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tomblythismyhusband · 18 hours

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not an act [tomblyth x actress!reader]

[summary]: tomblyth x actress!reader|anon request| You and Tom revel true feelings for eachother one day on your movie set and months later you finally decide to hard launch your relationship.

[warnings]: 18+, MDNI, age gap [22+29], language,

[wc]: 2k

[note]: thank you for the request!! it was so fun writing something a bit different! It’s kinda short but wtv :)

You’d been filming this movie for weeks now. Scenes were pretty tame so far, what you’d expect from a romcom. Picnics, breakups, standing out in the rain with nothing but shivering bones and a love confession.

Your co-star wasn’t too bad either. You were working with Tom Blyth, an attractive Britis h actor who had been in a few movies before you. He was much more experienced with this whole thing. While every aspect of the movie making process excited you, Tom was much more accustomed.

You sat in your trailer, sipping hot tea while checking your schedule for the day. The warm liquid slid down and soothed your throat from the scene work of the day prior. Your quiet was soon interrupted by a sharp tapping at the door.

You lifted your head. “Come in.” You called.

The assistant director, Amy walked in, clipboard in hand, hair in a loose knot at the base of her neck. She looked frazzled- but to be fair she always did.

“Good morning, Amy.” You smiled, placing down your tea and coffee on the little kitchenette counter that took up a good portion of the trailer’s interior.

Amy gave you a brief smile, whipping out her clipboard so it was in front of her. She lifted one of the paper’s, reading something then met your gaze again.

“We’re doing the sex scene today.” She said, scribbling a note on one of her papers.

“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to pick up your schedule again. Your eyes skimmed it quickly, not seeing any words alluding to a sex scene anywhere.

“Amy, I don’t have that on my schedule..” You said looking up from your paper in confusion.

When you looked up Amy was hurriedly typing away on her phone, preoccupied. She didn’t seem to hear you or your concerns.

You cleared your throat. “Amy.”

Amy’s eyes shot to you, wide and attentive. “Yes love?” She said, though you knew her mind was on something else.

You held up your schedule, displaying it for her. “I don’t see that a sex scene is scheduled to film anywhere on here.”

Amy gave you a bored look, almost like she was just remembering how new you were to the movie making process.

“Yes- well, plans change. So get your robe on and get to wardrobe and hair and makeup.” With that her phone rang, so she placed it up to her ear and walked out of your trailer without another word.

You were left speechless, schedule still held up. You put it down, anxiety starting to bubble in your gut. You’d never filmed an explicit scene before. You knew when you auditioned for the film there was a sex scene but you were so eager to have a big break that you agreed to anything.

Your mind then drifted to Tom.

A sex scene. With him.

You couldn’t deny the fact that he was absolutely gorgeous- the way most Hollywood actors were. The director had said you and Tom’s chemistry was impeccable, so working with him was always pretty lax. Sometimes you’d find yourself blushing or giggling with him and realize- you weren’t acting. Tom was the type of guy that could make anything a joke and you liked that about him.

You would totally hit on him more if it weren’t for- well- the age gap. That was the only factor that was constantly bringing you back to reality. While Tom was 29 you were a whopping 22. You didn't even start drinking legally till this year. You doubted that Tom would even want a relationship with someone so young anyways.

You sighed, grabbing the fluffy white robe that hung neatly on the door of the bathroom and slipped it on. This was your job.

You pulled on some shoes as well and opened the creaky door of your trailer, the summer air instantly warming your face.

The romcom took place at a beach house. Two people, Tom and you, find themselves to have had a booking mishap where they mistakenly have to share a beach cottage on vacation. They hate each other at first, but then obviously through sharing a long beach vacation they end up falling in love. You doubted a situation like that could ever occur, but hey- that’s the fun of movies right?

You made it to the wardrobe, where they gave you a nice light blue bikini and a sarong. Next you headed to hair and make up where they styled your hair in waves along with light minimal makeup.

Finally, you stepped down the steep steps of the makeup trailer and walked along the sand to the beach cottage. It was a cute little thing- nice and quaint, full of natural light, secluded. As you walked to the house you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

You knew the basic rundown of the scene. Tom’s character sees your character getting ready to go to the beach. Unable to reach her back to lather with sunscreen, she asks Tom’s character to help her. Tom’s character does so- (the tension unbearable at this point) and then boom, what do you know? Now he’s kissing the shit out of her, as she pulls him into bed.

Of course you’d kissed Tom so far throughout this movie but picturing him on top of you was a thought that could make you blush.

You arrived at the house and props were already setting the area. You walked in and made your way to the bedroom where you spotted Tom getting a rundown of the scene from an intimacy coordinator. When you walked in, Tom's eyes flicked to you.

He seemed to be surprised- or was that impressed? You couldn’t read his expression, but all you knew is that the bikini you had to wear definitely flattered you.

“Sorry I’m a bit late- I had no idea we were filming this scene today.” You said breathlessly. The intimacy coordinator waved a dismissive hand.

“You're okay, I just started to go over everything.”

You then stood next to Tom as the intimacy coordinator gave a whole spiel about how the scene would play out. It was simple enough, a lot like how most sex scenes would go.

Towards the end she directed her gaze to you. “Now, in this scene we were thinking of having your breasts exposed, is that alright? I know on your contract you said you were okay with it but I just would like to double check.”

You opened your mouth, thinking. Finally you nodded. “Yes that’s fine.”

“Great!” The coordinator smiled. “Now that you guys are all set I’ll go let the director know we’re ready.” She then walked off leaving Tom and I alone.

You glanced at him, nervous, but reassured at the fact you were both professional.

“Nice bikini.” Tom said, glancing at you. Your cheeks warmed at the compliment.

“Thanks.. nice shorts.” You nodded looking down at the Hawaiian print swim shorts he was sporting at the moment. Tom chuckled, running his hands through his brown hair.

“Do you… wanna practice the scene?” You asked, tilting your head to look up at him. You could’ve sworn you saw a hint of blush in his cheeks.

“Sure.” He gulped, nodding. “The scene starts up against the wall.” He said slowly, taking your hand and guiding you.

“..Like this?” You whispered, as Tom gently pinned your wrists above your head. You dipped your head staring up at him through your lashes, like you would’ve done if the cameras were rolling.

“Perfect.” He responded in a low voice.

“Now I arch… like this.” You said quietly, extending your back, so your torso was pressed against his, wrists still held securely above your head. Tom took a shuttered breath.

“Now what?” You asked innocently looking up at him. You knew damn well what came next, but you wanted to hear it coming from his perfect lips.

“This.” He murmured, pressing his lips against yours in a heated kiss. You couldn’t suppress the feelings of lust in your body as he kissed you. His lips were soft- so soft. Molded perfectly to yours as if they were always meant to be connected. Though the kiss was nice, you could tell he was holding back.

When you broke from the kiss you looked up at him. Feeling bold you slipped your hands out of the light hold he had on them and cupped his face.

“I’m not acting.” You murmured.

Tom’s eyes widened slightly, then softened. His lips pulled into a small smile.

“Thank god- me neither. Now let me do this for real.” He growled.

He pressed up against you, taking his lips onto his own again, kissing you rough and passionate. His tongue slipped into your mouth, meeting your own. Your body felt hot at the sensation. There were definitely sparks, and you knew this was only the beginning.

—— 6 months later ——

“Baby- I’m home.”

You heard the familiar voice of Tom, from your apartment’s front door.

“I’m on the couch!” You called back as you lounged on the plush white sofa that sat in your living room. You lifted your head to see a smiling Tom, his hair all tousled from the outside weather.

He immediately sat down next to you and practically tackled you as he took you into his arms. You laughed as you tried to push him off playfully.

“You're crushing me!” You squealed, trying to wriggle out from underneath him.

“Good.” He laughed. You felt Tom squeeze you again, kissing up your body. Finally he let go, leaning back, a love drunk smile on his face.

“So I’ve been thinking…..” Tom prompted, taking one of your hands.

“That’s not good.” You replied playfully. Tom chuckled and squeezed your hand, enjoying your little jokes.

“Seriously though- so you know how our movie premiere is in a few weeks?” He asked, eyes meeting yours.

You nodded. You’d finished filming almost 3 months ago. Finally the movie was close to its release day. You were both excited and nervous for it to come out. You really hoped that it was received well by the public.

Tom looked down at your hands that were wrapped in his own.

“I really want to be by your side on the carpet.”

You hesitated for a moment. “Tom- that’s very much in public.”

He looked up at you. “I know…”

You sighed. “You know how I feel about this… the media.. I mean- I can already picture the things they would say about you dating someone younger than you..”

“Hey.” Tom said calmly, taking your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks in a calming manner. “I totally get what you're saying, and I’m fine if you don’t want to.. but I just want to let you know, I’m ready. I’m ready for the world to know about how much I adore you.”

Your heart thumped in your chest at his words as heat flooded your face. He always knew what to say.

“I want to Tom.. I do… I love you.” You whispered. You then let out a low sigh. “It’s just.. It seems so scary to drop this news in front of the whole world at the premiere..”

Tom gave you a reassuring smile. “We could post a selfie right now- drop the news.”

Your eyes brightened at the idea. It did seem safer to share the news of your relationship from the comfort of your own home. You nodded and nestled closer to Tom as he pulled out his phone, opening the camera app.

You turned your head to kiss his cheek and he snapped a picture. You looked at the smiling photo of Tom and your pose, feeling more confident about the idea.

“Post it.” You smiled, nestling closer into him.

With a quick click of a few buttons Tom posted the photo to his Instagram story. He then placed his phone down and kissed you.

“I don’t care what anyone says- I love you.” He whispered.

“I’ll love you forever.” You whispered back, kissing him again. You felt nervous of course about the fact that your relationship with Tom was now public, but also excited for all the new experiences to come.

#tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x fem!reader #tom blyth one shot #tom blyth fic #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth smut #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth #tom blyth x yn #billy bonney x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #corio snow #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x you #billy the kid

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imaginesbymonika · 3 months

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“Shame” Part 7

A Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader fan fiction

Plot: For the last four years, Y/N and Pedro have been dating in secret. The fear of rejection has turned them into a mystery that could only be encountered in yearning looks on red carpets or hands that are touching one another briefly. However, for the longest time, things have been working out that way just fine. But now Pedro's agency wants him to have a PR relationship with another woman and neither Y/N nor Pedro is sure if their love is going to survive that.

Warnings: swearing, mgg is here to STAY (this is for you kim, love ya)

A/N: you guuuyss!! hello!!! i was gone for such a long time (?) i was just really busy with university and just life, but yeah, im back for now, i guess <3

"To be honest, I didn't expect you to show up.", the tall man states as his eyes light up at the sight of the young woman. Y/N just chuckles at the sincerity in his voice. She watches how he takes a step to the side, offering her to walk through the door into his home. There is a certain tension, lingering in the chilly evening air. Who would have thought, that they were living in the same city… She mouths a brief 'thank you' before doing so and waits for him to close the door. However, before he does his brown eyes scan the street in front of the building. Curious if any paparazzi have seen her. But once he realizes that no one has noticed his guest his posture visibly softens.

„Well, I didn’t expect you to reach out to me, Gubler.“ At the mention of his last name, he giggles (actually giggles) and wipes the corner of his mouth with his left thumb. His gaze falls on the floor for a second, before he meets Y/N's again. She can clearly see that he wants to say something in return but doesn't. Instead, he makes a hand gesture, telling her to step further into the house.

„Oh my god… This is actually so stunning.“, the y/h/ced woman whispers as she wanders down the corridor into his living area. She can sense Matthew’s eyes on her form but acts like she has no idea. "Thanks.", is all she receives back.

A silence falls upon the two again and when she sits down on his long couch, she feels its softness:" You know, I always wanted a couch like this myself." "Why didn't you buy one?"

"Are you sure this is the one?", Pedro scratched his chin, his finger moved up his face and stayed underneath his nose. He taps his skin a few times and sighs:" Don't you think that leather would be a better choice?" There was something in his look that told Y/N that the decision was already made.

"I don't know." He lets out a soft chuckle:" Well, I tend to spend a lot of time in here. So I figured, that the least I can do is make this space as cozy as humanly possible." Y/N feels how she sinks further into the colorful and fuzzy furniture:" Oh Really? Because whenever I see videos of you meeting fans, you appear to be outside quite a lot!" At that, Matthew laughs out loud:" You've seen videos of me online?"

"I may have looked you up."

The actor crosses his arms in front of his chest, and Y/N watches how his muscles flex. She swallows and her hands stroke the material of the couch. "You looked me up?"

"You're asking me a lot of questions." His chuckle is as soft as honey. Y/N already wants to hear it again." You're right, sorry." "But yeah, I did."

Hot tears were dwelling up in her eyes and she felt how her hands were violently shaking:" God! Everyone thinks that you are so sweet! That you're this perfect nice guy! Hollywood's goddamn fucking sweetheart! I wish people could know the disgusting and ugly and horrendous truth about you and your stupid and mean lies! And- and- and the way you're only acting! You're not like that at all! You have them all fooled!"

Pedro stared at her. Her hand flew up to wipe her eyes:" You're so mean!" "You don't mean that.", Pedro whispered and swallowed thickly. "You're so mean."

