#natalie is beautiful but also have this intriguing face of mischief | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

obiwan824 · 7 years

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Idk I‘ll think of a name in the morning if I post this without changing this title I’m sorry- Fedya Dolokhov x reader

A/N: I wrote this in parts over the past week or so and I haven’t read it all together yet so this could be weird and unreadable but I just can’t proofread right now, so let me know if you notice any mistakes! I also don’t even know what my order of requests is supposed to be, I just got inspired and wrote this.

Request

It all started at the opera.

Sitting next to Sonya, with Natasha and Marya on Sonya’s other side, and with Sonya occupied with chatting with Natalya, Y/N was left somewhat alone. The seat to her left was empty, leaving her a spot to rest her arm. She bit her lip and looked around, tapped her foot, bounced her knee, anything to keep her from spiralling into boredom.

A sudden presence from the aisle a few seats to her left made Y/N look up.

“Announcing Fedya Dolokhov!”

A young man swaggered in, dressed in his best uniform, his hair in neat curls around his forehead. He walked with a smirk and a confident air, not afraid of anyone. Y/N turned to her companions, listening as Marya spoke.

“Dolokhov was in the Caucasus, and he killed the Shah’s brother, now all the Moscow ladies are mad about him!”

Looking again at the handsome man, Y/N could see how one could fall for him. She forced herself to turn away, deciding it wasn’t worth her time to pine after someone so below her in status. He would never take an interest in her, anyway.

Suddenly, the presence was right next to her. Y/N gingerly turned to the side and met the piercing eyes of Fedya Dolokhov himself. His smirk grew as he moved to the seat next to her and sat down. Suddenly realizing that she’d have to sit next to this man for the whole show, she became flustered. She looked down.

“Good evening.”

Y/N was forced to look back up as he spoke to her. Helene, who had been holding onto Fedya’s arm, smiled and took her seat, turning to someone behind her. “Hi.” Realizing how stupid that sounded, she blushed. Fedya’s smile only grew.

“Fedya Dolokhov. And you are?”

“Countess Y/N Rostova.”

Dolokhov’s eyes widened the tiniest bit, he seemed at least a little bit intrigued. He extended his hand, asking for hers, and she placed it in his. Smiling, holding it tenderly, he kissed the back of her knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you, Countess.”

“Likewise,” she said, her voice dimming into a quiet murmur. She felt her cheeks and found them burning and realized that she must be bright red. She turned away, facing her cousin and sister, both of whom were giggling. Y/N rolled her eyes and studied Marya’s reaction. The older woman seemed a bit sterner than usual, a bit disapproving, but she turned away, saying nothing.

Y/N sighed and turned back to the stage, hoping to ignore the man she could still see out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but wish for him to speak to her, to take her hand again, to feel his skin on hers, to have him hold her and to fall asleep in his arms, to press her lips to his.

“Is this your first time at the opera?” Fedya asked in that quiet, confident, calculated tone of his. Y/N nodded, turning to him.

“And what about you?”

Dolokhov smiled like he knew something she didn’t. “I’ve been here- far too many times for the price of admission, really. I have a friend who is rather fond of these shows.”

“Are they here?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “I’d assume not. He does like to make a fool of himself and walk in during the middle of the act.”

Y/N giggled, looking down at her hands, suddenly forgetting how to behave in front of someone. “So you don’t enjoy the opera?”

Fedya leaned forward as she looked back up at him. She jumped a little and blushed harder as he got close to her ear. Pushing some strands of hair off of her neck and leaning forward still so that his lips were inches from her ear, he whispered, “it’s not that- don’t tell anyone, but I haven’t a clue what’s going on.”

Y/N burst into laughter as Dolokhov leaned back in his seat, looking pleased with himself. The Countess took a moment to glance at her family- they seemed too busy talking amongst themselves to have noticed the moment with Fedya. She smiled at the man again.

“Well, I’m excited- I’ve heard such wonderful things!”

He smiled. “Perhaps you’ll like them, love, but perhaps you’ll see it from my point of view.”

Fedya turned away then and began to speak to Helene, his face animated and his eyes alight with mischief. Y/N looked back at the stage and began to play with her dress.

