Timothée Chalamet Imagine - Blog Posts

happy birthday little timmy tim

Oh? Is that so? (Pt. 1)

Warning(s): Timothee looking so cute that you might faint. Very short, Im tired

Laurie and you have been friends since we were kids, and yet there was always a strange tension between you two.

“Laurie, can put this necklace on me?”

“Why?”

“A date.”

“Wait. WHAT?!”

“A date, a man shall try to court me and I shall have to either refuse or oblig-“

“I know what a date is. But you never told me that you were going on one!”

“Do you have to know?”

“I do”

“and why is that?”

“Um- I-uh”

Uhh I’m dying for like angsty fluff w lee so I was thinking about him w the B1 prompt

Not when I just realized

Lee just realized how much you really meant to him.

Lee (bones and all) x eater!reader

requested by anon.

word count: 687

warnings: attempts of running away

note: i hope this was angsty-fluff just the way you wanted 🪼

find more here: masterlist, Lee (bones and all) master list

The night air was heavy with the smell of wet earth and something else, something darker, metallic, that neither of you would admit to but both recognized. Lee's truck idled a few feet away, parked quietly, headlights slicing through the trees. The two of you stood just off the dirt road, your breathing shallow, your hands shaking at your sides.

You had attempted to escape. You truly had. But Lee was faster. He always was.

You waited for him to sleep, his breathing slow and steady next to you, before you slipped out of the truck. You crept cautiously, not wanting the dry leaves and twigs lying about to give away your footsteps. Your scuffed drawstring bag, stuffed with what little you had to bring—an additional shirt, a canteen of water, a handful of crumpled dollar bills—was thrown over your shoulder as you set foot into the great unknown.

You didn't know where you were headed. Just away. Away from the starvation, from the things you'd done, from the boy who had somehow occupied your whole world.

You'd gone a mile before you noticed his footsteps behind you. Quick, firm.

"Stop," Lee had bellowed, his tone brusque, slicing across the stillness of the woods.

Your heart had raced, but you hadn't turned. Not yet. Not until he slipped his hand around your wrist, tight but not unkind, and stopped you in your tracks. You could have struggled, could have screamed. But you knew he'd never release you without a battle. 

And so here you stood, motionless, suspended between what you had and what still lay between you.

"Where you gonna go?" His voice was gentler than you anticipated, but there was something naked in it, something desperate.

You didn't look at the darkness ahead. "I don't know."

"Bullshit."

You turned, your eyes colliding with his. Even in the dim light, you could sense the fear behind them. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear. And it destroyed you.

"You always knew this wasn't forever," you whispered.

Lee shook his head, moving closer. His fingers curled as if he wanted to touch you but wasn't certain you'd allow it. "I never knew that," he whispered, his voice rough. "I never considered it like that. You leaving—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "You can't leave me now. Not when I just figured out how much you mean to me."

Your chest hurt, as if something in you had been sucked out. You wished to yell at him, inform him that he did not get to do this, to pull you back when it was simple and hold on tight when you attempted to leave.

Instead, you swallowed hard. "You'll be alright."

"That isn't true," he stated, his voice cracking. "You know that isn't true. You're the only one who knows."

Your throat constricted. Naturally, you did know. Who but another Eater would comprehend the hunger, the isolation, the way the world would ever reject you? You and Lee had lived together for so long now, traveling from spot to spot, protecting each other, feeding each other. And you were the one attempting to leave now, as if that was even an option.

"Stay," he begged. "I'll get it right next time. I won't exclude you, I promise.”

You hunted his features for the deceit, but none was there. Only Lee, naked and open in a fashion, ever exposed himself to anyone. You did not want to go; reality seeped into your joints like a wound. You'd only been frightened. Frightened of needing him so intensely.

Your fingers quivered, reflecting his, before you finally bridged the space between you, nudging your forehead against his. Lee breathed shakily, his hands staying at your waist, awaiting the invitation. You granted it by inclining towards him, allowing his heat to anchor you.

“I hate you for keeping me here," you whispered.

Lee released a wheezy, half-laugh, angling his head just so that your lips skimmed. "I'd hate me too."

And despite everything, despite the hunger, the danger, the blood that would always stain both of your hands, you weren’t going anywhere.

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐓

🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort

{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||

ONE-SHOTS :

Movie night 🌟🎬 - At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

SERIES:

(not yet available)

BLURBS :

(not yet available)

Movie night

At home movie date with step-father Timmy.

stepdad!Timothée x mom!reader

word count: 1K

warnings: BRIEF mentions of abuse, fluff

note: unedited lol

find more here: masterlist

The day had been long and grueling. Hours of filming had passed, and when you were finally done, your body screamed in exhaustion. Yet even in exhaustion, there was one thing that always made the end of the day worth it: picking up Alice from daycare.

As you pulled up to the small brick building, you could already spot your five-year-old through the glass doors, bouncing up and down on her feet when she saw you. The minute you came in, she ran to your arms, her little hands around your neck as you picked her up.

"Mommy!" she shrieked, her face breaking out in excitement. "Miss Jenna, let me finger paint today! I made you a picture!"

You kissed her forehead, enjoying the heat of her small body against yours. "I can't wait to see it, sweetheart. Did you have a good day today?"

Alice bobbed her head excitedly. "Uh-huh! And guess what? I didn't even take a nap!"

You laughed. "That's amazing, but I bet you're going to be tired later."

"Not a bit!" she protested, yawning right afterward.

