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aysegust · 1 year

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My Light In the Dark. - N.L

A/N: Okay, so this was a request and let me give you a warning... I haven't read Nikolai based books and stuff. I only read SoC and Crooked Kingdom due to something else... I want to read all of the books but It would be probably slowly in time. So this is based on S&B season 2... I hope you'll like my version of him. Have a nice reading! Request: you are having a nightmare in middle of night, you walks as you knock the door, you hear unlock it was nikolai, he was half naked, he seem concern about you, he might be worried as he comfort you as well. *fluffiness* Warnings: A bit angst at start but fluff in the end :) sobachka... Word Count: 1,6K

You were running. As the moonlight caressed your cheek, you were running so fast like your whole life depended on it.

What you felt was so strong. You felt cold sweated fear so deeply as you ran to find him. You were too caught up in the idea that he was just laying on the ground with pale skin, and eyes that shine so brightly went just blank looking at the sky. You were scared about the idea of losing him.

So you ran, you ran to find him to help him. But you couldn’t find him in that damned forest of Ravka as you searched for him. Suddenly, you found yourself in the Little Palace. As you looked at your sides, you saw lights slowly numbed. You didn’t know that you held your breath. You’ve never felt that much fear before. As you searched through Little Palace, you instantly stopped by the dining hall.

You held the doorknob as you pushed it aside as you entered the door. You saw floors covered in bloody footsteps. As you walked quickly inside, you saw a man laying on the floor. You felt your dry throat as you looked at him.

You were in pure shock as you froze at your place. You tried to go to him but something was blocking your way. Darkness flooded into the room, and as you turned behind, you saw Kirigan. “You…” You whispered with such full of rage. “You did this to him!” You yelled as you stepped closer to the boy you adored secretly, laying on the floor, without moving, without consciously. “He is not dead, but will be.” You heard Kirigan’s low but sharp voice.

“As I told you earlier, you should’ve followed my order.” He sighed. “Instead, you betrayed me, to what?” He smirked. “To take sides with the Sun Summoner?”

You looked at him with disgust. “I’ll never follow you. You are the reason why all of us feel pain in this country!” You yelled at him. “You used Grisha’s! You used us.” You felt rage in your veins as you held your hands up to move them in a. sync way, you felt paralyzed.

“You can’t kill me.” He said, then you hear a soft whimper. You turned your gaze to the floor as you saw him. Nikolai. Whispering your name sweetly but with pain. “No!” You screamed.

You wake up in a cold sweat. You looked around and you saw nothing but your room surrounding you. Nothing about darkness, just a soft candle lighting the room. You got up from the bed and you looked at yourself in the mirror.

It was just a dream. You thought. However, when you looked in the mirror in front of you, you felt pathetic. You slowly walked to your restroom to wash your face, you felt the uneasy feeling didn’t go away. So, you exited your room to wander into the palace to find him.

Nikolai and your relationship weren’t exclusive. Well, you weren’t a thing. You were under his command so many years as you knew him as Sturmhond first. You were a Grisha with Corporalki powers. When you were young, they came and took you from your parents. They tested you and found out as you were a Heartrender. You didn’t want to be apart from your parents but they took you away.

Your parents didn’t want you to be tested. However, they were late to figure out your powers. They wanted to hide you from ruthless people, from demanding Grisha’s… But when you grew enough to find a way to escape the Little Palace you took it and then your journey to earning money and finding a place to stay was on his side. He accepted you, into his crew as you found yourself in his ship, improving your skills with Tamar and Tolya, and felt accepted by him.

He wasn’t demanding, or he wasn’t cruel and greedy to you. He was anything opposite what your parents told you about the Lantsov family. He was genuine, sweet, boyishly handsome, and brave but so flirtatious.

In the meantime, as you were in his crew, you liked him through the years as you get to know him. However, you learned he has a flirtatious side, of course. So you didn’t let loose him over your misunderstanding crush on him. So, you stayed silent.

The rest was history.

