#timothee imagines

He looks over his shoulder at you for a moment and smiles softly when he sees just how sleepily messed up you look. Then his smile grows a little more when he sees the blanket that you hold close to your body.

“Enjoying the view, cara {dear}?” Timothée jokes with a smirk as you break out of whatever trance you seemed to be in. 

“Oh, very…” you joke back, attempting to wiggle your eyebrows but failing miserably as you're still dead tired, making him laugh. 

You sigh as he turns back to the stove and walk over to him, looking over his shoulder at what he’s making. You relax a bit when you see he’s making pancakes and not eggs, since you don’t like the popping sounds when making eggs. You lean your head against his shoulder as you notice two omelets sitting on the counter. 

“And by the way…” he points out as he flips a pancake. “You didn’t scare me, just startled me a little bit, mlle tête endormie {miss sleepy head},” he jokes with you and you roll your eyes. 

“You seemed pretty scared to me,” you tease back as you squeeze yourself into his side, giving his shoulder a little head nudge and making him laugh. 

“What?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

“I was just telling Saoirse the other day that I’m not the only one that does the head nudge thing. She didn’t believe me, but you do it too,” he explains and you laugh, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I only do it to you now that I think about it,” you nonchalantly reply and he chuckles. 

“I personally like our head nudge thing. Shows how we love,” you point out and he nods along. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks seriously and you frown before nodding. 

“You can always tell me your secrets, you know that,” you promise him as you nuzzle your head into his arm a little more, making him chuckle again. 

“I love our little love nudge too,” he admits softly and you grin up at him. 

“Well that’s definitely a good secret,” you agree with him, making him grin too. 

You nudge him again as he switches the spatula into his opposite hand so he can lift his arm and wrap it around your shoulder. He pulls you closer and your arms wrap around his stomach as he leaves a light kiss to your forehead. 

“I was supposed to make breakfast today…” you tell him softly as you yawn and he chuckles. 

“Well, I woke up before you. Didn’t have the heart to wake you after you’d said you hadn’t been sleeping so well,” he informs you with a shrug and your heart bursts even more. 

“You really need to stop spoiling me, T. I may have gotten my heart broken, but I’ll be fine. I don’t need to be spoiled rotten,” you chide him playfully and he rolls his eyes at you. 

“But I like spoiling you. It’s one of my favorite things to do and it’s been a while since I could, so let me have this,” he practically begs and it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“You spoil me every time you come home and when you’re not working,” you point out with a raised eyebrow and he shrugs. 

“So? Like I said, it’s my favorite thing to do, ragazza carina {pretty girl},” he snickers and jumps slightly when you pinch his side, making him chuckle. 

“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, just don’t pinch me again,” he playfully concedes through his laughter as you shake your head with a small smile. 

“You’ll be the death of me one day, T. You really will,” you tease him, shaking your head, but you stop and freeze when you hear one of the locks on your door turn. 

After both pausing, you both look towards the door and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Timothée looks down at you for a moment, asking you a single question with his eyes and you shake your head. 

“I’m not expecting anyone… the only people that have keys are you, me, Paulie and…” you list off, pausing as fear overcomes you. 

Timothée clearly understands why you paused, making his muscles tense ever so slightly. He sets the spatchula down on your marble utensil rest before moving you behind him as he watches the door carefully. You both watch on in apprehension and you just pray that it’s not Malcom that walks in. Soon the door opens and the eldest Chalamet sibling walks into the apartment. She drops her bags and turns around for a moment, calling out to someone outside. Then Zendaya walks in and closes the door behind her. 

“The best Chalamet sibling has arrived with a guest,” Pauline announces herself and Zendaya with a grin as she turns to look at you guys. 

“Geez, what’s got you all tense?” Pauline asks when she sees the way Timothée and you stand. 

Your eyes light up once the fear leaves you and happiness flows over you at the realization that it’s only your friends, but Timothée stays frozen for a moment so you gently reach up, grabbing onto his bicep. You squeeze his arms softly and nuzzle into him as Pauline turns to lock the door. 

“T. It’s okay. It’s just Paulie and Z,” you whisper to him and he blinks before his hardened stare changes to a smile as he lets the tension slip away. 

“Sorry, guys. We thought it might have been Malcom. You, Timmy and I are the only ones besides him that have a key…” you explain as you look at them again with a grin. 

“It’s okay. Understandable after all that’s happened,” Zendaya reassures with a small smile as she and Pauline share a quick look. 

“Anyway! What are you two doing here?” You ask them, now excited as you rush over to hug them. 

“We came to check on you. I have a few days off. Z has to go back tomorrow morning though. She’s only here for the night,” Pauline explains as she gives you a hug and you sigh softly as you melt into her for a moment. 

Pauline was practically your own sister. If you weren’t with Timothée growing up, you were with her. Both the Chalamet siblings meant an incredible amount to you, they were always without a doubt there for you when nobody else was. So a hug from either of them felt like heaven and you would do anything to get one whenever you could. Soon you pull away from the hug with her and move on to hugging Zendaya. 

“Speaking of, how are you doing?” Zendaya gently asks as she pulls away from your hug, but keeps a hold of your arm. 

Both her and Pauline watch your face very intently, trying to get a sense of how you're feeling. They know how it feels to get your heart broken and they have a sad feeling knowing you’ve just gone through one. It’s never fun, but they both know that having people in your corner helps a lot, so they both agreed to be those people for you. Plus, maybe they’d get to play a little matchmaking in the process because lord knows you and Timothée absolutely belong together. 

“Honestly? I’m great. With Timmy and both of you here,” you admit, fully meaning it. You probably would be in your bed right now sobbing and not eating much if they weren’t here. 

You grin which makes the other girls smirk sneakily at each other and they share a subtle look when they see that Timothée wears a matching grin when he sees yours. He comes over and greets them himself before wandering back to your side subconsciously, making the girls share another sneaky look as he wraps an arm around your waist. You smile as he does so before your gaze darkens and you cross your arms. 

“Speaking of Timmy knowing about all of this…” you start, but trail off and Pauline straightens up before freezing in her spot. 

“Okay, okay. I see why you’d be mad…” she starts as she refuses to look at you. 

“Oh, really?” You ask her and she swallows.

“I know. I know. I pinky swore,” she mutters and Timothée gasps. 

“You made her pinky swear not to tell me? We swore never to do that, that we’d tell each other everything,” Timothée asks in shock and you groan, putting your head in your hands. 

“Not the point right now, T. We can talk about this later. I’m talking to your sister right now-” you tell him, but again you get cut off. 

“Look, he forced me, alright? He was going to come either way. You didn’t see how worried he was after your call. He literally was almost in tears. He thought he’d done something to upset you and was going to come find out for himself anyway. I couldn’t consciously let him think that, okay?” Pauline explains as she throws her hands up in surrender, trying to save herself while kind of throwing her baby brother under the bus and he gives her a look that says “shut up,” making her shrug. 

“Oops… that was supposed to be a secret too. My point being, my baby brother here is obviously obsessed over you…” she jokes and you feel Timothée tense up a bit at your side. 

“I’m not obsessed with her,” he scowls, giving his sister even more looks telling her to stop and she giggles as she comes over to you. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay. Can I just get another hug?” she asks, holding her arms open with a small smile. 

