#just Orlo having a wonderful day and being cared for

[colderthancoldest]

The only Count Orlo fic I want to read is someone- I don't even care who- kidnapping Orlo and dragging him all the way to France where his revolutionary ideas are appreciated.

I want people treating Orlo right, and showering him with genuine compliments until he tears up, giving him all the books he could possibly want, wrapping him in comfy blankets, bringing him warm tea- and that's it. Just characters loving and respecting Orlo. Not a single insult is thrown his way.

Orlo goes on nice walks through the park and gets to debate philosophy with the greats and maybe writes a book of his own and that's it.

I want Orlo to be loved and respected for the brilliant person he is that's it the end.

#you know I'm right #he deserves the world #no other characters and literally 0 plot #just Orlo having a wonderful day and being cared for #count orlo #orlo #the great #orlo x reader

[flybi91]

@wonders-of-the-multiverse  @hertzing based on what ever possessed me to think of this also i’m gonna do more but it’s not really going to be a story story just a bunch of little scenes like this

You just moved to a very small quaint little town with only about 30 people living there. 

There was a shop that sold plants and home goods, a cute clothing store with an attached shoe shop, and a coffee shop. You had to take the train once a week into the city to get food and any other major supplies which didn’t annoy you as much as you thought it would. It was only a 10 minute ride and there weren’t any stops, you couldn’t get a car because you’d be driving through the woods, but it was a cute little train that you could tell was installed specifically to get people through this forest.

 Then there was a beautiful museum, well the museum was kinda more like a zoo, there’s a large aquarium and a bug section, they even have a little butterfly house, then there's the section with fossils and different gems and minerals. It was owned and ran by one man, an incredibly sweet and shy man named Olo with the most unusual fashion choice. He looked like he was part of an aristocracy and you would have bet all your money on him being related to royalty somehow.  

You’ve had a crush on him from the second you saw him, you could feel your heart skip a beat. You were too shy to do anything and he was even shyer and seemed to be perpetually on edge, there were times where you thought the poor man would have a heart attack.

You always dressed up a little when you wanted to see him, you honestly didn’t even realize until your friend asked. You put significantly more time into your outfit than normal, spending time doing your makeup, agonizing over what dress you’d wear and what accessories would go with it. It was a special day, you found a crystal while gardening and it was the last one Orlo needed to complete the gem and mineral exhibit.

Before you went to the museum you took your picnic basket and went around back to your fruit trees, it was the first time they were producing fruit and you wanted to give him a gift. You were always happy to see him but every time you found something or thought about him your heart sunk with the realization that one day you’d get the last piece that the museum needed and you wouldn’t have an excuse to visit as much as you did. You’d already gotten all the species of bugs on the island, now all the stones and gems, and the fish weren’t far behind. 

You entered the building and your heart fluttered at the mere sight of him. You were always amazed by his clothes made from fabrics like silk and velvet, intricate stitching and embroidery, even his buttons had intricacies, little detailed flowers carved into them.

His eyes glimmered at the sight of you and your heart sank a little, it must be so lonely sitting in this big building all alone with almost no visitors.

“I have a surprise for you that i think you’ll like.”

You pulled out a little cloth bundle from your basket and watched him as he opened it. 

“Oh my this is-”

You shook your head and smiled, you loved seeing him so happy. 

 You put the basket on the bench and propped it open

“I have another surprise i thought you’d like, the trees are growing their first fruits”

“Oh thank you, you didn’t have to the specimen was enough. In fact if you wait here i’ll put the fruit somewhere so you can have your basket back, then i can tell you about the stone if you wish”

You gently grabbed his arm and felt a tiny pang of sympathy for the nervous man. Always rushing around trying to do things for others no matter how big or small.

“It’s fine you can give it back when your done with the fruit”

He kept his head down, eyes focusing on his hands. 

“I-i don’t mean to be rude so please excuse me, i do appreciate the gift but i was wondering if you’d be ok with me sharing some with the butterflies. I just don’t want you to think i-”

“It’s fine Orlo, you know I love the butterflies and I know they’ll like the fruit.”

It was such a sweet sentiment you thought you’d cry. You know how terrified of bugs he is but he still TRULY takes care of them.

#orlo x reader #sacha dhawan

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part 3 (The Great Mini series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Word Count: 8K (more on the thicc side. So be ready)

Summary: You are bethrothed to the Russian Count Grigor Dymov in order to secure an alliance for your family and people with Russia from breaking. The day has finally arrived, your wedding day and night and all that entails

Part One//Part Two

Smut Scene for this Part (18+ only please)

Warnings:  Typos!!!! mentions of sex, marriage, family, swearing, dogs, Emperor Peter being Emperor Peter, drinking, drunkenness, weddings, and religion. The fear of rape is briefly discussed.

A/N: It’s finally here! Yay for wedding fics! For a few notes, I based the wedding ceremony from Russian Orthodox practices (since that is the religion obviously in the show of the court) so if I get something wrong about anything sacred, please drag me gently. Second, the gift mentioned in the middle part is, fun fact! An actual historical practice between couples! (I just though it would enhance the story). And third, I decided not to include a smut scene for those reading this fic underage...that part will be worked on and published separately. Fourth, I am thrilled and overwhelmed with all of the love shown for this miniseries. I am having a ball writing it! Enjoy!

Russian Wedding ceremonies were making your head turn. Already there were so many things to do you wondered if you could remember them by tomorrow. And this was the only rehearsal you had.

The tall priest, who you found out was called Archie, stood before you both. He practiced speaking a monotone blessing and made the sign of the cross over you.

“Next, you’ll be given candles…” he advised, waving his hands out.

Two men walked by to hand you both a candle (“for the ceremony, they will be lit, but they aren’t. So just be careful.”) You recognized that Arkady gave Grigor his candle and the bespectacled man you have seen greeting you when you entered handed you yours.

“Thank you…uhm…sorry, I’ve seen you around, but…” you asked.

“Count Orlo, Lady Y/L/N”, he greeted, with a polite nod.

“Thank you Orlo,” you muttered.

“Of course! Well, welcome to Russia! If you need any-”

Archie glared at Orlo icily until he scurried away, head ducked in embarrassment.

“Now let us continue…”

He said a line of scripture in a way that seemed mystical, close to ecstasy, his eyes closed and hands open to the sky. After a while, the droning lost its magic pull and became dull.

You and Grigor glanced at each other, making sure Archie wasn’t able to notice in all his holiness.

“We have to practice the puppy after this- would you like to see?” you whispered.

“I’d take watching paint dry over this, of course I want to see!” Grigor replied.

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“Just give her a bit of chicken,” Count Arkady advised.

You and Grigor nodded. You leaned down to stroke the fur of your little gift. She had trotted over cheerfully when either your or Grigor said “come,” prancing as if she was the one who owned the little apartment you and your mother were staying in. Arkady handed a gold bowl of cold, roast chicken meat that you tossed to the puppy every time she did as you said. Yout mother sat in a corner, silently watching everything, but present to make sure nothing inappropriate was going on.

“Very good…now, what is your little one’s name again? I can never remember,” he asked, politely ducking his head to sneeze into a handkerchief.

The puppy looked up at you and smiled.

“I’m calling her Sonya. It’s the Russian version of Sophie, our Empresses old name. And she was the first friend I met here. Besides, it’s a Russian name and she’s a Russian dog,” you explained.

“Very well, Sonya- sit!” Arkady ordered, his handkerchief falling delicately from his free hand.

He held up a small bite of roast chicken clear enough where she could see it. She sat again. He handed it over to you and you tossed it to the floor. Wagging her tail, she ate it up.

“Good girl, Sonya! Good girl!” you praised.

So far Sonya had not caused too much trouble. The servant for Grigor had often took her out to do business when she needed it. She did bark, chew on everything, and leave droppings on the floor sometimes. But the first night in your apartments, you had trouble sleeping in this strange new place. Little Sonya hopped up on the bed and curled up next to you as you laid awake. Her warmth and licking kisses on your face were welcome when your anxious mind was trying to make you awake. And soon you slept with her little body nestled on top of your stomach.

“Keep this up, and soon you will have a trained dog. The secret is to reward them every time they’re good and be careful with discipline,” Arkady advised.

Grigor nodded. He leaned down to pick up the Sonya and scratch her head. You could not help but notice that the party man Georgiana warned about had a kind smile to the little animal. Maybe she was exaggerating to scare you.

Arkady walked over to where a serf held up a laundry basket and got rid of his handkerchief.

“She hasn’t been a bother, I hope,” Grigor turned to ask, seeing how your teacher was distracted.

“You’ll soon find out…I’m joking, she has been fine. Energetic, but fine. Nothing out of normal for a puppy,” You answered.

Arkady took it to the next serf, advising him on kinds of ways it should be cooked for the notabilities’ dogs next time. The serf sighed and nodded before leaving. He turned around gracefully, clapping his hands, and rubbing them loudly.

“How are you both feeling!? You do know what is happening tomorrow…” he teased.

You could not forget. And you wanted to. The wedding was already tomorrow.

“Yes, well…we’ve already rehearsed the ceremony this morning and…we’ll…we’ll be ready!” Grigor said.

“The candles? The crown? Hopefully, you are prepared to kiss in front of all of court, they’ll ask for that! My Tatyana and I kissed fifty times at ours!” Arkady added on sheepishly.

You put your hand to your face to hide it in embarrassment. The days past mostly consisted of eating at small dinners and teas at least with you, sometimes Grigor, and your mother or walking through the gardens with some small talk between the three of you. His arm was offered for you to hold when you walked together. But that was the most of touching you both had done. Those and the chaste, formal kisses on the cheek or hand.

“We’ll be ready, for everything,” Grigor answered.

He went over to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in slight worry at your silence. You felt a slight dizziness from how soon everything would be

Arkady dismissed himself and left, and your mother got up from her seat in the corner to see him out. You turned to Grigor, face feeling warm.

