#Kraven x ofc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cynic-spirit · 6 days ago

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Little sun i

sergei x reader

Sergei Kravinoff, known simply as Kraven in the shadows of the underworld, is a towering figure at 6'4", with piercing brown eyes that seem to hold a predator's intensity. His jet-black hair, often tied back or left wild, frames a face chiseled with sharp angles, a testament to years of hardship and survival. Every sinew of his well-built, muscular frame tells the story of a man forged in adversity, honed by struggle, and sharpened by conquest.

Orphaned as a boy, Sergei grew up on the fringes of society, learning to survive through sheer cunning and raw determination. His early life was a saga of perpetual movement; he traversed continents as a stowaway, slipping aboard cargo ships and trains, living in the alleyways of major cities across Europe and Asia. By his late adolescence, he had tasted the air of every major metropolis, mastering their streets, their languages, and their secrets.

In the heart of his travels, Sergei encountered an enigmatic shaman in the depths of Siberia who introduced him to a series of herbal potions said to awaken the primal instincts of man. The potions, bitter and potent, transformed Sergei from a clever survivor into something more—something unstoppable. They enhanced his natural abilities, granting him superhuman strength, speed, and agility. He could lift two tons with ease, sprint short distances at a blinding 60 miles per hour, and leap over obstacles with a standing broad jump of 20 feet. His stamina allowed him to exert peak effort for an unparalleled half-hour before fatigue set in. These powers, combined with the potion's ability to halt his aging, left him in the prime physical condition of a 30-year-old man, despite his advanced years.

But Sergei did not merely survive; he thrived. Over decades, he built an empire in the shadows. Rising from the gutters to the pinnacle of power, Sergei became a mafia lord whose name was spoken with reverence and fear. His wealth grew vast, his influence far-reaching, and his reputation as an undefeated titan in both physical and strategic combat became legend. Rivals who underestimated him found themselves crushed under his iron will, while allies basked in his unyielding protection.

Kraven’s presence alone commands respect; his movements are predatory, his voice low and resonant, like a lion surveying his domain. He wears his wealth subtly, preferring functionality over ostentation, though the sharpness of his tailored suits and the glint of his timepiece hint at the fortune he controls. Sergei is a man of action, a predator who views the world as his hunting ground and himself as its apex.

While his power makes him the envy of many, it is Sergei's undefeated streak that truly cements his legend. In a world filled with challengers, none have ever toppled him. His cunning, his strength, and his supernatural gifts ensure that Sergei Kravinoff, Kraven the Lord of Shadows, remains a force that no man or faction dares to cross. Yet beneath the veneer of wealth and power lies the soul of a hunter, ever seeking the next challenge, the next conquest, the next prey to keep his blood pumping and his legend alive.

The dimly lit room reeked of damp cement and desperation. Sergei Kravinoff sat bound to a steel chair, his wrists strapped tightly to the cold metal arms, his ankles shackled to the legs. His powerful frame, usually a source of awe, was now a picture of restrained fury, though his expression remained calm, almost indifferent. A single bulb swung overhead, casting erratic shadows on the cracked walls.

Before him stood Viktor Kalenko, a rival whose ambition far outpaced his wisdom. Viktor’s gang had cornered Sergei in an ambush orchestrated through treachery—betrayal by someone close enough to know his routes but foolish enough to believe Viktor could hold him. The prize? A trove of rare gold and diamond jewels Sergei had collected over years of conquests, treasures that were as mythic as the man himself.

"Where is it, Kraven?" Viktor demanded in thickly accented Russian, leaning in close. His greasy hair clung to his forehead as his beady eyes searched Sergei's face for weakness. Sergei said nothing, tilting his head slightly, as though Viktor were a mildly interesting insect buzzing in his face.

Viktor scowled, turning to one of his men. "I thought you said he could speak Russian?"

"He can," the man replied nervously. "At least... I think he can. He doesn’t seem to understand you."

Viktor slapped Sergei’s face, the sound echoing sharply in the room. Sergei barely flinched, his brown eyes locking onto Viktor’s with a quiet, predatory intensity that made the man step back instinctively. "Then we’ll need a translator," Viktor muttered in frustration, switching to English.

Sergei’s ears caught every word, though his face remained blank. Inside, however, he was already calculating. His knowledge of English was a carefully guarded secret, a skill acquired during his years in London, where he’d once lived as a phantom among the aristocracy. Viktor believed Sergei was just another Russian brute, someone whose intelligence was as coarse as his fists. It was a fatal underestimation.

"We’ll bring someone in," Viktor continued, still speaking English. "Someone who can make him understand we’re not playing games. Sergei Kravinoff doesn’t leave this room until he tells us where the treasure is."

One of Viktor’s lackeys, a wiry man with a nervous twitch, spoke up. "But it’ll take time to find someone who speaks both Russian and English. What do we do in the meantime?"

"Keep him tied up. Let him sit there and think about his options." Viktor sneered, glancing back at Sergei and switching to Russian again. "You’re not getting out of this, Kraven. Your empire ends here."

