you get a new romantics pre-verse response to this
“What?” Anya jerks back so fast, she’s pretty sure Polly is going to have to fix the eyeliner she was just doing on her. “I don’t like him!” She thought this was very well known by now. The sky is blue, water is wet and Anya does not like Dmitry Sudayev. “We are just friends.” She shakes her head vehemently and Polly reaches over to still her by clasping her chain. “Not even friends, just neighbors.”
“You know what Shakespeare would say?” Polly asks her, the tip of the eyeliner pencil dangerously close to her pupil.
“Nothing,” Anya ignores what the actual answer is. “He would just make me run into a sword.”
“All I said—“ Polly begins, and Anya impatiently takes the pencil out of her hand to fix it herself.
“You didn’t say anything,” Anya huffs, “Your implication was clear.”
It’s not worth getting upset over, and she knows it’s not worth getting upset over. And the more upset she gets over it, the more her friends will tease her. It’s how Anya and Dmitry’s relationship- for lack of a better word, began. With a dare and a kiss, and years of animosity.
No, she definitely didn’t feel anything for him.
Polly laughs, and hands her a lipstick to put on. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
“I think you mean annoyed,” Anya calls back, but Polly’s already left the room.
Anya applies the lipstick to her lips and doesn’t think of standing on her tiptoes under a tree when she had no memories except the ones she had been creating at that very moment and brushed her lips against his.
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20. “If you don’t stop singing Jingle Bells, I am going to hurt you”
on ao3
“If you don’t stop singing Jingle Bells,” Anya warns from her precarious placement on Dmitry’s shoulders as she attempts to finish decorating her family’s (far too big) Christmas tree. “I’m going to hurt you.”
He switches to whistling. If she didn’t think he would drop her if she were to kick him, her foot would be dug into his shoulder.
“You don’t even celebrate Christmas,” she grinds out, trying to fix the tinsel she just threw on there.
Dmitry abruptly stops and she knows she’s said the wrong thing.
He tilts his head up, “You’re right. And yet I was told my attendance was mandatory at the Romanov family Christmas celebration.”
“Not for Christmas reasons,” Anya sighs. “To help me keep my sanity.”
She loves her family but if they weren’t overwhelming then they wouldn’t be Romanovs. Anya knows she is overwhelming as well. Dmitry teases her about it endlessly.
“How is that going for you?”
Anya drops tinsel in his hair, and he laughs, shaking it out but some metallic blue strands stick to his hair.
“Let me down, you oaf,” she demands, ignoring that question. “I think I’m done.”
“You don’t want me to carry you around on my shoulders all day?” Dmitry asks but reaches up to help her down from her perch. She lands softly on her feet, a bit of rush to suddenly be down so low again.
“It’ll make it difficult for us to get through doorways,” she points out and he leans down to kiss her. He’s much less annoying this way.
“We have to gather around the fireplace with hot chocolate soon,” she tells him.
“You know your mother tried to show me your family’s ring collection earlier,” he mentions casually and Anya groans, hiding her face against his shoulder. “Do you think she was trying to tell me something?”
“Nothing that you should listen to,” Anya says. She’s not worried about Dmitry giving into her family’s pressure to propose to her, but it’s still mortifying to think of them trying.
“You never want me to propose?” Dmitry asks her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“That’s not what I was saying, you ass.” Again, she wonders why she brought him along. His presence was causing more stress.
Actually that’s a lie, if he wasn’t here then she would be the one her mother was questioning about getting engaged.
At least with Dmitry her mother would attempt to be subtle about it. She wouldn’t succeed, but an attempt would be made.
“I’ll try to make sure you’re not alone with my mom anymore,” Anya promises.
“And we’re leaving before New Years?” He asks her and she nods.
That was the deal, he accompanies her to her family’s Christmas celebration- her family has a week long ordeal going from right before Christmas Eve until New Year’s day- and she would be able to leave before New Year’s for once.
