#timothee hal chalamet

[babyflorencee]

Books, pillow talks, and an attention-craving boy

Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader

I was engrossed in 'If We Were Villains," by M. L. Rio, when I heard the door to mine and my boyfriend, Timothée's shared bedroom creak open—just enough for him to peak in. "Hi love," he chimed, entering the room and settling down beside me.

Despite knowing that Tim was there, my eyes remained glued to the page. "Hey," I murmured, too absorbed in the book to feign enthusiasm.

"What are you reading?" He inquired, shifting to lay down directly on top of me, harshly pressing his face into my stomach.

I awkwardly folded the book so that he could see the cover, prompting him to nod in acknowledgement once he read the title.

For about 20 minutes, Tim tried everything he could to divert my attention away from my book and onto him. But once he realized my unwavering focus on the book, he started to grow bored. With a dramatic sigh, he got up, slamming the door shut.

I flinched a little at the sound, but overall I didn't think too much of it as I continued to read, since I was nearing the end. After I read it from front to back, I closed the book, setting it down on my nightstand, before getting up to go look for Tim.

As I descended the stairs, I noticed an unusual quietness, contrary to Timothée's usual ruckus. Muffled talking reached my ears as I entered the living room, finding Tim asleep on the couch with our old, beaten-up radio softly playing in the background.

I walked over to him, waking him up with a gentle shake; he let out a groan, slowly opening his eyes, before asking, "What do you want?" with a hint of sass.

"I want to cuddle," I whispered, reaching my arms out to him, repeatedly making a grabby hand motion, while giving him my best puppy dog eyes.

"Oh so now you want to give me attention," he said, rolling his eyes and turning away from me.

"Timmy," I whined, sitting beside him and pressing my head into his neck, placing a few light kisses there as a way to convince him to cuddle with me.

When he didn't respond, I pressed my mouth against his ear, whispering, "Please baby," while rubbing small circles on his back.

After a moment of faux contemplation, he smiled, lazily pulling me on top of him, before shifting so that I was under him. Once we both got comfortable, he wrapped his arms around my waist, nuzzling his head into my neck, gently sucking on the skin there, causing me to bite back a moan from the sensation he was giving me. "Goodnight, mon amour," he said with a smirk, momentarily lifting his head up to press a kiss on my forehead before returning his face back to my neck.

"Night night," I sleepily replied, wrapping my arms and legs around him, pulling him as close to me as possible.

[houseofchalamet]

POV: You’re Timmy’s S/O and this is what your camera roll looks like (Part 5):

Bonus: “I’m takin a pic of YOU dis time😈”

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5

[yup-thats-me]

TIMOTHÉE HAL CHALAMET

◇ birdhouse

↳ you and Timmy make a birdhouse

◇ the pianist

↳ timothée hears an angelic voice singing in a seemingly abandoned cathedral. Following the voice, he finds the angle the pianist, the singer

◇ shoe laces

↳ Timothée ties your shoelace for you

◇ no scars to your beautiful

↳ after a dinner with your family made you eat lesser and lesser. Timothée being the protective and supportive boyfriend he is, he has to take the matter in his own hands

◇ notice me

↳ fic based on the song Notice me by ROLEMODEL and BENEE

◇ hope you're happy, but don't be happier

↳ Timothée did what you thought he'd never ever do. He cheated.

◇ flower fields

↳ Timmy takes you to a flower field where you make him a flower crown

◇ attention

↳ Timothée hasn't paid any attention to you all day. You decide it's time to teach him a lesson

◇ movies and cuddles

↳ Timothée being clingy after reader comes home from a day out with Saorise and Zendaya

◇ valentine's with timothee chalamet hc

◇ insta au 1 2 3 4 5 6

[iconsysl]

like if you save/use or credit on twitter @hailsysl

[helens3amstuff]

MY LIFE IS OVER. DHMU EVER AGAIN. IM THROWING MY PHONE AWAY

(timothée and kylie are in a beyoncé concert and it’s the first time we see him proper smoking and it’s next to her but also timmy is my husband and that means that he’s actually cheating on me but i’m delulu and i think that i actually stand a chance with him in the future but now how do i compete to kylie jenner ????)

[lixzey]

Letters

a/n: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION ‼️‼️‼️This has very detailed scenes which may not be suitable for everyone. The last four letters will be the same, so heads up!

warnings: mentions of panic attacks, fighting, mention of a gun, slightly detailed murder, mention of a lot of blood, police officers, ambulances, implied post-traumatic stress disorder, trauma, and foster homes

The Fourteenth Letter

As soon as the plane landed, Timothée quickly made his way off of the plane—he was practically pushing through passengers just so he could make his way out—he had no time left to lose; he needed to find Y/n as soon as possible. Timothée was, without a doubt, scared. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him at the address he had in his hands.

What if he had the wrong address? What if the place was long gone? What if….Timothée couldn’t even bear to think about the worst-case scenario—even if it was possible. What if’s and maybe’s were scattered throughout his mind. Timothée wanted to think positively—that she was alright, safe, and sound at least—but those negative thoughts were inevitable, given the contents of Y/n’s letters.

Timothée sighed, running a shaky hand through his curls as he strolled to the airport’s exit. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he scanned the area for the car his manager had arranged for him, his mind racing with all the possibilities of what could be. 