You give her a dead stare for a moment, arms still crossed and she almost thinks you might say no. She knows how serious you take your and Timothée’s pinky promises. But you surprise her when you sigh and nod in agreement as you open your own arms for her. She grins and moves forward to hug you once more. 

“He's definitely obsessed with you,” she cheekily whispers out loud enough for Timothée to hear, but before he has a chance to say anything, pulls away from the hug. 

“Oh goodness, is Timmy making breakfast?” she asks as she quickly changes the subject and rushes over to where the bacon sits on a plate. 

Timothée lets go of you and rushes over, slapping her hand and making her drop the bacon. She crosses her arms, giving him a very prominent boo boo lip which makes you and Zendaya laugh at them. 

“Don’t touch it yet. I’m not done and I really don’t feel like making even more than I have to,” Timothée tells her with an annoyed tone and you give him a confused look at his sudden annoyance. 

He walks back into the kitchen, grabs a glass from your cupboard and fills it with some apple juice before placing it down in front of you as you sit at the island. You smile appreciatively as you think about how he must have read your mind because you literally just thought about wanting a drink. 

“Well, he better not burn anything. We just had a very long flight, with a crying baby on board. I don’t want gross, burnt food,” Pauline remarks with a giggle when you give her a look. 

“Oh, no. She has that look… You're in for it now,” Zendaya comments with a small smirk on her face. 

“At least he’s never given me food poisoning… like someone else in this room has…” you goad playfully yet with a hint of protectiveness in your tone. 

“One time! I only gave you bad chicken one time, and you still use it against me!” Pauline cries out as she crosses her arms, giving you a playful glare. 

“Still did it! T has never once gotten me sick with his food,” you reply and she lets out a huff as Zendaya laughs. 

“That’s not fair. You pick him as your favorite to defend every time,” Pauline whines out like a petulant child and you grin. 

“Sorry, Paulie, but you know he’s always come first and always will,” you tell her with a shrug, making Timothée grin now too. 

“Awe, that's so cute. Anyway… how have you two been…? Slept together yet?” Zendaya changes the subject, wiggling her eyebrows at you two in a joking manner. 

Timothée, who was mid flip on a pancake, freezes, letting the pancake drop. You, however, had just lifted the cup of juice that he’d given you and taken a drink, making you choke. You spit it out before coughing violently, which seems to snap Timothée out of his own shock to come check on you. He quickly rushes around the counter and rubs your back until the coughing dies down. Once you’ve calmed back down, you look up at him and see only worry and care written on his face. 

Not wanting to talk after for a moment, you just give him a thumbs up at his silent question of “are you okay?” and when he’s sure you're okay, he gives a firm nod before going back around the counter as you reach for a napkin to wipe your face with. You finally look over at your friends, who wear a slightly disturbed, yet pleased look at your and Timothée’s reactions. 

“What the hell, Z? No. We haven’t, nor will we ever,” you quickly sputter out, eyes on both Pauline and Zendaya, silently begging them to stay quiet. 

“Oh, wait… Timmy, you really haven’t told her?” Pauline asks in a coy tone with a small smirk as she knows what she’s doing. 

You look between the girls again before looking at Timothée and you notice how tense he seems to be. What were your friends hinting at? What was it that made Timothée so tense? You wonder to yourself as you raise an eyebrow, trying to read both your friend's faces as well as Timothée’s. 

“Told me what, exactly?” You ask as you continue to look back and forth at their faces. 

“Told me what?” You repeat your own question when no one says anything, now crossing your arms. 

You jump slightly when Timothée practically slams the spatula back down and you watch as he takes a deep breath as he turns away from your stare. He pretends to be looking though the fridge for a moment and you give the girls a worried look. Zendaya curses quietly, knowing Timothée’s definitely mad at the moment. 

“It's nothing, y/n, don’t worry about it,” Timothée dismisses in a firm, almost cold tone with a shrug and you frown, realizing he used your name. He never does that, it’s always a nickname either in Italian or French. 

Admittedly, he uses Italian more because he likes it more, but he has sprinkled a few in French every once in a while. But it’s always a nickname or a variation of your name or even just something sweet and caring. Never your name, when he uses your name that’s how you know to drop a subject. 

“Timmy…” you whisper as you look at him and he just shakes his head.

You sigh before deciding not to rile him up more. He gives the other girls in the room one last weird look before going back to cooking the last of the breakfast. You give both of the girls a look of your own, practically begging them to tell you what just happened. Although you were in love with Timothée, your best friend whom you told practically (almost…) everything to, Pauline was and is the sister you’ve never had. You two would spill absolutely everything about your life’s to one another, so you knew she wouldn’t hesitate to tell you if something, anything was wrong. 

It stayed quiet for a while and the question bothered you the whole time. Had something happened that he wasn’t telling you? What is he keeping from me? It couldn’t be that he was injured on set. I know about the injury to his shoulder, but what if he’d gotten another and has been hiding it? Is he sick or something? You continue to think as you sit at the counter, a million thoughts rushing through your head. 

Or maybe- did… did Pauline or Zendaya spill about my feelings for him and— you pause and freeze for a moment, giving the girls another begging look, hoping they’ll tell you that it’s not what you’re thinking. 

“We’re not telling you. That’s all Timmy here,” Pauline comments as she grabs another piece of bacon and pats Timothée on the shoulder. 

You again give them another begging look and they just shrug. You then open your mouth to outright plead with them to just tell you. 

"Breakfast is ready,” Timothée announces in a short tone as he finishes plating the food and turns off the burner. 

He grabs a plate in each hand and you grab another before hopping off your chair at the island. You also grab your cup with your other hand before you and Timothée walk over to the table. You set one plate down as Timothée sets the ones he has down and the other girls find a seat. You move to get more plates, but Timothée stops you and motions for you to sit, so you do. Soon he’s walking back to the table and he has the rest of your plates. 

Together you all start to eat and enjoy each other’s company, letting the question be forgotten, not to be brought up again. 

It's been a few hours since breakfast and the earlier conversation had been fully forgotten as you all have been enjoying each other’s time together. You’ve chatted and caught up on each other's lives, Zendaya talked a little bit about the movie she was filming just before Dune 2 and when it comes out. Pauline talked a little bit about the project she was currently working on as well before the conversation moved onto Dune 2. Zendaya and Timothée talked about how much fun they have had on set and how sad they’ll be when it fully comes to a close. You were happy that you all actively ignored the reason they were all here: your breakup, seeing as that was the absolute last thing you wanted to talk about. 

Later the four of you settle into the living room for a movie after deciding to watch one before Zendaya leaves in the morning. You close the blackout window curtains you got for this specific reason as Timothée sets the movie up. When he’s done he comes over and you lift your blanket, letting him get under it. He lifts his arm and you cuddle up to his side before giving him one of the famous nudges that you’d been talking about earlier, making him chuckle softly. You sit curled up next to him all the way through the trailers and are just about to press the play button before a realization stops you. 

“Dang, I forgot my phone. I’ll be back. Don’t you guys dare start the movie without me,” you comment as you push yourself to stand before turning to look at both Timothée and Pauline, who snicker at the memories of when they’d do that to you growing up. 

