THIS Is What I See When I Say 70s Douchebag Chris.

PARTY at my’s *mwah

ִ ࣪ ⋆𓂅 MYLENE.. ❛she/her, 19, blk, taurus, movies, pink girly, stevie wonder, billy joel, uptown girl, hamzah, the french dispatch, 70s, gold jewelry, romanticism, malcomb todd, pineapple, raspberry ice tea, blush blind, saturday night, purple rain, dessert, dylan o’brien, princess diaries, classy cunty, dior lip gloss, women, kitten heels, mwah❜

master-list taglist playlists

the WARRIORS pt.2

teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

“You have beautiful eyes..”

The three of them strolled through the dimly lit streets, the cold air biting at their skin as their breath fogged in front of them. Hamzah walked in the middle, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his camera swinging against his hip. Martin was lighting a cigarette, the flicker of the lighter illuminating his face for a brief second. Mandy walked beside him, arms crossed, her usual unimpressed expression softened by the way Martin occasionally nudged her, trying to make her laugh.

By the time they reached the party, the bass from inside was already vibrating through the pavement. A few people lingered on the porch, beer bottles in hand, talking and laughing under the dim porchlight. The house was glowing from within, the yellow light spilling through the open door, illuminating the crowd inside.

They pushed through the threshold, the scent of cheap cologne, weed, and something vaguely floral hitting them all at once. Hamzah rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the room out of habit, taking in the faces, the voices, the movement—

And then he saw her.

Across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, half-listening to someone talk. The same loose, off-the-shoulder baseball tee, the belt cinched around her waist, the jeans that sat just right on her frame. The same hair, thick and wild, falling over her shoulders like it had been sculpted by the wind itself.

He felt that same flicker of recognition from earlier, that same pull in his chest.

Almost like she felt it, she glanced up, and her eyes landed on him.

There was a beat. A pause stretched just long enough to mean something.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

Hamzah didn’t even think about it. His feet just moved.

“Hey,” she said when he was close enough to hear her over the music.

“Hey,” he echoed, leaning against the counter beside her.

“You again,” she mused, amusement in her voice.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “Me again.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him in a way that made his stomach do something weird.

“You have beautiful eyes,” she said, casually, like she was just stating a fact.

Hamzah blinked.

A beat passed.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice quieter. “So do you.”

She smiled at that, slow and knowing.

They had been talking for what felt like forever, the conversation shifting like the tide. Movies. Nostalgia. The weird way certain scents could send you straight back to childhood. She had a way of making the simplest things sound poetic.

“You ever smell something and suddenly you’re ten years old again?” she asked, spinning her half-empty cup between her fingers.

Hamzah exhaled, thinking. “Yeah. There’s this old VHS store near my uncle’s place. Every time I walk in, it smells like dust and plastic and… I don’t know. Like a life I almost had.”

She nodded like she understood. “For me, it’s gasoline. I used to sit in my dad’s car while he pumped gas, and I’d just watch the numbers go up, pretending I understood how it worked.”

Hamzah chuckled. “That’s kind of poetic.”

“Everything’s kind of poetic if you look at it the right way.”

He watched her, the way the dim kitchen light caught the angles of her face. He could still smell her, that same signature scent, something warm, familiar, but just out of reach.

The conversation drifted easily, like slipping into warm water. They talked about movies, their favorites, their least favorites.

“What’s the best thing you’ve ever seen?” she asked, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of a half-empty cup.

Hamzah exhaled, thinking. “I don’t know if I have a single best. But there’s this one film… real low-budget, black-and-white, barely anyone’s heard of it. There’s this one scene where the main character’s just standing in the rain, not saying anything, but you know everything he’s feeling.”

She listened, nodding. “I like scenes like that. When you don’t need words to know.”

“Yeah,” Hamzah said, meeting her gaze. “Exactly.”

She sipped her drink. “You ever see something in a movie that made you feel like… you lived it before?”

Hamzah thought for a second. “Like déjà vu?”

“Kind of. But more like… something you didn’t know you missed until you saw it on-screen.”

He nodded, feeling that in his chest. “Yeah. All the time.”

She smiled. “Me too.”

The music changed. Someone stumbled into the kitchen, laughing too loud, breaking the little bubble they’d been in.

Hamzah glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting Martin to be watching, but he was nowhere in sight.

When he looked back at her, she was watching him. Her eyes flickered to his hands, to the way his fingers tapped against his thigh.

“You nervous?” she asked, teasing.

Hamzah huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand over his face. “A little.”

She grinned. “Why?”

Hamzah hesitated. Then, before he could talk himself out of it—

“Can I get your number?”

She blinked, a little surprised, but then, slowly, her lips curved into something softer.

“Yeah,” she said, reaching into her bag.

