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dameronscopilot · 2 years

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burning up

Dmitri Antonov x Hopper’s Sister!reader

Summary: When Hopper crawled back to Hawkins, half-dead but miraculously still in one piece after his lengthy ordeal in Russia, your brother arrived with a straggler in tow—a man named Dmitri Antonov.

Cut to several months later, Hopper has no idea that your “friendly outings” spent introducing his house guest to “American culture” have turned from museums and shopping to a hot, sweaty, in-depth practical study of Dmitri’s very attentive hands and mouth on your writhing, naked body.

While the two of you have been successful in keeping your sultry little secret thus far, Dmitri’s patience may finally snap when you arrive at the Byers’ new house for their ‘Welcome Back to Hawkins’ barbecue, clad in a flowy little sundress.

…the same little sundress that you were wearing the night that you and Dmitri finally stopped pretending you weren’t attracted to one another. The night that he bent you over the hood of your car and fucked you until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name.

So yeah. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6k

Content: NSFW, SMUT, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral sex, choking kink, spit kink, anal play, cum eating, thigh riding, mutual masturbation, mild jealousy, inappropriate use of an ice cream spoon, fluff, feels!

A/N: This story is canon divergent in that it assumes life has returned to normal in Hawkins without the impending threat of otherworldly doom, etc. Also, you're Hopper's adopted sister.

“Jesus Christ.”

You heard the sound of Dmitri’s voice before you saw him, and a tickle of triumph peeled through you. Acutely aware of the searing gaze that was now wholly focused in your direction, you reached down to brush a nonexistent speck of dirt from your soft, flowing sundress, which was adorned with a pattern of oranges. Casually pushing your sunglasses further down your nose, you glanced over to find Dmitri’s blue eyes staring at you incredulously. You grinned, and he huffed in response, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you chirped as you shut your car door and strode up the driveway, heading toward the backyard of the Byers’ new house, where a lively party was taking place to celebrate the family’s return to Hawkins.

You lazily grazed a finger over Dmitri’s chest as you passed him, and as your hand reached for the latch to the gate, you heard the sound of metal crunching as he clenched the can of soda in his hands. Biting your lip, you turned back to look at him, your eyes sparkling in amusement as you followed the slow sweep of his eyes, which had stopped to focus on where the hem of your short dress fluttered high against the backs of your thighs.

Ignoring the heat that bloomed in your chest under his rapt attention—and the sight of his forearms in the white button down shirt he was wearing, the sleeves of which were rolled up to just before his elbows—you strode away toward your brother, who was (unsurprisingly) guarding his post in front of the grill. When it came to barbecues, anyone interested in helping with cooking the burgers and hot dogs would have to pry the spatula from Hopper’s cold, dead hands.

“Hey, Hop!” you called over to him.

He looked up and grinned, pulling you into a tight, one-armed hug as he asked, “Hey! What’s this, I thought you had work?”

You shrugged. “I convinced someone to cover my shift. I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

“Joyce is going to be so happy to see you, and Enzo will probably appreciate a familiar face. I’m still working on convincing him to go out and meet more people around town.” Hopper jerked a head in the direction of the man in question, who had made his way back into the yard shortly after you, and you willed your expression to remain neutral.

When Hopper had finally returned to Hawkins four months ago, he’d arrived with a straggler in tow—a Russian man named Dmitri Antonov, or “Enzo.” You’d offered to help Dmitri acclimate to life in the United States, much to your brother’s relief, as he already had his hands full trying to explain his own mysterious resurrection. And while Hopper was well aware of the time you and his new house guest spent together, he hadn’t the slightest clue that your polite, educational “American culture” outings generally ended with you naked and writhing under Dmitri’s touch.

After flitting around the decorated yard to say your hellos, receiving a bone-crushing hug from Joyce along the way, you excused yourself and walked into the kitchen to grab a drink from the fridge. You bent down, hand grasping a cold can from the bottom shelf, and when you straightened back up, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt somebody standing behind you.

A hand reached out to curl around your waist, and Dmitri’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he murmured, “You wore this dress on purpose.”

You smirked, turning to face him, and your breath tickled his lips as you spoke into the scant distance between your mouths, “And you refused to let me cum for hours last night. Let’s call it even.”

He sucked in a breath, heat flashing in his eyes as he remembered you splayed underneath him the night before, moaning, whining, and unashamedly begging him to push you over the edge toward your aching release. Entranced by the warm, golden glow of the setting sun pouring in through the windows on either side of your bed, he had instead taken his time kissing, biting, licking, and sucking his way across every curve and plane of your beautiful, naked body. He’d edged you for hours, fighting the urge to wrap a palm around his length, but the way you’d held on to him for dear life and screamed his name when your cum gushed over his cock had been worth every second.

So did he deserve for you to show up at the barbeque wearing his favorite little sun dress? The one that generously accentuated your breasts while leaving little to the imagination in its meager length? The same dress that had dealt the final blow to his crumbling self control the night that you both stopped denying the way you naturally gravitated toward one another? The night that he’d kissed you until you were breathless? The night that he’d fucked you right then and there, bent over the hood of your car?

Perhaps he did.

You had flushed at the memory of that day when you pulled the dress out of your closet before the party.

---

You’d picked Dmitri up for another outing, and the weather had been sweltering hot. Internally warring with himself, the poor man had spent most of the drive trying (and failing) to avert his gaze away from the trickles of sweat that dripped down your cleavage and the indecent tease of your upper thighs that became exposed with each gust of wind that sliced through the open windows. Was it a cheap shot? Maybe. But in the two months since he’d arrived in America, Dmitri had been nothing short of a complete and total gentleman to you. You could hardly complain about that, but the problem lay rooted in the fact that the soft looks, the comfortable silence, and the unabashed laughter that quickly became a staple of your budding friendship cracked open something inside of you—a warm, fond feeling that left you missing him each night that you dropped him off, counting down the days until you could find a reason to invite him out again for some other mundane activity.

And you knew your utter enjoyment of his company wasn’t one-sided, because you watched the reserved, tentative way that he interacted with anyone else that you, Hopper, or Joyce introduced him to. He carried the burdens of his past with him like heavy, cumbersome walls, hesitant to let his guard down lest the other shoe drop. But with you? With you, Dmitri let himself smile.

However, be it your brother’s looming metaphorical presence (there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he’d had a chat with Dmitri before introducing the two of you) or a casualty of his unfailingly respectful nature in your presence, all of your interactions were—on the surface—wholly platonic. So when an abnormally hot day in May gave you an opening to wear one of the less wholesome dresses in your closet? Well, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and pry a reaction out of him.

Your day had been spent trailing the vast halls of a large museum that was a few towns over, and it had been difficult to ignore the way that Dmitri had lingered closer to your side than usual, the backs of your hands occasionally brushing. Later, after the sun had dipped well below the horizon, he’d offered to drive home, because he’d caught you yawning repeatedly. And when he’d opened the passenger side door for you, you had shivered at the feeling of his hand when it brushed the small of your back for but a moment. The skies were uncharacteristically clear that night, so you’d waved off the exit to Hawkins and directed Dmitri further down the highway toward your favorite deserted hilltop spot to look at the stars.

Leaning back against the hood of the car, he’d reveled in the way your eyes lit up as you pointed out the constellations. And when you’d inadvertently leaned into him after a chilly breeze passed, the day’s hot weather giving way to a cool evening, he’d casually placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. You’d then found yourself caught in a silent battle of will as you were enveloped in the pleasant scent of his cologne, earthy with a hint of citrus and spice.

Feeling a brush against your thigh, you’d looked down to see Dmitri thumbing the hem of your dress. He’d spoken his next words so quietly. “You’re very beautiful. I hope…you don’t think that I don’t notice.”

Your breath had caught in your throat as you turned to look at him, feeling warm all over at the imploring look in his blue eyes and the sincerity of his gaze. Huffing out a small laugh, you’d replied, “I was beginning to worry that maybe I just wasn’t your type.”

Choking out a strangled laugh, Dmitri had leaned his forehead against yours, cupping your face with both hands. You’d closed your eyes for a moment at the comforting sensation, only to open them wide as he stated with a fierce conviction, “You are perfect.”

“But…,” you’d trailed off.

“You deserve far more than what I can offer you. Not to mention, your brother will, as he so politely put it, ‘shove his entire fist up my ass’.”

You’d let out a long suffering sigh. “First of all, I’m a grown woman, so Hopper doesn’t get a say in what, or who, I do. And Dmitri, I couldn’t care less what you have to offer. I just want you, plain and simple.

Running a finger over the shoulder of your dress, Dmitri had replied matter-of-factly, “A man like me is no good for a sweet, clean girl like you.”

“Well maybe I want to get dirty, Dmitri.”

You’d boldly locked your eyes with his as the words fell from your mouth—a challenge. And in turn, you’d watched as his resolve crumbled, making way for him to stop toeing the invisible line he had drawn in the sand the day he met you as he brought his lips crashing down onto yours.

Once you’d started kissing him, you couldn’t stop, a small whine building in the back of your throat as his tongue sought entrance into your mouth to devour you further. And when you’d urged him to touch you, granting him the consent he’d needed lest you’d changed your mind, the exploration of his deft hands across your body had left you keening under his touch.

And thus, that was how you’d found yourself bent over the hood of your car, your dress hiked up and your panties pushed aside as Dmitri fucked you. Gripping the edges of his jacket, which he’d insisted on laying across the cold metal of the hood before he began to work you open with his fingers (an exercise that was purely performative, given how you were already dripping wet for him), you’d screamed his name repeatedly as he pounded into you from behind, intense waves of pleasure rocking through your body. Afterward, Dmitri had pulled you to his chest and held you tight against him, peppering kisses along the curve of your jaw.

After that night, it was like a switch had been irreversibly flipped. No longer forced to keep his feelings at bay, Dmitri lavished you with attention whenever you were alone. Be it the way he took advantage of being able to freely drink you in with long, appreciative stares, his tendency to kiss your hands while you were driving, the utter enjoyment he found in making you squirm by whispering things that ranged from sickeningly sweet to downright filthy in your ears when you were in public, or his newfound addiction to experiencing each and every exquisite way you came apart under his touch.

And you couldn’t get enough of him.

---

“Even? Mm, we’ll see about that, Лисичка.” (little fox) Dmitri smirked, reaching into the fridge behind you, and his chest brushed against yours as he grabbed a bottle of water. Still pressed up against you, he twisted off the cap and slowly ran the tip of his tongue around the circle of the opening before taking a deep sip, eyes fluttering shut and throat bobbing while he swallowed. When he lowered the drink, he noticed your mouth had fallen open ever so slightly. He gently pushed upward on the bottom of your chin with his pointer finger, tapping the center of your closed lips afterward, and he winked before turning on his heel and heading back out the sliding glass door. Alone in the kitchen once more, your eyes darted to the freezer. You grinned.

If Dmitri thought you merely arriving in the dress would be the extent of his teasing for the day, he had another thing coming. And as he stood across the yard, caught in an uncomfortable conversation with an eager woman named Kathryn that Joyce had pawned off on him with a thumbs up, he was wholly unprepared for the scene that unfolded a few feet away. There you stood with…Officer Callahan was it? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way you glanced over at him with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes before turning back to the other man, nodding enthusiastically at whatever he was saying and twirling a red, white, and blue popsicle in your mouth.