“We won’t,” Timothée promises with a soft smile and you snort. 

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you tell him and he gasps, throwing a hand up to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. 

“How can you not believe me? I’m the most trustworthy person to you here,” he playfully declares and you giggle, making him smile. 

“Yeah, right… that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Clearly it’s me…” Pauline adds on, making you laugh more when Timothée gives her an offended look. 

“Guys. Guys. Stop fighting. Clearly it’s me,” Zendaya remarks with a smirk and both the siblings gasp. 

“Okay. Y/n, now you have to end this feud. Who is it?” Zendaya asks with a raised eyebrow and everyone looks at you. 

“Well clearly it’s Zendaya,” you joke and she pumps a fist in the air as the other two gasp. 

“I’m joking, I’m joking, I trust all of you equally,” you admit and they all smile. 

“You get no cuddles now…” Timothée playfully tells you with crossed arms and a very cute pout that makes you just want to kiss him. 

“Now I’m going to get my phone. DON’T start the movie without me. Zendaya, watch them, won’t you?” You clearly state as you look at Zendaya, who gives you a thumbs up.

You shake your head, not being able to wipe your grin off your face as you rush back to your room. You look on your bedside table where it should be charging still, but your eyebrows pull together when you don’t see it there. You pause to think of where it could be before pulling your blanket up and shaking it, but nothing falls from it. You then lift your pillow where you sometimes shove it under after checking it in the morning. You smile when you indeed find it sitting there like it’s for the tooth fairy. 

You pick it up and check it real quick, frowning when you see that there’s one call along with like twenty texts. You open it and frown harder when you see all who all the notifications are from: Malcom💕. You quickly shut your phone off and close your eyes while taking a quick deep breath. You decide to just ignore it for now and just go have fun with the people you love just in your living room. 

You drop the phone back on the bed, not caring about anything on it anymore before heading back to the living room. You try to forget about it, but it’s all you can think of. Just as you get close your mind finally forgets about it as you hear whispers coming from the living room. You pause right before turning the corner and listen into the conversation, even though you feel wrong for listening in. 

“Dude, are you an idiot?” Zendaya asks rhetorically and Timothée rolls his eyes. 

“Would you two not do this right now and drop it?” he asks as he crosses his arms, annoyed with his sister and good friend. 

“No, Timmy, we won’t drop this. We’ve both been witnesses to you losing her a hundred times and every time she gets her heart broken or you do. We’re fed up with watching it all,” Pauline seethes, but keeps her voice in a hushed tone and Zendaya nods in agreement. 

“Listen, we’ve seen how heartbroken you get when she gets into a new relationship as well as when those relationships haven’t ended well,” Zendaya states a little more calmly then Pauline had. 

“You think I like seeing the two that I’m closest with be heartbroken?” Pauline asks, almost on the brink of tears herself. 

You know it’s wrong of you to stay here and listen in, but your feet wouldn’t move and secretly you really want to hear what he has to say so you don’t move. Timothée thickly swallows and avoids both girls' eyes, not wanting to face his sister's sadness nor Zendaya’s knowing look, because in the end, he knows they are right. Pauline’s eyes soften once she sees her brother's reaction and she stands to go sit with him for a moment. 

“Timmy, I know you’re really scared to lose her, but we can promise you that won’t happen. We’ve seen you two together. I have more than Z, I’ve seen it since you were thirteen, maybe even longer…” Pauline informs him softly and he looks up at her in shock, making her grin. 

“Yes, you dummy, I’ve known for a long time. That’s when you realized…” Pauline tells him and he gapes at her, not getting any words out. 

“We’ve all known Timmy. We all see it except you two numbskulls, you both are in love, but too afraid of losing the other,” Zendaya points out and your eyes widen. 

You think back over all the years Pauline had tried to tell you things like “he’s in love with you,” “Would you just tell him already, I’m getting bored,” but you never listened. You would always shake your head and tell her that she was crazy. You believed for years that it was always just Pauline seeing what she wanted to see and trying to make it a reality. You never in a million years had the idea that Timothée could ever really share your feelings. He’d dated so many other girls that had you believing you would never be his type and you were always questioning if you were even remotely close to them, so why would he ever see you like that? The next words that come from his mouth, however, will confirm either that he does indeed feel the same way or if you get your heart broken all over again in the span of a week. 

Timothée stays frozen for a few minutes, stuck in his head as he tries to gather his words. Finally after another moment, he shakes his head with a frown. 

“She was just cheated on…” he starts trailing off for a moment as he sits forward, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands close to his lips. 

“If I were to make a move…” he continues, pausing as his sister smiles at him. 

“I wouldn’t do it now. That’s just taking advantage of her sadness and I wouldn’t ever want her believing that,” he cautiously explains his thoughts and pauses again for a moment before looking at his sister again. 

“You guys are right. I do really love her. I’ve never loved anyone like I have and do her, but I can’t and won’t do that to her. She needs the time to grieve and get over this,” he finishes off and Pauline sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. 

“If only you could see how she looks at you, how she talks about you to me and others. How she’s talked about you for so, so many years,” Pauline comments sadly as she frowns. 

She knew where he was coming from, he loved you more than anything and would do absolutely anything for you. She respected that he’d do that, put you first over even himself, but she also knew this was a never ending cycle. She knew he didn’t believe a word anyone else around him would say unless it came from your mouth itself. 

“She’s right, Timmy. Y/n looks at you like you hung the stars, moon and sun for her. She looks at you with only love,” Zendaya adds on, hoping it’d drive the nail in the coffin, but sadly it doesn’t really seem to work. 

“Can we just stop talking about this before she comes back,” he cuts the conversation there and both girls frown, feeling like it’s just hopeless, but they agree nonetheless. 

You stood there frozen in place, eyes wide, every breath that had been in your lungs disappeared. Timothée is in love with you… and there’s no denying it, he’d said it himself… 

You silently panic to yourself for another moment before realizing that they’d start to worry if you’re gone much longer. So you suck in a big breath and quickly pull yourself back up straight. “Act normal, not like you just learned something big. Okay, you’ve got this…” you think as you take your first step. “If I act like I heard nothing, they’ll never know…” you lastly think before fully moving to walk back out. 

To Be Continued…

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You were completely nude and a film of sweat was covering your body. Your back laid against the silky sheets of the mattress, your arms were limp to either side of you, and your eyes focused on the ceiling. You were completely blissed out and enjoying the moment, your whole body bounced with each of his thrusts, oh how your Timmy knew how to love you so perfectly.

Timothée, your boy, was very skilled at what he did. The way his fingers, his tongue, his whole body matched to yours and followed your every reaction—it was pure heaven.

Sex between the two of you was never crazy or wild. Frankly, most of the time it was vanilla and calm, closer to lovemaking than anything else. You had absolutely no complaints, though. The pleasure was never too much or too little. It was always a delicious slow build, time for you to relax and take in every inch of the man you loved. Feeling every inch of his silky cock slowly moving in and out of you, brushing against your walls, there was nothing like it.