You laughed, settling her on your hip as you scooped up her little backpack. "Okay, let's go home."

The ride home was dominated by Alice's constant talk about her day, and as you pulled into your driveway, you were relieved to see the familiar comforting view of home. You carried Alice indoors, unaware that a surprise awaited you.

As soon as you opened the door and walked inside, your breath was taken in your throat. Your downtown home's living room had been fully converted into a movie theater. String lights hung from the ceiling, and they provided a warm, golden light to the room. The blinds were closed, and an ice cream station had been established, complete with various toppings. A new batch of French fries was on the counter, and a popcorn machine was in the corner, the buttery aroma wafting through the air. In front of the couch, a blanket fort had been deliberately set up, packed with pillows and soft blankets.

"Surprise!" Timothée shouted out, his voice full of excitement.

You stood there in shock as Alice struggled free from your arms and ran towards him. "Timmy! You did this?" she cried out, her eyes wide with astonishment. Timothée got down to her height, placing his hands on his knees with a grin on his face. "Of course, I did! You and Mommy had a long day, so I thought, what better way to unwind than a special movie night?"

Alice let out a gasp, her small hands clasped together. "Best surprise EVER!" she shrieked before dashing over to the popcorn machine, her enthusiasm overflowing.

You looked over at Timothée, still in wonder. "You did all this for us?” He shrugged playfully. "Of course. You two deserve it." His tone was warm, full of sincerity. "I thought we could watch whatever Alice chooses, eat way too much ice cream, and just have a nice night together."

Your heart filled with affection as you moved closer, encircling his neck with your arms. "You're great, you know that?" Timothée smiled, hugging your waist. "I do my best."

Alice pulled at his sleeve before he could speak further. "Timmy, can we go now? I wanna choose the movie!"

"Sure," Timothée replied, hoisting her onto his shoulders as she laughed. "What do we watch?" Alice drummed her chin theatrically, then smiled. "Encanto!"

Timothée breathed in. "Awesome choice! But before that, do you want to get some ice cream?”

“YES!" Alice shouted. She jumped down and dashed towards the ice cream corner with Timothée close behind. You saw them with a heart full of love, aware that although Timothée was not Alice's biological father, he loved her as if she were his own. And from the way she gazed at him, with admiration and trust, it was apparent that Alice loved him just the same.

As the three of you finally nestled up under the blanket fort, ice cream in your hands and the movie beginning, you couldn't help but think—this was happiness. Simple as that. Your little family, where you were meant to be. 

Your mind wandered back to the past, to the life you had before Timothée entered it. Alice's real father had been another man, a man who should have kept you safe but who had become the reason you had to flee. The relationship had begun well, but with time, his temper had grown worse. The way he treated you, the way he behaved around Alice, had frightened you. When he had raised his hand, even once, you knew that you had to go. Not only for yourself, but for Alice. You battled for sole custody, refusing to leave her vulnerable and never looking back. It hadn't been simple, rebuilding your life as a single parent, but then Timothée had blundered in like a gust of fresh air. He had demonstrated to you that love was gentle, that love was safe. That a man could love a child who wasn't biologically his own as deeply as if she were.

As the first scene of Encanto was played, you turned your eyes on Alice, who was nestled between you and Timothée, her little hands clutching a bowl of popcorn. And after a while, you leaned over to her with a smile. "What do you say to Timothée, sweetheart?" 

Alice looked up with her big, expressive eyes at him and smiled. "Thank you, Daddy!" she chirped merrily before grabbing another bite of popcorn.

Timothée froze, his breath hitching as his eyes slightly glistened. He blinked a few times, a hand instinctively coming up to rub his face as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling her close and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

You stretched out, fingers intertwined with his, a reassuring grip of his hand. He gripped it back, his eyes shining with love and appreciation. And as Alice sat through the movie, blissfully unaware of the depth of emotional response her words had elicited, you knew at that moment that Timothée would never be more than a step away, as her father, as your husband, as the center of your small family.

i have a headcannon that paul was a goofy child growing up and often gave his parents headaches.

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.

E3 WITH FEM READER X WONKA PLEASE OMGG

A bit of love and chocolate

Willy shares his last piece of chocolate.

Willy Wonka x Fem! reader

word count: 670

no warnings

masterlist, Wonka Masterlist

The streets of the city were quiet at this hour, save for the distant sounds of late-night travelers and the occasional splash of rain against the cobblestone roads. The glow of lamplight flickered against the damp pavement, casting golden reflections that made everything feel just a bit more magical—at least, that’s how it felt whenever he was with you.  

Wrapped in a slightly tattered coat and clutching a small paper bag, Willy hurried down the alleyway, his breath clouding in the cool night air. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure he hadn’t been followed. Mrs. Scrubbit had already caught him sneaking out once before, and he couldn’t afford to be locked in the attic again. But seeing you—just for a little while—was worth any risk.  

When he finally reached the side street where you always met, he saw you waiting on the worn steps of your small flat, arms tucked around yourself for warmth. The sight made his heart do that funny little leap it always did whenever you were near.   

“Miss me?” Willy called softly as he stepped into the light.  

You turned, your face lighting up at the sight of him. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble sneaking out like this.”  

“Ah, but what’s life without a little danger?” he teased, plopping down beside you.  

You shook your head with a fond smile. “One day, she’s going to catch you.”  

“She’d have to be quicker than me.” He tapped his temple. “And I’m very fast when properly motivated.”  

You huffed a laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “And what motivates you, exactly?”  

