#I hope you never have a good night sleep ever

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Arizona | On Call

part i

summary: frankie has a question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. mostly fluff here, folks. and some (maybe a lot of?) angst. just a couple of buds chillin'. some talk of dead/absent parents.

reader is a teacher and has hair, but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 5.1k

an: wow - i really did not expect this little guy to get the response it did yesterday. eternally grateful for your support and enthusiasm. i love you. hope y'all enjoy <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

That taste All I ever needed All I ever wanted Too dumb to surrender

- arizona, kings of leon

series masterlist | main masterlist

It’s quiet in the house. 

Golden, gooey sunlight pools on the living room floor, slanting through the windows. It’s warm against the arm he has resting on the edge of the sofa, not a chirp or a lawnmower whirring outside, and when Frankie closes his eyes, you’re the first thing he sees. 

Evenings like this are the mirror of when your truck first rattled up the street and groaned to a halt outside your front door. He can see it now, within the darkness behind his eyelids, how he’d peeked from behind the curtains in Lucia’s stifling room, her small, sleeping body sprawled on the bed behind him. How the truck door had swung open, how your bare legs had emerged from the cool of the cab, how you’d hopped down onto the pavement and raised a hand to shield your eyes from the low-lying sun. You’d licked your teeth as you’d rechecked the address and looked up at the house - your house. Blown a deep breath out from your cheeks and then turned back to the truck to scrabble around for your keys. 

Frankie had turned from the window as soon as you’d bent across the front seat, only glimpsing the bottom of the plush of your ass peeking from below your sweat shorts before he’d swept the curtain and the image aside.

He’d given it two minutes before he’d clattered out of his front door at the same time as you’d emerged from yours, raising a hand in greeting over the fence that separated your houses. You’d answered with a wide grin and a lilting hey, neighbour as he’d looped the boundary, holding out a palm for you to shake. I'm Frankie, he’d said, shooting a thumb over his shoulder at his open front door. From across the way. You’d given him your name in return, quirking an eyebrow as you asked whether he was feeling strong.

The truth is, that day Frankie would have been whatever you needed him to be. Immediately taken by your warm charm, your glinting smile - the mischief always just behind your eyes, the way you moved through your house. Even now, he cooks you dinner during exam season when you’re up to your eyeballs in papers, mows your lawn when he’s already cutting his own. Offers a shoulder to cry on when you’re missing your dad, always your best friend with spare beers when you’re free on a Saturday night - and you never fail to return the favour. 

The way things are now, it’s like he can’t even remember what it was like to not have you next door. What it was like when he wasn’t launching your paper onto your porch, what it was like when you weren’t soaking him and Lucia with the hose over the fence as they launched water balloons at you from the other side, both your backyards filled with squeals and shouts of laughter. He’s so glad - so infinitely glad - that fate or whatever it was that had a hand in these things dropped you on the curb that evening a year ago. That he had grinned and laughed and said yes ma’am, that he had lept at the chance to be a good neighbour and started lifting the boxes from the truck bed, helped you set up your wifi, invited you in for a beer in his kitchen when you ordered food for the two of you as Lucia slept soundly upstairs. 

He remembers being shocked at how easy it was. Easy conversation, easy laughter, easy silence. Easy friendship.

How he’d looked forward to seeing you across your lawns in the morning, calling out your greetings as you clambered into your truck and he fastened Lucia into her booster in his. The catch ups over the fence when you’d finished your days, recounting stories from the classroom or cockpit, Lucia chipping in her own from nursery. The delight in your eyes when they’d knocked on your door a couple of weekends after you’d moved in, arms laden with a tub of homemade cookies. How you’d invited them in, drinking coffee and juice, how easily you’d gotten on with Lucia. She’d adored you after that first afternoon spent together, falling asleep in your lap as you’d settled in front of the TV in low evening light. You and Frankie had talked long afterwards in lowered voices, you refusing to be relieved of his daughter’s tiny sleeping body, insisting you were just as comfortable as she was. The little girl only stirred when Frankie made you snort with laughter at something one of his friends had said. 

Conversation had turned to friends, family. He told you about his brothers in arms, his mom and dad, Lucia’s mother. A woman who was jetting across the country as a flight attendant, an amicable breakup leading to easy co-parenting. You’d gladly told him about your friends, but hesitated before telling him of how your mom had disappeared from your life when you were little, how your dad had passed away a couple years back. He’d stretched an arm out, one hand settling on and squeezing your knee. Big palms warm and heavy, thick fingers gentle and understanding. When you’d followed the line of his arm up to meet his eyes again, crow's feet folded in their corners. Kindness, understanding. Someone who knew loss, too.

He asked about your dad, what he was like, and you’d regaled him with stories of growing up with ice-cream dates, summers you spent fishing on the local lake, how he’d carry you on his shoulders, his tight throat when he told you how proud he was of you at graduation. 

He’d tentatively asked if your dad had been why you moved out here, understanding the need to put physical distance between yourself and the pain and memory of your surroundings.

No, you’d said, eyes glinting ruefully, this was because of a breakup.

Frankie hadn’t pushed for anymore after that.

You’d invited them over for dinner the weekend after, and Frankie had stood by your side in the kitchen, insisting on helping you cook, immovable despite the rag you whipped at him. As you chopped and fried, you'd told Lucia about stars and blackholes and plants and bugs. She was especially taken by bugs.

You’d dug out books you’d borrowed - and never returned - from the school library for her to pore over, even giving her a magnifying glass to use to hunt for critters in your backyard as you and Frankie had washed up afterwards. The three of you then spent an hour on your hands and knees on the grass as Lucia found worms and beetles and caterpillars, a soft smile on Frankie’s face as you shouldered her never-ending questions with all the grace of a bona-fide teacher. 

Every night that week, Lucia had clamoured to go next door and see the bug lady again.

Frankie had had to explain that you were busy working (yes, even this late, mija), and then had to endure the tiny stomping of feet as Lucia explained to him - with all the levity a four-year-old could muster - that there just weren’t enough bugs in their garden; they had to see the bug lady.

Bug lady. The first nickname they’d christened you with. You’d laughed with a full chest when he told you, and assured him it would be a mantle you’d bear with honour. Bug lady. And then, with time and growing softness, it was shortened to bug, and it stuck. 

Tonight, there is a different question to can we come over and look for bugs? that he needs to ask.

He thinks - knows - you’re the right person for it. Deep in his heart. Can count on one hand the number of people he’d entrust the safety of his daughter with, and all of them are too far away to call.

He needs a babysitter. And so far, he’s gotten nowhere fast with his inquiries.

The numbers he’s tried have been polite enough, more than good at their jobs. But they have clients already, families who came way before him that meant accommodating sitting at relatively short notice would be sporadic at best and impossible at worst.

And he’s running out of time. 

His first late night flight is Thursday; some rich guy taking a date up into the skies to watch the view over the city. It’s good money, and he'd be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the sights, too. The glimmer of the city below, the ridges of the hills, flash of the ocean in the distance. The worlds and lives of so many people cradled in the bowl of the valley. It’s beautiful, humbling. It’s worth sharing.

You’d enjoy it, he knows. And every night flight reminds him of an evening not too long ago when he’d struck a deal with you, asking you to grab him a beer when you’d gotten up to go to the bathroom mid-movie. You’d wiggled your eyebrows at him, what’s in it for me?

He’d snorted at you, offering various services and items in exchange, all refused, but then before I’ll take you up in the heli if you - had even finished leaving his mouth, you’d leaped up from the sofa, grabbing his hand to shake on it before he could back out. At night. You’d specified, nodding, wide-eyed as though he’d been the one to say it.

He’d rolled his eyes at your eagerness, demanding you make sure it was an extra cold one for that, and you’d bowed in the doorway, smirking. 

‘At your service, my liege,’ you’d said, before scampering out the way of the cushion Frankie launched at you. 

He’d had to ask you to explain to Lucia why she shouldn’t call him my liege two days later, when it seemed she’d lost the meaning of Papi in an effort to be like you. You’d snorted into your soda when he told you, but had fixed Lucia with serious eyes when you told her that Papi was a very special name to call her dad, one that helped him feel loved and appreciated. Lucia had acquiesced quickly afterwards, stretching her arms out to Frankie before he lifted her from her chair, tucking her face into his neck as she apologised profusely, reassuring him that she still loved him the same, just that my liege had sounded so fun coming from your mouth. Frankie had looked over her curls at your bitten lip, your silent laughter, holding his own amusement behind his teeth as he stroked her back and cooed that he knew, mija, it’s okay.

He remembers, with a lurch below his navel, how Lucia had then asked whether you’d call him Papi to show him he was loved, too. How both your jaws had fallen slack, how something had flickered behind your eyes too quickly for him to catch before you’d told her you call him other things to the same effect. Fish, buddy, and then mouthed over the top of her head, asshole. Frankie had laughed, the jumping of his body pushing Lucia into her own giggles, and you’d soon followed.

It’s strange how much like a family you’ve become over the last year, how well you’ve slotted into their lives. One of his best friends, pulling up with the boys when it comes to ranking his favourite people. Filling gaps he didn’t even know were there, healing fissures he thought had closed. How well you fit in his arms, how well your head fits beneath his chin. How well your lips might fit with his, how well you -

A breath of laughter puffs from his nose, and he rolls his eyes at himself. He’s too old to have a crush, too old to be smiling to himself when he thinks of the girl next door, his best pal. Besides, he has a bad track record with dating friends, anyway.

He checks his watch, stills, listening for the sounds of a restless daughter. Satisfied, he pushes himself up from the orange-bathed haven of the couch with a grunt, pulls open the front door, and skips down the porch steps.

The stubble of the lawn is cool beneath his socks as he jogs across the grass, curving around the picket fence between your properties to pop back up on the other side, striding towards your house.

He takes the steps up your porch two at a time, rapping his knuckles against the sage green of your door. He waits no more than five seconds before he knocks again, earning an irritated alriiiiight from the other side.

The click of a lock, and it swings open to reveal you in shorts, a cap, and a worn cotton t-shirt - sun-warmed, soft, gorgeous. 

You grin at the man on your doorstep, and he grins back.

‘Evenin’, teach.’

You click your tongue at the nickname.

‘Way past your bedtime, Morales,’ you tease, ‘You need a warm milk?’

Frankie flicks the back of his hand against the bill of your cap, giggling as it falls to the ground. 

You smooth your hair, scrabbling for the hat, scowling at him.

‘Need a warm milk,’ he mocks, and you land a carefully curled fist against his bicep as you stand, deadening his arm. ‘Ow, pendeja,’ he pouts, rubbing at it. ‘You know, wearing a cap indoors still doesn’t make you cool.’

That pretty, playful little scowl flickers over your face again.

‘I just finished my study break, actually.’

‘Oh yeah? What are we studying today? A million ways teenagers make your life hard?’

The scowl is stolen by a bitten back smile, and you wave him off, turning on your heel down the hallway, tugging your cap back on.

‘Whaddya want? Pain in my ass,’ you call, walking away from him and back into your kitchen. He follows, drumming his fingers along your sideboard as he goes.

‘I need a favour, if you have any spare.’

Your kitchen is bathed in the same warm glow as his living room, but instead of quiet, there’s the slow turn and hum of your laundry machine in the closet, the sweet croon of a voice from the record player in the corner. Fruit in a bowl, bottles of gifted wine, pictures of friends, paintings from students. The jungle of houseplants you keep towards the patio doors, the jumble of papers, books, planners, and pens spread around your laptop on the table.

It’s so you. So like home.

You pick up the stem of your wine glass, half full, between your thumb and pointer finger, eyes turned up to the ceiling as you count on your other hand. You wince and suck your teeth, eyes falling back to his.

‘I dunno. ’S not looking good, Fish,’ you say somberly, ‘My favour quota’s already been exceeded this year.’

‘Baby, it’s March.’ 

You shrug.

‘Been busy.’

He raises an eyebrow at you, and you scoff.

‘Well, I guess I could make an exception for you, big guy.’

He smiles, leaning against the kitchen counter.

‘I need a babysitter.’

You nod, swallowing a mouthful of wine before placing the glass back on its coaster. Papers shift and whisper as you hunt for your phone, buried in the piles of essays.

‘Oh. Sure. I have some numbers -’

‘Actually - I was thinking -’

‘Now that’s dangerous for all of us.’

He points a finger at you, and you bite your lip, humour lighting your eyes.

‘Ha. Anyway. I was thinking - I know… I know you got that big car bill last month. And I know you don’t get paid enough. And you know Lucia loves you…’

You frown at him.

‘You want me to babysit?’

He bites his lip, looking over your table with clearer eyes. You’re busy. Always busy. Overworked and stressed. A heat crawls up his neck, early onset guilt.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He inhales deeply.

‘Yeah. But I’m starting to realise that might be a lot to ask.’

Hm.

He watches as you pull out a chair and sit at the table, studying him.

‘If it makes it any better, you’re my last resort.’

He’s relieved to hear a flutter of a giggle in response, and you clap your hand over your heart.

‘Ouch. There I was, thinking I meant more to you guys than that.’

He crosses his arms, shaking his head, smiling.

‘You know you do, bug.’

You take your cap off, throwing it away from you on the table, rubbing at your forehead.

‘I’ve got a lot of work to do, Frankie,’ you say softly, eyes gentle.

He sighs.

