Kasagia

She/her ^ Darkling's darling ^ Coryo's rose ^ Feyd's blade ^ Kaz's crow ^ Amator writer ^ Veeery shy ^ English isn't my native language so I'm so sorry for any mistakes^Requests are open🩵🖤

[kasagia]

Main Masterlist

Shadow and Bone/Six of crows

The Darkling/General Kirigan/Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist

Kaz Brekker's Masterlist

Marauder's Era - Harry Potter

Sirius Black's Masterlist

Dune

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist

The Bikeriders

Benny Cross' Masterlist

The Rings Of Power

Halbrand's Masterlist

Marvel - The Punisher

Billy Russo's Masterlist

The Hunger Games

Coriolanus Snow's Masterlist

TVD/TO

Klaus Mikaelson's Masterlist

[kasagia]

It is yet another year here (although I had a very long break… AGAIN. I am fully blaming my uni.), and I realized I had never, ever made a "special oneshot short request," sooooo... if anyone wants to, here's a list and some prompts (all with x fem!reader, because I just got used to writing it). Thank you, have fuuuuuun! 🥰🥰🥰

1. Darkling

2. Sirius Black

3. Regulus Black

4. Tommy Shelby

5. Billy Russo

6. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

7. Klaus Mikaelson

+ COLUMN A OR B AND NUMBER (max 3)! (or you can be creative and come up with something of your own😊)

Taken from pinterest:

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[kasagia]

Help. I rewatched Peaky Blinders and strangely I feel like writing for Tommy Shelby. Although everyone's probably already left the Garrison and I'm still at the restaurant (yes, TayTay again). 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I don't know when the next part of anything will be. I'm currently suffering from a lack of inspiration, and on Monday my uni and classes start in earnest, and I'm barely alive. 5 hours of labs, I'm coming to you.🥹🥹

[kasagia]

Moya soverenyia II

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Alina Starkov Summary: Alina is trying to process everything she's been learning about the Darkling lately. And it's clouding her opinion of him even more. How ridiculously comfortable he feels around her doesn't help either. Nor does his attempt to control her. Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 1 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~

Alina manages to avoid the Darkling for a week. The search for Baghra and the stag has caused her to fade into the background of his interests. Her days were limited to training with Botkin, etiquette lessons with Genya, running away from Ivan – something she was getting better at with each day – and secret trips to the kitchen for something sweet with Fedyor.

Oh, Mal's letters had been returned to her. But she still hadn't received any new ones that she simply KNEW her friend had sent her. He had to. At least he had to answer the letter Alexei had delivered to him. But Mal hadn't sent her anything new from Winter Fete—a fact that made her deeply suspicious of the Dark General's pure intentions. She began to wonder if his intentions toward her had ever been pure...

All in all, it was quite a successful week.

Of course, they had to ruin her little idyll.

"You're behaving absurdly." Genya comments as she watches over her so she doesn't escape from the war room, which Ivan managed to trick her into entering.

Alina makes a mental note to punish Fedyor for betraying her and helping the older heartrender do this. Maybe she should report him to his worser half and mention all those trips to the kitchen that Fedyor made with her. She wonders how Ivan would react to the news that Fedyor despises herring as much as she does and secretly steals all the cookies from the palace kitchen with her.

"And in some circles, that would be considered as a kidnapping. Imprisonment, even."

"You're acting like a child. Even little Grisha know they have to obey the General. What has gotten into you?" Genya sighs in irritation at her behaviour, to which Alian just shrugs.

"Demon." Alina snorts in response to her question and sits on the edge of the war table. Genya rolls his eyes at her and leans against the bookshelves.

The tailor also deserved some kind of punishment. Alina thought about not talking to the redhead, but then she would be completely condemned to Ivan's company, and she couldn't do that to herself. Loneliness turned out to be a real bitch.

Alina found herself more troubled by the Little Palace than by the orphanage—at least there, she had Mal. Here, she was condemned to the company of the Grisha, whose loyalty lay entirely with a man Alina couldn't fully trust anymore. The Darkling might not have harmed her, but he definitely had plans for her that she wouldn't approve of. Otherwise, he wouldn't have kept her in such blatant ignorance and a blissful, idyllic bubble. It was a shame Baghra had reached out to her from behind the bars of her golden prison, because sometimes it was actually better not to know you were in one—the walls around you felt less oppressive when Alina was unaware of Aleksander's true face.

So she was condemned to this strange kind of loneliness, surrounded by people you can't tell about your true emotions, about the dark thoughts swirling in your head. And that hurt Alina more than any punishment Ana Kuya had ever given her at the orphanage.

To sum up, as much as Alina wanted her relationship with the redhead to go back to the funny and honest one that it had seemed at first to be, she knew she wouldn't be able to trust her. Not when the Darkling holds so much power over them all. That's why she made sure to give Genya the same headache as everyone who guarded her on the general's orders.

"I thought you enjoyed the General's company? What happened that you suddenly avoid him like the plague?" Alina narrows her eyes at her suspiciously as the tailor suddenly starts to question her about Kirigan.

She gets her answer as to why Genya does this when she notices his silhouette in the reflection of the mirror, lurking behind the half-closed door of his bedroom. Of course... always on guard to stick his nose where he isn't needed. Apparently, snooping through her letters wasn't enough for him, and he saw no harm in eavesdropping on her conversations either.

"Enjoyed. Past tense." Alina points, turning her head toward Darkling's bedroom door. "I would like him much more if he didn't eavesdrop on my conversations and didn't have anyone steal my correspondence."

Her remark is greeted by the opening of the door and the entrance of an irritated general. Alina smiles at his clenched jaw as he tries not to show his anger at her. This mask of composure would be more believable to Alina if she hadn't had so many opportunities to see him truly relaxed and calm in these past weeks.

"Thank you, Genya. You can leave." The Darkling dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

Genya sighs, giving Alina a long, hard look, and leaves, closing the door behind her with a bang. This doesn't bother Alina. Since everyone here treated her like a child, watching over her at every turn, she could fit into this role with flying colours. She would be the worst, most insufferable bastard the Darkling had his men guarding.

After the tailor left, Kirigan didn't even look at her – something that she found quite annoying. Sometimes his ignorance irritated her more than his burning gaze. He walks over to his stack of papers, suddenly finding deep interest in one of the reports.

Alina barely suppresses a snort. Very good. She prefers it when he plays the cold general instead of trying to seduce her into his plans. At least this way she knows how to deal with him.

"You wanted to see me." She says coldly, trying to imitate Ivan's matter-of-fact voice – a skill she began to hone over time as a result of spending too much time in the presence of his most loyal heartrender.

But just as Alina loves to tease him, Aleksander seems to clearly take great joy in ignoring her. She even dares to say that he takes greater pleasure in getting under her skin than she ever felt while messing with him. And this was more than unacceptable to her.

"Indeed." He mumbles, his dark eyes never leaving the report he holds. Alina pouts, crossing her arms as she waits for him to finish toying with her. "Patience. We have much to discuss." He adds, feeling her irritation radiate.

"Since when do you discuss anything with me?"

“Keep that attitude, and I can stop right now.” He raises his gaze to her in a sharp warning. She rolls her eyes and takes a seat in one of his armchairs, waiting for him to finish reading his report. In some ways, he was a lot like his mother. They both loved driving people crazy. “We need to change up your training a bit.”

"How so?" Alina feigns surprise, though she knows perfectly well what is behind this sudden decision. The absence of Baghra has caused Botkin to work with her more on her physical fitness. However, it is not these skills that everyone in the palace expected her to develop.

"From today on, I will be practising summoning with you. Baghra has made good progress with you in the basics, but we must go further. Much further, if we plan on facing the fold anytime soon."

"I liked Baghra's teaching style. Besides, don't you have more important things to worry about than teaching me?" A small, mischievous smile appears on the General's face at her words. As if it were possible for anyone to enjoy training from Baghra. Alina realises too late that she shot herself in the foot with this move.

"I can always ask Ivan to practise with you."

"Are you going to scare me with Ivan until he's a grumpy old man who can't even run after me?"

"I think he would be just as effective even then." Alina can't help but snort in amusement at his remark. Which makes Aleksander's smirk brighten and become less malicious. Danger. He is never nice without a reason. "Besides, you brought this on yourself. I told you he is likeable once you get to know him; you're just resisting doing so more than a child resists the bath."

His dark irises tell her that he has something else on his mind that she is resisting. Or rather, someone...

"And I think I've already told you that we have completely different circles of friends in which we want to revolve." If you have any. She adds wryly in her head.

"I wouldn't say so. Do you feel so much disdain for anyone else besides Ivan and Zoya?" Alina frowns at the memory of the squaller.

Luckily, she hadn't seen Zoya since their little incident at the training ground, and she was glad she had. And this time, it didn't bother her that the Darkling had specifically ordered Zoya to stay away from her. If he limited himself to cutting out of her life only those people she sincerely hated, then she would give him permission to interfere in her affairs however he wanted. Unfortunately, life would be too easy for Alina if he acted even a little bit in accordance with her wishes.

"I thought you wanted to discuss my training with me, not my social life, which you control perfectly well."

"How so?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. Alina clenches her teeth.

"Mal." Alina growls angrily, irritated by how he pretends to be completely unaware of his actions.

"Genya returned your tracker's letters to you, didn't she?" The way he refuses to say her friend's name like it was a dark curse would have been more amusing to Alina if the Darkling hadn't tried to play on her already frayed nerves.

"Oh, she did. While not bringing me anything new. I wonder why?" Alina doesn't miss the wicked smirk that spreads across the Darkling's lips.

He rises from his seat and walks around the war table, slowly making his way toward her. Each of his steps is measured and unhurried, showing that he has complete control over their conversation. Alina didn't like it very much.

"Maybe your friend doesn't have as much free time as he used to? Or maybe he's run out of creative ideas for describing how he'll come here to rescue you from my... shadowy clutches?" He scoffs, amused, quoting a passage from Mal's last letter, which Alina devoured yesterday evening.

"So you admit to reading them?"

"I've just skimmed through the most creative and entertaining parts. Contrary to appearances, reading these reports isn't all that exciting. Everyone needs a moment of respite." He scoffs, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers and tucking it behind her ear. She tries her hardest not to blush as his fingertips brush against her skin.

A hackneyed move. But that doesn't mean she can remain indifferent to the feeling of his strengthening power as his fingertips touch her already heated cheek.

"You could have called me, we would have laughed at them together." Alina snorts and steps away from him, slowly circling the round war table and staring at the spread-out maps.

She had to have a clear mind to talk to him, and his proximity... his proximity never encouraged analytical thinking.

"What guilt do I have against you this time?" He asks, resting his hands on the edge of the table and watching her closely as she examines the maps in front of her.

Where could that damn stag be... where could Mal be?

"I still don't get any letters from Mal. You promised..."

"I promised to return to you those that the tracker has already sent. I did not say a word about any obligation to deliver new ones to you, my Alina." He cuts her off, circling the table again. Alina snorts, too angry at him to notice how he circles her, causing her hips to slam against the edge of the war table. Aleksander places his hands on either side of Alina. She throws him a cold glare, crossing her arms over her chest to keep even a little distance from him. "You need to think carefully about your demands before you make them to someone." He purrs contentedly, baring his white fangs in a wolfish grin.

Alina misses the days when it was impossible to get a reaction out of him. He was much more irritating when he didn't hide his true feelings. And his confidence and teasing made her want to cut him in half with her own knife. Maybe their little arguments would finally give her the motivation she needed to learn to control her power. It would be nice to vent her anger like that sometimes...

"What is this? A lesson in negotiation? Manipulation?" She asks defiantly, raising an eyebrow at him. Her attitude only seems to amuse him more. And with his growing delight, her anger grows exponentially.

Aleksander leans toward her, causing Alina to arch her spine toward the war table to be anywhere but close to him.

"I wouldn't dare give you such immoral lessons."

Alina has it on the tip of her tongue to mock him and tell him that he clearly had no moral problem doing worse things not only to her but to others, but she hadn't come here to unbalance him. Or rather, she hadn't been brought here just to argue with him. She had to fight her way into Mal's letters. And she was going to do it today.

"What do you want? In exchange for open correspondence between Mal and me, which none of your men or you will read, spy on, intercept, or do anything but deliver to me?" She asks, reaching for the collar of his kefta and gently smoothing it down. She can't tell from the Darkling's expression that he's completely fallen for her desperate attempt to seduce him, but he can't help but lean into her touch.

"You see... wanting is a very dangerous thing, Miss Starkov." He mumbles as Alina's fingertips 'accidentally' touch the skin of his neck, caressing it a little as she plays with his collar. The Darkling clears his throat but makes no move to push her away.

"And yet... everyone desires something." She whispers, her gaze lingering on his lips a moment too long—just long enough for him to notice. Each move and glare was perfectly planned and calculated.

"But we are not everyone, are we?" He murmurs, leaning closer to her, sending a treacherous shiver down her spine. She'd kissed him before.

Once before, she'd been tempted to stand on tiptoe and press her lips against his. She still remembered his taste. Intoxicating. Addictive. Dainty and dry, like a fine wine she'd tasted at the last Winter Fête.

She holds her breath as his nose brushes gently against hers. She feels his breath on her lips, but she isn't brave enough to meet his gaze, so she closes her eyes. Alina knows perfectly well that, with his centuries of experience, he'll be able to easily read in her eyes what she truly wants... what she wanted on the night of the Winter Feast, before Baghra stepped in and ruined any romance they'd had. His gentle touch, his gaze filled with adoration and desire, his whispered, sinful invitation—or rather, the brazen way he'd invited himself into her chambers—all of it, unfortunately, refused to leave her mind, simply because the man she was drawn to like metal to a magnet turned out to be the Black Heretic who had created the Fold.

His hand travelled to her shoulder, and if it weren't for the cold metal of his ring against her heated skin—the same sliver of metal he'd used to test her Grisha powers all those months ago in that damned tent—she likely wouldn't have moved an inch as he leaned toward her. Instead of kissing her—something Alina had barely denied herself—he leaned toward her so that his forehead rested against her temple, resting against it as she turned her head at the last moment. He didn't utter a word; his only reaction to refusing to chase her with his mouth was to tighten his grip on her shoulder. Alina regretted throwing aside her kefta in rebellion before she got here. Every tiny touch felt like a finely honed weapon aimed against her, against her common sense.

Because facing the truth... after so many years of being unwanted by no one, it was attractive to her to be desired by a powerful man who had seen thousands in the centuries he had lived through and still be chosen and seen by him. And this lust of his could only be caused by the fact that she happened to have the gift of summoning the sun hidden within her, but Alina allowed herself to ignore this fact as long as she breathed the same air as the Shadow Summoner.

"I'll think about it. Let's consider it... your debt to me. An expression of my goodwill." He finally speaks and pulls away from her. Alina bites the inside of her cheek, holding back any sound in protest at the loss of his closeness. She opens her eyes and meets his searching gaze, carefully analysing his reaction... or rather, staring into his dilated pupils as she tries to compose herself and return to her cool demeanour. "Tomorrow morning we have our first training session. And I consider 6 am to be morning."

"You are worse than Baghra." She mutters to herself as he walks, rather more stiffly than usual, to the desk on the other side of the war table and picks up some reports folded on the desk.

"I beg your pardon?" He asks, looking up at her. Alina knows better than to push her luck any further.

"I said I hoped they wouldn't be worse than those with Baghra."

"Dismissed." He mumbles from behind his papers. But before she can escape the war room, he calls out her name. "Ah, and Alina." She reluctantly turns around, her hand on the doorknob, eager to finally leave this lion's den. "Don't run too far from Ivan. A little training is good for his condition, but I need him at full strength for other... escapades and missions than chasing you."

"Can Fedyor watch over me instead then?" She asks, trying her sweetest, most innocent tone. She was absolutely fed up with Ivan. Especially after his latest trick of dragging her here with the force and cunning of a Darkling's right-hand man.

"Absolutely not. I want the Little Palace to remain undamaged for a while longer. Your duet would increase the risk of possible danger."

"So I can't promise anything." She feigns regret and closes the door behind her, ignoring the way his small chuckle caused an orb of light to erupt from her fingertips.

Damn it. She really needed to start controlling her powers better. Especially around him.

For a Black Heretic, Aleksander seemed... less bloodthirsty than Alina had imagined from Baghra's story. He'd proven this during their training sessions, among other things, by approaching her... with far more humanity than Baghra ever had.

That's not to say he wasn't annoying. Oh, he was. Saints know he could, in the same sentence, praise her for her efforts and mock her for her lack of progress and poor technique. Alina was sure those little workouts had given them both a few extra grey hairs.

She was on her way to another meeting with the General in the training room and was about to enter when a little girl pushed past her – Tidemaker, presumably, but the girl flashed before her eyes too quickly for Alina to be sure – and burst into the training room right ahead of her.

"Help." Alina hears the child squealing, only for the clatter of feet to subside, drowned out by the Darkling's laughter. Laughter. From him. Was the world ending today?

"Who's chasing you this time, Ulla?"

Alina leaned out slightly to peer through the crack between the doors. The girl hid under the general's kefta, clinging to him tightly as she watched the door, waiting for anyone she might offend to burst in.

"Colonel Ivan. I could have accidentally wandered into the kitchen and stumbled upon some chocolate chip cookies."

"Accidentally?" He asks doubtfully, not hiding the smile on his face.

"Absolutely, General."

"And without me?" Darkling mumbles indignantly, making Alina frown.

Was he robbing Little Palace's resources of sweets with children after hours of being a horrifying general? What the hell was going on here? He was supposed to be the monster who created the fold, the ruthless leader who sent his men to their deaths to get what he wanted. Not... that. Not standing by the children when they do something wrong and hiding from Ivan's punishment.

"Well... I was expecting to save someone else from Ivan's wrath today, but if I have to." He sighs, making an obvious allusion to Alina and her own dislike of Aleksander's Heartrender.

She's tempted to go inside, but any idea of ​​mocking the general vanishes when she hears footsteps in the hallway.

Fuck. Ivan.

Alina acts on instinct and hides in the exercise equipment closet by the training room. She knows perfectly well that this isn't the kind of independent and courageous act she was meant to be displaying, but avoiding a confrontation with an angry Ivan was worth the slight humiliation of hiding from him.

This gives her the opportunity to eavesdrop on further events, entering the training room a few seconds after Ivan goes on to continue his search for the disobedient 5-year-old Grisha.

"Thank you, General." The dark-haired girl emerges from under his kefta with a relieved smile.

"This is the last time I'm hiding you from Ivan, Ulla." He scolds her, much more cold and formal than before, and clears his throat awkwardly when he notices Alina at the door.

"I know, I know, you said that last time. I'll bring you the honey biscuits Gustav made today. Thank you! Goodbye, General. Goodbye, Sun Summoner." The little Tidemaker leaves the room and runs in the opposite direction of where Ivan went. Alina leans against the doorframe and raises an eyebrow at Aleksander, a small, mocking smile on her lips.

"Don't even start." He begins and awkwardly places the training equipment he had prepared for today on the mat – focusing his gaze on everything but her.

"I did not say anything."

"But it is clear that you want to."

"Of course... don't you think it's strange that the big bad Darkling, instead of intimidating the little Grisha, conspires with them against his most trusted man and helps them escape for honey biscuits? You can't blame me if I'm a little shocked. Confused, even."

"Not with any of them. Have you exercised since our last training session?"

"I was too busy snacking on sweets from the kitchen with a few Inferni." Alina doesn't let him get off the subject and continues to mock him.

"Fine. If you must know... I admit Ulla gets some... special treatment..."

"Special treatment? Is this the next stage between us? Did you also first take away all her letters from friends and family and then start playing the good general who helps her hide from Ivan and eats sweets with her?" Alina interrupts him mockingly, a hint of accusation colouring her tone of voice.

"Ulla is my sister's daughter. And no. I haven't been as vigilant about her... social contacts as I could have been with you... because, unlike you, she's important only to me, not to the future of all of Ravka and Grisha."

"You have siblings? A sister? Where is she?"

"Underground. Killed by the Fjerdans for being something they couldn't understand." He replies curtly and clasps his hands behind his back, giving her a quick, sharp look that tells her she better not pursue the subject further. And the flash of pain in his dark irises makes Alina reluctantly agree to his unspoken request.

However, this unexpected confession makes the cat catch Alina's tongue. She tries to process this new revelation, but the fragments of the story Aleksander shows her don't match those Baghra has told her. If the two of them were immortal... then where did the sister come from? Baghra would have mentioned her. She would have had to.

"For every second you waste fighting me, every act of rebellion, every ignorance you show about what's happening outside the walls of this palace, in the lands of Fjerda, Shu Han, even in Ravka itself, innocent Grisha die. Simply because they are different. Unique. More powerful. Is it really worth fighting me every step of the way just to win whatever war you've imagined between us?"

"You locked me in here. You cut me off from my old life as if it had no meaning and forced me to... to this." Alina growls furiously, pointing to her blue kefta adorned with gold embroidery, defending herself against his words that hit her most sensitive places, her deepest doubts and fears.

"It's good you said it. The old life. That's how it was. You weren't yourself, Alina. And now that you can finally be, when, as you said, I've locked you away within the safety of the four walls of the Little Palace, the only sanctuary and refuge we have, so you can hone your powers and learn to defend yourself and others with them, you fold your arms and pretend to be a resentful child, looking for someone to vent your anger and frustration on. What exactly are you afraid of? What actions of mine are you objecting to, exactly, besides the fact that I gave you a roof over your head, a warm bed, and food—something few of us can enjoy?"

"I... you... this isn't any damn refuge. It's just a gilded cage that you're trying to lock me in."

"So when exactly did I become a villain in your story? When did I defend you from Drüskelle? From the king's lustful gaze? Or perhaps, when did I try my best to integrate you into our Grisha community?"

With each sentence he utters, he takes a step toward her, closing the distance between them and standing directly in front of her. Alina realises once again how much harder it is to argue with him when he's this close to her. However, her anger, the suffocating, frustrating feeling of helplessness and powerlessness she has had since she came to this cursed palace, makes her regain her sanity.

"When you took away my ability to choose, thinking that I would adapt to this miserable reality faster if you told me a few nice words and gave me a kiss behind closed doors."

"Would you prefer if I kissed you on the other side of the door? So everyone could see?" Alina bites the inside of her cheek, furious both at her stupid heart for the way it sped up in her chest at his words and at the audacity of his question.

"I... you know perfectly well that's not what this is about."

"So what's this all about, my Alina?" He says her name in that characteristically soft tone that clung to her ears like the silk of her dress, which had recently caressed her skin.

In moments like these, when every wisp of her name slipped off his tongue like something sacred, Alina allowed herself to think that perhaps being the Sankta they wanted to worship wasn't such a terrible fate. Fortunately, thanks to his black kefta, his watchful gaze, and his overall dominant, watchful demeanour, she quickly came to her senses. It was another battle of wills between them. And she had to win if she didn't want to be just another puppet in his hands—ready to be used however he desired.

"Certainly not about us. Because there was no us."

"It wasn't, was it? After all, those late-night conversations in my war room, our horseback rides, and all those glances were just part of my game and manipulation, right? You flatter me to think I could keep up such a charade all the time."

"I think you've done things that require much more cunning, dedication, and perseverance than playing a lover pulled from some niche romance. Right, Aleksander?"

Instead of responding with another sneer, he lets a small smile appear on his face. Alina frowns, more prepared for another attack from him than for him to silently stare at her. She doesn't know which is more dangerous, arguing passionately with him or being the recipient of his dark, analytical gaze.

"It's good to see that your stay at the Little Palace is working out well for you, after all. Alina, who arrived here a few months ago, wasn't quite so sharp-tongued."

She blushes, not quite ready for such praise. She shakes her head quickly, dispelling any unnecessary, confusing emotions he's stirred in her, and crosses her arms over her chest, giving him an indifferent look.

"That's true. That Alina wasn't." She reluctantly admits it, wondering how much of her old self actually remains within her. And whether that old version of Alina—the cartographer, Mal's friend, the soldier of the First Army—was actually her true self...

They stared at each other for a moment in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. She hated it when he questioned what she knew about him, what she assumed he was. He wasn't a saint. Alina knew he'd done terrible things; creating the Fold was enough to make her hate him, not to mention how he'd manipulated her these past months.

So why couldn't she, in good conscience, run away from him and leave her entire role as Saint of the Sun, Saviour of Ravka, behind? Why wasn't the thought of leaving so tempting? Was that really what she wanted? Did she want to be the centre of attention, adored by her followers and hated by her enemies? Did she want to become another heretic, only loved by Grisha instead of feared like Aleksander?

"Enough of this. You better show me what your summoning looks like. We need to move on to more difficult things if you ever want to defend yourself against the Fjerdans or face the Fold."

"Will you teach me even knowing my loyalty is not with you?" She asks, not hiding her surprise as he throws his kefta onto the chair next to them.

"I'll teach you because I'm tired of having my best men guard you when they're needed much more elsewhere. Focus, Alina. There are monsters out there worse than me who want to do more cruel things to you than scare you with their Ivans." He mocks her and moves to help her position her hands.

She tries her best to ignore the way her heart flutters at his slightest touch, igniting both her pulse and her power to life.

Oh Alina, this is not how your "fight" with the Darkling was supposed to look like...

