I Have No Explanation.

The hands. The neck. The squished ear 😍

timothée chalamet fanedit. (feel free to repost)

IN LEAVES NO STEP HAD TRODDEN BLACK

There’s an ungodly rendition of Tárrega’s Gran Vals stemming from the bathroom counter; his mobile, he realises, deliberately ignored within the double-breasted confines of his tuxedo jacket. An emerald-green cummerbund dangles accusingly below the overhead light fitting: a fate reminiscent of the silken boxers draped over the dresser mirror. His agent would be appalled at his lack of designer révérence, but Oliver’s pin-striped suit is likewise discarded on the Holiday Inn’s carpet, and Elio…

…well.

Elio couldn’t care less for wrinkled pocket squares when the other man’s clutching his sweat-slick waist like his life depends on it.

When the rhythmic creaks of the querulous mattress are all but smothered by his hiccupped moans.

When the searing heat gathered at the base of his spine is a sure-fire indicator he’s about to come untouched: the relentless drag of Oliver’s cock against his screaming prostate making his balls draw tight in preparation.

And perhaps he says some of that out loud, because Oliver surges upright with a shaky nod, a mottled flush extending from his hairline to his beautifully bare chest as he crushes their mouths together. Tongue delving rough and possessive: claiming him twice over.

It’s been weeks since the West Coast stretch of his album tour began. Since they found themselves in the same city, let alone the same bed. Elio needs him like he needs his next breath - juvenile as the thought may be - and starved of such contact by dint of their heavy schedules, a constant stream of inventive text messages and late night phone calls only served to fan the flames. 

The connection they forged that long-ago summer refuses to fade. Understandably so, when they’d both fallen irrevocably: hard and heedless; regardless of the pain. They were a part of each other, no doubt. Yet strived to be the best part, also. And here and now nothing remains to stand between them. Nothing else beyond magnolia-painted walls and generic prints of the Seattle skyline. 

Elio’s entire world hinges on the salty tang of Oliver’s collarbone - the scratchy stubble tickling his temple - the dizzying gallop of blood hurtling through his racetrack veins, and for all that he finds himself drowning in the full-spectrum intimacy, it in no way prevents him from craving more. 

It never does.

Never will.

That said, a musician’s lot is one of flexibility: adapting to the changing tides. Inspiration strikes on a dime, and flashing a rakish grin Elio reaches behind him, snagging the crisp, cotton Oxford he’d stripped from Oliver’s body not twenty minutes earlier; sighing in bone-deep contentment when the lingering scent of Sandalwood shampoo and Acqua Di Gio envelopes his arms and shoulders in a familiar, homely embrace.

Saccharine, maybe, but when Oliver shook his hand in the villa’s gravel driveway - straw hat, sunglasses, a frayed pair of espadrilles on his size fifteen feet - the quirks and insecurities he’d spent years repressing soon blossomed into being. 

Free. 

Accepted. 

Valued and explored. 

Half the pleasure is knowing what this does to you. Knowing you like seeing what it does to me, Oliver told him once - drunk on the build more so than the wine - so it’s no surprise when his amante simply smirks in return: brows knit in fond amusement as he straightens his star of David amidst the shapeless collar.

“Don’t think I’m complaining,” he murmurs, the raw, post-concert urgency of before notably absent. “But what happened to pants off, mon chéri: no clothes ‘til checkout?” 

He has a point. 

A damned good one, at that. 

Yet -

“I want to feel you surround me, even when you’re inside me,” Elio replies, leaning forward to kiss him for all the times he couldn’t. “I want to smell you on my skin, even when we’re apart...”

“Fuck…”

“You’re mine,” Elio says, wrapping the unbuttoned cuff around his sensitive glans. “And I’m yours,” he declares, turning it translucent with the sticky beads of excitement. 

Oliver’s eyes grow glassy as he clocks his intent, and keeping him pinned by cock and stare alike, Elio proceeds to pick up the pace; the onyx engagement band adorning his ring finger glinting handsomely in the gossamer strokes of moonlight. 

Timothée Chalamet and Saoirse Ronan at the Q&A screenings of ‘A Complete Unknown’ and ‘The Outrun’ on December 18, 2024.

Twitter credit to saoirsefiles

I'm feeling angsty, babe! Can you help me? This could possibly be a multi part thing BUT

Can I get a fic where Timothée and this girl, who is younger than him, are hot and heavy on High school (him 12th grade and her 10th maybe?). Anyway after he graduated he starts working a lot and his career takes off and he kind of leaves her behind. Not even breaking up but slowly letting go till they just aren't together anymore. After several years he sees her in NYC and learns she has a kid. HIS kid. Lots of shock and arguing. He had once told her he doesn't want kids and never will so when she found out she just didn't bother. And you can go from there.

A/N - this sounds almost exactly like a multi part fic I wrote on my old account. I will repost here for you

High school Sweetheart (part 1)

Info - unplanned pregnancy, dream of ex partner

I woke up from a dream. It was a memory of sorts. It was of me and Timothée, my ex. He’d been my high school sweetheart. We’d had a sad but amicable break up when we’d gone to college. I missed him sometimes. No matter how long it’d been, I thought we were particularly well suited.

I couldn’t think of Timothée for the time being. I had to go to work. I finally had hit the big time. A famous director had found me and called me a diamond in the rough. I was given a starring role.

I was told I would be playing the love interest of a very famous actor. I hadn’t looked much into it, I was instead studying the script voraciously.

I dropped my daughter, Elsa, off at day care. She wasn’t planned. I’d fallen pregnant after a rebound when missing Timothée. It had stopped my college career, and I’d realized I wanted to be an actress. I’d started auditioning, but this was my first big role.

I was staring around in awe at the studio as an assistant walked me through. I was hardly listening. I never thought I’d be here.

“Have you met who is playing your love interest?” Asked the assistant. All I could remember was her name was Rebecca.

“No,” I shook my head.

“Well, there he is now,” she said and ran forward and tapped a man’s shoulder. When he turned I gasped. He too looked flabbergasted.

“Timothée!” I said in shock.

“Y/n?”

“Oh my gosh,” I shook my head.

“What are the odds?” He asked wonderingly.

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#03.23.2025

12/29/24-👀💥💥💥