#''and when one so gifted completed their duty...the gift the gods would receive in return would be more abundant still'' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

The Eyes Are Lined

Summary: whilst on the last days of set of filming the show where he plays Tommy Lee, Sebastian is greeted with a surprise guest in his trailer, and he is certainly not going to be one to complain whence he’s gets a treat as sweet as you

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (male + female receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, teasing, fingering, pet names

Word Count: 4133

Masterlist Link

It fell from his lips as a relieved sigh, it had felt like forever since he had last seen you, and as he took in your form coiled in a baggy sweatshirt of his and hopefully nothing more, he was fast to close and lock the door behind himself. His tongue darted out to swipe the upon the underbite of his lip as he stepped slowly forwards in his adjourned flip flops, the wide shorts hanging off his legs. For this role he had very much diversified his appearance; lost weight, changed his hair, worn temporary tattoos - yet from the prowess that resonated through your eyes, nothing in the way of your attraction had changed.

“Sebba.” You greeted him with a wide smile, dismissing your phone that had been in your hand to the side of the couch, and crawling off the seat that you had taken up residence in. Instantly, your arms wrapped around his sleek torso, taking in the aroma of his deodorant that obliterated the senses through your nostrils. He pulled your face up with the grip of his heavy palm against your courteous cheek, as his breath fanned against the platter of your forehead.

“You’re here early, shooting doesn’t finish for another three days.” He stated, the grin that was tugging at his features clearly showing that he was anything but disappointed by your unspoken arrival. Tucking your arms to land around his waist like a belt that was enclosing him against you, you happily sighed, stroking your nose against the expanse of his bare chest that was beholden before you through the open curtains of his plain black hoodie. For a moment your eyes flickered down to the fake piercings that were strung like light fixtures from his nipples, watching as the silver metal beamed in contrast to the bulb that was fixed into the ceiling.

“I wanted to surprise you, it feels like forever since we were that close.” Was your confessing admission, as you pressed a warm kiss upon his revealed flesh, causing him to hum in acknowledgement of the amorous act. “Though I’m happy that god awful shadow is gone from your chin, if you want hair there then I suggest that you grow your beard back out.” You stroked your thumb over the crescent of his chin, running the pad through the indent as he inwardly cocked his brow, stiffening his jaw at your straight opinion.

“What’d you think of everything else? Be honest now darling.” He clicked his tongue, staring down at you with his smokily framed eyes, as you coiled back into your shoulders so that you could get a better overall viewpoint of him, as your hands descended to cupping the inward joints of his elbows. You balanced your weight on both of your feet, juggling between them to remain sturdy as you felt the mood in the trailer punctually shift, as though you were crossing through the mysterious channel that inhabited the Bermuda Triangle.

“Hmmm, well I’m rocking for the eyeliner, it really makes your eyes stand out more than they already do. And you know I’ve always been an absolute sucker for the longer hair, but I’m a sucker for you in general.” At that suggestive statement, you casted a sultry wink at him, hoping that he caught onto the act rather than thinking you had something entrapped in the perimeter of your eye. It was not dust that had clogged upon your pupil, instead it were lust, gripping onto the very image of him. It had been months, long ones at that since the pair of you had seen each other.

All the intimacy that your relationship confined in its long distance was dealt with over the phone, never once did the space that his work divulged the two of you apart make you feel lonely, he tried his utmost to ensure that you were comfortable even with miles for what seemed like an eternity separating you. The cellular contact that immersed your spare time furloughed for both late night calls that brought an innocent lovesick smile to resort upon the spectating image of your face that was reflected through the front camera of your phone, and sexual conducts that travelled across the countries that you were both in to bring you closer and alternatively higher together, in a blissful reunion that swamped your head with hyperactive hormones that followed after your mutual orgasms.

“Naughty.” He condoned you for your filthy innuendo, his hand cascading down the artwork of your body, and moving behind you, so that his fingertips were dancing upon the crown of your exempt ass cheek. “Guess all that time away has gotten you desperate for me, huh? Do you want to some sucking up to me? I’ve had a pretty hard day, and it would help me relieve a bunch of the stress that depends on these last few days. Not to mention I am so pent up from not seeing you all this time, it was practically torture honey bee, I’m not even sure how I survived.”

Dragging his head down to meet with your own, you pressed luscious and. Extended pecks onto his thin lips,having missed them covering every inch o your skin with the love that swelled in his chest and other places for you. “I don’t even know if you’ll last that long Bas, its been a certain while of you solely using your hand.” A giggle reaped from your throat as your hearing absorbed the gasp that slithered out of his mouth; he playfully pushed down upon the line of your shoulders, only enhancing your amusement by doing so. “So pushy.”

“That is right, and I will only get rougher with you the longer that it takes you to get down on your knees for me, so I would think logically. After all, after I completely wrap on this show, I’m going to have all the spare one in the world to put you in your little place and stop you from being a disobedient little brat.” It was a promise, he was threatening you in the most sexual way possible, and you’d be lying if you were to say that some aroused nectar hadn’t gathered in the passage that divided your highs down the middle. You gulped, intimacy written in every speck of your irises as you lowered yourself to be poised on your thighs, your face near the tent forming at his crotch.

The material of his shorts gathered with creases as his cock grew beneath the baggy subject that defined his legs that much more. A hand ravelled through your locks as you found yourself darting your tongue out to caress his legs, moving your muscle upwards as your hands teased the waistband of the barrier that prevented you from seeing all of him. “How much have you missed me baby, let daddy know.” Lightly, he begs to roll his hips forwards, pressing his erection teasingly against your face, and you were loving every second of it. His balls were pressing against your chin on every mimic forwards, and as you tried to speak, your voice was a tiny bit muffled by them.

“So much Sebby, I hated being apart from you.” You thought that would be a good enough answer, but as his fingers threaded further through your hair, a quiet yelp ejected from your throat as he strayed you head to be leant upwards so that you were gazing into his domineering eyes. That was when you realised that you must have made a mistake, but no matter what it was, it was much too late to take it back. Sexual fear paved through your gaze as you poured, wanting nothing to get back to your journey of duty which was to suck his cock, however, you could not continue if Sebastian had other things, such as whatever you had done so wrongly plaguing his mind.

“Bitch no cause why did you pronounce my name wrong? It begins with your favourite letter; a D, remember? And now I’m not even sure that you deserve my D. Right now I am not your Sebastian, what am I little girl?” He growled down at you, his toes rigidly curling in the open toed shoes that he were sporting, his hand remaining tangled in your hair.

“Daddy.” You tried not to sob out of dismissal, and instead expedited for apologising to refrain from angering him any further. “I’m so sorry daddy, I’ll do anything. Anything to make it up to you, please, I’ll never make that mistake again.” Unless it was not in this scenario of course, the pebbles of your tears brought a vivid richness and innocence upon your face, as though you were pooling diamonds out of the windows of your explicit soul. And I’m return, you were met with the gift of Seb shoving his shorts to be draped over his feet, his cock playing the curve of a sail as it stiffened more so at the air that hit it.

“Are you wearing anything underneath that sweatshirt baby?” He enquired as his right hand held his length in hand, enclosing his fist around the warm flesh that was beading with visible emotion at the tip. It was as though a pearl was balancing on the sector of his slit, teasing you as you dryly licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to ingest that into your body. To answer his question, your hands toyed with the bottom of his clothing article, pulling it up so that he could see your bare abdomen, of which was dressed in nothing more than your flawless skin.

“No daddy, I’m not. Am I in more trouble for that?” You worried that you were, all that you had wanted to do was surprise him, and you felt yourself grow a little giddy as he slowly shook his head, and pull back the coat of his foreskin to flash off as much of his cock as possible. He was teasing you to the slyest of his abilities, he wanted to subject you into doing something against your better judgement, and you remained strong, no matter how much you wanted to coil your lips around the head of his member and take him as far as the hollow of your throat would naturally allow.

“No baby, imma let you off the hook for that because I haven’t seen you in so long and I know that pretty little cunt has missed me probably more than the rest of you, but don’t test me again angel, or on the plane home you’re gonna have to sit on a bag of ice.” A part of you wanted to smirk, to coyly piss him off to see if that perseverance were to be true, however if you knew Sebastian, and you knew him more than well, you wouldn’t put anything past him nor his motives. “Go on, I can see you practically drooling to take me in your mouth. Don’t tease or I’ll fuck your face; be a good girl would ya.”

You weren’t going to waste anymore time, for all that you aware, any one of the set assistants could take him away from you, and that possibility only fuelled your instincts further as you hovered your head away from his hand, that was now patting and gently playing with your locks instead of using them as a leash, and flickered your tongue out to swipe that sample of precum and swallow it without hesitation. Before your mind could comprehend it, your body had already taken the next steps forwards and started to swallow down his member, your lashes fluttering closed as you hummed, sending a rhythm through Sebastian’s body of which made him cuss.

He was looking through half lidded eyes, almost shutting them, though stopping from doing so when he noticed your hand creep down the smooth skin of your thigh, and pry at your own folds. He was going to reprimand you for being so confident that you weren’t going to get caught doing something that was so ludicrous, but he decided that he were to allow you to continue for a moment. If he made a scene after revelling in his own pleasure, then you would be more compliant with whichever punishment that he nailed you down with. The tips of your digits quivered around your lips, before sinking within your walls and the rest of your palm cupped your pussy.

It made more sense now you were moaning against him, for not only the taste of him that hung heavily on your tongue, but from the slip of power that you thought you had over him, even if it be cloaked in secrecy. As he thought more of that, he found himself starting to fume with an underlining of rage, his fists stiffened at his sides as he exhaled through a combination of the sensations rippling beneath his skin. It was a combination of brewing disappointment and foreseen arousal; his veins burned with both, turning his blood warm and drumming his brain with one thing - it were his birthright to make you submit before him.

And though you were positioned in front of him, cast to your knees as you worked on his hard cock with your heavenly mouth, your mind had slithered away from the laws that you were supposed to obey as you fingered yourself against and without his jurisdiction. To retain from speaking out just yet Seb put the pressure of his front teeth down upon his bottom lip, as he tuned his ears on the sounds of your mouth i taking his cock and slathering it with the natural lubricant of your saliva, and if he paid enough attention, the sound of your nimble fingers darting in and out of your entrance was echoed through the slick that was provided from your hormonal body, that coated your fingers and glistened underneath the lighting.

As he felt a spark approaching through the intermissions of his pleasured body, he found it to be best to direct you away, and exhibit distance despite having forgone with that flow for the time space that you hadn’t seen each other in. And thus he gently stepped back, allowing his cock to fall past your lips and a string of spit to be the only thing connecting you to it. It was an instinct for you to whine as you watched him take his cock back into his hand, giving himself a couple of easing tugs to cool himself down from his ruined orgasm.

And that was when all prevailed in realisation for you, that he continued to ogle at you from above as your index and middle fingers on your right hand remained inside of your cunt, and as your mind sparked some sense back into it, you instantly removed them despite the emptiness that attained within that area. Your eyes remained wide as you watched with caution as Seb took it upon himself to take a seat on the sofa that was below the blind strung window of his trailer, his hand temptingly patting his thick thighs as a means to convince you to move closer.

“Get up here you deviant minx.” It was not a sweet gesture that he were offering you, no, instead you were getting punished despite evading such a fate earlier on. Pushing yourself up from your knees, you went to lay yourself against him homely lap, however as you went to do so, he tugged at the sweatshirt that compiled a flush of heat against your addictive body, pulling it up a few inches to send you the message. Once you had completely removed the appeared and were dressed to the eye in nothing more than your naked flesh, that was when Sebastian allowed you to continue laying your stomach across his legs, as your own legs and breasts were draped either side of them.

His rough fingertips caressed the muscles of your back, making them twitch from rugged anticipation. They descended lower as he dug his knee into your ribs, enjoying the way that your breath hitched. “You know the rules angel, you don’t touch without permission, and yet you did. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I bruise this beautiful ass red and blue?” The worst thing was you could imagine how your cheeks would look all bruised up from the harsh strokes from his commanding hands; it had happened before and each and every time you’d tell yourself that it’d never happen again, that you’d avoid such intimate brutality because you’d behave.

But you both knew better than to trust those empty promises that wailed from your desperate throat as you were subjected to a pain that made your mind hazy and your throat parched. “No daddy, just that I’m sorry.” A yelp quickly followed after as he collided his hand down upon the fat of your behind, your entire body jolting as you shakily inhaled, knowing that in a few minutes that you’d get used to the pain and find it less surprising. The first strike was always the worst, and as another clapped down, followed by more and more, tears reigned the paving of your face as they spilt down your cheeks.

Your apology was simply a waver in the air, it did nothing other than tell him something that he’d heard a million times by this point. And when nothing added to the soreness of your bosom, you swore that you were in heaven, it continued to sting though as relief washed over your aura, and your lashes flickered through the fallen tears, slowly drying from the sobbing that they had commenced. “You took that well, okay.” Seb breathed, beginning to softly stroke your ass which made you whimper from the feather light pressure that digressed against the impact he had prohibited you to dwindle in. “I’m gonna reward you, think you can turn over baby?”

He slipped out from beneath you, allowing you to remain on your stomach for the moment until you had finally came up with your decision. You wriggled a little, stretching your toes as you hummed in reply and switched, despite the searing conundrum that resorted favour over your backside, onto the polar of your position, only to find your lover of whom was in control crawling towards you, the rings around his eyes looking sinful as he stared at your naked body as though you were his prey. His hands began to reel up your legs, coercing you into squirming against the cushioning that was managing to keep you at the same physical level as him, though the same couldn’t be said for the mental premise that rendered in interference of your relationship.

Hot air brushed upon your mound as he pressed a kiss to the hill that lead to the lake that was fawning at his close proximity, waves crashing and glistening to appeal to his ocean eyes. “Daddy, can you please do something?” A grunt differed from his throat as he inhaled the sea salt that subordinated his nose to the all natural scent, all before he nipped at the inside of your thigh before delving his face between the tightened proximity, sealing his mouth around your sensitive bud as he mumbled moans against your reactive flesh, earning himself a deeper invasion as you rutted your hips up to his face.

Sebastian Stan was a man of many talents; he could clearly mimic anyone that a script needed him to, but the one thing that he was truly magical at was using his mouth. It was a skill set that made you mercilessly comply to him, it was his superpower, which was indeed ironic considering that he played a hero in one of the world’s biggest franchises known to cinema. He raised his hands to grasp at your own as he trailed them into his strongly pigmented hair, giving you permission to ravel your hands through his straight hair, and feel the smooth sheen against the judge of your skin. You liked it, as you knew that you would.

Using his tongue, he pried at your entrance, sinking it within you as he began to shake his unruly head, extracting small screams from your throat as you became victim to his plentiful evidence of love. Your chest raised out in the air as your eyes rolled back, and a tweak pulled at your clit once more, and looking down, it revealed that it were your beloved tugging at the button with his teeth, as he gouged your reaction. When you reached your orgasm, he dived head first back into your emptying cavern, cleansing all that he had subdued from your body via his amazingly versed and performed sentiment.