Dmitri felt a hand on his forearm, and he shrugged Kathryn’s touch off as casually as he could before turning back to her and saying, “Sorry, what?”

She repeated herself, “I’m going to head over to try and talk to Officer Callahan about the kids that’ve been dumping trash in my driveway. You’re welcome to join me.”

While he wasn’t sure how much he trusted himself to maintain his composure in front of you, one glance at the way Callahan’s eyes were nearly glazed over by the sight of you slowly licking a stripe up the side of the popsicle had his feet moving before his brain could protest.

Pulling your lips off of the popsicle with an audible pop, you smiled widely when Dmitri approached. Turning to the man beside you, you asked, “Phil, have you had a chance to meet Dmitri yet?”

Callahan tracked the way Dmitri gravitated to your side, close enough to make a silent statement but far enough away that anyone else standing further off would think nothing of it. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, Hop brought him by the station a few times. Nice to see you, man.”

Dmitri’s face remained impassive and he nodded by way of greeting, noting the way the man’s eyes continued to flick to you as you resumed slurping on the frozen treat in your hands far more enthusiastically than necessary. He feigned interest for a few minutes as you chatted with Kathryn and Callahan, only allowing himself to finally give in and look over at you again when he heard a small yelp leave your mouth. He nearly choked on air as he took in your current state: lips wet and stained red, drips of color splashed all over your chest, and a piece of the popsicle was nestled—cold, sticky, and melting—between your breasts.

“Oops,” you giggled, laying it on a bit thicker than necessary because you just knew that the frayed rope of Dmitri’s patience was on the precipice of snapping. You scooped the stray piece of the popsicle out of your cleavage and tossed it into the grass.

Looking down at the mess you had made, you excused yourself to go inside and clean up. Although Kathryn immediately resumed her side of the conversation, Callahan turned to watch you go, as if he were contemplating giving you a hand. At this point, Dmitri’s dick was too fucking hard to give a single shit about how it looked, so he shot Callahan a warning glance before following after you (although he did make sure Hopper was still standing vigil at the grill before closing the back door). Silently making his way toward where he assumed the bathroom to be, Dmitri rapped a knuckle against the door.

At the sound of the single knock, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind as to who was on the other side. You turned the knob, and before you could blink, Dmitri had swiftly shut the door and clicked the lock into place before hoisting you up on the counter. You bit back a moan as he gripped your hips and buried his face in your neck, pressing wet, hot kisses to your collarbone. Your hips snapped forward at the feeling of his tongue trailing down your chest, sliding down to lap up the sticky, flavored mess that was splattered across the swell of your breasts. As his tongue darted lower, dipping below the fabric, he outright groaned when he realized that you’d taken things a step further by foregoing a bra for the day.

“It would be a shame if this dress got wet,” he murmured, letting his tongue slide lower to graze your nipples, and you sucked in a breath as you felt them stiffen underneath his touch. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you unzipped his shorts and snaked a hand inside of his boxers, your arousal growing as you felt the way he was already throbbing for you. As you began to pump his cock, Dmitri lifted one of your breasts out of the dress, taking the tender skin between his teeth, biting and sucking until a generous red mark appeared.

His hands slid up your dress to slide your skimpy excuse for underwear down your legs, discarding the white fabric on the floor. A moan teetered on the edge of your lips as he teased the damp mound between your legs with two fingers before sliding them in, his own pleasure rumbling in his throat upon finding your channel slick with arousal. Perhaps far too eager to chase your release after Dmitri’s edging marathon, you bucked into his hand.

“Sweetheart, are my fingers not enough?” Dmitri drawled, taking your bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it. He crooked his thick fingers inside of you, and he swallowed your answering whine with his mouth.

“...Need your cock, Dmitri,” you panted, whilst he slid a third finger inside.

Obliging you, Dmitri scooped you into his arms and turned away from the sink, sheathing his cock inside of you as he began to mercilessly fuck you against the wall. His lips grazed your neck, blazing a trail hot, open-mouthed kisses, and his voice was on the edge of desperation as he spoke between grunts, “Ты такая красивая, my lovely girl.” (You’re so beautiful)

Your hands were fisted in the back of his shirt as you spread your legs wider, the angle allowing Dmitri deeper access to your cunt; you were desperate to feel the pleasurable stretch of his large cock bottoming out inside of you. He continued to hammer into you before eventually slowing down, gently placing your legs on the ground and turning you around to face the wall. You braced yourself as he hiked your right thigh up into the air, hooking his arm under your knee before thrusting back in again so deep that you felt a line of drool slip from the corner of your mouth as you silently screamed in pleasure. You turned your face to the side to look at Dmitri, licking your lips and letting them fall open. In turn, he wrapped a hand around your throat and squeezed as he roughly spit into your mouth.

You swallowed, and Dmitri tightened his grip on your throat, plunging in and out of your pussy with fervor. A dizzying orgasm punched through you, and your pussy clenched down on Dmitri’s thick cock as he rocked you through the waves of your pleasure before reaching his own peak, shooting thick ropes of cum inside of you. A fond chuckle tumbled from Dmitri’s lips as he kissed you tenderly, putting your leg down and helping you regain your balance.

Straightening your dress and making a halfhearted attempt at taming the results of you eagerly raking your fingers through his hair, you reached down to pick up your underwear, which were nowhere to be found. You were on the verge of asking Dmitri where they had gone when you looked up and watched as he placed them in his pockets.

You gaped, and he smirked. “I think it’s only fair that you match,” he said, gesturing to where your hard nipples were prominently showing through your dress. You rolled your eyes, and he cupped your face, placing an affectionate kiss to your cheek before adding, “Though…we should probably clean you up first.”

He looked pointedly at where the mixture of your cum and his had begun to drip down the inside of your thighs, but before you could reach for a tissue, he had you pressed up against the sink as he dove back under your dress, lapping at your folds. You gripped the edges of the counter as he slipped his dexterous tongue into your hole, caught between the feeling of overstimulation and the crest of another wave of release. Your legs spread wider of their own accord as he began to outright fuck his tongue into your cunt, and when you felt Dmitri pull you forward slightly to drag a wet finger over the tight ring of muscle between your ass cheeks before sliding the tip of it inside, you had to bite down on your palm to muffle the sounds of another orgasm ripping through you.

---

The rest of the party was fairly uneventful after you and Dmitri took it upon yourselves to christen the Byers’ new bathroom, though you found most things paled in comparison to his company as of late. Well aware that you both shared an insatiable desire for one another, something you’d been pleased to discover early on when your trysts began, you made a valiant effort at mingling with the rest of the guests—if only to keep yourself distracted from the amused, knowing glances that he periodically shot your way every time you subtly adjusted your thighs. (And in turn, he would conspicuously reach a hand into his pocket, where you knew your underwear were held captive.)

Later, after excusing yourself from a long-winded conversation with one of Joyce’s neighbors, you glanced around the yard—which was bathed in the glow of lights strung about from the fence and the trees—in search of Dmitri. Eyeing where your brother was seated beside the fire with a guitar in his hands, belting out a song terribly off-key for Joyce and those who remained, you shot a glance in the other direction toward a dark, unlit corner. Rounding the tall hedges that hid a small table and chairs behind them, you found Dmitri sitting there, casually leaning back in a chair with his legs spread invitingly while eating a bowl of ice cream. He smirked, as if he had known you’d come to find him eventually.

You waltzed over to him, plopping down on his knee and turning sideways to face him. He stiffened for a moment, and you giggled, “You hear that terrible noise that sounds like a dying bear? Hopper’s busy performing for everyone around the campfire right now. Nobody will notice we’re over here.”

He relaxed at that, putting the bowl aside and wrapping his arms around you. In turn, you ran a hand through his hair and pressed your lips to his. Dmitri hummed into the kiss, deepening it and licking into your mouth, sliding your tongues together. You felt a pull of fabric, and you glanced down to see him untying the strings ruched over your breasts, which were meant to keep the front of the dress snugly in place. With the tension released, he trailed his hands along your shoulders to push down your sleeves, allowing your naked breasts to spill out.

Your eyes widened at his boldness, and he shrugged as he began to palm them. “Relax, I’m keeping an eye out. And if I die here tonight by way of your angry brother, at least I die a very happy man.” He winked.

You laughed, and you were about to adjust yourself to fully climb into his lap, but with a firm grip from his large hands on your waist, he spun you so that you were facing away from him and straddling his right thigh. He began to fondle your breasts, eagerly groping them while pinching your nipples and lavishing your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Purposely shifting his thigh slightly, you bit back a whine as your bare cunt rubbed against the fabric of his shorts, the friction sending pleasure straight to your core. He tugged on your hair, pulling your head back for a messy kiss, and you cried out into his mouth at the sudden feeling of something cold biting at your nipples. Twisting your head back around, you looked down to find Dmitri was running a spoon along your swollen breasts, which were now dripping with remnants of his vanilla ice cream. Your hips pushed forward, and you began to grind down, seeking friction as heat licked in your belly in response to the cold metal teasing its way across your chest.

“Come here,” Dmitri murmured as he turned you around, still straddling his thigh but facing him this time. He dipped his head and took it upon himself to clean yet another sticky mess from your tits with his mouth, licking them generously and obscenely sucking on your pert nipples. Unable to hold back any longer, you shamelessly began to ride his thigh, cunt sliding in the pool of your arousal coating Dmitri’s shorts.

“That’s it, good girl,” he purred as he roughly began to palm himself over his shorts, looking into your eyes with a heated stare. “Cum on me, малыш, it’s okay.” (Baby)

You buried your face in his neck, and he gripped your hips tightly as your orgasm hit you in a wave of pleasure. You had but a few stray moments to pant against his neck before the sound of a snapping twig had you rushing to tug your dress back into place, jumping into the chair beside Dmitri just as he leaned an elbow on his leg to cover the mess you had left there, feigning an air of casualness.

Hopper approached, a slightly drunken stumble to his step as he peered over at the two of you in the darkness and barked out, “Why are you guys sitting over here in the dark? Was my singing that bad?”

You snorted, and Dmitri covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh. Hopper scoffed, crossing his arms as he continued, “Well, whatever. Joyce hid the guitar from me, and they’re all roasting marshmallows now, if you’re interested.”

Feigning a tired stretch and forcing out a yawn, you shook your head. “I actually think I’m going to head home, Hop. I’m pretty tired.”

Hopper nodded in understanding and replied, “I don’t want Joyce running around cleaning everything up herself tomorrow morning, and I’m not exactly in driving condition anyway, so I’m going to crash here.”

You leveled him with a stare, a retort asking why he didn’t just move in with her already after making headway with his monumental emotional constipation while they were in Russia on the tip of your tongue. But you’d save your regularly scheduled nagging for later. In the meantime, you had your own love life to secretly carry out. “I think Dmitri was ready to go, too, so I can just drop him off instead of him driving your truck home.”

Hopper nodded, “Good, yeah, I have to head to work early in the afternoon anyway, so then I can head straight there from here.”

