His brow furrowed slightly at this observation, curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes but you turned your arm and hid the mark right away before he could study it further.

“I know the feeling.” Kirigan replied after a few seconds, his voice briefly letting you grasp a tinge of humanity before he turned to stone again and shifted his attention from you to discuss war strategies with Ivan.

Your shoulders relaxed a little bit and, finally, you started to eat — or rather to carefully pick a few things from your plate just so you wouldn’t have to sleep with an empty stomach. Your two hands remained intertwined during the entire meal, his thumb sometimes brushing lightly against the back of yours in a soothing caress, like an anchor amidst the storm. Admittedly, the intimacy of it sent a jolt through you in a mixture of comfort and confusion that only deepened the inevitable pull you felt toward him. The way his touch quieted the turmoil in you was both thrilling and suffocating, a contradiction that left you shivering… As you always did when he was around.

It was wrong.

This whole situation made no sense. And still, you tightened your grip around his hand. Needy. Surely.

Tenderly.

The office was dimly lit by the dozen candles flames dancing around, feeble and slow, and casting their long shadows across the walls.

Zoya was standing stiffly near the doorway, arms behind her back and her posture irreproachable, though her confident demeanor crumbled under Aleksander’s cold, unwavering gaze. Leaning against his desk, the shadows around him curled faintly at his shoulders as a visible manifestation of his restrained anger.

“Close the door,” He ordered without looking at her with a voice calm but edged with steel. Wasting no time, Zoya obeyed. The click of the latch sounded far louder than it should have in the silence of the office.

Aleksander spoke first while looking directly at her, his pitch-black eyes sharp and accusing. She couldn’t help but notice that he had fetched his kefta back from you once you had reached the door of your bedroom safe and sound “Do you enjoy embarrassing me, Zoya?”

She gritted her teeth. “With all due respect, General, I’ve done no such thing. I merely—”

“You merely threw blood on a member of this court.” Cold fury crackled from his tone. He had given her no chance to justify her behavior for he had already charged her guilty, “In front of everyone. Did you think that it was acceptable behavior for a soldier under my command?”

Zoya stiffened, “She’s dangerous. A liability. I was making a point—” Her lips tightened into a thin line.

“A point?” Aleksander’s voice had turned into a hiss now , “What point, exactly? That you are envious of someone stronger than you? That you cannot stomach the presence of someone who makes you question your own worth?”

“She doesn’t belong here!” Zoya burst out with trembling words but her tone bore clear hints of both defiance and frustration. “She almost killed me! You’ve brought in a wild animal and expect us to treat her like—”

“Quiet.” His order was like a whip, “You will not speak of her like that again. Do you understand me?”

As Zoya’s fear momentarily eclipsed her anger, she stuttered, “General, I only meant—”

“Do you know what I meant, Zoya?” Against all expectations, the tall darkness’ voice was deceptively soft and still, and yet it cut deeper than any shout, “I meant for you to serve this court with dignity. To protect your fellow Grisha, not humiliate them for sport. Tell me, did you feel powerful when you poured that blood on her? Did you feel strong?”

This time, the fierce Zoya Nazyalenski looked away, “I was protecting us,” she muttered, though her speech lacked conviction. “She’s—”

“She is under my protection,” Aleksander interrupted, “And that should be all you need to know. You will respect her because I demand it. Not because you like her. Not because you understand her. But because you respect me. She’s part of this court and you will treat her accordingly.”

Tears started to prick at Zoya’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I’ve served you faithfully for years,” She lamented, “And you would cast a loyal follower for her?”

Aleksander leaned over his desk to come a tad bit closer to her, his gaze filled with threats that didn’t need to be spoken to be horrifying. “For someone with your talents, Zoya, you can be remarkably shortsighted. This is not about her or you. This is about the unity of Grisha, something you should value more than your petty grievances.”

For the first time in years, the Squaller flinched as though struck by lightning, her confidence shattering in millions of shards like a broken mirror under the General’s unemotional eyes. He straightened and waved off the topic, “You may go. And if I hear of any more incidents, there will be consequences far greater than this conversation.”

At first, she remained still and hesitated, as if she desperately tried to search for some trace of leniency in his expression but she found none. Just plain disappointment and anger as cold as the deadliest blizzard. For Zoya, pride had always been her armor, but today it cracked, leaving her exposed to a truth she could no longer deny: the General’s favor was a fortress she would never breach. A fortress you had conquered in the span of a few weeks while she had worked on it for years. As the door closed behind her, the sound was not just the end of a conversation—it was the shattering of the illusion that she still stood untouchable.

And even though no one had overheard what they had said, many saw Zoya leaving the General’s office in tears. Quite a paltry price to pay for the humiliation and pain she had bestowed upon you earlier.

Please consider reblogging and commenting if you want the story to continue. It is what motivates writers to write the next chapters...

tags: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune

#general kirigan #aleksander morozova #Aleksander Morozova x Oc #shadow and bone #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova x y/n #aleksander kirigan #darkling x reader #darkling x you #general kirigan x reader #Darkling smut #Darkling x OC #Shadow and bone oc #ben barnes #Heaven Lavey

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muxshwriting · 1 year ago

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money, money, money

modern!au Aleksander Morozova x reader

summary: marrying the heir to the morozova fortune was for so much more than the money || warnings: Baghra is a bitch || words: 1072 || masterlist

Aleksander Morozova was the prolific heir to the Morozova fortune, despite a very public argument with his mother. His grandfather, Ilya Morozova first gained fame through his inventions aimed at helping the ‘average man’. Of course, his inventions weren’t the beginning. His true wealth was stolen from the collapsing Soviet Union after Ilya took his family to America to live the dream. Nonetheless, his American dream was realised in the founding of Morozova Industries.

There was no doubting that Ilya Morozova was a very influential person in the technological industry, often being the forbearer to the most successful methods and practices. When Baghra took over the majority of Morozova Industries, she changed several things, aiming the inventions at the upper classes of society and neglecting the working class man that Ilya had once helped. These changes brought in the millions that made the Morozova’s a family name. Even Ilya couldn’t argue against his daughter’s methods, they were very rewarding.

But Baghra had fallen for a man who didn’t care about success and longevity, just the money it brought in. He married Baghra for her money but she was too in love to care. That was until he left her with a five year old Aleksander and took half of everything she worked so hard to earn.

But when Aleksander came of age and was being trained to take over the company, he held a very different view than his mother. He was much more similar to his grandfather, wanting to help everyone, not just the highest bidders. Aleksander did not keep his opinions private. He often spoke to the press about what he would like to change when he was head of the company.

Baghra hated Aleksander. He was trying to destroy everything she had created, spend all the money she had made. Ilya, on the other hand, loved his grandson and professed his wishes until his dying breath, leaving everything to Aleksander. See, despite running the company, Baghra did not own Morozova Industries. So when Ilya sadly passed away, the company and its control was immediately passed to Aleksander.

His retribution was swift and imminent. A month later, Baghra had nothing left and Aleksander had everything he wanted. Then he met you…

You, an owner to another tech company. It wasn’t anything big, but you had built that company from the ground up and perfected your craft. It was your wish to collaborate with Morozova to create and distribute your products to a wider audience than you could do alone.

You had captured his attention immediately. It wasn’t just your proposal, which encapsulated the values Aleksander valued most, but it was simply you. He asked you out for drinks after the meeting, wishing to know you better. As your collaboration continued, the drinks turned into dinners, dinners turned into evenings at your apartments (Aleksander’s penthouse and your meagre two-bed). Those evenings became something you looked forward to and they only seemed to increase in frequency. You now had a spare change of clothes at Aleksander’s in case you spent the night there.

It was all so natural that nothing changed after you stopped working together. You still stopped by with his coffee every morning and his thank you’s eventually changed to small pecks on the cheek to a small kiss on your lips. There was no need to rush into things, no need to panic. Love was easy when you let it be.

It’s one night in bed with Aleks that he rolls over and whispers into your hair. "Let’s get married."

You don’t even have to think. Love was easy, after all. "Yes."

Aleksander initially thinks it should be a grand affair, a day to celebrate you and him. However, the more he thinks, the more he despises that idea. He just wants to celebrate you. There doesn’t need to be anything huge beyond a few select friends and a perfect time. That perfect time occurs when you find yourselves in Las Vegas for a tech conference. All your friends, as owners and stakeholders of other companies, are there with you.

"Let’s get married now. Fuck waiting."

You glance around, nodding. "Everyone’s here that you want?" You’re silently asking him if he wants Baghra here but he’s made up his mind.

"I’ll text Ivan and David, if you can call the girls?"

You nod, barely holding back a smile before taking off down the hotel corridors back to your room. The girls all answer the group call and you share the exciting news.

"Aleks and I are getting married here in Vegas, we’d love you all to come?"

The screams down the phone are coming from Alina and Genya as Zoya simply laughs at their antics. "We’ll all be there, don’t you worry."

You pull a simple white dress from your luggage, meant for a party night but perfect for your impromptu wedding. You know Aleksander will do something more formal back home where you can wear your dream dress, so you’re not too worried. The girls are waiting for you in the foyer and Genya has somehow sprouted a bouquet for you.

The chapel is quaint but it’s the man at the end of the aisle that you’re focused on. You can barely hear the officiant pronounce you husband and wife before he’s pulling you close and smashing your lips to his. That night is the craziest thing you’ve ever seen, you visited every bar along the strip, dancing until your feet ached and spending the whole time immeasurably happy.

Two weeks later, Aleksander comes home later than usual. "Darling?"

"Yes?"

His expression is grave. "The Vegas pictures got leaked."

Then the headlines arrived:

MILLIONAIRE MOROZOVA MARRIES COMPETITOR Y/L/N IN SECRET VEGAS WEDDING

SHOCK: MOROZOVA HEIR OFF THE MARRIAGE MARKET TO RIVAL BUSINESS OWNER

MOROZOVA MARRIED: WHO IS THE NEW MONEY-HUNGRY MRS?

You’re scrolling through the news stories that have popped up in a matter of hours. "I guess the world knows."

"My mother has already called." He says, grimacing. "She lectured me about how you’re using me for money like my father did with her before I could put the phone down."

"Did she realise that I owned my own successful business for years before I even met you?"

He hums. "She never was the smartest woman alive."

You nod with him, kissing him sweetly. "It’ll never be about the money with you Sasha. You’re more than that."

