#when ash see something of interest his sights are set

[a-lil-perspective]

So I went to the aquarium with my male compatriot (XD) today and I started thinking about the Dad Batch, I’ve mentioned before how Tech in particular would love taking his babies to the aquarium and spending hours there and I have a few more thoughts excuse me.

~

Hunter: Mans is lugging a half dozen Huntlings in this cart/stroller thingy they rented there at the facility that costed an arm and a leg. And he is ready to get the heck out of there. All the people and the smells and the hot lights and his fussy babies; they make the rounds in 30 minutes or less. May or may not stop by the gift shop depending on how exhausted everybody is. May just have one of the Uncles pick the girls up something and he’ll Space Venmo them back. ‘Nuff said.

Wrecker: Loves the aquarium as much as his kiddos!!! He is such a fun dad!! Will sit them up on his shoulders so that they can see everything better and also when they are tired of walking. He doesn’t need to rent one of those strollers! Also, detour to the gift shop is a must!! They’re definitely picking out the cutest plushies. And of course getting snacks there at the little cafe is to be expected. <3

Tech: This brainy pops is reading every single fun fact there is, reading it aloud to his babies whether they understand it or not. He is taking the time to explain everything, taking many photos and saving all of the information on each species to later upload to his database. He very much looks forward to the trip because of how educational and how engaging it all is. Tech would critique the plushies at the gift shop, stating how they are not accurate to the species it is based off of or this one’s missing a certain stripe, etc etc. More than likely he will steer his children in the direction of the aquatic books on hand. And maybe grab a ball cap for himself.

Crosshair: Carries little Asher around on his shoulders as they quietly move from exhibit to exhibit. Asher is quietly marveling at all the wonders around him. Doesn’t miss a beat. Crosshair is relishing in his son’s wonder. It’s a relatively silent experience. Occasionally Crosshair will point something out to Asher, murmuring, “Look Ash, a cowfish.” and smile to himself when Asher makes a little sound of delight from above. Of course they pick a little something up from the gift shop. Probably a cute t-shirt for the little man, or maybe a space jellyfish lava lamp. <3

You know how I always say Crosshair watches his child(ren) like a hawk right well there is one (1) instance where Asher ventured off at the aquarium and it gave Crosshair a real scare. He felt really bad and was pretty sullen for the rest of the day because he felt like he didn’t do his job. He never told Dee this.

Of course the Ramser’ika was perfectly okay when Crosshair found him, staring up wide-eyed at the gigantic dome shark tank. He didn’t do it to be defiant, he’s just such a curious (and stealthy <3) kiddo and will sidle off if given the chance. But he never gets into any trouble. Still though, Crosshair was shaken.

#when ash see something of interest his sights are set #he is so much like his father #<333 #miss keida would have to be on one of those backpack leashes XD #jude too maybe lol #dad!tech in a ball cap <33 #the dad batch #papa hunterverse #crossverse #papa hunter #sergeant papa #dad shaped hunter #sergeant hunter #hunter #daddy wrecker #wrecker #clone trooper wrecker #dad!tech #tech #clone trooper tech #cross’buir #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #ramser’ika #it is asher loving hours #hunter junior horde #huntlings #bad batch baby #aquarium #it’s a lil thing

[talesofesther]

until one of us caves

Rolan x Reader

Summary: After fighting Lorroakan, you decide to stay with Rolan.

A/N: I know that like maybe three people are gonna read this but I couldn't care less. The more I learned about Rolan's story, the bigger of a soft spot I got, and this little thought wouldn't leave my head so I had to write this down. Nothing serious, just something I wish I could do in the game. Also, this story kinda drifted a little from the original plan about halfway through and started writing itself, so don't blame me if the quality is dubious lmao. Requests for him are open I guess, if anyone's interested.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The scent of smoke and ash hung in the air. Stones and mud, remains of the elementals, littered the floor of Ramazith's Tower; as well as a few burned books here and there, smashed furniture, and splatters of blood in the marble. It would take a while to get the place back to the glory it could hold, but you figured it was doable.

The body of its previous master lay lifeless on the floor, spine broken, skin torn. You held no pity for him, only resentment.

From the corner of your eyes, you could spot a twitching tail and clenched fists, staring blankly at the body of his tormentor. He said nothing, merely huffed and walked away before you could think of saying anything, your gaze followed his steps.

The time between when you'd first set foot in Sorcerous Sundries and now had gone by in a haze. You had stopped dead in your tracks then, breath hitching as you caught sight of the countless bruises on Rolan's skin, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness took over you. You'd walked up to him, the words "Who did this to you?" were stumbling past your lips before he even had the chance to utter the practiced greeting. Rolan had evaded the matter, as you'd expected, building ever higher walls around himself. And you'd surprised yourself with how restless the sight of him had made you feel.

"Soldier?" Karlach's hand on your shoulder pulled you back to the present, making you quickly turn your head back to her.

You blinked several times until your eyes regained their focus; "yeah?"

She gave you a halfhearted smile and you wondered just how much your turmoil showed on your face. "I was just asking if you're alright, and… where do we go from here." Her voice held kindness to it, as it usually did. More often than not Karlach was, surprisingly, a calming balm in your hectic days.

"Uh-" you hesitated. Perhaps you should already be used to being the one people turned to in search of guidance, leadership. But it was a title you'd never really asked for, was it?

"You guys should go ahead, dispose of him somewhere," you gestured to Lorroakan's lifeless form, "before anyone walks in on… all of this."

Karlach nodded along and then raised a brow at you. "And what of you?" She asked, yet there was a smirk on her lips that alluded to the fact that she already knew the answer.

"I'll hang back." Your cheeks warmed up, "I'll meet you guys at Elfsong later."

"Take your time, soldier," Karlach winked at you, then turned to hurl the dead Wizard's body over her shoulder. "Right let's go people, nothing left to see here."

"And how exactly do you intend to walk around the city with that?" Shadowheart asked exasperatedly, yet followed Karlach to the swirling portal nonetheless.

The tiefling shrugged, holding Lorroakan's body with one arm, "I don't know. If anyone asks we'll just say he's drunk or something."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, I want to see that."

Shadowheart and Astarion added simultaneously, one rolling her eyes and the other smiling brightly.

"Alright then, you think of some excuse for-"

You chuckled at the banter of your companions, their voices growing distant as they disappeared through the portal that would take them back to the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries.

With a deep breath in and a long exhale out, you turned around, gaze slowly roaming over the empty expanse of the luxurious tower; now so quiet, bordering on serene, save for the damage the battle left behind. Until you finally spotted the one you were looking for.

Rolan was tucked away in a shadowy corner, head bowed as he stacked a few fallen books on his hands and then beside each other on the shelves. His movements all stiff and slow, as if the books were much too heavy and it hurt to carry them.

The worry twirling in your stomach threatened to escape as you took careful steps towards him. Yet you still weren't sure how to approach him. The tower suddenly held a nearly intimate air. It was delicate, fragile. The lines between you and him had started to blur, you couldn't pinpoint when, but they did; and now, in the privacy of the high tower, you started to feel the weight of it.

You cleared your throat, but the tiefling didn't turn to look at you, though his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. You wondered if he knew you'd stayed, or perhaps hoped you would.

"Rolan… would you like some help with organizing things a little? At least for the night?" You tried, unsure what else you could possibly say and biting back the urge to tell him that he looked like he needed a good night's rest. He wouldn't admit it, you knew; but the fight had taken a huge toll on his already bruised body. He looked utterly exhausted; shoulders slumped, tail laying limply on the floor, barely holding himself together.

He turned his head to glance at you, an unreadable expression on his face, and lips hovering with uncertainty for a moment. "No, I can manage…" Rolan's voice was quiet, his features softly highlighted by the last fading rays of sunshine coming through the tall windows. You could see the bruises on his cheek, jaw, and nose—some new, some old; darker shades blooming on his reddish skin.

"You can go," he turned away again.

"Are you… sure?" You took half a step forward, fidgeting with your own hands. You didn't feel like leaving him just yet.

"Yes. I'm sure." He finally faced you fully in a quick motion, eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I'm not a helpless child, I can at least take care of organizing this mess by myself, if nothing else."

You closed your eyes momentarily at his words, "That's- that's not what I meant, I know you can-"

"What is it you want then? That I thank you for saving my sorry ass? Again?" His tone held bite to it, anger even, yet you had a feeling that it wasn't directed at you, but at himself. With a huff, he threw aside the one book he still held in his hands, "Okay then, thank you, your heroic attitude of the day has been achieved." He gestured toward you, speaking as if he had been just another thing to check off your list.

The movement of his mouth had pried open a fresh cut he had on his lip. Rolan didn't seem to notice, but the small sliver of blood glinted in the low light. Your heart ached, but not for his words, they were mostly empty. It ached because you saw how much he was hurting. That defeated look lingered in his golden eyes, the same you'd seen at Last Light Inn when he had been incapable of rescuing his siblings. You wished you could tell him he was enough. You wished he would believe you.

You took in a steadying breath, holding onto your composure for both of your sakes. "It's not about being a hero, Rolan, it's about helping the people I care about."

Another scoff fell past his lips, he avoided your eyes, looking distantly out the window beside him; "What are you doing here then?"

You merely raised an eyebrow at him, features soft, allowing him to believe in whatever he wanted to believe.

His throat worked through a heavy gulp when he glanced at you again, tail swishing behind him as he took half a step back. "Sod off," the words came out heavy and unstable, "You came here because Lorroakan was after your Aasimar friend… Your job is done now, you can leave." He stormed past you then, quick steps taking him to the other side of the tower.

With a roll of your eyes, you followed after him, "I came here because I care about you, too." You tried to convey as much sincerity in your words as you could, staring intently at his back as he raised a fallen chair. You caught a glimpse of his tail, coiled tightly around his own leg. You wondered if he even realizes he's doing it, if it's some kind of self-soothing habit he's learned over the years.

His hair had been undone, too, falling freely over his shoulders and looking a tad longer than what you were used to. The look suited him—a touch of softness in his usually sharp appearance—in the back of your mind you promised yourself to tell him that someday.

Several beats of silence went by. With Rolan holding tightly onto the back of the wooden chair. You tended to be annoyingly insistent, the tiefling thought to himself. Ever since the first time he met you, you had a habit of refusing to give up on people. On him. Rolan tried to tell himself it didn't get to him, that the butterflies in his stomach, and the overwhelming relief your mere presence brought him meant absolutely nothing. Because of course, you wouldn't look twice at someone like him, would you?

It was ironically sad that his heart would choose you—the hero, his hero—of all people, to have a soft spot for. He could never measure up, not really, and he knew that; told himself that very fact over and over whenever his mind dared to hope with what-ifs.

"You don't mean that," his voice was small and he berated himself for allowing it to be. He closed his eyes tightly, knuckles growing white with his grip on the chair. "And I was fine," Rolan emphasized the words yet he didn't know anymore if he was trying to convince you or himself.

Silence engulfed the tower again. Deafening silence. One sharp claw tapped the back of the wooden chair, a fast rhythm, following the heartbeat thundering through his veins. With a defeated sigh, Rolan turned to face you. Still, he refused to meet your eyes, focusing instead on the fabric of your glove wrapped around your hand; he could see faint scars on your fingers, wondered how you got them.

"Were you, really?" You asked then, softly, near desperately; waiting with bated breath for him to just look at you.

Rolan was a little difficult to get to, had been since you first met him. Part of you rather enjoyed your harmless bickering every now and then. Behind the witty words, there had always been hidden smiles and bashful eyes, the hopeful glint of being in each other's presence, if briefly.

Alas, you weren't exactly entitled to pry or demand, much as you cared for him it wasn't your place, so you relented; "Tell me you're alright, truly alright, and I'll leave if that's what you want so bad."

Rolan hesitated for a heartbeat, and then two, and three. Any words he might want to say were stuck in his throat, tangled in between feelings that confused the hells out of him. How could he ever tell you that he's not alright? That he hasn't been for a long time?

How could he tell you that he doesn't want you to leave, ever?

There was a distant stinging behind his eyes and he hated himself for it, for being so needy and vulnerable. He hated how his palms were sweaty and his heart threatened to break free of his ribcage with the speed it was beating. He hated how his knees seemed on the brink of collapsing with his weight. He hated how he suddenly felt all the bruises in his body hurting so badly, as if only now he allowed himself to feel the pain they inflicted. He hated-

A soft touch on his lower lip halted Rolan's spiraling thoughts abruptly, and his breath. With the sleeve of your robe, movement as light as a feather, you cleaned a sliver of blood that had escaped the fresh cut there. Rolan shuddered under your touch, for like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning to death, that was all he could feel.

Pointy teeth dug into the inside of his cheek, holding back what would only be a flood of embarrassment for him if he allowed his pestering emotions to spill. His throat closed up tight, vision growing hazy until you were nothing but a blur in front of him.

There was something about the way you touched him oh so tenderly that got his walls tumbling down as if they were paper under the rain. Your hand lingered, refusing to part from him. Your fingers trailed a hesitant path to his cheek, mapping the bruises underneath- no, mapping his skin, him.

And he could crumble. Rolan felt himself falling, falling, falling.

When was the last time he felt a kind touch? one that didn't hurt or sting or threatened? He couldn't recall.

"I do mean it, I care about you, Rolan." You promised him, and only him. Whispered words dripping with affection.

The front of your boots hit his shoes as you took a final step closer. Rolan brought one hand up, his fingers closing around your wrist with urgency. Yet his hold was gentle, pressing into the veins there and feeling your pulse running beneath his fingertips. He held you there, all but begging you to stay. Words were difficult, complicated, and messy; hopefully his soul could tell you what he couldn't.

With your heart in your mouth, you mumbled; "it's okay. It's over." You're not sure if he heard or felt the words, but Rolan dipped his head forward until his forehead bumped yours.

Suddenly close wasn't close enough. You wanted to kiss away his tears, his bruises, his pain; promise him that everything would be alright now even if your own life was a sea of uncertainty.

"Why?" It fell past his lips. Such a genuine question uttered with such a small voice that it hurt you like a dagger to the heart.

"Why do these things happen to me?" Rolan's voice cracked and stumbled, his eyebrows briefly furrowed in a mix of anger and sorrow. "I-" he breathed in deep and unsteady, bright eyes welling with unshed tears that shone brightly under the soft candlelights on the walls.

You gulped back your own heartache, struggling to keep to yourself how soft he made you feel. You slowly raised your other hand to push fallen strands of hair behind his ear.

"I hoped it had a purpose," he admitted then, quiet as breath. His lower lip quivered before he spoke again, closing his eyes and leaning timidly towards your touch. "That it was a test, and he would- he would eventually stop. That I just needed to endure a while longer."

A choked sob stumbled past his lips and you felt the first of his tears landing on your thumb. Rolan shook his head, a self-deprecating scoff falling past his lips; "that I deserved it."

"Stop," you said before you could think, finally taking your hand away from his cheek, only to bury it into his hair instead. With the encouragement you knew he needed, you pulled him to you.

Rolan fell forward with no restraints, no hesitations, only a weary soul looking for solace. He buried his head between your neck and shoulder, both arms coming around your waist and squeezing tightly, to the point of his claws nearly ripping your robe.

You held him back with the same desperation, one hand tangling in between his hair and cradling his head to you. Your lips brushed the nape of his neck in a silent confession of adoration.

The fabric of your robe grew damp as silent tears fell past Rolan's defenses, his body shaking in your hold, releasing months if not years of bottled-up emotions.

With a kiss to his warm skin, embers of the fire he ignited in your heart broke free; "You could never deserve what he did to you. You're so very special, Rolan. To Cal, To Lia…" You told him, slow and tender, twirling strands of his hair between your fingers, and a small smile stretched your lips when you felt him relaxing against you. "… To me." It was nothing but a whisper, blown into the wind only for him to hear.

Rolan's breath stumbled, you felt it in the way he gripped you tighter—if that was even possible—and heard it in the soft gasp beside your ear.

"Please don't-" His voice broke in the middle, all husky and wobbly from his tears. "Don't say… that. If you don't mean-" he hesitated, fresh tears cascading freely down his cheeks, beyond any foolish attempt to be held back; they dripped down the bridge of his nose and soaked the fabric of your robe, making him curl into you all the more to hide his embarrassment from the outside world.

"Please," it was so quiet as he pleaded. For what, he wasn't entirely sure anymore. Maybe he just knew he couldn't take losing anything else.

You pulled back and Rolan felt his heart stumbling and cracking in his chest. But you were quick to mend it back together, with both hands coming up to hold his cheeks again, your thumbs brushing away the wetness there, near reverently.

"I promise," you whispered, gaze drifting ever so slightly downward before focusing back on his bright eyes. You were bold enough to lean in until the tip of your nose touched his, and as you did so you felt something coiling around your leg. You smiled; "I promise."

Rolan gulped, his mouth parting as he barely held himself back from closing the gap between you. Goosebumps littered his whole body when his upper lip accidentally brushed yours.

He pulled away but refused to loosen his grip on your waist. "I don't want you to leave," he said it so quietly, offering you his bleeding heart with a shaking hand.

Gentle fingers brushed away the messy strands of hair clinging to his forehead. When Rolan looked up, there was a loving smile on your lips, it was the first time he saw it and he already knew he'd kill to see it again.

You leaned closer, and with a kiss between his brows, you said; "then I'll stay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Rolan’s taglist: @milkiane@v1ci0us

#rolan #rolan x reader #rolan bg3 #holy rolan empire #rolan x tav #rolan baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #rolan imagine #rolan x female reader #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #rolan fanfic #my story

[sister-lucifer]

Spring & a Storm

Tim Wright/Masky x Gender Neutral Reader 

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Fluff, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and you and Tim are stuck inside the cabin together. You can’t sleep because of the thunder, and decide to see if Tim can help you out. 

Content/Warnings: None really. Brief mentions of alcohol, uh…if you can think of anything else let me know! This is pretty damn soft, but actually not explicitly romantic.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You don’t really notice the sound of the rain against the windows anymore. It’s been raining nonstop since, what, 7 AM this morning? Its not quite storming, at least not yet, but everything is soaked, and you can hardly even walk out onto the patio without your shoes filling with water. It’s dreary, sure, but not exactly unpleasant. It’s a good day to stay in, that’s all. 

You shift your sitting position a bit, wrapping one of the woven blankets from

the back of the couch around your shoulders as you gaze out the window. You’re not really expecting to see anything, it’s just trees and trees for miles around, but you always seem to find yourself gazing out into the endless pines. You only turn away when you hear Tim sit down in the recliner, sighing lazily as he puts his feet up. This is a sight you’ve seen many times: A few strands of hair falling between his eyes, an old flannel half unbuttoned over a stained white tank, a beer can in one hand and a nearly finished cigarette in the other. It’s practically Tim’s natural state.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ash tray he keeps on the end table, chasing the smoke with a sip of his beer before that, too, is set aside. He glances out the window, whistling softly. 

“Ain’t nobody goin’ out in that weather,” He drawls, “Nobody with half a mind, anyhow.”

You nod in agreement, taking a little sip of your hot cocoa. It’s a wonderful way to keep warm in this homely old cabin.

You glance over at Tim, who is now absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. He’s probably looking for sports or Storage Wars or something, you think. Some old man show you’ll never find interest in.

As you look at him a bit longer, just spacing out a bit with your eyes on his face, your mind meanders back to before you two were this comfortable with each other. It feels weird to think about that now, though. You couldn’t imagine being in that place again.

Tim’s told you before that you reminded him of himself when he was a younger, when he was ‘new and green’ as he’d say. You were a wide eyed, scared kid, just like he was. You deserved to be living in a dorm somewhere, getting shitfaced at college parties and making choices you’ll regret the next morning but laugh at for years, not to be forced to cope with this reality. No one deserves it, really, to wake up in an unfamiliar place surrounded only by endless woods, no one and nothing around to help you and your body aching all over with injuries you don’t recall getting. 

He knows that feeling. 

He’s never felt worse. Neither have you. It’s hard to get worse than that, really. 

You were still a bit dazed when he first helped you back to his cabin, but something about the worn walls and cozy, lived-in feeling of the old rugs and antique furniture told you you were safe, at least for now. You were out the second your head hit the pillow. You slept for nearly two days straight. You really needed it. 

Since then you’ve been a permanent fixture in Tim’s life. You don’t really leave the cabin, and you’ve never left alone. Tim says it’s just until you can find a job and a place of your own, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to kick you out. You’re thankful for that, of course, but you can’t help but smile every time he insists that this is only a temporary situation, that if you don’t get off your ass he’ll quite literally throw you to the wolves, but he always smiles too. You’re definitely on the same page, and the headline says you’re not going anywhere.

The rainy day melts into a rainy afternoon, then an evening, then a quiet night. The rain has slowed down a bit, but now the thunder has rolled in, and every ten or fifteen seconds or so you can hear it clapping loudly overhead. The sound is a bit more…penetrating than usual, a bit more raucous, and far more bothersome. You’re not sure why. The only thing you are sure of is that your once comforting outdoor ambience is really ticking you off. 

You sit up with a yawn, glancing at the clock and groaning with annoyance when you see it’s already passed 2:00 AM. Damn, you’ve been lying here a while, and still no luck getting to sleep. 

The thunder crashes outside once more, making you roll your eyes. It’s mocking you, you think, poking and prodding in an attempt to get a reaction. You simply sit there for a few moments, debating turning your TV on or reading a book to tire yourself a bit more, but neither of those are particularly attractive options at the moment. You bring your knees up and rest your head on them, half lidded eyes lazily wandering around your dark room. It looks the same as usual, no surprise there, but when you look down the hallway you notice that Tim’s door is cracked open. 

Hm. Odd. He never leaves it open. Must’ve stumbled off to bed and failed to realize he didn’t close it all the way. 

It’s not a big deal at all, really, but the light of his TV leaking out through the cracked door paired with the noise of the thunder gives you an idea. 

You slowly slip out of bed, cringing a bit when your feet hit the cold wood. You’re as quiet as you can be, avoiding all the floorboards you know will squeak. There’s really no point, Tim sleeps like a rock most nights, especially if he’s been drinking, but you figure you’re better off safe than sorry.

You make your way to his door, pushing it open just a bit to peek inside. You wince when the door creaks unbearably loudly, but Tim doesn’t move a muscle. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, limbs in all directions and his single blanket only half covering his body. He looks foolish, but in a charming sort of way. He’s even snoring a bit.

You cautiously make your way to his bedside, watching him for any sign of consciousness. You don’t want to startle him. Even if he didn’t mean to, he could really hurt you if he thought you were a threat, though at the moment he’s not very intimidating. His sweatpants are ratty, there’s no hiding his dad bod in that old sports tee, and his face is illuminated by the cheesy sitcom he left on; not exactly the pinnacle of danger. 

You step up to his bed, debating what to do. You should wake him gently, it reduces the risk of injury, but how do you gently wake someone who could sleep through an aerial assault?

“…Pssst, Tim?” You whisper, but get no response. You repeat yourself, a bit louder this time.

“Tim, wake up.” 

He stirs a bit, but all you get is a groan and a minute twitch of his eye. Dammit. 

You sigh and roll your eyes with annoyance, reaching out to softly shake his shoulder.

“Tim, it’s me. Wake up.”

He lazily swats your hand away, groaning again and mumbling a reply without even opening his eyes. 

“Whaddya want, kid…?” He asks, practically chewing his words.

“I can’t sleep,” You respond simply, giving a little shrug. Tim is not amused at this answer. 

“And why does this have to involve me?” He huffs, glancing at you for a moment before his eyes close again. He turns onto his side towards you, yawning as he tries to pull his blanket back up. 

You don’t really have an answer to that one. Why did you feel the need to come in here and wake Tim up? It’s not like he controls the thunder. It’s not like he controls your inability to sleep…

…But maybe he can help. 

“I can’t sleep,” You explain, trying to figure out how to word your request without sounding stupid, “The thunder is too loud. I thought maybe I could…you know…” 

Tim’s eyes finally open, for real. He raises a brow at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve overstepped, but his expression shifts to tired once more as he turns onto his back again. 

“Kid,” He mutters, clearly annoyed but trying to be gentle, “If you’re old enough to share a beer with me, you are definitely too damn old to be running into my bed ‘cause you’re scared of a li’l thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” You quickly protest, “It’s just too loud for me to sleep. I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought…”

You trail off. You’re not really sure what you thought.

“…Never mind.” 

You turn to walk away, hoping he’ll be too tired to remember this in the morning. You’re in the doorway when his gruff voice stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” He drawls, sleepily waving you over without moving from where he’s lying, “Get back here, I ain’t chasin’ ya off…” 

You pause at that, then slowly walk back to his bed. He’s silent, and for a few moments unmoving, but then he scoots over a bit, patting the bed next to him. 

“C’mon.” 

You sigh in relief, happy to see Tim responding at least somewhat positively. You climb into bed next to him, though you’re careful not to get too close to him. You and Tim don’t really do physical contact beyond a high five for a job well done. 

That’s what makes it all the more surprising when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side but making sure to be gentle, giving you ample opportunity to pull away if you need to. You don’t.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, keeping his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, his free hand idly resting over his stomach. 

“…You ain’t too scared, are ya?” He drawls. You’re confused for a moment, but then the thunder sounds again and you realize what he means. You hadn’t even noticed the thunder since you walked in. It was nice. 

“No, I’m fine, really,” You insist, “I’m not scared, it’s just hard to sleep with the noise. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment. 

“You get on to sleep, then. Ain’t no reason for you to be tired tomorrow.” 

You nod, moving a bit closer to him. He, in turn, wraps him arm a bit tighter around you. It feels…nice. Foreign, yes, but far from unpleasant. He smells like pine trees and faded Old Spice cologne. 

You yawn softly, pulling the blanket up over the two of you as you get comfortable. A comfortable silence settles over you both as the sound of the thunder mixed with the blurry noise of the TV. You’re the first to break it, a question falling from your lips before you can really think of stopping it. 

“…You were worried I was afraid?” 

Tim shrugs, scratching at his stubble as he answers. 

“I mean, I guess…I just wanted to make sure, ya know? Make sure you didn’t need me to do nothing to make you feel better…” 

That makes you smile.

“Didn’t think you’d care that much…” You murmur with a hint of a giggle. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim quickly snaps, “Course I care. I care about you. Ain’t no way for me not to. I’ve cared about you since the second I took you in. You’re not that young, I know, but back then you were just a kid to me. You’ve matured since then, yeah, but I’ll never forget the way you looked when I found you wandering the trail that day…” 

“Yeah, yeah, and you remember when I was three apples tall, I get it,” You tease with a playful laugh. Tim can’t help but chuckle, giving you a little squeeze. 

“Can it, ya little shit. You know what I’m sayin’. I knew what I was doin’ when I let you into my home, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care.”

He’s got a point there. Most of the time Tim’s number one priority is self preservation. He rarely goes out of his way to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit him. He must’ve seen something in you absolutely worth the trouble. What exactly it is you’ll never know, but you’re certainly happy with where it’s gotten you. 

You turn to him a bit, giving him a tired smile. He turns to you as though he can sense your stare, cracking open one eye to return your smile before laying his head back again. 

