I only know where I am

thank you for requesting!! i hope you like husband timo 💗 (dialogue prompts taken from here if you want to send any and i'll happily write some drabbles)

“i don’t feel like cooking,” timothée sighs, curls falling into his eyes as he ambles down the darkening street. he brushes them away impatiently, scrunching his nose as he looks back at your face lighting up his phone screen. “how does takeout sound?”

in lieu of response, you lift the pizza box triumphantly into shot, watching his features soften in gratitude.

“fuck, you’re incredible,” he moans obscenely, making the tips of your ears burn.

“love you too,” you smirk, moving around the bathroom, opening the cabinets to search through your bath bombs.

the apartment is lit with candles; it smells divine, and the flickering flames are soothing and relaxing to watch as you fill the bath with bubbles. after his nineteen hour shoot day, it’s the least you can do for him.

“i just wanna be home,” timothée grumbles, his disgruntled face reappearing on screen. “i miss your face. your in person face.”

you smile sadly as the signal glitches for a moment, then angle your phone so he can see the steady flow of water streaming into the bath. “i know, baby. there’s a bath running already, i know it was a long day for you.”

“have i told you i love you lately?”

“only every day,” you grin cheekily, propping your phone up on the bathroom sink so that you can pull your shirt over your head.

timothée almost collides with a tree.

he fumbles. the phone shakes in his hands, the view of your husband suddenly replaced by a blurry few seconds of new york city skyscrapers.

you stifle a laugh, biting your lip to hide your amusement as you hear him curse out the uneven sidewalk he just tripped over.

your smile, radiant, is what greets him once he regains his footing. he’ll have to chase his heart, at least put it on a lead, as it races ahead, an entire avenue in front of him as it yearns to reach you.

“chère, you’re naked.” 

smooth, chalamet. it’s a good job you’re already married.

“and you’re not naked. hurry up, gorgeous,” you chastise, opening the pizza box and nibbling on a slice.

“listen, i love you, but i’m not running,” timothée chuckles, though despite his exhaustion he does pick up his pace a little.

“not running, huh?” your voice lilts with the question and you watch your husband’s jaw clench. 

“baby…” he warns, throat bobbing as he swallows.

you tilt your phone until, agonizingly, all he can do is watch as you lower yourself into the bath, the water velvety smooth as it laps against your skin.