Her parents were not aware of this arrangement yet but they’d been trying to get her to bring her boyfriend to a family celebration for three years now so they could hardly complain.
He kisses her temple, “Good.”
“Exhausted by the Romanovs already?” She teases and he shakes his head.
“Just eager to be alone with you again.”
Anya narrows her eyes in suspicion but her oldest sister is shoving a mug of hot chocolate in her hands and she doesn’t get a chance to follow up on that.
But once they’re back in their apartment for the new year her mother’s wish comes true and he proposes (with a ring of his own, none tied to her ancestors) and she finds herself engaged.
"theres's a real creep at the club trying to hit me up righ now and you look pretty fit so pls pretend to be my date so he can leave" with dimya?
“It’s real easy,” Marfa had explained to her as she did Anya’s make up. “Just find someone less creepy than the person hitting on you- guy or girl, and just pretend to be with them for a few moments and they’ll leave you alone. If they don’t, then find me and I’ll deck them.”
“I know how to throw a punch,” Anya had protested.
She did, but it didn’t seem as much of an issue as Marfa thought it would be. And then she had gotten separated from her friends and the men pounced.
It was a bit unnerving, but mostly she didn’t act interested and they left her alone but there was this one guy that had been eyeing her for the past fifteen minutes and she was trying to get out of his line of sight while looking for any of her friends- Marfa, Polly or Dunya, and not giving him an opportunity for an opening.
She didn’t want to rely on plan B and she really didn’t want to have to go to Plan C- she could throw a punch but her skin was sensitive and bruised and swelled easily.
But the guy must smell her vulnerability because he starts making his way to her.
It’s really out of instinct that she zeroes in on a guy- one who hasn’t been staring at her creepily all night and doesn’t give her bad vibes just being near him and grasps his hand.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, he’s a lot taller than her and she’s trying to use that to her advantage to disappear in the crowd. He turns slightly and does the job for her. “That guy has been staking me out and I’d prefer not to deal with his rejection of my rejection.”
“Sensible,” he says, and she looks up to really see him for the first time. Of course she’d end up with the hottest guy in the bar. She hopes the dim light is enough to hide her flush of embarrassment. “Are you here alone?”
Anya shakes her head, “With friends but I misplaced them and apparently it’s open season on me.”
“Need an escort?” He asks her, his smile brings out a dimple in his chin and he might need protection from her.
She smiles back at him, “If you don’t mind.”
To be honest, she wouldn’t mind being lost with him a little while longer.
“I’m Dmitry,” he offers, maneuvering them through the crowd a lot easier than it had been for her on her own.
“Anastasia,” she returns. “Or Anya. I go by either.”
They finally find Marfa and Dunya in a booth in the back room, causing Marfa to not so discreetly arch an eyebrow at her.
Anya asks Dmitry to join them, and he accepts. He never lets go of her hand for the rest of the night.
There’s a myth that couples that kiss when they reach the top of a ferris wheel will stay together forever….but i obviously don’t believe that stuff….obviously.
dimya + to all the boys ive loved before au
It was a silly myth, and one she had heard from one of her older sisters, but Anya had thought of it at every fair, carnival and amusement park she had ever gone to. A stupid daydream of hers, she’d stare at the ferris wheel and imagine a faceless (well sometimes, not so faceless) boy to go on with and they’d kiss at the top and be together happily ever after. Or whatever the teenage version of what that would be.
And now it seems cruel that Dmitry is tugging on her hand, pulling her onto the ferris wheel next to him. As though the fake dating, and performance kisses weren’t bad enough.
“What’s wrong?” Dmitry asks as she holds herself rigid as they’re secured in.
She can do this. They’re on an amusement park ride, there’s no need for them to kiss or to act like a couple.
“Afraid of heights,” she lies, giving him a wobbly smile.
He nudges her playfully with his elbow, “Thought you weren’t afraid of anything, Romanov.”