AHHH, finally something that's not based on hozier. I am however revealing my deep-rooted love for ABBA now

taglist: @aoi-targaryen

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #grishaverse #modern!au #muxsh #muxshwriting #money money money #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes

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stromuprisahat · 1 year ago

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Second Army disorganization

Siege and Storm- Chapter 14

One of the most frustrating and famously nonsensical passages of Grisha trilogy, easily explained through doylist approach- the author's inability to write strategy or politics and demands of the genre, requiring a weak, unfit heroine to defeat immensely powerful opponent way out of her league:

Alina: Oh no, they dare to oppose me again! :(

Isn't that why would you want to establish a council in the first place? So you get constructive criticism and suggestions to do things better?!

My objections to the notion Alina came up with representation of Grisha can't be more obvious:

Army is a structured organization. There are ranks and councils by default. No amount of ignorant teens will persuade me calling it "Second" makes it otherwise.

Any big organization has a structure. Even if Second Army were only about education, there would be councils and posts on different levels. Hell, school system works that way.

Alina: I'm gonna have the useless ones represented, because we're not doing things like the Darkling, but that doesn't mean I'll respect them myself or abandon my prejudices. Fucking nerds. Weidos...

Another YA nonsense- you cannot put people into categories based on their physical predispositions, and expect the mental ones to fit accordingly. You can have a huge, muscled guy, skilled in delicate handiwork. You can have a tiny wisp of a girl beating the living shit out of you (popular trope by itself).

Now why should sensitivity to metals get you a spot in labs, if you're a strategic genius? Or incredibly skilled, witty rhetorician? Isn't it more likely you'd be required to complete basic training to stay healthy and prevent accidentally endangering others, while being assigned to whatever you're most useful at?

And what about those weak or less intelligent ones? Are they bringing coffee and arranging entertainment?!

It also fits this fan interpretation, that Materialki are often neuro-divegent, so they are tend to be kept away from battle for their own sake.

Alina wasn't involved in practical running of Second Army before. Just because she doesn't know about something, it's not a totally fresh idea.

I'd be afraid of a girl, who almost murdered a bunch of people for asking questions, too.

At this point, I'm gonna run with the idea that all the older Grisha are torn between face-palming and silently laughing their assess off (so Alina doesn't overhear and her clique doesn't resort to violence).

“But what do they do in there?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to hear the answer. “Only the Corporalki know. But there are rumors that they’ve been working with the Fabrikators on new … experiments.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 8

... and that says nothing about the field, or the little groups in noble houses. People tend to stick together with their own, when in strange enviroment. I'm sure such bonds dissolve immediately after their return "home".

I've also delved a little into the sitting order here.

A few lines earlier, Alina noted Materialki didn't show up to complain. Who is so horrified then?! Not them, for sure.

Ironically, this fits into Fabricator-brain theory linked above AND the most logical explanation- Materialki have basic self-defense training, but only those, who are able to, continue. Alina isn't particularly friendly with any of them, so how would she know no one had EVER bothered to teach them? Alright, there are none in her class, but as far as we know, it consists of a Squaller, an Inferni and a Heartrender. Not the most saying sample.

Having a third of all Grisha helpless doesn't fit into the picture of Aleksander's leadership:

“That’s what Botkin always says. ‘Not showy, just to make pain,’” I said, imitating the mercenary’s heavy accent. “Smart guy.” “The Darkling doesn’t think Grisha should rely on their powers for defense.”

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 17

You don't have to become another Bruce Lee, you only need a chance, when they drag you out of bed in the middle of the night.

What tradition?

This is rather well-written group of angry, disorganized people. It might start with a reasonable goal, but soon everyone talks about something else than others, and the message gets lost in the noise.

Tradition doesn't equal "the way things are done". Neither of them is the same as "the need for structure and people knowing their places". The third one is a legitimate concern, although one could argue it's exactly what Alina's attempting.

This whole scene very much reads like:

The author is desperate to prove the Heroine isn't quite useless- she has good ideas! Look! *whacks a hundreds of years old stategist and survivor par excellence with stupid stick*

#Grishaverse #S&S Chapter 14 #The Darkling #Alina Starkov #Second Army #Materialki #grishanalyticritical #Second pseudoArmy #S&B Chapter 8 #S&B Chapter 17 #meme #V #Siege and Storm #Grisha trilogy #books #quotes #Leigh Bardugo #anti Leigh Bardugo

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theweeklydiscourse · 2 years ago

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The Darkling decided early on how much he would disclose to Alina about his plans for the coup based on a conversation they had on the way to the palace.

I like to look back at this scene from Shadow and Bone that takes place after Alina was seconds away from being killed by a Fjerdan assassin. She denies that she is Grisha, pointing to her plain and scrawny appearance for proof of her certainty and Aleksander responds with a remark about how Alina doesn’t understand what being Grisha even means.

It’s a telling scene because it shows just how surface-level Alina’s view of Grisha is. To her, Grisha are shiny, beautiful and strong and they are prioritized over the common folk soldiers she once belonged with. Of course, Aleksander knows that there is so much more to being Grisha than just beauty, but realizes that there’s so much to unpack with Alina’s statement he doesn’t even know where to start.

This exchange explains one of the reasons why he didn’t disclose his true plans to Alina, much less his ultimate secret. If Alina has such a shallow understanding of Grisha identity, she will also have a shallow understanding of just how much is at stake in this conflict. Alina is no ordinary Grisha, so it hasn’t quite sunk in that she has skin in the game and is more significant than she realizes. Her denial of her Grisha identity (despite obvious evidence proving otherwise) Alina is staunch in her assertion that she is just a normal girl. It is that same denial that tells Aleksander that Alina cannot be viewed as reliable just yet, time needs to be taken to teach her a better understanding of the Grisha first.

This next exchange is the second reason why Aleksander doesn’t tell her. Though Alina herself may not have said that superstition out loud, it still demonstrates how Alina was exposed to those views during her formative years. It raises his suspicion that Alina may hold some remnants of the Serf’s ideas and perhaps compels him to think ahead to assess if this could grow into a potential threat. He ABSOLUTELY cannot tell her the truth anytime soon if there is even the slightest possibility that she believes that he’s soulless and “truly evil”. If Alina snitched on him, his entire operation could be shut down for good and set the Grisha back decades. Not to mention the fact that it could get a lot of Grisha killed.

“You didn’t hurt his feelings.” Dear Reader, this was only the beginning of Alina denying Aleksander’s humanity in order to avoid taking responsibility for her prejudice and to avoid the complex reality of the situation. You can almost hear the incorrect answer buzzer go off in Aleksander’s mind as Alina tells him her answer, I can almost feel his pure disappointment through the page.

Because Aleksander poses an important question that reveals one of Alina’s central conflicts that will continue throughout the trilogy. Alina is still deeply uncomfortable with the idea of Grisha powers after spending her life among people who call them unnatural and strange. To the point that it wasn’t just the fact that the assassin was sliced in two that bothered her, but because of the magic that sliced him. Why on earth would he trust her with his greatest secret when she reacts with such hesitation? He was testing her to gauge how long it would be before Alina could be trusted as an ally to Grisha and received an answer that told him it might take a while. If Alina can’t handle her the idea of her own powers, she cannot be trusted with a secret that could determine the future of Ravka.

I don’t know about you, but I fully believe that Aleksander had every intention of telling Alina the truth, it’s just that prioritizing his personal relationship with her over the safety of his people was a risk he couldn’t take. This gets a bit muddled later on because Alina’s narration seems to care more about her personal feelings of betrayal than the consequences this plan could have on the country. She never takes a moment to look at the bigger picture and consider the consequences of her reckless actions.

I know that I’m just breaking the scene down and explaining what’s happening in it, but it truly is such an informative scene that hints at a potentially fascinating storyline.

#shadow and bone #lb critical #s&b critical #alina starkov #s&b netflix #s&b salt #the darkling #darklina #aleksander morovoza #pro darkling #grishaverse meta #ruin and rising #shadow and bone season 2 #aleksander morozova #anti leigh bardugo #anti shadow and bone #close reading

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aleksanderscult · 1 month ago

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Oh girl… I honestly lost hope in myself for having this kind of idea in my head. Because the truth is, I kept imagining a genderbent Darklina scenario—where Aleksander gets pregnant after Alina leaves him (like, they have sex during the Winter Fete), and then Aleksander finds out he’s pregnant but doesn’t get rid of the baby because he wants to use it as a way to stay close to Alina. But he never tells her about it the whole time because he doesn’t want the baby to be in danger. That would reflect his more human side.

And then—get this—three days before their final battle, Aleksander gives birth and sends the baby somewhere safe because he knows he’s going to die. Later, the baby is raised near Alina, but she doesn’t realize for a long time that the child is hers.

And in one of my ideas where Darklina actually get married, their relationship would no longer be toxic—because Alina would finally be able to bring out the human side of the Darkling and come to terms with being Grisha. She’d be way more mature than before, too.

I even had a name for their baby. She was a girl, and her name was Flisha. 🥲💔

My real question here is how Alina would change? I mean there has to be a character development. Malyen would have to die of course but I fear that that would make her only more determined to stay away from Aleksander.

Aleksander, on the other hand, cannot change too much in my opinion. He has been through so much, he has lived for so long that I don't think he can be a non-toxic character. And that's something that is to be expected of near immortal characters. They can't act, they can't feel the same way a 20 year old character does. Even though some of his more human traits are still there deep inside him, he has spent far too much time hiding them for the good of his heart and job to do otherwise. He has this desperate need for control. And Alina doesn't want to be controlled. Aside from Mal.

But, anyway, your story sounds really promising. Give it a shot and write it down!

#these thoughts of mine are just a general pondering of these two #so you shouldn't be discouraged by anyone #🧡🧡#anon asks #the darkling #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #grishaverse #pro darkling

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thebigsl33p · 11 months ago

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Last Words of A Shooting Star (2/?)

A/N: Hello!! It's been a while!! This took me ages to start and ages to finish, it will probably need editing but that's alright!! Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 4176 Thank you all for the sweet comments and reblogs!! unfortunately, my comments don't work!! but they're appreciated all the same!!! <3

people I thought might appreciate being tagged: (If not, sorry!!!):

@augustwithquills @myanmy @noortsshift @archangelslollipop @vaguekayla @budugu @inlovewithfictionalmen444 @weallhaveadestiny @dreamlandcreations @bookloverfilmoholic @lost-tothe-centuries @myanmy @oliviaewl @summersummoner-pat @augustwithquills @lost-tothe-centuries @wonderland2425 Part 1 - Masterlist -

The rumours around The Sanctuary start instantly. The change in the Shadow Summoner and the Star is clear to see - their little giggles which are closer than before, the casual touches - a hand on a back, a hip, an arm, the occasional kiss to the cheek or playful glance across the mess hall - it’s all noticeable to those who are watching.