“Well…” He grinned, reaching into the paper bag. “Chocolate, mostly.” He pulled out a small, neatly wrapped piece and handed it to you.  

You raised an eyebrow. “Willy, that’s—”  

“My last piece, I know,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “And I’m giving it to you, because—” He turned to you, eyes warm, voice softer now. “That’s love.”  

You stared at him for a long moment, the teasing edge in your expression melting away. The words were spoken so easily as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and maybe to him, it was.  

You took the chocolate from his hand carefully, as if it were something delicate, something precious. “You really are something else, Wonka,” you murmured.  

“I like to think so.” He leaned in a little, resting his chin in his palm as he watched you with bright, expectant eyes. “Go on, try it! It’s a new batch. Made it myself, of course—top-tier craftsmanship, a hint of cinnamon, a whisper of nutmeg, and just the tiniest bit of longing.”  

You laughed, shaking your head, but did as he asked. The moment the chocolate melted on your tongue, you sighed in contentment. “That’s incredible,” you admitted.  

Willy beamed, rocking back on his heels. “I knew it! Love makes everything sweeter.”  

“Or maybe you’re just that good,” you mused.  

“Both!” he declared, pointing a finger in the air. “But mostly the first one.”  

You rolled your eyes fondly, but then your smile softened. “Thank you, Willy.”  

His expression turned a little sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I was planning on savoring it, but then I figured… I’d rather you have it.”  

Warmth spread through your chest, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He froze for a second, then blinked at you, stunned.  

“Goodnight, Willy,” you whispered, standing up before he could say anything else.  

He remained seated, mouth slightly open, before breaking into the biggest, goofiest grin you’d ever seen. “Goodnight, dearest,” he called after you as you disappeared inside.  

Still grinning, Willy touched his cheek where you kissed him, then got to his feet, adjusting his coat. He had to get back before Mrs. Scrubbit noticed his absence, but somehow, sneaking back through the laundry chute didn’t seem like such a hardship tonight.  

After all, he had something even sweeter than chocolate to dream about.  

Glasses !

SUMMARY: Y/N and Regulus take Harry to get glasses after he bumps straight into the door frame.

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

warnings: Fluff, slightly humorous

words: 0.6k

-

It started with small things.

Harry missing his cup when reaching for his pumpkin juice at breakfast. Squinting at his books when Y/N or Regulus tried to get him to read. Tripping over his own feet more often than usual. At first, they thought it was just clumsiness—he was four, after all.

Then he walked straight into the doorframe.

Regulus, who had been sipping his tea, barely blinked as Harry let out a small oof and stumbled backward, rubbing his forehead. Y/N, however, immediately crouched down beside him.

“Harry, love, are you alright?” she asked, brushing his messy hair away to check for any bumps.

Harry pouted, rubbing his forehead. “The door moved.”

Regulus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “No, it didn’t.”

Harry crossed his arms. “Well, it felt like it did.”

Y/N hummed, glancing at Regulus before looking back at Harry. “Sweetheart, have you been having trouble seeing things lately?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.”

Regulus sighed, setting down his tea. “I think we need to take him to the eye healer.”

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. “A what?”

Y/N chuckled, adjusting her own glasses. “Someone who helps people see better. Like how I wear glasses, remember?”

Harry blinked, looking up at her. “Oh… but you look good in glasses.”

Y/N grinned. “And you will too if you need them.”

Harry frowned but didn’t argue.

The next day, after breakfast (which involved Sirius trying to convince Harry to wear an eyepatch instead of glasses because it was ‘cooler’), they made their way to St. Mungo’s Department of Magical Vision and Sight.

Harry swung his legs idly from his chair in the waiting area, glancing at Y/N. “Did you have to get glasses when you were little too?”

She smiled. “I did. I was about your age when my mum took me for my first pair.”

Harry considered this. “Did Daddy James wear them too?”

Y/N’s smile softened. “Yes, he did. Since he was a boy.”

Harry looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should get glasses… then I’ll match you and Daddy James.”

Regulus snorted. “As if you had a choice.”

Before Harry could respond, the healer called them in.

The eye healer, an older wizard with kind eyes, greeted them warmly. “Alright, young man, let’s see how those eyes are working.”

Harry went through a series of tests, from reading different-sized letters to following a floating quill with his eyes. He giggled when the quill changed colors but frowned when he struggled with some of the smaller letters.

After a few more checks, Healer Aldwyn nodded. “Well, my boy, you’re a bit nearsighted. Not too bad, but you’ll need some glasses to help you see clearly.”

Harry gasped. “Like Mama?”

Y/N smiled. “Just like me, love.”

Harry beamed. “Then I want glasses!”

At the attached vision shop, Harry tried on several pairs, wrinkling his nose at most of them.

“These,” he finally said, grabbing a pair of small, round frames. “They look like Mama’s, but smaller!”

Y/N’s heart melted. “Oh, love, you look adorable.”

Regulus smirked. “Now he just needs to start losing all of his books like you do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and nudged him playfully.

As they walked out, Harry kept adjusting his glasses, looking around in amazement. “I can see so much! Look, Baba! The clouds are so fluffy! And the sign isn’t blurry anymore!”

Regulus smirked. “That is the point of glasses, Harry.”

Harry grinned up at Y/N. “We match now, Mama!”

Y/N ruffled his hair. “Yes, we do, love.”

Regulus glanced between them, then sighed. “Great. Now there are two of you.”

Y/N smirked. “Poor you.”

