#darkling fanfiction

[hottpinkpenguin]

Could I request the Darkling x virgin reader where they go to bed together, but before they sleep together reader changes her mind as she's not ready. She's unsure how he will react, but darkling is super soft and reassuring and tells her they will only sleep together when she's ready/there's no rush or pressure etc...

A/n: I made you wait far too long for this anon!! this was a great prompt and i loved writing it. no one makes me melt more than Soft Darkling! hope you love it <33

Eager

Darkling X VirginFem!Reader Word Count: 2524 Warnings: fluff/spice (no smut), misogyny vibes (but not from Darkling!)

You felt utterly ridiculous standing in the middle of your expansive bedchamber, the lacy negligee Genya had picked out for you doing little to keep you warm. You had the bottom hem bunched in your shaking hands as you looked at yourself in the mirror. 

“Deep breaths,” Genya cooed gently as she brushed your hair down your back. You tried to follow her instructions, timing your inhales and exhales with hers. No amount of self-control could quite stifle the terrified stuttering of your heart in your chest. She knitted her brows at your reflection in the mirror.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” she observed softly. “But you shouldn’t be… terrified.” 

The corners of your mouth twitched as you fought the urge to cry. You were grateful for the dim light of the scattered candles in your room. It kept your sour expression cast in shadow. 

“I’m not terrified,” you argued weakly. “I’m just…” Your voice trailed off impotently as you tried to find the right word. Apprehensive? Embarrassed? Exhausted?

“Stressed.” You settled on a word that captured such a small fraction of the emotions swirling in your chest as to be almost negligible. You were terrified, although not in the way Genya assumed. You were anything but unsure of what you were about to do. In fact, you were utterly consumed with desire for Aleksander. The warm knot that boiled low and deep in your stomach confirmed that. Your heart skipped a beat as your pent-up mind thrust imagined scenes into your consciousness: your lips on the curve of his neck… the muscles on his back flexing as he climbs on top of you… his fingers digging into the flesh around your hips…

No, it wasn’t sex that you were terrified of. And it wasn’t Aleksander either. 

The source of your terror wasn’t anywhere outside of you. It was within you. You forced yourself to hold your own gaze in the mirror, staring down the demons in your own eyes. You need to confront this, you chided yourself. No more running. 

You were terrified of giving up this part of yourself to someone else. It wasn’t about Aleksander, and it wasn’t about the actions involved in giving it up. The thing that held your heart in an ice-cold vice was the fear of repercussions. You’d been raised in the Ravkan High Court your whole life, and as the only Lantsov daughter, your worth still hinged on antiquated rules tied to your purity. Your brothers Nikolai and Vasily had never known that kind of pressure, had never been forced to preserve their innocence for the bitter reward of bartering an advantageous marriage. 

You had Aleksander to thank for showing you your worth. He was the one who’d shown you what it meant to be truly valued, truly loved. He was the one who’d intervened on your behalf when you’d been standing at the altar, moments away from an ill-fated marriage to an abusive drunk. All your family had seen was the virginal princess wrapped in white - Ravka’s most valuable gift - and the massive coffers of your almost-husband’s family. Aleksander had seen a woman inches away from marrying what would ultimately be the death of her. He’d been the one to give you a choice. You loved him, completely and utterly, and he would be the one you’d choose to give yourself to, body and soul. 

But as much as you hated to admit it - as much as it stung to confront just how deeply rooted the twisted morals of your upbringing had become within your own mind - you hadn’t come to peace yet. You were flexing your newfound freedom a little more every day. With Aleksander by your side. But you needed more time. 

A gentle knock on the carved wooden doors that separated your bedchamber from the hall outside knocked you from your reverie. Genya stood hastily, smoothing her palm over the smooth waves of your hair one last time. She gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. You caught her hand under your own, nodding calmly as you smiled at her. You wondered if she could see the gratitude in your eyes. Aleksander was the first to show you true love, and Genya was the first to show you true friendship. You hoped that one day you’d be able to put into words just how much she’d saved you. 

She hesitated only briefly to smile back before she made her exit, disappearing through the doorway into the hall. You heard her exchange soft words with Aleksander before she closed the door behind her. 

You chuckled when you heard Aleksander knock again gently, asking if he could come in. Ever the gentleman, you thought as you replied affirmatively. The door opened a crack, deep shadows darkening the doorway. Aleksander seemed to materialize out of the very darkness itself. It was a strange manifestation of his powers, and one that you weren’t sure if he was fully aware of. You’d never mentioned it to him, preferring instead to let yourself be caught breathless by his presence each time. 

As always, you felt your breath tangle in your throat for an instant. The sight of him seemed to wipe your mind clean of all the worries and the conflicted emotions, leaving behind nothing more than that burning knot in your stomach. His dark eyes took in the scene before him, lingering on the vast expanses of your skin that he’d never seen before. For the first time since you’d slipped into the sheer, purple-tinted gown, you felt warm. You ignored the urge to demur and turn away under the heat of Aleksander’s hungry gaze. Instead, you rose from your seat in front of the dressing mirror and walked towards him. A gentle breeze from the open window next to your bed made the candlelight flicker, the hazy glow dancing in his eyes as he tracked your every movement. That delicious, warm knot low in your belly tightened at the closeness of him, the air between the two of you practically crackling with energy. 

“You look-”

You silenced what you were sure would have been a devastatingly appreciative compliment by pressing a finger to his full lips. He fell silent obediently, his eyes simmering like coals. It was rare for him to see you so confident. Usually he was the one guiding the interaction, but you felt incredibly powerful as he fell under your spell. His usually tense and vaguely troubled energy completely erased in favor of awe as he drank you in without an ounce of embarrassment. 

You replaced your finger with your lips, pressing yourself against his tall, strong frame. His hands raked up the side of your thighs, bunching the fabric of your gown up on your waist to expose the skin of your hips. His hands kept traveling upward, following your ribs from your sides up into the planes of your shoulders and your upper back. You let yourself melt into the kiss, moaning softly as he drank in every drop of what you were giving him with a hungry, seemingly bottomless need. 

His hands finally found their way up into your hair, tangling his fingers gently but firmly against your scalp as he pulled you back from his mouth. You looked up at him through slitted eyes, feeling drunk and whining at the loss of his mouth. He smirked, relishing in the effect his touch was having on you. 

“Eager are we, pretty girl?” 

Your stomach somersaulted at the pet name, your head spinning wildly as he bore back down on your mouth. His tongue pressed through your open lips, tasting you as if he’d never be sated. You could feel the seams between your thoughts starting to loosen, your mind falling under the intoxicating spell of lust. His hands released your hair and slid down your spine and over the swell of your backside. He hooked his hands under your ass, and you leapt up into his arms, twining your legs around his waist. He caught you easily, the muscles in his arms and back flexing with ease as he guided you backwards towards the luxurious bed. You felt the softness of the sheets envelop you as he laid you down, his weight settling on top of you not an instant later. It was all warmth and friction between you two, each of your hands roaming freely over the other’s body as you kept driving the kiss deeper. 

It wasn’t until you felt one of his hands slip over your naked hip and settle between your thighs that a familiar prick of uncertainty flared to life in the back of your mind. It was quiet but insistent, and like a lighthouse cutting through a thick fog, it brought your awareness crashing back into the moment with disappointing clarity.

Aleksander sensed your hesitation and broke the kiss, his eyes suddenly full of worry as he met your gaze. 

“Where’d you go?” he asked, his voice husky around the edges. The sound of it nearly wiped away the trace indecision that flitted around your thoughts like a gnat. But, as gorgeous as he looked hovering over you with a concerned expression, his breath more ragged than usual, you knew in your heart what your decision was.

“I… I want you… desperately want you. But… maybe not… maybe not tonight.” As the words came out in a halting mumble, you suddenly felt incredibly sheepish. A nagging voice in your head made the sharp observation that you’ve let him go this far, the least you can do is give the man what he needs and finish the job. 

You found you were unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you’d see in his gaze. You weren’t sure you could bear to disappoint Aleksander of all people. Much like a few minutes ago, you felt the edges of your mouth turn down and tremble, tears threatening your eyes. That hot, lusty urge that had almost consumed you moments before crumpled like tissue paper in your blood, and your cheeks burned with shame.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, rolling sideways onto the bed and gently guiding your chin upward with his thumb. “Never discount your needs with me.” His voice was serious, each word heavy with emphasis.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, drinking in the flickers of emotion in his mahogany-black eyes. 

“I don’t understand,” you mumbled in reply. 

“Do not say ‘maybe not tonight’ when what you mean is ‘not tonight’,” he clarified. His words felt like a riddle you were struggling to grasp. Sensing your confusion, he went on. “You deserve better than that. This-” he gestured to your two bodies, still somewhat intertwined on the bed- “will only give us what we want if we are clear on what we need.”

You’d never laid with a man, had never come this far into intimacy with Aleksander, but you recognized the truth in his words on an instinctual level. The bluntness with which he addressed you was strange and refreshing, and it emboldened you. You nodded in agreement, holding his gaze to show him you understood. He smiled after a moment, satisfied with your reaction. 

“My affection for you is not contingent on your body,” he added, anticipating the direction of your worries before your thoughts had a chance to get there. “I love you for all that you are, independent of what you share with me on any given night.” Your head spun, struggling under the weight of what you were sure was one of the most pure and powerful expressions of love that anyone had put to words. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as a crushing wave of appreciation for the man in front of you swallowed your thoughts.

Aleksander watched your emotions flash in your eyes, the tears causing him to frown slightly in confusion. He brushed a thumb at the corner of your lash line, wiping away the moisture there. His touch still sent shivers rippling over your skin, and you smiled at him. Emboldened by his devotion, you took a deep breath in and began to speak. 

“I don’t know how to give away this part of myself, Aleks. After having my virginity prized and sought after and protected for so long, I’m struggling to think of this-” you copied his gesture, referencing the space between you two where your legs tangled in his and your skin pressed on his torso “-as anything beyond duty. It’s getting better,” you added quickly, noticing the twinge of hurt in his eyes. “It is. Because of you. And I do love you. And I want this. I want to be yours, to give myself to you, including my body.” You had to swat away the urge to kiss him as you noticed the involuntary flicker of desire in his gaze at your words. “And I will. But not until I can think of sex as more than just… a gift.” 

The words tumbled out of your mouth faster than you could catch them. When you were done, you bit your lip, unsure if anything you’d confessed had made sense. You waited, studying Aleksander’s face. As usual, he was drinking you in, his intuition grasping at every minute detail in your tone, inflection, and expression. When you’d first met him, you’d been unnerved by how observant he was, how quickly he deduced your feelings and thoughts. At times, his studious attention was irritating  as it meant you couldn’t keep anything from him. But now, when you felt yourself drowning in a million emotions you weren’t sure had names, you were grateful for his ability to read you.

After a few long moments under his penetrating gaze, he smiled, softly chuckling. 

“What’s funny?” you asked, more curious than offended. He reached down and found your hand, resting on your stomach. He interlaced his fingers with yours and brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss there. When he raised his dark eyes back to yours, you saw nothing but adoration sparkling back at you. 

“You are, quite simply, the most incredible being I have ever known,” he said simply, as if he were reading a recipe list to you. “I would wait until the night swallows the sun for you. Whenever you’re ready, my love. You know where to find me.” His last words were mumbled slightly as he rolled over, twisting towards the edge of the bed. As elated as you were by his unequivocal acceptance of your boundary, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit rejected to see him turn to leave. 

“And where’s that, Aleks?” you asked. He half-turned back to you, one eyebrow raised in question. “Where will I find you?” you clarified. He smirked, picking up the candle on your bedside table and blowing it out with a confident exhale. 

“Right here,” he replied, settling in under the covers next to you, his arms wrapping around your barely clothed body and pulling you against him. You smiled in the darkness at the realization that he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were you…

[shawty-writes-a-little]

From Eden 2.

Part 1 Part2 Part3 Part4

Darkling x brekker!reader

Word count: 3k+

Warnings: fake deaths? Aleksander? He comes w his warnings S2 SPOILERS

Summary: The brekkers aren’t well with expressing concern without scowls and Aleksander haunts her dreams…but is it a dream?

An: ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!

—

From what y/n could gather of passage of time through the light of lamp lit street to sun rays, it was nearly about two days she was locked up where she was. When she was taken away she couldn’t gather where she was, but by the looks of the place from outside it seemed like a work space and where she was locked in was like a storage unit. Not difficult for Kaz to figure out either, pekka wouldn’t keep her at any obvious locations, Nina used one of wylan’s creations to help unlock the numbered storage under Pekka’s name which Jesper found out about. Nina escaped alongside y/n as Kaz outwitted pekka to escape the office of paperworks.

Everyone was quite out of state when they reached the cemetery, a certain new safe space that Kaz held. Even the wraith was hurt of the fight from the mad man. The entire walk to the shed at cemetery neither of them said anything, a sharp frown on both the brekker siblings’ faces.

As Y/n sat on the small of a seat inside the shed next to a lantern Kaz leaned to her level and roughly with his gloved hand moved his sister’s face from the jaw a bit to see her injuries, the punches and supposed beating from pekka’s men, it hurt more than Kaz’s pride. That was his family, the one person he had sole responsibility over to not get hurt and that’s what ended up happening. Being the man he was, always his expression unreadable, however as of now he gritted his teeth and called our “Nina.” And backed away for her to heal y/n. It seemed he was furious, he often let what he felt show on his face.

The small of the shed lit with three lanterns fell silent as Nina tended to Inej and y/n. Y/n gestured for Inej to be looked at rather immediately because her wounds were fresh and deeper whilst she had been quite alright pressing against most her wounds and the cuts on her face. “Two days…” Kaz breathed “Two days you have been back in ketterdam and you get kidnapped. Your favourite sport it seems?” Kaz taunted his sister, everyone had had quite the day and Kaz wasn’t one to point fingers for casualties and mistakes but his fear of loosing his sister resulted into suppressed anger of why she was lost in the first place.

“Oh?” y/n scoffed “Why I am really sorry Kaz…I am really sorry of all the bad blood you have with the entire population of ketterdam got to me. Let’s see next time when you’re outnumbered by a group of muscular men twice your size and the whole stadwatch apparently whe—“

“I would never end up the way you did.” Kaz stated interrupting her midway. Inej and Jesper shared a look with another that read how much they dreaded being here for the siblings quarrel.

“Surely.” Y/n nodded “You most definitely would’ve ended up worse than me because you are far more dislikable than I am.” Y/n added with a shrug, with that Nina snorted a bit as she continues to concentrate on inej’s wounds.

“You were placed in the smallest of room, most undisguised underground place we could find yet you managed to get yourself kidnapped!” Kaz replied running a frustrated hand through this hair “Quite the talent you have!”

“I wasn’t even on the streets…I was walking the hallway of the shady underground hotel you placed me in and the stadwatch were patrolling inside the hotel could you imagine?” She replied defending her circumstances. She wasn’t even aware of the weight of the problems on them by pekka at the moment so she truly did not believe strolling the small hallway to clear her mind would do any harm.

“What part of not to leave your room did you not understand?” Kaz replied raising his brow, more so agitated now.

