#dmitri x plus size reader

[prettyblondguys]

Part 4

Warnings: ptsd nightmares, that's it. Vv short chapter my babes. I'd rather walk on hot coals than proofread.

He wakes with a start, body covered in sweat and heart beating a mile a minute as he stares up at the ceiling, a faint neon glow pouring in from the too-thin curtains. Sitting up, he places his bare feet to the floor, the ugly green carpet working to ground him, to bring him back to now. Warm, sunny California, far away from the bitter cold he had the displeasure of calling home. The clock reads 3:52 AM.

He stands with a groan, padding over to the sink to turn the faucet on, water pooling in his cupped hands as he brings them up to his lips. He turns the water off and stands there, gripping the edge of the sink.

He'd seen it again. The monster. It had been chasing him, its sickly pale body illuminated as it bounded after him through some dark hallway, its growls and snarls getting closer. It had only been a nightmare, Dmitri knew this, but remembering the way it had finally caught him, opening its mouth wide and ripping into his flesh felt real enough to send a shiver down his spine. Eyes flicking up to his reflection in the mirror, he takes a deep breath.

In, and out. In, and out. In…..and out. He walks back to bed, the sheets damp with sweat when he lays back down. He's hesitant to fall asleep, dreading the possibility of that creature beginning its chase again, but he needs the rest. He has a big day ahead of him, a date with a chatty little American. The memory of you earlier that day, the way your light pink dress hugged your bosom and hips, the fabric stretching over the curve of your soft belly, and the way your pretty cheeks had blushed when he had translated for you causes a stirring in his loins.

Perhaps if he's lucky, he'll dream of you, instead. The thought makes him smile.

Authors Note: I'm sorry i just really wanted a short Dmitri pov😭

[canadiansummer]

TITLE: Fork in the Road [6] PAIRING: Dmitri Antonov x Fem!Reader / Enzo x Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: You and your uncle, Hopper, have been looking after each other ever since plans falling out put you back in Hawkins, Indiana. It wasn't long until you had knowledge of the strange world that wreaked havoc on the town, and you figured it was only a matter of time before you got roped up in that side of the town. Though, it turns out that that opportunity comes about in a disastrous way, you and Hopper ending up on the Russian side of the gate during the battle in the Starcourt Mall. However, after being injured and tortured, you get separated from him early on. Now, you have to figure out a way to get back to him. However, as it turns out you two aren't as far apart as you had been expecting, Hopper being held in this top-secret prison and you being forced to lay low in a town two hours away. Though, with the unexpected help of a prison guard, busting Hopper out seems doable. That is, until it's not. WARNINGS: N/A. NOTE: Here is the next chapter! Thank you all for the patience. TAG LIST: @sakuralikestars @local-fanfic-addict @fillechatoyante @famishedsights 

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As much as you knew there wasn’t much you could do, personally, the constant starting and stopping of everything was slowly exhausting you.

Really, you couldn’t imagine what your uncle was going through. Dmitri had filled you in on just a couple things, but the details were vague. After a while, you had to wonder if that was just for your sake.

Still, supposedly, you were waiting on Yuri. Dmitri usually had an idea on when he would arrive back into the country, but he would only know once word got around the prison guards. He had estimated a couple weeks, but had given you what he was able to grab in the meantime. It had mostly been somewhat familiar food at first, a couple things you knew how to cook. Thankfully, a couple changes of clothes. The sizes were always a little off, but you were just thankful to have a couple fresher things and warmer clothes.

You had also managed to find a book in English that you could read. It was a horror, ironically enough. It had either been passed down or was pretty well loved, considering it felt like some pages would fall apart in your hands. There had also been some scribbled Cyrillic in the margins, but outside of the odd word or phrase you picked up from Dmitri, you couldn’t translate it.

Still, it was something to occupy your mind with.

Naturally, things had fallen into a bit of a routine. You knew breaking Hopper out of the prison and getting you both out of the country would take time, so it just felt like you were doing anything to make the days pass. You had also picked up on Dmitri’s usual shifts, a part of you almost using him as a means to mark the passing of time. Plus, it was easier to bother him than trying to entertain or worry yourself to death. It was strangely domestic at points, despite the background of the situation you found yourself in.

Which was an uncomfortable thought that came to you when you were laying awake one night in your shared bed. 

For the most part, you two kept things reasonably distant–or as reasonable as the situation allowed. In a way, you found his presence a bit of a reassurance some nights. Especially when the nightmares would creep in, usually a mess of memory and your brain filling in gaps, but being able to turn over and see him in the darkness sometimes allowed you to ground yourself. It wasn’t like you found yourself reaching for him, but it put a strange feeling in your chest upon realizing you were doing that.

And it only made you pray that Yuri would show up all the sooner.

Almost a month later, the day finally came when Dmitri showed back up at his house with a heavy winter coat for you.

“We do not have too much time,” he said, “We will need to speak with him alone and having you wander around in the day is a bad enough idea.”

“Is he at his church?” you asked, picking up the jacket with a somewhat confused look.

From what you could recall, the church wasn’t that long of a drive so you weren’t sure what the extra padding was for.

“No, another hangar. It has more space for cargo,” he explained, gesturing toward the jacket again. “Come on.”

Given what was riding on this, you supposed you could forgive the tone. You shouldered the jacket on, pulling the hood up as you stepped outside. Your eyes ached a bit from the daylight, given how long you had been cooped up inside. Still, with his paranoia about you being seen, you took the liberty of climbing into the backseat, sitting down on the floor behind the passenger seat as Dmitri started the truck.

Admittedly, you were a little nervous. Given what was at stake, you didn’t want to say anything that would put either Dmitri or Yuri off the whole thing. Though, for the most part, Hopper had apparently convinced Dmitri enough to take your reassurances at face value.

“So, how is this going to work?” you asked, leaning forward somewhat to rest your arm on the console between the driver and passenger seat. You were hoping it wouldn’t be a long drive, considering you didn’t want to get motion sick from sitting on the floor like you were.

“We go talk to him, tell him the plan and work on figuring out time to send word to America,” Dmitri replied simply, making you frown somewhat.

“That's it?”

“Yes,” Dmitri turned his head slightly to look down at you, a somewhat amused look in his eye, “Are you nervous, American?”

