#sorry im just tryna get my mojo back

[13atoms]

Self-Doubt (Orlo x F!Reader)

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

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

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

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

Perhaps sensing the tension, your conversation partner politely excused herself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

“You too!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” he told you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You caught your reflection in his mirror, and sighed.

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

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

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

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

 “Really?”

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

You reached for his hand.

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

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

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

“Never,” Orlo told you.