#laylox

[firesidefantasy]

Hello! I took a look at your wip and it’s so amazing! Layla and Fox’s relationship is adorable and the subheading you used for the wip page totally inspired to make something! 

OH MY GOD ?? W H A T ?? THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ! THANK YOU SO MUCH I AM TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH THIS

[firesidefantasy]

layla & fox → laylox

She stepped closer, our foreheads falling together without either of us really trying.

“Maybe you’re right sometimes,” Layla mumbled, still breathing heavily out of her nose, “sometimes.”

“I’ll take it,” I mumbled back.

And then she kissed me.

Her lips were soft against mine, always so soft. She tasted like cherry, which was new. Also new? She was good at this. Like, mindblowingly good. I melted into the kiss and curled my fingers into her (my) sweater and kissed her until she pulled away.

“You’re so not ready for this,” I told her.

“I know.”

“That was a rebound kiss.”

“I know.”

I smiled. “One more?”

“Okay.”

And then she was kissing me again.

( nepenthe wip intro ) (layla’s character intro) (fox’s character intro)

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon  @novel-novelist  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater @lrose-writes (ask to be +/- )

[firesidefantasy]

layla & fox  → laylox;

“Oh my God!” Layla shouted, turning to me with a massive grin on her face. “Did you see that? Oh my God! It went in! That was epic!”

I ran at her and picked her up, twirling around in the air while she hung onto me for dear life.

“Fuck yeah it did! You did it! You fuckin’ did it, babe!”

We laughed in triumph, giggles still spewing from her lips when I set her back down on the ground. The basketball rolled away but I didn’t notice. Layla’s face was mere inches from mine. I could feel her breath on my face as she laughed. Her blue eyes were staring right into mine. She still had a smile on her lips. Those soft, pink lips.

I leaned forwards and kissed her.

She kissed back, hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure what she was doing. I cupped her cheek with my hand and brushed my thumb against her skin. She was so soft, her lips even softer against my own. My eyes were closed and all I could focus on was her and she had no idea what she was doing and it was so obvious but I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all.

( nepenthe wip intro ) (layla’s character intro) (fox’s character intro)

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon​  @novel-novelist​  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater (ask to be +/- )

[firesidefantasy]

The Great Jaffa Cake Debate

This isn’t going to make an ounce of sense to anybody outside of the UK but basically, jaffa cakes are biscuits and that’s all that matters. For @shattered-starrs, who wanted to know whether Fox and Layla think they’re cakes or biscuits, and for @apricotwrites, who has the correct stance on this very important issue.

"It's literally in the name," Fox argues, stuffing one in her mouth, "jaffa - cakes. Cakes. As in a cake."

"That's just branding. Since when does the name of a product denote the type of product it actually is? You don't eat Yorkshire Puddings for desert."

"You could."

"But you don't, because they're not a pudding," Layla picks up a Jaffa Cake and holds it up. "This is a biscuit. It looks like a biscuit, it tastes like a biscuit, and it functions as a biscuit. For all intents and purposes, a Jaffa Cakes is a biscuit."

"Don't think you're winning this just 'cause you have all the fancy sentences."

"I'm winning this 'cause I'm right."

"Are not. There was a court case over whether Jaffa Cakes are cakes or biscuits and the court decided they were cakes. That trumps everything."

"Courts make wrong decisions all the time. If Jaffa Cakes were cakes, they would be put in the cake aisle, but every supermarket puts them in the biscuit aisle instead."

Fox chucks a Jaffa Cake at Layla's head, "shut up. Jaffa Cakes are cakes. End of story."

"You can't just say end of story and win the argument. That's not how arguments work."

"Yes it is. End of story."

Layla laughs and chucks the Jaffa Cake back at Fox's head. "Shut the fuck up."