“You did not tell me the stadwatch was after us, you did not tell me pekka was after us, you did not tell me about the crow club! You never do and that’s your problem you never explain any circumstances to me! You simply expect me to be the seven year old again in some cottage where you’d put bricks by the door and tell me not to leave?” Y/n replied, growing up after Jordie, Kaz picked up on his traits of keeping their siblings safe in ketterdam. The last place for children to be alone and safe but somehow Kaz managed from shelters under long stairways to footpaths to abandoned cottages every unfortunate place until he got where he was. It was a difficult long childhood of ‘y/n don’t open the door for anyone but me’ ‘don’t peek through the window’ ‘don’t answer if anyone is at the door’ ‘hide here if someone breaks in’. It was difficult but the two Brekkers grew up in the time and made it out of the hard childhood. It was very nerve wrecking and full of anxiety for Kaz to leave his sister alone whilst he worked here and there so the two could eat and frightening for little y/n to wait in an empty cold place hoping her brother could make it back. However things had changed by far better for them over the time and as of now y/n hated how Kaz viewed her as the vulnerable responsibility of his again but in truth when Y/n was kidnapped Kaz just felt like that child again anxious and worried the whole day if his sister was alright. “If I am that much of a responsibility and a bother to you why didn’t you just leave me on the other side of the fold!”

“It’s almost as if your stupidity spreads because I truly regret not doing so!” Kaz replied with a scoff as he left the room and after a long awkward silence Wylan and Jesper followed him out too.

As Nina wrapped up Inej both of them shared a sympathetic look to y/n aware that kaz’s last words must’ve stung a bit but y/n’s face wasn’t phased at the slightest. She had known Kaz and all his outbursts all her life, not that it didn’t hurt at the moment she was familiar with everything hurting she almost didn’t care to encounter with his words. With Aleksander’s passing, she was simply numb at the time, Nina began to heal y/n’s wounds and her cuts but all she could think of was Aleksander. Every moment spent with him flashing across her mind however much she wanted it to stop. She shifted in her place for Nina to work on her wounds and her touch took her back to certain moments.

“You are exaggerating!” Y/n exclaimed as Aleksander placed her on their bed gently, quite the upset frown on his face as he didn’t utter a word. There had been a certain casualty on one of the second army bases and y/n had gotten hurt, not something of a large extent yet Aleksander was unsettled far more than she was.

“Told you not to.” He muttered in a hushed quite cross-with-you way. He crouched on his knees by the side of the bed to attend the wounds on her face again after the healers had done so already. Y/n was aware she couldn’t ask him not to, he treated the slightest of scratch on her like his own. “Does that hurt?” He asked flatly as he gently rubbed the ointment by cut.

“I am alright Aleksander truly I understand you worry-“ she tried to explain to him but he wasn’t having any of it.

“You were bleeding y/n you are anything but alright.” Aleksander said interrupting her, “I just don’t understand what was the need for that huh? The troop could have handled themselves, what if you would’ve been injured far worse? What if the healers weren’t around to get you so fast?”

“Well I am not injured far worse and the healers were around.” Y/n stated with a shrug and a suppressed chuckle escaped her as much as she wanted to appear serious about her well being to Aleksander she couldn’t help but find his made up worse possible scenarios excessive.

“It isn’t funny y/n!” Aleksander exclaimed. “It wouldn’t be funny if you were seriously injured and I wouldn’t be funny if I had lost you alright?” He spoke agitated standing up as he turned away from her, getting difficult to look in the eyes of his love realising he’d almost lost her.

“Aleksander…” Y/n exhaled softly and stood up taking a small step to reach him and tried to make him face her by placing her hands by his shoulders but his firmly did not, “Aleksander look at me.” She asked him and forcefully got him to turn around to face her. “I am alright, flesh and bone. I am in front of you I am alright—I understand your worry I truly do but if you worry about the littlest of injuries on me you—“

“How can I not? My entire world lies within you!” He sighed and took her hands in his, he knew she wasn’t wrong with whatever she was promoting to say but at the same time they wasn’t anything she could say that would ever get him to not worry, ever get him to sleep alright any night she is away from her on army bases, “I don’t even want to go that far but everytime you end up in some casualty the mere thought of loosing you…just makes me-I don’t even want to think of a world where you don’t exist. It’s pointless existence, it’s dark, it’s excruciatingly lonely and with you it’s not so I apologise if you feel like I overbear you with my worry but is it not possible for a man drunk on love to hold his beloved as if he’s holding the whole world?”

Aleksander had said that day, where was he now? Where was he now to hold his world? Made it an immense thing for never having to be in a world without her did he not consider the same for her? True love consumes one’s soul, he made every whim and every inconvenience fade away…then he fades away himself. A place he’d never come back from. How could he simply just leave her for herself, she hoped for the circumstances to be reversed, her to die for once whilst he would be alive to deal with the hurt. The painful reality.

“Y/n!” Nina exclaimed pulling her out of her thoughts as she blinked her eyes for a moment and looked back at the heartrender, still solemn and neutral as if the most fond memories of her love didn’t haunt her mind, a trait like kaz’s…never let it show on your face. “Where did you just leave for a second saints…” she exhaled and finished the last of wrapping on her wounds. “There…that’s done! Are you alright?” Nina asked her and shared a look with Inej, they both saw how she looked confusedly out of place.

“Yes, doesn’t hurt.” Y/n replied with a shrug keeping her answer short, staring off into the stone wall.

“But are you alright?” Inej asked furthering Nina’s previous question with a different tone, she meant to look out for kaz’s sister just as much as she would for him. She is all family he has left, at the end of the day the void of family was always so heavy “Don’t pay much mind to what Kaz said, he didn’t mean it.” Inej said trying to console y/n who let on to be alright but was upset and seemed visibly annoyed at kaz’s remarks. If only she’d known.

“He is right though…I should’ve stayed at that side of the fold.” I should’ve stayed with him, I should’ve gotten a proper goodbye. All those morose thoughts occupied her head yet if she didn’t say it herself nobody would suspect it in their wildest dreams what she had indulged in. For now she felt it pointless to tell anyone either ways, Kaz would find her stupid given he already did and the others would show their pity and try hard to be sorry for her loss yet her grief was her own. Not as if their sympathy could bring him back and not as if their words would make her feel better. It was all her own.

—

On further days Kaz had y/n stay in wylan’s little laboratory given he had a clean slate out of stadwatch record and the crows were subjected to check in time to time so it was the safest place he could arrange at the moment, on the little couch in the damp laboratory of Wylan’s, Kaz had crouched to the ground strapping some knives on her sister’s boots “Oh how smart is that Kaz if someone were to attack me it would just take me about ten minutes to kneel, undo my boots, undo the knots on the knife, unsheathe the knife and stab them! How clever! Given just keeping a knife in my hand would take me about a second but why risk that? We’ve to ensure I end up almost dead again so you get to—“ y/n was about to taunt him sarcastically even more as Kaz tightly secured the knives by her boot and handed her one in her hands.

“I borrowed these from Inej.” He said and placed another one on her side “The ones on your boots are back up knives, keep these handy…” he said pointing to the ones he just placed by her sides and stood up with his cane back on his feet, “You are aware how to use them?” Kaz asked, he knew she was but he wanted to mock her on how he had to ask to ensure that. Typical sibling way.

“I don’t know I think I need to recall…maybe I can try the pointy end of knife on that Sokol river eyebrow of yours as practise?” She snapped at him turning the sheathed knife between her fingers.

“My eyebrows are perfectly normal.” He scoffed turning away from the couch she was sitting on and gave a nod to wylan as he left after giving him some instructions of what more he’d wanted of his lab sorcery.

—

After a few visits from Jesper and Inej here and there Wylan’s rants about certain chemicals and portions as he worked finally tired y/n as she dozed off on the couch on the underground laboratory. In her dream she found herself in council chambers. Council chambers she was familiar with it was a second army tent, dark outside with a lantern in her hand. She saw herself walk inside the tent as a voice called out in the dream, “My love…” said he as he walked out of the shadows. Aleksander.

For a moment she saw herself in the dream just pause, considering everything she was considering at the moment, throwing something at him—herself perhaps, shouting at him, crushing him for leaving her, “Aleksander.” She breathed as he walked across the table to her closer proximity.

“My my…” he spoke grimacing as he softly placed his hand by her cheeks to examine her cuts “Look at what they did to you.” He said to y/n as she stared at him, what hurt far worse was seeing him in her dreams knowing this is the only place she could do so.

“You left me…” her voice trailed off ignoring her remark as she looked away from him not meeting his gaze. “After everything…you made the selfish choice, you’ve left. You’ve left this world leaving it for me to exist alone…without you.” She complained, she did this in her head all day, this was yet another fragment of it just in her sleep she gathered. Her mind trying to comfort her, visualising the voice of her complains.

Aleksander took her hands in his gently, his touch, his touch felt so real, so longed as if she had been home for the first time but in the back of her mind she was aware this wasn’t real “You took off the wedding ring…” he pointed out with a hushed tone, not upset nor angry just solemn understandingly sad tone.

“You abandoned me…” y/n repeated the subject she brought up, she took her hands out of his and gripped the collar of his kefta “You abandoned me! You died…you made promised-you-I loved you..I-I love you! And you aren’t here you died you’ve left me and-“

“I am here aren’t I?” Aleksander reminded her gently bringing her face to look at him, look at him in the eyes. With a soft smile he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear, he seemed his relaxed self, as if this was one of the serene evenings at little palace.

“No you’re not…” she said letting out a dejected huff and tears prickled her eyes. Arguing with her own mind is what this would be given it was her dream yet Aleksander seemed so…himself.

“I am.” He corrected her “I am right here for you…I-I wouldn’t ever leave you. Didn’t I promise you that?”

“You promised me and yet you left…” she repeated as if to herself, getting her mind to confirm over and over he is gone and to accept that. “You…why are you doing this?” She said moving away and rubbed her eyes, “The ghost of you is haunting my dreams…” she groaned cursing her mind playing tricks on her.

“Y/n listen to me…” This time he firmly placed his hands on her shoulders and made him face her “I haven’t left you. I’m not gone…” with that he simply vanished and y/n breathed heavily jolting out of her dream. It was a dream…It was a dream? It took herself a few moments to come to terms with that herself and get used to the surroundings as she found Jesper and wylan by her side staring.

“Are you alright?” Wylan asked as she jumped out of her seat on the couch, baffled but settled into reality her heart raced so fast.

“You look like you were being chased by wild dogs in an open field!” Jesper commented at her frantic state but she was too out of mind to register that.

“What does that even mean?” Wylan asked Jesper quite confused at his phrasing.

“What like you haven’t ever been chased by dogs in an open field?” Jesper asked in a matter-of-factly manner.

“You could’ve just said she looked like she ran a lot what does being chased by dogs even have anything to do with this?” Wylan asked raising a brow, both of them indulged in petty debate as y/n panted leaning forward on Wylan’s desk for support “Ah don’t go near that!” He exclaimed as he stood up and moves the sizzling portion rack away from her, “Still are you alright? It looks like it was a bad dream…”

“You can talk to us about it if you want to.” Jesper offered her with a comforting smile.

“No-no—I uh-I am fine I just need some air.” Y/n replied out of breath and rushed to leave the lab leaving Jesper and Wylan confused and concerned.

—

HI HIIIII I turn 16 today

It’s my yearly tradition to post a piece on my bday and I have had the most hectic week ever but I made this possible regardless please let me know what you think <3

Tags: @gwenspter @mori1b2bpad @budugu @duchcess @sloppyzengarden

[moonlightgrisha]

Little Palace at Night

Ch. 10 After your grand display, you must face the consequence. Are you content with losing the Black General's trust? [Masterlist] Previous - Next

All days look the same.

Training with Botkin, summoning with Baghra, reading your books, and try to get some sleep.

You wear your kefta, blue as the Etheralki's uniform. It was given you as soon as you returned to the Little Palace. Nobody asked you if you would have chosen another color.

Some Grisha actually like you. They are fascinated by your strange nature, they help you feel at home, they don't care where you are from.

Some others don't make an effort to hide their dissatisfaction. You are a joke to them, a little spoiled royal whose pretty tricks are good only for tea parties.

You walk among them like a ghost.

You spend all your free time reading, especially all reports about war, politics and diplomacy you can get your hands on. The rest of the day you dive right into your training, even though you are not that strong as Botkin would like, or even close to anything Baghra would find acceptable.

Baghra, indeed, is the finishing touch of all your days. No matter how inadequate you may feel, she always manages to make you feel worse. She urges you to learn summoning in the daylight, which seems impossible at first, but as you start practising it, she finds more and more flaws.

She says it's a waste, all this power in a vain little princess like yourself.

You know she's trying to make you angry. And you get angry, and sometimes leave slamming the door of her bloody hut, but you always come back, because you want to learn. You want to master your power.

Baghra may whine as much as she pleases, but you are learning fast.

Genya introduces you to David, a lovely Durast who wants to know everything about your moon summoning, even though you don't know much yourself. He claims that light, like all things, is matter, and you can use it as a blade or a bullet in the same way you shape it as sparkles or spheres. Maybe General Kirigan could teach you the Cut. David insists about it, saying he's pretty sure you can work on your own version.

You don't reply to that.

You have not talked to the Darkling for a while, now. If he asks about you, requesting reports of your training, you are not aware. You see him, of course, passing through the Little Palace and sometimes at dinner, but he never speaks to you, and you never go after him.

You pretend you don't care.

But you find yourself going over and over your last conversation at the Winter Palace, always in the most unconvenient places, like during your training, or when you lie in bed, exhausted after a long day. It is unnerving, and you must put a stop to it, but you don't know how.

There is no friendship between you and him, as both of you have already made clear in your own choice of words.

You will never, ever make the first move, ever.

And you will never apologize. For what!? Just to have your little skirmishes back?

You have more important things to think about, now.

That's what you set your mind about, and you carry on stubbornly.

You'd never think you'd be betrayed by your own body, in your own beloved nighttime.

So, tonight, when you wake up with a startle, finding yourself standing instead of lying in bed, it takes a while before you realize you have been sleepwalking for the first time since you moved to the Little Palace.

Those few seconds feel like a vortex of confusion. You look around, lost, and grab whatever is in front of you. Well, whoever, actually.

As you look up, it turns out it is the General himself.

You try to step back, but he takes a firmer grip on you.

You look at him in confusion long enough to make him feel compelled to speak.

"You exited your quarters and didn't seem alert. The opchrinki reported to me". he explains.

That's the first time you hear his voice in so many weeks, you lost count.

"Sleepwalking", you manage to answer. "See, I did not lie about that".

"No", he repeats, his voice low. "You didn't".

The shapes around you are clearer, now. You are right in front of his rooms, and the door is opened. Why on earth were you going there?

"I am sorry to have disturbed you", you say. "Goodnight".

He shakes his head, and only then you notice you are shaking, too. Your hands tremble, even in his firm grip. "You are in a state. Please".

He gestures to the open door, and before you can refuse, you have already stepped inside.

The light is dimmer than you remember, and he is not wearing his kefta, but a black, loose shirt that looks much more informal. He gestures to an armchair and while you go sit, you ask: "Did I wake you up?"

"You did not". He pours something in a glass, then hands It to you. "I am not having much sleep these days".

His war table is set up with miniatures soldiers and banners. You look at it, while you take the glass to your lips, capturing an unfamiliar scent. "I thought you did not drink liquors".

"I said I do, sometimes. And I reckon you need something stronger than tea".

You sit in silence, sipping the liquid. He leans on the war table, observing his miniature army, stubbornly ignoring you. But you can only be ignored so long.

"That Is quite the army, General Zlatan has gathered", you remark.

He doesn't even lift his gaze from the table. "What would you possibly know of General Zlatan's wherabouts".

His dismissive tone enrages you. You put down your drink. He doesn't know yet, but you can play this game just as he does, maybe even better.

"Well, according to rumors, and to the pamphlets that have been smuggled around in the stables, he has been gathering quite an army in Os Kervo. Deserters, mostly, but regulars too. It seems, our First Army General believes West Ravka might be better off without the Royal Family. You'd be surprised, he doesn't have kind words for you, too. Plus, his father's country estate is not that far from my aunt's, and I remember stepping on the General's feet a few times at receptions. I also remember him not being fond of the Lantsov. Strange way to charme a girl with royal ties."

