#I’m visiting my family and all I have is a pencil

[ann7av]

(This thing has been in my drafts for more than a week already and I need to stop looking at it so the tags aren't up to date)

Back to my untimely art project. I found the sketch and fixed it up a bit.

I’ll need to transfer it to another paper because this one is almost disintegrating, and I stared at it for way too long and can no longer see if there's anything weird so let me know.

Also, the crown braid gained the medal for biggest improvement (I still can’t draw one for shit but it’s a lot better)

I think that’s pretty close to how I vaguely imagined her on my first read (if I only had bothered to do some shading at the time), but I think I’ll make her pointier in the full-body doodle I’m doing

[viciousewe]

Spent 1h carefully removing the twist from a lopi single because ??? (Just kidding I know why it’s because I want the benifits of a Lopi yarn in 3 ply yarn)

[mv1simp]

for the bully!Max, Leclerc!Reader and chubby!reader simps in my requests…I heard you and I’m here to deliver 😼😼 enjoy!!

You Belong To Me ♥️

Bully!Max Verstappen x Chubby!Leclerc!Reader

say it louder, say it louder, who’s gonna love you like me (who’s gonna fuck you like me?)

Growing up as the youngest daughter in the Leclerc family, you’d had a childhood crush on your brother’s rival and friend, Max. But when you grew older he turned into your worst nightmare, always bullying you. You’ve been able to avoid him for the last 5 years - but now with your new engineer job on the paddock, you can’t hide from Max any longer…and can’t stop the feelings you still have for him.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, size kink, dom/sub, dark! Max who bullies innocent virgin!reader, dub con, brainwashing, bimbofication, somno, yk all the good shit, WC 9k 😨

You shiver as you walk into your family’s childhood vacation home along the Cote de Azure, despite the summer heat. It’s been a long time since you’d visited this house. Even though your Mama and three older brothers came by often, looking for a weekend break from their busy lives or a romantic getaway with gorgeous girlfriends, you’d always turn down their offers to join once you were in college. They'd always be confused at your hesitance - but then again, they don't know just how many bittersweet memories this home holds for you. You’d grown up here in the summers, the youngest daughter of the famous Monegasque Leclerc family. Racing was in your bloodline, and your beloved Papa had instilled his passion into all of his children before he’d passed away.

Your older brothers, who were all handsome, tall and athletic, made natural drivers right from childhood and easily progressed through the karting competitions. Meanwhile, you were the youngest and the only daughter, and were raised in a far gentler manner as the apple of your family’s eye, their cute bunny as they’d nicknamed you, after your favourite childhood pet. In comparison to your brothers who ran around outdoors, you were more shy, preferring to be left with your books and colouring pencils in the safety of the patio.

Of course, with all your differences, there had been the healthy sibling rivalry of brothers vs sister growing up. They hated being forced to play house or pose for your scribbly drawings (not Arthur though - even at age 5 you were convinced he secretly loved when you made him join the Barbie tea party.) And in turn, you'd alway complain when you’d be dragged to cheer on Charles from the sidelines as he won his karting competitions. You would sulk, childishly annoyed at your parent’s attention shifting from you to their middle son’s rapidly growing racing career.

But it all changed when Charles raced against Max Verstappen for the first time at age 11. The blonde Dutchman aggravated your competitive older brother immediately with his aggressive driving tactics. You’d heard Cha, as you’d been calling him since you were little, furiously ranting about the illegal moves Max had been pulling and your 7 year old brain tuned it all out. But when you first saw the mysterious blonde in question, your heart fluttered with a feeling you’d never felt before and a bright blush overtook your chubby cheeks.

You immediately became infatuated with the older boy, who was far nicer to you than Charles had been back then. Your middle brother's idea of “sibling time” involving hiding beetles in your bed and laughing when you screamed. So it became a common sight to see you wandering after Max instead of being by your family’s side, tugging on his shirt sleeve and showing him the racecar drawings you’d made. Max always entertained you, ruffing your hair and smiling back toothily, telling you that you were a much better artist than his little sis Victoria.

You’d beam from the praise, only leaving Max’s side when his scary father Jos would approach and eye you with disdain. You scampered back to your family, to your older brothers who accused you of the worst crime imaginable to the loyal Leclerc blood - exchanging racing strategies with the enemy Dutch. Your mother had hit all three sons on the back of the head and told them they could learn a thing or two about treating Bunny with respect like that cute boy Max did.

As you grew older, your pigtails were replaced with cute pins and headbands in an effort to look pretty whenever Max would come around to your summer home. By now, his rivalry with Charles had turned into a reluctant "frenemies who also spent summers together to discuss racing". You'd get to be with Max all day, swimming in the turquoise ocean and eating sweet stroopwafel that he always brought. An in the evenings, the two car-obsessed 14 year olds would be arguing about overtaking strategies at your family’s dining table. You’d pout, childishly wanting attention at age 11, interrupting whatever stupid point you're sure Charles was making to bat your eyelashes at your guest. Holding up your now detailed drawings of a black kart, you asked Maxie - as you’d taken to calling him - if he liked your recreation of his.

He’d grinned at you, still boyishly handsome and in the lanky phase of growing up as he told you he loved it, should he sign his autograph on it? with that Dutch accent you adored. Charles watched your shenanigans with a roll of his eyes, snidely muttering (in French, thank god) that the annoying little bunny wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her crush on the enemy Dutch. You flushed, frantically checking to make sure Max hadn’t been able to understand, and had run off with a red face to tearfully rat him out to your Mama. Unlike Charles, she found your crush on Max rather cute, and always encouraged you to give your favourite ribbons and bows to Max for a good luck charm the way you did with your brothers pre-race (Traitor, teen Arthur and Charles mouthed at you).

She eyed you knowingly when you do your best to avoid blushing as you grew older still, this time seeing Max when you were 14 and him 17 with an impressive winning streak in the Junior Redbull team. He’d started to develop into his tall 6 foot frame now, towering over your tiny 5”2 frame like your brothers did. What, no drawing of a racecar for me to sign Bunny? he gently teased, leaning down so you could shyly kiss both of his cheeks - a Monegasque tradition Max had become accustomed to from your family. You stuttered out your no, of course not, you were too old for that now! making him laugh at how cute you looked before walking off. Arthur watches the exchange with a smirk, elbowing Cha when he emerges from the changing rooms. Your middle brother’s frenemy status with Max was more of a friendship these days, and his earlier accusations of you being a traitor had turned into something much more annoying. Max and Bunny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G-

But by the time you turned 16, your Maxie changed from the sweet, laughing boy you’d always trusted into someone darker, someone who you felt scared of at times. You were at the age where you now wanted Max as your boyfriend, naively thinking that the 19 year old driver would return your affections when he’d attended your Sweet 16th. You’d spent hours getting ready, styling your long curly hair and wearing a cute dress all your friends had insisted you would be irresistible in (but had almost given your older brothers an aneurysm). It was tight and short, and although you'd always been a chubby kid, you feel a self conscious of the new plush curves around your hips and chest, in comparison to your older brothers who now looked very handsome and muscular.

You’d lit up when you saw Max across the fancy yacht club, flooded with all your schoolmates and family friends who’d come to celebrate the baby Leclerc’s birthday. He'd looked so handsome, his muscular frame now filled out and catching the eye of many girls. There was a devilishness in his smile that came with the confidence of being the youngest F1 driver in history. Lately, your innocent crush had started to drift towards naughtier, dirtier fantasies about what Max’s large hands and lips would feel like on you, if he snuck into your bedroom in the middle of the night and told you he loved you as you willingly gave him your first kiss.

But all your naive hopes come crashing down when you see a slim, sexy blonde approach Max where he’s talking to Charles intently, drinking a beer. His hand squeezes her ass in a familiar motion as she wraps her arms around him, leaning up to give him a kiss. You quickly turn around in the crowd before you can be seen, heartbroken, and drown yourself in blurred conversations and slices of birthday cake. Max doesn’t even come to wish you happy birthday like he normally did, always with a special gift in hand. At some point in the night you’re talking to Charles and try to subtly ask who that blonde girl with Max had been. Your older brother gives you an amused look, asking if you still had your silly little childhood crush on Max? You adamantly deny it, and he smirks and tells you that was Giana, Max’s girlfriend and an Italian model. You’re upset, of course, but thankfully he changes the topic to tell you how Max had recommended his old F2 seat go to Charles, wasn’t that amazing Bunny? You nod mutedly, having become used to Cha being less and less aware of anything that went on outside his racing career these days.

After a sneaky shot of tequila your friend gave you, you have the courage to go approach Max. His girlfriend is still at his side and raises an eyebrow, pointedly glancing down at your figure to make it clear what she thought of your curvier body. What shocks you, though, is seeing an annoyed look on Max’s face as well, as he demands to know why you’re interrupting, couldn’t you see he was busy? You’ve never heard him speak like that and are confused, asking him why he’s being so mean, did I do something wrong, Max-

He cuts you off, smirking as he asks why you weren’t calling him Maxie anymore. The girl laughs at that, saying no way, she’s such a kid, she calls you that? A few of your older schoolmates have wandered over, curious to see what was going on and you flush from the embarrassment of having Max treat you like this in front of your friends.

From then on, Max just became crueler and crueler to you. It’s like he enjoyed seeing how you'd react, your cute chubby cheeks darkening with embarrassment as you avoided his gaze. Once he'd officially moved to Monaco, you ran into him everywhere as him and Charles formed a close friendship and would often hang out. Max would always time his harsh remarks just when your brother wasn't in earshot. He'd mock you about everything, from your childish appearance, to your innocently conservative outfits, your nerdy perfect grades, your animated Italian gestures and accent which he'd always seemed to adore growing up. Your popularity in school plummeted as your friends watched the talented F1 driver roll his eyes and mutter how pathethic you were when he heard you were reading romantic novels on Friday night instead of partying, saying the only reason you had any friends was because of your talented brother’s fame. Your family had no idea what was going on - as Max’s bullying started the same time your Papa becomes unwell and landed in hospital. Your brothers thought the change in your sweet demeanour was because of your sadness for your father.

If only they knew the real culprit was right under their noses.

It seemed there was nothing teen Max enjoyed more than seeing your big brown doe eyes welling up with tears. He’d use everything you told him growing up against you, making gossip and rumours fly around your school constantly. Any guy who tried to talk to you was assumed to be doing it as a dare. The first few years of high school had been like hell - the only thing making it bearable being your perfect grades and promising future. Unlike your older brothers who were natural sportsmen, you were the opposite and excelled at academics, and you’d used it to get a full ride scholarship at a prestigious engineering course in the UK.

That’s what you reminded yourself to get you through a graduation party at the end of high school. You'd been reluctantly dragged by the small group of friends you’d thankfully kept despite all the bullying and rumours. In true Monaco trust fund kid fashion, the party was hosted on one of your schoolmates' yacht, with many juniors and older siblings tagging along as well. Towards the end of high school, Max’s bullying was less common as he became busier with his racing - something Charles had become fully invested in with his new F1 Alfa Romeo seat. And you’d grown up, too, maturing into your curves and pretty dark Italian features, catching the eye of a few boys in your year.

It seemed you’d been briefly relieved of your duties of being a social pariah when you're yanked into a circle of already wasted partygoers playing 7 minutes in heaven. But when your friend pulled out your name with a drunken flush, you could only widen your eyes in horror when the next name she announces was one you'd never expected - Max.

And then you see him, on the other side of the deck, leaning against the railing and ignoring the girls trying to speak to him as his ice blue eyes intently watch you. You squeaked out your protests, begging your friend to try again, but it's hopeless when the circle begins chanting your name and Max’s. Giving up, you turned around and ran through the crowd, trying to reach the ramp and get off the boat -

-when a large, warm hand wrapped around your waist and easily pulled you into a broad chest. Before you knew it, you're in a tiny, dark storage room, with Max Verstappen blocking the door and smirking down at you. Your naive heart still ached with conflicting feelings for Max, who was your childhood knight in shining armour, who always stood up for you when your older brothers ganged up on you, always knew how to make you laugh when you were crying from their teasing. But this was also the same Max who made your high school life hell, had teased you mercilessly behind your brother’s back, and used all the secrets you'd trusted him with against you. He'd make you look like a childish little girl in front of your effortlessly cool, rich peers. This reminder brought you back to your senses and you quietly but firmly ask him to let me out.

He hadn’t let you leave, of course, instead leaning down until he was whispering in your ear with his deep voice that still send shivers down your spine, mockingly asking if you’d had your first kiss yet or if you're still the same stuck up Leclerc who thinks she's too good to be fucked by anyone here?

Heart racing furiously from nervousness, you mumble out that you hadn’t had your first kiss, avoiding his ice cold eyes as he chuckled. You know his game well enough by now to understand he wouldn’t let you go until he gets his answer. You hated the boy you once hoped to give your first kiss to. He’d ruined your reputation beyond repair, had made it so no guy at school would touch you even if they found you pretty.

Well, apparently except for one boy.

Turns out Max himself had no issues laying his hands on you, hidden in the darkness of the storeroom. His hands had pushed you up against the wall, your face cutely scrunched up in confusion, and then your jaw almost dropped in shock when he pressed his lips to your ear. He huskily whispered how pretty you looked, how he’d hated the way boys had been checking you out all night. They didn’t know you’d already promised to marry Max when you were little, yeah Bunny?

And then he’d captured the surprised gasp you let out, shocked that he’d remembered your childhood wish to be his vrouw, his wife, when he leans down to press a surprisingly gentle kiss against your soft lips. When he pulled back, his face remaining close to yours, your brown doe eyes looked into his with whirling confusion and hurt - but also desire flickering in them. And then you’d both gotten lost in another kiss, then another, and then Max being Max had starting running his hands all over your body. Squeezing his hand into your juicy ass to make you shyly moan, and then greedily slipping his tongue inside.

That’s how everyone had found you when they yanked the door open, with Max having you moaning his name, one hand sliding up your skirt and the other running over your tits. The darkness in his gaze returns as he pulled back and left you leaning against the wall with wobbly legs. He laughed as he strode off the party, saying it’d been so easy to get you to beg for him like a little slut, who would’ve guessed with your innocent appearance?

You couldn’t wait to graduate high school and go to university after that. And it had been amazing, moving far away from Monte Carlo. No one knew who you were or how deep your history with world famous athletes like Charles or Max went. You reinvented yourself, becoming confident after months of therapy and your intelligence becoming something you were admired for instead of teased. You’d though that was the end of it, that you’d never have to be humiliated or have your heart broken by Max Verstappen again. Until 5 years later when you got a call from Lorenzo asking you to come home.

With the intimate engagement party of your oldest brother being held at your family’s scenic vacation home, you’d been unable to refuse. You knew Max was going to be there, but you’d taken a deep breath and reminded yourself that things were different now. You were 22, a qualified engineer and had used your own hard work to get a job within the Alpine garage - even using your mother’s maiden name as your last name because you wanted to prove it was because of your skill, not connections. Charles had been bewildered, begging you to please come work at Ferrari, bebe but you’d been adamant about needing to prove your own worth. You loved your family, and were so happy for Cha’s success as your relationship with your brothers blossomed into a close, loyal one as adults. It had always been your father’s dream to see him in the red suit. It was unbelievable to have millions of Tifosi literally worship your older brother - and their adoration extended to you, his sweet younger sister Bunny. You make rare appearances on the paddock but were hailed as a good luck charm when you did, Tifosi cheering when you affectionally kiss your brother on both cheeks and tie a hair ribbon to his suit. You always made sure to stay well away from the Redbull garage.

And you’d become radiant in your beauty, too, in pretty, flattering dresses and fitted miniskirts that showed off your soft stomach and thighs, your generous cleavage and juicy ass. Full, lush lips and long dark curls framed your sweetheart face and you’d been finally been able to put makeup on without fear of being mocked. A few guys had tried to ask you out in college, but you hadn’t been quite there yet in your confidence to say yes. Max had seemed to put you off all men, for now at least….and your protective Italian brothers seemed to make it their personal mission to protect your honour and integrity. Very dramatic, you’d said to them with a fond roll of your eyes, secretly enjoying how they cared for you despite their luxurious celebrity lifestyles. So you’d ended up still being a virgin at your college graduation, wanting to save it for the man you fell in love with.

You reminded yourself of all that you had to offer, of how you weren’t the same nerdy little girl who was going to be bullied, when you heard Max would be joining your family prior to the engagement party. The night before he was meant to arrive, you’d been overthinking and anxiously wringing your fingers so hard that your whole family had started demanding to know what was troubling you. After giving them some weak excuse about being worried about your new job, you'd gone to read one of your romance novels by the pool after dinner to destress. You had ended up falling asleep under the stars, your tired mind eager to rest.

You didn’t know the man you were desperately hoping to avoid had landed a night earlier with his private jet. When he’d greeted your middle brother late in the night, saying he would crash for now and greet everyone properly in the morning when they were awake, Charles had gone to bed and the last remaining light of the house switched off. Only the silver moonlight illuminated your pretty face and unsuspecting figure when Max Verstappen stepped outside his bedroom's French doors, hoping to cool off - but instead felt his blood pumping heatedly at the sight of you.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to see you for years as you'd understandably fled to the other side of the continent the second you had the change to escape. You’d turned from a nervous, cute schoolgirl into a gorgeous woman, and his intense gaze hungrily roams over your peaceful sleeping body. He was going to ruin you, he thinks wickedly, gently stroking your still chubby cheeks that subconsciously leaned into his touch.

He decided to give you one last night of quiet as he left you in deep sleep, walking back inside with dark desire brewing. The childish bully he’d been as an angry teen, desperate to prove himself, was gone. He was now a thrice proven world champion, a millionaire, a man who’d been with dozens of women but found only one he still wanted through it all. And it was none other than his racing rival's sweet younger sister, the one who'd stayed loyal to him since she was little. He was ready to make you his, whether you still wanted him or not.

When you finally saw him at breakfast the next morning you had been suspicious at his pleasant behaviour, greeting you like he would any family friend and asking how college had treated you. Your whole body had gone stiff, eyes distrustfully following his every move. You’d been forced to respond back politely as your family watched you, your mum still grinning as she rooted for her daughter to become romantically involved with her childhood crush. If only your family knew how much Max tormented you, they’d never let him get within 10km of you again. But to your surprise, Max kept up his kind manner even when your family would be out of the room, laughing and smiling easily at you and somehow bringing confusing butterflies back to swirl in your stomach. After the week he'd spent at your vacation home, you'd naively started to think maybe he had changed. Maybe the five years away had made him mature into the charming, funny driver you'd seen in numerous interviews and ads, being unable to avoid his far reaching fame.

But it turned out his respectful behaviour, all through the engagement celebrations and the after party, only served as a ploy to get you to foolishly lower your guard. Max had greedily collected up all the information he’d missed over the years, about what your likes and dislikes were now, about how you’d gotten a job with your own means at the F1 paddock. And then he casually informed you over dinner that he’d spoken to Horner who was coincidentally looking for a mechanical engineer - and had wanted to interview you after seeing your resume. Your family had been ecstatic at a job for you in a prestigious garage, despite their blood thirsty Ferrari loyalty. Even Cha had caught you after dinner, telling you that it was thoughtful of Max to look out for you, that as your big brother he’d feel so much better if you were working in a winning team’s garage and being protected by Max, instead of alone in a poorly performing team.

You were so confused, couldn’t understand why Max was trying to get involved - and you told him so that night, hushed angry whispers in the hallway after everyone had gone to bed. He’d smirked, leaning down to press you into the wall, saying Wasn’t it obvious Bunny? I want you.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you stammered out your confusions, asking him why he would say such a thing, only to feel his lips brushing your ear. His deep voice murmured his explanation of how his father didn't think Max had been focused enough when he was younger, had wanted him to throw all distractions to the side...including you. I'm a three time world champion now, Max said with a cocky grin. It doesn't matter what he says anymore, I do what I want.

Although his initial words about how the change in his behaviour being due to his controlling father sent a pang of empathy through you, you hadn't come this far to just give in. You pushed him off you with all your might, only being able to get a couple of inches as you glared and said you're delusional, Max, if you think I'd ever forgive you. Much less want you back after the hell you put me through. Storming off, you naively thought that was the end of it, that Max would back off once he saw you weren't the same lovesick girl he could toy with anymore. Not gonna call me Maxie anymore? he teases at your retreating back.

You should have known Max always got what he wanted, because he finds his way into your bedroom later that night. It was stupid to not lock your room because you think he wouldn't lay a hand on you when under the same roof as your brothers. Softly closing the door behind him, Max's dark gaze took in your curvy, sleeping figure in your childhood room. It was still decorated with your younger self's belongings as your Mama had always wanted you to feel welcome - but you had never come back after graduating. So you slept against a large plushie Bunny, cutely dressed in a pink matching shorts and camisole set. The twisted desire to corrupt the sleeping beauty in front of him rushes to Max's head - and his hardening cock- and he doesn't hesitate to slowly run his large palms over your body. He teasingly slides one hand up your sheer camisole to graze your large tits and the other down your shorts, to lightly toy with your pussy through cotton panties. The sweet dream you'd been having started to turn into a dirty one from the stimulation, and you instinctively grind back against the warm, hard body pressed into your back as you moan sleepily.Your dream is getting more and more heated as Max plays with your sensitive body, and only when you’re starting to drench your panties with slick do your eyes hazily blink open. Your adorably confused expression turns him on even more as he captures your gasp in his mouth, using his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth. Soon he has your panties pulled to one side and his thick finger sliding into your dripping folds. Your muffled protests have started slipping into confused moans, and he doesn't need to keep you silent any longer as start kissing him back when your body's frustrated needs take over your mind's denials. Max looks down on your face, memorising how pretty your wide brown eyes looked as you teared up, and he whispers filthy things in your ear to send you off the edge and spiralling into your first orgasm. You're so sensitive, bunny, you’re still a virgin aren’t you? Saved yourself just for me like a good girl, hmm?

You’d silently cried into your plush toy as you buried your flushed face into it, feeling lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you knew you shouldn't be feeling, that was wrong but felt so right. Drool stained your poor bunny plush as you bit down on it to muffle your scream of Maxie as waves of satisfaction rolled over you. You'd fallen back into a deep sleep after the overwhelming stimulation, distantly feeling Max's lips press a goodnight kiss to your tear stained cheeks. And when you awoke in the morning, you almost thought you'd imagined up the whole thing, a particularly naughty wet dream, but when you found that your panties were missing underneath your cute pajama shorts you knew there was only one person who would have taken them with him.

You didn’t even get a chance to confront him because you find out the very same day that Max had gotten his lawyer to cancel your Alpine contract and have Redbull send you a new one, complete with a generous signing bonus that anyone would be a fool to refuse. With your family watching you expectantly, you knew it would be too hard to explain your way out of this. So you reluctantly signed the 1 year contract, telling yourself it was only a temporary problem, that you would surely be hiding out the back of the garage and in the workshops, well away from your childhood bully.

That’s all Max needed to get you alone, to start his corruption of you, his favourite Leclerc sibling. Right from your first day, he’d welcomed you with a firm hug, his swollen biceps pressing you against his broad chest, squeezing your plump ass and making you squeal - but striding off before you could say anything. Or coming up behind you when you were bent over, tinkering on something, and making sure you could feel his impressive semi against your covered slit. You'd always desperately try to move away, anxious someone would see - but you stood no chance against the adult Max's strength when he tightened his grip around your thick hips and grinded himself on your jiggling ass.

He still teased you, sure, but now it came off as harmless flirting, steeped into your childhood friendship. And conflicting feelings swirled in your chest when you saw the lucky ribbon you’d gifting him as a kid somehow still tied to his seat, an ever present good luck charm. Everyone else would smile at you two encouragingly, saying you looked so sweet together, where you secretly a couple? No one seemed to share your nervousness around Redbull's champion driver, or pick up on the undertone of darkness in his intense gaze when he looked at you.

Soon he has you travelling exclusively with him, staying in all the same hotels, under the guise of being his personal mechanic for any last minute corrections. Charles loved it, saying this way Max could always keep a close eye on you when you were away from home. If only your overprotective brother knew he was sending his little sister right into the den of the lion. And the so called Dutch Lion was no longer holding himself back from taking your sweet innocence all for himself.

You'd always belonged to him, after all.

It first started when he’d gotten absolutely furious seeing you at a race afterparty in Miami, giggling cutely in a pretty minidress with an engineer you’d started to flirt with at work. Max had all but dragged you to his private booth, tossing you over his strong shoulder when you tried to stand your ground and stand firmly in your strappy high heels. He kicked all the models and B list celebrities trying to leech out of the dimly lit room, pushing your head down till you were staring up at him, your pretty face bathed in the red neon lights as you anxiously bite your glossed lip.

If you wanted to get fucked so bad, he growled deeply, unbuckling his belt and making your eyes go wide with fear as the biggest cock you’d ever seen emerges, you can just beg for it nicely like the good little slut you are, hmm? You’re sniffling, tears emerging in your wide doe eyes as you beg him please Maxie, please don't do this, I promise I’ll stop-

But he doesn’t listen to one pleading word, his twisted mind obsessed with one thing and one thing only - making the pure Leclerc sweetheart gag and choke on his mean cock. You knew better than to get in the way of what Max wanted, because he always ended up getting it. Instead you let your mind go blank, letting the guilty pleasure cloud your senses to ignore the reality of how mean Max was being, your pliant mouth dropping open as you let him ruin your throat. There isn’t a glimmer of his childhood sweetness in his dark, icy blue eyes as he memorizes the hypnotising sight of your chubby cheeks slurping at raging erection, the tears falling down your face at performing your first blowjob on your knees at a nightclub just making him impossibly harder. He groans as your sweet mouth slurps on his warm length, continuing to whisper his filthy promises to punish you and slipping into dutch as he climaxed. Fuck, fuck, erg lekker, so fucking good- He made sure your crying cheeks was pressed right into his tense abs when he finally emptied his load inside you, panting heavily from how good your heavenly tongue felt. He didn’t move until you followed his instructions and tried to swallow every drop. Your inexperienced mouth struggled, half of his sticky cum leaking out the corners of your mouth. He tutted mockingly, smearing his release all over your swollen lips with his thumb and saying he’d have to give your throat so much more training so it knew how to suck a cock, hmm?

Your cheeks burned with humiliation at failing to please him properly, even though he was practically forcing you to deepthroat him. The next day, when you woke up with no voice, you’d had to pretend you had a cold when seeing Cha for brunch the next morning.

And when he’d have a bad qualifying, he’d easily swipe his way into your hotel room two doors down from his. He often finds you in a cute silky babydoll, getting ready to sleep after a long day in the garage but making sure to dress prettily because you never know when Max is in a bad mood and wants to take it out on you. You had one more job to do, and that’s to make up for whatever mistake you must have made with the car and fucked up his hot lap, Max would argue. An angry Max always scared you so you would sweetly beg for his forgiveness, even for a mistake you would never have made on the car, letting him abuse your petite frame to vent his frustrations.

Tonight, he wanted to play with your breasts, sliding the silky straps off your nightie off your shoulders to hungrily eye your curves, tanned nipples quickly tightening from the chill. Can’t get enough of these pretty fucking tits, he said as he sloppily fucked them while you obediently kneeled in between his spread legs. You’re squeezing your plush chest together to cushion his raging erection, his angry red tip making you squeal when he growls and splatters cum all over your deliciously tanned skin. Knowing he’d get mad if you don’t let him mark his territory, you rub the sticky cream all over your hardened nipples and large breasts before you clean up his drooling cockhead with your mouth. He cooes his praises at you, telling you see, you’re perfect at this, maybe he’ll have you promoted from engineer to his personal cocksleeve to relieve his stress, hmm?

You feel so dirty at the wetness gushing between your legs at his filthy words, biting your lip at the thought of Max fucking you in his driver’s room while your brothers stood just a garage over in Ferrari. But despite his constant teasing, he knew to never cross the line fully and actually fuck you. That would scare you away, make you too anxious, and although he played rough and mean when he'd been younger, he now had the patience to wait and leave you wanting more, so that you'd be the one to come to him. So he edged you constantly, working you up only to pull away just as you almost climaxed, his name on your tongue like a prayer. Or pulling you into sleep against his bare muscled chest, so that you'd feel his morning wood against your soaked panties but be unable to do anything except dry hump him.

And his plan worked because after only a few months, your once pure and innocent mind has become utterly ruined for Max’s attention. The Dutch Lion has convinced you that you’re meant to be his plaything, and you can’t find it within you to try and deny him any longer. Would it truly be so wrong to give in to the naughty desires you’d been having about your childhood sweetheart, your school bully, your brother’s rival on track but friend that had been trusted to keep his little sister safe? When you’d grown too desperate to satisfy yourself by grinding on your pillow or your tiny fingers, you’d decided to entice Max even more in the hopes that he’d properly take your innocence.

You’d certainly caught the Dutchman’s eye, as well as many other hungry gazes, when you started arriving on the paddock in cute heels and floral minidresses. And of course, your generous cleavage was out on full display in sweetheart necklines, instead of conservatively hidden in an oversized Redbull shirt. You’d made sure to have your lanyard tucked right in between your bouncing tits too, the label of Max Verstappen’s Enineering Team dangling and drawing attention with each bounce of your tits when you walked. Because you knew your Maxie just as well as he knew you, after all - and he was a intensely competitive and jealous man. You hadn’t even had to wait till the debrief as he’d hightailed it right out of the meeting room, taking you to his motor home through a back passage.

You still play the clueless little virgin, adamant on trying to resist him even though you're secretly finding it just as dirty and hot as Max does when he shoves you against the door, locking it firmly. Fuck, your body drives me wild, it’s all your fault that I’m getting distracted like this. How can you be such a naive virgin but walk around with the body of a slut just begging to get fucked, huh?

You frantically shake your head, trying to plead your innocence but he doesn’t hear your words, instead grabbing a hold of your miniskirt and asking if you understood girls with thick asses like you shouldn’t be showing them off unless you wanted attention, yeah? You started crying easily, already finding your thoughts going fuzzy as you slipped into submission, craving the way he’d degrade you for his own pleasure.

