... there is only one of him, and that is the problem ♡
⤿ pairings. aleksander x gn reader
⤿ contents. sfw, mutual pining, smoking, slight jealousy, overall, it's just aleksander getting upset at your previous lovers :D.
⤿ thoughts. to whoever requested him, may all your dreams come true. i had a different plan for the plot line, but i changed it up since i didn't like it.
"What's so good about this cancer stick?" Your index finger taps against the thin white cigarette in between his lips.
"For one.." The man starts. He leans into you, slumping against his spot beside your chair. You watch him carefully puff out visible smoke with a scrunch nose. "They can get you closer to someone."
"How so?" A tentative smile grows on his face, "all I know is that they stink."
He comes to a conclusion, eyes twinkling your way, "Don't like it?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Have you given it a go?" Now, Aleksander would never force you to try something you don't like. He simply likes watching your nose scrunch up and your eyes roll at him. It's cute. Especially when your lips twitch into a tiny, soft smile. "Wasn't it you who told me to never say I dislike something if I haven't tried it out first?"
There it is.
That little eye roll.
You regard him with a teasing smile. You've been got. Now, you wished you've never said that. "That doesn't apply here!"
"Doesn't it?" His broad hand practically engulfs his lower half of his face. He doesn't know when he starts to hum, but his foot taps along with him, and his head tilts to inhale the tabaco.
In the background, a long forgotten tune plays softly from the radio. The wind was nonexistent, and still, the open window lets the moonlight in, a not so typical atmosphere in the regular comfort of your apartment.
"Back to my question!" You remind him, lightly bumping your head to his shoulder. He misses the warmth you provide when you sit back straight.
"It's cathartic." His confession is met with such innocent curiosity that he almost regrets adding a mysterious element. "To share a confined space with a cigarette, it'll have you confessing your every secret."
Your eyes rise to the night sky, lingering around to find the brightest star, and when you find it, a smile breaks out on your face. "Well, we don't need that to have me confessing, hmmm — I've an old lover who used to shower me in gifts."
Though it isn't exactly obvious, his face lights up, happy to know you were treated right.
"But, it was always something I never liked." Not to sound ungrateful. You were not ungrateful. Anything but. "I was never heard. Though, maybe that was what I needed to find out what I wanted. I'd like to be seen!"
He listens with a poker face. Shoulders drawn back, amber eyes failing to hide his bitterness. He hoped that the soft melodies around him would ease the sadness gathering at the edges of his face.
The cigarette in his hand burns, forgotten. The ash falls to the concrete floor of the balcony, some of it even flies into the air as if it were specks of fire!
"Has that been accomplished?" He finally inquires after being friends with silence.
You glance his way. A little grin graces your features, and you give him a sly nod — "There's this man who makes me feel as though it was meant to be, and maybe it is. Don't tell him I said that."
His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek, "Oh, yeah?"
"Mhm! It's a secret." Bringing up a finger to your lips, you shushed him.
Aleksander looks away before a grimaces replaces his warm expression. He mirrors a sad baby pup in the rain.
"My lips are sealed..."
You laugh, melodious and free of judgment. "Don't get jealous now! Ease up, you!"
His grimace doesn't disappear, but it does smooth out into a thin line. He rolls his neck back, a crack resonating softly from his bad posture. "...If I could be one hundred men, every one of them would adore you."
"One hundred?!" You exclaim in surprisement. "Don't you think that would be a little too much fans?"
He tilts his head as a sheepish look runs across his face. "That may be an exaggeration, but my point still stands."
"And, pray tell, what is the point?"
Silence.
In a couple of seconds, the music will start again. It seems to be on a constant loop. A replay or a mistake?
Oftentimes, you'd kick off your shoes and dance with the officer. Today, you're lounging around as if you have all the time in the world. No worries about the next minute.
His lips crack apart, and his tongue darts out to wet them.
He isn't sure how to say his next words.
Quite a feat for a man like him!
All of a sudden, he winces in pain and drops his cigarette. He jumps up, holding up his hand, and whistles lowly at the sight. The rough skin of his fingertips blacked with burn marks. His confession stick burnt him!
guys beast!Darkling X Belle!reader with gaston!Nikolai is in the works
in the AU i should clarify that the darkling isn't a beast - but rather more like a forgotten Ravkan legend, left to rot in the decrepit palace, with his black scars.
I'm also thinking stuff like Genya - being turned into the wardrobe, Ivan and Fedyor, being similiar to lumiere and the swan dusting lady and so on and so forth.
I'm currently at 1,167 words
like this
IT'S UP!!!!
I ACTUALLY JUST LOVE WRITING AUS AND PUTTING MY SILLY LITTLE GUYS INTO OTHER FILMS AND PLOTS AND SHENANIGANS
He was everything to her, but she was left in his shadows nonetheless
In the silence of a prison cell not made to contain her, with the wounds of the wrecked world pressing on her, she mourns not just a man she loved—but a legacy.
Aleksander Morozova—her Saint, her sovereign, her reason to draw every breath she did.
Warnings:- Angst. Unrequited love (us moment with the character), Unhealthy power dynamics, Manipulation is implied, Psychological trauma, Mentions of war and violence and atrocities towards Grisha, Reader is mourning Aleksander. Awful writing but bear with me.
Word Count: 3.3k
What do they know about love? Selfless and a love that burns brighter than any Inferni’s flame or the Sun Summoner’s light. A love that swallows everything that was I and left behind only and only him—the only coherent thought in a world of incoherence. The only soothing touch in the world too harsh for my kind.