“Are we ready to…to kiss in front of everyone? Perhaps we can make it work…”

Although you bit the inside of your cheek and folded your hands, eyes darting from the floor to his face and back again.

“I…I don’t think I am…” he said. “It’s been, uh, a little while.”

He was careful to not mention or talk about Georgiana unless prompted and you thanked your stars for that. It felt like being a mouse under the eye of a hungry hawk with her walking by in corridors.

“I know we can make this work, at least for everyone we know and the alliance,” you said. “Maybe we can…practice. At least for the ceremony.”

As your mother turned around to see you both chatting, Sonya went up to her, to greet her with a bark and a wag of her curling tail. Grigor stepped forward to her.

“Lady Y/L/N, can I have your consent to kiss Y/F/N? I’d like to do it before dinner, so I don’t reek of onions,” he offered.

Your mother looked at you both, then nodded.

“Alright, I don’t see why not. But no tongues.”

You turned to him, a little unsure of what to do. Your mother and Sonya watching closely.

“I don’t know what to do with my arms,” you confess.

He took both of your hands.

“We can just hold hands for now…” he advised.

“Then you have to lean forward, right?” you asked.

“Right.”

Leaning your face forward, you could make out the dust of freckles across his nose. He paused a little. You kept still. Then looking at each other’s eyes, he gave you a slight nod and both of you went in for a peck on the lips. It was so quick, so light, it was like gulping air.

Your hands immediately relaxed and let go. A rush of exhaling air left both of you.

“Alright, would you like me to ring for tea? After dinner, you both cannot see each other until after the ceremony,” your mother offered.

She scooped the puppy in her arms and carried her over one shoulder.

“That…that sounds nice,” he added.

“Shouldn’t you be with the Emperor? Weren’t you going to drink with him?” you ask.

“He can wait. Velementov might be with him.”

Once the tea set arrived and all of you had a sip, you all began to talk, and not just about what the weather was like. He made jokes and listened to your mother. He broke off part of a plain biscuit to feed it to Sonya. She even hopped up to the couch and slept beside him as he stroked her fur.

“Well, tomorrow’s the big day, I bet you’re tired of hearing that.” Your mother sighed, setting down her empty plate.

“But…I’m still jittery, I have to say,” you said, taking a last sip of your sweet tea.

Suddenly you looked at Grigor and he took his hand and wrapped it around yours. It wasn’t in the sweaty awkwardness of having to practice kissing, but it was dry, soft, and comforting.

“I’m jittery, too, I guess. But…if it helps Russia, we’ll do it,” he added. “Y/F/N is a brave woman to do this, and she has a gentle soul, the way I’ve seen her with little Sonya. I could do worse.”

Smiling lightly at him, you muttered a thanks. His hands heat was slowly becoming comforting. The shots of adrenaline from his touch were slowing down through you.

“And you Grigor…you’ll do, I guess,” you responded quietly.

The clock struck for the late afternoon. Grigor looked at it with wide eyes.

“Oh shi- no. We have a meeting with Archie about church laws and Peter wants me there until dinner. Can I leave?” he asked.

A part of you stifled a laugh from the suppressed swearing. At this point you were almost desensitized to it in the Russian court.

Your mother nodded, “you may.”

“And can I kiss your daughter one last time? I just want to be ready for the ceremony?” he asked in a hurry.

She nodded again, raising an eyebrow revealing her actual thoughts.

He leaned down and kissed you, putting in a little bit of pressure. And something…different. It did not feel like a polite kiss, or a practice kiss. It felt like a lover’s kiss. You closed your eyes, feeling it linger for just a bit. Then finally, he let go and said his farewells, leaving with a slight hop in his step.

It was as if a ghost on your lips was still there as he walked away. It was the nicest kiss you have had so far in your life.

Even before you went to bed to try to sleep before the big day with your mother in the other room, you found yourself tracing where it was.

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The next day, the hours dragged on throughout. You saw only your mother since the wedding would be in the early evening. You found yourself staring at the clock a lot, sweating with each tick of the hands. You wished you could run to Grigor and just vent about your worry, but your mother told you it was always bad luck before the ceremony.

And a marriage like this could use a little less bad luck you thought.

By two hours time before the ceremony would begin, Mariol arrived with the ribbons and decorations to start doing your hair.

“I’m here, the Empresses treat!” she announced, but waving her hands and shrugging as if it was the same dull task as sweeping. She held a wooden box under her arm.

“Oh, oh thank you! How splendid!” your mother said, taking your hand.

Mariol put the wooden box on your vanity and opened it, revealing feathers, pearls, and other little accessories.

“Want a bow?” she asked.

“Not for me,” you refused.

Selecting a white ribbon, you clicked your tongue for Sonya to trot to you. Leaning down, you tied it lightly around her neck with a bow in the back.

“She has to look her best too…”

“But she’s not the bride. Come on, Y/N…it is time we fix your hair. Not going to have walk down looking like a pigsty.”

All the twirls, tucks, and pins in the world managed to be shoved in your head by the time you were through. You wanted to groan, but when Mariol heard Sonya’s yapping, her pulling in became gentler and her head turned.

“There you go! And for a bit of makeup…”

“Can I hold Sonya as you do it?” you asked, turning from the vanity.

Mariol’s eyes went wide.

“Wha-yes! Please!”

Amidst the small dabbing of rouge, she cooed in a high voice at the little puppy, sniffing your face curiously. Your mother sat in the back, admiring Mariol’s work and nodding in admiration, with a little compliment here or there.

But you could hardly breathe your response to the face you saw in the mirror when there was a knock on the door.

Sonya leaped from your lap and trailed Mariol as she opened the door. A familiar face poked his head in.

“Hello Y/N!” you father announced, putting away his tri-cornered hat.

With somewhat of a scream you and your mother both ran up to him. Behind him walked in your brother in a nice emerald suit and his new wife in a pretty golden dress.

You called their names and embraced all of them, fighting the urge to cry.

“What…what are you doing here? I didn’t know I would even see any of you again!” you asked.

“We managed to receive lodging near…we didn’t want to miss your wedding!” your brother said, leaning in for another hug.

Sonya yipped and jumped before your sister’s wife. She leaned down and petted her.

“Oh, when did you get this precious thing?” she asked.

You put Sonya into your arms and held the dog before everyone.

“She was a gift from Grigor,” you explain.

“Your…your fiancee?” your brother asked, eyebrows raised up.

“Yes! He…he’s nothing like…like you know who. He’s a good man. In spite all of this…” you explained, getting a little dizzy at the thought of being bound to him until death in an hour.

“But, what of the emperor? He approved?” your mother asked

“I spoke with him yesterday and asked to attend, at least I wanted to walk you down, and he agreed,” he answered. 

He walked over to Sonya to feel the top of her head as well.

“We didn’t want to miss it either,” your brother chimed in.

“Well, we’re about to dress her. So, the men better head out. The ceremony is in an hour!” Mariol interrupted, she brushed her arms to shoo your father and brother away

Your mother leaned into your father.

“This palace is the size of the moon-you don’t know the way to the chapel!” she retorted she placed her hands on her hip.

She was wearing a blueish-green dress with only a few embellishments of lace here and there, along with a large lace fan that befitted the mother of the bride. You had to admire her. For a woman who never insisted she was beautiful and would call herself the reverse, this look proved the thought wrong.

“I thought I’d follow you! Just let me give her away! Please!”

She batted him lightly and shooed the men away.

With a gulp you let Mariol remove the buttons of your light day dress and set it away. With stays tied on and panniers attached, only the dress needed to be put on now. Then the gown waiting in your chest met its long-awaited fate.

She slipped it over your head. After a few touches to your already done makeup and hair, a few minutes passed in awed quietness. Your father and brother walked back in, astonished. Giving one of a dozen “you’re beautiful” compliments until you found yourself believing them too. They noted how elaborate the lace went along the opening of the skirt. That there were a few small pearls and jewels in the skirt here and there, especially with your pearl necklace, earrings, and a wedding veil attached to the top of your head. Mariol let the long lines of the veil fall over your face. The world you saw was now covered in a thin layer of white.

“You’re absolutely stunning, Y/N. No matter what happens after this, know that I love you,” your mother said, embracing you one last time.

It warmed your heart. A little. Even though the nerves still shot up your arms.

The hour struck six o clock. The door opened outside to see all of court looking at you.

There were a few murmurs of appreciation. You chose a nice white with faint hints of silver in a shade that was flattering to your skin. Little details-barely beads, but shinier- sparkled in the light. (you heard that Russian ladies were elaborate in dress and your visit and observations here were proven right).

Mother walking forward, you took your fathers arm and you headed through the palace. Your brother and his wife walked behind, walking Sonya on a small leash. Your view of the palace was blocked a little bit and you were glad of the guidance of your parents. Eyes and countless wigs turned as you both walked past.

At last you reached the chapel doors, full of gold and with saints gently looking down before you. There standing was Grigor and Emperor Peter, decked in cravats and with Peter wearing every medal on his coat you could count.

Grigor wore a wig that you could still smell the powder from. His coat was richly colored in a dark blue. He looked very striking and he turned to face you. There was a slight smile and he blinked rapidly.

Your father handed you to Grigor, and you took his hand. You both took one step into the chapel and paused as you saw the elaborate art and statues that covered the walls. Paintings of saints staring down between rows where even more courtiers sat to watch. You recognized Catherine and Georgiana from a brief glimpse. But you forced your eyes to stay on the black robes and beard of Archie at the altar.

Orlo and Arkady scurried forward with now lit candles. You nodded a thank you to Orlo who nodded back. You were both given a lighted candles and multiple prayers were said before and several bits of scripture. Then came the time to share the cup. The candles were set aside for now. Archie motioned to Grigor and he lifted your veil gently.

You looked up at him with…well, you did not know. And you could not describe the way he looked at you. It was soft, sweet, with reverence. Your eyes were beginning to water a little bit. But why were you crying? You liked Grigor, but…you were not sure how much. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and everything seemed like a dream.

