#grigor dymov x fem! y/n

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised- Finale (Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader, Arranged Marriage AU series)

Series Summary: When Emperor Peter's behavior towards your family threatens the alliance between them and Russia, the only way to solve it from breaking is through an arranged marriage with his friend, the handsome but heartbroken Count Grigor Dymov. A man you barely know.

Previous Chapters: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//Ten//Eleven

Chapter Summary: You and Grigor enjoy a long-denied honeymoon

Content Warnings: Some discussions of sex and cursing and mentions of pregnancy and babies- don't worry, Y/N isn't pregnant. But VERY fluffy!

Word Count: 1584

A/N: Thank you guys so much for supporting this series throughout! Now I thought was the best time to conclude it! When season 3 of The Great comes out and should I get inspired, there might be a season 2 of this fic like what @ladystrallan did with I Really Wish I Hated You (which, btw, highly recommend if you love The Great Fanfics). Who knows?! But I hope all of you loved reading it as much as I loved writing this series!

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Taglist:

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​ @seraphicmercury

Promised Taglist: Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil​ @bluesfortheredj​ @grigorlee​ @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee   @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @ladystrallan��​ ​

You and Grigor were planning on returning to court. You both just wanted something denied to you when you were rushed to be married and when there was a coup- a honeymoon. Three whole months of a honeymoon.

The days were never more lovely- lovemaking at night, awakening when one felt like it, the most sumptuous meals, playing cards by the fireside, reading to each other, and you showing off the various songs you knew how to play. You were starting to teach Grigor chords and his clumsy practicing of scales with mutters of “fuck!” at a mistake could be heard. You still kept shooting practice, but you were relaxed, not caring if you missed the odd target.

It was quite warm for Russia the past two weeks. Flowers were deep in their bloom in the gardens, and it was green everywhere. The vineyards seemed to be a far brighter green than you expected. Perhaps springtime was arriving sooner than you expected or maybe it was a warm spot for a few days. You had to wear your lighter silks as opposed to the warm furs to keep one safe from your new home country’s notorious chill.

As you and your husband toured the grounds together that afternoon, there were fruits of light green and dark purple. You would both look at each other, pluck the small fruits, and try bites of them yourself, feeling the juicy sweetness burst on your tongues, as if only briefly. Grigor would wipe the juice off of his sleeve and give you a kiss and you would taste the grape in his breath as if combined with yours you made your own special wine. Grigor was in his favorite deep green. You had insisted he keep a few buttons down so you could see some of his chest hair. You insisted it was absolutely sexy of him when he wore shirts (especially white ones) with a few buttons undone and he took note. Yes, it was the wrong color today, but you didn’t care. Perhaps that could wait for later tonight when you would hop on him like a rabbit until you screamed each other’s names, not caring about disturbing the servants sleeping below. You were in a bright red dress with golden floral patterns all over it and you perfumed yourself with rose water.

You matched and complimented in your dress as had your souls on the inside- each perfect and making only the other look better when beside it.

You emerged from the kiss and wiped your hand on your skirt.

“Could you hold my hand, my dear?” you asked, presenting your hand out.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely,” he replied, eagerly taking yours.

It was warm and encompassing, the fingers intertwined within each other to feel the pulse of each other. As you both walked back home, the day was fading. The sky turned into a mix of orange and pink and the crispness of evening etched around you. Once you approached back to the manor, the housekeeper greeted you both and assured you that dinner would be ready in one or two hours. Olga, the little servant girl, handed you back your beloved dog and both of you cooed over her.

“Oh and Madame Dymova! Here! Messenger said it’s from Paris! And it’s for you and the master!” she added on, handing over a letter with a familiar wax seal.

Before you could comment on it, Sonya let out a bright bark for want of attention.

“Here Sonya- found this! Here- Good girl!” Grigor offered.

From his pocket, he pulled out a truffle and fed it to the eager and always hungry pup.

“Would you like some wine? There’s a new one they just made here and it’s fucking astounding,” he offered.

“Oh, yes! And ask the kitchen for a plate of bread and cheese and fruit, perhaps?” you asked.

“I don’t see why not!” he replied, giving you a peck on your forehead before going down to the kitchen.

You made your way to the back porch area outside on your white seats and white chairs. You found it had not grown so chilly that you would require heaps of blankets as you have in the past. Sonya lay happily on your lap panting away. Though grown, she still saw herself as a puppy who had to have every last of her needs attended to, or else her mistress would hear her barking and mischief. But you loved her more for it.

You pulled from your reticule an unopened letter from the dress of your pocket. It couldn’t be your family- you heard just yesterday that you were an aunt to a beautiful little niece. Both you and Grigor were already making plans to travel and visit your family and for you to be introduced and be acquainted with his own. So, who could it be? Was it Catherine about her baby or the new education laws? Orlo recommending a new philosophy book to you? Who? You saw the name on it and gasped.

“It’s George! George wrote to us!” you told Sonya, who only tilted her head.

You then ripped it open and smiled, your heart touched by the contents. From the corner, you saw Grigor come out to approach the table. He smiled, holding two glasses of wine, and giving one to you.

“Why thank you, darling!” you chirruped at him.

“No problem at all,” he answered.

A servant immediately arrived behind and held a platter of cheeses, slices of bread, and apples. His blue eyes went to the letter.

“What is that? Who is it?” he asked.

You smiled, handing him the papers.

“Why, it’s George!? Can’t you believe it? She’s in Paris of all places! Oh, that must be wonderful! And here…she said she met someone who she truly loves and who loves her! Oh, I’m so happy for her! We must write back and ask her more about this!” you squealed.

“Why- how good for her! I’m glad!” Grigor wished genuinely with a shrug and a relaxed smile.

Both of you held up your glasses of wine.

“Should we toast to her?” you asked.

Grigor shook his head.

“I have a better one. To what brought us together in the first place. Here, Y/N-to the alliance!”

“To the alliance!” you agreed, daintily clinking your glasses.

Both of you took a first sip.

“It won’t be too long before we return- so much will be different…” Grigor began.

“I’m just glad Marial is in prison…I’ve slept better at night since then…” you sighed.

He did frown briefly. He took a deep drink and set down his glass.

“Well…part of me is eager. Been worried sick over Peter.”

“But you always are, you silly shit!” you teased, setting your own glass down.

He smiled at the words. You thought there was never a more beautiful smile than that of Grigor Dymov when he was well and truly happy. Your heart would always burst with love for him at the sight.

His letters seem fine and happy though…he’s thrilled about the baby. Got a name picked out and everything!”

“What if we have a baby- will we be even ready for that?” you suggested.

So far, your courses were like clockwork and Grigor would spoil you with bedrest and vodka and embraces when the cramps tormented you. But that doesn’t mean the time would never come. In fact, with all the fucking you had been doing it was a pure miracle it hadn’t happened yet!

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be, Y/N…but what about life after the coup? Things will be so…so different. Peter’s not in charge as much. There’s a royal baby on the way. George is in France. Catherine’s changing all the laws to what she wants. Everything is upside down…” he muttered.

“But we can take it…” you assured him.

He clutched his hand onto yours in response and you used your other hand to rest it on his cheek. He relaxed into it, using a hand to touch yours.

“We can take anything as long as we’re together, darling,” he replied.

“Of course, we can, my dear husband…” you cooed.

"Oh, say that again!” he insisted.

You crawled on his lap, kissing his face- his freckles, his forehead, his cheekbones, his chin.

“Dear husband, dear husband, my Grigor, my darling…” you mumbled between the kisses.

“Fuck, you make me hard. Keep it up and I might have to have you on this table before dinner!” he confessed.

“Wait until after dinner!” you insisted with a joking slap on his arm.

“If Countess Dymova requests it, who am I to deny her that!” he gave in.

You giggled and paused. Both of you breathe deeply the warmth of each other and the closeness.

He kissed you with soft lips again, but there was a chasteness- a tenderness to how he cupped your cheek when it happened. You cuddled into his chest as the sun set and he placed an arm around you to draw circles on your back as the dog lay contentedly smiling on the floor with her pink tongue out.

You were happy. After such chaos you had been through- you were completely happy. Dinner was about to be served. You had a home in court and out. You had a precious pup. You had friends. And most of all, you had found a happy, faithful marriage. And a husband who you loved and who loved you.

And this time the wine did in fact not taste like shit.

[magickcandie]

Grigor Dymov x Fem!Reader

Grigor was a very respectable man. Part of The Emperor's court and obvious close friends with Peter. He never believed in 'lovers' not like Peter did. Not like what he kept trying to recommend Katherine. He didn't like it.

However sometimes he couldn't stand it. By ‘it’ he meant Georgina’s and Peter’s sexual relationship. He hated being around George when she was with Peter. Although on this particular night, he didn't feel like getting black out drunk to drown out the sounds or to not remember it. He instead decided to take a walk.

Lady Y/N was having a restless night as well. Nothing better to do but take a walk as well and try to tire herself out maybe. That was until she stumbled across Grigor.

"Hello, Grigor." You call into the dimly lit hallway.

“Y/N?”

You nod once you get close enough. You couldn’t help but smile at him. He was always handsome in your eyes, and though you tried to remain friendly, God, how you wanted to just kiss him.

“What are you doing up so late?”

“I was just restless. Rather than sit bored in my apartment, figured I’d take a walk.” You nearly asked why he was walking around, but you figured it out. Most people would.

“Sounds lovely. Mind if I join you?”

“No, no! Come. Company sounds great.”

You realized how improper the whole thing was but made no attempt to move. You, wandering in your night dress, hooked arms with Grigor, also not dressed.

You two didn’t talk. Not really at least. You asked a few questions which he answered then that was that.

By your third lap, he stopped outside his apartment.

“I should be getting back now. It is rather late.”

“Of course, Grigor. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight to you to, Y/N.”

You smiled at him again then turned down the hall. Not yet having decided if you were going back to your room or keep walking.

“Wait! Y/N!”

You turned around. Grigor quickly took the few steps until you were face-to-face and actually rather close.

Your heart beat in your throat. His eyes… they were filled with so much love. Maybe it was just appreciation.

“I forgot something.”

“What was-”

Grigor closed the gap and kissed you. It realistically wasn’t that long, but you could’ve sworn time stopped.

It was gentle kiss. One that left you breathless and shocked. He pulled back to look you in the eyes again.

“Goodnight.” And just like that, he went back to his room and shut the door.

What just happened?

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Series, Part Eleven (The Great Arranged Marriage AU)

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Grigor Dymov

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of sex, use of guns, and some violence, and a major character gets injured. Some fluff and Hurt/Comfort and DRAMA

Series Summary: When Emperor Peter's behavior towards your family threatens the alliance between them and Russia, the only way to solve it from breaking is through an arranged marriage with his friend, the handsome but heartbroken Count Grigor Dymov. A man you barely know.

Chapter Summary: Grigor and Y/N arrive at the Dymova Manor and Vineyards. But Marial is on her way, ready for a showdown...

COMMENTS. AND REBLOGS AS WELL AS ASKS AND MESSAGES ABOUT THE FIC ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED

Previous Chapters: One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//Ten

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A03 Link

As you awoke late the next morning. Both of you were smiling and giggling over all sorts of things as you ate your breakfast. A few fellow guests rolled their eyes over their cups and plates, but neither of you cared. Then, dressed in your peasant clothes, you hopped inside to cuddle, kiss, and talk for the rest of the journey.

The carriage kept wheeling by. Both of you were smiling. Your ribs hurt from laughing so hard with Grigor recalling memories and chatting.

“So, you both ate it?!” you cried.

“Yes! And you should have seen Peter’s face hours later! We were both curled up with our stomachs hurting on the floor! That’s what you get when you’re 15 and stupid!” he recalled.

“Well once, I was with my friend, we were about six, and we both snuck into my mother’s closet to try on her dresses until she caught us with them on!” you recalled.

 You reached the gates, and they opened. Both of you exhaled deeply as you saw that familiar home.

A young maid was sweeping at the front door. She looked up and the broom dropped from her hands onto the ground, she let out a loud gasp. She ran inside, forgetting the broom, and soon in a panicked hurry, lines of the servants and serfs outside. They got into their lines with big eyes and struggling to smooth their clothes. The housekeeper’s jaw was still dropped as she scurried to her own place at the center.

The carriage stopped before the front door. Grigor went out and then skipped his way to the front and helped you out.

“Here, my lady, take my arm,” he offered

“Grigor! How gentlemanly of you!” you replied.

“On occasion, I have been known to be a gentleman,” he boasted.

“Well, perhaps I should try and press my luck!” you retorted.

You accepted his arm with both hands curled around it demurely. You walked off the step onto the ground to face them.  He turned to greet them, his free hand tipping off his hat.

“Hello everyone!” he chirruped.

“Master Dymov!” greeted the housekeeper. There was an echo of “Mousier Dymov, welcome!” among the staff as they bowed their heads.

Grigor cleared his throat and looked down towards you. It was comforting that those many familiar faces were smiling at you, eyes beaming.

“Everyone! I trust you are well acquainted with my wife already!” he announced.

He led you by the hand forward and they all bowed their heads respectfully again, keeping their smiles.

“Of course, we are,” said the housekeeper.

“How is the dog? Where’s Sonya?” you asked.

“She’s quite used to being the sole mistress of the manor now! Spoiled little thing!” The housekeeper joked.

As if on cue, little Sonya ran forward from the house letting out excited whines and barks. You leaned forward and picked her up, cuddling her as she licked your face eagerly in greeting. You laughed from how the little pink tongue tickled your nose.

The staff began to look at the carriage. One serf looked at Grigor with a tilted head.

“Mouseier Dymov, there’s no luggage!? And why are you dressed in peasant garb?”

“There are clothes here! We had to run from the palace- I’ll explain it later before dinner,” he said.

You bent down and released Sonya to the ground where she skipped around, sniffing and wagging her little tail.

“Would you like us to bring you both a change of clothes?” the housekeeper suggested.

Grigor grinned devilishly and then went over to you, scooping you into your arms as you let out a little laugh and smiled ear to ear.

“My wife and I have some catching up to do. And I’d like to test the sturdiness of the antique bed in the master bedroom,” he explained with a wink at her.

With a squeal from you, he ran through the house, passing the servants, with you still in his arms. He went up the stairs quickly and into the master bedroom. He kicked the door behind him and plopped you onto your feet before he began to embrace and kiss you, then he buried his face into your neck to pepper little pecks across it.

“A woman beautiful as you shouldn’t have an inch of clothing on her, it’s a crime,” He said, reaching his arms to undo the buttons behind your dress.

“You say that like it should be a law!” you teased, removing his coat off his shoulders.

“Remember who my friend is. Don’t tempt me more, Y/N,” he countered.

Once it had been only you and contained scenes of both peace and misery, and now as you shred each other’s brown clothes off each other onto the floor.

The next morning, you sighed happily as you yawned and stretched to the morning sunlight. Grigor was propped on his stomach. You turned around just to watch his lovely face and form.

His brow crossed and he let out a groan, signaling awakening. Eyes still closed he began to reach his hand out to tap the other side of the bed only for it to land on you. His eyes shot awake to see you.

“Oh…that’s new…” he muttered.

“Good morning, husband,” you greeted, kissing his cheek.

Just like yesterday, you ate your meals practically huddled together. He would give you part of what he had and him part of what you had. Sonya was on your lap, trying to reach to get bites directly on your plate.

“I missed you so much!” you cooed at the dog, scratching her ear.

You spoiled her with a large portion of leftover ham. Proud of herself, she hopped off you and onto the floor, prancing as she went to a corner to work on eating it.

“My turn,” Grigor said.

He placed you on his lap and was kissing you, both of you just overjoyed to be in each other’s company when there was a knock on the door. You opened it to a young male servant.

“There’s a visitor- he says he is family of Madame Dymova,” he announced.

You shot off of his lap. Both Grigor and you looked at each other. His eyebrows lowered, and he reached a hand up to calm you, clutching yours.

“It’s a male visitor, you have no reason to panic, Y/N,” he assured.

“Be with me…just to be careful…” you asked.

He nodded. He then strided forward as you followed.

You walked downstairs only to see your brother. His hair was windswept, his coat and boots dirty, and there were circles under his eyes. On his face, there were two distinguishable bruises and his knuckles had cuts on them. He gave you a smile.

You let out a gasp and ran up to him. You let him into a large hug.

“You’re alive! You’re alive!” you cheered.

“I am, Y/N, and you’re going to be alright,” he comforted.

“Well- huzzah then,” Grigor said quietly.

The three of you went into the parlor and sat down on the couches. You and Grigor close together and your brother on the opposite side. A servant was rung to offer a plate of sandwiches, water, and strong coffee. Even Sonya was running up to bark at him in greeting, begging to be petted on.

“What happened?” Grigor asked nervously.

“I confronted her. We fought. She got me good. I got her good. But not enough to kill either of us. Guards ran in from the Empress. Said she was passing by and heard a scuffle.  She sent them in and tore us apart and she gave us a scolding- she detests violence.”

“So Marial is still alive…” you confirmed.

“Yes she is, but I burned the paper with the address- there’s no evidence where you are. She won’t be able to find you,” your brother said.

But not for forever you thought grimly.

He reached over and began to drink some coffee in a blue porcelain cup. Grigor himself took out a small flask, poured a bit of alcohol into his cup, and began to drink it.

“You may stay here; you will always find a sanctuary with us- you’re my fucking brother now, after all!” Grigor confirmed.

“Thank you- I can’t stay forever. I promised my wife I would return before it was time for her. I’ll stay by for a week, just so my sister can have some peace of mind. And…just in case Marial locates you both…” he said.

You looked outside. Birds were flying from tree to tree. Some snow had melted, as it was now getting to be late winter. The ground was either white or brown and the trees were mostly bare.

“Can we hunt in the forests around here?” you asked.

“Whenever we like, I have guns and grounds here for that,” Girgor said.

“And are there some targets? Or can we have some made?” you asked.

You turned your head to look at the men.

“Yes, that can be done,” Grigor assured.

You took your hands and folded them onto your lap.

“I need you both to teach me how to hunt. How to shoot a gun…” you said seriously.

Your brother choked on his coffee.

“What?”

“You heard me. Both of you. Teach me how to hunt. Teach me how to fire a gun. I’m not suggesting, I’m not hinting or even asking…I need to know how to shoot. How to kill.” You commanded.

Your brother scratched his head. Then he let out a sigh and nodded. Grigor set his coffee down and began to chew on a sandwich.

“Well…Sure thing! We can start this afternoon. We’ll go to the forest and practice with something small, easy- like a squirrel. I’ll show you myself how I load a rifle when I go to hunt, Y/N…will you join us?” he asked, turning to your brother.

He blinked and then nodded.

“Yes…. yes, I do…”

It was your second week back and so far, almost all your free hours were spent either hunting or shooting.

Just this morning, your brother said his goodbyes and began the journey home. He made sure to give you plenty of advice on how to aim. He was a bit hesitant, but you assured him that with this new, developing skill and your husband and servants constantly at your side, you would be safe. You would not be left alone with unwanted company.

One of the serfs, a skinny, short teenage girl named Olga, was helping you out. She flung discs made of clay into the air. You lifted the long, thin rifle and began to aim at them. You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

To your delight, you hit it. That was tricky. Only until yesterday were you finally hitting them. The disc shattered mid-air and the pieces rained onto the ground.

“I don’t think most ladies shoot guns or hunt, Madame Dymov,” Olga commented.

“Most ladies aren’t being threatened to be killed by their husband’s ex-lover,” you replied.

She shrugged.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of it that way…” she mused.

She ran over to the grounds to pick up the clay shards like a squirrel collecting nuts.

“I’m going over to the targets, should you need me- just be careful, I’m going to shoot at them,” you informed.

“Yes, Madame Dymov,” Olga replied sweetly.

There was a string of targets painted white with red circles getting smaller until the center. You made sure the servants kept Sonya strictly inside. If anyone was to reach out to you, even if it was your husband, they had to approach you from behind. With all this shooting you were intent on mastering, no innocent would be hurt. Only the guilty.

You lifted the gun and pointed at the first of the line of targets, squinting at the center. You fired. Then, reloading with a bunch of bullets from your pocket, you walked across to the next one, firing again. Keeping it up, despite the soreness of your arms, the muscles developing, you kept walking and firing at the targets. You only stopped once you had reached the end of the line.

Then you looked back, the smoke clearing, lowering your weapon.

A quarter of them had a bullet hole right where you aimed at the center. The timing was off, but you did it. You managed to do it- it was a small improvement. Well, that and the fact that you were able to shoot the clay discs. Any was better than none. It meant you would be ready.

“Y/N! Y/N!”

You turned around to see your husband running towards you with a paper in his hand.

“What is it?” you asked.

He lifted up the paper. You saw it was an envelope with a pink wax seal.

“A letter from the Empress for you!” he announced.

“Oh shit! Let me see!” you insisted.

You reached for it, but he kept it high up. He smiled.

“Nope! You’ll have to jump for it!” he teased.

You kept jumping up, but with his tall height, he was able to keep the letter away from you easily. He even laughed a little.

“Nah-ah! Give me a kiss and I’ll give it to you!” he said.

Huffing, you reached forward, grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him down to you, kissing him right on the lips.

His eyes were open in surprise from the boldness of it, his hand voluntarily lowered. You ended it and grabbed it.

“You’re a brute,” you teased, admiring the wax seal.

“And you’re my dear,” he replied.

As you opened it, you read these words. You felt his hands over your shoulders, reading it too.

“Dear Y/N Dymov,

I am so dearly sorry. Please forgive me. These past few months mail coming into the palace has often been tossed and intercepted. Keeping myself, my claim to the throne, and my child alive has been occupying every minute of my time. I never received your letters since many on Peter’s side would toss and burn them at every chance, so I never got word from you. Then one day, a soldier of Peter’s confessed he had one from you saved. I asked him for it and read it.

I am glad that your dear Grigor wasn’t harmed as well as you. And as I am a merciful empress, I will make sure in the future, he will receive pardons for his activities with Peter and be safe, per your wish. Just if he remains no threat to my reign and claim as ruler.

If you have any more concerns, please reach out to me. There won’t be any more soldiers burning letters for war. Just ask, and I will gladly help you.

Sincerely,

Your friend and ruler,

Catherine.”

Grigor blinked. His hand opened and you gave him the letter to read for himself. Then he lowered it, his blue eyes tearing up a little.

“You…you wrote to the Empress…asking her…to spare me?” he asked.

“I wrote to Peter and asked him to keep you safe too,” you sighed.

You reached a hand to cup his face and he leaned into it. You swallowed.

“All I did here was worry for your safety…. I thought any minute you would die, and it tortured me…” you recalled.

He reached his arms around and hugged you, then kissed the top of your head.

“Thank you, Y/N…” he spoke sincerely.

“It never got to her.” You pointed out.

He let out a snort.

“Still! Not the fucking point!” he retorted.

You released the embrace. Then you went inside and at once wrote a response:

“Dear Empress,

I was glad to receive your letter. Your word, befitting our divine ruler, was like that from the angels.

But I must humbly ask for your help again. You will not like it, but you must be informed.

Marial is threatening to kill me to have Grigor for herself. She is being forced to marry to keep her family’s fortune. She gave Grigor an ultimatum- either have her or she would kill me.

She has killed before- Lady Svenska. Even bragged about it to him. She has taken a life and is willing to do so again-specifically, mine. And she won’t rest until I am dead.

 We fled the palace safely and are staying in the Southern Dymova Manor.

I must ask for your protection from Marial, if possible. I know that our Empress of Russia is a kind, generous, beloved woman who will grant protection and assistance even for me, her humblest of subjects. At least, a little. Nevertheless, I need your help, Empress. Please help me. Please keep me safe. I am terrified for my life.

Please burn this letter after reading so she does not find it and locate me.

Your obedient servant and subject,

Y/N Dymov.”

You ordered a serf for it to be sent to the palace soon.

You paced around the house for the rest of the day. Conveniently, you found where the stairs leading to the roof were. Once you opened the door, you saw you could even walk around on the roof with a balcony overlooking the Dymov lands. It was not a bad spot for a picnic in the future, you noted.

For extra measure, that night at dinner, you did not use your sharpest meat knife. You brought it to your room in a drawer. That day forward, you always kept it strapped to your leg and bullets in your pocket. Then you asked for a rifle or pistol to be placed in every room of the manor. Just in case.

However, two weeks later, inevitably. It happened. Part of you hoped it never would.

And it began as a normal, if not peaceful day. You were sitting in the room with your beloved pianoforte trying a lovely minor sonata when you heard rapid footsteps across the hallway.

When you turned to the commotion, you saw Grigor at the doorway.

“Y/N! Y/N! Great fuck!  We have to flee! Right fucking now!” he begged, his arms wide.

“What, what do you, uh, mean?” you asked.

A pit fell into your stomach. You knew what he meant. But you wanted him to say it.

“She’s here! Her! Marial! She’s outside the doors and she’s armed! Everyone’s rushing to lock and close the doors and windows!”

Despite the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up. You forced your breaths to be long despite your racing heart.

“Grigor…I’m not going to run from her,” you announced.

“What?”

Picking up your skirt, you hurried over to the corner where a rifle was prepared.

“I’m fighting back. And don’t stop me.” You ordered softly.

Before you went to the hallway, you paused and then looked at him.

“Should anything happen, I love you, Grigor. I love you more than I can say. And should I die, tell my family I love them. And I died fighting.”

Before your husband could protest, you ran. Past the panicking servants. You didn’t hear Grigor after you in footsteps or in voice.

You couldn’t live like this. Always running. Always afraid. Cowering in corners with false hope she would show mercy. No, you had to face her.

Attempting to calm yourself despite the lump in your stomach and the shaking in your hands, clutching the pistol as if it was a stuffed toy, you walked up the little flight of the stairs to the roof.

Quietly, you crept over to barely peer out of the balcony on top to the ground below.

You could even smell the vanilla of her perfume up there.

There Marial was. The top of her auburn head was giveaway enough. She was knocking on the door with one hand and waving a pistol with the other.

“Let me in! Let me in! Shit!” she insisted.

 Madly she turned from the front door to the windows, eyes forward at them.

Good, you thought.

You squatted, one eye shut and the open one squinting to clear your vision, your aim.

“C’mon, Y/N, come out!  What a fucking coward that bitch is! That fucking cunt, Y/N! I’ll kill you here!” she threatened.

You pulled the trigger.

FWOOM!

The bullet hit her skirt and she jumped, falling to the ground and the pistol skittering across the dirt.

“FUCK!” she yelped.

She looked up before you could duck and hide yourself.

“Y/N…you BITCH!” she yelled.

“Two can play at that game, Marial” you replied.

You reached in your pocket and quickly loaded the next bullet.

Before she could reach for it, you pulled the trigger again.

FWOOM! Her hand jumped, releasing the pistol. It fell a distance away from her. You used the time to load in a few more bullets. She tried to scramble, and you kept firing, Marial only niftily dodging the shots. But from how frantically she was jumping away, she was frightened.

Good, you noted again.

Quickly, you put another bullet into the gun and aimed it at her again. Your time with training had paid off. You could see her clearly.

You aimed it right into her heart and fired. Marial lurched one way but then let out a scream in pain.

“FUCK! My arm!”

You heard footsteps from behind and that voice you loved so much.

“Y/N! Y/N! Where are you? Where is my wife? Y/N!? What- holy shit, Y/N!” Grigor cried.

He pulled you close to him, his arms over your body as if to protect your vital organs. But not to restrain you from firing. He peered over to see Marial on the ground below. She held her arm, leaning over in pain and groaning. Then she turned her gaze up, her face turning white.

Without saying a single word, you aimed it at Marial and fired again. This time, it landed onto her leg. She let out another cry.