“Taste so fucking good baby.” To prove his point, he clambered above you, slipping his lips against your own as he swabbed your tongue with his own, sharing your own juices so that you could feel them balance on your taste buds. His hand ran down your body as he pinched your hardened nipples, earning himself a withered and high pitched sigh from your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss. “Think you for another one in you angel? Daddy wants to fuck this sweet pussy, you okay with that?” A dazed nod gave him permission, though he grasped your jaw with his strong hand as he ensured that you stared back at him. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes, want your cock in me daddy. Always do.” A content smile used your mouth as it’s efficient puppet as he held onto his cock, and teased it around your folds, wetting his foreskin and other areas to make it more pleasurable for the both of you when he went to push in. And when he did, you felt like you had died and gone to heaven, it made you wonder how you ever survived going months without his touch, in any which way. Your hands held onto his hips as you steadied his weight, silently giving him the okay to start moving, and he did, he sunk within your cavernous walls, only to pull back and repeat the action. “Seb.” You breathed the shortened version of his name, the hot air leaving your mouth hitting his shoulder as he panted beside your face, his nose dragging up your cheek as you ran your hand down, cupping his balls and stroking them with the tender contact of your thumb.

For once under these circumstances, he did not shun you for saying his true name, instead he was too busy with the maddening rush that flew through his body as he fornicated with you. His pace increased, provoking the sound of flesh slapping upon flesh in the air as your thighs and hips clashed, amongst other parts. “Fuck sugar, ya close?” He asked you hurriedly, his forehead scrunching up as he felt immense pleasure as your cunt clenched around him, using his leverage to play with your clit once more. You ravenously nodded your head, dragging your nails over his body as you tried to jut your body up against his, chasing the approaching high which ultimately had you slumping against the cushions as he continued to pummel your body with his delivering thrusts.

“Shit.” He almost shouted, a soothing buzz ongoing in his body as he released his seed within you, you being able to feel every drop even after he pulled out and rolled to lay beside you, tugging you to be laying on his chest, neither of you caring for the cum that was escaping from your entrance that also happened to be the exit. “Why you laughing at me angel face?” Sebastian queried as he heard your cheeky sounds of amusement, a grin ruining the formation of his rocker disguise.

“You’re eyeliner’s all smudged.” You laughed, running the pad of your thumb beneath his eye and in the crows feet that dipped below, blending it further into his skin and giving it a grey hue to its ebony gradient. “You still look hot though.” You shrugged, nestling your head deeper into his chest, finally relieved that you and Sebastian were in the same place at the same time again.

761 notes · View notes

lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

Double edged scalpel ch.4

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

Summary: Daniela wingman Dimitrescu

---

Who knew that a door could look so intimidating. The dark wood decorated with golden floral patterns and the Dimitrescu crest in the middle wasn’t unlike most other doors in the castle. This door however had one big difference from the rest: it was the door to Cassandra’s bedroom.

Nicole had crossed paths with Daniela earlier, who wasted no time in placing the duty of fetching the middle sister for dinner upon her. Oh well. She was supposed to meet the brunette anyways. Tomorrow at sundown, Cassandra had said. And that was just after dinner. But the lingering feeling of their lips together, deep in a hidden nook in the garden, left Nicole unsure on what to expect from her.

With a final deep breath, she knocked on the door.

It was silent for a few long seconds. She was about to knock again, sure that Cassandra was still sleeping, but was stopped by a groggy reply that she took as her cue to enter.

“Lady Daniela sent me to let you know dinner will be ready soon.”

Nicole had a split second when she regretted each and every decision that led up to that very moment when she noticed the brunette stirring awake, naked body thankfully covered by soft blankets. Cassandra didn’t seem to mind though, as she yawned and stretched her arms like a lazy cat would.

“That’s a weird way to say Daniela is lazy and sent you to do her job.” She grabbed her watch from the nightstand. “Ugh, it’s early.” It’s 7 p.m.

From where she stood, looking anywhere but at the brunette, Nicole wasn’t sure how to respond. It’s not as if she could’ve said no to Daniela’s request. Or, to be more accurate, order. Apparently Cassandra didn’t wait for a reply, as she got out of bed and shuffled to her dresser, hopefully to put some clothes on. With one of her typical black dresses now on, she tiptoed to the other occupant in the room.

“Modest, are we,” she said, placing her hands on Nicole’s waist, not unlike she did many times before.

“Just trying not to get my eyes gouged out.” Hopefully Cassandra still appreciated her humor.

The brunette slowly spinned the other girl around so she could look in her eyes, as if she were a child inspecting a newly received christmas gift. “Mm...you can keep them. Now come on, spend some time with me since Dani insisted on you waking me up so early.”

Thanks Daniela.

Nicole felt herself get pulled further into the room, barely having time to take in all the trinkets and decor inside before she was tugged down to sit in Cassandra’s lap.

Well… best possible scenario.

This time there was no hesitation when their lips connected, one hand finding its place at the brunette's nape, pulling her close. Cassandra let out a small moan when she felt nails scratch lightly against her scalp, which Nicole took as an opportunity to slip her tongue past black painted lips. They kissed until Cassandra pulled back, opting instead to leave a trail of kisses and black lipstick on her jawline, down her throat, and finally her collarbone. The kisses were getting increasingly more aggressive, with nips at the skin and finally teeth dragging at the crook of Nicole's neck.

Cassandra inhaled deeply but pulled her mouth away from the skin, resting her forehead against that spot instead. When she spoke, her tone was dripping with barely held back desire.

"If you want me to stop, you should go."

Oh no, Nicole didn't just shove her tongue in her god damn mouth for them to stop. Whatever crumble of self preservation was left within her, it got booted out the metaphorical front door of her brain the moment she got pulled into the brunette's lap. The only thing that made her hesitate for a second was whether or not Cassandra could bite someone without actually killing them.

"Do not go near the jugular.”

And Cassandra listened. She dragged her teeth from the neck, down to the shoulder and, after an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to the spot, she sunk her now sharp fangs in the flesh.

Nicole couldn't stop a whimper from escaping past her lips at the sudden jolt of pain. But the sensation of soft lips on her skin and Cassandra's low moan at the taste of her blood made for the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Cassa- ah," she moaned her name, fingers tangled in black hair which only seemed to spur her on.

The pain steadily faded, leaving behind only a tingling sensation. It stopped her brain from putting together any coherent thought, almost as if being drunk without the actual alcohol. But blood loss instead. Nicole tugged lightly on Cassandra's hair when dizziness started to make itself present. When that did nothing, she pulled with slightly more force.

"Cassandra-" she let out a pained groan, mild panic slipping into her voice.

That made the brunette snap out of it, forcefully pulling herself back and eyeing the bloody mess on Nicole's shoulder. She caught the redhead by the arms for support when she slumped forward slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose with a soft ugh. How much blood can a human lose again? Fourteen percent? And Nicole was also quite small.

Cassandra stretched to grab a tissue from the nightstand and pressed it against the puncture wounds, frowning when Nicole flinched at the pain it caused.

"Uh...are you okay?"

Nicole took a deep breath before replying. "-m good. You should...uh go though. I'll go lay down and-...and meet you after dinner." Then she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to try to alleviate the dizziness and tried to stand up.

Cassandra grimaced at how wobbly Nicole's movement's were and guided her back down, on the soft mattress. The redhead didn't protest, not that she really could anyways.

"No. Stay here, you're no good if you just fall and crack your skull open against a stairwell."

"But-"

Cassandra ignored her, only pushing her down to rest against one of the many pillows littering the bed. "No buts, this is an order from your lady. Now take a nap or something and I'll fetch you after dinner."

Nicole saw her turn around and exit the room, door shutting with a heavy thump. She felt too dizzy to try and fight back. And after all, why would she? The bed was incredibly soft, almost as if it was cradling her small body, inviting her to fall asleep. She slowly pulled one of the blankets up to her waist and positioned herself in such a way that the tissue wouldn't fall from her shoulder. A short nap was all she needed, then she'd be up by the time dinner was done. It only took shutting her eyes for a few seconds to fall asleep, the haze in her mind receding into comforting nothingness.

---

Hot. She felt so incredibly hot. How could Cassandra sleep amongst all these pillows and blankets in the middle of August?

She groaned and stirred, tissue forgotten and covered in dry blood by now. She turned around, trying to find a colder spot and sighed contently upon finding a cool pillow to bury her face into.

Since when did pillows hum?

Nicole snapped her eyes open and jerked backwards, realizing that the "pillow" was Cassandra's side, who apparently had returned from dinner and was now laying in bed with a book.

"I- I'm sorry! I think I overslept and-"

She was interrupted by a slender finger on her lips.

"Get back here, you're so warm."

Too warm, Nicole almost replied but Cassandra's hand mowed from her lips to trace her jawline and neck. Then,when it got to her nape, she pulled the redhead back on her chest, cheek resting on the cool skin.

Nicole froze for a moment but soon melted into the touch. Presumably one of the perks of being an undead being was never getting too hot. At least temperature-wise. She tentatively snaked an arm around the brunette's waist and, when there was no protest, she shifted her body closer against hers.

Checking the time didn't even occur to Nicole until her eyes fell on one of the windows, noticing it was pitch black beyond the glass.

"Shouldn't we have…" she just vaguely gestured, not even sure what they were supposed to do that day in the dungeons.

"Here's one of the perks of working with me darling: if I don't feel like doing anything then congratulations, you've got yourself a day off. Now why don't you enjoy it hmm."

She emphasized her words by bringing her free hand to Nicole's head, nails lightly scratching the scalp. But Nicole was wide awake, despite the pleasant sensation that elicited a content hum from her.

There were so many things to take in that she hadn't noticed earlier. Just like her study, Cassandra's bedroom was like a collection of glimpses into her. The desk was littered with papers and oddly modern drawing supplies, the kind you would get by entering the art supply store down the road from her college dorm. A mannequin in the corner of the room was wearing a most likely tailor made dress, complete with what looked like a matching sword. The wall she could see was half covered in bookshelves, half in deer antlers or horns of different animals. Some had labels with dates underneath them that were too far to read, but Nicole managed to decipher one that said 08.06.1982.

She didn't want to risk losing her precious head scratches in order to explore the other half of the room, so her eyes settled on the one thing she could see without moving. The book in Cassandra's other hand.

"What're you reading?"

Cassandra sighed, realizing that she was still awake but answered anyway.

"Watership down."

She giggled, still a bit lightheaded. "Bunnies…"

Cassandra rolled her eyes, not quite in the mood to go on a lengthy discourse about the themes of said "bunnies". She opted to change the topic instead, voice oddly soft.

"How's your head?"

"Mmm...dizzy."

"Sleep then."

"My room is too far away."

"Sleep here you dumbass."

Nicole was silent for a few moments, putting together the few coherent thoughts still lingering in her brain. Then, trying not to slur her words due to dizziness and sleepiness alike:

"Isn't that against protocol? Do you even have a protocol?"

"The protocol is that our staff serves my family. Right now you're keeping me warm. There, congratulations on performing your duties. Now go to sleep."

The redhead gave in, too tired to keep on annoying Cassandra. She nuzzled her face closer to the brunette's neck leaving a small peck on her collarbone and closed her eyes. The nails still scratching at her scalp, occasionally moving to run through long auburn locks proved more than efficient at lulling her to sleep. She could swear she felt a soft, almost imperceptible kiss on the top of her head before consciousness fully slipped away from her

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #fanfic #double edged scalpel #are we finally getting a to move faster #fk yes

172 notes · View notes

cornacopicimagines · 4 years

Text

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well.

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride."

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable.

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything.

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

3K notes · View notes

burberryharold · 3 years

Text

hey, lovies! i’ve been so excited to post this fic because i am in love with Harry and Jules and i hope you will be too (and excuse the lousy banner i just wanted to have something lol)! this is a part of @1dffchallenges’s valentine’s day challenge, so i hope you enjoy reading it and happy valentine’s day, it’s all about spreading love around so here is some love from me to all of you ❤️

a special thank you to @fireproofrry @bodejacketharry @strawberryystyles for beta reading and giving feedback, you are absolute angels <3

word count: 7.7k

warnings: none!

challenge prompt and dialogue: strangers alone on valentine’s day + “I’m allergic to chocolate. And roses.”

It’s official, valentine’s day is the worst.

At least that’s what Jules thought as she adjusted herself on the bar stool, trying to get into a comfortable position while she waited for her drink to be served.

It wasn’t in Jules’ agenda to spend what was supposed to be the most romantic day of the year alone at a bar ten minutes away from her apartment. If she was still with Leon, they would have been having a nice dinner somewhere, laughing over whatever funny story one of them had to share about their day at the company.

But alas, Leon was someone else’s now and Jules was only left with her own company.

Truth be told, though, Jules never minded being alone, in fact, she enjoyed being by herself because people were simply exhausting.

But being alone and being lonely were too completely different things, and Jules hated feeling lonely.

And valentine’s day only made that worse. Seeing loved up couples around her, flashes of red and pink everywhere she glanced, hearing cheesy love songs blasting through the speakers of the shops she passed by. Everything about valentine’s day just seemed to remind her of her lonely status.

Instead of staying at her apartment all night long doing nothing but watching rom coms and feeling sorry for herself, Jules thought of a better alternative, which was to get pissed drunk. So when she got up in the morning to go to work (because even on valentine’s day duty calls), she put on her favourite black dress, one that was sleeveless and had a deep v-neckline, and put on enough makeup to feel confident in the way she looked before pulling on her coat and venturing into the cold streets of London.

If she was going to get pathetically drunk by herself at a bar after work whilst everyone else was being all lovey dovey, then she would look hot doing it.

The sound of a glass coming in contact with the wooden surface broke her out of her reverie and she glanced up, finding that the bartender had placed her drink in front of her and he was beaming at her. “There you go, love, happy valentine’s day.”

After squinting at the name tag (she’s never seen him here before, he must be new), Jules forced herself to return his smile and lifted her glass. “Cheers, Jonah.”

Poor guy must have thought she was waiting for a date or something. Too bad, no one was going to be joining Jules on this fine evening. Just me, myself, and I.

Setting her glass back on the counter after taking a big gulp, Jules scowled as she was reminded of the items she had received earlier in the day. For some reason, Leon thought it was a good idea to give her a box of chocolates and a rose, even though they were no longer together and he had another woman by his side.

She appreciated the thought behind it, he probably just wanted to be nice or maybe he felt guilty, but his gift was staring at her, almost laughing at her misery and she wasn’t having it.

That is why she instantly asked Jonah for a fork, which caused him to send her a confused look but he complied nonetheless, and she proceeded to stab the pieces of chocolate placed perfectly in the box, taking out her frustration on the sweets.

Once satisfied, she dropped the fork with a clunk and heaved out a sigh, lazily resting her chin in her right hand before looking back at Jonah. He was staring at her with wide eyes as he dried off some shot glasses, surely thinking that she was a lunatic, but Jules just flashed him a sweet smile and shifted her eyes back to the chocolates she had just assaulted.

Poor chocolate, but oh well.

“Are you alright there?”

“What the fuc-“ The sudden voice caused her to jump in her seat and she almost fell off the bar stool if it weren’t for the hand that magically materialised behind her, holding her steady.

Before she had a chance to slap the hand off her back, the stranger retracted it and returned to his seat and she had the chance to take a proper look at him.

The man stared back at her with concerned eyes, a stool separating the two of them, but he was still not that far away from her. Jules wondered when he had gotten there because she certainly didn’t feel him arrive. Perhaps it was during her chocolate rampage.