You both shared a cup of dry communal wine, and then Archie took a long golden piece of cloth, wrapping it around your joined hands.

Taking in a deep breath, Grigor began the vows, but he looked right at your eyes.

“I take you as my wife to be with you always-in wealth and in poverty, in disease and in health, in happiness and in grief, from this day until death separates us.”

He seemed like he meant it. It took you aback. You almost forgot your own vows but repeated them, albeit in a soft, shaky voice.

The vows said, Arkady and Orlo walked forward with two gold crowns that were placed on your heads in front of everyone watching. You both walked around the area of the altar in a circle. The cloth still tied with your hands together. Grigor and you took slow, careful steps.

Once the cloth was removed you were both given rings placed on each other’s fingers. but Grigor’s hands were gentle as he slipped the band into your finger. A tiny diamond sparkled in its center.

Archie read a last piece of scripture- a long and extremely dry one for a wedding. Breathing in a bit, you turned your head to look up at Grigor. His eyes shining and his mouth a little open.

He turned to look back at you and gave you another smile. A beautiful one. And this time you smiled back. For a few seconds you forgot the dreaded day you both signed that contract a month ago.

A final benediction was placed, and Archie finished. The crowns were removed from your heads. He made the sign of the cross over both of you and then turned to the crowd watching.

“Welcome to our court, the Count and Countess Dymov. Count Dymov, you may kiss the bride.”

As practiced, you both tilted your heads, leaned forward, and kissed. There was a slight spark to it and almost felt his free hand wander to your back to press you tighter.

It was done. Your family’s future, your people, and the alliance were safe. Part of you let out a small breath and looked over to your family with a knowing look, until you felt Grigor nudge you and you both walked out. 

There was uproarious applause. The emperor was smug but Catherine beside him looked genuinely happy. She was dressed in a light yellow that made her seem a flower among all these over the top wigs and laces. Your brother and his wife clapped with the sweetest smiles on their faces. But the same could not be said of Georgiana, dressed in deep orange with the mark of a heart on her cheek and giving you a glare every time your eyes accidentally wandered to hers.

Both of you walked through the halls, hand in hand, among more applause and a few tossing of flower petals. You turned and he kissed your lips lightly.

“I’m not an eloquent man but you look like a fucking snowdrop with all this gold in the palace,” he whispered.

You stuttered, still grasping  his hand, “th-thank you. You look very handsome as well.”

He let out a little smile as you both walked to a smaller room. A few trusted courtiers put a piece of parchment on a desk before you two. Both of you signed the marriage contract and waited for a serf to summon you to the dining room where the celebration would commence along with the dinner.

As the contract was rolled up by an old man as round as a peach (it may have been Velementov, Grigor taught you so many names it was hard to remember) and brought away, both of you were alone for a few minutes. There was an odd silence, then you turned to him.

“Grigor, I know you have had your heart broken recently and…I want to tell you, I’ll try to be a good wife to you. As possible. I’ll try to be understanding and I… won’t hurt you. Because I know how hard being hurt for you was. I might make mistakes, but I don’t want to hurt you,” you confided.

He shook his head a little.

“I don’t want to hurt you either…”

But speaking of hurt, there was the unspoken ghost in all this wedding talk that needed to be addressed. The one event you secretly dreaded the most. Clutching his arm and turning to him, you tried to think of a way to say it now that you were alone.

“Grigor…” you began, “Now we’re alone, we can talk. For…for uh, tonight, uhm…uh, I…”

You did not get to finish before a serf ran in. Without warning, he half pushed the both of you out. The Emperor and what seemed half of court was seated in the dining room. There was a flurry of huzzahs.

Emperor Peter jumped over the table, knocking over plates and silverware. You leaned out of the way of his flurrying and grabbed Grigor by the shoulder, with a pat on him. You took your seat close to the front and he made his way to your side. Peter leaned back in his chair which was always in the center. No matter what event was going on.

“Well, Grigor- you got yourself a girl at last! hope she gets every penny worth from you tonight!” he bellowed.

“Every penny worth?” you repeated.

He looked at you with a toothy smile and gulped down half of his wine.

“Oh, you should know! The Morgengabe! The Morning’s gift!” he cheered.

A serf poured you water and wine separately to begin with and a few musicians started playing, getting louder and louder.

“That what?” you asked over them.

“The morning, Gift. Its a German idea. Grigor, your wife is a bit of a dolt. At least her tits are decent,” he said.

“What’s the Morning’s gift?” you questioned.

Food began to be served on your plate, but your appetite was starting to decrease. You had a terrible guess at what it referred to. And you had to be sure it was right.

“It’s…uhm…” Grigor began, then he took a deep breath and turned to you, speaking so that you could understand every word.

“After we signed the contract when we were betrothed, there was a word between me, Peter, and your father. The dowry itself was covered. You’re not entering this union as a pauper and should you become a widow, you will have financial protection but…we all had to be sure the marriage was…”

He bit his lips, took in a breath, and continued.

“I gave over some money as promised by your father. It’s being kept with me. That money will be given to you the morning after the marriage is…uh, consummated. That way the alliance will be totally secure. Your family and Peter will know you weren’t just being thrown into a sham marriage that would make the contract weak. If it wasn’t complete, the alliance wouldn’t go through.”

“And the sooner the better!” Peter added, sticking his head between the two of you.

He looked at you and wiggled his eyebrows bawdily with a swirl of his goblet.

“I may just, you know- destroy your home country and chop off your family’s heads just for fun tomorrow because you haven’t fucked your husband!”

He leaned down to see your shocked expression and laughed.

“Well, money and a large cock, you have a lot to look forward to! Huzzah! Now where’s the vodka?”

As he gestured serfs forth to pour vodka into his goblet, you looked over at Grigor.

He took your hand and squeezed it.

“That’s the way it is?” You sighed.

“That’s the way it is here.” He confirmed, noting the worry on your face.

More guests came in. By the dozens. You could hardly even eat a bite or sip some wine or water because they kept wanting to talk to you. You were gladdened by your family and the few you were familiar with.

Then Orlo walked forward. Under his arms were a few books.

“Oh, here he comes again!” Grigor dismissed, rolling his eyes.

You lightly touched his arm, “no, let him speak!”

Orlo gave a slight bow in greeting.

“Why, hello there, Count and Countess Dymov! I’m here because I just wanted to give you a wedding gift…can you read, Countess?”

“I can,” you confirmed.

He handed you each two books.

“It’s mythologies, fairy tales…childish things. But since you are new here, you might find it entertaining to learn a little bit more about our culture. And so might Grigor.”

Grigor flipped through a few pages. He rested on one of a young girl walking through a forest with a branch that had a skull lit with a fire.

“Well, why read about an adventure when you can live it!” Grigor explained.

But you took the books gently and smiled at him.

“That’s very generous of you, Count Orlo! I’m sure my husband…” it was a new word with a taste as strange as their wine… “he would rather I read these to him for his entertainment than annoy him all day,” you teased, leaning over to look at the pictures as well.

“No, I don’t think you could! You’re not the type to annoy, Y/N” he replied. He smiled as he accepted a glass of vodka.

He nudged you and then hissed, “this is our tradition- watch!”

He stood up, but took your hand for you to stand up with him. Heads turned and noise was softened.

“To my new wife! And to my marriage! Huzzah!”

They all yelled “huzzah” back and you felt as if you could glow.

But he downed his vodka and threw his glass on the floor in a swift movement. The other members of court followed suit. There was a splatter of shattering glass like that of hail drops.

Occasionally there were yelps for a kiss. As if being actors on cue, you and Grigor would peck each others lips to their cheers. But not as many as Arkady said would happen.

As your family walked forward to hand you your dog, they had to tiptoe past broken glass as carefully as possible with lifted skirts and on their toes. Empress Catherine even walked from by her husband side to offer you congrats.

“You look very lovely and the ceremony was simple…”

“Oh, we only had a week to…”

“Oh no! I love simple ceremonies! Simple everything! They just mean more! And…are those books? You can read?”

“Yes, a wedding present from Orlo!” you nodded.

Both of you looked over the pages and stories, Catherine filling in with what she knew as you took bites of your dinner with relief. Serfs scurried with brooms to clean up the broken glass. A few dances were thrown and mingling was allowed. Knowing it was safe, you put Sonya in your arms and walked around.

Soon she barked and leaned forward, jumping out. She scurried, catching a bit of a dusky orange dress and chewing it with such passion, she shook it back and forth in her mouth with joy.

“Stop that!” the dress owner cried.

“Hey!” you cried, but right as you leaned down to stop her you recognized whose it was. And you froze with horror.

Georgiana looked as if she could see red as she analyzed you. Sonya panted happily in your arms, but you leaned away from her, as if to shield the creature from anything the Emperor’s mistress might do.

There was a solo violin striking up (Peter attempted to play).

“Well, look at you!” she said with a huff. She seemed only somewhat sad.

“Mademoiselle,” you acknowledged, head down in a curtsy. “Please, do not think me your enemy.”

“You are no threat to me.”

“No, how could I be? You are only our beloved Emperor's favorite. You hold so much prestige here. The ladies all prattle on how envious they are of you. I’ve heard them. I honor you, tremendously.” You started.

She looked at you straight in your eyes, expression unchanged from your words.

“You’re sweet. But so were your wedding cakes. And what do people with cakes? They chew them up into tiny pieces until they spit it out or ingest it until it’s nothing,” she spat.

“If you hurt me or my dog or my family, I will tell my husband about it. I am under the protection of the Dymov house.”

“And I am under the protection of the Emperor.” She replied.

The violin picked up and the Emperor called for a dance.

“Forget it. Let’s move past being like this. I’m not in love with Grigor. I’m only following my family’s orders.”

“That’s not what I see when you kiss him,” she finished as she strutted away.

The Emperor lead a brief speech for Grigor’s honor and to congratulate the marriage and the alliance it entailed. But your husband was having another sip of vodka, face flushing. As you returned to your seat he pulled you close.

