Call Me By Your Name (2017)

I’m not in LOVE

chris and babydoll reader

“it’s just a silly phase I’m going through”

Chris likes to think he’s immune to love, that it’s something for other people, not him. He’s the guy who coasts through life, carefree and untouchable, too busy being the center of attention to bother with anything as serious as feelings. At least, that’s what he tells himself whenever she’s around.

She’s just a friend—he repeats it like a mantra. The girl who sits shotgun in Eclipse, singing along to her disco tapes while he pretends he’s annoyed, though he never skips the track. The one who calls him out when his ego gets too big but does it with a laugh that makes it impossible for him to get mad. She’s the grounding force he never asked for, the one person who doesn’t fall for his charm but somehow makes him want to be charming anyway.

He doesn’t take what he feels for her seriously. He can’t. If he starts calling it love—if he starts admitting that maybe she’s more than just a cool girl who’s fun to have around—then he’s tied down. And Chris doesn’t do tied down. Not yet. Not when he’s got a reputation to keep up and a world to conquer. So he brushes it off, tells himself it’s just a passing thing, a silly crush that’ll fade.

But it doesn’t. It lingers in the way his eyes follow her when she’s laughing at something he didn’t even say. It’s in the way he drives her home slower than necessary, taking the long way just to keep her in the car a little longer. It’s in the way he notices the small things about her—how her curls shine when the sun hits them, how her New York accent slips out when she’s really excited, how her smile feels like it’s changing the air around them.

Chris won’t admit it, not even to himself, but she’s gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever has. She makes his world feel different, brighter, more real. But instead of leaning into it, he hides behind his usual bravado, throwing out half-baked jokes and acting like she doesn’t matter as much as she does.

Maybe one day he’ll figure it out—that what he feels isn’t just some fleeting crush. It’s not something he can brush off or laugh away. It’s real, and it’s hers. But for now, he’s stuck somewhere in between, holding on to his careless image while quietly letting her become his favorite part of everything.

For now, he tells himself he’s fine with the way things are. No labels, no big confessions, just the two of them driving around with her disco tapes and his bad jokes. But there’s a part of him that wonders, late at night when he’s alone, if maybe one day he’ll be brave enough to let her see how much she really matters. How much she’s already changed him.

@issysh3ll

Literal doll

I NEED some Saxon requests guys please im begging

I don’t really watch the kalogeras sisters just cause they’re not really my type of humor, but I have the biggest crush on Sunday wtf SHES SO SWEET AND PRETTY AND HER LAUGH. Thats a face you’d go to war for. I just started getting edits and clips of them on my fyp randomly and they are all very pretty but SUNDAY. HER NAME IS LITERALLY SUNDAY LIKE SHES NOT REAL

I’ll take him just like this🙏🏽

Can you make yet another AMAZING Lochlan x reader fic? Possibly one where she’s poc or lower class and they meet while at the full moon party?

And maybe they have a fun romance before the end of the vacation, obviously with his parents not knowing or approving, could it also be spicer if you’re comfortable with it? Thanks! Your work is SOOO GOOD!!!

FULL MOON

accidentally fell in love with this reader. You will see more of her and them

Lochlan didn’t mean to stare. Really, he didn’t.

But there was something about her. Maybe it was her hair, big, voluminous curls that bounced when she moved, catching the moonlight and flickering in and out of the neon haze of the Full Moon Party. Maybe it was her laugh, high pitched, almost like a squeal, pure joy wrapped in sound. Or maybe it was her smile, the way her slightly imperfect teeth made her seem all the more perfect.

His gaze lingered too long.

Saxon, standing beside him, caught on immediately. “No, dude,” he said, reaching out to turn Lochlan’s head the other way. “No. We’re not doing this.”

Lochlan barely heard him. The drugs in his system, still fresh, still making his skin tingle, his chest light, were building him a new confidence, one he wasn’t used to. He felt untouchable, like his usual nervousness had been stripped away by the pounding bass and flashing lights. He didn’t overthink it. Didn’t talk himself out of it.

He just walked over.

The closer he got, the more details stood out. The glow of her skin, the single dimple in her cheek when she turned to say something to her friend. It was unfair, the effect she had on him. Like she was something soft in a world that had always felt a little too sharp.