“You’re not?”

“Not of Yuri,” he replied around a small scoff, reaching down to pat at your arm that was resting on the console. It might have been a reassuring gesture, but you couldn’t help but take it as a little mocking.

“Sorry for wanting to be prepared, considering everything,” you muttered, quiet over the sound of the engine before you glanced back up at him, “How long have you known this smuggler?”

“Since I started working at the prison,” Dmitri replied, not taking his eyes off the road, “He is the one most guards go to for goods. Cigarettes, magazines, food–especially peanut butter, as you have seen.”

“Is that where you get most of your movies and books?”

“Some,” he replied, “That was how I started learning English, Yuri helped with the rest. Which is why I think he will be a good pick to help fly you and your uncle back to America. Less miscommunication, the better.”

“Alright,” you replied, resigned.

There were many more questions circling in your head, but you figured some might get answered by meeting Yuri himself. You leaned back against the side of the truck, thankful that your leg had healed up enough to not make this trip insufferable, as much as there was still a rather pronounced limp. You were hoping that would go away eventually, but you weren’t sure.

You weren’t sure how long the drive would be, but the angle from where you were sitting didn’t give you much to look at. Some of the trees that would pass by Dmitri’s window, and the driver himself as he took some drags from a cigarette once the small conversation had died down.

As much as you didn’t want to play into it, you knew there was a small part of you that liked to remind you that he wasn’t too hard to look at. Plus, there were moments when the pressure of the situation let up somewhat and you were able to enjoy being around him. Yet, you knew it was pointless to dig too much into that.

Just a bad idea in general to test that water and make the rest of the time you had left with him awkward and insufferable.

With a small shake of your head and having to push down the urge to chuckle, you dropped your gaze and tried to settle in for the drive.

                                                          ***

The bottom half of your body had started to go numb by the time it seemed you had arrived at your destination.

Dmitri got out of the driver’s seat once he had parked outside the hangar, saying something about letting him talk to him first. Though, you weren’t exactly looking to go out of your way to introduce yourself, so that wasn’t exactly a difficult direction to follow. You opened the back doors to the truck, dropping down into the snow as you glanced around yourself. Things seemed relatively quiet outside of some noise from inside the building, the cold making you secure your hood again before following Dmitri inside.

As per his hope, it seemed like the two of you were the only ones there.

You lingered back somewhat as Dmitri called out toward one of the only rooms in the building, though you found your gaze shifting to glance toward the plane. Well, you figured a plane would be better than a boat or something like you had been thinking. As much as you knew you weren’t exactly in the position to be choosy. However, your attention was pulled away from that when you heard an unfamiliar voice call back in Russian.

Yuri, you had to assume, approached the two of you.

You hadn’t really been given a description of the guy outside of him just being ‘the smuggler,’ but a part of you hadn’t been expecting someone so…jovial. As much as you couldn’t understand the conversation they were having, judging from the tones you could assume Dmitri wasn’t exactly jumping right into business. Your gaze flickered between the two of them, the interaction a little odd. With the friendliness Yuri approached him with, Dmitri seemed a little too stiff in return.

It was interesting. As much as you wanted to just brush it off as none of your business, Yuri was the person who would be taking over once Dmitri had done his part. It was something you noticed and tucked away as a thought for later.

You crossed your arms as a shiver ripped its way up your back, trying to help yourself get a little warmer. Though, you found yourself glancing toward the plane again, tilting your head.

It wasn’t something you ever thought to pursue, but aircraft did spark a small bit of interest in you when you were younger. You could remember the very basics of air dynamics and how they worked on a very fundamental level, which you were kicking yourself a bit over now. Might have been useful to tell for sure what state the plane was in, if there was something to call bullshit on. It looked a little weather beaten, at least.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but wander toward it somewhat in curiosity. However, you didn’t get too far before Yuri spoke up, making you pause to glance back toward him.

“You are excited to leave, I know, but don’t you want to introduce yourself?”

Oh, so they wanted to acknowledge you now. Still, you bit back the remark as you raised your eyebrows somewhat.

“You two were having a conversation,” you said, “I just wanted to look at the plane.”

“I would be happy to show you,” Yuri replied, perking up somewhat, “It is you I want to talk to, anyway. Or–is that not allowed?”

At his last question, he turned back to look at Dmitri. Even from where you stood, you could catch some sort of mockery there, and from the look on the other man’s face you could assume that wasn’t lost on him either. He let the question sit for a moment before glancing toward you with a nod.

“I have to pick up some things,” Dmitri said, giving you a look that you understood. You weren’t brought along just to look at Yuri’s plane.

No pressure. Yuri was quick to join you when you turned to approach his plane, striding forward with the confidence of a father introducing you to his favorite child. As much as you weren’t sure exactly what you were looking at, you supposed you had to take his confidence as a good sign. You watched as he sat himself down in the open door on the side of the plane, allowing yourself to actually take in the aircraft for a moment.

“How long have you had this plane?” you asked, tone light but if this was the plane that was going to get you back home, you figured you might want to form some sort of opinion on it.

“Long time,” Yuri replied with a grin, giving a fond pat of the space next to him, “She is old, yes, but reliable. Will get you where you want to go.”

You gave a light nod at that, though he continued before you could comment further.

“You are not really here for the plane, are you?”

“...No,” you replied around a small huff, “Of course not. I’m here for…reassurance about the money you’ll get for helping us out.”

“The cop told me a bit of your plan,” he said, the cop comment making you furrow your brow somewhat in confusion but it wasn’t hard to piece together who he was talking about. “Very exciting, but very risky.”

“Oh, that’s been made very clear to me,” you replied with a soft huff.

“How long has he been hiding you?”

You clicked your tongue somewhat–how long had it been, really? More than a month at this point, you figured. The days blended together and the weeks even more so.

“Close to two months,” you replied.

“I do not know how you do it,” Yuri replied around a somewhat wheezy chuckle, “That long I would have strangled him.”

“Well, he’s my shot out of here,” you replied, “You two don’t get along?”

“Ah, I joke,” he replied dismissively, “I help him, he pays me. Though, with the money you have promised, I will not have to worry about that anymore.”

“Forty thousand is good price for freedom, is it not?” Dmitri asked, approaching the two of you finally.

