Long Timothee Chalamet Stories

That Damn Bassist (P2)

Warnings - begging for sex, drunk Timmy

I sat in my living room catching up on Stranger Things. I heard a knock at my door. I had no idea who it could be. I opened the door and to my shock, I saw Timothée. He was in all studded leather, eyeliner applied perfectly.

"Hey there," he said, clearly trying to come off as irresistible.

"How do you know where I live?" I asked.

"I'm a rock star, I have connections," he drawled. He was heart-stoppingly gorgeous and it made me wild with butterflies to consider him being torn up about me.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"Wanted to give you a second chance for the best ride of your life," he smirked. My walls clenched at the idea of riding his cock.

"No thank you," I said for the second time.

"You are insufferable, I know you want it. Common, just let me fuck you. I'll do so well. I promise," hearing him beg made me even wetter, but keeping this going was too tantalizing.

"No, but you can come in and have lunch with me, and maybe tell you about yourself," I offered. He looked genuinely shocked.

"You, wait you want to hear about me, and not my dick?" He asked. My heart swelled at his innocence. He didn't have anyone who truly cared about him.

"Yeah," I smiled.

"Okay," he said warily. He talked to me about his life and rise to fame as I cooked some chicken on the stove. I knew some of the information from interviews, but talking personally with him felt so wonderful.

"What about you?" He asked as he ate. I told him about my life and he was actually interesting and responsive.

"This has been surprisingly nice," he said in wonderment. "Unfortunately I have to be at the recording studio soon."

I nodded and came over to where he sat and straddled his lap. I pulled him to me, and kissed him deeply, my tongue exploring his mouth. He groaned as I bit his lip, and then finally pulled back.

"I can cancel the recording session," he said eagerly. "You want me now don't you?"

"No thanks," I said, with a smirk.

"Fuck, who are you? I can't read you," he said, nervously fiddling with his hair.

"Bye Timothée," I said sweetly.

A couple of days passed when I got a call from a weird number. For some reason, I answered it.

"Y/n," Timothée slurred.

"Timothée, why are you calling me?"

"I'm super drunk and I can't see straight. I need you to come to get me, I'll send my location," he sounded so drunk.

"Why did you call me?" I asked in utter confusion. He had so many people he could've called first.

"Because you care," he said simply.

"I'm on my way," I said hanging up the phone and moving fast. The location he sent me was some bar. I was racing through the streets, desperate to get to him. Finally, I saw him looking dazed on the corner. He kept blinking hard and shaking his head back and forth.

"Timothée!" I called, jumping out of my car. He gave me a dopey grin. He immediately leaned into me, nuzzling his head into my neck.

"You smell nice," he mumbled. My heart was racing in my chest.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get you somewhere."

"I can't remember my address, can I go to yours?"

"Sure Timmy," I said gently.