As you felt yourself deep in thought, you didn’t encounter the idea that you were standing in front of his bedroom door. It was the middle of the night, so if someone would see you it would be probably some servant or guard.

You lightly knocked on the door, with shaky hands. When you didn’t hear something from the inside, you slowly turned away as you sighed.

When you heard a click from the door, you instantly turned around and saw him. He was confused to see you, and when you looked at him, you saw his shirtless body. You immediately turned your gaze onto the floor embarrassed about not respecting his privacy in the middle of the night.

Nikolai sweetly, smirked at you when you lowered your gaze and your blushed cheeks in the dim light. He broke the silence as you looked at him again. “Are you okay?” He asked. Finally, seeing circles under your eyes and when he looked at your eyes, he saw it was glossy and red.

He felt scared as he saw you like that. He immediately held your wrist as you were frightened. “Hey, hey… Y/N look at me.” He whispered and he was slowly pulling you inside his room to not be seen on the outside. You didn’t speak as he talked. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He checked you for a visible wound but he couldn’t find any. “No, I’m okay.” Your voice came out weaker than you expected.

You felt his warm and soft hand stroke your cheek, as you slowly closed your eyes. You felt his worried gaze towards you. “I,” you sighed. “I was having a nightmare.” You finally admitted as you opened your eyes and met with his caring eyes. You felt so safe around him.

“It’s okay, you are safe now.” He said as he leaned forward to you. “Nothing can harm you, I’m here.” You suddenly hugged him as he whispered those words to you. He smiled to himself. “Of course, you don’t need someone to protect you, you are the strongest person that I’ve ever seen, darling.” He said with a genuine concern for you.

You stayed still in his arms, feeling better and loved because of him. His presence always calmed your chaos. And he was the light of your life. He was shinier than the Sun Summoner.

But it wasn’t only you, he thought about it like that too. Nikolai always adored you. In his eyes, you were shining so bright than Alina. You were his light, his sun as you always made him feel appreciated, alright, and safe. He deeply knew he felt something more about you.

You were always in his mind. Sometimes you were whispering sweet things to him or you were bickering about a silly plan he made and well, he enjoyed thinking about you. More than that, he was glad that he found you. With you, he could be himself, more than just a boyishly handsome ‘sobachka’ prince of Ravka. or brave Sturmhond. He could be himself around you… He was in love with you.

He slowly caressed your hair to calm you. “Do you feel better, milaya?” You nodded your head onto his neck. You leaned away from him as you met his gaze. “I saw you.” You paused. “In my nightmare.” You looked deeply into his confused glances. “You were… You were bleeding and,” You closed your eyes as you relived the nightmare.

He held your hands immediately. “Y/N, it’s not real, I’m here.” You didn’t open your eyes. However, you heard his heartbeats. It was calming your nerves. You continued without opening your eyes. “You were laying on the floor and I tried to help you, but… I saw Darkling.” As you opened your eyes to meet his gaze you saw his confused gaze turn into anger. “Did he- come to you? Like how?” He was pissed off about hearing Kirigan destroying your night.

“No, he can’t… I don’t know.” You looked at him again. “We don’t have any connection.” He felt relieved. “I’m here and I’m not interested in going away anywhere from you.” He smiled at you. You looked at him in disbelief.

He smirked at your shocked glances. “You know, I am not this intense with anyone, right?” He asked you as you gave him a confused glance. He put the hair that was touching your face with his hand behind your ear. “I adore you, Y/N.” He said with a precious smile. “And I want my days to be filled with you.” He paused. “You are the reason that I’m still fighting. You are my hope to be a better king. My heart to be a better person and I…” You squeezed his hand. “I love you.” He said as he leaned toward you.

“Nikolai…” You smiled into his mouth. “I have always loved you, and I always will.” He kissed you then. With a kiss that held so much passion and love. You heard his quickened heartbeat as he kissed you so deeply, so sweetly and so gorgeously.