“No, no, no…sit here, wifey,” he suggested. He put his hands on your waist and pulled you with immense strength over to his seat to sit on his lap.

You squealed at the closeness, feeling his breath and the outline of his body against yours. But he wrapped arms around you, beginning to kiss your cheek.

“Here, have some of these cakes, darling,” he offered, handing you one of the hundreds of small wedding cakes served for dessert.

Taking a bite, you could make out the density and the perfect amount of sweetness and flavoring.

“They’re…they’re scrumptious! Who made them?”

“Hmm, maybe the cooks. I just wanted to see your reaction to them,” he answered.

His pulled you a little closer, nuzzling into your head, neck, and shoulder area.

“My sweet wifey is soooo cute when she’s sooo happy!”

“Are you sure that isn’t the vodka talking, Grigor?” you retorted cheerfully, noting his glass.

He looked at you. Although his eyes were dilated from drink, he wasn’t a lost cause, at least not yet.

“If I’m not passed out on the floor, Y/N, I’m not drunk!” before taking another sip.

After a little bit longer, there were more songs. He was sobering some, the vodka wearing off as you offered him some water. He drank it as you stayed on his lap.

The songs were getting slower. Plates were clearing. And guests were drifting away. You balled your hands into fists and grabbed the skirt of your gown, trying to slow your breathing.

Your brother, sister-in-law and father excused themselves to take Sonya’s leash and lead her to Grigor’s apartments.

Oh, they’re our apartments now you silently corrected yourself.

Catherine and your mother came by. Grigor perked up and gently led you off of him.

“Y/N, Catherine offered to be with you when we lead you there,” your mother began.

Thanking with a curtsy, you left Grigor and followed them slightly behind to Dymov’s room. But looking behind, you admired Catherine glancing back at you with a smile and making small talk to her about books. She seemed so young despite the grandeur of her title. It was like she was just a friend of yours attending your big day.

They walked you over to the Dymov apartment. It seemed ominous with it’s red and the nighttime darkening everything thought the windows. The little dog barked and skipped in happiness when you walked in.

“Hello Sonya!” you said.

She wiggled her tail in greeting, little fuzz ball. Mariol walked forward, smiling. She seemed to look lighter and happier, spending time with little Sonya.

Your mother and Catherine unbuttoned you and pulled you dress over your head and removed the rolls from your hips. Mariol began to unlace your stays from behind.

“I…I’m so nervous I can hardly even think!” you confessed.

“Y/N, you have nothing to fear, really.” Catherine assured.

“It will be fine,” your mother assured, taking your hand.

“But…what if he…he hurts me. What if he…he rapes me. I’ve heard about that happening on wedding nights and…that’s what scares me the most.”

Catherine took your shoulder and squeezed it.

“You can tell me, and I’ll punish him. The Emperor won’t know and if you’re in danger, you can run to me. Wake me up in my chambers. I don’t care.”

“Does it…hurt when it happens?” you ask.

“When you’re new, sometimes. Especially when they are more...enthusiastic. But just a little. And not everyone feels pain the first time.” Your mother informed you.

Stays removed, Mariol began to undo your hair and wipe off what makeup was there with a cloth. You felt your hair fall down. Part of you wanted a blanket or a robe. You were in the Empress’s presence with only a shift on.

“What if I can’t…please him?” you asked.

Georgiana’s voice from earlier this week had haunted your mind considering tonight. If you did not perform well or even perform at all, you might be considered a failure to Grigor and even to your family, you feared. 

Yet, why did the thought of Grigor, no, your husband scorning you for his past lover make your stomach burn with envy?

“Don’t worry, it will be alright. Just tell him ‘no’ or ‘yes’, be firm and clear. You don’t have please him…just enjoy being with him, getting to know him,” your mother directed.

“It will be okay,” Catherine repeated. 

She guided your hand and you both sat on the edge of the bed. She grinned at you and you shyly smiled back.

A few minutes ticked by. Then male voices were right outside. Your heart leaped to your throat and you felt your legs freeze. Your hold on Catherine turned to a grip.

Then came the fateful sound.

There was a knock on the door.

The three of you jumped almost.

“Who is it?” Catherine asked.

“It’s Grigor, and the Emperor.”

Taking in a shaky breath, you said “you may come in.”

Grigor walked in next to Peter, who was flushed and stumbling a bit in his walk. Catherine handed you a deep green robe to wrap around yourself for a bit of modesty, seeing how embarrassed you already were at people seeing you in your shift. The three of you curtsied and the two men bowed, Peter staying low and then swaggering over to a chair. He flopped down on it, leg over an arm, and started blowing a little bird whistle.

You noticed Grigor was still in his wedding outfit and held a glass decanter of vodka and two large glasses

“Only a little while ago you were playing that,Grigor, when I was fucking the Empress on our wedding night, remember! Now we…we’ve fucking switched and now here we are!” Peter announced, blowing another shriek that erupted in spit across the floor.

Grigor walked forward and kissed your knuckles in greeting. It only struck you how handsome he was. He had a charming smile and the dark colors flattered him. He put an arm protectively over you and turned to the small group

“Thank you, everyone, it was a lovely ceremony,” he began.

“Count Dymov, do you need us to do anything?” your mother asked.

“No, mother,” he added, “and you may call me Grigor. For now, I hope you think of me as if I was a member of your family too.”

She grinned in return and addressed him by name.

“Phlah! Names shames,” Peter mocked, twirling the whistle with his fingers. Catherine looked at him with eyes wide and eyebrows down.

“How about we all have a toast to today!” Grigor announced, Holding up the decanter.

He handed a glass over to the emperor and then a glass between you both.

“I say our Emperor goes first, as our ruler and sovereign,” he suggested, pouring an extremely generous amount of vodka in the cup while giving his own only a dribble.

“I say yes! Hu—zaaaaah!” Peter cried, sucking up the vodka in a heartbeat. Grigor shared his glass with you so you could have a sip of the stuff before he finished it up.

Looking up at him, he gave you a glimmer in his eye. And you caught on.

“And let’s have a toast to the alliance! And our beloved Emperor for allowing it to happen. Huzzah!” you toasted, raising your glass.

On cue, Grigor poured another heap of vodka into Peter’s glass which he raised and swallowed down as if he were a thirsty beggar.

“Huzzzahhh f-for meeeeee,” Peter mumbled.

His face became even redder and he struggled to get out of his seat.

“Shit, w-why is everyone spinning! I order you to-to stay still!” he barked.

Everyone was already perfectly still. Catherine walked over and supported him over her shoulder.

“Let’s retire, shall we?”

“N-no! I want to…I want to watch G-G-Grigor f-f-f-uck her so I c-can…can have a good wank at it, a-at least, and m-m-maybe get my turntofuckher….ohmyfuckI’m going to vomit,” Peter announced. He ran out in a heartbeat and you heard him retch in the hallway outside.

And then the noise of his body falling on the floor.

“I will take him to his chambers,” Catherine offered.

Her eyes were alight and her pink lips tight from holding back laughter. Mariol placed an arm over her mouth as well and scurried out behind the empress. There were several footsteps and the huffing of serfs and you knew that Peter now had to be carried unconscious-and far away.

“I believe I must retire as well, good night,” your mother said.

They dismiss and leave. Now you were both alone. Your heart was racing, but you smiled and turned to Grigor in gratitude.

“That was brilliant.” You praised.

“I did have a feeling he’d want to do that. So I decided to do something about it. The vodka did get to me a little earlier,” he confessed. “But It’s worn up.”

You nodded, “yes, of course. I can tell.”

“Do you…need anything? Some water?”

“Of course.”

He walked over and got you a fresh glass poured from a crystalline pitcher. You washed away the bitter sting of vodka from your mouth and so did he. Both of you sat across from each other on the two chairs before the fire. At first all was quiet.

“Y/N…I know all of this had not happened the way we thought but…you have the support. My support. The Russian Crown. And my house and of the Dymov family, as well as our protection. You’re…you’re one of us now, it’s your right as a countess,” he promised.

I’m not Y/F/N Y/L/N anymore. I’m Y/F/N Dymov. You thought. Still unused to it.

“Thank you. I know I was quiet, but so much has been happening, today. I don’t know quite what to say,” you replied.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

You finished your water and he finished his. Another silence.

“You looked very handsome in your coat today, you’re a lovely man,” you complimented. He looked especially lovely with the fire’s glow against his face.

“Thank you, but I’m starting to get…a bit uncomfortable. May I take dress down to my shift?” he asked

“You may.”

He opened the door and brought the old man serf. The old man took away his shoes, stockings, coat, shirt, wig, and everything else, setting them away, until he was only in his shift and a pair of white breeches.

Though you stared away from him, focusing on the empty glass in your hand. He walked forward as soon as the old man set away the clothes and exited.

“Y/N…you’re tense. Are you…nervous?” he asked, kneeling down to be at your level.

You nodded, not even looking at him.

“Yes. I was scared you would…force yourself on me,” you voiced. “It’s what I was going to tell you earlier.”

He walked forward to you and put two of his hands on your shoulders, but not heavily.

“Y/N, I won’t do that…you can’t please a woman by forcing yourself on her and I…I didn’t want to displease you. I told you earlier, I don’t want to hurt you.” He reminded.

Your shoulders relaxed.

“I didn’t want to displease you either. Its just…I…I’ve never slept with anyone before. You’ve probably seen the file form the doctor we gave to Archie. There. The proof. And I…I’m just…I’m just nervous.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as well,” he comforted.

You thought of the Morning gift, of your duty …but you noticed the outline of his body through the shift. And every time you found your eyes go to his face, they would go back to his body.

Your eyes noticed that the books from Orlo were on a desk in the corner.

“What about these?” you said.

Grigor brought them to you. You passed a bit of time flipping through them. The illustrations, even he admitted, were lovely. You both studied it, asking which tales he was familiar with, and what stories you knew of. The tiredness got to you slightly and as you both sat on the chair as he sat down beside you, you laid your head against his shoulder a little sleepily.

