requesting rules - tag lists - emojis - other blogs - main: @g0lden-sky
minors must NOT interact with anything that has a ♥︎ as a warning. if i see an ageless blog doing so, i'll block you. thank you so much for respecting this boundary :)
on this blog i'll post writings for multiple fandoms depending on what mood I'm in lol (currently Marauders (james potter) and anything ATJ related lmao) or what inspires me!
because this has happened, i want to say please do NOT repost my work on any other platforms without my permission! thank you!
- MISCELLANEOUS CHARACTERS
- including Robbie Jennings (ataps), Drover (australia), Leopold Mountbatten (kate and leopold), Conrad Fisher (tsitp), and Kaz Brekker (shadow and bone), Joe Macken (albert nobbs)
- JAMES POTTER
- TANGERINE
- POLY MARAUDERS
- COUNT VRONSKY
- SERGEI KRAVINOFF
- DAVE LIZEWSKI
- PIETRO MAXIMOFF
- TOM RYDER
- LOGAN HOWLETT
- FRIEDRICH HARDING
- CLARK KENT
- PETER PARKER
- STEVE HARRINGTON
(Bonus, 4k Celebration) - MOODBOARD MASTERLISTS
PS: the aesthetic pictures on the mood-boards DO NOT reflect Y/n's descriptions! no physical descriptions of Y/n are given at any point in any fics UNLESS given in the warnings! i always want to make sure Y/n can be of any race/ethnicity/size since we humans are all beautifully different and amazing!!
PSS: none of the pictures i use for my blog are mine! i find them all on Pinterest and if any of them are copyrighted, let me know!
Summary: You have never felt like a normal student. How could you when you lacked the one thing everyone else had? Surprisingly, one of Hogwarts biggest heart throbs is the first person to try and understand you.
Genre: Fluff + kinda hurt & comfort
Warnings: all characters are 18+, kinda animal cruelty but like nothing actually happens, whimsical!reader, reader has no magical abilities, harassment and bullying, might be inaccurate to canon but idc
JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST
One morning you're sitting in a vacant corner of the court-yard, hidden behind the vibrant tall shrubs, your back pressed against the cold stone of the castles' open walkway. You can hear students walk by under the arches, laughing and chatting in small groups.
Slughorn's recommended reading, a famous Potions manual from 1875, lays against your knees as you read. You turn the page, ignoring the stickiness of the paper attaching to your thumb. Your book is drenched thanks to some girls in your year that had seen you sitting all alone.
"Freak," the taller girl with short blond hair had sneered as she leaned against the railing behind you and poured her half-finished apple-juice all over your head. You didn't flinch, instead you simply turned another page as the liquid slid down your hair and cheeks. The girl laughed, dropping the box on your head, and her friends cackled as it bounced off and landed near your hip.
Still, you never looked up or said a word. Eventually, the girls became bored of tormenting you and you were alone again. You huff, wiping juice from your forehead with your sleeve and then cleaning the book with a grimace. This is a library book.
Your peace must only last another ten minutes because you suddenly hear the rustling of the shrubbery you're hiding behind. Then, a sweaty and disgruntled James Potter stumbles into your hiding spot. He crouches down, looking behind him as he presses his back against the shrubs. He's dressed in his Quidditch uniform, dirt and grass stains obvious on his clothes.
"These birds are gonna kill me," he mutters under his breath, "and my broom—bloody 'ell they took my—AH, shit fuck!" James falls back onto his ass, clutching his jersey as if he'd just had a heart attack and stares at you in shock. You blink back at him. You haven't moved or made a sound. "Why the fuck are you lurking in here??!!" He accuses. Wrinkles grace the skin between his eyes as he gawks at you.
"I'm not lurking. I'm reading," you say, shifting your gaze back onto your book. James is quiet for a moment. When you see a flicker of movement and you can't help but peek up at him again . You haven't properly had a chance to see him or speak to him in forever. You aren't even sure he knows who you are anymore. He's sitting across from you now, still catching his breath.
He sends another look over his shoulder and then looks at you again. "Right, yeah, sorry," he mutters, finally relaxing. He pauses and looks you over. "Why the hell are you so sweaty?" He asks, raising a brow.
You're now even more aware of the juice in your hair and plastered on your skin. "Apple juice," you state calmly.
"Euh, you poured apple-juice on yourself?"
"A girl poured her apple juice over me," you clarify as if it's a common occurrence.
James isn't calm about this news because his eyes widen and his voice rises. "Excuse me?" He waits for you to add more information but when you don't he continues in a quieter tone so as to not attract any attention, "Why?"
You shrug, moving your eyes back on your book. "A prank, I think? You're familiar with them, aren't you?" You don't mean it as a quip and James can hear that in the way you speak. He groans and runs a hand down his face. He's always found you infuriatingly confusing but this- this is something else entirely.
James remembers you. How could he not? You were the talk of the school: dead parents and no magic. He remembers how he heard about you joining his class in third year, and how at the smart age of thirteen, he was convinced the rumors were false and so, he had asked you to duel him. He didn't mean for it to be funny. He was being completely serious. But, he'd made you cry and that was that.
Not knowing what to do, James had played along with the joke and then, it seemed, the girl he had spoken with once was long forgotten to him and everyone else. After the first months or so, your novelty simply became a passing joke to most students—or that's what he had thought.
James looks flustered. "I mean, yes, I have done my fair share of pranks but this," he points to you and you don't even look up. "Y/n? That's not a prank. There is nothing prank-ish about this, it's just mean…" he says, sounding concerned and your name gets your attention so you look up at him, your expression twisted with confusion.
"You know my name?" you ask.
Knowing James's popularity, you didn't think he remembered you or the incident.
James turns his head, his breathing still a little bit harsh. "I do. Am I not supposed to?"
You stare at him and your curiosity wins over as you finally close your book. "Why were you running?"
James turns back to look at you, questions still burning his throat but he answers you anyways, "Gryffindor just won and some, um, some girls cheer me on a little too hard-" He sounds embarrassed.
"Ha," you laugh, smiling at that image your brain is creating of the girls tearing James apart like rabid squirrels. James blinks at you as he watches you laugh at him.
Merlin, you're really pretty.
"It's funny if you like hands grabbing at you from everywhere," James adds, shuddering dramatically. You hum, still smiling and still amused. James sees your gaze moving back to your book and he knows if he loses your attention now, he won't have the courage to ask for your attention again so he asks, "Does that girl bother you often?"
You look at him confused. "What girl?"
James mirrors your expression. "The girl who poured juice on you?"
"Oh," you say, as if suddenly remembering the current state you're in. You look down at yourself and then shrug a little. "Yeah, sometimes. It's nothing new."
Your words cause a sharp ache in his chest. Is he partly to blame for all this? It wasn't your fault you didn't have magic, and it certainly wasn't your fault your parents died– "Did you not have any muggle family members to take you in?" James asks without thinking. His question feels insensitive and so he panics. "I mean– just because–"
"Because I don't fit in here?" you finish for him.
James opens his mouth to protest but you continue, "All my family are wizards."
"Really?"
You nod. "It happens sometimes. A kid who's born without magic. I am not ashamed though, I like who I am," you tell him with a small smile.
James listens intently and then scratches his nape, his cheeks a little hot as he takes in your sentiment. He's impressed. Because of his popularity, he's always been aware of what everyone around him thinks of him. He's always wanted to please. He admires that you don't.
"That's really cool," he says earnestly, returning your smile.
You look at him for a bit longer before you open your book once again, your attention pulled away from James. He doesn't say anything as he stares at you for a little longer, unwillingly entranced. You're so different from what he remembered. He hears Sirius call his name from somewhere behind him and he hesitates for a moment.
You look done with his conversation so he decides to leave you alone for now. He stands and dusts off his uniform. "See ya around, Y/n," he says and you don't have time to even look up before he's calling after his friend and running out from behind the shrubs.
You glance sideways, replaying what he'd said in his head. See ya around. You ignore any embarrassing assumptions and return to your book.
* * *
If James didn't know you had no magic, he would assume you put a spell on him. Your laughter keeps playing on repeat in his head and wherever he looks, he sees your face. It's as if you've enchanted him.