When he finally spotted his ride, Timothée stepped in and gave the driver the address, urging the driver to drive as fast as he legally could. The driver looked at him skeptically, eyebrows knitted in confusion, but nonetheless did as Timothée asked. As the car weaved through the crowded city streets, Timothée’s phone rang all of a sudden. The young actor sighed, picking up the call.

“Timmy, darling?” His mother’s voice spoke from the other line. “Where are you?” 

“I’m on my way to a friend's,” Timothée lied, staring out of the car window. 

“Oh, alright,” Nicole hummed, though Timothée felt like his mother knew that he was lying. “Anyway, there was a young woman looking for you just fifteen minutes ago.” 

Timothée’s brows knitted in confusion. “Looking for me? Who was it?”

“I didn’t catch her name, but she left a letter.”

Timothée’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of a letter. “A letter?” 

“Yes, a letter,” Nicole confirmed. “Like the last time.”

“The last time?”

“A basket of letters. Did you receive them?” Nicole asked. “I asked Pauline to drop it off at the hotel you were staying at in Paris, since she was going the same way.”

“Oh,” Timothée said, gaping at the realization. The letters were delivered to his childhood home, and his mother asked his sister to drop them off. But who delivered the letters? Was it Y/n? “Who delivered the basket, Mom?” 

“The basket was left on our doorstep, sweetheart,” Nicole replied, sending shivers down Timothée's spine.

It was possible that it was Y/n who delivered the letters, but she sent them. She had mentioned in a letter before that she had used all of her extra money for stamps and such, meaning she had sent them in the mail. How the hell did the letters get compiled? Who the hell sent them to him, if not Y/n? Why the fuck were the letters delivered too damn late?

Finally, the car pulled up to the address he had scribbled on a crumpled piece of paper, snapping Timothée out of his daze. He quickly thanked the driver and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, his eyes scanning the old run-down building with a large signage with Oregon Sweet Angels Children’s Home written in peeling red paint on a fading yellow background.

Timothée took a step closer, peeking through the boarded windows for a sign of Y/n—or maybe a glimpse of what was inside, of old photos hanging on the walls, or if there was anything else left that could lead him to her, as it was obvious that the children’s home was long forgotten. 

The actor sighed as he sat on the steps of the old building, disappointed at the fact that he had traveled forty hours for nothing. Maybe it was stupid of him to assume that he could find her; he had received the letters too late.

Taking a deep breath, Timothée fished the fourteenth letter from his pocket. “Fourteenth, four more left.”

August 15, 2023

Dear Timothée, 

I just had a panic attack. I haven’t had a panic attack this bad since……

I heard a loud, echoing gunshot from outside of my apartment, and I just froze in place. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and couldn’t think. Because a gunshot tossed me back into the system for the remaining years of my childhood—if I could even call that a childhood.

It was the summer before I started high school.

My aunt still treated me like shit, the bare minimum, and all that. CPS still came by every week, making sure I was happy—I wasn’t—and healthy. It was annoying to act like I was okay, that everything was alright, and that there wasn't anything wrong when clearly there was. But who was I to complain? I was the orphan forced to be raised against the only family I had left's will. In everyone else's eyes, I was happy and loved. But not one of them bothered to look behind the damn curtains.

I constantly stayed in my room, making sure the door was locked and my headphones were right beside my bed.

Why, you ask?

It's because my aunt brought home a man, her fiancé; let's call him Leo. 

It's not that I didn't like Leo—he was kind, he always gave me books, and we'd bond over our shared love for literature—but they always fought. It wasn't like normal fights; they would yell, they would scream, and it involved a lot of hitting and breaking things—courtesy of my aunt, I suppose, because she was the only unhinged person I've ever known. Their fights would always revolve around cheating; my aunt constantly accused Leo of cheating when he didn't. He was loyal, even though my aunt wasn't the best pea in the pod. Leo loved her, but my aunt kept on looking past that, always believing things he wasn't even capable of doing.

I was honestly scared that Leo would one day realize that my aunt was not the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Leo was like a second father to me; he said he sees me as his own and that he'd love to adopt me once he and my aunt got married.

But all that never happened. 

I was sitting in my room, reading peacefully, when I heard them fighting again. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to it because their fighting was practically normal at that point, and I was used to it by then. I shook it off to the side and put my headphones on, but before I even got to play the song from my playlist, I heard a loud, deafening echo of a gunshot from the living room downstairs. I quickly got up; my ears were ringing and my vision blurred as I held the doorknob, opening it with shaking hands. I stepped out of my room, slowly creeping down the stairs, peeking over the railings.

The first thing I saw was Leo.

Lying in a pool of his own blood, slowly dying.

I stood there, frozen. The sight of the wound on the left side of his chest, where the bullet pierced through, sucked the air right out of my lungs. The white Persian rug underneath Leo’s pale and lifeless body absorbed the blood, staining it completely and making my mind blank out. All I could hear was the loud firing of the gun, taking Leo’s life in an instant, that easily.

My aunt stood there, the gun still in her shaking hands, as she stared down at her fiancé’s body, realizing what she had just done was not reversible. She didn’t notice me approaching Leo’s body. I wanted to scream at her; I wanted to charge at her and hit her again and again for killing the only person I had left who cared and loved me after I lost everything that I’ve ever known. But I just stood there as tears flowed down my cheeks, feeling hollow and broken inside—the first time I ever felt that way. After what felt like an eternity, my aunt finally looked up at me—the gun against her forehead—and before I could utter a word, she fired the gun, taking her own life just as easily as she took Leo’s.