“Alright, alright, ‘nuff yammerin’. Go to sleep,” He orders, reaching over to ruffle your hair before his hand rests back on his stomach. He never was good at being strict.

You stretch a bit before settling into your spot, getting as comfortable as you can so that you won’t have to shift around and risk bothering or waking up Tim later on. He hasn’t moved a muscle, his breathing already slowed and all of his muscles relaxed for once. It’s an odd sight, really. Usually he’s always holding some tension in his brow or jaw or shoulders, but he’s completely relaxed now, as are you. You finally feel like you could fall asleep.

“Night,” You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Tim’s southern drawl ringing in your ears. 

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

#gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #x reader #creepypasta #marble hornets #marble hornets tim #marble hornets masky #marble hornets x reader #masky #tim wright #masky x reader #tim wright x reader #creepypasta x reader

[mendeshoney]

take me back to eden (part 1/2)

A/N: well I had an idea about andrei and as per usual @pyotrkochetkov​ @smileysvech​ bullied supported me until it was finished. as you can see, this story is going to be posted in two parts, so keep your eyes peeled! title is from “take me back to eden” by sleep token

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

Pairing: andrei svechnikov x f!reader

Part 1 Word Count: 22,144

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

September

The Premiere Suite at The Mark Hotel.

So…this was it. 

Immediately after swiping the key card and letting himself into the suite, he goes about unpacking. Quickly, he puts his belongings away in the bedroom of the suite, before moving back into the living area, heart pounding with every step.

He’d bought a bouquet of red roses along with a crimson red vase, and he stores the vase in a cabinet in the little kitchen first. He moves further into the room, setting the roses on the coffee table before grabbing the ice bucket and heading down the hall to fill it. When he gets back, he places a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, and rests it beside the roses, accompanying it by placing two champagne glasses down next to the bucket. 

He heads back into his room, pulling out the little blue box from Tiffany’s in his leather duffle bag, tucking the box into the pockets of his pants, then heads back into the living area, examining the space.

This was enough, right?

Enough to prove that either he wasn’t new to this (which he was) or that he was capable of being a gentleman (jury’s still out), he wasn’t sure.

He’d never done this before, never had to, never needed to, and never thought to.

At thirty two, officially retired from hockey and now serving as Assistant General Manager of the Carolina Hurricanes, Andrei had his fair share of ex girlfriends, previous one night stands, former friends with benefits, and the like in his youth. He’d thought he’d been close to true love once before, but that crashed and burned in flames before he even realized he was standing in the ashes of the aftermath.

Too focused, he’d been told. He was too focused on hockey, on this sport, and it wasn’t enough, so she left. And now, he couldn’t exactly deny that she had been wrong.

Lately, he was far too busy and much less interested in anything other than working to even consider the possibility of anything more. Working for the team that had given him the chance to live out his childhood dreams was where his heart, mind, body, and soul were focused, and he poured his all into it every day.

But sometimes, some days, he could admit to himself that as much as he liked being alone, he did feel lonely in the quiet corners of his office and in the solitude of his bedroom. 

“You need a Pretty Woman,” his brother had told him almost a month ago.

“A what?” He remembers saying, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear as he typed out an email.

“You know the movie? With Julia Roberts?” Evgeny said, as if that was supposed to mean something to Andrei. “The one mom used to watch all of the time.”

“The prostitution one?” He said, vaguely recalling it now. He mainly remembers trying to make as much noise as possible with Evgeny so his mother would relent and allow them to change the channel to watch cartoons or hockey.

“Da,” his brother had said, “It could be discreet, maybe a little more your pace.”

Andrei had all but rolled his eyes and shot it down, calling his brother an idiot before confirming that he’d be home for the holidays and hanging up.

Then two days later, he was out to dinner with a few of the players on the roster during a preseason dinner, and overheard a couple of veteran players on the team chatting with a newer player about helping him find a date to their eventual Canes Bash, the renamed organizational casino night. 

“It’s worth a shot,” one of the veterans, Mason, had said. “You said you’re out of options, that’s an option.”

The newcomer, Eli, looked extremely skeptical. “But isn’t that like…illegal? It’s basically prostitution.”

The veteran players had shushed him, leaning in closer and lowering their voices even though Andrei could still hear them. 

Eli was sitting to his immediate right, for fuck’s sake.

“It’s an escort service.” The other veteran, Olly said from his spot across from Eli. “They’re based out of Manhattan but have employees all over the country. They serve high profiled clients and work with the utmost scrutiny. You have to submit pay stubs to even prove you can afford one of their employees and both parties are required to sign an NDA.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve ripped that right from their website?” The rookie questioned, skepticism still present in his tone.

“Because maybe we’ve used it once or twice,” Mason shrugged. 

“You have?” Eli asked, and Andrei could tell he was starting to slowly lean into the idea.

“It’s simple,” Olly assured him. “When you register yourself on the website, you fill out an application and basically create an account with them. You have to sign the NDA before your account can be official. Then you submit your pay stubs and a copy of your ID or passport. If those clear, then they do a thorough background check on you, more thorough than a government job, even, and if you pass the background check, they send you a questionnaire to fill out that helps them understand what you’re looking for, but it also lets them know if they’re the service you’re looking for, or if you should take your interests elsewhere.”

“Yeah,” Mason chimed in. “If they believe they can help you, they ask for your availability where you’d like to meet, and then once you pick a city, day, and time, they set up a meeting place, all expenses paid by the service. It’s like a consultation.”

“What about the girl?” Eli asked. “Do I get to pick her?”

“They select them for you based on your questionnaire answers.” Mason said, “But they’ve never set us up with a bad pick.”

“Yeah,” Olly chimed in, smirking. “Remember the blonde bombshell I brought to the team Christmas party last year?”

Eli’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “She was an escort?!”

Olly and Mason shushed Eli once more, though no one else at the dinner table seemed to have been paying any attention to them.

Hockey players have certainly heard, and discussed, far weirder and far worse.

“Did you just watch ‘Pretty Woman,’?” Andrei had teased, and laughed at the stricken expressions on Mason, Olly, and Eli’s faces.

“Uh yeah,” Mason had said nervously. “It’s a classic.” 

Andrei nodded, “It is, it’s a great movie.” Then turned his body as if he was tuning into the conversation the head office was having to his left.

To be fair, he should technically be involved in this conversation anyway, since it is his job, but instead, for some reason, he keeps an ear trained on the rest of what the boys to his right are saying.

“Look, do you wanna go for it or not?” Mason asked, “If you do, I can send you a referral link, or you can just use my name when you apply. It speeds up the time between application and your first meeting.”

Eli made a hesitant noise. “I don’t know. What if I don’t like the girl they picked? I can’t bring a weirdo to the Canes Bash.” 

“That’s what the initial meeting is for.” Olly explained. “The consultation, remember? First visit is free, and then the only payments you have to worry about are for bookings once you get to the first date and beyond. If you like the girl, you tell her what you need her for, and if she agrees to work with you, you book everything moving forward through the website. That way you’re not spending money up front.”

“It’s no strings attached before you even solidify anything.” Mason said, then nudged Eli. “So what do you think? Are you in or what?”

There was a pause, and Andrei sensed Eli’s lingering hesitation, but still, the rookie persisted and said, “Yeah, why not? Fuck it. I’ll do it. What’s this thing called again?”

“Daughters of Aphrodite,” Olly said with a dreamy air to his tone. “Unofficially, that is. Aptly named, but it would obviously raise some eyebrows. So officially, their business name is Eden.”

That night, after Andrei went home, he found himself opening up his laptop as he lounged in bed, looking up “Daughters of Aphrodite” online. He’d found nothing but tellings and retellings of the goddess of love, so he took a chance and searched up “Eden” instead.

Sure enough, there it was. He hesitated all of two seconds before clicking into the website, and didn’t think twice about filling out the application. True to Mason and Olly’s word, he had to sign an NDA before his account could be created, and submit a copy of six months worth of paystubs, his identification, fill out paperwork to commit to and then actually go for STD testing, and when they asked if he’d been referred to the service by anyone to expedite his application process, he listed Olly’s name, figuring Mason probably would’ve lent his referral to Eli instead.

And now, three weeks later, here he was.

In Manhattan, at one of the most expensive hotels in the city, moving into a suite for the weekend.

About to have a consultation…with an escort.

If the consultation went well, his plan was to take this person to a nice dinner, and maybe go out for drinks afterward. Eden had footed the bill and booked the suite for the weekend in case they decided on other activities, but Andrei wasn’t going to hold his breath.

He still wasn’t sure if he was going to stick around, let alone if this other person would be interested.

As he looked around at his little set up, part of him felt like maybe this was too much, but he couldn’t just show up here with nothing. They had his pay stubs, knew his income, knew he was a high profile client using their services for a reason.

Sugar daddy. 

That was one of the things on his questionnaire, asking if that’s what he was looking to be. 

He hadn’t said yes, but surely it wouldn’t be inappropriate to provide his incoming date with…well, some sugar.

Besides, it was just roses, champagne, and the diamond tennis bracelet from Tiffany’s sitting in his pocket. 

Before he could start pacing, Andrei removed his tie and his blazer, resting it over the back of the chair at the desk in the room before loosening the top few buttons on his dress shirt, then unbuttoning and rolling the sleeves up to his elbows. He raided the mini bar, pouring himself a shot of vodka, downing it, then pouring another larger serving, one he could sip at to calm his nerves.

He sat in the lounge chair, scrolling through his email to re-read the instructions one more time.

“...after checking into your hotel and arriving at your room, feel free to take your time settling in and getting comfortable. Once you’re ready, please text the code “5683” to the following number, and we will notify your date for the evening that you’re ready for them. They should arrive no later than twenty minutes after you send the directed code.”

Andrei felt a sweat start to break out on his back.

He texted the code not long after he finished unpacking, which was about ten minutes ago.

She could get here at any time, and it wasn’t until Andrei realized that, that he began to panic a little.

He had no idea what this woman would look like, no idea how old she was. He said he wouldn’t agree to anything more than a couple years older than him, and nothing more than ten years younger than him, so he knew she was somewhere in that range. 

But what if she wasn’t his type? What if he wasn’t her type? Even if he was a client, Eden made it clear that the girls were in control, that they had the agency, so what if she decided to break it off the second she saw his face? What if there was no chemistry? What if -

A soft pattern of three knocks on the door broke him from his thoughts, and he cursed to himself. 

She’s here.

Resting his glass on the side table near his chair, he gets up, strolling to the door and checking his appearance in the mirror before answering.

Not his best, but not his worst.

It’s a consult. He reminds himself. Doesn’t have to be anything more.

He takes a deep breath, flipping the deadbolt and twisting the handle, breath caught in his lungs as he opens the door and -

And…

And…

Fuck.

Oh fuck.

This…this is…

It has to be a joke.

There’s no way a woman this beautiful, a woman this perfect, is working for a service like this.

Now he understood why Olly got so dreamy when he said the service was called “Daughters of Aphrodite.” 

Because if this woman were anything other than a demi-god, daughter to the most beautiful creature in the world, he would surely think he was living in an alternate reality.

Fuck, the woman in front of him could be Aphrodite for all he cared.

God damn, ona krasivaya. She is beautiful. 

She should be on a throne somewhere, modeling on a beach, walking a runway, hell, in a house baking cookies for her husband and children because…because…

This woman should be someone’s wife. Someone’s girlfriend. Someone’s partner. 

Not an escort here in a ritzy hotel suite with him.

“Um…hi. Andrei, right?” 

He blinks.

God and her voice.

Your voice.

You.

Your…everything. 

No, it’s you’re, definitely you’re, because you are everything. 

“Shit,” Andrei hears you curse under your breath. “Um, ty Andrei Svechnikov? Vy govorite po-angliyski?”

He blinks again, like an idiot, because wow he was not expecting that, and now he’s harder than a rock in his dress pants. Granted, your pronunciation isn’t the best, but it’s damn near perfect, and he crumbles. 

“Yeah,” he hears himself say, mentally patting himself on the back for not letting his voice crack, “It’s me. I’m Andrei.”

You smile softly at him and he feels like his heart just jumps right out of his chest and lands at your feet, screaming “take me love me accept me please.”

“Hi,” you say. “It’s nice to meet you. Is now still a good time?”

He nods, too dumbstruck to say anything else. His whole body buzzes in response the more you speak to him, and he swears any second now a flying baby in a diaper is going to swoop in and stab him in the butt.

“Yeah,” he says after a second. “Now is still good.”

“Oh okay,” you say, nodding slightly. Then, when he doesn’t move, a soft laugh leaves your lips, a laugh that he swears sounds like little bells, and you tilt your head to the side. “May I come in?”

Idiot.

He laughs too, hoping it doesn’t sound too nervous, and nods, stepping to the side. “Yes yes, I’m sorry, please come in.”

You cross the threshold, passing by him and he gets a whiff of your perfume, the breeze left in your wake chilling him to the bone.

“Almaznyy,” he hears himself whisper, watching you wander further into the suite. 

Diamond. 

A living and breathing diamond.

He swears a string of curses to himself as he shuts the door behind him and flips the deadbolt, then thinks better of it and flips it back. No one else but him has the key to this room, and he doesn’t want you to think by flipping the deadbolt that you’re trapped here.

Although, he wouldn’t mind if you trapped him in here.

He follows after you, finds you staring at a photograph blown onto canvas on the wall just shy of the coffee table.

The coffee table currently holding your roses. 

Shit.

He rushes to the table, grabbing the bouquet and turning towards you. He catches the way your eyes roam over the canvas, over the flowers and shadows, and he smiles a little.

“Interested in art?”

You shrug absently with a hum, your eyes still locked on the photograph, a fond and knowing look on your face. “Somewhat. My mom used to paint, and my brother got me into art as well.” Your body turns toward him first, followed by your head as you say “I’m not quite as good, but I dr- oh.”

You pause, smiling widely at the roses in his hand, and Andrei takes a chance, stepping closer and eliminating some of the distance between you two. “These are for you,” he says, “As a thank you.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say with an awestruck smile, taking them and cradling the bouquet in your arms. “Thank you.”

This image of you would be seared into his brain for the rest of his life, he swears. 

“I have a vase for you to put them in, if you’d like.” He offers. 

“How considerate,” you say. It sounds teasing, but the smile on your face is sincere. He holds out his hand, nearly regretting it when you blink at it for a second, before your hand lands in his and - 

The electric bolt that runs up his arm when he finally touches you can’t be a coincidence.

Especially not when he looks at you, wondering if you felt it too, and judging by the shy look that suddenly crosses your features, you definitely did.

Not only that, but fucking hell your skin is soft.

So soft, better than silk or velvet. 

He has to contain his excitement when he laces your fingers together, and you give him a reassuring squeeze as he leads you to the kitchen. He pulls the vase out of the cabinet and starts to fill it with a little water at the sink while you lay the roses down, gently removing the twine and then the brown packaging from around it.

Andrei finds himself quickly reaching for your hands after putting the vase down on the counter, not wanting you to prick yourself on any thorns. 

“Let me please, almaznyy,” he says. You smile, eyebrow raised in confusion at what he’s called you - and god if he was going to survive this night he’d have to work to not make you do that as often - but you don’t move at all when he comes up behind you, keeping an inch between your bodies, arms on either side as he works the roses apart, inspecting the stems for thorns.

He didn’t pay anything astronomical for them, but they were a rare type of crimson red rose, and he paid enough to hope that they didn’t have thorns on them. 

Thankfully, they didn’t. When he raises his hand to lift a couple into the vase, yours move to grab a couple of more. Together, the both of you arrange the two dozen roses into the vase, and almost naturally, you let out a happy little sigh as you relax backward, body gently pressing against his.

It’s a ghost of a touch, but he can tell you fit perfectly against one another.

“They really are beautiful,” you say, then turn your head to look up at him, lips curving into another brilliant smile. “Spasibo.”

His heart spasms. 

That was five.

Five smiles in the span of about five minutes.

He was prouder of that than he was any record he set during his career.

With a smile of his own, he takes a step back, watching you turn and lean against the counter a little, and holds out his hand once more. This time you take it without a second thought, and follow him as he leads you over to the couch.

You both sit next to one another, you sitting a little sideways to face him, and he gestures to the champagne. “Would you like some?”

“Sure,” you say, and now all Andrei wants to do - on top of making you smile - is keep you talking.

He needs to hear more of that pretty voice like it’s the last he’ll ever hear on this earth.

As he expertly pops the top and begins to pour a glass, he asks “How old are you?”

It’s a jump from the first question - or questions -  he wanted to ask, the main one being “What is your name?” which he was told explicitly in his instructions email that he was not allowed to ask. 

The Daughters of Aphrodite could only offer their names to the clients if they decided that they wanted to - or if their clients had earned it - and the clients could not ask under any circumstances. It was part of the point that the women held the agency here. 

His other questions fell along the lines of “Are you married?” and “If you’re not married, are you available for a summer wedding next June?” Both of which he also did not ask.

He’d get the answer to all three eventually…he hoped.

“I’m twenty three,” you respond, accepting the flute of champagne from him. “My birthday was a couple of days ago.”

His heart hammers in his chest. 

Nine years. 

She’s nine years younger than you, his brain screams.

Eden sure cut it close with this one.

“Happy belated birthday,” Andrei says, turning a little in his seat to face you. As he does, the corner of the jewelry box in his pocket pokes his thigh. He reaches into it without a second thought, relieved when he brings it out and sees that the little white bow is still in excellent condition as he holds it out to you. 

“I didn’t know it was your birthday, obviously,” he begins, “But I saw this and wanted to buy it for you, so maybe it was meant to be.”

He winces internally at his choice of words, but then a bashful smile breaks out on your face, and you place your champagne flute down on the coffee table, taking the gift with gentle fingers.

Six smiles! 

Hell yes.

You pause before pulling the bow, looking up at Andrei with a little furrow in your brow.

His heart kicks in his chest, demanding to be let out, demanding to comfort you and ease whatever just made you pull that face. “What is it?”

“This is just awfully nice of you, and I didn’t get you anything.”

Two things run through his mind in that second and he’s blurting them both out before he can stop himself or think of any consequences. “I wanted to, you deserve it. And I don’t need anything in return.” then “Your other clients don’t get you anything?”

You fucking idiot. He curses himself. He didn’t even think of the fact that you’ve probably had other clients, that you’ve been around other men, and his blood starts to simmer, this unexpected feeling of jealousy twisting his stomach uncomfortably. 

But you don’t even blink, just shrug your pretty shoulders and say “Not really, no. Well, not at first maybe, not at the consultation.”

Okay.

He was not going to think about the fact that other men had gotten to have a consultation with you or that some had also made it past the consultation with you. He was not going to picture a beautiful being like you entertaining the likes of fuckers like Mason, or Olly, or Eli.

God.

What if you’d been with them? What if you knew Mason or Olly? What if Eli had already applied and maybe even gotten a consultation before Andrei could have? What if you had a consultation scheduled with Eli next? What if -

“And they usually don’t get me roses,” you add softly, fingers still brushing against the bow. 

“Then they’re idiots.” He deadpans.

You lift your head up at that, blinking at him, and he worries he may have upset you, but then you laugh, a little loud, melodic and sudden, and his heart soars.

“Open it,” he says gently, gesturing to the box with his chin. 

Your fingers finally pull the bow off and gently lift the lid, removing the carefully folded tissue paper to reveal the tennis bracelet nestled inside. 

It’s a platinum bracelet, designed to resemble vines curling around the wrist when fastened. Within the leaves on the vine are round brilliant and marquise diamonds, though he doesn’t think they can hold a candle to you. 

His actual diamond.

Almaznyy.

Almost as if the marquise diamonds can hear him, they twinkle a little in the light in protest at him when you manage to lift the bracelet from its little cushion.

He thought it was fitting - vines, Eden, garden of Eden.

Oh god, now he thought it was stupid.

Why would he think getting you a bracelet reminding you of your employment was a good idea?

“Oh, Andrei,” you coo.

And god if he doesn’t fall in love with you right then just based on the way you say his fucking name.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

You nod emphatically, looking up at him. You look a little dazed, the disbelief present in your eyes. “I love it, it’s beautiful. Would you help me put it on?”

“Of course, almaznyy,” he murmurs, reaching forward to take the jewelry from your hand. You hold your wrist out, and with nimble fingers he secures the bracelet to your wrist. He indulges himself a little by letting his fingers graze along the skin, before grabbing your hand again, lacing your fingers together and resting them on the couch cushion between you. 

“It looks beautiful on you,” he says truthfully, eyeing the way the bracelet sits on your wrist, how it looks so perfect next to his rolex, and how they punctuate your joined hands. 

“It fits like a glove.” You say, voice full of wonder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in my life.”

The boost to his ego is instantaneous and he can’t help the smirk that crosses his lips before he smothers it with a smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

You smile, seven, eyes looking him over for a second. “Is that what you need me for? Someone to shower with roses and pretty jewelry?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Andrei feels himself go red.

For a second he managed to forget about the circumstances surrounding your presence. For a second, he managed to convince himself this was your third date. For a second, he managed to convince himself you already belonged to him.

Not in a nefarious way. People never belonged to other people, he always believed that. 

But god dammit if he didn’t already belong to you. 

“I um,” he fumbles, doesn’t really know what to say.

You scoot closer, unlacing your fingers and resting your hand on his arm in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay, Andrei. I’m here for a reason, aren’t I? I just want to help.”

Well fuck.

Now he doesn’t want to tell you. How can he possibly tell you he overheard players on a team he’s supposed to be helping to manage talk about your company? And how could he say that he figured it would be a good quick fix to ease the loneliness he felt some days? 

Especially on the days when he realized most of his friends and former teammates were either getting married, already married, some with kids, and he still felt like he was lost in the ocean, treading water for some unknown reason, and that as much as he wanted that all for himself, he just didn’t have the time?

“If it helps,” you offer, “I can kind of guess.”

Andrei blinks. “You can?”

You nod, suddenly growing a little shy as you admit “I kind of Googled you?”

He laughs then, the small tension that had built in the room starting to break. “Oh? Find anything interesting?”

You smirk, dragging your hand down his arm and lacing your fingers back together. “I did. Admittedly I don’t do it with all of my clients, but your name sounded familiar, so I looked you up.”

“And?” He teases, leaning in a little. “Do I live up to Google’s expectations?”

You snort a little - so fucking cute - and a small smile graces your lips again as you try to find the right words to say.

Eight. Fuck yeah.

“You’re a busy man,” you begin, looking down at your joined hands. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. You might not be the general manager, but you’re someone that your organization trusts, and that puts you in a precarious position. Because you can speak to and for the team, and be the middleman between them and your administration in a way that hasn’t been there for them before. The team is your life, you spent your whole career there, so it’s understandable, but that doesn’t leave you much room for anything else. That must be pretty lonely for you.”

Andrei’s dazed, and a little fucking pissed that the most he’s heard you talk this evening is because you’re talking about him, and he makes a mental note with himself to change that as soon as possible. 

“You need company.” You finish, rubbing your thumb in comforting circles on the back of his hand, and Andrei feels the anxiety begin to seep out of his body. “I’m happy to give that to you, Andrei. Whatever that may look like.”

His eyes coast up to your face, skepticism in his gut, but your face is completely sincere, not a sliver of doubt or humor. He swallows, nodding. Instead of confirming your suspicions, he turns your hands around, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand now. “And you? What do you need?”

You blink at him. “Me?”

He nods again, “Yeah you, almaznyy. What made you want to do this?”

“Eden?” You clarify, and Andrei nods again, squeezing your hand gently. “Well, as you can probably imagine, it’s good money. It helped put me through college, since I was putting myself through school. I actually stopped once I graduated. I put most of what I earned into savings, and thought that would be enough to live a normal life while I worked a normal job. And I had that for a few months. But then I…” your voice trails off and your brow furrows again, like you’re trying to figure out how much to say.

You can tell me everything. He wants to tell you. I won’t judge, I just want to know. 

“I decided I wanted something different,” you finally say. “Something more, so I came back to Eden. They welcomed me back, and now they’re helping me make sure I get what I want.” 

“What is it that you want?” He asks.

You shrug. “What does anyone want these days?”

It’s cryptic, and Andrei doesn’t pry any further, no matter how badly he may want to. Instead, he squeezes your hand and asks “Well, what do you need from me?”

You raise a brow, surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how can I help you? To get your something different?”

You smile a little, but it’s not like the others, so he doesn’t add it to the count. This one is more…considering. Like you’re assessing if the sincerity in his voice is actually there, or if he’s just playing his part. “You already are,” you eventually say. 

He watches as your eyes continue to examine his face, looking for…well, he doesn’t know exactly. But he’s content to sit there and let you do whatever you want. As far as he’s concerned, you can do whatever you want. And he also uses the opportunity to etch you into his memory, every inch of you, just in case. 

“But this is for me,” he says after a moment.

“I know,” you murmur with a smile before casting your eyes down to your joined hands. “And it helps.”

Nine. 

He swallows. “Are you lonely too?”

You purse your lips, shrugging. “Isn’t everyone?”

Cryptic again, but then you’re looking up at him, and there’s this…it sounds cliché, but there’s this twinkle in your eye, and he feels his pulse skyrocket in his veins. 

“Why the gifts, Andrei?” 

He feels his heart sigh dreamily when you say his name. “What?”

You gesture down to the bracelet on your wrist with your eyes, before flicking them back up to his face. “The bracelet, the roses. I love them, don’t get me wrong. But…why?”

Andrei shrugs. “It felt…” he searches for the right words. “Appropriate. I don’t know.”

There’s a look of consideration on your face. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

He shakes his head, suddenly…shy. He’s immediately transported back to his first year as a rookie, how uncertain everything seemed, and how lost he felt more often than not. He remembers stumbling through English, feeling awkward trying to get to know his teammates and make friends, to get people to like him.

He wants you to like him. 

He knows in his gut he’s pretty much got a crush on you at this point, which is insane, considering you met…maybe twenty minutes ago? Thirty?

And he doesn’t really know how these things are supposed to go…at all. When he tells you as much, you giggle a little, squeezing his hand. “That’s okay, we can take this slow.”

He nods. “Slow is good.” Then, “How about dinner? Would you like to have dinner with me?”

A dazzling smile crosses your features before you say “I’d love to go to dinner with you,” and he beams. 

Ten. Ten smiles and dinner. Hell yeah.

~

October

Andrei glances down at his phone, smiling at yet another picture of Luka, Evgeny’s newborn baby boy and his second child. He was born a few days ago, but given Andrei’s duties with the team, he couldn’t be there for Evgeny and Sara. 

He’d sent presents of course, and his mother had taken the liberty of sending Andrei hundreds of photos so far, and Evgeny clearly felt comfortable following in their mother’s footsteps, sending Andrei at least twenty pictures a day. 

Evgeny was just as bad when Mila, his two year old daughter, was born. Photos every day that eventually dwindled down to weekly, then monthly as she got older.

In the photo Evgeny had just sent, Luka’s chubby newborn body was swaddled in a blanket and donning the light yellow baby hat Andrei had sent them. 

Andrei: Milyy i tolstyy

Cute and fat.

Evegeny sends back an angry face emoji.