Suddenly, the lights were shut off and the crowd fell silent. The opera began, with actors and actresses on the stage, music playing, odd singing ringing in her ears. It was eery and seemed to have no particular plot. She shook her head, understanding Fedya more than ever.

Halfway through the act, where Y/N had her head resting on her fist, her eyes half-shut, slowly drifting off, the doors flew open. All heads turned in the direction of the entrance as another man walked in, this one with bright blue eyes and blonde hair. Even the performers could no longer focus on their songs. He had a smirk similar to Dolokhov’s and he moved with an even more ridiculous swagger. Y/N turned to Fedya and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Is this your friend?”

Fedya looked at her and let out a huff of laughter. “Sadly, yes.”

The man made his way down the aisle, glancing at various women now and then, before his eyes rested on Y/N’s row. He smiled and stopped there, reaching for Dolokhov. Fedya stood up, hugged his friend, and sat back down again after whispering something in his friend’s ear. The blond locked eyes with Y/N, studied her, and then smiled at Fedya. He embraced Helene and moved on, continuing down the aisle. When he reached the middle, he stopped, turned around, stared right into Natasha’s eyes and whispered something before continuing.

“That was Helene’s brother,” Fedya murmured. “And my best friend, Prince Anatole Kuragin.”

Y/N nodded wordlessly, looking at her sister for any response. Natasha was blushing, looking down at her hands with a small smile. The youngest Rostov began to worry for a split second before she felt a pressure on her hand. She looked down and found that Fedya had taken it again, holding it in his own and pressing it against his chest. She looked into his eyes hoping for an explanation. He simply swivelled his head and smiled at her before turning back to the show, leaving her heart fluttering and her face flushed.

There was a brief intermission, where he squeezed her hand one more time and got up to do something or other. She turned to face her family, engaging in conversation with Natasha and Sonya, her mind still on Fedya.

During the second act, Natasha seemed to have her eyes on Anatole. He would constantly turn around to look at her, a smirk still on his lips. Occasionally, he would get up and walk around throughout the show, strolling throughout the theatre. Towards the end of the show, he entered the row and pulled her away to his box, returning her before the act was through. Y/N bit her lip and focused on Fedya- she trusted Natalie to make her own decisions.

…

She received a letter shortly after. It wasn’t uncommon for her to get mail, men pushing forward their sons as potential suitors, or letters from her brothers back home, sometimes notes from friends left behind in Petersburg. As she shifted through the stack of letters, however, something caught her eye. On a foreign paper and in an unknown script, the envelope was inviting. She opened it as she padded up the stairs and to her rooms, lying down on the bed. She would want to be alone if the letter were something private.

It was a letter from Fedya. A beautiful letter, one filled with elegant, looping script, one with poems and melodies hidden in every word. Every beautiful stroke of the pen made Y/N fall more deeply in love.

She read it over and over, wondering how one man could possibly be so clever and romantic. She fell back on the bed, holding the letter close to her chest and closing her eyes with a dreamy smile. In the letter, he had asked to see her again. In the letter, he had asked if they could court.

Y/N could imagine his hand holding hers yet again. She could imagine the pressure of his hand holding hers so tenderly, the feel of his smooth skin against hers, so soft and gentle. She could imagine his lips close to her ear, whispering another clever line, so close that in a single move he could attach his lips to her neck.

As she sat down to write a reply, she didn’t need to formulate a plan or sort through her answer. She already knew the answer would be yes.

…

Y/N collapsed on the sofa with a lovesick, dreamy expression. She closed her eyes momentarily, hoping to find some sort of clarity with a short rest, the newest letter from Dolokhov still in her hand, but found herself dozing off. The next thing she knew, she was asleep.

Sonya entered the room carefully. She hadn’t seen much of either of her cousins and wondered what they could possibly be up to. Finding Y/N asleep on the sofa in one of her rooms, Sonya smiled. The girl walked over to her cousin, about to shake her awake so that they could talk, when she noticed the paper in Y/N’s fist.

Sonya paused for a moment, hesitant, before removing the letter and opening it, beginning to read. Her eyes widened, her mouth fell open, and a small gasp escaped her. She read it once more, scanning the words more carefully than before.

“Sonya?” Y/N studied her cousin and, smiling, sat up. “You’re back!”