Sergei tilted his head and squinted slightly, pretending to strain for comprehension. He uttered a single word in Russian, flat and uninterested: "What?"

Viktor cursed under his breath. "Get the translator. Now!"

The men filed out, leaving Sergei alone in the room under the flickering light. For the first time, his lips curved into a faint smile. They thought they had the upper hand, believed him to be at their mercy. What they didn’t realize was that every word spoken in English had already given Sergei the blueprint to dismantle their plans.

As the door creaked open again and footsteps echoed toward him, Sergei settled back into his chair. His body remained motionless, but his mind was already hunting. Let them bring their translator. Let them try to interrogate him. The real game had just begun.

The door creaked open, and Sergei’s sharp senses picked up the subtle shuffle of footsteps. Expecting another of Viktor’s bumbling henchmen, his eyes lifted with mild curiosity—then froze when he saw her. She was a stark contrast to the grim room, a sudden vision of light in the oppressive darkness.

She was young, impossibly so. No older than twenty-three, Sergei guessed, her petite frame wrapped in a modest blouse and skirt that spoke of academia rather than violence. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose bun, tendrils escaping to frame a face so delicate it seemed out of place in this harsh setting. Her skin had the soft glow of youth, but her expression betrayed fear—a wariness that made her hesitate at the threshold.

Dr. Sylvie Williams. He had caught the name in Viktor’s muttered English instructions, though he hadn’t expected the translator to be a woman, let alone someone like her. She was no hardened criminal, no pawn of Viktor’s design. She was a professor, plucked from the safe, intellectual world of books and classrooms, thrown into this brutal chaos. It was clear to Sergei she didn’t belong here.

Her hands trembled as she stepped inside, clutching a leather satchel against her chest as though it were armor. She blinked rapidly, trying to take in the room, but her wide, terrified eyes kept landing on him. When their gazes finally locked, Sergei felt an unfamiliar flicker in his chest—a subtle, unbidden reaction he hadn’t felt in years. Her innocence, her sheer vulnerability, made his heart flip in a way that startled him.

There was a softness in her hazel eyes that disarmed him, a light that even the shadows of fear couldn’t fully extinguish. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and unease, and for a moment, Sergei forgot where he was, forgot that he was the one tied to the chair. He could see it in her demeanor—the way she shifted uncomfortably under Viktor’s impatient bark—that she had been coerced, likely threatened, into this situation. She didn’t want to be here. She was terrified, yet she stood her ground, shoulders tense but chin raised, trying to mask her fear with a fragile resolve.

Sergei’s gaze softened imperceptibly as he studied her, noting every detail. The slight quiver of her lips, the way her fingers gripped the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles whitened. She radiated innocence, but there was something more—a quiet courage beneath her fear, a stubborn resilience that hadn’t yet been broken by Viktor’s thugs.

The brute side of him, the hunter who thrived on power and control, stirred at the thought of someone like her being dragged into this. It was wrong. She didn’t belong in his world, yet here she was, standing in the lion’s den, her every breath betraying how out of place she was. And still, she met his gaze.

For the first time in years, Sergei felt his mask falter. His body may have been strapped to a chair, but his mind was already calculating how to dismantle his enemies. Not for his treasure, not for revenge—this time, it was for her.

Viktor stepped closer to her, his shadow looming over her much smaller frame like a predator circling prey. His voice, sharp and grating, cut through the silence of the room. “Listen to me carefully,” he said, switching to English for her benefit. His tone was laced with menace, his words slow and deliberate, as if savoring the power he wielded over her.

“You will translate everything I say to him into Russian. Every word.” He pointed a finger toward Sergei, whose expression remained unreadable, though his piercing brown eyes followed every movement. “And you will tell me exactly what he says in return. No games. No hesitation. No mistakes.”

Dr. Sylvie Williams flinched slightly but managed a shaky nod. The satchel in her hands acted as her only shield, but her knuckles were white from clutching it so tightly. Her lips parted to respond, but Viktor’s voice grew colder, cutting off any thought of defiance.

“Because if you don’t…” Viktor leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and sour. “You know what will happen. Don’t you?”

Sergei, still strapped to the chair, felt a fire ignite deep within him. His muscles tensed against his restraints, his powerful arms straining slightly against the bindings. Though his face remained composed, a storm brewed behind his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way Viktor towered over her, the way he used his bulk and threats to terrify someone so vulnerable.

“Yes,” she whispered meekly, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted to Sergei again, as if seeking some reassurance, but quickly flicked away, afraid that prolonged eye contact might anger Viktor.

Sergei’s jaw clenched. His fury was contained but palpable, his predatory instincts clawing to the surface. He knew Viktor was trying to break her spirit, to reduce her to a tool, an obedient pawn in his sadistic game. It was a tactic Sergei himself had used on enemies, but seeing it turned on her made his blood boil.

Sylvie’s shoulders sagged slightly, her defeated posture cutting through the tension like a dagger. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this. It was obvious. But Viktor’s threats loomed over her like a guillotine, leaving her no choice.

