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#timothée chalamet fic
finelinevogue · 14 days
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love isn’t weakness
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summary - paul helps you see that love isn’t a weakness
pairing - paul atreides x caladan!reader
word count - +1k
🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨🌙⚔️🌅✨
You wake to the Paul sleeping soundly beside you.
For once.
So often now does Paul wake up in a cold sweat from his dreams. You can’t imagine how terrifying seeing the possible future must be, but as long as he has you beside him to hold his hand he assures you he’ll be okay.
You wipe the sleep away from your eyes and sit up to let the blanket fall from your body.
Some days you wish you had been allowed to stay on Caladan. Days like today, where you mourn the loss of your parents who died in a war long ago.
Now, you were lost to the deserts of Arakkis.
Paul was slowly becoming a God here and soon you were afraid you’d lose him to the desert too.
You watched him for a few moments, his chest rising slowly and falling again. There was something so overwhelming about watching him just exist.
Watching him grow up as your best friend had never been like this. You’d only grown in feelings for Paul when he was sent to Arakkis before you. The loss of not having him near all the time was horrible, and when reunited Paul made that clear to you by kissing you as more than a best friend.
You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead softly so not to disturb him, before getting ready to go outside to greet the waking sun.
No one else on camp was awake.
You were away from Worm territory and clear of any Harkonnen’s for now.
Trudging up the steep sand bank, you crested to the top and was greeted by the expanse lands of the dunes.
Nothing for miles. Far as your eyes could see, there was nothing but peaks and troughs of mountainous dunes.
You sat down carefully, watching some sand slide down the dune beside you.
Opening the small piece if dirtied white - now grey - cloth in your hand you found your small locket. The circular shaped pendant necklace opened to the treasure inside - a small picture of your parents on their wedding day.
You gulped back the phantom stone in the back of your throat and squeezed the pendant in your hand tightly.
“I miss you.” You whispered to the desert.
Silence returned.
“You would never guess where I am now!” You laughed to yourself, wiping your tears away quickly with the back of your hand.
It was advised to never cry in the desert, lest you want to lose all your bodies water reserves.
You blew out a big breath, trying to remind calm. “Could do with a nightmare of a family dinner right now.”
‘Nightmare’ because there would always be an argument of some sort about what you were going to have. It was never actually a nightmare, you just liked to refer to them as that.
Soft footsteps could be heard behind you, climbing the dune not so subtly. Although, you suspected they wanted you to hear them so you knew someone was coming.
Only when he sat next to you, did you realise it was Paul.
He sat tight beside you, not leaving much room.
He looked out towards the vast landscape and said nothing. He was good at knowing when or it you wanted him to speak, or when you just wanted the company.
For now, company was all you needed.
He softly slunk his calloused hand into yours, interlinking your fingers and squeezing to show you he was there for you.
He knew what this day was to you.
“I don’t want to be weak when I think about them anymore.” You whispered, hoping Paul would understand.
“It’s not weak to miss them, Y/N.”
“I feel it.” You dipped your head, opening your other hand to reveal the pendant.
“Love isn’t a weakness. That’s what you feel; love. You’re loving them even after they’ve gone.” He explained in a way a true leader could only.
“That was a very wise thing to have come from you.” You turned to look at him and he was already smiling at you, both of your glowing in the morning sun now.
“Love has made me wise.”
He looked at your lips. You looked from his eyes to his own.
“Then you would know, love isn’t wise at all.” You responded with something Lady Jessica had told him when he had declared that you were together.
Literally, declared in front of a whole camp of Fremens. It was simultaneously both the most embarrassing and happiest moment you’d felt on this planet.
Paul decided to shut you up by kissing you, not too harshly otherwise you’d both go falling off the top of the dunes - which, yes, had happened before.
He cupped your cheek softly and kissed just as much. His lips were warm with the wake of the sun and your insides started to glow just as brightly.
Love.
“You make me feel less weak.” You pulled back to tell him, whispering the words only a breaths touch away from his lips.
“That’s because you love me.” He teased, kissing you with a smile.
You pushed his shoulder ever-so-lightly, to get him back for the teasing.
“Do you not?” He questioned, pretending to be offended. He touched your cheek furthest from him and tugged it so you would face him again. “Hmm?”
“You’re so dependent on what my feelings are for you?”
“Yes.”
The light conversations between you never failed to outshine any dark moments you way be having.
“That makes you a weak man. Maybe you aren’t Lisan Al-Gaib after all.” You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.
“Maybe. Love still doesn’t make me a weak man though and it doesn’t make you weak either.” He kissed the tip of your nose softly.
“Thank you.” You smiled at him.
“They’re still there, watching over you.” He nodded to the sky where the last of the stars were twinkling still. Soon they’d be gone and the sky would be lit in cerulean blue.
“I know.”
“And they’re here too.” He touched over your heart and then over his. Your parents had been as close to him as his own father, so he knows what the loss feels like even after all this time.
He now knows the kind of whole a loved one can leave on your heart. It’s learning to know not how to re-fill it, but live with it that’s the difficult part.
He was learning how to do that from you, just as you learnt from him.
You kissed him again, just because you needed to let him know that you appreciated him - more than words could ever explain.
Paul gave you a small smile when be broke away from your lips quietly.
“I love you. To forever.”
“To forever.”
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txchlmet · 2 years
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around the world ✿ | timothée chalamet
fc: madison beer | warnings: none, just fluff
⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆
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9,920 likes
timmyupdates new picture of timothée at y/n's concert in manchester tonight!
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user1 supportive boyfriend >
user2 he was watching her from the crowd how cute 🥺
user3 i was standing behind him and my mans had heart in his eyes the entire time
↪ user4 i saw a video on twitter where he pulled out his phone and took pictures of her every time she changed outfits 😭
user5 he's been with her for the entire european leg of tour, ladies IF HE WANTED HE WOULD
user6 he's setting the bar so high for us
↪ user7 he's... standing in a crowd. 💀
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liked by kidcudi, zendaya and 2,928,028 others
yourinstagram manchester, i'm never gettin over u
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user1 you were amazing bubs 💕
user2 the way you did not hesitate to jump off the stage to hug that fan who was sobbing 💀
↪ user3 the security guard looked so done too 😭
pauline.chalamet you looked so pretty and sounded amazing 🥺
kidcudi 🤩
tchalamet you blow my mind every time !!
↪ yourinstagram mon ange garçon, i adore you 🥺
user4 they're so in love no one touch me
user5 timmy dancing to y/n's songs every night is my daily dose of serotonin fr fr
nicoleflender beautiful concert, beautiful girl!
user6 can't wait for the tour dairies, we're gonna have so much content 😭
user7 still waiting for timmy's cryptic post
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2,827 likes
fanaccount in today's q&a, y/n said she has written songs about timothée!
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user1 "expect a feature with lil timmy tim" she's so funny bye 💀
user2 plss the way she blushed when fans mentioned timothée 🥺
user3 she also said timmy knows how to write songs!!
↪ user4 patiently waiting for the day they collab on something 😭
user5 they're both so awkward and shy, it's like they're the same person
user6 no cause the day they get married is the day i'd die
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liked by florencepugh, joe.alwyn and 7,280,289 others
tchalamet mon petit paradis, photo de moi ☺
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user1 oh to be timothée's little heaven 😔
user2 alexa play that should be me by jb
user3 when they post about each other >
florencepugh obsessed with her 😍
user4 so lil timmy tim's got photography skills?!
user5 I HOPE TIMMY KNOWS HOW TO FIGHT 🤺
user6 timmy is your girlfriend single?
↪ tchalamet NEVER
prideofgypsies 🧡🧡🧡🧡
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liked by tchalamet, zendaya and 5,289,298 others
yourinstagram photo dump with ma lovah <3
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user1 SECOND SLIDE SECOND SLIDE
user2 timmy's smile on the third pic 🥺🥺
user3 if they ever break up i'll stop believing in love
user4 you don't understand, these are my parents
zendaya in love with these
user5 third picture he was looking at her while she performed and you can't convince me otherwise 😌
pauline.chalamet love you guys so much
user6 can they break up already? i'm tired of seeing them everywhere 🙄
↪ yourinstagram no ❤
user7 Y/NNN 💀
user8 after that ^ comment y'all should get married just to annoy these bitches
[ yourinstagram just liked user8's comment ]
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garfieldsladybird · 1 year
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heyyy idk if ur request are on or off and if u still write for timothée. but if you do, i had an idea. so like i think its number 6 and the prompt is “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” and the reader is dating timothée and they r at his apartment smoking and he falls asleep before she does and wakes up to her in his shirt
my requests are open so your all good and I will forever write for him!! :)) i love thisss!!! thank you for requesting lovely <333 also sorry it took forever :(( it didn’t have to be this many words but for some reason I just wanted to make it longer.
Cloth | Timothée Chalamet.
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timothée x reader. (established relationship)
warnings — words: 1,136. fluff. drugs. marijuana. very detailed about smoking bong hits. smoking a piece of blunt wrap in a bong. blunts have tobacco in it, mentions of tobacco.
a/n: also very proud on how this turned out :)) to all my ppl that lay on the right side of the bed im sorry, I had to choose a side and I sleep on the left 😬
Credits -> This is my work. Their ^ idea. It is to not be plagiarized. Timothée Chalamet is a real human being and I do not know him. This is all fictional. Even if he’s real.
Masterlist, Navigation, Timmy C. List.
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It was just one of those lazy days today.
Best days of all days, were you and timothée were just you and timmy, even though that’s an everyday thing with you both, it was a day of no work, no fans- unless you do run into someone when out but no online stuff, and that's it. Just comfort for each other.
The day already passed by, not doing much except smoking, exploring each other’s bodies a few times, going for a walk and ordering some food but it was way too late to order food now, yet the city wasn’t asleep. I mean we are in the city nicknamed ‘The city that never sleeps.’
As of right now, you and timmy were just taking bong hits, relaxing on the bed, and watching a new show on netflix. Today you’ve smoked two blunts and a joint, while also taking bong hits, pen hits, and some dap hits too but that was throughout the day. And now you didn’t have that much weed to roll a joint, not even to roll a blunt... especially when all the cones and blunts you have are rolled and there was no point to smoke one right now.
A sharpe sound was heard, interrupting the tv as the pink lighter in your hand generated a flame. If you look close enough, there was blue at the bottom close to the metal where it was sprouting out from, continuing to go into an ombré of orange to yellow in the form of a candle, but between the blue and orange, it was clear, see-through. surprisingly.
You pull the now lit lighter to the bowl that was full of ground-up weed and a very small piece of a blunt wrap— it was from a leftover roach earlier that day, both of you smoked the weed from the roach so now you were smoking the wrap.
The bong was in your hand over the side table as you lit your herbs on fire and begin to inhale. Covering the carb hole with your thumb, you hear the tv playing but also hear the water bubbling and feeling it drip back down too.
Watching the bowl for a few seconds, a familiar burning sensation in the back of your throat starts building up. Just before it gets too much, you move to uncover the hole and continue to inhale, the air aiding to direct the smoke into your lungs.
You take as much as you could before pulling away, smoke lines come waving through the dark fiery weed from in the bowl. You slowly blow the smoke out, making a small white cloud form in the dark tv lit room.
A grape taste fulls your mouth and the air now smells like it to, and it wasn’t like the medicine grape or the powerade grape flavor but it was in between both of them, tasting better than both in your opinion, the little tobacco in there making it all hit you more. Making the high so much more better.
“mmm, mon amour?” he asked in a mumbled, his face stuffed in a pillow; eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed with his lips in a pout. He was so tired, his arms felt like they could fall off, and he couldn’t open his eyes for shit, he was on the brick falling asleep but he need to say something.
“yea?” you ask with a soft smile.
“come to bedddd…”
Turning to him, you see him all snuggled up, going to lay on your side in front of him, your left hand cupping his jaw, just looking at him with a soft look, memorizing his face once more.
“Je t'aime, and sleepy.” he mumbles, eyes kind of fluttering open but still closed, yawning before his lips push into a kiss face with him humming, his way of saying ‘i wanting a kiss.’
“I love you too,” you gave him a peck but he whines when the warmth of your lips leaves his, giving him a few more smiling when you feel his before pulling away, your lips still touching, “go to sleep,” you whisper with a playful smile.
“no, you,” he mumbles, his hand now wrapping around your waist.
“I’ll come to bed with you, I just have to change, okay.” you kiss him before getting up to change, his arm flopping on the bed, the strength he has, not able to hold you down, all because of the high but as you leave he hums disapprovingly, ‘mhm mhmm’.
When you finally climb back into bed, only a few seconds had passed but he was out like a light. As you were going under the covers and turning the tv down in the process, his arm suddenly wraps around your waist, scaring you a little as he pulls you in, gaining his strength in those two minutes. Both of you are now cuddled together with the show still playing, high, asleep, but still together.
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A beam of light was peeking into the room, it was lightening and warming up the carpet, indicating that the sun was up and above the window, saying it was morning. Not that many birds were chirping, but if the windows were open you would hear them talking beautifully to one another, saying good morning to everyone. The cars still making sounds as usual. The city still alive.
The warm ball in the atmosphere has yet to touch the people in the bed. Both still in deep sleep from the night they had, even though that’s an everyday night. on some occasions.
As the hours went by, the morning went higher into the sky, the bright light drifting in the room, going from one place to another, until it shone on the wall above the two lovers from where the rays were glimpsing inwards.
They look beautiful. And peaceful.
He was on his back with you cuddled and laying on him, face in his neck, leg wrapped around his waist, arm on his chest. Like a koala bear.
Disturbing the peaceful air in the room, Timmy grumbles as he rolls over, gently to not disturb you. Now laying more on you, he breathes you in, yawning before giving you a few pecks on the neck. He gets your usual smell but also gets the scent of his too. Lifting his head up a little, he looks down and sees his shirt on you. As soon as he sees that a smile rises up and he buries his face in your neck.
soon enough, you started waking up from the kisses. you cuddle into his chest, he responds by holding you even more. Breathing him in, you lift head a little, yawning you see he’s awake. “morning.” you say quietly, with a very tired smile.
“morning my love,” he says quietly too, voice raspy, with a pleasant smile, before kissing your forehead. You respond with a hum and smile on your face, leaning more into him.
“is that my shit?” he says quietly in your ear with the teasing voice in a smirk.
Still tired, you slowly open your eyes, quickly looking down at your shirt, you look up, making eye contact with him “oh, um. you mean our shirt..?” you end your question with a smirk.
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‎© 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗅𝖺𝖽y𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽. 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾!!
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my happy little pill ✿ | timothée chalamet
my masterlist | warnings: developing dependence to medication, going through withdrawal.
⋆┈┈。゚❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ❁ུ۪ ❃ུ۪ ❀ུ۪ ゚。┈┈⋆
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Mavis has struggled with anxiety pretty much her whole life. For as long as she could remember she's had trouble to execute simple tasks with ease. Like going to the mall on her own or driving a car.
Therapy helped a lot to work on her confidence but four or so years ago her anxiety got so bad they decided to prescribe her some medication to help with her anxiety attacks. Making the decision of starting to take the pills was a big deal to her, and she felt lucky she had Timothée on her corner.
The first two years went by smoothly, taking the medication only when needed. If she was honest she kind of liked the feeling of temporary numbness it brought her every time she popped a pill in her mouth. After so many years of thinking too much it was nice to not feel anything.
The pills also helped her with the terrible insomnia she's had for years. She started noticing how good she'd sleep when she took it, and soon she became dependent on them, taking it even when she wasn't feeling anxious or having an attack, doubling the dose hoping it would make it feel even better.
Timothée began to notice how her medication started to run out sooner than expected, how she stopped taking the pills with him in the same room because she didn't want him to see how many she was taking. He didn't want to make Mavis uncomfortable by asking her but he was starting to really worry about his girlfriend.
"Timmy," Mavis calls out as she enters their shared bedroom. "I'm going out for a bit, I shouldn't take long."
Before she could exit the room, Timothée poked his head out of the master bathroom. "Where are you going?"
"I have to uh- pick up some things at the pharmacy." She forgot to lie and immediately cringed at the way his eyebrows furrowed.
"The pharmacy? Are you feeling sick?"
She figured she couldn't lie now so she told the truth. "I ran out of my pills." She mumbled, hoping he wouldn't hear. But of course he did.
"What do you mean you ran out?" With slight panic in his voice he pushed past her, making his way to the cabinet they kept the medications in and searched for her anxiety medication. When Mavis caught up with him he was already holding the empty bottle in his hands, examining it carefully. "These were supposed to last until - chérie," his tone changed to a softer one once he realized. "How many pills have you been taking?"
She lowered her gaze. "Just the amount prescribed."
"Mavis." Timothée's tone was dead serious. He never used her full name, always opting for sweet pet names. That's how she knew he was not playing around. "Have you been feeling anxious lately?"
"The pills help." She mumbled. "I take three before going to sleep every night." Mavis hated lying to her boyfriend, and seeing the worry in his eyes made her feel guilty. "They make me feel good, Timmy. I need them." Her voice cracked and her eyes filled with tears making Timothée to drop the medication bottle and pull her into a hug.
"My sweet girl, I know you do. But you can't crank up your dose like that." He pulled away to swipe the tears off her face with his thumbs. "It's making you more damage than good. You're not yourself, I've noticed."
"But I'm better." She tried to argue. "They make my brain numb, I like that. They also make me sleep better, you know how much I've struggled with that. Please just let me go get them, I will only take the amount prescribed, I promise."
"I don't believe you." He shook his head. "I think we should make an appointment and revisit the idea of the pills."
This made her panic. "No! You do not understand. I...I can’t sleep, I can’t eat without those p-pills...t-they’ve helped me a-and I-I can’t-- I can't s-top taking them."
More tears began to fall and he took this a sign delicately pick her up and place her on the sofa. He kneeled in front of her and began to massage her arms. "Mavis, honey, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that for me?"
He started taking deep breaths, in and out, until she started mimicking them to help her calm down. They stayed silent for a while, Mavis taking a hold of Timothée's hand and squeezing it now and then, him doing the same to help keeping her grounded and as a reminder he was still there.
"You're right." She finally spoke. "I should probably stop taking them for a while. I'm just... Timmy, I'm scared of feeling the way I did before."
His eyes softened. "I'm right here, chérie. It won't be easy at the beginning but we'll figure it out, okay?"
He was right. It wasn't easy. The first night was the toughest, her insomnia making a comeback when she didn't take the pills before getting ready for bed. But as he promised, Timothée stayed awake with her as she laid on his chest, stocking her hair gently as she played with the plain silver chain that rested on his naked chest.
He hummed a soft, calming melody to help her relax. That night they didn't sleep at all, watching in silence how the sun raised and the sky cleared from the windows of their bedroom.
They repeated the same routine the next night, Timothée trying some white noises on the speakers because he read that helped people with insomnia to sleep. He carefully crafted a playlist, filtering all the sounds he knew she wouldn't like. The sound of rain made her anxious and the ocean terrified her.
"I feel bad you're not getting any sleep because of me." She said the third night she was getting ready for bed.
"In sickness and in health, baby."
"We're not married." She said as she got into bed, assuming her position on her boyfriend's chest.
"Mmm, we could be." He replied softly before placing a kiss on her temple.
Withdrawal was the worst experience of her entire life. Her hands were shaking more than ever, her knee was bouncing so hard the person next to her was able to feel it. She wanted those pills, she needed those pills. It would be so much easier to just go back to not feel anything rather than feeling every emotion amplified, but she continued to push through.
The first two weeks were a living hell for her, constantly thinking she wouldn't make it, and when she was about to give up and just run to the pharmacy for a new bottle of pills, she'd catch Timothée making her a cup of tea every night, buying expensive silk covers because he read those made you sleep better, fluffing her pillow and lighting a candle with her favorite essence. He was going up and beyond to make sure she felt safe and comfortable.
"I love you so much, Mav. You're so brave, so strong. I can't believe you're mine. I'm gonna make sure you always feel safe."
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timotheechlamett · 2 years
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AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES PT. 4
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cover by @softhecreator 💗
PT. 1, PT. 2, PT. 3
HOLY SHIT I HIT 1400!! I love and appreciate every single one of you to the fullest extent!! Thank you, thank you, thank you for supporting me and showing love every time I post. I LOVE YOU ALL!! ❤️
WARNINGS: fluff, jealous timmy, self-doubt, alcohol use (barely), smut, overstimulation, fingering, not proof read srry /:
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“I still can’t believe you went without me.” Timotheé dumps the pot into the trash, "I'm hurt."
“I thought you would be at a table read or something! That's what it's called right?” I smile, taking the pot from him, rinsing it before scrubbing at the rim of pasta sauce soup.
“Obviously you didn't read the planner," He smirks, he reaches over me to get two glasses, his front nearly flush to my backside, “Like I said, I plan it down to the hour. Maybe you should start.” He goes to the next cabinet and grabs the 'good' wine.
I roll my eyes, "Writing in a planner?" I question.
"No! Checking mine. I feel bad you had to carry everything here on your own, how did you even-"
I cut him off, "I took a taxi here, I only carried everything to our door." I wink in his direction. He twists the cap off the bottle.
He snorts a laugh, "Still, I like shopping with you," He leans against the sink and sets mine next to him, pouring a good amount in, "Plus, I'm not sure how many 'normal' experiences I'll have after this role, they have high hopes." He does the same for himself and looks into his glass.
I stop scrubbing and wash my hands off, dry them on my shirt, and grab my glass. He doesn't realize I'm staring, he looks worried, or maybe frustrated? He just looks off.
I take a swig, "You know, you haven't told me much about it." I take another sip and turn to sit against the sink next to him.
"Well, I really wasn't supposed to say anything when I got it," He bites his lip, "It's super under wraps, but this might be the biggest role I ever get." He gets quiet.
"Hm." I hum with a smile, twirling the liquid in my cup, "You almost sound worried Tim." I tease, bumping my shoulder against his.
His eyes meet mine, there's a beat of silence, his face isn't playful or humorous. My face falls before I speak softly, "Are you worried? You can talk to me you know," I place my hand on his elbow soothingly running my thumb against it.
He looks into his cup again, "I'm fucking terrified." He nearly whispers, "I've wanted this for so long, what if I can't land more than this? What if this is it?"
And just as rare as peacefulness with him, a new emotion was washing over his body. He was unsure, unsure and he was scared. My heart broke as he chewed the inside of his bottom lip, he avoids my eyes contact.
"Listen to me," I move in front of him and set my glass down, "I heard you make your audition tape from my room. I listened to you start over so many times I memorized your lines," I lift his chin up, "You are so talented, so, so fucking talented, and the fact you think this will be it for you blows my mind Timothee. This is not just a one time thing, this is your beginning. You put your entire heart into this role and it paid off, imagine what you could accomplish if you keep doing that."
I grab both sides of his face, "You will be great, no fuck that, you will be the best. I believe it with my whole heart you have it in you to be the very fucking best and I will support you in any way you need. Always."
His eyes glaze over, tears begin to form, he leans forward resting his forehead against mine with a sigh, "Thank you." He closes his eyes and breathes out shakily.
"I mean it, always." I run one hand down the back of his neck. He pulls back slightly, our eyes meet, my hands still on him. I can't help but let my gaze flicker towards his lips then back up, he wets them, flicking his tongue out quickly.
"I really want to-"
A pound on the door cuts him off and jolts us back into reality, I almost jump back from him and look towards the door, "The pizza." I clear my throat and walk toward the door.
I look through the peephole then open the door, "Hello." I say sweetly. The young man froze completely, his face flushing at the sight of me.
"H-Hey, I just um- I just need you to sign this." He stutters, I chuckle and take the pen from him, "So how is-" He clears his throat, "How is your night going?" He tries to sound confident as he hands me the pizzas.
I hand the paper back to him, "Um-"
I'm cut off by Timothee, "Her night is going fine, how sweet of you to ask." He takes the boxes from me, closing the door in the delivery boy's face.
"Tim!" I exclaim.
"Y/n!" He sarcastically says back.
"What was that?" I chuckle.
"What? He was being fucking weird." He says almost defensively as he turns toward the kitchen.
"How was he weird! He was being sweet." I bite my lip to contain my laughter.
"Sweet?!", He sits the boxes on the counter and turns toward me.
"If I didn't know better I'd say you were being jealous." I narrow my eyes smiling, only to end up laughing again. He had a smirk on his face as he stalked toward me.
"That’s funny huh?" He asks.