“In this case,” you muttered somewhat, watching as Yuri seemed to consider that.

“If it is true,” Yuri said, “I do not usually smuggle this type of cargo. So, maybe you understand…”

“If it means anything,” you began, “my uncle is locked in the prison, I am lucky to only be under house arrest, but we don’t exactly have much to lose at this point. He used to be a big city cop, he has money saved up.” At least you hoped that was a believable enough reason. Still… ”Hopper is giving you his daughter’s savings to get out of here. Clearly getting back home means a lot to him.”

“I will contact this woman, Joyce,” Dmitri explained, “He says she will know what savings he is talking about. She will transfer the money.”

Yuri took that in, looking between the two of you before he stood up. You weren’t sure if that playful edge to his tone ever really left, but he was notably a little more serious.

“We do this on my terms,” he said, “I fly to Alaska in a couple months. They have money ready by then, Yuri will fly them here to pick up the Americans and we all have a happy ending.”

“A couple months?” you asked, “My uncle is in this labor prison, he might not even survive that long.”

“Good thing he has guard looking out for him, then.”

You wanted to say more, but a somewhat sharp nudge to your arm had you biting back the words as Dmitri stepped forward.

“We will do it your way, but you better be ready, smuggler,” he stated as Yuri offered him a grin.

“When have I ever not delivered on a promise, Mitya?”

Dmitri stared at him for a moment before stepping back, gesturing you follow. Really, you were happy to get out of the cold and get away from the chance of putting your foot in your mouth. Still, you knew you weren’t totally pleased at how long it might take, but Yuri had a point. Dmitri now had money in Hopper, you figured that would be enough motivation to keep him out of trouble.

You figured you would just have to work with that time frame, a resignation that finally breaking your silence on the drive back to the town.

The box of things Dmitri apparently picked up was some general things–more clothes, food, though the doll had you pausing before reaching out to pull it out.

“You lonely?” you asked.

“What?”

With a huff, you extended the doll out over the middle console so he could see it. To your surprise, it earned you a laugh.

“No. I bought it for you. Might help you sleep at night,” he returned as you pulled the doll back to put it back in the box, “It is hollow inside, could be good place to hide a note if we break it cleanly enough. Might not get much of a second glance if we send that to America for that ‘family friend.’”

“If she doesn’t toss it out,” you muttered.

“Let's hope not,” Dmitri said, pausing a moment before speaking again, “You handled yourself well. I thought I would have to intervene more.”

“Yuri carried most of his own conversation,” you replied, “Could’ve given me a heads up about his personality, Mitya.”

“Would have ruined the surprise. You will get plenty of time to get to know him when you are flying back to America.”

If things didn’t fall apart. Still, you kept that remark to yourself, feeling at least…somewhat satisfied to have an idea on how things will play out. You didn’t know how Dmitri was going to get your uncle out of the prison, but you figured you just needed to be where you needed to be. The length of time wasn’t ideal, but it was what you got.

Once again, you didn’t have much of a choice.

[prettyblondguys]

Part 5

Dmitri x plus size reader

Warnings: smut. Fingering, public-ish sex (its so illegal pls never do it lol), also I have no idea when battery powered fairy lights were invented and I don't care enough to keep researching lol. Proofreading isn't on the itinerary today.

You fiddle with the wide sleeves of your top, nervously watching the clock mounted to the wall behind you, its hands slowly tick tick ticking down to closing time. Delores is in the employees office, you'd convinced her to close up for you so you wouldn't have to, not wanting to make Dmitri wait around when he shows up. Dmitri. A fresh wave of nerves wash over you. You'd spent an extra half hour primping in the mirror that morning, trying to get your hair just so and your makeup barely there, opting for a rose petal pink lip and a little blush on your nose and cheeks. It wasn't a lot by most people's standards, but it was a helluva lot more than you'd normally wear to work.

"You look like Jezebel." Delores had remarked when you came in that morning, eying your too-tight and probably too-short skirt from behind her spectacles.

Truth be told you were a little worried you'd gone overboard, teetering too much on sexy librarian, that he'd be surprised, and not in a good way. That isn't to say you didn't still have high hopes for the night. Sylvia had happily agreed to be out of the house, just in case "You two become allied forces." Hey, he can call me comrade for all I care, if that's what it takes. You'd lotioned and perfumed and soaked the night before. You wanted, no, you needed to get laid.

The clock strikes eight and you're pulled from your thoughts as Dmitri walks through the door. Well, he's very punctual.

"Hi," you beam at him, your confidence coming back as you see the way his eyes roam over your body, "let me just tell Delores I'm heading out." He nods, not shy about the way he watches you walk away. When you come back from the office you spot him pulling at the hem of his short sleeved button-up, abruptly stopping when he sees you. Huh, so he's nervous too. I don't know if that's comforting or concerning.

"Ready?" He extends his arm out to you with a smile. I am not turned on right now. I am not turned on right now. I am NOT turned on right now. "Yep," you reply, although, it embarrassingly comes out as more of a squeak.

"Sooooo," you draw out as he leads you out of the library and then, arm in arm, mind you, like some Jane Austen novel, the two of you start walking down the sidewalk, "where are we going?"

"Ah, it's a secret, you see." He answers with a grin.

"Oh, is it now?"

"Well, sort of," he continues, "at least for the next five minutes."

¤

You're smiling like an idiot. You know you are, but you can't help it. With one hand pressed to your flushed cheek and the other still wrapped around his arm, which feels amazing, btw, you are utterly and completely smitten.

"Normally," Dmitri says, looking a bit apologetic, "I would have made a nice meal, lit some candles and such." Oh my god, he cooks? "But, there is nothing to cook on nor with where I'm staying right now, so, I thought this might be nice. But I'm now realizing it's probably stupid and we should have just gone to a restaurant or -" You place a hand on his shoulder, stopping his rambling and getting him to look at you. "Are you kidding? This," you gesture in front of you towards the date he had prepared: a picnic basket atop the very table you were sitting at when he had asked you for your number, in between two glass jars full of twinkling lights. "This is really sweet, Dmitri. It's thoughtful." God I wanna kiss him. "Alright, I believe you." He concedes, pulling you towards the table to sit down while he sits opposite you, opening the basket.