One evening, after dinner, James decides he needs a break from his human brain. He stops by the black lake, the dusk sky illuminating the lake as he glances around to make sure he's alone. He strips his clothes and transforms, shaking his head as he adjusts to the weight of the antlers. When he's in this form, he can usually forget about all his human worries and just be.
He'd wanted to have one moment where you weren't invading his thoughts, so why can he smell you now?
He snaps his head around when he hears the crack of twigs under feet. James freezes as he makes eye contact with you. You're standing a bit away from him, shoes in one hand, skirt bunched up in the other as you walk around the shallow lake. James narrows his beady eyes and sees that you have a tiny twig-like creature sitting on your shoulder. The creature is staring at him with confusion as it makes a little sound.
He didn't know you got along with magical creatures. He didn't even think that was possible without your own magic.
"Hello," you say, still looking at the animal in front of you. James's ears perk up and he realizes you'll see his clothes if you look this way so he bounces closer to where you are, and makes you look in the opposite direction.
His plan works because you turn around, smiling. "You're so handsome," you say, your gaze raking over his antlers. If James was in his human form when he heard that, he'd be a complete mess. The creature makes another noise and you step forwards, the water sloshing against your calves as you carefully walk towards where James is.
James knows he should run away, but he's not strong enough. Instead, he allows you to approach him and he nuzzles his snout into your palm. "Good boy," you say, grinning as you scratch behind his ear.
James feels only a little bad for tricking you because your hands feel so smooth against his fur. It seems like all his emotions have been enhanced as he smells you near him. He nuzzles closer, antlers gently hitting you as you laugh. Your hand comes up too caress his nose and you say, "You know, you remind me of someone." You pause. "You both give off the same energy," you add with a hum.
James's ears perk up, twitching slightly.
"He's a boy I met a while back," you begin, gently lifting the little creature onto your hand and placing it in front of James's nose. "I saw him again a few week ago and didn't think he remembered who I was, but he did."
James's heart is thumping and he ignores the creature as it prods at his fur. Do you mean him?
"He made me feel like he understood me… or like he wants to understand me…" You say, almost speaking to yourself now as you stare past James and into the woods. Your attention snaps back in embarrassment and you laugh softly. The water wrinkles around your ankles. You caress James's ears. "It's stupid right? I mean, he's really popular and I'm…Ow!"
James had poked you with his antlers and grunts. Your eyes widen in confusion. "What is it?" You ask, confused. James grunts again, splashing some water around. You open your mouth to speak again but you hear a high-pitched laugh and a spell flies right near your nose. Frightened, you stumble back and fall into the water.
Four first years laugh hysterically, clutching their stomachs, as James runs away. "Hey!" You shout at them angrily. "You could have hurt him!" You gesture to where James had run off to.
"Who cares. It's just a deer," a small brunette girl giggles before she runs away with her friends, practicing more spells around the forest.
"Stag," you mutter, standing up on shaky legs as you find your balance. Your skirt had fallen back into the water the you fell and weight is weighing you down. You groan, lifting up your soaked shoes and grimace. "You okay?" You ask your bowtruckle, who nods as it clings to your shirt.
"I should be asking you that," James voice startles you and you stumble a little. In a blur, you feel his hand wrap around your arm as he pulls you upright. "Woah, hey." You clasp your hand around James's arm, staring at him with wide eyes.
"James? W-where did you come from?" You ask, hoping he wasn't here for the conversation you'd had with the stag. If he knew you thought that way about him, you'd just die.
James chuckles, smiling at you. "I was having a stroll when I hear a bunch of kids laughing and running around. I came to check on them and saw you in the water. What happened?"
"They just startled me," you say, standing on your own as you waddle your way back to shore where you drop your shoes and ring out your skirt. "Stupid kids."
"Woah, language," James laughs from beside you. "Who's your friend?" He points to the bowtruckle on your shoulder.
"A bowtruckle," you say, still ringing out the lake water from you clothes, "I didn't name it because it might already have a name and it can't tell me." You don't hear James's answer so you look up. You're afraid you've said something weird but he's smiling at you with a look that makes your stomach lurch.
"Did I say something wrong?" You ask, embarrassed.
James shake his head, rubbing nervously at his nape. "Nothing. I just think that's really sweet of you."
The compliment causes your brain to short circuit and you glance around, desperate to change the subject. "Oh," You exclaim softly, remembering, "Did you see a stag run by you? The kids scared him as well and I want to make sure he's okay."
James's eyebrows flicker for a moment until he shakes his head. "Nope. Just me." James smiles easily.
You nod, looking past him and into the darkening woods. "I hope he's alright. He was adorable."
James cough into his hand, his cheeks darkening. "I'm sure he is okay," James looks up and answers quickly. You tilt you head, confused by how flustered he looks. However, you don't have time to answer because the bowtruckle suddenly chitters from your shoulder as it stares at James with narrowed little eyes.
James stares back and frowns. He wonders if it knows.
"What's wrong with your twig-thingy?"
"Bowtruckle," you correct him, hiding a small smile.
The small creature makes an indignant clicking noise and hides in your hair. You laugh quietly and bring your hand up to comfort it. James's expression softens immediately and this time you see it. He doesn't look at you like he normally does. You've stared at him enough to know what's normal and this, this isn't his normal. Your hands still on your wet skirt, letting it drop against your thighs.
James feels your silence and he clears his throat. "You should probably head back before you freeze to death."
"Yeah," you whisper, staring at him. It doesn't make sense. James Potter does not like you like you like him. It's absurd to even imagine something like that.
However, neither of you move. The wind drifts through the trees and somewhere in the distance behind you, the giant squid disturbs the surface of the lake with a loud splash. James doesn't quite know what to say so he says the first thing that comes to his mind, "You know, you’re different than I thought you'd be."
You blink and your face falls. You're expecting the worst.
When James sees your expression, he panics. "No! Merlin, it's nothing bad I promise! I just meant, like, before we actually talked."
"I know you thought I was strange." You smile faintly but James can tell the word clearly bothers you. You look back toward the dark water and sigh. "I already know what everyone thinks of me."
James frowns immediately and walks closer. He takes your hand without hesitation and you look up at him, surprised. "They don't know you. They don't know anything about you. I like you just the way you are."
The confession causes your heart to leap in your chest. You want to believe him. You want to so badly but you can’t. This all feels so surreal. "James. Popular boys like you don't like girls like me."
"Girls like you?"
"Weird. Abnormal. Strange."
James scoffs loudly and places a finger against your lips, shutting you up. "If that's the word you want to use," James rolls his eyes sarcastically. "I think you're smart, kind, and probably the most interesting girl I have ever met. I think you're brilliant and although I want to know you better, I like what I already do know." He clear his throat, feeling a bit embarrassed but he adds, "Is that so bad?"
The compliment hits you so hard you stop breathing for a second. James notices immediately and he panics. He drops your hand as he realizes he must have really come on way too strong, too quickly. "Sorry," he mutters. "That was probably too much."
"No," you say quietly.
James's mind is racing and on instinct, that word makes him back up. "No. Don't leave. I like you too." The words are sudden and James almost looses his breath. He stares at you with surprise and it takes a another moment before the words you said finally sink in.
"You do?"
You nod slowly.
"Yeah?" James asks again, sounding like he still can't quite believe what you told him. His hands find yours as he moves closer to you.
A nervous smile pulls at your lips and you say, "I do."
James stares. His hazel eyes pierce through yours and time seems to fall still. Then a grin breaks across his face, a faint hint of dimples gracing his cheeks as the excitement in his expression becomes obvious.
"Absolutely brilliant," he breathes, his hand cupping your cheek. He sees how nervous the gesture makes you so he drops your hand. His smile lingers as he asks.
"Want to eat breakfast with me tomorrow?"
Your eyebrows furrow. "In The Great Hall?"
James nods.
"In front of everyone?" You voice cracks but James just shrugs. He tilts his head like a puppy, not showing any sign of doubt or embarrassment. His eyes roam your face and it clicks.