I start calming my laughter down, wiping my eyes, "Not funny, hilarious." I look up.
Suddenly Timothee is barely an inch away, I stare at him, completely taken aback at the distance. He brings a hand up to caress the side of my face, moving closer to me, his other hand wraps around my neck lightly.
He leans in and I inhale, closing my eyes, but his lips don't meet mine. He hovers so close to my mouth I can feel his breath against my lips.
"Tell me you want this." He tilts my head further back, I open my eyes meeting his.
"Tell me you want me and I'm yours." He whispers against my lips.
I couldn't form words to respond, it was like my brain was stuck. I've wanted this for so long but never thought it would happen, never thought I'd have the chance.
I run through the pros and cons, but really I don't give a fuck what the risk is. I want him. I want him now, and I want all of him.
"Please." I finally breathe out, beg really.
His lips are soft and plush against mine, and it feels right. He swipes his tongue across the folds of my lips. I accept him gratefully, warm and demanding, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. I let out a whimper and he smiles into the kiss.
He walks me back against the door and pins me against it, his leg between my thigh, he breaks the heated kiss to move down to my neck and leaving love bites in his wake. He licks from the bottom of my neck to my jaw, I can't help but buck my hips against him, moaning unashamedly at the friction. He brings a hand down to my soaked core, rubbing against the soaked fabric of my panties and sleep shorts. I can't help the sound that leaves me as he pulls them to the side, gliding his finger across my slick folds.
“Fuck, so wet for me." He groans, slowly sliding a finger inside me, I gasp at the stretch.
"Mmm. So fucking tight." He attacks my neck again, letting me rut against his fingers as he marks his territory. His fingers would've been enough, would've been if I hadn't felt the hardness of his cock against my thigh.
"Timothee." I pant out, "Timothee, please-"
"What do you want? Tell me, tell me what you want." He breathes against my slick skin. He adds another finger, curling them inside me, I could hear the wetness leaking from me. He kisses his way up to my mouth and pulls away looking into my hooded eyes.
"Fuck me." I whimper.
His mouth slightly agape, eyes boring into mine, pupils dilated, his breathing picks up. He doesn't stop his assault on my weeping hole, I feel my walls start to contract, that coil within me beginning to unravel.
"Tim- I- Fuck- I'm gonna cum." I squeal.
"Say it again." He growls, leaning his ear closer to my mouth, applying more pressure to my neck.
"Please, please, fuck me." I whine breathlessly. Searing euphoria floods my veins, I couldn't form a sentence let alone a word to let him know I hit my peak. I could feel my walls grip his fingers like my life depended on it, my arousal dripping down my thighs. He wasn't letting up. I whine and bring my hand down to his wrist, overstimulation setting in.
"Come on baby, you can do it," He shoves his fingers as deep as possible, "Give me one more."
I let my head fall back against the door, the pleasure so intense I couldn't do anything but pant against his lips. I could feel my second orgasm quickly approaching.
"Such a good girl for me." He pulls back with a smile, I lose myself in his words, I release myself with his name on my tongue, saying it over and over.
He helps me ride it out before removing his fingers, he places gentle kisses against my lips as I catch my breath. He rubs his fingers against my clit making me whimper.
"I can't wait to fill you up." He states.
I meet his gaze once more, realizing tonight, I would be fucking my roommate.
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taglist: @blondbadbitchp @lovelyrocker @oddlyenoughiamweird @shika1200 @softhecreator @s-we-e-t-t-ea
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Number Nine
Chapter Six: Echoes of You
AO3 author’s note/info one two three four five six seven eight epilogue extra
All my work is 18+.
You cut me up like a knife and hung me out here to dry. You’re the reason I can’t sleep through the night… I wanna forget, I remember how it was; even though you’re dead to me, you’re always showin’ up. You’re my poltergeist; demon in my head, keep me up at night. I feel you when the room gets cold as ice, sinking your teeth in a bruise. You got nothing to lose, you’re my poltergeist. Consume me, I’ll be your sacrifice.- Blackbear, Poltergeist
Three Years Later
At nearly three years old, Cassie looked nothing like her father. Her skin was darker than his, her hair straight. She had bright blue eyes framed by dark lashes, just like her mother.
Theo, on the other hand, looked exactly like Tim. At two and a half, Theodore Hal Blanchard appeared to not take after his mother hardly at all. He had his father’s bone structure, his unruly curls, even his eyes.
He was ridiculously intelligent and well-spoken for his age, too.
Tim provided Livvy with a downright ungodly amount of child support. It wasn’t even court-ordered; he just sent her the money every month. Lea assumed that this was because the bastard’s net worth seemed to double every year, bringing it up to its current state of $160 million. It was with the money he gave them that they paid the mortgage on their three bedroom house (Lea had managed to swing the master bedroom so Livvy and Cassie could have separate rooms). Her job as a theatrical costume designer at the local theater was going well, and she loved it. Her life wasn’t so bad, considering. 
Tim came to visit Cassie regularly, but Lea was always sure to leave the house well before he got there. He was consistent in giving them a few days’ notice, and she used this to her advantage.
Livvy occasionally tried to convince her to stay and talk to him, insisting that it must have been a misunderstanding. Lea didn’t see how it could be, though. He’d made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in being part of Theo’s life, and if she were honest with herself, she liked it that way.
Why would she want to reconnect with the man who broke her heart? Why would she want Theo to find out his father didn’t want him? There was simply no up side.
It was fine. It was for the best. It was fine.
Cassie’s third birthday party was that afternoon, and Lea was looking forward to it. She always looked forward to having over her mother and sisters as well as her other best friend, Sam. Plus, Theo and Cassie got to see their friends from daycare. Tim hadn’t been able to be there for Cassie’s birthday the day of the previous two years, instead coming to see her a few days later. When he hadn’t contacted Livvy about his plans for their daughter’s birthday, both she and Lea had deduced that things would be the same as the previous years.
Lea was showered, her makeup carefully applied. Her outfit was nothing special: a nude bra from Torrid, pale pink panties she’d gotten in a discount bin at Target, a white patterned Artizia dress she’d splurged on the previous year, the soft fabric reaching her calves. She wore flat white sandals from Nine West that wouldn’t be too difficult to chase Theo in and studs from Icing in the same color as the pendant on the necklace Tim had given her. She wore that, too. She usually wore it, wanting to keep a piece of him close to her in some way.
Lea fluffed her hair in her bedroom mirror, adjusting the tied straps of her dress.
“You look pretty, Mama,” Theo said happily.
“Thank you, baby,” she told him, ruffling his hair and holding out her hand for him to take. “Are you ready for Sissy’s party?”
“Yes!” he squealed with delight.
Lea smiled down at her son, leading him out the door. 
It was going to be a good day. 
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The first time Timothée saw her again, he half-thought she was a ghost.
He’d never been able to be there the day of Cassie’s birthday before, so he was thrilled that his schedule finally allowed for it. Since Olivia was forever teasing him about his inability to show up for his daughter's actual birthday, he thought he’d surprise the two of them. Maybe he’d actually get to meet Olivia’s roommate. 
It was clear that the little girl’s birthday party was going on at the one story house, because there was a princess carriage bounce house in the yard. No kids were out front, though, so he knocked on the door, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets, fiddling with the velvet ring box he carried with him out of habit.
There was music and children's laughter coming from inside, and he was just about to knock a second time when someone shouted, “It’s open!”
So he went inside, letting the door shut behind him, and turned to the dining room directly to his right where most of the chatter was coming from.
And there she was.
She was wearing a white dress that fell well past her knees, leaning forward and instructing Cassie how to blow out the candles once they were lit. Her hair was longer than it had been before, past her waist now, and her back was to him, but that didn’t matter. He’d know her ass anywhere.
It had been so long, but even now, even after over three years of not having her, the second he saw her pale skin, his fingers itched to touch it.
Timothée couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, because he’d been yearning for her for so long, it felt like, and there she was, right in front of him. Then, to his astonishment, a small child emerged from the group of similarly aged children and tugged on her dress.
“Mama!” the child said. “Mama!”
Mama? he thought in a daze. She has a kid? Is she married? He considered this for a moment, but quickly decided that it didn’t matter if she was married or not, if she was with anyone or not. She was his and that was that.
“Okay, okay,” she said with an exasperated-sounding chuckle, leaning down to pick the child up.
Before she’d stood all the way up, however, Cassie took notice of him. “Daddy!” his daughter exclaimed in delight.
Lea didn’t turn around, only leaning forward to brush Cassie’s hair from her face. “Not yet, Cas,” she told her patiently. “Daddy will be here in a few days, remember?”
Cassie shook her head, pointing over where Tim stood, and all the children and adults at the table turned towards where Timothée stood by the door. All except Lea. “Daddy’s here!”
“Hey birthday girl,” he greeted, and he knew the second Lea had fully registered his presence, because the muscles of her back tensed up, her spine ramrod straight.
Lea reached over, patted Cassie’s head swiftly, then grabbed a purse that was hanging on a hook by the archway leading to the kitchen.
“Where are we going, Mama?” asked the child—Timothée was fairly certain it was a boy—Lea held.
“Grandma’s house,” Lea informed him as she moved into the kitchen. Her voice was quiet, but he could still hear it under the chatter in the room.
“But Grandma’s here,” the boy pointed out.
Lea said something in response, but he couldn’t quite hear it.
He greeted Olivia, smiling politely at her. They weren’t together for very long, but she knew him pretty well. She knew about the divorce and that the flings he’d had since Lea had left were to make up for her absence.
“Hi, sweetie,” he told Cassie, giving her a hug and the present he’d brought with him from the car before standing back up. “Liv,” he addressed softly, “is that— is it really—“
“Yes,” Olivia confirmed with a nod.
“Why didn’t you—“
“She wouldn’t let me. Go talk to her. I’ll handle the party; give me a few minutes and I’ll come get Theo, too.”
“Theo?” Timothée asked, glancing at Lea’s retreating firm. “Is that her—“
Olivia fixed him with a look. “Talk. To. Her. If she gets to her car, I’m telling you right now: she’s not coming back. Go.”
He moved around the table, watching Lea hurry towards what he knew was a back door, and he stepped through the threshold into the kitchen. 
“Lea?” he asked hesitantly, and the child—Theo, he assumed—turned to look at him over Lea’s shoulder.
It took a few seconds for him to recognize his own eyes staring back at him. 
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Theo was babbling at her even as she’d opened the door and rushed outside, but she’d tuned him out. She had to. She was still reeling from hearing the man she’d gotten remotely close to getting over say her name. He’d sounded hopeful, even, like he wanted it to be her. She was fairly certain that she’d confirmed her identity for him just by ignoring him and exiting the house without so much as turning around, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t handle seeing him. 
She’d had a contingency plan in place in the event Tim showed up unannounced, one she hadn’t told Livvy about. 
She trusted her friend not to spill the beans to their mutual ex right up to this particular moment. After that point, however, Livvy was a wild card. She was too far in the camp of “Tim would absolutely want Theo if you just gave him a chance!”, completely disregarding three very important facts.
First, that she had already given him a chance three years and one month ago. Second, that Livvy shipped Lea and Tim just a little too hard to be taken entirely seriously. Third, but perhaps most significantly, Tim had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Lea or her pregnancy, which included Theo by extension. Fourth, the truth was, Lea didn’t want Tim in their lives any more than he seemed to want to be there. In fact, she probably wanted to see him even less than he wanted to see her.
Oh, sure, he’d be polite and say hi and all that garbage, but she knew it was just pleasantries. He was too good of a person to refuse interacting with someone if they were right in front of him. 
She wasn’t above that sort of refusal, though.
Which was why she knew that the Super 8 motel nearby would give her a room for eighty bucks or less, and that she could pay in cash, and if she slipped the clerk at the front desk an extra twenty, he wouldn’t ask for her ID. It was why she carried cash in the first place. It was why she kept a few essentials for both her and Theo in her car. It was why she was parked around the corner of the house instead of in front, so there would be less of a walk for her once she got out the side door.
She knew what she was doing, and she knew how essential it was—for Tim, for Theo, and most especially for her—that he not get the chance to say hello to her. Knowing Tim, he might do something catastrophic, like suggest they hang out or catch up or something. Either way, his politeness didn’t bode well for anyone involved, and Lea really, really didn’t want to turn Cassie’s third birthday—the first one she might actually remember—into a verbal bloodbath, which it was likely going to become if she didn’t get out of there, and fast.
She was starting towards her car, ignoring the way the grass got between the soles of her feet and the sandals she wore. She didn’t have time to worry about that now. In a few seconds, she’d be in her car and—
And then the back door opened. It seemed Tim had deigned it necessary to follow after her, because she walked faster, and he called out, “Lea!”
Lea was actually pretty good at running while holding Theo, all things considered, but not in sandals. Unfortunately, this combined with his infuriatingly long legs meant that he caught up to her with relative ease, and she was only a few yards away from her car by the time he captured her wrist in his hand.
“Lea,” came Tim’s firm voice, and she could’ve sworn it sent her back in time. Back to sharing his breaths and touching his skin and feeling him between her legs, where he belonged, where she belonged. Back to his arms around her and his fingers in her hair and his skin against her lips and her back pressed against the wall of the dressing room of some high end retailer or another as he fucked her so hard she could barely stand afterwards, the way he said her name when he first slid into her, I love you I love you I love you I love you—
She tried to jerk her wrist out of his grip, but he held fast. “Who’s that, mama?” Theo asked cheerfully.
She was about to turn around and kick the bastard in the shin when the back door opened a third time, and Lea used Tim’s surprise to wrench herself free and start marching towards her car again.
Tragically, Livvy had run track. And she was wearing sneakers. As a result, she was in front of Lea fast enough to make her head spin.
Lea stared at her friend with wide, terrified eyes, pleading with her silently to get Tim to go away, just get him to leave, for the love of god, she didn’t even care where he went as long as she never had to see him again, speak to him again.
Instead of answering Lea’s pleading gaze, however, Livvy held out her arms to Theo. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s get you some cake and ice cream. You don’t wanna miss Sissy’s party, right?”
“And then bounce?” Theo asked excitedly.
“Of course!” Livvy assured him, and he lunged for her. Livvy took him, and then Theo was staring back at Lea happily, a smile on his chubby face. Livvy covered his ears, looking over Lea’s shoulder.
So he hasn’t disappeared into thin air, then, Lea thought mournfully.
“Quit trying to run,” Livvy told her firmly. “I’ll watch Theo for however long you need, just— just talk to him, for fuck’s sake.”
Theo looked a bit confused, but it was far from the first time adults had covered his ears while they spoke.
Maybe Lea could follow after her vile traitorous excuse for a friend. They had cried over this man together, dammit. They’d spent hours sobbing in each other’s arms until their throats were sore and their eyelids were raw, and this was how Livvy treated their kinship?
Still, though, following after her was infinitely better than being left alone with the absolute last person on the face of the earth she wanted to have a conversation with, let alone a private conversation. Maybe he wouldn’t bother her as much if she was in the house around a bunch of kids.
So as soon as Livvy started back towards the door, Lea was heading after her, fully intending to walk in a very large circle around Tim so she wouldn’t have to look at him—if she played this right, she could get through this without ever having to look at him—which was an absolute necessity due to the fact that she simply could not handle seeing him. Not in person. She’d heard his voice, he’d touched her skin, and that was more than enough, thank you very fucking much. She could handle seeing him on a screen, whether it was large or small, but she couldn’t handle seeing him in the flesh.
She didn’t get very far in her attempts to follow Livvy and a chattering Theo, because Tim had grabbed her hand this time, and his grip was firm and steady and familiar and warm and—
No, she told herself firmly. Nope. Not that. We’re not doing that. We are past that.
“Lea,” he said softly. “Look at me. Please.”
She shook her head, tears falling from her eyes, and she realized for the first time that she was crying. When had that started? She wasn’t sure. Whatever, it didn’t matter.
“Lea,” he repeated, sounding frustrated. “Turn around.”
“No,” she finally snapped, yanking on her hand to try and get free. “Let go! Don’t touch me!”
“It is you,” Tim breathed. “I wasn’t sure I hadn’t lost my mind until I heard your voice, I—“ he cut himself off. “Turn around.”
She didn’t, turning her face to the ground and letting her hair fall around her in a protective curtain.
She heard the crunch of grass under his feet as he circled around her until she saw his sneakers directly in front of her. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping against hope that he would just go away, but he still hadn’t released her hand.
“Look at me,” he pleaded, and she shook her head again. He sighed, then reached down to lift her chin up, his grip gentle but firm, and then she had no choice but to look at him, and he was smiling softly down at her. “Lea,” he breathed, sounding… relieved, almost.
The memories came rushing back like a flood— when he’d first said her name, their first kiss, and god, their last, the way he’d touched her when she’d told him she loved him, the way he thrust inside her when he said it back, oh, god, Tim—
She was paralyzed by the emotions and the memories and the overwhelmingly desperate yearning that another tear slid down her cheek, and Tim frowned, moving to wipe the tear away, but she lurched back from him like he’d burn her, which she half-thought he might.
His frown deepened as she backed away from him fearfully. From his expression and behavior, she was starting to wonder if Livvy had been right, if everything really was a misunderstanding, but the truth was, she didn’t really care. She really, really didn’t want anything to do with him. He shattered her once. He’d do it again, and he’d do it with the casual smile of someone who absolutely did not understand what they were doing. 
Watching him look down at her, an expression of genuine offense on his face, her mind was essentially split into two camps: one was screaming a litany of, I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you— whereas the other was an equally loud, Get away get away get away get away get away get away—
He looked deflated, like he hadn’t known how very clear she’d made it that she only wanted to put as much distance between the two of them as physically possible. “Who’s, uh.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Who’s Theo?”
Lea crossed her arms over herself, taking another few steps back. “My son,” she informed Tim’s feet.
“Your son,” he parroted back at her. She nodded wordlessly. “And how old is he, exactly?”
Lea scratched her arm. “Two.”
“When’s his birthday?”
She was silent for several seconds. “January.”
She felt his gaze on her. “He has my eyes,” Tim pointed out.  “And my hair. And my bone structure, it looked like.”
Lea scoffed. “I have a type. So what?”
“He literally has my face, and you’re going to try and tell me he isn’t mine?” Tim hissed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry you don’t get to add to your count of fifteen bazillion kids,” she said sarcastically.
“I have two,” he snapped, holding up two fingers, then cocked his head slightly, considering. “Well, three, apparently.”
“Ugh,” she groaned in frustration. “He could be anyone’s. Just ‘cause you were my first doesn’t mean you were special.”
“I was to you,” he insisted. “You loved me, and I loved you.”
Lea rolled her eyes so hard she wondered if she’d actually damage them. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Can I go now?”
“No!” he snapped. “No, you can’t go now. Tell me if he’s mine or not. I know you, and you’re being evasive. Tell me the truth.”
Something inside of her snapped, and she finally looked up at him. “I did, jackass!” she hissed. “I did tell you the truth! I told you the truth three years ago, and you didn’t want any part of it, so you don’t get to storm in and make demands.” She deflated, panting. “Just go away.”
“No,” Tim repeated, much to her dismay. “I’m not going away. Not ever again.” He examined her face. “And when did you tell me?” he demanded. “You never told me—“
She watched his expression change as he remembered something— the voicemail she’d left him, presumably. He was gaping at her, and she nodded smugly at him. “Uh huh. Yeah, now you remember.” She scoffed. “Well, too bad, so sad. I don’t care. I didn’t want to tell you anything, but I did. I gave you a chance to be in Theo’s life if you wanted to, and you said no. I don’t want child support, I don’t want you here, I don’t want anything to do with you. Just leave me be.”
“I didn’t know it was you!” He raised his voice. He never raised his voice. She forced her surprise down, however, putting on a thoroughly unimpressed air. “I thought someone had found my number somehow. I didn’t know it was you,” he was babbling. Then, he saw the expression on her face. “No, really!” he insisted. “It came from a number I didn’t recognize, your voice sounded different, you didn’t tell me your name— how was I supposed to know it was you?”
Lea groaned, raking a hand through her curls to push them away from her face. He stared at her, seemingly just as mesmerized by her as she was trying so very hard not to be by him. “I don’t care,” she informed him flatly. “I don’t care that you didn’t know. I don’t care that you wouldn’t have told me not to contact you again if you had known it was me. I. Don’t. Care. I don’t want anything from you. I don’t want your time and I definitely don’t want your money. Go away.”
This made Tim snort lightly, and he lifted his chin in the direction of the house she shared with Livvy. “So this is paid for entirely with you and Olivia’s salaries, huh?”
Lea bristled. “It was less than $210,000, Tim.”
“Right, yeah,” he nodded agreeably. “And how much of that are you having to pay off?”
She pursed her lips at him. “I don’t know exactly.”
“Uh huh.” He smirked, and she knew from his expression that before he’d even mentioned the house, he’d been fully cognizant of the fact that thanks to the money she and Livvy had saved up (most of it from the downright appalling sum of money he sent every month), they had put half of the total cost of the house as a down payment, which meant that they split the mortgage, each covering just over four hundred a month.
So their lives were a bit easier because of the money he gave Livvy. Big deal. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. 
That’s what she’d spent the last thirty-seven months telling herself. He didn’t matter. He was irrelevant.
Tim was looking at her still, and she fidgeted nervously under his gaze. “I divorced Crystal,” he told her finally.
Lea stared at him. “Congratulations,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He didn’t look away from her, just took a step closer. She took one back, and he sighed. “I’m not… I’m not with anyone right now, either.”
Lea snorted, finding that very hard to believe. “Did your harem up and leave? How sad for you.”
He shook his head, taking another step towards her. She took two back, and his lips set into a firm line. “No,” he said softly, “I told the other girls that there was someone I wanted that I had lost, and I wanted her more than I wanted anyone else.”
Tears filled her eyes again, and she shook her head firmly, backing away further. “No,” she insisted. “Nope. Not… not listening to this. I’m not.”
“Lea,” he breathed, sounding very miserable indeed, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Hurting you was the last thing I wanted. I never wanted to leave you alone when you were pregnant. If I had known…” he trailed off, watching her cover her face with her hands so he wouldn’t see her crying. “If I had known, I would’ve been there.”
“I didn’t want you there,” Lea snapped through her tears. “I don’t want you here now, either.”
“I know,” he told her gently, placatingly, “but I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Never again. I never forgot you, y’know.” He reached out to brush his fingertips against the pendant she wore. “I’m glad you didn’t forget me, either.”
As soon as she felt the necklace shift under his touch, however, her hands fell from her face and she backed away further, until she was standing against the side of the house. Tim followed after her, his steps slow, almost hesitant.
She was shaking her head emphatically at him, but still, he kept speaking. “I could get a lawyer and take you to court,” he pointed out. “I could have a judge order a paternity test so I could sue for custody to see my son, but I don’t want to do that.”
“You’re not taking him from me,” she growled, glaring fiercely up at him as he came to a stop in front of her.
“That’s not what I want,” Tim told her again.
She was terrified—petrified, really—to ask, but she had to. “What do you want?”
Her palms were flat against the bricks of the house, and he reached out to take one of her hands in his. She knew what he was up to, though, and hastily shoved her hands behind her back. With him so close, she felt that tingling she knew so well between her thighs, but she steadfastly ignored it.
Tim sighed in frustration, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “You,” he murmured, looking down at her with hooded eyes. “I’ve always wanted you. I can’t let you go again.”
The bastard was damned and determined to rip her to shreds all over again, wasn’t he?
“I’m not getting back with you,” she snapped. “I’m not subjecting Theo to whatever… disgusting lifestyle you have in mind. I’m not doing it.”
“I don’t think you’re picturing what I’m picturing, sweetheart,” he told her. “Besides, you really think I’m letting you get away from me a second time?” Tim asked incredulously. “You are mine. I am never, never, letting you go. If you try to disappear on me again, I’ll find you. I’ve found you and I’m not giving you up again. Start thinking about what kind of dress you wanna wear, because I’m not letting you refuse me.”
“Are you crazy?” Lea demanded, continuing to disregard the desire pooling in her stomach, in her panties. “While you’re still fucking other girls? You’re— you’re married, for fuck’s sake!”