What really surprised her though, more than his sudden appearance, was the fact that she knew who he was. In fact, she believed everyone knew the man sitting beside her because it was none other than Harry Styles.

Many questions ran through Jules’ head, the most important being what on earth was a guy like him doing at this bar on valentine’s day? Jules never believed in the image the media painted of him, but surely he has something better to do than be here, all by himself it seems?

As big of a fan as she was, the fact that he was right before her didn’t faze Jules all that much, her mind was more preoccupied by other matters. So, she ended up doing what she would’ve done if it was any other person: she glared at him and wordlessly turned back in her seat, pretending as if he wasn’t there.

He didn’t seem to take the hint.

“You were quite aggressive with the chocolate there.” His deep voice floated in the empty bar as he pointed at the box in front of her.

Jules inhaled deeply before responding in a flat tone. “I’m allergic to chocolate.” Glaring at the single rose lying beside the box, she grabbed it and tossed it on the floor beneath her, silently cursing Leon once more. “And roses.”

She felt guilty for littering, but she’d pick it up when she leaves. Eventually.

“Are you really?” The man beside her questioned, leaning forward in his seat, his body completely turned towards her at this point. She could tell from her tone that he was skeptical of her supposed allergies and she honestly couldn’t blame him.

“No,” she found herself shaking her head, signalling for Jonah to get her another drink, still keeping her body facing forward and only glancing at him from her peripheral vision, “I’m just fucking with you.”

To her surprise, he let out a small laugh, not seeming to be upset. Jules couldn’t help but turn her head a bit to look at him, finding a dimpled smile on his and she wondered what was wrong with this guy.

“May I ask why you were stabbing the poor sweets then?”

Figuring she should just put him out of his misery and answer his question, Jules huffed and crossed her legs, not missing the way his gaze flickered down for a split second before returning to her face. She ignored it and sighed, “Well if you must know, my ex gave them to me this morning.”

“Trying to get you to take him back?”

“Oh god no,” Jules laughed at the notion, her hand waving off his wrong assumption, “he’s as happy as can be with his new girlfriend.”

The blatant confusion on his face prompted her to provide more explanation.

“We broke up a couple of months ago, he left me for someone else. So he probably just felt guilty.”

“He left you for someone else? And before the holidays?” When she nodded in confirmation, he shook his head with a frown. “Bastard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Valentine’s day just sucks, it’s just a reminder of how lonely you are,” she muttered with bitterness, “Of how lonely I am.”

“Well if it’s any consolation,” Harry said, pausing to ask the bartender for another drink, “I’m lonely tonight too.”

“Well, obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t be here getting drunk on your own.” With a few drinks already in her system, Jules practically had no filter whatsoever (not that she really had one in the first place).

“Touché,” he clicked his tongue, then leaned back to chug down the rest of his glass. Jules was almost concerned by how quickly he downed his drink, but she’s not in a position to talk, after all, she’d been doing the same. “But I’m not getting drunk on my own now, am I? You’re right here.”

She scoffed, eyebrows raising at his words. “Who said I’m keeping you company? Or that I’m not leaving any second now?”

“I don’t think you are.” He responded with much conviction that it almost threw Jules off.

“You think too confidently about a stranger you just met.”

“Let’s fix the strangers part then, shall we? I’m Harry.” He extended his ring-clad hand and Jules noticed a coat of red nail polish on his fingers. How ironic.

She sighed before deciding to entertain him, grabbing a firm hold of his surprisingly warm hand. Maybe she’ll allow him to keep her company tonight. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave her alone anyway.

“Jules.” She simply responded before turning back to her drink, swirling the pink straw around. She made a mental note to thank Jonah later for the cute straw.

“Jules” Harry repeated, as if testing the name on his lips and Jules would be lying if she said that she didn’t like the way it rolled off his tongue. “Is that a nickname for Julie? Julia? Short for Juliann-“

“Juliet. It’s Juliet.” She interrupted his ridiculous ramble. He surely was inquisitive. And did she really look like a Julianne?

“Huh,” he hummed, gliding a finger over the rim of his glass, staying silent for a few seconds and Jules thought he was maybe done for the night.

She thought wrong, it seems.

“Oh, Juliet, oh, Juliet, where art thou, Juliet?” He dramatically recited, voice going deeper as he stared upwards at a spot over the bar. Simply put, Jules thought he looked ridiculous.

She could hear Jonah snickering in the background.

“It’s where art thou, Romeo, but nice try.” She rolled her eyes in response to his theatrics. Almost everyone she’s ever encountered has commented on her name and made a reference to the infamous Shakespearean tragedy that she’s never been too fond of. It’s why she mostly went by Jules.

No one’s ever recited that line though, however wrong it was. That was a first.

“I knew that,” the curly-haired man mumbled beside her, swirling his glass and watching the ice cubes swim around, “was just joking, geez, tough crowd.”

Jules couldn’t help but roll her eyes again in response. That joke got old a long time ago.

She’s beginning to regret coming to this bar tonight. Maybe she should’ve just headed straight home and cuddled into her blankets.

“It’s pretty, though,” he added a few moments later, “beautiful name for a beautiful woman”

No way. She huffed, spinning in her seat to face him once again. “That’s your line? Tell me, Mr. Rockstar, has that really worked on anyone before?”

She could tell he was a bit surprised but tried to hide it; unluckily for him, Jules was a very observant person, hardly anything passed her.

“I-I didn’t mean it like that-“

She interrupted him again and leaned in closer, resting her elbow on the countertop and raised an eyebrow. His eyes flickered for a fleeting second to the charm bracelet adorning her wrist. “So you don’t think my name’s beautiful? Or that I’m beautiful? Sheesh, Harry, you’re not looking good here.”

Harry spluttered, staring at her with eyes blown wide in panic and Jules almost felt bad for messing with him; it was just hard not to, she was lonely and he was right there annoying her with his lousy jokes, so he has the unfortunate fate of being her victim tonight (and truthfully, he brought it on himself). And if she was being honest, messing with Harry Styles was just too entertaining of an opportunity for her to pass on.

To be fair, she was a little annoyed by his presence in the beginning, having originally planned to wallow in her misery all by herself, but now she’s having fun. She might just enjoy her time with him.

“No- no of course I think you’re beautiful, y-your name too,” he responded in clear panic, seemingly trying to figure out how he can redeem himself. Jules’ attention was momentarily caught by the way his rings glimmered under the light as he flexed his fingers, still fumbling for a response. “I was just-“

“Styles,” she interrupted him, yet again, with a light-hearted laugh and shook her head, hair falling forward on her shoulders, “Relax, was just messing with you.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed and he heaved out a sigh of relief; his eyes then narrowed and he lifted his hand, pointer finger wagging in her direction. “You really like messing with people, huh? Not very nice of you.”

“Made you sweat, no? Was just having fun. I can now say that I’ve made the infamous Harry Styles stumble over his words. How much do you think they’ll pay me for that hot gossip? Reckon it would be a lot.” She said as she turned back in her seat, now facing the bar once again, but she knew he caught the smirk on her face and the teasing lilt in her tone.

Coming to the bar was definitely a good decision.

Harry felt like a proper idiot.

Here he was, sitting at a pub with a lovely woman that clearly didn’t want to be bothered, yet he had to fuck things up and be a git.

And the Juliet bit? Harry had never been more embarrassed, he didn’t know what he was thinking, or if he was thinking at all. He made sure to remind himself that he wasn’t that funny and should just stop trying to be. You’re making a fucking fool of yourself.

In spite of his rather embarrassing advances, Harry found himself enjoying Jules’ company immensely, even if she had barely looked his way when he had arrived at his spot.

She might’ve looked irritated by his insistent attempts to start a conversation with her in the beginning, but from the way her body has been facing him for the past half an hour and the smile or two she’d thrown his way, Harry had a feeling she was warming up to him.

He discovered that she was an accountant, which thoroughly surprised him because she didn’t seem like one. Harry doesn’t like to judge a book by its cover, but Jules definitely didn’t scream accountant, more like a Greek goddess or something. Her black dress hugged her body in a way that almost made Harry dizzy; he had noticed her the second he walked into the nearly empty pub – and before he could even think about it, he found his legs carrying him in her direction (he was already headed to the bar anyway, or so he told himself).

Admittedly, the way she was stabbing the chocolates had him fearing for his life for a split second, but Harry brushed it off and figured she just wasn’t a fan of valentine’s day, if her apparent disdain for the sweets and the rose before her was any indication.

He was also surprised to learn that she’d moved here from America about five years ago and this pub was one she often frequented, yet Harry had never run into her somehow despite coming here a lot and living not too far himself.

He’s glad their paths have finally crossed tonight, though.

That being said, Jules was definitely keeping him on his toes. He never knew what she was going to say next, and she certainly did not hold back from saying exactly what was on her mind.

Harry found himself liking that about her, even if her forwardness came at his expense sometimes (he couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it). Oftentimes, people acted cautious around him and treated him differently just because of his status. Not Jules, though.

But now he could tell that she had something on her mind, from the way she looked at him then shifted her eyes elsewhere a second later.

“What is it?” He questioned, deciding to put her out of her fidgety state. He wasn’t sure what was holding her back, she certainly had no problem handing his ass to him earlier.

“It’s just,” she started, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, the movement catching Harry attention for a second before he reminded himself to be respectful, “what are you doing here by yourself tonight? I find it hard to believe that someone like you doesn’t have anyone to hang around on a day like this.”

Someone like him? Harry furrowed his eyebrows, not sure what she was implying with her words but he didn’t believe she meant it in a negative manner necessarily.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean anything like that,” she quickly defended, face becoming redder by the second and Harry was a little endeared by the sight. The woman before him was confident all throughout their conversation, having no fear in expressing her thoughts, yet now she was the flustered one. And Harry couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Time to give her a taste of her own medicine.

“What, thought someone like me had a flock of women at their beck and call and that I’d be off with one or some of them tonight?”

He gave her a blank look afterwards, pretending that he found offence in her words and he almost blew his cover at the way her face visibly fell.

“N-no!” she exclaimed, voice rising a few octaves and Harry could see the bartender, Jonah, suddenly flinch behind her from the sound. He pressed his lips together to silence the chuckle that threatened to escape and continued to stare Jules down.

“Of course I didn’t mean it like that,” she added in a much calmer tone, though Harry could detect that panic lacing her voice and he was starting to feel guilty. “I never believed that you were like that, I just,” she paused, averting her gaze away and staring at the lights above them instead, “never mind, just ignore me.”

Harry figured that she already knew of who he was and his status, and despite having just met her, the fact that she just said she doesn’t believe the rumours about him filled him with inexplicable warmth and he had to remind himself again that he’d only just met this woman. He shouldn’t feel anything of the sort towards her.

He could tell by the way her eyebrows were furrowed that she felt bad about what she’d said, so Harry called out her name and waited for her to look at him again.

When she did, her face holding an apprehensive look, he smiled at her and leaned a bit closer, which made little difference because there was still some space separating them.

“I was just messing with you, Jules,” he reached forward and flicked her nose, causing her to instinctively scrunch her face in a cute manner that had Harry’s stomach fluttering. “Doesn’t feel that nice now, does it?”

Jules chuckled in disbelief, wide eyes staring back at him and a smile was slowly stretching on her lips. “Touché. I see how it is then.”

Harry just shrugged, his own lips twitching as another smile threatened to appear. “Just having some fun, eh?”

Jules was now beaming at him and if Harry was standing, he was certain that his knees would’ve buckled at the sight. He already knew that Jules was gorgeous, and he was sure anyone would agree with him, but when as she smiled at him like that, eyes shining bright under the warm orange lights, brown hair cascading loosely yet somehow perfectly on her shoulders, there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that there was an angel sitting before him.

“Truce then?”

Her voice brought him back to earth and Harry chuckled before he shook her outstretched hand, marvelling for a moment at the way it felt enveloped in his. “Truce.”

“But to answer your question,” Harry said after a few beats of silence, glancing at her to find her eyes already set on him. “I didn’t have anything planned, haven’t been on many dates recently to be honest, so I just figured I’d come here and spend time with my good friend,” he lifted his drink with a wide grin on his face, “alcohol, the one thing that never let me down.”

Jules threw her head back in a laugh, the sound being music to Harry’s ears and he wished he could record it just to hear it again and again. “Amen to that.”

The two clinked their glasses together, laughing stupidly for no reason, before they threw their heads back to drink.

“Another round, then?”

Jonah suddenly appeared in front of them, startling Harry a bit. Sometimes he forgot that the man was lingering around behind the bar.

Jules took the liberty to respond for the both of them, exclaiming a “hell yeah, buddy!” that had the two men laughing, and soon enough their glasses were refilled.

After taking a sip, Harry leaned his head on the palm of his hand and set his eyes on Jules again, “So, are you a fan? Of me or of the band?”

He had to ask, he couldn’t help but wonder. If she was indeed a fan, she certainly didn’t show it.

Jules shrugged, playing nonchalant it seemed, but it didn’t escape him the way her cheeks seemed to redden. “Eh, I dabble. You’re alright.”

Her response made him chuckle. “Good to know.” Call him a narcissist, but he really wanted to know whether or not she liked his music. Perhaps he’ll inquire further later.

Because Harry knows that there’s no way he’s letting Jules go anytime soon.

Getting to know Harry was fun.

Sometime during the night, Harry had migrated from his seat onto the bar stool beside her, their thighs brushing against each other every now and then.

Tapping his fingers around his glass, Harry’s rings clinked against it and Jules couldn’t help but be slightly captivated by the action. She wasn’t one to stare at anyone’s hands, but she had to admit that Harry’s were fascinating to look at; his long and slender fingers, adorned by a number of his infamous rings, were truly a sight to see.

She took the chance to also admire his outfit, something she was too busy to do earlier on. His coat was long discarded on the stool beside him, which allowed her eyes to run over his figure. His upper body was covered by a plain white t-shirt with the word “Sex” displayed on his chest, a pair of pair of wide-legged black pants covering his long limbs; it was a simple fit yet it made it difficult for Jules to take her eyes off him. And his hair just looked so soft that her fingers were begging her to touch the fallen strands on his forehead.

Hearing Harry clear his throat broke her out of her trance and Jules realised from the smirk that stretched on his lips that she’d been caught in the act.

She tried playing it off, as if she hadn’t been shamelessly checking him out for the last couple of minutes and smoothed her hands down her dress, adjusting in her seat because honestly, her butt was starting to ache.

But she didn’t want to leave just yet.

Seeming to notice her discomfort, however, Harry downed the last bit of his drink before setting his glass down with a smack, causing Jonah, who was still lingering around them, to shoot Harry a warning glance and a low “careful!”, to which Harry smiled sheepishly before turning to face her again.

“Want to get out of here?”

Jules’ eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, having not expected him to want to continue spending the night with her.

“Sure there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?” She couldn’t help but question, still struggling to grasp the fact that he still wanted to be around her. Her hands were fidgeting with the hem of her dress, eyes staring into his emerald ones as she waited to hear his response.

Truth be told, she was enjoying his company far much more than she had anticipated and she didn’t want to part from him just yet.

To her relief, a dimpled smile adorned Harry’s face as he took in her words before he shook his head, “Trust me, Jules, there’s no one else I’d rather be with tonight.”

