Nikolai Lantsov Fanart Novels & Stories

Arturo: Nikolay glared at his wife whose eyes were fixed on me. I knew that she was doing this out of revenge, but the woman was crossing the line. “I don’t think that you have any proof of what you are saying, Anika, but if it helps you; I would love to prove to you and your mates that I am not what you just claimed that I am.” I said, glaring at the woman who smiled at me. Her smile was one that I knew very well, it was the same one that she had on her face when she chose to be with Nikolay. The woman did it when I rejected her wanting to get a reaction out of me, and when she saw that there was no reaction, she grew angrier.

She pulled Leah to her feet, dragging her away. My throat clogged with mucus, as Estella made her way to the door, hesitating at the handle. "You are an omega, and henceforth Nikolai's going to have to treat you as one."

"Alright, let's go over the plan," Theo said and everyone settled down. "Xania," I got up and winked at Leo who was grinning at me. "Well, I've already started with the paintings. I've already recreated two since the time of my 'theory'. Every painting will have a 'mistake' to show that it's a counterfeit, also the canvases are branded. These counterfeits are the three paintings that are the star of the show so-"

hideous. My nose is three times too big, Konstantin looks constipated, and Leonid has raccoon eyes. Konstantin’s face darkens immediately. He grips the artist by the collar and yanks him up so fast the guy nearly drops his markers. “What the fuck is this?” Konstantin growls. “Hey! I’m a professional!” the artist squeaks. Leonid crosses his arms and joins the attack. “I don’t look like that. That’s ugly.”

Anya smiled. They made their way to the museum, marveling at an exhibition of Natalia Goncharova's avant-garde work. Anya stopped to appreciate the Futurist 'The Cyclist' while Morozko was fascinated by the artist’s Rayonist works. Bold strokes of color illuminated the canvases, and Anya felt lost in the contours of 'The Cyclist,' its bold blues and off-yellows like sunlight on the sea. They made their way through different collections, but Anya’s mind was still fixated on her favorite painting. It reminded her of broom flight.

Art's tongue darts out, and his head dips as he licks a line from the center of his collarbone, up his throat, and over his chin. “Do you want me to stop?” Art asked, and Nikolai quickly shook his head. “If you stop, I'll throw you over the balcony!” Nikolai said firmly. Art threw his head back laughing. His eyes twinkled as he looked down between them and watched Nikolai nearly rip his pants off while trying to undo the button. Art's pants hit the ground, and Nikolai blushed when he saw the prominent bulge in Art's blue boxer briefs. He realized how desperate he must look after undressing himself and Art, and his blush deepened.

ENORA Nikolai Lantsov really did live up to his name as a lunatic who toyed with women, and I hated how I’d manage to add myself to the list of women who became weaklings in his presence. I exhaled, trying to blow out the frustration that had built inside of me. I closed my eyes, ashamed of myself for how easily I surrendered to his touch. Fuck. Even now, the feeling of his light touch on my face and his warm breath on my skin still lingered. Weird things were happening between my legs, tugging at my self-control and needing more of his dangerous touch.

“ Nik! “ Viv shouted before I could ask any questions and hugged him. Unlike with me, he kept the hug short. I didn’t know if I was overthinking things or I was observant but I saw that Nikolai was too careful with his sister. He kept her close but he always made sure she was at arm’s length. I would have to ask him about that. Lorenzo came into the room and greeted Nikolai. They spoke for a while before Nik turned his attention back to me. He held out his hand for me to take and I did. He pulled me to his body and put his arm around my waist. “ I’m glad all of you are okay. I’m okay too as you can see. I was able to torture some details from a certain traitor and his wife. That will teach a

Before I could finish, the door slammed open, and my breath caught in my throat. Nikolai burst in, his tall figure cutting through the shadows, eyes blazing with anger. He looked like a storm—dangerous and dressed to kill. His gaze swept over Arturo and then landed on me, lingering for a heartbeat, making sure I was okay. “Step away from her,” Nikolai said, his voice low and deadly. Arturo chuckled, clearly unfazed. “Ah, the husband. Or should I say… the jailer turned lover? You always amuse me, Volkov.”

I don't know anyone around. Nikolai's eyes scan the room, staring intently at a specific piece – a rare, stunning 18th-century portrait, ‘The Whispering Lady' by Vladimir Borovikovsky. I seriously had no idea he liked these, so I ask, “You like paintings?” “Who doesn't.” He says with a small laugh. “Me.” I bluntly reply and he scoffs, shaking his head. “You have bad tastes, pretty boy.” I want to say something but I hold back and look back at the painting.