[ yeah, no, this has smut. not sure if it's good it's honestly the furthers i've ever written in any of my books, so i guess lmk what you think?

don't know that rose and dimitri actually fucked in that episode, but i'll be very disappointed come thursday if the new episode airs and they didn't. if you don't wanna read this, stop after the first kiss. and again, some times you just gotta use two gifs per chapter ]

WHERE DO YOU WANT ME?

[ season 1 — episode 6 ]

The hotel room was an extravagant one, with a huge bed and sitting area, as well as a stocked fridge. No one had to share rooms while on the Royal Tour, as the whole point of the Tour was to show off all the luxuries within the Dominion and it's Provinces. A few of Mischa's things were strewn around the room, but most everything was still in her suitcases on the floor.

"Are you alright after the car attack?" Dimitri finally asked, setting the container with the tattooing supplies on a coffee table. "I hate that I could not be here right away. I should have been there."

"You were doing your job, and I'm alright," she assured him, grabbing a clip to pull her hair back, needing it out of the way for the Molnija mark. "Just worried about Mer—"

Mischa was startled when Dimitri crossed the room in just a few long strides until he was right in front of her, the concept of personal space thrown out the window along with any uncomfortable tension caused by Adrian's now forgotten appearance. He pulled on her arms with a surprisingly gentle touch despite his alarming speed, tearing her hands out of her hair before it could be clipped up. He wasn't looking at her hair, though.

He was looking at her hands.

Dimitri didn't say anything for a minute, and Mischa was too fearful to speak. She just watched him, seeing how his eyes darkened furiously and his jaw tightened as he looked at the tops of her hands, taking in the red symbols gruesomely carved into her skin that would be there forever. Then he flipped over her palms to look at them as well, then veins of his neck straining as he fought back the urge to shout. He didn't have to ask who did this — he knew.

"Why didn't you tell me they did this to you?" Dimitri finally asked, practically shaking with anger. But he wasn't angry at her. "And I hurt you last night. That's what it was. I thought you—" Dimitri took in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his nostrils flaring. "Why didn't you show me earlier?"

Mischa could've pulled away and said it was nothing like she did with Adrian. But she didn't. She just stared at his hands encasing hers. "They looked worse yesterday — didn't really want to show them off until they were fully healed," she mumbled, shrugging. "And there was no point in telling you. No one could do anything, not even you."

Dimitri sharply looked from her hands to her eyes as if she'd offended him. "I would have—"

"Followed orders," Mischa interrupted as gently as she could. "You can't put me first, Dimitri... even if I wish you could sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" he couldn't help but ask. As he did, he lightly brushed his thumb over her palm, careful not to hurt her.

"All of the time," she admitted quietly, staring up at him. His thumb continued to trace over the lines of the healing marks delicately, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

Dimitri moved closer then. "I wish I could always put you first. I wish I could ignore my duty. I wish I could kill the ones that did this to you." Mischa drew in a breath when he raised her hands to his lips, not kissing them, just brushing against her fingertips. "I wish, Princess, that I could protect you from everything that the world and this Dominion could ever throw at you."

"You do protect me, Cowboy," she said softly, savoring his touch. "In all the ways that you can."

"And yet, it's still not enough," he said, looking at her hands. "If it meant you'd never be at risk of something like this again, I would die for you—"

Mischa quickly cut him off, ripping her hands from his grasp. "Yes, I know, as you keep reminding me," she said, taking a deep breath and a step back. Didn't he know that was the last thing she wanted? Why did he have to keep saying it when it was a nightmare to even think about, especially after all she'd lost already? "It's your duty to protect me. You don't have to keep saying it."

Dimitri shook his head and stepped after her. "No, not because it is my duty. I would die for you and could even be happy about it simply because it was for you," he whispered, bringing her close once again. "My need to protect you has nothing to do with an assignment or my sworn duty. You don't like to think of me dying? Imagine how I must feel when I fear the same for you?"

"Neither wants the other to die," she said, letting out a humorless laugh. "I suppose that's good given how much time we've been spending together." Mischa stared at his chest, not wanting to meet his gaze right now. She knew what she wanted, but it wasn't something she was likely to get with how seriously he took his position. "So, where do you want me?"