She’d be lying if she said her heart didn’t skip a beat at that.

The two got up from their seats after thanking Jonah and fighting over who’s paying because Harry insisted on paying for her drinks. As she was gathering her things, she felt Harry’s presence behind her and she realised, after looking at him over her shoulders, that he was holding her coat up for her.

Heat rushed into her cheeks at the gesture, finding it sweet that he was helping her when he didn’t really have to. “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to him with a smile after feeling him adjust her hair.

His only response was a faint “No need” and he quickly turned to shrug on his own coat, the bashful smile on his lips not going unnoticed by her.

Flashing Jonah another smile, Harry extended his arm towards her and nodded his head towards the exit. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

The two stepped into the night, the biting London air hitting Jules’ cheeks immediately and she was positive her nose was already red from the cold.

Jules reached into her pocket to grab her phone, realising that she hasn’t checked the device since she walked into the bar. There weren’t any notifications that she missed, which wasn’t surprising since her friends (all four of them) were out on dates or staying at home with their partners, so she was sure no one was thinking of her at the moment.

Noticing that it was already 8 in the evening and they were aimlessly walking down the street, Jules turned to Harry with a questioning gaze. “Where are we going?”

Leaning his head down to look at her (or perhaps to be closer, Jules wasn’t sure), he paused, seeming to think, before shrugging his shoulders. “Dunno if I’m quite honest.”

Jules found herself chuckling at him. How did her day end with her walking around with no purpose with a man she’d just met?

She looked at the sign closest to them before she turned to him and did something she rarely ever did. She found herself inviting him to her apartment because they were quite close.

A smirk found its way onto Harry’s lips and she started to regret her decision. “Already trying to get me into your bed, Juliet?”

She mentally cursed at the way her heart leaped upon hearing her name roll off his tongue. Almost no one called her Juliet anymore, except for her parents when they were being serious, but she found herself wanting to hear him say her name over and over again.

Shaking her head at the thought, Jules reached her arm out and lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oh come off it, you idiot. You can just go ahead and cry alone in your mansion if you want.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and muttered an apology, although the smile lingered on his lips and Jules tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest.

“Lead the way, then.”

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get us something to drink.”

The walk to her apartment was full of smiles and laughter. She’s come to the conclusion that Harry loves making people laugh, even if his jokes were actually awful, but she found it endearing; he was like a ray of sunshine bringing joy to those around him.

She was glad that she had cleaned up the place a couple of days ago, it would’ve been embarrassing to have someone over to see pyjamas and junk strewn over her furniture. Suffice to say, Jules was a bit of a mess around the house.

After hanging up her coat and Harry’s, she made her way into her kitchen and looked for the good wine she reserved for special occasions. She easily grabbed it, along with two glasses, but then Jules found herself lingering by the kitchen island.

It dawned on her that there was a man in her living room, and he wasn’t just anyone. This was Harry Styles, someone she’d long admired and holy shit was this really happening?

And as sad as it may sound, she’s never felt this connection with anyone before, never felt like the person before her got her and could keep up with her. Yet with Harry, it felt different, and that scared her because she’d only just met him a couple of hours ago.

And he was bound to forget all about her after tonight. He’s just looking for some company, and Jules didn’t think she was that special. Eventually, he’s going to leave. Just like everyone else.

Feeling like the black marble of the island was starting to swirl in her vision, Jules snapped out of her thoughts and sucked in a deep breath before moving back towards the living room.

Harry had his hands interlocked behind his back, perusing through her record collection and it made her inadvertently smile. She was proud of her vast collection of vinyl records, a good portion of them handed down to her by her father; they both had a deep appreciation for records that her mum often made fun of them for.

“Found anything you like?” He jolted at her voice, not having noticed her presence behind him, but then his shoulders immediately relaxed.

Turning towards her with a wide grin, Harry gestured to the shelf behind him. Jules liked the way he seemed to glow underneath the dim lights and she wished she could take a picture of this moment as a keepsake. “This is amazing, there are records here that I couldn’t even find.”

“You can thank my dad for that,” she told him, making herself comfortable on the couch but not breaking eye contact once, “he’s been collecting them for decades and I’m so glad he let me have some, like you should see his collection back home, it’s even more impressive.”

“Hope I’ll get to someday.”

His response caught her off-guard. Before Jules could react, Harry’s teasing voice carried through the room.

“You dabble, you said?” He smirked, turning the Fine Line record in hand to show her and also nodding to the space that held One Direction records. Jules groaned out loud and flopped against the back of the couch.

“A little yeah. Sue me.”

She blushed under his amused gaze, a little embarrassed that he’d found her collection of the band’s records and his own solo music.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, dimples adorning his cheeks, “think it’s cute that you’re a big fan.”

“Don’t know why that makes me cute but okay if you say so.” She mumbled under her breath, realising that he heard her when he chuckled.

“Mind if I put on something then?”

Jules shook her head, signalling for him to go ahead while she poured their drinks. Soon afterwards Stevie Nicks’ voice filled the silence and her lips tugged up at the choice.

The couch dipped beside her when Harry sat down, the scent of his cologne invading her senses. Jules doesn’t think anyone has ever smelled as good as him, but she chose to keep that thought to herself and instead handed him his drink.

A few moments of silence passed after he quietly thanked her, Stevie’s voice the only thing that can be heard.

“So,” he started, throwing an arm on the back of the couch, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face, “would I find any 1D posters if I went into your room?”

“Oh fuck you.” She threw one of the cushions at him, smiling at the way he threw his head back in laughter.

Jules did not mind his company at all.

“Hold on a minute,” Harry straightened up from his previously relaxed position on the couch, “you all work together and you see him and his new girlfriend every day?”

“Yup, you can imagine how fun that is.” She loved her job as an accountant, having always been fascinated with numbers, but she hated having to see him every day in the office across from hers.

It’s not like she hated him, they actually ended on good terms, all things considered. Leon wasn’t bad, he never cheated on her, but the feelings between them just died out, a flicker of something that dwindled into nothing. So, they were friendly with each other and that’s probably the reason why he brought her a box of chocolate and a rose.

But Juliet just didn’t like the daily reminder that she was in fact much lonelier than he was; it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.

“Shit, Jules, that must be hard,” he frowns, leaning forward to pat her hand, “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

“It’s not that serious,” she mumbles, feeling heat rushing to her cheeks at the simple touch and she mentally cursed herself. She had sworn off men for the unforeseeable future. “I’m over him. You know, I actually think I was never really in love with him to begin with.”

“Why’d you think that?” He questions, his thumb still softly caressing her hand; Jules wasn’t sure if he was aware of that or was absentmindedly doing it. Either way, the touch warmed her.

“I think,” she started, setting her glass of wine on the coffee table so she could sink in further into the couch, the move unintentionally bringing her body closer to Harry’s. “I think I was just happy to have someone around, someone to spend time with. I’ve spent a lot of my life alone and I think I just clung onto him because he kept me company.”

A few beats of silence passed before she continued. “That makes me sound horrible, no, it’s not like I used him, I did enjoy his company and we had a lot of fun together, but I think I was just in love with the idea of him, not him.”

Harry nodded his head, leaning back and mirroring her position, “I understand. That’s how I felt in most of my relationships actually. I longed to have someone around so I wouldn’t be lonely, but I’ve learned over the years that having company doesn’t mean that you won’t feel lonely.”

“You sounded pretty heartbroken on your last record though.” If she wasn’t as inebriated as she was, Jules would have probably had some filter and wouldn’t have said that.

Luckily, Harry chuckled in response and relaxed further into the couch, retracting his hand from hers (she instantly missed the warmth), but he didn’t seem upset. “I was. I would say that I was actually falling in love with her, so I was a bit of a mess when she left me.”

His words made her frown. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t know how anyone could leave you.” She muttered under her breath, forgetting that she was usually louder than normal after she’s had a few drinks.

“Could say the same thing about you.”

With her cheeks flushed, Jules forced herself to look him in the eye again. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I’d like to get to know you.” He almost instantly shot back, resting his chin on his hand and his dimples made an appearance, “I think you’re very interesting.”

“Pfft, me? Interesting?” She laughed, waving him off with her hand. “I am anything but.”

“That’s not true!” Harry vehemently denied, sounding almost offended at the thought, which admittedly made Jules’ heart skip a beat. Just a little.

“I’ve spent a few hours with you now and I can already confidently say that you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met,” his eyes shone bright as she stared into them and she could somehow tell he was being sincere, “and trust me, I’ve met a lot of people.”

Dramatically placing a hand over her heart, Jules flashed him her biggest smile. “Oh how special that makes me feel, I can just die happily now.”

Even though she was being melodramatic, his words did cause Jules’ heart to flutter. In the past, some people told her she was annoying, or brash, and some others would make her feel invisible and undeserving of attention.

Harry, though, was unlike anyone she had ever known. From the moment they met, Harry made her feel like the centre of his attention, never once ignored her or brushed her off, even when she was taking the piss; his emerald eyes were always set on her, giving her his undivided attention as he listened to every word that came out of her mouth.

Jules was definitely not used to that.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, a sound that Jules found to be a beautiful melody, and gazed at her with those bright eyes. “Oh you’re insufferable, I take it back.”

She gasped in feigned shock, crossing her arms with force. “No backsies.”

Another melodic laugh left Harry’s mouth and she couldn’t stop the smile forming on her lips; right then and there, Jules decided that his laugh was one of her favourite sounds.

“Backsies?” He echoed, his tone still laced with laughter, “what are you, five?”

“Shut your pretty mouth.”

“Oh so you think I have a pretty mouth?” His smirk caused his skin to flush and she cursed herself for saying those words. She really needed to think before she spoke, something her parents always reminded her of.

She recovered quickly, bringing her glass closer to her mouth. “I mean, it’s fine, your lips are a little on the thin side but-“

“Heyyy now,” he protested, pink lips forming a pout and Jules definitely thought about kissing them at that moment. “That’s not nice.”

“Never claimed I was nice now, did I?” Jules smirked, feeling a sudden surge of confidence as she took another sip from her drink.

Jules did not miss the way Harry’s eyes seemed to darken just a little, his jaw tensing as she continued to stare him down. Harry leaned forward, mouth opening to respond when suddenly a shrill tone burst their bubble.

Patting the couch cushions, Jules was trying her hardest to forget the look on Harry’s face as she searched for her phone. Stop it, Jules, he’s an international rockstar and he won’t even remember you after tonight.

She sighed in relief when her hand made contact with the device, but that quickly turned into a groan upon seeing who the caller was. Looking back at Harry, who was leaning against the armrest simply staring at her, she shot him an apologetic look before she answered the call.

“Hey, mama” she closed her eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Not that she was expecting anything to happen between her and Harry, but the mood was definitely ruined now.

“Hello, honey, how are you? Are you home yet?” Her mother’s calming voice sounded from the other side of the line, making her smile a bit despite the interruption. Ever since the breakup, her mom made sure to call her frequently to check up on her, even though Jules insisted that she didn’t have to.

“I am home, mom, yes,” she responded, shifting her gaze back to Harry who was now leaning his head against the back of the sofa with his eyes closed.

“Good, good. Just checking on you, cariña, how was your night then?”

“It was fine,” she paused for a second, not sure if she should mention meeting Harry now, but she decided it was best not to, “had a few drinks then went straight home. Think I’m gonna go to bed in a few actually.”

She could tell by the way Harry’s lips twitched that he was awake and listening.

“I won’t keep you up then,” some noise was in the background and she heard her mother whisper to someone, “okay, honey, good night! And your dad says good night too.”

“Good night, mama,” Jules smiled, finding herself suddenly missing her family that she hasn’t seen since the holiday season. “Tell dad I said good night too, and that he better spoil you today.”

Her mother’s laugh ringed loud on the other side, “We’re going to dinner tonight, cariña, and he even got me a large bouquet of my favourite roses! Joseph shh- Alright then, bye bye, sweets, love you!”

“Bye, mama, love you too.”

A few seconds passed after she ended the call before Harry spoke up, head tilted to the side. “That sounded sweet. Does she check up on you often?”

Jules hummed in response, resting her head sideways on the sofa so was mirroring his position. “Especially after the breakup. She just worries too much about me.”

“I don’t think she needs to,” he shot her a gentle smile, one that made her want to wrap her arms around him and bask in his warmth, “her daughter’s a very strong woman.”

Not finding any words to say in response, Jules continued tracing Harry’s features, lazily admiring the slope of his nose, the curve of his brows, the sharpness of his jawline; everything about the man before her was mesmerising.

Turning her gaze back to his eyes, Harry flashed her another smile before sitting up straight, the smile slowly dropping. “I should probably go now, it’s getting late.”

Jules immediately wanted to shout “no!” and ask him to stay, but the rational part of her mind told her that she shouldn’t, that she would only set herself up for heartbreak when he finally leaves her.

So the only thing she could say was a faint “Okay.”

As they stood up, it seemed like Harry was holding back from saying something, but she didn’t know if she was just reading too much into things. It was probably just her hazy mind (though she’d argue her head has never been clearer)

They silently made their way to her door, Jules feeling deflated at the prospect of his departure. Would they keep in touch? Would she just become a distant memory, a miserable woman he spent a lonely valentine’s day with?

“Can I-“ Harry abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing Jules to almost run into his back because she was trailing behind him. His demeanour was suddenly all shy when he turned to face her, cheeks flushed crimson.

Jules waited with bated breath and wide eyes for him to continue, heart beating loudly in her chest.

“Can I have your number?”

Relief washed over Jules and Harry visibly relaxed at the bashful smile on her lips. Jules didn’t know why he was so nervous, but the sight was so endearing to her.

She added her number after he handed her the device, secretly smiling at her contact name Juliet x. She already earned herself an x after her name after a few hours? Jules’ heart was beating so loudly she feared Harry would hear its calls for him.

Jules watched him put his shoes on, wishing the night wouldn’t end so soon and wondering if it would be too forward to ask him to stay longer.

Deep in her thoughts, Jules didn’t register that Harry was standing in front of her, bodies close enough that the scent of his cologne engulfed her senses once more.

“I should go now.” Harry whispered, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her and Jules had never felt so whole. She’s heard about Harry’s incredible hugs and now that she’s experiencing it, she never wanted to let go of his warmth.

Harry broke their embrace much too soon for her liking, but not before peppering a gentle kiss on the side of her head. “Good night, Juliet.”

Say something. Don’t let him leave. “Good night, H.”

And then he was gone and Jules was left on her own once more.

After staring longingly at the closed door, as if he would suddenly appear behind it, Jules sighed and made her way back to the living room, slumping against the couch cushions and wishing Harry’s arms were around her again.

Her phone dinged on the coffee table, signalling the arrival of a text. A simple “Hey. I really enjoyed tonight. H” was staring back at her.

Jules contemplated for a few seconds, heartbeats picking up their speed again, before she whispered “fuck it” and clicked on his number.

“Juliet?”

Deciding to go after what her heart wants for once, Jules didn’t hesitate to respond, “Do you want to-“

But an insistent knock interrupted her and Jules wanted to scream at the intrusion. Who on earth would be knocking at her door at this hour?

“Harry, hold on just-“

She takes frustrated strides to the door, ready to yell, but the sight behind it made her anger immediately evaporate.