After saying your goodbyes to those that were left mingling, you couldn’t walk to your car fast enough, keenly aware of Dmitri right on your heels. The moment that the doors were shut, you turned to him and asked, “Want to stay the night?”

Dmitri reached over, lacing his hand with yours. “I’d like nothing more. Well…that, and finally getting you out of that dress.”

You grinned as you put the car in reverse, swinging your head around as you backed out of the driveway. For as extensively as the two of you had already mapped out one another’s naked bodies, nights spent sleeping cocooned in Dmitri’s embrace were dreadfully few and far between, carefully orchestrated around Hopper’s rare overnight shifts. However, before heading back to your place for some much needed alone time behind closed doors, you abruptly made a right turn, courtesy of an idea that had just formed in your head.

Dmitri looked at you expectantly when you eventually pulled into the dark, deserted parking lot of the town’s public pool. You shrugged and said with an air of nonchalance, “It was so hot today, I’ve been dying for a swim.”

Never one to question your ideas, no matter how brazen, Dmitri simply shook his head and smiled at you as you both let yourselves out of the car and approached the pool’s locked gate. Dmitri looked poised to hoist you up over the fence, but you walked a few paces away, returning a moment later with the extra key that you had learned the lifeguards kept stowed away under a rock.

Dmitri followed you to the pool’s edge, looking down into the gently rippling, illuminated water. You turned to him, plucking at the buttons on his shirt as he shucked off his shorts. Remembering his comment about your dress earlier, you opted to leave it on for your late night swim. You knew there was a sweater and shorts stuffed somewhere in your trunk, anyway.

When you jumped in, you were pleased to find that the water was still warm from baking in the hot sun all day, and you beckoned Dmitri to join you. He sighed dramatically before backing up for a running start, folding his body up into a ball before he landed, which sent a wave of water crashing down on top of you. You sputtered and laughed as he swam over to you, moving your wet hair from where it was covering your eyes and kissing you. You slotted your lips against his for a moment before pulling back and putting distance between the two of you. His brows furrowed in confusion, only to realize once it was too late that you were winding your arm backward to drag it across the water and splash him.

A chase ensued, in which you would swim fast and hard to escape Dmitri’s grip for a minute or two, he’d catch you by the ankle or the shoulder and bring you in for a heated kiss, only for you to slip away and start the process all over again. Eventually, you reached the ladder, and you made a swift exit from the pool before Dmitri could stop you.

You glanced back at him with a mischievous look in your eyes. Dmitri’s mouth went dry as he treaded water, drinking you in. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the way your soaking wet dress clung tightly to the curves of your body, your breasts on clear display with the thin fabric rendered nearly see-through.

Fully aware that he was staring, you slowly lowered yourself onto one of the pool’s lounge chairs, loosening the ties of your sopping wet dress to allow your breasts to spill out freely once more. Dmitri climbed out of the pool, making his way toward you. Keeping your eyes on him, you lifted your dress and spread your legs wide open, reaching a finger down to tease your slit. You were still sensitive from the stretch of his cock in the bathroom and from your shameless performance on his thigh, but your stolen moments throughout the day had been too brief, too rushed, and you desperately wanted to savor Dmitri this time, to drink him in.

“Гавно,” (shit) he breathed out as he approached you, watching as you spit on your fingers and resumed your steady ministrations on your cunt. He came to sit down on the chair beside you, pulling his hard shaft out of his boxers. As he began to lazily stroke himself, eyes raking over you with admiration, you inadvertently felt your cunt flutter and clench down on the two fingers you were pumping inside of yourself, eager to feel the stretch of something thicker and larger plunging in.

Holding his gaze, you began to play with your breasts and brought your arousal soaked fingers to your lips, licking your juices from them. Dmitri bit his lip as he tightened his grip on his cock, a shallow moan leaving his mouth. You stood, motioning for him to lay down on the chair, and you peeled off your dress and settled your naked body between his thighs, where he was still tugging at his shaft. You replaced his hand with yours, leaning in to lick stripes up and down the side of his cock. He groaned your name, hips pushing upward into your teasing touches until you finally slid your open mouth over him.

You eagerly bobbed up and down on his cock, taking him deep into the back of your throat repeatedly until he began to shudder under your touch. You slowed to a stop, pulling off of him with a line of split trailing from his tip to your bottom lip. Dmitri beckoned you closer, and he sat up at the waist as you climbed into his lap. You keened in pleasure as your wet folds slid against his erection, and he chased after your lips for a searing kiss. Wrapping his strong arms around you, he lifted you, lining up your glistening hole with his thick, waiting cock. A rush of adoration burned through you as you locked eyes with Dmitri, who was staring at you reverently, and you both simultaneously cried out when he finally sunk into you.

Cradled intimately in Dmitri’s arms, tremors of pleasure poured through your body as he made love to you. The slick sounds of him sliding in and out of you were punctuated by a string of sweet words and phrases that he desperately spoke between your heated kisses, fluidly switching back and forth between English and Russian. When your whines grew more desperate, your fingers digging into his back, Dmitri lifted you up slightly so the head of his cock sat nestled at the edge of your hole before plunging back in, burying himself to the hilt. Suddenly, your orgasm rocked through you, and you desperately cried out against Dmitri’s mouth, tears falling down your cheeks from the intensity of it. Dmitri’s release came shortly after, and he embraced you tightly as his cock pulsed, filling you deeply with his hot cum.

You didn’t move afterward, and Dmitri’s arms stayed wrapped around you as his cock softened inside of your spent cunt, cum beginning to dribble out onto the chair below. He kissed the tears that stained your cheeks before nuzzling into the side of your neck.

The next morning, you awoke in your bed to the rare feeling of utter contentment that sleeping beside Dmitri brought. His arms were wrapped around you, his head resting on top of yours, and you snuggled further into his chest, clinging to him tightly.

Voice slightly muffled, you quietly said, “I’m not ready to wake up yet. I want to enjoy this for a little longer.”

Dmitri smiled, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» DMITRI ANTONOV MASTERLIST

#dmitri antonov #enzo #enzo stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #dmitri antonov smut #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader #dee writes

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quinn-pop · 4 months

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magolor does not know how to be a real person part 5

bro has vulnerability issues so bad he can only laugh at them

#the cup thing is just a joke i wrote out … of a chapter i havent written yet B)#to be apart #idk why i forgot to add some of the usual details but life is too short i don’t care #kirbyposting #my art or something #doodling is rlly more a part of my writing process than anything it just helps me process ideas #magolor #Kirby #gooey kirby #meta knight #sailor dee #queen ripple #are ya winning son #metadad #<- implied. sorta. this is clear enough to tag right #sad metadad lol #oh btw the cup joke was just mags teasing mk #because of course he would #there’s a little ramble i could go on but i’ll spare the rant #anyway if anyone’s curious i’m at chapter 28 with 54k words lol #gonna be honest i’ve felt a little unmotivated to edit and post (to be transparent yeah it’s probably mostly just #that my last 2 updates were met with near silence? not much helping it but apparently seeing responses matters to me #a little more than i thought? with things like this that are such a time investment. Yknow. easy to get discouraged)#but i’ve been having fun with it so you’ll see them eventually #and ofc thank you for reading my tags ramble lol #byebyee

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lucaonthropy · 12 days

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Overheard someone saying T*re Liy* is the best author in my country and subsequently took psychic damage

#okay so im def not judging anyone who likes his writing #i liked his older writing!#i like his current writing worse bcs i think the guy is starting to burn out BUT that is strictly my personal opinion #to say that he is the best in this area tho??? deadass????? NO #his writing style is stiff and more tell than show. actually. it's mostly tell than show #his dialogue is .... well ... this one is a matter of taste but god his characters cannot just say things normally cant they #his romances dont feel like romance too lets be real for a sec here #like okay if you will be adamant about it alright fine. but maybe try other authors like dee lestari or ziggy z first #sure theyre both flawed too but at least i dont feel like im being seen as third grader when i read their things #luca rambles #random thoughts #vent post

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bumbledees · 3 months

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YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO STEAL MY OPEN TAGS <333

hmmmm oh choices choices, but I must say the title that most grabbed my attention is "Please Hang Up! Don’t Try Your Call Again"- I'm VERY CURIOUS.

:D <333 I LOVE TO PLAY TAG GAMES. and to hear other people talk about their wips!!

I'm also SO glad that out of all the fics you picked that one. It's one of the first SW fic ideas I had before Rumor Has It jumped my brain in a dark alley, and I really want to write it eventually. It is actually codywan this time, eventually. POV Cody and occasionally Ahsoka.

In which Cody does some breaking and entering, endures a month of the galaxy's most aggravating phone calls, fistfights the dark side of the Force, and accidentally fulfills a prophecy. Or: Chancellor Palpatine: Such a shame to lose our dear Commander CC2224. Cody: Stop telling people I'm dead! Chancellor Palpatine: Sometimes I can still hear his voice.

[snippet under cut]

"My General will come," Cody says, because the idea that Obi-Wan wouldn't is the biggest insult he's heard to the man in at least a year standard.

"The Force, my dear Commander, can hide a great many things from view," the hologram snarls. "He and your men will leave you for dead, and you will starve long before you can even attempt escape." With a spasm of blue, the figure disappears.

Cody can't help a frustrated hiss through his teeth. Food is his most immediate problem, despite the ominous atmosphere of the complex and the nightmare its comm system has on speed dial. Would a dar'jetti even need to eat?

Ooh, look at me, I'm a Sith, he can almost hear Waxer saying. I'm having evil rations for my evil breakfast.

His next thought--that he might never hear Ghost Company's nonsense or watch the 212th shinies earn their paint ever again--hurts more than he expects.

The battalion will be fine; they've got the General and a fine roster of veteran troopers to guide and protect them. But he can't give them up without a fight, and right now the mystery darksider is his only source of intel on... anything about this place.

Kenobi tactics almost certainly won't work here, so it's time to go Skywalker. Cody punches the comm button again, summoning up the tiny cloaked figure. "Hey fucker, I wasn't done talking to you."

The hologram is managing to look surprised without having any visible facial features, so Cody takes that as a good sign. The creepy artifact seems like it could be good leverage for a dar'jetti; he'll go for that first. "Do you want me to break your haunted triangles? Because keeping me here is how you break your haunted triangles."

#yes it's another cody pov.... listen he's my favorite. he has so many responsibilities and siblings and he wants to do good by all of them #he also deserves to blow some things up. as a treat.#dee writes #star wars fic

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divorce-enjoyer · 1 month

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nobody gets deetress like i do

#guys stop writing them being nice to each other. what happened to toxic yuri #they hate each others guts and they should fuck about it. come on now #but also deandra “praise kink” reynolds would be SO weak whenever the waitress says one (1) nice thing to her #deetress #dee reynolds #the waitress #its always sunny

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sirendeepity · 2 months

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[ SJM Romance Week, day 7: Free Day ]

A/N: I might be completely and unashamedly biased, but I love those kids to pieces. In my mind, there are one too many options on how the triplets have come into the world, but this is the one I hold dearest, so I tried to put it into words. Hopefully, I did it justice. A short summary would be a canon-compliant fic of sorts, set years into the future, where Nesta and Cassian had kept their pregnancy a secret from the world, but not anymore. Enjoy <3

@sjmromanceweek

T/W: occasional mention of past traumatic events;

W/C: 3.9k

It’s been four years since Cassian had last felt the “jumping off a cliff with tied wings would be less stressful” kind of nervous.

