#happy birthday timothée

[chalamet-chalamet]

Happy Birthday Timothée!

[douglashal]

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“Happy birthday, my love. I hope you like the dinner, and the cake, and the gift…”

“Oh, gift? Where’s it? What is it?”

“I‘ll give it to you… later”

Douglas took Hal to a fancy restaurant in Italy to celebrate his birthday. But he’ll only give him his gift when they get back to the hotel.

[silvyysthings]

😭❤ Timothée published this in 2017 on Armie's birthday

When it's him that gives us a birthday gift 💙😍😍

[theseshipsshallsail]

Happy Birthday, Elio Perlman. Then, now, and every tomorrow ❤️

My sincere apologies for leaving them crying in an airport bathroom for so long...

Summary:

��Regarde toi…” Elio murmurs, smothering a tipsy hiccup in the crease of their overstuffed pillow. “You look happy.” Oliver huffs. “I am happy,” he says, leaning in for a kiss: his clumsy tongue flavoured with the musky essence of Elio’s previous release.

HE WHOM LOVE TOUCHES (NOT WALKS IN DARKNESS)

In the liminal space between dreams and consciousness, where everything is hazy, blissful, and calm, Elio savours the post-coital high as a roaming palm draws abstract patterns on his outer thigh; chasing the field of goosebumps before settling - warm and possessive - in the shallow corrugation of his rib cage.

It’s a strange contradiction, all told. 

A charged sort of intimacy that keeps him buoyed by the ache of overtaxed muscles. 

The memory of Oliver moving inside him. 

The thickness. 

The stretch. 

The damp spill of semen saturating the rucked-up sheets.

He should fix that, he supposes, letting loose an almighty yawn, but his listless limbs refuse to cooperate as they gather their scrambled senses, and the other man’s grin - fond, jetlagged, coy to the point of transparency - holds him enthralled in the slate-grey pool of moonlight. 

“Regarde toi…” Elio murmurs, smothering a tipsy hiccup in the crease of their overstuffed pillow. “You look happy.”

Oliver huffs. “I am happy,” he says, leaning in for a kiss: his clumsy tongue flavoured with the musky essence of Elio’s previous release. “You - you make me happy,” he adds, humming an off-key rendition of Love My Way over the late-night drone of Via Manzoni:the song they’d so recklessly danced to not three months prior in a dingy, Roman piazza. “S’just like Plato said…”

Elio frowns; slightly perplexed by their trip into left-field. “Plato?” he asks,  rallying his drowsy focus.

“Symposium,” Oliver slurs, gaze a little bleary. “Have you read it?” 

A scoff. “Son of a professor, mon ami. I still have my father’s flash-cards.”

“So you’re familiar, then?” Oliver pauses; brushing an errant curl from Elio’s temple. “With his theories involving the human form?”  

“Absolument...” But it’s a deep-seated game of theirs - this idle exchange of wisdom - and one he’s loath to forfeit despite his heavy eyelids. “Indulge me anyway?”

“Don’t I always?” Oliver giggles, then clears his throat theatrically: every inch the college professor. “On the basis of Plato’s teachings,” he begins, hooking an ankle behind Elio’s exposed calf. “...there was a time we all looked vastly different… with four legs, four arms, and two heads apiece. We had two necks, also,” he continues, cupping his nape as if it were made of glass. “Two noses and two mouths…”

Featherlight, Oliver skims a thumb the full curve of Elio’s earlobe, wreaking havoc on his staccato lungs as it journeys even lower; gently parting the seam of his lips.

“But the gods… fearing the untapped power we held in such forms… took it upon themselves to split us. Right down the middle.” 

Elio shivers as he draws an invisible line from chin to navel. 

“And in doing so, condemned us to a life of half-measures. Constantly searching for that which was stolen, in order to - to feel complete.” 

“The physical and spiritual alike,” Elio quotes, knocking their sweat-slick foreheads together. “So how will we know?” he asks softly, all carefully crafted nonchalance. “When we find our other halves, I mean?” 