You felt Grigor’s heavy hands on you, but he was blinking, amazed. Marial reached for the gun and then quickly you shot into her other hand. She screamed again.

Then she finally paused, her injuries causing her to be unable to move. The gun was further away than she could reach and even if she could reach it, you doubted her ability to shoot at you with bullet holes through her hands.

She gazed up at you and you sat down at her. Her jaw lowered and she was unable to speak.

Keeping your glare at her steady, you raised your rifle, aiming at her heart.

Suddenly, there was a loud neigh of horses as soldiers on horseback arrived, surrounding the front yard. The surprise took you out of your aim and your finger left the trigger, not wanting to harm one of them. Right behind them was a carriage that rode up quickly along. It was there before you could even process what was going on.

“Everyone! Stop! By order of the Empress!” a loud voice announced from one soldier.

The carriage screeched to a halt. To your shock, out of the carriage was not only Orlo but also Empress Catherine herself. She got out and let out a gasp at Marial

“What is this?  Are you hurt?”

“No, just having a nap on the ground! Of course, I’m fucking hurt!” she replied.

A soldier came by and swept Marial into his arms, but still holding onto her, restraining her. Orlo saw the pistol and ran up to it, he retrieved it and brought it to Catherine. Her pale face turned red, and she stepped forward, the bump of her pregnant belly aimed at Marial like that itself was a weapon.

“Have you threatened Y/N? What…what are you doing?” Catherine asked furiously.

You kept the gun up. Not sure what would happen. Not sure how badly she would be hurt. You couldn’t risk it.

Every head turned up to you. Orlo even adjusted his glasses and squinted at you high up.

“Holy shit!” he cried.

Marial leaned forward and began to yell, so hard, you could see the veins tightening at her neck/

“Grigor’s mine! He loves me!”

You heard your husband yell back from behind you.

“I fucking do not! I love Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you! And aren’t you already married by now?!? It’s done! For both of us! Go back to your husband!” Grigor protested.

He let go of his grip on you and ran forward to the balcony to face her from above.

“He’s a child! And you love me!”

“I don’t. I fucked you once years ago! Get. Over. It!” he spat back.

Marial let out a hiss, she tried to reach for the pistol but the soldier kept her away.

“I’ll kill you, Y/N!” she threatened.

You loaded another bullet and aimed the gun at her head, people ducked.

“Not if I kill you first.” You replied.

“EVERYONE STOP!” Catherine roared.

The soldier carried Marial to sit in the carriage. They began to dress her wounds with strips of cloth.

“Marial…I heard word from Y/N you were threatening her life. I hurried at once! I was going to ask you and her…but here…you already proved what was happening…” she said.

Orlo stepped forward. He handed the pistol to a soldier and then folded his hands in front of her. You could hear the seriousness in his voice all the way below.

“Marial, you are arrested by order of the Empress for the murder of Lady Svenska and for the threat of harm to Countess Dymov.”

“She shot at me! And got me!” Marial protested, attempting to wave a hand up at you.

Catherine looked up.

“Self Defense, Empress!” you protested.

Her lips were tight, but her eyes were soft.

“I see…but this will serve as a warning, Y/N.”

“Yes, Empress…” you agreed.

She then looked again at Marial.

“You are to be brought to the palace and once the physician sees to your wounds, you will be brought to trial. You won’t be able to breathe without a soldier watching you in the palace once you get there. Should you end up in prison, I’ll make sure it is decent.”

Marial’s jaw dropped and she blinked. The carriage door closed on her face. She was screaming protests and banging her fists on the window as it began driving away.

Finally, you let the gun drop from your arms. You felt dizzy. Turning around, you felt your own heart continue to race and felt your hands continue to shake uncontrollably.

“Oh God,” you voiced.

Your husband opened his arms and you accepted it.

“Grigor I…I did it…I can’t believe I did it…I…I almost killed someone-and I got her. I hurt her. I…I’m alive…I was…I was so scared…I thought I was going to die…” you voiced.

You half collapsed into his arms, and he met you there. You were crying a little and shaking and he still held onto you, embracing him like a koala and he embraced you in return. He rubbed your back.

“It’s alright, Y/N, you’re safe…you’re home, the empress is here, she’s gone, and you’re very safe and you’re with me…”

“I always feel safe with you, sweetheart…” you replied.

Both of you let out a huge sigh of relief. You were still embracing when there was an open door. Orlo had ran through, with the Empress right on his heels.

“Mouesier and Madame Dymov! What the fuck just happened?!” he cried.

“Come on downstairs, we’ll all have a drink and I’ll explain everything,” Grigor offered.

You reached over and grabbed his hand, and he squeezed it back. As all of you walked over to the parlor for drinks and to answer the numerous Imperial questions about the threat on your life, Grigor’s hand never left yours.

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​ @seraphicmercury

Promised Taglist: Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil​ @bluesfortheredj​ @grigorlee​ @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee   @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @ladystrallan​​ ​

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Eight (The Great Fanfiction Series, Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader)

Summary: You are married to Count Grigor Dymov of Russia to keep an alliance between the Russian crown and your family safe. But you realize you have grown to love him and he has too fallen for you. You are forced apart during the Coup and once you return to the palace, you make a shocking discovery about your husband while you were gone. One that turns your excitement of seeing your husband into feelings of betrayal and heartbreak. But...what does your husband have to say about what happened? Did he really commit such a thing in the first place? What do your allies at the palace have to say about it?

Warnings: Spoilers for Season Two, Bad Mental Health, Y/N being an emotional mess, Swearing, discussions of sex, marriage, and cheating. Being Pro-Georgiana and Anti-M*rial.

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED!

Part One //Part Two //Part Three// Part Four// Part Five//Part Six

Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil​ @bluesfortheredj​ @grigorlee​ @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee   @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @ladystrallan​​ ​

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​ @seraphicmercury

You lay in bed. Hardly seeing or feeling anything. Your eyes were heavy, and your head hurt. Exhausted but unable to sleep. Unable to cry even.

There was a knock on the door. A bird-voiced serf announced rather cheerfully for your present circumstance.

“It’s Grigor…” she began.

“Keep away from me, asshole!” you interrupted.

“Grigory Orlov…” she finished.

“Y/N, it’s me, Orlo!” a familiar voice cried.

“Let him in.”

You turned away from the window to stare at the other side of the room. You heard footsteps and voices.  You were only in your shift, keeping the dark blankets up to your chin. You turned up at least to look at him.

“Hello! I hear you aren’t well, some gossips even suggested smallpox…I see that isn’t true! Thank god! I asked the serfs to make you some chicken broth. And tea…” Orlo offered. The tray was even in his hands.

You sat up. But wouldn’t speak. Only sipping your broth and tea.

“Orlo…the alliance said I had to marry into Russia…” you confessed.

The tan-colored broth made it look like urine. You kept eating it, tasting like another regular soup.

“Yes, it did,” Orlo confirmed.

“Why didn’t I marry you instead?” you asked.

Orlo adjusted his spectacles when he jumped in surprise.

“What!”

“You…you’d be a good husband to me. You’re smart and kind. You wouldn’t hurt me, wouldn’t betray me in any way at all…”

“Y/N, I…I’ve been experimenting, and I don’t think I really like women or men or any of that! I don’t know if I could be anyone’s husband at all! To be frank, if it came to our wedding night, you’d be the most unsatisfied, disappointed woman in Russia! And you’d be stuck to me for life!”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about sex right now… I want someone who…who loves me. Or someone who cares about me, and you wouldn’t…you would never…”

Bitter reality hit you and you put away your bowl.

“Why wasn’t it you who was brought there? Why couldn’t it be you I was betrothed to in the first place?!”

“But that didn’t happen. Peter and Grigor were the guests at your home. And since Grigor was the most available man, he was chosen for the alliance. This, where you are now, is happening.”

The sound of his name made your hands into fists.

“I hate Grigor! I hate him! If he was here right now, I’d take this hot tea and dump it on him!”

“Y/N! Goodness! Did something happen?”

You looked at him, and then down on the blanket, curling up your knees so you could burrow your head.

“Here…I will leave you be…please, feel better. I can ask for a doctor as well.” He walked over to the serfs. You heard their whispers.

“Make sure she is getting something to eat.” He ordered.

“Her husband asked the same of us. Some trays went cold for a few days.”

“Well, now you have my word as well,” Orlo advised before the door creaked to a close. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The door creaked open sometime later. Was it an hour that passed? A day? You hardly knew. You heard the voice of the old man serf.

“Madame Dymov, you have a visitor…”

“Tell my husband I do not wish to see him.” You replied firmly.

“I’m not him” a familiar, feminine voice replied.

“Oh…she can come in…” you answered quietly.

You did not leave your bed or turn your head to look. At least you had the heated comfort of the duvet. Maybe, if you ever laid there long enough, you could replace the shape of…of her body away from it. The thought made your vision blurry with a few tears that you wiped away with your sleeve.

There were heeled footsteps. You kept staring at the wall, only seeing the shadow of Mademoiselle Georgiana.

“Hello there…”

“Hello…” you said weakly.

“I hear you’re…not feeling well…” she began.

“I don’t have anything you can catch. I wish it was smallpox instead…I wish that was the only thing wrong in my life right now…in fact…I wish I was back home. I wish I could see my parents and my brother again. I wish everything was back to the way it was a year ago…”

You felt her sit on the bed by your side.

“Tell me…what’s wrong? What has happened? You were there for me when I Was broken. Grigor has rarely appeared in public here and no one sees you at all. Something is wrong, and I want to know what…”

Her hand gently patted your hair, smoothing it down as if you were a cat.

“Grigor…” you started, stuttering almost. Not believing the words that were coming out. “Grigor has been unfaithful to me…”

There was a deep exhale.

“Y/N…marriage should not be a tomb. A dead thing with no joy or freedom,” George lectured.

“My parents were always faithful to each other. I was taught my whole life to do that. How if I Was unfaithful, that was grounds for divorce.”

“You can’t divorce under the Russian church,” she argued.

“Even with adultery?”

“Yes.”

“I…I wish I could. I don’t want to see him or hear him or anything ever again…”

There was a small sigh from Georgiana.

“Y/N…whores are common here. You know that. He was gone from you for four months. I just returned from a fivesome this morning! This is just…a place where you can let all that old-fashioned shit your parents taught you to rest. Don’t resist anymore and enjoy your life. You can be free like him! I’ll tell you what- I will help look for a lover for you. That’s your key to forgetting this! I’ll make sure he’s the most handsome man I can find and can use his hands and tongue to please you like no other. You won’t be able to leave his side, and you’ll be happy! If Grigor can, so can you”

Clutching the blankets tighter, you felt your breath quicken with your words.

“Do you want to know who his lover is?” you added on, louder.

There was a pause. Turning around you looked into her pretty eyes. You thought you would find confusion. But instead, they hardened with realization. Her mouth opened a little, but she contained her shock.

“You’re kidding.”

You leaned up a little.

“You know…you know about…”

“Marial? Of course, I know about her! I know how they lost their virginities to each other when they were adolescents with copious details!”

She stood up and began pacing. Words flew out of her without caution.

“I knew the moment I met her and saw them together that she would grab him- at the first chance she got! I was so relieved when she was knocked down to serfdom! Back then, her own lover was still very much alive!”

“Alive?” you repeated

“Grigor and I killed him to protect the emperor!”

You sat up more.

“What?!” you cried.

“That’s not important, another time! Anyways-when we were lovers, I had a feeling about her. Something I couldn’t trust. I only spoke with her when I had to. I knew something was up. I asked Grigor to not speak to her. He followed my request then. I…”

You reached out a hand to cut her off.

“Georgiana, I am so sorry I was so awful to you…I thought you were a horrible person and Marial was the one I could trust and… I was so, so wrong-I got it all switched!” you confessed.

“You already apologized for that, my dear…”

“But…that’s not all…he…”

You began to cry.

“He’s so much happier with her than with me. And…he’s going…he’s going to leave me for her…”

“How did you know that?” she asked, walking up closer.

“Marial told me herself!” you explained, getting out of bed.

“She might be a bitch, but she’s not a smart bitch!”

“Like you are, George!” you said.

She laughed a little.

“Yes, I’m a smart bitch. I will admit.”

You lowered your shoulders, eyes down to the polished floor beneath your bare feet and her heeled ones.

“I’m just a bitch wife. I know I should be happy for him. I should let him go and be with her if I want him to be happy. But…I thought…I…I love him, George. You understand. I’m possessive, I’m jealous, I know it. But I can’t bear the thought of him running off to be with…of abandoning me-”

You started crying and this time, she hugged you, letting it out.

“I…I thought he loved me…I thought he really loved me. How could he do this? To the alliance? To me?”

She embraced you, patting your back as you finished crying.

Turning around, she got you out of bed and on the table by the fire. She gestured to a large, dark bottle with a shiny gold bow on it.

“Here, I have a glass of wine. Help yourself! A gift from me-”

She poured you a large, generous glass.

“So she bragged about seducing Grigor to you,” she reviewed.

You began taking a sip. It was dry with a fruity aftertaste.

“Yes, said she would ride him and all that.” Your stomach curled at the picture in your head.

“Fuck!” George replied in disgust.

“I went into a rage and almost slit her throat though.”

She froze.

“Really? Is this Y/N I’m speaking to? The same Y/N who was shaking at her wedding banquet?”

She raised her glass to you and took a delicate sip.

“Yes, I’m me but…I…why didn’t I do it? People kill each other all the time, why couldn’t I? At least I’d have some peace of mind.”

“Yes, and you’d have a body to get rid of!”

The wine hit your stomach. It had been a while and the effects of the glass already made you relaxed. And talkative, Both of you chatted, venting about the situation. You let yourself, cry a little bit and even smile and laugh at the quips George came up with.

“Yes, that! I would bet he’s doing her like horses right now…oh…oh my, I feel exhausted.” You said, getting up.

You yawned largely, stretching your arms.

“Y/N, have you been sleeping well?…” George asked.

“No…I haven’t been able to…but…”

She took an arm around you.

“Go back to bed, dear, take a nice, long nap…”

She led you back to the bed, even putting the blankets and duvets over you and lowering the curtains over the window. Lightened by the conversation and sleepy from wine, your shut your eyes and easily went into a deep, blissful sleep at least. Unaware of the angry footsteps to the Dymov parlor behind you. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ George suspected the situation from the way the parlor was set up when she crossed it to enter the bedroom. A few of Grigor’s things were outside in the parlor and a pillow and blanket were set in front of the fire as if he was Cinderella. Her hands crumpled into fists by her side.

It was worse than she thought. Far, far worse.

Grigor walked up.

“How is she?” he asked desperately.

“Asleep. At last.” She reported plainly.

“Geogiana! What a pleasant surprise! How are…”

He was greeted with a sharp slap on the cheek. She looked at him in the eyes as he shook his head in confusion from the blow.

“Congratulations. You just ascended to a new level of foolishness.”

“Oh, she told you that…I have to tell you, that isn’t-”

She stepped forward; arms crossed.

“You were given the best woman to be the wife you always wanted to have. Fuck, you were given her on a silver platter! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Y/N is a kind, brave woman and far better than half the bitches I have met here. You just traded a perfect wife who loves and adores you for a lover who can’t even be loyal to her best friend. And you’ve broken Y/N’s heart. Permanently.”

She felt little tears in the corners of her eyes but kept her strength up. She walked towards him. He retreated a little.

“Thank god, I said no to you when you proposed. You would have brought whoever was your wife such pain regardless. And you dared to be upset with me and Peter while you sneak off to Marial? Grigor, you’re a fucking idiot!”

“The point is, I didn’t…”

“This is the thanks you give to a wife who actually shuts her legs to other men? And to top it all, you’re going to leave her-leave her alone, frightened, and heartbroken just after abandoning her for the coup…”

“I didn’t abandon her during the coup! If I could join her, I would! I helped her escape! I did it for her safety!”

“You did it for your cock!”

He breathed in deep and waited for a pause.

“George…let me explain what happened…”

He sat her down, grabbing her hands and looking her in her eyes.

“Yes, I was reacquainted with Marial at a party. Yes, I went to her apartment for a drink and to talk. But…she came onto me and kissed me. Then she kissed me again. I pushed her back. She had me backed into a corner. She reached into my clothes, looking for my pants, and…she got out the ring.”

“What ring?”

“Y/N gave me Catherine’s ring to make it seem like the empress liked me so I would be safe with her soldiers. She got it out of my pocket. I stepped forward and demanded her to return it. She said she would if I fucked her. I pushed her away. I remember running fast as I could out of her place, asking the serfs to take me back at once. Every time I step out of these halls, she watches me. She does things to get my attention. Anything. Everything. And still, she will not leave me be. But…here…”

He grabbed a dirty knife from a plate.

“I will make a fucking blood pact with you right now if you don’t believe me!”

Georgiana took it away, placing it on the plate

“Don’t do that! Who knows where else that’s been!”

He looked back at her, repeating the phrase seriously.

“I have not slept with Marial.”

She blinked, shoulders letting down.

“So…you haven’t…”

“You saw what this has done to Y/N. She refuses to let me sleep in the bed and I don’t have it in me to throw her out. So I let her stay in my quarters. Every day I ask to see her and every day she refuses. If Peter doesn’t ask for me, then I’m staying here. Staying here until she says yes. Until I can explain to her what really happened. It’s…”

He teared up.

“She won’t eat. I don’t hear her bathing. Only sometimes does she have visitors. And she won’t sleep. I hear her pacing all night and sobbing and…and just how much pain she’s in, the pain I brought her in! For something that actually didn’t happen!”

“Well, shit…”

She looked over the parlor, thinking everything through, then she looked back at him.

“I’m a woman. I know how women work…here’s what you do if you’re going to resolve things with Y/N…”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Seven (The Great Series, Arranged Marriage AU)

Paring: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Summary: When the Emperor’s behavior gets your families alliance with Russia in danger, you agree to marry his best friend Grigor in order to make sure the alliance does not fall apart. You’re tossed into the wild Russian court and into the arms and bed of a handsome but troubled Russian count.

Now that the coup has began and Grigor has sent you off to his vineyard for safety, what will happen to you? Despite the manor’s beauty, you must return. And when you do, you make a shocking and heartbreaking discovery. A truth (or is it????) worse than any death could bring you.

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: The latter half especially contains spoilers for Season 2 of The Great, Mentions of drinking, marriage, animals, sex (some descriptions but so actual smut), masturbation (briefly), violence, fighting, death, and cheating. Swearing. Some fluffy and comforting moments but plenty of angst, especially in the latter half. Y/N going feral. 

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED!

Part One //Part Two //Part Three// Part Four// Part Five//Part Six

Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil​ @bluesfortheredj​ @grigorlee​ @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee   @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @ladystrallan​​ ​

General Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​ @seraphicmercury​

Every day a little death

In the parlor, in the bed

In the curtains, in the silver

In the butter, in the bread

 Every day a little sting

In the heart and in the head

Every move and every breath

And you hardly feel a thing

Brings a perfect little death

 He smiles sweetly

Strokes my hair, says he misses me

I would murder him right there

But first I die

…

I'm before him on my knees

And he kisses me

He assumes I'll lose my reason

And I do

…

Ah, well, everyday a little death

Every day a little death

In the parlor, in the bed

In the lips and in the eyes

 In the curtains, in the silver

In the buttons, in the bread

In the murmurs, in the pauses

In the gestures, in the sighs

 Every day a little sting

Every day a little dies

In the heart and in the head

In the looks and in the lies

 Every move and every breath

And you hardly feel a thing

Brings a perfect little death

-        Stephen Sondheim, “Every Day a Little Death” from A Little Night Music.

Sonya barked and whined for a whole hour. She tried to run and jump around in the cramped carriage. Like you, she was trapped inside and already missing him as well. But unlike you, she was unsure what was happening.

Looking back, you expected the path behind to erupt in flames. For the dirt path from the palace to break forth in dynamite, leading a trail to your carriage until you were all dead. The moments both you and dog were let out to stretch or squat in the bushes, only the cold wind rustled the trees. Not even the birds sang.

The carriage heaved forth and you continued your way there. You struggled to sleep at night, envying the inner peace of your dog to sleep so soundly amongst your skirts. All you did was stare outside, pet your dog to calm her down when she got antsy, and thought of every possible thing that could go wrong. You worried you might meet soldiers. Maybe Swedes. Maybe bears. It felt like the longest three days of your life.

And the one place that was determining not just your future, but Russia’s too, was now far behind.

Mercifully, on the fourth day, you heard the whistle of the carriage driver. “It’s right before us, Madame Dymov!” he yelled out, waving his tricornered hat in celebration. Leaning your head out the window, you saw the vineyard gardens. The carriage drove through it for miles and you saw ivory signs with the Dymov name. Passing through gardens, you noticed flowers and vines with the potential of fresh grapes. If the palace was Earth, then this was Eden. The vines and bushes grew smaller until they were only normal trees. The carriage came to a clearing where there stood a large, tall fence that seemed to be made of white stone. A guard was right in front, bearded and with a large rifle in one hand. “Open up!” the driver, Maxim, commanded. “Who is this?” the guard asked gruffly. “This is from Count Dymov, owner of this vineyard and estate and companion to the emperor. I am bringing his wife, the Countess Y/F/N here.” You heard a loud creak and the carriage moved forward. Before you was a three-story building with brown bricks, white windows, seven chimneys, and beyond it, you could see plants all around it surrounding the place. With shouts and a buzz of surprise, servants filed outside and greeted you. They were all dressed in pastel greens- tailcoats for the men and dresses with white aprons for the women. Though you saw a bit of curiosity and even confusion in their eyes when they looked at you, their smiles were genuine. Holding onto Sonya with both hands, Maxim opened the door. You freed one of your hands to grasp his gloves briefly to be supported as you climbed the small step and landed on the ground. “Everyone, you have heard of this lady, but you had yet to meet her. This is Madame Y/F/N Dymov, Grigor’s wife and your mistress. I expect all of you to serve her as well as you do with the count.” Walking up, you walked through the entrance. Your shoes clicked against the floor and you looked up to see the winding stairs at the entrance and the diamond chandelier above your head. The light blue of the walls made it look like a summer sky. A woman who was tall and slim with streaks of grey in her hair went up to you and took your cloak. “I am your housekeeper, Countess. Do you need anything?” she asked professionally. There was silence as you looked at every face and brick on the entrance. An entire manor and dozens of servants all to yourself! “Countess?” she repeated. “I…I need…I need to rest…but I also need some paper, a quill with ink, and a few envelopes,” you asked, feeling the sweat in your back from the sudden warmth of the inside of the home. “Could you get a leash for my dog, as well? And make sure she gets food and water and return her to me?” “Of course.” She responded. She led you up the staircase, passing by mirrors edged with gold. She led you down a hall decorated with paintings. Some were landscapes, one or two of the vineyard itself. There were also portraits of a variety of people who all had the same cheekbones, dark hair, and blue eyes that your husband possessed. Finally, she led you to a room at the end with a large, cream-colored bed, a dark vanity with a tall mirror, and curtains with flowers, vines, and grapes stitched into them. Walking over, you saw a balcony that looked over the vineyard. “This is the bedroom the count asked us to prepare should you come here for a honeymoon, so I assume it is now where you will be sleeping.” She explained. “It…it’s beautiful, thank you.” You heard Sonya’s bark and let her down. She waddled over, tail wagging, to the housekeeper. “What an adorable creature! Name?” the housekeeper asked. “Sonya.” She leaned down and picked up the dog, allowing licks on her face with a few giggles. “She was a wedding gift from…from…” You felt tears well up before you could finish. “Grigor…he…he’s in the middle of the fight, of the coup in the palace. I don’t even know if he’s alive! The carriage had only one room, and he pushed me in before I could refuse” you explained. “Oh, Madame…I’m…I’m so sorry…here” She offered you a handkerchief. “I’ll take your pup to the kitchens. We have some scraps and water. I’ll bring her back once she has had her fill, if you’d like.” “Thank you, and the stationary?” “It will be there right away!” She left. You stared outside at the window until you heard a second knock. When you opened the door, you accepted the papers, quill, ink, and envelopes from her.” “Thank you,” you said quietly. Without wasting time, you sniffed up your tears and wrote a letter. Writing so quickly that the words were almost squished together.

“To her most esteemed ruler of Russia, Your majesty, Empress Catherine, I must beg you on behalf of everything I am and inside me. I must beg you, whatever may happen, spare the life of my husband. He is more than just the man I was tossed into for the sake of my family and country. He is my friend, my companion, my lover, my husband, the light, sun, stars, clouds, world, and moon of all that makes my life. I ask you- do you understand what it is to love someone else? All I fear now is his safety. I understand he is friends with the man you are overthrowing. But as your friend, as a woman, as a wife I must ask you-do no harm to him. And do not allow anyone to harm him. Bring him here, to the southern Dymova Manor. Bring him back to me. Grigor is no personal threat to your reign. He too wishes to join me here once the palace is quiet. Bring him back, I humbly ask of you. Your loyal and obedient subject, Y/F/N Dymov.”

Pulling out another piece of paper, you wrote a similar one to the emperor. Begging, if anything, to keep Grigor safe and to bring him here at the earliest convenience. You decided, if the first letter to the emperor didn’t work and if you heard a negative from Catherine, then you would write another to Peter. And do as George did. Promise your body to the emperor in exchange for your husband’s safety. If it worked for her, if that was what would convince Peter, and save Grigor- it would work for you. And it didn’t matter. You had lost your family, your friends, your childhood home, your Russian home, and now you were about to lose your husband-why should your honor even matter anymore. You sent the letters down to be delivered post-haste. Exhausted from the travel, you had no energy to dress for dinner. Though Sonya had the time of her little life running around the room at lightning speed. The food and water replenished her, and she was acting like normal. Servants giggled at her antics, and you allowed them to play with her and pet her. After a bath, you changed into only a simple but clean dress that could be brought here. Going down to the dining hall, servants offered a full dinner with one of the Dymova wines as a welcome treat. Soon you were smiling as you sipped and dug into rolls and meat. After living off sips of creek water and berries for days, white wine and roasted chicken were welcome to your tongue. Once you returned to bed, a maid changed your clothes and fell into a deep sleep. It was a quiet week. Every few hours you came down to check for any mail. So far, there was not a word from Peter or Catherine. On the eighth day, you finally heard a word from Grigor via letter. According to him, the ring managed his safety among any soldiers who were pro-Catherine…at least for a bit.

“Someone might think I’m a spy-going between sides. So, Y/F/N, your ring is kept in my right coat pocket always. But people are dying already. Peter is hiring lookalikes to run about sacrificing themselves to trick the other side to think he has died. There are starting to be casualties-courtier casualties. We must barricade the place to feel somewhat safe. But soldiers crawl in nonetheless. Peter is fucking terrified. How can I have the heart to abandon him to die? When he needs me most? Y/F/N, please stay away here. Be safe-I could not bear to see you drop dead, my love. Please wait until it is safe!”