‘I know. You can say no. It’s just - all the numbers I’ve called are kind of booked up, that’s all. And I guess - I wanna leave her with someone I trust. Someone I know. At first, anyway.’

You stare at him still, thinking.

‘What are we talking?’

‘Once or twice a week. Three at the very most. Just for late night flights.’ He pauses. ‘I’ll pay you top dollar.’

You make a disapproving noise.

‘You don’t have to pay me, Frankie.’

‘Of course I do, don’t be ridiculous. It’s on your time. And if it helps you out…’ 

You frown at him, but he fixes you with a look. No negotiating. You turn your gaze out to your backyard. 

He watches, nervous, as you chew your thumb.

Your eyes find his again.

‘Can I take work over? To do round yours?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Do I have to cook?’

‘No. I’ll make sure there’s food. For both of you.’

You nod slowly.

‘And Luc is in bed by…?’

‘Six.’

You nod again.

‘I’m not expecting the whole nine yards,’ he says, shifting. ‘No cookies or playdough, nothing like that. Just someone to look after her. And I’ll still be making calls.’

‘When would you need me?’

Frankie’s mouth twitches. 

‘Thursday this week. Tuesday and Friday next week.’

You take another drink of your wine. 

‘Can I sleep on it?’

‘Of course, bug.’ He smiles. You return it.

‘Then I’ll sleep on it. I’ll see what the schedule’s like and let you know tomorrow.’

His smile widens.

‘Alright. Thank you. Really.’

You stand from your chair, holding up a palm.

‘I ain’t said yes yet, Morales.’

The smile turns goofy.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

He steps away from the counter and pulls you into his arms. Holds you there for a minute, rocking, enjoying the warmth, the closeness, your smell. Reminds himself that it’s weird to think about your scent as much as he does.

You untangle yourself from him, hands on his biceps where you give a little squeeze.

‘Alright,’ you say, ‘Off you go. See if the kid hasn’t burned the house down yet.’

He chuckles as he retreats, backing down your hallway to the open front door.

‘See you tomorrow, teach.’

‘Get lost, Francisco.’

You sign off by flipping each other the bird as he pulls the door shut behind him, just as you usually do.

And as he steps back into his still-quiet house, he tries to tamp down his grin and his fluttering heart, just as he usually does.

You text him two hours later, when he’s fresh from the shower, clad in only his boxers.

Alright, I slept on it. I’ll be round Thursday.

Along with the swell of relief in his chest, this time the grin and the flutter are much harder to smother.

The night before you left for college, you’d had a nightmare.

You weren’t the type to scare easily; eighteen years old and free from any of the real worries the world could bring. And you were so fucking excited for this next adventure, so ready to begin the rest of your life. Still, you’d found yourself doing something you hadn't done since you were a child.

You’d knocked first - softly, so softly. Waited for a come in that never came. Your dad had stirred anyway as you closed the door quietly behind you, turning, half asleep, to see you stood twisting your fingers in the middle of the carpet.

‘Y’alright, sweetheart?’ he’d asked, all gravelly and tender, threatening tears to spill over your lashline.

‘Yeah,’ you’d mumbled, ‘Just had a nightmare.’

He’d simply lifted the covers on the other side of the bed, and you’d slipped into their warmth, scooching into his side, breathing in his smell. He’d cradled you in his arms like you were still a kid - afraid, vulnerable - and you’d let him. Let the tears soak into his shirt. Felt his grip tighten on you, the kiss he pressed to the top of your head. The promise within it, within the cool moonlight bleeding through the curtains. 

If you don’t wanna do it, all you gotta do is say.

He’d known you didn’t need to hear it, knew it was all you’d worked for, dreamed of. So instead, he’d murmured something else.

‘I’m so proud of you.’

You’d nodded into his chest, and he’d waited until the tears stopped falling before he asked if you wanted to talk about it. You hadn’t at first. But he’d always promised that talking about a dream broke it.

‘I dreamt you weren’t here.’

The vision had hung in the room for a moment, lapping against your dad’s quiet breathing.

‘I am. I’m right here, sweetheart.’

You’d nodded again, that deep, swooping panic of being completely alone in the world threatening to claw through your chest and sweep away his comfort. You couldn’t say anything else. Nothing about the empty house you’d seen, the dust sheets covering lonely chairs.

‘Always gonna be here. Can’t get rid of me.’

You’d both known he was wrong. That one day, this night would be a memory. That one day, you’d try to remember what it felt like to be held like this, known like this, try to remember the scent of his sleepshirt, and not be able to. But that would be years - decades - away. Tomorrow you start the beginning of your real, grownup life. Tomorrow, he’ll drive you across the state. He’ll haul your boxes up to your dorm room, and he’ll sit on your bed and look around and smile at you. The smile will be small, full of love, pride, grief. The grief of letting his little girl go, of looking at you and seeing you at all ages at once. Newborn, tiny in his big hands. On his shoulders, laughing at the sky. Nervous on your first day at school. Shy at the gate of highschool. Flying through the years, surrounded by friends, now landing here. 

And when he stands to leave, to tear himself away, the tears will fall again. You’ll say you’re not sure, your whole world rocking, tilting. And he’ll tell you that you might not be, but he is. You’re gonna be great. You’ll be amazing. And his most favourite line of all.

A ship in a harbour is safe. But that’s not what ships were built for.

And you’ll laugh, and you’ll hug him, and you’ll wish you could for a little longer. But you’ll walk him downstairs all the same, out to his car. You’ll shield your eyes and wave until his license plate disappears, and then you’ll cry in the sun until you have a headache. By the time you’re out with your roommate that evening, you’ll feel better. 

You won’t think about whether he cried on the way home, whether his body shook with sobs. Whether he’s sat in front of the TV now, unable to focus on the movie that’s playing because the house is too damn quiet. Won’t think about how, when he tries to sleep, he can still feel that little girl curled up into his side. How he contemplates his own mortality, hopes it won’t come for him for decades, hopes he’ll see you graduate, meet someone, be happy, achieve all you want to.

For now, there is only the blue moonlight, the deep breathing, the warm arms.

And four years later, your nightmare will come true.

You’re awake, though barely. Faintly aware of the wet on your cheeks, of the ache deep in your chest. The memory, the dream. You try to burrow your face into him, try to breathe in his scent, recall the way he talks. And as the same moonlight from the dream floods your vision, you remember. 

Four years later, and the hurt is still as raw. 

You curl into yourself, folding your arms around your body, holding it in, holding it together. Breathe through it - in through the nose, out through the mouth. I love you. I love you. Your voice and your father’s blending together. You try not to let it overwhelm you. Try not to recall all the moments, all the last moments. The hospitals, the treatments, how he wasted away before you, how you could do nothing about it. But it’s hard. So hard, alone, in the middle of the night like this.

When the burn in your throat eases, you reach for your phone. 3:32am. You unlock it out of habit, texts still open. The conversation you’d had with Frankie earlier - times, dates, what he’d make you for dinner. 

You wish they could have met each other. 

You’re sure Frankie would have loved him. Would have loved his laugh, would have shot the shit about baseball, would have clapped him on the back and joined him for beers on the porch like he does with you. And you’re sure your dad would have loved Frankie. Would have seen his kindness, his patience, his humour. A good man, just like he was.

Sometimes, when the younger man leaves your kitchen, your dad appears, sat at the table across from you. 

‘You like him.’ He says. 

‘Come off it, dad,’ like you don’t both know you’re lying. He gives that knowing little shrug. 

‘Whatever, kid,’ he says, ‘I see the way you look at him. Like you looked at - who was it - Jordan, in seventh grade?’ You always throw something at him then. A marker, a highlighter. And he always laughs at you.

You click your phone screen off, bathed in half-darkness once again. Stare at the frozen ceiling fan, the divots and shadows on the ceiling. Tired, but too awake to sleep. 

You grumble as you swing your legs out from the covers, standing from the bed. Pad downstairs in the dark, flick on the kitchen light, fill the kettle and set it to boil. Through the window, across the way, Frankie’s kitchen light is also on. Your brow furrows - this isn’t a time either of you should be awake - but then he appears in the window, shirtless, busying himself with something by the sink, and you quickly avert your eyes. Something you’ve gotten good at doing since you moved here.

Good at desperately trying not to notice his soft curls, the way his biceps stretch his t-shirts, the way his shoulders fill doorways, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. The way he says your name, the golden skin you’ve glimpsed, the noises he might make -

You roll your eyes at yourself. Crashing out of an engagement, skipping town and developing a crush on the DILF next door is so… you. 

Annie would have gotten a kick out of it, that’s for sure.

The kettle finishes its boil, and you reach for a mug, a tea bag. Watch the tendrils of steam curl from the clutch of the ceramic as you brace your hands on the marble either side of it. You chew the inside of your cheek, head hanging between your shoulders, startling when your phone buzzes, furious-sounding as it crawls across the countertop. 

You know who it is before you see the caller ID. 

‘Hey, neighbour.’

‘Hey, bug.’

You smile into the receiver, holding the mobile to your ear as you move to the sink, adding cold water to the tea. You look up through the window to find Frankie also stood before his, looking back at you. Mercifully, he’s found a shirt, but his bed head still has your stomach turning in cartwheels. 

‘What’s up?’

‘Saw your light on. Wanted to check you’re okay.’

You hold up your mug, cheersing him through the glass. 

‘I’m good. Just having a little drink.’

You watch as he cocks his hip against the counter. 

‘Yeah? What kinda drink you got?’

You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes. 

‘Chamomile.’

There’s a beat, and then his voice is soft, tender.

‘Y’had a nightmare, too?’

You shake your head.

‘Not a nightmare, just a dream.’

‘Dad?’

You nod, sipping.

‘Yeah. You know how it is. Lucia okay?’

You watch him flick his gaze to the hallway, the stairs beyond your line of sight. Hear the scratch of his whiskers as he rubs at his beard.

‘She’s alright. Nothing a warm milk and her night light can’t fix.’

You smile at him.

‘You remind me of him, you know.’

Frankie pauses his scratching, peering out at you, surprised.

‘You’re a good dad. The best. He was, too.’

Your voice is low, affectionate. Something pulls deep in his gut, something that forces a tight bubble up his throat. He swallows a couple of times, closing his eyes to the kindness.

‘Thank you, bug.’

‘I mean it.’

He nods, voice crackly and deep when it comes to you.

‘I know.’

You watch each other a moment longer, separate rooms, separate houses, such closeness bridging those gaps. Frankie breaks the quiet.

‘You sure you’re okay?’

You smile, nod, sip.

‘I’m sure. Should head back to bed, anyway.’

Frankie hums down the line, thoughtful. A breath whistles through his nose.

‘G’night, bug.’

‘Good night, Fish.’

You wait for the beep of the disconnected line, Frankie’s wave through the window. The hard lump in your throat as you watch him retreat to the doorway of his kitchen, the darkness that stares back at you, the ache of being alone again on this moon of grief. 

And something quieter, more selfish. Creeping and tidal that laps at the edges, a want for a man you have convinced yourself you cannot have. A sadness that buzzes deep in your skin, curls back layers of your being, tells you that you cannot afford to be broken again. Not like your dad. Not like Annie. 

But you like him, your dad says. What’s so wrong with that?

You cocoon yourself tightly in your duvet, your back to the moonlight, the reminders. Tired eyes blinking at the door. Waiting. Waiting, in a different life, different house, different state, for eighteen year old you to tiptoe in and tell you about her nightmare. 

Waiting for you to tell her that her dad is right there.

That she should hold him a little longer before he drives home tomorrow. 

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Corruption fic - First Preview

It’s me, ya girl, comin’ at ya with a little preview! No active warnings for this one ☺️

"That's it, I'm cuttin' you off for tonight," Husk said sternly, whisking away your unfinished glass of whiskey. You'd been at the bar for only an hour and you've already downed 5 full glasses.

"Noooo, Husk c'mon...I'm fffffiiiinnee," you babbled, trying to push your head from the countertop unsuccessfully.

It's been a few months since you arrived in Hell after an unfortunate accident that ended in your early demise. But being a devout believer, you were so sure that Heaven would be your final destination. How wrong you were. You woke up in the fiery pit confused and scared, your body had transformed into that of a demon; you had become something you had feared for your entire life. When you first heard about the Hazbin Hotel, you nearly jumped at the opportunity for redemption. If there was even the slightest hope of getting out of here, you were going to take it. But your situation was more than troublesome, considering how you led your life up on Earth. So most nights, you could easily be found sitting on a bar stool, trying desperately to drown your sorrows and distract yourself from the reality you'd found yourself in.

What's worse...not everyone here is evil. It was ingrained into you that everyone down here in Hell deserved to be, they had earned this punishment. But getting to know some of the other residents at the hotel, that couldn't have been further from the truth! Was everything you were taught just complete lie?! For Heaven's sake, Charlie, the literal princess of Hell, was the sweetest and kindest being you've ever had the pleasure of meeting! And Vaggie, a former angel, so devout to Charlie and her dream, you've never seen two people more in love. Angel, although a bit eccentric and over the top, cared deeply for his friends and was ready to fight for them at a moment's notice. It was all...not what you expected, and you had a very difficult time coping with everything that you had been thrust into.

