#jazz over classical | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

koemiexists · 2 months

Text

Love and Devotion | Alastor x Fem Reader

summary: you descend from Heaven because you can't stand not being with your husband any longer. word count: 9.7k (apologies...) tags: vaginal sex, cream pie, semi-public sex, making love, making out, voice kink, oral sex, demon sex

Charlie’s voice pierced through the awkward silence, grinning at Alastor shakily. “Today’s exercise will include Alastor...!”

Silence rang throughout the room, and Charlie took a deep breath, smiling even wider, even though everyone knew just how forced it was.

“The Radio Demon....! Alastor. ” She nodded next to her, and jumped slightly when he used his shadow to appear next to her within a few seconds. “Okay! We will have Alastor, uh, play some music-”

“Jazz,” He interjected, his grin stretching further.

“Yes! Jazz! While we reminisce about our past life...! What could have been, what should have been, what we wish we never did. It’ll allow us to reflect, and help atone our sins to be redeemed!”

Alastor let out a quiet hum sound, and snapped his fingers, a radio appearing in his hands. Tucking his cane underneath his arm, he placed his right hand over the radio, supporting the bottom of the electronic with his left. He felt his mind drift as the radio frequencies buzzed and bits of different channels were barely heard. Some sounds of a woman talking, then some blues, a bit of classical- and there was jazz. He lifted his right hand, grasping his cane as he set the radio down on the coffee table, looking at Charlie.

“Seems as if I am no longer needed. Such a shame, however I wouldn’t wish to intrude on your group bonding activities! It was a pleasure to help you all, though.” He smirked slightly, bowing just barely before he turned, walking to his room.

Now safely in his room, he felt his resolve crumble slowly, the pain weighing deeply. However, he couldn’t afford for this to happen, so he inhaled deeply, and gripped at the rubble.

He tugged , and the once slowly slipping mask of a smile was replaced with a bright grin, brighter than his normal ones, but not at all genuine. Alastor blinked, looked at his hands, annoyed he almost went against his own saying.

In a different afterlife, if he didn’t have strong emotions, he wouldn't still be plagued by your death. It’s been years. For Lucifer’s sake, it’s been an entire century plus some, and yet he can’t help but long for you.

Gathering his bearings, he adjusts his blazer and the grime off his monocle. He was absolutely impeccable, reveling quietly at his pristine appearance.

Alastor glanced at his dwellings, closed his eyes, and turned for the door, accepting only for these few hours that he can not think about his wife.

You were in your house when you died.

Patiently, you were waiting for your husband, Alastor to return from his radio show. You smiled, knowing just how well he did. He mentioned in passing that after this paycheck he’ll buy you a ring, and you’ll both go on a getaway trip for the week.

If only that happened.

You let out a scream when you heard the glass break, the sound echoing throughout the house. You had run to the phone, shaking as you spun the small wheel at the base of the phone, repeating the numbers of Alastor’s work phone in your head as you input it into the machine.

It rang.

And rang.

When Alastor’s voice sounded at the receiver, you started to speak, blabbing, almost fully incomprehensible.

“Someone-” You gasped, tears rolling down your cheeks as your husband tried to comfort you, and understand exactly what you were saying. “Someone broke in-!”

A deafening bang sounded, and all you could hear was your own body hit the floor, and the gurgling sounds you made before you died.

You knew that Alastor heard the same.

When you came to, you realized you made it to Heaven. It was a bit of a shock to you, as you remembered the time you helped a lady steal some baby food. It was needed though! At least, you told yourself she needed it. Her baby looked awfully malnourished.

Shaking your head, you walked up to the gate, and smiled when the blond angel said your name.

That was a century or so ago, and you longed for your husband still. One of the angel’s, Adam, tried to get you to forget about your late husband and date him.

You never did though, because you still had hope. You had so much hope. If he wasn’t in Heaven, he had to be in Hell, and you had decided that you didn’t want to wait any longer, you wanted to find him.

Descending down was relatively easy, somehow. No one truly bat an eye, and in record time you were down in Hell.