He’d have to punish you for distracting him, he said, even though he’d won P1 it had been torture seeing your fat ass bending over when you dropped your phone in front of him. You were lucky no one else had seen your cotton panties or he’d have to fucking kill them.

His possessive words make you shiver, doe brown eyes staring up at him expectantly and waiting for his orders. He swears at your obedient expression and guides your hand to his sizeable bulge, making you squeal, hoping it sounds like fright and not eagerness. He rubs your tiny palm across his pants, demanding to know just how the hell he was meant to focus with a hard on the whole race?

When you can’t answer him properly he smirks and tells you that you’ll just have to take your punishment like a good girl, then. Within seconds he has you lying across his lap, your miniskirt up around your hips and white cotton panties pulled down to snugly trap your thick thighs together. And then he’s spanking you with his large hands, telling you to count and meanly restarting each time you lost track when he hits extra hard to watch your ass bounce. By the time he’s finally content your cheeks are red and burning, and you’ve left drool all over his sofa from your desperate efforts to muffle your wails.

You like that, don’t you bunny? He asks meanly. You start sniffling again at his mean words, cheeks burning with humiliation because it had felt soooo good but you felt so naughty for enjoying it. You'd die if he found out. So instead you tell him he was being so mean, Maxie, couldn’t he just be nice to you like when he’d been younger?

Your eyes widen as you blurt the words out instinctively, making Max’s expression grow stormy at your bratty reply. Ripping your panties off entirely, he stuffs them into his pocket and tells you to explain why you’re fucking dripping all over me then, hmm? - running his thick fingers along your dripping cunny and smirking at the long strands of sticky wetness that connect to his fingers when he pulls away. When you don’t respond, too embarrassed by how your body has given you away, he slides the fingers into your closed mouth despite your attempts to turn your head. He makes you lick him clean, tasting yourself on him, murmuring if you were a good slut and spread your legs for him he might consider eating you out.

The ache between your thighs is almost as painful as your tender ass now, and your virgin cunny tingles from the idea of Max kissing you down there. Even though he’s being so mean, you can’t help but sit down willingly against the sofa arm and slowly part your thick thighs, blushing all the while as he examines you intently. You whine when his hungry gaze continues to linger, but he doesn’t stop, even taking out his phone to snap photos of your pussy after holding your thighs open to stop you frantically closing them when you see what he’s doing. It’s so cute and wet he murmurs distractedly, looking entranced as he slowly sinks a single thick finger in and finds it completely sucked in by your tight, drooling pussy. Really, you’ve never let any boy except for me touch you here, not even with his fingers? At the shake of your head and shy murmur of no, just my own, I promise, Maxie he breaks into an evil, satisfied grin. So this little hole is really all mine to claim, huh?

It turns out going down on you was really more of a punishment than a pleasure because he makes you cum multiple times with his skilled tongue. You’re begging him to stop, feeling overstimulated and completely wrecked, mascara stained tears running over your chubby cheeks. When he finally eases his sadistic torture after teasing flicks of his broad tongue have you squirting a third time, you’re too fucked out to protest him separating your puffy cunny lips and spitting onto it, as if it belonged to him. Bunny, if your brothers knew the kind of things I was doing to their precious baby sister, Max says, chuckling darkly. They’d want to slam me straight into the nearest barricade and have my head on a spike.

But your brothers remain as oblivious to your corruption as ever, with an endless supply of work excuses easily being used by Max and now you, as you started to fully give in and enjoy the intense pleasure being his personal fucktoy brought you. He’d taken your sweet virginity on a hot night in Singapore after beating Charles to P1, telling you that the best reward wasn’t the trophy but knowing he got to cum raw inside your untouched cunny. After plying you with champagne at the yacht afterparty, he'd taken you back and fucked you on the French chaise, not even making it to the bed. He’d been gentle the first time, huskily whispering praises in your ears as you desperately tried to adjust to the size, his cock so much larger than his fingers. He licked away the tears at the corner of your eyes as you bite his shoulder, lost in the waves of pleasure as you ride out your orgasm.

When he finally carries you over to the bed, climbing over your satisfied figure, you’re fooled into thinking he’s going to cuddle you. He’s turning you onto your front and you’re expecting to feel him behind you, bringing you into him as his little spoon like he does ever night. But your sleepy eyes go wide open when your thick hips are suddenly pulled up into the air, and your flushed face pressed down firmly into the sheets. And then he huskily whispers it’s time to fuck you properly, be a good bunny for me and take it, okay?

You wailed into the cushions, your open mouth leaving drool all over the pillowcases, as his cock bullies your tight cunny over and over. He reaches around to toy with your sensitive clit, smirking when your crying turned into confused moans of pleasure as the pressure in your pussy starts to feel so good. Soon he’s slamming his hard length into your twitching figure, slapping your red plump ass repeatedly and telling you how funny it’d be if Charlie found out his rival had claimed your virginity, hmm? Should he tell him next time the Ferrari driver tried to one up him on the track? You sob, begging him not to tell your protective brother, shaking your ass onto him and telling him he could even cum inside if he wanted instead of telling your brother. Max groans at your gullibility. Silly girl, he croons as he bends down to whisper in your ear, his muscled abs pressing down on you. I was always going to do that anyways, hmm? This ass belongs to me.

And then he’s moaning into your drooling mouth as his hips still above yours, draining his heavy balls into your pussy that had already been stuffed full of his thick, creamy load from the first round. Rivulets of your mixed juices run down the inside of your thighs, overflowing from the sheer amount of cum he’s pumped you full of. You know better than to ask him to wear a condom, instead praying that it was the wrong time of the month to get knocked up. Especially when he doesn’t let you get up and try to pee it out, instead murmuring he’s just going to stuff a couple of fingers inside and make sure you don’t waste anymore, okay? You try to resist, crawling away and wanting to save your poor, overstimulated clit but once again Max easily holds you still. Hmm, guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson and use my cock to plug you up, he threatens meanly, making tears fall down your face again and his dick twitches with interest. Every man had his pleasures, and world champion Max Verstappen’s was to see the Leclerc baby sister crying and begging for him. Sick bastard, you think distantly through a pleasurable haze as he sinks back inside your gummy walls and makes you keep his cock warm.

Your secret affair with the Dutch Lion continues easily throughout the year. And at the end of your contract, at the yearly FIA prizegiving, you attend with Charles instead of with the Redbull team, dutifully doing your part as the Leclerc sister now that your term at a rival garage was done. At one point you get up from dinner, saying you had to find the bathroom, but end up gone for 20 minutes, missing Cha being awarded overtake of the year for when his Ferrari had divebombed the leading Redbull. Later, when everyone is mingling, Charles walks over to Max’s table, shaking his hand and taking a seat to reminisce about the season. They’d come so far together from their childhood karting days, wasn’t it heartwarming now that they stood together on the F1 stage?

The two men laugh, catching up on missed updates during the busy end of season. Soon they’re talking about their love lives, Max congratulating Cha on his relationship he’s recently made public. The Ferrari driver warmly returns the compliment, saying whoever the Redbull driver was seeing recently must be treating him well because he’s never seen Max so relaxed before. He’s seen the gossip magazines speculate who the silhouette of a mystery girl seen making out on Max’s lap in a paparrazi shot through his car window. Max slyly commented that it was good the camera hadn’t been able to go lower, because then they’d have seen that she’d actually been bouncing on my dick underneath her skirt. Charles laughs at Max’s deviousness, patting him on the back for being such a shameless fucker.

Charles had forgotten to go find the youngest Leclerc, which was just as well because he would never have been able to guess where you had been hiding. You’re diligently on your knees, drooling on Max’s cock underneath the tablecloth, safely tucked in close between his spread legs. Your brother is completely unaware that the girl he and Max are joking about is his innocent baby sister, who’s currently worshipping his rival’s thick length eagerly. Paying the price for her brother’s overtake on the track with her glossy pink lips, just as Max had ordered you too when he found out what award his rival was getting tonight.

As the night continues, all formality lost as the party goers make use of the open bar, it was all to easy for the blonde Dutchman to make you follow him to the private bathroom. It’s so degrading, so mean of Max to do this, to have you on the dirty bathroom floor with your pretty curls unpinned from the classy updo you’d spend ages styling. Your expensive red silk dress hangs off your hips and exposes your bare, bouncing tits to his hungry gaze. So slutty, no bra and all, hmm? You wanted me to fuck you tonight, didn’t you? Answer me! He slaps his hard length repeatedly against your chubby cheeks, spraying precum everywhere and making your perfect makeup run.

Soon mascara stained tears are dripping down your face as Max makes you finish sloppily sucking him off, his phone camera on you and recording every single filthy sound that fills the air. It’s obscene, the way his huge cock stretches your small plush lips open all the way and your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his tip grazes the back of your throat. Hmm, so eager to drink my cum, aren’t you? He coos, and you nod dazedly, your doe eyes glassy. Fuck, you’re such a good little slut, letting me do whatever I want you to your body. My own personal fucktoy. Bet you’d even let me piss down your throat if I wanted, huh?

You gag at this, trying to shake your head but finding it impossible with the strong grip he has on your hair. Max chuckles at your panicked expression, reassuring you not to worry, he wasn’t that mean. You don’t believe him, because later he bends you over the bathroom counter and makes you look in the mirror to see where his leaking cock repeatedly sinks in to the hilt, stretching your cunny out yet again, filling it with his thick seed. You text Cha some excuse about feeling unwell and leaving early as Max buckles you into his passenger seat, knowing there was no way you could explain your absolutely wrecked appearance to your brother afterwards.

You’ve realized that the legal end of your Redbull contract really had no say on anything. Because at the end of the day the only thing that mattered was what Max wanted - and he wanted you to stay by his side, forever. So you let him take your hand in his a few months later at Lorenzo’s wedding, revealing the secret relationship to your family. Your mother is overjoyed, telling you both that you always had her blessing, ever since you’d been kids. Your brothers take a lot more convincing, of course, as well as Max swearing privately to Cha that you certainly hadn’t been the girl from the paparazzi car incident, he’d never treat the Leclerc princess like that of course! He was a playboy before, sure, but for you he was willing to stop all that and commit.

Charles gives you two his begrudging yes, seeing how attentive Max was with you, always intently watching you whenever you entered the same room as him and always knowing where you were if you walked away. And the way you’d look up adoringly at the blonde, desire and love clear in your doe eyes. Soon you’ve accepted Max’s offer to move into his penthouse, unpacking all the lingerie and diamond necklace sets he’s been buying you for months. And when he comes home at the end of a tiring day, sighing and settling on the living room couch, you now know to anticipate Max’s needs before he has to tell you. You crawl over to him, wearing skimpy lingerie in his favourite colour, nuzzling your face into his clothed thigh and asking please Maxie, could you please suck him off, your mouth felt empty without him?

He places a loving kiss to your forehead and unbuckles his belt for you, cooing praises at what a good little pet you were being for him. This time, when he cums, you have no issue greedily swallowing every single drop of his hot, sticky cum, licking your well trained lips. So yummy, Maxie…Would you like my pussy or my ass next?

He smirks down at your slutty words, a dazed expression on your face, dumbly ready to please him however he liked, whenever he was in the mood, wherever he wants it. Nothing quite beats having his own personal toy, even if it’s taken some time to break you in. Doesn’t matter now, though, because it has been worth it. Because you’ll never leave his side again, completely devoted to him, the concept of being with any other man ruined for you.

Time for him to make good on his childhood promise, Max thinks. Make you his vrouw, his wife, once and for all.

[megumiluvv]

“Choso, do you have other siblings?” You ask one day while doing your laundry. Yuji wanted to stay at your apartment instead of his next door, so Choso stopped by after work.

“Yeah, have I not told you?”

“No, but it’s honestly not that surprising.”

“How?”

“You just have ‘eldest brother’ vibes. Anyways, I was asking because Yuji has an ‘All About Me’ assignment he needs to fill out.”

“Oh. Those have always been complicated for him. I’ll fill it out.” He frowns as he thinks and you just smile at the sight.

“I helped where I could, but you probably know him better than me.”

Choso watches you casually fold laundry as Yuji eats snacks on the table and his assignment sits nearby.

Q.1: “What does your home look like?”

Easy enough, Yuji lives with Choso. You had filled it out.

Q.2: “Who are your parents/guardians?”

Touchy subject, but again, Choso is his guardian.

Q.3: “What is your favorite color?”

“Hey, Yuji, what’s your favorite color today?” Choso asks.

“Ummm, red!”

Alright, another question answered.

Q.4: “Do you have any pets?”

Apartments don’t allow pets without an extra fee, so no.

You watch Choso continue to fill out the assignment and peer over his shoulder.

“You’ve got nice handwriting.”

“Really? I think it’s pretty bad, I was kind of illiterate for a while, but learned more to help my brothers.”

Q.7: “Who else is in your family?”

Choso lists two brothers, as well as their uncle and Uraume. Yuji looks and doesn’t see your name, so he points at you. You don’t get it and just tilt your head, same with Choso.

“Why are you pointing?”

“Add.”

“Add?”

“To the list.” Yuji points at you again.

“Yuji, it’s family-”

“Yeah, I know, I learned how to read last year, add.”

You feel your heart warm at the thought of Yuji wanting you to be a part of his family and you smile.

“Yuji, you know I’m not related to you…”

“Okay, but the teacher said pets count as family, and friends, and people we care about.”

Your heart warms more and Choso watches your expression, his own little smile forming.

“I take it you want Megumi added to the list?” He grins to the child.

“Yeah!”

Choso writes your name onto the paper, carefully placing each letter as if the pencil wouldn’t be able to erase. He then adds Megumi’s name to the paper and answers the last of the questions, meant for guardians.

Afterwards, you cook dinner for the three of you and Yuji plays in the living room.

“So, who are Kechizu and Eso?” You ask, curious about the idea of his siblings.

“They’re my brothers. Yuji’s the youngest, obviously, but they’re both in college right now. They live pretty far, but Eso said he plans to visit soon.”

“So I’ll meet some more family?”

“Maybe.” He grins. “He might be like our uncle and ask if we’re dating. Apparently I don’t have friends.”

You laugh and make Yuji’s plate. “That’s alright. My parents would have a hay day if they heard about you.”

“Good or bad?”

“No clue. I know my mom would instantly assume dating which would send my dad into a lecture.” You roll your eyes and sit Yuji at the table.

“My mom had a few of her own lectures.”

“Oh, your mom was the lecturer? That sounds worse.” You laugh, and Choso does as well.

Dinner goes by as casually as always and you three watch a movie, Yuji already asleep on your lap before reaching halfway through the movie. You also fall asleep near the end, so Choso wraps his arm around your shoulder. You’re starting to love this little family, Choso is too.

Masterlist

Taglist (ask to join anytime): @samaraxmorgan @cherriee-ee @auor4 @chaotic-ish @meowsannie

@mediokerrv @flooftoof

[fish-eat-fish]

⋆ Gwen x f!reader ⋆ Sleep ⋆

request: @hyunslvvr can u pls do one for f!reader x gwen where they have a day in and they just stay in bed:)

tags: fluff, comfort, wlw, cuddling

word count: 2.1k

a/n: im paving away at requests rn, this one had me kicking my feet i LOVE gwen stacy _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR REQUESTING FOR HER, another one for the gays <3

✰✰✰

Un unbelievable stack of homework and two essays due. You couldn’t believe it. The sunlight beamed through your window and shined onto your desk, papers covering its surface as you tiredly scribbled on your assignment papers. Friday night and you had nothing better to do than weekend homework, how miserable. You sighed, tapping mindlessly on your desk when a buzz from your phone interrupted you. Picking it up, you smiled seeing it was Gwen.

It read, “on the way, open ur window!”

You sighed at the words, setting down your pencil and getting up out of your chair to unlock your window. Gwen had a bad habit of breaking in when she wanted to. You’d already assured her your family was okay with her visiting, preferably through the front door. But she always insisted that it was easier this way. Socializing seemed to sometimes stress her out you noticed.

Unlocking your window with a click, you raised it open, taking a nice breather as cold air blew in. The sunset was particularly nice today, and you didn’t quite mind seeing your favorite person right now. Sitting on your bed, you spiffed up your room for Gwen, making the bed and cleaning your cluttered desk. Just as you were about to exit your room to go and grab some snacks, a few knocks on your window sill signaled that your girlfriend had arrived. You turned around and beamed.

“Hey, sorry for the late notice.” She apologized, sitting on your window sill and climbing down from it. Taking off her white mask, Gwen sat down on your bed, crashing down on it. Until she rose up again.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Thank you for remembering.” You teased. Watching her take off her beaten-up shoes, and carefully placing them near the window on the floor. She let out a huff, flopping back onto your bed. Gwen’s suit was a little damaged and scratched. She looked tired.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I…?” She asked. It was obvious that she felt guilty about her visit. But you’d reassured her many times before that your room was always available to her whenever she wanted. And so was your company.

Eyeing the homework on your desk, you declared your study session over. It didn’t matter all that much compared to hanging out with her. “Nope. I’m glad you dropped by actually, I was getting bored.” You explained, looking at Gwen as she folded her legs up on your bed. Gwen awkwardly rubbed her arm as she looked around the room.

“So…”

“Yes.”

She raised her eyebrow, “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

Rolling your eyes, you responded, “Yes you can sleep over. I don’t mind.”

Gwen smiled at you, relieved. You leaned back against your desk, “I’m glad you’re here.”

She smirked, “What, you missed me?”

“Actually I did, yeah.”

Looking at Gwen, you figured that she didn’t have the best day today, being a crime fighting hero and all. Walking up to her and leaning down, you placed a hand on her cheek and gave her face a quick kiss. She chuckled and peered up at you. You held onto her cheek momentarily, “I’m gonna go and get us some snacks. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Oh uh, I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“Gwen.” You said, sternly.

“I just had to go to band practice, then there was some jerk downtown and-” She spoke quietly, her voice dying down as you stared at her, an irritated look on your face. Gwen sighed and grabbed the back of her neck, her hair falling down to hide her guilty expression.

“Sorry…”

You sighed, smiling at her nonetheless, “I’m gonna go make us some food. Stay put Spider.” Gwen grinned at you, watching you walk out of the room. She took a deep breath, lying down as she observed your room like she always did. She loved the comfort you and your space brought her. Your room was decorated with posters and fairy lights.

Gwen looked around, deciding that she should probably change. It was an unspoken ritual for Gwen to pick out something from your closet. You’d let her do it once, for a sleepover. But ever since, she’d found routine in picking out an outfit of yours for her to wear and potentially keep if given permission.

She walked up to your closet, finding a pair of pajama pants and an oversized tee. She slipped it on as she changed out of her spider suit, carefully tucking it away to where it was out of sight. Just in case. Gwen tugged the shirt towards her face, taking in your scent. Her senses were filled with just you, as she felt at ease.

Walking over to your bed, she noticed a new photo in your little collage of Polaroids. It was from your last hangout. “The Mary Janes Concert–October.” In it, Gwen was holding you by the waist, her drumsticks clasped in her hand. Your arm held her cheek for a kiss, whilst the other held up Gwen’s Polaroid camera. Gwen was laughing as she looked in your direction, feeling proud of your praise of her performance.

That night your throat was so raspy from cheering for her, and Gwen felt absolutely ecstatic as you tackled her after the concert. She was happy to introduce you to her band members after, grabbing you by the hand and speaking with pride to announce you as her one and only girlfriend.

Gwen stared at the Polaroid, taking it in. She smiled and reached out, touching the photo. Moments like these felt surreal, and being reminded that someone as amazing as you were willing to stick by her and be in her life, made her woozy. Gwen loved you a lot.

The door cranked open as you walked in, a plate of sandwiches in one hand, and a mug of freshly brewed tea in your other. You set down the food on your nightstand, glancing at Gwen as she took her hand away from the Polaroid hung up above your bed. You observed her, obsessed with the way she looked in your clothes.

“Being nosy again?”

“Just lookin’ around.” She shrugged, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

You sat down next to her, the bed shifting under your weight. You held out the plate towards her, to which she gratefully accepted. Gwen dug in right away, mumbling incoherent words as she ate. You laughed at this, “I can’t understand you when your chewing, you know that right?” Gwen swallowed her bite and smiled at you, gesturing to her sandwich.

“This is seriously good. I’ll never get tired of your food.”

“Glad you like it.” You grabbed the mug off of the nightstand, passing it to her as she finished the last bite of her sandwich. Chamomile is Gwen’s favorite. You’d made an effort to always keep it in stock for her since she liked to crash at yours a lot. Gwen took it carefully in her hands, blowing on the tea to cool it down.

You grabbed a pillow off of your bed and hugged it to your chest, just quietly watching Gwen as she drank her tea. You gently smiled, as she seemed a little bit more energized now. Grabbing your own mug from the nightstand, you drank it quickly, uncaring of how cold it had gotten. Putting the mug down, you patted the bed. Gwen looked up at you curiously.

“I’m a little tired today, do you wanna…?”

Her eyes widened as she lowered her mug.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” She smiled at your offer, shifting off of the bed, and placing her tea on your nightstand. She lifted the covers off of your bed, carefully moving the pillows and occasional stuffed animals off to the side to make room. As Gwen got into the bed, you turned off your main light, allowing the darkness to consume your room. The sun had set long ago now, and it was time to wind down. You walked up to your fairy lights, switching them on so that only gentle orange light illuminated your room.

Carefully stepping over to your bed, you got in, placing the covers over yourself, noting how you were much colder before. The warmth of your covers had you snuggling into them deeper. You glanced over at Gwen, who looked a little unsure of what to do with herself. You two were still kind of new to the whole cuddling thing. It’d taken a long while for Gwen to be comfortable with physical contact like that on top of that. She let out a small laugh as you snaked your arm around her as you faced her.

“What?” You asked, curious of her amusement.

“I don’t think this position is natural for you.” She teased, noting how awkward your arm felt around her torso. Your body was also pretty stiff. Gwen’s face was gently glowing due to the string lights, her blonde hair fell down into her face as she shifted her body to face towards you. So much for being big spoon tonight.

There was a quick silence between the two of you. Your face was comfortably above the covers, whilst Gwen pulled them up to cover her exposed skin. Her heart was racing, as usual. She’d never gotten used to intimate moments like this, and she’d decided that she’d never get used to it. You made her nervous in all the good ways.

Gwen peered at you, the covers pulled up to half of her face. Nothing was said between the two of you. Leaning in closer, you gently moved her blonde hair out of her eyes. Talking no louder than a whisper, you spoke, “Your hair, I think the pink is fading, you should…”

Gwen shuffled, reaching out and grabbing your collar, pulling you closer to her. Her hair tickled your face as she hovered her face near yours, before carefully connecting her lips with yours. It was quick but intimate. And if not for the dark, Gwen would have definitely taken the opportunity to comment on the rising red on your cheeks. She pulled away, not completely leaving the kiss as her lips brushed over yours. And yet just like that it was over.

She cleared her throat as you lay there speechless, she glanced at your eyes through the dim room, avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“We should probably sleep now. It’s getting… late.” She blurted. That statement was probably wrong, but you nodded anyways. Gwen’s internal alarms went off, as she criticized her judgment. That took a lot of courage, but she didn’t want you to know. Laying beside her, you stared at Gwen in awe and adoration. You loved this girl so much it was unbelievable.

“Fine.” You sighed. Gwen eyed you questioningly.

“Go on.” You said defeatedly. Gwen laughed at your words, smirking as she saw your expression.

“Finally.” She teased.

Turning over to the other side, you felt her cold hands wrap around your torso, pulling you in closer. Your bodies were snug against each other. Still being wide awake, you hoped Gwen didn’t feel your thumping heart as her hand was placed on your torso. She definitely did notice of course, but she was nervous too, hiding her face in your shirt.

You both lay there, nervous and awkward, as it was usually in the beginning stages of a relationship. You felt her move your fingers, playing with them.

“I think you’re the most amazing girl I know.” She spoke softly, into your back. Your heart fluttered at this. At Gwen’s voice, and the way she gave you affection.

“I love you,” you whispered out.

Gwen only smiled as she planted a soft kiss into your shoulder.

“I love you too.”

Yawning, Gwen mumbled something into your shirt, unable to really keep her eyes open any longer. You hummed, questioning what she said. But she didn’t reply. You’d finally calmed down, letting the comfort of the covers and Gwen’s warmth ease your mind. The city’s ambiance seeped into your room through the open window as you let your mind wander. Gwen’s breathing slowed down, her head placed on your back.

Readjusting yourself and the covers by pulling them up, you froze as Gwen stirred in her sleep. Cautiously, you pulled part of the covers over her. Gwen held onto your torso tighter and moved her face into your neck, her breathing tickling your skin. Holding her hand, you caressed her skin. Her hands were rough and calloused, evidence of her skills as a drummer.

Feeling Gwen twitch in her sleep, she subconsciously intertwined her fingers with yours. The only thing you could remember was Gwen’s touch as you dozed off. Gwen may have needed your comfort and presence the most after every day as Ghost-Spider, but she’d never understand that you needed her more than you let on.

✰✰✰

[goldengalore]

Never Alone

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Harry wants to meet Y/N’s family, but she is hesitant to introduce him to them and he can’t figure out why. When he discovers the reason, he’s hurt that she felt the need to hide it from him. This makes Harry question Y/N’s feelings for him, while she thinks he’s doubting her anxiety issues.

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: anxiety, toxic family, invalidation of mental health issues, angst, mentions of sex but no actual smut

A/N: Listened to Matilda and Renegade by Big Red Machine ft. Taylor Swift a ton while writing this. Also, to anyone reading this who has ever felt invalidated about their mental health issues, I see you and I hope you know you are never ever alone ❤️

***

Harry and Y/N hadn’t been dating for very long when he introduced her to his mother, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma.

He knew that meeting them in person for the first time would be stressful for Y/N because of her social anxiety as well as her obsession with making an excellent impression on every single person in his life. So, he cleverly began easing her into it by having her pop in briefly during his usual FaceTime calls with Anne and Gemma.

It worked because when he asked her to come home with him for Christmas, she didn’t even hesitate to say yes. That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous about it though. Between her anxiety and his excitement, they were both a ball of jitters on the ten-hour flight from LA to London.

Harry’s family fell in love with Y/N. Once she conquered her initial timidness, she fit in perfectly with them. This didn’t come as a surprise to him at all, but Y/N was completely blown away by the love and warmth that his family showered her with. She was even brought to tears from it.

After a joyous holiday with his family, Harry found himself imagining what meeting Y/N’s family would be like. To him, that was the next logical step in their relationship, and he was eagerly anticipating it. So, when they’re a whole year into their relationship and she still hasn’t introduced him to her family or expressed any intention of doing so, he can’t help but wonder what might be holding her back.

She even had the opportunity to do so when she recently visited her family for a few days. She could have taken him with her. He even offered to tag along, but she refused, claiming that her mother had come down with some nasty stomach bug, so it wouldn’t be the best time.

He can’t lie. Her refusal hurt. Although he tries not to make a big deal out of it, it eats at him over the next couple weeks, so one day, he just decides to bring it up.

For most people, it’s a lazy Sunday—the perfect opportunity to sleep in and not get out of bed until noon. Not for Harry and Y/N though. No, the two creative souls got up bright and early to use this time to write and draw. Harry sits on one couch with his guitar in his lap and his songwriting notebook next to him along with his phone, which is recording everything he plays. On the other couch is Y/N, her sketchbook perched up against her bent legs, her pencil gripped between her skillful fingers as she works on a drawing.

Harry has been staring at her for some time now while mindlessly strumming his guitar. She’s too immersed in her task to sense his gaze on her.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?” she responds without looking up from her sketchbook.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?”

He pauses the recording on his phone before asking, “Why don’t you want me to meet your family?”

The question pulls her attention away from her drawing to his face. The hand holding her pencil is frozen on the paper.

“I told you,” she says softly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. I’m just... waiting for the right time.”

He cocks a brow. “The right time? Will there ever be a right time? We’ve been together for a year.” He really doesn’t want to sound pushy or demanding, but he also just wants her to know how he feels. “You and my mum are constantly sending each other cat videos. You and Gemma have inside jokes that I’m not even a part of. Meanwhile, I find myself wondering if your family even knows who I am.”

She gives him a small, slightly amused smirk. “H, they know who you are. Trust me.”

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles, looking down at his guitar. Sure, they may know him as “Harry Styles the singer” or “Harry Styles the actor,” but that’s not what matters to him. He just wants them to know him as Y/N’s boyfriend, that’s all.

“They know that we’re in a relationship,” she confirms.

He waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. “Okay... And? How do they feel about that? Do they ask about me? Do they even want to meet me?”

She averts her gaze, her pencil moving across the page again. “They ask about you every time I see them.”

“Then what’s holding you back?” he inquires gently.

Her response is so delayed that he wonders if he’s even going to get one. “I’ll talk to them,” she says after a minute. “We’ll arrange a time for you and me to go see them together.”

His eyebrows lift up in surprise. “Really?”

She nods. “Yeah. If you really want to meet them, I’ll try to make it happen.”

He doesn’t know what to say at first. He didn’t expect her to concede so quickly. “Thank you, lovie,” he says once the words finally come to him.

She just gives him a brief smile and returns to her drawing, making a few more pencil strokes before asking, “Wanna see what I drew?”

“Always.”

She tries to bite back an excited grin as she turns her sketchbook around to show him. He shifts the guitar in his lap and leans forward to take a look. He instantly recognizes himself in the sketch. It’s him sitting as he is now, on the couch with his guitar. Every detail of his facial features is intricately depicted from the focused furrow of his brow to the shape of his nose to the stubble on his jaw.

He stares at it in awe. “That looks amazing.”

“Thanks!”

He tears his gaze away from the sketch and looks at her. “You were drawing me this whole time? I thought you were brainstorming ideas for your next piece.”

