Timothèe Chalamet Imagines

❂beach❂

Trigger Warning: This has mild mentions of eating disorders. If this could be triggering to you in any way, please do not read. 

Eating Disorder Helpline: https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/contact-helpline (it's in this link)

Your POV

"Perfect," I say, stretching out on my towel under the umbrella. It truly is perfect. I can't remember the last time I felt so at ease, the waves crashing in front of me, the warm sand beneath my soft towel, the smell of the salt water fresh in the air. I stretch my legs out so that my toes peek out of the umbrella's shade.

Next to me, I hear Timothèe rummage through our huge tote bag.

"Where's the... SPF 100?" he asks, crouching over the bag and searching through the mess of things. I force my eyes open and sit up.

"Right there," I say, pointing to the can of spray laying on his towel. He glances over at it.

"I want the rub one," he says, returning to his search. I roll my eyes.

"You really need to learn how to suck it up and just spray the sunscreen on your face," I tell him.

"Yeah. That will never happen - here it is," he says. He pulls out the bottle and sits next to me, squeezing some out.

I glance past Timothèe.

"Y/s/n! Come here!" I yell. Our nine year old son is still dawdling in the sand behind us. He follows the sound of my voice and complies, frowning when he sees me hold out the sunscreen. 

"You don't want to get burned," Timmy tells him, noticing his face. 

In the distance, I see y/d/n walking towards us. She had forgotten something in the car, so she went back to grab it. She's texting on her phone, walking slowly towards us. 

Timmy starts spraying sunscreen on y/s/n's back, and squints at y/d/n in the distance. 

"Do you think she's just going to sit on her phone the whole time?" he asks. 

"I don't know. You know fifteen year olds. I feel like we have to give her some space," I tell him. 

"I'm sick of y/d/n being on her phone all the time. It's annoying. I want her to come in the waves with me," y/s/n says. 

"Yeah," Timmy says. "I do too." He turns back and keeps spraying y/s/n back with sunscreen. I cough and cover my eyes. 

"Can you guys do that over there?" I ask. 

"Sorry. I'm done anyway," Timmy says. He drops the sunscreen on the towel. 

"Race you to the water!" y/s/n says. They both start sprinting at the water, and I don't have the heart to tell them to let their sunscreen dry before they get in. 

Y/d/n walks over to our set up and sets her towel down, spreading it out under the umbrella next to mine. She clicks her phone off and sets it down, frowning. 

"What's wrong?" I ask. 

"Nothing," she replies shortly.