#count orlo x reader

[13atoms]

Arm in Arm (Count Orlo x tall!female!reader)

Thank you for the people who recommended Orlo for this! Getting back into writing fic after so long off was very difficult and very slow, but this is a first step! Reader is taller than Orlo (>5'8" or something?) and wearing a skirt.

Fluff (very light hurt/comfort) | Oneshot | 1.6k

It was a generous Russian morning, which looked to precede a deeply pleasant day. The whole world was languid and cheery, with a gentle breeze swaying through the summer drapes and sunlight illuminating patches of the rugs which ran through Orlo’s living quarters. The fire was built in its grate, but unlit, and the chaise longues had been moved to let you bathe in the warmth of the sun instead.

There was a great feast being held somewhere which wasn’t the Palace, and the whole place had breathed a sigh of relief as a great convoy of nobles and royals set off to attend it. It was, Orlo decreed, a rare day off. And the two of you were to enjoy it together.

You groaned and stretched out, wary where your legs were draped across Orlo’s lap. There’s a burning behind your eyes as you closed your book over your thumb, and extend both of your arms over your head. Hours of reading had left a tension in every part of you, yet it quickly melted away.

 Orlo closed his own book, stretching himself out like a cat with a groan so gratuitous you were sure he’d intended for the sound to make you laugh. He yawned as he set the books aside and hugged your calves to his chest, making you shout out in shock as you were pulled down in your seat.

Laying flat, you looked up at him, felt the gentle stetch through your spine as he kept a hold of your legs. Orlo was smiling lazily, in a way you hadn’t seen him do in months. You flexed your bare feet, felt the muscles of your calves move against his arms, and threw your head back to stare at the ceiling.

It was painted with great skill, depicting a scene you probably ought to distantly recognise from the Bible. You had no inclination to focus on the brushstrokes for that long. Instead, you enjoyed the settling of your back against soft cushions, and the gentle patterns Orlo was tracing on your ankle.

“You’re too long for his sofa,” he mused, finally setting your legs down and letting them hang off the end of the arm.

He was trapped in, slouched under your legs, head lolling against the cushion behind him. Looking down the length of your own body, you only felt contentment. The Count clearly didn’t have anywhere else he’d rather be.

“I’m too tall for the chaise in my apartments too, the furniture-makers ought to be more considerate.”

You had no quarrel with the chaise. Not really. You were enjoying the relaxing, hazy feeling of having your legs above your head.

“I suppose if it just means we have to be closer together.”

“Tragic,” you murmured, looking back at the ceiling.

Orlo snorted a laugh, pulling his glasses from his face and tossing them onto the side table. When you lifted your head to look at him he was rubbing at the indents his glasses left on his nose. You loved seeing him without them, it was something private. Reserved for you. He squirmed with discomfort when you said it, but he was so pretty without them.

“Does it bother you?” he asked suddenly.

You cocked your head, humming a question.

“Height, I mean?”

Entangled together, you had forgotten he was any shorter than you. Now he looked at your legs, side-by-side, as his stretched out in front of him, and you felt a flash of embarrassment.

“I suppose… sometimes I think I’d prefer being shorter. It would be easier.”

Orlo frowned at you for a moment, and then rushed to speak, his words falling over each other.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all!”

His hand was back on your calf. Orlo’s eyes were wide and sincere, flashed with panic where they had been downcast a moment ago.

“I just meant…” he thought for a moment, thumb rubbing across your calf, “I know it’s not… popular to be seen with men shorter than you are.”

You thought for a moment, that uncomfortable sting in your chest completely extinguished by the slight shine of Orlo’s eyes. There’s nothing wrong with you, you wanted to tell him. You saw how Peter looked down at him, how people made jokes. The way being measured for new clothes would put a damper on his whole day. He’s avoided the process entirely for far too long, until he began courting you.

 “Do you think there’s anything I’d want to change about you?”

“Wouldn’t you prefer it? For it to be a little more comfortable when we dance? To have someone… more?”

“All we have are the gifts we are given, Orlo. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

 He struggled to articulate what it was he wanted to say, and you waited, not wishing to put ideas in his head or words in his mouth. His hand found your ankle, and stroked over the delicate bone there. He brought his face to your calf, and mumbled against it as he spoke.

“I just want you to feel protected…”

“I do,” you insisted, quiet and sincere.

For a moment there was silence. You stared back at the ceiling, a maze of richly coloured stories merging into one another. Was that Eve above you, tempted by the serpent? Samson, in the next scene? With long cut locks of hair beside his sleeping face, and the glint of Delilah’s knife against the pillow?

“I’m sorry. You should never have to feel inadequate… I try to slouch. To not make it obvious. I can step further away, if you prefer…”

“I hate when you do that,” he told you plainly, no anger or malice in his voice. “You’ll hurt your back.”

The paused for a while, staring at the carpet.

“You don’t have to change yourself for me either.”

“I know I just feel bad sometimes…”

You thought about him in the moment he thought no one was watching, straining to stand up straighter, rocking on the heels of his shoes, staying seated when Peter walked up behind his desk to speak with him.

“Why would you feel bad?”

“It’s not as though you’re short, Orlo. Lots of women would look fine beside you, I’m just tall. I just know… some men don’t like being the shorter one.”

“I love that you’re taller than me.”

You ignored him. The cut on Adam’s rib was a smear of crimson against delicately painted skin, the paint so fresh it might have been real blood pouring from the ceiling.

“Catherine is tall,” he murmured, “and widely considered one of the most beautiful women in Russia.”

You hummed, and he reached for your hand, pulling it into his lap.

“Probably the second most beautiful,” he teased, and you scoffed at him.

“She’s not that tall. Peter is taller.”

“Peter is far too tall. I often think if he were shorter, he couldn’t get away with as much. He’d be too easy to punch.”

You shushed him, the sound broken by a laugh, and Orlo groaned, hiding his smile against your underskirts.

“I don’t want to make you feel bad about yourself. You have to know, that’s the last thing I want.”

“You don’t.”

He thought for a moment, and tapped his fingers on your skin in the pattern his often drummed into his desk. Finally, he spoke again.

“I love to see how tall you are. I love that I can spot you across a room, that you can do things with such ease. I envy it, sometimes. When I have to rush to keep up with you.”

You groaned as you curled yourself towards him, taking another moment to stretch. That horrid pang in your chest was now absent, replaced with something warm. Your guard was down. The palace was so quiet the outside world might as well not have existed. You indulged your insecurities a little longer, knowing Orlo wouldn’t strike if you showed weakness.

“I always worry that eventually you’ll find someone… easier. Someone shorter.”

“Why would I even be thinking about that, when I’ve got you?”

“A good point.”

It took a great amount of shuffling to lie next to him on the chaise, but it was worth it, to be beside his warm body. He pulled one of your legs over him, offered his bicep as a pillow. His dark, warm eyes staring into yours still gave you butterflies.

“If our heights bother other people, that is their problem. I’ve never known someone who understands me so well,” he murmured, “even if you take up far more of the bed than you ought to.”

“You’ve never complained about me being in your bed. You cling to me –”

“Yes, I understand. I’m teasing you, my love. I want you to take up every bed I ever sleep in.”

“I wish you saw yourself how I see you, Orlo. You’d never feel like you needed to be taller again – you’re the only person I pay attention to in any room.”

“How funny, I feel completely the same.”

You would concede, months later, when the bloodshed had ended and Orlo’s quarters grew far too big for one man, that he had been right to have a longer chaise long made. And when he crushed himself into you after long, arduous nights, his face pressed to your neck, you would both be grateful you could shelter him from the world – even for the shortest moment.

“Do you want to go out today?” he asked, when his arm was going numb from cushioning your head and the sun was high in the sky.

“Perhaps just for some air?”

“That would be nice.”

Your elbows didn’t really fit with one another, formally walking arm-in-arm as many other couples did – though you didn’t feel sorry for it. Instead you took a turn of the gardens hand-in-hand, head held high, all the closer for it.

[fanfickitchenette]

Friend of the Empress, Chapter Three

Orlo x Reader; Chapter Three-Rolling Balls and Finding Allies

Previous Chapter

You wake and consider the night before and what the future will be like in your friend's court once you are gone. Also, your translation skills need some serious work because what even?. You start to see the way of things and decide to stack the deck in Catherine's favor.

Note: if the word is underlined then that means you're hearing the word in Russian (which is not your native language) and you're not sure what it translates to. It just happens to be written in English here.

*no warnings I can think of for this chapter* BUT

TAGS for the story as a whole–eventual smut; talk of death, murder, SA (none in the story, just discussion); canon-typical violence; strangers-friends-lovers; angst; lots of platonic love; slow-burn

Word Count 3.6k

Chapter Three: Rolling Balls and Finding Allies

You wake up to the curtains being opened in your room and a quiet voice calling your name. Dilara is standing at the side of your bed, watching, as you blurrily scrunch open your eyes. The bed is luxurious, and it is tempting to simply roll over and resume your sleep. But you remind yourself that this will be your first day, and Catherine’s, in the emperor’s court. You stretch slightly before sitting up and greeting your maid with a smile. Other than a bob of her head she is silent.

            For a moment the two of you simply regard one another—or, rather, you regard her, and she regards the linen on your bed. “Good morning, Dilara. I trust you slept well?”

            “Good morning and yes, my lady. My sleep was fine. How would you like to start your day? I can have breakfast brought in for you or I could help you dress first. Whatever you’d prefer.” She makes her way to one of the wardrobes and opens the door to it, taking quick, small steps around the length of the bed. You lean slightly back on your hands and watch her. Catherine’s lady’s maid at home, Barbara, would shake you awake if you slept in. You became very accustomed to her sharp gray eyes glaring down at you while she would reprimand you for sleeping past midmorning. And her efficiency extended to Catherine as well—the older woman herding your blonde friend away from the salon where she’d read for hours on end before Lady Joanna could come to reprimand her daughter for willfully flittering her days away. Neither you nor she were ever late to a tutoring session or dinner event under Barbara’s watchful eyes.

            You suppose, pushing the sheets away from your legs to swing your feet to the floor, that Dilara must be new to her post. Barbara was older than you and Catherine both, a woman in her thirties when you were a child. Maybe Dilara was not simply used to being a lady’s maid yet. She seems to be barely twenty by a day, if that even. You decide that you will wait and see if she becomes more comfortable with you before you push her on it. Her silent attitude may just be a Russian custom for lady’s maids that is not familiar to you.

            “I’ll be fine to dress myself, Dilara. You could grab food and bring it to the room. Have you eaten yet?” She startles at this, and you can understand why. She isn’t used to the idea of spending time with you, instead rather waiting as the wallpaper waits for paintings to be hung upon it. Barbara, on slow days or early mornings, would break the fast with you and Catherine. It was something you enjoyed as it left the room feeling relaxed and you were able to go over the plans for the day at some ease. Lady Joanna frowned on it if it happened too often, but you are not Lady Joanna.

Taking a few steps from your bed to look out the window, you can see that there are plenty of servants flocking across the courtyard and grounds, military men standing and chatting by various pillars. The sun looks as if it has just stopped touching the horizon. With such movement at an early hour, you doubt Dilara would have had much time to eat before joining you. You glance back at her, standing on the opposite side of the bed as you, once again she just watches with wide eyes and thinned lips. “Have you eaten, Dilara?”

“Bread and water when I woke.” You nod in response, keeping your gazes fixed. This might be the first time she has not looked away immediately.

“And when did you wake? With the sun or before?” She hesitates to answer, shifting slightly.

“I believe,” Dilara answers, eyes still holding yours, “I woke about an hour or so before dawn. The candles burned down almost two notches by the time we blew them out with the rising sun. I help in the kitchens in the morning and stack items on the lawn for the afternoon court entertainment. Does this please you my lady? Did I not come to wake you soon enough?”

You shake your head in denial, wondering about the entertainment but putting a pin in it for now, “No, this time if perfectly fine. I enjoy sleeping in. I’d like you to bring a selection of food up with cutlery for two, if you would. I will dress in your absence.” You are glad she inadvertently mentioned that you might be spending time outside. You should be able to pick an outfit for sitting on the lawn. Maybe you will pack a book in a small handbag to carry with you as the ‘entertainment’ is unspecified.

Dilara dips you a curtsy but seems unwilling to go, “Are you expecting company, my lady? Should I ready the receiving room before I go?” So, you must be specific. You wonder if no Russian woman eats with her lady’s maid. It’s not as if you are going to the stables to eat with the serving men. Dilara will be your confidant by situation, and you intend to treat her as such.

“No, the second set will be for your use. I’m hoping to discuss the plans for the day and any upcoming events I should know about. I’d much prefer to do that while sharing a meal if we aren’t rushed for time. And could you possibly bring a selection of jams along? I’ve heard good things from my late uncle about some of the choices that Peter the Great had in his court for food and I’ve wondered if this emperor has kept up the same in his kitchen.” Again, she curtsies but says nothing else and swiftly departs. She looks over her shoulder twice, as though anticipating something that you can’t put a name to.

You attempt to shrug off her behavior and move to the wardrobe that Dilara opened. As you riffle through the dresses you brought (you only have enough to fill one wardrobe, not even touching the second) your mind drifts to your friend and the letter-writer in turn. You didn’t request to eat with Catherine as you imagine she and Peter will both need a lie in. Your mother was mostly tight-lipped on the subject, more of a realist who refused to sugarcoat her beliefs when she did speak, but she did tell you that there’s a period of time where recently married couples stay in their rooms more, sleep in later in the mornings and retire earlier at night. You’ve since put together that means vigorous rounds of sex in the beginning of a marriage. You do wonder at why it stops, if it’s as wonderful as some poets and Lady Joanna make it out to be.

You also wonder when you’ll be able to get Catherine alone and ask her about it. Maybe the two of you could have lunch together, privately, and discuss how it was. Was it earth shattering, was it all fumbling and awkward but turned passionate and all-consuming? Either way, you try to ignore that part of you that wonders if it was awful. If Peter’s disinterest in your friend would transfer to coolness in the bedroom.