Harry giggled, and the three of them headed home—where Sirius, upon seeing Harry’s glasses, dramatically clutched his chest and declared, “MY GODSON LOOKS JUST LIKE JAMES! I’M HAVING AN EMOTIONAL CRISIS!” before proceeding to chase Harry around the house yelling, “NERD ALERT!”

Regulus groaned. Y/N laughed.

And Harry?

He just felt pretty cool.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

POV: You accidentally opened the front camera but you’re Timothée Chalamet:

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

POV: You’re Timmy’s S/O and this is what your camera roll looks like (Part 4):

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

POV: You’re Timmy’s S/O and this is what your camera roll looks like (Part 3):

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

POV: You’re Timmy’s S/O and this is what your camera roll looks like (Part 2):

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

POV: You’re Timmy’s S/O and this is what your camera roll looks like (Part 1):

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

What Are Friends For? (Part 2)

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets a chance to return the favor ;) Warnings: Smut (fingering, handjob, oral - male receiving), language, friends with benefits, no aftercare. Word count: 959

You were afraid things would be awkward between you and Timmy, but that couldn’t be more wrong. 

After your… encounter, you’d put on a pair of pants and met him in the living room. You both ate your food on the couch and watched a movie, talking and laughing like it hadn’t even happened. You were relieved that it hadn't changed your friendship.

Except for the fact that when he went home that night, you masturbated to the thought of his fingers inside you at least a hundred times. You wondered if he was doing the same. The thought of him fucking his hand and thinking of you made you cum extra hard.

Your lives were busy. You managed to hang out with him a few more times in the next couple weeks, but nothing sexual happened again. You didn’t want to push it and risk making things weird between the two of you, so you let it go.

“What are we watching?” Timothée called from the living room.

“I don’t know, whatever you want,” you called back as you practically emptied all of the snacks from your kitchen cabinets.

He sighed loudly as you entered the living room, arms full of junk food. “You decide.” This was an argument you two had often.

“I don’t know.” You dropped everything onto the coffee table.

“Just pick something,” he pleaded.

You grabbed the remote and plopped down on the couch beside him. You didn’t even know which streaming service to flip through. You tried Netflix. Nothing.

As you were waiting for Hulu to load, Timmy shifted in his seat for what had to have been the third time in under two minutes. You turned to him, wondering what his deal was. He met your gaze immediately. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink.

Like he’d been caught.

You had no idea what was going on until your eyes just happened to flick down and you took in the bulge in his pants. A long moment passed as he tried to gauge your reaction and you tried to figure out what had triggered this or how to even react. Finally, you cleared your throat, not wanting to appear too excited.

“Do you need help with that?” You nodded down to the tightness in his jeans.

He smirked a little, remembering your encounter all those weeks ago. “Would you?”

“What are friends for?” Remote forgotten, you tucked yourself beside him and reached down, feeling him over his jeans first. You fought back a smirk; you knew he’d be big. He exhaled, his head dropping back onto the cushions even though you’d barely touched him yet. You made quick work of unzipping his jeans and pulling him out of his boxers. 

You thought of all the nights you’d laid in bed, imagining Timmy’s cock, and now here it was, hard in your hand. Your pussy was already dripping as you ran your hand up and down his length.

You rubbed your legs together to create some friction. Timmy noticed your neediness and reached his hand into your pajama pants until you felt slight pressure on your clit. You gasped, automatically opening your legs in search of more pleasure, which he was happy to provide.

You pumped even faster, hoping you’d be rewarded for it, and you were. He slid a finger inside you. You bucked your hips, wanting more. You could no longer contain your excitement; you’d been dreaming of this for weeks. He matched his pace to yours, fingering you at the same speed you were using on him. 

Your chest rose and fell rapidly. Despite your building orgasm, you forced yourself to focus on pleasuring him. He seemed to be doing the same, adding another finger. You were both locked in a pleasure-filled standoff.

He increased his pace, rubbing your clit with his thumb and effectively throwing you over the edge. A whimper escaped your throat as you came around his fingers for the second time. You could feel his dick twitch in your hand as your pussy convulsed.

You pulled his hand from your pants and guided it to your mouth, sucking on the cum-covered digits before he had the chance to do so first. His jaw dropped as he watched you swirl your tongue around his fingers, tasting yourself. It was undeniably hot. He involuntarily bucked his hips once, simply unable to help himself. He was close.

Whether he knew it or not, he’d made you cum several times the last few weeks. Now, you needed to return the favor. You dropped to your knees, intending to replace his fingers with his cock.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he strained. He nearly came just from the sight of you kneeling before him. You licked his tip, making him curse again. “Feels so fucking good.”

Excitement coursed through your veins; you liked when he praised you. He was struggling to keep his composure, and the little noises of pleasure that managed to escape him only excited you even more.

You took his cock almost entirely in your mouth, licking the underside and swirling your tongue around the tip, knowing it would be the end of him.

He looked god-like as he came; better than you ever could have imagined. His back arched and his hands clenched around the material of the couch cushion. Your pussy clenched again at the sight and taste of him coating your mouth.

You rested your head on his thigh, committing his fucked-out expression to memory as he tried to slow his breathing.

“Timmy?” you asked after a few moments.

“Yeah, (Y/N)?”

You stood, wiping the side of your mouth and grabbing the remote once more. “I wanna watch Euphoria.”

What Are Friends For?

