timothée chalamet imagines

flour

your pov

"Time!" I yell, throwing my hands in the air.

Timothée laughs. "Fifty two seconds."

I unwrap the swaddle and push the things toward Timothée's side of the table.

"Is this even accurate?" he picks up the bag of flour, holding it like a baby.

"I think so," I say "that's what they gave me at my last class, they ran out of plastic babies."

He shakes his head, opening up the swaddle on the table in a square. "I'm ready." he nods, rubbing his hands together quickly as I restart the time on my phone.

Timothée and I are expecting our first child in less than two months. Our lamaze class teachers recommended that we do some skill practicing outside of the class itself.

Today's at home skill practice: swaddling.

"Ready...set...go!"

I watch carefully as Timothée places the bag of flour on top of the spread out swaddle. He looks extremely focused, he's biting his lip. The sight is so intense that it feels like swaddling correctly is the only thing his life depends on.

My finger hovers over the 'stop' button on my phone, ready to press on it any second.

Timothée throws his hands in the air, just like I did. "Time!" he yells loudly. I stop the timer.

"Time." he repeats in a calmer tone.

I push my phone toward him so he can see it for himself. His hands go back up in the air.

"YES! YES! YES!" he yells. He shoves the phone in my face "Forty five seconds y/n! Forty five!"

"Okay," I nod "I get it." He sets my phone back down on the table.

"Jealous?" he smirks.

"No."

"Yes, you are." he sings.

"I am not." I cross my arms, uncrossing them immediately after since it's a dead giveaway that I am actually mad and I am a sore loser.

"Want to try again?" he smiles, holding up the perfectly swaddled bag of flour.

"No, I'm going to lay down," I fake yawn "I'm really tired."

He squints his eyes at me, not buying that I'm tired at all, but I walk away anyway.

"WOOO!" he yells at the top of his lungs, startling me as I walk toward the stairs that lead up to our bedroom.

The second my foot touches the first step, a very loud smack comes from the kitchen, a loud gasp follows it.

I go back to the kitchen. "What are you doi-" I'm cut off by shock and horror. Timothée's standing there, hand covering his mouth.

"It was an accident." is all he says.

Flour is spilled all over the floor. The once free-standing bag is split right open and bunched.

I bend down, picking up the swaddle. I shake it out, trying to get rid of the flour that disperses into a cloud, making us both cough.

Before I can even think about cleaning up this mess, I look right at Timothée, a smile spreads across my face just like the one of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

"You just dropped our baby."

He's looking at me confused, I'm trying to hold in my laugh, but I can't take it anymore. I burst into laughter, right then and there.

"It's not funny." he snatches the swaddle from my hand and throws it on the table.

I wipe my eyes of tears. "Yeah," I agree "it's not funny." I try to collect myself, but I just can't.

Timothée looks extremely disappointed and stares at the floor. I walk over to him, stepping around the pile of flour.

"It's okay," I wrap my arms around him "it was just an accident."

His tense body relaxes in my arms and he turns around to engulf me in a hug. "What if I drop our actual baby?"

"You won't," I hear his heart beating quickly "you would never."

He sighs, looking over at the mess he made. "It is kind of funny, isn't it?" he asks and we laugh.

"I think we learned a very valuable lesson today, Timothée." I pull away from the hug, putting my hands on my hips.

"That we should be safer when handling bags of flour?"

I shake my head. "No," I say "the lesson we learned today is that we shouldn't gloat."

"Seriously?" he rolls his eyes.

"If you gloat," I say "like someone I know, you'll drop your flour baby on the floor. And that's not what we want, right?"

"Right." he sighs.

I bring his face down and close to mine. "Now clean up." I give him a kiss and start walking back toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"To lay down," I yell "I told you already!"

"This mess is your baby too!"

I'm right in front of the stairs again, my foot back on the first step like earlier. "I'm not the one who dropped it!"