I miss the simpler times when the grishaverse/shadow and bone tags were full of people who actually liked these books and characters for what they were and weren't just hate reading them. I'm so tired of encountering one terrible take after the other, all made in bad faith arguments. So fucking done with the negativity towards Alina and Baghra's characters. The hatred is so intense you'd think they jumped out of the page and stole their firstborns.
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 🥰🖤🖤
Taglist (As always, I hope that everyone who wants to be here is here): @aoi-targaryen @chelseyyouraverageluigi @watersquirtpewpewboomm @summersummoner-pat @barnes70stark @meadowshelby
Things That Leigh Bardugo Forgot When Writing the Grishaverse Day 1
Hitting People With A Cane For Making Mistakes Is Abuse.
Tbh the fandom also tends to forget this one too.
Also that Baghra SET A HIVE OF BEES ON MARIE WHEN SHE WAS A CHILD, LIKE WHAT IF SHE HAD BEEN ALLERGIC OR SOMETHING!?! SHE COULD HAVE DIED
And Baghra's using a full on CANE to administer her "discipline". Those things CAN BREAK BONES, and we literally see Kaz using his cane to do serious physical damage in the Crow duology.