"You're shit faced," Husk snapped back. "Look, I know you're havin' a hard time with all this. But drinking away your issues ain't gonna solve any of 'em. You need to sleep this off." He watched you stumble off the bar stool, your one foot catching the other, resulting in a rather pitiful fall onto the carpet. But you couldn't feel anything, the alcohol helped mask the pain you were sure to feel tomorrow. You couldn't help but giggle at your own clumsiness. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." Husk grumbled.

Before you could even attempt to pull yourself off the ground, you saw a pair of black boots approaching you in a rather hurried manner.

"Woah!" the voice exclaimed, "Are you alright? Here, let me help you!" In no time, your limp body went from lying on the lobby floor to being hoisted up and helped back onto the bar stool you fell from. You turned your head to see Lucifer's concerned face staring back at you. "Husk, what happened?"

"She's drunk," the cat demon explained, "I told her she was done drinkin' for the night and she ate shit trying to stand up. I was about to help her back to her room-"

All of a sudden, a shadowy presence started to form behind the bar. A static filled laugh was heard before Alastor had popped up, startling the bar tender. "Husker, my good man!," the radio demon bellowed, "it seems as though I am in need of your assistance."

"Fuck! Why can't you just walk in here like a normal fucking person?" Husk grumbled.

Alastor only responded with a light chuckle before fixing his attention on you. "My, my, what have we here?" Alastor taunted. You could have sworn you heard a low growl coming from Lucifer beside you. "I say, my dear, I've never seen you look worse than you do now. What a pity, all of those teachings really didn't help you in the long run, now did they?"

You felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes at Alastor's cruel words. If you were sober, you would have run the other direction as fast as you could. Alastor had been the other real soul you met who you knew with every fiber of your being belonged in this pit. But considering you had no inhibitions and clearly no chance of getting away, you picked your head up and slammed your fists on the table in righteous anger.

"Ohhh, eat shit youuuu *hic* smiling prick!" You tried to stand up once more, only for your legs to buckle underneath you. Luckily, Lucifer had caught you before your face had met with the carpet again. "I-I don't deserve this! 'Least I'm TRYING to redeem m'self!"

Alastor's malicious grin never faltered. "Oh, and what a fabulous job you're doing! I do wonder how a woman such as yourself has fallen so far from grace."

"Fuck off, radio freak," Lucifer snarled, barring his teeth and his eyes shifting to a deep crimson red and yellow.

“Oh, ho ho! Seems as though I’ve struck a nerve,” Alastor mocked. He made his way around the bar, now towering over you and the fallen angel. “Tell me, your highness, what is your fascination with this lost soul, hmm? I’m so utterly curious as to why you would give her the time of day when all she does is wallow in her self pity and-”

“I. SAID. FUCK. OFF.” the king spat, his eyes now changing into a solid red and his voice deepening to match his threat. Though your vision was hazy, you noticed his horns had bursted out from his temples. Whether it was the alcohol or something else entirely, your face suddenly felt very, very hot. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Despite the immense danger, Alastor could only muster a sly grin. “It’s very rude to ignore my question.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you! Or have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” The way Lucifer spoke sent a shiver down your spine. “The only reason that you’re not a mangled corpse on the ground right now is because of my daughter. So if you want to stay in one piece, I’d walk away right now if I were you…”

The two mens’ faces were just inches away from each other now. Alastor’s eye twitched as he glared back at Lucifer with pure distain. His eyes shifted to you only for a brief moment before standing up straight and smirking to himself.

“I suppose it really is no business of mine as to how you choose to mingle with the guests here,” the radio demon resolved. He turned around to walk away, but not before glancing at you once more over his shoulder. “They’re lost causes anyway. Come along, Husker!”

Lucifer’s demonic traits disappeared as Alastor finally left the parlor. “I hate that man.” He looked at Husk empathetically. “If I could break your arrangement with him, I would. I’m sorry. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” With that, Husk nodded and followed the radio demon down the hall, leaving you and Lucifer alone at the now empty bar.

[rainba]

When are Kairos and Luka's birthdays? what are their feelings surrounding their birthday? how would they go about celebrating it with their darling and/or celebrating their darlings' birthday??

sorry if it's too much! I just really enjoy learning more about your OCs ^^;;;

I’ve been thinking about when to make their birthdays– I’m a tiny bit conflicted. I usually like to just make my OCs birthdays as whenever they were actually first created! (*^‿^*)

In that case, Kairos’ birthday would be December 2nd, and Luka’s birthday would be March 7th. But… Kairos as a Sagittarius, and Luka as a Pisces??? >_<;;;;;;;;;;;;;

(Ok I don’t take astrology signs too seriously, but I think it’s a little funny ( ´ ▿ ` ). )

Also, it's not too much!! Thank you for being interested and asking questions! ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

Every year around Kairos’ birthday, he’ll often fall into a mild depression of sorts. ^^;;;;; It only ever brings up bad memories for him. He hates his birthday.

Going to school as a kid on his birthday, only for nobody to so much as acknowledge him. Going home, only for his parents to not even glance at him. No cakes, no gifts, nothing. He’d often spend his birthdays lying in bed while trying to sleep the day away, intensely wanting for it to just be over with. (-ω-、)

In the present day, he often tries to forget that it’s his birthday at all– but he can’t help but constantly check his phone, hoping that somebody, anybody, has sent him a text. It's compulsive. He also waits for his parents to give him a call.

…But that call never comes.

So, when darling comes around and celebrates his birthday? He would genuinely not know how to respond. If you hand him a gift or give/bake him a cake, tears will instantly start spilling from his eyes as he thanks you endlessly.

“Y-you really didn’t have to do all of this…! I, you… You…”

"You're the first person to... To ever d-do this..."

If you spoil him on his birthday, all of the previous painful memories will fade away, and it’ll become one of his favorite holidays.

On your birthday, he’ll absolutely treat you like royalty! He’s the type to make plans weeks to months in advance. He wants your birthday to be absolutely perfect! ＼(≧▽≦)／

Throughout the year, he’ll scrape up extra money and save it up, just so he can purchase you a really expensive gift. Oh, and he’ll make you a cake himself–! He watches tons of YouTube tutorials on how to make one, and occasionally he’d practice.

It… Still wouldn’t taste very good. But he made it with lots of love!! The cake is your favorite flavor and color! >_<;;;;

As for Luka, he doesn’t feel one way or another about his birthday. To him, it’s just another day.

Like, yeah… He was born today… So what? Who cares? It’s not important.

Some of his acquaintances will wish him a happy birthday, as well as his coworkers. His father might call him and wish him a happy birthday. But nobody really celebrates with him– mostly because Luka prefers to keep people at a distance. He’d probably get an invitation to go drinking after work, but he’d just politely decline.

However, when you come along and celebrate his birthday– his opinion on things will shift. He’d suddenly start looking forward to his special day, wondering what kinds of things you might have in store for him! 

(=`ω´=)

And when your birthday comes around, he’ll make sure it’s a day you’ll never forget. Breakfast in bed, taking a day off work, handing you gifts every hour, etc.! He’ll also do whatever you want him to do– only for your birthday. (o˘◡˘o)

To end the night, he’ll treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant, or perhaps he’ll take you to go watch a movie! And once the two of you get back home, he’ll be quick to lead you back to the bedroom, focusing only on you and your pleasure. 

(*≧ω≦*)

[jareaul0ver]

Come With Me

Summary: Nika gets drafted to a team all the way across the country, and you're terrified of what's coming next, but she has everything planned out.

inspired by this request

wc: 917 warnings: angst if you squint, nothing else really pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

After being with Nika for the last three years of your life, spending almost every single day with her, sleeping in her bed every night, you couldn't imagine how life would be if she got drafted to somewhere far from you.

You were hoping she'd be drafted to the Connecticut Sun, so you two could stay together after graduation. If that didn't happen, you at least hoped for a team on the east coast.

Of course, your hopes and dreams were shattered, but momentarily put on pause, when you heard her name called as the Seattle Storm's first draft pick.

Pushing down any emotion but happiness for Nika, you jump up and hug her tightly. "I'm so proud of you." You whisper against her ear. She pecks your cheek before hugging a few others and heading up to the stage.

You can't help but let a few tears fall down your face as you watch her. You're overwhelmed with pride, excitement, sadness - pretty much every emotion ever.

Your girlfriend is going to be a professional basketball player. How many people get to say that?

When she comes back over to you, your arms wrap around her neck and you pull her body close to yours. The two of you have never been much for PDA in the past, but in the moment, neither of you cared.

"I am so incredibly proud of you, my love." You mumble before pressing a sweet kiss on her lips. She can't help the smile forming on her face, and she kisses you back before pulling away.

Her hands settled on your waist and she spoke softly. "I love you."

"I love you, Nika."

The next few days felt like a blur. Nika was packing her things to head to Kelsey Plum's Dawg Class training camp. As you watched her from the doorway of the bedroom, a small frown etched itself on your face.

Nika glanced over at you and saw your expression. She stopped what she was doing and immediately walked over to you. "What's wrong, bebo?"

You shook your head. "You're leaving."

Her hands settled on your waist and pulled you towards her. "Only for a week. Then I'll be back and-"

"And then you have to go to Seattle. Not just for a week or two, but for good." The tone of your voice was sad, and Nika found herself frowning.

"That's only if I make the team." Her thumbs gently stroked the fabric of your shorts her shorts that you stole.

You laughed in a bit of disbelief. "You're making the team, don't be ridiculous." You stared at her and felt your eyes beginning to water. "I really don't want you to go. To leave me." Your voice was low and shaky.

She placed a kiss on your forehead and pulled you into a tight hug. "I don't want to leave you, either. If I could stay, I would."

You sniffled and nodded. "I know. You're just-" You took a deep breath. "You're gonna be so far."

Nika pulled away and looked at you, her soft brown eyes not leaving yours for a second. A brief light lit up in her gaze, and you noticed it. "Then come with me." She spoke quickly, like she was ripping off some sort of metaphorical band-aid.

"What?" You looked up at her.

"Come to Seattle with me. After graduation, we can move out there, and- We won't have to be apart." Her words came out so delicately and you found yourself mentally falling apart.

Uprooting your life and moving to the other side of the country? It sounded insane, almost. "Nika.." But you would do anything for her.

"I'm serious, we can get an apartment- or even a house- and it'll be perfect!" You had never seen her so genuine about something in her life. Your heart was pounding against your chest, you felt like at any moment it would leap out and expose to Nika how she was making you melt.

You stared at her for what felt like forever as you contemplated your choices. You could either go with her after graduation, and live the life you've always wanted with her, even though you'd be throwing everything in Connecticut behind. Or, you could stay here, losing the best thing that's ever happened to you.

You'd lose the one person that kept you grounded, that knew your coffee order without having to ask, knew what temperature you liked the bedroom to be at night. She was the only person in your life that had ever given you so much security to where you felt like, maybe, you just could give up everything else for her.

"Okay." You nodded, tears spilling from your eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Nika could’ve screamed at your answer. "Really?" Her eyes widened and she brought a hand up to wipe your tears. "You really want to?"

“I do.” You sniffled, angling your head to lean into her hand.

Her smile was wide as she leaned in and pressed your lips together, only for a split second before pulling back and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, bebo.” She mumbled.

You tucked your head under her jaw and took a deep breath. “I love you.”

[kaleidohscopic]

IN THE DYING SUMMER SUN — BBH

PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader SUMMARY: a weekend up at the beach house might just be enough to make you crack and come clean about your little (big, fat) crush. alternatively, park chanyeol is possibly the worst wingman ever. GENRE: friends to lovers! au, crush! baekhyun, romance, fluff, a pinch of angst, pining, humour WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual tension!!, slightly suggestive, reader and baekhyun are both kind of clueless tbh WORD COUNT: 9.4k NOTE: happy birthday baekhyun!! thought it would be fitting to start off this blog with a fic for bbh on his birthday. this was supposed to be a 4-5k piece of fluff but somehow it ended up being double that and a lot more serious than i originally intended (oops?). kinda nervy posting such a long fic for the first time ever so feedback is most certainly welcome and i hope you enjoy!

“You definitely rigged this.”

Chanyeol only rewarded you with a shit-eating grin.

The scrap of paper couldn’t weigh more than a few grams, but in your hands, they felt like the barbell plates at the gym that he could never leave alone. Especially since a certain someone was also holding another scrap of paper with ‘ground floor twin room’ hastily scrawled across it.

You shook your head vehemently, fixing the tall boy with a dagger-like stare that he seemed completely unfazed by. “I demand a redraw.”

“Which is not going to happen,” was his gleeful response. “We all agreed — no take-backs before picking.” The hat that you had all drawn out of, now empty, was tossed on the coffee table as everyone else began to move their bags into their freshly chosen rooms. Somewhere down the hallway, Jongin tripped over the wheels of his suitcase, his pained groan and Kyungsoo’s laughter bouncing against the walls of the AirBnb.

“Besides,” Chanyeol continued, hand coming up to ruffle your hair, “if I had actually rigged it, you should be thanking me. I’d be doing you a favour.” He gestured towards Baekhyun, who was busying himself with packing his hoodie back into his duffle bag, hopefully oblivious to the fact that the two of you were conspiring about him less than three metres away. 

“Yeah, say it any louder, why don’t you. And no, that wasn’t an invitation,” you warned, catching the wicked glint in Chanyeol’s eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to make good on your request and let the whole house know, only to choke back a groan at the elbow you shoved into his side. Behave, said the glare that you shot at him. His replying smile was anything but reassuring, before he picked up his bag and headed upstairs.