You want this, he reminded himself. And gods damned him, he did. He had all but howled when Nesta had given him the green light. He had written a letter—little more than a scrap of paper with a date, place, and time scribbled on it—, and counted down the days. Eleven. He had double-checked that everything was how it was supposed to be before stepping out of the house—still fifteen minutes earlier. Cassian didn’t want to take any risk. He simply leaned against a tree and waited, looking at the hollowed-out trunk they had used as a drop-off point for their letters during those past few years. A couple of years shy of a decade had passed since he’d last seen his family, so Cassian took those moments of quietness to let his memories flow. How the last war they’d fought had taken everything from his mate, leaving an empty shell of the fierce female she used to be; how he had kept his promise and took her far, far away, to a place no one knew about. A place where they could both rest and heal. Their friends had been distraught when Cassian had told them they would leave for an indefinite amount of time and asked them not to contact Nesta in any way—to give her space and, most importantly, time. And they had. Rhys and Feyre had rarely spoken to him using their daemati abilities, asking for updates, if they needed anything, when could they meet again. Even Azriel’s shadow had kept their distance. Kept their secret, too. A little more than two months and Nesta had held out a closed envelope to him. “For Feyre and Elain,” she said simply. So Cassian had found that very place in the middle of nowhere, tied a white ribbon around one of the lowest branches, and let a simple thought travel out into the ether: “I’ve got something for you.” That had been their first contact. But even as the letters became more frequent, Cassian could see how Nesta’s eyes shuttered every time he tried to bring up Velaris, or the House of Wind. So they all waited. Time flew by, and before Cassian could take a full breath, weeks turned into months turned into years, and now—

“Cass.”

Cassian blinked, turning to face the owner of the voice. Feyre stood a few steps from him, tears already filling her eyes. Rhys was at her side, and Mor, and Az. Everyone had come, right when he’d told them to. Not a minute before, and not a minute later. Words failed him, so Cassian just opened his arms wide, inviting his friends and family back into his life. Tears fell, and laughter soon filled the air around them as hugs and kisses were exchanged. Even Amren, for a fleeting moment, wrapped her slender arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly despite her furrowed brows. Cassian wasted no time, kissing Gwyn on both cheeks in congratulations, careful of her round belly, before setting off into the woods and beckoning them to follow. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“I told you Nesta would turn the wolves prowling this place,” Mor gestured at the mountains around them with a manicured hand, “and make puppies out of them.”

Feyre laughed. It must’ve been a recurring joke between them.

Cassian only grinned, “Something like that.”

A few minutes later they reached an opening, a meadow big enough for comfort, and a house came into view. His house, the one Cassian had built from the grounds up. It was two stories high, with a small patio on the front—mirror to the much larger one in the back— and a tall stone chimney. He had flattened out one side of the rooftop, making a little terrace of sorts—which Nesta had decorated with pillows and plants and candles—, and every door and window had been painted a bright red. It had taken them some time to turn that place into a home, but now there was something unequivocally theirs about it all. Cassian had come to cherish the peace of mind granted by its four walls, and it had turned into a safe space for him as much as it was for his mate. Instead of opening the doors to them, Cassian guided his friends to the back. A couple of stray trees dotted the space, with flowers ready to bloom. They hosted swings and knotted ropes. A sheet had been tied between two trunks and turned into a makeshift hammock.

Planks of wood were still piled up beside the furthest tree. Once upon a time, Cassian had promised he would pick up the project again, but he could hardly bring himself to look at it without bile rising up his throat. That broken tree-house was all he could see.

“Daddy’s back!”

A small figure wrapped in a yellow dress ran toward him, chubby arms already raised in the air. Cassian caught his daughter as she launched at him, swinging her in the air before bringing her close to his chest. Gasps echoed behind him.

“Look, look!” Nora exclaimed. Twin pigtail braids swayed this way and that, following the movements of her head. “Mommy put her ribbons in my braids! Now I’m a valykirie, too!”

Cassian laughed at his daughter’s words. “Valkyrie,” he corrected her, kissing her rosy cheek. “You look so pretty, Ladybug.”

Nora giggled, hiding her face in the crook of his neck and wrapping her arms around him.

“Cass,” Mor choked on a whisper. He winked at her, inclining his head as he moved deeper into the garden. A large blanket had been laid onto the grass, almost every inch of it covered with small plates and trays filled with hard cheese, cured meats, and veggies of all kinds. Nesta had even made fresh rosemary and olive bread that morning, filling the house with its aromatic scent. Thankfully, the Mother had blessed them with a sunny day—a rarity in Illyria, especially during that time of the year, when spring and summer met in uncertain weather. Sometimes it was so warm they had to strip off layers of clothing, others the sky was raining down on them, or the wind sneaked into their home and tried to steal anything light enough to be carried away. That day was perfect, with white clouds sheltering them from the harshness of the sun and a light breeze to keep them cool. The trees helped, too. It was there, under the shadows of rustling leaves, that his mate was. She was seated on a plush pillow, one of the many they had thrown around, with a baby curled over her chest. Two, actually. Maya left a kiss on her brother’s cheek, patting his soft curls as he wiped at his eyes. His wings were relaxed, low on the ground, and Nesta was rubbing his back in wide circles. Nora’s excitement must have woken him from his nap. Athos tended to be grumpy when someone disturbed his dreams. With one last kiss, Maya parted from her brother and ran to Cassian.

She stopped at his side, barely reaching his knees, and Cassian bent down to place a hand on top of her dark hair, braided in a crown—so I can look like Mom, she had said that morning. But it was not at him she was looking at. Her gaze was fixed behind him, where Emerie stood. As Nesta rose, Athos still in her arms, and walked closer, Cassian watched his daughter study the female, waiting. Everyone held their breath.

“Are you Em…” Maya’s blue-gray eyes, Nesta’s eyes, turned to him, and Cassian nodded in encouragement, “..Erie?”

Emerie sniffed once before clearing her throat. “That’s me.”

Maya gasped, joy lighting up her soft features. She pivoted, pink skirts and all, and spread her little black wings. The right one stretched open, while the left couldn’t go past half its length. A brutal scar ran down its inner side, covering leather and skin alike. Cassian’s throat closed at the memory of his daughter, his Butterfly, falling from the tree house. The one he’d built for them. The one he should’ve built better, making sure everything was safe before letting three toddlers get in it.

One of the floor planks had given out when Maya had jumped on it, the wood breaking beneath her tiny feet, and in her fall the exposed shards had dug into her back. Had cut through tendon and bone alike. They had managed to save her spine—fuck, they had managed to save her life—but there was nothing they could do for the little wing. It had been devastating. For weeks, Cassian had barely been able to eat, to sleep, to look his kids in the face. He’d been ridden by guilt and shame. He still was, the darkness lurking toward him, hitting him in waves, and more than a year had passed since that awful day. A warm hand grabbed his, holding gently, and Cassian turned toward his mate, exchanging glances. She knew, he knew, neither of them would let the shadows take control of their thoughts, their emotions, again.

“Mama said I’m like you!” Cassian could’ve sworn pride laced his daughter’s words. Nesta had told her, told all of them, countless stories about Emerie, and Gwyn, and even Feyre and Elain. About those females who had not allowed the blows life had dealt them to break their spirit, to bend their will.

“Did she now? Well,” Emerie said, voice thick with emotions as she bent down and stretched her open palm toward Maya, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, then.”

“I’m Maya,” she said, grabbing Emerie’s fingers with both hands. “And she is Nora.” On cue, Nora started wiggling in his arms, so Cassian placed her feet back on the ground and wrapped his newly free arm around Nesta’s waist. “And that is Puppy.”

“He is Athos!” Maya scolded her sister, both of them bursting into a fit of snorts and giggles. Athos blinked once, twice, golden-brown curls falling into the hazel eyes they shared. With skin one or two shades paler than his sisters’, he was the one resembling Nesta the most—save for the pair of leathery wings on his back, now tucked in tight as he turned his head the other way and hid in the safety of his mother’s arms. He had her same quiet nature, too, but that didn’t stop his sisters from luring him into trouble at any given chance. Nora, on the other hand, was Cassian’s carbon copy. Not just in looks, but in spirit too. She laughed as hard as she cried, living her emotions to the fullest. Much like the day they were born, she was always at the lead, always the first to act, to make way for her twins. Believe it or not, she was not the mind behind their shenanigans. Maya was. Their eyes were the only feature that set them apart. One from forests and mountains, the other from skies and seas. Maya was a little devil in disguise, already too clever for her own good.

“Oh, my,” Elain breathed, cheeks stained with tears. “Are they-”

“Triplets,” confirmed Nesta. The waterworks began again.

“When?”

“How?”

“Girls, finally!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Congratulations, brother.”

Cassian raised his hands, exposing his palms in surrender, and said, “We’ll tell you everything, but we should eat first, or only the ants will enjoy my bread.”

Cassian took Athos from Nesta’s arms so she could greet her sisters properly, and edged Nora and Maya toward their embroidered pillows, the others following suit.

As he caught Azriel’s eyes, his brother left his mate’s side and inched closer.

“Hey, Puppy,” Cassian murmured into his son’s ear, guiding his attention toward Az. “Do you see this guy?” A nod. “If you don’t like the noise, or if there are too many people, or you just don’t feel very good and your mother and I are not around, you go to him, okay?”

Azriel inhaled slowly, his shadows swirling with the movement. A black curl reached out tentatively, and Athos studied it. His warm eyes rose to Azriel’s then, who patiently waited for the boy to make the first move. “Do they hurt?” He asked, one little finger reaching back.

“No.” To prove his point, he let the black tendril wrap around Athos’ finger. “They’re very curious, though. They like puppies, I’ve been told..”

Athos’s gasp turned into a quiet giggle. “They tickle.”

Soon they were all seated, letting fresh food and berry juice pass from hand to hand, talking about everything and nothing at all. From the projects Nyx wanted to explore to modernize Velaris—the male, now more than 50 years old, had a mind so brilliant it turned Dawn’s thinkers green with envy—, to the journey across the continent Lucien had promised Elain as a gift for their latest anniversary—only a couple of arrangements left to make before their departure—to the obvious new double-addition to their ranks, Azriel and Gwyn’s twins. There was so much to tell, so much to catch up on.

Cassian looked at his brother and found him smiling tenderly at the boy, love and gratitude filling his eyes.

“But let’s focus on the real stars of this day,” Mor said, face still splotchy from all the crying. Her brown eyes jumped from one little face to another, as if she wanted to imprint their soft features into her brain as quickly as she could.

“When is your birthday?” Rhys asked, taking a sip from his glass. “We have missed five of them. We must fix it.”

Maya didn’t even finish chewing her food before replying. “Four.” To prove her point, she raised three jam-sticky fingers in the air. Rhys chuckled, bending his head. “My apologies.”