Each letter you checked. You dreaded to find one with a black seal or ribbon or contain the announcement that you were a widow. But none had arrived. So far. It was then a quiet month. It seemed everything repeated. You kept to yourself in your rooms mostly or walked Sonya among the vineyards. You ate alone. And read and re-read Grigor’s letters. Sent your responses and then waited for a new letter. In the second month. The only news you got was that of violence and chaos from your husband. But there was still no word from either the empress or her husband. You wrote to the empress again. But keep your silent promise about what you would have to do if she responded to you and refused. You began to write letters to your family back home explaining the situation and where you were. You did hear from your family. Your sister-in-law was pregnant, and they had to stay back to take care of her. She was terrified of dying in childbirth and they were making sure everything would be okay for her and the baby. They offered to let you go home. You refused. You didn’t want to leave Russia. Until you could bring Grigor out of the palace, you couldn’t. In the third month, you went exploring more around the manor. It had stuck you that you didn’t know this building and it was large. You had to get your mind off everything. There were rooms you were surprised could even be fit into one place. But there was one room kept by two bearded guards. None of the other rooms had as much as a maid to stand watch. “Can I see it, please?” you asked curiously. The first one sighed. “Our original instructions were to keep you out until…” “Until what?” you questioned. He looked at his partner. “Until…the date…what was it, Anton?” The guard said the date. It was the same date as to when you were married. Almost a year had gone by already. It seemed like it happened both yesterday and another lifetime ago. Anton stepped aside, fetching the key from his pocket. “I think…since we…we don’t know when or if we will see the count…you can be let in…” he suggested. When you walked in, you saw it was a parlor. Clean and perfect. Among its forest green walls, it had a fireplace, a tea table, several soft seats, windows with curtains decorated with small birds, and an ornate green rug beneath your feet. The guards walked in behind your footsteps. One cleared his throat. “You see…he was planning a surprise for you…” He pointed over to the side in the far back corner. Turning, you saw the most beautiful pianoforte you had ever seen. It was white with gold paint making vines and flowers all over. Walking over, you were about to open the lid when a gasp escaped you. There was a yellowed piece of parchment on top. It was your husband’s handwriting.

“To my beloved wife, The first time I met you, I learned of your musical abilities. There isn’t much of that in court. Now, play and sing as much as you desire my sweet beauty. Happy anniversary. I love you beyond words. Yours, yours, yours, Grigor Dymov.”

You clung to it, right on your heart. Letting yourself smile, tear up a little, feel the giddy excitement, and…love. Yes, you could say it, admit it, the pure, unfiltered, boundless love you felt for him. “Miss…we…” you heard them stutter. They were quiet when you turned your head up to show your smile. “No, I…I thank you…” you replied. You were determined then that you would not break down, that you would be strong, at least, in front of the servants. Besides, you were lucky. You had nothing to lack for and a loving husband who was still alive. You had a whole manor, the Dymova money kept in a safe, and servants to yourself. They were your responsibility. Letters came from Grigor every week or so. The same thing-danger, fear, death, danger, fear, death. Nothing seemed to change. No other letters arrived with announcements of any named deaths. Neither Peter nor Catherine was giving up yet. You numbed any worry with catalog shopping. You asked for catalogs and ordered new dresses, hats, ribbons (for yourself and Sonya), and your personal favorite, a reticule. A beautiful silk purse with strings to keep it tight that remained tied or sewn to your skirt or waist. You even ordered books and re-read them by the covers. You kept to the pianoforte. Playing constantly. You hired a teacher and ordered plenty of new songbooks. Sometimes you would play out for hours-practicing, sometimes even singing when you felt jolly, and learning to do both at once. Lessons went from one hour to two hours every day. And four hours playing throughout the day to accompany the footsteps and gossip from the servants. Anything, anything to distract you. It was now the fourth month. And you realized you could play this charade no more. With some word from your husband and none from either Catherine or Peter. Walking over to your vanity, you began to write out a letter. The one that you knew you would have to.

“Dear Peter, If you keep Grigor alive and let him be sent here to the Dymova Southern Manor, then I will…”

The quill hung in the air. Your hand refused to move. The mere thought of it made you sick. How could you hurt Grigor like this? He would live-but at what cost? Shaking your head, you crumpled the paper and used it for fire. Besides, it was starting to be winter, and the air was chilly. Looking at the money in your reticule, you counted it out and balanced it-it would normally cover fees for your teacher, for food, and sometimes an indulgence of a new dress or book to waste any time or distract yourself. No-no, no, no. Damn your husband’s warnings. You decided it was better to risk dying when you knew you could do something to save him. It was time to put the money to good use. Two hours later, you took the money and brought it to the two guards from the parlor as they sat in the kitchen with bowls of soup. “Madame Dymov, what do you need?” one asked. “Gentlemen, you are going to accompany me to the palace.” You instructed. “Here is your payment in advance. I decided to increase it for this trip.” You handed down part of the paper bills from your reticule. Their eyes grew big as they counted. “What?” “You are going with me to the Imperial Palace, and you are going to guard me and my husband. We are going there, no matter what condition it is in- and we are bringing him back here, safely.” They stood up and took slight bows to you in respect. “You are the Madame of the house-you command us, and we obey it. When do we leave?” “My things are packed, and the cook will give us boxes of food for the journey. The Housekeeper will look after my dog. We leave. Now.”

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Arriving there, walking up those marble steps, you were prepared. The guards stuck by you, one on each side, and you felt invincible. Remembering his reports of children playing with decapitated heads, you gathered your strength to see the worst. Whatever you had to face, you would do it. But the bloodstains on the wall were dried or cleaned you saw. There were no barricades. There were no “lookalikes” of Peter running around. No gunshots or screams. It was normal. In fact, it was rather quiet. Once you made it to the familiar wooden hallway, one serf, a teenage girl, walked by. On impulse, you touched her arm. “Excuse me, where is the emperor?” you asked. “We have no emperor, long live Empress Catherine! At least…as of last week!” She replied. Breathing in a deep sigh, you let out a laugh in relief. “Oh, thank god!” You put your hand to your heart as it raced and then slowed down. “What else? Has there been any more fighting?” you asked. It was still somewhat morning. One or two people were coming by, sometimes staring at you but then going about on their business. “Catherine insists on no violence, miss-but I think you should keep the guards. Peter is confined to his rooms. But that doesn’t mean something can’t happen- the other day-he and the count Grigor Dymov walked through the halls with guns and Peter shot…” “Grigor Dymov- that is my husband! I’m the Countess Dymov! Where is he? Do you know?!” “I…I don’t think. I saw him leave to meet with Peter and Arkady and Tatyana…they are the only few people allowed to be there! Empress Catherine’s strict orders! Guards won’t let you in!” Names you thought you would miss hearing, but you did. “Go to Peter’s quarters and talk to the guards, tell them that I’m here and for the Count Dymov to meet me in his apartment in an hour or two! As soon as he is free! Then come back and see me here as soon as it is done!” “I…I will!” she responded, turning away at once. She picked up her skirts to go down the hall. You heard a familiar bark. Turning around you saw a light brown, Pomeranian dog walking in front of you. It looked exactly like yours. “S-Sonya?” The dog tilted its head and wagged its tail. It didn’t come at the sound of her name. “Sonya-you’re…you’re at the manor! What are you doing here?” you asked, leaning down. “His name isn’t Sonya.” Looking up, you saw a familiar face. You knew you saw this woman plenty of times before. She smelled of vanilla, her auburn hair was in an elaborate updo, and her dress was of a blue and green plaid pattern. Not the usual peasant clothes of serfs. “Are you…is that, no, forgive me for asking this but…you’re Catherine’s maid, aren’t you?” you asked. “I’m not a maid anymore-I am Lady Marial again now!” she boasted, folding her hands in a “ladylike” stance. “Oh, I didn’t know you were…congratulations! I just…thought your dog was mine…it looks just like my own.” “I remember that pup! There’s a story behind that! Do you have some time? Come, drink some tea and eat some cake-they just made the most wonderful chocolate kind that I’m dying to try! Would you like some too? It’s the size of a damn horse!” “Yes! I…I thought this would be the war zone! So tea and cake sound excellent!” you answered, feeling your shoulders released. The guards stared at each other in confusion. Even holding rifles, their arms lowered. This was the opposite of what they were expecting. You walked into her apartments just nearby. She seated you in her parlor with a porcelain tea set with the cake. Taking a sizable, sharp knife placed next to the cream, she cut you a thin slice while making sure her own was generous. “You see, a while ago, my dog humped another lady Pomeranian-couldn’t help himself! And from there- there was a litter! Initially, he was Arkady’s and he gave away the puppies-but now, he’s mine now. And everything is perfect and I couldn’t be happier!” You had finished your own slice when she was halfway through hers. “It’s been a while! Stop being so boring and quiet and talk! What brings you back to court? You vanished under everyone’s noses! You must faint at the sight of blood or cock!” she babbled. Her tone was teasing, but you could not deny there was a slight poison in it. Like there was something truly hurtful at the heart of it. But you brushed it off. Perhaps you were overthinking things. “No, not really!” you answered. She brushed you off, dismissing the rebuttal. “I swear, you have the personality of a castrated English nun! You need to loosen up! You’re in Russia! Have some fun!” You helped yourself to more tea. Picking up the hot cup, you blew on it to cool it down. “Well, I wasn’t sent to Russia in the first place for fun…” You took a sip of it. It was brewed and fixed just as you liked. “Well, at least you were betrothed and married to a decent cock.” Marial suggested a smirk on her lips. You froze. Your heart kept racing, you felt your fingers twitch and curl up, shaking. “I’m sorry, Marial. What? And how…how would you know that…” you asked, quietly, carefully. “Grigor and I were each other’s firsts…” she said plainly. “What! I…I just…” you stammered. “He was very handsome and a terrific flirt still is…” You froze. Nausea gripped your stomach. The chocolate and tea bile rose up in your throat. “Is.” You repeated solemnly. “He seemed to catch all my cherry innuendos. He stared at me when I sucked them- I’ll be riding him like my horse.” You had had enough. You took your tea and slammed it down so hard it shattered, spilling the liquid all over the table. Then you slapped her. Hard. She recalled, nursing her cheek, her jaw on the floor. “How DARE you! You BITCH!” you screamed in her face. “I will KILL you right here, I will!” “What! I…I didn’t! I…what the fuck, Y/N!?” she gasped, yelling back. Reaching down, you buried beneath your skirts and removed your shoe. As she was there, you charged forward, beating her with the shoe with all your strength. Marial resisted, pulling back, grabbing your arm. But you gained strength, holding your shoe by the heel, and striking it against her face. As she fell to the ground, you nailed her down with your other arm and struck her again. She struck you back in defense, but you withstood it. She managed to swat the shoe away, you went to continually slap her with your fists and hands continually. Finally, you grabbed the hair on the back of her head, and she caught your fist before you could deliver an actual punch. There was a standstill. Glancing, you saw the knife for the cake was still on the table. Reaching over, you quickly grabbed it and held it to her throat while she was down. “For FUCK’s sake, Y/N, calm down! Please! What is it that made you so upset?” “You made my husband betray me! I was sent away when the coup happened! There was only one carriage, and he threw me in and sent it off-why? So that I wouldn’t be hurt! He sacrificed himself for me! I thought he…I thought he loved me…and all this time. I’ve been scared, worried. Every letter-every fucking letter that arrives to that manor might bring news of his death Do you see…do you see your dog?” You pointed to the dog standing in the corner, barking. “You told me it had a litter- one of the pups was…that pup was a wedding gift from him to me. Why? Because I thought he cared about me. About everything I sacrificed and left behind for him and for my home- And all this time, my worst fear was that he was at least shot and…when really, I never could have imagined…him and you-you have the audacity to open your legs and seduce him! You are the worst, horrible, monster of a woman! I have cried myself to sleep for months, thinking that he was dead when you were the one murdering me for your stupid lust!” You spat in her face. And then got up. Your face was hot and crinkled, your nose runny. “I HATE you…” you yelled. You backed away, Marial rose her head up, in face bruised but in awe. “I hate you…” you repeated. You sank down to the couch, dissolving into sobs. “I…I hate you…” Her eyes weren’t cheeky with their mischievous gleam as usual. She stood up. “You…you love him. You don't understand how things work here…that’s the thing- no wonder he prefers me,” she responded. You wanted to kill her then and there. You had the knife still in your hand. You could do it now. While your anger told you to. You stood up and raised your arm and she retreated a step back. But you paused. But…what would that solve? Would it make anything better? Take away the pain in your heart? Undo what had been done? Peel her body of him? Scrub them clean like soap with dirt? It would not… She took another step to you, and you took a step back. “He will leave you for me in no time, I’m going to suggest to him that we run away…“ Marial began. “Don’t say a word to me…” you warned. From your reticule, you took away a few paper bills of money and tossed them to her feet. “You’ve been paid, whore. You made my husband happy while I was away. Staying away when he kept writing to me about how dangerous it was for me to come here. And know this: Grigor was the only person who made coming to Russia worth it. Without him, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have signed that contract. I thought for a bit- that this palace would be my new home. When really, you took from me the one thing about this place that made it a home, the one man that made me happy. The man I love. That is what that money is for: You’ve had him. You earned it. Spend it well.” The two guards rushed in. “Madame! Madame! What is it?” they asked “Madame Dymov, we heard a commotion-are you alright.” “I’m fine, ” you replied. You put the knife in your reticule. “There’s a mark on your cheek, mistress,” one guard said, raising a hand to your face. “I said I’m FINE.” You answered angrily, swatting it away. As you walked out, you returned to the same wooden hall. The same girl servant appeared. “Madame! Count Dymov is in your apartments! He wishes to meet you there!” she greeted with a merry smile. “I…I will.” Walking through the palace, you were on another planet. Your mind raced back to every small interaction you had with Marial in the past. She greeted you and introduced you to the empress. She was a messenger between you two. She even helped you get ready and dressed for your wedding! To think, this entire time, that you trusted her. That you let her be around you, around Grigor at all or around your private quarters or anywhere near your shared apartments! How could you not have realized that it was not Georgiana who was the ex-lover you should fear? That it was Marial this whole time? Why were you so blind and stupid? You kept trying to remind yourself of details you sensed as you walked through. How it smelled of roses. The brown of the floors. Faces of courtiers gliding by. A butterfly that passed your nose and vanished. A group of little girls reading books, passing by like ducklings in a row walked parallel to you. It was definite that it was Catherine who was now in charge. How normally you would smile at these things. But you could not. Your heart was racing and fought the urge to vomit. Forever you imagined how this reunion would go. You fantasized about it at night to get you to sleep. How he would kiss you sweetly as a greeting. How you would hug each other, never letting each other go. How you would see his genuine, beautiful, handsome smile that could make the ice melt. How you would not hesitate to lift your skirts and have him take you against the nearest surface- be it a wall, floor, couch, or bed. To feel him in a way your fingers could never replicate. He would be so close, inside you, that he would never leave again-to feel one and a part of him. To hear his honey voice say your name. And throughout it all, that you both would be crying happy tears. As you saw that familiar door to the Dymov apartments, you realized the one part of that fantasy that was real was that you were on the verge of tears. Not happy ones. You knocked on the door. There was a rush of feet from inside. He opened it, and it was him, him. He wore no wig but an open black shirt and green jacket. His face was a shadow and ragged, and it seemed there were dark circles under his eyes. Apparently, his nights were not spent sleeping. But you already figured that out. “Y/N, Y/N! Thank God, you’re back! Come in! Can the guards…give us some privacy, maybe for just an hour?” he requested with a devilish smile. The tone of voice and twinkle in his eye was clear what he thought the next hour would bring. He was about to be proven very, very wrong. You turned your head to face them. “Please give us an hour, gentlemen,” you asked. The guards nodded and walked away. He opened his arms. You dodged the embrace, walking around him, quickly, through the rooms of your apartments into your room. Not saying a word, not looking back at him. You paused at your bedchambers. Staring at everything- the red walls you had become familiar with. The couches. The bathtub. The shiny floor. And your now ugly, defiled bed. How many times and where did her bare body touch these surfaces all this time? The images of her flashed through you. And her naughty smile flashing at you reflected in your mind. It made you want to spit again. Footsteps were behind you. You turned around to see Grigor. “Y/N, my angel-it’s finally safe! You’re here! I…” He walked forward to hug you and you stepped back. “Don’t…don’t touch me…” you said bitterly. He blinked, his arms falling to his sides. “What…why….what happened to you?” he asked. With every bit of pain, you struck him on the face. You let out a small scream as you did so. “Bastard, you’re a bastard!” you cursed. “Y/N…what is it?” From your reticule, you unwrapped the paper from the gift. Your hands were shaking so bad as you re-read the phrase silently. You stared at it, but not at him. “You wrote here that you wanted to remember our anniversary…you wrote here, in your own hand…that I was your ‘sweet beauty’,” “I did!” “That I was your beloved wife….” ‘I did!” “That you loved me!” “I do!” You crumpled it and threw it at him right in the face. He winced as if the paper was a bullet. “And you RUINED it. You have another beloved, another beauty…How dare you question that after what you did? With her!” You remembered the hunting incident from the week after your wedding. And his desk had paper and ink ready, you realized. “My…my brother will know of this. I’m writing to my brother right now-and he will kill you and maybe her too- he won’t hesitate and this time I won’t stop him!” You turned away to the desk. Not facing him. You grabbed the first quill you found and got out a piece of paper. “With her…you mean…” he asked from behind. “Fucking Marial! Of course, I mean that fucking bitch, Marial…” you said as you wrote the first words of the letter. His hand gripped yours, spilling the ink onto the page. You kept your head down, not daring to look at him. He didn’t deserve it anymore. “Y/N, listen to me...please…” Grigor begged. He grabbed you by your arms to pull you up out of the chair to stand and face him. Keeping your eyes only on his chest, you kept shaking your head no. “How can I…I won’t…you have nothing you can say, Grigor,” you replied, knocking away his arms. Reaching down, you remembered the knife was still in your reticule. You pulled it out. “I will cut your cock off this minute. That is what got us into this mess in the first place!” you threatened. When you moved it forward, he leaned back but grabbed your arm. Any movement of your arm he held still. He reached to grab the blade with this other hand. “Fuck!” he cursed from the pain. He threw it away to the corner. His right hand bled from the neat cut across his palm. Instead, now that he was close, you put your weight on your back foot. Preparing it. “It isn’t what you think it is…” Grigor insisted. You brought your back leg up to knee him in the crotch. Hard. He gasped in pain and sank to his knees from it. Now that he was low, you looked him in the eyes. “Am I not as pretty as her? Is that it? All this time…If I…If I just…fixed my hair like hers, if my waist was the size of hers, if I had her skin, her tits, her arse, her eyes I…is that it? I’m ugly…I know it, you think I’m hideous, you aren’t at all attracted to me but to her…” you began to ramble, words coming out from your deepest mind like a fountain from a dam. “Y/N, you know I don’t think that at all…” “Did she put all of your cock down her throat? And I couldn’t when I sucked you? Is that why? That she could open her legs and let you do as you wanted with her anytime, especially the times I said no? That I didn’t fuck you the day I met you as she did? That I had to wait until we were married or the alliance was ruined? That I…I couldn’t…couldn’t please you?” you went on. His jaw tightened. “Y/N, please let me tell you something!” You turned around, not even looking at him. You folded your arms, your eyes down. “Or maybe it’s her! She’s fun, bold, bitchy- that’s what you want in a wife? And I’m not? That I’m too weak, too mousy for you? That I’m not like these Russian women? That I wasn’t raised to fuck everything that moves like you both were? That I’m not like her! This whole time, I was never good enough for you…I never was…” Starting to cry again, you placed your hands in your face and knelt down, starting to cry. You felt his hand on your back. “Y/N…please…you are good enough for me!” Whipping up, you turned around and went on. The memory of Orlo’s tea party and Grigor’s reaction afterward returning. “All this time, you were worried about me with Orlo- because you felt guilty about fucking Marial? And I was worried about Georgiana, I thought I had to keep an eye on her but…this was all…all a distraction? So, you could sneak off with…with her? I can’t stand the sound of her fucking name anymore!” “No, I did not…” He grabbed you with both arms, making you hold still, forcing you to be close to him again. “Listen to me, for a minute, Y/N…” Grigor ordered. Shaking your head. You looked down, not daring to look him in the eye anymore. “You’ve ruined it all, Grigor. And you’re going to leave with her, too!” “What?!” “I…I won’t! Not after what you did!” You felt the tears come up again, not the subtle ones, but the large, plentiful ones. The ones that twisted your face. That made gasps and groans come out prematurely. The pain you had experienced and held back for months all came crashing out in a minute. You walked to the bathtub and held onto it for support. He followed you. You heard the tears in his quiet voice as well. “I did not sleep with…” “I should have NEVER signed that contract. I should have never agreed to marry you. I should have run away the minute you walked into my house…I never should have even looked at you…” you yelled. “Darling, please…” “Don’t call me darling, you dick!” you interrupted. Looking up, you noticed on the bed was the book of fairy tales. A wedding present. “You said…you promised on our wedding you would never hurt me, that you would keep me safe, you said in our vows that we would be here for each other no matter what! Is…is that why you pushed me away-to fuck her once I was gone!?” “I am always going to keep you safe. I have not hurt you in any way…I have not slept with-” You interrupted, standing a little taller-your nose still runny and your face like a furnace. He took slow, careful steps towards you. “She stole your virginity in the first place! Of course, you would come running back to her! Why didn’t I know this all this time?” you demanded “She was my first and I was hers-Y/F/N, but that was years ago! We were barely children then! And even these months I haven’t seen you, I swear, Marial and I did not…” You walked to him closer and smacked him on his cheek again. He gritted his eyes shut and took it. “Liar! How can I even trust you after this? You’re a liar!” You began beating on his chest furiously. So much, your updo became undone and strands of your hair flew out. And he took it. Not pulling you or swatting your hands away either. “Y/N, I did NOT sleep with her! She threw herself on me!” he yelled sternly. “YOU’RE A LIAR! LIAR! A CHEAT! A CHEAT! YOU BETRAYED ME!” you screamed so loud you didn’t care if the entire palace heard you. In fact, let them hear you. In a world where mistresses and lovers were as common as corsets, let them all know what his choices had done to you. Eventually, you let the ugly sobs take over and you stopped beating your fists against his chest, lowering your head onto his chest just like when you slept. Crying so hard your whole body heaved in the rhythm of the tears. He said nothing, but let you mourn. “I can’t stand you. I can’t stand to even look at you…” you muttered. He put his arms on you, embracing you. You kept your head down, buried in his shirt so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye anymore. The room spun, it all and even he was a red and dark green blur. Feeling suddenly weak from everything, you felt your knees give way. You sank to the ground, away from him. You grabbed your skirt, leaning over to cry down in a fetal position on the floor- tears down into your dress and the polished shine of the ground. Grigor met you down there, pulling you halfway, and hugged you back to his chest. Despite the fury in your heart, you did not resist. Any comfort was better than none. You grabbed his arm, leaning against it, you cried, cried more. “You cheated on me, you fucking bastard! I loved you- I love you and you cheated on me…” you croaked; throat dry from how much you yelled in the past hour. Grigor kept quiet as you cried every tear you had for this moment. He held you tight. Silent and close.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Six (The Great Series, Arranged Marriage AU)

Surprise! This isn’t the last part! I have decided to extend this work by one bit! Huzzah y’all!

Word Count: 3K

Paring: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Summary: When the Emperor’s behavior gets your families alliance with Russia in danger, you agree to marry his best friend Grigor in order to make sure the alliance does not fall apart. You’re tossed into the wild Russian court and into the arms and bed of a handsome but troubled Russian count.

Warnings: mentions of drinking, a pretty hot and heavy part w/o actual smut, swearing, mentions of sexual harassments, Peter, mentions of some violence, and some angst and drama.

Part One //Part Two //Part Three// Part Four// Part Five

When the grey morning crept in, you felt his hand. Your husband, tapping around the bed only for his hand to land on your hip.

“Are you awake, Grigor?” you asked quietly.

“Ow, oof, my head….”

Easily, you were able to stand up and see the sunlight streaming in from the morning. You walked over to the chair to get your familiar green robe. He sat up with a green face. Sonya hopped up to greet him with licks on his wide ears. He petted her absent mindedly.

It was quiet for a bit, you sat at the end of the bed as he held his head, deep in his hangover.

“And…do you…what do you remember from last night?” you questioned curiously.

It couldn’t be something he could say drunk. You had to know. Really, truly know. And you wanted to hear him say it. Sober.

“Hmph…I…I…oh my god, I’m parched.”

You poured him some lemon water and he gulped it down.

“I remember…the party. I remember that amazing vodka…I lifted you up, we danced some and it was fucking fun but…I can’t recall anything else…oh fuck…”

He reached over for a vase, tossed out the wilted wildflowers, and vomited into it.

“I’ll ask for more lemon water. And some strong coffee…”

“I think wine sounds heavenly right now…”

“Coffee, Grigor. And you need to lie in bed until this wears out.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

Letting out a deep breath, you rang the bell for a serf. So, he didn’t recall what was said last night. Maybe that was all it was. The ramblings of a drunk man illusioned by his drink and not the truth. But…some people became honest with drink. You comforted yourself with that. Being the first person to tell terrified you. Even more so than being married to him in the first place was.

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

Three days later, you met Catherine for her little book club. Though she was silent as you poured over the Shakespeare.

“Your highness, is everything alright?” you asked, looking over the small book.

“I…I am fine…” she answered firmly.

“Empress, you do not look fine. You look…you look sad…”

She sat in a pale blue dress, staring almost into space. As if she could half-hear you.

“I…that’s what I am, sad…”

Puttin ghte book down, you leaned a little closer. You put your own hand on hers, cold and white like a mound of snow.

“What is it…you can tell me…” you urged.

A blonde curl fell from her hair across her face.

“Has anything happened and…you just weren’t ready for it?” she asked. “Not in the books, in real life.”

“Well, the betrothal to Grigor, leaving my family and friends, coming here, it all happened over a month. Obviously, I wasn’t ready to walk down that aisle for my country. When I signed that contract and went to that carriage left for Russia, I wasn’t ready…but, are we ever ready? If I could have delayed it, I would but…”

You shrugged.

“Maybe everything was for the better….my family is happy. Our people have plenty of food and have sent me letters of thanks for what I did. And Russia has soldiers to keep us safe. It was hard, but it helped so many other people.”

“So if something happens…and you’re not ready but you must do it… it’s for the better?” she mused.

“Yes.”

She went over and embraced you. Freezing at first, your mind swirled. The empress of Russia was hugging you! But then you relaxed, accepting it. Exhaling out your worried, you wrapped two arms around her. She was not just an empress. She was a woman around your age, most likely younger, who was just alone and scared.

“Oh Y/N, thank you. Let me give you a gift….”

“Oh no, empress, I couldn’t….”

“I insist!”

She went over to her box on her desk.

“I have more jewels than I would ever want. I wish they were books instead….” She complained.

She pulled out a small amethyst ring, far prettier than your wedding band. She handed it to you. Looking carefully, you saw CATHERINE etched onto the band.

“Here, as a token of my appreciation…”

“Cath-no, empress-“

“Please, here I’m Catherine…and it’s not just some pretty gem. If you show it to anyone, anyone who knows me or works for me, it means I approve of you. You have my blessing. Anyone who works for me and sees this ring can’t harm you…” she explained.

“Catherine, I…thank you.” You spoke. It fit loosely on your other hand.

Smiling, you found it fit on your finger, if not rather widely. She returned to her couch. You noticed she hadn’t touched her drink but devoured the biscuits on her plate.

“Let’s return to the book- it’s a bit more different than the philosophy we have covered. But there are good questions in this play. And what did you think of Julius Caesar? Of Marc Anthony and Brutus’s speeches? What makes a tyrant, you think?”

Thumbing through pages, you stopped when you saw Portia’s monologue. A wife begging for the love and trust of her husband. Your eyes floated down, forgetting the question.

 “Tell me, Brutus,

Is it excepted I should know no secrets

That appertain to you? Am I yourself

But, as it were, in sort or limitation,

To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,

And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs

Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,

Portia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.”

 You recalled how yesterday morning, Grigor ate next to you. An eye drifting over to your chest and then innocently returning up. Then he left for a long meeting with several diplomats. Luncheon. You ate together again quickly and only had small talk. Then back to discussing politics. And dinner too. But he ate little and stared at your neck. He leaned closer, his hand creeping to be on your thigh as you ate, and you accepted it. You liked the warmth and excitement that bubbled in your stomach when he did it.

Once you wiped the last bite off of your mouth with your napkin, he grabbed you hungrily and kissed you, despite your surprise you kissed back.