He shook his head, grinning down at her. “One, no, I’m divorced, remember? And two, if I wasn’t, you’d still let me have you and we both know it. Three, if you do try to get away from me, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. I spent three years aching for you, and I’m not spending another fucking second without you next to me. I won’t do it. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I am not—“
He leaned closer, cutting her off before she’d even finished her sentence. “If I told you to get on your knees and let me fuck your mouth right here and now, you would. If I told you to get in my car and let me take you somewhere I can remind you who owns you, you would. You wouldn’t even question it. Don’t try and tell me otherwise. We both know it would be a lie.”
He fished around in his pocket, pulling a small ring box out. “What the hell is that?” Lea demanded shrilly.
He opened the box, pulled a ring out, snapped the box shut again, and shoved it back in his pocket. “Y’know,” he began quietly, “I told myself, ‘if I ever find Lea again, I’m going to give her a ring that shows her how much she means to me. How much I love her.’” He looked up at her, smiling softly as his gaze fixed upon her left hand. “I thought for awhile that nothing could possibly be good enough.” He took her shaking hand in his, holding it gently, and slid the ring on her finger.
It was silver, covered in diamonds, and had a large stone the same shade of cornflower blue as the necklace. 
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of it before, but she remembered what he’d said when he’d given it to her, that Zendaya had pulled some strings; a half-forgotten ad in a fashion magazine with Zendaya wearing what looked suspiciously like—
She didn’t know why it had never occurred to her that the large blue stone might be a sapphire. She truly had no idea. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to consider it.
He was watching her face, observing the expressions that crossed over it with rapt attention.
“What is this, Tim?” she breathed, staring at the ring with some strange mix of shock, awe, and horror, reaching up to touch the sapphire.
A sapphire the size of her thumb, what the fuck—
“It’s called the Serpenti Ocean Treasure necklace,” he informed her. “And this—“ he brushed his thumb over the ring he’d slid onto her finger— “is the matching ring.”
“I don’t understand,” she breathed shakily. “I— I don’t understand.”
“We’re getting married,” he informed her simply.
“No,” Lea said immediately. “No, we’re not. You can’t make me.”
“I could,” he corrected casually, “but I won’t have to. You’re mine. I’ll bet you haven’t even fucked anyone else, have you?”
She winced, looking away from him. It was true—why bother with anyone else? No one could compare to him, and she wasn’t exactly eager to bother with men a second time around—, but she hadn’t intended to tell him that.
He caged her in against the wall of the house. “You’re mine,” he repeated. “I don’t care if you’ve forgotten. You’re still mine, and I’ll take great pleasure in reminding you of that fact.”
The worst part of all this was, in Lea’s opinion, the fact that Tim knew her so goddamn well, even after all this time, because this meant that whatever he said about her thoughts and feelings was almost certainly true.
Which was why she was so irritated when he said, “I’ll bet you’re wet for me right now, thinking about how good I can give it to you.” She shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing her thighs together without thinking about it. He noticed, though. “God, you are, aren’t you? All you have to do is ask, angel. You know I’d give you anything you wanted.”
“All I want,” Lea began shakily, “is for you to leave me and my son alone.”
“First of all,” he started, “he’s my son, too. And second, that’s unfortunate, because that’s the only thing I’m not willing to give you.” She scoffed, looking off to the side. They were in the shadow of the house, the sunlight shining brightly around them. “But I don’t think you want that. Not really.”
She didn’t. She could admit that to herself, in her own mind. But she wasn’t about to say it out loud. She might want to give into him, but she knew—she knew—what being with him would do to her, and she couldn’t afford to go through it again. “He’s barely your son,” she informed him. “You were there for his conception and, like, a month of the pregnancy and that’s it.”
“You mean I was with you for a whole month while you were pregnant,” he began slowly, “and I didn’t even get to enjoy it properly?”
Lea rolled her eyes. “Boo hoo,” she whined mockingly, “poor Timmy, didn’t get to see one of his fifteen thousand girlfriends pregnant. Cry me a goddamn river.”
“Okay,” he decided with a frown, “let me explain something to you, because I don’t think you fully understand.” She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, and he continued. “I don’t have any girlfriends. Once you left me, I realized I couldn’t see anyone else romantically. Not at all. I wanted you and no one else.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t—“
“Oh, I’ve slept with other people since you, yeah,” he confirmed, “but I think of you the entire time. Every single time I’m with someone, I close my eyes and pretend she’s you.”
Lea shook her head firmly, but he cupped her cheek to hold her steady.
“I never stopped loving you, Lea,” he told her quietly as she looked up at him with wide eyes, “and now that I’ve found you again, I’m not letting you go. Not even if you want me to. I’m sorry. I love you too much to let you leave me again.”
Her lips parted, and Tim’s eyes flitted down to them. “I can’t,” she breathed, her tone almost apologetic. “I can’t watch you with other girls again. I can’t do it. It almost killed me last time.”
He smiled softly at her, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “So as long as I promise never to touch another woman outside of work, you’ll say yes?”
Lea shook her head, clenching her eyes shut. “No,” she told him. “Not even then. I’m sorry.”
He stepped back. “Why?” She opened her eyes, and he looked frustrated. Angry, even. “Why not? You still love me, I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. So why?”
She sighed, crossing an arm over herself to cup her elbow and lowering her gaze to his feet. “I believe that you would try,” she admitted. “I think you really would try to stick with just me.” Then the tears started again, and she wiped them away. “But you wouldn’t be able to for very long, Tim,” she sniffled. “I know you, and I know you’d really give it your best, but then you’ll be faced with the prospect of going back to your hotel room alone again, and you’ll give in because that’s how you are.” He started to interrupt her, but she rushed on. “And because you’re such an unfailingly good person, you’d come back home to me and Theo and tell me immediately, because I know you’d want to be honest with me, and I’d just—“ she cut herself off on a sob. “I’d fall apart. You'd rip me to shreds, and I have a kid now. I can’t afford to let you do that to me again.” A deep, shuddering breath. “The worst thing is, a concerningly large part of me wants to say yes, to follow you anywhere the way we used to talk about, but I can’t. I don’t get to have that. It’s not in the cards for me.”
Tim was silent for a few moments, listening to her soft sniffles. “Then get new cards.”
She blinked tearfully at him. “Wh— what?”
Stepping towards her again, he repeated, “Get new cards.” She stared at him in disbelief, so he took her hands in his, rubbing the sapphire in her ring with his thumb. “You’re worried about who I’m with? That’s fine. Come with me. You can come with me everywhere I go. You want me to take a few years off work so I can spend them with you and Theo, I will. You want me to come forward about being with you, I will.”
More tears slid down her cheeks, and when he reached up to brush them away, she closed her eyes, trying not to lean into his touch. “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she breathed. “I don’t want you to put doing what you love on hold, and I know you value your privacy.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but I value you more.”
His hand was on her waist, his breath was on her lips, and she realized that she was going to give into him. He wanted her, maybe even loved her in his own way, and she was going to let him make her his again.
Lea had just started to lift her chin, a sure sign that yes, she wanted this, she wanted this desperately, but then the door opened, and she was promptly brought back to her senses.
Her head whipped around, and she immediately recognized the long skirts of her mother, Rosalie, who stepped out onto the concrete, Theo on her hip.
Rosalie only required one look at the pair of them for her to deduce what was happening. Before she could make any sort of remark, however, Theo asked brightly, “What’re you doing, Mama?”
Lea swallowed, and Tim stepped back from her. “Hey, sweetie,” she addressed her son shakily, holding her arms out for him. 
He went to her happily, immediately nestling against her. Rosalie’s gaze was fixed on Tim, however. “Lea,” she began without taking her eyes off him, “I don’t believe you’ve introduced me to our guest.”
She recognized it immediately when he switched into charm mode, because he cranked it all the way up. “Hi,” he exclaimed with a wide smile. “I’m Timothée. It’s so nice to meet you.” Instead of shaking her proffered hand, he took it in both of his. Rosalie pursed her lips, but Lea knew her mother well enough to recognize the smile she was fighting. “I’m an old friend of your daughter’s,” he explained.
Despite being nearly a foot shorter than he was, Rosalie still managed to look down her nose at him. “I have three daughters,” she pointed out. “Which one are you referring to?”
“Lea,” he said with a good-natured laugh. “I spoke with Lina briefly a few years ago, but I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to meet Ari yet.”
Rosalie smiled a bit at that, clearly appreciating that he paid attention to Lea when she talked about her family. She must’ve known the second she saw Tim, but still, she took a moment to look between him and Theo before addressing Lea directly. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Tim winced slightly.
Lea said nothing.
Rosalie nodded before turning back around. “Well,” she sighed, “if you want any cake, you’d better get inside before it’s gone.”
“Give me a few minutes with Theo here,” Lea said. “Tim, go spend some time with Cassie. She’s been asking for you all day.”
Rosalie turned back around. “Why would Cassie be asking for him?”
Lea glared at her mother wordlessly, motioning for Tim to follow her inside.
“You’re Cassie’s father, too, I take it?”
Lea watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Um. Yes ma’am.”
Rosalie pursed her lips again, but didn’t voice her opinion. Lea was most grateful for this.
She stared after them as the door shut. Now for the daunting task of explaining to her two and a half year old that the man he’d just met was his father.
Joy.
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Theo had handled it remarkably well. He was all excitement and bubbly energy, eager to get to know his daddy.
He’d marched right up to where Tim was standing in front of where Cassie sat, waiting patiently for her candles to be lit so she could eat her cake. Theo put his hands on his hips, looking very much like his mother, grandmother, and even his aunts, looked Tim in the eye, and demanded, “Are you my daddy?”
All chatter at the party stopped, save for the children who were too young to understand. Tim knelt down, getting on Theo’s level, and said, “Hello, Theo. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Timothée.” Lea watched as Tim’s shoulders tensed in anticipation for their son’s reaction. “And yeah, I’m your daddy.”
Theo stared at his father for a few seconds before throwing his arms around him. “What took you so long?” he asked into Tim’s neck.
Tim’s arms circled around him, holding the little boy close. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m here now.”
“You’re gonna stay?” Theo asked tearfully.
“Yeah,” Tim told him softly, lifting his gaze to meet Lea’s. “I’m not going anywhere.” He stood, holding Theo for the first time, and Lea looked away, tears in her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were from joy, sorrow, or some fucked up blend of the two. Taking a deep breath, Tim addressed the room. “Um… hi, everyone. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Timothée.”
He was met with wordless stares. 
Gulping, he went on, “I just found out that Theo is my son, which is very exciting.” He paused. More silence. “And I’m also thrilled to announce that now that I’ve found the love of my life again, we’re engaged.”
Lea forced out an awkward, nervous laugh. “He’s joking,” she assured the gawking crowd of guests. “He’s not Theo’s father, and we are absolutely not engaged. It’s a misunderstanding.”
“What’s endaged?” Theo asked cheerfully.
“It’s when someone is gonna marry someone else,” Tim informed him with a smile.
“You’re gonna be married?” the little boy clarified, his eyes wide.
“I am.”
“Who?” Theo demanded.
Tim gestured to Lea.
“Mama?!” their son exclaimed.
“No, honey,” Lea interrupted gently, even as Tim nodded. “He’s being silly.”
Theo’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re not marrying Daddy?”
At this point, Lea’s sisters appeared to have heard enough. All the Blanchard women had a tendency to be fiercely protective of each other. It was therefore no surprise whatsoever that both her quiet older sister, Lina, as well as her carefree younger sister, Ari, stepped forward to examine the interaction between father and son, their eyes narrowed suspiciously in a way resembling Lea—even Rosalie—so closely that Timothée was downright astonished at how similar their mannerisms were.
Ari opened her mouth to say something, but Livvy spoke first. “Okay,” she said cheerfully, “everybody outside! Cake and presents in a bit!”
“But why?” Cassie whined.
“Because you want to play in the princess carriage,” Livvy informed her daughter helpfully.
“I want to play after I have cake,” Cassie corrected.
“All your friends want to play in the princess carriage,” her mother said, leading her outside by the hand. The other parents took the hint, leading their grumbling children out the door until Lea and found herself alone with Tim, who was still holding their son.
He looked like he was about to cry. “Why won’t you marry daddy?” he asked, his lower lip wobbling pitifully.
“Daddy used to be my… special friend,” she said delicately.
Tim snorted. 
She glared at him.
“Are you special friends now?”
Lea moved into the living room, collapsing on the couch in exhaustion. Tim followed her, watching her expression closely. “No, baby,” she told him softly. “No, we’re not.”
Theo considered this. “Why not?”
“I don’t think your mama wants to be special friends with Daddy anymore,” Tim explained, sitting down across from Lea.
Their son frowned outright now. “Why not?” he repeated. “Did you used to kiss like other mommies and daddies?”
Lea winced, but Tim answered on her behalf. “We did.”
“The daddies at school tell the mommies they love them,” Theo pointed out. “Do you tell Mama you love her?
“I haven’t seen your mama in a long time,” he said slowly, “but yes, I told her before you were born, and I told her when I saw her again.”
Theo crossed his arms, pouting at his mother. “Then why won’t you marry Daddy?”
Tim answered for her again. “She doesn’t believe me.”
“Would you lie to Mama?” Theo demanded, angry on his mother’s behalf.
“No,” his father said simply, fixing his gaze on Lea. “I’d never lie to her. It’s okay that she doesn’t believe me, though. I’ll tell her I love her until she does. She’s going to marry me anyway.”
“You’re delusional,” she snapped.
Her tone made Theo decide to jump down from Tim’s lap and run over to her, clutching the skirt of her dress. “Mama,” he started, but then the front door opened.
Livvy came in, carrying a duffel bag Lea knew all too well. She shoved it into Lea’s arms, grabbing her keys and wallet from her purse. “Here,” her traitorous friend panted, “it’s your stupid escape bag.”
“How did you—“
“I’m your best friend and roommate,” she snapped impatiently. “Theo, cover your ears.” He did so obediently, looking on with wide eyes. “This man,” Livvy started, pointing her finger at Tim, “has been in love with you for a very long time. He bought that ridiculous ring before you were even in the third trimester, and if you don’t spend some goddamn time with him, I swear I’ll change the fucking locks so you can’t get back in.” Lea clutched the duffel bag, staring up at her friend in shock. “I’m sick of hearing his mopey ass lovesick bullshit. Neither of you are moving on, so you’re going to go with him to whatever stupid rich boy hotel he’s staying at, and you’re not going to come back until Monday.”
“But Theo—“
“Theo will be fine,” Livvy insisted, crossing her arms. “Go talk this out like adults. Or fuck it out. I don’t care. Just deal with it.”
With that, she took Theo by the hand and led him outside.
Tim was silent and motionless for a few seconds before pulling out his phone and tapping away at it. “My driver will be here in a minute or two.”
Lea tensed. “I’m not going with you.” 
He arched an eyebrow at her, skepticism written all over his face. “Seems to me like you don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Lea rolled her eyes. “I could stay at my mom’s,” she ticked off a finger, “I could stay at Lina’s,” another finger, “or I could stay at Ari’s.” A third finger. “I’ll just tell Livvy I went with you and things didn’t work out and we’ll never, ever see each other again. Everybody wins.”
Tim stood slowly, walking towards her like she was going to book it at any second. “No,” he said flatly. She bristled, about to object, but he continued before she could speak. “No, that’s not what’s going to happen. You’re going to come back to my hotel with me. We’re going to talk about this. We’re going to decide on how long of an engagement we want, and then we’re going to start planning the move.”
“The move?!” she sputtered furiously. “I have a life here, you jackass, you can’t just uproot it—“
He frowned. “You told me when we first met that your dream was to design costumes for Broadway. Is that still true?”
Lea tensed.
“I thought so,” he said with a single nod. “I can get you that job, you realize. Very, very easily. All I’d have to do is make a phone call.”
“I don’t need your stupid nepotism—“
Tim rolled his eyes. “Why not?” he asked. “You deserve everything you want, and what I want is to be the one to give it to you.”
“I don’t—“
He knelt down in front of her, taking her hands in his, and her words were cut off the second she felt the warmth of his skin, his large hands holding hers. “Think about it,” he begged. “Just— just think about it for a second, okay?” He searched her face, his eyes flitting between both of hers. “Whatever kind of childhood you want Theo to have, I can give him. Whatever life you want for yourself, I can give you. You wanna travel? I'll take you anywhere you want. You want Theo to attend the best private schools in the world? He’ll attend the best private schools in the world. You want a job? You can have any job you want. You never want to work another day in your life? That sounds fucking fantastic, I’d get to keep you in my bed all the goddamn time—“
Lea bristled at the mention of their history, what she’d wanted three years ago.
“Just tell me what you want, sweetheart. Ask me for the world and it’s yours.”
She lowered her gaze to where his hands clasped hers in her lap. “Tim…”
“Come with me, mon amour,” he begged. “Come with me. Let me show you how good we can have it. Let me remind you what we were meant for. Please, baby.”
Her lower lip wobbled, and a tear slipped from her eye. “I can’t,” she breathed. “I wish— I wish I could. God, do I wish I could.”
“I’m not letting you go again,” he reminded her, his voice firm and gentle at the same time. “I’m asking you because I love you and I want you to choose to come with me, but even if you don’t agree, you’re coming with me anyway.”
She rolled her eyes, another tear sliding down her cheek. “You’re so goddamn controlling—“
“Yep,” he agreed happily, “I’m very controlling when it comes to you. But I know you, and you think it’s hot, so.”
Lea pursed her lips, scrunching up her nose at him with a glare. “I do not,” she insisted firmly, steadfastly ignoring the ever-present desire she felt whenever he was near. He just did that to her. It was fine. He’d always done that to her.
“You do,” he said with that stupidly overconfident smirk of his. “You very much do. I’m not oblivious to the effect I have on you, y’know.”
Lea looked away, blushing bright red.
“Fucking hell, you’re adorable,” he muttered. Then, shaking his head as if to dispel thoughts of her apparent adorableness from his mind, he decided, “Okay, time to go,” and pulled her to her feet.
“What?” Lea squeaked, lurching away from him. “No, I most certainly am not going with you!”
He groaned in frustration, putting his hands on his hips. “Lea,” he began with what was very obviously forced patience, “do you want our son to see his father carry his mother to the car kicking and screaming? Because it sounds to me like that’s what you’re going for here.”
She blanched, mentally weighing her options. After a tense beat of silence, she sighed. “Fine.”
Tim reached over to wrap an arm around her waist, but she backed away from him with a scowl.
“I do not want to stay with you until Monday,” she griped.
“Why not?” he asked with a pout. “It’s Wednesday, so we’ll get lots of time together.”
“Yes,” Lea said slowly, as if he were a child who didn’t understand something she’d just told him, “that’s largely why I’m so against this.”
He hummed, taking the duffel back from her despite her protests. “Hush, I’m carrying it,” he brushed her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “And anyway, you want to know what I think?”
She very much did not, actually, but he didn’t give her the chance to say so.
“I think,” he continued as he strolled towards the door, “that you’re fully aware of the fact that you’re going to say yes. I think you’re fully aware of the fact that in…” He furrowed his brows in thought. “Two hours or less, I’m thinking? Yeah, that sounds about right. In two hours or less, you’re going to be begging me to touch you. You know this, and it both scares and embarrasses you. It’s okay, though,” he reassured with a grin. “You know you never have to be embarrassed with me.”
She wanted to point out that he’d said that three years ago, and therefore it no longer applied. Her body was… it was different than when he’d seen it last. It had changed with her pregnancy. She had stretch marks in places she didn’t before. It didn’t matter, though. She had no intention of getting involved with him again. Sure, he’d fuck her, but it would be in more ways than one, and she couldn’t deal with any of them.
The party was going on in front of the house, and only Livvy seemed to notice the pair heading towards the ridiculously fancy, ridiculously shiny black car. She grinned, and Lea flipped her off. Livvy outright laughed at that.
Tim opened the door for her, and she slid in, holding her purse firmly in her lap. He popped open the trunk, closed it again, and slid in next to her with a bright smile. “Mr. Chalamet,” his driver—a burly man with a bushy mustache—greeted before meeting Lea’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Ma’am.”
“Hello,” she greeted awkwardly, buckling herself in.
“Lea, meet Jerry,” Tim said cheerfully. “Jerry, meet my fiancée, Lea.”
Lea swatted his arm, hissing, “I am not—“
He grinned indulgently at her. “Whatever you say.”
She glared at him, but he just nodded at Jerry, who started the engine and raised the partition. She didn’t even know cars that weren’t limos could have partitions.
She heard him tapping on his phone. “Who are you texting?” she demanded. He insisted she come with him and he was gonna text on the drive over?
“My mom,” he told her, sounding very pleased with himself indeed. “I’m thinking a house here, one in New York, and one in LA. What do you think? Do you want more than that, or is that good?”
She stared at him, gaping. “Wh— what?”
Tim paused, lifting his gaze to hers. “Well,” he said slowly, “we’ll need a house. Definitely more than one, since I travel so much and I don’t intend to let you stay at home all the time. We never got to travel as much as I wanted.”
“You took me to Greece on a private jet,” she reminded him, her voice flat.
“Ah, yes,” he recalled with a smile, leaning back against his seat. “I remember. You were so loud that the flight attendants wouldn’t look directly at us when we disembarked—“
“Timothée!” she gasped, horrified.
He shrugged, continuing to text. “Well you were!” 
“I don’t like to remember those things,” Lea snapped sharply, staring out the window and watching the houses pass by as they moved closer to downtown.
“Why not?” he asked softly, sadly. “I think about them almost constantly. For a long time, those memories were all I had left of you.”
“I had plenty to remember you by,” she pointed out, leaning her forehead against the tinted glass of the window. “If I could’ve erased the memories, erased all connection to you, believe me, I would’ve.”
He was silent for a moment. “Even Theo?”
“No,” Lea told him quietly. Then, a bit louder, “I’d definitely erase his genetic ties to his sperm donor, however.”
“You can say Dad,” he reminded her, sounding dejected. “I’m… I’m his dad. I want to be his dad.”
She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that stung behind her eyelids. “I know, Tim,” she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear her. “I know.”
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When they rolled to a stop in front of what she surmised was his hotel, he rushed to open the door for her, insisting on carrying her duffel bag again, as well. She rolled his eyes at his pointless attempts at chivalry. 
Her feelings about the whole situation changed very quickly upon looking up and seeing the hotel he was staying at, however. She looked up at it, and there it was: a tall building covered in blue windows. He held out a hand to her, and she was so shocked by what she was seeing that she reverted back to her long-gone habit of putting her hand in his and letting him lead her anywhere he liked.
He was wearing sunglasses and a hoodie, the way he often did when he didn’t want to be noticed. They walked to the hotel entrance, and looking up at him now, with the late afternoon sun glinting off his sunglasses and his hair blowing slightly in the summer breeze, it occurred to her that he was even sexier at twenty-nine than he’d been at twenty-six, which was saying something because she used to joke that he could impregnate someone from a look alone. Turns out it required a bit more than that, but y’know. You live and you learn.
“Tim,” she said quietly, and he looked down at her with a smile. 
She pulled her hand away, and his face fell a bit, but he still looked hopeful. Like a puppy, almost. Ugh.
“What, uh…” She gulped nervously as they stepped inside the ridiculously swanky hotel. “What hotel is this, exactly?”
He thought for a second, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Ritz-Carlton, I think. Why?”
Her head was spinning. “This is a really fancy hotel,” she pointed out weakly.
He shrugged, walking towards the elevator with the long, confident strides of someone who did not feel at all out of place.
They rode the elevator, and he rocked back and forth on his feet. Lea fidgeted with her hair anxiously. At the very top floor, there were three sets of doors, all very far apart from one another. Tim hummed a tune she didn’t recognize as he fished in his back pocket for his wallet and before locating the keycard necessary to open the carved double doors.
When she stepped inside, her heart stopped.
Patterned marble tile in the entryway, a study to her right, a bathroom to her left, and in front of her… in front of her was a large archway, and what looked to be a living room. A large sectional sofa occupied a good chunk of the space, and a crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. There was a TV, as well as several large floor-length windows, it looked like. She stepped inside hesitantly, feeling unsure of herself despite the ginormous-ass sapphires she was wearing.
“This…” She gulped. “This is your hotel room?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed cheerfully, then paused. “Why, do you not like it? We can get a different one—“
Lea shook her head. “No, there’s no need to… to do that. It’s just… it’s a lot. I guess I kinda forgot that you just… live like this.”
His smile widened. “Now you can again, too.”
She blushed at the implication that they were back together and examined her feet. “So, um… where’s my room?”
A suite that huge must have more than one room, right?