You wrinkled your nose, and hid your wings to try and conceal how out of place you looked with all the sinners. You realized quickly though that despite you being an angel, no one dared to approach you with the intent to harm.

Taking a deep breath, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, walking with haste. You didn’t truly know where you were going, frantically looking anywhere for him. The surroundings became increasingly more violent and populated, and you were just so desperate to find your husband. A small thought popped in your mind, the what-if.... If he already died... from other demons....!

A sob wrecked your body at the mere thought, horrified you even thought that. You inhaled, wiping the tears, faith that your husband was strong, that he wouldn’t die so easily.

“Are you okay?” You almost broke your neck with how fast you turned, looking at a young demon. She wasn’t like the others in appearance, her canines were the only sharp parts of her teeth, and her hair was blonde. Her outfit was red, though, but her skin was almost milky white.

You felt embarrassed with the way you just gawked at her, and looked away. “I need help.” You quietly said, finally noticing the other woman next to the woman who talked to you.

The blonde demon tilted her head, before nodding. “We’ll help you! My name is Charlie, Charlie Morningstar?”

Your gaze shifted to the person next to her. “Vaggie.” She supplied simply, and you noted how she seemed annoyed. That’s when you actually took in that their outfits were much nicer than any of the demons you saw, and their hair was done.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, uh, did I interrupt your hang out?” You felt terrible, first your faith for your husband began to slip, and now you interrupted two friends, or lovers.

The tall demon, Charlie, just grinned at you. “Don’t worry about it! I offered to help you, didn’t I?” She turned to Vaggie, and leaned down. Words were exchanged in a whisper, and you looked away to give them some privacy.

Finally, Vaggie sighed and nodded at Charlie, who beamed.

“What do you need help with?” Vaggie asked, as the three of you began to walk in the opposite direction you came from.

You flushed, and looked down. “I was wondering... if you two know where Alastor is?”

Both of them stopped in their tracks, looking at you as you shifted foot to foot. “We do,” Charlie began slowly. “Is there any reason why...?”

You looked away. “Please? He’s important to me.”

The women looked at one another, chalking it up as if you're one of Alastor’s relatives. “Okay,” Vaggie agreed.

They made small talk with you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to truly care about what they were saying. You answered as if on auto-pilot.

Soon enough, Charlie and Vaggie stopped, motioning to the large building built on a hill. “Here,” Charlie started, smiling at you. “This is where me and Vaggie work! Alastor is currently the facility manager.”

You thank them quietly, walking inside. Now in a closed space, you released your wings, ruffling them as you felt them ache.

Glancing around, you noted the color was less red than it was outside. Hell was definitely filled with just variants of red.

“Thank you two, for bringing me here!” You turned, smiling at the pair. “I’m still sorry for ruining your hang-out-”

“Date.” Vaggie interjected, hand on her hip.

You smiled. “Date,” You corrected yourself. “I’ll make it up to you guys!”

Charlie laughed, waving her hand. “Don’t worry too much about it. It’s nice to help someone.”

“Dear?”

That voice caused you to stop where you were, eyes going wide with shock. You slowly turned, letting out a gut-wrenching sob as you flew straight at Alastor.

His grin on his face only grew wider, and fully genuine as he grasped you close, hand in your hair as you crumpled against him. “Oh, darling.” He breathed, trying to pull your head back to gaze at your face. Your grip was almost too strong, but he managed to pull you off slightly.

You sniffed, feeling gross as you knew just how snotty and disgusting you looked, nose red and leaky from crying. Your eyes must have been pretty puffy, because Alastor gave you a small smile, soft and apologetic.

“I love you.” You muttered, almost completely inaudible.

“Wow,” A voice sounded behind you, and as you twisted to try and see who was speaking, Alastor pulled you closer. “Didn’t know Freaky Face over there was capable of having someone care for him.”

Someone else snorted, and you heard a small thump accompanied with an undignified squeak. “Angel! Be nice.” Vaggie muttered.

Angel, you assumed, huffed.

Pulling away fully now, you rose, sniffling as you looked up at your husband. “I missed you.” You said this time, and Alastor only grinned.

Charlie looked between you two, grinning sheepishly. “Alright, well, Alastor, care to introduce who she is...?”