“If you keep your dress on, I’m going to go mad,” he muttered.

“Then take it off yourself and have me, then,” you replied.

He backed you into the shared room.

“All I could think about during that meeting today was seeing you bathe the day after our wedding, and I got hard as a rock beneath that table.” He confessed. His hands went to the back of your dress and began to unhook it in a hurry.

Silk falling down to your feet, he began to loosen your corset and pull off your shift in a rush. You needed him so badly it hurt your body not to. You gave in, feverous as he. Nodding as he pushed you back to the bed. as he and made wild love until part of the back wall behind the bed was dented.

. You didn’t want to say it. You wanted him to say it so badly once he was inside you. You waited, fighting everything until you gave in. Crying out everything, everything except what you couldn’t cry out until your throat hurt. And when he finished his chest heaving, his lips opened as if to speaking something else, but his eyes fluttered heavily. He removed himself from you, catching his breath as he lay on his back.

You both whispered good night and he fell asleep quickly. You were glad. He wouldn’t see your quiet crying. You wanted to know, you had to know, yet you were terrified. You could do anything with him, but tell you how you really felt.

“Well-“

Catherine’s voice snapped you from your recollection. You felt uncomfortably warm at the thought, but also heavy.

“Y/N? What did you think of the play?”

“I…I thought it was decent” you replied.

“But what makes a tyrant…”

Scrambling from being in a private, intimate moment in your head for too long, you thumbed through more of the small book.

“Power. Hunger. Taking too much control of what isn’t his…”

“Or hers?” she asked with a tilted head.

“Or hers. Women can be monsters too…”

“You’re definitely right.”

In a minute, Mariol walked in bringing more tea, complaining about chamber pots.

“Yes, and as for the birthday party….” She said “have you picked a damn dress yet?”

“Oh! Catherine-your birthday! When is it?”

She folded her hands in front of her.

“It…it’s in a week.”

“How did I not know?”

“I don’t talk about it much.” She answered.

“I’ll…I’ll get you a nice gift too, just to show my appreciation!” you insisted.

“You don’t have to.”

“No! I will!” you promised. Eagerly taking a cup, you added more sugar than normal and sipped at it.

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

As you left later into the room, you decided you would be the first to say something. You found Grigor donning his heavier coat. His wig, his boots, and his tri cornered hat. Getting ready to leave.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I’m going…going hunting. With the emperor. It’ll be short.” He said.

He did look very handsome in his cloak and hat, you had to admit. Both sad and relieved that he had no time for talking about emotions.

“But it’s…it’s very cold today, will that be enough?” you asked.

“I think it might. I’m always hot. I know that from the cold feet you pull up against me in the middle of the night!”

“It just feels nice, Grigor!”

“Not for me!” he teased.

Leaning over, opened a drawer and pulled out the creation you had finally completed.

“Here, Grigor…” you said, handing it over to him.

“Your scarf?”

“Your scarf. It’s a gift. I guess it is a late wedding present. But I would like you to have it. Remember, I was working on it at home when you went up and talked to me. Here…I decided that it’s for you….”

“What?” he gasped, looking at the soft, brown fabric. “Are you sure? Will it...it fit around me? I’m tall as a fucking giraffe!”

“Just tie it around!” You suggested.

You had measured it carefully after measuring some of your husbands’ shirts when he was away. It would loop around him comfortably and even tie in a small knot.

“Y/N…I…thank you! I…I think…”

You heard Arkady’s shout in the hall.

“Grigor! Hurry the fuck up! The emperor says its urgent!”

He left you with a small smile. Though a part of you wanted to curse. Another moment he could have said it and he didn’t. Why did men have to do everything first? If only you could make a move and not seem desperate…not that you weren’t.

 As Grigor rushed down the hall, he saw a familiar blot of deep red.

“George…” he paused.

“Grigor…”

“I was cruel that day. I was so angry at you for so long and it all came out at once…forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but forgive me.”

She gave a smile that could melt a bottle of vodka.

“I forgive you Grigor… and for Y/N…”

“Y/N?” he asked worriedly.

Her beautiful, dark eyes looked down, noticing the hand made scarf.

“She…she is a good woman. She will be a good wife to you.”

“And you will be a good friend to me, George.”

“Treat her well.”

“Her brother almost shot me making sure of that.” He commented before running to catch up with the other men.

It wasn’t long before it was the Empresses birthday either. All of this silly stuff about falling in love with a man you knew for a month who you were actually forced to marry…and you still hadn’t found a book Catherine would like.

As you rushed through the palace, you were happy. But things were quiet.

I’ll check the library again…it would mean more to her than any hat or wig. And maybe there will be something I don’t know of… you thought, turning into a wooden hall.

There was a noise like a soft canon. Pausing, you listened for more. There was none. Shrugging, you continued your way. But the noises were getting louder and louder.

But it didn’t strike you that something was wrong until you passed by the door to Archie’s study. The library was just a hop away, but seeing the door wide open you froze as your head accidentally turned to the right to peek.

Orlo was lying on the floor, passed out. You head heavy footsteps and another noise. The bespectacled man was had blood on his face..

You rushed up to him.

“Orlo! Orlo…what is it?! Are you alright?” you cried.

Shaking him, he opened his eyes with a groan.

“Y/N you…you have to run now…”

You heard a manly shout and glass being broken across the hall. Courtiers screamed.

“Y/N, there’s a coup…run…hide…you’re in danger…”

“A coup? Who…who’s taking over?”

“The empress…but…who knows…if she’ll even succeed…Peter will fight back. Hard.”

“Orlo, I can’t leave you!” you begged.

“Run, Y/N, worry about yourself! Run!”

Pulling him up, you got him to a chair to sit on before exiting the room.

It was pure chaos. People running and screaming. Fights in the hall. For once you wished you could have had the sight of drunk pissers and lovers in the hallways compared to this. Ducking your head, you dodged a bit of glass. Velementov’s soldiers were pushing and shoving some of Peter’s. You turned away, your blood cold and your breath short at the sight of soldiers. Praying that their eyes would be off the women, your hands shaking in terror at the thought.

You kept running and asking, “where is Grigor, where is Grigor….”

Soldiers were fighting left and right. You saw one being tossed to the ground as if in a wrestling match and circled over him in a flurry. You noticed Velementov fighting off one fellow with a sword, swinging it like a dancer with a ribbon around him. Decorations around the palace rooms were being knocked off and broken as they fell on the floor as people fled.

Rushing around, you wondered in amazement and shock. No courtier seemed ot be getting hurt. But not yet. And you didn’t want to stay to find out.

You ran into the light green hall full of mirrors and a sight you would have never welcomed before struck you. A worried looking Georgiana. Holding your dog.

“Sonya! Sonya! George…what is happening?” you asked, carefully moving the shaking pup into your arms.

“She got scared and broke from the servant! I caught her, to bring her back to you,” Georgiana explained.

“George…I…thank you Do you…do you know where Grigor is?” you asked, leaning closer to her.

“I would bet he would be with the emperor, he’d want to protect him!”

“Where is the Emperor?”

She pointed over to the west.

“Look for his chambers! He should be with the empress-it’s close by!”

You hurried, clutching your dog tight for comfort as you burst into the hall. You immediately saw him.

“Peter! What- what’s happening! Where is my husband?” you asked, breathless.

“I hardly know, a coup! And it’s Emperor Peter….” He corrected.

You heard Catherine screaming from within his room, fists pounding at the door.

“Emperor, where is my husband? Where is Grigor right now?” you asked, getting to the point.

He kept a calm smile and placed his hands on his hips.

“Bend over and let me stick in your arse and then I’ll tell you.”

You slowly began to step away.

“What but we…we have already done it” you lied in shock, “and it was…was awful…”

“Maybe today it will be different! My cock is large enough.”

You released your free hand.

“No.”

You slapped him, hard, and then flounced around and ran away. You thought you heard him take a step, only to hear Catherine scream again.

“How dare you refuse the emperor!” He called out, half in voice.

“Catherine will be successful, and you won’t be the emperor any more” You cursed, not even turning to look at him as you left.

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

You forgot how large the palace was. You r feet hurt from running, leaning away from the chaos. But nearing the dining room, you saw a familiar tall figure.

Finally, you saw him. His eyes scattering everywhere, only with a candlestick from the hall to protect himself with as he leaned away from the fight.

With every strength you had, you cried out his name “Grigor!”

He turned and saw you, running your way without hesitation.

“Y/N! Are you, are you alright!” he asked, both of his arms reached around you, pulling you away from two of Catherine’s soldiers fighting one of Peter’s.

“Yes, Sonya is too!” you replied.

“The palace isn’t safe now, but I…I know a way…

He took your free hand and you both ran, him pulling the way. Looking around, he moved a portrait close to the ground aside to reveal a dark tunnel.

“Hurry, get in!”

You walked forward, the darkness trailing. This was al too surreal. It had to be a nightmare. Only Sonya’s panting and the sweat of his hand made you aware that you were awake, as well as the pounding of your breath. You wound up in servants quarters. Running down, he opened an iron door down the hall to the left to show the stables.

“The ones that are mine are close…Maxim! Where is Maxim?!”

A stout, older serf with a mustache ran up.

“Monseir Dymov, what is it?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“You know the way to my manor, the Dymova Vineyard? The southern one?”

“Like the back of my hand!”

“I need a carriage to go there now!” he demanded, his voice raising.

Maxim opened a stable with a brown stallion waiting his turn, pulling the reigns up to one carriage. The only on in the stables.

“This is the only one that is free now…the others fled in the big ones.”

It was small. Too small. Only one person could fit. You turned to each other.

Your moth opened to refuse, but Grigor placed a hand on your shoulder.

“One carriage is all I need, Maxim.”

Without warning, he scooped you up into his arms,

“What are you-“ you blurted.

kicked the door open, threw you in with a grunt, and slammed the door shut, locking it tight.

“Take her to the vineyard,  now. Here’s gold for the journey. Do everything to make sure my wife is unharmed and reaches there quickly. And here.”

You fumbled, hands against the glass of the window.

He handed the serf a pistol.

“If anyone or thing threatens her, shoot it dead.”

A small lever could open the window Looking at the ring flashing on your finger, an idea struck you.

“Grigor! If Catherine’s successful…show this…”

You handed him the ring.

“If Catherine wins, show her this! Anyone on her side, show her this!” you cried, slipping it into his large hand.

“Y/N… I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you. Be safe, be safe for me.” He said softly,

You leaned down and grabbed him for a passionate kiss. You almost cried as you gave it and tasted the fruit on his breath and felt how soft his lips were. As far you knew, this could be your last moment alive together.

“Y/N, If I live, I’ll meet you there.” He promised.

Maxim cracked the reigns, signaling the horse to go.

“I love you Grigor.” You blurted.

There was a pause. His eyes were wide

“I…I love you too, Y/N.”

Grigor ran to the stallion. He slapped the horse from it’s behind to get it to move.

“Run! Fucking run-now!” he screamed.

With a shout and a whinny, as well as a whistle from the serf, the carriage hurried forward. Taking you further away, deep into the woods as the man you loved and the palace itself vanished behind you. Overwhelmed by it all, you traced the lips where he kissed you and cried.

Taglist:@retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee   @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @rhapsodyrecs​ (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone)

[likesomekindofcheese]

Happy Early WIP Wednesday!

Hello! Here is a preview of the long awaited Seventh chapter of Promised, the Reader/Grigor fic of their arranged marriage! 

This was going to be the last chapter. Then...episodes 4 through 10 of the second season happened.

And after much crying and rage and hours of night without sleep, I ran to my laptop. I had to throw it in (mostly, as you will see.) The idea of it had too much potential. So-this next chapter including the following snippet will include a spoiler for season 2 of The Great for Grigor’s canon arc and it will get angsty with Y/N showing a...different side of her. So to speak.

This was the second scene of this chapter I wrote and HOO BOY it felt therapeutic to write.

And I think I will keep going on with this series since I have too many ideas of how I want to test Y/N and Grigor before they can get their happy ending. So this might be a penultimate chapter...we will see.

Without further ado, the snippet is beneath the cut. Again, it will contain a huge spoiler for season two concerning Grigor. You have been warned.

Comments, asks, messages, and especially reblogs are appreciated!

Promised/The Great Taglist:

@ladystrallan @retropetalss @queenlover05

@grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil

@always-a-fairycat

@foxinaforestofstars

@simonedk

@i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night

@kiainspace

@gwilymleeisbae

@writeroutoftime

@staradored

@iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf @jamesbuckybarns @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

@rhapsodyrecs​

If I am forgetting anyone or you want to be tagged, let me know!

“Well, at least you were betrothed and married to a decent cock.” Marial suggested a smirk on her lips.

You froze. Your heart kept racing, you felt your fingers twitch and curl up, shaking.

“What? And how…how would you know that…” you asked, quietly, carefully.

“We were each other’s firsts…” she said plainly.

“What! I…I just…” you stammered.

“He was very handsome and a terrific flirt still is…”

“Is.” You repeated solemnly.

“He seemed to catch all my cherry innuendos. He stared at me when I sucked them, I’ll be riding him like my horse.”

You had had enough. You took your tea and slammed it down so hard it shattered. 

Then you slapped her. Hard. She recalled, nursing her cheek, her jaw on the floor.

“How DARE you! You BITCH!” you screamed in her face. “I will KILL you right here, I will!”

“What! I…I didn’t! I…what the fuck, Y/N!?” she gasped, yelling back.

Reaching down, you buried beneath your skirts and removed your shoe. As she was there, you charged forward, beating her with the shoe with all your strength. Marial resisted, pulling back, grabbing your arm, and pulling it. But you gained strength, holding your shoe by the heel and striking it against her face.

As she fell down to the ground, you nailed her down and struck her again, she struck you back in defense, but you withstood it.

She managed to swat the shoe away, you went to continually slap her with your fists and hands continually. Finally, you grabbed the hair on the back of her head and she caught your fist before you could deliver an actual punch. Glancing, you saw that there was a small knife for the cake.

Reaching over, you grabbed it and held it to her throat while she was down.

“For FUCK’s sake, Y/N, calm down! Please! What is it that made you so upset?”

“You WHORE- You seduced my husband and made him betray me! I Was sent away when the coup happened! There was only one carriage, and he threw me in and sent it off-why? So I wouldn’t be hurt! He sacrificed himself for me! I thought he…I thought he loved me…and all this time. I’ve been scared, worried. Every letter-every fucking letter that arrives at that manor might bring news of his death Do you see…do you see your dog?”

You pointed to the dog standing in the corner, barking.

“You told me it had a litter- one of the pups was…that pup was a wedding gift from him to me. Why? Because I thought he cared about me. About everything I sacrificed and left behind for him- And all this time, my worst fear was that he was shot and…when really, I never could have imagined… he and you-you have the audacity to open your legs and seduce him! You are the worst, horrible monster of a woman! When all this time, I have cried myself to sleep for months, thinking that he was dead when you were the one murdering me for your stupid lust!” you yelled.

You spat in her face as she was under you.  And then got up. Your face had flushed in color and was crinkled, your nose runny from how hard you were crying. The knife was still shaking in your fist.

“I HATE you…” you screamed.

You backed away, Marial rose her head up, in face bruised but in awe.

“I hate you…” you repeated.

You sank down to the couch, dissolving into sobs. 

“I…I hate you…”

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hey, you said to flood you with requests and stuff, so here I go. Reader is Grigor's wife (he deserves so much better than what he got on the show) and just gave birth to their first child, a daughter. Everyone pities Grigor because he doesn't have an heir to carry on the Dymov name, but he adores his little princess and spends every free moment with reader and their little girl. Thanks in advance!

Sophie!!! This is so cute!!! I’m uwuing and yearning and crying at the same time!! Get ready, this might be a huge-ass blurb!!!!

 tw: swearing and mentions of sex and childbirth and children

Letting out a breath, you finally heard your baby cry. Sweat dripped over your face, your hair was a mess, and worst of all, there was half of the court watching to see it from over your legs. You began heaving in big gulps of air, relieved it was finally over. You had sweated over your shift and felt that you might as well be naked in front of the whole court.

They fanned themselves, sipping champagne as you heard the doctor cut the umbilical cord. A physician changed bedsheets beneath you.

“Ooof, all that blood,” Count Orlo commented, putting a handkerchief into his hand and keeping it close to his mouth.

“Yes, well, that’s the way it is…” Lady Svenska said with a shrug.

Turning over, you saw Grigor’s face. He looked faint, green. He was uneducated about what happened during childbirth but insisted if the court wanted to watch he had to be there too. And watching the extremities of the female body firsthand made him tremble. But his hand never left yours throughout the long hours of labor.

“Are you…are you alright, Y/N?” he asked worriedly.

“I…I’m tired…but I’m fine…” you said.

He kissed your cheek, “I’m so proud of you, no matter what…”

The crowd gathered around like chickens as the doctor and nurses cleaned the baby. But you knew there was the one thing they wanted to know. Even more than the baby’s health. Your own heart was beating hard. You heard water swishing as they washed the child.

Then the bundle was handed to the physician in a soft, white blanket. Catherine caught a glimpse of the little one’s new face and she gave a beautiful smile. Then looked up at you, mouthing “congratulations.”

The doctor finally handed it over to you. The baby was alive and breathing.

“Monsieur and Madame Dymov, you are now the parents of a healthy…”

“Thank god…” you blurted.

“A healthy...beautiful little girl…” he finished.

He gave you the bundle and you made out the red, squished face. She was so tiny. She looked almost nothing like and everything you expected. Grigor kept gawking at her.

But there was a silence around the court. You glanced up to see a few curled frowns and whispers. Only the Empress came by to speak to you. She gave a glance at the little one’s face and wished her dearest blessing on your little family before waltzing off.

The tiny hands began to move sporadically. Then he let out a huge grin, a half-laugh came from him. He turned to you, his blue eyes looking large.

“I…I’ve never been so…so…”

“So completely in fucking trouble…”

His head shot up.

“Peter! I…I didn’t see you!” He said. His legs stopped, he stayed by your side, holding the little babe.

Peter walked up and gave him a pat on the back. You gritted your teeth.

“I guess congratulations are in order. She didn’t die…but you don’t have an heir to the Dymov name, title, estates, property, or money! Grigor…”

“Uh, well…I…” Grigor sputtered, blinking between his friend and you with the baby.

“I guess Y/N is a complete failure even after she’s had a good fuck!” he continued.

Tears began to well up in spite of his presence and dipping your head down so only your baby saw you tear up.

“Come on, Peter!... and speaking of come, I have more reason to rejoice…” Grigor jested, wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

“Humph?”

“More chances to fuck a boy into Y/N, of course! I’ll be enjoying my cock with her every night from now on! By next month, she’ll hardly be able to walk down the hall!” he explained cheerfully, taking Peter by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Why, huzzah! You are optimistic my friend!” he praised, “And I am glad the child’s healthy…for now. You never know. Girls are weak, anyway…that one might drop dead of her own blood when she’s twelve! Now I need to drink some wine for dinner and get a cock-sucking for dessert, goodbye!”

He whisked around and left, you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Grigor…are you really disappointed?” you questioned. “I…I’m afraid I…I have failed you…” you found yourself crying. 

The feeling of now emptiness in your belly. The hormones. The experience. Everything came down.

“No…no, Y/N…I love her…I love…our daughter. Our girl. And she’s healthy. That’s all I could ask for…you have not and will never fail me and right now…”

He took your hand and kissed it.

“I love you more than ever…” he confessed.

Smiling, you reached in to “Can I…can I hold her, now?” Grigor asked.

Nodding, you handed the cooing baby over to him.

His jaw dropped as he accepted her. You showed him how to cradle her neck and her bum safely to hold her.

“I’m so fucking nervous, what if I drop her!” he confessed.

“You won’t! Sit on the bed if you’re that nervous!” you offered, weakly shifting aside.

When you handed the tiny girl over to your husband, she began to wriggle. His lips went tight.

“Ah! She already feels heavy! Now she’s moving! She’s minutes old and won’t sit still!” he commented.

“Relax, Grigor…” you urged.

Eventually, she settled down and you had a few first quiet moments. She even opened her eyes to Grigor. And you saw him cry silently.

The next week was thrilling and exhausting. Yet every night, once you heard your daughter wail, Grigor was out of the bed like a shot. You would shift up, but he put a hand in front of you to stop you.

“Here, Y/N…get some sleep…” he ordered.

“But…”

“I didn’t push a fucking baby from my crotch a few days ago! Get some sleep!”

He always insisted on heading over and caring for the little one.

Though, sometimes she was hungry, only then would he wake you up to suckle. He then made sure that a pot of tea was prepared and some kind of cake, biscuit, dessert, or even something like slices of apple and toasted bread. But it was peaceful, the dark night with low lights in your shared, red bedroom. The sound and feel of her mouth on your nipple as she sucked. And Grigor watching as he took care of your empty plate, sipping his tea thoughtfully. But with a quiet smile.

One night, you placed her back on her blanket so you could finish your tea. He even looked at you and said, “I thought…I would like to name her after you, Y/N…”

“I…really?” you asked.

He nodded, “I want her to grow up and to be like you…because you’re the best woman I’ve ever known…and the christening is in two days and that’s the only name I can come up with.”

“Well, alright, it’ll be odd for me, we can call her Mademoiselle Dymov if we get confused.

But he kept playing with the baby every free hour. He held her in her robe and went to mirrors. Pointing at her in the reflection, as she cooed in response.

“Who is that? Who is that! It’s little miss Y/F/N! And isn’t she beautiful!” he cheered.

He kept holding the little girl up to his face and she would reach for him. Playing with his cheeks, lips, and especially his nose until he burst out laughing. She developed a habit of sucking on his nose that he would let her do for several minutes until you couldn’t stop laughing. But he smiled all through it.

The next month, he insisted on a room to be a nursery for the little Mademoiselle. But you were surprised to find every kind of flower, bow, dolly, decoration, and animal toy in there. He was even dressing the little girl already in a tiny blue dress made of silk.

“Why…don’t you look stunning, Princess Y/F/N! I chose that color because that was what your mother wore the day I met her…did you know that?” he whispered, fixing a little bonnet on her head. She babbled in response.

Quietly walking behind, you cleared your throat, and he turned around with a jump.

“I think we’re going to give the Dauphin of Versailles a run for his money with this nursery alone!” you laughed. “She’ll start thinking she is the dauphin of Versailles!”

He grinned, showing you the baby in her new dress.

“Why it’s what she deserves as my daughter!” he answered with his handsome smile.

Although he would go to the Emperor as called, many an evening was spent in front of the roaring fireplace on a cold night holding little Y/F/N or having her in a nearby cradle as you played cards or read, though either your hand or his would reach up to touch or tickle her.

One evening, it was his turn to read. You sat by the fire, holding the little Mademoiselle right over your arms but low on your lap. She looked up at you, laughing at something and you looked down and grinned back. Grigor stopped reading. You caught him looking

“What is it?” you asked quietly.

“I’m just…happy here, with both of my women…that’s all…I never knew I could be so at peace but…here it is…” he commented, before walking up to kiss you on the lips.

The Great Taglist: @foxinaforestofstars @itsametaphorgwil  @grigorlee​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @always-a-fairycat​ @foxinaforestofstars​ @simonedk​ @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night​ @queenlover05​ @xviiarez @kiainspace​ @gwilymleeisbae​ @writeroutoftime​ @staradorned​ @iwritefanficnotprophecies​ @panagiasikelia​ @marshmxllowfluf​  

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised: Part One (The Great mini-series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,878

 From this Anon Request:  ahhh im so happy that you'll write for grigor, gwil seems to be under hyped these days. can i request grigor having to be in an arranged marriage because peter somehow fucked up another treaty and the only way of fixing it is through an alliance (we can just ignore grigor being married already)

A/N: Of course! I hope you are okay with it being a fem! Reader. If not, just let me know and I’ll write a neutral version!

Anyways, enjoy the first part of this mini series of Peter being...Peter and you are Grigor getting into an arranged marriage to fix it up!

“This wine tastes like shit, where’s the vodka?”

The bread roll you had been chewing on nearly fell out of your mouth in surprise. This was the man you had been expecting for weeks. The Lord and Sovereign of all of Russia. The son of Peter the Great, a legendary warrior king beloved by all who knew him. He even shared a name with this godly figure.

The second he announced his arrival sent everyone in your house into a giddy panic. The manor was cleaned inside out. Every butler and maid lined up outside for his entrance in their most pressed uniforms. Your family and you had put on your finest garbs as well. You had even bought a new dress for the occasion, a pink silk gown with white cloth down the sleeves, and a white middle part while long bows decorated your cream stomacher.

Every soul in the manor was there when his carriage arrived to greet and curtsy to him and his friend, tour the house, and serve him a meal featuring the best cuts, foods, and drinks available, some of which were gifts from the locals honoring his appearance.

And he just called your finest vintage wine shit.

Every pulse in your house was heard in that moment. Your mother gasped a little at the sound of such language used at the table. Especially from him.

“We…we have whiskey to be served after, it’s stronger” you suggest meekly.

“I suppose, just something stronger than this,” his companion next to him reasoned.

He was a man who was perhaps in his thirties at most, brown hair barely seen beneath his dusty wig and in a dark green jacket, only a few steps below Peter’s finery. He swirled the glass with his large hands and took polite sips of it. You looked for a reaction to the taste and barely saw one.

“You want the emperor to drink shit wine, then!? What kind of hosts are you?” Peter asked, leaning back in his chair.

He was far more relaxed than the sea of straight backs of everyone at your table. He even tossed the glass over his shoulder.

KKKK!

A servant behind rushed up with a broom to sweep up the bits.

Your mother and father looked at each other questioningly.  Your brother normally had a healthy appetite, but his fork paused in mid-air since the wine complaint.

With a little sigh, your father turned to a butler and asked him to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and to look for any spare vodka at once.

Looking at your brother, the sanguine chatterbox, you saw his face had paled and his jaw was still tight. Looks like it would have to be you then to alter the mood and keep the peace.

Turning to the Emperor’s companion on Peter’s right, you began to shyly greet him “Sir...uhm…I’m sorry, I forgot your last name…”

“Dymov,” he answered kindly.

His eyes softened. At least he seemed less of an unpredictable bull as his friend.

“Sir Dymov, what is the weather like in Russia? Is it as cold as everyone says?” you questioned.

“Oh, yes, very! Some winters have crowds of people wearing fur coats indoors and gathered around the fire,” he explained.

Peter cut in, chewing on the meat with an open mouth as if he were a cow in a field, “which is why we need to drink vodka to stay warm. Speaking of which, where is your butler and why the fuck hasn’t the vodka gotten here yet?!”

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Later that evening, there was some parlor entertainment as usual. Coffee, whiskey, and vodka were all served and seemed to be drank in generous amounts.

It began with you showing your musical gifts. You were to sing as your father accompanied you on the pianoforte. Your breath was feeling higher than what was needed for healthy singing. You could not help but gape at the two Russians who seemed to analyze you. They were hard not to ignore since they were both astoundingly tall, Peter only barely taller. Sir Dymov listened attentively, hands leaning against him as he and the emperor were offered the softest chairs.

But Peter was somehow enraptured. He looked right at you and was still, listening to it the whole time.

You noticed his eyes were not on your face. And your pink dress was as modest as your mothers.

Forcing yourself back into the music, you picked a spot in the parlor, near a bookshelf, and stared at it, trying to focus on the music and words. Lose yourself in its brief escape.

There was polite applause following. When you curtsied, you put a protective hand over your chest.

Your brother, more inclined to the world of theater, offered a reading of some texts by the finest playwrights of your land. Everyone listened to him as they settled for cards at a table, but you stood a while to focus on your knitting. Nerves had shot through you and you had to do something with your hands that would calm you more than cards with the boorish guest.