Oliver smiles: hummingbird-heart fluttering against his chest. “I found you, didn't I?” Another kiss; rich as torta tenerina. “I worship you,” he says, the flush of his cheeks belying his confident demeanour, and Elio curses that last round of birthday shots as he’s overwhelmed by the swell of raw emotion. The bigger-than-this, more-than-us awareness that’s gripped them from the start. “Is that okay?”

A pendulous nod. 

“You don’t doubt it?” 

Elio blinks back the mortifying sting of tears. “Just myself,” he whispers at length, unable to quash his niggling insecurities, and Oliver sighs as he captures his wrist; ink-stained fingers tracing the spiderweb veins at his pulse.

“Please don’t,” he begs, forever unfazed by the trials and tribulations of a long-distance relationship. “Please don’t doubt the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”

To name a belief - his grandfather once told him - is to give it shape. Sound. An echo. There's power in speaking, my boy! In being spoken about - and here in his childhood bedroom, Elio thanks his lucky stars as he breathes in the bergamot-citrus of Oliver’s shampoo. The syrupy sweetness of spilt Amaretto. The burnt-tar bitterness of unfiltered Gauloises. 

“I know you too,” he says, mirroring his candid confession. “I see you. Corps, esprit, et âme.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s crying. 

That his wayward emotions are on display. 

The other man’s faith is inherently grounding, and flattening his palm over Oliver’s star of David Elio reels him in by the silver chain; butterflies taking flight in his stomach as he thinks of the hard-fought future that’s destined to lie ahead. 

[randomluck-ofthe-universe]

John P. Shanley about Timothée, December 2023.

".. he [Timothée] showed up at my apartment a couple of years ago after he was huge. He was overstimulated. He wanted to go someplace safe where he could spill on what was going on because so much was going on for him. I feared for him with that level of celebrity. But we stayed in touch, and he asked me to come to Saturday Night Live with his mother when he was on.

He's trying to survive and flourish in a world that chews people up and spits the out."

more and more proud of him.

and fiercely here with him, always and no matter what.

Happy Birthday, Tim ♥️

thanks so much for the gifs to @rememberwehadthestars

[r7leee]

a job well done

i’m gonna start by saying this is for a friend’s birthday, there is absolutely no other reason i’d be writing this otherwise 💀 anyways, love u ava, u better enjoy 🤬

pairing: timothée chalamet x actress!reader

summary: it’s you and your boyfriend’s first day filming. timothée’s a sweetheart while he helps you adjust.

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex but no direct smut, actress!reader and timothée are filming something together, probably very ooc!timothée, basically just a bunch of fluff

word count: 965, should take about seven and a half minutes to read

listen to: banana pancakes by jack johnson

IT WAS UNUSUAL for you to be asleep this long. your boyfriend had been beside you awake for a while now, when usually, it was the other way around.

the way your schedule worked, you were used to early mornings filming or getting on flights that it just became a habit. so to say it concerned timothée when it’d been two hours since his awakening and you were still sound asleep next to him was an understatement.

he didn’t want to be disruptive, but he didn’t want you to stay asleep much longer. he started by gently shaking you, which didn’t work. he tried a bit harder, but again, that road led to a dead end.

“darling…come on, wake up…” he whispered, which again, led nowhere. “darling!” he tried a bit louder. he sighed when your eyes stayed shut. with one final, heavy push, your eyes shot open.

due to the light coming into the trailer, you immediately threw your hands over your eyes and groaned. “what’s the deal?” you whined. he just laughed.

“it’s 11:00 in the morning, honey. you gotta get up.” you quickly took your hands off your eyes, which was a bad idea, since the light made you squint. you looked him dead in the eyes while doing so, however.

“funny joke. why did you actually wake me up?”

“i’m not joking.” he grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “look.” you widened your eyes just the slightest bit to see that the lock screen did indeed read 11:16 am.

“oh my god…” you muttered. “i don’t know how that happened, i’m so sorry, you should’ve just done stuff without me,” you rambled.

“hey. look at me.” timothée placed his hands on your face. “it’s not your fault. it’s okay. i just didn’t want to be late to get on set.” he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

you giggled and raised an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“100%.” he got up and started stretching. “you hungry? i can get us some breakfast before we have to leave.” you laughed at his little routine. “what?” he asked, stopping. all you could do was shake your head and laugh.