I fell onto my knees as the ringing of the gunshot replayed again and again in my ears like a fucking merry-go-round, choking out sobs as I stared at the lifeless bodies in front of me. I didn’t know what to do. Again, I wanted to scream and shout, but nothing came out of my throat other than raspy breaths. I knelt there like an idiot for what felt like forever, wondering what I did to fucking deserve this. How the fuck could anyone hurt a little kid? 

Eventually, I grabbed the phone—Leo’s phone—from the coffee table and dialed 911 with my hands shaking. A little while later, the police and ambulances arrived, and immediately one of the RMTs rushed towards me. I was still kneeling in front of Leo’s body, so the RMT wrapped me in her arms and slowly escorted me out to one of the ambulances. I was shaking and sweating while one of the police officers who responded asked me questions about what happened.

I couldn’t.

I couldn’t. 

The scene kept replaying itself again and again. I just kept on crying silently, until the RMT who took me out of the house said it was better to take me to the hospital first to recover from the trauma, and a psychiatrist would be better given what I had to witness. I just sat there until I saw bodies getting loaded into the other two ambulances—Leo and my sorry excuse for an aunt’s bodies—in black body bags. I never, ever expected that I’d see someone I loved die in front of my eyes again. First my parents, then Leo.

I was then whisked away to the nearest hospital. The hospital where I woke up three years prior. I was back to square one, now a literal orphan. No more family. 

I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. I spent a week in the hospital, crying and crying again and again until I ran out of tears. Psychiatrists, therapists, nurses, and doctors all tried to help me open up, but none of them were ever successful.

After my stay at the hospital, I was thrown into foster care—Oregon Sweet Angels Children’s Home—for good this time. I spent my first few days stuck in bed; I didn’t have the energy to mingle with the other kids my age—I was thirteen, turning fourteen in a few months at that time—no one wants a broken girl for a friend, and it’s sure as hell that no one wants to adopt a teen who has nightmares each and every goddamn night.

Now, the trauma’s haunting me. Every fucking time, and this one isn’t all of it.

I’m all alone now. 

My parents died, Leo got murdered, Ava moved out, and Julie’s moved to another state. Who do I have left now, Timmy? Do I have you? I'm scared that everyone I’ll love will leave me. You weren’t even mine to begin with, but I’m still scared to lose you. 

I've been praying again and again for somebody to save me—a knight in shining armor, for all I care—but no one’s been heroic enough. All that I did to try to undo it, all of my pain, and all their excuses. I was a kid, but I wasn't fucking clueless. At eleven, I understood that someone who loves you wouldn't do any of this. All of my past, I tried to erase it. But now I see, would I even change it?

What was I fucking made for?

All my love, 

Y/n

Timothée felt his heart clench, tears pricking his eyes, threatening to fall as he finished reading the fourteenth letter. Y/n had been through so much, so fucking much. She was just a little girl—a little girl who had already gone through hell and back again and again. Timothée felt his stomach twist with guilt, even though it wasn’t his fault.

Or was it?

Had he received all of her letters earlier, Timothée would've reached out to her sooner. She had been so alone and traumatized for years, living through a nightmare that a child should never have to experience. Timothée pressed the letter to his chest, wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks with one hand. He stood up, tucking the letter back in its envelope and putting it back in his pocket. 

Timothée took a deep breath, turning around to take one last look at the children’s home—the place where Y/n spent four years of her life alone—before making his way back to the car that was waiting for him.

He wasn’t going to give up. He was going to find Y/n, he was going to be the hero she desperately needed, and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @zunin-msty @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4ana @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @lilmaymayy @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend

[babyflorencee]

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.

[helens3amstuff]

guys who brings their sister into a date ??? maybe they’re just all a big friend group 🙏🙏🙏🙏 (i’ll believe whatever makes me happy 😖)

[starlightsuffered]

Make Her Finish (Hal)

Info - possessive Hal, horny Hal, discussing waiting till marriage to have sex, high sex drive, Hal being insecure, discussing faking orgasms, Hal not being verbal during sex, knife play, carving initials in skin, cutting away clothing, spitting in mouth, demanding praise, unprotected sex, accusing someone of faking an orgasm, ass slapping, slapping cock on body, injury, licking blood

"It is so good to see you sister," I said smiling.

"Yes, I was gone a long time, but it was well worth it. Edward is the love of my life. You must thank Hal for introducing us," she smiled.

"That's wonderful. I know you were waiting for your wedding night," I said. With how voracious Hal's sex drive was that hadn't been a possibility for us and I was happier for it. My sister had saved herself. "Was it all you dreamed?"

Her expression soured and she looked out the window. The grip on her tea cup tightened.

"He has, he has yet to me make me finish," she said dismally.

"What have you done?" | asked in genuine fascination. Hal never had this issue. I wondered what he would do if I didn't?

"I've been faking," she sighed.

"Faking? How would one even do that?"

"You moan and say you feel good and make your walls contract, it seems to work well," she said sheepishly.

"You need to tell him!" | urged.

"Why?" She asked. "He'll only be upset."

"Or he would try to get better," | offered.

"But, can you get better?"