The Darkling is staring at you, now. How satisfying, finally being more interesting than his miniature army. It takes him a long time to try to speak. "How-"

"I read".

You can spot the ghost of a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth.

"And what does he say about me?"

"That you are arrogant, impulsive and positively dictatorial".

"And do you agree with him?"

"Are you trying to dislike me even more, General?"

He chuckles, and you might think you have won him over, at last. But it's not that easy, and it has only started.

"I do not dislike you, princess. I don't trust you".

Delusion is not easy to hide, but you try to mask it with pride. "You only call me princess out of spite" you reply.

"How would you have me call you, then? Moon Summoner? Or maybe Sankta?"

"I have a name, you know. And you do too, even if you never cared to tell me"

He frowns. The shadows are starting to consume the already feeble light, but maybe you are just imagining it. His words, though, are as sharp as rocks. "My name is something to be earned".

If this was a chance of reconciliation, it went terribly wrong. You stand up and move to the door, without a second look. "I shall leave you to it. Goodnight".

But then, you reconsider. There is still a way, maybe, if you can swallow your pride. It might not get through him, but it could make you feel better.

You are almost on the door when you turn to him. Your words are like a river in flood.

"You know, I really am sorry for disobeying your orders. I was reckless. At the same time, I don't regret it a bit. Isn't that strange? I am still convinced it was the right thing to do. But I should have discussed it with you. Maybe I would have done it anyway, even if you didn't approve, but sneaking behind your back was vile. Just, please, know… I cared for your support more than my actions might have shown. And my satisfaction in putting the Queen in her place was utterly ruined by the fact that you were staring at me like the finest traitor of the lot. Thank you for the drink, It made me look like a fool even more. Goodnight."

You turn around, planning to leave as fast as you can. There will be time to consider all the things that escaped your mouth, later, in your bed, as another sleepless night comes to an end.

But you cannot leave. He has come after you, and he's holding you back, his hand on your wrist.

You look back at him in disbelief.

"Let's walk", he says, slowly. His eyes are such a mistery, he looks at you like he has been knowing you for his all life, and yet you know so little of him.

"Fine".

The two of you walk together in the empty corridors of the Little Palace. There's not a sound, not a soul. Beams of light are cutting through the windows, breaking the thick darkness which you step on.

He takes you outside, on a terrace leading to one of the courtyards. The fresh night air dissipates the last bits of anguish that linger in your heart. Behind you, the Little Palace shines in the night.

"You care so much to regain my trust. Why?"

He has been observing you for a while, already, but you only noticed now. You were captivated by the night sky, the moon you belong to, watching over you. Under this shimmering darkness, you feel you can reply honestly.

"I sometimes think you are the only one who could really understand this". You open your hand, and the glow seems to reflect the moon up above. He looks, charmed as he has always been by your power, and shakes his head.

"I wouldn't dare. A rare power like yours, I cannot begin to understand".

"Just like yours might be incomprehensible to most".

"Not to you?"

"I think I have known darkness all my life".

Your words leave him speechless. You realize something has changed in him, you feel it in the way he stands next to you, hands behind his back, composed as always, but with restless eyes, deep breathing.

When he finally speaks, he has regained control of his emotions, or this is what he wants you to think.

"You wield a majestic power, you know politics, and your insight has proven right more than once. We would be powerful allies".

"And the matter of trust?" you ask, your heart racing.

"You seem willing to work on that".

You look at him and see a wicked smile on his lips. There is tenderness and provocation, and oh, you like this game, but you'd never let him win. "This is not only on me. I require more clarity from you too. If we are to work together, we shall be equals".

You hold out your hand. He waits a moment, then he shakes it, but instead of letting you go, he holds it a bit longer, a bit closer. This is not an handshake anymore. But then he makes one of his witty remarks.

"Fine. You do know how to strike a bargain, princess".

You snort, annoyed, and take back your hand. "Please!"

You lean on the terrace and look once more at the darkened landscape, the silent woods, the silhouette of the Little Palace lying asleep under the moon. Finally, you turn to him, and you don't know this, but your smile, and the randomness of what you say next, it fatally breaks his heart .

"After all this melodrama, if I ever find out you betrayed my trust, General, that will be the end of you".

He smiles back, bitter and aching, but you mistake it for a smirk. His voice is a whisper that gets lost in the night.

"And the end of me shall be".

Taglist

@mysweetlittledesire@budugu@flostvs1508@aoi-targaryen@sakshi2005 @rainy-day-lady @sakuracheol @sentimental---circus @thelastemzy

[padfootagain]

Requests are open!

Fics are organized from oldest to newest.

Running

After a particularly violent battle, only a handful of soldiers remain. The aftermath is difficult for everyone, while you travel across the country in search of a safe place. Even the most stoic ones can show weakness sometimes…

Like Tracing Lines

The Darkling has always kept an eye on you, from afar, although he doesn’t admit why. But when the Sun Summoner arrives at the Little Palace, your lonely habits seem to grow exponentially, and he is more and more worried about you.

Hold My Hand Instead Of His

You are engaged to the Prince of Ravka, through an arranged marriage, in order to pacify relations between Grisha and otkazat’sya. The issue: Nikolai Lantsov is not your soulmate, and you are torn between duty and love.

Nothing here for now.

The Last Ones on Earth

You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...

Masterlist for The Last Ones on Earth

Nothing for now.

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

With Fire and Blood, and the Darkness in Between

Darkling/General Kirigan/Aleksander Morozova x Targaryen!Reader

Part 2

Shadow and Bone and Game of Thrones crossover

Part 1

A/N: Part 2 is finally here lovelies! Just wanted to provide some backstory for the character before she meets General Kirigan in the next chapter. I hope y’all enjoy! As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing you guys’ thoughts! 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the youngest Targaryen and the half-sister of Daenerys. You had lived most of your life in captivity, shut off from the world after your brother Viserys married you off to an old lord at the age of 12 as means to get rid of you for being a half-breed. You used to be a bright and free-spirited child who saw nothing but the goodness in those around you, but the experiences you faced made you grow cold and distant with a lack of remorse for the wicked. Not wanting to live the life your brother had chained you to, you ran away and finally reunited with your sister and helped her win back the throne. (Season 8 never happened) Wanting to build a life of your own, you set sail across the seas with your dragons and army, traveling far and wide before venturing into foreign land in a place called Ravka where you stumble upon a kingdom with a king who you loathe, believing him undeserving of rule. During your stay there, you cross paths with a certain raven-haired general with aspirations of his own. Will you stand alongside him in his mission, or will you take the throne for your own and rule as Y/N Targaryen, the Dragon Witch Queen of Ravka?

Warnings: vulgar language, mentions of rape and abuse and suicide, mentions of abuse against a minor, mentions of incestuous themes, violence and gore, sexual themes. This series will have some dark themes so please read at your own risk.

Notes: slow burn, angst, enemies to lovers trope. Flashbacks are in italics. Current time is in normal font.

Day had turned to night, and all the light that remained of the rays of the sun touching upon the earth, had disappeared into blackness like the life you just left behind. You had remained by Ser Bjorn Maurinus's side that entire evening, seated on one of the wooden crates as you stared out into the pitch black depths of the sea that not even the moon itself was able to cast it's light upon.

Your hands were tucked into the pocket of your dress, the wool fiber of the fabric irritating the softness of your pampered skin as your fingers played with the glass vial that Sir Bjorn had given you. Contemplating the event that was ever so quickly dawning near, you had half a mind to throw yourself into the ocean and let the obsidian waters consume every last ounce of your very being. And though you so desperately longed for those cold hands of death to wrap it’s claw like fingers around your heart and tear it out, your thoughts only ever returned to your sister who would only be waiting your return until death itself stood in front of her.

You had attempted to strike a conversation with the forbidding Braavosi whose resemblance you found to be similar to a hawk, but your words only fell on deaf ears, for the man had not uttered a single response in your direction, his expression as stony as the last. And so you sat in silence, shivering against the cold ocean breeze that felt like daggers across your cheek, with nothing but the furs of your cloak and the howling of the wind to keep you company.

"M'lady." you heard a gruff, slightly slurred voice from behind you, turning around to see that one of Lord Pythias's men had approached you, a small lantern held in his grimy hand and a piece of dried beef in the other. The small yellow flame kept within the lantern illuminated parts of his face in almost a ghoulish manner, darkening every line and indentations that marked his skin. His face and overall appearance was poorly kept, as was with many of the sailors and the men aboard this ship. His hair, like sticks of straw, thinned at his scalp before dropping down to his shoulders in a knotted mess, and his clothes hung loosely about his frail body as if they recently belonged to someone of a much larger size. His beady, yellowed eyes roamed your tiny frame as he chewed on the piece of meat like a dog would on a bone, flashing his blackened rotted teeth and his swollen gums which you had noticed as signs of scurvy from the books you came across from your days spent in the library back home. "Lord Pythias demands your presence."

You twisted your lips at the sight, clutching your cloak closer to you from his gaze before quickly searching to Ser Bjorn for any kind of support in the matter, but the man only looked ahead at the darkness of the sea that mirrored his dark eyes. "Alright." You nodded, refusing to meet the sailor's eyes, making sure to steer clear of him as you made your way over to the chambers of his lord while your mind remained ever so focused on the vial in your pocket. The ship swayed amongst the waves beneath your feet as you maintained your balance, but the prying eyes and snickers of the men around you made you cower, wanting to fall right through the wooden boards beneath you.

The world seemed to close in around you as you brought your hand up the door that separated you and your unworthy husband, the very thing that would soon dictate how tonight and the rest of your days would end as you shut your eyes in a small prayer to the gods. You had never thought yourself to be a religious person, but in this moment where it seemed as if the whole world was waiting to devour you whole, you plucked out whatever faith you had left in you, begging the gods to your aid before rapping your knuckles lightly against the slab of wood. "May I come in?"

"You may."

The room was dull and lifeless as you entered, lit only by a few candles that somehow seemed to darken the area despite its purpose, as if it were sending you a warning about the dangers you would soon face. You could not help but scrunch your nose in disgust at the dampness of the air once you stepped in and closed the door behind you; the smell of sweat and mold reeking heavily about. Lord Pythias was stationed at the foot of his bed, finishing away his plate of bread and dried meat, wearing nothing but a cotton tunic and his trousers. Twisting your lips at his mannerisms, from the crumbs falling from his mouth and bouncing off his big belly before falling at his exposed and hairy feet, to the sound of the smacking of his lips that echoed across the room convinced your ears to want to tear themselves from your head.

Lord Pythias gave you a once over, licking off his sausage-like fingers before beckoning you over with his grubby hand. “Come here.”

You hesitated, your nails digging into the skin on your palms as you compelled your legs to move from their stubborn place despite no matter how much you wanted to run in the opposite direction away from him. Slowly, you made your way over to the man, your each step seemingly smaller than the last while your eyes remained glued to the wooden floor. Your footsteps resonated in the chamber until his hand landed a heavy strike to your cheek, catching you completely off guard as the sound echoed through the silence of the room.

“You will answer me with m’lord. Is that clear?”

The burning left over by the strike of his hand spread through your face as you stared at the floor for a moment, frozen in shock with your hand pressed to your stinging cheek. You could have sworn your nails were going to tear through the skin of your palm as you forced yourself to look up at him with misty eyes masked by the rage behind them, your voice small though every inch of your skin burned with the urge to slit his throat. “Yes….my lord. Forgive me my lord.”

“Now fetch me a glass of ale there on the table.” The man let out a loud and heavy burp before setting the plate aside and wiping his hands off at the front of his tunic, his hands leaving stained streaks of yellow from the oil that coated them as his bulging eyes watched you hungrily as you walked away. “And when you’re through with that. I want you to undress yourself.”

“.......Yes my lord.” You muttered in response with your back facing him as you wiped away the hot tear that fell down your cheek. Your hands shook as you uncorked the warm bottle of ale, pouring the amber colored liquid into his goblet and remembering what Ser Bjorn had told you at your wedding feast. Just a single drop. Slowly, you ever so slightly turned your head to make sure he wasn’t looking in your direction. Seeing that he was currently preoccupied with undressing himself, you slipped your hand into your pocket, pulling out the small glass vial and staring into the slightly tinted liquid, your eyes distant with the thoughts that filled them. Damn you Viserys, damn you and your ambitions.

You found yourself wanting nothing more than to return home, even preferring to be in the presence of your brother than here with this vile old man. At least back home, you had your sister. Here, you had no one, not a single soul. You were alone, a Targaryen alone in the world. Popping open the cork, you let a single drop fall into the cup before returning it to your pocket, watching the potion ripple out like the clouds of an oncoming storm. Swirling the contents of the goblet in your hands and watching the potion disappear into the drink, you headed back to where Pythias sat on the bed, disgusted and terrified with his naked appearance. After all, you had never seen a man unclothed before, nor was it something that you wanted to see in the first place. With trembling hands that thankfully went unnoticed, you handed him his goblet, watching the man lift the cup to his lips.

Lord Pythias tilted his head back, downing the drink in one go. And as you expected it to soon be over, that you would be able to taste just the smallest amount of your short-lived freedom, your heart skipped a beat as he grabbed your wrist roughly, yanking you closer to him. "I thought I gave you an order, little bitch."

“P-please.” Tears once again formed in your eyes as you tried to twist out of his hold, but his large clammy hand only grew tighter around your delicate wrist, his rough fingers like sandpaper against your skin while his other hand seized the fabric of your dress in an attempt to tear it off.

Thump! Ba-thump!

Came the sound within the confines of your mind, repeating against the violent throbbing in your head.

Thump! Ba-thump!

You could not tell if it was the chamber door or the beating of your own heart that enfolded your senses as the terror within you only increased. Your heart pounded rapidly by the minute, growing steadily against the silence around you. Trapped between your panic-stricken fear and the strength of the man more than twice your size, there came this sharp pain that felt as if a thousand needles had pierced through your ribcage, as if your own heart were to burst through it’s cage. Your skin dropped in temperature, loosing all warmth as you began to tremble.

You were beyond terrified, unsure of if you would scream or vomit at the situation at hand between the spiked drink and his nakedness and the fact that he was still conscious. In fact, you tried to scream, but not a single sound escaped the hollowness in you. Even if you did, who could have heard you or would even come to your rescue. No one. And that fact alone filled you with dread. You began to fear the potency of the potion that Ser Bjorn had given you, wondering whether it would do what was promised in order to protect yourself from this man before you. You were frightened of what would happen if it did not work, of what were to happen to you. What if it were a test? What if there was nothing in that vial in the first place and that this was all just a test of your loyalty to your new lord?

But your hopes were soon granted, for as you stood, you watched Lord Pythias sway in his seated position, slurring out something incomprehensible as his eyes slowly shut before his large body fell back on the bed in a deep sleep. A breath that you had kept in this whole time was finally released from your lips in a trembled silent cry as you stepped back from the bed with staggering steps, your eyes glued to the sleeping form of the man who was just a second away from assaulting you.

A small glint against the candlelight had caught your attention, and as you turned towards it, you found Lord Pythias's small knife sitting almost invitingly upon the table. You gazed upon the blade in a tranced state as if it were calling out to you, beckoning you to it. Your mind jumped to complete desperation as you returned your attention to the sleeping form of Lord Pythias, listening to his snores rumbling through the emptiness of his chamber. Refusing to leave your eyes off him in fear that he would stir from his state of unconsciousness, you closed your fingers around the handle of the knife and clutched it tightly in your sweaty palms. Your breaths heaved in your chest as you neared him with the blade raised above you, the room seeming to darken around you until a hand covered itself over your mouth.