Sonya slept deeply in the corner. She laid down on a soft pillow, her belly full of roast chicken from the feast, and legs twitching as if chasing something. Then she woke up a bit and wandered over to the next room to sleep.

Grigor closed the book and raised your chin to meet his face.

“I think I’d like reading more if it was with you, can we…we move to bed? You seem a little tired,” he said.

“We can.”

Both of you settled into the sheets. You sighed at the warmth of the blankets over you.

“Russia’s every bit as cold as you said,” you jested

“Then can I hold you, to keep you warm…just to make you comfortable.”

“You can.”

He wrapped his arms around you. The fire cackled in the distance and you could make out a ticking clock somewhere else in the room. Both of you laid down on your sides, looking at each other. He felt nice compared to the cold air everywhere else in the apartment.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N? I guess for…for duty. Nothing else has to happen until you’re ready.”

“You can. For our duty.”

He kissed you passionately, deeply. Something inside you made you grab him. You didn’t feel like you wanted to push him away. It was a tight embrace. You liked kissing him. Kissing him had set you on fire, something in your was waking up suddenly. You put your arms around him to deepen it.

Then you let go. You were almost afraid of this wanting. You liked touching him, almost too much. You could notice the top of his shift moving around, showing a bit of his chest.

“Let me kiss you two more times, please…for the alliance’s sake.”

“I’ll let you,” you said.

He leaned down for the first one, but instinctively rolled on top of you. You gasped.

“I…I’m sorry…am I crushing you?” he asked, shrinking away.

“No…it just surprised me. It’s not bad…”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

Then you smiled, and there was a new voice coming out of you.

“That was still one kiss, though. You own me another one.”

He kissed you again. Your hand went to his chest, lightly touching it.

“I…I’ve seen statues, but I’ve never seen a man in only his shift before…” you admitted.

“You can explore, you can touch me” he smirked.

You hands explored his neck, his shoulders, and then began tracing his chest again, and one to his back.

“Grigor…it’s for Russia but…I want you to touch me…”

His head tilted and he blinked rapidly.

“To touch you?”

“I… I…I trust you…”

“Well, if it’s for business…I will.”

You began to trace him more and he let his hands wander over you as well. You traced his neck down to around his shoulder and arm, feeling how each place rose up and went down. When you got to his hands, you put each of your fingers into the crooks of his- hands interlaced. He moved from kissing your lips to your cheeks, and then your neck. It was new and strange, tingling. But you liked it too much to push it away. And when he shifted to be more on top of you-but not his full body-you liked it too much to not stop it either. And every time you felt a small touch or kiss end, you wanted more.

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once it was over, he rolled off, both of you lazily staring at the ceiling and catching your breath.

Then you looked at him with swollen lips, undone hair, and wide eyes. And he looked at you. 

You began to laugh. And he laughed too in tandem.

“I was terrified of that! What was I thinking!” you said, looking over at him. The previous fear had melted away.

“It’s always terrifying when you do it first, even with a new person. But…you’re…you’re good.” Grigor commented.

The air from around felt cold. The fire was dying down and who knew what hour it was. Your two shifts remained crumpled on the floor like ghostly puddles.

“Could you…could you hold me?” you asked coquettishly, leaning towards him.

“Hmm, let me think about that...”

“Please? It’s getting cold.” you added, bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

He leaned over to pull you close. He felt very warm, and sweaty. But you did not mind.

“I…I think we might find a way for this to work…” he murmured.

“Yes, I…I agree.”

He pulled you into his chest. Your eyes saw the small hairs and the rise and fall of his breathing.

“I remember…when I would wake up in the morning, and…I’d hate it,” he recalled, looking up at the ceiling again.

“Why?” you ask.

Tracing his chest, drawing little figures into it. He let you rest your head on his arm. It was getting darker and darker, the candles in the room were dying and giving out bit by bit.

“I’d just feel…alone…” he confessed. He looked over to you, eyes a little dark from the memory.

“Not anymore, Grigor. I’ll make sure of it. You won’t be alone with me.”

It is quiet and peaceful. You both fall asleep deeply.

At one point you wake up briefly, only to see Grigor talking to the old man serf, but he turns to you and shushes.

“It’s early-get some more sleep, Y/N. It was a long day yesterday,” he whispers to you. You see some tiredness in his eyes as well.

You lay your head back down without a word. You fall back asleep.

The light of a later part of the morning fills up the flat when you open your eyes again. Turning around, Grigor is wearing his shift, but still, fast asleep. He must have woken up, put it on, and then drift back into dreaming.

Watching him for a while, it seems he won’t be waking for some time. Even though sunlight is coming out of the windows with the strong glare of mid-morning.

You pull on your shift and your old green robe, you move over to where a tray was set with complimentary coffee in a fancy porcelain set and certain pastries with a note of congratulations from someone’s Aunt Elisabeth or other. But before you can even pour a cup or try a crumb, something catches your eye.

There is an envelope on the tray and when you open it there is some money.

You had forgotten about the morning gift completely.

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[13atoms]

Self-Doubt (Orlo x F!Reader)

note: I chose Orlo, because (for the record) I think The Master would be very ~so what?~ whereas it’s kinda more outrageous in the context of The Great? Also: im sure its STUNNING i love short her

You concealed an eye roll at yet another sharp comment from Lady Svenska, as she fluffed her ridiculous wig, pulling it further back from her natural hairline so that it created a bizarre effect of duplicated hair. 

The poor wig makers who slaved over that hair would have no idea how it was being mistreated, you felt sure.

“All this hair, and yet you felt the need to rid yourself of yours!“ She laughed airily, and you smiled politely in return.

Perhaps sensing the tension, your conversation partner politely excused herself

Outside, you saw Orlo walking with Archie, in a rapid discussion. Both men were clearly arguing, the devious smile on Orlo’s face told you he was winning, and you tried not to follow him with your eyes for fear of smiling like the lovesick fool you feared you had recently become. 

Of course, Lady Svenska noticed, making a clucking noise with her tongue to draw your attention back to her and her distastefully curled lip. 

“Your Orlo must mind, having such ridiculous hair himself.” Her saccharine tone grated awfully quickly, and you wondered if it was too late to join the afternoon painting group outside.

“After all,” she continued, “it would look rather ridiculous to have short hair at a wedding. If he ever has the balls to propose.”

You wished you had the ring on hand, but you had chosen it together, choosing to keep the engagement a secret until Catherine’s coup proved successful.

Both of you had more important things on your minds than a vain party, after all.

“I appreciate your concern, but I assure you he is more than happy. After all, he simply hates the ridiculous hairstyles at court these days.”

The narrowing of the Lady’s eyes did not go unnoticed by you, and you quickly gathered your skirts in preparation to leave. You could hear your lover’s voice outside the door, and anticipated he would knock for you. His interruption could not come soon enough.

“Or so he has said. Perhaps he does not have your eye for fashion,” you smiled diplomatically.

Your airy goodbye came faster than her retort, and you left the Lady sat in place, fuming.

*

If there was one thing which constantly reaffirmed your knowledge of Orlo’s love for you, it was the giddy smile he gave you whenever the pair of you had been parted for longer than a simple hour or so.

“Hello,” he greeted eagerly, still endearingly desperate to impress, “I missed you.”

You had, in fact, woken in the same bed. But it was afternoon, so you felt a surge of affection at the knowledge his words were likely sincere.

He had missed you, in just a few hours apart.

“You too!”

He held his arm out to you, and you took it, allowing him to pull you close to his side as the pair of you made the familiar journey to his room.

“I saw you walking with Archie,” you commented, careful of who was around. “Anything of interest to discuss with the man of God?”

He shot you a knowing smile, and you squeezed his arm in response, both of you staying silent as you brusquely passed another couple who were arguing in the corridor.

“Nothing exciting, my love. I will inform Catherine later, but do not worry yourself.” 

You hummed agreement, suspecting Orlo was protecting you from some dull but dangerous business. You trusted him and the Empress, though. You allowed the issue to slide. 

“I noticed you were talking to be lovely Lady Svenska?” he prompted, a hint of sarcasm in his voice which made you laugh lightly.

His eyes always darted to the windows as he passed rooms he thought you might be in, and you smiled that he had noticed. Perhaps that was why he had come to save you early.

“Oh, she was being a bitch,” you noted bitterly, “as usual!”

You had expected his nervous laugh, but were instead greeted by wide brown eyes, and a look of such distress you wanted to engulf him in a hug so encompassing he could never leave.

“I am sorry,” he told you.

He released your arm to allow you to cross the threshold first, before wrapping you in his arms as the guards closed the doors to his room, leaving the two of you finally alone.

“It is not your fault,” you reassured, and he groaned.

“I know. But I hate how her closeness to the Emperor convinces her she owns the place, and has the right to bully everyone else.”

If there was one thing Orlo took issue with, it was bullying of those less fortunate than oneself. You smiled at his fury.

“Not for long,” you tried to joke, taking his hand, and Orlo used his free fingers to stroke at your face.

“Certainly not. What was she being a bitch about today?”

You caught your reflection in his mirror, and sighed.

“My hair. I am the only one without long hair, and I... I fear it makes me a black sheep. Perhaps it does look ridiculous, unladylike, I...”

You hated for Orlo to see this moment of weakness, and yet you were transfixed by your own reflection. You had forgotten you were even speaking to the man, caught up in your own thoughts.

You were only reminded of his presence when his reflection appeared behind yours, hurt in his eyes.

“I adore your hair,” he told your seriously. “It is... rebellion. It is individuality and subversion and you look far more beautiful to me than any other woman at court. I promise you that.”

 “Really?”

You watched him in the mirror, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression. Already, your moment of self-doubt was being abated by being the subject of his genuine adoration.

You reached for his hand.

“Of course. And if you are still unhappy, I shall buy you a wig. Although it would be a travesty, and break my heart.”

