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likesomekindofcheese · 1 year

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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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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.

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diaana4224 · 2 years

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Stranger things vibe

#steve harrington #stranger things #booklr #mlb #philadelphia eagles #new york giants #poetry #health & fitness #quotes #futbol #spotify #grigor dimitrov #fiction #max mayfield #steve x reader #stray kids #will byres

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bohemianboynton · 1 year

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#bohemianboynton.txt #the great #lucy boynton x reader #lucy boynton smut #lucy boynton fluff #lucy boynton #the great hulu #hulu the great #hulu’s the great #grigor dymov x reader #grigor dymov smut #astrid sloan #the politican netflix #the politician

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game-set-canet · 6 months

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hii! you could do a rublev x reader tennis player where he gets jealous of her while she talks to another tennis player, if you want you can modify the request and sorry if it got confusing, english is not my first language, i love your blog!!🤍

A step forward

Pairing: Andrey Rublev x f!reader

category: fluff

warnings: none

Author’s Note: i really had fun writing this imagine! i hope you like it, lovely anon! 💖💖 also: English isn’t my first language, so I’m very sorry for mistakes!

* Y/N = your name

MY MASTERLIST

(not my gif! credits to the owner/creator!)

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You know something is wrong when you saw Andrey pressing his lips together and narrowing his eyes in suspicion, but you don’t know what’s the reason. In your eyes everything was fine.

Andrey just finished an intense practise session with Grigor Dimitrov. He showed that he is in a good shape and ready for the next tournament.

You are in the middle of a conversation with the Bulgarian, so all you can do is give Andrey a questioning look, but your boyfriend doesn’t react to your nonverbal question and just stares at the two of you.

“I saw the paining you posted on Instagram this morning!”, Grigor beams at you while taking off his headband, “It’s very beautiful!”

Grigor's compliment catches you completely off guard, and you can’t help but blush: “Uhm…thank you…that’s very kind.”

You love painting and drawing, and Andrey encouraged you to publish some of them online. You set up a separate Instagram account and after only five days your page had A LOT of followers – even some tennis players started following it: Karen Khachanov, Dominc Thiem, Grigor Dimitrov, … Without Andrey you wouldn't have dared to publish it, you're too insecure about it. But Andrey is passionate about your drawings and paintings and has persuaded you to share them with the world.

The older one shakes his head and steps closer to you: “No, I’m serious! You are really talented! I especially love your pencil drawings!”, he sighs still grinning, “I wish I had any talents…” You are way too involved in your conversation to notice Andrey’s snort and the way he stares at Grigor coldly.

Instead you can’t help but blur out: “I mean, from what I've heard so far, you're a pretty good tennis player.”

Grigor blinks at you in surprise before he starts laughing as well: “What you have heard? You just saw me practise?!”

“Yeah…I’m sure you can do better.”

The two of you are now laughing at the top of your lungs. When Andrey introduced you to other tennis players, you couldn’t say a single word. You are a big tennis fan since you were a little kid – always watching matches with your father – and suddenly you are meeting all the players. The first you got to know was Karen, who was really friendly, polite and calm but you were so nervous before your meeting that you nearly hyperventilate. So joking with Grigor was a HUGE step and you are really proud of yourself in that moment.

Grigor turns around and nudges Andrey with his elbow: “Cheeky! Andrey, Y/N is very bold! Did you hear what she said to me?!”

Andrey doesn’t join you in your laughing, his voice is rather cold: “No, I didn’t hear what my girlfriend said to you.”

Something about his emphasis makes you pause your laughing: You have never ever heard this kind of undertone in Andrey’s voice. Your relationship is quite new, next Monday would be your 3-month-anniversary and you know you both have a lot to learn and discover about each other but that was completely new.

Grigor also notices that something is different now and clears his throat quietly, no one says anything.

“I gonna take a shower.”, Andrey doesn’t look at any of you, “See you tomorrow, Grigor! See you later at lunch, Y/N!”, he presses a quick kiss on your left cheek and storms off of the court before you could say a single word.

Fernando Vicente is standing next to the bench, packing the bags. You have a good relationship with Andrey’s coach – at the end of the day he was the one who introduced you to Andrey.

You bite your lip and walk over to him: “Fernando?”, you wait until he turns around, “Maybe it’s nothing but…but…do you…uhm…what’s up with Andrey?”

Ferando looks at you, looking completely surprised: “You don’t know?”

“No?”, you are feeling quite stupid because it’s seeming like it’s very obvious what is wrong with your boyfriend.

Suddenly you hear Andrey yell from outside the practise court: “FERNANDO!”

Now that’s an undertone you know: your boyfriend is annoyed and impatient. Fernando knows the undertone as well and hurries up collecting his things.

