#'why's he naked though' would you ask bernini that? go away

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Hello dear💕. Idk if you accept requests but I wanted to ask you something where the reader is really insicure and she's scared to be naked in front of Timothée. Maybe you can had a fluffy smut. I'm sorry if I haven't make myself clear or there are some errors but english it's not my language 😅 Thank youuuu💕

so I got this request some time ago and originally was very daunted by it. as someone who’s struggled with image issues and an eating disorder for most of my life, I was scared to write something this close to home. however, I felt it was important that I do so not only for my lovely anon but also for myself. I really hope everyone who reads this feels the love they deserve. your body is exactly what it was born to be. hope you guys like it 🥰

Proserpina (T.C.)

(angst, body image anxiety, smut, cursing)

“God, my feet are killing me. I wouldn’t have worn heels if you had told me we had to hike back to the car.”

“Babe, just take them off.”

“But what if I step on something??”

“The car will be right outside the elevator when we get there, Princess.”

You mocked his words back to him, wrinkling up your nose at him teasingly. He threw his head back and laughed, offering you his arm as you slipped your shoes off your feet. “Ugh, thank you. That’s so much better.”

True to his word, Timothee’s driver was waiting for you when the elevator doors slid open. He opened the door for you, pecking your cheek and making you giggle before you ducked into the car. He circled around and slid in next to you, taking you under his arm as the driver pulled out of the parking garage.

“Wanna come over to mine for dessert tonight?” His innocent eyes twinkled under the street lights, making your heart flutter as always.

“Do you have vanilla ice cream this time?” you asked, raising a brow.

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “What kind of host do you think I am? I’m mortally offended.”

“Oh? How can I ever earn your forgiveness?” You batted your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Mm, I have a few ideas…” he smirked, his nose bumping yours. You giggled girlishly, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling him into a smiley kiss.

“I adore you, Timothee,” you grinned, the French pronunciation feeling foreign on your tongue.

“And I adore you, Y/N Y/M/N.” He lit up the entire backseat with his smile. You wanted to make him happy like that all day, every day. “Happy six weeks,” he sang, kissing your temple.

Six weeks. It hardly felt like it had been that long since you two had decided to make things official, but time flew by with him. In fact, you probably wouldn’t have even realized if he hadn’t suggested a dinner date to celebrate. As much as you wanted to be cautious and take things slow, you found yourself wanting more of him every day. You simply couldn’t get enough of him. He’d been so patient with you, understanding that you hadn't had good experiences with relationships in the past and that you needed time. You couldn’t understand what exactly you’d done for the universe that brought him to you, but you were eternally grateful.

Squeals and giggles echoed through the halls as he chased you up to his apartment.

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake up the neighbors” he laughed, reaching around you to unlock the door. His arms wrapped around you from behind as you two waddled into his apartment intertwined. You spun around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“What are you thinking, pretty girl?” he asked with a head tilt, seeing your thoughts cross your face.

You blushed, biting your lip. “Can we dance?” you asked coyly, adjusting a curl against his forehead.

“I would love that,” he beamed, tugging you toward the living room. He plugged his phone into the speaker system, turning on some soft music before pulling you back to him. His hands slipped comfortably into the small of your back as he pulled you close to him, your hands locking behind his neck. Everything felt so easy with him. He gazed at you with a soft smile, swaying gently.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked this time, your voice soft as so as not to interrupt the moment.

He hesitated a moment, letting out a little nervous laugh and shaking his head. “I just am so in love with you,” he confessed, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

You felt breathless. “I love you too,” you replied easily, turning to kiss his palm.

He pulled you closer, meeting your lips halfway. Every touch was so tender and genuine. His large hands splayed out along your back against your silk dress, drinking in the sensation of your kiss; he was wholly enamored with your everything.

You could almost instantly sense when his tempo changed. His fingers began to curl into the fabric of your dress, his lips growing more fervent along with his tongue now. You reciprocated, hands tangling into his decadent curls. You two had shared several heated makeout sessions before, but nothing more as of yet. It wasn’t that you had been actively waiting; it just hadn’t felt right yet for either of you yet. Perhaps that’s why you could so easily detect the difference then. You could feel where this was going and felt sudden and intense anxiety spark in your belly. You wanted him, and you could feel that he wanted you. Yet, your chest tightened dramatically as his hands began to roam lower down your back.

Just as easily as you could sense him, he could you. He pulled back, his eyes dark, but his brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked breathlessly, searching your face.

You shook your head, forcing the anxiety down. “Nothing. ‘Comere,” you smiled, pulling him back down to your lips by his tie. He chuckled against your mouth, his lips beginning to wander down your neck. You couldn’t help but gasp, willing yourself to relax into his touches. You couldn’t understand how you could ache for him so much and yet feel such dread at the same time. You barely registered his hand slipping up your dress before you reflexively caught his wrist in your grip.

