When your father all but sells you to the Sergeyevs in marriage, but it’s not the Sergeyev heir you want… but his dad (Alexander Sergeyev x fem!reader, Suggestive + age-gap so 18+)
Song: Talk that Talk- Rihanna
You sit in your father’s study as he keeps trying to kiss up to Alexander Sergeyev, the Pakhan of Moscow Bratva, and father of the man you’re set to marry, Caesar Sergeyev- the psychotic butcher of the bratva.
Perhaps you should be glad that you’re even allowed the privilege to sit in the room as your future is bartered, but the irritated frown refuses to drop from your face the whole time your father keeps presenting you as if you were some sort of brood mare.
A frown that does not escape Alexander’s notice.
How disrespectful, he thinks as he eyes the stubborn set of your jaw, the bratty pout on your soft lips and your folded arms, his icy gray eye fixed on you.
“Do you have anything to say? Are the terms not to your liking?” He addresses you directly, a hidden threat in his voice, but you meet Alexander’s gaze head-on.
“Oh, I’m fine. But I just have one condition Mr Sergeyev, if you’ll allow me.”
Your father glares at you, about to stand up and march to you but Alexander holds up a hand, not looking away from you.
“Proceed.”
If these stupid old men insist on using you as a pawn? Fine so be it, but you’d be damned if you don’t get anything out of it.
“I don’t want to marry your son, I want to marry you.”
The room turns icy, and so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to marry you, Mr Sergeyev. You’re single aren’t you?”
Alexander’s face is blank, his one good eye fixed on you with a scary intensity. But it’s the subtle clench of his hands that tells you that you have managed to rattle him.
Good. That’ll show him you were not someone who’d take it laying down like a lamb to slaughter.
“Clear the room. I wish to converse with her privately.” He orders your father and the men stationed, and they all have no choice but to scramble away, sensing the danger rolling off of him that apparently you didn’t even care for.
He stands up and prowls to you where you sit deceptively prim (he had a feeling you were anything but), staring down his crooked aristocratic nose at you, who doesn’t even flinch at the eye that has made grown men piss their pants.
“What game are you trying to play?” He says, eyes narrow.
“Game? I would never.” You stand up to meet his gaze closer, head craned up to look at the massive man “I am making an informed decision; I want the one with the most power as my husband.”
“Caesar is my heir. The next Pakhan.”
“Yes, but he’s not you. Everyone knows even when you retire, you will still be the most respected and feared, with a considerable chunk of the bratva deferring to you.” You shrug “It is not the Pakhan’s power I want. It’s Alexander Sergeyev’s influence that is more attractive to me.”
And you’ll croak in 10 years max and I’ll be free to live my rich widow life, you think inwardly.
What? If you had to choose between the two psychos, it was better to go with the one most likely to die sooner🤷🏻♀️.
Alexander’s nostrils flare, his glare turning fierce, irritated more by the fact that he was slightly impressed by your cut-throat manoeuvre rather than your bluntness and disrespectful tone (according to him).
“Careful girl…do you think if you marry me I’ll just let you tinkle about in your heels and diamonds? Let you do whatever you want?” His gloved hand grips your jaw, the leather smooth against your skin like a weapon “I’ll use you in every way a wife is meant to be used.” his breath ghosts over your lips “Every way.”
“I am aware. Is this supposed to scare me?”
That arched brow, the insolent eyes…Alexander’s control frays as he crashes his mouth to yours, moving his lips over yours in a violent dance that takes your breath away and gives you no space to do anything except yield.
In a way only an experienced man was capable of.
Your hands dig into his biceps as he devours your mouth, his beard chaffing against your skin in a way that makes a moan bubble in your throat, before wrenching it away just as quickly, leaving you gasping and, to your horror, hungry for more.
“I’m not some limping old fool that you can play with. I’ll destroy you girl.” He seethes, trying to collect the last bit of his control as he pulls away, while you try to calm your erratic heart, mouth swollen just by one kiss as you look at him expectantly. For what?.. even you don’t know now.
“I’ll take your proposal into consideration.” he says as he adjusts his tie.
“I don’t want consideration. Just accept it” you say, unperturbed by his tactic to scare you away.
Your mind was set.
“Are you giving me orders?” He glares at you.
“I wouldn’t dare. Just a little push that’s it.” You say with a grin as you wipe your lip slowly, drawing out the swiping motion “You can’t deny that we’d be good together.”
He just scoffs and marches out the door before he does something stupid…like bending you over the mahogany desk and teaching you what happens when foolish little girls that are presumptuous enough to try tempting the devil.
Infuriating little menace, he seethes as he walks out, his pants shamefully tight over his crotch, refusing to admit that you had won this round.
….
Currently suffering from the seasonal DILF flu so do excuse me😅