[kasagia]

Moya soverenyia III

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Alina Starkov Summary: They set off to hunt Morozova's stag. Alina notices a completely different nature of the relationships that Darkling's inner circle has. And although she wants to believe that there is pure evil in him, she begins to notice several of his good qualities that are inconvenient for her judgment. The question is… will she become the hunter or the prey? Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 4 ~•♤♤♤•~

One of the new things Alina noticed about herself was that she liked horseback riding. Not to the extent that the trek to the Fjerda border had given her, of course, but for the first few hours of their ride, she couldn't help but feel the exhilarating pleasure of the wind whipping through her cheeks and hair as her white mare raced along with the others' horses. She guessed that was what real freedom felt like.

"Keep your eyes open. We're approaching the Drüskelle's favourite teritory." The Darkling announces, interrupting her quiet conversation with Fedyor.

Alina almost rolled her eyes at his words but stopped herself at the last moment under Ivan's watchful gaze. She shuddered, leaning further against her horse's neck, and returned to her quiet conversation with the kinder Heartrender.

"You said earlier that you were supposed to go to Kerch?" Alina continues the topic that had been abandoned by the General, who was now riding with Zoya and Ivan in front.

"That was the plan. But let's say the general thought I'd be more useful here as... a friendly face for you."

"So are you my bodyguard or my conversation partner?"

"Possibly both... is that so bad?" Alina snorts and shakes her head in disbelief at his carefree question.

"Yes? I may not have as many years of training as all of you, but I can take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter following me around."

"Well, it was either me or Ivan. Or the general himself." Fedyor whispers conspiratorially, making sure the men in front don't hear his teasing comment.

"Well, maybe it's better that the choice fell on you. You must be very happy. Relegated to the role of my caregiver." Alina scoffs, sending a hateful glare in Aleksander's direction.

Darkling, ever aware of his surroundings, senses her gaze on him and, after a few seconds, turns exactly in her direction. Fortunately, Alina averts her gaze back to Fedyor at the last moment, not getting caught in the crossfire of the general's gaze. However, her friend seems far less amused and decidedly in a worse mood than he had been a few minutes ago.

"It's better to face the Fjerdans than the fold." Heartrender mumbles, nervously playing with the ring on his finger. Alina blushes with embarrassment and briefly averts her gaze back to the snowy forest.

"Yeah... maybe it's true..."

They ride in silence for a good few minutes before the general graciously calls a break. Alina takes advantage of the inattention of their group members caused by setting up camp and decides to slip away from the watchful eye of all the other Grisha for a moment.

She was getting better at it. Or the Darkling decided to give her a little ounce of freedom and peace before sending Ivan or Fedyor after her, or he even went looking for her himself. She didn't know how he found her. One day, she deliberately covered her tracks, furious after an exchange with him, and he still managed to catch her only an hour after she disappeared.

It was as if... some invisible thread connected them, and he could always find her by it. She realised that the power within her was reaching out to him, yearning for the feeling of empowerment he provided her with his mere presence and closeness.

Previously, it had puzzled her, to say the least, how he could exert such influence over her, but after Baghra revealed the General's true identity, Alina came to the conclusion that this... glow of power and strength that emanated from him must have been earned over years of ruling other Grisha as commander of the Second Army.

Alina didn't like to think of him as immortal. For two reasons. First, it gave her a strange sense of compassion and understanding for his cruel actions and manipulations. Having lived for so many years, he had likely encountered various forms of treatment from both Grisha and the Otkazat'sya. The more she considered the decisions he made—which she deeply disagreed with—the more she saw... a logical explanation for the cruelty and ruthlessness in his actions. And second... she was afraid of becoming like him. To wake up one day and realise she was following his path... after all, immortality does strange things to people... Baghra was perhaps the best example of this.

Wandering aimlessly, she finally decides it's time to head back, and just as she turns on her heel, she hears the snap of a twig. Not beneath her feet.

Alina tenses, instinctively reaching to her side to draw her weapon, the one they issued to the cartographers, only to realise a moment later that she no longer belongs to the First Army. She had a different weapon on her person. She sighs, reaching for her light, and cautiously surveys her surroundings. And freezes. She freezes even more than during their journey, where the cold wind beat against her cheeks and seeped into her bones as her eyes met the black eyes of a white stag. The stag she had dreamed about a thousand times.

The animal lurks behind the bushes, camouflaging itself among the snowy forest. He looks at her as uncertainly and warily as she does at him. He takes a hesitant step toward her, as if he himself were being drawn to her. Instinct tells Alina to step closer, to raise her hand and reach for the animal. And this time, she wins the battle against reason, which screams at her to get as far away from there as possible. The snow crunches under her boots as she takes one hesitant step, then another, and comes face to face with the animal the Darkling and the others have likely been searching for as long as she has. And suddenly, she feels sorry for the beautiful white stag.

"So you really do exist after all..." She murmurs, gently stroking the stag's muzzle. The animal leans toward her, pressing against her hand, and Alina feels the light within her, wanting to burst out of her skin, stimulated by the deer as strongly as she reacted to Aleksander's touch. "You know, they're hunting you there. If I were you, I'd run away... actually, maybe I should run just like you do..." Alina whispers and leans toward the deer, resting her forehead against it as she strokes its neck. "But the king's and the Darkling's men would probably catch me faster than I could even get myself a horse... I think I'd be too easy prey to catch. So I guess I'll have to become a better hunter than them if even one of us is going to survive this."

The stag brushes her hair with his muzzle and steps away from her. She stares into its eyes, utterly captivated by the way the bright light radiating from her makes its white fur shimmer like snow in the sun. This moment of wonder quickly fades as the deer turns its head back the way Alina came and runs away, causing her to lose her balance at its sudden movement and fall into the snowbank behind her.

She stares for a long time at the spot where the stag fled, as if trying to convince herself that he was really there, that she had really seen him. This encounter dispels all her doubts about the Morozova's amplifier. He really existed. The Darkling could then use the bones of that poor animal to amplify Alina's powers. And what next? What would happen to the fold? What would happen to her? Would she really be just another pawn in his game? A naive girl whose powers he would use for his own purposes? Would he hunt her as fiercely as he hunted the stag?

"Alina!"

She snaps out of her thoughts when she hears his voice. A second later, he appears on the path. She frowns as she sees him almost sigh with relief at the sight of her before he switches back to alert general mode. He approaches her slowly, scanning their surroundings to make sure they're safe as he offers her his hand and helps her up.

"You could have spared yourself and us your little night escapes. I told you the Fjerdans like to wander around here. The last thing we need right now is searching for you if you fall into their hands." He mumbles and looks her up and down, making sure she's unharmed. "Is everything okay? Why were you sitting in that snow? Do you want to catch pneumonia?"

"Since when did you make mothering me your daily duty?" She scoffs angrily, irritated by his exaggerated concern.

Alina can't really tell if it's genuine, or if it stems from his... possible feelings for her, or if it's just another act of manipulation. The longer she pondered his true feelings for her, the more she became lost between all those kind acts that seemed sincere and deliberate moves designed to lower her guard around him.

"Since you're running away from my camp. Come on. You'll freeze here." He urges her on and places a hand on her back, gently guiding her back onto the path to their camp. She feels like a hound on a tight leash.

"I'm okay. I've endured worse. Besides, I wasn't running away. I was going to go back, but... something stopped me." She says, pushing his hand off of her and taking a tactical step back, barely restraining herself from looking in the direction where the white stag had disappeared from her field of view.

"Something?" He looks at her suspiciously, detecting the hesitation in her voice.

"I... saw a boar." She makes up an excuse on the spot and almost immediately wants to blow herself in the head. Bravo, Alina.

"Boar? In these parts?" He asks, surprised, and looks around again.

Damn it. He'll definitely see stag tracks if Alina doesn't think of some kind of distraction soon. She grabs his gloved hand, effectively turning his attention back to her as she tugs him by his hand.

"Yes, boar. Can we go back? I admit that I may be feeling a little cold." She cleverly changes the subject and, to confirm her words, wraps herself more tightly in her cloak and kefta, rubbing her arms as she does so.

"I told you," he mutters scoldingly and takes off his coat. Before Alina can even say a single word of protest he wraps his coat around her, completely ignoring the surprised look she gives him. The black material clings to her like a second skin, and the fur at her neck pricks her slightly. "Let's go. Fedyor should have made dinner by now."

The promise of a warm meal effectively silences her. She'll accept anything but that awful herring, which, thankfully, she hasn't seen since their departure from the Little Palace. And this weakness of hers she allows the Darkling to use against her.

"Are they always like this?" Alina asks Fedyor, nudging him with her elbow and nodding towards the Darkling and Ivan, who have gone a bit away to talk about something that clearly couldn't reach the ears of the others.

"Nightly briefing. Ivan, as his right-hand man, has to coordinate with him every day... although I suspect that sometimes they just gossip about all of us." Alina giggles with Fedyor, hiding her smile behind her food. "Do you see Ivan? A surprised frown number 3 just appeared on his face. Medium shock, something he should have seen coming but didn't." Fedyor continues, and Alina laughs quietly.

"Majestic gaze number 2." Alina mutters and nods at Kirigan, deciding to continue Fedyor's little game. "That conceited type where everyone around him agrees with him."

"Yes, General. Of course, General, we'll do it immediately. Don't worry, I'll take care of it personally. I'll spend half the night complaining to Fedyor about how unfair it is that I have to watch over your Sun Summoner instead of participating in real missions, but I'll do everything to make you happy."

"Hey!" Alina shouts and hits him playfully on the arm. "It's not my fault your boyfriend made it his mission to torment me."

"But it's your fault that your boyfriend sends mine after you." Alina gives him a stern look to which Heartrender just laughs. "Oh my saints, you almost look like Ivan or the general with that gaze." Alina shakes her head at him, unable to hold back a smile as Fedyor almost falls off the log they're sitting on as he is laughing.

"Something funny?" Zoya walks over with one of the Inferni and takes a seat across from them and the fire. Fedyor just waves her words dismissively.

"Inside joke. How did the patrol go? Any life-threatening squirrels?"

Zoya snorts derisively at Fedyor's taunt and shakes her head. She glances toward where the Darkling and Ivan were talking and nods at the Inferni beside her. He pulls a bottle from his kefta's inner pocket and hands it to Fedyor.

"You finally speak my language. It's cold as hell in here." Fedyor mutters and takes a small sip. Zoya raises a mocking eyebrow at him. "What? I can only take a little. Ivan will smell it. Need I remind you how much you drank when you were a guest in the general's tent?" Heartrender teases her and hands Alina the bottle, looking intently at the general and his right hand.

"What's that?"

"Are you sure you want to give it to her? That stray might report us." Zoya gives her a disapproving look, mockingly looking Alina up and down.

"Hey. Let's put all our hard feelings behind us. We're on a mission and we have many more cold nights ahead of us. Drink up, Alina. Welcome to the Darkling's inner circle."

Fedyor says encouragingly and nods to Alina for a sip. She hesitantly puts the bottle to her lips and takes a sip. As quickly as the alcohol burns her throat, she hands the bottle back to Fedyor and begins coughing uncontrollably, much to the laughter of the company around the fire.

"A homemade delicacy. David here is a master at preparing it. Just don't tell Genya and the higher authorities." Fedyor laughs and hides the bottle, seeing that the general and Ivan have finally decided to join them by the fire.

"We won't be putting up all the tents. We'll split into two. We don't know when a snowstorm might hit, and this is probably one of the coldest nights we've had so far. Besides, we'll need to share body heat," Ivan states matter-of-factly, only clenching his jaw in irritation when Zoya gives the general a suggestive look, who ignores it and takes a seat next to Alina.

The conversation quickly shifts to memories of missions they once participated in. Alina watches the Grisha gathered around the fire, slightly surprised to see Ivan lean his arm against Fedyor's and pull him closer—the first tender, human gesture he'd made since she'd met him.

It's strange for her to be a part of it. It's like being there with them, but still held at arm's length. And although Fedyor tried to make her feel part of their little team, she didn't quite feel right. And as it turned out, she wasn't alone.

Alina's gaze wanders to the general sitting to her left. He rests his chin on his hand, smiling and adding to the others' stories. But although his tone and eyes convey warmth and tenderness, she sees through that facade and into his depths. There's... melancholy... perhaps a tonne of sadness? How many times had he participated in such conversations? How many comrades-in-arms had he buried? Alina probably didn't want to know.

She doesn't even realise she's been staring at him for a while until he gently places his hand on her back, drawing her attention. She looks away, embarrassed, and stares instead at the flames in the fire. Conversations swirl around her, but somehow they fade into the background when she hears his soft whisper.

"Are you okay? You're strangely... silent."

"Tired." She corrects him and shifts her gaze back to the man next to her. “It’s been a long few days.” She replies diplomatically and involuntarily leans into his touch.

"Then you should go to sleep. You can take my tent. I'll be on watch practically all night anyway, so you don't have to worry about sharing a tent. They'll have a few more hours before they finish their bottles and go to bed. So there's no point in you waiting for them and dozing off here. You'll just fall into the fire from inattention and exhaustion, and then we'll have a problem."

"You know?" She whispers in shock, looking around at her companions to make sure they haven't overheard their little exchange.

Kirirgan slightly lifts the corners of his mouth—just enough that she, after being with him for so long, recognizes the hint of a malicious smile. The image of him - the terrible Black General allowing his soldiers to drink a little during their expedition doesn't match the image she has of them in her head at all.

"What kind of general would I be if I didn't know such obvious things, Miss Starkov?"

Alina bites her lip to keep from smiling, but somehow it creeps onto her face. Seeing him so... almost carefree, with a youthful glint of mischief in his eyes... does something to her. Or at least, it warms her in a way she shouldn't feel towards the Black Heretic.

"I'll... go to that tent if you don't mind." She mumbles uncertainly.

She accepted his offer so quickly and easily. It's almost humiliating, but she's really tired of all this, and the promise of a separate bed, without watchful eyes staring at her, is something she can't refuse. However, she was quite eager to get away from him and all positive thoughts of him which she began to have as the evening went on.

Before Alina disappears behind the flap of his tent, she hears his laughter. A sound so beautiful, rare, and dangerous that it haunted her until she fell asleep, nestled in furs and blankets that smelt of him.

But she can't help but wonder... is this what a stalked prey feels like before its hunter takes pity on it and ends its fun with a quick kill?

"Moya Alina."

"Sun Summoner."

"Sankta."

"Saviour of Ravka."

"Alina."

Voices swirl around her as she struggles to swim out of the ice hole. The icy water stings her eyes, and she fights her lungs to hold her breath and not choke on the water as she finally emerges from the frozen lake.

As soon as she steps onto the ice, it begins to give way under her weight. She frantically looks around for something to save her. She tries to crawl forward, but any movement she makes causes the ice beneath her to break even further.

"Alina!" She hears Mal scream. She looks at the lakeshore and sees him running toward her, stepping carefully on the ice. "Do not move! I'm coming!"

She shivers, the cold of the winter weather and a frozen lake seeping into her and her bones, slowly making her stop feeling anything; even her ragged breath and heartbeat are distant sensations.

"Alina..." She lifts her head, seeing the Darkling before her. His shadows block her view of anything but him as he holds out his hand to her. “Come on, Malyshka. Let’s go home.”

"Alina! Alina, no!" She hears Mal scream somewhere in the distance, but the Darkling only raises his shadows.

He crouched in front of her and gently cupped her cheek in his hand, making her meet his intense gaze.

"In the end, it will be just you and me, Alina. And we are all we need anyway." The Darkling murmurs, caressing the skin of her cheek. "You can not do this on your own. And neither can I." 

It would be so easy, she thinks. So easy to just let go and let him take over the power over her again. To lose herself in that... electric connection between them. To lose herself in his gaze, full of adoration, full of hope, full of feelings she wasn't sure were entirely fake all this time. It was strange how he, even in her dream, seemed so... so familiar, how his touch felt so right and yet so treacherous and dangerous.

"Alina! Alina!" Mal's cries reach her as the Darkling holds out his hand for her to take.

She hesitantly raises her hand but trembles, wavering as she sees the small, round piece of bone nestled in the centre of the Shadow Summoner's open palm. A shiver runs down her spine as she realises it's a stag bone.

"Together we will change the world, my Alina." The Darkling assures her, holding two elegantly carved deer antlers in his other hand – her own amplifier, much larger, and intended to be much more visible than the Darkling's.

She shakes her head and pushes his hand away, refusing to accept such an obvious fate as his tool. She lets out a terrified scream as she falls deeper into the cold water.

But instead of finding herself under the freezing water again, she is pulled out by Mal. She grabs his hand, clinging to it as if it were her only refuge, and sobs into him silently, shaking uncontrollably.

"Shhh. Relax, Alina. I'm here. Everything will be okay. Everything will be okay." Mal rocks her in his arms, whispering softly in her ear as he gently runs his hand through her wet hair.

"I've had enough... I don't want this... I don't want to fight... I'm not ready... I'm not a saint... I want to go to Karemzin, Mal. Please... help me hold on to you... help me hold on to this last bit of ordinary Alina I have left..." She cries into him, desperately digging her fingers into him.

"It's okay... it's over..." Mal assured her, gently rubbing her back. "It's over."

Alina trembles as the boy presses the barrel of the gun to her head. She makes no sound, doesn't summon her light, and doesn't even instinctively reach for the knife at her side. She freezes in shock, making no attempt to fight, unprepared for combat, when she hears the click of the trigger and smells the powder before a loud bang erupts, tearing her from the darkness of her worst nightmares.

Alina wakes up screaming—something she's been experiencing more and more often lately. Cold sweat clings uncomfortably to her skin and soaks into her clothes as she buries her face in her hands, trying to calm her breathing and her racing heart.

She pushes the Darkling's blankets, which still smell of him, away from her, blaming him entirely for her nightmares. If they had never discovered she was Grisha, if she hadn't been the Sun Summoner, if he hadn't lured her to the Little Palace... she would still have her little life, and her subconscious would never have given her such gruesome dreams. She would never have doubted Mal's devotion to her. Although... was there still any devotion to speak of? Mal hated the Grisha, despised them... and she had practically become their foremost representative.

Alina rises from her makeshift bed and puts on her blue kefta and cloak. She needed to get as far away from this tent as possible. From Aleksander's scent, from his belongings scattered across the small space, reminding her of everything that had happened in her dream—of how likely the events she had witnessed in her head seemed to come true.

She opens the tent flap and surveys the camp. It's the middle of the night, and the cold air prickles her lungs uncomfortably, but it's an unpleasantness she's somehow accustomed to enduring rather than the danger of the Darkling's warm tent. Alina had seen many times how humans had broken wild animals, locking them in gilded cages and feeding them. She didn't want to share their fate, didn't want to be fooled by the semblance of safety and comfort the Darkling was desperately trying to provide, to lower her guard again... to allow him to get too close again.

"What did I tell you about nighttime outings?" Aleksander's voice cuts through her internal motivating monologue.

Alina turns toward the still smouldering fire and sees him playing with a lit twig. The bastard didn't even dare look at her. Instead, he nonchalantly played with a stick, always calm and composed—very unlike her.

"I needed to clear my head, General." She says his title mockingly, trying to find an outlet for her anger and frustration in a way that's gentle enough to avoid starting another argument with him.

Alina walks to the fire, takes a cup, and fills it with water from the small trough the tidemaker had filled earlier. She kept her distance from him, making sure the firelight remained as a barrier between her and him as she continued to recover from her nightmare. And the object of her primary fears sat right in front of her.

"Nightmare?"

"This whole... endeavour feels like one big, never-ending nightmare." She replies curtly, for once being the one to avoid answering his question. She sits down by the fire, stubbornly avoiding his scrutiny.

Alina feels his gaze on her as if he were a separate being, capable of touching her. He watches her every move intently, waiting for a breakthrough in her indifferent, nonchalant demeanour. But she must have learnt too much from him, because after a moment, he sighs, finding nothing concrete to cling to.

"I do know how you feel. The Fold, the Fjerdans, the Tsar... they've been keeping me up at night for a long time... much longer than they've kept you up."

"Are you getting sentimental or are you just drunk?" The Darkling snorts, amused by her mocking remark, and shakes his head.

He seems... more relaxed around her. As if, after all, he doesn't see her as such a threat... as if he could allow himself to be more open—something she found unimaginable after what she'd learnt at the Winter Fete. Because in her mind... in her mind, the Black Heretic was anything but human. And the behaviour of Aleksander, which she had recently witnessed, was anything but what she had imagined.

"I wish it were the latter. But I think... I think I'm starting to realise that you and I... you and I are more alike than I originally assumed and at the same time much more different."

"That explains a lot."

"Believe me, if I could speak more clearly, I would." He responds sharply to her mockery, daring to be offended by her behaviour.

After all, he was the one who hid the truth from her. He was the one who played her lover, the man madly in love with her, while simultaneously deceiving and manipulating her at will. He had no right to be angry with her for becoming more cautious and defensive around him. And this caused a crack in her indifferent demeanour.

"So what's stopping you?" Her angry question hangs uncomfortably between them. Too open. Too vulnerable. Too revealing that deep inside her... she really cares.

The Darkling throws a stick he was playing with into the fire and rises from his seat. Alina hunches as he circles the fire and crosses the space between them, sitting down beside her. So much for keeping a safe distance from him...

For a long moment, he simply sits there, staring into the fire, pondering his words as she stares back at him, unable to miss the way the firelight makes his lines of deep thought, of worry, reveal the years he's spent planning.

"I've been waiting a long time for you, Alina. A very long time." He admits, repeating his words from a few months ago. And now... now it seems they hold much more meaning for both of them.

"And?" She asks shakily, swallowing hard and internally cursing herself for how she showed her weakness towards him when he was just a fingertip away from her. She should have spat venom and bitten. Instead, she clung to his every word, as if they hadn't already proven to be lies.

"And when you wait so long for something... you don't want to make a hasty, quick, wrong move and ruin it. But on the other hand... you feel the knife of time at your throat so undeniably that unfortunately you have no choice but to act as you are expected to and not as you wish to."

"And you? How do you want to act, Aleksander?"

"Wanting..."

"Is a dangerous thing. I know. But that's not what I asked." She interrupts him and cups his chin in her hand, forcing him to turn his head and meet her penetrating gaze.

For a moment, he seems moved, even surprised, by her boldness. And then... she sees that unmistakable quiver in his lips as he suppresses a smile.

Not many people surprise me, Miss Starkov. She remembers his deep, raspy whisper, thick with suppressed lust and adoration... as well as the feel and taste of his soft lips against hers, seconds before he murmured them.

"I haven't done what I wanted in ages." He mumbles in a similar manner, cupping her cheek in his hand, returning the favour as this time she is the one being momentarily dazed by his sudden touch.

"What do you need to do? Find a stag, give me an amplifier, and then what? What do you think you have to do? What do you think you're forced to do? You talk so much about how we're supposed to be equal, but I think we have two completely different definitions of equality. So tell me… what must you do? Because lately, I've been hearing only the worst whispers about how our little adventure, this 'saving the world' thing, is going to end tragically. And I'm no longer so convinced of your glorious purpose, General."

Her long monologue causes him to distance himself from her. Instead of being a guarantee of safety, the distance between them becomes another weapon they reach for in their little war of willpower.

"And where from are you hearing these treacherous whispers?"

"That's not important here."

"If you only believed me and not some propaganda..."

"Propaganda? Oh, you certainly know best when it comes to propaganda and its spread, don't you?" He shakes his head in disbelief, as if she had no reason to spit this distrustful slander at him. "Trust is earned, not given without even a shadow of a guarantee."

"I can provide you with as many shadows as you want, little Sankta. Besides, it works both ways. How am I supposed to trust you when you also give me no reason to do so?"

That silences her as she ponders this. Well... maybe she wasn't hiding her past and longevity, and she wasn't blocking him from communicating with his friends (because she maliciously suspects he didn't have any anyway or didn't care enough about anyone... why care when everyone around you is going to die anyway?), but she also had her own opinions. Because could she be honest when she said she wouldn't consider turning her back on him and acting on her own if she had the chance?

Maybe that was their problem. He couldn't trust her and he couldn't be trusted.

Suddenly, Aleksander leans toward her, placing his hand on hers. Alina trembles at the contact, holding her breath as his lips descend upon her forehead, pressing a bittersweet kiss there. A cruel reminder of how her heart cries out to him despite everything she had learnt about him, despite every lie that she discovered behind his back.

Because no matter how much they argued, they couldn't deny that they were making the other feel something... something indescribable in human language. Something rare that even Aleksander had not experienced after walking this earth for so many years.

"What changed? What happened that night at Winter Fete?" He questions her, placing his other hand on the crook of her neck and digging his fingers gently into her aching muscles. She doesn't even realize how tense she is until he touches her, knowing perfectly well what hurts her - physically and mentally. "What made you thrash around and run away from me like a mad animal?"

"I... Aleksander..." She mutters in a combative manner against both him and herself.

"Together, we can win any war. We can protect our kind. Isn't that what you want? Isn't that reason enough to trust me?" He asks, almost desperately, cupping both of her cheeks and tilting her head up to meet his dark gaze.

And she almost loses herself in him, almost gives up her fight for the comfort of his presence. At least she's very close to giving up, as the warmth of the fire and his touch warm her pleasantly on this frosty winter night. But then Morozova's stag appears before her eyes and its antlers, which Aleksander held in her nightmare – a symbol of her submission, enslavement and defeat, which she does not want to allow to happen.

"Not at the cost of my freedom. Not at the cost of being your puppet in your wars. Because you need me more than I need you. And that's a fact even you can't deny."

She can't tell if her words hit him as hard as she wants them to, because he doesn't respond with some scathing comment or completely shatter her defences with a sweet lie.

No. He does something worse.

He kisses her.

And kissing him... kissing him is the embodiment of all her desires.Kissing him is like forgetting all her worries and immersing herself in the softest, most pleasant haze.