You start to undress from your nightclothes, letting them pool at your feet as you pull the strings between your breasts that hold it tight. You’ve picked out your dress and shift for the day, a cool slate grey color that you’ll pair with a corset decorated with patterns of climbing ivy. The cut of the dress and bustle is elegant enough but shouldn’t be too garish for an afternoon on the lawn. You walk, barefooted, to the living room where the mirrored desk sits. As you work on managing your hair into the style you want it, which can be a long process depending on the day and need, your thoughts turn to the man who plagued your thoughts into sleep the night before.

You wish you knew more about him, even a name would be helpful. You could have asked Lady Georgina or Lady Elizabeth last night, but something warned you not to. Information is power, you do know that, and if people knew you were asking about him they might be able to turn it against you. You have no idea how, it’s simply a question, but you do not want more attention on yourself while Catherine settles in as empress. You will only have so much time with her, and you will not squander it by allowing petty snakes to inject venom into the situation. Lady Joanna would have you believe she is a lady of her own unique grace, and she is in a way, but you know quite a few nobles who act just as carefully catty as she can. May God forgive you for thinking so of your friend’s mother.

But the letter-writer seemed to be different than the people who stood around him last night. You’re not sure exactly what it was, but there was something you found in his countenance to be more welcoming than most. If somewhat awkward, as well. If he truly is the one who wrote Catherine’s letter then maybe he can be of use and solace to your friend when you are to depart. You hope you are wrong, that it’s just your nerves, but you believe that she will desperately need people to lean on here. Maybe you can ask Dilara about the emperor’s advisors, if she knows anything about them. But how to phrase the question?

Your hair doesn’t need much work to cooperate today, and you are putting the finishing touches on it when Dilara returns. In her hands is a handsomely filled tray, heaping with fruits, breads, and meats. You notice that on the two plates stacked on the side, are little pots of what you hope are jam. She sits the tray on the larger table between your two lounges. You go over and sit. For a moment she watches, not sitting to join you, before you gesture for her to sit across from you. Dilara does so, slowly. She places a plate, a cup, and utensils in front of you. A pause. Then she does the same for herself.  You nod in satisfaction and pour yourself tea.

“So,” you snag some sausage for your plate, Dilara following your lead, “What do we have on the social calendar for this week?” Your maid, carefully adding some golden-orange jam to a biscuit, replies.

“Well, I believe that the emperor has a party planned in two days’ time.”

Dilara informs you of the party, of rolling balls on the lawn that the ladies do most afternoons (you wonder what the objective is, it surely can’t just be rolling them on the lawn), and she tells you what she knows about the company the emperor keeps. You should never have doubted how much she would know. Your father used to have servants listen into his business partner’s conversations when he left the room. He’d say that it wasn’t his fault that so many noblemen saw them as accoutrements and not humans with awareness. That theirs was the folly that brought him leads and investments that he would’ve never had otherwise. You suppose that there’s some moral greyness there but, listening to Dilara speak, you know he’s right.

Lady Elizabeth, whom you met last night, is the emperor’s aunt through the former empress. She has her hands on many people’s pulses, very aware and active in the goings on of the court. Apparently she treats her servants well, (when Dilara tells you this, the word she uses to donate herself and the other workers doesn’t sound like the one you were reading in the translation books. You wonder if it’s a local term for servant and the like. The way Dilara rushes through that point makes you not want to question her on it, so you decide to talk with Catherine about it later.) and is generally well-liked among the people in the palace. She’s also known to be a bit odd—not that Dilara calls the lady odd, but you hear the implication. You’re relieved to learn this about her, that she may be a person that Catherine might be able to go to.

Lord Grigor is a childhood friend of the emperor and remains his closest friend to this day. Apparently, you can expect to see him if you see the emperor and vice versa. Dilara mentions that Lady Georgina is also close to the emperor and you feel relief again. If the emperor counts a woman as a close friend then all may not be lost between him and Catherine. Dilara tells you of Velementov, a heavy drinker but he sends money from his pocket to families of fallen soldiers when he can, and of Archbishop Samsa who climbed the clergy ranks quickly. That he didn’t receive his calling from God until a later age, but that Dilara seems to like him more than some of the other noblemen.

You try not to rush her, and she finally gets to who you’ve been waiting to hear about. “And, of course, there’s Count Orlo. He’s from somewhere in the south, apologies as I’m not sure where exactly,” she takes the final sip of her tea, relaxed back into the lounge as you are, “But he’s been here about a decade. He served the former emperor, Peter the Great. Everyone used to talk about how clever he was, but it doesn’t seem like our current emperor likes him much. I remember, right before the old emperor died, he shouted something fierce at Emperor Peter for hitting the Count during a meeting. But I shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Dilara is immediately on guard, “Please, don’t take that anywhere, my lady. I’m sure Emperor Peter had his reasons for it,  and they didn’t realize I was in the room. It’s not something I should be talking about.”

Beyond the name of some ladies, she doesn’t speak much more about the court after that. It’s disappointing that she won’t speak more on Count Orlo, she’d gone on more about most of the others, but at least now you have a name and a little something about him beyond his writing abilities. Dilara asks if you’d like to go out onto the lawn now. You didn’t realize how long the two of you have talked but the sun, not quite at the highest position in the sky, has certainly risen a bit. You follow her out onto the lawn, after grabbing Tom Jones and a small bag in which to carry it. You appear to be early, and you settle at a table under the canopy to wait and take a moment to examine the grounds. They’re certainly lovely, rows of trees in an orchard across the field in front of you, a forest beyond the carefully cultivated hedges around the palace grounds. The green of everything is vibrant and the Russian summer seems to be a refreshing heat rather than an overwhelming burn.

You’re just considering pulling out your book when the sound of women laughing reaches your ears. The servants around you start pulling balls out of crates and drinks start getting poured before the ladies even arrive. Even though it seems like you won’t be getting a private lunch with Catherine today, you are excited to see your friend at the front of the flock of women as they approach. On her right side, holding her arm and smiling while another noblewoman speaks is Lady Georgina. You nod to yourself, hoping that Catherine has been cared for in your absence. Now it’s your turn to meet the ladies of court.

Catherine sees you and her face lights up from within. You walk out to meet her. The two of you hug, Catherine having extracted herself from Lady Georgina’s hold at your approach. You smile at the other ladies, giving a barely there curtsy—in greeting, not in deference—and a specifically broad grin to Lady Georgina. You hope she can tell how grateful you are for her accompanying Catherine. “Good afternoon, ladies. I apologize for not greeting you all sooner. But now that that error is rectified, I hear we will be rolling balls?”

A woman you don’t know, wearing a rose taupe dress, furred shrug and a wig that is sitting more like a hat than a wig, gives you a broad smile and laugh, “We will have to show you how it’s done, Miss…I’m sorry I did not catch your name?”

You notice Catherine look at her sharply but push aside your friend’s reaction to keep the peace, “Lady Y/n L/n. May I ask for yours and for the name of the person who made you that wonderful dress?” Clearly the right thing to say, the woman’s tan skin flushes and the other watching ladies join in cooing over the woman’s fashion. Lady Svenska takes your arm to show you the balls while Lady Georgina reclaims Catherine’s arm. You note Marial walking over to stand near Dilara and attempt to engage your maid in conversation. You also notices that Marial is the only servant trying to chat. You wonder why, as it must be mind numbing to work and not chat in order to pass the time.

Rolling balls on the line is….rolling balls on the lawn. It’s horribly mind numbing but worse is the murmur Catherine gives you in a passing moment, “They cannot read and do not seem to want to,” before a thin, bird-like woman starts telling a tale of a hat she imagined up. You have been there too long, far too long with Lady Svenska fishing for compliments and then dolling out water downed versions in kind where the two of you sit on a small couch, before Marial says something as the balls are fetched, once again.

“Empress, you seem tired. Might I escort you to your apartments?” Catherine is quick on to take up the offer and you move to join her when Lady Svenska lays her hand on your arm, rising in your stead.

“Marial, you speak out of turn. You must wait for the empress or one of the ladies of court to address you. You cannot just speak.” Lady Svenska glances at you, “You are lucky to receive a serf I already trained. I know not how Marial was assigned to the Empress.” You glance at Dilara, her eyes firmly stuck to the ground as that word pops up again. What follows is a quick exchange between Lady Svenska and Marial. The servant is bitingly funny, and you find yourself biting your lip to keep from huffing out a laugh. It wouldn’t do to upset the court during your second day there.

Catherine and Marial manage to leave nearly an hour before you do. Lady Georgina joining into a conversation with Lady Svenska that you cannot pull yourself from with any kind of tact. Dinner is an impending thing, and you wonder if you will be able to dine with your friend or if fate will keep you apart all day. By the time you tell Dilara you would like to go back to your rooms, your good feelings toward Lady Georgina have all but evaporated. She does not seem as casually cruel as the lady hanging onto your arm but the intelligence in her eyes worries you more. You now doubt that she would truly be someone to stand on Catherine’s side.

You follow as Dilara leads you back to your rooms. Once you sit down inside the receiving room, you have decided what your next course of action must be. As much as you miss your friend, only a day into your stay, there are more important actions to be taken. “Dilara, could you send a message to someone for me? To ask if they would join me for a chat after dinner?”

Your maid, any relaxation around you earlier fully gone, nods and keeps her eyes down as she responds, “Of course, Lady Y/n. I can send a guard or go myself if you would prefer. I would sup in the kitchens if you would not mind.” You need to understand what a serf is but wish to not make her more wary of you. You will not ask her.

“That would be fine. I will write a message to be taken with a guard, you need not do it. After you’ve brought up dinner then you may take your time in the kitchens. After that, please bring some snacks I can offer my guest. Something for us to drink, as well. The night is yours after that.” You walk into your bedroom, parchment and inkwell sitting on the shelves along with your books.

“Very good. Can I ask who your guest will be, my lady? So, I might find a good drink to bring up?” It’s information. Information that can be shared or sold but you doubt anything in these halls would stay secret long. And there’s nothing nefarious or improper about your request.

“I’d like formally meet Count Orlo, if he has the time.”

[kinglivv]

The New Empress

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: One night, the Master - while pretending to be Count Orlo - asks you if you'd like to be his Empress when he takes over Russia.

Warnings: Implied smut, discussion of murder

A/N: I'm only on episode 3 of the Great so please DON'T spoil it for me >:(. This is just short a lil idea I had which I thought I'd test out. I'd totally be up to doing something else along these lines if you guys like it!

Also, @koschei-taylor, the Marial insult is for you babe x

"This place is amazing." You tell the Master, rolling onto your back to stare up at the gold and green bed canopy hanging over the two of you. The silk sheets shift against your bare skin as you do so, and he makes a low whining sound at your pulling away.

"It's 18th century Russia. It's not that great." The Master replies dryly, but you can see in his face when you glance over at him that he does hold some appreciation for it. He'd always been a great lover of beauty and luxury, and he was entirely in his element, surrounded by old oil paintings and plush pillows and leather-bound books.

"It must be nice here." You sigh, looking over at him.

"It's primitive." He replies, wrinkling his nose. "Russia's the worst in this century, you know that? Besides Britain. All they do here is drink and fuck and start pointless wars."

"That doesn't sound too bad actually."

"You know they make fun of me because they think I'm a virgin?" He says incredulously.

There's a silence as he waits for your outrage, but to his annoyance you simply burst out laughing.

"You - you, the Master," you splutter, "are getting made fun of by a bunch of humans and you're just... letting it happen?"

"I just need to execute my plan and then I'm done here! I don't need to be concerned over childish insults!"

"Yeah," You snort. "And how's that plan going, by the way? It's getting lonely in your TARDIS."

The TARDIS itself, disguised as a mahogany wardrobe in the corner, grumbles in agreement.

"It's going... interestingly." His hands move behind his head as he thinks. "They're all falling for Count Orlo's innocent and weak façade - granted, they do recognise he's intelligent."

You glance over at the glasses on the nightstand. "Orlo? Is that what O was short for?"

He ignores you. "The Emperor's new wife, Catherine," he continues, "seems to be quite enarmoured with Orlo. She constantly wants to talk about books and literature and loves to express the lengths of her disliking towards her husband. She even tried to seduce me the other night."

"What?" You squeak, elbowing him.

"Ow!" He rubs his side. "I didn't let her touch me! Just acted flustered, the way Orlo would and practically ran from the room. Anyway - now she's planning a coup!"

"A coup?" You raise an eyebrow. "There was never a Russian coup in the 1700s. I've read the books."

"But there will be." He grins devilishly, and his hand reaches out, wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into him. "In the original timeline, the current emperor goes on to live a long life, and his heir takes over from him when he dies. But in this new timeline -" He props himself up on his elbow as he begins to get excited, eyes sparkling and a hand playing with your hair. " -in this new timeline, his wife Catherine will over throw him, and she will become Catherine the Great."

You gaze up at him with a smile on your face.

"Disrupting Earth's entire timeline! That sounds magnificent."

"Exactly! I've already gained her trust and she's enlisted my help in the coup, so that's the tricky part already done."

"How many people is has she got on board with it?"

"So far it's her, me and her lady's maid. A little thing called Marial - I fear I'll have to get rid of her. She's terribly annoying and outspoken."

"Sounds like my kind of person."

"Anyway. Here, look -" He sits up and reaches to his bedside table, pulling out a large stack of papers. Spreading them out on the quilt in front of you both, you sit up to examine them, pulling the sheets with you.

"You've planned it well," You compliment, sifting through the papers which hold the extremely detailed plans to some sort of Russian Revolution. His arm wraps around your waist as he watches you admire his work. You pause when you reach one, titled 'Y/N'. "What's this?"

"Ah - they don't know about that part of the plan yet," He grins. "When Catherine is in power, I'll be one of her closest advisors. Resultantly, when I kill her and all her heirs, I will be the one taking over. I'll make sure of it. And so, I'll need an... Empress."