What do they know about sacrifice? Giving up every bit of soul to receive his approval, the low hum or upwards twitch of lip after every traitor slain and battles won. To paint my hands with the blood of his torturers and doubters to gain the faintest of his attention—to be more than just his right hand woman for just a few moments. To stand by his side knowing that he is the poison that corrupts me and every inch of humanity that still breathes in me.
What do they know about longing? To bear witness, in every new life we live, a new lover. For someone else to remain by his side while I watched from shadows—his shadows. Watch and long for a caressing hand to my cheek or a single brush of his skin to mine, for a gentle smile or praising words uttered in the dark of night in the stupor of kvas.
‘You are too good for me.’ The words still echo in my ears aa if they were spoken last night and not eons ago. Intoxicated and barely holding on to consciousness due to the medication given to him after he sustained a wound to his side in a battle against the Fjerdans, he had spoken them reverently—almost as reverent as I followed him—full of a soft warmth that was seldom associated with him or our kind.
I had wished to refuse, to remind him that I was only his loyal servant, to be by his side at beck and call, to do everything and anything he wanted me to do. But I didn’t, for that was a selfish move—an unconscious act to let him rave praises of me while I listened with a deep ache, praying to the Saints I had long lost faith in—only for him to sing praises of me in all consciousness, with clear gaze and sober lips.
It didn’t happen. But I knew it would not.
What does she know of him? Nothing compared to what I know of him. What horrors has she seen and yet stayed—oh wait, she didn’t stay. She slayed him in cold blood to become a Saint—a national hero who in reality doesn’t understand the world we breathe in, or what is waiting for her in a world that doesn’t fear the Fold, in a country that is falling on itself.
The new King and Queen of Ravka do not understand a simple fact. That it was the Unsea that was deterring the forces flourishing in East Ravka from marching to the Os Alta. But now, it was gone, all thanks to Alina Starkov. The girl who killed the only man who had thought of Grisha and truly did something for them, unlike the many Lantsov kings who claimed to have taken actions for the welfare of our people but only did extort us.
My every breath was a chanting of his name. Not the name he took for himself after every time we “died”. But the one given to him, the one that was buried in the cemeteries of dead, lost in the many parchments of history. Forgotten by all but him and I and his mother—until she came, and he gave her his name without any effort.
Aleksander Morozova.
None knew what truly conspired in his mind, only himself and the Saints, all while I knew what transpired in my heart. The sprawling gardens of devotion to a fallen Saint, watered only by the sparse, little gestures embedded deep in my soul forever. The undying love for a man who never saw beyond the surface of my dedication—or perhaps, he saw and decided not to act upon it—chose silence over action.
He never shared what brewed beneath his perfect façade of indifference—not more than what I was supposed to know. Not to me, or even his own mother, but I suppose I was always prone to know more than Baghra, for I never questioned his actions or plans like she did—only followed like a soldier does, worshiping a clause rather than a man.
I had seen her lodge the shadow sword in his abdomen while all he had done was offer her his assistance yet again—despite her failing him so many times. She failed to see him for who he really was, to see past the sins and peak into the years old wounds that still bleed silently, to see the intentions of his plans—no matter how twisted they seem. She failed to stay by his side. While I made no mistake and yet…I was cast aside like a moon is overlooked for sun.
I watched with a cold numbness as Alina and Mal celebrated their “victory” while Aleksander’s lifeless body stared into the abyss of the blue sky. Continued to watch as one of the crows—the Suli girl who helped Alina—spare a meaningful glance in the direction of the boy with the cane. Watched as everyone celebrated with people who were meant to be more while I grieved a man who was never mine as my hands were bound in the metal handcuffs, meant to keep me from summoning.
They made me watch as they burnt him—basking in the flames that engulfed his body and turn it to ash. From ashes we rise and to ashes we go, Baghra used to say when I was still new to watching people die. Only had she known that she and her son would return to the same state under cruel circumstances.
I had stood alone in the sands where the Fold existed once, away from the “saviours” of Ravka, watching him burn away—helpless and heartbroken but refusing to cry.
I won’t weep, I had chanted in my mind.
I would remember.
I once believed in Saints and powers beyond our comprehension, until the day when the Saints didn’t listen to my plea and no power or great being came to my aid but him. None of the humankind stood up to protest against the atrocities caused to a young girl only because she was a Grisha, but he did. He saved me when none did, nurtured my powers with a careful hand and encouraging gaze. He made me the Moon Summoner that the world feared—that no one dared to harm again.
That was the day when he became the Saint I prayed to, the one who actually listened and spoke back. The day when I left the world’s beliefs of deities behind and adopted my own—a Sankt who wasn’t superficial but human in a manner that no one would expect from a deity. Someone who didn’t need altars and flowers to be worshipped but only loyalty.
The day he gave me a kefta in his colour was the day I remember too vividly. The hesitant brush of my fingers over the dark fur underlining the kefta in the deepest shade of shadows, silver threads forming a delicate pattern of moon phases over the back—right above my spine—paired with little swirls that adorned the hems of the sleeves and the neck. The silver buttons with small and delicate moons gleaming like the light that emerge from my own hands when I summon.
Since then, I never returned to my previously grey kefta—for he had gifted me his colour. And I had accepted it with great pride and joy, for it was the biggest recognition I could get for my devotion and love for him. It symbolised what I was—a summoner deep in love, ready to drone every inch of herself to be him, to become him.
Baghra had frowned upon it, interjecting that black was not a colour that suited me well, that I was willingly giving away my identity to her son without a second thought of the repercussions that might follow. But I could care less about the consequences when he had willingly offered me a part of him, a silent claim of authority over me for everyone to see. To know that I belonged to him and only him.