"I'm not ashamed of being seen with you, love," he says, now a bit embarrassment by his admission. "I'd like to eat a normal breakfast with the girl I like. Is that's alright with you?"
Your heart calms and a smile curls your lips. It sounds like James Potter wants to be yours. And the worst part is, you'd like it.
Do you have Sergei requests that you’re writing in your inbox?😍
Hi! I'm not writing anything new for Sergei at the moment but there are def some requests in there that I am open to exploring at some point in the future 😋😉
Write whatever you want. Write that incredibly niche thing that only two other people on earth will get. Write the super indulgent cliche thing that makes you kick your feet giddily. Write the angry rage story that whumps them all and makes people cry.
Whatever it is that YOU want to write. Write it. Because only YOU can.
Summary: You don't understand why Sergei is ignoring you. This wasn't his choice, nor was it yours, but he had chosen you so why...
Genre: SMUT (mdni)
Warnings: arranged marriage AU, probably inaccurate canon, strong themes, language, physical violence, misogyn(Sergei's father), reader feels trapped/kidnapped in the beginning, plot with porn, unprotected sex, virgin!reader, p in v, fingering, rough/loving sex, miscommunication, use of Y/n
SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST
The Kravinoff's were Russian crime royalty.
Anyone in the business knew their name and the infamy that accompanied it. Which meant that the announcement that Nikolai Kravinoff was arranging for his oldest to marry caused an outrageous uproar in wealthy, crime, families. Anyone who wanted to be someone was offering up their daughters on a silver platter.
You didn't think for one moment that your father would actually offer you up. While your family wasn't high up in the ranks and marrying one of the Kravinoff would be a smart business move, you were sure your father's love for you was stronger than his hunger for power.
You were very wrong.
The Kravinoff's estate in Volgograd is bigger than your own. You feel like it could swallow you whole the moment you walk into the foyer. An array of renaissance paintings and animal busts line the walls and the dim yellow lights of the room causes a shiver to run up your spine. You grip your purse, looking around. It's unusually quiet.
"Y/n Y/l/n?" A man calls your name as he struts over. He is dressed in a crisp suit and he snaps his fingers and a maid's rush in and take your coat and purse. You let her. The man doesn't tell you his name as he ushers you into a larger room. It looks like someone's bureau. You pause, realizing you're not alone in this room. A line of four woman stand in front of the desk and you suddenly feel violently ill.
"Miss Y/l/n, Sir," The man introduces you and bows his head slightly as if the man behind the desk truly is royalty. You walk closer, the light from the dimming sun shinning onto the older man's face as he sits in the leather chair, hands folded on the expensive mahogany wood.
You don't know what Sergei Kravinoff is supposed to look like, but this man looks around sixty. He stands and you feel stuck in place as he practically glares at you. "You're late," he snarls, his Russian accent thick. He gestures to the line of women with a huff, "Go."
Your legs move before your mind catches up and you go to stand beside a pretty brunette. You straighten up, keeping your hands in front of you. The women doesn't even look your way and whatever this is feels more and more like a competition.
"You all think you're worthy of my son, hm," the man clears his throat and walks out from behind his desk like a predator stalking its pray. The women don't answer but none of them look afraid.
You definitely feel afraid.
He stops in front of the first women, a gorgeous blond. All these women are stunning. Your hands tremble so you press them against your jeans. "Too skinny," Who you now assume is Nikolai Kravinoff, says dismissively. He moves on to the next women, snorting. He swipes his thumb across her cheek, smudging her foundation. "This shit won't make you any prettier, darlin'."
You feel anger course through you and you turn your head, forcing your head forward. Who does he think he is judging her? Has he looked in the mirror recently? He isn't exactly handsome. Your thoughts are interrupt by someone's hand gripping your hips. Your eyes snap up and lock with Nikolai's as he grins and says, "Sturdy hips. Good for having strong children."
You blink, a jolt of warmth and embarrassment rushing through you. Without thinking, you shove Nikolai away from you. He's surprised by your outburst so he stumbles. It doesn't take long for you to realize the gravity of your error as Nikolai's calloused palm is raised in anger.
You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the strike but it never comes.
You hear the other women gasp and murmurs fill the room. You open your eyes slowly and find another man, slightly taller than Nikolai, is holding his wrist so he can't slap you. The man's sharp blue eyes are glaring and when he tightens his grip, his arm muscles flex. Your entranced by his beauty and you let out a small squeak, a delayed response to the fear of the slap.
The man eyes snap towards you and you think you see a flicker of gold in his irises before it disappears. Time feels like it's frozen as you stare at the man. It isn't until Nikolai wrenches his arm away that you snap out of the haze and step back instinctively.
You expect an argument to break out but nothing comes. Instead, Nikolai simply smiles grimly. "Sergei," he says, a hint of distain in his voice. He turns towards the women, glaring at you as he motions towards the women. "You're just in time to meet your potential bride," he chuckles darkly. Nikolai walks by you without a word and your shoulders relax as you let out a breath.
You lower your head, hands clenching against your jeans again. You sneak a glance at Sergei. He is every bit as handsome as the rumors you'd heard. His hair falls to his neck in messy curls and his jaw is clenched in concentration as he watches his father move. He's beautiful. You know you have no chance of becoming his wife after what you just did, but you can't help staring anyways.
"I want her," Sergei says calmly, interrupting his father as Nikolai was introducing one of the brunettes.
You don't register that he's looking at you until Nikolai barks a laugh. You freeze in place. "Her? Sergei, my boy, nonsense. Isn't she a bit mousy?" The don't even care about the insult as it dawns on you that Sergei had just chosen you.
Sergei walks up to you slowly, taking in your appearance with consideration. You lock eyes with him and your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. There is no way he'd just chosen you. There must be a mistake.
"You forced me to chose a bride," Sergei starts gruffly, looking back at his father, "and I have chosen." Without another word, he turns on his heels and walks out the room. The women all look shocked and confused by the speed at which you'd been chosen and you can feel their hatred as they stare.
Nikolai is silent for a moment until he laughs again. He looks at you, taking in your appearance with a sneer. He chuckles more menacingly now but waves his hand dismissively. "Alright. Ivan, show the girl to her room," he says and you feel the first man you'd met grab your arm.
You startle, turning around as you're guided out of the room. You can't believe this is actually happening. What about your things? Your family? Your friends? Your head is spinning and the last thing you hear is the sound of a door slamming and the feel of expensive duvet as you crumble onto your new bed.
* * *
Your father was ecstatic to hear you'd been chosen by the Kravinoff's. However, you and your mother wept at the thought of you leaving home. It was all happening so quickly. You'd been forbidden from wandering the estate and you spent most of your days in your new room, waiting for your future husband to show the slightest interest in you.
He never did.
Your father had sent over some of your things, including your grandmother's wedding dress. The dress made everything feel more real, and still when the day finally came, the tightness of the dress was suffocating.
The wedding is small and private, and still there are no expenses missed. The room looks lavish and grand, but even the glitters and the glam can't distract you from the thorns you feel peeking out from the bouquet of roses you’re holding. As you walk down the aisle, this is the first time you're seeing Sergei since that day and he doesn't look your way until your standing in front of him.
Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you look at the man you're marrying. He's just as beautiful as the day you saw him, but behind the beauty he seems cold and distant. It scares you.
There is no exchange of vows, just the mutual 'I do' and the feel of Sergei's hand on the small of your back as he pulls you in for a kiss.
He pauses mid-way, sensing how you’re trembling and he looks into your eyes as he silently asks for something. Your eyes flicker over his features, confused, and you hold your breath in anticipation. His hand moves upwards to cup your cheek and he turns your head to the side, treating you more gently than you'd expected. You realize as he kisses your cheek right near your mouth that he's blocking the guests from seeing the insincerity of the kiss.
When he pulls away and smiles the fakest smile you've ever seen, your heart shatters.
He didn't even want to kiss you.
The crowd applauses and you feel like throwing up.
During the reception, your father is beaming alongside Nikolai Kravinoff as they seem to be discussing future business now that your families have merged. You’re sitting alone at your table since Sergei has gone off somewhere and you feel numb. Tears fill your eyes as you realize in horror there is no escape from him. You're trapped in this loveless marriage until the day you die.