That was what you got for getting a little too drunk at Jongdae’s housewarming get-together last month and accidentally slipping up about your big, fat, debilitating crush on Baekhyun after the third glass of pinot noir in one night. If it had been anyone else made aware of your juvenile secret, you would probably be feeling a little less uneasy — but it just had to be the one person who couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Not to mention Park Chanyeol was a terrible wingman, having heard about the ridiculous escapades he put Jongdae through before he finally cuffed his girlfriend. Lucky for you, you were now getting to experience it first-hand.

“I can ask Jongin to swap, if you really don’t want to room with me,” came a soft voice from your right. Baekhyun regarded you with an expectant, if somewhat hesitant expression. 

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, trying your best to mask the panic that was fighting its way into your voice. It would be just your luck, that he would think your reluctance to share a sleeping space with him was because you didn’t like him enough, and not that you liked him a little too much. The slight furrow in his brow seemed to melt away with your words. “I just wanted the big room with the queen bed, but somehow Chanyeol got it. I seriously think he did something to these,” you said, waving your slip of paper that matched the one he was holding.

Come to think of it, you and Baekhyun had also been the last ones to draw out of the hat, since Chanyeol had insisted on going counter-clockwise around the dining table. How he managed to game the room allocations was beyond you, but you were now almost certain that he did.

“It’s good that he’s by himself though. The snoring would drive anyone mad,” Baekhyun mused, and you had to chuckle in agreement. 

“That time he passed out at my place after Saturday drinks…I genuinely thought I’d end up with a murder charge that night.” you said, chest squeezing at the way his eyes crinkled into crescent moons at your words. You busied yourself with your own bag, hoping he wouldn’t see the dumb smile on your face, and be able to tell how pleased you were to have teased a laugh out of him. Laughter was not something he usually withheld — he gave it freely, if not a little too generously — but it always did a funny thing to your heart when you were the cause of it. 

“Definitely can’t have that. Pretty face like yours would not last a day in jail.” With one hand around his own duffle, he draped the free one around your shoulders, letting the warmth of his arm wrap around you as you headed down the corridor to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend.

Having a crush on Baekhyun was no big deal. Probably even normal, if his college days were anything to go by. But what made it so debilitating was things like this — the little comments he’d throw around that could easily be passed off as just friendly flirting if you were so inclined, though you sometimes let yourself imagine his intentions came more from the flirting than the friendly part. He was a generally touchy person too, never missing a chance to pat Kyungsoo’s ass when the opportunity arose, but sometimes the brush of his fingers against the inside of your wrist felt a little too affectionate for two people united solely through friendship, even if you were the only one who internally crossed that line a while ago. It was things like this that made you question, every once in a while, if your feelings were as one-sided as you believed. Most of the time though, you chalked it up to his disposition, his easy-going magnetism, and concluded that whatever signals you thought he was sending were merely due to your overactive imagination running wild with hopes that he felt the same way.

“Dibs left,” he said, plopping down on the twin bed closer to the window. His arms raised above his head in a long, yawning stretch, revealing a thin strip of skin at the waistband of his jeans. Just the sight of it was enough to control your blood, sending a rush of it to your face, and you internally cursed yourself for being so weak to such a small thing. It was obvious you had been alone for way too long. He was too comfortable to notice the flush on your cheeks, eyes shut and enjoying the tension leaving his body after the long drive up.

You sat yourself down carefully on the remaining bed, noting the gap between the two mattresses. Whether you wanted to push them together or against opposite walls of the room, you couldn’t be sure. It was hard to form coherent thoughts when he turned to you with a boyish playfulness that curled the corner of his mouth upwards.

“You’re not going to sleepwalk your way into my bed, are you?” he asked, chin in his hand, a teasing glint in his eyes. You tried hard to catch yourself from choking on your own saliva.

“I’ve been known to kick in my sleep,” was your reply, voice much more nonchalant than you thought you were capable of, given that he had just planted the seed of the two of you sharing a twin mattress that was definitely not big enough to lie down on without touching in at least three different places. The glint in his eyes faded immediately, giving way to thinly-veiled concern at the threat underlying your words.

“I was kidding,” you clarified when he sat up and started to back away from you. “At least, I haven’t done that for fifteen or so years. But you never know, it might come back again tonight, when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then BAM! Foot to the face. You better sleep with your eyes open, Byun Baekhyun,” you warned, giggling at the realisation dawning over his face before his pretty features settled into mock annoyance.

“You just think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He was on all fours now, making his way towards you with a wolfish grin. In no time, he had crawled over the gap between your two beds and suddenly his fingers were prodding at your ribs. It was a well-planned tickle attack, and one you had no chance of escaping from, since his legs had caged you in and the rest of him was pinning you down. You were helpless against the ambush of his fingers, succumbing to them with gasping giggles, punctuated by desperate pleas for him to stop. He showed no intention of letting up, fingers digging even deeper into your waist.

If you were going to die like this, you thought, at least you’d be dying while lying under him.

“When you two are done canoodling, we’re going to go set up on the beach,” came a voice from the doorway. Baekhyun’s merciless fingers paused, and the two of you looked back to see Chanyeol’s amused face at the foot of your bed, smirking like he knew some big secret that neither of you were privy to. God, you were seriously regretting that third glass at Jongdae’s new apartment last month.

Baekhyun turned back to you, your noses almost touching, and you could feel the air from his exhales fanning against the skin of your cheek. There was a mole just above the corner of his mouth that you don’t think you had ever noticed before. Warmth from his jean-clad legs radiated into your hips and meandered up and down your spine, and suddenly the late summer air around you was becoming sticky and heavier than usual. 

As if just now noticing the proximity you were in, he slowly untangled himself from your limbs, making sure not to crush you in the process. You sat up, still breathless, having just calmed down enough for full inhales again, but so was he, you noted. Surely tickling wasn’t that exertive of an activity? Or maybe you’d put up a better fight than you had thought.

“Don’t forget your towels,” was the last thing Chanyeol said before he ducked out, yelling at Jongin to grab the beach umbrellas, not the rain ones. There were a few seconds just filled with the sounds of your slowing breathing.

“I’m going to go get changed,” Baekhyun said, turning around to dig through his bag for his swim shorts. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear the slight tremble in his voice that indicated he hadn’t quite recovered from whatever was afflicting him. “We’ll probably just be setting up the umbrellas, so no rush, just come down when you’re ready.” As he turned around to head towards the bathroom, he flashed you that familiar smile, the one that always resulted in one of your own to mirror his, and set you at ease again. 

“And make sure you bring your sunscreen,” he added, before disappearing down the hallway. You watched him go, throwing yourself back onto the bed with a frustrated groan once you were sure he was out of earshot. Two whole days and nights in this tiny room, in the languid death of summer, with his body just an arm’s length away from yours — you had no idea how much of this you could stomach and emerge with your sanity intact.

This was shaping up to be the longest weekend ever.

The afternoon sun was unforgiving when you emerged from the house. Though you had thrown on a cover up before leaving, you could feel the heat tingling on the surface of your skin through the thin cotton. From the top of the bushy path leading down to the beach, you could already hear the tell-tale signs of a competition brewing between the boys, even if you couldn’t quite see them yet. A few steps down and you could make out their figures, managing to catch the view of Chanyeol flipping backwards off the jetty before plunging into the water, where the rest of them were bobbing around. Baekhyun’s voice floated above the others the way it always did when he was teasing, liltingly distinguishable, though perhaps that was only because you were now so attuned to it that other voices naturally started to sound more foreign. 

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when he went from Baekhyun, your friend who tended to get a little too rowdy after half a can of beer, to Baekhyun, your friend who made your heart pick up a little faster when you thought of him. One day his hiccuping laugh was teetering on the edge of obnoxiousness, and then all of a sudden it became endearing to hear the raw joy in his voice. If you knew exactly when the switch flipped, maybe you’d be able to retrace your steps and stop yourself from ever setting off down this path to end up where you were now, watching the sunlight glisten against his wet face with an overwhelming affection, wondering what it would be like to be the private audience of his radiant smile everyday.

You set your things down on the sand next to the pile of clothes and towels that were already there, recognising Chanyeol’s hat somewhere in the mix. The beach umbrella that Jongin had set up was already beginning to lurch towards one side, the brim rather close to the ground. Fixing it back in place and digging it into the sand a little deeper, you let out a fond laugh — some things, like the way Jongin used his hands like they weren’t his own, would stand the test of time. 

You had hoped that your friendship with Baekhyun would be one of those things, but the more time you spent casting longing glances his way when he wasn’t looking, the more you weren’t sure if you could ever recover from his rejection if you ever did decide to be honest about your feelings towards him. So you did your best to bury them, content to enjoy his company in the way you were both familiar with, afraid that if they did surface, they’d taint your friendship with something unpleasant and irreversible. If you couldn’t own the sun, at least you could still revel in its warmth.

Satisfied with the position of your towel underneath the shade of the umbrella, you looked back at the water, returning Baekhyun’s sweeping wave with a small one of your own. It was just enough of a distraction for Chanyeol to turn around as well, and Baekhyun seized the opportunity to dunk him, gleefully howling as the taller boy’s head disappeared below the waves. Before Chanyeol could resurface and enact his retaliation, Baekhyun was already making his escape, swimming towards the shore with fearful determination. Chanyeol made to follow, but upon seeing you sitting on the beach with your eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s approaching figure, he thought better of it, turning back around to continue the diving evaluation as Jongin took his turn to leap off the jetty.

With an amused smile, you watched as Baekhyun hurried out of the ocean, wet hair flying in all directions and flicking droplets of seawater across the sand. The water trickled down the planes of his bare torso, and you tried to keep your eyes away from the firmness of his pec, or the flexing movements of his abdominals as he made his way over to you. One thing was for sure — the gym sessions with Chanyeol were paying off. 

When he finally reached you, Baekhyun slumped onto your towel, ignoring your protests for him to stay away, and proceeded to soak you in the remaining water that was still clinging to his body. The skin of his stomach was cool against your calf, and he giggled delightfully at your attempts to push him off to avoid getting more water onto your clothes.

“Stop trying to fight it, you’re going to get wet when you go in anyway,” he said, finally rolling off you.

“I wasn’t planning on going in. I’m scared you’ll try to drown me,” you huffed, lightly flicking some sand onto his shoulder with your toe. He turned back around, chin cradled in his left hand, and flashed you a boyish smile.

“I would never do that,” he said, though the glint in his eyes was anything but convincing. “Besides, what are you going to do at the beach if you’re not getting in the water?”

You picked up the book nestled in between your shoes and waved it at him. “Read, of course.” He regarded the worn paperback with amused disbelief, eyebrows slightly raised. It was only when you flipped the book open to the paperclip you’d been using as a bookmark that he realised you were serious, and let out a scoff that was laced with something akin to fondness.

“You are such a cliche. Pretty girl reading at the beach? Unbelievable, seriously,” he said, before wriggling his head into your stomach, relishing in your shocked squeals as your cover up began to dampen again. His mischief had left a few wet patches on the fabric that were beginning to stick to your body in the uncomfortable fashion of late summer. You reached for the hem, pulling it off not without some struggle, and immediately felt the sun kissing against your bare shoulders. Though you were mostly covered by the shade from the umbrella, the last thing you wanted was a blistering sunburn where the straps of your tote bag usually rested, so you grabbed the sunscreen you had so diligently packed and began applying it on the parts of your skin that were exposed.

Baekhyun had gone uncharacteristically quiet. If you had been paying attention to him instead of so attentively rubbing the cream into the underside of your knee, perhaps you would have noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a little longer than would have been polite. They followed the path your hands took, from the expanse of skin below your neck, across your stomach, and down the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to do your back?” he blurted, his voice a little more strained than usual. He was wearing an odd expression on his face, something you couldn’t quite place, but it was different from the usual playful one you were most well acquainted with. Nevertheless, you agreed, passing him the tube and turning around so your back was facing him.

His fingers were still cold from the water, and you jumped when they first made contact with your skin. He only laughed, squeezing both hands around your shoulders to hold you still before he got back to work again.

The first graze of his hands across your shoulders was tentative. You could feel the heat of him behind your back, the smell of salt and sun clinging to the air around you. His breaths fanned the skin on the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms and legs despite the thick heat of the afternoon. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Slowly, his hands made their way down to your lower back, and it was then that you realised you might be in trouble. His hands pressed against the grooves of your spine, curving ever so slightly around your waist, and if you shivered, he pretended not to feel you tremble in his grasp. 

It was when his fingers slipped underneath the ties of your bikini top that the alarm bells began to go off in your head. His movements were hesitant, fingers stuttering in their dance across your skin before they gingerly pulled the strings aside to spread the sunscreen between the top and bottom halves of your back. It was too much, feeling his warmth, knowing there was only an inch of space between your bare torsos, having his hands on you doing such a thorough job with the task he had assigned to himself. When the tips of his fingers brushed the side of your ribs, just under the edge of the fabric, you couldn’t help the breathy noise that escaped your lips. 

“Actually, I think I left something back at the house,” you said suddenly, words hurriedly running into each other as they tripped over your tongue on the way out of your mouth. Twisting away from his dangerous touch, you bolted to a stand and hoped he’d attribute the pinkness of your cheeks to being outside in the brightness of the afternoon. Your words came out staggered, the slight tremble in your voice betraying the composure you were fighting so hard to maintain. 