"Absolutely, I've told Hal everything I like and he's given into my requests. I'm not sure what the monarch would do if he had found l'd faked an orgasm," | chuckled.

Very soon after my last sentence my husband came stalking into the room. I knew the lust filled look in his eyes.

"Do you need me your highness?" | asked immediately.

"Yes!" He said, and dragged me from the room. My sister seemed astonished but Hal was like this. He wasn't used to having his desires ignored. If he wanted something, he went and got it.

Once in his chambers I was thrown against the wall. He was always rough with me and I adored it. He kissed me hard and I gave him the same force. He lifted my skirts and harshly pressed my clit. He swallowed my whimper.

He broke our kiss to get his sword.

"You know, one day you'll empty the crown's treasury with all the dresses of mine you need to replace," ! chuckled. He loved cutting my clothing away instead of dealing with the skirts and lacing.

I could finally breath properly with the corset slit. Sure a little more belly protruded, but Hal often went on and on about my natural form. He was disrobing quickly.

He threw me over his shoulder, landing a smack to my ass. I adored it when he threw me down and was over me in an instant. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen.

He grabbed my jaw, forcing open my mouth. He spat into my mouth, but kept it open so he could speak his words into it.

"Im going to fuck you, and all the the while you will tell me how good I feel," he said darkly into my mouth. I nodded obediently. He let go and I swallowed his saliva.

"Yes my King," I swore. He sheathed himself inside me after slapping both my thighs with my cock.

"Hal, you're so deep," | whined as he began to rut into me at a nearly unimaginable speed. He plunged in and out of my hurriedly. I heard his little grunt of effort and traced his popping veins. He was really pushing himself.

"You're so good at this. You were made for sex my lord, the length and girth of your cock, the speed you always have, the selflessness of the pleasure you provide," | praised him.

"Oh, fuck, your cock is the only thing that could make the Queen swear," I moaned as I writhed. He pulled out with a wet sound and I whined.

"Hal, what's going on?" I asked. He got his dagger. His eyes looked wild, he was in a different mind frame than me obviously. He was all desperation. He didn't even have the foresight to use the handle, instead he gripped the blade of the dagger, and without pushing too hard, carved his initials into my upper thigh. It only stung a little and his possessiveness made it worth it. He threw the dagger away and plunged back into me.

"Oh yes my king I'm yours, brand me if you like," I said bringing his injured hand to me. I let my tongue flick over the two parallel bloody lines. He let out a whimper at the sight.

'So good to me Hal, how do you outdo yourself every time?" | asked and he began to come, his expression bliss filled. I felt my eyes roll back into my head as his cock hit my g spot over and over. My walls clenched him. I sucked on his bloody hand as I came undone, my walls convulsing uncontrollably.

"That was amazing my King, but I do wish you would have talked more, I love your voice. I must ask though, it seemed like you were trying to prove something. Is there something on your mind?" I asked.

"You told your sister you faked an orgasm with me," he said softly.

"I did not!"

"You said you didn't know what l'd do if I knew," he countered.

"That was hypothetical. I've never NEVER had to fake with you. Every one is incredibly real. Her husband wasn't pleasing her and I was in wonder because you always do it perfectly," I said.

"Oh, sorry about your leg then," he said and bent to kiss the spot he'd cut.

"I don't mind," I smirked. "I like being marked as yours."

"I love you," he moaned.

[cassie48]

𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗲𝗻

King Hal x fem reader.

A/N: In which the king isn’t happy with how his wife, the queen is treated.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(

You were chosen to be queen. Hal himself wanted you. But, in some ways, a lot of ways actually, you felt you weren’t meant to be a queen. You were very quiet and innocent, to scared to correct someone or stand up for yourself.

Now, Hal was always there to stand up for you, he was really very protective of you. He threatened men that mocked you, and declared to the people of England that you were his wife, and that they must accept that.

On this particular day, you were sat on a bench in a secluded area of the gardens, hiding from everyone, crying. Earlier that day there had been an incident, leading you to hide away from your husband and those he would send to look for you.

You had been on a stroll, earlier that day. You often went on strolls when Hal would have meetings. On this particular morning, you bumped into a man that served Paul. He was a sort of advisor and helped him stay in order. George, was his name.

You had never really warmed to him, as he constantly made you uncomfortable. He would send you odd looks, when Hal wasn’t looking, sometimes in places that no man but Hal should be looking.

“Sorry George” You said looking at the ground.

“Oh it’s fine your majesty, it’s my fault” he said with a disgusting smirk.

“Do you know where Hal is?” Your sweet voice said, wanting to see your husband.

“He’s busy right now” he told you.

You nodded turning to continue on your walk, when his voice continued.

“I could accompany you, you know” George said not even bothering to address you respectfully.

“Oh, it’s fine, really” you said going to turn.

“Are you sure, I’d like to” he said, clearly wanting you to agree to go with him.

“No really, it would be…improper” you said, with a polite smile, trying to leave.

But, to your shock, he grabbed your upper arm roughly, tracing his finger over your body.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the improper girl” he whispered, his fingers sickly travelling all over you.

“W-What?” You said your voice trembling, pulling back slightly, but it didn’t work.

“The men talk, say that you’ve been quite 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳” he said with a menacing smile.

This was when you lost it, you stared to ball your eyes out, ripping yourself away from his hold, running off to hide in the gardens, crying as you did, that’s where you found the little bench.

