𝓝𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓮 ━━━━ Timothee Chalamet

❝ILL BE HONEST LOOKING AT YOU
GOT ME THINKING NONSENSE
CARTWHEELS IN MY STOMACH WHEN
YOU WALK IN ❞

Ella Rosewood was light-hearted in a way that made people lean in. She had that kind of energy-the kind that turned late-night talk show interviews into viral clips, and car ride harmonies into sold-out arenas.

Golden-blonde hair, curtain bangs that framed her wide blue eyes, and a soft kind of beauty that somehow managed to feel both ethereal and completely real.

She smiled easily, laughed loudly, and sang like she had lived a thousand lifetimes.

With six Grammys in the bag and one of the biggest international pop tours under her belt, Ella had spent the past few years redefining what it meant to be a modern icon.

Her albums-mostly glitter-drenched pop with lyrics that cut deeper than expected-became anthems for the heartbroken, the hopeful, and everyone in between.

The world knew her voice. Her fans swore they knew her heart. And tonight, she was stepping into a different spotlight.

The Met Gala.

Ella wore a white corset dress, cinched at the waist and delicately beaded with tiny crystals that caught every flicker of flash from the paparazzi. White ribbons hung down from the front, soft and fluttering.

And still, in true Ella fashion, five minutes later she was crouched awkwardly near the back entrance, tugging on her heel and trying to adjust her dress where the boning was poking her ribcage.

Of course, that's when he walked up.

Cover by - clubheavenscowgirl