[firesidefantasy]

happy meet and greet monday!! ❤ to fox - if you had to name the moment when you first started falling in love with layla, what moment would that be? | to layla - if you were asked to make a '10 things i like about you' list about fox, what 10 items would those be? // ~livvywrites

hiiiii happy monday!!

fox: i've been crazy about layla since the first night we stayed up past midnight spilling our souls and she fell asleep on the phone. then we met in person, and it really cemented the fact that i wanted to be with her. but i don’t think i started really falling in love with layla until the first time i kissed her. of course, she rejected me right after, but maybe that’s just what i look for in a girl. it’s like cocaine or chocolate; once you get a taste, there’s no going back. 

layla: ten things i like about fox? easy.

she buys me chips

she buys me chips

she buys me chips

she buys m-

not what you wanted? okay okay. 

her hugs; fox is taller than me and bigger than me and she wraps me up in her arms and rubs my back and makes me feel safe. not to be grossly poetic on main, but fox’s hugs are home to me.

her stubbornness; nobody can ever win an argument when fox is around, but she’s also too stubborn to give up on me, even when she probably should.

her mind; she likes people to think that she’s a dumb jock type, but she’s smarter and more well read than anyone i’ve ever met, and she sees the world in a really beautiful way

her fluffy hair; it’s such a mess, but it’s so soft and i love making it all stick up. she can make a mohawk out of it with shampoo suds and it’s really funny

her sense of justice; she will punch anybody if she thinks it’s the right thing to do, which gets her in trouble more than anything, but she is never afraid to stand up for what’s right. 

her hoodies; they’re really soft and she lets me borrow them and doesn’t make me give them back. it’s really one of the major reasons i’m with her.

she’s really good in bed

her confidence; nothing has ever phased fox and i don’t think anything ever will. she has a very strong sense of self and she doesn’t take shit from anybody

her pick up truck; it’s been falling apart for years now but it is glorious and it’s the main reason i got to see her so much before we lived in the same place

she buys me chips. seriously, this should probably be top of the list

[firesidefantasy]

{ fox & layla }

I wake up to a face full of kisses.

She smells like soap and she's bundled up in my red Oxford sweater even though she has two of her own in her suitcase. She's dripping water all over the bed and I want to complain, but I don't think she's wearing anything underneath the sweater and she's capturing my lips in a minty fresh kiss before I can utter a single word.

She whispers a soft 'morning angel' against my lips and it's at this point that I lose all self control. Blue covers are hastily pushed aside and I flip her onto her back so her wet hair is spread over the pillow and she's looking up at me with those big, blue eyes of hers. Kisses are pressed to the dip where her neck meets her shoulder and she arches her back up into me. I slide my hand beneath her sweater and find that I'm right; she isn't wearing anything underneath.

My lips are travelling down to her collarbone when my bedroom door is flung open. I jump back and turn to see my grandma standing there, a twinkle in her eyes that hardens my resolve to install a lock on my door. Her arms are crossed over a flour-covered apron and beige jumper and, somehow, there's a slice of cherry in her frizzy white hair.

"Breakfast is ready, girls," she smiles at us, and it looks sincere enough but I know she's fighting off a smirk. I also know I won't live this one down for awhile. She shakes her head and turns to leave. "Sometimes you kids make me feel I have wasted my life with men."

Layla snorts and I press my hand over her mouth before she starts laughing, but my grandma is already gone so it doesn't matter when her sweet, vanilla laughter spills out anyway. I lean down for a final kiss before I have to tear myself away.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Layla laughs. She stays sprawled out on my bed but I do my best to ignore the half naked girl watching me get dressed because my grandma has no discretion, and if I try to fuck Layla before breakfast she will walk in on us again and I will truly never hear the end of it.

As it is, we're ten minutes late to breakfast. Layla's lips are red and my hair is a mess and maybe it's bad that I can't say no to her, but it's Christmas. If I can't make out with my girlfriend before breakfast, what's the point?

(Layla gets covered in flour later while helping my grandma bake cookies. I get shower sex and six cookies topped in icing and chocolate sprinkles. I think it's possibly the best Christmas yet.)

( wip intro ) (layla’s character intro) (fox’s character intro)

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon  @novel-novelist  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater @lrose-writes @daltoneering @priwrite​ @thewriterkatie (ask to be +/- )

[firesidefantasy]

Happy STS! If one of your ocs was badly injured how would the others react? (I couldn't think of a better question sorryy)

oh god, now i’m imagining layla getting badly hurt and fox finding out. this is making me sad. why are you doing this to me :(

fox is so protective over layla. sometimes too protective. if somebody hurt her on purpose, then fox would ensure they got a taste of their own medicine. otherwise, she would be absolutely devastated whilst doing her utmost best to take care of her and not be TOO overbearing. she would not succeed at not being too overbearing.

happy sts, thanks for asking!

[firesidefantasy]

Layla & Fox; Soulmate AU

Layla is covered head to toe in flower tattoos and it takes my breath away. I trace my fingers over the black ink covering her arm, spiralling around her shoulder and down to the roses lining her collarbone.