(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.O)(O.

At that same time, Paul was leaving his meeting room, going to see you in your chambers. This was a daily routine for him, he truly loved him.

But a scowl made its way on his face when you weren’t there. “Where is the queen?” He yelled at the servants in the room.

“We, aren’t sure, your majesty” a man answered staring at the ground in fear.

“Is it not your job to take care of her when I’m not?” He yelled rage dripping from his voice as he grew more worried.

“Find her” he demanded with a cold voice.

They all scrambled, running in all directions to search for you, fearing for their lives if they didn’t.

Around an hour later, there was still no sign of you, Hal was getting very impatient. So he went to look for you himself.

He knew your favourite places in the castle and he knew one of which was the gardens, so he made his way there. He had searched almost all the gardens, until her heard a soft crying.

Hal eventually found you on that bench, as soon as he saw you, he was 𝘔𝘢𝘥.

“My love? What’s wrong?” He asked as he sat on the bench too, placing you on his lap.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, continuing to cry loudly into his chest.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

You nodded your head no and hugged onto him tighter, as the tears fell down your face.

“Love, you have to tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it” he said kissing your head.

“It was…g-george” you cried.

“What about 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦?” He said, his face suddenly becoming cold.

“He, he said I was an improper lady! And h-he was touching me Hal” you hiccuped.

Hals phase froze in anger and shock. George was in the room when Hal first threatened everyone about going near his wife. He made it very clear she was to be shown respect. George was one of his most trusted men. 𝘞𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

“I’ll deal with him, this won’t happen again” he said kissing your hand.

You eventually lifted your head from his chest, as he wiped your tears from your cheeks.

“C-Can we go for a walk?” Your gentle voice asked.

“Of course, anything for you” Hal answered lifting her off his lap onto the ground, and taking her hand in his.

They walked the grounds talking about everything and anything, happy to be in each others company.

You hugged his side, yawning, suddenly becoming very tired.

“Do you want to retire” he said, his arm around your waist.

You only nodded in response, and you both headed back to your chambers.

He ordered the maids to run a bath for you, before kissing you softly, telling you he had something to take care of, and he’d be back later.

Around one hour later, you lay in the bath, the bubbles covering your naked body, and your eyes closed, enjoying the heat.

The door swung open to reveal your husband once more, but this time with blood on his hands.

“Hal?” Your little voice squeaked.

“It’s not my blood, I only took care of something that needed to be handled” he said sitting beside you, and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You nodded, your eyes heavy as you leaned into his touch. You yearned to be in bed.

Hal caught onto this, and ordered the maids to help you prepare for bed, and get into your nightdress.

“What did you do to him, George I mean” you whispered, playing with your fingers.

Hal smiled before saying “I taught him a lesson” and giving you a long kiss, and bidding you goodnight.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭,

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯.

A/n

I hope you all enjoyed, I’ve been wanting to write for Hal for some time now so finally I did!!

[ginnysgraffiti]

Hiii. I wanna say I love your works for all of Timmy’s characters. Ive gotten back into my timothee obsession and after reading your fic on what each character tastes like i was thinking maybe what sex is like with each of his characters? Feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to do it just thought I’d shoot my shot!❤️

so touched to see that someone appreciates my stories TT

i really tried my best with this, i hope i didn't leave any grammar mistakes here and there, enjoy! <3

&. LEE

for a while, lee refused to have sex. he was terrified of hurting you.

however, when you reassured him and told him it was completely okay, he let himself lose it completely and follow his instincts.

that's why sex with lee is rough, primal and wet, and you never actually doubted that.

nights passed in his pick-up, in motels where he would let you stay just to have more comfort and mainly a proper bed, at his aunt's house, anything.

sex with lee would be amazing everywhere, and not a time where he would refuse to dirty talk to you in the meanwhile.

he can fuck. over and over. he's like a rabbit. talking about him slowing down or stopping by himself, the thought wouldn't even cross his mind if your voice doesn't beg for it. he's fast. that's it. he's so damn fast, rough and shameless. he isn't used to matching his pace with his partner's or even taking their time with them, so it would take him some time to get used to your preferences or just maintain control.

lee would be sooooo loud. he would whine and grunt and beg. he also loves when you suck his fingers.

he even ties you up and blindfolds you while playing with your clit, thrilling the fact that you're oblivious about his next move.

the first time would probably be in some natural reserves, where he likes to spend most of his nights. he would fuck you hard on the back of his pickup, so the bright and shining stars could be the only witnesses. he would then take you inside, place you on the front seat and cuddle you to sleep on his lap.

he would start with needy and hungry kisses. everywhere. his tattooed hands would overstimulate you well to hear your moans even before starting. it would be the best adventure ever. he would try anything, all in. he would make sure to use his bony finger as best as he can, he would spread your legs like no one else and start with the damage. the real damage. because once he has the green light (and he always wants your permission) he won't stop. he will destroy you in any way possible. then, he would gradually slow down, return to use his fingers and feel you closer and closer.

he would watch hypnotized as milky fluid, both his cum and yours, leaks from inside of you. he would worship you as his most precious treasure.

