Back To You *

back to you ༊*·˚

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synopsis: it’s been 3 months since timothée left to film DUNE 2 and you are rotting alone at your apartment. he was supposed to be gone for one more week but he decided to surprise you

*18+, minors DNI, sexual themes & references, romantic dynamic, established relationship, consent

« What are you doing now? », Tim’s voice echoed from the phone to the empty, cold walls of your apartment. You smiled sweetly watching his face light up the screen.

He was out, walking - the sky above his head and buildings circling him. Sunbathed curls entangled with the wind as his eyes scanned the road.

About three months had passed since Timothée left to film Dune 2 and you could feel the slow decay of flesh and bones. The colours of the walls were fading, turning dull without him around and the temperature had fallen so abruptly, no one had warned you about it.

You missed Timothée unfathomably - everything about him; his goofy laugh that always brought a smile to your face, his hair that glistered golden under the sun and the way he pulled the curls out of his face, his eyes changing colours with the weather and you pointing that out, his nose running aimlessly to your shoulder when you were laying on bed together or his fingers tracing softly your skin. You missed the conversations you had, your long walks around the city with his hand holding tightly your shoulder or wrapping around you, to have you close. Your late-night car rides when you’d blast your favourite songs on the radio or you’d go to a McDonald’s just because. You missed having him in your apartment, walking around as if it was his own, staying there for days and suddenly remembering that he had a home too. You missed watching TV with him, reading with him, sharing earphones with him, cooking with him, eating with him, waking up with him, sleeping with him... Everything. 

« Nothing... », you mumbled, nuzzling better on the couch. Your face leaned on the pillow and you took a deep breath, inhaling Timothée's scent from that old t-shirt you wore and belonged to him. You weren't sure where or how you found it. It was old, so old, and it had a huge hole under one armpit that could easily be filled by another hand, but you didn't care because it smelt like him and it brought back memories from when you first met. « Watching TV... and missing you. »

« You miss me? », he asked again, the grin on his face reaching his ears. You closed your eyes and nodded. Timothée looked at you before his stare moved back on the road. You breathed out again, more dramatically this time, trying to catch his attention. 

« You have no idea how awful it is without you. Everything is too quiet. »

« Are you implying that I’m loud? », he frowned.

« Well, you are loud, american boy. » Tim laughed, lightly shaking his head not to smile any harder.

« One week... », his eyes fell on you noticing the way your cheeks perked up and leaned down to press a kiss on the screen. He missed you too, terribly - more than you could possibly imagine. His life was as dull as yours - maybe even more so because the only thing he had that reminded him of you was some pixels trapped on a phone screen and a necklace he took from you, ages ago, for good luck and ended up becoming more his than yours.

« One week, » you repeated his words with a hint of melancholy. It had been almost three months but time didn’t pass any less torturous, no matter if it was hours, days or weeks. You raised the phone high in the air so your neck wouldn’t hurt. « The bed misses you... And the couch... » He shut his lips, trying to hold onto his smirk. « The bathtub too. »

« Aw, tell them I miss them. The floor too. »

« You don’t miss anything else, you materialist? »

« Nah, » Tim gave you a look making your lips fall into a downwards curve. « Oh wait, you thought that I missed you? », he furrowed his brows playfully. You pouted and pulled your t-shirt up to cover your mouth.

« Definitely not hurt, Chalamet. Definitely not hurt, » you made him smile. Timothée shook his head before his eyes caught a glimpse of what you were wearing and suddenly frowned curiously and leaned closer to the screen. His forehead and eyes covered the screen for a moment, and you wanted nothing more than to pull away those few curls that concealed his eyes.

« Is that mine? », he asked amused and surprised all at once. « It's mine. » Your lips stretched into a big curve, letting the t-shirt hang back down. You shrugged in response before hugging yourself.

« Ours, » you mumbled.

« Ours... », he repeated your words. « For real though, that shirt is disgusting. I’ve had it since I was like twenty. »

« Don’t care. Where are you now? », you frowned bringing the phone impossibly close to your face to take a good look at his surroundings but all you could see was a sky and a mass of buildings that all looked the same.