"How many times have you fallen in love?"

"Countless."

The word evaporates into thin air. I brush my lips over the sunflower on her chest and follow the stalk over her breast with my tongue. My lips pause at the empty space over her heart.

"You haven't found your soulmate?"

Her fingers trace down my spine and I shiver.

"What type of music do you hear?"

I look up, catching her eye as I trail kisses down the lavender on her stomach. "Excessive amounts of indie pop."

"Then perhaps I have."

My heart skips a beat at the very notion, the mere thought that this beautiful girl might be my soulmate. How great it would be to love a girl with so much love to give.

"Would such a find make you happy? Would you accept it?"

She runs her fingers through my hair. "You mean, would I accept you?"

"I don't have much to give."

"You have the best kisses," Layla arches her back against my lips, displaying a field of flowers beckoning me closer, "would I get those kisses?"

"For the rest of your life." I nip at the buttercups on her hip bone and make her gasp.

"Then you have more than enough to give."

I kiss lower and lower until there are no more flowers to trace, but somewhere much sweeter to press my lips. She moans and gasps and arches up against me. I can only pray that I will get the honour of worshipping this girl with kisses for the rest of my days.

[firesidefantasy]

“how much did you drink?” for layla/fox pls

“How much did you drink?” Fox laughs, and she’s taking my cup away from me but I can’t pout for long because she replaces it with a steaming box of chips. I’ve stuffed four in my mouth before the words are even out of her mouth. “I thought you swore off alcohol.”

“I did!” I shout through a mouthful of half chewed chips. Music is blaring in the background but it’s quieter out here and I don’t have to shout to be heard. I still shout a bit, because I’m drunk and happy and that’s what you do at parties. 

Fox finishes off my vodka-coke combo. She doesn’t drink much anymore either. We're only here because it’s Zach’s twentieth and he would never let us forget it if we missed the party of the year. There are fireworks and a bouncy castle and a chocolate fountain and I do have to concede that it is a surefire win for party of the year. Besides, getting drunk every once in awhile is fun. Especially when Fox is here. And when there are chips.

“I love you, y’know that?” I say. 

Fox raises a brow at me and looks between me and the chips, “which one of us are you talking to?”

“Oh fuck off,” I push her, and she pretends to stumble back but grabs my hand and pulls me in closer. I don’t resist. She presses herself up against me and kisses me and it’s kinda weird because I have a mouthful of chips but I’m drunk and she doesn’t seem to care. I don’t pull away.

[livvywrites]

asdfghjklxldbrowbfltl

this is SO GOOD what

i LOVE Zach—his dynamic with Fox is hilarious!! & i am always down for a character who uses a ton of pet names for people lmao

& Silas!!!!! he seems so Soft and i am ALWAYS here for that ugh

they seem like such c u t e boyfriends

{ Introducing Zach }

Zach enters a room and a party starts.

I’m laying on my bed. Fox is on the floor, tossing a basketball against the wall. Layla is squinting at a book. There’s music playing in the background and apart from the quiet thud of Fox’s basketball, the room is peaceful, the lights are dimmed, and my anxiety levels are nice and low.

Enter, Zach.

He flings the door open and flicks the light switch and suddenly we’re basked in the crash of door against wall and a flood of bright, florescent light. Fox chucks the basketball at his head and he catches it and I have to admit, that was pretty smooth. He tosses it back and Layla trades reading for glaring at him.

“Why are you like this?”

Zach drapes himself on my bed and I can feel the weight of his torso against my calves. He sighs in that overly dramatic way of his. “Life would be so boring without me, darling. What would you all do?”

“Read in peace,” Layla mutters, and she makes a show of picking her book back up and positioning it so he’s hidden behind it.

“Weren’t you at rehearsal?” Fox asks him.

“Rehearsal came to an end when the lighting fixtures made a rather ungraceful tumble to the floor,” he waved his hand, “it’s no matter. I have more important matters to attend to.”

“Like pissing off your friends?” Fox says.

Zach winks. “Exactly, sweet cheeks.”

Sometimes I wonder how Fox and Zach have been friends as long as they have. They’re best friends, certifiably, but I think the nuances of their relationship go over my head sometimes because for the most part, they look like they’re going to bite each other’s heads off. I think that’s how they bond.