“oh, so this is funny to you, huh?” timothée leaned over next to you to grab a pillow. without warning, he threw it straight at your face. you just gasped.

“don’t start a fight you know you can’t win.”

“trust me, honey, i’m planning on winning.” you threw the pillow back at him, but he caught it.

more pillows got added to the mix, and soon enough, they weren’t even being used anymore; just you two wrestling on the bed. it was all giggles and laughs until you all but pleaded him to stop.

there was a moment of silence after that as you lay on the bed underneath him. the air was thick and heavy as he remained on top of you, panting. timothée brushed a lock of hair out of your face. you could see his pupils dilate. you, in turn, gently swatted his arm. “don’t try anything. we have places to be in a few hours.”

you crawled out from underneath him and started to walk to the kitchen. the pillow fight gave you a bit of energy to enter the trailer living area. you could hear him yell. “i wasn’t going to-”

“save it,” you giggled. you turned around, hearing him exit the room. his mouth opened, trying to say something, but you grabbed his hand. he looked down, confused. you grabbed his face to kiss him.

it was just a little peck to distract him. your plan worked as he stood with a small smile afterwards. “so, you’re getting breakfast?” you confirmed cheekily.

all he could do was nod. “on me.” you concluded it was a job well done.

AFTER THE BREAKFAST your boyfriend "very lovingly," in his words, ordered, you two got ready to head on set and meet your castmates. that was all it would be for the day, so you didn't know why you felt so nervous.

timothée noticed it as you walked out of the trailer. "you okay?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. you nodded.

"ya," you quietly mumbled. you were playing with your hands, a habit he noticed you did when you were stressed. he grabbed one of your hands gently as an ailment.

"it's gonna be okay," he promised. you blushed at the simple touch and turned back to where you were walking. he smiled at this and ruffled your hair, only after giving the top of your head a chaste kiss.

meeting the cast wasn't nearly as bad as you imagined, and by the end of it, you actually wished you had more time to stay.

when you got back in your trailer, you mostly spent the evening unwinding. you two ordered more food since you were too bothered to make anything.

the night ended with you filing your nails after the picking you'd done at them earlier while you watched a movie. you were sitting on your boyfriend's lap as he braided your hair. the only light in the room present was the soft glow of your laptop with the movie playing.

you really weren't paying too much attention to it. you were too focused on timothée's fingers gently pulling strands of your hair over one other. it was a kind of weird thing he did in spite of boredom; he liked doing your hair. it came from watching his mother do his sister's hair. he was a fast learner from just simply observing. you teased him for being a hairdresser in a previous life.

"all done," he mumbled, snapping you out of your daze. you turned around, craning your neck to give him a gentle kiss.

"thanks, baby."

"anytime, honey."

[malina-6886]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEAUTIFUL AND SUPPORTIVE MAMA NICOLE! 🥳 💝 🌹

thank you for such an amazing son!

[lajaramillo25]

I feel, as a viewer, that this year was a roller coaster for him. From the stillness that the strike brought to the euphoria that burst with Wonka and obviously the wave of hatred that he had to overcome when the tabloids did not stop replicating his "romance" or the mistake of SNL... Only him, in the solitude of his voluntary retirement when he is left alone, he knows what this year has been like for him. He's definitely not the guy he was when he made the movie that made me love him and I like the man that man is now. Today I celebrated the life of the great Timothée Chalamet and toasted his health always.💚❤️‍🩹🎉🍫🍭🥳

[chalamet-hl]

¡Happy Birthday beautiful boy!

On a day like today was borning a great star. A big actor, a handsome actor, a cute boy and the most important; the love of my life: Timothée Hal Chalamet.

[andguesswhat]

Okay, why the hell not? For the Dune promo, my head had come up with a story about Jack without asking, for various reasons though it never made it completely onto paper.

But now that it's Jack's birthday... I thought maybe I'd just post the beginning as a birthday present… lol

But don’t worry, Jack, it’s rather harmless, I would say.

The shield that you own

*

Jack grabbed Tim under the arms to hold him better. Even though Tim was as light as a feather, they were all uncontrollably heavy when drunk. Tim giggled at the contact, his head falling heavily onto Jack's shoulder.

