Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

My Step Brother, Timothee (P6)

Info - step bro Timmy, forced to babysit, nurturing Timothée, emotionally cheating, pinned against the wall, calling reader a slut, not wanting people to get married, mentions of sex and masturbation

"Timothée, that's a horrible thing to say!" My mother snapped.

"No it isn't, I can't stand how we're playing house. You know we don't like this," he said desperately. In my deepest desires I knew what I wished. I wanted him to be mad about this arrangement because he wanted me.

"Timothée, y/n is being so much more mature than you," Andrew growled.

"She is not, y/n, do you want them to get married?" He asked me bluntly. I felt horrible as my mother stared me down.

"I-I love Emmy, but, that's pretty much the only thing I like about this. I left my friends, I left my life."

"Exactly!" Timothée was almost screaming, people were looking.

"Timothée, you're acting like a child!" My mother chastised.

"I am not, you are! You didn't ask a single person if this was a good idea. You took no one's advice. This isn't a good idea," he was so angry.

It couldn't be. He didn't want me this much. He wasn't mad because he wanted me. He just hated us all.

"That's it Timothée! I didn't want to do this," Andrew was raging. "You and y/n will babysit Emmy this weekend for us. This will show you what family is!"

"You don't understand!" He pleaded.

"No, don't talk to me, after all I've done for you and you talk like this," Andrew was mad. "I deserve happiness."

"That isn't what I'm saying. Doesn't it bother you at all that I won my game and I'm still miserable?" He asked. Everyone was quiet and in fact we were all quiet until we got home. We just didn't talk. Timothée, me, the parents, and Emmy went to sleep.

I couldn't sleep well. Tomorrow was the weekend. Timothée and I would be responsible for Emmy. When I came downstairs I was shocked to see Timothée in sweats and a white tshirt, Emmy on his hip as he made a bottle for her.

I did not like the things this was doing to me. My stomach twisted with fondness, and my core heated with desire. He looked like a stay at home dad.

"Morning," he said absently. "Made you oatmeal, I thought someone bland like you might like that."

"Really, we're starting the day like that?" I demanded.

"Gotta make some fun when we'll be babysitting for eight hours," he grumbled. I sat down and tested the oatmeal.

"Oh come on, I'm mean, but I'm not 'poison your breakfast' mean," he snapped.

"I didn't think it was poisoned, I worried it was like full of salt or something," I said, and began to eat the oatmeal.

"Open up little Emmy," Timothée smiled at his baby sister. She opened happily. He fed her the baby food. He was so gentle and kind with her, he didn't even get mad when she spit food on him, he just laughed.

"Do you want kids?" I asked.

"Yeah, lots of them," he responded more easily than I thought he would. "I want to get married young, and have a big family."

"That's surprising, seeing how avidly against the parents getting married you are," I said.

"Well, that should be for obvious reasons," he said with an eye roll, but it wasn't obvious. I thought for a long time about the different options for his reasoning.

"So what do we do with a baby all day?" He asked.

"Play with her, read with her, change her, put her down for nap," I told him.

Emmy proved to be harder to take care of than we thought. She lost interest in things very fast. She seemed to wet her diaper the second we changed her. She was missing the parents. However, to my surprise Timothée and I were an excellent team, we worked off one another well. That was, until nap time.

"Shhhhh," Timothee pleaded with Emmy who was screaming. He looked stressed and worried.

"Here, let me try something," I said and took her. I began to sing a French lullaby I had learned just for Emmy. She was slowly quieting, and soon she was out. Timothée and I crept away, and shut the door.

"That was magic," he said in awe to me. "You know I'm part French right?"

"Yeah, before I'd met you or Andrew I learned it, thinking it might make her think of her dad. I don't even know what I'm saying I just copied the sounds from YouTube," I admitted.

"You were a little off, but it was impressive none the less," he chuckled.

"Oh my goodness is Timothée Chalamet complimenting me?" I asked in mock shock.

"Oh whatever," he rolled his eyes.

"No, it's not whatever," I poked his back.

"Yeah it is," he replied but I continued to poke his back, and denying his claim in a sing song voice.

"I said!" He began and whipped around, pressing me to the wall, wrists caged against it by his large ones, his knee between my legs.

"It's whatever," he breath ghosted over my face. I felt intoxicated by him. I wanted to grind my pussy down on his thigh.

"What if I don't want it to be," I dared to say. His eyes were glittering dangerously.

"Don't be a slut, you're with Jake," he snapped and stalked away. I couldn't believe I was pursuing him.

"But you'd love to upset Jake," I pushed.

"Not enough to touch you," he said and that's what did it. I slunk ashamedly to my room. His mixed signals were driving me insane. So we fuck, then he hates me, then I spy him hate jerking to me, then he compliments me, pins me against a wall and calls me a slut.

When Emmy woke up, Timothée and I worked in silence together until the parents got home. I decided to call Jake to distract myself from the weirdness of today.