« Em... on the road, going back to the hotel… I was out for coffee, » Timothée replied, eyes focused on the road waiting for the traffic light. When he noticed the screen getting brighter from your cheeks that were swelling with happiness, he had to glance back down at the phone. « What? »

« Oh nothing, » you smiled. « Are you at the hotel now? », you asked. He just grinned making the curve on your face grow bigger.

« No, not now. »

« What about now? »

« Not yet, » he chuckled.

« Now? »

« Nope, » he shook his head. You took a deep breath eyes still focused on him.

« Okay... », you mumbled. « What about now? »

« Not yet! », Tim raised his voice letting out a silly sound. You squinted your eyes watching the sky being replaced by a beige-colored ceiling.

« Now? »

« Okay, yes, I’m in now. You can stop being annoying, » he brought his face close to the screen so that he was the only thing visible to you. Your smile made him beam back at you. « Hey, baby, I’ll have to turn off the video for a minute. » You frowned in confusion.

« Okay... », you said reluctantly as you stared at the black screen. « Is there something you don’t want me to see, Timo? » All you heard was him panting and the echo of his shoes clapping against the stairs.

« Maybe, » he chuckled but you narrowed your eyes curiously.

« What are you hiding from me? », you murmured, hearing him laugh through heavy breaths.

« You’ll see... »

You just stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to turn the video back on, but the sound of the doorbell caused you to frown in confusion. Your eyes turned to the door questionably.

« Someone’s on the door, » you mumbled sceptically.

« Are you waiting for anyone? », Timothée asked.

« No... », you shook your head trying to think whether you had invited anyone just to trick your loneliness and ended up forgetting it. « Okay, wait, I’ll call you in a sec- or maybe call me when you get back to your room. »

« ‘Kay, love you! »

« Love you, » you left the phone on the kitchen counter and slowly moved to the door while fixing your hair to look somewhat presentable.

Curious, you quickly grabbed the handle and peeked your head, before letting the door swing open. Your eyes snapped wide in surprise and you could feel your heart skipping beats and your mind going blank.

« You should really check on the eyehole first. » You stayed on the door frozen, a frown of shock drawn on your lips until your mouth hung open. You raised your eyes only to meet Timothée’s silly grin that brought back the smile on your face. « Surprise? », he opened his arms.

Without a second thought, you threw yourself in his arms, hugging him so tightly that he almost lost his balance and took a few steps backwards. The coldness that had taken over your body was replaced by such a lovely warmth. Timothée kissed the side of your head and laughed at your reaction.

« What are you doing here? », you asked, loosening your hands and letting them rest on his neck.

« Thought I’d surprise you, » Tim smiled back. You ran a hand through his hair, noticing that it had been cut quite a bit since he left, and then pressed a kiss on his mouth. « Finished early, » he tilted to catch your lips. « Missed your face. » His fingers held your cheeks as he leaned down so that his forehead could touch yours. You beamed, still in utter disbelief, before you intertwined your lips together. « I missed you, » Timothée murmured with a small laugh as he took you into one last hug.

« I can’t believe you’re here... », you just held him, until he released his arms and you took a step back. He chuckled watching your surprised expression and motioned his head to the door.

« Let’s get inside, » he beamed and you nodded, a huge grin forming on your face.

« Let me help you with that, » you bent down to catch his bag but he pulled it off your arms.

« No, no, it’s okay, baby. »

The apartment suddenly changed temperature and colours the moment he stepped inside. Everything missed him and everything was happy he was back.

You leaned on the door just watching him put his bags aside and take off his coat. His eyes wandered around to see if you had made any changes but you hadn’t. Timothée gave you a sneaky glance as he took off his shoes which only made you beam brighter.

You loved him and you missed him and you didn’t want him to leave you ever again. But you were still too shocked to react. Your brain was stuck still, couldn’t think of anything. It was like waking up from a dream, too stunned, too confused, too out of place and time.

He stood up to come over to you. You smiled warmly as he held your face and you rubbed your cheek on his palm to make sure this wasn’t just a fragment of your imagination. And when you did ensure yourself, you pressed a kiss on his skin.

« I was thinking about you every second of every day, » you murmured softly and then looked into his eyes as an afterthought, watching memories sneak out.

A sudden silence broke between you - not an uncomfortable one. It was just that silence spoke better words than you did.

His free hand brushed against yours and his fingers slyly tried to sneak into your palm, until the inside of your hands hugged one another and fingers tangled together. You hadn’t held hands in such a long time.

