NSFW Timothée Chalamet One Shots

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Pairing - Timothée Chalamet/fem!reader

Warning - Toxic relationship, smut, choking, oral (male and female receiving), spitting in mouth, Titty fucking, dom male, sub female, hair pulling, angry sex, taking pictures during sex, mutual masturbation, daddy kink

Timothée was antsy as hell. No matter where he went, what he did, his mind wandered to you. He inadvertently counted down the weeks, days, hours, even sometimes minutes until he could see you. You were his addiction, his guilty pleasure. He didn't know what you had that other people didn't, but they sure as hell weren't you and it was palpable every time he was with anyone else.

He was preoccupied by you. Begging for nudes when he was supposed to be in important meetings. Thinking of your lips when he kissed a costar. Imagining you as he touched himself every night.

He could never truly be with you, you both knew it. He was in a publicist created relationship with an up and coming pop star. There was no love, no fire, no lust or passion, all the things that were all too common with you. He had to kiss her, and pretend to be close, but even his damn fans could tell it was fake.

He wanted you but he knew he shouldn't. He knew you were toxic, the both of you together were toxic, but he loved it. The pleasure and pain kept him on his toes, and brought interest to his sometimes monotonous work life. Not to mention the thrill of you. Everyone thought he was gentle, innocent, pleasant, Timmy, but with you he could be wild and wicked. He knew agreeing to be with you publicly would be the last straw, and he'd never let you go no matter what you did or what others said. He often wondered why he was practicing this self preservation he didn't truly believe in; but something inside him told him a tsunami would be unleashed if he gave you what you wanted, which was all of him.

Despite everything, here he was. Your apartment, the number that floated through his head at all times. He often thought if he was injured and someone asked him who to call, he would just utter the number he thought of the most, your apartment number.

"Angel?" He called out as he entered. Babe, baby, Mon Amor, they were all too intimate. If he called you Angel he could excuse your behavior. You weren't a normal person, you were his angel, his ethereal thing that normal laws didn't apply to. You loved the nickname so he called you it often.

"Angel, are you home?" He knew you were. You had each other's locations shared with one another.

"Fuck you Timothée," the voice seemed to come from the shadows of the dim apartment. Soon her hand was around his throat as she pushed him roughly back against the door. He hated the way his cock twitched at her rough touch, she wasn't doing it to be sexy, but it was.

"What did I do?" He asked, showing more of his neck, letting her know he was at her mercy. She shoved a magazine in front of his face. On the cover was Timothée kissing his fake girlfriend. This had to be the twentieth time he'd explained this dynamic to her.

"You know I have to," He begged, her hand wasn't tight, but he knew the dangerous place he was in.

"You have to?" She asked in a choked sob. "You have to betray me and break my heart?"

He was crumbling at the catch in her voice and the tears on her cheeks.

"You know we aren't exclusive."

She pressed harder and Timothée knew he shouldn't have loved it. He knew he should have hated her.

"Angel please, I always come back to you. It's never been her, it's always been you."

You scoffed through your tears and let his throat go.

"All those things you whisper to me while we fuck. How I'm your special place, that you are hollow without me, you say you'd come back to me no matter the distance. You say all these lovely things but you won't make me your girlfriend. Your own mother doesn't know I exist. I tried to follow Pauline on Instagram last night and she rejected me, probably because she doesn't know who I am. I'm just someone for you to fuck!"