Timothee Chalamet X Reader - Blog Posts

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧, 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

The city hums around you, alive with neon and the distant sound of laughter spilling out of late-night cafés. The air is warm, thick with the scent of rain on pavement. You walk beside Timothée, your fingers brushing as you navigate the quiet streets together, the tension between you almost electric. It’s been weeks—months, even—of stolen glances, of hands hovering near but never quite touching. Of wanting, but waiting.

Tonight feels different.

You pause beneath the golden glow of a streetlamp, the flickering light making his curls look almost bronze. His green eyes flicker to your lips before darting away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His hands slip into the pockets of his coat, as if he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for you.

"God," he exhales, shaking his head slightly, "I really want to kiss you."

Your breath catches. The world around you shrinks until it's just him, just the way his lips part slightly, the way the corner of his mouth tilts into something shy yet completely certain.

You could tease him, ask him what’s stopping him. But instead, you just step closer, feeling the warmth radiating off his body, the scent of cedar and something unmistakably him. His breath hitches as his hands finally emerge from his pockets, ghosting over your waist like he’s asking for permission.

And then finally his lips find yours.

It’s soft at first, hesitant, but then he exhales against your mouth, a tiny sound escaping him that sends warmth flooding through your entire body. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens, slow and sweet, like he’s memorizing the moment.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath uneven. He smiles, and it's the kind of smile that feels like a promise.

"I should’ve done that sooner," he murmurs.

You laugh, breathless. "Yeah. You should have."

He grins, then kisses you again—because now that he’s started, he’s never letting go.

a lovely night

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

You’re standing at the edge of a wooden pier, the ocean stretching out in front of you, its surface rippling with the silver sheen of twilight. The sky is a painter’s dream—swirling blues and purples and soft pink streaks that refuse to settle. You wouldn’t have chosen to be here, not with him, but here you are.

“Nice view,” Timothée says, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He’s not looking at you, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. That ever-present air of confidence, or maybe it’s just boredom. Hard to tell.

“It’d be nicer without the commentary,” you shoot back.

He lets out a short laugh, tilting his head toward you. His curly hair catches the fading light, and for a split second, you think it makes him look... well, annoying, actually. Of course he’d find a way to be effortlessly attractive when you’re trying to stay irritated.

“So why are we here again?” you ask, crossing your arms as the sea breeze teases at the hem of your dress.

“You tell me. You’re the one who wanted to walk instead of staying at the party.”

“Yeah, because parties with you are unbearable.”

“And this is better?” He gestures at the empty pier, the lazy waves, the distant hum of the city behind you both.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t leave.

For a while, the two of you stand in silence. The night starts to creep in, the stars blinking awake. Somewhere out there, a couple would be leaning into each other, whispering something soft, something that matters. But here? Here it’s just you and Timothée, stuck in a conversation neither of you wants to admit feels inevitable.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” he says suddenly.

“What’s funny?”

“This. Us. Standing here like this. It’s almost…” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Romantic.”

You laugh—sharp and incredulous. “Romantic? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious!” He turns to you, grinning now. That ridiculous, lopsided grin you’ve seen a thousand times. “It’s the perfect setting, isn’t it? Moonlight, the ocean, you in that dress”

“Stop.”

“Why? Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s just… You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

The wind picks up, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. Like maybe there’s something unspoken here, something you’d both rather not acknowledge. But then he shifts, breaking the spell.

“You know,” he says, “if this were a movie, this would be the part where we kiss.”

“Good thing it’s not a movie.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound feels warmer than it should. “Good thing,” he repeats.

And yet, as the night deepens and the stars sharpen their glow, neither of you makes a move to leave. Maybe it’s the view. Or maybe, despite everything, there’s something about wasting a lovely night with someone who isn’t supposed to matter.

Romantic Lover

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

You sit quietly on the edge of the couch, your mind tangled in a web of thoughts that only seem to make everything heavier. The room is dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows over your face. You try to focus, but the weight of the world presses on your chest. Everything feels too much today.

Timothée stands in the doorway for a moment, watching you, his expression soft. He knows something's wrong, and it's not like him to just let you struggle in silence. He doesn't say a word at first, just steps closer, his presence steady and warm.

"Hey," he whispers gently, kneeling down in front of you, his fingers brushing the back of your hand. His voice is calm, the kind of calm that pulls you out of your thoughts. "What’s going on, love?"

You try to speak, but words fail you. The sadness feels too big to explain, too deep to put into any sort of coherent sentence. But Timothée doesn't push. He just watches you with those warm, understanding eyes, as though he’s ready to listen for as long as it takes.