His smile slowly faded as his stare stayed on your lovesick honey look, hand tracing back the skin of your face. You raised your head until your noses brushed, his hot breath fanning over you, and you felt so soft, so calm and safe that you sank into happiness.

Timothée pressed his mouth to yours, closing the void that existed between and inside you. His tongue gently traced over your lips, awakening a sensation you hadn’t felt in a while.

Your arms looped around his neck and tugged him closer, his mouth moulding against yours. He felt your lips softer than he could remember and kissed you deeper, hungrier, nipping at your bottom lip and making your mouth part with a breathy sigh.

And as his scent travelled into your head, you started to lose control of yourself and you gave up truly and completely.

Timothée let his tongue slide inside your mouth, desperate to taste you, to feel your skin. His hands slithered down the curves of your body and held your hips so firmly that you could feel his thumbs clawing you.

A strained moan faded in the air. Your fingers fidgeted with the end of his hair, soft and silky, as your lips clashed, and grabbed a handful of those curls you had missed so much. And when he groaned and whined against your mouth, you found yourself losing control over your body, falling completely under his spell.

« Timmy, » you whispered as his head buried into your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against the skin. « Are you tired? » Timothée chuckled and shook his head.

« No... », his voice came out breathlessly.

« No? Are you sure? »

« Fuck yeah, I’m sure. »

Cool fingers that were dug under your shared t-shirt moved to the curves of your bottom and held your hips, pulling them up until your legs clawed around him and you gasped before letting out a small laugh that made him smile.

He couldn’t part his mouth from yours as if you were magnets that were impossible to separate - not until your back touched the mattress of your bed, your hair tangled in a terrible disarray, with chest heaving.

Tim panted heavily as he hovered above you, completely covering your shrill form. You leaned back on your elbows watching him with a glint in your eyes, taking off his t-shirt eagerly, before his mouth fell on your neck. His fingers searched for the hem of your t-shirt and tried to pull it up.

« Off, » he breathed out against your mouth, causing a wide grin to stretch on your face.

You brushed a hand through his hair and pulled the curls out of his face as he crawled in between your legs and pressed greedy kisses on your collarbones. His fingers moved up to cup your bare breasts making you gasp when he looked up at you with a sneaky smile and his kisses slowed in the line of your chest.

« Did I surprise you? », he mumbled, tongue touching your skin, making you gasp for air. His hands lined the curve of your waist as wet lips fell on your soft spots. Timothée pressed his lips lower and lower till they reached your belly before raising his gaze at you again. You closed your eyes and nodded. « Yeah? », he smiled sheepishly.

« Yeah, » you murmured.

You fiddled with his curls as he crawled lower, sliding down your pyjama shorts and tossing them somewhere on the floor. 

« Off, » Timothée murmured, biting his lips impatiently. Your eyes stayed on him until they fell on the silver necklace that was hanging around his neck and it used to belong to you. You just touched it.

Tim breathed a satisfied laugh as he let his mouth touch your skin, lips gradually falling down until his fingers traced your underwear and he chuckled against you. 

« Shit, » he mumbled glancing at you with a smile that made you grin through shaky breaths. « I missed you, » Timothée said. « I couldn’t wait to get back home to you. » Your heart nearly skipped a beat when he called your place his home too. He looked up at you. « Yeah, I mean it. » Your stare glued on him, unable to move away, watched the way he slid your panties down, off your legs and spoke soft words to you. « It had never been this long, » he parted your legs and kissed the inside of your thigh.

His mouth travelled to the apex of your thighs and you tried to hold onto your moans, reaching for his hair and tugging him closer. Tim grinned again, fingers hugging your waist and then your bottom. His lips wrapped around you, setting your body on fire and cutting your breath, while sucking and rolling his tongue inside you before one hand trailed down your skin and slowly replaced his lips. Fingers sunk deep into you, pushing past your folds, brushing and curling, making your mouth part open and your head fall back.

When he thrusted his fingers back in, your mouth fell agape in a silent scream, head light and nerves ablaze. Your body tensed as you jumped up in his hold and then fell, completely slack onto the bed. 

