timothée chalamet imagines

father's day

you pov

"You have to be quiet, okay? It's a surprise." I whisper to my four year old daughter.

"Okay, Mommy." she whispers back.

I situate the food on the tray and take it off the table. "Let's go."

We slowly walk up the stairs and back to the bedroom. Y/d/n pushes the bedroom door open and we are met with the sight of a lump still laying in the bed.

I put the tray on the dresser and look down at y/d/n. "Do you want to wake him up?"

"Yes!" she yells, quickly covering her mouth.

"Shhh." I put my finger over my mouth. I pick her up and put her on the bed, watching her crawl toward him like a tiger about to pounce on its next meal. Then she does just that.

"Ow," he groans loudly, "why do your knees always find that little spot?" he asks, sitting up as our daughter crawls into his lap. She doesn't know what spot he's referring to.

She just wraps her little arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!"

"Thank you, baby." he says, hugging her back and kissing her all over her face. She giggles loudly, making me melt.

I get into the bed too, sitting next to them. "No kisses for me?" Timothée leans over, but our daughter practically shields him from me.

"No kisses for you," she pouts "only for me." She is the ultimate Daddy's girl.

"Be nice." Timothée tells her and she rests against his chest, freeing up space between us.

He leans forward again. "Happy Father's Day." I say.

"Thank you." he says, finally kissing me. I pull away, smiling.

"Do you want to show Daddy what we brought?" I ask y/d/n. She nods excitedly and I get off the bed, grabbing the tray off the dresser and get back into bed.

"What's all this?" he asks, carefully holding the tray in front of him.

"Pancakes, strawberries, and orange juice." y/d/n tells him, pointing to each thing on the tray.

"Did you make all this?" he asks her and she nods proudly.

He cuts up the pancakes, letting y/d/n eat a few pieces. He offers me some, but I decline. I watch them both eat, Timothée holds up a whole strawberry to her mouth and she bites a bit off the end with her little teeth, but he ends up eating the rest of them himself.

"All done?" I ask as he sips the rest of the orange juice, he nods. I take the tray and set it on the nightstand next to me "Time for presents." I say to them.

I lean down and pick up the bags on the floor. "This one is from y/d/n." I hand Timothée the small hot pink bag she insisted on getting him.

"What could this be?" he asks, shaking it. He pulls out the tissue paper, throwing it on the floor. His reaches in and pulls out a handmade card covered in glitter and beads. "Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" he reads aloud "I love you so much. Love, y/d/n." he smiles, turning to her.

"There's more!" she tells him. His reaches into the bag again and pulls out a picture frame, the smile he has turns into a slight frown and his eyes noticeably get teary.

It's a picture I took of them hours after y/d/n was born. Timothée's lying on the couch we had in the hospital room, shirtless, with y/d/n right on top of him. They're doing 'skin-to-skin,' a technique parents do with their newborn babies in order to form a bond.

"Wow," he wipes his eyes "you were so little." His finger runs across the glass of the frame, finger stopping right on y/d/n's small body. He sets the frame down on the bed and hugs y/d/n, it looks like he can never let her go. I wipe my own eyes and look down at the frame, I can remember the day clearly; even though it happened more than four years ago.

"Thank you." he says to her.

"You're welcome." she says.

I hand him the bigger bag, it's filled with t-shirts, small/random gifts, and a card from just me. I didn't know what to get him this year, it's difficult to shop for him, honestly. He thanks me with words and a kiss right after.

I can't help but laugh while looking at y/d/n. She has pancake crumbs and strawberry juice stains on her face. I reach over to the side of me to grab a napkin, but realize I forgot to bring any up with us on the tray.

"You're a very messy eater," Timothée tells her, wiping away a crumb with his thumb "let's go wash your face." He grabs her and gets off the bed, walking to our bathroom, I walk behind them. We keep a small stool in here for her to stand up on since she can't reach the sink.

Timothée puts her on the stool and turns on the faucet. He squeezes face wash into her little hands, she starts washing her face herself. Of course she splashes water all over the sink, her shirt and the floor. I grab a towel and dry her face as Timothée brushes his teeth.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask as we all return to the bed.

"Stay home," he says "maybe invite my parents over for dinner?"

"We can do that." I nod as our daughter crawls between us.

"Y/d/n?" Timothée calls her name.

"Yes?"

"Can your Mom and I cuddle for a little bit?"

She nods, moving next to him instead of in the middle. He wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tightly while kissing my forehead. Soon enough y/d/n gets on top of him, trying to pull him away from me. "Daddy!" she tugs at his shoulder.

"What?" he asks a bit frustrated and lets me go. I sigh loudly disappointed that this little girl of ours won't let me spend time with my husband, not even for a second.

"Be careful." she tells him.

"With what?" he asks "I was just hugging your Mom."

"Be careful with the baby."

I cover my mouth. "The baby?" he asks and turns to me "what baby?"

"The baby in Mommy's tummy." y/d/n tells him.

His mouth drops open and his eyes go wide. "You-you're- you're pregnant?"

"Surprise?"