“May I sit here, Miss Y/L/N?” Sir Dymov asked to the spot next to yours.

“Yes, you may…” you answered, finishing a row of purl stitches.

As he sat down, he even offered to hold your yarn and straighten any strings.

“Thank you for the dinner, and the reading, and the music and everything, it was nice, far more peaceful than at home! And God knows, I could…we all could use some peace…,” he turned away briefly to keep a small eye on Peter.

“Sir Dymov, why would you need peace? Is it the war with Sweden?” you asked curiously.

His angled face looked oddly dark, despite the glow from the fire.

“No…Just a little bit of personal heartbreak, Lady Y/L/N. And your song was about love, so I was reminded of her.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” you asked

Flinching away, you cursed the impulse. It might be too personal.

“She rejected my marriage offer. She’s uhm, uh…how do I put this politely… she’s Peter’s mistress,” he explained

“Oh.”

“And she said she would not give up her position after our marriage, so she said I could either have to be married to her but share her with Peter or she would not consider my offer at all,” he sighed.

Setting your knitting away, you looked up at him with empathy.

“Sie Dymov, that sounds hard. But I can’t imagine how her saying yes would make anything easier…”

“I do miss her, and she’s in court so I see her still every day,” Dymov complained.

“You’ll find a way through heartbreak. I’ve had some of my own, but something better might happen!” you say, shrugging your shoulders.

Once you set things down and decide to join the card table, you see Peter look up from his cards and scowl.

“You know, this is dull. Where is the louder singing? The wild dancing? The animals? No wonder people die here so much, they become bored!” he spat throwing off his hand onto the table.

“Things here are…a little quiet compared to your mighty empire,” your mother answers with a plastic smile. “But we make do…”

“I’m practically dying of boredom. How the hell was my father friends with you lot?” Peter asked.

Your father’s head ticked to the side, his eyes getting bigger.

“We were friends since our youth, and he loved all of us,” he said, words tinged with a subtle venom.

Your mother cleaned up the cards, and your brother paused his dramatic reading.

“Your highness, we can all retire if you don’t want to play anymore. I think traveling all the way here from your palace must have been exhausting. Is there anything else you need to make your stay here more comfortable before tomorrow?” she asked.

Peter’s eyes glinted up at you. Your body cinched as if ready to fight or flee.

“How about you offer to bring your daughter Y/N to my bedchambers for tonight, that would make me a lot more comfortable!”

Dymov’s jaw dropped. Your father stood up a little to get out of his chair but he was beat. In a flash, your brother slammed his book shut and rushed over, staring the ruler of Russia in the face.

“How dare you treat my sister like one of your whores?! Never!” he yelled.

“It’s my right as your guest?” Peter rebutted with a bizarre calm.

“After we’ve been kind to you? Gave you our best food and wine, housed you in our nicest room?” your brother roared.

You wanted to shrink yet you were frozen. Your father walked to your side and put an arm around you.

“You can have anything you want, but you’re a married man, Peter. My daughter’s dignity is important to me, as is your own wives. I don’t want to insult her as well,” he reasoned.

“Honor? Honor? You all only spit about honor when you live shit lives with shit food and shit company!” Peter argued.

The warmth of your father’s presence left you as he walked forward. Scuttling, your mother stood by you to take your hand in his place.

“Your highness, I knew him like a brother. If Peter the Great was here…” your father warned.

“He isn’t here! And I’m the Emperor now! And he isn’t!” Peter bellowed.

So on. And so on.

You retired early, your mother by your side to escort you as you saw your father and brother arguing back and forth. The only ally Peter had, other than his title, was Dymov holding him back. To protect or stop him, you could not tell.

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The next two days there was such bad blood it was unbelievable. There were no fun outings as planned. You ate alone. You hardly saw anyone. Any room you walked into; you could hear yelling.

Your father made sure you weren’t alone with Peter, but it seemed his eyes had gotten distracted with the fighting. Hopefully, he was joking. Partly.

One night you snuck downstairs to have a glass of water and heard a few words despite yourself.

“That’s it! I leave tomorrow morning! And you can forget my support and all your fucking soldiers, too!”

“Your highness, our money is about to get tight. And our people need it even more than us!”

“Too fucking bad, then!”

Oh no…Russia is our enemy.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. The idea of now starving. And your brother was about to marry a woman he loved in a fortnight. How could he provide for her or any future children? How would all the people who depended on your generosity fare with reduced funds? Worst of all, Peter had his quick moods and ideas. What if he declared war out of spite from this one visit?

You never met Peter the Great. He sometimes seemed like a kindly fairy god father in some ways he had been mentioned. His love of your house and your country and his friendship with your father. Financial support given when needed. How so much was funded and gifted and provided thanks to his generosity.

How could any of you live after that? Even with the embarrassment alone of being insulted by an emperor?

As you woke up, you only had barely time for breakfast when your mother entered.

“Y/N…we would like to talk to you.”

“Mother, I have breakfast. And I was hoping today I’d practice my music and finish that scarf,” you dismissed.

But from the look on her face you had no choice.

“It’s important. And you must be there.”

She walked you over into the main table where days ago everyone dined awkwardly. The Emperor and his companion were there. Peter pouted yet Dymov’s face looked as if he had seen a ghost and his folded hand were shaking a little.

As you sat down in your chair, every eye looked at you, there was a moment of tense silence.

“Well, what is it?” you asked.

“We’ve reached an agreement with Peter…” your father began.

“Are we going to lose…lose everything?” you asked anxiously.

Your heart was tolling in your eardrums as the words left your lips. It had been the question that kept you worried for days.

“No, your family is going to be fine…” Dymov assured, a hand placed over his mouth.

“You can still have some of my father’s money and support from the Russian crown and our fucking alliance even!” Peter threw in, hands going up.

“But…”

“But what?” you said.

“You have to bring half of your army to fight for me, Sweden’s trying to invade us and we need men. And some of your relatives have to swear loyalty to me. But that promise needs to be secured.” Peter continued

“How? We are already sending you soldiers and subjects? What else would do it?” you asked. Although your gut was telling you the answer.

There was a little pause, but quite an evil smile from Peter.

“There has to be a marriage. Your brother’s betrothed. So you’ll have to marry into Russia to secure it!” he revealed.

Blinking, the wind was knocked out as if you had been punched in the stomach.

“Sir, you’re married to…to Sophie! That Austrian girl!” you cried.

“Sophie? She isn’t Sophie anymore; she’s already christened by my church with a new name: she’s Empress Catherine of Russia now. And since she will be your ruler and you will address her as such! Might as well christen and give you a new name too!” he scolded.

“Of course, I mean I will but…but…who do I have to marry? Do you have any…any brothers?” you fret.

Numbness gripped your hands and nausea gripped your stomach at the thought of marrying a copy of Peter.

“I’ve got no brothers, no male relatives of age or alive for you and I want this contract done soon so…”

His head turned to Dymov with a congratulatory pat on the back.

“It’s Grigor here you’ll have to fuck for life in about a month!”

Grigor’s ears turned pink and he looked up at you, lips tight.

And if I say no? you start to wonder, tasting the words.

But what choice did you have?

“Lady Y/L/N, I promise, this isn’t any easier for me either…” he finally said. “I know this arrangement isn’t coming the way you expected…and I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Would you put your family’s and your people’s future down the drain? Would you let them become bankrupt, ruin your father’s memory of his friend, and make enemies with one of the richest, largest, and most powerful countries because of your selfishness?

Besides, no suitors had been calling you, really. None likable or with good intentions at least. You were getting to the age of spinsterdom. You knew you had to be desperate if you wanted any sense of security for yourself or your family. Who knew if another offer like this could be made?

Taking a deep breath, you looked Peter in the eye.

“I will do it. For my family and for everyone who we look after.”

Peter produced a document agreeing to the engagement, marriage, and benefits it brought. You and Dymov signed it.

Afterwards there was a small service in the chapel to pray for the future and for this marriage. But you were half in another world, unaware this was happening. Dymov seemed to flush between being pale or being red.

Immediately later, they decided all was well and to make plans to leave. Before packing, Dymov approached your parents and you in the parlor.

“I have to alert you of something that will happen, when Lady Y/L/N arrives…there will be a test done by the priests to see if she’s, uh, pure…and it involves checking her…” he gestured to his pants.

You let out a shocked gasp. What kind of kingdom were you about to be thrown into?

“I just wanted you to know, so you wouldn’t be shocked,” Dymov added on.

Your mother took your hand again and rubbed your knuckles soothingly.

“We have family physicians here. Trusted friends. They will do the examination and sign a document right before she goes. There will always be a chaperone until the marriage, to make sure everything is by Russia’s standards,’ she insisted, squeezing your hand extra tight.

Before they left the whole family saw off the Russian party. As Dymov turned to you, his blue eyes darkened slightly. He bowed lowest for you and kissed your hand.

“I’ll write to you as much as I can. You can call me Grigor,” he said.

“I guess you can call me Y/F/N…Grigor,” you replied

“Goodbye, Y/F/N. We will see each other…before the wedding. Soon.”

As kind as the gesture was, your brain had not stopped reeling. It remained even as you stood there, watching the carriage trot away. A pair of blue eyes even looking at you sadly from the window.

He seemed to have the same concern

How could you travel to live in another country ruled by someone like Peter?

And how could you love, much less marry, a man you just met?

Taglist: @queenlover05​

The Great Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @freaking-nix​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @grigorlee​ @themficsilike 

[likesomekindofcheese]

Expectation (The Great oneshot)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! reader

Word count: 1699 words

Warnings: mentions of sex and pregnancy, swearing, an arranged marriage, mentions of food.

From @foxinaforestofstars request:   So... I have a Grigor request, if you don't mind. Grigor and reader are married. It was an arranged marriage, but they really do love each other. One day reader realizes that she hasn't had her period in two months and after confirming it (as much as possible in that time) she tells Grigor and they're both overjoyed. Thanks in advance!

A/N: You’re welcome! I hope you like it! I love writing for The Great!

“Y/N, come back to bed, darling,” you husband mewled out to you.

You had sat up and placed your feet on the floor. Turning to look at him behind you, he was laying himself on his side smiling up at you. He was a beautiful man and sometimes looked like a Greek God in the morning sunlight, you admitted to yourself. It made you forget the sour churning in your stomach you have had for a few days. The churning that concerned you. 

Feeling the bed shift with his weight. You smiled under the feeling of him moving aside the collar of your nightdress to kiss your shoulder.

“It’s already daytime…” you answered, “the birds have been chirping forever,” you said.

“Let them chirp all they want. They aren’t in here with a pretty lady in their beds.”

Obliging, you gently leaned back and let him cuddle you for just a bit more. Crawling partly on top of him, you let your head rest against his heart. It was beating slowly. His skin felt hot against your cheek and the nightgown you were wearing contrasted with his skin.

“I was remembering…the day you arrived here. When we married…” Grigor recalled, his eyes looking up at the red bed post.

Part of you let out a little laugh of embarrassment.

“Oh god…” you blurted. “Which one? When I tripped when I got out the first carriage?”

“No, no…I remember how…how scared you seemed…” he recalled, his voice low, scratchy, and sleepy.

“I was scared. Remember-I forgot my own wedding vows, Grigor! Archie had to prompt them to me twice!”

“But…I was just as scared too.” he continued.

“I…I just didn’t know who you were. How wonderful you were,” he complimented. 

Your cheeks grew red. Your head shot up and he looked down to see you. 

You did recall that wedding. Your legs were shaking beneath your gown as you walked down to the dark chapel.  

When the wedding night arrived you nearly cried as you were changed out of your gown into your nightdress and heard his knock. As everyone else excused themselves to give the betrothed couple privacy, you thought your heart would knock itself out of your ribs. Could you just lie down, lift your skirt, open your legs, and pray for it to be over soon?

To your shock, Grigor asked for nothing of you. You wound up drinking a little vodka and talking. He offered to sleep on the chair or in the other room until you were comfortable with him. He spent his wedding night curled up on a chair in front of the fire.

This soon became longer hours of talking and learning more about each other. He had become your friend in a way. Then he only held your hand and began kissing you when you let him. As you talked with your new husband more and more, you began to know him, dance with him, and let him kiss you more often, then to sleep beside you in his bed, and then to make love to you to consummate the marriage.

 And you found you enjoyed it. A lot. And a chance hardly passed for both of you to jump into each other’s arms and be at it like rabbits.

The birds were quieter. You pulled yourself up to look at his face.

“I…I don’t regret marrying you…” you confessed. “In fact, I think I…I….”There was another word right on your lips, but you could hardly think. A pressing matter was to your mind. Several pressing matters. You wanted to say it. And you wanted him to say it too so badly. Someone had to say it. It was right on the tip of your tongue when a serf burst in bringing breakfast on a tray.

“I don’t regret it at all…” Grigor said, pressing a kiss to your forehead appropriate enough as they opened some curtains for sunlight placed silverware on the tray.

Crawling out of bed together, your nose crinkled at the smell of toasted bread, but the smell of the eggs was almost overwhelming. You went to the desk to check your journal to check for today’s date. Some of the ladies were amazed and poked fun at you for being literate. You didn’t care too much. You liked to sometimes track and write things in quieter moments.

August the twenty-second was today’s date.

Glancing back, Grigor was occupied more with rolling up his stockings before having poached eggs, bread, and chopped melons for breakfast.

“Would you like anything?” he asked.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you answered, confident he was far enough from you to peek. You pulled back a few pages to see your own notes.

June 15th: began bleeding today…

The smell of the new pages began to drift in your nose, replacing the strong egg smell as you checked each day of the next month where you wrote. There was no day to mark when you bled in July.

It had been two months.

You were supposed to bleed around August the 15th. And there was nothing.

Sitting down, you ate a bit of bread and a few bites of melon. You had to hurry. A matter like this couldn’t wait.

“I…I have to meet Lady Svenska for tea, I will see you later, my dear,” you excused.

The words slipped out so causally, if not fast. Grigor blinked and then smiled.

“Oh. Goodbye Y/N.”

He took your hand and kissed it in farewell before you dressed and scurried out. Walking down the wooden halls, you kept your eyes fixed to the end of it until a butterfly at the end of it got your attention.

There was a tall, auburn colored wig and a few more butterflies accompanying the first one.

“Oh, Madame Dymov!” she greeted.

“Oh-er-Elizabeth! What are you doing?” you asked.

“On my way to see the Empress!” she chirruped dreamily with a proud smile.

You noticed a bundle of wheat in her arms.

“With wheat? Are you going to make bread?” you teased lightly.

“Oh no- it’s annual! She must urinate on the wheat and if it blooms she’s expecting an heir!” she explained.

Your stomach dropped at the words. You were going to be sick, you really felt it. You eyed the bundles, tempting as they looked. Maybe you could ask for one. But…you couldn’t. Especially out in public where anyone could see, and a rumor could spread easily.  Who knew how Grigor would react? And, you had to visit someone who could without fail tell you yes or no.

“Why, what is it, Y/N? You look flushed!” she wondered.

“Nothing, I uh- I was only thinking that-uh- the wheat it reminded…r-r-reminded me of my duty towards my husband. You know.” You improvised, folding your hands in front of you meekly.

“Well, if you have any problem performing, just lie back and think of Russia. Find some erotica. It’s the best for stimulation. I have plenty of art in my chambers that may inspire you to try doing a position like a table while he…”

“Have to be somewhere, have to hurry! Goodbye Lady Elizabeth!” you interrupt, walking away to the green corridor.

Heart beating harder than ever, you reached the door to the physician’s office and knocked.

The words were still ringing in your ears along with the mixing of your stomach as you walked out. Everything went dizzy as you stood there, still processing the words from the court physician.

“Congratulations, Madame Dymov!”

First things first. There was one person who needed to know. Soon.

Hurrying back to the apartment, you rang for a servant. You asked where your husband was and as soon as he was free to come back.

Minutes ticked by slow as honey. You paced before the fire, turning by the large golden bathtub, and staring outside at the gardens. You looked down at your stomach in your dress. It seemed perfectly normal. No sign of anything. But that meant that everything was normal. Half an hour stretched by agony came and went.

Finally, the door opened and Grigor walked through. His eyes were bright from movement. He wore a looser white shirt-probably playing tennis against the wall with the emperor again.

“Hello there, Y/N…you’ve summoned me? Is something wrong?” he asked worriedly.

You paused, frozen. The words half in your mouth. Staying there, almost choking to get out.

“Grigor I…I…”

Your throat knotted up. He walked closer.

“You’re…you’re not sick with the pox or anything, are you? I don’t see any marks…”

“Grigor I’m pregnant,” you announced flatly.

He turned white and then pink.

“Y/N…is this…is this a prank?” he questioned, head shaking but his voice getting higher in pitch.

“I’ve not bled for two months. It’s no prank, I just got back from the court doctor. You can talk to him,” you confirmed, bobbing your head.

His jaw dropped low and he took your hands.

“We’re going to be parents…” you told him in disbelief.

“Y/N…”

He took your face in his hands. And then he began to kiss you passionately and you kissed back, your hands wandering to his back. Looking up, you saw a few tears in his eyes and his smile had a slight crinkle to his face. Once he let go, you began smiling back.

“I could pick you up…would that be…” he wondered.

“As long as you’re gentle. It won’t hurt the little one, yes.”

He picked you up and turned you around in an embrace. Tears began to well up and fall once you landed and you started to sniffle, holding onto each other. He placed a careful hand on your stomach. It was quiet for a moment.

He looked up, grinning ear to ear.

“Y/N…I’ve known this for a bit but…as mad as it is, even though we’ve been married for a long time, but I… I…I think I love you…”

There it was. The words you wanted so badly this morning. The words you wanted for a while. The words that would make having this child easier. You kissed him again.

“I…I think love you too.”

Taglist: @foxinaforestofstars @queenlover05​ @sgt-stardustkillerqueen​ @itsametaphorgwil​  @grigorlee​  @vintage-and-hypnotic​ @joeneslee​ @rhapsodyrecs​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @bens-jawline​ @themarchoftherainbowqueen​ @isitstraightvodka​ @silverrose02

@deck-heart​ @iwritefanficnotprophecies​ @simonedk​ @panagiasikelia​ @fueled-by-novocaine​ @xviiarez​ @raerae27​ @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night​

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Two (The Great mini-series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! reader

Word Count: 3475

Summary: from an anon request, the boorish Emporer Peter has ruined your families alliance with Russia. The only way to save your family and your people is to go to the Russian Court to marry his best friend, Count Grigor Dymov.

content warnings: mentions of sex and families and weddings, swearing. Grigor being shyer than in the canon show but this is my fic and I do what I want.

“Countess Y/F/N Dymov does have a nice ring to it,’ your mother said as the carriage rolled on.

Rocking back and forth, her eyebrows went up and she nodded in approval at the thought. Though you stayed silent, watching the Russian forests pass by. Your fur lined coat felt too heavy as did your scarf. You saw your mother lift a hand opposite of the one holding her novel to scratch at her own scarf. But the air was getting colder. You were definitely in Russia by now.

You glanced down at the latest letter from the gangly Russian count:

Dear Y/F/N,

I hope you and your family are doing well. Upon reading your last letter, you said you were worried about children. There are a few children here. Count Arkady has a little army of his own running about the halls. Who knows when it might happen, but I am sure you will be a fine mother. You may even make friends here. We have plenty of ladies here you may talk to.  And we have fine physicians here.

Oh god, that was unconnected somehow? Maybe I should scratch that out.

No, I will keep it. I hope it amuses you. It may make you laugh to see what a silly fool I am. What kind of fool proposes marriage to courtesans? Not you, Georgiana, of course.

But children arriving will be a while from now. I am trying to make everything comfortable for you. It will be hard leaving your family and the pets you mentioned in your last letter. When you and your mother arrive here, you must try some tea. Though you might as well enjoy some vodka as well.

Speaking of vodka, Peter had too much last night and spent the morning chapel services vomiting his stomach out…

A jolt from the carriage made both of you leap in your seats. It was no use re-reading the thing for the tenth time for amusement on a long trip. You put the letter away in your reticule.

Enough time had passed between that fateful dinner. Now here you were, on the road, on your way to the court of Peter.

“Did you hear me? Do you like the sound of Countess Y/F/N Dymov?” she repeated louder, leaning forward.

“Yes,” you agreed obediently.

Your mother bit her lip hesitantly. There was a pause.

“Y/N, you are doing a very brave thing. You’re going to help all of us, and a lot of people…I thank you for it,” she said.

Her eyes blinked and you could see a few tiny tears up there.

“At least I’m not marrying the emperor,” you huffed, “the title alone wouldn’t be worth it.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Your grandmother said if you got the Emperor, it would be a nicer ceremony. It would be a grander ceremony, but a miserable marriage after…though no wedding will be as nice as your brothers,” she recalled.

Both of you smiled at the memory. Your mother even set down the novel in her hands to talk to you more.

“He married someone he loves. Now they’re happy together…” you commented.

The past weeks whirled by without the time to savor your last time at home.

First there was a whole wedding to set and celebrate for your brother, then there was studying all the etiquette, customs, and everything you would need for a life in Russia. As well as planning about your own day. A day crawling up that made you shiver slightly at the thought.

But remembering your brother’s childish grin when his bride walked down to greet meet him at the altar, the shivers ceased. How they seemed to fly when they danced with each other. How even their cake tasted sweeter. The fragrance of their flower crowns was still in your nose.

If only your day could be as nice. No alliance. No pressure to go and bind yourself. Just nice.

“It was a wonderful day. She looked very pretty in your dress…do you think the dress we chose will suit the Russian court?” you asked.

Your mother nodded, eyes sparkling at the thought.

“Oh yes, we had to ask every question, but so help me you would at least have a dress you liked! You looked radiant in it- all of the court will love the look of it!” she added.

“It’s very…very elaborate. And heavy. I bet it’s the reason this carriage is about to trip over,” you jested.

You briefly took off your glove to scratch your own neck from a small itch.

“Well, when in Rome…” she said, shrugging.

Having a ceremony with a special dress was one thing, the groom was something else entire. But what of your future husband, Grigor?

Before you could ask about your mother’s analysis of him, there was a sudden whistle from the driver.

Both of you leaned out and stared at the window. The large grey palace was popping in view, distant, but there. Tall, grey, and grand.

Breath hitched, you tried to stare at another thing, a bird flying by or the dirt on the road. But there it was. And your eyes were fixed, like a martyr’s gaze on the burning stake before sainthood.

The place you had to live, where you had to sacrifice your body, autonomy, and soul to a man you only knew for a few days.

Servants rushed in to carry your luggage. You and your mother glanced at each other. Her eyes turned soft and she took your hand and squeezed it as the guards opened the doors and a footman led you up the grand stairs into the throne room.

One opened a chest and your mother pulled out a green portfolio from it, pressing it to her heart.

There was a long hall leading to a sole chair bedecked in gold. The room was dark but sun filtered through windows on the left. Removing your coat and handing it to a servant, you could feel their eyes. Analyzing you in your deep blue dress with white lace on the front tied in a dark blue bow on the chest.

Before the throne, walking out from their peeping, was a line waiting for you was a group of various men as different as a kaleidoscope. One was shorter, dark haired, and bespectacled. One was a priest with a long beard. But in the center was the Emperor Peter and by his side, Count Grigor Dymov in a grey, curled wig.

Walking slowly, you curtsied and kissed Peter’s hand and your mother copied the movement.

Only said man wanted to jump ahead and show you his apartments.

“Your highness, thank you for letting me arrive here and for inviting my mother as a chaperone,” you greeted politely.

From a green portfolio, your mother pulled out a starched parchment and walked to the priest.

“Here is a signed paper from our physician, proving Y/N’s chastity for the marriage. Additionally, I will chaperone her until the ceremony.” she announced proudly.

He looked down, head tilted, but leaning to read it, nodded his head.

Both of you let out a sigh of relief. As awkward as the examination was, it was still a hundred times better with a family doctor then without warning by a stranger.

“Well, cangratu-fucking-lations Grigor. Here is the lady who’s going to suck you cock for life in a week! Go on, greet her!” he half-yelled.

You could feel your mother tense at the vulgarity and wished to disappear.

The hands in front of Grigor that were folded tightened slightly as you walked up to each other, with a slight bow.

He then took your hand, as you placed yours, you could see your own palm tremble a bit. He leant down to kiss it.

“Miss Y/L/N, did you travel well?” he asked.

“It was long, but nice. Lots of forests.” You answered shyly.

He relaxed a little and gave you a small smile. Though part of you felt angry. What if it was the cock sucking comment he was thinking of?

It dropped at you still being serious.

“Well, that’s done. And I’m bored. I’m hungry and want some oysters, goodbye!” the emperor suddenly said, trailing away with the priest and other men behind him like ducklings.

Grigor offered his arm and you accepted it, breath hitching at how close he felt.

“Count Dymov, thank you for the…the welcome. Though look at this place! It’s magnificent!” you mother praised, looking at the details.

He walked slowly out of the room with your mother by your side, admiring the tall windows, wooden walls, and countless paintings and decorations. Courtiers in wigs and wide skirts floated by you like butterflies.

“I was thinking I would show you both my apartment, since it’s where we’ll be living soon, Lady Y/L/N. The palace is huge enough as it is!” Grigor answered, turning to your mother.

“Unless you want a tour of all that!” he added on, gesturing to the bits of gold that glowed in the sunlight.

“It would be nice to see where she’ll be living,” you mother replied.

“The apartment is fine,” you finalized, looking up at his eyes.

It had been a while but you forgot or perhaps never noticed the color. They were the color of the sea. And quite beautiful.

“Besides, I already have a gift for you and it couldn’t wait for after the wedding!” he announced, with an impish grin.

“A gift?” you gasped.

“I’d like us to at least be friends, Y/n,”

“Of course, Grigor.”

After a ten-minute walk with chit chat mostly between your mother and Grigor, you arrived at the apartment. He paused slightly before the dark doors and knocked a few times, a voice replied from within.

Your heart leaped at all the red- red walls, red chairs, red furniture, a beautiful gold bathtub and a large red bed that made your stomach flip and turn warm.

“In about a week, this will be your home…but, the-ah- the gift!” he said, jumping with his eyebrows near the top of his wigged head.

An old man dressed like a servant walked from a corner. Grigor rushed there, gesturing wildly with his arms for him to walk forward. For a minute, the man was under Grigor’s shadow and his large back blocked your view.

As he turned, in his hands was a tiny Pomeranian puppy with brown fur.

Gasping alongside your mother, you let out squeals of delight on instinct. You fell in love at once. It barked and smiled when it saw you. You cooed and even your mother went over to stroke its fur. Its earthy smell came up to your nose and it licked your fingers. Grigor handed the puppy for you to hold, light and warm and smelling of earth. The puppy smiled and licked your nose in greeting and you giggled.

“Seems like she knows her mistress already!” Grigor commented, with a small laugh in his voice.

“I know they will expect us to, uh, have children someday and we might as well practice caring for a living thing. And I did not want you to be here and feel completely alone. Like you told me.”

The puppy looks up at you and tilts its head. Once you set it down, it happily runs around the apartment, leaping sometimes mid-way and then pausing to sniff every piece of furniture. It looks at you, chippering happily, the stub of a tail wagging wildly.

“Grigor, she, she…” you mumbled, close to tears. “She’s adorable! I’ve never had such a gift before!”

“It will be work, of course. And she’ll get big and eat and tear things. But Arkady knows dogs and is willing to help us.”

“Yes, of course…thank you!”

Overjoyed, you walked over to him, stood on your toes, and kiss his cheek.

It was a little out of decorum. You had hardly seen him. But you were overjoyed, and it was too kind. He blushed bright pink at the feeling of your lips and smiled.

“Y/N…you’re very welcome! Oh! I forgot! I also have…have these now…”

Out of his pocket were two small bands, bronze colored.

