Sometimes I Feel Like I’m Too FREAKY With People I've Just Met And Then I'm Embarrassed And I Think

I love himbos

I think I’m understanding it now

too GIRLY

70s teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

Hamzah had never seen a room like this before. It was pink, not overwhelmingly so, but in a way that felt intentional, soft yet loud, like her. The walls were lined with posters, some of musicians he knew, others of actors from old movies he hadn’t gotten around to watching. Trinkets and jewelry littered her vanity, bracelets stacked like small, colorful towers, rings scattered like forgotten treasures. Everything had a place, even in its slight messiness, and it smelled like her, warm, sweet, something floral but grounded.

He sat on the edge of her bed, hands pressing into the plush comforter, looking around like he was stepping into a world he wasn’t sure he belonged in. He wasn’t used to softness like this. His own room was plain, bare except for his boxing gear, a few records, and his camera sitting on the dresser. But hers? It was a reflection of her, vibrant, lived-in, a place that didn’t just exist but felt.

“You like it?” she asked, standing near the vanity, watching him take it all in.

He scoffed, running a hand through his bleach buzz. “It’s… a lot.” Then, softer, “It suits you.”

She grinned, walking over and plopping down next to him, the bed dipping under her weight. “You mean it’s too girly for you?”

Hamzah smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Nah. I think I like it.” His gaze flickered to the pink ruffly pillows, the delicate lace curtain fluttering from the open window. He turned back to her. “It’s nice.”

And it was. Not just the room. The feeling of being there, of sitting close, of knowing this was a space she felt safe in, and that, somehow, he’d been allowed into it too.

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the blinds of her bedroom, painting soft golden stripes across her walls, her floor, the tangled sheets beneath them. Hamzah wasn’t sure how they got here, sprawled on her bed, bodies pressed together, warmth curling between them like the scent of her perfume. It was always the same, something light and sweet, like vanilla and flowers, something that made his head feel foggy whenever he got too close.

His hands trembled slightly, but not out of fear. It was something else. Something deep in his chest that clawed at his ribs, telling him that this, whatever this was, was just as thrilling as it was terrifying.

She lay beneath him, half-laughing, half-breathless, pink lips parted just enough to make him want to kiss her again. He did. It was soft at first, hesitant, searching, but then her fingers tangled in the back of his bleach-blonde buzz, and suddenly, he was kissing her like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.

Somewhere between the way she sighed against his mouth and the way his hands skimmed the warm skin beneath her shirt, that nervousness melted. Not completely. Not all at once. But enough. Enough for him to help her out of it, leaving her in that ruffled pink bra he swore was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. It had a tiny bow in the middle, delicate lace tracing the edges, the kind of thing he never thought much about until now, until her.

His fingers ghosted along her waist, and she shivered. He swallowed, feeling like his heart was somewhere between his throat and his stomach. “You okay?” His voice was quieter than usual, like he was scared of breaking whatever fragile thing was holding this moment together.

She nodded, looking at him with something warm, something trusting, something that made him feel like maybe he could do this, maybe they could figure it out together. He kissed her again, slower this time, letting the world outside her bedroom slip away, letting himself get lost in the feeling of her, the way she fit against him, the way she made him forget everything except her.

They weren’t in a rush. There was nowhere to be, nothing to prove, just hands exploring, lips meeting, skin against skin, and the quiet thrill of knowing they had all the time in the world.

@issysh3ll

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I absolutely adore your fics and am forever grateful that you’re writing for Lochlan.

I'd thought about this idea for quite some time before finding someone who could write it and I'm so glad I found you.

Anyway, what about lochlan x reader and them meeting at the pool in the hotel, maybe saxon flirting with her first but she is fully focused on lochlan and how shy he is and them later sneeking around the hotel because his parents would despise her but he's head iver heels. Maybe meeting at the pool in the middle of the night and sneaking into her room (maybe smut...)

(You are the sweetest in the world I love you I tried my best just for you. I saw this request and started on it immediately)

Lochlan and 𝒜ngel reader

The first time he notices her, she’s tucked into a corner of the hotel lobby, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress, eyes cast downward as if she’s afraid of meeting anyone’s gaze. She’s soft, soft in the way she moves, in the way she glances up through her lashes, in the way she lets her hair fall over one side of her face like a shield.