"I didn't know if you like carbonara or alfredo," he says, pulling out take-away pastas and wax-paper wrapped breadsticks, "so I got both." He continues emptying the basket, pulling out clear Chinet plates, cups and cutlery, along with two Fantas. "No worries, I like them both." You can't help but smile as he serves both of you, the fact that you're here with him still slightly hard to believe.

"Good," he hands you a fork before leaning back to survey the spread, "because you're taking any leftovers." You raise your hands in mock surrender, "Hey, you won't hear an argument from me."

You make small talk while eating, the usual "Do you have any siblings? Any hobbies? Favorite band and or singer?" to which your answers were

"Yes, a brother out in Beverly Hills. Does bingo count as a hobby? And The Beach Boys." and his were

"No. Baking when he has the time (HE BAKES TOO?). And Johnny Cash."

"So," you absentmindedly swirl your fork through the bit of pasta left on your plate, "what's Russia like?

Shit, shouldn't have asked that.

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "It's...cold. And grey. Bone chillingly cold. At least where I was station- um, where I was staying." He picks at the table, an indiscernible look on his face. "It isn't the nicest place to live at the moment."

You feel bad for asking, you hadn't been thinking when the question tumbled out. You read the papers like everyone else, had a decent idea of how suffocating it must be living there, having to live under that type of surveillance and control. You just had to bring it up, didn't you? Your grandmother's words about how you tend to run men off echo in your ears.

"How are you liking California so far?"

That seems to do the trick, pulling him back from wherever his mind had gone, his eyes flickering up to yours as his smile grows. "I'm liking it very much." He says, taking a sip of his drink. "It's so warm here, I've had to buy a whole new wardrobe because of it." You both laugh at this, the tension having completely lifted. "And everyone here is so friendly. Well, until they hear my 'accent'." Oh yeah, I'm sure women just run away when they hear it.

"Not all of them, no."

You look up from your plate, eyes wide and face burning, "Did I say that out loud?" He nods, an amused smirk pulling at his lips.

"Whoops."

¤

After you sat for a bit and talked, you'd ended up walking back to the library to put the date stuff in your backseat and drove to the movie theater, Dmitri telling you about which ones were playing.

You had decided on Making Mr Right, a romantic comedy with one of your favorite actors. You try to push away and counter all of the inappropriate thoughts running through your head. I'm in a dark theater with him, yes but the ushers will probably be by soon. He's sitting so close our arms are touching, well where else is he supposed to sit? We could start making out and no one would know, yes but your mouths probably taste like pasta and buttered popcorn. That might add to it. You're right, self, it actually just might.

You're pulled from your thoughts by Dmitri quietly chuckling at a scene in the movie, the robot having a less than desired first meeting with the main character. It was lewd but funny. The movie plays out in a way you weren't expecting, at various points throughout you weren't sure who'd end up with who, halfway through you still weren't sure, but it was pretty good. And you'd be lying if you said John Malkovich wasn't pretty as hell in it, although not nearly as pretty as your date.

What if we reach for popcorn at the same time?

SHUT UP BRAIN. Just watch the movie. You keep your hands in your lap, now worried about accidentally touching his hand. Which is insane, you think to yourself, a sex dream is fine, but we draw the line at buttery hand brushes?

"You alright?" Dmitri asks in a whisper, the light from the screen reflecting in his eyes. God, he's beautiful. Those eyes, so easy to get lost in. Those lips. MY GOD THOSE LIPS. I could write poetry about those lips. Might not be good poetry, but still. You realize you haven't replied, a blush creeping over your cheeks when you look up only to find that he's now looking at your lips, and then, in what feels like slow motion, he leans forward.

….

….

….

Oh my god I've forgotten how to breathe.

The kiss is, what's a good way to explain it.. World ending, earth shattering, panty dropping. All three at once. His lips are soft against yours, barely moving as you melt into it, literally melting into it, leaning into him. He pulls away after what feels like a blessed eternity, smirking when he sees the stupid grin spreading across your face.

"You shouldn't look at me like that if you don't want to get kissed." He whispers, his deep voice sending a shiver through your body.

"Who said I don't?" You reply boldly, damn girl, good for you, watching as he raises one eyebrow in surprise before shifting in his seat, moving to place the half empty popcorn tub on the ground as he turns his body towards you. "Is that so?" He asks, his hand coming to cup your cheek, letting his thumb ghost over your bottom lip as you nod.

Welp, I don't know if this'll be sexy, but here goes.

You part your lips slightly, letting your tongue dart out to slowly lick at his thumb before closing your lips again, leaving a wet kiss. Any questions of whether or not he liked that are swept away by the soft groan he lets out, heaving a shuddering breath as he quickly leans forward again, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss. You moan into his mouth and before you know it his hands are trailing down the sides of your body, over the curve and dip of your hips and down to your thigh, letting his fingertips graze the skin along the hem of your skirt, the other coming to rest on the back of your neck as yours is against his jaw, feeling an embarrassing amount of wetness start to pool between your legs.

His hand snakes under your dress and trails upwards, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh of your thighs as he goes. He breaks aways from the kiss and looks at you, really looks at you. "Is this okay?" He questions, both of you breathing heavily.

I mean, it's technically illegal but yeah, absolutely. You quickly nod, desperate to have his lips back on yours and his hand wherever the hell he intended to put it.

He grins before kissing you again, no doubt amused by your eagerness, his fingers inching their way further up your thighs before they reach your clothed mound.

Your legs part, giving him better access as the pads of his fingers run along the fabric, coming to rub circles over the wet spot already forming. You're lost in how good it feels, your hips slightly rocking forward as he presses down with each rub of his fingers, drinking in your moans. You feel him toying with the side of your panties, "And this?" He mumbles against your lips, not continuing on until you let out a breathy "Yes." Trying to hold back a whine as he slips his hand under them and drags his fingers through your folds. Holy shit this is happening. His thumb rubs at your pearl, grinning against your lips at the way your hips jerk towards his touch, before sliding two fingers down through your soaked folds and starts gently prodding at your entrance, letting out a deep, guttural moan when he feels how easily your slit lets them slide in, enveloping them in your tight heat. He pumps them in and out slowly, curving upwards on the way out to brush against a sensitive spot, sending a current of pleasure through you. Shit, I didn't even know that was there. The telltale pressure starts building, like an ember growing deep in your belly as you feel your release getting closer and closer, your walls fluttering around his digits. Panic floods over you as you see a flashlight beam slowly ascending the steps to your right, every fiber of your being sending off alarm bells and sirens. "Stop, Dmitri," you quickly whisper, trying to sit up straighter as he pulls his hand back, looking at you concerned until he spots the light as well, reaching over to smooth your skirt down you'd forgotten to.