Alastor looked at Charlie, before bringing you closer. “Well, this is (Name),” He started, his hand resting against the small of your back. “And she is my wife.”

“Holy shit.” The voice who snorted spoke, and you saw how he dropped a bottle of what looked like alcohol.

You felt embarrassed, even though you were proud to be Alastor’s wife, it was awkward for his associates to know it.

Charlie walked over to you, and gently held her hand out. You glanced at Alastor, and at his subtle nod, you took her hand. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying for a bit?” She inquired, and you just flushed a bit.

“I think so. Alastor must want to catch up.”

She smiled, and gently led you down a hallway. You noticed the decor, with the walls being colored a deep desaturated red. Gold adorned the walls, complimenting the reds. The hall seemed to stretch for quite a bit, and there were doors that led into multiple different rooms.

Charlie began to explain how this was one of the areas where Alastor’s accommodation was. She led you further in, before opening a door to your right. The space was a bathroom, clearly unused but meticulously cleaned to perfection. The young demon drew up a bath, and you suddenly felt the tiredness seep through, along with the gross feeling that stuck to your skin.

“Here,” She said softly, once she deemed it was a good temperature. The tub itself was grand, and there were bubbles on the surface. A faintly sweet and earthy scent filled the slightly steamy quarters. “I’ll leave you be-”

You shook your head, stumbling a little. You didn’t want her to leave so soon, especially with how accommodating she was to your situation. “Don’t? Please.” You inhaled quietly, gathering yourself as you spoke, your voice slightly louder. “I... I would like you to stay, and talk with me.”

Charlie obviously was mulling it over, hesitant to stay. You knew that apparently the people of the hotel were afraid of Alastor, for reasons you weren’t truly aware of, but you resolved in your mind that if Alastor had a problem with Charlie being with you, you'd talk to him. “Alastor won’t mind,” You started softly. “I’ll make sure he isn’t upset, even though he is... a bit possessive.”

Drawing the curtain, you slid into the bath, sighing at the heavenly feeling of the water. You identified the sweet smell to be vanilla, and you glanced at the corner of the tub, where a small bottle of vanilla soap stood. Charlie then sat down on a small stool and began to talk, mostly rambling about the hotel.

Once she mentioned what she was trying to accomplish, you interjected, beginning to tell her about how Heaven worked, the rules you had followed, the slight oppressing feel. Yet you also mentioned how it was everything she thought it was. Your conversation with the princess of Hell flowed easily, and soon enough you were cracking jokes with her, and she was asking you for your opinion on a variety of exercises she had in mind.

Soon enough though, she left the bathroom in order to get your clothes that were in the washing machine. She placed your clean clothes down by the sink, and bid you farewell as you finished your shower. Drying off, you saw the small note on top of your garments that simply said; ‘Don’t dally. I will be in my room. - Alastor’.

You smiled, and fixed yourself in front of the body length mirror, gently drying your hair to avoid it being frizzy. Once you deemed yourself presentable, you exited the washroom, scanning the hallway.

Noticing the murky shadows coming from one of the doors, you slowly made your way over, about to knock on the smooth dyed wood before the door opened quickly.

Jumping back in shock, you almost yelped out when you got pulled into the room. You blinked and looked up, noticing your husband staring down at you, a broad smile on his face.

“Smile, dear.” He started, voice low and staticky as he pulled you closer.

“Because you’re never fully dressed without a smile...” You finished, giving him an awkward grin, before you burst into tears, not out of sadness but pure overwhelming relief.

Your husband embraced you, stroking your hair as you just slipped into his arms. “Missed you so much.” You spoke in a whisper, almost inaudible as Alastor wiped your tears from the corner of your eyes.

His smile was small and comforting, staring down at you with pure adoration in his eyes. “I can see that,” He said teasingly. “You must miss me very much, mon cher.”

Giving him a glare, you pulled away in faux anger at his teasing remark. “ Now darling... ” You stiffened at the slight hint of danger in his voice as he pulled you into his chest again. “You know I mean no harm to my little doe.” He crooned, and you let out a breath, the threatening feeling dissipating.