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x fem!Reader Summary: Timmy catches reader masturbating... Friends help each other out, right? ;)  Warnings: Smut (fingering & oral), being caught masturbating, friends with benefits, no aftercare. Word count: 711

It was your own fault, really. 

You knew Timmy was coming over, but you figured you still had a good fifteen minutes or so before he got there. So you found yourself in bed, pants off, in your own world of pleasure.

You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t even hear the front door open or the steps coming down the hall. 

“(Y/N), I brought some Chinese food and-” He cut himself off as he took in the scene before him. You silently cursed yourself for leaving the bedroom door open. 

“Timmy!” you exclaimed, grabbing the nearest blanket to cover yourself. But it was too late; he’d already seen everything. “You-you’re early.”

“Yeah, I…” The words died in his throat. He didn’t even know what to say. His eyebrows were raised and he blinked a few times. He looked from your eyes down to the blanket now covering you. He licked his lips, his voice dropping considerably. “Do you, uh… need help with that?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.  Your cheeks heated. You’d always thought Timmy was attractive, but you were just friends… You’d never thought of him like that… 

Still, you found yourself saying, “W… would you?”

He nodded, coming closer to you. “Of course. What are friends for?” he smirked mischievously. Your heart rate quickened as he knelt in front of you, pulling the blanket off your legs and haphazardly discarding it. You leaned back on your elbows. He licked his lips as his gaze dropped to your heat, now completely exposed for him. A wave of excitement surged through you. 

Without giving it a second thought, he leaned down and licked a long stripe up your slit. You gasped at the feeling of his warm tongue on your sensitive pussy. 

He ran his fingers over your slit a few times before sticking the middle one in, looking up at you to gauge your reaction. If you appeared even the slightest bit uncomfortable, he’d stop.

But you weren’t uncomfortable at all. In fact, you wanted more. Your mouth dropped open and you lifted your hips, trying to give him a better angle. He pumped in and out a few times, eliciting a tiny whimper from you. 

When he added another finger, you could no longer support your weight and dropped onto your back on the bed. His long fingers curled upward inside you, hitting the spot that always made your legs shake. 

He tried a third finger and cursed to himself as he found that you were almost too tight for it. Hearing the whispered “fuck” leave his lips was almost enough to make you cum on the spot. He was enjoying this just as much as you. 

He knew you were holding back a moan, so he moved faster, trying to coax it out of you. It worked, and the noise escaped your throat. He rewarded you by sucking your clit. You placed a hand over your mouth, holding back a scream as the pleasure built inside you. 

The base of your spine began to tingle and you instinctively reached down, tangling your fingers in his curls. His fingers moved even faster, practically slamming in and out of you, and as he ran his tongue over your sensitive clit, you fell over the edge.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as your orgasm coursed through you. He didn’t pull out until your pussy finally stopped fluttering around his fingers.

He flopped onto his back next to you. It almost seemed like he’d momentarily forgotten you were there, his attention fixed on his fingers and your essence coating them. He blinked at them dreamily, twisting his hand and taking them in at every angle. Finally, he sucked them into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue. The mere image of him sucking your wetness off his fingers almost made you cum again. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring your taste. 

Finally, he turned onto his side, looking at you. Your eyes flicked down to his jeans, which were undeniably constricted. You swallowed, thinking he’d probably be expecting something in return. 

But instead, he simply said, “The foods’ getting cold,” before pulling himself to his feet and exiting the room.

can’t stop thinking abt timmy x co star!reader where they have to film a sex scene together and he fantasizes about *actually* fucking her in front of the cameras bc it will make the best scene possible and also everyone will see how good he makes her feel, I’m-😳🥵

Biggest Fan

Pairing: Timothee Chalamet x f!Reader Summary: Reader has been absolutely filthy in the DMs and when she meets Timothée unexpectedly, he wants her to make good on her promises. Warnings: Smut (oral - male receiving), sexualizing a celebrity, technically a power imbalance, curse words. Word count: 2k

There was no way he’d ever see your DMs. He probably got thousands of messages a day; yours would get lost in a sea of countless others. And he was rarely ever on Twitter…

Still, you’d occasionally send some DMs anyway, just for the hell of it. It started tame. Telling him how much you loved his work, how excited you were for the next Dune movie… Small things like that. 

And then the thirst started.

It was all because of the Oscars… The damn Oscars. God, he looked so good. You felt like you were going to explode the second the shirtless image of him appeared on your TV screen. In the heat of the moment, you whipped out your phone and began typing every lewd thought that popped into your head.

Everything about him was perfect, from his hair down to the smallest details, like the rings on his fingers. You drank in every image you could find of his bare chest. Before you knew it, you were composing the nastiest paragraph you’d ever written in your life (up until that point, at least) and hitting send without a second thought.

God, it’s almost unfair how perfect you are. You’re so fucking sexy in your sparkly little jacket. I wanna taste every inch of you. I want you to fuck my mouth and make me gag on your cock. I want your cum running down my throat. I want you to fuck me so hard and fast that all I know is your name. I want you to absolutely obliterate me. I wanna be your personal fuckdoll… I’m fucking dripping just thinking about it. I need you inside me so fucking bad. I’m such a needy slut for you.

That was just the first one, and as time went on, they grew more graphic. It became an outlet, a way to get all of this sexual energy out. Your messages ranged from short, innocent sentences to long, erotic paragraphs detailing all of the depraved things you wanted him to do to you.

But he’d never see it.

Right?