“Woah, hey, hey,” he jumped, pulling away. “Was I going too fast? Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he began to ramble, worry filling his features.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t realize you were holding, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, baby, please, it's not you I promise. I just -“ You were cut short, unable to catch your breath. You clenched your shaking hands, quickly coming to the realization that you were about to have a panic attack. You stepped away from him, feeling everything at once; you were mortified.

“Y/N, breathe, love,” he instructed, quickly recognizing what was going on. He took your hands and placed them on his chest. “Breath with me, please?’

You had to force yourself to meet his eyes, focusing hard on the slow rise and fall of his breaths and trying to match them with your own. You cursed yourself as tears slipped down your cheeks. “I’m so so sorry, I don’t know why I’m being like this,” you choked.

Timothée’s hands found yours against his chest, holding them comfortingly. “Love, no, it’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I pushed.”

You shook your head, sniffling softly. “No, you didn’t; I wanted it I just-“ It grew harder and harder for you to speak around the knot in your throat. He gently pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. He had this way of hugging that made it so that he completely enveloped you in his lanky arms, his mop of curls against your cheek as he lowered himself down to rest his head against your shoulder. The simple action seemed to force the final bit of tension from your chest in a deep exhale.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you aren’t ready,” he assured, rubbing your back. Keeping you close to his chest, he sat down on the sofa, allowing you to sit in his lap with your bodies perpendicular to one another.

“I really do think I’m ready. I love you so much and I want to give this to you. I’m just.. scared.” You fiddled with the tie on your dress, unable to meet his eyes. You knew the reality of the situation. It was an anxiety that had plagued you well before you’d even met Timothée. Something programmed into your brain told you that you had to feel this way about yourself ever since you were young. You struggled to find the right words. “I-I’m afraid that you... I just- I don’t like my body,” you finally confessed, forcing yourself to look up at him to gauge his reaction.

To your surprise, he looked almost shocked. “What? Seriously?” His brow was drawn together and his voice whispery, as though he was afraid to spook you.

“And it’s not because I don’t trust you or anything like that, I just... am scared you’ll see me differently. Be less attracted to me. Even though rationally I know you never would, I can’t ignore the anxiety,” you continued, feeling yourself rambling.

Timothée stayed quiet for a moment, making you worry he thought you were foolish for such a thing. He hadn’t stopped rubbing your back since you’d sat down, his other arm draped across your lap to hold you close. “I feel so honored that you feel safe enough to share that with me, Y/N.” His words surprised you, though they often did. He thought and felt in such abstract angles, and it was one of the many reasons you were so in love with him.

“But, it breaks my heart to heart to hear you say that.” His eyes were sad as he looked over your face, but not in a way that made you feel pitied like most people did. You could see that he genuinely ached to make you feel better despite knowing it wasn’t in his control. He tucked your hair behind your ear, staying quiet again for a beat.

“When I first saw you, do you know what I thought?”

You shook your head against his palm.

“I instantly was reminded of Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s work I’d seen in the Louvre. Specifically, Proserpina popped into my mind. All of his work is astounding, but the way he is able to make stone look soft and malleable is just... breathtaking. It’s so hard to resist the temptation to reach out and touch it; make sure that your eyes are being deceived. You made me relive that feeling again.”

You were speechless. All you could do was sit and listen as he bared his heart to you.

“Every edge of you is soft and round; there isn’t a single single feature that is harsh. Every time I look at you I’m continually amazed by your beauty, Y/N. I can’t help but want to reach out and touch you.” His voice was just above a whisper, only audible between just you and him; a sacred secret.

Such words couldn’t make you believe he was just saying it to make you feel better. He so clearly was speaking from his soul, bare before you with unabashed vulnerability.

“And my love for you far from stops at your looks, mon amour. I’m in love with your soul. The way you laugh. The way you sleep. The way you wiggle around when you’re eating your favorite food. All of it,” he smiled, pressing his forehead against yours.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle, reaching up to stroke his cheekbone with happy tears glistening in your eyes. “You are the sun, Timothée. Thank you.”

“Anything for you,” he whispered, leaning down to capture your lips. You kissed him back eagerly, hands cradling his face and stroking his freckled cheeks. Any ounce of doubt you’d had before was gone; you were ready to give him all of you. His hand tightened on your thigh, making your heart race, but for the right reasons this time. Your hands found his collar, slowly beginning to undo the buttons and loosen his tie. You practically melted when a soft moan was pulled from his throat. “Are you sure you want this?” he paused, wanting to make absolutely sure.