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal angst #angst #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fic #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro x reader #pedro angst #x reader #pedro x you #pedro pascal x you #Spotify

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eternal-love · 3 months

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Austin and Me

“Wife to the ‘king’. Icon to the world. Destined for more.”

Summary: At 18 years old, she fell in love with Austin, at 20 years old, she became his wife, by 22, she was his doll. In which Cynthia’s life changed drastically after falling head over heels with a man that promised her the moon and the stars. She takes us down the memory lane of what could’ve been— the perfect marriage.

Inspired by the book: Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley.

I do not condemn any of the portrayals I decide to do about certain people, it’s just fanfiction. And it would be divided in parts.

English isn’t my first language so I’m trying my best!

It was one hot day in California, June 13th, 2023. I was packing my stuff while he slept peacefully, as if nothing was happening around him. I had to wake him up, if not then he’d resent me for the rest of his life. I opened the blind right beside our bed, letting the sunlight enter aggressively and making him slowly open his eyes and speak groggily.

“Baby— what’re you doing?” He spoke as he was still lying in bed, I sat besides him and started putting some small stuff from my nightstand inside my velvet box.

I dreaded to say this for a long time, I wasn’t an insensitive or cruel woman, if I could I would like to take pain away from the world but we had reached my breaking point and not any kind of reconciliation would work now. I took a deep breath and turned my head harshly towards him and said the words that would torture me forever.

“I’m leaving.”

——————————————————

All my life I’ve been going back and forth between México and L.A, it’s been my two homes since I can remember. I was born to a new formed family, my mother met my dad when she already had a baby which was my sister, and since then my parents had two more kids.

I’ve always dreamt of being an actress, ever since my father forced me to watch ‘Viva Las Vegas!’ and ‘King Creole’ with him. For two years, my innocent little me actually believed Elvis was still alive and somehow young, so my dream was to act besides him. I cried hours when my older sister told me Elvis had died decades ago.

My parents always told me that acting was a waste of time and that I wouldn’t make it, not because I wasn’t talented but because out there, there were people that were the same or even more talented than me.

But somehow, I was making it, I had my debut when I was 14 years old and since then I was constantly booked— I adored doing any sort of horror movies, I was a scream queen if you know what I mean.

Once I turned 18 years old, my career was stable, I wasn’t no A-Lister but people at least recognized me, that’s when I was invited to a party, which obviously— my parents didn’t want me to go, they were very strict when it came to permissions, specially when those permissions involved other actors.

“You want us to let you go to a party with other actors?” My mom asked rhetorically as we were setting the table for dinner.

“Absolutely not.” My father interrupted firmly, he was quite strict.

“It’s the weekend, why can’t I go? I’ll be with Elle and her sister.” Hollywood was separated from my family life, my parents didn’t like hearing about actors or nothing, just me and my movies.

“Who are those people, we don’t know them. So no.” My mother was harsh whenever she wanted to, and I get now their distress of being adamant to not let me go to that party, I wish I had listened to them.

I was a girl that was sheltered all her life, so with a sigh and pout I walked to my room, mumbling some cuss words as I knew it would be difficult to convince them.

Surprisingly, Elle and Dakota convinced them, Dakota was older, she had been an adult for quite some time and she knew how Hollywood worked. Freaking out I waited for the day and picked up something from my closet, which now seemed to be all wrong in the eyes of an excited me.

Vintage clothing, go-go boots, Mary Jane heels. I chose something I could work with. I chose a 60s baby blue dress, it only reached mid my thighs so I knew it was good, I grabbed some blue heels too and for my hair I went all out as always, I liked the 60s, my fashion icons were women from that era so I teased my hair to the high heavens, creating a bouffant, my makeup was also heavy around the eyes, black eyeliner and two pairs of falsies, I liked it. I smiled once I saw myself in the mirror, this was me.

The party was surprisingly chill, nothing like the parties I heard about so I was comfortable but I stuck out like a sore thumb, I started to regret going all in on my own style until I saw him. Long blond hair, tall, blue eyes, perfect nose and he was wearing black pants and a white tee. I recognized him immediately, not only was he Hudgens’ ex but he was also the guy that was on one of my favorite movies: Sharpay’s Fabulous Adventure.

We stared at each other for some long minutes, until he finally got closer to me.

“Hey— I know ya. You’re the girl from that movie about the psychotic grandparents.” He said playfully, he pushed his hair back.

“I am. Cynthia.” I extended my hand shyly and he accepted it, shaking it and squeezing it a little bit. I was not a fan of the long hair but he looked handsome enough.

Austin knew my age but there’s no problem on asking, once he knew I was legal enough, he hit it off right away. Austin couldn’t help but eye my whole look which made me think he was judging me.

“I like your dress.” Austin laughed. Feeling embarrassed, I snapped at him.

“I don’t even even know why I decided to wear this stupid dress and stupid hair today!” I snapped harshly, which only made him laugh.

“Little girl has some spunk.” He joked which made me feel even more embarrassed after snapping at him.

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes playfully. He was 7 years older, for some reason he acted as if he was 20 years my senior.

Since that night, we both started seeing each other. He was my first real boyfriend— I think he liked that, he liked the idea of teaching me what love was, he felt that responsibility.

My parents weren’t at all okay with my relationship, for some reason they said that no relationship with an actor could ever turn right. Once again I wish I had listened to them. He trusted me enough to talk about his late mom with me, when we were in his room after an hour of being intimate or whatever we were doing.

“I wish my mom could’ve met you. She would’ve really liked you.” Austin whispered to me in full confidence, he felt like I was the kind of gal his mother always wanted for him, not someone like Vanessa.

“I wish I could’ve met her too.” I whispered back to him softly, I hated seeing him with tears in his eyes while he talked about his mom because I didn’t know how to comfort him.

“She was my whole world… my mama.” Austin rubbed his eyes and sniffed some tears, I tried cuddling closer to him.

Take my advice here: never date a mama’s boy.

“Why you? Why can’t he go back to dating women older than him? You’re only 18.” My mom nagged me, sometimes I felt bad because not only did she have to worry about me but also for my younger sibling, who were barely even teenagers.

“He’s not like you imagine, mami.” I tried excuses for my relationship, they didn’t even know him that well to judge him.

“Oh really? He’s just another damn white actor. Tu crees que tu papá va a dejar que te cases con alguien cómo Austin? (Do you think your father will allow you to marry someone like Austin?)”

I stayed silent, marriage had not been discussed by Austin and I, we were still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. I was happy— we were happy. Out first Valentine Day’s was amazing and it made things finally official to everyone. Austin gave me this beautiful locket with his picture inside, great gift.

I think he also liked that things were pretty much private between us, I barely posted him on my Instagram since he barely posted me on his, he liked that I wasn’t loud, bitching and moaning about our relationship.

“Should I marry her?” Austin asked his older sister, Ashley, who was engaged herself.

“I don’t know, Aus. She’s not your type.” Ashley never really liked me, she was weirdly a Trump supporter and well— it’s not like Trump was the most inclusive person.

“She’s exactly my type, she’s not bossy or loud. She’s a brunette— well I would rather her being more natural and drop the jet black hair. But she’s exactly what I want.” Austin said.

“You do whatever you want, just remember that marriage ties you down. Don’t let her cut your wings.”

I was 19 years old— marriage was the last thing on my mind. I was happy with my career and surely acting in more stuff gave me more fame and people started to recognize me more. But every action has its consequences and not wrapping it before tapping it caught up to us.

Have you guys heard of shotgun weddings? Well us was in some way. But the wedding should be another part of this.

So, this is the beginning. Austin will be kind of an asshole just cause his behavior is kinda inspired by Elvis.

#Spotify #austin butler imagine #austin butler #austinbutler #austin butler fic #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #elvis presley #priscilla presley #elvis and me

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kkginfo · 2 years

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Standup comedy: Raju Srivastava is 'fine', says fellow comedian Sunil Paul | KKG INFO

Standup comedy: Raju Srivastava is ‘fine’, says fellow comedian Sunil Paul | KKG INFO

by IANS August 10, 2022 18:21 IST Covid treatment guidelines for children Standup comedian Sunil Paul took to social media on Wednesday afternoon to announce that his friend and colleague Raju Srivastava was “fine and out of danger”. Popular comedian and regular on ‘The Kapil Sharma Show’, Raju Srivastava suffered a heart attack while exercising in the gym in the morning and was rushed to…

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wildemaven · 9 months

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Sweet Creature: Chapter Ten

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

WC: 4177

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Lots of Fluff, these two can’t keep their hands to themselves, oral (m receiving), two dumb dumbs in love, mentions of food, Readers nickname is Poppy (no physical description at all), talks of sobriety

Series Masterlist / Playlist/ Main Masterlist

Previous / Epilogue

FLASH * CLICK * FLASH * CLICK

It’s blinding, even with the late afternoon sun perched high above Hollywood Boulevard.

The theater, El Capitan, its signage bold and ornate give the movie house its old Hollywood charm, welcoming those in attendance to the star studded movie premiere.

There are so many people, stacks and stacks of bodies with cameras and flashes barricaded behind a wall of bigger cameras with more people holding microphones— masquerading as a friend-next-door the moment the camera rolls, dropping the facade the second the interview is over.

Dieter is grateful the minute you both step out of the car that you had agreed to attend the event with him, having you by his side to ground him, not knowing what feelings or emotions this movie celebration would evoke— but having you as his plus one, as fans and paparazzi wailed and cheered for him after being away from the spotlight for close to 3 years—made it feel less paralyzing.

FLASH * CLICK * FLASH * CLICK

It’s a precise balance of excitement and jitters, mixing and swirling a heady cocktail of emotions, nerves tickling at the surface— but the dizzying sensation settles, not dissolved but thinned and manageable the minute his voice hits the chaotic noise filled air.

“You good?” A steady hand settling on the small of your back, his words a whispered question only meant for you, knowing how overwhelming this whole scene can be, even for someone who has been in the business for as long as he has.

“Yeah, I’m good— it’s just a lot to take in. I don’t know how you do this regularly?” A hint of a nervous crack in your voice.

“Honestly, I have no clue— my memory of them is a bit hazy— I do know though, having you here makes it seem less terrifying, so thank you for coming. If it’s too much, you can skip it? I can do my obligations and meet you on the other side?” His thumb draws comforting circles to the opening where your dress reveals your bare skin.

“N-no— I can manage, I’m sure once we get moving it will be fine. Would rather stick with you anyway.” Your teeth gnawing at your lower lip, keeping your focus on him only, as you both wait for the line for actors, producers and directors before you to continue down the strip of red plush carpet.

“Have I told you how hot you look in this dress?” He asks against the shell of your ear, a feather light kiss to the juncture of your jaw before pulling back to fix his gaze back on yours.

It's a simple cut, tailor made to your figure. It’s champagne in color with delicate wide straps draped down the curve of your breasts, the satin fabric flowing down the length of your body, the low-cut exposing your back and a romantic train pooling around the ground as you stand.

“Hmm, I think beautiful, sexy, gorgeous were a few of the terms you used since I slipped into it— I’ll add hot to the list— Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, Handsome.”

His double breasted all white suit fit him so well, his white button down lacking the buttoning of the top few buttons, emphasizing the taut lines of his gorgeous neck.

“Alright Mr. Bravo, right this way. You’re going to stop on the designated tape marks briefly, let them get their shot, then make your way to the interviewers and there will also be some fans at the end of the carpet before making your way inside.”

The sweet young lady assigned to Dieter for the evening debriefed the two of you as you prepared to step out into the sea of flashing madness. Putting you both front and center to the onslaught of yelling and demanding requests from photographers, ensuring they get the angle and shot that their Big-Name-Magazine-Boss will plaster across glossy pages accompanied in tiny print ‘shot by’ next to their name.

“You ready for this?” Dieter asks, almost as if he’s giving you one more chance to bail.

“No, but lead the way Mr. Bravo.” A kiss for good luck to his cheek as he removes his hand from your back, interlocking your fingers together followed by a few squeezes as he starts to guide you to the first stop on the carpet.

“DIETER! TO YOUR RIGHT!”

“MR. BRAVO! DIETER— RIGHT HERE!”

“DIETER!”

Dieter’s confident and casual demeanor is charming, standing off to the side as he gets his photo taken, watching him as he does his dutiful requirements as the leading actor at his movie’s premiere.

You study his profile, angular and captivating, his demure half smile on display as he does his best to look in every direction is name is being called to, the way his chestnut locks look lived in and controlled at the same time, his overwhelming beauty is doing wonders to keep your nervous thoughts at bay— selfishly eager to get him home to have him all to yourself.

As the line moves, Dieter keeps you close, your body angled in towards him at the next stop, an arm wrapped low around your waist. Your noses nearly touch when he looks over to you, a silent check in and an excuse to give his eyes a break from the bright bursts of light— honestly any reason to look in your direction.

“Poppy, babe— I think they want your attention.” His husky voice breaks through the riotous hollering, his head tilting in the direction of where the ‘Miss, this way please!’ is being called out.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Dieter, no real idea where to look or who to focus on, giving your best not super forced almost toothy grin, taking a few breaks to focus back on Dieter then looking back out to the wall of intense flickers— Dieter’s constant need for his sunglasses making total sense now.