“I was, but you just looked so cute sitting there with your guitar. I mean, you were practically begging to be drawn.” She shoots him a flirtatious grin.

“Mhm. Right.” He shakes his head at her, smiling. “Can I keep it?”

“Of course.” She carefully rips the page out of her book and hands it over to him.

“Another one for the collection,” he states happily, referring to his growing collection of sketches that she’s drawn of him over the past year. In the beginning, she used to hide them from him. Then one day, he stumbled upon her sketchbook sitting on the dining table, opened up to a page containing a flawless illustration of his Vogue magazine cover, and he was astounded. Y/N’s whole face flushed red when she found him staring at it, but he was quick to reassure her that he liked it and asked if he could keep it.

“I don’t mind, you know. That you like drawing me,” he told her that day. “It’s a compliment, if anything, and it’s no different than me writing songs about you.”

Her face brightened at his revelation. “You write songs about me?”

“All the time.”

Ever since that conversation, she no longer hesitates to show him these drawings and he makes sure to keep each one in a safe place.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been saving them all,” she says now. “You really haven’t thrown a single one away?”

“I could never.”

***

A whole week passes by, and it’s like their conversation about arranging a time to meet Y/N’s family never even happened because she doesn’t bring it up again. Harry starts to wonder if she only said that to appease him for a while and stop him from asking. That annoys him. It would be one thing to tell him that she doesn’t want him to meet her family; it’s another to make false promises just to shut him up.

He wishes he could drop it. But he can’t. Especially now that he is almost certain that she’s hiding something from him.

She has a meeting today with the owner of an esteemed art gallery in LA, who offered her the opportunity to hold her first solo art exhibition. She has spent the last couple months preparing for the exhibition, which is less than two weeks away. Her best friend and business partner, Rosie, will be accompanying her to the meeting. Rosie shows up at Harry’s house around 10:30 that morning.

“Y/N’s upstairs, still getting ready,” he tells her after inviting her in. “Should be down soon though.”

“I’m surprised I’m ready before her for once. That’s quite the accomplishment for me.”

“Yeah, I, um—” He releases a sheepish laugh, touching his fingers to his lips. “I may have made her a bit late getting out of bed this morning.”

Rosie opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. He raises his brows at her expectantly, but she waves a dismissive hand and says, “Oh, I was just going to ask what you two were up to, but then I answered my own question.”

A coy grin tugs at the corners of his lips, as the memories of his sensual morning with Y/N play back in his mind.

He and Rosie take a seat in the living room. He offers her something to eat or drink while they wait, but she politely declines. That’s when the thought occurs to him. If there is anyone who knows Y/N better than him, it would be her best friend, who has known her for the majority of her adult life. Surely, if Y/N is hiding something from him, Rosie could be the key to helping him figure out what and why.

“Hey, this might be a random question, but have you ever met Y/N’s family?” he asks.

“Yeah, a few times.”

“What are they like?”

Her hazel eyes narrow slightly. “Why do you ask?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Don’t you think it’s a bit strange that Y/N and I have been together for a year and she still hasn’t introduced me to her family?”

Rosie hesitates. She glances over her shoulder at the stairs before answering quietly, “Look, let’s just say... Her family isn’t very supportive of her.”

His heart sinks. “Shit. Really?”

She nods. “They’re like the type of people who think mental health problems aren’t real problems or that tough love can fix everything, including anxiety.”

He winces.

“Yeah…”

“Well, that explains a lot,” he says, referring not only to Y/N’s reluctance to introduce him to her family but also her emotional reaction to his family accepting her with open arms. “Why didn’t she just tell me that? I would’ve understood.”

“You know how Y/N is. She keeps a lot to herself, and she doesn’t even do it on purpose most of the time.”

“I know, but...” He shrugs. “I just thought we’d reached that stage in our relationship where we could tell each other anything. At least that’s how I feel when I’m with her.”

She had so many chances to tell him the truth about her family. Even if she didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty details of it, all she had to do was tell him that they’re not nice people for him to drop the topic altogether. He feels guilty now for bringing up her family so much, but she never gave him any indication that they were bad people. Even when she went to visit them recently, it didn’t seem like she was dreading it. So, how was Harry supposed to know? How can he possibly know anything about her if she refuses to open up to him?

They hear her footsteps rapidly descending the stairs now.

“I’m ready!” she shouts.

Her outfit for the meeting is sleek and professional—a teal blouse loosely tucked into a pair of slim, high-waisted black trousers. Harry helped her pick it out this morning when she was struggling to decide between a few different options.

“How late are we?” she asks breathlessly at the bottom of the stairs.

Rosie checks her phone. “Not that late. We can still get there with five minutes to spare.”

As Rosie heads to the door, Y/N walks over to Harry to kiss him goodbye.

“Bye, baby. I’ll see you later,” she says.

He squeezes her hand. “Best of luck with the meeting. Remember to breathe.”

“I’ll try!”

And then she’s off.

***

Sometimes, Y/N can’t tell if someone is actually behaving differently around her or if her anxiety is causing her to see things that aren’t there. There have been instances where she thought someone was acting off around her and became convinced that they were upset with her only to find out that they were just having a bad day and it had nothing to do with her at all.

She wonders if this might be the case with Harry. He has been acting strange the past few days. The shift in behaviour is subtle. A kiss that ends a moment too soon, a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, a laugh that feels just a little bit forced. Most people wouldn’t take notice. But the thing about anxiety is that it forces you to notice everything. It’s as if the brain is in a constant state of hypervigilance, scanning its environment for the slightest sign of a threat.

Harry has been at the studio all day. She saw him briefly around seven o’clock this morning when her eyes fluttered open to find him all showered and dressed for the day, grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

“Heading to the studio. Love you,” he told her, planting a hasty kiss to her forehead before leaving.

She couldn’t fall back asleep after that, so she decided to start her day too and put some finishing touches on the drawings for her upcoming exhibit. However, her overthinking mind made it impossible to focus. She ultimately decided to take her drawings over to her apartment and work there instead.

Over the past six months, she has practically lived at Harry’s house with how much time she spends there. But her apartment has always been there in case she needs some time alone or, like today, she just needs a change of scenery to sharpen her focus.

It didn’t occur to her at any point to text Harry and let him know where he can find her after he finishes up at the studio. Or perhaps, her subconscious made her withhold that information on purpose to see if he would even notice or care for her absence.

Late that evening, she receives a call from him.

“Hey, where’d you go?” he asks when she picks up.

“Oh, I’m at my apartment. Couldn’t focus today, so I thought I’d try working here instead.”

“Hm. Wish you’d told me. I would’ve headed straight there from the studio.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles in response.

“It’s all right. Be there in a few.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

A nervousness seeps through her after their call. A kind of nervousness she hasn’t felt since the very early days of their relationship when she wasn’t quite comfortable around him yet. She doesn’t like this feeling and tries to distract herself by cleaning up the kitchen where she just finished having dinner not too long ago.

Harry has a spare key to her apartment, just like she has one to his house, so when she hears it turn in the lock, she knows it’s him. Her heart is in her throat.

She’s washing her hands in the kitchen sink when the door opens.

“Hi, my love,” he greets her. He’s wearing her merch today. Well, technically, it’s his merch that she helped design. Their merch, as he would call it.

“Hey,” she replies. As she wipes her hands on the towel by the sink, he walks up behind her and slides his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. She turns around to face him. “How was your day?” For some reason, the question comes out sounding awkward, at least in her head, but Harry seems unfazed.

“Productive. We wrote so much today. Song after song. I couldn’t believe it. Tyler suggested we pull an all-nighter, but everyone was tired, so we decided to go home…” A dimpled smile emerges on his face as he adds, “And I wanted to see you, so…”

He plants a sweet, lingering kiss to her lips. She should feel the stress dissipating from her body. She should feel a sense of calm washing over her like cool ocean waves on a hot summer day. But none of that happens.

His hand sneaks under her shirt, squeezing her bare waist before wandering upward to her breast.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling away suddenly. “I, um, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

He blinks a few times, thrown for a moment. “Oh. Okay. No worries.” He takes a step back and scratches the back of his neck, eyes searching her face. “Everything okay?”

She doesn’t meet his gaze. “Yeah, I think I’m just starting my period soon, so you know…”

“Ah. Well, maybe we can just cuddle then. If you’re in the mood for that.”

“Mhm.”

They lay on her plush black couch together, her head on his shoulder, his fingers running through the lengths of her hair. He’s humming some unknown melody—probably a new song he’s been working on. She feels her heartbeat slowing down, finally.

Then he says, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Her heart picks up again. This is it. This is what she’s been dreading. She has no idea what he’s about to say, but of course, her mind jumps to the worst case scenario.

“Yeah?” she says, trying to keep her voice level.

“It’s about something Rosie told me.”

She frowns. “Something Rosie told you? What would that be?”

“She told me about your family, how they… they’re not supportive of you and your struggles.”

Her frown deepens. “She told you that?” She sits up now. “Why would she do that? She has no right to be sharing that kind of information about me.”

He sits up too, confusion taking hold of his features. “It’s not like she shared it with some stranger, lovie. I’m your boyfriend. Why is it so bad that she told me?”

“Because I didn’t want…” She trails off.

“You didn’t want me to know?”

She wordlessly looks down in her lap.

“Why?” he asks, the hurt apparent in his voice.

Forcing herself to look at him, she answers, “I didn’t want to disappoint you. You seemed so excited to meet them, and you bring them up all the time—”

“Yeah, that was when I knew nothing about them. If I’d known how they’d treated you, why the fuck would I want to meet them?” He runs a hand through his hair, clutching the ends briefly before letting go. “And I brought them up all the time because you were always so bloody vague about the topic. What was I— What was I meant to think? I’m not a mind-reader, Y/N.”

“I know. I know you’re not a mind-reader.” She tries to reach out to him, but he doesn’t seem to notice her outstretched hand as he turns away, so she lets it fall on the couch.

“Well, sometimes I feel like you expect me to be one because you never tell me how you really feel or what you’re really thinking, and I’m left to figure it out on my own.”

“Okay, that’s not true.” She shakes her head, growing a bit defensive now. “I know I used to be like that in the beginning, but you can’t tell me I haven’t gotten better since then because I have. You’re just angry right now and I—I can understa—”

“I’m not angry,” he insists, though he sounds pretty close to it, and it’s making her panic because although she has seen him get angry before, it’s never been at her.

His eyes fall shut for a moment. He seems to compose himself before continuing calmly, “I’m just frustrated because I feel like I’ve told you everything about me, I’ve bared my entire fucking soul to you, and I know it’s not as easy for you to do the same, but it’s not like it’s a walk in the park for me either. You say that it’s your anxiety that keeps you from opening up to me, but at this point, I can’t help but wonder if you just don’t feel as strongly about me as I feel about you.”

She flinches at the last part, a sense of betrayal settling like rocks in her stomach. “Y—you think I use my anxiety as an excuse?”

“That is not what I said.”

“That’s what you implied.”

“No,” he stresses, clenching his jaw. “You’re purposely misunderstanding me.”

“Why are you here, Harry?”

Puzzled green eyes stare back at her. “What?”

“This has clearly been on your mind for some time now. If you really think that I don’t feel strongly about you, that my anxiety is just some cover-up, then why are you still wasting your time with me?” Her heart thuds wildly in her chest as she spouts, “Is it just for the sex? Is that it? I mean, that’s why you came here tonight, right? Just for a quick fuck. And when you couldn’t have that, you decided to pick a fight with me.”

It was mean. Quite possibly—no, definitely—the meanest thing she has ever said to or about him. And it was undeserved. And she regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

The expression on his face switches from disbelief to disgust to pure pain in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing thickly. “You’re right. That’s what I’m here for, Y/N. Just a quick fuck. Because I’m some lowlife prick that would use you for sex and get mad when I can’t have it. You figured it out. Amazing job.” He claps his hands and stands up, taking long strides to the door.

“Wh—where are you going?” she stammers.

He ignores her and shoves his socked feet into his Vans. On shaky legs, she hurries over to him.

“H, where are you going?”

As his left hand reaches for the doorknob, she grabs his other one.

“No, wait, don’t go.”

“No, you’ve made it clear to me the kind of person you think I am. Thanks for your honesty, Y/N.” He speaks without looking at her. She can only see his side profile, but it’s enough to catch the tears forming in his eyes.

He tries to pull his hand away, but she squeezes it tighter, pleading with him, “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t go. Baby, please—”

“I’m tired, Y/N,” he sighs out, sounding utterly exhausted. “I just want to go home.”

He manages to yank his hand free from her grasp and leaves the apartment, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Y/N stands there, staring at it for the longest time, before making her way back to the couch in a daze.

She doesn’t know why she said it. He was just trying to explain his inner thoughts and feelings, not attacking her, but her brain latched onto that one comment about her anxiety and blew it way out of proportion. It struck a nerve somewhere inside her, reopening old wounds created by people in her past who invalidated her struggles.

But Harry is nothing like those people. No, he is a far cry from them. No one has shown her the level of kindness and understanding that he has, and she fears that no one else ever will, which makes the thought of losing him catastrophically more painful.

She lies down on her side on the couch, curling her legs into herself as the first sob of many escapes her body.

***

The big day has arrived.

Y/N’s very first solo art exhibition that she’s been working her ass off on for the past few months takes place tonight. The gallery that offered to display her work made an agreement with her to donate a portion of the profits to a local mental health charity—something that Y/N has always wanted to do. She’s always dreamed of using her art to give back to causes that matter to her, and she is finally at the stage where she can do that.

Her art career has taken off this past year. She was doing well before, but this year has catapulted her career to heights she couldn’t have imagined. She knows Harry has a lot to do with it, since the limited edition merch she designed for him attracted millions of new eyes to her work, not to mention the fact that she started dating him afterwards, which further piqued people’s curiosity about her as a person and an artist. But Harry, being the humble man he is, argues that it’s her talent that keeps bringing people back to her work, not him.

Whether he admits it or not, Harry has changed her life in more ways than one. Even if he never speaks to her again, she will be thanking him for the rest of her life.

Over the past week, she has typed a hundred different apologies to him, deleting each one without sending it, convincing herself that it’s not good enough, that he doesn’t want to hear from her, that he probably hates her guts.

She has missed him all week, but tonight, that feeling cements itself deep inside her chest, mixing perilously with the fear of having to talk about her art with strangers. It would’ve helped to have Rosie here at least, but her fiancé’s mother was in the hospital after a medical emergency and she needed to be there for them.

Y/N feels incredibly alone.

The people working at the gallery have been lovely. She hardly had to do anything at all because they took care of the entire setup. Now, they’re preparing the refreshments table, and just the mere sight of all that food is making her nauseous.

As hard as she tries to keep her shit together, she crumbles and bolts towards the exit. One of the gallery workers tries to inform her that the exhibit is about to start, but she barely hears him through her heart pounding in her ears. Once outside, she starts walking down the sidewalk in a random direction and finds an opening between two buildings where she can take a moment to herself, away from other people.

The fresh air entering her lungs is somewhat soothing, so she tries to focus on that, leaning a hand against one of the buildings.

“Y/N?” says a deep, familiar voice from behind her.

It can’t be, she thinks to herself, but when she turns around, there he is. Standing on the sidewalk. Dressed in dark, indiscriminate clothing and a hat, which casts a shadow over most of his handsome features. He’s wearing his Gucci square-framed glasses that make him look like a college student.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

He steps towards her, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I was sat in the cafe across the street, waiting for your exhibit to start. Saw you run out. Are you okay?”

Instead of answering his question, she asks in a weak voice, “You came to see my exhibit?”

“Of course I did,” he says, as if the concept of him missing it is unfathomable. He places his hands on his hips and adds with a faint smirk, “You think I, your number one fan, would miss out on your first solo exhibit? C’mon.”

Tears flood Y/N’s eyes, blurring her vision.

Harry’s face falls. “Oh no. Don’t cry, lovie.”

The tears streak down her cheeks now, ruining the makeup she spent so long on applying tonight. “I thought you hated me.”

He reaches towards her and delicately places his hands on her arms. “I could never hate you.”

“But you should! You should hate me because you’ve been nothing but patient and understanding with me and I treated you like shit in return and I hate myself for it and I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not!”

“Shh, come here.” He pulls her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest, holding her there until she calms down. Then he draws back and lifts her chin to make her look at him. “Listen to me. I did not come here to make you cry and ruin your big night, okay? I came here to support you. Now you’re going to put on that beautiful smile of yours and you’re going to go back in there and you’re going to put on this wonderful exhibit—”

“I don’t think I can.” She shakes her head.

“Yes, you can. You’ve worked so hard for this, my love. You deserve this. Don’t let your fear tell you otherwise.”

She sniffles, thinking for a moment. “You’re going to be there?”

“Yes. The whole time,” he reassures her. “I promise to be discreet though. I’m not about to steal the spotlight from you.”

“I wouldn’t mind even if you did, to be honest.”

“See, that’s the fear talking.” He pokes her softly in the chest. “This is your night and your night only.”

A part of her wishes he would just pull her back into his arms and let her stay there forever, safe and warm and comfortable. But he’s right. She has worked too hard and come too far to allow fear to stifle her now.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Okay, I’m going to go back in.”

He smiles widely. “That’s my girl.” He kisses her and sends her off with a few more encouraging words.

For the first fifteen minutes of the exhibit, as the first batch of visitors trickle into the gallery, the voice in Y/N’s head is screaming at her to run out the nearest exit and not look back. It takes everything in her to keep her feet planted where she is and withstand the racing heart and the churning stomach and the sweaty palms.

It isn’t until people start coming up to her to ask questions about her art that she begins to feel any semblance of calm, which is surprising, considering that this is the part she was most afraid of. Once she gets into artist mode, articulating her artistic ideas and techniques in front of these strangers comes naturally.

She spots Harry every now and then, wandering around the gallery with everyone else, blending in remarkably well in his dark clothes and hat and glasses. At one point, while she’s talking to someone, she sees Harry in the distance, holding up his phone with the camera aimed at her. He winks when he catches her eye.

By the last half hour of the exhibit, Y/N’s throat is dry and hoarse from talking so much. She can’t believe how many people were interested in discussing her work with her.

While she’s taking a break to have some water, she hears someone shout, “There she is!”

She turns to find Jeff and Glenne walking towards her, smiling and waving like proud parents.

“So sorry we’re late,” says Glenne. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, it’s totally fine. I didn’t even know you were coming.”

“Are you kidding?” says Jeff. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”

Y/N told them about the exhibit when she and Harry invited them over for dinner last month. She didn’t expect them to remember. The fact that they did means everything.

“We were going to buy something, but it looks like everything’s sold out, huh?” says Jeff, looking around.

“Oh, we’re so coming early for the next one,” says Glenne.

Y/N smiles at the determination in her voice. “Thank you for coming. You guys have no idea how much it means to me.”

Her heart is so full. Whereas the night started with her feeling petrified and alone, she now feels more loved and supported than ever. To say that the exhibit was a success is an understatement, and having Harry, Jeff, and Glenne all there for her was the cherry on top because success tastes so much sweeter when you have people to share it with.

***

Harry is bursting with pride. Watching Y/N put on this exhibit tonight has been quite a treat. She has blossomed from someone who used to not think very highly of her artistic capabilities into a self-assured artist right before his eyes, and he has loved being able to witness her growth.

Now they’re at his house, having Thai food, and Y/N, who hasn’t eaten all day due to nerves, is devouring everything so quickly that he worries he might not have ordered enough food for them. Luckily, that doesn’t end up being the case.

Afterwards, as they’re placing their dishes in the sink, Y/N tells him, “I saw you sneaking pictures of me at the exhibit. Like a little fanboy.”

He laughs. “I hope you don’t mind. You just looked so in your element.”

She bites her lip. “Can I see them?”

“Sure.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and opens up his camera roll. He places it on the counter so they can both look together.

Each photo shows Y/N talking to people who came to see her work, her hands poised in the air as she describes her creative process or her inspiration behind a specific piece.

“You look so confident,” he comments. “And happy.” He looks up at her from his phone and nudges her softly with his arm. “I’m proud of you.”

For a second, it seems like she’s about to break down into tears again but then contains herself.

“I really don’t deserve you,” she says.

He gives her a gentle look, knowing that she’s referring to the hurtful words she fired at him that night in her apartment. The words that burrowed deep under his skin for a few days until he gained some clarity and realized that she’d only said them because she felt attacked, that she didn’t actually believe them. Of course, that didn’t make it okay, but it did soften him towards her a little. And knowing Y/N, he could safely assume that she was far angrier at herself than he was at her.

“Y/N, I know you didn’t mean what you said. I mean, it still fucking hurt, but I know they were just words said in the heat of the moment… Right?”

“Yes,” she replies without hesitation. “And I’m so sorry, not just about what I said that night, but also what I didn’t say about my family, for hiding that from you.”

“No, I never should’ve pushed you to tell me in the first place.”

“But you never pushed me, Harry.” She turns her body towards him fully, leaning against the counter. “You just asked because you were curious about that part of my life, the same way I was curious about your family before I met them. It’s just that my family is… They’re nothing like yours. It’s not like they’re terrible people. They’re just not warm or affectionate, and they see any display of emotion as a sign of weakness.”

He quirks a brow. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, lovie, but they sound like robots.”

“You’re not far off,” she replies with a shrug. “They have this toughness, this stoic resolve that I used to envy when I was younger, until I realized that I didn’t want to be like that at all. As a child though, when your whole family is like that and you’re the anxious one who can’t get your emotions under control, it’s hard to feel normal. My parents didn’t know how to handle my anxiety, so they tried to mold me into them, and when that didn’t work, they just started denying my feelings altogether. Every time I would try to talk about my feelings, they would shut me down, tell me to suck it up and toughen up and stop being so goddamn sensitive.”

Hearing that makes Harry’s chest ache. Y/N is a sensitive person, sure, but he never viewed that as a shortcoming. In fact, it’s one of the many things that drew him to her because he is the same way. His sensitivity has allowed him to be more empathetic in his relationships and more vulnerable in his music—qualities that he also noticed in Y/N.

“I got tired of trying to explain it to them,” she continues, “so I left and tried to make something out of my art career. And God, my parents hated that. They were never the creative types; they thought anything related to art was a waste of time. They kept telling me I was wasting my potential to be something bigger, something better than an artist. And at one point, I started believing them, but then I met people like Rosie, who weren’t emotionless robots and who actually appreciated art for what it is.

“And I made a life for myself out here, pouring my heart and soul into my art, and I’ve tried so hard to keep this new, amazing part of my life separate from that part because I don’t want them to ruin this for me.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to meet them?” he asks gently.

“Well, that and the fact that they’re convinced that you’re just some hotshot superstar stringing me along while sleeping with ten other girls at the same time because they don’t see how someone like you could ever fall in love with someone like me. And they make sure to remind me of that every time I go see them, which is just so fun,” she says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Harry doesn’t really care that her parents see him as some pompous asshole obsessed with sex. What does bother him, however, is that they try to make Y/N feel like she somehow doesn’t meet his standards, that she isn’t good enough for him because that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“How come you still visit them?” he asks. “Not judging, just curious.” If it were up to him, he would never let them see her again.

She sighs. “I don’t know. I guess I always felt obligated to? I felt like they did care about me, even if they sucked at showing it. But the older I get and especially this past year, I feel less obligated to put up with their shit. I’ll probably keep visiting for now, just not as often anymore.”

“You don’t have to deal with them alone, you know.” He takes her hand in his. “I’m more than willing to go along for moral support.”

“That’s really sweet, but… It’s hard enough hearing them say disrespectful things about you when you’re not there. If you were there, I think I might start throwing hands.”

He chuckles. The idea of his dear sweet Y/N, who couldn’t hurt a fly, threatening to fight her family for disrespecting him makes him melt inside.

“Okay, well, I understand if you’d prefer to go on your own,” he says. “My offer still stands though, if you change your mind.”

She smiles. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I promise to be more open and honest with you moving forward. I really am trying.”

“I know you are.” He looks down at their hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of hers. “Can’t be easy when you were told to bury your feelings down all through your childhood.”

“Yeah…”

When he looks up from their hands, he finds a peculiar look on her face, her eyes tender and almost hypnotic as they stare back at him.

He frowns slightly. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. Just feeling extra lucky tonight.”

“Oh.” He smiles, nearly blushing under her intense gaze. “Sooo, when’s the next exhibit? Because I have some suggestions.”

Her brows lift up curiously. “Suggestions?”

“Yeah, mostly for the refreshments table. I feel it was a bit lacking.”

She gasps. “Not the refreshments table! I worked so hard on that!”

“Hm, well, clearly not hard enough.”

She pouts. He chuckles and pinches her bottom lip before leaning in for a kiss, stopping just by her lips.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

“Love you more.” She completes the kiss.

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

[mendeshoney]

take me back to eden (part 2/2)

Summary: Andrei’s retired, Assistant GM of the Carolina Hurricanes, and a little lonely, so he decides to be a little like Edward Lewis. 

Part One.

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Part 2 Word Count: 22,150

Warnings: nine year age gap, older man x younger woman, basically “pretty woman” with andrei, love at first sight(Ish), he falls first, she falls too, he falls harder, sugar daddy vibes, angst, fluff, smut, penetration, finish inside, unprotected sex

December

You two decided you can’t possibly wait until it gets closer to Christmas to celebrate together, so you celebrate ahead of time, wanting to spend as much time together before you leave to go visit your family and he leaves to visit his family.

He takes you out to dinner and a movie, something lowkey and relaxed before you both head home to exchange gifts before bed. 

You’re waiting in his living room after you showered together, relaxed in cotton shorts and an old Hurricanes shirt of his, wet hair freshly brushed (by him, of course, how could he not?) and smelling like the honey and almond lotion you put on your body before bed. You’ve even got those little under eye patches on your face, and he doesn’t think there’s a single thing you could wear that would make him believe you were anything but drop dead gorgeous. 

He’s going first, so he grabs your gift from a hidden spot in his office before trailing back out into the living room, sitting on the ground in front of the couch in his sweatpants, his naked torso resting back against it. The gift box in his hands feels simultaneously like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

You grin excitedly, holding your hands out and he places the box carefully in your palms. “Can I open it now?” 

“Of course you can,” he laughs, and you let out a small squeal, carefully peeling away the wrapping that definitely did not take him twenty minutes to figure out, eyes gauging your reaction as the wrapping falls away and you lift the lid off of the box.

He got you a brand new sketchpad to draw in, one bigger than the current journal you have, along with pencils, charcoal, and colored pencils, and a tote to keep and carry them all in. It felt…so simple, buying them for you, he wasn’t sure it was enough.

But then you’re putting the gift box aside and launching yourself at him from your spot on the carpet, tackling him to the plush material and peppering kisses all over his face as you whisper “Spasibo” over and over into his skin.

He’s laughing like a maniac by the time you both sit back up, and you frame his face with your hands, eyes wet with happy tears. “Thank you, Andrei. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“You’re welcome, malyshka. I’m happy you like it.” 

The kilowatt smile that spreads across your face is worth it, and you bend to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love it. Now you have to open your present.”

“You are my present, almaznyy,” he says quietly, thumb rubbing the remaining happy tears off of your face. “The only present I’ve been selfish enough to give myself. I don’t need anything else. I don’t want anything else.”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Too bad, we agreed on getting each other one gift. This is mine to you and you have to open it.”

Before he can protest, you’re scrambling up and off of him and running off to…somewhere in his house. He thinks it’s the sunroom? But then you’re running back into the living room, and you’ve got a box and an envelope in your hands, and you’re placing them in front of him very carefully.

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, but you just stick your tongue out at him. Andrei scoffs, “That’s cute, almaznyy. Get it out of your system now.”

“Will you just open it, Andrei?” You practically whine, and he laughs.

“Which one first, the envelope or the box?”

You glance at both before you point to the box, and then he’s removing the wrapping, carefully opening the lid and lifting the tissue paper.

When he dips his hands inside, he feels something ceramic, and then he’s lifting it out of the box. 

It’s a white bowl with a circular lid, and on the lid is an extremely accurate, hand-painted Carolina Hurricanes logo. Both sides of the jar have your perfect cursive on them, the word “sakhar” on both sides in Cyrillic script.

Sugar.

He laughs out loud, and your smile widens, a soft and breathy laugh leaving your lips.

“Very cute, malyshka, I love it.” He says, leaning over to give you a kiss, but you press a finger to his lips, shaking your head.

“Nuh uh, open the envelope next, and then you can kiss me if you still love it.”

He obeys, gently setting the sugar bowl between his legs before opening the envelope and pulling out a voucher.

It’s for a place called “The Spinning Wheel” in Raleigh, a pottery making and pottery painting studio. The voucher indicates a reserved time for a couple of days from now, in the evening for a “Wine and Wheel” event, and then a pending time for a second session called “Wine and Design.”

He’s quiet for a moment, soaking it in. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you fiddling with your hands, and you clear your throat, clearly anxious about his reaction. “I uh…that’s where I painted the sugar bowl for you. The owner of the studio is someone I met through Eden. She opened it when she left, and told me about these events. Usually they’re sold out, since a lot of couples tend to do it, but she managed to save us a spot. I checked your game schedule, and you’re free that night, so I thought…well,” you laugh, a nervous sound. “I thought it might be fun? To do it before we leave for the holidays.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, too stunned at what he’s holding in his hands, and then words are spewing from his mouth, far too fast for him to process. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Now it’s your turn to be quiet, but it only lasts for a few seconds before you burst out laughing, not in a mocking way, but in a delighted way. He knows your delighted laughs anywhere, and it brings him comfort.

“I guess I am,” you admit, and his heart pounds uncontrollably in his chest.

You’re asking him on a date.

A date!

You’re the one planning to spend time with him, and you’re basically asking him on a date.

He feels nothing like the thirty two year old man he is and instead like he’s a teenager all over again. It’s absolutely perfect, and not just because he gets to go on a date with you, but also because he knows how much you love art, and he just wants to do anything that's going to make you happy and make you think of him. 

