#sticking to my pencil and paper now thank you very much

[holyfacehead]

lottielee brainrot

[dreadsuitsamus]

Family | Kakashi Hatake x Reader |

author's note: i love family man kakashi and i'm not sorry!! papashi has me in a chokehold, and i love, love, love writing these domestic au's that aren't entirely romance centered. this can be read as a standalone but serves as a follow-up to blessings

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader

warnings: light angst, modern au, naruto and sasuke are adopted

"Incoming." Kakashi says lazily from his spot on the couch, watching out of the window as the school bus drops the kids off right in front of the house.

You smile to yourself in the kitchen, already having plated the sliced apples with a spoonful of peanut butter, plus some quartered string cheese sticks onto paper plates. Your boys are always hungry coming home from school, and lord forbid if you were running just a bit late.

The front door bursts open and your two second-grade sons, Naruto and Sasuke, rush inside. Naruto immediately jumps onto his father, his laughter bright when he starts to receive tickles from Kakashi's nimble fingers.

"Pa!" He shrieks, wiggling around and fruitlessly attempting to get away.

"Whaaaaat?" Kakashi snickers, still tickling his blond boy. "I thought you wanted to say hi to your Pa? This is hello!"

While Kakashi and Naruto play on the couch, Sasuke sulks into the kitchen. He's quiet as he sits at the table and pushes his plate aside to set his homework down, putting down two worksheets and his pencil pouch; his face is unreadable as he starts reading the instructions. He's a very diligent student already, which doesn't really surprise you much, so you smile and set down a pouch of fruit juice.

"Good afternoon, honey." You press a sweet smooch to his forehead. "How was school today?"

"S'okay." He mutters.

"Mm, alright." You give him another kiss and head back to the sink of dishes you'd put together to wash before your sons came home. Sasuke was always more reserved than Naruto, yet the feeling that something's wrong creeps up your back. You can't figure a way to explain it that makes sense— but you know your boy better than anyone else, even his father. Something is eating at him.

"Naruto, darling, come eat your snack and start your homework please!" You call out, and his speedy footsteps start rushing to the kitchen. Before sitting down, Naruto slings his backpack under the table and rushes to you, hugging the back of your legs.

"Thanks, Momma!"

Goodness you can't help the swell of your heart every time he calls you that. "You're very welcome, sweetheart. Go on now, before your juice gets warm."

Naruto runs to the table and immediately starts working on his snack, whereas Sasuke is diligently practicing his handwriting worksheet, snack forgotten. For his age he has incredible handwriting, unlike his brother's absolute chicken scratch. Hell, you think he just might have you beat too.

"Where's my snack?" Kakashi hums while walking into the kitchen, placing his hands on your hips and kissing just behind your ear. You chuckle softly and continue scrubbing a plate while your husband works his nimble fingers where your thighs and hips meet, ghosting his lips along the back of your neck.

"Hmmm, something tells me it's not in the kitchen."

"On the contrary, yes it is." He nips your neck sharply, smooching the same spot with a small, apologetic kiss.

"You want my apple, Pa?" Naruto asks, suddenly at your side, holding up an apple.

"Sure do, kiddo." Kakashi picks up Naruto, kissing his cheek before opening his mouth up for Naruto to place the apple into his mouth. He returns Naruto to the table and fishes his homework from his bag, setting it out in front of him as he finishes the bite. "I also want you to get these worksheets done."

Naruto pouts, but Kakashi pulls a chair to sit beside him. "Come on, they'll be quick and easy, and then you'll get to go play before dinner."

"Okay, Pa!" Naruto gets a pencil from his orange pencil pouch, and from there he and his father tackle the handwriting worksheet.

You finish the dishes and wipe off the counters, listening as Kakashi and Naruto work on the little one's homework. Your heart is always full in these moments, the ones where Kakashi can quickly transfer between husband and father with ease and be the man he's needed to be at any given time. He's the perfect man for this family.

Sasuke is just finishing his work up, neatly placing the worksheets into his folder and packing it back into his bookbag for safekeeping. You smile at your son when his eyes meet yours. "You didn't eat your snack, honeybunch."

"Not hungry." He sulks away and starts heading upstairs.

You frown and look back at your husband, whose eyes are met with yours. He nods in the direction of the stairs, his silver hair falling in front of his face. You sigh and begin heading upstairs to talk to Sasuke, Kakashi and Naruto's voices fading with each step upwards.

"Pa, you need a haircut!"

"You think so?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hmm, maybe you're right."

With a careful sigh as you walk to Naruto and Sasuke's room, your eyes sparkle in amusement at the various signs they made for their bedroom door, including one appropriately titled NO GIRLS (XCEPT MOMMA) with a drawing of a girl that looks suspiciously like Sakura crossed out.

You knock gently. "Sasuke, can I come in?"

"... Okay."

You open the door up and step in, noting the mess you didn't get to clean up today. Dinosaur toys litter the floor and their clothes are, frustratingly, everywhere but the hamper. You'll get to it tomorrow, you decide, and sit down on the edge of Sasuke's bed, where he's curled up with his Nintendo in his little hands.

"Talk to me, baby." You say softly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." He shifts uncomfortably, eyes on the screen of his handheld.

"Mm, I know you better than to believe that, Sasuke. I can help you make it better if you tell me what's up, y'know."

His jaw tightens and his eyes darken. You've seen him angry before, typically at his slightly younger brother, but this is different than minor irritation. "I'm fine, Momma."

"Alright." You hold your hands up. "I'll let you play your game." Perhaps Kakashi will have better luck; Sasuke's always adored his Pa and their bond is stronger, just as your bond with Naruto is.

You stand and head for the door, glancing at the picture of your brother hanging on the wall beside Naruto's bed. Your fingers are gentle against the glass for just a brief moment as you look at the photo, touching it like how you long to just hug your brother one last time. The pain of how fast everything happened still echoes in your heart, even after seven years.

I miss you, Minato. I hope you're proud of me.

You shut the door behind you, unaware that Sasuke had watched your interaction with the photo. He sees it every time you do it. He and Naruto are aware they were adopted; you and Kakashi had sat the boys down a handful of months ago and told them the truth after Naruto asked why the man in the photo looked like him. Believing they deserved to know their own origins and wanting to teach them about their parents, you and Kakashi told them everything. That man was Naruto's biological dad that died when Naruto was born, along with his mother, Kushina. It rocked Sasuke to his core to learn that technically, you and Kakashi weren't really his parents. But you both had loved him and raised him all the same, and as far as he was concerned you really were his mother and father.

But the more he looks at Naruto and the picture of that man on the wall, the harder it becomes to not be jealous of his brother. That man on the wall was his dad, and you were that man's sister. He came from a completely different family and was only connected by a piece of paper because you felt sorry for him. He was placed into your life abruptly; you didn't choose him!

His real mother is dead, his real brother is gone, and his real father is in prison for the rest of his life. More and more he feels like he doesn't belong, even though he wants nothing more than to be here. He wants to continue being loved like he had been, and wishes every day that he didn't know the truth.

What were his parents like? His brother? Would he have been potentially even happier than he is now? Or would it be worse? He doesn't have an older brother, since Naruto is technically younger than him. Would Itachi have loved him? He hears Gaara talk all the time about his older siblings and how they play pranks on him sometimes, or how they can be mean to him. Was that the kind of brother he would've had, versus the energetic, annoying yet kind and loving brother he has now?

Would his real mom and dad love him as much as you and Pa do? He can't imagine what it would be like to not have you in his life. What if something happens and you send him away? Or what if his real father gets out of prison and he has to go live with a complete stranger?! He doesn't want to be alone.

Sasuke sniffles and turns off his Switch, curling into a ball and crying into his arms.

"No luck?" Kakashi murmurs in your ear once Naruto has finished his homework and gone outside to play with Gaara and Rock Lee.

"No." You shake your head, worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you rummage through the cabinets for some olive oil. "He doesn't want to talk with me about it. He doesn't even admit that there's something bothering him in the first place."

Kakashi's strong arms slip around your waist, halting your anxious rummaging and easing your nerves with a strong squeeze. "I'll give it a shot."

"I just want to know what he's so upset about." You whimper, sniffling as you brush away a tear threatening to slip from the corner of your eye.

"I know, baby. Just relax— what're you searching for?"

"Olive oil, I'm making yellow rice tonight." You murmur.

He turns his head and glances at the shopping list on the refrigerator, olive oil being the very first thing listed. Sasuke's heavy on your mind if you've already forgotten what you wrote down mere hours ago— and he'll be damned if he allows something to threaten his wife's happiness for long.