“Our engagement rings… until we’re official.”

Breathing in deep, you accepted the ring and slid it onto your finger. It was only a little tight. The puppy in your arms sniffed it and then tried to lightly chew on it.

___-------------------------------------------------------------------

The palace tour nearly broke your jaw from how much you dropped it. You kept a leash with the small Pomeranian pup by your side, trotting happily and sniffing everything. If it were not for all the gold and countless portraits, plants, boards, and displays and details in every crack of the wall, your new pet would have distracted you.

How on earth can anyone manage to walk through this? You thought. You had not even reached the gardens yet!

Suddenly, there was a yelp and the thunder of boots.

Peter walked forward with his usual party of men, but by his side was a woman who seemed surprisingly young despite her tall height. She was extremely pale and had light blonde hair up in a bun with a few curls falling out and wore a lovely sky-blue gown.

“Ah, Grigor! Have another meeting, need you there! Now! It’s going to be fucking dull without you!” he ordered.

With a shrug, he bowed and walked away with Peter, but the young woman stayed behind. She waited until he was gone and then turned to you.

“He should have been there an hour ago, people were discussing trade forever and he should have been there to help,” She sighed.

Handing the leash to your mother, both of you dipped in a greeting curtsy.

“Pardon me, but I’m new here. I don’t know what the Emperor’s schedule is like…I don’t know what anything is like,” you confessed.

She raised an eyebrow and blinked a few times. Suddenly a shorter woman with sharp cheekbones and her hair up into a small coif ran up by the blonde woman’s side. A maid.

Looking at you both, the servant seemed to give meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill.”

She scolded, “do you realize who you’re talking to! This is her grace, the Empress! At least be polite!”

Panic flooded your chest and you dipped down to a lower, rushed curtsy.

“Your grace-I’m so sorry! Forgive me! Please!” you blubbered. “I didn’t know who you were!”

“It’s all right! Just a mistake!” she laughed.

Her hands moved forward, and she gestured you up.

“What is your name?” she asked kindly.

You introduced yourself, only looking at the end of Catherine’s blue skirt, shades lighter than your own.

“You’re Lady Y/L/N, the future Countess Dymov!”

“Yes, I am and…your grace, I am so sorry for all the trouble that happened at my house. I tried to resolve but…here I am,” you explained.

She gave a sideways glare to where Peter walked off and turned to you, “it isn’t your fault at all…my husband is… well, you understand.”

“I completely understand!” you blurted with a scoff in your throat.

Her frozen, pale stiffness melted away. She smiled genuinely.

“Empress Catherine, what is it like for women here? I haven’t heard much…”

“Well, there are…tea parties. Ball throwings. Thing like that… But…Lady Y/L/N…”

She leaned closer, speaking quietly.

“I was like you, once. Sent to be married. New to this place. I would hesitate to head there if you are new…things are done differently and the ladies here are, if I must be honest, not nice to newcomers.”

“Alright!”

You glanced at your mother, whose brow furrowed with worry at the words.

“But I shall help you. You have to meet them eventually. Just be careful. Though you aren’t me, you might have hope. They have joy in teasing me since they know I outrank them…if you need help, you may call on me.” She offered, her words rushing at the sudden idea.

“Oh your heighness, it’s an honor!” you cried.

“From one foreign bride to another!” she commented before saying goodbye and twirling off. The maid gave a look at the puppy with wistfulness, and then followed the empress.

But as you headed back, having a few moments of rest on a seat near a window.

“Our chambers are not far, I’ll be there to see if our things are ready!” she announded.

You nodded, giving a last happy pet your puppy and stared as your mother sauntered away.

Suddenly, you heard the click of heels.

“You’re his fiancée, are you?”

You turned to see a pale woman with beautiful dark curls on her head. She wore an elaborate, dusy red dress and her slight frown was not welcoming.

“I am engaged to…to Count Dymov, if that’s what you’re asking,” you answered, getting up.

“I…I thought,” she mused.

“Pardon me, I don’t even know your name…” you said.

“You can call me Georgiana.”

Oh my god…

“Lady Georgiana, I’m Lady Y/L/N,” you replied.

She looked at you, analyzing everything. Your chin dipped low and you folded your hands in front of you, frozen in place. Part of you wanted to run away.

“Miss Georgiana is there anything you want from me?” you asked.

Her lips went tight.

“I just thought that Grigor loved me…but he brings over some unknown woman from nowhere!” she spat.

You remembered what he said about their history. And her decision. Your mind blanked with Catherine’s warning, what could you even say.

“He didn’t ask me to marry him. It’s to secure an alliance with Russia.” You informed her plainly.

Getting a little bolder, you looked back at her unamused face.

“Just know, however your marriage goes, it’s me he really loves and…”

She paused. Then smiled.

“And I’ve fucked him too.”

She stuck her nose in the air as your mouth opened a little in shock.

“That’s how mad he is for me. I know every trick that will keep him returning to me. You’ll just pop out an heir for the Dymov’s and then he’ll be done with you.”

Your face turned hot and your breath felt short.

“Why…why are you telling me this?” you asked quietly.

“Because, we all know I am the one he loves and will always love. And I know how to please him in every way,” she threatened, walking closer.

“As sure as you please the Emperor,” you retorted boldly.

Georgiana stopped, her eyes widening. Her face screwed up. Though her head nodded a little in slight acknowledgement.

“Georgiana, I don’t want us to be enemies,” you pleaded.

“I don’t want you to make him miserable. You may think you know him: he seems like a nice man, but he is only two steps away from Peter. He loves parties, drinking, fun, revelry and all things wild; are you ready to have that as your husband?”

“I didn’t even choose this match. I don’t even love him- I only met him a month ago! And he offered you his hand and you couldn’t accept it! I did not have a say in the matter to be with him! Live with your choice and I’ll live with one that wasn’t even mine!” you yelled, your cheeks feeling hot.

Her nostrils flared and she walked away, flouncing like a peacock.

Sinking back onto the seat, you cursed your temper and tongue for getting the best of you.

How could you make peace of this conundrum? Even if the Empress liked you, it seemed no one else at court would now. Especially knowing the kind man who gifted you a dog spent his nights in wildness…and maybe in Georgiana’s arms.

 Taglist: @queenlover05​ @stardust-killer-queen​

The Great Taglist/Promised: @stardust-killer-queen​ @itsametaphorgwil​ @freaking-nix​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @grigorlee​ @themficsilike @simonedk​ @deck-heart​ @staradorned​  @writeroutoftime​ @kiainspace​ @gwilymleeisbae​

[likesomekindofcheese]

Punishment (The Great blurb)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of sex and nudity, almost death, drowning (but saved)

From Anon request:  Hi, first of all I'd like to say I absolutely love your writing. Second of all could I request a fic for Grigor Dymov? I had this idea based on the scene where Catherine is in the chest and Peter throws it into the lake. Instead of Catherine it could be the reader and Grigor is really concerned and orders for the chest to be removed from the water and is then all cute and caring for the reader. I know its pretty lame...I've got kinda bad writers block at the moment.

A/N: Sure thing! Good luck with the writers block- and thank you! This was lovely to write!

You woke up into darkness. No morning light. No familiar bedroom. Only darkness.

How on earth did you get here? What were you doing here?

It was rocky. Panic shook you awake as you blinked your eyes open. Your fingers began to reach out to feel your surroundings. Everything felt wooden. It was a rectangular shape. There was a bit of grey light peeking in the form of a thin line just over your head.

How did I get there? Did someone do something to me?

You were in a chest large enough to stuff you inside, you figured. Feeling your own body, you were still in your night clothes. Blinking and pinching yourself, you felt the pain. There was even the cold air from outside seeping in. This wasn’t a dream.

It shook and you felt it being lifted with the huffs of masculine breaths and voices just outside. You took your fists and beat against the wood.

“Who’s there! Is someone there?” Please let me out!” you cried.

There was no response.

“I’m inside! There’s someone in the chest!” you yelled.

When you pushed up against the lid, you realized it was locked tight.  From the inside there was no way of unlocking it from your frantic inspection and what little you could see. Then you heard the rush and bauble of water right outside. And it came pouring through the cracks. First as a puddle. Then more. And more. And more.

Girgor stood outside next to Peter watching the servants take the chest into the river. It was a chilly morning. The sky was overcast, and the trees were either bare or brown. His fur hat itched on top of his head. Guards in dark coats and beards stood all around them watching apathetically. Glancing at Peter, the Emperor’s eyes were dark, and his hands folded. His gaze downward. His lips curled into a smirk. But Grigor felt his stomach turn sour at the sight of the servants lowering the chest into the lake. He heard your voice clearly and clenched his fists.

Already it was halfway down. Y/N’s pleas turned into frightened screams.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP PLEASE!”

Her cries rung haunted into his eardrums as if she were being set alight with fire rather than being buried in water.

“SOMEONE! ANYONE!” followed by a scream that made him feel cold despite his clothes.

His hands fidgeting, he sucked in a quick breath through his nose. He turned to Peter.

“Don’t you think she’s learned her lesson?” he suggested.

Peter snarled.

“The bitch fucking called me a piece of shit unfit to rule. She needs to be taught a lesson. No one gets away with calling me names.”

“Well, she didn’t say a ‘piece of shit.’ If I remember the report correctly,” Grigor said.

“She still said I was a bad Emperor!”

There was another scream, the chest was getting lower.

“But…she is being punished and doesn’t know why. I don’t think anyone told her that was why this was happening…they stole her when she was just sleeping! And Peter-wouldn’t you rather be known for your mercy to those who have the little slip up?”

“I’ll be seen as weak! And insulting your sovereign ruler isn’t just a little ‘slip up!’”

“You could…tell her not do it again, she will know why she’s being punished…and you’ll be celebrated. And then she won’t do it again. Peter the Merciful. Peter the Saintly. Peter the Beloved- how does that sound to you? I don’t think Peter-who-drowns-women has the same ring to it!”

He blinked, then stared blankly at the chest.

“If you’re not feeling merciful- let her walk back to the palace in her state. Don’t give her death as quick mercy-but just rather let her suffer humiliation. She could be back in court in half-drowned with everyone knowing what was done. It will stain her life more. That would be even worse than just killing her off- don’t you think?”

There was no response. Peter’s mouth twitched slightly and his eyes looked a little brighter.

There was another scream. The chest was almost lowered completely. If nothing happened, you were doomed.

“I guess…that would be worse…” Peter said.

Running forward, Grigor motioned to the servants in a panic. The Emperor behind him didn’t stop him.

“Stop the chest-bring it up- now! Bring it fucking up! There’s someone in there!” he barked

They glanced at Peter who nodded coldly.

They brought the chest back up out of the lake. The water dripping down created mud beneath their shoes. You could be heard grasping for breath inside.

“Open it,” Grigor ordered.

They pulled open the lock and out dumped leftover water and you.

You coughed out what water you swallowed by accident. Your hair was dripping from your head and your fingers were wrinkled. Although you had landed on your hands and knees, you nearly teared up at the sight or earth and grass. You took in desperate gulps of air, inhaling life until it stung your insides.

You looked up and saw the Emperor, Grigor, and some guards. Looking down, you put your arms over yourself. Your nightgown was drenched, and all these men might be able to have a look of your body now outlined through the soaked, white dress made sheer. Shivering already, the water did nothing to protect you from the icy air.

“Mademoiselle Y/N, do you acknowledge you were wrong?” Emperor Peter scolded.

“About what?” you asked.

“Told you,” Grigor muttered.

“My spies reported to me what you said last night. Are you sorry? Do you take back your words and say I am fit to rule Russia?” Peter asked.

You blinked open, suddenly recalling. You thought no one else could hear it. It was at the crowded party last night and it was to a friend you had in court. Or thought you had.

Grigor walked forward. At first you shifted your weight back, your arms desperately shielding any private bits that could be visible from your soaked, white gown but he put his hands up in peace. He leaned down and took off his fur hat, placing it on your head. Then he removed his fur coat, placing it around your shoulders. It was large enough it covered you entirely.

“Th…thank you…” you sputtered to him.

“Yes, I know I’m merciful and brilliant and have a massive cock and you should be grateful…but are you sorry?” Peter demanded.

Grigor helped you stand up. His eyes at you were wide like a dog begging for scraps of meat.

The new warmth from the fur hat on your head and the protection of his coat gave you strength in your voice.

“Yes….I’m sorry. I take back my words. You are fit to rule,” you said obediently.

“Well, good. And you can walk back to the palace…we have horses waiting for us.”

The fur stayed on you on the walk back. The guards followed Peter like a murder of crows around his horse. Your feet stung from the rocks and pebbles beneath. You had no shoes or stockings. Dirt got all over and there was a slight cut near your toe. There was even a blister growing on your right foot.

Once the large, grey palace was in sight you saw that Peter’s horse and his guards had vanished. But there was one familiar figure, jogging up to you.

“Y/N…are you alright?” Grigor questioned.

“I…I’m…I’m just in shock,” you answered.

“Here-you’ve walked enough!”

“Wha-oh!”

Suddenly he took his arm under you and his other arm went down to your legs. Before you could respond he was carrying you, rushing to the palace and walking inside. Feeling your feet dangling from the other end, you seemed weightlessness. Grigor’s handsome profile was right over your face and your breath stopped at the sight.

He headed up the grand staircase and through a door to the hallway.

A few courtiers seeing you both gasped and murmured. Heads decorated with wigs ran up to look at you. A few servants rushed up.

“Where is her chambers- she needs help” he ordered. “Mademoiselle Y/N almost drowned-we need blankets and warm clothes and hot broth-now!”

There was a scattering of feet. You saw the brown wood and chandeliers over your head, as well as a stag’s head mounted on the wall, antlers twisting to the heavens. Grigor helped you down to a maid who helped you up and walked you to your room.

Two hours later, you sat with a dry nightgown, a thick robe, and a blanket made from a bear’s fur over your lap as you sat in your chair next to a crackling fire. You held a bowl of hot broth and sipped the last bit.

At a knock of the door, you voiced out “you can enter.”

Grigor walked in.

“I…I wanted to see how you were doing…” he commented.

You stood up, setting the bowl and blanket aside.

“I’m better…and alive thanks to you…though I still have your hat and coat.”

Gesturing to the writing desk, Grigor picked up the clothes and kept them in his arms.

“I’m so sorry this happened. Y/N, please be careful…please…” he begged.

You nodded.

“I will be” you promised, “I heard you order the chest out of the water. You saved me today. I saw how mad the Emperor was at you, but you did it anyway…for that, I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Walking up to him, you took his hands. Pulling them to your lips, you kissed the knuckles.

“But…I must say it again…thank you, Grigor.”

He grinned. You felt hotter than all the blankets in the world could make you feel at the sight.

“I’ll check on you tomorrow, Mademoiselle.”

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​

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part 3 (The Great Mini series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

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

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

Part One//Part Two

Smut Scene for this Part (18+ only please)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you Orlo,” you muttered.

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

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

“Now let us continue…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The puppy looked up at you and smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother looked at you both, then nodded.

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

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

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

He took both of your hands.

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

“That…that sounds nice,” he added.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother nodded, “you may.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want a bow?” she asked.

“Not for me,” you refused.

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

“She has to look her best too…”

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

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

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

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

Mariol’s eyes went wide.

“Wha-yes! Please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother leaned into your father.

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

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

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

She batted him lightly and shooed the men away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shook his head a little.

“I don’t want to hurt you either…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Every penny worth?” you repeated.

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

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

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

“That what?” you asked over them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He leaned down to see your shocked expression and laughed.

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

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

He took your hand and squeezed it.

“That’s the way it is?” You sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

Orlo gave a slight bow in greeting.

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

“I can,” you confirmed.

He handed you each two books.

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

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

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

But you took the books gently and smiled at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, we only had a week to…”

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

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

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

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

“Stop that!” the dress owner cried.

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

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

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

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

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

“You are no threat to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello Sonya!” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catherine took your shoulder and squeezed it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It will be okay,” Catherine repeated. 

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

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

Then came the fateful sound.

There was a knock on the door.

The three of you jumped almost.

“Who is it?” Catherine asked.

“It’s Grigor, and the Emperor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She grinned in return and addressed him by name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huzzzahhh f-for meeeeee,” Peter mumbled.

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

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

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

“Let’s retire, shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was brilliant.” You praised.

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

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

“Do you…need anything? Some water?”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You may.”

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

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

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

You nodded, not even looking at him.

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

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

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

Your shoulders relaxed.

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

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

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

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

“What about these?” you said.

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

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

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

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

“We can.”

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

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

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

“You can.”

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

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

“You can. For our duty.”

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

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

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

“I’ll let you,” you said.

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

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

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

“I don’t know what came over me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His head tilted and he blinked rapidly.

“To touch you?”

“I… I…I trust you…”

“Well, if it’s for business…I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm, let me think about that...”

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

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

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

“Yes, I…I agree.”

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

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

“Why?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had forgotten about the morning gift completely.

  Taglist: @foxinaforestofstars @iwritefanficnotprophecies @itsametaphorgwil @queenlover05 @simonedk @panagiasikelia @grigorlee @fueled-by-novocaine @stardust-killer-queen @xviiarez @vintage-and-hypnotic @raerawrrae  @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night(if I forgot to add you please alert me asap!!!) @always-a-fairycat @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @im-an-adult-ish @marshmxllowfluff​

[likesomekindofcheese]

You're taking grigor requests? Can you do some blurb (or longer if you want idc lmao,) of falling in love with him but reader is a servant and both sneak out of the palace to be together for good cause they're tired of sneeking?

Hello, there anon! I am so sorry this took so long (Secret Santa Season hit). But here is the blurb! I hope you enjoy it!

tw: swearing, mentions of sex, angst that ends in fluff.

He was a kind man, he made you laugh, he was smart, and he loved you. 

He was also married. To the Emperor's mistress. And you just changed his firewood.

Scrubbing the floors a little harder, you noticed the redness on your knuckles. The skin was rough. Blood seeped out. All that soap and water wrecked your palms. And the emperor often left a mess in every room that you had to clean up. 

And whenever she walked by, her red silk skirts training after her with the click of her heels down the green hallway, you couldn’t help it. You looked. Right at her hands. Smooth and white from not a day of hard work. A hard day's work that included drinking wine, tossing balls onto the grass, and spreading her legs to the Emperor with a smile on her face as you held her crying husband in the other room.

Grigor was miserable. Obviously. And you were miserable here. 

The other day Lady Svenska insisted on making blush by pricking your finger with her sewing needle. Blood dribbled out and you tapped it on her cheek, biting back the tears of pain.

You had chamber pots to empty. Instead, you ran to the Dymov apartments. The second you saw Georgiana leave, you knocked desperately at the door.

Grigor always greeted you with a kiss. He led you to a chair and handed you a towel.

“This…this is ridiculous…” he mumbles. “They can’t treat you like this.”

“But I’m…I’m just a serf…” you mutter. You were just another pair of working hands to wipe asses and be tossed into a fire when a plague broke out.

“I used to think serfs were just…just there, but you! Y/N- you’re sweet and good and brave! I used to be so…so miserable here all the time, now I just wait for you to appear!”

Eyes getting watery, despite the sting of the cloth on your hand, you smile up at him.

“And I used to be miserable here until I met you….” you spoke lovingly.

“I can’t believe they did this to you…” he continues. The white cloth he wraps tenderly around your hand seems to contrast the red walls of his room.

“I can’t believe your wife doesn’t regret fucking the emperor,” you retorted boldly. It was on your chest.

He looks ghostly white at the mention of it.

“I’m sorry, it…it’s just this place…everything about it and I keep seeing…how miserable you are with her. Why can’t we do something about it?” you asked.

“He’s my Emperor, he won’t let her go…and if he lets her go, she’ll find a way to run back to him…” he said. You hear giggles and a smashing of glass outside. 

You huffed, both of you held onto each other, hearts slowing. Clinging as if for life.

“But…” he mumbled.

“But what…” you asked. You bite your lip and stare down at your hands. The prick mark is dimmer. Still present, but weak.

“It doesn’t…have to be this way. It’s always in this palace, this place….what if we…changed location…to a place where we don’t have to hide when we’re...together like this...” he suggested.

“I…I have some family. And…I clean Archie’s room every week. I’ve noticed certain documents…”

You looked up at him.

“The right ones…ones that end marriages...” you confess. A wicked smile crawls up your face and his.

A week later, Grigor crept up from his bed alone. It was the early part of the morning where the sun was present, but barely, Peeking out from the edge of the sky. He left his wedding ring and a signed paper of divorce for the Dymov couple. He folded it up, wrote Georgiana’s name along with a brief, angry letter saying goodbye. With a deep sigh, he slipped the ring off of his right hand, placed it on the desk in front of the fire, and walked out.

Meeting him, you put on your grey cloak. You left no letter. You had no real friends here. None you would trust this with. In the stables, you both greet each other with a squeeze of your hand, and only a few belongings in a small bag.

Hopping onto a small, discreet cart, Grigor snapped the reigns on the horses and both of you went away. He kept urging the horses to run as fast as possible. Baskets of vegetables from the kitchen were stuffed in the back. No one would think that vegetable farmers would be a Count and Servant eloping.

Your heart was pounding. That large grey palace slowly grew smaller…smaller…and smaller. You were far away by the time the sun rose and the rooster cried.

Partway through, you shivered from the cold Russian air. Grigor glanced up at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Nervous. Excited.”

“What did your family say?”

“They’d like to witness the wedding. It won’t be big. We will just say ‘I do’ and that’s it. There is an extra room where we’ll live…it will be so different than your life Grigor.”

He looked at you and smiled.

“If I’m with you, how could I ever be unhappy?” he said.

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. It was a long time and a long drive. Your appearance prevented suspicion of any connection to royalty. You hugged your family and cried, introducing them to Grigor. Both of you thought you would never reach home. But there was no time to waste. It had to be finalized. Soon.

Reaching the church, your hands began to shake. Your dress was dirty and Grigor smelled like the horse. Both of you knelt before the altar in front of the priest as he prepared to begin the nuptials. Noticing the tremor, Grigor took your hand and you accepted it. It was just a quick, peasant wedding with a small peasant home awaiting you both. No parties with elaborate gowns and wigs. Only the odd festival with aprons and cloth hats. No more rich dining on oysters and vodka. Now you had to settle for bread and milk you got from the goats you milked.

But you didn’t need the rich clothes, balls, feasts, lavishness, and misery. You had each other. And a new life where you could be together.

Taglist: @queenlover05 @stardust-killer-queen

The Great/Grigor Taglist: @itsametaphorgwil @sugahunnynoicetea @iwritefanficnotprophecies @raerae27 @vintage-and-hypnotic @xviiarez @fueled-by-novocaine @grigorlee @simonedk (though I know some of you would rather by tagged in just Promised, the Arranged marriage series. Please let me know if I goofed and you just wanna be tagged for Promised)

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Ten

Word Count: 5K

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Summary: You are married to Count Grigor Dymov of Russia to keep an alliance between the Russian crown and your family safe. But you realize you have grown to love him and he has fallen for you. You are forced apart during the Coup and once you return to the palace, you are tricked to believe Grigor betrayed you for Marial. You are heartbroken. Only for Georgiana to reveal the truth- Grigor has resisted Marial's seductions for you. However, she is desperate to have him, at any cost...

Here it is! Continuing after that cliffhanger! COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED! IF YOU ENJOY IT, PLEASE REBLOG OR COMMENT.

Warnings for the chapter: swearing, mentions of violence, discussions of sex, and cheating. Some spicy stuff but nothing too explicit except for one sentence. IDeas I stole from other mediums lovingly or hatefully.

Part One //Part Two //Part Three// Part Four// Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven//Part Eight//Part Nine

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Nothing's gonna hurt you baby As long as you're with me you'll be just fine Nothing's gonna hurt you baby Nothing's gonna take you from my side- "Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby" by Cigarettes After Sex

Peter was delighted and surprised by the sight of his best friend rushing into his chambers as he was greeting and petting the new truffle hunting dogs.

“Ah! Grigor! What a delight I-“

His friend looked pale, and his lower lip quivered. He fell on his knees, pleading before his sovereign.

“Peter, please forgive me, but very soon- I have to leave…”

Peter blinked, glancing over at Arkady, who tilted his head until petting the soft fur of the dogs.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked.

Grigor got up and grabbed his friend by the shoulders.

“I need to leave…Peter, please assure me…you will be absolutely fucking  safe! I couldn’t live with myself if you or Y/N were in danger and…for her safety, I must leave for a while. Please promise me all is well with you and you will be safe and happy even!”

“Well, shit-I will be! You’re not some fucking prisoner here- you’re free to leave with your wife, Grigor! And You won’t believe it, I’m eating Catherine’s pussy nightly!”

“Your talents are paying off, of course! Great! “Wonderful! Be safe and do nothing stupid!” he pleaded his friend.

“When do I? Peter replied.

They hugged each other before Grigor departed like a deer being hunted.

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You had reread the letter again, making sure everything was correct. It couldn’t be true. It seemed too good to be true. That this all was a lie. That Grigor never betrayed you for another woman. That he wasn’t about to leave you for her. That such things never happened in the first place. Part of you laughed with slight embarrassment over your actions from the past few weeks. The other part of you couldn’t help but smile. You pressed the letter to your heart and sank to you knees in your dress.

An absent-minded Catherine entered. Her face warm and hazy from how heavy she slept and her beautiful blonde hair in disarray.

“Y/N… hope you didn’t mind! I didn’t sleep well last night, and I was tired…”

You shook your head, happy tears welling up.

“No…not at all, empress…I…I just got a very…very good letter.”

As Grigor ran, he saw her. The very last woman in the world, no, the last person in the world he wanted to see.

“Made up your mind?” Marial asked, arms akimbo.

He tried to run but she stepped to the side and blocked him.

“So, you have an obvious choice. Would you rather by a hen-pecked husband chained to Y/N and be a widower…. Or be happy and free?” she asked.

Grigor looked down on the ground, thinking it through. That is, For three seconds.

Then he looked up with a smile.

“Hen pecked husband. Any day.”

He quickly shoved her aside and kept running. Not stopping until he reached Catherine’s apartments.

“Oh!” Catherine gasped. “I see…what does the letter say…”

“The laws about adultery, empress, you need do nothing about them. You can forget them, even!” you said with a laugh.

“How come?” she asked, tilting her head. She reached down to help herself to more tea, bending over her big belly and coming up to delicately hold the saucer.

“I received good news; I have been a fool forever. I learned a truth, a happy, happy truth and I…I feel so relieved I can’t stand it.”

“I’m glad you are happy! What is it, Y/N?”

“I received a letter from Georgiana, and it said- “

Before you could finish you were cut off by a sudden rush of footsteps. Before you stood a very shocked and desperate looking Grigor. You stood right up.

“Empress, I hate to cut your meeting short, but I would like to speak to my wife back in my apartments immediately, please…” he said worriedly.

“Why, of course you can.” Catherine confirmed.

“Thank you.”

He ran up to you, his eyes were the size of planets, and you could see his hands were shaking.

“What, Grigor, what is going-“

“Excuse us, empress!”

Before you could say another word, he bent down and swung you over his back like a sack of potatoes. Seeing the floor and a bit dizzy, he began to run quickly down the hall.

“Wha…what is happening! Grigor, tell me what’s going on!” you demanded.

“No need! No time, Y/N!” he replied. You saw the shuffled feet of courtiers he pushed aside in his rush to go back.

Despite your constant kicks and questions and protests, he kept running. You keep trying to talk to him, but he ran fast. Some people gasped and giggled at the ridiculous sight.

Once he arrived before the Dymov apartment he yelled for the guards.

“Let us in- lock the door and be armed!”

Once he got you into the parlor of the Dymov place he brought you down. He kept looking around the room, pacing wiilldy. Then after looking in every room and opening the door of every wardrobe and cabinet, he turned to you.