He carefully moves his gifts aside, careful not to knock over the bowl or ruin the voucher, and then he’s grabbing you by your ankle, dragging you over to him and into his lap, hands descending into your wet hair and pulling you down for a kiss. 

You relax into him, hands resting on his shoulders and opening up for him the way he loves, allowing him to ease the kiss into the right side of filthy, one of his hands escaping from your tresses to band around your back so he can turn you both, laying you on the carpet.

Your lips form into a small smile that he continues to kiss, and then you’re giggling, and he laughs, pulling back a little. “What is it?”

“If I knew you were going to kiss me this much I would’ve hung mistletoe.” You tease.

Andrei shakes his head, “I don’t need to use a silly plant as an excuse to kiss you, I’ll do it anyway. As many times as I want.”

“Sounds good to me.” You say, but when he bends his head to kiss you, you stop him again, pressing a finger to his lips.

He groans in frustration, pretending to nip at your finger before resting his forehead against yours. “What is it?”

“You didn’t give me an answer.” You whisper, and when he raises a brow in confusion, you smile shyly. “If you’d go on a date with me.”

He groans, a happy one, pressing his lower half into yours. “Almaznyy, the answer is always going to be yes. If it’s not, I want you to start planning my funeral, got it?”

You burst out in laughter, and Andrei swallows your happy noises as he kisses you, feeling like a believer in Christmas miracles for the first time in his life.

~

A few nights later, you’re at The Spinning Wheel, both of you sitting on your own stools with a pottery wheel in front of you. There’s a side table on either side of him just like there is for everyone else, one side holding a glass of wine and a plate of tea sandwiches, and the other side holding a bowl of water and a couple of supplies for people to use to shape or trim their pieces.

There’d been a quick demonstration by Hallie, your former co-worker at Eden and current owner of the shop, showing everyone how to center the clay and then eventually morph it into either a vase, a pot, a bowl, or a plate, and everyone had also been shown how to make a lid if needed. It all looked so easy, yet Andrei felt a bit like he was a baby again - learning to skate for the first time and falling on his ass every third step.

You however, of course, had been doing great, and after his third attempt at trying to center his clay and failing, he sits up with a frustrated noise, dipping his hands in the bowl of water before wiping it on the towel resting on his thigh. He reaches for his wine glass, content to just drink and watch you enjoy yourself. 

It’s like watching a good player step onto the ice for the first time. The way you expertly move and maneuver yourself and the clay, similar to the way a good player glides across the ice, handling the puck like it’s an extension of themselves. 

He doesn’t know how long he watches you for. His eyes skate over your hair gathered in a ponytail, stray strands falling out and framing your face, watches the way your brows pinch together in concentration and how your lip gets trapped between your teeth when you’re focusing particularly hard. He observes you, sipping on his wine until you’re sitting up from where you hunched over the wheel, wiping your forehead carefully with the back of your wrist, and then you’re glancing at him with a small smile.

Andrei returns your smile, gesturing to your mini hexagonal vase. “Nice job, malyshka.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, then look at his wheel, and back up to his face. “Are you taking a break?”

He shakes his head. “Giving up for now, I can’t center it.”

You scoff a little, like you don’t believe for a second there isn’t a thing he can’t do, abandoning your wheel and instructing him to put his wine glass down, ordering him to switch places so that you’re both sitting on opposite sides of his wheel, but now your foot is in control of the pedal. You grab the clay from the board and size it down to match the little vase on your wheel, slapping it to the center once it’s kneaded enough.

He gathers a little bit of water on the sponge like Hallie told them to, squeezing it onto the mound before tossing it back into the bowl and putting his hands on the clay. You place your hands atop his, beginning to guide him through the motions. 

“Press tight, like this,” you say, and Andrei obeys, welcoming the guiding pressure of your hands on his as he sneaks glances at you. 

“You’re good at this,” he notes.

“My brother’s the sculptor, really.” You respond, voice soft in the loud room, moving his hands to squeeze at the clay a little more, bringing it upwards. “He taught me about pottery, even bought me my first pottery wheel. I liked it, for a time, but drawing always felt more natural to me.”

“How long did you do it for?” He asks, watching as you bring your thumbs to the center of the clay, slowly forming a hole

“Pottery? Maybe five years.” 

He nods absently, pinching the sides of the clay with you. “Why’d you stop?”

One of your shoulders lifts in a shrug. “I lost the joy in it when my brother started acting more like a teacher and less like a brother about it, so I just stuck to drawing.”

He nods, then swallows. Hesitates. “You’re not close?”

“Not so much,” you admit. “He’s still my brother and I’ll always love him, but we lead different lives. Can you grab that wood rib?”

Andrei frowns in his head because he wants to ask more about your family. You already said you weren’t missed by anyone back home, and still seemed reluctant to head back for Christmas. A strained relationship with your brother explains some things, but not everything, and he wants to know everything he can about you.

About his almaznyy.

Still, he follows your lead and drops the subject, doing as you ask, grabbing the wood rib as you shut off the wheel, then placing your hand on his. Together, you shape his small vase into a similar fashion to yours, and then grab the wire cutter to separate both your vases from the board, placing them on a little stand for them to be fired on.

After that, Andrei’s content to continue watching as you make little matching lids, poking holes in them and presenting them to him with a shy smile. “They can be salt and pepper shakers,” you say, “to match your sugar bowl.”

And who is he to ever say no to anything you suggest? To deny planting more parts of you, of the two of you, in his house?

A week later, you both head back to The Spinning Wheel to paint your salt and pepper shakers. 

You insist on the fact that they don’t have to look perfect, and though Andrei disagrees, he lets you persuade him into blindly choosing random colors to paint the shakers with, and the two of you sit for another hour and a half painting them. 

Another week and a half later, when you’ve gone back to Manhattan and he’s getting set to head out to San Jose, he goes back to The Spinning Wheel and picks up your matching salt and pepper shakers.

To anyone else, they probably look hideous - a mishmash of turquoise, yellow, pink, and green, but to him, they look so cute and silly, and he takes them straight home, where they quickly become the most out of place things in his completely lavish, state of the art kitchen, right next to his new sugar bowl.

~

January

He wakes up to his two year old niece, Mila, jumping on his chest, babbling her demands that her uncle wake up and entertain her.

“Mila,” her mother calls from the doorway. “That’s enough honey, let’s let Uncle Andrei get ready and then he can spend some time with you okay?”

Andrei brings Mila close to his chest and presses a kiss to her temple, before lifting to hand her off to Sara. 

“Mama’s made breakfast,” Sara says as she leaves. “It’s ready when you are.”

“Thanks,” he calls after his sister in law, before she shuts the door to the guest room behind her and Andrei falls back against the pillows.

He’s been here at Evgeny’s house for about a week now, enjoying some much needed time with his family celebrating the New Year and Russian Christmas. Not that he doesn’t miss being with you, but he hadn’t realized in the whirlwind of being swept up in your orbit that he had kept in touch with his family, but hadn’t really paid attention.

Evgeny and his mom still regularly sent him photos of Mila, his two year old niece, and Luka, his three month old nephew, but he didn’t realize how big they’d gotten since he’d last seen them, so it was nice being able to just be with them before they got too old to care or think he was still the cool uncle.

He grabs his phone on the bedside table, answering some emails and responding to meeting requests for when he’s back in Raleigh next week. The team has been doing so well over the last couple of months, making his days pretty even keel, and with the All Star Game approaching next month, things are probably going to start picking up again, especially as the team makes a push for the postseason. 

The second he reaches the bottom of his inbox, he’s texting you, asking if you’re up and if he can call or FaceTime with you.

You answer by FaceTiming him first, and he smiles wide, swiping the green button and feeling peace settle in his bones when your face lights up his screen.

“Privet krasavitsa,” he says, voice still raspy from sleep. Hi beautiful.

You blink, laughing a little. “I’m sorry, did you need a second to wake up?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve been up for a bit.” You nod, and he takes note of the plain white walls of your room. “You with your family?”

“No,” you say, a strange tone in your voice. “I’m at my apartment.”

“Oh,” he says, a small crease forming between his brows. “Everything okay?”

You flash him a half smile. “Yeah, better now. What about you? How are things going with you and your family?”

“Good,” he says, settling back against his pillows a little more. “It’s been good to see them again.”

“That’s good, I’m happy you’re having a good time.”

“Wish I could’ve brought you, almaznyy,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing over the screen, pretending he’s caressing your cheeks. “I miss you.”

You smile softly at him, eyes alight with fondness. “I miss you too, Andrei.”

“After this,” he starts, feeling a little hesitant. “Would you want to come back to Raleigh with me? You don’t have to, obviously, if you’re busy.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No Andrei, I’m not busy. I’d love to go back.”

“Good,” he says, releasing a relieved breath. “I liked having you there.”

“I like being there,” you agree. “With you.”

“I’ll be back next week on Wednesday.”

“Then I’ll be there Thursday.”

“It’s a date, almaznyy,” he says quietly. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You smile softly at him, shaking your head. “I won’t.”

~

The day after you come back to him, Andrei has to go into the office at PNC Arena, but he ends up being able to head home early. He picks up lunch for the both of you on the way from your favorite bistro, along with roses, and pints of your favorite ice cream and all of your favorite toppings. 

When he pulls into the driveway and heads inside, he toes off his shoes, surprised to find that the house is quiet, and he goes about putting the ice cream away, setting your lunch on the counter, and resting your roses in a vase.

He listens for you, but when he doesn’t hear the shower running, or any sign of movement from the living room or dining room, he sighs happily to himself a little, knowing he’s probably going to have to play your little game of hide and seek. He sheds his blazer, resting it on the counter before starting on his little diamond hunt.

The usual spots you’re in come up empty. You’re not in the kitchen or else he would’ve seen you as soon as he got home. You’re not in his office, the living room, the sunroom, or relaxing out back on the patio. He knows you wouldn’t be in any of the guest rooms, because he’s made it clear you have no business in there since you’re not a ‘guest.’

You fought him a little on that, because technically you are a guest, but all it took was him threatening to put your name next to his on the deed to the house and a few kisses to get you to see it his way.

He makes his way down to the basement instead, and pauses in the small living space to decide which way you could have gone. He doesn’t hear any noise in the entertainment room to  his left, so he opens the door to his right that leads to his home gym, and immediately stops in his tracks, eyes fixed to your body and his entire attention and focus on you.

You’re laying on one of the yoga mats, your headphones in and doing what looks like yoga in front of the mirrors along the wall. 

A smirk on his face, Andrei crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorway, content to just watch you through the mirror. You’re in a sports bra and tighter than should be legal bike shorts, and you’ve got your eyes closed as you listen to music and work through the movements.

You’re currently in a low forward lounge, your forearms resting on the mat as your head hangs a little bit. It makes your ass look amazing, and all he can think of doing is heading over, pushing you down on all fours, tearing those shorts off of your body, and taking you in front of the mirror till you beg for more.

Actually, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He’s just biding his time now, waiting for an opening to touch you.

His brows raise a little in anticipation as he tilts his head, watching as you switch legs effortlessly, lunging on your other side. When you bring your extended leg back in, and move into a bridge position, then downward dog, his pants tent at the view of your full ass staring at him, and he loosens his tie a little, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up his arms until they rest at his elbows. 

You press backward, extending your legs a little, and your head hangs, eyes still shut as you mouth along to the music in your headphones, and then for a second, he thinks he can hear the song change, and when it does, your eyes open slowly, and then you’re looking at him from your spot upside down.

He smiles when you blink in surprise, your body faltering a little, but still staying put, and then you’re smiling, letting out a nervous laugh. 

“Hi,” you mutter out, reaching one hand up to remove your headphones and put them to the side. 

“Hi almaznyy,” he practically purrs, openly checking you out.

You move slowly until you're kneeling again, sitting up as you look at Andrei in the mirror with your hands on your thighs. “What are you doing home so early?”

Home. He loves how that word sounds on your lips.

“Got out early, so I thought I’d surprise you. I even bought us lunch.”

“Oh,” you say with a smile, “Well, let me just clean up and shower and I’ll-”

“No no,” he’s quick to interrupt, finally moving from his resting spot against the doorway and entering the home gym. “I think you’re gonna stay there for a little bit longer.”

You hold eye contact with him in the mirror as he comes up behind you, tilting your head at him curiously. “Am I?”

“If you want your presents, then yes.” He says firmly, getting onto the mat and settling on his knees behind you. He wraps his arm around you from behind, his hand coming to rest at the base of your throat. You both watch as his hands gently stroke at the skin there before trailing to where the strap of your sports bra rests against your shoulder.

“What kind of presents?” You ask, your breathing starting to deepen, chest rising and falling as he continues to touch you, running his fingers across your collarbone. 

“The kind you like.” He says, “The sweet kind.”

You pout a little at him in the mirror. “That could be anything.”

He leans down, pressing his lips gently to the shell of your ear. “Then I guess you’ll just have to trust me then, won’t you?”

Slowly, he brings both of his hands to the middle of your back and presses down gently, murmuring “On all fours, almaznyy.”

You obey, moving forward until you’re resting on your forearms, shins to the ground and ass high in the air.

Andrei tries to maintain a modicum of decorum and works very hard not to drool at the beautiful heart shape of your ass.

“Krasivyy,” he murmurs. Beautiful.

He grabs at the waistband of your bike shorts, pulling them down your legs slowly like he’s unwrapping the perfect gift, pulling them off and carefully folding them before placing them beside him on the floor. He helps you out of your sports bra next, careful to fold that too before placing it atop your shorts and lowering you back down on all fours. 

He palms your ass cheeks in his hands, spreading them until your pussy opens up to him like a rose, and all he sees is sweet, shiny pink staring back at him. 

“Andrei-” you call out, but you’re cut off when he buries his face into your core from behind, a loud cry leaving your mouth instead. 

He licks you for a little while, content to just taste you for his own pleasure. It’s noisy and messy, and he can tell when you start to squirm that you’ve had enough of his teasing. You push back into his face, searching for more friction, more of his mouth on you in the places he knows you need, but he squeezes your flesh tighter in his hands, keeping you where you are so he can devour you until his heart’s content. 

It’s only when you start to shake in his hands, your breathing coming out in little whines, that he feels his heart twist a little bit, and he pauses to speak against your skin. 

“Do you want to come?” 

He meets your eyes in the mirror, watches as you blink slowly, blissed out and yearning, and you nod, your lower lip captured between your teeth.

Andrei rises up on his knees then, removing his tie and he wags his finger at you in the mirror, beckoning you to sit up. 

You do, rising up and allowing Andrei to maneuver you until your hands are behind your back, wrists crossed over one another at the base of your spine. He secures his tie around your wrist, making sure it’s not too tight that it digs into your skin, but that it’s still tight enough for you to move your arms a little in case you get uncomfortable. 

Slowly, he helps lower you down until your cheek presses against the mat, and then he’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, removing his belt, and unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He pushes them down to his thighs, followed by his boxer briefs, and he hisses a little when his cock springs free and hits his belly, feeling far too sensitive.

He locks eyes with you from your place on the mat, watches you watch him as he strokes his cock a couple of times before running the head between your wet folds. You whine a little when the head of his cock catches on your entrance a couple of times, then the third time it happens, he finally pushes in, watching in amazement as his cock disappears inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside of you.

Your mouth is open on a silent cry, back arching and pressing into him, almost like you’re trying to get him deeper. 

Andrei’s never taken you like this before. He much prefers looking at you the whole time, enjoys watching you and taking in all of your facial expressions, the way your body moves and responds to him. 

There are perks to this though.

Like the fact that as he pulls his hips back and pushes back in, he can watch you take him over and over again, completely fascinated by the way you grip him. Or the fact that when he starts to fuck you in earnest, your hands start to squirm, so used to reaching up and tugging on his hair or leaving scratches down his back, his chest, his abdomen. He gives you one of his hands to hold onto, the other remaining secure on your waist so he can pull you back onto his cock and keep things to the pace he’s setting. 

He also really likes the fact that you keep your cheek pressed to the mat, making sure he can see every single expression on your face as he drives into you over and over, getting you closer and closer to your orgasm that it makes him pump his hips to fuck you deeper, just a little harder, and loves how your thighs smack together against his with the change of pace.

You cry out his name, and then your eyes are screwing shut, bottom lip trembling, and Andrei squeezes your hand in his, pulls you onto his cock over and over as more whines spill from your lips.

“Come for me, almaznyy,” he says, leaning over you to whisper in your ear. “Come for me while I fuck you in front of this mirror.”

Your eyes fly open then, head turning a little to meet his gaze in the mirror, and he watches you, watches for that blissful expression to cross your face at the same time that your pussy clenches down on his cock, so impossibly tight, and then you’re whole body is shaking under him, a silent cry leaving your lips as your orgasm floods through you.

It’s so beautiful, such a gorgeous thing to watch, that he’s coming inside of you, body going rigid as he pumps his come deep inside, feeling you clench pulse against him as he does.

As your orgasms subside, Andrei carefully removes the tie from around your wrists, watching as your arms fall limply to your sides. He gently rests over you, gathering his thighs close to yours as he rolls you both onto your sides, careful to keep himself inside of you as he goes. 

He reaches up, brushing your hair away from your neck to press a kiss there, murmuring “My almaznyy.”

You hum, completely content in his arms, pressing your body further back against his. “Does that mean I get my presents?”

Andrei barks out a laugh, wrapping his arms around you to keep you close. “Like I could ever say no to you after that.

~

Later that night, you’re sitting on the barstools in front of his massive kitchen island, eating the ice cream Andrei bought straight from the tub.

You grab the can of whipped cream beside you and dollop a little on both of your tubs, grabbing the caramel drizzle next and swirling it around. He smiles, tacking on a “Spasibo almaznyy” before he digs back in.

“What does it mean?” You ask him after a beat, and Andrei’s too caught up in watching the way you lick your ice cream off of your spoon to register what you’re asking. You laugh when you notice what he’s looking at, and nudge him a little with your shoulder. “Hey!”

He blinks, snapping out of his daze. “Huh?”

“What does it mean?” You ask again, and his brow furrows.

“What does what mean?” He says, taking a lick of his ice cream, and feeling satisfied when your eyes track his mouth.

But you don’t get caught up in it the way he does. “What you always call me, ‘almaznyy,’ what does it mean?”

He laughs, tilting his head. “You haven’t Googled it yet?” 

You shrug, “I would have, but I’d rather hear it from you. What does it mean?”

“It’s a nickname,” he explains, which is technically half true. It’s his nickname for you.

“What does the nickname mean?” You push, bending your head a little to steal a lick at his ice cream. He feigns upset for a split second before he’s smiling at you again.

Even when he’s trying to be fake mad, he just can’t do it.

Belatedly, he wonders if this is what it will be like if you two ever do fight, if he’ll just take one look at you and the anger dissipates from his body. 

He has a feeling that’s probably what will happen.

He can’t seem to say no to you, can’t seem to feel the need to deny you anything.

“Andrei,” you pout. 

His thumb rubs at your bottom lip. “It means ‘diamond,’ malyshka.”

Your mouth drops open in a soft ‘O’ and Andrei feels his skin heat. “Where’d you get that from?”

Andrei shrugs, gathering another spoonful of his ice cream but feeding it to you instead. “It just seemed fitting, I guess.”

After taking a moment to swallow the chocolate off his spoon, you raise a curious brow at him from your barstool. He waits for you to say something else, but you don’t, instead digging back into your tub, and the two of you continue to finish your ice cream, exchanging dollops of whipped cream and caramel sauce.

A thought pops into his head to prop you up on the kitchen island and put the whipped cream and caramel to good use, but he restrains himself.

He feels it then, the normal electric tension between the both of you feels…different now. It feels both like something more, and then it also feels like…like there’s a newly growing space between you. It’s small still, but not small enough for him to ignore. 

Andrei thinks it has something to do with your time at home over the holidays, but he’s a little too afraid to ask. He can’t seem to get more than a few sentences out of you about your personal life, or the part of your life involving your family, and he doesn’t want to disturb the peace you’ve both managed to settle into now that you’re back together.

Belatedly, after you’ve both showered the day away and he takes you against the tiled wall of his shower, pressing ‘almaznyy’ to your skin between heated kisses and strokes, he lays in bed, with your naked body wrapped up in his arms, and he hopes whatever he’s feeling is just his imagination.

~

February 

With the All Star Game going on in Denver the weekend of Valentine’s Day, Andrei suggests taking you away for the bye week in the schedule. He doesn’t use Eden’s services to book a single thing, paying for the trip himself.

He flies you both out to Malibu for the week, booking a beach house on AirBnB with a view of the Pacific coast. You spend the first day settling in, buying a little bit of groceries to make some meals at your AirBnB instead of eating out all the time. Andrei would gladly drop whatever amount of cash it took to feed you at any restaurant of your choosing without complaint, but he also enjoys cooking together with you, so he realistically doesn’t mind either way.

The second day you spent going around Malibu playing tourists, and on the third day, which is Valentine’s Day, Andrei surprises you by taking you on a date to LACMA.

You’re wearing this pretty white dress, your hair falling around you softly, and all he can seem to do is watch you when you stop to look at each and every piece that interests you. 

There’s something about the way you seem to immerse yourself in the art, how you manage to focus on the things he can’t see, like it’s a secret between you and the piece in front of you, and Andrei’s content not knowing. He’s happier to just be in your orbit, to observe you and enjoy the way you turn back to him with a happy smile, reaching for his hand and towing him toward the next piece you want to look at or into the next exhibit hall. 

You’re currently looking at a Grecian style bust, the sunlight creeping in through the vast windows behind it, casting a heavenly glow on you and illuminating your silhouette under your white dress.

He can see it then - you’re not wearing a bra, and the lace of your underwear calls to him like a beacon. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop craving you in every way imaginable.

As you back away a little from the statue, Andrei approaches you from behind, and your body presses against his. He smiles as he wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” You ask, looking at the bust. 

“Extremely,” he murmurs, eyes on you.

You turn in his arms then, chuckling softly when you notice where his eyes are, and you rise up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his lips. “You’re not even looking at the art, Andrei.”

“I am,” he insists, and when you go to back away, Andrei’s arms wrap around you and keep you close. A small gasp escapes as he pulls you against him, and then backs the two of you against the wall in a tucked away corridor, hidden from the main exhibit. “The art is all I’m looking at, almaznyy.” 

He reaches beneath your dress, finding where the fabric rests at the juncture of your thighs, pulling it to the side and running his finger through your wet folds. You gasp again when he brings his finger up to your clit, circling it a little, before his finger’s dipping back down and sinking into you to the knuckle. 

He moves his finger in and out slowly, watching the way your face shifts into that blissful expression he’s come to adore so much, and his free hand comes to rest on your waist, guiding you to follow his hand, to take what you need. “It’s okay, you can take it, I want you to.”

“Andrei,” you breathe out, trying to keep your voice down as your hips move in time with his hand, “What about the rest of the museum?”

“Fuck the museum,” He murmurs, lips brushing against your temple as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. “You’re the most important work of art in here, almaznyy.”

Now that you know what your pet name means, your eyes twinkle in delight at him, tilting your head to the side to willingly provide him access to your skin, and Andrei doesn’t wait any further, pressing his lips to your neck and gathering the bottom of your dress, pulling it over your ass to rest around your waist. 

“Take me out,” he demands. 

Your eyes widen a little, pupils blown out. “Here?”

“Here.” He confirms with a nod. “Now. Take me out, malyshka. Don’t make me ask you again.”

Fumbling, your hands shake a little as you unbutton his jeans and lower his zipper, and Andrei lifts one of your legs up, tucking his forearm under your hamstring and opening you up to him. 

The second his cock is free from its restraints, he’s thrusting his hips forward, notching at your entrance and using his free hand to cradle your face in his hands. “This is okay, right?”

You nod, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Be quick.” 

He pushes the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt and crowding in closer, pressing your body back against the wall. He fucks you in quick, deep, and brutal strokes. It’s the least romantic he’s ever been with you thus far, the most careless, and he’d think to be concerned about it if it weren’t for your fingernails digging into his shoulders from where you’re holding on to him for dear life.

Heavy breathing is all that can be heard between the two of you, and he tracks the way you’re biting down on your lower lip, trying to stifle your moans, and he buries his face in your neck, sucking bruises into your skin and inhaling the sweet smell of your perfume, his thumb rubbing in soothing motions on your cheek.

“Close,” you whisper, digging your nails in, and he tilts his hips in a way that angles your hips up a little more, and then he’s pressing in a little further, and your back arches off the wall. “Yes, please!” You cry into his ear.

Andrei drives into you in a frenzied pace, eyes on your face and watches your eyes glaze over, can hear the stutter in your breath, and he’s moving his hand from your cheek to cover your mouth when you finally squeeze down on him, body seizing against his and his own body locks up, the orgasm nearly buckling his knees, but he keeps steady, doesn’t move a single inch as he fills you up and your body’s shaking comes to a cresting halt. 

He takes a couple of seconds, letting you calm down and catch your breath before he’s carefully pulling out of you and pulling your underwear back in place, pressing kisses to your forehead as he sets you down on both your feet and helps you rearrange your clothes. He tucks himself back into his pants and lets you fuss over making sure he’s put back together as well. 

Once the lust filled haze finally clears from his mind, he leads you out of the hidden corridor and back in view of the floor to ceiling windows, feeling the awe return when the sunlight immediately casts the heavenly glow back on you. 

“Show me more,” he says to you softly, tilting his chin towards the next exhibit hall. 

With a smile, you take his hand, then take him to look at more paintings.

~

Later that night, after you’ve had dinner, dessert, and more dessert in the shower, you lay on his chest and he wraps one arm around you, the other folded behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. 

It occurred to him as the two of you were in the show that it’s already been six months, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this - having you here, sharing his time with you, being intimate with you - and his mind runs rampant.

There’s so many things he knows about you, but still so many he doesn’t. There’s uncharted territory in his map of you, and he wants to amend that.

Immediately.

So he takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and throws caution to the wind.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but…” His voice trails off, running his fingertips gently over your naked spine. “How many clients do you have?”

He doesn’t know if it’s the wine from dinner, or the fact that he gave you three orgasms back to back in the shower and completely wore him out, but you actually answer him, and it takes him by surprise. “In the past, when I was working for Eden to get through school, I had a total of five clients the entire time. Two were short term, one for about nine months and the other for a year. The other three I saw on and off again pretty regularly over the four years.”

“Some of them saw you when you were eighteen?” Andrei asks, concern etching his brow and lacing through his voice.

You snort a little, lips brushing against his chest as you speak. “They weren’t…it wasn’t like that. They try to match the ages up correctly, or as correctly as possible. And we can say yes or no if they bring them to us and we don’t feel comfortable.”

“Well that’s a relief,” he mutters.

Your fingers drum on his chest as you continue. “The first client I started with at eighteen had just turned twenty one. He was some trust fund baby, but shy. Needed a date to his ex’s wedding to make her jealous. They’re married now, actually, her marriage to the other dude lasted all of a year. But she had my client in her wedding party, and he needed to play the long game for a little to make it seem like he’d moved on.”

“That was nice of you,” Andrei replies, genuine. “Very kind.”

“It was what he paid me to do,” You say with a shrug, then he can feel you smile. “They asked me to be at their wedding, once they got their shit together. It was kind of nice.”

He nods, then swallows past the lump in his throat. “And the others?”

“I met the guy I was seeing for a year when I was nineteen, a couple of months after I finished the job with my first client. It was a lowkey thing, he just needed a friend really. He was going through a bit of an identity crisis. Once I told him we could just…be friends, and that he didn’t have to pay me anymore, we stayed in touch.”

“Oh,” Andrei says. He’s not jealous. Not suddenly suspicious of this unnamed guy who-

“He’s my brother-in-law now.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then Andrei laughs, jostling you on his chest, and then you both end up laughing, you throw an arm over your eyes as you giggle, and he turns on his side, wrapping you up in his arms and pulling you closer. “I’m sorry,” he says between laughs. “I just-”

You nod, nose brushing against his chest as you do. “I know, it’s okay.” 

He scoots down the bed a little so he can nuzzle his face into your neck. “I just want you all to myself,” he murmurs into your skin, punctuating his statement with a soft kiss.

“You have me,” you assure him, combing your fingers through his hair. “I’m right here.”

He nips at your neck. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you nod. “I meant what I said.”

Your statements hang in the air, and he sighs. “What about the others? The ones you saw off and on?”

“Two of them were twenty three, and the third was twenty five. They were businessmen from London, young tycoons, and they were trying to expand their business to America. They mostly just invited me out to different charity events, galas, functions, you name it. It was convenient that the three of them were best friends, so they often coordinated who's date I was and when and where, and most people who knew them knew that they liked to share. But they didn’t, not with me anyway, in the sexual sense. I just played arm candy and hung out with them until they eventually were able to acquire the merger that they needed.”

Andrei hums. “They still in your life too?”

You nod. “They were, for a bit. They actually gave me the normal job I told you about after I graduated. Once they opened their office in Manhattan, they hired me as an assistant to one of them, and I’d see the other two every now and again, but we didn’t interact much other than the occasional check in. They all sent me a Christmas card, though. It had a check for ten grand in it.”

A surprised noise leaves his throat. “That’s generous.”

You laugh a little. “I’m pretty sure it was a ploy to try to get me to come back and work for them, but I just put it in my savings.” He hums, and then you go quiet, pushing him a little. 

Andrei raises a brow. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if they tell you this, when they send you my blood panel results. But at Eden, it’s a rule that if you sleep with your clients, you have to report it, and then we have to tell our clients so they’re aware.”

He doesn’t know if he likes where this is going, and he ignores the green flame of jealousy sparking in his body so he can say “Okay.”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, Andrei.” You tell him. “And I’ve never been with anyone else. You’re the first and only client I’ve ever had sex with, the only one I’ve felt comfortable with, the only one I’ve had a connection with, the only one I’ve felt safe with.”