"I'll go pick some up."

"Thank you." Another sniffle is followed by two fresh tears falling down your cheeks, and Kakashi kisses them away before delicately pressing his lips into yours.

"I'll be right back." He promises, and as he scoops his wallet and keys into the pocket of his leather jacket, he takes one glance at the staircase before jogging up and heading towards Naruto and Sasuke's bedroom.

"Knock, knock." Kakashi says as he opens up the door; he's a little less afraid to invade the boy's privacy than you. "Sasuke, you're coming to the store with me."

"I don't wanna." Sasuke murmurs into his pillow, the fabric of the pillowcase thoroughly soaked in the midst of his post-cry, thousand-yard stare. He's facing the wall and away from his father, but the sound of Sasuke's congested voice is telling enough.

"It wasn't a request, Sasuke." Kakashi's tone is firm but gentle, and Sasuke knows better than to go against his father when he uses that voice. So he pushes himself up and slips on his favorite Crocs, head lowered as he follows Kakashi down the staircase. Kakashi turns his head in the direction of the kitchen, calling out to you. "I'm taking Sasuke with me, baby!"

"Be careful, I love you both!"

"I love you!" Kakashi yells back before heading out the front door with the boy, allowing him to sit in the front seat.

"Why were you crying?" Kakashi hums softly as they wade into traffic, stopping at the red light.

"I-I wasn't-"

"Sasuke, I've known you for your entire life. I know when you're upset, when you've cried— I even know when you need to poop."

"Pa!" Sasuke whines, chunky cheeks reddening.

"And so does Momma. Who, by the way, is worried sick about you."

Sasuke drops his head. He didn't mean to worry you; he just didn't want anything to happen if he opened Pandora's box. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, honey." Kakashi sighs softly, pressing his foot to the gas when the light turns green. "But I would like to know what's been making you so upset lately. You're not acting like my little boy. More and more you just seem so sad."

Sasuke sniffles as the tears rise back up again. "I am sad, Pa."

Kakashi turns into the parking lot of the grocery store, quickly finding an open spot and settling the car into it. "Why, baby? What happened?"

Sasuke's little hands cover his face and a broken sob leaves his lips, and in an instant Kakashi is out of the car and opening Sasuke's door, pulling him in for one of his strong, reassuring hugs. "Shhh, baby, it's okay…" He coos softly into his son's dark hair, rubbing large, warm circles against his back.

"I-I…" Another sob cuts him off and Kakashi feels the tears soaking his neck. What on earth has Sasuke so worked up?? It's entirely unlike him to be this way; neither of the boys ever had a penchant for crying, though if Kakashi had to pick a crier of the two, it would be Naruto.

"Take a deep breath, Sasuke." Kakashi murmurs, continuing to rub the little one's back. "Big, relaxing breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth." He coaches gently, pressing a soft kiss to Sasuke's raven hair.

"I don't wanna go away!" Sasuke's cry is muffled into Kakashi's chest, and the doting father blinks.

"Sasuke-" Kakashi pulls back enough to see his son's red, tear-stained face. "Why do you think that would happen??"

"B-Because I'm not s'posed to be here! I-I'm from a different fam'ly!"

Kakashi's poor heart shatters at the idea that's been running through his boy's head, and he gathers up Sasuke in a tight, warm hug, nearly crushing the boy to his chest. "Sasuke." He chides softly. "You're here with us because that's where the universe decided you needed to be; and while you may have been born under a different name, you are my son."

"B-But what about Naruto?" He asks, sounding so small and frightened and god Kakashi has never been happier that Sasuke confides in him rather than you, because if you were to hear this from Sasuke directly, you'd surely create a new Nile river from your tears alone.

"What about Naruto?" Kakashi hums. "He's with this family for the same reason you are; you needed us. And we needed you guys just as much. I'd dare say me and Momma needed you more than ever." You two have certainly grown closer and developed an even stronger marriage as a result of the sudden parenthood.

"But he's Momma's nephew." Sasuke whimpers, and that's when it truly clicks for Kakashi.

"Sasuke, honey… Did you know that your Momma was adopted too?"

And judging by the blink and the physical recoil as Sasuke finally looks into his father's eyes, Kakashi deduces that he did not.

"She- She was?"

Kakashi can't help but laugh; to him you're so obviously not biologically related to Naruto, but he supposes children wouldn't think twice about it. And they shouldn't, he reasons. You all are as much of a family as any other; he loves his babies, and they are his. "I speak nothing but the truth, kiddo."

"Oh…" Sasuke wipes at his wet eyes, Kakashi supplying him with a napkin from his glove compartment.

"I don't know what's gone through that mind of yours, but listen to me now, Sasuke. You make this family whole. If any one of us were to go away, it would be incomplete. You and your brother are mine and Momma's greatest blessings; do you understand? We love you, Sasuke. We have since the very day you were put into our care, and that's why we adopted you."

"Not just 'cause you had to?" Sasuke murmurs as Kakashi takes over the napkin operation, wiping away Sasuke's tears and snotty nose.

"Of course not; if we didn't want to raise you, we would have sent you to foster care. And that was absolutely not going to happen."

"Okay." Sasuke sniffles again, but his heart fills with hope at his father's promises— Pa doesn't tell lies, after all, so he trusts the claims.

"C'mon now, we gotta get Momma some olive oil." Kakashi stands and tosses the napkin into a nearby trash can, chuckling softly when Sasuke slips his little hand in his father's much larger one.

They retrieve the oil quickly, and at the checkout Kakashi picks up a candy bar with a sly wink to Sasuke. "Don't tell your mother we had candy before dinner. And absolutely do not tell Naruto." Kakashi could never dream of sneaking in some candy before dinner with his other boy, as much as he loves him. He's just too damn talkative!

Sasuke smiles, tears and worries already long forgotten by the time they finish their chocolate bar and head home. Sasuke rushes in for a big hug, and while it briefly shocks you (Sasuke never does this; it's certainly one of Naruto's signature moves) you manage to get it together and hug your little man. "Hey baby. Thank you for going with Pa to get Momma some olive oil."

"You're welcome, Momma."

"I'll go get Naruto." Kakashi hums, leaving you and Sasuke to cook the rice together and set the table after giving you a kiss and a hidden smirk, and you smile to yourself— Kakashi's taken care of everything.

Kakashi returns after a few minutes with Naruto on his back, and loudly your son begins explaining how he and his friends were playing ninja, and that he was so clearly the best one. Sasuke frowns and interjects— clearly he would be the better shinobi, and you laugh to yourself as they begin to argue.

Kakashi follows you to the kitchen, holding you from behind as you get the rice going. "He's all better now."

"I can tell." You coo and turn your head to recieve a kiss from your husband. "My magic man…"

The corner of your husband's lip quirks up, and he gives you a lingering kiss, gently swaying with you until you've got the rice set and turning you to face him for a slow dance in the middle of the kitchen. You hum a soft tune and follow his lead, the sound of the boy's arguing over what wins between wind and fire tuning out when Kakashi's soft, pink lips are back on yours once again.

"I love you." You murmur against his lips.

"I love you more." Kakashi presses his chin on the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer and slipping his eyes shut. "Without you, I don't have this family."

"We're all equally important in that regard." You kiss above his heart. "We made this together."

Kakashi smirks and catches Sasuke's eye once he realizes they boys have stopped arguing, giving him a subtle wink and feeling his heart grow impossibly fonder of his family when Sasuke grins at him. He could never, would never find a better life for him than the one he's got now.

[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.

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ Ilyon Asoh ⸸

Violence/Tenderness: DAY 2 @daily-writing-challenge

Violent lands wrought with countless years of tribal wars and strife. Such was the way of Tural and its inhabitants, older rather than newer. It had only come to know peace within the past 80 years during Gulool Ja Ja who sought to unite the people of Tural as a nation. And it stood, thriving even, to this day when he was setting his Promises out into the world to partake in their Rite of Succession. They considered it a pilgrimage where Vahalia was from, and the two weren’t too far off from one another in their respective purposes. It was never about the end but the journeys in between.

Vahalia had felt that nostalgia pluck at her memory bank, as she sat before the fire watching it crackle and flickler within the night air. A little over a decade ago it had been her, two others and their mentor traveling around the world taking up odd jobs on the side of their studies as Magi. It felt like a lifetime ago, she was a different person then than she was now, perhaps all roads eventually led her to this very place.

This journey.

Light golden eyes cut towards the two sleeping figures in their sleeping rolls. Cordelia and Wren were seemingly well protected as Vahalia and Castien had taken the first watch.