And what more could I ask for than his seal of acceptance?
His mother had pointed out that I held onto the idea of him too dearly, that I will forget myself to become what he wanted me to. Erase the very core of my soul to be what suited him better. To become a part of him.
And perhaps, she was right.
I had followed him like his own shadows, never leaving his side until he demanded me to do so—and then again, I would fulfil whatever he willed me to do before returning to his side as quickly as possible. He blamed it on my paranoia of the world, but if only he knew that I was nothing without him.
Once, a Lantsov king had offered to wed me—to shower upon me every luxury known to humanity and more. But I had refused politely yet firmly. For nothing was as precious to me as Aleksander and his presence was. No kingdom—no matter how big or prosperous—would mean anything if he wasn’t there to watch it flourish with a calculating gaze and gears of mind churning to ensure its safety.
Only he mattered to me. No kingdom, or riches, or promise of power could sway me from his shadows—lure me away to a world that didn’t include him. Because breathing in the same vicinity as him was a luxury, being my his side was my definition of peace. Being with him was the biggest fortune I could ever accumulate.
Baghra had told me that his ignorance of my obvious devotion was a carefully plotted plan to keep me by his side, tied to him in a manner that gave him power over me. That he knew of the extent I would go to and push beyond only to earn a sliver of his attention, that he deliberately gave enough to keep me hooked but not enough to satiate my thirst for him.
Then, Alina had come along and she had said the same. That he was using me in the same manner and he had tried to use her, but in a different manner. To starve me and then grant a little solace to melt me enough but not too much—weaken me for him to establish his control over me, but not enough for me to forget how to wield my powers to kill and destroy his enemies.
But I had argued with both of him—same words repeated again and again in a wretched track that made even my own stomach churn from time to time. “He is innocent! He doesn’t know of my affections to him!” But I knew better than to believe the last part of my defence. There was nothing that he didn’t know, and nothing that Baghra won’t use during a heated argument—which the mother-son duo had in plenty.
But still, he was innocent. For I gave him the power over me, willingly and without any influence but my own heart’s. He didn’t manipulate me into anything, he would not. Not with me, at the very least. Because he knows that I would give him whatever he wants without a single thought, that he didn’t need manipulation for me to do his bidding for him.
Many in the Second Army—mine and his’ close subordinates—whispered of my affections for him. Discussed the revered look I gave him when he spoke, or of the obedience that none except for him could extract from me, or the softened gaze that looked at him like he was my salvation and my sin—all wrapped in the form of a tall man with dark eyes and hair with the power to summon and bend shadows to his will.
I knew of what they called me behind my back, the words they would speak in my regard in hushed tones in the darks of the Little Palace. But none dared to say it up front, fearing the wraith of the General and his Deputy General. The shadows and the moon that needs his darkness to shine bright.
He must have known as well. After all, it was his bed I was supposedly warming, even though it wasn’t true—never was, and never would be now that he is gone. But he didn’t react or spoke of it, and neither did I, for those whispered rumours were beneath both of us and it won’t change our conversations that included topics of more importance. Of life and death of many.
The loud clang of the metal door of my little prison cell cut me off my trail of thoughts and memories—Aleksander’s face lingering in front of my eyes as a cruel illusion of my mind before it dusted away into thin air, leaving me behind in my pitiful state of half consciousness, treading on the thin bridge of living and dead but still alive enough to not leave this physical world to follow his soul to wherever it went.
A small cough, an awkward attempt of seeking my dazed attention. But all I mustered was a slow blink—the only indication of my awareness towards my surroundings. For apart from it, I remained still enough to resemble a lifeless corpse slowly decaying away into oblivion. And what was different in a corpse and myself except for that my body still worked despite my soul having lost itself the second he drew his last breath.
My name—the real one and not the one he had chosen for me to carry for this lifetime—was a whisper of near desperation being hid carefully beneath authority and tinge of amusement. But I didn’t respond to it, sitting still like I had been for too long.
My muscles cramped, screaming at me to move, to relieve them of the pressure building in them from a long time. My body was failing, and I knew that it wasn’t because of the lack of proper food or my reluctance to move much except for eating the rock hard bread and the smelly fish that would be served. It was the sickness that plagued a summoner when they won’t summon for a long time, the power dormant in ourselves making its presence known by starting to chew away on our strength until a limb couldn’t be raised without trembling.
The metal clasps on my hand only proved to elevate the cause of the sickness—keeping my hands too far apart to draw out even a small thread of moonshine that would allow me to release the power accumulating inside me like a ticking bomb waiting for the right time to burst open and destroy everything in its sights.
“I can open those cuffs,” the new King admitted matter of factly, perching down on the small and uncomfortable cot that was not the best option to sleep upon. His blonde hair and polished appearance deserved no place in a rotten cell with a rogue Grisha who had supported the Shadow Summoner. A loyalist who still wore his colour with a pride even though fatigue and sickness chew away slowly the time from my nearly immortal life.
I tilted my head in response, lips unable to move from both dryness of my aching throat and lack of strength from lack of food that actually was edible and nutritious. But evidently, the Lantsov boy did not treat his prisoners as respectfully as I or Aleksander used to treat them—not that we had many prisoners who won’t end up being cut into two halves by Aleksander’s shadow cut.
The King’s critical blue eyes raked through my hunched back figure, taking note oft hollowed out features and the uncharacteristic paleness. The lack of my usual glow that resembled a moon’s glow on a full night.
“Why are you here?” My voice was coarse, words rougher and rawer than I am used to using for anyone that wants my enemy. Was Nikolai Lantsov my enemy? Probably. He is Alina’s fiancée, that makes him my enemy, right? I wasn’t sure right now, nor in the state to wage war in my mind to determine the answer to that question.