And that…well that fucking turns him on.

All the way on, like…rock hard again in seconds. 

But even more, it unlocks something within him that has his entire world screeching to a halt.

You might not be all the way in, but he is. Especially now.

He’s in love with you.

He is undoubtedly head over heels in love with you and -

His movements are lightning quick as he tackles you, pulling you on top of him so he can kiss you fucking senseless. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that you knew exactly what you were doing to him by admitting something so…so….so fucking svyashchennyy. 

Sacred.

After a minute, you giggle, and press smaller kisses to his lips, and then his jaw and neck as you climb off of him, resuming your spot beside him. “Alright alright alright, your turn.” You say, drawing circles with your fingertips on his chest. “Tell me something about you.”

He pauses for a second, trying to pull up something, anything, something interesting to tell you, and he starts to worry when too many things pop up at once, but then he zeroes in on the bracelet on your wrist, the one attached to the hand that’s touching him, and he smiles a little. 

Gently, his fingers circle that wrist before capturing your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “I guess you could say I have a pretty obvious love language, or two, maybe. Acts of service and gift giving. It’s mainly because I didn’t have…well…anything, growing up, really. It was tough, back home. So the second I signed my first professional contract here in the states, I bought my mom a car. I got her all the gifts I’d always wanted to get her, and I still do it. I guess…I know what it’s like not to have anything, feeling like even the smallest of things isn’t enough to express how I feel, so I try my best to do it all the time. Like with this.”

He runs his finger over the bracelet. The one you haven’t taken off once since he put it on you, the one he feels signifies that you’re his, even if you’re not.

“I felt…appreciative. Before we even met, I was appreciative that you chose to agree to meet with me. I just wanted to get you something that said thank you, that I felt lucky.”

Your brow furrows, and he can see there’s words in your eyes, things you want to say, but instead, you cup his face in your hands, and pull him closer to you, capturing his mouth in a gentle kiss. 

“I’m the lucky one, Andrei.” You whisper between kisses. “Your heart is worth its weight in gold, never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

His heart beats in his chest and he surges forward, rolling you onto your back as your kisses turn slow, sensual, and then he’s settling between your legs and slipping inside of you, making you come on his cock and his mouth over and over again until you’re both absolutely exhausted, and the night turns black outside the windows.

As you finally drift off to sleep in his arms, he belatedly realizes that while he got to talk to you about your past clients, he still didn’t know how many clients you have now, and there’s still a few gaps in his knowledge about you that he feels are more like gaping holes. 

Selfishly, he doesn’t want you to have anyone else, no one other than himself, and he makes a note as he drifts off to sleep to fix it when you both get back to Raleigh.

~

The following week, when Andrei arrives at his office in the morning, he dials the number always listed at the bottom of the emails from Eden, and after speaking to a receptionist, waits a few moments before a woman’s voice comes to the phone.

“Hello, Mr. Svechnikov, this is Ava Price, CEO and founder of Eden. How may I assist you?”

Andrei drums his fingers on his desk. “I’m calling to ask you about my…um, my companion,” he says, trying to sound as professional as possible. 

“Of course sir, is there a problem?” Ava asks, a touch of concern in her voice.

“Not necessarily. I just wanted to inquire about her employment contract with you.”

There’s a pause, and then Ava clears her throat a little. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Svechnikov, has your companion mentioned that there’s something wrong with her employment contract? As you know, all of our companions are employed with us voluntarily, and they may come and go as they please.”

“I know,” he insists, trying not to sound pushy. “I wanted to ask…to ask if you could tell me why she came back? She had mentioned that she left for a little, and then came back because she wanted something else. Is it money? Is she in debt? Is she in trouble?”

Another long pause greets Andrei’s ears, and his nerves start to twist and flutter uncomfortably in his belly. 

“I’m afraid that’s your companion’s business. Listen, Andrei, I’ll be frank with you. Even if I was at liberty to discuss something like that, I don’t know that I would, given that it seems evident to me that your companion clearly has yet to tell you her actual name. That tells me that you may not be as close as you think you are. So I’ll ask this, why exactly are you inquiring about her employment contract?”

Andrei gathers the courage he had the other night, when you were wrapped in his arms and he swore to himself that if he tried hard enough, he could make this real. Could make the two of you real. “If it’s about money,” he begins carefully. “I want to pay for it. Whatever the amount, I’ll pay if it means you release her.”

“You want to buy her out?” Ava asks, incredulous. “That’s not necessary. As I said before, all of our companions work for Eden voluntarily. As generous and heroic as your interests are, there is nothing to ‘release’ your companion from. She is free to leave on her own volition, whenever that may be.”

Andrei blows air out of his nose. “I understand.”

“If I may, Mr. Svechnikov, I’ll do both of us a favor and pretend this conversation never happened, but perhaps it would be best for you to bring up your concerns with your companion directly.”

~

March 

Andrei glances at himself in the full length mirror of his walk in closet, adjusting and readjusting his suit. 

Tonight’s the Cane’s Bash, the organization’s renamed Casino Night, and it also happens to be his birthday. 

You’d arrived in Raleigh this morning after having to return to Manhattan briefly for what you told Andrei was “personal business,” and he tried his best to not make assumptions or draw unnecessary conclusions about what that “personal business” might actually be.

Not that he thinks you’d lie to him, but there’s still gaps, things he doesn’t know, and after his phone call with Ava, he seems to be dwelling on that more and more lately.

You’re in his bathroom getting ready, and he can hear you humming along to the music playing from your phone on a low volume. If he leans back a little, he can see you in the mirror, finishing up with curling your hair and dressed in a baby pink silk robe, the black dress you’re wearing tonight hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

“Almost ready, almaznyy?” He calls out, stepping out of the closet and into his bedroom. He heads toward the nightstand on his side of the bed, grabbing for his watch.

“Yes malysh,” you call out, the music in the bathroom cutting out. “I just have to slip on my dress.”

“Your heels are by the front door,” he reminds you, fastening his Rolex onto his wrist.

“Yes dear,” you call back, voice teasing.

He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Gaps and his phone call with Ava aside, he feels happy that things still feel completely natural with you, and it’s so easy for him to slip into this domestic role. There’s a part of his brain that wants to pretend this is just a regular old date night for the two of you, and he’s getting ready to take you to dinner just because.

If he allows himself to get lost in his imagination, he can picture that this is something he’d prefer to do weekly with you - taking you on a date just because, coming home and telling you to get ready, surprising you with dinner and a movie or taking you somewhere fancy. He’d be proud to show you off, proud to take you around with a rock on your finger that screams “she’s mine.”

But he can do this for now…right?

When you finally step out of the bathroom in your black dress, your hair curled and smile wide, almost as if you’re asking him “What do you think?” his entire world narrows down to just you.

And now…now he feels like he has to tell you. 

He wants to own up to his call with Ava, and wants to confess to you that he wants this to be more than what it is. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, holding his hand out to you.

You go to him easily, allowing yourself to be swept up into his arms and accepting the kiss he presses to your hair. 

“Okay, let me just get my bag and we can go,” you start, going to pull away, but Andrei pulls you closer instead, bending his head for a kiss, which you grant him easily.

He puts his all into it, holding you tightly against him, kissing you like this might just be the last time, just in case you don’t like what he has to say, in case you get angry with him for going behind your back to talk to Ava.

When he pulls away, he swallows. “Almaznyy, I-”

“Andrei,” you cut him off suddenly, taking a step back and out of his immediate space. “There’s something I have to tell you and it’s kind of important.”

Andrei tilts his head, a little surprised. “What is it?”

“I went back to Manhattan to try to find you the perfect birthday gift,” you confess, eyes on your feet as you speak slowly, almost like you’re trying to make sure you’re choosing the right words to explain yourself. “But in the end, nothing I looked at or found made sense or seemed like the right thing to give you. So in the end, I thought of something, and it’s not much at all, and probably a really lame gift. I mean, I hope it’s something you want? Or like. But I didn’t know if you…well, here.” You turn, going into the nightstand on your side of the bed and pulling out a wrapped, rectangular box with a little bow on it, then turn back and extend it to him.

Andrei smiles, accepting the gift and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He undoes the wrapping carefully, taking the lid off of the box and removing the tissue paper to reveal a carefully bound book. 

He opens it with gentle fingers, and when he sees the first page, his breath is almost stolen from him.

It’s a drawing. 

Your drawing.

Of him.

He recognizes the setting almost immediately. It’s of him, sitting on that bench in front of The Met, the coffee cups in his hands as he waits for you. He’s looking off to the side, searching, and Andrei can feel his mouth drop open.

“But…how…” His voice trails off in disbelief, looking up at you.

You’re blushing, a shy expression on your face. “I was watching you,” you admit. “I was sitting down a little bit away from the museum, waiting to see you, and then I saw you sit down, and I just…I sketched you, really quickly. It’s not the best, but I just thought…”

You take a deep breath, glancing down at your bare feet. “I thought that I missed you, and maybe if I drew you, then I wouldn’t miss you as much after you left.”

“You have dozens of pictures of us, almaznyy.” He points out kindly. 

“It’s not the same,” you start to say, but then Andrei flips to the next page, and your words die on your lips as Andrei takes in the second sketch of him.

This one is of him in a suit, sitting with his knees on his elbows and a serious look on his face, hands clasped under his chin. He recognizes it immediately, and laughs a little. “Is this from the game? At the Garden?”

You nod. “You came up on the jumbotron a couple of times during the third period, when the score was still close. So I sketched you then too.” 

Andrei can’t speak, can barely breathe at what he’s looking at.

He’d wondered about the sketches in your journal. Had thought about what you’d drawn over a dozen times, had thought about all the possibilities of what you’d sketched when you sat in the corner of his office and in your spare time. 

Never in his wildest dreams did he think you were drawing him.

As he flips through the rest of the book, there are at least a dozen more on the small A5 paper, of him bent over his laptop at his home office desk, on the phone and writing something down, on the phone and facing the window in his office, looking outside.

There are others too, intimate ones he didn’t think you were around for. Of him standing at the counter, sweatpants hung low on his hips, torso naked, his reading glasses on as he brewed a fresh pot of coffee for you after a particularly long night of fucking. 

He remembers it well - being surprised that he’d woken up before you did, surprised that he didn’t have to embark on his usual scavenger hunt to find you each morning, even though it’s one of his favorite unofficial games with you. 

There’s another of him sleeping on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other cast out and left open atop your pillow on your side of the bed. The sheets are gathered low across his hips, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen himself look so at peace.

“These are beautiful, almaznyy,” he murmurs quietly, and he thumbs over to the next drawing of him, one where he’s in the closet getting dressed, his back facing you, your view probably from your side of the bed.

It’s then that his eyes catch on something in the bottom right corner, and he brushes his finger over it.

It’s a signature.

Yours.

When he sees it, he flips back through toward the beginning, putting a pause on looking through the rest of the sketches for now, and finds the signature in the same spot on nearly every page.

Andrei lifts his head and finds you staring at your feet, a worried look on your face.

“Almaznyy?” He calls. “What’s…what’s on the bottom of the pages?”

Your mouth opens, then closes again, and you take a deep breath, eyes still on the ground for a second longer before you’re looking up at him with an expression that reads determination, hope, and just a little bit of fear.

Then you say a name. 

And nothing else.

But then it clicks.

It’s your name.

You just told him your name.

And before he can even fully process it, he’s repeating it, the letters and syllables sounding and feeling perfect on his lips. He says it to himself a couple of times, then whispers it into the air between you, and when you hear it, you smile a little.

Fuck the gaps.

Fuck Ava.

Fuck all the nonsensical shit that isn’t just him and you, and this, and ‘us.’

The next thing he knows, he’s carefully setting the journal to the side, shooting up from his sitting position and surging forward, pressing you against the door and seizing your lips in a blistering kiss that steals the breath from his lungs. 

It’s the best birthday present he thinks he’s ever received, and temporarily, he manages to forget about Ava, forget about the gaps, and just focus on you. 

~

He introduces you to nearly everyone, using every opportunity he has to say your name out loud now that he’s earned the privilege of knowing it. 

Now that he knows a little about your background, it explains how comfortable you are in environments like this, how you manage to be friendly to all of these people around you and make them like you when they only just met you. 

It fills him with pride in a selfish way, and he can feel himself walking a little taller, can feel his ego inflating every time someone mentions to him how wonderful you are and how lucky he is.

I know, he wants to say. She’s a diamond isn’t she?

When you make your way back to him after someone’s wife pulled you aside for a brief chat, he wastes no time in draping his arm around your waist and all but hauling you to his side, pressing a kiss to your temple, murmuring your name against your skin. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, you look handsome tonight.” You return, resting your hand atop the possessive grip he has on your waist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see another couple approaching, and gets ready to put on his best Assistant General Manager face, when he hears you squeal, and then someone else squeals, and you’re out of his arms and a couple of steps away from him in a second.

He turns his head to where you’re hugging a young woman with long black hair, and she’s squeezing you back particularly hard as the two of you speak to one another in a stream of rushed but happy noises he can only assume are words.

Eli’s standing not far off to the side of the brunette, watching her and you with a curious brow, and all at once, Andrei’s stomach bottoms out.

The brunette…she couldn’t be from Eden…could she?

When the two of you part, your hands on one another arms and keeping you slightly embraced, there’s a bright smile on the other woman’s face as she listens to something you say, her eyes casting over to Andrei for a brief moment. The next thing he knows, you’re excitedly leading her over to him, and Eli follows behind, the curious look still on his face.

“Malysh,” you say, smiling brightly at him. “This is Charlotte, one of my oldest friends. Lottie, this is Andrei, my boyfriend.”

Charlotte.

He remembers.

The one who introduced you to Eden. 

Great. So she’s definitely Eli’s date.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. He sticks out his hand with a smile, shaking Charlotte’s hand politely before taking a step towards you, allowing you to rest against him. 

Eli approaches from Charlotte’s other side and wraps a hand around her waist, leaning into her side. “Small world,” he says, glancing quickly at Andrei. It makes his back teeth clench.

Charlotte introduces you to Eli, who shakes your hand, and from a few feet away, Andrei can clock Olly and Mason watching the four of you with interest, abandoning the blackjack table they’d been hovering over and beginning to wander toward you. 

He goes to pull you back to him, to pull you away and bring you anywhere else, but then Olly and Mason approach, and they’re asking Charlotte about you, and then you get pulled into a conversation.

It’s fine, realistically, he knows that. And he’s content to just sit back and watch you, drinking from the beer he’s been nursing for the last half an hour.

He’s so tuned in to you that he doesn’t notice Olly approaching him from the side until he’s resting a hand on his shoulder, and Andrei turns, brows furrowing. Olly gestures with his head toward the doors leading to the hallway, and he nods, following Olly out and down the hall to a quieter, more secluded spot.

“Something on your mind, Huntington?” Andrei asks, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.

Olly frowns slightly, stepping forward and speaking lowly. “I know.”

Andrei can feel his heart thump uncomfortably hard in his chest. “Know what?”

“I know about your girlfriend,” Olly says, gesturing his head back toward the way they came. “I know she’s from Eden.”

Silence engulfs the hallway, and any explanation Andrei may have had completely vanishes.

Olly’s the one who breaks it, resting a hand on Andrei’s shoulder. “I promise I won’t tell a soul. Neither will Mason or Eli, we all swore.”

“They know?” Andrei chokes out.

“They guessed when Charlotte spotted your girl from across the room. I was the only one who knew. You used my name as a reference on the site. They sent me a voucher for a thousand dollars for it.”

Andrei feels like he could punch himself in the face.

He completely forgot he’d even done that in the first place. So much had happened in the last six months, he’d almost managed to forget what brought you to him.

“I swear I won’t tell, Drei.” Olly repeats, squeezing his shoulder. “I won’t and they won’t. Your secret is safe with us.” 

“Thank you,” is all Andrei can say. He’s still in shock, he thinks, still caught up in why he’s suddenly so bothered by all of this, and then it hits him.

His conversation with Ava. 

He’d been so caught up in his present from you that he’d forgotten to tell you about his phone call with Ava.

And how he’d planned to ask you to leave Eden and be with him. Actually be with him.

Olly nods before leaving Andrei alone in the hall, and he takes a few minutes to try to collect himself. 

This is neither the time nor the place, but he makes a promise to himself to bring it up with you once the two of you get home tonight. 

After a few minutes, he makes his way back out to the Bash, and spots you almost immediately with Charlotte and two other men who aren’t anyone on the team or from the organization, and certainly not anyone he recognizes. You’re tucked away from a majority of the party for the most part, and there’s no one around, but Andrei doesn’t like what he’s seeing at all.

You’re arguing with one of the men, the other trying to remain between you both to stop your heated verbal disagreement, and Charlotte is trying to pull you away.

There’s a fierce look on your face, a hard set to your jaw that Andrei’s never seen before, and you’re spewing a slew of what Andrei hopes are venomous words at whoever decided tonight was the night to piss you off.

As he approaches, he remains slightly out of sight of the four of you, and when your heated conversation makes its way to his ears, his stomach begins to twist again, and he isn’t sure if he can handle it this time.

“Admit it! This is about your inheritance!” The man you’re arguing with spits.

“This is not about my inheritance. As far as I’m concerned, the terms are bullshit and I don’t want it.”

“Then why are you here? With Andrei Svechnikov of all people?!” The man demands, and your face hardens. 

“He’s my boyfriend, and you don’t get to say his name if you’re going to be a fucking asshole.” 

“Maybe you two could stop this and have this conversation at a more apt time?” The other man asks, and Charlotte nods.

“I agree,” she says, then turns to you, saying your name softly. “Let’s go find Andrei.”

“What are you even doing here?” You demand, ignoring both Charlotte and her ally in trying to calm you down.

The man’s face hardens. “I’m here because Sam’s company is a sponsor for the Hurricanes. The company got invitations to the Bash, and they sent Sam as a representative.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe that a national company sent a representative from their Manhattan office as opposed to an office based here in Raleigh? Or closer?”

The man, Sam, steps closer to you then. “The Manhattan office is the closest. It’s not that big of a deal, I swear.”

“Well then I suggest you support your husband and his company, and leave Andrei alone.” You spit, turning to follow Charlotte back to the Bash, until the other man speaks again.

“I would, except I’d hate to miss out on the opportunity to tell Andrie that my sister’s a gold-digging whore.”

The silence that follows his statement is heavy, charged, and dangling on the precipice of an all out brawl. 

Fitting, that if there was a fight, they’re in PNC Arena, so it isn’t like there isn’t blood on these floors already.

Andrei’s included.

But then the words settle into Andrei’s veins and twist their way around his heart like barbed wire, squeezing painfully. 

Sister.

Gold-digging whore.

This man you’ve been arguing with is your brother. And if Sam is his husband, then that means…

Sam’s also your former client. The one you helped through his identity crisis. 

And of course if he married your brother, then your brother has to know you’re working for Eden, which explains his hostility.

Your brother thinks that you’re here as an employee, that his little sister is toting around here as a prostitute.

Which…as much as Andrei doesn’t want to admit it, is pretty much what is happening. 

And moreover, your brother thinks you being here and working for Eden is…some ploy at an inheritance?

He’s so lost it’s ridiculous.

Andrei doesn’t understand, but he also doesn’t want to hear anything else, especially if your brother intends on hurting you like this.

Before he can convince his brain to make his feet move, you’re whipping around so fast and lunging at your brother.

Andrei’s feet kick in then, but thankfully Charlotte catches you around your waist, pulling you back as Sam gets between you and your brother.

“Joshua,” Sam hisses.

Ah. Joshua.

So now Andrei’s potential brother-in-law had a name.

Potential being the key word, because if he continued to speak to you like that, or god forbid, made you cry, Andrei would punch his lights out here and now and Joshua would not be invited to the wedding.

Andrei finally makes it to your group, grabbing you from Charlotte and parking you directly behind him.

“I think you need to walk away,” Andrei says to Joshua. His voice is deadly calm, and he’s sure his face looks pretty similar. He’s had a long career to fine tune it, and it’s worked for him pretty well a time or two. He towers over your brother by about six inches, so it would be a fair fight, if your brother did know how to fight, but Andrei really doesn’t want to fuck up his potential brother-in-law the first time they meet.

“She’s got you fooled.” Your brother spits, fighting against his husband’s hold. “Whatever spell she’s got you under? Break it yourself. She’s not worth it.”

“Wrong.” Andrei says, stepping forward, looking Joshua dead in his eyes. “She’s worth everything.”

“Even if it means she uses you for an inheritance she can’t have unless she lures some poor sucker into her trap?” Joshua spits.

Andrei’s blood boils, and his hands curl into his fists at his sides. 

Maybe you’d forgive him for one punch. Just the one. Right?

Sam shoves at him, pointing in the opposite direction and saying “Joshua. Walk.” 

“You’re such a little bitch.” Charlotte says from where she’s comforting you from behind Andrei.

“Listen to your husband and walk away.” Andrei says. It’s his last warning, but Joshua doesn’t need to know that.

“Or what?” Joshua challenges, shoving against Sam’s hands from where they’re pushing at his chest.

“Or we’ll make you.”

The five of you turn your heads to see Olly, Mason, and Eli standing off to the side, and Andrei recognizes the look on their faces all too well. He’s seen it enough when he played with Olly and Mason, and seen it on all three of them nearly a dozen times so far this season.

They’re ready for a line brawl if they’re needed.

Joshua seems to do the wise thing for once and weigh his odds, which don’t bode well for him anymore. Finally, he decides to listen to his husband, and Sam ushers him away quickly, but not before sending a very sorry look to you, Charlotte, and to Andrei.

Andrei turns to you, finding you locked in Charlotte’s embrace and vibrating with anger. Olly, Mason, and Eli get closer, Eli resting a comforting hand on Charlotte’s shoulder and Mason and Olly coming to Andrei’s side.

“You guys okay?” Mason asks, casting worried looks between Andrei and you.

Andrei nods, patting Mason and Olly on the back. “Yeah, thanks.” 

“Need us to kick that guy out?” Eli asks, gesturing towards where Sam and Joshua disappeared. 

“Almaznyy?” Andrei asks, and you cast a glance at him, the expression on your face nearly breaking his heart. “Do you want them to leave?”

You let out a heavy sigh, but shake your head. “Leave them. He’ll keep his distance now.”

“He’d better.” Olly scoffs. “Don’t worry, if he tries anything else, we’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. 

After a couple of minutes of reassurance, Andrei sends the four of them away, then finally turns to you, a frown on his face.

He’s quiet for a second, trying to figure out where to start, and he doesn’t plan on it being “What was he talking about?”

Your eyes flick up to Andrei and your nostrils flare. “He just likes instigating, that’s all.”

“I can see that,” he agrees. “But what did he mean? About an inheritance?”

The gears in his head start to turn, and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it…it makes a little bit of sense.

It explains why you’ve never divulged as to what you would get out of you being with him. It wasn’t like you were always with Eden, and this was a normal gig for you - you’d made that clear on the first night. Yes, your heart was pure and you genuinely seemed to want to help him, to enjoy being with him, but…

But if it had all been for show…

You didn’t want his money, you said that much too. It would make sense if you didn’t want it because you were bound to have your own.

But none of that could be true…could it?

“There is no inheritance.” You tell Andrei, unwavering. “None that I stand to gain.”

He’s quiet for another moment, brain running a mile a minute.

Between his phone call with Ava, who refused to divulge anything, and then his conversation with Olly, and now your brother showing up, he’s not exactly had the best few weeks.

But this…this isn’t making anything better.

His silence stretches for too long, he realizes belatedly, because when he doesn’t say anything, you take a small step back from him, and he feels it. Feels it like the first crack in the pavement.

“You don’t believe me,” you say with realization, voice hushed and a little pained.

Andrei feels his gut twist uncomfortably. “I want to,” he says softly, “but you’ve never told me what was in this for you.”

“I did,” you insist. “I’ve said it. You just haven’t listened.”

Your words ring in his ears, but he doesn’t understand. He works to find something, anything to say to you, to try to…patch up whatever is happening, but nothing comes out. And with more of his silence, he can see you start to shut down in front of his eyes, putting up walls that have never been there in the entirety of your relationship. 

“Let’s…let’s just go back to the event.” He offers, “Get some drinks, get some food in you, okay? I think I’m just in shock, that's all.” 

You don’t believe him, and he can tell by the way you walk ahead of him, not waiting for him to follow.

You’ve never done that before.

Andrei follows after you, joining you from where you’ve found Charlotte and Eli again, Olly and Mason hanging around. When he gets closer, Olly rests a comforting hand on his back, and Andrei welcomes it, uses it like an emotional crutch and tries to put his best Assistant General Manager face on.

He wraps an arm around your waist that you don’t lean into like usual, and instead of the bright and bubbly person you’d been at the beginning of the night, now you’re just the right amount of nice and kind to the people who come up to you.

The little group of four hovers around the two of you protectively, and Andrei sees Sam making it a point to keep a wide berth between Andrei and Joshua. 

You don’t make any conversation with Andrei, answering his questions only with a shake of your head for ‘no,’ or a small nod for ‘yes,’ and the longer it goes on, the more Andrei can’t take it.

Even from the beginning, he’d never experienced such distance between the two of you, and now, the very same night you gave him your name and he was prepared to lay his heart on the line, he’s starting to lose his grip on the best possible thing that’s ever happened to him.

He needs to get you home, and now.

Just when Andrei’s getting ready to excuse the two of you from the current group you’re speaking to, Skyler approaches, along with a couple of Andrei’s former teammates you met earlier in the night. 

Sebastian, Marty, Martinook, and Jarvy seem a little liquored up and happy, and Sebastian pats Andrei on the back as the others hover around Charlotte and her three shadows.

They start talking about the current season, and then it eases into a conversation about the “glory days,” and that is definitely Andrei’s que to get you the fuck home.

He is not listening to this conversation.

But then, because the universe hates him, and he always seems to move too slow, he gets dragged into it.

“Right, Svechy?” Marty asks, and whatever was said, Martinook seems to agree with it.

“Of course he could!” Jarvy says. “Are you kidding? He could lace up and play tomorrow.”

Andrei winces internally. 

Der'mo. Shit. This cannot be happening.

“Nah, he’s better using that brain for the front office, right Andrei?” Sebastian asks, ruffling Andrei’s hair.

Andrei scoffs, annoyed, and he can see you staring at him from beside him.

Dvoynoy trakh. Double fuck. 

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asks, seemingly on your behalf, her eyebrows furrowed as she glances around.

Eli must be able to sense the rising discomfort, because he wraps an arm around Charlotte’s waist to lead her away, and Mason and Olly look ready to jump in again.

“I have post-concussion syndrome. That's why I had to retire early.” He blurts out, figuring it’s better that it comes from him than from the others.

They don’t know what they’re doing, not really, and they’re not trying to be cruel.

“Oh,” Charlotte says. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Andrei says, and he can feel you. He can feel your eyes staring into the side of his head and can feel you beginning to inch away from him.

“He found out after we won the cup last year,” Skyler adds. “He had to make the decision in the off season when he should’ve been celebrating. But we made sure we celebrated a little bit, didn’t we?”

Andrei smiles, a weak laugh leaving his chest.

It’s partly mortifying that he’s being singled out like this, albeit unintentionally, and also wholly embarrassing because he doesn’t want you to think less of him, or pity him the way everyone else had for a while.

The conversation goes on about the epic parties that had occurred last summer, and it eventually teeters out, but not quick enough.

However, this time, you’re the one who’s helping to usher him home, to get him out of the venue and say his goodbyes. You don’t say goodbye to Sam or Joshua, but you do say goodbye to Charlotte and Eli, and Olly and Mason as well, thanking them for being helpful earlier.

Once the two of you are in the car and on the way home though, Andrei’s waiting for it, waiting for you to make a comment about the injury, but it never comes.

You turn to him just as he turns the car off in his driveway, reaching across the console and resting your hand atop his on the steering wheel, and he steels himself, not really wanting to get into this conversation right now, and-

“Are you okay, Andrei?”

He blinks, head swiveling toward you. “Me?”

You nod, a pout to your lips as you frown. “Yeah, you. Are you alright? I can’t imagine people talking about you like you’re not there is fun for you.”

“I…” he’s dumbfounded. “I…I guess not, no.”

“I’m sorry they did that to you,” you say, squeezing his hand. 

He blinks again. “You’re not…mad?”

You tilt your head, bewildered. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I didn’t tell you,” he says, fumbling through his words as his hand joined with yours falls to his lap. “About the injury.”

“Andrei,” you say carefully. “I Googled you, remember? I already knew about the injury.”

Akh blya. Oh shit. He’d almost forgotten that too.

“Oh yeah,” he mutters. “You did.”

“C’mon,” you say, gesturing your head toward his house. “Let’s go inside. We have a lot to talk about.” You squeeze his hand before climbing out of the car, and he follows you, leading you into the house before shutting and locking the door behind him.

As you’re taking off your heels, and it settles in his bones that the two of you are finally alone, the heavy weight of the evening feels like too much to bear for a second longer, and the words pour out of him all at once. 

“Olly knows.” Andrei says. “About us. That you’re from Eden.”

You pause, putting your heels on the floor, looking at Andrei with a confused expression. “I mean, I figured as much. I thought Charlotte would have told him.”

“No,” Andrei admits. “He knows because of me.”

“You told him?” You question, slightly surprised. 

“Not exactly.” He says, and takes a breath. “I found out about Eden through him. Well, through Olly, Mason, and Eli. When I signed up, I used Olly’s name as a reference to expedite the registration process. I didn’t know it would notify him that I did.”

You nod, following along, but it’s clear you’re still unsure as to where this is going. “Okay.”

“He’s technically not supposed to know. No one is.”

The silence that ensues drives him crazy, starts an uncomfortable throb under his skull, and you’re just staring at him, shell shocked, and all you can say is “Oh.”