You dress suddenly feels like it's tightening around you and you feel faint. You stand on shaky legs, grasping for the side of the table as the fancy lace feels like it's binding into your ribs, drawing all the blood you have to offer. No one seems to notice your distress as you stumble towards the hall outside the room. You gasp for breath, hands clutching at the walls.
He hadn't even kiss you.
Tears spill down your face as the pain becomes excruciating. You feel all the strength in your body leave you as the world around you turns dark.
* * *
When you wake, the room you're in is dark as the moonlight shines in through the window. You're laying in a bed, soft furs and blankets are sprawled across the covers. You blink, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly as you regain your bearings. The wedding, you remember with a jolt as you sit up. You feel the straps of your dress slap gently against your shoulders and you reach behind, feeling the skin of your back. Someone had unbuttoned all the little buttons on your dress.
"Careful," you hear a familiar gruff voice and you jump in your skin, letting out a small squeak.
You see the shadow of a man sitting on the armchair in the middle of the room, his eyes barely visible in the darkness but you swear you see another flicker of gold before he pulls the string of the lamp beside him. You wince at the sudden light but adjust quickly as you stare at your husband. He stays silent as he simply watches you.
"Where am I?" You ask, your voice hoarse. You touch your cheeks, hoping the tears you'd shed hadn't ruined your mascara and foundation.
"Our suite," Sergei answers, his tone even.
"What happened?" You ask another question, glancing at the window. It's clearly late.
"You passed out. You couldn't breathe in your dress." Once again his answer is unemotional. You clench your hands tightly in the furs that are spread out on his bed, swallowing the embarrassment and tears that threatened to fall again as the reality of your situation settles in.
You're his wife now. He practically owns you and your family now.
Sergei stands up, his suit creasing as he flexes his arms. You freeze, keeping your gaze averted from his as you feel him stalk closer to where you sit. His frame blocks the moonlight from the window and hesitantly, you lift your head to catch your gaze.
His jaw ticks as he narrows his eyes. You quickly wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see your tears. You know he's seen it anyway because he grips your jaw and gently lifts your head to meet his eyes. Your stomach twists and more tears pool in your eyes. You want to ask him so many questions: why he'd chosen you? Why he needed a wife when his empire was large enough? And why he didn't kiss you during the ceremony.
"Why didn't I kiss you?" Sergei repeats, his voice low and husky, and your blood runs cold. Had you asked him that aloud? Your lip trembles but you can't tear your eyes from him.
You nod slowly, curiosity winning over the preservation of your dignity.
"Did you want me to kiss you?" He asks as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
You blink at him, unsure how to answer. You nod again.
Sergei doesn't respond, but then he removes his hand from your jaw. "I didn't know." Is all he answers, still gazing at you with a look hardened by years of wounds and suffering. You flinch a little when you leans down, his nose almost touch yours as his hand finds it's way behind your back, brushing your bare skin as it travels towards your head, calloused palm spreading across your nape. When he speaks again, his warm breath fawns your face. "Do you still want me to kiss you?"
You blink once more, wet tears still brimming on your eyelids. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to his words. You do want him to kiss you. How could you not what the kiss when it symbolizes that perhaps this marriage isn't hopeless after all?
"Yes," you whisper without hesitation, shutting your eyes.
Sergei's lips find yours and it's softer than you'd imagined it be. He doesn't tighten his hold or deepen the kiss. Instead, he tilts his head and captures your upper lip in his, moving gently as if you're something easily broken. You lift your hands, clutching at his chemise as you straighten your back to kiss him better.
When he finally pulls away, his hand lingers on your nape. You open your eyes as he straightens himself and clears his throat. You feel the absence of his touch as he backs away. "Rest," he says and it sounds like a plea rather than a demand. "I'll deal with our families."
Sergei's hand twitches at his side as if he wants to touch you again but he restrains. You watch him leave. He'd turns off the lamp on his way out so you're plunged back into darkness. But as you lay back against the pillows, you realize that the darkness that made you feel so lonely all these weeks before doesn't seem so daunting anymore.
* * *
Being Sergei’s bride is less difficult than you'd imagined. Thankfully you've left Nikolai Kravinoff's Russian estate and the slimy gazes he'd send your way. Mostly, your new role is to be a pretty accessory. You aren't allowed to know about his 'jobs' or involve yourself, so most of your days are spent alone in his apartment in London.
Sergei makes sure you're well cared for. He sends money and gifts from wherever he is that week. Still, he rarely calls and he never texts so that excruciating feeling of loneliness is ever present.
It's almost midnight now and the warm water from your shower has shriveled your fingers. Still, you stand under the water, staring at the pristine tiles as soap threads through your toes. Sergei hasn't come home in three weeks. He hasn't even called. You sigh deeply and turn to rinse out the suds before turning off the water. Grabbing your towel, you walk out of the bathroom. Steam fills the room and you push hair out from your eyes.
You don't bother changing. No one is home anyway. You slide the bathroom door open and step out in the hall. You don't mind how your still dripping water droplets. The apartment is eerily silent. Or you think it isn't you approach the kitchen. The sound of glasses clinking and hushed male voices can be heard and you pause. You tighten your grip on your towel and hug the wall as you freeze near the door, holding your breath.
You recognize Sergei's voice immediately. He must have come home when you were in the shower. "Dima. Don't," your husband cautions. He sounds tired. You hear a younger voice laugh as Sergei's little brother dismisses his warning.
"Sergei, Papa is worried," Dima says, still sounding lighthearted. You hold your breath.
"He doesn't need to meddle in my affairs."
"He knows you haven't laid with her," Dima continues and your heart pounds. They're talking about you and the lack of intimacy in your marriage. You and Sergei haven't even slept in the same bed with how much he's been away, much less done anything more than that one kiss.
"And?" Sergei asks, sounding annoyed now.
"And he just wants her to fulfill her role."
"Dima," Sergei's voice becomes louder and you cover your mouth the stay quiet.
"That is what he said, Sergei. That is why you married, remember? I am just telling you what he said."
"Well don't. She is not my breeding cow, черт возьми."
Your heart is beating rapidly at his words and the towel slips from your hand in shock. Flustered, you scramble to pick it up and cover yourself. The men in the kitchen go silent and you realize you must have made too much noise. Shit, you curse in your head and hurry back to your bedroom. You shut the door behind you, abandoning any secrecy. You reach for your pajamas, which embarrassingly consists of one of Sergei's shirts, and throw it on.
The door behind you opens just as the towel pools at your feet and you squeak, jumping back in surprise. You spin around, hands still covering your chest as if you're still naked. Your husband stands in the doorway, a look of confusion on his face. He looks tired. His looks sunken in and his beard is a bit longer than when you last saw him. Still, he looks gorgeous.
"You aren't asleep," he states.
You shake your head, backing closer to the large windows. Your eyes are wide and nervous.
"It is late."
You nod. Sergei gently closes the door behind him. "I sent Dima away. I apologize for inviting someone over without your permission."
You nod again, clearing your throat. "It's alright."
"Did you hear our conversation?" Sergei asks as if he already knows the answer and walks further into the room. He sends a glance your way, registering that you're wearing one of his shirts but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he sighs and rubs his temples as if he's in pain. "You don't need to be afraid. I won't touch you. Sit," he gestures towards the bed. You obey, sinking into the mattress and clasping your hands together.
I won't touch you. His words sting more than they should.
"Why?" You find yourself asking.
Sergei pauses. "Why what?"
Why did you choose me? Why are you always away? Why won't you touch me?
"Um, why me? That day—" you begin, sounding unsure. Sergei raises his eyebrow. He walks to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down as well. The city lights shine in from the windows, illuminating the room.
"You want to know now?" He asks.
"Yes," you say immediately. "Please."
Silent fills the room for a bit until Sergei speaks. "You were different. You looked just as scared as you looked combative. You didn't just stand there, shinny and fake, like all the others." You listen with bated breath. "I wasn't planning on accepting any marriage when I walked into that room—"
That takes you by surprise. So, he choose you despite his reservations? You don't quite know what to think.
"Perhaps I made a mistake."