Kissing him makes her forget that she should stay away from him; instead, she pulls him closer, wanting to feel him all against and over her. Kissing him makes her want to curse Baghra for removing her rose-coloured glasses and showing her that her little romance with the general of the Second Army was not every teenage girl's fairytale dream.

Kissing him is all she truly desires and all she fears.

She moans into his mouth, letting his tongue lick the seam of her lower lip and deepening the kiss. He presses himself against her completely, momentarily making her balance on the log waver, but his hands quickly find their place on her hips and stabilise her. He's wrapped around her, almost as tightly as his shadows. His hands trace her hip, his lips breaking from hers only because she needs air, and even then he quickly returns to his seat, knowing full well that this moment of weakness between them won't last long.

His lips are far more striking and warming than any drink David could have concocted. The soft sounds he makes, the feeling of his hands travelling beneath her cloak and kefta, longing to touch her living skin, her very being, make her momentarily lose her mind.

With each passing second, with each brush of his lips, he grows even bolder. His lips descend upon the line of her jaw. His teeth and beard teasingly graze the skin, punishing her for every small act of insubordination she's dared to commit against him these past weeks, when he finally decides to bite and leave a distinct mark on the underside of her jaw.

This restores Alina's sanity. She pushes him away, and only the saints know how they both maintain their balance on that cursed log, panting as if they'd just escaped a pack of Fjerdna wolves. They lean into each other heavily, both with a hidden longing and desire they know they can't give in to.

And nothing is as frustrating as wanting something you can't have from a man who used to get everything by force and cunning and a woman who was familiar with that feeling all too well.

"There are no others like us. And there never will be. What will you do when you'll be left all alone?" It's a cruel question coming from his mouth. Especially when those lips were so close to hers just seconds ago.

"Probably the same thing that you did. I will try to survive."

"You see, Alina... I wouldn't wish this fate even on my worst enemy. And you... you are far from being my enemy or villain, milaya." The endearing nickname made her heart, already battered by him, beat even faster. He seemed to be using every weapon in his power against her.

Alina reluctantly recalls the day he led her to the Black Heretic's fountain. She wonders if his speech about wishing to be anything other than a Shadow Summoner could have been true. After all, how many times had Alina wished she didn't have the ability to summon the sun? How many times had he had to pray the same thing to the mystical deity who had bestowed upon them these extraordinary powers? Perhaps they truly were alike? Perhaps both of them wished to be just themselves and not just the summoners of their elements.

"I wish... I wish I could say the same about you."

"It doesn't matter. The time will come when you'll see that in the end it will be just you and me, Alina. And we are all we need anyway." He assures her and presses another kiss to her forehead.

Or only one of us will be standing at the very end of it all. Alina adds bitterly in her head.

She shakes her head, pulling away from him. She rises from the log, her heated skin hit by the cool air unwarmed by the firelight, sobering her a little from this strange state of enchantment that he put her in.

That night proved to her that she couldn't be so sure she didn't need him at all. Because in a way, he felt like an extension of herself. Her balance. Her equal. She couldn't help, but wondered... wondered what it might feel like to sever this extension of herself. This bond was undeniably between them. And she feared the Darkling might be right about one thing. They needed each other. And neither of them could live a normal life without the other.

After all, he had lived centuries without her – centuries in which he had likely been hunted like a stag, which they were searching for now. So the question was… could she endure living the same fate without any shelter?

[kasagia]

Moya soverenyia

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x Alina Starkov Summary: Instead of fleeing the Little Palace, Alina stays. She pretends to be unaware of the Darkling's true identity, but in truth, she plans to better understand the world around her in order to assume her rightful role as leader. She promises herself one thing: No one will ever control her again. My mumbling: So I committed the crime of writing for Darklina on AO3… I thought I might as well post it here for you too… ENJOY!!! 😊🩵🖤🖤🖤🩵 Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Child. Aleksander is the Black Heretic. You need to run away. Fast. While you still have a chance."

Baghra's words from a few hours ago still rang in her head. The adrenaline from the day was just beginning to wear off as she sat in her chambers in the Little Palace.

Alina was told many times what to do. If not in Karemzin in the orphanage, then in the ranks of the First Army, in Botkin's lessons, or Baghra's. She never made her own decisions. Even fate mocked her, giving her power over which she had little control - which she could only hide deep inside herself, hoping that it would not explode at the most inconvenient moment.

So she listen to Baghra and run. But in the stable, just as she was about to hide in one of the chests and rode away for good, she was stopped by a tug on the sleeve of her black and gold kefta.

"You've lost it, moya soverenyia." The stable boy hands her her golden hairpin and runs away. Alina stares after him for a long time, freezing for a moment.

Moya soverenyia...

That title belonged only to the Darkling. It held almost as much power in itself as the Shadow Summoner wielded. And now, others were beginning to call her that too... and maybe it was only because of her black kefta, maybe it was only because of her recent closeness to the Darkling, which only they themselves should really know about, but the fact was that Alina had been called a soverenyia.

She tighten her grip on the metal, gold ornament, causing blood to drip from her palm onto the ground. And this was the moment when she decided that the time had come for her to decide about her own life. And that she definitely won't be the one who run away in fear. She wanted the power everyone else thought she had. She wanted to feel so fearless and powerful that she could earn this title for herself.

The way back to the Little Palace is not very clear to her. She only remembers managing to see Mal's silhouette in the crowd of departing soldiers and how she hid from his searching gaze. As much as she loved her friend, she had a role to play in this war of the stag and the fold.

A role she was slowly beginning to grow into. A role that she intends to choose for herself, one that no one will force upon her, not the Tsar, not the Apparat, not the Ravkans, not Grisha, not Mal, not Baghra, not Aleksander. No one but her.

She shivers as a knock sounds at the door. She had expected who it might be, although she had hoped he would come much later, considering the chaos the attack had caused, her disappearance, and everything else. She couldn't help but hope, a little mischievously, that he had been frightened by her absence from his rooms.

Alina straightens up at the dressing table, tying her robe tighter around her waist and picking up a golden comb, examining her reflection in the mirror. She had been through a lot in the ranks of the First Army and had survived the attempt to cross the fold and two attacks on her life by the Fjerdans, but she was completely unprepared for this kind of skirmish.

Ana Kuya had taught them many things, but court manipulation was certainly not one of them. Who would have thought that one of the orphans would end up in the palace in the capital? Fortunately, Alina was a capable student. And Darkling was a very good teacher. Even if he didn't know it, she was closely observing his courtly maneuvers towards the nobles and other Grisha.

"Come in." She speaks calmly, though her heart is beating wildly in her chest. At least Aleksander... The Darkling couldn't sense her nervousness by feeling it, just like Ivan or Fedyor would.

He enters her chambers, watching her with a careful silence that is characteristic of him. If it weren't for the heavy closing of the door behind him, she wouldn't have realised anyone had entered. He stands behind her, so she can only see the edge of his shoes and kefta in the mirror as she calmly combs her hair, not sparing him a glance.

The most important thing was to maintain a semblance of normalcy before she confronted him with what she had found out today.

"I thought you said that you will be waiting for me in my rooms." His velvety deep voice breaks the silence between them. She doesn't turn to glance at him, instead continuing to comb her hair as if nothing had ever happened, as if she hadn't been speaking to the Black Heretic with her back to him right now.

Alina senses his slight tension, confusion as to why he's suddenly getting the cold shoulder from her. She takes a moment to choose the right words. Meanwhile, Genya's voice passes through her thoughts.

I want you to be careful. Careful of powerful men.

Had the redhead warned her then? For a moment, had she stopped blindly obeying the Darkling and shown a moment of loyalty to her? If so, then Alina should have listened to her earlier. Before she had allowed him to get so close to her, before she showed him and witnessed those tender, vulnerable moments between them that they both had in the walls of his war room...

"I've changed my mind." She answers with a shrug.

She puts the comb on the table and stands up. She turns to him, arms crossed defensively over her chest, watching him closely. His hair is slightly tousled – Alina wonders if that was during their little tryst in the war room or after, when he was trying to put out the fire without her knowing – the buttons of his kefta are undone at the neck. He looks confused, as if he doesn't quite understand the change in her demeanour. Good. It was his time to wonder what's on her mind for once.

"What happened?" She asks, giving him a chance to explain everything. A chance she knows he won't take.

The Darkling watches her carefully. He takes a few steps toward her, but stops a respectable distance away. Much farther than when they were in his war room. Much farther than she actually wanted.

"There was an attack... nothing you should worry about now. I handled it." She smiles mockingly at his assurances and looks away from him. Instead, she focuses on the fire that is burning peacefully in the fireplace.

She wonders how many times in the past few weeks he's lied to her like that. How many times had he hidden uncomfortable truths from her that could have damaged the sweet bubble, the web of false security he'd spun around her? She wonders, too, which part of her was stronger—the part that welcomed his attention despite everything she'd learnt about him or the part that feared losing herself entirely to his shadows.

A stupid orphan longing to be seen and loved.

"I have no doubt that you did. So when will be the Marie's funeral?" She asks calmly, shifting her gaze to him and watching with quiet satisfaction as he clenches his jaw at her revelation. By that small victory, Baghra's mocking voice was effectively chased away from her head.

"Fedyor?" He asks carefully, watching her closely with his dark irises as he takes a step towards her. Alina automatically steps back, hitting her hip on the edge of her dressing table.

"Bad shot. I had a little trip by myself. Answer the question."

"I didn't want to worry you..."

"Did you think I wouldn't notice that one of my closest, only friends here doesn't show up for any meals and I no longer see her in the hallways of the Little Palace? Do you really think I'm that naive?" She cuts him off sharply, taking a step towards him, refusing to give in to his sweet words and manipulation. She allows herself to pour out all of her frustration and anger from the night onto him.

The General frowns, shaking his head, a little taken aback by her defensive, almost hostile demeanor. Especially considering how he had her spread out on his war table just hours ago.

"No. Absolutely... I just..."

"And the letters from Mal? Do you think I don't know he was here? That he has no idea I've been writing to him, and what's more, I've never replied to any of his letters that I didn't get! And before you tell me he may have addressed them wrong, don't bother being ridiculous. The correspondence apparently reaches everyone at the Little Palace but me."

"Where did you get the idea that..."

"Irises? Blue? Please. Only he could know. And even if not that, I know in another way. And no. Not from Genya."

He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and sigh as he realised how deep in his lies he got caught by her. He takes his time, thinking about what is safe to reveal to her so as not to lose her trust and affection that he has worked to gain since she exploded into a beam of light in his tent all those months ago.

"I thought that the letters from the tracker would only distract you and delay your summoning successes. As you know, we are pressed for time and..."

"No. YOU are pressed for time. YOU have plans for the fold that YOU want to fulfill. Not us. Not me. When I came here I asked you if I was a prisoner. You never answered me. Not normally. You never answer directly, actually. If you want my cooperation, you will do it today or instead of showing people the Sun Summoner, the Sankta that everyone wants, you will have to drag me along as your prisoner. And there may be some who will support you without a word, but thanks to you, I have my own group of followers who will do whatever I want. So you better start telling the truth if you want to keep up this 'Sankta Sun' farce."

"Are you threatening me?" He growls, taking a step towards her. His demeanor goes from irritated to intimidating pretty quickly, and maybe a month ago it would have scared her, but after today she doesn't even flinch.

"I warn you. Honestly. Before it's too late and before I will lose any respect I have for you." She answers with all the calm she can muster, playing her game carefully.

Darklign was powerful. There was no denying that, and she was still too weak to repel his possible attack. Although, after the weeks she spent in the Little Palace, she doubts he would actually be able to hurt her.

Because he was suffering from exactly the same thing she had been all these years. Loneliness. Alienation. He could be surrounded by Grisha, but none of them had the power he did. None except his mother, with whom, as Alina guessed, he didn't have a particularly warm relationship, none was even close to feel in their veins a power that flod in both of them.

She could use that knowledge against him. After all, before tonight he showed more than an interest in her... companion. Maybe with time she would be able to do anything she wants with a little pushes from her. She just had to play her cards wisely to get to that point.

"If I remember correctly, you told me you wouldn't leave me alone. You'll condemn me for my half-truths, but you'll be blind to your own hypocrisy and lies? And what exactly changed your mood? You were much more... affectionate towards me recently. Certainly not as belligerent as you were on your first day at the Little Palace."

Alina tries not to smile at his words, which only confirm her theory. He was lonely. And when the glimmer of hope of gaining someone just like him finally appeared, he was going to hold on to it tightly, dig his claws in and not let go. It was a dangerous game to play, but she could do this. She had to do this. Because in one thing both Baghra and Darkling had right. Her life, however desperatly she wanted it to not be truth, changed forever in the fold. She always will be a Sun Summoner. It has come the time to finally accept it. She will be ethernal... just like them.

And even though they had lived with their eternity much longer, had powers and control of them much greater than hers, and probably had a stronger motivation to win than Alina, but they lacked something she still had. Hope. And that hope gave her enough determination to finally fight for herself.

"What changed my mood?" She repeats his question, imitating the sound of his voice perfectly. A mockery that deepens the crease between his brows. "Maybe the fact that you're keeping me here like an unsuspecting damsel in distress, lying straight to my face about the things that involves me? Haven't you thought that may be the problem?"

"Telling you half a story is not the same as lying."

"Maybe in your opinion." She says, never taking her eyes off him even when he gives her that intimidating, blood-curdling look that even Ivan looks away from. "In my eyes, that's just as disgusting as lying. Maybe even worse."

They stand there in front of each other, both not wanting to lose this little staring war, their first serious clash. He wanted an equal. He wanted someone he could change the world with. Alina is going to give him just that. Someone equal to him. Someone who will fight him.

Moya soverenyia...

The stable boy's words ring in her ears, giving her courage.

No more running from herself. No more being an obedient puppet in someone else's hands.

She was the Sun Summoner. And though she might not have known exactly what that meant or what burden she would carry, she knew the last thing she should do was run away. Besides, he would catch her anyway, even if she ran to the edge of the world and hid her light deep inside herself forever.

Like calls to like. He would always find her.

"I could have had Genya intercept your friend's letters. As I said, it's important that you feel like one of us. The boy... wouldn't be very supportive of that." He reluctantly admits, knowing that he has to lifts even a tiny bit of the shadowy facade of his lies to show her the truth if she wants her to remain on his side.

Only Alina knew that his efforts were to bring no use.

"And Marie? Attack on me? When were you going to tell me this?" She asks angrily, trying to ignore the painful pang in her chest as he confirms where Genya's loyalties truly lie.

"I was planning on doing this after a nice evening, which would continue where we left off. But apparently you had other ideas." Alina snorts at the man's audacity.

Of course he would try to make her feel guilty that instead of welcoming him as her lover, throwing herself at him to continue their make-out session where they left off, she dared to rebel. She wonders what he would do if he found out she knew the truth about him. What lies and what manipulative tricks would he use to show that he is not just a Black Heretic?

"Whatever happened in the war room tonight was just... a moment of misjudgement."

"Misjudgment? It looked completely different when you welcomed so encouragingly my..." He quickly mocks her but bites his lip to stop himself from talking when he sees her cold gaze. Apparently she learnt a few other tricks from him. "Of course, Miss Starkov. I am a gentleman after all."

"Another lie?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at him, to which he just snorts in amusement.

"Of course not. I wonder, though, where does this cold, mocking attitude come from? Do I have any other wrongs against you that I am not aware of?"

She snorts dryly, amused by the absurdity of the situation. He was acting like they were in the middle of some petty marital argument that she had started over something trivial. The problem was they weren't really together, and his attempts to trap her in a gilded cage were most certainly anything but trivial.

"You tell me, General." She responds, staring at him defiantly, which only fans the flame of an unknown emotion to her in his eyes.

"Not Aleksander anymore?" He cleverly avoids answering and raises a questioning eyebrow at her. His gaze practically bores a hole through her as he tries to dig into the real reason for her coldness towards him. And for a moment she feels as if she were getting lost in his dark eyes as in the very depths of the fold.

She doesn't even notice when he steps so close to her. It's only his gentle touch as he wraps his fingers around her wrist that brings her back to earth and makes her realise how close he really is. Alina lets out a shuddering breath as the pure power of her light flows through her veins, brought to life by his gentle touch. She creates an orb of light around them – just like the night she first snuck into his war room.

Shadows circle around them, combing with her light, but all she can look at are his eyes. All she can wonder is how a man so beautiful and breathtaking could be the Black Heretic – the scourge of Ravka. Apparently the devil had the most beautiful demons in his ranks. Or maybe it was the devil himself standing before her, embodying all of her darkest desires that she wanted to give in to.

"Give me Mal's letters and then maybe we can go back to Aleksander." She mumbles, finally able to form a thought that is anything but submission to him. He frowns, clearly unhappy with the juxtaposition of her best friend's name and his real one in the same sentence.

She shivers involuntarily as he leans closer to her, his full lips, the lips that had kissed her so wonderfully just hours ago, brushing against her earlobe. And the warm air from his lips as he whispers in her ear ignites her far better and brighter than his amplifying properties ever did.

"I'll think about it." She bites her lip to keep from moaning in displeasure as he pulls away from her, the warmth of his body leaving her. The light returns to her, shadows spreading across the room, which is once again lit by the simple glow of candles, ending this small, unexpected, intimate moment between them. "Good night, Miss Starkov." Darkling nods his head at her before he heads out of her chambers as if he hadn't just shaken her world to the floor and tried to break down her barrier.

So we're back to the beginning...

"No more my Alina? Or little saint?" She asks mockingly, following him with her eyes as he stops at her door.

"Since you refuse to use my name, this seems most appropriate, don't you think?" He throws it over his shoulder and leaves, leaving the door unclosed behind him. This is quickly fixed by the heartrenders watching over the exit. Alina just hopes he hasn't set Ivan up as her guard dog.

It's both adorable and frustrating how he acts like a resentful child, mirroring hers in his demeanour, and also gives her the cold shoulder, teasing her before he leaves with what she might have experienced with him tonight. This was going to be a very tough battle of willpower and control.

Alina sits up in bed and sighs, placing a hand over her rapidly beating heart. She had made it. She had survived this hellish day. Now she just had to make sure he didn't try to put a muzzle around her neck. And most importantly, find out what his true plans and aspirations for the fold were.

She lets a brief, fleeting thought cross her mind that maybe it would actually be easier to escape tonight. Then again... she certainly wouldn't sleep in such a comfortable and warm bed. But she didn't get much sleep that night.

The idea of ​​a gilded cage kept her awake until dawn.

As did the image of Marie's dead body.

Alina is not at all surprised that the next day no one can find Baghra. However, she takes the day off and decides to explore the gardens of the Little Palace when everyone else is panicking that the old hug disappeared.

It gives her a moment of respite from Darkling's inner circle – something she takes even more comfort in. A day without seeing Ivan or Zoya was a glorious day.

Of course, she's not destined to be completely alone. The Darkling's two Oprichniki have accompanied her on her escapades, but they've kept a distance enough that she can pretend she doesn't see them. She sighs, leaning against the tree trunk as she stares out at the lake before her. She watches with a smirk as the young tidemaekers work to melt the ice on the lake and create a wave, splashing each other with water in the process.

These were probably much more fun lessons than the ones Baghra offered.

Alina closes her eyes for a moment, letting the winter sun warm her as she snuggles into the material of her blue kefta. The kefta that the General had looked at with an especially sour expression when she had entered the dining hall this morning.

Genya had been a tad surprised by her request in the morning when she had asked for her winter blue kefta back but the redhead had asked no further questions, quickly summoned by Ivan to meet with the general shortly after she helped Alina get ready for the day.

Alina didn't care what for the Darkling summoned his most loyal puppets for that moment. She knew that after recent events, Kirigan and his inner circle would be... a bit busier. It gave her the perfect opportunity to wander beyond the watchful eye of the Darkling's loyal dogs. She had to make good use of their moments of distraction.

She smiles as she notices the First Army soldiers entering the stable. Among them is a certain man who she needed most.

Alina rises from her place and runs, ignoring the shouts of her bodyguards after her. She rushes into the stables and grabs the man in a tight embrace. Taking advantage of the moment they are out of sight of the Darkling's guards, she slips an envelope with a letter for Mal into his coat.

"Alexei! It's been too long!" She shouts excitedly, fully aware of the moment when the Oprichniki enter the stables behind her. "Please, give it to Mal." She asks her army friend, whispering in his ear, and moves away from him.

The former cartographer and her friend look at her sceptically for a moment before nodding.

"So... a Sankta, huh? Should I bow to you or something?" He asks jokingly, with a hint of mockery, but Alina laughs it off.

"There's no need, you've seen me at such terrible times that it would be too awkward."

"But you were a completely different person back then, weren't you?" His question gave her too much of a headache for Alina to bear after last night. That was a worry for another time.

She tries not to show how it pains her that even Alexei has distanced himself from her, but she manages to talk to him for a moment before her guards gently suggest that it is time to return to the Little Palace. And when she is finally inside its walls, she realises that she has never hated that damn building more.

She remembers perfectly those times when, as a cartographer, she was thrown by the whole of Ravka to various places, only able to go where her superiors pointed, doing exactly what they told her to do. She dreamed then of a warm bed, four walls keeping the heat around her. And now, when she had it, she realized that she needed something more to be happy. True freedom. To decide about herself. She was going to get it. But at what cost?

"There you are." As if on cue, her chief guard appears beside them. Ivan approaches them with a grimace and dismisses her guards with one his look. "Come on. The general is waiting for you."

"I'm busy." She replies coldly, pulling her arm out of his grip. "I'll meet with him later if it's something really important." Ivan stares at her silently for a few seconds in absolute surprise, as if it were impossible to refuse any of his general's wishes.

"Are you completely mad, girl?" He growls, and as he reaches out to grab her once more, Alina does something incredibly stupid and brave. She blinds him. Not completely, just for a few seconds with her light, to get away from him. She didn't even have the strength to do anything more, but she was ashamed to admit it even to herself.

For a moment, she feels like she's a child in an orphanage again, running away from Ana Kuya at bath time. Only this time, her small act of rebellion was to show that she wouldn't be another meek lamb in the Darkling's flock. If he wanted to see her, he had to adapt to her. Not she to him.

She runs, passing several Grisha with a smirk on her lips as she enters one of the hidden corridors. She takes a deep breath, enjoying this moment of complete solitude as she walks down the same corridors Baghra led her through and finds herself back in the Darkling's great memorial hall once again.

She kneels before his old portrait and looks at it carefully. Without his beard, he looked... rather strange. Still handsome, but Alina has become much more accustomed to his current appearance. Although she doesn't hide the fact that without it, he would be... much less intimidating. More human. Younger. He would even look younger than her.

She giggles at the thought and traces with her finger various other trinkets that he has collected in secret. Her eyes focus on one book. It's an old book, so old that the cover is almost entirely torn off, certainly the author's name, not to mention the year of publication. The title, however, remained intact.

Legacy of the Starless Saint.

Alina opens the book, enlarging the ball of light that illuminated her path, and flips through the yellow pages with an extreme caution and delicacy so as not to completely tear the pages. She greedily, eagerly reads every note written by Darkling's hand, laughing or shuddering at every paragraph he corrects, in which someone describes his life, and she can't help but wonder why he would bother to correct someone describing the fate of the Black Heretic.

Living as long as he and Baghra did, did you remember your real lives, or did you accept what people commonly said about you? Did you even want to remember how it really was?

Or maybe Aleksander wrote it so as not to completely lose his true self. But who was the real him? Aleksander? Kirigan? Or the Black Heretic? Maybe all of his invented personalities, or maybe none of them? Or maybe he himself had long forgotten who he really is...

Does the same fate await her? Was she already forgetting who she really was? But which version of her was true? The cartographer who was afraid to let go of Mal's sleeve, or the Summoner of the Sun, the Saint of Ravka pursued by the Fjerdans, Shu Han and others?

In the midst of her contemplation a small drawing falls out of the book. Alina, too curious, picks it up without even a shadow of a hesitation. If Kirigan could be nosy and dig through her letters to Mal, it only seemed appropriate that she would return the favor and do the same.

Her breath stops at the sight of a beautiful woman. Her gentle facial features hypnotized Alina, as if she were an angel from which kindness and warmth poured. Just looking at her made Alina feel guilty for digging into the Darkling's past. She turns the drawing over and reads the description on the back.

Luda, my only bit of humanity.

Alina stares at the note written in HIS handwriting. Bile rises in her throat, and an unwanted feeling of jealousy overwhelms her. It was obvious that, having lived so many years, Darkling had had... romantic relationships. But it was one thing for Alina to face actual proof of Darkling's beloved and another to merely speculate. What would she say, seeing the man Darkling had become? Did she love him before or after the fold? What happened to her?

"Mother?" Kirigan's voice snaps her out of her thoughts. She quickly puts the book back and cancels all her light, snuggling into the darkest corner of the room as she hides behind some wooden dresser.

She holds her breath, listening to each heavy step he takes as he walks around the room, torch in hand. She puts a hand over her mouth to keep from accidentally making a sound.

She doesn't dare look out from her hiding place for a moment, not even when she hears him rustling the fabrics, searching for something. Or someone. In any case, Alina is too afraid of being caught in this place.

Arguing with the Darkling when he has no idea that Alina knows who he is takes a completely different kind of courage than the open war that would break out between them when he found out that she does know who the Black Heretic really is. And Alina isn't ready for that now.

She hears him sigh heavily, lingering in the room a little longer, as if allowing himself a few moments of respite before returning to his role as the fearsome and ruthless Black General of the Second Army. Alina feels a little sorry for him. Just a little.