***

The club was full of drunk, sweaty bodies. You were perfectly content to stand in the corner all night with your best friend, Jess, and sway to the music, feeling the bass vibrate through the floor.

“Hey, isn’t he that guy you’re so obsessed with?” Jess asked, pointing discreetly to a group of guys in the corner.

Your jaw dropped as you realized you were standing in the presence of the Timothée Chalamet. He was with a group of friends and appeared to be having a good time. Your heart began to race in your chest.

“Come on,” Jess said, taking in your stunned appearance. She tugged your hand, starting to lead you in his direction, but you pulled back.

“Are you fucking insane? I can’t just walk right up to him, I’ll literally drop dead on the spot.”

“Okay, fine, don’t talk to him.” She held back a laugh at your outburst. “But you know if you don’t at least stand in the same general vicinity as him, you’ll hate yourself forever.” 

Damn. You hated when she was right.

You both weaved through the crowd, strategically placing yourselves closer and closer every few moments without making it too obvious. 

You fought the urge to keep glancing at him, though all you wanted to do was drink in his appearance. You weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance to see him in person again. 

Jess was talking about something Britney had said to her earlier - you weren’t really paying too much attention - when you tried to steal a glance at exactly the wrong moment.

His eyes met yours. 

And instead of looking away and pretending nothing had happened like a normal person would in this circumstance, you froze. Your eyes widened, giving you a slight deer-in-the-headlights expression. He broke into that adorable, lopsided smile you loved so much.

Then, to your surprise, he started moving toward you.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whispered to Jess.

“Wha-”

“Hey, I’m Timothée,” he said. Jess’s eyes widened, too, as she processed the situation. Holy fuck he was so close, you could smell him now. And he smelled good.

“I… I know,” you replied stupidly, the awe evident in your voice.

“I’m Jess, and this is (Y/N),” she stepped in for you. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he smiled. His eyes flicked back to you. His brow furrowed and his head tilted to one side as he took you in, but after a few seconds, he shook his head. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“Umm…” You pretended to think for a second, even though you’d definitely remember if you’d met this literal god before. “Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Hm… Weird. I thought I recognized you from somewhere.”

You shrugged this off; he’d probably met so many fans in so many countries, there was bound to be at least one other girl somewhere who somewhat resembled you.

He was extremely nice and offered to take photos with you. He hung around to chat for a few minutes before excusing himself back to his friends. Besides your general awkwardness - which he was probably used to, judging by the way he easily brushed it off - the interaction couldn’t have gone any better.

“He’s literally my future husband,” you told Jess dreamily as you both watched him walk away.

“Not if I marry him first,” she joked.

“Hey! At least share!” You pouted.

She jokingly stuck her tongue out at you, and then her eyes scanned the room. “Well, if my marriage to Timmy doesn’t pan out, I think I just found his replacement. Mind if I go dance?”

“Nah, go right ahead,” you replied. You leaned against a wall, focusing on your phone. You posted your photo with Timmy to Instagram, and then popped onto Twitter to make the photo your profile pic. Your moots were about to go feral. For a moment, your thumb hovered over the messages icon. 

Ah, why not?

Hot sweatpants, cutie. I’ll make you sweat and pant;)

You chuckled a little to yourself. God, that was a cringey one. Still, it was just for your entertainment, so why not?

You continued scrolling through Twitter, enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame as you were bombarded by a million questions, each more unhinged than the last (‘What did he smell like?’ ‘Who was he with?’ ‘Did you lick his hand? I would’ve licked his hand’ etc). You were in the middle of replying to someone when you heard a voice beside you.

“I know where I recognized you from!”

Your eyes met his green ones and your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t expecting any more attention from Timothée, but obviously welcomed it.

“Where’s that?” you asked, trying to be nonchalant. He pulled up his phone and showed you the screen.

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open. You were horrified as you took in Timothée’s view of your DM’s. He must have turned his read receipts off. He didn’t seem to notice your embarrassment as he scrolled up in the conversation a little.

“This is one of my favorites, ‘My ass is grass and I want you to mow it.’ Or that time you just sent the link to Deep Throat by Cupcakke.”

“Oh, god,” you said, putting your head in your hands. You couldn’t even deny that it was you; the profile picture gave you away. You wanted to spontaneously combust. “I didn’t think you’d actually see that.”

“I could tell…” he chuckled. Thankfully, he scrolled past your more… needy messages and focused on the ironic ones. “‘I would let you break my back in half, spit in my mouth, dislocate my jaw, pee on me, rip out my intestines, and then hit me with your car and I’d still be your biggest fan.’”

“Ugh, God,” you groaned. 

He smirked at you and you swore his eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second. When he spoke again, the joking tone had disappeared. “You think you’re my biggest fan?”

Your mouth opened but no words came out. You drew in a sharp breath. “I- uh… y-yeah.”

His voice dropped dangerously low; you were sure no one else could hear. “Would you be willing to prove it?”

His words swam around in your head and you struggled to make sense of them. Surely, you had misunderstood… You blinked, watching as his tongue swiped over his lips. 

“Absolutely.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he had taken your hand and led you down a hallway, somehow unseen by anyone else. He slipped you into a bathroom and shut the door behind you both. 

Pressing you against the door, he attached his lips to yours.

You felt yourself relax into him as he kissed you deeply. Suddenly, your shy side had disappeared and in its place stood the horndog who had written all those DMs. You gently bit his bottom lip and he wound his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and he ground against you. You practically moaned; he was already hard. You reached down, stroking him through his pants. He was just as big as you’d imagined.

