SFW Timothee Chalamet and Reader Imagines

Stress Balls

Warnings mentions of sex, allusions to smut, boob obsessed Timmy

My costar Timothée and I had begun dating recently. I was having a lot of fun getting to know him. We weren't quite ready to tell the public yet, so we had to keep it low-key in interviews.

"So, what's your favorite thing about y/n?" The interviewer asked. I smirked, I knew one of the things he'd give honorable mention to was my boobs. He was practically obsessed. On Saturday we had spent the majority of the day in bed, with him just sucking on my breasts. I hadn't known I could come from just nipple stimulation, but he had proved I could.

"There's too much to pick from, I can't do it," he said, waving away the question.

"You guys had some amazing chemistry in the movie, some people have even theorized that you may be dating," the interviewer flashed him a smile.

"Uhhhh," he was nervous, I could tell. I watched his hand make an odd movement. It was like he was reaching toward me, but then stopped himself.

"We're just good friends," I helped him out.

"Y-yeah," he stuttered.

As the interview went on, I could sense Timothée's anxiety spiking. I moved a hand and slowly rubbed his back where the cameras couldn't see. He kept making that odd movement with his hand, and honestly, it was making me nervous. Was he spasming? Why did he keep doing that?

"Timmy," I knocked on his hotel room door. He opened it with a wide smile, ushering me in. He placed a long kiss on my lips. Normally, I would have continued with it, but I was too curious.

"Hello darling," he said, eyes bright.

"I see you're feeling better," I said, my eyes roaming over his features.

"Yeah, I just got a little nervous in the interview," he shrugged.

"Yeah, I noticed, and what was that hand thing you kept doing?" I asked him. Immediately, his cheeks went bright red.

"S'nothing," he claimed, looking away from me.

"It seems like it's something," I said, tapping my foot as I waited for an answer.

"It's just stupid."

"I want to know," I said firmly. "Out with it Timmy, you know I won't give up."

He huffed but then mumbled something under his breath. I couldn't hear what he said.

"What?" I asked.

"I said I was reaching for your breasts," he said, hanging his head in shame.

"My breasts?" I asked in shock. "Why?"

"They're like my stress balls," he said, making squeezing motions with his hands. There was a beat of silence, and then I was cackling. My head was thrown back in laughter.

"Don't make fun of me," he pouted.

"I'm not," I gasped, tears of mirth filling my eyes. "But imagine what the interviewer would have done."

"I wanted them," he whined.

"Aw baby," I said, kissing him, and trying to hold back my giggles. "You can have them now okay? Let me fuck you nice and long."

"Yes please," he said with eager, bright, eyes.