Evgeny: Ne nazyvay moyego rebenka tolstym

Don’t call my baby fat

Evgeny: pridurok

Dickhead.

He chuckles to himself before pocketing his phone, casting his eyes back up. 

He watches from the stands as the players skate down the ice, running through drills in preparation for the first home game of the season later this week. Right after that, they were immediately on the road, heading to play the Rangers over the weekend.

A weekend where he’d get to see you.

He grabs his coffee cup from the holder in front of him, taking a large sip as he catalogs every player, assessing for strengths, weaknesses, who needs help, who can work on what. He looks for the holes in their plays, looks for the ways they can improve, looks for anything and everything that the team needs.

“Skyler’s looking good,” Andrei notes. “Role of ‘Captain’ suits him.”

From beside him, sipping on his own coffee, Coach Brind’Amour nods. “Yeah, he’s enjoying it.”

Technically, he’s not Coach Brind’Amour anymore.

These days, he’s the General Manager, but Andrei’s known him too long and respects him too much to call him anything but ‘Coach.’

Skyler, Coach’s son, is about the same age as Andrei, but started with the Canes a few years into Andrei’s career. The two of them became quite close, but whereas Skyler’s career continued, Andrei’s had to stop. 

There wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

“What are you seeing?” Coach asks him, gesturing to the ice.

Andrei smiles a little. “Probably the same thing you are.”

“They’re a good team, need a little more work.” Coach confirms.

Andrei hums a little. “They’ll be ready.”

They both eye the banners in the rafters. 

2024 Stanley Cup Champions. 

2027 Stanley Cup Champions. 

2032 Stanley Cup Champions.

The last one makes Andrei feel a little bittersweet, and he tears his eyes away.

“They can do it again,” Andrei confirms. “We made sure the additions to the team would see to that, not prevent it.”

“Now you sound like me,” Coach teases. 

Andrei laughs, and shrugs. “You were right most of the time.”

“Most?!” Coach cries, incredulous. He shoves Andrei playfully, and they share another laugh before directing their eyes back to the ice. 

They watch the rest of practice relatively quietly, a few other people coming to sit with them now and again as practice goes on, talking to them about upcoming meetings, home opener preparations, player contracts, the list goes on.

Andrei contributes his opinion when he can and when asked, still getting used to his new role. A couple of times, Coach shouts something down the stands so the new head coach or the captain can hear, and even encourages - and manages to convince Andrei - to do it once as well, noting a spot that needs work with a couple of the defensive pairs.

After practice, he and Coach head into the locker rooms to talk to the new head coach and give the players some words of encouragement. 

At one point, he notices Olly looking at him from out of the corner of his eye, and when Andrei spares a glance at him, Olly looks away, almost like he didn’t think he’d be caught.

Strange.

On the way out, Andrei tells Coach he’ll catch up in a second before he stops by the player’s stall. “Looking good out there, Oliver.” 

Olly looks up, surprised to see him there. From next to him, Mason giggles, bending down to fiddle with the tape on his socks. “Thanks Svechy, I appreciate that.”

“You two feeling good about the home opener?” He asks, gesturing his chin to Mason and leaning against the wall next to the door.

“Yeah man,” Mason answers, eyes on his skates now. “Feeling great. You think we’re ready?”

“Did it last year,” he answers. “Looked great in pre-season. Who says hurricanes can’t strike twice?”

They both grin at that, and then Andrei nods at them, dismissing himself.

When he steps into the hallway, his phone buzzes with an email notification, and his heart nearly skyrockets out of his chest when he sees the subject line.

“Booking Confirmation Details - Eden Hospitality.”

He curses silently to himself, nearly jumping in the air when there’s a tap on his back.

It’s Coach, who laughs at Andrei’s red face, and Andrei quickly locks and pockets his phone. 

“Sorry Svechy,” he says, “Didn’t mean to scare you. You coming to the meeting upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Andrei says, sighing a little in relief that it was just Coach Brind’Amour. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Another long, nearly painstaking hour later, Andrei’s finally back in his office.

It’s a cozy space, not as large as the General Manager’s office, or the coach’s office, but it’s decent enough. There’s many photos of his journey with the Canes along his wall, and pictures of his family on the wall closest to his desk. His desk is L-Shaped, and it allows him to face his office door, a couch along the wall, two chairs in front of his desk, and a shelf and mini stall for his gear in the corner. 

Checking his schedule on the calendar on his computer, he’s instantly grateful to see he doesn’t have to do anything for another hour and a half, so he pulls out his phone and brings up his email, clicking into the confirmation from Eden.

“Thank you for choosing Eden Hospitality for your booking purposes!

Your reservation beginning this Saturday, October 17th at The Mark Hotel in the Premier Suite is confirmed. Please note that any and all reservation changes must be made within 48 hours of the arranged date. Proof of payment is attached to this email in a reviewable and downloadable PDF. 

We also wanted to confirm we received your latest copy of blood testing for STDs, and thank you for your compliance with our booking policies. As a reminder, this will need to be done prior to every booking request to ensure booking can be completed. Failure to comply will result in termination of your account with Eden Hospitality. Attached is also a copy of your companion’s recent blood testing, for your reference. 

Check in as per usual at the front desk, and feel free to either leave your bags with the front desk, or you can head on up to your room. Please feel free to text your companion to arrange a time and place to meet, should you wish to meet outside of The Mark Hotel.”

His heart catapults out of his chest when his phone buzzes in his hand with a new text message.

“Almaznyy,” the name reads, and a kilowatt smile crosses his features. He opens your text thread with one another, his smile growing impossibly large as his cheeks heat.

Almaznyy: You miss me that much, don’t you?

Andrei: Almost every second since I said goodbye to you last month

The dinner date had gone incredibly. Wonderfully. Stupendously.

(That last word was one Skyler had taught him.)

The chemistry the two of you shared was…literally off the charts. It felt cosmic, fated, almost, just so naturally right that Andrei drove himself paranoid the more he thought about it, because he wanted to know if you felt it too.

You had spent the night, but nothing intimate had happened other than the two of you holding hands as you laid on Andrei’s bed and talked for hours until you both fell asleep. When Andrei woke up, you were in the kitchen, freshly showered and changed and making breakfast on the stove, a fresh pot of coffee already brewed. 

Eden had held your bags at the front desk for you as per consultation protocols, since the Daughters of Aphrodite weren’t required or expected to stay past the initial consultation if they’d made their decision or come to an agreement with their client, but if they chose to stay, their belongings weren’t far away.

The fact that you had chosen to stay made him happier than you’d ever know.

You didn’t unpack like he did, but your things were in a weekender bag in the corner of his bedroom, and though he didn’t want to admit it - mostly because he didn’t want to get ahead of himself - he quite liked seeing your toothbrush next to his on the bathroom counter.

Almaznyy: Well maybe I missed you a little bit as well

Andrei: Really?

Shit shit shit, he didn’t mean to press send on that. He didn’t want to unsend it either, but now that it was out there -

Almaznyy: Yes really, I had a wonderful time with you

You sent a heart emoji with that last message.

A heart.

Alright, now he was just outright blushing, and he folded his arms onto his desk before burying his head in them like a lovesick fool. 

In fairness, he’d had a wonderful time too.

After eating the delicious breakfast you’d made, he took your hand across the kitchen island and offered to take you out to do whatever it was that you wanted. It felt appropriate, felt good, knowing he could do that for you.

You took him by surprise when you asked if you could go to the Bronx Zoo. He half expected something a little more…well, he wasn’t sure exactly, but the zoo hadn’t been it.

He complied, of course, and the two of you got dressed. You in jeans, a light sweater, and sneakers, and him in black jeans, a white long sleeved shirt, sneakers, and your new bracelet that you hadn’t taken off since he put it on. You both took an Uber there, and spent most of the morning and early afternoon wandering around, looking at every single animal exhibit, some of them even twice, and taking pictures along the way.

Andrei took more than a few…hundred…pictures of you on his phone. Most of them were candids, some videos of you looking at the different animals, making faces or cooing at them from the viewing windows, and others of you just…being around him. 

(He locked about ninety five percent of the photos in a private album on his phone, just in case.)

After that, you took him to your favorite lunch spot on the Upper West Side, and then to your favorite book store in the city. 

For dinner, he insisted on cooking for you, so you went to Whole Foods, giggling when he pushed you around on the cart as you grabbed all the necessary items for Beef Stroganoff. 

You helped him while he cooked, though he would’ve been much happier if you had just sat on the stool, looking as pretty as you did, sipping your wine and letting him just…cater to you. 

You praised him over the dish, in which he immediately texted his mother about afterward to thank her for insisting on teaching him at least that, to which she just replied “???”

That night, the two of you fell asleep talking again, your hands linked with one another under the sheets.

The next day, you played tourist. Checking out the Natural History Museum, the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, got lunch in Tribeca, and then went to the driving ranges at Chelsea Piers. You had dinner together at Prime Catch in Hell’s Kitchen, and spent the rest of the night talking again, until you both fell asleep, this time, with you in his arms. 

So yeah…it was pretty wonderful. It didn’t even matter that he didn’t get the chance to kiss you, he just had so much fun being with you, being around you, that he didn’t care about what happened next, or what didn’t happen.

It had been tough to say goodbye to you, especially when you left him with a little wave, a kiss on the cheek, and a “see you soon, Andrei,” but he managed to contain his excitement for the next time.

At least, until this very moment.

He composes himself, sitting back up and grabbing his phone.

Andrei: I had a wonderful time too

Andrei: What do you want to do this time?

He feels like a teenager again, waiting as the seconds pass for your response, and when it comes, he’s pretty sure he wants to squeal with excitement.

He doesn’t even know how to squeal.

Almaznyy: I’ll let you choose, where would you like to take me on a date?

~

This was definitely a date. 

Your fourth date, technically. And you said ‘date,’ so he planned for a ‘date’, but as he waited for you as the seconds ticked by, he was worried it wasn’t enough. 

He waited on a bench in front of the Met wearing a dark baseball cap, a gray sweater, bomber jacket, jeans, and sneakers. It was a little chilly out in Manhattan, so he held two of the small, blue signature New York coffee cups in his hands, one with coffee for him, the other with hot chocolate for you.

His knee bounced up and down with nerves, eyes scanning the crowd, looking for any sign of you approaching. 

Eventually he sees you emerge, a large scarf wrapped around your neck, covering up your white knit sweater. You’re wearing black jeans and sneakers, your little black bag on your shoulder and in your hand are…

Two blue signature New York coffee cups.

As you get closer, you spot him on the bench, glance at his hands, and then the both of you are laughing by the time you reach him.

“Great minds think alike.” You tease, sitting next to him. “Is that hot chocolate for me?”

He nods, gesturing with his chin at the cups in your hand. “That coffee for me?” 

You nod too with a smile, and he shakes his head. “That’s some serious telepathy.” 

“I’m pretty sure most people call it chemistry.” You tease, “Here, you drink the coffee I got you, and I’ll drink the hot chocolate you got me.”

You place the excess cups next to you, then exchange the designated cups. He watches as you take a sip of your hot chocolate, smiling when a happy sound crosses your lips. 

“How are you, almaznyy?” He asks, reaching a hand out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his hand dropping to his lap unceremoniously.

“Good,” you say, nudging his shoulder with yours. “And you, Andrei?”

“Good,” he nods, “A bit busy, but good.”

You nod, taking another sip. “You have a game tomorrow night, right?”

“Mhm,” he manages through a sip of his own coffee. “Have you ever been?”

“To Madison Square Garden? Or to a hockey game?”

He shrugs. “Both.” 

“I’ve been to both,” you say honestly. “Couple concerts and I think two games?”

“Would you like to come?” At his question, you turn your head to look at him, surprise lining your features. Andrei just shrugs. “I’d be upstairs working for most of it, but I know a guy, if you want to go. ” He adds with a small smirk.

You hum, tilting your head to the side a little. “If you’d like to have me there, sure.”

“Would you want an extra ticket or two to bring friends?” He offers. 

“If you can swing it, and if it’s not too much trouble,” you say. “I think my roommates know someone on the Rangers, so they’d probably like to come.”

“You just let me know how many people, and I’ll take care of it,” he swears, leaning closer as a breeze comes by. 

You bury your nose in your scarf, shivering a little, and Andrei frowns. Immediately, he’s putting his coffee down beside him and pulling off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. When the fabric rests on you, you turn to look at him, a warm smile on your face.

“You sure know how to woo a girl, don’t you, hotshot?” You tease, then reach for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you.”

“Of course, almaznyy.” He says, squeezing your hand in turn, resting your joined hands on the bench between you. You’re both silent as you finish your initial drinks, and now that your other drinks have gone cold, Andrei tosses them both in the trash nearby before standing, tugging on your still joined hands a little to get you to come up with him.

You take him by surprise when you stand, releasing his hand and wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your nose in his chest. His hands are immediately falling on your back, rubbing up and down in a soothing pattern. “What is it?” He murmurs.

“Missed you a little, I guess.” You say honestly, voice slightly muffled by his sweater. “I had a lot of fun last time.”

“So did I,” he admits. “I missed you a lot, too.”

You hum, the noise vibrating against his chest. “What are we doing here?”

Andrei looks up at the Met, then back down at you. “You said your family liked art, and you told me that you liked to draw. I thought…” his voice trails off as he hesitates. 

Was this too personal? 

“Thought what?” You press, gently rubbing his back. 

“Thought you might like to teach me a thing or two. About art.” He eventually says. When you look up at him, there’s an iridescent beam and goofy but excited tilt in your smile, and his heart hammers in his chest.

You gave him that smile a lot last time.

He was more than thrilled to see it again. He didn’t think he should start counting them, not this time, but he definitely would keep this one in his pocket for later.

Gently, he untangles his arms from around you and grabs one of your hands in his, squeezing once. “Ready to go in?”

You nod, still smiling from ear to ear as you trail after him into the museum.

~

Almaznyy: In the lexus level suite with my friends

Accompanied with the text is a selfie of you smiling from ear to ear in a Hurricanes beanie, his bomber jacket, and a Carolina Hurricanes hockey jersey underneath. You’re holding up the peace sign, the bracelet he gave you twinkling in the light.

Andrei: On my way 

He grabs two security guards and an MSG employee, asking if they can escort him down to your suite.

They guide him quickly through back halls and to an elevator, where after a short ride, he arrives at your level and is promptly escorted to your suite, where they fuck off to the other side of the hall so he can have some privacy.

He opens the door to a barrage of giggling that almost immediately ceases when he steps in. 

Your eyes lock on one another almost instantaneously and it’s like his world narrows down to just you.

He’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for the fact you said you wanted to be here, that you were excited to be here and share this with him. 

Your friends are sharing knowing looks with you from where you’re all standing at the buffet spread, but you ignore them, offering Andrei a soft smile and almost immediately going to embrace him, wrapping him in a tight hug as you murmur a “hi” into his chest.

Andrei laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring his own “hi” into your hair as he wraps his arms around you.

It’s been less than a few hours since he’s seen you last - having left you at The Mark earlier in the day so he could prepare for the game, and you headed into the West Village to join your friends in getting ready for the evening - and he still felt your absence like a gaping wound in his chest.

When you pull away, you take his hand, leading him over to your friends.

“Girls, this is Andrei, my boyfriend. Andrei, these are my friends Tiffany, Katie, Cee, and Maya.” 

His whole world screeches to a halt as one word rings in his ears.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

“H-hi,” he stutters, “Nice to meet you.” He holds a hand out as he greets each of your friends, who greet him in turn.

“Thank you for letting us tag along,” Maya says.

Cee tacks on “We really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he says, brain still playing catch up.

Did he imagine it? Or did you definitely call him your boyfriend?

“It was nice of you to get this suite all for us.” Tiffany adds, eyes darting around the space that’s definitely meant for at least a dozen people.

Katie nods in agreement. “We hope it wasn’t inconvenient.” 

Andrei shakes his head. “No, it was my pleasure. Is everything okay so far?”

“Fantastic,” you assure him, then turn to your friends. “Can you guys give us a minute?” 

They all nod, sharing knowing looks once again before grabbing their plates and drinks, heading toward the front of the suite and out to the seats, getting ready to watch warm ups.

You turn to Andrei then, a sheepish smile on your face. “I’m sorry that I introduced you as my boyfriend, they just…my friends don’t know that I work at Eden, or what I do. They still think I work at my last job. I thought it would be easier.”

His every instinct says he should frown, or that he should be sad, but he also understands.

And also really, really likes the way you make the word “boyfriend” sound. 

Even more so, he likes the way it makes him feel.

But…in reality, he’s not that, no matter how much he would like to be.

Or at least, he’s not that yet.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I get it, it’s alright.”

You scrunch your nose. “Are you sure?”

Andrei shrugs, “I mean I would do the same if I was in your shoes.” If I knew your name, he wants to add, but doesn’t. Would that be okay with you?”

You give him a shy smile and nod a little. “Yeah, that would be okay.”

He feels a little out of place then, but then his eyes coast down to the jersey you’re wearing beneath his bomber jacket. He tugs on the logo at your torso, gesturing with his chin. “Where’d you get this?” 

“Made a stop downtown at the NHL store after you left earlier,” you say, offering him a cheshire grin. “Picked it up.” 

His eyes narrow playfully. “Who’s jersey is it, almaznyy?”

You shrug, tugging the bomber jacket closer, covering yourself up a little. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see later.”

Andrei makes a move like he’s about to scoop you up, when there’s a knock on the door and one of the security guards he came down with pops his head in. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but they’re calling for you in the locker rooms, Mr. Svechnikov.” 

“Give me a minute and I’ll be right there.” He promises. The guard steps out, shutting the door, and this time, Andrei does scoop you up, and you laugh gleefully, throwing your arms around his neck as he spins you around.

When he puts you down, he bends his head to tell you to have fun, to text him if you need anything and that he’ll come see you during intermissions if he can.

But then you take him by surprise, dragging your arms from his neck, trailing them down his chest, and gripping his tie in one hand, yanking him down the rest of the way as you rise up on your tippy toes and kiss him.

You’re kissing him.

This is your first kiss.

Yebena mat'. Holy shit.

It takes his brain a second to catch up and for his body to follow suit, but when it does, he’s got his hands on your waist and he’s pulling you closer, pressing his lips against yours firmly as he follows your lead, his entire world flipping on its axis in the process.

He doesn’t want this to end, has never been less interested in a game of hockey, ever, in his life, because all he wants right now is to take you straight back to The Mark and kiss you till the sun comes up, kiss your lips, your neck, your collarbone, trail those kisses down your stomach and -

You pull away, eyes glazed over a little and still lingering on his lips. On instinct, Andrei licks them, and your eyes flash, tracing the movement of his tongue.

“I um…” You start to say, but Andrei leans down and kisses you again. It’s chaste, not nearly enough of what he wants to do, but it’s enough for now.

“I know,” he murmurs. Because he does. “Later,” he promises.

Based on the look in your eyes, you know he’ll keep it.

~

It’s later on during the game that Andrei feels a tap on his shoulder, and he tears his eyes away from the ice, looking to where Coach is pointing. 

It’s the jumbotron, and there’s some kid dancing free and wild, people in the stands cheering him on or dancing along with him, but behind him, Andrei’s attention is stolen.

Because there you are, dancing with your friends, looking so wild and free, and a smile creeps up on his face. Then, that’s when he spots it.

Your jersey.

The seven evident on one arm, the three on the other. 

Your friend Maya grabs you and makes you do a little twirl, and then the “SVECHNIKOV” emblazoned on your back is on the screen, and the camera zooms in tighter on the child, blowing up your image along with it. The Canes fans cheer at the sight of his jersey, some people even standing, and it does something to his insides.

His jersey.

You’re wearing his jersey.

And he never cared about shit like that before, not really. Most of the wives and girlfriends never actually wore their husband or boyfriend’s jersey unless it was for some charity event or a coordinated effort in the playoffs. 

And you’re not his wife, or his girlfriend (yet), but he suddenly feels…

He feels completely less lonely. Feels less like he needs Eden’s services, and more like he just needs you.

Andrei feels like a boyfriend. A proper one. Yours.

“They still love you, buddy.” Coach Brind’amour says, and Andrei laughs, playing it off.

“That’s cheating,” he admits, gesturing to the screen, where they finally move onto another person. “That one was mine.”

Coach’s eyebrows raise a little. “The girl in the jersey?”

He nods, suddenly sheepish. He did say he was going to introduce you as his girlfriend, and you said you were alright with it, so he tells Coach “Yeah, she’s mine.”

“Well shit, Svechy.” Brind’amour teases. “About damn time.”

Yeah, he thinks to himself. I know.

He pulls out his phone then, shooting off a text.

Andrei: You little sneak

The three dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again before your message comes through.

Almaznyy: You like it? 

Andrei: I never thought I’d say this in my life, but I’ll like it better when it’s on the bedroom floor

Almaznyy: I think that can be arranged

~

Andrei’s bouncing off the walls with anticipation as the elevator ascends to your hotel suite.

The Hurricanes won the game, and while he’s excited for the team, he’s also pretty fucking excited for himself.

It’s like your kiss broke the dam within him, destroying all of his restraint and hesitation. He’d been shaking with anticipation as every second passed between the second he left your suite to the very second he’d been able to get back to you once he was done playing Assistant General Manager. 

That’s something he’d never thought he’d say in his life.

He was fucking ecstatic to have this job, to be given a job for the team he’d stuck with since day one, a team that had given him everything. 

But this? You? 

This felt like a once in a lifetime kind of thing, and he wasn’t going to waste another second away from you.

A part of him felt bad about you saying goodbye to your friends so early, but this was his time with you.

Technically, as twisted as it made him feel, he paid for it…so…

When he finally unlocks the door to the suite, you saunter inside ahead of him, stripping off your shoes, socks, his jacket and your beanie, dropping them to the floor. His heart pounds harder in his chest, watching as you turn your head over your shoulder just slightly, enough so that he can see the mischievous smile on your face before you unbutton and unzip your jeans, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them, sauntering ahead toward the bedroom with a flick of your hair behind you.

“Yebat’,” he groans out loud. Fuck. 

The sight of your bare thighs hidden beneath his jersey is the last thing he sees before you round the corner, and the image of those thighs wrapped around his head tents his pants in a second and propels him forward, stripping off his tie and suit jacket and kicking his shoes and socks off as he goes, leaving them in the same trail as your belongings.

When he gets to the bedroom, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, all jersey and bare thighs, and the smile that spreads on his face is wide and bright.

“Posmotri na sebya,” he murmurs. Look at you. 

He steps in front of you, inches between you now, and takes in the way your eyes track him as he gets on his knees, placing his hands beside you on the edge of the bed and leaning forward.

You spread your legs a little to let him settle between them, and Andrei closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours as he shuts his eyes, losing himself in the feel of you. He feels your hands drift up his chest, gathering the material of his shirt and pulling him closer.

He feels your thighs bracketing his torso, then they’re wrapping around him, ankles locking behind him and he bites down on your lip a little, a small pleased sound leaving your mouth that reverberates in his body.

“C’mere,” you say between kisses, and he rises up, places his hands under your thighs as he moves the two of you up the bed, resting you against the pillows and slowly placing his weight on top of you.

“Almaznyy,” his own voice sounds far away to him, probably because that’s where he feels like he is. 

He feels like this is too good to be true, like this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up any second and feel like the last month that you’ve been in his life has all been an illusion.

Everything’s moving so fast, and he just…he’s suddenly worried that you might not be on the same page.

It makes him pull away, just a fraction, and you make a small noise of protest, trying to pull him back to you. 

Andrei smiles, catching your hand and kissing it. “It’s okay,” he says. “I just…” He pauses, swallowing past a lump in his throat.

You tilt your head, taking in his expression. “What is it, Andrei?” 

He shakes his head - partly out of disbelief that this is happening, and partly because he’s worried this is all in his head. “I don’t want to do something you don’t want. I don’t want to do anything if you don’t want it too.”

“Andrei, Andrei look at me.” You implore, framing his face with your hands. “I’m here, with you. Not because I have to be, not because of this job, I am here with you at this moment because I want to be, okay? I want this. I want you.”

It’s exactly what he needed to hear, but suddenly the words are too much to bear, it feels like something he doesn’t deserve. 

“What do you need?” He pleads. If he can know what you need him to do, maybe he’ll feel better about deserving this moment with you. “Tell me what you need here, what you need tonight, what you need from me. What can I do, almaznyy?”

“I just need you,” you coo, pulling him back down to you for another kiss.

“Is that all?” He presses, resisting for just a moment to look you in the eyes, so you can see him, so you can understand.

He’s asking about tonight and beyond, asking about what he can do to help you get what you need out of this arrangement, to make this more than a contractual obligation.

“Just you, Andrei,” you repeat, meeting his gaze straight on.

“If we do this…” he begins. “If we do this, then…”

“I know,” you insist. “I still want it. Do you?”

Andrei shakes his head, smiling at you. There’s…he can’t put it into words. 

The draw he feels to you is…otherworldly. 

And you’re beneath him now, in his jersey, his last name on your back, four dates under your belt, and you’ve got the most insane chemistry together, and he already likes you so much that he worries it would scare you if you knew how badly he’s wanted you since that very first second.

“You don’t get it,” he insists, bending his head a little, rubbing his nose against yours gently. “The things I want…if we do this…” he says again, finding your eyes. “If we do this, there’s no going back. Do you understand? If I touch you, I can’t go back.”

You nod, “I know. I don’t want to go back.”

You’re still not answering his question, not really, and he knows that.

“You can tell me you know,” Andrei breathes out, still a little dazed that this is happening. “You can tell me anything.”

You smile at him, nodding and murmuring “I know,” before pulling him down to kiss you again, and he feels it, feels the way you try to communicate to him through your lips, pressing your body against his, that this - here and now - is mutual.

And that’s going to have to be enough. 

This time, there’s no more waiting, no more hesitating, and he kisses you back full force, pressing his hips to yours and pushing you into the mattress. His hands wander up the jersey, feeling the lace material at your hip and on your ribs and he needs to see it. 

You must read his mind, because you’re reaching between the two of you and grabbing at the jersey, pulling it up and over your head, and all Andrei sees is black lace.

His cock throbs painfully against the zipper of his pants, and he meets your eyes for just a second, asking permission, and you’ve barely nodded before he’s bending his head, sucking the skin of your exposed breast into his mouth and groaning at the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his tongue.

You gasp a little, back arching and he winds his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his name crosses your lips in a dreamy sigh.

“Say it again,” he demands, dragging his teeth over your skin as he switches to your other breast, pressing his palms against your back. “Say my name again, almaznyy.”

“Andrei,” you breathe out without hesitation, “Feels so good.”

He sucks your skin into his mouth, flicking his eyes up to gauge your reaction, and when he finds you already looking at him, his pulse skyrockets, and your hips move, grinding your core against his clothed abdomen.

Freeing one hand from behind you, he brings it forward and between your bodies, trailing his fingers over the lace and down toward your core, pressing gently against the lace, a moan escaping his throat before he can stop it when he feels how wet you are.

“This for me?” He murmurs quietly, trailing his tongue in the valley between your breasts, playing with the hem between your legs.