You pushed him back until he was leaning against the sink and were on your knees in an instant, tugging down his sweatpants. You licked your lips as his dick sprang free.

“Love reading your desperate little messages over and over again…” he sighed, his head dropping back a little as you stroked him slowly.

“Mmm… Yeah?” you smirked, taking the tip between your lips and sucking lightly. His eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped open as he gripped the counter for support. You could tell he was restraining himself from bucking his hips up into you.

“Fuuuuckkk yeaaah,” he hissed. Slowly, teasingly, you began to descend on him. “God, I jack off nearly every day to them… Love seeing how needy you are for me.”

Your brain practically stopped working; the situation you found yourself in was too good to even begin to comprehend. Timothée Chalamet had just admitted to enjoying your depraved fantasies while his dick was in your mouth. Your pussy was dripping.

You hummed in response, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head torturously slow. He seemed to understand the game you were playing and was happy to give you more.

“Sometimes I go onto your profile and scroll through your selfies and imagine fucking you just like you want me to.” One of his hands weaved into your hair, but he didn’t apply any pressure just yet. You took all of him in your mouth now, his tip nudging the back of your throat. You came back up slowly, running your tongue along the bottom of his shaft.

“Fuck,” he hissed again. You started to bob your head faster now. After a few moments, his restraint wavered and he began to thrust into you. You blinked up at him, eyes full of nothing but pure adoration as he fucked your mouth. “Fuck, (Y/N), you’re so fucking good for me… Gonna be a good girl and swallow my cum?”

“Mmmhm,” you hummed and he gasped at the feeling of your throat vibrating. He released another string of curses before you felt his hot cum shooting down your throat. You absolutely savored the moment, taking in every drop you could. You never wanted to forget this feeling; this taste. 

You bobbed your head a couple more times before pulling off, causing his legs to tremble. He caught his breath, pulling his pants back up. He looked down at you, knelt on the floor before him, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 

He held out a hand to help you up, which you took. You frowned, unhappy that your encounter was over.

But as if reading your mind, he took your face in his hands. “Don’t look so disappointed. I’m not finished with you yet, love.”

Dating Timmy - Random Headcanons

He always eats and leaves crumbs in the bed, so... enjoy that🙃

When he's sick, you bring him anything he wants, cuddle him, and rub his back.

And he does the same for you.

When you can't sleep at night, he'll sing to you. Whatever song you want.

Except Statistics.

And Yeet.

Sometimes when you shower, he'll sit on the bathroom floor like a puppy because he just wants to be with you.

His love language is physical touch, so he always wants to kiss and hug and cuddle.

It doesn't even have to be romantic touching, it can be something as small as your knees brushing while you're sitting next to each other. Just so he knows you're near him.

When you sit on the floor and do your makeup in the full length mirror, he'll sit and hug you from behind. Sometimes he'll rest his head on your shoulder and watch you through the mirror. It's especially cute early in the morning, when his hair is messy and he's blinking at you sleepily.

Sometimes he'll let you put some blush or lip gloss on him. He's adorable.

He knows you love his hair, so he lets you do whatever you want with it. Pigtails, braids, buns... One night, he let you straighten it.

You then realized that you'd made a huge mistake and forced him to wet it so it would curl again🫣

He holds your undershirt down for you when you take his your hoodies off.

You're both very private but your relationship definitely isn't a secret.

You're both extremely busy, but you try to have date night at least once a week.

It doesn't always have to be going out somewhere; sometimes it's just sitting at the table and playing a board game, baking something, or watching a movie in bed.

Just as long as you're together.

He likes to match his outfits to yours.

On the red carpet, but also just in daily life.

He's not a jealous person because he trusts you so much and he knows you'll never do anything to hurt him.

So he loves showing you off.

He's always weird about sharing his problems because of who he is; he feels like other people have it so much worse and he should just be grateful and not complain.

So he just acts like everything is fine, even when its not.

And of course, you know him better than anyone, so you know when something is bothering him.

It can take a while to coax it out, but eventually, he'll be honest and you can help him work through it.

He feels like you always know the right thing to say. He loves that about you.

You're more "online" than he is and you like to see what people say about him. His fans are so hilarious and creative. He likes it when you read funny tweets about him. He can see all the good stuff posted about him without having to sift through the hate; you're his own personal filter.

You get him into shitty reality TV.

He doesn't see the appeal at first, but after a few episodes, he's picking sides and needing to know what happens on Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Speaking of TV, he's very good at guessing the Masked Singers.

Like he gets it right almost every time.

Sometimes when you're sad, he'll do Pennywise's dance from It to make you laugh.

It never gets old.

He has a hundred notes in his phone with random things you've said. It's usually just a song or snack you mentioned in passing and he wants to remember it for later investigation.

You both start to use the same slang, phrases and references. You're literally the same person.

And sometimes no one else gets your references but you and Timmy. So one of you will say something and you'll both just die laughing while the rest of the room looks at you like wtf..

He's very good at taking Instagram photos and he loves to gas you up.

"Oooohh damn, you're so hot. Yes, do that! That's my (girl/guy)!"

The whole time he's looking at the phone and giving you the thumbs up like a proud mom videoing her child's dance recital.

He likes to open your car door for you.

He can be forgetful when he's stressed out.

"Timmy, your phone is in your hand."

"Timothee, your sunglasses are on your head."

No matter where you are, you like to watch the sunset together.

Sometimes you'll sneak a quote of something miniscule he said in a movie or smth into a normal conversation and he'll cringe.