You look up at him, a smile slowly forming on your face.

"What do you say?" He asks. "A few years together in 18th century Russia? Cock everything up a little bit? You'll be one of the most powerful people in the world - you can start as many wars as you want, have all the money you could ever need. We can destroy Earth's weak timeline irreversibly from the inside. It'll be like a... romantic getaway."

"Darling," You lace your fingers with his and he beams down at you. "I'd absolutely love that."

Taglist: @truthbehindthemysteries @queerconfusionthings @xenteaart @actuallyanita @ateliefloresdaprimavera @persephonehemingway @fabulous-jj-style @anteroom-of-death

[hyperfixation-writings]

the gentlest of nights

Count Orlo x Reader

word count: 506

TW: none

You woke with a deep breath. The familiar musky smell tinged with soap filled your lungs. You could feel the way your legs were tangled with his and how your arm was thrown across his chest and you could even feel the slow heartbeat through his thin nightshirt.

You sleepily blinked your eyes open.

It was still dark outside. Through the window you could see the crescent moon that gently lit the room.

You silently watched the man next to you for a while. In this light Orlo's face looked so much younger. He was relaxed, and he looked so happy. It was unlike the way his skin was tightened during the day when he was dragged around at court, or how the worry lines digged into his skin at night when he was planning for the coup.

In the soft moonlight his lips looked even fuller, begging to be kissed. And his long lashes were throwing some shade on his cheeks. Cheeks, that had grown a decent stubble over the night.

It wouldn't last, you knew. Shaving was one of the first things he did every morning; afraid of the consequences what would happen should he forget to get rid of the beginnings of a beard.

He was so beautiful. You knew that you didn't tell him often enough. He had finally managed to say Thank You instead of just laughing incredulously, but the doubt in his eyes was still plain as day.

You wrenched your gaze away as your dry throat reminded you why you had woken up in the first place.

You propped yourself up to see if any water pitchers were on the sidetable, and spotted a half filled glass. As you leaned towards it, you could feel a large hand possessively on your waist, pulling you back to him. But as you looked back to the man next to you, he was still deeply asleep.

The unspoken, unconcious sentiment of this movement almost made you cry.

God, you loved him so much.

You hoped he knew how deeply your feelings ran for him, because words never seemed to do them justice. Your entire heart was in his hands, and you had to trust him to be careful with it. You knew he would be, but sometimes it still frightened you how he had sneaked into your heart and stolen it, and that you had only realised when it was far too late.

You gently placed the empty glass back onto the nightstand. The coolness of the room had chilled your torso, and you were glad for the bodyheat Orlo provided.

You snuggled closer to him, nestling your legs between his again, pecking him slowly on his neck before dropping your head into his chest. You were drawing some mindless patterns on his chest.

You were blissfully thinking about him and you, and everything, and nothing, and soon his slow steady breaths gently lulled you back to sleep.

You managed to curl your hand into his before the darkness claimed you once again.

[stayfabulous]

Count Orlo x serf reader :

Warnings: smut, swearing, slight fluff (I’m still new to writing smut so please be nice) I got the gif from google so doesn’t belong to me

If you don’t know him, watch The Great, it’s a banging show may I add 👌👌 and Count Orlo is like a lil puppy 🥺

Orlo dragged you through the halls of the palace. Locks of his hair falling down on his face, his face egar to have you.

You were just cleaning one of the rooms and he saw you. You never why he was egar, he just grasp your wrist and started to drag you to his chambers. You have spent the night with him, in other words having sex. You had it every time he saw you, but you hardly saw him for about two weeks. You missed him and he missed you. Recently, you have started to catch feelings for him. You loved the feel of his skin, you loved his smile, you loved his voice, you loved eyes, you loved how his hair falls in his face, you especially loved the way sweat fell down his forehead while he pounds into you. You loved him. Thinking about the previous nights of passion leaves you a pool of desire while Orlo drags you. But you can never be together, him a wealthly count and you a disgusting serf. Even if he did return your feelings, it could never happen, his reputation would be ruined and you can never do that to him, you loved him too much.

You have finally reached his chambers and his lips instantly found yours pushing you in the room. Orlo pins you to the door, locking it instantly behind you. His hands held your face as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. You wrapped on hand around his neck and placing the other one on his chest. Eventually, you broke apart for air. You were gazing in each other’s eyes, seeing the amount of lust for each other.

“I’ve been thinking about you” Orlo whispers, breaking the silence.

“You have?” You whispering back

A small smile dances across his face, it brought a smile to yours as well.

“Of course I have, it was really hard to get you out of my head really, especially our secret nights together” he said as he started to kiss your neck, sucking the skin that could leave a mark. You gasped as you clutched at his chest.

“What happened to you?” You moaned

“Lots of work, my love. I just finished it and I came looking for you” he mumbled against your skin, leaving love bites.

That nickname hit you like a wall of bricks. “My love”. It felt like you were a married couple. Questions flooded your mind but were soon interrupted as Orlo bit down on your neck. You gasped loudly at the sudden motion. The only thought that was going through your mind now was how an animal Count Orlo is. His hands fell down to your body. A tingle went along with his touch. When his eyes met yours, all you saw was lust.

His lips met yours again, slipping his tongue into your mouth, you pulled him close, now wrapping both of your arms around his neck. Orlo’s arms went under your thighs and picked you up with ease. He than carried you to his desk, sitting you on it and settling himself between your legs.

His soft hands cupped both of your cheeks on your face, trying to deepen the kiss even more. You were caught up in his loving, you didn’t want this to end. You tugged on his jacket.

“Take this off please” you mumbled then returning to the kiss. Orlo complied, he shrugged off his jacket and throwing it to an unknown place in his chambers without even breaking from your lips. You can’t stop now, you won’t let it stop now.

But a knock on the door interrupted your and Orlo’s actions.

“Orlo we need you” said the voice, you were about to get off the desk but Orlo stopped you.

“I’m busy, come back later” he said then returned his lips to yours once more, placing one hand behind your head and the other hiking your dress up to pool at your waist and resting on your thigh.

“Well, when aren’t you not busy?!” Shouted the voice, Orlo separated from you again and huffed in annoyance, placing his hand that was on your head, on the desk next to you.

“I might be free tomorrow, I need to finish and it might take whole night” he grinned while looking at you. You mirrored his grin and brought your lips to his neck and sucking the skin leaving a mark. He slightly gasped.

“Can’t you ignore it” the voice sounding annoyed.

“I’ve ignored it far too long, it’s too precious and needs my attention” he said looking into your eyes, now you know. He was referring to you. That thought warmed your heart, you smiled at him. Orlo returned your smile and squeezed your thigh. His hands trailed up you your undergarments and tugged them down. (I don’t know what they wore as knickers back then, use your imagination 😅)

“Fine” said the voice and heard footsteps starting to fade away.

You were finally alone.

“Finally” you breathed out, your hands went to the binding of his trousers trying to untie it

“I’m sorry sweetheart about the interruption” he kissed you while helping you untiying the binds.

Finally, they were undone, he pulled out his length and rubbing it on your clit.

“Stop teasing my love” you moaned

Orlo then aligned himself at your entrance and pushed his whole length inside of you.

You moaned loudly

“I could never get old of your moans” he said as he started to thrust at a slow and agonising pace

Orlo placed his face in the crook of you neck as he placed on hand on your back and the other on your thigh, spreading it more so he can go in deeper. In an instant, you wrapped your legs wrapping around his waist.

Your hands clawed at his clothed back moaning at each thrust, cursing along with Orlo

“Fuck-ahhh- Orlo, please go faster, pleeeeasse” you pleaded

He granted your wish, and went faster.

You were moaning even louder as well as the skin slapping that filled the room

His grip on your thigh went tighter, you were sure there was going to be a sort of bruising.

The marks you left on Orlo’s neck became visible, which meant yours might be as well. What if the court saw them tomorrow?

You didn’t care in this moment, in fact small part of you wanted them to see them, letting them know you belong to Count Orlo

He suddenly began sucking the skin on your neck.

He growled in your ear and you loved it

You hands went to his hair pulling it by accident which made him slow down his thrusts

“Sorry love” you apologised, Orlo then grasped your hand and putting them back in his hair

“Do it again, I loved it” he moaned and he went back to his work on your neck and speeding up once more

You did as your told so you pulled on his hair and moaned at the speed he was producing from the movement of his hips meeting yours

Suddenly, he pushed you so that you fully layed on his desk his thrusts became more animalistic and more desperate. The desk creaking underneath you.

You moaned so loud you thought the whole palace heard you

“Orlo please don’t stop-ahh fuck- holy shit” you screamed as you tried to grasp onto something on the desk

He stopped

“Orlo why did you stop” you wined

“Beg love. I want to hear you beg” he simply stated then his thrusts started off slow

“Please Orlo-ahh shit- please go faster” you pleaded

He brought a hand to your cheek and brushed his thumb as he looked deeply into your orbs

“Good girl” he whispered

Orlo then sped up his speed and went even more deeper, causing the feeling to climax rising.

You looked up at Orlo, clearly enjoying himself, panting like a dog with his head pulled back.

“I’m close-fuck ahhhh” you moaned while biting your bottom lip trying to conceal your moans, which didn’t work.

“Me too-fuck y/n”

Soon, his thrusts gotten sloppier, as he gripped onto the desk.

“Orlo please keep going-shit”

“Don’t worry love” he groaned out

He then bent down to go back in his neck, he pounded deeper and more faster into you to reach both of yours peak.

You gripped onto him like your life depended on it, as it brought you closer, as so did he

Then with one final thrust, your orgasm pulsed through you.

You moaned out loudly, Orlo quickly drowned them with his lips as his hips stuttered.

Soon he came, as he moaned into your lips, as his seed painted your walls.

“Shit” he moaned in your ear as he collapsed onto you

As you both were calming down, you were running you fingers through Orlo’s hair. You heard a soft chuckle in your ear

“Vodka, love?” He asked

You simply nodded, he returned a small smile before he tied up his trouser, turned around and the vodka and two glasses.

Now or never.

“I love you, Orlo” you blurted out

He froze in mid action, tears started to brim your eyes

“I know you don’t feel the way, I mean why love a serf while you can fuck noblewomen who are much more glamorous than me. But I can’t stop these feelings. I love your hair, I love your skin, I love you voice in fact I actually adore your voice and don’t even get me started on you fucking smile” you giggled a bit while you sniffed, wiping your tears away.

You heard nothing

“Orlo, please say something” you begged

He turned to look at you, tears were falling down his face with a little smile

‘What is he smiling?’

He walked towards you, placed both hands on either side of your face and enveloped you in a kiss

This kiss was different, it was filled with love.

He broke from your lips, and breathed out a small “I love you too”

You both hugged.

The end

Now the gif, I couldn’t find anything else I’m sorry

Also be nice and leave positive criticism cause we love it in this household 👌😉👍

Byeeee ✨

[noforkingclue]

A Quiet Kind of Love (Orlo x reader)

So, did I just write a Count Orlo fic after binging a load of clips on youtube??? Yes, yes I did. Don’t judge!

You ran through the corridors of the palace, hitching up the skirts of your dress so you didn’t trip over them. You were finding the court suffocating and infuriating but your father and mother refused to let you leave and come home.

“It’s our future,” said your mother and she shoved you into the carriage, “Think about that.”

“And try not to fuck this up,” grunted your father, “You already let one engagement fail. You’re there to find and husband and make connections, not drink too much vodka like your brother.”

“Yes mother, yes father. I understand.”

And you did. Play nice, keep your head down and make powerful connections. You were doing this for your family.

 Your footsteps echoed around the empty corridor made you made a conscious effort to slow down. You didn’t want to seem to be rushing anywhere and start any unneeded rumours. It was already suspected that you held the court in contempt and while that was true you were slowly getting back into Emperor Peter’s good books. You played the country idiot well and he was amused by you which was how you managed to survive for so long.

Finally you reached you destination- the library. You gently pushed open the doors a crack and slipped inside. You shut them with a click and relaxed against the wood. However you quickly pushed yourself off the door and walked towards your destination. It was hidden far within the library, a small alcove with just a couple of armchairs. You stumbled across it be accident one day and it had become your secret meeting place ever since.

Orlo looked up when you approached and gave you a small smile. You returned it and sat down. Even though it was night you were still alert in case anyone approached. You were always on high alert but with Orlo next to you, you could relax slightly.

You didn’t know how it started. Maybe it was because you were the quietest among the courtiers and Peter enjoyed ridiculing you the most. Or maybe it was because you kept bumping into him (in case literally) when you were in the library. That was when he first spoke to you. You were looking for a book a he practically shoved one into your hands and recommended it before running away.

Your hand dropped over the arm rest as you lost yourself in your book. You jumped slightly when you felt finger brush against your own and you looked up to see an embarrassed Orlo.

“Sorry.” He said quickly, “I didn’t mean-“

You just smiled and quickly grabbed his hand, entwining your fingers together. Orlo looked shocked before he relaxed and turned back to his own book. The only sounds between the two of you was the crackle of the candles and the rustle of turning pages. This was all you needed to be happy.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Please take pity on my name nerd heart and tell me what names you think Orlo would consider for his child! I can see him considering the names of Western philosophers.

Oh! OOOOOHH! That’s precious! And I have been wanting to write for Orlo but never had the chance until now! Thank you!

“We are not naming the baby Plato!” you insist, placing a protective hand over your stomach. 

The round bump was not too big yet, but it was now finally there.

Your dear husband turned from sitting in his chair and fixed his glasses.

“But, Y/N-darling- consider it! Wouldn’t you like the baby to be like that! You’ve read the Allegory with the Cave-wonderful, brilliant ideas!”

You sighed, setting yourself down on the bed, changing your swelling feet out of your slippers.

“But you’ve read what all of those men said about women...that they were-what-barely above animals?! I don’t want my child to emulate that!”