You nod, breath coming out in heated pants. “Only you, Andrei. Just you.”

Only you.

Just you.

He lets those words ring in his ears, lets the syllables settle in his bones and cloud his mind when he presses his fingers at the fabric and tears, ripping the black lace thong from your body before stuffing them in his pocket and shuffling down the bed.

You’re sitting up on your elbows, looking down your body at him as he parts your thighs, his large hands digging into the flesh as his eyes take in the one place he never imagined he’d be lucky enough to see in his life. 

“Trakhni menya,” he nearly croaks. Fuck me.

Your glistening pink heat stares at him, inviting him closer, calling to him, and he answers the call without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward and burying his face between your thighs, dipping his tongue into your dripping center and sucking.

The sound of his lips and mouth working against your pussy fill the bedroom quickly, obscene and loud noises echoing off the walls. He eats you unabashed, unashamed, and unrestricted. You thrash against his mouth as pleased moans and whines escape your throat one after the other.

Your hands fly into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp and tugging the tresses between your fingers, pulling him closer and pushing him away all at once. His lips barely detach from your skin when he pulls away to take a breath, not wanting to be too far from his current task, not wanting your skin and your taste so far from him ever again.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and your back arches, nearly tearing your hips away from him and he moans out a little displeased sound, pulling you closer and bracketing his arms across your belly, keeping you locked against his mouth. 

“Andrei,” you pant again, desperation in your tone, “Please, please I’m so close.”

He quite likes the sound of you begging.

“Come,” he commands, murmuring against your clit. “Come for me, I want to taste you.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and he keeps his eyes on you, your face, and your body, gauging for the little tells he wants to memorize, store in his memory for the next time he gets to do this with you, and the next, and the next, and the next.

You go silent all of a sudden, heaving breaths stopping as your orgasm hits and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, brows furrowed and eyes shut tight while your grip in his hair tightens, thighs bracketing his head as your body shakes through your orgasm. The taste of you floods his mouth and he groans in delight, savoring every drop happily as he continues to lick and suck until you’re all but forcing his head away, giggling and delirious.

“Andrei please,” you breathe, “Please just come here.”

He obeys, crawling up your body until he’s close enough and he bends his head, accepting your kiss and massaging his tongue against yours, sharing your release. He lets you unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders, lets you pull his shirt over his head before he unhooks your lace bra and tosses it aside, and then you’re completely bare for him.

“Let me see you,” he pleads, sitting up and back on his haunches just so he can look at you.

You preen under his gaze, back arching slightly as you stretch, a cheshire grin crossing your features as his eyes roam over you, trying his damndest to commit the sight of you to memory.

“Ty takaya krasivaya,” he praises. You’re so beautiful, allowing his admission to linger in the air and one of his hands to wander up your calves, your thighs, before it settles on your waist, the other hand unbuckling his belt with deft fingers.

“Spasibo,” you say almost shyly, sitting up and then reaching out, unbuttoning his dress pants and then lowering the zipper.

The corner of his mouth ticks up, his expression curious. “What did I say?”

He watches with bated breath as your hands dance on the waistband of his boxer briefs, and one of your shoulders lifts in a small shrug. “I think you called me beautiful,” you respond, eyes slow as they drag up his body and toward his face.

Andrei leans down, playfully suspicious when he says “And how did you know that?”

You shake your head, dragging that beautiful bottom lip between your teeth before bringing your eyes back down, dipping your fingers into his waistband. “Lucky guess.”

Andrei doesn’t believe that for a second, but his protest dies in his throat the second your hand dips into his underwear and wraps around his cock, grip firm as you tug a little at the base of him. 

A loud but pleased groan echoes out of him and his head tilts back, nearly going cross eyed as you tug again, and his hand shoots out, circling your wrist gently as he shakes his head. 

When he manages to focus again, he raises his head and looks down at you, the furrow in your brow and pout of your lips damn near breaking his heart.

“Did I not do it right?” You ask, concern lacing your tone.

He reaches a hand out, thumb smoothing the furrow in your brow before dragging over your lower lip. Your tongue darts out, licking the pad of his finger before you gently suck his thumb into your mouth, and chert voz'mi, damn it if his cock doesn’t throb painfully in your grip.

“Almaznyy, I don’t think there’s a single thing you could do to me that wouldn’t be absolutely right, or feel fucking amazing. But I need this first time with you to last more than forty five seconds, okay?”

Understanding crosses your features, and a pleased smile makes its way onto your lips. “Oh,” you say, a little dazed, almost surprised, and it baffles Andrei right back.

How could you not possibly know how you undo him? How could you not know that you rattle his very existence in the best way? He feels like it’s so obvious now, like there’s no way he’s been playing it as cool as he’s believed this entire time. 

He smiles at you, voice teasing when he says, “Yes, ‘oh,’ almaznyy. It’s you, it’s what you do to me.”

“You do it to me too, you know.” You say. The response is almost immediate and your words go right to his heart.

Again.

He rises from the bed then, dragging his pants and boxer briefs down his legs before he kicks them off to the side, then he’s climbing back on the bed and settling between your legs. Your hands frame his face once more when you pull him to you for a kiss, a kiss that quickly turns from innocent and reassuring to desperate and needy, soft and open mouthed as his tongue massages against yours, you opening up beneath him almost automatically, like you’ve done this together a dozen times before.

There’s a moment where he expects to be jealous, to think about the times you could’ve been like this with other people, but the moment never comes. 

Because deep down, and based on the way your body comes alive under his touch, the way you respond to him, the way the two of you move like your bodies know each other inside and out already, Andrei knows, he just knows that neither of you have ever experienced something this perfect in your entire lives. 

“Condom?” He asks between kisses, trying to work through his mental checklist. “Do you want me to put on a condom?”

You barely even hesitate when you say “No, I’m clean. I know you are, too. I want to feel you. Is that okay?”

God. “It’s more than okay, almaznyy,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I want the same.”

His cock slips against your pussy where you’re soaked for him all over again, and you both moan, grinding against one another as you make out until the need for one another just becomes too much to bear.

“Ask me,” he says, nearly begging. Because as right as this is, he still needs to know that you want this too, and that he’s not just imagining things. “Ask me for it.”

Your voice is syrupy when you ask “Please Andrei, please put it in. I want you so badly. I want you, just you, Andrei, no one else and I - oh my-” 

Your words are cut off as you gasp on an inhale, mouth open in another silent cry as your back arches, hips tilting just so that Andrei has to focus, has to keep his hips still as he focuses solely on the way you flutter around him and squeeze as he pushes in just an inch. The look on your face, the way your body reacts has him nearly roaring with satisfaction, with pride, his mind going blank as two words run through his brain on a loop. 

Ona moya, he thinks. She’s mine, she’s mine, she’s mine.

You’re his. You belong to him, and he belongs to you. There’s nothing else in this world that makes sense.

“Breathe, almaznyy,” he pleads, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “Need you to breathe, need you to tell me if it’s too much.” 

Your head shakes, frantic, and your next inhale is deep, gathering enough air in your lungs to steady yourself, and he rises again, eyes scanning your face desperately, needing you to be okay.

Your eyes lock almost instantly, and the look on your face is pleading, your words articulating the desperation behind them when you say “More, Andrei, please. Pozhaluysta.”

He curses, cock throbbing when he pushes inside another inch, and your hands fly to his ass, nails digging into the flesh of his cheeks as you try to pull him closer. “I know, I know,” he assures, “I’ve got you, almaznyy.”

“I’m so close again already, Andrei.” You murmur, tilting your head up and speaking the words against his jaw. “Please, just wanna feel you. Want you all the way inside.”

The way your words affect him feel nearly criminal, and he almosts debates grabbing his tie from out in the living area of the suite or your torn thong from his pants on the floor and using either of them to gag you, keep your mouth shut and stop him from blowing his load before he’s ready.

“Okay,” he says instead, trying to ease your desperation as well as his own. He pushes inside a little more, and when you nod, pleased mewls spilling through your lips, he keeps going until he’s seated all the way inside, can feel his balls pressing against your ass cheeks, and you both let out a satisfied groan.

“Khoroshaya devochka,” good girl, “taking me so well,” he praises, and you nod, eyes glazed over in pleasure.

“For you,” you say, all breathy. “Just for you.”

His hips stutter, causing him to pull out and push back in just a fraction, but it’s enough that your eyes flutter. “What did I say?” He asks, and watches in amazement when you give him a lazy smile, eyes still lost in the way he’s making you feel.

“You said I was a good girl,” you say, though it comes out slow, and Andrei nods, dropping a kiss to your lips, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away and pushes up on his arms.

“I did,” he confirms. He drags his hips backward until just the tip of him rests inside of you, and then he pushes forward, burying himself back to the hilt. The moan that echoes across the walls buries itself in his mind as he catalogs the sound.

He starts to fuck you in earnest then, hands resting on the backs of your thighs to keep you propped open and spread for him, allowing him to watch the way his cock disappears inside of you, the way you take him over and over, his cock glistening with your arousal everytime he pulls out. The sounds your bodies make are probably obscene, but they sound like perfection in his mind, and he keeps at it, his eyes locked on your face to gauge your reactions, to make sure that he’s not giving you anything but mind blowing pleasure.

It’s all you deserve. He’ll give you nothing but the best, and if it’s not to your standards, he won’t stop until he gets it right, until he knows everything you like, until his legs burn and his jaw aches and he knows every single way he can make you come until you see stars and your voice is shot from screaming his name.

“Andrei,” you breathe, hands fisted in the sheets. “I’m going to come.”

He nods, “Do it, almaznyy. I want to see. Let me see you.”

“Want you to come with me,” you plead, and he feels his balls tighten at your plea. 

Your bodies know one another, he’s certain of it now.

“I will,” he promises. “Need you to come first, need to make sure you come first. Come for me and I’ll give you anything and everything, I promise.”

Your pussy flutters around him again, and he drives his hips forward, focused on fucking you until your flutters turn into a near death grip as you squeeze him, back breaking on an arch as his name crosses your lips in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through your body.

Your arms shoot out as you yank him down, and when you kiss him, when he swallows your cries as your release drips down his cock, he can feel a tight knot form at the base of his spine as his orgasm hits him like a freight train.

His arms shake as he keeps you open to him, cock throbbing as his orgasm pulses inside of you, filling you to the brim as he claims you from the inside.

“Ty moy,” he says as his orgasm begins to calm, pressing the words into your hairline. “Tol'ko moy.”

You’re mine, only mine.

“Andrei,” you say, his name sounding like a plea and a confirmation to his words all at once, and his heart hammers in his chest. 

If you only knew, almaznyy. He wants to say.

But his name on your lips is enough for now.

It has to be.

~

November

He wakes up hard. 

Images of you run through his brain from his dreams into his waking life and he sighs, reaching for his phone on his bedside table.

There’s a text there from you, telling him goodnight after you got off the phone earlier, and though it’s late - or maybe too early in the morning, he’s not sure - he calls you anyway, figuring he could just leave a voicemail, and a surprised bolt of joy blooms in his chest when you actually answer.

“Thought you were asleep, malysh.” You say, and Andrei can hear your smile through the phone.

“I never should have taught you that word,” he teases. He’d taught it to you the morning after your first night together, after he’d pressed the word into your neck while he fucked you from behind.

“Why not?” You feign hurt. “You get to call me something cute, why can’t I?”

What he really wants to call you is your name, but he knows he can’t ask, and since you still haven’t offered, it’s probably because you don’t feel like the two of you are in the right place for it.

You’ll get there, the two of you, he’s sure of it. He’s waited this long, he can wait a little more.

“You’re just going to use it to torment me,” he says, sighing as he leans back against his headboard.

You hum to yourself. “Well you’re clearly tormenting yourself if you’re awake right now. What’s going on?”

He shrugs even though he knows you can’t see him. “Ya skuchayu po tebe,” he says. “Kazhdyy den'.”

I miss you, every day.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it feels like months in his mind. Especially now that he’s had you in his arms, now that he knows what it sounds like when you say his name when he makes you come, now that he knows what you taste like, how you feel beneath his hands and body, it’s like he’s got a craving he can’t satisfy and he can’t help but want more, even if it leaves him feeling starved.

“Oh Andrei,” you coo, adoration in your voice. “I miss you too.”

His heart stops and he takes a deep breath, clutching his phone tighter. “How do you know what I said?”

“I have my ways.” You say cryptically, and he can hear your mischievous smile through the phone.

“Have you been taking lessons?” He inquires. It’s possible, given how much you understood that night and so far.

You giggle, “What’s making you miss me so much?”

He’ll accept your change of subject…for now. “Can’t get enough of you.” He confesses, “I can’t stop thinking about the last time I saw you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” you say. “Or that night.”

Andrei feels butterflies in his stomach followed by a wave of sadness. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again,” he says honestly. “We’re in the height of the season now, and we’ve got a decent stretch of home games coming up, so it’ll be hard to get away to New York.”

“We don’t have to meet in New York, you know.” You say. “I can always come to Raleigh.”

He blinks, bolting upright so quick it almost makes him dizzy. “You can?”

“Yeah, Eden allows it so that we can travel wherever we need to. You don’t have to always formally book dates and times unless it’s based on your schedule.” You say. “I can always come to you, I just thought that…”

Your voice trails off, and Andrei frowns. “Thought what?”

You hesitate, and he feels it form a crack in his chest. “I thought you needed something more discreet, and that you liked being in Manhattan for the secrecy, so I never mentioned anything else. Plus, you always booked for The Mark Hotel, so…”

When you don’t continue, he swallows a lump in his throat. “I didn’t really know that. I guess I didn’t fully understand the booking parameters. Plus, I thought it was easier for you.” He winces at his word choice. “Not because of Eden, or anything, but because it was where we first met? So I thought it would be more comfortable for you..”

“No I understand, Andrei, I do.” You reassure him. “But I can come to you, if you’d like. If that’s what you want, or what you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love that.” He says almost immediately. “I would love to have you here.”

~

You arrive in Raleigh two days later, Andrei picking you up from the airport. You’d offered to take an Uber since Eden would be footing the bill, but Andrei didn’t like that idea. 

You were his girl, his companion, and he’d take care of you himself, thank you very much.

He parks in the garage and waits for you at baggage claim, hiding beneath a baseball cap and his reading glasses just in case any fans recognize him. It doesn’t help that despite the fact that he’s retired, he knows his face is still plastered at the terminal exit as passengers come out and take the escalators down toward baggage claim.

Thankfully, you don’t make him wait long. He spots you coming down the escalator, wearing sweatpants and a baggy shirt Andrei recognizes as his own, a flannel tied around your waist and a duffel bag hanging off of one shoulder, your bracelet glittering in the fluorescent lights of the airport.

You spot him just as quickly, and Andrei enjoys the way the smile that stretches across your lips forms almost immediately. 

Andrei’s moving before he realizes, and he ends up at the bottom of the escalator just in time for you to step off of it, and then he’s hauling you into his arms by your waist, your own wrapping around his neck as he lifts you a little and spins you around, careful to move you both out of the way in the process.

Happy giggles spill from your lips as he presses kisses all over your face, grinning from ear to ear when he sets you down on your feet.

“Hi, almaznyy.” He greets quietly, arms still secured around you.

You rise on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his jaw, greeting him with an equally soft “Hi, malysh.”

He takes your hand and leads you over to the baggage claim area for your flight, choosing a spot close to the belt but far enough away from other passengers that he can still have you all to himself.

“How was your flight?” He asks, thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was good,” you say, resting your head against his arm. “I’m just happy I’m here.”

“So am I, almaznyy.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the buzzer goes off and the belt of the baggage carousel starts to move.

You point out your suitcase after a few minutes and Andrei insists on grabbing it and taking your duffel from you, carrying both so the only thing you have to worry about holding is his hand in yours.

You make it out to his car and he makes sure to get you inside safe and sound before he places your things in the backseat, despite your protests of your suitcase messing up his leather interior.

He could care fucking less about that. All he cares about right now is that you’re here, in Raleigh, that he’s about to take you home for the first time, and that according to the confirmation email he got after you got off the phone the other night, the ticket Eden helped you arrange to Raleigh was a one way ticket. 

Meaning you were here for as long as either of you wanted, with no clear plans to send you back, and he liked that a lot.

He also liked that your suitcase felt heavy, meaning you probably packed for a long time.

All things that made Andrei feel like he should probably get a gift basket for Olly and Mason as a thank you for not being able to keep their traps shut at that dinner, maybe talk to Coach about getting them more ice time, maybe negotiating more money in their next contracts.

You held hands the entire drive to his house, your bracelet and his Rolex glinting in the sunlight from where they accompanied one another on his center console, and when he finally pulled into his garage and shut off his car, he felt a sudden rush of excitement fill his veins, and excitement he’d only felt whenever he got his day with the Cup. 

It was that initial feeling of him being able to carry it over the threshold into his home that made the victory feel surreal, and as he wheeled your luggage and carried your bag, holding your hand as he guided you inside his home and over the threshold, he realized this feeling, bringing you home, was better than any Cup championship he’d experienced.

It wasn’t even close.

The only thing that could possibly come second flashed in his mind, and images of him being able to bring you over this threshold in a white dress, layers of tulle flowing like a waterfall over his arms, and then not long after, being able to escort you over the threshold as you held a bundled up baby in your arms.

It seized the breath from his lungs so quickly he nearly choked. 

He’d never given so much thought to a god damn doorway before.

Oblivious to his predicament, you trail behind him as he leads you to his bedroom, eyes roaming over the expanse of his home, taking in every last detail.

“I’ll give you a full tour once you’re settled in,” he promises. “I just want to make sure you get comfortable first.”

“Okay,” you agree, voice soft in the mid morning hour.

When you finally get to his room, he lays your suitcase down on the bench at the foot of the bed, placing your duffel bag next to it. “You can sleep on whatever side you’d like,” he says, gesturing to the bed. “Feel free to make yourself at home. Bathroom’s through there,” he points to a door near the closet, “Fresh towels are already out for you. Would you like something to eat? I can make you lunch.”

You shake your head. “No, I'm okay for now, I ate a little on the plane.”

“Are you sure? Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

You shake your head again with a small smile, tilting your head toward the bathroom. “I’m sure, Andrei. Do you mind if I shower?”

“Of course not, feel free. I’ll uh…I’ll be in my office just down the hall, there’s something I have to take care of anyway.”

He closes the distance and drops a kiss to your lips, squeezing your waist in his hand before he leaves, wanting to give you space to yourself, to feel comfortable in his home. 

Oh god. 

You’re in his home.

His actual fucking house.

He can’t seem to get over that as nerves begin to settle in, tossing his hat to his desk once he’s in his office, running a hand through his hair.

He hasn’t been this nervous to bring someone home ever. He’d been so excited just to see you again, to have you here that it wasn’t until now that he worried what you’d think of the space, if you’d find it comfortable and homey and welcoming.

With a sigh, he pushes his glasses further up his nose as he opens his laptop, bringing up his emails and sorting through some of the things he needed to take care of for the team, welcoming the distraction even though it made him feel uncomfortable to think of anything but you for longer than a millisecond. 

Especially when you were down the hall, in his bedroom, in his shower, naked. 

The same shower he’d jerked off in thinking about you this morning, and last night. And the night before.

“O Gospodi, chto zhe ya nadelal,” he mutters to himself. Oh lord, what have I done?

He spends the next fifteen minutes willing himself to focus on the emails in front of him, tasks for him to finish up, people to respond back to, people to reach out to at the behest of the team owners and Coach Brind’amour. When his emails clear, he shuts his laptop and pulls out his phone, busying himself with responding to texts from Evgeny about the upcoming holidays, getting back to Evgeny’s wife, Sara, about potential Christmas presents for his brother, and his parents, checking in on them both.

It busies him enough that when you finally walk into his office - wet hair still dripping a little and body dressed in a baby pink spaghetti strap sundress, the only jewelry on you being the bracelet you never take off, your bare feet padding onto the carpet - he doesn’t notice at first. 

That is, not until you’re on the other side of his desk, knocking your fist playfully on the wood.

Andrei’s head snaps up from his phone, and he leans back a little in relief in his chair when he notices it’s you, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “You almost scared me there.”

“Sorry,” you breathe out in a laugh. “I believe I have an appointment with you, Mr. Svechnikov?”

He’s confused at first, until he sees the way your eyes twinkle mischievously, and he smirks. “Is that so?”

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back. “Mhm, I believe you’ve been expecting me, and I know you don’t like it when I’m late.”

Andrei places his phone back in his pocket, then folds his hands across his abdomen, resting his elbows on the armrest of his chair. “What is it you’re meant to be meeting with me about?”

“Don’t you remember? I’m your new assistant,” you say, releasing one of your hands from behind your back and trailing a finger on the other side of his desk. “I’ve been hired to help you and ensure your daily needs are met.”

“You’re a little underdressed to be an assistant, aren’t you?” He asks, tilting his head curiously.

You look down with a small pout, then back up to his face. “You don’t like it?”

“Hmmm, it’s hard to tell. Why don’t you come around the desk and let me see?”

He backs his chair up a little as you round the desk and then come to stand between his spread legs. Andrei pretends to deliberate, raising his hand in the air and twirling his finger before saying “Turn around, let me see all of you.” 

A shy smile works its way onto your face as you do a little turn, his cock immediately growing hard as he observes you taking slow steps to complete your circle before facing him once more, clasping your hands in front of you. “Well?”

“I think,” Andrei says, scooting his chair closer to you before his hands make their way to the backs of your thighs, thumbs rubbing at your skin. “That you’re perfect.”

“Why thank you,” you murmur, reaching a hand out and cupping his cheek. “You’re very sweet.”

He shakes his head a little. “If you knew what was going through my head right now, you’d disagree.”

“Well, what’s going through your head?” You inquire, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. 

“Why don’t you hop up on the desk and maybe you’ll find out?” He says, punctuating his statement with a light slap to the backs of one of your thighs. You gasp a little, leaning into him, and Andrei smiles, tightening his grip on your thighs as he stands, and you jump a little into his arms, your arms winding themselves around his neck as he backs you both up two steps, setting you down onto the wood of his desk gently. 

“I always have a lot going on in my head when it comes to you,” he admits, reaching up to grab your hands, kissing the backs of them before bringing them down to your lap. “I just don’t want you to…I guess I just don’t want to scare you away.”

“Skazhi mne,” you encourage, voice soft. Tell me.

Andrei’s eyes flash. “Tell me where you’re learning Russkiy.” He demands.

You giggle, “What’s going on in your head?” You ask him instead, and he narrows his eyes a little.

One of these days he’s not going to let you change the subject, but for now, he plays along. “I think about you sometimes,” he admits, circling his fingers around the bracelet on your wrist, pads running over the diamond studded vines. “I think about you on this desk, like you are now.”

“And?” You press, tracking his every move with your eyes. 

He hesitates to say more, unsure of how far to go with this, unsure of what he should reveal and what would be too…scandalous. 

“What about me on the desk, Andrei?” You ask, reaching a hand out to trail down his abdomen, resting on the waistband of his jeans.

He shakes his head, cheeks heating as his face goes red. He’s too ashamed, feels like he shouldn’t have been thinking such…dirty things about someone as pure as you. “I can’t, almaznyy. I-”

You surge up then, pulling his waistband at the same time and kissing him, hands traveling up his abdomen and to his face, where you pull his reading glasses off and set them on the desk next to his phone. Then, you take him by surprise, placing your hands firmly on his chest and shoving him back down into his desk chair. 

“I think this is where I, as your assistant, can help you articulate those thoughts.” You start, his favorite cheshire smile of yours creeping onto your lips. “Since it’s my job to make sure your needs are met, and to anticipate any future needs.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asks, well aware of how hard he’s breathing. 

You nod, and without another word, spread those glorious legs of yours to reveal your bare pussy.

Andrei’s breath catches in his throat. “Almaznyy,” he breathes, the word coming out like a pained sound.

“Malysh,” you say, voice teasing as your hand, the one donning your bracelet, comes forward and runs down your stomach and to the hem of your dress, pulling it up to bare yourself to him a little more.

He doesn’t know where to look. He wants to look at your face, wants to watch your facial expressions, but then he also wants to watch your hands, memorize the way you touch yourself so he can mimic the movements later, and he wants to keep his eyes locked on that little piece of heaven you’ve got between your thighs.

“Will this make it easier for you to tell me what’s on your mind?” You ask, trailing your fingers down and collecting the wetness already gathering, dragging it back up to circle your clit.

All he can do is nod, too entranced by your ministrations. He can feel his mouth start to water, watching one of the spaghetti straps of your sundress start to fall off of one shoulder, and good lord -

He reaches out, rubbing the hem of your sundress between his fingers. “Ty golaya pod etim plat'yem, krasavitsa?” 

Are you naked under this dress, beautiful?

Your brow furrows as your fingers continue to move in deliberate circles, and Andrei memorizes the pattern, tucks it away in his brain for later. “I don’t…I didn’t understand all of that,” you admit.

He smirks, but doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t know if he has the energy to think in just one language, let alone two right now, because all of his focus is directed on you and your body. 

“Boleye,” he pleads. More.

Now that you seem to understand, because you part your legs a little wider, scooting more toward the edge of his desk as you continue touching yourself.

Andrei rolls his desk chair a little closer so you can place your feet on the armrests and essentially bracket him in, giving him the perfect front row seat to everything going on. He reaches for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them before he’s reaching inside his boxer briefs and pulling out his cock, giving it a rough tug to ease some of the pressure. 

Your pupils blow out wide as you watch him, and he jerks his chin at where your fingers are moving up and down your pussy now, where he can see the digits glistening from his vantage point.

“Move your hand.” He orders, and you do, prepared to move it to the side to rest on your thigh, but then Andrei’s making a small “tsk” noise, and your hand hovers in the air for a second. 

“Give it to me,” he says, holding one hand out while the other strokes his cock in slow movements. You place your hand in his and then he’s bringing the arousal coated digits to his mouth, sucking them between his lips and massaging the pads with his tongue, cleaning away your wetness and swallowing it down with a pleased rumble in his chest.

Your fingers leave his mouth in a soft ‘pop’ when he pulls them out, and he brings both hands to rest under your thighs, pulling you just a little bit closer to the edge, allowing his desk chair to also roll forward until there’s practically no space between you both, and then he’s bending his head, lips latching onto your pussy and sucking hard.

A surprised moan crosses your lips and Andrei’s hands hold you steady as you thrash a little, clearly not expecting him to just dive in so eagerly. Your hands slam against the desk behind you, using them to try to prop you up and keep you steady, and Andrei’s eyes are glued to your face.

He managed to learn what you liked best that first night, having the privilege to have taken you four times that night, insisting on tasting you every chance he got. He knows now that you like it when he turns his head just a little, tilting it so it’s nearly sideways and taking your labia and clit into his mouth and sucking, licking across the center of your cunt and teasing it as if he’s making out with you.

So when he tilts his head and does just that, taking you into his mouth the way you like, his name spews from your lips in a breathy sigh, and your arms shake at your sides.

Eagerly, he laps at you and moans in satisfaction when the taste of you and smell of you overwhelms his senses, having also learned that you like hearing him, like hearing how much he’s enjoying you and how excited he is to get you to come on his tongue. He doesn’t exaggerate the noises his mouth makes against you but does nothing to lessen or quiet them.