They had boarded the dirigibles into Yak’T’el taking their mounts with them and settled for the evening just at the outskirts of the Village of Ilyon Asoh beside the biggest tree they could find to shield them from the gentle tapping of rain they had felt prior in their travels.

A soft ruffle of the Chocobo feathers came and once more the large, geared, and armored avians adjusted back into their comforts. Castien came into few and placed the foul she had procured along the triad of sticks she had prepared prior, “Enough for the evening and morning.” she commented, dusting off her hands and exhaling as she took a load off alongside the trunk of the tree beside Vahalia.

“I take it you’ve pinned down a good idea of the land? You’ve been gone for a while.”

“Bought a few maps in Iq Br’aax, I couldn’t say no to a good start, it’ll benefit my maps later when I piece it all together,” Castien replied and she dug into her pack beside her to pull out a sketchbook and a charcoal pencil, already doodling away.

“Have you always had a fondness for cartography and art?”

“Not always but it was all I had. I didn’t have my mother around and ended up in an orphanage before I was six years old. We couldn’t afford much there so I would sometimes find scraps of paper on the ground or get pieces of scrolls from the kitchen staff after they were done with their recipes. I used to use the soot from the fireplaces after the fires died down in the mornings and I would find an interest in creating images that way. When I could afford my first paintset I was drawn to landscapes and the people.” Castien chuckled as she looked sidelong to Vahalia, “S’pose that does that to a person when you’re locked up and don’t go far. When you become your own person you sort of just want to see everything and know everything around you. I always found it…calming.”

A low hum emitted from Vahalia as she eyed the sketchbook, hardly seeing anything to truly judge what was within but she had seen Castien’s work before, plenty of times even commissioning her and buying her maps, especially when it came to her first purchasing ships for trade. There was very little to scrutinize however, she did find familiar ground with the prospect of something beautiful coming from the depths of depression and longing, abandonment and trauma.

Tenderly Vahalia’s lips curled into a subtle smile – it wasn’t perfect but it remained all the same, “you made something of yourself despite the things baring your way. I admire that.”

“Thank you.” Castien tilted her head and smirked in Vahalia’s direction.

“Some people are the prize, some are the punishment.” she retorted quietly and she slowly returned her gaze to the flickering fire before them.

“And which do you consider yourself, Vahalia?”

“That depends on who you ask.” Lady Cress’s gentle smile eventually twitched into a bit of a smirk. She was both hellfire and holy water, what you drank depended on how you treated her.

[foxglovefaun]

Hey yo!! I was just lookin over ur sketchbooks stuff, which is,,,,so grand and soulful I can’t put much words to it and wanted to ask do u use a specific type of pencil? Or any special thing like that?

thank you so much!! <3 ;0; my sketchbook is my safe place rn, so this means a lot. and i do! i have a lot of specific pencils. i have a series of tools that are in my everyday artbox, and i've narrowed down a collection that's been pretty reliable for me. i can introduce you! :) ...ok but r u ready for a infodump because

ok this is my everyday Graphite Mechanical Pencil Squad. I always have them in my box and i use them for just about every pencil drawing in my sketchbook.

(I added a post break because I didn’t think about it before :3 )

from top to bottom: - Steadtler: Mars Technico 2.0 -> used for longer pencil studies and anatomy stuff, as well as experiments with comic-style hatching. has a tiny built-in sharpener! I like using this for drawing the base for portraits coz it's got a real consistent value - Sakura: Sumo Grip 0.7 -> comfy. :) big. :) - Tombow: Mono Graph 0.5 -> my current baseline. I've used this pencil since 2021 when i first started recovering from burnout. I really like its weight balance, as the feed end is quite heavy. This pencil was engineered for writing though, so while it has a "rotating lead mechanism", it doesn't activate while I'm drawing. Apparently it's supposed to rotate the lead as you write so it stays sharp. :0 - Uni: Kuru Toga 0.3 -> very lightweight, sometimes feels fragile but is durable as hell. I use this for really fine lines, like details in the eyes or hatching around the nose in really small portraits. I used to use this size more in college, but I use it less nowadays.

speakin of that damb MonoGraph, i have S e v e r a l

I have six currently, which feels like a bananas number of mechanicals to carry at one time, but five of them carry different color leads that i use super regularly so i ignore this.

you probably are familiar with my multi-color sketches with blue and red and pink n stuff, and these are what i use for that. sometimes i use light blue to sketch, then clean it up with the dark blue, and then add portrait details with red. Other times i sketch with pink and then define everything with purple. anyway

i load them all up with Uni Nano Dia color leads. Historically I've used Pentel red leads and Prismacolor Col-Erase wood pencils, but these are my favorite now. They are all erasable and erase pretty well! (The lavender does not specify that it is erasable, but i assure you, it will submit to an eraser.)

speakin of erasers. This has actually been the most difficult squad to narrow down, as erasers are all super different from one another, even within the same brand. Sometimes they smear my shit, sometimes they rip up the paper, sometimes they lift okay but still leave a ghost. not these. These guys are reliable. They help me move. They text me back. - Muji: plastic eraser, hard type, black -> this was my biggest most recent surprise. Muji has very affordable minimalist materials that can look cheap on the surface level, but tbh I've never had an eraser serve me so well. When it comes to erasable marks, it lifts EVERYTHING off of my Talens sketchbook. I wish it came in a stick format for more control, but the brick will have to do for now. - Tombow: Mono Stick, plastic eraser -> bless. Soft to the touch but doesn't need a shit ton of pressure to lift stuff out and clean up. Performs consistently and creates a super clear surface. My favorite standard-sized stick eraser, hands down. - Tombow: Mono Knock -> badass. I've had this thing in my arsenal since 2008. I found my first pink one in Japantown San Francisco and carried it all the way to QC with me in 2020. It was finally put to rest after it broke in 2022, and was immediately replaced with the green one. It's kind of hard for an eraser, which is good because the skinny ones can tear under pressure, but it's precise, clean, and usually lifts everything out. Excellent for portraiture. It's also great for drawing on its own and I'll draw highlights or carve out shapes in big smudgy fields of grey. I highly recommend this tool. - Tombow: Mono Zero, elastomer eraser -> weird. so smol. does cool shit tho. This is my smallest eraser ever, and it took a while to find one in stock. It is so very fine that it has its own refill method and part of it is reinforced with plastic. It's clean tho, and so goddamb precise. - Kneaded eraser, brand ???? i dont remember, probably Mars : I love my kneaded eraser. I've always used it to press and lift when it comes to sketchbook stuff, but i recently learned that you can just kinda ROLL IT across your surface and it will lighten EVERYTHING, EVENLY. I lost my shit tbh, nobody ever told me I could use it like that and now I get legit excited to use it. Very satisfying. But also very sticky and sometimes Bad Texture, so I keep it in a little tin. along with the whole series i described, I also carry these with me in my box. Just misc tools that also live here. Tiny sharpener, blenders, supplementary erasers and pencils.

I also have a small frame-style box that I keep my basic wood drawing pencils in, as well as the tiny eraser and the 2.0 pencil because they fit. :)

Everyone lives in here, and i like that the box can sorta serve as a work surface too, using the lid like a lil table. It's also easy AF to just toss everything in there, so cleaning up my workspace takes less than a minute now.

i use all of these whenever doin sketchbook stuff. I always keep them in my newest travel box, which has served me very well when going down the avenue to draw outside. :)

i hope this gives u some feedback for choosing your own tools! :D I get my materials from all over the place, but when I was picking up the Mono Graphs en masse I was getting them from Stationery Pal at a pretty significant discount.

thank u for ur interest. :3 I have been wanting to assemble a post like this for a while and it felt good to just sit n think about my tools for a little bit. anyway. :3 take care. thanks <3 Hope this answered your question! (and hope it wasnt too much lmao sdfjkgskdjhfkjshd)

[daisynik7]

Hello, I hope you've been doing well! When you have the time, could you please write about Nanami with a s/o who's creative and kind of hippiesque? I'm making that a word now haha but this is very much a self insert and I felt comfortable enough to ask you ☺

I've been tapping into my creative side more lately and even experimented with clay for the first time! I typically alternate between writing and sewing, sometimes I doodle. When it comes to clothes and just overall aesthetic - think thrifting, knick knacks, flowly/light fabrics, and things like that. I'm tempted to call it romantic but idk about that lol. Anyway, here's flowers and tea for you 💐🍵💓

p.s.: the idea of making him a bag for his work things 😭

Author’s Note: Hello friend! I’m so sorry this took SO LONG to complete, I know it’s been months since you requested, so I appreciate your patience on this! I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

Nanami wasn’t always reserved and rigid. Growing up and joining the workforce unfortunately led him to this mundane lifestyle, often following the same routines day-by-day, with little-to-no color in his life. He often reminisces about his high school days, when he used to sneak off from class to listen to punk rock music with his best friend Yu Haibara, who always used to radiate bright energy, enough to warm even Nanami. When his friend passed away, it seemed that the void he left would never be filled again.