Mischa missed how his lips parted the slightest bit, less than appropriate images flashing through his mind at her question. But Dimitri knew what she really meant — where did she need to sit to receive her Molnija mark? So, he exhaled and released the tension in his shoulders before going to get the case of equipment. On the way, he pulled out a high-backed chair and dragged it out, gesturing for Mischa to take a seat, who came over while pulling her hair up uninterrupted this time.

As she did so, sitting backward with her chest pressed to the back of it, she slid the black shirt down off her shoulders, giving him access to the back of her neck. She also watched Dimitri carefully. He pulled out the metallic tattoo needle and ink, as well as the supplies to sterilize it. Then he moved to the fridge across the room and let a few pieces of ice fall into a cup from the dispenser in the door.

"How much will it hurt?" Mischa asked a bit nervously, eying the ice that was likely for swelling.

"Unfortunately, I know you've had worse," Dimitri said, looking down at her as he came back. "On more than one occasion."

Mischa simply nodded and didn't ask any more questions. It didn't take long at all for Dimitri to set it all up. She felt the air around her shift as he moved behind her, hitting her bare shoulders. Then Dimitri brushed the top of her right shoulder, grazing the strap of her bikini top.

"The strap's in the way," Dimitri said quietly, his voice sounding almost restrained.

She took in a deep breath before reaching back and untying the two strands, keeping her eyes forward. After the black material fell from her chest and pooled around her waist, she moved forward in the chair, pressing up against the back as much as she could.

"You're not a Dhampir — not a Guardian," Dimitri said, nearly ready to begin. "But you deserve the same honor and respect that comes with what you did and the lives you helped to save."

He whispered Old Moroi in her ear, a saying that she repeated, recognizing it as part of the tradition for the Guardians at their marking ceremonies. Then Dimitri began giving her the tattoo, being as gentle as he could be when you were being stabbed with a needle countless times. But he was also right when he said she'd had worse.

It was practically nothing compared to having her hands maimed in that church.

And it certainly helped to feel Dimitri's touch as his free hand cradled the side of her face from behind, his fingers resting against her cheek. Mischa closed her eyes and did her best to ignore the pain, instead focusing on the cool feeling as he blew on the back of her neck. He told her early on to not hold her breath — that breathing evenly through it would help — so she listened as best as she could.

But when the needle reached a thinner bit of skin, hitting closer to her spine, she tensed up and let out a little whimper, refusing to take in another breath as if that'd make it worse.

Dimitri slowed down and brushed his thumb along her cheek comfortingly. "Just breathe, Princess," he whispered, his lips grazing the back of her ear. "I know you can take it. Breathe for me." Mischa did take in a breath, focusing on his soothing voice as he continued to murmur in her ear, talking her through it. "Just like that. I'm almost done."

It was four more minutes before Dimitri finished the Molnija mark. And Mischa sighed when he pulled away for the last time. But even as he set the needle down, he wasn't done. He reached for one of the ice cubes and rubbed it around the area of the tattoo. She couldn't help the relieved moan that came out when she felt it against her burning skin.

"You did so well for me," Dimitri whispered, his eyes trained on Mischa's back. He watched as a drop of water rolled down the center of her back, disappearing behind the shirt bunched up around her waist.

Mischa could hardly think a coherent thought as she closed her eyes and shifted against the chair, only focusing on the hand at her cheek and the other that was dragging the ice further and further from the base of her neck. In contrast to it, she felt like every cell inside of her was burning, begging for Dimitri to continue stoking the fire he'd created.

She looked up and over her shoulder at him, drawing his gaze from her exposed skin to her eyes. Mischa moved slowly, struggling as a haze settled over her mind. But she managed to push her shirt back onto her shoulders as she stood up, the unbuttoned fabric falling over her chest just barely. It'd take one little breeze to uncover her again — or the brush of his hand should he decide to.

