DO NOT COPY OR POST MY FAN FICTIONS ANYWHERE ELSE. THIS IS MY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY.
- Timothée Chalamet - Harry Styles fan fiction
smut
- I want to hear you say it - (part 1)Timothée x Female Reader – (part 2) Timothée x Female Reader x Harry styles – (part 3)Harry Styles x Female Reader – (part 4)-Timothée x female reader x Harry styles x Kiko Mizuhara
Eastcheap was bustling in the late afternoon sunshine. You could hear the sound of people haggling over goods as you passed market stores. One woman was yelling at a storekeeper, the reason for her outburst unclear, but you giggled at the sight of the old lady waving her fingers in the mans red face.
Basket in hand, you headed to a fruit store near the west side of the market. The shop keeper’s son, Peter, had been trying to court you for years now, and always saved you the best-looking apples. In return, you trifled with him, but only ever enough to keep him on your hook.
After collecting everything you needed for the day, you headed back towards your family’s cottage. Rounding a corner, a fly caught your eye as it buzzed around your fresh bread. You reached down into your basket to swat it away and suddenly crashed into someone walking in the opposite direction. It sent you plummeting into the mud. the filth-ridden muck covered your entire backside, and your newly purchased food was tossed all around you.
“My sincerest apologies.” A voice rang out above you, a hand reaching down to help you stand up. “I must confess, my mind be consumed this day. You must pardon my carelessness.” You reached up to take his hand. Your eyes widened at the sight of Henry Prince of Wales pulling you to your feet, your frustration immediately morphing into embarrassment and apprehension. You bent to curtsy as best as you knew how.
“Your highness, th-the fault lies entirely with me,” you stuttered, stagnant in your curtsy, eyes glued to the ground. Noticing he was wobbling on his feet a little, and quickly realizing he was drunk. Not an uncommon sight in Eastcheap, where the young price currently lived. You had seen him stumbling out of Hooper’s many times, but never spoke to him. Your father had forbidden you from the tavern, and you understood why.
He bent down, reaching for an apple, and commenced filling your basket. “Your highness, please.” You begged, reaching out to take the apple from his hand, but he swept it aside. looking up into your eyes with an intensifying glare that quickly fell from his face, as if he had looked into your soul and recognised something familiar.
“Come.” He commanded, standing up. He handed you your basket of apples but left the bread in the mud. “You must permit me the courtesy of replacing that loaf of bread.” He ordered, his fingers hooking into his leather belt as he walked past you and back towards the market.
“Please, I bed of you, your highness, I can not allow you to-” He cut you off.
“I be bound by my honour. You will allow me the courtesy of replacing that loaf of bread.” He repeated sternly. Unsure of how to handle the situation you gave in, following behind him nervously. He paused, letting you catch up. “What be your name?” He asked.
“(y/n),” you replied.
“And your father’s occupation?” The prince continued.
“He’s a printer, your highness.” You responded.
“You be well versed in the art of reading and writing then?” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice.
“Yes, your majesty.” You boasted proudly. It was uncommon to have this skill. You felt deep gratitude towards your father for teaching you, a common woman, who in most eyes had no place learning such things.
“That is fortunate indeed, I am intrigued you know. Of what works be you familiar?” He continued his interrogation.
“Not a great deal, your highness. My father merely be a printer of news. Though I did come across some poems by Sir John Gower that I thoroughly enjoyed.
“Ah, yes. The ‘Mirour de l’Omme’ and such.” He responded, and you nodded.
“Yes, your highness.” You confirmed, arriving at the bread storefront. He purchased your bread and bid you farewell, stumbling as he walked off towards Hooper’s.
You couldn’t entirely understand why you felt so flustered. Even though he was the prince, he was still a drunken letch. You knew many young maidens in Eastcheap had slept with him on drunken nights, but he seldom remembered their names the come morning. You had previously made up your mind that he would be more trouble than he was worth, but now you didn’t know how you felt. That brief second when he has stared into your eyes had affected you in ways you didn’t understand. The blue, green and hazel dancing in his eyes were mesmerising, as was the tortured soul peering from within.
After your encounter, a few days passed as normal. Until the third morning, when you woke up to your brother shaking your shoulders.
“(y/n), wake up! Wake up! The prince sent you a dress!” He said urgently. You slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.
“The pr-” You replied, but your brother cut you off, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you out of your bedroom door.
“Come see for yourself.” He demanded.
Early morning light was pouring into the living room when your brother dragged you in. Your mother and father were standing by the small stone fireplace, admiring a beautiful blue velvet gown with gold embroidery that was considerably more beautiful than anything you had ever owned.
“It seems the prince does send you a dress, and what’s more he does send an invitation too.” Your mother said sternly looking up at you. “You must be careful with him. He may be a prince, but he be no princely fellow.” your father warned.