That is, until he meets you. 

You are vastly different from Nanami, but that’s what he loves so much about you. Where he lacks in creativity, you do more to cover the both of you. Most of your décor and accessories are homemade, crafted from your very own hands. The pieces displayed on the walls of your shared apartment are all original artworks. Watercolors, acrylics, charcoal, pen and ink. You like to experience with different medias, creating a variety of scenes, depending on an image that captivates you that day. Flowers you see on your daily walks to the park, a golden sunset you watch together on the beach, Nanami sitting on the couch resting his eyes after a long week at work. It’s simple in the grand scheme of things, but when it’s captured forever on canvas or paper, it becomes something special. 

It takes a while for Nanami to get used to being the main focus in your artwork. He’s never liked standing out. When you show him one of your first sketches of him just standing in the kitchen, he’s surprised. Not only at your talent, but at how accurately you were able to portray his personality with a couple strokes of your pencil. That’s when he knows he should appreciate this for all that it’s worth.

His outfits soon become accessorized by your crafts. A knitted red scarf he uses when it’s cold out, with a beanie to match. Sewn mittens for his hands, keeping him warm throughout the train ride to work. He even replaces his briefcase with the bag you crochet for him, insisting that it’s perfect for all his belongings, even if there are a few places on it where his papers stick out. He gets used to the little trinkets and figurines you collect from various flea markets or thrift shops. Half the closet is his muted natural colors while yours is a rainbow that brings him joy every morning he has to get dressed for work. 

Nanami absolutely loves how much of you bleeds into him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. His daily routine now sparks with something special, all thanks to you.  

[holycorrupt]

if you have the time/energy to elaborate, what's your process like for coloring stuff you ink traditionally? i've figured out a few different methods over the years, but i generally stick to fully digital or traditional for a piece, so i'm curious to see how you do it! :0

This is such a fun question for me because I get to both ramble about my art process and have an excuse to throw some colors on this Breloom I drew ages ago.

I use Clip Studio Paint and an Ipad for my digital stuff so I'll be referring to the processes on that but I'm sure there is a work around for other programs as well :^)

I scan my traditional art at 400dpi because it's always easier to work bigger with digital stuff and resize it smaller then the other way around :^)

So here's our raw scan, which already looks very decent but when I want to color something I like for everything to be much cleaner/sharper/more contrast-y and to get rid of the noise from the paper texture lmao. A well lit photo will also do the job because that's what I did for many years before getting my scanner but tbh if you're a traditional -> digital artist like myself a scanner is like a best friend you can buy HAHA

First things first, I apply a Gradient Map Layer > New Correction Layer > Gradient Map

Clip has a really nice black and white map preinstalled but I made myself a custom map just by pushing the black and white a little closer, it completely clears up all the noise and makes everything really crisp! Make sure you check on your lines when adjusting things because super fine feather lines can sometimes be lost if you make the contrast too high. Extra tip! If you want to make Graphite Pencil or Ball Point Pen really nice looking as well, just add a dark grey point in the gradient map closer to the black then middle...works perfectly :^)!!

This is the point I look for stray pixels, cat hairs, ect and make sure to erase any surrounding doodles or sketches I don't want included.

GOD DAMN Those lines are CRISP-Y!!!

Next up we're going to want to go Edit > Convert brightness to opacity

Tbh If I didn't have this method idk what I would do with myself.... I've tried the whole "Lineart on top layer set to multiply" Method and ...ehh....

Now that I have a nice transparent line art I'll stick a new white layer down below it because the checker pattern hurts my eyes LOL

I'm going to add a read more here since this post is getting lengthy haha

I'm going to quickly go over the style I use for MTE! It has been refined to be quicker and easier to do since you know...I have a week time limit per page ... 😭 I have a completely different way I do colors for other things I want to spend more time on but I might explain that one in the future...I'm running out of steam tonight LOL

I use this really awesome brush pack that has a pencil like texture and I love it to bits...here's a link to it if your interested!

At this point I might add some overlay layers or play around with an airbrush but I think this guys done for now :^) I tend to stay away from highlights with my shading for MTE..My biggest goal is to make sure everything is clear and readable! That being said I break my own rules all the time for special panels that need the extra 'oomf!'

Slap a lazy square background and yay!! He's done!

Hope this was interesting aaaa Thank you again for the ask!!

[miasmaghoul]

First time Mountain got stoned?

Anything for you Saint. ♡

Someone take my phone from me, this is SO LONG. Not smut, but I like it anyway.

Ft. they/them Zephyr!

Mountain takes in his surroundings with a slack jaw and wide eyes.

The greenhouse is massive, full to bursting with lush greenery and all manner of exotic flowers. His skin is tingling, his heart fluttering with giddy anticipation. Surrounded by life, by fresh dirt and humid air.

"Is it to your liking?" Sister Imperator asks, a gentle smirk on her lips. Mountain nods slowly, eyes flicking everywhere.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs, muffled by his mask. His fingers are itching, eager to dig into damp earth and soft roots. It's such a new feeling. After months on the road, fresh from summoning, he's felt more than a little deprived of his element. He can feel the magic in his veins.

"Your predecessor did good work. Do you think you can maintain it?"

"Yes, absolutely," he sighs, tapping claws against his thigh. He's practically vibrating.

"Very well, I will leave you to it."

"Thank you, Sister."

Mountain rushes past her in a whirlwind of loose leaves and fallen petals, breathing heavy. There's just so much. So much energy, so much life, so much potential. He has a hard time keeping his glamour in place as he hurries through the rows, touching and smelling and tasting his new charges.

"I'm going to take such good care of you all," he breathes, and every plant in the vicinity seems to sigh in relief. For the first time in months, Mountain feels a calm settle into his chest. Like he's finally at home.

He explores for a while, lets the dense, sweet air fill his lungs and soak into his bones. There are at least two dozen plants he doesn't recognize, and he wants to sketch them, to cross reference them against the thick tomes on botany he'd found in the abbey's library. To learn the intricacies of everything he was now entrusted with.

Mountain makes his way to the back of the greenhouse, to the corner that houses a series of work tables. They're all filthy, scuffed and ingrained with years worth of dirt and clay. They make him smile. He digs through the drawers on the hunt for paper and a pencil, eager to get to work.

In the bottom drawer, among a pile of gardening gloves and potting labels, Mountain spies something that seems very out of place - a small rectangular silver tin, labeled with a piece of masking tape. It reads, "for the new guy".

He picks it up and gives it a shake, listening to the contents rattle around. Mountain pops the lid and is met with a folded piece of paper. Beneath it are a cheap lighter, green plastic, and what look like thin cigarettes, like the ones Ifrit and Dew would share after a show, but they seem different somehow. Twisted at the ends instead of cut. Mountain sets the tin down and unfolds the note.

"Trust me, whoever you are, you're gonna want to try this. The plants live in the third row, behind the lilacs. Hide them from the Siblings though, they'll never leave you alone if you don't. -Pebble"

Mountain hums to himself, folding the paper and sticking it in his pocket. He picks up one of the paper rolls and slides it between his fingers, curious. He tugs off his mask and sets it on the table, raising the smokable to his nose. It's...interesting. Herbal and a little sweet. Mountain grabs a battered old stool from beneath another table and sits, resting his elbows on his knees, twirling the joint between his fingers.

He probably shouldn't. Whatever this is, he assumes it'll have some sort of effect on him. Who knows what, it's a mystery plant. He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't.

"Fuck it," he mutters, sticking one end between his lips and flicking the lighter. He inhales deeply, and the smoke that fills his lungs is heavenly. Rich and deliciously decadent. He holds it in until he can't anymore, exhales slowly, and there's already pressure building behind his eyes.

Twenty minutes later, he's floating.

"Mount, you in here?"

The voice drifts into his ears in a pleasant buzzing drone, wrapping around the pile of oatmeal where his brain used to be.

Mountain is plastered to the floor, grinning like a loon and staring at the glass ceiling above him. Tracing the shapes of the clouds passing by. Why was the sky so blue? Was it always that blue? He's tingly everywhere. He'd taken his shoes off, wiggling his toes and giggling at the ticklish feeling of his socks against his skin.