“Y/N…I have something you need to know now…” he began desperately.

You put a hand in front of him to stop him.

 “So do I…” you brought out the letter. “George has told me…told me the truth…”

He blinked and then looked down at it, smiling. The air stilled except for the sounds of the birds outside. You thanked your lucky stars for George. Who would believe one of his ex-lovers would bring you closer together?

“I want to hear you say it…and now that I’m not that heartbroken thing I was at first, I want to hear it from your lips…so this whole time…You never fucked her?” you asked.

“Yes” he nodded.

You gasped in joy and clasped your hands in front of your mouth.

He looked down to read its contents again. He then folded it delicately and placed it in your hand. You pushed it to be inside your reticule.

“And every word of this is true?” you asked.

“Yes. I haven’t fucked Marial…I kept trying to tell you. Every day I kept trying to tell you the first day and every day since.  Do you believe me this time?” he questioned.

He blinked and you could see tears in the ducts of his eyes Despite his teary exhaustion, his eyes were gentle when he looked at you. He gently cupped your face. You reached out a hand to touch one of his.

“I believe you…” you confirmed.

“The day we were married, and I promised you…that I won’t ever, ever hurt you. I swore you that until I die, Y.N…I will never betray you for any woman in the world…” he recalled.

“I promised to do the same…, I’m so relieved! I don’t even have words!” you mumbled.

You both begin to laugh with relief and happy tears. The misery was only a nightmare and you had awoken to the pink, dewy dawn of a new day.

“But…we can discuss more of this later…” he cut off. He reached down and clasped both of your hands, leaning in closer and speaking softly.

“Y/N, we don’t have time to lose. We must leave. Immediately.  you are in danger right now!” he warned.

You blinked. Your chest suddenly getting tight.

“Danger? But the coup is over…” you questioned.

“You were just threatened by...”

Suddenly there was a LOUD bang that interrupted him.

“Oh fuck! She’s fast!” Grigor cursed. His eyes went wide, and he threw you behind him.

“Where the hell is he?” a familiar voice roared. “Is THIS the place of Monsieur Dymov?”

“Yes- but-“the guards voice were quickly cut off.

“That doesn’t sound like a she…” you commented.

The door was kicked open. Your bother burst through. His face lost its color, his hair was unkempt, he smelled bad, and his eyes were wide with circles beneath/ He had lost sleep in a rush to be here. The guards were behind him, struggling to restrain him and failing. In his hand was a pistol.

“Y/N, thank God I got your letter, you poor thing!” your brother wailed as he went up to you.

Memories of your first torturous reunion came to you both and of the threat you made returned.

“You actually sent it?” Grigor asked turning to look at you.

“…I did.” You confessed.

“Get AWAY from her…Scoundrel!”

Your brother ran to Grigor and shoved him from you, gun flailing as he began ranting before your frightened and amazed husband.

“You worthless bastard of a man! Can’t you keep your cock in your pants for a minute?? Do you see this letter?”

From his pocket he pulled out the very letter you wrote and mailed out to him. Right on the first disastrous day you returned to the palace after the coup and believed Marial’s manipulations.

“It’s stained with her tears! I am here and I am taking her home, away from you and your whore!”

Grigor dodged a literal bullet and you let out a screech. Your brother then turned to you.

“Y/N, we will make sure that there is a divorce…if I don’t make you a widow right away. And you will be home safe, and so help me, next time you will be married to a decent, FAITHFUL man! Do you understand the pain you brought her through? How you insulted and humiliated a good woman and a good wife for you? You’re a demon among men and don’t deserve to even look at her!” he vented.

Right as his arm went up to try and shoot again, you managed to smack his arm, tossing the pistol across the floor. Despite being disarmed, your brother then tackled Grigor outright, punching him and shaking his shirt, getting close to strangling your husband with his bare fist

“Stop!! Stop right now!” You screamed, pulling the men away with all your strength.

 You looked your brother in the eye, tugging him up by the collar.

“Please…I was misled. Grigor was never unfaithful to me!”

“What!” your brother gasped.

“The letter had false information! I misinterpreted what she said to me-I sent the letter before I knew the truth!” you explained.

You briefly explained what happened as Grigor pushed himself back up

“Is it…is it true?” your brother asked

“It fucking is!” Grigor replied in exasperation.

The three of you looked around, panting from the near-death experience of the week. Your brother slouched, his hands dropping and panting.

“Oh, thank God…thank God…Y/N, so you aren’t miserable with this man! He isn’t cheating and abandoning you?”

You shook your head with a small smile.

“This family reunion is very nice, but we must go- Y/N, you are in great danger- now!” Grigor pleaded desperately.

He gestured at the guards to shut and lock the doors and to wait outside.

“What? What do you mean?” you asked.

“Marial says she is going to kill you!” Grigor blurted loudly.

“What!?” you and your brother repeated.

“You mean…the lover in the letter?” the brother asked.

“Yes! She’s about to be forced to marry someone. She must marry to maintain her status and She’s desperate to have me…. I refused her and she left with an ultimatum. Either I could leave Y/N, you or she would murder you.  can’t stay here a minute longer. She will make me a widower so she can have me…and that is why we must leave…” he explained.

The clock in the parlor clicked contentedly. Feeling the blood rush through you, you looked to your brother who put a protective arm around you.

“Could Marial kill someone?” you asked.

You knew she was a bitch and she embraced it. Betrayal, adultery, neither were beneath her  but actual, cold blooded killing?

Your husband gripped your shoulders and he looked you right in the eye.

“Yes! She did! Marial killed Lady Svenska this morning and she is after you next!”  

“Lady Svenska? Dead! Oh…oh god…” you responded.

 You felt cold and your stomach turned to nausea. The room seemed to spin. It was hard to breathe. You grabbed onto Grigor’s  arm to keep from the anxiety overtaking you and your brother took your other one to keep you from collapsing.  Catching onto your feet, you stood back up and looked at the men.

“But we don’t have time to lose. As far as we know, she could be on her way!” Grigor urged.

 Their knees were bent and their faces wild as if ready to charge. You stepped forward, commanding with a quiet but resolved voice.

“Grigor, where are you pistols?”

“In the large cabinet in the parlor.”

“We will each get them, we will be armed, all three of us. I also have my two guards still here from the vineyard, we will leave with them. We will go there. She probably won’t now where it is.  We can travel under another name until we arrive there. We can take a different carriage so no one will think it’s us…”

There were footsteps down the hall. All three of you froaze until they passed by. You continued with a new idea.

 “We will ask our serfs. Ask them to grab any spare clothes we have.”

“Clothes?”

“We can wear peasant clothes to disguise ourselves…and take their pathways. No wigs or silks, just plain clothes. Make ourselves look like the serfs. She is soft for them. If we disguise ourselves in this attire, she will be less likely to recognize us or even want to harm us. And word won’t spread about the count and countess fleeing somewhere if we are not recognized.”

“But Y/N…She could see a carriage through a window…” Grigor argued.

The three of you looked towards the open windows, curtains drawn and daylight spilling through your red apartments. Damn, he was right. And there were many windows in the palace.

“Let’s have it drive the back path, and quickly and then reroute toward the vineyard. Get into the woods and then turn around. We take a different carriage than the Dymov one. A plainer one.”

You turned to your brother.

“But we need someone to stall for time…Do you know what she looks like? She was the empress’s maid at our wedding…” you asked him.

“I can’t recall.”

“Look for a small, pale woman with curly auburn hair or ask for her.”

You gestured down to the pistol in his hand.

 “I need you to find her. Confront her even, distract her, that will buy me and Grigor time to escape.” If she could strike any moment, we don’t have time to lose,” you instructed.

Running out to the parlor, you got two pistols from the cabinet and hurried back, giving one to your husband. Grigor turned to the desk, getting  a piece of paper and a quill. He  quickly wrote something out. He handed the paper to your brother.

“Here is the address of the vineyard. You can meet us there. Memorize it, then burn it. Make sure Marial never even knows you have it.” He ordered.

“Understood.”

You and Grigor looked at each other, then clutched hands. Your brother began to scrutinize the paper, then took off his boot and stuffed it into his sock before putting it back on.

“Then I will meet you there…you have to be willing to die for her…” your brother said.

“For Y/N, Without question”

They tapped each other on the shoulder, a small half smile with a sense of familial fondness minus the previous struggle minutes ago.

 You and your husband ducked your heads out the door to your rather confused looking guards. The hall was quiet. Hardly anyone was there.

“We are…we are going to the serfs’ quarters, follow us. And ask nothing until we are out of the palace.” You instructed.

The guards nodded obediently.

Your brother ran out on his mission. Once he was out, you and Grigor ran to the back door right where the serfs’ quarters lay. He would know where his own manservant slept. And ringing a bell for them would cause attention. Your guards followed you as you could tell from their grunting breaths and heavy footsteps. In your right hand was the pistol- you were unused to the weight of it. You were never raised to shoot a living thing. But you knew your choice. Be ready to kill or be killed.

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There was a sudden gust in Marial’s apartments as a serf ran before her.

“Miss, there’s someone here to…”

“Enough of the formalities.”

Your brother ran in immediately, lightly pushing the serf away to face her.

 Looking at the woman, she was exactly as described. She was decked on her couch lazily, a pastry in one hand and a dog on her lap. She took the dog to the ground and shooed it away. She looked him up and down and gave him a devilish smile. Though beautiful of face and body, the ugliness and cruelty of her actions overpowered her attempt at seduction.

“Sir what are you….”

“I am from the Y/L/N family. Familiar? It should be…my sister is the Countess Dymova.” Your brother cut off.

She clenched her jaw and her eyes hardened. He tensed his fist and spoke directly to her.

“What were your intentions with the count?” he asked quietly.

“Say again?” she asked, in half denial.

“You attempted to elope with Count Dymov and threated to kill my sister, is that so?” He questioned sternly. His voice was raising.

The dog retreated to the next room. She reached over the sicky cakes on her tea tray and downed a bite.

“Why the fuck should I answer any question addressed to me in that tone?” she replied with her mouth full.

His face lost all color. He charged forward, grabbing her by the collar of her dress and lifting her up, slamming her against the wall angrily.

“Did you seduce the count and make him abandon his wife?” he began to bellow.

“The Count Dymov?”

He shook her violently.

“DID YOU SEDUCE THE COUNT AND MAKE HIM ABANDON HIS WIFE?” he screamed.

She froze and replied with an odd calmness and directness

 “Seduce him? He wants it. That’s Nothing new. Grigor always wanted me. Grigor and I fucked….”

“Recently?”

She froze. She spat in his face.

“No, we haven’t recently, for your prying information. But we will. He loves me and I love him.”

“He is already married and in love with Y/N!” your brother argued. “I’ve seen him with her. I’ve read her letters. Including the last one she wrote about you!”

“Grigor fucking loves me He just needs to remember who he is and that it’s me he wants. I’d be better for him.”

“Then why isn’t he fucking married to you?” your brother roared.

She took the cake tray and threw it at him. He ducked as the rich pastries and icing spilled onto the floor.

“He’s mine! He always was! And he tires of Y/N, he just has to admit it.”

“You didn’t try to make him you after they were engaged or before their wedding!” Your brother argued.

She regained her composure, straightening her posture to look right at him with a devilish smile again.

“He was forced to marry her. And she’s a frugal little cunt for him, might as well put her out of her misery.”

“You BITCH!” your brother screamed.

He gave her a solid punch in the jaw. Once she was down, he grabbed a vase, ready to smash her face in, towering over her.

“Give me answers, honest answers or you will die right here…has Grigor made any promises to run off with you?” he asked.

“I…I made him promises and offers…and he never gave an answer I even asked him in person. And he said no, but I know his eyes say yes.. He has been refusing me with his words. He wouldn’t have refused me like that in the past.  He is blinded by her. But he wants me, I can tell. His cock always gets hard around me in a silk dress.”

“You have not fucked him recently.”

“No, I haven’t! God, why won’t he already! She’s making him like her and It’s been fucking maddening!” she replied angrily.

He set down the vase. Your brother began to pace a little, then glared back at her.

“Don’t you Understand that because of your actions, my sister has suffered. Immensely,” he continued.

“I don’t give a fuck what your sister thinks. Or what anyone thinks!” she replied.

She stood up, soothing her gown. Your brother began to lecture her angrily.

“Have you thought that there are people other than you who deserve to be happy. That you can’t always get what pleases you all the time, especially at the price of someone else’s peace?  You  are ruining two lives just to amuse yourself. Amuse yourself with free men. Then you are within your right. But to seduce a happily married man from a wife who loves him. A man you KNOW is married. To encourage him to betray his wife. To deceive, to take their love and joy away…don’t you understand that’s as cruel as beating a serf or a dog!?”

“Well, I don’t fucking know about that! And I don’t want to!” she answered, disturbed. “Don’t you know everyone sleeps with everyone here! It’s the way it fucking is and always will be in this court! But you abuse me…how dare you treat a lady this way…I will have you avenged….” She stepped forward to him, glaring.

Looking down, your brother saw a knife under her couch and the outline of a pistol in the pocket of her dress.

“If you lay a hand on my sister, I swear I will kill you.” Your brother threatened, getting closer.

“They will arrest a stranger.  And execute him for killing a noble lady.” She retorted.

He reached into the hilt beneath his long coat.

“You’re a not a lady, you’re a monster.”

She whipped out her gun but so did he.

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The serfs’ clothes were surprisingly warm and comfortable. The pistol was kept securely in a trunk inside the carriage so no accidents could trigger it to go off and harm anyone. The carriage drove fast and rickety. The shawls and gloves over your hands were welcome against the chill as the snow began to settle down. You had only a cotton cap over your head and a plain brown dress with an apron. Grigor wore no wig dusting with powder. Instead, he had stained white shirt with a plain brown cravat and a long coat. On his brown head was an old black hat instead of the fine tricornered hats so in fashion for the noblemen of Russia. Both of you wore old, tattered boots shivering from the cold air.

 It all seemed so peaceful outside in the forest with leftover snow sitting on the ground and on the branches of trees despite the terror of your situation. Both you and Grigor were silent for most of the beginning of the carriage ride. Your hearts were racing, and you wanted to know the plan would work. So far, nothing had happened. But that didn’t mean something wouldn’t strike any minute.

Lowering your head- you felt dizzy again. It became hard to breathe from how tight you felt in your chest.  You let yourself begin to cry a little from fear.

You felt his large hand on your back. He leaned you to sit up again and began to comfortingly rub your arms.

“Are you…are you afraid, Y/N?” your husband questioned.

“Yes, I…I’m very afraid….what will happen to me? I…I don’t want to die…” you confessed.

You had to gather your strength to fight and flee your way out of the palace with a good plan. But you could no longer deny the terror of such a threat. Now you could let it out safely.

“It’s alright, sweetheart… you had a brilliant plan that’s going to help and I’m here…I’m here beside you…You’re safe now…” he said sweetly.

“May I rest my head on you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

He pulled you closer, letting you rest your head on his scratchy, brown wool cloak. He wrapped both arms around you. Like how your mother would hold you when something scared you.

It eventually got too dark to carry on. Once an inn with rooms available was in sight, both of you walked in. The guards and carriage driver excused themselves to their own separate rooms.  Grigor spoke with the innkeeper- an old man with a mustache and a dirty white apron.

“I am Monsuier Molotov. The lady is Mademoiselle Sobakin.  We need Two rooms…”

“One room…” you stepped in to correct.

Grigor’s  brow furrowed and his jaw dropped as he stared at you in surprise. The innkeeper tried to keep from a lascivious smile.

“Are you certain?” your husband questioned.

“Yes, One room…please…”

Once you were led to the room, Grigor began a fire. Both of you slumped, warming your hands and even taking off your semi-tattered shoes from the warmth.

“I wanted…I wanted to respect your wishes for the past time. I knew you didn’t want me to sleep by you.” He explained.

“I…I would feel much safer with you by me…especially for tonight” you said.

“Then I will stay with you.”

Both of you went down to fetch the meal provided and returned to your rooms to eat. Better to be seen out and about as little as possible. It was just bread, some meat, and soup. It was humble fare compared to the feasts back with Peter and Catherine. You both quietly sipped the ale served in a tin cup rather than vodka in gold trimmed glasses. You didn’t speak much. You were relieved for the bit of safety and  Exhausted form the journey. And it was starting to get late in the night.

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stacked the plates. You took a last sip of the ale.

“Y/N…I know it was brief but…I love you. I actually do love you” he confessed.

The fire crinkled in response. You gave him a tired smile.

“It makes me so humble to be your husband.  I…I just want to be enough for you. Your tears were my greatest torment. Now…I swear to you, I will…”he began.

But his eyes teared up again.

“If I were not me, but the fucking  best, purest of men I would ask you to love me and to have your hand this instant.” He confessed.

You reached out both your hands and took his. You were in awe of such a confession.

“Well, we’re already married.” You reminded him.

“Still, I would. Thank God for Peter. Who knew he was a matchmaker?”

You began to play with his thumbs and he yours. You touched his face sweetly again.

“I hope you forgive my anger…I was only so angry and shrewish because of how much I love you…and…in the past I…”

You sighed, your breath hastened as you clutched his hand, looking into the fire to recall the painful memory.

“About a year or so before I met you, I had a suitor. I met him at a church. I thought he was the handsomest man I had ever met. He was good with children, intelligent, easy to talk to, and even devout, if you can believe. He wrote me the most beautiful letters and gave me flowers. He spent hours together and he even swore he loved me. It was like a dream. My family and I were certain he would propose any day…”

Turning to Grigor, your hands started to shake, and your throat tightened, threatening tears from the recollection.

“Then one day, I fell very sick. I was bedridden. They all feared it would spread so I Was kept to my rooms, and he could not visit me. After a few days, the fever broke, and I felt well enough to walk. I walked outside in the forest near our property and…”

Your heart raced and your stomach soured, your hands shook, and Grigor squeezed them.

“I found him, the man who said he loved me, fingering another girl against a tree as she pleasured his cock with her hands too…”

“Holy shit” Grigor swore.

“I froze where I was. I could hardly think or speak. My stomach hurt more than ever. I remember running home and vomiting onto the floor, crying more furiously than ever. Our servants and my family rushed to clean it up and help me. I demanded to see him the next day. It was the handsomest I had ever seen him, and he begged me to take him back. Despite the yearning I had for him, my heartbreak overpowered anything else. He claimed that it was a quick slip-a slight mistake- as if he had just spilled over a glass of water and not went and fucked another woman. He said that he was lonely, his body wanted mine, and could not have it. He thought I would be dead within days.  He begged me to take him back. I yelled at him with tears and insisted he leave. So did my family. He protested that he loved and adored me and that she was just a quick fix but she was nothing and that he wanted to marry me. My brother threatened to decapitate him if he set foot on our house again. I never returned to the church where we met and mourned him forever. Since then, until you arrived, I was hesitant to accept any other suitor after….”

You let out a deep breath.

“Y/N…what a fucking nightmare.”

He hugged you and you clutched onto him.

“I was so afraid you would be just like him. That you would promise your love and then hurt me. That I lost you, forever. That it was happening all over again.” You explained.

“But…that’s the past now, Y/N, I’m right here and you’re safe. It’s over. I swear to you, I won’t be anything like that dick. You’ll always be safe and loved with me.”

You let yourself relax into his arms and looked up at him.

“After everything we have been through and…I adore every bit of you. Even the parts that keeps getting drunk on vodka…” you teased.

You both laughed lightly.

“The fucking Ale was like water compared to the court’s vodka! But…Y/N…you have survived so much and came out stronger. A horrendous suitor, the betrothal, the coup, and this…and here you are, so much stronger and alive. I’m proud of you-holy shit, I really am! I’m actually…happy…Thank God…you’re alive…you’re alive and you love me…”

“I love you and I’m alive…”

“Please…Y/N, free me from my torment…tell me you forgive me.” He asked.

“Grigor, there’s nothing to forgive. Georgiana told me everything that happened. That nothing happened other than kissing that…you…in a world like court you…you resisted her…for me…he wouldn’t have done that…”

You began to cry, and he wiped away your tears with his thumbs.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else. I would do anything for your happiness.”

“And…and I for yours…”

“Y/N, I ask you, free me from another torment if I’m so selfish…let me kiss you.”

You reached up and kissed him. He tasted of your dinner and his lips felt soft.

“God, I missed this…” you confessed.

“You have no idea…”

He grabbed your face and kissed you more intensely. You found you both were laying on the floor, he was grabbing your skirt bunching it up. You ran your hands to around his back in an embrace. Four months away from each other and He kissed and touched you like the starved man he was.You stopped his hand right before he could bunch your brown cotton skirt up access what you knew he wanted. Not that your body didn’t pine for him. Quite opposite in face.

“Please not on the hard floor…” you said with a giggle.

“The…the bed then?””

“The bed” you confirmed.

The wind howled as your last petticoat and shift was thrown off.  It began to snow when you came together. There would be noise later. Loud, filthy cries and moans as well as chidish laughter fileld the room. Not that either of you cared for disturbing peace.

 Afterward, you both ordered another glass of ale. It tasted a little stronger. Grigor pulled the blankets over each other, recalling little conversations, and in-jokes, and you laughed softly like an adolescent or a drunkard from the stories he could tell. You both fell asleep entwined and facing each other, an undeniable smile on both faces with the warmth from your bodies and the blankets.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Promised Part Four (The Great Arranged Marriage AU mini-series)

Pairing: Grigor Dymov x fem! Reader

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: swearing, food, dogs, marriage, and mentions of sex and some steamier parts

Summary: When Emperor Peter visited your family, his behavior threatened the peaceful alliance between them and Russia. Now in order to fix it, you are betrothed to marry his best friend, the handsome and heartbroken Grigor. 

Part One --- Part Two -- Part Three

The morning after the wedding there was a sealed letter placed on your mother’s table. She nearly dropped it in nervousness.

Something had happened. Something had already happened. The alliance may even be in danger and so was she. Everything was too new now. The blue bed that you slept on in the other room was now empty. Even little Sonya’s trotting and barking was gone as well. She had to face the morning alone. And you, her daughter, her dear child, was now a married woman.

She ripped it open to read the contents with wide eyes.

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Emperor Peter was about to take his morning as usual- sleeping in late. As was typical for a hangover. Peter laid out on his belly like a starfish, still in his clothes. Georgiana smirked as she entered the chambers. She heard him groaning even in his dreams. Already in her dark robes and nothing else on, she knew he would be groaning for different reasons in perhaps an hour. She knew that after a night of celebration Peter would call on her one way or another to cure the headache he had with her kisses. She might as well be ready. There were worse ways to start the day.

Her eyes trailed down to a sealed letter on the table on the other end.  

It was Grigor’s seal.

Before she could stop herself, Georgiana grabbed a small letter opener and cut it open. She read its contents.

It was short. But enough. She put it down, sitting on the chair and taking in a deep breath. Her lovely ivory face turning red. Tears blurring her eyes as she breathed in the message it contained. As she sat down, she let the waves of grief flow out of her, glad that the emperor was too deep asleep to see it.

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Your brother and his wife were late risers. So, they were confused by the excited knocking on the doors of their salon while the sky was still pink.

The lodgings given to them were surprisingly beautiful. Large, plush beds that were the color of cream, vases full of roses, and purple canopies over their heads as they slept. And all expenses covered. Your brother gently padded his wife’s shoulder as she groaned at the sound.

“I’ll get it…”

“Thank god for this bed…” she nestled into the pillow to fall back asleep. 

Your brother yawned and crawled out.  He smiled and kissed his wife and she smiled before she returned to dreaming. His eyes were crusted with sleep as the door cracked open but shot awake at the sight of your father.

“Wha…what is it?” he asked.

“I have a letter…it’s from Grigor, Y/N’s husband.”

He tilted his head in astonishment.

“Already? Why? What happened?”

“I don’t know yet…I thought we both should find out…” he commented nervously. “’Sides, my eyes are bad. Can’t read a thing on it.”

Your father handed it to him, and your brother read it out loud.

              “To the Y/L/N Family,

Last night under the sight of God, Y/F/N and I consummated our marriage.

The alliance is now completely secure and may nothing hinder it with our union. You may rest assured everything is now safe. Madame Y/L/N and the Emperor know of this as well.

            Your Son-in-law, as of yesterday,

              Grigor Dymov.”

Your father and brother let out a deep breath. Yet there was a knowing look between them. Your brother looked again at the letter.

“And…she’s his! I can hardly believe it…I barely even know the man myself!” your brother said.

“Well, it’s secure…it’s completely secure…our alliance with Russia is safe.”

As your brother returned to bed, worried thoughts entered his head. Grigor had a bit of vodka and was putting you on his lap and kissing you a lot. You looked so so timid with him. Not to mention Peter. If this man was close friends with Peter then that said enough. Your voice was trembling when you said your vows. You would only speak softly. And you only knew Grigor for so long. The moments before you were led to Grigor’s chambers you looked like a lamb led to the slaughter. And he could do nothing about it.

This alliance came at the price of your torture.

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As you put the envelope into the pocked of you gown, you heard a familiar yap.

Sonya trotted over. With her ears down, she wagged her tail and reached up for you on the skirt of your robe as far up as she could.

“Hello love…do you like the place?” you asked.

She placed her paws on your skirt as you gentle petted her head.

“Shhhh, be quiet. Please don’t wake pa…him…” you whispered.

Was Grigor now her papa? It felt odd to call him that yet.

Who knew when he would awaken, so you wandered through your new apartment. It was large- three rooms, all with large red walls. You especially liked the outer receiving room with a large, dark fireplace and a nice little brown table with two chairs. There was a tea set properly placed there. Sunlight was pouring in and you heard the chirps of a few robins. The redness looked less frightening. The bathtub gleamed when there was sunlight against it.

Quietly you placed Sonya into your arms and scratched her fur as you admired a few portraits on the wall of the guest room. Eventually she wiggled hard and freed herself onto the floor, shaking in a flurry and then prancing to sniff the place more.

You scurried back into the bedroom. It felt bad to leave Grigor alone once he awoke the morning after your wedding. Especially when you recalled what he said last night.

I used to wake up in the mornings and hate it…because I would be alone…

You poured yourself a cup of the coffee, relieved that it was still steaming hot. This Liza or Beth or whoever timed her gift right. You sipped on it and let Sonya wander by your feet. Whenever she trotted over to the bed, you would shoo her away. You would scold her for yapping, placing a gentle hand over her mouth and saying firmly “no bark…no bark…”

After a few minutes passed, his eyes opened. He groaned as he woke up. His hand began searching your side of the bed.  

Breathing in quickly, you walked forward on cue.

“Oh…I…I’m sorry…I…” you mumbled.

“Nothing, nothing…did you sleep in? You’re not tired, are you?” he asked groggily.

“I…I woke up a little bit ago…” you answered. “I managed to fall back asleep. I think it’s late morning.”

“That’s good.” He said.

Placing yourself on the edge of the bed, you weren’t sure if you wanted to kiss his forehead or take his hand.  You weren’t sure what quite to do at this stage.

“We have a…a gift for us…someone sent us a tray…”

He got up. You were still unused to the sight of his body now in only a simple shift. You looked at the floor. You saw his breeches were still on the floor abandoned. Noticing a black robe over one of the chairs, you went over and got it.

“Is…is this yours?”

“Yes, it is.”

Fetching it, you returned to his side of the bed. Standing on your toes to reach his tall height, you placed it over his shoulders and he slipped his arms through.

“Th-thank you, you’re very kind, Y/N. What are the pastries like?” he asked.

“I…I haven’t tried any of them yet…” you confessed.

“How come?”

“I…I wanted to wait for you…so we could eat them together…” you admitted.

He grinned as he joined you to try the tray. Pulling up the card, he let out a huff of laughter.

“Huh, already she calls us our aunt.”

