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babyflorencee · 2 months ago

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Midnights In Manhattan

Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader

Since he was the second most voted for in the poll, here’s a little story for those who wanted one about him.

***

It was almost midnight in Manhattan, and the city hummed like a lullaby. Cars whispered down 5th Avenue. Someone’s jazz record bled through the thin walls next door. In Y/n’s bedroom—four floors up in a crooked pre-war walk-up—her window was cracked open just enough to let in the June air and the scent of cigarettes from the alley below.

She heard the creaking of the fire escape. But she didn’t flinch, because she knew that sound like the thrum of her own heartbeat.

A second later, a shadow climbed into her window. Skinny jeans, hoodie, messy brown curls that clung to his forehead from the summer sweat and maybe something else—tears, maybe.

"Timothée?" she whispered, sitting up in her bed, her silk sheets slipping off one shoulder like a scene from a movie they weren’t allowed to be in.

He didn’t say anything.

Just let the screen door squeal as he pushed it open, stepping into her little bedroom like he lived there, and collapsing onto her bed. His arms wrapped around her waist without asking. As he buried his face in her stomach, curling into her like a small child, like her body was the only home he had left.

“Timmy…” she whispered, as she ran her fingers through his hair, soft and damp, the way he liked it. “What happened?”

He shook his head.

His breath was hot against her cotton tank top. He smelled like rain, subway metal, and mint gum. She didn’t ask again. Not yet.

He whined, just a little, a sound that cracked her chest. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You don’t need anywhere else,” she whispered. “You have me. You always have me.”

Outside, sirens screamed down the avenue like a warning. But inside, time stopped.

Timothée clung tighter. “I hate that I can’t be with you during the day. I hate your parents. I hate that they think I’m a joke.”

She kissed the top of his head. “They don’t know what love is. They forgot. That’s not our fault.”

“I got rejected again. From that callback I told you about.”

“Oh, baby…”

“I’m tired of wanting something so badly and being told I’m not enough.”

Y/n pulled him up gently so their faces were close, foreheads pressed together in the moonlight like a prayer. “You’re more than enough. You’re everything.”

His lips trembled. “Why do you believe in me so much?”

“Because I saw the way your hands shook when you held that script. Because you cry during sad movies and write poetry on napkins and recite Shakespeare on the L train like you’re in the Globe Theatre. Because you were born for this, Timothée. And because I love you.”

She felt him smile, just a little, against her cheek.

“I love you more,” he whispered, like it hurt.

Then, almost shyly, he climbed into her lap, curling against her like a cat seeking warmth. She let him. Held him. Let his weight crush the air out of her lungs and didn’t complain once.

Outside, the moon hung heavy over the city like it was watching them.

Inside, he fell asleep with his ear over her heart and her fingers tracing the map of his back.

And somewhere between the buzz of streetlights and the sound of sirens in the distance, the girl in love with a boy her parents didn’t approve of decided she’d marry him someday. On a rooftop. Barefoot. With wildflowers in her hair and the whole city below them like a fairytale.

The hours passed like melted sugar, slow and golden. By 3 a.m., the room was filled with soft shadows and his quiet breathing. The kind of stillness that only lives between lovers and secrets.

Y/n lay awake, watching the ceiling and brushing the backs of her fingers over Timothée’s spine like she was painting stars into his skin. He stirred occasionally, mumbling incoherent little things.

But she didn’t answer. She just kissed his temple and held him tighter.

Around 4:17, he woke up—barely—his lashes fluttering like moth wings, and whispered, “Will you still love me if I never make it?”

Y/n didn’t hesitate, she didn't have to. “I’ll love you if you’re just the guy who reads me plays in bed. I’ll love you if you become a legend. I’ll love you if you work at the record store forever and never leave the city.”

He looked up at her then, his eyes glassy and boyish, and smiled so small it nearly broke her.

“That’s the only kind of famous I wanna be,” he said. “The kind that matters to you.”

She laughed, soft and sleepy. “You’re already a star to me.”

They stayed like that—half-tangled in each other, half-awake and whole-hearted—until the sky outside her window began to blush pale pink.