Zach doesn’t fit in with our group, but he told me once that that’s how he likes it. He likes to feel special, to feel different. So he hangs out with us. It makes sense, but I still don’t think I’ve ever laughed more than when he told me he finds the other drama kids too dramatic. Pot, kettle, black, and all that.

“You’re quiet,” Zach pokes my legs, and I raise a brow at him, because it seems a stupid observation even for him. I’m always quiet. “Do you need a hug, kitten? You look like you need a hug.”

I think Zach thinks that when I’m quiet, it’s because I’m sad. He spends his life trying to cheer me up. If I’m honest, the only reason I haven’t tried to correct him is because I love his attempts to cheer me up. I definitely love his hugs.

His arms are already wide open so I shift my legs out from underneath him and crawl into his lap. He wraps himself around me and we crash sideways onto the bed, but I don’t mind because he’s stroking my hair and kissing my forehead and he’s too preoccupied to piss anyone off.

I’m the only one who can make Zach shut up. Sometimes, I think the others only keep me around because of it. Zach says that that’s just my anxiety, and I’m starting to think that he might be right.

When I first met Zach, his tendency towards the overly dramatic made me nervous. Now it helps, because if he’s holding my hand and commanding the attention of the entire room, nobody cares what I do. I can be a quiet, nervous wreck, and nobody minds because they’re too caught up in the outrageous tale spinning from Zach’s lips. It’s nice.

“You guys wanna order in later?” Fox asks, and the steady thud of her basketball resumes.

“How about a luxurious meal at the new restaurant on Fifth? I hear the waiters there are just darling.”

“I don’t want to put real clothes on,” Layla says.

“Silas?” Fox asks, and I hate when I’m asked for my opinion because I don’t know what I want to eat for dinner and I definitely don’t know how to pick between what my friends want and what my boyfriend wants.

“Would you settle for ordering in Chinese, with a short, humorous improvisation based on the fortune cookie fortunes, performed by yours truly?”

There’s silence for three heartbeats, before I hear a sigh.

“Yeah, I can live with that.”

“As long as it doesn’t run over half an hour,” Layla says, “I can’t have another repeat of the Hamlet debacle.”

I groan, “don’t say Hamlet.”

“Darling, you underestimate me,” Zach drawls, “I don’t need Hamlet nor more than half an hour to make you regret not choosing the restaurant.”

Layla groans and Fox tosses the basketball at his head, except we’re so close together that it bounces off mine instead.

“Oops,” Fox laughs, and I flip her off, but it’s okay because Zach’s fingers are rubbing where it hit and I can’t be angry if Zach is touching me.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll make her regret that later.”

Fox is dragged on ‘stage’ to perform with Zach during dinner and her annoyance definitely makes me feel avenged. As much as he can be, I’m pretty certain I have the best boyfriend in the world.

[firesidefantasy]

[ another rambly fox & layla magic au ]

Humans are soft and weak and slow and Layla is no exception.

One day, she'll catch onto the fact that we don't need to climb so high to have a good view of the plains. There's a better spot several feet below. We pass it every time we make this climb, I  just gain extreme amounts of satisfaction from watching Layla struggle up the cliffs.

For a human, she's in pretty good shape. She can hoist herself up and scale the sides of the mountains without panicking and making a fool of herself. She knows which caverns to avoid and how to stamp out a fire ant colony; but she's also slow, and her little human fingers can't grip the rocks properly, and don't even get me started on her complete lack of instinct.

When we reach the peak of the mountain, Layla is red in the face and struggling to breath. I lounge back on the rocks and watch her. Humans have massive egos and even bigger superiority complexes, but at the end of the day, they're just fumbling fools.

Layla isn't an exception, but she's a cute fool. She has long blonde hair that's soft to touch and constellations on her cheeks that she calls freckles. Her skin is smooth and her cheeks are squishy and her eyes are the what I always imagined the ocean might look like.

I hate humans, but I don't hate Layla. Even my family doesn't hate Layla. My dad always saves extra slices of pumpkin pie for her and my grandma knits her a sweater every Seventh Sanctum. Humans aren't meant to be apart of our celebrations, but humans aren't meant to do a lot of things that we let Layla do.

When Layla was twelve, she got herself into a lot of trouble rescuing my cousin Flint from execution. She still has burns on her neck and a brand on her forearm and the shame her people put around her neck like chains.