He plows forward, needing this off his chest. “After I made my decision, things just…sucked. It seemed like once I said I was stepping away, everyone else moved forward and I stayed behind. Sure, they gave me the Assistant GM job almost right away, but it didn’t…it didn’t help. I guess I felt lonely, and abandoned. That’s…that’s why I looked into Eden, to stop it all.”

“I…” you begin, and he can see your brain trying to work to understand what’s happening. “I don’t know that I get it, Andrei.”

If everything was coming out, if he was coming clean, he had to do it now.

“My brother brought up how I was by myself, all the time, and then I heard Olly and Mason talking about it with Eli, so I said fuck it and signed up. I just wanted to feel less lonely, less alone. I kept seeing my friends moving forward while I felt stuck, and I didn’t want that anymore.” 

He takes a deep breath. “Everyone around me was getting married, having babies, and I had nothing because I didn’t have time for anything else. My whole life changed in the blink of an eye. I thought I had years left of my career, and then I didn’t, and I had nothing. I wanted someone who could give me something, someone who could fit into my schedule and just…give me anything. It didn’t matter who it was, I just needed someone.”

Your breath is stolen from you in a whoosh, the room going dead silent, and then Andrei realizes his mistake.

It didn’t matter who it was, I just needed someone.

Someone. He said. Someone, meaning anyone.

Not you.

Even after he told you anyone else wouldn’t have been good enough. 

He sees it, the moment his words sink into your skin, and he curses himself. “That’s not - I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No,” you say, quiet as a mouse. “I understand.”

Andrei’s heart sinks. “Almaznyy-” he starts, and then you wince.

You wince. 

Fuck.

He’s about to lose you. He knows, and he can’t seem to derail this train fast enough.

Your name falls from his lips in a plea, and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around your middle protectively. “It’s alright, really. Clearly we both haven’t been honest about our motives. It’s not your fault.” 

“It’s not yours either,” he insists, taking a step toward you, reaching for you.

You take a step back almost immediately, and Andrei freezes in his path, hand falling limply to his sides. “I think,” you start to say, voice shaking. “I think I need to go back to Manhattan, Andrei.”

“Okay,” he acquiesces, hands fisting at his sides. He can’t really leave Raleigh, not right now, but if it means being with you and making sure that this, that the two of you are okay, he’ll do it, he’d do anything for you. “Okay, just let me pack and we-”

“Alone,” you clarify. “I need to go back alone. I think - I think we need some time to just…let things cool down. I think we need some space.”

He swallows the puck sized lump in his throat. “Okay.”

You turn away, heading to the bedroom to pack. He stands there, frozen to his spot with his heart at his feet, tongue twisted.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been good at this part - what to do after fighting with a girl he cares about. He isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to run after you and beg you to stay, or just…stay here and do nothing, even though he wants to do anything but nothing.

In the end, it’s all he can do. Just stand there and wonder how this night started off with such relief - him being ready to tell you he was in love with you, you completely derailing his plan by finally telling him your name - and ended in such a fucking mess.

A car pulls up outside, the headlights bouncing off the walls through the front windows, and then you come out of his room, duffel bag and suitcase in tow. You don’t say anything to him as you approach, just rise up to kiss his cheek, and then you’re out the door, taking his battered soul with you.

~

READER’S INTERLUDE

“Are you sure about this?” Ava asks. “You agreed to the booking for this weekend already. That will be your last one?”

You’re sitting across from her in her office in the Manhattan skyscraper that houses Eden’s offices, and you’ve never felt more sure about something in your life.

You have to do this.

You have to quit Eden.

In your email inbox, you’ve got an email waiting from Felix, Chris, and Morgan, waiting for the greenlight from you so they can rehire you and move you to London to work in their main office.

It’s a stark contrast from where you were six months ago.

When you’d gotten the email from Eden all those months ago that you had a potential assignment, you jumped on it immediately, wanting to get this whole scheme over with.

You’d loved working for Eden back in school, loved the girls you met, loved working for Ava, appreciated the agency and power Eden gifted its employees. 

It wasn’t typical sex work, and that had been made clear to you from the jump. While your clients may need the services Eden provides, it was completely up to Eden and the companions they employed as to whether or not those clients received those services, and even if you did decide to cave, everything could be stopped the second you said you were done.

Joining Eden hadn’t been the plan. When you’d gotten into college, you’d been determined to make your way through the rest of your life on your own and leave your ridiculous family behind.

Your mom being a renowned painter and your brother being a popular sculptor had been the only thing interesting about you nearly your entire life. Your father had been an award winning and incredibly successful photographer and photojournalist before he passed from cancer when you were twelve and your brother was fifteen, and all the love your family seemed to have for one another died with him.

Before the fallout, you’d grown up in an obnoxious, aristocratic, and wealthy world, being fortunate enough to attend the best schools and never felt the need to want for anything. All of the so-called ‘friends’ you’d had growing up never failed to use your family’s wealth against you, claiming you never had any real problems since you had money.

But all the money in the world couldn’t buy you sanity, couldn’t buy you happiness, or peace of mind.

You’d cut yourself away from your family when you got into college. You had to pay your own way through since they made it clear that they didn’t want you going to college in the first place, not understanding the point when you could do what they did - hone your talent in drawing and make a living.

That was exactly why you had to leave. You needed out, needed to do things on your own terms and at your own pace and in your own way. 

The last thing you’d done before going no contact with your mother and brother was attending a charity gala in your father’s memory, where your mother and brother had donated several pieces of theirs to raise money for cancer.

That was where you’d run into Charlotte.

Lottie had been a year older than you and was someone you’d known since high school. She was already going into her sophomore year at the college you were heading to in the fall, and was one of the rare people in your life who was nice to you, never cared about your family or your family’s money, and was the closest thing to a friend you had.

She asked you about how you were doing, about your college plans, and how things were going with your family. You’d poured your heart out to her, and in turn, she gave you a solution.

Eden.

You’d applied through her, and began work after your fall semester midterms concluded, and the rest was history. You’d planned to be in Eden for as long as it took you to graduate, and when you did graduate and ended up working for your last clients, Felix, Chris, and Morgan, that was it.

Until your brother, Joshua, had reached out and told you that he and your mother had conveniently forgotten to mention that your father had left you an inheritance, and that in order to gain access to your inheritance, you needed to meet with your family’s lawyer to review the terms and conditions.

The terms and conditions being a letter that in no uncertain terms said that in order to come into your inheritance, you had to fall in love and be with someone, on the path to marriage.

“We taught you everything but how to love - to give love, to receive love, to be in love - and for that my darling daughter, I am sorry. Should you fall in love with the right man, should you find you want to spend the rest of your lives together, the inheritance will be yours, and I want you to take that money and build a life for yourself and the love of your life. Build a life full of love, the life your mother, brother, and I, failed to give you.”

You scoffed at the note, disbelieving, until your family’s lawyer insisted that the terms were albeit colonial, but legal, and that your father was extremely serious, and well…

The only way you saw any of that being even remotely possible was by going back to Eden, and you originally only did it so you could find someone interesting enough, play the long game to meet the stupid terms of your inheritance, take the money, and never have to speak to your family again. 

Even if it meant using your clients in a way they didn’t realize, a way they couldn’t consent to.

You’d faked being a happy daughter and sister for most of your life - you could surely fake being in love, right?

Wrong.

Because when that potential assignment had come your way, you hadn’t expected Andrei.

His name had rung a bell in your head, so you took to Google to do a little research before making any decisions. You’d found out that he was thirty two, recently retired from the National Hockey League due to a career ending injury that had surfaced during his final - and successful - cup run, and hired as the Assistant General Manager for the same team he’d just left earlier that summer. It was a huge undertaking, and it was clear to you that his life had become incredibly busy within the last several months.

Thanks to Eden, you also had access to his background check, which dug a little deeper into his life and revealed to you a little about his life before his career took off. His upbringing was a stark contrast to your own. He had grown up in poverty with his brother and parents, his parents who sacrificed everything so he and his brother could live their dreams, who helped him move to another country so he could be everything he’d ever wanted.

From that moment, you knew he had a heart of gold. Knew that this man, this kind of man, deserved better, deserved a wife and kids and someone with a better direction of life than your own.

But selfishly, you’d also wanted to be the one to give that to him.

So you’d said yes, took him on as your client, and vowed to keep moving forward.

When you arrived at the Premiere Suite that first night, you’d already known he was handsome, knew the sound of his voice from watching a few of his interviews, had practiced what little Russian you knew at the time just in case he felt more comfortable speaking in his native tongue.

What you didn’t know was how disarming he could be from that very first second. How with just one look in your direction, you suddenly felt catapulted into his orbit and tethered to a man you’d semi-known, but had only just met.

It didn’t help that you were the type of person to believe in signs, either.

From the fact that the second you’d looked him up you felt willing to be his companion, to the nerves that had blossomed in your stomach on the elevator ride up, to the way he’d attached you to him with one look, the electricity you felt between you as you passed him and wandered into the suite, and then, to the photograph on the wall.

The one he’d caught you staring at.

The one your late father had taken, that was now hanging up in the Premiere Suite of The Mark Hotel.

It was one of his favorites - a photograph he’d taken of a patch of flowers in bloom in Central Park, a shadow of two people who had just gotten married sharing their first kiss as husband and wife casted onto the grass beside the flower patch. 

When you wandered into the living room, it was the first thing that had caught your eye, and you could almost hear your father quoting a line from his favorite poem to you. “Until at last, they enter the same door, and suddenly, they meet.”

Fate.

The word had echoed in your head until Andrei pulled your attention away from the photograph, and then the word sealed itself into a protected cage in your heart.

It couldn’t be possible, could it?

You weren’t sure, especially because the second you started to get to know him, you absolutely knew you would never, under any circumstances, tell him why you were working for Eden, and you would absolutely never, under any circumstances, use him to gain access to your inheritance. 

He didn’t deserve it, and you didn’t have the heart to drag him into your mess.

He was so charming and sincere, thoughtful and kind, respectful and generous, and surprised you completely with the roses and the bracelet. When he had asked you what was in this for you, telling him you needed something more was half the truth, and though it felt wrong to give him anything but the whole truth, what choice did you have?

To tell him you’d been in it for money, albeit not his, but then decided not to be in it for money because he what…charmed you immediately?

Yeah, like that was believable.

It wasn’t his fault. He’d given you several opportunities to tell him about it, but you turned them all down because you felt that deciding against going for your inheritance and just choosing to be with him anyway would be enough. 

You knew it wouldn’t be, so you kept your mouth shut.

Regardless of whether or not Andrei seemed like the type of person who wouldn’t mind your motives, you knew it was a secret you weren’t going to share, because it would never apply to him.

And it was still one you couldn’t share. Especially not now, not now that you actually had feelings for him.

“You can tell me you know,” Andrei had told you the night you first slept together. “You can tell me anything.”

You smiled, nodded and said “I know,” but beneath the surface, you knew you couldn’t.

There’s a part of you, a part that’s still healing, that hears that, hears it when people say “you can tell me anything” and know that they believe themselves to be telling you the truth.

But deep down, you know that telling them is only half the battle. Because once you do tell them, once the truth is out there, it doesn’t prevent them from lashing out or prevent you from facing the brunt of their emotions. It was a vicious cycle.

You could never control how other people felt or reacted, but you could control the thing that could cause those feelings and reactions.

And that ‘thing’ was you.

So when Andrei said “You can tell me anything,” you knew you wouldn’t be saying a word.

Because how could you? You’d gotten to know Andrei. You’d learned more about him than anyone else outside of his family ever did, he’d said as much to you.

And from the very second he opened that door to the Premiere Suite at the Mark Hotel, you’d been interested in him. He gave you roses, gave you the bracelet you never took off, took you on the kind of first dates he deserved to save for someone better, someone who wasn’t you, a twenty three year old escort who had come back to her escorting job with nefarious intentions, and who definitely had a crush on her client.

He let you into his space - brought you to see what he was like at work, invited you to his bed, his house, let you into his mind, into his life, opened himself to you and all at once, and you just knew.

You were falling in love with Andrei Svechnikov, and it was completely selfish. 

You’d given him those drawings, a piece of yourself you’d locked away for so long, wrapping them and gifting them to him like an offering of your heart. Then to seal the deal, you’d given him your name, finally, stupidly thinking that it would maybe drop a hint to him that yeah, you liked him more than he originally assumed, and in turn, he just about broke your heart.

You already said screw it to your inheritance, but you couldn’t allow yourself anything further than…whatever it is you were. He didn’t believe you anyway, when you tried to tell him there wasn’t anything in this for you, no ulterior motives, but what did it matter anymore? How would it ever be worth it to have if you were in love, and had love, but you didn’t have Andrei?

Especially when Andrei never said he wanted love.

He admitted it to you himself - he sought out Eden because he wanted company. He wanted someone to make him feel less lonely, less alone. He had been envious of his friends who moved on with their lives, built themselves a home with a spouse and children and things to look forward to. He wanted someone to warm his bed, to fill in certain gaps in his life, make him feel whole and full on the days he felt particularly empty. 

Someone.

Anyone.

Not you.

And even though you didn’t know the whole of it, on that very first day you had promised you could give him company - whatever it looked like. In the process, you indulged yourself in his presence, soaked up every bit of himself he offered you, tucked those bits away in a delicate box and stored it within the safety of your heart. 

If it hadn’t been for Joshua, your idiot fucking brother, it might have been a better night. 

But he can’t take all the blame.

You haven't been honest. Andrei may have led you on, given you false hope, but maybe it was your fault for believing there had been a chance in the first place. Perhaps, it was what you deserved for lying, for making promises you couldn’t keep, at least, not in the end.

You promised you could give him what he wanted, but that was before you realized that he didn’t want you, not actually you. 

He wanted this, what you could give him, but not you.

And now, you weren’t even sure he’d want this anymore, because this, this was bad.

Here you were. 

In love with your client. 

In love with Andrei. 

And there’s no way he could ever feel the same.

The way he told you no one was supposed to know about the circumstances of your relationship stung. In all the time you’d worked for Eden, you’d never been made to feel ashamed of what you did, but in that moment, even if Andrei didn’t mean it, the tiniest bit of shame sparked into your veins and set everything ablaze.

So now, sitting across from your boss’ desk with a shattered heart, you look at Ava, and finally answer her question. 

“I’m sure.” You say firmly. “After this weekend, I’m done. I quit.”

~

April

A month.

Andrei hasn’t seen or heard from you in a month and his heart breaks a little more with each passing day. 

Charlotte must have heard from you that things had gone south and told Eli, who probably told Mason and Olly what had happened, because they’d been giving him the same pitiful or sympathetic glances all week. 

If any of them sent him another one, he was going to tell their Coach to bench them for the next three games. 

He finally reaches his breaking point when Olly gives him a sympathetic pat on the back as he passes him in the hall at their practice facility, and Andrei knows he can’t take another day of it.

The second he gets home, he sends an email to those who need to know that he’ll be taking the upcoming weekend off of work for a family emergency, and logs into Eden, booking the Premiere Suite at the Mark Hotel. 

It’s a shot in the dark, but that’s all he’s got.

He texts you immediately after booking the suite, his hands shaking the whole time.

Andrei: I know we agreed to give each other some space, but I just want to talk about what happened. It would mean a lot if you would be there this weekend

He doesn’t get a response from you at all, and heads to Manhattan with a growing pit in his stomach. 

It isn’t until he’s waiting in the hotel room for an hour that he starts to worry that you won’t show, but then there’s a knock on the door, and he’s rushing for it, throwing it open and breathing a sigh of relief when he sees it’s you.

Memories hit him like a freight train. 

He didn’t think that when he first opened the door to find you standing there that he’d feel so much joy. 

Now, anxiety seeps into his veins, and he swallows past a lump in his throat.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you mutter back, and Andrei steps aside to invite you in. He takes notice as you take off your shoes by the door and then pass him that you’re empty handed, and hopes your bags are with the front desk like normal. His eyes scan over your body, cataloging. You’re wearing black jeans and a thin white sweater, and your bracelet is still on your wrist, so he takes it as a good sign.

Before you make it to the couch, you turn around, retrieving a folded piece of paper from your back pocket and handing it to Andrei. 

He raises a brow, hesitant as he takes it. “What is this, almaznyy?”

“Read it,” you instruct, voice quiet, and Andrei frowns, but does as you ask.

When he opens it up, the first line that he sees is “Last Will and Testament,” and his eyes fly to your face. He’s sure the confusion is written all over his face, but you gesture back toward the page, and he frowns, continuing to read.

He doesn’t exactly understand all of the legal terms, but he gets the gist. He gets to the portion of the page that’s handwritten, and his heart beats harder in his chest.

“We taught you everything but how to love - to give love, to receive love, to be in love - and for that my darling daughter, I am sorry. Should you fall in love with the right man, should you find you want to spend the rest of your lives together, the inheritance will be yours, and I want you to take that money and build a life for yourself and the love of your life. Build a life full of love, the life your mother, brother, and I, failed to give you.”

Andrei looks up at you and where you’ve settled on the couch, elbows on your knees and your head resting in your hand as you stare back at him. He’s completely bewildered, and the only thing he can think to ask you is “Is this even legal?”

“Unfortunately.” You say, tone void of any emotion.

He hates it. 

You breathe through your nose, still looking uneasy. “I…the reason I didn’t say anything to you about it is because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. Because of my parents and their work as artists, my brother and I grew up in a fairly wealthy household. It was the complete opposite of what you had, Andrei, and I didn't want that to change your perception of me. I didn't want you to think that I'd always been this spoiled brat, because that was never the case. I can't deny the opportunities and privileges that were given to me, but the person I am now, the person that you met and got to know? That's who I've always been.”

Taking a deep breath, you plow forward. “When my dad passed away, he left me that inheritance. He left it, and I thought it would help me be rid of my brother and my mother once and for all.”

“And you…” he recalls how fierce you’d been against your brother, and it starts to make sense - how upset you got, how crestfallen you were that night when Andrei had questioned you about it. “You don’t want it?”

“I’ve never lied to you Andrei, and I’m not going to start now. I did want it, at one point. But that changed in an instant. I knew I didn’t want it anymore and that I wasn’t going to fight for it when I…” you voice trails off, and your eyes trail to the photograph on the wall, the one you stared at when you first met.

“You what?” He presses.

Your mouth closes, and you shake your head. “I don’t want it. Bottom line. I just…I wanted you to know. I wanted to make that clear. That when I told you there wasn’t anything in this for me, that I meant it.”

“I believe you.” He swears, and it’s true. Over the last month, he’s had plenty of time to think about it, and you’d never given him any indication of deception. He felt upset at being left out of the loop, sure, but he never felt like you played him, never felt like you were leading him on.

If anything, you let him take the lead, let him call the shots, and just follow along. You kept your promise and held up your end of the bargain.

“I don’t think you deceived me,” he continues. “I was upset, and confused, but I don’t think you lied, and I’m not angry with you. I promise.”

After a second, all he gets from you is a nod. He waits for a second, waits for you to say something, maybe say more, but instead, you look at him, and stuff your hands in the back pocket of your jeans.  

“Then why’d you bring me here, Andrei?” You inquire, your body suddenly going tense.

“I wanted to explain,” he says. “What I told you that night, what I said? It wasn’t completely true.” 

You shift your weight, clearly feeling uneasy. “What wasn’t true?” 

He sighs, then gathers a deep breath. “I’d been feeling lonely, yes, and I signed up for Eden because I was looking for company, and I figured it would be a good idea. But, I was also ready to call the whole thing off until I opened the door and saw you. When I saw you for the first time, almaznyy,” he says, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “I knew it was going to work.”

“Knew what was going to work?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

It hurts, the way you’re trying to make yourself small around him, and he hates it. “This. Us.”

“Us?” You echo.

“Our…” he searches for the right word for a second. “Our arrangement,” is what he comes up with, but the way your face falls tells him that was definitely not the right word to choose. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper eventually, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it at first.  

But he does.

The anger stretches across his face, and your mouth drops into a frown. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, and then you’re turning on your heels, every line in your body telling him that you’re about to walk out of his life. 

He calls your name, halting you in your tracks on your way to the door. “I ‘m trying to tell you that I want you, can’t you see that?” He exclaims, running his hand through his hair. He’s so frustrated right now he feels like he could pull his hair right out of his skull.

You shake your head, lip trembling as the tears that have been pooling in your eyes finally fall, and it breaks his heart. “No, no you don’t, Andrei. No one wants me.”

“I do!”

“You don’t!” You cry, voice breaking. “You hired me. You hired me to fill a void, and now you’re confusing it for love, but it’s not love, Andrei. What you’re feeling? You just like the way me giving you what you paid for makes you feel.”

It stings.

Hearing it said that way stings so much in his heart he feels like he might crumble, but he persists. 

“Maybe I do,” Andrei says with a nod. “Maybe you’re right. But you can’t stand there and tell me that you don’t like the way that I make you feel either.”

Your face crumbles. “You know I do, Andrei. But you don’t feel what I feel, not really.”

“What do you feel, almaznyy?” He all but begs, rushing forward and taking your hands in his. 

“I love you, Andrei!” You exclaim, voice cracking. Your breath hiccups, and his heart feels so full in his chest, it’s like he’s drowning in your confession. “I’ve fallen for you. I broke the rules, broke our contract, and I can’t even find it in myself to care because I love you.” 

He murmurs your name, and it sounds so soft, so delicate between his lips that he can see the way it nearly makes you crumble, and Andrei doesn’t hesitate to pull you closer. “I love you too, almaznyy. I swear it, I do. God, I’ve felt it since the moment I opened the door and saw you standing there that first night. You didn’t even say anything! I just looked at you and I knew, I knew there wasn’t ever going to be anyone else for me. Ever.”

There’s a moment in your expression where he sees it, the happiness, the relief, but then it’s just replaced with more sadness, and he can feel his heart beginning to deflate, splintering at the seams. 

“But you can’t prove that, can you?” You say with a shaky breath. 

“It’s real,” he pleads. “It’s real. This? Us? This is all the proof we need, it’s all I have, almaznyy. You’re all I have.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t even know it was going to be me. It could have been anyone.”

“That may be true, but ‘anyone’ isn’t good enough for me, you are.” Andrei insists. “If anyone but you walked through that door, I wouldn’t have gone through with any of it. I wouldn’t have let them in the damn room, let alone give them roses or a bracelet like that. Because they weren’t meant for them, it was meant for you. You and you alone.”

“Andrei,” you murmur, shaking your head again. 

He cups your face in his hands, staring right into your eyes. “Eto sud'ba,” He whispers. It’s fate. “Fate. Destiny. Meant to be, almaznyy. That’s us. I would go to the ends of the earth for you. I practically have!”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean?” You ask, sniffling.

He groans in frustration at himself, but knows he can’t avoid telling you about this, so he lays it all out on the line. “I called Eden. I talked to Ava Price and I all but begged her to let you out of your contract. I didn’t know the reason you went back at the time, so I offered to buy you out of it. Pay whatever amount it was you were trying to save up for so that you wouldn’t have to see any other clients anymore. So I could try to…court you, I guess. Svidaniye.”

Realization crosses your features. “Date me?”

He knew you were fucking taking lessons, you little sneak. 

“Yes, date you, almaznyy. I just wanted you to myself. I know it’s selfish, and I know it was wrong. It crossed boundaries, invaded your privacy, and I’m sorry. But I just wanted you so bad. I was falling for you, and I was willing to do anything to have you for myself.”

“You…you spoke to Ava?”

“Da, almaznyy.” He nods, “I called her the morning after our night in Malibu, the second I got back to work. She told me I couldn’t do it, that you had to make the choice yourself.”

“You called her to…try to get her to fire me?”

“I did,” he admits. “I did it and I’m sorry.”

“Andrei, I quit Eden.”

He blinks, stunned into silence and so rocked by the revelation that he takes a small step back, his hands dropping to your arms. “You…what?”

“I quit two days ago. I…I quit because I didn’t want Eden to be the only reason that I was still in your life. I quit because I didn’t think it was me that you needed. I thought it was what Eden could provide. I quit because…because I realized that I love you. That I’m in love with you, and I needed to know for myself that you wanted me for me.”

“I do, malyshka, I do.” He swears, taking your hands again and stepping into your space. “I want you so badly, I could go insane with it.”

“It’s just been you, Andrei,” you say, pushing the words out with a breath of relief. “It’s only been you for me, too.”

He yanks you into him, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you like it’s the last time. 

Except he knows it’s not the last time, not now. Not like this. 

His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that it takes him a second to realize you’re murmuring something, words forming against his lips as he kisses you, and he realizes you’re saying “only you” over and over again, speaking the words against his mouth like you’re praying to the heavens.

“I know malyshka, I know,” he says back, pressing the prayer into your lips. 

But you shake your head, pushing on his shoulders a bit to put some space between the two of you. You look up at him, shaking your head again. “No Andrei, I mean. It’s only ever been you. You’ve been the only client I’ve had since I got back to Eden.”

He blinks, cock pulsing at your admission, heart going into overdrive. “Me?”

You nod, cupping his face with your hands now. “My one. My only. My last. Moy vozlyublennyy.”

His vision blurs as tears begin to gather in his eyes. 

My beloved. You called him my beloved.

He’s gathering you in his arms in a split second, crushing his lips to yours and moaning in relief, practically running his hands all over you, trying to engrave you into his touch, his soul.

Ona moya, he thinks. She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

Andrei pulls away, looking into your eyes. He figures he probably looks like a fucking crazy person, gazing at you in both awe and disbelief. “Ty moya,” He proclaims aloud. “Ty moya, moya almaznyy.” 

You’re mine. You’re mine, my diamond.

You smile up at him, tears making your eyes sparkle. “Da, ya tvoy, Andrei, ya vsegda byl tvoim.”

Yes, I am yours, Andrei, I have always been yours.

He growls, bending to nip at your bottom lip. “You have been taking lessons, moy malen'kiy kotenok,” he accuses, my little kitten, then bends and hauls your legs around his waist, promptly turning around and heading straight for the bedroom. 

“Of course I have,” you say, like it’s obvious, and really, it should have been. “I know five languages, Andrei, and it’s part of my job to learn new ones. Russian’s been hard, but it’s been worth it for you.”

He clenches his teeth, trying to restrain himself from hugging you and squeezing you so hard that you’d probably bruise, and he drops you down to the bed. Andrei climbs over you, bending his head, nipping at your neck and going straight for your jeans. 

You help him, tearing off your sweater and your bra as he peels your jeans and socks off of you, and he’s about to go straight for your thong and rip it to shred when - 

That’s when he sees it.

It’s small, hidden behind the waistline of your thong, but the second he pulls the band down to confirm what he’s seeing, it’s staring him in the face.

A diamond. 

It’s no bigger than the size of a quarter, but it’s there. It’s a diamond. You got a tattoo of a diamond.

And suddenly he can’t breathe.

All the air whooshes out of him in a stuttering breath, and his hand hovers over the skin, too shocked to do anything else.

“You can touch it.” He hears you mutter, “It’s healed.” 

“How?” The question comes out in a rasp. “When?”

“I got it before the Canes Bash,” you admit. “I planned on showing it to you that night, but then, well, you remember what happened.”

He swallows, fingers gently brushing over the small tattoo, and his body is suddenly caught between wanting to fuck you so hard you can’t walk, making love to you till you can’t speak, or wanting to cry at how loved he feels, just based on the small pattern of ink alone.

He swears to himself when the morning comes, he’s going to get a matching one. He’d never thought he’d get a tattoo, didn’t bother getting one any of the times he won the Cup, and certainly never thought of getting a matching tattoo, but for you? He’d tattoo your name anywhere you wanted if you asked him to, so what did it matter if a diamond blessed his skin?

Too moved to speak, he bends his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the diamond, and then he’s moving to scoot lower on the bed, until you stop him. 

He glances up at you, curious, and you’re shaking your head. “None of that,” you say, your voice all breathy. “It’s been a month, Andrei. I need you now.”

“Okay,” he says, coming up for one last kiss. He makes it sweet, whispering your name and a string of praises as he quickly takes off his shirt, then tears off his jeans and boxers. He swipes a finger through your fold and finds you soaked already, so he rubs the head of his cock along your pussy until it’s coated in your arousal, and then he’s sinking in, balls deep and crowding in close.

He withdraws his hips a couple of inches and then pushes back in, watching your face.

You’re watching him too, and you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, capturing him in a whirlwind of a loving kiss. His eyes flutter shut, eyelashes brushing against your cheek as he tilts his head, slotting his mouth over your so he can slip his tongue inside of your mouth.

You both stay locked like that, making out as Andrei fucks you slow and deep, your legs locked around his waist as you wind your hips to meet each of his thrusts.

“Missed you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” you reply, one of your hands trailing into the hair at the nape of his neck, “never leaving you again.”

“Damn right you’re not,” he says, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’ll tie you to the bed before I ever let you walk out on me again.”

“Delay chto khochesh',” you say. Do whatever you want.

“You’re going to regret saying that to me,” he swears, punctuating his statement with a deep thrust. 

“I won’t,” you swear. “I don’t regret anything about you.”

He can’t have you saying things like that, not when he’s buried inside you and too in love with you for his brain to function properly. He decides all he can do is keep kissing you, keep fucking you, and when your orgasm finally washes over, he follows suit, coming inside of you and whispering “I love you” over and over against your mouth.

“I love you too,” you swear once you’ve both calmed down. “From the very first day.”

“You’re the best decision I ever made, almaznyy.” He says, burying his face in your neck. “I don’t regret a single thing.”

“Neither do I, Andrei. Neither do I.”

~

ONE YEAR LATER

Andrei glances around the living area of the Premiere Suite. 

He didn’t think he’d ever be here again after the last time. Thought when he shut the door behind him, that would be it.

Until tonight.

He’s not as nervous as before, and when he glances around the room, checking that the white roses he bought are in the vase, the champagne is in its ice bucket with two glasses at the ready, he feels comforted by the familiarity.

He doesn’t bother checking his phone, doesn’t bother pacing or fretting. He just waits, scrolling on his phone until there’s three soft knocks on the door.