And then, without another word, he wraps his arms around you. His embrace is so familiar, so comforting, it feels like the world outside doesn't matter anymore. He pulls you close, your head resting on his shoulder as his fingers gently trace circles on your back. His warmth is all-encompassing, and for a moment, you can’t help but let go.

"Shh..." he murmurs, holding you tighter. "I’ve got you. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m here."

His touch is soft, the way his hand rubs your back, as though he’s trying to smooth away every bit of worry, every piece of sadness. And somehow, in his arms, the world feels a little less heavy. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, a reminder that no matter how much the world might weigh on you, he's here to carry it with you.

The silence between you two is full of understanding. You don't need to explain everything. You just need him to be there. And he is. Always.

The weight on your chest eases, little by little, as his soothing words and quiet presence start to make the world feel softer. It’s not about fixing everything. It’s about being together, even in the moments where everything feels broken.

Timothée’s fingers run through your hair now, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head softly. “We’ll get through this. Together,” he says quietly.

I love him

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

You’re standing at the edge of a quiet park, watching the golden light of dusk stretch across the horizon. The world feels both too big and too small at the same time, but as you turn your head, you see him—Timothée. He’s sitting on the bench, looking at you with that quiet smile, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You feel a familiar knot tighten in your chest. There’s something about him, something pure in the way he makes you feel. But it also scares you. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? In places where love felt too heavy, too much to bear. Past relationships have left scars, and sometimes, you’re not sure if you can let anyone in again.

But Timothée doesn’t rush you. He never does. He watches you, his gaze soft and understanding, as though he sees the parts of you that even you don’t want to face. You can tell he knows. He knows you’re unstable, that your past weighs on you in ways you haven’t even shared. And yet, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays.

You take a step toward him, your heart racing. When you sit beside him, you can feel the warmth of his presence, steady and reassuring. He doesn’t try to fix you. He doesn’t need to. His love is quiet, like a whisper that says, I’m here, and I’ll wait.

“You’re not the only one who’s been hurt,” he says, his voice low, just above a whisper. There’s no judgment in his words, only understanding. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

And you feel it. That truth. The certainty that for once, someone is here for you, just as you are. Your heart trembles, caught in the weight of it all. The fear, the doubt, the belief that no one could ever love you in the way you need. Yet Timothée, with his gentle hands and his even gentler heart, shows you a love that is real, a love that’s not built on perfection but on understanding.

He doesn’t say much, but it doesn’t matter. In this quiet moment, you know that his love is exactly what you’ve needed, even when you didn’t believe it was possible. His love is the best thing that’s ever happened to you—steady, patient, and never too much, never too fast.

You feel like you can breathe.

“Do you know how much I love you?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable.

You don’t have to answer. You don’t need to. Because in his arms, in his eyes, you already understand. And somehow, that feels like enough.

Well, my boyfriend's in a band

Kyle Scheible x Reader

You sit on the edge of Kyle's bed, watching him tune his guitar. The soft, melodic hums fill the air, a rhythm that’s almost like a heartbeat. His room is cozy, dimly lit with a string of fairy lights that hang lazily around the walls, casting a warm glow. You can’t help but smile, knowing this moment is one you’ll want to keep with you forever.

He looks up, catching your gaze with a grin that makes your heart skip. “Ready to sing?” he asks, his voice warm and playful.

You nod, but your hands feel a little shaky. It's been like this every time, the anticipation and excitement mixing together. It’s not just about the music—it's about the connection you share, the way the world fades when you’re together, creating something only the two of you understand.

“Okay, here we go,” Kyle says, strumming a few chords. The melody is familiar, and you can already feel the words tugging at your chest.

He starts to sing, his voice smooth and confident, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You wait for your cue, the moment to join him. And then, when it comes, you begin to sing too. Your voices blend effortlessly, harmonizing as if you've been doing this for years, even though it’s only been a few months since you first picked up a microphone together.

His eyes never leave you as you sing. It's like he’s looking into your soul, finding every note, every word, and making it his own. The connection between you both is undeniable, stronger than any music, stronger than any stage. It's just the two of you, lost in the melody, lost in each other.

As the song reaches its climax, Kyle steps closer, his guitar resting against him as he takes your hand. The music fades into the background, and it's just his presence that fills the space, the way his fingers brush against yours, the way his eyes meet yours with an intensity that makes you forget everything else.

When the song ends, the room is filled with silence, but it’s comfortable, easy. Kyle’s thumb gently traces the back of your hand, his lips curving into a soft smile.

“That was perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low, as if it’s just for you.

You lean in, resting your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath. "You're perfect."

And in that moment, with him in his room, his guitar by his side, and the world outside forgotten, you know you wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

Are they… together?