The usher makes it to the top step and eyes you both suspiciously, the beam of light landing on the discarded tub of popcorn and then back to where you two sit, before begrudgingly walking away.

"Well," Dmitri whispers, his chest rumbling with poorly suppressed laughter, "that was close." Yeah pal, so was I. "Tell me about it." You say, feeling that sweet release slip further and further away, the meeting of your thighs pitifully damp. "So," he says, smirking at you, "should we finish the movie, or finish this at your place?" Holy mother of pearl, you think to yourself as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks your arousal off of them, playfulness and lust sparkling in his eyes.

Well, fuck me.

Authors note: Sorry this chapter took so long! I swear it was not supposed to get steamy in this chapter but here we are lol. And a big thanks to my dear friend Lilah for helping me with the Chinet research and to @starjones-on-ao3 for help with the music info lol. Reblogs and feedback are so very appreciated! :) also I only edited this once so I apologize if there's a lot of mistakes 😅

[prettyblondguys]

Part 3

Dmitri x plus size f!reader

Warnings: SMUT. Fingering, dirty talk, praise kink in Russian because HELLO. Masturbation, mentions of oral (f recieving), I have religious exemption from proofreading.

The library was empty apart from you, kneeling beside a bookshelf as you thumbed through some recent returns, checking for damage. You had decided to wear a calf-length skirt today, burnt orange with little pleats near the waist, flowing out around your legs as you sat on the worn carpet, taking note that Doctor Zhivago needed a new dust jacket.

"That is a very good book, but quite hard to follow."

You look up to find Dmitri staring down at you, something dark and enticing in his eyes. "Hey," you have to crane your neck from where you sit, "the library's closed, I was just finishing up." Your eyes widen in shock as he reaches down and cups your jaw, his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip, never breaking eye contact. "No one else is here?" His voice is thick with desire, the sound washing over you as you slowly shake your head, cheeks burning as you stare up at him, acutely aware that you're kneeling in front of him now.

He grips your chin and gently pulls up until you stand, your heart jackhammering as he lets his hand slowly inch down, fingers tracing over your throat and collarbone, before laying flat against your chest. You gasp as he pushes you backwards against the shelf, stepping forward to press his body against yours, bulge straining against his pants and pressing into you, a feeling of wetness growing between your legs as he leans forward and ghosts his lips over the shell of your ear, a deep shudder traveling through your body.

"I see the way you stare at me," he breathes out, hands gripping your waist, "so openly, so shamelessly. I know that look," one of his hands moves to the waistband of your skirt, toying with it, "you want to be fucked." You'd be embarrassed by the moan you let out at his words if you weren't so lost in how he felt against you. He pulls back to look at you, eyes roaming your face as he slips his hand beneath the waistband, fingers drawing out a whimper from you as they skim over the lace of your panties, already soaked through. "Hm? Does the pretty little American want me to fuck her?" When you don't answer he removes his hand, tutting at you. "Yes, yes please," you quickly ramble out, your center throbbing with want when he snakes his hand back down your skirt, raising his eyebrows as he waits for you to continue, "Please," you say, voice small and whining in desperation, "please fuck me." Your lips meet in a bruising kiss, his fingers pulling your panties aside and sliding through your folds, your legs widening when he pushes a single digit into your entrance. "Khoroshaya devochka," he mumbles against your lips, his finger pumping in and out of your slit, stretching you before adding a second, "this is what you wanted, isn't it? To have my fingers deep inside your pussy, fucking you senseless." All you can do is moan into his mouth, feeling an ember of ecstasy start to spread throughout your cunt, the coil of your climax tightening as your walls clench and flutter around his thick fingers. He pumps into you at an agonizing pace, the palm of his hand brushing against your clit each time. "Are you going to cum for me, hm? Going to cum all over my fingers?" You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel yourself nearing the edge, grabbing onto his shoulders as he fucks you mercilessly against the bookshelf. His fingers curve into you, dragging against your sensitive spot, and you feel it boil over.

You open your eyes with a gasp and look around, but it's dark. You try to catch your breath as you let your eyes adjust. Shit. You're in your bedroom, laying twisted up in the sheets. A dream. A really fucking good dream. Groaning, you flop an arm over your face, trying to ignore the throbbing in your netherregions. Did I have to wake up right at the good part?

You lay there a moment, the dream replaying in your head as you fight an internal battle. Don't. Don't. Don't do it. Your body has a mind of its own as your hand disappears under the sheets, your finger running along your outer lips through the fabric of your underwear, and then underneath them. You run your palm over the mound of your sex, fingers brushing through the coarse hair before parting your folds, stifling a moan as you collect some of your arousal and bring it to your entrance, thinking of how good his fingers felt gliding into you. Yours are slightly disappointing when you push them past your opening, they always are, too short and not thick enough to feel just right, so you slip them out and back up through your folds, tracing small circles over your clit. You try to remember each moment of the dream as you start rocking your hips upwards, your free hand fondling your breast through your thin tank top. Are you going to cum for me? The thought of him saying that, even in a dream, lights a fire deep in your belly, your fingers speeding up as soft moans fall from your lips. Going to cum all over my fingers? You think of his lips, rough against yours as he kissed you, and you start to imagine what they might feel like on your body, latched around your nipple or kissing your thighs, working their way to your dripping center before sucking your clit between them. You clasp your hand over your mouth as you come, jolts of pleasure coursing through your body as you reach your peak, still rubbing your now sensitive pearl as you squeeze out every last drop of your orgasm.

When you finally come down, you pull your hand out from under the sheets, fingers still slick with yourself, and you lay there catching your breath. Part of you feels bad, in your post climax moment of clearheadedness, for using a fantasy of him to masturbate to. You feel kind of creepy, like some dude rubbing one out to every girl he knows. But he's stuck in your mind now, lodged firmly into your subconscious. You might as well use that for personal fulfillment.