Sergei swallowed his rage, forcing himself to remain still, calculating. He could feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his wrists, the slow burn of anger building with each passing second. He understood now—this wasn’t just a game to Viktor. It was a power play, a display of dominance meant to break both him and her. But Sergei wouldn’t allow it. Not for her.

Viktor straightened, smirking as though satisfied with her trembling compliance. He gestured to the chair where Sergei sat. “Good. Now, get to work.”

Sylvie’s voice was barely above a whisper, her words trembling as she summoned the courage to speak. “Can I… can I have some water, please?” she asked, her tone polite, almost pleading. Her hazel eyes darted nervously toward Viktor, her shoulders tense as if bracing for his response.

For a fleeting moment, there was silence in the room, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread. Then Viktor’s face contorted with irritation, and he exploded.

“You’ll have water when you’ve earned it!” he roared, his voice booming and echoing off the cold cement walls. His sudden outburst made her flinch, her entire body recoiling as though the words themselves had struck her. The satchel she held slipped slightly in her grasp, her fingers trembling as she clutched it tighter, trying to ground herself against the rising tide of fear.

“Get it?!” Viktor barked, his sharp tone cutting through the air like a whip. He leaned forward, his towering figure looming over her, savoring her fear. His face twisted into a cruel sneer as she nodded meekly, her head bowing like a child scolded unjustly. “Good,” he spat, stepping back with an air of triumph, as though her compliance was some victory he had earned.

From the corner of the room, Sergei’s chest heaved ever so slightly as he suppressed a surge of anger that threatened to boil over. His muscles tensed against the restraints, the veins in his forearms straining as he gritted his teeth. Viktor’s words and tone ignited something primal in him, a rage so fierce it felt as though it might consume him.

In that instant, Sergei wanted nothing more than to kill Viktor. Not with a gun or a knife—no, that would be too quick, too merciful. He wanted to feel the man’s throat under his hands, to crush the life out of him with the same brutality Viktor wielded against those weaker than him. The predator in Sergei stirred, its instincts screaming for action, for blood.

But he remained still, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes betrayed the storm raging within. He locked his gaze on Sylvie, noting how she folded into herself, her fear so palpable it was almost suffocating. The thought of her being denied something as basic as water, treated with such callous disregard, only fueled the fire within him.

Sylvie nodded again, more timidly this time, and Sergei caught the way her lips pressed tightly together as if she were holding back tears. Her silence wasn’t submission—it was survival. He recognized it, the way she navigated the situation with quiet compliance to avoid provoking further wrath. It was the same tactic he had once used as a child, alone in the streets, facing men far larger and crueler than himself.

Viktor turned his back on her, barking orders to his men, his arrogance shielding him from the danger sitting right before him. Sergei’s mind raced, already plotting, already deciding that Viktor’s arrogance would be his undoing. And when the time came, Sergei would ensure that Viktor paid dearly—for Sylvie, for her fear, and for the disrespect that had kindled a deadly resolve in Sergei’s heart.

Viktor leaned forward, his tone dripping with malice. “Translate and ask him this,” he commanded. His voice was sharp, impatient, laced with the arrogance of someone who thought they held all the cards.

Viktor: “I want to know where the jewels are.”

Sylvie hesitated for a moment, her hands fidgeting nervously before she turned to Sergei, her hazel eyes meeting his briefly before darting away. In Russian, her voice trembled as she repeated the question.

Sylvie (in Russian): “Я хочу знать, где драгоценности.” (I want to know where the jewels are.)

Sergei's eyes softened as they fixed on her. Despite his rage boiling beneath the surface, his tone was gentle when he replied, his voice low and steady.

Sergei (in Russian): “Он тебя ударил?” (Did he hit you?)

Sylvie blinked, startled by the unexpected question. Her lips parted slightly as she processed his words, unsure how to respond. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice.

“What did he say?” Viktor snapped, his English cutting through the moment like a knife.

Sylvie swallowed, glancing nervously at Viktor. “He… he didn’t answer the question,” she replied, her voice shaky.

Viktor growled, his patience wearing thin. He slammed a fist onto the table beside him, making Sylvie jump. “Well, then ask him again! Or I’ll break his knees next.”

Her hands trembled as she turned back to Sergei, this time her words coming out in a rushed whisper.

Sylvie (in Russian): “Где драгоценности? Он сломает тебе колени, если ты не ответишь.” (Where are the jewels? He will break your knees if you don’t answer.)

Sergei, undeterred, leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a faint, almost reassuring smile. His voice was calm, yet there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he spoke fondly to her.

Sergei (in Russian): “Ещё четыре минуты, и мы посмотрим, кто чьи колени сломает.” (Just four more minutes, and we will see who breaks whose knees.)

Sylvie hesitated, her hands twisting the strap of her satchel as she turned back to Viktor. Her voice was soft, barely audible as she spoke. “He says… in a few minutes, you’ll find out who breaks whose knees.”

Viktor sneered, his anger growing at what he perceived as defiance. Sylvie’s voice cracked slightly as she added, almost pleading, “Please… I don’t want to be here.”

