#and by that i mean i’m def not as nervous and shaky when i interview

[doyouknowhoyouare]

didn’t completely bomb my interview success

[cancerousjojian]

award shows | timothée chalamet

anonymous asked: can i request something w timmo: the two of u at the oscars, he’s super nervous bc there’s been so much talk about how he’ll Defs win it & he’s like but i probably won’t like im talking super super nervous all his lil ticks appearing -brushing his hair back even when its already behind his ear, the nervous laugh, twitchy fingers N U JUST MELT, pull him aside for a pep talk and he just stares at u for a bit n tells u he loves u for the first time eeeee (& mayb he wins and thanks u in his speech)

a/n: this is a really good idea and i’m mad i didn’t come up with it myself lol. anyway i hope you enjoy!

warnings: implied smut at the end because i got carried away whoops

words: 951

If it weren’t for the blasting air conditioning in the chill-inducing theater, Timothée would be soaked in sweat from his nerves. There was already a thin sheen of perspiration on his forehead from when he was outside just moments ago — doing interviews and walking the red carpet with you by his side. He was lucky to have you there with him, he thought to himself. You provided a comforting shoulder to lean on when his hands shook and his voice wavered with jitters.

He was nervous, to say the absolute least.

You sat at your assigned seat with him, waiting for the show to begin. You felt incredibly proud of your boyfriend, you felt his Oscar nomination for best actor was more than deserved. The media had been buzzing with rumors that he was guaranteed a win which only made Timothée more nervous. On the way to the carpet, he went over a speech in his head over a dozen times you counted. You could understand where he was coming from, being quite a new face in the business and with so many eyes on him already. You could only imagine the stress he was under, especially since he perceived himself as just a regular guy from New York.

His hand was shaking as he brought a glass of ice water to his lips. You felt his foot tapping beneath the table and couldn’t help but find his high-strung energy quite charming. “You okay?” You asked him, setting your hand on his shoulder. He relaxed under your touch, his shuttered eyes looking into yours. Timothée laid a shaky hand on your knee, swallowed hard, and nodded. You could tell from his behavior that he was still neurotic as ever.

You sighed, willing him to calm down with the rubbing of his back with your right hand. He offered you a coy smile and silently thanked you. “Hey,” you said, leaning into him. “It’s going to be okay. Everyone in this room is rooting for you, especially me. You’re Timothée Chalamet! You’ve got this.” You held both of his hands in yours as he listened to your words of encouragement intently.

“Really? God, I can’t help but be so nervous.” He replied.

“That’s normal, Timmy. I’m sure even the best of best still get shook up at award shows. Win or lose, at the end of the day you still have me and everyone who supports you.” Something in his eyes shifted, he gave your hands a small squeeze in his lap.

He exhaled the tense nature he’d been holding onto all this time. “Thank you, seriously, it means so much,” he spoke softly. Your heart skipped a beat when he grinned at you. “I love you.”

You swore your heart nearly stopped completely. All of the people in the large, highly decorated room seemed to cease to exist in that moment, as cheesy as it was. A chill ran up your spine, “I love you too.”

When the lights lowered and the teleprompter turned on, it was time for the show to begin. Your boyfriend nodded over at you and you leaned your leg to touch his under the table; a way to let him know you were still there.

Finally, towards the end of the night, Timothée had began to relax fully, enjoying himself and the show, clapping for his favorite actors and cheering on the newer ones. He’d almost completely forgotten what he was even nervous about — that was until it was announced that they were to begin awarding best actor and best actress.

His hand instinctively found yours with a grip so tight his slender knuckles turned white. The nominees were read out, and you could feel Timothée’s off breaths. His name for Call Me By Your Name was read off the list of nominees, sending his anxiety off the charts.

The simple words ‘and the Oscar goes to...’ spoken out loud were enough to make both you and your boyfriend hold your breath. When his name was announced as the winner, you beamed at him and stood up to clap. He pecked a quick but passionate kiss to your lips before going onstage to receive his award. An overwhelming amount of pride rushed over you and you were sure Timmy felt the same of himself. As you watched his lanky, lovable self walk up stage, you felt genuine happiness, as you usually did when you were in his presence.

You watched from your seat as the roar of applause died down so he could give a speech. He started off by saying how crazy he was to win an Oscar and how important the movie is to society, then he threw in the obligatory “you’re probably all thinking, who is this guy?” before he started the thanking portion of his speech. He thanked his parents, his directors, people he felt were vital to his success. When you heard him thank you, you smiled at him from your seat and blew him a subtle kiss, even winked at him. “I want to thank my lovely girlfriend for basically telling me to suck it up when I doubt myself.” He said, a small chuckle exciting the crowd.

He joined you back at your table where you greeted him with a long lasting kiss. “Congrats, Mr. Chalamet.” You said, earning a look from him.

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Hmm,” you hummed and pressed another firm kiss on his lips. “How are we gonna celebrate your award?” You grinned slyly, and he knew exactly what you were alluding to.

Timothée’s eyes widened, becoming hazy. He merely laid his hand upon yours, “That’s to be determined later, babe.”