He had his annoyances on occasion. Sometimes he felt that he could do better, that this simple lovemaking and slow burn stuff wasn’t enough. No matter how much you reassured him that you loved your sex life, so so much, it never seemed to sway the thought from your boy. So insecure, never believing he’s enough. Baby, let me remind you for the rest of our lives that you are perfect.

He was above you, naked and milky and gleaming. Sweat covered his brow and his bangs, small beads dripping down as he thrust into you. He leant on his elbows, his forearms positioned on either side of your head, and your legs were wrapped around his waist. Oh how he loved this position. The eye contact, the closeness, the intimacy. He was never one for doggy-style or for turning you away from him. He always wanted to see you, to connect with you. It was so much more than just sex.

“Uhn...uhn..uhn..” He grunted softly with each thrust. His eyes fell closed and his eyebrows knitted. He was so fucking hot in moments like these. How he never knew it was beyond you.

“Yeah, baby?” You cooed, lifting one of your hands from the mattress and threading your fingers through his sweaty curls. “Is it good?”

“Fuck, you’re so fucking good.” He swore, barely a gasp escaping his lips. “So ti-i-ooh-ight.” He stumbled over his last word when you clenched your muscles around him.

“Mmm.” You hummed in contentment.

“My god,” He said your name as if it was a sin falling from his lips, over and over, so evil and so delicious. You wished you could swallow every word from his throat.

It wasn’t until he grabbed one of your legs and hiked it further up on his waist did the entire moment change.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!” You shouted, throwing your head back into the mattress. He stopped thrusting his hips, instant concern gracing his face.

“Baby, are you okay?” He whispered, terrified that he had somehow hurt you. You were a gasping mess.

“Am I okay?” You stressed. “That was fucking incredible. Oh wow, Timothée.” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“This?” He snapped his hips forward again, the same way he had before, holding your thigh in place. Once again, a shout escaped your lips.

“Oh! Oh god yes, baby, oh god.” You babbled. “Do that again.”

“Do this again?” This time his eyebrows were raised in amusement when he snapped his hips forward. Tears pricked in your eyes, never having experienced such pleasure before.

“Yes! Yes, please. That. Exactly like that.” You whined.

Your boy, fueled now by pure confidence and bewilderment, reached down and gently rubbed your clit with his thumb. He then snapped his hips forward once more.

“Timothée!” You yelped, feeling your voice crack. You were seconds away from begging, pleading, do something, do anything, when he finally began to thrust again.

Your back arched off of the bed and you gripped onto the sheets, shutting your eyes tightly.

“Baby,” He breathed. “I’m close.” His statement was useless however. You were in your own little world. You didn’t even hear him. Even if you did hear him, there was very little chance you would’ve understood him.

“Oh, just like that- just like- baby, you fuck me so good.” You babbled, gripping now onto your boy’s back for dear life. That milky skin would definitely have some scratch marks on it in the morning.

“Ughhhhh.” He garbled out from deep in his throat, spilling his hot seed into you. The feeling of warmth between your legs and the way he filled you was far too much, and it sent you over the edge.

“Oh, shit!” You all but screamed. Your body convulsed and attempted to match his movements, but you were a sputtering shaking mess. “So good, oh daddy it’s so good.”

Once you regained your vision, you saw a man above you. Face red, eyes wide, sweat dripping down his skin, he was a sight to behold. If you had any strength left you would’ve kissed him.

“Oh, wow.” You gasped, a whine escaping your lips when he pulled out.

“Wow is right. I didn’t think- what was that?” He looked confused as he lied next to you.

“I think you found it.” You replied breathlessly, a giggle on your lips. “Like- it. That spot.”

“Clearly I did something, damn.”

“That was incredible, Timmy. I’ve never- I mean- not like that before. So good.”

“Glad to be of service.” He looked so proud, so smug. The smirk on his lips was evident.

“Don’t go getting cocky, now.” You warned, a smile on your lips as you pecked his. “I’m okay with that sometimes. Just not every time. I love our sex how it is.”

“I love you how you are.” He replied, nudging his nose against yours twice.

“Mmm.” You hummed. “I love how you are too.”

With that, the room went silent. You held each other and caught your breath. After a few minutes, when you were just starting to fall under the veil of sleep, he spoke up.

“What was that whole daddy thing about anyway?”

You froze. Your face turned red. Your heart nearly leapt out of your throat.

“You heard that?”

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ao3 is johnlegere, find my fics there too. requests are open, send one in my ask box. hope you enjoyed :)!

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“I could give you the world. Ask for it, and it’s yours.”

You’ll never forget hearing those words come out of Timothee’s mouth, as both of you sat by the fancy downtown New York jazz bar under hazy, sultry lighting. In your body fight silk dress and bright red lipstick, you didn’t expect to meet anyone important, but yet you met- the Timothee Chalamet.

As a struggling model with few commercial gigs here and there, barely keeping you float and helping you pay rent in your shared model apartment with 7 other models.

You knew he was experienced with romance and sex, casual or serious relationships. A casanova of a sort who everyone would beg for even a glimpse of his attention.

Meanwhile, you were never one for casual hookups, after breaking up amicably with your ex in your smalltown before you moved to the Big Apple once you were scouted by an agency.

He was used to having girls (or even men) throw themselves at him, even for a one night stand or the chance for a relationship, but he found it so surprisingly refreshing that you didn’t seem one bit interested in that, or him at all.

Nonchalant and polite, you nodded along with a poker face as he introduced himself and you shook hands, siping on your martini paid for by another guy long gone from the club. As the night went by, you found lots of common ground in your conversation, giggling and cackling one moment before going deep into philosophical discourse the next.

He shared with you about his acting career, from the actors he’s had the pleasure to work with, sets to travel to, luxurious hotel experiences that his million-dollar salaries and offers on films promise him with. You almost itch with envy when he asks you about your modeling career, honestly sharing you’ve been reaching a dry period as the current trend in looks this season is not much favouring yours.

He shares a silent look of almost pity, but it’s like he can see through you. Seeing your potential, seeing you have that same drive, ambition that you are capable of so much more just like he is.

As the night ended, he asked for your number, and you exchanged as he put his on your phone. (rather second-hand, a former model friend gave it to you before a rich old billionaire bought her several brand new iPhones) Timothee offered you a ride home, offering nothing but a sweet peck on the cheek before he drove off after seeing you enter your front door.

…

It’s been nearly two weeks since you last saw him when he first texted you. Timothee tells you about being close friends with this casting director at Paris Fashion Week, and that the director would like to meet you.

You didn’t want to seem like a thirsty, social-climber gold digger - you didn’t entertain his advances because you saw him as a networking opportunity but he had this invisible pull to you that you couldn’t comprehend.

Sending your numerous thanks, you told him how grateful he was for that and what you could do to return the favour. Your meager salary and the runway pieces given to you last season in place for a proper salary would’ve probably seemed like trash to him, but he responds kindly. He wants to spend some time with you the next time he’s in New York City, and meet up for dinner.

…

The casting director he introduced you to opened up opportunities for you that you didn’t even know were there. Your agent was jumping for joy over the phone over you meeting that casting director.

“Are you serious? He’s the most well-connected casting director at the moment! He has booked you for so many shows and editorials next season - you are going to be the hottest new thing!” Your agent squeals, almost ringingly loud to your ear as you put your phone away from your ears and put it on speakerphone on the counter.