¤

"Y/n, I know we're friends, but we don't have to tell eachother everything." 

Sylvia sits at the kitchen table, a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios having been pushed far away the second you started talking. "Why don't you wanna know about my sex dream? It was pretty cinematic, if I do say so myself." By the way, brain, thanks again. It deserves an Oscar. Or at least a nomination. "I'm glad you got your world rocked in dreamland, really, I am," Sylvia says, fighting against a yawn, "but it's 8 a.m., aka too early for this." You purse your lips, rapping your fingers against the table, "So you wanna hear about it later?" "......sure."

You stand up and gulp down the last of your orange juice, "Okay, I gotta get ready for work. Or, should I say, the scene of the crime." You ignore Sylvia's exasperated sigh as you walk off.

¤

You're about to leave when the phone rings, nearly tripping over a rug in your rush to answer it. "Hello?" You breathe out, both hands cradling the receiver, "What? No, I'm not interested in your encyclopedias. Yes I'm sure. No thank you. No. I said no. I'm sorry.....no really, I'm sorry. That was a rude tone to take. But no, no thank you. I'm sure. Okay, you too. Bye."

¤

"Those are in our juvenile section, right over there by the fern. Let me know if you need anything." You smile as the kid asking about where the Hardy Boys books were ambled off, looking down to read through the list of overdues. The Great Gatsby, a few Toni Morrisons borrowed by the same person, and, this one's funny, a self-help book on time management. "Hey Delores," She walks over from the book cart she was sorting through, "look." You point at the list and grin, waiting for her to laugh. Waiting. And waiting. "It's overdue," she says dryly, walking back to the cart. That's what's funny about it. You sigh and go back to work, smiling as the kid walks back up, having picked The Missing Chums and Hunting for Hidden Gold.

The day goes by relatively slow, it being a Friday. Four o'clock rolls around and you're about to ask Delores if she thinks you ordered enough balloons for the Friends of The Library Event when a book is slid onto the desk. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Good book. You look up from the cover to be met with piercing blue eyes, the corners of which are crinkled from smiling. Oh god, it's just like the dream. Except Delores is here. "I tried calling earlier," Dmitri began, "but the line was busy. So I thought I would drop by." Curse you, Encyclopedia Lady. "It's nice to see you, and good choice by the way. It's a great book." You can't help the stupid smile plastered on your face as you check the book out. "You, um, you try calling for any reason? Or just saying hello?" Smooth. Real smooth. "I was wondering if you would like to get dinner after you finish work?" You gape at him, forgetting how to breathe. "Get dinner..with you? Like..the both of us?" Laughing, he nods, "Yes, the both of us. I was hoping as a date." Oh god oh god oh god oh god. "That'd be really nice!" You exclaim, still not completely sure you aren't dreaming again. "I get off at seven-'' Delores clears her throat, straightening her glasses before looking at you, "I was going to ask if you would stay a bit later, the children's section is in disarray and I'd rather it get done before tomorrow, you know Saturday is busy." Nope, definitely not a dream. "Oh, um, yeah, sure Delores. That's no problem." You look back to Dmitri, "Sorry, I guess I'll be here late."

"How about tomorrow?" he asks, completely unbothered. "Tomorrow would be great," you beam at him, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults from the pleased smile he gives you. You both say your goodbyes and he turns to leave with his book when you call after him. "Hey, um," he turns back to look at you, "what does, um, koro..shaya dev..dev..ochka mean?" He grins, his brows furrowing, "Khoroshaya devochka?" He repeats, to which you nod. "It means 'good girl', why?" You feel your cheeks flush, "Just..something I heard somewhere." How the hell does my subconscious know Russian? He smiles once more, still looking quizzically at you, but eventually walks off. After which you turn to scowl at your coworker, although your heart isn't in it. "Delores, I could've gotten laid tonight."

"I very much doubt that."

Authors Note: "What yall doing, screwing?" Please don't hate me, she'll get some real non-dream dick soon XD. You can't tell me Dmitri doesn't like cowboy/western books and movies. Feedback and Reblogs are very appreciated!!! @@feelingstoo @lizgot

[prettyblondguys]

Part 2

Dmitri x plus size f!reader

Warnings: None for this chapter I think, don't you dare ask me to proofread

Sunday Bingo Night was, thankfully, Russian Man free. As a matter of fact, the rest of your week had been as well, leaving you to put all of your focus (and anxieties) into your work at the local library. It wasn't a stressful job per say, not when compared to other fast paced environments, and the hours and pay were decent, but still you had the habit of working yourself up over the smallest things. Case in point, you were currently sitting behind the circulation desk with a notepad trying to figure out everything that still needed to be done for the upcoming Friends of the Library Event, a relatively small gathering that was held each year to drum up more funds, and the second it had been assigned to you to take care of, you'd felt that all too familiar dread of 'what if I mess up?' wash over you. It wasn't as if you didn't know what to do, you'd worked here for years now and you worked hard, sometimes spending extra hours just to get more work done, opting to finish filings or sortings sooner rather than the next day, and going out of your way to think of and make fun displays to draw more of the community in. And your hard work hadn't gone unnoticed either, after just 3 years you'd been promoted to co-head librarian, head librarian being your 64 year old coworker, Delores.

No, you knew what you were doing, you just often did more than needed to be done.

"I know we've decided on tea sandwiches," you say to Delores as she flips through some papers, letting out a sigh when you bring up the event again, "but what if people want a second option? Like, what if they get sick of the sandwiches? It's 2 hours, maybe we should have something else as well?" Delores fixes you with a withering look over the rim of her glasses, lips pursed in thinly veiled aggravation, "Like what?" You scramble for an idea, you were sure she'd shoot you down without even considering it. "Umm, how about chips and dip?"

"Too messy."

"Devilled Eggs,"

"Too smelly." Fair.

"We could have fruit!"

"What kind of fruit?"

"Um, how about..grapes..?"