"Mountain?" The voice calls again, and Mountain makes a noncommittal gurgling noise. Zephyr rounds the corner a minute later, and they snort out a laugh.

"You found Pebble's stash, didn't you?" They perch themselves on Mountain's abandoned stool, pulling off their mask and raising another joint to their nose. "Smells good. Is this your fist time trying it?"

Mountain tries to nod, but his head feels like it's floating away when he moves it. He's loose everywhere, but heavy. His legs either weigh a thousand pounds each or have disappeared entirely, he can't be sure which. He raises his hand, the last bit of his joint still pinched between two fingers and smoldering slowly.

"Good shit, right?" Zephyr hums, amused by the pile of ghoul on the ground. Mountain tears his gaze from a particularly puffy cloud to focus on Zephyr's face - their shining silver eyes, their sharp chin, their soft, white curls that always seem to be swaying in a non-existent breeze.

"You're pretty," he slurs, grinning. Zephyr laughs, but their smile is genuine.

"Oh yeah, you're stoned," they chuckle, moving to sit cross-legged by Mountain's side on the floor. "Looks like you still have some left too."

Mountain blinks bleary eyes and hums, bringing the paper to his lips and letting it burn to the end. He holds it in as Zephyr hums, their hand coming to rest on his chest. The pressure feels nice, and Mountain reaches up to cover their hands with his. He exhales long and slow, smoke pouring from his chapped lips. His mouth is so dry.

"You could at least share," Zephyr grumbles, but there's playfulness beneath it. Mountain watches as they lift a hand and draw smooth circles in the air - the smoke coalesces into a tight spiral, one that twists it's way around Zephyr's arm and over their tunic. It flows up and over their throat, the air ghoul directing every wisp and inhaling the cloud now surrounding them with a pleased hum in their chest.

"Wow," Mountain breathes, and it's filled with so much genuine reverence that Zephyr coughs on their exhale.

"Been a while since I indulged. How are you feeling, big guy?"

Mountain doesn't really process the words. He's caught on the rise and fall of Zephyr's chest. On the way their pale skin and soft pink lips catch the sun pouring over them. On how their hand feels pressed against his chest.

Mountain drops the papery remains he'd been gripping and reaches up to thread his fingers into Zephyr's wavy curls. They're like feathers between fingers, like the air itself, and before he knows it he's tugging the air ghoul into a kiss so deep it surprises both of them.

Zephyr hums happily, licking into Mountain's mouth and shifting to kneel over him instead. Mountain is surrounded by the sweet scent of a summer breeze, of linen and sky. It's almost as intoxicating as whatever he'd been smoking, and the glide of Zephyr's tongue against his is simply divine.

Zephyr pulls back for a breath and looks down at him with hooded eyes. Mountain thinks he's never seen something so beautiful. There's a pressure building low in his gut, pressing against his zipper and he's way too high to ignore it. But then Zephyr is straddling his hips and unbuttoning his tunic, and he doesn't have to.

"You're definitely sharing now."

[butcharium]

First of all you're an inspiration and I think you're an incredibly cool person. I was wondering, what does the word "butch" mean to you personally? What makes someone butch?

this is very very sweet thank you so much for telling me this <3 i hope i can inspire to create local lesbian events!! please please do so if you can you don't need to start a lesbian bar (although that's nice as well) it can be a 30 minute event or a group going on hikes!! don't do it all on your own if you've never made and followed thorugh on events tho, have friends help out or even better collaborate with a relevant organisation (how easy all of this is does unfortunately vary based on where you live but plenty of places it shouldn't be impossible at least) (also please pick up a pencil and draw a butch every now and then if only as a stick figure!)

But what does "butch" mean to me personally? It is a bit complicated, as for me this is a term taken from a foreign language and a foreign culture. But what i think it describes appears to me as more universal, as i've seen across time and culture that a certain subgroup of lesbians are their happiest most comfortable selves being gender non-conforming even to the point of a sort of every day drag, despite what risks this might take. While this isn't something which has been given it's own name properly where i live, in the stories older lesbians tell, in the books i've read etc, it is still apparent to me that it is a developed Type of lelsbian who is what one might call butch regardless of wheter such language is available to her or wheter or not this is talked about or organized as a specific subgroup of lesbians. I can feel conflicted about anglo (especially US) cultural and linguistic hegemony, but I do appreciate that here is a word describing my experience, and since it is a Developed Concept enough to have a name, it is also easier to find others of the same experience, be it through literature or papers or articles or documentaries or poetry or whatnot.

I think key is that this word describes me, it is not a box I am trying to mold myself into. (i think i wrote something about this here) I think it is important that "butch" is and remains more descriptive than perspictive (I am like I am, this word describes that as opposed to I like the idea conveyed by this word and should/want to change my behaviour/deny aspects of myself to fit this). For myself "butch" is something I use mostly in english, so it is something I've increasingly used for myself as I got to know and then got together with my gf, who grew up also in anglo culture (and whith whom I mostly speak english with). When talking about myself in my native language I ususally say that i am a masculine lesbian or that I am a masculine woman. I think this is a prerequisite for being butch, but what complicates is that while I would say all butches are masculine not all masculine lesbians are butch, if that makes sense? While I do use "masculine lesbian" as a phrase in my native language, when I look at the lesbians around me there might be several i'd describe as such, but within this group there will be some I do think have something Extra, without really being able to quantify what this litte extra is. But something which makes me more likely to describe these as butch if i were to talk to my gf about them, and something which makes me feel extra kinship to them than the other masculine lesbians. This is incredibly unhelpful I know, when do you go from "just" masculine to butch? but there does seem to be a line, and I have heard this from others as well. But most importantly i think a butch is whole in and of herself, without any need of a counterpart, butch can exist in and of itself.

[hopelessloser101]

Who The Hell Are You?

Stenbrough

Well, this is my first fic on this app, (also available on wattpad) it is currently one in the morning and idek if anyone ships them ^ anymore and I dont really care if the whole stenbrough era or wtv is gone but here you go.

______

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷𝓮

Bill Denbrough rested at the edge of the familiar bed. The bed was stripped of its usual sky-blue sheets and soft pillows. He looked around the room at the familiar four walls and ceiling, having used to be covered in drawings and photos, but now bare and dry. He got up and sat at the desk. Whenever he came in the room, the dark oak desk would be overflowing with papers and pencils would be scattered everywhere, even after he would put them back in their proper place. He slid the desk drawer open, nothing. He didn't know what he was expecting. Bill heard a soft rustle and peered underneath the drawer. An old drawing was caught in the drawer. He pulled it out carefully. 

The paper displayed four stick figures, drawn in crayon. Each figure was labeled with the person's name: Billy, Georgie, Mom, Dad. Bill remembered the drawing, he smiled a little, a rarity, considering everything. The day Georgie went missing changed everything. Bill lost everything, but he chose to act fine in front of his friends. Whenever they asked if he was okay, he'd respond with "I'm fine," or "Yeah I'm all guh-good," Bill wore a mask every single day until he could take it off, late, every night. When the only sound that filled the house was the soft whirring of the air conditioner and his small desktop fan, Bill could take of the mask and actually feel something. Some nights after Georgie's death, his body wouldn't let him cry, which hurt even more, like he was being stabbed in the chest. He got very tired of everything, he couldn't write anymore, or draw, or do anything. Every day was a cycle. Wake up. Lay in bed. He didn't want to eat much either. Blast music. Watch TV. Eat. Lay in bed. Blast music. Sleep.

Bill lost everything the day his brother died. His friends were there for him and he loved them infinitely, but he felt guilty if he dumped his trauma on them. The losers had their own problems, and he didn't want them worried about him. Y'know when you want people to understand what's going on with you, but you don't want them to worry about you. Bill hated that feeling but he shoved his emotions down anyways. He got up and walked around the small room. Everything was packed neatly into cardboard box. Bill had managed to grab a stuffed animal before it was shoved into a box. It was a blue dinosaur that Georgie had named Terry.

Bill had won Terry for Georgie at the Derry Fair. 

"Billy! Can you pleeeeeeeeeeeeease get that for me, please," Georgie begged, jumping up and down and tugging on Bill's arm. 

"O-okay Georgie," Bill said, laughing. 

"Yay!" 

The game was ring-toss and Bill tried it twice, failing both times. Richie and Eddie ran up to them. "Billiam, my man," Richie said. 

"I'm bu-busy," 

"Busy losing?" Georgie and Richie said in sync. Georgie giggled while Richie ruffled his hair. 