Baekhyun’s gaze was careful, if not a little confused. The more his eyes ran over you, the more you were sure that the depth of your feelings towards him were beginning to surface on your face. Another second and he’d be able to tell, he’d figure out the little secret you’d been trying to conceal for the last couple of months. And then you wouldn’t be able to deny its existence anymore. 

So you fled, tossing a rushed promise to be right back over your shoulder before scurrying up the bushy path again. Away from the scrutiny of his eyes, away from the truth you did not want revealed to the world. The ghost of his touch lingered between your shoulder blades and along the ridges of your spine, your body already committing to memory the caress of his skin against yours. You realised then, that it would not be possible to continue living on as usual, now that you knew the taste of his closeness, as fleeting as it may have been.

“I think you should just go for it.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass at his words. Chanyeol’s tone was light and pragmatic, speaking as if the act of unfurling your heart were nothing more than a decision about whether to have steak or pork belly for dinner. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, bringing the bottle to your lips.

“I’m serious though,” he continued, nudging your arm with the lip of his own beer. “I think you should just tell him, and see what he says. And stop expecting the worst. You’ll never know how things could turn out if you never do anything.”

You let your head fall back to lean on the doorframe you were both standing against, gazing out at the patio that had begun to darken following the sunset. Baekhyun and Jongin were placed at opposite ends of the ping pong table that had been wheeled out of the living room after dinner, neither seeming to mind the soft prick of grass at the underside of their bare feet. Whether the game was proceeding well was difficult to deduce, since both were sporting wide grins and rosy cheeks, courtesy of the glasses in their hands — but judging by the cluster of orange balls around Baekhyun’s feet, you had an inkling that victory would not be his. He didn’t seem to mind yet, laughing gleefully as Jongin swung his racquet too hard and launched a ball over the fence. 

“Not everyone is as good as you when it comes to talking about their feelings, you know,” you said, fixing Chanyeol with a knowing look that was halfway between admiration and resentment. If you only had his courage of expression, perhaps you would’ve put an end to your suffering a while ago. Ripped the band-aid off cleanly instead of peeling away at it, day by day, bit by bit, until it was hanging on by the last of its adhesive. You weren’t sure how much longer your resolve could last, if it would even survive this weekend without snapping under the force of your attraction.

He only shrugged. “You can’t get good without actually doing it.” You pondered his words in the short silence that settled while you both took another sip. He was right, of course, you knew that, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier.

“I think… I’m just scared,” you began slowly. Realising you were about to put his advice into action, Chanyeol turned to you with reassuring and patient eyes, waiting. You took a deep breath, swinging the contents of your bottle back and forth, and continued, “I’m scared that if I do tell him, it’s going to change our relationship and then I’ll lose him completely. At least if I don’t say anything, he’s still my friend, and I get to keep being in his life.”

He regarded you for a moment, brows furrowed thoughtfully, as he decided on his next words. It was no easy feat to try on honesty the way you just did, having so carefully avoided it for your entire life, and he was well aware of it. The slight tremble in your hands was a dead giveaway.

“And I think that’s completely understandable,” he finally said. “There’s always going to be a trade-off, no matter what you choose to do. But I guess you have to weigh up which one means more to you, and if you’re willing to take that risk on the chance that it does work out between you two. I’m only telling you what I think you should do. You’re the one who knows your own feelings the best.”

Another silence fell over the two of you again. Your bottle was nearly empty now, the beer inside already lukewarm from being out of the cooler for too long. Jongin let out a cheer as the ball sailed over his head, landing far behind him on the grass and ignoring Baekhyun’s flagrant attempts at contesting the point. Even under the patio lights, he was still so pretty, cheeks pink and glowy, the shape of his mouth so endearing as it settled into a pout. By now, you were used to the longing, and paid it no mind as it filled your chest with a bittersweet warmth.

“Aren’t you two best friends though?” you asked, the thought suddenly occurring to you. “You’re telling me you don’t know anything about how he feels about… whatever is going on?” The look you gave Chanyeol was suspicious, but he stood strong, resisting your prying eyes.

“I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I went around blabbing to you about his feelings, would I?” was his response, accompanied by an elusive smile. There was something in his words that lingered in your mind, some important detail you felt as if you had overlooked, but his amused expression gave you nothing to hold onto. “You’re both so clueless,” he chuckled after a beat of your thoughtful silence, downing the rest of his drink.

Baekhyun was skipping over now, having officially lost 18-21 to Jongin, who was heartily celebrating his victory with a series of hoots and giggles. He headed straight for you, hair all messed up from running his hands through it during the game, and a rosy flush to his face, though you weren’t sure if that was from the game or the glass that he had left at the ping pong table. When he wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your shoulder, you knew that it was probably the latter.

“I lost the game,” he whined, petulant and firm against you. His hair tickled your chin, and you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo from his shower after the beach.

“Are you drunk already?” you asked, trying to mask your breathlessness at his proximity with a few giggles. Baekhyun’s affinity for physical contact was the worst — or best, depending on how you looked at it — when he had alcohol in his system, and it didn’t take much to push him past the borders of sobriety. His ache for touch and affection was most often relieved on you, and you always obliged, gladly and readily letting him take whatever it was he wanted.

The tip of his nose brushed back and forth against your skin as he shook his head. “Just a little, tiny bit,” he said, voice muffled, and you felt the warmth of his breath through your t-shirt.

“Where’s the love for your best friend?” Chanyeol teased, the only one amused at the way Baekhyun had dived straight into your arms without even sparing him a glance. 

The boy in your arms didn’t even falter, only snuggling further into you. “You know it’s because she’s my favourite,” he murmured, lips skimming your collarbone ever so softly as he spoke. The panic onset was instantaneous, and you prayed he was too drunk to pick up on the sudden rapid thundering of your heartbeat inside your chest. You tried to look at Chanyeol for help, but he was setting off across the patio, taking up Jongin on his invitation for a match with the promise that he would wipe the floor with the younger boy.

Baekhyun only hummed contentedly, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking inside you, tightening his hold around you when you made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his arms. His pink lips set into another rounded pout, brows slightly creased as he pulled back to look at you.

“You know you’re my favourite, right?” he asked, trying to be convincing despite the slight slur to his words. You could only nod, letting a small smile twist the corners of your mouth upwards. Whether he realised or meant what he was saying, you weren’t all that concerned, simply happy to bask in the warmth of his full attention knowing it was probably just nonsensical babble brought on by the drink in his belly. It was so much easier to be close to him when he was like this, hazier, and sure to forget most of what he had said the morning afterwards. It didn’t hurt that you were also starting to feel a little blurrier around the edges, the beer from earlier making its way through your system and leaving behind a pleasant fuzziness that made it all the more tempting to come clean about your feelings. But you weren’t quite there yet, and you had no plans to get to that point tonight.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he curled back up into you. With your hands around his back, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfortingly even beat of it through his rib cage. It was so easy to imagine this was the way it had always been, and would always be, so easy to slip into the fairytale you often found yourself fabricating when your one-sided longing became too much to contain. It would be so nice if you could live in this moment forever, you thought. But was this small pocket of peace worth risking your entire friendship?

“I wish you’d stop running away from me,” he murmured, or at least that’s what you thought he said. It was a little difficult to concentrate when his lips were grazing your skin again, lightly feathering across your neck as the words shaped his mouth on their way out of it. 

And then you felt it, the unmistakable and deliberate press of his lips against your collarbone, the gentle pressure and the slight moisture on your skin from it searing through you like a lit trail of gasoline. This time, he had to have heard the stilted gasp that escaped your mouth.

He lifted his head slowly to look at you again, searching your face with glassy eyes — for what, you weren’t quite sure. The only things you were sure of right now were the fiery burn in your cheeks, and the deafening pounding of your heart that echoed between your ears. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, though his expression was nowhere near as apologetic as his words would have you believe. If anything, his gaze on you was almost daring, waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d shrink back into yourself like you always did when he got too close and crossed that invisible boundary you only danced around. If you’d run away from him the way he had just said he wished you wouldn’t. Or if you’d let him push you over too, just this once.

Seeing the hesitation in your face, he slowly extricated from you, retracting his limbs and warmth until they hung limply by his sides again. Scratched the back of his head. Let his eyes wander around the patio and settle on anything except for you. 

“I’m going to see if Kyungsoo needs any help with cleaning up,” he said quietly, not waiting for your response as he headed back into the house. The drink had made his gait unsteady, and you felt him sway against the doorframe as he brushed past you. A chilling unease began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you watched him go, the shape of his back getting smaller and smaller as he was swallowed by the light of the living room. 

Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and that there was a possibility it had not been in the direction you had hoped for.

Perhaps the second glass of wine had been a little overambitious, you realised, staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Kyungsoo had been so excited about the 2012 Shiraz he had brought from home, pouring you a full glass with an enthusiasm he didn’t often display. You couldn’t say no, and you didn’t protest when he refilled it a short while later. If he noticed the faster-than-usual speed with which you drained its contents, he did not show it. Whilst alcohol tended to put people to sleep, it had the opposite effect on you, dangling sleep in front of you like a carrot you could never get a hold of easily, or for long. That second glass of wine was the reason you were lying in bed, not soundly asleep like you wished, but keenly aware of every breath and every movement from the other occupant of the room, only an arm’s length away from you.

Baekhyun had spent most of the night with Chanyeol out on the patio, drinking and laughing under the generous light of the moon. Even if he wasn’t purposely avoiding you, you felt his absence from your side sorely. He didn’t say much during the wind down for bed either, only asking if you wanted the curtains fully shut, to which you gave an affirmative. Still, a sliver of moonlight speared through the gap between them, illuminating the room just enough that if you turned your head to the side, you could make out the outline of his body beneath the covers and acquaint yourself with the familiar curve of his nose.

It was only fair that the wine, having taken your sleep, offered something in return to mark an honourable trade. That something manifested itself in the restlessness of your mouth, which battled against the remaining rationality of your mind. Loose-lipped and anxious, you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, willing the war inside your head to approach a ceasefire. You did not want to make a fool of yourself in the intimacy of this small room. 

However, your resolve could not last for long, corroded by the hours spent without his presence, without the familiar warmth of his touch, without his little comments meant only for you as he pointed out something silly or poked fun at Jongin’s whining. Barely above a whisper, you called out his name, letting your voice permeate the darkness. It was loud enough that he’d hear it above the silence, but soft enough that he could ignore it if he so wished, and you’d attribute his ignorance to the deepness of sleep.

There was a second of silence, which he followed with an answering hum and a shuffle of his legs on the mattress. He was awake, and he was waiting for you to speak.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked the ceiling. 

“No, I’m not mad at you,” was his reply, accompanied by a quiet sigh. He was conversing with the ceiling too, just as reluctant to face you.

Your hands twisted the sheets in dissatisfaction. The even tone of his voice indicated truth, but his answer didn’t explain why he had spent the whole night outside without calling for you even once, when he usually couldn’t last half an hour without pressing into your side and tickling your shoulder to grab your attention. 

“Then what?” you probed, cringing at the whiny edge to your voice. 

He was quiet for a while, letting your words hang in the air, that for a moment you thought he wouldn’t speak, that your brief conversation had already come to an end, and you’d be left with unanswered questions as bedside companions for the night. There was another rustling from his side of the room as he settled himself under the covers.

“Sometimes, I think I want too much from you,” he finally said. He was quiet, but you heard every word with the clarity as if they had been projected through a stereo system. “And you can’t give me everything I want, but that’s not your fault. It’s an indication of my own greed and selfishness more than anything else.”

You kicked around at your sheets to signal your unrest at his words. “I don’t think you are greedy or selfish. At all. At least not with me.” If anything, you were the selfish one, wanting all his smiles and touches for yourself, wanting the entire spectrum of his existence to only ever be shown to you. Your generosity only ever came to light when it was in service of him, gladly letting him take your attention, your time, allocating space in your mind for him and him only. 

Baekhyun only laughed a soft and short laugh at your reply, the sound so different from the usual one filled with boisterous joy that you had grown the most used to. You heard him turn over in his bed to face you. In the quiet darkness of the room, the focus of his gaze flooded over you, and the intensity of it was so blinding you didn’t dare to look away from the smoothness of the ceiling, fearing you’d smoulder into ash the moment you locked eyes with him.

“You know that you are a really important person to me. You know that, right?” he asked, eyes searing into you with the force of a thousand suns. “I mean, everyone else is also important because they’re my friends, but you’re different — you are a special person to me. I don’t see you the way I see Chanyeol, or Jongin, or anyone else.” 

His words were still tinged with the slight slur of the beer from out on the patio, but you could feel the delicate care with which they were chosen and spoken. Something was different about tonight. You could taste it in the thick air between the two of you, feel it in the wire-taut tension stretching across the gap between your two twin beds. Your fingers dug into the comforter, willing the turbulence in your chest to subside.

He paused and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself against something devastating. “I don’t want the same things with them as I do with you.”

You held your breath until you felt the pain of deprivation in your chest.

“But I’ve made peace with the fact that what I want from you, and the way I feel about you, are things I’ll have to carry with me. They’re things I have to bear the weight of alone. I don’t — I would never want you to be uncomfortable, or see me differently.” There was a slight catch in his voice at the end.