Your eyes widened at the contact, feeling an arm wrap around your midsection as you tried to scream, but your voice was only muffled as the intruder yanked the knife from your hands and set it back on the table before lifting you up and carrying you out from the chamber. You thrashed violently against the individual, your arms flailing about as you tried to tear away at him, but your efforts came fruitless as he only held you tighter, dragging you out before taking you away to a darkened corner of the ship. His hands loosened around your torse to toss you to the floor, and as you fell down to your knees, you looked up at your captor to see none other than Ser Bjorn standing above you with a scowl on his thin lips.

"You?" You gasped, bringing yourself up to glare right back at him. "What was that for?"

"Have you lost your mind GIRL?" Ser Bjorn bent over to hiss at you, grabbing you roughly by your arm and pulling you further into the darkness, away from the prying eyes of the immoral men that lurked about the ship. "What in the seven hells did you think you were doing?!"

"I was trying to kill him." You scowled.

"With what?" Ser Bjorn let go of your arm with a scoff, straightening up his tall frame as he did so. "A dinner knife? Has the girl even held a blade before?"

"I want him dead!"

"Oh? And what then? What of the rest of the men here hm? You think one dead fuck is going to keep the rest of these cunts from doing anything to you?"

Your lips twisted into a frown, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill as your voice grew quieter, your frame shrinking in the shadows casted by the small lantern hung up on of the posts. "I just........I want to go home. I.....I-want to go home."

"There's no going back now girl.” Ser Bjorn spoke firmly, looking pathetically over your trembling form before ushering you to be quiet as he pulled something out from behind him. "Here, take this."

You glanced down at the item in his hand; a small dagger. You had recognized the simple yet intricate blade at his hip when you first saw him approach your brother at the hall. “But it’s yours.”

"Take it girl." Ser Bjorn exasperated at your hesitation, gritting his teeth as he did so.

You gave the man a quick look, observing his serious expression with distrust before taking the dagger from his hands, pulling the blade out from its sheath to stare at the shine of the sharp metal. "Why?"

"For when the time comes that you may need it. But use it you will not."

"What do you mean? How am I not allowed to use it?"

"The potion you will use daily when necessary."

"But that doesn’t make any sense-“

"You will do as I have told you. Does the girl understand?"

"But-"

"Does the girl understand? I will not be saying it again." Ser Bjorn glowered down at you, his obsidian eyes boring into your own.

".........Yes." You muttered out with a tight jaw, wondering whyever he would bother to help you despite being of alliance to Lord Pythias and being the cold hearted man that he was.

"Good. Now rest. The journey ahead of us is long." The Braavosi turned his back to you, returning to his speechless state. Not a single ounce of emotion had passed through him during the whole conversation, not even a shrivel of empathy, just as when you had first met him.

Being the stubborn young girl you were, you let out a huff of air, sticking the small dagger into the belt of your dress before finding a spot in the corner where there sat sacks of flour stacked upon the floor. Laying yourself on top of the rough burlap sacks, you brought your knees up to your chest with your back facing Ser Bjorn as he stood watch. You clutched your cloak closer to your small frame to protect yourself against the coldness of the night air that you were not used to, shivering as you shut your eyes and finally released all the anger and all the despair that you had locked within to keep yourself from appearing weak. Your face became wet from your emotions as you curled into a fetal position, using the fabric of your cloak to muffle out your cries as you let the tears of your worries drown you to a deep slumber.

The sun rested high amongst the pale blue sky, nestled between the porcelain clouds like a drop of gold in a field of cotton. It’s rays shined down on the city in streaks of gold as you sat on the grass that covered one of the hills overlooking the sea, watching the ships depart and arrive at the wooden docks of King's Landing. The cool breeze blew against you, blowing back the loose strands of your hair that framed your face from your elaborate braids as you listened to the bells that rang out through the city. You could almost taste the salt of the ocean air upon your tongue from where you sat in the distance, your small leather bound sketchbook spread open on your lap and your stick of sanguine chalk held between your fingers as you tapped the end of the chalk lightly against the parchment.

In the distance, there came the sound of something above you, a flutter of wings about the air and an echo of a screech. And as you looked to the sky, squinting against the sun as you did so, you saw your two dragons drawing near, the large span of their wings blanketing the area in shadow as they soared down to the ocean. You smiled at the sight, watching the siblings play with each other while others stopped to stare and point at the large beasts that were once thought to be extinct. For once, you felt at peace. And yet, the past always seemed to find its way to haunt you. You had been much too preoccupied, your mind focused on your drawings as you failed to notice someone approaching your spot, the heels of their boots crushing the grass beneath them.

"I thought I might find you here."

“Dany.” You turned at the all too familiar voice, seeing your sister with the wind blowing through her silvery blonde locks, a warm smile on her face.

“I was beginning to worry. I had not seen you since dinner last night.”

"I'm sorry.” You set your pencil down, turning to face her as she stood next to you. “I didn’t mean to trouble you. I just....haven't been feeling well. Thought I might come out here and relax my mind for a bit.”

"As long as you're caring for yourself." Daenerys placed her hand on your shoulder as she watched the ships and your two dragons with you before glancing down at your sketches of the wooden vessels and your other sketches of the dragons, admiring the life like details you had put into them. “You’ve gotten better. I remember when you used to draw on the walls until you found your hands on some parchment.”

“Well, I was a little girl then.” You chuckled.

“And look at you now, grown into a beautiful young woman with skills that I could never dream of or accomplish.” Dany looked down at you as she softly stroked your head, running her fingers through the thin silver streak of hair similar to her own that had formed at your front strands, a stark contrast to the rest of your hair. You never really did explain how you got it, that silver streak of hair, except that it just appeared one fateful day.

Her heart swelled at seeing you now, seeing how much you had grown in both spirit and age since she last saw you. And though the two of you were only a year apart, she would do anything to protect you like the older sister she was. You used to be such a soft spoken little girl, one who had always bent to the will of others, one who was constantly pushed around by those stronger than herself. And here you were now, a woman who bent herself to no man and wielded her own sword and survived so much to find your way back to her. A woman who had even led her own battles while fighting her enemies at the forefront. And there was nothing that made Dany happier than to have such a strong and spirited woman as her sister.

"Gods. It's been so long hasn't it." You muttered out in a soft breath, thinking back to the day where you were sold off like cattle by your own brother and torn away from your only sister. "It feels as if it were just a year ago when I set foot on that ship and was shipped off to the north."

"Hm. It has been a long time indeed. But you're here now, with me, and that is all that matters." Daenerys caressed your head lovingly before placing a kiss at the top of your head. "Come, supper should be ready soon."

Wiping off the chalk from your fingers, you closed up your sketchbook with a snap, wrapping the suede string around the leather binding with your chalk tied to it before slipping it into the pocket of your coat dress. Interlocking your arm with your sister, the two of you walked through the small field to return to the castle, making your way to the dining hall.

"The redecorations are coming along nicely." Daenerys spoke up from beside you.

"Thank the gods." You sighed. "Anything but the ghastly décor that Cersei had left. What she had done with the castle walls is blasphemy. The place needs more color, more plants, more…..life. I want to feel at home, not like I’m stuck in prison.”

"Well I’m sure you’ll find the newer decorations to your liking." Daenerys chuckled at the passion behind your eye for the arts.

"I trust your judgement sister." You patted her forearm before facing the path ahead of you, focusing on the stone steps that led up to the castle. And as you lifted your gaze, an enormous smile appeared on your lips as you saw a familiar head of dark curls up ahead that belonged to none other than your dear friend. "Jon!" You left your sister's side to quicken your pace and engulf him in a hug.

"Oof.” Jon grunted against the impact as you almost knocked him over before pulling away to beam down at you. “It's good to see you too y/n."

You twisted your lips in a teasing scowl, punching the man playfully in the chest as if the two of you were children. “Back already I suppose. Where did you leave off to in such a hurry huh? You didn’t even wish me a farewell.”

“Well I had to see my cousins, make sure everything is settled in the North.”

“How are Sansa and Arya and Bran? Are they well?”

“They’re well. They do miss you.”

“You did tell them that I miss them as well, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Jon smirked, “it’d be a crime not to.”

“Alright you two.” Dany smiled at the sight as she stepped up between you both, placing her hands on both your backs. “Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

By the time that you had finished your supper and remained on your glasses of wine, mostly everyone had left, leaving just you, Jon, Dany, and a very drunken Tyrion who volunteered to share his delightful stories.

“And I said to him…..” Tyrion slurred out, squinting his eyes and pointing his finger in front of him as if the man he had confronted earlier at the market was standing right before him. “……..and I said to him….”

“Well what did you say to him Lord Tyrion?” You quirked a brow at the man on the opposite side of the dining table as you raised your goblet of wine to your lips, sending an amused look to your sister who sat on the end of the table next to you.

“I’m getting there.” Tyrion wagged his finger at you before returning to his story. “So I said to him……….” He stopped, confused for a brief moment as he turned to you. “Wait, what DID I say to him?”

“I’m afraid I do not know. And I’m afraid we STILL will not know until you tell us Lord Tyrion. So please, enlighten us.” You answered with a smile, eliciting a soft laugh from Jon who sat on the other side of Daenerys, across from you.

“Now don’t get smart with me.” Tyrion rolled his eyes in a teasing manner. “Ahah. I remember now. So…….the man comes up to me…………insults me to my face about my height…….calls me an imp. And I said to him…………listen here you half wit………I may be small………………..but your cock is merely an arms length from my fist, remember that.”

“Oh gods.” You rolled your eyes, throwing your head back as soft laughter broke out at the table before Tyrion went on with another story.

Your thoughts drifted off as you sat at your seat, your face illuminated by the candles on the table as well as the ones of the chandelier above. Your fingers traced along the rim of your silver goblet, your eyes glued to the wine resting motionless inside like a mirror of crimson, it’s deep red liquid bringing you back to your past.

Days had turned to months when you had arrived to the North at Lord Pythias’s manor, a land that was completely foreign to you, a land in which you knew no one except for Ser Bjorn, though the man never spoke much. Each day you spent inside the odious stone walls of the manor was as cold as the next, and each night the same as the last; a glass of ale and a drop of the potion from the vial, and an unconscious Lord Pythias that allowed you to protect yourself from his hands and his immoral intentions.

In the time that you had spent away from the old man, away from everyone, you would stay confined in your room. And at night, when the moon was high and when everyone was asleep, you would sneak off to meet with the Braavosi, who had offered to train you in the art of the dagger. And each weary night you spent training and sparring with him, each night leaving you scraped and bruised, you became more skilled than the last, when at last you were the one to hold the blade to his throat. And in that moment, with you standing over him, the sharp end of your blade pressed to his neck, you could have sworn you saw a hint of a smile on the face of the man who remained ever grim.

But one night; one cold, moonless and windy night had changed everything. You were in your room, dressed in your nightgown while you braided your hair, preparing yourself for bed until you heard someone slam open your door and barge into your room. Startled, you looked through the reflection of your mirror, thinking it was one of the maids when your heart dropped at the sight of Lord Pythias stumbling into the room, more drunk than ever. You did not know what had happened. You gave him the potion, you were sure of it. You could not understand why the effects of the potion did not take place that night. Perhaps he had built an immunity to it, you would never know. But everything that happened next was a blur, like a smear of chalk across one your sketches.

You remembered him pinning you face down on your bed, crushing you beneath his weight as he held your wrists together behind you. You remembered screaming, your face and the mattress soaked with your tears. You remembered his hand pushing up the skirt of your nightgown as he struggled with the button of his pants. And then, as of some strange occurrence, something stopped him before he could do anything. You could not figure out what had spawned within you. Next thing you knew, you were on top of him with his throat slit, the dagger that Ser Bjorn had given you held tightly in your hands, your white nightgown and your skin covered in his blood, soaking the mattress beneath you as you stabbed him, over and over.

What came over you, you had no knowledge of, nor could you remember. You tried to tell yourself that it was purely fear, that you were just a scared young girl of age 12 who protected herself against her attacker. But your reflection in the mirror; your face painted red and the faintest flicker of an ancient flame behind your eyes told you different. And yet, the strangest part of it all, even more so than your very reflection that haunted you to this day, was that the dagger was nowhere within reach, tucked away in the drawer of your desk.

“Lady y/n………..lady y/n.” You heard Tyrion call out to you, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Hm?” You blinked, turning your attention back to the present.

Daenerys had noticed how you had zoned off just a moment ago, recognizing that familiar scrunch towards the middle of your brows and the way your eyes glazed over as you became lost within your own thoughts. You felt her place her hand on top of yours, her fingers sending you a reassuring squeeze, to which you returned a smile that meant you were alright.

“You didn’t…….hiccup….listen to a word I said did you.” Tyrion waved his finger at you, a sly smirk on his lips as he let out another hiccup. “Or is it……………Princess Y/n now, considering…………your sister is……….officially queen.”

“I am whatever you wish to call me, Lord Tyrion.”

“Don’t say that.” Tyrion gave you a stern yet puzzled look. “That……..just gives others an excuse…….to call you nasty names………..something you might not like. So princess……or……..your royal highness it is!”

“I think you’ve had enough wine for tonight, Lord Tyrion.” You chuckled.

“That!” Tyrion started, “…………is entirely true, I will not deny. After all………what kind of a man would I be…………….to deny myself being drunk. To deny something as obvious as being drunk………..is to deny other things.”

“Always the wise man with the wise words.” You gave Tyrion a soft smile.

“That………is also true.” Tyrion started to get off his seat. “Now, if you would as to be so kind………..Princess y/n…..to walk me back to my chambers before I make a further fool of myself.”

“Of course Lord Tyrion.” You smiled, sending Jon and Dany a look that meant you won’t be long as you walked Tyrion back to his chambers, making sure he did not fall over in the process.

By the time that you returned to the dining hall, a slight sway in your step as you held your hand up to stifle a yawn, you walked in on Jon and Daenerys speaking to each other in hushed tones, the two of them halting their conversation upon seeing you enter, their eyes following you as you returned to your seat.

“You two weren’t gossiping about me were you? If so, I’m afraid I don’t have my tea with me.” You teased, a smirk playing on your lips as you sat back down on your chair. You quirked a brow in curiosity as you saw them give each other a look that usually meant that something serious had to be discussed, a look that you had seen often many times before. “I know that look. What is it?”

“There is something you ought to know.” Daenerys spoke up as she looked at you, her manicured fingers lightly drumming against the table as she was unsure of how you were going to react to the news. “Something we have not told you.”

“Oh?” You eyed their expressions carefully as you straightened up in your seat, taking another sip of your wine. “What is the matter?”

“Jon and I……”

“You’re in love, I know.” You interrupted with a smile, holding your hand up before setting it down on the smoothness of the wooden table. “There’s no need to tell me. I’d have to be either blind as a bat or a complete fool to not notice the…longing looks the two of you share. Not to mention the amount of times I have caught the two of you sneaking kisses-“

“Y/n….” Jon cleared his throat, embarrassed with the fact that you had caught the two of them together, not once, but multiple times.

“Jon is a Targaryen.” Daenerys finally spoke.

You froze, staring at Daenerys as if she had uttered the most absurd thing known to man.

Daenerys and Jon watched your face with the utmost observation, their skin turning cold from your lack of response as they waited for something, anything from you, but all they were met with was silence on your end. You had only sat still, unmoving like one of the statues in the garden.

“……….what?” You spoke out in a whisper, your voice almost inaudible as you let out a laugh of uneasiness. “Is this some sort of a jest?” Your eyes traced over the features of your sister, trying to figure out if she was playing some form of a twisted trick or whether either of you had too much wine even though you only drank a cup, but the seriousness of her countenance spoke enough.