Birds chirped on the fire escape.

Downstairs, the deli opened. A dog barked somewhere far away.

And Timothée reached for her hand beneath the covers like a child afraid of thunder.

“Let’s run away one day,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Let’s leave all the people who don’t understand and go somewhere with big skies and nobody asking what we’re going to be when we grow up.”

She smiled, and placed a kiss to his knuckles. “We’re already everything we need to be.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled her close again and tucked his head into the curve of her neck, like he could crawl inside her ribs and sleep next to her heart.

And outside, the sun rose slowly over Manhattan, but inside, it was still midnight, and always would be—just for them. The hour of secret relationships, fire escapes, and a boy who dreamed too big, and the girl who dared to believe in him anyway.

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet imagines #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet #timothee fanfic #timothée chalamet fanfic #timothée chalamet #Timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee hal chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet smut #timothée chalamet smut #timothée chalamet fluff #Timothee

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crescenthistory · 8 months ago

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you are my favourite silence

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Jessica's lecture and the eventual nightmare-catalysed-reunion, from Paul's tortured, yearning perspective. Based on "in the silence, there is an us".

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: not proofread, angst, hurt/comfort, references to nightmares, intense yearning, descriptions of anxiety and panic, feeling like the world is demanding too much of you, being super in love but not able to say it out loud, cuddling, lady jessica being a c*ckblock/heartbreaker

***

In the face of change, of being pushed into the final phase of growing up, Paul wanted to cling to you like a lifeline. To the gentle rhythm that once existed between him and you, the one he felt becoming more and more unbalanced as the world around dumped expectations on you both. He almost had not noticed it happening at first. You had grown up beside him, a constant presence, and yet now, each time he glanced your way, he was increasingly aware of what could be taken from him. He was only just beginning to grasp how much he cared for you, and the idea that you might feel like you did not belong here, or worse, being shown you do not, made something twist deep inside him.

Sitting beside you in the library, Paul could hear his mother’s words – sharp and pointed, even as he believed they were meant to guide. His whole body felt tense, not because of Jessica’s talk of duty, or the future he would soon shoulder, but because of you. Because he knew what her gaze did to you, how it picked at the part of you that never felt enough. When Jessica moved on to discuss personal relationships, the weight of her underlying meaning came pressing down, and Paul could barely keep his attention on her. His eyes flicked toward you, searching for any sign that her words were cutting too deep. Even when scolded himself, all he could think about is how it would affect you.

He hated this. Hated the way his mother’s eyes would linger on you, as though you were being measured and found wanting. It wasn’t true, but he knew you felt it. He could see it in the way you lowered your head, trying to hide from the sharpness of her tone. His jaw clenched. You were not some distraction, you were his best friend, and that should count for something. You were the reason he could breathe when it all felt either too small or too big.

When the speech was finally over and Jessica left them alone, Paul let out a breath, half-realising he did not listen to a word she said towards the end. The silence between the two of you felt heavy, thicker than it should have been. You should have been able to laugh it off together, snicker at his mother’s dramatics, but he knew you would not do that anymore. He risked a glance at you. His heart sinking at the way you avoided looking back.

“She didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice low, unsure how else to cut through the tension. When you didn’t respond, he moved closer, needing to bridge the growing distance. “She’s just worried. That’s all. My mother –”

“Your mother is always worried,” you cut in sharply, and Paul flinched. The tone in your voice was one you rarely ever used on him, only in your worst moments. He knew what it meant. You were pulling away, not just from the conversation, but from him. He could feel it. He wanted to stop it, wanted to reach out and pull you back to where you belonged, beside him. “Maybe she has a point. I’ve been distracting you. I shouldn’t... I shouldn’t keep coming to you.”

No.

Paul’s chest tightened as you began to move, began to slip from his grasp. Before he could even think, his hands moved on their own, gently but firmly gripping yours, desperate to ground you. “No,” he said aloud, his voice more forceful than he intended. “You haven’t been distracting me. You’ve... you’ve been keeping me sane. It’s not the same thing.”