"You have no idea how much I miss you," Alina hears him mutter, probably to the portrait of a woman she had forgotten to hide in one of her books. She has to try hard to remember that this same man had created the fold, condemning millions of innocents to death in the process. How could someone so ruthless have the soft side to talk to the portrait of his potential former lover? "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. That I couldn't do more... but I promise you'll be proud of me, Luda... one day all this pain will be worth it."

Alina wonders if this is his honest confession or if is it another planned move, another manipulative trick to mislead her. Maybe he knew where she would run away and played this little show so that she would sympathise with him, so that she would see that he could be human, that he still had a bit of humanity in him, and that it did not die with this woman, of whom Alina was not jealous at all.

Or maybe she was starting to become paranoid or insane; that could be the case too.

She stays there long after he's gone, both out of fear that he's lurking somewhere in the dark corridors and because she begins to doubt whether everything about Aleksander was as black and white as Baghra had made it out to be...

Taglist for Darkling: @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @meadowshelby

[kasagia]

I need to write sth for our Aleksander, but I can't decide what. So here are the tittles of oneshots:

What should I write:

City of stars

I've got my eye on you

My tears ricochet

I love you... I am sorry VI (next part)

Boring don't write for him anymore :P

Secret project - another series that came to my mind ages ago

Voting ended onAug 24, 2025

THANK YOUUU! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[kasagia]

The Black Dog

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!Death Eater! reader Summary: The black dog haunted you for most of your life. In your dreams and nightmares, he was your bad omen. After the Death Eaters capture Sirius Black and his great escape, you find an injured black dog in your room… My babbling: So I used a quote from Taylor Swift's Labyrinth. And maybe I got a little carried away writing it. A little very... hope you will enjoy it! Sirius Black's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"You'll never guess who Bella caught." Those are the first words Lucius says as he enters the living room you and Regulus are occupying.

An unpleasant shiver runs down your spine to Lucius's excitement. You've been hearing cries of pain coming from the "war room" for a good hour, and if it weren't for the fact that Malfoy Manor had well-soundproofed dungeons, you'd probably still be hearing the sobs of pain from another captured member of the Order of the Phoenix.

A fairly common way to start the day for a near-member of the Death Eaters… probably not one you could ever get used to, despite Narcissa's assurances.

"Dumbledore?" Regulus scoffs, flipping through the latest Daily Prophet.

"Not yet. Your brother, actually." Malfoy replies nonchalantly, making you freeze mid-reach for your cup of tea.

You gently lift your gaze to Regulus, who is trying his best to maintain his mask of indifference and casually munching on another page of the newspaper.

"Good. That traitorous dog and his friends have been hiding for too long." He comments, his tone perfectly controlled, making it as cold as ever when he spoke to other Death Eaters. "I hope those filthy blood traitors who hid him and took him in will be next."

You clear your throat, nodding as you take a sip of your tea. The warmth of the mug burns your hands, but you decide it's a good distraction from imagining the bloody and battered body of the man you knew from your Hogwarts days.

An image of Sirius—the Gryffindor boy, the Marauder, the one you had the dubious pleasure of pairing up with in your potion classes—involuntarily flashes through your mind. Bile rises in your throat at the thought of what Bellatrix must have done to him.

"This is a great day. Soon the entire order should be in our dungeons. After all, they won't abandon him." Malfoy continues, watching Regulus closely, as if waiting for the moment when his composure would break and Lucius could report him to the Dark Lord.

Such were the Death Eaters. They walked over dead bodies for their own safety and profit.

"I should go home. My mother will be happy to know that she will live to see the end of the days of that blood traitor who has stained our name." Regulus announces, rising from his seat, not waiting for what the platinum blonde will say next.

You feel your muscles relax as he looks up at you and gives you a small nod in a silent command: 'Stay.' You didn't even realise how tense you were, watching his reaction.

You were proud of the younger Slytherin for not giving in to Malfoy's wiles, but at the same time, you were tempted to use some of the forbidden curses Bella had taught you on Lucius... the same curses she probably used on her cousin a few seconds ago.

"Sooner or later, he'll break free. Blacks are like that. They can't be trusted. Remember that, Y/N."

"Should I remind you that your wife is a Black, Lucy?" You mock him by using a nickname he hates.

"She's a Malfoy now. Narcissa would never…"

"So would Regulus." You interrupt him coldly before he can finish and stand up, throwing the book you were reading on the coffee table with a thud. "Remember who our enemy is. The Order is just waiting for us to break our ranks, for us to cower so hard that they can seize the opportunity to pick us off one by one and send us to Azkaban. Do you have a point to make? Stop looking for traitors among those who proudly follow the Dark Lord."

You shiver as loud clapping sounds behind you at your sudden outburst. Before you know it, Bellatrix's arm is wrapped around you, leaving a few droplets of blood on your bare arms.

"This is the spirit we need, right, my lord?" She asks, looking back.

You follow her gaze and freeze when you see the Dark Lord himself standing in the doorway, watching you intently. You hold his blue gaze, trembling only slightly as he carefully examines you from top to bottom with his serpentine eyes, as if trying to assess the truth behind your words of loyalty.

"My lord." You nod and curtsy, quickly correcting your mistake of staring at the man before you for so long.

He waves his hand and takes a step towards you. Right now you almost feel glad for Bellatrix's proximity, as she is somehow shielding you from HIM.

"Indeed, Bella. This is exactly what we need…" He hisses, staring at you for a moment longer before his eyes drift to Lucius. "Call the inner circle. I want to interrogate Black as quickly as possible. Tomorrow morning."

Everyone nods. Only when he leaves, his black cloak billowing behind him, do you release the breath you've been holding. Bellatrix chuckles at your behavior and pats you on the back.

"You'll get used to his presence. You have to. He liked you. I could see it in his eyes. Keep listening to me, Y/N, and I promise you'll go far. Very far. After all, I only take under my wing truly ambitious individuals with potential." Bellatrix looks at you promisingly and pats your back. She nods to Lucius, leaving you alone in the parlour.

Your heart quickens and your breathing becomes more uneven as you realise the meaning of her words.

No... you cannot become his favourite Death Eater.

You were supposed to stay away, to survive. Just like Regulus did. But you fear that his brother's interrogation will be the final nail in his coffin, proof that he isn't devoted to the Death Eaters... certainly not in the way the Dark Lord would have wished.

And you know perfectly well that when Sirius drags Regulus to his grave… you will have no choice but to follow them.

You were stupid. Absolutely stupid and naive. But with your friend on guard duty at the dungeons... you just couldn't pass up the opportunity.

You had to repay Regulus somehow for all the times he'd had your back. And this... this seemed like the most meaningful thing you could do. Not necessarily for him. But for someone he cared about.

You step inside the large cell. Mask on your face, wand in hand. You light your way as you walk forward, ignoring the cringing stares of prisoners you can't help anyway, prisoners who are probably either dead or dying. And then you see him.

Chained to the wall, still struggling. Stubbornness worthy of a true Gryffindor.

You sigh to yourself, begging Salazar for patience with this idiot and the strength not to cry over him—because the sight of him in chains, with the wounds inflicted by the Death Eaters, didn't bother you as much as you thought it would.

"You're only hurting yourself, Black." You mutter and kneel down next to him, setting the tray down so he can't kick it.

"Do we know each other? Why don't you show me your face, coward? Is that you, Malfoy? Snape? Maybe my dear brother?" He scoffs as you place your wand on his wrists and heal him. "Oh. Woman. How sweet. Is this my last wish? One last moment of ecstasy with a pureblood maniac?" He asks, recognising from the look of your hands that he's not dealing with a man.

You try your hardest not to growl at him, but Sirius... had a knack for getting under your snake-like, scaly skin.

"Do you always talk so damn much, Black?" You snap at him, not even realizing you're addressing him with a sentence you've already directed at him countless times.

Damn. Maybe he won't recognize you.

"I…" He has your name on the tip of his tongue, but he shakes his head and laugh bitterly. "No. I won't ask. You won't answer me anyway. Maybe she's not here. Maybe she's not with you freaks. But if it's you… if you're her, then I don't want to know either. I'd rather she was dead than one of you."

"Are you losing your mind already?" You mock him, handing him a glass of water.

As he drinks greedily after a moment's hesitation—after all, his need for thirst outweighed his distrust of you—you notice the cuts on his face. You couldn't heal them even if you wanted to. For any wounds on him to disappear after the fight with the Death Eaters who captured him would be... too suspicious.

"Oh, honey… you wouldn't last a day in the place they raised me in. It will take so much more than that to break me."

"We'll see tomorrow when the Dark Lord speaks with you."

He shivers slightly at this new revelation but doesn't comment on it. Instead, his grey eyes focus on the only part of you not covered by your mask: your eyes. You hope he doesn't remember what they looked like. He can't, can he? After all, you weren't THAT close at Hogwarts.

"Why are you doing this?" He mumbles softly, sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands tremble slightly as you feed him leftovers from dinner.

"I'm paying my debts. There are people who still care about you. Besides... Merlin knows how long you'll be here. You need food and drink to be strong to endure whatever you are planned to be put through by HIM." You said it, both thinking that he might not survive long... and that he'd be here too long.

No one ever escaped the Dark Lord's captivity. And you doubted Sirius would make it. You guess... you guess this was supposed to be your farewell. So maybe you weren't here for Regulus at all? Maybe you came because... because you wanted to see that damned charming Marauder one last time?

"Don't give up so easily, Black," you mutter, pressing your lips to his cheek—fast enough so he doesn't have a chance to turn his head and bite you, yet slow enough to… to savor just a little bit of the feeling of his skin under your mouth.

And you run.

You run away before a tear falls from under your mask, before you decide to run away with him and not from him.

Like the Slytherin coward that you are.

And to be completely honest... you are not running away from him for the first time.

You sigh as Sirius Black takes the seat next to you, as usual, with the greatest swagger a drama king and school playboy can muster.

Slughorn wasn't as irritating as all the students described him, but he had a knack for making other people's lives a living hell without even realising it. Including yours.

For example, by giving you Sirius Black as your partner for the rest of your final year at Hogwarts in Potions. It couldn't have been a better end to these classes than mating with the most famous of Marauders.

You glare at the bane of your existence and wrinkle your nose as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. Again...

"You'll kill yourself with this one day, Black." You mutter defeatedly and take out the necessary textbooks and notes from your bag.

It was a regular part of every class. He would either arrive a moment early with an unfinished cigarette and puff it in your face, or he would deliberately pull one out and light it up, not even to inhale the nicotine, but to make your life miserable right at the start of class.

Asshole. Sometimes you weren't surprised that Regulus didn't want to have any contact with him.

"Better to die from cigarettes than from Death Eaters, Y/L/N." He snaps back at your teasing.

You just nod and pretend not to be bothered by the smoke from his cigarette, which he quickly stubs out when Slughron enters.

The only thing you appreciated about the elder Black was that he didn't ask unnecessary questions. You usually worked in silent, reluctant acceptance of the other's presence, anticipating what the other would need before they could even ask. A harmonious pair at first glance. Something Slughorn loved to comment on.

"If all Slytherins and Gryffindors communicated like Miss Y/L/N and Mr. Black, there wouldn't be such a huge war between these two houses."

Of course not. Because the houses wouldn't speak to each other and would ignore the other's existence.

However, that day, while you were brewing Amortentia, your synchronised cooperation was disrupted.

He was also more talkative today, more irritating, and you had to shush him a few times because you forgot exactly how many teaspoons of powdered substance you had put into the cauldron, which made it take you twice as long to make that damn potion than usual.

You were reaching for a knife to chop one of the potion's ingredients when Sirius decided to move the burner under the cauldron.

"Shit, Black!" You hiss at him angrily and put your burned fingers in your mouth. “Watch where the hell you—” Your silent, furious scolding is cut off when you see the boy’s gaze linger on the bandage on your left forearm, which he could see now that the sleeve of your robe had rolled up a little too much.

Before you can react, he reaches for your hand and tugs at the bandage. Only when he sees the cut on your forearm—a souvenir from a broomstick accident on the pitch—does he sigh with relief, relaxing next to you.

You shift your confused gaze from his hand to his face, and you freeze, staring into his eyes as you realise WHAT he was expecting to see. Sign of the Death Eaters.

The mere thought sends a cold shiver through you.

"I…" He begins, and for the first time you see Sirius Orion Black, the pride of Gryffindor, speechless. He clears his throat and releases your hand, making you slam it against his lap, not expecting him to release you so suddenly. "I just…"

"Did I disappoint your expectations? How sad. Can't you still imagine me as some nasty pure-blood Slytherin? I've shattered your worldview, where all of us want…"

"No." He cuts your outburst off harshly before you can finish. A little too harshly, because it draws the attention of the students at the table closest to yours.

He grabs the first plant he comes across and throws it into the pot in front of you, ignoring the stares of everyone, including yours. You sigh and continue your work.

"I'm glad you don't have that. I… never do that." He mutters suddenly, barely audible.

You blink a few times, staring at him in shock. The tips of his ears turn red as he mixes the potion without meeting your eyes.

"Unfortunately… not all of us have the privilege and the ability to choose… not all of us have a place to escape to." You reply just as quietly and start clearing the table.

Sirius' burning gaze barely leaves you as the room begins to fill with the unpleasant smell of cigarette smoke and fiery whiskey.

"There is always a choice." He speaks stubbornly and tries to grab your hand, but you pull away.

"Do you always talk so damn much, Black? I much more preferred the silent treatment." You sanp as you pour some potion into a vial and go to Slughorn to give it to him for grading so you can finish the lesson.

You don't even go back for your Potions textbook. You just storm out, bag slung over your shoulder and dark thoughts swirling through your head.

You often return to that memory. Especially the way Sirius' eyes followed you until you disappeared behind the classroom door.

And sometimes... in the middle of the night, after a particularly unpleasant mission... you wonder how your life would have turned out if you'd let Black talk to you a little longer... if you hadn't fled the choking smell of cigarettes, gasoline, and firewhiskey.

But you guess running away was in your blood.

Fortunately, you never find out if Regulus has the strength to watch his brother being tortured by the Dark Lord because Sirius escaped.

Sirius Black escaped from the dungeons of the Dark Lord.

If that wasn't proof enough that he was a true Marauder, you didn't know what was.

Death Eaters searched for him all morning, but no one, not even the Dark Lord, managed to locate him. After administering Veritaserum to Regulus—Lord Voldemort couldn't have a traitor in his ranks, after all, and Sirius' escape made Regulus, as his brother, the prime suspect for aiding him—and assuring him that the young Black had nothing to do with it, everyone was sent back to their quarters at Malfoy Manor.

You sigh heavily, taking off your coat and mask and placing them on your desk. You turn to collapse on your bed and try to forget about this terrible day, but you freeze when you see a large, black dog sprawled across your sheets.

The dog, hearing the commotion you were making, perked up his ears and slowly lifted his muzzle to you. His dark eyes stared straight into yours, and for a moment, you felt the world around you stop.

You assessed him, unable to shake the feeling that you saw something... oddly familiar in him. As if he weren't some random large dog that could lunge for your throat at any moment, but something... something undeniably familiar you should not be afraid of.

However, your Death Eater and survival instincts take over.

You instinctively grab the wand strapped to your hips, only to have the black dog growl at you. It wasn't a strong growl. More like a whimper of desperate defense.

You frown and take a step toward your bed, carefully examining the dog before you. You wince when you see blood stains on your sheets and shudder when you realise that his black fur is darker and matted in some spots. This observation allowed you to conclude that you had an injured, large black dog in your bed.

Great. Absolutely normal Wednesday as a Death Eater.

You try to take a step closer, but the dog starts growling again, baring its fangs at you. You sigh and gently lower your wand, which the dog seems to calm down at. For a moment, you stare at it, speechless and motionless, carefully analysing what the hell is happening.

The dog stirs, trying to stand on its two front paws and get up, but it whimpers in pain and collapses onto your bed, exhausted. The sight sends any remaining common sense flying out the window.

"Shhh… calm down buddy… let's patch you up okay?" You speak calmly, hoping that if he can't understand you, he can at least tell from your tone and posture that you mean him no harm.

You sit down gently on the edge of the bed and offer him your hand to sniff. He sniffs painfully and sticks out his tongue—an unusually dry tongue for a dog—and licks you, whining softly. Your heart breaks completely. With your other hand, you gently pat his head and stroke him hesitantly, waiting for any sudden movement on his part that would alert you.

"Okay… cool… we're friends now, right? You won't bite my arm off if I try to help you, right? Good dog. Good boy… or girl." The snort he lets out allows you to assume it's him after all. "Okay… good boy… I'll use my wand to patch you up, okay? What do you say, buddy?" You mumble to yourself and him as you slowly move the wand along him, trying to determine exactly how many wounds this dog has.

You were perfectly aware that the Malfoys… weren't known for caring about anything but themselves. They didn't treat their house elves well, in fact, they took out their anger and frustration on them masterfully, but to beat a dog? To that extent?

You will castrate Lucius at the earliest opportunity.

The dog beneath you trembles slightly—a laugh you're unaware of, just as you were unaware of the fact that you've been speaking your thoughts aloud, while being as shaken as the dog you were treating... or rather, a certain fugitive...

When you're sure the dog won't bleed to death on your bed after bandaging and treating its more serious wounds, you allow yourself to clean the sheets. You cast a spell and place your wand on the nightstand.

The dog fell asleep halfway through your ministrations, resting his large muzzle on your thighs. You had no choice but to gently entwine your hand into the beast's fur and find a more comfortable position. You drift off to sleep, thinking of the mocking remarks Bellatrix would have made if she'd found you in this situation.

You only liked Divination because you could drink a cup of tea in peace and practically get the highest grade for nothing. That's why you didn't put much effort into the class, and when the professor said you could sleep, so that through your dreams, after some special mixture of herbs and spells, you could discover a bit of your past, you were thrilled. Well… almost.

"Black, damn it, stop snoring, you idiot!" You hiss at him and kick him in the ribs. The boy next to you (the bane of your existence, who had decided to start harassing you more than just in Potions and was practically next to you in every class now) groans, not even trying to be discreet.

"Ouch! You also kick your boyfriends like that when they…"

"Mr. Black! Please do not disturb the other students. Dreamreading requires silence and sleep! No talking! Minus 5 points for Gryffindor." The Gryffindors groan silently at this punishment.

"But it's her…"

"Minus another 5!"

"You got what you deserved, Black." You mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around you and trying to fall asleep without Black snoring in your ear like an owl scratching at a window.

"I feel sorry for any poor soul who ends up sleeping next to you."

"When I end up in bed with someone, it's not usually to sleep. But you might not know that it usually doesn't end with 15 minutes and snoring, since that's all you know."

"And this old hag can't hear it anymore? That's unfair." He grumbles when the professor doesn't pick up on your quiet, whispered conversation with him.

You can't help but giggle quietly, covering your smile with a scrap of the blanket, and Sirius smiles involuntarily. His heart beats a beat faster, but this strange new reaction in his body is ignored as…

"Mr. Black! Mrs. Y/L/N! Minus 10 points to Gryffindor and minus 5 to Slytherin!

"For what this time?!" Sirius asks, offended.

"For disturbing others in class. No more chit-chat. You have to sleep! I mean, fall asleep… I mean… oh, you know very well what you can and can't do!"

Your cheeks ache from the way you smile so broadly, and you're glad you're lying with your back to the professor. Sirius, seeing this, covers the lower half of his face with the blanket and lies down again, this time facing you.

You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but before you can completely drift off, you feel a warm hand reach for yours beneath the blankets. Without opening your eyes, you let your fingers intertwine with theirs. You fall asleep, stroking one of Sirius's rings with the tip of your index finger.

You don't even know when you fall asleep. But when you do, you dream.

You dream of war.

Of Voldemort gaining strength, of you fighting against and with the people you now go to school with. Spells fly around you; you hear screams, shouts, and cries. Blood, lots of blood, and green and red spells hitting everyone but you. And when it's your turn, just as the green Avada flies toward you, the black dog lunges at you. The dog bares its white fangs and is about to lunge at you when...

You wake with a scream, jumping up from your bed as if scalded, ripping your hand from Sirius's. You place it over your frantically beating heart and try to calm yourself by taking several deep breaths, sweat dripping from your forehead, sticking your hair to your skin, which is hot and cold at the same time.

"End of lesson! Everyone leave!" The professor announces, looking at you with concern and interest. "You too, Mr Black and Mr Snape." You don't even notice who stayed up the longest for you before the professor throws everyone out.

All you can do is drink tea from the mug the professor gave you while you were recovering. As you finish your tea, you instinctively look at the tea leaves.

You shiver as they form the shape of a dog from your dream.

The dog stayed with you for a few days. You smuggled him scraps from the kitchen and tended to his wounds until he was fully healed.

He was still wary of you for the first few days, but when he saw how gently you treated him, he seemed to decide to declare you his human. He jumped on you when you returned, licked your face, and growled when he found blood, bruises, and scratches on you from his skirmishes with the Order members. It was nice to have him. You felt… more human… more normal.

It was… strange having him around. Especially when you were returning from a mission like today.

You limped on one leg, alive but bruised. The Order had become bolder in its movements lately—no doubt after you captured one of its mainstays like Black. Or so you thought. Before Potter grabbed you by the lapels of your robes and viciously growled at you to hand over his brother before he unleashed hell on earth.

He escaped with the rest. He didn't know it was you; the masks allowed all of you to maintain the anonymity you needed to survive. But if Sirius Black hadn't returned to them… where could he have been?

You shiver as the dog sits on the bed next to you and licks your face, breaking you out of your thoughts.

"Ugh! I told you not to do that, buddy!" You growl at him and gently push him away. You scorn the smile that involuntarily formed on your lips and pet the dog behind the ears. "I had a long day. I'm not in the mood for licking today." You mumble at which he barks and tilts his head at you as if scolding you.

Before you can say anything to him, you hear quick footsteps and that is your only warning before the door to your room opens.

"I know you just got back, but we have… what the fuck is this?" Bellatrix asks in shock, raising an eyebrow at the dog on your bed. Your heart skips a beat, but you keep a neutral expression, petting the beast on your bed. "I thought you were afraid of dogs?" Your Death Eater mentor comments, stepping deeper into the room and eyeing the black dog warily.

"Weren't you the one who said it was pathetic and childish? I found this mutt on the street. I thought it would be good to get over my fear." You reply, not flinching at her reminder of your… little fear.

Flashes of memories from one of your Divination lessons come back to you. The new teacher Dumbledore hired—you don't even remember her name—was declared mad by the Slytherins on the very first day. But you'll remember one of her predictions forever. The dregs of a black dog, arranged in your cup, foretelling your doom…

"That beast is bigger than any dog I've ever seen. Maybe you can train him to fight those scum from the order." Bellatrix comments and approaches the dog. He growls, baring his fangs as her hand comes close to his fur. The witch pulls away and lets out an animalistic hiss of her own. "Or you could always wring his neck."

"Or watch him fight you. Honestly, I'm not sure which of you would win in a fight of teeth and claws." You comment, getting out of bed and standing in front of her, blocking her view of the dog and interrupting their staring contest as they growled at each other. "What do you want?"

"We're moving to headquarters next week. Gather your things. And do something about that mutt. I doubt the Dark Lord would want that… thing wandering his halls."

The dog on your bed barks furiously at the witch in front of you. You roll your eyes and pat his side reassuringly.

"Don't worry, it's just a... temporary condition. I'll deal with it when the time is right."

"If you need help breaking his neck, you know where to find me." Bella comments with a wicked smirk and gives the animal a hateful look before slamming your door shut and leaving.

You sigh, rolling your eyes at her again. As if you would ever actually consider harming any animal.

The black dog barks at you and rests his front paws on your shoulders. He gives you one long lick on the face, effectively breaking you from your dark thoughts.

"Don't worry, mate. I'm not that cruel. I'd rather break her neck than yours. I'll find you a good home." The dog barks at you and growls a little, using your hand as a chew toy—clearly disagreeing with your proposal. "You'll be better off than with a Death Eater." You comment, amused, with a sad smile as you realise what will happen after you move into headquarters.

You'll get a mark. The whole Death Eater package.

A cold shiver runs through you as you remember what Regulus' initiation was like…

You only realize you're crying when the dog whines and licks the tears from your face. You give him a pained smile and nuzzle your nose into his black fur, holding him tighter.

You fall asleep into a dreamless sleep. You've never felt so blissful.

A week later, your situation is… surprising, to say the least.

After dropping off your black dog at the door of one of your old friends from Hogwarts who wasn't on either side of the war, you thought you'd have a straightforward path to earning the Death Eater mark. You were wrong. Very wrong.

You were struggling in your bonds in one of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. You'd gotten caught. Like some stupid rookie. Now you could either switch sides and hope they wouldn't hand you over to Azkaban after all, or you could hope they'd lose, which you didn't really want. You preferred to pay with your freedom rather than the lives of thousands.

You had no illusions that any of the Death Eaters would come to your aid. Except maybe Regulus. But you doubted anyone would.

One mission. One stupid mission. It was supposed to be quick and simple. You wonder how they even found out about it. They must have had a spy in their ranks. A very well-hidden spy who had access to all information and plans the Dark Lord made—even the most secret ones.

You shiver with cold. You close your eyes and sigh quietly, resting your forehead on your knees. And then you feel something cold and sticky on your ankle. You shudder and look up, meeting a large black dog. Impossible. You've given him away…

The dog approaches you, tail wagging slightly. He places his paws on your thighs and licks your cheek. You snort, trying to pull your face away from him, but he seems tireless in his attempts to clean the dried blood from you. At least those in the order treated their prisoners before locking them up.