"What kind of bodyguard are you? ... Are you trying to tickle me to death? You should know by now that I'm ticklish!" Tim's voice was slurred and mumbling and the tone became childish and provocative, when he continued, "You could carry me...?"

Without responding, Jack dragged Tim further through the hotel room door, half supporting, half pulling, under his arm, around his waist, just where his balance was giving way, while trying not to lose Tim’s jacket that he already had taken off. Of course, he could have carried him instead, this skinny little creature who was nevertheless lighter when drunk than some when sober, but there was more than one reason to avoid it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tim curl his lips into an exaggerated pout. "You're never any fun, Jack!"

Jack raised his eyebrows as if to say "Really?" but ignored Tim's comment apart from that as well as Tim's far-too-close lips, from which a whiff of tequila emanated, and concentrated instead on getting Tim to the bed.

They were in Mexico city, a huge premiere of Dune 2 in this huge city had just taken place this evening and the after party hadn't been wild, but it had apparently been enough to make Tim giggle uncontrollably. Sometimes it didn't take much for the adulation of the masses to get him drunk. First the senses were hyped, wide smile, wide eyes, wide talk, than followed giddy drunkenness.

At the bed, Jack let go of Tim so he could fall onto the bed, but Tim didn't let go of him, so Jack toppled over with him. He tried to catch himself with his hands, but he couldn't catch his whole body, so his face brushed Tim's cheek and his nose buried deep down in those god damn dark curls.

Tim giggled beneath him. And Jack decided to give himself a millisecond. They were familiar with each other, very familiar, also physically, and yet this closeness always did something to him.

The soft tickle of the curls on his skin and the smell of Jamie's hair styling products in his nose made Jack close his eyes for another millisecond.

Then the two milliseconds were over and he sat up again, ignoring the vague tugging in his body, heart as loins, instead lifted Tim's legs onto the bed and set about removing his boots while Tim rolled on the bed and grumbled like a drunken teen.

It wasn't that often that Tim got drunk, but it wasn't the first time either. Jack knew Tim liked the buzz, even if he was too worried to indulge in it too often.

In a fit of energy Tim humped the bed, “Goddd… Austin was looking sex-ayyy tonight, right? Wanted to fuck him right there.”

Jack ignored the comment, pulled on the second boot and placed it next to the bed.

Tim lifted his head and looked at him, "I can't believe you put them on the floor, instead of just letting them fall!" He sounded somehow shocked, admiring and teasing at the same time.

Jack laughed. He liked it when Tim made fun of him, it was always... affectionate.

But then Tim closed his eyes again and Jack could see the buzz working in his head. He let his gaze linger on Tim's face.

The face of an innocent angel. He resisted the impulse to brush a curl of hair from this face. The angel was not meant for him.

It was time to go.

Jack adjusted his jacket, "Do you need anything?" With the last of his strength, Tim straightened up, grabbed Jack's arm and pulled him onto the bed so that Jack ended up lying next to him. "Don't go," Tim's breath hitched against Jack’s face. Again Jack closed his eyes for a moment. He had been so determined that it wouldn't happen again and now he had to admit to himself that he had only deceived himself.

For a while they just lay there, Tim breathing, searching his way through the grogginess, Jack watching him, feeling the gentle ripples of air on his face with every breath Tim took…

When Tim's head carousel seemed to slow down a little, Tim laid his hands on Jack's face. "It was awesome, wasn't it?" His eyes opened briefly before closing again. "All those crowds..." Yes, the fans, the crowds, the masses... Tim loved that. Bathing in the crowd, being admired by the masses. The crowd electrified him, turned him on. Made him horny. And now the thought of it was apparently enough to reawaken his sex drive.

Tim rubbed his crotch lightly against Jack's thigh. An audible gasp.

Jack bit his lower lip. Then another rub.

Tim's breathing a little louder this time, Tim's cock noticeably harder.