He ran off to their right briefly before returning without his hoodie, sunglasses, or her duffel bag. Lea blinked at him, and he was beaming down at her. He was just so goddamn happy.
“C’mon, I’ll show you around,” he said with a grin. “Office through there,” he declared, pointing to the right of the entryway. Then he pointed to the left. “Bathroom is there.” He took her hand then, and she found herself following him again. “This is the living room, obviously,” he said, gesturing around them before pointing directly ahead. “Balconies have some cool views of the city, but there are no chairs or anything.”
She stared up at him in disbelief. “Sorry— balconies?”
“Yeah,” Tim confirmed casually, sounding mildly impatient to get on with things, leading her left. “Bar,” he pointed out as he passed a wet bar pressed against the wall. “Though knowing you, you probably still don’t drink, huh? That’s fine. I am definitely having a cigarette with something later, though.”
Lea couldn’t really blame him for that. It had been a pretty stressful day, and all he’d signed up for was his daughter’s third birthday party.
“Dining room,” he said as they neared a large table that sat under a proportionately large chandelier. He strolled through a doorway, pulling her after him. “Kitchen,” he declared with a wave towards a small but fully equipped kitchen. Actually, she couldn’t very well call it small, really, because it was approximately the same size as her own kitchen.
“And, uh…” She gulped, though she wasn’t entirely sure why, exactly. “What about my room?”
Tim nodded, smiling over his shoulder at her, mischief dancing in his eyes, and her heart pounded in her chest.
He led her across the living room, past the TV, and through a set of French doors. Directly ahead of her were two sliding doors that met in the middle, leading down a hallway lined with shelves. She gathered from the clothes he had hanging up that it was a closet, but wasn’t this supposed to be her room? Maybe it was a shared closet. Surely that’s what it was. It had to be; he’d put her duffel bag in there. 
On the other side of the closet, there was a chair sitting in front of a vanity table, it looked like. Closer to her, however, directly to her left, there was an archway through which she caught sight of what looked like an exceptionally large bathtub. 
“That’s the main bathroom,” Tim explained when he saw her looking at it. “It has two of everything: two toilets, two sinks, two showers. Only one bathtub, though.” He glanced down at her briefly. “Not that I mind, of course.”
Memories of the last time she’d ridden him in the bath flashed behind her eyelids with every blink— water splashing, him licking droplets of it off her breasts before capturing a nipple between his lips and sucking, him moaning her name, her moaning his, begging him for more, god, Tim—
She shook her head slightly, and he smirked as if he knew exactly what memory she’d been visiting.
Tim gestured to an archway directly across from the one leading to the bathroom. “This is the bedroom.”
The bedroom. Not your bedroom. Not my bedroom. The bedroom.
Heart thudding insistently against her ribcage, Lea tucked her hair behind her ears. “So… where do we, like.” She laughed awkwardly. “Where do we sleep?”
He frowned at her. “In the bed…?”
She’d been afraid of this. Pursing her lips, she grabbed her duffel bag.
“Where are you going?” Tim asked, sounding a bit concerned. 
“To change. None of these rooms have any real doors,” she pointed out, heading off in the direction of the half-bath in the entryway.
“Oh,” he said. “There's sliding doors and stuff…” His voice was a bit hesitant when he called after her.
“I’d prefer something with a lock.”
With that, she locked herself in the small bathroom. Actually, in retrospect, this “tiny” half-bath in her ex-boyfriend’s unnecessarily large hotel suite was approximately the same size as her own bathroom, and she had the master, for god’s sake. Ugh.
Either way, she changed into her most modest nightgown, choosing to leave her bra on.
There was a blanket in her duffle bag that she had every intention of wrapping around her so he couldn’t see her in her nightgown. It wasn’t even that immodest, really. It reached just above her knees, showed no cleavage whatsoever, and had a cute ruffle at the bottom. Plus, she’d gotten it on clearance at Target. The issue was that it was partially see-through. This meant he’d be able to see her panties and bra through the thin white linen, which was… unacceptable, quite frankly. Hence, blanket.
But still, her makeup. Especially that lipstain and mascara, ho boy. She needed some kind of remover before she went to sleep or she’d break out like she was thirteen all over again. 
“Tim,” she called once she’d fished through her entire duffel bag. By the time she stuck her head out of the bathroom door to call for him again, he was standing right outside, looking entirely too pleased that she’d called for him. Lea fought the urge to roll her eyes. He was so transparent. “I don’t suppose you have any makeup remover?”
He furrowed his brows, considering this before nodding and running off again. When he returned,
It was with a bag of cotton balls and a small bottle of what was likely very expensive makeup remover. She took one look at it and decided immediately that she’d use it very sparingly. It felt… wrong to use his things when they weren’t together, weren’t even friends. The more expensive the thing in question, the more wrong it felt.
“Do you need anything else?” Tim asked eagerly.
“No thank you,” she told him politely, smiling tightly and shutting the door again. She heard him sigh once the lock clicked into place, and it was a good thirty seconds before he walked off again.
By the time Lea finished removing her makeup, she had decided that she had long since earned a nap. She liked to be cocooned in when she slept, and since she couldn’t very well sleep in his bed, the shorter side of the sectional would do perfectly. She had to curl her legs up slightly in order to lay down, but once she’d covered herself in her fuzzy blanket and lay her head on one of the throw pillows, she sighed with contentment.
Yeah, she was essentially in hell. In fact, despite being agnostic and therefore thoroughly undecided on the concept of an afterlife, Lea wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t died and promptly descended into an eternity of being around her ridiculously attractive ex-boyfriend that she was very much still in love with but not allowed to have for her own sanity and the well-being of her child. In any case, if hell existed, this exact scenario was likely hers. 
However, despite that, she was comfortable. She was warm, she was cozy. Maybe it was her exhaustion, but even her bra wasn’t bothering her. She’d just started to drift off to sleep when a voice startled her.
“Lea?” Tim asked, sounding concerned. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but what’re you doing out here? The bed is way softer, and the pillows are just the way you like them. It even has curtains around it to block out light.”
She was so tired. So very, very tired. And sleeping in a bed that smelled like Tim after so long? Forget hell, that sounded like heaven.
“You don’t have to sleep here, sweetheart,” he told her gently. “Will you let me carry you to bed?”
Lea’s eyes were half-closed, but she nodded at him, too sleepy to remember why agreeing was a bad idea. “Mhm,” she hummed, smiling softly at him.
He smiled back at her, gently pulling the blanket from her body. She didn’t notice the way his breath hitched when he saw her nightgown riding up her thighs, or the way one of her breasts appeared to be falling out of her bra because she was laying on her side.
When he picked her up, cradling her to him, she nestled her head into his shirt, inhaling deeply with a contented smile. She was barely awake, and with him holding her like that, it was like the past three years hadn’t happened and he was carrying her to bed after a long day.
“Tim,” she signed happily.
“I’m here, baby,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her hairline. “I’m here.”
He lay her down, pulling the covers up over her. She nestled in, then frowned when the underwire of her bra constricted against her ribcage, the straps digging into her shoulders. “Tim,” she complained lazily.
“Yeah?” he asked as he pulled the balcony curtains closed.
“Can you help me with my bra?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Of course, angel.”
Lea turned over, and he reached beneath her nightgown to undo her bra expertly, sliding the straps from her shoulders. She pulled the offending garment the rest of the way off, flinging it across the room in annoyance. It landed on a couch that was up against the wall, and Tim stared at where he could now see the shadows of her nipples through the fabric of her nightgown, the way her breasts moved as she breathed, and he couldn’t help it. He stripped down to his boxers and got in next to her, pulling the curtains around the bed closed.
She immediately nestled in close to him, assuming the sudden weight on the mattress was Theo. “Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?” she asked, almost entirely asleep.
Tim cupped her cheek, tracing the lines of her face with gentle fingertips. “It’s me, Lea.”
She smiled softly, shifting closer to him. “Tim.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “God, I missed this with you. I missed you so much, baby.”
Lea hummed, mumbling, “‘m here.” She yawned, burying her face in his neck. “Love you.”
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her as close to him as she could possibly get. “I love you, too.”
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Yeah this chapter is over 11k don’t worry about it
Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @vampire-reanimator
To be added, please ask 💗
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nonpoppin · 27 days
Note
alright i’ve seen a lot of arranged marriages with paul and reader is always the one who’s salty about it but what if PAUL was the salty bitch? never seen that before.
reader just wants to make him happy. she’s been in love with him since they were introduced as kids. Paul, however, ain’t about it and he’s all pissy and what not.
The Death of a Star
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Summary: Paul thought he could never love you but when a star starts to die, it sucks everything in and in your death, your rebirth, he learns he can.
Warning(s): Cheating! Not the sexual kind but the emotional kind! Toxic marriage, sorta dark Paul, almost sexual cheating, talks of bastards, child birth, violence, arranged marriage, pussy eating, fingering, PinV sex, creaming, use of the voice. Talks of baby making and brief pregnancy mention.
Note(s): I took your ask and shook it all about. And hi, hello, i got this ask basically THREE YEARS AGO! And its been sitting in my docs, brewing, growing longer and longer. This is 12k words. If you want more long fics like this from me and not two/three parters— PLEASE let me know. ALSO, shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy bc i bothered her with just random segments of this fic for two years I'm pretty sure 😭 this is so fucking long please don't tell me if there's mistakes im gonna scream.
A little after. (Same universe drabble!)
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There is something about motherhood that has changed you.
Of course, there have been obvious changes. You were a girl when you first arrived on Caladan, a girl when they dragged you under the twinkling stars and made you swear to the void you would never stray from your husband. A mere child who wanted nothing more to be happy, to make her family proud, a child who smiled at her husband no older than her and repeated words she truly didn't know the meaning of.
You had become a lady when your husband first laid with you, a woman when the single time was enough to bring forth an heir. It was what your ladies told you at least, bringing a person into this universe was a woman's work and you had done just that. Your son, Oliver Atreides, was born screaming, kicking and crying. The ladies said you were a woman now, covered in sweat, tears, and your own blood but you couldn't bring yourself to agree. You think some parts of the girl you once were resurfaced when they hand you, your babe. You had held him close and wept to him. ‘Oh, Ollie. My little Ollie.’
Motherhood has changed you, yes. It made you harder in spots where you were once soft. But nothing has changed you more than marrying the Atreides heir, Paul.
Once, you had thought he would've, could've, loved you. A child's dream, you realize now. An arranged marriage could never bring forth love, not when it was put in motion by scheming parents who thought of a future long after they were dead. Your marriage to Paul had made sure your family's name would never fade into obscurity, your parents had gotten your weight in jewels and coin’ a thousand times over, your marriage had meant everything to them. To you. But to Paul, to his family?
You had been a punishment. The closest and prettiest broodmare. His parents had thought it would stop his wandering, his rebellion in loving a savage girl who lived planets away. You had looked similar enough, curly hair, brown eyes and brown skin, they thought you enough to quell his hunger. But one can not simply trade swords, sand and love for silk, stars and a willing cunt. They never stopped to think how this would affect you, how his anger towards them, towards the universe would slowly turn to you.
Paul never hit you, never yelled and, somehow, this was a fate worse than any death.
Paul seldom spoke to you. You could count on one hand how many times he looked at you in the past four years. For four years, you had raised your son with the echo of his father, a shadow you caught out of a corner of your eye. You knew he made time for his son, the boy never kept these things a secret, the man dragged his son everywhere and anywhere, they rode horses together, danced and painted. In your eyes, he had gathered all the stars in the sky and displayed them for Oliver and left you in the dark. You both raised your son, never in the same room, never speaking ill of each other or to each other. It was, is, a cruel existence.
“Mama,” Your son's voice is a whine, he pulls at your hand for your attention, letting his body go limp in the opposite direction trusting you wouldn't let him fall. “‘M hungry.”
He's not hungry, you think. He had just eaten an hour or so ago, snacked a few minutes before. He's bored, his coloring forgotten in his effort to bother you and that somehow, worked up his appetite. Ollie whines when you don't so much as move under his effort, you keep your arm locked, your fingers gently wrapped his smaller brown hand. Still, you relent, caving just a bit as you think back to all the times you went hungry in childhood because your mother was worried for your figure. Sure, he wasn't hungry but he was willing to eat. You rather him eat something now than him having an unhealthy relationship with food in the long run. “Yeah? What do you want, Bubba?”
He brightens, drawing closer to you but never letting go of your hand. “Can I haves pie?”
You give him a look, wiggling your fingers in his grasps, he giggles as the tips of them dance under his chin and curls further into your space. “It's ‘can I have’ and no you may not.” You shush his annoyed whine with a kiss to his forehead and you stand from your chair, picking him up as you go. You sulked long enough, motherhood never ends and now your son wants attention and you are eager to give it to him. “But, you can have a sandwich. Do you want turkey or–”
“Can I haves–” Oliver interrupts excitedly then pauses, starting again just as excited. “Can I have the jam one? The one grandma gives me?”
You're already nodding your head in agreement before he even finishes, a short hum leaving you. You haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, of course, your mind goes to the simple answer: a grape and peanut butter spread, a simple and favorite of yours when you were pregnant with Oliver but then you backtrack almost instantly. Jessica has a taste for the finer, sweeter, things in life. Expensive things. You love your mother-in-law dearly, deeply, but whatever jam she's giving your son is probably from some secret collection she only pulls out for him and with her being off planet, you have no access to it. No matter, you've dealt with worse and Oliver will survive without her expensive jam. You'll just make sure he gets a little something extra with this snack, not a slice of pie but maybe juice… a few candied nuts, even?
You ponder silently to yourself as you leave your room. Ollie talks your ear off— something about his grandfather, about the older man taking him to see bulls and whatnot, you respond halfheartedly, humming in acknowledgement. As you walk from your wing of the estate, servants bow at their waist, greetings of, ‘My lady,’ wash right over you as you pass, you only truly pay mind to the ones who greet Ollie before the greet you, slowing your pace to let the boy twist in your arms and greet them happily. A talker he is, curious and somewhat loud, the various servants respond just as eager to him as he is to them. It's an endearing sight and you find yourself smiling as he converses, a smile that quickly falls at the sound of a familiar name calling out to you.
“Lady Wife!”
Your eye nearly twitches at the title. You dismiss the servant with a dim smile and Oliver squirms out of your arms to rush to his father. You hesitate to turn and face him but having your son out of sight so close to him makes you a bit nervous, you turn only to pause. Paul kneels before his son, running a delicate hand through the boy's curly mass of hair, his green eyes sparkle as he smiles at his son. He pokes at the boy's chubby stomach and smiles wider, brighter, when Ollie giggles leaning into him. He looks handsome today, more present than he ever was for you. His hair looks clean, freshly washed, glossy and swept out of his face— you've grown so used to him wearing ridiculously fancy suits that seeing him wearing a tunic and a simple pair of pants sends your mind blanking.
You only realize you're staring longer than you should when Duncan— has he been standing there the whole time?— clears his throat. There's a slight humor that dances across his face when he sees your own mortification but it's gone quickly as he bows his head towards you, your name leaves his lips in a pleasant, near whisper as he regards you, “Where are you off to?”
“The kitchens.” You answer, smiling when he cocks his head in a silent question. “Not for me, Ollie is hungry and I was going to make him something.”
Paul makes a noise from the ground, a grunt but doesn't rise nor pull away from his boy. “We have servants for that, Wife.”
“And there won't always be servants, Husband.” You reply harsher than you intend and Paul's widen eyes snap away from your son to you in shock. You look away before your eyes can meet and they fall to the other guard by the mens' side. He's tall, taller than Paul but not quite as tall as Duncan; his dark hair is pin straight and slicked back but there are a few strands that purposely, stylishly, hang in his face. His eyebrows raise slightly as he watches you take him in and he puffs up under your gaze. He squares his shoulders, shifts his feet and folds his hands behind his back and when your eyes meet again, he gives you a wink.
Oh, you like him.
You huff a laugh, “Your name, soldier?”
“Emmett, My lady.”
You wave a dismissive hand, “Please, you may call me my name. Only my husband ever calls me Lady.” Duncan snorts and Paul doesn't respond, doesn't care to. He stands and your son is in his arms, still talking but in a whisper. Odd. “I haven't seen you around before, promoted recently?”
Emmett's lips quirk into an easy smile and his lips part to answer you but Paul steps into your line of sight and interrupts him. “I am going to visit a friend, but I must stop to visit my mother first. Oliver wants to go.”
Your brow dips. Your husband, Paul, didn't have friends. Not one. His words not yours, he has his parents, a guard and an advisor; Duncan and Gurney. He has you, his wife and even then you hesitate to describe yourself as much. Your mind racks itself for information and then it finds something. A sand covered, golden skinned, something.
It's been two weeks since he's stepped out on you for her. Two weeks— nearly three, he almost broke his record.
You will yourself not to be sick but the sudden bout of nausea is harsh, hot and it sends a bile creeping up the back of your throat. Your heart can't seem to decide what it wants to do, it tries to thunder— to pound its way out of your chests but it trips, stutters and damn near stops at the idea of him bringing your son to see that woman. You clear your throat and try not to scream; are you not good enough? You have wept for the man before you, bled and produce a fucking heir to continue his legacy. And yet…
You clear your throat again, you can't help it. Years of training fly straight into the sun. You know how to read, to cook and manage estates, you know how to hold a sword and parry a strike, you know because you were trained. Rigorously, endlessly. But it still leaves you unprepared because no one ever, ever trained to be emotionless in the face of the person who was supposed to love you the most. You were married off young to another young person for this very reason, the time spent together as you grew older was supposed to grow your love, to nurture it so by the time you were both older you would be an united front. An unshakable unit.
You wish you could throw the pieces of your marriage at all who thought it was a good idea. You want to roar; is this what you wanted? Is this the front you dreamed of? But the training, that god-damned training kicks in and you steel yourself. For the sake of your son. For the sake of your sanity. “Oliver has lessons he can't skip.”
Paul makes a face and your boy whines in his arms, “I'm sure he can afford to miss one, he's just a boy.”
Your nails dig into your palm and your lips pull up into a humorless grin. “You said that last time when you took him riding. Again when you said painting would be a better lesson. He has missed too many lessons, boy or not, he is a future leader and it is good we do this while he is young.” You unclench your fist and soften, just slightly as you draw closer to your husband, to the boy who pouts at you in his arms. You extend yours and he goes easily, much to Paul's dismay. “Come on, sweet boy. I promised you a snack, leave your father to play with his toys.”
Paul watches you leave with thin lips, his teeth clenching. He doesn't have to be smart to see the insult when you bare it to him unabashedly. Even if it wasn't directed at him, he is offended on her behalf. He lingers in his spot for a moment longer, stewing in a petty anger— how is he ever supposed to try with you when you hate everything he loves?
Duncan calls his name and when he looks at the man, there's a deep frown on his face. The look of disappointment is something he's familiar with, it's an age-old argument between him, between his parents, between her about how he treats you. Well, not you but your feelings. Duncan won't say anything about it anymore, not when he knows he won't listen, not when he knows the exact words Paul will say back to him.
'What of my feelings? Why do I have to suffer in a marriage I did not want— a marriage I protested the very idea of? I gave the family an heir. The least they can do is let me finally be happy.'
The two men look at each other and like always, Paul is the first to look away. He turns on his heels, his shoulder colliding with Emmett's who still stares after you instead of watching the tense moment before him and his oldest friend. He storms down the hall, his steps sure but fast, Paul runs from it all. From his responsibilities, his power, from you. Paul always runs.
Emmett lets out a whistle— he and Duncan linger behind their fuming ward— and Duncan raises a brow at the sound. Emmett smiles, dipping his head in your direction, “A proper one that one is. Real easy on the eyes.”
Duncan's brow drops, annoyed. “She is to command you.”
“Trust me, ser. I'd do anything she asked.”
Duncan resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's not like Emmett is the only one to fall for your looks, he has had to rotate multiple guards because of it— most, if not all, of them never tried anything other than looking but he couldn't bring himself to listen to all the vile things they said and when they tried touching, well. You could handle yourself just fine but Duncan doesn't deny the enjoyment he gets from acting on your behalf.
Still. Still, there are ones that you enjoy. There are some he can't send away and he pretends it doesn't bother him. It's the game, the chase of it all, he sees how you blossom under the attention, his attention. Sometimes, he sees it. The flickering lust in your eyes when a pretty soldier leans in real close or when he cradles your face. But you aren't like your husband, not like Paul because you never give in and while Paul has been stepping out on you for years, this small streak of rebellion only started up a few months ago.
Duncan shakes his thoughts clear and then swallows his annoyance. It goes down like shards of glass and lemon juice; he can't send Emmett away, not yet. Not when he's good at what he does and not when you blossom under his attention. He settles for indifference, a dry indifference as he mutters. “She’d eat you alive.”
He ignores Emmett's cheeky reply of, “Stars, I hope so.”
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“How is she?”
Arrakis smells sweeter than he remembers. It's hotter too, the sun set a few hours ago but the heat still clings to the air, to the sand that's almost uncomfortable to sit on. He sucks it up though because it feels like home and the sight is as pretty as it is familiar.
Said sight shifts when he doesn't answer, the fire light is gold against her face and her eyes are sapphire jewels in the night. Her fingers move quickly, steadily as she weaves her basket. Two bowls sit before her, one bigger than the other filled with a liquid that isn't water but safe for enough to handle and thin pieces of wood, the other bowl is filled with beads made of rocks, wood, bone and whatever else the carvers deemed bead worthy. “Muad'Dib,” She says and when he still doesn't answer her, she snaps. “Paul.”
It's enough to pull him from his thoughts, he blinks at her then he frowns. “She’s fine. I tell you the same thing every time you ask, I doubt it will change.”
Chani pauses in her weaving. “You told me she was sad once.”
He had. It was an off comment from years ago, when you cried and cried, and cried. Back then, it was rare to see you dry-eyed, rare to see you outside your room but you had gotten over it. You are fine now, you don't cry, you don't shout or pitch a true fit like he's seen other women do. You're just… fine. He thinks of your face when he told you he was leaving, that practiced control but the twitch of your lips giving you away. You were angry, maybe. But not angry enough to lash out, you were okay stewing in it. And that was fine. To you, to Paul. Everything is fine.
When Chani sees he isn't going to reply, she sighs again. Her fingers start to move again, faster than before and Paul tries not to be awed at the sight. She's a master at her craft, something he so rarely sees nowadays, “Nevermind.” She says and before he can speak, she asks, “How is Oliver?”
The smile that falls on Paul's face is easy. “He’s wonderful. His studies are going well– his tutors say he's picking up reading faster than I ever did.” He looks away from Chani and plays with the fabric of his pants, “I wanted him to come today.”
The thin piece of wood between Chani's fingers snapped. She looks up at him, her blue tinted eyes furious, “No, Paul.”
Still, he tries, “He would love you. If she only gave it a chance–”
“Do you hear yourself?” She hisses and he flinches at the tone. “You want to bring another woman's child to me? Do you hate her so much that you'd go this far to disrespect her?”
“I do not hate her. I could never hate her she is the mother of my child–”
“She is so much more than that.” She snaps. “She is your wife. She is the keeper of your estate, she is a person, a woman, you continuously hurt by visiting me.”
Again. It is always that argument, always the flag they throw up, the sand they throw into his eyes. It's always you, you, you. Why can't it never be him? Why can't he ever think for himself? Want more for himself? Paul shifts where he sits, “You wouldn't understand.” He whispers. Chani wouldn't, couldn't, get it. She's not him, she has never been in his place, she has never loved him as he loved her, she just wouldn't get it.
There is a certain fury that settles on Chani's face. It is thunderous, all consuming, a lightning storm that threatens to strike him thrice over and then, it clears. Faster than he can blink and she's standing, throwing the rest of her weaving into the fire. “Grow up, Paul.”
And he's at a loss for words. “What?”
“Grow. Up.” She says again, as if she hasn't said something world tilting. Paul feels like his chest is collapsing, like the sand around him is starting to swallow him whole. “I have put up with it for years. You complain about things not being fair to you.” She shakes her head, gathering all her finished baskets and her bowls of beads. “You complain and complain and complain. Do you see where I live? Do you see what my people have to do to survive? What do you know of struggle? Of suffering? You cry and whine about loving me, about caring for me but having to suffer a fate of never having me. I am not an object to own. I am not a prize to wave in your wife's face.”