You didn’t even know if your lungs were still working while you listened to him speak. There was a surrealness to the night, as if everything had been covered in a blanket of haze and everything that was transpiring was the product of a fever-induced dream, existing on an alternate timeline.

Baekhyun… it didn’t even feel right thinking it.

Baekhyun had feelings for you? And he had convinced himself it was one-sided?

“It’s pretty selfish, isn’t it? Asking you to act like things between us won’t change after everything I just said,” he laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. You finally turned your head to look at him, the wry curve of his mouth catching the moonlight as he gazed at you. He was smiling, the shape of it meant to comfort you, but he could not hide the sadness weaved into the downturn of his eyes. He had always been braver than you, perhaps not in the aspect of riding roller-coasters, but certainly in his ability to be honest and open about his emotions, regardless of whether they were good or bad. 

It was your turn to be brave now, and shed your own fear to meet him where he stood.

“I’ve been seeing you differently for a while now,” you admitted, turning under the sheets to fully face him. You were grateful for the darkness, hoping that it would conceal the heat creeping up your neck and face, painting your cheeks with a hot blush that accompanied the start of your confession. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, confusion settling in the crease between them. You held yourself back from reaching out to smooth them over.

“What do you mean?”

“What makes you think you’re the only one who feels this way?” you asked instead, leaving his question unanswered. There was a tremble in your voice as you spoke, and you were sure he heard it above the quiet of your bedroom. It was the closest you could get to telling him without actually telling him about the silent battle that had been raging in your head for the last few months. 

This was it, you thought. He had to know now.

“Am I not?”

The weight of his stare pressed against you, drawing you to him with the tangible pull of gravity. The eyes that roamed your face had replaced their previous confusion with questioning, and a glimmer of something akin to hope. He had never looked more beautiful and devastating than he did right now. You felt the light of dawn breaking over your skin, a promise of something new and good sure to follow. Its warmth simmered within you, staving off the chill of the late summer night with a heat that had you pushing off your covers in a hurried frenzy and rising to sit on the edge of your bed, toes just grazing the floorboards beneath you. Would you still have had the same nerve to face him in the daylight, rough and exposed without the lulling comfort of darkness? Would he still look at you, unpolished and flawed in the clarity of the sun, the same way, with the reverence of man at the sight of an angel? 

Baekhyun mirrored you and sat up on his own bed, slowly, as if not wanting to spook you, fearing you’d run off and retreat back into the confined familiarity of your own head. His knees knocked against yours in the small space between your two mattresses. You jolted at the feeling of his skin on yours, having gone without it for so long that the mere touch was like the first drop of water after emerging from the desert. He made to move away, trying to shuffle across the length of the bed, but stilled at the hand you placed just over his knee, willing him to stay put. Surely, he could feel the beat of your heart thrumming through your fingertips.

It was your turn to be brave now.

Fueled by the second glass of Shiraz and the muted encouragement of darkness, before you could second guess yourself and overthink every possible negative outcome of what you were about to do, you closed your eyes and leant towards him. Slowly, inch by inch, until your journey ended with the soft, tentative press of your lips against his. It was short and chaste, nothing more than a gentle pressure, and you pulled back when you felt his lips part in surprise.

“Does that answer your question?” you whispered, heart in your throat. 

There it was. You had gone and done it. 

His eyes were closed, and in the dim moonlight peeking through the curtain, you could almost make out each of his eyelashes, fluttering dark and soft against the smooth skin of his cheek. For a few seconds, the room was filled only with the sounds of your breathing as you waited for his reaction, for the consequences of your actions and what that meant for your friendship with him. 

Then you heard it — his soft laugh, coloured with appreciative disbelief, and felt the air of it caress your face. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a small, pleased smile. His eyes blinked open slowly, taking you in with a hunger that had desire curling in the pit of your stomach.

“You are just so…” he began, but you never found out just exactly what you were. He was already pulling you back into him, slotting his mouth against yours like they were always made to fit perfectly together. This time, the kiss was anything but chaste, the sheer force of it enough to scorch your insides down to your bones. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush towards him, and your knees parted around his thighs to adjust to the new position. Your own hands found purchase in the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, in fear that the realisation of this moment would somehow make it slip away.

This was what it felt like to stand unafraid and bare in the light of unbridled wanting, to consume and be consumed by a ravenous appetite with no propensity for satiety. When his hands slipped past the hem of your sleep tank, fingertips grazing across the skin of your lower back, you were sure you could erupt into flames. He swallowed the breathy noise that escaped your lips, tongue brushing against yours as he claimed your mouth with his own. 

This was what it felt like to hold the sun in the palm of your hand.

When you broke apart to catch your breaths, his eyes were bright, lips plump and swollen, chest heaving beneath your hands. Somehow, you had ended up back on his bed, his head against the pillows, hands under your shirt and keeping you close to him with an unforgiving hold. He was gazing up at you with a devotion that made your heart swell even more than it did pulling oxygen back into your lungs.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he admitted, hiding his head into the crook of your shoulder. You felt his abashed smile against your skin and wondered how it could be possible that you had contained all of this, the longing, the yearning, inside you for so long.

“How long?” you asked, hearing the smile in your own voice.

“Since Chanyeol’s birthday, when you wore that brown sweater with the little bow on the back.”

Last year, Chanyeol had gotten everyone together at his place for a nice dinner and wine followed by a binge watch of all the Iron Man movies in one sitting. It was all going according to plan until a quarter of the way into the third one, when he began snoring at his own birthday gathering. The bowl of popcorn was sliding out of his hands and sure to make a buttery mess all over the rug, and that’s when the rest of you decided to turn the television off and call it a night. Sehun and Jongin tasked themselves with getting the birthday boy into bed, and likely collapsed onto it with him immediately after, while Baekhyun had offered you the couch, assuring you he’d be fine with the blankets on the floor. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. As chaotic as he could be, Baekhyun was nothing if not kind, and you had been grateful that his kindness had always extended to you over the three years you had known each other.

“But that was more than half a year ago. Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

His fingers prodded into your sides, eliciting a few choked giggles from you. “I didn’t know how you’d react. You know you’re not the most expressive person on the planet,” he said dryly. “Or the most observant. I literally frenched your collarbone and you’re telling me you didn’t realise I liked you more than as a friend?”

“Okay, well when you put it like that,” you huffed, feeling the vibrations of his laugh through his chest. “But you really didn’t know I had feelings for you? Chanyeol never said anything?”

His movements stilled, leaning back into the pillows so he could lock eyes with you again. “You talk to Chanyeol about me?” he asked, to which you nodded sheepishly. “Since when?”

“Last month, Jongdae’s housewarming. He fished it out of me after dinner,” you sighed, picturing his smug grin under the lights of Jongdae’s fancy new kitchen when you realised that you had slipped up and let him in on your little secret. 

“But I talk to him about you.”

You looked at each other for another beat, realisation breaking over the both of you, before dissolving into another fit of disbelieving giggles. Maybe Park Chanyeol did know how to keep his mouth shut after all.

“So he’s a terrible wingman, is what I’m getting out of this whole thing,” Baekhyun chuckled, rolling you over so you were now lying on your side, face to face with him. He planted a slow, sweet kiss on your lips, taking his time to acquaint himself with the shape and taste of your mouth, and you felt the contentment of his smile against you. “I can’t believe we could have gotten together a month ago. Some best friend he is.”

“Gotten together?” you echoed, one eyebrow raised in feigned dispute, delighting in the way his sweet mouth settled into the pout that you adored.

“You mean to tell me that you don’t want to be with me after your tongue was all up in my mouth?”

You pushed his face away, groaning, “Gross, don’t say it like that.” He, however, had different plans, hooking a calf behind your knees and tugging you back into him, before weaving the other leg in between your own.

“You know you like it,” he murmured into your neck, squeezing his arms around you just in case you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. One hand traced absent-minded circles over the grooves of your spine as he breathed you in, warm and familiar against your chest. 

Yes, you thought, you’d risk any and everything for this exact moment. It was worth all the doubt and heartache, all the time spent replaying those moments in your head, unsure of the meaning behind his actions. You could be sure of it now.

“I do,” you agreed, threading your fingers through the softness of his hair. “I probably more than like you,” you added, tilting his face upwards to steal another kiss, giddy and chest swelling with affection. Perhaps you weren’t quite yet ready for that other four letter word, but you had no doubt you would be one day, and soon. He was all too willing to comply, letting his mouth mould against yours with the poise and patience of a saint. 

“I probably more than like you too,” he replied, punctuating his confession with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. It was enough for the serene smile on your face to persist, even past the arrival of sleep.

“I knew it.”

You cracked one eye open, trying to adjust to the light flooding in through the open door to your room. Chanyeol stood at the foot of your bed, grinning from ear to ear with what could only be described as a look of triumph as he took in the scene before him. The boy next to you stirred lightly, digging his face deeper into the pillow, reluctant to leave the realm of the sleeping. Chanyeol was not in the least sympathetic to his friend’s struggles, striding over to the window and pulling back the curtains with a clang. You winced as the full force of the morning sun barged in, and Baekhyun let out a soft noise of displeasure at the intrusion.

“I fucking knew it,” Chanyeol said again, quickly bringing you to your senses as you registered the weight of another body on top of your own. You made to remove yourself from him, fighting the flush creeping up your neck and face, but it was an effort which proved futile as he only tightened the arm around your waist, loath to let you go. 

“Can you be quiet? You’re going to wake the whole house,” you hushed, finally succeeding in untangling your legs from Baekhyun’s, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately.

“They’re already up. I came to call you for breakfast,” Chanyeol replied, the grin seemingly stuck to his face. “Which actually reminds me,” he began, before sticking his head out of the doorway to holler, “You better pay up, Jongin. And you too, Kyungsoo!”

“You bet on us?” came the groggy voice from the pillows behind you.

“What the hell, Chanyeol? I thought you said you didn’t go around blabbing about his feelings!” you exclaimed, indignant.

“To you. I never said anything about telling anyone else,” was his reply, smug and victorious at having outsmarted you.

Kyungsoo appeared in the doorway, donning a flour-covered apron, as if to confirm for himself that he was in fact a debtor to the taller boy. “Even if he didn’t say anything, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out,” he said lightly, surveying the room with curiosity and paying no mind to the shock painted on your face. How had everybody known about your now not-so-secret crush on Baekhyun except for the man himself? “Anyways, I only said that it would be unlikely to happen over this weekend, not that it was impossible. So Jongin is the only loser. Now come for pancakes.” And with that, he headed back towards his bowl of batter on the kitchen counter, chuckling at the sound of Jongin’s complaints against fulfilling his end of the wager.

Baekhyun, having somewhat freed himself from the clutches of sleep, rose to a sitting position and shot a drowsy scowl at his friend. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that right?”

But even the expletive could not put a damper on Chanyeol’s mood, his smile never slipping. “You two should honestly be thanking me,” he said, to which you also shot him a glare. “Also, I’m happy for you and everything, but can you please keep the PDA to a minimum in front of the rest of us? I will lock you out of the house if you don’t.”

Baekhyun turned to you, the creases of the frown on his face slowly but surely smoothing out as he took you in, cheeks puffy and hair a mess from having just woken up. He had seen you in worse states, and definitely in better states, but none of that seemed to matter as he regarded you with nothing but fondness in his eyes. You were sure that your expression mirrored his, affection spreading throughout your entire body, reaching even the tips of your fingers and toes, at the sight of his tousled bed head, the sleepy droop of his eyes, the sweet pinkness of his lips. 

The sun was yours. There was no feasible way to stop the smile from blooming across your entire face.

“No promises.”

[strayrumia]

Unfamiliarity (oneshot)

felix x fem!reader

Synopsis: After her break-up from her long-term relationship, [Y/n] is left wondering if she was deserving of love and gentleness. Fortunately for her, she has a best friend who's been supporting her since the beginning. Not only that, but he's also more than happy to show her she deserves the love she longed for. -or- [Y/n] is left touch-deprived and doubting that she's deserving of anything wholesome after having left a relationship that left her with nothing but heartbreak, trauma, and neglect. Her best friend proves her wrong.

Genre(s): fluffy ending, implied best friends to lovers (can be taken platonically), angst Other tags: non!idol au, (wholesome) physical touch Content/Trigger Warning(s): mentions of SA (s*xual ab*se) and emotional ab*se from past relationship, very heavy mentions of insecurity and feeling worth is based off s*x, mentions of food

[A/N]: This is more of a ventfic and something that I wanted to just let out. It might not be the best fic I've written as it has a VERY open ending/lacks a proper ending. I also wrote this late at night, very head-empty. I hope if you do read it, you'll feel heard or a reminder that you deserve the love you give to others! <3

--------

Weeks.

Has it been weeks?

No, it's actually been a few months since the day you gained the confidence and willpower to walk out on your past and very toxic relationship. You've kept track. After all, you thought your ex would be hurting too, until you've discovered from mutual friends that he had already moved on.

That's right. At first, it was a mention from a mutual that they've heard him mention on his own socials that he was going to a concert - a concert of a group you were very confident he didn't know nor listen to very much. Then the day came when it was the supposed concert. You saw on another mutual friend's Instagram that he was seeing the group with the same girl he told you not to worry about countless times prior. The same girl who he would not hesitate to make time when she said the word, yet when you asked him for his time, he would throw a fit. Then goes the most recent news - that he was supposedly trying to get on his coworker.