He didn’t have the words. Not really. Not for what he was trying to say. All he needed was for you to understand, to know how important you were to him, but no words were worthy in the moment. His mother could never see it the way he did, she was too caught up in her visions for his future to realise when the only future he cared about was right in front of his nose. She didn’t understand how all the qualities that could make him a good duke were the ones you brought out of him.

He could see your brows twitch in the way they do when you are holding back tears. “But your mother thinks –”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, and for a brief moment, Paul felt a surge of panic. He blinked, startled by his own admission that he had not realised rang so true for him, but he didn’t let go of your hands. His grip tightened slightly, and he looked at you, willing you to understand all he could not say. “I don’t care what she thinks about the time we spend together,” he continued, trying to keep his voice level. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning, like the world’s pressing in from every side, and you’re just. Alone.”

She doesn’t know you’re the lifeboat.

“Whenever I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t feel that way,” he confessed, his voice raw. He was laying it all out, unsure if he was saying the right things or making things worse, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt like he was pleading a case. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that keeps me steady.”

He saw the way your eyes briefly squeezed shut, the blush still remaining in your cheeks, the slightly quivering curve of your mouth, all that internal struggle on your beautiful face. It tore him apart. You wanted to argue, he could see that, but something held you back. Paul wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. He felt you giving up instead of giving in, as you softly said, “We just need to be more careful.”

Careful. That word grated against his every instinct. Paul didn’t want careful. He wanted you, the way you had always been – close, inseparable.

But then you said, “We can’t keep hiding away in each other’s rooms. We can’t... we can’t keep acting like kids.”

Paul’s heart sank, his body sagging slightly as he was giving up, too. Not on you, on himself, on his situation. He rubbed at his face, trying to shake the helplessness threatening to take over. You were right, but it felt painfully wrong.

“But we’re not acting like kids,” he muttered, trying to keep you from slipping too far away.

“Aren’t we?” you whispered, your voice filled with something that sounded like heartbreak. “We’re literally sneaking into each other’s beds in the middle of the night, Paul. We’re still pretending like nothing’s changed.”

Paul didn’t have a response. Not immediately, too caught up with the ache in his chest as his disturbance turned existential. Why must sharing a close connection with someone, being tethered by someone, be a thing of only childhood? He felt he needed it more and more the older he got. Yet, he knew better than anyone all he had to do and all he had to be, and that it was time to step up to the challenge. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose this, lose you, at least this part of you it felt he had always possessed. The idea that things had to change, that you couldn’t be the way you had always been – it was unbearable.

“Nothing has changed though,” he finally said, aiming for conviction. “Not between us.”

Deep down, Paul knew you were right. Everything had changed, just not in the way you were currently discussing, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He was not ready to face it.

When you stood up to leave, the panic flared again in his chest. He wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to pull you back down beside him. Show you why you had to stay. He did anything but, he could only watch as you walked away, leaving him behind with the oppressive atmosphere of the library. His finger tips lingered on your seat as he clung to your promise: I will see you tomorrow. Even that small promise felt like a lifeline made of plastic.

Paul stared at the spot where you left, the weight of the future settling heavily on his shoulders.

The following weeks, Paul did everything in his power to bury the gnawing unease that twisted inside him. He cherry-picked from his continuing lectures from his mother, trying to keep only the positives and leave out all the doom everyone seemed to hand him these days. The tension that hung between you only worsened in the silence of the castle’s long nights. You had always shared a restlessness after dark, a sort of curse that made sleep seem impossible unless you were together. But after his mother’s warnings about appearances and responsibilities, Paul felt obligated to put distance between you, to keep his emotions in check. At least for as long as you claimed that was what you wanted, too.

God, he hated it.

At first, he tried to do everything right, tried to focus more on his studies, his duties, his pretenses. He could not afford to slip up, not when he was being watched so closely, not when he was meant to prove himself a future Duke. But the more he tried to be the person he was expected to be, the more he felt himself, Paul, not the future duke of House Atreides, unraveling.

Every moment spent apart from you gnawed at him, like a thread slowly being pulled loose from the fabric of his mind. His concentration splintered; during meetings, his eyes trailed to the door, wondering if you would ever walk in, during training, his movements felt sluggish, his mind always wandering to whether you were okay, whether you missed him too.