She looks at him then, her face grim, haunting in the fire's light. “What do you know of suffering when you are here with me and she's alone with your son? What do you know of pain when she bled to produce an heir for you? I love you, Paul. As a friend, always a friend. Only a friend and I can't just sit here and pretend like you aren't ruining lives over petty childishness. Go to her, love her, see her as she is.”
“I–” Paul stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping to reach out to her. “I can't– do not do this to me, Chani– please, do not do this.”
Pity. There is only pity on her face. “Go home, Paul.” and she leaves him. Standing alone in the Arrakis' desert, surrounded by sand, stars and the sweet smelling wind, Paul begins to weep.
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It is hard to play dumb but…
“Higher, my lady…”
Emmett's voice makes you shiver slightly and you all but let yourself relax in his warm arms. They circle you, his hands on your elbows raising and steadying the bow in your hands. You force yourself to let your fingers shake and smile when his hands leave your elbows to hover over yours. He slides a forefinger over the back of your hand before it hooks under your wrist and holds the bow true. “Release.”
Whoooosh! Thunk.
The arrow misses.
Emmett lets out a polite laugh, his breath brushing against your ear and it's enough to make you bite your lip. If playing the role of the defenseless noblewoman was enough to get him this close, you think you'd do it all the time. “You’re laughing at me?”
“Not at you, my lady.” He chuckles. His warm embrace leaves you as he takes a step forward, a hand playfully gliding past your waist as he does— he goes for the many missed arrows from the previous tries and shoots you a smile. “At the situation, I suppose.”
“Oh?” You ask, coyly. “And what's funny about the situation, Ser Emmett? My lack of skill with the bow or my streak of missing the target.”
He gathers the arrows, his smile growing a tad impish as he picks up the last as twirls it between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement instinctively— it glides between his nimble fingers, around and under, under and around— Emmett ends the small show with a flip of the arrow, catching it by the small bit of the notch, the dull arrowhead tapping against his lips. “What's funny is… the famed daughter of a very noble hunting family needs help with a bow.” The arrowhead presses into his lip when he smiles, “I heard said daughter used to bring down bucks the size of small shuttles but now she stands before me as if she never handled a bow.”
You tut, annoyed you've been caught but delighted he knew so much about you. “You aren't the only one who can do research.” You say, you move forward with graceful steps, till the both of you are face to face. “Emmett Deacon. That is an old name, you know. But strange as Lord Deacon has no heirs or living relatives besides his wife. Now, it is unbecoming of me to gossip– to listen to the words of those who whisper behind backs but… but I was, am, curious about you, Emmett.”
This close, you notice his eyes are green. They are far darker than the eyes of your husband, Duncan or Jessica. Emmett's eyes are the color of the forest after a thunderstorm; when everything is still dark near black underneath the clearing clouds. Emmett grins at your closeness, his eyes glinting, promising some type of mischief. “Careful now, my lady.” He teases, his voice light despite the subtle redness creeping up his neck, “You walk a dangerous line, some men would take offense to what you are attempting to imply.”
Carefully, you pull the arrow from the man's grasp, your lips quirk up in a humorless smile as you take a step away from him. “Attempting, Implying? Make no mistake, Emmett, I know what you are.” You give the man your back as you face another untouched target. Mentally, you thank yourself for having the thought to scatter them about the training area before approaching Emmett under the guise of needing guidance. This target is much closer to the door, just a few paces to the right.
“Do you?”
Suddenly you are warm. He is pressed right up against you, his hands on your hips pulling you flush against his body and you barely bite back a shiver as you right your posture as if he wasn't there. His breath comes out ragged, fanning against your ear and he holds you so tight he scrunches your silks. Emmett is pretty as he is eager for you, desperate almost. It is not what you usually go for but the men you usually do go far were always so hesitant, reminding you of your husband or the ever watchful Duncan. Emmett fears neither, it makes you like him more but you are not an idiot, Emmett Deacon doesn't exist outside of the Atreides Castle. Lord Deacon has no legitimate heirs, only bastards, hundreds of bastards he refuses to recognize unless they make a name of their own. There is no Emmett Deacon, only Everett Brightwater. Son of a working mother and elder brother to a handful of other siblings.
But in the Atreides castle, the castle of a bastard, those types of things tend to go overlooked. Most like to forget that technically, Paul Atreides was born out of wedlock, that he was legitimized by the former Duke Leto— it is a story all bastards wished for, what Everett wished for. Pity it is you, that always seems to take a fancy to them.
“I have bedded a bastard before, Brightwater. Void-forbid I don't recognize the touch of another.”
The sound that leaves the man is downright sinful, a ragged gasp and his hips damn near hump into you. “And you have made heirs–”
“A singular heir, Oliver has no siblings.”
“But he could,” He rolls his hips against yours backside again and you bite back a grin, “I could give you–”
The door opens and it startles you. Your fingers slip from the bowstring and the arrow is sent flying, hurtling towards the target as Emmett rips away from you like he's touched fire. Your husband stands at the door, his eyes red rimmed and looking downright furious. His eyes never meet yours, staying trained on Emmett who looks everywhere as the arrow hits its mark. Bullseye.
Emmett's voice is choked as he speaks, “Congratulations–” His eyes flicker over to Paul for a brief second as he rasps your name. It makes your heart nearly jump to your throat as you blink absurdly at the man but he pushes forward, inclining his head as Paul prowls closer, “Your talents amaze me–”
“Leave.”
Emmett pauses mid sentence, he blinks once then nods, his lips set tight. He says your name again, lower, sweeter, then his dark green eyes cut to Paul as he gives a shallow bow. “Your liege.”
He is out the room faster than you can blink and it draws a scoff from your lips as you turn to face your husband. “That was rude.”
That makes his face twitch. Like he wants to scowl or even pout down at you but can't decide which one to choose and it settles as a sneer instead. “Was it, now? I walk in on one of my men pawing at you–”
The laugh that leaves you is sudden and sharp, “You are being ridiculous.”
“He was all but humping your leg and you let him!” He hisses. Then takes a breath to blink and shake his head, “It is disrespectful, my son is only paces away–
“Oh, that is disrespectful?” You ask. Your blood is boiling, your heart thundering in your ears. How dare he throw your son in your face? The very boy you put to bed alone, hushing his cries for his father. The very same boy that spent the day talking about his father and his mysterious friend that he insisted Ollie call an aunt. “What about you trying to take my child to see another woman?”
Paul flinches then, just barely, but keeps the sneer on his pretty face. “That is different, you know that is different–”
“What of all the times I've found your letters to her? All the times you've left me for her?” You press, “All the birthdays, my birthdays wasted alone waiting for you, all the anniversaries? What do you know about disrespect, husband?”
He is silent, silent but staring, gaping, trying to muster an answer he knows he can't. But it is strange, odd, that he hasn't tucked tail and ran. In the rare arguments that seemed to happen between the two of you, he'd spit his poison and then choke on yours; floundering for a rebuttal before escaping to his wing of the castle and yet… he still stands before you, unmoving. Then, he speaks. He whispers, “I am sorry.” He clears his throat, “I am, for what I put you through, for everything but I want better for us, I want–”
“She finally did it, didn't she? She finally turned you away?”
He doesn't respond and that's an answer all on its own. You cast your bow aside, not caring how it crashes against the floor and your quiver soon follows. “You’re pathetic.”
You don't look at Paul as you go.
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Duncan stands beside you.
It's nothing new, of course. He is always there, whispering into your ear, a guiding hand on your back or teasing Ollie who was usually on your hip.
It's been nearly two weeks since the incident in the training room, since Paul came to you saying he wanted better for your relationship— nearly two weeks since you almost allowed Emmett to fall under your skirts and Duncan no doubt knows this by now and yet, he stands by you.
You're sitting on your bed with nothing but a thin sleeping shift with Ollie curled up into your lap as you gently twist and braid hair away from his face and Duncan watches, his eyes trained on your steady hands. Then, quietly, he speaks to not stir Oliver.
“It’s going to be cold tonight.” He says lightly, his eyes pulling away from your hands, letting them trace over the way the fabric hugs your form.
You don't look up as you finish a braid, using the tip of your nail to section out another braid, a distracted hum leaving your lips, “It is always cold, Duncan. It's Caladan.”
“It doesn't have to be.” He says and he hates how you pause when he says it, he hates the way his voice grows tender for you so he clears his throat, unwilling to unearth something you both ignore daily and plasters a teasing grin on his face, “Shall I call for Emmett? He is rather eager–”
He barks out a laugh when you toss a throw pillow at him, twisting out of the way before it even hits him. “Damn you.” You curse him despite the smile playing on your lips, “Speaking like that to your lady could be considered treason, you know.”
“Maybe on Somnus.” He teases as he slinks closer. He pulls the stool from your vanity and plops down on it next to you, his smiling falling just a bit as he asks, “How are you?”
“Fine.”
He levels you with a look that you don't meet, continuing to part and braid through Oliver's hair. He reaches forward then, to pull your hand free from the boy's hair and simply hold it— to command your attention towards him as he whispers your name, “I worry about you. Truly. I– Paul has told me what he said to you.” He holds your hand tighter when it jerks in his grasp, he searches your face, his eyes soft. “And it was cruel. You waited for him for void-knows-how-long and he comes to you when you finally search for another.”
Stubbornly, you purse your lips and force your eyes away from him. “I don't care.”
“It is not my place to call you a liar.” He says and it's almost automatic, years of training resurfacing as he searches for the right words. “But as someone who is close to you… as someone who cares for you, I think you do.”
You pull away and he lets you, your hands returning to Oliver's hair almost nervously. The boy doesn't even stir, “Your concern for me is endearing but it is misplaced.”
“Don’t shut me out.” He says, his voice tight and it makes your eyes slide back to him. “Your pretty words don't fool me, I know you. I see you, you have been miserable, you have suffered and it is okay to acknowledge that. It is only you, your sleeping boy and I in this room, you do not have to pretend.”
“What would you have me do, Duncan?” You ask, a touch incredulous. “Would you have me pitch a fit? You'd have me disgrace the Atreides name because what– my husband wants to be a husband?”
“I would like it if you cried.”
You flinch back, “What?”
“You haven't cried in years.” He says. “Oliver was born and you haven't shed a tear since, you have not mourned, you haven't grieved.”
“Those are the same things.” You start frowning at him. “Besides, I am a mother, a Duchess to a growing empire. There are whispers that I could be Queen, what do I have to cry about?”
“Everything.” He answers, his voice true. “Yes, you are all those things and more. But you are also young, you may be a woman now but you were a girl when you were wed.”
“That doesn't matter.”
Duncan looks at you like you've grown a second head. “It does matter. The very concept of your love was crafted for you before you ever got the chance to make it yourself. Do you like laying down and taking it or is that what you were taught? Do you like that he walks all over you or were you told to accept that?”
Your hackles rise before you can even stop yourself, “He is your lord.” You hiss, “Watch your tongue.”
Duncan throws his hand out, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “You defend him and call him Lord, you do not call him a husband because that is what you are taught.” He lets his hand drop, “When I was your age–”
“You are not that much older than me.”
He continues like you didn't speak. “When I was your age, I experimented. I built my ‘love’ from the ground, I know how to kiss, how to fuck because I have done so with enough people to know what I like. That is not something that can be taught.”
You flush at the topic, imagine Duncan in such intimate situations would not be a… first for you. There were many lonely nights in your marriage and your mind often wandered. It was natural, of course, Duncan is kind. He is strong and sweet with a silver tongue, it is only natural that your mind went there when your hand traveled between your thighs. It was only natural that you had toyed with him out of pure boredom and curiosity. Moans of his name often left your lips when it was his turn to keep your room guarded. You had left your door cracked, catching his wandering eye once or twice as you… reached your peak. For voids-sake, you are quite certain Duncan has seen you in some state of undress more than Paul has and has not once mentioned it to you, has not tried to close your door or turn his head. Duncan has stood beside you for nearly six years, watched you for the same amount of time. You know you could say one simple word, a plea more than a command and it'd be just as damning and he'd be in your bed.
And yet…
You clear your throat and shake your head. Ollie jolts in your lap but doesn't wake, turning a curling deeper into your warmth. You steer the conversation back on course,“What does this have to do with me crying?”
“You were young when you were married.” He says again, like he truly doesn't understand why you don't get it. “You were young when you had Oliver, it was scary. Traumatizing, even. No one prepared you.”
“Yes they did, my parents, my tutors even–”
“Did you even get to say goodbye to the girl you once were before you were ripped away from home or did you bury her– throw her into this fucking sea the moment your engagement was announced?”
When you don't answer, he makes a noise— it's nearly a scoff but it sounds much too pitying. “I know you.” He says again, “I know that you hurt. I see it in the way you carry that blasted bow— it is all metal and wrong because your planet crafts from wood and vines. I see it in the way you hesitate at dinner because you want a second helping but the teaching of tutors or maybe even your mother told you it was unladylike. I see it when you look at Oliver because you were only a girl when you had him–”
“Do not.” You interrupt weakly, your eyes darting to your son. “I love my son.”
“I know,” He agrees. “You love him more than life itself, I'm sure, but it does not negate the fact that your family, this family, was okay with a child having a child.”
You swallow once, twice, then you blink hard. There is an odd pressure building up in your head, a pounding behind your eyes. You open your mouth to respond but your lip wobbles unsteadily. You struggle to find your words, your breath leaving you unsteadily— pinched as you try to control yourself and Duncan only smiles soft and sad. His hand resting on your knee, he speaks. “I’d have you cry.” He says again, “For the girl you lost, for the woman you became. Cry because you are a mother, a good one and you do it nearly alone, cry because you can– because it's okay. Over spilt milk or broken glass, cry because it feels right and it's a start.”
“And then?” You murmur.
Duncan shakes his head, “I can not teach how to feel better.” He says, “I can not teach you to forgive. I can only give advice— guide you through your tears. I want better for you, My lady. To give Paul a chance, to see if his word is true, if you truly want to stay in a place that caused you nothing but grief.”
“What could I do?” You ask and it hurts to hear how helpless you sound to your own ears. “If I don't want to stay, what would I–”
And for the first time since this conversation has started, Duncan hesitates— then, much quieter than before he begins to speak, “It was Leto who granted your marriage, while your parents drafted the contract– he was the one who allowed it. Therefore, if you were to go to him– if you were to air every grievance you have with Paul, tell him of all the cruel things his son has done to you… he could void your marriage.”
You shift, pulling your son up your body, cuddling him close and Duncan follows the movement.“ But what would happen to me, to Oliver?”
“Nothing.” Duncan answers. “You are the one approaching Leto here. You are the injured party and if you were to separate, you'd get half of the Atreides… well, everything.”
“What?”
“It is an old tradition.” Duncan explains quickly, “It went by many names; dissolution, annulment, divorce. You'd get half of everything– if not more, you'd get to keep your status as Duchess, you'd probably have enough money to build your own castle free and far from all of this.” He sighs. “You’d get to decide if Paul even got to see Oliver–”
“I cannot do that to him, he loves his son–”
“You are the injured party.” Duncan stresses, “It would be your choice, all of these would be your choice. I can not tell you what to do, my lady. But if you were to ask me, I'd cry first. At least once.”
And despite all the training saying otherwise, you let one tear fall. Then another and another and a–
Duncan lets you cry, his hand finding yours as you begin to curl around Ollie and bless the void— the boy doesn't so much as stir— and you sob for the first time in years.
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The next few days are… odd.
Paul tries, you give him that. He is there before you wake, lingering just outside your door with Duncan by his side. He greets you with a smile, a kiss on the hand then he offers you his arm— it varies where he leads you. Sometimes it's straight to Oliver, the boy wakes with a big grin and messy hair delighted at the sight of his parents together and other times, he leads you to a hidden alcove; a well furnished cave on a cliff side overlooking Caladans’ main sea. These moments are often spent in silence— you eat a bit and Paul watches you, you spend more time pretending not to notice then actually enjoying it but it is… time spent together and that is good, you think.
Today, however, is proving to be a bit different from most. You eat as you always do, you watch the waves crash on the rocks, you count the seconds between each of your husband’s blinks and take little glances at Duncan when the man sighs whenever Paul clears his throat. He always clears it,you find, a nervous habit only ever shown amongst close family or friends and most times, nothing would follow it, Paul would fall back into silence and the both of you would eat then go back to the castle.
Paul clears his throat and you look at him curiously because that is twice within a minute and as much as you detest him, you wouldn't want to see him choke and when you do look at him, he's fumbling with a bundle of grey cloth wrapped in twine, “Oliver,” He starts, soft and unsure and it makes you strain to hear him over the sea. “He says you like these so–” His fingers are slick because of his nerves and it takes a minute or so for him to unravel the twine but once he does— he places the cookies on the table and slides them towards you with a smile.
You look at the oddly shaped balls and smile— they are obviously handmade. They're big, clumpy and some even sink in on themselves, a few have seeds on them burnt and crumbling but seeds nonetheless and it gives you some pause. Your eyes flicker up, past Paul to Duncan who is giving the cookies an equally puzzled look. This isn't lost on your husband who frowns— he looks between you and Duncan and his brow dips, he fidgets with the edge of the grey fabric, then the skin around his nails, “What?” He asks a bit louder than he should, “What is that look?”
Your mouth opens to answer then it closes just as fast. Paul is trying. You remind yourself that he's spent much of the marriage away from you in his own universe, he wouldn't, doesn't know much about you. He is trying and so are you, trying to give him grace— he has given you cookies, as ugly and deadly as they might be, they are made by his unskilled hand and you can't help but appreciate that.
Duncan, though, is not you. “Were these made with sunflower seeds?”
Paul continues to frown, looking up at the man. “Yes, why?”
“Ah.” Duncan starts, his voice flat as you instantly push the cookies away with the butt of your fork. “Your wife is allergic.”
Paul turns red. From the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes— his mouth drops open and he founders, a choked apology starts to leave him but he only gets as far as, ‘I'm–’ before he stops because you aren't cursing him out or banishing him away from your sight. Hells, you don't even move from the table, you just watch him carefully, your eyes dancing across his face and he wishes that a sun– any one of them, explodes and spares him from this experience, from this life.
Sadly, no exploding sun spares him from this. There is no blistering heat or quick death, just your searching eyes and your cool words.“You wouldn't know.” You say simply, smiling and Paul is shocked that it holds no maliciousness. “Ollie seems to have tricked you because these are his favorite not mine but… I appreciate that you thought of me.”
“I–” He's still red, still choking on his words but his mind spins as multiple things fly through it; he can't be mad at his son because he would have pulled the same trick on his father, he is embarrassed, incredibly so because he had almost killed you because he did not know of a simple allergy but Duncan knew. He is your husband and he didn't know.“Forgive me.” He breathes, pleads.
For once, he wants you to be mad at him but you only frown, your hand carefully intertwining with his. “You didn't know,” You say, “We are… we are only beginning to know each other. We have much to learn. You didn't know and that's okay.”
Paul nods but his head spins. Duncan knew. His green eyes meet his trusted guard and he frowns, he then notices your closeness— even though your fingers are locked with his, you're leaning back towards Duncan and he is standing as close as possible to your chair. You both are sharing the same air and it is not like you and Paul who sits across from you with only a hand connecting you both. You breath out and Duncan inhales– shifting somehow closer, his lips twitching when Paul obviously catches the movement. Paul thumb strokes your hand and any negative feeling that was starting to build melts away when you smile at him, he pushes Duncan from his mind as he refocuses himself on you, a smile of his own forming.
“Well,” He starts and his voice is still shaky from the embarrassment. “Besides sunflower seeds, is there anything else I should be aware of?”
Paul doesn't know how he never saw it before. The warmth in your smile, the light in your eyes. Paul had begged for a Sun to end him, blind to the star burning bright promised to him. These years of neglect had not dulled your shine, your heat— you glow and Paul thinks he'd happily go blind if it meant staring at your light forever. “Well…” You start, smiling wide and warm.
The two of you spend the next five hours talking, laughing and trading stories of food illnesses to embarrassing ones from your youths.
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When Duncan is called to Paul's study, he already knows for what. Emmett pesters him with endless questions but the Brightwater man quickly falls silent at the mention of your name, he pales and Duncan clicks his tongue when the bastard excuses himself from the room.
To think you thought that man was bold. You thought him brave and uncaring, Duncan pretends he does not hear him emptying his stomach into the toilets. He knows the man fears he'll lose his job and Duncan does not bother to reassure him.
The route there is easy, quick. It's as if he blinks and he is there, pressing up the door and taking a step inside. Paul is sitting, facing a large window that shows Caladan’s raging sea. The waves crash on the beach's shore and drag the sand out with it, the sky has grown dark since your outing with your husband— a storm raging in the distance. A storm raging in the man in front of Duncan.
“For how long?”
Duncan doesn't bother trying to play stupid, he doesn't sit nor does he take a step further in the room. “Does it matter?”
Paul turns just as lightning strikes the sea. His eyes flash and Duncan is taken aback at the rage that is there. He doesn't not flinch away from it, he bares the storm that spills when Paul speaks. “She’s my wife, Duncan. My wife!”
Duncan blinks. “I am aware.” He then looks away. “She is aware of that too. It is by her hand only that I haven't landed in her bed.”
Paul stands, he is shaking. Duncan is his friend but this— he smoothes a hand over his face. His eyes sting but he does not cry, he did not do so when he caught the beginnings of something with Emmett so why would he cry now? He looks at Duncan and his heart clenches. Duncan is his friend. “And if she said yes–”
“In a heartbeat.” Duncan answers. He is cruel in his honesty but he doesn't care, Paul has been crueler with his own and he can't help the smile that twists at his lips. “Castle Atreides would be filled with more bastards than you, Paul.”
Duncan does not flinch. Paul in all his anger and crashing tides has made his way across the room, his blade to his neck and drawing blood. The cut stings, bubbles with his blood and Duncan doesn't not break eye contact. He has hid his love for you long enough and this is freeing, Paul would not kill him. He knows that because Paul is a trained soldier, trained to kill and his blade shakes against his throat. “You will leave.” Paul says and his voice is shaking. There is a tear threatening to spill from his eyes. “You will leave and you will not return until I call for you.”
Duncan's heart drops. “What?”
“You will not come when she calls.” Paul continues. “And she will call and you will not answer. Not for her not for Oliver. Do you understand?”
Duncan searches his young master's face for some kind of tell but Paul is serious. The blade presses closer and when Paul opens his mouth, it is The Voice that leaves it. It is hundreds of voices all at once, it is his mother's, it is his fathers and it is yours. The commands sinks into his brain, pulling at flesh and his eye twitches as it forces it's will deeper. He is being sent on a mission, he is being sent to Arrakis. The voices dig deeper and there is a dull alarm that coils around his heart, Duncan hopes Paul will not take his love for you away. His lungs tighten and the blade is pulled away from his neck as he falls into a kneel before Paul who still commands his existence. He is to forget this. This confrontation, this moment of insecurity and rage, he is to forget why he never wanted to leave Caladin in the first place.
Please, please, please. He begs when the voice doesn't fade, there is terror building in his blood but as soon as it grows it is wiped away by The voice, by the soft whisper of your voice. He is to bring Deacon's bastard son. The voice fades and Duncan is gasping, clutching at his neck and his fingers slip in his own blood. Paul stares down at him, his eyes blank, the storm raging on behind him and Duncan remembers… nothing. Just his mission.
He pushes himself to his feet, surprised when he stumbles. His blood flows dark and Paul doesn't look away, a thin lipped smile on his face. “You slipped.”
Duncan knows that's not right but he can't bring himself to question it. Paul is moving away from him, back to his desk and fixing his chair. “Best to prepare for your departure and send Emmett to me when you see him.”
Duncan knows his way to Paul's office and he knows the way back just as well. But today, he couldn't help but get lost on his way. He has a headache brewing.
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You like to believe you do not know who cries more when Duncan leaves. But Oliver stops crying within an hour, distracted by his grandparents and pulled away for a mini adventures and it is two weeks later when you burst into tears because you think you've smelt him.
It is embarrassing, unladylike but Duncan had told you he had wanted you to cry more and Paul took it in stride. Duncan had been your foundation for so long so for him to be sent away, you are left crumbling but Paul is there and more than eager to get to building. At some point, he had snuck his way into your rooms— he had wide eye amazement as he took in everything, the plants that climb their way up your walls to your blankets and how much thicker they are than his. Paul had smiled when he saw despite everything, you still favored his colors– your house colors. You and Paul sleep together but not sleep together. Your mornings had become shared, whispers and giggles shared the first time you both woke up together— you and Paul had talked into the night, Oliver curled into his side and his hand running through his son's hair.