Timothée pulled his fingers out and leaned down until his tongue touched your folds; licked you, tasting you with a sharp inhale. He moaned against you at the sound of you breathlessly calling his name and he gripped your thigh sinking his fingertips into your skin.

If it wasn’t for his own ache that had almost brought tears to his eyes, he could’ve stayed between you for as long as you let him. But not being able to hold any longer, he pulled back to catch his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm, and took off sweatpants and trunks altogether.

You watched him full of longing and pleading, with mouth gasping for air, before reaching over to replace his hand with yours around his throbbing erection that was already smeared with silver liquids. 

A blissed out expression was drawn on his face as his head tilted and his Adam's apple moved, struggling immensely to swallow the overflow saliva.

Timothée’s arms shook as he hovered above you, burying his head into your neck, and groaned as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

« Fuck, » he panted. His eyes fell on your face, mind fogged with pleasure, as strangled moans and hushed gasps left his mouth agape. Your lips trembled watching him like this. You pressed your mouth on his, guiding him inside until he buried himself in you.

His jaw clenched, breath heavy, waiting for you with eyes closed. You kissed his jaw and his neck before cupping his face. That’s when his gaze fell on yours.

Your lips almost touched as he hovered over you, inches away, brushing the tender skin against each other, agape and wet. You breathed each other in, let the other inhale the air, the strained moans the one was eliciting from the other.

« My sweet boy, » you said with a smile and pulled back his dripping hair. « He’s back. » His lips twitched a curve upwards and eyes glanced away from you. Your thumbs tried to weep the drops of sweat off his chin and his nose, and you pulled his curls behind his ears to take a better look at him. Tim looked at you strained with a smile of effort and feverish red cheeks. « I missed those eyes, » you tented your head and pressed a kiss under his eye. « And that nose, » your mouth followed the curve, before your thumb brushed his lips. « And those lips… You’re so cute when you look away, » your hands caressed the skin behind his ears and then fell down on the nape of his neck.

« I missed being so close to you, » his eyes skimmed down your bodies. « You don’t know how much I wanted to be here. »

« You’re here now, » you kissed him and pulled him closer until your chests brushed against each other.

Timothée groaned in your ear as you glided your hands over his back caressing him slowly. You could feel his muscles pulling and flexing with every thrust, his body panting and his breath hot in you.

Your lips seared into every part of him they could find; lips, forehead, nose, hair, as his face dug into your neck, while whispering his name again and again like a prayer, like something holy.

He panted harder once you found rhythm and he slammed deeper into you, skin slapping against skin, harsher, and his hands tried to hold your face tenderly as he breathed against your cheeks and heard you moan the most soul capturing sound he’d ever heard when he hit that spot again and again.

« Fuck, Y/N, » you heard him rasp as the kisses became longer, lingering lower on your face till they reached your red-hot ear and you could hear him curse all sort of things.

Your shadows casted by the blinding lights of the sun loomed over you on the walls. The shadows danced, three times bigger, mirrored your every move forming a dark-figure painting over the walls of the apartment.

Moves that were full of reverence and strange carefulness turned sloppier and faster, until tremors shook your body, until you whined and pulled him impossibly close, until he as well reached the crest of his pleasure and in unison you climbed and lunged into the climax.

And you could feel yourself spasming around him as the desperately jolting of his hips gradually stopped. Eyes half-lidded, too heavy to lift them, too blissed out to control. Faces disfigured by throws of passion, contorted in an utterly beautiful, bordering on painful, grimace.

Timothée gulped and breathed heavily against your neck. His chest panting against yours as hot liquids ran between you.

« Fuck, » he gasped and you smiled while pulling his hair back.

Sweaty and a mess, you finally separated. He rolled off your chest, onto the bed, onto his back. Your stare seemed to be searching the ceiling, watching the sun breaking through the curtains. And he looked at you, twisted his soar neck and measured your naked form with utter acclaim and pride. Slowly, your breaths evened.

« Fuck that was good, » he pressed a sweet kiss on your neck.

« Welcome home. »

apricity ༊*·˚

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: it’s been two years since you and timothée broke up but with a kid in the middle nostalgia is all over the air

It had been two years and life kept going without him.

With time, you came to accept your new reality and the fact that you would never be the same person as you once were.