&. HAL

do we seriously need to read how it would be to have sex with hal to imagine it?

there's not even the need to say anything, he's already on top of you.

hal is absolutely vocal, desperate groans, loud curses that never leave his mouth.

his mouth is always, always wide open as his pupils roll back.

dom for sure, he's too prideful to be below you, but if you beg enough, maybe he'll let you inside him. he's into fucking you when you're on all fours on the bed, maybe it's a king-thing, but you love it.

he never actually stops when you beg him to, but he absolutely cares about your body after the act.

you're his queen, but when hal is needy you can happily forget about your queen duties. his words, not yours.

he's also into pet play, you're his mutt and he makes it known.

he often enjoys to make you scream his name, moan louder and louder to make sure the messengers, maids or court servants hear you through the door.

making them hear the bed cracking, the slaps he keeps giving you to see your tears softly running down your pale cheeks, the way you lose your breath as he pulls your hair to almost make you swallow his cock.

he's violent, let's say, but he can actually care. really care.

he always adds "my" in front of pet names. my whore, my queen, my sweetheart, my love, my angel.

his kinks include cock worship, absolutely, breeding (we don't need to mention it), power imbalance, exhibition, humiliation (giving, of course), sadism (uhm...).

you never actually discovered how far his sadism can really go, and that scares you a little bit, hearing the servants' opinions or stories about it.

you know he's capable of anything, anything.

however, he makes sure, every single night, to massage you properly during the aftermath, kissing softly every inch of your inner tights while his finger tips play with your nipples.

&. LAURIE

laurie is a softie big cuddly boyyyy.

he waited so long for you to tell him you loved him before he made any sexual advances. he wanted it to be purely making love; not having sex.

he always will treat you first, you're his everything.

he would always clean you first, massage you first, check you out before even looking at himself.

not the most vocal, but definitely not silent. laurie prefers to let out soft moans and quiet praises rather than being vocal and over the top.

he would treat you more like a best friend in public, gently stealing you cheek kisses or holding your fingers under the table. he would eventually tease your inner thighs when -absolutely rarely- he would feel like doing it.

he's a sweet boy, the most intense he gets is probably the occasional slap on the ass when you look or sound too good.

laurie loves your lipsticks. he knows every single one you own and how every single one tastes. when they have a more visible colour and you leave kiss marks on his neck, he would surely refuse to remove them. also, he's into asking you to leave kisses on his shirts.

he's a romantic boy, come on.

during sex, he would always hold your hands. always, never letting go, holding onto you as if you were his only lifeline.

&. ELIO

elio is just like lee, absolutely vocal and completely down for you being on top.

he just lives for that shit, being submissive and guiding your hips as you take complete control.

sex with him would be difficult, because mafalda would always check the sheets and or his night underwear, and you know that elio needs to be careful. however, he's absolutely good and skilled at letting you enter his room late at night.

at the same time, during sex, he would worry often about noises and bed cracks.

in fact, he's totally whiney and whimpery, you have to kiss him to swallow his drawn out moans and don't let him lose control.

as written before, elio is obsessed with just going dumb, he wants you to control him, make decisions for him and use him whenever you want. he's definitely into being your pet, just being a complete boy toy for your use.

you don't always understand the difference whenever he wants you to take the lead or brutally use him, but again, it's clear that he wishes for both.

he loves receiving head, and thinks you're magic the way you work his length when he literally begs for it.

would cry often during sex just from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, always begging you to hold him through the tears.

he's absolutely insecure and would overthink the aftermath for entire weeks, shyly asking you if you enjoyed it, or if he had hurt you or if you still love him. his head goes completely dumb at your every touch, but he constantly needs you to confirm that that's what you want as well.

after the first night, he would suffer every instant he doesn't get to enjoy with you, so he would furtively touch himself or steal your swimming costume.

&. PAUL

deep down, paul is a lover boy.

he had been having visions about you for ages and he would just wait for you to get pregnant in his visions and wish for it to happen as soon as possible.

at the same time, paul isn't a very sexual person, but he enjoys pleasing you whenever you ask him.

during sex, he would always go slow and hold you the whole way through, being as gentle as he can be even when you ask him to move faster. he would eventually lose it as soon as you arch your back, moaning at the friction between your hips.

he often has fantasies about using the voice on you, but he would be way too nervous to tell you about it. in his head, using the voice over you is absolutely arousing.

you soon discovered paul had many kinks, for example calling you mommy (even lee would do that, of course.)

you absolutely adore when he moans, because you can always find a little hint of shame and insecurity, but as soon as you take the lead just to reassure him, his guttural sounds make his whole body throb on top of you.

he would be absolutely careful and use protections, always, except when his visions are too frequent and he would literally kill to get you pregnant, turn you into a mommy and have babies.

you surprisingly discovered that he is down for your cuts or wounds. he often offers to train with you, even if he knows you're so much more experienced than him, but he would just love to lick your fresh blood or your healing wound to feel his tongue fizz.

paul is obsessed when you pull your hair, begging you to make you cum with absolutely no shame.