It’s his fucking house, and you’re on his fucking desk, at the mercy of his lips and tongue and spread out by his hands, so he’ll do whatever he god damn pleases. You can cry out for God for all he cares, it’s just the two of you in this room, and the only ‘God’ to answer your prayers for more is going to be him. 

“Andrei,” you moan, turning his name into a plea and dammit does he love that, too. It’s a sound he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to. “Pozhaluysta,” you beg. Please.

You don’t have to beg, he wants to tell you. You don’t have to beg me for a goddamn thing. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just ask me and it’s yours, I’m yours. 

Instead, he just nods, pressing his tongue against you in the way he knows you like and spreading your thighs apart, pressing against the back of them to expose you to him more so he can feast on you properly.

It’s messy, wet, and loud, and Andrei couldn’t give a single fuck, not when you’re so close, your arousal dripping down his chin and your thighs are pressing up against his palm, shaking as you get closer and threatening to squeeze his head between the strong muscles.

“Can I come, Andrei?” You ask, syrupy sweet and desperate and his cock throbs in response.

He nods, brushing his nose against your clit as he does and you jolt, body nearly shaking in relief when his lips circle around your clit and he sucks in the pulsing rhythm he discovered had you coming in no time time, his tongue lapping at you and drawing you closer to release.

When your orgasm hits, your whole body shakes under his touch, and your arms fall out from under you, your back landing on his desk and then arching up, pressing you further into his mouth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t back away, doesn’t do anything until you’re pushing at his head, and whining at the over sensitivity.

“Please malysh,” you beg, shaking against his mouth as he continues to lap at you. “It’s too much.”

“I’m a little busy, almaznyy,” he murmurs against your clit. “I’m cleaning up my assistant.”

You laugh through heaving breaths, fingers descending into Andrei’s hair and gripping the strands tight in your fist, tugging a little. He relents, pressing gentle kisses to your skin as you sit up, and then you’re fisting his shirt in your grasp, yanking him upright and kissing him, slipping your tongue inside his mouth and chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue.

You take him by surprise in the next second, shoving him back down in his chair and then licking the palm of your hand, wrapping it around his cock and twisting.

He hisses, hands gripping at your calves. He’s too sensitive and far too hard to be able to handle your touch. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to handle it, especially not now that he knows every inch of your skin and how it feels against his.

“Almaznyy,” he warns through clenched teeth when you twist your first over the head of his cock, squeezing and swiping at the bead of precum on his tip with your thumb. “Stop teasing.”

“Is that an order, Mr. Svechnikov?” You taunt, squeezing the head of his cock once more. 

A low groan leaves his lips, and he has half a mind to reach up and wrap his fingers around your throat, but instead, all he can do is hiss out a pained “Yes,” and then you’re using your other hand to reach out, yanking him a little closer before scooting all the way off of his desk and sitting right on his cock, taking him to the hilt in one go.

The gasp that leaves you both simultaneously is loud and echoes around his office, probably even down the hallway, and he can barely gather enough air in his lungs before you’re rising up again and then dropping down, and it feels like he’s going to burst at the seams.

“Oh my god,” he says, the words feeling like they’re being punched out of him as you slowly start to bounce on him. He tracks the way both of the straps of your dress hang off of your shoulders, the way that the bottom part of your dress is still raised from where he’d pushed it up earlier, and the bounce of your tits beneath the neckline.

He reaches out, tugging the neckline down and freeing them, and then you’re moving, sitting up a little taller, thighs bracketing his as you keep your pace bouncing on his cock, arching your back just so that when Andrei leans forward, he can easily suck your nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue over the bud while sucking your skin, hoping a hickey blooms there for him to admire later.

The moans spilling from your lips tell him you enjoy it, so he continues, switching to the other side and giving you teasing licks before he mimics his previous ministrations, sucking hard enough to hopefully produce matching marks.

Your hands find their way into the longer hair at the nape of his neck and tug so he’s looking up at you, and Andrei sees the way your glassy eyes take in his fucked out expression, sees how it spurs you on, your mouth dropping open in an ‘O’ everytime you sink down on his cock till he’s balls deep, then raise yourself up on your knees.

“Khoroshaya devochka,” he praises. Good girl. “Take it from me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Nodding, you speed up just a little, thighs tightening on either side of his, and Andrei’s hands go to your ass, gripping the flesh and helping to move you up and down his length, keeping his eyes on your face to watch you, waiting for the way your eyes start to roll in the back of your head and waiting for the beautiful flutter of your pussy on his cock to let him know when you’re going to come.

“Andrei,” you whine, your grip in his hair loosening a little. “I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you,” he swears. He means it in every way possible. “Take what you need.” He punctuates his statement by burying his face in your neck and sucking on that sensitive spot he found last time, and it has you clenching around him in seconds, crying out as you pulse around him, body seizing as your orgasm washes over.

He has to take control then, gripping your hips and fucking you through it the way he knows you like, and it’s not long before he’s following behind you, pressing you down onto his cock as he pushes his pelvis upward, sealing the two of you together as he fills you up with his come, pulse hammering so hard in his body he can feel it in his ears.

As your orgasms subside, gently, he rubs up and down your back, pressing kisses to the nape of your neck and collarbone, happy to just sit here with you on top of him until you’re ready to move.

Eventually, you speak, voice a little raspy when you say “I think I need another shower after that.”

Andrei laughs, slowly standing and wrapping your legs around his waist, still fully seated inside you. “I think shower sex sounds like an excellent idea.”

~

The longer you stay with him, you two start to develop the beginnings of a routine together, and Andrei finds himself clinging to it like a lifeline.

In the mornings, you’re usually up first, wandering to some part of his massive house and drinking a steaming cup of tea or coffee, and it feels a bit like a game, Andrei wandering after you through his house to find where you’ve situated yourself for that morning. You usually only drink half of whatever you’ve made that morning, and when he finds you, he drinks the rest, still warm, before he takes your hand and drags you into the shower.

The first morning he did it, you pushed him to the built in shower bench and sank to your knees, took him in your mouth until he saw stars and came deep down your throat with a loud groan, repeating “Almaznyy” over and over until you took pity on him and released him from your mouth with a soft “pop,” the water trailing over your face making you look like a damn goddess. 

He came within like…five minutes, that first time. And though you clearly loved it and reveled in the effect you had on him, he would rather each time with you last longer than ten minutes, so he decided he wouldn’t let you take him in your mouth for a little while, especially if it meant saving what he had left of his pride and ego.

Sometimes, he would put you on the shower bench and get on his knees, burying his face between your thighs until you begged him for mercy. Other times, he pressed you against the tile wall, burying himself to the hilt and finding solace with you under the warm spray, filling you to the brim before fucking it deeper inside of you. 

Then, he’d wrap you up in one of his big, fluffy towels and dry you off, pressing you against the bathroom sink and kissing you until your stomachs rumbled. After getting ready for the day, he’d drag you out of the bathroom and to the kitchen where either you or him would make breakfast for the both of you, and then he’d either go to his office and work for a bit, or get dressed to head to the arena. 

If he stayed home to work, you’d either sit quietly with him in his office reading a book or sketching in a worn journal, earbuds in and playing music. He’d worried you’d be bored, but you assured him you were used to having to occupy yourself with things to do. That statement made him worry even more, but since you seemed to be fine, he didn’t push.

He’d work until there was nothing left for him to do, and he’d wait for you to either finish the chapter you were reading, or finish up the sketches in your journal. He had been tempted to ask you to see them, but given the way you hunched over your journal, like you’d been protecting it, he left it alone, figuring you’d share them with him if you wanted to. 

You’d spend the rest of the day together either making lunch, going out to eat, or with Andrei taking you around the Raleigh or Durham areas on little dates. So far, he’d taken you to the science museum, the North Carolina Museum of Art, taken you on a pedal boat ride in Pullen Park, brought you to Drive Shack where you both surprisingly and unsurprisingly kicked his ass, given you’d pretty much done the same when you brought him to Chelsea Piers, and just last night, he’d taken you to Rush Hour Karting.

He’d been there when he was a rookie in development camp for the Hurricanes, and he hadn’t been back in quite some time. It was nice though, to head back and make new and equally as happy memories there with you. You kicked his ass in a couple of laps, and since you’d raced with other people, there had been a round where a sixteen year old practically wiped the floor with everyone else, and it had made you and Andrei laugh a little when he’d been ready to boast about it until he saw Andrei’s face and freaked out, asking for a picture.

Those days where he could work from home and just be around you, taking the rest of his day to spend time with you, bring you anywhere and everywhere and spoil you silly? Those were beginning to be his favorite kind of days.

On the days he would go into his office at the arena, though, there are still particular advantages.

Andrei leaves his black card behind, insisting that you take it and make use of it as you need or see fit. 

The first morning he left it for you, he took it out of his wallet and put it down on the kitchen counter as he was heading out the door, and you just stared down at it, brow furrowed and lower lip jutting out in slight confusion.

“What is this for?” You had asked, holding it up in the air.

“For you,” he said, like it was obvious. “For you to use?” 

You pursed your lips, placed it back down on the counter and slid it back to him. “No, it’s okay.”

He frowned, ditching his bag by the door and rounded the counter to you. “I want you to have it, malyshka,” he insists. 

Your face scrunched up. “I know this next statement is going to sound weird, considering my job, and the circumstances of our…uh…relationship, but I don’t want your money, Andrei.”

“I understand, almaznyy,” he assured you. “But I don’t want you to spend your money. Not while you’re here with me,” he said, then tucked the card back in your hand. 

You stared at it for a second, then looked back up at his face, a small frown still on your lips, and Andrei couldn’t help but laugh. He reached out, smoothed the wrinkle between your brows and cupped your face in his palm. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and then looked down at you with an amused smile. 

“How about this,” he began, “Since you’ve appointed yourself as my assistant, why don’t you take care of a few tasks for me?” He gestured to the card in your hand with his chin. “Use the card to pay for them.”

A small smile crept up your face, and you tilted your head at him, intrigued. “And what tasks would you be referring to, Mr. Svechnikov?”

“I think you need a new uniform,” he said, keeping his tone playful. “Why don’t you go and find something nice to wear around our…home office.” He punctuated those last words with a wink, smirking when you giggled. “Whatever you like, whatever the price. Get yourself some office supplies while you’re at it too, hm?”

“Oh I see,” you said. “This is a company expense, is it?”

“More or less,” he nodded, dropping another kiss to your forehead. “But I want to see everything you buy when you buy it. Send me pictures so I can see, understand? ”

You agreed with that gorgeous cheshire smile of yours. “I do.” 

And god if all the blood didn’t rush straight to his cock, picturing you in white as you say those words to him in another life, another time.

When he heads to the office, he purposefully takes his red Lamborghini to the rink, leaving you the safer options of his Mercedes or his BMW to use to go and complete your ‘daily tasks,’ and Andrei waits like an impatient teenager for those texts from you to come through. 

He’s saved every single picture, and thank goodness he has, because the second he gets home from work, it’s like the two of you are instantly pulled together like magnets. No matter where you are in the house, he gravitates to you, and you go at it like rabbits until one of you gets hungry, or until you’re begging him for relief. The lingerie sets barely make it ten minutes without being absolutely torn to shreds.

Though he wasn’t sure where you’d bought them, he had half a mind to march into the store and demand to know why their fabrics were so flimsy.

He's torn the first few either at the waist or right down the crotch, and one of them he all but snapped the strap of the garter belt off, the strap basically now hanging by a thread. The only things that have managed to survive after your first couple of weeks with him are a baby pink lace set complete with garter belt and stockings, and the same set, but in crimson red.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” you accuse through heavy breathing later that night, eyeing the fallen scraps of black lace among the black satin dress on the floor. The only thing that had managed to survive tonight was your thigh high stockings, which Andrei found himself running his fingers over now, your legs draped in his lap.

“What do you mean?” He questions, thumbing at where the lace of your stockings met your inner thigh.

You shivered a little, but didn’t move away from his touch, “You’re ripping them on purpose so I have to buy more, and that means I have to use your card.”

He smiles, dancing his finger over the spot inside your thigh that he’d made red by rubbing his stubbly cheek against it as he licked at you for a blissful thirty minutes. “You caught me.”

“If you wanted to be a sugar daddy you could’ve just said so.” You say lazily, stretching your body out. You probably don’t mean for it to look so seductive, but Andrei’s hypnotized nonetheless.

“I didn’t want to be,” he says honestly. “But you changed my mind a little.”

“I figured,” you murmur, casting a glance to your bracelet. “But you like it, don’t you?”

“Like what?” He asks, tugging your legs and maneuvering you until you’re straddling him again.

“Providing, spoiling, ” you purr, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I like it when it’s you.” Andrei clarifies, tilting his chin up so he can press little kisses along your jaw. “Even if I have to fight you on it a little.”

“I don’t want a sugar daddy for money,” you drawl, pushing his hair away from his face. 

He stares at you, confused. “Isn’t that what they’re for?”

“If I’m gonna have a sugar daddy, I want him for sugar.” You explain, “Not money.”

“Ya ne ponimayu, chto ty imeyesh' v vidu, detka.” I don’t understand what you mean baby.

You roll your eyes playfully, pulling his chin up and kissing him softly. He moans into your mouth, hands resting on your waist and bringing you closer. You tease him with your tongue running over his bottom lip before you pull away, sitting back a little. 

“That kind of sugar,” you say softly, running your thumb over his bottom lip. 

It takes him a few seconds, but then it clicks, and he flashes you a cheeky grin. “Well I’ve given you plenty of that, too, haven’t I?”

You shrug, reaching between you to grab his stiff cock and bring it back to your pussy, slipping him back inside of you and sinking down slowly, “A little more wouldn’t hurt.”

He’s immediately scooting back against the pillows and then his hands are on your thighs, anchoring you to him while you ride him, beginning your fourth round of the night.

~

After a few weeks of you staying with him, you approach him in his home office one day as he’s about to get off of a call. There’s an apprehensive look on your face as you linger in the doorway, clearly not wanting to interrupt, but he waves you inside anyway, gesturing for you to sit on the couch against the wall. 

You obey, waiting patiently until he’s hanging up and placing his phone beside his computer to stand from your seat and approach the other side of his desk.

“What can I do for you, almaznyy?” He asks, leaning back in his chair. 

“It’s probably a silly question,” you preface, “But I figured I would ask just in case.”

He nods, folding his hands on his stomach. “Okay.”

“I uh…me being here isn’t interfering with your holiday plans, right? I don’t know if you do anything for Thanksgiving since you started living here, but since it’s in a week or so, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstaying my welcome.”

His brow furrows, mouth turning down into a frown. “You’re perfectly fine,” he assures. “I used to go to my coach’s house, but I haven't in years.” He pauses then, guilt suddenly coursing through his veins. “Am I…I’m not keeping you from your family, am I?”

You shake your head almost immediately, a strange look crossing your features. “No you’re not, we haven’t - I mean, we don’t celebrate. Haven’t in a bit.”

Andrei nods in response, but the guilt is still there, suddenly eating at his insides.

He’d been so wrapped up in you, so happy with your routines and the little corner of the world you’d managed to carve out for yourselves that he didn’t even think about the fact that he could’ve been keeping you away from your friends and family.

Or that he’s technically been keeping you away from his friends and family, too.

His mother’s been living with Evgeny the last couple of years, moving in to help Sara with their two year old and three month old babies, and his dad’s still back in Moscow, mostly by choice to help with Andrei and Evgeny’s grandparents. Evgeny and Sara sort of know he’s been seeing someone, but he hasn’t divulged much more, and he has no idea what you’ve been sharing with your family in turn.

Plus…he’s probably keeping you from other clients, which isn’t his favorite thing to think about, at all, but he can’t ignore the circumstances of how the two of you met, or how you came into his life. 

So as much as it pains him to say it, he doesn’t want to be like the beast keeping you locked in his castle against your will, so he takes a deep breath, and says “Almaznyy, if you need to go home, or if you need to go back, then-”

“I don’t,” you interject. “I’m good here.”

Oh…okay…

“No one’s missing you?” He asks. “You don’t have other clients?”

“I’m good here, Andrei,” you repeat, this time a little softer, rounding the desk. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” he assures you, reaching for your waist and pulling you into his lap. “I was the one who asked you to be here with me. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want you with me.”

You nod, body relaxing into his embrace. 

There’s another sharp pain in his chest, and he rests his head resting in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

He can feel you tense for a second in surprise. “For what?”

“I didn’t think about…other people. I didn’t mean to be selfish, but I was, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh Andrei,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers scratching lightly at the base of his scalp. “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I just…I didn’t realize how long I’d been staying here with you, and when I did, I knew I needed to check in. That’s all.”

“I like having you here,” he confesses. “It feels…”

“Natural,” you finish for him. “I know, I feel the same.”

You both settle into a small silence, Andrei content to just hold you for a second, to stay in this little bubble with you he’d built before he’d been forced to remember the two of you weren’t actually alone in this world together.

“What about Christmas?” He eventually asks you. 

You nod. “My family does celebrate it, kind of. But I would have to go home for that.”

“I would too.” He confirms. “We technically celebrate Christmas twice. Once for western Christmas on the twenty fifth, and again in January for Russian Christmas.”

You lean back a little, brushing his hair away from his face, bracelet glinting in the sunlight filtering in through the window. “Guess we’ll have to make the best of this next month or so.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, leaning up to kiss you softly. “I guess so.”

A pang of sadness hits him, already not looking forward to having to let you go.

~

Read Part Two Here.

#andrei svechnikov #anderi svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov fic #carolina hurricanes #mendeshoney masterlist

[arto-rhen]

Here's my full post of Rayne which I will direct future related posts to. I will tag her with #TavRayne if anyone wants to start following along with her journey. She is my Tav OC from my first finished playthrough of BG3 and she is a Tiefling Sorcerer with Draconic Bloodline. I had this character made for a dnd game for a while but I never got to play her and then when Baldur's Gate 3 launched, I had my chance of playing her this way and I had lots of fun roleplaying her.

Her backstory was slightly changed between the original dnd story and the BG3 version so that it fits better with the setting, but I kept most of it the same.

It's pretty long, but I decided to put it here in case anyone might like to know about her more. I am not the best with descriptions sometimes and I was still trying to be brief, I also did not make her story while checking if any of it is connected to lore or not, I went along with what I thought was an interesting idea for a character, and the dnd sessions I was part of didn't require full knowledge of all of the books that contain the lore. In case anyone may feel like something doesn't feel lore accurate.

She was raised in her first years by her family that consisted of her father that started her sorcerous bloodline by entrapping the soul of a dragon in secret, her mother that was partly coerced into a marriage with her father and 3 siblings that were close to her age but not allowed to see her.

Although on the surface, it seemed like a family of a powerful Sorcerer that is successful, in reality, Rayne was raised for one purpose only, which she was not aware of yet. Her connections to her siblings and even to her mother were frayed in order for her to train her abilities, and although she received praise an approval for being able to overcome any challenge in her training, she would usually sneak away to play with her siblings as well.

One day, they decide to play a game where they each present something secret to each other, and she decides to bring her father's spellbook which she always sees but isn't allowed to look into. Because she was taught how to write mostly infernal and primordial and mostly spells, once she opens the book and decides to tell her siblings what she found, she finds a lot of sacrificial ritual spells and learns of her father entrapping a dragon's soul and using his successors of infernal heritage that would gain the draconic power to absorb their power and maintain his own, where one successor that has inherited the draconic power would be trained to be the strongest and then used as the primary sacrifice, while the siblings are used as collateral for ensuring the success of the ritual. The ritual also requires a type of lettering on the body of the main sacrifice, and Rayne already had it done. She half doesn't believe that they would actually be sacrificed, but ultimately tries to devise a plan with the siblings to find out more and what they can do in their situation.

In the end, the father was already close enough for the ritual to commence, and when he sees his book missing, he transports his kids in the ritual and starts it. Because the ritual also needs Rayne and anyone in her place to be willing with the transfer, it ruins the ritual and instead makes her powers go haywire and burn down the entire building they were under. She wakes up only to see ash everywhere and nobody in sight, and she stays there for an indeterminate amount of time trying to process what just happened until a fearful group of guard approach and take her away. Some of the inscriptions on her body remain etched into her skin as burn marks, and she remains with some of the marks always on her.

Most people in the vicinity don't understand what happened in that place and believe that she was at fault and the authorities plan to take her to a special prison. By that point, Rayne is heavily traumatized and nonresponsive.

On her way to the prison, a member of a powerful wizard guild shows up and takes her instead after hearing of the incident that her powers caused and Rayne solely accepts because she's given food. That is where she starts learning and realizes that there is more to the inscriptions that she was taught for the ritual and she also learns to read and write common. As she is given better conditions there, she gradually becomes more receptive to others over a few years but she still has a feeling that she might once again be trained in order to be used, so after she starts learning more of the world that she realized she was isolated from by her father, she begins to look into their operation closer, only to find out that they were using different people of tiefling descent in order to harness magical abilities from them, and she ends up making another plan to evade and help those tieflings.

She uses some of the things she was taught for her father's rituals to instead use that power herself and breaks the device that hold the tieflings and harness their powers one night. That night, she helps the tieflings escape on their own and she then runs away being chased by guards and wizards from that guild. This is where she makes her way to a city where she hides. For the game, I made it so that city is actually Baldur's Gate where she winds up for good.

Her life in the new city starts from the very bottom, as she tries to dodge the guards that are after her bounty, and she doesn't have any food or shelter and she is still in shock after the previous events. In the end, she becomes harder to find when sitting among the homeless and sells anything she owns in order to buy food for the small group of homeless people. When she hears some adventurers talk about a failed quest for the retrieval of a special item that the local apothecary needs, she decides to try for herself in order to make some money. Using her innate abilities, despite her still young age, she manages to get the item and deliver it to the apothecary for a reward.

That sparks curiosity among adventurers and people involved and she begins to take on different jobs on retrieving and finding magical and special items, working with both reputable sources and networking around the underground, which becomes her job for a long time in the city. Due to her charismatic nature and ability to always deliver on her quests, she is able to have strong enough connections in the underground of the city to rid herself of the initial accusations due to her past, being able for the first time to live for herself and start once again enjoying using her magic without being reminded of her traumatic past.

At the start of the game or story, she is pretty much in a decent place both in spirit and the house that she owns in the Baldur's Gate, but along with the kidnapping of the mindflayer ship and becoming infected, she finds a group of companions that are more similar to her and each other than they first realize.

For the dnd game, I also noted that the sorcerer father was still alive and could become a challenge in the future, along with the wizard that found her afterwards, both becoming obstacles at one point.

Overall, I really liked playing as her because some parts of her story fit well with the companions. Her experiences with abuse of magic can contrast Gale's nature of being both chill and overly confident when it comes to using magic, but also relates by loving magic just as much. Her story of a father that wants to control her and absorb her power through a ritual and giving her no other purpose can relate to Astarion's story with Cazador, and the idea of his possible apparition really puts her story in the same trope as his. Dealing with a father/authority figure that presents themselves as having her best interests when in reality they are training them to be used can relate to both Shadowheart and Lae'zel, and her sense of adventuring and heroing, can relate to Karlack and Wyll.

Overall, if anyone got to read up to this point, I am looking forward to showing you through a mini comic series different parts of her story with these companions. Thank you for reading up to this point! And if anyone wants to he tagged to future posts, let me know.

#Rayne #TavRayne #baldurs gate tav #my tav #bg3 tav #tav oc #oc tav #baldurs gate fanart #baldurs gate iii #baldur's gate 3 art #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #baldurs gate gale #gale #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyll #shadowheart #karlach #karlach bg3 #character design #character art #my art #bg3 tag #minthara

[awingedinsect]

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 10

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: cursing, alcohol use, Vessel is that bitch. Minor character death

“What do you think of my gift?”

Vessel head is bowed. He can feel the mark on his forehead flickering, burning; carving his flesh over and over.

“It’s beautiful.” He says.

He can feel the earth beneath his knees. What was once a blank plane is now something rich and almost real, a dark forest that creeks and twists with ancient power. It’s serene.

There’s a black cloak on his shoulders, the hood draped over his head. Another gift.

He looks up slowly, eyes scanning the trees as they whisper to him.

“Do you have a form?” He asks, hands clamped to his knees. “Can I see you?”

There’s a silence.

“I am something beyond sight.” The forest says. “I am a force, a saturation of thought. Any form I take does no justice to my entirety, nor any name, to what I am. Though to you, I am something you have needed since first you opened your eyes.”

Vessel feels something cold along his spine, slithering over his skin and dragging delicately like a mothers touch.

“…I believe you know my name.”

“Sleep.” Vessel whispers.

There’s a weight over his face. It turns his vision to slits as he looks up, feeling the touch drag along his shoulders and to his chest. His breath grows deeper as he feels his chin tilt up. “I am the author of your dreams. And you are the catalyst of my hunger. Worship.”

His lips part slowly, watching as his colorless surroundings seep fog into the little clearing until it rises up past his eyes. There’s a form in the haze; a singular bit of color that splits into six pieces that slowly gather before him.

Six glowing slanted eyes bore into him.

“Be my voice.”

When he looks down, he sees his arms covered in ash. His hands tremor and climb up over himself, admiring the palette of the trees as it bathes his skin.

“Does it please you to dress me like your home?” He asks. “…Why do I have a new face?”

“This place is what you make it, not me.” The eyes say, trailing over Vessel’s body. “The mask, is a sacrament of your surrender. You don’t need a face, only a mouth. And what is not necessary is not shown. Did you ask them to wear the masks?”

“…yes.”

“Is it almost time?”

“…yes.”

“Then stand, Vessel.” The trees twist and spread into four corners around him, the canopies spreading black and consuming above. He gets to his feet, setting the empty glass he finds in his hand on a table.

“Give your voice to me.”

He walks through the wooden door and opens it into a hallway, feeling the lights and the fog and the crowd all beckoning him. His cloak flows behind him and he reaches up, adjusting the mask one last time before mounting the stairs.

Worship. He thinks, unsure of what it truly means.

Worship.

He steps over wires, brain sloshing a bit more than it ought to be. But he’s truly not sure he could have gotten on stage at all without a bit of liquid courage. II is there, behind the drums. IV stands quiet and still with his guitar, arm free of the sling just for the occasion; it’s obvious how happy he is to be reunited with his instrument.

Vessel’s eyes move to III, dragging over him slowly as he makes his way across the stage. He didn’t talk much before the show, which was probably for the better anyway, if not a little concerning. He had hardly protested when the idea of the masks came up; something Vessel did not expect. Although if only one of them hid their face it might seem a little strange to the hundred or so people gathered in this tent to witness a mostly unknown band with a completely unknown name.

He wanders to the mic stand.

There’s a lot of eyes. More eyes than he had on him the first time. He’s safer this time, for sure; the paint, the mask, the hood… these things come together in a concoction free of normalcy and full of interest that has practically nothing to do with who he actually is beneath. All they want is a show, not him. But even with that thought he can’t look up.

There is a single pair of eyes he wants on him tonight and it’s not in the bloody crowd.