“You don’t have a choice!” Viktor barked, grabbing her roughly by the arms. The force of the movement made her shriek, a small, frightened sound that pierced the room. Sergei’s eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body taut with barely restrained fury.

Not just knees, Sergei thought, his jaw clenching as he watched Viktor’s hand dig into Sylvie’s arm. He’ll lose that arm too.

The predator inside him roared, screaming for release, but Sergei forced himself to stay calm. His opportunity was coming—he could feel it. Viktor thought himself untouchable, a lion in control of his pride. But Sergei knew better. Lions fell, and when they did, it was swift, brutal, and inevitable.

He locked eyes with Sylvie again, his gaze steady and reassuring despite the chaos brewing around them. Four minutes, he reminded himself. Just four more minutes, and Viktor would learn the price of his arrogance.

----

The room erupted into chaos in an instant. A deafening explosion shattered the tense silence, sending dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. The dim light bulb swung violently, casting erratic shadows as the walls seemed to tremble. The door to the interrogation room burst open with a violent crash, and the unmistakable sound of gunfire filled the air, echoing off the cement walls like a symphony of destruction.

Sylvie screamed softly, instinctively dropping to the floor and scrambling under the nearest table. Her breath came in quick, panicked gasps as her hands clutched the table’s legs for support. She pressed herself against the cold floor, trembling as the world around her seemed to explode into madness.

Sergei, still strapped to the chair, remained eerily calm despite the chaos erupting around him. He recognized the sound of his men’s weapons—precise, controlled, and methodical. A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Right on time, he thought.

The door burst open again, this time revealing two of Sergei’s men, clad in tactical gear and armed to the teeth. Their movements were swift and efficient as they dispatched Viktor’s guards with ruthless precision. Gunfire echoed around the room as Viktor’s men scrambled to respond, but it was clear they were outmatched. One by one, they fell, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground.

Within seconds, the restraints around Sergei’s wrists and ankles were cut, and he rose from the chair like a force of nature unleashed. Standing to his full height, he stretched his powerful frame, his muscles coiling with pent-up energy. His dark eyes zeroed in on Viktor, who was now scrambling backward, his earlier bravado evaporating in the face of Sergei’s unrelenting presence.

Viktor barely managed to pull his gun before Sergei closed the distance between them in a flash. With a single, brutal motion, Sergei disarmed him, the weapon flying from Viktor’s hand and skidding across the floor. Sergei’s fist collided with Viktor’s jaw, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain.

“Take him,” Sergei growled in Russian, his voice a low, commanding snarl that carried through the room. His men obeyed immediately, two of them hauling Viktor to his feet and restraining him with practiced efficiency. Viktor struggled weakly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, but it was clear the fight had been knocked out of him.

Under the table, Sylvie hugged her knees to her chest, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before her. She flinched as another explosion rocked the building, her fear rendering her unable to move. Sergei’s gaze swept the room, and when his eyes landed on her trembling form, his expression softened, if only for a moment.

He crouched slightly, his large frame moving with unexpected gentleness as he reached out a hand toward her. “Доктор Уильямс,” he said in Russian, his tone quieter, more reassuring. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

Sylvie hesitated, her heart pounding, but the steadiness in his voice gave her just enough courage to look up at him. The harshness she had seen in him earlier was gone, replaced by something else—something almost protective.

Sergei straightened, his towering figure looming over Viktor as his men dragged the defeated rival from the room. “Put him with the others,” Sergei ordered coldly. Then, his tone darkened further as he added, “Alive. For now.”

As Viktor was hauled away, Sergei turned back to Sylvie, his expression unreadable. Despite the chaos, his focus now was entirely on her, the frightened young woman who had been caught in the crossfire of his world.

As the last echoes of gunfire faded into silence, Sergei turned his attention fully to Sylvie. Her small frame was still trembling as she sat on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, her hazel eyes wide with lingering fear. He approached her slowly, his towering figure somehow emanating both power and calm.

Crouching to her level, he softened his voice to a tone she hadn’t yet heard from him, one so gentle it seemed almost at odds with the chaos he had just commanded. “Are you okay, my darling?” he asked, his words in perfect English, clear and smooth.

Sylvie’s head snapped up in surprise, her eyes locking with his. For a moment, she forgot her fear, her confusion cutting through the haze. “You…?” she began but couldn’t finish the question.

Sergei offered the faintest of smiles, his brown eyes steady and reassuring. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and calm. “I know English. I was merely playing him.”

The revelation should have angered her, or perhaps relieved her, but Sylvie couldn’t find the words to respond. Her hands shook slightly as they clutched the hem of her skirt, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.

Sergei’s gaze remained on her, unwavering yet patient, as if he understood that words might fail her now. But when she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, her plea carrying the weight of exhaustion and fear.

“Please,” she murmured, her voice trembling, “I just… I just want to go home.”

Her words pierced Sergei in a way he didn’t expect. This young woman—dragged into his world of violence, betrayal, and power plays—didn’t belong here. She was innocent, untainted by the darkness that consumed him and his enemies. And now, all she wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of the life she had before this nightmare began.