All I wanted for now was peace and quiet that had accompanied me since I was thrown into this prison and allowed not even a sliver of sunlight or human interaction until now. All I had to keep me alive was my memories and the illusion of him—the façade of a softer version of Aleksander that seldom ever appeared.
I heard the sound of shuffling, of his expensive clothes rustling as he knelt in front of me, eyes locked onto mine with a fierceness I would not associate with a Lantsov. But then again, he wasn’t a pure blue blood—just the bastard Prince of Queen Tatiana, given the crown because his half-brother and stepfather was ripped apart by nichevo’ya.
“You know why I am here, don’t you?”
I did. I knew that neither he nor Alina anticipated what all damage they did to Ravka by eliminating the Unsea. That they never thought that the repercussions would be too grievous and bloody to be dealt with by weak-willed. “The hardest choices require the strongest of wills,” Aleksander used to remind me after the toll of killing became too heavy to be handled alone in silence.
I wondered what exactly must have driven the royal council to seek my assistance. Has Eastern Ravka entered an open rebellion against the sovereignty of the Lantsovs? Or have the Fjerdans started pressing back now that the Darkling and his Moon Summoner are gone and prisoner respectively? Or has Shu Han started another one of their peculiar experiments over Grisha? Or the cracks in Ravk’s internal structure are widening quicker than they realised?
I inclined my head in a small nod, watching him with half dazed but yet alert eyes as his hand reached into his jacket’s pocket to pull out something.
A key.
The key to the handcuffs straining my hands away, I realised with morbid interest and caution. Was it a play? A psychological trick for trying to break me and mould me into another weapon that suited someone else.
“I do not know what transpired between you and General Kirigan,” Nikolai started, placing the key by my boots-clad feet, standing up to produce a jar filled of water and a glass, pouring the crystal clear liquid into it before extending the glass to me, waiting patiently for me to accept it.
And I did, after studying him for a moment too long, my fingers wrapping around the edge of the glass, raising it to my lips and greedily gulping down the liquid that satiated the aching of my throat. I could feel his ocean gaze on me but I didn’t look back, too invested in drinking the water like a traveller who hadn’t had a sip of water for days in scorching desert.
“But I know that your loyalty is unlike anyone’s.”
He picked up the key from the concrete floor, studying it with what I recognised as a mock interest before looking back at me with a look I could not decipher quite well.
His other hand moved in an action that startled me to my core. Gently, his hand cupped my vacant one, turning my palm skywards before pressing the brass key into it with an ease of a man who knew what he was doing. Giving a choice of letting me have my freedom but at the cost of serving another Lantsov king or letting me rot in this prison for howsoever long I lived.
Pairing: young!Aleksander "Eric" Morozova/Darkling x fem!heartrender! reader
Summary: The legendary Darkling saves your life from the Drüskells. You tell your friend Eric about this, but he advises you against seeking the Shadow Summoner. You don't listen to him. And you find him closer than you dared to think he was. Now you beg him to stay with you.
Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist
Oneshot inspired by: "Tell me it's you" from Mufasa... yeah, I just couldn't leave that song. I never thought The Lion King would inspire me to write a oneshot for Darkling... Hope you enjoy it!
Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat
"It was... like something out of an adventure novel. I'm telling you, Eric, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Suddenly, shadows appeared; I couldn't see practically anything, and then they cut Drüskells in half. I... I've never seen such power. In anyone. Ever." You tell your friend in shock, half-sitting, half-lying on his bed as he bustles around you, tending to your wounds.
"You may have imagined it. No one has seen the Darkling or any of his ancestors in centuries. Shadow Summoners are freaks of nature. The fact that they are virtually nonexistent shows that they shouldn't exist." The dark-haired man replies dismissively.
You grab his hand as he's about to apply gauze soaked in the medicinal plant dimension to your cut brow and give him an offended look.
"No, Eric, I know what I saw. Maybe not exactly; maybe I didn't really see him, but it was definitely a Shadow Summoner. As when the king's men were pursuing us and we were hidden from their view by a cloud of shadow. The fact that there are few of them proves how powerful they are. Not everyone is meant to wield such responsibility on their arms. To be a saviour." You say and let go of his hand.
"You speak too highly of him. He's probably a power-hungry maniac, a heretic, not some Grisha saviour."
"I know it's him. I'm sure of it. Just as I know it's him and only the Shadow Summoner who can stop this hunt for us. We have to find him. Maybe you don't feel it, but I do. Without him... without him we have no reason to even try to fight the Tsar, Fjerda, Shu Han, and Ravka for our freedom."
Eric sighs and shakes his head in disbelief at your stubbornness. But he doesn't have time to respond to you, because suddenly his mother enters their one-room, small cottage.
He pulls away from you and gives his mother a warning look. You only stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him because the older woman walks straight to you, ignoring her son.
"The whole village is gossiping that they saw my son bring you unconscious and bloody to our hut. What happened to you, little heartreder? Did you use your powers on yourself?"
She nods at the young healer in the doorway while examining you. And if you didn't know her better, you'd almost believe the older woman was actually worried about you. Luda steps to your side and uses her powers to heal you. You clench your teeth and look at your teacher, slightly offended.
"I was taking Marika home. We took a shorter path through the forest, and the Drüskells attacked us. She ran away and alarmed Eric, and I... somehow managed to scare them away." You lie to her about the last part, feeling your friend's burning gaze on you.