You breathe hitches and you turn to face him. Your body is half on the bed and you can't help the hurt in your voice as you ask, "Because you don't want me? Because you don't want to touch me? Because I'm not desirable? Is that the mistake?"
Sergei turns around slowly, facing you as well now. He looks taken aback by your words. "Excuse me?" he asks in a breathless whisper.
"Is that the mistake?" You desperately want an explanation.
"You think you aren't desirable?"
You turn fully, kneeling on the mattress now so you're closer to him. "You told your brother you don't want to be intimate with your wife! How am I supposed to live like that?!"
Sergei's eyes widen for a fraction of a second and then his frown deepens. In a swift motion, he grabs your cheek and kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck instantly, forcing yourself even closer to him as you kiss him back.
Every inch of your lonely soul yearns for him.
Sergei climbs over you, his hand now pressed down against the mattress by your head as he kisses you with hunger. It's nothing like the gentle kiss he gave you the day you married him. This time, he feels almost feral. He pulls away, glancing down at you sprawled over bed you're supposed to share, your hands gripping his shirt. "You are so beautiful," he says earnestly. "How am I supposed to ruin you?"
You lean up, trying to kiss him again. "I'm not a—"
"You are," Sergei interrupts and cups your cheek, gently stroking his thumb across your soft skin. "It was in the contract my father made."
Your cheeks heat up. He knew you weren't experienced. It was a condition for the marriage? "Why?" You ask breathlessly.
Sergei begins to gently kiss your neck as he continues to sooth you. "He is old-fashioned," he explains as his kisses you again. He lifts his head and looks into your eyes. "It doesn't matter to me. I'd want you any way," he pauses and adds, "I'll be gentle. I promise."
I'd want you any way. His words send a shock to your core and you tense up involuntarily. Your head is spinning. He wants you? He's never even hinted at wanting you until now. Still, you crave his touch and warmth.
When he kisses you again, this time you wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him as an anchor. You feel his knee slide between your thighs, lifting the hem of his shirt as if pools around your stomach. Your eyes widen when you remember you're not wearing any underwear and you drop your arms, tugging at the shirt to cover yourself.
Sergei pulls away from the kiss once again, a little confused into he looks at your face and the downwards. His lips curl into a smirk. "It's okay," he says reassuringly. He strokes your damp hair, kissing your forehead. "Do you want this?"
You can only nod as you're still too embarrassed to speak. Your husband just kisses you again. This time, he easily leans his weight on one arm as he reaches down with the other to rest his hand on top of your pussy. Even with the shirt still covering you, you can feel the warmth of his hand and your breathing becomes deeper.
Sergei just stays like this for a moment, kissing you.
"M-more?" You whisper against his lips, wiggling your hips a little.
You feel him grin against your lips as his hand dips lower, finding your naked pussy. His fingers feels really big so you jump a little in surprise. When you do, Sergei moves his arm so that his hand is under your head, gently caressing your hair. "Shh, it's okay. You're so wet for me already, little dove."
He begins to touch you fully and your mind goes blank. This isn't the same feeling as your hands. This is something new. His thumb swirls around your clit, gently stimulating you. You clutch your hand in his shirt again, tugging at the material.
"Patience," Sergei whispers hoarsely, one finger now pressing against your entrance. You inhale, squirming again. He goes slow, looking into your eyes for any sign of pain. Anytime he sees that flicker in your eyes, he stops and gives you time to adjust. After a while, one finger becomes two, and two becomes three, and now you're breathlessly whining under him.
"Gotta open you up," he says, gently pumping his fingers in and out as he watches you fall apart.
You arch your back, gripping the sheets now. "I-I think I’m g-gonna—"
"Go ahead. Cum for me."
You squeeze your eyes shut and come, clenching around his fingers as you let out a soft moan. Your mind is hazy for a moment and you don't register his hand pulling away until you hear the sound of a belt buckle unbuckling. You open your eyes, taking him in: Sergei has removed his shirt and he's in the process of removing his trousers. Your gaze travels along his torso.
Holy shit.
You reach for him, wanting to count the abs on his stomach. You hear him chuckle and it snaps you back into reality as he takes your hand and hovers over you once again. Sergei smiles and slides his shirt off you, mussing your hair and leaving you completely bare. You're very aware that you're now both naked and you feel extremely vulnerable.
Sergei sees your expression so he takes the time to kiss you softly, all over your face, your neck, and your chest, so that he can reassure you that he's not leaving you. His sharp teeth glide over your skin, leaving markings. You lost in the intimacy of his touch that you barely register him parting your thighs. His hand slides up and down, caressing you as you throw your head back into the pillow.
"So beautiful," Sergei murmurs, pressing himself closer to you. Your eyes open when you feel something big pressing against your pussy. You flinch and grasp at his shoulders. "It's okay. You want this hm, little dove?"
You nod, staring into his eyes. Sergei stills, waiting for more. "Yes," you admit in a small voice.
"Good girl," he whispers as he kisses the side of your face, nuzzling into you so that his warmth envelops you. You can feel the pressure in between your bodies and you gasp, hands clenching harder against Sergei's bare shoulders. You feel his dick slip inside as he goes ever so slowly. He keeps kissing your face and you squeeze your eyes shut as pain shoots through you.
"It hurts," you say, holding him closer.
Sergei pauses and gives you time to adjust. He whispers Russian words in your ear. Words you don't understand, but by his voice you can tell they're loving. After a moment, he rocks forwards gently and you realize the pain has lessened. You bury your face in your husband's chest, letting yourself feel.
A thrust. Then another. And another after that until finally that pained look on your face morphs into pleasure. "S-Sergei," you say, feeling him groan above you. He shifts and places on hand on the headboard, anchoring himself.
"Yes?" His voice sounds strains as he mutters a curse under his breath. The bed creeks under his thrusts.
"It feels good," you say breathlessly, stilling holding on to him.
"Hm? It feels good? Is that right?" You can hear the smile in his voice this time and you're so embarrassed. You nod, trying to keep the sounds you want to make quiet. You feel so full and your pussy keeps tingling.
"I want to hear you," Sergei groans from above and you hear the wood from the headboard start to crack. You lift your head, overwhelmed now as a moan slips past your lips. Sergei is staring at you, his eyes dark and golden as he watches you from above. Strand of curly hair fall over his forehead, dangling with each thrust.
You can't look away from his eyes as your moans become louder.
Sergei's other hand tightens around your thigh, gently lifting it so that he can push himself even deeper inside you. Your eyes roll back as he reaches a part inside you that you didn't even know existed. "I- I'm—" You can't even string out the words as your stomach fills with butterflies.
"Hm? You feel close again?" Sergei teases.
You nod, all sensations feel unreal and you're overwhelmed by what you're experiencing. You lose track of time as he continues to fuck into you until you're no longer able to string any sentences along. When you come, your legs shake and you groan at the feeling of him coming inside you. You can't even open your eyes when you feel Sergei's body weight sink down against yours. He's breathing heavily, his lips kissing your neck as he strokes his hand in your hair.
"You did good for me," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You chase his touch, wrapping your arms around him as if you're afraid he'll leave you. Sergei groans against your skin as he hugs you back, shifting you so you're laying on his chest. You nuzzle into him, still feeling raw and exposed even as you both pull the covers over you.
"Does it hurt?"
You shake your head. Your legs are still shaking but other than that, the pain has subsided.
"Good girl," he whispers and pets your hair with his large hand.
"Don't leave?" The question comes after a moment of silence and Sergei doesn't answer immediately. Your stomach sinks but you press yourself closer to him as the reality sinks in. He can't stay forever. His lifestyle, now your lifestyle, doesn't allow him that freedom.
"I can't," Sergei says, his voice stern. You look up at him and watch him stare blankly into the darkness of the room. The light from the windows only illuminate his profile. "But I'll stay for now," he finishes after another moment of pause. He turns to look at you, his blue eyes sharp. "And I promise I won't leave for long. I'll come back to you."
Your husband says it with such conviction that you know he truly means it. You let out a breath, wrapping your arm around his chest. "I'll miss you," you whisper, unsure if he'll say it back.