Oh, you love Nikolai Lantsov. You love every little detail about him. His fragile but strong nature… His amazing heart and his gorgeous soul… You adore his jokes and his braveness.

Nikolai meant everything to you. He meant home, he meant you.

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov x y/n #sobachka #nikolai lantsov and reader #six of crows #shadow and bone series #alina starkov #darkling #general kirigan #nikolai lantsov x heartrender! reader #nikolai lantsov x grisha! reader

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d1stract-and-daydream · 1 year

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MY LITTLE INFERNI (NIKOLAI LANTSOVxOC)

WC: 3k Summary: Following a heartbreak with a certain childhood friend, an inferni asked to be stationed somewhere as far away as possible–to heal, while also serving her country. It's going well, until she realised her feelings were, in fact, requited.

[This is the longfic I had in plans after 'You Made it Easy'. I update once a week/every two weeks on Ao3, but will update here as well.]

CHAPTER 1: SCORCHWITCH

“How much for the plums?”

Dasha picked up the ripe purple fruit, squishing it in her hands to check for rot. Next to them are various fruits; apples, pears, perfect round peaches—and her mouth waters at the thought of having peach jam to go with her bread. For a country known for its never ending winter, it’s quite surprising how they can grow the amount of fruits that they do. She’s not even surprised if illegal grisha labour is involved somehow. Saints know how they treat grishas in Fjerda. In fact, being forcefully indentured might sound better to some than getting killed for simply existing.

The village market was nothing compared to the perfectly arranged stalls they have in Djerholm—but Dasha finds it endearing; almost whimsical in its own way. She preferred the Ravkan market more, though. The wares were more colourful, especially in the summer and spring. Rows and rows of stalls full of produce, flowers, cloth and the Zemeni spices her brother used to love. He’d buy something from the spice stalls every time they visited the marketplace and use those to make his famous hot chocolate. Dasha knew it was only delicious because of the spice,but Stepan never got the chance to tell her what the exact ingredient was before he left. She missed his hot chocolate. She missed Stepan.

The sky grumbled. It was such a lovely day this morning, but she can see dark clouds approaching from the distance, sensing a storm coming soon. Just as the snow had stopped falling for the day. Great.

“Oh, dear Astrid!” The stall owner greeted her. “Good to see you today. Doing some shopping for the mister?”

Dasha smiled, still not quite used to the identity Zoya had given her. She had been undercover in Fjerda for almost a month now, disguised as a housewife to a leatherworker;a member of the Hringsa. She repeated her new name to herself the first week she arrived— Astrid Karlen, Astrid Karlen, Astrid Karlen— just so she wouldn't be an idiot and say her real name; Dasha Lenkovya, whenever she had to introduce herself. The story she had concocted was that she’s a girl from a rural Fjerda village looking to marry someone who can take care of her—and live somewhere closer to the city for better opportunities. It was simple, but so far, no one had mentioned anything about it.

It was her request to be sent somewhere far away for work—heartbreak makes you do weird things—but she didn't expect Zoya to assign her somewhere this far.

“Yes,” she replied, “although I’m not sure I will get anything else done today with a storm around the corner.”

She turned to look at the sky, and the lady at the stall followed her gaze. Her mouth twisted downwards, and Dasha grinned. Her fruit stall seems wonky and there was nothing to cover its wares and owner from the torrent of bad weather Fjerda has been experiencing lately,so the lady will have to close shop sooner than she planned.

“Djel must be angry.” She states, as her eyes scanned through her unsold produce. “You know what? Any other fruit you want, I’ll give it to you for half the price. At least I’m getting something instead of leaving them to rot .”

Dasha laughed and picked herself a variety of colourful fruits; apples, plums, peaches, and pears—some for dinner, some for pies, some for the jams she plans to make. She reached into her coin purse for the payment, when she overheard two ladies in her periphery sounding distressed.

“It’s just a precaution,Clara.”

She arranged the produce neatly in her netted bag—taking her time, focusing her attention on what the ladies were saying. If there’s anything Zoya had taught her, it’s that even gossip from the townspeople can offer valuable information. She just had to be diligent enough to sift through and separate idle talk from intel.