He pulls the mic of the stand and wanders off, trailing the chord head bowed. Can they tell he’s nervous? He prowls slowly as the music starts, looking down at himself bathed in the pale lights. The paint is honestly half-assed; splotchy and missing a whole few centimeters between his jeans and hips, displaying a glaring reminder of how rarely he sees the sun.

Whatever.

He picks up a water bottle and takes a small sip, before twisting the cap back on and just dropping it on the stage floor. He can practically hear III’s anger, and he can’t help but smile a little.

His lips hover over the mic, parting slowly.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes…”

“Do you have any songs you wanna add to the set, Vess?” II had asked. He sat with a pad and pencil on the couch. “That song you played at the bar, maybe?”

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money…”

“…actually, I’ve kinda been writing a new one.” He said, fingers twitching at his sides. “…I was gonna run it by you guys at practice, see what you think.”

“Building you a kingdom…” Vessel’s voice is low. Breathy. It draws a few screams from the crowd, something that does nothing to put out the fire simmering in his chest. God, it’s so much easier. He’s just a mouth, and they're just ears. And whether he understands it or not there’s a god who approves of that arrangement enough to make him promises he can’t begin to understand.

He glances at III, heart lurching when he sees the bassist strumming intently to his words.

“Dripping from the open mouth. I’ll show you what you look like…”

Both hand graze the mic, caressing the chord like his heart isn’t beating at twice its usual pace. “…from the inside.”

He steps up to the front of the stage, now casting a brief glance at all the sets of cold eyes now warming up as they watch him. It’s euphoric. Interesting. And it’s enough to make his back sticky with sweat.

“And I’ll see you when the wrath comes around.”

When the breakdown hits him, he can’t help but move. The sound erupts in the little tent like a call to a whole new plane of being and he closes his eyes, jumping side to side on the stage as the crowd reaches and roars for that plane. That Eden. His bandmates don’t hold back either, pouring their hearts through their fingers and giving everything they have to offer. And when he sees III actually kicking the air to the beat his face splits with a glistening smile.

He loves this.

Suddenly his head flares with a shooting pain. He doubles over, hands reaching up with the mic still trembling in his hold. He gasps and scrunches his eyes as a thought loud enough to terrify him seeps through the cracks of his skull;

“Don’t be driven to distraction. I will build you a kingdom, so long as you know to who you belong.”

His chin wobbles, a line of spit falling from his glossy lips. “Let’s load the gun.” He whispers below the music. “Load the gun…”

A wicked laugh falls out of his mouth as he straightens, forcing the pain deeper and raising his hands in the air. He ignores the wet tracks making their way down his face. He just smiles and bows his head, feeling the music flood his fucking form.

He floats on the brief silence as the song closes, chest heaving. It’s an intense quiet. Like a grave, at the bottom of the sea.

Then noise thunders into his ears like breaking waves.

They’re ecstatic; screaming and clapping and demanding more, maybe more moved than he is. He can’t believe it. Do they really like him- the music, that much?

He suddenly feels very awkward, aware of how lost he’d gotten and how insane he must have looked. He just stands there, stiff and still with a mic in his hands.

He gives them a little nod of thanks and retreats back as the next song starts up; one of II’s own.

• • •

Vessel’s still in his costume.

He feels a little silly, standing around in almost plain sight behind the tent. Although he’s sure that a lanky guy in paint and a mask isn’t necessarily the strangest nor most exciting thing to see at this festival.

He sits on the rigging, swinging his socked feet and looking up at the sky as dusk sets in over the chaos. He likes being secluded.

He takes a sip of his beer.

“That was insane.” IV says, pulling his mask off and leaning back against the structure. He drops his head back, swiping his face with his still-weak arm propped up on his guitar, and pops the cap off his own beer with a keychain. “God, I’m tired.” He says, taking a swig. “You?”

“…where’s III?” Vessel asks, voice a little quiet. He’s pretty drained after all that, body quite literally dripping with sweat. IV shrugs. “Off getting lit, most likely.” He says. “There’s plenty more shows to watch before the nights over, and he’ll probably be in as many pits as possible.”

“…and II?”

“Meeting up with some friends, I think.” IV rolls his head over, lashes flickering up at Vessel as he takes another sip of his drink. “What are you wanting to do, Vess?”

Before he can answer, II comes around the tent with a much taller man in tow. Vessel straightens, clearing his throat and blinking behind the mask. He wasn’t expecting company.

“Vessel! I want you to meet someone.” II says, pulling the guy by the arm. He’s a brunette, with soft features and a flushed, smiling face. He’s probably hit up a few drink stands himself tonight.

“Matt, Vessel.” II says, dropping the stranger in front of him. “Vessel, Matt.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vessel says, considering offering his hand but opting to just clutch his beer awkwardly between his knees. “Drummer, right?”

“Likewise!” Matthew says, still smiling wide as he shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “And yep, that’s me. Listen, man, I managed to watch your set- that was fuckin brilliant. Brilliant.” His eyes suddenly flick up and down Vessel’s body, smile quirking thoughtfully. “I like your style.”

If it weren’t for the mask, Vessel’s pretty sure his blush would be record breaking. But he just sits there instead, nodding and tugging his mouth into an award straight line of an expression that says “thanks” in the most casual way he can muster.

He fails a bit.

“What’dya think of the new name, Matt?” II asks, stealing the beer from IV’s hand and taking a long sip. “Does it suit us?”

“no man, it’s sick.” Matt says, turning to his friend, though his eyes are always just a fraction away from Vessel. “Though honestly, can’t believe you changed it! But ‘Sleep Token’ has a hell of a ring.”

IV snags his drink back from II. “Well, we didn’t exactly want to go down as the band that played before the damn crisis of the year happened.” He says. “Besides, it was time for a new vibe. Vessel actually came up with it.”

At the mention of the Blacklit room, Vessel’s body tenses. But he’s quickly distracted once more as Matt turns to him, grinning. “Oh really? What was the inspiration, then? Or does it just sound cool.”

“Um, both… I guess.” He smiles. “I mean, We all need Sleep, right?”

They all laugh a little good naturally, eyes gleaming as the dark sets in.

“Well,” Matt says, rifling through his back pocket and producing a pen and napkin. He starts scribbling it, eyes drifting to Vessel midway with a small smile. “If you ever wanna tell me more about it.”

He sets the napkin down on the rigging besides Vessel, casually dropping his pen back in his pocket.

Vessel swears he catches a wink before Matt turns back to II.

“Man, your percussions were wild. What was the name of that second song? Halfway through I swear…”

Vessel stops listening, eyes flicking down to the napkin as his fingers curl around it. There’s a little flutter in his chest, a smile fast growing on his lips as he unfolds it just enough to see the beginning of an area code.

He shoves it into his pocket, eyes twinkling under the mask and turning to IV.

IV takes a sip of his beer and offers him a small thumbs-up.

That night they all crash immediately. II, IV and of course III. After about twenty minutes of searching they managed to find the bassist in a mosh pit, screaming and shoving every person in sight until the whole thing nearly required security. He was wasted, and fell asleep against the backseat window with II on his shoulder as IV navigated them through traffic. Vessel sat shotgun, blinking away the alcohol with his hands in his lap, mask, robe and paint getting second-looks from other cars.

He thought he looked sick.

The next day they did nothing but practice until 5:00pm, when II suggested they all go get sandwiches. They did. And when they got home, the sun was already setting.

They all got ready for an early night.

“Anyone wanna watch some tv?” II asks, wandering out of his room in an oversized shirt and boxers. III is already digging through the fridge again, and II ducks under his arm, pulling out a beer before disappearing in the living room.

Vessel is leaning against the kitchen counter, a yawn trapped in his mouth while IV downs a glass of water before filling it up a second time for the singer.

“I’m good,” Vessel says after II, checking the clock on the wall. He nods his thanks at IV and sips the glass he’s handed. “I’m fuckin beat. Guess I didn’t sleep all that great last night.”

III is hauling a half-eaten banana pudding into his room, not bothering to say anything at all as he retires for the night.

IV looks at Vessel.

“You know, you do look off.” He says. “You feeling alright, bruv? …I heard you get sick last night.”

“What?” Vessel rubs his eyes. “Me? I…“

A horrified scream suddenly fills the house, turning his blood to ice.

“What the fuck-!“ III speeds out of his room, charging down the hallway to get into the living room where Vessel and IV have already gathered.

They find II on the couch, jaw dropped and wide eyes filled with the reflection of the tv.

“…found dead early this morning, in an abandoned home three blocks from his apartment.”

Vessel covers his mouth, a choked sound leaving him as he sees the face on the screen.

No way.

III and IV are already holding II, trying to quiet his cries. But Vessel feels empty. Devoid of reaction or even the ability to move.

“The man has been identified as Matthew Todd, a 22 year old college student.”

Tags: @thevenomousseprent @moonlit-valkyrie @mmendez0124 @yourviscera @rain-down-on-me @xzero01

#vessel #vessel sleep token #sleep token art #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii #art #sleep token #sleep token fanart #sleep token ii #vessel art #fanfic #sleep token iii fanfiction #jennifer’s body au

[peachesofteal]

Witchling / Chapter 3 

Morpheus/reader AO3 2k words - Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Spoilers for The Sandman (kind of) if you’ve only seen the TV show, throne sex/oral sex, Dream is an idiot, mentions of death and dying.

“I mean you no harm.” He cautions you from where he stands, shrouded in shadow of the setting sun. Hysteria bubbles in your throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

 “I only wish to help you.” He takes a step forward, and then he’s closing the distance between you. You have every reason to fear this being, but your body must have missed the memo, because it yearns to be underneath him again. 

“Give me my book back.” 

“I cannot.” 

“Then you can’t help me, Dream of the Endless.” If he’s surprised you know his name, he doesn’t show it. You lift your hand to try to conjure up something, anything to push him away from you, but he catches it in his instead. You suck in a breath as his cool fingers encase what is left of yours. 

“Your magic will not work against me.” He pauses, and you feel the drag of his thumb across the bones of your knuckles. “I did not know.” He says softly. You close your eyes, unwilling to face him or accept his tenderness. You focus on the floor, vision becoming blurry with tears. “I cannot leave you like this. Let me help you.” 

“You can’t!” you cry, turning away. “The spell will burn me to ash unless the book of shadows is returned.” You turn back to him, sleeves rolled up to expose the grotesque nature of your arms. “Please, Morpheus. I need it. I need it back. I don’t even care that you stole it, please. I’ll forget all about it, forget all about you. Just give it back.” Your voice is shaking, the panic that you’ve been loosely keeping a lid on stirring awake as it reacts to your deteriorating state. His body so close to yours is cloying your thoughts and you move away from him so you can think. He says your name for the first time since you’ve met him, and you glance at him surprised. 

The cold gaze that you saw in his eyes the other night in your study is nowhere to be found. Instead, a million different emotions dash across his face as he holds your gaze. It draws you back in, pulling you closer until you’re within arm’s reach. You open your mouth to tell him that you know he did not intend for this to happen. How could he have meant for any of this? But as you do, he snatches you by your upper arm, fingers curling into the skin there, and pulls you into his chest. The floor beneath you tilts, and then the whole world whirls. You close your eyes against the spinning, yelling curses at him at the top of your lungs. 

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere you’ve never seen before. 

“Did you just fucking abduct me?” 

“Welcome to The Dreaming, witchling.” 

The first thing you notice, outside of the black sand beach that you’re standing on, is your arms. Your skin is perfectly intact, no burnt away patches or exposed bone in sight. You gasp. 

“This can’t be real.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because. It’s not reality.” 

“This realm is as real and as tangible as your realm.” Your face contorts in confusion. 

“But, last night. My arms weren’t like this.” You try to explain.

“I did not bring you here last night. You entered The Dreaming on your own.” 

“And The Dreaming is...” 

“My realm.” He finishes for you. “I would show you, if it is of interest to you.” You hesitate, looking him up and down for a moment as you consider. He looks as he did the other night in your dream, different. His coat is long, to his ankles, and he seems taller here somehow. He oozes power. It’s practically suffocating, and you follow the thread of it until you realize it’s everywhere around you. You stomach sinks into your knees. This realm is made of his power. You wouldn’t stand a chance against a being like this. Your best bet is to see if you can convince him to give the book back. Appeal to whatever it was you saw in his eyes earlier. It’s your only shot. Surely he doesn’t want to kill you, right? You take a deep breath and give him a nod. 

“I still don’t like you. But yes. I’d like to see your realm.” 

“How did you know who I am?” he asks as you walk. You frown.

“Oh, I asked a Hobgoblin that hangs out in town.” His brow furrows, face etched with concern.

“Their answers come at a steep price, do they not?” 

“For a human, yes. But a lock of hair from a witch usually covers it just fine.” You swallow against the anxiety that’s left over from your earlier encounter. Might I know yours as well, little spellcaster? You shiver as you look around, gasping at the gates that stand before you now. 

“The gates of horn and ivory.” He supplies, and you lean you head back to take them in. 

“The carvings?” You ask as they open, revealing a lush valley centered around a castle below. 

“The carvings tell a very old story.” He says, slowing beside you. You turn to him with an eyebrow raised, an invitation to elaborate. He smiles, and you can feel your heart rate quickening. No. you chide your body. This being seduced, and then robbed you. We do not like him. 

“Well then, Dream of the Endless, tell me a story.” 

He tells you about Alianora and the gods that imprisoned him, how they fought them together, and then made their bones into the gates and his helm. 

“Alianora could not return to her own realm, or the Waking World, so I created a place for her to live out the rest of her days in The Dreaming.” He finishes, and you see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. 

“Just like that? She got to stay here?” 

“She was my former lover. I could not, in good conscience, abandon her.” Good conscience. You snort. He frowns but leads you down the path towards the awaiting castle. 

The castle is stunning. Your footsteps echo across the stone, mixing with the soothing sounds of his voice. You find yourself hanging on every word he says, eager to learn anything you can about this realm. You can’t help but grin as you walk the halls by his side, listening as he explains different bits and pieces of The Dreaming. You take it all in, nodding your hello to the beings you pass who give you curious glances.

You come to a stop in the throne room. 

“That’s a fancy chair.” You whistle. He cocks his head. 

“Would you like to see it?” You take his hand as he leads you up the stairs. When you come to a stop, he pushes you down by the shoulders, until you’re firmly planted on the throne. Then, as you open your mouth to protest, he sinks to his knees in front of you. 

“I have been plagued by memories of you.” His voice is soft as his hands travel up your thighs, fingertips stroking at your skin. “I feel the pain of regret when I think about what my actions have caused.” 

He hooks his hands under your legs and pulls your hips to edge of the throne. Fuck, he’s strong. 

“Allow me to repent.” His lips press into the side of your knee, and he looks up at you, eyes hooded, feathered eyelashes half hiding his gaze. Your throat goes dry, and you nod your consent. In the next moment, your pants and underwear are gone. You gasp. He moves one of your legs over his shoulder and spreads the other so that you’re on display for him. Your burn with embarrassment as he licks his lips and presses kisses to the inside of your thighs. 

Your head hits the back of the throne with a thunk when you feel his tongue on your clit. 

“Oh, oh.” You moan, his mouth expertly moving on your body. His finger slides into you with ease, and the pressure between your legs rockets through your cunt as he crooks his finger upwards. Your hand finds his hair, flexing in his raven locks as he eats you out like he’s doomed, and you’re his salvation. 

“You taste like a dream, witchling.” He murmurs, the vibration causing your hips to jerk forward. His tongue flexes against you again and you cry out. “Perhaps you are a dream, crafted only for me.” His mouth is wicked, and he fucks you with his finger as your walls tense around him. Your pleasure coils inside of you, swirling alive and ready to spill over the edge. “Come for me, little star. Let me taste your light.” His words slam into you, and you explode with your orgasm, your skin glowing as you moan your pleasure. When he looks up at you on the throne, his face is glistening. His nose, his lips, his chin all wear the mark of your cunt. It’s enough to make your walls clench around the finger left inside of you, and he smirks at your body’s response. When you look in his eyes, you find more than arousal there. Sadness and remorse bleed from his gaze, and you watch as his lips press reverently to the top of your folds. “I am sorry for the pain I have caused you.” 

“I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me.” You smirk, and his tongue returns to ravish your clit as your fingertips dig into the arms of the chair. 

You sit together in silence, your mind slowly catching up to your body amidst your post multiple orgasm glow, and a question forms in your mind. One that is impossible to shove down. 

“Morpheus, why did you steal my grimoire?” 

“I have been hunting the old magic grimoires that are left in your realm. The spells in them posed a risk to my siblings and I.” Posed. Posed?

“Wait. You said posed?” His silence is answer enough, and when he looks at you, it’s written all over his face. “Oh god. No. Please. Tell me you didn’t.” The blood drains from your own face. For a brief moment, you’re afraid you might puke on his throne. 

“I did not know about the spell.” He says, reaching out to you. His fingers stroke your cheek softly, his other hand cupping your knee. 

“You didn’t know about the spell.” You repeat, the words like cotton in your mouth. This being used you. He tricked you. He stole from you. And now… “You have sentenced me to death.” You whisper, voice trembling. He visibly flinches. 

“Surely there is something that can be done.”  

“You don’t understand. There is no reversing this spell. It is blood magic.” Your body is fully shaking now, and he takes a cautious step towards you. “I am going to die.” You sob. “Because of you!” 

“Witchling.” 

“Get away from me.” You hold your hand out in front of you, power gathering in your fingertips. “Send me back. Right now.” You shoot to your feet, panic clawing at your skin. Your magic surges forward, unchaining itself inside of you, surging in your blood. Something in the air pulls beneath you, smothering your magic where it stands, before the realm around you fades to black. 

You come to on the floor of your living room. The sun has long set, and you cry out in horror as you look down at yourself. The spell has spread up past your elbows, past your upper arms, onto your shoulders. Your stomach flips and then you heave, vomiting onto the carpet. 

You are going to die. 

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #smut is seriously hard to write? #peaches writes

[harisutheforestprincess]

Just a reminder, Nezumi is highly intelligent, and I can tell that he made acquiring knowledge a coping mechanism when he faced the aftermath of survival.

It's so powerful because Nezumi lost all reference to what life was when his tribe was burnt to ashes, yet in his genes, the need for culture is deeply printed, and he believes Shion could survive if he holds to this same need.

He was a traveler before the idea was put in his head by the musicians passing by West Block. Nezumi knew there was so much more to life than guilt or sorrow because he had already experienced it. It was on his bone, part of his skin. Something that neither trauma nor fire could take from him.

Forgetfulness wasn't his excuse to give up. Nezumi kept on living because there was a lot to learn, a lot to explore, a lot to understand, and a lot to experience. He shouted inwardly and held to: Life has meaning because another world is yet to be met.

He wasn't terrified but eager to discover, grasp, and walk on it. Whatever that meant, since he didn't have any other sight than cruelty, betrayal, and death. He hoped on the different worlds he found casually in a book or maybe looking at a beautiful flower blooming between rocks.

Due to this hope and his soul's nature that can not be washed away, not even by the stains of blood, Nezumi could build his own collective from scratch. He has the brains, the values, and a broad understanding of the morality spectrum to set rules and, eventually, laws. But first, he needs to get out there and meet people akin to his intellectual thirst and art hunger, which confirms my personal view that Nezumi is a social butterfly!

He enjoyed his conversations with Shion because someone could finally meet him, talk back, challenge him, and add on. Constantly, continuously. No one ever did that for him—with him. His Gran and Godfather just kept on babbling about vindication and revenge, not giving him the opportunity to estate an opinion. He was meant to take vendetta on the world, and that was it.

Then, when he was alone with no one influencing his thoughts, he was in a terrible place. In a society like West Block, knowledge might be considered a threat since muscles and how to defend your territory and yourself is the only thing that matters.

If Nezumi had wanted to express himself intellectually, he would have been beaten to humiliate and degrade him. While these aspects are not detailed in the novels, I can confidently say that if Nezumi had wanted to express himself femininely, he would have been abused. Through Rikiga, we can see that despite the acknowledgment of talent in his work as Eve, he was mainly sexualized. Nezumi understood the powers of his looks and called his own legs money maker because sex is a big business in the town, and for sure, everything is done through the lenses of desperation. Nothing healthy about it or that you could take pride on.

Nezumi didn't have anyone to share his interests with, and even attempting to discover if someone did, risked his life. Not precisely by losing it but by going through hell repeatedly, which equals being broiled alive again. We see that the idea of suffering for Nezumi roots in that experience, and it's wise he doesn't want to get closer to it by any means.

Nezumi was closed off from Shion because he learned that keeping himself to himself was the way to survive. He isn't an edgy teenager who wants to be cool by being mysterious; he is afraid being open would wound him or, even worse, would worsen the scar on his back.

Again, here we are, with the fact that when Shion got closer, either with questions or intuition, Nezumi would be irritated to the point that he'd be violent because he was defending himself as he would on the streets. As he would need to do with West Block and No. 6 citizens because both parties have chased him down one way or another. With no breaks. Really.

Ever since the genocide happened, Nezumi's soul has been screaming to see another world. It's very well deserved. However, Shion alone wouldn't break the layer Nezumi has been protecting himself with. Nezumi needs to interact with other societies, different cultures, and new lifestyles.

Those other realities aren't the wall-less No. 6. West Block resulted from No. 6 as No. 6 resulted from West Block. Even when there was a wall between them, both places were constantly influencing each other as the government knew the existence of both, and trying to put a blindfold on No. 6 citizens and an iron wield on West Block's citizens had an impact on how everyone was treated. To avoid a society like West Block, there was genocide. Again, to avoid a society like West Block, there was censorship and brainwashing.

If Nezumi had stayed, he would have been terribly limited, and the concept of freedom would have morphed into a strange necessity to fit in to achieve happiness. To dismiss years of cultural development that could be happening in other cities. In Beyond, we can see that the earth is starting to heal since he bathes in a river in the wild, and not too long ago, No. 6 was still using West Block to dispose of their trash.

No. 6 is still a ignorant city, behind so many alternatives, repeating the same mistakes, and it will take years until it reaches a point where Nezumi can feel content. He has high standards and should search for them, so he can comfortably fit in because he is happy where he's at. It's a dichotomy, but a dichotomy, in this case, is healthy for Nezumi.

He's a rebel, and a rebel needs to have a sharp mind, and you can only have a sharp mind if you educate yourself. He understood this from a young age, and it was about time his heart had that so-needed revolution.

Get out of there and be damn happy under your own concept of happiness!

I am rooting for him and will always applaud his decision to leave.

#no.6 novel #no6 #no. 6 #no 6 #nezumi #nezushi #shion

[mariana-oconnor]

The Crooked Man pt 1

He lived in a crooked house and walked a crooked mile and there was a crooked stile and... something crooked sixpence? Or something... I don't know. Nursery rhymes are weird.

One summer night, a few months after my marriage, I was seated by my own hearth smoking a last pipe and nodding over a novel, for my day's work had been an exhausting one.

Another one 'a few months after' Watson's marriage. So many shoved into so little time. But apparently he's actually put in a whole day's work this time. I'm kind of impressed.

I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. This could not be a visitor at so late an hour. A patient, evidently, and possibly an all-night sitting.

I know I'm prejudiced because I'm reading this knowing it's a Sherlock Holmes story, but clearly it's Holmes, Watson. Clearly. None of your patients would show up in the middle of the night because they know full well you're probably not there because you're probably haring around London with Holmes.

“You still smoke the Arcadia mixture of your bachelor days then! There's no mistaking that fluffy ash upon your coat."

I really enjoy the references to Holmes' knowledge of tobacco ash. It's such a nice thing to be carried through the stories, even when ACD forgets other aspects, we can always count on Holmes to know his ash.

"Sorry to see that you've had the British workman in the house. He's a token of evil."

The French workman, on the other hand is a memento of divine favour. And never allows the hobnails of his boots to leave dents on the floor of your home.

“Elementary,” said he.

I know he won't, but still...

"The same may be said, my dear fellow, for the effect of some of these little sketches of yours, which is entirely meretricious, depending as it does upon your retaining in your own hands some factors in the problem which are never imparted to the reader."

Now that's not really sportsmanlike detective fiction writing there. Although these were written before the genre was really set in stone. But it's considered best practice to make sure all evidence is there for the reader/watcher to put together these days. Suddenly saying at the end 'and of course, because of this footprint that I found earlier but haven't shown anyone yet the killer must be the identical twin who no one knew existed up to this point' is a bit rude. A lot rude.

Mostly the Holmes stories don't do that, though. ACD's pretty good at giving you all the information as you go along, not that they always work in the same way. But it's not like that super annoying thing they do in TV shows where one of the characters will be sent a text or a picture or overhear something and they'll get the big gasp of understanding but the viewer isn't let in on the secret. I hate that. Maybe if it's not a main POV character that's fine, especially if they're about to get killed because they know too much, but if we're following the main character and they get information then withholding it just so you can have a big reveal later is so irritating.

For those of you counting racist comments, add another to the tally. Native Americans this time, in case you were wondering.

“The problem presents features of interest,” said he. “I may even say exceptional features of interest. I have already looked into the matter, and have come, as I think, within sight of my solution. If you could accompany me in that last step you might be of considerable service to me.”

So we're coming into this one right at the end because Holmes wants his emotional support doctor to be with him for this. Reminds me of helping my Mum with crosswords. All I do is sit there and give wrong answers, she does it all herself, but she insists she couldn't do it without me. (This is a lie. She does them by herself all the time.)

We're going to have to catch up really fast, though. Remember what I was saying before about ACD being good at giving us the information as the detective gets i?, Yeah no. We're speedrunning this bitch after everyone else has been given a two-day head start.

“Could you go as far as Aldershot to-morrow?” “I have no doubt Jackson would take my practice.”

I know I joke about Watson never doing any work a lot, but I stg this guy never does any work. I expect Jackson is having all sorts of zany medical hijinks that Watson isn't around to see. I hope he's at least receiving adequate pay for all this extra work he's taking on.

"It is the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay, of the Royal Munsters, at Aldershot, which I am investigating.”

I hope this one's an actual colonel. Seems likely, seeing as he's dead and I assume the body has been identified, but we can't assume anything.

"It was commanded up to Monday night by James Barclay, a gallant veteran, who started as a full private, was raised to commissioned rank for his bravery at the time of the Mutiny, and so lived to command the regiment in which he had once carried a musket."

Okay, so he actually started from the bottom up, didn't buy his commission. How very Sharpe of him.

"There was, therefore, as can be imagined, some little social friction when the young couple (for they were still young) found themselves in their new surroundings."

In other words, they weren't posh enough and they didn't fit in with the officers.

How very Sharpe of them...

But apparently Nancy was (and still is) hot. So that helped.

"But they were regarded in the regiment as the very model of a middle-aged couple."

Never have I read a sentence before that made me so sure that people were kinky af. But I did promise no vibes, only facts. So sure, they were a perfectly respectable middle aged couple, devoted to each other and entirely faithful (coughtheywereswingerscough).

"He was a dashing, jovial old solder in his usual mood, but there were occasions on which he seemed to show himself capable of considerable violence and vindictiveness. This side of his nature, however, appears never to have been turned towards his wife."