You don’t know what to gift him when you see him in a few weeks because, honest to god-you barely know the guy. Behind his prestigious acting roles and red carpet appearances, you’re just in the process of getting to know him.

He meets you at a rather upscale Italian restaurant not far off from the bar where you first met. You give him some random pastries you baked the night before, some cheesecake bites you took from an online recipe but tweaked slightly.

You expected to be embarrassed by your measly gift compared to the life-changing contact he just gave you.

“I’m just wondering- why did you recommend me to the modeling director? I’m not being ungrateful but - I’m just curious.” You ask as you take a bite of your spaghetti.

“He mentioned he was looking for some new faces and you were the first one I thought of, for no particular reason.” He casually shrugs, before getting into his own meal.

Nodding along, the both of you continue the night with your lively conversation, from how the shows you were in, the people you met to how wrapping up post-production was going for the movie he just finished filming.

The live band switches their slow, contemporary jazz to a more sensual tango tune, and just as you were going to sneak in to pay the bill while he wasn’t paying attention, he asked for a dance.

“Care for a dance?” He reaches his hand out to you suavely, confidently like he had rehearsed this a million times before. Of course he has.

You don’t find it in yourself to refuse. For the first time since you’ve met him, a part of you is not as guarded, almost more open and trusting.

There’s no need to worry whether he would be found by the paparazzi with some “new girl” and that you’d become one of his excursions for the week, only to be thrown away before he moves on to another. Celebrities are seen when they want to be seen, like he tells you with a raised brow. Besides, most of the people in the room are far into retirement, barely the usual teenage fangirls who would swoon at the sight of him.

As he twirls you around for the final song for the night, he provides you a proposition you would be stupid to say no to.

“I was wondering if- you would want to be my sugar baby? I’m not usually one to do these things, but- I just have this urge to look out for you, support you in every desire and whim you have.”

As you turn to face him, you look at him with a puzzled look, too shocked to respond.

“I-I didn’t mean to offend you or make you think I was pitying you-”

“Oh no no, I definitely didn’t get that impression. I was just wondering- why me?” You ask.

“I don’t know- I just want you to experience all that life has to offer. We haven’t known each other for long, but - if you are up to it, I would give you anything you want. I would give you the world, the moon even,  if you asked for it. ”

He’s up front about how he is currently not looking for anything committed. I mean why would he? He was a top Hollywood heartthrob who would have anyone throwing themselves to even have a piece of his time, satisfied with one night stands and hookups because he would be flying red eye to red eye with his jet set lifestyle.

You both draft a written document on the terms of your arrangement - an annual allowance, full access to his industry networks, the amount of time you spend with him whenever you don’t have work, but the last and final term - no falling in love/ romantic entanglements.

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea to both of you as you nod along at his suggestion and sign your name in red ink underneath. But you always know how this ends.

…

He takes you to a luxury department store that very next morning, driven by his driver on a limo, and closes the store for a few hours so you have the attention of every salesperson to your beck and call.

You are having your own Pretty Woman movie moment, your romantic film of your dreams coming true. You feel the heat rise up in your cheeks as you brush your fingers against the fine fabric on the velvet coat hangers, and try your best to ignore the confused yet almost jealous and annoyed facial expressions from the salespersons waiting for you to try things on.

Timothee let you explore for the first while, smiling fondly as you explored through the luxury department store with awe and wonder. You were drawn to a particular Yves Saint Laurent jacket and some Balenciaga jeans, as you hesitantly looked at him to try it on and he excitedly shoved you to the change room.

As you scrutinized yourself in front of the mirror with the charcoal leather jacket and Versace pumps, he comes in with a gleeful grin, with some items he wanted you to try on.

“Sir, there can only be one person in the change room-” The attendant tries to murmur but she’s ignored as Timothee sneaks into the spacious change room and sits down as he watches you examine the suggestions of clothes he wanted you to try.

“I think these colours would look really good on you, Y/N. Would you want to try them on?” He asks almost sultrily, looking back and forth and already picturing them on you.

Who are you to refuse - he clearly has an eye for fashion and he seemed to understand your style and taste already in the duration of your certain arrangement.

The red Givenchy body fitting dress looked stunning on your figure, hugging your curves perfectly with ruched satin intricately weaved on top of leather. When you emerge from behind the curtains, he looks up with dark, hooded eyes and a pleased smirk.

“Stunning as always, Y/N.”

“You say that for everything I’ve tried on.”

You pull him by his grey tie, snickering as you pull him into an all-consuming kiss that turns into an uninterrupted makeout session, not caring for the world about the salesladies who would hear every word, but could not say anything because he did pay for the entire hour to yourselves, no?

He playfully toys with the belt loops of your jeans as he opens his mouth and your tongue slides in to entangle with his. Your newly manicured hands are all over his chest, gently massaging as you moved down to his neck and hear a muffled moan against your ear.

Timothee’s palms brush from your shoulders to your back and stopping briefly over your breasts, fondling with them until he is satisfied with a symphony of your aroused shrieks you fail to hinder in time.

Kissing down his cream, silk dress shirt, fondling with the buttons until you get to his crepe dress pants and tug his boxers down as well in one strike. Rather than embarrassed on this public display of lust, he looks down at you with a confident, smug smirk, browsing his fingers through your silky hair with pride.

First pumping slowly from the tip, drunk off his frustrated and impatient groans, before quickening your pace before your tongue first makes contact and a feral grunt erupts from the bottom of his throat.

Bobbing, choking, slightly gagging and gulping his shaft down your throat, you expertly maneuver his desires from the flush on his cheeks, closed shut eyes and the moans he is emitting as he grips tightly against your scalp until his knuckles turned white.

“You’re too good at this-” He gasps at a particular throb of the back of your throat against his length, your fingers massaging his balls and lightly tickling the top of his dick until he splutters expletives and releases into the velvet of your mouth.

Swallowing eagerly like it was the last thing on earth you could consume, the only liquid that could nourish you, you stared back with fawned innocence as you release him from your warm cavern and slowly stand up, proudly wearing the bruises on your knees like a medal.

As you lean forward to zip up back his pants and pull up his boxes, he tugs you at the collar for a gentler, more delicate kiss, smiling as your teeth slightly clash at how clumsily he is kissing you back, still in a hazy daze from the mind blowing blow job you just gave him and the taste of his sweet release on you.

Leaving hand in hand with your smeared lipstick all over his face and your hands in his with a cheeky grin, he spoiled you to no limit and you left with a minimum of $100,000 spent that afternoon alone - from clothing to limited edition jewelry with only a few hundred pieces in existence.

…

Dinner that night was at a hotel restaurant in an upscale, but trendy part of town where you’d expect to see more urban, cosmopolitan yuppies like you.

The reflection of the new diamond Cartier necklace glimmers against the metal display across from you, as you proudly showed off your neck like a proud swan as he admired how you looked in the piece he chose for you and held your hand close to him as he kissed your knuckles gently.

“You always choose the best pieces for me, Tim. I cannot thank you enough.” You earnestly thank him but he hushes you lightheartedly, his index finger against your plush lips.