It’s near the end of the carpet, where the interviewing line begins. Reporters asking their stream of questions— some related to the movie, others more personal. But all fairly tame and revolving around the shooting of the movie, wanting to know more about how Dieter worked to bring his character to life and if his sobriety was hard to manage at any point in time during filming.

The focus directly on Dieter, letting you ride through the interview process with a front row seat.

“Dieter, this is not a role we’ve seen from you before— it’s new and refreshing I would think. How different was it from your usual rogue characters, to play this soft romantic heartthrob?” The interviewer asks, utilizing her time with many substantial questions.

“Soft romantic heartthrob? You’re feeding my ego right— give me more! It is very new and refreshing, like you said. But also kind of intimidating, since I’m usually playing some asshole— oops— Sorry! Um, some jerk in most of my roles, which kind of seemed like second nature for me at a point in my career. To then jump into this role, it felt foreign and scary when we started shooting— but I found a rhythm and I’m really happy with how it worked with the rest of the cast.”

It’s ‘nice meeting you’ or ‘great talking to you again’ before progressing further down the carpet, to the next round of questions.

“Dieter, congratulations on being almost 3 years sober now! That must be an incredible feeling? Did you find it hard to jump into this movie all while trying to manage your sobriety?” The next interviewer asks.

“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say. It’s definitely an indescribable feeling, but I’m grateful for it everyday.” He gives your hip a light squeeze as he says it. “Sure, it was hard at times— not because of temptation or anything, but because I wanted to be fully present and show the entire team that I wasn’t going to let them down, it’s just something I actively work on daily now. But coming into this movie in a new head space, I was determined to hold myself accountable, making sure I was checking in with everyone too was a big thing for me. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have this gorgeous woman in my corner— I was grateful I got to come home to her every weekend, reset before the new work week.”

It’s the first he’s mentioned you out of all the answers he’s given so far— mostly sticking to directly related to the topic and movie. Your relationship is no big secret in your small town, but this is the first the two of you have attended something of this magnitude as a couple, even after being together for 2 years.

You’re not going to lie though, it makes you melt when he looks at you as he says it, awarding you with his lopsided smile and a wink before redirecting his attention back to the reporter.

“Miss, what do you think was the contributing factor in helping Dieter stay on track for this role.” The microphone pointed at your face as the interviewer looked to you for a response.

“Umm, I don’t think it was anything I did in particular— Dieter was the one who made all of this happen, I was just there making sure he knew how amazing he was doing through it all— and supported him however he needed me. All of his success is because of him, I can’t take credit for any of that.”

The reporter seems satisfied, thanking you for answering it honestly.

“You better hang on to her, Dieter. I think you’ve got yourself a keeper with this one!” Trying to strum up some playful banter as the interviewer comes to a close.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t dream of letting her go.” No care to the cameras or anyone around you, as he softly presses a quick peck to your lips— once, twice, three times just because he can.

“Thank you for your time, Dieter. Enjoy yourselves tonight.” A hand shake to both you and Dieter, sending you off with a grateful smile for chatting with her.

Each interview had similar questions to previous ones he had already done, but he did his best to give each of them original responses.

One last interview, a major publication, waiting patiently as you both approach their little assigned space. They’re kind with their questions, which has been a relief for him the entire evening to not be bombarded with any humiliating or embarrassing comments.

“What does Dieter Bravo do in his spare time now? You’re no longer living in LA, any plans to move back?” A string of new questions are asked to finish off this interview.

“We own a gallery back in my hometown where I’ve been staying since officially leaving LA, still looking for a permanent place though.”

“He owns the gallery— I just help run it when he’s off doing his movie star things.” You interject, correcting his statement in a playful manner.

“Says the woman the gallery is named after. I call her Poppy— Les Coquelicots is poppy in French, also after one of my favorite Monet paintings, so in a weird roundabout way, she does own it— don’t tell her I put her name on the paperwork, so she owns more than she thinks she does.” The last part isn’t a secret because you signed the paperwork, but he loves using the line wherever he can, so you play shocked and laugh right along with him.

“Are you able to find time to utilize the gallery for yourself? Will we be seeing any art made by the hands of Dieter Bravo?”

“I’ve been working on some things— I won’t say what, don’t want to spoil anything, but there may be something in the works that will be debuted soon-ish.”

The report congratulates Dieter on his new movie and wishes him the best.

“That wasn’t so bad. Plus, it was fun listening to you answer all those questions.”

“I knew you’d enjoy yourself.” Pulling you close to his side as you make your way through the crowd that’s formed at the end of the carpet— agents, assistants, significant others who chose to forgo the carpet entirely, all waiting for the person they came with to finish.

The assistant from earlier, meets up with you and points to a small group of fans who are all waiting for a chance to meet the stars before they head into the theater.

You stand back and watch him interact with each of them. Signing magazine and movie posters, pausing for selfies and listening to each of them tell him how proud they are and how excited they are to watch their favorite actor perform in a new film.

It warms your heart to see him showered with love the entire time.

“Mr. Bravo, you're going to head in through these doors and there will be someone to help you to your seats.” The sweet young lady guides you both to the main lobby of the theater, indicating the direction of the main entrance to where the movie will be shown.

“Actually, can you point us to a side exit— our driver should be waiting for us outside.” Scanning the space for any potential exits that would be easy to slip out unnoticed.

“Sir, the movie hasn’t started yet— I’m not sure leaving is the best idea. I can have someone come get you and walk you to your seats, the movie should be starting shortly.” The young woman is flustered by Dieter’s attempt to leave early, but just trying to do her job.

“No offense, but I don’t watch my own shit— you never watch your own shit. You just wipe, flush and move on. I know you’re just doing what you’re told, but if you’ll kindly point out an exit, we’re gonna head home.”

The constant low humming of the car's engine and the way Dieter’s fingers aimlessly map out shapes over your thigh, head resting on his shoulder you’re tucked in close to his warmth in the small back seat, enough to lull you to sleep on the hour and a half drive back home.

“Hey, Poppy— we’re home.” Dieter murmurs softly as he kisses the top of your head.

“Hmm?” Lifting your head, dazed as you look out the windows to see the car is parked in your driveway.

“We’re home. Let’s get you inside.”

Dieter offers the driver a tip and thanks him for the ride, then grabs for your discarded shoes and your small purse as he slips out of the backseat, hand extended out to you as you follow suit.

“Oh, shit!” It’s a slight stumble out of the car when your feet hit the cool concrete, falling into Dieter’s awaiting arms, steadying your sleepy frame against his until you're upright and balanced.

“Thank you.” Voice raspy with sleep, but cognizant enough to give him lingering kiss, a buzz of desire fully awakens you when Dieter deepens the kiss.

“Mmm, why don’t we take this inside? I think your neighbors have had enough of us at this point.” He mumbles against your eager lips.

“Meet you inside then.” You purr with one last kiss, before you pull up the hem of your trailing dress and head towards the front door, peeking over your shoulder, bottom lip playfully drawn between your teeth as you wink back at him, still standing in the driveway.

Shaking his head and laughing, your purse and shoes still in his grip, he follows your lead into the house.

Dieter’s barely made it over the threshold, closing the door when he feels his body being pressed up against the wooden door, your belongings falling to the hardwood floors with a heavy thud.

Your mouth moves against his with a fiery want, Dieter falling into the motions seamlessly, his hands gripping at your hips pulling you as close as possible. It’s a dance of angles as your tongue dominates his, exploring as you lick feverishly into his mouth.

Abruptly, you drop to your knees below him, his eyes blown and he tries to catch his breath.

“Pop— Poppy…”

His sentence cut off by the sound of his zipper sliding down, rustling of his pants and boxers being pulled to his knees, his cock half hard at just the mere sight of you.

The press of your lips and tongue against his hip bone is enough to make him fall to the floor, the drag of your upper lip across his skin, breath heated and stirring as you place another to his lower abdomen, wiry hairs tickle at your lower lip— then mirroring the same effort to his other hip.

“Fuck! Poppy— shit!” His length is hard and throbbing, his mind trying to focus on the way you’re licking the pre-cum as it weeps from the head of his cock, a thick haze of arousal clouding his mind.

He moans— fucking moans as you take fully in your mouth, his head falling back against the door, a staticy sensation building at the base of his spine at the way he’s repeatedly hitting the back of your throat.

There’s a lot he wants to say, tell you how perfect you feel around him, how much he loves the way your hands roam about touching every little bit of him as you bring him closer and closer to the peak of his delirium.

His breath ragged between lovesick whimpers, body tensing in preparation, a slow hum of satisfaction as you continue to move up and down his length— hand gripping tightly at the base of his shaft igniting a hungered fuse.

“Pop— Fuck! Poppy, I’m gonna— fuckfuckfuckfuck! Babe, I’m gonna come!”

There’s stars, fireworks, bursts of light. Fists slamming into the door.

His spend hits the back of your throat, managing to take all of it as he continues to come.

Warm. Salty. Perfectly him.

Licking your lips, satisfied with your work, working his suit pants back up, fastening the button as you stand to your full height.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw then to his neck, his pulse rapid against your lips, you pull back to take in Dieter’s blissed out state.

“Th-that was unexpected— holy fuck! I just— w-when you— I don’t even know, my brain is mush now.” There’s a rasp to his voice as he tries his best to properly form words, pinched brows and breathless as his lungs desperately fill with air.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how amazing I think you are— watching you tonight, seeing how much you love being in your element— I’m really proud of you, I think everyone else is too.”

“Fuck, I love you so much Poppy.”

He tastes remnants of himself on your tongue, and if he hadn’t just come down your throat minutes ago he would definitely be hard and ready again for you.

Instead he takes his time just kissing you, pouring every ounce of love and affection he has for you into it, your dress bunching and pulling as his hands anchor your body to his, kneading the swell of your backside— your presence is overwhelming and not enough at the same time.

There’s a low grumble that cuts into two of you making out, still situated in the front entry of your home.

“I love you, Dieter. But I think I need something with a little more sustenance, though. I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick, then I’ll pull something out to reheat.” Taking a few steps back from him, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand and adjusting the strap of your dress.

“Dessert before dinner kind of woman, I like it.” A throwback to your first date.

“Mmm, you should know me better by now— I’m a dessert anytime kind of woman.” You smirked, mindful of your dress with each slow step backward.

Dieter pushes off the door, closing the space between you, his mouth molding perfectly over yours, unhurried and attentive.

“Hurry your sexy self back here.” He murmurs into the last kiss, swatting playfully at your ass before you turn and head towards the bathroom.

A soft ballad drifts through the house as you make your way back to the main living area, the flicker of light emanating from your studio lets you know where Dieter is.

“Do you want leftover pizza or some of that pasta?” You call out to him, cold air hitting you as the doors to the refrigerator open.

“Dieter?”

You pull the containers from the fridge and set them on the island counter, both options sounding like a great idea the more you think about it.

When you get to the doorway of your studio, you find Dieter sitting, his brush moving with intent over one of his finished paintings, still finding reasons to add to it.

Arms crossed over your chest, heading resting into the wooden frame as you lean into the doorway, taking in the picturesque scene before you.

Recounting the moments over the last 2 years that led you to now.

How every waking minute you want to be consumed by Dieter in some way, he nestles into every single thought or emotion you experience, always able to bring a smile to your face.

Up until this point, love was the downfall for many of your relationships, loving too much or not enough, a hindrance to your own happiness.

But with Dieter, there’s a deeper purpose, a greater feeling of being loved and respected.

His effervescent spirit radiates from his soul, embedding himself into every corner of your heart.

He’s a tidal wave of intensity, pulling you under and filling your lungs to their fullest capacity, you drown in him, never wanting to surface again.

You’re grateful for his existence, for barreling into your life at full speed and for loving you with a passion you never knew before him.

Dieter is your home.

“That one is my favorite.” You state, moving into the room closer to where he is.

“Hmm, I think you’re just saying that.”

“Could be— or it could be the truth.” Your fingers carding through his curls as you stand behind him, admiring each brush stroke and line he created. “I know you don’t think you are, but you’re more than ready— they’re all so beautiful and I’m so lucky to have been witness to you painting each one of them.”

Dieter’s first art opening was next week, but he still found himself second guessing every little detail in each painting— his self criticism lashing out as the days grew closer.

Silhouettes, every curve and crook shaded and painted in a manner reminiscent of your naked form, not recognizable to anyone but Dieter and yourself. Heads replaced with elaborate bouquets of poppies in washes of pinks, oranges and reds.

“Okay— they’re done.” He says, placing his brush in the jar of stained water.

He swivels to face you, his hands resting on your satin covered hips, three brief squeezes— I love you.

You brush a loose curl off of his forehead, fingers trailing down his face, light scratches to his patchy beard he so proudly grew out.

“So, you said you’re still looking for a place?” A cheeky smile forms on your face, looking down at where he’s still sitting.

“I did, didn’t I?” There's a hint of sarcasm as he says it, the corners of his mouth starting to quirk up.