I mean, that's not the most encouraging description of a person's temperament I've ever heard. And how do you know it was never turned towards his wife. Hmm... Come on, Colonel Barclay, please don't turn out to be a dick. I'm rooting for you here.

As much as the alliteration is pleasing, I don't like the combination of 'violence and vindictiveness', though. I know he's the one that ends up dying, but still... warning bells are ringing.

"The latter peculiarity took the form of a dislike to being left alone, especially after dark. This puerile feature in a nature which was conspicuously manly had often given rise to comment and conjecture."

OK, so occasionally violent, depressive episodes and a fear of the dark. This is reading a lot like PTSD to me, or at least indicative of some sort of trauma. Also, I hate the word puerile. I hadn't really thought about it before, but probably one of my least favourite words in the English language. Puerile... *shudder*

"Mrs. Barclay herself lit the lamp and then rang the bell, asking Jane Stewart, the house-maid, to bring her a cup of tea, which was quite contrary to her usual habits."

Oho, so we are presented with the mystery of the tea. Why did she ask for tea when she usually didn't? This feels like it might be relevant, as though she wanted the maid to come back for some reason. Or she just wanted a cup of tea for some reason. I mean, she was British, in general we don't need much of an excuse for a cup of tea. Not me personally, I hate the stuff. Weird bitter water. But the British obsession with a nice cup of tea? I can say that that stereotype is absolutely based in fact.

"The tea which had been ordered was brought up at the end of ten minutes; but the maid, as she approached the door, was surprised to hear the voices of her master and mistress in furious altercation. She knocked without receiving any answer, and even turned the handle, but only to find that the door was locked upon the inside."

Despite not liking tea, my cultural Britishness requires me to note that the tea was brewed for a reasonable amount of time. My brother assures me that 8 minutes is the perfect steeping time for a single teabag in a single mug.

The fact the door was locked is interesting. Maybe they just didn't want anyone to walk in on their argument (or their making up, if they're into that kind of thing), but that coupled with the unusual tea request makes me think that the wife at least wanted this to be overheard.

Did Jane Stewart hear both voices, or just one talking as though to someone else? It could have been acting on the wife's part.

"They all agreed that only two voices were to be heard, those of Barclay and of his wife."

No, two voices confirmed, that throws that idea out the window.

"Barclay's remarks were subdued and abrupt, so that none of them were audible to the listeners."

Oh, no we're back in the game. They couldn't hear him properly. Could have been his wife putting on a voice. Inconclusive evidence that the Colonel is still alive at this time. And perfect set up by her for an alibi...

‘You coward!’ she repeated over and over again. ‘What can be done now? What can be done now? Give me back my life. I will never so much as breathe the same air with you again! You coward! You Coward!’

That's certainly a statement. Very cryptic. No names given. No details. Just unspecified cowardice.

"His mistress had ceased to scream and was stretched insensible upon a couch, while with his feet tilted over the side of an arm-chair, and his head upon the ground near the corner of the fender, was lying the unfortunate soldier stone dead in a pool of his own blood."

Hmm... well, I feel like if it was her then she'd have had a better plan for getting out of there while leaving everyone thinking that the colonel was alive. Maybe she sent the maid for tea to get her out of the room rather than to make sure she came back.

Of course, if the second voice wasn't her putting on a voice, but she was instead arguing with a third person who is the 'coward' she was directing her remarks to before, that makes a certain amount of sense, but where did that person go? Did they sneak out of the window and out of sight in the time before the coachman managed to get outside?

No key in the room, either, which lends credence to a third person who ran off with the key.

"The servants deny having seen it before, but among the numerous curiosities in the house it is possible that it may have been overlooked."

I'd be inclined to believe them, considering it would be them who were cleaning the thing. I'd expect them to know every single item the colonel had on display and exactly how difficult it was to dust. They would absolutely hate that bloody thing and know every last inch of it.

"On my pressing her, however, she remembered that she heard the word David uttered twice by the lady. The point is of the utmost importance as guiding us towards the reason of the sudden quarrel. The Colonel's name, you remember, was James."

Well now I don't think there's a third person involved again, because now that's too obvious. It feels like that's got to be either a reference to something (It's been made very clear that she's religious, so David and Goliath? Biblical reference?) or The Colonel has another name for some reason. The emphasis on her being Catholic feels important, though... so I'm leaning towards biblical reference at this point. Although maybe the emphasis on Catholicism is because she had another husband who she thought was dead, but has now discovered that he's still alive and because she's Catholic she can't divorce... OR He had a previous wife who he divorced, but Nancy doesn't believe in divorce.

Also, some research into King David (of David and Goliath fame) indicates he was polygamous so BOTH of these things could be right at the same time.

Genuinely did not know he had multiple wives. Huh... They did not mention that in church... or Catholic school... or that one semester in University where we studied the bible as a literary text (so much begatting omg stop begatting - actually, they might have mentioned it at university, I switched off a bit after all the begatting...).

"It had set, according to their account, into the most dreadful expression of fear and horror which a human countenance is capable of assuming."

OK, we know he's afraid of the dark, so... what if in the argument, one of them broke the light and the room plunged into darkness. Then in terror he... fell on a weapon that shouldn't even have existed. Yeah, that needs work-shopping. But so far that's the only thing we know he was afraid of, so...

"No information could be got from the lady herself, who was temporarily insane from an acute attack of brain-fever."

Brain fever again! Take a shot!

"There had been a man in the room, and he had crossed the lawn coming from the road. I was able to obtain five very clear impressions of his foot-marks [...] But it was not the man who surprised me. It was his companion.”

Well that resolves that question. There was at least one other person in the room. So whoever they are, they took the key with them. Maybe one of them was called David and I was over-complicating things with the biblical references. Definitely think that the Catholicism has to come into play, because that was a very prominent thing we learnt about her and it seems like a weird thing to put in there if it isn't relevant. And why did she ask for the tea? Maybe it wasn't even for her. Maybe she was expecting someone else.

We haven't got any indication where the title comes from yet, either. So many mysteries to clear up in part 2.

The secret first wife could be the companion, though... Just saying.

#Letters from Watson #Sherlock Holmes #The Crooked Man #long post

[vendetta-if]

Extra Side Story - Valentine's Day Special Released Early for Patrons 🎉

Hey guys 👋 Sorry for not being able to answer too many asks these couple of days. I've been really busy trying to finish this Valentine's Day Special Side Story as fast as I can 😅 And it ends up being far longer than I first expected.

The wordcount for the story is 6.2K words in total. Because of the length, I decided to split it into two parts, which are both now up on both Patreon and Ko-Fi.

This Valentine's Day Special side story is set in the Vikashi AU featuring little MC and the gang trying to set up Viktor and Takashi together inspired by this ask. 😄

Just like the previous extra side story, this one is released on both Patreon and Ko-Fi early for a week before it is released to the public in the 25th.

If you guys are interested in supporting me and getting some extra contents as well, including two side stories featuring Rin this month, please consider checking out my Patreon or Ko-Fi pages. I'll post a little snippet of the story below the cut 😉

[Patreon] | [Ko-Fi]

* * * * *

It’s another one of those movie nights and you’re currently seated on the sofa with Ash and Rin. They are bickering about something but you don’t really pay any attention. Right now, you’re watching the adults working in the kitchen.

Aunt Cara is pulling out seven empty mugs and preparing to make hot chocolate. She makes the best hot chocolate—after your dad, of course.  Uncle Luka, on the other hand, has been relegated to the task of simply making the popcorn because it’s a supposedly foolproof process. “Just follow the instructions on the box step by step,” your father told him. And true enough, you see Uncle Luka pulling out a package from the box and reading the texts behind it intently for a few seconds before shrugging and walking over to the microwave. 

But the two that are currently your focus are your dad and Rin’s dad. Your dad is washing the dishes from tonight’s dinner while Takashi is helping him dry the clean plate with a towel. Your dad is talking to him about something lightheartedly while Takashi is trying his best to keep his nervousness hidden behind his awkward and lopsided grin, his cheeks lightly flushed. You catch your father glancing at Takashi every once in a while, a soft and even, dare you say, shy smile gracing his lips. One time, their hands touched when your dad passed a plate to Takashi, and your dad actually blushed a bit. You’ve never seen him acting like that before! Hmm… 

Rin and Ash pop up to your left and right respectively, following your lead by leaning and settling their chins on the back of the sofa. “What’re you looking at, Sasha? What’s wrong?” Ash asks quietly as they follow your line of sight and Rin does the same as well.

“Look, look at my dad and Rin’s,” you tell both of them urgently. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

There’s a minute of silence as they observe. “Hmm… I see. I’ve had this suspicion recently, but it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who’s seeing it,” Rin hums beside you and you nod in agreement.

“I don’t get it!” Ash frowns. “They’re washing dishes. Is there something wrong with that?”

Rin rolls their eyes. “You’re too young to understand it.”

“What?” Ash says in disbelief. “I’m older than you by three years!”

“Alright, alright. Stop it, you two,” you cut them both off. “Clearly both of them have feelings for each other and they seem to be too shy to actually tell the other. We need to do something or else they won’t ever get together. So, are you guys in or what?”

* * * * *

Check out my Patreon or Ko-Fi for the continuation:

[Patreon] | [Ko-Fi]

#vendetta if #if: vendetta #side story #patreon exclusive #kofi exclusive #AU #char: viktor #char: takashi #char: luka #char: cara #char: mc #ro: ash #ro: rin #if wip #if game #dashingdon #choicescript #choice of games #hosted games #cyoa #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #interactive games

[ghostykai]

Overlord!Kaire: Fortuna

In this version, Kaire arrived in the middle of Alastor's absence and did not know about the Hotel.

Check out other works about Kaire: Kaire info, Kaire pt. 2, oneshot 1

(My Ask Box is open! So if you want to ask anything, ask away!)

When Kaire arrives in Hell, they immediately know they are fucked if they don't find a way to get above the rest

Stealing a tarot deck from the old demon that runs the antique store was easier than they liked to admit, their giant hands coming in clutch

"Readings! Find out your Fortune for just Five bucks! Best tarot readings in all of pentagram city!"

Thus, Fortuna was born

A few months in they found that setting up near casinos was where real money was made, filled with people willing to give anything to know the winning numbers or when to bet

Soon they made a reputation and they started asking for more: "I take 5% of all your earnings" "One favour for a reading"

From a little stand to a proper store, from 5% of earning to 10%, 15%, 20%, they grew and grew until one day:

"Welcome, what can I do for you," Fortuna asked when their heard the bell at the door ring. The small room was dimly lit and filled with the smell of ash and something woody. Fortuna leaned back in their plush seat, yellow eyes seemingly glowing, rifling and shuffling through their cards.

The demon that had just walked in sat down opposite to them, eyeing Fortuna wearily, "Yer the demon that can tell the future are ya not? Ya can tell folks' secrets and shit, right?"

Fortuna smiled, leaning closer to the table, interested, "For the right price, yes," they chuckled, it weirdly echoed in the room, "I can tell you anything you want: past, present or future, known and unknown."

"Whatever ya say," the demon replied gruffly, "I got someone I gotta get rid of, competition ya might call it. Tell me how to get ahead, take em out of the game."

"Oooh I see, rivalry," Fortuna's smile spread wider, "And what are you willing to give up for this knowledge, sir?"

"Anthin ya want"

The room was now clearer, illuminated by the yellow glow of Fortuna's eyes, not only the ones on their face, other nine had appeared like a crown, floating around their head. The demon gulped at the sight, the eyes seemingly all laughing down at him.

"Anything?" Fortuna asked in a sing song voice.

"Yes, anythin, I want that fucker gone!"

"What about..." In the blink of an eye (or 9) Fortuna was gone. The demon all but shrieked when he felt a hand on his shoulder, "your soul"

He turned but Fortuna wasn't there, once again sitting at their usual place, playing around with their cards, smile as big as it had ever been.

That was the first soul. The demon did in fact beat his enemy, but at what cost

After that, striking deals for soul became much more usual as word spread of just how good Fortuna's divinations were

Fortuna didn't really know when they became an overlord, but one time as they were strolling around the city, they heard people whisper: "The Fortune demon" "the overlord of fate"

Obviously, due to their occupation Fortuna did know a lot about Hell, but not many details about the other Overlords, they really didn't care for that

Fortuna also didn't quite care about their status as an overlord, all they wanted was to be financially stable and not be bothered

Carmilla was obviously the one to reach out, calling Fortuna for a meeting that honestly was a waste of time. They discussed what Fortuna's territory is, mostly having carved out a place near the gambling houses and what they planned to do with it

The second overlord to approach them was Vox. Asking if Fortuna wished to ally with him and the other Vees. That created a tentative cooperation, mostly consisting of Fortuna saying what the next successful trends would be and the Vees offering enough money to not make Fortuna regret their decision

Fortuna doesn't really use the souls under their possession much. Here and there they may ask for a favour or some Intel one of them might have, but for the rest, they leave them be

When they find out about the Hazbin Hotel and the Radio demon Alastor, they are quick to check in with their cards

Fortuna is extremely opportunistic in this version so when they find out it's convenient for them to join the princess of Hell, it doesn't take long for them to be knocking at the Hotel door

But the rest is for another time since this is getting long. Hope ya liked it, more is coming!

#hazbin fandom #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin art #hellsona #hellaverse #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin fanart #oc #oc art

[kaiju-emperor]

Writing Commissions Open

So I finally decided to start opening writing commissions now that I have my bank account and paypal set up. I have not been able to find regular work and probably won’t for a bit yet. So, I need a way to get some cash, especially cause things around my household have been a bit rough as of late.

Going prices

Minimum payment of 20$ dollars which will get you 1500 words. Any less than that and its not worth my time. 

After the initial 20$ its another 1$ for every 100 words. I will charge an extra 5 dollars for anything past 5000 words in addition to my 1$ per 100 words.

Once we have determined a word count and price I will ask for at least half of the cost up front and the other half upon completion. 

I will write fanfic or anything with your OCs. I will also write NSFW/smut material as long as it doesn't involve incest, underage characters, rape, and the like. Here’s a short list of fandoms I have written for, or will write for without much problem. 

Digimon

Sonic The Hedgehog

Fate

Owl House

Amphibia

Duckverse stuff

One Piece

Dungeons And Dragons

Pokemon

Godzilla

She-Ra

Power Rangers

If a fandom isn’t listed just ask, and if I’m familiar with it we might be able to work something out. If you want to discuss a commission, here are some writing examples to see if I’m right for you or if you like my style. If you are interested send me an ask or pm me.

Examples

Katsuya averted his gaze as the initial flash exploded outward. He took a moment to blink, and looked ahead, staring at the large hole now formed in the stone wall. Beyond the gaping opening, was a strange crystalline structure. The structure's surface was like black glass, cracks all along its surface. The arcs of energy and light spilled forth from the massive cracks, like lava glowing beneath the hard cooled volcanic rock and ash. Much of the initial explosion of energy seemed to have dissipated, though the occasional arc of multicolored light crackled out from the cracks of the crystal structure.

The young man stared, wide eyed at the alien sight, eyes reflecting the shimmering of prismatic colors, like the flickering of a flame. As he watched with wide eyed wonder he realized he knew the sensation, or something similar at the very least. It was like watching a storm rumble in the distance, the air filled with energy, thunder and lighting rumbling across the sky. And yet there was also another sensation there, like the still air at the center of a storm. The energy before him held both the storm itself, and potential of the storm. Actions that are, and actions that could be. The precipice of possibility. Before he could ponder the implications any longer there was a loud crack of the whip.

*****

“Ouroboros!”

Dozens of chains suddenly shot from her arms. The ground before her then began to warp, as a swirling portal of dark energy appeared. The chains launched into the black portal, sinking deep within. With a loud clink, the chains went taut, as they latched onto something. Irkallamon then gave a quick motion of her claws, and began to reel the chains back. 

As the chains were drawn out of the portal, they brought something with it. A giant black head, soon rose from within the dark portal. It was reptilian, with no visible eyes. Its gaping mouth split open, like some sort of demonic flower, to reveal several rows of teeth. As it began to rise higher, its serpentine body was revealed. Thick armored plates, and large metal spikes. ran along its whole body. The giant wurm let loose a hiss like roar, as it rose fully from the pit. A sickly green slime dripped from his maw, melting anything it touched

*****

A blanket of snow covered nearly every surface. Carpeting the streets,sidewalks,the eaves of buildings,and tops of parked cars. The snow white crystals drifted lazily from the grey sky above. Occasionally tossed,and jostled by an errant wind. Despite the bitter cold,the city seemed just as busy as when Blaze had arrived. Taxis,and cars going by,with loud honks. Pedestrians,garbed in thick winter coats going about their daily business. The city felt alive.

Blaze at first considered taking a cab,but decided against it. Instead,choosing to walk down to a nearby shopping district she heard about in passing. After walking several blocks,she came to a line of stores,and shops. She made a move toward one of three clothing outlets, but stopped when an old neon sign caught her eye. 

The light was slightly faded,and glowed a deep red. It displayed an open book,with a turning page. The sign beside it reading ‘The Book Attic’. 

Her interest piqued,Blaze stepped inside. 

Nsfw Examples under the cut

“Mmmm. You taste sweet.” he rumbles. “We’re going to enjoy eating you up.”

“O-oh god, yes.”

His tongue continues to taste your skin, running all the way up to your cheek. Soon it slides over your lips, prodding for access. You open your mouth wide, allowing the organ entrance. A throaty moan escapes you as it slides deep inside, tickling the back of your throat. His tongue continues to slide deeper, and deeper inside. You feel your throat bulge outward as it travels. You savor the taste of it, his thick drool mixing with your own.

Suddenly you feel one of his giant hands grab onto you. His claws dig into the fabric of your shirt. Then with a single swipe, the fabric is torn to shreds, exposing your bare skin to the air. You feel his hand grab onto one of your nipples, squeezing it between his fingers.

You squirm, and writhe as he teases you. Heavy pants escape your nostrils. Your mouth, and throat still filled to the brim with his tongue. His other hand quickly tosses the covers aside, revealing your underwear, and bare legs. 

*****

“It seems we’re all alone now~” Robin cooed. “It’s been ever so long since we’ve had some playtime.”

Robin’s other hand slid along Nami’s bare stomach and side, making the woman gasp. With a burst of flowers, another hand appeared on Nami’s back, reaching down to grope her ass. Nami leaned into the touch, her soft cheeks squeezed lovingly between Robin’s fingers. A fourth hand then made its appearance on Nami’s stomach, sliding down to tease at her crotch.

“Isn’t that right? Pet~”

Nami glanced back at Robin, panting hotly. “Y-yes mistress. It’s been far too long~”

Robin dismissed her extra limbs, and spun Nami around to face her. Gently, the taller woman ran a finger under her chin. Nami froze, goosebumps crawling across her skin. Even the smallest touch from her mistress was enough to make weak at the knees.

“Tell me pet, do you still have your collar?~”

“Of course mistress, I would never lose it.”

Robin smiled. “Good. I’ll be waiting for you in my room. Dress up nice for me~”

*****

Thirva chuckled throatily. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean little one. Your interest in my kind is not purely academic, is it?” 

Holli jumped at the question, but did not reply. Thirva rose back up to her full height, and leaned down next to Holli’s ear.

“Your interest in me, is much more perverse.” Thirva whispered. “You’re a submissive thing. You want nothing more then to be dominated by a terrifying being like myself. To be bound in my web, and made into a perfect little pet.” Thirva leaned even closer, and smiled. “Am I right? Little pet?”

Holli shuddered, her breath becoming ragged pants. The goblin’s face, and ears were completely flushed. She squirmed in her seat, and managed to reply with a small whimper. 

Thirva moved to face her, cupping a hand to her ear. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

Holli met Thirva’s gaze, her entire body shaking. The drider could practically see the desire in her eyes. 

“Y-es. I-I want that more than anything.” she panted.

Thirva grinned. “What’s the magic word?”

“P-please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Mistress!” Holli exclaimed, dropping to her knees.

Thirva held a hand over her mouth. “My, oh my, such an eager little pet. Before we get started, though, the safe word is ‘Neverwinter’. You will always refer to me as Mistress, or Mistress Thirva. Understand?”

#writing #commission #commission info

[pawsomelestat]

༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚˳ . 🦇 . ˳༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚

ー Tear you apart. ー

masc reader | tw ; blood , knives , guns & gay

author's notes ; this is a fic swap w my lovely cutie sweetie honey little bitch jules so enjoy <3

Hunger was one way to put it, seemed more human to simplify the feeling rather than trying to explain what it was. You rised with the set of the sun, awoken by your burning crave for food and chaos.

The alleys echoed with the sound of your boots, your long leather coat flowing behind you in the autumn smoke as the red ash from your cigarette reflected in the puddles under your feet. The streets this time of night were only filled with drunken scum, the type that wouldn't be noticed. Perfect. But who knows what sort of poison laced heroin was swimming through their veins, the sweet taste would be spoiled with all that toxic waste.

You found yourself stood infront of a graveyard, usually the only people to be found there were old people which would die soon anyway. But at the dead of night it should've been empty, or at least hold a few teens that'd be easy to scare off.

Wandering closer, you noticed something.. A man. Alone, crouched by the side of a grave, all black clothing to match his curled black hair. Bloodlust had started to get the better of you, leaving all reasonable thoughts behind and corrupting your mind with the orgasmic thought of that delicious rouge spilling all over you.

As you crept closer, moving in such elegant strides you noticed him stand and reach to something on his hip, not turning around to face you but just being still. You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pressing your body to his side, bringing your mouth closer to his shoulder.

"You can stay with whoever you're visiting tonight, I'm sure they've missed you."

You could almost feel the flesh under your teeth as you uttered a little tease into his ear. Just as you bit down, in one swift movement the male was a step back, facing you with a gun to your head. Now that you could see his face you realised tonight would be no feast, whited out with black clown marks. Probably some disgusting tasting junkie getting ready to stuff himself with halloween candy.

With both your hands ontop of his you pulled the gun down to aim at your chest, holding it in the middle and smirking.

"Well, shoot. Are you really as brave as you make yourself out to be?"

That comment slipped out as quick as the bullet did, his long finger softly pulling the cold trigger as you spoke. The bullet sent you a step back, blood trickling down your chest leaving a smirk on your lips.

Taking your ring and middle finger, you wiped off some of the blood staining your velvet shirt, pushing it into your mouth and licking inbetween your fingers. You let out a little chuckle, seeing your clownfaced shooter try his best to contain himself at the sight of your unbothered stance.

"Didn't expect that did you now?"

You whined out in a sarcastic manner, stepping forward and slipping the gun from his tight grip. You placed a brief kiss at the tip before pointing it as his chest and without hesitation.. Shooting.

To your surprise, he did almost the same. Took a step back, wiped the blood, then looked up at you and smiled. His wound took slightly quicker than yours to heal, leaving behind the delicious scent of his soul.

Your mind was a mess of hunger, surprise, interest and shock, sending you into a laughing frenzy. Doubling over from the burning sensation of hunger ripping down your throat and the laughter spilling out so manically from your glossed lips you felt something cold pressed against your back.

"When you get to hell, make sure they're saving a special place for Eric Draven."

This was the first time you'd heard your 'victim' speak, his voice was sarcastic and filled with false enthusiasm, his words just sending more chuckles out of you. You dropped to the floor, turning round to look at him as you hit the ground, his foot digging into your chest as he held you down under his boot. Gun pointed at your head, you caught your breath and looked up into his brooding eyes.

"You sound almost as delicious as you look, Eric Draven"

Saying his name as a tease, letting out once more a small bratty chuckle. As you heard the trigger twitch, you quickly pulled his foot, tripping him over and leaving him laying on the harsh dirt. You crawled ontop of him, staring lustfully into his eyes and lowering your body slowly to touch his.

Eric's breath hitched, sparking your playful interest more. You knew better than to play with your food, but who could resist when it was this adorably vulnerable.

You ran one of your hands slowly down his thigh, bringing your lips to his ear ane moaning, feeling his excitement from underneath you. Leaving rough kisses and nips running down from his ear to his neck, you admired the musky scent of the night that peaked your hunger so much.

"If you can never die, I guess you can't ever run dry either"

Words came out in an almost half whisper, pressing your lips just above his collar bone while you spoke.

"I already am dead."

"And I can make you feel better than life itself."

A low groan slipped from Eric's lips as your teeth sunk into his flesh.

Rouge. That flowing, heavenly nectar rushing over your tongue, it was like sipping the most expensive champagne. That orgasmic feeling, hunger being showered away by the most otherworldly taste. Rouge was all you saw, all your senses being overtaken by the red of his blood.

Eric pulled you by the hair, forcing you to stop your drinking and face him. Still moaning from the flavour, you came back to your senses, noticing the bloody wound fading back into skin.

You placed a long, passionate kiss on his lips, letting him taste his own fruit. Then you stood, hearing him gasp for breath and seeing his pathetic beauty underneath you. It made you chuckle, seeing such a dominant aura on a man that could do nothing under your seductive power.

"Come and find me soon, I'll show you just how delicious death tastes."

With that you winked, beginning to strut away, leaving the speechless man to comprehend what had just happened. You knew it wouldn't be the last time you tasted that sweet wine. And he knew it wouldn't be the last time he felt your deathly embrace.

author's notes ; TEEHEE I DID IT ,, didnt wanna leave it as a "see part 2" but thats just kinda how it went. well i feel like a total degenerate but yk 💪 submissive bbyg eric. jules try tell me vampires arent hot now.

#the crow 1994 #eric draven #vampire oc #eric draven x reader #fanfic #oc

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Trouble Bonus Scene: Interlude 2

More baby!jaskier shenanigans. Set some time after Geralt and Yennefer get him to Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier toddled around Geralt's room, exploring all the nooks and crannies, and trying to put everything in his mouth. It was his third circuit of the room, and he was pretty certain he'd tasted that one fur on the bed already. There was a spot on it that was suspicisously damp. But just in case he hadn't...

"Gross, get that out of your mouth," Coen muttered patiently, pulling the toddler away and picking a few strands of fur out of his mouth. Jaskier sputtered and blew raspberries until Coen put him back down. He babbled and mouthed his little fingers, then grabbed a dust bunny from under the edge of the bed and tried to eat it.

"F***ing-!" Lambert exclaimed, snatching it away at the last minute. "That's disgusting! Sweep under your f***ing bed, Geralt. Da*n, look at the size of that thing!" he held up the admittedly large dust bunny for his brothers to see

Geralt grumbled something under his breath.

Lambert scoffed "B*tch, please! It's literally a ball of dust and white hair. Don't be trying to say it isn't yours!"

"Like the ones under your bed are any smaller, Lambert!" Coen snorted.

"At least I have hair!"

"Not for long if the giant ball of hair in your hair brush is anything to go by."

They continued to argue, and Jaskier toddled off and tested a small chunk of fallen masonry for palatbility. Finding it lacking, he moved on. His chubby legs carried him over to a large metal bucket next to the fireplace. The Witchers were all busy teasing Lambert, so Jaskier tenatively investigated the contents.