“At the crack of dawn on the 23rd of September,” three curly heads turned one after another, entranced by their mother’s voice. “After ten hours of labor,” Nesta added pointedly, twisting Maya’s dark strands around her finger, “Came Nora, then Maya, and then Athos.”

Nesta exhaled heavily, Cassian replicating the gesture. “Our brave boy.”

At his words, the groups shared a sort of understanding.

There was this belief, among Illyrians, that every time a baby was born, they were faced with two options—two mothers. If they got too scared by the world surrounding them, so dark and cruel and full of terrors, the Mother would cradle them in her arms and take them someplace else, where no harm would ever find them. Nesta, Cassian knew, was still plagued with nightmares of her pained, desperate screams filling the silence left by their son. He’d come out of the womb with the birth cord wrapped around his neck. Despite the midwife’s lightning speed in freeing his airways, it hadn’t been enough. But then, just as the sun peeked from behind the mountain tops, time had seemed to slow as a small, frail, tentative wailing filled the room.

“Really?” Gwyn exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. She placed a hand on her bump, forcing her lips to curve in a smile despite the tears brimming her teal eyes. “They’re supposed to be due at the beginning of August. Close enough.”

“Sissy’s birthday is in August, too!”

“No, Nora,” Cassian laughed, grateful for the distraction. He placed a cheese stick in her hand. She chewed on it without hesitation. “Her birthday is in June.”

“Who is Sissy?” Lucien asked. “Are we missing someone?” He looked shocked, as if he couldn’t believe there were more.

“Trixie—Beatrix,” Nesta amended, “is our oldest.” By the look on their faces, Cassian knew they were all doing the math.

“Don’t worry,” he grinned, “She will be here, soon.”

“She already is.”

All eyes turned toward the house, to the proud female stepping out the backdoor.

Joyous screams rose from the kids, their smiles lighting up like fireflies as they stood and ran to their sister.

Trixie crouched, arms open, bracing for the collision. She kissed their cheeks, their little noses, their soft curls. Cassian’s heart swelled in his chest at the sight.

“Such cute overalls, Puppy,” she said, taking his hand and guiding him into a spin.

His son smiled from ear to ear. “You gave it to me!”

“I did, didn’t I?” She gestured for the kids to sit down again with one hand, the other holding the ribbons tied around a box. Trixie bent to leave a soft kiss against Nesta’s temple, placing the box on the grass at her side before rising again and making her way to him. She knelt behind him, and Cassian moved his wings to make space for her body as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, moving to sit at his side. Nyx, to her right, looked anywhere but at her, the tips of his pointed ears turning a deep shade of red. Cassian was tempted to call him out, but knew his “over-protectiveness” would only piss off Trixie.

“Everyone, this is Trixie,” Cassian said, grinning like a cat. “Trixie-”

“Everyone,” she cleared her throat, bobbing her head once in acknowledgment.

Maya made her way onto Trixie’s lap, passing food to her older sister, and they flowed back into easy conversation.

From the opposite side of the blanket, Amren nodded in Trixie’s direction, “How did you find that one?”

“She found us,” was Nesta’s reply. She opened the box containing the Illyrian’s typical pastries Cassian had asked Trixie to buy, and found a little corner to place them among the rest of the food. “She had made the house her own. I found her sleeping in our bed when we came here.”

Cassian, Mother damned him, had come dangerously close to losing it when he had realized they were not alone in the house. The dagger was in his hand within moments, ready to take down any threat, when Nesta had climbed down the stairs on nimble feet and told him, in that no-nonsense way of hers, that there was a little girl asleep in the main bedroom, and he should cook dinner for three that evening. Cassian had kissed her senseless, and just like that they had found themselves with a daughter. Well, Cassian wished it had been that easy. Trixie, who had seen and lived through more than any fourteen-year-old should, had waged war on them for months, trying her very best to push them over the edge. But Nesta was relentless, and so was he. Nothing she could’ve said or done would have made them turn their backs on her. So she stayed, and soon enough Beatrix became Trixie became Sissy. A blessing, that’s what she’d been. She had healed some intrinsic part of Nesta that not even Cassian had been able to reach. He would forever be indebted to her for that reason only. Her wings had not been clipped, so he’d been able to teach her how to fly, and fight, and dream again. His daughter in all the ways that mattered, and then some.

“The house was big enough for all of us,” Nesta glanced pointedly at her, adding, “It still is.”

Trixie stared right back at her, one of those wordless conversations happening between the two females. Cassian was used to it.

“That’s amazing,” Elain smiled brighter than the sun. “I am so, so happy for you guys.”

“Please,” Gwyn whined, “Don’t cry or I’ll cry, too.” The two laughed, tears slipping free anyway.

“I can see why you kept contacts to a minimum,” Lucien passed a napkin to Elain, gently pulling locks of hair away from her face as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I would’ve kept this little corner of heaven a secret from the world, too.”

Cassian glanced at Nesta and found that she was already looking at him. Now, her eyes seemed to say. A tug on the bond confirmed that.

“Speaking of which,” Cassian exhaled. Should he break the news gently? Or should he go straight for it, and adapt to the consequences?

Nesta, it seemed, had already made that choice for both of them. “We’re coming back to Velaris.”

Feyre could barely contain her enthusiasm. “Really?”

“Really,” Cassian echoed. “It will be good for the kids. They should make friends and play with other kids their age and drive us crazy. Am I right?”

Maya looked up at him, a mischievous gleam in her bright eyes. Nora, closest to Nesta, was already giggling.

“Mother spares us all,” Rhys murmured. They had their hands full, and they had never left this mountain. Cassian already felt weak in the knees at the idea of unleashing the triples on Velaris. But, fuck, how he wanted to take them on walks along the Sidra, or see the House turn into an even bigger mother-hen for Nesta’s kids, or teach them how to fly on one of its many balconies. And Starfall! They would love Starfall, he was sure of it. And the week-long celebrations for Solstice, with presents and hot cocoa and-

“Oh, no,” Trixie’s voice called him back to the moment. She was facing Nyx, answering a question he must’ve asked her while he was lost in his thoughts. “I’m going to stay here.”

Nora gasped, and Nesta was instantly there to calm their daughter down before she started what they had taken to call “the domino cry”.

“It’s okay,” Trixie said while rubbing Maya’s arms. The pout on her face was not a good sign. The trembling chin was even worse. Cassian gazed down at Athos, looking for any hint of distress. Trixie went on, “We’ll see each other every week, I promise.”

“But why can’t you come with us?” Nora sniffed. “It’s unafaire.”

“Unfair,” Nesta murmured to her, “And she can’t come with us because there are other kids who need her here.”

“Other kids?” Athos scrunched his little nose.

He nodded. “You three have each other, but other kids might not be so lucky. Trixie was among them, a long time ago.”

“But Sissy is our Sissy.”

“I am, yes,” Trixie said, “But maybe I can be that for all the other children who need a Sissy as well, don’t you think?”

Nora blinked at her a couple of times, mulling over the words. “Will they become Ladybug, Butterfly, and Puppy, too?”

Behind her, Nesta shrugged. “Why not.”

Cassian’s heart made a backflip inside his chest. He met his mate’s serene gaze, the most delicate pink staining her cheeks. They would end up with a legion of kids if Nesta had her way. Cassian couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t.

Cassian mirrored her smile with one of his own. “We should start thinking about names, then.”

“You guys are out of your minds,” Amren commented, but the concern in her voice didn’t match the grin stretching her red-painted lips.

Athos started laughing, the giggles turning into full belly laughs as his sisters joined him. And as the wind made lullabies of rustling leaves, and the smiles of his family outshone the sun itself, Cassian knew with absolute certainty the one reason he was still there, alive and content. Or maybe it was three.

#dee writes #good things come in three #sjmromanceweek2024 #nessian fanfiction #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar

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chuckwon · 1 year

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My incomparable friend Deirdre T. (aka @sourtimesmachine on here) has posted an article about The Winchesters that perfectly encapsulates how and why the show is a masterpiece, what its depths highlight about Dean’s story in-narrative and out-of-narrative, and how what is ostensibly an exploration of the past is actually commentary on Supernatural and a path for the future.

Nearly every monster on this show takes its victims to another place— hidden lairs, pocket dimensions, buried spaces inside their own minds. Escape, every time, means the same thing: transformative catharsis centered around truth and the breaking of traumatic cycles. Telling your parent you believe in yourself, letting go of your father’s plan even if making your own is scarier, telling your childhood self that you’re going to fight for them and give them back their choices, confessing your guiltiest secrets and allowing your friends to accept and love you as a whole, giving up false peace for real love. Characters are offered ways to forget, to live free of their guilt, pain, and trauma, but this is never the answer. This isn’t real. They learn instead to let themselves examine the bad, embrace that it is part of them, and use it to inform and strengthen their ability to fight for the good as a more complete and centered person. It is fundamentally a story about healing, being told to us by someone whose own story ended with profound pain. Whose story ended in a trap, never escaping the cycle, never getting to speak or fully embrace his own truth or choice. Never getting to live. Rather than avoiding the narrative burden of Dean’s death and all the circumstances, both in story and out, that led us to it, The Winchesters is breaking it down. It is examining each theme that was regressed by the finale and pointedly reaffirming it. It’s telling us that what happened to Dean was wrong, that there is something to be done about it. It’s, maybe, trying to help us heal too.

I cannot recommend this full article highly enough. Unsurprisingly, Deirdre beautifully summarized a bird's eye view of much of my thoughts on this show. I feel like I want to print out pamphlets of this and hand it out in public!!!! But sharing it on this blog will have to be enough.

No matter what the events of the season one finale hold tomorrow, this show could not have been louder or clearer. Dean Winchester spoke to us for 12 episodes by comprehensively deconstructing every aspect of his ending, condemning it repeatedly and consistently, and showing us that he's doing his best to break free of it. And, through him, the real-world team behind this show conveyed the same in kind.

The Winchesters could not have been more validating and (in my opinion) thrilling at every turn. By design, there is SO MUCH in it to examine and talk about, all within the context of it being Dean's story. It's unbelievably dense in clever ways I don't think any of us could have expected.

(And it must be said that I did not watch this show every week expecting to see Chuck Won propaganda, and yet, EVERY WEEK...)

Anyway. Please read this article.

And if you've avoided watching this show, consider this your sign that you absolutely should watch it.