"Hm. So will I," Sergei assures you and you smile, your eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion. "How could I not miss you, Моя любовь"
You don't feel like kiss he presses against your hair as you've already fallen asleep.
I was having a really bad day and your Sergei story definitely cheered me up. For what it’s worth, I will *always* get excited when you write for him 🤭💜
I'm so glad it cheered you up 🫶 that means so much to me!! 💗💗💗
Summary: You don't understand why Sergei is ignoring you. This wasn't his choice, nor was it yours, but he had chosen you so why...
Genre: SMUT (mdni)
Warnings: arranged marriage AU, probably inaccurate canon, strong themes, language, physical violence, misogyn(Sergei's father), reader feels trapped/kidnapped in the beginning, plot with porn, unprotected sex, virgin!reader, p in v, fingering, rough/loving sex, miscommunication, use of Y/n
SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST
The Kravinoff's were Russian crime royalty.
Anyone in the business knew their name and the infamy that accompanied it. Which meant that the announcement that Nikolai Kravinoff was arranging for his oldest to marry caused an outrageous uproar in wealthy, crime, families. Anyone who wanted to be someone was offering up their daughters on a silver platter.
You didn't think for one moment that your father would actually offer you up. While your family wasn't high up in the ranks and marrying one of the Kravinoff would be a smart business move, you were sure your father's love for you was stronger than his hunger for power.
You were very wrong.
The Kravinoff's estate in Volgograd is bigger than your own. You feel like it could swallow you whole the moment you walk into the foyer. An array of renaissance paintings and animal busts line the walls and the dim yellow lights of the room causes a shiver to run up your spine. You grip your purse, looking around. It's unusually quiet.
"Y/n Y/l/n?" A man calls your name as he struts over. He is dressed in a crisp suit and he snaps his fingers and a maid's rush in and take your coat and purse. You let her. The man doesn't tell you his name as he ushers you into a larger room. It looks like someone's bureau. You pause, realizing you're not alone in this room. A line of four woman stand in front of the desk and you suddenly feel violently ill.
"Miss Y/l/n, Sir," The man introduces you and bows his head slightly as if the man behind the desk truly is royalty. You walk closer, the light from the dimming sun shinning onto the older man's face as he sits in the leather chair, hands folded on the expensive mahogany wood.
You don't know what Sergei Kravinoff is supposed to look like, but this man looks around sixty. He stands and you feel stuck in place as he practically glares at you. "You're late," he snarls, his Russian accent thick. He gestures to the line of women with a huff, "Go."
Your legs move before your mind catches up and you go to stand beside a pretty brunette. You straighten up, keeping your hands in front of you. The women doesn't even look your way and whatever this is feels more and more like a competition.
"You all think you're worthy of my son, hm," the man clears his throat and walks out from behind his desk like a predator stalking its pray. The women don't answer but none of them look afraid.
You definitely feel afraid.
He stops in front of the first women, a gorgeous blond. All these women are stunning. Your hands tremble so you press them against your jeans. "Too skinny," Who you now assume is Nikolai Kravinoff, says dismissively. He moves on to the next women, snorting. He swipes his thumb across her cheek, smudging her foundation. "This shit won't make you any prettier, darlin'."
You feel anger course through you and you turn your head, forcing your head forward. Who does he think he is judging her? Has he looked in the mirror recently? He isn't exactly handsome. Your thoughts are interrupt by someone's hand gripping your hips. Your eyes snap up and lock with Nikolai's as he grins and says, "Sturdy hips. Good for having strong children."
You blink, a jolt of warmth and embarrassment rushing through you. Without thinking, you shove Nikolai away from you. He's surprised by your outburst so he stumbles. It doesn't take long for you to realize the gravity of your error as Nikolai's calloused palm is raised in anger.
You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the strike but it never comes.
You hear the other women gasp and murmurs fill the room. You open your eyes slowly and find another man, slightly taller than Nikolai, is holding his wrist so he can't slap you. The man's sharp blue eyes are glaring and when he tightens his grip, his arm muscles flex. Your entranced by his beauty and you let out a small squeak, a delayed response to the fear of the slap.
The man eyes snap towards you and you think you see a flicker of gold in his irises before it disappears. Time feels like it's frozen as you stare at the man. It isn't until Nikolai wrenches his arm away that you snap out of the haze and step back instinctively.
You expect an argument to break out but nothing comes. Instead, Nikolai simply smiles grimly. "Sergei," he says, a hint of distain in his voice. He turns towards the women, glaring at you as he motions towards the women. "You're just in time to meet your potential bride," he chuckles darkly. Nikolai walks by you without a word and your shoulders relax as you let out a breath.
You lower your head, hands clenching against your jeans again. You sneak a glance at Sergei. He is every bit as handsome as the rumors you'd heard. His hair falls to his neck in messy curls and his jaw is clenched in concentration as he watches his father move. He's beautiful. You know you have no chance of becoming his wife after what you just did, but you can't help staring anyways.
"I want her," Sergei says calmly, interrupting his father as Nikolai was introducing one of the brunettes.
You don't register that he's looking at you until Nikolai barks a laugh. You freeze in place. "Her? Sergei, my boy, nonsense. Isn't she a bit mousy?" The don't even care about the insult as it dawns on you that Sergei had just chosen you.
Sergei walks up to you slowly, taking in your appearance with consideration. You lock eyes with him and your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. There is no way he'd just chosen you. There must be a mistake.
"You forced me to chose a bride," Sergei starts gruffly, looking back at his father, "and I have chosen." Without another word, he turns on his heels and walks out the room. The women all look shocked and confused by the speed at which you'd been chosen and you can feel their hatred as they stare.
Nikolai is silent for a moment until he laughs again. He looks at you, taking in your appearance with a sneer. He chuckles more menacingly now but waves his hand dismissively. "Alright. Ivan, show the girl to her room," he says and you feel the first man you'd met grab your arm.
You startle, turning around as you're guided out of the room. You can't believe this is actually happening. What about your things? Your family? Your friends? Your head is spinning and the last thing you hear is the sound of a door slamming and the feel of expensive duvet as you crumble onto your new bed.
* * *
Your father was ecstatic to hear you'd been chosen by the Kravinoff's. However, you and your mother wept at the thought of you leaving home. It was all happening so quickly. You'd been forbidden from wandering the estate and you spent most of your days in your new room, waiting for your future husband to show the slightest interest in you.
He never did.
Your father had sent over some of your things, including your grandmother's wedding dress. The dress made everything feel more real, and still when the day finally came, the tightness of the dress was suffocating.
The wedding is small and private, and still there are no expenses missed. The room looks lavish and grand, but even the glitters and the glam can't distract you from the thorns you feel peeking out from the bouquet of roses you’re holding. As you walk down the aisle, this is the first time you're seeing Sergei since that day and he doesn't look your way until your standing in front of him.
Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you look at the man you're marrying. He's just as beautiful as the day you saw him, but behind the beauty he seems cold and distant. It scares you.
There is no exchange of vows, just the mutual 'I do' and the feel of Sergei's hand on the small of your back as he pulls you in for a kiss.
He pauses mid-way, sensing how you’re trembling and he looks into your eyes as he silently asks for something. Your eyes flicker over his features, confused, and you hold your breath in anticipation. His hand moves upwards to cup your cheek and he turns your head to the side, treating you more gently than you'd expected. You realize as he kisses your cheek right near your mouth that he's blocking the guests from seeing the insincerity of the kiss.
When he pulls away and smiles the fakest smile you've ever seen, your heart shatters.
He didn't even want to kiss you.
The crowd applauses and you feel like throwing up.
During the reception, your father is beaming alongside Nikolai Kravinoff as they seem to be discussing future business now that your families have merged. You’re sitting alone at your table since Sergei has gone off somewhere and you feel numb. Tears fill your eyes as you realize in horror there is no escape from him. You're trapped in this loveless marriage until the day you die.
You dress suddenly feels like it's tightening around you and you feel faint. You stand on shaky legs, grasping for the side of the table as the fancy lace feels like it's binding into your ribs, drawing all the blood you have to offer. No one seems to notice your distress as you stumble towards the hall outside the room. You gasp for breath, hands clutching at the walls.