It was filled with a gray, fluffy substance that puffed into the air when he patted at it with a pudgy hand. Oooh, that was interesting! He plunged both little hands into the soft, powdery stuff and started stirring it around. It was so soft! And-! The treacherous fluff gusted up into the air with the slightest movement and went up his nose and into his eyes. Jaskier started coughing and choking as more of the ash rose into the air.

The Witchers turned at the commotion, and they all tried to rush to help at the same time. What followed was a domino effect of panic that ened with five Witchers and one baby falling out into the corridor, coughing and cursing, in a cloud of ash and smoke.

Yennefer had heard all the noise from the kitchen, and arrived just as they were picking themselves up off the floor.

"F**k, here she comes!" Lambert hissed when he caught sight of Yennefer. "Geralt, go tell her everything's okay!"

"What are you so afraid of?" Geralt rumbled

"It's Songbird. You know how she gets when it involves Songbird!"

"Oh, calm the h*ll down. It's just a little ash. It's nothing life-threatening!"

"I dunno, my life feels pretty threatened right now!" Coen interjected nervously, watching as Yennefer apporached rapidly.

"Fine," Geralt sighed, "Wait here you cowards. Come on, Julek. Let's go save your uncles from Ma."

Yennefer met Geralt halfway down the corridor.

There were no sarcastic remarks, no shouting, no scathing comments, no blame. Yennefer had quickly learned just how hard it was to keep an eye on an active toddler. It was exhausting, and if your attention wavered for even a split second... Yesterday, in the time it had taken her to f***ing blink, the little sh*t had somehow gotten a hold of a pair of scissors and taken off running.

"He's alright, Yen," Geralt said gently. "He just got into the ash bucket."

Yennefer fussed over Jaskier for a few moments before deciding that Geralt was speaking the truth. Jaskier seemed fine, aside from being caked in ash and occassionally coughing.

Her eyes swept down the hallway to land on the huddled knot of ash-covered Witchers trying to hide by the bedroom door.

It was probably the first sweeping the hallway had seen in decades.

The Witchers subtly moved a little bit closer together and tried to blend in with the wall.

Pillocks! Yennefer thought, almost fondly. "Go get cleaned up," She said to Geralt, trying wipe a smudge of ash off his cheek. It only served to make the smudge worse.

Geralt ignored his brothers' snickering and wiped at his cheek with his sleeve, adding more ash to the mess. He sighed as Yennefer snorted in amusement.

Yennefer slapped his a** as he turned to leave, raising a small cloud of ash. Geralt turned and pulled her into a hug, making sure he got as much ash on her as possible while Jaskier giggled and patted at her hair.

"Ar**hole," Yennefer laughed, pulling away. "Go wash up in the hotsprings. I'll make something hot for you to eat when you are done." She dusted her dress off as best she could and headed back to the kitchen.

Jaskier was all wide eyes and excitement when Geralt carried him down into the hotsprings. He immediately tested the accousitcs of the underground cavern. He found it quite satisfactory and proceeded to squeal and chirp at the top of his little lungs while Geralt got him out of his shirt and trousers.

Geralt ended up sitting with Jaskier in his lap in the shallowest pool while he bathed him.

Eskel handed Geralt the bottle of special soap that Jaskier always used in his hair, and they entertained themselves with giving Jaskier different hairstyles

"You better wash it like Jaskier showed you!" Aiden said to Lambert, who was trying to wash his hair with a cheap bar of soap. "Don't go skipping any steps!"

"F**k off, Aiden!" Lambert snarled, "I'll wash my hair how ever I d*mn well please!"

"You better do it right! Jaskier is watching you. He'll be so disappointed in you." Aiden countered, motioning to Jaskier, who was indeed watching Lambert, and sporting, at the moment, a soapy mohawk. "Yeah, Lambchop," Coen joined in, "It will break his little heart if you don't do it right!"

"You don't want to break his little heart, do you?"

Lambert looked at the tiny bard, his hair now in the shape of the curl on the top of a cone of soft-serve. Jaskier cooed at him questioningly.

F**k...

Lambert's scowl crumbled when he looked into those big blue eyes. He quietly picked up the bottle of good soap and started with Step 1...

Jaskier giggled and splashed in the water after he had been thuroughly scrubbed and rinsed. His eyes had sparkled with wonder when Eskel blew a soap bubble for him. The tiny bard stared at it, cooing and reaching for it. He blinked in surprise when it popped and disappeared. Eskel blew him another one, and smiled happily when he giggled and splashed as he watched it drift.

"You call that a bubble?" Lambert scoffed, coming over. He soaped up his hands and blew a bubble. "Now that's a proper bubble!" He grinned smugly as Jaskier cooed and stared in delight. The other Witchers came over and started blowing bubbles for him too. It quickly became a competition to see who could blow the biggest one.

Coen somehow managed to blow a really big bubble, and set it floating off towards Jaskier.

"That's a f***ing big bubble!" Lambert exclaimed.

Jaskier staring at the marvel of air and soap, said in a questioning tone, "Ba-bol?"

The Witchers lost their sh*t.

Yennefer was in the kitchen checking on the pottage she was making, completely unaware that five wet and very naked Witchers were charging towards her.

The witch turned around and there they were. Standing in a huddle, steaming like a herd of horses fresh from a run. Then she noticed they were bucka** naked. Yennefer saw way more than she wanted to. A bardcore version of "A Chorus of Weiners" started playing in her head.

The song in her head was interrupted when Eskel blurted out excitedly "He said 'bubble'!"

Then Yennefer saw Jaskier, wet and shivering in Geralt's arms. She just about had a coniption. "And that warranted you running naked and soaking wet through the halls in the middle of f***ing winter? You boobs! Have you all lost your d*mn minds?"

The witch snatched Jaskier out of Geralt's arms and quickly wrapped the shivering baby in a towel. "My poor lamb! Look at you shivering!" Yennefer moved to stand closer to the fire so she could start drying him off. She turned and fixed them with the most scathing glare they had ever seen.

The Witchers shuffled uncomfortably, suddenly feeling very exposed.

Yennefer noticed, and decided to be petty and try to make them as uncomfortable as possible. She very pointedly stared. "It's obviously very cold, and yet you pr*cks decide to d*ck around and take a soaking wet baby throught a freezing cold keep in the middle of winter!"

"Go ahead and roll your eyes, Lambert. Maybe you'll roll them back far enough to see if you actually have a brain!"

"Don't laugh at him like you're any better, Eskel. All you've got going for you is a handsome face and big...*glances down, then back up* ...personality."

Yennefer felt just a little bit bad for the way Eskel shifted uncomfortably, confused by the combined insult and compliment. He could handle insults, but compliments made him uncomfortable. He blushed in self-defense.

The scarred Witcher was just a big sweetheart, and had been the first of Geralt's brothers to treat Jaskier as one of their own. He most likely had just been swept up in the f**kery. Yennefer decided to let them off the hook before the poor man spontaneously combusted.

"Ugh! All of you get out, and take those ugly, pruney things with you! Go get poor Julek some dry clothes. And you had better be dressed when you come back!" she shooed them out, taking a moment to admire the view of their retreating backsides. "Ba-bol?" Jaskier asked.

"Yes, my love," Yennefer said with a small smile, watching all the a**cheeks bounce out of the room, "Bubbles."

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #baby!jaskier #kaer morons #eskel #coen #lambert #aiden #geraskier #geraskifer #geraskefer #yenskier #yennskier #yenneskier #yennaskier #interlude headcanon

[essentiallykpopandbl]

I don't normally talk at lengths about kpop related things, especially on Tumblr, because I feel there are enough other fans in the world adding to the conversation. Yet, I am going to break that for a moment because I finally got around to watching RM's mv for Wild Flower that came out a few days ago. Do you know when you watch something and the meaning comes across loud and clear and it hits you and you just sit a little stunned but also a little sad. And you know you will never see that thing the same way again? Well that happened this morning. I have had Wild Flower on repeat since it came out but due to my lack of fluency in korean, all I could go off of was a few words I picked up, the vibe, feeling, and emotion of the song. I had a feeling RM was singing about his struggles with his life in BTS. But oh boy did was I so unprepared.

"When everything I believed in grew distant.

When all this fame turned into shackles.

Please take my desire away from me.

No matter what it takes.

Oh let me be myself"

That part almost broke me. I can't imagine what it is like to be in his position. Leader of arguably the best known K-pop group. Often the voice of an entire industry due to the position his group is in. The pressure to be what his members, company, industry, and country needs him to be. He is RM of BTS. And I know he has talked about this before but he is also Kim Namjoon. A boy who fell in love with music with no idea what he will become. And I am worried it is what he has become that will one day break him. But it's his second verse that made me want to write this.

"Where's my end finally gonna be?

Everything's so exhausting from A to Z

When's this wretched mask finally gonna come off?

Yeah, me no hero, me no villian

I'm barely anything

Idling repeats, memories turning vicious

Lying in a field, I set my sights on the skies

Now, I can't remember what I wanted so badly

I trusted I was happy, now a mere memory

Yeah I been going, no matter what's in front

No matter what it may be

Memories of holding onto dawn's edge and spitting things out

Society's all for the loudest voice

And here I am, still speaking silence

It's an aside, a boat in full bloom

To face all the prejudice and misunderstandings

I dont care much for being tossed into the air

Grounded on my own two feet

Amongst the flowers without names

I can't go to the stars again, I cant

Underfoot I just go

To a destination without a purpose

Not even knowing my own sadness

Even making friends with the shadows

I be gone"

You can feel his heart as he is rapping this verse. The sadness and fear he has at losing himself. I think as fans, we often forget what some people give up when they reach that level of fame. But on the flip side, no one truly knows what it means to be RM of BTS. Even the other members, RM's biggest support system, dont know that feeling. They know what it means to be a member of BTS, but to be the voice that RM is always expected to be? They don't know that. But when RM talks.... is it his voice? Or is it the collective voice of the other members and the industry he is representing? Does he answer based on what he thinks is expected of him? And if so, does that cause him to have even less of a voice? At what point does the need to speak for others suffocate someone.

I find it interesting that he brought up the shadows, because SUGA also raps about the shadows often. How they grow and can overtake everything when the light on them becomes too strong. I find it terrifying the thought of it being easier to be swallowed, or friends, with those shadows then to keep looking at the light. But when the light is blinding and the stars are scary, maybe the darkness is comforting.

While the song is sad it is also hopeful. When he talks about burning fireworks to flowerworks, it feels very reminiscent of the Phoenix. Something that rises from the ashes and comes back more beautiful. I think RM is battling those demons and what is threatening to burn him down but I believe what comes out of it is that much better. And I hope that is what we are seeing through this song. That RM is finding a way to be Kim Namjoon. That the world has not taken everything from him in their expectations of who he is. That somewhere, Kim Namjoon is finding his own voice. And that voice will be just as loud and beautiful as RM's is. Because I have a feeling Kim Namjoon has very interesting things to say.

#kim namjoon #wild flower #rm of bts #bts #kpop #kpop boy group #i was hurt this morning #comparing fire to flowers #i just lost it #this song and mv are gorgeous #i rambled again

[sebdoeswords]

The Knife in His Coffin (Geralt/Roche) - Full Chapter 1

Link to Ao3

Chapters: 1/21 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vernon Roche Additional Tags: Spoilers for The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, retelling of chapter 3, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Grief/Mourning, Canon Compliant, -Ish, small deviations from canon, Missing Scene, Extended Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, rape mention, Not Beta Read, Hopeful Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Loc Muinne (The Witcher), Team Dynamics, R&R

Summary:

Triss was a sorceress, more than capable of escaping or killing Letho if push came to shove, and while Roche was exceptional among humans, he was, in the end, just that. Human. An ordinary human with extraordinary skills and training. But against Dethmold, well… Geralt had chosen Vernon Roche once before, and deep inside, he knew he would do it again.

In just a few weeks, Vernon Roche has lost nearly everything that was dear to him. He’s lost his king, lost his men, and is about to lose his country, too. The only thing driving him now is a burning desire for revenge, and he will cross mountains to get it. With Ves left behind for safety, there is only Geralt by his side on the arduous journey to Loc Muinne - and they are about to realise that a lot can change in a week when it is filled with nothing but silence and each other’s presence.

Full First Chapter (Continued under Read More)

The journey to Loc Muinne had something haunting about it, and it wasn’t just the importance of the summit that was scheduled to take place there. In fact, neither Geralt nor Roche had much interest in it at this point. Too much had been lost, too much blood spilled, staining their hands.

No, the ship was haunted – not literally, but by the emptiness of the space where the last time they’d boarded it, there had been if not laughter, then at least people filling all its corners. Now Zoltan was in Vergen, Dandelion on the way to Oxenfurt, and the corpses of the Blue Stripes burning on a pyre Geralt and Roche had erected. The Witcher could still see columns of smoke in the distance, but he wasn’t sure whether one of them came from the ashes remaining of Roche’s unit. Regardless, the stench would cling to Geralt’s clothes, skin and soul until his dying day.

It was only a handful of people now. While Geralt and Roche had been in Vergen, Ves had picked up a few scattered layabouts in order to man the ship, though they spoke little. It was eerie, to see a crew so demotivated and quiet when usually songs and laughter would be carried across the ship in tandem with the sounds of labour. But there was only the howling of the wind in the sails now, and the croaking of a few drowners on the river’s shores.

Vernon Roche had barely spoken a word since they’d set off earlier that day. Once so opinionated and vocal, he now stared at the horizon in the wake of the ship, even though Geralt knew the smoke must not be visible to his eyes anymore. Gone was the drive that had propelled him towards Vergen, towards that room carved into the rock. Gone was that drive that had guided his dagger between Henselt’s ribs.

Roche suffered, that much was plain to see – there was a tension to his expression that outmatched all the hardness he’d shown in the past. Seething rage and abysmal sorrow lay just beneath his skin, going deeper even than after Foltest’s death.

Geralt stepped up to the helm and past Ves at the steering wheel. She gave him a look in passing, and he didn’t quite know how to interpret it. Leaving her behind, Geralt stopped next to Roche. The man didn’t move even an inch.

“You alri—”

Geralt didn’t get to finish, as Roche abruptly turned from his spot and walked away, down the stairs and into the captain’s quarters. Geralt stared at the empty space where he’d lost sight of him, and Ves sighed.

“’S no good talking to him,” she said, and her voice was tinged with uncertainty and sadness. Geralt stepped up to her, and when he came to a halt, he could see her hands trembling as they clutched the wheel. There were glistening streaks down her cheeks, and her eyes were bloodshot. “Not when he’s like that.”

“Might’ve figured,” Geralt mumbled and leaned his elbows on the railing overlooking the deck.

Only a handful of their sailors were at work, one busied himself with a tangled rope, another scrubbed at the planks, but the rest huddled together playing dice or chatting quietly. The wind was harsh, and the spray blowing up onto the ship cold.

Geralt peeked over his shoulder at Ves. “Anything to be done? Or is it a case of the waiting game?”

“The waiting game, most like,” Ves said. “But I’m not sure how long you’ll be waiting for. I’ve never seen him quite like… well… that. And he raged something fierce when they found you in the solar at La Valette castle.”

“Not surprised…” Geralt thought back to what they’d seen in that tent. He’d felt his own heart drop at the sight – after all, he’d made friends with the Blue Stripes. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the tattoo on his neck. But for Roche… he couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like for him. To see his entire unit executed while he was away, and to feel not only responsible, but downright at fault for their deaths was…

“Don’t dwell on it,” Ves said, seemingly reading his thoughts.

“Can you tell me about them?” Geralt asked, lifting his head from where it had slumped between his shoulders. “The Stripes?”

“Met them yourself.” Ves shrugged. “Fought with them, got drunk with them, went to a brothel with them. Not much more to bond over with soldiers.” The way she talked, it sounded dismissive, but Geralt could hear the tension in her voice.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Ves didn’t respond, and after a while, Geralt turned around, leaning his back against the railing. He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture he’d discovered came naturally to him.

“What about you?” he asked. “You holding up?”

“What’s there to hold up, Geralt? I’ve been raped, my closest friends got murdered, my king is dead, and my commander’s damn near losing his mind over all of it,” she snapped. “If those elves hadn’t ruined me as a girl, I’d be worried the only thing I’d be holding up soon would be a bastard child.”

Geralt’s chest constricted. He wondered whether she would know it was Roche who’d killed Henselt once the news of his death spread. Right away, he knew with certainty that she would.

“Right… Sorry.” he shook his head when he realised it was the second time in a very short while he’d said the word. He pushed off the railing and started down towards the stairs before pausing, half turning back to Ves, and then deciding against whatever had been on his mind and continuing on. “Gonna get some food.”

The first day of their expected three-day journey came to an end without much of a silver lining. It was dark and grey outside, and there was a light drizzle coming down. Geralt, Ves and Roche met in the captain’s quarters to eat dinner, but even though the selection was good considering their hasty departure, none of them seemed especially pleased to be there. Roche chewed his food with broiling anger, which Geralt hadn’t previously thought possible, but his grimace definitely let him know he’d prefer to sink his teeth into a certain mage’s throat instead.

Ves attempted to start a few meagre conversations, but Geralt could barely remember them the moment they slipped away.

The food tasted like ash in his mouth, and every time he took a bite, he was reminded of the funeral pyres they’d erected for the Blue Stripes. Geralt hadn’t thought Roche would want to lose any time after they’d learned Dethmold had slipped away to Loc Muinne, but he’d insisted on returning to the Kaedweni camp. In that moment, Geralt knew he’d gotten a vital glimpse at the man by his side, and it made the whole situation even more devastating.

“I’ll sleep below deck with the crew,” Geralt announced when he’d finished his food and stood from the table. Roche and Ves looked up at him with surprise.

“You can stay here,” Roche said. “There’s enough space.”

“Need some time… alone,” Geralt muttered and briskly vacated the room. Behind him he could hear Roche’s raspy voice as he walked away.

“What’re you looking at me like that for?”

“Well if you weren’t such a sulking grouch all day—”

“Oh so now it’s my fault? He can sleep with the lads if he wants, what do I care? He’s a grown man!”

Their voices, despite the increasing volume, faded into the background as Geralt descended below deck.

The Percival had once held all of the Blue Stripes and more, and was still haunted by their presence in the hammocks that hung limply between the beams, too many to occupy. Geralt stalked through the room, ignoring the sailors as he went, and flung himself into one at the very back, turned towards the curved interior of the ship’s belly. Right about now, he would’ve been glad for amnesia.

Roche and Ves finished their meals in silence once their immediate outburst regarding Geralt’s departure had blown over. Afterwards, Roche eyed the book sitting on a pile of things they’d shoved aside to make space for plates and cutlery. The History of Loc Muinne Through the Ages of the Vrani, Elves, and Humans. It was horribly dry, and so Roche turned instead to packing his pipe while Ves pored over the map she’d moved to her bed for the meal.

He took a drag, and the smoke filled his lungs, briefly dispelling the raw emotion that had been clawing at his insides all day. As he held the smoke there, the image of his Stripes dangling inside that blasted tent flashed before his eyes again. The mud caked onto the worn soles of Pinto’s boots, the hood torn from Silas’ head to fit the rope, the striped mask Finch had always worn to cover his harelip stomped into the dirt beneath his feet.

As a choked sound forced itself up Roche’s throat, he coughed, the smoke suddenly burning his lungs. He thumped his chest with his fist – more forcefully than need be – and squeezed his eyes shut, but the images would not blur and the memories not fade.

He remembered how the Stripes would whoop whenever he joined them for training; how he’d spent long evenings studying their strengths and weaknesses to build a solid formation. Experienced again the frustration he’d sometimes felt when they had turned loud and rowdy the night after a successful campaign while he sat poring over his report. Now their laughter filled up his head, but only silence met his ears.

Where he had just been clutching the medal around his neck, now his fist slammed down onto the table, rattling the plates, bowls and bottles left from their meal. On the bed, Ves flinched hard and whipped around to stare at him wide-eyed. When she saw him bent over the table unmoving, she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Roche rubbed a hand over his face and into his hair, pulling off his chaperon and coif. With a sigh, he dropped them on the chair next to his own.

“I’m… sorry, Ves,” he pressed out.

When he looked up at her, he found he couldn’t make sense of her expression. For the longest time now, they’d been able to read each other like a book. It simply came with being commander and second-in-command. And now, just as Roche realised he didn’t know what was going on in her mind, he could tell she fared similarly. And it worried him more than he wanted to admit even to himself.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Roche took in the room. There were three narrow cots in the back, almost touching each other. They’d shared the cabin up until now, and had done so for as long as the Percival had been the Stripes’ vessel, but now the air seemed too thick to breathe, the spaces between the cots too small.

“Do you want me to leave for the night?” Roche asked, glancing at Ves.

She frowned, staring at a spot in the air just next to his face. “You’re the commander, you’ve a right to sleep here.”

“But I’m not asking as your commander, Ves.”

Finally, their eyes met, and she blinked a few times rapidly. Her shoulders slumped and she curled in on herself, forearms coming to rest on her thighs. Her gaze flickered over Roche’s face and then disappeared as she closed her eyes.

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t mind.”

Ves rolled the map out on the table and looked over her shoulder at Roche. He’d only just gotten up, and judging from the disgruntled look on his face, he hadn’t slept much.

“I’ve sketched out a potential way up to Loc Muinne for us,” she said. “Come have a look.”

Frowning, Roche fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “You’ll stay here.”

“What?” Ves half turned towards him, one hand resting on the map, fidgeting with a corner.

“I’m only taking Geralt with me,” Roche said and finally looked at her.

“You’re replacing me.”

It was moments like these when her age really showed, and it was eye-opening each time. Roche took a step closer and clamped a hand over the Blue Stripes badge on her sleeve.

“You’re my second-in-command. No one can replace you. Which is why I need you here. Alive,” Roche said, eyes boring into hers. “The Summit is in little over a week. You’ll remain for three, and if I’m not back by then you’ll go to Vizima.”

“You can’t just expect me to sit still and twiddle my thumbs for three weeks, Roche,” Ves said, balling her fists and leaning forward, but her vigour soon faltered. She swallowed thickly. When she continued, her voice was very quiet, and she stared at the ground between them. “I need you alive, too, you know? When— when Henselt released me into that tent, I— I thought wherever you, were they’d killed you too.”

Roche’s throat closed up, and he squeezed her arm.

“I didn’t know what to do, I— it was as if I was back in the Scoia’tael camp, after…”

Her voice petered out, and a tear fell from the tip of her nose. When a sob broke from her throat, Roche pulled her close, and she fell against his chest, digging her nails into his back.

“But you’re not there anymore. And you’ll never be there again,” Roche said, and her hair swayed with his breath. “We can’t change the past, but we can change the future, Ves. Which is why I need you present to do that if all else fails.”

Ves hiccupped and wiped at her eyes as she stepped back. “What would you have me do… in Vizima?”

“If discussions at the Summit fail, Temeria will most likely be divided up, but our people won’t surrender. There will be uprisings. Riots,” Roche said. “Make sure they have a leader.”

“What does that mean, Vernon?” Ves asked, letting out a concerned breath. “What the hell are you planning?”

“Whatever it takes,” Roche said and turned to face the map. “Now show me that path you found.”

“Geralt, can we talk?” Ves asked the Witcher, who stood at the helm of the ship, leaning against the railing and doused by a misty spray of Pontar water.

He looked at her over his shoulder, but didn’t move. Behind her, Roche strode across the deck. They’d begun the day shut away in the captain’s quarters, and once they’d finally emerged onto the deck around midday, Roche had begun barking orders at the sailors to keep them busy.

“What is it?” Geralt asked and pushed away from the railing.

Ves took a glance across the ship and then motioned towards the captain’s cabin with her head. Geralt frowned, but followed her inside.

“I need to ask you a favour,” Ves said, sitting down at the table. A bowl of green apples sat on it, and she picked one after circling her hand above it in deliberation.

“Uh-huh?”

Taking a bite of her apple, Ves let several seconds run by as she chewed. When eventually, she lowered the apple and cradled it in her lap, she slumped a little in her posture. “Can you look out for Vernon on the way to Loc Muinne? I’m worried he’ll be too impulsive in his thirst for revenge, and there’s a lot of dangerous people among the nobles gathered there. He can be too trusting sometimes. Believes in promises being kept once given.”

Geralt shrugged as he stood there in the middle of the room, crossing his arms. “Know him better than I do. You’re his right hand, making sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid is basically your job.”

“That’s why I’m asking you. I’m doing my job.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to Loc Muinne, Geralt. It’ll be just you two.”

Geralt hesitated and lowered his arms. He scanned Ves, but couldn’t detect anything unusual apart from the concerned expression on her face.

“Why? Didn’t think you’d ever leave his side. Do you need a doctor?”

Ves shook her head. “I’m not sick – or pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t. Henselt’s just another nightmare to add to the bunch, I suppose…” Geralt knew there were things she left unsaid, though he decided not to press her. “But orders are orders, so I’m to stay behind with the ship.”

“Roche ordered you to stay?” Geralt’s frown deepened.

“Mhm. This morning. Talked about defending his interests if… if he didn’t come back, I assume. He was vague. Geralt, I think he might be planning some sort of suicide mission.” When she looked up, Ves’ eyes were wide and glistening in the low light. “Just… look out for him. Talk to him.”

“No use talking to him when he’s like this. Said it yourself,” Geralt said, raising a hand in emphasis.

“Eventually, he’ll need to, and I’d prefer if you were there. He trusts you, Geralt.”

“Not so sure about that.”

“Oh, please,” Ves said. Her voice dropped, all warmth gone from it in an instant. “I’m not in the mood for rebuttal or denial. He wouldn’t have let you escape the dungeons of La Valette castle if he’d had even a shred of doubt about your innocence. He trusted you – trusted you didn’t kill his king, because it made no sense, and trusted you wouldn’t run away after leaving the gates of the castle.”

Geralt let a bout of silence pass without interruption.

“I didn’t, back then. Trust you, that is. Vernon ordered us onto the ship with no explanation, and I didn’t question it. It’s not my place. But when he revealed his flimsy plan, I told him what I thought of it. That we couldn’t trust you, couldn’t be certain of anything. I wondered whether you’d influenced him with one of your Signs, even though I didn’t quite know how they worked at the time.” Ves looked at Geralt from bloodshot eyes cast in dark shadows. “I thought he’d lost his mind, Geralt, but he was right. He saw the big picture when I couldn’t. I think… I think he might truly be losing his mind now. Don’t let it happen, Geralt. I might be his second-in-command, but you’re his friend.”

“Don’t they say Vernon Roche has no friends?” Geralt asked, and gave a grim smile when he remembered the saying he’d picked up some time ago. “And if each of his friends came to bury him, Roche would have to do it himself.”

“Apparently, it is enough to put a knife into his coffin and he will succeed,” Ves continued. “Put a knife in his coffin for me, Geralt, will you?” Geralt huffed, considering her for a moment before turning to leave. “See if I can spare one.”

Read the second Chapter on Ao3

#please reblog #the knife in his coffin #geralt of rivia #vernon roche #geroche #geralt/roche #geralt x roche #roche/geralt #roche x geralt #the witcher #witcher #wiedzmin #the witcher 2 #witcher 2 #the witcher 2 assassins of kings #assassins of kings #witcher fanfic