She pulled out a pen, uncapping it with her teeth before taking his hand.

The tip of the pen was cold against his skin, her writing slanted and quick.

Before he could say anything, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his hand, right over the ink.

Hamzah’s brain short-circuited.

“Don’t lose it,” she murmured, giving him a small, teasing smile before turning toward the back door, slipping into the night like she was never there.

He stood there, staring after her.

Then—

“Bro.”

Hamzah turned just in time to see Martin standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Mandy stood beside him, her expression unreadable.

“Bro, we’ve been looking for you,” Martin said, stepping into the room. “And here you are, getting all Notebook in the kitchen.”

Hamzah rolled his eyes. “Relax, man.”

But Martin was already smirking. “Nah, it’s cool, I just didn’t realize you were the type to get lost in a conversation and forget his friends.”

Mandy huffed. “Not surprised.”

Hamzah shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You disappear a lot,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Not just at parties.”

He frowned, not sure what to say to that.

“I’m not disappearing,” he interrupted, nodding toward his hand, where the ink was still fresh. “Im just showing up somewhere new.”

Martin let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, she’s got you thinking in poetry.”

Hamzah ignored him, looking at her instead.

She just smiled. “See you around, Hamzah.”

And with that, she slipped past Martin and Mandy, disappearing into the party like she had never been there at all.

For a second, Hamzah just stood there, glancing at the girl next to him momentarily. Looking for some type of validation.

Then Martin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You good, Shakespeare?”

Hamzah glanced down at the numbers on his hand.

Yeah. He was good.

I GOT IT BACK HHAHA NVM

@issysh3ll

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happy VALENTINE

70s teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

The radio hummed low and warm, a crackling thread of music weaving through the quiet of the car. Hamzah’s fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel, rings clicking against the worn leather, but his mind wasn’t on the road, wasn’t on much of anything except the girl beside him, laughing softly at something he said five minutes ago.

The car smelled like her perfume, like jasmine and something sweet, mingling with the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and the lilies resting in her lap. She had been staring at them ever since he gave them to her, running delicate fingers along the petals, like she couldn’t believe they were hers.

“Didn’t think I was the type, huh?” he had teased when she first saw the flowers, the stuffed bunny, the little box of chocolate-covered strawberries from his cousin’s bakery.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d actually try this hard,” she smirked, but there had been something softer in her eyes, something he recognized.

Hamzah had never cared much for Valentine’s Day. It always seemed like a scam, a way for people to convince themselves they were in love for the price of a heart-shaped box. But her? She changed things. If she wanted lilies and chocolate and soft things wrapped in ribbons, then he’d give her all of it. He’d give her more.

So now, they were nowhere. Just a stretch of road fading into darkness, the distant hum of the city swallowed by trees and open sky. He pulled off onto a hill, parking beneath a massive oak tree, its branches twisting against the stars.

“Is this what you do with all your dates?” she teased, turning to face him.

“Nah,” he grinned, leaning back against his seat, hands loose in his lap. “Just you.”

Her smile wavered, just for a second, but he caught it. She didn’t know how to take it when he was sincere, when he let his guard slip. He kind of liked that.

The car ticked softly as the engine cooled, the wind slipping through the cracked windows. She peeled open the box of strawberries, picking one up and holding it to her lips before pausing. “You sure you don’t want one?”

“I got ‘em for you, sweetheart. Knock yourself out.”

She rolled her eyes, biting into the fruit, the chocolate cracking softly under her teeth. Hamzah watched her, eyes half-lidded, something lazy and fond resting in his gaze.

“Alright, now you gotta try one,” she insisted, plucking another from the box and holding it out for him.

He smirked, leaning forward, but instead of taking it from her fingers, he just bit into it, teeth gently biting her fingertips.

She gasped, pulling her hand back. “Hamzah!”

“What?” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he swallowed, licking his lips, “but you like me.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

The music played on, soft and unintrusive, some old soul song he didn’t know the name of. Outside, the world stretched on in every direction, but inside the car, it was just them.

He reached for her hand without thinking, just feeling the need to touch, to hold. She let him, fingers curling easily around his.

“You’re warm,” she murmured.

“You always say that.”

“Because you always are.”

She turned to him, fully now, shifting so one leg tucked beneath her. The moonlight poured in through the windshield, catching in her eyes, making them gleam.

“You’re staring,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” his voice was lower now, rougher. “What about it?”

She didn’t answer, just tugged on his collar, pulling him in, slow and unhurried. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, something languid and melting, like heat unfurling in the cold night air. His hand found the side of her face, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek, while her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging, teasing.

He sighed into her mouth, pulling her closer, like he could fold her into himself, keep her there. The world outside didn’t exist. Just her lips, her breath, the way she tasted like chocolate and strawberries and something he could never quite name.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” she murmured against his lips.