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck and looking down.

“I...I overlooked that...and I haven’t read it in a while...” he confessed sheepishly. 

You let out a sigh as you tapped your fingers, thinking. Orlo continued to search through the books scattered on his desk, despite your protesting yawns.

“Oh! How about Kant! Immanuel Kant!” he cheered, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he pointed to a page.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that...” you mused.

“Oh! Or Rene- for Rene Descartes...”

“That’s a nice name!”  you pointed out, settling into the blankets.

Happily humming, he got out of his desk and changed into his shift from the wardrobe in your room.

“I suppose Rousseau...that’s who the Empress likes. And then we’d have her blessing....”

“I did like him, we could do that...or there’s Augustine of Hippo. Augustine’s rather regal, don’t you think?”

In his nightshirt, his glasses unfolded and his hair free he gave you a beautiful smile.

“Very regal, my dear!” he cheered.

Giving you a sweet kiss, he blew out the candle and you both settled into the warm blankets from the Russian chill.

Though you could sense he wasn’t asleep yet from his rustling. And a thought came up.

“Grigory...what if it’s a girl...” you muttered.

He turned over, eyes bright in the dark.

“Ah....uh...Augustina then?” he wondered.

With a little laugh, you nodded.

“I guess so! We have time to decide...” you dismissed.

You settled into your pillows as you saw Orlo’s hand reach across to touch your bump.

“Goodnight, little one. We’ll figure out a good name for you but...your mother and I love you already....”

The Great Taglist: Taglist: @sgt-stardust-killerqueen​ @queenlover05​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @foxinaforestofstars​ @iwritefanficnotprophecies​ @simonedk​ @panagiasikelia​ @grigorlee​ @fueled-by-novocaine​ @xviiarez​ @vintage-and-hypnotic​ @raerae27​ @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night​ (if I get anyone wrong, please forgive me! I’m sleepy and trying to get this out before I conk out!)

[moon-in-daylight]

Read Between The Lines / Count Orlo x reader

Summary: You have been friends with Orlo for years now, even though you have always fantasized about being something more. When Orlo reads some compromising papers, you’re not sure you can keep your infatuation with him a secret anymore.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: I’ve been working on this fic for weeks and now I’ve finally finished it. I’m not sure I’m content with the result, but considering I’ve overcome a really huge writing block to finish this, I’m posting it either way. I haven’t proofread any of this, so sorry for the potential mistakes and typos. Hope it still makes some sense. Also sorry for posting so late at night, but now that I finally have a fic to post, I can’t wait to do it until tomorrow 😂 

Surviving in Peter’s court wasn’t an easy task and anyone that had spent more than a few nights between the opulent walls of his palace could confirm that. The competence of the young Emperor could be easily described as inexistent and both the country and the palace were suffering the most absolute misery under his wicked and corrupted hand.

The war with Sweden had lasted too long, killed too many of your own people, but as harsh as it sounded, the front wasn’t the most hostile environment in Russia.

Sooner or later, that war would end. Eventually, things would go back to normal to the few lucky Russian soldiers that survived the unforgivingly cold winter in the battleground. Whatever outcome the dispute would take, the remaining survivors could go home and return to their families, live the rest of their lives in peace despite the atrocities they had been obliged to perform and witness…

The court, on the other hand, was endlessly immersed in a constant, vicious war for power that had started long before you were even born, and most certainly would still go on long after you were gone.

Every single soul living in Peter’s palace cared only for themselves, looked exclusively for their own interests. Winning the Emperor’s favor was vital for survival, and no one seemed to care whose feet they stepped on to get it. You could understand their selfish ways, you weren’t completely innocent either. You often forced yourself to laugh at the terrible jokes Peter made or took advantage of your family’s prosperous situation to get the any whims you could desire, even when in the majority times you actually didn't need most of the things you owned. It was an unfair situation and you were aware of it, but you had to take advantage of the fact that you had been born lucky and privileged.

But you normally tried to stay out of the way of the big political players, of those of the court’s residents that were trying to manipulate Peter into ruling by their beliefs and principles.

It was exhausting to live in a place like that. A place where everyone hid their true intentions and where you couldn’t lower your guard at practically any time of the day.

Much to your disgrace, the situation at court wouldn’t change while Peter was alive and occupying the throne. Even when he was the most incompetent, useless ruler the country had had in centuries – probably ever -, you were doomed to endure his reign with the only hope that you could outlive him and see a better Russia after he passed away.

He was too childish and puerile to run a country, far more worried in the seek for his own pleasure and amusement than meeting the needs of his people.

It was hard to conceive that while thousands of men were dying at the front, the Emperor could be drinking until passing out and making full display of his stupidity and recklessness through humorless jokes. It was evident to everyone’s eyes that he wasn’t qualified to run Russia, but you knew that saying that out loud would more than certainly get you killed.

He came from a long bloodline of rulers and that gave him a full pass on doing anything he wanted, no consequences, all by the divine grace of God. There was absolutely nothing you could do, except watch everyone around you butter up and lick the boots of the man that was destroying your homeland.

Not being able to deal with the hypocrisy of the court, you had soon learnt to ignore the real world and hide yourself up in fantasy ones, the shelves and books of the small library of the palace becoming a shelter for you.

In addition to being meaningfully smaller than the other rooms of the palace, the library was old, outdated and dusty. But it was also the quietest place and most peaceful room you could have access to, the least crowded. Just for that reason, it was the perfect place for you.

Although what you could have initially expected, you weren’t always alone in there, as Count Orlo often visited the library too. He was probably the only soul in the whole court beside you that care the slightest for written words, that enjoyed learning new things just for the pleasure of it.

You were intimidated by him at first, his political career and reputation making him seem cold and ruthless. In your eyes and judging by what you had heard of him, he was nothing but a calculating mind seeking to expand his power and influence, putting up with the Emperor’s constant mocking of him just so he could manipulate him.

That view you had of him immediately changed after the first time you exchanged a few ideas about the philosophy book he had caught you reading, his passionate words allowing you to see the concepts you were reading about from a different and more interesting point of view.

It wasn’t rare for the both of you to coincide in that room and through your encounters you easily familiarized and grew comfortable with each other presence. How could you not? He was always nothing but kind to you.

Whenever he had the chance, he got reunited with you so you could discuss your readings, recommend each other new books or just spend some quality time away from all the court’s madness. He was incredibly friendly and caring, always willing to share with you his knowledge, which you were incredibly thankful for.

Women weren’t supposed to learn the things you were learning. Most of them at court were illiterate, and you would be too had your father not thought it could be useful to teach you how to read when you were a child. You were grateful that he had taken the time to teach you, knowing that most men wanted the women around them to be ignorant and obliging. You were tired of seeing the patronizing way in which your gender was treated. So seeing that Orlo was treating you as an equal and was happy to answer even your most stupid questions was truly relieving.

It didn’t take long for you to grow fond of him, maybe fonder than you would have liked to admit.

Orlo was the only person in court you felt you could rely on, his views and ideas more similar to yours than what you could have ever imagined. Despite what everyone else gossiped about him, you knew he was brave and did the best he could to make a difference in Russia. He couldn’t do much to reason with Peter and talk him into making what was best for everyone, you doubted that anyone could. But at least he tried, unlike all that people who dared to mock him.

You saw in him something you had been looking for your whole life; a ray of hope. A promise that things could change, a reminder that not everything was that bad.

You couldn’t help but to let yourself fall for the feelings you slowly developed for him. It felt too good and tempting to not do so. The way your heart raced whenever you were around him was something thrilling, exciting. Something you had never thought you could ever get to feel while living in that place.

You weren’t willing to act on those feelings and risk losing his friendship, though. It was evident how uncomfortable he felt about that subject whenever Peter and his minions made fun of his lack sexual experience. You could see him clench and cringe under the court’s mockeries, discomfort filling his features every time anyone made a sexual reference in his presence. You assumed he simply wasn’t interested in those matters.

Plus, if he had been interested in you that way, he would have said something, shown some sign of his affection towards you…

It was okay that he didn’t feel the same. Just being able to befriend him was more than you could have asked for, and silently daydream about made up scenarios of you and him usually did the trick when you felt the need of being loved back.

That’s how, during one night in which you couldn’t get Orlo out of your head while reading, you had started writing a ‘book’ of your own.

You had been gathering different fantasies during the last couple of months. Endless reveries about how kissing him for the first time would feel like, what his reaction would be to other men taking an interest of you, or even about how the most quotidian parts of the day, like waking up or having breakfast, would be like with him.

Why should you not write something of your own, for your own consumption? You had always loved reading, and your feelings for Orlo gave you a never ending source of inspiration. So many ideas that you barely could remember them all. By writing them, you could preserve the happiest of your thoughts, go through them after a bad day and have your little stories bring a smile to your face.

It was harmless, so why not doing it? If it brought you joy, it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, Orlo would never have to know about your writings, as he didn’t need to know about your feelings for him either.

You hadn’t been able to write or read anything for the past days, though. Since the arrival of the Empress to the court everything had been even more chaotic than usual, and even when you much have rather stay in your chambers or with Orlo in the library instead, you had been obliged to attend to the wedding and following events.

As soon as you had seen her innocence, the look of hope in her face as she arrived to the palace for the first time, you had pitied her. She was an outsider hoping to find in the Emperor the love of her life, and in Russia a new home. You almost felt inclined to advice her to run away as fast as she could and never look back the second she walked through the palace’s doors. Living in that place was already awful enough without being married to Peter, and you figured that more sooner than later she would be regretting ever having left her home.

It only took a few days for her to realize in what a godforsaken place she had gotten herself into, as you had figured would happen. What you weren’t expecting was for her to start plotting against his husband’s life so she could steal his throne, nor that she would be requesting for your help in the process.

You had of course agreed to help her as soon as she had told you about the coup. You barely knew the woman, but you were already sure she would be making a much better work at running Russia that Peter ever would. Even a monkey could do it better, you suspected.

Because of your implication to her plans, you had found yourself having less time to spend with your own thoughts and writings, but that was compensated by having the chance of spending even more time than before with Orlo, as you had been able to convince him into taking part of the coup too.

It was actually nice to take part in the plotting against Peter, not only because you hated the bastard, but because due to the extra time you spent with Orlo, you could feel the bond between you getting stronger. During coup meetings, you would usually support each other’s ideas, have inside jokes between the two of you… You even defended him against Marial’s rude comments of him.

But as much fun as you were having helping Catherine kill the Emperor, it was also a really exhausting and demanding task, and you soon found that you barely had time to spend by yourself anymore. It had been at least a week since the last time you had been able to sit by your desk and write any of the scenarios you pictured with Orlo. And now that you were spending so much time together, you had a lot to write about.

That night you had arrived to your apartments early, right after dinner. As was tradition every few nights in the court, the Emperor was hosting a party, and you had been fortunate enough to be spared of the torture of attending.

You were hopping you could spend a quiet, peaceful night by yourself for once. To get lost in your thoughts as you imagined Orlo by your side in a new, reformed Russia. But your plans immediately took a different turn when, after searching through the whole room, you couldn’t find your writings anywhere.

After inspecting every drawer and every corner of your room for the second time, you started to get seriously worried.

What if someone had sneaked into your chambers and taken your writings? It was unlikely, as you hadn’t tell anyone about their existence. Why would anyone want to steal those, anyway? What value could they hold to anyone other than you? Of all the items in your quarters, those papers were probably the least valuable thing. If anyone had intended to steal anything from that room, you were sure that would be the last thing they would have taken, and yet, it was the only missing item…

But looking around you, you realized it wasn’t the only thing out of place. In the top of your desk you found a book that wasn’t supposed to be there, the book you had supposedly lent Orlo last week.

Quickly putting all the pieces together, you realized the fatal mistake you had made as your heart practically started to bump in your chest.

You had given him your own writings, instead of the Voltaire pamphlet you had been meaning to share with him.

Mumbling and cursing yourself, you grabbed the book between your hands and rushed out of your chambers and towards Orlo’s.

The Count had been even busier than you with the whole coup situation, so you hoped and prayed for him not to have found a single moment to read in all that time. You knew that in usual conditions, he could and would devour entire books over night, but you held to the hope that he hadn’t seen any of the things you had written about him.

Well, you had seen him exhausting himself from work every day for the past week. His mind seemed to be too focused on planning the next move, on thinking of possible allies for the Empress. It was quite possible he hadn’t even remembered that the book was in his possession.

If he had seen the words you had written, he would have already said something, right? So maybe you could still fix your mistake and act as if nothing had ever happened.

Assuming that he was still at the Emperor’s party, you could sneak into his chambers and switch the books. Prevent the awkwardness that the discovering of your fantasies with him would arouse between the two of you.

You didn’t bother to knock on his door before silently making your way into his chambers, holding the book close to your chest as you tried to ease the pressure that you felt inside.

When you saw that the entrance seemed to be empty, you let out a silent sigh of relieve. Yet, your steps were carefully slow as you got deeper into the room, trying not to make a single noise just in case.

It felt somewhat wrong to be there without his permission, but saving your friendship came before any moral conflict that could arouse within you at the moment.

If everything went okay, he would never have to know about any of it.

You held onto that thought as you kept walking towards the door of his bedchamber, where you knew he kept most of his books. Even when what you were doing felt wrong, it was for a greater good. How uncomfortable would the coup meetings be if he were to discover about your infatuation of him? For the well-being of Russia itself, he should never find out.

Besides, you were just trying to mend a wrong. You had given him your writings in a foolish mistake, by taking them back and leaving the actual book in their place you were just making things right. You convinced yourself it was the righteous thing to do, even when deep down it didn’t feel like it.

Succeeding into making your way to the front door of his bedchamber without any major complication, you pushed the doors open and quickly got inside the room. You didn’t mean to stay too long in there, but you closed the doors behind you in case any guard found them open and got alarmed.

The last thing you wanted right now was for anyone to find you there and having to make up an excuse for your furtive presence in the Count’s apartments.