“H-Harry? What are you doin-“

“What were you going to ask me?” He interrupted, sounding a little out of breath and she wondered if he ran all the way back to her apartment.

Feeling emboldened by his return, Jules took a few steps towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, his hands immediately grabbing her face and pulling her closer, their lips joining together in a gentle yet eager kiss.

Jules felt her body melt in his hold. Their kiss only lasted for a few seconds before they pulled apart, still lingering so close that she could taste his wine-stained lips.

“Stay?” Jules asked, rubbing her nose against his, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for his answer. Her words carried more weight than she had intended them to and she hoped they wouldn’t scare him off. But her worries vanished when she felt him smile widely against her lips.

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Maybe valentine’s day isn’t so bad after all.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and please come talk to me about Harry and Jules and tell me your thoughts!

#1dffvalentine #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x ofc #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic

256 notes · View notes

suburbanbeatnik · 3 years

Text

Françoise de Bernardy’s Alexandre Walewski: The Polish son of Napoleon- the first chapter

If I went to the (long and tedious) effort of translating the first chapter of Françoise Bernardy’s 1976 biography of Alexandre Walewski, I figure you guys should see it too. Enjoy!

* * *

MARCH 1810. Paris is moved by the preliminaries of Napoleon's marriage with Marie-Louise. In a few days, the archduke Charles has to marry in Vienna, in the name of the French Caesar, his yesterday's victor, the daughter of the German Caesars.

 At 2 rue du Houssaye, in the then aristocratic district of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, a small hotel of elegant appearance. On March 10, at the end of the afternoon, the Emperor brought a cradle decorated with silver laurel. The room where the imperial gift is deposited is hung with light blue. On the wall is a beautiful portrait of a woman by Gerard: blonde, with beautiful eyes and a fine, gentle face. The mirror of the fireplace reflects the charming features. Near the Boucaut armchairs, a Martin varnished chiffonier, behind, half-folded, a large screen of Coromandel lacquer.

A heroic fighter in the last wars of Polish independence, Mathieu Laczynski, staroste of Gostyn, died young and desperate, leaving a widow and six children who can barely live off the mortgaged land of Kiernozia.

The years pass, aggravating the ruin. The four sons are valiant but weak, spendthrift, covered with debts, whether they work on the land or fight in the Polish legions in the service of France. Only one hope, a rich marriage for the oldest daughter, Marie, born in 1786, who is beautiful and good.

An almost septuagenarian but very noble neighbor, Count Anastasius Walewski, offers this rich marriage when Marie has just turned seventeen. At first, the young girl rejects the idea of a union with an old man, twice widowed, whose son Stanislaus is already a made man. But Mme. Laczynska urges her daughter. She knows that he has a warm heart and a devoted soul. Count Walewski is generous. If Mary sacrifices herself, he will secure the future of her brothers and sister. How to resist seventeen years? At the beginning of 1804 Marie became countess Walewska. In June 1805 she had a son, Antoine, a fragile, weak, viable child, who was taken over by the count's sister, Hedwige, an abusive spinster. She leaves behind a distraught young woman with a sad heart and empty arms. Only the sense of duty and a deep passion, which lifts her out of herself, the love of the country, sustain her. Marie lives on the hopes that the victories of the imperial France over Austria, Prussia, and Russia, the powers that once shared Poland.

This patriotism and these hopes brought Marie Walewska to meet Napoleon in Blonie on the road to Warsaw on December 31, 1806. In the weeks that followed, this patriotism and these hopes persuaded the young woman to become the mistress of the French emperor, first forced, then willing, then in love. In the spring of 1807, she lived with him in Finckenstein, where the warrior spent some quiet hours preparing for the Friedland campaign.

Unofficially separated from her old husband, Marie Walewska came to Paris at the beginning of 1808. She remained there until the Emperor's departure for Bayonne. If the fever of the senses has subsided between them, if the lovers are often and for a long time separated, nevertheless Napoleon remains attentive and Marie attached. And then there is always Poland, whose destiny once more seems to be played out during the campaign of 1809. In May, Marie writes to Napoleon, reminds him of his promises, offers to join him in Austria, and on May 18, from Schoenbrunn, which he is about to leave for his headquarters in Ebersdorf, the Emperor replies to the young woman.

"Marie, I have received your letter. I read it with the pleasure that your memory always inspires me. The feelings that you keep for me, I carry them with me.

"Come to Vienna, I wish to see you and give you new proofs of the tender friendship I have for you. You cannot doubt the value I place on everything that concerns you. A thousand tender kisses on your beautiful hands and one on your beautiful mouth. "

A month later, back at Schoenbrunn, on June 20, fifteen days before the battle of Wagram, the Emperor sent Marie an affectionate letter.

"Dear Marie, your letters have pleased me as always. I do not approve of your having followed the [Polish] army in Cracow, but I cannot blame you.

"The affairs of Poland are restored, and I understand the anxieties you have had ... I acted, it was better than to lavish consolation on you. You don't have to thank me, I love your country and I appreciate the merits of many of your people.

"It takes more than the capture of Vienna to bring the end of the campaign. When I have finished, I will move to be closer to you, my sweet friend, because I am anxious to see you again. If it is at Schoenbrunn, we will enjoy together the charm of its beautiful gardens and we will forget all these bad days.

"Have patience and keep faith. "N"

After Wagram, Countess Walewska moved to Moedling, a few miles from Vienna, and throughout the summer of 1809, while peace was being discussed, the Emperor came almost every day to spend the evening, the night - with Marie.

Slow, sweet weeks which, if they seem to consecrate the liaison by the expectation of a child, however, by precipitating the divorce, also prepare the rupture. Indeed, Marie wishes to return to France with the Emperor, but Napoleon, now assured that he can procreate, determined to separate from Josephine, does not want to. The presence of the young woman in Paris would disturb him as he prepares his second marriage. He asked the Countess to return to Poland and on October 13 - the Emperor left Vienna the next day - Marie took the road to Warsaw.

On December 18 - the divorce was pronounced on the 15th - from Trianon where he went to his departure from the Tuileries, Napoleon writes to the countess Walewska. How the tone has changed since the letters of May and June, and how the young woman must have suffered. It is no longer a lover, but the sovereign who speaks, only the concern for the child still shines through. "Madam, I received your letter. All that it contains touched me much. I was pleased to see that you arrived in Warsaw without any unpleasant accident. Take care of your health, which is very precious to me, and put away dark thoughts, the future should not worry you. Teach me that you are happy and content, that is my greatest desire."

Unconsciousness of men. It is almost in the same terms that the Emperor tries to console Josephine...

Happy? Happy? Marie is not happy while she is waiting for Napoleon's child so far away from him, while Caulaincourt seems to be about to sacrifice the Polish hopes in Saint-Petersburg... In 1807, prince Poniatowski asked countess Walewska not to reject the sovereign on whom the fate of Poland depends. In 1810, he probably asked Marie to come to Paris to defend the cause of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and she agreed. Thus, she was in Paris at the beginning of 1810.

Marie Walewska looked sadly at the cradle. It is true that Napoleon welcomed her and spoke tenderly of the child she was carrying - a son, he had no doubt. But the young woman's heart is heavy. The Emperor had come the day before to bid her farewell. He would not see her again until she had given birth. What will Marie do? Stay in Paris? Retire to the country? To Warsaw? But can she return without the count's permission?

All of a sudden hurried footsteps, a panting courier. "A letter from Poland!"

The count's handwriting...

"Walewice, 21 February 1810

"Dear and honored wife,

"Walewice is more and more a burden to me, my age and state of health forbidding me any activity. I have come there for the last time, in order to sign the deed by which my eldest son acquires it.

"I advise you to come to an agreement with him about the formalities to be completed at the birth of the child you are expecting. They will be simplified if it is in Walewice that this Walewski is born.

"This is also his opinion, and that I write to you. I do so, conscious of fulfilling my duty, praying to God that he may have you in his care.

"Anastase Colonna Walewski".

Marie weeps with relief, with gratitude. Without wasting a minute, she claims her chaise de poste.

Poland is still under a blanket of snow when the Walewska princess arrives in Walewice. The young woman was pleased to see the long white house again, with its two wings covered by terraces and the triangular pedimented porch. This "colonial style" is surprising in the Polish plain: it is a memory of the veterans of the American War of Independence.

April soon brings its first greens, the buds burst in the woods. Marie Walewska takes long solitary walks. Her term is near. What will be the future of this child in whom Slavic and Latin blood are mixed? If it is a son, will he be a soldier, a diplomat? If it is a daughter, will she have fewer difficulties than her mother? What Marie wishes for her child is happiness...

On May 4, Countess Walewska gave birth to a son. At the end of his life Alexandre Walewski will write:

"My birth was accompanied by lightning and thunder, and it was predicted that my life would be stormy and even life-changing.

"To satisfy an old family prejudice, I was held at the font by two beggars, which was supposed to bring me luck... "

Three days pass, then on May 7 the priest of Walewice, acting as civil registrar, registers in the commune of Bielow that "Mgr Anastase de Walewski, staroste of Wareck, residing in Walewice, age of 73 years ", presented him "a child of the male sex, born in his palace on May 4 of the present year at four o'clock, by clarifying to us that he was born from his marriage with the lady Marie, nee de Laczynska, his wife . ... and that he intended to give her the following three names: Alexandre-Florian-Joseph. In view of this declaration, we have proceeded to the redaction of the birth certificate of the said child, in the presence of Mgr Stanislas de Walewski aged 30 years ... and of Mr. Joseph Ciekerski,doctor of medicine and surgeon deliverer ... which birth certificate was signed by us as well as by the above-mentioned and the required witnesses after reading made. "

Anastase Walewski thus fulfills all his duty towards a woman whose honesty and uprightness he appreciates. To this child who is nothing to him, he assures a name, a legitimate filiation, a heritage. This is a striking proof of the affection and esteem he has for Marie. Stanislaus Walewski is fully associated with this testimony by his presence in front of the priest of Walewice.

On his side the Emperor did not forget Marie.

On April 16 (1) he wrote to her:

"Madam, I receive with great pleasure your news, but the dark ideas that I see that you nourish do not suit you well. I do not want you to have any. Teach me soon that you have a beautiful boy, that your health is good and that you are cheerful. Never doubt the pleasure I will have in seeing you and the tender interest I take in what concerns you. Farewell Marie, I await with confidence your news."

(1) When it was published, this letter was dated February 16. This date hardly seems acceptable. First of all, it is clearly a reply to a distant person whom the Emperor will have "pleasure in seeing". Above all, Napoleon knew that the child was due at the beginning of May and he could not hope that he would be born "soon" - prematurely. Date of April, when the young woman withdrew to Walewice, this text takes on its full meaning.

Leaving a few days later for Belgium and Holland with Marie-Louise, he is informed by quick couriers and, as soon as he knows the birth of Alexandre, he sends for the child Brussels lace and twenty thousand gold francs, for the mother, a very special tribute if we think of Napoleon's admiration for the poet, the works of Corneille, printed in Rouen in 1648, in a beautiful binding by Trantz. Does the Emperor want to signify to Marie that she has the high and tender soul of a Chimene, that he remembers her faithful and generous love?

Napoleon called the young woman back to France on September 3. After thanking her for the news brought by her brother, Theodore Laczynski, he adds in effect: "If your health is well recovered, I desire that you come on the end of autumn to Paris where I desire very much to see you... "

An amicable agreement is then definitively reached between Marie and the count Walewski. The latter gives her a large part of his fortune and entrusts her with the custody of their son Antoine. In Paris Marie Walewska moves back to rue du Houssaye. The months pass. Marie lives far from the court, does not meet Napoleon who, all occupied with Marie-Louise, seems to be interested in the young woman and her son. Finally, in February 1811, the Emperor came to see little Alexandre. It is a beautiful blond child, but whose dark complexion recalls that of the Bonapartes. He has the round head of the Latins, the high and wide forehead of his father, his eyebrow, his mouth and his chin, but the eye does not have the deep blue of the Corsican, reflection of the Mediterranean, it does not have either the sparkle which had always to brighten in the imperial pupil, the brown eye of Alexandre is pleasant and merry. A second visit follows the first one, then it is the rupture, without clashes, without discussion, like a fruit that has reached maturity.

Napoleon, however, is very concerned about the material well-being of Countess Walewska, to whom Duroc brings ten thousand francs every month. Especially the future of his son. On the eve of leaving Paris for Russia, on May 5, 1812, he made the young woman come to the Tuileries and gave her a patent which instituted in favor of Alexandre a majorat of one hundred and seventy thousand pounds of income, with the title of count. The majorat is established on goods situated in the kingdom of Naples.

One evening in January 1813, Alexandre was awakened with a start. Dressed in a hurry, he was taken to his mother.

"Two elderly men were with him, one of whom took me on his lap and kissed me. His physiognomy made a deep impression on me; it was certainly the first memory of his life."

The Emperor's solicitude for his Polish son did not waver. In the middle of the dark hours of the French campaign, fearing that Murat would confiscate the first endowment, he charged his treasurer general, M. de La Bouillerie, to establish a new majorat of fifty thousand pounds of rent on the canals for the young Walewski; he also had a hotel at 48, rue de la Vicioire, bought in the name of Alexandre for 137,500 francs, of which Marie was the usufructuary (1).

Come the great reverses. In the defeated Emperor, abandoned by his former companions, Marie Walewska sees only the man who has loved her, whom she has loved. She runs to Fontainebleau and is announced. Napoleon, absorbed, does not see her again immediately, and then does not think about her anymore. Weary of body and soul, he looks for oblivion and rest in poison, but does not find it.

All night long, in an anteroom, Marie waits for him to call her. In the morning, she finally goes away, discreet, fearing to be unwelcome. The Emperor learns a few hours later of her apparent negligence. "The poor woman," he murmured, "will think she has been forgotten," and on April 16 he was anxious to reassure her. "Marie, I have received your letter of the 15th, the feelings that you have expressed touch me deeply. They are worthy of your beautiful soul and the goodness of your heart. When you have arranged your affairs, if you want to go to the waters of Lucca or Pisa, I will see you with great and lively interest, as well as your son for whom my feelings are invariable. Be well, think of me with pleasure and never doubt me.”

(1) On February 4, from Nogent, he writes in his own hand to La Bouillerie: "I have received your letter relative to young Walewski. I leave you carte blanche. Do what is convenient but do it immediately. What interests me is above all the child, the mother afterwards." A judgment of the court of the Seine, of April 4, 1818, will authorize the tutor of the "minor" Walewski it to sell the hotel of the rue de la Victoire and it to replace the funds produced by this sale in the purchase of Walewice of which Stanislas Walewski wants to get rid.

In August 1814 Marie Walewska travels to Italy with her son, her sister Emilie and her brother Theodore. The Emperor encouraged her again on August 9:

"Marie, I have received your letter, I have spoken to your brother. Go to Naples to arrange your affairs. On my way there or on my way back, I will see you with the interest you have always inspired in me, and the little one of whom I hear so much good news that I am truly happy and will be happy to embrace him. Farewell, Madame, a hundred tender things.”

On September 1 Marie arrived on the island of Elba with her son, Emilie and Theodore. Immediately a rumor spread among the population and the small garrison: Marie-Louise and the King of Rome had just arrived. The good people are mistaken. The Viennese woman of light soul and weak flesh is in Aix, already all in Neipperg.