“Mhmm— is staying on my couch getting too boring for Mr. Movie Star Dieter?” Your head tilts to the side in question, knowing well that in the last two years he hasn’t slept a minute on your couch— save for his afternoon naps.

He stands, pulling you into his chest, eyes gleaming with an unexplainable excitement as he looks at you.

“Nah, I love your couch.” He reaches into the pocket of his pants to grab for something.

“So much so, I think I want to stay on it permanently— if that’s okay with you?” He asks, holding up a shiny object in front of you.

A gold ring with a 3 carat, princess cut green emerald stone, flanked by two smaller diamonds. It’s ridiculously flashy, looking exactly like something Dieter would pick out— and you’re so taken aback by how perfect it is.

You’re shocked, speechless, in complete awe of what he’s asking you right now, without even outright asking.

“You want to marry me, Dieter?” Your eyes glistening in the candle light, a few tears managing to slip down the slope of your cheeks.

He slips the ring onto your bare finger.

“Baby, I want you to be mine forever. Marry me, Poppy?”

Both your worlds, so beautifully different but painted together so well.

“Yes! Forever— yes!”

There’s tears and laughter, between shared feelings and drawn out slow kisses, text to friends and family sharing the exciting news.

“Thank you, Dieter. I’m so glad I gave your best a chance.”

A/N: I’ve been so eager to finish this chapter, and the minute I did I cried! I love these two so much!! I’m so fucking grateful for every single one of you who took time out of your day to read, reblog, comment, like, message about this series in any way shape or form— it’s truly been an amazing journey with all of you!! Thank you!! An even bigger thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for her constant support through every single chapter, you are my hero! Epilogue coming soon!

#sweet creature series #dieter bravo #pedro pascal #dieter x poppy #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #wildemaven writes

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headfullofpresley · 1 year

Note

Vamp!E Request! Elvis being shy about his hunger for blood, not knowing how to ask and being a southern gentleman about it 🫣

𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Word count: 6,5K

Warnings: 50s!elvis, vampire!elvis, best friends to lovers, strong language, blood consumption, gladys is alive, mentions of the colonel, mentions of nick adams, partly set at the tupelo fairgrounds, smut; slightly subby!elvis, semi-public, car sex, hand job (f. & m. receiving) vag penetration, creampie, unprotected sex.

A/N: damn, i'm gettin' kinda rusty at smut buuut i had fun writing this! also, i'm shit at writing shy stuff, but i tried. anyways, this has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute- sorry for taking so damn long, dear! hope you'll enjoy. ❤

masterlist | suggested playlist

“Goddamnit Nick, you’re fuckin’ useless- I asked you to bring enough, I have to get up there in 25 minutes and there’s nothin’ left!”

Gladys visibly cringed at the roar of her son’s loud voice and the slamming of the ice box that was inside the dressing room tent where Elvis was giving Nick Adams a piece of his mind.

People close to Elvis knew he had a bit of a temper now and then, but only few knew that was because he was dealing with heightened emotions he was still getting used to. He had only been turned into a vampire two years ago in an unfortunate accident and both he and the people around him were still learning about vampirism.

Having her son turned into an immortal creature that needed to feed on blood to stay alive was something Gladys had a hard time dealing with in the beginning, but she had gotten used to it now. She was used to the bloodbags in her freezer and the way he’d squeeze her a little too tight when hugging her sometimes, but whenever he was in a mood like this, she knew best thing to do was to stay away.

“What’s going on, Lovie?” you questioned as you arrived at the tent and heard your best friend barking at Adams, who wisely kept his mouth shut despite having been granted with immortality longer ago than Elvis. The beginning actor knew young vampires could be reckless and were hot headed- he had no idea how, or if, Elvis would lash out if he’d say or do anything.

“Oh, Y/N,” Gladys sighed with worry in her eyes, grabbing your hands and squeezing them softly to comfort herself rather than you. “You know how he gets- I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you can calm him down. He always listens to you,”

It was true- he did always listen to you, because he knew he could literally say anything to you and you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’ve been friends with Elvis since you were children- he knew all your secrets and you knew his. When he had become a creature he knew nothing about, you were the first person he came to- scaring the living shit out of you when he stood in front of your door covered in blood.

But you didn’t turn him away, didn’t leave him to deal with everything alone. He trusted you, sometimes even more so than himself.

You turned to look over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of The Colonel who stood a few feet away, talking to Tupelo’s local press. He gave you a little nod, knowing that you were the only person that was able to go in there and come out unscathed- he sure as hell wasn’t going to try.

“Please, Y/N. I don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Vernon softly begged as he wrapped an arm around Gladys’ shoulder. You sighed softly and looked at her, giving her a gentle smile and a nod of your head.

“I’ll see if I can get him to calm down- don’t worry. Everything will be okay,” you assured Gladys, kissing her cheek and squeezing her hands before letting them go and stepping inside the tent.

Empty bloodbags were littered through the dressing room, Nick Adams very obviously being the culprit of the deed- guilt was written all over his face. He looked up and as he noticed you, he gave you a little nod and rushed out of the tent.

You didn’t give him the time of day, not being very fond of Mr. Hollywood.

“Did you at least get one?” you chuckled softly as you picked up a few bags, trying to lighten the mood. You knew it probably wouldn’t work, and a comment like that would only anger him more if it’d come from anyone else, but this was you.

He had never hurt you before and he wasn’t planning on doing so either.

“That motherfucker took everything, the fuckin’ pig,” he spat angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against a vanity table and watched you throw some bags in the trash. “I have to get on that stage and I haven’t had a damn sip.. bite.. sip- ah, whatever,”

“When was the last time you fed?” you asked as you cleaned some drips of blood from your hands with a paper towel, walking toward him after you threw that away too. You lifted yourself on the table, putting your chin on his shoulder as you looked at him. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a second- it took him a little bit to give you a proper reply, your scent distracting him.

“T-this mornin’..” he opened his eyes, turning his face to look at you. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt his breath on your face- you had hoped you still had one secret that Elvis didn’t know about, but you were pretty sure he knew you were in love with him.

Your heart gave you away every time.

His eyes wandered down to your lips and to the curve of your neck. The sight of your blood pumping through your veins which was more obvious to his eyes than those of a human combined with the sound of your heart beating faster and faster against your ribcage made his mouth water. For a second there, you thought you could see him leaning in, but he was on the other side of the dressing room before you could even register his movements.

“You’re hungry, El,” you pointed out, a slight hint of worry on your tongue. He tried to act casual, combing his hair in one of the mirrors in the tent and fixing the collar of his velvet blouse. “You need to eat- you need to get your energy up for the show,”

“Y/N.. please..” he sighed as he looked at you, shoving his comb in the back pocket of his pants before crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest again. He already knew what you were getting at, but he refused. “I’m.. I’m okay. I’ll send The Colonel to the nearest hospital for some new bags, I’ll be fine,”

You shook your head at his stubbornness as you hopped off the vanity table, slowly walking over to him. You knew he never wanted to feed from you- it was dangerous, especially for a young vampire like him. But you wanted him to enjoy himself up on that stage and you knew he wouldn’t be able to do that on an empty stomach. He needed blood, one way or the other.

And the thought of him sinking his teeth in your skin made your knees weak- you had been dreaming about it plenty of times before.

It took Elvis a lot of convincing. A lot.

He only had ten minutes left before the show and he could already hear The Colonel pacing outside of the tent, nervous that Elvis would be a no-show. Elvis was growing more nervous himself, not because he didn’t want to feed on you – oh boy, did he want to – but because he didn’t want to hurt you.

He had never fed directly from the source- he completed his transition with a bloodbag, a diet he stuck to. It was hard to fight his urges, but if he wanted a career in showbusiness, he couldn’t go around biting people left and right.

But here you were, sitting on his lap as he had settled on one of the couches in the dressing room. Hair pulled back, the side of your neck on full display, inviting him. Your scent was nearly overwhelming, but still he had his doubts- with you being so eager for it, he found himself becoming a little shy.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he mumbled as he tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest. The tip of his nose ghosted along your jawline and the curse he let out under his breath sent a tingle down your spine and in between your thighs. “W-what.. what if.. I’m not a-able to stop?”

You grabbed onto his shirt, your other hand holding onto his shoulder as your arm was resting around his frame. You pushed yourself even closer to him, making him groan softly as his plumb lips caressed your neck. “You will,” you whispered breathlessly, your hand moving from his shoulder to the back of his head, fingertips tangling in his gelled locks. “I trust you, the way you always trust me.”

He pulled his head back out of your neck a little, bringing his hand up to grab your chin and making you look at him. His cheeks were flushed and the growing erection that was poking your thigh underneath you made you nearly lose your mind. As much as you wanted so much more than just a bite, time wasn’t on your side right now.

“What if I hurt you?” he questioned in a low whisper, his tongue making an appearance to sweep over his lower lip.

“Maybe I like pain,” you grinned playfully, tugging on his hair a little as you arched your back, pressing your chest against his. His hand that was resting on your hip moved lower, large palm squeezing at your curves- just as he was about to kiss you, you pulled back with all your mental strength.

“We don’t have time, El. You need to feed,” you told him, pulling his head back a little by giving his hair another tug. He groaned as he looked at you through hooded eyes, squeezing your ass with a little more strength, stealing a small moan from you. Now you were the one with equally as flushed cheeks and it made him laugh softly, leaning back into your neck when you released the tension on his hair.

He knew he was going to have to be quick and he hated it. He wished he could take his time with this- kissing your neck, letting his tongue trace your veins and feeling the blood pump through them underneath his wet muscle. Right now, it was all rushed and he barely had time to taste the perfume on your neck.

But despite the lack of time, his mama raised him right. It was obvious that you wanted this and he didn’t need to ask for consent anymore, but he still felt it was the right thing to do.

“H-Honey.. can I.. can I bite you?”

The question was almost comical if you didn’t live in a world where immortal creatures roamed around freely. And maybe you would’ve laughed at it in any other situation, but right now it nearly made you jump out of your skin.

You wanted him. You needed him.

“Yes, Elvis,” you moaned softly as you felt him nuzzling his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. “Please bite me,”

To the best of his abilities, he ignored how his cock twitched in the confinements of his pants upon hearing your words. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to properly kiss you or take you right here and now. He went for the next best thing- placing rushed kisses against your skin before he found the spot he was looking for, parting his lips and pushing his fangs into your neck when they appeared.

Elvis didn’t know how, or if, he could ever go back to bloodbags.

He also didn’t know if it was because you were the first human he fed from or because warm blood was just so much better, but he found the taste addicting.

Your blood gave him a rush of energy, even more so than bloodbags gave him, and he couldn’t stop himself from letting one of his hands roam your body, his other hand cupping the other side of your jaw to keep you in place. He was squeezing your ass and hips, pushing you firmer against his chest and at one point, his hand found its way in between your thighs. You were wearing pants and you cursed yourself for making that decision this morning- before you could even focus if you felt his fingers there, his hand was gone again.

The more blood he took, the weaker you were starting to feel but it didn’t stop you from moaning and clinging onto him. The pain was starting to turn into pleasure and you wouldn’t be surprised if your panties were soaked by now, but your mind was too foggy to care about it.

“Elvis! What’s takin’ you so long?” Vernon yelled from outside the tent, making both you and Elvis freeze. He didn’t want to pull away, wanted to take more of your blood, but he was forced to. Elvis knew if he wouldn’t provide his father with an answer, the man would come inside the tent and Elvis didn’t want him to see you and him in a position like this.

His mother would have his head.

You whimpered softly at the feeling of Elvis gently pulling his fangs out of your flesh, his vampiric features disappearing again as he cleared his throat a little. “I’ll be right there, Daddy!”

You heard Vernon mumbling something you couldn’t make out before he shuffled away from the tent. Elvis turned to you and no words needed to be spoken as he crashed his lips onto yours, laying you down on the couch. He was in between your thighs in a split second, grinding against you and sucking greedily on your lower lip.

You broke the messy kiss by laughing, placing your hands flat against his chest. He whined softly as he pouted at you- which would look a whole lot cuter if his lips weren’t covered in your blood.

“Please, Y/N- I’m fast, baby. I can get you to cum before you even know it,”

You widened your eyes at his words, laughing again as he groaned dramatically when you shook your head. You grabbed his face when he kissed you again, not wanting to pull back, but forced to.

“After the show, okay?” you suggested, sounding out of breath, trying your best not to wrap your legs around his waist and trap him on top of you. “You’re full of energy now, but I need a minute,”

He grinned, nodding his head as he slowly got up from the couch. You sat up as well, pulling some tissues out of the box that stood on the coffee table littered with drinks and magazines, wiping some blood off your neck. Elvis cleaned his face, but he couldn’t stop his legs from wandering back over to you and kissing you again. You kissed him back, moaning softly in his mouth as he let his tongue explore your mouth- another voice calling for Elvis came from the outside of the tent and the young vampire pulled back with a deep, slightly frustrated groan.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay, honey?”