When you looked up and found him sitting on his desk your body immediately froze, and when he looked up from the papers he was reading to look at you, you felt the cold sweat forming in your forehead.

For a second, you kept your eyes on him, watching surprise taking over his features. You tried to think of something, anything. An excuse to why you were sneaking into his chambers late at night when everyone was supposed to be either sleeping, dancing or completely wasted. You considered the idea of pretending to be drunk, make him think that you had entered his apartments by mistake and let him guide you back to yours. Being the gentleman he had always been, you knew that would be exactly what he would do in that situation.

It would certainly be embarrassing, and you feared he would feel uncomfortable having to deal with a drunk version of you. But you knew it would be far more embarrassing and uncomfortable to tell him the real reason why you were there.

If you were lucky enough and your performance succeeded, maybe you would even be able to ‘drunkenly’ roam through the room in search of your writings and take them with you without him noticing. Maybe you could still fix things.

You were about to ask him what he was doing in your apartments in what you hoped would sound as a drunken tone, but you desisted when you noticed the papers he was holding in his hand.

He had already read them. There was no point in making even more of a fool of yourself.

Neither of you dared to say anything for the following moments. Awkwardly, you looked at each other in what felt like the longest seconds of your life. You no longer knew what to do or say to fix that situation and, judging by the terrified look on his face, you doubted there was anything you could possibly try to make things better.

That was it. Your friendship was officially over. He would probably never want to say another word to you again. Maybe not even be in the same room as you again.

“I-“ You stumbled over your own words, feeling the lump forming in your throat and the pressure in your chest growing stronger, until the point of almost suffocate you. “I’m deeply sorry.”

As you quickly but sincerely said those words, you felt your mouth getting dry and your cheeks blushing, self-hatred taking over every inch of your body. You couldn’t bear the weight of his stare on you. Orlo’s eyes had always seemed the sweetest thing in the world to you, always so expressive and caring whenever he looked in your direction. But right now you felt them hovering over you judgmentally, with a hint of disgust on his face.

You had to look away from him immediately, but you still could notice how his face reddened too with what you assumed was second hand embarrassment.

Closing your eyes, you wished you could magically banish from that room. You wished for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow you, or for the walls to crumble and fall upon you until you were buried deep in the rubbles of the palace and nobody could find you. Literally anything could be better than standing there in front of Orlo.

You had no excuses, no way out. You wanted to properly apologize to him, make him see how truly sorry you were and how much you appreciated his friendship. How desperate you were not to lose him.

But you couldn’t find the right words for it.

“I should go.” You muttered nervously, still hopping that that entire situation was just a bitter nightmare. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Turning to leave his apartments, you wished he hadn’t notice the crack in your voice as you spoke. That whole scenario was already too shameful for you to bear, the last thing you needed was for him to see you crying. All you wanted was to get out of there as fast as you could, lock yourself in your chambers and drink until you forgot about what had happened or just passed out, whatever occurred first.

“Wait.” Orlo’s shaking voice stopped you.

As much as you wanted to run away, a single word from him was enough to stop you.

You were mortified as you stood there, still refusing to turn in his direction. You didn’t dare to. He was probably going to lecture you about how wrong and improper was what you had done, how repulsed he was by it. You didn’t want to go through it, but you owed it to him to face the consequences of your actions.

“I-I didn’t know you write.”

The Count’s tone was surprisingly tender and insecure. You turned to him with wondering eyes, trying to discern whether if he was mad at you or not.

“That’s not-“ You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was still dry. “I mean, I don’t.”

“But aren’t these writ-?” He started to question, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Those don’t count.” Orlo frowned at your words, confused. You made an effort to explain yourself. “They’re rubbish.”

You watched him clench his jaw and avoid your gaze before he spoke again.

“I like-“ He stuttered. “I liked them.”

His words made you blush again. Not with embarrassment, but with flustering this time. He didn’t seem mad at you. In fact, he seemed way more nervous than you. His stammering confession of his liking of your work made you realize how hard he was trying to seem composed.

“I thought you’d be upset.” You tried to state, but your doubtful tone made it sound more like a question.

“I am not.” He was quick to reply, but still refused to meet your eye. “I think the way you… I really enjoyed your descriptions. They’re very detailed and intricated. And the vocabulary is delightfully rich.”

You could see the way Orlo moved around as he spoke, grabbing your writings in one hand and gesticulating with the other one to emphasize his words. He was visibly nervous, but he was doing his best to hide it. He was trying to act as if he was making a simple review of any other book you had shared with him and, as thankful as you were that he was attempting to normalize the situation, this wasn’t just another one of your endless talks about literature.

You hadn’t written those stories with the purpose of discussing them. It felt cold to talk about the use of vocabulary in them when your only intention at the time of writing them had only been to find a way to deal with what you felt for him. You weren’t especially proud of the product of your writing, but you had poured your heart and soul in them. How could he act as if he hadn’t read right through you? Was he really that oblivious that he didn’t realize that you were head over heels about him?

It was literally impossible he didn’t know, he had read about it with his very own eyes. Still, he seemed to be trying to act as if nothing had happened. You had accidentally stripped your feelings, showed him your deepest desires. And all you got from him was nothing.

For a second you thought you would have preferred that he had screamed at you, showed you rage, discomfort, or even disgust. Literally any other feeling that wasn’t the indifference he was giving you. Did he really not care at all?

Confronting him about it felt wrong. You weren’t entitled to it, and you didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was. Instead, you decided to play along.

“And what do you think of the plot?” You asked, hoping he would take it as a cue to address the issue that worried you.

“T-The plot?” He repeated anxiously as he readjusted his glasses. You nodded, hoping for him to say something, but all you got from him was a mumbling mess.

You felt your heart ache for him as he stumbled through stuttered words and unfinished sentences. The Count seemed even more uncomfortable trying to find a right answer for you than what he usually was when being mocked by the court. And considering how awkward he felt under the constant jibes he was put through daily, that was saying something.

“Orlo, I’m sorry you read that.” You cut him off in an attempt to calm him down. Embarrassment was taking over you once again and you felt the urge to leave his apartments immediately, but you first needed to try to calm his nerves. You hated seeing him so unsettled, and you knew that he was going to be torturing himself about that interaction once you left the room, just as you were going to do too. At least, you had to try to find the right words to clear his mind. It had been you the one that had put him in that place after all. “I shouldn’t have written those things about you. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable about it, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. I understand if you’re upset, even. It’s not your fault. I have no excuse for this, I now realize I should have never-“

“I’m not-“ Orlo’s voice surprised you, making you hush instantly. “It’s not that I’m upset. I just-“

He closed his eyes and sighed, probably still struggling to find the right words to express what was going through his mind. Knowing the man, you realized he was probably beating himself up inside that restless head of his. Cursing himself for not knowing the best way to react to that situation. The man was a perfectionist, always had been. If he said the wrong thing now he wouldn’t be able to think of any other thing for the rest of the week.

“I really can’t tell if you wrote these stories as a joke.” He finally sentenced.

“A joke?” The words left your lips before you could even process them. “Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m not a ladies man.” He stated, discomfort still plaguing his tone. “I’m well aware of all the rumors and jests about me. It’s just… I know I’m not desirable to women.”

You couldn’t help but frown while hearing his words. Your heart broke a little inside your chest, too. How could he think that you would mock him like that? Had he really grown to believe all the mean and hurtful things the evil tongues at Court said about him?

“Orlo, that’s bullshit.” You stepped forward, the embarrassment you had been drowning in suddenly turning into indignation. “You’re not a coward. You’re the bravest, most caring man I know. Not even half of the other men in this palace would be courageous enough to have joined this coup, to fight to make a difference. They can’t say nothing to you and it’s criminal that they have the audacity to mock you.”

The Count stared at you in disbelief of your words, still reluctant to look at you directly in the eye. It hurt you that he couldn’t seem to believe your words were true.

“You aren’t ugly either.” You continued, placing yourself right in front of his desk. “You have the most beautiful and intense eyes I’ve ever seen. I could stare at them for hours, if you let me. And your hair? It looks so soft, I’d love to run my fingers through it.”

Your heart beat increased as you kept listing the things you loved the most about him. It felt weird to just say to his face all the things that you loved about him and that you had kept in secret for years, but you needed him to understand just how wrong he was.

“You’re so intelligent that I sometimes fear you will laugh at me when I say something stupid, but deep down I know you won’t because you’re too kind to ever do that.”

Looking into his eyes, you took a deep breathe, deciding if you should keep on or just cut it off already. Truth was you could have continued like that for hours.

“Orlo, you’re the best person I know, and anyone incapable of seeing the many virtues you have must be completely blind. Including yourself.”

Silence took over the room for the following seconds, and you feared you had made his discomfort grow stronger. Still, you didn’t regret saying those things out loud. You had kept them to yourself for too long, and he needed to know his own value.

The Count simply stared at you, eyes shifting and mouth slightly ajar.

“I never knew you thought such nice things about me.” He finally muttered bashfully, as if he was apologizing.

“Well, I’ve been in love with you for years. That’s the reason I wrote those stories.” You casually added with your newfound confidence. Somehow, it still seemed to get him by surprise. “It has been painfully obvious and I think everyone else has realized already, but since you don’t seem to be able to read between the lines, I’m telling you.”

It felt liberating to finally get it out your chest. For years you had feared his rejection, but now that you witness his own insecurities making a display right in front of you, all you cared about was to make him feel he was worthy of love and respect. You didn’t even care if he didn’t requite your feelings.

“I’m such an idiot.” Count Orlo stood and looked at you, not being able to hide the red color his cheeks had taken.

“Indeed you are.” You smiled at him, touched by his innocent obliviousness. “A very cute one, though.”

Orlo stood in front of you, closer than usual. When you noticed him fidgeting in the spot and nervously running his tongue through his lips, you realized what his new intention was. Not leaving him time to regret his decision, you captured his lips with yours in a chaste but sweet kiss.

You couldn’t help but recall the way you had imagined and described that moment in your writings as you pressed your lips against his. You had always imagined your first kiss to be more passionate and intense, but as you pulled away slowly from the kiss, you thought that the sweetness and tenderness of the actual moment was more fitting than what you could have ever pictured.

“You should have told me earlier about this.” Orlo stated, face inches away from yours.

“I’m not done telling you everything.” You smiled contently. “There are still plenty of things I love about you and that I think you should know.”

“I can think of a few about you myself.” He whispered, more relaxed now. You liked this carefree side of him.

“I’d love to hear them, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Handing him the book you still had between your hands, you stated. “I think you have some Voltaire to catch up on first. And I should go back to my apartments. It’s late and there’s something I want to write about.”

Orlo’s smile was so big that it made your heart race. After leaving the book you had given him on his desk, he gave you back your writings.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

[imthedoctorlove]

Count Orlo x reader - Modern Day Law AU

This came from a sudden burst of inspiration and I have no idea if it makes any sense or is of any good, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

Warnings - mentions of blood.

***

You were shaking.

The grey jumper and jogging bottoms they put you in scratched at your clammy skin.

You stared at your hands - you could still see the blood. Even though you had scrubbed every bit of skin, you could still see it. It had tainted everything. The ticking of the clock was there to remind you how long you had been there. It had been hours since someone had been into see you. The interrogation was hard and unrelenting. The solicitor told you to only reply with "no comment" but you didn't listen. You needed them to know the truth. It was an accident. The solicitor left after that with a shake of his head at your stupidity and advised you to plead guilty.

Your shallow breathes echoed in the concrete room they left you in. The cuffs rattled against the table as you jerked your head to the right towards the door.

It opened and your back stiffened. An officer entered the room. You recognised him. He was the one who arrested you - pulled you from his cold embrace.

"I would like to be left alone with my client if you please."

You frowned not knowing where the voice had come from, but your confusion was cleared when the owner of the voice entered the room. Your breath hitched as you took him in. He was clean shaven and was dressed in a black tailored suit along with brown polished brogues. His dark hair was brushed back and styled, but slightly wind swept. In his left hand was a worn brown briefcase. He stared expectanly at the officer. The officer spared a glance at you before leaving the room.

When the door closed he finally looked your way. Warm brown eyes stared into your own and you forgot where you are for a moment. He breaks eye contact first.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

He moved over to the chair opposite to where you are sitting and takes a seat. "My name is Mr Orlo from Ulrich and Son. I will be your defendant on your case." He stretched out his hand for you to shake and you notice the slight tremble in his fingertips. You awkwardly shake it as best you could.

"Y/n L/n." You cringed at the hoarseness.

It was clear that he had not yet read your file. You held his gaze and commited the soft look of them to memory as you knew it would soon be extinguished. You jerked back when he suddenly jumped to his feet and strode out the door. Your mouth hung open. Was it something you said? The door opened again and Mr Orlo walked back in carrying two white plastic cups. He placed one in front of you before sitting back down. You thanked him before taking a sip and sighed as the cool water eased the pain in your throat.

Mr Orlo shuffled in his seat and and cleared his throat before opening his brief and pulling out a file. He placed it in front of him before reaching into his inner suit pocket. He pulled out a case that along with his briefcase had seen better days. He opened the case and pulles out a pair of silver glasses and perched them on the end of his nose.

"You will have to be patient with me as I have yet to read up on all aspects of your case. I was on another until earlier this morning when I was... well you don't need to know this, sorry." He cleared his throat again and opened the file. You watched as his expression changed the more he read. He spared a quick glance at the crime scene

photographs. A hand shot up to cover his mouth as he retched. Your own stomach turned as you caught a glance at them. The file was snapped shut. Mr Orlo reached for his plastic cup nearly knocking it over and downed it contents.

"Right, I think that's everything I need." He stood and hastily shoved the file back into his briefcase.

"What? You haven't asked me anything."

"There's no need. It's all in your statement. I will have you out on bale by the end of the day."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I- " your throat closed up when you saw that the softness had not left his eyes. "You believe me?"