Timothee Chalamet x Reader

You’re on set, the lights dimmed, and the sound of the director’s voice fades into the background as you and Timothée exchange glances. It’s been like this for a while now: secret smiles between takes, shared quiet moments while everyone else is distracted. No one knows about the two of you. It’s been a little slice of happiness you’ve kept to yourselves, hidden behind the scenes.

The crew is setting up for the next shot, and Timothée steps closer to you. He brushes his hand against yours as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, though it’s not. You feel the warmth of his touch, the softness of his fingers against yours, and your heart skips a beat. You look up to meet his eyes, and for a moment, everything else disappears. His gaze is soft, full of affection, but it’s the playful twinkle that gives away the secret he’s been keeping.

With a mischievous grin, Timothée leans in and, in one swift motion, plants a quick kiss on your cheek, just as someone in the crew calls for a break. You both freeze, caught in the moment, and for a split second, you wonder if anyone saw. But before you can think too much about it, Timothée smirks, clearly enjoying the little game he’s playing.

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn away, but your heart is racing. He’s not done yet. You feel his breath close to your ear as he whispers, "I can’t help myself," before sneaking a kiss to the corner of your lips.

Then, without warning, someone — maybe a crew member, maybe a fellow actor — snaps a photo. You don’t realize it at first, but that’s the moment everything changes.

The next day, you’re scrolling through social media during a lunch break, and there it is: a candid photo of the two of you, Timothée’s lips grazing your cheek, your smile barely caught in the moment. It’s simple, sweet, and it’s been shared thousands of times. The caption? Just a question: "Are they… together?"

The comments flood in, fans piecing the puzzle together, speculating, debating. A wave of excitement and curiosity sweeps across the internet. Your heart sinks and rises in equal measure.

Timothée finds you a few minutes later, eyes full of mischief, a grin playing on his lips. "So… I guess we’re not secret anymore?"

You roll your eyes but can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck. "I guess not."

Valentine

Timothée Chalamet x Reader

You’ve always been the type to sidestep romance. Flowers made you sneeze, chocolate was too sweet, and the idea of grand declarations sent shivers up your spine—not the good kind. For years, you prided yourself on being untouchable, untethered. Love was for people in books or movies, not for you.

Then Timothée happened.

You’re not sure when he started slipping past your walls. Maybe it was the way he laughed, quick and bright, like he couldn’t help it. Or maybe it was the way he tilted his head when you spoke, like he was peeling back the layers of your every word. Whatever it was, it was infuriatingly effective.

And now it’s Valentine’s Day, and you’re sitting across from him in a tiny Parisian café that feels plucked from a dream. He picked it, of course, because he’s Timothée and he knows how to set a scene. There’s a faint drizzle outside, blurring the lights into a soft halo around the windows, and he’s looking at you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, almost absentmindedly, like it’s a fact he just remembered.

Your brain stutters. Pretty? You don’t know how to respond to that. “Uh, thanks?” you manage, your voice an octave higher than usual. “You’re, um, pretty too. Can I say that? Is that weird?”

Timothée laughs, low and warm, and it feels like the room tilts just a little. “It’s not weird,” he says, leaning forward, his chin resting on his hand. “But it’s kind of adorable that you’re overthinking it.”

You want to roll your eyes, to deflect, but he’s looking at you with such unguarded affection that it’s hard to hide. You fiddle with the edge of your napkin instead, trying to focus on anything other than the intensity of his gaze.

“This is weird for me,” you blurt out, surprising even yourself. “Like, I’ve rejected affection for years, and now I have it, and—damn it—it’s kind of weird.”

Timothée’s expression softens, and his hand reaches across the table to cover yours. “Weird’s okay,” he says. “Weird’s honest. I like honest.”

Your heart stumbles, then takes off at a sprint. He’s too much—too kind, too perceptive, too everything, and you’re terrified of what that means. But then his thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you, and you realize that maybe it doesn’t have to be terrifying. Maybe it can just be good.

The waiter arrives with dessert, breaking the moment, and you’re grateful for the distraction. It’s a shared plate of macarons in delicate pastel hues, and Timothée immediately pops a pink one into his mouth, humming in approval.

“Try the lavender one,” he says, holding it out to you with an encouraging smile.

You hesitate, then lean forward to take a bite. It’s soft and sweet, just like this moment, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself enjoy it.

Timothée grins, his lips dusted with sugar. “See? Not so bad, right?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. Not so bad.”

And as the rain taps gently against the window and Timothée starts rambling about the best macaron flavors, you think that maybe, just maybe, love isn’t as scary as you thought.