And people are watching. It’s endearing in a way; it brings a warmth and a light to the halls which had previously been found in the other young couples. For a little bit, life in The Sanctuary is quiet and good and domestic.

Winter changes that.

Winter brings harsh winds and even harsher journeys. More groups of Grisha begin to arrive at The Sanctuary, with that familiar hollow gaze and blood stained nails, throats screamed raw and clothes muddied and singed at the edges. Winter brings an increase in Royal patrols and Druskelle raids. Winter brings war, and death and hunger: the sudden decline of crops means rations are implemented, and with the ever rising population it suddenly becomes very hard to feed all the Grisha.

Living becomes a team effort - it has to be, or else if one person goes, everyone goes with them.

The Sanctuary, once filled with warmth and sunlight and laughter, becomes quiet and cold, pensive and reflective, serene in a melancholy way. The world, once golden, has been bathed in grey.

They’re laying in bed together one night, an act done in intimacy, but also to preserve warmth, when Aleksander murmurs something against Y/N’s hair. When she hears the muffled noise, she pulls the lower half of her face out from under the patchwork sheets and glances up at him, “What’s that, lapushka?”

“I think we should leave The Sanctuary.” And her heart stops.

He pulls his face out of her hair to repeat, “I think we should leave The Sanctuary. For good. We could go - and make our own life. Away from all this suffering.” he says quietly, and he knows it’s selfish but suddenly he finds himself with something to lose - he refuses to lose her to this life.

Her eyes widen a fraction, her brows drawing together, “…How?” She says softly, “Everything we have is here We can’t just…”

Aleksander leans up onto his elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes almost pleading, “But it wasn’t always. We survived together when we first met, we can do it again until we find a… a home. Please, Zvezda.” And his spare hand came up to cradle her face, “Let me take you away from all this. Please.”

She swallows as she leans into his hand and lets her eyes flutter shut. The Star sighs, “Aleks… You really want to?” She asks hesitantly.

He answers instantly, “Yes. I do. Let me take you somewhere where we’ll be happy, and we’ll always be safe.” He leans his head down to press a kiss to the apple of her cheek, “I promise.”

They leave in the early morning, their few belongings packed into bags and placed on the back of a brown speckled horse, which they ungraciously name Madga, after the fairytale. It’s the type of morning where the sun doesn’t rise properly and instead paints the sky a pale blue, a low fog has settled on the grass and the mud has yet to thaw. The only noise for miles around is the brush of the wind and the leaves, and the crows calling down the morning.

The goodbye is hard. Consisting of furrowed brows and slight sniffs, Aleksander and Y/N hug, and shake hands, and kiss cheeks with the people whom they have lived with, survived with, for the past few months. The people who are the same as them, who they have an identity and kinship with - who know their struggles and feel their hardships.

They know they’re leaving together, neither one of them is alone, but it’s still the loss of a community. And a damn painful loss at that.

The final goodbye is said and done, and suddenly their backs are to The Sanctuary and the winding path in front of them is daunting yet manageable. One of his gloved hands is holding the reigns of the horse, the other finds hers. Likewise, one of her hands rests limply above the handle of her sword, tucked neatly into its holder, but the other’s fingers intertwine with his, an unspoken I’ve got you. And then they’re going, leaving their home and their friends and their cause, in hopes of a better life.

With each crunch of their boots the mud begins to melt, the winter morning sun doing very little to soften the blow of the winds which knife them. The horse trots happily behind them, whinnying and huffing sometimes but overall content with the gentle pace they’ve set. It’s the beginning of their journey and their not trying to exhaust themselves on the first day. The first day, which they spend walking among trees and branches which have been stripped by winter, is gentle. They talk idly and laugh occasionally, settling into their choice that they have made. Coming to terms with it.

They spend the first night in, what was once, a field, but was now mostly cold dirt and frozen mud. Aleksander and Y/N set up a small fire just big enough to cook the little meat they had decided to use with a tiny bit of bread, and they place their roll mats side by side, layering their thin blankets with their coats and jackets and curling up beside one another to preserve heat.

They exchange soft kisses and quiet murmurs, compliments and hands slipped under shirts, her fingers tracing over scars, his thumb rubbing circles over her hip. It’s comfort and sweetness in a journey that is unsure and vague, but familiar in its routine. They’ve been here before.

The first village they come upon is uninhabitable. The signs of struggle are clear - the piles of belongings abandoned on the road, the out-of-place burnt husks of homes, sandwiched between pristine cottages and buildings. Makeshift memorials and graves. The entire village buzzes with paranoia and anger, people’s heads whip around too fast and the entire market is full of yelled accusations - so they make a point to avoid it.

It’s clear what’s happened here: any and all Grisha families, travellers, people even so much as suspected of being Grisha, have had their homes and livelihoods stolen from them, their belongings, their toys, photos, trinkets and memories, tossed onto the street like rubbish. As they pass both Y/N and Aleksander keep their heads down with the quiet knowledge that, hopefully, those people had a peaceful end.

The Star and the Shadow Summoner pass through the village quickly, hiding any and all marks of being, or being associated with, Grisha - both their Kefta’s hidden by large coats and layers for warmth. They get a few odd looks but nothing that’s out of the ordinary for travellers. They pass through with pits in their stomachs and tightly clutched hands.

Their journey is long and never easy. Winter only gets harsher, only seems to punish them. There are moments where leaving the Sanctuary feels like a mistake - cold nights with only one another for comfort where they miss the food and the beds, and the warmth of a proper fire or the food-hall.

And it’s hard with both the Druskelle and the King’s Men suddenly being so much more vigilant. They’re everywhere, around ever village, town, city. Which means their journey is limited to lesser travelled paths and darkness - which isn’t too much of a bother. Aleksander is a Shadow Summoner, and Y/N’s a literal star. So, darkness is something they’re rather familiar with and is hardly a daunting or unwelcomed propsect.

However, an odd tension rises when they pass by another city - this one, ransacked by the King’s Men. And the flyers which litter the town: she manages to catch one under her shoe, and she bends down to pick it up, Aleksander’s brow furrowing, “What do they say?” He asked softly.

Y/N turns it around, her eyes scanning over the paper to read the words. A demand from the King, calling for the arrest of the Shadow Summoner. Her eyes flickered to him, wide and alarmed, “Sasha…”

“…damn.” He muttered, running a hand through his dark hair, “…Y/N, zvezda.” He sighed, taking the pamphlet off her, “…We’ll have to take extra care to avoid towns. C’mon.” And he took her hand, guiding her out of the town and to the path which went around the settlement, a good distance away.

During the journey he’d taken on that brooding look she was so accustomed to, which she recognised as him either being deep in thought, annoyed, or angry. And it seemed to be an odd combination of all three. She let him simmer in it for a bit, until she tapped his hand with her fingers, “Love?”

He glanced towards her, acknowledging her questioning. He simply squeezed her hand softly.

“We should talk about it,” she said gently, “This is a big threat, and we can’t just pretend-”

“I promised you safety.” he muttered, his eyes dark and focused on the path ahead, “I promised you safety and happiness, and just you being with me jeopardises that. Jeopardises you, and I refuse to be the reason that…”

Her brow furrowed softly, her eyes pinned on him as he continued, “I refuse to be the reason that something happens to you, all because you… and…” He swallowed, “You are… so, precious to me. And the idea that you just being around me may put you into danger - if anything happened to you-”

“I know.” She said softly, “Sasha, I know. We’re both hazards to one another.” She acknowledged, “I mean, Saints,” she playfully untucked a strand of her silvery hair from her hood, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m a glaring obstacle,” she weakly joked, “And- not to mention our Keftas. So, yeah, we’re risks to one another. A risk I’m willing to take.”

Aleksander sighed, finally glancing at her, still burdened but slightly relieved. He nodded firmly, his thumb tracing her knuckles.

The end of winter brings the husk of a tiny cottage, on the edge of a glade. The trees are sparse and the ground is mulch but there’s a stone structure, half falling apart, the walls slightly toppled and with little proof of previous inhabitants save for an old wooden table and the shell of a bed: just a wooden structure.

They spend the first night there, make a mattress out of their clothes and bags and coats, light a meagre fire in the unused hearth but it’s enough to provide heat. The first night, turns to two nights, then to three, and then a week, and all of a sudden things are… comfortable. Suddenly their belongings find homes - their little trinkets kept on mantles and sides.

By the second week, it’s decided they will stay. And they settle into domesticity. The first action is to fix the bed, and they quickly discover there’s a nearby village, tiny, but enough to purchase produce and other resources. She goes, having teasingly banned him from entering any villages or towns due to the declaration. The declaration which they keep as a slightly playful memento above the fireplace, pinned to the wall and the stones.

Gradually, the seasons change.

It gets warmer, sunnier, days become longer. They fix the walls, make a mattress, they take it in turns to chop firewood and cook, days are filled with joy and ease and love.

It’s a quiet evening, the two of them sat side by side at their dining table as the share intimate memories and stories, Aleksander’s voice low as he recounts the stories she knows on surface level, “…I travelled around a lot as a kid. My mother - well, we’re both Shadow Summoners - She works at The Sanctuary. She meant well when she raised me, I think. Now, she’s just bitter.” he murmured, “We stayed at a Grisha camp…” And the story goes on, as he finally tells her the truth of his childhood.

And his first incident with The Cut.

In return she tells him of her experience as a Star. The years spent above, witnessing human life, longing for that. Of having an unimaginable understanding of human civilisation and development and being entirely unable to partake in it. And the stories which the mortals make of her and her kind, this need to understand and name, to see figures and shapes in the constellations.

They listen to one another’s stories respectively, offering soft smiles and gentle encouragements. They listen to one another’s stories with love.

It’s been months since they’ve settled at the homestead, and it’s late summer. The air is thick and warm and comfortable, and they’re working in the field together. She’s hanging up their laundry, while he folds what’s been taken off the line and places it onto a chair they’ve brought outside. The line which they put up together, connecting from the side of the building to the treeline. He’s sitting in the grass as she rinses off and wrings the clothes, shaking them out and putting them out in the sun.