“Y/n.” Jon sighed, knowing not only how much it must come as a shock to you, but also how you might feel utterly betrayed by them keeping such a thing from you. “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother Lyanna Stark. My real name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Aegon Targaryen. Jon was the son of your eldest half-brother Rhaegar. So the stories you heard were false.

“It…..it can’t be.” You shook your head in disbelief, finding it hard to fathom that Jon, the man whom you have known for years, your close friend, had been your kin this whole time.

“Y/n you know I would never lie to you.” Jon looked at you, knowing how much it pained you to hear of this now as you stared back into his dark eyes.

You let out a laugh, a smile appearing on your face as you were not quite sure how to respond or even feel about the matter. You were shocked more than anything. “You’re……..you’re a Targaryen.”

“I am.” Jon blinked, slightly confused at the brightness of your face. He could not quite figure out how you felt about what had been revealed. Were you…..were you delighted with the news?

“Well that’s good yes? That means Dany and I aren’t the last two remaining Targaryens. When did you find out?”

“During our time in Winterfell.” Daenerys answered, her gaze ever so trained on your face as she watched how your eyes darted in thought.

“Winterfell? You’re……you’re telling me this now?” You let out a scoff as you stood up from your seat, pushing your chair back with a loud skid against the floor as you moved to pace about the room. “Why did you not tell me then?”

“We meant to tell you earlier.” Jon frowned.

“We were afraid of how you would have handled the news.” Daenerys watched you from her seat, her violet eyes following you as you still paced slowly about.

You started to play with the ring on your finger, the pads of your fingertips running over the grooves of the silver band and the gemstone that sat in the center. Your mind was reeling as you tried to piece everything together, from the stories you were told and how many of them turned out to be lies. It all started to make sense, Jon being a Targaryen. Laughing in disbelief, you turned to face them once more, but your face dropped as the sudden realization came to you. That meant Jon was your half-nephew, and Daenerys, oh gods, that made Daenerys his aunt. “Seven hells.” You breathed out, unable to prevent your lips from twisting into revulsion as you pointed between the two of them, knowing fully well that they slept together. “You two……gods……but the two of you……oh I think I’m going to be sick.” You held a hand to your stomach, pressing your other hand to the table to keep you up as you bent over it.

“Come now y/n.” Daenerys scoffed at your reaction. “I admit it came as a shock to me as well. But it’s not like it is anything foreign within our family. After all, our own father married his sister, and our grandparents and ancestors before them. Even I thought I was to marry Viserys when I was a little girl.”

“But Dany, this is wrong.” You exasperated before turning Jon. “Jon, are you not a bit……I don’t know. Does this not disgust you?”

“Y/n, I understand how you might feel about this.” Jon tried to calm you down.

“You’re her nephew! Dany, you’re his aunt! You do understand that don’t you?”

“Now don’t try to act like you’re better.” Dany stood up from her seat, offended by the way you were treating her as if she were suddenly beneath you and that the whole issue was completely out of your own bloodline despite being a Targaryen yourself. “You yourself were married to a Sta-“

“Don’t!” You snapped with a flicker of your eyes, your hands shaking at the mention of your late husband as a frown made its way on your lips. “You really should not have said that.”

“Y/n-“ Jon stood up from his seat, his heart sinking from the reminder of your husband’s death as well as the expression that now settled in the features of your face.

“I…I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t believe you would mention him Dany.” You stood up, your heart tearing apart though you held your chin high, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Y/n please, let’s sit down and talk about this.” Jon gestured.

“No.” You spoke firmly, your jaw tight. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go clear my head.” Avoiding to meet their eyes and ignoring their calls, you stormed out of the dining hall, leaving a worried Jon and a rather displeased Daenerys.

“Don’t worry.” Jon put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Let her think this through on her own. I’ll go check on her.”

It was not long till you barged into the confines of your chambers, slamming the door behind you with clenched fists as you pressed your back against the wooden door. Your chest rose and fell with each heavy breath that felt like daggers in your lungs as you plopped down at the edge of your bed, burying your head into your hands as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your frame trembled as you became trapped within a whirlwind of emotions that tore themselves at you; from the shock of learning Jon’s true lineage, to the affair between your sister and him, to your sister bringing up your late husband’s name, to being confused about your own marriage. The last two had hit you the hardest, striking a blow against you, especially when it was something you tried so desperately to forget. Learning of Jon’s connection to you made you question the relationship you had with the man you loved and married. And the more you pondered on it, the more you did not know whether to feel horrified or heartbroken.

You wanted to leave, to pack your things and set sail far away from Westeros and disappear from the land that only reminded you of all that you had lost. Your soul yearned to start a new life for yourself, to gather your dragons and live a life free of pain and torment and war. And yet, a small part of you, the Targaryen blood that ran through your veins, desired to gather your army and lay claim to land that has yet to be claimed, to build your own kingdom. You had even begun to pack some of your belongings, your luggage tucked away under your bed to keep out prying eyes that might turn a single utterance of a word into a string of gossip. But more importantly, you were unsure of how to go about telling your sister and Jon that you wanted to go away, to travel to foreign land that one has not seen, without the slightest idea of your return. Nor did you have the heart to tell them.

There was a soft knock upon your wooden door, drawing you out of your thoughts, and as you turned towards it, you saw Jon enter, his face filled with concern at your weeping figure.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.” You turned your head away to hide your glistened face.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” You huffed out, wiping away at your tears as you straightened yourself up.

“Well you don’t look fine.” Jon sighed as he took a seat next to you, your bed sinking slightly from the weight. “Look, y/n, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Hmph. Who would have thought you were my nephew this whole time even though you’re older than me.”

“No one. Not even me I suppose.” Jon chuckled softly, his eyes cast downwards. “I’m sorry that Dany brought him up. I’m sure she didn’t mean to.” He apologized, knowing how much it pained you to be reminded of him, especially with how you still blamed yourself to this day for his death.

“I just……..I miss him so much.” You sniffled, not being able to stop the tears that now flowed freely no matter the times you wiped them away. “Gods, I can’t even say his name nor think of him without breaking into tears.”

“You loved him very much, you still do.” Jon smiled, seeing that you still wore the ring that was given to you at your wedding, your actual wedding. “And he loved you. I’m sure if he was here right now he’d tell you just that. He would tell you how proud he is of you, to see how far you’ve come and how strong you were. And being the person that he was, he would brag to the world of it, of how his wife led an entire army and helped win back the throne in her family’s name.”

A small smile formed on your lips at Jon’s words, a smile that held more sorrow than gaiety as you imagined he would have said the same exact thing. “I just…..I wished there was something I could have done, then maybe he would still be here and maybe……” you reflected to the night of your husband’s death as your hand moved over to place itself at your stomach, your fingers grazing over the groove of the scar hidden underneath the fabric of your dress.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Jon comforted you, placing an arm around you as you leaned into him, wetting the fabric of his coat with your tears as you cried onto his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

As the two of you sat there for a moment, mourning the memory of the man who was not only your husband but also someone that Jon himself had shared a strong bond with, your thoughts began to once again drift off to the past, of the day that you first met the man you would grow to love.

The night of Lord Pythias’s death, Ser Bjorn had arrived swiftly to your chamber with his sword in hand upon hearing the sound of your screams as he feared for the worst, but what he came across was not quite what he had expected. His face remained still as he unraveled the scene before him; Lord Pythias lying dead on your bed with his throat slit as multiple stab wounds lined his chest. And then there was you, huddled up in the corner covered in his blood, your face expressionless and the dagger that the Braavosi had given you held tightly in your hands, and the hint of a flickering of a flame behind your hollow eyes. And in that moment, that is when Ser Bjorn knew.

You looked up from your dazed state, seeing Ser Bjorn stand over you with your cloak and a bundle of clothes in his hands as you suddenly remembered the dead lord on your bed, thinking you were going to get executed for your crime. “Ser Bjorn. I’m sorry I-“

“Quiet.” He threw the clothes down at you, keeping an eye on your door in case any of Lord Pythias’s men decided to show as he handed you a rag. “Wipe your face and put these on. Quick.”

“But these are boys clothes.” You looked at the dark muddy colored wool tunic and pants with skepticism, not really understanding what the Braavosi had in mind.

“Do as I say GIRL.”

You wanted to ask the Braavosi what he was getting at, to understand just exactly what plan had formed in his mind as he carefully went over to your door to scan the hallways. But you decided against it, thinking twice about asking any questions at a time as threatening as this.

With your brows etched in dread, you threw the clothes on top of your nightgown, lacing up your boots before tying the leather belt around your waist and sticking your dagger in it, making sure to wipe your face with the rag to the best of your abilities while Ser Bjorn kept a lookout.

“Hold still.” The man ordered as he turned you around, using a knife to cut off your braid as your felt your hair fell down to your face.

With widened eyes, you reached a hand back, feeling your hair now end at your jaw instead of your lower back before glancing at your reflection. It was now that you realized what Ser Bjorn had in mind, a plan to disguise you as a boy in order for you to escape with your life.

“Now listen carefully girl.” The man turned you around, placing his hands on your shoulders as he did so. “You’re going to head farther up North until you reach the walls of Winterfell. There you will meet a man of the name Ned Stark. Tell him I sent you. Stay on your feet and DO NOT turn back.”

“But what about you?” You frowned, tears of fear forming in your eyes as you stared into the dark eyes of the man before you, the eyes of a man whom you might not see again.

“Do not worry about me. I taught you to use the dagger, now use it. Remember girl, valar morghulis.”

“Valar dohaeris.”

Ser Bjorn gave you a push towards the door. “Now go.”

“But-“ Your lip quivered as you became overwhelmed with fright, the fear of once again being left out on your own settling within your bones like a disease.

“Go!”

Giving Ser Bjorn one last look, you ran out from your chambers, making sure to lower your head as you hurried through the hallways and out the building, leaving the warmth of the fireplace that was in your room and being faced with the cold wintery air of the North. You did not know how far or how long you ran, but all you could remember was the ache in your legs, the pounding of your heart and the adrenaline that rushed through your veins as you kept moving, running through the woods in the middle of the darkness that belonged to the night, the branches of the trees slicing across your face until you no longer set foot in Lord Pythias’s land.

Night had turned to day, and all the energy and strength that flowed through you when you left the manor had now diminished, leaving you exhausted and begging for rest. But no matter how much your eyes drooped, or how much you wanted to collapse on the dirt beneath you, you remembered Ser Bjorn’s words. ‘Stay on your feet and do not turn back’. And so you did as much as your feet allowed you to. You began to worry on what could have happened to the Braavosi since you left, praying to the gods to keep him safe and that you would soon meet again. And as you trudged along, your boots and the hem of your cloak caked in mud, your face showing signs of weariness and your lips chapped from the lack of water, you heard the snap of a twig behind you. Turning around, you saw three older men approach you from the distance, their appearance as unkept as the dirt beneath their feet.

“Well what have we here?” One of them smiled, flashing his poorly kept teeth. “What are ye doing out here boy?”

“Ya think he’s one of the Stark boys?” The other man nodded in your direction as he gave you a once over.

Stark boys? That must have meant that Winterfell was near.

“Are you a Stark, boy?” The first one spoke, eyeing the clothes on your back before becoming irritated from your lack of a response. “You deaf, boy? Or just mute”

“He don’t look like a Stark.” The third of the group shook his head, his eyes roaming your person as to search for any signs of coin or wealth. “You got anything for us boy?”

“Stay back!” You pulled out your dagger from its sheath, barely able to hold the blade out in front of you from the lack of food and water as your heart beat rapidly in your chest while the men only laughed.

“Now what exactly are you going to do with that, huh little boy?” The first one laughed as he eyed your dagger. “Hey, that’s a pretty knife. I think I’ll have to get me it.”

The man who seemed to be the boss lunged at you, his hands held out in front of him as he tried to grab you. Remembering Ser Bjorn’s training, you stepped off to the side, slicing the man across the face as you did so.

“Agh!” The man grunted in pain, pressing his hand to his face before bringing his hand down to see his blood coating his palm. “Why you bastard cunt! You cut me! Get him!” He shouted at his two men.

You nearly tripped over yourself as you faced the other direction you were originally headed, running as fast as you were able from the three goons that chased you down. Your legs felt as if they had turned to wood as you sprinted once more through the thicket of trees, your each step seeming to get more heavy than the last as you kicked up the dark mud from beneath you, your clothes only starting to weigh you down from the mud that clung to it. And as you darted through the trees, fearing that you lost your way and that there was no escape to this endless maze of your fate, the sharp branches grabbed ahold of your cloak, tearing it from your body as you ducked beneath the trunk of a tree that had fallen over.

Turning your head back, you saw that the men were starting to gain on you, their faces furious from your attack on their leader. You tried to push yourself to quicken your pace, to keep going until you reached the land that Ser Bjorn informed you of in hopes of your own survival, but to no avail. No matter how hard you tried to outrun them, you were at a disadvantage. They not only outnumbered you, but they also overpowered you in both size and strength. You turned your head back to the front, facing the path in front of you until you felt something hook around your ankle. There was a harsh pull at your leg as you attempted another step, and as you looked down in horror, you saw that your foot had gotten caught between one the roots that belonged to the trees. With a gasp of fright, you fell down into the mud, letting out a scream from the sharp pain that suddenly spread from your foot and up your leg.

“There you are! You little bastard!” The leader hovered over you as you fought against him, grabbing you by the collar before bringing his fist down to connect with your jaw.

A snarl ripped out of your throat as you bared your teeth, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignored the throbbing pain in your face and your ankle once your fight response kicked in. Your tried to struggle against the man’s grip, scratching at his face in an attempt to gauge out his eyes like Ser Bjorn had taught you, but the man only swatted your hands away, hissing at the scratches you left behind.

“Agh! You fucking cunt!” The man barked, picking up your dagger that had slipped out of your hand from your fall, pinning you down against the mud as he held the blade up to your face. “You’ll pay for what you did. I’m gonna carve your face up like ye did mine.”

Your eyes widened against the sharp blade of the dagger, the terror in your eyes evident in your own reflection held in the shiny metal. The other two men surrounded you, watching you being held down with amusement in their smiles. Beads of sweat formed at your forehead, contradicting the iciness of your blood as you twisted beneath the weight of the man above you, watching the point of the dagger come closer, and closer. You tried to scream for help, praying that your calls would soon be answered and that someone might come to your aid. But there came no one. And it was in that moment, that you thought you might breathe your last.

A blood curdling scream tore itself from your throat as the man pressed the sharp point of the dagger into the skin of your forehead, dragging the blade over your brow and down your cheek, making sure to take his time as to provide you with as much torment possible. You squeezed your eyes shut against the excruciating paint that overtook your face, nearly passing out from the sensation. It was as if your body was close to shutting down. Your vision became blurry as a numbness circulated through every inch of you, your throat raw from your screams as you could no longer cry for help. You believed that this was it, that death had finally appeared himself before you as you looked up to see the man hold your dagger up above him, a rage filled grin on his face as he was ready to end your life.

“Please.” You rasped out in a desperate attempt, uncertain if you were speaking to the man who was about to kill you or the gods above. And then, as if your prayers were answered, you heard shouts in the distance, their voices muffled out by the fatigue that began to overcome you as you watched an arrow pierce itself through the goon’s shoulder. The man let out a yelp, dropping your dagger near your head as he fell off you. Time seemed to slow around you as you laid there, unmoving, your eyes glossed over as you listened to the clashing of swords. You tried to keep yourself awake, afraid that you would be no more the moment you shut your eyes until a figure hovered over you.

“H-help.” You breathed out, coughing from your own blood as the lids of your eyes grew heavier by the second as you slowly lost the will to fight.

“It’s alright.” You heard them speak. A boy from the sound of it as he called out for his father before turning back to you, a glimpse of soft brown curls and a pair of blue eyes that searched your face. “You’re safe.”