Sergei nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “You will,” he said firmly, his voice carrying a quiet promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Sergei extended his hand toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, careful not to startle her further. His large, calloused hand seemed impossibly gentle as he offered it to her. “Come,” he said softly, his voice devoid of the commanding tone it held moments ago.

Sylvie hesitated for a brief moment before placing her trembling hand in his. His grip was firm but not overpowering as he helped her to her feet. She swayed slightly, unsteady from the overwhelming events, and he instinctively steadied her with a light touch on her arm.

“Where is your home?” he asked, his tone calm and reassuring, as though he were speaking to someone fragile.

In one quick breath, as if reciting from memory, she rattled off her address and pincode, the words tumbling out in a single string, precise and clipped, like a schoolchild answering a teacher’s question. The innocent simplicity of it caught Sergei off guard, and for the briefest of moments, his hardened exterior cracked.

An almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The weight of the situation—the chaos, the violence, the danger—momentarily softened, replaced by something unexpectedly tender. He felt a strange sense of endearment toward her, as though her nervous precision was a glimpse of her untouched, untainted world, so far removed from his own.

“My name is Sergei Kravinoff,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, as if the words carried a deeper meaning than just an introduction. “You can call me Sergei.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes studying her face with quiet intensity. “You’re the only one who can, actually,” he added, almost as an afterthought, his tone shifting slightly, as though confessing something personal. “Everyone else calls me… Sir, Boss, or some other things.”

Sylvie said nothing, her gaze flitting to the floor and then back to him, but she gave a small nod. Sergei noticed the faint movement and felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in his chest. For reasons he couldn’t yet articulate, her quiet acceptance meant more to him than it should have.

“Try it,” Sergei said gently, his tone soft but encouraging.

Sylvie hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she wasn’t sure she should. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Sergei.”

A faint smile spread across his face, one that seemed almost out of place on a man like him. “Perfect,” he murmured, as if her saying his name had somehow made the moment whole. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned and walked to a small table in the corner of the room, where a dusty pitcher and a single glass sat.

Without a word, he poured water into the glass, the sound of the liquid breaking the tense silence. Returning to her, he held it out, his movements slow and deliberate, as though handling something fragile.

“There you go,” he said softly, his brown eyes steady as they met hers. “You wanted water, right? That bastard wouldn’t give it to you.” There was a faint edge of disdain in his voice as he mentioned Viktor, but it disappeared as he focused back on her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, taking the glass from his hand with trembling fingers. She raised it to her lips and drank it in one go, as though it was the first water she had tasted in days.

Sergei watched her silently for a moment before asking, “More?”

She nodded, her expression still nervous but grateful. Sergei turned back to the pitcher, poured another glass, and handed it to her with the same care. This time, she drank it more slowly, as if the first sip had eased her frayed nerves.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steadier now but still soft. Sergei nodded once, his expression unreadable but his presence steady and grounding. For the first time since entering the room, Sylvie looked a little less afraid.

Sergei straightened, his expression returning to its commanding intensity as he called over one of his men. The door opened swiftly, and a tall, burly man stepped in, standing at attention.

“You,” Sergei barked, his tone cold and authoritative, the gentleness he’d shown Sylvie moments ago replaced by the voice of the ruthless leader he was. “Take her to this address.” He rattled off her home location with precision. “And you will take her with utmost care. Do you understand?”

The man nodded immediately, his eyes flicking briefly to Sylvie before returning to Sergei, his posture rigid with respect. “Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied, Sergei turned back to Sylvie, his demeanor softening once more. He reached for her hand, his strong fingers encasing hers gently. Without a word, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the chaos she had just endured. Sylvie’s eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching at the unexpected tenderness.

“I have some work,” Sergei said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “but I shall meet you again, my darling.” His words carried an unshakable certainty, as though it was a promise etched in stone. “You now have something very precious with you.”

Sylvie blinked, confused, her voice hesitant as she replied, “What do I have? I haven’t taken anything…”

Sergei leaned in close, his dark eyes locking with hers. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, meant only for her ears. “Моё сердце,” he murmured in Russian, then translated softly, “My heart.”

Sylvie’s breath hitched as her confusion deepened, the weight of his words sinking in. Sergei straightened, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before stepping back, the intensity of his presence leaving her both unsettled and inexplicably drawn to him.

#sergei kravinoff #sergei kravinoff x ofc #kraven x ofc

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moranasgrave · 1 year ago

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Eren X Morana Kraven (OC) sneak peek !

okay so this is a sneak peek of my wattpad story that’s coming soon! it’s the one i have the most progress in right now and it’s gonna be a longgg one 😝. i will be using an OC of mine bc it’s fun to create characters and backstories of my own and her backstory is based off of someone i know who gave consent for me to write this story. also please let me know if i should write this in 3rd or 1st person so far im doing 1st but i’m not sure.

disclaimer : morana kraven is not the same as me morana. she’s her own person that i based off of someone i know irl (with consent ofc), i had the OC named first actually but i love that name and it goes with my real name so that’s why it’s my user on everything. so no this isn’t a self insert or anything like that i already have a self insert character lmao i just wanted to clear that up.