Earlier, you promised him that your... unusual encounter with the Shadow Summoner would stay between you. It wasn't safe to talk about them. Besides, you doubt the old woman would believe your story, however true it is.
You nod in thanks to Luda and try to ignore the burning feeling of jealousy as she sends one of her longing glances towards Eric. You quickly regain control, reminded of the watchful gaze of the older woman who was still present.
"I don't understand why that girl called my son, since he controls his powers like a baby controls urine." You're very proud of how you manage to keep from snorting in amusement at her ridiculous remark. Eric, on the other hand, seems to not appreciate at all his mother's teasing.
"I'm here, mother."
"And you should be in the village and working. I don't know what you want to feed yourself with, but now that winter is coming, it will be harder and harder. Stop hovering over that poor girl like a dog over a hedgehog and go find yourself some useful occupation. I'll look after her."
"But, mother..."
"Go, Eric. I'll see you later." You assure him with a warm, gentle smile.
He sighs and gives his mother one last, warning look and approaches the bed. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and after making sure your wounds have healed nicely, he leaves.
"What?" You ask her, blushing slightly with embarrassment as she stares at you.
"One day, he'll put me in my grave, and he'll regret it." She sighs and stands, her black hair interwoven with more frequent streaks of grey, and you see her hands shaking slightly as she hands you a cup of herbal tea.
Lately, you've started to notice that she... stopped looking so young. Before, you couldn't believe that Eric was her son, but now, it seems, time has started to catch up with her. And she's become impossibly more grumpy and stubborn.
"Will he?" You ask, raising an eyebrow teasingly and taking a sip.
"Don't let yourself get carried away, little brat. Just because you make him more bearable doesn't give you the right to mock me. You know perfectly well that this halfwit is head over heels in love with you. So for the sake of all of us, kill it before you break your hearts."
"I... we are just friends." You persist in refusing to admit your feelings to her. She looks at you for a long moment and sighs, nodding at you reproachfully.
"Believe the words of an old woman, Y/N. You... you deserve something more. Don't destroy your peace and life because of one pair of pretty eyes."
"We are not together." You repeat yourself, not even trying to explain to her how beautiful Eric's dark irises were. Worth any pain he could bring you—something you doubt would ever happen anyway.
He was too good to hurt you. Ever. However. He was... Eric. You could always count on his help and support; he always somehow managed to be there for you when you needed him the most. So how could you fight your growing feelings for him?
"I know. But I also know him and you. So trust me when I say, he is not good enough for you."
"Aren't you confusing your roles? Shouldn't you be saying this to Eric?" The woman frowns the moment you say her son's name.
She sighs and gets out of bed, arms folded, when she was staring at you—as if her cold, disapproving gaze would change the way your stupid heart sped up whenever he was around.
"Usually the voice of reason does not break through the deafening scream of foolish love. And this boy... he is a lost cause."
"Maybe I like lost causes?"
"Y/N... you are a smart girl. So for your own good, leave before it's too late." She gathers your things and offers you a hand to help you up.
You accept her unusual, gentle help and take your bundle from her. You absentmindedly stroke the charm on your bracelet—a small stone of your favourite gemstone that Eric gave you for your birthday—as you think about how to respond to her.
"I... I am not going anywhere. I promised him I won't leave him. He is my friend."
"Ehhh... stupid child." The woman shakes her head, irritated by our stubbornness, and leads you to the exit.
You are already on your way to the village when Baghra notices a familiar figure lurking in the recesses of the hut. Her mood darkens even further when she realises an extra, unwanted pair of ears has heard your conversation.
"Happy, Aleksander? Or should I call you Eric?" The woman huffs in exasperation and grabs her old journal from the table.
"You yourself said I should hold my real name away from anyone." Aleksander answers her with the same cold, emotionless tone she gives him and steps out of his shadows.
Only now does Baghra take a moment to look at him. He snorts when he sees the streak of blood carefully hidden beneath his cloak from your view. But not from hers.
"I should also mention your stupid heart then. She will die before you, you know that, right? No matter how much you love her or how hard you will try to protect her, she will grow old, and you will remain in the same shape as today."
"Unless I stop summoning."
"As if you could. I bet you've already done it today, right?" Aleksander turns his gaze away from her. He watches your retreating figure from the window, his heart clenching at the thought that one day he will no longer be able to be by your side or watch you from his shadows. "Let her live her life. She may be a powerful heartrender, but she is still not us, Aleksander. She won't live forever; she is not equal to us. Can you watch her slipping away from your fingers each day? Watch her die in your arms?"
He clenches his fists. Unconsciously, he lets his shadows break free and spread throughout the hut. Baghra sighs and approaches him. She places her hand hesitantly on his shoulder, forcing him to look her in the eyes.
"We overstayed here, Aleksander. I leave in a week. And if you really care about her, you will leave with me." Baghra looks at him for a long moment, then lets go of him. She heads for the exit and puts her hand on the doorknob but stops when she hears his voice.
"And what if I don't?"
Cold silence cuts through the air between them. Baghra looks at her son over her shoulder, and for a moment in his eyes, she sees the glow of her old self. A naive version that didn't yet know the true realities of this world, the curse hidden behind her powers. And since Aleksander wouldn't listen to her, to draw from her experience, all she could do was leave him to realise alone, in pain, that there were no others like them, that they were condemned to a life of solitude.
"Then prepare yourself for losing her anyway."
Aleksander clenches his fists as he is left alone in the hut. He lets his wonders flow out of him as he sinks into total darkness. And even the memory of your smile, something that always managed to fight his darkness, only makes the shadows grow thicker around him. Because as much as he hated his mother, he knew there was some truth in her words. You would eventually leave. And he would be all alone. Again. And even if he told you who he really was... it wasn't at all sure that you wouldn't turn away from him like everyone else before you did.