“I know,” he whispered, kissing her again, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

@issysh3ll

Happy Valentine’s Day my loves🎀

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

coming out.. I use to have a crush on Taylor Holder. KILL ME NOW UGHHHHH EWWWWWUUUHHHHH

👅yumm

gotcha workin’ for it ft. Saxon Ratliff

MDNI 18+

pairing: Saxon Ratliff x Reader

cw: p in v (unprotected), pwp, mentions of breeding kink (no follow through), teasing, “baby” as a pet name, established relationship, random pop culture reference

a/n: this was supposed to be a Saxon and locker room talk, but the more I wrote, the more it divulged from its original plot… maybe I’ll revisit that idea when I can write a clear enough story for it.

“You’re always so whiny and pitchy.” SAXON RATLIFF mutters in your ear. He goes on to mimic your moans, exaggerating the way your breaths are stuttered. You punch at him hard to get him to shut up.

“What?” He grins at your response, taking advantage of the wide mirror in front of you two, lifting your chin so that you’re forced to face yourself. “Look, you’re literally heaving!”

He has your back arched enough that you can see how your chest is moving to his rhythm. Your hands are placed on his bed post as he’s got your hair in one hand and your chin in the other. He’s got his hips pummeling into you, his own body arching over yours so that he can rest his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re like…” He’s chuckling a bit. “Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh!”

Your words were about to form a snarky comeback when he hits a particular thrust that makes you choke on your spit a little.

“Hey,” This asshole has the audacity to snicker at you. “Breathe, baby, breathe.”

Thank god you don’t go into a coughing fit. But you also curse whatever reverence is out there as your boyfriend leans back and straightens himself, stopping when you’re so close to your climax.

“You’ll need air if you’re gonna be moving, right?” His voice raising an inflection towards the end of the question.

“Huh?” And your voice does come out quite pitchy.

“Well, I’m not doing all the work,” He slaps your ass. Hard. “So, come on, back and forth.”

“God, you’re seriously a grade A asshole.” Yet you find your hips are already slapping back to him, your back arching to his pelvis.

His hands find themselves steady on your waist, only there to hold on to some stability and guide you to some sort of pace. Soon, your bedroom is filled with nothing but your wet squelching and a speed comparable to that of Ariana Grande when it comes to switching races.

“Uhh, fuck,” Saxon has long abandoned his motive to stay still, rocking into you as he palms your tits and enjoys how your ass bounces back on him. “Fuck, fuck, you feel real good...”

You’re so close, and you know he is to with how he twitches inside of you. You got him whispering into your shoulder, your name repeated like a prayer.

He’s calling you pet names in between his moans. “Let me cum inside…”

In usual Saxon fashion, he’s not asking with a “please” or a “can I…?” but masking his demand to sound like a request.

“Nooo,” You’re telling him unconvincingly. “Pull out…”

“What? You scared I’m gonna baby trap you?” He’s got a lilt in his voice, still teasing you when you’re both so close to finishing.

“Yes, don’t fuck around!”

“Yeah, maybe I will…” Saxon’s got his arm snaked around your waist now, thrumming into you all harsh. “Have a tiny me go running around…”

You’re yelling “Saxon!” but he feels you clench him at that notion.

“Yeah, and you’re probably gonna be calling for me just like that too.” His fingers are working magic on your clit, circling your bud in quick motions. “You know me… I’m a family man.” And boy, is he.

You can’t even respond, too focused on finding your end of the bargain. Your boyfriend is also stuttering in his movements, rutting faster to get to his arrival.

You reach your release before him, Saxon cumming right after and painting your back in white.

He falls on top of you, warm to the touch. You bask in the comfortable silence, deciding to ignore the mess that’s gonna need to be cleaned. Better to enjoy this quiet before Saxon catches his breath, right?

Would u guys be mad if I drastically change my theme. I got so many compliments on it I feel scared to change it😭

What if I wrote something for dad!saxon with a poc mom!gf.. actually forget I asked I’m writing this

Someone please request something omg I’m itching to write but not sure on what

You can’t convince me that Saxon doesn’t have a thing for cute toes.. he’s a whore for white and pink just trust me🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

࿐ ࣪ ۪ INTRODUCING DEER READER

𓂃 deer reader, ‘honey’ — black coffee and creamer, alluring, jazz, tight sweaters, cinnamon scent, fall season, sarcasm, melancholy smiles at strangers, candlelit rooms, intelligent, sarcasm delivered in honeyed tones, poc, film major, poems in her notes, eye rolling, white lace, flats with bows, stevie wonder, vinyl, cafés, puffy bonnets, lazy eye, ‘honey’, — an old soul with a poet’s heart.

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @yearlyism @itsyagrillkat