“H-help.” You spoke once more, the world around you fading into black as your ears picked up on his father calling out his name.

Robb.

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[lostinthemind27]

“What are you?”

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Grisha!OC

Summary: Running and hiding. That’s what Arina was good at. She’s done it for years. Yet the moment she lets her guard down everything changes. Though she doesn’t know if it will be for better or worse...

Word Count: 2490

Warnings: Slight mention of wounds and acid burning. Some violence. I think that’s it? If I left anything out please tell me!

A/N: So I thought I’d share this A) because season 2 trailer of S&B is dropping tomorrow and B) because this has been sitting in my drafts since like last year. Also it is supposed to be the beginning of a whole multi-chapter fic, but idk when I’m gonna be able to actually get around to finishing it because I have like 10 other fics in my drafts...It’s a problem, I know. Anyways, came up with this because I thought that since Grisha powers are called “small science” I figured why can’t they expand their designated skill set and I always love the tent scene in both the book and show. Also this is set like centuries before the events of S&B. If that makes sense and sound interesting then have fun reading!

(Mood board was created by me! All the pictures were found on pinterest and belong to their rightful owners. I also have mood boards for both Aleksander and Arina which I’m still debating if I should share those...)

The howls carry through the air to her ears. The cracking of a twig makes her head look up from her frantic packing. She didn’t have a lot of time. The wind enhanced the crunch of the footsteps that they tried to hide.

They knew what they were dealing with, they’ve killed hundreds of her kind before without blinking an eye. This time shouldn’t have been any different.

She hoisted her bag up and let it rest across her body, the small satchel containing everything she needed. Her head twists, observing the snow-covered trees and ground. She can’t see them. Not yet, but the continued sound of footsteps gives her enough of an incentive to start running.

Her feet hit the ground as with each step her pace quickens, trying to outrun the hunting party whose steps she could hear match hers. The trees passed her as she weaved through the forest, trying to lose the hunting party in a wood they knew so much better than her.

Her foot caught a wayward root as she looked behind, crashing to the ground, her hands barely catching her before she’d face plant into the snow.

The growl of a wolf was in front of her now. The hunters closed in around her as she lay still, propped up slightly by her arms.

That wolf snarled at the woman as she stared at it. Its dark eyes reflected the moon and its pure white coat shone in the light. The woman and the wolf continued their staredown until she heard a twig snap, her focus shifting to the other hunters surrounding her.

She raised herself to a crouch, her eyes flicking from one hunter to the next, worried about some eager boy releasing his bowstring pushing her to slow her movements.

“Drüsje,” one of them spits at her.

She smirks to herself, slowly moving her hands closer together.

They tighten their grips on the bows and the wolves snarl once more.

Her hands touch and as soon as they move again, a circle of air blasts from her, knocking the hunters and wolves off of their feet.

She pushes herself to stand and takes off running once again. The hunters, wolves, and snow fade with each step she takes towards what she hopes will be her sanctuary.

**************

The screams were the first thing to reach Arina. Not the sound of acid fizzing, nor the smell of burning flesh, but the horrific screams of a fellow Fabrikator. Screams that haunt Arina’s nightmares.

Her feet started to move towards the sound, pushing aside the small crowd that had formed. A tingle emanated in her fingertips and slowly crawled up her arms, a sensation she hasn’t felt since she came to the Little Palace. The feeling travelled from her hands to the burning flesh under her touch, the sizzling stopping as the skin mended. She couldn’t hear the whispers of the people behind her or the grimace coming from her fellow Fabrikator, Arina was so focused on the wound in front of her that she didn’t hear the oprichniki enter the room. 

She finally opened her eyes as the buzzing dissipated and connected gazes with the Fabrikator, who ended up being a girl named Iva. Instead of a “thank you” escaping her lips, Iva backed away from the older woman as she looked past Arina’s frame. 

The fear in the girl’s eyes is one Arina has seen in thousands of people before when she displayed her power, but for once it wasn’t directed at her. As she turned her head her arms were grasped by two oprichniki. They dragged her from her feet and out the door of the workshop before anyone could say a word, including Arina herself. 

They pulled her through the halls of the Little Palace, their hands still grasping her arms in a tight hold as two guards stood in front and two behind them. Arina felt like a prisoner in the one safe place for her people. “Where are you taking me?”

She received no response from the soldiers. Though as they turned a corner and the big black mahogany doors with the sun in eclipse symbol carved into them was revealed, it was pretty clear. 

The soldiers standing to the sides, pull the doors open for the approaching party only to reveal the General standing with one of his trusted Corporalki.

“What is this?” The Darkling says, obviously annoyed with the group of soldiers dragging a Durast into his room.

“Moi soverenyi this woman, Yelena Ivanova, just healed a fellow Fabrikator after an acid spill.” One of the men in front reported as they stepped to the side to allow their General a look at the strange girl. 

Not a girl. The Darkling studies the woman as she’s still held in the grasp of two of his oprichniki. Her light brown hair that’s tied in a bun with strands falling in her face, highlighting the beautiful shape and cheekbones of her face. Yet, for a practising Grisha, her eyes held slight bags and her cheeks look sunken in. She’s missing something, The Darkling thought. Though he puts aside studying her when it finally registers what his soldier said to him. A healer dressed in Fabrikator robes. How interesting. “What are you?”

“A Durast, General.” She answers with her head held high, no trace of fear on her face. 

“You healed a fellow Grisha, something that is outside the skill set of a Durast.” He takes a step towards her, “So I’ll ask again, what are you?” 

“A practitioner of the small science, nothing more.” He walks towards her with a small dagger. She knows what he’ll do, testing her again after she already passed as a Durast, hiding the other parts of her that are buried so deep down. “What reason do you have to test me again?”

“Call it curiosity. Now, your arm, please.” He holds out his hand waiting for her to place her arm in his grasp and motioning for his soldiers to release their grip.

Once they make contact, a rush of power flows through Arina. He’s an amplifier. As the dagger drags through her skin, she can’t hold the door close. His call is too strong, even after years of practice. That tingle that she felt when healing Iva grew to a roar through her body. The strength of her power cascaded down on her like a tidal wave after years of burying it deep down. While she felt the door break open a relief ran across her and a whisper from the man in front of her, “Don’t hold back.”

A rush of wind blows through the room, the candles burn brighter to a blinding white, the general’s heart rate picks up to the point he struggles to breathe while the guards around them start to collapse. The Darkling releases his grasp on her and their surroundings return to normal, his heart slowing down to a preferred rhythm. 

“Leave us.” His voice boomed towards the recovering guards that resided in the room, dismissing the oprichniki and other Grisha. 

The two Grisha study each other. The Darkling, a man who held himself with such power and strength was in awe of the young woman in front of him, whose skin brighten after her release of power. Though he didn’t know if young was correct. With her power, she could’ve been as old as himself. 

Arina looked into the shadow summoner’s eyes. So dark and deep are the pools that hold so many secrets, much like her own. She could see the age and the weariness that he carried because she sees it in the mirror every day. 

“How?” The General continues to analyse her as he waits for a response.

“How what?” The Durast feigns ignorance as she walks around the ornate wooden map table, studying the troop positions and staring at the scar on Ravka.

“You are able to heal a being with the ease of a born Healer if my soldiers are correct. You made the wind move and the candles burn like an Etherealki. My heartbeat sped up to a rate that only a Heartrender could manipulate it to. And you’re a Durast.” He takes a few steps toward Arina. “I will ask only one more time. How?”

Arina doesn’t know if she should tell him. Her walls have been built so high that no one was able to climb or topple them. And yet, when the Darkling connected with her a sliver formed. The door to one of her hidden rooms blasted open and she couldn’t fix it. Did she want to fix it? She’s hidden herself for years, trying to stay alive, trying to survive. She’s been successful. She found her way to a sanctuary, a haven for Grisha that only a few years ago didn’t exist. Why couldn’t she share what she’s learned? It’s not like it hasn’t been done before, give or take a couple of hundred years ago. But her secrets have kept her alive. She’s seen plenty of friends die because of just being Grisha, she doesn’t want herself to be next because she’s different from the rest. Yet the Darkling looks at her in awe, not in fear. 

“I’ll make you a deal.” The Darkling scoffs at her, and she ignores him. “I’ll give you an answer for an answer.” She raises her brow at him, waiting for him to accept her rules. She knows he’ll accept, he’s too curious not to.

“And why would I accept that deal?” He’s curious, how could he not be? But he still has a reputation to uphold and he couldn’t be seen as to eager for her answer.

“Because I have something you want and the only way you’ll get the answer is if I get one in return.” She looks him in the eye. “Or else I can walk right out those doors and maybe even out of the Little Palace.”

No. The Darkling didn’t want her to leave. She could turn the tide and if she can learn how to summon the water, wind, and fire maybe… “Deal.”

“I taught myself.” He gives her a quizzical gaze. “What I learned most as a Durast is that everything, on a fundamental level, is the same. If I can manipulate wood or metal, why couldn’t I change chemicals? Or the human body? Or the flames? It’s not magic, it’s science. Or rather, small science. We do not conjure from nothing, we manipulate that which already exists around us, and everything is the same.”

“You taught yourself? How were you able to accomplish that in such a short time?”

“No. I gave you an answer, I want one in return.” He quells his curiosity for a moment, remembering the deal. He motions for her to ask. “How are you an amplifier?”

“Bloodline.” He answers simply, not willing to tell her the whole truth. His trust in others was shattered at a young age and only built again for a few. He didn’t think this woman had earned his trust, but maybe she could.

“I gave you a whole speech about the small science and you give me a one-word answer? How is that fair?”

“You wanted an answer and I gave you one. You did not specify the length of it.” He steps towards her, trapping her against the map. “Now, I would like another.”

Arina doesn’t shrink, she doesn’t look away from his dark eyes. “And what do you want answered?”

“How old are you?”

She’s startled by his question but hides it behind a smirk. “You should never ask a lady her age.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“I’m old enough to have seen the creation of the fold and the rise of a safe haven for Grisha.”

“Who’s giving the vague answers now?”

“Two can play a game, Darkling.” She analyses his face quickly, “How old are you? Your face may look young, but your eyes hold centuries of pain and torment.”

“Being hunted most of your life can add years to you. The pain and torment I hold is a burden shared by many Grisha.” He looks down at Arina, her eyes the opposite of his. They hold light, a glimmer he hasn’t seen in someone since Luda. Yet as he delves further he finds that shared pain. That shared suffering is covered by the warmth she holds for her people.

The Darkling takes a step back, distancing himself from the mysterious woman, and pulling at the sleeves of his shirt. “You’ll be moving to a different room and developing your skills with either Bahgra or me. You can continue to work in the Fabrikator workshop if you like.”

Arina couldn’t move. She couldn’t believe that she was getting treated differently than the other Grisha. Why was she special? She’s just another Girsha, it’s not like she can summon the stars or sun. Sure she’s a lot older than all of the Grisha here (minus the Darkling) but all she can do is what any other Grisha could. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you moving my rooms? Why am I being treated differently?”

“Because you are different.”

“I’m really not.”

The Darkling couldn’t understand why Arina thought so little of herself. She can manipulate the small sciences outside her original cast, and she thinks she isn’t special? She’s the only one to do so since Ilya Morozova, a man that used merzost, and she did it from years of studying alone. “Why do you discount how special you are?”

“Because I’m not special. I’m just a Durast that taught herself the small sciences. Any Grisha could do that.”

“But they haven’t.” That shut her up. “We’ll help you expand your abilities and maybe you can teach other Grisha as well.”

“And what do you know about the other classes?”

“Some. But it will be Baghra that shall advance your studies in the typical orders.”

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll help you grow.” He smiles. A genuine smile because for the first time in a long time, Aleksander has hope. “You may leave and gather your things, my oprichniki will show you to your new room.” Though as she turned to leave he remembered one more thing. “What is your name?”

“What?” She didn’t know what he meant. He already knew the name she gave, how could he possibly know that it was fake?

“Your name.” He approached her once again. “You most likely lied about your name when you came here, so Yelena, what’s your name?”

“If I tell you mine will you tell me yours? Because I highly doubt your real name is Leonid.”

All she receives is a smirk from him and she gives the man one in return. That smirk is the last thing he sees as she disappears through the door, both of their true names still kept in the dark.

[moghidien]

Darklina notebook, for sale

[igotanidea]

You know what's coming....

Yes. It's coming!

Therefore the requests for "Shadow and Bone" are officially open!!

Not that I'm hinting at Darkling fics.... 😅😅

But seriously, I'm open to anything. 😁

[ignyxdaughter]

𝐗 - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃

MASTELIST

READ ON WATTPAD

summary: Kirigan finds himself curious about the mysterious handmaiden again. Agatha remembers how she got her scar. Katherine's shadow does a little mischief with her and The Darkling.

word count: 2195

warnings: panic attack, memory of a wound and blood(?)

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"Petrov is here, moi soverenyi", Ivan's voice makes The Darkling look up from the soldiers' reports.

"He shall enter."

The Heartrender nods before leading his colleague inside the General's office. Kage now stands in front of Kirigan's desk and wait until Ivan leaves to talk. "She's nuts."

The Darkling has to suppress himself to not raise both eyebrows in surprise. "What?"

Kage clears his throat, million thoughts racing on his mind in an attempt to find the best way to explain the situation to his General. "I've been following her as you ordered, moi soverenyi, which made me conclude some things."

"Which are?"

"First of all, it's clear she doesn't enjoy our Sun Summoner's company. She hides well, moi soverenyi, but not enough for me, and although she spends all day and night on Ms. Starkov and Genya's heels, I still don't know her opinion about Genya."

"Do you know her reasons for such behavior?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure of something: she knows too much. I heard her talk with Genya one morning and she knows." He puts a hand on the back of his head, clearly nervous. "Ms. Anya De Montreal knows that Genya is a spy and is betraying Alina."

Kirigan stands up so fast that his leather chair is almost thrown on the floor. "How?"

"I don't know. She doesn't talk to any Grishas or guards. It must be a theory from her head—"

"No theory is that specific, Mr. Petrov."

"Indeed, moi soverenyi, but if you watch her attentively, you'll notice she talks to herself. There're sudden moments that she even smirk or laugh. That woman doesn't have friends besides a blonde handmaiden named Mischa Ivanova. She doesn't leave the palace nor do anything alike conspiracies. I truly believe she's lunatic."

"She doesn't seem lunatic."

"It's, for now, the only explanation for her to know such things."

"Then find another explanation. You shall now leave, Kage."

Later that day, The Darkling caught himself observing the servant when walking to his chambers. Ms. Anya was at a corner admiring that old tree —the hanging tree — again, not aware of the man doing the same to her.

He had to shake his head to go back to reality and enter his rooms. For Saints sake, he's more interested on her than on Alina! His attention gets more dragged on a mere otkazat'sya than on the Sun Summoner. Why is that happening?

Throwing his kefta on a chair, Kirigan runs a hand on his black hair and go to pick up his notebook, the same one he caught her reading one day. However, his focus is all dragged away by two books on his desk, books he didn't remember getting on the library nor ordering someone to. Moreover, they're written in latin instead of ravkan.

He can count on his hands how many times he's picked some of those latin books.

The General frowns at the titles, both of them with unusual subjects for him to read. "Introduction to Slavic Magic" and "The Grisha World".

The second book is all about his own species, probably with old Ravkan tales. However, what does the first one mean? He has never heard of magic before, though he can't say he isn't now intrigued to find out, especially when it seems to refer to the Slavic people, his nationality.

────────── ★ ★ ★ ──────────

The sound of branches breaking echoed on the forest as Agatha ran as fast as she could, legs beginning to ache and breath almost panting. Her heart pounded in her chest as a drum, exhaling fear.