"Sh-shut up," 

"Here, I got an extra," Eddie said, handing Bill a quarter. 

"Thanks, Eds," 

Bill played the game again and (surprisingly) he won. The man at the booth gave him the blue dinosaur and Bill handed it to Georgie. 

"Yay! Thanks Billy!" Georgie said, hugging the dinosaur, and then hugging Bill's torso. 

"Of course," 

Bill would never forget that day. He remembered everything from what outfit he was wearing to the number of quarters in his pocket. Regret. Regret filled his body, coursed through his veins, and stayed in his head. 

It was all my fault. 

I let him go play outside. 

I killed him. 

I killed my little brother. 

A tear slipped from his eye. 

Looking around at the room again. Everything packed away. In less than an hour, the room would be empty and then filled back up with someone else's things.

"Bill? What are you doing in Georgie's room? C'mon get out we have to donate his things," 

Bill looked up at his mother standing in the doorway. "Suh-sorry," he said as he walked past her, tears slipping from his eyes. When his mother and father finished bringing the boxes downstairs, they loaded them into the trunk. Bill watched from the top stair. His parents wanted everything that reminded them of Georgie gone. Bill didn't know what he wanted or how to handle, besides music and writing. Self-projecting. His mother had put him in therapy, sometimes that didn't help. The whole point of therapy is to talk about your feelings and problems, the one thing he couldn't do without feeling guilty or that he overshared. 

Help me.

A/N: The rest of the story will be told in Bill's perspective. 9

[moominofthevalley]

2, 14, and 22 for emily !

from this list

Hey! Thank you so much for asking c: 

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

Emily is all about routines. She’s very insistent on drinking four mugs of pitch-black coffee throughout the day. She was never able to afford those high-tech coffee machine shit – she just sticks with her this ancient French press handed down from her father when he passed. 

For Trystan, his daily rituals are all about his clothes lol. He’s a bit like a cartoon character, he wears the same outfit every day. The same black steel ring on his left index finger, a fancy schmancy black suit and tie, you know. 

14: Abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food intolerances, etc.) 

Trystan still has a large scar on his abdomen from being stabbed by Tony. It’s healed now, and now it looks a bit like an oblong stretch mark. 

Also - the question mentions disabilities and I wanted to say that recently I’ve been headcanoning Emily and Trystan as Autistic and ADD/ADHD. This idea isn’t fully fleshed out yet - but honestly in canon both of them give the biggest AUADHD-coded vibes ever you know?? Emily’s special interest is 100% her job – it’s her biggest passion and it’s quite literally her entire life. I’d imagine Trystan’s special interests would be food! And Drakovia culture/history as well - it’s pretty clear how much he loves his homeland.

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Emily would doodle or journal random tidbits about her day - jotting down any new things about whatever case she’s currently on. Maybe she’ll map out her calendar, making a whole list of errands and annoying Adult Shit to do for the week. 

Trystan would probably accidentally create The Most Beautiful Creation ever. Like, leave him alone in a room with just paper and pencils and what have you for a few hours and he’ll make the most jaw-dropping art you’ll ever see. Emily is just constantly gagged coming home late to see The Most Gorgeous Still Lifes imaginable. 

I am SO SORRY this took forever. You know - blah blah blah writers block etc etc has been eating me up recently. So I’m glad I was finally able to answer at least one of these questions! I’ll be sure to eventually answer all of my inboxes :) 

[oblivionscribe]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox of the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers ❤️

Note: Sorry this took me so long to answer! Five Things that Make Me Happy: 1.) The love of my life, @mistermegee I could write a college thesis paper on how much mistermegee/cal means to me and I love him with all my heart and soul. 2.) Any pet I've ever have, do have, and will have. I'm an animal lover (horses, owls, and rats are my favorite animals). Presently Cal and I have two cats, Pumpkin and Navi and they're both little furballs with some sassy personalities. 3.) Music: Music is another big part of my life. I was first Clarinet in middle school though I left band by the time I entered high school because I didn't know how busy I would be and kind of regret not sticking with it. I also tried learning guitar but my fingers just don't want to cooperate. I was also a metalhead in high school but have since expanded my enjoyed genres but still don't overly enjoy pop or top 40 playlist groups. Some songs are good but pop music is too peppy for me. 4.) Video games, comic books, & horror content : I'm lumping these together since they usually fall under the class of media. Video games are a big part of my life (I have a sleeve tattoo dedicated to Dragon Age that I still need to have work done on.) All three of these subjects inspire me in my writing and world building for an interactive fiction I'm developing (very slowly developing to be clear). I even enjoy bad and classic horror movies. 5.) My hobbies!: This is probably the widest group of things that make me happy. Art and writing top this list, of course. Art, like music, is a huge part of my life. I've been drawing since I could hold a pencil and get my hands on some paper. I don't write as much as I should but god, in high school I had notebooks filled with a story I was working on (it was heavily inspired by isekai anime) but never finished. I also enjoy reading, crocheting, beading/jewelry making, and crafting/learning new crafts. Dungeons and Dragons is also a huge inspiration to my interactive fiction and I am getting back into playing Magic: the Gathering. Thrifting vintage items is also a hobby of mine along with collecting cool and eccentric items. Gardening brings me peace of mind and I'm very proud of my collection of plants that I tend to and I work hard to learn how best to care for them. Right now I'm learning how to best prune some of my plants that have gotten a little carried away with their growth. This year I'm going to attempt to grow my own crop of potatoes! I live in a building complex, so most of my food gardening has to be in containers/buckets but that's just fine with me! There are probably so many other things I could get into that make me happy when it comes to my hobbies, so I only included the big ones that I'm currently focused on. Thank you for sending me this ask and I hope you know a little more about me now. ^^ Have a great day!

[cmdrburton]

Weird Questions for Writers: 2, 18 and 32?

aw thank you (◕‿◕｡) here's the ask game masterpost, btw

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

That would be very difficult for me. I used to write on paper very early on, think middle school... but now I edit way too much to stick with it. I edit nearly constantly. Any paper I used would quickly devolve into striked-out corrections made to striked-out lines xD

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

Ooh, a tough one :3 I think I'd pick...

The salvagers went quiet when they saw where the beacon was transmitting from. It was a cloud of mangled ship parts and debris, as well as large chunks of ship that had partially survived an explosion of some kind. Anu deactivated the distress beacon, grimly aware there might not be anybody left to save.

I wanted to set the scene. Initially there was a great deal of stuff about navigation beacons set up by the salvagers' home station, but that didn't make sense, as I wanted the salvage ship to be the first ones on the scene. A lot of that got cut off. Some description of the carnage got cut too, as one cloud of space debris probably looks much like every other to the people who're brought in to clean it up. (It's just me who wants to talk about frozen shards of coolant, ha.)

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I wish I had something like this, but I don't. Things slip from my mind so easily these days. If I had such a line before I lost my memories, well, I wouldn't know. Sorry about the disappointing answer ><'

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

[lady-strange0]

astrantia, blue star and aster

By: Lady_Strange0

Words: 2470

Rating: General Audiences

Published on AO3: 30/05/2023

Relationships: America Chavez & Stephen Strange, America Chavez & Wong, Stephen Strange & Wong

Summary:

“You know, in Hindi faith, hibiscus is associated with the goddess Kali who embodies nothing less than the force of life itself. I think that’s you, and your lively energy in my life,” Stephen said after a moment.

The young girl pulls back out of the hug and looks at him, and smirks before saying “you know you info dump fun facts when you are nervous or in an emotionally charged situation.”

-or-

America loves drawing and painting flowers, and Stephen is a supportive dad who likes seeing his daughter happy.

Inspired by this post

https://www.tumblr.com/changes-fandoms-too-much/717769219089006593?source=share

It started off with doodles in the margins of her notebooks. Stephen and Wong had decided early on after America moved to the sanctum that she should be attending a normal high school to make up for the years of teaching she’s missed. And Stephen was enjoying being a tutor in both magic homework as well as her normal maths and physics homework.

He had just been explaining quadratic equations to America when he noticed the little images at the sides of her notes and homework. Simple doodles of flowers and stars, as well as some of a small familiar basset hound, Bats. They were all done in blue pen and often half-minded. He couldn’t help but notice though, that among the messy pictures there was also a drawing of a flower with large round petals and intricate lines in the middle for the seeds. Almost like a poppy, but he couldn’t tell for certain, his botany knowledge went as far as magical remedies that used flowers required, but nothing outside of that really. Stephen also didn’t know much about art aside of the artworks he bought for his house back when he had money to throw around, but he could still tell that America had real talent if she chose to channel it there.