And then suddenly water hits her cheek. And she makes a show of gaping at him, “Oh, you did not.”

He’s got his hand in the bucket, sitting cross legged in the field with a mischievous grin on his handsome face, “And if I did?”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, and then makes a show of dipping clothes in the bucket, wringing it out, and then shaking it out in his face so the water flicked all over him, “Milaya!” He cried out, as she chuckled at his reaction, “Fine, I suppose I deserve it…” And then suddenly, he pauses.

She’s standing above him, the setting sunlight just behind her head, lighting up her hair like… well, starlight. Spun silver. And she’s laughing, and his heart stops in his chest.

“What?” She laughs, noticing his expression, “What is it?”

Finally, Aleksander shakes his head and returns to folding, an amused quirk at his lips, “Oh, nothing, zvezda.”

She mutters something in return, making another show of huffing as she returned to hanging up the laundry.

“You’re so pretty when you’re annoyed,” he teased, resting his head in his hand.

“Aleks…” She warns, a playful glare in his direction.

“What?” He laughs, leaning back on his hands, “I’m simply stating the truth.”

“You are insufferable.” She huffs.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

And he softens like ice cream on a hot day at her words, his smile shifting from teasing to adoring, dopey and warm, “I love you too, zvezda. Even if you think I’m insufferable.” In return she gives him a smile over her shoulder, finishing up the laundry, “C’mon. We’ll cook together tonight, love.”

“If you insist,” he muses, standing with a soft groan. As they go into the house together, he wraps an arm around her shoulder, “I’m getting old, lapushka.”

“Oh, please,” she playfully scoffed, “You’re barely…” She falters then, her brow furrowing, “…I don’t actually know how human age works.” She admits.

His brow raises a fraction, before he begins to explain to her how human’s - mortals - classify age. Which leads to their evening being full of age-based jabs and him explaining to her the concept of birthdays over stew. It’s easy, and they tumble into bed together that night in fits of giggles and quiet kisses.

It’s home.

They sleep peacefully through the nights beside one another and gradually the searching and persecution begins to die down. Just enough for them to toy with the idea of going out together for the first time in months. Typically, only one of them goes out a time, keeps their head down and focuses on getting whatever they left to get and returning as soon as possible. But things are changing, and Spring always has a certain… ability, to put a haze on life. Especially when you’re in love.

And so, on an early Saturday morning, they set out for the nearest town with the hope that the market will be busy and they can slip right in with all the other travellers and unfamiliars.

When Aleksander and Y/N arrive the market is busy. Thriving. Wonderfully convenient for the two of them to walk hand in hand and to browse things they’ll never buy: various fabrics and jewellery, cheeses and jams and expensive cuts of meat. It’s easy to get swept up in the current of the constantly moving bodies.

“Hey, look at that,” he lets out a soft huff of amusement through his nose as he points out a little stall of baked goods, already taking her hand and dragging her there, “Shall we?”

“Aleks-”

Before she can stop him he’s reaching into his pocket, handing over a number of coins to the vendor and receiving two slices of cake. He nods his thanks before turning to her with a cheeky grin, holding out the slice, “For you, milaya.”

Y/N sighs but takes the cake with a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

Simultaneously both the Star and the Shadow Summoner raise the cake to their lips and nod in agreement that it’s good. And they keep walking, arm in arm and eating their cake.

For a little bit they’re just… normal. He doesn’t have shadows at his fingertips, and she’s not a celestial body. For a moment, as they buy carrots and onions, garlic and cuts of meat, they’re just an average couple without an arrest warrant on their heads. They relish in it, the lack of stares in the busy market, their anxiety doesn’t spike, her hand doesn’t clutch his any harder. It’s sunny, and they’re browsing, and somewhere church bells are ringing, announcing mid-day.

They return home, arms full of produce to ensure good-tasting meals for the next few days. And they don’t suspect a thing.

“Milaya,” he says, entering with a panic and already gathering their bare necessities, “We need to go. Now.”

It’s a mild summer evening, she’s sitting at the table when he enters, her brow furrowing. Aleksander’s panicked and tense manner is clear. He had only gone into town for an hour or two, she doesn’t understand what’s changed.

“Sasha,” She stands, discarding whatever she was doing at the table, “Calm down - what’s wrong?” And then a noise from outside, the huff of a horse. “Sasha, why is Madga?- What- What’s happening?” As she watches her lover hurry around their small home, swiping things into two bags.

He doesn’t look up as he hurriedly answers, “We were too careless, Y/N.” She can hear his anger in his tone, “God- I don’t know what we were thinking,” He huffs. And finally pauses and looks up at her, “They’ve found us.”

“Who have?” she urged, rounding the table to stop him, taking him by the arms, “Aleksander, who have?”

His dark eyes, as dark as his shadows, meet hers and he swallows, his hands shaking slightly as he urges them to still, “…The King’s Men.”

“…The King’s Men.” She echoes, her eyes widening before she turns and hisses, “Shit. Shit. Alright, let’s go.” And begins to help him in gathering their belongings, “How? I don’t- we-”

“We were careless.” He says, his voice low as he begins to gather any food they can take with them, “Careless and presumptuous. We got too comfortable.” And it all clicks into place - busy markets and bustling stalls hide more than just Grisha.

“The market,” She mutters, “And then we just- kept going back.”

He glances up and nods, “Yeah,” he sighs, a shaky exhale, “The market. I noticed them there today and… well, they noticed me, Lapushka… we don’t have long, before-”

The sound of hooves on the dry soil outside still both their hearts and their eyes widen. There’s yelling - goading and jesting - laughter echoing through the summer air and causing nausea to well up in the guts of the two lovers.

They both know it’s too late but still Aleksander’s shadows swarm the room in a mass of black and extinguish the candles, she barely has time to see his hands move before they’re plunged into darkness.

The only thing she can hear is their breathing and, guided only by moonlight, her hand slips into his, their mutual fear palpable. She want to whisper to him, to tell him no matter what happens she loves him. She doesn’t. Instead she attempts to swallow her nerves and blocks out the sound of footsteps around the house.

And then a voice, low and teasing and menacing, “We know you’re in there, Grisha scum. And that whore you keep with you.” It earns a round of laughs, “Come out. Or we’ll have to come in.”

Aleksander can feel his heart in his throat. And Y/N’s hand in his. The decision isn’t hard, and he’s quick about it, too quick for her to stop him as his hand slips from hers, and he steps out of the house, moon and firelight flooding in through the door.

She watches him go with words of protest dying on her tongue as he steps out, his hands raised at his side, still and displayed, “I approach peacefully,” His voice low and calm as he steps into view of the King’s Men, “With a message for the king: if he or his men slaughter any more of my Grisha-”

She takes the chance to gather final belongings, her back turned to the door as she listens to the exchange, desperate for any kind of final escape.

Y/N can hear another man’s voice, a low chuckle, “The King wants you back alive…” there’s footsteps, she can see Aleksander’s expression in her mind’s eye: disdain and anger, “…but maybe you resisted, so…” it’s taunting and it turns her stomach.

There’s a sound of piercing clothes and flesh, a low grunt and her heart seizes as her head whips around to the doorway. But it’s too late, and she makes eye contact with a man in a royal uniform, twice her size. She lurches forward for her sword but he grabs her hair and yanks it back. Y/N falls against him, right up to his chest, whereupon the soldier wraps his arms around her neck and torso, keeping her pinned to his body and unable to struggle, his grip tight as he marches her out the house and into Aleksander’s line of sight.

She watches his face pale and fall, “Zvezda…”

“I’m sorry,” is all she can murmur, “I’m sorry…” And there’s an overwhelming fear running through her. This sudden realisation that this is it, her short-lived life as a human brought to an end by their own carelessness and comfort.

Aleksander turns to the man who is obviously the soldier’s leader, “Not her.” He says, “Please, not her, she isn’t apart of this- you don’t need her! I’m begging you-!”

And the soldier laughs, “Our orders were to bring you in. And you alone.”

“If you want our co-operation-”

“Not our orders.” The soldier repeats, and he glances at the other man, the one with his arm tightly around her throat.

It all happens so quickly. His knife is drawn, panic filling her eyes as she mouths the words I love you, a pit settling in both their guts. The blade shines in the twilight of the evening. The moment is slow, the drag of the knife across her throat, her eyes widening as she gargles, and the spilling of blood down her throat. Silvery blood, shiny and metallic, viscous and hot, which shimmers like the ocean in sunlight.

Aleksander can barely feel his hands, his legs, his face, for the pounding of his heart against his ribs, the lump bubbling in his throat. He is silently distraught.

The soldier sneers, “Still have a message for the king?” He taunts, holding his lover’s limp body, still twitching.

It isn’t long before the surrounding world is plunged into an irredeemable darkness.

#thebigsl33p #fanfic #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling x reader #aleksander x reader #shadow and bone fanfic #general kirigan x reader #kirigan x reader #shadow and bone x reader #Spotify

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lupinsversion · 7 months ago

Text

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥

• a/n: y’all voted for aleksander… so here you go!!

• summary: reader would’ve never believed that the man she loved, who she believed loved her, would ever betray her… until he did

• contains: aleksander morozova x fem reader, betrayal, broken trust, anger, underlying affection, pushing

• word count: 1k

Aleksander had always been a master of manipulation, and the love he held for his partner was a tool he used to further his own ambitions. Despite his affection for her, he used her powers for his own benefit, knowing the raw power she held.

As he watched her, blissfully unaware of his true intentions, a pang of guilt would occasionally flicker across his features, but he quickly buried it deep within his heart.

He had grown fond of her, the way she trusted him so completely, the way she looked up to him with such admiration. But all of it was a carefully crafted facade, a means to an end. He knew he would have to betray her in the end, to sacrifice their love for the greater good, but he pushed those thoughts aside as he continued to bask in her presence.

Each time she reached for him, each time she looked at him with those trusting eyes, he felt a pang of regret. He knew he was using her, knew he was deceiving her, but he pushed those thoughts away, telling himself it was all for the greater good. He had a vision for Ravka, and she was an integral part of it. He loved her in his own twisted way, but it was a love overshadowed by his ambition and determination.

Aleksander's betrayal was both calculated and cold. He had spent months, perhaps even years, manipulating and using her for her powers and for his own gain. He had strung her along, feeding her lies and half-truths, all the while knowing that he would eventually have to discard her.