She was so scared.

After a long time, the girl finally let herself rest, leaning on a tree to catch her breath. It all happened so quickly: one minute she was on the village, enjoying another cold night with her family, and the other, her mother Keelin said for everyone to hide.

The entire family separated then. She only could hear what others did at the moment, completely guided by instinct. Aunt Hayley giving her hand to Hope and starting running, uncle Elijah hugging Katherine and telling her to hide them in a shadow, aunts Rebekah and Davina going inside a basement with Michelle and Levi on their feet... She had followed uncle Marcel with Nick to the woods; her mothers left behind with uncles Klaus and Kol to fight whatever was the threat.

But then she heard. The grotesque howl and heavy steps of a creature. Although it sounded like a wolf, she didn't have to see it to know it wasn't. This was a monster dangerous enough to scare the most powerful family of all time.

The proximity of its grunt was the reason why Marcel told the twins to run and don't look back. He was obeyed, though not as he expected, since the two kids were so busy fearing the creature that went different ways through the forest.

Panting, Agatha reminded herself to not scream. This would just attract the monster. So she sat on the floor, curled like a ball on a dark corner, praying for every Ancestor to protect her and all Mikaelsons.

It took almost half an hour for heavy steps approach. The only thing the girl had seen was a huge wolf before her scream echoed on the woods and everything went black.

Agatha woke up with a startle, sweat running down her forehead. Her breath is shaky, eyes wet of tears and skin shievering from the nightmare she's just had. She feels her chest wet of her own blood, running through her ripped skin like a red river. The monster had quickly dug its clays on her young chest, maddened by the thirst to kill.

The little girl was then left alone on the woods, fighting for her life on the freezing snow. Soon, she'd die from blood loss.

"This isn't my time." She thought. "I'm not ready. I wanna live, please!"

Agatha is so terrified and distracted by the memory that didn't notice the knock on the door nor a voice calling her name. For her, Gelya appearead out of nowhere, conjured with a snap of fingers to calm her down.

"Breathe in", the Healer slowly take a deep breath in an attempt to Agatha mirror her movements "and out."

The hybrid tries to follow the grisha, fighting for air on her lungs through the sobs.

"Now shake your hands with me. Yes, like this. You're doing great."

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

It takes long minutes for Agatha's breathing and heartbeat come back to normal, and even more for her body stop shievering. Angelina wipes the dry tears from her cheeks and draws circles on her back. A simple gesture that says she's there for Agatha.

"I'm sorry", the hybrid sniffs after a moment of silence.

The Healer gives her a sad smile. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I just— It was a memory." She doesn't notice Gelya's widened eyes as she stands up and take off her shirt in front of the mirror. The white lines from the wolf's claws contrast with the brown skin. This is exactly the same scar that man at the tavern has on his throat; the same size and color and number of lines.

"You'll be alright, honey", Keelin said as Davina healed the girl's wounds. "You and Nick will be fine."

Another tear falls from Agatha's eyes, finally remembering some things from her past. Flashbacks of being in bed rest with her twin come in her mind, followed by all her family by their side.

Freya, Keelin, Nick and her. Klaus, Hayley and Hope. Elijah and Katherine. Rebekah, Marcel and Michelle. Kol, Davina and Levi.

She remembers each one of them. Maybe not every memory, but now she knows their names, faces and personalities.

"Always and forever."

"What?" Angelina's voice startles her, remembering that another person was in the room.

She looks at the Healer's hazel eyes. "Family."

"You remembered your family?" She nods. "Agatha, that's wonderful!"

"I need them, Gelya. Only them will know what the hell is happening to me, who I am." The hybrid gasps at reminding of the redhead that led her to the tavern, to the man that is probably Agatha's brother. "Do you know where that new Inferni is staying? Veronika."

Angelina smirks. "No, but I can arrange that."

────────── ★ ★ ★ ──────────

Late at night, Katherine enters her chambers after another day as a human servant. She didn't have time to talk to any of her cousins today, which means she'll have to wake up early in the morning to do that. However, the few hours of sleep won't affect the shadow singer's routine, since she's been pulling an all-nighter by reading books in an attempt to find a spell for Agatha.

Tonight won't be any different.

At least that's what she thought.

Katherine frowns at the tidy and empty bed, the opposite of what she'd expected. "Cheshire?"

What? The tall shadow appeared in front of the witch.

"Where are the books I asked you to get for me?"

Oh, I don't know.

The woman narrows her eyes at the now visible darkness, suspecting his behavior. Cheshire always knows what's happening, especially when Katherine is the one who wants him to find out. However, she doesn't have any evidence that the poor shadow is indeed lying to her. After all, he's never done that. So why starting now?

"Can you try to pick them for me?"

Yes.

The witch rolls her light green eyes when Cheshire leaves the room through the wall. That have never happened to her; her shadows have never failed on following a wish of hers. They're too clever to mistake a simple order of leaving some books on her bed.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Little Palace, Cheshire quietly enters The Darkling's war room, his sharp mouth going wide in a smile at the view of Katherine's books on the General's desk. They're exactly where he'd left them on the morning, which means the man hasn't seen today's surprise yet. He'll let them there again and lie to the witch, saying he didn't find them on the library. She might not believe him at first, but she'll accept it the moment she sees that the place indeed doesn't have the wanted books.

However, Chesire still has to take something for her.

The shadow looks at The Darkling's desk for a minute, analyzing all the material on it, when his gaze stops at a small red book. He picks it up with his short arms, sharp teeth exposed as his smile grew.

Oh, how wonderful tonight will be!

When heavy steps approach the room, Cheshire hides in the darkness to observe the General's reaction to another pile of weird books in his chambers. That's been the shadow's entertainment in Ravka: to mess with Kirigan and Katherine until they talk properly to each other. That will happen soon though, if the two follow his plan.

He just knows they will get along well, and maybe — just maybe — fall in love.

He can't wait for that to happen!

Kirigan enters the war room as always: tired, yet still confident of his power. He pours himself a glass of vodka before looking at his messy desk — an organized mess, according to him. As expected by Cheshire, he notices the unusual pile of books and quickly makes his way to it.

"Again?" The Darkling picks up one to see what it's about, however, for his misfortune, it's written in Norse runes, a language he doesn't know at all. "It's the fourth day in a roll!" He huffs in anger, already thinking of all the things he'll do to the funny one who's architected that mischief. How dare someone mess with him?!

The dark figure smiles and leaves through the wall, well aware that the man will return the books to the library tomorrow morning. He's certain it'll be the first thing The Darkling will do — surely alone, to not show anyone someone has enough power and boldness to mess with him —, and the shock he'll have of finding another person at the same room and time as him will be unforgetable.

Actually, the shock of the two shadow people will be unforgetable.

Cheshire makes his way to Katherine, entering the chamber as if nothing have happened, and gently places the red book on her lap.

"What the—" The witch frowns. "This isn't mine."

Yes, it is for you. I picked it myself! He smiles with proud.

"Istorii Sankt'ya." She reads the golden title outloud. "You gave me a bloody bible, Cheshire?!"

You have to know the culture of this country! Nobody knows how long we're staying here.

She looks at the shadow with an unsatisfied face. "May I know where are the books I asked?"

I don't know. They weren't at the library.

"So you chose this instead of a grimoire?" He nods.

Katherine's frustrated grunt could be heard by anyone near the room. "I have more to do than learn about The Lives of Saints."

Really? You don't have any other book here and I'm not happy with the idea of going to the library again. So you can sleep or be content with this one.

There's a moment of silence between the shadow and the witch, the latter furious for not being attended correctly. However, Katherine breaks the tense silent by opening the red book and leaning on her bed's pillow. "Fine."

Cheshire's smile reached his eyes, sharp teeth completely on display. Yes, tomorrow will be an epic day.

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A/N: English is not my first language. I’m gonna mix the books and the tv show to make the story line clearer (I read soc, the grisha trilogy and its tales). I don’t own Shadow and Bone and TO/Legacies characters; they’re, respectively, Leigh Bardugo, L. J. Smith and Julie Plec. Also, this is how I think the Darkling is,and some of the events will be changed due to the story's course!

[finnicks]

buried in sunlight

shadow and bone | alina/darkling While Alina tries to settle into her new life in Ketterdam, she finds that Aleksander isn’t willing to let her go. The stag amplifier’s connected them together in a way neither of them had ever bargained for.

[ read here | playlist here ]

[hottpinkpenguin]

kirigan one shot, where the reader(fem) treats his face wounds and he feels at ease becuz for some reason her gift releases him from his pain, he cries(sobbing)all leading up to a very sad yet soft, fluffy end. as much as I hate him, I feel like the man just desperately needs a hug from someone

A/n: he really does need a hug, and i totally volunteer. thanks for the request anon!!

Darkling X Grisha GN!Reader Word Count: 2769 Warnings: mild mentions of blood

You held your hands over the boy’s ghastly leg wound, the flesh underneath stitching itself together slowly. His broken, chesty sobs slowed as you poured your gift onto his wound. You felt the toll an entire day of healing was taking on you, but the boy on the stretcher beneath you was too young to turn away. His blue eyes softened as you heard the bone snap back into place, his ankle turning to its correct angle. You focused, your head beginning to ring and swim with exhaustion as you channeled the Small Science down to his leg. Nearby, you heard his parents begin to pray over you, his mother weeping noisily. 

When the wound was completely closed up and the worst of the bruising faded, you dropped your hands and let go of the grip on your powers. You had to steady yourself on the edge of the bed to keep from falling. Your vision was dotted with white, your ears sounded like they’d been filled with cotton. You heard your cousin Donovan usher the family out of your Healer’s tent as the parents profusely thanked him, trying to offer him their money, a goat, and whatever precious items that could think of.

You sank onto the bed, dabbing at the sweat on your brow as you fought off a wave of dizziness. Your breath was ragged like you’d just run for miles. The destruction left by the group of mercenaries that had torn through the bordertown had felt never ending, but you were grateful to know the boy was the last person who’d need your services. You’d need to sleep for days to recover. 

“Y/n, there’s one more.” 

You could hear the apology in Donovan’s voice when he spoke. He’d poked his head in through the tent flap, dark bags under his eyes.

You shook your head, guilt-ridden. “Donovan, I can’t, I’m sorry. Please ask one of the other Healers.” 

“He asked for you specifically.” Something about Donovan’s voice grabbed you. You looked at him, questions swirling in your eyes. He only tilted his head at you meaningfully before stepping aside. 

A tall man clad in dark robes stepped into your tent. His eyes were so dark you couldn’t see his pupils, his hair the color of obsidian, with four ragged black scars traversing his handsome face. Something about him was so… familiar. 

You tried to rise from the bed, but your legs wobbled and you felt yourself pitch forward.

The stranger reacted quickly and agilely, leaping forward to catch you before you hit the ground. 

“You’re exhausted,” he observed. His voice sounded dark and heavy with a sorrow that hovered around him like a fog.

He helped you back onto the cot, its surface damp with sweat and blood from the day’s patients. The dark-eyed stranger looked around the tent, surveying the scene with intent eyes. Finally, his gaze found yours again. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” he announced gallantly. “I can see you’ve done enough for one day.” 

He turned, his black robes whirling around him with a dramatic flourish. You caught a fleeting glance of his side profile: a straight nose, strong jaw, dark brows framing darker eyes. Proud mouth with a slight downturn at the corners. 

General Kirigan.

Recognition slammed into you like a freight train. You’d only seen him once before and from afar, but you’d never forget. But he was dead, wasn’t he? Your mind went blank for a moment as you watched him move towards the open flap on your tent.

“Wait!” 

He hesitated at the edge of your tent, half turning back to you. 

“General?” Your voice was small and questioning. 

He turned fully back to you, the lamplight illuminating those ghastly scars across his face. The flesh at the seam of the wounds was discolored, as if the marks were poisoned. You’d never seen scars like that before. 

He gave you a small, bashful smile, dropping his gaze.

“Aleksander will do nicely,” he answered you. It was him. 

“But… the Fold? We… I thought you were dead…” Your voice trailed off as you realized how silly you sounded. Why should General Kirigan care what an untrained Healer at the edge of Ravka thought of his fate?

But, much to your surprise, he walked back towards you with a polite smile, his courtly manners on full display. 

“For a moment, so did I.” The smile turned sour on his lips, leaving behind a mangled looking grimace. You felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest, your powers attuned to him like a magnet. You tried to find something to say, your mind still reeling from the shock of finding Ravka’s most famous Grisha in your lowly tent. 

Whatever momentary reverie he’d been swept up in, he surfaced quickly and regained his footing. The flash of pain you’d seen in his expression smoothed back into a mask of graciousness. 

“But, as you can see, I survived. Although… these scars.” His hand came to his face, barely touching the largest, deepest gash that stretched from his right temple across his nose and down the smooth plane of his left cheek. He winced at the contact, however light. “They… pain me. I was told your powers are… up to the task.” 

You blinked dumbly for a moment as his words sank in. 

“You… came here for me?” The notion seemed impossible, but the Black General nodded. 

“I did.” No explanation, no answer to the million questions running through your head. You wondered where to start. What to ask. 

You hesitated a few moments before you realized you were talking to a patient. The famed Shadow Summoner, yes. But a patient still. 

You stood quickly from the cot, adrenaline surging through your exhausted body just enough to keep you upright. You had the wherewithal to be embarrassed by the conditions of the tent. You yanked the stained sheets off the cot, balling them in your hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” you spluttered, shoving the sheets into a corner of the tent. You had no new ones to add to the cot, and very little in the way of creature comforts to offer to notable guests. For his part, the General didn’t seem to mind, his eyes following you as you bustled about, straightening the pillows on the bare mattress and trying to brush down the stray hairs that had broken loose from your braids, curling at the temples from the humid summer night and your own exertion. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he assured you kindly. You beckoned to the mattress once it was as presentable as you could make it. Aleksander sat on it without hesitation, that same genteel smile on his handsome face. “There’s often no time for the niceties when our powers are needed.” 

Your curiosity was piqued by his comment, but you were too flustered to ask anything of it. He adjusted on the squeaky mattress, remaining upright with his hands clasped in his lap. You pulled a stool over from the corner of the tent and placed it next to his right leg, balancing your weight on it. 

“What needs healing?” you asked, retreating to your role of Healer in order to escape your own embarrassment. 

He gestured to the scars again. You swallowed thickly, examining them carefully and trying to avoid his gaze. He studied you intently, his expression calm and unreadable. 

“I’ve never seen scars like this,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to heal these.” 

He nodded, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “They are from a Volcra,” he offered by way of explanation, noting the shock on your face. “I do indeed doubt that you’ve seen scars like these before. Whether your gifts work or not, I would be much obliged if you were to try.” 

You nodded earnestly, wiping your hands on the front of the nurses apron you wore. Although you didn’t use the conventional tools of a doctor, you found that people trusted you when you looked more like what they expected. You’d never been trained as a Grisha for the Second Army anyways, so you had no red Kefta to wear like the Healers of Kirigan’s ranks. 

You let your mind loosen its grip on the nerves as you felt yourself sink into the role of Healer. Kirigan nodded at you, sensing the change in tone as you lifted your hands to the side of his face. 

You tapped into the well of your powers that sat at the center of your chest. You had to reach deep, your reserves sapped from the day. But you felt it, the warm energy of the Small Science, and grasped it. With effortful concentration, you pushed the energy up into your shoulders and down the length of your arms into your palms and fingers. Then, you launched it into the space between your fingertips and the General’s face, allowing the Small Science to do the rest. For several moments, nothing happened. The black scars stared back at you unchanged. You dug deeper, pulling all the healing energy you could find buried in you and forcing it into your hands. You were trembling by the end of it, the attempt completely draining you. 