“They probably arrested him,because you know—he’s not actually the upstanding civilian you think he is.” A pause. “When they find out he’s done nothing wrong,they will release him.”

“That’s easy for you to say. He’s my brother!”

Hmm , so people have been missing . She had heard the same words from different people over the course of two weeks now.

She hurried down the gravel away from the market square, not wanting to be caught out there by any authorities, or worse, Druskelle. Sure, the Druskelle rarely patrols this far down from Djerholm, but with what had been happening lately—the miracles blooming here and there in what she was guessing was a part of Nina Zenik’s plan—it’s normal to be scared.

Her role in Fjerda is to be a dormant agent, to be used only to send messages or news to Ravka. She hasn’t stumbled into anything that requires active work yet, so to her this kind of feels like going on a vacation. Except she has to pretend that she’s happily living with the man of her dreams who she had only known for a month now. It’s already hard enough for her to form bonds, but Zoya had to pair her with someone as ill-tempered as Henrik Beck, who reminds her of the boys who pull on your pigtails just for the fun of it.

It also took her a while to get used to the ways of Fjerdan women, to be obedient and prude, or in her case seem like it, but other than that, things were going swimmingly. Well, sometimes she wishes the weather was less harsh on her skin—her nighttime routine consists of slathering herself with animal grease so she wouldn't shrivel up like a prune.

She stopped by a house a little further left to the market square to pay its tenant a visit. It took her three knocks before a boy a little younger than her answers, his face a welcoming olive against the harsh colour of snow.

“Dasha,” Adya Yul-Naran whispered as he ushered her into his home. His assigned home. Dasha had known Adya’s sister Zaya since she was a fresh-faced student, still struggling to control her abilities in Baghra’s hut. They have been close enough for her to share some of her secrets, and for Zaya to ask her to take care of her brother as a favour. Dasha treated Adya like her own brother already, so she was planning on doing that, anyway.

“It’s Astrid, Oswin Westegaard. Common Fjerdan name for common Fjerdans, remember?” She reminded Adya, sitting herself in his comfy armchair before he even had the chance to extend the invitation to sit. She placed her bag of fruits by the side of the chair, sinking into the chair like it was made for her.

“Aye, Astrid, I daresay you got that aright. Please, make yourself at home. Fjerdan hospitality,” Adya mimicked as he poured her a steaming cup of tea. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Dasha laughs, threatening to hurl one of his many throw pillows at him. “Just curious as to how my charge is doing. That, and I’m seeking refuge from that nightmare outside,” she replied as she took a sip from her cup.

Adya crossed over her to pull the curtains down, so that they could talk away from prying eyes.

“You know how those Fjerdan are,Dash. You can’t just visit the home of unmarried men when you have that six feet hunk of a husband to return to.”

Dasha’s mouth hung open. “Adya, are you lusting over my fake husband?” She asked, a grin spreading on her face.

“Please.” Adya rolled his eyes. “I have better taste. Though I have to admit, Zoya picked a fine one for you.”

Dasha giggled at his admission, though she can’t say she had the chance to look at Henrik thoroughly enough to agree.

They exchanged a couple of pieces of information regarding the mission before Adya slapped his knees and stood, claiming, “You best get going, Dash. That storm cloud looks like it’s going to chase us with a cane,” and Dasha agreed as soon as she saw how close it was. She packed her stuff and rushed out of his doors hurriedly lest she got caught in the storm.

She manages to return just as the sky starts sprinkling its first wave of rain. The house she lives in is situated in Kvívik, a quaint village further east from Djerholm, with most of its building still made up of timber—a stark contrast to the brick and concrete Djerholm is packed in. It was near enough to the capital for her weekly visit, but not that near that it became a common patrol route for Druskelle.

