▬ 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐱 𝐨𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜 ⋆.ೃ࿔*
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𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 azalea and alex are brought together by twitter and fall in love, the only issue is azaleas commitment.
first book in the feral boys series
✧˖*°࿐
quackity x female oc
social me...
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chapter eight just irl warnings : none
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azalea hummed along to the song, the california moon shinning through the open window, allowing the crisp of the city to flow into the apartment. one of those times that feels like you're living that gta life, minus the drugs, gun, gangs and whatnot of course.
one of those times that feels amazing, alone but in a good way, it's chill, relaxed, it was calm. the smooth voice of frank ocean playing as azalea sat on her counter, sipping a capri sun, wild cherry to be exact. this was the perfect night in azaleas mind, 2am, sitting in the kitchen, blasting music.
it was a perfect night, until her phone starting ringing, cutting off her music and forcing her to put her drink down and hope off the counter.
she mindlessly slid on the call, bringing the phone to her ear without glancing at the name.
"hola mama, ¿por que llamas?" (hi mom, why are you calling?" she said, leaning on the counter.
"¿mamá? estás jodidamente drogado, no soy tu mamá." (mom? are you fucking high? im not your mom." alex laughed.
azalea groaned, "sorry sorry, whats up? why are you calling so late."
"why, did i interrupt something?" he teased.
"yeah i was fucking your mo- wait, is there a possibility i will meet your mom one day? can i make these jokes?" azalea said, stifling laughter with her hand over her mouth.
he took a second to think, "uh yeah, if you ever come to mexico you'll probably meet her."
"god okay, i was blasting music and drinking a capri sun, i was about to make some food or something." she explained, looking around the kitchen for a snack.
"well i was thinking about streaming on my alt, wondering if you wanted to join me?" he asked, logging into his alt twitch account.
"sure! wait, how'd you know i was awake? you were just taking the risk of waking me up?" she asked dramatically.