And when the time came, he acted without remorse, discarding her as easily as he had used her, his heart cold and his eyes devoid of emotion.

But that didn’t stop her anger from lashing out. “You lying bastard!” She grunted out as she pushed at his chest roughly.

He stumbled back, caught off guard by the force of her push. His face darkened at her outburst, but he kept his composure, his expression neutral. "Watch yourself, little star," he warned, a hint of menace lacing his voice.

“Is that what this all was, a lie? Was there no truth in it?” No, she didn’t show any part that proved he had upset her, instead sticking to her words with a bit of a bite hidden underneath.

"Of course not," he replied calmly, his eyes fixed on hers. "Our connection was very real. My love for you was real." He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "But sometimes, the greater good demands sacrifices. I know you understand that, Y/N. Deep down, you know I did what I had to do. For Ravka."

“If it was real, any of it was real, you could’ve asked for help!” She expressed with another push, letting her anger getting the better of her. “Not manipulate me into doing so, you knew I would’ve done anything for you!”

He caught her wrists, his grip firm as he held her in place. "And that's exactly why I couldn't ask," he said evenly. "You would have done anything for me, even if it meant putting yourself in danger. I couldn't risk that."

His eyes bored into hers, his expression stoic. "I may have used you, Y/N, but never forget that I do love you. In my own twisted way, I do."

“You’re playing with me like I’m some sort of pawn in your game.” She growled.

"You’ve always been a pawn, darling," he confessed coldly. "An important piece on my board, one that I've moved and manipulated as needed." His grip tightened on her wrists, his eyes never leaving hers. "But that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you. I do, just not in the way you want me to. You’re a means to an end, Y/N. A necessary tool."

“That’s all it is to you!” She exclaimed. “Power! You couldn’t allow something to be real, to stay real.”

He chuckled, the sound devoid of any humor. "Everything is about power, love. That’s the only reality there is. You’re naïve to think otherwise." He released her wrists, his hand coming up to caress her cheek, a touch that should have been tender but only felt mocking.

She tilted her head in the opposite position, pulling away from his touch that she use to crave only hours before, but now here they stood. “Mark my words, Aleksander. I will not rest until I get my revenge.”

His smile widened at her threat, a sadistic gleam in his eye. "I look forward to it," he said smoothly, relishing the thought of her trying and failing. "You have always been feisty, my little star. But I've seen you at your most vulnerable. I know your weaknesses. You can't touch me."

“You underestimate me. I may have done your bidding unknowingly before, but I promise you, I never will again.”

"You say that now," he mused, "but you always come back to me. You're like a moth drawn to a flame, darling. No matter how many times you get burned, you can't stay away. You need me," he finished smugly.

“I assure you that I do not.” She stepped back, moving closer to the door. “Don’t call for me anymore, you’ll get no response.”

He watched her retreating figure, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. He had never been rejected before, and it made his blood boil. "You'll come crawling back to me, Y/N. You always do," he called out after her, his tone dismissive.

“We’ll see.” She nodded, leaving her facial features neutral as she had throughout the whole conversation. “We’ll see.”

He watched her go, his expression hardening. He didn’t believe for a second that she would stay away. She would be back, like she always was. He knew her too well, knew her weaknesses and her desires. Even if she fought it, she would come back to him. He was sure of it.

#shadow and bone #shadow summoner #the darkling x reader #the darkling smut #the darkling #general kirigan smut #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #aleksander morozova x you #aleksander morozova smut #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander #aleksander morozova #grisha #grishaverse

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marvelmusing · 1 year ago

Text

Set In Stone

Part Two

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: As the sun sets, your new life as a statue begins and you struggle to find your place in this strange and unfamiliar world. The more you learn, the less you understand, and the feelings you’re experiencing regarding Aleksander and Alina only adds to your confusion.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dub con, fingering, nudity, somnophilia, discussions of sex, mild violence towards the reader (physical and magical choking), angst, references to emotional manipulation with magic, object insertion, human to statue transformation, consumption of magical potions, very brief mentions of pregnancy, Aleksander and Alina have been alive for centuries and they don’t know how to have normal relationships

My Masterlist • Part One

As sleep fades from your mind, you turn your head and end up face to face with Alina. Her pale hair casts a soft halo over her features, the bright strands ruffled erratically by her slumber. A heart stopping smile spreads across her lips when her eyes meet yours.

“Good evening,” she whispers.

After scouring your surroundings, the plush pillows and soft sheets, you blink at her shyly.

“How did I end up in your bed?”

She brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing over your cheek to trace along your jawline.

“You were fast asleep when you turned human again. I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you. Aleksander carried you to bed.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She beams at you, her hand snaking its way down your body before it settles on your bare mound. Heat spreads over your cheeks as you ask nervously, “Are you checking for stone?”

She shakes her head, her fingers slipping between your folds. Each stroke is casual and languid, as if she’s simply enjoying the feeling of your arousal building beneath her touch.

“You’ve been so good,” she coos dotingly with a rather adoring smile. “I think you deserve a reward. Don’t you agree, Sasha?”

Aleksander’s hand smoothes over your hip as he presses a kiss to your collarbone. The smile that touches his lips is softer, more tentative, yet he agrees immediately.

“I do.” His answer is low and raspy, his voice thick from sleep and it makes your stomach flip.

Alina’s thumb encircles your clit and you whimper at the sudden burst of pleasure thrumming beneath your skin. It spreads through your muscles, soaking deep into your bones until you’re shaking with the need for more.

Their voices are low as they murmur encouragements and praises that make your cheeks burn, heat diving down to where your pulse is pounding. After the last two days of being edged and toyed with, your nerves are fraught.

The pressure of Alina’s thumb remains steadfast, confident circles that make you writhe between them both. In a direct contrast, Aleksander’s fingertips are deceptively light as they dance over your bare body. They leave you aching for more and less at the same time, which has you approaching your climax at a frightening rate.

Even after you’ve come undone over her fingers, the shaking doesn’t stop and your heart continues to pound as you attempt to catch your breath. Overwhelmed, you close your eyes and press your head back into the pillow beneath you. Before you even realise it, you’re thinking of Alina wrapping her arms around you while Aleksander strokes your sides.

Emotion blooms heavily in your throat as you realise how much you want to be held by them both. The urge makes your chest ache, but the thought of asking your captors for cuddles makes you feel ridiculous. Zoya’s words immediately spring to mind. You’re too soft for them. Much to your dismay, hot tears begin to slide down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand to quickly hide your tears and prevent any further embarrassment. Alina curls her fingers around your wrist, halting your movement, which allows your tears to fall in earnest.

“Whatever for?”

For a brief moment, you want to admit how much you want them both to care for you, and tell her about the doubts Zoya had placed in your mind. But you bite your tongue.

Zoya might not have given you the warmest welcome, but you don’t want her to get into trouble. Not to mention that you feel insane for feeling so much for them in such a small space of time. You shouldn’t feel anything for them besides anger and hatred for what they’ve done to you.

“Nothing,” you concede weakly. “It’s nothing.”

Alina tightens her grip on you.

“Don’t lie to us.”

Her voice isn’t overly stern, yet her eyes are your downfall and you relent quickly at the sight of them so fixated on your tears.

“Zoya said I’m too soft for you, and I’m scared she’s right.”

To hide from their reaction, you close your eyes. Until Aleksander says,

“Alina used to cry after sex.”

Shocked, you look up at Alina. Her head turns quickly to direct an accusatory look at her husband.

“Aleksander!” Each syllable is drawn out with mock fury and she swats at his bicep in retaliation. He ducks his head, attempting to make himself a smaller target.

“You did,” he protests with a playful smile which softens as he adds, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She clasps her hands in her lap, appearing shy for the first time since you met. Her gaze moves up to you from the ring on her finger - a polished piece of black onyx simmering in the candlelight.

“Aleksander was my first,” she admits.

Her eyes flicker up to look at him, a fond smile spreading over her lips when their eyes meet. It must have been centuries since they first met, yet in this moment you can see how they must have been when they first fell for each other. It warms your heart, yet there’s an ache of longing there once again.

Alina ducks her head down, capturing your lips with hers which catches you completely unawares. A small sound of surprise hums in your the throat, which soon dissolves into a quiet moan of pleasure as the ache in your chest eases. She cups your cheeks, her hands a soothing balm to the distress that had been burrowing its way into you.

She settles on top of you, pushing you firmly onto the bed, and you grind your hips upwards mindlessly in search of some friction. She breathes out a soft laugh, her smile widening which she sees your lips chasing hers.

A shocked little “oh!” escapes you when she slips a finger inside you which she mimics teasingly.

“I think you can give me another one. Can’t you, my little statue?”

Halfway through shaking your head, your body tenses with the force of nearing another climax. Each muscle in your legs quivers and you dig your heels into the plush mattress as you lose control over your body. The pleasure makes you shake even more than before, your chest heaving rapidly.

“You really are a work of art,” Alina murmurs appraisingly, her fingers dancing up your bare body. Unable to acknowledge her words, you keep your eyes closed as Aleksander tilts your head backwards, revealing your neck for him to kiss. His teeth drag over your pulse point and you moan softly.

Then Alina slips her arms around your waist, pulling you against her chest - away from Aleksander’s lips.

“Don’t damage her, Sasha.”

He grips onto your hips, tugging gently in an attempt at dislodging you from Alina’s hold as he argues,

“She’s my statue.”

“But I made her.”

An aroused little gasp slips from your lips, which draws their attention back onto you. They both grin. Alina strokes your cheek fondly.

“Do you like it when we fight over you?”

“A little,” you admit shyly.

They both laugh, appearing to settle on a compromise as they both begin to kiss you lazily. When Alina claims your mouth, her husband nibbles along your pulse point. Then they trade places. Aleksander sucks on your lower lip, while his wife digs her teeth into the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

There is barely a moment between each kiss for you to recover. It leaves you breathless.

“What kind of Grisha do you think you are?” Aleksander murmurs against your lips. That makes you withdraw slightly, though they don’t let you go far.

“I- I told you, I’m not Grisha,” you insist. “I’m not powerful like the two of you, or beautiful like the other statues.”

Alina sighs heavily but Aleksander smiles at his wife.

“Now you know how I felt about you.”

“I wasn’t this bad.”

“You were worse.”

Their discussion of you - and your non existent power - has nerves settling in your stomach and you gnaw on your lower lip in agitation. What will they do when they figure out that you’re nothing special? They won’t want you anymore. Aleksander draws you into his lap.