( CHAPTER 1/2 SNIPPET )

also this prob won’t be proofread yet lolz this is just a small portion of chapter 1 that’s in the form of a drabble! it’ll be much better in the book.

okay i hope you enjoyyy chapters 1-3 should be uploaded to wattpad by august the 25th 🫶🏼 then after i’ll be releasing 5 chapters at a time.

Morana knew she wouldn’t be able to attend this party unless she pregamed first. Her nerves were shot through the roof.

Everything happened so fast with meeting connie, her new plug and close friend. To meeting his friends for lunch at the mall and shopping, and finally getting invited to the back to school party that was happening at Zeke jeagers house.

Connie insisted she come and meet the rest of the people they’ll be hanging out with and Sasha said she’d cry if she didn’t come so here she was.

She got ready with pieck her new roomate, and sasha while connie passed 2 blunts around the room, along with a bottle of Casamigos. They shopping so she had confidence with her brand new outfit and her blunt.

Standing at the front door as connie and pieck impatiently banged on the tall wooden frame, Morana felt so good with all the alcohol and weed dancing in her system.

Eren sat on the couch lighting a blunt waiting for his other friends to arrive. He was already pissed off because his ex mikasa and her little crew of wannabes have been staring him down all night. Purposely walking past him and laughing to eachother and dancing where he could see them.

They broke up 4 months ago after mikasa said some cruel things to him. He had enough of her bad attitude and stuck up ways, she treated him horribly. She only cared about them being the most popular couple at school, but he loved her.

Mikasa was cut throat, she used her popularity and her mindless minions to tear down anyone who stood in her way. Pissing off her ex was a daily task though, her way of still letting him know she was around and not going anywhere.

He dreaded this school year all over again. The next 3 years having to endure this pain alone, no one understood him for real.

He needed his lively friends tonight to get his minds off of things. He perked up in his seat when he heard the loud banging at the door. A devilish grinned crept onto his face as he shifted in his seat, putting out the blunt momentarily so the others could join him.

Jean speeds walking from the kitchen pushing random people as he yells “GOT DAMMIT IM COMING YOU MANIACS.”

Connie’s the first to walk in, wearing an all black nike tech with some jordan’s as usual. His matching diamond earrings and chain sparkling brightly in the lighting of the party. “PARTYSSSS HEREEE”, he shouts as he spots eren jogging over to him.

Sasha and pieck walk in booty bumping and being loud as fuck, clearly both drunk, the pair wearing similar versions of moranas outfit. Morana steps in last greeting jean with a smile and a light hug.

Erens eyes immediately divert towards them, spotting morana his jaw slacked a little as he gawked at her. She had on a black pleated mini skirt with one of those belly dancer tie-around-the-waist scarves draped around the skirt. The gold metal plates jingling together with every step she took. She had a cropped longsleeve black skin tight skirt on with her leopard print bra that peeked through the top, boobs kindly threatening to spill out the top. Black leg warmers running down her tanned smooth legs, and some clear heels that displayed her leopard print french tip pedicure.

‘Wow she is fucking gorgeous’ eren thinks as he continues to stare. Mikasa catches this and saunters her way closer to the scene.

Morana wore her infamous huge black juicy couture purse that had an assortment of pins and keychains also jingling with every step. Her long crimson red hair was down and curly but not in it’s natural state, more of a tight wand curl that gave it a more kempt appearance. She had it half up half down with her bangs curled falling over her forehead. Her strip lashes long and spiked with black eyeliner smudged around her eyes. She changed her face jewelry to gold diamonds to match her outfit, her nose, cheek ,belly, and lip dazzling against the light.

Eren noticed every little detail in her outfit and made a mental note of how good she looked. He irritated himself with the thought of anyone seeing her how he saw her. Yea mikasa was beautiful and popular with everyone, but morana just had an essence and pure beauty that was unmatched. Her gorgeousness was something hard to put into words for eren.

Everyone finally makes their way over to the couch and starts settling in while the blunt makes it’s way around. Mikasa and her crew on one side of the couch, on their phones while mikasa talks to sasha. Eren hated that she still hung out with them, but that’s just how their group was no matter what they all still hung out and had eachothers backs.

Even though she broke his heart in the worst way possible she was still always welcomed. ‘what a joke’ he thought to himself.

Eren didn’t look her way once, instead focusing his attention on morana. She was sandwiched in between connie and pieck on the end of the couch. Diagonal from erens view in the middle of the couch next to armin and the guys.

Mikasa noticed eren staring and immediately followed his gaze to morana, pinching connie’s nipple and everyone laughing as he yelped and rubbed it. She scoffed under her breath, ‘of course he’s interested by her she looks like a hooker’ she thought to herself as she pretended to be interested in what sasha was saying.

