timothée chalamet imagines

worry

your pov

"Tim." I giggled, putting my book down.

He walked back to the other side of the room, grabbing things left and right.

He bit his lip, mumbling off the name of the next thing or things he thinks he needs to grab.

I sighed. "Timothée."

He stopped in his tracks, finally looking at me.

"Yes?" he asked.

I patted the free space next to me on the bed, "You need to stop worrying."

He sighed again, "I can't help it."

I laid on my side, as does he, so we could face each other. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and planted a short kiss on my lips.

A grin appeared on my face after he pulled away and my hand rested on the side of my bump.

He let out a small chuckle, slowly starting to rub his hand across my belly as our girl kicked.

"We're all going to be fine." I reassured.

He but his lip and nodded. "But I've never done this before."

I chuckled. "Neither have I." I am expecting our first child ever after all.

"What if I'm not a good Dad?" he questioned.

"Timothée."

He stared down at the hand rubbing across my belly. I grabbed his chin, tilting it up so he could look at me once again.

"You're going to be an amazing Dad, you know that. What kind of dad-to-be would pack up the hospital bag three months in advance?"

He smiles. "Me."

"What kind of dad-to-be would satisfy any craving his little girl has even when it's four a.m on a Wednesday?"

He chuckles. "Also me."

"And what kind of dad-to-be has already fallen so in love with a daughter he hasn't even met yet?" I ask as she kicks against his hand again.

"Me." he repeats in a soft tone.

I smile. "Don't doubt yourself, Tim. You're going to be a great Dad, the best Dad anyone could ever ask for, you know that."

"Thank you." he says, leaning in to press another kiss to my lips.