Bag hanging from her elbow, she unlatched the door to the small snow cabin she had been living in the past month. Well, to Fjerdans, it’s just a normal house. She pushed her wet hair away from her forehead as she entered. The light from outside shone a path from the front door to a small dining table and a modest kitchen Dasha had helped set up.

She hung her coat on the hook by the door, shook the dirt and snow off her boots before removing them. He’s not home yet. Her shoulders sag in relief, though she doesn’t know why she was so tense to begin with.

Dasha hummed a Ravkan lullaby as she emptied the fruits from her bag to a basin full of water so she could rinse them. She watched as they bobbed up and down, thinking about the summer festivals in Ravka, then realised that her teeth were chattering.

Changing to something dry, a modest dress that Fjerdan women often wear, she wrapped herself with the blanket she had brought with her from Ravka—blue fleece embroidered with gold stars—and approached the fireplace. Her fingers were numb as she struck her flint to conjure a small kindling of flame to start a fire. It’s probably wiser to use the match propped on the stool to the side of the fireplace, but her hands were too shaky to even attempt to strike a match.

She sits there for a while and watches as the flame grows, the dancing of fire taking her back to the nights spent with an old friend. Someone she probably should try to forget by now, the reason she was here to begin with. She tried to tear her eyes away from the fire,but the rhythmic movement was too hypnotising—her mind too quiet.

“I find fire mesmerising,don’t you?” Nikolai told her one night, and she agreed. He took a swig out of an amber bottle and continued, “Yellow and orange, like autumn leaves. The sway of them almost looks musical, dancing and playing like the silk ribbons they sell in Noyvi Zem.” She listened to the poetry pouring out of his lips, remembering how the subject of it illuminates his facial features. If she was drunk enough, she would have kissed him.

A loud creak startled her out of thought. She looked to the door, tense, hand on her flint, to find out it was Henrik just returning from work. Saints, how late is it? When the outside wind from the open door crept in, she scoots nearer to the fire to find out it had burned out to a pile of ash on the hearth.

Henrik dropped his tool belt on the dining table, scowling.

“Stupid girl, why didn’t you start the fire?”

Dasha cringed at the scornful tone that came out of his mouth—she does not like this man, and it doesn’t matter if Zoya says that he’s helpful towards the cause.

Standing up to grab some more firewood, she replied, curtly, “I did, but got distracted .”

“I should’ve asked the Stormwitch for more competent help.” Henrik dashed past her to the woodrack before she did.

Her hands trembled, movement so minute that most would just assume it was out of cold or nerves. Then he swiped the matches off the stool and took one out to restart the fire. What would Zoya do if she found out that Dasha had singed their valuable intel’s eyebrows off? She could do it right now—could enlarge the sparks from the matches to make it big enough to reach his face. She chose not to, but there’s a surprising comfort in knowing that she can.

“First of all,” Dasha crosses her arms, “I’m not here to be the help.”

Henrik grunts, more focused on feeding the fire so that it gets big enough to warm the entire house instead of just himself.

“I’m here for my country. And secondly—” she flicks her hands, making the flames roar, barely licking the cuffs of his coat. “—have you forgotten that you were talking to an Inferni?”

The corners of her mouth rose in a smirk, satisfied as she made him tumble back on the heel of his feet.

He stood up to make himself dinner, rubbing the charred cuff at his wrists, and Dasha heard him call her something under his breath.

“ Scorchwitch .”

***

Dinner was frugal, butter smeared toast and smoked deer meat—though Dasha wished she had jam to go with her bread. She added that to her mental list as she grabbed a couple of plums to snack on as she wrote Zoya a message regarding the stuff that was happening in the market square earlier. Reports of missing people, some saying that they were taken to the Ice Court for trial.

She doesn’t think that the missing people were taken there, because the Ice Court is—according to the Fjerdan—a place for people who were considered the bottom of the barrel. So, Zoya, the infamous Stormwitch, would definitely count as the average barrel dweller. Maybe she would be considered one, too. She’s pretty confident that she could wield her ability well enough to annihilate an entire town. If she tries.