"Yes, yes, I'm glad to see you too, but stop licking me. Looks like the tables have turned, huh?" The dog barks—not fiercely, but in that friendly, goofy way of his. You smile as he climbs off you and plays with the ropes on your wrists.

He bites your ropes, freeing you. For a moment, you instinctively feel the urge to fight or flee, but you quickly give up. A needless waste of strength and energy. They would have caught you anyway. And even if they hadn't, the Death Eaters would have caught you, peered into your mind, and seen you helping Sirius, and by then you'd surely be dead.

You sigh and massage your free wrists, staring at the dog and wondering how the hell he got here.

A riddle for another time. Right now you needed sleep.

"Hey buddy… you're awfully warm." You mumble and burrow your face into the animal's fur, clinging to it as if it were a blanket. "Shall we lie here for a while? It'll be warmer for both of us." You mumble, and the dog whines softly, as if in agreement, as he settles down next to you, blocking the cold air.

You sigh and allow yourself to fall asleep… at least for a while.

"Padfoot? What are you doing here?" You reluctantly wake up after a few hours of sleep, with Lupin and Potter hovering over you.

The dog next to you yawns, whining as he sees the two men looming over you. He stands in front of you and barks at them when they try to get close to you, but allows himself to be petted by Lupin when he reaches behind his ear.

"Your dog?" You ask the Marauders as Potter cleverly avoids the dog and approaches you.

Padfoot, as it turns out, immediately runs up to him and jumps on him, knocking them both to the floor. He barks and wags his tail like crazy, then returns to your side and tucks his head between your arm and leg to rest his muzzle on your thigh, keeping a watchful eye on the men before you as you are still sitting on the floor.

"You could say so. Yes... he's a... very wolfish dog, if you know what I mean. He definitely prefers the company of women. Traitor." Potter mumbles, getting up from the floor and rubbing his sacrum.

The dog barks happily as you reach out to pet him, slightly confusing the Marauders when they see you're not tied up anymore.

"Get up. You are being drawn into the ranks of the order. Welcome to the light side of the force." Potter says jokingly and throws your wand at you.

Padfoot catches it easily and tosses it into your lap, staring at you expectantly, as if waiting for some reward. You wince, touching the tip of your wand to a spot not covered in drool from the black dog, and mutter a cleaning charm.

"Wait, what? Are you crazy? Is this some kind of joke?" You ask after a moment, when it actually dawns on you what they're doing. Pads stands up and nudges your shoulder with his head, as if encouraging you to get up.

"Let's say that... there are people who still care about you and who have stood up for you." You scowl suspiciously, remembering that you used the exact same excuse when helping Sirius in the Malfoy dungeons that time. You hesitantly rise from the ground and observe the two Marauders.

"Black?"

"Yes. He told us you helped him escape. Well done. I owe you my adopted brother's life." The black dog barks and runs up to James. It nudges his knee with its nose and runs out of the cell where you were held, pretending to be offended. "And Padfoot's… I guess."

You nod, laughing in disbelief. You're on the side of the Order? Regulus will gut you when he finds you.

"Come on, Y/L/N. It's not that hard. Don't you Slytherins and former Death Eaters have a single fond memory? Is your life that boring and sad?" The longer Black serves as your mentor in the world of the righteous, honest men and women of the Order of the Phoenix, the more you think about escaping.

It's possible Regulus would have given you shelter at Grimmauld Place, but with your luck, the elder Black would have found you there too. The damned thing was good at finding you.

He used Padfoot for it. The moment the dog found you in your hiding place, Sirius would have jumped around the corner, literally a second after the Marauder's pet vanished. The little traitor was lucky he was adorable. Otherwise, you would have long since stopped giving him treats and petting him in his favourite spots.

"No, but I can show you some curses if you're that interested, Black."

"Not in front of the baby, please!" Evans-Potter shouts from the kitchen as you and Sirius sit in the Potters' living room. You roll your eyes and glance out of the corner of your eye at the newborn in the crib.

"Come on, little snake. One fond memory. Maybe from our Potions classes?"

"I thought a Patronus was evoked by a happy memory, not a waking nightmare." Sirius snorts in offense, and a small laugh comes from Harry's crib. A smirk spreads across your face. Ha. At least the kid was on your side.

"I can always give you a memory worth remembering upstairs in my bedroom if it helps you, honey."

"Uncle Pads is worse with Auntie Y/N than I was with your mom, did you know that Harry?" Potter's voice booms from behind you, making you jump slightly in surprise – much to Sirius' amusement.

All these weeks with them, and the Marauders always managed to sneak up on you. You begin to understand why Dumbledore recruited them all into the Order as his spies.

"Not his aunt."

"Excuse me, I'm doing just fine with our former Death Eater. Right, sweetheart?" Sirius and you respond at the same time to James' taunt as he enters the living room to play with his kid.

You shake your head, making Potter laugh and getting punched in the side by Black, but you're laughing too hard at him to care about the small tingle of pain from where he gently punched you.

"Technically she wasn't a Death Eater." Remus comments, entering the living room with the Daily Prophet in hand. "And if you understand the banter you often engaged in at Hogwarts and now as flirting, then you could say that you are actually worse at it than James."

Remus tosses the newspaper into your lap, and you quickly scan the list of recently captured Death Eaters. You breathe a sigh of relief when you don't see Regulus name.

"Everyone's against me. Do you even remember that you're my friends and not hers? Where's the devotion? Where's the loyalty? Where's the honour?" Sirius mutters under his breath, clutching his heart dramatically. He frowns when he sees you completely ignore him. He brushes aside the pitying look James gives him and leans in to be in your view. "Hello. We're in the middle of class. Leave those newspapers and focus on being a member of the Order, not a Death Eater, or I'll put you under detention. Besides, who are you checking up on? Are you worried about Snivellus' fate?"

"Your brother, actually. And it's Severus, not Snivellus. We're not at Hogwarts anymore, Black, so maybe you'd stop this pointless tormenting of his."

"Whatever. One more time, Y/N. A fond memory. You go, sweetie."

"I think Lupin would be a better teacher. At least he wouldn't be constantly inciting murder instincts in me. That certainly prevents me from summoning a Patronus, doesn't it, Remus?"

The man shakes his head with a laugh and holds up his hands. "I wouldn't dare steal his role," he says, nodding at Sirius. You snort at their brotherly pact and, ignoring Black's protests, sit down next to Remus with wand in hand.

"Come on, Moony. You're my only hope." You say, enjoying the way you're teasing Sirius with just a feeble request for help from his friend. Potter laughs and walks around the room with Harry in his hands, watching the three of you with a smirk on his face.

Using Lupin's Marauder nickname works to your advantage. You see him decide to defer to you and somehow respect the strange bond of camaraderie that's beginning to form between you. He sits up straighter and turns to focus his gaze completely on you.

"Okay. Let's try. Close your eyes. Take a few deep breaths. Try to clear your mind."

"From everything except me, honey." Sirius adds, then gasps in shock as you blindly hit him with a pillow.

He rolls onto his back, causing Potter to burst into loud laughter. In the background, you hear them struggling, James shouting something about holding a child in his arms and being untouchable, but you somehow tune out the thought, just as Remus advised.

Your mind goes through any pleasant memories and somehow, involuntarily, you stop at one particular thing.

"You're avoiding me." You shiver slightly as you hear his voice beside you, sitting alone by the lakeside.

You continue to lie on the grass and soak up the sun, completely ignoring him and hoping he would just go away if you did not give him any attention. Only when he stands over you, blocking the sun's rays from reaching your face with his head, do you open your eyes. And for a moment, you freeze as you see the sun form a halo around his head, reminiscent of an angel.

But Sirius Black was anything but a saintly angel sent to redeem you. Although – considering how he acted lately – he probably considered it a point of honour to make you a good member of the Order.

"Is this avoiding you when we don't have a common group of friends and opportunities to hang out?" You ask, rolling over to a spot out of his shadow.

"Well, now we have it. A common group, I mean. You're one of us."

"I'm the devil in disguise." You mutter, smiling evilly, and close your eyes again.

"I think you're more of a demon…" Black snorts and lands on the grass next to you, playing with a blade of grass.

You don't react to his taunt. You lie there, hearing the distant laughter of the Potters and their child. Their safe home has become one of your favorite places. Not because of the humans.

"You didn't answer my question…"

"Technically you never asked a question, so…"

"Have you Slytherins been taught to give sarcastic replies since your first year at Hogwarts?" He groans and rolls onto his side to get a better view of you as you snort, amused by his comment. You bite your lip to keep from laughing and shake your head, tucking your arm under the back of your neck.

"It's just an innate trait. Without it, you won't qualify to be one of us."

A strange silence follows your words – Sirius Black thinks. At first, you found it absurdly funny—that when he was thinking hard about something, he would fall silent and frown in that thoughtful way, focusing his gaze into the distance or unabashedly on the object of his contemplation. At first. Now, it began to terrify you as you mentally recorded small details about him.

"Do you ever think about… you now... going back to them?"

Here it is. The question of the year. The question you've been asking yourself for days now. You told yourself you had no choice, that joining the Order was the only option, because Voldemort (no longer the Dark Lord) would kill you the moment you returned from their captivity and he learnt everything he needed from you.

But you knew perfectly well you could have apparated away from them and escaped whenever you wanted. They gave you your wand back, they gave you shelter, everything you never allowed yourself to even dream of. Everything you thought you didn't need or deserve.

"Is this some kind of fidelity test of yours? It's pretty weak, to be honest…"

"Oh, sorry, should I ask you to kill someone on our behalf first, or should I just go straight to marking you?"

"I'm afraid you wouldn't use ink at all for this marking." You answer before you can even stop yourself. Damn it. You weren't supposed to flirt with him.

You glance quickly at Sirius and sigh as you see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Damn it. You gave the Marauder permission to show off and tease you (as if Sirius ever needed permission).

"Very likely… You must admit, however, that this would be… a much more pleasant form of marking. For both of us."

"Do you do that to every member of the order?"

"Just former Death Eaters I was stuck with for a year on potions."

You smile involuntarily, turning your head to look at him, ready to throw another sarcastic remark at him, but it catches in your throat when you get a chance to properly examine him.

Strands of his hair fall unruly across his forehead, tangled with the long grass behind you, as if he were rolling in it. His eyes sparkle with both sunlight and a glint of joy, and his absurdly wide, genuine smile, untainted by any of the playfulness or teasing that was his trademark, makes the corners of your mouth involuntarily curl up, shyly mirroring the same smile he gives you.

"You know… you weren't the worst Slytherin after all." His fingers gently brush the back of your hand.

Uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love

No... no... damn it, no. You couldn't afford that. You clear your throat, but just as you're about to pull your hand away from his to stop the burning sensation where your skin touches, he intertwines his fingers with yours.

"Actually… I think I can safely say you were my favorite Slytherin."

Oh no, I'm fallin' in love again

"Are you under Imperius?" You ask in a whisper, swallowing hard.

You don't even know why you're mumbling conspiratorially. As if you're afraid to break whatever sanctity this moment holds between you. No. It wasn't a moment at all. You were just teasing each other, as usual.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Sirius's loud, barking laughter, and any remnants of your sanity are shattered as he reaches up to gently pluck some grass lint from your hair. His hand gently moves from your hair, caresses your cheek, and rests it gently on your neck, his fingertips brushing against your jawline.

"I wish," he murmurs, his grey eyes moving from your irises to your lips. Oh, dear Salazar. You can't even admit to yourself how much you wanted craved the same thing he did.

He moves closer to you, his nose brushing against yours, and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel his shaky breath so close to your lips.

“Sirius! Y/N! Dinner!” Evans-Potter shouts, interrupting whatever you were about to do. You stand up first, brushing off the dirt (and the feeling of Black’s hands on you) and practically running back inside the house. You turn to look at him only once. One time too many.

Oh, I'm fallin' in love

"Oh fuck, Y/N! You did it!" Sirius shouts excitedly, snapping you out of your little memory.

You swallow the embarrassment in your throat, realising how pathetic your situation truly is, as your patronus, the black dog that has been your frequent companion lately, starts running around the living room.

You loved Sirius Black. You really loved Sirius Fucking Black.

Your patronus 'licks' your hands and disappears, leaving you alone with the mess it made. As usual.

"Padfoot! Magic! Padfoot, magic!" You frown as Harry cries out, reaching for Sirius and demanding another show.

Black stares at his godson with fear in his eyes, his face immediately turned pale as a sheet and he froze like a marble statue. He glances at you... and then it clicks in your brain.

Padfoot only appeared when Sirius wasn't there. ALWAYS.

Son of a bitch.

"I know what it looks like… but you can't kill me because… because I'm your soulmate and we have the same patronuses!!" He makes up an idea on the spot and claps his hands, giving you that shitty, smug grin of his.

"Oh, you're about to be my very DEAD soulmate soon." You growl furiously and are about to cast a spell at him (or hex him; you were not exactly sure which one of those) when he lunges forward and snatches the wand from your hands. With his teeth. Like a dog.

"Black! What the hell are you—" You gasp as he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and leans closer to you, giving you a second or two to pull away from him, which you pathetically refuse to take advantage of, before he presses his lips against yours.

The next second you're sliding off the couch and landing on his lap, holding onto his shoulders tightly as you make sure you don't lose your balance and accidentally tear your lips away from his.

The Marauders get the hint and leave the two of you alone. You can then enjoy the feeling of Sirius's hands on you, the gentle way he caresses your scalp with his fingers, and the way his mouth simply takes complete control of you.

"Perhaps in your newly found grace after joining us… you'll consider not killing me?" He asks breathlessly as you pull away. You giggle involuntarily, feeling his fingers gently run over the skin of your waist.

"You're lucky you're a cute dog."

“Really lucky, I agree.” He mumbles and cups your cheek in his hand, diving forward and making you lean back against the couch with him on top of you.

Maybe the black dog wasn't a bad omen to you after all...

[kasagia]

Sirius Black's Masterlist

One-shots

Right where you left me

After Sirius runs away from home, your arranged engagement is broken... but that doesn't mean the disinherited Black has stopped harbouring feelings for you. Feelings that you desperately try to ignore.

The Black Dog

The black dog haunted you for most of your life. In your dreams and nightmares, he was your bad omen. After the Death Eaters capture Sirius Black and his great escape, you find an injured black dog in your room…

(...)

[kasagia]

Right where you left me

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!pure blood! reader Summary: After Sirius runs away from home, your arranged engagement is broken... but that doesn't mean the disinherited Black has stopped harbouring feelings for you. Feelings that you desperately try to ignore. My babbling: My first time trying writing for Sirius! Hope you will like it! 😊🖤🖤 Sirius Black's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"So your brother is still alive? After he didn't show up at my birthday ball, I thought you became an only child, Reggie. I swear he always pesters me at these boring parties." You mock, noticing Sirius and his gang of idiots making their way to the Gryffindor table.

A week before you were to return to Hogwarts, your parents threw a party for your birthday. They invited all the important pureblood buffoons with their families and got drunk. Like every year.

But this time, you missed the eldest Black – your very reluctant fiancé, who always bravely stayed by your side when he was dragged to such gatherings, annoying you and enraging you with his mere existence the best he could.

He usually clung to your side like a burr to a dog's tail. You had literally a few minutes of peace before his curly dark hair came into view. He was always making silly, funny-in-his-face comments about the people gathered there. And maybe sometimes his presence was… a pleasant distraction from the usual stiffness that permeated these parties, but most of the time, Black gave you a headache. (And your facial muscles ached from suppressing a smirk at his scathing comments.)

You always dreamed of getting rid of him.

So you couldn't help, but wonder why when he was actually gone, you weren't as happy as you thought you would be.

You spent this particular party in the incredibly boring company of Nott, Malfoy, and Narcissa, longing only to throw away your bothersome high heels and light a cigarette. Or at least smell it. A stench you associated with only one person…

"He threw himself out of the house." Regulus mumbles, digging into his plate.

You raise an eyebrow at him as you can’t manage a comment to this surprising news. But Lucius beats you to it before you can form any sensible response.

"What?! Your parents finally disinherit him, and you don't even say a word about being the new heir to the Black family? We should drink this on the train to Hogwarts!"

Out of the corner of your eye you see Narcissa shake her head at her fiancé's behavior while the rest of the Slytherins laugh.

Your gaze involuntarily falls on the eldest Black.

Sirius is chatting with his Marauders, laughing at some joke they've made. But something seems off. His smile doesn't reach his ears, his eyes don't sparkle with that usual mischievous glint, and he looks more like… a beaten dog than a free wolf.

You shiver as you meet his gaze and look away from him as he waves at you, giving you one of his cheeky smirks.

Disinherited or not, he will always find time to get under your skin.

"Maybe it's temporary? He can't cut himself off from you that easily. He's a Black, after all." You mumble, continuing your breakfast.

"My mother burned his portrait off our family tree. You know, that old tapestry. So I guess this is certain." Your eyes widen in surprise, your gaze flickering to Sirius for a moment, then back to his brother.

Sirius Black rebelled and disowned his family, they disowned him. Blood purity. All that crap. He threw it all to hell. He was free.

"Who cares about this flea man anyway? He deserved it, I'm sorry we had to put up with him all these years. We should celebrate tonight! Especially you, Y/N! We got rid of that blood traitor! Severus! Come here! You won't believe what happened!" Bellatrix shouts at the black-haired man who just walked into the room.

You watch him as he approaches you, and especially as a certain angry red-haired Gryffindor enters the Great Hall a moment after him. Lily. She probably still hasn't forgiven him for that mudblood thing.

As rumors of Sirius' disinheritance spread around the Slytherin table, you focus your gaze on his brother. You know perfectly well that his relationship with the Gryffindor was... strained, but all you had to do was look into his eyes to see how Sirius' departure affected him.

Black's brothers might hate each other from time to time, but the truth was, in the moments that mattered, they were there for each other. They'd never admit it, but you'd seen them have each other's backs more than once.

Regulus must have had a shitty vacation after Sirius left. Especially considering the fact that their mother's anger and disappointment were usually focused on the eldest Black. After Sirius left, Regulus probably became the whipping boy.

You shift your gaze back to Sirius, watching Potter whisper something to him. Black laughs, (another, not very sincere and absurdly disgustingly contagious laugh you were used to), shaking his head. You can see him hiding a smirk behind his mug as he… blushes?

It's only when the two Marauders catch your eye and raise their eyebrows at you that you awkwardly look away and pretend to attentively listen to Lucius's plans for tonight's party in the common room.

There are rumors and excited whispers all around you, but all you can think about is how bloody lucky Sirius is. He's free. He has his idiotic friends and doesn't have to worry about the fact that at any moment his parents might demand that he join the Death Eaters or marry a pureblood idiot just to fulfill his parents' sick ideology.

You unconsciously clench the cup in your hand to the point that the glass gives way under your fingers, while you unknowingly use your magic and strength on an innocent cup.

"Fuck." You curse, wiping your hand on your black and green Slytherin uniform.

"What's wrong with you, Y/L/N?" Lucius asks you, but you brush him off and stand up from the table. You leave the great hall before any of them can catch up to you and head towards the dungeons.

You hated Sirius Black even more.

For how bloody easy his life was. For being able to do what you dreamed of, what you were afraid of, what you couldn't do.

You had no other friends or acquaintances, no one who would take you into your home if you decided to run away. You would be condemned in Slytherin, pushed to the margins of society, and most likely killed by your former friends the moment the war between wizards broke out.

The worst part was that the only person who could understand your pain, the one you were supposed to marry, the one who was supposed to be your refuge in some way, decided to run away and leave you.

You shudder thinking about what pureblood maniac your parents will force you to marry instead of Sirius. And for the first time since you two got into this arranged engagement, you realise that marrying the famous Marauder wouldn't actually be the worst thing that could have happened to you.

You snort, surreptitiously sipping the champagne you'd stolen from Lucius. You've been keeping pretty much to the sidelines of the party, hiding in the best hiding spots Malfoy Manor has to offer after Bellatrix pushed you into the arms of her future fiancé so she could get away from him.

After a rather awkward and quick dance with Lestrange, you grabbed the glass of alcohol Malfoy had abandoned and ducked near the balcony doorway, occasionally hiding behind the curtain covering the door when someone passed you.

Suddenly, movement on the balcony catches your eye. You glance through the windows and see your hapless fiancé smoking a cigarette outside, gazing out at the estate gardens. On some strange impulse, you decide to join him.

Sirius Black leans against the stone railing, completely oblivious to your gentle opening of the door. You allow yourself a moment to gaze at him, the way the moonlight caresses his wavy black hair, the way the cigarette smoke hangs limply over him, creating a strange dome of peace around him. And Sirius Orion Black was anything but peace.

“Does your mother know you smoke?” You ask mockingly, stepping closer to him.

Only when he hears your voice does he turn to meet your gaze with his grey eyes. He looks you up and down, lingering a little longer on the neckline of your dress. He snorts derisively at the glaring silver of your dress and the silver snake necklace and bracelets entwined around your neck and wrists.

"Does yours know you drink, Slytherin Princess?" He replies with equal sneer, turning his gaze away from you to focus again on the gardens before you.

You roll your eyes and lean your hips against the railing, staring intently into his face.

It's been a while since you last saw each other—or rather, since he played the last prank on you and your Slytherin friends at Hogwarts. Since then... he's somehow lost his sparkle and his cheekiness. You've only seen him without his usual Marauder persona at parties like this and only when his parents put the pressure on him to be the exemplary Black heir they wanted him to be – something you've become a silent observer of more and more with each passing year.

"Ouch. No honey or love of my life? Or others disgusting 'cute' nicknames? Are we getting some kind of divorce I don't know about? Or maybe you are breaking off our engagement? How am I going to survive this… the great Sirius Orion Black finally leaving me alone."

"For someone who wants so desperately to be free of me, it's somehow strange that you came here for my company."

"I came here because it's the perfect place for drinking, smoking, or sex. Not necessarily in that order, and not necessarily with that company." Your comment makes him burst out laughing.

He takes a drag on his cigarette and puffs on the smoke before turning his head to look at you. His gaze is... strangely sad. And serious. Something you never expected from him.

"Okay... what the hell is wrong with you? No comment about how you would be the perfect fuck buddy if I wanted to try? Are you getting old and out of practice tormenting me or something?" You ask as he continues to smoke quietly, staring at you.

He throws his cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot. Suddenly, he leans toward you, invading your personal space outrageously. You freeze at his sudden movement, unable to do anything as he lifts his hand and gently tucks your hair behind your ear so he can cup your cheek. His thumb caresses your skin, his fingers briefly playing with your snake-shaped earring as his eyes scan every inch of your face.

"I'm gonna miss this so much, my poisonous darling." He mumbles and presses his lips to your forehead.

You shudder at the strange sensation of his soft lips against your skin, and not because it's an unwanted, repulsive touch. No. You shudder because it feels surprisingly right. You shudder because his lips, his hand on your cheeks, and his chest against yours make you feel, for the first time in your life, like you're exactly where you're supposed to be.

“So fucking awful.” He continues, sighing softly as he buries his nose in your hair and pulls you closer after wrapping his other hand around your waist.

“I… what the fuck are you talking about, Black?” You ask in shock, still clutching your glass in your hand and briefly considering smashing it against his skull.

He chuckles, making you shiver with him, his warmth seeping through you, his scent clinging to you—something you should find awful, beneath your dignity, but damn, how many times have you imagined the two of you like this in your most secret, most terrifyingly wild dreams?

How many times have you dreamed of throwing everything that separated you away and just... just letting that annoying asshole, who somehow always managed to make you laugh even in your darkest hour, be as close to you as none has ever been?

"Nothing… did I tell you that you look terrifyingly beautiful today, the bane of my existence?" He asks with a smirk as he pulls away from you, but you can't shake the feeling that he's hiding something depressing behind the deep grey of his eyes, which don't have that mischievous twinkle in them that he always had when he was flirting with you.

"Black..." You mumble and reach for his arm, but he pulls away before you can touch him. You freeze as he flinches and shakes his head.

"It's nothing… I think I'm getting a little sentimental. Maybe I had too much champagne today… you know how quickly it hits after a solid crucio…"

A lump rises in your throat as he admits that his parents did something... something only a few old, pure-blood families practised when raising their heirs. A wave of sympathy surges through you, and for a moment you just want to hug him and hold him close. A stupid, strange feeling. You've definitely had too much champagne.

"Sirius?" You whisper his name for the first time in decades. He laughs bitterly, shaking his head.

"Don't give me that, Y/N. I don't want your sympathy, as rare as it is. I… Sorry, honey… I'm not in the mood for our usual chat."

He turns to leave, to get as far away from you as possible, but on some strange impulse you grab his wrist and don't let him. He freezes. Practically the whole world around you freezes with him.

All your senses shut down as you stare at the back of his head, not quite knowing what to say or do, just some instinctive gut feeling that you can't just let him go now. You can only feel his strong, racing pulse beneath your fingertips as you watch him slowly turning to face you.

You don't say anything. You can't seem to. Your head is buzzing, either from the few glasses of champagne you've had or from his proximity; you can't quite tell. You only know that you're somehow... more yourself. Less guarded.

And whatever Sirius reads in your sincere gaze, untroubled by your usual shield, urges him to close the distance between you in a few steps, cupping your cheeks as he presses his lips against yours.

You gasp, eyes widening as his lips move desperately against yours, his fingers digging into your skin. Your hand loosens its grip on the glass, dropping it to the floor, causing it to shatter as Sirius pushes you against the railings behind you, pinning you against them with his body.