With a smile, he places his phone on the coffee table and heads toward the door, opening it only for his smile to get wider. 

You’re there in a white mini dress and matching white heels, your silver bracelet on your wrist where it belongs, and you’re wearing matching earrings and jewelry on your hand. 

“Ty Andrei Svechnikov?” You ask, and his heart flutters.

A loud laugh leaves him, but he nods. “Da, ya Andrei.” Yes, I’m Andrei.

“Ideal'nyy!” you say, a bright smile stretching across your face. “Ya tvoy novyy pomoshchnik.”

Perfect! I’m your new assistant.

His brow furrows playfully as he steps aside, letting you into the suite and shutting the door. “I didn’t realize I was getting a new assistant.”

You turn to him, hair flowing around you as you do. “Well, with your recent marriage, it appears your former assistant was no longer suited to help you with your needs.”

“And that’s where you come in, I assume?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nod, turning back toward the living room and grabbing the champagne bottle. As you go about opening it and pouring each of you a glass, you say “Exactly. I’ll be taking care of you going forward.”

When you spin around and hand him his glass, you both toast quickly, clinking your glasses together and taking a sip. “I see, and when do you officially start?”

“The second I walked in the door.” You respond, that cheshire smile of yours he loves so much creeping up your face.

“Oh?” He inquires, openly eyeing you up and down. A flash of excitement crosses your face as you watch him set the champagne down on the table, stalking forward playfully.

You take a step back with a hesitant nod, heading toward the bedroom. 

The very place he took you for the first time.

The place he plans to take you for the first time as his wife.

“Idi syuda, zhena,” he orders, crooking his finger to beckon you to him. Come here, wife. 

That cheshire smile is the last thing he sees before you’re whipping around and running toward the bedroom, and Andrei can only smile as he chases after you, his beautiful wife, the glittering of his wedding ring shining in the light of the suite as he goes.

[venture-through-the-mist]

The Devil Never Slumbers

Operator Mag can’t sleep. She decides to visit the Sanctum Anatomica. Or rather, she decides to visit her mother.

TW: None.

The fic begins under the cut. I hope y’all enjoy!

I rub at my eyes tiredly as my ship lands inconspicuously near the Necralisk. It’s…so quiet. Quiet as I slink unnoticed through the halls, past the slumbering Entrati. Quiet as I slip into the tunnels that lead to the Sanctum, tunnels walked by many, but nearly deserted now. My footsteps tread lightly on the gilded floor, careful not to wake the fish, who’s mumbling haughtily in his sleep. Nor do I disturb the massive bird, nestled comfortably in his golden cage, nor the Cervulite, curled up near the entrance to the labs, though the tip of his tail twitches slightly before moving to rest atop his muzzle. No, none of them notice my presence. None, except the faithful assistant. We share a glance, exchanging words with merely a look. The exhaustion in his eyes is the very same as that which wraps itself around my bones, the very same heaviness that weighs me down but doesn’t allow me to rest. His gaze shifts to an empty space at his workbench. An invitation. One that I don’t take. Perhaps he and I could bask in our misery together. Perhaps I could even fall asleep if I simply focus on his methodical progress, the ambient scratching of pencil to paper. But, that’s not why I’m here.

And he knows it.

We reach a silent understanding, realization flashing in his weary eyes. One corner of my mouth turns upward in a soft half-smile, and he returns the look, adjusting the edge of his glasses as he does so. I continue my path, feeling the soft sands of the dunes beneath my feet. There’s no need for a Warframe out here. I hadn’t wanted to bring one anyways. I take a deep breath, my lungs filling with the still air, my senses taking in the subtle stimuli, those which I would’ve missed if I were inside that metallic suit. My ears take in the soft singing that I knew I’d hear eventually. As the dunes give way to stone, as the edge of the cliff becomes visible through the fog of the Void, I see her. I don’t say anything to disturb her vigil. I simply lower myself to the rocky ground, a few feet behind her, but enough to the side that I can see what she sees. I can see the Void, the broken, floating pieces of rubble, the glowing, gaping maw that seems poised to devour us all. She knows I’m here, even before she shifts her head slightly—likely the smallest amount she can turn in order to see me—, but her singing doesn’t falter. It can’t, I know that now. Rather, it mustn’t. 

We don’t speak, but I feel an understanding lingering in the air. One beyond words, one that has stood the test of time, of loyalties, of love. A test that has led us here, to the cliff. To the emptiness that stretches beyond its rocky edges. In the past, we had many titles. The future will bring many more. But for now, right here, we’re simply Mother and Daughter. She isn’t the Sentient, the Daughter, the Leader. I’m not the Tenno, the Soldier, the Devil. Not here. Not now. We’re simply two beings, not linked by blood but family nonetheless, solemnly staring across the Void. I allow myself to listen to her song. It’s different now…but no less comforting. The lullaby once used to comfort her children, now being used to tether herself to the present. The weight of my exhaustion gnaws at me, but my eyes don’t drift shut. My gaze remains fixed, staring straight ahead.

I don’t know how long I stay there, though eventually more Tenno begin to filter in, sitting quietly near us. Some stay for only a moment or two. Others remain longer. I find myself almost fascinated by them. As different as we all might be, as unruly, or hotheaded, or impulsive, most of us have one thing in common. Sometimes, we just want our Mother. When the world seems strange—too strange, even for us—, she’s who we turn to. She might be different now—she’s clearly distracted, and more than a little uncomfortable—, but she’s determined. She’s a calming presence, even when her own mind is likely less than serene.

Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe that’s why, after tossing and turning and trying and failing to rest, my weary hands keyed in coordinates that I barely read before the Orbiter began its course. Maybe, even if I can’t sleep right now, I can still rest. I can still let my thoughts still as I stare out into the empty fog, listening to her unending song. Tomorrow, I can be the Soldier once more. Tomorrow, I can be the System’s ‘Devil’. But tonight? Tonight, I just want to be a daughter. I want to spend time with her—even if it’s only a moment—, time that’s unimpeded by thoughts of the conflict that looms over us. I just…don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to hear It laughing, amused by the torment It causes.

I take a quiet breath, and my eyelids fall shut. I can still hear the others, though their voices seem like mere background noise. I focus on the song, allowing myself to relax into this odd half-asleep state. Eventually, though it seems far too soon, I open my eyes once more. I slowly rise to my feet, a silent farewell crossing through my mind. I’ll be back. She knows, I’m sure. At least…I hope so. My limbs feel only slightly lighter as I make my way across the dunes. Even still, they should be light enough that I can fight once more.

[endofradio]

FRAGMENTS OF FEAR — CHAPTER 1: BLUE EYES

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

WARNINGS: n/a

NOTES: pinkie promise there will be longer chapters eventually it’s just my brain has been feeling kinda. Bleh.

SUMMARY: sylvie and frank meet again, but not in the way either of them would’ve expected.

WORD COUNT: 1,336

TAGS: @reclaimedbythesea @shawsfinalgirl @creelmalfoylaufeyson69 @witchy-weve-monbebe @atcarpenter @blackwolfstabs @simpingforclaudette @maggotssmichael

“I’m a human fly, and I don’t know why, I got 96 tears and 96 eyes.”

Sylvie sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by a variety of drawing supplies. A Cramps record was spinning on her record player as she spent time with her sketchbook. On her bedroom wall, various drawings and paintings of hers were scattered around. For her, art was a form of therapy, along with writing.

Sylvie had spent the past few years trying to make an effort to rebuild her life, but some nights had been rougher than others, tonight being one of those nights. It started with waking up from a nightmare about her adoptive parents, and from that point on, she was stuck with the all-too-familiar process of dwelling on her past. If she could’ve gone back and changed things, she would’ve. Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve…

When Sylvie thought about her past, she often found herself thinking about Adam. It had been five years since she last saw his face, yet she remembered him very well. She could envision his cocky grin and his cold blue gaze that seemed to see through her soul. Sylvie was not one to forget people who had left an effect on her, and Adam was definitely one of those individuals.

She could just hear his voice — that smart-ass, smooth-talking Queens accent. Every word that came out of his mouth made her just want to punch him. He was a vulgar and perverted son of a bitch, flirting and teasing her even when he had a ring on his finger.

“I’ll let you out early if you give me a little kiss,” he had once said. Of course, Sylvie shot back with a “fuck off.”

As she sat there drawing, she was suddenly hit by a pang of loneliness. In a way, Adam had made her feel more alone than she already did. The attention he gave her — even though it was bad — was still attention, which was something she had never received. Adam was able to see right through her, pinpoint her weaknesses, and figure out how to trigger them. The more Sylvie thought about him, the more she realized that maybe she could’ve been attached to Adam in her confusing way. As miserable as he made her feel, at least he still gave her attention.

Stop thinking about him. Sylvie told herself. Neither of you two give a shit about each other.

As she tried to center her focus back on drawing, Sylvie could only continue to think about how pathetic her own life seemed to her. Here she was, sitting alone in her apartment with no friends and no family, just listening to music and drawing. She stared at what was the current state of her drawing — a shrieking cat with an arrow piercing through its heart. In her opinion, the cat represented her. That was why she drew it.

As Sylvie took out a black colored pencil, her head perked up as she heard a faint noise. Her eyes nervously darted around, only to see nothing. Maybe I’m just hearing things.

She started to color in her drawing, and that was when she started to hear faint footsteps. Why would someone be in her apartment, especially at this hour? There was nobody that wanted to visit her.

Confused, Sylvie slowly stood up and began to quietly walk out of her bedroom, peeking from around a corner. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure dressed in all-black. “Who… who’s there…?” She weakly asked.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said anything.

Quickly, Sylvie retreated to her room, sitting with her back pressed up against the wall.

She looked up and saw the same figure standing in the doorway, but could only see part of the figure's face.

The figure spoke, and Sylvie felt as if she were trapped in another nightmare.

“Y’know, you should’ve left your door locked. Not too smart.”

Yeah, she’d recognize that snide voice from anywhere. She needed to see if she was right, though, as much as she didn’t want to believe it.

“Who… are you…?”

The man pulled down his mask, and Sylvie’s face turned to a whiter shade of pale. “A… Adam…?”

He pulled his mask back up. “Frank.” He corrected.

Sylvie couldn’t comprehend any of this. What happened to him being a detective? What was with the new name? Cop-turned-criminal… the irony.

“What the fuck…” She whispered, feeling her heart starting to race. “What… what do you want?”

“It’s simple,” Frank answered, his voice cold. He took a few steps closer to Sylvie, and that was when she could tell it was him. The blue eyes said it all.

“Don’t fight, and it’ll be over before you can even blink.”

Sylvie watched in terror as Frank reached into the pocket of his black slacks, pulling out a syringe containing a clear liquid. “What the fuck… is that…?” she asked, her voice shaking.

Frank shifted even closer to Sylvie. Standing right in front of her, he crouched down to her level, holding the syringe in front of her face. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a pleasant slumber.”

“You don't have to do this,” Sylvie whispered. She could feel her body shaking like a leaf as she stared at the syringe. “I won’t… I won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, I have to do this,” Frank responded. “Just shut up, and let me do my job, yeah?”

Before she could say anything else, Frank covered Sylvie’s mouth with a gloved hand, muffling her screams. She tried to escape, but in response, he held her down. “Don’t make this difficult.” He hissed.

As Sylvie saw the syringe come closer to her neck, she quickly grabbed Frank’s arm in a frantic attempt to pull him away. His patience dwindling, Frank aggressively pulled his arm away. “Stop fuckin’ fighting!” He snapped. “I don’t wanna fuckin’ hurt you, Sylvie, but I might just have to if you don’t cut the bullshit.”

Sylvie. Jesus Christ, it really was him.

Then, in one quick motion, Frank stuck the needle into Sylvie’s neck, pushing down the plunger as the tranquilizer slowly entered her system. Slowly, she began to relax, and her breathing began to slow, her vision turning foggy.

Once Sylvie finally slipped out of consciousness, Frank picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, casually walking out of the apartment as though nothing had happened. Dean was waiting in the van, smoking a joint.

“How’d it go?” He asked, a smug grin on his face.

“Fine.” Frank curtly responded. “Open the door.”

Dean shuffled out of the van and headed over to the back, opening the door so Frank could place Sylvie in the back seat. Once she was completely taken care of, Frank went to get in the passenger’s seat, slamming the door shut.

“Start driving.” He muttered, coldly staring at Dean. “We got her.”

“Jesus, man. Are you always in a bad mood?”

Frank rolled his eyes. Yeah, he wasn’t the happiest person, but he also just simply loved telling people what to do.

Once the two arrived back at the mansion, Frank entered as if nothing had happened, carrying Sylvie in his arms to a bedroom where she could rest.

“Uh… who’s that?” Sammy asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “I thought it was just one person we were kidnapping…”

Dean shrugged. “Boss-man forgot somebody.”

“But…”

Once Frank found an available bedroom, he walked over to the bed and placed Sylvie down on it in a surprisingly gentle manner. He couldn’t help but look at her for perhaps a little too long, with a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts running through his mind. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen her in five years, but Sylvie didn't even seem real to Frank, even though she still looked the same.

What the fuck am I doing?

Sighing, Frank turned around and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

ATLA

Perfection is Overrated by JaggedCliffs (+ podfic) (NOTE: I've recced this fic before and I'll rec it again. When I die, I want to be buried with this fic)

For his first thirteen years, Zuko was raised in a palace. And yet somehow, it's the three years outside the Fire Nation that seem to count more – at least to the palace staff, who act like he's been raised by fox-wolves.

At first, this only annoys Zuko.

Until he begins to think that the Fire Nation needs more than a formerly-banished prince.

a brush of fingers, a kick of shins by lesmiserablol (+ podfic)

"Okay, I’ve been thinking all day, and here’s my idea,” Toph tells Zuko on their way to dinner. “You’re so sure he’s not into you, so I’m going to help you out and give you a gentle nudge every time he flirts so that you notice it.”

“Okay,” Zuko says slowly. He doubts it will be necessary, he and Sokka have been best friends for over five years now and that is probably all that Sokka thinks of him as. A good friend. “I don’t know if it’ll come up, but if it does...just don’t make it obvious, yeah?”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” Toph smiles. Zuko knows her fairly well, he knows he should be worried at that, but he just follows her into the dining hall.

Stranger Things

who wants to live forever? by starbeyy

In which Steve Harrington has two nightmares: The one he has about the fire at the Starcourt Mall every time he falls asleep, and the one where Eddie Munson visits him at Family Video to ask him for a favor.

shape it up (get it straight) by fivecenturiesverse (+ podfic)

Mike doesn't know when he started caring why Steve and Eddie are friends now, but Dustin has made him curious. Eddie and Steve were enemies before, sort of. So why are they now best friends? They've just got to do a bit of surveillance to work this puzzle out. If Mike accidentally finds out he has feelings for his best friend along the way then... well, shit.

-

“At least I’m not using binoculars.” Mike shoots a derisive look over at Dustin. “Like we’re not in the middle of the high street, if they spot us how are you going to explain away those, huh?”

“Bird watching,” says Dustin. “My new hobby.”

Lucas punches him on the arm. “God you’re so fucking stupid.”

“You gave them to me!”

Shadowhunters

Portable Magic by smilebackwards

Magnus may go slightly overboard helping Alec set up for the book club gathering.

Technically, perhaps, he didn’t need to create a signature cocktail or barter a favor to Raphael for O neg blood for the vampires or source the biscotti directly from Italy. But hospitality is important and these are Alec’s friends. He wants to make a good impression.

Or: Alec is in a Downworld book club and Magnus finds this unaccountably fascinating.

count the ways by smilebackwards

"I know the nephilim have some truly skewed perspectives on our history and culture but have you ever seen anything like this before?” Magnus holds out the book, open to Warlock Courting Traditions. The text only takes up half a page, a mystifying run-on list of odd and impossible tasks. It’s formatted almost like poetry and his dear, pedantic Alexander has turned it into a checklist, penciled lightly down the margin.

Ragnor snorts into his tea.

“Oh,” Catarina says, looking at the book. “That."

In somno veritas (In sleep lies the truth) by lawsofchaos (+podfic)

Jace blinks, peering at the loft in vague stupefaction. “This,” and Alec’s parabatai’s voice sounds like he’s dragging each noise out from his exhausted mind and forcing it out before he can forget what word he just discovered. “Isn’t the Institute?” The final phrase comes out as a question.

Alec tilts his head in puzzlement, glancing at his brother as if wondering how he could possibly consider that Alec had taken them there instead of here. “No?”

Alec’s head moves back to level and he narrows his eyes instead. “We said we were going home after patrol.”

The ‘ergo, we are home now’ wasn’t said, but it was obvious in implication.

bloom by smilebackwards

Alec loves watching Izzy get flowers but he thinks he would have liked, just once, to know what it felt like for someone to send him something so bright and sweet, frivolous, just because they cared.

[duckprintspress]

Meet Aether Beyond the Binary Contributor S. J. Ralston

We’re entering the final week of the Kickstarter campaign for Aether Beyond the Binary, an anthology of 17 aetherpunk stories starring characters outside the gender binary, and we’re still going strong! As I write this, we’re $3,700 shy of our goal – an amount we definitely can raise, but the more help we get spreading the words about this project, the more people will know it exists, and truly that’s the single biggest barrier to hitting our goals: effectively spread the words. So, if you believe in this project, whether you’re a backer or not, we’d really appreciate you taking a moment to share/reblog/retoot/reskeet our posts about it!

Bluesky

Facebook

LinkedIn

Mastodon

Pillowfort

Tumblr

Thanks for all your support! Now, let’s introduce another of our contributing authors…

About S. J.: S. J. grew up in a distinctly weird, distinctly southern hometown, then hied out West for grad school before landing in Texas, where they currently work as a planetary scientist. They’ve been writing original works and fanfiction since they could hold a pencil semi-correctly, and continue to write both whenever possible (as well as still holding a pencil only semi-correctly). In their clearly copious spare time, S. J. enjoys hiking, tabletop RPGs, jigsaw puzzles, and enthusiastically crappy sci-fi.

Link: Personal Website | Tumblr

This is S. J.’s first time writing with Duck Prints Press. You can read another example of their writing by visiting their website to check out Anglerfish, a horror sci-fi story. 

An Interview with S. J. Ralston

How did you pick the name you create under?

It’s a line from the opening of the Aeneid that’s stuck with me ever since AP Latin in high school: “On account of the mindful wrath of cruel Juno.” It’s a synchesis, where the adjectives have been swapped from where you expect them to be; it’s Juno who is mindful and her wrath that is cruel, but rearranging them in such a way elegantly implies the relentless, vindictive onslaught that is to follow.

What do you consider to be your strengths as a creator?

Dialogue and dread.

What do the phrases “writer’s block” or “art block” mean to you?

The state of wanting to create but not having the intellectual raw materials to do it.

Are you a pantser, a planner, or a planster? What’s your process look like?

I would consider myself a plantser. Typically I start with an IDEA, writ large, center of the page. Then some key scenes will populate around it–dramatic moments, fun bits of dialogue, cool setpieces. At that point I get out my corkboard and red string and start trying to piece everything together, and if I’m lucky, the shape of the story will reveal itself to me. Sometimes it’s the classic parabola of rising and falling action, other times it’s been a ring, a tri-fold posterboard, a descending spiral, or a series of concentric circles. Then I fill in until the structure is complete and hope like hell that I can stick the landing.

What are your favorite tropes?

Found Family, Robots With Feelings, Enemies To Lovers, Destructive Romance, Kirk Summation/The Man In The Room

What are your favorite character archetypes?

Brooding Loner Secretly Just Lonely, Lying For Fun And Profit, Badass With An Obvious Dump Stat, Too Old For This Shit, Taciturn But Bizarre, Himbo

Do you like having background noise when you create? What do you listen to? Does it vary depending on the project, and if so, how?

I make a playlist for almost everything I write that’s longer than a few thousand words. Sometimes it’s for listening to while I’m creating (in that case, it has to be primarily instrumentals or I’ll get distracted), and sometimes it’s just for daydreaming to (in which case, the vibes must be correct, so I can construct AMV’s in my head).

Share five of your favorite books. (You can include why, if you want!)

Feet of Clay by Terry Pratchett – Eerie, funny, and poignant in equal measure; a police procedural done right.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke – Lush with joy, curiosity, and love, yet still remarkably dark, with an ending that will nestle in your brain forever.

Artemis Fowl: The Opal Deception by Eoin Colfer – Fourth in the series and the absolute pinnacle thereof. A master-class in shit hitting the fan. 

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu – Everyone, down to the most momentary background character, behaves more like *people* than any I’ve ever read before and it’s *disastrous* and I *love* it.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson – The classic of classics. The horror of horrors. The transgenderism of it all.

What are your goals as a creator? 

(1) To write something that’s better on the second read-through than it was on the first, and (2) To write something that stays with the reader.

What’s the best advice you’ve ever received?

When you finish a first draft and you *know* you’ve got something really good, put it down. For a month, six months, a year; until the glow fades, or you’ve fallen in love with whatever you’re writing next. Then come back and re-read that first draft. Take extensive notes, diagram the plot, profile the characters. Notice the holes, redundancies, missed opportunities, and inconsistencies. Then open up a blank document and *start over.*

S. J.’s Contribution to Aether Beyond the Binary

Title: Razzmatazz

Tags: bipoc, body horror, butch, character injury (non-graphic descriptions), classism, dehumanization, eye horror, horror, humans are the villains, mechanic, minor character death, misogyny, murder (accidental), non-binary, non-human character, past tense, sentient construct (magical), third person limited pov

Excerpt: 

The thing was damn near unrecognizable, not just as Marilyn Monroe, but as human. People had tweaked the proportions through the years—amateur artists who couldn’t put down the paintbrush. That kind of thing was bad enough on paper, but seeing it in person made Skipper’s butthole clench.

The dress and the curls were Monroe. The rest was something else.

“Shit my ass off,” Skipper said under his breath.

“Yeah,” said Charlie.

“This gets up and walks around?”

“She does.”

“Shit my ass off.”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, a too-heavy head on a too-thin neck, but the Monroe wasn’t staring across the aisle like the others. It seemed to be looking down at Skipper. It put out waves of dare-you-to-start-some-shit energy.

“Is it because they messed with the proportions?”

“Huh?” said Skipper, pulling out of the Monroe’s tractor beam.

“The reason she moves around so much. Could it be because of…” Charlie gestured to its whole body.

“Hell, maybe,” said Skipper.

The Monroe loomed like a landslide, just waiting for the rain. Skipper had a hammer on his belt. He felt like the Monroe was staring at it. If he broke the case, what then? 

[hausofmamadas]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

Part 2

⁂

Pairing: Danny Lyon x Kathy Cross

Word count: ≈ 4K

TWs: Allusions to infidelity, love triangles, flirting, angst. (ꔘ) indicates this comes directly from dialogue in the movie.

But whatever it is, it feels important. Like you’d regret it slipping through your fingers. So important, you don’t wanna blink. Cause when you open your eyes again it’ll be gone. Picking up right after part one (read -> here to catch up), at the bar the same night, Danny loses focus on the meeting when he gets a surprise visit from Kathy.

⁂ The ash on his joint’s nearly a half inch long when Cal’s hand waves in front of Danny’s face, knocking it off to scatter onto the barroom floor.

“Earth to Danny, come in Danny.”

“What? Oh, sorry.”

Not only has Danny barely taken a puff of his joint but Frankie was long gone, replaced in front of him now by Cal who’s made his way over from the pool tables to ask for a drag, a request to which Danny has been apparently nonverbal. Yup, too lost in the soup upstairs and now he’s second-guessing this joint he hasn’t even really smoked. Maybe he is more toasted than he thought.

“Need me to take that bud off your hands, bud?” An impeccably-timed Cal speaks to these fears. “Looks like you might’ve had one too many.”

Handing the joint over to Cal gladly, Danny cracks a smile, a real one, “Sure thing, gramps,” because for all his oddities Cal’s the only one of them that feels real and not like a character in a dream he can never fully remember. Besides Kath. “Say, remind me again, what time’s curfew? Don’t wanna be late for supper after all.”

“Well, now,” Cal tips a hat that’s not there, affecting the voice of an old southern grandpaw, “I’d certainly say by sundown, sonny.”

“The fuck’re you two doofs on about?” Brucie, characteristically cranky, looks up from his newspaper, face all pinched like he’s not here for their shenanigans. Which is funny considering the general company he keeps. If shenanigans were an occupation, every one of them including Danny would be bonafide professionals.

Cal leans over to pat him on the shoulder, “Now, now, Brucie, this is a family matter,” before taking his seat at one of the tables.

“Just my fuckin luck.” Brucie rolls his eyes like it’s just Cal being Cal, which it is, “Coupla comedians over here,” and tosses his newspaper on the bar before swiveling his stool around to address the group assembled at the tables. “Alright, alright, ladies. Pipe down, meetin’ll start in about five minutes.”

Danny snags a few crowd photos while everyone’s distracted. These usually turn out to be his favorite, catching people when they think no one’s looking because usually no one is. Scanning the room for another shot, Danny can’t help but shake his head at all the non club-affiliated patrons packed at the front of the bar by the pool tables because he’s yet to figure out why some of the meetings are conducted during business hours. This is made even more baffling given some of their other meetings were held off-hours when the Stoplight was closed and there was less noise. So it seemed no one was opposed to the idea. Why not just have them all then?

Danny grabs his pencil from where it perpetually sits behind his ear and a little notepad from his vest pocket, jotting down to ask Brucie or Kathy, the two most likely to give him a reliable answer, about it later.

“S’at my name I see you writin there? What could you be writin about silly ‘ole me, I wonder?”

“Oh shi– uh, he– hiya, Kath,” Danny jumps right out his shoes, practically three feet in the air, his voice almost as high. “I, uh, didn’t think you’d be comin tonight.”

“Yeah, well my car’s busted, so’s I had to get Benny to pick me up from work and he said he could only do it if we stopped here first ‘fore goin home.”

Danny offers his sincerest condolences with a nod and shrug.

“Boy, I am glad yer here though, I’m tellin ya,” she says, grabbing a piece of gum from her purse and popping it in her mouth. “Nice to have someone’a talk to ‘sides just dese wahoos.”

“Oh yeah? Well, uh,” searching the congregation through the cigarette smoke that’s filling the fiberglass shields around the fluorescents so it looks like everyone’s moving in a tank of dusty water, Danny spots a sleek crop of honey blonde hair seated up front and off to the side, “what about Benny?”

She waves her hand. “Please. You know better ‘an anybody, dat boy don’t talk. And I love him to death but he’s a wahoo, same’s any of ‘em. But hey, who says you can’t love a wahoo.”

“Not me,” Danny agrees, smirking privately to himself, as was the custom these days any time he talked to Kathy about well, pretty much anything. Given so many opportunities to practice, he’s become well-versed in trying not to look like he’s enjoying himself as much as he is. See, it’d be a problem if it was a problem. But it’s not. Not at all.

Bringing his camera up to snap a picture of the group gathered around Johnny, he can’t help but chuckle at how it looks like a scattered Sunday night mass if mass was held in the smokestack of a hay bale on fire. A hay bale with billiard tables and a jukebox.

Kathy leans over wanting in on the joke, “What’s so funny over dere?”

“Ah, it’s noth– it’s ju– well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Sheesh.” She shoots him a look that would’ve been withering were it not for the smile on her lips and in her eyes. “You been hangin ‘round Benny too much. I swear one’a these days, you’ll go quiet on me yet.”

“C’mon, you know I’d never,” Danny says, smiling so much he’s struggling to line his eye back up with the viewfinder.

“Oh, does’at mean you’re like me, then, huh? Not enough, whats’a word–” She snaps her fingers in an attempt to summon it, which she does. “Discipline. Not enough discipline to be dat stoic.”

“It’s not that so much as,” he flashes a cheeky grin, “I’m just not cut out for that kinda commitment.”

“Y’know,” Kathy crosses her arms, shakes her head, and just to have something to do, starts kicking the leg of the unoccupied barstool in front of her. “I used to think you Brooklyn boys were aaall trouble. Just– y’know, on account of all’sa movies I seen, right. Buncha meatheads, mobsters, criminals n’ such. But you Danny Lyon, you’re just a doll, aren’t ya?”

“Am I?” The blood’s warming his cheeks already and he falls back on some well-worn sarcasm to save face. “Well, don’t go blowin my cover or these guys’ll boot me out on the street and I’ll have nothing to show for the last six months.”

Smiling, she drags her thumb and her forefinger across her lips, locks and throws away the key.

Danny turns his attention back to the meeting that’s started, trying to make like he’s been industriously picking out shots and listening. Not that it mattered if he wasn’t. His club membership was little more than ceremonial, a kid’s costume. Sure, he had colors now and his own bike, a junker Cal chopped together because he got sick of Danny piggy backing on his all the time. He joked about it when he gifted it to Danny. Much as it’s been a treat chauffeurin you around, if we do it much longer people’ll start to think we’re going steady. Now, I’m all for broadening your horizons but I’d hate to be the one to compromise your journalistic integrity, y’know, being with a respectable lady like myself.

But neither of those things made him integral to the day-to-day goings on of the club. Although tonight they’re talking about whether to approve the formation of a St. Louis chapter, so it’s more than the usual shop talk, even if the answer is a likely yes since Johnny’d already given the go-ahead to Milwaukee last year. Kathy had told him a guy named Fat Jack, or Big Jack, or Big Fat Jack(ꔘ) had to battle it out with Johnny for that one. Whether that’d be the price of admission for St. Louis remained to be seen.

“Say, I gotta question.” Kathy makes a move to claim Danny’s undivided attention again, the subject of an apparent tug-of-war between herself and the club. “I been wonderin, how d’you know when to take the picture?”

She’s yet to win that war on the Benny front but she’s well ahead on this one, what with Danny all-too-happily taking the bait. “Hm? What d’you mean?”

