Okay I Know U Were A In A Hiatus Just Some Days Ago So Feel Free To Ignore This But, I Thought Of This

okay i know u were a in a hiatus just some days ago so feel free to ignore this but, i thought of this and for some odd reason it reminded of u and your writing? idk anyway i just thought it would be cute to do something like matching bracelets, or that change your painting every 5 minutes challenge from tiktok or any crafty romantic activities with timothée? it just gives me tiny apartment in paris smoking a cigarette naked in the morning vibes and in my head that’s literally him lol. love ur writing, hope youre doing well beb! <333

Mon Amour || Timothée Chalamet

a/n: i adore this request, u are creative as fuck and allowed in my inbox at anytime lovely :) psa, not my art! those two pics just sort of fit the vibe and the sketch is a reference, i switched up the request just a bit <3 also i listened to la vie en rose by edith piaf while writing, so i feel like it sort of fits the vibe :))

cw: nudity, language, suggestiveness

The white casement windows were slightly ajar, only a few inches above the floor with a bit of space before hitting the ceiling at the top. Through the space you could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance, a light breeze filtering through the small Parisian apartment.

Timothée had purchased it before you’d began dating, but it soon became a home away from home. Between traveling so much and several much needed breaks, you’d both spent a lot of time within the tiny space. It was like a step away from the outside, decorated in a way that could have been easily mistaken for a 90s interior.

Paintings were strung up on the wall, a white blanket skewed over the back of the sage green couch at the forefront of the room. There was no television, only a radio on the windowsill beside the balcony. It was old, lulling the tune to a French theme. The hardwood floor was always like ice in the mornings, clothes thrown all over the ground from the night before.

“Mon doux, mon tendre, mon merveilleux amour—bonjour.”

What a way to wake up, you thought.

Timothée’s voice rasped into your hair, his French accent thick when he fell into it carelessly. It was a good morning you’d never grow tired of, his curls tickling the apples of your cheeks as he leaned into you from his side of the bed. His arm was wrapped around your waist, tightening as you shifted to look at him.

Fortunately, you’d picked up on a bit of the language while staying in France so frequently. Timmy had helped tremendously, teaching you the basics and continuing to show you everyday. You listened to several podcasts in French now, retaining the intricacy of the dialect and articulation.

“Good morning,” you smiled at him.

The white duvet was nearly hanging off the bed, legs intertwined within the milky sheets. You were topless, all but a pair of light pink cotton underwear remaining on your person. He wore a simple pair of grey boxers, hanging low on his hips.

His head was laid on the pillow beside yours, hair spilled across the silk in a mess of dark brown curls. You took a handful of his hair in your hand gently, pushing it out of his face and leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. It was a look you’d never get tired of, his pink cheeks and cluster of small constellations peppering his nose.

The air smelled of sex and vanilla, the hum of music only adding to the ambience. Leaning over to the side table, you planned to pick up your cellphone and snap a quick picture of Timothée. You caught a glimpse of your open sketchbook, though. The tan sheets of paper were littered in drawings, some truly very good.

“Can I draw you?” You asked him, grinning incessantly as he yawned and nodded.

“Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack,” he murmured, referencing the Titanic humorously.

Giggling terribly, you picked up the book and flipped to a clean space. He sat up, leaning back against the headboard and reaching to his own side table. He plucked a cigarette up and stuck it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling dazedly as you sat up in bed as well.

Going to pluck his white button down off the floor, planning to cover your bare chest, he pulled you back up to him with a shake of the head. You rolled your eyes, leaving your breasts uncovered and maneuvering yourself to straddle his waist.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me,” you smirked, beginning to sketch out the curve of his jaw.

“You’re sitting on top of me naked, of course I’m trying to fucking seduce you,” he chuckled, taking another drag of the cigarette.

A rush of cold air left a shiver down your spine, his hands rubbing up and down your unclothed torso. You shaded around his nose with a charcoal pencil, it was hard to capture just the right angle of his fluttering eyelashes. In the sketch, his eyes were shut and a look of euphoria was dawning on his features.

He cupped your breasts, running the tip of his index finger along the perky bud of your nipple. This earned a slap in the arm from you, shaping his eyebrows and beginning that mess of wild curls. The song had changed, the buzz of another French melody filling the small space.

You leaned forward, letting him stick the cigarette between your lips and taking in a deep breath. With your non-dominant hand, you pulled it from your lips and flicked the ashes into the tray Timothée held out to you. Handing back the remainder of the stick, you finished shading his Adam’s apple and couldn’t help sitting forward a bit.

Bringing your lips to his bobbing throat, you kissed up his jaw and landed on his lips gently. Sitting up, you finished the last of the sketch and initialed the bottom corner to claim the piece of art. Spinning the pad of paper, you put it on display for his to see.

“I love it, mon amour,” he flushed. “But I can guarantee that my view is a lot better. Can I draw you this time?”

“I can think of at least ten other things we could do,” you whispered, setting the sketchbook back down onto the side table.

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