#spnwin meta #the winchesters meta #THE QUEEN HAS ARRIVED!! Not the Akrida queen I'm talking about DEE #I wanted to write a piece like this over this past weekend and just couldn’t #and THE SATISFACTION OF READING THIS.... and of course her writing just blows it out of the water because she's brilliant #I feel like I could bench press a truck I'm so thrilled by this piece #I still want to write things of course but I have peace in my soul seeing this laid out <3

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dennisboobs · 7 months

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do you guys ever sit and remember that dennis takes a mental health day is an episode that exists

#ada speaks #i think i could probably recite the entire one sided phone conversation he has with daisy by heart and i havent seen the ep in months #i don't know how to explain it but #from what little ive read of ross' writing it feels like. when you click onto a fanfic and you feel immediate deep trust of the author #like it just clicks #the cookbook characterization specifically. is like.#i would put my life in your hands #and im sure we will get more eps by him and i really hope that continues because i think its been a very long time since the shows had #writers that i feel Get the characters in a way that feels effortless rather than. overcompensating.#like you can smell that writer's signature no matter how hard they try to cover it up with jokes and subversions #which isnt always a bad thing and im sure if we do get more maloney eps i'll pick up on his writers quirks too #but it doesn't feel like he's trying to copy anyone/pull from old eps it feels like he has a good grasp on things which makes it feel fresh #i find that long running shows hit a point where episodes start to feel less cohesive and more like. segmented short films #but if you have a really good group of writers and they find their groove its like. yeah. ok.#i think season 3 is a good study because marder and rosell's influence is all over the entire season #later seasons you can literally just. Feel which eps they worked on because its got a completely different vibe from the rest of the season #16 still suffers from that segmentation but #i think all the first time sunny writers (and nina's first solo ep) were all absolutely fuckin bangers and they've got a good team in there #anyway. characterization of dennis flipflops a lot. but the rest of the gang arguably gets it worse at times #i think megan's dee is the absolute worst aside from conor galvin's #and i understand wanting to write her as a girlfailure who is just. horrible. but.#ok. comparing self help book dee to ross' cookbook dee. i dont even have to say anything do i.#she's like. The Woman. in the self help book. and i fucking could not stand it. ross' dee is so perfect though #and his frank. MAN.#EVERYONE FUCKING RUINS FRANK.#i think marder and rosell's frank is a lot of fun because hes clearly based on marder's dad and acts believably #a lot of writers struggle to capture his. frank-ness.#he's sort of suffered from like. bland pervy senile old man writing for a long time #and ross brought back him actually being a competent businessman #IM OUT OF TAGS IM SHUTTING UP

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writergirl2011 · 2 months

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This was the second story I wrote for the final J/B Smut Swap, for the amazing @captainelliecomb who wanted something where Brienne had a bit more experience than Jaime...and when it comes to a certain bedroom activity, she definitely does!!

Thank you to the fantastic organizers of the exchange, @wildlingoftarth and @bussdowntarthiana for all the hard work they've done these last four years!!! *hearts*

#dee writes things #J/B Smut Swap 2024 #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #jaime x brienne #fanfiction #smutty smut smut

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randomnameless · 2 months

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Correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't FE15 state that although god's control is removed, there's still evil in mankind's heart that must be vanquished or something along those lines? It kinda makes the whole "humanity f*ck yeah" shtick feel hypocritical doesn't it?

Yep,

Because FE15 couldn't nuke FE2 from its DNA, by virtue of being a remake.

So we have two, contradictory messages in this game : Duma BaD and Gods BaD and must go because BaD and they "make humans do BaD things"...

and you have the "gods might be bad, but humans are still BaD without their influence" message at the end - when the entire game (and the timeline and supplementary materials!!) has been pushing the first message.

So...

In a sea of "Gods BaD" waters coming from the remake, you still have the lone "evil remains in the hearts of men" raft that is, somehow, pushed to the forefront in Part 6 where both Celica AND Alm call Thabes the result of human folly, and the player knowing that Grima - who was originally the RED CAPSLOCK eldritch monstruosity before FEH retcon'd them in a tits'n'ass character to uwu about by stealing Anankos' backstory - was "man-made".

And yet, given how the "last word" about FE15 - as in last material revealed - was the timeline in the Memorial Book, we close FE15's book by "and Duma was BaD".

I mean, look at all those mentions of Rudy being so brave and strong and uwusome -> Duma's degenaration is directly tied to how awesome Rudy needs to be in this calendar.

Rudy is so brave to stand in front of a degenerating Duma? -> Duma was insane!

Rudy is so thoughtful and sticks to his promise to Duma by sealing Mila -> akshually Duma wasn't completely insane because he told him to seal Mila and not to kill her even if I said the inverse 3 lines earlier...

#replies #anon #I might make posts like this #but I really liked FE15 bar its plot!#which is a weird thing to say #I guess Rudy was retconned both because Gods BaD and because Walmart from FE13 exists and can be fucked?#or it was the start of 'imperialism maybe not bad if you have a reason uwu'#and this reason would be gods bad religion bad if kusakihara wanted to write and direct his game closer to the Squenix side of JRPGS #and we end up with supreme leader who wants to get rid of crusts that's why she invades the continent #even if in this specific setting crusts is dragon blood aka dragons #with a good dose of church bad bad bad hammered #at this point the 'evil still exists in the heart of men' disappeared from the script and the player only sees it in sidequests #or things not relevant to the main plot #which culminate in Dee and Caellach's discussion in Zahrofl #'maybe killing those people who helped and supported us bad because they might be angry at u fwend'#and no “they helped us when we needed it unlike you why do you want to kill them they're my allies”

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thebirdandthelaw · 8 months

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Soulmates of Pain (or, The Gang Struggles).

"You’re my actor." He had claimed; a true statement that Dee still held in reserve for when she was alone and sad in her room. "I need you." He had stated in boy-like innocence. "I know." Dee had replied.

#chardee #iasip #charlie kelly #dee reynolds #charlie x dee #OKAY fine i made another lil edit moodboard thing for the fic! i have just finished the S2 chapters.#i am still so excited to write them and they haven't even hugged #not once #& yes the word count is insane please dont mention it xx

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dameronscopilot · 2 years

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check, please!

Dmitri Antonov x f!reader

Summary: When Joyce and Murray finally reconvene with Hopper in the Russian prison, the group—with the help of Dmitri—manages to force the bloodthirsty Demogorgon back into its cage. Taking advantage of the confused chaos unraveling in the building, they escape, seeking temporary refuge at Dmitri’s apartment. His remaining time in Russia is short-lived, so Dmitri opts to spend his last evening in the country paying a visit to the one bright spot in his life—the pretty girl that works at the diner downstairs.

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Word Count: 6k Content: NSFW, smut, porn with a little bit of plot, oral sex, unprotected p in v, creampies, spanking, spit kink, daddy kink, choking, soft!dom dmitri, rough sex, dirty talk, anal sex, knife kink, squirting

When you pull back slightly for air, nearly gasping, he steadies you, and you ask him boldly, “Are you coming in?” He cups the side of your face, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, and he nods. “Please”

Dmitri swipes his keys from their usual spot on the small, rusty hook inside of his locker in the staff break room, thankful that he had long since made it a habit not to carry them while on duty (after several other guards had suffered the misfortune of being slyly pickpocketed by prisoners). The other various odds and ends inside of his locker had likely been dumped immediately after his traitorous secret had been discovered—probably unceremoniously tossed in the incinerator—but the small keyring had luckily escaped unscathed, and it was the only thing he would have missed, anyway.

Making his way back out into the hallway, Dmitri hastily ushers Hopper, Joyce, and Murray in the direction of the exit doors and then toward a dark green SUV sitting in the parking lot. They all pile in, and he momentarily glances at himself in the rearview mirror, taking in the exhausted expression lingering on his face before turning the key in the ignition, pulling out onto the main road, and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal as hard as the snow-covered motorway will allow.

A tense silence hangs in the air, punctuated only by the sounds of their chattering teeth and Murray’s fumbling attempts to get the heat going from his spot in the passenger seat. Joyce eventually pipes up from the back, “So uh…Enzo, right? Where exactly are we going?”

A car coming from the opposite direction passes by, and Dmitri tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He responds tightly, “My apartment. We’ll be there in just under an hour, so please do try to keep your reunion festivities in my backseat to…a minimum,” vaguely flourishing a hand in she and Hopper’s direction.

Hopper coughs, and Joyce crinkles her nose and asks, “But isn’t your apartment the first place that someone would come looking for you?”

Dmitri meets her gaze in the rearview and smirks, “Now what makes you think I would let a place like that keep my real address on file?”

The car settles back into a tentative, uneasy silence, which remains until they arrive in the small, nondescript town that Dmitri calls home. After parking behind his building, Dmitri leads the Americans down a hallway, up a flight of stairs, and to the familiar, faded red door of his apartment. His hands shake ever so slightly as he inserts the key into the lock, turns the handle, and flicks the lights on—part of him was certain he’d never see this place again. Not that he could stay here now, though, anyway. His false address would only give him a head start against potential retribution from the prison, but if he remained in Russia, they’d find him sooner or later.

Despite the looming sense of dread, Joyce convinces everyone that showers are in order before anything else. Dmitri isn’t sure if it’s for the woman’s own sake or if she’s just grown tired of the sight and smell of their dirty, bloody, appearances, but either way he’s thankful to be afforded a bit of time alone, nearly drowning himself under the hot stream of water.

Afterward, once he’s picked through the back of his closet for various odds and ends that are at least partially suitable for his guests to wear in place of their filthy clothes, Dmitri casually suggests that they head to the diner below his apartment to strategize over food and coffee as he runs a thumb over a faded, torn piece of receipt paper in his pocket with a heart drawn on the back of it. And if he has ulterior motives that involve seeing a familiar, comforting face in the wake of the worst night of his life, well, they don’t need to know that.

---

The jingling of the bell above the diner door jolts you out of the daze that you had been lost in, having spent the better part of the last hour leaning against the counter attempting to stave off sleep—it was an uncharacteristically slow evening. You straighten up, hand automatically reaching for your faded yellow notepad and your favorite blue pen, and your heart leaps in your chest when a pair of familiar blue eyes meets yours. Your favorite regular has arrived with three companions in tow.

Originally from Chicago, you’ve spent the past two months in Russia as a part of your graduate studies. In that time, Enzo’s caffeine habits have become a daily staple of your shifts. The night that you met—your first shift—you’d somehow managed to get his fairly simple order of coffee and toast entirely backwards. Your program here, which is a remote offshoot of your school back in Illinois, is in English, and your meager attempts at studying conversational Russian before packing your bags and hopping on a plane certainly left something to be desired. Though you had initially thought you could string together enough competency to get by as a waitress for a few months, your mortification in that moment whilst you accidentally sputtered an apology in English had left you poised to run on foot to the nearest airport. However, the annoyed reply you were waiting to hear from the man you were serving never came. Instead, Enzo’s eyes had crinkled at the corners in amusement as he chuckled, pulled a pen out of his pocket, grabbed a napkin, and wrote out the Russian words from his order in the English alphabet for you.

After that, Enzo made it a goal to teach you something in Russian every time that he came in, kindly coaxing you on your pronunciation of the letters and words while watching you intently over the rim of his coffee cup with a gleam in his eyes. When you’d get something right, he’d reward you with a grin that made your knees weak; it was something you were almost embarrassed to admit you’d grown to shamelessly savor each day. In return, you’d started writing things on the back of his receipts in Russian—it was normally small, inconsequential nonsense, but the soft look it always brought to his face when he glanced down at it on his way out would leave you feeling warm long after he left. Sometimes you'd even been brave enough to doodle little hearts in lieu of words, though you didn't dare look to see his reaction to those.

Now, Enzo’s face lights up as his eyes gently take you in, and he gives you a little wave before he heads over to his usual booth in the back corner with his companions. Your pulse quickens in response under the brief scrutiny of his friendly gaze as you make your way toward their table.