Still days later, you find waking up next to him, your husband hasn't gotten old. Paul clings to you when he sleeps, he's incredibly warm and you find you no longer need your blanket when he wraps around you in the night. Emboldened by his soft snores, you pull away gently, taking him in the soft morning light. You brush a soft curl from his face and he frowns in his sleep, it strikes you just how pretty he is. He's the makings of every Prince you ever read about growing up, blessed by luck and kissed by beauty and all that. He nuzzles against your hand with a sigh, his frown melting from his lips and you realize you want to kiss him.
You pull your hand away out of pure embarrassment, flushing hot. You shouldn't be embarrassed, you try to reason with yourself. He's your husband— the father of your child, he's touched your naked body before, he's kissed you before but that was years ago and all of that stopped the moment you fell pregnant. You haven't ached for such affection from him in years yet here and now, you wish you could press your lips to his. How embarrassing, you simper trying to pull further away from him but Paul's hold is ironclad, he curls around you tighter, his legs sliding between yours, his hands settling on your back. “What are you doing?” He murmurs, “Where are you going?”
You thank every star that's ever existed that he doesn't open his eyes. He keeps his eyes clamped shut as if protesting the morning sun and he completely misses your fading flusteredness. “Nowhere.” You answer, trying to relax in his touch. He's drawing patterns against your back, trying and failing to lull you back to sleep. He's just so close and it was easier to ignore when you're too tired to be flustered. “I wanted to give you space.”
Paul frowns, blinking his eyes open. “Don’t want space.” Then processing what he said, he offers you a timid smile before he rolls away to yawn and stretch. “Sorry, that was…” He shakes his head and doesn't bother finishing what he was going to say. He gets out of your bed with another stretch, his bones cracking and your mind flounders, rushing to think of a reason to keep him in bed— you never thought a day would come when you wanted to keep Paul near you. Your mouth moves before you can think and through and—
“Oliver says he wants a sibling.”
The moment it leaves your mouth, you're clapping a hand over your lips in pure, unfiltered embarrassment. Paul is still frozen mid stretch, his eyes wide and his cheeks completely pink and you wish a moon would come crashing into the planet and take you out in its destruction. “What?” He asks, his voice is strangely pitched. His arms drop as he turns to face you.
“Nothing.” You say and your voice is a squeak, your mortification growing. What are you? A blushing virgin maiden? You should have stood your ground, repeated what you said proudly but you're suddenly… shy. Your heart is pounding and you pull your blanket up and over your head, “Forget I said anything.”
Paul says your name and you ignore it, pulling the cover tighter and it's a sight that makes Paul's heart soar. His lady wife is shy before him, it is a welcome change that has his own heart skipping delightfully. He can't help but tease you, he says your name again as he rounds the bed, he drags it out, stretches it across his tongue and you shiver under the blanket. His hand touches your covered leg and you jump and he laughs, sitting at your side. “My love,” He starts and he says it like he's sure of it, like you are his only love. “Can you repeat that?”
“No.” You hiss and it pulls another laugh from him. He pulls the blanket from your face and he is smiling like he's never smiled before, his peachy cheeks dimpling.
“Oliver wants a sibling.” Paul repeats and you purse your lips nodding, Paul's smile only grows. “I knew that already.”
You blink. “What?”
“Oliver has always wanted a sibling.” Paul starts casually, shrugging. “But if he told you and you told me that means– you've considered it.”
Your face flushes hot and you go to pull for your blanket but Paul puts his weight on it, stopping you from covering yourself. So you deflect, your lip pulls up in a halfhearted sneer, “I was making conversation. I was trying to be polite.”
Paul hums, slow and soft. “You thought it proper to a conversation by asking me to fuck you?”
You blink rapidly, your mouth falling open in shock. “I-I wasn't– I w-wouldn't–” Paul is smiling and you swallow. “You’re teasing me.”
“A little.” He murmurs, his eyes are searching your face. His hand raises from your blanket and you brace yourself when it caresses the length of your face, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “I wouldn't mind.”
Your tongue follows the path of his thumb out of instinct and when it sweeps across it, you swear you see your husband’s eyes flash. “Mind what?”
“Another child.” He says. “Sleeping with you.”
You're nodding and suddenly Paul is on you, his lips on yours as he cups your face to drag you closer. You are clumsy, unsure with how you kiss him— it's been years you remind yourself but Paul is so much more confident, he kisses you and it's nothing like the ones from years ago. Those had been pecks, his lips on yours to shush your moans as he humped into you, it all felt professional— a duty he had to perform but this, Paul is kissing you. It is all tongue, teeth and lips, he's eager with his nips and how his tongue drags across yours but he goes at your pace; or at least he tries, you whimpered and the kiss quickly grew messy— wet as he wraps his tongue around yours and sucks. It's an odd feeling and it pulls a startled moan from you. It is years of programming that has you saying it, your hands clenching at the fabric of his shirt, “Husband–”
“Paul.” He urges, his voice a touch desperate as his hands begin to roam your body. He's squeezing you in places you've never been touched before, his hands tickling up your sides— pushing your nightgown up. You are bare beneath them and Paul lets out an appreciative groan at the sight of your pussy. He barely looks up when he says, “Call me Paul when I touch you like this, please.”
You swallow and nod, you have to ask. You have to know. “Paul, did you ever–” Your voice breaks and you can hear how small you sound. “Did you touch her? While we were together?”
“No.” He says it so quickly, you're blinking but his voice is serious, he doesn't falter but his hands still. “I would never do that, not even if she offered.”
You take a breath. “But you left, Paul.”
“I know.” He murmurs, “I’m sorry. Will you let me apologize?”
“You already–” Your voice catches as he bends, he kisses his way down your body, hot opened mouthed kisses, his tongue dragging across your flesh. Your stomach clenches when he lowers and presses another kiss to your mound, uncaring of the hair there. Your legs try to clamp together but he is quick to keep them apart, his eyes meeting your frantic ones, “You don't– you never–”
“I’m apologizing.” He says simply and then his mouth is on you. There is nothing shy about the way his tongue drags through your folds, he licks and licks, and licks till he's drooling— he's making a wet mess out of you, his tongue dipping in and out of your fluttering hole as moans spill from you. Your legs tremble at the side of his head and you barely catch his eye roll as he pulls your thighs close to his head. He groans when they clench around his head and he licks his way back up to your clit and sucks hard, slurping loudly. Your back arches from the bed, a shrill shriek of his name escaping from your mouth, his head bobs with each suck, his tongue dragging and swirling hard against your dripping core.
“Oh, oh-” A curse he's never heard before explodes from you and your hand is carding through his hair and pulling closer to your cunt. His nose digs into your flesh and he lets out a puff of air before he flattens his tongue and shakes his head, your hand was keeping him centered enough but it loosens when he does this, flying to your mouth instead to muffle the squeal that leaves you. He keeps his mouth on you as he looks up, taking in your teary eye expression— your eyes meet and Paul can barely hold back the smile when he teases a finger against your slit. You moan, arching down towards it and it makes his nose grind against your clit as his finger slips in easily. You're incredibly wet and you would be embarrassed if Paul wasn't the one to blame for it, you could barely tell what was your own arousal or his spit at this point.
Paul presses another finger into you and it goes just as easy as the first, his fingers gliding against your clenching, wet walls. His fingers prod and rub and when they hook against a spot that has you twisting away from him, Paul is fighting to keep your hips from bucking wildly. “That’s it.” He encourages, his voice husky. His fingers bully a spongy part inside of you, pressing and rubbing as his other hand moves, his fingers rubbing tight, hard circles against your clit. It's an awkward position but Paul doesn't seem to care, his wild eyed look is trained on your leaky cunt and the way it clenches and flutters around his fingers. You smack at his hands because something is brewing— your stomach coiling right. He rides the waves your hips rock to, a crooked smile forming on his face. “That’s fucking it, so pretty like this.”
You cum and you swear you've gone blind. You've touched yourself before, you've made yourself cum before but this— this is something completely different, your back is arching off the bed, your moans are choked to a stop as you try to force air to your lungs. Your legs clamp shut but Paul keeps pumping his fingers inside of you, he's cooing like you're something precious and he's riding your high, his hand matching the twitching of your hips. You wheeze his name, your chest heaving and it is only then Paul pulls his hand from you, his fingers wet and creamy and he slips the digits into his mouth with a soft moan.
You're blinking up at him, your breath rattling in your chest and Paul meets your gaze unabashed, his fingers leaving his mouth to rub a soothing pattern in your thigh. “Are you alright?”
You quickly realize Paul can't help but do that. In the next week, Paul pulls you into every dark corner he can find. He'd drop to his knees, his mouth finding your cunt like it was home and he'd licked you till you were quivering, creaming all over his face and pushing him away. Paul licked your cunt like a man starved and again, you quickly realize with an odd twinge of fear that he loved it. Loved your legs clamped around his head, loved his nose buried in your scent at its source. He loved it so much it took nearly another week for him to bend you over his desk and actually fuck you.
“Oh, f-fuck!”
The office is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, the squeaking of the desk moving forward. Paul has a hand splayed over the curve of your back, keeping you bent over as he rolled his hips into you. You're moaning, cursing really and it makes him twitch inside of you. He loves when you act like anything but a Lady and when you're clenching down on him, choking his dick and soaking his thighs, he thinks he might lose his head. Still, there are guards who roam the halls outsides, servants that go about their duties and you are just so vocal— his hand slips over your mouth and though he knows the damage is done and the outside world has probably already heard your sounds, he feels possessive; he wants to keep your moans and whimpers to himself. He used the hand over your mouth to pull you up and flush against him, groaning when you clamp down on him, fucking back on him without abandon.
His knees nearly buckle when you begin to set your own pace against him, one of your hands holds his hand over your mouth, your nails digging into skin as your other hand flies to your stretched cunt. You're so wet your fingers slip and mess their mark and Paul feels your frustrated groan vibrate against his hand as you try again, your fingers finding your clit and you rub furiously little circles against the sensitive nub. Faintly, Paul thinks you touch yourself a little too rough but you're tightening up on him and Paul moans, you feel so good. Better than his hand ever did and, his hips meet yours— it's almost frantic, animalistic in the way he fucks into you and when he cums, he shakes, a moan spilling from his lips as he continues to roll his hips, fucking his spend back into you and try to get you to finish.
And you do, you always do because Paul refuses to stop until you do. He could be shaking from pure overstimulation and he'd still fuck into you until you're creaming on his dick, his fingers, his face. Later, he tells you that he's glad you don't squirt. You had hit him on his shoulder, tried to hide your face from his lecherous gaze but he had cupped your pussy with a grin filled with heat, “You’d wash away all my work if you did.”
You had hissed his name in warning but Paul was already slipping his fingers back inside of you and you were mortified with how your body just accepted them.
Your recent… couplings had not gone unnoticed by the people of the Castle. While your ladies had more tact in asking you— your Father-in-law and Jessica were not. You had been tending to Oliver at dinner, trying to coax your son into eating his vegetables with Paul watching fondly at your side, his arm curled around the back of your seat.
Leto had cleared his throat, shifting in his chair as he watched the two of you warmly. He has been the more accepting of the recent change, greeting you both with a grin or a chuckle whenever you two stumbled into the room disheveled. “Would it be remiss of me to assume I'll be getting another grandchild soon?”
Paul snorts into his cup of wine, the red liquid spilling across his front and you are no better, the fork holding Oliver’s broccoli shakes and the vegetable falls on the boy who instantly whines in disgust. You are quick to clean him, apologizing in a coo as your face warms, you look anywhere but your in-laws and Paul takes charge. “Father–” He began, his voice warning but Leto showed his palms with an easy smile.
“I’m simply curious.” He amends, Jessica is deathly silent at his side, watching the conversation with an odd look in her eyes. “The castle hasn't been baby proofed since Oliver and I wanted to know if we should start–”
Oliver, hearing his name looks to his grandfather to you with excited green eyes. “There’s a baby?”
Your mouth opens, then closes, your face warm as suddenly everyone turns to look at you. “Well, yes but–”
The adults at the table all sit straighter, Paul's hand curls tighter against the back of your chair. “Yes?” He repeats a touch breathless and you risk a glance in his direction, and he has once again gone pink in the face. Your lips pinch and you look away, it is much easier to admit this to a child, your son, rather than his father.
“Yes,” You begin again, your voice strong but soft, a hand smoothing over his curly little head. “But the baby won't come for a number of months, Ollie.”
Oliver makes a face. “I’ll be five when it comes.”
Paul from your side lets out a watery laugh, his arm leaving your chair and settling on your shoulders. “Yes,” He replies, “You’ll be an older brother, Oliver.”
That has the boy smiling, he turns back to his grandfather already babbling about all the things he'll do as a big brother and Leto is smiling so widely, you think the grin might split his face. Paul uses it as an opportunity to pull you from the table and out into the hallway, his hand shaking in yours.
“Paul, I'm–”
He silences you with a kiss salted with his own tears. You return his kiss a touch confused and he lets out a puff of laughter against your lips. “Do not apologize.” He orders, leaning away, “Do not apologize for making me a father again.”
“I wanted to tell you differently.” You say, your heart pounding. “I wanted to wait another week just to be sure– wanted to surprise you.”
Paul is grinning, teary eyed and peachy faced. “I am surprised.” Then he's kissing you again.
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lixzey · 5 months
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forever yours.
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Timothée Chalamet, cheating on Kylie Jenner? The Wonka actor was spotted kissing an unknown woman in Los Angeles!
You stared at the article on your phone, your hands shaking. You knew you shouldn't think about it; after all, you and Timothée have been dating for four years, and he loves you—only you. But nobody knew that, though. He was a world-famous actor, and you were someone who just so happened to have his heart. You two had decided to keep the relationship low-key and private, away from the chaotic world of Hollywood. Nobody outside of both of your families and friends knew who you were or what you looked like.
You sighed, plopping down on the bed in your boyfriend's apartment. You have been living with him for the last two years, and you loved every bit of it. Timothée was the sweetest boyfriend; he loved to spoil you. He gives you everything that you deserve and more—his words, not yours. You couldn't ask for anything more; you were happily content with the love of your life.
But you still can't brush off the fact that in this story, you were the bad guy. 
It all started in December 2022, when Timothée was forced to date Kylie Jenner. His management thought that it would be beneficial for him, seeing that Kylie was Forbes' youngest self-made billionaire and had tons of fans, maybe more than Timothée had. At first, your boyfriend was reluctant. He didn't want to date anyone else other than you. You two argued, but in the end, you convinced him that it would be good for his career. 
Timothée signed the contract, and he was obligated to date the youngest daughter of Kris Jenner. 
It started with little appearances like Kylie showing up at your home, and you had to leave or hide because there were paparazzis all over the perimeter of your house. Your boyfriend was absolutely apologetic that you had to pretend that you were not his, and it broke his heart to see you smile from the sidelines. 
You assured him that everything's alright. You were okay with everything, as long as, at the end of the day, he came back home to you. 
Some Timothée's fans were hopelessly praying that it was all some sort of PR stunt—which it actually was, but you signed a non-disclosure agreement. You had no choice but to keep it to yourself. Their 'relationship' went on and on, giving the people the benefit of the doubt. 
Until early September, when the PR team decided that it was time to make it public.
You were a little bit heartbroken when you saw it on social media. It was at Beyoncé's birthday concert, a celebrity-studded event, which made it the perfect opportunity to show off their relationship. The way Kylie Jenner had her hands all over your man made your blood boil. Timothée looked uncomfortable, but he didn't have any other choice. You wanted to go and just punch that plastic woman for having her claws all over your boyfriend, but you couldn't do anything. You hated it, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. Because if you did, Timothée would drop it before you could even say no. 
The way your boyfriend has his arms wrapped around that plastic bitch made you want to slap her and tear off all the plastic she had in her fake body. The way she kissed your man made you want to feed her to the sharks in the Atlantic Ocean. The way your boyfriend had his hand over her ass made you want to go and make a deal with the devil to rid the world of that woman, and maybe chop off your boyfriend's hands while you're at it. But again, you couldn't do a thing. You were left to watch while another woman pawed at your man. 
Timothée did everything to make it up to you. He would always assure you that it was all for show and nothing more. He loved you, only you, and he would never dream of hurting you. You knew that, of course, but you can't help getting annoyed by it—you won't tell him that though, because you couldn't. 
But now you were a homewrecker, a slut. 
Apparently, someone saw you and your boyfriend kissing. It was your fourth anniversary. Timothée had brought you to your favorite restaurant in Los Angeles and was enjoying the night, celebrating four years of love. After a bit of wine, he kissed you, like he always did—momentarily forgetting his 'girlfriend'. 
The next day, the photo of you and your boyfriend kissing was all over the internet. People were calling you a homewrecker, a slut, a whore, and more. You practically had death threats filling up semi-trucks. People were telling you who you are, and you didn't have a choice, all because you loved Timothée. 
All of this for what? Celebrating four years with the man you love? 
You buried your face in your hands, trying to muffle your sobs. You felt like the whole world was against you, like you were the villain in some twisted fairytale. What did you do to even deserve any of this? You just wanted to be with your man, but the world had other plans. 
“Mon amour? Are you here?” A voice echoed from downstairs. You wiped away the tears from your eyes, putting on another fake smile as you walked down. 
“Hey, love. Are you hungry?” You asked, voice breaking. Timothée looked at you, and you knew he knew something was wrong. You mentally kicked yourself for being so utterly stupid.
“What's wrong, mon amour?” Timothée asked, stepping forward and wrapping you in his arms. 
“Nothing, it's alright.” You lied. You were getting pretty good at lying, not that you were proud of it. 
Timothée sighed, his arms wrapping you tighter against his body. “Y/n, please, baby. I know something's wrong; you've been crying.” You could hear his heartbeat, the loud thumping in his chest calming you. You sighed loudly, burying your face into his chest, the smell of his cologne invading your nostrils. You pulled away abruptly, and the look of confusion on his face made your heart wrench inside your chest.
“I'm okay, don't worry.” 
Timothée cupped your face in his hands, your eyes meeting his. “Y/n, please, mon amour. Just tell me, I just want to help.” 
You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “Have you seen the tabloids?”
Timothée sighed, knowing it was about his fake relationship again. “Can you tell me what it is, baby? I'm sorry I haven't checked out the news.”
“It's just....it's silly, honestly.”
“It's not silly if it's bothering you, my love.” 
“Someone saw us kissing yesterday, and it's all over the tabloids.” you mumbled, your eyes glued to the floor. 
“Oh, baby,” Timothée whispered. “I'm so sorry; I dragged you into this. It's all my fault.” he muttered.
Your heart broke when he said it was his fault. It wasn't; it was the people who were quick to judge. “It isn't your fault, Tim.” 
“It is, baby. I shouldn't have agreed to that PR stunt. I should've just turned it down and spent all of my time with you instead-” You cut him off with your lips crashing with his. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You felt all of your worries evaporate into thin air, and all that mattered was him. The man you have spent four years with, the man you see a future with. 
You pulled away, making him growl as the feeling of your lips left his. You chuckled, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you more, baby. But….” 
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But what, baby?” You asked worriedly. 
“Can I see what the article says? And anything else related to it?” 
Your eyes widened slightly. It was one thing for you to read all of those horrid things people have written about you, but Timothée? He would break at the words people have said about you, and you couldn't live with him thinking his fans were horrible to the woman he loves. 
“Baby….” 
“Please, mon amour? You don't deserve to get all the hate.”
You playfully raised an eyebrow, trying to diffuse the tension. “Who said I was getting hate?” 
Timothée chuckled. “I know Hollywood.”
You let out a deep sigh as you rubbed your temples. “It's horrible, mon amour.” 
“I don't care; I still love you no matter what.” 
“You really want to read it?”
“Yes, I do.” 
You opened your phone and showed him one of the videos on TikTok about the articles. 
timmyfan1: omg timmy cheated on kylie with her? yuck, homewrecker. 
kyliestan_: such a slut, going after someone else's boyfriend.
timotheestan: die bitch
– timobaby: yeah, go die in a ditch you slut. 
– kyjennerbaby: not timothée's fans wanting the girl to die 😭
timotheechalamalabingbong: not timothée throwing away his relationship and career for this girl 😭 
kyliebaby: poor kylie, got her heart broken by this douchebag
jennersisters: anyone want to help me find that girl and slap the shit outta her?
– user1: count me in! 
– user2: me too! i'm gonna drag that little bitch down 
“I'm so sorry, mon amour,” Timothée whispered as he turned the phone off. “You don't deserve any of this.” 
You smiled sadly at him. “I know, but this is nothing.”
“No, it's not nothing. They want you to die, and that's not okay…” 
“I don't have any plans on dying, Timmy.” You chuckled. 
"But…but...”
"No buts. I know it hurts, but we have to live with it. I have to live with it. You'll just have to focus on your career, okay?” 
Timothée sighed in defeat. “You're the most precious person in this world; you don't deserve this.”
“And you know it.” You smiled, grabbing his hand in yours. “I don't care about their words anymore, as long as I have you.”
“I don't deserve you.” 
“You do; you deserve me and more.” You chuckled, kissing his knuckles. “I love you, no matter what.”
“I love you, Y/n, I love you so fucking much.” Timothée planted a soft kiss on your lips before pulling you again to his chest. “I'm yours, forever yours.”
You sighed contentedly, melting at his touch, feeling comfort and love in your boyfriend's arms. The only thing that mattered in that moment was you and him; no one could ever take away your happiness. 
Your boyfriend, your Timothée, yours. 
@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette
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His Muse
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Description: Willy had a setback and feeling defeat, luckily he can come home to his Flossy who always knows how to cheer him up. He couldn’t have asked for a better muse.
A/N: So no one asked this, but I saw the trailer and had to write this. It’s started sad but it has a happy ending. And can I just saw how excited I am for this film and Willy looks so happy, insane and I can’t want to see more of him. Also this is set in London in the 20s roughly.
Warning: Fluff, Angst, Smut, frantic and manic Wonka, slight talk of misogyny. pregnant reader.
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Willy sighed as he walked down the street. His hat was tucked under his arm and his head was angled towards the ground. He didn’t like being defeated, being so bumped out, and hopeless, but that was exactly how he was feeling right now.
He has been denied again on a loan to open his own chocolate shop. He worked hard on this batch of chocolate and the bakers just laughed at him without even tasting it. How was he supposed to open his shop if they refused to take his product? He needed a shop to sell candy, but couldn’t get a shop without selling candy, but it was illegal to sell candy without a shop.
It was enough to make his head spin and not in a good way. He gnawed on his bottom lip until the pain and too much.  Maybe it was time for him to give up on his pointless goal. Maybe he would get a normal job, he could be like his father and be a dentist, it would help his family.
At the thought of his family, he felt his eyes fill with tears. He would come home to his love a disappoint again. He never understood how she could stand by him when he offered no help to the family.
His sweet love, his candy cane, his chocolate delight, his muse. He sniffled as his home came into view. If you could call it that. It was a tiny home with barely enough room for a bedroom, bathroom, tiny kitchen, and a little basement area he’s been using as a workshop.
He wiped his eyes as he opened the front door of the home. “Flossy, I’m home,” he said with less excitement than you are used to.
You were standing at the stove making soup. You both have been eating a lot of soup these days but you never complained. You always smiled and said that soup was your favorite food, next to his sweets.
Willy made his way over to you, putting his hat on the rack along with his coat before wrapping his arms around your waist. He squeezed you softly and pressed a kiss to the back of your head.
“Rough day?” You asked softly. Your voice was like angels singing to Willy. He would listen to you and never tire of it. He often joked he wishes he could bottle up your voice and add it to his recipes to make his candy even sweeter.
“Rough day,” he repeated sadly. 
Turning down the stove, you turned to face your husband. You’ve seen just about every side of Willy. His angry side, his happy side, his frantic and mad side, but you never seen him like this. Defeated with sad hidden green eyes. They normally shined like emeralds and danced with ideas, love, and wonder; But now they were dull, lifeless, and full of fear.
You cuffed his face. “My sweet Willy, what’s wrong my love?” You said.
He leaned into your touch, clothing his eyes briefly before they opened again. Willy grabbed your hands and kissed your left palm then your right. Determination filled his eyes as he looked back at you, but he still smiled sadly.
“I have been thinking,” he started walking away from you to set at one of the two mix-match chairs at your table.