The longer you kept your distance, the harder it became to focus on anything but you and the looming elephant that was your friendship.

He soaked up every interaction you had like a parched man trying to survive in the desert. Even something as simple as sitting beside you during meals or brushing past you in the hallways felt like a lifeline. He clung to those moments, storing them away like precious memories, replaying them in his mind when he found himself alone. He knew you still saw each other a relatively normal amount, the amount usual friends dedicate to each other – but it was far from enough.

During it all you kept up your facade too well for Paul’s state. It was like you practiced it all when you could not sleep at night, you were polite, composed, like nothing had changed between you. Paul knew you better, of course. He could see through it, see the cracks forming beneath the surface. The bags forming under your eyes, the strain on your smiles, the flickering of your gaze when met by any member of the Atreides family now. You were just as affected by this distance as he was, but you were better at hiding it from everyone but him. It only made him want to reach out more, to break through that wall, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry this alone.

Paul sat beside you at the long wooden table in the dining hall, trying to act as though nothing had changed. The usual hum of formalities and business between his tutors, his mother, and the few remaining nobles blurred into a background buzz. All of it felt irrelevant compared to the tension sitting between you and him. He tried to tell himself the change was not that large, out of all the seats in the room, you were still sat together.

He sneaked a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You were sitting perfectly still, your posture as composed and graceful as you had been trained to be, eyes downcast as you picked at the meal in front of you. On the surface, you looked calm, indifferent even, but Paul could see it so easily. The way your fingers gripped your knife a little too tight, the way your shoulders tensed as if trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. It’s not the same.

Despite his appetite having long since vanished, Paul tried to take a bite of his food. Beside him, you sipped your water, eyes flicking up just once to meet his before darting away again. The briefest connection, but it hit him like a shockwave. He was desperate for more of you, the real you, not this version that was carefully packaged to meet the standards of the room.

A thought ran through his head and before he could compose himself, Paul’s foot nudged yours lightly under the table. A small, almost childlike gesture. His heart raced, wondering if you would acknowledge it, if you would look at him like you used to. When you glanced his way, a flicker of a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, a sign that you were still there, but it withered away fast.

You straightened in your seat, breaking eye contact, your attention turning back to your plate. A clear signal that you couldn’t do this, not here. Not now.

Paul’s stomach twisted, and he gripped his fork tighter, his knuckles white against the silver. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. There had been no distance between you before. You used to laugh together, share inside jokes over dinners like this. You used to sneak glances that said everything without needing words. Now, there was just this unbearable restraint. The longer it stretched on, the more suffocating it became.

He wanted so desperately to just be your best friend again, like when you were younger, when things were simple. When sharing a bed was not plagued by conventions or the expectations of his mother. Back then, it had been about adventure and laughter. Now it was about survival for poor Paul, it was all he needed to secure him. He wanted you to know how much he cared, how much he needed you.

He remained silent.

When night fell, it became unbearable. Alone in his room, Paul felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—the responsibilities, the expectations, the growing distance between the two of you. Sleep evaded him. Each night felt longer than the last, and the silence of the castle, once comforting, now felt suffocating.

He thought of you constantly.

He wondered if you were having nightmares, the way you always did when there were no storms to distract you. You never reacted well to the stillness of nights like this, and Paul knew it. He knew you too well.

Should I go to her?

The thought flickered in his mind more than once, the worry gnawing at him more than usual, but something held him back. His mother’s words still lingered in the air between you, but more importantly your words. You asked for space, even if the reasons felt as tragic to him as they did. He could not risk making things worse, could not risk losing you completely by overstepping. Nevertheless, the longer he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the more unbearable the thought of doing nothing became.

The hours drifted on, whisking away into the night air streaming in through his cracked open window. He had zeroed in on the sound in hopes it could form a lullaby, but to no avail. In the silence of his room, he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Before he could finish thinking, he was up and out of bed, hand on the door. He was fully expecting to open the door and be met with a wall of nothingness, forced to face how truly delerious he was becoming, but the possibility of any other outcome made him throw the door open without hesitation.

