I’m Not Tryna Start Anything BUTTTT The Slushynoobz Fandom On Tiktok Is Starting To Get Annoying As

Yall should uhh definitely look at my edits on my TikTok account 👀🙏🏽 hotelfilmms

Yo??

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

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

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

How they would dress in THE 70s

Slushy Noobz

hamzah..

jeans, bell bottoms, graphic tee, chunky belts, leather jacket, adidas, no color coordination, less effort, tucked shirts, plain

martin..

just nerdy, plaid, button ups, vests, stripes, belts, tucked shirts, skinnier bell bottoms, used to get dress by his mom majority of his childhood, white converse

mandy..

light colors, plaid, skirts skirts skirts, blue, yellows, pinks, browns, chunky shoes, headbands, floral print, girly girl, charm bracelets, cutesy

Sturniolos

chris..

tanks, big tees, bell bottoms, flares, baggy jeans, big belts, plain colors, rings, thrift, same pair of converse, open chest

matt..

basically chris just with more effort, flares, bell bottoms, stripes, plaid, scrunched up sleeves, jackets, wrist accessories, graphic tees, versatile, chunky belts

nick..

fashion icon, diva, necklaces, sweaters, layered collars, cleaner, more effort, doc martins, converse, jackets, v necks

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba11s @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 @yearlyism

WHY DIDNT THEY KEEP THIS IN WTH???

UGHHHHBBBJKKKKKKKKKKKUGWGGWHWHEHEJ

LMAOOOOO PLSSS

More Hamzah fics PLEASEEEE

the BLONDE

teenage dirtbag hamzah and reader

It was 2 a.m., and the whole world was quiet except for the hum of the bathroom light and the faint scratch of a record spinning in the next room. The tile was cold under her knees, and Hamzah sat on the closed toilet lid, knees spread, head bowed slightly as she ran gloved fingers through his hair. His roots had grown out, dark waves creeping past the bleach, and he had been dragging his feet about re-dyeing them. But tonight, somewhere between a lazy kiss and a cigarette on the fire escape, she had decided for him.

“You’re dramatic, you know that?” she murmured, combing through the strands, sectioning them with careful fingers.

Hamzah smirked, eyes half-lidded. “You love it.”

She did. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t.

Outside, the city was restless, cars rolling slow down wet pavement, a couple arguing on the next block, a distant dog barking at nothing. But in here, it was just them. The sharp scent of bleach, the softness of his hair between her fingers, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You always do this for yourself?” she asked, dipping the brush into the mixture.

“Yeah.” He yawned, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Tried to get Martin to help me once, but he almost burned my scalp off.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I won’t let you go bald. Again. Hold still.”

He closed his eyes as she worked, pressing her thumb to his forehead when he leaned too far forward. The silence between them was easy, comfortable, stretching out in the dim light. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You ever think about just keeping it natural?” she asked after a while.

Hamzah cracked one eye open, smirking. “You don’t like the blonde?”

“I like you, dumbass.” She flicked his forehead lightly. “Just wondering.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t know. It’s just… me, I guess. Feels like I should be like this.”

She understood that more than she could put into words.

She finished applying the dye and leaned back on her heels, peeling off the gloves. “Alright, we wait.”

Hamzah stretched, rolling his neck before grabbing her wrist and tugging her toward him. “C’mere.”

She let herself be pulled onto his lap, arms draped over his shoulders, fingers tangling loosely in the still-damp strands at the nape of his neck. He smelled like soap and bleach and cigarettes. Like him.

“You tired?” she murmured.

He hummed again, a little softer this time, forehead pressing to hers. “Not if you stay.”

She smiled, fingertips tracing lazy circles at the base of his skull. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And she meant it.

The bleach had been sitting long enough, and now it was time to rinse. She nudged Hamzah’s knee, motioning for him to stand. He groaned dramatically, stretching his arms before rolling his shoulders and stepping toward the sink.

“Alright, put your head down,” she instructed, turning on the faucet, testing the water with her fingers until it was just warm enough.

Hamzah bent over the sink, arms braced on either side. She ran her fingers through his hair as the water rushed over it, watching the bleach swirl away in pale, milky streaks. His dark roots were gone now, replaced with that familiar platinum blonde that somehow suited him so well.

“You okay?” she asked, kneading her fingertips against his scalp, gentle but firm.

Hamzah exhaled through his nose. “Feels nice,” he muttered, voice slightly muffled by the sink.

She smiled to herself, rinsing out the last bit of bleach, then reached for the towel. “Alright, you’re done.”

Hamzah lifted his head, shaking out his hair like a wet dog before she could wrap the towel around him properly. She swatted his shoulder. “You’re irritating.”

He grinned, wrapping the towel around his head like some dramatic movie star. “I’m beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes, dragging him over to sit on the edge of the tub. “Sit still, I need to dry it.”

Hamzah sat obediently, hands resting in his lap as she plugged in the blow dryer. It roared to life, sending warm air rushing through his damp hair. She combed through it with her fingers, tousling it slightly, watching as the color settled in fully under the heat.

His eyes fluttered shut again, that same relaxed expression he had when she was running her fingers through his hair earlier. It was rare, seeing him this still, this quiet in a way that wasn’t wrapped in nervous energy or some joke he was waiting to deliver.

“You’re like a cat,” she said over the hum of the dryer.

Hamzah cracked one eye open. “Yeah? That’s pretty weird I’m not a cat?”

She smirked, switching the dryer off. “Nah. Just saying you like being taken care of.”

His lips parted slightly, like he was going to argue, but then he just shrugged, smirking. “Maybe I just like when you do it.”

She flicked his forehead again. “Cheesy.”

“Maybe.” He leaned back against the wall, looking up at her, brown eyes still half-lidded, long lashes casting shadows against his cheekbones. “But you like it.”

She ran her fingers through his now-dry hair, feeling the soft texture of it under her touch. He was right. She did.

But then she tugged lightly at one of the uneven strands near the back of his neck. “You need a haircut.”

Hamzah groaned, slumping dramatically against the wall. “I just got my hair done, and now you wanna chop it off? You’re fucked up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can stop by my dad’s shop. I’ll tell him to fix it up for you.”

Hamzah immediately sat up straighter, brows lifting in mild alarm. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” she said, completely nonchalant. “What, you scared?”

Hamzah rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “I dunno. I feel like he already thinks I’m weird.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Why would he think that?”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Because I am weird! And I always say the wrong thing! And I— I dunno, I feel like dads don’t usually like me.”

She laughed softly, leaning down a little. “Well, lucky for you, he doesn’t hate you. He actually thinks you’re funny.”

Hamzah blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” she smirked. “But now that you’re all nervous about it, maybe I should warn him that you’re a weirdo before you show up.”

Hamzah groaned again, covering his face with his hands. “Forget the haircut. I’ll just grow it out, become a new person. Change my name. Start a new life.”

She tugged at his hair again. “Oh, shut up. You’re coming.”

Hamzah sighed heavily, letting his hands drop. He looked up at her again, still slightly wary. “…Fine. But if your dad actually does think I’m weird, I’m blaming you.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

I accidentally deleted something I’ve been working very hard on since last night and I’m so sick so this is very lazy but I’m so upset pls

@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

I ACTUALLY GASSPEDDD when i saw ur theme??!?? its soooo cute?!!

Ur actually the sweetest that’s my reaction everytime I see ur blog😭 UR SO SWEET ILYILYILY

It’s not gay if it’s in a three-way