You smiled at him, throwing the tissues on the table. “I wouldn’t dare to leave,” you told him, slowly getting up from the couch. You were a little wobbly on your feet, but you managed to follow him to the exit of the tent. “Go have fun up there,”

He nodded, smiling as he leaned in to steal another kiss but this time, your lips didn’t get the chance to touch. Vernon bursted in the tent and grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him outside. You stuck your head outside, laughing softly at the sight of Elvis being dragged away- when you turned to your left, you saw Gladys was still there, this time with her hands full of snacks she had gotten at the fair.

She gave you a knowing look and a shade of pink colored your cheeks, following her back inside the tent and allowing her to feed you the snacks and tend to the little bite marks Elvis created in your neck.

You just hoped all she thought Elvis did was feed from you- nothing more, nothing less.

Gladys wasn’t born yesterday. She knew you probably just as well as she knew her own son and she was very aware about your feelings for Elvis and his for you- while he might be a little bit better at hiding his crush to you, not to her. He had always confided in his mother and that didn’t stop after he turned into a vampire. She’d sit at the kitchen table with him in the middle of the night whenever he came home from a show and she’d listen to all his, sometimes too, crazy stories- and also about how bad in love he was with you.

She thought you were the perfect girl for Elvis and she wouldn’t accept it whenever he said things would probably never work out because he lived forever and you didn’t. She wanted you as her daughter in law and no one else, so when Elvis was done performing and giving attention to his fans and asked her if it was okay if he’d take you for a ride, she nearly threw you and her son in his purple El Dorado.

Elvis was worried for a second, but she told him to stop worrying and Vernon was perfectly okay driving the pink Cadillac- after all, it was kinda her car, even though she didn’t drive it herself.

Neither Gladys or you seemed to care about the friends you brought to the event and were now kind of stranded in Tupelo and Elvis didn’t really think about it either as he started the engine of the car.

“Thank you, Lovie. Tell Mr. Presley to drive safely!” you told her as you hung out the open window and gave her a quick hug and kissed her cheek, quickly getting back in the car again- Elvis drove off with a wave and you didn’t stop waving until Gladys was completely out of sight.

Pulling the silk scarf Gladys had given you from your neck, you looked at the small bite marks through the rearview mirror.

“Here,” Elvis spoke up as he drove off the fairgrounds, avoiding the festivities downtown as he turned the other way. He bit into his thumb, breaking enough skin to draw some blood- you knew his blood was healing, but you had never needed it before. Despite not needing the substance to survive nor did it taste as good to you as it did to him, you being the one taking his blood now was kind of turning you on all over again. “Quick, honey,” he laughed softly as he noticed his skin healing up again.

Before it could, you quickly grabbed his hand and sucked his thumb in between your lips. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel when he felt you sucking on the digit, tongue lapping around it, your eyes boring into his. “O-Oh.. s-shit,” he stammered softly, his body immediately responding to your actions and the way you were looking at him, blood rushing to his cock.

You giggled softly as you released his thumb with a soft ‘pop’ and placed a quick kiss on the back of his hand before dropping it in his lap. Looking at your neck in the mirror again, you were fascinated by the sight of the marks disappearing like they had never been there in the first place.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you crawled closer to him, resisting the urge to plant yourself in his lap. He bit his lip as his eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds when you ran your fingers through his hair and dragged your nails down the back of his neck- all of his senses were on high alert right now.

He could hear your steady heartbeat, the traffic outside, the radio playing softly in the background. He could hear, see and smell everything but the scent of your growing arousal was the most dominant one and it was driving him insane.

He needed to find a parking spot and fast.

“I-I don’t know… off this road.. a-anywhere we can be alone,”

It was all you needed to know to mark your territory in his neck, having fun with creating hickeys and seeing them heal up before you even had the chance to admire them.

Luckily, Elvis knew his way around Tupelo. This morning, the original plan had been to hang around the fairgrounds after the shows as far as that was possible and then make the drive back to Memphis but both you and Elvis were too impatient to make the nearly two hour drive right now.

The vampire found an empty parking lot near the highway where he sloppily parked the Cadillac and as soon as he killed the engine, you were straddling him and kissing him hard. Right now, you did not care at all if you looked desperate or not, because you were. You had been painfully turned on the second he bit you earlier today and you waited long enough- your chance to have him was being presented right in front of your nose and you were going to grab onto it with both hands.

Elvis sure as hell didn’t mind either- he had been waiting for this moment ever since hormones came out to play during his teenage years.

“Damnit,” he mumbled against your lips with a grin on his face, his hands fumbling with the few buttons of your pants. “Why didn’t ya wear a dress today?” he teased, not really caring what you wore or whatsoever. He’d have the fabric off soon anyways and to him, you looked good in anything. But inside the tight space of the car, it would’ve made his job a bit more easier.

Pulling back from the kiss, you laughed and playfully swatted his hands away to flick open the buttons. He grabbed onto your hips and swiftly put you on your back on the front seat of the car- his movements were so quick that there was no room or time for clumsiness. He seemed confident in himself as he pulled your zipper down and tugged your pants down your thighs after you kicked off the flats you were wearing, but still there was that sense of nervousness coming from the both of you.

You weren’t worried about the fact that you were about to have sex with a vampire, but this was your best friend. The boy you had a crush on since you were a young girl- the boy who gave you your first kiss during a game of spin the bottle, the boy who stood up for you against everyone and everything. Your relationship could either change for better or for worse, but with the way he was looking up at you while kissing his way down your leg and to your thigh, he got you too distracted to let the worries take over your mind.

Elvis didn’t waste time and pulled your panties down, dropping them somewhere on the floor as he placed his flat hands against the back of your thighs, spreading your legs- the sight of you being so exposed in front of his face and the scent of your arousal filling his nostrils so deliciously made him dig his thumbs in your thighs and thrust his hips forward against the seat to create some friction. Despite the sun having set a few hours ago and the only light you had shining in the car came from a lamppost on the other side of the parking lot, he could see you clear as crystal and he found it hard to look away.

Your pussy was quite literally glistening because you were so wet- he was mesmerized.

“How long are you gonna stare at it?” you teased as you raised yourself on your elbows, getting a better view of having him settled in between your legs.

His eyes met yours as he laughed, releasing tension on one of your thighs to move his hand down and gather some of your slick on his digits as he ran them through your folds, making you gasp softly. “Sorry, honey- it’s just so… pretty,”

Your cheeks heated up at the odd compliment- you weren’t a virgin and had seen other guys in this position, although not in a car, but none of them had ever said anything like that. And none of them had ever admired your most sensitive body part as if it was a piece of fine art.

“Been waitin’ too long to see it,” he whispered loud enough for you to hear through the sound of your heart thumping faster in your ears- a soft moan rolled off your tongue as his thumb rubbed small, slow circles on your clit. Your hips automatically moved along to the rhythm of his fingertips and your hand moved down in his hair as he suddenly slipped in two fingers at the same time.

He knew you weren’t a virgin, so he knew you could take it.

“Elvis, please..” you whined softly, trying to push his face closer to where you wanted him most, but it was like trying to move a mountain- he didn’t even move a muscle.

“Impatient little thing,”

You could see by the way he was smirking that he wasn’t done teasing. It took him a lot of restraint to hold himself back, but he wanted to see how far he could take it. He kissed you before, but the both of you had never gone this far- he didn’t know what you were into and what you were definitely not into, but he wanted to find out on his own. He let you tug on his hair all you wanted as he kissed the inside of your thigh, rolling his tongue against your heated skin while pushing his fingers deeper inside of you- he pulled them back, but just as you were about to complain, he sunk them right back in, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit. As he rubbed it against the sensitive nub while bending the tip of his fingers inside of you, you let out a moaned curse.

He brought himself up, squeezing you in between his body and the front seat, his lips meeting yours. You immediately welcomed his tongue into your mouth, roaming your hands down his chest and to the buttons of his blouse. He deepened the kiss as he groaned, picking up the pace of his fingers which he pumped in and out of you as you easily flicked open all the buttons of his shirt and ran your hands up his chest. His skin was warm due to the velvet fabric he was wearing and it was just as soft as well- the sound of him moaning in the kiss when your nails caressed his nipples made your muscles tighten around his digits.

When you moved your hands down to tug his pants down his thighs and your hands disappeared in his boxershorts, he bit your lower lip harshly. Letting out a high pitched moan, you wrapped your hand around his cock and squeezed it softly in response- he sucked your lip into his mouth, tasting the blood he had drawn.

“Elvis,” you moaned breathlessly as he released your lip, swiping his tongue over it to get the last drip of blood. “Bite me,”

He moaned softly as he pressed his forehead against yours, his lips ghosting over yours- your hand picked up pace, thumb swirling around his tip to lace it with some of his pre-cum, and so did his fingers.

“W-wanna fuck while doin’ it,” he whispered as he flicked his tongue against your lips teasingly, making you laugh softly and nod.

Despite having all the time in the world, your body was screaming, yearning, for him- if you wouldn’t have him now, the world might just come to an end.

The stretch of Elvis filling you up as you sank down onto him left you gasping and whining, nails digging into his shoulders which you were holding onto for dear life.

Elvis wasn’t doing much better himself- he hadn’t slept with a lot of people after turning into a vampire. He was already in love with you before that and due to his heightened emotions, those feelings grew tenfold in intensity. Sure, he dated a few girls and did some fooling around now and then but they weren’t you. It just wasn’t the same. So, the feeling of your warm tightness trapping him inside of you right now had him throwing his head back on the seat and his hands gripping onto your hips, guiding your slow and gentle thrusts.

He wouldn’t be able to last long if you’d go any faster.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuuuck,” he cursed, rolling his head around to look at you through hooded lids. “You feel so good, Y/N- fuck,”

You laughed softly, your confidence growing at his words. You were slowly but surely getting used to the feeling of having him inside of you and wanted to pick up the pace, but he moaned deeply and held onto your hips firmer, preventing you from doing so.

“S-Slowly, slowly,” he warned, his cheeks a little flushed. You smiled at him and nodded, bringing your hands into your hair and moving it over your shoulder- he licked his lips at the exposed skin of your neck. You were curious and wanted to find out if you’d experience it in the same way you did earlier today- as he wrapped his arms around your waist, trapping you against his chest, and kissed your neck, it was like even that felt way more intense than before.

Your hands found their way back into his hair and you whined as you felt the sharp pain of his fangs penetrating your skin but as he tightened his grip around you, the pain was long gone. All you felt was pleasure and this was nothing compared to this afternoon- it felt so much better. You took advantage of his hands not being on your hips anymore, thrusting onto him a little firmer- it took him slightly by surprise and he groaned deeply against your skin, some blood slipping out from between his lips and down your collarbones.

He took less than before and you had eaten a proper meal in between his first and second show, so your energy didn’t fade as fast. The feeling of him pulling his fangs out of your flesh was still a strange one that made you shiver and the spot he just bit stung, but as he lapped his tongue over the bite marks, the uncomfortable hint of pain was gone as soon as it came.

Elvis pulled his head out of your neck and you cupped his face, staining your thumb with the blood that was on his lips before letting him suck on the digit. The sight made your muscles clench around his length tightly and he groaned, teasingly but softly biting your thumb before you pulled it out of his mouth. You didn’t know what came over you as you leaned in and licked up some of your own blood that dripped down his chin before kissing him- Elvis sure as hell wasn’t complaining, eagerly and sloppily kissing you back.

“Faster?” you questioned hopefully in between kisses, twirling your hips around teasingly.

Elvis laughed softly, loosening his arms around you and moving his hands down to your ass, harshly squeezing it. “Fuck yes, faster, baby- fuck me,”

You’d never expected Elvis to be a submissive type during sex, but it awakened a whole new side inside of yourself. Having him tell you to fuck him was something you wouldn’t forget about any time soon.

But unlike Elvis, you weren’t much of a teaser and gave him what he asked for right away.

Elvis wasn’t even sure if he was on this planet anymore. This was better than any kind of blood he’d ever tasted, better than the music settling in his bones when he was on stage- this was goddamn euphoric.

The entire car was shaking and rumbling with how fast and hard you were riding him, the fog on the windows hard evidence to people driving by that unholy things were being done in the vehicle, but he couldn’t get himself to care one bit.

He could barely think straight, didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore- they went from running through his hair, to squeezing your breasts which were on full display because he had hastily taken your top off minutes earlier, and squeezing at your thighs. The moans that left you were like music to his ears, but to you, his were even better.

He had completely put down his guard, moaning and whining desperately, calling out your name like a prayer. It got you more motivated than you’d ever been during sex with anyone else and you were pretty sure your thighs were going to feel like jelly after this, but you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop, not with him looking this pretty and vulnerable underneath you- you just wished you had more lighting to admire him in all his glory.

“God, I’m so c-cl.. close,” he grunted, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as you placed your hands behind you on his knees, arching your back to give him a priceless view of your body. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he wasn’t going to miss out on a view like that. “Yes, baby- just like that, feels d-damn good. Fuck, fuck- where’d ya learn that?!”

You laughed softly through your moans at his words, repeating the action of raising your hips until his cock threatened to leave your tightness altogether before firmly sinking back down onto him. It was obvious to you in that moment that the girls Elvis had been with before weren’t as bold as you and this only made you feel more confident, a little smug even.

“You wanna cum inside me, baby?”