But there were days when nostalgia covered your heart like a dark cloud stretching in the bright blue sky. Days, you remembered tangled hands, flushed cheeks, silent stares and warm smiles. Days you prayed to last forever.

You missed everything. 

Whenever you were together, you were glowing. Everyone seemed to notice how brighter you looked, your hair, your eyes, your smiles. There were only sunny days for you, summer and spring anywhere you looked, as if the other was giving you life. 

You were in love. You could feel it and so did everyone around you. No one had ever seen you like that, so carefree, so light, so happy, so warm, so easy to love.

You used to be inseparable; four arms, four legs, no faces for the world to see because you were always too busy looking at the other, blind for your surroundings.

But the day everything ended, you had never felt him more far away.

Your heart broke and with it promises, dreams and hopes for a future that never came.

You remembered your voice barely coming out, with eyes all welled up and swollen, trying to explain to him that you loved him but you couldn’t go on like this. Timothée had to be away for days, weeks, months, and then he returned for a while to golden the pill before he had to leave again. It wasn’t good for Marc to live in the eye of this craziness. Your kid needed his father and you needed him as well.

Your love had slowly turned into a one-sided contract. You had to give in order to receive. And you did. You changed your city to be with him, changed your job, left your parents behind and a whole life you had been building for years, only to spend more time apart than together. 

You remembered him standing there, right in front of you, with cheeks red, once swelling with happiness, suddenly swelling with tears, shaky hands and chattering teeth, trying to understand you and promising that you could make it, everything would change if you gave him one more chance.

But you were irrevocable and very very tired.

The years passed by and Marc turned two, three, four. He vaguely remembered the two of you together apart from birthdays you’d plan, photographs in old albums and stories his grandparents and other members of the family would tell him.

He never really had a problem with you living separately; he got used to it, and it was kind of fun until some kids pointed that out and curiosity grew his need to know why you weren’t living in the same house, together like most parents, why he couldn’t have both of you, why, when you used to be so happy, so in love. What changed ? And was it so tragic ?

You had talked with Timothée about this and decided not to tell him anything. He was too young to understand. Maybe one day when he got older, you could have this conversation.

But Marc was stubborn and wouldn’t stop asking questions. You decided to do something about it, to soothe him and let him know that maybe you and his father lived separately but when it involved him you were together.

Tim came by your house every second Friday and he stayed to spend some time the three of you before taking Marc for the weekend - since Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays were his days. It was surreal at first, thankfully not as awkward as you expected, but you got used to it.

Truth was that you missed him and you felt painfully guilty every now and then, thinking of how things could’ve evolved between you.  A tiny knife was twisting in your heart, slowly and bitterly, whispering with every twist words of nostalgia, telling you that you could’ve made it in the end and that you could’ve been like that every single day - only if you had been a little more patient and your ego hadn’t ruined everything.

Every time you looked at him, he was feeding your fantasy and the deepest spark of hope of ending up together eventually. But you had accepted that it wasn’t going to happen.

It was damn hope that was breaking him as well. If you missed him once, he missed you ten times more.

You left such an imprint on his heart, it was hard for him to ignore it and pretend it never existed. He looked for you everywhere, in all of his favourite places, in every person he met, trying to find your similarities and your differences. But no one’s love was like yours. Everyone was too sour, too rotten, too bitter.

He wanted you.

Two years in and he had completely lost himself in the past. The desire to turn the past into the present was boiling more and more each time he saw you. He wanted everything with you; happiness, elation, impatient expectancy, worry, idyllic calm, wrath, anger, despair, hurt, all those emotions, pure or ugly, the good and all bad counterparts, he wanted them with you.

Life went on.

It was winter, January, the weather harsh with biting cold ready to freeze off any uncovered parts. It was snowing after many years.

Down at the street, you looked like dark blurs against the backdrop of white.

It was the first time Marc saw snow and he wanted to go out and play one last time before falling asleep. You wouldn’t let him this late at night awake but you and Timothée also wanted to see it before everything melted the next morning.

« I don’t want to put this on ! », Marc whined, running away, hopping over ice ridges and kicking up the powdery snow under the faint, golden rays of square streetlights.