Saxon notices her first.

Lochlan’s older brother is lounging in one of the lobby chairs, long legs stretched out, sunglasses still on despite the dim lighting. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, and he looks like he belongs here, like this luxury resort was built specifically for him. He watches as she hesitates at the reception desk, her soft voice barely carrying over the hum of conversation.

“She’s cute,” Saxon says, lifting his sunglasses to get a better look. He nudges Lochlan’s arm. “You think she’s into older guys?”

Lochlan stiffens. He’s been half-listening to whatever Saxon was saying, but now his gaze follows his brother’s, landing on her.

Something stirs in his chest.

She’s alone. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, as if unsure where to go next. He recognizes that kind of hesitation.

“Maybe she’s waiting for someone,” Lochlan says, trying to sound indifferent, but his voice comes out too soft, too interested.

Saxon smirks. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s just shy.”

Lochlan swallows.

Before he can think, Saxon is already standing, making his way toward her with that easy, confident stride. Lochlan hesitates for a second before trailing behind, not entirely sure why.

She looks up when Saxon stops in front of her.

“Lost, sweetheart?” Saxon’s voice is smooth, teasing.

Her fingers tighten around the hem of her dress, but she shakes her head. “No. I just—” She hesitates. “I’m fine.”

Lochlan sees the way her shoulders stiffen slightly, like she’s unsure of what to do with the attention.

Saxon grins. “You sure? ‘Cause you kinda look like a lost little lamb.”

Her lips press together, and Lochlan catches the way her gaze flickers, just for a second, toward him. It’s brief, almost hesitant, but it makes his stomach flip.

She’s not paying attention to Saxon.

She’s looking at him.

Lochlan swears his heart skips.

She looks away just as quickly, shaking her head again. “I—I’m just waiting.”

“For who?” Saxon asks.

Before she can answer, Lochlan finally finds his voice, though it comes out more nervous than he wants it to. “Saxon, leave her alone.”

Saxon raises an eyebrow but steps back, hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just being friendly.”

He turns to leave, but before Lochlan follows, she glances at him again.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, so soft he almost doesn’t hear it.

Lochlan doesn’t know what to do with himself. He nods stiffly, then quickly walks away before he can make a fool of himself.

But his heart is still racing.

The next time they cross paths, it’s at the pool.

It’s late, too late for anyone else to be out. Lochlan hadn’t been able to sleep, and something about the stillness of the resort at night had drawn him out of his room.

And now she’s here.

She’s sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water, her dress gathered around her knees. The glow from the underwater lights casts a soft shimmer across her skin.

She startles when she hears him, eyes going wide before she realizes who it is.

“Oh,” she breathes.

Lochlan shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” she says quickly, her voice as soft as the ripples in the water. “I—I don’t mind.”

Lochlan hesitates, then sits down a few feet away, dipping his feet in as well. He feels stupid. He should say something, but his mind is blank.

She glances at him, then looks away just as fast. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Yeah. You?”

She nods, gaze fixed on the water. For a moment, neither of them say anything.

Then, hesitantly, she speaks again. “You’re Saxon’s brother.”

It’s not a question, but he nods anyway. “Yeah.”

She frowns slightly, like she’s trying to piece something together. “You’re not like him.”

Lochlan lets out a breath of a laugh. “No. I’m not.”

Her lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile but isn’t sure if she should.

Lochlan watches her, the way her fingers skim the surface of the water, the way her hair falls over one shoulder. His chest feels tight.

He should leave.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “I—uh—I could—” He stops, grimacing at how awkward he sounds. “If you ever want someone to, um. Walk around with. I mean—not that you need someone. But—”

She looks at him then.

Really looks at him.

And for the first time, she smiles.

“Okay.”

Lochlan feels like his heart is about to combust.

From that night on, they start finding each other more often.