When she turned to fully face him, Dimitri was there, his eyes glued to hers, and parted lips waiting like a silent question — one he wouldn't dare ask aloud or ask again if she were to turn away from him. But she didn't. She felt like she could only be pulled closer. Like she was being dragged into his orbit, unable to draw back even if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

Dimitri's eyes fought a war between looking in her eyes and staring at her lips that were growing closer as she stood on her toes, hands hovering by his biceps as if to steady herself. His nose dragged along her cheekbone, feeling her soft breaths hit his jaw. Mischa's head was swimming, and he hadn't even kissed her yet. But she closed her eyes when she felt his bottom lip touch her top, holding the contact for just a moment, like he was calculating the risks, wondering if he had any chance of resisting the one thing he'd ever wanted most in his life.

He didn't stand a chance.

One moment, Mischa's lips were her own. The next, they were Dimitri's.

Before she had a chance to think about drawing in another breath, he pressed his lips to hers fully, capturing her with a deep, hungry, searing kiss. One hand found its way up, tangling her fingers in his hair while the other held his sweater tightly. His own found her waist, pulling her impossibly close as he kissed her again and again, only causing the fire within her to burn and crackle even hotter.

She was melting. Fuck, she was melting, and it was the best feeling in the world. She wanted him — she shouldn't have, not when he was going to be her Guardian. Not when it was forbidden.

But, God, she didn't give a damn about their laws as his hands held her like she was the most delicate thing in the world, one sliding up her side and settling around her throat, keeping her right where he wanted her. Dimitri worked his tongue into her mouth, gentle but still demanding as he took control of her, walking her backward until he could trap her between his body and the wall.

Mischa realized then that she would never get enough of this — of his lips devouring hers, feeling the strength of his safe arms around her. This was where she belonged, and she was content to never leave or stop.

So content that she forgot to breathe. Luckily, Dimitri had the strength to pull away, letting a sliver of air pass between them as they both took deep breaths. But he went right back in, tilting her head as gently as he could with her fresh tattoo and kissing along her jaw. The soft moans and whimpers sounded like music to his ears as Mischa held onto him tightly.

"Dimitri," she gasped, feeling his teeth scrape against her skin.

Her hands found the front of his shirt, untucking it from his jeans and sliding her hands underneath to feel his toned stomach. As she inched it up further and further, he reached back to grab the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift move. Mischa couldn't even take the time to admire his Adonis-like form before he was back at her lips, warm hands cradling her cheeks as he kissed her again, exploring her mouth like it was something to own.

Like he didn't already own it.

When they finally parted, Dimitri pressed his palms to the wall on either side of her head, his chest heaving as he stared down at her with darkening eyes. He took in her red, swollen lips, the starry expression on her face as she gazed up at him needily, the way the shirt hanging off her was practically begging to be removed. It took everything in him not to kiss her again.

"Fuck," he grunted, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath. Sensible thoughts were telling him to slow down. Telling him this was far too much for her, that no first kiss should ever go so far so fast. "Was that your first — fuck! The rumors at the Academy about your experience. Are they true?" Because Mischa didn't kiss like some inexperienced schoolgirl, but he had to know.

"Are you gonna stop if it is?" Mischa asked breathlessly. "That bothers you?"

He clenched his jaw and pushed off the wall, taking a step back while shaking his head, thinking she deserved more than this for so many firsts in one night. "I can't just — your first time shouldn't be with someone like me."

Mischa let out a scoff of disbelief, feeling oddly rejected and wanted at the same time in the most confusing way. "What do you want me to do about it? Want me to see if Adrian wants to drive back and fuck me first to make sure I know what I'm doing?"

Dimitri was back on her in a second, pinning her to the wall by her wrists, a jealous storm raging in his eyes as she brought up the man from earlier. "No," he muttered lowly in her ear. "That's the last thing I want."

Mischa managed to move her hand, though he didn't release his hold on her wrist, keeping contact as she placed her hand on his cheek, guiding him to look at her. "Then what do you want?"

He never broke eye contact as he turned his head to kiss her palm gently, right over the healing mark. "I just want you," Dimitri said, his voice barely above a whisper. She'd never heard him sound so vulnerable in that moment. "I need you."

Then he leaned down to kiss her again, throwing any reservations about her out the window as he did so. It didn't last long as he moved to her neck, his lips trailing a hot path down her skin. His stubble rubbed her skin roughly as he sucked harsh enough to leave a mark, but she didn't care. She found it wonderful as her head fell back against the wall, giving him a better angle.