&. WILLY

sex with willy can be a literal rollercoaster.

he can become extremely needy during sex, and with needy...i mean needy. almost in a very childish way, if we consider that he's impressively incompetent and inexperienced in that field.

once he's inside you, he is shy about it, asking if it's okay if he kisses you deeper or grabs your waist or simple gestures. he always needs to have your permission.

he slowly gains confidence the longer you two are together and the more you are imitate. he would pull you away and just whisper how much he wants you. sometimes, even dirty things, but you never understood if he had a special chocolate to let him gather enough confidence for that.

he can be extremely perv and dirty minded, but he'll never admit it.

he's obsessed with leaving hickeys on you.

he would occasionally start meowing and doing his :] face when you mess with his curls.

if you pull his air while you're on top, taking his cock the best way you can, there will be no return, seriously. he would fuck you all night, and i'm not joking.

willy's got stamina, he really does.

loves to be submissive, there's no need to say it.

just like elio, he would be deadly aroused when you use him like a pet, sometimes he would beg for you to blindfold him or tie his wrists.

in these cases, his wet tongue would do all the work.

loves to smell the sheets after you two had done it, he just loves that smell.

his moans are the sexiest thing ever, but he's more frequent to make small sounds and groans.

when he's on top, willy would use sweet nicknames, tongue twisters or rhymes to sweeten you even more.

if your body hurts he would massage it carefully and give you a special chocolate treat to regain energy.

right after sex, he would be scared to death that you could get pregnant. have mercy, he just doesn't know how it works.

willy is the fastest learner, though.

given that he doesn't know how to start, he willingly accepts all your advice, and knows how to follow them to the letter.

once you give even the smallest instruction, he would just be more and more needy.

[paulsihaya]

the king // the duke

[kteezy997]

how do you think timmy’s different characters (wonka, paul, hal, kyle, lee, elio) would react to you randomly, whenever you feel like it, getting on your knees to suck them off

Wonka: "Oh," narrowing his brows at you, genuinely surprised, "what are you doing?" Realizing, his eyes widen, he checks around to make sure no one can see, and then lets you have your way.

Paul: In a sort of whisper shout, he says, "What the hell are you doing?" He pulls you back up to your feet, saying in hushed tone, “No one should see the Emperor that way. We will save that for later, and you will have the most desired sperm in the universe in your mouth.”

Hal: Watches you with a smirk, "Oh, go on, darling. That's a good Queen: servicing her King at any given moment." He pets your hair like the good girl you are as he ruts his hips.

Kyle; Takes an inhale of his cigarette, doesn't say a word when he blows out the smoke, just grabs a handful of your hair, pulling. He takes an active and rather dominant role in the jerking of your mouth on him.

Elio: A silly grin creeps onto his lips, and he holds onto either side of your head. He relaxes as you take him into your mouth, and he tastes of peach for some reason.

Thanks anon! Should I do more characters?

@gatoenlaciudad @robertpattins0nswh0re

[helens3amstuff]

so are we all going to ignore the fact that kylie said she wants a baby with timothée because she doesn’t want to lose him and he’s soulmate material (my soulmate tho 😡)

[loverangels]

THRONE BOUND; prelude

A UNION. ONE THAT CAN ONLY STRENGTHEN OR WEAKEN THE THRONE.

pairings: king hal x fem!reader

warnings: arranged marriage, death, political insights

a/n: this will be a series from the post I had earlier teased 'the tailor girl' and this is the prologue I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and feedback is very much appreciated!

One

The Will of King Henry IV, First of His Name

To Be Read and Executed Upon the Event of My Passing

In the Name of God, Amen.

I, Henry of Bolingbroke, First of My Name, King of England, Sovereign Lord of the Isles, and Protector of the Realm, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament, that it may be carried out in full accordance with the law of God and the statutes of this kingdom.

First, I commend my soul to the Almighty, trusting in His infinite wisdom to judge me as both king and man. May the weight of my deeds, both noble and cruel, be measured fairly on the scales of eternity.

To my son and heir, Henry of Monmouth, known as Hal, I bequeath the throne, the scepter, and the kingdom of England. May he wear the crown with strength and wisdom, ruling over this land with honor and justice.

To my loyal councilors, who have served me with unwavering loyalty, I entrust the guidance of my son, Henry of Monmouth, in his reign. Let them continue to support him as they did for me, aiding him in the duties of kingship.

To the Church, I dedicate lands and wealth for the care of our souls and the furtherance of God’s will upon this earth. The relationship between crown and church must remain sacred, especially in these tumultuous times.

And lastly, to my son Henry of Monmouth,

I leave a final decree. On the Feast of St. George in the Year 1412, an agreement was forged between this crown and the noble house of Fairmont, sealed by blood and bound by honor. Despite the fall of Lord Alaric Fairmont’s house, despite his descent into debauchery and ruin, the contract between our families remains intact.

You, my son, are bound to marry (name) Fairmont, daughter of Lord Alaric Fairmont. It is a union forged not out of love or whim, but for the stability of this kingdom. Let it be known, that the fall of her family’s house shall not dissolve the contract, for a king’s word, once given, is unbreakable.

You may wish for a different bride, one of higher birth or nobler blood, but the kingdom’s future is tied to this union. Thus, I command you, Hal, my son, to wed (name) Fairmont and unite our houses.

May God bless this union, for the future of our crown and our kingdom.

Signed this day, in the Year of Our Lord 1418, by my own hand,

Henry of Bolingbroke, First of His Name, King of England

The will lay open on the desk like a predator, its contents baring their teeth with every line. Hal’s gaze had been fixed on it for so long that the words had begun to blur, the black ink swimming against the yellowed parchment. His temples throbbed, and yet he could not look away.