“Here. Let me help you.” You watched with confusion as Aleksander lifted his hands from his lap, until his fingertips barely touched your exposed wrists. As his skin made contact with yours, you felt a new dimension of energy open up to you. Like you’d been standing on the other side of a veil, the force of your powers tripled in a surge of warmth. 

You struggled with the extra effort of channeling the new powers, your concentration narrowing to nothing but your hands and the scars. You felt the power pulse with the inhale and exhale of your own breath, and after a few surges you began to see the skin around Aleksander’s scars start to mend itself. Like wind wiping away ridges in sand, the scars slowly shrunk, one excruciating millimeter at a time. 

Even with whatever added power Aleksander had gifted you by his touch, you felt your body begin to tire. Your head started to pound, your eyelids becoming heavy. 

Aleksander must have noticed too, because he very gently pulled your hands away from his face after a few more moments of effort. When the distance between your hands and his face was too great for your powers to traverse, you felt your body crumple in an exhausted heap on the stool. You let your head hang heavy, your chest heaving. You closed your eyes, breathing through the dull roar in your ears. 

You weren’t sure how long passed - probably only a few breaths. Your awareness came back slowly. You slowly lifted your head, your eyes coming to focus on Aleksander’s face. He hadn’t moved from his seat on the bare mattress at the center of the tent, and you noted with a swell of pride that his scars were noticeably smaller and less disfiguring. 

It took you a second to realize that there were tears pooling in his dark eyes. One loosed itself and traced a slow trail down his unmarred cheek. He was looking at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude, a new smile on his lips. 

“What was that?” you asked bluntly, looking at his hands. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing you couldn’t do yourself,” he replied cryptically. His voice sounded lighter. “I just gave you a boost to reach the full strength of your powers.” 

You couldn’t hazard a guess as to what that meant, or how to interpret what you’d just experienced. Your attention was turning elsewhere as another tear sprang free from his eyes. 

“Normally people stop crying after I’ve healed them,” you observed quietly. “Have I hurt you?” 

His expression turned somber and serious, the gentle smile melting from his lips. 

“No, y/n. You didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, actually. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. I feel almost… free.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the fatigue or the weight in Aleksander’s voice, but your heart ached at his words. Acting on an instinct, you leaned forward and brushed away a teardrop with your thumb against his jawline. You pulled back hesitantly, afraid you’d crossed a line. Aleksander’s hand caught yours. You felt your powers rumbling in response to whatever magic lived in his skin, your heart skipping a beat as he held your hand to his cheek. 

“I’d ask if we could stay a while. Please.” 

You swallowed, uncertain for a moment. You could only imagine what Donovan and the other Healers you traveled with along the Ravkan border would think. Donovan certainly would have told everyone within earshot about who was in your tent by now, if they hadn’t seen the Black General themselves. What would they think if he lingered too long?

You watched as Aleksander’s expression turned from pleading to naked desperation and immediately made your decision. You nodded, unable to deny him a small comfort he so desperately needed. 

His eyes fluttered closed as he nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” he breathed out, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of your hand. “No need to go further,” he added, following your train of thought to the questions you were too afraid to ask. “I’m not asking for your body. Just your presence.”

You felt yourself relax as the sincerity of Aleksander’s words wrapped around you. You let your thumb stroke gently back and forth along the plane of his cheek. His eyes were still closed, and you saw him continue to breathe deeply. 

“What brought you here?” you asked cautiously after a few moments of quiet. 

His eyes opened gently, and you were once again struck by how very dark his irises were. 

“I found myself in need of a Healer with skills beyond just mending flesh. Rumor of your talents reached me. And I was…” His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he became lost in thought for a moment. “I was out of options. These scars aren’t the only wounds I suffered in the Fold.” 

You nodded as if you understood, although in truth you didn’t. You’d heard from some of your past patients that you were more than just a Healer, but you never knew what to make of those statements, so you’d always dismissed them as expressions of gratitude. Most of your patients were otkazat'sya - non-Grisha - so it was particularly easy to explain away their superstitions about your powers. To hear it from the Black General made your mind reel. You tried to tamp down the selfish part of you that was itching to ask more. 

“I’m glad I could help,” you stammered out blandly. Aleksander sighed, leaning against your hand for one more moment before he smiled and began to rise from the cot. 

“I won’t keep you, I can see how exhausted you are.” You rose along with him, trailing after him like a nervous puppy as he made to move towards the tent flap. 

“Those scars aren’t completely healed,” you observed. “I could accompany you, General. If you’d like.” You were astounded by your own boldness, and you weren’t sure if you offered because of how devastatingly handsome he was or because you sensed how deeply he needed your powers. 

He hesitated at the edge of your tent, turning back to face you with a pained look of regret on his face. 

“A kind offer,” he replied softly. “But one I can’t accept, I’m afraid.”

You interrupted his exit again, a restless energy inside you imploring him not to leave. “Why not?” 

He didn’t stop this time, although you heard his quiet answer perfectly clear. “I have a knack for ruining beautiful things, and I would not wish such a fate on you.”

General Kirigan vanished into the warm summer night like a shadow. His visit had been so fleeting and unusual that you questioned whether you’d dreamt the whole thing in some sort of exhausted fever dream. It wasn’t until the following week, when you received a fresh set of bedsheets and new nurse’s apron from a mysterious donor, that you began to believe your own memory. There was a note tucked into the sheets, written on crisp parchment paper in the darkest ink you’d ever seen:

For the healer who mends more than what can be seen

You saved the note, if only to prove to yourself that it hadn’t been a dream after all…

[black-rose-writings]

Hi! I was wondering if you could reccomend some good darkling fics!

No, I'm sorry.

I haven't been reading Grishaverse fanfics for a while.

But if anyone has any recomendations, you can leave them in the replies :-D

[moonlightgrisha]

First encounter

Ch. 1 This is how it all began. [Masterlist] Previous - Next

On your first night at the Grand Palace, you fall asleep in your bed and wake up in a meadow.

You gasp, and you stumble, then you realize what has happened. You sleepwalked out of your room, out of the gates, up the hill above the palace grounds.

You guess by your dirty nightgown and scratched arms that it must have not been an easy way. You shiver, then look up.

A thin crescent moon is still lingering in the sky, although you can already see the first flashes of dawn. You are here, alone, and you cannot resist. You lift your head to call upon it.

If he had been just a few seconds late, he would have caught you in the act. But you see him first, and you freeze.

He is dressed in black, riding a dark horse, looking at you.

Shadows. Monsters. Blood.

Memories of your nightmares suddenly get hold of you. The man is Grisha, and they told you about him.

He could say a million things, but he says: "Are you lost?"

"No", you answer. You don't know why you said that.

He doesn't move. "You are not Grisha", he mumbles, so low you can barely hear him. He seems confused for a second, then he speaks again. "What are you doing here?"

You try not to feel so cold. "The same as you, a morning stroll". You pause, then add. "Sir".

You can swear he doesn't buy any of it, but he seems to recall his manners, now. He takes his horse a few steps back. "These are Little Palace's grounds. You shouldn't be here... milady".

"Huh?"

"You are not Grisha", he says again, this time louder. It sounds more like a question.

You are used to lie, but this time you just can't. So you say: "I'll better be going, now. Have a good day".

You turn your back at the Darkling and begin to find your way in the woods, hoping he wouldn't come after you, hoping he doesn't see through you.

You don't look back, and he doesn't follow you. The morning light is shining, now, and if he sends shadows after you, you can't tell.

Your heart is pounding in your chest.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hysteria

kinktober, day twenty-eight

a/n: look, we already know that I'm a nerd when it comes to medical history, so this really shouldn't come as a surprise. only thing surprising about it is how fucking long it took for me to finally write this kinda fic, damn, because this fantasy is ancient.

summary: “miss, I’m afraid to inform you that you have hysteria.”

warnings: doctor!aleksander morozova x innocent!reader, smut, dubcon, historical au, medical kink, time accurate sexism, fingering, sex toys (vibrator, fuck machine), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, size kink, squirting, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, creampie, overstimulation

word count: 1607

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

Eyes glued to the clipboard in his hand, doctor Morozova quietly read up from the list of symptoms he had just scribbled down, “…unmarried, insomnia, increased nervousness during social interactions… miss,” he then lifted his obsidian gaze and told you gravely, “I’m afraid to inform you that you have hysteria.”

“I-I do?” 

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry,” he laid the papers down on the desk before him, “seems like your womb is not where it’s supposed to be and that can cause all sorts of problems as you can see by your symptoms.”

Fingers weaved so tightly in the fabric in your lap it nearly broke through, ruining your dress, your panic began to bubble out, “what should I do, doctor? Is there a cure?”

“There is,” he nodded, subtly raising a hand up to soothe your nerves, “the way to relieve this disorder is by causing something called a hysterical paroxysm,” he informed, abruptly redirecting his stare down upon the woodgrain of the tabletop, “now, usually, if a woman is married, the husband is to perform the treatment, but since you’re not,” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “I’ll help rid your body of this ailment.”

“Really? Thank you,” you gasped, “what, uh, what does it entail?”

“Oh, it’s simple enough,” he waved a casual hand, “you just rid yourself of your undergarments and lay down on the exam table for me.”

“I-…” you blinked, eyes wide before you swallowed, “…alright…”

Getting up from the chair opposing his desk, you walked around the flimsy partition set up in the corner. Reaching under your dress, you timidly pulled your underwear down your legs, past your stockings and off. Folding the garment in a neat little bundle, you settled it on the small stool that stood back here before stepping back out from behind the cover. 

Now settled at the bottom of the exam table on a seat, he gestured for you to get up onto the slab before you apprehensively did so. 

“If you would please just put your feet up in these stirrups,” he adjusted the metal legs below you, “then we can get started.” 

As you then shifted, settling your feet into place, your skirts tented and began to ride up, a gust of crisp air kissing your exposed centre and causing your cheeks to heat up.  

Hearing his chair scoot closer, you then felt his touch softly ghost from your knees all the way up your thighs till his fingers were gently prying your petals apart. After taking a good look, he then briefly retracted his touch, unscrewing a nearby dark glass jar, swiping up some of the glossy contents before grazing through your folds once more, the cool temperature of the lubrication causing you to suck in a sharp breath. 

“Sorry, if it’s a bit cold,” he murmured as he continued to smear it in. 

Head faintly shaking, “it’s fine,” you tried just to focus on your breathing. 

Pushing your dress a bit more out of the way, he told you, “just try and relax for me, it will go by a lot smoother if you relax,” his touch then suddenly changed, “now, tell me,” zeroing in and pressing down on your clit in a way that made the office around you go fuzzy, “how does that feel?” 

Blinking down at him, you found that his vision was already firm on you, “I-… I don’t know… how is it supposed to feel?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” he rubbed a bit harder, “so, does it feel good?”

“I-I guess so,” your vision fluttered back up towards the ceiling, the doctor’s dark eyes being too much to stand, “yeah.”

“Good, good,” his attentive touch then shifted, “now let me just have a feel inside. Deep breath for me,” your lungs expanded at his command, “there you go,” and his long finger pressed inside, gently curving it around against your walls as he examined, “yep, there it is… your womb, it’s in the completely wrong spot,” he swiftly worked another digit in, watching as you stretched around his fingers, “it’s good that you came in now before it got even worse,” pulling back out, he ended the contact with an unnecessary rub against your buzzing clit.

As he then scooted a bulky and mysterious machine over, you asked nervously, “w-what is that?”

“Just a little apparatus that’s gonna help cure you,” he twisted a vaguely phallic shape into place at the end of the device’s long arm. After noticing your startled expression, you felt his warm hand sprawl across your thigh, “don’t worry, love. It’s all gonna be just fine,” lining it up, “just try and lay still,” he turned a switch and the attachment slowly drove into you. 

“Oh my god!” your palm slammed down against the exam table. 

“Shh, it’s alright,” he caught your eye till your body slowly began to give in, calming under his gaze. Reaching his right hand up, he tickled your puff as the gadget slowly eased in and out of you, “you’re doing great so far, just relax for me,” you saw his free fingers sneak down to enclose around the apparatus’s knob once more, turning the speed further up.  

Feeling like you might fall off the table entirely, you panted, “doctor, I think something might be wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, love,” he nearly chuckled, “this is how it’s supposed to feel,” smiling as you let go an uncontainable moan, knees nearly closing as you tumbled over the edge, “there it is, good, good…”

Expecting for the machine to be shut off, the doctor instead pushed your trembling knees aside and conjured a bulky ward-like device that buzzed in his tight grip, the other hand firm on your leg as he pressed the vibrator against your sensitive pearl, “ah! Doctor! What are you-”

“We’re not done yet,” he stated firmly, vision fixated on the mess he was turning you into. 

The squelching of your pussy cut through the loud buzzing of the gizmos, “but it’s too much, I can’t-”

“You wanna get better, don’t you?”

Fists tight in your dress, crumbled at your waist, you let out a shaky, “yes.”

“Then quit your whining and let me treat you,” his stare snapped up as he warned you, “if you keep that up then I’ll have no other choice but to restrain you, is that what you want?”

“N-no,” the overwhelming sensation caused you to tremble like a leaf. 

“Be a good girl and take it.”

When the second wave hit, it crashed into you so fiercely that you let out a lewd scream. 

“There you go, that’s it!” the doctor bellowed as your pussy gushed, crying out around the intense toys, “oh, fuck…” unable to peel his eyes away as he finally turned off the machines, additional juices squirting out as they withdrew. 

Limbs twitching, you hazily asked, “was that it? Are we done?”

Palming himself through his pants, his gaze stayed glued to your weeping core, “not quite yet, miss… that release of excess fluids was a very good sign, very good sign indeed, but we’re not quite done… there’s still more that needs to get out in order for your uterus to align itself again,” your eyes then flicked down to his fingers as they worked at the buttons on his slacks, swiftly freeing something much bigger than the apparatus he had just fucked you with. 

“Doctor?” your eyes grew as he stepped closer, rubbing his tip against you in a way that made your eyes flutter. 

Finally meeting your gaze, he uttered, “please, call me Aleksander,” before thrusting his hips forward, stretching you apart with his cock. Fingers digging into your thighs, he glanced back down and smirked, “I think your womb just needs a little reminder of where its home is,” before he slammed in, all the way, pushing the air out of your lungs as his balls nuzzled against you.

“Ah!”

“Just need to knock at its door a bit to call it home,” the tip of his generous length kissed your cervix with every rough thrust, borderline going too deep as you clambered around him, “that’s it, taking the treatment so well.”

Just as you had thought he had settled on a rhythm, he pulled the rug out from under you by suddenly withdrawing his girth entirely, spreading you apart so that he could watch how he made you gape, only to bury himself completely once again, repeating the cycle over and over, relishing in the way it drove you up the wall. 

“Fucking hell… I can feel it, you’re getting close, clamping around me like a desperate little whore,” he groaned, watching as after a few more breath-taking rounds, your pussy began to weep once again, “oh, there it is,” squirting out every time he retraced himself, “atta girl,” the fullness he then granted you only persuaded more to appear. 

When you were nothing more than a literal puddle in his grasp, Aleksander truly lost control, pounding into your trembling mess before he made it even more so, stuffing you full of his hot cum. 

Low groans still flowed from his lips as he retracted from you for good, the sensation of his seed trickling out of you and onto the exam table nearly going unnoticed from how exhausted the treatment had made you. 

“Was that it?” you asked weakly, “am I cured now?”

Tugging himself away as he caught his breath, he answered, “not completely,” glancing back up at you with a glint in his dark eyes, “I think you’re gonna have to come back a few more times …”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[a-reverii]

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