“Y’know like how d’ya know what’s gonna make a good photo? And do they all come out lookin how they look when you’re peekin,” Kathy points her index finger, retracting and extending it a few times at the viewfinder, “through that thing, er what?”

The camera in his hands comes down slow with the steadiness of an elevator dropping from floor to floor and he fidgets with the camera strap like he’s uncomfortable with the question. He might be. There’s something intimate about it. What’s more though is he doesn’t have a great answer. There’s no easy way to summarize what he’s devoted the last seven-some-odd years perfecting. The even more embarrassing part is that he’s never really given it a lot of thought. Not conscious thought, at least. He just sorta knows. But that seems like a cop out somehow and he doesn’t want to give her that kind of answer. Because nothing’s worse than questions met with answers that don’t really answer anything at all.

“Heck, I didn’t expect that to be such a stumper.”

“Oh–?” Danny snaps to, summoning a gentle smile to reassure her the dead air response isn’t because he’s bent out of shape about it. “Oh, no. I don’t– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– it’s just, to tell you the truth, it’s not something I think about.”

“Well now,” she elbows him lightly, “I find that hard to believe.”

“I guess– well, do you mean in a technical sense, as in how do I frame a shot? Or how do I find something I wanna take a picture of in the first place?”

“Mmm, the second one,” Kathy chuckles. “I think.”

Thumbing the advance lever, Danny’s gaze is now stuck on all the club members seated in front of them, “Hmm, well–” trying to find a way to break down what’s been, for all these years, as good as muscle memory. “I guess it’s a gut feeling more than anything. Like if you’ve ever been in the middle of somethin– the thick of a scene, and then stopped a second to look around, right?”

Eyes narrowed like she’s thinking intently on what he’s saying, Kathy bobs her head up and down.

“And something about it– doesn’t even have to be anything grand, y’know. Might just be, you like the lighting. Or the gestures people are makin, having a conversation. Or the look on someone’s face when they’re concentratin on something. But whatever it is, it feels important. Like you’d regret it slipping through your fingers. So important, you don’t wanna blink. Cause when you open your eyes again it’ll be gone. Not gone gone, y’know, just arranged a little different than it was, right. Cause the moment’s different. And you wish you could sustain it somehow, bottle it like a ship so you can see it any time you want. What it feels, looks like, sounds like. I guess– well yeah, anyway.” Danny’s voice drifts off with the smoke and the bar chatter and the music from the jukebox. “When I get to feelin like that, that’s how I know.”

“Wow.” The word tumbles out slow and for a second, it rings out like she’s the only person speaking in the whole bar before getting swallowed back up in the cacophony. “Seems like a lot for somethin you claim ya never thought about.”

Danny’s mouth twists off to the side in a self-effacing smirk and he hangs his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well alright then, Mr. Poet, so what’s so special ‘bout all’a this,” Kathy sidles up closer to him, gesturing in front of them, hand limp at the end of her wrist like she can’t be bothered. “What could be so important here?”

Head swiveling from Kathy, to the meeting, then back to Kathy, Danny gets an idea. He ducks, lifting the camera strap over his neck and hands it to her. She meets this with a blank look like he’s just presented her a dead fish.

“C’mon, set your bag down,” Danny laughs. “I’ll show ya.”

There’s a reserved smile as she uncrosses her arms, slides her purse off her shoulder, flopping it on the table next to them, and holds her hands out to accept the camera with some hesitation. “How’m I gonna know if I’m holdin it right? I don’t wanna drop it. Then you’ll really have a reason to not talk to me.”

“Well, you’re in luck cause,” Danny holds the strap open like he’s awarding her an Olympic medal, “that’s what this is for.”

She grabs the camera to keep it from swinging too much as he guides the strap over her head and lays it gently around her neck. “Gosh, this is heavier’n it looks.” Once it’s on, she starts pulling her hair out from underneath it.

Danny shrugs, “Guess I’m used to it,” helping to smooth the collar of her denim jacket that’s gotten flipped up, thanks to the weight of the camera. Then he turns back to the group, waving her over to stand in front of him. “Alright, so what feels important about this. Or I dunno, what I like, I guess, is–”

Kathy keeps glancing back at him over her shoulder as she steps in front, hanging on every word like she might miss something crucial.

“–is the lighting here.” From behind her, Danny gestures at the camera. “Go ahead, take a look. See how smoky this part of the bar is, how it’s accumulating under the hoods of the fixtures, reflectin the light? But then all the space in between is real dark, right. S’cool, I was thinkin it looked like a buncha little lightning storms over everyone’s heads.”

“Oh yeah,” he can hear the smile in her voice, “lookit that. Could be like lil’ lighthouses, them.”

“Go ahead, take a couple.”

“What, me?” She’s incredulous and he could kick and drag himself across the pavement on the street right outside for thinking it’s as adorable as it is. “Didn’t you just take some?”

“Sure, but people have shifted around in their chairs, the smoke’s hangin a little differently now. Could be your shot’s better than mine. Go for it.”

“Huh, alright. So what do I do. Press this here, den?” Her finger taps the shutter button.

“Yup, press that and then–“ he reaches over her shoulder to place her thumb on the advance lever, “pull this. Yeah, press, then pull. Just like that.”

Stifling a giggle of pure joy so as not to disrupt the meeting, she nabs a few photos, “Say, this is a gas. I see why you wanna do this all’a time,” before breaking away to note with some skepticism, “the chattin, though. Y’know, with the microphone an’ tape deck ya cart around practically half yer size. That, not so much.”

“Really?” Danny says, sticking his hands in the pockets of his vest because without a camera, he doesn’t really know what to do with them. “See, I would’ve thought that’d be your favorite part.”

“Oh? Why’s dat?”

“Cause you sure like talkin.”

Conceding with a wry smile to cushion the blow of the accompanying eyeroll, she turns back to snap a couple more.

At the front of the assembly Benny tips his chair to lean on the back legs, his head hanging over the top rail, cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking bored yet untroubled in his boredom, when he spots Kathy with the camera.

“Please tell me you’re gonna get–”

A click sound answers Danny’s question before he can finish asking as Kathy pulls the lever to take another one. “Aaaaalready on it, Mr. Lyon. Dontcha worry.”

There’s no possible way he can hear them over the noise, but Benny, in a stroke of luck or genius or divine intervention, winks at Kath, baiting her to take another one because he knows it’ll make for a better shot. This time Danny doesn’t even have to open his mouth because Kathy’s finger beats him to the punch. Click.

“See. Told ya, yours could turn out better than mine.”

Kathy turns back around, face lit with a smile so bright, one he’s not sure he’s seen since in months, not since their first interview at the laundromat. “Boy, you weren’t kiddin none, I’ll tell ya,” she says, pulling the strap over her head to return the camera tentatively like she might be sad to part with it. “Hey, maybe one’a these days I’ll have yer job, huh?”

“Look at you,” Danny accepts the camera, as she passes it back with one hand and smoothes her hair with the other, “masterminding my retirement. If I were any wiser, I might think you were tryin to get rid of me. And after all that back-n-forth about me not talkin to ya.”

Her eyes get real wide. “Oh, I don’t think so, mister.” Even as she’s laughing while she says it, she’s also gripping Danny’s arm, holding him in place before he might get the chance to dissolve before her, float right up to the ceiling fans, and diffuse into the air completely. “I take it back, ya hear me, I take it back!”

But he’s got her on the hook now, “You sure?” so he keeps going, “I mean, I know where the door is, I can always just–” skipping his index and middle fingers to the front of the bar, a sneak preview of his supposed exit.

“So help me,” hand on her hip, Kathy wags her finger at him, eyebrows halfway up her forehead, “Dann– Daniel Llll-Louis Lyon, if you go anywhere–”

“Louis??” Danny starts cracking up so hard, he nearly drops the camera. “Who’s Louis?? That’s not even my middle name!”

She smiles, all cat that caught the canary. “Oh, I know. But it sounds scarier, don’t it? Y’know put the fear’a God in ya. An’ all that.”

Still laughing, “Sure,” Danny mimes the sign of the cross, shoulders shaking on every beat of Father, Son, Holy Ghost. “Put the fear of I-don’t-know-what, anyway.”

The sound of chair legs screeching across the checkered tile floor marks the end of the meeting and Danny hasn’t been paying a lick of attention. He'll have to ask Cal about the club’s verdict on St. Louis later, or else eavesdrop on Brucie and Johnny in one of their many little barside confabs of mumbles and grumbles. When Benny starts making his way back to them slowly, taking his time as he stops to shake a couple guys’ hands, loans a cigarette to another who’d run out, Danny starts to sweat, suddenly all too aware that Kathy’s hand has slid down his forearm and is holding his wrist now.

“Heya, Kath?”

“Huh?” she says, absently, smiling at Benny from across the room.

“You uh– you out to take hostages, here? Or—?”

“What’s ‘at, now?”

Danny gestures at his wrist with an index finger.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and drops her hand, taking a step back toward the table where she’d set down her purse. “Silly me.”

His eyes dart over to Benny to see if he’d noticed the exchange but he’s too busy dodging a conversational trap with Cockroach, gearing up, no doubt, to regale him with some loony story. Probably waxing poetic about bugs. The tension in Danny’s shoulders melts away as he sighs pure relief. By the time Benny makes it over to them, Kathy’s got her purse back on her shoulder and her hands in her pockets like she and Danny are less than strangers, just making small talk.

A tender kiss lands on her cheek as Benny slings an arm over her shoulder. “So? The kid’s teachin’ camera classes now?”

It should bother Danny, Benny calling him ‘kid’ given the two of them are pretty close in age. But for some reason, coming from Benny he doesn’t mind. “Wasn’t much teachin to speak of. You won’t believe the coupla ace photos she took.”

Benny’s brows scrunch together like he’s already forgotten his own role in staging the perfect shot.

“Yeah, she’s regular Cam-Jam over here. Caught two of you when you were leaning back in the chair. I’d put money on ‘em bein the best of this roll.”

“Beg yer parden? Cam-Jam? Don’t go pokin fun at me just cause yer envious’a my natural talent.”

Danny laughs. “Nonono, it’s a compliment. Means you’re jammy with the camera. I used to get called it back in college. It’s kinda like, uh— what d’ya call— beginner’s luck. Only your luck don’t run out.”

“Hear that, babe.” Benny kisses Kathy on the nose and she giggles, playfully swatting him away, an exchange so tender and sweet it actually smarts. “Think he’s sayin you got ‘the eye.’”

“Yeah.” Danny lights up with recognition. “Exactly right.”

“Ah, so yer sayin I gotta future in this business of yers. Well okay, whats’a next lesson, Mr. Poet-Professor-Danny?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to go over the curriculum and get back to ya on that.”

Fishing around for a cigarette in his jacket pocket, Benny’s got that far away look in his eye like they’ve already lost him. Which makes it all the more surprising when he opts to prolong the conversation by asking Danny, “So, St. Louis?”

“Uh, yeah.” Having found the cigarette but looking lost for his lighter, Danny flicks his own out to light Benny’s smoke, remarking cautiously, “So Johnny’s gonna do like they did with Milwaukee.”

It’s statement enough to sound like an answer to the question but question enough that Benny still has to confirm. Danny wouldn’t have to ask Cal what happened in the meeting after all.

“Mm-hm. Probly go the same way but–” Benny looks over, blowing a funnel of smoke in the direction of Johnny. “They got heart to show first. So, you in?”

“Goin down this weekend?”

Benny nods.

“Mm, guess it depends.”

“What,” arm still over her shoulder, Benny uses it to give Kathy a little jostle, “need Ms. Cam-Jam to help with your book report?”

“Nah, it’s more, I was actually wonderin—”

Brows scrunched again, the closest Benny ever comes to looking confused is just Marlon Brando.

“—how likely you are to put your fist through another car window,” Danny says, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, Kathy pops the gum in her mouth with manifest disapproval.

“Mm,” Benny appraises the odds, ignoring all five-feet, four-inches of reproach brewing right next to him, “likely as any other day.”

“In that case, ‘course I’m in.”

“Oh not you too, Danny.” Kathy smacks him in the shoulder before crossing her arms. “You know he don’t need any more encouragement, getting inna trouble. I thought you were s’posed t’be the grown up in the room.”

Benny’s quick to Danny’s defense. “S’okay, hun. I’ll have him back in time for camera class.”

So Danny tacks on, “Yeah, and I’ll have him back in one piece for– I dunno, detention.”

Looking at both of them like she could bonk their heads together right there, Kathy just sighs. “I’ll say, if this isn’t the most cracked school I ever heard of, lemme tell ya.”

“Hey,” hit with some kind of revelation, Benny snaps to, almost animated - or animated as Benny gets, “how long’s it take to make the pictures… y’know, pictures?”

“Not long. I’ll probably develop these when I get home tonight, maybe tomorrow mornin. Why?”

“Next time you stop by the house, bring the ones our girl here took.”

“If they turn out to be any good,” Kathy mumbles, blushing.

“I don’t need to develop ‘em to know they’re good. I mean, there’s always a chance the film got overexposed or I s’pose I could fuck up developin them. But, barring major snafus, those ones’ll be printworthy.”

“Yeah? I hope so. Aright, c’mon Benny, take me home. My feet’re achin somethin awful n’ I been lookin forward all day to dat pint of mint chocolate chip we got inna freezer.”

Eyes cast off in the direction of the door, Benny plants a kiss of compliance on her forehead. And with that, the two take their leave, delayed only by Kathy’s turning back every so often to toss a few fretful glances Danny’s way. It’s strange, the look she’s got on her face as she disappears out the front doors of the Stoplight.

The more he’s thinking about it, the more he feels the rope tangled around his heart gets pulled taut by the eighty-pound anchor in his stomach. A feeling not unlike being crushed by a boa constrictor.

Yeah. Miss you too, Kath.

It’d be a problem if it was a problem. But it’s not. Not at all.

═

taglist: @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @ashlingiswriting, @tofuwildcard, @cositapreciosa, @axreliono, @bellinitini, @complete-nonsequitur, @when-did-this-become-difficult, @ladygoatee (tagged everyone I previewed this to in wc but no pressure to read bc I know not everyone is in this fandom)

[panda-writes-kpop]

Platonic! Handong ~ The University Experience

A/N: My pearls, this story is based on my own experience. I'll let you guess who I am in this story. ;) Also, this is for @sanccharine because they requested this from me a long while ago, and who am I not to deliver (at a much later date)?

TW: Alcohol mentions, college antics, bad language from multiple parties, Reader is NOT a model student.

Summary: Handong goes to her Chem lecture, expecting much of the same boring content, until she overhears the conversation from you, Ryujin, and Yunjin about Dongie's oddly shaped pencil pouch.

♡ Masterlist ♡

Handong quietly sketches a figure in her Chemistry notebook as she waits for the lecture to start.

University had been an… interesting transition for her, especially since she was going to be so far away from her old school friends and her family. Handong had moved away from her family to go to primary school, but she had made a group of friends that became her new family. Primary school, unfortunately, had come and gone, and her friends had moved on to greater pursuits in many different places.

Luck had been on her side for a little bit, as she went to college with one of her old friends: SuA, and SuA was in her Chemistry lecture and recitation. Handong’s luck ran out because the two were in different majors, but it was nice to see a friendly face a few times a week.

Handong mostly stayed on her own throughout university, and she didn’t really mind it. The best company was her own, after all. Studying and eating in peace was nice, but she did miss the chatter of friends talking over one another and sharing incredible stories of their ridiculous shenanigans.

Then, of course, you had come crashing into her life with the grace of a rhinoceros stomping through a feeding ground.

Handong got herself ready for the lecture as time ticked down, and you came walking in about two minutes before class had started. You sat a row back from her, and you lazily threw your backpack to the side before checking your phone.

“Are you always this disorganized?” A voice to Handong’s left asks.

Shin Ryujin.

With her glasses slightly askew, Ryujin types on her computer without hesitation.

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You shouldn’t visit my dorm, then.”

“I’ve heard from Jisu about the mess that you’ve made of that poor room. And your drinking habits, by the way, aren’t exactly… how should I put it?”

“Ryujin!” You scold before setting your phone aside. “Don’t bring that up. I only vomited once, and it was Yunjin’s fault!”

You grab your tablet and open your computer as Handong continues to listen in on your conversation.

“Where is the she-devil, by the way?”

You scoff as you roll your eyes.

“First off, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone, and secondly, you know how she is: she’s either 5 minutes early, walks in when the professor starts lecturing, or she skips because she’s hungover or overslept.”

“Whatever.” Ryujin sighs as you flick a pencil over to her, and it smacks her in the back of the head. “Seriously? How old are you, five?”

“I’m six, actually.” You stick your tongue out at her as the door in the front of the lecture hall opens. “There she is! The woman of the hour in the flesh and blood.”

The professor starts lecturing as Yunjin sits down and leaves a seat between the two of you. You give her a high-five as you lower your voice to speak with her.

“How was your nap?” You quietly mutter.

“I was getting food at the dining hall, actually.” Yunjin matter-of-factly tells you, “And I did some Calculus while I was eating.”

“Did Lisa have to help you?” You jokingly say as Yunjin reaches over and punches your shoulder. 

“I did two of the problems by myself, thanks for asking.” She hisses as you rub your shoulder in pain. “What section of Chem are we on, by the way?”

“You’d know if you did the notes.” You say.

“Did you do the notes, genius?”

“Fuck no!” You exclaim before immediately hushing your voice. “I have better things to do.”

“This is why neither of you have an A in this class.” Ryujin rolls her eyes as you tap your tablet’s pencil against your chin.

“Okay, smart-ass, we get it.” Yunjin shoots back at Ryujin before taking out a notebook. “Seriously, what chapter are we on?”

Ryujin chuckles to herself before turning back to her computer. 

Handong finds herself enthralled in the conversation, and she’s managed to keep up with the notes along with the conversation.

“We’re on Chapter Four, the one with electrolytes and titrations.” Handong quietly says as three sets of eyes travel to her.

“Thank you, ah…” Yunjin trails off as Handong quickly answers.

“Handong. My name’s Handong.”

“Huh Yunjin.” She cheekily smiles before looking over at you.

You stick your tongue out at Yunjin before saying your name.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Handong.” You add on as you nod at Ryujin. “Are you going to say anything, or are you just going to be all mysterious over there?”

“Fuck you.” Ryujin spits out before glancing at Handong. “Shin Ryujin is my name.”

“Ah, it’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Handong says while continuing to take notes.

You continue to chatter with Yunjin throughout the lecture, and Ryujin joins in your banter every once in a while. Besides complaining about Chemistry itself, the conversation jumps to parties, Halloween, and the newest shows on Netflix and Disney. 

Eventually, once the class is almost over, your discussion with Yunjin jumps to a more… irrelevant topic.

“Is that someone’s shoe on the table?” Yunjin asks, and you shake your head before sighing.

“You’re being ridiculous. Did you drink too much last night?” You joke, and Yunjin scrunches her nose before pointing at the spot next to Handong.

“Do you not see the shoe right fucking there?”

“Sure, it’s a shoe, but I don’t think it’s her shoe.” You stare at the brightly colored shoe as Yunjin looks at you like you’re an idiot.

“Of course it’s her shoe! Why else would someone have a shoe on the table?”

“Oh my god,” You smack your head against your hand, “it’s not a shoe, Yunjin!”

“It’s clearly a shoe! What else would it be?”

“It is a pencil pouch because it has a zipper, you dumbass!”

Ryujin laughs as Handong chuckles to herself.

This was going to be one interesting semester.

[bright-and-burning]

got tagged by @albonoooo !! thank u <3

what colour are your eyes?: i have (very mild) heterochromia!! they’re mostly green but my left eye has a little brown stripe :) i guess u could call them hazel (or at least the left one) my mom certainly did for ages idk picture below u decide

(cont under the cut)

tell me about your pets/your dream pet: i (well. my family) have an orange cat and a porgi (pitbull corgi mix [he’s really just a mutt but we’re like 95% sure he’s got corgi in him somehow]). they are the lights of my life and also the goofiest lookin mfs. i’ve posted pics of my cat before but my dog is like. really distinct looking (see: porgi) but i love him so much … ask me for photos of him n u shall receive…

my apartment is pet free unfortunately. but also taking care of another whole ass being is A Lot so. i’m very chill w not having my own rn

share some interesting fact about yourself: i went to a spanish speaking daycare when i was really young (like toddler aged) and then when i was like 7 i invented my own language (as one does) and half the words were just. spanish. my parents spent ages trying to convince me that i did not just come up w the word espagnol . i swear to god. and i was a stubborn know it all kid and i wasn’t gonna believe them on anything without irrefutable proof (and how do u prove that??) so their efforts were largely fruitless LOL

what was the first fandom you were a part of?: for SURE harry potter. 9 year old me had unsupervised internet access and went craaazy

do you have any phobias?: hm. i Really Really Really don’t like things going near my eyes. it was wayyy worse before i started wearing contacts. like someone waving their hands around within three feet of me would freak me out. i do still get like. inescapable visions of pencils being waved around and accidentally put in my eye when i think abt it/when ppl wave pencils around that i have to physically shake out of

are you a picky eater? if so, what food can't you stand?: YES! texture issues my beloathed… i DESPISE melted cheese. blergh. bad bad vibes. and other funky textured cheeses… i literally just physically shuddered.

do you eat the burger and fries at the same time or one after another?: i consciously choose to eat burger first to get protein in. and THEN fries. if burger too hot then i get to eat two (must be even number) fries at a time until it cools enough to eat

winter or summer: summer <3 i love the beach i love the sun i love 6am runs where it’s already 75° i love swimming i love fun festivals. but also summer is a mindset . if it’s 65° in march im walking around in shorts and a tank top and sitting in the sun the entire day

favourite fanfiction tropes: oh gosh… best friends to lovers… idk i read it all baby. also gonna be honest the f1 interpretations of a/b/o are FASCINATING!!! and have really increased the draw by Far for me

are you studying or working? what do you study/is your job?: working! i am a silly little analyst

what is the last country you visited: canada in june to get drunk by the lake for a week <3

what country would you want to move to after retiring?: france… maybe not. but also maybe yeah. idk i don’t have any other strong connections to places, u kno? and i’d like to travel (fingers crossed i Can retire at an age where i can still travel easily lol)

who was your first crush?: gene kelly in singin in the rain and on the town… formative movies for 3y/o me

how did you get into f1 fandom?: web weavings on tumblr + like three random instagram reels (the mclaren wavelength video being the only one i remember lol) + the empty hole unemployment left me with inside = instant obsession

no pressure tag…. @oscarpiastriwdc @ocontraire @crimsonicarus @lafaerie @mecachrome

[junypr-camus]

part-time father

I've had a lot of time recently, so I've ended up reflecting on how I was raised and realizing that what I originally thought was a pretty unusual family arrangement is more common than I first imagined. So I wrote a narrative in two voices about it, a sort of collage of all the stories and experiences I've heard. My hope is that someone who's also experienced growing up with a mostly-absent father will read this and feel, like I now feel, that they aren't alone.

I was five when you left for the first time. Not the two-week business-trip and visiting-family kind of leaving. Not leaving for good, either. You were there one bleak morning, then waving goodbye to me through the security lines, steel-gray suitcase and backpack in hand, then gone. House empty. Peaceful.

At first, you and mother call every night. Then every week. Then almost never. The whispers become more like empty screams and I think I hear the phone ring, my mother not picking up, your voice calling for me, me not picking up. I don’t like hearing the screams. I can’t make out the words, but I know what screaming means.

We visited your Shanghai apartment that summer, and I remember the drip of chocolate-dipped ice cream cones, the fan thinly fighting the heat, the plastic covering of the bed that wasn’t my own. I dreamed that blood was pouring from every pore in my skin that night, into the fabric of a foreign-not-foreign country that I can and can’t call my home.

#####

I was seven when you made the business arrangement. Half your year here, with us, half your year there, in the country I knew in my blood but had never seen. Part-time father, my brother called it. I didn’t know what part-time meant. Or maybe he didn’t. 

I draw sketches of you from faded yellow photos, to give when you return. Mother says I’m quite good. A natural-born artist. 

#####

When you come back you bring a suitcase full of gifts. Snacks. I like the thin not-mint hawthorne candies and the rolls of fruit leather in little plastic packages with words I cannot read. You give me a pencil sharpener. It could sharpen a finger. I don’t know why it says “a little girl and boy” on it.

You take me to the department store, and I fidget through hours of escalator rides and check-out lines. You buy a cardboard “A” for me. For the race I am and the grades I am supposed to get — except you forget that I am in kindergarten and do not have those kinds of grades yet. 

#####

When you are home, you wake me up with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, and drive me to school before returning home to work. When you’re not home, my alarm forgets to wake me up on time. I arrive at math late and groggy. 

#####

While you’re gone, we find out that my passport needs renewing. You go to the consulate in Shanghai to get an affidavit notarized, except you’ve gotten my name wrong. It’s Emily, not Emma. 

My mom calls for the first time in weeks, and you make a second trip. I hope you’re properly embarrassed. 

#####

I learn to play the violin. You don’t like my drawings. 

#####

I am in middle school and have a poster of a NASA facility on my door, torn out from a magazine issue. I line my shelves with lego helicopters and 3D prints of robots I clumsily designed. You give me pink unicorn tape and an electric trash can whose lid opens so slowly like the jaws of a steel hippo at the push of a button. I can’t figure out how to turn it off and I don’t know why you couldn’t have gotten one with a pedal. 

You ask me what I want to do, and I say, “physics.” You tell me about your childhood, exaggerating your class ranking. I’ve stopped listening after the third time. 

You say the haircut I gave myself is ugly and my face needs washing. You ask me when I am going to get a boyfriend. Then you ask when I’m going to get married. I think you forget I’m in middle school. 

#####

I’m happy when you’re home, but I can’t pretend everything’s alright. You ask my brother how he enjoys tennis and forget that he is still recovering from a broken wrist that happened a few weeks after you left. He doesn’t say anything, but I can sense his retreat. He digs trenches and throws barbed wire around himself. 

#####

In the mornings, when you’re here, you make yourself a mug of overly-sweetened coffee, until the smell permeates every scrap of wood and I think I’ll never get rid of it. I try to avoid having breakfast with you, but I’m too tired to wake up early and too tired to deal with my mother being mad at me getting up so late. 

I don’t like dinner.

#####

My brother goes to college, and suddenly you’re awakened to his academic mediocrity. I guess you never realized that, with your absences, until he’s packing for a mid-level public school and you’ve become the joke of your ex-pat parties. 

The pressure’s on me, the only child in the house. Mother tries to shield me, but she can’t stop the barrage. Art is a waste, computer science is the only option. I'm dropped out of the painting class I love. Now it’s not good enough to play the violin. Now I have to be the best in the state. I play until my fingers callus, then bleed, then callus again. I didn’t even know that was possible. 

You tell me that I’m not going to waste my life partying and studying statistics like my brother. 

#####

There’s rats in the attic and leaking pipes in the walls but you’ve never bothered to ask how we’re fixing it. The house is your hotel. You walk on carpets with muddy shoes, leave the door open until the hallways are full of dust and flies, and leave us to clean up once you’re gone. 

Dinner conversations are empty. You lecture me on your successes in drugs to fight cancer but never remember the projects I’m working on. You think I should be a doctor. I know better. Look at what you did to my brother and sister.

You insist on salmon or steak every night, as if you’ve been starved in China. I grow tired of the dry flesh and lock myself in my room. I find solace in music.

#####

My brother’s pierced his ears, grown his hair long, and is taking a liking to sky-blue bomber jackets over hoodies and dyed hair. He looks different every time he comes back. I like it. You don’t. Mother blames you for it. Lack of a strong male presence and all. I think she wants a divorce.

Except I’m in the house still, and I’m too busy to waste time worrying. 

#####

We meet at a summer camp. You have no idea what we’re doing. You pretend you’re proud but we know you’re not. We track vanishingly faint asteroids in the sky and realize that we are not alone. Not in the universe, not in our predicament. We’re free. 

It’s a nice feeling. 

#####

It seems like as soon as I'm back from summer camp we move. I slam doors in this old-new house and when my mother asks me why, all I can say is that you keep me up at night, listening to videos without headphones in your study next door, stomping around. 

It’s true. It’s been true for a long time. I can’t really articulate why I hate you.

#####

When I return home and that beautiful, blessed freedom is taken away from me, I shut myself in my room and cry for a long time. I’m alone. I’m one single speck of dust dropped into the velvety black infinite. 

I keep in touch with my friends from camp. They know how I’m feeling. One contacts my mother, who tries to talk to me. But she can’t stop you. I hear raised voices. You think I can’t understand Chinese, but I do. And you say “divorce” in English anyway.

#####

You don’t know that it’s college application season for me, but you act like you’ve been waiting for it your whole life. Except the only question you ask is if I’m applying to an Ivy League. And the only response I can give is yes. 

You don’t know what my dream school is, and you don’t know that I got in. And I’m glad to be going a long, long ways away from home. 

He tells me that his mother’s made it final. She’s keeping the house. He’s been accepted. And he, too, is glad to be going a long, long ways away from home. 

[tinartss]

fave haikaveh artist, what’s new with you? :0

AW hello anon!!! thanks for asking omg that’s so sweet ;; also anytime someone says i’m their fav hkv artist i’m floored like no way…the most honorable title one could receive thank u sm😭😭

things have been good!! ive been doing some intl travel to visit the family for the holidays and it’s been super nice seeing everyone :D also maybe kaveh’s right that the universe is against him and haitham bc my apple pencil tip has broken twice in the past two weeks whenever i pull up procreate to draw them </3 my classes also start up again in a few days (as i’m sure is the case for many of u guys as well ;; good luck we got this🫡🫡) 

hands u some fic recs as well…i read these on the plane and i literally have not been able to stop thinking abt them ;; rlly want to draw smth fic-inspired….we will see….also if you all have any fic recs feel free to share!

de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)

nazar by pencanz (T, 13k)

anywho happy belated new year to you anon!! wishing all of you guys a delightful start to the year 💗