« Ah, got you ! », Timothée managed to pick him up after so much running. The boy tried to jump off his grasp while laughing uncontrollably as his father rubbed his nose against his and smeared kisses all over his face. « Stubborn little monkey. »

« Marcy, » you breathed out exhausted from all the chasing, holding his scarf, beanie and gloves. « Please, put them on, baby. »

« Ah, why ? », he threw his head back on his father as you crouched in front of him.

« Why ? », you asked in fake surprise, patiently swirling the scarf around him, one, two, three loops until his neck was completely covered and a part of his mouth as well, muffling his protests and laughs. « Because I want you to be warm… and healthy… », you cupped his cheeks and gave him a kiss. « With ears… » He giggled when you put on his beanie and adjusted it.

Timothée smiled sweetly at you.

He remembered how scared you were when you first found out that you were pregnant and how many nights he stayed awake and tried to gather your tears, reassuring you that you were going to be a great mother. You had many doubts but he had none.

It turned out, he was right. In fact, « great » was an understatement.

Very few parents would be as patient and caring as you. Timothée watched you crouched in front of Marc, trying to reach his height, taking his hands on yours and putting his gloves on while explaining with clear words that you wanted him strong and healthy so that he’d be able to run, and play, and do all the things he loved so much. Even when he threw the beanie off his head and ran away, you didn’t raise your tone to yell at him just let out a hushed chuckle.

« Never gonna catch me ! Never gonna win ! »

« Please, make him wear it, » you smiled with a painful grimace. Timothée looked at you as you shook away the snow from the cloth before passing it to him.

« Oh, don’t worry. He’ll put this on. »

« I don’t. » A boyish grin appeared on his lips.

« Dad ! », Marc stopped for a second, waiting for him to chase him.

« Oh, I’m coming ! I’m gonna get you ! », Tim said loud enough for Marc to leave a small scream and keep running. Timothée followed him quickly, jumping into frozen caps of snow. « I’m gonna get you ! », he cried and Marc burst out in laughter, giving him small glances on top of his shoulder.

You laughed, watching them chase one another, tossing small snowballs and slipping in the snow every now and then, until Tim caught up to him, caged him in his embrace and wore the beanie on his head, sliding it down until it reached his nose. Marc giggled deliriously as Timothée nudged him and tickled him, their laughter echoing louder and louder through the night, bringing warmth to your heart. He eventually helped him adjust his hat better.

« It scratches ! », Marc whined again.

« Why are you so stubborn ? », Tim nudged his side again.

« Dad ! Stop ! », he laughed. His feet suddenly slipped, and Timothée tried to catch him but Marc was sneaky and dragged him to the plush hills of snow. He climbed then on top of him with no breath. « Surender ? », Timothée huffed before raising his hands up, and nodded eagerly.

« Boys, y’alright ? », you asked with furrowed brows a bit concerned.

« Dad surrendered ! », Marc smiled at you, as you slowly approached them.

Marc tented his hand for you but when you gave it to him, he pulled you down just like he did with his father.

« You’re good ? », Tim turned to you.

« I’m good, » you muttered behind your teeth, trying to get up. Marc’s laughter was loud and clear in the back. « But this little monkey won’t be if I catch him. » He let out a yelp and quickly made his way back to the house, tossing snow out of his path.

« Let me help you, » you gave Tim your hand once you stood up. He looked at it for a second. « Don’t be so suspicious, » a smile appeared on your lips when you saw him chuckling. You rolled your eyes and looked away. « Offer just expired. » As you were about to take your hand back Timothée grabbed it and pulled you down right next to him.

« Ah ! Like father, like son ! » He laughed.

« Looks like he took something from me after all. »

« Something ? Tim, he looks exactly like you. » He grinned proudly at your words and you nodded eagerly. « It’s cunning. »

« And he has my mischievousness. » You smiled. « He’s a good kid, » he said as an afterthought. You looked at him for a moment before your stare fell down. The situation was tragicomic, it deserved a bitter smile.

« Yeah, he is, » you murmured.

Those little moments you spent together reminded you of how much you missed being next to him. You didn’t even have to talk, just sit in silence. It was painful knowing you’d never feel like that again without a hint of pain.

Timothée furrowed his brows, his eyes following you as you got up, and, this time without offering your hand, headed to the house.

He ran behind you, the sound of his boots sinking into the smooth surface making you smile. You turned to wait for him and once he reached you, he playfully touched the back of your neck with his bare hand. A long gasp escaped your mouth and your back arched, the cold transferring goosebumps down your spine. You pushed him away, mumbling all sorts of curses as he joined you inside laughing.