Is Napoleon going to retain Marie who has come to offer him her life? Certainly he is moved to find her always so faithful and so generous. But the Emperor thinks first of the Empress, first of the King of Rome, and he fears that Marie-Louise, warned of the coming of the Polish girl, will take the pretext not to join him. Surprisingly, does he not guess that the choice is already made?

In any case, he receives Marie Walewska in a half-mystery, at the hermitage of the Madonna.

Leaving the countess the three rooms of the little house, Napoleon settles for the night in a tent under the chestnut trees. When he came out in the morning, he found Alexandre playing. He called him, sat down on a chair, took the child in his lap, then sent for Foureau de Beauregard, the doctor who had followed him to Elba, and the latter wrote to Alexandre Walewski on June 22, 1843: "You are that pretty little Alexandre that I saw, almost twenty-nine years ago, on the Emperor's lap near the Madonna delle Grazie on the island of Elba.”

“The Emperor wanted the child, who had no youngster with him, to be there," says Marchand. The Emperor placed Mme. Walewska's son next to him, he was very good at first, but it didn't last long and, as his mother reproached him, the Emperor said to him: "So you are not afraid of the whip? Well! I urge you to fear it; I have only received it once and I have always remembered it." Napoleon then tells how one day when he had mocked his grandmother's clumsy walk, Madame Mere had firmly corrected him. "The child had listened with the greatest attention, the Emperor said to him: 'Well, what do you say to that?’— ‘But I don't make fun of Mama,' he said with a little air of contrition which pleased the Emperor, who kissed him and said: 'That's well answered.’"

Rare picture of Napoleon with his Polish son.

That same evening, September 2, Marie Walewska took the road to Naples again in small steps. The endowment of Alexandre, confiscated on September 15 with all the other French endowments of the kingdom of Naples, is restored on November 30. Perhaps on the intervention of Caroline, who always liked Marie Walewska? Perhaps Murat had some shame to add a meanness to his betrayals? In any case the Emperor was satisfied and he told the King of Naples on February 17, 1815, adding: "I recommend her to you and especially her son who is very dear to me. "She came to Paris in the spring of 1838 and was ‘touched by the assiduous care’ that Walewski gave her during her stay. Caroline Murat wrote to him on November 23: "I am sending you the letter from the Emperor that I had promised you; you will see in it the proofs of the affection that he had for you... "

The countess Walewska lingers in Naples. Alexandre will keep a vague but pleasant memory of this stay, of the toys that he received there. At the beginning of 1815 the mother and the child embarked for France. Caught by a corsair, they escaped him in great difficulty.

Marie learned of the death of the count in Walewice on January 18, 1815. Now that she is free, what will she do with her life? To marry General d'Ornano, who has been courting her for a long time and for whom she has a deep inclination? Perhaps... She has hardly had time to decide when on March 1, 1815 Napoleon lands in Golfe-Juan.

It is the prestigious return, the intoxicating reception of Paris, the feverish days of work. Before the departure for the plains of Flanders where the imperial eagle will fall, Marie, always faithful heart, goes to the Elysee with her son. Alexandre found the visitor from the rue du Houssaye at the palace. He wears, as on the island of Elba, a blue uniform with a white lapel. "He told my mother that he was going to leave for a campaign. He asks me if I want to go with him. My mother refused. ‘Well madam, I will take him by force.’” These words still ring in my ears. "

Waterloo, the second abdication, the halt at Malmaison. Marie once again comes to the Emperor. So many bonds united them, gratitude for the resurrected Poland, and then love, and then the child. Without a doubt, she is ready to accompany him in this exile from which Napoleon's immense weariness, after a life so full and so ardent, awaits rest. But he does not accept, happiness is no longer for him, he enters the legend.

Despite the clear light of this beautiful summer day, everything is sad and gloomy on this June 26 and Malmaison is a kingdom of shadows: shadow of Josephine, unfaithful and charming, shadow of Duroc and Bessieres, shadow of the madman Junot, shadow of the absent ones too, Eugene, Murat, the companions of glory and youth, shadow of Talleyrand and Fouche who betrayed him, shadow above all of this young consul who took France in his arms and with a sincere effort straightened it.

Marie and the Emperor speak at length. Alexandre, serious and silent, listens to them without understanding. The countess is crying softly, she would like to retain Napoleon, to persuade him not to abandon himself to destiny. It is a vain effort, the Emperor does not hear her, nor does he hear Hortense. Marie finally decides to leave and Napoleon leans over to the child and gives him a long kiss. Later the man made, the wall man who became ambassador, then minister of the resurrected empire, will remember that he thought he saw a tear running down the cheek of the defeated of Waterloo.

Three more days the slow agony continues, three more days Marie returns to Malmaison and on June 29 she will be among the last faithful who, on the threshold of the house, will see the Emperor sinking with a firm step into the park, crossing the small gate, will hear the door of the heavy car slamming while the bells of the church of Rueil ring...

* * *

A long year... Europe catches its breath, gets used to the absence of the man who for fifteen years has dominated it and who disappeared at the bottom of the Atlantic.

On September 7, 1816 Marie Walewska married Ornano, who had been exiled by the Restoration, in St. Gudula in Brussels. Antoine and Alexandre Walewski stayed in Paris. Under the guidance of M. Carite, a friend on whom the countess entrusted the education of her children, and of an old valet, Andre, the two little ones join the Ornanos at the waters of Chaudfontaine near Liege. The new household moved soon after to Liege itself, in a charming house on rue Mandeville, today rue de la Fragnee. On June 9, 1817, a son, Rodolphe, was born. After his release from exile, Ornano returned to Paris with his wife in October 1817, but Marie died soon after, on December 11.

In her will Madame d'Ornano entrusted the guardianship of her Polish sons to her brother Theodore Laczynski, who was in Paris at the time. "He will have to report frequently to my dear husband on the state of Alexandre's health, to take his advice when this child will be of school age. Place him in a school where his father-in-law will be able to go and visit him sometimes and supervise his education... "

Laczynski takes the two orphans to Kiernozia in Poland. Alexandre likes this quiet and patriarchal life. Memories of the imperial era haunt the house. In the evening, Antoine and Alexandre linger in the living room. Theodore Laczvnski takes the lead in the conversation, he talks about the French Revolution, Paris, the imperial campaigns, especially about the Emperor. As Duroc's aide-de-camp, the Pole often approached Napoleon. The children, with bright eyes, listen "with indefinable interest". Laczynski's dream is to go to Saint Helena, to take his wards there...

After a few happy months in the country, Theodore Laczynski decides to settle in Warsaw and gives the children whose education cannot be neglected any longer a tutor. A strange choice. The times decidedly wanted it. While Queen Hortense entrusted Louis-Napoleon to the son of the conventionnel Le Bas, the young Walewskis, in their snows, were given to a certain Muller, a "philosopher teacher" as he called himself, of a very advanced republicanism. Laczynski quickly separates from the astonishing character and, in order to restore the balance, his pupils spend half a year in a Jesuit college in Warsaw, where Alexandre makes his first communion. Then they left for Geneva in 1820.

Napoleon's son stayed there for four years. After a happy, pampered life with the gentle and tender woman who was his mother, the child had two more easy years. Now here he is, thrown alone - his brother Antoine is leaving him soon (1) - in a new, even hostile environment, in a foreign city whose Protestant austerity must have clashed with the Catholic heredity of this Pole with Latin roots. And yet, as he himself wrote, it was from this period that his spiritual life began. The city of Calvin suits this calm, somewhat soft temperament. No flashes of anger or outbursts. Order, measure, a certain fundamental rigidity. In Geneva, one day in the summer of 1821, the child of Wagram, the one who prayed for the Emperor because he was his father, learns of the death of the captive of Saint Helena.

(1)Recalled probably by the tsar. Antoine Walewski died young, without children from his marriage to Constance Grotowska.

No trace in the memories of the imprisoned man of what he thought, felt... Did he ever know, except by the cold instructions to the executors of his will, that Napoleon, although absorbed by the concern for his imperial son, nevertheless thought of his Polish son, recommended him to Bertrand, expressed the wish that he enter a regiment of lancers, and above all that he become a Frenchman. "He is really of my blood, and that is also something."

Alexandre Walewski is a boarder at the Academy's rector's house, which receives about twenty young people. His lavish lifestyle, the apartment, the governor, the servant, attracted jealousy and bullying. In spite of his young age, Alexandre decides to avoid a situation which, if it goes on too long, will become painful. He gets the governor recalled, keeps the servant but puts him at the service of the community. He has easy money - his hands will always be wide open -, he lends to his comrades and shows himself to be generous. He is a serious, authoritarian boy, aware of his importance. The traits of his character, which we will find again during his life, are already marked: he is honest, upright, but he is neither cheerful nor fanciful. He evokes his life in Geneva as follows: "I was at twelve very tall for my age, and I considered myself a young man; so much so that I was already going a little into the world, to balls, to little parties... I stayed in Geneva for four years. I left Geneva on an order from the emperor of Russia."

* * *

On his return to Poland in 1824, Alexandre Walewski was emancipated by his tutor. He settled in Walewice, where he led a stately life. Princess Jablonowska, a sexagenarian cousin who had once been the friend and confidante of Maria Walewska, helped him to entertain. The house of the young man, of this so young man, is soon to be very sought after.

Precocious from a worldly point of view, Alexandre Walewski is also precocious with women. The Latin blood is hot, the Slavic blood as well. Judging by what he wrote in the first draft of his memoirs, shortly after his arrival in Walewice, Alexandre had an affair. He had an affair with a "vulgar girl" that left him feeling disgusted and that would keep him away from such promiscuity in the future. The numerous women who will mark out his life will be from now on women of talent or: women of quality.

On December 22, 1825, Alexandre sends to the General d'Ornano his wishes for the new year. This letter, green, charming, which confirms the impression of maturity of a boy who is not sixteen years old, also reveals the affectionate feelings that he feels for his stepfather.

“It is nearly three months since I wrote to you and many things have happened since I took possession of my land in Walewice. First of all, the castle was repaired, which was in great need of it, and then my good cousin wanted the whole region to hear, with loud trumpeting, that I had become its lord. More than a hundred people did us the honor of attending the magnificent ball that she gave. It was very cold outside, but fortunately there was no snow that night. I was celebrated and saw people from the past whom I pretended to recognize and who were charmed by it. The dowagers even kissed me, but not the young girls, which would have pleased me more. I made up for it by dancing with several of them.

"I must confess also that I fell several times into the sin of pride. I don't know who said anything about my academic successes, but I have been in the hot seat and have been made to take part in political, diplomatic, literary, and I don't know what else conversations. How many compliments have I heard about my intelligence, my reason, the power of my arguments, etc., etc., etc.? And then I noticed that the girls preferred me to many other dancers. As the lessons given to me were profitable, I remembered that it was especially necessary to court ladies of canonical age and they brought back to me very flattering appreciations on my modest person, expressed by exquisite mouths...

"General Zayonczek is one of my most frequent visitors... He rambles a little, but this does not affect his memory. He remembers very well all that happened in Warsaw when the Emperor came there before the battle of Eylau... He is very popular with the great Duke and even with the Czar's court. Some people criticize him, but I think it is good that we have our great men in favor. It can only be useful for us...

"We will reopen the Warsaw hotel in a few days. Ah! if we could see you there!

"Your tender and respectful Alexandre. "

Son of the patriot Marie Walewska, son of the Emperor, Alexandre attracts Polish hopes. He would gladly be taken as a standard bearer. Grand Duke Constantine, the skillful and often benevolent governor of the kingdom, wanted to neutralize him. He offers him to join the Russian army, to become his aide-de-camp. The young man "stubbornly" refused. He was put under police surveillance and told to leave the country. Tsar Alexandre had once recommended that Napoleon's Polish son should never be allowed to go to France: his brother remembered this.

Alexandre decides to escape. With a passport obtained at a high price, he goes to St. Petersburg and hides there, waiting for a favorable opportunity to gain more free land. He learns that the police are looking for him to bring him back to Warsaw where his fate will be decided. Four hundred leagues on foot, a probable prison do not tempt the Pole. He had to escape at all costs. He reached Kronstadt and boarded a steamer bound for England. The police have found his trail, and they launch an armed barge in pursuit of him, ordering him to stop: inadvertently or unwillingly, the captain does not obey the summons and, thanks to his superior speed, makes it to the open sea.

* * *

In London, Walewski received an enthusiastic welcome from the elegant society, the opposition. The Whigs, that is, the Liberals, have always regretted the treatment of the Emperor, and Lord Holland has protested in the House of Lords against the conditions of captivity. With Napoleon gone, the regrets became remorse...

In spite of the attentions of which he is the object, the young man does not linger in England. He will return there with pleasure and in 1828 he will spend several months: summer, autumn, making a long stay in Chatworth at the Duke of Devonshire, the most prominent of the great Whig lords. But it is in Paris that Walewski intends to settle down. He arrived there in the autumn of 1827. He found his father-in-law, with him Flahaut, Sebastiani, Gerard, veterans of the time. The salons of the Faubourg Saint Honore, of liberal tendency, receive him with great pleasure. He is charming at his entrance in the Parisian world, this young Walewski. Slim, slender, elegant, he has beautiful dark eyes and a dreamy smile. His slight accent adds to his charm when he courts a woman, and he waltzes divinely - like a Slav.

And then, isn't he called the natural son of Man? The Marechal de Castellane notes on November 1, 1827: "At Mme de Flahaut's, I saw for the first time a young M. Walewski, son of Mme Walewska and of the Emperor Napoleon. He has the eyes, the sound of his father's voice, he is taller than him and very well turned out (1)."

(1) Many years later Walewski pronounced the eulogy of the count of Rayneval. An old general of the Empire suddenly begins to cry. "I attended the farewell that the Emperor made to his guard at Fontainebleau and I just heard the sound of his voice.”

What is more surprising, the faubourg Saint-Germain, stronghold of the ultras, is infatuated with Walewski who becomes the darling of the "ultra-duchesses" according to Lady Morgan. Haussonville on his side confirms it to us. "The debuts of Count Walewski took place, singularly enough, under the auspices of what is most exclusive and purest in the aristocratic society of Paris. It was as if it were a watchword among the most sought-after ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain to give the most benevolent welcome to the young man whose features were strikingly reminiscent, but with a pleasant and gentle physiognomy, of those of a famous mask. The first of these was the one who was to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be of a man who was not a man of the world. He let the most haughtiest women, those who were about to consider themselves the prettiest or the wittiest, put themselves to the expense for him, either of brilliant toilet or of beautiful spirit, each one according to the means of seduction which suited her best. Thus, every evening in the fashionable salons, there was a real race to the bell tower between a learned marquise... who affected to speak to each ambassador the language of her country and a beautiful duchess [it seems to be the duchess de Guiche] who was then in Paris the type of the sovereign elegance. Between these ladies the bets were open and the chances seemed doubtful, Walewski taking care to share equally between them his discreet attentions...”

A cloud rises however on the horizon. Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian ambassador, a Corsican who had been in the service of the tsar, pursued with a Corsican hatred all that was Bonaparte. He asks for the extradition of Walewski, this "rebel, fugitive from the Russian Empire". By order of Charles X, who doesn't like Pozzo, Villele, on the eve of leaving the ministry, refuses it. Walewski could stay in France on condition that he avoided official circles and made himself forgotten.