Catching his smirk, you pushed at his chest lightly with your joined hands.

“Fuck off,” you teased, delighting in his giggle at being caught joking.

“Never,” Orlo told you. 

#13atoms #request #fic #count orlo #sorry im just tryna get my mojo back #good edited stuff coming soon #short

[thegreatfanblog]

hello!! i'm so in luv with orlo and wasn't sure if you were still taking fic requests? i was wondering if you could write something where maybe orlo helps the reader character through an anxiety or panic attack and comforts them afterwards? thank u! :,)

sorry it took a while!! i really hope you like it. thank you for the submission!!

//submissions still open//

Banquets in the palace were a double edged sword; bright and shiny things seemed to attract your crow brain excellently, and so you were quite entertained when the palace was decked out to accommodate the feast; though this was serotonin-inducing in its own right, your stomach couldn’t help but growl when you lay your eyes on the hundreds of different platters. Quail from eastern Russia, caviar from the black sea, Kobe beef from Japan, the finest chocolate from the Americas, the list went on. Sure, you were fed enough to be on your feet on a day to day basis, but your heart and stomach clenched for more. Being around such food made you dizzy. And so, when you were meant to serve nobles and government officials in a room full of exquisite food, you could not say you were in your best state of mind.

You were stationed directly behind General Velementov, Count Orlo, and a Lady of the court whose name eluded you. For what reason you could not tell why, as you were, at best, an adequate serf but nothing more. You would have expected a more experienced serf to have your spot, but you could not help but feel honored that you were stationed behind such important figures. Although you had such an important placement for the banquet, it did nothing to quell your loopy state.

Overall the night had went well, you were only asked to hand plates and refill glasses every now and then. The work was monotonous, and you did it with ease, becoming more confident as the night progressed. A mistake, you later realized.

The pitcher was less than a quarter of the way full. Not enough to fill a glass, but just enough to top one off. Which is exactly what the unnamed Lady demanded of you. All you had to do was take a step forward and pour, but you failed on step one. You foot slipped out from under you -a puddle from a smashed glass, you suspected- and you stumbled, the pitcher fell from your grasp and spilled its contents onto the arm of Count Orlo with a few drops landing on the foot of the Lady. Your eyes fixated on the deep red the spread through his snow white sleeve. You felt like throwing up.

“What the FUCK did you just do?”

The Lady’s screech snapped you from the Count.

“I-I’m terribly so-“

The backhand certainly took you by surprise. The sound of it additionally silenced the room, but you hadn’t noticed due to the ringing in your ears. Fuck, you could have a concussion.

She screamed again, ordering you out of the room, and you wordlessly followed her orders as you cradled your stinging cheek. Your warm, clammy hands did not help the matter.

Each step you took from the room you felt your chest tightening and your eyesight narrowing as darkness crept in from the edges. Holy fuck you needed privacy right fucking now, lest you feint in the halls. You were blind on the side she hit you, your ears still rung, and you felt your steps slowing at each progression. You were going to have a breakdown in the palace hall. Your brain had chosen flight, but your body had chosen to shutdown completely. It was entirely unhelpful.

A sudden pressure against your arm and waist took hold of you, a beacon of hope that you would not combust here and now. You drunkenly followed the other’s path, being pulled when you were meant to turn, and simply supported the rest of the way. They were on your fuzzy side, so your efforts to glance at them failed. Your chest constricted tighter and you stumbled.

“Almost there,” a low voice muttered worriedly, to you or themselves you were not sure. You hanged on nonetheless.

The sound of a door quickly opening was accompanied by a swift shove through the door, your body finally collapsing barely inside.

“Fuck-sorry!”

The figure came into view too late, your eyesight and mind slipping away as they came into view, shadowed.

—

“It’s okay, it’s okay -um- just breathe,” a voice roused your consciousness, senses returning to you. “You fucking idiot, she can’t hear you.”

The voice berated itself, and you were too loopy for any of its words stick. You were warm: Comfortably so; suspiciously so. The sense of touch returned to you as you felt a hand in your hair stroking softly. Your head was cushioned nicely above something warm. Almost humanly warm.

Your eyes began to finally pry themselves open, both still blurry from the faint, although one much more so from the Lady’s slap. You remembered what happened. Your chest clenched again, eyes slamming shit again in pain.

“Oh!” the voice from above recognized your awakened state, “You’re okay, no one can hurt you.”

Their hands swiped under your eyes, catching the pools of tears and rubbing them away gently. Their voice was soft as they guided you down.

“Yes, very good.”

Your cheeks heated slightly at the praise, inhaling deeply as you tried to contain your panic and straying heart. You took several minutes to stop panting. All of a sudden the adrenaline from your state of survival left you, deflating you under the careful ministrations from above. Exhaustion set in like a wet blanket.

Your eyes were so heavy but you blinked, clearing away the glaze from them. With one final blink, the figure above you was revealed. Oh. Oh no. It was Count fucking Orlo. The man you had assaulted with wine.

You swiftly moved, shooting your head up to find its path blocked, and you collapsed back down with a wince.

“Fuck, why?” Orlo asked, rubbing at his reddened forehead. That was the obstacle. You were so dead.

Words eluded you as you silently stared upwards at his sideways figure. You dare not move, halting your breathing completely. Your face seared with embarrassment, pain, and need for air. Maybe if you stayed still he would not notice you. Stupid.

“Please breathe,” he pleaded, hand still rubbing at the point of contact. Air returned to you as you gasped helplessly.

“That’s it, thank you.”

Your gasps again ceased, eyes finding purchase in his. One of his hands were still woven in your hair, and as if he knew where your thoughts had strayed, his hand shot back, pulling your tangled hair back with it. You winced.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he floundered, hands hovering above you as he worried. You took a deep breath.

“Fairs fair,” you replied simply, voice crackling with disuse. A laugh nervously erupted from him. Silence again. You’re eyes drifted to the side, escaping his stare.

“I better-“ you sat up slowly this time.

“Oh! Yes, yes.”

You removed your head from what turned out to be the Count’s lap, and decided it was better to ignore that fact, lest you make the situation worse.

Clothes rustled as both of you stood, evening out rumpled complexions and hair in disarray. At his movements, your eyes tracked down to his now deep red sleeve. You found yourself matching the color. His eyes followed yours and he stammered out an okay.

“It’s -well- fine really... I have too many shirts anyways...” Count Orlo trailed off.

The absurdity struck you, prying a laugh from your sore chest. He followed suit, howling along with you, like mad dogs.

What a fucking day, you marveled.

#i always feel like i need to watch an ep where orlo is more featured before writing #i throw in random punctuation to try and seem literate #orlo #count orlo #mine #ficlet #everything i write is usually written on my phone and edited on my laptop #so things can suck SO bad sometimes #heehee #count orlo/reader #count orlo x reader #request #the great #hulu

[queensdivas]

Peonies Chapter 2

Okay so this is a long chapter and we’re finally getting into more Chiara x Grigor. No it’s not what you think but I know you’ll be enjoying what I’ve written hopefully. Don’t worry there will be 

Also. For those who read my other stories. Those who are not aware Chapter Four of Wildest Notes (The Gardner one) has been uploaded. For those who are curious. 

Next Chapter

Masterlist 

Previous Chapter 

Life of a Duchess consists of balls, tea parties, making under the table deals for the country, and then an occasional outing. Life for me..it is..well.. Different. Obviously. I mean I dropped everything to now help Catherine stage a Coup against her own husband. But I’m still trying to manage my habits so I don’t lose them, even all the way out here. 

My morning always begins at seven a.m. Fernanda is to come into the rooms and open the curtains whether the sunshine is glaring into my room or it’s a cloudy day. Then after waking up I’m treated to a warm breakfast. Honestly I’m not quite sure what exactly is a Russian breakfast because I’ve never had it. 

Fernanda came into the bedroom as I was rubbing my eyes to adjust to the light. Doing a few neck stretches then plopping my arms and my legs as my hair fell in my face. To think only a few nights ago we were burying heads in the dirt and now we’re writing drafts on some sort of constitution. She placed the breakfast tray right in front of me then revealed breakfast. What looked like porridge that had raspberries on top of them, some bacon and dumplings? 

“What is this?” Crossing my legs as I lifted one of the dumplings to my nose. Smelled very sweet for a dumpling. 

“They call it vareniki I think. It’s a dumpling and they tasted good when we had them for dinner last night. I promise I wouldn’t let them serve you anything you wouldn’t like.” She stood next to me as I handed her one of the raspberries from on top of the porridge. 

“Is Catherine awake yet by chance?” Asking her as she finished the raspberry. 

“I’m not quite sure. I can go check for you.” 

“It's not too urgent yet. I just need to know when she’s wanting to have our meetings. If you happen to see her maid, send her my way. Oh! I need a sabre coach if you could keep an eye on Hernán. He’s coming sometime today and I would rather him see a familiar face than one of the ladies.” She nodded as I took my spoon into the porridge. Eh. It’s alright. Makes me miss the cooking of Chef Columbus. 

After breakfast I am to get dressed for the day which is usually my black pants, my brown and black boots, and my white button up shirt. Makes the life of Fernanda and I extremely simple because there’s no buttons or corsets. In addition. It’s either braided hairstyles or just flopping down due to the fact those big hairstyles hurt my head. 

“She’s awake and already has some sort of Count in her chambers.” Fernanda told me as I finished placing my hair in a braid. I then grabbed my cross necklace as I stared into the vanity mirror before me. 

The words of Catherine talking about Grigor after the funeral keep bouncing around in my head. If he’s an advisor he must have some sort of genius inside his head. But when you’re supposed to be an advisor or friends with someone like Peter, you lose sight of what your potential is. He is quite loyal for starters and he studied alongside Peter the Great from what I’ve been told. So..there was so much potential that is in Grigor..just needs to be pushed. Extremely hard. But don’t think I’ve pushed aside his little comment on my first night here. 