She glances over at him, and knows she’s afraid of at least one thing. “I’m a lady of many layers, Sudayev.”
Dmitry’s arm is stretched out behind her, and she resists the urge to lean into it.
“Just don’t look down,” he tells her, leaning closer to tell her.
She’s not afraid of heights, really, but at that she has an overwhelming urge to look straight down and she knows she’ll regret it.
The ride jolts to a stop as they reach the top and she lets out a gasp of surprise. Anya wasn’t expecting it, but with her luck lately she should’ve been.
“Anya,” he says, and she turns her head and then his lips are on hers.
And she lets herself pretend for a moment and kisses him back.
But when they part, she says, “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
Oh, for so many reasons. Namely he didn’t like her and they weren’t really dating.
“It’s stupid, there’s this whole thing that if you kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel you’ll be together…” well, this was just embarrassing to say out loud but she’s forever stuck in a loop of embarrassment with Dmitry it seems. “Uh, forever.”
Dmitry waves that off, “Oh, that.”
She turns to him sharply, “You knew?”
“You rambled a lot too when we were younger,” he reminds her and she’s mortified exactly how much information she must have offered up as a preteen. Dmitry tugs lightly on a strand of her hair. “Why do you think I kissed you?”
It takes a moment for her brain to process exactly what he is saying and what it means, but her lips were already on his again when it clicks for her.
He laughs when she pulls away, the ride starting up again.
“Guess you’re stuck with me for two lifetimes now,” she tells him.
Dmitry kisses her forehead in response. “Maybe we’ll go ahead one more time.”
Dimya + beach prompt. Pls indulge us in a daydream of summer!!!
I suggested we go to the beach but everyone is checking you out in your swimsuit and now i’m jealous, but i can’t say anything because we’re not even dating.
new romantics + 4 years earlier
“I thought you said Anya couldn’t make it,” Dmitry says to Marfa as he sits on the chair next to her.
He’s not certain if he’s invited the girls to the beach, or if they invited themselves under the guise of visiting him in New York.
Dmitry knows the likely answer, but his pride won’t allow him to admit it.
Marfa laughs, applying sunscreen on her legs, “You think I could keep her away from a trip to the beach?”
“Isn’t she on lockdown?”
There’s nothing particularly wrong about Anya Plisetsky, just they had a habit of getting on each other’s nerves when they were around each other.
It’s been a year. He supposes there’s a chance they’ve both grown up. He knows he has.
“Mitya,” Marfa says, patting him on the knee. “Do you think any punishment actually sticks with Anya?”
“I seem to remember them being strict with their punishments,” he grumbles.
“They adore Anyok,” Marfa waves off his concern. “Now that you’re gone she’s the only one that’ll converse in Russian with them.”
Dmitry rolls his eyes, taking a book out of his bag. He can see Anya in the distance in shorts and a one piece. When he first met her, she was stick thin, her eyes too big for the rest of her body, and wore ill fitting clothes. If nothing else, the past year two years in the group home had given her a healthier look. One that didn’t go unnoticed by the two boys- clearly tourists, chatting her up.
Marfa looks over to where he’s looking, and shrugs. “Everyone adores Anya.”
“She’s a teen girl in a bathing suit,” Dmitry tells her, opening his book up. “All teen boys love that.”
Marfa tucks the sunscreen away into her bag, and glances at him out of the corner of her eye, “You’re a teen boy.”
Barely. He was nineteen.
“Ah, but I don’t know her as just a girl in a bathing suit,” Dmitry tells her. “I’ve seen the ugliness of her personality underneath.”
She smacks him with the back of her hand against his shoulder, “She’s one of my best friends.”
“Are we allowed to hit Dmitry now?” Anya asks, sitting on the edge of his chair. He had lost track of her during his conversation with Marfa and is now living to regret it.
He catches her hand easily before it can make contact with his arm. “What happened to your fan club?”