“I am abundantly aware of the kind of man our young prince be, father. My eyes are not so clouded, do not worry yourself so.” You said reassuringly, picking up the dress and taking it to your room. A smile beamed across your face as soon as the prying eyes of your family were at your back.
Dusk was settling over Eastcheap when you finally slipped yourself into the stunning blue dress and set off to the prince’s residence. the streets were quiet, soft candlelight spilling from dining rooms as families gathered for dinner. When you arrived, a servant took your hooded cloak and showed you across the foyer into the spacious dining room. Hal was slumped in a padded chair by the fire, lost in deep thought.
“Your highness, (y/n) has arrived.” The servant said, bowing and returning the way you had come in.
“Your highness,” you said, bending into a curtsy.
“Hal be sufficient,” he replied. “Sit.”
You took a seat opposite him awkwardly. “I must thank your highness for the dress. I truly do not know what I did to deserve such a thing.”
“We need not speak of it. The acquirement of material possessions be not a burden in which I am accustomed. Those lie rooted in entirely different obstacles.” He stated. He was sullen compared to when you first met. His eyes had an air of sorrow about them as they bore into your skin.
“You be air too but the most powerful man in all the kingdom, what thoughts may keep you up so?” You asked.
“Mmm,” he murmured. closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chair. “I do not seek that which on top my fathers head does rest.” He stated. “I have borne witness to the darkness which does seep into its bearer,” he went on.
“And you believe the self-pity in which you currently wallow will yield something of a different result?” The words spilling from your lips before you had the sense to silence yourself.
His eyes opened again, glaring at you. “You comment on matters in which you can not understand.” He scowled.
“Forgive me, your highness. It was not my place.” You apologised. “If I may be so bold. Be not to hear my opinions, why then, may I ask, did you invite me here?” You knew full well you were being much too bold, but something about the prince had ignited a fuse within you. “You say I cannot understand such things. Why, pray tell, can I not? Because I am a woman? Or is it that I am not of high birth?” You questioned. “I may be these things, that is true, but I do see you, Henry Prince of Wales.”
He was staring at you now with such an intensity it sent goosebumps sailing across your skin. But you were set in your resolve. You would not yield or silence yourself for the sake of his comfort, even if the consequences were dire.
“What be that in which you see, that in which you claim to know from such a brief passing of words.” His voice stern but undeniably curious.
“I see you blame yourself for deeds that do not be yours. I see you drink and fuck in futile pursuit of that which makes you numb.” You stood up and stepped forward so you were standing over him. looking into his eyes as they widened with confusion. You lifted the hem of your gown so you could straddle him. Without explanation, you began to unbutton his tunic and removed it from his shoulders. He offered no protests, he just stared into your eyes intently, silent. You pulled his undershirt over his head and ran your fingers down his chest before reaching for a candle that was sitting on the table. “I see that which you truly desire be to actually feel something.” You said, slowly pouring hot wax down his chest.
“Ahhhh,” he hissed, gritting his teeth as he exhaled and closed his eyes. You poured more, the opaque liquid returning to white as the cooling droplets splattered across his delicate, pale skin. streaming down his chest and over his taut, skinny stomach “Fuck,” he muttered, opening his eyes and looking back up at you. You placed the candle back on the table, and brought your hands to his cheeks, tracing the small scar under his left eye with your thumb.
“You are quite unlike any person I have yet encountered,” Hal admitted, his eyes wandering to your lips and then back to your eyes. You leaned in so your lips brushed his. He came to meet you but you pulled back, teasing him. You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, leaning in yet again to bite it playfully.
“Do you taste a longing for my lips?” You asked. His forehead furrowed, the desire to kiss you written across his face. “Good,” you affirmed. lifting yourself form his lap, trailing your fingers across his shoulder as you walked back towards the door.
“I must be going now, your highness.” excusing yourself. You turned once more to curtsy, spying a shocked look settling over the prince’s face, Then walked out, draping your cloak over yourself as you left. A grin creeping across your face. You were proud you had rattled him so.
The following day was not but halfway done when the prince’s man Falstaff came to call on you. He stood in your doorway, his hand entangled in his bushy beard, attempting to scratch his chin.
“I do not claim to comprehend how you have bespelled his highness so, but it is true none the less. I have been asked to request your presence again this evening.” Your inner voice was giggling at your success as you agreed to meet the prince again.
For the second night in a row, you set off towards the prince’s residence. This time, Hal opened the door himself, his house staff nowhere to be seen. He greeted you with a kiss on the back of your hand and showed you through to the living room. His eyes glued to your every move.
DO NOT COPY OR POST MY FAN FICTIONS ANYWHERE ELSE. THIS IS MY INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY.
- Timothée Chalamet - Harry Styles fan fiction
smut
- I want to hear you say it - (part 1)Timothée x Female Reader – (part 2) Timothée x Female Reader x Harry styles – (part 3)Harry Styles x Female Reader – (part 4)-Timothée x female reader x Harry styles x Kiko Mizuhara