“There is no need to thank me, angel. To see you happy and dressed like the goddess you are, that is more than enough for me.” He tilts your chin towards him with a gentle pinch of his fingers, deeply looking into your eyes with a sincere expression.

You peck him briefly on the cheek across the table before your waiters arrive with the food you ordered for the night. Chatting casually about how his memorization of his new script has been going, the casting sessions you’ve been to recently, modeling executives you’ve met and the new book he’s read throughout the night.

To an unknowing outsider, the both of you clearly resemble a long-term committed loving, monogamous relationship, deeply in love. Even the restaurant’s manager mistakenly calls you his wife or the waiters assume you’re his girlfriend when Timothee introduces you to them as he’s a regular at this place. You hide the flush of your cheeks and nod along awkwardly.

…

He orders takeout dessert to be delivered to his apartment later that night, twirling the red wine in his wine glass, watching you bite into one of the matcha macarons from the fancy box he ordered just for you, because he knew it was your favourite.

The twinkle in his eyes was clear as the stars in the sky, even from his top floor Manhattan loft. Some of his curls loosely dangling over his eyes, his eyes dazy with sleep and slightly high off the few puffs he took from the joint you rolled him, and sleepy from the long day you spent on the go together.  

Littering gentle pecks and faint tongue licks all over your face, pressing his palm into your cheekbones as his mouth ghosts over your jaw, brushing over your forehead - just him, his scent, his touch, all over you and leaving his prints in his wake.

Deep in thought, it is soon before he recognizes the daze you’re in as you’re not as receptive to his touches as usual.

“Something on your mind?” He hoarsely whispers against the curve of our neck, blue and purple splotches starting to form.

“Would you consider having sex with me? Or is that not in our agreed terms-” He sits up in alarm with wide eyes and you guiltily grasp for him, fearing you’ve lost him for good.

“Consider? I never wanted to give the impression that our arrangement was for sexual intercourse only. You could have never touched me again and I would still want your company.” He speaks so openly, so candidly and you feel ashamed by how guarded you are.

“Timmy, I sucked you off in a department store dressing room, and you’ve eaten me out more than I can remember. Of course I am down for sex.” Feeling like you’ve misunderstood his intentions, tears starting to form and sting in your eyes.

Reaching forward to wipe away your tears, he hushes you and presses his forehead against yours with his eyes tightly shut.

“I never asked for you to become some high class prostitute or courtesan only for my sexual pleasures, doll. I truly want to indulge in your soul, your intelligence, your beauty, your kindness, your charm - everything.”

“I do not want you to feel pressured to have to reciprocate anything I do for you with your body, you are worth much more than that. Just your time with me is valuable enough that no money can return.”

Still refusing to look into his eyes and nodding along absently as you try to wipe away your tears, he brings you back to him, pressing his lips against yours with a firm resolve before backing away.

“Yet if that is what you want, I will not refuse it. I want to make love to you, not just fuck you and dispose of you the next day. Again, ask for anything and it is yours. I will not refuse you anything. Name a date, and you shall have it.”

Selecting a movie from his vast DVD collection, you both refuse to speak further on this conversation. Laying your head against his arm, tightly embracing his bicep against your nose and fight against the sleepiness washing over you. This is all pretend, you can pretend he is yours and you are his fully, wholly. When no strings attached you to each other than the ghost of what could have been.

..

You are away from him for a few weeks when a string of modeling gigs, booked campaigns, magazine covers and runway invitations pull you away from him.

After quick brunch with a number of high profile casting agents and fashion investors who are pleasantly impressed with you, you are ushered away by your manager and your casting agent to a studio just south of Pasadena for a Marc Jacobs perfume campaign.

Your hair plastered up with gel and powdered white and pink a la Marie Antoinette by Sofia Coppola, and a plain yet delicate beige full length gown that molded to your shape like a Renaissance marble sculpture. Makeup on your face was bare sans bright pink blush on the apples of your cheeks, foundation that made you look ghastly more than alive, and clear lipgloss on your lips.

Submerged in a murky, stained bathtub filled with water, you sat down and the dress became transparent against your figure, sparing nothing to the eyes. Your nipples peaked through the v-shaped neckline that was held together only by strings of gold chains and strips of white chiffon, as you transfigured into various poses that the photographer approvingly took with harsh flashes against your cornea.

Minutes turned into hours as the shoot continued into the late afternoon and nearly the evening, the lukewarm water turning cold against your skin, submerged and formed goosebumps on your forearm and thighs that you were sure would make you wake up with a cold the next morning. Heck, you could already feel the headache starting to crawl into your skull.

As you stepped out and left a soaked trail behind you, the assistants rushed to envelope you with a cotton bathrobe and a pile of other towels were thrown your way to dry you clean. Scanning and preapproving the photos with the photographer with an absent grin, you thank everyone on set for their work and rush to the bathroom for a shower before you rush home, order takeout and knock out for the night.

Browsing your phone aimlessly, you are pleasantly surprised when your bank app notifies you about a recent deposit of $35,000, from Timothee with a simple note saying “ Get whatever you want darling. Still looking for a new place? Found some listings you might like.”

You are astonished at how nonchalant he was about sending you money that most people would not even see in their entire lifetime. This probably was just pennies and dimes compared to his annual income nowadays, with all these films coming in and offers flying by the minute.

Sending one of the outtakes from the photoshoot just from your neck down to him, your breasts fully in display as the transparent dress you were wearing was sodden, the dips of your hips deliciously accentuated and your waist cinched, a mischievous simper on your face appeared before you ran off to the shower before you could even get more sick.

The emphatic pings of your phone’s message notifications against the constant gush of the shower water over your head made your belly rumble with victory and unappeased desire. You could only imagine what dirty, unhinged things he would be saying to you over text, what he promised you for the next time you would see each other and how you were in for it good when it came to punishments.

“Like it?!  I fucking love it, angel. I would devour you right now if I was there.”

“Oh, you little minx. What happened to the shy doll I first met at the bar?”

Your head was in the clouds guessing on what he sent you as you washed your hair and soaped your body under the running water. Feeling the heat of your body, you hovered down just above your sex. Tickling slowly around your inner thighs, pretending it was his longer fingers instead.

One hand pushing your lower lips apart as one fondled your breasts and pinched your pink, puffy nipples, you suppressed a high pitched moan in fear a lingering crew member would overhear you and ruin your reputation before your modeling career even took off.

Scissoring your index and middle finger into your warm chasm as your thumb traced lightly over your clit, you lost track of time as you indulged in the feeling that washed over your body. Like a tightly knotted string curled up tightly before being yanked violently, you see stars against a canopy of the night sky as you sweetly release, his name murmured repeatedly under your breath like a prayer.

Leaving the studio just before midnight strikes, in the brand new Louis Vuitton top he got you with some thrifted trousers and custom made sneakers he designed with you in mind, the poor interns left behind to clean up the intricate set design for the photoshoot of the campaign did not find anything odd about how upbeat and energized you looked after a grueling, all day shoot.

As you got into the private Mercedes Benz driven by one of his hired drivers that waited for you by the parking lot, your thumb hovered over sending ‘i touched myself at the thought of you, daddy.”  