You were slightly jostled as he maneuvered the both of you to lay face to face on his comfortable bed. The sheets rustled underneath your body, and you noticed just how grand your husband’s dwellings were. The sheets were made out of silk, the same material that your pillow case was made of when you were alive.

You know you’re spiraling in your own thoughts, but you can’t help as you recall how your husband doted on you, his deep russet eyes peering at you from above his round glasses that sat on top of his nose. “(Name),” He would whisper, his voice charming, and you couldn’t help the love that burst through you when you stared at your lover. “Would you let me bed you?” Alastor would groan in a husky voice, and you would lose yourself in the throes of pleasure underneath his body, letting him mark you and claim you as his only.

“Darling,” His voice sounded again, and you blinked, shaking yourself from memory lane.

“Apologies, Al.” You murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I just...”

He hushed you quietly, stroking your cheek as he kissed your forehead. You smiled gently, and he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re exhausted.” Alastor stated simply. “I’ll still be here when you wake up dear, so don't worry your pretty head.”

You shuffled, glancing over at the door, which was shut. “But...” You trailed off when Alastor shook his head slightly.

“Don’t worry about the hotel. I’ll show you around in the morning, for now you need to rest, you had a long day searching for me in an unfamiliar place, am I right?”

Flushing, you nodded, and laid back down, slowly drifting to sleep against Alastor.

The way to Hell was completely barred off. Frustrated, you had tried to break through the seal, but to no avail. No matter what you tried, you couldn’t shatter it.

You yelled out, pounding on the seal, wishing it would just open up. Why couldn’t you see your husband? What did you do to deserve the inability to travel to Hell to see your lover as you wish?

“You really think we wouldn’t catch on?” Adam snorted, kicking his empty drink away as he sauntered over to you. Your tears were running down your cheeks, and your wings fluttered, but no matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t work.

Another angel came next to Adam, huffing. “Look at this demon fucker. You’re nothing but a whore, aren’t you?” She growled, and you let out a sob as she yanked you up by the hair, pressure in your scalp intensifying with each painful tug. “Look at me when I speak to you, bitch.”

“Chill Lute, fuck.” Adam rolled his eyes, and you hit the ground with a groan as Lute kicked your abdomen, making you double over, retching all over the floor.

Lute spat in your direction, glaring down at your shaken body as you heaved.

“Your little husband , he’s gone from you forever. You’ll never see that worthless sinner again. You have better things to do anyways, like dating me, you know.” Adam grinned. “Why would you need a sinner like him, who’s bound to die anyways by the extermination when you can have me? Adam! The first man!”

“(Name)!” You tried to fight off the hands that were grasping your arms, heaving as bile rose from your throat. “Shh, mon cher, you’re okay. It’s okay.” Alastor said soothingly, and you blinked tiredly as you stopped struggling against his hold.

Extermination? You couldn’t make sense of your nightmare, and you heard of Adam before, but not an angel named Lute. The pictures were muddled, like an oil painting, and you couldn’t understand what you had seen, what you heard in those few moments of sleep that grappled you.

You shuddered, the cold whipping against your smooth skin, and you pulled the blanket over you more, glancing at Alastor, who’s grin was tense now, looking down at you. “Nightmare.” You whispered, not providing any more context other than the word.

Alastor, thankfully, seemed to understand you weren’t up for talking anymore, especially not what occurred in the nightmare, instead he pulled you close, your chest pressed against his. He helped you hook your leg over his own, as you two were intertwined partially.

“I don’t believe I can sleep now.” You started again, voice quiet as Alastor blinked at you. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You were a bit annoyed that he would just kiss you after what had just happened, however you knew you didn’t elaborate on what you saw so he had no way of knowing the severity that the nightmare has done to you.

He kissed you deeper, dragging his right hand from your wrist to in between the both of you, his nimble fingers pressing delicately at your clothed heat. You couldn’t help but gasp, and he moved his mouth to swallow your sounds, pressing his tongue against yours. A whimper escaped you afterwards, and he pulled away to nip at your neck, rubbing small circles at your cunt. Your eyes were lidded, and you jerked in his hold, wishing that he would just tear your undergarments away and fuck you like you been wanting.