"Dimitri," she breathed out, her eyes remaining shut as she focused on his lips. She needed to feel him everywhere. "Touch me. Please."

A low, wanting sound resembling a growl rumbled through his chest as he bit down on her collarbone, sliding an arm around her waist. "I shouldn't. Every part of me knows I shouldn't, and yet—" He pulled her against his body, his lower half meeting hers as he held her close. She took in a shuddering breath, feeling his hardening length pressed to her abdomen, straining against his jeans. Dimitri spoke against her lips. "Do you even understand what you do to me, Printsessa? Do you feel it?"

Mischa managed to nod while letting out a whimper when he bit her bottom lip. Then the hand not around her waist moved under her shirt and up her side, leaving behind a trail of fire as he reached her chest. Dimitri's touch was gentle at first as he rubbed the underside of her breast with his thumb before dragging it across her nipple. She arched into him, helping the shirt to fall back off her chest and shoulders.

He looked down at her body with hungry eyes before swooping down and kissing down to her chest. She let out a gasp as he took one in his mouth, reveling in each sound to spill from her lips as he worked his tongue around the nipple while carefully palming the other breast. To know he was the only one to ever touch her like this, see her reacting with desire only for him thrilled him more than anything.

"You're so good, so soft," he murmured, his breath hot against her already burning skin. "Softer than I'd ever imagined."

"You imagined?" Mischa asked, hardly able to catch her breath as she stared at him in wonder. "When?"

Dimitri's dark eyes never left hers as he slowly lowered to the ground, kneeling before her. His lips grazed the band of her pants as he spoke, his voice impossibly deep. "On far more nights than I should care to admit."

With steady hands, he pulled the now-wrinkled dress pants down her body, helping her step out of them one leg at a time before tossing them over his shoulder. It was the best kind of torture as Dimitri started at her ankle, placing a slow kiss before moving upward, kissing her calf, her knee, the top of her thigh. And then when he switched to do it to the other leg, she let out a needy, impatient sigh, feeling his smirk against her skin.

Finally, still with the agonizing pace, he left a featherlight kiss to the inside of her right thigh. His gaze fell on the thin pair of underwear made of white lace that left very little to imagination — not that he planned for her to wear them much longer.

She managed to open her eyes and look down at Dimitri just as he glanced at her, not wanting to miss her reaction as he simply dragged his knuckle along the fabric. He smirked when she took in a sharp breath, and when he applied a bit more pressure and her legs shook, he slid an arm around her hips to keep her up.

"Are you sure?" he whispered softly, needing to check one last time. And even still if she said yes, he'd stop the moment she asked him to after the fact.

Mischa's eyes fluttered shut as he continued to rub impossibly light lines back and forth, a damp patch growing on the fabric. "Please, don't stop, Dimitri. Don't ever stop."

He moved suddenly, rising to his full, imposing height and also lifting her off the ground in one swift movement. She let out a gasp while looking down at him and wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist even though she was fully supported by his strong arms holding her effortlessly after years of training. As Dimitri walked them toward the bed, Mischa leaned down to kiss him fully, not wanting to waste even a few seconds of her time with him.

The comforter felt like velvet underneath her as Dimitri laid her down, kicking his boots off before following after her, pressing his body up against hers. His lips found hers as she got lost in him, tangling her hands in his hair. He was far too good at kissing for his own good because Mischa hadn't even noticed where his hand was until she felt two fingers rubbing a circular motion at the bud of nerve endings she'd only ever explored while thinking of him.

This was far more than thinking about it, though. The feeling of his fingers and the friction from her underwear against her clit had Mischa letting out a gasp of pleasure, which Dimitri took full advantage of, deepening their kiss to swallow her moans.

Finally, he grew tired of the underwear, finding it nothing more than a nuisance and he pulled back to yank the garment from her legs, not caring when he heard lace ripping. Dimitri hovered over her with a knee on either side of her, taking in the sight of her laid out beneath him with nothing to hide. She didn't squirm or shy away like she thought she might — no, she wanted him to see her like this. Lips swollen, red marks along her neck and chest, bare hips lifting slightly off the mattress wishing he'd do something to meet them in between.