You moan into the kiss, watching him for a moment, his closed eyes, the crease between his brows as he buries himself in you, clinging to you with every fiber of his being and soul, and you can just stand there and take him in, too overwhelmed by all the sudden, years-old feelings that this damn Marauder stirs up with one damn kiss.

A kiss that feels like one of those stupid romance novels. A kiss you hate. A kiss that disgustingly shows how desperately you need more as you chase his lips with yours—too late for Sirius to realize you're kissing him back, too late to show how pathetically you crave him.

He pulls away before you can grab his collar and pull him closer. You're practically frozen under the wild gaze of his grey eyes as he, with his hands still cupping your cheeks, stares at you for another moment, as if stealing another moment.

"As sweetly addictive as I've always imagined." He mutters before pulling away from you, leaving you completely shocked and frozen on that damn Malfoy balcony that you'll probably be dreaming about for days on end.

You don't chase him. You're too proud to do so. So when he turns in the doorway and looks at you briefly before stepping inside, you feel it, as if it were some kind of sick farewell on his part. Little do you know, the next day he runs away from home to the Potters, leaving everything behind. Including you.

Month later you're sitting in the library with Severus, who's bravely trying to explain his latest Potions lesson to you, when suddenly someone you never thought you'd see again joins you.

"Evans?"

"Lily..."

The redhead ignores the hopeful look from her former friend and just stares at you.

"We need to talk." She says seriously, waiting for your answer. You frown at her and give Sev a fleeting glance as you focus on the Gryffindor girl.

"Do we have anything to talk about? I thought ever since you and Sev had your fight, we agreed to avoid each other like the plague. Which is stupid, by the way. You've known each other since you were kids."

She doesn't even flinch when you recall the moment the boy angrily called her a Mudblood. Like a true Gryffindor, she endures your judgemental gaze and nonchalantly adjusts the hem of her school uniform.

"This has nothing to do with me or us. I'm here because my true friend is in need."

"Let me guess, the Marauders?" Severus asks mockingly, and Lilly gives him a look of contempt and rage that makes him cringe.

"Whatever. Come on, Evans. Before you two argue over nothing again." You wave your hand at the Slytherin boy, too curious about what was so important to the redhead that she dared approach the two of you after her dramatic breakup with Sev and you, for that matter. You weren't exactly close, but since she was Severus's friend, he was yours too. For a while.

"It wasn't about nothing…"

"Are you coming or not? I don't have all day for teenage dramas." You sigh and gather your things.

You give Sev a knowing look, silently promising to try and put in a good word for him with the redhead as you both leave the library to talk about whatever it is she feels she needs to discuss with you.

You literally take five steps out of the library when she starts.

"Sirius is acting strangely." She begins, making you pause for a moment, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.

"Sirius is the very definition of weird, I see no reason to worry." You brush her off, mocking your ex-fiancé.

"This isn't…" She sighs in exasperation, and you see her internally calming herself down so she doesn't explode. "He found out about… your changes to that shitty planned marriage your families practice."

"So what? He doesn't like the idea of me as Mrs Nott?" You scoff, continuing down the halls, noticing she's leading you to the castle exit. "Why the hell does he care about that anyway? And more importantly, why the fuck should I care about him and his feelings about my new possible engagement?"

"Ugh… Remus advised me against it, and maybe he was right." She grumbles mostly to herself before catching up to you and starting over. "Fine. Maybe you don't care. But that's not all. He got a letter from his mother. They disinherited him. Left him with nothing."

"I… that was to be expected when he ran away. But I don't understand why you're telling me this?"

"He… he's changed. Since then. I think even you could take your head out of your ass and see it. We… we don't know what to do. He's withdrawn into himself and… even Regulus couldn't talk some sense into him."

"Still, why would I…"

"Damn it! How long were you engaged to him? Years? And how long was he following you around Hogwarts with those lovesick puppy eyes of his? I know something about that. James did the same to me, and I know that even if you tried really hard, you couldn't feel nothing at all. You have to care at least a little! Even if this engagement was arranged by your psychopathic parents!" The redhead bursts out, interrupting you furiously.

You pause for a moment as you draw the attention of the other students around you. You shoot them all a menacing look, effectively making them go on with their lives, and you turn your attention to a Gryffindor girl.

"Oh, Evans, Evans. You have no idea how messed up we purebloods can be." You mutter and shift your gaze from her to the lake you're walking by. "Let's do this… you talk to Severus and I'll talk to Black. What do you think?"

"I have nothing to talk to him about."

"So I don't give a shit about Sirius." You reply with a shrug as you continue your stroll.

Evans stops in shock and shakes her head. She catches up with you after a while, and you both continue walking, earning curious glances from the students passing by.

"Are you all Slytherins really like this? Self-interested, rotten to the core? Can't you help out of pure decency or concern?"

"Sirius is a big boy, Evans. He'll suffer and get over it. It's what he's always done. He's freed himself from that damn place, so I predict he'll be entertaining you with his annoying him in a week or two. He will lick his wounds like the dog he is and continue to attack anything with breasts and a vagina."

"I hope you know what you're saying." The girl sighs, walking away from you angrily.

You involuntarily glance at the Gryffindor Tower and sigh to yourself. You hoped so too.

"Y/N Y/L/N! The sun of my life, the air in my lungs, my bloodthirsty fiancée and future wife!" Sirius greets you in Potions as usual, making the Gryffindors laugh and the Slytherins snort involuntarily.

"Black." You say coldly and reluctantly take your seat next to him – something you hate Slughorn for. Only that old bastard could believe that seating better and worse students together would magically equalise the entire class.

"Such a cold welcome? I don't even get a kiss? Or two? Or even a hug? Not even a stab in the back?"

"I can arrange that last one." You mumble, taking out your notebooks and notes, which he immediately takes and places next to his. You roll your eyes as he reaches for your bag and takes it off your lap to place it next to his as well.

"Black, when's the wedding?!" An amused Nott asks, causing the rest of the class to burst out laughing.

"A year after graduating! Don't feel invited!" He replies, making you groan in annoyance and sink into your chair, resigned, reliving the same circus all over again. "Oh, honey, is something wrong? You don't want to wait that long? We can sneak out of Hogwarts today and finalize everything with just one word from you."

"Not even in your dreams."

"Oh my little, Slytherin, cold heart… in my dreams we are…"

"I don't want to know!" You shout, pushing his hand off your shoulder and straightening the tie he had started to untie.

"You don't have to. Which doesn't change the fact that my dreams will one day be our reality." You roll your eyes at him, biting the inside of your cheek in frustration.

"If I choke you to death in one of them, then yes, definitely." You snap at him, only realizing after a moment how misplaced the insult was.

Black wraps one arm around you, pulling you closer to him, his nose brushing against your temple as he mumbles his response in your ear.

"It's true that there's a bit of choking in them, but that's not necessarily…"

"Black!"

"You shouts too, only more and in a way that is not at all close to…" You grab your notebook and move to hit him over the head, but he ducks at the last second, causing you to lose your balance and fall chest-first into his lap. "I always knew you'd fall for me eventually, darling."

You get up with the murderous urge to kill someone, but luckily for Black, Slughorn walks in. But unfortunately for you, that didn't mean, however, that the professor's entrance interrupted your torment.

As was his usual routine, Black interrupted you at every stop, either scribbling crooked hearts and flowers on your notes, playing with your hair and braiding it, or taking the ladle, knife, and other things from your hands to help you mix potions—something you'd let him do until one day he blew up the contents of your cauldron.

Most of the time he just irritated you, but you couldn't deny even to yourself that sometimes he managed to pull a small, genuine smile from your face.

And you should have known then how dangerous his running away… or his presence too close to you would be.

You were wrong. Absolutely bloody wrong. You realised this when, a week after your conversation with Evans, you still hadn't been the victim of any of Sirius' pranks. Nor had any other Slytherin. Not even Severus. Not even Flinch. That was already causing a lot of concern.

You don't know why, but you feel… the absence of Black.

No one greets you at the entrance to the Great Hall with a shitty, "Good morning honey, you look absolutely stunning, how about we test out how stunning we can be together tonight?"

No one throws notes at you in History of Magic, keeping you awake and preventing you from dozing off in the classes you hate.

No one mentions how the Sorting Hat made a mistake by putting you in the enemy house, so they can't meet you in the common room every day or break into your dorm and bed.

It was boring. Bloody boring. And Sirius Black was starting to look like walking death.

"Why are you staring at him like that?" Lucius asks you, noticing your gaze land on the elder Black for the tenth time during dinner.

You shrug, ignoring the questioning, surprised looks from Regulus and Andromeda.

"He's been strangely quiet lately. I'm just waiting for him to pull another stupid prank."

"I like it. They finally rubbed his nose in the door. Maybe he realized what a shitty future awaits him without his wealth, name, influence, and contacts."

"Not to mention the Dark Lord will probably target him first. And his Mudblood friends and blood traitors. After all, he blatantly rejected his Black heritage and the expectations of our community. But I expected this from him. He screamed and cried like a baby when Aunt Walburga used the Cruciatus on him. It was obvious from the start that he was a coward. The Sorting Hat really didn't have anywhere else to put him. I give him a month before we hear about Sirius Black's sudden, unexpected death," Bellatrix adds, casually sipping her juice.

Regulus grabbed your hand as you suddenly reached for the knife. He gives you a reassuring, reproving look, but all you see is red at the laughter that echoes around the Slytherin table.

You let out a shaky breath and release your grip on the silverware, relieved that only Reg saw your little outburst. He raises a questioning eyebrow at you, and you just shrug.

"Don't tell me that you…" Regulus begins, but freezes under your cold gaze. "Oh Salazar." He gasps in shock, realizing the reason for your strange behavior. He leans towards you and whispers in your ear. "Just don't let them see. We'll talk about this later."

You nod reluctantly. You pick at your dinner, humming in agreement as Narcissa changes the subject to a lighter note and comments on our team's preparations for the next match against Hufflepuff.

Regulus puts his arm over yours and laughs at some scathing comment Lucius made as you feel someone's gaze burning into you. You look up and see Sirius' grey irises staring at you, or rather, at his younger brother's arm around you.

For a moment, you see it in his eyes. Longing, desire – as if he wanted to be in his brother's place. You freeze as you see something inside him snap. He suddenly stands from the table and, ignoring the questioning glances and calls from his friends, leaves the Great Hall.

The Marauders' gaze shifts to you—as if you were always the cause of Sirius's sudden outbursts. You raise an eyebrow at them, seeing Potter shake his head and say something to Evans before he gets up and runs after his friend.

"And that's exactly why we should… Y/N? Where are you going?" Regulus asks as you pull out of his embrace.

"I forgot my homework from the library. I'll meet you in the common room." You assure him and run to the exit, hoping you'll be able to catch the Marauders or Evans in time.

You feel a little pathetic as you chase the Gryffindors back to their tower, but your damn pride was the last thing that you cared about at that moment. You were just... worried about Black. Damn it. You were worried about Sirius.

You want to smack yourself on the head at your stupid discovery, at the fact that he somehow found a place in your guarded heart, but you don't have enough time to wonder how stupid your actions are because you see the Marauders walking through their portrait.

"Wait!" You grab Evans's arm at the last second, causing the other two Marauders and her to stop in their tracks.

"Y/L/N? What do you want?" Lily asks you, trying to shake her hand from your grip, but you don't give in that easily.

"I... I need to talk with that idiot."

"I doubt that's a good idea…" Peter begins, but one look from you silences the not-so-brave Gryffindor.

"Great, but I don't give a damn what you think." You mumble and push your way past them.

You've been to their tower a few times—mostly for socialising when they didn't keep track of who exactly comes to their parties, so you navigate pretty easily. The problem starts at the doors to the boys' various dorms.

"First on the left," Lupin suggests, standing behind you. You flinch, but nod reluctantly.

"I know… I… I'm making a plan of attack. That's why I'm not going in." You mumble, making him snort.

"You should. If James is there with him, and he definitely is, he won't let you get away that easily."

"I don't care…"

"About anything but him. We know. Great that you realised it too."

"I don't… it's not…" You sigh, running a hand through your hair, frustrated by how frantic your heart was and how unsure of your actions you now felt.

"Sometimes… sometimes difficult things are only difficult at the beginning."

"What is this? Some kind of Gryffindor therapy?" You can't help but snort, turning your gaze to the door you were about to enter through.

"A way to tame the nasty Slytherins who despise everything until they realize they do have feelings and care about someone."

Remus gives you a gentle jab, and only because you have a more important mission on your mind than arguing with him (Lupin seems to be the only one who's even remotely considering helping you), you decide not to respond to his jab with your usual venomous comment.

"A low blow. But I wouldn't say it wasn't deserved." You mumble and nod at him before taking a calming breath and knocking on the door.

You don't wait for them to open. You don't want to give them a chance to reject you, so you walk right through them as if they were your rooms.

"Moony, I don't think Padfoot needs…" Potter pauses, turning his head to face you. You don't meet his surprised, furious gaze with your own. Instead, you stare at Black, sitting on the bed, who straightens slightly upon seeing you in his dormitory. "You don't live here." Potter says coldly, making you focus on him for a moment.

"How perceptive. Then you should probably notice that I'm not here for you."

"It's okay, Prongs. Leave us alone. This isn't the first time I've dealt with a spoiled Slytherin." Sirius interrupts him before the bespectacled man can respond to my taunt.

I watch Potter as he slams the door behind him, making his displeasure with Black's decision quite clear. Unnecessary melodrama.

"Why do you honor me with your presence by entering the lion's mouth?" Sirius snorts derisively, quickly returning to your usual dynamic.

You stare at him, taking in the changes that have taken place in him since your last meeting. You realise just now that this is the first time you've spoken alone since he… well… attacked you on the Mlafoy balcony. The day before his great escape.

"Did the cat got your tongue?" He asks, getting out of bed and taking a step towards you.

You hold your breath just looking at his pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and his disheveled hair, somehow unable to remember what you had to tell him that was so important that you decided to storm all the way here. Or rather, you were very aware of it, but not brave enough to carry out what you had planned on the spur of the moment.

"I… you're not yourself lately." You start safely, to which he just snorts mockingly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Some would say I've been very much myself lately. But I don't see why you should care, honey. Especially since my parents disowned me, which means you practically have nothing to do with me."

"It's… it's none of your business."

"Is it now? So it's none of your business what's happening to me. Go ahead. Go to your Nott. I'm sure a perfect pureblood heir like him would be your Slytherin dream come true! What are you still doing here?!"

"You think I know?! You think I know why the hell I ran after you instead of staying with my own people and agreeing with them when they tell me what a filthy blood traitor you are?! You think I know why the hell I wait every fucking day for you to come up with some stupid comment or joke?! I don't know! I have no idea, but I know that watching you do this to yourself… is worse than any crucio they could throw at me." You blurt out, irritated by his mockery.

For the first time, you're not in control of what you're saying; you don't have a prepared speech or anything. You're just blurting out everything that's been pent up inside you ever since that annoying Gryffindor started making his way into your heart.

And you're terrified.

"Y/N?" Sirius mutters, entirely shocked by your confession, and hesitantly reaches for you.

You pull away before his fingertips can even graze your arm, shaking your head at the relieved, lovesick fool look he gives you. As if by magic, you could be with him from now on. As if Death Eaters weren't waiting for you outside Hogwart's walls, as if your family didn't expect you to side with Voldemort. As if you weren't doomed to failure from the very beginning.

"Don't... don't look at me like that..."

"Are you... do you..." He asks, looking to you for confirmation, gripping your arms in a tight grip as he forces you to look into his eyes and answer the unspoken question that would forever change whatever was happening between you.

"No. No. I could not..." You shake your head in denial, causing his expression to momentarily change to one of pain and disappointment. And you think it would be better for everyone. You couldn't be together anyway. Not after he ran away.

"Then why you are here?" He asks, tightening his grip on you. His fingers dig into your skin, surely giving you small bruises in their shape later, but right now, all that matters is trying to answer that question.

"I..." You start out unable to come up with a sensible lie on the spot.

Because what were you supposed to tell him? That you can't stand to watch him struggle? That you can no longer listen to them calling him a blood traitor and a Mudbloods' friend? That you can't believe that what's been between you for years was real on his end as well as on yours?

Luckily, you don't have to say anything. Sirius, seeing your doubt, your attempt to find a way out of this situation, and the panic in your eyes, simply leans towards you and gently brushes his lips against yours. He gives you time to push him away, to deny everything you felt for him, but you're so tired of denying your feelings and fighting with yourself that all you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

He moans into your mouth, his tongue grazing your lower lip. You let him in, connecting your tongue with his.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue grazing your lower lip. You hesitantly connect your tongue with his, thereby condemning yourself to any damnation of kisses you might have with anyone else, because you know perfectly well you won't find another set of lips as fitting against your own as Sirius's.

You sigh shakily as his hands travel to your waist, pressing you against his chest even closer, close enough for you to feel his heart pounding in his chest. He is enclosing you in the tight embrace of his arms as if you were about to vanish, vanish into thin air, and once again become the elusive nightmare he'd dreamed was truly his since your ill-fated arranged engagement.

You pull apart, your lungs burning for air. But even then, he doesn't let go. He wraps his arms around you, pressing the palms of his hands against your back and burying his nose in your hair, just above your ear and against your temple, making you feel every shaky breath he takes.

"Stay." He murmurs, his lips brushing your earlobe.

You shiver, feeling him so close and yet so far away. You feel like he'll never be close enough for every fibre of your being to stop screaming with the need to be even closer.

"But..." You start, but he silences you, taking the opportunity to kiss you so tenderly, caressing your lips that you feel like you might actually melt.

"Bloody Merlin, Y/N... for once... just stay here with me. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"But that will mean everything, won't it?" You raise a doubtful eyebrow at him, and he sighs heavily, pressing his lips to your forehead.

For a moment, you think he's giving in, realising the same harsh truth you are and finally accepting the losing game that loving you is. But he wouldn't be the Sirius Black you know if he just gave up without a fight.

"If only you had been sorted into Slytherin…" He sighs, nuzzling your nose with his. Somehow, it seems so absurdly sweet gesture for the both of you that you start to giggle.

"Or you to Gryffindor."

Your attention makes him move his hand and pinch your waist, eliciting another laugh from you. Your heart skips a beat when you see him smile genuinely at you for the first time in months, the smile you've missed so much and know so well.

"I'm not a very brave person, you know. I would be a terrible Gryffindor." You comment, and he plants a quick, almost teasing kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on the top of your head, sighing heavily.

"It doesn't matter… I can be brave enough for both of us. Just stay. Don't leave me." He mumbles, tightening his grip on you.

You sigh, allowing yourself to rest your head on his shoulder. You listen to his breathing and his steady, strong heartbeat, and for a moment you feel like that's all that matters. That no Slytherin, Gryffindor, Death Eater, or member of the Order of the Phoenix can take that away from you.

You allow yourself to be naive enough to believe that this will be enough. At least, until you both remain in each other's arms, afraid to let go and leave the other alone.

However, you can't shake the feeling that one day you will remember this day from the place where he left you.

[kasagia]

*whispers* is dancing with the devil coming back? *scurries off*

HELLO MY DEAR, DEAR ANONYMOUS PEOPLE, AND I'M SORRY THAT YOU HAD TO WAIT FOR SO LONG FOR A REPLY.

So, since I'm on a summer break from uni, I think it's high time I answered this. Honestly? I haven't started writing the next chapter for DWTD, and everything I have in my drafts for Feyd is… ancient to say at least. (Some of the ideas were so amazing that I was shocked when I was looking through them one day and I was like… wtf, why isn't there an ending here?! What was I supposed to do with this plot? xD) I also haven't had much of an urge to write for our beloved psychopath lately.

However, I am tempted (especially after those messages my dear anonymous friends sent ages ago *shame floods me unmercifully*) to finish DWTD and hence my question.

Do we want it?

Yup - we deserve the right ending of DWTD

Nope - girlllllll what you even doing here? o.O

Voting ended onJul 18, 2025

P.S. I can be a little more covinced to try go back to it if you will bombard me with some nice messages/comments... just saying and checking the feelings 🙈

[kasagia]

Guess who finished her last exams in this semester! 🥳

I'm starting my vacation and I hope to get back to normal and start posting more regularly. We have a few more organizational things to do, but for now, I'd like to hear your thoughts on something that's been on my mind for a while...

What do we think about Sirius Black x reader content?

Totally yes! Let's go with the Marauder's Era!

Ewwww nooooo. It was good like ages ago, don't even touch it

Voting ended onJul 18, 2025

Thank youuuu! (Hope you are still around 😅🙈)

[kasagia]

I love you... I am sorry V

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!witch! reader Summary: The truth is told and the enemy is exposed. But will your saviors make it in time before it's too late to save you? Warning(s): smut, 18+, violence Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 4 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 6 ~•♤♤♤•~

Aleksander had had many sleepless nights.

Most of this time he spent on reading reports and creating plans and strategies in his war room. The rest of them – which is very little, considering how many were to do in the Second Army – he spent in his bed. Those nights were the hardest. On those nights, he tried to push away the memories of his time with you that his treacherous mind loved to torture him with. He tried to throw them out as quickly as they began to disturb his peace of mind.

But could he ever say he felt at peace?

He knew he could. He had only felt it a few times in his very long life, and almost every time you were around.

He remembers perfectly well that one particularly sleepless night in which he realised... in which he allowed himself to think that you were his peace.

It was after one campaign against Fjerda. Most of his men were either dead or badly wounded, but they had won. At a high cost. But he could take a moment's respite from the Drüskelle hanging around the Ravka's border.

He was in his tent, his shadows moving calmly around the room as if they too needed to take a breath and calm down after the fight he had had hours ago. He absently wipes the blood from his hands, watching the water in the bowl turn various shades of red. He winces as one of the wounds on his hand begins to burn from the contact with the water.

He closes his eyes and listens to his surroundings, trying to block out other stimuli, especially the growing feeling of hopelessness within him. Another life lost. Another escapade against Fjerda. Another hours wasted negotiating with the Tsar.

Once again he watched the deaths of those devoted to him. He was starting to have enough of all of this.

He is torn from his dark thoughts when he hears the movement of his tent flap. He turns and nods at the bowing young heartrender. Ivan if he remembers correctly.

The young soldier surprisingly doesn't tremble before him or act all hot-headed like most of his Grisha did after his little sideways shadow show on Fjerdans. Aleksander barely suppresses a smirk as he accepts the sealed letter from him.

"What is this?" he asks, opening the letter with a sigh, expecting another irritating note from the King or the General of the First Army.

Instead, he saw your handwriting.

Dear Sasha.

He swallows, his lips suddenly chapped, and he knows Ivan can feel his heart racing as he reads the nickname that only two people have dared to use on him. Ulla, when she was little, and you.

"Some woman asked me to bring this. She said it was a matter of state. She seemed to know you, moi soverenyi."

"Where is she now?" He asks, swallowing as he sits down in the chair in front of the makeshift desk, not daring to let go of the letter. How pathetic he was to allow you to continue to have such power over him.

The years spent away from you had done nothing to his foolish heart. His mother would have mocked him if she had had the chance if she had seen the reverence he gave to the scrap of paper you had written to him.

"I left her with the Oprichniki. Should I bring her here?" He nods at the other man's words, sending Ivan out, too focused on the piece of paper in his hands. Too focused to stop them from trembling with the flood of emotion only you could cause in him.

He knows perfectly well that the man will not find you in the camp anymore. You probably left as soon as his Grisha set off to give him this letter.

Typical of you. Dropping in and out of his life whenever you felt that way. Although the last time it was him who threw you out.

Aleksander stares at the yellow note, wondering for a moment if he should not burn it in the fire of one of the candles. It would certainly spare him unavoidable suffering that reading even one of your words carried with it. And hours of thinking about you.

But his life was anything but merciful. And he himself could not stop the longing and curiosity festering inside him from desperately following each line you wrote.

I've heard what happened. I'm sorry. Don't blame yourself. You probably did everything you could and more. Sometimes there are things we can't control… and sometimes we regret doing anything about it. But it's better to do too much than too little, right? I'm thinking of you. Often. Even if you don't want it. Take care of yourself, You know who. P.S. Go to a healer. Don't try to be a bigger hero than you already are. I saw what you did, and it was both impressively stupid and brave. Even for you.

He snorts, shaking his head. He wants to crumple up the scrap you dare call a letter of state importance, tear it into little pieces, but all he does is press his nose to the paper, inhaling the scent of your perfume.

And saints only know that it's been a damn while since he last smelt that scent.

Disappointment settles on him, tightening around his chest like the ropes that Fjerd had recently bound him with. But what exactly did he expect from that letter? What did he expect from you? That you would stand before him, trying to comfort him in his darkest hour as only you can? Pathetic. Weak.

He tucks the letter into the pocket of his kefta and stands up to actually go to the healers' tent. Instead, he stops halfway out of the tent as a healer in a red kefta enters.

"Can I help you in any way, moi soverenyi?" She asks before Aleksander can question her presence. He sighs and nods, reluctant to explain to her what hurts him most.

He strips off his kefta and shirt and lets her work on his wounds. Her hands roam over his skin, soothing him from the pain. His thoughts still circle around you. Was it you who summoned a healer to his tent? Or was it Ivan who sent someone to check on his wounds as a precaution? Were you on the battlefield, since you claimed to have seen what he did?

"Could you lay on your stomach, General? I'd like to work on your back." He nods and does as she says, his thoughts still on you.

It was a nice change from the compliments of the bloody battle he'd just fought. Still, it made him feel like a naive, lovesick teenager.