Dasha shook her head, once again distracted by her weird musings. This is why Nikolai called her a ‘space cadet’, which is quite a fitting nickname for her in general. Though she knows it was mostly because her head was always in the clouds—and not because of her love for the stars and moon that adorned the night sky.

She finishes the letter complaining about Henrik,as usual—bless Zoya for putting up with her—and folded it neatly into an envelope. She’ll ask someone from the network to send it out tomorrow, but today she just wants to relax and not have to think of anything else.

With the last bite of her plums, Dasha stood up and walked to the washbasin to splash her face clean before going to sleep. She looks into the mirror and inhales sharply—a little alarmed at the person staring at her in the mirror. Oh, she whispered to herself. She forgot that Genya had tailored her face to fit the usual Fjerdan features. It’ll take a while for her to get used to the new face. Blue eyes, the bridge of her nose a little too high that it looks weird if she were to have it with her original face. And Saints , her hair. She preferred her auburn curls much more than the limp blonde she had to settle with. What would Nikolai say if he were to see her now?

She tucked herself into her bed, her body weary. She hasn’t used much of her power lately, and the dark circles under her eyes were getting too prominent. Today was the first time in almost two weeks that she had even had a reason to use them. And one of them was out of spite. She smiled—Genya would be proud of her. No more being careless, though. It’s far too dangerous to display even the tiniest hint of Grisha abilities, even this far away from Djerholm. Just like Ravka has the Hringsa everywhere in Fjerda as eyes, so does Jarl Brum. It’s hard to trust anyone these days.

***

“Dash!”

Dasha jolted up from her cot, startled. She took a moment to process her surroundings, using her flames to disperse the darkness she woke up to. Droplets of rain pitter pattered the roof of the tent they had been living in the past months, and Dasha shivered as a gust of wind blew into the slight opening of hers.

Who was calling her? She peeked out, dimming her fire so she wouldn’t leave soot on the walls of the tent. Her eyes widened. Several steps north of their camp, before the trees lining the Sikurzoi, a pyre was set up. Smoke haze her vision, but she can see that something was propped up on the pyre, and the burnt smell of it was so overpowering that her eyes teared up. She looked around—assessing her surroundings for danger—and found that the camp was eerily empty, almost like a mass exodus had happened in the span of one night. When she was sure that nothing would sneak up on her, she raised her hands to diminish the burning pyre, but stumbled when she heard someone calling her. From the pyre. “Dasha…” the person—or rather, creature—croaked, burnt hands outstretched towards her. The voice seemed oddly familiar, and fear tingled up her spine. As the smoke started clearing, she noticed something new that she had missed before. It had wings. And talons. Its eyes as black as the charred wood that was used to prop up its body. It’s—

Dasha’s eyes shot open, sweat beading down her forehead. That was the third nightmare she had had in two weeks. She was at the campsite in all of them, reliving the horrors of the slaughter her mind refuses to let go. This was the first time Nikolai was in it. As the demon. She was pretty sure that when Nikolai’s creature first visited her several moons ago; she was not that scared. So why was she dreaming of it?

Clank!

Dasha’s back straightened, startled. The damn neighbour’s cat is always running into things at night. She was about to return to sleep when she heard the soft pit-pat of footsteps on snowy grounds. Who’s up this late ? She rises and knelt on her bed to take a peek outside. Darkness would’ve cloaked the neighbourhood had it not been for the moonlight providing a wash of dim light against white snow. A figure silhouetted against the walls of the shed to the left of the house. She considered telling Henrik to come and see before another figure joined the first. She wanted to conjure her flames to see the faces of the figure, but decide against it. Should she tell Henrik about this? Maybe in the morning when she feels fresher to deal with his sour self.

She pressed her ear closer to the frosted glass of her window to try to catch a glimpse of what sort of dealings were going on in the dead of night. The winds were not helping her,at all, but she managed to catch one word that gives her an idea of who one of the figures is.

Scorchwitch.

It’s Henrik.

Here's the prologue.