“I’ve never wanted anything more, Timothee,” you replied, a new seriousness in your demeanor. You shifted so that you were on your knees straddling his lap, his head tipped back to meet your lips. His hands slid up the back of your thighs, feeling his heartbeat in his ears. His tongue curled against your lips, sending chills down your arms. You allowed yourself to sink down into his lap, his hands tightening on your hips as your bodies met. You could feel his lust pressing against your thigh and it made you involuntarily whine in need. Timothee’s head fell back against the sofa, his brow furrowed in pleasure. You took the opportunity to attack his beautiful, exposed neck. Tongue and teeth made a slow journey from his collarbone to his earlobe, a new sense of safety allowing you to act with more confidence.

He groaned louder. “You’ll be the death of me, babygirl… Bedroom?” You’d never heard him sound so wrecked before, and it made your legs weak. You slipped from his lap and the two of you hurried into his bedroom, his hands never leaving your skin. You kissed him hungrily on the mouth again and made quick work of his tie the rest of the buttons on his shirt, leaving his torso exposed. You pressed your palms to his warm skin, eliciting a soft whimper from him. His hands slid up your back, finding the zipper on your dress and pulling it slowly down your spine, making you shiver. A soft exhale of his name and your dress pooled around your feet. He didn’t pull away quite yet, wanting to make sure you stayed as worry free as possible. Gentle hands pressed you back against the mattress, and you willingly laid back, exposing yourself to his gaze.

He stopped his movements, his breathing heavily as his wide eyes took you in. “I told myself I wouldn’t stare, but my imagination was far from doing you justice,” he panted, reaching out to trace the curve of your hip with his fingertips.

You naturally wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling so exposed under his gaze.

He tsked, lightly pushing your hands away. “Don’t hide. Please never hide.” One of his legs kneeled on the bed between your legs, allowing him to lower his lips to brush against your ear. “You are a goddess, Y/N.”

You audibly whined, your hands naturally finding his shoulders. You felt smothered but with bliss; he was euphoria in the purest form. “Baby, I need you, please,” you pleaded, pressing needy kisses against the side of his face where you could reach. He quickly complied, lifting himself up to shove his slacks and underwear to the floor. You sat up, taking in the sight of him completely exposed before you. The expanse of his pale skin shone under the New York moonlight. Just as he had described, you couldn’t help but to reach out and touch to make sure he was real. He whimpered, his length twitching against his navel as your lips followed you hands, pressing soft kisses along his tummy. His hands skimmed over your shoulders, reaching to undo the clasp of your bra. You helped him, dropping it to the floor before falling back into his duvet. He promptly climbed over you, settling between your thighs as he met your lips again. However, you were incredibly distracted by the way his length pressed against your wet, heat. “Timothee, please,” you begged again, reaching between your bodies to touch him.

“Oh, Y/N, fuck..” he cursed. As much as he wanted to prolong the foreplay, you’d made it clear that you were becoming impatient, and he wasn’t about to object. His hand replaced yours, guiding himself into your warmth. The stretch was absolutely divine, forcing your eyes to roll back. The restrained sounds of pleasure slipping from both of you bounced off the high ceiling, echoing to your ears and making your blush hotly. When he finally bottomed out, he lifted himself from the crook of your neck meeting your eyes. “Holy shit.. Oh my god, I love you,” he murmured, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours.

“I love you too. You’re everything,” you replied breathlessly, pushing his hair from his face. He wordlessly asked if you were ready before beginning to slowly pull out almost all the way before pressing back in a bit quicker this time. You cursed loudly, feeling every inch of him. Unsurprisingly, he was as much a tasteful and artful lover as he was an individual. His rhythm built until you were both covered in a sheen of sweat, expletives and sweet nothings passed back and forth in between heated kisses. It wasn’t terribly long before you both reached your brink.

“Timmy, I-“

“Me too. Let go, love,” he panted, his face pinched up in pleasure as he fought to hold his composure.

One, two, three more shaky thrusts, and you were done for. Your back arched as everything went white, your toes curling from the pleasure consuming your senses. Timothee, Timothee, Timothee; his name was the only coherent thought left in your mind as your body shivered through the most intense orgasm of your life. Slipping down from the high, you forced your eyes open to watch as he too found his peak. His head fell back, the muscles of his stomach tightening as he cried out and spilled into you. He curled forward, tucking his face back into the crook of your neck as he finished, hot pants hitting your slick skin.

You both bathed in the afterglow, Timothee eventually regaining the strength to sit up and roll off of you. Your chest instantly ached, feeling too far from him. He seemed to sympathize, pulling you into his chest. Your head lolled back, meeting his eyes.

He let out a little laugh, and only then did you realize you were smiling up at him like a lovesick fool. Perhaps you were. He placed a lingering kiss on your forehead, adoration filling his bones. He felt so fiercely for you, and you could feel it like an inferno locked inside his rib cage. Neither of you could quite find words worthy of breaking the silence so you stayed quiet, gazing at one another until you eventually drifted off into the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

#timothée chalamet request #timothée chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet smut #timothée chalamet fluff #timothée chalamet blurb #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet request #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet smut #timothee chalamet fluff #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #confusednarcissistwrites #request