“Is she your aunt?”

“No, Peters.”

“Oh.”

He smiled. You smiled back. As he sat down and began to eat a strawberry flavored one you noticed a slightly wicked gleam. You looked back and picked a chocolate pastry, biting into it with embarrassment.

You wondered if the intimate moment you had last night would be brought up. Or rather, how to bring it up. What did lovers, much less married couples say after these things? The thing that was unsaid between the two of you now.

“Oh your cock is pretty large.”

“Thanks for cleaning up the mess between my legs!”

“I thought I would kick your head off by accident last night-sorry! I’ll be on top next time!”

There were people who thought men weren’t men, women weren’t women, and children would stay children until they were bedded. You looked at your bare feet poking out from below. It was still your feet. Your hands were still your hands. And even the face in the mirror on the wall across from you was still your face. You were supposed to be a woman now. But you didn’t feel any different than yesterday.

“Th…thank you, Y/N. I appreciate you waiting for me for the food,” he said.

You nodded. “Of…of course…and…about last night…I…”

The words froze in your throat. You were always raised as more of a proper lady. You were able to control any urges you had for other men. Besides, you didn’t want to risk getting pregnant and the difficulties that would bring. Or die in an attempted abortion. Or get a disease. The world of sex had things you heard about. Whispers or a page or two from books that you would secretly read when your parents backs were turned. But actually, experiencing them was something new. Exciting. Frightening. Unknown.

“I…it was…it was nice…” you said. “You were very nice to me…you are very nice to me…and I…I don’t know anything…”

He smiled genuinely and said “I’m…I’m glad. I’m glad it was nice for you…damn, these are good.” He said, chewing on his bite.

You finished your pastry. Little Sonya raced around the room and perking her head at any new sound she heard of footsteps. It was silent between the two of you as Grigor finished his breakfast. His shift was still open to show a bit of the hairs on his chest and his eyes had the slightly dark quality of an hour too much of sleep than one was used to.

“I was so scared about yesterday, I didn’t sleep much the night before,” you commented.

“Y/N…yesterday was very long. Take it easy today, please. You don’t have to do anything today. You can stay in bed all day even, if you’d like….”

“That…that would be nice. My mother is still here, can she come over and visit?” you asked.

“Yes! And…Can I invite your family over…just on a small hunt in the woods. The Emperor won’t be there because that’s his required hours with Catherine…ah, attempting for an heir.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of him. So we can all be together. We’re all a family now.”

“Yes, that…that sounds nice.”

It was a quiet mid-morning after breakfast was cleared. You were grateful for screens to dress behind and as soon as you were ready, there was a serf saying Grigor was asked for.

“Velementov needs your insight on a statue raised for Peter the Great, at once.”

It was a little lonely after he left. You read the fairy tales by the fire, the palace was large enough and you lacked the energy from yesterday to explore it anymore. And interacting with the other ladies of court scared you from what Catherine warned. You decided you would deal with court on a day you were not tired and aching from preparing a long-awaited wedding. Enjoying the silence and nothingness than fitting for your dress or seeing millions of well-wishers or trying not to let your crown fall off your head.

Looking further at your lodgings, the walls and furniture had matching, co-coordinating fabrics. There was a small throw pillow in a chair right by your bed that was the same color and pattern of the walls. You stroked the little pillow and then the walls, feeling the smoothness and bumps of the decorative flowers.

You rang up for hot water and some soaps. The bath was too intriguing to not try. Besides you felt grimy.

It was large. It took several steaming buckets before it was filled and you were left alone to step into it. The soaps smelled like honey and vanilla. There was steam building up in the room from the warmth of the bath. You noticed a mirror on a vanity was fogging up, as well as an oval shaped area mark on the wall catching some condensation. It was odd. Lightly colored. But there were faint dark marks as if a portrait had been on there for a while.

Shrugging off the observation, you peeked over to the side to see a few jars. Opening the porcelain lids, you saw bath salts and poured them in on an indulgent whim to add more flowery scents. Exhaling deep, your aching feet and limbs thanked you.

The perks of being friends with the Emperor of Russia…

You took the sponge placed next to the salts, giggling as you rubbed the soap on it. The sponge seemed about the size of your head. It covered your arms and legs. You were scrubbing on your body, standing up on in the tub to do so, when Grigor entered suddenly.

With a slight scream, you dipped down into the water quickly.

Splash!

You backed into the corner, your arms covering your breasts and your knees together, pulling away. Retreating into a near corner of the bath, you turned your head towards him. He even looked a little pink himself and could not resist a smug smile. He was not in his wig but was in the dark green court dress perhaps for whatever business he had to take care of.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?” he asked, half-meaning it.

Though he turned away after the quip and covered his eyes with his hand dutifully.

“N-no thank you! I…I’m sorry…I’m just not used…please don’t gape at me!” you begged.

“Y/N! It’s fine.”

He peeked over and you made sure to duck low enough in the tub. Sure enough, it was safe. The edge of the tub, the soapy water and your limbs could cover anything too private. Only your head, with your wet hair clinging to you was visible.

You placed your hands on your face in shame.

“It’s so silly- we’ve already made love, Grigor…but it’s you…and it’s my body I…and I still feel….” You mumbled out timidly.

“Y/N…it’s alright. I’m not used to having a wife bathing in my room! I should have knocked….”

A jealous image jolted in your brain. Maybe Georgiana bathed in this very place. Maybe that was why he said “wife” and not “woman.” Maybe he was out with her. But…he couldn’t. He just couldn’t…would he? You didn’t love him. You liked him. And he was your husband and you were his wife. That was enough.

He keeled to the floor, seeing you at eye level with the bathtub covering what needed to be hidden. Though when you turned your head around. Only your head, with wet hair clinging to your face, and your neck and shoulders were visible.

“I…I’ve visited your mother. She will be staying here for a week and so will the rest of your family. You aren’t a prisoner in here, Y/N. You can have her up or visit her apartments. Even today if you aren’t too tired…we can host a tea or dinner for her if I’m not busy. Whatever you would like to do today.”

A smile crept up on you that matched his. You noticed his ears sticking out childishly like a mouse’s ears.

“That does sound nice…I’d like it if she came over this afternoon,” you replied. “And…your-er-our apartments are very pretty. Comfortable. I don’t feel like I’m in prison at all…”

He placed his hand in the warm water and tested it, his fingers stroking it. You noticed how long and graceful his hands looked, swirling the soap as if it was some magic concoction.

“Did you know I have a couple manors…and more than one vineyard?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Gifts from Peter to me. If I could perhaps talk to him for a bit…. we would go there. Have a real honeymoon. There’s one near my vineyard in the country in the west. The sunsets are stunning. And the wine’s not bad either. We could watch the sun over a bottle and get away from court for a little while…wouldn’t that be nice?” he offered.

You nodded, “yes, I would love to go there with you.”

“Wonderful. I’ll leave you be.”

He stepped and turned to the next room so you could finish bathing and dress in privacy. Part of you prayed maybe the emperor would listen to sense. If possible. Even one day away in the country drinking wine would be nice. And you could have worse company than Grigor.

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That afternoon, right as you were dressed for company in a simple burgundy dress and invited your mother to have afternoon tea with her in your new home. She was walked in. Running from Grigor’s side, you embraced her as if you had not seen her in a year. In front of the fire there was a third chair and tea and a few sandwiches. Sonya even barked on her arrival and wagged her tail.

It was just like it was two days ago. Almost.

Until a serf brought in Orlo in a bit of a hurry, his wig disheveled, a slab of some sauce possibly thrown across his jacket. His glasses even looked a little dirty and his hair disheveled.

“The emperor requests your presence immediately,” he parroted, looking at Grigor.

He sighed lightly, but bowed to your mother, gave you a kiss on your hand, patted Sonya’s head, and left.

“Y/N…you seem…you seem to like him,” she said.

“If I was going to be sold for everyone’s sake, at least it’s to a decent man,” you commented. “So many others aren’t as lucky.”

She took a sip of her tea. Sonya kept trying to stick her snout into the sandwiches and you shooed her away. Your mother laughed a little at the puppy’s antics. She even hopped up and tried to eye her for a bit of biscuit.

“Y/N, I received word this morning concerning the…you know…” she began.

Your grip on your teacup went cold.

“That the alliance is secured.” You said firmly. “Totally.”

Your stomach squirmed.

“Yes.”

“I did what I had to for all of us. I knew if I didn’t sleep with him soon, then everyone I love would be in danger. Grigor told me. Besides, it was my duty as his wife…it is my duty,” you said.

She leaned over closer, glancing to make sure no one was listening. She then placed two hands on your shoulders.

“Did he…did he force himself on you, as you feared? We’re alone, you can be honest.”

“No, he waited until I said yes.”

Your mother released a breath.

“Thank heavens!”

Setting down your cup, the emotions came pouring out.

“But Mama…that’s just one night! And were bound until death! There’s going to be so many more! It’s all so new and I just…right before it happens, I get so nervous!”

Looking down, you glanced at your stayed-up stomach beneath your dress. It looked normal. But who knows? You could be pregnant this very minute. Were you even ready to be a mother yourself?

“What can you…tell me about it?” she asked.

“I was…I was relaxed after it was over and I…I don’t even know what to think. I get nervous whenever he looks at me. I was bathing when he walked in and it scared me that he could gaze all over me. It just…it unnerves me!” you confessed. “And I already did it! How can that be?”

“Well, now you’re married, we can be more candid about it. I can finally talk about it. I understand being nervous. The first few times your father and I made love…”

“Mama, please!”

“It’s thrilling and scary. You’re just new. Y/N, I’ll have to go back home, so we better make use of this time but… but…you have no reason to be ashamed of it. Or too emboldened yet. It can be a beautiful act. And it can also be an awkward one…. just tell me what it is that tortures you and what you like and let’s see if I can help…”

You smiled and spoke with deep honesty to her. She advised you. Discussing everything. Far more details than the bits and pieces after your betrothal was announced. Although your ears burned with details of your parents you never wanted to think about, you found yourself learning more and more about your body and a bit of his and what happens and what to do.

The discussion was had even long after the sandwiches were finished in crumbs for Sonya to sneak licks of.

“I will be here for a little bit, we can discuss plenty more…you can also write, my dear.”

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It was getting dark. Grigor was still not back yet since tea. You were thankful for the long talk with your mother, but she had been long gone and now you were awaiting his return.

The old man serf walked into the room with a tray of food.

“Monsieur Dymov sends his apologies. The emperor is keeping him long. He asked me to send you this,” he croaked kindly.

Thanking him, you accepted the tray. Dining alone as the night sky sparkled out of your window and the red walls grew from scarlet to garnet with the light’s dimming.

The clock from the hallway ticked with the hour as you wiped your mouth and ate the last bite of potato. Opening a cabinet in your bedroom, you found a familiar nightgown was pressed in there and changed into it.

You were knitting away on your bed as the fire crackled. Sonya sat up with you a while and tried to chew on the yarn and then contented herself with sitting at the edge of the bed sleepily. That scarf you were working on still wasn’t complete. You started the project not long before the Emperor called on your home and now…well, things were different now. It was halfway through though. It would take hours of work, but it was still there. Your fingers were still a little sore from being at the task for a while. It still helped you with your nerves of what your husband would be expecting of you.

The blankets over you were a dark green this time, changed so the dark ones could be cleaned. Sonya curled into a ball like a little brown decoration on the bed.

You reached for the brush on top of the chest next to you, placed away the scarf, and began to work on brushing your own hair when you heard footsteps and a few grunts. And it was none of the servants.

Part of you fretted it would be Peter. If you were alone with him who knew what would happen. But you saw Grigor walk inside. He had a white shirt that was open and darker pants with boots.

“I’m here! It too forever-we played tennis for hours! You can’t believe how many noses we could hit on the portraits!” he reported cheerily.

Taking off his boots. Sonya got up and greeted him. He bent down and began stroking her fur. It seemed comical to see such a large man with a squeaking puppy the size of his neck.

“Tennis? No meetings of state?” you asked.

“Not when he wants to complain! He was completely hungover, too. It was almost pitiful.” He added with a spark in his eye. Grinning, you recalled why he was hungover.

“Any vomiting with the tennis?”

“Had a bucket on the corner- poor fellow!”

You laughed a little bit at the image.

Though to your mixed delight and horror, he took off his shirt, pants, and breeches, climbing naked into bed. As beautiful and toned he was, you never slept next to any naked person. Much less a man. Keeping your eyes on only his face, you froze. Then you ducked to look at your hands. On one hand, this was your husband. Your anxieties wondered if any…part of him would awkwardly brush against you in the midst of sleep.

The bed shifted as he lifted the blanket and sat next to you.

“Yes, none at all, Y/N! Why I…oh…oh I….I’m sorry,” he apologized noticing your embarrassed face.

“It’s…it’s fine. I remembered you liked sleeping naked I’lll….I’ll just try to get used to it…”

“Let me…let me put on my breeches.”

He rushed out to shimmy it back on and then hopped back. Exhaling deep, you continued brushing a stubborn tangle in your hair. It till hadn’t recovered from the thousands of pins of yesterday. He paused, looking at you. You had sat up, holding your comb now with both hands and clutching it on your lap.

As you returned to brushing, he laid down on the pillow, watching you gently.

“What is it?”

He took a strand in his hand gently, playing with a wisp of your hair.

“Your hair is lovely. That’s a sight I could get used to- to see you just sit there and brush it.”

You bit your lip.

“Th-thank you, Grigor.”

As soon as you did, you pulled a strand away, revealing part of your neck. He went over to lean closer. You couldn’t help but stare at how attractive the hair on his chest made him. But your palms got sweaty and your heart was racing.

“Do…do you want to…I…” you felt yourself mumbling over as the sensation took over.

“Want to what?” he asked. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked.

“It’s just….I’m…nothing’s wrong!” you insisted. 

You looked up at him with a little sigh.

“You must think I’m a nun, Grigor. I just…I know it’s my duty to…to please you…” you confessed, looking down at your shift, fingers clutched as if ready to pull it up and have it over with.

Besides, wasn’t it true that men were always rabbits in heat? And their wives were bound to lie down and let them at it?

“I…it doesn’t matter what I want, what do you want?” he said.

“You mean…I don’t have to make love to you tonight if I don’t want to?” you questioned, blinking.

“It’s simple as that…” he said with a shrug.

He took both of your hands, gently rubbing his thumb over yours.

“Remember yesterday? I promised you that you have my protection. You’ll always be safe with me, Y/N. Not just with last night. Nothing has to happen if you don’t want it to.”

“Well, I…I’m really tired after yesterday and I…I just want to sleep…”

“May I at least kiss you goodnight?”

“Yes…”

You placed your hands on his face to guide yours and he kissed you sweetly. You could taste his dinner, but you didn’t mind. Though once you let go, he trailed a kiss down to your neck and you felt yourself let out a sound at it. It tickled a little and your stomach was churning again at the feeling of his lips there.

“Grigor…”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you…thank you for the tray…I was hungry.”

“Thank you for being patient. He is my ruler, but you are my wife. We can have dinner tomorrow.”

“Alright, I command it,” you joked.

He leaned forward and kissed you chastely with a smile, cupping your face. You smiled into it and when you pulled away, you found you had held your breath during it.

“Alright, Y/N…good night.”

Blowing out the candles, your room was submerged in darkness.

But you fell asleep lying across from each other. Close enough to feel each other’s breath. And without being very aware of it, your hand wandered to his and held it right as you drifted away. But it was nice to feel him next to you and feel him nuzzle at you. Soon your exhaustion won, and you were asleep.

At one point when you woke up in the middle of the night and saw the outline of his bare chest rising and falling slowly.  You nestled closer and placed your head on it, not minding the feeling of his body. His arm reached around for you. Accepting it, you fell back asleep.

The next afternoon was cool and the trees were orange and autumnal. You recognized the rest of your family in a party outside the palace. Everyone had their warmest coats and cornered hats. A couple of wigged serfs carried small brown bags right by their heels.

Grigor and you walked out to the start of the woods in outdoor coats and hats topped on your heads. You rushed over to embrace them at once. They called “Y/N! Hello,” and gave multiple hugs of greeting as Grigor stood aside to let you have a moment.

Though you noticed your brother frowned when he saw your husband. Giving him only a bob of his head.

As your family headed off where the palace ended and the woods began, you felt Grigor brush by you. You shook off a few leaves that fell on your dark blue skirt.

“Is it…is it safe?” you ask.

“I know every pathway. There are gardens and little buildings here and there. I’ve played here since I was a child-It’s more than safe.”

“I must confess I haven’t explored much on my own. The gardens are still confusing to me.  I can’t imagine what the forest will be like…”

An idea struck you and you paused. In the distance you heard a few doves cooing in a tree in front of you.

“Do you think…” you began.

“Think what?”

“Maybe in the mornings, or the late afternoon, when Peter hasn’t called you, we can see more of the gardens and the palace. Even the woods. I’ll bring Sonya on a leash. We can all walk. Together,” you suggested.

He gave you a crinkled smile. Leaning forward so that his grey wig shifted to the side from his head.

“That…that’s a grand idea Y/N,” he replied. “So help me, you aren’t getting lost.”

Picking up your pace, you both caught up with the party. There were bits of conversation to catch up that felt like older times. And you were grateful for the lack of a certain brash emperor to stir feathers. The only feathers that would be stirring were that of the birds spotted in trees. Easy targets. The men reached for the guns near their thighs and began shooting.

Your father was surprisingly excited about it. He managed to get a small robin, and everyone clapped. Grigor was impressive but was better at brighter colored birds than something duller. The servants ran after the birds and stuffed them into the bags.

After some time of fetching, walking beneath crunching leaves, and some relaxed, light conversation concerning your friends back home, there was a yelp from your brother.

“Look there! A big one!” he cried.

You turned your head to look for this mighty bird. It was a crow, cawing in mockery above. Your father reaching up to aim.

“Arh! My blasted eyes! I can hardly see it!” he cursed, moving slowly as the bird hopped between trees.

You followed with your mother and sister-in-law, chin up to where the large back bird was headed. And then you heard a gruff sound behind you.

Urf!

Two figures were missing from the others chasing after the bird. Turning around, you could make out some angry whispers. Walking closer, you looked and saw where. Your brother had somehow grabbed Grigor by the collar and pinned him against a tree with his pistol. His nostrils were flaring and his eyes almost red with rage as he spat onto his face.

“I know you did, you bastard! Secured alliance my arse-you deserve to have your head chopped off!”

“What do you mean?” Grigor insisted, eyes large and his face white.

“You deranged pervert! My sister is one of the best women I know, and you torture her like that!”

“I’ve done nothing!”

“You’re a scoundrel among men! And I don’t know what is stopping me from the pleasure of blowing your brains out!” your brother hissed.

Heart leaping, you did not doubt he would pull the trigger on him.

“I know how you Russians are- And everyone knows how happy Catherine is with her husband, how will you be any better with Y/N! Much less, what you did to her!”

You cry out your brother’s name and he turned to see you. Picking up your skirts, you run in between them, placing yourself in front of Grigor. Your arms reach out to shield him. You feel his breath huffing quickly in nervousness and so does yours.

“Stop it! What did you think happened?”

“Y/N, we got a letter bragging about how he forced himself on you and expects us to congratulate him! I won’t stand for any man who treats you-“

“He did not rape me the other night, I consented!” you interrupted.

A few hairs flew free from your hat. You felt your hands ball into fists. Again your own privacy concerning your body was being tossed around and displayed publicly.

“What?”

“I consented to consummate the marriage. Grigor never forced himself on me. And he promised he would. I know you’re protecting me, but I won’t you let hurt him- stop being ridiculous!”

Glancing back, Grigor’s eyes were the size of robin’s eggs. His jaw was slack and he was frozen in place, but his posture softened from your protection.

“Sir…may I add, is this the way you thank your patron?” he asked.

Your brother blinked. His hand holding the gun relaxed in mid-air.

“P-patron?” he asked.

“Do you know who covered the fees for your travels? The bill for the hotel?”

“It…it was a gift. Anonymous. I thought it was from our tenets or from the Russian court so we could…” your brother responded.

“It was from the Russian court. Because I fucking sent it. I begged Peter to let you come to the wedding and be with Y/N the day we departed for Russia. I had to nag him every day for weeks and weeks. Can you imagine nagging your damn sovereign?! But he finally agreed. I paid every penny just to have you be taken here and have a roof over your head the whole time! It’s because of me you aren’t away at your home wondering if you’d even see her again!” he said in frustration.

It was your turn to drop your jaw and turn your head around.

“You…you did that? But…why anonymous!” he asked

“It was in case Peter fucking disagreed! And he would have if I didn’t spend out of my own damn pocket! If it were that, I would have sent Y/N to the hotel to see all of you.” Grigor explained.

Your brother was aghast, and you blinked in surprise.

“Why? Why all this…for me? For us?” you blurted.

“I didn’t want bad blood with my in-laws! And Y/N your face- the look you had when our carriage was pulling away after the contract was signed…it haunted me. How scared, and miserable you seemed…I had to do something about it. I was practically stealing you away from everyone you’ve loved and known…I thought it would at least make you happy. It would make everyone happy. So, I did it.”

He nodded, looking down at you with his anger flushed out and his features softening.

Ears burning, you nearly clutched his hand as you processed what he did. Your brother sheathed his pistol. 

“Forgive me…. she’s my sister and I…I was scared that I failed to protect her…” he apologized.

You soon heard footsteps and the others following suit. You felt Grigor’s gloved hand clutching yours as you both walked up, your brother in front of them.

“Why, what is it?” your sister in law asked, arms akimbo as she reached him. “We’ve been looking for you for a while!”

“I…uh, saw a rabbit and we raced to catch it, honey…” your brother answered with a quiver in his lip.

She rolled her eyes but got his arm anyway.

“Well, at least you’re safe. I thought we heard a bit of fighting,” she added, kissing his forehead.

Looking up, you felt Grigor walk forward, suggesting.

“Sir… join me after dinner, I have a bottle from Kiev. Let’s crack it open and enjoy a little mano e mano chat…we only need to know each other better. Is that good?”

“Yes that…that’s good,” your brother nodded, allowing his wife to loop her arm around his and lead him away.

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There must have been a little magic stored in that bottle. You sensed that after dinner you should leave them alone for them to drink and talk it out, especially since guns would not be involved. Though you could not help but place your ear outside the door that led to your apartment.

Though as you sat outside the hall, listening through as Sonya panted in your arms, you heard a clearing of a throat. Turning, you saw Mariol holding a book.

“The Empress asked wanted me to know, have you ever read Rousseau?” she asked sharply.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then she wanted to give you this as a late wedding present. And for me to say that you’re free to visit her to talk about it. Count yourself lucky she likes you,” she added honestly.

Biting your lip, you thanked Mariol and accepted the thin book bound in red. Sonya sniffed at it in your other arm.

As much as you wanted to glance through the pages, you heard ridiculous laughs from your brother. Chuckling as Grigor chatted about a whistle that could summon an army of ducks from the back yard. But it was your brother’s silly, relaxed, happy laughter. The one of the happy boy you grew up with and not the man who almost killed your husband hours ago.

Poking in your head at the crack of the door shyly, you saw that they were enjoying a roasting fire next to them. Heads turned to acknowledge you. You shied away at first, but Grigor gestured you over.

“Ah! My darling Y/N…. come join us, please!”

“Isn’t this a man conversation?” you asked teasingly.

“I can make an exception!” he said, sipping his vodka.

Grinning you obliged, setting down the dog to be at your side and putting the book away. You allowed your husband to lean against you and clutch your hand. The sensation made you nearly feel a little dizzy. Even greeting him with a kiss on the cheek as a thanks for your cup of Kiev vodka. And your brother’s eyes didn’t redden this time. In fact, he gave you a toothy grin like the kind you shared when you ate sweets as children. When he fell asleep that night, you found yourself happy to see him smiling but secretly a touch disappointed. And you knew why.

That next night you waited for him to return from Peter’s request to dine and play who knows what games. Your heart was beating fast as you gave your hair a quick brush through, just as he liked it. Admiring the green laid on the walls in contrast to the red, you heard him mutter something to his servant. But you kept thinking of him- how he kept you safe on that night, how he shared the vodka with you, and the personal sacrifices he made to bring your family to you for the wedding. That and the image of his bare chest rising and falling in the middle of the night made you suddenly burn and ache for him when he left. And you wanted to do something about it.

There was the orange glow of the candles and the rest was taken care of by the night sky.

“Y/N? Y/N, where are…”

You wore your green robe and sat down on the bed at the end. Grigor walked into the room and then froze. Beneath your robe there was nothing else and he noticed.

“Hello, I’m here…”

“Hello…” he greeted. His pupils growing wide.

“I…I want to be yours tonight…if you’ll have me…And I’m just as nervous, but I want you too much for that…”

You walked up in front of him and touched his face gently.

“You…you want me? Do you want me?” he asked, almost in confusion.

“I want you. Now take me, husband,” you said.

He was on you in a heartbeat, his hands undid the knot holding your robe together. And though a jolt of nerves shot through you, you buried yourself in kissing him back too much to focus on it.

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There was a peaceful week following. Dinners, teas, and visits. Drinks between you, your brother, and Grigor as the alcohol burned your throat and the fire toasted your sides. Numerous visits and talks. And nights where you slowly got more comfortable with yourself and Grigor and connecting through your bodies and not being ashamed of it.

In a blink of an eye, it was a week done. And your mother’s apartment was filled with her luggage.

The other three met you and Grigor in front of the palace as their carriage together trotted up. You embraced your father and mother constantly. You felt yourself cry when at the sound of the hoofbeats. Your father kissed your forehead, “my darling girl, I’ll miss you so much.”

Your mother gave you an extra hug and said “your father and I will always love you, no matter what.”

Your sister-in-law made promises to write and you swore to include details of whatever mischief little Sonya got into with an attempted sketch.

While Grigor shook the hands of each of them he paused before your brother. Hesitantly.

“I didn’t know you well…I hope you will forgive me,” your brother confessed. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did…I love my sister and I was worried for her safety, her happiness.”

“I promise you- your sister will want for nothing under my care.”

“Even if the Emperor…?”

Both of you froze. You seemed to have overlooked it. But your brother’s gaze was serious.

“He’s my friend, she’ll be safe even with him,” he answered. Although a sad glimmer in his eye told you that there was a memory in his head that was saying otherwise.

Now you were truly alone, you thought. And with a ruler who was both a great help but could also be a great threat to you. You recalled the way he oogled you and suggested you come to his bedchamber that first night as a compliment to the royal guest and you felt yourself shrink once the carriage door closed.

Before you knew it, you were trembling, and you started to sob. Grigor took your shoulder and shushed you. He opened his mouth but stopped himself. What was there to even say?

There that coachmen and those horses were, taking your family further and further away. No more reading with your mother. No more eating with your father. No more discussing plays with your brother and his wife or anything. A part of your life. Your childhood. Your adolescence. Your youth. All you had known. All you had been raised with was leaving. That a part of you was dead and a new life with new, wild, frightening people was beginning. This time your mother wasn’t there to squeeze your hand and talk about anything. Your sister-in-law couldn’t make you laugh. Your father couldn’t put an arm around you when you cried. And your brother couldn’t rush a man into the woods with a loaded gun to protect you.

Grigor looked down at you and placed an arm around your shoulder. You leaned into him into a half embrace as the carriage holding your family disappeared in the distance like melting snow.

 Taglist: @retropetalss @queenlover05 @joeslee​ (thank you for your insight when I couldn’t decide the ending!)  @grigorlee @itsametaphorgwil @always-a-fairycat @foxinaforestofstars @simonedk @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @queenlover05 @xviiarez @kiainspace @gwilymleeisbae @writeroutoftime @staradorned @iwritefanficnotprophecies @panagiasikelia @marshmxllowfluf