His pounding heart all but lit up as he saw you standing in the doorway, almost hidden in the darkness. Surprise was etched onto your features and your hand was half-raised, presumably to knock on the door. A relieved smile made it onto your lips, and Paul briefly wondered whether you were aware, or if it was instinct. He breathed your name as a silent thank you to whatever forces brought you back to his doorstep.

In the half-shadows, you looked haunted, and he immediately stepped to the side to make room for you to step back into his world. He had been waiting for you. Hoping, somehow, that you would come to him, that you still needed him the way he needed you.

You slipped inside quietly, and Paul closed the door behind you, sealing the two of you away from everything – his mother, the expectations, the fear that had been building between you for weeks. His chest tightened as he watched you, taking in the way your shoulders tensed, the way your eyes flicked to his like you weren’t sure if you should be here.

Paul had never been more certain of anything. He needed you here.

As if your muscle memory controlled your actions, you moved toward the bed, and Paul followed hot on your heels, not willing to let you get too far away from him. There were no words, but there didn’t need to be. You both knew what this was.

As he watched you climb into his bed, Paul felt something settle in his chest, something that had been fraying ever since the distance had started growing between you. He slid in beside you, immediately wrapping his arm as tightly around your waist as viable and pulling you close.

The quiet of his room that had just felt so suffocating now felt like a refuge. You were his anchor, his constant. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside didn’t feel so heavy.

He heard your breathing slow as you nestled against him, your head resting on his chest. Without any real thought behind the action, he buried his nose in your hair and breathed you in, feeling every part of his body that was touching yours. He could feel the tremors in your body start to fade, and with them, the knot of worry that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside him began to loosen.

“Are you okay?” Paul whispered, his voice soft, almost afraid of shattering the moment.

You nodded against him, but Paul could feel the weakness in the movement, could feel the words you did not say. In response he held you tighter, his thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it almost didn’t reach his own ears. He had not realized how much he needed to say it until the words were out. “I wanted to come to you, but—” He trailed off, guilt wracking his mind while trying to somehow silence yours. His hand began to trace up and down your bare arm, needing to feel the warmth of your skin to remind himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I wanted to come sooner.”

Paul didn’t say anything, but his heart ached at the truth in your words. You had wanted to come sooner, but something had kept you back. The same thing that had kept him pacing his room, wondering if he should break the unspoken rules and go to you. Although he had always known, being told that the distance was killing you too felt oddly good.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence between you now felt different, like the quiet after a storm, when the air is charged but peaceful. Paul’s hand drifted up to gently stroke your hair, the motion instinctual, as his other hand held your waist. It was one of the most intimate embraces you had had, and it felt so right, to the point where he did not even question it. He wanted to offer you more than comfort, more than just a place to escape your nightmares. He wanted to give you the world, guaranteed safety. Not just a reprieve or a shelter, but a true home, a good life. But the words weren’t there yet. He didn’t know how to say the way he cared for you, that it was more than just… caring. That you were the only person who had ever made him feel like everything might be okay.

Instead, he whispered, “I’ll always be here. I swear it.” It was close enough for now.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim candlelight, burning low. For a moment, Paul’s breath caught in his throat. He saw everything in that look – your fear, your doubt, your hope. Your care. He craved to kiss you, to close the distance that still felt like it hung between you. Instead, he pressed his lips to the top of your head, a tender, quiet gesture that said everything he couldn’t yet.

Neither of you spoke after that. You simply held each other, the world outside disappearing as you both drifted into a peaceful sleep. Paul finally felt safe.

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tttchalamettt · 1 year ago

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Pretty Boy

Summary: Reader makes Timmy use his words to ask for what he wants. Content Warnings: Smut (p in v), sub!Timmy/dom!reader, extremely short. Word count: 460

A tiny whine escaped his throat as I kissed around the sweet spot on his neck. I was being particularly wicked tonight, avoiding all the spots I knew he needed me most.

“Please…” he whimpered.

“Please what?” I purred, flicking my tongue over the sensitive spot on his neck.