Anya tugs her hand out of his. The sun has brought out a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes are more blue than the Atlantic Ocean behind her.
“They went to get me ice cream,” she says primly. Then to Marfa, “Why were you hitting Dmitry?”
“You’re really blood thirsty, aren’t you?” Dmitry says, setting his book back down since he’s had nothing but distractions since he attempted to start it.
Anya smiles sweetly at him, “Just for your blood.”
“Whose apartment are you crashing at tonight?” He reminds her and she scrunches her nose at him in response.
“Play nice, the both of you,” Marfa scolds them. “Dmitry, go have fun. You’re at a beach.”
He maneuvers around Anya to stand up. “I’m going swimming.” Dmitry pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it on his chair. He catches Anya staring at him. “What?”
She looks away, pulling herself onto his vacant chair to take the spot he just left. Then she shrugs, “Just always surprised by what a mutant you are.”
“One of you leave,” Marfa begs. “You’re killing my beach buzz.”
“I’m leaving,” Dmitry promises, before turning to head out to the water where Dunya and Polly are.
When he gets there he can make out the two guys, frozen treats in hand, talking up Marfa and Anya. He dunks himself under water.
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“I was cleaning up and I found an old birthday card I gave to you years ago. Why did you keep it?” + Dunya/Polly
“Isn’t Marfa supposed to be helping out?” Polly grumbles as she moves a box in the attic belonging to Dunya’s aunt.
“Yes,” Dunya says, with a roll of her eyes. “She’s been ‘on her way’ for about twenty minutes now.”
Which means she would show up when they were about close to finished, and she would show up with food to distract them from the fact that she hadn’t helped out at all this afternoon.
“I can’t believe your aunt moved all your shit into the attic,” Polly says when she opens a chest full of Dunya’s high school clothes.
“I can,” Dunya responds, pointing over at the boxes up there marked donations. “She’s been slowly moving it up here every year I was away at college.”
Polly holds up a Petersburg Pirates cheerleading uniform and teases, “Surely you want to treasure this memento forever instead of donating it?”
Dunya snorts inelegantly, “God, I was a terrible cheerleader. I can’t believe you and Marfa let me embarrass myself for four whole years.”
“We wanted you with us,” Polly says softly. “Plus all of our best memories from high school are from cheerleading.”
At least this is true for her. Cheerleading reminds her of long bus rides, palms pressed together, falling asleep on the others shoulders, waking up in hotel rooms at conferences with her face buried in Dunya’s hair and her hand lightly on her waist, of their faces close together as Dunya does her make up for a game, and other casual intimacies she had taken for granted and stubbornly refused to dissect at the time.
“Easy for you to say,” Dunya sighs. “You were the best out of any of us.”
Polly shrugs, unable to deny it as she just got through college on a scholarship for the sport. Still, she tosses Dunya’s old uniform off to the side, away from the donation pile.
At the bottom of the chest, her hand connected with something solid and more paper like. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?” Dunya asks, coming over to peer over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s nothing.”
But she says it fast and quick and a little embarrassed, and like it’s not nothing at all.
Polly picks it up and sees her own familiar handwriting on an envelope. Dunya goes to grab it, but she turns out of her grasp. She vaguely remembers this card, and this birthday, it may have been Dunya’s 14th? No 15th birthday
She had gone through a rather earnest phrase that year, in wanting to express her appreciation for her friends and would write rather long winded, rambling things in her cards. She flushes slightly as she remembers she may have gone overboard, at the time mistaking her appreciation for the naked adoration it had been.
“You kept this?” She asks, her voice wobbly and uneven. She doesn’t even know why. They all went off to different colleges, and she must have fallen in lust and love at least a dozen times since her teenage crush on Dunya had first roared. “Why?”
“It must..I think it just…” Dunya deflates with a sigh. “It’s stupid, but when I read that card, it was the first time I felt loved, you know?”
It wasn’t stupid, because she knew exactly what she meant.