None of us have forgotten her sacrifice, so she's allowed into our homes and invited to our festivals and I think one day, I'll be allowed to marry her.

Layla is the best of human kind. She sits on my lap and leans against me. Her face is flushed red from exertion. My fingers glide through her golden hair and she lets me braid the silky locks ten times before she wants to do something else. I squeeze her tight and kiss her forehead and I could do that a hundred more times if she would let me. Nothing with Layla could ever go old. She's constantly new and exciting, a mystery I will never figure out.

People question why I would ever want to date a human, but she's soft and mysterious and her eyes remind me of the depth of the universe and her heart is as golden as her hair; I question why other people wouldn't want to date her.

Not that it matters. Like a goblin to treasure, Layla is mine, and I am never going to let her go.

( wip intro ) (layla’s character intro) (fox’s character intro)

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon  @novel-novelist  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater @lrose-writes @daltoneering @priwrite @thewriterkatie @angelolytle (ask to be +/- )

[firesidefantasy]

The dawn burns red across the plains, casting a lingering shadow that masks the secrets that morning brings. Lovers, whisking back to their own beds; teenagers, waving goodbye to their friends; thieves, pocketing one final prize. All secrets can be hidden in the shadows.

A goblin creeps along the street. None can wield the power of the shadows like a goblin. She fades into the dark like a chameleon, piercing eyes the only give away should one look her way. None look her way.

Magic is ever present in Foolsbane, but pebbles to a window never fails. She lurks in the shadows until the face she seeks appears at the window. The shutters are opened and the building is scaled. With a tumble, she lands on brown carpet. She looks up at her girlfriend.

Long, blonde hair and sweet blue eyes. Freckles littering her cheeks. A flowing night dress hangs from her shoulders and she wants to pull it off, to reveal the wonders she knows lie beneath, but there is no time. Dawn is ending and she must be gone when it does.

"Here," she whispers, the only word exchanged. She hands a piece of string, brown and grungy, tied together like a bracelet. It looks like nothing, to you and I, but the girls know the magic that lies within. They know what it means.

Secret kisses are stolen and she leaves, the taste of cherry lingering on her lips.

[firesidefantasy]

A Fox & Layla AU

Fox takes my hand. Her palm is blazing hot and her fingers are cold as ice and when she squeezes my hand, sparks surge through my arm like fireworks. It's hard to hold on, but I can't let go. Even when she gets so excited that she burns my hand, I can't let go.

This means that my hands are permanently singed. I figure there are worse problems to have.

"Do you need a jacket?" Fox asks. It's a rhetorical question because she's already draping her tattered, green jacket over my shoulders. A faint rotting fish smell lingers in the fabric but I don't mind. It keeps out the cool evening air, and it's Fox's, so how could I?

"Thanks," I whisper. I press a fleeting kiss to her cheek and she blushes fire red. It's one of my favourite things about Fox; her body reacts to her every feeling. She describes it as having a permanent, undisguisable emotional boner. When she's happy, she blushes; when she's excited, her hands burn; when she's angry, her whole body flashes like a warning sign. For the first month I knew her, I thought she naturally had purple eyes. Her father later informed me that goblins get purple eyes when they're turned on. I don't talk to Fox's father much anymore.

I don't talk to Fox much, either. We only see each other late in the evening, when my people have long since given in to their exhaustion and Fox's people begin to rise. She meets me in a cavern on the edge of our farm and we roam the mountains until we find a good spot. Somewhere to watch over the world for awhile, somewhere to keep an eye on the stars.

We used to tell each other stories. Now we don't need words. I trace the burns and the freckles along her arms and she braids my hair a hundred times because goblins don't have long hair and it's been a year but she's still fascinated by it.

Sometimes we see a pack of goblins in the distance. She tells me what they're doing, who their target is, the politics behind the happenings of the night. My people would never believe the amount of political drama that goes on in the goblin world. They think goblins are savages.

I used to believe that too, but Fox isn't a savage. She reads the same books as I do. She has the same thoughts. Sometimes when she talks, I start to believe that we're the savages.

We executed another goblin last night. Fox and I sat on the mountain and watched them burn his body. We cried.

We cry together a lot. It's better than crying alone.

"Pumpkin?" Fox breaks the silence with the offering of pumpkin pie. Her father makes it. My father barely knows how to tie his own shoelaces.

