Vladimir Puddin Novels & Stories

I was stuck between wearing a pair of pumps for easy mobility or going with the knee boots that I hadn’t worn in months, but when Dalian began to run around, I just had to rush out of the bedroom clad in a white pair of sneakers. Just as we got to the facade, my gaze strutted to Vladimir’s relaxed frame, leaning casually on the bonnet of his car, his eyes glued to his phone. Like me, he was wearing a white shirt, paired with a black denim that clung loosely to his thighs. I gulped as his shirt didn’t do much in hiding those big honking shoulders, neither did the short sleeves conceal his ripped arms. And then his hair was given a neat parting which gave him a slight resemblance to Chris Prat

As we settled into our chairs, the Cacio e p**e arrived, rich and steaming. “Tell me something normal,” I challenged, swirling the wine in my glass. “Tell me something that has absolutely nothing to do with territory, betrayal, or revenge.” Vladimir paused, his formidable mind clearly scanning decades of existence for a memory devoid of conflict. He sighed dramatically. “When I was twelve, my grandmother made me learn to knit during the summer in St. Petersburg,” he confessed, leaning forward, his voice conspiratorial. “She said it was good for hand-eye coordination for shooting. I was terrible. My scarf looked like a trapped bird.”

“I told you it was fucking him.” Vladimir’s neck veins surface. Two steps forward and his voice thickens into his accent and the red patch gets even more visible. He looks fucking hilarious. "What the fuck is funny? " He questions, voice thick and livid in his accent that is a little hard to get- Like english involved in belly dance “Your face,” I start. “Seems like you got tagged too. Should’ve come out when Caden asked.” Vladimir’s jaw unhinges

Four huge shelves lines the walls, books of various kinds arranged in them. He must be a lover of books. “Staying in an isolated place requires unique hobbies,” he says, sliding out a book. “Most of these have been read.” He flips the book open. “What is your favorite book?” Vladimir’s attention is buried in the book. “I don’t like novels.” “What books do you like?” “Anything but novels.” “You have bad taste in things.” He closes the book and returns to its position. Leaning against the shelf, he shoves his hands into his pockets, gazing at me. “Who was he?”

"Philippine University? AB Literature?" "Yes, you like it right?" "Huh? How did you know?" "Sorry, I just saw it in your planner." "Vlad— I mean Sir—" "Vladimir, or Vlad. Not sir." Maria closed her eyes and opened her eyes again. "This is too much, Vlad. Tuition fees at PU are too expensive!"

The three men, Smelly Leader, Idiot Twat and Super Fugly stared at her like she was crazy. "Seriously guys, this is priceless." She would have wiped tears from her eyes if her hands weren't busy elsewhere. "Vladimir Sitnikov is about to take down that door, dismember you while you're still alive and you have no fucking clue exactly who it is you've stolen."