“Please,” he tried again. He didn’t like to beg. Thought it made him sound less masculine. I, however, loved hearing his little whimpers and pleas; the cute little noises he made when he needed me so much that he just couldn’t contain it anymore.

“Tell me what you want,” I coaxed, my hands roaming his chest.

“Want youuu,” he whined, his hands running down the curves of my body and finally resting on my hips.

“I’m right here, baby,” I replied innocently, gently biting the spot between his neck and his shoulder and then soothing it with my tongue. He squirmed beneath me, uncomfortably needy.

“Please, (Y/N).”

“I can’t read your mind,” I said. One of my hands drifted up into his beautiful curls. I tugged a little; he always loved that. “I’ll be happy to give you whatever you want. You just have to tell me, baby.”

He let out another frustrated whimper. I could feel his hardness against me. He bit his bottom lip as if it were the only thing holding the words in. I brushed a rogue curl off his forehead, taking his face in my hands and looking deeply into his eyes.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

“I want you to ride me!” he finally burst. “Want you to ride me and call me your pretty boy and let me cum inside you. Please, (Y/N)!”

I smiled, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

I pulled his cock out from his boxers and descended on him in an instant, more than happy to give him exactly what he wanted. His head dropped back onto the pillow and he let out a sigh of relief. I set a slow pace, leaning over him. He let out another little moan.

His hands gripped my hips as I began to move faster. I could tell he was trying not to buck up into me and fuck me himself; he wanted me to do it.

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” I asked.

“So fucking good,” he replied, another moan escaping his lips. “Fuck,” he groaned as I clenched around him. “Gonna cum, (Y/N).”

“Cum inside me,” I whispered in his ear. I felt him explode, the feeling of his hot cum pushing me over the edge.

“Thank you,” he whimpered, his eyes glazed over in post-orgasmic bliss.

I smirked, running my fingers through his hair again. “Any time, pretty boy.”

#timothee chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothee #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x yn #timothee chalamet x y/n #timothee x you #timothee x yn #timothee x y/n #timothee imagine #reader insert #timothee fic #timothee smut #timothee chalamet smut #timothee fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee chamalet

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tetragonia · 1 year ago

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spideysbruh · 1 year ago

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announcement of all announcements

liked by y/n, ayoedebiri and 3,166,928 others

tchalamet my angel girl🩷

view all 102,172 comments

rachelzegler im gonna cry yall are too cute

liked by tchalamet and y/n

timmyswonka my favorite married couple

coolgirlyn I'm gonna kms he loves her so much🥺🫶🫶

y/n i love you my beautiful boy

tchalamet liked

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh, rachelzegler and 872,288 others

y/n my perfect boy 🫶

view all 87,267 comments

ynsdelicate they've been in that honeymoon phase for so long all the haters are maddd !!!

sabxyn no fr like they've been married for what, three years now ?? and they still act the same, if anything they're even more in love !!!!

tchalamet I love you my beautiful wife

y/n liked

rollercoasteryn BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BOYYY 🗣🗣🎶

ynsheadphones they're so classic (but modern) old hollywood celebs I swear

timmyxyn what ? 😭

modernyn I love how even their comments on each other's posts match LOL

@popcrave just tweeted- BREAKING: a source close to the couple have revealed that Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n are expecting a baby that will be due in several months! Sounds like congratulations are in order for the happy couple!!

@ynscurtains replied- sooo happy for them if true but damn you're just revealing all this against their will...

@timolaurie replied- yk there's a lil thing called privacy, right?

@timmyxyn replied- I hope they sue yall im so fr

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- ✨️

liked by tchalamet, sabrinacarpenter and 3,726,277 others

y/n Golden Globes ✨️🩷📸

view all 132,827 comments

tsgf brooo she's def pregnant lmaooo

lacyyn why can't any of these comments mind their business I swearrr

ynslipgloss the way timothée was like always right by her the whole night 🥺🫶🫶🫶

timotheepaul BROOO I NOTICED THAT TOO he seemed so protective tonight

lacyyn well he's gotta protect her and their child LMAO

ryanszest the dress... so obvious that she's pregnant now fr

florencepugh so beautiful !!