And then he notices it. A small pendant hangs from the healer's neck. A glass heart. He stiffens a little at her touch. At YOUR touch, because he knows it's impossible for you to willingly part with the necklace that grants you immortality.

He tries to take calming breaths, planning what he'll do with this newfound revelation. You were here. You ACTUALLY were here. You'd been healing his wounds under disguise, knowing full well he wouldn't want to see you.

And somehow this turn of events seems better to him than if you had just listened to him and actually left him all alone.

"It was dangerous… what you did today… you used up a lot of your powers, my general." He hears you comment in a fog, too busy thinking about his next move.

He almost winces at the strange, high, almost squeaking voice instead of your mid-tones that would probably do more for his wounds than your strange witch powers.

"It's nothing I haven't done before." He responds, sitting up as you remove your hands from him.

He wonders how long this transformation spell will last on you. And what exactly were you planning to do by coming to him in disguise?

He gets his answer pretty quickly when you bow to him, trying to get out of his tent. He automatically reaches for you, holding your wrist in a tight grip. Without thinking, he pulls you onto his lap, and before you can even say a word of protest, he wraps his hand in your hair and pulls you into a needy, desperate kiss.

You gasp against his mouth in shock, only to return his kiss with an equal amount of passion and fire. You grip his hair, pressing that foreign body against his, and he almost growls. He would give anything to have your real curves pressed against him, to have your quiet moans echoing off his lips as he gave you small breaks to breathe, just to devour you again. But he knew you both had fucked up too badly to go back to how things were. That's why he takes every fake, stolen time you give him.

He closes his eyes, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, caressing every tiny inch of skin you give him access to. He feels you freeze in his arms as you realise your necklace is on display. For a moment he allows himself to wonder what your next move will be, but any rational thought or plan quickly slips from his mind as you run your hands along his chest, over his abs, to the waistband of his pants.

And for a moment he allows himself to think that you are as hopelessly into him as he is to you.

Any control he had crumbles as soon as the healer's kefta is ripped from you. He lays you on his bed of bearskin and pillows, unpacking the rest of your clothes, tracing the curves of his new body with his lips. A body that, with every second spent beneath him, becomes more and more like the one that haunts him at night in his sleeping chambers in the Little Palace.

You don't seem to care, though, too busy trying to rip the last of his clothes off of him. Soon enough, you're a chaotic mess of limbs as both you and he try to touch, caress, feel, rub, kiss, and bite every bit of skin you can reach.

Your soft moans and whimpers change over time, becoming more and more like the ones Aleksander knew, the ones he had enjoyed countless times. He presses himself against you, his mouth devouring every quiet gasp you make, every tiny hint of pleasure.

He wants to get lost in this feeling.

He wants to forget everything that happened today; he wants to forget how much he shouldn’t be doing this, and most of all, he wants to forget how much he longs for another moment like this with you.

He pulls away from you for a moment, just enough to look into your eyes – your real eyes and face – and for a moment something inside him breaks. Years of suppressed longing momentarily overwhelm him so much that tears begin to appear in his eyes.

Only at that sight do you realise that your spell has broken, that now he's seen the real you. But he doesn't let you move even a millimetre. With one hand he presses both of your wrists above you; with the other, he cups your cheek as he finally brings you together as one after years of separation.

And only saints know that this feeling is the closest to heaven that he will ever be.

You gasp, grabbing his arm, digging your nails into him – into the same spot you had healed with such urgency earlier. All you can do is moan softly beneath him, squirming against him, pressing yourself even closer to him, allowing him to take from you whatever he wants.

And he has no control. He takes what he wants, lets his lust and greed take over him completely, and for all of this, he is rewarded only by your sweet sounds, your scent, and your feeling close to him.

In his mind there is nothing but you, nothing but how you feel in front of him, how you have so easily gone from complete shock, even fear, to lust, to complete surrender to him.

Maybe he held the same power over you that you held over him?

“Aleksander… Sasha…” You mumble against his temple, shuddering beneath him as you both reach your long awaited fulfillment.

His grip on you tightens, practically trapping you in his chest as he continues to burrow deep inside you. He knows you could disappear at any moment, that as willingly and unexpectedly as the saints had given him this moment, they could so quickly take it away from him. He could be alone in the darkness of his tent again. So he clings to you, clinging to you like a lost sailor to a lantern, and for that brief moment you feel like the only light in his shadows. His poison and salvation all in one.

"Don't call me that." He mumbles against your neck and bites. You gasp, biting your bottom lip, holding back a cry as he marks you, wanting you to carry at least some permanent piece of this encounter.

"I... I missed you." He growls at your confession, like a rabid animal sensing danger. But... were you really one to him?

Was it really wise to hold on to that grudge from ages ago when this... when what happened tonight could be his everyday reality? Yes. Otherwise, his persistence would have been for nothing. Otherwise, all of this... all of this separation would have just been wasted time between you two.

"Did you miss me or the way you could have used me?" He growls, not letting your sweet words fool him even as you reach for his cheek with all the tenderness he lacked and gaze at him with an adoration that makes his heart momentarily stop being overwhelmed by your feelings. Your remorse.

"I… I love you, Sasha… I'm sorry that.." He kisses you, cutting off anything you might have said.

He kisses you with anger, an intense burning passion, wanting to punish you for even having the nerve to try to explain yourself and whitewash yourself from such obvious guilt as you have.

He rolls you onto your stomach and onto your knees for him, his hand in your hair and your head pressed against the fur so he doesn't look you in the eyes as he takes you with all the fury he has for you.

He wants to make you feel as used as he did the day he found out you used his blood to create that damned necklace. He wants you to feel as violated as he does when his doubts got the better of him, convincing him your love was a sham, that you had planned to use him for his immortality all along.

And when you're both exhausted, when he holds you safely in his arms with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, your ear pressed to his heart, he doesn't feel the festering resentment or the disgust for you.

He feels fulfilment. Safety. Peace he hasn't known in ages. He had peace in you. Home. Even after all these years.

And this realisation it's like a healing balm to his broken heart and a poison that eats at his insides worse than merzost ever did.

He trembles, tightening his grip on the necklace he kept safe in his kefta's pocket. He will find you. He will find you and bring you back where you belong. To him.

And he will do it even if you no longer want it.

Mijomir mumbles the words – in a language that Aleksander strangely does not understand – as he reads them from your book, tracing his finger over each line you have written.

He thought he had learnt patience over the centuries. But with every second of delay, when the wizard mumbled some strange words surrounded by a few of your crystals and things, it seemed to him that this patience was just an illusion.

"How much longer will it take you?" He grumbles, leaning against the wooden pole supporting the tent. Ulla gives him a reprimanding look for rushing him, which Aleksander conveniently ignores, staring warily at the mage.

"An hour, maybe two. It would be faster if you gave me that damn necklace instead of being a jealous and possessive dog in the manger."

Aleksander automatically tightens his grip on your necklace, which he kept safely in his kefta pocket. Giving it to this strange man meant risking losing it if he was indeed a fake reptile. A risk Aleksander was not willing to take.

So he stubbornly looks away and decides to wait a little longer. Maybe if he summoned his shadows, it would motivate the wizard to search for you more effectively?

"We've sent our best heartrenders out to scout. The Fjerdans shouldn't get very far with her. We'll find her. Sooner or later." Ivan reports to him as he enters the tent they have pitched in a clearing near the border with Fjerda.

Aleksander regrets not having placed a fold here. Or that he was not more persistent and ruthless in his plans to enlarge it. If a wall of shadows guarded the borders of Ravka, you would never have been kidnapped. Even witches, tempted by the bounty on your head, would be afraid to venture into the unknown territories of the lands protected by the wall of shadows.

"That's not enough." Aleksander cringes at the sound of your little friend's irritating voice. Mal annoyed him with his stupidity and impulsiveness, but Mijomir with his… cocky confidence was a bigger test of his patience. Patience, which he had already run out of after you disappeared.

He still couldn't get out of his head the way that magical scum tenderly took care of you. If he could, he would cut off the wziard's hands just in case to make sure that he would never have any opportunity to touch you agin.

"Maybe she was kidnapped by a Fjerdan, maybe not. We don't know for sure. Those... witched who were hunting her could as well take part in this."

"Maybe she ran away of her own free will? It wouldn't be the first time this has happened." Zoya says mockingly, earning her three enraged, irritated looks.

"Y/N isn't that much of a drama queen. She wouldn't do something like that. Besides, she wouldn't leave me, Mijomir, and my brother alone without a word or anything." Ulla huffs, moving away from Zoya and approaching him and Mijomir to stand closer to the wizard.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last person, but Ulen'ka's right. This is a kidnapping, not an escape. We just have to find out by whom. And if someone were to so generously give me an item she hasn't parted with for practically centuries, I might be able to establish a connection with her to find out." Mijomir comments, staring meaningfully at Aleksander.

"And how do I know for sure you didn't have a hand in this? You showed up just a few hours before she disappeared. Maybe you were after her head too."

Ulla snorts indignantly at his words, but before she can even utter a word in the magician's defense, he approaches him, undeterred by the dark gaze and shadows that Aleksander summons around him.

"The last thing I want is for her to die. She is my dearest friend. And even if she wasn't the truth is that If she would die, I will die too. And believe me, general, I am not a suicide."

Aleksander frowns at the confession. The possessiveness in him comes back to life with a vengeance, thinking that it was more of a… romantic confession. As for his little witch. His Y/N. As soon as this carrion is no longer useful, he'll squeeze the life out of him.

"What do you mean? Why would you die with her?" Ulla asks Mijomir, causing all eyes in the crowd to focus on him.

"I… it's a long story. And Y/N should probably tell it herself, but since she's been too much of a coward all these centuries and doesn't want to involve you in her affairs, I will." Mijomir comments, shifting his gaze between Aleksander, Ulla, and even Baghra. "Where to starts... ugh. We… when Y/N found out that you live much longer than us… she could have looked for the answer to that problem in some pretty old, morally questionable books. And of course, as stubborn as she was, she found it. It was old magic, probably from when Baghra was a child."

Mijomir earns a snort of amusement from most people and a crooked, nearly invisible smirk from Aleksander, who is nevertheless more focused on absorbing the answer to the question that has always plagued him, and which you have avoided.

What exactly did you give in exchange to be immortal like him?

Aleksander knew that you killed your witches' coven to which you belonged, sparing no one, that you put him to sleep and took his blood for the spell. What else was in it?

"I… I stuck close to Y/N back then. We still are. But… we weren't exactly alone. Before she met you." Here Mijomir nods reluctantly in his direction. "We… we had a trio of sorts. Me. Her. And Luke."

Aleksander frowns, certain he’s heard that name before. His memory flashes back to the not-so-flattering moment when one of the witches attacked you for gold on your head the first time.

Aleksander and the others watch in disbelief as you fight the witch who attacked them earlier. He knew he should have protested against being tied up from the start. If he hadn't had to fight David's shackles that bound his power, he would have broken free from the witch's spell long ago. You've taught him this many times. Just in case.

"Not so vulnerable." You gasp and use your magic to throw the witch off of you. You sigh, pressing a hand to your neck and feeling the sticky blood on your fingers. Aleksander is seething with rage. The necklace. You didn't have a necklace. "I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. So if I were you, I wouldn't taste me. What do you want?"

"Kill you. Just like practically all of the witches from Ravka and Fjerda."

Aleksander fights the forces that bind him with a hundred times greater strength and zeal after these words. His shadows try to penetrate both – both the spell and the powers of his best duraste. And probably never in his entire long life has he felt such fear.

"Oh please. I'm not that popular." You joke, earning a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth. You sigh, sitting down by the fire and nodding for her to do the same, ignoring the stare he gives you. "I thought you had finished your hunt for me a long time ago?"

"It's nothing personal. The Great Witch has a bounty on your head. And I need the money they offer for your head. I happened to be passing by and heard your name. I decided to try my luck."

"And they say it's a bad thing to gossip." You mock, throwing a quick glance in his direction. "Since when does Reyana want me dead?"

"The leadership in the coven has changed since you were gone. Reyana is dead. Luke has taken command."

"Luke… as in…" Ulla begins, interrupted by Mijomir.

"Yes. Luke, the new leader of all witch covens. The one who sent for her head. It's… a long story. Let's just say he's resentful that instead of being his queen by his side and ruling over us witches, Y/N chose you and this here boor in the shadows." Aleksander grimaces at the nickname. "Anyway. The story is simple. There were three of us - ambitious magicians. And each of us was looking for a way to increase our powers, to exist in a world where we wouldn't have to fear being killed. A bit like you, Grisha. But... we had different visions. And after Y/N met our Shadow Summoner, she wanted to completely cut herself off from the old plans. She only saw you in her future. And Ulla. And maybe Baghra. Coming back. She needed the recipe for immortality. And Luke found it for her. At first I was shocked. To be completely honest, we never liked you; I still do not. You took our companion away from us, but Luke... Luke was just jealous. Damn jealous. To the point that I thought that one day he would kill either himself, or you, or Y/N, or all of you at once. I was... unfavourable about the creation of the necklace and using your blood. Especially since it... it connected our lives. But not in the way Luke wanted. He thought that by bonding, he would have a special bond with Y/N, but... it didn't work like that. The necklace needed the power of the entire coven. Y/N was supposed to be bonded to you. And I and Luke... I and Luke were her connection to the world. Luke thought the main connection, the main bridge, would go between the three of us and you. But Y/N is a wise beast. She changed the spell so that only she would draw from you and only you from her. So we were just side branches, stabilising the power between you two and drawing only one benefit. Immortality."

"So you..."

"Yes. I'll live as long as you live. As long as Y/N lives to be precise. Comming back to the story: Luke got pissed. He wanted to destroy the necklace, but out of the three of us, Y/N was the most powerful one. So she kicked his ass and ran to you. And then it all went to hell anyway. But Luke… he's a retentive person. He holds a grudge. A lot. He's been chasing her for centuries, sometimes even watching you, so maybe it's a good thing you split up. She managed to hide from him, and I was running away from lands to lands, exploring different countries. But now that he's somehow taken over the covens and hold the power over all the witches… I think he decided it was time to get revenge."

"But we found the Fjerdans symbol in her rooms."

"To throw us off course. Chase after someone who didn't take her and start a war with them while they're busy with her." Aleksander interrupts Ulla and meets Ivan's gaze. "They'll be enraged by our patrols. You need to gather our men and prepare for war."

"What are you going to do? Suddenly you don't care about Grisha anymore?" Zoya cuts in, causing him to clench his fists to keep from sending some of his shadows at her.

"I see you and Alina are having a great time playing war without me. You'll manage. You have Baghra and Ivan to help you. I myself supervised the training of the two of you. You will manage. I'm needed elsewhere."

"You came here with us, or rather you were released from your cell for one purpose. To help us in this war. Do you think we're just going to let you go and look for some lost lover of yours?" His once most loyal soldier approaches him, giving him an angry, intimidating look. Aleksander smirks, gently raising his hand, allowing his shadows to envelop all present.

"It's cute that you think you can even try to stop me."

"My brother has fought enough wars in the name of Grisha. And he will surely do so again. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have business to attend to." Ulla butts in and grabs his hand. She nods to Mijomir and the three of them disappear before anyone can react.

Aleksander remembers these tricks. You used teleportation on him a few times, but he hated this mode of transport. He preferred horseback riding. However, he admitted that it had its advantages.

"A heads-up next time would be nice." He snorts at the wizard, skeptically surveying his surroundings. A forest. The middle of a forest. And a small cabin.

"Maybe next time. Now. If I can't find her, then Luke has closed the connection between us. But he's not strong enough to close the connection between you and her. Have you ever practiced magic, Grisha?"

Aleksander sighs at the wizard's excitement. This is going to be a really long day for him…

You wake up with a huge headache – you literally feel like you've been run over by at least 5 carriages with a full team of 4 horses. And your hands and feet are tied. The only good thing is that your cell feels like a room. A fairly comfortable one. You're even lying on a bed. Which is strange enough in itself.

You expected to wake up in some musty dungeon, tied to a tree by the Fjerdans, or not wake up at all. That's why you're so surprised when you're still breathing, when your heart beats in your chest and your power hums, trapped in your body, effectively blocked by whatever your captor has prepared for you. Or rather, what Luke was going to do now.

You shiver as the door to your chambers opens. He enters with two of his henchmen, watching you carefully. They walk over to you, taking you off the bed and tying you to a chair.

You keep your eyes on the wizard before you, once your friend, who is cautiously scanning the room as if you still pose some kind of threat to him when you were all bound and gagged.

Good. At least he has the decency to still be vigilant around you.

“Leave us. Wait by the door.” He orders them dryly, sitting down in the chair across from you. You glance at the departing wizards, more than aware of how close Luke is stepping to you. "Are you going to behave yourself, or should I leave that gag on you? It's been a long time, I was hoping, for a little conversation, but all I need is for you to listen to me if you can't keep your rage in check."

You roll your eyes at him but don’t struggle as he slowly unties the gag. You spit it out of your mouth, tossing it over the side of your chair.

"Persuasive. Even for you." You scoff, watching him closely. He had changed over the centuries.

His once blond hair was now grey, his skin as shiny and smooth without a trace of a wrinkle as the day when the three of you had created a necklace for you, mixing your blood with Aleksander's.

"Big mouth as usual. I see your Grisha hasn't tempered that sharp tongue of yours. Good. More fun for me."

"I have many more intelligent comments for you. All as repulsive as you are. But first, maybe you'd like to tell me why you're after me and Mijomir?"

"Isn't it obvious? You took something from me. I want it back. Where's your necklace?"

"I gave it to the poor and needy." You mock him, which turns out to be a bad idea in your situation. You hiss in pain as he flicks his wrist, causing every cell in your body to burn with unimaginable pain.

"I'll ask you again. Where. Is. My. Necklace?" He growls in your face, breaking the spell, and grabs you by the neck, not letting you catch your breath after the torture he put you through.

"Yours? I don't remember it being your necklace. It was always meant to be mine. To me and to my... to my Grisha." You speak carefully, not saying Aleksander's name out loud. He growls, tightening his grip on your neck again, staring into your watery eyes as you suffocate under his hand.

"Ah yes. Your shadow man. The Starless Saint. The Darkling…it's probably with him, right? How romantic. You grant yourself immortality only to hand it over to some insignificant Grisha who's a freak of nature."

"Aren't we all?" You gasp, spitting out the words with the last of your air, ready to defend him even in your final moments.

Luke lets go of you and steps away from you to pour himself a drink. As you pant, gasping for air in your aching lungs, you see a sudden movement in the room.

If your hands weren't tied, you'd rub your eyes in disbelief. Beautiful. You were hallucinating and seeing Aleksander.

Maybe it was finally your time; maybe at the moment of your death your mind imagined him here to make things easier for you. Because you know that whatever Luke has planned for you, it won't be pretty and easy.

"I told you. Grisha and witches don't mix. Your Shadow Summoner may be unique among them, but he is not like us, Y/N. We are forces of nature. Endowed with a power that is part of ourselves, which is the structure of our bodies. Not a twisted crossbreed of strange genes."

"I think before I kill him I'll show him how perfectly you and I fit together. What do you think, my little witch? Although no… he doesn't deserve to see you writhing beneath me, naked and at my mercy. That's a sight for me alone."

You stare stupidly at both men, coughing as your lungs burned from the excess air. It was a shitty way to die, to say the least, imagining your ex saying… things like that.

"I will take great pleasure in breaking you. You will forget that any Grisha ever touched you." Luke promises darkly, cupping your cheek in his hand, unaware that an imaginary Aleksander had entered your head, that even in this moment all you could think about was your Shadow Summoner and not what you were about to go through by Luke's hands.

"Hang in there, milaya. I promise we'll get here as fast as we can, I'll break his bones and sacrifice him to you, I'll cut him into a thousand pieces for your enjoyment after he begs to die at our hands." Aleksander promises, pressing tender kisses to the top of your head as tears stream down your face.

I love you. You think, closing your eyes and blocking out another wave of pain that Luke throws at you, this time kicking you in the shin, probably hard enough to break your bone.

"I love you too. Only you. Always you. Just wait for me a little longer, please, Y/N. I'm begging you. Don't give up..."

You don't hear the rest of his pleas. You pass out from the pain, relieved to have these few moments of unconsciousness. At this point, the relief outweighs the fear that you'll never open your eyes again.

Don't kill me for this… but I hope you liked this chapter anyway. 🫣🥰

Any comments/messages/hearts are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much!!! If you want to, let me know what you think 🥰🖤🖤

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[kasagia]

I love you... I am sorry IV

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!witch! reader Summary: Aleksander spends more time with Alina, playing with your heart. Luckily, an old friend returns to your side. Will he help you get over your Sasha and finally put yourself first? Or maybe you'll find that you're not dodging a bullet, you're just losing the love of your life. Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 5 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Any longer you stare at her like that and you'll burn holes in the back of her skull." Ulla comments as you sit in the tavern a bit apart from the rest of the group. And you look. At Aleksander and Alina's.

You shake your head and look away from them, digging into the beer in your hands. Ulla was right. You were pathetic, giving him exactly what he wanted – attention – when he was flirting with Alina just to spite you. Son of a bitch.

"I have no idea what you're on about." You mumble at her, the bitterness in your voice so obvious you grimace into your beer.

"About that donkey head, aka my stupid brother and his annoying Sunny Queen. I know you love that stubborn bastard, but the way you look at him and her, you're giving him exactly what he wants. Your jealousy. Just ignore him and go have fun with someone. Preferably a guy. That'll piss him off more."

You roll your eyes at her brilliant plan to get back at Aleksander. Sometimes you really wonder if you didn't make a mistake in raising her. She was such a teenage drama queen at times. Just like her brother.

"I doubt that adding another guy to this mess will help me in any way. Besides, he's right. We haven't been together for what… an age? I think it's time to move on."

"What?!" Ulla shouts at you, drawing the attention of the people around your table. And not only them.

You ignore the quick glance that Aleksander throws your way and try to speak as quietly as you can so he doesn't understand anything of your little conversation.

"What you just heard. I stayed where he left me for too long."

Ulla stares at you with wide eyes, blinking several times.

"But… but you can't… you love each other and… but…" You place your hand on hers and give her a sad smile.

"The thing is… sometimes love is not enough. You have to meet the other person halfway. Understand them, accept their flaws and be with them… we probably lacked that." You shrug and take a sip of your beer, trying your best to keep the tears from welling up in your eyes.

It would be better this way. After all, Luke and the other witches were after you. It'll only be a matter of time before they get you... or when you get them.

“Stupid boy.” Baghra comments as she sits down next to you. You raise an eyebrow at her unexpected company, noticing Ulla tense up next to you out of the corner of your eye. “I told you he wasn’t worth the effort.”

"Since when on earth are you interested in my personal life? Or anyone else's except yours?" You mock her as you sip your beer and try to ignore the way Aleksander delicately tugs at a strand of his Sol Koroleva's hair.

You feel like throwing up. And it's not from the amount of beer you've had. Maybe you need a little more to get drunk. This is probably the best way to spend tonight.

"When you make stupid decisions. Which means always." You roll your eyes at her and glance around the bar, trying to ignore the monologue she's giving you.

Keeping your gaze from wandering to the Darklina, as Ulla affectionately called it, is getting harder with each passing second.

You might want to gouge your eyes out.

But then, you notice the fire in the inn's fireplace flashing with different colours. Curious, you look closer until you see a hand in the fire. You frown, finishing the rest of your beer and watching as the hand waves at you, encouraging you to come over. You come up with some stupid excuse and get up from the table, heading towards the inn's exit.

The cold wind hits your skin, a clear reminder that you should have brought a coat with you. Especially when you're on the border with Fjerda in the dead of winter. You rub your arms together and mutter some kind of warming spell when suddenly, a thick coat is draped over you... a reindeer coat. With tiny crystals sewn into the leather.

You only knew one person who would voluntarily wear something like that.

"Mijomir?" You ask in shock and turn around to find yourself in the arms of your old friend.

"So obvious?" He asks with that trademark smirk of his. You jump into his arms with a squeal and wrap him in a tight hug.

"I've been looking for you for a decade, you idiot! Where have you been? We last saw each other at the port in Western Ravka."

"A little here, a little there. Kerch is a very interesting land. I'm sure you'd like it. For the record, I'm still mad at you for not coming with me, but I understand. Your boyfriend and all. But… I heard Luke's after you."

"Yeah… minor inconvenience."

"Luke or your man?"

"Both." You answer quickly, not wanting to delve into the subject. “Actually… I don’t have a man. He... he is not my man.” You mumble it more to yourself than to him.

The words are like a bitter goo on your tongue, a poison you must taste… or a terrible medicine that will heal you. Anyway... saying it out loud confirms what had been happening this week. Alina and Aleksander's closeness... your distance from each other. Maybe you were never meant to be together. Maybe you weren't the one he saw at the heart of creating the world. So why did it feel so right while it lasted?

Mijomir frowns at your confession but doesn't comment or question it. A true friend. One of the very few. If there was anyone you could trust with your life, other than Ulla and Aleks… other than Ulla, it was him. And only him.

"Anyway… I figured you could use some help. Either killing Luke or pretending you were dead. Although from what I gather, you managed to pull off the latter. You scared the living daylights out of me, by the way. I thought you were actually dead until I found that damn communication stone."

"Sorry, drastic measures and all that. Besides, I haven't heard from you in 10 years."

"I was busy. I thought I was…" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "We don't have much luck with significant others, do we?"

"Hell no. But I'm guessing most witches don't." You nod, agreeing with him on that one point.