Sonya looked at Y/N with her wide eyes. “Y/N, what’s- what’s this?” she held up the letter.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “You’ve read the letter?” She took the paper back and scanned it once again, her cheeks turning pink and her lips parting as she read, once again looking far-off and in love. “Oh, Sonya, now you know that we love one another!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The younger of the girls could tell that Sonya was hurt. “Aren’t we supposed to tell each other everything?”

Y/N frowned. “I know, Sonya- oh, Sophia, don’t be angry with me! If you only knew, if you only understood, you’d know why I had to keep it a secret!”

“What more is there to it?”

The younger girl smiled. “Why, Sonya, hasn’t Natasha told you- she’s met someone, too!”

Sonya narrowed her eyes. “Y/N, Natasha is engaged, you can’t be serious!”

Y/N fumbled to find her words but Sonya was gone.

...

Everyone had their jobs. Everything was in order, very little was left to plan, and Y/N had never been happier. She rubbed her arms to fight the cold, regretting her decision not to put on a coat. Sonya and Marya were sure to be asleep by now, and Y/N was alone. She wanted nothing more than to find Natasha in the vast house and talk to her one more time about the elopement, but it was too risky. She checked the clock one more time and sat down, not sure whether she could last the few minutes she had left.

Meanwhile, Sonya informed Marya of the elopement, making sure her cousins would be safe. Checking the time, Marya realized she only had mere minutes before the girls would be leaving their rooms and attempting to elope.

“Come quickly,” she whispered. Marya ran out of the room and, as quietly as she could, found Natasha’s rooms. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. Hearing Natalya’s quiet breathing on the other end, Marya let out a sigh of relief and locked the door. She waited a moment, something breaking in her heart when she heard Natasha try to open the door, the thud of the young girl desperately trying to open it, the thud as she fell to the floor, the horrible whimpers and sobs she let out afterwards.

“She’s safe,” Marya mumbled to Sonya. The two women raced to Y/N’s rooms- although the time had come for the girl to leave, there was a sliver of a change the youngest Rostov hadn’t left yet. However, when they reached the door, it was wide open.

And in another part of the house, Anatole was being led into the house. As he entered, however, hoping to find both Natasha and her sister, he only found a taller, broader woman.

“You will not enter my house- scoundrel,” she shouted. Anatole’s eyes widened and he began to back up, realizing he had been betrayed. He glanced into the house one more time, only finding Marya.

“Anatole, come back!” Fedya yelled from behind him. Anatole nodded and began to run, before he heard a voice.

“Anatole!”

From the backyard came Y/N, bulleting towards Anatole. Fedya let out a sigh of relief as she approached Anatole, who was still only inches from the house. He grabbed Y/N’s hand and dragged her along with him to the troika, where she ended up in Fedya’s arms. He held her tight, quickly taking off his coat and wrapping it around her shoulders to keep her warm.The young girl turned back towards the house, hoping to find her sister, and only seeing Marya and Sonya rushing towards the carriage, she felt tears come to her eyes.

“It’s okay, love,” Fedya whispered into her hair, rubbing her back. “Natasha will be alright. But we have to move- now.”

Marya was getting far too close to the troika. Y/N nodded shakily and, still holding Fedya’s hand, let him lead her into the troika. She glanced back at her godmother and cousin one more time, both of whom were standing helplessly where the carriage had once been.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N called back to them. “But I love him!”

She turned away for a final time and cuddled up to Fedya. Although she was leaving behind the only life she knew, if only for a limited time, she had never been happier than now on the lap of the man she loved. Anatole sat glumly beside her, staring back at the house.

“We’ll go back for her, Anatole,” Fedya piped up in the silence of the troika ride. Anatole nodded, never turning to face his friend. Dolokhov smiled at Y/N, then, pulling her even closer to him and capturing her lips in a kiss. She leaned into it, smiling against his lips. She could think about all that she had left behind later- right now, all she could focus on was Fedya’s lips against hers and their upcoming wedding.

Perhaps she had left behind a life of riches and luxury, but it was a cold, loveless life where she’d be forced to marry someone she didn’t love. This was a life of love, a life of joy. And in Dolokhov’s arms, that’s all she felt.

#i'm not even using grammarly #this has 0 proofreading #i feel i should inform you i've never edited or revised a single one of my imagines #but this one will be even worse #dolokhov x reader #queue

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