« Hands ? », you pointed at Marc who was bringing a pile of toys to the living room. Timothée checked on his watch the time and it was too late. 

« Washed ‘em ! »

« You sure ? », you raised a brow.

« I washed them, smell, » he raised one hand for you to see which caused some toys to fall to the ground. Marc groaned.

« I trust you. »

Tim grasped some of the toys from his hug to help him and you picked up the rest from the ground.

« Where are you going with all of these, baby ? It’s time for bed. »

« But I’m not sleepy, dad... » You left the toys on top of the living room table.

« You need to rest, you know what time it is ? », Timothée rubbed his shoulder gently. Marc looked at him pleadingly.

« I wanna stay and play with you... »

« But we’re gonna sleep too, » Tim said. « We’ll put you to bed, and then we’ll sleep because we’re very tired. »

« No, I wanna stay with you... Please... »

« Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do, » you said taking his hand in yours. « We’ll leave all the toys here and you’ll go to bed now- »

« No, please, mum, » he squeezed your palm.

« Just listen, I’m making a suggestion, » you said and Tim just couldn’t hold on to his smile. « The later you sleep the less energy you’ll have in the morning and you won’t be able to play. So, what we’re gonna do is leave everything right here and in the morning you can play for as long as you want. » Marc breathed out and reluctantly nodded.

« Will you wake me up early ? », he mumbled raising his hands for Timothée to take him in his arms. He did so pressing a kiss on his cheek as Marc failed to suppress a yawn.

« Of course I will, » you ruffled his hair.

« Promise ? »

« Yeah. »

« Swear to God ? » You chuckled.

« Yeah, swear to God. »

« Hope to die ? »

« Hope to die. » He smiled sleepily, letting his head fall on his father’s shoulder as you headed into his bedroom.

You leaned against the doorframe while Tim put him to his bed.

« Tuck me in, please ? », he murmured. Timothée pulled the covers around him. He his hair back to press a kiss on his forehead and you walked closer. You leaned on top of his bed to kiss his cheek for good night. 

« Good night, baby. »

« Love you, monkey. »

« Love you too, dad, » his hand wrapped around yours for a moment. « Stay till I fall asleep ? » You nodded in return.

You stayed in silence for a few minutes, watching Marc slowly close his eyes. He was sprawled out on his tummy, nose pressed on the side of the pillow, nostrils flaring, releasing small snores from his mouth.

Timothée stared at you as you pushed gently curls out of his eyes. He had forgotten how it felt to be loved by you but he could see it in Marc, the most delicate and pure kind of love. 

A grin appeared on your lips, and you turned to him.

« I love looking at him when he’s sleeping, » you whispered. « He reminds me of when he was a baby. Remember ? »

Every time he watched how much you loved your son and cared about him, it reminded him of why he had fallen in love with you in the first place. He fell for you because you cared about the ones you loved and your love reflected on them, that’s why he was glowing every time he was with you. And he had missed that glow and you, the one causing it.

You could feel his gaze on you so you turned to him.

« I remember, » he said softly. « And I miss everything... » Your eyes stayed on him. « Is it too late ? » 

The next morning, you had breakfast in a strange silence, only Marc talking and you softly smiling and nodding at whatever he was saying. You avoided Timothée’s eyes and he preferred to look at his plate, which Marc found weird and exchanged glances between the two of you trying to find out what had happened all of a sudden.

« Alright, » you kissed Marc’s forehead as he put on his seatbelt in the back of Timothée’s car. « Have fun with dad. »

« Bye, mum ! », Marc waved his hand.

« I’m gonna miss you, baby, » you said and closed the car door. He pouted his lips and placed his palm on the window. You placed your hand on top of his for a moment before turning to Tim. « Okay, drive safe. » He was biting his lips clearly troubled by your last night’s conversation. « We’re good, Timothée, » you meant to reassure him that everything was fine but he just motioned to your house.

« I’ll walk you to the door, » he said, following beside you with hands buried in his pockets. Your mind was blurry, couldn’t really think anything, just waited for him to take back everything he said, to tell you that he got carried away by nostalgia and it was just a delirium. 