“I did, you know?” Polly tells her. “Love you, I mean.”
It feels like a lie though. Her crush feels like a dormant volcano ready to burst, instead of long extinct like she had thought it was.
“Did?”
She reaches over, grabbing Dunya’s wrist and pulling her over to where she stands.
“Still do,” she amends, and Dunya leans in and kisses her.
new romantics universe....some time in the near future
“Should I even ask?”
Dmitry arrived home to find his roommate and Anya on the sofa, heads tilted back and face masks on. Anya’s had a tiger on his, and a puppy face was on the mask of Gleb’s.
This wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d walk in on Gleb and Anya doing. He truly had not anticipated that Gleb, straight laced, only watched documentaries and read non fiction, Gleb, would’ve ended up hanging out with Anya- bold, brave, set fire to the world, Anya so much.
The other day he was almost certain he had caught Anya painting Gleb’s toes but Gleb wore socks the rest of the night so he couldn’t be certain.
“No,” Anya responded. “The less words you say the better.
Dmitry walked over and pulled back the corner of her face mask, and she swatted him away. “What did you do to Gleb?”
“Enrich his life,” she responded, pulling the mask off now that he had ruined it for him. “He likes spending time with me.”
Gleb, as always, when Dmitry and Anya got started, stayed quiet. Unlike the girls, he wasn’t comfortable throwing himself in the middle of their interactions.
“I think they call that Stockholm’s syndrome,” Dmitry returned, holding his hand out.
She took it and he helped her stand up. “I’m going back home.”
Dmitry helped her with her crutches and with a wave to Gleb, she was off.
Once the door was closed, Dmitry turned back to his roommate. Who had, at least, removed his face mask. “You can say no to her, you know.”
“Do you even know how,” Gleb returned. Well, that was a different conversation entirely. Then he shrugged, “She’s bored and lonely. It’s harmless.”
“You’re giving her too much power,” Dmitry told him, pulling out ingredients from the pantry for dinner. “Once she’s back on her feet, she’ll find all sorts of ways to drag you around town.”
Gleb stood up, “I think once she’s back on her feet, she’ll find new ways to torment you.”
Dmitry was taken aback, “You’re the one currently stuck in her company, if anyone is being tormented its you- not me.”
“I think she’s tormenting exactly the person she wants to,” Gleb said, rather cryptically. Then he motioned to his face. “I’ll wash this off and come help you.”
pre-canon (well pre-rumors in st petersburg canon)
“How could you ask me that?” Marfa pouted. Some days, Dmitry was no fun. Gone was the carefree boy of their youth, and in his place kept growing a man who was charming but vigilant. Always thinking three to six steps ahead.
Life had twisted them all out of shape, but Marfa tried to at least enjoy herself. Russian government had been trying to strip the feeling from them for lifetimes. This regime was no different than the last in that regard.
He glanced down at her, all intimidating height and sharp jawline. Marfa wasn’t so shallow to be taken in by Dmitry’s good looks at this time, though she did take a moment to admire them. “It seems like something you would do.”
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh at that, standing up. She could feel the cold, cobblestone streets below her left big toe where the shoe had worn out. “Don’t act like you’re better than any of the rest of us out here on the street, Mitya. Every choice is a decision of survival.”
The matter in question was a raid in the residence next to where he and that fake count squatted. Marfa would destroy almost anyone, including his friend there, but out of misplaced childhood loyalty she wouldn’t do that to Dmitry. Not at this point in their lives, she wasn’t so naive to think there may be a choice one day between death and Dmitry.
They both lived far too recklessly.
But he softened, because Dmitry was not that of a harsh manner. In addition to his good looks, that was what was more attractive about him. “I know it wasn’t you.”
She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she appreciated the effort.
Marfa looked around the empty alleyway, she could hear the sounds of the patrolmen in the distance. She took his hand, tugging him towards the doorway of where her room was. “Come inside, Mitya, it’s getting cold out here.”
