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kaleidohscopic · 5 months

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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.”

#baekhyun #exo baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun x reader #exo x reader #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun au #exo au #exo fluff #kaleidohscopic works baekhyun

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liyawritesss · 1 year

Text

ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Hobart “Hobie” Brown [Spider-Punk] x Black!Fem!College!Reader

Type: Drabble

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: Hobie’s got a habit of letting himself into your dorm room. Thankfully, you’ve got your own suite, and tonight isn’t any different.

Warnings: cursing, very very horrible british accent & slang I apologize in advance/please teach me better, brief nudity (he’s taking a shower chill you horndogs), I perceive Hobie to be around 18-19.

A/N: Was listening to a 90’s playlist while writing this so yeah there’s a couple of 90’s songs references in here.

Song Suggestions: “comfortable” by H.E.R., “So Into You” by Tamia, “Brown Skin Lady” by Black Star, “I Wanna Be Down” by Brandy, “Be Happy” by Mary J. Blige

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @venusdraco @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @honeybleed @briology @pnkweb

Hobie can see the pretty lavender color seeping from your window about a block out from your dorm building. It’s the color you use to signify that your window is open for him to come through, and he has to admit, in times like these, he’s glad that the both of you decided on the bright, pastel-like hue that shines from your LED strip lights.

To say the hero was tired as an understatement. His body was screaming for rest; has been for the past week. But one can’t rest in the face of oppression, and Hobie Brown never turned down any action that would cause unease and unrest for the elitist politicians of his society - and neither did Spider-Punk.

Said action was the reason why Hobie hadn’t gotten proper rest or taken care of himself like he knew you’d want him to in the past week. He normally didn’t care for the repercussions his actions would have on himself, always telling himself that it was a risk well worth since it brung him and his people closer and closer to the freedom they desired, no matter how small the steps were.

However, upon meeting you, and subsequently falling for you, and subsequently taking on the label as your partner, he’d come to understand that you just wouldn’t have any of that. Although begrudgingly at first, Hobie began to take your advice and constant nagging on taking care of himself better, but now it had gotten to the point where he simply couldn’t do those mundane tasks of self care without you. Even sleeping became hard without you, or at least, something that reminded him of your presence.

Hence why he was swinging from building to building to reach your dorm hall, because while Hobie wasn’t in the right mind to admit it to himself, he was in need of your love and care, and only you could ease him in the way he needed.

He hangs off the wall as he gazes into your single suite dorm, the muffled melody of Mary J. Blige’s “Be Happy” reverberating through his body. You’re doing a little dance in your desk chair, pretty hair wrapped up in a headscarf, the maroon hoodie you had on swamping your upper body. You had a writing utensil in hand, and with the books opened on your desk, it appeared like you were doing assignments for class. Hobie smiles to himself under his mask, wondering how he ended up with such a smart and intellectual person like yourself.

He has no problem raising up the window and slipping inside, his practiced movements quiet and agile as he pads across your hardwood floors. He pulls the mask from his head, freeing his face and wicks from the stretchy material, taking a deep breath. Your room smells like home, traces of lavender sage trailing in the air, and he can feel the headache that had been plaguing him for the longest finally begin to subside.

Hobie begins to search through your drawers, trying to find the stash of clothes you insisted on him keeping at your place since the first few times he’d crashed there. In the midst of doing so, he feels a pair of arms trail around his midsection, and not long after, your voice floats to his ears.

“I love how you never look in the bottom drawer,” you say with a teasing lilt in your voice, “y’know, where your clothes have always been.”

“Hello to you, too, pretty.”

Hobie allows himself to be shooed off to the shower, as you tell him you’ll worry about getting his clothes and some food together, He can’t resist the lopsided grin that spreads across his lips as he follows your orders. The hot water against his sore muscles and stinging scratches and other injuries feels like heaven, and when he emerges from the bathroom, he smells like it, too. The lavender body wash is his favorite out of your collection, and he chuckles when he sees you’ve got two tall bottles of it stored under your bathroom rink, almost anticipating that he’d use it anyway. He loves how well you know him.

Hobie dresses in the gray sweatpants you left out for him, opting to remain shirtless for the comfort of it. Definitely not to see your flustered face as you walk back in your room to him sitting on the edge of your bed, ready to be taken care of.

When you walk back in, the song on your speaker switches to the easy one-two step tempo of Brandy’s “I Wanna Be Down”, a container of food in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. “Tell me where the knicks are.” You say, setting the food down on your nightstand, and Hobie proceeds to show you the various scratches and bruises on his body that desire your gentle touch and attention.

They’re not so bad, which is surprising considering how wild and reckless Hobie usually is, so you figure some ointment and muscle cream for the soreness will help for the night. Calloused hands hold the container of food that you’ve so graciously warmed up for him, and as he eats, you encourage him to talk about his day.

“Bloody prick wouldn’t shut up,” he grunts after a few bites of food, and you assume the ‘prick’ he’s referring to is one of the members of the local government that, for lack of better words, did not have the support of the younger generation when it came to his reign in office, “wan’ed to knock his head off his shoulders so bad. King dick arsehole.”

You laugh at his choice of words, and it's the best sound he’s heard all week.

He’s done eating faster than what he anticipated and with the food in his system, his body begins to feel more heavy, the exhaustion beginning to seep deep into his bones and become visible on his face. Your heart swells at the sight, his lidded eyes and slight head-nodding to your music more than enough to tell you just how tired Hobie was.

You take the empty container and place it on your dresser, taking Hobie’s head into your hand and pressing gentle kisses against his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. He all but relishes in the feeling, each peck of your lips leaving a burst of comfort in his wake, and it causes him to nearly melt in your hold. His large hands make their way up your biker shorts, riding up your thighs into the crevice of where your pelvis and thighs met, and under your hoodie to feel the warmth of your bare skin. You stand in between his legs here, though Hobie decides that this isn’t close enough, and reaches to the back of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

It quickly becomes addicting, the feeling of your lips on his face and your skin under his hands. It’s not long until you’re laying on your back and Hobie is settled between your legs, his head tucked into the crevice of your neck, his upper body resting almost completely on top of your own. One large hand rests on the curve of your ass, the other is under your hoodie, resting on the side of your ribcage, thumb subtly swiping under the curve of your breast.

Your touch brings him just as much comfort as just the simple skin-to-skin contact he enacts on his own. One hand roams the surface of his back, tracing figures into the dark skin littered with even darker blemishes and scars. The other rests at the nape of his neck, holding him close as you continue your kissing assault on the punk-alt boy. Hobie sighs into your neck when he hears you begin to hum the tune of the new song playing. Even though you’re barely above a whisper, he hears you clearly and the wave of comfort that floods his form is indescribable.

It doesn’t take long before his breaths start to even out, and the weight of his body begins to sink into your own. Pressing one final kiss into the crown of his head as “Brown Skin Lady” begins to fade down into a low hum, thanks to you turning down the volume through your phone. With Hobie fast asleep, it leaves you no choice but to your own slumber. It’s not like you can go back to your homework, after all.

#black reader #black tumblr #black spiderman #spiderman #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman beyond the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman btsv #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x black!reader #spider punk #spiderpunk atsv #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x black!reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk x black!reader

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