Life is very pleasant in these last years of the Restoration. Lady Blessington has left us a pleasant picture of the society of the time. The manners are ceremonious and the young people surround the old women with delicate attentions, whether it is a flattering silence when the beautiful ones of the past are remembered or a lively eagerness to render them small services: handkerchief, bouquet or fan picked up, shawl placed on cold shoulders. France is the paradise of old women, especially if they are witty, England is the purgatory, says the Englishwoman without ambiguity. The amorous intrigues are discreet, hidden from the public, and those whose affair is best known affect the most reserved manners. Hypocrisy perhaps, but the Parisian world takes on an air of dignity and decency.

Once a week, the women of quality open their salons to a circle of intimates who meet like-minded people every evening in a friendly house. Small closed coteries, where strangers are not admitted. For them, balls, dinners and parties in full dress. For the regulars, the amiable negligence of the half-clothes and the free, unceremonial chat. “Yesterday I went to a small party at Madame de Jumilhac's [a sister of the Duke of Richelieu] where Walewski served as my introducer," said the Pole Andre Kosmian on November 7, 1829. “Without being rich, she received three times a week the flower of the Parisian world. Her small salon is only open to ten or twelve people at a time. It is very difficult to be admitted. I owed this favor to Walewski who is the gate child of these ladies."

Walewski likes this refined society as much as he likes it. He is linked with the due de Chartres. They are tall, one dark, the other blond, they look alike and for three winters they never leave each other. Walewski also met Thiers at Madame de Flahaut's house: their friendship will never be denied. He finally met Morny, the son of Flahaut and Queen Hortense. "They are both of distinguished and graceful manners, without support, gifted with an air as it should be which is in them as a native gift... "

Lady Blessington, a very good judge, noted in 1829: "The more I see Count Walewski, the more I like him. He has the spirit, intuition and perfect manners. I have always considered it a good sign for a young man to like the society of old people and Count Walewski marks the preference for men of age to be his father."

When the count d'Orsay and the due de Guiche create in 1828 the circle of the Union, Walewski joins one of the first. He found there many Englishmen, Lord Granville, the English ambassador who had married a sister of the Duke of Devonshire and whose son was to be a minister in 1852. Caradoc, the future opponent of Walewski in La Plata, Normanby. He also met Talleyrand... There is a lot of talk about horses, it is a passion of the time and also a fashion. The races begin to be very popular at the Champ-de-Mars and at the Bois de Boulogne. Walewski goes there with assiduity. He runs and plays...

“In the meantime, I attended horse races for the first time in my life," Kosmian said in November 1829. Unfortunately, they ended in a way that was unpleasant for Walewski, because Walewski was always doing crazy things, throwing money out of the window. In England and here in Paris, he lost at cards up to a hundred thousand francs. Having stopped on the slope, he no longer plays cards, but, which amounts to the same thing, he plays at the races. There is a very rich Englishman here, Lord Seymour [Milord l'Arsouille], who lives only for horses and for whom betting on races is a passion. He is the one who is constantly pestering poor Walewski. Last Saturday, they had only two, each on his own horse. Walewski rode an English racehorse; Seymour a hunting horse; but Walewski had to carry sixty pounds more! Everyone who knew anything about racing said in advance that Walewski was making a fool of himself and that he would lose. He wouldn't listen to anyone - and lost. The stake was five thousand francs. He has seventy-five thousand pounds of income; what a comfortable and pleasant life he could lead. Perfectly well seen in the world, universally loved... But one has to tell him the truth... he doesn't want to hear anything until now. It is a great pity because what a good and noble nature it is and of how much pleasure in society ... "

The year 1829 had been cheerful, the beginning of the year 1830 is not less. On February 9 a great masked ball was organized by Mrs. Alexandre de Girardin in the concert hall of the rue Taitbout. Mme. Alfred de Noailles intrigues during one hour Rodolphe Apponyi, the king of the cotillion leaders; on the other hand, he recognizes at first sight the princess of Lieven and both of them go in the box of Walewski so that they intrigue their turn.

Alexandre is twenty years old on May 4, 1830. He is a man. Will he continue to waste his life in frivolity, thinking only of the world, of women, of races, of gambling? Does he forget the hopes cherished by his mother, does he remember that his father wanted him to be a soldier? Will he, who is free, get bogged down in the pleasures of Paris like the Duke of Reichstadt, he who is a prisoner, in the soft life of Austria? Will the sons of Napoleon be only dandies?

Walewski was a calm observer of the Three Glorious Years, and the return of the tricolor flag, which his father had flown in Vienna, Berlin and Moscow, did not arouse any echo in him. Polish by mother, Polish by heart, Polish by nationality if not by language (1), only the tocsin of Warsaw is going to move him, to awaken him suddenly.

(1) Walewski was not fluent in Polish. Joseph Tanski tells that when he came to London in 1854 to talk to the ambassador about projects he did not wish to see revealed, he offered to speak Polish to Walewski, the valet being present in the room. The latter refused, admitting that he could not sustain the conversation.

#alexandre walewski #marie walewska #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #polish history #francoise bernardy #long post #translation #joachim murat #caroline bonaparte #d'ornano

65 notes · View notes

stainandscribble · 3 years

Text

Flower, Falling In Love

Pairing: Wonwoo (Seventeen) x Reader

Genre: Wonwoo Cupid AU (sort of); Soulmate AU; Coffee Shop AU (brief); fluff; fantasy

Summary: Wonwoo is a love messenger, he answers to the god of love and he is destined, like all messengers, to never fall in love: or so it would seem. The god of love is unpredictable and does as he pleases. After centuries of helping people fall in love; Wonwoo is the one that needs assistance.

A/N: loosely inspired by Angel’s last mission: Love, based on the world in HONEY (EXO Lay fic) you don’t have to read it though, it is unrelated to this.

Word Count: 5390

Wonwoo was born the same way as all his brothers were, forged into existence the moment the sun painted the clouds various shades of pink and purple. As the dawn broke across the horizon, he had taken his first look at the sky across from Olympus. He was a messenger to the God of Love, Baekhyun.

The God of Love was cheerful, that was what Wonwoo noticed when he was born. The God of Love was smiling down at the newly awake messengers, his eyes shining. They were still pure and innocent then, still impressionable. He remembered that Baekhyun had told him he will live as his helping hand, aiding mortals down below them find love, helping him bestow this precious gift onto humanity.

And then he bestowed upon Wonwoo the greatest act of love a love messenger would ever receive: The God of Love gave him a name.

A name, Wonwoo had learnt was important. His brother recognised him by his name. Strangers would learn his name and cease to be strangers henceforth. A name made him who he was; Wonwoo who was Baekhyun’s love messenger, Wonwoo who was a brother.

He liked it when his brothers called his name. it made him feel important, useful. It made him warm. Wonwoo felt happy when they called his name cheerfully, the same way Baekhyun had the time he gave him his name, with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. Wonwoo thought that was love or at least the closest he was to ever feel it.

Love messengers had no knots in their white threads for lovers. Although they bestowed the gift of love onto humanity, they were fated to never experience it. Love was for the Gods and mortals. It was something unattainable to them, just beyond their fingertips. Humans and Gods fell in love so that their races could continue to exist. Human lives were short, and so for them to continue they had to love and have children. Despite their short lifespans, Wonwoo had always heard his elder brothers Jeonghan and Seungcheol talk with the Gods of Love and Lightening, about how humans took time to love.

One day, as he rested on Olympus as a young messenger, Wonwoo had been so bold as to ask the God of Lightening how he knew, and he had simply smiled at him, as if Wonwoo was a child, and lay a heavy warm hand over his shoulder, looking up at the tall messenger.

“Humans have short lives, and so they pick their time well and love only those they deem deserving of love.”

“They try anyway.” Jeonghan had supplied, his bright mischievous smile making the God of Thunder shake his head.

“Gods’ love easily because they don’t have to think too much about the passing of time and growing old. That is why they take long to learn. They will fall in love quickly because the mistake is only a short moment on an infinite number of moments. They make the same mistakes and the same bad decisions over and over because their time is limitless, and they can afford to waste it.” Seungcheol had explained to the younger messengers, all staring intently between the God of Lightning, and their older brother.

“Gods are born like humans are. They need love to pass on life too. They are not born in the clouds the same we are. Dawn does not kiss life into them like it does to us.” Joshua said. His voice was soft and light, matching his expression as he gazed over at his younger brothers. His brown eyes held a tenderness that had far surpassed love. Sometimes Wonwoo thought that if Philia, the affectionate love, could choose a shape it would look like Joshua.

“Humans have a good saying; the higher you are the lonelier you are. With power comes sacrifice and loneliness. Gods’ realms are often separated, the way this mountain is far from Junmyeon’s sea.” The God of Lightening Jongdae gestured over to the peak of Mount Olympus, to below, were behind the white tuft of clouds, the azure sea beat against the rocks. “For sacrifice and for balance, we are given love.”

That was the conversation that shaped Wonwoo’s idea of love. It was that lecture, given by the God who loved and married a mortal, that turned into one of the most important conversations of his existence. He was less impressionable afterwards.

-----------

That was over four thousand years ago, and still, despite never feeling Eros, he felt lucky. He was not lonely the way the Gods were, and he did not have a short life the way mortal humans did. For four thousand years, Wonwoo had worked and been content, diligently fulfilling his duties and watching as couples fell in love. Sometimes he had the displeasure, but an honour nonetheless, to watch as the same people he helped fate bring together had said their goodbyes. Millenia ago it had been death that forced them apart. More recently it had been finances and not enough time.

That was why he was on earth today, sitting in an auspicious café, sipping on an iced caramel macchiato. He had taken the last empty table, spread his things out to make sure no one else could sit with him, and watched as his charges smiled at each other in greeting as one offered an empty chair at their table to the other.

Wonwoo smiled to himself, his pink lips spreading into a joyful smile that showed all his teeth and turned his eyes into crescents. He had the satisfaction of watching as they met, his personal coffee show au unfolding in real life.

The coffee shop was packed, the air was warm and stuffy, and undoubtedly a welcome relief from the chill of winter lingering just outside the brick walls. Most of the tables were round, made of brown wood standing on black metal legs, the buzz of chatter and the mechanical humming of the coffee machines completed the ambience, and Wonwoo thought it would be a rather romantic place to meet the person destined for you.

The two humans were both college students, both tired and trying their best to keep up with assignments. They were studying the same subject, so it wasn’t their first meeting, but it was the push in the right direction. Wonwoo had been that push. That was his job, and he had sipped on his coffee and grinned down on his chocolate brownie in satisfaction at completing his last assignment this round. When he was done, he could return home to mythical Cyprus, plating beside Olympus suspended in the clouds. His brothers had already decided to drink nectar when they all came back for a well-deserved break.

That was too easy though. Too simple. A plan too well formulated and too close to execution, and fate had other ideas. Rather, the God of Love had other ideas, and he had made sure Wonwoo would not leave the coffee shop satisfied and in high spirits.

“Hi, is this seat taken?” A melodic voice broke through Wonwoo’s daydreams, bringing him back to the mortal realm. In front of him, a young woman looked down at him, and at the spare chair right she was now resting her hands against. At first glance, Wonwoo wondered if you were a muse to the God of the Sun, but you weren’t. Wonwoo studied your features, and he found none of the essences of immortal beings in them; and he finally heard your heart, previously drowned out by the sounds around him. Your heart was beating, a steady relaxed rhythm proving your mortality. He wondered if you had already found Your soulmate, and if not, who would be the one to help you find them. Would it be one of his brothers, or would it be a messenger he didn’t know? Could it be him?

“No.” Wonwoo told you, gesturing for You to leave your things in the space right in front of him before you went to order your drink.

“Thanks.” You muttered once you came back, sending him a smile in gratitude. Your drink was steaming, the mug holding the hot chocolate was warm against your fingers.

Wonwoo watched you over his cup, glancing at you from time to time to see what you were doing. He watched you warm yourself up, undoubtedly cold from the weather outside. Whilst you had gone to get your drink, snow started falling from the sky, white flakes blew in the wind, settling against the chilled earth like a blanket. Wonwoo thought you were pretty. Your eyes were twinkling, and you liked your lips after a sip of the heavenly hot liquid. You were driving the love messenger insane, his heart began to beat irregularly, startling him when he could hear the blood rush in his ears when you caught him looking. Wonwoo’s cheeks turned rosy, and the room began to feel far too hot for December. Even when you were both inside.

Worried about his rising temperature, and his mind replaying the small smile you sent his way, he decided he needed to make a break for it. There was no need to remain on Earth any longer, and he should be getting back home, in the realm of the God of Love floating beside Olympus.

“I have to go. Bye!” Wonwoo excused himself, walking out as fast as he could, completely forgetting his scarf, still hanging on the back of his chair.

You picked it up, hoping to find him outside the coffee shop, but when the cold air hit your skin, and the snowflakes began to fall against your cheeks, you noticed the tall man was gone.

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

Unbeknownst to you, Wonwoo stood in the back alley behind the packed coffee shop, hiding from mortal eyes as his heart beat against the rungs of his ribs, trying to break free of the pericardium and the bones keeping it away from you.

He had never felt like this before. His heart fluttered watching the happiness he brought mortals, and his feelings soared when he watched his brothers mess around. He had never felt like this towards a human. His hands were sweating, and he thought that even the falling snow could not cool down his scorching skin.

“Why is my heart beating so fast?” He muttered to himself, threading his fingers through his hair, frantically trying to gather his thoughts.

“And my hands are sweating.” Wonwoo spoke, looking around and wiping his hands on his dark jeans. Thankfully, there was no one around to witness his mental breakdown in the alley. Under all the confusion, and a strange excitement that was now filling Wonwoo’s body, there was an important question that needed answering. It was that very question that made his hands tremble, and his heart pick up pace.

“She is human. Why do I react like this because of a human?”

---------

Up above the coffee shop, beyond the vastness of the sky, The God of Water, Junmyeon, and The God of Love, Baekhyun, watched the messenger freak out. They observed the first instance of Eros ever felt by one of Baekhyun’s messengers, watching through the looking glass placed on the marble table in the pavilion. Their imposing silhouettes were still as Junmyeon awaited Baekhyun’s explanation.

The other Gods sat around the table, their dark eyes staring intently at Wonwoo’s image, the messenger was dressed in warm clothes, snow falling around him and cold wind nipping at his cheeks, a stark contrast to the warm breeze and the sun shining down on Olympus.

“What have you done to that poor love messenger?” Junmyeon asked, his deep voice rolled over them like waves, but there was a playful lilt in it, and his eyes were laughing as they watched the poor love messenger fall in love for the first time.

“I have given him the greatest gift, if only he would stop being so frightened.” Baekhyun muttered, tapping his fingernails on the marble table, watching as Wonwoo ran his hands through his hair and muttered to himself like a crazy person.

“How could he not be, his kind had never experienced something like that before.” Jongin reasoned, his tender heart soared at the innocent fear in Wonwoo’s eyes as his feelings wreaked havoc on his mind.