“Oh,” you said wiping your hands on your apron and turning back to the soup, adding a bit more seasoning.
“Yes, I think we should turn the basement into the baby’s room. The babe can not stay in our room with us or at least not forever. I know the house is small so that is the best decision.”
Your furrowed your brows and glanced at him over your shoulder. “I don’t think the babe should be sleeping in your workshop.”
“Ah, but it won’t be my workshop. It will just be the babe's room. Maybe I can go tomorrow and see about getting some paint to paint a little mural for our little gumdrop.”
“Willy what about your work? Where will you do that?”
“In an office of course. I will get a job like a normal husband and work in an office. And after saving we can move to a better place.”
You sighed, turning to face your husband. Your hand fell to your small bump. You were barely showing with you been just over 3 months along. You walked to your husband, staring to kneel in front of him when he gave a shout and quickly got up and ushered you into his seat and he kneeled in front of you.
You smiled at his antics, patting his curls lovingly. He beamed up at you at your affection. A bit of light came back to his eyes, but still, the dark cloud lingered. Your smile turned sad. “Willy my love, if I want a normal husband, I would have married one of the men my father wanted me to,” you started, cupping his face.
“Why didn’t you? You could have had a better life?” he asked, he begin fiddling with the bottom of your apron.
“Because-” you turned his face towards yours. “-having a life with more money does not mean having a better life. I am happy with you, I love you, Willy Wonka.”
“I’m a failure,” he said, dropping his head to your lap. “I am a failure as a husband, as a businessman, as a chocolatier, I will be a failure as a father as well.” His tears fell heavily from his eyes.
“You are not a failure in any sense of the world, my love. You are brilliant, wonderful, and the kindest man I know. You had a setback. You are only a failure if you give up.”
“I must. I must. Our family needs more than what little I am able to earn. You have already lost two jobs because of me,” he sobbed into your legs.
Your first job once you married was at a local candy shop. With Willy actively trying to pursue the same business, your former boss, Arthur Slugworth, thought it was best you leave the shop. 
Last month you lost your job waitressing when your boss learned of your pregnancy, stating it was for your own good to be home, nesting, and waiting for the birth. “Willy. I did not lose my job because of you. I lost my job because of other people’s issues. I have been having fun doing work with Mrs. Jonerson, learning the ends and out of the seamstress business. You know I always wanted to make clothes.”
He sniffled and nodded, turning his wet face toward you. “You made my lucky coat. I love it. It seems like home and made with love from my Flossy.”
You smiled back at him, wiping under his eyes. “Yes made with all the love in the world from your Flossy. Your Flossy who believes in you. Who knows you will have the biggest chocolate factory one day and your ideas and candy will reach all over the world.”
“It is a child’s dream.”
“It is your dream,” you stated. Not going to let him give up on the thing that makes him happiest.
“And what about your dream? You didn’t want this for your life. You deserve the world,” he said, hopelessly as he dramatically threw himself off of your legs and onto the floor. 
He was spread out on the floor like a starfish and you giggled softly as you got on the floor and sat in his lap. His hands came up to grab your hips, but other than that, he didn’t move. “My world is you, my little dramatic chocolatier, our baby, and our lives. I want nothing more than that.”
Willy's eyes blinked at you in confusion, but wonder and love was creeping back into his gaze. “You must have a dream, you like designing is that not your dream?”
“When we met. We talked about dreams. How everything good in this world started with a dream. You said your mother used to tell you that and I thought it was perfect. I said my dream was to make clothes to make people happy, to fill them with love. I wanted my clothes to mean something to someone. Well, you wear my clothes, our child will wear my clothes, that is enough for me. My world will wear my clothes and love them, there is nothing more filling than that.”
Willy sat up slowly, pulling you tighter against him. “So your dream is to make clothes for our family?”
“Yes, or it used to be. Your dream is to make the world happy. To spread love and cheer through making your candy. And I love that dream, it has become my dream as well. My dream is for you to have your dream. Dreams are important. Do not give up.”
Willy cupped your face and kissed you deeply. “I love love love you, My Flossy. My sweet sweet Candy Floss,” he said, kissing all over your face frantically. “You are right? I can not give up. Giving up is not an option.” He kissed you once more, exploring your mouth with excitement.
He stood up with you in his arms. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He placed you on the counter and begin taking your clothes off your body. “Giving up is not the Wonka way. We will change the world with chocolate. With your clothing and my creation, we will add whimsy to the world.”
“There is the Willy, I know and love,” you said, pulling his clothes off and running your hands along his skin, loving being so close to him.
He shivered and grabbed your hips pulling you close as he sunk into you all at once. You winced slightly. “Willy. You are quite big remember to go slow,” you laughed, slapping his shoulder.
He blushed leaning down to capture your lips in an apology kiss. “I am sorry, Flossy. I just get so excited to be inside of you. I tend to lose my head.”
You kiss back, digging your fingers into his curls. “It is okay, I like your excitement, I love your cock and I love you,” you said, moaning as he pulled back out and then slammed back into you.
“Chocolate pudding you feel amazing,” he groaned, pistoling his hips quicker, spreading your legs wider so he could get deeper inside of you. “I want to live right here, between your legs.”
“Yeah? I would be so sore and drunk on your cock, my love,” you said, rocking against him. The things in the cabinet above your head started to shake and you were slightly worried something would fall on you, but also you were rather get hit than ask him to stop. “Please, Willy,” you begged.
“You beg, you know you never have to beg from your husband. All I am and have is yours,” he said, kissing along your neck, sucking in marks. “Shall I make a candy that feels like this? Feelings like being so deep inside of you. Like we are one?”
“I don’t think the public would be a fan of such a sexual chocolate flavor or feeling,” you moaned tugging his hair.
He whimpered at the pull of his hair, his cock throbbed and you knew he was close. “I suppose you are right, but maybe I can make a batch for just us,” he mused, biting into your neck as he lost his rhythm and cum painted your insides. 
“Razzles, Flossy,” he moaned.
Willy’s hand came between your bodies stroking along your clit with his long and skillful fingers. You tightened around his cock and pulled harder on his hair as you came, fireworks dancing between your eyes.
Willy kissed your shoulders, moving to your breasts, and then back up to your lips. You kissed him back tiredly. He wrapped his arm around your waist and carried you to the bedroom and laid you down.
He left to get a washing cloth and cleaned you softly. “An orgasm feeling chocolate is a no-go as well?” He asked, putting a nightdress on you.
You laughed shaking your head as you fixed the dress once it was on you. “No, I don’t think so. Well, unless it is the feelings but not inducing one.”
His eyes lit up. “You are a genius my flossy,” he said, kissing you quickly. Then he leaned down and kiss your stomach. “And you, my gumdrop, will be sweet as sugar like your mother.”
“And father,” you added, smiling softly, getting up from the bed. “The soup is probably cold,” you said with a slight pout.
“It is alright,” he smiled, kissing your pout.
“But it was your favorite and you had a bad day.”
“And you have made it much better. I feel rejuvenated. I feel alive. I have so many ideas, I must go work on,” he said, bouncing up and out of the room.
You followed after him, though you walked, but couldn’t help but be happy to see him back to his old self. “Do not work too hard, Mr. Wonka. Your wife would like to have dinner with you when it is warm.”
“Working too hard is in my blood, but I’ll be back to eat with my sweetest of sweets,” he said, bouncing back to your side. He grabbed your waist, dipping you and kissing you until your vision blurred from lack of oxygen. 
When he left you up, he spun you a few times and you fell into his chest. “Willy you will be the death of me,” you said, shaking your head and patting his curls as you untangled yourself from him and went to the stove.
“Nonsense. Never. I would never dream of being the death of the one that breathes life into me,” he wrapped himself around you, but you swatted him away.
“Work Willy, work,” you reminded him laughing.
“Another round is out of the question them?” He asked, his hands moving to pull your dress up.
You laughed. “Another round can wait. You, my genius chocolatier need to work, and I need to warm the soup and my privates need a break.”
“Ah, right again. I will work and give you a break, but,” He pressed himself against you and whispered in your ear. “Tonight you will have no break. Tomorrow you’ll be sore. Maybe I’ll work on a candy to relieve pain for my sweet,”
You flushed. “Willy Wonka, enough,” you said, trying to slow down your racing heart.
He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “I do love seeing you like this, I will hurry back to return to you.”
“Do not rush. It seems I will need all the respite I can get.”
His laughter echoed around your small home as he opened the door to the basement and disappeared inside.
30 minutes later you poured the soup into two bowls, toasted some bread, and made your way down the ladder to get into Willy’s shop. You were silent as you walked, but it wouldn’t have made a difference as he was buzzing around the room with his notepad writing down things, mumbling to himself, and grabbing ingredients.
You watched him for a few minutes before shaking your head and setting the bowls down on one of the tables and making your way over to him, grabbing his hand as he buzzed by. He stopped at once blinking at you as if unsure if he was seeing you or not.
You couldn’t help but laugh, it was the same look he gave you in the morning as he was coming out of dreamland. “Darling are you back with me,” you said, patting his curls.
His eyes roamed over your face for a few seconds before he smiled softly and goofily his eyes glowing with wonder. “There is the woman I love most. My forever muse, the love of my life,” he said wrapping his arms around your waist picking you up and spinning you both. “After our talk, I’ve come up with 16 new ideas and I know they won’t be able to ignore me anymore,” He said with wide eyes.
You allowed him to spin you around before, tapping his shoulder. “You’re making me dizzy, Willy,” you said and he quickly set you on your feet.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, smothering you in kisses but you just shook your head and kissed his nose.
“I am excited to hear all your new ideas,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the small table.
“And taste them right? You are my favorite taste tester,” he added.
You didn’t point out that you were his only one. “Of course, I haven’t had a bad piece of candy from you ever. I am always eager to try me,” you said, setting the bowl down in front of him.
He crossed his legs and pulled the bowl into his lap. “And that is why I could never be more grateful to you. For putting up with my antics.”
“Your antics are my favorite part of you, Willy. There is never a dull moment in this house,” you said.
Willy grinned widely at your comment. “I am glad. Life is more enjoyable with excitement, don’t you agree?”
You nodded grabbing your own bowl of soup. “Yes, I agree. Now tell me about these ideas.”
                         Taglist.
@gatoenlaciudad
@iloveneilperry​
@valencia-rou
@s-we-e-t-t-ea​​
@robertpattins0nswh0re
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bonesandchalamet · 9 months
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slumber party - t.chalamet
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masterlist
requested: y - “Hii, could you make one about Timothée and reader having a toddler,and just pure fluff please 🫶🏻”
pairings: dad!timothee chalamet x mom!reader
warnings: fluff + child has been given a name + established relationship
a/n: this is short I’m sorry love!
silence never fills the walls of your New York apartment anymore— at least not since aurora, your daughter, was born.
her presence has been a blessing, there’s no doubt to that, but when the silence exists it’s deafening. which is why you’re concerned at six am when the pitter-patter of little feet against the hardwood floor is nonexistent. she’s only four, you think to yourself, there’s no way she’s learned to sleep in yet.
Timothee, your husband, is dead asleep beside you. he couldn’t of heard a tornado hit with the way he sleeps, and you don’t blame him. work and production of the upcoming films he was in were beginning to start, and sleep was lacking with not only a toddler, but work.
so yes, he had his reasons to sleep in, but aurora didn’t.
you heave out a worried sigh, throwing the blankets off your body, exposing you to the cool air of the room. you slip on your slippers and trudge down the hall towards her bedroom. the homemade sign of her name Timothee made hangs loose on the door, the stickers her and Pauline stuck to the wood were fading, but stuck like glue. you push open the door carefully, to see her blinds are pushed open already, and she’s dressed herself.
“aurora,” your groggy voice jolts her head from the book in her lap, it’s timothees copy of dune that she stole because it reminder her of him. he spent months in the desert thinking of you two, and she spent months pretending the fat book in her lap was readable.
“mommy, is daddy awake?” she slips off the bed, book falling open onto the ground, she brushes past you headed straight for your bedroom door that’s closed. she doesn’t give you a second to reply, the man in the cozy bedroom is all she cares about and you don’t blame her. his presence was absent due to filming, any chance she got cozying up with him was a win in her book
you don’t have in your heart to warn her that he’s sleep. she’s already pushed open the door and by the time you slip into the dark room, she’s made herself comfortable in his arms. he’s barely awake, but when he felt her finger poke his chest, he unconsciously lifted his arms up.
you slip back under the sheets, turning in bed to look at the two. their mouths part the same way, their strains of curly brown hair fall over their faces in the exact same way.
you watch his eyes flutter open for a brief minute, he takes a look down at her, and then at you. your eyes are shut once again, forehead touching auroras, the two of you are sound asleep, and he doesn’t hesitate to sink further into the mattress and let sleep wash over him.
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finelinevogue · 14 days
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timothée chalamet masterlist
*•.,’•*•.,’•*•.,’•*•.,’•*•.,’•*•.,’•*
✨ timothée chalamet:
🌙 paul atreides:
love isn’t weakness - paul helps you see love isn’t a weakness
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lola-la-cava · 10 months
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Met ‘23
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Timothée Chalamet x Reader
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
“Y-yeah, don’t even worry about it. Who needs air?. Just… keep going” I say as they continue to tighten the corset. I grip my waist, sucking up as much air as I can.
All of a sudden, I hear a familiar voice tsk. The women helping me with my dress backs up, causing the piece of clothing to loosen.
“Did she put you up to this?”, he asked the woman. She nodded.
“Traitor!”
He laughs at my quip and comes up to kiss my cheek. “You look beautiful”
Timothée looks me up and down, examining the dress and taking my hand to twirl me. “You don’t look half bad yourself.” I giggle.
The curly haired boy gasped, “Half bad? Come on! Give me a little more credit!”
“Ah fine! You look gorgeous!” I praise, getting my body close to his to pull him in for a needed kiss.
“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not done yet! Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, huh, lover boy?” my make-up artist comes to pull us apart and retouching my lipstick.
“How could I?” he stared at me with a love sick stare that I didn’t quite notice at the time.
Timothée hears a quick snap!from the camera. He whips his head around to see one of the photographers catch the perfect moment.
“Whoops” the guy shrugged.
“You people are sickening!” my assistant screamed from the other side of the room.
Timothée answers back, “Jealous much, Meg?”
“Ha. ha.” she teased. “I happen to enjoy being all alone, thank you very much”
I playfully roll my eyes at her antics. “Yeah, sureee”
“Aaalright, Y/N you’re set!” She pats my cheek as I look at her with grateful eyes.
Timothée’s arms wrap around my front once again as soon as she let go. His head resting on my shoulder, kissing my neck
“I just hope lover boy here doesn’t ruin your make-up”
“No promises” he giggles as he playfully placed wet kisses on the side of my head.
“I swear, you will never hear the end from me if you do” she warns him.
“Now, get on out there. Tons of people are expecting you”
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Ah, the calm before the storm.
Well, as calm as it can get. Which was not very.
They stood in the line before getting their pictures taken. Celebrities in extravagant clothing surrounded them. Some familiar faces present that Y/N took note to say hello to later on.
Y/N smoothed over her dress and brought her hand up to fix her hair again. Timothée noticing this, he interrupted her movement and took her hand. He squeezed it three times before kissing it.
I love you.
She took her hand back and grabbed her phone from a discreet pocket on the dress.
She scrolled aimlessly through social media, trying to get feeling of impending doom of my mind.
Her eye catches a random headline from an entertainment news update account. It read:
‘Timothée Chalamet and Kylie Jenner hard launching their relationship at tonight’s Met Gala? Y/N Y/L/N left in the dust?’
She lets out an obnoxious scoff. Timmy hearing it, he looks at her screen, reading the obviously made-up headline.
“God, they’re still on that?”
He notices his partner’s silence. “Come on. You’re not really bothered by this, are you?”
She opened her mouth to say something. No words came out. She merely shrugged.
He gripped her shoulders and pulled her in for a bear hug. Timothée rested his head on hers as she got close to his chest, hearing the comforting beat of his heart that never failed to comfort her.
The couple stayed like that. “Trust me, mon coeur. I wouldn’t have this any other way. I’m perfect where I am and who I’m with”
“Shit, I actually might cry. I never know what to say when you say this sappy shit”, Y/N chuckles as she puts her hand up to mess with his styled hair.
Feeling her hand creeping his back, Timmy pulls away and bows. “I aim to please you. It’s my sole purpose in life”
A smile instantly appeared on her face and butterflies in her stomach. Nothing had definitely changed from when they first started going out. Same sparks, same chemistry, same tension. Whatever you wanna call it. It was there. They had it.
She tugged on his hand, pulling him in for one more kiss. Y/N looked at him, looking over the features she admired so much that she practically memorized them. Her gaze lands on his lips.
Some of her lipstick and gloss had transferred to his lips. She quickly tried to get the makeup off. “Shit, wait hold on. You have some-“
He smacks her hand away. “No, no. Keep it.” He rubbed his lips together getting the substance to cover all ground.
“Y/N Y/L/N and Timothée Chalamet? They’re ready for you.”
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
“Right now, I’m here with everyone’s favourite couple, Timothée Chalamet and Y/N Y/L/N” Emma, the interviewer, spoke with enthusiasm.
We’d just finished the carpet and were almost home free. Camera flashes blinded my vision as I tried not to close my eyes throughout the whole thing. Screams of my name were heard throughout the venue. Meddlesome questions and controlling demands to pose a certain way were yelled. To which, I didn’t respond to. Why should I? I maintained my balance by holding onto Timothée. You’d think after a few years, you’d get used to the bordering aggressive personalities you have to deal with every single day.
It turns out not really.
“How does it feel to be back? I mean, you guys have gone before, but how does it feel to be here as the quote-unquote, it couple?”
Me and Timmy both give awkward chuckles as we heard the last two words.
“Uh- I really don’t know about that last part, but it just feels great to share such a meaningful moment with him. I’ve personally dreamed of attending since I first saw it as a kid and to be invited for the second time… It’s just… yea”, I answer, not being able to expound on the statement.
Emma hums and gains back the mic.
“So, rumors have been swirling about the internet that actually said othewise. Do you have anything to say about that?” She points the microphone at Timothée this time, definitely hinting at the Kylie rumors.
He seems taken aback by the question, not knowing what to say and the only thing I’m able to do was squeeze his hand. Three times.
I love you.
Emma realizes this with a regretful look on her face. She leans toward both of us as she moves the mic away.
“It’s totally fine if you guys aren’t comfortable. We could just mov-“
He takes the mic, she gives him a grateful small smile.
“No, I uh, me and Y/N have actually seen a handful of tweets about this and I just wanna set the record straight and say we are very much still together”, he nods as he hands the microphone back to her.
“I think I’m right by saying that this has definitely relieved viewrs at home and me.” We laugh genuinely at her quip.
I imagine people on Twitter have stopped adding fuel to the fire after what he said and can have a better goodnight’s sleep later in the evening.
“And that’s our time. I’ll see you lovebirds inside! Have a great time together!”
We both shook her hand and left with an indebted expression for keeping it mellow (for the most part) after such a nerve-wracking red carpet.
“Very professional with that answer, Chalamet”, I hook my arms with his and leaned on his shoulder.
“Of course, ‘gotta remind everyone you’re still my girl”, he says with a smug smirk.
I laugh, “Your girl? I suppose that means you’re my boy?”
He playfully rolls his eyes. “Come on! As if you didn’t know that from the beginning”
“Ohhh, I know. I just wanted to hear it from your mouth!”
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thatmoonspell · 5 months
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My first piece of fan art. My baby Regulus Black 🌙 ✨ Oil paint on 8x8 canvas. So excited to paint more HP pieces! 🤍
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[ requests are open ]
these stories + more stories can be found on my wattpad
series;
Lover. [coming soon]
one shots;
my happy little pill. [ oc ]
social media au;
around the world.
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timotheechlamett · 2 years
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please send timothée/ regulus black fics, ANY that you enjoyed or enjoy reading, idc. I feel like it read all of tumblr and A03
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Number Nine
Chapter Four: If There’s Danger in Confession
AO3 author’s note/info one two three four five six seven eight epilogue extra
Said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true. I don’t wanna keep secrets just to keep you. And I snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate; and I screamed, for whatever it’s worth, “I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?” He looks up, grinning like a devil.- Taylor Swift, Cruel Summer
Tim didn’t usually have a reason for why he got her things.
“I just like to get you things,” he’d told her once, staring up at her from where his head lay in her lap. “I want to see you in things as beautiful as you are.”
She had giggled and kissed him, still smiling.
So when he’d told her he was getting her an outfit for the sole purpose of being able to take it off her, she was not remotely surprised.
The boxes came over the course of several weeks. White Honey Birdette lingerie covered in lace and silver Jimmy Choo heels that sparkled as she walked. He’d given her the Colette jewelry in person—pearl and diamond dangly earrings along with a matching ring and bracelet—although he’d had to pick up the necklace himself. 
The Paolo Sebastian dress took the longest. It was made of ankle-length pale blue tulle with white embroidery that looked like a carousel.
When she stepped stepped through the elevator door into his penthouse, she felt like a princess.
Until she heard the moaning of several women along with what sounded suspiciously like her boyfriend. 
“Harder, Timothée,” came a female voice.
“Keep eating her pussy,” he responded lowly.
There were smacking sounds coming from the upstairs living room to her left, and when she turned her head with wide, horrified eyes, she saw it. 
Tim on the couch, taking a gorgeous blonde from behind while the woman went down on a second equally gorgeous blonde and a third looked on, touching herself as she kissed him.
Lea had known he did this sort of thing, of course, he’d mentioned it in passing and never hidden it from her, but she never thought she’d actually see it.
Near tears, she turned around again to get right back in the elevator and leave and possibly ghost him. Unfortunately for her, however, Tim must’ve heard the click-clack of her shoes on his hardwood floor, because his head snapped up and he exclaimed a very excited-sounding, “Lea!”
The girl in question winced, really just wanting to go home and have a nice long cry in the bath, but he’d seen her, and she couldn’t very well escape him now.
“I’m so sorry, girls,” Tim was saying to the group of women he’d been fucking. “My girlfriend’s here, would you mind…?”
There were three murmurs of agreement and then the sounds of clothes being put on. 
She was so shocked by all this that by the time the women filed past her into the elevator, the tears were gone from her eyes.
Lea stood there, stock-still, as Tim came bounding over, the sound of his bare feet on the floor getting closer to her. “Hey, baby,” he said happily, grabbing her hand and spinning her around to face him. “You look gorgeous. Even better than I pictured.” He paused. “An angel come to earth. Makes me wanna corrupt you.”
She glanced downwards.
His dick was still hard. And wet.
Tim noticed her looking and grinned. “Aww, you want me, too, huh? Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always take care of you.”
She stayed in front of the elevator, staring at him in silence. 
He pouted, holding out his arms to her. “What’re you doing just standing there? C’mere.”
Lea hesitantly took a step forward, and as soon as she was within reach, he grabbed her by the waist and yanked her against him. 
“There,” he said happily. “Isn’t that better?”
She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him with wide eyes. Then, he put his hand on her cheek and leaned down to kiss her. As soon as his lips touched hers, everything else fell away. It didn’t matter that he’d just been kissing one woman while fucking another. All that mattered was that his chest was pressed against hers and his hands were in her hair and his tongue was in her mouth.
“C’mon,” he breathed against her lips, taking her hand and leading her into his bedroom.
“Do you bring the others in here?” she asked nervously, unsure of whether or not she wanted to know the answer.
Tim pressed her against the wall of windows, the skirt of her dress fanning out around her. “No,” he told her. “You’re the only one who gets to see my room, sleep in my bed.”
Lea smiled up at him, her heart fluttering at the notion of being unique to him in some way.
“Now then,” he began, strolling over to one of his bedside tables to grab small box labeled BULGARI from the drawer as well as his phone and cigarette and lighter before moving to sit on the divan at the foot of his bed. He beckoned her closer before lighting the cigarette and taking a drag. “C’mere, baby.”
Lea obeyed, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly in her sparkly Jimmy Choos.
He looked up at her, examining her form, taking another drag from his cigarette and putting his phone and the box next to where he sat, his long legs stretched out on either side of her. “You look awfully sexy in that, y’know. All pure and innocent. Why don’t you show me how bad you want this cock?”
“What… what do you want me to do?” Lea asked nervously.
He smirked around his cigarette. “I want you to dance for me.”
“D— dance?” she sputtered. “What kind of dance?”