y/n liked

lavenderyn timmys hands were always on her waist or holding hers im gonna cry

liked by y/n, zendaya and 3,754,544 others

tchalamet the sun rises and sets with you

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zestyyn BRO 😭😭😭

spideyyn that's fr the mother of his child

amoebayn the 'heat' reference 🥺😔

lauriesvest what does it mean I'm slow

amoebayn basically that she's like the center of his world, she means everything to him

goodgirlyn CRYING

y/n what did I do to deserve you 🥺

tchalamet just being your perfect beautiful self

glistenyn the way all the recent photos are hiding her front side 💀

polaroidtim tbh the second pic DEF looks like they could be hiding a lil belly 😳

liked by tchalamet, florencepugh, rachelzegler and 4,817,277 others

y/n yall are so nosy istg 🙄 (very happy can't wait to meet our baby girl in two months🩷)

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ynssocks NO FUCKING WAYYYY

legendaryyn BROOOOO OMG A GIRLLL 🥺🥺

tchalamet you are going to be the best mom ever

y/n liked

rachelzegler CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR BLESSINGGG

y/n and tchalamet liked

tsgf ungrateful ass omg

ynscurtains stay mad !!!

noodleytim this is going to be the cutest baby ever I swear

sabrinacarpenter so excited for you guys!! I'm literally gonna be an aunt 🙄

y/n liked

timmytimstan she baby trapped him omg

ynsdune huh ??? yall are so weird omg they're literally married

tchalamet just posted a story!

caption- my girls 💕

@y/n just tweeted- my weirdest craving so far has been the hot fritos paired with oreo ice cream... it's yummy i swear 😔

@realchalamet replied- it lowkey kind of is...

@y/n liked

@snowyyn replied- man what the hell

@medallionyn replied- she's so weird I love her

liked by y/n, tomholland2013 and 8,976,577 others

tchalamet any day now 😳 I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else.

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zendaya yall are gonna be the best parents I swear

y/n 😳😳🤭🩷🩷🩷😘

tchalamet liked

y/n just posted a story!

caption- the progress pics 😭😭💔 can't believe im almost done.

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y/n our daughter arrived a few days ago early in the morning. she's perfect. thank you to everyone who wished us well!

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zendaya !!!! so happy for you two 😭🫶💕 imma spoil her soooo much

liked by y/n

hallebailey congratulations my girl !! 🥰

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tchalamet my wife is a superhero. thank you y/n for giving us our little girl and making me a dad. I know it wasn't easy, but you did it with such grace and beauty. I love you and our little family. you can squeeze my hand as hard as you need to forever and ever.

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yntimstan "YOU CAN SQUEEZE MY HAND AS HARD AS YOU NEED TO"😭😭😭💕💕💕💕🫶🫶🫶🫶

dunesarrakis WHATS HER NAMEEEE

goldenyn CRYINGGG

tomholland2013 congratulations mates !!

rachelzegler so happy for yall 🫶🫶

y/n when is auntie rachel gonna meet her niece

tchalamet just posted a story!

#timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee imagine #timothee x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet au #timothee chalamet social media au #timothee chalamet x you #timothée imagine #timothée x reader #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee fanfic #timothee

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keisha-knell · 1 month ago

Text

Timothée at the New York knicks game.

How’s he look cute looking like a lost puppy too🥹

#timothée chalamet #chalamet #timothee #timothee chalamet #new york knicks #basketball #precious boy

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roxygen22 · 5 months ago

Note

bf timothee gets pissed and jealous bc yn is interacting w another guy before realizing that either he has a s/o, hes gay, or wtv you want

Jealous

"Who was that?" Timothée growled as he returned with your drinks, jutting his sharp chin toward the guy you were just speaking with while he stepped away. You and he had just started a few months prior, so this was his first company holiday party as your plus one.

You turned to see who he was glaring at. "Oh, that's Mark. We've worked together for a long time. He is one of our contract attorneys." As if he heard you speak his name, Mark turned and caught you looking. He smiled and sheepishly waved. You blushed with embarrassment and ducked your head before turning back to Timothée.

