Yall Should Uhh Definitely Look At My Edits On My TikTok Account 👀🙏🏽 Hotelfilmms

god yes

Does anyone know where I can get clothes like this??

Og fine shyt

luvvv ur new theme

ILY tysm beautiful ❤️

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

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

is he a baddie or just a curly haired brunette

omg of course!! i’m so glad it made you happy, i’m literally obsessed with it<33 it so unique it the best way possible🤍

I literally love you

Once I figure out how to color the words like that oooo it’s over for yall

@st7rnioioss

⋆ ࣪introducing.. 70s GOLDEN BOY ART DONALDSON

golden boy art.. may live and breathe tennis, but he’s not just his sport. Off the court, he’s the picture of effortless style, pressed polos, crisp white shorts, loafers without socks, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose like he belongs in some glossy magazine spread. Even when he’s lounging, he looks like he has somewhere important to be, like he’s already won at something.

golden boy art.. doesn’t read much, but when he does, it’s always something too intellectual, something dense and complicated. He wants to be the kind of guy who reads Camus or Kerouac at a party, drink in hand, looking effortlessly cool, but the truth is, he barely makes it past the first few pages before he gets bored. Still, he keeps a book on his nightstand, just in case.

golden boy art.. was raised in country clubs and private schools, where competition was just as much about who you knew as how you played. He’s always been good at both. He knows how to charm the right people, shake the right hands, flash the right smirk. He’s got that old money ease, the kind of confidence you can’t fake, but underneath it all, there’s something restless. Like he’s always searching for the next thing to chase, the next high, the next game.

golden boy art.. was raised in country clubs and private schools, where competition was just as much about who you knew as how you played. He’s always been good at both. He knows how to charm the right people, shake the right hands, flash the right smirk. He’s got that old money ease, the kind of confidence you can’t fake, but underneath it all, there’s something restless. Like he’s always searching for the next thing to chase, the next high, the next game.

golden boy art.. never turns down a dare. Jumping into pools fully clothed, sneaking into concerts without tickets, taking a road trip to nowhere just because someone said he wouldn’t. He thrives on impulse, the thrill of the unexpected, the idea that life is only as interesting as you make it.

golden boy art.. is secretly a romantic, but he’d rather die than admit it. He doesn’t do grand gestures, but he’ll remember the way you take your coffee, the song you hum under your breath, the exact shade of your eyes when the sun hits them just right. He teases more than he compliments, but when he does say something sweet, it sticks with you for days.

golden boy art.. loves the ocean. Not just for the way it looks, but for the way it feels, cold saltwater against sunburned skin, the endlessness of it, the way it makes him feel small in a way he actually likes. He’ll dive under waves like he’s chasing something, stay out there longer than he should, come back to shore breathless and grinning.

golden boy art.. has a way of making everyone feel like they belong, even when he feels out of place himself. He’s the life of the party but also the guy who’ll sneak out early just to drive around with the windows down, radio low, smoke curling from his lips as he sings along to some song no one else remembers.

golden boy art.. is the guy who falls asleep with a book on his chest but never actually finishes reading it. He likes the idea of being well-read, but he prefers stories that move, movies, music, things with rhythm and motion. He’s seen every classic film twice and can quote entire scenes from memory. He thinks Casablanca is overrated but The Graduate is genius.

golden boy art.. loves the chase. Loves the way people look at him, the way they lean in when he talks, the way they fall into his orbit without him having to try too hard. He flirts like it’s a game, all teasing grins and lingering touches, but sometimes, just sometimes, he catches himself meaning it. And that terrifies him.

golden boy art.. is all confidence and charm until he isn’t. There are nights when the weight of expectation feels heavier than his racket, when the pressure knots in his chest so tightly he can barely breathe. He doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t know how to talk about it. Instead, he drowns it in late-night drives and half-finished cigarettes, in the feeling of someone else’s hand in his, grounding him, steadying him, reminding him that he’s not just golden boy Art Donaldson, but something more. Something real.

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 @cinnamoncunt