Smuts - not my

Timotthee Chalamet - Make Up

Anonymous asked:

could you write something based off of "make up" on the thank u, next album?

AO3 By starsaregivenonceonly

You could not imagine that in any way, shape, or form, that what was happening between you and Timothée was an entirely healthy situation (for either of you) — but, God damn, you couldn't stop biting that forbidden fruit. Sweet as a strawberry, a peach from the orchard, I think I'll pick one more. And maybe one more after that.

The intensity and passion between you was overwhelming at times, in both positive and negative ways. You sometimes wondered if it was just downright toxic, frustration brewing into fights, silence, confusion, disruption. It wasn't malicious, you could never, ever intentionally hurt him. The amount of love you felt for the boy was swelling more and more every fucking day, like a plant, a vine full of flowers growing in your stomach up into your chest. It was so gorgeous, alive and vivid, but it sometimes made it hard to breathe, the inability to get air leaving you with anxiety and desperation for him, the source of the pain, just to be your antidote, to save you from it. Trying to explain it to anyone else was impossible, you had stopped bothering long ago. With him, you could move mountains across the Earth, challenge every storm, win every battle, conquer any foe. Unable to live with or without him, give me more, let me breathe, never mind, come back.

Arguments and petty squabbles over how good he was for you, how good you were for him, what he could give, what you couldn't.

Am I good enough for you?

Why would you say such a thing?

What else am I supposed to say?

Other times it was pure jealousy, something you had no idea how to escape. He traveled the world, he worked with women that were gorgeous beyond belief, talent and beauty surpassing anything you believed you were capable of. He insisted time and time again that he wanted you and you alone, and it wasn't your need for constant reassurance that bothered him. It was the idea that your mind wouldn't let you believe him no matter how many times he said it. You knew that he felt you pushing him away no matter how tightly he held on. Never intentional, he was simply beyond any love you had dreamed of finding in someone, and feeling threatened by others was inevitable. He had, much to your surprise, several moments of his own as well. Random discomfort when he didn't see you for a long while, who are you with, what are you doing? Not a lack of trust in each other, but a lack of trust in the world and those in it.

Sometimes, lately more often than not, one of you would get so frustrated that the door would slam to leave you both alone, immediately wondering why in the world this kept happening. You were both too stubborn, you loved each other so hard, overthinking everything and causing your own turmoil and downfall. You could never envisage letting him go, though, even in the worst moments when it felt like he was slipping away.

How do we do this, mon amour, my everything, my Timothée?

How do I love you right? Even if we wreak this havoc upon each other, I'm out of my fucking mind without you, as soon as the door closes and you're out of sight, pure and instantaneous insanity. Madness, chaos, anarchy, you and only you are the security and stability. Inescapable, suffocating, please, please just come back, I think you could save my life.

You couldn't lie to yourself though, no way to avoid that... there was something about the way that he would come back to you, whether it was an hour later, ten minutes, a day. You wondered if he felt the same way when it was you who walked out the door, out of the room, in unending frustration. You could always sense it before the explosion ceased and simmered to nothing but smoke and ash, knowing what was coming later.