They never plan it, but somehow, they always end up in the same places at the same time. A quiet hallway. A secluded part of the beach. The rooftop terrace, where they sit close but not touching, their conversations filled with hesitant words and stolen glances.

Lochlan doesn’t know how to act around her. She makes him nervous in a way no one else does.

And yet, he can’t stay away.

Neither can she.

It’s dangerous, his parents wouldn’t approve. He knows it.

But when she grabs his wrist one night, pulling him down a hallway, whispering, Come on, as they sneak toward her room, Lochlan doesn’t care.

Because when she closes the door behind them, standing close enough that he can hear her breath hitch, all he can think about is how badly he wants to be near her.

Lochlan leans against the wall, heart hammering against his ribs, hands stuffed into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. She stands just a few steps away, watching him with that soft, uncertain gaze.

Neither of them say anything at first. The air feels thick, charged with something he doesn’t know how to name.

She looks down, shifting her weight. “Do your parents know you’re out this late?”

Lochlan lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “They’d kill me if they did.”

She hesitates, her fingers toying with the hem of her dress again. “Mine too.”

Lochlan glances at her. “They strict?”

She shrugs. “Not really. They just—” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “They have expectations.”

Lochlan exhales sharply. “Yeah. I get that.”

She lifts her head slightly. “Your parents too?”

He huffs a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “More than you know.”

She steps closer, just slightly, like she’s drawn in by the weight in his voice. “What do they expect from you?”

Lochlan hesitates. He never talks about this, not really. But something about her makes it feel easy, like she won’t judge him for it.

He swallows. “To be like my dad. Or like Saxon. Confident. Charismatic. The kind of guy who takes what he wants without hesitating.” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “But I’m not like that.”

She watches him, her expression unreadable. Then, softly, she says, “I like that you’re not like that.”

Lochlan stills.

His throat goes dry.

She looks away quickly, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it’s already hanging between them, thick and heavy and impossible to ignore.

Lochlan swears his heart stops.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he steps closer, close enough that he can see the way her breath catches, the way her lips part slightly.

“What about you?” he asks, his voice lower now. “What do your parents expect?”

She hesitates. “To be… proper. To be the kind of girl they can be proud of. Quiet. Polite. Someone who won’t embarrass them.”

Lochlan frowns. “You’re already all of that.”

Her lips twitch, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “Not enough.”

Lochlan clenches his fists. He hates that she feels that way. Hates that she thinks she isn’t enough.

She looks at him then, really looks at him, and something shifts in the air.

It’s terrifying, how easy it would be to close the distance between them.

And then she does.

Just slightly, but enough.

Lochlan doesn’t think.

He just moves.

Their lips meet hesitantly, soft and uncertain, like neither of them are sure they’re allowed to do this. Lochlan can feel her breath, shaky and warm against his skin. His hands hover at her waist, unsure if he should touch her, if he’s allowed to.

Then she makes a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a whimper, and Lochlan is gone.

He grips her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the way she melts into him. Her hands reach up, hesitantly brushing against his jaw before settling there, her thumbs grazing his skin.

It’s slow, nervous, desperate in a way neither of them fully understand.

Lochlan has never kissed anyone like this before.

He doesn’t think he ever will again.

When they finally break apart, their breaths are uneven, their foreheads nearly touching.

She exhales softly, a dazed little smile tugging at her lips.

Lochlan swallows, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress.

“I think,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “I might be obsessed with you.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

“Me too.”

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He’s is sexy omg his voice near the end THOSE RUNSSS

???????

I have 4 fics in the works rn and idk if I’m gonna post two tmrw but I do know tmrw im posting a Valentine’s Day one for hamzah and Chris. Saturday I’m posting Hamzah dating hcs and warriors part 3. Sunday hamzah meeting your family fic and a third part for Frosted Flakes. Honestly things might change because I always think of other shit and write for it but tmrw is definitely Chris and hamzah valentine’s special

is there any chance you’d be doing timothee chalamet stuff? i rlly like ur writing and ur 70s theme :)) (also i love the hamzah stuff)

I meant to reply to this with the post but it’s posted now!!

ooooooo gimme dat

call me by your name (2017)

call me by your last name (2025)