"You want to serve tea sandwiches and grapes?" She looks at you like you'd just asked what the Dewey decimal system is. "I, uh, I guess we should just...stick to the sandwiches." Delores goes back to flipping through her papers and you dejectedly return to your notepad, scratching out where you had written 'second food option'. There's still a lot that needs to be done in five days; the rest of the recently donated books needed to be checked for marks and put in neat boxes, you needed to make sure you had enough name tags and markers, and not to mention blank labels. You had come up with a fun way for the patrons to interact with the library they help fund, by letting them go through the donated books and label them, sort of playing librarian for the day. Even Delores had thought it was a good idea. You hum to yourself, fingers tapping against the paper,

"How about a second drink option?"

¤

"Dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, dom, be, dooby, dom. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoaaaa," you quietly sing through a mouth full of tomato and sliced turkey, head bobbing as The Beach Boys' Come Go With Me plays through your headphones. You had walked five minutes away to spend your lunch break at the park that overlooked the beach, sitting on the picnic table and decompressing from your coworker's passive-aggressiveness. And decompressing here was easy, with the sun warming your face and the smell of the ocean filling your lungs, and the sweet, sweet sound of The Beach Boys crooning in your ears. Tea sandwiches be damned, this was peaceful.

"So come and go with me, whoa whoa whoa whoaa-" oh no. Walking away from the beach and towards you was Dmitri, a plain white shirt draping over his body like liquid. Ok, maybe that was a bit much, but he looked delectable. You consider getting up and walking back to the library, cutting your break short halfway through, but that would be too obvious. Maybe he hasn't seen me. Maybe he'll walk by and not even notice me. Maybe you should stop shoving your sub down your throat.

His eyes land on you as he gets closer, the side of his mouth turning up in a soft smile. "Y/n," he greets you after you slip your headphones around your neck, stopping to stand near where you sit, "fancy seeing you here." You inwardly cringe as he repeats your words from the grocery store just days earlier.

"I wahurc neher behi," you say through yet another mouthful of sub, holding your hand up for him to wait when he gives you a confused look. You swallow and continue, "I work nearby. I'm on my lunch break." He nods, moving to sit on the bench next to where your feet are, giving you the high ground, "It's nice here," he looks out towards the water as he speaks, elbows resting on his knees, "you can see the ocean whenever you please." I'm just gonna ignore how hearing you say 'please' just made me feel. "Have you gone in yet?" You ask, taking small nibbles of your sub.

"Not yet," he replies, "I haven't had the opportunity." Pal, it's California, the whole state is an opportunity to get in the ocean. "You said you work nearby?" He changes the subject, turning his head to look at you as you're mid-bite. It'd be weird to offer him some. Do NOT offer him some. You slowly hold the sub out to him, which he politely declines. "I work at the library down the street, the one with the flamingo statue out front." You love that flamingo statue, you'd named him Jacques. "What about you? What do you do?" Ok, why does he suddenly look like I just asked why his basement is locked? "I am.." he seems to be trying to think of the words, "in between jobs, at the moment." You nod and continue eating, a silence filling the space between you two as you stare out at the water. You slyly eye him in profile, taking the moment to actually look at him. You hadn't been exaggerating when you said he was hot, but now you notice just how pretty he actually is, all of the little details you'd overlooked the previous times you'd met. You had noticed how full his lips were, but not how pink, how mysterious his eyes were, but not how soft his gaze was, and certainly not the little specks of silver in his hair and trimmed mustache. God, he's like, seriously beautiful.

He catches you staring before you have time to look away, eyes boring into yours as you feel your cheeks start to burn, "Sorry," you mumble with a laugh, fiddling with the sandwich wrapper, "I was, um…" he smiles as you fumble for an explanation. "No, no there's no way to spin that, is there?" Good naturedly shaking his head, he stands up and faces you. "Perhaps I will stop by the library sometime, if that would be alright?" Did I fall asleep? Have I been dreaming this whole time? Did Delores finally snap and murder me for my incessant perfectionism and now I'm in heaven? "If not," he continues when you don't reply, "that is fine, I understand." NO! "No! That's not it," please don't screw this up for yourself, "I was just…"

"Staring." He says it matter of factly, kinda smug about it, too. Huh, add that to my growing list of turn ons. "Yeah," you admit defeatedly, "that I was." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out one of those little pencils that were always on side tables in motels, are they called golf pencils? and a folded up scrap of paper. He tears off a section and hands it and the pencil to you, which you take with a heavy look of confusion. "Cool...thank..thank you.." Is this like...penguins gifting rocks? Is it a Russian thing? Is this a dowry? He chuckles before crossing his arms over his chest, fixing you with those piercing blue eyes, "How am I supposed to call and ask you on a date if I do not have your number?" Oh. "Oh."

Sylvia is not gonna believe this.

Authors Note: I'm sorry the chapters aren't very long but I hope y'all are enjoying the story so far! Feedback and Reblogs are very much appreciated!

[prettyblondguys]

Part 1

Dmitri x plus size f!reader

Summary: after S4, Dmitri moves to sunny California where he meets our lovely reader, a weird, quirky lady with a penchant for awkwardness.

Warnings: adult humor, sex jokes, smut in future chapters, if you saw me proofread, no you didn't.

What lab did they make you in? You think to yourself, staring up at the absolute dream of a man in front of you, all full lips and mysterious eyes and suave. My god, the man practically oozes suave. You'd been sitting there outside the airport minding your own business, listening to your walkman while waiting for your friend Sylvia who was flying in from Oregon, when Mr Sex himself walked up to you asking about directions to a motel nearby, a thick Russian accent adding to his whole thing. His thing being something straight out of a James Bond film. From Russia with love, and straight to you here in sunny Cali. Express mail. I wouldn't mind signing for that package.

DIRECTIONS, SHIT.

"OH. Yeah, um," you ramble out, cheeks flushing red when you realize you've been staring at him. Well, ogling was a better word for what you were doing. He raises one eyebrow at your late reaction, an amused smile on his lips. His lips. NO, FOCUS. "You, um, you wanna go straight until you see Sycamore Street, then follow it to Red Hill and take a left, and, uhh, straight on to MacArthur, once you see Pete's Pizzas it should be on your right." You're nodding way too aggressively, as if you don't trust your own directions. Which to be honest, you're so flustered by him that you can't be sure you didn't just give him directions to Mordor. "About a 10 minute drive. Unless you're walking," God, why hasn't he said anything? "which is fine! Nothing wrong with walking. Or driving." Please shut up. "Nothing wrong with either. Yep, just, straight on to Sycamore. Good ol Sycamore. And then the others. Do you remember? Should I write this down?" No but you should seriously shut up.