When you approach, you notice that the others are conversing in English, and you raise an eyebrow in Enzo’s direction. Shrugging, the corners of his lips tug upwards, and he says by way of greeting, “I figured you could use a break from the language lessons tonight.”

After you bring them a round of coffees, Enzo introduces you to his company: Hopper, Joyce, and Murray, who are apparently visiting Russia from Hawkins, Indiana. Excited by this information, you explain that you’re from Illinois. One of the men, Hopper, chokes on his drink, prompting Joyce to frantically begin patting his back in concern.

“You’re American?” Hopper asks, eyes wide.

You tilt your head to the side, uncertain why the news is so surprising to him. “Yes…?”

Wiping his face with a napkin, he pointedly looks at Enzo this time as he flatly states, “She’s American.”

Enzo takes a deep breath, flicking a glance up at the ceiling and clenching a fist before replying, “She is.”

A shit-eating grin makes its way across Hopper’s face, and he offers up his best impersonation of Enzo’s accent, “Oh, so it’s fine when YOU have an American woman—” Hopper is cut off by a loud bang from underneath the table, and he grunts in pain, scowling as he reaches down to rub his shin. You snort and busy yourself by collecting their food orders.

Recognizing that Enzo and his friends are wrapped up in what must be a serious conversation, heads bent together over the table as they murmur in hushed tones, you focus on cleaning and serving other customers. You try to ignore the warmth that blooms in your chest every time that you discreetly steal a glance over at their table, only to find Enzo’s steady gaze already on you.

Two rowdy men make their way into the diner, collapsing into a booth in a fit of boisterous laughter, and you groan inwardly. You finish topping off Murray’s coffee, and as you turn to put the pot away so you can begrudgingly serve your new arrivals, you’re stopped by a hand wrapping loosely around your wrist. You turn around and look down at Enzo, whose eyes flick over to the men before giving you a silent, questioning look.

You brush your pinky over his thumb as you steel yourself and say, “I’ll be fine.”

Twenty-five minutes into serving the two men, and you’re far from fine. Both of them reek of alcohol, and after hearing the non-native slips of your tongue when you took their order in Russian, they had since begun making suggestive hand gestures while jeering at you with words you had yet to learn. One quick glance at Enzo out of the corner of your eye tells you all that you need to know about what exactly the men are saying to you; his eyes have darkened dangerously in anger, and if he grips his fork any harder, it’s likely to split in half.

Hoping to hurry them along, you begin to clear out some of their empty plates, but when you go to make your way back to the kitchen, you feel a hand brush against your waist in an attempt to grab you. You yelp in surprise and jump backward, nearly dropping the dishes, just as Enzo smoothly steps in between you and the edge of the table. The men go quiet as Enzo casually picks up a knife and twirls it in his hand for a moment before stabbing it directly into the center of a half-eaten sandwich. You notice Hopper standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, a concerned look on his face. Enzo cooly mutters something at them that you can’t understand, but whatever it is sends them scurrying out of the diner, leaving nothing but their payment and a generous tip in their wake.

You don’t realize that you’re shaking until Enzo turns to look at you and places his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. “Are you alright, солнышко?”

Your heart rate picks up as he uses the nickname you’ve grown to love hearing fall from his lips—sunshine. You try to hide the tremble in your tone as you respond, “I’m alright. Thank you, Enzo.”

Joyce and Murray have come to stand beside Hopper, jackets on and poised to leave. Enzo glances back at them, sighs, and then turns to you once more and asks, “When does your shift end?”

Your eyebrows raise of their own accord at the question. Though an intoxicating tension has slowly been simmering between the two of you inside of the diner day in and day out, neither of you has dared to actually cross that line yet. You tell him, “In an hour, why?”

He shrugs, giving you a small smile as he explains, “You mentioned before that you don’t live far. I’d like to walk you home, if that’s alright.”

You bite your lip to contain the pleased grin that sneaks its way across your face and nod, “Meet me out front.”

Enzo’s friends bid you farewell and make their way out the door, a gust of snowflakes and cold air flying inside as they exit.

---

As promised, when you shrug into your coat and slip outside an hour later, you spy Enzo leaning against the brick wall of the building with his hands in his pockets, gazing over at you with a thoughtful expression. As you approach, he pushes off of the wall and offers you his arm. And if you happen to lean into his warmth a bit closer than necessary as you begin to walk, he doesn’t seem to mind.

The walk is regretfully short, just a few blocks, and the two of you make your way down the deserted sidewalk in a comfortable silence. When you arrive at the door to your apartment, Enzo finally speaks up, “I’m going to be going away for a while, back to the United States with the people you just met. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, but I wanted to thank you for your company these past couple of months. I admittedly did not actually drink coffee that frequently before I met you.” He scratches the back of his head as he laughs weakly.

Your chest begins to ache at the implication of his words. You place a hand on the junction between his shoulder and his neck and lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and murmuring, “I’ll miss you, Enzo.”

He slides a hand over yours, holding you in place before you can step backward, and his warm lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Dmitri. Call me Dmitri.” His other hand slides down to rest on your waist, and he shifts to lean his forehead against yours.

You feel the caress of his breath as it makes its way across the infinitesimal space between you, and you close the distance as you quietly speak his real name against his lips, “Dmitri.”

A small sound escapes his mouth in response, and Dmitri crushes his lips against yours, both of his hands slipping inside of your jacket to pull you flush against him. Whatever dam was standing in between the two of you before breaks open now in a flood of heat and desperation. Dmitri’s tongue dances at the seams of your lips and you open your mouth to give him access. You wrap your arms around him, holding him tight as you let him devour you with his lips, tongue sliding against yours warmly. You bite his lip and he chuckles, kissing the corners of your mouth before slotting your lips together again, and you dare to push your lower half against him, a whimper building in the back of your throat as he responds in kind, grinding against you.

When you pull back slightly for air, nearly gasping, he steadies you, and you ask him boldly, “Are you coming in?”

He cups the side of your face, caressing your bottom lip with his thumb as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips, and he nods. “Please”

You struggle to pull your keys from your pocket, eager to feel his lips against yours once more. When you reach out to place the key in the lock, you nearly fumble as Dmitri snakes his arms around you from behind. He kisses you squarely on the back of your neck, and you shiver in response.

Once you’re inside, you stumble through the threshold, barely finding the time to flick the lights and toss your jacket in the direction of the hook before your chest is pressed up against the wall. Dmitri kneels down on the floor behind you, running his hands up and down your stocking-clad legs before slipping his hands under your skirt to knead your ass.

Pressing kisses to the backs of your knees, he drawls, “Beautiful girl, you always drive me crazy with this uniform.”

Dmitri grips your left ankle and pulls it outward to spread your legs further apart as he teasingly runs a finger over your cunt, dick beginning to ache when he feels the dampness soaking through your panties and the stockings. Lust clouding your brain, your response falls from your lips before you can think better of it, “Sometimes, I like to imagine you bending me over the front counter, lifting up my skirt, ripping a hole in my stockings, and fucking me where everyone can see.”

“Naughty girl,” he groans, rising up and pulling you flush against him. He undoes several of the buttons of your uniform shirt while kissing and sucking on the tender spot between the bottom of your left earlobe and the corner of your jaw. You gasp as he slips a cool hand inside of your bra, cupping one of your breasts and running his thumb over a hard nipple, and you press your ass into him in response. Feeling the outline of what’s undoubtedly a large cock straining against the seam of Dmitri’s pants, your mouth begins to water at the thought of him slowly stretching your cunt open with it before fucking you relentlessly.

You breathe out, “I hope you plan on fucking me with this tonight,” running a hand over his dick and squeezing.

Dmitri chokes out a response that’s caught between a moan and a laugh, “I hope that your pretty little pussy can handle my cock, princess,” bringing a hand back down under your skirt and smirking when he sees that your arousal has begun leaking down the inside of your thighs.

He turns you around, kissing you deeply, fucking your mouth with his tongue, and his jacket falls to the ground as you pull it off of him. He unbuttons the rest of your shirt, and you let out a breathy little gasp as he untucks it from your skirt, pausing to squeeze your hips firmly in his large hands. Tossing your top to the side, he marvels at the way your breasts spill out of your bra before reaching behind you to unclasp it. Dmitri leans in, and you run your hands through his hair, panting as he traces circles with his tongue before starting to suck on your nipples.

A small sound of surprise leaves your mouth as Dmitri’s strong hands return to your ass, giving a quick squeeze as he begins to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. You both kick off your shoes, and he carries you toward the kitchen, placing you down on the edge of the island. His eyes scan the room for a moment, considering, and he squeezes your thigh briefly before walking toward the sink. He returns a moment later, a knife in his hands, and you bite your lip to stifle a gasp as you realize what he’s about to do. Bunching your skirt up around your waist, he carefully trails the dull side of the blade up the inside of your thighs and then slides the curved tip of the handle over your hot core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. He gazes at you for a moment before he opens your legs wide and pulls the stockings outward at the junction between your thighs. You hear the sound of tearing fabric, and then he puts the knife down.

A sob of pleasure falls from your lips as he uses the new hole he just made to push aside your panties and slide a single callused finger through your dripping folds. You whine at the loss of contact as he pulls his hand away, placing his now glistening finger in his mouth and sucking it clean. Your pussy aches for more stimulation, and you unconsciously buck your hips upward toward him. Dmitri smirks and tuts, “Patience.”

He leans in to kiss you deeply, swallowing your moans as you feel two thick fingers sliding against your hot core. He plunges one inside with a wet squelch, slowly pumping a finger in and out of your needy cunt. He bites your lip, sucking on it for a moment before letting go, leaning his forehead against yours, and murmuring appreciatively, “So wet, you lovely girl. Is this all for me?”

You nod, unable to do anything but pant and moan as picks up his pace and inserts another thick finger. Entranced by the sight of your arousal pooling out of your wet, sloppy cunt all over your stockings and onto the counter beneath you, Dmitri palms himself roughly over his pants before leaning down to taste you. You cry out in pleasure as he grabs your ass with either hand and buries his face in your cunt, eagerly fucking his tongue into your hole like a man starved. You allow him to continue to hungrily lap at your folds for a few more moments before you’re overcome by the need to feel his cock splitting you open, and you grab his hair, pulling him in for a filthy kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

Clad only in your rumpled skirt and your torn, soaked stockings, your breasts bounce as you slide down off of the island. Dmitri watches you intently as you kneel down on the floor in front of him, taking your time to remove his belt and unbutton his pants. He cups the back of your head as you pull his thick, leaking cock out of his boxers. A strangled moan escapes Dmitri’s throat when you spit on his dick, pumping it with one hand as you cup his balls with another.

Dmitri grunts in pleasure as you put your lips on his cock, licking and sucking at the tip. You run your tongue up and down it before eventually taking him whole into your mouth, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as his dick hits the back of your throat. Feeling his hand still resting gently against your hair, you push back against it. His eyes widen a fraction as he realizes what you want him to do, and you look up at him, squeezing the backs of his thighs in affirmation before he begins fucking your mouth. A line of drool begins to spill down the side of your mouth, and when you slip a hand under your skirt to play with your aching cunt, Dmitri has to fight not to shoot spurts of hot cum down your throat right then and there.