"I work with the facts. It's not my job to believe you, but it is my job to defend you and I am certain I can win this case."

"So, you don't want me to plead guilty?"

"Do you want to plead guilty?"

You shook your head.

"That's settled then. If you'll excuse me I have some work to do." He pulled out a business card and handed it over to you. "I have your details and will be in touch." With that he left the room. You stared after him not quite believing what had just happened. Your gaze dropped to the business card he had left you and traced the gold lettering of his name. The corner of your lips turned upwards at the thought of seeing the curious man again.

"Maybe it was worth it after all."

[13atoms]

Anthology (Count Orlo x Reader)

There's someone in court distracting Orlo from his daily duties, who loves the written word as much as he does. 1.5k, fluff, F!Reader

📚📚_

There were very few things in the palace as predictable as Count Orlo. He rose in the mornings, he ate when food was presented to him, and he completed his work on time. When Peter teased him, he did not rise, and when he made choices he followed the most pragmatic route which still offered some kindness.  

He could name each person at court, how they were related to each other. He often didn’t know who was sleeping with who, or when cruel words were passed between courtiers, but he knew the things which mattered.

In each part of his routine there were a hundred variables each day, and he could cope with all of them.

Except for you.

When you appeared in the library, or sat beside him at dinner, or smiled at him as he stood beside Peter and suddenly made his hands shake. It confounded him, that he would look for you in every room he entered. If you were behind him on the staircase, he would grow self-concious of the way he walked, the words he spoke, the way he held his papers.

Gradually, his steady routine had become decentred, until finally he was altering it with the hopes he might spend a little more time with you.

It was one of those evenings, where sleep was too far away and work was too much of a chore. He wandered the corridors, waited for some crisis which never seemed too far away.

At each wide-hipped skirt flitting around a doorway, his heart skipped  with the hope it might be you.

Finally Orlo settled in the library, hoping that if he could not read, he might find some solace wandering amongst the books. Hoping against hope that you would be there again.

He was so set upon his wallowing for the evening, that when you were there, he hardly noticed.

Orlo had closed the door behind him and wandered halfway across the room, before he heard your soft voice.

“Good evening.”

There had been precious little opportunity to speak in private before tonight, and now it was happening, Orlo had no idea what to do.

“Evening.”

You were sat at the oversized study table, which he recalled Peter ignoring lessons at when he was a child. Around you were a dozen chairs, the ghosts of academics which no longer existed in this part of Russia. He picked a book from the shelves blindly, and fumbled to smoothly pull a chair free of the part of the rug it had become stuck in.

You looked up at him, a few chairs down from the one he had chosen, and Orlo fumbled for words.

“Do you mind if I sit there?” he asked, suddenly struck by the fear he was intruding.

“Not at all,” you replied softly, “be my guest.”

In truth, Orlo realised he had little interest in the history volume he had picked up, and the moments passed interrupted only by the scratching of your pen. Long minutes stretched by, and yet he did not grow bored. Instead, Orlo found himself fixated on the thought of his body so close to yours in space.

Of what might be in your head, whether it might chime with what was in his.

“What are you writing?”

You looked up in confusion, your forearm curled around the page protectively, and he bit back an apology.

“Hm?”

“You’re writing, I assume? If it is not personal, of course.”

“Oh, no. It’s… it’s poetry. Nothing good, I’m afraid, I just… I admire a great many poets –”

“Me too!”

Orlo regretted his interruption at once, it had seemed like a wild thing, trapped in his chest and fighting to get out. You smiled at him, and he thought from the crinkling of your eyes it must be genuine, before continuing.

“Anyway, I just… I thought I would never know if I was any good at poetry if I never tried it.”

“That’s wonderful.”

You chuckled, and Orlo found himself smiling along for no reason he could name.

“How are you doing, then? Trying it?”

With a shrug, you gestured to the page in front of you, and Orlo could see you were halfway through a notebook.

“I’m doing okay. It’s a puzzle, but I enjoy it. Truly, it’s nothing special, but I find it settles my mind.”

“Incredible,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help wondering if he was teasing you.

“Do you write?”

“Poetry? No!”

Startled, Orlo stopped attempting to read what was on your page, and instead found himself staring at your face. A prospect which induced his heart to beat even faster.

 “Could I read anything of yours?”

It was impertinent to ask. He had predicted the hesitation on your face, anticipated the moment you could freeze and turn your face away from him as embarrassment burned at your cheeks.

It was worth it, though, for the moment he watched you stand and pull a book from the shelves opposite the table. It was smaller than all the others, without an ornate cover, and as you thumbed through the pages Orlo could see it was entirely handwritten as many of the older tomes in the library were.

“This is my favourite piece,” you offered, handing the open book to him.

Orlo thought he would melt to the floor, holding his breath as he read, and you watched with an intensity he had never seen from you amongst the frivolities of court.

“I wonder if you studied under Dante himself?” he finally commented.

Orlo was delighted at your response, the fear you might misunderstand him entirely gone.

“Actually, I wrote something closer to his tone – though obviously incomparable…”

 As you flitted through the pages, a furrow in your brow, Orlo could only stare.

The evening passed in moments of silence and moments of laughter after that moment. You were selective in the pages you showed him, glancing nervously if his fingers strayed to turn a page.

Yet you trusted him. You returned to your words as he read, and laughed in delight as he praised your work. You had moved a seat closer to him, and brought the candles around both of you, and if Orlo focused for long enough he imagined he could feel the heat of your body in the cool night.

When the night finally grew too late, you excused yourself with a sincere regret that made Orlo’s heart ache with hope. He took the book to his room, and devoured it cover to cover, in a way only someone with a true love of a poet can.

Between each piece he thought, trying to imagine where your mind had been as you wrote it.

The tone oscillated between love and loss and distress and simple joy, from piece to piece and stanza to stanza, and some hidden part of Orlo felt voyeuristic to have such a sudden insight into your inner life.

Each page was written with the tempo of good poetry, a few dozen meticulously penned words, followed by a flowing stanza of more rushed handwriting – as though you were desperate to get the words onto the page as inspiration struck.

When he finally fell asleep, it was with a jolt awake, as he carefully removed your book from where it had fallen atop his sheets and placed it on his bedside table.

*

When Orlo awoke, there was a sealed letter on his desk. It bore no other markings, not even his name – though once the page was snapped open the handwriting seemed as familiar as his own.

Time is curious, how it hangs around us

Languorous when it seems abundant, and short when it is scarce

An hour of joy lasts barely a blink,

A second of sorrow long enough to wrinkle crows feet.

Time is not told by the clock, but by the heart as it beats.

Orlo, my days here are often meandering,

Filled with banality,

Yet I find time flies, when you are near me.

Once Orlo had finished reading, he sat on the chaise by the door, and he read again. By the morning light streaming through the windows. In the privacy of his bed, curled up against the pillows, pulling the paper to his chest once he had read. Finally, he put the paper down and rushed to the door, only to return and read it again.

When he found you, it was at the breakfast hall, your meal long abandoned and your eyes firmly set upon the main doors. He had taken a shortcut, and watched you for so long he interrupted the servers and feared you would catch him staring as they swerved, swearing, around him.

It would be a decade before Orlo acted as a proxy to help you publish your first collection of poems, but his decision was made in that moment. Once your eyes met his, the time flew by.

[whimseas]

Stay

(Count Orlo x Reader, 1.7k, angst and fluff, friends to lovers, set during season 1)

This has been sitting in my inbox for ages but I finally found the motivation to finish it. A huge thank you to @13atoms for betareading x

On a snow-swept winter’s night, you packed your things in secret and quietly slipped out of Russia’s finest palace.

Your carriage was waiting across the south lawn, discreetly parked on an old lane near the forest. You could see the glow of the lantern in the distance, a matched pair of carriage horses pawing impatiently at the ground.

Taking a steadying breath, you looked over your shoulder to gaze up at the palace, one last time.

You couldn’t help it. A tear began to trace its way down your cheek.

For months you’d been working for the Empress and her small, handpicked group. Together you had hatched a plan to overthrow the Emperor and bring Russia to a new age, a shimmering future of light, reason, and progress.

You had been a loyal partner-in-treason to the Empress. You helped rally support for her and helped her win over the Ladies of the court. You also introduced her to Count Orlo, who had since become her most trusted ally. You believed in bright-souled Catherine and you believed in her golden dreams, however high they might reach.

In a way, the coup had given you a sense of purpose you’d never felt before. A sense of destiny.

As the day of the coup drew closer, however, you found yourself growing more and more nervous. Doubt plagued you. What if the coup failed? What if you fumbled it, somehow? What if all this hope, all this dreaming, all this brilliant, careful planning – what if it all amounted to nothing?

Fear had you by the throat. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t find the courage to see it through. Tonight, the night before the Empress’ coup, you’d made a snap decision to leave the palace forever.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, leaving your friends like this so suddenly. But it was better this way — better for everyone, you told yourself. Nerves had no place in a coup, of that you were certain.

You’d miss Orlo, most of all. Over the past year he’d become a dear friend to you, and the two of you had spent many happy hours in the library together, sharing a candle and a stack of books. He’d always have a shy smile and a friendly word for you, and you adored him.

Then you’d watched him change over the months, unleashing a man he never knew lived within him. He was stronger, somehow, at the core of himself.

If only you could say the same about yourself. You felt the opposite — weaker, spiritless, as though the light that had kept your mind aflame and heart aglow this past year had suddenly gone out.

Tonight you’d left a note for Orlo on your nightstand, a single line written across the middle:

I’ll always remember you.

Something heavy settled on your heart. Quickly, you pulled your mind from the past and set it firmly in the present. The wind was picking up now, bringing with it a chill that crept into your bones. Shivering, you tightened your coat and hurried your steps toward the small fine carriage in the distance.

Just then a sound came from the palace, a door bursting open, followed by quick footsteps chasing after you.

"No – wait –"

You glanced over your shoulder and froze. "Orlo?"

He dashed in front of you and blocked your path with his palms raised. "You must not do this –"

"How did you –" You blinked. "You read my letter?"

He was a little breathless from his sprint across the snowy palace lawn. "Yes," he panted. "And – and I ask you to stay. Stay and see this through." He leaned forward urgently. "We are partners in this, you and I. Remember? We must act together if we are to succeed in this."

You stared at him for a long, silent moment, pausing at the worry – at the plea – in his eyes. Somewhere in a distant part of your mind, you could feel your iron will begin to melt. Listen to him, an inner voice urged you.

Then you took that voice and buried it somewhere deep down and far away.

"I can't," you admitted quietly. "I'm sorry."

With that you swept right past him and made for the carriage, faster this time, hoping he would not follow.

It was a vain hope, you realized. He was at your side in an instant, his long black cloak billowing after him.

"But – but why? Why, now, when we are this close – "

"Because I can’t!"

You spun on him so quickly that he nearly stumbled into you. "I can’t do this," you spat at him. "I'm not brave, not strong enough. We could fail, we could lose our friends. I - "

You couldn’t help it. The tears came, hot quiet ones that filled your eyes despite your best effort at control. You dropped your face into your hands, a sob breaking from your throat.

Just as you turned away, Orlo caught your hand. With urgent fingers, he pulled you a step closer.

He had the loveliest eyes.

"Breathe," he said.

You looked down at your hand where it lay cradled in his. And you breathed.

The moment stretched on, broken only by the sound of the wind in the treetops and your own unsteady breath. Only when your breathing softened did Orlo warily relax his posture, letting his hands return to his sides.

You wiped a shaking hand across your eyes. "Orlo, aren't you .. frightened at all?"

He hesitated for a moment, then his gaze shifted away to a spot near his feet. "Yes," he said quietly. "I'm scared of failing. And sometimes of winning, of what it will take to win."

He took a breath. "Fear has haunted me all my life, but I am forever done running from it."

You’d never seen him quite like this. His dark eyes were determined, resolved, and there was an edge of steel in his soft voice you’d never heard before. For just a moment, it silenced your fears and made your panicked heart sit still.

"Remember who I used to be? I stepped softly, tiptoeing through life, never realizing I could be more than what I was. A coward – "

"You were not a coward."

"There is one thing I am sure of," he said. "I wouldn’t have come as far as I have, were it not for you."

You could only blink at him, stunned and touched, forgetting the snow and the cold in the sudden warmth his words gave you.

Then he took your hand once more. His eyes shone strangely under the glowing winter moon. Were those tears?

"Please, don’t go," he whispered hoarsely. "Stay. I – need you."

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe for the emotion flooding your chest. He needed you — as desperately as you needed him. You couldn’t see it before, past your own pain. Now the truth was clear and perfectly in focus, as if a bright light had been thrown onto it.

You opened your mouth to say something - you had no idea what - but words would not come. Instead, you rushed forward and pulled him into an urgent embrace. His arms came up to hold you just as tight, just as desperate.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

*

It was a long time before you pulled apart. After, Orlo waved the carriage onward and led you out of the snow, to his rooms where the fire burned brightly in the hearth. There you talked until the candles burned low, until pearly moonlight streamed through the high-arched windows.

And every now and then, you felt yourself smile. A real smile that spread over your face, mind, and soul. You could hardly believe that just hours ago you had tried to run away, that you'd been so blinded by fear and desperation.

Now you’d made some peace with yourself, had at last caught your balance, and nothing could dampen your renewed hope. You were ready to face whatever tomorrow held, with your dearest friends at your side.

At last, the world felt right-side up again.

Almost.

You smoothed out your skirts and took a breath. "I feel I owe an apology for earlier tonight. I didn't want to abandon anyone. I…" You sighed. "I was terrified."

Orlo’s expression held nothing but quiet understanding. "Believe me when I tell you we are all frightened," he said. "We just have different ways of showing it."

You found comfort in those words. You hadn’t realized it before, but you found comfort in a lot of things this bookish, rather sweet fellow did for you. How he’d fretted for you, watched over you, and tried to keep you safe..

His friendship was a gift beyond price. He’d given you someone to turn to in the world.