…

The final box delivered at your newly moved two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village reaches your doorstep, and you thank the kind delivery man in your apartment complex.

Beside the box of plain Corelle dishes, a circular ivory hued gift box with a giant satin bow on top caught your eye. Tugging the card underneath, you see his name “Timothee” written elegantly with a fountain pen, as you hold it against your chest before shaking your head with an iridescent smile on how sweet and thoughtful he always is.

Three dozens of preserved pink roses were neatly arranged inside, with a lengthy original poem he wrote alongside excerpts from both your and his favourite literature writers and poets.

“To my muse, yn. Xx

XIV

If thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love's sake only. Do not say

'I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—

For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning”

Pressing kisses of the laced envelope until lipstick marks stains were burned into them, you cherished this gift, his sweet, honeyed words and the paradise he had crafted and welcomed you into. If only he could give you his heart.

…

After countless of meetings with your agents and your managers, your team have expanded and hired more assistants under your wing as your schedules became more complicated and hectic.

Strolling across the small, hidden park, you are both enjoying the warm, glimmering sun coming out and kissing your skin and hitting two birds with one stone as you get your daily steps in. As your brown leather boots brush against the soil underneath the grass, you can’t help but think of him.

It’s been several months since the beginning of your arrangement, and with how much your career is thriving at the moment, you can’t believe you’ve barely had the time to process what you had with him.

You were to see him again in a few days, counting the seconds, the hours until you could feel his skin under yours again. The warmth of his body as he whispered empty promises down the column of your throat and you for a moment wish to wholeheartedly believe it.

Were you being too forward? Perhaps your appeal on why he picked you of all people was because he was used to figures throwing themselves at his whim, leaving broken hearts to never be seen again after a sinful night.

So when you carelessly offered yourself, your body to him that fateful day, you shattered whatever perception of speciality that you figuratively formed in his mind. You scolded yourself mentally as you continued your walk, ignoring the tears that streamed down your face before you picked up the hidden cigarette from your pocket for a few puffs.

…

You are waiting for him in his loft, having finished arranging accounts and investments with his financial advisor whom he recommended you work with to further grow your independent bank account and finances.

Timothee surprises you as he locks his arms around your neck, peppering kisses on the apples of your cheeks. You smile at the scent of the perfume you had chosen for him the last time you went shopping together - a piece of you he carried with him even when he was away.

“I missed you. Did you miss me?”

“How could I have not? It’s not the same when you’re not here.”

He reciprocates your smile as he looks at you fondly, massaging your head with his fingers through your locks, as if he was feeling if you were real, and physically present. You cradle his hands against your face, closing your eyes to wallow and drown into that sensation.

Sinking into the couch,e he leaves a burn with every kiss he trails down your body, gently slipping every piece of your clothing one by one, without a care for the world.

…

Several months continue of this daydream of an arrangement, and you fear things are too good to be true. You two are basically in a romantic relationship that have done everything and anything, except it is not monogamous, heavily dependent on financial transactions and could end any minute you lose his favour and to his whims.

The first night you give yourself to him, you want nothing to do with the intricate indications of what making love hinted to you. You did not want to intertwine your soul further with his ,even though you were already his but to no guarantee was he fully and entirely only yours.

You lied through your teeth that you only wanted dirty, violent and ruthless, hard sex - just brutal, raw fucking. In your all-red lace lingerie that barely hid anything to imagination other than his leather jacket you stole from his closet, your red lips hid the feelings you wanted to set free.

He repeatedly tried to talk you out of this, that he was not going to judge you for any of your preferences and you could change your mind anytime, that he could stop and go gentle or never touch you sexually again. You refused. You refused to let him see you like that when this is not what a committed relationship entailed. This was purely a financial transaction between a sugar baby and her financial provider.

Scratching down his back as he leaves fingerprint bruises down your thighs, torse, around your neck, you think this is the closest thing you can get to his touch on yours, numbing you from the growing sensation of unrequited, unbridled care, affection and love you developed for him.

Whips, sex toys, vibrators, bondage, shibari- whatever experimental sexual thing that’s harsh, yanking at your skin and has no hint of lovemaking to it, you’re game. As long it’ll keep him close to you, physically but not emotionally or mentally or spiritually. That’s too close. You get too close and you’ll lose him- never to see him again. It’s not even about the money anymore, you wouldn’t give a shit if he stopped wiring you an annual allowance and could just spend the rest of your life with him forever.

Every time you think he wouldn’t see you crying at night even after the aftercare he would generously give you, he too looked at you longingly, but he didn’t want to cross the line. If he keeps crossing the line and pushing the boundary further and further like he already has, the lines between the truth and the lies just keep blurring.

He wants you. Not just for your body, nor your intelligence or your beauty. He’s afraid. He’s never been so open with someone like this. Or at least since- well, a painful memory he would never want to mention again.

Timothee has always been so guarded, flocking to casual hookups, making out with random girls he meets one night, not knowing their names or seeing their faces in the night light before he runs away. Like he always has.

It horrifies him, scares him intensely. When he watches you sleep beside him on his bedside, it terrifies him how you have his heart in your hands, and can crush it anytime, but he pretends it doesn’t bother him. Wouldn’t that just be leading him on like how others have done to him?

It continues like this for weeks, barely a month - but the temperature has gotten too hot, the glass has cracked. Enough is enough.

“Why aren't you talking to me anymore? “ He asks you impatiently, tired of the messages of his you keep ignoring, or how you don’t look at his face whenever he’s around.

“What do you mean, I'm talking to you right now?! Nothing is wrong, Timothee. Here you are making such a big deal about everything!” Your voice wavers as you turn around to face him, hiding the tears hovering to pour out any moment.  

His head in his hands, pulling at the roots in his hair as he keeps trying to interrogate you but there’s no way to get through.

‘Why have you been so guarded with me recently? Heck, you’ve never been an open book from the start but you barely even share a glimpse of yourself with me anymore!” He shouts, he doesn't want to raise his voice but you’re not getting the point when the wall you put between the two of you only gets thicker and higher.

“I thought this was just an arrangement, Tim! I never thought you’d even think of romantically seeing me like that, or be in a committed relationship when we never talked about it!”  

Your breath heaved as you felt that you’ve unleashed something you’ve held back for so long. It was now or never. This could either open you up to a genuine communication with him, or close the doors in your face forever.

He stares at you in disbelief, in shame for himself, for not having treated you right. Timothee rushes towards you and puts his mouth against yours, his palms cradling your face as if he would lick your wounds to heal.

He releases you from the kiss like he swam up for air. “I’m so sorry you felt that way. Yes, we started our arrangement primarily as you as my sugar baby, but the feelings I developed for you were real.”

“You loved me?” The tears flow down your cheeks as you tuck your head around his neck, wanting to feel him against you as the emotions consume you completely.

“Loved and I still do. I always will. I was afraid of getting hurt, that making a commitment will make me lose you. I’ve never had the best luck when it came to relationships, so I felt that keeping myself at a certain distance would allow me to be in your life, but that I wouldn’t risk losing you.”  

Oh, how you felt so foolish! You wailed in despair as you smacked his chest, pushing him away as you cried but wanting him closer to you, too close, yet not close enough.