“Can love messengers die of a heart attack?” Kyungsoo laughed, his dark, earth-coloured eyes watched as Wonwoo grabbed his chest theatrically, feeling his irregular heartbeat.

“The fates have agreed?” Junmyeon looked over from the looking glass to his brother, the one he thought must be responsible for this.

“Of course. I chose him myself.” Baekhyun spoke, full of pride as he puffed his chest out and looked over to his elder with a mixture of mischief and hope.

The God of Love had chosen him himself. The moment Baekhyun looked down at the pink clouds, waiting for a new cohort of love messengers to be born in the light of dawn, he knew that it would be one of them. He was getting ready to pick out a messenger, whose lifeline he would eventually mess up, tying lover knots into their fate. No one of these beings, ones he affectionately called his children, had ever felt Eros. No one them in the centuries that they have been around, had ever fallen in love, despite bestowing this gift onto humans. They lived for love, and because of it, and yet they didn’t even know what they were living for. Baekhyun was determined to change that. Starting with Wonwoo, his children would learn what love is.

When the pink hue of dawn passed, and he had called out their names, he had realised he had almost forgotten about one messenger. Wonwoo, still nameless then, watched the God of Love with innocent fascination, eyes filled with Storge, affectionate love, as he watched the God of love smile down at him, oblivious to his intentions, and that was when Baekhyun had decided; it had to be him, who he had almost forgotten.

“Wonwoo.” Baekhyun had called him, and his fate was set.

---------

Wonwoo sat with his brothers around a wooden table, the warm Cyprus winds kissing their cheeks, a pleasant contrast to the harsh winter on Earth. Here, the sun shone down on them, and Wonwoo had swapped out the warm coat for summer clothes and a loose-fitting shirt. From crystal cups his brother sipped on golden nectar, but Wonwoo could not stomach his drink. His cup sat full on the table as he felt his stomach churn and flip. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Love messengers never got sick. The more people they helped find their soulmates, the better they felt, and their work was never-ending. Mortals and Gods kept them busy and kept them in high spirits.

“Jeonghan, I think I’m sick.” Wonwoo muttered when his heart began beating a little faster and he could feel his cheeks heating up a little more when his mind made him see the girl from the café again. He put his head in his hands.

“We don’t get sick.” Jeonghan laughed as he sipped on cool nectar. Beside him, Seungcheol looked over at the younger messenger and furrowed his brows.

“Something is wrong with me.” Wonwoo pressed, trying to avoid the curious gazes of his brothers.

“I saw this girl at the café whilst on duty, and she was mortal, but she was pretty.” He admitted, thinking about how you were definitely the prettiest mortal he ever laid eyes on, and about how he absolutely shouldn’t under any circumstances consider you attractive. Heck, he shouldn’t even know what attraction feels like. There were no lover knots in his thread of life, and there should be no feelings associated with Eros bouncing about his heart.

“When I saw her, my heart started beating in my chest as if it was skipping a beat, and my hands grew sweaty when she accidentally brushed her hand against mine.” He explained, his hands miming the way his heart was beating before he dramatically rubbed his hands together.

“Impossible.” Jeonghan whispered, his goblet abandoned on the table.

“What is impossible?” Mingyu asked, his eyes widened when he saw the shock on the faces of everyone else. He looked expectantly over to Wonwoo, who looked like he was about to faint.

“It can’t be real, can it?” Joshua asked, and before Mingyu could ask again about what was happening Seungkwan beat him to it, answering Joshua’s question instead.

“We don’t do that.” He shook his head, a broken chuckle escaped him as he sipped on his drink, trying to avoid Mingyu’s wondering stare.

“I have never in my six thousand years heard about this happening.” Seungcheol announced, looking over at the younger love messenger as he looked absolutely miserable, his face flushed and his eyes glassy as if he had a mortal fever. When they stopped to listen, they could hear his heart, fast and irregular. The same as a mortal heart in the throes of infatuation.

“Wonwoo, how are you feeling right now?” Seungkwan stood up from his chair to press a hand against Wonwoo’s forehead, checking if his brother was really burning up. To his surprise, he was, and the warmth that emanated from him was a pleasant feeling. Wonwoo was projecting, and for a moment Seungkwan thought his heart might also skip a beat. He retracted his hand and looked down onto his brother.

“Fine.” Wonwoo answered, although his cheeks were still pink, but the thought of you was now gone from his mind, and instead, fear had taken its place.

“Can he be infatuated with a mortal?” Mingyu asked, looking over at Seungcheol for answers. The older ran a hand through his black hair and sighed.

“It’s fate. You can’t fight fate.” His words had a finality to them that made them all sit back into their seats. It was the kind of finality that took over all of them, not just Wonwoo, who watched on with wide eyes, and despite the warmth of Cyprus’ air, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“You met her again, didn’t you?” Joshua asked, his voice soft as he watched his brother struggle with the new information.

“After I ran out, I came back the next day, just to make sure.” Wonwoo nodded.

“We bumped hands accidentally.” He added afterwards, but didn’t know if it was important, or rather why it was relevant,

“She invited me out for ice cream.” Wonwoo told them, putting his hands on the table and playing with his cup as a distraction.

“You said no, right.” Joshua prodded, his eyes soft but unsure, and when Wonwoo stayed silent, he turned to Seungcheol, who watched everything helplessly.

“You said yes?” Jeonghan cackled, laughing hysterically at how hopeful and happy his brother seemed at the prospect of meeting the mortal again.

“We are meeting on Monday.”

“Good luck.” Mingyu told him, and the sincerity in his voice gave Wonwoo the courage to smile at him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was fate after all, and you can’t fight fate. They all knew that.

-------

The ice cream shop was surprisingly full for the middle of winter. The walls were lined with wood painted a cream colour and the tables were also cream with pastel-coloured chairs. It was a fun little shop, and Wonwoo waited outside excitedly for your arrival. He had come earlier, just to make sure he was at the right place, and because he had a bad habit of being late, and he figured being late on the very first date of your immortal existence would not bode well. The snow had stopped falling, but the world remained covered under a soft pillow of pearly whiteness. Everything looked softer in the snow, and Wonwoo didn’t mind the cold.

“Hi Wonwoo.” He turned around when he heard you call his name, watching as you waved at him from the edge of the sidewalk.

“Hello Y/N.” He answered, smiling at you, his dark eyes carefully trailing over your face, wondering if you were as cold as he was.

“Let’s go?” You asked, gesturing towards the entrance to the gelateria.

“Sure.” He nodded and followed behind you into the warm ice cream shop. You sat down at a table near the window, your eyes scanning the tall man as he sat down and took off his black jacket and scarf. His cheeks and nose had turned red in the cold, and you wondered if he waited outside for long. He was already waiting when you spotted him as you were crossing the street. Once you were seated, you looked through the menu, deciding to share a sundae between you.

“How about this one?” Wonwoo asked, pointing to a sundae slathered in toffee sauce.

“Sweet nectar?” You asked, and he nodded, a smile appearing on his lips as you watched his eyes light up. You could feel your heart skip a beat when he caught your eyes with his dark coffee ones.

If only you knew the irony of his choice, you would have undoubtedly laughed, a messenger from Olympus who wanted nectar. Wonwoo had found that almost ridiculous.

For the remainder of your date, you sat at your table, walking about your favourite films and books. Turned out Wonwoo was a big fan of romance films, and he had mentioned that he liked Casablanca.

“So you like black and white cinema?” You asked, smiling as you leaned your hand against your open palm.

“You could say that.” He chuckled, eyes drifting from you onto the empty ice cream cup.

“What’s your favourite?” Wonwoo asked in return, feeling his breath hitch in his throat when you caught his eyes. Their colour mesmerized him, and for a moment he thought he was looking into a mirror, seeing the white thread of his life tie in a knot as he watched. The depth of your gaze was immeasurable, and he found himself drowning in the vastness.

“Cinema Paradiso.” You replied without breaking his gaze.

“So you like foreign cinema?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. The smile that broke through sent your own heart into a frenzy, and you felt yourself being pulled closer like a puppet on a string. Closer to him.

“You could say that.” You spoke, and the softness of your voice felt pleasant against Wonwoo’s ears. It was a sweet sound. Sweeter than the melodies played on any harp or lyre by the muses of the God of the Sun.

For the remainder of the evening, you sat in the gelateria, talking about your passions and your hopes.

“Tonight was nice.” You told Wonwoo once you left the building. The white snow had resumed its descent onto the frozen earth and had added layers onto the white blanket covering the world. It acted as a means to silence all sound but the sound of your beating heart and the rich resonance of Wonwoo’s voice.

“It was.”

“Would you like to go out again sometime?” He asked, turning to look you in the eyes when he offered.

“Let’s watch a film.” You agreed, happy when he took a small step towards you. In the crisp winter air, his warmth radiated like a heater, protecting you from the nipping wind.

“They are screening Notting Hill at the Contemporary Arts theatre.” Wonwoo told you his cheeks dusting a deeper shade of red.

“I’ll text you the time. Is that okay?” He asked, looking over unsure if he was being too forward. He had never spent this long with a mortal, much less with a mortal he knew he would inevitably fall in love with. He wondered if this was what all his charges felt when he helped them bump into each other or helped them make the first move. Were they also this warm? Did their hearts beat a new life and their breaths hitched in their throats with the feelings coursing through their veins? If that was the case, Wonwoo thought that infatuation was a very pleasant stage of mortal relationships.

“Of Course.” You told him, and just as you were about to bid your farewells he stopped you. His hand landed in your arm, and before you could react he had pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

His lips were warm against your cold skin, and the tingling sensation they left behind was enough to make our heart skip a beat.

“Goodnight.” He murmured, letting go of your arm, allowing you to walk home.

----

The messengers had picked a small coffee shop as their hangout in the mortal world. It was warm and served the best hot chocolate they had ever tasted, whipped cream and all. It was also frequented by tender writers and happy couples. Currently, in the throes of winter, it had been decorated with white lights and smelled like cinnamon, most likely because of all the gingerbread and spiced cakes they baked. Jeonghan made Wonwoo and a few other’s meet here before he left for Olympus later in the evening. They sat at a round wooden table sipping on hot coffee and trying to keep themselves awake.

“You are meeting her again?” Jeonghan asked, poking Wonwoo on the side. The elder had recently dyed his hair platinum blonde, and Wonwoo was truly considering also changing something. He just wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to change. He felt like he was a different being to the one he was just a few weeks ago. He knew what the blossoming of love felt like now, and despite all worried of what his brothers might think of his predicament, they had been supportive.

“I have a date in half an hour.” Wonwoo answered, sipping on his hot americano.

“I can’t believe it.” Mingyu muttered under his breath. He still found the idea that the God of Love allowed one of his messengers, the ones doing his dirty work, to experience the very same love they brought to the world. The possibility that Wonwoo could love a mortal and be happy meant that the rest of them wondered whether they would also get to experience Eros within their lifetimes. It was not new knowledge that the God of Love Baekhyun had wanted his footmen to have love, it was just new that the fates let him meddle with their life lines.

“It takes almost half an hour to get to the Contemporary Arts Theatre, you better get on the bus now.” Seungcheol told him, poking the watch in his wrist to remind Wonwoo of the time. He didn’t need to be told twice.

“See you at home!” He waved at them half-heartedly before running out to catch the next bus.

-------

True to Seungcheol’s words he had barely made it on time. The building of the Contemporary Arts Theatre was low, with only two screen rooms and a small gallery for student pieces. There had been only four other people at the screening of Notting Hill, and Wonwoo was thankful. He felt much more at ease with less prying eyes.

In the dark room, with the only light coming from the projector behind you, it felt right. Wonwoo had been timid at first, making sure you were comfortable, being careful not to be too forward. You could never have imagined his relief when he felt your head press against his shoulder halfway through the film. The rest of the film you had stayed like that, with your head on his shoulder, and with his fingers threading through yours on the armrest, and Wonwoo swore he had never been more comfortable, not even in the push beds on Mount Olympus.

-------

“Tonight was lovely.”You told Wonwoo as you were leavening. Your hands were still intertwined, and it didn’t look like Wonwoo had any intention of letting go anytime soon. Not that you were complaining. It was a nice feeling, being held, and you enjoyed the way your relationship was progressing. Nothing seemed rushed, and you were happy with that.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Wonwoo answered, beaming as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes as you walked through the streets.

“I was just wondering,” You thought out loud, and Wonwoo halted in his tracks, turning to face you with serious eyes. The hints of playfulness now gone from the deep brown orbs.

“Wonwoo, what is that white string?” You asked, not sure if you were going crazy or not, but you had been seeing the white thread follow you since you met him, and whenever you asked your friends, they had thought you were either pulling their leg or going insane.

“What white string?” He asked, panic taking over. He had never thought you would ask him that. White string was the fibre of his life line, the fibre that held his fate in chronological order. Mortals couldn’t see immortal strings.

“This one.” You unlaced your fingers, pointing to the pearly white thread that wrapped around your ring finger like a wedding band.

“You can see it?” He asked in disbelief, and although he was panicking inside, you had let out a relieved breath. You nodded wiggling your fingers and watching the pearly sheen of the thread glisten in the streetlight.

“It’s been following me around since I met you.”

“That’s,” Wonwoo coughed, his voice cracking with the shock of your revelation.

“That is fate. My fate, that I share with you.” He answered when he regained the ability to breathe and think coherently.

“What?” You asked, not quite understanding what he was saying.

“We are soulmates.” He explained, watching as your eyes filled with shock. It wasn’t every day that someone told you you were soulmates, much less the man who could also see the crazy invisible threads wrap around your finger.

“How could you possibly know that?” You pressed for answers.

“I know because I’ve been watching those strings for a very long time. I’m the one who helps tie them together.” He explained, holding your hand to pull at the life line that wrapped around your finger. His life line, his fate. His love.

“What?”

“I’m a love messenger. I help people fall in love.” He answered, looking into your eyes, and the weight of his confession settled over you, wrapping around your heart. To prove his point, he held out his hand, and sure enough, you saw a scarlet string wrap around his finger and shoot straight to your heart.

“Like cupid?” You pondered, and he laughed. He laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and at the fact that you had taken all his confessions in stride rather than running away. Maybe you were both mad.

“You could say that.” Wonwoo nodded, and the wind picked up speed, sending snowflakes spinning all around the two of you, shielding you from the prying eyes of the world outside.

“I’m your soulmate?” You asked again, and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you towards his warm frame.

“Scared?” He whispered, his warm breath fanning the shell of your ear.

“No.” You answered, smiling when neither of you pulled away. Slowly, as if to not frighten you, he lowered his head, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, moving gently against your own. His lips felt hot and searing against the cold winter, and he tasted like cotton candy. When you had finally broken away from the kiss to catch your breath your eyes strayed to the ground, and you saw Wonwoo’s shadow, his tall frame elongated on the pavement, but that was not what drew your attention. Sprouting from the back of his shadow, a pair of wings, like those of an angel, sprouted and fluttered against the wind.

“I’m terrified.” You whispered, and Wonwoo couldn’t help the laugh that broke from his throat, cacophonous and filled with joy as you teased him.

In the night, under the orange glow of streetlamps, he kissed you until you were breathless, and you decided you would love him, not yet, but in the future. Love was a flower, and it had sprouted from amongst the snow, the first signs of green peeking through the crisp whiteness.

190 notes · View notes