The study was cold, despite the fire burning in the massive hearth. The high, arched windows let in shafts of dying sunlight, but the golden rays did nothing to warm the room. The scent of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint tang of smoke from the fireplace, creating an atmosphere both rich and oppressive.

Hal stood at the centre of it all, his figure tense and unyielding. He paced like a caged animal, his boots clicking against the polished floor, the fur lined mantle of his cloak sweeping behind him with each sharp turn.

"Why now?" he muttered to himself, his voice low and venomous. "Why did he have to tether me to this… to her?"

He stopped pacing abruptly and turned toward the desk, where the will waited, silent and damning. His father’s words still echoed in his mind, a relentless specter. You will wed her, Hal. You will honor this contract.

Hal clenched his fists, his nails biting into the leather of his gloves. His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he fought the urge to shout, to lash out at the unfairness of it all.

He could see his father now, clear as day, seated in the very chair that now sat empty behind the desk. He had been a man of iron—cold, unyielding, and immovable. Hal had hated him as much as he had respected him, and now, with the old king dead and buried, that hatred seemed to burn brighter than ever.

"You couldn’t even leave me in peace," Hal spat, his voice rising. He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. The inkpot wobbled precariously, threatening to spill, but Hal barely noticed.

For a moment, he stood still, his chest heaving as he tried to wrestle his emotions back under control. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. But the words on the will remained etched in his mind.

His bethroed.

He knew little of her, only that she was the daughter of a disgraced nobleman—a drunkard and a gambler who had squandered his wealth and reputation. Her name had been little more than a distant whisper in court gossip, a relic of a house that had long since fallen into obscurity.

And now, she was to be his bride.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. What kind of woman would she be? A simpering fool, eager to please? Or worse, a resentful, bitter creature, forced into this union just as he was?

"Henslowe," Hal barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

The older steward, who had been standing quietly in the shadows near the door, stepped forward. His expression was calm, unreadable, as always, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Send for her," Hal commanded, his tone sharp. "Eleanor Fairmont. Summon her to court immediately."

Henslowe nodded, bowing slightly. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Hal hesitated for a moment, his jaw working as he considered his next words. "And have the maids prepare chambers for her. Something… appropriate."

"Of course," Henslowe replied.

"And the tailors," Hal added, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "Have them craft a gown for her. Pink. With lace. Something…" He trailed off, struggling to find the words. "Something worthy of a queen."

The steward bowed again and left the room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Hal turned back to the desk, his hands gripping the edge tightly. The fire crackled behind him, its warmth doing little to soothe the cold knot of anger and resignation in his chest.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the will. His mind raced, filled with thoughts of duty, of legacy, of a future that was no longer his own. He thought of his father, of the weight of the crown, of the woman who was now hurtling toward his castle in a carriage she likely never thought she would see.

The room seemed to grow darker as the sun dipped below the horizon, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. Hal’s reflection shimmered faintly in the polished surface of the desk—a lone figure, surrounded by opulence and burdened by the weight of kingship.

"Damned old man," he muttered under his breath, his voice raw.

And yet, even as the anger boiled within him, there was a flicker of something else—a quiet, unspoken fear.

What kind of queen would she be?

The question lingered in his mind, unanswered, as the fire crackled on.

@deadgirlrin @futuristicmiracleballoon @marvellover98 @evangelinesecondacc @matilde-333 @ilovefamousmen11 @confusionmeisss @sensationalstardust @gwenstacyspiderman @ludarg15 @libralovegood @mdzz1e @neznamstvarno @that-one-heartstopper-nerd @tchalamss @wailingp03ts @red-432 @taliavelazquez1234 @vithmein @urdeftonesgrrrl

(rest that wanted to be tagged I apologise but it wouldn't let me tag you!)

[nino-rox]

HELP!!!!

SYNOPSIS: Finished writing a really nice Timothée Chalamet fic, but I wrote it using elegant language, and now i don't know how to write/transition to smut for it - suggestions appreciated! I genuinely like the story as much as Library + Fascination [Jake] and Addicted [Byeon Woo Seok] [my best written fics], so I'm super nervous.

Wrote a really good Timothee Chalamet story, but I think wrote it so well that I'm scared to write the smut for it WHICH KILLS THE WHOLE POINT because it was a Xmas SMUT fic and now it's become this REALLY BEAUTIFUL WELL BUILT LOVE STORY and I REALLY want them to fuck BUT LIKE I CANNOT it's ACTUALLY so hard because the whole fic i used poetic elegant language not the *let's fuck language* and now i don't know how to transition this into smut BECAUSE IDK HOW TO WRITE ELEGANT SMUT. I ONLY KNOW FILTHY DIRTY SMUT WRITING, and now I'm really sad BECAUSE I WROTE THE STORY SO WELL. So now IDK what to do AND I would REALLY APPRECIATE YOUR HELP any advice is welcome ! Would u guys prefer an sfw version for now and NSFW later when I figure it out, or should I leave the smut for part 2 or like HOW EVEN WHY IS THIS SO HARD SOS . IM GONNA CRY ITS SO GOOD (IN MY OPINION, PLS DONT BE UPSET IF ITS ACTUALLY MID🤣🤣😅😅)

HELP GUYSSSSSSS SOS ! 5800 WORDS TO ONLY END UP NOT BEING ABLE TO WRITE THE ENDING IS MADDDDDDDDD :(