“Don’t worry yourself, my gem. Alina has always had a shorter temper than myself.” That makes her scoff lightly, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation at her husband. “Even after a few hundred years, she struggles with the art of patience. But I can wait. Reveal yourself whenever you are ready.”

Alina gives you a soft smile. It’s clear she agrees with Aleksander’s sentiments, but that doesn’t fully ease your anxiety. After all, you don’t understand what they want from you. Surely, if you had some sort of power it would have revealed itself already.

The covers slip from Alina’s body as she stretches, yawning rather adorably. Then you notice the scar on her left shoulder. It’s small, but gnarly, stained black from some sort of dark magic.

Hesitantly, you brush the knuckle of your index finger against the ridge of roughly healed skin. She smiles softly, before explaining in a low voice,

“A gift from the Darkling.”

The sound of Aleksander’s former title makes you glance at him quickly. A wicked smile spreads across his lips as he leans over to kiss his wife, which has your stomach flipping with surprise. You had thought neither of them would want to be reminded of when they were enemies - though it seems to be quite the opposite.

They both grin into the kiss, Alina’s teeth nipping at his lower lip during a brief interlude when they part for air. In response, Aleksander curls his fingers around her throat, squeezing the vulnerable area against his large palm.

A rather dreamy sigh escapes you, as you stare in admiration of them both looking so breathtakingly beautiful. The sound attracts their attention and they turn to look at you. Alina leans over to you, kissing you softly before she slips from her husband’s grasp.

Aleksander props himself up against the headboard, his bicep flexing as he curls his arm behind his head. The two of you watch Alina as she moves towards the wardrobe at the side of the room. The dimples at her hips crease as she shifts her weight from side to side, considering the clothing hanging in front of her.

She turns with a white lace robe draped over her arm and heads back towards the bed. She places it over your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll call for Genya to keep you company today.”

Self conscious, you fidget with the hem of the robe, drawing it closer to yourself as you lower your gaze.

“You don’t need to bother her. I’d be alright by myself.”

Aleksander reaches for you now, fingers grazing the side of your neck before they curl around the nape. He kisses you leisurely, his lips moving slowly as he steals each second of precious air from your lungs. When he finally withdraws, your chest aches as you gasp in a series of shuddering breaths.

“You aren’t a bother,” he insists. Then he kisses you again.

Hands curled into weak fists, you press them against his chest, unable to figure out if you want to push him away so that you can breathe or bring him closer to drown yourself in him. Bright sparks dance beneath your eyelids as he pulls away and your head spins as oxygen floods your system.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Genya grins widely when she sees you standing outside Aleksander and Alina’s door.

“I take it you’ve had a good night so far?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you duck your head bashfully to escape her gaze as she loops her arm around yours. The two of you walk side by side through the corridors, moonbeams and flickering candles lighting your way.

Genya pauses when you reach a set of double doors. She pushes them open and immediately a rush of humidity hits your face. A shudder rolls through your body, as the lingering cold inside you flees from the heat. There’s a light sheen of sweat glossing over your skin as you enter the room, squinting in the bright moonlight that spills from the large window carved into the ceiling.

In the centre of the room, there’s a pool which seems to be the main source of heat. Steam curls over the surface of the water and you look at the people lounging around the room.

“Most of the statues spend their nights here,” Genya tells you.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever you want. Relaxing. Sleeping. Pampering one another.”

The sight of one particular group catches your attention immediately. Three women and one man. They are seated amongst a mound of velvet cushions and plush fabrics. All four of them are in varying stages of undress. The woman in the middle is wearing a sheer red robe, her bare body openly on display. Her eyes lock on yours and recognition dawns on you.

“Is that Zoya?”

Genya nods.

“Beside her are Nadia and Marie.”

The two women are fawning over Zoya, their hands wandering over her body. The man is draped between her thighs, his head ducked down as he licks leisurely at her cunt. It makes your core tighten.

“And…?”

Genya scoffs lightly in amusement when she sees where your gaze has stopped.

“The one between her legs is Nikolai.��

She takes your hand in hers, tugging you towards the side of the room.

“Here,” she says. “Let’s clean you up a little.”

The two of you find a quiet corner where you can sit undisturbed. There’s a number of smaller pools, that remind you of rock pools, where water bubbles cheerfully.

Genya finds a seat, settling down on a velvet bench that sits low to the ground. She scoops up a handful of water, splashing it over her face. Her fingers smooth across her cheeks, droplets clinging to her eyebrows and lashes. When she sees you watching her, a smile spreads across her face.

She dips her hands back into the water, shaking them lightly before she removes them and sweeps her wet hands over your face. The moisture makes your nose crinkle and Genya laughs softly.

“This water is enchanted.” You hum questioningly and Genya explains, “Being turned into stone so often takes a toll on our bodies. The water helps our muscles and joints stay healthy.”

She tilts her head, eyes tracing down your body while you consider this information.

“Should we clean off your legs?”

Looking down at your thighs, heat rushes through your body as you realise that the mess of your arousal has dried on your skin.

“I can do it, thank you.”

“Sit at the edge of the pool,” she suggests. A frown creases at your brows and she smirks with mischief in her eyes. “Zoya will be able to see you properly there.”

The temptation is too much to resist. It’s hard not to be aware of the eyes on you, as you sit down at the edge of the pool. But, after spending the beginning of the night with Aleksander and Alina, you feel a little thrill of pride as you lower your calves into the warm water, scooping up handfuls to clean your thighs.

The water is soothing against your skin, a comforting caress that clears away the evidence of your earlier climax.

At the far end of the room, a door opens and Alina steps inside. Almost everyone turns to look at her, as her eyes scour over the sea of faces until she lands on you. Unable to stop yourself, you smile and glance down at your bare toes, splashing them in the water beneath you.

She walks casually around the pool, her eyes rarely straying from you. When she reaches where you’re sitting, you tilt your head back to look up at her.

Alina sits down beside you, taking hold of your chin so that she can press a chaste kiss to your lips in greeting. A shy smile quirks at the corner of your mouth.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, your legs hanging down in the water as you watch the other statues lounging beside the pool. Then she turns to ask you,

“Has Genya told you why I make my statues?” With a frown, you shake your head. “Aleksander and I aren’t complete together. There’s a missing piece - another person to balance us.” She glances around the room, gesturing to all the people relaxing in the heat. “Every one of my statues is someone who I hoped might have been the one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aleksander’s mother was a prophet. She told him that our future partner will be a powerful Grisha. Someone capable of breaking my statue spell.”

Immediately, you think of the book you found in the library and attempt to remember how the spell could be broken. Before you make any progress in your recollection, you’re distracted by thoughts of how Aleksander had pressed you against the bookcase, leaving the hint of a kiss on your lips.

A flustered heat spreads over your cheeks and you look down shyly at your knees, hoping she can’t tell you’re thinking such thoughts about her husband. She traces her fingertips over your shoulder, drawing little patterns on your skin.

“The spell I placed on you is exceptionally hard to break. Do you know why?” You shake your head. She smiles. “Because you love me - and you like being my statue.”

Caught off guard, you’re painfully aware of your heart pounding in your chest, hot blood rushing to your cheeks and down your neck in response to her words. The feelings you have for her are still difficult to decipher and you’re mortified at her brazen acknowledgement of them.

She looks down at her knees, her feet swaying lightly in the water.

“All my statues love me - I created them - they can’t help it. That’s why you haven’t ever considered hurting me, even after what I’ve done to you. But the love you feel for me now… it isn’t real.”

Stunned by her words, you can only stare with parted lips. Something sharp twists in your chest. Strangely enough, it feels a lot like betrayal. The blossom of your feelings has been plucked, its petals tattered by the storm of emotion currently threatening to choke you.

She smiles sadly, reaching out to stroke your cheek. The ache inside you deepens at her touch. A tear spills down from your eye and you shake your head which causes her to drop her hand.

“No.” The word wavers on its way out. She tilts her head, frowning slightly as she tries to read your current emotions. It takes a moment for you to settle on one in particular - anger. “You don’t get to take my entire body away from me and then tell me what I can and can’t feel for you.” She leans closer, her hands reaching to comfort you and you recoil backwards. “Don't touch me.”

Alina freezes and for a brief moment you think she looks hurt. Guilt stings at your chest. Then her brows furrow together, her features darkening.

“I don’t appreciate that tone.”

Usually, you would be terrified of angering her, but in this moment you’re too upset to care. Tears blur your vision as you pull your legs from the water.

“Well, I don’t appreciate being a plaything to amuse you until someone better comes along.”

Her eyes widen, her expression dropping as you stand. Her voice is a near whisper that you barely hear as you hurry away.

“That’s not-”

The idea of your feelings towards them being artificial, something created by Alina’s magic, has you feeling foolish and eager to get away. They haven’t allowed you a moment alone since your second transformation into a statue and the heat that had initially been comforting is now strangling you.

A shiver runs over your wet skin as you walk through the corridors mindlessly by yourself, with no destination planned. Genya’s tour yesterday hadn’t been extensive and you soon find yourself in an unfamiliar area that looks like an entry hall.

As you walk towards the large oak door, your heart rate quickens in anticipation. There isn’t much hope in your thoughts when you reach for the handle, twisting it cautiously.

The door opens.

Stunned, you look back into the house, almost expecting someone to appear and stop you from leaving. But there’s no one there. From where you’re standing the house is silent, aside from the frantic beat of your heart.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your feet are bare. You’re only wearing a thin robe. But you aren’t escaping. A short walk in the gardens might help you clear your head.

The paths are winding, the route concealed by the tall bushes that line each side of the walkway. It’s almost like a maze. The thought of wandering until sunrise makes you worry. Would Aleksander and Alina look for you?

The sight of someone in the corner of your vision makes you halt in your tracks, stepping back behind a bush out of sight.

“You’re new,” she says.

Her accent isn’t the refined Old Ravkan that you’ve grown accustomed to hearing in the house. Rather naively, you stay still in the hopes of losing her attention.

“I can see you, little miss.” She laughs bluntly. “Not to mention that I can hear your heartbeat.”

Stepping forwards, you move away from your hiding spot.

“You’re a heartrender.”

She tilts her head, studying you for a long moment with her pale blue eyes before she nods.

“What’s your name?”