He is extremely attractive..I mean he’s tall, has beautiful green forest of eyes..maybe this is just sexual tension. I mean me having some sort of dream last night about him is sexual desire then I’m guilty. Even if I want to slap him across the face due to the comment from last night. Grigor is definitely one I would have molded into clay to have in my room. 

I’ll figure him out later. Getting up from the bench as I began twirling the cross for my walk towards Catherines apartment. If I knew we were going to stage a coup I would’ve brought my books and a trunk full of papers and pens. 

When I made it to the entrance of the apartment. The young man was standing at the entrance as I smiled at him. 

“Duchess Chiara to see Empress Catherine.” Smiling at him as they opened the door as I was led into her apartment. 

“Catherine! Coming in!” I yelled as she was sitting on the floor as she was talking with Count Orlov. Did she finally convince him? I’m going to assume so because the amount of pamphlets and books that were scattered around the room means they’re trying to start a draft of something.  

“Ah Count Orlov. Do you remember my cousin Duchess Chiara?” Waving to him as I noticed she was barefoot. Genius Catherine. Slipping off my boots as I tiptoed across her pamphlets to sit down across from her. 

“Does she?” He was going to ask the question but I nodded. Alright let me see what she’s got scattered across in her room. Dierdot, Kant, and even some Plato. Wow. We’re really trying to do a book club/Coup. Not that I don’t find the words of Plato interesting but...what person is wanting to listen to Plato when trying to change a country? 

“Ah yes. So I’ve written a 74 page treatise that should really get the people behind us on your ideals.” 

“74 pages?” Asking him as I was in shook. A little over stepping it wouldn’t you say? Do they not realize this is for the people and anything over at least two pages will make them lose interest. 

“I thought perhaps some Montaigne.” 

“I got stuck on Machiavelli. Read in the French translation he says the ends justify the means. But in the original Italian he merely asks..” Marial dropped the entire tray of tea cups as we all looked up at her. 

“Oh sorry. I was holding..holding that tray...and then I fell asleep listening to you both! Is this a coup or a fucking book club?” 

“She’s right Catherine. Remember what kind of environment you’re trying to rule. Most of these people don’t know how to read and write. So if we go on beginning to quote great men then why even stage a coup. We have to be original and sound like we truly care about them.” Catherine sighed as she got up from the ground to start walking back and forth. I crawled over to help Marial clean up all the broken tea cups. 

“Why do we not just kill him?” I love Marials enthusiasm of trying to get rid of Peter but killing him literally will not solve anything if we don’t have a good backbone of support and ideals. 

“Too messy. Anyways if we kill an Emperor, they will tie Catherine up by her toes and beat her with the blunt heads of pistols.” Marial sighed as she stopped picking up the cracked tea cups. 

“Next time he is on you, stab him in the face. In the back, Orlo cuts his throat, and then you are empress, and I am Lady Marial. The end.” Ah! It all makes sense now! How intelligent. They won’t kill them all in an instant. 

“But it..it is not so simple.” Sadly it isn't and Count Orlo is right. They will get shot and I’m not in the most chipperest of moods to lose my favorite cousin!

“The two most important things in any country is the main religion and the military. If you could at least get one of the two backing Catherine, you’re golden. Although they’re both extremely popular to everyone, I’d say get the military behind you Catherine. Fire scares more people than any man in the sky.” Forgive me God but I’m only trying to help. 

“We need the church to ratify her to the whole of Russia from the pulpit after, so they must support her.” Orlo pointed out as I nodded in agreement. Both are important to Governments damn it.  

“Not to mention if Ivan is alive, we need a sympathetic military for if we kill him before that is all in place, then the military and others may get behind Ivan, and run over Catherine in the process.” Whose Ivan? 

“No one even knows where Ivan is.” Again who is Ivan? 

“Who is Ivan?” Catherine and I both asked. 

“Ivan is Peter’s half-brother, bastard son to Peter the Great. His supporters tried to take the throne after Peter first came to power.” Buffa. If there’s a half son we will be royally screwed! And if they do find this Ivan we’re even more screwed! Not that I can get involved when the coup finally happens but I’m here to give it a good push. 

“I will find out where he is?” Now we’re doing a ghost hunt. What a fun time!

“How?” Count Orlo asked as we all looked upon Catherine.

“Cleverly.” 

“I suspect we need a year to get our pamphlets just right.” A year? Mamma mia at this point I’d rather watch paint dry! 

“It’s no wonder you never fuck anyone.” My eyes widened as I got up from the floor to sit on Catherine's bed. 

“You..you cannot speak to me like that!” 

“Because I am a serf?” 

“Because it’s rude.” A throat laugh began as I covered my mouth with my hand. Looking at the door as some strange man came walking into the room with a book in his hand! Oh shit! 

“How dare you! You just walk into my chambers sir!” My hand was slithering down to my left leg as I kept a dagger there. Tell me we already don’t have a spy. 

“I would have ridden, but my horse has trouble with stairs.” Smart ass. 

“Empress?” EVEN BIGGER OH SHIT! Standing up from the bed as I rapidly walked to stand next to Catherine. 

“Orlo, what are you doing here?” 

“He brought us some books. I left mine back home.” Chiming in as I waved at the Empress. 

“I...uh..thought the Duchess and Empress would be interested..”

“Oh God you’re dull. Get out!” I thought he was being somewhat helpful. 

“Sir.” 

“If you’ll excuse me Catherine.” Slipping out with Marial as we turned the corner but tried to listen in on what was going on. 

He’s giving her a lover? And is the name Leo..and has a big loch? It was either loch or cock but I sadly couldn’t hear what he said. Though he was loud sadly it was a little mumbled. He walked past us as I stared at the wall. Catherine came walking out from the bedroom as the three of us followed her. 

“Is that your lover?” Asking her as she rolled her eyes. 

“Sadly.” How can that be sadly because wow he’s a beautiful dessert.

“Catherine..he’s extremely good looking. I think I would have a sculpture molded from his face at home.” He would look quite beautiful right next to Da Vinci. Seems appropriate wouldn’t you think? Grigors sculpture would be on the left of Da Vinci if I lived in a perfect will. 

“It is disgusting that he would just give me a lover, like I am an animal to be serviced.” Looking up to Count Orlo who had no idea what to even say in this conversation. 

“You would be serviced well. He’s a Voronsky, they are well-known lovers.” I zoned out for a second till Orlo started panicking in front of us. Does he really think that Peter noticed all the pamphlets? He gives him more credit than he deserves because he doesn’t even know Catherine. He thinks of her as some dumb wife at the moment and she’s from Europe. Makes her quite the bookworm. 

“Fuck fuck fuck! The very week we start our adventure, Peter gifts you a man!” He slammed down everything on the table as the three of us watched him panic. 

“He’s well known to insert spies into situations because he’s paranoid that no one truly likes him. It’s something common he does oh fuck! Maybe he knows! And I was there and we had pamphlets about Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ!” Approaching him as I gripped his shoulders. 

“Count Orlo will you please take one second and just breath!” Yelling as he stopped panicking and took in a very deep breath in. 

“Orlo will it make you feel better if I give him back?” Catherine asked him as he slightly nodded. 

“How? He’s Peter's gift.” I mean giving back a gift is a whole new world of being a giant dick. 

“Cleverly.” A boy came into the room and got everyone to stop talking. 

“Empress, you wanted to know when the dresses for the ladies’ tea arrived.” There’s no way they came in that quickly! We’ve got some fast fingers in our midst! Catherine and I smirked at each other as we began to walk off. 

“What dresses?” Marial asked as Catherine and I smirked. 

“Just wait and see!” Telling her as we linked arms to start walking out of her apartment. 

“Do you think this plan will work?” I asked Catherine as we hurried towards The Ladies tea room. What’s the best way you can get back at a woman besides being a gossiping old lady like them? Their appearance. Women of the court need to look their best constantly and if you destroy their image by one minor miscommunication. You bring down their entire existence. 

“Oh yes. Vlad. Have some tea ready for us when we get down there.” Catherine told him as we hurried into the tea room. 

“What colors did you make the dress?” I asked her as she smirked. 

“This extremely ugly green and purple. It's all the rage in Europe.” Ah yes I forgot they are. 

The wives were already gasping and filled with excitement for the new dresses as we walked over to the small tea table for us. I’m much more of a coffee person but I will dabble in tea of course. We sat down as I poured her the tea for the show to begin. We’re supposed to keep our eye on the stripped one that should be THERE IT IS! 

Watching the dress being bounced around as I took a sip of my tea waiting for someone to take a nice hold of it. That being The Lady that has the horse's face grabbed a hold of it as she held it up against her. She was smiling like an idiot as she turned towards Catherine and I. 

“Empress, do you like it?” Oh my god if I don’t drink my tea I will die of laughter. 

“Mhm. It looks marvelous.” 

“Truly wonderful colors mixing together.” Trying to be nice to the horse is extremely harder than it looks. 

“You will stand out.” In more ways than one. The face she placed on her horse face was a fake smile and she’s wearing far too much makeup. 

“As I always do.” I might throw up because of this conversation. She took the dress with her as we both looked at each other to give ourselves a little cheer. Fernanda came into the room as she was walking straight towards me. She leaned down towards my ear as I was told that Hernán had arrived. 

“Catherine I know you’ll be greeting the Generals. But my instructor has arrived and I do need to have my lessons.” Telling her as she nodded. We stood up as she stopped me to ask questions. 

“What lesson?” Catherine asked as I smiled. 

“Fencing, sabres, and actual sword fighting. Oh is there an empty hall that I may use” Asking her as she thought for a moment. 

“I’ll arrange the music hall to be yours. For as long as you need.” Perfect. 

“Thank you Catherine. Come by if you need me.” Fernanda and I left the tea room. 

My instructor was a day behind when I left Trento due to the fact this was a last second decision. Luckily he’s made it and I can get back into the habit of training with swords and sabres. I also owe Catherine a big thank you due to the fact that she’s letting me train in the music hall. PlusI imagine no one is going to be playing Handel or Arcangelo Corelli. 