“Morana i wanna kiss you bitch you look so hot”, pieck says laying across moranas lap eyes already glazed over. “Stoppp your gonna make me blushhh”, morana playfully hides her face from her.

“Can you guys stop flirting and pay attention to MEEE”, connie says passing the blunt to sasha. “Oh shit hold on before anything”, he stands up looking around at everyone. They all stopped their conversations and looked at connie.

“Everyone this is our new friend Morana Kraven, she’s going to our college this year and she lives in our apartments she’s piecks roommate”, he announces smiling proudly obviously excited about his new friend.

“Hey guys it’s nice to meet you all i hope we can be friends”, morana flashes a toothy smile to everyone.

Everyone gawks at her, Reinas the first to speak “Nice to meet you as well gorgeous.” He’s clearly already drunk but morana pays him no mind saying thank you sweetly.

Everyone goes around introducing themselves welcoming her to their hetic friend group.

“How do you guys know eachother”, eren finally speaks after everyone is done.

“I scared the shit out of her smoking on the porch last night and after she was done peeing her pants we started talking and we just clicked she’s cool as fuck, i think she’ll fit right in”, connie said squeezing moranas cheeks with his hands. “Connie stopp my makeup dude”, she laughs as she slaps his hands away.

Eren laughs and says “yea she looks like a perfect fit.” He secretly curses himself for being infatuated with her. He wasted 4 months of his life getting drained by mikasa, was he really ready to start looking at someone else the same way?

He sits back and watches her as everyone else begins interacting with her, making a mental note to get her number to do more research on her later.

Bertholt and reina start laughing hysterically, even annie cracks a small smile. “No yea she’ll totally be a good fit to our group we needed more girls, plus she’s super hot i mean come on”, sasha says shoving her hand into a random bag a chips that were on the table.

Everyone greets her with open arms, except mikasa. She stares intensely as she watches the boys get red in the face as their talking to her. Armin stuttering over his words like he’s forgotten english. The girls, annie and sasha even her dumb friend historia are gushing over her outfit and hair.

She gets up from her seat, her minions following suit as she strides over to morana standing directly in front of her. Hoping to scare her off from the group before she gets to comfortable.

Pieck sits up and scoffs taking out her phone and touching up her makeup with the camera.

“Mikasa Ackerman, you may of heard of me my fashion blog is pretty popular”, she said with her hands on her hips in a blasé tone. Morana looked away from pieck giving her a confused smile, “Um…sorry but i haven’t, i’ll definitely check it out though i love your outfit.”

Historia and Frieda wince behind mikasa, they knew they’d have to hear about this for hours tonight. Everyone in town knew mikasa, she was powerful there.

Mikasa felt her skin heating up, how dare she act like she doesn’t know her. She showed no signs of this though, she refused to look embarrassed infront of anyone. “Thanks, yours is to for like the club”, mikasa said back as she plucked an imaginary piece of lint off her hot pink mini tube dress.

Before she could respond mikasa made her way back to her area of the couch. “I’m historia and this is my sister frieda, you are so pretty by the way”, the short blonde girl in the blue version of mikasa dress says as she pulls her sister by the arm back to their spots.

“The fuck was that?”, morana asks pieck as she grabs the blunt from connie. “That was the most popular group of girls in the school they call themselves the 30, just stay out of their way they like run the school it’s ridiculous.” Morana nods her head confused about the name but shrugs it off. ‘i’ll ask her more later’ she thinks to herself as she hits the blunt.

She wasn’t dumb, she knew she had a huge secret she had to keep under wraps but she won’t let anyone punk her. ‘This is college not highschool, i don’t know how popular they could be’ she thinks to herself as she passes the blunt back to eren.

His hands linger on her for a second causing her to look into his eyes. “Wow you have really pretty eyes, eren right?” she says holding her gaze.

Eren finally breaks away sitting back in his seat. “Thank you i can’t tell if their blue or green they always mix or some shit, and yea i’m eren”, he say as he hits the blunt to hide his flushing face.

Morana laughs grabbing her chest, “Thats so cool i wish mine we’re a cool color.” Her eyes were black, she looked alien like because of how dark her eyes were and how whites the outer part was. When she looked at someone it was like she was peering into their soul. Eren was absolutely intrigued about this, it was as if her eyes were asking him to spill all his secrets, he almost wanted to give in.

“I think their pretty cool though, you are the first person i’ve seen with all black eyes”, Eren can feel mikasas eyes boring into the side of his head, but he refused to give her any spec of attention.

Mikasa was seething, some new random chick gets accepted into the group just like that? No one discussed this and why is everyone up her ass.

“Kay i gotta use the bathroom, come on girls”, she say quickly getting up and brisking away.

Eren continues casual conversation until morana says “OHMYGOD THIS IS MY SONGGG.” She stands up grabbing pieck and sasha’s hand. “LETS DANCE PLEASEEE”, she shouts over the music already swaying her hips to the music. S.O.S by rihanna is blasting from all the house speakers, everyone making a dash for the dance floor.

Morana looks back at eren, “Sorry that was rude as fuck, but we should talk again sometime! find me at school”, she says as she drags her friends onto the dance floor.

