Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

My Boyfriend's Sister's Boyfriend (P8)

Warnings - toxic family, mentions of abuse, smut, unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), short refractory period.

"But I never even liked him mom, you did," I sobbed into the phone. Timothée was beside me, rubbing my back gently.

"Yes, I love Timothée.... I don't know he's just different. You wouldn't understand."

Timothée kissed my cheek and I leaned into him. He'd been amazing moral support for me, especially since people were contacting him too.

"No I didn't just want to get fucked," I screamed. "Mom, Dillon was ABUSING me, doesn't that matter more than anything I did?"

"Yes," Timothée muttered under his breath. He'd been absolutely appalled by my family's treatment of me. He had to keep reassuring me I wasn't the devil incarnate.

"No it isn't a separate issue," I snapped. "I can't talk to you anymore, I'm hanging up."

I groaned and sank back into Timothée. He played with my hair gently.

"I'm struggling," he said carefully. "To understand why you care what they think so much? These are people who are ignoring the fact that you were being abused, why are you measuring yourself by their standards."

"I know," I sighed. "But most of it is family. It's different when it's family."

"You got me there," he said.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked tentatively, after a few moments of silence.

Timothée and I hadn't had much time for intimacy, since the whole debacle with Dillon. It wasn't for lack of desire. I was fielding calls all day long. I was reporting facebooks, and instagrams, for their hate campaigns against me. I had even had to contact my job, because of the many phone calls they were getting concerning my character. My saving grace, was the official police right up of the injuries I'd sustained at Dillon's hands. I had pictures of the bruises as well. Timothée was much better at dealing with the onslaught.

"Of course," I said, turning to him. I met his wanting lips. He immediately deepened the kiss. He pulled me to him, so I could straddle his lap. I grinned into the kiss, feeling so wanted it made me want to sing. I wrapped my arms around him. His hands ran up and down my sides as I tangled mine in his hair.

Just as he was pulling off my shirt, I heard my ringtone go off. I growled in frustration. I let myself fall back, so I landed on the bed.

"Don't answer it," Timothée instructed, removing the cell phone from my hand.

"I don't want them to think I'm giving up," I said, running a hand over my face.

"Is this because of me?" He asked. I blushed. I had been answering more pestering calls than I normally would. It was all an effort to save him.

"Mon Amor, you don't need to defend me. I made my choice, my choice is you, if your family doesn't like it, well, I don't want you hurting yourself just to stick up for me. I don't like what all these calls are doing to your mind."

He said this all gently as he drew pattens on my face with his finger. I sighed at his motions, feeling more relaxed.

"You've had three panic attacks today alone," he said.

"You're right, I need to stop answering. It just drives me insane knowing they're all in their stupid, little, houses, thinking bad thoughts about the man I love. They don't know you."

"And at this rate they never will," he said. It was harsh, but true.

"How did I get so lucky?" I asked, grabbing his wandering hand and kissing it.