“Needy,” he huffed, and you felt your cheeks heat up as Alastor used his claws, ripping your lace panties straight to shreds. You shrieked at the sudden action, yet Alastor kept going, kissing you again. His hand is rubbing at your clit now, and you shuddered against him, wishing you had more contact instead of just his hand.

Smirking, Alastor repositioned the two of you, slotting his hips in between your legs. You whined at the feel of his own clothing against your bare cunt, however he just hushed you, grin wide as he rolled his hips.

You moaned loudly, instantly muffled by his mouth greedily on yours. He held your hips in an almost bruising grip, licking into your mouth as he began a steady pace of rolling his hips. You heaved, and he bit at your lip before trailing down again to suck a dark love bite right above your bust. The heat was coiling deep in your gut, swirling as it tightened, his ministrations causing you to let out soft moans.

Alastor pulled you closer, staring down at you as began to go faster. His erection was pressing against your clit just right, and you couldn’t help the loud sound that exited your mouth as your thighs shook. Your orgasm flowed over you in waves, the tension letting go all at once.

Once you were done, you slumped in the sheets. You felt Alastor pull away from you, kissing your cheek. He shuffled, and soon you felt him right behind you, pulling you close against him. Your eyes fluttered, sleep beginning to overtake you.

When you awoke again, it was due to a delicious smell wafting from downstairs, and not a horrible nightmare. You slept exceptionally well, and you stretched, allowing your bones to pop. You unfurled your wings, stretching them too, before tucking them back in, blinking around.

Alastor wasn’t in bed with you. You felt your chest tightened, but when you glanced at the grandfather clock in his room, you noticed it was nearing nine, and your husband had always been an early bird.

You sniffed, and almost began to salivate instantly at the smell again. You looked around for something to wear, especially considering your underwear were now measly strips of fabric... then you saw folded clothes with a note on top of it.

Grasping the note, you noticed that it was from Charlie. ‘ Hey (Name), Alastor told me to drop off some clothes for you for the morning. He said something elegant and modest.. Which is kinda hard to find in Hell, however Vaggie had some clothes she didn't use, and allowed you to wear! Alastor also said you needed undergarments, so I went out and brought you some! OO, Charlie Morningstar.’

You smiled brightly, and turned it over, letting out a small laugh at the next bit. ‘PS: OO, because if I put XX Alastor would kill me. Come downstairs for breakfast when you’re done!’

The material of the garments were nice; smooth and silky. You slid into the underwear, and fixed your brassiere, noting that it didn’t have a wire, just how you like it. You wonder if Alastor had told her. The clothes Vaggie gave you were pretty, and you easily put it on.

Once you fixed your hair, you put a bit of lipstick on, enough for your lips to have a bit of color before you exited your husband’s room, bounding down the stairs to the foyer.

You noticed Charlie before she saw you, and you began to descend the stairs quicker. In your haste, however, your foot missed a step going down, leading to you to quickly plummet. You let out a cry at the sudden descent to the bottom floor, one that would obviously be painful, when you felt two pairs of arms wrap around you.

“Woah there belle , why are you in such a hurry?” You glance up, eyes widening at the demon above you. He was absolutely towering, roughly 8 feet tall if you were asked. He retracted his second set of arms, and you struggled to get your bearings. The demon was stunning, he was nothing like your husband, but it was obvious he got many compliments and other demons after him.

You realized that you haven’t said anything in response, and Charlie had come jogging towards you to check on you. Stuttering, you assured the sinner that you were okay thanks to him catching you, and in response he introduced himself as Angel Dust.

Thankfully, instead of pressing you about your awkward silence, Angel let Charlie whisk you away, and she excitedly mentioned that Alastor was cooking in the kitchen. The way she spoke made you realize that he more than likely never did so, which was shocking. When you two were alive, he almost always cooked.

When you asked him why, he simply said that he loves to watch you eat what he cooks you. Previously, you thought it was just because he didn’t like how you cooked food...

Shaking your head, you focused on the present, strolling into the kitchen with Charlie still fervently talking.