America could tell that Stephen had zoned out while talking and asked, “what? Maths now even too boring for you to bother explaining? Cause then at least we are in agreement.”

“No, no. I was just thinking about something. Those little doodles are very nice. Do you enjoy drawing or was this just from being bored in classes?”

The girl blushed and ducked her head, “thanks, I don’t know, I liked it when I was young, but then the bee incident happened, and I just never had the time or interest to pick it up again.”

“Well, I think it would be lovely to see some more of your art, we could hang it on the fridge.” America just giggled in response, and they went back to doing her homework together.

Stephen didn’t think about it again, until a week later. He was returning some books to the library in Kamer-Taj that America had borrowed and had asked him to bring back for her as she was going for pizza with her school friends. As Wong was now the Sorcerer Supreme, he no longer worked in the library and the new librarian was even stricter on the ‘no portals in the library’ rule then he had been, and had set up some wards to prevent them. Stephen could get around them but he just didn’t couldn’t be bothered.

Just as he was about to walk up to Mirou, the new librarian, he saw the corner of a sheet of paper sticking out the side of the old book, he opened it to find a beautifully sketched drawing of what he thought to be a Gerbera flower inside, this time done in pencil and shaded to look soft and realistic. He moved to sit down at one of the tables to study the drawing further, it was on a A4 sheet that had evidently been ripped from a school notebook, the printed lines still visible in the back. He removed the drawing from the book and closed it. Sling ring in hand, he opened a portal to his bedroom and placed the drawing on his desk.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps spotting drawings and sketches on loose sheets and starts collecting them in a pile in his study. Soon after he starts to leave blank white printer paper around, the drawings start appearing on them instead. America doesn’t mention the missing drawings, but Stephen is certain she knows he has them.

He wasn’t even the one who bought the coloring pencils and watercolours, they weren’t there one day and then they were the next day. He spots America in their living room sitting on the floor in front of the low table with Bats on the sofa behind her, using them. She was sketching small flowers and attempting different techniques to fill them. He also sees that she is watching a YouTube video on her laptop explaining different types of brushstrokes and how to implement them.

America presents him with a stunning watercolour drawing of a collection of small yellow, pink and purple hibiscus’ with a small smile two days later. “Stephen, I think it’s time for me to actually give you a drawing of mine, instead of you stealing and hiding them like troll.”

“Trolls actually aren’t kleptomaniacs, they usually just take things when their homes are in danger and the stolen things are part of the danger. So,-“

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” America said exasperatedly, and Stephen just grinned at her. “Anyways, I want you to have this, yellow hibiscus represents happinesses and sunshine, because you helped me find happiness in a universe that isn’t my own, the pink hibiscus represents love of all kinds but especially familiar and platonic love, and the purple hibiscus shows mystery and knowledge. They remind me of you.”

Had someone asked Stephen ten years ago if he ever wanted kids, let alone a mulitversal traveling, pizza obsessed, and slightly disaster-prone teenage girl, he would have sent them to the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Yet, here he was in the kitchen of their haunted mansion, with a sentient red cloak around his shoulders and a ghostly dog floating into the room, and America starring at him expectedly as she held out one of the best gift he has ever been given, and Stephens eyes start watering.

“Th-thank you, America, they are beautiful,” he was really trying to not cry, with the love and happiness filling him from deep within, “I know the perfect place for it.”

With that he magiced up a small dark wooden photo frame with small carved swirls and curves on it, and placed the painting behind the glass with shaky hands. As he lifted his eyes from the picture frame, he was surprised to see tears in her eyes too, and a quivering lip.

“Hey, hey are you okay, Star?” They were both equally surprised at the nickname, but America looked into Stephens eyes as if looking for something before she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly.

“Yes, I am. I really, really am.”

Stephen hugged her back one trembling hand going to her head as the other moved up and down her back.

“You know, in Hindi faith, hibiscus is associated with the goddess Kali who embodies nothing less than the force of life itself. I think that’s you, and your lively energy in my life,” Stephen said after a moment.

The young girl pulls back out of the hug and looks at him, and smirks before saying “you know you info dump fun facts when you are nervous or in an emotionally charged situation.”

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly, carefully picked up the frame and moved out of the room, before he’d start getting ‘emotionally charged’ again.

The frame now sits on his bedside table.

In hindsight, the acrylic paint may have been a mistake on Stephens side. Actually the paint wasn’t the problem, it was the movie that was. She had used the paint to draw on virtually everything. The cardboard boxes from the attic were covered in stars and galaxies and planets, her sketchbooks were filled with paintings and still life’s and kinda off looking portraits, as well as the floor and table, but they didn’t look intentional. So, he forgives her and cleans up the mess with a quick flick of his wrist.

See again, the paint wasn’t the problem, the movie was. They had set up weekly movie nights for her to catch up on movies and tv shows she had missed while traveling across the multiverse. Their current favorites list included ‘Star Wars’, ‘The Greatest Showman’, and Disney’s ‘Tangled’. And ‘Tangled’ was the problem.

A girl who loves to paint and draw watching a movie about a girl who paints her entire room and ceiling in stars and flowers? Yeah, it was bound to happen.

So, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from Kamer-Taj to a home cooked dinner as a begging strategy. Actually the dinner was a surprise, he had expected puppy eyes, from both her and Bats.

Yes, he says yes, when she asks about painting the walls of her bedroom. Stephen helps her pick out some more paints and brushes at the shops, and then assists in moving the furniture from her room.

It’s a large room with big windows on one wall and window seats below them. Random colourful pillows are spread across the seats and the bed. The walls are a soft blue colour matched by the large wooden bed with a blue canopy from which glow in the dark stars are hanging. The thick curtains danced as they moved through the air and out of the room, the soft white carpet rolled itself up and walked out and the furniture shrunk until they could be picked up like doll house pieces. Leaving an empty room for her to paint and decorate as she pleases.

It starts with the wall opposite to where her bed was, she paints a green field with flowers of all kinds, roses, lily’s, yellow coneflowers, pink and white daisies, poppies of every colour as well as flowers which Stephen did not recognize. Upon asking she told him stories of the plants from her home planet, the way some smelt like chocolate, while others would bloom to be blue and purple and pink, how some would be used for special medicines or in her moms food. Stephen loved listing to her talk about her home, and see that despite everything she has been through she still has so much love to share.

The next day, he wakes up to his room with a key being missing, the Cloak, and Bats, but he has started sleeping in Americas bed rather than his. But the Cloak missing was bizarre, so he pulled himself from the bed, and wandered down the hallway in just his pyjama pants and an old T-shirt. It’s the sounds of quiet music that leads him to the ajar door of Americas bedroom. Stephen knocks and upon getting a quick “come in” enters.

What he was expecting when he walked into the room, he didn’t know, but he was surprised to see America sitting on top of the Cloak floating quite high to the ceiling as she is painting fluffy white clouds to above her.

“You know, Michelangelo almost went blind after spending four years painting the ‘Sistine Chapel’, because paint kept dripping in his eyes, so can you please wear some goggles or something,” is all Stephen said once he understood the situation.

“Apparently the info dumping is not exclusive to emotionally charged moments, but also when you are still half-asleep,” America giggled from where she was lounging on the Cloak with a paint brush in one hand and a plastic cup of white paint in the other. “Also, I have no idea how a turtle would have painted a ceiling.”

“A turtle?”

“You know, that movie we watched with the crime fighting turtles, one of them was called Michelangelo.”

“I’m gonna have this conversation after I’ve had coffee,” said Stephen as moved to turn around. “Come get some breakfast in the kitchen with me.”

It was only minutes later when they both sat on the wooden chairs of the kitchen table with a mug of coffee for Stephen and a cup of orange juice for America, as well as some toast with honey, that Stephen saw what America was wearing.

“Is there a reason you’ve gone through my wardrobe and are wearing my old college shirts?”

The girl looked down herself, looking at the grey shirt that was so large on her it reached below her shorts to look almost like a dress, before she looked up and simply said, “it’s not like you wear them anyway.”

That was the end of that conversation, but Stephen did leave a pile of them with her, so she could use them when she moved on to paint the rest of her walls, until they where covered in beautiful fields of flowers on one side which transitioned into a blue sky with clouds that looked like they were moving (maybe they were, Stephen would never say) as the painting continued to the ceiling until it evolved into a dark galaxy filled with stars and planets and pinks and blues and purples over and behind her bed.