Elvis’ jaw clenched at that- never had any girl called him ‘baby’ like that. Never had any girl asked him if he wanted to cum inside of her. But your question sure didn’t fall on deaf ears- he liked having you on top, but he wanted you underneath him when he’d fill you up. Grabbing your hips, he nearly knocked the wind out of your lungs as he changed the position to missionary.

You didn’t mind the change all too much- it gave your legs a little time to rest as you wrapped them loosely around his waist and with the way he was pounding into you in a pace that didn’t even seem or feel human, hitting your spot with every thrust, it had you screaming nearly as loud as the girls at the front row of his shows.

Now his name was rolling off your tongue in a mantra, nails clawing at his biceps desperately as tears stung in your eyes. You couldn’t even announce your climax if you wanted to, because it hit you in the face like a ton of bricks, making you arch your back and spasm so hard that Elvis had to place his hand on your stomach, keeping you in place as he chased his own orgasm.

You were seeing stars, feeling slightly light headed, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off your best friend as he let out a deep moan, followed by a string of profanities. His fingers were digging in your flesh so harshly you wouldn’t be surprised he was bruising you, but you were too out of your mind to comment on it or let it bother you.

His thrusts slowed down, hips stuttering forward as he threw his head back in his neck and grabbed onto your hips to prevent you from moving away. Not that you were planning to, despite starting to feel sensitive.

You were trying to get your breathing under control, whining softly as he pulled out of you and shoved his fingers inside of you again, stopping his cum from leaking onto the seat. You weren’t worried, knowing he wasn’t able to procreate anymore- you welcomed his lips as he softly pressed them onto yours, letting out a deep, content sigh in the kiss.

“We should probably go back to pick up the others,” you whispered against his lips with a soft laugh and he pulled back with a grin, slowly pulling his fingers out of you.

“They’ll find their way back,” he shrugged, going in for another kiss but you placed a finger against his lips, making him sigh and lower his head on your chest, snuggling up to you.

“It’s a two hour drive, El- we really can’t do that. Although Nick kinda deserves to be stranded,” you mumbled, making the male on top of you vibrate with laughter. “Also, I’m kinda in the mood for cotton candy,”

Raising his head, he gave you a goofy frown of his eyebrows and laughed as he shook his head. Then a grin spread across his face and he leaned in closer, kissing his way to your neck along your jawline. “You’re sweeter than cotton candy, beautiful,”

You winced softly as you felt his tongue lap at the bite marks in your neck, the pleasure not there to distract you from the pain this time. He immediately pulled out of your neck with apologetic eyes, biting the palm of his hand before holding it out to you- not feeling as turned on and freaky as before anymore, his blood tasted rather peculiar, but it did make the uncomfortable pain and bite marks in your neck disappear.

“Five more minutes,” you told him as you wiped some blood off your mouth with the back of your hand, wrapping your arms around him to bring him back in your embrace. “Then we’ll pick up the strays,”

He laughed at your words, nodding as he snuggled his face in your neck. He kept his fangs to himself this time, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing and licking the dried blood off your skin, the both of you hugging each other so hard you could barely breathe.

“I love you,” he blurted out in a whisper.

When you didn’t say anything back, panic started to creep into his veins and he slowly raised his head to look down at you. He caressed a strand of hair out of your face, about to apologize or maybe even tell you you shouldn’t feel obligated to say it back, but you beat him to it.

“I love you too, Elvis,” you told him with a smile tugging at your lips. He let out a soft, relieved sigh and kissed you again- eagerly, firmly, passionately.

The strays could wait a little longer than five minutes.

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new-sandrafilter · 6 months

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Timothée Chalamet Goes Electric

In Chapter Three of our ongoing project, the young actor talks candidly about coming of age over the last few years — a process he calls “adultifying" — during which he turned a professional corner, discovered a cohort of colorful peers, and learned to embrace his spirit of rebellion.

By Daniel Riley

Photography by Cass BirdOctober 17, 2023

“I don’t even know if I want to share this with you because it’s quite intimate,” Timothée Chalamet said, “but as an actor, you sort of live at a dining room table in your head, and you have about 30 personalities at the table, and you’re trying to attend to them, without going crazy.”

Assembled at the table were, yes, the many characters he’d embodied in films. But there were also the versions of himself that had been constructed in public and reflected back at him. There were the versions constructed through truth. The versions constructed through conjecture. The versions constructed through outright fabrication. And then finally—lastly—there was the person that he actually was and is beneath it all.

“And it was when that guy didn’t align with the first ones that things could get very trippy.”

One weeknight this summer, after when I typically go to sleep, Timothée Chalamet—the real one—came by my apartment building in downtown Manhattan. It was steaming hot and he had his hood up and a jean jacket on. Layers. He had a mask, too, a holdover for so many of his kind, even as a mask in public, at night, draws more eyes your way than it diverts. He was walking with pep, with freedom of movement.

He preferred to prowl his hometown at night these days, like Batman, when he can move readily in the shadows. Batman was hungry. “Do you know where I can get a sandwich?” he asked me.

After walking a little, he looked up. “I would just go there, but is there a better place than that?”

It was a grimy bodega that I know to be run by cats.

I persuaded him to get a bowl of pasta from a place that was willing to stay open late. We talked about his forthcoming blockbusters, Wonka and Dune: Part Two, and the transformation that had occurred both professionally and personally since the last time I saw Chalamet, in 2020.

“I bet I’m way calmer than I was talking to you in Woodstock,” he said.

That was the first COVID summer, which he’d spent between New York City and upstate New York, doing his best not to lose his mind. He was 24 years old then and an emerging Hollywood star, with all the opportunities laid out before him that he’d spent his early life fantasizing about. And yet there he was—there we all were—stuck, suspended mid-life, and bursting at the seams to get back to work. “I had spent a lot of time after high school with my head in the clouds, imagining a life as an actor, and totally oblivious to the life I was actually leading,” he said. “I was out of touch with an in-touch life. And during COVID, it flipped, and I was forced to become very in touch with my increasingly out-of-touch life. It was not good for me.”

But when I saw him this summer, he was three years older, three years wiser, and willing to indulge me with measuring the distance between then and now. For those keeping score at home, this is Chalamet’s third GQ cover, and the third story we’ve done in what has become a sort of longer-term project in progress. Six years ago, when I met him in his initial blush of fame from Call Me by Your Name, I saw up close a person in the last moments of their Before life. Three years ago, when we met for Chapter Two, I saw up close a person reckoning in real time with that rocket ship of fame and acclaim. And then this summer, here we were again, doing a version of what we’d done before—just walking around, hiding out, and otherwise taking stock of a moment in time in an early and extraordinary career.

“Even going to my friend Julian’s apartment,” he said, “there’s a Polaroid, ’cause he Polaroids everyone who has lived in the apartment, and there’s one of me from 2015, and when I see my expression there, I’m like: Man, I feel like I’ve lived seven lives since then.”

It was not just the stack-up of time—but the pivot he felt he was riding from one phase of his life and career to another. He brought up the recent bestseller Four Thousand Weeks (thesis: A good life is only 4,000 weeks, so how do you plan to not waste any of them?) and the 27 Club (he was now 27 himself) and the creeping fog that had slowly then suddenly enveloped people his age. “You start going on Instagram, seeing people from your high school getting married, friends having kids, and you start going: This balls-to-the-wall thing, even at this amazing level I’m at that probably couldn’t have gone better—you still start wondering, How long till you have to change?”

Material change was not that simple. This was, after all, one of the most beloved young actors in Hollywood. This was someone who had been told he was plenty good enough precisely as he was. This was a young man who, when he emerged—as though fully formed both onscreen and while promoting films, in both his talent and ebullient charm—went on one late-night show and was implored before a live audience to: Don’t ever change! Please don’t change!

“People are going to roll their eyes that these are actual problems to have,” he said, “but that is an interesting challenge to have to feel like for your life and your work and your art, that these are things where there actually shouldn’t be an evolution.”

“It’s like Bob,” he said, meaning Dylan, whom he’d been preparing to play in the forthcoming James Mangold film, A Complete Unknown, for over three years now. His head was in it, Dylan day and night, and he was attuned, as ever, to echoes between his own life and the stories he was training to tell. “The Dylan metaphor is going electric,” he said, referring to the infamous moment at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival when Dylan, that era’s one true acoustic god, plugged his guitar into an amp, brought out a band, and started to really rock. “Now, the great thing about going electric is that was in the name of art. That was an act of rebellion and a push in a musical direction that happened to be…. So I don’t want to say….” He wasn’t saying it—but he was straining to maybe connect the metaphor to some other things on his mind, as well. “God, it’d be so ironic to talk so much about acting and the art and the work, and then get caught in a loop about the demands of a public life. But…”

It went like this. The balance of indulging the aching artist’s desire, on the one hand, and navigating the blessing and burden of celebrity on the other. He took deep breaths. He knocked on wood a lot. On more than one occasion he broke into a confession with: “I definitely want to contextualize this with an attitude of gratitude—I heard Denzel say that on Desus & Mero.” He did not want to tread hastily, he did not want to toss any of it to the wind. “Every career is a miracle,” he said, with real gravity. But it might feel good, necessary even, for a little rebellion.

As we strolled through the Village after his midnight snack, every block sparked a memory. Here was the theater where his grandmother, mother, and sister were all part of the same dance piece. Here was where the first party was where kids were drinking “Mike’s Hard.” Here was the bookstore where he first met Ralph Fiennes and proudly declared that he’d just done a movie with Luca Guadagnino. I shared one of my own. Here was where Jennifer Lawrence lives, I said.

“Really?” Chalamet said. “Should we see if she’s home?”

We kept on moving to the place he was staying during his time in town. It was getting very late, and was very possibly the stillest night of the summer. No Taylor Swift concert close by. No film set in production. No playoff game just let out. It was, I will say as a now longtime resident, the absolute last circumstances in which one would expect to spot a movie star. And yet there, out of nothing, came a male cry from down the street, out the window of a passing cab.

“Timothée?!?!”

He looked toward it, head down and shoulders hunched. “Whattup.”

“Oh! My! God!” the voice replied, having been validated with a bull’s-eye.

A few blocks later, it happened again.

“Oh, my God!! Can we…?!”

And he slipped into photo mode, like a robot butler whose switch had been flipped to the On position. “Where are you guys from?”

I apologized for leading him through the heart of NYU.

“These are my people,” he joked.

Despite getting hounded by photographers or stopped or recognized, he still loved walking around New York on his own. It was what he’d done all his life, as everyone else did. It was equalizing, he said, even the idea that an air conditioner can drop on your head at any second.

But in recent years, it was his intense familiarity with those daily rhythms of his in New York City that made him realize it might be time for a major pivot. “After one too many days of doing the same thing, I just got this overwhelming sense that I was still playing the same hand of cards I’d had for a long time—but that I had a better hand to play,” he said. “I was living in this rental place that didn’t feel like home. I was getting the same bacon, egg, and cheese at the same deli. Resisting any lifestyle change.”

All the while his circumstances had changed. He had grown older. The movies were bigger. His profile was immeasurably larger. But he was holding onto something—why? He had seen it up close in Hollywood. The man-child. The people who so loved playing characters that they played characters in their real lives, too, without actually transforming themselves into more mature human beings. He knew the cliché about celebrities staying developmentally the age that they were when they became famous. But how is a beloved movie star meant to change the right way? How is he supposed to grow up? How does he meaningfully evolve his life and art without killing his core? This was only the most important thing there was for Timothée Chalamet. It might be worthwhile to chart the course. “All I knew,” he said, “was it was time to level up.”

After our time in Woodstock in the summer of 2020, Chalamet flew to Budapest for Dune: Part One reshoots and got sick immediately. It was a familiar story after that summer spent locked down: The moment they let us out of our cages, we caught everything else there was to catch. It was another false start for him, every cell crying out to work.

It had been so onerous getting into Europe during COVID that when Dune wrapped he stayed on the continent. He spent some time in the South of France with Hedi Slimane, in Paris with Haider Ackermann, in Rome and Milan with Luca Guadagnino. Guadagnino handed him a script, Bones and All, a cannibal love story, an addiction-parable road film set at the fringes of the American middle. “Luca said: ‘I’ll do it if you do it,’” Chalamet said. This was both a validation of their fruitful creative partnership—but also a statement that seemed literally true. In the few years since Call Me by Your Name, Chalamet had become the sort of Hollywood property whose presence in an otherwise borderline project could get it greenlighted, and made quickly.

Chalamet was staying in an Airbnb in Rome, wandering around the city, just living out “a sort of blank period.” One thing he does recall is that he watched Nomadland, thought it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen, and wanted to do something like it. Bones and All was maybe that something. He went to Milan to talk things over with Guadagnino and committed on the spot.

In the meantime, he returned to the US, hosted SNL for the first time, and prepped for his brief role in Adam McKay’s Don’t Look Up, alongside Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence. He was in Boston for 24 days—14 of which were spent in quarantine and 10 of which were actually working. Chalamet, in his mellowest state, is a threat of energy, and here he was locked in another hotel room. “By the time I got to set I was buzz-ing,” he recalled, seemingly feeling the crazy in his body all over again. “That was the day Jennifer said was the most annoying day of her life, working with me and Leo. I exploded out of my room.”