Genya had told you that only the statues that fall out of favour with Aleksander and Alina end up in the gardens. Even with your feelings hurt, you don’t want either of them to be upset with you. As a result, associating with someone in the gardens might not be the best idea. After some hesitation, you give her your name. She nods in acknowledgement.

“I’m Nina.”

“Why are you out here?”

She grins.

“I could ask you the same thing, little miss.” There’s a teasing spark in her eyes and you lower your gaze bashfully. When you don’t speak, continuing to wait for an answer, she sighs and explains,

“I fell in love. Aleksander didn’t approve.”

“What happened?”

She turns her head and you follow her gaze as it lands on a rather weathered statue in the centre of the neatly cropped lawn. The man is sitting on the ground, his expression fond as he looks at no one. Then it dawns on you.

“You’re one of Alina’s statues.”

She nods.

“As my punishment, Aleksander turned Matthias into stone. When one of us is a statue, the other is human.”

You can’t imagine how upsetting it must be, being separated from the person you love like this. Never able to talk to them, or hold them again. Yet so close. From what Genya has told you, Aleksander and Alina seem to care for their statues. But Alina’s admission has made you wary of your thought regarding them.

“I’d get back to the house if I were you,” Nina advises you. “Before they realise you’re missing. You don’t seem like the type to misbehave.”

Immediately, you shake your head at the thought of getting into trouble with Aleksander and Alina.

“I don’t know the way back.”

Nina raises a brow at you. For a moment, you feel like a lost little lamb. Helpless. Then she points down a pathway.

“Keep following that path until you reach the fountain. Walk through the rose garden, then you should be able to see the house from there.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugs.

“Don’t mention it.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Lost in thought, you wander aimlessly through the house. As you’re turning a corner, Aleksander appears out of nowhere, pinning you to the wall. His hand curls around your throat.

“You’ve upset my wife.” His words are cold and calm which sends a shiver down your spine.

“She upset me,” you protest, gasping in his hold as tears fill your eyes. “But neither of you care about that. You don’t care about me.”

“We don’t care?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the sound of the words on his tongue. Panic claws at you when you realise the skin beneath his palm is turning to stone. “You think we allow any of the others into our bed?”

Unable to stop yourself, you remark,

“What about Zoya?”

His anger sharpens, his grip tightening as he tilts his head aside to watch intently while your airway becomes restricted by marble.

“I have known Zoya for centuries. She helped me stave off the loneliness until I met my Alina.” With each word, his magic creeps over your skin, hardening your throat into marble. Dots swim over your vision, as breathing becomes even more difficult. “I don’t care which one of you started this petty rivalry but it ends now. You want to take Zoya’s place? Earn it. Is that understood?”

Only once you’ve nodded weakly does he finally release you. Without the pressure of his hand to keep you upright, you collapse. Instantly, you place a hand to your throat, rubbing the tender skin there as you heave in a flurry of shaky breaths. Teary-eyed, you stare up at him. If he regrets his actions, you don’t see it in his expression.

He strokes your cheek, ignoring how you flinch.

“I expect an apology before sunrise.”

There’s a hoarseness to your throat when you attempt to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you state shakily.

He grips your chin, tilting your head back to meet his darkened eyes.

“Not to me.”

A faint nod is all you’re capable of, but it seems to satisfy him and he strides away down the corridor.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you stumble back to your room. The only emotion you’re capable of feeling is utterly distraught, the shattered pieces of your heart digging into your lungs.

Once you reach the safety of your room, you close the door, slumping weakly against it as you tuck your thighs against your chest so that you can hide your face between your knees.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Genya. She smiles gently.

“Aleksander sent me. Are you alright?”

Immediately, you crumble in on yourself, bursting into tears. She wraps her arms around you, drawing you close as she steps into your room.

“I know,” she murmurs sympathetically as she strokes your hair. “He scared you - didn’t he?”

Genya guides you over towards the bed, setting the two of you down as you continue to cling onto her. She lets you sob, only stepping in occasionally when you forget to breathe. In this moment, you are so upset that you forget how self-conscious her beauty makes you, even when she wipes your runny nose until the skin is raw.

It isn’t long before you’re exhausted by your emotions.

She lowers your head onto her lap, so that she can smooth over your hair soothingly. The tears fall slower now, sliding heavily down your face. The two of you remain silent for a long time, the only sound being your tearful sniffles as you slowly begin to calm yourself.

“Genya?” She hums softly, encouraging you to continue. “How old are you?”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“We don’t really keep track of the days here,” she says lightly. “I used to count the summers, but gave up after so long. It doesn’t really matter to us.” Fresh tears bloom in your eyes, as you realise you are trapped here forever. Nothing can take you away from them, not even old age.

After a discrete sniffle, you ask,

“Were you one of the first ones?”

Her hand halts in its petting.

“What makes you think that?”

“They trust you.”

She pauses, before admitting,

“I was Aleksander’s first statue.”

At the mention of his name, you sit up to face her.

“Aleksander’s?”

She nods, stroking your cheek gently as she sweeps the tear-soaked hair from your face. You frown.

“But, doesn’t that mean you should be a statue now - at night?”

She shakes her head.

“As a wedding gift for Alina, he removed his magic from me, so that Alina could have me as hers. He did the same to Zoya.”

“Zoya?”

Saying her name, even in a whisper, makes you feel as though Aleksander and Alina are about to descend upon you for a scolding.

“Alina and I were friends almost instantly when she arrived here. Zoya has always been possessive - I think she and Alina are too alike - they bickered and fought from the moment they met. Belonging to Alina is a gift for me, but it’s a punishment for Zoya.”

Genya shuffles across the bed, until her feet are touching the ground. Then she tilts her head, studying your face.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Why don’t we freshen you up and head downstairs?”

The thought of sitting at the dinner table, in front of Aleksander and Alina and all the other statues, makes you want to hide in the wardrobe or under the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

A light frown crinkles at her brows.

“They won’t be happy if you skip a meal,” she warns you. Something must shift in your expression, because she softens her tone as she adds, “After dinner, you could speak to Alina about what happened between you.”

“I don’t want to, Genya,” you protest pitifully, your voice wavering as you wipe at your tearstained cheeks with agitation. “They hate me.”

“They don’t.”

Staring down at your hands, you admit rather brokenly,

“I think they do.”

She places a hand over yours, cupping your cheek with her other hand to guide your eyes upwards so that they meet hers.

“Neither of them are truly angry with you - maybe displeased but not angry. Trust me. If they were, we wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“I’d be out in the garden.”

She hums quietly, not an outright agreement but you know you’re right.

“Come on, let me clean you up. How did your feet end up so dirty?”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Aleksander’s expression is sombre as he enters the dining room. His eyes scan over each person at the table, and you avert your gaze when he gets to you. He sits down at the head of the table, the same seat as the other morning when you had eaten breakfast in his lap.

Everyone seems to be waiting for him to speak.

He adjusts the position of his cutlery, straightening the knife closest to his plate. Then he looks up directly at you.

“Alina won’t be joining us for dinner this evening.”

You feel sick to your stomach.

Unable to focus on anything but the storm of emotions swarming in your chest, you push your chair backwards, uncaring towards the scraping sound that attracts everyone’s attention.

Genya murmurs your name quietly, a comfort or a warning - you don’t know. Her hand tugs lightly on your dress, but you pull away easily, shaking your head to dismiss her sympathy. You don’t deserve it.

The weight of Aleksander’s eyes presses on you all the way to the doorway. You still feel watched, as you walk through the winding corridors towards their wing of the house.

Once you reach their door, nerves twist at your stomach but you force yourself to knock. The silence afterwards has you wringing your hands together. The sound of Alina’s voice makes your heart skip.

“Leave me be, Sasha.”

Drawing together your courage, you call out,

“Alina? Can I come in?”

There’s a pause. Then the door unlocks with a quiet click. The handle creaks lightly, before it glides open.

She’s sitting on their bed, wearing one of Aleksander’s shirts. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a velvet cushion and there’s twist in your chest when you realise it’s the same cushion she placed beneath your head when you were in your statue form.

Her eyes are lined with red, and guilt stirs in your stomach. She uncrosses her arms as you approach the bed. Some of the tension in your body eases when she pats the spot beside her rather amicably. Relief softens the frown creasing between your brows. She doesn’t seem displeased to see you.

When you sit down cautiously, she strokes her hand over your cheek.

“You look like you’ve been crying yourself sick,” she observes, her lips puckered into a sympathetic pout. Her concern makes your tears return.

“Alina,” you whisper brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

She regards you solemnly, her expression unreadable.

“Did Aleksander tell you to come apologise?”

Her question catches you off guard.

“I-” The thought of lying to her makes your throat tighten. The memory of Aleksander’s hand squeezing there causes a phantom ache. “He did, but I really am sorry. I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“You got upset.”

“Yes. I did,” you whisper shamefully, lowering your head to avoid her gaze.

She hooks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can meet your eyes.

“I understand,” she concedes. “I’m sorry too.”

You blink at her, confused.

“Aleksander was the first person to want me,” she says quietly, her thumb circling your lower lip. “It’s been such a long time, I will admit, I forgot how much it hurt thinking I was unwanted. But I saw it in your eyes, and it… surprised me.”

She tilts her head, considering her next words.

“Most of my statues don’t care that their feelings were created by my magic.” She traces over your cheek with her fingertips, stroking along your hairline tenderly. “You’ve fallen a lot harder than the rest of them.”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks. It’s ridiculous, falling for her so quickly, especially after everything she’s done to you.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiles and your stomach flips at how painfully beautiful she looks with mirth glistening in her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

There’s a small pause.

“Genya said that belonging to you is a gift,” you state. Alina hums in confirmation. Her eyes flicker between yours as she acknowledges your unspoken question.

“Aleksander made Genya his statue to keep her safe from her parents. Even though she loves him like a brother, being tied to such a powerful man always made her somewhat uncomfortable. Becoming mine freed her.”

That makes you pause, titling your head as you think. Their displays of affection might be unconventional, but Aleksander and Alina do seem to care for their statues.

“I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me.”

She shakes her head.

“I’ve explained it so many times - to almost all the newest statues - I don’t know why I got it wrong this time.”

“How can I make it up to you?” you ask shyly. “I’ll do anything.”

She blinks hopefully at you.

“Anything?” There’s only a brief moment of hesitation, before you nod. “Take your dress off.”

Her request doesn’t surprise you, though you still feel shy as you slip the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pushing the fabric over your hips before you drop it to the floor. She smiles widely, playing with a strand of your hair before sweeping it behind your ear.