Dimitri muttered something in Russian, and her face heated up, loving how his masking accent slipped away to his natural one even if she didn't know what he'd said to her. But that was alright, as he repeated it, eyes continuing to take her in as if she was a work of art he needed to memorize. "Beautiful."

Then he was moving back, getting off the bed completely. Mischa sat up on her elbows and frowned, worried he'd changed his mind about this. About her. "What are—"

She was cut off and let out a yelp as he grabbed her ankles and pulled swiftly, bringing her to the edge of the bed, her ass nearly hanging off. Then he settled himself between her like he belonged there, slowly kissing up her thigh until he reached the very center of her. Her lungs seemed to stop working for a moment as he pressed his tongue flat against her clit before beginning to work against it.

And just as she managed to breathe again, he slid a finger into the opening just below where his mouth was happily situated. It drew a low, long moan from her lips as he slowly worked it back and forth, helping to build that tightening sensation of desire pooling up inside of her. And when he added a second finger, she moaned while tangling her fingers in his hair.

"Oh, fu — Dimitri," she cried out, unable to really think of anything but his name. And so that's what she repeated over and over like a pleading prayer.

Dimitri. Dimitri. Dimitri.

His fingers worked into her at a growing rate, coupled with the steady, rhythmic way his tongue flickered over her, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her hips came up off the bed to meet each thrust until his free hand pushed her back down, keeping his palm flat against her stomach to keep her still.

Mischa felt almost dizzy as the air around her seemed to grow heavier, like she could feel it touching every inch of her exposed skin. She was so wet that she could hear each time he drove back into her, mixing with her moans that echoed around the room. And finally, the coil that'd been growing tighter and tighter since the moment he'd picked up that damn ice cube snapped, an orgasm washing over her.

Dimitri didn't take his eyes off her face, lips shining from where they'd been and his fingers still moving inside of her at a slower pace, working her through the overwhelming sensation. He took everything she had to give and then demanded more. And all the while, he whispered praising words in his native tongue in her ear.

When Mischa finally came down from her high, he slowly pulled his fingers out of her, thinking the breathy whine she let out was just more music to his ears. As she stared up at him with stars in her eyes, she chose a bold move — something she'd heard Rose tell her about in some random gossiping session just after she began fooling around with Mason.

She wrapped her hand around his wrist — the one of the hand that'd been inside of her and was now covered in her release. Dimitri's eyes never left her face as she brought his fingers toward her mouth, letting her tongue lightly lick the tip of his middle finger. Then she took his two fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them to lick them clean.

"Fucking hell, Printsessa," Dimitri swore, groaning at the sight of his fingers in her mouth. He quickly surged forward, pulling her mouth open and keeping her jaw trapped between those same fingers and his thumb. He pushed his mouth against hers, forcing his tongue in her mouth while pulling her up off the bed and against his body, his other hand digging into her side hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers.

Mischa slotted between one of his thighs, unable to help from grinding against him, feeling that same bundle of pleasure start to stir up inside of her once more. The stiff fabric and the friction it created was a harsh reminder he was wearing far more clothing than she was. Her hands fumbled with his belt, taking a few seconds longer than she'd have liked to remove it before unbuttoning them and pushing the jeans down his thick, muscular thighs.

Dimitri was left in a pair of black boxer briefs — maybe in the morning, she'd be able to joke about how he really did only ever wear black. But the prominent bulge was the only thing she could focus on, something inside of her itching to see him completely.

But she looked up at him hesitantly, knowing she didn't exactly have any experience in this area. The only solution, she knew, was to ask. That's what she did as she ran a shy, delicate finger over his covered, straining cock, earning a low, guttural groan from him as she asked him to teach her. His hips snapped forward, meeting her hand fully. 

And fuck, Dimitri knew he must have been in heaven, looking down at the girl he knew he was falling in love with, desperate to learn to please him and only him. Ready to be shaped into whatever he needed her to be. He'd teach her every damn thing she'd ever need to know.

"Get on your knees for me, Princess."

☾

[ is this all we're getting? yes. but the thing about me? i love a sexy flashback in the middle of day to day activities to shake things up, so i am sure parts of the progression to this will appear following future episodes ]