After America moved all the furniture back into the room with Stephen help, it looked like a cozy place for America to come and sleep, and read, study, watch movies, and relax. He was so proud of his girl, and after she added the glow in the dark stars to the back wall to match her canopy, he added a light spell that allowed the stars in her paintings to twinkle and slightly sway.

It was after she had also painted her wardrobe and night stands as well as the inside and outside of her bedroom door to match her room, that she ran out of space to paint on.

It’s now been a few weeks and somehow Wong is yet to notice the way the living room walls have small flowers all along the bottom edge in different colours and shapes and sizes. Stephen thinks Wong is just pretending to not see them, as he seen plenty of her other drawings and paintings. Stephen also knows that he has a framed painting of a portal opening to a calming landscape hanging above the desk in his office in Kamer-Taj. America had given it to him as a gift for Luner New Year.

But in Stephens eyes nothing will ever top the colour pencil drawing that hangs in the Sanctums living room, directly above the stone chimney in a place of honour. It depicts a bouquet made out of three flowers held together by a large ribbon.

The left most flower is a light pink star-shaped ‘Astrantia’, which is a soft and elegant flower that represents strength, courage and most of all protection.

The middle flower is a ‘Blue Star’ which is a dainty and delicate little flower that symbolizes endurance, strength and determination.

And the last flower is a purple ‘Aster’, a flower that is named after the Greek word for ‘Star’ and symbolizes love, wisdom, and faith.

The flowers each represent one part of their little star shaped family and Stephen is filled with love and happiness whenever he looks over to see it on the wall.

[createherebk]

Interview: Aatmaja Pandya

What are some of your earliest memories of making art? What's your first memory of comics?

Art-making has always been part of my life, in the way it is for all kids. I do have a really specific elementary school memory of having to make a Halloween diorama for a school assignment. We had this program on the school computer that would let you design and print one. But I made one with paper shapes instead because I knew it would look more distinctive and even at that age I liked that handmade touch. When I think back on that it makes me laugh so much - what a little snob! But to this day I really value analog process, so I guess it is pretty indicative of the person I became. 

My first comics were graphic versions of the Ramayana and, like, stories about the god Krishna. My parents must have bought them for me and my brother in India. Weirdly I wouldn't consider them artistic influences at all - my strongest earliest influences are manga - but I think it's proof of the power of comics that I remember those stories so clearly and fondly now. 

What makes a good story? 

I ask myself this question all the time and the answer changes all the time too. We live in an era of easily consumed art and this isn't necessarily the fault of creators. Big companies are in control of a lot of our media, and art as a corporate product is designed to reach the maximum number of people but is made with as few resources as possible. So inevitably, a lot of mediocre art gets made. I find it pretty unnerving how many books or movies I feel totally lukewarm about, or how many just leave my mind completely after I've finished them. As a storyteller I find that so tragic!

So, at this moment I think a really good story is one that provokes strong emotion. One with some very visible humanity, I guess. Just technically speaking, I also love a really tight, snappy story with a sense of humor and an element of surprise. 

What was your time at SVA like? How has it impacted your career?

I loved my time at school. I'm just a dweeb and have always liked learning environments. Art school was a pretty fraught experience for some friends and it was out of reach for others - I got lucky with my teachers and peers. It was definitely a huge financial gamble, though, and the fear of professional failure has been the fire under me basically my whole career. I owe a lot to my community but in a way I also owe a lot to that pressure. 

I know you're currently working on your first published book that is both written and drawn by you. How's that going and any updates you want to share?

Yes I am! Thank you for asking about it!

It's chugging along - it's a challenge in a way I wasn't expecting. My first book project had a script ready (by author Marika McCoola) and in a way it was much easier, even though the actual labor of drawing a graphic novel is not an easy thing. This time along the book is my special little baby and I want it to be super, super fun and interesting and emotional... it feels like I could tweak it infinitely and I wish I could! I'm also just finding it difficult to hold the shape of this story in my head. I've done lots of short stories and I can usually visualize those in full, but this one is going to be 250+ pages for sure and needs a lot more brainstorming, both on paper and in the literal brain. Thankfully, I really enjoy the process of writing and layout. The feeling of a story clicking into place after you've been fiddling with it for ages is the best feeling in the world. Sometimes I think I write just to feel that satisfaction. 

How much planning goes into your books and do you stick to it? Does a page ever dictate or change the narrative as you work on it?

It depends on the project! Artists either follow rules or instincts and I am definitely an instincts person. Traditionally a comic page has four or so steps - script, thumbnails, pencils, inks, and then tones/colors if the project asks for it. I used to follow this system when I was younger, but these days drawing the same thing over and over just makes me nuts and I find that it takes a lot of life out of my drawing. What I do now is write a rough outline, do a rough thumbnail pass on paper, and then I scan those into a digital program. I use them as a guide and move straight to inks, and then do a clean-up pass so I can retain as much energy as possible while improving readability. If a page or scene is giving me a lot of trouble, I will flesh it out in more detail. I also like to have some flexibility so I can adjust the narrative if it's needed. In my opinion, if you're bored while working on your own story, the game's already over. 

I don't find that a page changes the narrative as I'm working on it, exactly, but I often start thumbnailing with a couple of key "scenes" in mind and structure the story around them.

What advice would you give to aspiring cartoonists?

Unfortunately it's probably advice they've already heard elsewhere - just draw! Draw just for the pleasure of making marks on a page! Start with something small - adapt a story if writing one is daunting. Try not to get caught up in perfectionism. Try and make everything you do better than the thing before it. And try to hold on to the pride and pleasure of creating through it all. Artists make art because we can't live without it!

[drlamccrae]

Commitment

It has been quite awhile since I have sat down to write. Just write. 

Growing up, I imagined being a writer. I would take copious notes. Read. Write. Think about book titles. Make little books and presentations. At that young age, I was not aware that there was no money in writing. Writing and books seemed (and still do) like the most precious items to me. 

For the last two decades, I have been trying to find my way. My way to the page. My way to writing. My way to fully expressing. 

Early on, AOL had blog sites and personal sites. I tried my very best to write publicly but did not realize being a queer, curious, Black kid was not safe. Anywhere. Especially not safe on the internet. 

Once in college, I found myself to MySpace. If I could go back and archive all of those writings, I would have enough to fill a thousand books. At the time, MySpace was safe, or so I believed. I had a protected profile. I could write and share as freely as I wanted too. Like many youngsters, I spent tons of time customizing my MySpace page, adding features, and connecting with others. 

Over the years, I used Blogger, Blogspot, Wordpress, Penzu... you name it, I’ve likely used it. But nothing seemed to stick. Nothing felt like “home.”

Frustrated. I would return to pen (or mechanical pencil) and paper. I filled journal after journal with my thoughts and ruminations. 

Each time I attempted to write something, anything, it failed to rise to my expectations. It was difficult for me to focus in my writing. Often, there were several themes and stories contained in one piece. I tried to fit my non-binary way of being and thinking into the expectations of a society that consistently rejected me. Then, writing became painful.

A few years ago, a former partner purchased a replica of James Baldwin’s typewriter. That inspired me! Countless hours were spent writing, typing, thinking, and flowing. However, this became increasingly annoying to my partner. The click-click of the keys was too much. Too damn much. So, I packed up the typewriter and swore I would return once I felt home. 

That time still has yet to arrive. 

Tonight, I just sat down to write and know it is the first step to getting back into shape. Into the shape and form of concentrated writing. When I was ex-patting in Prague, I belonged to a writer’s group. Once the pandemic hit, I stayed as involved as I could through Zoom, Discord, and Facebook. Now that I no longer have social media, I feel both more spacious and disconnected. For some of my contacts and people, the only way we stayed connected was through Facebook. But Facebook drained my soul. And again, I stopped writing. 

Writers have to write. 

And that takes commitment. 

It is not that I am not committed to the vision and dream of writing. It is that I feel as if I can’t find the time. Or, that I think my writing won’t be good enough by standards of people I’ve never met and honestly could care less about. All of these obstacles are emotional baggage that have become an albatross around my neck keeping me from my dreams. 

No longer. 

No more. 

Often, I have found inspiration in the writing of adrienne maree brown. She pours herself into the craft. She writers, unapologetically. I deeply admire her commitment, her passion, and her art. And she writes, everyday. Without a care for who approves, who reads, or who judges. She knows she has the right to take up space. Online. On paper. Everywhere.

And so do I.

So, I am committing. Re-committing. To writing. Not just every day. But every time I have an opportunity to share, curate stories, and reflect. 

Thank you for letting me share.

-D