The truth was that you would cast him out. So he has to leave first... before you break his heart, that you didn't even know that belonged to you the moment he met you and got to know you.
He screams, letting his shadows in him exit through his mouth, swallowing the tears that roll down his cheeks.
"I've asked everywhere, and no one has noticed anyone new coming to the village. So it must be one of the locals or someone who arrived recently. But no one comes to mind, with... well, him. My investigation is at a standstill."
You grumble as you walk beside Eric through the forest path. Snow falls around you, causing a few small flakes to cling to his dark coat and hair. He looked adorable. Even with his red nose and the grimace that appeared on his face whenever you mentioned the Shadow Summoner in his presence.
"Maybe that's a good thing? Maybe he doesn't want to be found? Maybe he prefers to stay in his shadows, where he belongs."
"No, Eric, you... you didn't see what I saw, the power that flowed from him. He killed them all with a wave of his hand; it... it was incredible. If only he hadn't hidden, if only he had gathered us all and led us... maybe we would never have had to hide again, never have to make new homes, never have to worry about being discovered, about having to run away and start our lives over for fear of being tracked down and killed for who we are. You must feel the same way I do. Haven't you had enough? That every time you find a home, someone comes and takes it away just because we can do more than them? That we have power that they fear? Eric... I can't live like this. I'll find him. Even if it's the last thing I do, I have to convince him... there's no other way for us."
"That's a pipe dream, Y/N. Even if he gathers us all... forms an army... even among our own kind, there will be those who would seek to destroy him." He replies sceptically and stops to look at the frozen river. You sigh and shove your hands in your pockets, trying to warm yourself up a little.
"There will always be some. Is that why we have to keep hiding in our holes like rats? The Tsar will never change his mind about us if we don't act. We can't bury our heads in the sand, Eric. I'm not going to... I'm not going to let my children, if I have them, live in a world like that... to go through what we went through."
"Y/N..." He sighs and looks at you for the first time since you brought up the topic of the mysterious Shadow Summoner.
You frown as you see a glimpse of pain and concern in his eyes, wondering what could have caused him such a negative agitation. Before you can say anything back, suddenly an arrow flies near you and embeds itself in the ground not far away from you.
"Come with me." Eric takes your hand, not waiting for your reaction as he starts to drag you away.
He runs, pulling you in the opposite direction of where he heard the barking of dogs and the shouting of men. As you pass the arrow, you see the distinctive Fjerdan finish on it. You curse under your breath and speed up, running with Eric to one of the safe havens you and the other Grisha had set up in case the Drüskells 'witch hunt' resumes.
Unfortunately, you're running too slowly, or there are too many Fjerdans (you can't tell because Eric is pulling you along and setting your pace so fast that you can barely move your legs, let alone look back) to lose them. Your lungs are burning, and your heart is beating fast as you wade through the folds of snow.
You doubt that you'll be able to defend both yourself and Eric because you certainly won't leave him alone to these bloodthirsty men. Or that was the plan, before he pushed you into some Saint-knows-where hole big enough for one of you to hide.
"Stay here."
"No, Eric..." You hiss in desperation and grab his sleeve, realising he'll die if he goes alone.
"Stay here, Y/N. I will be fine. I promise. Just stay right here and wait for me." He cups your cheek in his hand and presses his lips to your forehead as you sob quietly into your hand, holding him tight by his sleeve, not wanting to let go. "Hush. I'll be back. I promise. Just stay here and be quiet."
Despite your efforts, he somehow manages to wiggle out of your grip. As he asked, you press your hand to your mouth and stop all the cries and sounds from escaping your throat. You close your eyes and focus on your surroundings, trying to feel the beating of hearts around you.
You shiver as the ground above you shakes with the force of the Drüskells that are chasing Eric. You try to help him in any way you can, slowing some of their heartbeats, tiring them out more, even managing to stop a few of them altogether—something you could never do in your lessons with Baghra. But it's still not enough; you still feel like there are so many more of them than Eric can handle alone.
So you do probably the stupidest thing, but the only right thing you can do in this situation. You come out of your hiding place and run in the direction Eric ran.
When you reach the clearing, the first thing you notice is him, standing surrounded by Fjerdarns. You see his eyes widen when he sees you, too surprised and frightened to notice one of the Drüskells sneaking up on him.
"Eric!" You scream and lunge at him, your hands moving in a practiced motion, manipulating the blood flow of the Fjerdan who wanted to attack him.
But you walk into the trap yourself, and before you can blink, one of them shoots you with an arrow. You scream in bewilderment and grab your arm, trying to staunch the blood while controlling as many of the Fjerdan soldiers as you can, trying to keep yourself and Eric alive for as long as you can.
And then, shadows spread across the clearing. You close your eyes and sigh with relief as their familiar coldness takes hold of you. Men scream in terror, hunting dogs growl around, but after a moment, everything falls silent. All you hear are two heartbeats: yours, calm and sluggish after losing blood from the wound you inflicted with the shot, and Eric's, quick and sudden.
Before you know it, you begin to sink to your knees, both physically exhausted from running and using your power and emotionally exhausted from almost seeing your deaths.
"It's okay. It's okay. You are safe. I got you." Eric whispers, stroking your hair tenderly as he catches you at the last second. And then something inside you suddenly snaps.
Suddenly, you remember the exact moment your mysterious Shadow Summoner saved you all those weeks ago, and as it turns out, he did it again. Eric could summon shadows. He used them to save you for a second time. He... he was the Shadow Summoner. And with that revelation, you faint in his arms.