He hadn't even kiss you.
Tears spill down your face as the pain becomes excruciating. You feel all the strength in your body leave you as the world around you turns dark.
* * *
When you wake, the room you're in is dark as the moonlight shines in through the window. You're laying in a bed, soft furs and blankets are sprawled across the covers. You blink, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly as you regain your bearings. The wedding, you remember with a jolt as you sit up. You feel the straps of your dress slap gently against your shoulders and you reach behind, feeling the skin of your back. Someone had unbuttoned all the little buttons on your dress.
"Careful," you hear a familiar gruff voice and you jump in your skin, letting out a small squeak.
You see the shadow of a man sitting on the armchair in the middle of the room, his eyes barely visible in the darkness but you swear you see another flicker of gold before he pulls the string of the lamp beside him. You wince at the sudden light but adjust quickly as you stare at your husband. He stays silent as he simply watches you.
"Where am I?" You ask, your voice hoarse. You touch your cheeks, hoping the tears you'd shed hadn't ruined your mascara and foundation.
"Our suite," Sergei answers, his tone even.
"What happened?" You ask another question, glancing at the window. It's clearly late.
"You passed out. You couldn't breathe in your dress." Once again his answer is unemotional. You clench your hands tightly in the furs that are spread out on his bed, swallowing the embarrassment and tears that threatened to fall again as the reality of your situation settles in.
You're his wife now. He practically owns you and your family now.
Sergei stands up, his suit creasing as he flexes his arms. You freeze, keeping your gaze averted from his as you feel him stalk closer to where you sit. His frame blocks the moonlight from the window and hesitantly, you lift your head to catch your gaze.
His jaw ticks as he narrows his eyes. You quickly wipe your eyes, not wanting him to see your tears. You know he's seen it anyway because he grips your jaw and gently lifts your head to meet his eyes. Your stomach twists and more tears pool in your eyes. You want to ask him so many questions: why he'd chosen you? Why he needed a wife when his empire was large enough? And why he didn't kiss you during the ceremony.
"Why didn't I kiss you?" Sergei repeats, his voice low and husky, and your blood runs cold. Had you asked him that aloud? Your lip trembles but you can't tear your eyes from him.
You nod slowly, curiosity winning over the preservation of your dignity.
"Did you want me to kiss you?" He asks as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
You blink at him, unsure how to answer. You nod again.
Sergei doesn't respond, but then he removes his hand from your jaw. "I didn't know." Is all he answers, still gazing at you with a look hardened by years of wounds and suffering. You flinch a little when you leans down, his nose almost touch yours as his hand finds it's way behind your back, brushing your bare skin as it travels towards your head, calloused palm spreading across your nape. When he speaks again, his warm breath fawns your face. "Do you still want me to kiss you?"
You blink once more, wet tears still brimming on your eyelids. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to his words. You do want him to kiss you. How could you not what the kiss when it symbolizes that perhaps this marriage isn't hopeless after all?
"Yes," you whisper without hesitation, shutting your eyes.
Sergei's lips find yours and it's softer than you'd imagined it be. He doesn't tighten his hold or deepen the kiss. Instead, he tilts his head and captures your upper lip in his, moving gently as if you're something easily broken. You lift your hands, clutching at his chemise as you straighten your back to kiss him better.
When he finally pulls away, his hand lingers on your nape. You open your eyes as he straightens himself and clears his throat. You feel the absence of his touch as he backs away. "Rest," he says and it sounds like a plea rather than a demand. "I'll deal with our families."
Sergei's hand twitches at his side as if he wants to touch you again but he restrains. You watch him leave. He'd turns off the lamp on his way out so you're plunged back into darkness. But as you lay back against the pillows, you realize that the darkness that made you feel so lonely all these weeks before doesn't seem so daunting anymore.
* * *
Being Sergei’s bride is less difficult than you'd imagined. Thankfully you've left Nikolai Kravinoff's Russian estate and the slimy gazes he'd send your way. Mostly, your new role is to be a pretty accessory. You aren't allowed to know about his 'jobs' or involve yourself, so most of your days are spent alone in his apartment in London.
Sergei makes sure you're well cared for. He sends money and gifts from wherever he is that week. Still, he rarely calls and he never texts so that excruciating feeling of loneliness is ever present.
It's almost midnight now and the warm water from your shower has shriveled your fingers. Still, you stand under the water, staring at the pristine tiles as soap threads through your toes. Sergei hasn't come home in three weeks. He hasn't even called. You sigh deeply and turn to rinse out the suds before turning off the water. Grabbing your towel, you walk out of the bathroom. Steam fills the room and you push hair out from your eyes.
You don't bother changing. No one is home anyway. You slide the bathroom door open and step out in the hall. You don't mind how your still dripping water droplets. The apartment is eerily silent. Or you think it isn't you approach the kitchen. The sound of glasses clinking and hushed male voices can be heard and you pause. You tighten your grip on your towel and hug the wall as you freeze near the door, holding your breath.
You recognize Sergei's voice immediately. He must have come home when you were in the shower. "Dima. Don't," your husband cautions. He sounds tired. You hear a younger voice laugh as Sergei's little brother dismisses his warning.
"Sergei, Papa is worried," Dima says, still sounding lighthearted. You hold your breath.
"He doesn't need to meddle in my affairs."
"He knows you haven't laid with her," Dima continues and your heart pounds. They're talking about you and the lack of intimacy in your marriage. You and Sergei haven't even slept in the same bed with how much he's been away, much less done anything more than that one kiss.
"And?" Sergei asks, sounding annoyed now.
"And he just wants her to fulfill her role."
"Dima," Sergei's voice becomes louder and you cover your mouth the stay quiet.
"That is what he said, Sergei. That is why you married, remember? I am just telling you what he said."
"Well don't. She is not my breeding cow, черт возьми."
Your heart is beating rapidly at his words and the towel slips from your hand in shock. Flustered, you scramble to pick it up and cover yourself. The men in the kitchen go silent and you realize you must have made too much noise. Shit, you curse in your head and hurry back to your bedroom. You shut the door behind you, abandoning any secrecy. You reach for your pajamas, which embarrassingly consists of one of Sergei's shirts, and throw it on.
The door behind you opens just as the towel pools at your feet and you squeak, jumping back in surprise. You spin around, hands still covering your chest as if you're still naked. Your husband stands in the doorway, a look of confusion on his face. He looks tired. His looks sunken in and his beard is a bit longer than when you last saw him. Still, he looks gorgeous.
"You aren't asleep," he states.
You shake your head, backing closer to the large windows. Your eyes are wide and nervous.
"It is late."
You nod. Sergei gently closes the door behind him. "I sent Dima away. I apologize for inviting someone over without your permission."
You nod again, clearing your throat. "It's alright."
"Did you hear our conversation?" Sergei asks as if he already knows the answer and walks further into the room. He sends a glance your way, registering that you're wearing one of his shirts but he doesn't mention it. Instead, he sighs and rubs his temples as if he's in pain. "You don't need to be afraid. I won't touch you. Sit," he gestures towards the bed. You obey, sinking into the mattress and clasping your hands together.
I won't touch you. His words sting more than they should.
"Why?" You find yourself asking.
Sergei pauses. "Why what?"
Why did you choose me? Why are you always away? Why won't you touch me?
"Um, why me? That day—" you begin, sounding unsure. Sergei raises his eyebrow. He walks to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down as well. The city lights shine in from the windows, illuminating the room.
"You want to know now?" He asks.
"Yes," you say immediately. "Please."
Silent fills the room for a bit until Sergei speaks. "You were different. You looked just as scared as you looked combative. You didn't just stand there, shinny and fake, like all the others." You listen with bated breath. "I wasn't planning on accepting any marriage when I walked into that room—"
That takes you by surprise. So, he choose you despite his reservations? You don't quite know what to think.
"Perhaps I made a mistake."
You breathe hitches and you turn to face him. Your body is half on the bed and you can't help the hurt in your voice as you ask, "Because you don't want me? Because you don't want to touch me? Because I'm not desirable? Is that the mistake?"
