Timothee Chalamet is a well-known photographer in the fashion industry. Talented, handsome, and unfortunately for you, married...
Y/N L/N the new model hottie in the bussiness. Talented, young, and she always gets what she wants.
Timothee Chalamet x...
The sun seeped through the white curtains of Timothee's bedroom window, hitting his eyes and making him peek open and fully wake up. Or rather, the bedroom he shared with his wife. He felt the weight of his arms draped over something move, then cuddle into him further. It was Y/n.
This made him smile. How could someone as beautiful as her choose someone like him, he wondered.
He then felt her move a bit more in his arms until he met her beautiful eyes. "How long have you been awake?" she asked groggily.
"Not long," he smiled at her.
She hummed and cuddled further into his chest, which made him hold her even tighter.
The night before, Y/n had expressed slight discomfort having sex with him in his home—the home where his wife also lived. So it had taken a lot of convincing on his part to reassure her that Christina was on a work trip and wouldn't be back for a week.
"What do you have planned for today, baby?" he asked.
"Staying in bed with you," she murmured into his chest.
He grinned. "Sounds like a plan to me."
They stayed in that position for five minutes, sharing a few kisses, until she slightly pulled away and said, "I want pancakes."
"You want me to make you some?"
"Mhm," she nodded.
"As you wish, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead, pulled away, put on his discarded boxers and shirt, and headed down to the kitchen.
While cooking—something he used to loathe until he realized his love for it when doing it for her—he started to think about them. They'd been doing this for about six months now, with rare bumps along the way, and he wondered what to do in the long run. He knew he wanted to leave Christina, even before Y/n came along, but it wasn't that easy.
He and Y/n hadn't even said the three words yet. He knew that's how he felt about her, but he was scared she didn't feel the same. After all, she was much younger than him. What if she didn't see their relationship as serious?
He was scared to talk to her about it because, again, he didn't know how she felt. He also knew he wouldn't know until he made a move, but... yeah. It was a cycle in his head.
You could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears as he thought about it. Thank goodness the pancakes weren't burning.
In the middle of his thoughts, he was startled when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist while he cooked.
"You look sexy while you cook," she said, kissing his neck.
He turned and cupped her face. "Oh, really? I should do this more often, then."
"Only when you're with me, though," she pouted.
"Oh, so no one else can see me like this? Only you?"
"Yes, only me," she whispered.
"Okay, then, only you."
They kissed momentarily before Timothee pulled away to check on the pancakes.
_______________
Timothee was seated at the dining table, Y/n on his lap, both feeding each other. They looked utterly domestic; for ages, they'd rarely sat apart unless someone else was present.
After they finished eating, Timothee wanted to talk about their relationship. He didn't need a deep conversation, just a glimpse into her feelings. He cupped her cheek, his gaze solemn.
"Baby, we need to talk."
"Oh my god, are you breaking up with me?" she laughed nervously.
"No, no, no, of course not." She breathed a sigh of relief.
"I just wanted to ask... what are we?"
"Oh, well... I don't know either. I've thought about it, and I haven't found a clear answer," she replied.
"What do you want us to be?"
"I want us to be a normal couple, but I don't see that happening anytime soon," she said lightly, attempting a joke.
"We could be."
"How?" she asked expectantly.
"I could leave her."
This shocked her. She pulled away, standing up. "Don't be ridiculous. You won't."
"I will," he insisted, reaching for her hand, his eyes locked on hers.
"You can't," she argued.
"I can," he said with quiet determination, rising and following her as she slowly backed away.
"Your career!"
"I can still salvage it." He held her hands, trying to calm her.
"She'll hate you!"
"I don't care," he scoffed.
"She'll hate me!"
"Like you care?" He chuckled.
"W-well no, but a lot of people will."
"I don't care about them. I care about you. Only you," he smiled.
"Why don't you care?"
"Because..."
"Because what?!" she practically whispered-shouted.
He gently held her face, their foreheads touching.
"I love you."
She was speechless.
"You can't," she whispered.
"Apparently, I can, because I do."
"B-but, I'm your mistress, your hook-up,"
"No, you're not," he cut her off firmly.
"You're not supposed to love me," she explained.
"But I do. So who cares what's 'supposed' to be?"
"Why? Why do you love me?"
"Because when I look at you, everything else fades. I just want you, even from a distance."
"How can you love me?"
"How? You're you. That's how."
She looked at him, a mixture of passion and sadness in her eyes.
"I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to. I just wanted you to know..."
"I love you too."
His eyes widened slightly. "You do?"
"Of course."
He didn't know what else to say, so he grabbed her face and kissed her.
This kiss was different from all their others. It wasn't just lust or passion; it was full of love, sincerity, and trust.
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I know I've been gone for a long time (again). Sue me or whatever 🫶🫶🫶