He started prep on Bones and All right away that spring, still somewhat in the thrall of director Chloé Zhao’s Nomadland. Zhao introduced Chalamet to Derek Endres, one of the rootless travelers whom she cast to play themselves in the Oscar-winning film. Chalamet, who was born and raised in New York City and had spent no real time in the Midwest or the South, soaked up several blurry weeks driving around Ohio, Tennessee, and Nebraska with Derek, talking about life on the road and listening to folk music.

It’s difficult to underscore how polar the two ways Timothée Chalamet experiences time are. There are the long stretches during a movie production, during a press cycle, during a fashion campaign, when every minute is scheduled for days or weeks or months at a time. But there are other long stretches, in between the making of movies and promoting them, that are seemingly devoid of time as we experience it, with infinite expanses for developing a film character or developing himself.

Plan B producers Jeremy Kleiner and Dede Gardner, who worked with Chalamet on Beautiful Boy and The King, have a unique, rolling conversation with him about film and music and books, with references that range to the philosophical. “I think there’s a dimension of him that maybe not everybody would know necessarily,” Kleiner said, “where he just has this really wide wingspan in terms of what he’s taking in from the world around him and how that factors into what he feels he should be doing with his time.” These periods between films were historically the intervals that Chalamet said he would sometimes get “existential”—for better or worse. “Restlessness can be a pejorative term, but I mean it in a good way,” Kleiner said. “There’s a searching, a seeking.” Even early in his career, Chalamet seemed to exact total control when he was working on a film and an evolving sense of control when he was not. Those weeks on the road with Derek, those were good, restless weeks of searching, seeking.

“It’s something I think about a lot with Dylan,” Chalamet said, “that life rhythms are different. When you’re raised in the city, going stir-crazy during the pandemic, your life rhythm becomes agitated. And driving through the middle of the country listening to Townes Van Zandt, your life rhythm adjusts in a great way.”

They filmed Bones and All in the spring and summer of 2021, really moving from place to place as the characters do. His life rhythm adapted. “I got my second jab in Cincinnati,” he said, of his COVID vaccine, like it was a long-lost love, or a lyric to a Townes Van Zandt song. Lee, his cannibalistic character, wore the clothes of his victims and dyed red streaks into his hair, an act of what Chalamet called “self-styling” that he could relate to—a guy trying to express himself through his hair and his clothes. Living out of a truck at the American periphery, that took some effort to get in tune with. I saw immediately why it appealed.

Lee is an “eater,” a cannibal by blood, not choice. Chalamet plays him with an appropriate blend of swagger and self-loathing. During preproduction, reports revealed that Chalamet’s Call Me by Your Name costar Armie Hammer had been accused by several women of sharing sexual fantasies in which he represented himself as, yes, a cannibal. (Some DMs allegedly sent to one woman by Hammer read: “I am 100% a cannibal. I want to eat you.”) There were those who wondered if the seemingly ironic choice for a next film by Chalamet and Guadagnino was a little insensitive; there were those who wondered why Chalamet and Guadagnino didn’t lean into the insane confluence even more. “I mean, what were the chances that we’re developing this thing?” Chalamet said, reflecting on that strange period. When false reports suggested the film was inspired by the news, “it made me feel like: Now I’ve really got to do this,” he said. “Because this is actually based on a book.”

Chalamet’s face went stiff when I asked him to describe how he personally experienced the allegations against Hammer. “I don’t know,” he said, reluctantly. “These things end up getting clickbaited so intensely. Disorienting is a good word.”

Lee was the first character Chalamet helped develop in a major way with a screenwriter. It was also the first film he produced from tip to tail. When he introduced Bones and All to the world at the Venice Film Festival, he did so with a backless red jumpsuit from Ackermann. “When you’re promoting a smaller movie, you can stir it up a little,” he said. The role was new, subtle, and strong. There were flavors to it that felt at once different from anything else he’d done, and yet built around a center of intense familiarity. When I asked Dede Gardner how “the industry” regards “Timothée Chalamet the Entity,” whose name and face you can put on a movie poster and get to promote your film, she seemed almost incapable of looking past the pure performer: “I suspect he sits at the top of the totem pole,” she said. “But he is just so good. His gift is ferocious. His ability is just prismatic—in a way that it would by definition take him years for all the sides to show.” Lee, then, had come and gone—never to be seen again. He was already down the road.

The day they wrapped Bones and All, Chalamet cut off his blood-streaked mullet, dyed his hair brown, and flew to Cannes for the premiere of Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch. At one point, he leaned over to costar Bill Murray and asked him what he’d whispered to Selena Gomez on the Cannes red carpet in 2019. Chalamet laughed, reflecting: “He said, ‘Fame is fleeting!’ ”

Chalamet tried to take some time off, to soak up some vacation, but, he said, “the Wonka factory pipes were calling.” Director Paul King, best known for the beloved Paddington movies, had met Chalamet in London around the 2018 BAFTAs when, like so many, he’d been bowled over and seduced by Chalamet in Call Me by Your Name. When Wonka came King’s way, Chalamet was really the only choice for the role, King said. “It was: This could be great—but it could also be great for him.” Still, King couldn’t help but wonder what this guy, whom he’d met just once, would be like now that he’d become one of the biggest stars in the world. “It’s not always a recipe for ‘charming and focused,’ ” King said. “I’m a neurotic workaholic who will sort of leave no stone unturned—and I really felt he was a kindred spirit.”

This Wonka is also a musical, and Chalamet sings and dances throughout. It is, Chalamet said, “a throwback to LaGuardia,” meaning his performing-arts high school. “We’re telling a story here. This isn’t, like, athletic naturalism. It’s a shot of earnestness and sincerity, without the cynicism or dread or all the stuff we’re exhausted by.”

He trained in New York and London with Tony-winning choreographer Christopher Gattelli. “Sometimes with someone of that caliber, it’s almost like a chore to get them to do things, especially if it’s out of their comfort zone,” Gattelli said. “But he was the exact opposite—he wanted to go and go and go and do it over and over.” Chalamet hadn’t previously studied tap, among the hardest forms of dance to learn, but once he gained his confidence, Gattelli said, he couldn’t get him to stop. “He would Skype with his mom and his grandma, just to show them, because you could tell that he was genuinely proud of himself.” Of what he was picking up, but also of the way he was sort of carrying on this family tradition from his grandmother and mother—both trained Broadway dancers. “He would joke about it—like ‘It’s in my blood!’ And I was like: It is. It literally is.”

In Wonka, Chalamet plays a young Willy, fresh off a literal boat. It is pre-factory, pre–chocolate empire, pre–midlife trauma that curdles the previous film versions of the character, who’ve turned their backs on the world. “It would’ve been so easy to do an impression of Johnny Depp or Gene Wilder,” King said, “and it would’ve been sort of horrible. Because the people who’ve played Wonka before are brilliant and captivating and have done some famously wonderful performances that people have loved. So it’s really putting your head above the parapet.”

Between the choreography boot camp in New York and London, the voice training in LA, and recording songs at the Abbey Road Studios in London, there was considerable work before day one of filming. And then the already sizable shoot doubled in length due to COVID pauses. Every time someone on the crew tested positive, it was a mandated two weeks off. Production crawled, through the fall of 2021, the winter of 2021, and into the spring of 2022, with Chalamet posted up in the UK. It was, he said, a new challenge to keep his intense focus over that interval.

There was, as well, a distraction at home. His grandmother, whom he’d been especially close to all his life, had been sick and dying for some time—and it was becoming more and more evident that he might not make it home in time. “She was always so supportive of my career,” he said, “as she was also the voice in my ear to just live as normal a youth as possible.” Before he left New York for London that summer, Chalamet had her over to the apartment he’d been renting. He set up his laptop to film what he knew might be their final lengthy conversation. They just sat there for hours talking about stuff that she had never shared with him before. “But then when she left,” he said, “I saw that my laptop had died. And that was just a little metaphor for how scattered I was during that period—like, I was present to the conversation, but couldn’t even keep it together enough to chronicle it.”

It was a lot all at once that summer and fall—from Bones and All to promoting The French Dispatch to cohosting the Met Gala to starting on Wonka to promoting Dune. “I tried doing way too much, in retrospect,” he said. It was this awareness that he brought to Paul King when, with one major scene remaining, Chalamet asked to leave to be at his grandmother’s hospital bed. Chalamet had taken pride in the fact that he’d never shut down a production, but this felt like one of those moments in life. I asked King about it. “I think it’s sometimes easy because he’s a movie star and the lead to forget that there’s also a young man at the heart of this going through something,” he said. “And it’s very easy for the film to seem like the most important thing because everyone is turning up to work, but actually there’s something far more important going on.”

When he returned to London to finally wrap Wonka, he wandered the studio lot while they prepared the final scene. He stopped by the set of Barbie to say hi to his sometime collaborator and enduring caretaker Greta Gerwig. He bumped into Jason Momoa, in full Aquaman costume, walking to a soundstage. He looked at his own Wonka overcoat and top hat. “You start to realize you’re just another job on the lot,” he said, grinning. No matter the acclaim, no matter the fame, to the crews in Leavesden in the UK, Timothée Chalamet or anyone is just another guy in funny clothes, like the many who have come before and the many who will come again. It was good medicine. It was also a sign that it was time to go home—but where on earth was that now?

“I don’t naturally feel this way,” he said, “but during the throes of COVID it felt like people that were in LA with a little more privacy had it better figured out than I did.” There were many months on movie sets ahead of him, but for the periods in between, maybe there was something more permanent to return to. So before leaving to shoot Dune: Part Two last year, he bought a house in Los Angeles on a bit of a whim. “I was able to spend 10 days in it before I went to Dune, and just having it as the home base, it psychologically helped.”

Chalamet had never had the ability to just pick right up with the same cast and crew, as he did with Dune—and the result was a uniquely complex enterprise made “remarkably smooth,” he said. “For Part One,” director Denis Villeneuve said, “it was for Timothée his first big studio-movie experience. He had assurance, but I was feeling that he was kind of vulnerable, trying to find his way on a set like that, trying to find his focus and discovering how to protect his own bubble. And on Part Two, he came to set the first day and learned so much between both movies about how to secure his focus and to own his space.”

Something else happened in the run-up to filming related to one of his new costars, Austin Butler. “It started on Zoom,” Chalamet said, “when we did a cast reading.” Was Butler still talking like Elvis? I asked him. “No, here’s the thing, he was already talking like Stellan Skarsgård.” That is, on day one of the first read-through, Butler had already dialed his way all the way into the character, the heir to Skarsgård’s Baron Harkonnen. “And you could see everyone was, like…”—he laughed a little nervously—“I can’t overstate how inspiring it was to me personally.” It persisted throughout the production. “Because here was someone who’s a little older than me, but generationally we’re similar, and I don’t know how he would put it, but his journey was different than mine.” Butler had come up via Disney Channel and Nickelodeon before breaking out in Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood and getting nominated for an Oscar for last year’s Elvis. “But he takes the work incredibly seriously. And I feel like I hadn’t seen that among someone my age, whether it was in drama school or on set, that did take the work that seriously but then after ‘cut’ wasn’t, you know, in some show of how seriously they took it—and instead is this tremendously affable, wonderful man.”

What Chalamet instantly recognized in Butler was someone who would challenge his own commitment—and force him to raise his ceiling. I suggested to Chalamet, a basketball fan, that the dynamic was like a star in the NBA who’d dominated straight out of high school but was suddenly confronted by a rookie who’d maybe cut his teeth in Europe and threatened his perch in the league. “Okay! Exactly!” he said. “I love that metaphor!” This was all just acting, of course. But here was someone who Chalamet felt could push him. Like: Man, I’d better practice harder.

“I think any great actor has a competitiveness to them, and Timmy is no exception,” Dune producer Cale Boyter said. “Whether that’s something they carry on the inside, or just in paying attention to what their peers are doing, a scene only gets better when one actor really brings it and then everyone else elevates.” Boyter described for me the emotional climax of Part Two, an enormous set piece that took weeks to film, and that centers on a showdown between Chalamet’s Paul Atreides and Butler’s Feyd-Rautha. “You’re talking about two of the most talented young actors of our generation facing off. I would say Timmy’s level of preparation going into the scene—well, knowing he was fighting Austin enhanced it.”

When production wrapped, Chalamet’s interest in the Austin Butler Playbook did not end. “You asked me what I’ve been doing in LA this year?” he said at one point. “I’ve basically been working with his entire Elvis team for my Dylan prep. There’s a wonderful dialect coach named Tim Monich. Vocal coach named Eric Vetro. Movement coach named Polly Bennett. I just saw the way he committed to it all—and realized I needed to step it up.”

There was another person who had been in Chalamet’s ear—or at least his inbox—about the greater spectrum of training required for this new phase of leading---man-dom. “After I met Tom Cruise, right after finishing the first Dune, he sent me the most wonderfully inspiring email,” Chalamet said. It included a Rolodex of sorts of all the experts he might need for stunt training. A motorcycle coach. A helicopter coach. “He basically said, in Old Hollywood, you would be getting dance training and fight training, and nobody is going to hold you to that standard today. So it’s up to you. The email was really like a war cry.”