“I’ve been thinking of a place for you, in the house.”

The thought of being moved out of their bedroom so quickly makes your stomach twist. Nervously, you fidget with your fingers.

“You have?”

She nods, tilting her head to gesture towards the centre of the room.

“Do you see that table?”

Hope enters your heart.

“Yes,” you whisper.

She places her hands on your hips, steering you backwards until your lower back hits the edge of the table. Slowly, she slides her hands beneath the crook of each of your knees, lifting you up onto the furniture. The surface is cold against your bare skin and a shudder rolls through you.

“Stay here,” she commands softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

She moves over to the side of the room, stooping down to open a cabinet and retrieve a bottle of dark liquid. After lifting the stopper, she pours a glassful and brings it over to you. With unsteady hands, you hold onto the glass, staring down at the contents.

“Drink it all.”

Not wanting to be seen as disobedient, you take a plentiful gulp before asking your question.

“What is it?”

She waits until you’ve swallowed another mouthful. The sharp fruit flavour quickly softens as it slides down your throat and the tension leaves your shoulders as you lick over your lips.

“It should help relax your muscles.” She smirks deviously. “So, I can push you into whatever position I want.”

The sweet taste lingers heavily on your tongue.

“What position are you thinking of?”

She takes the glass from you, licking the rim at the spot where your mouth had been. Arousal burns in your core. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, drinking in the sight of you growing so flustered and she grins.

She pushes you back further, your feet swinging off the floor, and your stomach flips at the sudden sense of vulnerability. Then she keeps pushing, lowering you down onto your back so that you’re lying in the centre of the table. A shiver runs over your skin when the cool surface meets your bare body.

Alina hooks her hands beneath your legs, lifting them up onto the table. She bends them, until your knees are pressed up on either side of your head, your cunt bared to the crystal chandelier directly above you.

“Can you hold your legs like this?”

Surprised at your own flexibility, you turn your head to study each of your legs.

“Yes.”

She beams at you.

“That’s my girl.”

Every inch of you burns delightfully. Hers.

She lowers her head between your legs. Her tongue slips through your folds, licking a stripe over your open cunt. A squeal and a moan converge in your throat at the sudden sensation and your face burns with embarrassment at the sound.

Alina lifts her head, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Stay just like this.”

She moves over to the side of the room, standing on tiptoe to reach for the decorative light fixture attached to the wall. The flame flutters as she grips the base, loosening it from the attachment that keeps it fixed there.

Her fingers are curled around the base, which acts as a slim handle as she carries it over to you.

She traces a fingertip lightly over the curve of your buttocks, a contemplative expression dancing in her eyes.

“I’d like to slot this inside you.”

Utterly taken aback, your mouth drops open.

“The candle?”

She laughs.

“No, silly girl.” She tilts the candle holder, gesturing to the handle. “This end here. Do you think you can hold it for me?”

“I-” You falter.

“It would make me very happy.”

Slumping your head back, you stare up at the ceiling, eyes wandering over the sharply cut gems as they reflect the low light of the chandelier.

“You’re coercing me,” you mumble in protest.

She grins, amused and proud.

“Yes.”

Closing your eyes, you push your embarrassment aside.

“Will you go slowly?”

Her expression softens.

“Of course.” She offers you the candle holder which you take with an unsteady hand. “Wait a moment.”

She moves over to her dressing table, opening a drawer which she searches through with a small frown on her face. With Alina busy, you take a moment to study the candle holder. The material is smooth in your hand. There’s a substantial weight to the metal and your core tightens at the thought of having the handle pushed inside you.

Alina returns with a small tub of cream which she scoops up with her fingers on one hand. Then she takes the candle holder from you, and you watch as she smears the cream over the handle.

She then slips her hand between your legs, tracing a firm circle over your sensitive cunt. The cream is cold and you twitch at the change in temperature. Her fingers delve inside you, curling as they search for the spot that makes your hips buck upwards with a startled gasp.

A deep moan catches in your throat as she begins to push the handle inside you. In your hand, the metal had felt almost room temperature but it’s like ice as it meets your red-hot cunt.

“There we go. Good girl. Take it all for me.”

She slides it further into you, so that the wick of the candle is pointing upwards towards the chandelier above you.

“With some practice, you might be able to hold onto a more weighty candlestick, one with several arms.” It’s hard to concentrate on anything while she’s twisting the base inside you. “A pretty little candelabra,” she teases.

A familiar stiffness enters your body, and you inhale sharply when you realise the sun must be rising. Alina strokes your thigh soothingly with a smile.

“It’s okay. Remember, you just need to relax.”

The idea of turning into a statue doesn’t scare you as much as it did the first time, but you still aren’t comfortable as the heavy sensation fills your body. Suddenly, you realise that she intends on keeping the candle holder inside you during your transformation - that during the day she will be able to use your body as a light fixture.

“Alina?”

She stills and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve spoken her name aloud in front of her. Her dark eyes fix onto yours.

“Yes?”

“What would happen if…” Embarassment makes you pause, as you struggle to gather your words. “…if I reached my climax the moment I turn back into a statue?”

She grins widely.

“Then you will stay in that blissful state for the entire day.”

“The entire day?”

She nods.

“It is a rather intense experience. The pleasure could break you.” She tilts her head, her eyes locked onto your soaked cunt as she continues to twist the handle inside you. The urge to squirm coils inside you, but with your body transforming all you can manage is a shiver.

“If I continue like this, you will stay on edge for the entire day.” She blinks at you. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your throat growing hoarse and dry as the skin of your neck turns to stone.

She hums, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You handled a day of edging rather well last time. I think we will stick to that until you’re better trained to withstand pleasure.”

Thoughts of how she might train your body to endure such pleasure has anticipation prickling up your spine. She smiles, releasing her hold on the candle holder so that she can lean over and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Pure bliss warms your body as you wake, a pleasurable fullness in your core that tempts you into sinking back into slumber. But the sound of voices keeps you somewhat awake.

“She thinks far too much.” A familiar voice. Aleksander. A firm hand strokes down your bare back.

“Well, I know how to remedy that.”

“And what do you suggest, my darling wife?”

“We spend the entire night in bed, passing her between one another. She can’t think if she’s drunk on pleasure.”

After blinking some of the sleep from your eyes, you shift your body slightly and realise you’re lying on someone’s bare chest - Aleksander.

His dark eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips, and your heart pounds violently as you attempt to remove yourself from him. Involuntarily, your cunt tightens around his cock - as if protesting the mere thought of your sudden exit. He settles both his hands on your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“Easy, little gem. I’m not mad at you.”

You blink at him.

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head, breathing out a soft,

“No. I’m not.” He rolls his hips upwards, drawing a low moan from you. “Alina told me you apologised.” His hips grind against yours, the head of his cock nudging the sweet spot inside that makes your skin tingle. “Therefore, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you gasp.

He breathes out a laugh.

His cock is so big inside you. It stretches you open with each thrust, nudging at your most sensitive areas which has your toes curling with pleasure.

Alina rests her hand against your stomach, stroking the skin there as she presses the area where her husband’s cock is. Her name is slurred as it tumbles from your lips. She laughs.

“Yesterday was a long day for you, little statue. You must be tired still. Get some more sleep.”

She kisses your temple and a fuzziness fills your head as her magic creeps into your mind. A delirious moan slips from your lips as you succumb to her spell.

Despite being asleep, you can still feel everything happening to your unconscious body, while your mind wanders through a medley of fantasies featuring Aleksander and Alina - which blur with reality until you don’t know what is actually happening.

Grinding your naked body into Alina’s, her hands grasping at your most sensitive areas. She slips her fingers inside you, prying your cunt open.

Kneeling between Aleksander’s thighs with Alina by your side. The two of you trade wet, open mouthed kisses. She takes Aleksander’s cock into her mouth, pretty pink lips stretched. The next time she kisses you, the taste of her husband clings to her tongue.

The head of Aleksander’s cock gliding over your dripping cunt.

Alina’s teeth grazing your nipple.

Her tongue licking up the length of your inner thigh.

The pad of his finger, rubbing your clit.

The sticky softness of Alina’s cunt against your tongue.

Distantly, you hear Aleksander curse in an ancient language you’ve only ever read on yellowed pages. His fingers dig into the soft plush of your cheeks as he grips your face while fucking into you relentlessly.

“Alya. Where do you want me to-” He groans sharply.

“Inside, Sasha,” she insists with a breathy sigh. The sound of her slick coated fingers, playing with her cunt makes your core tense. Her back arches as she whines softly. “Finish inside her.”

With a stifled gasp, Aleksander presses his forehead against your collarbone, as he nears his climax. His teeth dig violently into the hollow of your throat, the pain causing you to tighten around him, your cunt now strangling his cock.

The two of you moan in unison, grasping tightly onto one another as you both reach the peak of your pleasure, your bodies writhing in the throes of a violent, synchronised orgasm. Aleksander’s grip on your hips is tight, squeezing you as he groans.

Alina isn’t far behind, her frantic movements and moans registering distantly through the clouds of bliss fogging up your head. It takes quite some time for you to catch your breath. Even when Aleksander eventually pulls out from inside you, there’s a disconnect between your mind and your body.

Their magic hazes over your thoughts, dulling your awareness while she plays with Aleksander’s spend as it leaks out of you. The wet sound of her fingers and your unsteady breathing fills the room. She smears the creamy mess over your thighs, before ducking her head down to lap up the streaks with her tongue.

The three of you remain in bed, lying side by side. Unable to stop yourself, you look down at your hand, watching your thumb move slowly over your abdomen.

“You won’t end up with child,” Alina says quietly.

Startled, you look over at her with widened eyes.

“I won’t?”

She shakes her head.

“My magic stops your natural cycle.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes wander slowly down your body, settling on where your hand remains on your stomach.

“Besides, Aleksander and I can’t…” Her voice trails off into nothing and sadness traces its way over her features.

“Alina, I’m so sorry.”

She attempts a casual shrug.

“It’s probably for the best.”

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it softly.

“I’m still sorry.”

She slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your hips are pressed flush against hers, your legs tangled together. Her nose brushes against yours before she kisses you softly. Aleksander’s arm curls around the two of you, drawing you both closer to him.

He leaves a kiss on your shoulder, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck as he inhales a deep sigh. Another kiss is pressed against your pulse point as he murmurs in a voice so quiet you scarcely hear it.

“Thank you.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

#darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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