This boy was the same one who told you, when you sobbed to him while trying to stand your ground, that he didn't agree to this relationship ending and he wanted to continue fighting for you two. The same one that told you that he'd rather you stay with him and heal than walk away. The same one who told you, "will we ever be together again in the future?"

It hurt.

It hurt knowing that this person you gave five long, hard years for threw you away so easily. You fought for him despite your friends and family refusing to support your relationship, despite the fact that they all mentioned how he had red flags yet your young, naive self gave him the benefit of the doubt. You fought for him, yet you got taken advantage of in more ways than you want to remember while he felt little to no remorse for his actions as his words never aligned.

It hurt knowing that while you gave a lot of love to him, you're left wondering if you're even enough for another person, if there will ever be someone in your life to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. While you were still healing, your ex, who you walked away still full of love, was ready to find the next person to fuck around with.

Though many of your friends suggested you to hop on the dating apps and just fuck your feelings away to those who had no strings attached, you knew you couldn't do that. You love with your whole heart. Sure you can sleep with others and enjoy the sex life with potential partners who shared your kinky fantasies, but how can you? Your relationship was full of one-sided lust that you felt like you were only good for sex.

You were healing a lot faster now that months had gone by since your breakup, but it didn't stop the thoughts of insecurity that would constantly come up every now and then. You've gone on many hangouts with friends who happened to be dating and seen just how wonderfully they treat each other and it makes you wonder... 'Will I ever get that kind of treatment?'

After your breakup, you made a vow to yourself that you would set aside as much time as you can to spend with your friends and family, the very people who supported you individually from the start and continued to even after that. Through each hangout, your best friend, Felix, was there every step of the way.

He was always there since the beginning. He was there when he warned you about your ex before you got into that relationship. He was there during your entire relationship, albeit being at a bit of a distance to respect your space and privacy with your partner. Lastly, he's there for you right now.

You had spent the whole day with him, letting the day be a normal hangout - one that allowed you two to enjoy board games with other friends before they had to go home, leaving you alone in your small apartment with Felix.

After the mutual friends had left, Felix had noticed your mood shift slightly towards the end of the game night and decided to bake you some chocolate chip cookies as a treat to cheer you up. He knew they were your favorite sweet treats after all. While he prepped the ingredients and put up a YouTube video in the background, you scrolled through your Instagram feed lazily, only to have the worst timing and notice the same girl you were warned to not worry about post about your ex yet again. Yes you were doing better in this healing process but the pain was still ever so present.

You let out an exasperated sigh as your head dropped into your folded arms against the counter, causing Felix to look up from the video and pause. "Are you alright?"

You only responded with an unhappy, muffled groan in your arms. Felix raised an eyebrow at you as his gaze shifted towards the phone in your hand. Your screen stayed stagnant on the post with your friend and your ex.

"You know, you could always remove this girl from your socials. Why don't you? It's not like you still talk to her." Felix suggested, taking your phone out of your hands and analyzing the post.

"She hasn't done anything directly to make me have a reason to cut her off... it wouldn't be right." You retorted. That thought often crossed your mind without him even mentioning it if you were being honest. It would lift a mental load on you to remove the last person who wanted to associate with your ex from your social media, but you still felt it was wrong to remove someone who never hurt you, at least with intention.

Felix scoffed. "Does it matter? She doesn't know him well enough to know what he did to you, or to anticipate what he might do to her. If it helps you in the long run, you might as well do it."

You ignored his reply, your thoughts were going elsewhere anyway. You stared into nothingness as the post's image burned into your brain, how happy the girl was to be beside the abuser. Your thoughts were going all over the place if you were being honest.

'Why do you want to associate with him? He's a horrible person! Ugh, but you don't know...'

'You don't even know how terrible he is, but I guess sometimes people only learn the hard way...'

'He literally told me not to worry about her and how he only saw her as a little sister figure but why was his hand so dangerously low in that photo...'

'Just how many lies did he feed me to keep me from trusting my gut feelings...'

'She is a pretty girl with a gorgeous figure... it's no wonder he kept his eyes on her.'

'She was the one worth driving an hour and more for without hesitation. She was the one he was willing to treat out to restaurants and gift flowers for. I was the inconvenience after all...'

Your thoughts were becoming sadder and darker as they went through each and every lie he told you. Tears began to well in your eyes until you suddenly felt your hand getting tugged, dragging you out of your thoughts and into the situation at hand. Felix started leading you towards your couch and maneuvered you into sitting onto his lap.

"Wh- Felix, what are you doing? I-I'm heavy!" You started to get embarrassed and immediately tried to lift yourself from his lap, only for him to keep you there with his arms. He kept you in a gentle yet firm embrace that prevented you from trying to escape.

"You're not even heavy, stop it." You stopped squirming and just continued to avoid his gaze. You knew if he saw the tears threatening to fall from your eyes you would hear it from him, but he surprisingly said nothing as he kept you in his arms.

He reached over to the side and grabbed a blanket nearby, drooping over his back before he took each end to make his way to wrap you in. He gently cradled your head into his neck, his head sitting softly atop yours. His other arm kept you in an unescapable hold while rubbing small circles on your back. Although you wanted to escape out of embarrassment, you didn't retaliate to his small, gentle gestures. You felt your muddy thoughts begin to clear out as Felix continued to cradle you in his arms.

"Felix... what are you doing?" You repeated with more naivety and less aggression.

"What does it look like, [Y/n]?"

Your face began to flush, but you tried your best to pay it no mind. "You don't need to do this to me, okay? I don't... I don't deserve it."

"Why do you think you don't deserve it?"

The post burned into your mind again. "Because... there are better people out there who deserve it more than I do." Like her. I'm not someone you should be doing these kinds of things to. I don't deserve it.

"Hmm... maybe you're right, but I know you deserve to feel secure and have affection too." Felix replied, adjusting slightly to turn your head to face his direction as he started brushing his fingers through your hair, pushing your loose strands away from your face to the best of his ability in your position. The gesture small yet soothing, an unfamiliar feeling that you definitely leaned into and enjoyed every minute of.

"I can't imagine what he put you through but what I can tell you is that you too are deserving of more than just being treated as an object. You're not an object, you're a human, okay? So don't ever treat yourself as anything less when you deserve more."

You felt the tears in your eyes rebuild from the ever growing happiness in your heart hearing his words, but you fought them from overflowing. You shook your head, wanting to retort more but as you opened your mouth, the words never left your throat. It felt that if you tried to counter Felix again, the tears would win over and you wouldn't be able to stop. 'I really don't...'

"[Y/n]," he softly pressed his lips against the crown of your head. "You deserve to feel loved too. You deserve to experience the joys of getting a wonderful surprise from your support system. You deserve to be invited and brought to cute and romantic dates with lots of effort. You deserve something even as simple as handholding!"

It's as if he felt your tears fall because he pulled you away from him to use his free hand to gently wipe away the tears from your eyes, not caring that they lightly stained his sleeve and shirt. He continued to brush your loose hairs away from your facial features as he made sure you kept your eyes on him. "You are loved and you will experience that love too. If you allow me, I will show you exactly how you should be treated - although, it might just be the same as what we already do."

"But... what would be the difference between the things we do now compared to the things we will do after this point?"

"Well, I guess I won't have to hold back how I feel about you. That would probably be the only difference." He said with a small chuckle. "But you don't have to worry about anything, I don't expect you to feel anything right away nor do I want you to feel rushed into deciding anything with me. I just want you to experience the love, respect, and happiness you're supposed to have."

You thought about it with a smile. Your current experience with Felix as of recently has been filled with nothing but joy and laughter. There would be times where you would vent about your healing thoughts and he would generously offer an ear and shoulder. Most of the time, however, it was genuine laughs and happiness that triggered your habit of hiccupping when you laughed too hard. Those memories you've made with him recently just made you enjoy his presence more and more. It was no lie that he made sure he always thought of your picky habits whenever others wanted to go to a restaurant, how he made your heart flutter with every smile he shone at you and every gentlemanly gesture he did in consideration of you.

It wasn't going to be an easy lesson to relearn but you knew exactly what he was trying to teach you. You don't know how to accept such kind and affectionate gestures because you were so used to bland, lustful touches. You didn't think you deserved to be treated so delicately when all you've known is how to be used and thrown to the side when the other was no longer satisfied.

It was hard, but you can feel your healing process become much easier and smoother with Felix by your side. After all, he knew you best, he witnessed you through your highs and lows to the point where he learned what ticked you off and what brought you the highest joy. He's someone who observed and applied what he learned to make sure you would be treated with the respect you deserved.

It won't be quick and it won't be easy, but one thing you know for sure is that you felt the most safe and loved with him than anyone you can ever imagine.

-End-

[juleswritesstuff]

Jealousy, jealousy

Poly!Jegulus×GN!Reader

Hi! Ok so I have been in a 'Challengers' brainrot ever since it came out and this is what I gave birth to. This little fic doesn't have anything to do with the movie, it just lit a light bulb in my brain and I went with the flow. I know it may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I was inspired and...this is the result 🤭.

Hope you like it 💗

English isn't my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Regulus Black was a possessive prick.

Or so Barty said.

“Merlin, didn't you notice the way he was looking at that guy ? The bloke is lucky he is still alive”

“Stop looking like a rabid dog, blondie is not even looking in Potter's direction”

“I swear you can't just curse a random dude for talking to Y/N, Reggie. He was just asking them about the books for Salazar's sake !”

So yeah, Regulus was apparently a possessive guy.

Then why haven't you nor James ever noticed or even witnessed it ?

Barty and Evan always told you and James how Regulus would get fired up as soon as he noticed someone just as breathing in your and the Griffyindor's direction.

But both you and James thought it absurd. 

Regulus Black ?

The always calm and collected headboy of Slytherin ? The guy with the stone cold stare and the stoic expression ? The same calm and collected boy that liked to read and write poetry, looking at the stars and sleeping in on Sundays ? 

Jealous ?

You and James had a good laugh.

But it never got beyond that. 

If you had to consider one of you as the ‘jealous one’ most of the times that would've been James. The boy couldn't go a second without yours and Regulus eyes on him, pouting his way through it to get the attention of his partners, and sometimes sending dirty looks to people who were being a bit too insistent and pushy.

Other times it was you even. Having two of the most handsome boys in Hogwarts as your boyfriends was fun, until random girls tried to slip Amortentia in their cups at dinner, and a weird green concoction in yours.

Then it wasn't fun anymore.

The points deducted from your House were definitely worth seeing the two girls jinxed to puke slugs for a week.

So it was always either you or James. Never Regulus.

He was always calm, put together and, weirdly you must say, extremely affectionate. 

So Barty's words didn't really make sense to you and your Gryffindor boyfriend.

Until tonight.

Gryffindor had won a match against Ravenclaw. One of the biggest and toughest matches of the last three years (or so James said), so partying was mandatory.

For a night the Gryffindor common room was opened to everyone who wanted to have fun, relax, and possibly and most importantly, get wasted.

The room was full. 

People from every house were there, the sound of muggle music filling your ears (David Bowie, was it ? Salazar, Remus sure talked a lot about that guy).

After getting a drink you spotted some of your housemates talking to Remus and Lily. Dorcas, Pandora, Barty and James were there too.

You walked up to them holding your, now full, glass of firewhisky mixed with some sort of juice. Courtesy of Sirius.

“You guys keep hogging my boyfriend here. I wasn't even able to congratulate him on his victory” You said, arms going to circle James’ neck, careful not to spill your drink, as you left a kiss in his lips.

“You did so good up there” you whispered on his lips before smacking another small kiss on them and letting go.

“Did I ? Must've been my lucky charms” he said grinning, hands still on your waist as he took in the sight of you in Gryffindor colors. A rare occurrence, happening only when the match was a big one. 

In all honesty both you and Regulus would rather die than ever wearing red and gold, but James needed to know that the two most important people in his life were there for him, so you made an exception.

Well, that, and the jumpers you always stole from him that were too big on both you and Regulus, but they smelled of James and they were a lifesaver in the nights where you couldn't sneak out to pay him a visit.

“Speaking of” James lifted his eyes to look around the room, scanning it in search of a particular mop of ebony curly hair and stormy eyes “where's Reggie ?” 

“Was talking with Evan at the drink table. Said he would be here in a minute” You answered, taking a sip of your drink.

“Good, I have to thank both my charms. Can't miss one” James said with a goofy smile, one that could only be considered lovestruck.

The same kind of smile that curled your lips, too. 

“Don't think you'll have to wait for long” added Barty with a smirk on his face, trying to hide it with the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

You and James shared a look of confusion.

Suddenly a voice spoke up.

“Hey, James. Nice match you had up there ! I think it was really thrilling-”

Cole Aleberstine, sixth year Hufflepuff, came to congratulate James as well.

You knew him, you had Divination together. He was a quiet and shy guy, and you were almost sure he had a crush on James.

Which was hilarious considering the whole school knew James was a taken man. A very taken man.

You never considered him a problem, he actually looked like he was terrified most of the time. His little infatuation with James was never acted upon.

You actually found it rather endearing.

But apparently not everyone thought the same.

The poor guy couldn't even finish talking when a louder than usual “Baby” was heard, and suddenly a flash of black hair and gray eyes was in front of the Gryffindor chaser, surging on his tiptoes, fisting James’ shirt in his hand and yanking the boy towards him in a hungry kiss.