You took his hand in yours. "You'll do so much good for others."

"We will," he whispered, soft but certain. "Together."

At that moment, the clock on the mantel chimed. It was past midnight. Today was the day, the day Empress Catherine would hold the reins of Russia in her hands.

You couldn’t wait.

"Today is the day." You squeezed his hand, smiling. "The future is bright, Orlo. I can feel it."

His own smile was small but warm. "As can I."

Then he leaned closer, ever so slightly, and there was something a little thrilling shining in his eyes.

"We’ll win."

You nodded, sure of it. "Of course we will."

The moment hung in the air. Then, slowly, his eyes fell to your lips and lingered there. For an eternal fraction of a second, you thought you saw something in his gaze, something ... more.

Then he took your face between his hands and kissed you. Softly, each touch a caress on your lips. You slipped a hand through his night-dark hair, clinging to him, pulling him closer. He melted into you and the kiss deepened, his mouth hot and sweet and giving all at once.

When he pulled away, he had very little breath left. Just a little bit, enough to gasp. "Stay – stay with me tonight."

Your lips lifted in an answering smile. "I think I’m falling in love with you."

Then, before you could take another breath, your lips met again.

And he threw everything in his heart into that kiss.

[fanfickitchenette]

Friend of the Empress, Chapter One

Orlo x Reader; Chapter One-Of Expectations and Faults

Y/N finds herself sent along as her childhood friend Catherine goes off to Russia to get married. The stay is on a to be determined basis, at the will of her parents and her own impending marriage. Everything in Russia is not as Catherine expected. Y/N wasn't expecting much in general. But, still, it wasn't this.

*no warnings I can think of for this chapter* BUT

TAGS for the story as a whole--possible eventual smut; talk of death, murder, SA (none in the story, just discussion); canon-typical violence; strangers-friends-lovers; angst; lots of platonic love

Word Count 1.7K

Chapter One: Expectations

            “My Russian is barely passable, Catherine. I don’t know what you expect of me.”, you smile at your friend with trepidation. The carriage bumps merrily along the ground, seemingly in touch with Catherine’s infectious joy. She pauses in re-reading you a letter that her emperor wrote her months ago. You can vividly recall blonde hair and bright blue eyes as she shook you awake to show you his correspondence when he initially sent the letter. The letter would be kept on her person when the two of you would traverse the grounds of her parent’s estate and then placed on the table next to her bed when she’d go to sleep.

            You hate to interrupt her excitement but the conversation you had with her mother before leaving sits uneasily in the back of you mind. Princess Consort, Lady Joanna Elisabeth terrifies you and makes you nauseous on the best of days. It’s been almost three weeks since the two of you started the journey from Germany. At the beginning, it was almost simple to brush off Lady Joanna’s warnings, Catherine radiated excitement and warmed the air with her hopes and ideas and the musings of her Peter. She quizzed you in Russian and asked the same back. When the sun was brightest, she would read aloud from her books of philosophy. You would sometimes read to her from the few novels you had been able to pack. But the passage of time has caught up with you. You’re set to reach the palace of Emperor Peter within the next few hours.

            The morning that Catherine’s departure was set, the dawn seeing you wait for your friend at the bottom of the staircase, you hadn’t known you’d be accompanying her all the way to Russia. With a rustle, only perceptible with years of training to listen for it, you straightened your back as Lady Joanna appeared at you elbow. “How marvelous to see you up so early, y/n. I do know how you love to wake up at a leisurely pace.”

            Your smile was, mostly, sincere as you dipped into a curtsy in greeting, “I didn’t want to be the reason for making us late on departure, my lady. I do know it’s an unfortunate habit. If I can say, you look amazing this morning. The green suits your complexion.” Her lips curled up with satisfaction, a hand smoothing the fabric of her rather enormous bustle.

            “You may, as I do look wonderful. You look presentable, which is a small relief. You’ve chosen a decent dress, especially as I know you won’t have packed much.”

            “I didn’t think I would need much, my lady. I didn’t want to overburden anyone when Catherine is bringing many of her things. It will only be five days before I will switch to a different carriage line. Simple things only.” Lady Joanna had looked at you then, raising her eyebrow with the mock surprise you’d seen her bestow on all of her children as long as you’d known them. Donna received it when she was informed of the sale of her beloved horse when she was fourteen and ‘too old to be messing about in the fields with no marriage arranged.’; Frederick got it when he was told he wouldn’t be summering with his friend, as the boy had died two weeks before and ‘did no one tell you? How good a friend could you have been, then?’

            A letter materialized from behind the woman’s back, “Did I not tell you that your parents wrote to me? Maybe a month or so ago. So many things happening, you must forgive me,” you nodded silently, worry curled and kept trapped under your tongue, “No need to fret. You know they’ve been working to get you married for a while now. Apparently they have a few good choices, but they’d like you out of reach for a bit. No one filling your mind with inappropriate thoughts of a love match. You’ll be accompanying Catherine. All the way to Russia. You’ll be sent for once your parents make their decision.” She had given you their letter and asked if you’d like a moment to pack anything else before leaving. It had been almost kind of her to give you the heads up; traveling with only a suitcase and bag to a foreign nation wouldn’t be feasible if you didn’t know how long you’d be informally exiled. Until about a week into the trip, Catherine had been under the impression you knew that you’d be going with her since the beginning.

            At the moment, the two of you bumping along the road, Catherine refolds her letter and tucks it into one of the books sprawled onto the seat next to her. “All I expect from you, y/n, is that you keep me company. That you stay by my side as Peter and I bring Russia into prosperity. When you leave me, I will be bereft. I will be inconsolable. I will be in mourning,” her hands find yours as she leans forward, you meet her in the middle and rest your foreheads together, “I will expect you to lead a great life. Wherever you may be. So that, when we write, when we visit, we will both be accomplished of wonderful things and of wonderful love. I expect only that and nothing less.” She always makes things sound so easy. You wonder how she thinks like that. How she believes in herself and those around her with such confidence.

            “Well,” you lean back in your seat, not surprised when she moves to the seat next to you and repositions her head onto your shoulder, “If that’s all, I should be able to manage.”

            The palace is huge. The grounds are glorious. You are completely gob-smacked at the sight as Catherine presses her face to the window, lost in her own awe. You tug her into sitting straight as the carriage makes a turn to be parallel to the palace and slows to a stop. A man in uniform opens the door after a moment, offering a hand first for Catherine and then you, both of you leaving the carriage with your journey finally complete. It’s traditional, at least at home, to initially be allowed to freshen up after long journeys. You, at least, are expecting an hour to change into a grander dress and wash up a bit before Catherine meets her Peter. Instead, both of you are instructed to follow two soldiers. To meet with the emperor and his advisors immediately. Catherine brushes her hair with her fingers and pulls out the twig of tree needles, that she plucked on the last part of your trip, from the top of her dress. You don’t feel anywhere near as composed. Your traveling dress, the same style as hers, feels too light and too pink and entirely not enough in everything that would matter in a royal court. If the ladies are anything like Lady Joanna, they will eat Catherine alive. And what they’ll do to you doesn’t even require thinking about.

            The halls seem surprisingly empty as you both walk through, slightly allaying the fear that Catherine would be immediately beset by gossip. You can tell Catherine is focused only on her destination, on meeting this great love, but you can’t help feeling as if the life of the palace is simply waiting behind closed doors as you pass. Levying judgement through thick walls covered in a large amount of mounted animal heads and various antlers. One of the only nice things that Lady Joanna ever said about you was that it might be valuable to doubt yourself if only to not be surprised when everything goes wrong. She said you always adapted wonderfully because of it. Your own mother normally called you observant and level-headed and left it at that.

            A grand set of doors are opened to an empty room, housing a single throne. Catherine isn’t kept waiting long. You only feel relief for your friend at that. She might have exploded if left alone, waiting, with her future so close by. The man who enters and strides forward, separating himself from the few others he is with, is handsome and you might be jealous if it weren’t your friend, your lovely Catherine, who is marrying him. He’s tall, with clear skin and pretty eyes. You note, almost absentmindedly, that you could almost be jealous of his eyelashes because they do make his eyes very nice to look at. He pauses in front of your friend. The girl you’ve known since you were both children. Who demanded that you learn to read more than your letters and simple sentences. The girl who you watched grow into the wonderous women, full of optimism and grand ideas that make you light-headed. You can barely imagine how she’s feeling, what she’s thinking.

            He circles your friend once. You want to be bitter, thinking how at odds that makes him seem from his letter, but your father’s voice rings in your head. It reminds you that Peter is still a man. Even the best of men have their faults when it comes to…physical urges and interests. You would allow him that if—“You look taller in your portrait,” he turns and starts to walk away, your eyes attempt to bug out of your skull, “Send her back. Get me a tall one.” It’s silent for one, ringing moment. Your eyes fix firmly on your friend, noting how she hides her shock better than you can but just barely. The moment ends and he laughs, the other men following his lead, and turns back. “Rich. Rich. See what I did there? I’m kidding. Kidding.”            

Your friend says she finds it amusing even as you feel her joy lessening from a few feet away. She gives him the branch of spruce and you see and hear as the Peter in front of her is fully detached from the letter she’s been pouring over. He promptly leaves to go horse-riding, though something about it feels off to you, before you and Catherine follow after the archbishop who came into the room with the emperor. She still seems to have her hope and determination even as your own wanes. The man who seemingly wrote the letter, a shorter fellow with brown skin, a black coif of healthy-looking hair, and glasses, watches the three of you leave with something very much like guilt in his eyes.

[fortuitous-juxtapositions]

Art of Deception Part 6 (Orlo x Reader)

Summary: An Orlo x Reader slow burn. You and your uncle have    just arrived in Peter III’s court from the Colonies. You uncle has    warned you of the debauchery of the court and devises a plan to keep you     safe, but the Emperor has other ideas. You find yourself thrown to  the   wolves and you must keep your secret while while fighting the  growing   feelings you have for the one person in court you who you  would tell the  secrets of the universe to if he would only ask.

Note: Anything in Italics indicates the characters are speaking English as opposed to Russian

Also available to read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566277/chapters/63156886

The first thing you became aware of was the debilitating pain in your head that worsened each time your heart beat. You groaned, trying to regulate you breathing in effort to slow your heart rate. You had nearly lowered the speed and intensity of your pulse when you felt a sharp sting at the crook of you left arm. You fought to crack your weary eyes open, blinking a few times against the light. When your eyes finally adjusted you were greeted with the face of a man you had never met before.

His wide, startled eyes met yours for a moment before you retched you arm out of his grasp and pushed yourself against the headboard. You reached under your pillow where you had hid a knife your uncle had gifted you. You raised it at the man, pushing yourself further into the headboard as a means to steady yourself.

“Who the fuck are you?” you growled and brandished the weapon at the strange man.

“Serf!” he cried out and raised his hands. “Serf!”

Vera came rushing into the room and stopped dead still as she took in the sight before her.

“I am not a serf.” Her hands came to her hips as she glared at the man.

“Right, apologies” his hands were still in the air “can you assist? She is in hysterics.”

“Oh, I wonder why,” Vera snarked. “Poor girl just woke up to a strange man hovering over like a right creep.”

“Can you just settle her down?” he glared at the woman of a small pair of spectacles that sat perched on his nose. “I was in the middle of a phlebotomy treatment”

You quickly glanced down, noticing the for the first time the pool of blood that had started to collect on your sheets. You looked to your arm, where you had felt the sharp sting earlier to see a slowly weeping wound.

“(Y/N), love” Vera stepped forward, pushing the man out of the way. “Please, do not stab the doctor, he is the only one we have.”

She held the front of her skirts up and stepped up into the bed. You lowered the knife and she grabbed it from your hand with a wide grin.

“Oh, Lord help the man who decides to share your bed,” she winked at you and slid the knife back to it’s hiding place “one wrong move and he’ll go from stallion to gelding with a flick of your wrist.”

She helped you to the edge of the bed, a dizzying wave overtook you and the pain in your head increased.

“We must finish the treatment, then make her a drink of cocaine and juniper berries.” The man began to take a step towards you and your hand shot back towards the hidden blade. He froze and held his hands up once again.

“I think that is her subtle way of telling you to ‘fuck off,’ Chekov” you could hear the laugh in Vera’s voice.

The man sniffed and strode quickly over to a case that sat on your vanity. He grumbled to himself as he packed up several glass vials and jars before shutting the case with a resounding snap.

“Well, if she gets worse and decides to take the advice of a well-respected physician” Vera rolled her eyes and mouthed the words as he spoke them. The man glared hard at her and stomped out of the room. Vera held a finger up as a sign for you to wait until a loud bang was heard, the man having exited the apartments with a slam of the doors.

You looked down at your arm and huffed, grabbing the skirt of the ruined white underclothes that you were wearing and pressing firmly to the still seeping wound on your arm.

“Archaic” you muttered as you tried to staunch the flow of blood.

Vera sat next to you and looked you over in concern.

“Are you alright, love?” she asked as she took over the task of applying pressure from you. Your free hand came up to your forehead and rubbed at the temples.

“I don’t know… what happened?”

“Do you remember anything of last night?” her brows were furrowed.

“I remember leaving here, arriving at the dining hall and being immediately scooped up by Elizabeth,” Vera groaned, “She fed me wines and spirits. She tried to force food onto me, but I don’t think I ate much of it. Then Peter” you blanched as the memory of the Emperor forcing you to speak and dance like some trained dog surfaced. You shivered “and that was all I remember.”

The cut on your arm had stopped bleeding and Vera dropped the skirt back to your lap before sighing and running her hands through your hair.

“From what I heard, he forced you to dance with him and then began to spin you around in circles until you nearly tripped over your own feet. That is when the Empress gained his and Elizabeth’s attention, believed to be a deliberate action on her part, and you very wisely made your escape,” she started to braid the hair out of your face. “You were found a short distance from the dining hall and brought back here.”