You open your mouth to ask him exactly what he was doing during that time, but just then fate decides to put another witch in your path. This time, a worse one.

You don't even know the redhead who attacks you. She simply throws ropes at you and uses her magic to bind you with them. But before she can leap at you with a golden dagger, Mijomir is there to save the day and push her away from you. Clumsily enough that the woman cuts your right cheek.

You hiss as you feel blood drip down your skin but quickly recover. You shrug off your heavy cloak and use an old trick taught to you by the older witches in your coven. The woman begins to choke on her own blood, which unfortunately has the same effect on you.

Blood pours from your eyeballs as you work your dark magic, tearing apart every cell in her, causing her heart to stop as you strip away every tiny tissue of her muscle and nerves to her heart.

Meanwhile, Mijomir kills another witch who came to the aid of the first one. You catch your breath in quick gasps, exhausted from using so much power. Mijomir quickly shoves the bodies into a ditch and sets them on fire, controlling the flame so it's not big enough to attract anyone's attention.

“Are you okay?” He asks, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the fire. You nod, looking around the alley. "Don't worry; these are less-travelled areas. Although I think you know that when you stop here. What are you even doing here? You should be far away from here, either planning to assassinate Luke or to escape and start a new identity and life."

"I… I'm not exactly alone." You mumble, staring at the small fire.

5th attack this week. And it was only Wednesday. I think you're going for a record this week. And I guess the news of your death wasn't convincing enough in the witch world.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N!" You shiver at the sound of Aleksander's voice behind you. You turn to see him, Baghra, Ulla, and Ivan heading your way. You sigh, realising that you're in for another long evening of explaining what happened.

You frown as Mijomir suddenly slumps on his knees to the ground, shivering in pain as he puts his hand on his heart. Luckily, you connect the dots quickly.

"No! Leave him alone, Ivan! He's a friend!" You shout at him and kneel next to the wizard.

Ivan thankfully listens to you for once, you doubt it was out of respect for you. More like your furious look or Aleksander's nod as he dismisses his shadows.

Anyway, when Mijomir can finally stand properly on two legs and is not in danger of being attacked by your little company, he is recognised.

"It can't be…" Ulla mutters, taking a step towards you and looking at him.

"Ulen'ka?" Your friend mumbles, squinting at her as if trying to connect the face of the child he knew with the face of the adult woman now standing before him.

"Uncle Mijo!" She screams and rushes to hug him. He can barely stand on his two legs.

Luckily, you support him, keeping your hand on his back and making sure Ulla doesn't jump on him and throw the two of them into the ditch where the witches' bodies were still burning.

"Uncle? I don't exactly remember you being part of the family." Aleksander speaks up, drawing your gaze.

You ignore the way your heart beats a little too fast, pleading with the saints who still listen to your pleas for Ivan not to sense this, and you give him a distant, cold look.

"He's my family, so don't be surprised that he's the same for Ulla."

"I thought you had no family." He notices, jabbing you in the sweet spot with a pin, using the knowledge of your past to hurt you intentionally. Son of a bitch. A real one.

"Well, I have Ulla and him. I guess that counts."

You mask your winning smirk, turning your head towards Ulla and Mijomir at the perfect moment, ensuring you do not notice the spark of pain in Aleksander's dark eyes as you exclude him from your 'family'. Serves him right. Although you doubt you would think so if you saw the true effect it had on him.

No… you end up putting him first.

"Let's go inside. Fedyor will patch you up." Aleksander says, nodding at your bloody cheek and the streaks of blood under your eyes.

"Ah, that. Don't move, Y/N." Mijomir says and walks over to you. He cups both of your cheeks in his hands and presses his lips to your forehead. You feel the magic swirl between you as he helps you heal without the little science of Grisha, just his magical essence.

After a while you feel much better; your head isn't spinning as much as before, and you feel more energetic after Mijomir lent you some of his magic so you could replenish your supplies.

He doesn't give you a chance to check Aleksander's expression. He grabs your hand and simply drags you into the inn, mumbling something about the bloody winter and how he won't be rubbing you with healing oils if you catch a cold.

Ulla will later describe to you in full detail how furious her brother was watching this interaction between you two.

You feel that Mijomir will help you with this exactly as a true friend would... or maybe even someone more.

"I don't want to leave you alone with her…" Aleksander grumbles, feeling guilty as he packs to leave.

You sigh, walking over to him. You take out the black linen shirt he wanted to take and leave it on your small bed. You hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent, tracing gentle, soothing circles on his back.

"I know, honey… But you said yourself that this is a good opportunity for us. Quick earnings, low risk of being discovered. And we need this money. Ulla is growing faster and faster; Baghra hasn't shown up in years… And you know perfectly well that my little witcher tricks and money creation are quite limited for now. You have to go."

He mumbles something into your hair and plants a long, tender kiss on the top of your head.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? And that you'll be safe without me?"

"Aleksander, it's only two weeks." You notice, pulling away to get a better look at him before he will leave.

Damn, you were lucky. He was all yours. Only yours.

"A lot may happen in those two weeks... just promise me you will wait here for me." You snort in amusement, as if you were going to move anywhere else until he comes back for the two of you.

His serious expression, however, suggests he's not in the same playful mood as you. You smile and cup his slightly bearded cheek in your hand.

"I will. I'm not going anywhere until you come back here again. Consider this a vacation from me and Ulla." You add playfully and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You gasp in surprise when he grabs you by the waist, pressing you against the wooden wall of your little cabin in the woods and stealing a breath-taking kiss.

One of his hands wraps gently around your neck, the other cupping your cheek, lifting your head higher as his tongue makes its way into your mouth.

He devours you.

He takes everything you have from you, and all you can do is moan into his mouth, tightening your grip on him, pulling him closer to you desperately, melting into the feeling of having him so close to you, almost as close as he should ever be.

Your lips chase after his as he pulls away, but he doesn't let you kiss him again. Instead, he trails along the column of your neck, leaving soft bites and kisses, marking you for his absence, as if he hadn't done enough the night before, as if you weren't still sore from a long evening and morning of goodbyes.

As if you would ever let anyone have you the way he had you.

"I could spend all eternity with you and still not have enough of you." He mumbles against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your jaw and resting his forehead against yours, inhaling your scent, revelling in his final moments of closeness with you.

"Silver tongue…"

"As always. Just look at another man in my absence and you'll see what else I'm capable of."

"And jealous… you look damn handsome when you're jealous, Mr Morozova." You can't help but tease him, sending him a mischievous smirk as you ruffle his hair.

"Only about you, future Mrs Morozova."

"A bold statement from a man who didn't even give me a ring."

"Bold assumption that this man will let you go and have other options."

And maybe other women would have been scared of that, taken it as a big red flag, and packed their bags and run away long ago. But you loved that he was almost as madly in love with you as you were with him.

"Did he leave?" Mojomir asks, knocking on your door a few minutes after Aleksander leaves. You nod and open the door wider for him. "Woman, I feel like I'm in some kind of occupation. Or a secret cult. Or both. Are you sure you want this one? He keeps you locked away in the middle of the forest, away from the world, and makes you babysit his sister, as sweet as she is." He whispers, not wanting to wake Ulla from her afternoon nap.

"It's not like that… He loves me. And I love him. We just have each other, and that's it. Besides, I doubt the world would welcome a witch like me and a Grisha like him so willingly. I'm happy here."

You defend Aleksander, unpacking all the supplies Mijomir brought you from his last expedition. A few herbs that can't be obtained anywhere in Ravka, crystals, a new cauldron for your collection, and two new potion books.

"Does he even know what you're going to do? How much are you willing to sacrifice for him?" He asks you, taking one of the chairs. You sigh, putting the new things back in their places with your other witchy things.

"It's my choice. He has nothing to do with it. Anyway, if I told him, he'd try to stop me."

"That's what I was hoping for. This is crazy, Y/N. No one has ever attempted to create something this strong. Maybe only Ilya Morozova himself."

You smile to yourself at the irony of it. He was right. No one but Aleksander's grandfather would have dared to do something so crazy. You regret that he is dead, that you can't meet him, and talk about what you are going to do out of love for his grandson and granddaughter.

But it didn't discourage you. Or scare you. After all, you were supposed to be Morozova. You were supposed to create great things yourself.

"Only lunatics are worth something."

"I'll carve that on your tombstone. And mine, when that boyfriend of yours finds out I had a hand in this and helped you get killed."

"I think he'd sooner kill you just to come here and talk to me. You don't have to do anything more."

"Poor consolation. But seriously, watch out for him."

"He's a good man… despite what others may think."

Mijomir mumbles something under his breath about a psychopath with a heart of gold who kills innocent friends, but you don't have a chance to comment on it. Ulla, awake, runs to her step-uncle, peppering him with questions about his travels and adventures from the doorstep. You prepare dinner, listening to everything Mijomir exposed himself to, making little remarks about his safety from time to time.

You felt a little bit downhearted without Aleksander... but at least you had other family members to take care of.

After a long day of explaining to everyone the reason for Mijomir's presence, you almost thank the saints that you can finally rest.

You lie in the tavern's dingy bed, tossing and turning. Your restless mind effectively prevents you from falling asleep in these already questionable conditions. You sigh and get out of bed. You put on your coat and step out onto the small balcony that was somehow held up by the tavern's rotten wooden planks.

Your thoughts, of course, are none other than Alexander. As they always have been for centuries. You sigh and close your eyes, remembering the way he's looked at Alina these past few weeks. And even though you should have been over it, even though you should have walked away with dignity ages ago, let go of this losing battle with his pride; you just... couldn't.

He was the love of your life. He had told you a thousand times that you were the love of his life. And yet now, after so many centuries, after so much gossiping, after so many years together, after so many plans for a future together, so many promises that felt almost sacred... it felt more like a loss of your life.

It hurt all the more knowing that you would love him no matter what he did. Even if it was to hurt you. Sick, really. How could anyone love someone to such an extent? You suspected it was because of your immortality. Maybe if you had fewer years to waste sighing over him, it would be easier to forget him.

"Can't sleep?" You shiver as his voice booms from behind you. He pursues you like a plague, yet he won't even touch you with a three-foot pole. Ridiculous.

"I don't need sleep." You mumble without turning to face him, still leaning against the wooden railings. You wonder how much longer they can hold your weight before they break.

"Probably." He snorts mockingly and walks over to you. He leans against the railing, wincing as he hears the crunch of wood. "This is going to collapse soon."

"Probably." You nod apathetically, looking at the streets in front of you, not giving him a second glance. “Maybe you should go inside.”

"Who was he to you?" He growls, either unable to stop himself or biting his tongue too late.

"Who? Mijomir?" You ask, giving him a quick glance. “A friend. He would come over sometimes to help me with my witch stuff. Ulla loved playing with him.”

"Only a friend?"

This innocent question asked in the most nonchalant way he could muster makes you lose your composure. You snort in disbelief, finally giving him your gaze, only to see hurt and anger in his irises. He was acting like a 5-year-old who had a toy taken away that he didn't play with anyway but decided to be dramatic about it.

"You've got the nerve of a donkey turd to ask me that. Besides, I don't have to answer you. We're not together." You snap at him, ready to go back to your room and leave the balcony you share with him, but clearly today he's made it a point to annoy the living hell out of you.

"True. We are not together. And yet you are irritated by the sight of Alina and me." You stop at the door, clenching your fist at his irritating, cocky tone. Little son of a bitch. Scum.

"What can I say? You're not my favourite people. I actually only tolerate Ulla. And Mijomir." You engage in a verbal spar with him, even though the rational part of you is screaming to get out of there. You turn around and fold your arms, taking a step towards him. "But I see that today the roulette of your multiple personalities has drawn the version of you that wants to cling to our past." He snorts mockingly at your mockery and takes a step toward you, undeterred by the fury with which your eyes burn into his face.

"I think you're upset for a completely different reason." He replies confidently, as if he had any right to point out how he makes you feel.

"What do you want?" You sigh, tired of this game between you.

You had a coven of witches coveting your head, a war with Fjerda, and all of that combined with your ex's moods made you slowly prepare to explode. Preferably at him.

"Tomorrow we have our first serious battle with Fjerda. Alina has gathered the men." He explains it to you as if you were not a participant in any conversations about strategy for this particular battle.

"I know. And?" You ask impatiently, raising an eyebrow at him. He sighs and shifts his gaze from you to the streetlights.

"Look after yourself." He mumbles through clenched teeth as if someone had forced him to utter that small request. For a moment you stand there, frozen in shock, before you burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I don't have to. I have Mijomir."

"Y/N..." He growls, grabbing your elbow the moment you turn to go back to your room. You close your eyes and swallow as he spins you around, holding both of your forearms in his tight grip. "I am serious."

"Me too. You should go to Alina." You reply, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain that unfazed attitude.

But he knows you better than that. One look in your eyes, the slight tremor in your voice as you say her name, and he knows everything he needs.

"Jealous?" You snort mockingly at his question. His raised eyebrow and mischievous smirk quickly fall under your indifferent and nonchalant attitude.

"I have no right to."

"But you are, don't you?" You frown as he continues to push the subject.

Even if you were... what would it change? Absolutely nothing. He's burnt himself too many times to put his hand in the same fire a second time. And you... you were probably too bruised to fight for him anymore.

"What game are you playing right now? What do you want to prove?"

You stare at each other for a long moment as he ponders the answer he was supposed to give you. Because what exactly did he want from you? Why did he follow you here? Why did he go out on that damn balcony after you without a second thought? Why did he tell Ivan to keep an eye on you? He knew. But it would be too pathetic to admit it.

"You were with me just to create this necklace, weren't you?" He watches you closely, asking you this question, a question that has hung unspoken between you ever since he found out what exactly the glass heart on your chest was supposed to do.

He watches with stoic calm as your eyes widen in shock at his question as you hold your breath for a moment, processing exactly what he's just said to you. And the moment you pull away from him, when tears briefly fill your eyes, quickly giving way to anger and frustration, he knows that the answer wasn't going to be quite what his logical, rational side was expecting.

"No. I loved you. I loved you, Aleksander. I fucking loved you with all my stupid heart. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, and from the moment I really knew you, I knew I had lost my heart to some guy who was too mysterious to tell me his damn name. And I should have known better; I should have walked away at the first sign of trouble, but damn it, I LOVED YOU. That's why I created this necklace. To never leave you alone, to always be with you, to help you bear the eternity that awaited you. But you can't seem to get it into your thick skull, so what does it matter? Too many years have passed to continue digging into it. You won't trust me anymore, and I won't forgive you for choosing to believe I was against you from the very beginning of us for so long, so... so maybe we should finally let this go."

"Let this go? Do you really want to let this go? Just like that?"

"I am dead to you either way. Am I not, Aleksander?" You ask with your head held high, even though your voice cracks slightly at the end.

He's astonished. He instinctively moves closer, extending his hand in an attempt to grasp your arm. However, you deftly retreat, evading his touch before his fingertips can even touch your skin. The sight of your tears sends a pain through him as intense as the merzost itself has never caused.

"How can you expect... you were the love of my life..." He stutters through his words, too afraid to open up to both you and himself and too petrified to let you go forever.

"And you were the loss of mine, Sasha." You whisper, letting a few tears roll down your cheeks before you aggressively wipe them away with the sleeve of your shirt. The glass heart of your necklace clinks against the metal buttons.

This destroys him completely. He stands frozen in place, watching as you take off that damn immortality necklace and place it on the railing that looks like it's about to collapse in any second.

"Here… do with it what you want." You reply in resignation as he is frozen in pure panic, only able to hear the pounding of his own heart as it accelerates by several hundred miles a minute.

"Y/N..." He mumbles, reaching for you one last time, but can only manage to graze the fabric of your shirt with his fingertip as you run as fast as you can back to your room. "Y/N!" He calls after you as you slam the door shut, nearly ripping the already questionably constructed frame off its hinges.

He takes the necklace in a flash and clutches it securely in his hand, having a small heart attack as a silver pendant almost falls off the railing from the power of which you shut the door.

You wanted to get rid of that damn necklace and him… but all you did was prove to him what you had just said so loudly.

You didn't want immortality just for yourself.

You wanted it for him. So he wouldn't be alone.

And now that Alina was there and you thought he was with her…

No… you couldn't just do it… without it you'll die, if not of old age then from those who hunted you… and he couldn't… Ulla will kill him.

"Trouble in paradise?" His mother asks, leaning against the door frame and watching him carefully.

He takes one deep calming breath, shoving his shaking, empty hand into his pocket so as not to show her the unstable, trembling emotional mess he currently was.

"For centuries, thanks for noticing, mother." He growls back at her with clenched teeth, staring at the necklace in his hand. His blood. In this heart. He had thought for a long time that it was meant to symbolise your power over his heart. In fact, it was a symbol of his power over yours.

How funny it is that in the moments when he feels the most powerless, his mother is always there with him...

"Are you just going to let her go?"

The irony is that the same woman who pushed him away from you is now questioning your idea of ​​leaving him. Even dares to talk him out of the mere idea of allowing it… or maybe that was his mother's way to make him completely disgusted with you. Although… in all these years, has he ever really had a resentment for you that outweighed his… his love for you?

"You wanted this. Weren't you the one who told me she created that necklace behind my back? Weren't you the one who rubbed it in my face with pleasure that I had let a witch who wanted to use my immortality for her own gain? That it was never about me, but about the power I have? Didn't you do the same with Alina?" He throws accusations at her furiously, as if a moment ago he did not have tears of helplessness and despair in his eyes.

"I was right about Alina. You wanted to use her, you can't convince me otherwise. The saints know that all you really loved was that witch girl and your sister."

Aleksander just shakes his head and heads inside his room, knowing that arguing with her is a lost cause. He sits on the bed, the necklace still in his tight grip as he wonders what the hell he's supposed to do now.

"You were right. I made a mistake with Y/N. But how was I supposed to know she did it for you?"

"And how was I supposed to trust her when you spent your whole life teaching me to rely only on myself, mother?" He asks mockingly, lifting his gaze to her, surprised that she had gone to the trouble of following him and continuing his tirade.

"Don't put the blame on me. The pride that prevents you from telling her you were wrong is something you earned entirely by yourself." She continues to mock him, to which he just rolls his eyes. Her demeanour changes though, becoming a tad… awkward as she avoids looking at him. "I… I may have been wrong in a few matters. But I know one thing for sure. Pride, Aleksander, does not go hand in hand with love."

"Another lesson?" He mumbles, raising an eyebrow at her.

She doesn't grace him with an answer, though. She leaves his room, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the shadows moving around him, and the necklace still safe in his hand.

And Aleksander is faced with one dark truth that he has been running away from for so many years, centuries even.

He had wasted so much time with you, believing the worst, clinging to his mother's suspicions of you, and then, when some sense returned to him, he had clung to his pride. Because admitting that he had ruined your lives… who had condemned your love to loss and failure would have been too devastating for him.

For a long time he had thought that the Sun Summoner would be his guide, his equal, would show him the way, would stay with him, and would fight for their people together. Would fight for him. Would give him light in his darkness. But the truth was, he already had his equal. You. And he had lost you.

No. He won't let you go.

He jumps out of his bed and walks out of his room, storming into yours. He almost breaks the door down with his strength, and if he weren't so desperate, he'd wonder why it's open, but all he can think about is getting you back.

Damn his pride. Without you, none of this mattered anyway; nothing worked out for him the way it should. And although he couldn't live with you, living without you seemed a much crueller, more torturous process than admitting that he needed you desperately, painfully, in a crazy way that took away his rational thought.

"I love you, Y/N. I'm sorry, I…" His confession dies on his tongue when he sees only an empty room. An empty room with a broken window and signs of a fight in it.

His apology catches in his throat, ash on his tongue as he realises exactly what happened while he was in the next room, oblivious, when he should have been in your bed with you, holding you safe in his arms, killing whoever came after you.

A cold chill runs through him, his shadows churning within him, ready to be released, to create another Fold, like when they first took you from him. Thankfully, he is much older and has much more self-control. He does not want to destroy any clues.

"IVAN!" He's yelling at the entire tavern, not caring who he wakes up. In fact, he wants to wake everyone up and immediately go on a search, chasing you. "IVAN!"

He places your necklace around his neck, his own heart racing with fear. You were defenceless. Mortal. Vulnerable to ordinary blades and bullets.

"Moi soverenyi, what..." Ivan’s question dies on his lips as he runs into the room, his kefta barely fastened. Heartrender swallows hard. “She’s gone.”

"Collect our people. We're coming for her. Spread the word. Everyone who believes in the Starless One must show up."

"What's going on?" Alina enters the room, tying her robe. He can see Nikolai and Ulla right behind her, but he's too preoccupied to answer her.

He walks deeper into the room, analysing every inch of the floor covered in blood and blade scratches. And then he finds. A small figurine of a wolf's head. A Drüskelle.

If they had her, word would spread quickly to the Sabbath who hunted her.

"You can't disappear and look for her now! We have more important things to do! We have a war to win!" Alina protests, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, forcing him to stand up from the floor and look at her.

He's faster than she can process. He grabs her by the throat and pins her to the wall. Alina gasps, barely able to say a word, let alone take a proper breath. He casts his shadows, seeing Nikolai reach for his gun out of the corner of his eye. Saints praise Ivan; he'll quickly overpower the little Tsar.

"Sasha, stop!" Aleksander hears Ulla's weak protest, but all he can do is stare at Alina with pure hatred.

For a moment, he thinks of a similar situation between them in his grandfather's workshop. The difference is that then he did care a little about the Sun Summoner, but now he doesn't feel that sentiment anymore.

But after the diminutive form of his name uttered by Ulla seeps into his brain, all he can remember are your words.

You were the love of my life...

And you were the loss of mine, Sasha.

"If I don't find her, I'll make sure you have nothing to fight for. There'll be no Fjerda, no Ravka, no Shu, nothing. I'll leave nothing that my shadows won't turn into one big fold. Do you understand now how important she is, moya tsarista?" He growls, using his most intimidating tone. Shadows gather around him uncontrollably, his hand around Alina's neck shaking as he struggles to retain any remaining control.

You were the loss of mine, Sasha.

He watches with satisfaction as she just nods, barely able to do anything. He lets go of her, letting her fall to the floor, coughing, holding her neck as she gasps for air.

"You are mad... completely mad." Alina is panting on the floor, trying to pull herself together after his attack at her. But he doesn't see her. He only sees your tearful eyes.

You were the loss of my life, Sasha.

"Don't blame me, my Sol Koroleva. Love makes me crazy." He scoffs mockingly and turns to Ulla, who has been watching this with panic and slight disappointment. "Go get that wizard of hers. Maybe he'll be useful." Aleksander replies, unfazed by her gaze. He will be whatever monster he has to to get you back.

He was the Black General. A Darkling. He would kill anyone who dared to touch what was his.

His sister nods and runs out of the room, leaving him with a furious Alina, an unconscious Nikolai, and Ivan, who is the only one who seems unfazed by the whole situation. May the saints bless him.

"We'll find her." His heartrender assures him, at which he just nods.

He has to find you. He sees no other option.

The glass heart now hanging around his neck had evaporated a hole right through him. This is the last time he lets you take off that damn necklace.

Suddenly he doesn't care at all that it was created without his consent. What an irony…

All he thinks about is your last words to him.

Do with it what you want.

He will. He will put it right where it belongs. On your neck.

Or he'll kill everything around him trying to do so.

Did I have fun writing the end of the chapter? Yes. I'm curious what you think about Mijomir and what your attitudes are towards the next chapter. I'm also wondering how long this series will be, what else you want to see, etc., so if you have any special requests, feel free to write! (I love all my anonymous people, so do not be more shy than me! 😊😘)

Any comments/messages/hearts are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much!!! If you want to, let me know what you think 🥰🖤🖤

Taglist (As always, I hope that everyone who wants to be here is here): @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @barnes70stark @meadowshelby

@zeeader @the-desilittle-bird

@thepassionatereader @budugu

@sinistersnakey @diaries-of-a-hopelessromantic

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[kasagia]

OMG you're back????? YESSSSSSSSSSSS

MY FAVOURITE FANFIC IS GONNA GET UPDATED!!!!!!!!

You have no idea how happy I am with sth like this appearing in my inbox! 🥰🖤

Thank you sooooo much, honey! I hope you will like the new chapter! 😘🖤🩵🖤🩵

[kasagia]

OMG when did you come back? WE MISSED U SM🎉

I'm so blessed that you did, my dear anonymous!! 😍🥰 🖤🖤🖤

My uni has been trying to kill me lately (not literally, but you know how it is 🤣) and especially my creativity, but I'm hoping to get back to weekly/biweekly updates so I don't leave you with nothing for so long. We'll see how it goes. 🖤

Darkling Nation you can expect I love you I am sorry chapter IV in a few hours! I hope you are ready... 😈🖤🖤🖤🖤

Thank you veeeeeeery much, tight hugs from me!!! 😘😘

[kasagia]

hello hellooo hello to our very wonderful writer! Let me just say that I LOVE YOUR THE DARKLING X SUN SUMMONER!READER CONTENT! THE NEW ONE HAD ME KICKING MY FEET

I was wondering if you're still up to writing fics for our dear Black General. I need him so bad 🙏🙏

Thank you veeeeeeeeeeeery much my dear anonymous, I'm so happy you liked it and write to me about it!!! 🥰🥰🖤🖤

As long as you will feed me with comments and flaws like this, then of course I will! 😁 (Seriously, I am starving for some feedback from you all. 🥺)

P.S. If you have any requests, feel free to write them to me. 😊

Thank you so much once again, have a wonderful day!