“You like Halsey, don’t you?” he asked casually, opening his phone and scrolling through. “You’re gonna strip for me.”
Lea blanched at that, and he looked up at her, chuckling softly at her expression. “Don’t be nervous, angel. It’s just me.”
“I… I wanna please you,” she admitted.
He hummed. “You’re so sweet, you know that?” She blushed, and he tapped a song on his phone, the beat of Strange Love filling the room. “C’mon, baby. Just move with the music and take your clothes off. Anything you do will please me, I promise.”
Lea closed her eyes and tried to focus on the beat, swaying her hips to the rhythm.
“That’s it,” Tim encouraged, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Now turn around and unzip your dress for me.”
She did so, letting him watch as inch after inch of her pale, freckled skin was revealed to his eyes. He hummed when the dress was so loose that it fell to the floor at her feet.
“Good girl,” he praised. “Shake your ass for me, baby. Sway it.”
She did so, slowly moving her hips from side to side, hoping it was what he wanted. “Like this?”
He reached out to squeeze her asscheek roughly through her lace panties that hardly covered anything to begin with before smacking it lightly. “Fuck, you’re sexy,” he groaned. “Yeah, like that. God, the way it jiggles.”
Emboldened by his enthusiasm, Lea swayed her hips a bit more, enjoying the way he praised her.
“Fuck,” he said again. “Take off your bra, sweetheart.”
She considered this for a moment before deciding not to turn around and face him, instead choosing to reach behind her back and unbuckle her bra, letting the straps slip from her shoulders and her breasts escape the cups. With a small smile over her shoulder, she tossed the bra at him and moved her hips to the beat. “There you go,” she told him with a slight giggle.
Tim laughed in disbelief. “You little minx!” he exclaimed with delight. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“Are you gonna teach me a lesson?” she wanted to know.
“If you keep it up, I might have to,” he warned. “You are acting like a dirty slut.”
Lea turned on her heels, one arm covering her breasts and walking towards him. He was still smoking his cigarette, watching her intently. “Maybe I want to be a slut for you, Timothée,” she said softly, putting her thumb in her panties to slide them over one hip just a little. “Maybe I want you to remind me who owns me.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes bouncing around her form. “You’re such a tease. Don’t forget whose slave you are.”
Lea pouted, feigning displeasure. “I’m not a slave.”
Tim practically jumped at the opportunity. “Ohhhh, yes, yes you are. And I’m going to prove it to you.” He took a drag before continuing, “Take your panties off and get on your knees.”
Lea didn’t, instead choosing to cross her other arm over her breasts and raise an eyebrow at him, her core tingling in anticipation of what he’d do to punish her for not obeying immediately.
“Don’t be a brat,” he snapped. “I had those panties custom made for you. I’d really rather not have to rip them off you. And quit trying to hide your tits from me. They belong to me just like the rest of you, so let me see them.”
Lea sighed, finally removing her arms from over her breasts and sliding her panties down her body slowly.
“Good girl,” he praised lowly. “See? It’s not so hard to behave for me, is it? Now get on your knees.” He took a drag of his cigarette with one hand, the other pointing between where his feet were on the floor. 
She knew he wanted her to suck his dick, and god did she want to, but she loved riling him up. It was so sexy when he got frustrated. “Hmmm,” she hummed in consideration. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“I didn’t fucking ask,” Tim finally snapped, grabbing her hand and forcing her to her knees. “Suck it.”
“No. You’re so demanding.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, grabbing the back of her hair firmly and forcing her to his cock so her lips brushed against it. “Suck it.”
She knew that if she truly didn’t want it, she could make it known to him easily. But that wasn’t the case here. Her mouth was watering at the mere idea of being able to pleasure him the way he was wanting, of making him moan her name.
Pretending to be reluctant, she took his dick in her mouth and started to suck the head, watching his face with wide eyes all the while.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You know what you’re good for, don’t you? Just a couple of holes for me to use, hm?”
She moaned in delight around his length, moving faster over him. 
“Such a whore,” Tim observed, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You didn’t even wanna suck my cock and here you are, moaning around it like the slut you are.”
Lea reached between her legs and started to rub her clit, aching for relief. She wanted him so badly, wanted to please him so much, and god did she want him inside her.
“Look at you,” he gasped. “Such a slut that you can’t help but pleasure yourself when you’re sucking me, huh? You like sucking my cock that much?”
“Mhm,” she confirmed, moving her mouth faster and hollowing out her cheeks.
“Well, too bad,” Tim decided, reaching forward and smacking her ass sharply. She yelped around his length, but decided that stopping her ministrations for the punishment alone wasn’t worth it. “You’ll either cum on my cock or not at all.”
Lea glared up at him as she pulled her hand away from herself, mildly annoyed that he felt the need to control every little thing.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, smacking her ass again. “You’re lucky I’m letting you cum at all with how much sass you’ve been giving me.” When she closed her eyes so she couldn’t be seen glaring at him and resumed her task, he hummed in contentment. “Good girl,” Tim praised softly, and she could smell the menthol on his breath as he exhaled, his free hand running through her hair.
She looked up at him, watched him smile down at her and stroke her cheek as she sucked him. She was thrilled to be doing a good job, that he was enjoying himself.
He took another drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out and opening the box, removing its contents. She couldn’t quite see exactly what it was, but she knew it was shiny and sparkly. 
“I got you a present, angel.” His voice was mixed with the slurping sounds from her sucking his dick, and she paused as he reached around her back to fasten a clasp at the back of her throat, cool metal settling around her neck and falling between her breasts.
Surprised at the sensation, Lea pulled off of him, reaching up to where the necklace rested. Her fingertips brushed a large, smooth stone and she had only begun to say, “What—“ before the back of her hair was gripped firmly. 
“Did I tell you to stop?” Tim demanded, guiding her mouth back towards his dick. She grumbled in annoyance, but resumed sucking him anyway. “Tell you what,” he sighed contentedly as she hollowed her cheeks out again, “I’ll fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see it. How’s that sound?”
She hummed around him happily, wanting to see what he’d gotten her but not wanting to displease him.
“C’mon, baby girl,” Tim finally decided after she hadn’t stopped squeezing her thighs together for several minutes. Pulling her off of him, he stood, pulling her up with him and wiping saliva from beneath her lip before kissing her deeply. She had only just started to wrap her arms around him when he laughed softly, pulling back and turning off the music, tugging her towards the bathroom. “C’mon,” he said again.
She smiled, letting her heels slip from her feet as she followed after him.
Tim grinned down at her, twirling her in a circle like they were dancing. She half expected him to dip her. She giggled as he stopped the twirl with them both facing the mirror, his arms around her waist as he leaned down to kiss her neck. Lea moved her hair to one side so he could access the skin he seemed to want. 
And then she glanced in the mirror for the first time. Lea did a double take upon seeing the necklace. It was made of a woven snake, covered in… diamonds? No, they couldn’t be diamonds, there were just too many of them. From the head of the snake hung a stone of cornflower blue that was about the size of her thumb. 
Tim must’ve heard her sharp intake of breath, because he hummed against her throat, reaching up to fondle her breasts and meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Like it?”
“Tim,” she breathed, shocked. “This is incredible, where did you— how—“
He shrugged, grinning at their reflections and pinching her nipples lightly. “Zendaya pulled some strings.”
“But why?” Lea asked, shellshocked, watching the way the blue stone sparkled with every movement she made, every breath she took. 
He kissed her neck, one of his hands trailing down between her legs, rubbing her clit idly, almost lazily. “Because I saw it and immediately thought of my beautiful girlfriend, whom I adore. I wanted to see you wearing it. Preferably naked.”
She arched into his touch. “God, Tim, I—“
“I love it when you say my name like that,” he growled, sucking a hickey into the skin of her neck and dipping a finger inside her. “Look at how wet this pussy is. You gonna be a good girl for me, hm?”
“Yes,” she moaned pleadingly, watching him touch her in the mirror. “I will, I promise—“
“Of course you will, sweetheart. You’re gonna let me fuck a baby into you, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped, rolling her hips as he started to rub her clit faster. “God, yes, I want your baby, I want you to get me pregnant, please—“
“I know you do,” Tim growled in her ear, the hand on her breast migrating to her stomach. “I know you do. And I will. As soon as you graduate, Lea, you’re never taking birth control again, understand? Gonna keep you pregnant all the time. All the fucking time. You’ll stay in my bed, waiting for me with your legs wide open so I can fuck my fill whenever I want. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” she moaned, half at the attention he was paying her clit and half at the image he painted in her mind: herself, heavily pregnant and waiting for him to come home and use her to pleasure himself, him fucking baby after baby into her, she’d give him more children than any other woman, she’d please him more than anyone else, she would, she had to. “I need—“
“I know what you need, angel,” Tim crooned. “Such a slut for it, aren’t you? Dirty little thing, so empty without my cock to fill you up and keep you satisfied. Just a pretty little hole for my pleasure.”
“Yes,” she whined. “Yes, Timothée, I’m yours, I’m yours to use.”
Tim groaned. “Then bend the fuck over.” He pushed her forcefully onto the counter. It was pretty deep, so he was able to get her entire torso up onto the black-and-white marble without any issue, her legs dangling freely. Gripping her hair so firmly her scalp stung, he met her gaze in the mirror, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Beg for it.”
“Your cock,” she whined, wiggling her hips and kicking her legs, trying in vain to pull him closer, get him inside her. “I need it, I need it, so empty without you, wanna be filled, fill me up, give me your cock, please—“
He smirked. “Good girl.” With that, he stood back up and slammed into her with a loud moan. “Fuck, Lea,” he grunted, immediately setting a brutal pace that had her body jolting against the cool marble, her breasts pressed against it and the pendant dangling between them. “No one feels the way you do. No one’s this fucking tight.”
“Harder,” she moaned, even as his hips slammed against her ass bruisingly. “God, Timothée, harder—“
He grasped her hair and jerked her head up again so he could meet her eyes in the mirror. His hair was falling in his face as he kissed her neck wetly, her body jolting with his every thrust. “You see us, baby? You see who owns you?”
Nodding despite the tug on her scalp, Lea clawed at the counter uselessly, moaning as he took her. “You do, you do,” she chanted desperately. “You own me, I exist for you, I swear, I’m all yours, I’m your slave, just don’t stop—“
He pulled back, letting her fall forward onto her arms again, smacking her ass sharply, and she yelped at the sting. “Bad girl,” he scolded. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, remember? I give the commands, you obey them.”
“Yes, yes,” she moaned, reveling in the delicious way he was stretching her. “God, you’re so big—“
“You take me so well, babydoll,” Tim crooned, his gentle tone at odds with the punishing way he was thrusting into her. “You’re doing such a good job, taking my cock like the dirty little thing you are, clenching around me like a whore, desperate to be filled.”
“I am,” she whined. “I am desperate for you, I need this, I need this, fuck, I love you so much—“
Lea hadn’t even realized what she’d said; the words had just slipped out without her consent. He froze, his hand stopping its movements along her back. “What did you say?” he asked lowly.
Realizing her mistake, her heart stopped. Or maybe it pounded harder, she wasn’t entirely sure. “I… um…” She gulped nervously, unsure of how to get out of this situation.
Tim gripped her hips firmly, possessively, his fingertips digging into her skin. “What. Did. You. Say?” he demanded.
She felt his gaze on her in the mirror, but she didn’t meet it, choosing instead to keep her head down. “I’m in love with you,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I—“
He laughed in disbelief. “You— you what?”
Tears filled her eyes, because he was laughing at her, at her feelings for him, and she was about to turn around as best she could and shove him away from her when he pulled out of her, snatched her up off the counter, and before she’d even had a chance to register the sudden movement, she’d been tossed onto his bed.
Tim climbed on after her, crawling towards her slowly like a predator stalking its prey. “Don’t apologize for that,” he said darkly. “Don’t ever apologize for that. Understood?” 
Lea nodded rapidly, breathlessly, unsure of what to make of this reaction. 
“Don’t look so scared,” he reassured her as he caged her in with his arms. “Loving me,” he went on, “is not something to fear.”
“It’s not?” she asked shakily, the terror of what she’d just revealed to him swirling in her stomach.
“No,” Tim insisted. “No, of course not. You don’t have to be scared of anything with me, but especially not that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in love with you, too.”
Her heart soared, a smile breaking out on her face. “You— you are?”
He gazed down at her adoringly, his smile matching her own. “Of course I am, angel. I’m desperately, hopelessly in love with you.” He kissed her neck, fiddling with the stone hanging from the necklace. “Why did you think I got you this?”
“I— I don’t know,” Lea stuttered.
Reaching down to spread her legs open for him to settle between, he said, “Because I love you. Because you're mine and I love you and I want everyone who sees you wearing it to know how very, very loved you are.”
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’ve always been yours, Tim.”
He smiled, cupping her cheek and leaning down to kiss her softly, sweetly. “You’re mine,” he agreed against her lips, “and I’m yours.”
Tim ran his hands over her body, cupping her breasts, thumbing her nipples, squeezing her hips. When he slid back into her, she gasped out a breathless, “I love you.”
He resumed fucking her, leaning back down to kiss her hungrily. “I’m so happy you love me back. You’re everything to me.” He stroked her cheek, setting a rough pace again. “Everything.”
“You’re everything to me, too,” she moaned, arching up into him, eagerly meeting his thrusts.
“Say it again, Lea,” he begged, mouthing at her neck. “Tell me you love me again.”
“I love you,” she gasped out, her breasts bouncing from the force of his thrusts despite the way their chests were pressed together. “I love you so much, I’m so in love with you—“
“Yes,” he groaned, gripping her hair with one hand and reaching down to hold her hip in place with the other. “Yes, you’re mine, this pussy is all mine, I own you, my love, mon amour—“
She turned her face slightly so she could press a kiss into his curls. “Every part of me belongs to you, Timothée,” she whined, writhing beneath him from how good he was making her feel. “My pussy, my boobs, my— my womb, my heart, my very soul belongs to you.”
“Fuck,” he moaned, propping himself up on his elbows to kiss her again. “I never knew just how much I wanted that until I heard you say it.”
Giddy with the overflowing adoration she felt for him, Lea smiled into their kiss, threading her fingers into his curls.
“Mon amour,” he murmured against her lips, still driving into her. “Promise me something, my love. Please.”
She beamed at the notion of being able to do something for him, to give him something he wanted. “Anything, Timothée. I’d give you anything.”
He smiled down at her, brushing her hair from her eyes. “Just don’t leave me. Can you promise me that?”
Lea giggled, meeting his thrusts and pulling him down for another kiss. “Always, Tim,” she swore. “I’ll always be yours. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”
“Thank god,” he groaned, peppering her face with kisses. “I love you, I love you, I love you—“
“I love you, too,” she moaned, arching her back when he grasped one of her breasts, squeezing it roughly. “Please, I want more, I want more of you, don’t stop—“
His other hand found her hip, and he gripped it possessively. “Never,” he growled. “I’m never stopping. You are mine.”
“Yes,” Lea gasped, clutching at him desperately. “Yes, I’m yours.”
“I wanna cover you in bruises,” he groaned, sucking another hickey into the flushed, sensitive skin of her throat. “I wanna hold you down and show you who owns your pussy, who owns all of you, every part of you belongs to me, every fucking part—“
“Fuck,” she whined, rolling her hips upwards, eager for more of the exquisite pleasure he was giving her. “I’d never forget who owns me. I exist for you.”
“Good girl.” His teeth grazed her neck, and he trailed his mouth further down her body so as to capture her nipple between his lips, suckling deeply.
“Fuck!” Lea exclaimed, arching into the sensation, holding his face to her breast, wanting more. “God, right there, Timothée, right there—“
He growled around her nipple, nibbling on it lightly. “Wanna make you cum,” he told her, reaching between them to rub at her hypersensitive clit. “Wanna feel your pussy clench around me before I fill you up.”
“Yes, yesyesyesyesyes—“
He reached up and looked her in the eye, gripping her throat firmly just beneath her jaw. “Say my name,” he demanded. “Say my fucking name. Tell me you love me. You’re my slave, my cockslut, and I wanna hear how much you love it, how much you love me.”
“I love you,” she keened as he rubbed her clit faster. “I love you, Timothée, I love you, I’m so in love with you, oh, please—“
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, kissing her again. “You gonna cum for me?”
“Yes,” she gasped pleadingly, her walls starting to spasm around him. “Yes, I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum—“
“Good girl,” Tim praised lowly. “That’s it. Cum for me. Tell me you love me when I make you cum.”
Her back arched, her body freezing up as she came, forcing out an, “I love you—“ with a desperate moan. 
She was dazed from the orgasm he’d ripped from her when his mouth found hers, but she kissed him back lazily, running her fingers through his hair as he fucked into her roughly.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum, god, Lea, I’m gonna cum—“ he chanted into her mouth. 
“Yes,” she breathed in soft encouragement. “Cum in me, Tim. Please.”
He wrapped his arms around her, clutching her against him with a groan before collapsing against her, panting into her neck and kissing one of the hickeys he’d given her, his lips grazing the necklace.
They lay there holding each other for a few minutes, and she cherished the way he nuzzled her, pressing gentle kisses onto any skin he could reach. When he finally rolled off of her, he kissed her nose with a heart-stopping grin, and she watched as he strolled into his bathroom. 
Tim returned a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. He cleaned her up before plopping back down on the bed with her, pulling her body up against his. “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” he asked softly, brushing her hair from her eyes.
“Yes,” Lea breathed.
His face split into a grin, and he kissed her softly, slowly. “I love you, too.” He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers and running a hand up and down her side as he hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. “Your touch paralyzes me in the morning,” he sang softly, “and I don’t want you to go.” Lea watched him as he sang to her, wondering what the song was from. “Sincerely yours, forevermore.” With that, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to him and burying his face in her curls.
“What was that from?” she asked, playing with his hair absentmindedly.
“Scott showed me a song,” he said, nuzzling her affectionately. “Made me think of you.”
Lea laughed in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Mhm.” He kissed her neck. “My Lea, my love.”
She giggled. “What other songs make you think of me?”
He considered this for a moment before starting to hum again; a different melody this time. “The mere sight of you,” he sang in her ear between kisses, “you’re like the sunrise, and it’s like you know me.” His arm tightened around her waist. “And I’m so lost in a dream,” he continued. “When I sleep, there you’ll be. You’re such an angel, in your halo.” He stopped humming then, choosing to focus on kissing her neck instead. “I love you so much, Lea.”
“I love you, too,” she told him, pulling him closer. “More than anything in the world.”
He kissed her then, slow and lazy, and when Lea returned it, she poured every ounce of love and adoration she felt for him into it.
And then his phone rang. “Ugh,” he groaned, resting his forehead against hers.
Laughing softly, she pressed a swift kiss to his lips. “It might be important,” she pointed out.
“You’re right, you’re right,” he grumbled, the words sounding very much like a complaint as he rolled over onto his back to grab his phone. “It’s Crystal,” he sighed.
Her heart stopped. Crystal as in his wife?
Settling back down, Tim answered the call and put his phone to his ear. “Hey, babe,” he greeted. “What’s up? Is Elle okay?”
He stroked her bare side idly, thoughtlessly. Lea didn’t know what to think. 
“Yeah,” he answered a question she couldn’t hear, “I’m with Lea right now.”
He smiled at her then, and she smiled shakily back at him. She hadn’t been aware his wife knew who she was, but she—Crystal, that is—was his primary partner. Of course she knew who Lea was.
“Yup,” he said happily, “almost three months now.” 
With that, he took her hand, twining their fingers together, and she realized he was talking about their relationship. He was telling his wife how long they’d been together.
“Sure,” he agreed even as he brushed a kiss to Lea’s knuckles, “I’ll see you Saturday, then. Uh huh. Love you, too. Bye.”
With that, he hung up, and Lea couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.
He told her he loves her, he told her he loves her, he told her he loves her, he told her he loves her, he told her he loves her, he told her he loves her—
“Now,” he began with a grin, “where were we?” He leaned back in to kiss her, and Lea felt repulsed, because yeah, this was Tim, and she loved him, of course she did, but she was very quickly realizing that he didn’t love her. Or at least, he didn’t love her the way she loved him. Maybe he loved her on some level, but he wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t be. She ached for him so intensely, yearned for him with every breath she took— just him and no one else, and he… he could fuck any reasonably attractive girl he met.
How many others had he claimed to be in love with recently?
She backed away as he tried to kiss her, not wanting him putting his hands on her.
God, how could she have been so stupid? He’d literally been inside another woman when she’d gotten there, and she’d believed him when he said he was in love with her? How stupid was she?
“Lea?” he asked in surprise. “What’s wrong, mon amour? What is it?”
“How am I supposed to be okay with this?” she asked, her voice soft and shaky.
Tim’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay with what?”
She sat up, raking a hand through her hair. “You fucking other girls,” she said impatiently. “Your— your fucking wife calling you while we’re in bed together, you telling her you love her! How am I supposed to be okay with any of that?”
He sat up with her, concern evident on his face. “Lea,” he said slowly, “are… are you jealous?”
She scoffed. “Of course I’m jealous! I’ve always been jealous!”
“Well…” he hedged, sounding unsure of what he wanted to say, “why didn’t you tell me?”
She scoffed again. “What, I fall in love with my best friend who’s married with a kid, eight girlfriends besides me, plus however many other girls at his disposal and I’m just supposed to… explain to you how I’m feeling? What was I supposed to say, that I wanted you to myself?”
“Yes!” he insisted incredulously. “Yes, of course you should tell me that!”
Lea was crying by this point, and she couldn’t seem to stop. He reached for her, and she lurched back from him as if his touch would burn her skin. “I would’ve lost you!” she snapped. “I didn’t want that! I was already so in love with you I couldn’t think about anything else, and if I had told you how I felt, I would’ve lost you.”
He clenched his eyes shut briefly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know. I’m in love with you, too. I really am.”
Bitter, angry laughter sputtered out of her lips. “No you’re not.”
He frowned. “What do you mean I’m not? Of course I am.”
“You’re not in love with me,” she said flatly. “You’re not in love with anyone. I don’t think you’re even capable of it.”
Tears filled his eyes at that. “How could you say that?” he demanded. “How could you even think that?“
“Because you fuck every girl in sight, Tim,” she snapped. “Do you say you love them, too?”
He was silent for several seconds. “Not everyone I sleep with. Just a few of my girlfriends. Crystal, too.”
Lea stared at him incredulously. “Then you’re not in love with me or any of the others,” she told him flatly.
“I am in love with you, though,” he insisted, reaching for her again and wincing when she backed away from him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She stood up with a scoff. “What, and spend the rest of my life as part of your little harem? Is that what you want? No fucking thank you.”
“Look,” he said hastily, “I know— I know it can be a bit much at first, but I promise you’ll get used to it. You never have to meet the others if you don’t want to. I’ll show you how much I love you. Don’t go, Lea. Please.”
She wasn’t listening to him. She didn’t want anything he’d gotten her. She didn’t want anything he’d spent money on. She wanted her own clothes, ones she’d bought herself. With this in mind, she walked around to the other side of his bed and into one of his two ridiculously huge walk-in closets.
Moving to standing in front of a large built-in set of drawers, she opened the top one and took out several articles of clothing she’d left there several months prior.
Tim had followed her into the closet, and was babbling something or other about how he loved her, how he adored her, blah blah blah. What the fuck ever. It was such bullshit, and she was over it. She didn’t wanna hear about how he loved her. Not if he didn’t, really. Which he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Lea was crying, and she knew he was, too, but she was determined. She wasn’t going to let him lie to her, and if it wasn’t a lie, then she wasn’t going to play along with his delusions.
Once she was dressed, she grabbed a pair of shoes from the drawer, eternally grateful to her past self. Moving around him back into his room wordlessly, took off the ring earrings, and bracelet, reaching behind her neck and unclasping the necklace. It was beautiful; gorgeous, really, and she almost hated to give it back to him, but there were plenty of other girls he could give it to.
When she dropped it on his bed, he made a choking sound that she ignored, grabbing her phone and shoving it in her pocket as she started towards the elevator. “Lea, baby,” he was begging tearfully, “we can talk about this, you don’t have to go, you promised you’d never leave me—“
She pressed the down button before turning to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You can…” She took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “You can have your wife and your kids. You can have your baby mamas and your harem.” He was staring at her in wide-eyed shock, but she still said, “But you can’t have me, too. I’m done.”
And then the elevator door opened, and she was gone.
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