James let out a yelp in surprise, and then proceeded to literally melt in Regulus' arms and at the mercy of his lips.

Oh, you knew that feeling all too well. The way Regulus kissed like he was starved, like it was the end of the world and only the taste of your lips could save him.

Yes, Regulus Black was a hell of a kisser.

And you were sure James was in heaven right now.

Being used to it you didn't have much of a reaction (the butterflies in your stomach begged to differ), but the flabbergasted faces of your friends were pure gold.

Even Remus and Sirius, who were more than used to your and the other two boys' antics, were left speechless.

You let out a snicker.

When you turned around Cole was gone, no trace of him whatsoever.

Regulus then parted from James’ lips and turned his head, looking at the empty place that was previously occupied by the Hufflepuff.

The most imperceptible smirk peeked on his lips, like he had won the lottery or something.

Your eyebrows slightly furrowed.

What ? 

And then it clicked.

The way Regulus was definitely at the drink table before Cole showed up and then, as soon as he opened his mouth, he stormed there like a fury, kissing James like his life depended on it, like he wanted to swallow him whole, like he wanted everyone to know that the Gryffindor chaser was his.

A grin spread on your lips.

Oh, Barty was right.

Regulus Black was a jealous prick.

And he made sure that everyone knew by claiming you and James.

And only then your brain realized that all the time he was extra handsy in public, which was very uncharacteristic of him, he was trying to literally mark the territory.

A part of your brain wanted to find it a little excessive, but the other, more prominent, part found it extremely attractive.

Barty sent a knowing look in your direction.

The obvious ‘I told you so’ written on his face made you shake your head lightly in complete disbelief.

“Damn, I must've been really good then” 

Said James, who looked thoroughly snogged, lips plump and glasses crooked on his nose.

“You were alright I guess” said Regulus, trying to appear as unimpressed as possible, but the sweet smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

James loved when Regulus was a little mean to him, all in good fun, of course, and it was entertaining for you to watch.

“I should start playing Quidditch too if this is the treatment we get from our boyfriend” you added, a playful offended tone in your voice.

“No need for that, mon étoile” Regulus said with a proper smile this time, detaching himself from James, picking you up and spinning around once before kissing you softly but just as eager. 

Funny thing ? You could still taste James on his tongue and it made your head spin.

His lips like silk, molding perfectly with yours as you let out a content sound.

“Yeah, better not. I'd probably end up with a broken bone every two weeks”

You said chuckling and a little breathless, as he put you down gently, hands still on your hips.

“I already have one boyfriend with enough broken bones, I definitely don't need you doing that too”

He said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“But- I mean, if you want to you can of course”

He added.

“I was joking Reggie, don't worry” you said smiling, endeared by him “I definitely like it more when my feet are on the ground” 

“Pity” interrupted James “You would look so hot riding a broom with the wind in your hair” he stated, drinking from his cup.

“I'd say I ride enough things already, don't you think ?” you said with a smirk and a raised brow.

James proceeded to choke on the alcohol in his mouth, while Regulus cheeks tinted a splotchy red.

“Ok, enough” said Sirius, his face distorted in horror “there are certain information that we really don't need to know” 

“Speak for yourself, Black. I wanna know everything”

Barty said, wiggling his brows. 

Regulus threatened to make him bald for the rest of his life.

Laugher roared, and the night proceeded as smoothly as a party at Hogwarts could ever go. 

[formula1blog]

FERRARI

Charles leclerc x Fem!reader

" Can I be honest, I still want your hands up on my body. You still make my heart beat fast Ferrari."

Uni was slowly killing you. It was that time of the semester when every subject you were following thought it was a good idea to give you an essay to write. Every night, you pulled an all-nighter, losing sleep faster than you could imagine. So you were thrilled when you finally closed your laptop, having submitted your last essay for the semester and the holiday was about to start. To celebrate, your roommates insisted that you go with them to the club to drink away all your sorrows.

This is how you find yourself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting your little black dress and checking your makeup. For the first time in weeks, you didn't look like a zombie from the walking dead.

"Are you ready?" Marie, one of your two flatmates, asks as she walks into your bedroom. She is wearing a beautiful purple dress that matches her eyeliner.

Checking yourself one last time in the mirror, you answer her question, "Yes, let's go get wasted." She laughs at your comment and interlocks her arms with yours. Christina was already waiting by the door when you finally got to the living room. "It sucks that it's my turn to drive," she says.

You three grab your bags and make your way towards Christina's car. During the journey, you had already screamed your lungs out to the weekend before arriving at your destination. The roads of Monaco had been fairly quiet, so it didn't take long.

Entering the big building, you were immediately hit by the bright lights and the smell of alcohol and sweat. You knew you weren't going to remember much.

"I am going to get us some shots, be right back," Marie says as she walks towards the bar. You wanted to turn around and talk with Chris, but saw that she was already in conversation with a handsome stranger, so you made your way to the middle of the club. You had already lost both of your friends and hoped that they were in good hands. 

You heard the melody of 'Ferrari' by James Hype and your body started to move along with the beat. You felt someone brush against you and ask, "Do you want to dance together?" You couldn't help but blush at the man. He was quite handsome, taller than you, with brown curls covering his face and beautiful green eyes looking right at you.

Before you knew it, you had placed your hands on his chest. "Yeah," The stranger smiled as he placed both of his hands on either side of your torso.

"Can I be honest? I still want your hands up on my body. You still make my heart beat fast, Ferrari. With me in the wave, but in the morning." You moved your body to the song's lyrics. The stranger joined in, singing some of the words as you danced together.

"Do you like Ferraris?" He asks. "I love them. If I ever get the money for it, I will buy one." He spun you around so your back was now facing him. "Which one is your favorite?" He said into your ear. The music was loud, and he had to repeat the question once.

By this time, the song had already ended, but you didn't want to leave the stranger. You were glad he was starting a conversation. "Probably a 458 or the classic F40." He nodded in response. "Great choices. I will keep that in mind." You laughed at his joke, or was it? You knew you were likely never going to see him again.

"You sound like you know a lot about them. Do you drive a Ferrari?" You spun back around to face him. Only now did he look oddly familiar, but you couldn't place it. Like you had seen him on TV or maybe just in Monaco, it is a small country. "Mostly on weekends, but sometimes for fun. I love cars, all types of them, but mostly Ferrari's."

You were interrupted by Christina, who was carrying a drunken Marie. "Sorry to bother, but I am going to take her home. So I don't know if you have plans after this, otherwise you should probably come with us."

You looked up at the stranger as if the question was directed towards him. "I can take you home if you find that alright. I'd love to get to know you better." You smiled towards him. "You can go, I will call you when I leave." She nods and leaves you alone.

" I didn't get your name?" He looks down with a adoreble look. Should you trust him? He looks good. He likes Ferrari. Basic the biggest mention of possible red flag. It was only for tonight, he wouldn't kill you. You hope atleast. "Y/n, and what is yours?

He smiles. You could see a thinking look on hik.before he answers. " Pretty name for a pretty girl. My name is Perceval."

You snicker a bit at his name. " I didn't know this was a back in time themed party. Must have missed the invitation."

The rest of the night was filled with more laughter and dancing and you felt yourself getting more closer to the man in front of you. Not knowing that the people online found you and you were going viral. Tomorrow was going to be a wild day.

( suppose to be chance instead of change)

[artofhazbinhotel]

Staticmoth argument scenario as usual because they're in love but awful people

Vox had been staying out at night to work on a new project pulling all nighters for at least a week now and he was exhausted, he thought he knew a way to cheer himself up and finally get some sleep: Valentino. He actually came home tonight and Valentino was watching his latest work on TV as he often does, he's very proud of his work despite Velvette and Vox not wanting to see it in the living room 24/7, or ever. When the moth demon heard the door he peeked over the couch with an antenna twitch to see who, hoping it was finally Vox, it was. It was a late hour but Valentino doesn't usually sleep at night from being nocturnal, he'll sleep on occasion if it's after sex or forcing Vox to sleep by making a makeshift wing straightjacket. Vox flopped onto the couch beside Valentino, laying on his back across his long legs, "You would not believe the day I had" small talk seemed to be a good way to go about this he figured, he would never just straight out ask 'want to have sex?' that's Val's job. Valentino cupped his face with a hand while another laid across his chest "My poor baby, it's a shame you do it to yourself"

Vox rolled his eyes ignoring the comment before continuing "I missed you" Valentino couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this, of course he missed Vox, he was pissed off at him for neglecting him so long, past the point of trying to seduce him for attention, that's how pissed he was. "Yeah?" He doesn't deserve to hear it in return he decides, bitter. The media demon didn't expect to hear it back anyway but it still kind of stung, finally he sits up despite how comfy that position was, he always found Valentino's lap a nice comforting pillow. "You deserve attention even if you didn't miss me, is there anything I can do for you baby?" The TV host was really hoping sweet talk would get his 'business partner' out of this mood he seemed to have right now, sometimes it does, it's 50/50.

"You mean what I can do for you? You're not the top here" he stated matter of fact, causing Vox to blush a little in embarrassment and gesture dramatically "I would be more often if you'd let me! I could do that for you if you want? Think of it as an apology" Valentino could almost laugh at that, instead he pretends to ponder it "Hm.. No." Vox figured Val was just rejecting him wanting to be a top so he sighs , "Fine, okay, you can use me to feel good instead then, how's that sound?" He was almost certain the phrasing would make Valentino extremely interested, he's into that shit. But for whatever reason that shocked the overlord, Valentino rejected it all together "I don't want to have sex."

Vox's eyes widened a little, Valentino probably has never said that sentence before in his life "Oh- that's fine- Are you not feeling good or..? You don't smell like alcohol so I didn't think it was an issue to offer, you don't seem high either, or at least not past the normal amount" Valentino glared "You have such an ego you think I have to be sick not to want to fuck you?" Usually in their arguments they've both done something, but Val hasn't done anything wrong for once, Vox doesn't think he has either, right? He's starting to question it finally. "What? No, I was just checking-" he didn't like the way he stammered.

The much taller demon scooted away "You leave me alone for an entire week and the first thing you do when you're back is offer sex. What? You only want me when it's convenient? I bet this is just a stress relief, I'm not your fucking stress ball" Wait Valentino feels that way-? Vox was now panicking, it did cross his mind Valentino might be guilt tripping, but he felt guilty just for thinking that. "Val, no, I only offered because you like sex, I was busy, I didn't leave you alone on purpose, and you weren't alone, you had your workers, I didn't even think you would notice" that sounds indicative of a deeper issue. Valentino huffed, getting a little angrier, which was a little better than that calm tone since it's more familiar. "Of course I noticed, I noticed you didn't want me"

Vox decided to try physical comfort since he's awful with words, he leaned forward so his hand could reach his cheek. "I *never* don't want you, get that in your head, I said I missed you and I meant it." Valentino switches up so fast, because now he was lowering his antennas "really?" He still seemed a little skeptical but that's better. Vox nodded quickly and he leaned into his touch, he missed it. "Then show me you want me, I changed my mind" Vox felt a little awkward about this considering his heart rate when up with all that guilt but he assumed kissing Val would fix that so he did.

They proceeded to that for several hours, Vox was so exhausted by the end he passed out laying on Valentino's chest and neck fluff as a pillow. Thank God Valentino's wings cover or when Velvette walked by in the morning she would be more traumatized than usual considering they're still on the couch. As much as she wanted to bitch about the couch she also was glad Vox was finally sleeping so she left it be. When they finally woke up Vox lazily asked a "are you feeling better? Not mad?" Valentino reached around for his glasses because of the blinding windows but mumbled a "Better"

Vox was quiet for a minute, maybe Valentino would be too asleep to process "I'm sorry" it was a numble too, normally he'd just buy him something but it felt needed after that conversation yesterday. Valentino blinked a little, processing, before pushing Vox off of him to get up, unforgiving and cold despite the night "Then don't do it again."

[lunaetis]

okay bedtime for real.

[lunasilvis]

Been writing someone I care about a phantom letter because my heart has so much to say still (but won't send because space is still called for both ways - doesn't mean I'll become forgetful :) )

[lill-cute-fluffy-devil]

To @alisachik

Hey! Don't be so hard on yourself! We all have dreams, and as long as we keep going, they will accomplished. Don't EVER give up on what you want to succeed! NOTHING is ever a waste of time!!! You don't have to "act your age" everywhere! Just be you and do what makes you happy!!! Heck, I still act like a kid sometimes out in public! You don't have to follow what anyone says. (Unless it's the actual law.) Sometimes, do what your heart tells you. If it tells you to give up on your blog, I got nothing against that. But, sometimes, you just gotta be YOU. If I weren't me and followed my heart, well... I'd literally be dead on the floor right now...... So, follow what dreams you want to fulfill! It never mattered about age! It never mattered about peoples opinions! All that matters is BEING YOU. Life lesson, always have friends and family, but you don't always have to listen to them. (Again.) Just be you. Your blog is amazing! Your animations are amazing! And having people actually be them is amazing! Be yourself, not other people. (I feel like I repeated many things, but hopefully you get what I mean by all this)

From: @lill-cute-fluffy-devil

[tiredsadpeach]

I think we’re at a stalemate after that text which tbh is better than I tweet and then he tweets about being annoyed

[713-4th-ward-g]

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[be-good-to-bugs]

DONT stay up for 21 hours its a horrible idea

[pears-trinkets]

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