Morana starts really feeling herself when she gets to the dance floor. The lights flashing pink, then purple, then blue giving it a club vibe. The footsteps of people stomping drunkily around dancing on the black hardwood floors.

Morana pulls pieck into her turning around swaying her hips back and forth, using sasha as balance. Pieck immediately follows her lead grabbing her by the waist and following her movements. The sound of moranas belly dancer scarf and piecks chains that hung around her skirt were making a jingling beat to the music.

Morana spins around now face to face with pieck, she bounces around stomping her heels as she feels up her own body dancing between her friends. Eren is on the couch watching in awe, there were 100 people on the dance floor and she still stood out like a dazzling star.

He shifted his pants in his seat when started whining all the way to the floor then popped up, hands around her ankles as she was bent over. He could see her leopard print panties peeking under her skirt. “She’s hot isn’t she”, a voice says on the left side of eren making him jump.

Connie is leaning over his shoulder following his friends eyes towards the new recruit. “Yea whatever she’s cool”, eren says trying to keep his composure. “You should talk to her more after this, i think you guys will have a lot in common.” He slides over the top of the couch plopping next to eren.

“She told me to find her at school so we’ll see what’s up.” He secretly wished they would have at least one class together.

“Tomorrow morning we’re probably gonna wake n bake then help sasha shop for her apartment, you should comeeee”, connie sings raising his eyebrows at his friend. He could tell he was intrigued by her, and with the conversation he had with her last night he figured they could use eachothers company.

“Why the fuck not, jus come wake me up in the morning.” Eren found himself excited about this school year, if she was cool enough to win connie over that quickly, she had to be special. “Bettt we’ll have fun i’ll show you, this year will be amazing.”

They turned their attention back to the dance floor, a girl bumps into sasha, causing morana to almost fall over. “Watch there the fuck your going idiot”, the girl says go sasha. “Ew isn’t that the one who was stuffing her face in the kitchen?”, her friend says furrowing her brows in disgust.

Morana turned around as quick as the sentence came out of the girls mouth. “Yea what we’re not finna do here is talk to my friend like your crazy”, she says laughing. “How about YOU watch where YOUR going and watch your mouth while your at it too thanks”, she says grabbing sasha’s hand pulling her behind her.

“Who the hell even are you don’t start something you can’t finish, take your dumb friend and go back to dancing SLUT”, the girl says taking a sip of her drink.

Morana feels her blood go cold. She knows it’s probably just the alcohol but she hated when people insulted her friends. She’s heard the slut comment plenty of times but talking shit about her friend was doing too much. She closed her eyes trying to count to ten, when she got to 7 and still felt that anger she shrugged.

“I guess it can’t be helped huh”, she backs away from sasha stepping towards the girl close enough to kiss her. “Call my friend another name and see what happens”, she grits through her teeth. The girl leans her head to the side so sasha is in her field of vision, “DUMB. BITCH.”

Morana cracks a half smile before grabbing the girl by her hair and pulling her to the ground. She starts hitting her while her friend pleads on the side for her to let go.

“Ahhhh SHIT, THIS is part of the in common i was talking about, i should get her before she goes to jail”, connie stands up running towards the cat fight. Eren sits there watching as every hit she threw connected to the girls face. ‘She’s definitely done this before’ eren thinks to himself as she throws another punch. He’s kind of shocked that such a sweet looking girl could hit like that.

Mikasa and her girls were coming out the bathroom before they saw morana fighting. “EHMAGAWD SHES BEATING HER ASS”, historia exclaims throwing a fist in the air. “Shut it.”, mikasa warns her dumb friend to tone it down. “What an attention whore, fighting at a party is so middle school.” She walks off leading her girls to the backyard. She couldn’t handle watching everyone ogle that girl anymore. ‘I give her two weeks and i’ll have her out of here’ she thinks to herself as she pushes past people.

Connie runs up and grabs morana by the waist lifting her as high as he can. “ALRIGHT WERE OUT THIS BITCH LETS GO”, he yells as he starts hauling her towards the door. Pieck and sasha follow close behind watching their friend still cussing the girl out over connie’s shoulder.

They’ve barley just met and she already got in a fight over them. Sasha giggled “Thank you Momo you are the best bitch.”

Morana finally stops arguing looking down at sasha. Her face softens, “That was nothing i would’ve killed her if i was sober”, she said laughing a little embarrassed. Sasha could tell she was half serious by her tone which warmed her heart in a weird way.

“YEA YOU TOTALLY BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HER”, pieck says grabbing sasha’s hand as they make their way out the door.

Eren watched as connie left with the girls, feeling kind of sad that HIS party had to leave.

‘Tomorrow morning’ he thought to himself as he sat back thinking about her.

#black girl blogger #aot fanfiction #eren smut #aot fanfic #eren x oc #eren yeager #eren x reader smut #sneak peek #attack on titan eren #attack on titan #new friends #this is my masterpiece #it’s gonna be so good #i love yall #smut scene next

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