Him: "Teresa is going to prison on RHONJ😧"

You: "I can do prison."

Him: "eufheufh why are you like this?"

You're his person🥺

Imagine: Being in a Secret Relationship With Timmy

You'd both agreed that you wanted to keep your relationship a secret for at least the first few months after you started dating. You wanted the privacy to be able to build a stable relationship without feeling like you're under a microscope and the whole world inserting their opinions.

But fans quickly began speculating, and after seeing just how many people were concered with your relationship status, you decided to keep it going for as long as you could. It was funny as hell, and you both loved trolling everyone.

Neither of you ever explicity confirmed or denied dating rumors.

He told his parents and sister that you guys were dating first, and then Zendaya (but only bc she's the only person who knows him well enough to pull the answer out of him) but other than that, you both only tell people you know you can 100% trust.

You both also say "we're friends" a lot because... you are.

Friends who just happen to be dating😏

"We're friends" becomes a meme.

While you're careful not to kiss in front of the paparazzi, you will occasionally hug or hold hands. But Timmy is a naturally touchy person with all his friends, so this doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Fans overanalyze EVERYTHING. Every touch, every look, every word. Funnily enough, the very thing you were trying to avoid when you first started dating is the thing that entertains you both now.

Occasionally, you'll post cheeky Instagram stories of you and Timmy doing debatably intimate things (his hand on your thigh as he drives or hugging at the airport) and the fans go FERAL.

Whenever you post photos of each other, Zendaya or Florence will always play along and comment something like, "Friend goals!!!🔥"

A literal WAR starts on Twitter. #TheyreFriends is trending. Your fans are in the trenches; the battle is bloody. You and Timothee are cuddling in bed, laughing at the whole thing. You still think it's crazy that people are so invested.

As time goes on, it gets more and more difficult to keep the charade up, and you both start getting restless. You want to be able to kiss in public or be able to go on romantic vacations without having to worry about who will see.

You both brainstorm cheeky ways to end it; the grand finale.

Across the world, your fans get an Instagram notification.

"(Y/N) has just posted!"

It's a series of wedding photos. The caption: "Upgraded to BEST friend😎"

Very Busy

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x f!Reader. Summary: Desperate reader rides Timmy’s thigh while he’s working. Warnings: Smut, Dom!Timmy, thigh riding, language, teasing, begging. Word count: 635 A/N: Idk this one is mild as far as smut goes but pop off ig.

“Hi, Timmy,” you said, trying to keep your voice as innocent as possible.

“Hello, love,” he hummed. He didn’t look up from his desk, but he sounded pleasantly surprised. Usually, you never bothered him while he was working.

But today, you just couldn't help it.

Today, you needed him.

You crossed the room until you were right next to him, leaning against his desk. “Do you want to hang out with me?”

Finally, he looked up at you. Glanced down at the skirt he knew you had allowed to ride up on purpose. His unamused eyes met yours again before flicking back to the script he’d been analyzing for the past few hours. He could read you like a book; he knew what you wanted.

“Come here,” was all he said. You smirked, knowing exactly how he wanted you. You straddled his right leg, facing him. Your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. You began rocking your hips against him.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but you were already frustrated. You weren’t even close yet, and he wasn’t paying any attention to you at all. You stopped moving and huffed out a breath. 

“Need you,” you murmured into his neck.

“Keep going.” That was all the attention you were afforded. His eyes remained focused on scanning the papers in front of him, highlighting all of his lines and occasionally writing notes in the margins.

“But Timmy…” you whined, pulling back. You sat upright as your hand drifted down to his cock. You were not surprised to find it rock solid beneath his pants. “Can’t you just take a teeny tiny break? Please?”

You knew begging was fruitless; Timothée was nothing if not devoted to his job. Still, you figured you’d try to sway him. 

He smirked the tiniest bit; the only indication of your failure to persuade him. Your jaw clenched.

“I’m very busy, mon amour,” he replied. His tone was even, giving no indication that you were affecting him whatsoever. Perhaps that was the part that infuriated you the most. “I need to finish this. But if you’d rather wait until later-”

“No! No…” You pouted. “I can’t wait until later.”

His smirk deepend wickedly. “Then. Keep. Going.”

You huffed again as you returned your arms to their place around his neck and rested your head back down on his shoulder. Your skirt had ridden all the way up to your waist, the moisture that had already gathered between your legs now being contained by only a thin strip of underwear. You hoped you wouldn’t make a mess on his pants. Last time you did that, he wouldn’t let you cum for a week.

You began moving your hips again, the friction relieving some of your tension, but not enough.

“I don’t hear you, dear.”

You released the whimper you hadn’t realized was stuck in the back of your throat. 

“Much better.”

You moaned into his neck again, a little louder this time. He loved hearing you express your pleasure.

You moved faster, really trying to focus this time. Your breathing quickened, your moans becoming more frequent. Timmy lazily dragged a hand up your spine and you gasped. Even the most basic of touches from him could make your toes curl.

Your heart (and hips) raced as you felt your orgasm building. “Pleasepleaseplease-”

“Go ahead, love,” he said gently; affectionately. It was enough to push you over the edge.

You dug your nails into his back and moaned as your orgasm crashed through you. Your entire body trembled. You could still feel him rubbing your back lovingly, his touch sending tingles up and down your spine. 

“Good girl,” he murmured as the aftershocks subsided.

You whimpered again, placing a light kiss on his neck.