When you wake up, it's not by Eric's side like in all those romantic novels you like to read before going to bed—your passion that Eric laughs at you for. No. You wake all alone in some makeshift bed. Or rather, you wish you would wake up alone, because the first person you see is…
"Baghra? Am I in hell?"
"You were close enough." The woman grumbles, pressing a cloth to your shoulder. You hiss as you feel the herbs burn your healer-sealed skin. "My stupid son got it into his empty head because of your little accident that the Drüskelle came here for him. So he left. To give himself to them."
"What?! And you let him?!" I ask angrily and throw the blanket off me. I reach for my coat and quickly button it, searching the small room for my shoes.
"You know him. What was I supposed to do? Only two things can stop this stubborn moose: you and his death."
You sigh angrily at her and quickly tie your shoes. You hiss when your haste and carelessness slightly strain your injured arm. But the pain you feel is only an annoying distraction in the face of fear for Eric's life.
"He left a few hours ago. To the north. If you concentrate hard, you'll be able to feel his heartbeat." Baghra advises you as you take a pair of daggers from her. "Y/N." The woman grabs your elbow and forces you to look at her before you leave in a hurry. "Bring him back in one piece. And yourself too. Saints knows what that imbecile will do if anything happens to you again."
All you can do is nod at her as you leave one of the rooms in your hideout. You push your way through other Grisha, trying to get out of the abandoned tomb you all have turned into a base and back to the surface as quickly as possible.
Your blood boils; everything boils as you think about what will happen if you don't get to him in time. You wonder where he even got that stupid idea of turning himself in to the Fjerdans. It won't solve your problem. They'll still be after you, even more when they realise that they killed... that they killed HIM.
You run through the snow, following Eric's footsteps and praying to every known saint that you'll make it in time. You had so many things to tell him... so many important confessions that you were afraid of. You still are. You realise that... Eric didn't tell the whole truth about himself, but on the other hand, you know that in his situation you would proceed just as carefully and maybe even more.
He was the Shadow Summoner. He created something, creatures that could kill people with a wave of his hand. He was something completely different from you and the rest of the Grisha, something much more powerful. And you know perfectly well that they will only listen to him and follow him. If ever there is anything good for you, it will only be with his rule over you.
Luckily, Eric doesn't run far from you. A few hours later, you're able to feel his heartbeat in the distance, or at least you assume it's his. It's strange to admit to yourself that you know that delicate rhythm perfectly, that you've been listening to that song of his heart unconsciously all those nights you spent together by the fire, snuggled up together, supposedly seeking extra warmth, but in reality subconsciously craving the closeness of the other.
You loved him. Even before the Shadow Summoner thing came to light. And you know he cared about you, too. And you would do anything to keep him with you…to make him what you and the other Grisha needed.
You almost fall to your knees with relief when you finally find him. He stands by the frozen river, staring at it with a blank expression, his fists clenched, completely oblivious to his surroundings. In any other situation, you would have snuck up to him, thrown your arms around his shoulders, and berated him for his lack of attention, but now, all you can do is stare at him silently.
Seeing him makes you realise who he is, what he's capable of, and honestly, all those scary stories about the powerful Shadow Summoner don't fit the Eric you know at all.
But you knew that no matter who he really was… you would be there for him. With him.
"Tell me it's you." You say, pulling him out of his own thoughts. He turns to you slowly, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost, as if he can't believe his eyes that he's seeing you.
"Y/N, you should be resting in the hideout..."
"Tell me it's you. I... I know it's you." You interrupt him and take a few steps closer to him.
He frowns at you, pretending not to know what you're on about, but from the way his eyes widen for a second and his heart skips a beat, you know he knows exactly what you are up to.
"I am afraid that I have no idea what you are talking about. Did you hurt yourself in the head? Let me see."
"Don't make me look crazy, Eric. I know, it's you. I may be stupid enough to not realise it earlier, but I am not that stupid to not see it now. You were always there at every major disaster, saving the day, like you knew exactly where to be; you saw more than any of us... For God's sake, you never even summoned a single damn wind. Baghra lied that you had no control over your powers, that you practically had none, but you hid from all of us that you are... please don't hide from me anymore. Tell me it's you. The one we've been waiting for so damn long."
"I... you have no idea what you are talking about."
"Eric, please..." You reach out to take his hand in yours, but he moves away from you before your skin can touch for even the slightest moment. He breathes heavily, quickly, shocked to find that his best attempts to keep who he is a secret from everyone have been in vain.
"You don't know anything, Y/N! I am not even Eric; I... I don't know what I am. What you think I am... I am not. I am surely not anyone's saviour. Whatever you saw... you don't know what you have seen. I... forget about it." He mumbles, his eyes wandering on your figure as he decides what to do, what to say to make you change your mind, to make you doubt what you have seen.
You can see the internal struggle in him, as he wants to reach out for you, but at the same time, he is also keeping his distance from you. So seeing his conflict, the panic state he found himself in, all you want to do is soothe him.
"I see you." You interrupt him and cup his cheek in your hand, grounding him for a moment, making him forget everything else as he looks at you. The lump in his throat eases; he feels the tension in his body leave as you stroke his bearded cheek tenderly with your thumb. "I may not know your real name, or the amount of power and responsibility or pain you carry within you... but I know your soul. I know the man you are trying to hide behind your shadows... but I won't allow you. Not anymore."
