Warnings - man ho Timmy, injury, punching, arguing, sexism, jealousy
We'd left Stella behind, but then there had been Minnie, then Theresa, Stella had rejoined us after Theresa, and even continued to hang off his arm as he made out with some girl named Francis. I was appalled. No wonder he'd been so upset I'd come. He was stuck babysitting when he'd rather be with his harem. Right now I was sitting, trying to sketch a gorgeous bird cherry tree, trying to ignore the scene to my left.
Timothée lay with his head in Stella's lap. She seemed to be the one he liked the most. She combed her fingers through his curls. Francis was biting cherry stems and carrying them to his mouth so he could pull off the fruit. Every once and a while, he'd share a lazy, red stained, kiss with one of the girls.
There was a whole cauldron of feelings boiling in my gut. On one hand, jealousy had her long, spindly, fingers around my throat, choking me as I watched the scene unfold out of the corner of my eye. However, disgust also sat in my stomach. It wasn't the nature that it was three people, I didn't mind that. This was France for goodness sake, they'd coined the ménage a Trois. No it was that he didn't seem to care anything for either of them, while they were clearly obsessed with him. I was sure Stella could've been swapped out for Minnie, or Theresa, and he wouldn't have noticed. He seemed like the type to say the wrong name in bed and somehow make you feel guilty about it. So why did I wish he was staining my skin with red cherry juice? Why did I wish I could slide my hands under his shirt onto that perfect torso?
"Oi Chalamet!" I heard a voice shout. Maybe I'd Underestimated the girls' devotion, because they scattered like birds at the sound.
I actually saw that Timothée looked frightened. For the first time since I'd met him, he looked unsure of himself. I was astounded. I turned, needing to see who had struck Timothée Chalamet dumb.
It was a large boy. He had none of Timothée's slender grace. Instead he was muscular, with thighs that looked like they could crush a watermelon. He had slightly protruding teeth, and a shaved head, which wasn't my cup of tea, but other than that he was quite good looking. A bit like a Viktor Krum type. I was so lost in thought that I was shocked when he lifted Timothée off his feet as though he weighed as little as a sack of flour; which come to think of it, he probably did.
"What have I told you about flirting with birds from the west side of town, that's my turf," he snarled, he was English, I could hear it in his accent and slang.
"Don't be a plouc, Byron" Timothée said shakily. "They can hang out with whoever they please."
"You're going to regret that," Byron snapped, and sent Timothée flying onto his ass, a welt already growing on his face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snapped at Byron.
"Who are you!" He roared before realizing I was a girl. He went all soft charm, and now I knew his angle. If Timothée's charm was "bag the bad boy" his was "soothe the savage beast."
"I'm sorry, is Chalamet your friend. You'll have to forgive me, I get protective when it comes to girls," he said, actually daring to look sheepish.
"Wow," I scoffed. "No Timothée is not my friend. You still shouldn't go around hitting people."
"Sorry," he rubbed a hand over his fuzzy head. "Like I said, when a girl is involved-"
"You mean when a 'bird' is involved?" I demanded, I was Byron's cheeks heat and he nibbled at his lip ring, trying to figure out how to spin this in his favor.
"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot, I'm Byron," he said, putting a hand out. I glanced at Timothée on the ground, looking miserable, and gently touching his already purpling eye. It shouldn't have, but a wave of pity overwhelmed me.
I gave Byron a simpering smile, which made hope rise in his eyes. I took his hand, and swung with the other, hitting him right where his lip ring was. He threw out a litany of curses. He was bleeding and he let go of my hand to staunch the flow.
"Fucking bitch," he snapped. "Nice guard dog Timothée."
He stalked away in shame. I heard Timothée say my name. I turned, hoping he'd say I was awesome, or cool, or tougher than he thought. Instead I was met with a furious face.
"What the hell is wrong with you? I had everything under control!"
"You can't open your left eye," I snapped.
"Doesn't mean I was down for the count. You spoil everything! You came to France to learn, you want to be known as the foreigner who hauls off and punches the towns folks?"
I hated that he was a little bit right. I'd been mad on his behalf, but I was a guest in this country. Byron hadn't been bothering me anyway.
"Oh whatever Chalamet, go get your twenty girlfriends to simper over your poor eye for all I care. I'm going back to your house."
With that I turned around and stomped off. I remembered the way back, since Timothée had pointed out every house and building. I only realized when I got back that I'd forgotten my sketch book. I cursed myself. If that fucker looked at a single page, he'd know how I felt. God forbid he look at the first one, from the first night I'd been here. I shuddered to think about it. I decided to nap, maybe I wouldn't be so anxious then, because I was not swallowing my pride and going back to get my book while he was still there.
"Dinner," I heard Timothée's voice say, with a knock. Jet lag meant I'd passed out quickly. Timothée was getting me for dinner. I noticed he'd slipped something under the door. The first thing was a card, the second my sketch book.
"Dear Y/n," the card began and I hated that my heart did a flip. It was protocol to start a card with dear, I didn't need to be so pathetic.
"I'm sorry I got so mad at you. As cliché as this is, I was embarrassed about being protected by a girl. Byron was being sexist, and I guess I was too. I hope you can forgive me for being an extra big asshole. Oh, and you left your sketchbook, don't worry, I didn't look in it."
I sighed with relief and held the card to my heart. He had actually apologized. Did he still nothing me I wondered?
I went down to the dinner table, where Nicole scooped food onto my plate. Timothée caught my eye over his mother's shoulder. He gave me a tiny smile, one which I returned.
YOU ARE READING
Long Timothee Chalamet Stories
FanfictionNoticed when I made them into Singular books they weren't doing too well so I'll just put them all together. These are all Fanfictions about Timothee and you that are over five parts. Lots of different scenarios. I hope you enjoy.