“If we don’t stop now, your pretty little lips are going to be dripping with my cum, sweetheart,” Dmitri breathes out, voice wrecked.

You pull your mouth off of his dick with a pop and look up at him, a challenge in your eyes as you say, “You’d better get your cock inside of me, then.”

He asks you huskily, “You want me to fuck you like this? Right here?”

You nod, and a feral sound leaves his mouth as he pulls his dick out of your mouth and bends down to pull you to your feet. He turns you around so you’re bent over the counter, and you hear a tearing noise as he rips the hole in your stockings even wider. You whine, and he leans his body into yours, pinning you down and pressing your face down sideways against the counter as he nips at your earlobe and whispers in your ear, “Such a dirty little girl. Look at you, your messy little pussy is dripping everywhere, begging to be filled. Do you want to feel my fat cock inside of you?”

Your response is drowned out by the shameless moan that falls from your lips unbidden when he lazily begins to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt again.

“I need to hear you say it, солнышко,” he says calmly, voice a direct contrast to the way his fingers are eagerly fucking into you.

“Please fuck me, daddy.”

The last word comes out before you can stop yourself, and a depraved, feral noise rumbles in Dmitri’s throat as he kicks your legs wider apart, pushes your panties aside, and slides his thick, leaking cock inside of you, reveling in the way your tight pussy clamps down on him. You grip for purchase on the counter as Dmitri stretches you open. Your hard nipples rub against the cool countertop as his hips snap to yours in a brutal pace, and his balls wetly slap against your ass as he bottoms out in your cunt.

White hot pleasure begins to build inside of you as you Dmitri fucks you harder, and you both brokenly moan in unison. He reaches a hand around your waist, and with the added stimulation of his deft fingers on your clit, the peak of your pleasure hits you like a freight train. Your palms skid along the counter as your vision goes black at the edges, and you cum so hard it leaks all over Dmitri’s cock as he roughly fucks you through your orgasm.

Your lust-addled mind supplies another unspoken part of your aforementioned fantasy, one that you now desperately want, and you smoothly push him off of you and turn around to kneel down in front of him again. You lick your cum off of his cock, sucking and pumping it briefly before pulling off, leaving your lips parted slightly as you stare up at him with a needy, inviting gaze, looking absolutely debauched with your glossy lips and smudged eyeliner. He groans in pleasure when he understands what you want him to do, reaching down to fist himself, pumping his cock roughly until thick spurts of cum are shooting out of it, splattering all over your waiting face and tits.

After he comes down from his orgasm, he shuffles off for a moment in the direction of your washroom. He returns with a warm, wet rag, and he kneels down in front of you as he gently wipes his cum off of you. Something tugs in your chest as he puts the soiled cloth aside and kisses you tenderly on the nose, on your cheek, and then on your lips. Dmitri scoops you into his arms, carrying you toward the door that he assumes is your bedroom.

When you reach your bed, he leans down to pull the covers back, placing you down into the bed and taking off your skirt, stockings, and underwear, tossing them to the ground. You reach up to pull his shirt over his head, adding it to the pile, and he removes his boxers and pants before sliding in between the sheets naked beside you.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lay there, both on your sides and staring at one another in the dim light washing over your bed from the lone street lamp outside. He lovingly traces a finger from your shoulder blade, to your eyebrows, down your nose, and across your jaw line. In return, you run a hand through his hair, and his eyes close in contentment.

Eventually, Dmitri brushes a finger over your bottom lip, and you grasp his wrist, opening your mouth to begin sucking on it. His eyes shoot open as you bob on his finger, and he inserts another, his gaze turning heated as drool leaks out of your mouth and down his hand. You brush a hand over your stiffening nipples, moaning softly, and he cups your breasts as he leans over to lick into your waiting mouth.

Pushing himself up slightly so that he’s leaning down over you, Dmitri tilts your chin to look into his eyes as he purrs, “Are you going to behave for daddy?”

You nod, your cunt clenching down around nothing, and you can feel sticky, wet arousal beginning to leak down the inside of your thighs again. Dmitri smirks, moving his hand down to grip at your throat, tightening his grip when you moan in response.

“Open,” he rasps.

Without hesitation, you comply, and a shiver goes down your spine as he mutters, “Good girl,” before hooking his thumb over the edge of your lips. He slides the digit deep enough along the inside of your cheek to make you gag slightly before leaning down to roughly spit into your mouth. Obediently, you swallow it, and Dmitri hums in pleasure.

You reach for his hardening cock, stroking it as you push him onto his back and climb on top, straddling him. Dmitri runs his hands over your hips, praises falling from his lips as you slide your soaked cunt up and down along his fat cock. He bites his lip and throws his head back in pleasure, gripping your hips tightly when you line yourself up and finally sink down onto him.

Dmitri gazes at you with hooded eyes as you eagerly ride him, licking his lips as he takes in the way your breasts bounce with each thrust. You catch him staring, and you lean down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, pulling back slightly to whisper against his mouth, “Fill me up with your cum, Dmitri.”

He growls, and before you know what’s happening, you find yourself on all fours with Dmitri behind you. He slams his dick into you from behind, and you choke out a wail of pleasure. He spreads your ass cheeks apart, marveling at the sight of his dick sliding in and out of your pussy. His thumb brushes over your other tight hole and you moan loudly, pushing back onto his dick desperately. He grins, beginning to rub the hole, and you whine in response, wiggling your hips and nearly panting in frustration. Dmitri spits, generously spreading it around the rim before slowly pressing a finger inside as he continues to relentlessly fuck your cunt.

“Do you like when I fuck you like this, солнышко? Like daddy’s little whore?” He asks, a strangled edge to his voice.

You nod and cry out, “Please, yes. Fuck me harder, Dmitri.”

He groans, bringing a hand down hard against one of your ass cheeks, and your pussy clenches down harder on his dick at the pleasurable stinging sensation. He smacks you two more times, and you press back into him, urging him to go deeper. Dmitri wraps a hand around your throat as he pushes you down flush against the bed, fucking you roughly into the mattress.

Grasping your hips, Dmitri pulls you back onto all fours to shove his cock deeper inside of you, moaning when he sees how coated his dick is in your sopping wet slick as he pulls out slightly. He feels your legs begin to tremble as heat builds inside of you, nearly reaching a crest, and flips you onto your back.

He grips your throat, and—dizzy and desperate with pleasure—your mouth falls open. His eyes widen a fraction, and he grins before leaning down to spit inside of it. You swallow, and he hungrily watches the bob of your throat as he slides his dick back into your cunt and begins hammering into you again. Without warning, the heat that had slowly been creeping through you explodes, and you don’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed as clear fluid gushes out of your cunt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he pants out as he watches you messily squirt all over his cock and balls, and moments later, he cries out as his dick pulses with his own orgasm. You hold him fast against you, milking his cock as he dumps a heavy load of thick, hot cum inside of your pussy. You whine at the loss of contact when he pulls his softening cock out of you and watch as he spreads your legs apart and leans down in front of you to lap at the cum that’s messily pouring out of your cunt, leaking all over yourself and the sheets, before eventually crawling back up to hold you gently in his arms, praising you and whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

---

You wake up the next morning to the feeling of something thick and hard slowly grinding between your ass cheeks and quiet moans from behind you. Dmitri’s hands trails across your naked body, cupping your breasts and teasing your nipples. Biting your lip, you angle his cock against your folds to show him the slick that’s already begun to gather there.

“So eager for me,” he remarks, using your arousal to allow his cock to wetly slide between your ass cheeks. The head of it catches on the tight ring of muscle there, and you gasp, eagerly pressing back against him, silently asking for more. At that, Dmitri flips you over so you’re face down, and he roughly palms your cheeks as he slides his dick along the crevice of your ass.

Dmitri leans forward, bare chest brushing against your back as he whispers into your ear, “You want my cock in your ass, dirty girl?”

“Please, Dmitri,” you beg him as you reach an arm out to pull open your night stand, tossing him a bottle of lubricant. He chuckles darkly, popping it open and spreading a generous amount over your hole as he carefully begins to work you open, finger by finger.

When he finally pushes his thick, lube-covered cock into your ass, a feral moan punches out of him and you nearly black out in pleasure; you feel so full you want to scream. He begins to pump in and out of you at a torturous, leisurely pace, folding himself over you to bite and suck on the side of your neck while he plays with your breasts. Desperate, needy moans pour from your lips at the hot, wet, filthy slide of his dick in your tight hole, and you reach a hand down to your untouched cunt. Dmitri notices and bats your hand away, replacing it with his large, thick fingers. A low, rough grunt leaves his mouth as he pumps them inside of you, feeling you dripping into his palm. Your back arches and your muscles tighten as the smoldering heat in your abdomen takes you over the edge, your pussy clenching on Dmitri’s hands and cum flooding out as he holds you tight through your intense orgasm.

He pants into your ear, “Daddy’s going to fill your ass up with his cum now, princess,” and he hammers into you so hard that you see stars. His dick twitches inside of you as he reaches his peak, and you can feel it as he begins to ejaculate inside of your ass, roughly fucking pools of his hot cum into your tight hole. When he pulls it out of you, you can feel his sticky seed leaking out of your ass and over the backs of your thighs, and your body shakes in pleasure as you feel his tongue begin to prod and lap at your fucked out hole.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers afterward, pulling you close.

THREE MONTHS LATER

While you had been tempted to follow Dmitri back to America, the cost and effort you had already put into your studies in Russia prevented you from leaving until you were finished three months later. Now, you’ve been back home in Chicago for two weeks, and you’ve returned to your post as a teaching assistant at your university. After a long day of grading tests, you’re standing at your desk in your small, private office, shuffling paperwork into your bag as you prepare to head home.

In the days since setting foot back on American soil, you’ve toyed with the idea of taking a road trip to Hawkins, Indiana time and time again to find Dmitri. But each time you go to reach for your luggage to begin packing, you freeze, a small, uncertain part of you mockingly asking what makes you think that night with Dmitri was anything more than a pleasurable, messy fuck for him. Though he hadn’t given you many details, you’d gotten the hint that his decision to leave his country for an undetermined amount of time wasn’t exactly a leisure trip, and it feels borderline presumptuous to imagine yourself pathetically crossing state lines to seek him out.

But now, as you think back to the hushed, intimate moments you had shared before he left, your self-doubt wavers again. After your early morning romp, he had pulled you to him and protectively wrapped his arms around you, and you had fallen asleep to the sound of him adoringly whispering tender phrases that you couldn’t quite understand into your ear. It was that last soft memory, before he had quietly extracted himself from your sheets, pressing a kiss to your lips and murmuring a sad goodbye, that kept you up at night.

“Здрасте, солнышко.” (Hello, sunshine.)

Your thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice, and you turn your head incredulously toward the source, heart leaping in your chest as you see Dmitri leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets and a warm smile on his face.

A/N: Please suspend your disbelief, as we're going to momentarily pretend that Dmitri isn't a dad (even though he's definitely a dilf) and also Joyce collectively includes herself in the "from Hawkins" introduction for the sake of simplicity.

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