“You fucking idiot, I thought you only wanted to throw your money at me for my time and my body! I never wanted you to make love to me and rather just fuck me heartlessly because I was afraid it would give me an illusion that you loved me like I love you.” You spit your words out like you’ve been fed venom, a wound not fully healed and needed time to breathe.

Timothee lunges at you again until he is hovering over your body on the bed, his hands firmly locking your wrists above your head. He murmurs apologies as he peppers light pecks on your nose, down your neck and down your sternum.

“I’m so sorry - I’m ashamed I never had the chance to tell you the truth until now. The entire truth-”

“The girls I saw you with from a week before you flew home?” You had to ask, you couldn’t resist. You bit your tongue from when the photos were released from photographers during the events before he came home to you.

It stung like you were stabbed right in the stomach with a sharp knife and it twisted within you. The air clocked out your lungs and your vision blurred as you assured yourself that this was totally expected from your arrangement.

It was not monogamous, there was nothing romantic nor committed about your agreement. Heck, why wouldn’t he? He was at the peak of his career with girls throwing themselves at him every second, so why would he refuse if they could give him what you couldn’t?

So when the pictures of his tongue down some random girls throat backstage at the Coachella tents a few days ago even if it was before he came home to your bed, it only reminded you of how fickle the moments you had with him.

“I was drunk and I was high - I promised it didn’t mean a thing. My manager and my publicist team demanded I be pictured with these girls, for the image they want of me as some playboy, casanova heartbreaker.” He groans in frustration, apologetic he had to do anything against his will.

A part of you wanted to trust him fully, wholly but you couldn’t. You knew how this wretched industry worked, especially in the dark trails of Los Angeles. It was not fully the city of angels, or how it wanted to be.

Appearances were everything. It was only expected of him to play the game by its tricks if he wanted to survive and come out on top of the food chain. It would only amp up his appeal, his marketability if he appeared desired, still single and uncommitted but attractive and wanted to those wannabe influencers and models you didn’t know their names of.

“I- I don’t fully trust you, but I want you to give us a chance. If you’re willing to fight for it.” You demand, setting your ground as you push him above you so you can stare at him directly and clearly.

“I want this more than anything. You have my word. It won’t be perfect, but I am willing to put everything on the line for you. I don’t expect you to forgive me so easily, but please - at least one chance.” His eyes water as he looks at you sincerely, moving to your side and places his arms around your shoulders.

You reach forward slightly for a gentle peck on his lips, circling your arms around your waist. Sighing vows of pleasure and acceptance as he prays apologies down your skin. The straps of your flimsy crop top fall down your shoulders, as you feel his fingers and the warmness of his tongue brush against your delicate skin.

Wanton cries of pleasure come out from your mouth, your fingers tangled into the locks of his hair, pulling at his scalp as he pulls up your top from above your head. Leaving marks down the column of your throat and chest before he reaches for one of your nipples, circling and pinching with one hand while the other is sucked on with an eager hunger that cannot be satisfied.

He goes back and forth before he is trailing down your stomach with the same ferociousness and desire. You reach forward to raise his shirt from his torso and fumble for his belt clumsily.

Pulling your skirt and your panties in a single attempt, he nudges you back against the mattress, the silver necklaces on his neck hovering over you. You pull him in by his necklaces to kiss him ardently, breathlessly like if you stopped kissing him, you’d stop living and breathing entirely.

Timothee’s hands linger above your hips, before he tenderly grips your thighs, looking up for permission to part them and continue before you assert him with a panicked nod.

He dives in without restraint, fingers toying with your clit teasingly before you whine in thwarting before he thrusts into your hole mercilessly. He plunges in according to the symphony of your moans and cries, a particular groan coming from his throat when he finds a spot you like and puts his tongue right in, adding to your gratification.

Adding more fingers as his tongue wildly eats you up like candy, like the last meal he will have, your thighs wobble around sloppily and discombobulatingly as you build up towards reaching your peak.  

“Ah-ah, yes, right there , Timmy! So good, so- ah!” His enticing, alluring eyes look up at you almost menacingly, like you’re prey he can’t wait to tear apart. He adds another finger as his tongue swipes in deeper and messily, slurping your juices as your orgasm comes crashing in.

Seeing stars as a string is pulled from within you, the light and darkness of your perception incomprehensible as one as you lose sensation for a moment. As you return back to your senses, you only see unruly curls and hazel eyes looking at you like he’s known you forever.

As you regain your hazy thoughts to pump his shaft as he cries in revelry, eyes rolling backwards as you press him closer to you. He moves up to flutter over you, gaping on top of you with laborious breaths as he wordlessly asks for your consent one more time.

Hoarsily you hiss a hushed ‘yes’ with whatever voice you got in you left from your cries in euphoria, and he thrusts into you haltingly, unhurriedly- so unlike the times you usually make him fuck you until you can’t walk.

Tangling your hands with his, he worships you as your hips brush and he penetrates into you without restraint, but so softly, so delicately like you would break like glass any minute. Bit by bit, before he is fully inside, groans as he sucks into the skin below your jaw and messily kisses you on the lips, fresh with your essence giving him a glow.

You cry like you have seen heaven above, whining, and screeching over the love of his that he has desperately wanted you to feel, but you’ve denied for so long. He adores you like you’re an altar, a saint on a pedestal that he wants to sacrifice himself for.

“I love you, fuck - i love you, so much. Mon amour-”

As you feel him release his warm seed inside you, he rubs repeatedly against your clit and sensitive hole before you come one more time, like two souls intertwined and intertwined into one. Like you were him, and he was you.

…

The rest of the night is a fuzzy blur, tainted by too many glasses of wine where you end up tangled in his bed sheets. The tender touches across your torso and around your neck are more gentle than you’ve ever imagined.

You give yourself to him three times that night, just as ravenous and hungry as the first time. You had previously chatted about your boundaries, your off-limits, but what you were willing to indulge and try with him in his bedroom.

As the sun rose, you opened your eyes to him propped on his elbow, looking down at you longingly with nothing but affection and fondness in his eyes.

“Good morning, sunshine.”

“We still have lots to talk about, doofus.” You tease him, pointing your tongue at him as you sit up with your comforter around your waist, but he pushes you back down.

“That and we will. Let’s give this one more try, and start how it should’ve been. “ He truthfully promises with no mischief or lies on his face.

You hesitate for a moment, not knowing what to say as your mouth opens trying to figure out what to say next.

“Give it some time. I know this is a lot to think about, but I really want us to work. I want this to last.”

“You promise?” You sound so hopeful, like an innocent child so optimistic before the real demons of the world came haunting her down.

“Yes, I promise. If you think I won’t spoil you with everything I got either, you’re dead wrong.”

Oh, Tim. The very Timothee you grew to love and adore.  You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“You can’t say I wanted you just for your money or that I’m a gold-digger then. You can’t get rid of me that easily!” You jest, trailing your fingers lightly over his chest, until he reaches forward just underneath his bed. 

“Now why don’t you try on this new lingerie set I got for you? I’m sure you’d look delicious with it on?!” He offers with a teasing smirk, eyes darkened with lust and want already as he holds the package in his hands.