When she noticed him standing there, she tilted her head, smile still lingering. “Hey,” she said, voice soft but not shy.

“Hey,” he echoed, suddenly aware he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

She studied him, eyes flickering across his face before she grinned. “You lost or something?”

He shook his head. “No, I just—” He cut himself off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw you.”

She blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, that squeal of hers breaking through. “You saw me?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Lochlan felt his mouth twitch into a lopsided grin. “And I wanted to come over.”

She gave him a long look, her dimple deepening as she took him in. Then, as if deciding something, she stepped closer. “Well,” she mused, reaching up without hesitation to straighten the collar to his shirt. “Now you’re here.”

He swallowed, his skin burning where her fingers brushed against him. She was touchy, comfortable in her own space and in his, like she belonged there. He wasn’t used to it, not in the way she did it. Not in the way it made him feel.

“Guess I am,” he murmured.

Her smile widened. “Guess you are.”

The party raged on around them, but Lochlan barely noticed. His world had narrowed down to the girl in front of him, her curls, her dimple, the way she made him feel like maybe, for once, he wasn’t just the younger Ratliff brother standing in Saxon’s shadow.

Maybe, to her, he was just Lochlan.

And maybe that was enough.

She didn’t step back. Didn’t give him space. Instead, she reached up again, fingertips grazing his jaw, trailing down his cheek like she was trying to memorize him.

Lochlan went still. He wasn’t used to this. Girls weren’t usually this… bold with him. Not like this. Not in a way that wasn’t forced or teasing. But she was different. She wasn’t playing a game, she just did things because she wanted to.

He swallowed hard, watching her eyes flicker between his, a quiet curiosity settling between them. “You don’t talk much, do you?” she teased.

Lochlan let out a breathy chuckle. “I do,” he said, “just not when I feel like an idiot.”

She grinned, her fingers slipping up to his temple, smoothing over his hair. “Why do you feel like an idiot?”

“Because I’m standing in front of you.”

Her laughter was immediate, bright and sweet and unrestrained. She shook her head, her curls brushing against his chest as she leaned in, resting her chin on his shoulder for a second before pulling back just enough to look at him again.

“You’re funny,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Lochlan shrugged. “Not really.”

She hummed, tilting her head. “No, I think you are. You just don’t know it.”

His lips parted, but before he could say anything, she leaned up—pressing a quick, barely-there kiss to his cheek.

Lochlan blinked.

She did it again. And again.

Soft, fleeting kisses along his jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his lips. Not lingering, just there and gone, like she was testing something.

Lochlan’s breath hitched.

His hands twitched at his sides, wanting to do something, touch her waist, thread his fingers through her hair, pull her closer, but he was frozen, stuck between disbelief and pure, dizzying want.

Then, finally, she pressed her lips to his.

It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t rushed. It was warm and sweet and slow, like she had all the time in the world, like she wanted to savor it.

Lochlan felt lightheaded.

When she pulled away, her smile was soft, almost shy despite how openly affectionate she was. “Still feel like an idiot?”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. “Just feel lucky.”

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

BOTH. AT THE SIME TIME. guys i neeeeed requests for the white lotus s3

i’m gonna sob THANK YOU<33 i love your whole 70s theme so much, i can’t get over it

Omg this makes me so happy because I didn’t think anyone would really vibe with it since no one really does it. But this made my heart flutter tysm🙏🏽🤍

mariathemostbeautifulsoundiveeverheardmariamariamariamariaallthebeautifulsoundsintheworldinasinglewordmariamariamariamariamariamariamariaivejustmetagirlnamedmariaandsuddenlythatnamewillneverbethesametomemariaivejustkissedagirlnamedmariaandsuddenlyifoundhowwonderfulthesoundcanbemariasayitloudandtheresmusicplayingsayitsoftanditsalmostlikeprayingmariaillneverstopsayibgmariamariamariamariamariamariamariamariamariamariasayitloudandtheresmusicplayingsayitsoftanditsalmostlikeprayingmariaillneverstopsayingmariathemostbeautifulsoundiveeverheardmaria..

YAHT ROCK???? Oh you see my exact vision

⋆ ࣪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