“Found?” your head jerked over to face her; your eyes wide. “What do you mean found? Who found me?”

Vera bit her lip, “General Velementov and Count Orlo,” you groaned and flung yourself back onto the bed, not caring that you were laying across blood stained sheets. Vera’s eyes followed your movement. “The wear practically carrying you when they arrived here. I had them take you directly to this room-”

“Please, no more,” you moaned in self-pity. “If I hear any more, I fear I may throw myself out the window and be reunited with the gown you tossed out yesterday.”

“You’re being dramatic” very tsked.

“I think I am allowed to be a little dramatic” argued back. “I have just gone and made a fool of myself in front of two of the more powerful people in Orlo’s court.”

“Peter’s” Vera corrected you with a smirk. “Peter’s court.”

“… that’s what I said,” you sat up and blinked owlishly at her.

“No, you said Or-”

“Never mind,” you waved away the conversation as her smirk grew. “I have made myself vulnerable in front of two very powerful people! Whose to say they will not use this against me in the future?” you rested your head on her shoulder.

“Well, then there is nothing else for it,” she rested her head on your own. “You will have to seduce them, invite them into your bed and stab them with that miniature sword you have hidden there.”

You snorted and felt Vera grin against your head.

“And then what? Become and enemy of the state? Disguise myself as a man and runaway from the palace? Catch a boat back to… actually, this might just work.” A loud bark of laughter burst from Vera’s lips and you couldn’t help but chuckle along.

“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get you some food and then a nice warm bath.”

Vera helped you stand from the bed, steadying you as you stumbled slightly, and escorted you out of the room.

“For what it’s worth,” she led you to your seat at the table were a mass of different breakfast foods were set out. “I do not think Velementov or Orlo will use last night against you.” She piled a plate with eggs, fruit and a breakfast bread. “They both seemed rather distraught at your condition. I practically had to shove the Count out of the door.”

______

You sat in the window seat, having been fed, cleaned, and dressed, the memories of last night had started to fade. The book you had been reading sat on your lap, while your face was turned to the open window, the breeze ruffling your hair as you closed your eyes and soaked in the sun.

A throat cleared.

“Lady (Y/N),” your slowly opened your eyes as Vera spoke your name. Turning, your eyes fell upon the familiar dark-haired man that stood beside her. You felt your heart speed up “Count Orlo is here to see you.”

You nodded a greeting to the man, fighting to keep your face steady and not show the emotions that were toiling beneath the surface.

“I uh-” Orlo stuttered before taking a deep, calming breath. “I wanted to check and see how you are feeling today?”

He took a few uncertain steps towards you. You slid to the side and gestured to the spot beside you on in the window seat. He smiled nervously and took a seat. You smiled at him before dropping your head to your lap in embarrassment.

That’s when you noticed it.

The book you had been reading…

It was written in Russian.

Your hands shot to cover the title of the book, hiding it from Orlo’s sight. You glanced up and sighed in relief, his gaze was firmly on the floor and you were certain he had not seen the title of the book.

… Almost.

You shot a look over to Vera who stood to the side, near your bedroom door. She looked at you confused before you glanced down at the book before looking back to her. Her eyes widened and she realized the point you were trying to make.

“I’m sorry,” Orlo started and looked back up to you. You met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, hoping he would not take notice of the stupid little red book. “I-I should have h-helped you sooner.” He turned his back to you with a sigh of frustration.

You shot a look over to Vera who nodded to you. Making sure the Count was still turned away from you. You took the chance and threw the book to Vera, noticing too late that Vera was right within his line of sight now. You held your breath; certain you would be caught.

Orlo groaned and turned back towards you as the book flew over his head. Vera caught the book with wide eyes and quickly hid it behind her back.

“I’m such an idiot,” Orlo finally look back up to your face and you quickly molded your face into a mask of confusion. “I should have done something to help you, I’m such a dick.”

He placed his hand over his forehead, blocking your view of his eyes.

“I always balls these things up.” He brought his other hand to his head and held firm. Your mind drifted back to that first night he had escorted you back to your rooms, how he had held your small hands within his larger ones and attempted to warm them. A smile slowly started to creep its way across your face at the memory.

“I was just, so shook up after you-” he turned to you and your smile fell back to the quizzical expression before he could see it. “You hugged me.”

It was spoken in a near whisper. It was as if he were awed at the gesture, amazed that anyone would want to hug him.

“You hugged me,” he reached for your hand and you felt yourself drifting in the sea of deep, silky chocolate that matched the shades you saw in his eyes. “You hugged me.”

His eyes dropped to your hand that he held softly cradled in his own. He rubbed his thumb across the top of your fingers, and you felt what was almost an itch, a need for him to hold your hand tighter, to feel more of his skin against your own.

“You hugged me and I stood there like a fucking moron,” he dropped your hand and brought it to his head, smacking himself with the heel. “I’m such an idiot, I am not well versed with… this.”

He was again speaking his private thoughts aloud and your breathing sped up, knowing you should not be listing to what he was saying, that you should stop him from saying anything further.

You quickly grabbed the hand, stopping him from hitting himself in the head again. He remained deathly still as you pulled his hand down, brining it to his knee and holding it tight to keep him from his self-flagellation. You could hear his breathing as it started to speed up, but the rest of him remained staring at the floor. You patiently waited until you felt his hand tighten around your own as his eyes slowly met yours. The concern you had for him dropped and you felt a warm smile crossing you face. His face, screwed up in self-hatred, lightened and a smile slowly curved his cheeks upward, his eyes glistening with and unsaid emotion you couldn’t quite place. It gave you a glint of the man you had seen yesterday. The confident man that strode next to the Empress like he had always belonged there.

A lead weight dropped in your stomach as your remembered. He was the Empress’s lover.

You quickly pulled your hand from his and stood up, taking a quick step back from the man. How could you be so stupid? You could not afford to have such a powerful enemy as his lover was sure to be. You already had the Emperor and his aunt tearing at your heels, you didn’t want the whole match set!

“I’m-I’m so sorry!” Orlo quickly stood up at the same time you turned to face him. You nearly collided with him, but you both reached out to each other to steady yourselves. You gulped as you felt his warm breath blow across your face, a searing heat started where his hands had gripped your arms and spread up to your neck and cheeks. You were eye level with his chin and you couldn’t help yourself from tilting your head up. His already dark eyes seemed to darken further as they met yours. You could feel your breath start to speed up, a pressure in your chest formed and you knew, if you would just raise yourself slightly on your tip toes and press your lips to his that the pressure would explode into a glorious heat that would consume you both.

“Ahem,” Vera cleared her throat from her post by your door and you were immediately brought back to reality. You hastily stepped out of the Counts grasp, putting space between your bodies.

What were you thinking?

You weren’t thinking.

At least not with your head.

The precipice between you and the Count felt so much bigger than the two steps it would have taken him to meet you once more. You mentally begged for him to take those steps, willing him to show you that what you felt was felt by him as well.

“I… I should go,” the Count skidded around you like you diseased and dashed through the doors, not even bothering to close them completely in his rush to get away from you.

Vera quickly ran over and closed the doors firmly before turning towards you and leaning throwing her weight against the doors.

“Fuck!” You slapped your forehead and threw yourself into one of the highbacked chairs. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck!”

“Agreed.”

______

You and Vera sat drinking spirits and discussing what had transpired between you and the Count.

“Whew!” a fairly tipsy Vera exclaimed. “That was so… woah!” She took another shot. “I mean, I felt it. I really felt that, in here” she gestured sloppily to her abdomen. You groaned and raised you glass, frowning when you noticed it was empty.

“I mean… what the fuck?” You grabbed the bottle whiskey and poured another glass, nearly overfilling it in the process. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hot.” Vera refilled her vodka. “That was hot.”

“But,” you groaned and took a drink. “But, he is off limits.”

“Says who?” Vera nearly yelled. “A man who is off limits does not look at a woman the way the Count was looking at you!”

“He is!” You threw back the rest of your whiskey. “He’s fucking the Empress!” Vera gasped.

“He is?” she refilled your glass. “Well fuck.”

“Indeed!” You sighed and slunk down in your chair. “You are an idiot (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). You had to go and fall for the one person who you cannot have!”

“Love is a fucking cunt.” Vera growled as she leaned forward.

“I will simply have to keep a respectable distance from him and hope to whatever deity that is out there that the war ends soon so we can go home.” You felt tears welling up at the thought.

“Huzzah!” Vera tossed back her drink.

“Huzzah,” your voice did not match the intensity of the word, it was somber as you felt something within you crack.

You shook yourself from your misery and threw back the rest of your whiskey.

The sound of shattering glass faded into the night.

------

Taglist: @startrekkingaroundasgard​ @aryn-the-bearheart​

[thegreatfanblog]

Would you mind doing a count orlo x reader where she has his baby and Orlo just gushes over the two of them? Or smth fluffy I just want fluff with orlo owo thanks

hi!! sorry it took longer than expected!! thank you so much for the submission. i really hope you like it!! //submissions still open!//

Orlo was an intellectual at heart. He tried to study everything he could, finding that his broad areas of knowledge were helpful at one point or another.

An example of this would be medicine. Medicine was a controversial topic in Russia, with most of it being censored by the church in fear of an educated populace. And so Orlo found studying it to be particularly tantalizing. Like he was a schoolboy about to be caught for doing one thing or another against the rules.

This was a subject he tried to educate himself fiercely in, studying the basic make up of the human anatomy, memorizing where arteries were, how different procedures worked, the basic principles of life, death, and finally, birth.

Orlo knew how birth worked, especially in Russia. Women were expected to bear children excessively, making farmers, soldiers, and servants for the Emperor’s mighty nation. Any pain they experienced would be for the greater good, with no real caution paid to the wellbeing of the women. Women dying in childbirth was a given. The church would not allow for medical research in this respect, as inserting science to one of the ultimate areas of God was seen as blasphemous. Orlo knew more women could survive if the church would just budge out of it.

And so when you both discovered your pregnancy, Orlo was fearful, mentally listing the statistics of the likelihood of death. He was scared. More fearful than you had ever seen, including the entire coup process. For the first two months you had allowed this worry to encompass your life, begrudgingly allowing Orlo to do most things for you. He would carry everything for you, wait on your every whim, regulate your diet, and even never let you out of his sight. At first, it was rather sweet of him, you thought. You had never been taking care of to this extent, but it quickly grew old as he tried to confine you to your bed, thinking no harm would come to you there. At that point you had put a terse stop to it all; as much as you loved him, a lady must have time to herself after all.

It had taken time for him to adjust, having caught him on three separate occasions spying on you, not to mention the times you did not, but eventually he settled, allowing you to escape him for a few hours at a time. You loved how protective he was.

Nine months later it all came to ahead. You had been laying in bed with him when you began to feel contractions.

“Orlo,” you tried to say casually. His eyes stayed planted on his book, but he turned his head slightly in acknowledgment.

“Yes, my love?”

“The baby’s coming.”

He nodded, casually as if he hadn’t heard, and then his head snapped towards you.

“W-what?”

“It’s happening!” you smiled at him, wincing as another pulse of pain shot through you. Orlo shot into action, messily pulling on his trousers while calling for a servant to fetch the midwife. He tripped over the carpet in the process, causing you to erupt into giggles despite the pain. Circling back towards you, he held your hand and helped you up gently. Sharply breathing, you leaned against him heavily as he escorted you to the set up you had prepared weeks prior: a mattress on the floor in the corner of your room with several pillows and no blankets. The bed was better positioned for the midwife’s work, while allowing for Orlo to still be next you you, the clingy man he was (you wouldn’t have it any other way).

Orlo softly laid you down, laying on his stomach beside you. Using his arm to support his head, he used the other to massage your stomach lightly.

Sweat gathered at your brow. The midwife arrived, carrying a towelette and bowl of water, Marial and Catherine trailing behind her. Sitting next to your legs at the edge of the bed, the midwife passed the bowl of water and towelette to Catherine who sat on a pillow next to the mattress. The cool water on your fevered skin was a relief. Orlo moved to grasp your hand in both of his, calmly looking into your eyes -when you managed to keep them open- and whispering sweet affirmations to you. As the midwife continuously told you to breathe, your mind slipped away, focusing on the connection of your hands and pushing.

—

Hours later you reemerged. You were told it had taken a few hours only; you were lucky for a woman. An immense weight slipped off your back, and you breathed a sigh of relief as the cleaned your child off, handing you them. The others helped you sit up more, but you paid them no attention, focusing on your beautiful child. You heard a sniffle next to you and you turned to find Orlo with tears in his eyes. He was gorgeous.

You vaguely heard Catherine drag Marial from the room to keep her from commenting.

Sitting crisscross next to you, he wiped away a tear and you eagerly held your baby to him. Orlo took them slowly, eyes glossy with emotion. He took a huge shuttering breath. You stared at the baby in his arms.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

“Aren’t they?” you asked, gazing at your child.

“Well, yes, but I was talking about you.”

Your eyes found his, finally filling with tears at the combination of pure joy and emotion at his words. Orlo leaned down for a loving kiss, cradling your child perfectly while doing so. He is going to be an amazing father, you thought. A voice interrupted the moment.

“What will the name be?” said the midwife, overly eager.

Looking to Orlo for an answer, you found him already gazing at you, waiting on you. Your heart stuttered, still, after these long years with him. You closed your eyes in thought, awkwardly grasping one of his. They shot open.

“René,” you beamed up at Orlo. He returned a blinding smile and carefully handed you René, tucking your hair back and stroking what little hair your child had.

Yes, he would be an amazing father indeed.

[davosmymaster]

I need Count Orlo fics, someone give me Count Orlo fics

[peachy-possum]

NEW IDEA!!!

So y’all know like how Ruth doctor made herself forget that she was the doctor right, well I was thinking that but with Dhawan! Master and Count Orlo being the same person and stuff. Like imagine the fanfics of Orlo discovering who truly is and how others around him react. Bonus points if it’s X Reader because I am a slut like that.