"I'm starving," I tell her, and she hands me the bigger slice. I don't object. She can get more of this at home. The best delicacy we serve in our village is mushroom stew and it's reserved for festivals and holidays only. If goblins are savages, why do they eat like kings while we live off potato and porridge?

I asked my father that once. I lived off Fox's pumpkin pie that week.

The sun threatens to rise and I wish, not for the first time, that I was a goblin too. I wish for a life of mischief and mayhem over rules and order.

Fox offers to bring me back to her home. I reluctantly decline. I've declined that offer ever since the caning I received the last time my father caught me returning home so late in the night it was practically morning. He rises with the sun, giving me fifteen minutes from now to be in my bed.

I've perfected the run home.

"Till tomorrow?" Fox stands and I do too. She faces me, and I kiss her with the haste of one who must go but the softness of one who wishes she did not.

"Till tomorrow." Her eyes are purple and her cheeks are red. I kiss her again.

And then I run back home.

tag list: @livvywrites @fictional-semantics @persephonescomplex @vioaeon  @novel-novelist  @atbwrites @wildswrites @albatris @alicewestwater @lrose-writes (ask to be +/- )

[livvywrites]

ohhhh myyyy godddd

Stone walls are all I remember. They tower so high that I lose them in a haze of clouds and sky and if there’s a ceiling, I’ve never been able to find one. There’s light but no source, windows but black void beyond the glass. Nothing exists beyond my tower.

Whether anything within my tower is real either is up in the air. There’s only me in here. I have no memories of a life beyond stone walls, but I can taste them on the tip of my tongue, like a word I know exists but cannot recall. Memories could unlock the answers I seek but they are off limits to me.

I know not how long I’ve been here. An eternity and a day are both plausible. Time melds into one long stretch. I am never hungry, nor thirsty. There are endless floors to explore but no rooms. Books are the only other entity to exist within the tower. Every inch of space is littered with them.

Each book tells the tale of a mighty warrior. Her face brings memories right to the edge of my lips and yet I cannot release them; just a hair-width away but still out of reach. The warrior haunts my thoughts. She pulls me back to the books time and time again but I find no answers in their tender words. I find no comfort in the stories.

Stone walls are my home now. I know nothing outside of these walls. I want nothing outside of the creaky wooden floorboards and cracked windows.

Sleep beckons me. I run to it, slipping deep into it’s tender embrace. Sleep visits rarely, I know better than to shun it’s offer. I feel myself falling deeper and deeper into sleep.

Her face invades my mind. I turn away but there is no escaping her face. She calls to me. She is everywhere. She is all consuming. I run but there is nowhere to hide from her.

The warrior says my name. I didn’t know I had a name until she says it. The word echoes around sleep’s chamber, bouncing off blurred walls and into oblivion.

Layla.

Come to me, she says. Her hand reaches out to me. I fight it. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave the tower. These walls are where I belong. I don’t know why. I don’t know. I can’t leave.

She offers out her hand. I push her away. I scream. I can’t leave the tower. I can’t leave.

She grabs my arm. She pulls me.

And then I’m falling.

[livvywrites]

i LOVE themmmmmm. they’re so damn cute aaaaahhhhhh

“how much did you drink?” for layla/fox pls

“How much did you drink?” Fox laughs, and she’s taking my cup away from me but I can’t pout for long because she replaces it with a steaming box of chips. I’ve stuffed four in my mouth before the words are even out of her mouth. “I thought you swore off alcohol.”

“I did!” I shout through a mouthful of half chewed chips. Music is blaring in the background but it’s quieter out here and I don’t have to shout to be heard. I still shout a bit, because I’m drunk and happy and that’s what you do at parties. 

Fox finishes off my vodka-coke combo. She doesn’t drink much anymore either. We're only here because it’s Zach’s twentieth and he would never let us forget it if we missed the party of the year. There are fireworks and a bouncy castle and a chocolate fountain and I do have to concede that it is a surefire win for party of the year. Besides, getting drunk every once in awhile is fun. Especially when Fox is here. And when there are chips.

“I love you, y’know that?” I say. 

Fox raises a brow at me and looks between me and the chips, “which one of us are you talking to?”

“Oh fuck off,” I push her, and she pretends to stumble back but grabs my hand and pulls me in closer. I don’t resist. She presses herself up against me and kisses me and it’s kinda weird because I have a mouthful of chips but I’m drunk and she doesn’t seem to care. I don’t pull away.