He instinctively nuzzles his face into your hand. He closes his eyes, unable to bear your sympathetic gaze any longer. He knows he should do to you what he did to all those who came before you: push you away, make you believe he'll disappear forever, go along with his mother's plan, and let you think he died at the hands of the Fjerdans, but... he couldn't. Not with you. Not when you've become involuntarily an important part of his sour heart that's sought your light like grass hidden for months under snow.
He's been alone in the darkness of his shadows for too long. And if letting you in meant breaking him completely... then he thought a few years with you were worth every pain that resulted from the subsequent loneliness.
"Ever since you appeared, I've been running from something deep inside. And it's worse than I feared, because I look in your eyes, and I can't hide. I tried to push you away..."
"Don't push me away." You interrupt him and take a step closer to him.
"But the feelings come back, just twice as strong." He finishes his thought and wraps his hand around the wrist of your hand that’s still caressing his cheek, tangling his other hand in your hair and pulling you closer to him so he can press a kiss to the top of your head. "And I... I don't know what to say." He whispers shakily, closing his eyes and burying his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent like calming salts.
"You know just what to say." You respond in an equally uncertain, tearful tone, holding him tightly against you, not letting him move an inch away from you, not when you finally have him where you need him—pressed against you.
"I do not belong here. I do not belong anywhere. I never did. Every time I find a home, something happens to take that home away. You do not want such a stray like me."
"You are exactly where you should be. The way you feel when you're with me... Beside me... This is the most right… this feels the most right. Please, don't hide from me anymore." You say, slightly pulling away from him to look into his dark eyes.
He tightens his grip on your hair, his gaze on you burning, almost electric as he stares into your eyes as if they were the answer to all his questions and doubts.
You don't know what he finds in them, but they're convincing enough for him to lean slightly toward you, tightening his grip on your wrist and holding your hand against his cheek as if you'd even dared to think for a moment about letting go of him.
He brushes his nose against yours, a hot shiver running through you as you feel his breath on your lips, the beating of his heart speeding up madly, slowly becoming the only thing you can hear. You close your eyes, allowing yourself one quick breath before you lean down and connect your lips in a shy kiss.
He doesn't allow that insult. In an instant he's all over you, wrapping his hand around your waist and pressing you against him. He deepens the kiss, his full lips caressing yours with incredible gentleness and passion as you both moan softly, finally doing what your hearts have longed for for so long.
You start to lose your breath, but that's nothing when you finally feel his hands on you, the warmth of his body so close to you, the taste of his lips that turns out to be so much better than the best candy you sometimes bought at the market. It was addictive, magnetic, the most intoxicating first kiss you've ever experienced. And not because he was the Shadow Summoner, but simply because he was himself—your Eric.
Eventually, you have to pull away. Your lungs are burning, demanding your stolen heart, but they can't find their voice. Your heart is screaming with joy, pure excitement that quickly dies when you open your eyes and meet his worried gaze, the familiar frown of contemplation you've grown to hate over the past few weeks.
Whatever he wants to say dies on his lips as you silence him with another quick, needed kiss. You desperately think about what to say to him, how to convince him to stay with you, and you realise that you have only one good bargaining chip he could be truly interested in—yourself.
"Don't run away anymore. Don't run away from us... from me." You ask him, placing your hand on the side of his neck, moving away just a few millimetres—just so you can look at him properly, begging him not to leave.
"If you knew what I've been doing all these years… what crimes I've committed, what I've been a passive witness to… what I'm capable of… you'd curse me like they all before you did."
"You don't know that. You can't know. We've been waiting for you for so long, Eric…"
"Aleksander." He interrupts you, looking at you thoughtfully. His hand moves to gently cup your cheek as he traces the line of your lower lip with his thumb. "My name is Aleksander." He repeats in a whisper, causing a faint blush to form on your cheeks.
"Aleksander." You test his name on your tongue, and you know from the way his eyes soften and tears well up in them how deeply he is touched by the tenderness with which you say the name he has protected so much. His real name. "That suits you more. Please, Aleksander... Sasha... don't run away this time."
"I..." He’s speechless at the endearing nickname you gave him. All he can do is bury his nose in your hair and pull you closer to him, engulfing you in a desperate embrace as if you’re the one who’s about to run away.
And from the way he strokes your back, the way he breathes in your scent, you know he won't leave you. You've found the Shadow Summoner. Now all you had to do was stay by his side and help him unite Grisha. And while you were at it… you could take advantage of the special care he'd bestowed upon you. For as long as fate would allow.
Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it. I really appreciate any comments and kudos/hearts if you want to take your time to share your thoughts about this one. Have a nice day/night!! 😊🖤🖤🩵🖤🖤
a/n: this (and so many other ideas omg) was just sparked when he said the whole let me be your monster line in s2
warnings: aleksander morozova x reader, enemies to lovers undertones, love confession
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
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“See, you may think you know what you want, but you don’t,” Aleksander explained calmly as he slowly stepped closer towards where you stood, leaning against the palace wall, “no, I know exactly what it is that you really want,” he came to a stop right in front of you and breathed, “what you truly desire…” his obsidian gaze so fierce that it sent a shiver down your spine.
Your heart nearly beat completely out of your chest, not only by his arrogant assumption but also by the unfamiliar intimate proximity, “you want a challenge,” he continued, “you want a love that consumes you,” you sucked in a sudden breath as one of his hands unexpectedly came up to gently swipe your hair back over your shoulder, his fingertips lightly ghosting over the side of your exposed neck as he did so, “one that’s so all-consuming that it blurs the line and you confuse it with hate.”
“You, my little bird, don’t want a hero,” the room around you two seemed to dim slightly, letting you focus on him and only him as he uttered, “you desire a monster,” his tall frame towered over yours as he proposed fervently, “let me be yours.”