"No, that is alright, I remember." His accent is so thick I want to drown in it. Wait, that's a bit weird. I wanna swim in it. Yeah that's better. His smile grows wide as you continue to just stare at him. "Sycamore, then a left on Red Hill, and on to MacArthur until I see this...Pete's Pizzas, and it should be on my right. Correct?" He cocks his head towards you, brows lifting in question. "Yep," you squeak out, caught up on how pretty his accent made the street names sound, "that's correct. Correcto, ding ding, we have a winner!" This is why you're single. He huffs out a confused laugh, or a pity laugh, it's really hard to tell with guys. "Alright, thank you for your help." No my good sir, thank YOU for looking like this. "No worries," you reply, "welcome to California!" Welcome to California? What are you, a flight attendant? He nods before starting to walk off, throwing one last puzzled smile over his shoulder before hailing a taxi. You're very skilled when it comes to scaring men off. "You'll make a man very lucky one day, sweetie," your grandmother had told you one day as you sat mourning yet another failed 2-day relationship, "as soon as you get one to stay in the same room as you for more than an hour."

¤

"You did not say that!"

Sylvia, your closest friend since highschool, was sitting in the passenger seat as you drove to your house after picking her up from the airport, and she was laughing. Loudly. Practically cackling. "Ding ding, we have a winner?!" You slowly shake your head as she goes on, the mortification still fresh in your mind. "This is why you're single!" I KNOW THAT. "I panicked, okay? I was face to face with lust personified and I PANICKED." Sylvia continues to laugh for a good minute before catching her breath. "I'm only saying," she gasps out, brushing away a tear from her eye, "that you had a hot, VERY HOT, so you say," Very hot indeed. "man standing in front of you, lost and asking for directions, and you said DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER!" She bursts out in a fit of laughter again, and you can't help but chuckle with her. "What was I supposed to say? Come on sexy, hop in my car and I'll show you a shortcut. Wink wink, it's my bedroom." That makes you both laugh harder, before Sylvia finally pulls herself together. "Well," she says, as you pull into your driveway, "at least you don't have to see him again. I doubt you and sexy Russian man run in the same circles."

"That's not necessarily true," you get out of the car and open the trunk, pulling out one of Sylvia's suitcases as she pulls out another, "maybe he'll join my Sunday Bingo Night. What am I supposed to do then? Quit bingo? HA, highly unlikely." Scoffing, she shakes her head and follows you to your front door. "It's a big world, what are the odds of seeing him again?"

¤

What are the odds indeed? "You jinxed it," you whisper shout at Sylvia while hiding behind a display of soup cans, "you put a curse on me or something. A beautiful man curse." You peer from behind the stacks of cream of mushroom towards the checkout line, where a very handsome, very familiar man was standing with a shopping cart. "Don't blame me," Sylvia whispers back, hand on the cart you'd abandoned the moment you saw him, "it's just really bad luck. And you're right, he's hot." Well duh. The two of you continue to watch him until he piles the bagged items into his basket, pays and walks off. Thank God. You ease your way up to the checkout line and start putting your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

"Wouldn't it be funny if he showed up at your Bingo night too?" Sylvia laughs, pulling out her wallet. You glare at her as you pull the now empty basket forward, "There you go cursing me again."

Sylvia's eyes widen as she fights back a grin, "Y/n.." her eyes flicker from yours to somewhere off behind you repeatedly, when a deep voice comes from behind you.

"I think I left a bag." Please be a different Russian guy, please be a different Russian guy, please please please. You slowly swivel around until you're face to face with the man from outside the airport. "Oh, hello," he says, a smile of recognition lighting up his face, "it's you, Sycamore." Could be worse, he could be calling me Ding Ding. "Ha, yep, it's me. Fancy seeing you here!" You swear you can hear Sylvia snicker behind you. He reaches for his forgotten bag in the bagging area, lifting it forward, "Needed a few things." Oh god how does he make grocery shopping look sexy. Mm. Double-bagged, that has to be a euphemism. He smiles as you just slowly nod, before extending his hand towards you. "Forgive me," he goes on, blue eyes piercing into your very soul, "I should have introduced myself earlier today. Dmitri." You reach forward and clasp his hand, ignoring the jolt of electricity it sends up your arm. "Y/n." you mumble, completely lost in his gaze. He hums, a soft smile playing on his lips, "That is a very pretty name."

"Thanks, so is yours." Jesus H Christ what is wrong with you. His smile widens into a toothy grin, "Why, thank you." The two of you stand there staring at each other, awkward smiles planted firmly on your face for what feels like a full minute, before the cashier clears her throat, pulling you out of whatever this was. "I should be going," he finally says, looking down to where you still held hands, both of you dropping your hands to your side at the same time, "it was very nice seeing you. Perhaps we'll run into each other again." Please don't show up at Bingo Night. "Yeah, maybe," you breathe out, "I'm always around here somewhere. Well. Not here, like, at the grocery store. I don't hang out here. That'd be weird, wouldn't it? Just stalking around the aisles." For the love of all, SHUT UP. "Not that I stalk anywhere. Or anyone. I don't stalk. I mean, I'm not, um." He grins and nods his head, "I understand what you meant. See you around." He starts to walk off after giving you one last smile, the sides of his eyes crinkling. "Yeah, see you!"

You turn to find both Sylvia and the cashier giving you pitying looks. "I know, that couldn't have gone worse if I'd tried." You say, facepalming in embarrassment as Sylvia places the bagged groceries in the cart.

"Actually," you and Sylvia look at the cashier, Pam, her name tag says, as she interjects, "he kinda seemed into you. As weird as that whole interaction was." The three of you exchange glances in a triangle of questioning. "Really, Pam? You think so?" She smacks her gum and nods, handing Sylvia her change. "Definitely."

Authors note: I know NOTHING about California so I'm quite honestly making shit up lol. This whole story is a bit self indulgent and I will not apologize lol. Reblogs and feedback are appreciated!! P.s. The Beach Boys are life.