lavender haze | d. belikov ✓

15 | BREATHE

[ 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.