Timothée Chalamet One Shots

skin/eyes

It was rude to stare but you couldn't help yourself. Your eyes always found him even with one hundred other people standing in your way. You could feel his warmth on your body when he hugged a friend and you could hear his laugh in your ears through the music. Timothée always felt close by even when he was worlds apart.

But he had been close to you once. Just an hour before this, in fact. He basically demanded to see you, disregarding what your manager and stylist had to say.

"There's only half an hour until the after party red carpet and we're not even halfway ready," your stylist said.

"I just want to talk," Timothée insisted. "Five minutes."

Everyone knew what five minutes meant for the two of you. It was more of a euphemism than a measure of time. You decided to intervene, desperate to satisfy your craving for him.

"Five minutes," you repeated. "We can be late to the after party, I don't care about pictures."

"(Y/N)..."

"I don't care."

And then you ushered them out with Timothée closing and locking the door behind them.

You broke your stare from him when your mind drifted off to the unspeakable.

Timothée's after party look proved how confusing he could be as a person. It almost felt like he was locking himself away from you as punishment. Somehow it made you desire him more because you remembered what you had and you were forced to keep remembering because you were no longer able to experience. You swore he glanced at you but you were probably overreacting.

Timothée stared at you for a moment once the two of you were all alone. He glistened in that suit jacket. The lace on the sleeves was so elegant and sweet. And his bare chest underneath made you feel quite the opposite.

"You wanted to talk?" you asked, taking a step back for every step he took forward.

"We can talk after," he said. The look in his eye bordered on demonic.

In one swift motion he gathered you into a kiss that would have knocked you off your feet if he hadn't caught you. The two of you stumbled backward to the couch, hands fumbling around to free each other from clothing.

"I was so worried you already took this dress off," Timothée said as he reached for the zipper. "I wanted to be the one to do it."

He dragged it down slowly then let the garment drop to the floor in a ring around your feet. He turned you around, positioned a pillow, and then bent you over.

"You don't have to be quiet like last time," he said as your face sank into the cushion. "I hate when it's dead silent." He let out a deep moan when he was inside of you.

Timothée was advancing toward you whether it was intentional or not. You thought about avoiding him but couldn't bring yourself to run away. You wanted him again. This time you wanted to be the one doing the undressing. You wanted to be in control.

The pillow didn't even absorb half of your screams. Timothée was slow and gentle for all of thirty seconds before he took a fistful of your ass in both of his hands and fucked you to the point of tears. You were crying into the deep black void of pillow beneath your face, begging for him to somehow go harder. You wanted every inch of him and he wanted to give it all to you.

"Switch, baby," he said, pulling out and helping you stand upright. "On top of me." He sat down on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, the sequins in his blazer almost distracting you from the moment. Timothée noticed. "Jacket off?"

You shook your head and let your fingers roam underneath the fabric to explore the remaining part of his body left up to the imagination. You dipped down to kiss him slowly, sucking on his bottom lip and positioning him inside of you again. "Jacket stays on." One arm wrapped around his shoulders while your other hand got tangled in his curls. He hugged you while you rode and your kisses became sloppy and breathy the faster you went. He repeated your name between curses.

"(Y/N)?" Your manager tapped your shoulder.

You tore your eyes away from Timothée for one second. "Yes?"

"Someone wants a photo."

You followed your manager through the sea of celebrities with absolutely nothing on your mind other than how it felt to have Timothée Chalamet trembling beneath your body. The way he held your waist and looked you straight in the eyes when he talked to you.

"Fuck me, baby," he moaned. His voice was so deep and so desperate. He latched onto your waist tighter.

"I wanted you all night," you admitted, slowing down just enough to tease him.

"God, me too." His hips bucked in an effort to pick up the pace. "I was so hard the entire ceremony. You and that fucking dress." He fucked you back, one hand moving your ass back and forth.

You whimpered in his ear and let him have his way with you again. Your body melted into his.

"You still love me, don't you?" he asked. He always asked now because he knew you would be the most honest.

"Yeah," you answered, holding onto him for your life.

"Me too, baby. I know you're so close right now. Stay with me a little bit longer."

He always hit your spot after he said that. You whined his name.

"I know, baby, I know." Even he started to lose control. "Fuck. Fuck."

And then a climax. You felt euphoric and dizzy. Flash photography blinded you for a second but you could see Timothée through the abstract circles clouding your vision.

"Good discussion," he said, kissing your chest and then your lips. "See you at the after party."

You climbed off of him and you both took your time in making yourselves decent. Everyone knew what the two of you were doing in there; nothing was a secret.

"You're beautiful." Timothée pressed his lips to yours one last time, gently holding your face in his hands. He smiled at you and you knew he loved you so much. Then he turned and left, leaving the door open for the staff you kicked out earlier.

Now he was in front of you again, glowing in the low light. He knew better than to touch you for both of your sanity.

"Do you wanna talk?" he asked, much less confident this time around.

"Are we actually talking?"

"We can if you want. I think we should."

You had to be transparent. "After."

He understood immediately from the way you looked at him and your one word answer. Timothée took your hand and led you out of the party to a more private venue for such a conversation.

*****

genuinely think this is the best thing i have ever written something about 3am does wonders for my brain hope u all enjoy kiss kiss kiss <333