You wrapped your arms around you as he lingered on the doorframe.

« About last night, » he looked at you. You shook your head dismissively, facing the ground, not being able to hold his gaze.

« We’re good, Timothée. »

« No, euh… », he breathed out thinking of how to say what he wanted to say. But it was your time to speak and you had only one question to ask. 

« Did you mean it ? » He nodded. Your eyes fell down again but you could feel him staring at you, waiting for something more. « Alright, » you said, pulling your hair back. « Euh... drive safe. » He stood better, taking a step back.

« Hey, euh... Do you wanna go out sometime ? »

« Sure, when Marc- »

« No, no, » he shook his head quickly. « Go out like... just us. Properly. Like on a date. » You raised your brows in surprise and he shrugged. You just stared at each other for a moment, one unable to believe what he had just said, the other unable to believe what she had just heard.

« Okay... But no flowers. »

« Okay, got it, » Tim said, moving back, biting his lips so he could stop himself from smiling. « Okay, bye. »

« Drive safe. »

can’t stop smiling in inappropriate situations

If you’re a reader of fanfiction and wondering if your feedback matters to writers….

Unequivocally, yes.

Nothing makes us happier than kind, thoughtful comments. Yes, we love the worlds that we write for. Yes, we enjoy the gratification of creation. Yes, it's rewarding in itself to write the works that we want to read, to build on the worlds we already love, etc.

But a large reason why we write fanfiction is to build community and foster connections with people who love the same things we do. If we never hear anything from anyone, it’s disheartening and isolating. We wonder what we're doing wrong and why our writing isn't resonating with people.

If you ever think that:

1. They get so much feedback, they probably know their work is loved, so what's the point?

Both of those things might be true. However, even seasoned writers who have been at this for years and have written literally hundreds of fics can sometimes (frequently) feel iffy about their work. Especially if they're going in a new direction, like writing for a different character, trope, fandom, format, etc. I promise you that each and every comment is still seen and appreciated.

2. This is a really old fic, and I’m being creepy for reblogging or commenting.

I can't really speak to being on the writer end of this because I haven't been doing this for very long at all. But, almost every time I've reblogged an old fic, the authors have always been happy that people are still enjoying their work months later. No one has ever called me a weird little freak for digging up months-old fics to gush over them. At least, not yet and not to my face.

3. Nobody else has said anything, and I’m shy to be the first.

A lot of blogs have anon enabled for this exact reason. A lot of writers put up with a ton of anon hate, but the lovely anons are what fuel them. Send an anon!! If that isn't an option, seriously, who cares? Nothing beats that "first comment" rush for us. Leave a little comment anyway. <3

4. They hardly ever reply to comments, so what’s the point?

There are LOTS of reasons why this might not be the case. I can almost 100% promise you it's not because the author doesn't read comments or care to hear from anyone. It's usually because life just gets incredibly overwhelming, both online and offline. Sometimes, writers just don't have the bandwith to engage with everything that comes their way, and it's not personal in the slightest. Writing fanfic is incredibly rewarding but can be very draining. On top of that, many writers are also students, full-time workers, parents, caregivers, and/or partners. Many of us also deal with debilitating mental and physical health diagnoses that can severely impede our ability to be both creative and social. Some of us thrive off of the social aspect of fandom, while others find it stressful and prefer to keep a lower profile. But, I promise, that if a writer has feedback enabled, they want to hear from readers. If they didn't, they'd turn it off.

5. I loved this person's work but don't know what to say.

Reblogs are a great solution to this!! That way, you can share the fic that you loved with all of your followers. Absolutely no one takes offense to empty reblogs, I promise.

6. I loved this person's work so much I could write a five paragraph essay about it.

Do it. You'll make their day, guaranteed. GUARANTEED. HOWEVER. I promise you that writing "more" or "part 2 when?" or some variant of the above is not the compliment you think it is. I think that most of the time, it's said with positive intent. But, it comes off as dismissive of the work the writer has already done. Focus on that, please and thank you.

Timmy x reader cuddling hc?

oooh i love it. i’ll try to finish real quick with something i’m writing now & then i’ll write that!! i’m hyped up rn.

thank you so much for the request have a nice day <3

-leaaa

you’re allowed 2 minutes of sadness then you gotta keep it gangsta