The desire spread through Tim's tired body, waking him up, making him more alert and horny by the second until it finally took over. Tim swung himself over Jack, propped himself up with his hands to the right and left of Jack, his head lowered, his curls in free fall, and looked at him with a glazed expression. He looked so beautiful, so hot. Jack couldn't say it any other way. It wasn't his fault he was getting weak. Tim lowered his pelvis, rubbing against his, pressing their hard cocks together. Almost automatically Jack went to Tim's cock, squeezed it through his pants and Tim groaned. Jack knew what this was all about, what Tim wanted. And even if Jack didn't necessarily want to admit it to himself, he wanted nothing more than to fulfill Tim's wish. Tim humped into Jack's hand, moaning, and Jack's fingers eventually found their way into his pants, under his underpants, feeling the warmth, the soft skin, and wrapped around Tim's hard cock as Tim's moans vibrated louder and louder through his body. Tim's glazed look was both present and absent. As if he wanted to take Jack back there to the masses again. They had both experienced it, had both been there, how the crowds had loved Tim, had wanted him. If it had been up to them, they would have all wanted to touch him, grab him, tear his clothes off, and if it had been up to Tim, Tim would have wanted that too, to feel that love, on his body, hands on his bare and naked skin, fingers reaching for him, digging into his flesh, mouths kissing and tongues licking every inch of him, wanting him, loving him, bringing him to climax. Jack was sure Tim was having sex with all those people in his head right then when Jack pumped him hard, Tim’s gaze dark, his lips moist. It didn't take long now, Tim was exhausted, this wasn't about maximizing pleasure, about extensive sex. What had built up had to come out. Jack felt the hard cock twitch, smelled the sex already, and Tim came with a loud moan. "Ahh!" The cum was warm and sticky on Jack's fingers. Jack knew what it tasted like. Tim dropped down close to Jack and again the damn curls tickled Jack's nose. Tim reached tiredly and lazily for Jack's cock.

It wasn't half-hearted, but it was far from promising either. "You don't need to-" Jack said. "No, I don't want you -" "No, it's okay." Tim rubbed his nose tiredly against Jack's shoulder. "Sure?" "Yeah..." "I'll make it good for you another time, okay?" Jack laughed softly. Tim snuggled up to him. "Sorry, I stained your suit." "It's okay." It wasn't the first time. Jack tried to straighten up. "But I should go now." Tim's heavy arm across him stopped him. "No… Don't be stupid." Jack took a deep breath, for a while wondering if he should insist. For his own self, which would only nag him again tomorrow.

But he was pretty inept at letting Tim down. Always had been. "Can I at least take my jacket off?" He tried to take it lightly. "Yeah sorry..." Tim took his arm away. Jack took off his jacket, half rose from the bed to throw it over the back of the chair, took off his shoes and deliberately dropped them on the floor. Tim chuckled with half-closed eyes. "Good for you!" Jack smiled, albeit a little melancholically, and lay back down in bed a little away from Tim, but Tim immediately moved and cuddled up to him. "Did you see the girl who wanted the tattoo and what I wrote?" Tim asked quietly and dreamily. "Of course." Tim always wanted Jack to hear everything funny he said or did. "Man, I was shaking so much..." Yes, Jack had noticed that.

It was always fascinating to Jack that some things never changed. Of course, Tim was an old hand on the red carpet by now, and even if he knew by now how to hide it very well, the crowds not only electrified him, they also still intimidated him as hell. "I felt you behind me," Tim whispered quietly. "You know when I leaned up to that fan? You stepped up, too. I was so glad that I had you in my back." "It's my job."

"You took care of me."

Tim looked Jack deep into his eyes, not drunk, but not sober either, and gently pressed his lips to Jack's. "I couldn't do any of this without you, you know that, right?" Jack held his breath, looked at Tim, although he wanted nothing else than to close his eyes.

And he didn't know if he hated Tim more for saying that, or himself for wanting to believe it. ***

[chalamet-chalamet]

💥 Happy 28th birthday Timothée Chalamet! 💥

[lovelyrocker]

Happiest of Birthdays to this man right here! The talent and the charm all in one. A true old Hollywood piece of art.

[silvyysthings]

❤❤

Tyler 😍😍😍

[agapintheskin]

Happy Birthday Timothée!!

[randomluck-ofthe-universe]

♥️

[elibabette]

✨Happy Birthday Timmy✨