“He is jealous!”, is everything Fernando says before he quickly grabs the bags and almost jogs across the court to follow Andrey back to the main building.

Andrey has a short break after lunch, so you make your way back to your hotel room after eating with the whole team.

Your boyfriend was very quiet and so everything was a bit tensed. You take a deep breath and sit down next to Andrey on the big couch: “Andrey?”

You wait until he puts down the phone – although you can see that he feels nervous about what you might say: “Yeah?”

It’s not easy to find the right words, because on one hand you can’t imagine how Andrey could be jealous on someone – in your eyes he was the most wonderful human on this planet – but on the other hand you want to take his feelings and thoughts seriously.

It takes you a lot of courage to look at him when asking the next question: “This morning on the practise court, were you really jealous?”

Andrey bites his lip, while he nervously strokes through his hair: “Mhhh…maybe.”

“Why are you jealous on Grigor? You know, there is no need for that?”

He makes a dismissive gesture and shrugs his shoulders awkwardly: “He is very handsome, isn’t he?”

You can’t help but shake your head in disbelief and move closer to him: “Oh yes, he really is…”, you can’t help but grin, “But I know an ATP player who is even more handsome. Do you want to know who it is?”

Andrey gives you a quick look from the corner of his eyes, voice quiet: “Not really.”

“Too bad. I gonna tell you either way.”, you take his hand in yours, “It’s a Russian player…I think his name is Andrey Rublev. Have you ever heard of him?”

Andrey shoots you a half annoyed-half angry glance but the corners of his mouth lift because of your words.

“So, do you know him?”, you continue to play your little ‘game’. Your head skips a beat when a shy smile spreads across his face.

He rolls his eyes, but his smile is getting bigger and bigger: “Maybe…”

“Yeah, I think you do know him. You must know him…because he is really really handsome. The most handsome guy on the whole tour. And he is very funny, and caring…sometimes he is very stubborn as well but that’s okay.”

“And sometimes he is a little stupid because he gets jealous without any reason?”

You shake your head very quickly and look him straight in the eyes now: “No, you aren’t stupid for getting jealous! It’s okay…I understand it.”

You can see that Andrey is relieved about your words – mainly because you two talked about it. Andrey had problems thinking about this all midday.

“You know what’s funny?”, you finally start talking again and chuckle, “There was a tiny little moment during today’s practise session where I thought: Maybe I have to be jealous of Grigor because you two were so cute together…”

Andrey looks at you with big eyes, before he starts giggling and shakes his head: “No no no, I’ll always choose you! You’re way cuter than Grigor!”

He takes your face between his hands and kisses you softly.

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tagging: @bluetackbaby @lxndonorris @fedalev

#Andrey Rublev x reader #Andrey Rublev x you #Andrey Rublev imagine #Andrey Rublev fanfic #Andrey Rublev fic #tennis imagine #mira's imagine #my writing #my imagine #tennis imagines #tennis fic #tennis fics #tennis fanfic #tennis fanfics #tennis fanfiction #tennis fanfictions

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ladystrallan · 2 years

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✏️👀 👌 for fanfic asks, please!

Omg! Thank you so much for the ask!

✏️ The first fanfiction you ever wrote? (doesn’t have to be a posted fic)

The first fanfic I ever wrote was an Edgar Allan Poe x reader fan fic that I started writing as a joke because I saw this posted on Pinterest:

I thought that the concept was so funny that I just had to write it. It’s called Edgar’s Tell-Tale Heart (a kind of play on words/reference to The Tell Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe) and I posted the first chapter in June of 2019. It’s still up on my AO3, and I think that the writing still holds up, even though my writing style has evolved a bit since then. Writing that fic kinda made me fall in love with writing fanfic and I’ve been doing it ever since :) link if you want to check it out:

👀 What’s an idea you had for a fic that you never did anything with?

I had an idea for a Monchevy fic (Phillipe and Chevalier from Versailles) based on the line “Phillipe, well, he prays only to me” that Chevalier says in the first episode. It would be some sort of body worship fic but I don’t write m/m. All the other ideas are WIPs that take forever to finish lol

👌🏻 The fic that took the fastest to write?

This is a really hard question because almost everything takes me FOREVER to finish. Like on average it’s at least 4 or 5 months between me having an idea and me actually posting the fic. If we’re talking about a fic in its entirety, then the fastest was probably Obvious, my Grigor drabble. I think I was really inspired and didn’t have too many restrictions for myself about length or form (the fact that it was a series of vignettes probably helped). I also think that I wrote the first chapter of I Really Wish I Hated You really quickly (I don’t quite remember), I had a lot of fun with it so the writing process was quite fast.

Again thank you so much for the ask 💕💕💕

- LadyStrallan :)

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likesomekindofcheese · 1 year

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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

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.

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