While filming Part Two, in the summer and fall of 2022, Chalamet said he saw Top Gun: Maverick eight times. On one occasion, he bought out a movie theater in Budapest for two bucks a seat and took the whole cast and crew. “Top Gun was just hugely inspiring to me last summer when we were making Dune,” he said. “Some of the crew were kind of scoffing at going, but I just thought it was one of the greatest films I’ve ever seen.”

Dune: Part Two marked the beginning of a new sense of self and purpose for Chalamet, who clearly embraced the opportunity and the responsibility of standing in the center of the frame in these bigger films. “Action-wise,” Villeneuve said, “I felt that he was much more trained than in Part One, and ready for the fighting sequences. I was impressed by his level of discipline for Part Two. You know, when you are the lead on a movie, there’s a presence, the way you approach your work and your discipline will necessarily have a ripple effect on the rest of the crew. He was the first one on set, always ready. And I was super pleased and impressed with how Timothée really embraced that discipline and became, for me, a real leading actor on this film.”

It always feels rare for an audience to witness a real-life off-screen pivot in a movie—someone growing up, someone breaking down, someone redeeming themselves. Call Me by Your Name was one of those pivots: a true coming of age, a transformation before our eyes. And here now, it seems, was another. “In Part One,” Villeneuve said, “the camera was capturing the performance of a teenager—I’m talking about the character, someone who was learning about the world and experiencing a new reality. But Part Two is really about someone who goes from the boy to the man, and becomes a leader, and even, I will say, a dark charismatic, messianic figure. It was the first time that I witnessed someone growing in front of my camera.”

When Dune wrapped in December, Chalamet returned to his new house in Los Angeles. He spent most days since, he said, “Dylan-ing hard.” He’d been rereading Dylan’s Chronicles, and it felt newly important to him to protect the artists’ imperative Dylan lays out there: “You need your ability to imagine, your ability to observe, and your ability to experience,” Chalamet said. “And if any one of those is compromised, your ability to create is compromised in some way.”

The place in LA provided him new cover to do just that. It was a sanctuary—a key to novel comfort, peace, and freedom. The house used to belong to Kenny G, and Pete Sampras after that. It had a beautiful tennis court, over which Chalamet had rolled in a basketball hoop and a Ping-Pong table, on which he was training most days for a potential new film. He was always toiling on the next thing or things. Preparation for roles that may or may not come to fruition. And some new things outside of acting. It was all top secret, he said, but one of those new projects sparkled, the other got you drunk. This spring and summer, though, it was Dylan in Position A.

Chalamet was very aware that the last time we talked at length, he was also deep in his preparation to play Bob Dylan. He had been, both literally and metaphorically, carrying around his guitar with him for three years now. He teamed up with Butler’s vocal coach, Eric Vetro, first on Wonka and then again for A Complete Unknown prep. Vetro, who’s worked with a number of actors on their high-profile music roles, singled out Chalamet for his balance of anything-is--possible enthusiasm with reverence for the work: “He does everything with such a playful air, but there’s always that core of real seriousness where he is gonna nail it.”

That balance of spirited and sober, of young and old—it was the lightning running through his body and mind at all times. When we’d been talking about celebrities staying forever the age they were when they got famous, he’d joked: “The trouble with me is I had an 81-year-old mind when I was 17.” That duality will probably make a pretty good Dylan. The voice work, Vetro said, was not about creating a perfect copy: “It’s taking on all the characteristics of Dylan’s voice and his mannerisms and his speech patterns, and bringing that into the music—so that when you hear Timothée do the music, what you’re really getting is the essence of Bob Dylan. You’re not getting an impersonation of him. It’s breathing new life into that voice that we know so well.”

Chalamet has not yet met Dylan. “I didn’t want to three years ago, because I just didn’t want to for superstitious reasons,” he said. “Now I would love to.”

The study of Dylan was aiding him in ways large and small. “Bob is like my Fame for Dummies,” he said. “It’s a different thing now because there were so few people who were that well-known then that you could really just dodge everything and be unknown.... But I still try to learn from him.” Do the work. Then disappear. Do the work. Then disappear.

Chalamet spent much of the first half of 2023 keeping a low profile, disappearing. What was most important, for both him and his work, he said, was to protect the piece of his humanity that fuels performance. “You’ve got to have the experiences in your personal life that are usable to you,” he said. “The experiential rush of my career taking off was so new to me that those were the experiences that were feeding my work for a while. But you’ve got to have real experiences. Human experiences. You’ve got to fall in love, you’ve got to be bored. I talked about the crease in the cushion of the couch the last time we talked”—that is, in 2020, his bone-deep desire to get off his rocket ship and reacquaint himself with stillness, with just sitting on the couch for a minute—“but I never found the crease in that time! I never slowed down. I never disappeared from view. But this year, in LA, I feel like I have in a great way.”

On the occasions that he did pop up, the world took notice. The first time, in January, was in an Apple TV+ ad—where he experiences FOMO watching all his contemporaries star in hit Apple shows and films. The ad is charming, knowing, and cuts devilishly close to the old anxiousness I’d encountered earlier in his career.

The second time, in April, was when he was spotted filming a Bleu de Chanel commercial in SoHo with Martin Scorsese. When they first started talking about doing the spot together, Scorsese asked Chalamet if he’d ever seen the 1968 Fellini short Toby Dammit. Recalling it, he laughed (no, he hadn’t), but the first jolt of the 80-year-old director’s energetic vision was exhilarating. It didn’t let down during the shoot: “We were in Queens at four in the morning and he was bounding up the subway stairs,” Chalamet said. “It should’ve occurred to me sooner that I try to find something to work on with him. Yes, it’s a perfume ad, but for me it was an opportunity for an enormous education.” The result is another cunning facsimile of reality in which Chalamet sends up a caricature of himself. “It’s not lost on me that the only things I’ve shot since wrapping Dune,” he said, smiling, “are ads for billion-dollar companies satirizing a version of my life.”

Over the past six years, as Chalamet became famous and then very famous, he sometimes found himself measuring the distance between the real Timothée Chalamet and these varied perceptions of him. The dinner table of Timothée Chalamets. But this was precisely the sort of needle spinning that seemed to have subsided. This summer, it seemed the signal for true north was evident and clear and that the other noise was receding. He couldn’t control how the distortions traveled. He could only control who he was—and he was happy to own it.

Which related to the other time Chalamet popped up in early 2023. This spring, he was spotted on his way to Tito’s Tacos in Culver City. Notable only because the person he was supposedly with was Kylie Jenner, and the photos of each of their SUVs in proximity to the other spun around the world instantly and sparked rumors of a possible pairing.

Chalamet is not naïve about how celebrity culture works. In fact, besides living it every day, he is perhaps the foremost member of the first generation of mega-celebrity who himself was as internet obsessed with his favorite artists as people are with him. Kid Cudi. Leo. Et cetera. He is a product of that fever, in no way above it, and so he understands the desire to get close, to get all the way in. “I can’t say that this stuff doesn’t matter,” he said, “because my intense fandom has led me to where I am.” But he also bristles at the suggestion that he might not be entitled to a wholly private life.

When I told him that this is all a fair and practically inalienable right, but that if he really wanted to be left alone he might not spend time with one of the four most followed people on Instagram, he nodded and chuckled: “This reminds me of that recent South Park episode with the Worldwide Privacy Tour,” he said, referring to a send-up of Harry and Meghan flying around in a private jet and appearing on a talk show to demand: We want privacy! We want privacy! “Sometimes, people are going to be hella confused when you say you’re trying to live a private life.”

After months of dodging rumors, the pair confirmed them by attending a Beyoncé concert together in LA in September, then the US Open men’s singles final together in New York, and otherwise not shying away from being out and about and affectionate together in public. Due to the SAG-AFTRA strike, I couldn’t follow up to ask him what happened to his existential plea for this part of his life to be left offstage, but I imagine he might’ve just protested: “We want privacy! We want privacy!”

That night this summer, roaming around New York, we got back to the place he was staying, and a little before 1 a.m., we really started talking. Chalamet wanted to get into the difference between how he was three years ago versus how he was now—and why.

Three years ago, he said, life was spinning. This was the moment in the cabin in the woods in Woodstock. He felt quite alone with his budding fame; literally isolated, with no one around who could really understand what was happening to him. It was like being the first one to hit puberty. He’d been “pedestaled,” he said. He did not know how he was meant to live. He did not know how a person, a person in his lonely cabin, was meant to be.

On Dune: Part One, he’d attached himself to the older men on set, men who were more like uncles than equals, like Josh Brolin, Jason Momoa, and Oscar Isaac. “I feel like for a while there, it was really just older people in the room around me,” he said. “People I love but just, generationally above. And there was a moment when I—I don’t want this to come across wrong, but I felt like I was without peers.” Whereas on Part Two, he was with his contemporaries. Other actors who understood as well as—if not better than—he does, he said, how to balance the improbable fame with the life’s desire to act well. There was Zendaya. Austin Butler. Florence Pugh. And even Tom Holland, who dates Zendaya and would visit the set.

“It was so incredibly valuable to spend so much time with Zendaya and her assistant, Darnell, and when Tom would come to set too,” he said. “They’re level. They’re good Hollywood. They’re good-energy Hollywood. And then Austin and Florence. I feel like I’m creating a community for myself of people who care about the right things.”

“In Part One,” Villeneuve said, “Timothée was a little puppy with big dogs. The younger actor with the older mentors. In Part Two, he was with friends.”

“Look at Zendaya,” Chalamet said. “Just how much she’s able to achieve while also sort of letting everything roll off her back is mega-inspiring. She’s just doing.”

Here now was his class. The people his age who’d joined him in his strange circumstances, but who’d seemingly figured it out, whom he could look up to. It brought him peace. It gave him the comfort, the fellowship, the confidence, the inspiration, and the competitive motivation to do what he needed to hold onto what was worth holding onto and move on from the rest. It was time.

“At 24, I could have been content with the way I was doing things,” he said. “But that period of being stuck or stopped ended up being tremendously beneficial. It wasn’t just being isolated. It was actually a place to sprout from. And to bring more tenacity.”

It came up again and again from those I spoke to who’d come in contact with Chalamet these past three years. Here was this actor who had been elevated in such a way that he might’ve come to believe that his immense talent was enough, that his personhood alone was worth strangers’ obsession, that he inherently deserved the center of the frame. Instead, those people who knew him well said, he insisted on bringing even more effort, as though compulsively resistant to resting on his laurels. Not me—every rehearsal, every take, every interaction seemed to say. Let other people take this for granted.

“It’s this mix of challenging yourself and trying new things and venturing into new terrain—and so there’s that evolution,” producer Jeremy Kleiner said. “But there’s also a center—there’s a moral center, an aesthetic center. Whenever we spend time with him, it’s as it was, but it’s different. And you feel that mix of continuity and evolution—”

Yes, that was it exactly. Precisely the sensation of tracing my time with Chalamet from Chapter One to Chapter Two to Chapter Three. The way in which time passes, change occurs, but the center holds. That’s how you keep your mind, body, career, reputation, and integrity as an artist intact while still welcoming the rest—somehow performing the necessary surgery to shed that which needed shedding, while taking care to preserve it.

The efforts to push higher in his work dovetailed with the efforts to push ahead in his personal life. In both cases, the antagonist was the status quo—even if the status quo was much lauded and much loved. It was all part of growing up, of actively electing to evolve into the next version of himself. Of adding new versions of himself to that dinner table, or perhaps just asking some of those versions to head home for good. “When I was sitting in my grandma’s hospital room at Mount Sinai, and I knew I had two weeks left swimming in a chocolate tank to go back to, I was like, Wow, I’ve really gotta start putting some caissons into the earth or I’m going to be in trouble. I have no real solid footing to land after all this to spring forth from again. This is why people who turn 27 and refuse to start pulling the handbrake end up dying. It’s the last gasps of your youth hitting a wall. Your body is actually adultifying.”

Chalamet had asked me if he seemed calmer than when we were in the woods together three years ago—and the difference this summer was palpable. He had, it seemed, passed through some rough air but found clearer skies. He’d taken his ship higher. Leveled up. Things were simpler there. “Yes,” he said. “It had to become simpler in order for it to become really complicated again. And I hope that when I do this next movie, and you talk to me at the end of it, I’ll be in ruins.”

He had to change something to get out of a temporary storm. As a human and as an artist. He started treating his acting even more seriously. Embracing being a leading man. Training like he’d never trained before. He ditched his apartment in New York. Bought a house in LA. Started spending time with whom he pleased. But what happens when you eschew the things that made your career what it’s become? What happens when you deliberately defy the moves that led you where you’d always wanted to go, and try something altogether different? It was a risk. But it made perfect sense. It happens. Your family members start to die. Your elders get replaced by your peers. You pack up your life and plant roots elsewhere. You put down the instrument that made you known and pick up another one instead. You plug it in. Do you hear that? That’s the buzz of something new. Wait till you hear what it sounds like when you strum.

Daniel Riley is GQ’s global content development director.

A version of this story originally appeared in the November 2023 issue of GQ with the title “Timothée Chalamet Goes Electric”

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