"He knows how to make you laugh," he said in a flat, gravelly tone.

"Oh, he's effectively the office clown. Mark does great work, but he doesn't pass up the opportunity to make people laugh. He has the worst dad jokes that you can't help but laugh and shake your head at. I enjoy it when he gets assigned to my contracts. He keeps things light."

Timothée shifted uncomfortably in his chair, arms crossed and glowering across the room. He almost looked like he was pouting. Is he jealous? you thought to yourself. You had never seen him behave like this before.

Suddenly, Timothée jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "Want to dance?"

You hesitated briefly as your brain caught up to his sudden change in demeanor. "Of course," you replied, taking his hand to let him lead you to the dance floor. Light jazz music filled the air from the stage band at the front of the room. Perfect for slow dancing.

You and he swayed beneath the twinkling lights on the dimly let floor. He rested his forehead against yours, humming softly to the tune, eyes focused on you and you alone, until you glided past Mark. A fire lit his eyes as his soft gaze shifted to a cold hard stare at the other man. Timothée lowered his hand to the small of your back and pulled you even closer.

On one hand, you were not a piece of meat to be fought over in a one-sided competition, as you were not Mark's type, nor was he yours; however, you were surprised to find the possessiveness mildly titillating on a primordial level. You lifted your hand from Timothée's shoulder to his cheek to gently pull his focus back to you.

His gaze softened once again. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," you returned. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, uh," Timothée stammered. "I just got a little distracted."

"Uh-huh," you replied with a smirk.

"Look up!" Your head swiveled to the side when you heard one of your nearby coworkers whisper yell, pointing to the ceiling. You and Timothée followed her gaze up to the mistletoe near the stage that he had managed to dance you under. He lowered his eyes to you and grinned so hard that you couldn't help but return. Given that you were in a room full of coworkers now staring at the two of you, you expected a cute, chaste kiss.

In an instant, you were staring at the ceiling again because Timothée had dipped you down and planted a forceful kiss on your lips. In shock you parted them, which only encouraged him to deepen the kiss further. You felt the blood rush to your face - in part due to gravity, but mainly from the embarrassment of hearing your workmates whooping and cheering all around you.

When Timothée pulled you back to your feet, your head whirled. You focused on him just in time to see him flash a smug look over at Mark. Mortified, you angrily growled through your teeth and stomped off through the side door by the stage. Timothée hung back for a moment in surprise, arms out around the void where you once stood until he regained his wits and chased after you.

"[Y/N], I-"

You spun on the balls of your feet to face him. He shrank back at the evident anger on your face, something he had not yet been subjected to in your time together.

"What was that?!" you yelled. "Don't you think that was a little EXTRA for a work party?"

"I just, I-"

You wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. "You are just jealous. Timothée, Mark is GAY. And happily married at that. You have nothing to worry about. But maybe I do, if you feel like you can't trust me and feel the need to strut about like...like a damn peacock to defend your territory."

"I- he-?"

"Yes, Timothée. He is gay. I am definitely not his type, nor is he mine."

"Oh." His shoulders fell as he stared at the ground, realizing that he was out of line.

"Timothée, YOU are my type. I love YOU and only you. Ok?"

He lifted his head rapidly, mouth agape. "You love me?"

"Yes. I know I haven't said it out loud until just now, as this is all still so new. Maybe if I had, it would have prevented this little...," you paused, unable to find the right word as you gestured between Timothée and the event venue. "Display."

"I love you, too," he all but whispered. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand on his chest. His heart beat wildly beneath your fingertips.

"Yes, but you don't own me, Timothée." He nodded and placed his hand over yours. "I need you to trust that I am not going to let myself get swept away by some cute guy at work."

"Cute?!" He bristled and then cleared his throat to keep the green-eyed monster at bay. "I suppose he is objectively good looking," he muttered.

You stifled a laugh. "But not as cute as you, my love."

Timothée half-smiled. "Love. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that word."

You patted his chest. "Now that it's out in the open, you'll be hearing it a lot. Now come on, let's get back inside out of the cold."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

@croatianprincess @bluizh @groovy-lady @pmak2002

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