Two of the servants followed me into the music hall as I was standing in an empty room. Guess he’s getting comfortable in his room. The servants placed down the trunk as I popped it open to look at my gear. How I have surely missed this. 

“Ah Duchess Chiara!” He yelled as I raised my head up from my fencing trunk. 

“Hernán Gil! Glad that you could make it to Russia extremely last second.” Placing my foot on the stool to fix my left boot. 

“Of course. Anything to get out of Palma. Hopefully you haven’t lost your touch with a sabre Dear Duchess.” He swung his sabre sword around in front of him as I put my foot down then into my fencing trunk. 

“Have I ever lost my touch?” Pulling my sabre out to do a few little tricks before we got into our positions. Standing across from one another with my left foot back and my right foot ancy ready to go. 

“Vamos!” He came swinging as I blocked his attack then swinging it around to then smack the sabre on his arm.

“Excellent!” He cheered as I took in a deep breath as both Hernán and I got into our standing positions. 

“Vamos!” Our blades instantly met as I spun my wrist trying to knock his sabre out of his hand. But he took a step back to try to aim for my head but I held my sabre horizontally to block his attack. He took a step back then swiftly smacked the sword against my shoulder. Cursing under my breath as I shook my head. 

“Cheap shot.” I laughed as we got back into our positions. 

“Vamos!” Raising my sabre as I tried to aim for his shoulder out of the corner of my eye Grigor came into the room to watch. That was a quick meet and greet from the Generals. Thought it would last a lot longer. 

All I could pay attention to was the fact that Grigor was just waiting for one of us to win so he could do something. What does he want? Blocking his outside attack to then move my sabre right into his chest. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Taking off my mask as I was beginning to fix my gloves. Grigor shook his head as he approached me and looked like he had something stuck up his own ass. 

“You think strolling into the palace and our first introduction being a little bitch was something adorable?” Someone’s wife just got screwed. But not by his own cock. Does he not remember how that conversation started? Because I remember him saying that I was able to make his cock hard after my introduction to the Emperor. Most women would find that flattering, I find it repulsive. 

“Not adorable. I believe they call it an honest chap who calls you out on your wrong doings. Hernán if you want to take a break go for it. You’ve had a long journey.” Turning my attention completely on Grigor as Hernán left the room. Grigor marched towards me as I stood there watching this poor excuse of a man try to act as if he was a top bitch. Poor men like him make me sigh and want to drink for them. 

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” When he got a little close for comfort I stuck out my sabre to aim it directly in the middle of his chest. 

“Trust me. You don’t want to get any closer.” 

“You think you’re flimsy little sword scares me? It’s fake.” He pushed it away as I hit him in the shoulder with it. 

“Ouch!” He grabbed his arm to then march towards me with all of his wrath showing. Smacking him on his leg which caused him to yelp in pain. 

“I should have the guards whip you!” I would love him to try and have one of the guards lay a finger on me. Oh how I would love it!

“Grigor. I warn you. IF you think Russian women are crazy, you wouldn’t last a minute back in Italy. We women use our fist and words to solve our problems. Instead of whispers and tea parties like your wife.” He reached down for one of the fencing swords as if he was going to stab me. 

“Go ahead. Do you think you scare me? Catherine told me everything about you. You let the Emperor eat fruit out of your own wife’s cunt. If you let the Emperor walk all over you like that, then why would I let you try to intimidate me. You even threatened to have guards sent after me instead of dealing it yourself.” My sabre lashed towards the fencing sword of mine to knock it out of his hands. 

“Besides. You can’t lay one finger on my body. If one scar is placed on my body from you, the guards, or Peter himself. Italy joins the Swedish and we run over your little shit hole of a palace. Then I place my own private home in St. Petersburg and have you wash the floors.” The tip of my blade was underneath his chin as he kept a straight face. 

“I don’t like making threats but when you come storming in here expecting me to bend over to kiss your ass. A position you're familiar with obviously. But when you threaten to have the guards whip me well.” Grigor began storming off as I followed him very close. 

“Tell me Grigor. Do you wish this kind of life for yourself?” He kept shaking his head as I was trying to talk to him. 

“To allow some man child rule over such a beautiful country!” Halting in front of me to turn his heel sharply. 

“He’s not a man child!” He growled as he turned towards me. 

“And you’re a dumb ass. We can be doing this all day.” 

“What do you want?” 

“You approached me Grigor! I was quite content having my fencing lessons then you came waltzing in here expecting an apology. To quote my mother when I argue with my brothers from home. Ladies are not allowed to start fights, but we are surely allowed to finish them.” Grabbing his collar to pull him closer to me. 

“For once be a man and solve your own problems instead of cowering under the fucking bed.” Grigor's eyes widened at my statement as we just kind of stared at each other. I noticed that both my and Grigors bottom lips were shaking a little bit. Biting it to stop it twitching as I let go of him. 

“Forgive me. I can be..quite..of a dick when it comes to my passions.” Taking a step back as my throat gets dry. 

“I am too. Perhaps we both got off on the wrong foot with each other.” I placed down my sabre to rub my hands together. 

“Perhaps we did. After hearing what Catherine was doing through and Peter punching her in the stomach. I was sort of mad at the world and everyone in it.” 

“And with my wife..constantly sleeping with the Emperor. I’m sort of not in the right place with myself. May I reintroduce myself.” Grigor finished as I slightly smiled at him. 

“You may.” 

“Grigor Dymov.” He bowed as I was going to play along. 

“Duchess Chiara of Trento.” Holding out my hand for him to place a kiss on it. 

A quite refreshing restart. 

Taglist

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#grigor #grigor dymov #grigor dymov x reader #Grigor Dymov x o/c #Grigor x Chiara #Grigor Dymov x Duchess Chiara #Duchess Chiara #The Great #The great hbo #Catherine the Great #gwilym lee #gwil #Gwilym #gwilym lee x reader #Vlad #Peter the Third #Russia #Marial #general velementov #Sebastian de Souza #nicholas hoult #Ella fanning #18th century russia #Y'all ready for this #fencing #peter of russia

[13atoms]

Could you please write a fic where the reader has had a ‘rough’ life as a serf and orlo is angry or something and he snaps at her and she believes that he might hurt her and then fluff X please love ya

thank you for this request! hope this is okay :) 

Flinch 

“You need to be careful!”

Orlo paced the lawn, wrapped up against the chill in the air, vicious even as the summer began. A party was in full swing behind the walls of the palace, squeals and shrieks cutting through the atmosphere as Peter no doubt demanded the attention of the room. His new bride would be arriving soon, and you suspected he was trying to enjoy life as a bachelor a little longer.

Not that marriage would do anything to change that man.

A chorus of glasses smashed above you, and you wondered which poor sod would have to clean up after it. You hoped it wasn’t you again, you should like to get some sleep tonight.

“I am, Orlo! I’ve been here half as long as you, now. I am doing fine.”

You were huddled under a window, in a spot where you had ample hiding space and enough light to see the count’s face. There weren’t many places you could meet an advisor of the court without gossip spreading amongst the staff, this location was one of few. Orlo had found this blindspot on the grounds a couple of years ago, and since you’d learnt that his whispers to ‘meet him in the garden’ meant here.

Perhaps you wouldn’t have come, if you’d known he’d be so angry with you.

“But you don’t have my favour! You’re a servant.”

“So I’m not allowed any fun?”

You get drunk one evening of the week, and suddenly the emperor throws a surprise banquet. How were you supposed to know? It was unfortunate that Orlo had seen you stumble over a noblewoman’s skirt, otherwise you might have looked sober.

“Not on the job.”

“I am always on the job,” you ground out, “unlike some.”

You made a point to raise an eyebrow at him, pulling a face you knew he hated. Pompous bastard.

“You have no idea–”

Orlo’s hand swung out towards you, and you covered your face on instinct, forearms braced to take the brunt of a hit. You’d muffled the beginnings of a scream, and you sincerely hoped no one had heard. Being discovered now was the last thing you needed.

You lowered your defensive stance cautiously, ignoring Orlo to scan the grounds for the movement of wandering partygoers. There didn’t appear be anyone out there in the darkness who might have heard you cry out.

Good.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded. He’d backed away a little, looking at you in shock. He didn’t shout, but the horror was evident in his voice. “I went to touch your shoulder!”

You glared at him.

“Shouldn’t have been so aggressive about it, then.”

“I wasn’t!”

Idiot.

“Do you know how many people try to touch me? Every fucking day? You develop reflexes.”

Orlo looked offended, but you refused to feel any sympathy for him. He was lucky you hadn’t attempted to hit him back.

“Oh my god, I’ve known you for years!”

It was hard not to laugh at him, the hysteria in his voice, and you didn’t bother restraining yourself. Your laughter just made him more upset, fists clenching.

“Sometimes I forget how clueless you are, Count. Innocent to the reality of court for the people who serve it.”

“Don’t give me that. You know how they treat me!”

“This conversation is over.”

You turned to walk away. You should really get back to the servants’ quarters and wait for the yell to ‘fucking help clear up!’. What a dismal routine you all shared.

“I’d never strike you. I hope you know that.”

“Hm.”

You stopped walking.

It would take more than a mild apology. Who did he think he was, getting angry at you for flinching? Sometimes, your lives felt to different that you should be unable to hold small talk, let alone share a meaningful conversation.

“Can I hug you?” he sounded nervous, and you felt how his upset pulled on your heart.

“I suppose so.”

As soon as his arms were wrapped around you, you let the scowl drop from your face, and your body soften into his hug. You felt him nuzzle his face against you, exhaling.  

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll get you out of here soon,” he promised.

You believed him.

With a sigh, you acknowledged your impossible position. As much as you’d love to leave…  

“Then I’d be away from you.”

#fic #count orlo #count orlo x reader #request #sorry it's a lil short! got another fic posting today too