Sergei turns around slowly, facing you as well now. He looks taken aback by your words. "Excuse me?" he asks in a breathless whisper.
"Is that the mistake?" You desperately want an explanation.
"You think you aren't desirable?"
You turn fully, kneeling on the mattress now so you're closer to him. "You told your brother you don't want to be intimate with your wife! How am I supposed to live like that?!"
Sergei's eyes widen for a fraction of a second and then his frown deepens. In a swift motion, he grabs your cheek and kisses you. You wrap your arms around his neck instantly, forcing yourself even closer to him as you kiss him back.
Every inch of your lonely soul yearns for him.
Sergei climbs over you, his hand now pressed down against the mattress by your head as he kisses you with hunger. It's nothing like the gentle kiss he gave you the day you married him. This time, he feels almost feral. He pulls away, glancing down at you sprawled over bed you're supposed to share, your hands gripping his shirt. "You are so beautiful," he says earnestly. "How am I supposed to ruin you?"
You lean up, trying to kiss him again. "I'm not a—"
"You are," Sergei interrupts and cups your cheek, gently stroking his thumb across your soft skin. "It was in the contract my father made."
Your cheeks heat up. He knew you weren't experienced. It was a condition for the marriage? "Why?" You ask breathlessly.
Sergei begins to gently kiss your neck as he continues to sooth you. "He is old-fashioned," he explains as his kisses you again. He lifts his head and looks into your eyes. "It doesn't matter to me. I'd want you any way," he pauses and adds, "I'll be gentle. I promise."
I'd want you any way. His words send a shock to your core and you tense up involuntarily. Your head is spinning. He wants you? He's never even hinted at wanting you until now. Still, you crave his touch and warmth.
When he kisses you again, this time you wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him as an anchor. You feel his knee slide between your thighs, lifting the hem of his shirt as if pools around your stomach. Your eyes widen when you remember you're not wearing any underwear and you drop your arms, tugging at the shirt to cover yourself.
Sergei pulls away from the kiss once again, a little confused into he looks at your face and the downwards. His lips curl into a smirk. "It's okay," he says reassuringly. He strokes your damp hair, kissing your forehead. "Do you want this?"
You can only nod as you're still too embarrassed to speak. Your husband just kisses you again. This time, he easily leans his weight on one arm as he reaches down with the other to rest his hand on top of your pussy. Even with the shirt still covering you, you can feel the warmth of his hand and your breathing becomes deeper.
Sergei just stays like this for a moment, kissing you.
"M-more?" You whisper against his lips, wiggling your hips a little.
You feel him grin against your lips as his hand dips lower, finding your naked pussy. His fingers feels really big so you jump a little in surprise. When you do, Sergei moves his arm so that his hand is under your head, gently caressing your hair. "Shh, it's okay. You're so wet for me already, little dove."
He begins to touch you fully and your mind goes blank. This isn't the same feeling as your hands. This is something new. His thumb swirls around your clit, gently stimulating you. You clutch your hand in his shirt again, tugging at the material.
"Patience," Sergei whispers hoarsely, one finger now pressing against your entrance. You inhale, squirming again. He goes slow, looking into your eyes for any sign of pain. Anytime he sees that flicker in your eyes, he stops and gives you time to adjust. After a while, one finger becomes two, and two becomes three, and now you're breathlessly whining under him.
"Gotta open you up," he says, gently pumping his fingers in and out as he watches you fall apart.
You arch your back, gripping the sheets now. "I-I think I’m g-gonna—"
"Go ahead. Cum for me."
You squeeze your eyes shut and come, clenching around his fingers as you let out a soft moan. Your mind is hazy for a moment and you don't register his hand pulling away until you hear the sound of a belt buckle unbuckling. You open your eyes, taking him in: Sergei has removed his shirt and he's in the process of removing his trousers. Your gaze travels along his torso.
Holy shit.
You reach for him, wanting to count the abs on his stomach. You hear him chuckle and it snaps you back into reality as he takes your hand and hovers over you once again. Sergei smiles and slides his shirt off you, mussing your hair and leaving you completely bare. You're very aware that you're now both naked and you feel extremely vulnerable.
Sergei sees your expression so he takes the time to kiss you softly, all over your face, your neck, and your chest, so that he can reassure you that he's not leaving you. His sharp teeth glide over your skin, leaving markings. You lost in the intimacy of his touch that you barely register him parting your thighs. His hand slides up and down, caressing you as you throw your head back into the pillow.
"So beautiful," Sergei murmurs, pressing himself closer to you. Your eyes open when you feel something big pressing against your pussy. You flinch and grasp at his shoulders. "It's okay. You want this hm, little dove?"
You nod, staring into his eyes. Sergei stills, waiting for more. "Yes," you admit in a small voice.
"Good girl," he whispers as he kisses the side of your face, nuzzling into you so that his warmth envelops you. You can feel the pressure in between your bodies and you gasp, hands clenching harder against Sergei's bare shoulders. You feel his dick slip inside as he goes ever so slowly. He keeps kissing your face and you squeeze your eyes shut as pain shoots through you.
"It hurts," you say, holding him closer.
Sergei pauses and gives you time to adjust. He whispers Russian words in your ear. Words you don't understand, but by his voice you can tell they're loving. After a moment, he rocks forwards gently and you realize the pain has lessened. You bury your face in your husband's chest, letting yourself feel.
A thrust. Then another. And another after that until finally that pained look on your face morphs into pleasure. "S-Sergei," you say, feeling him groan above you. He shifts and places on hand on the headboard, anchoring himself.
"Yes?" His voice sounds strains as he mutters a curse under his breath. The bed creeks under his thrusts.
"It feels good," you say breathlessly, stilling holding on to him.
"Hm? It feels good? Is that right?" You can hear the smile in his voice this time and you're so embarrassed. You nod, trying to keep the sounds you want to make quiet. You feel so full and your pussy keeps tingling.
"I want to hear you," Sergei groans from above and you hear the wood from the headboard start to crack. You lift your head, overwhelmed now as a moan slips past your lips. Sergei is staring at you, his eyes dark and golden as he watches you from above. Strand of curly hair fall over his forehead, dangling with each thrust.
You can't look away from his eyes as your moans become louder.
Sergei's other hand tightens around your thigh, gently lifting it so that he can push himself even deeper inside you. Your eyes roll back as he reaches a part inside you that you didn't even know existed. "I- I'm—" You can't even string out the words as your stomach fills with butterflies.
"Hm? You feel close again?" Sergei teases.
You nod, all sensations feel unreal and you're overwhelmed by what you're experiencing. You lose track of time as he continues to fuck into you until you're no longer able to string any sentences along. When you come, your legs shake and you groan at the feeling of him coming inside you. You can't even open your eyes when you feel Sergei's body weight sink down against yours. He's breathing heavily, his lips kissing your neck as he strokes his hand in your hair.
"You did good for me," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You chase his touch, wrapping your arms around him as if you're afraid he'll leave you. Sergei groans against your skin as he hugs you back, shifting you so you're laying on his chest. You nuzzle into him, still feeling raw and exposed even as you both pull the covers over you.
"Does it hurt?"
You shake your head. Your legs are still shaking but other than that, the pain has subsided.
"Good girl," he whispers and pets your hair with his large hand.
"Don't leave?" The question comes after a moment of silence and Sergei doesn't answer immediately. Your stomach sinks but you press yourself closer to him as the reality sinks in. He can't stay forever. His lifestyle, now your lifestyle, doesn't allow him that freedom.
"I can't," Sergei says, his voice stern. You look up at him and watch him stare blankly into the darkness of the room. The light from the windows only illuminate his profile. "But I'll stay for now," he finishes after another moment of pause. He turns to look at you, his blue eyes sharp. "And I promise I won't leave for long. I'll come back to you."
Your husband says it with such conviction that you know he truly means it. You let out a breath, wrapping your arm around his chest. "I'll miss you," you whisper, unsure if he'll say it back.
"Hm. So will I," Sergei assures you and you smile, your eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion. "How could I not miss you, Моя любовь"
You don't feel like kiss he presses against your hair as you've already fallen asleep.