“Alastor is cooking up some food that he said you’ll certainly enjoy- but I never heard of it! It seems really good though. I’m mostly accustomed to popularized foods.” She admitted, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

You nod, smiling. “It’s understandable. From what you told me, you were born in Hell?”

Charlie confirmed it with a nod, smiling. She was a bit bashful at her lack of knowledge about Earth, however you just told it was truly fine, and expected even considering she never lived a life up there.

When Charlie was inevitably distracted by her girlfriend, Vaggie, you walked over to Alastor, who was humming a tune that was just barely audible.

“Good morning darling.” He said without even turning, causing you to blink. You hesitated to approach further, considering how busy your husband looked. At the end of your inner turmoil though, you decided to waltz up right beside him, peering over his shoulder at the stove top. “Beignets.”

You looked at him. “Beignets?”

He gave you a toothy grin. “Is that not what I just said, dear? I made beignets. Don’t tell me all those years in Heaven caused you to forget your favorite dish...”

You shook your head quickly, nearly breaking your neck as you scanned the kitchen. “Where?” You questioned, nearly salivating at the mere thought of soft beignets that were undoubtedly covered with loads of powdered sugar. Did he drizzle honey on top as well? You swallowed audibly, and Alastor let out a laugh.

“You must be starving.” He remarked, and you couldn’t help the fact your stomach traitorously made a loud noise. “Wow, you really must be hungry! I could give you a dessert right in front of everyone...” He petered off, a growl in his throat as he stared at your exposed throat. “However, I think breakfast will do. Shouldn’t have sweets on an empty stomach.”

You can’t help yourself as you give your husband a faux glare, pouting a bit. You wish the other hotel members weren’t here, and you were able to just have him... But the smell of egg sardou was always appealing.

When you were seated at the long dining table, you expected breakfast to be a quiet affair. You were terribly wrong. Charlie gave you an apologetic glance as she tried to calm down Angel and Sir Pentious who managed to get into an argument. You tried to focus on plating your food, but Nifty kept fixing the platters of food, muttering about how it wasn’t clean enough.

Your husband was obviously miffed by this, and you noticed he took it almost as an insult to his cooking. In your peripheral, you saw how Vaggie began to comfort her girlfriend who was increasingly looking distressed at the fact breakfast was going awry.

You blinked, your resolve setting at that final scene. Without uttering a word, you stood up, slamming your serving spoon and fork down at the table. The commotion instantly quieted, and you began to move from your seat, fixing everyone’s posture and position with their silverware. They were absolutely wild in your mind, with some of them using the dessert spoon instead of the dinner spoon, or mixing up the salad fork with the serving fork. Your patience was running thin, and all you wanted was a peaceful breakfast.

“Elbows off the table.” You said, voice echoing against the walls as you strolled around the perimeter of the dining table. “Like that, yes.” You stopped in front of your seat, and glared at the others. “I expect this breakfast to be fine. Not perfect, but fine. I don’t want to be interrupted by your barbaric behavior. You’re in this hotel to be redeemed, and if not to be redeemed, you’re helping. Act like it.”

You sat down, and began serving yourself some of the egg sardou as chatter quietly picked up, obviously trying to heed what you said. Annoyance crept up on you, but you resolved to just focus on eating. Charlie had told you that she needed to speak to you after the meal, and you were pretty excited about what your new found friend had in mind.

The plates that littered the table were surely a sight. Despite the party being only a few people, Alastor still made sure to make a good amount of food. He graciously cooked up some of your favorite dishes when you two were alive, one of your favorites being egg sardou. You adored how he made it, and always cooked the eggs just enough. You never really liked your yolks that were super gooey, complaining to Alastor how it always made you nauseous. When he inquired, you said your brain always thought it wasn’t cooked if the yolk wasn’t partially cooked. Despite that, you told him you still loved the dish.

To remedy this issue, when he made it he poached the eggs for longer than necessary, and you absolutely loved it. You cut into the dish, mouth watering as the steam from the egg rose into the air, the hollandaise sauce rolling off the egg and onto your plate. You noticed how the creamed spinach part of the food wasn’t soaking, like most restaurants usually do. You hated the feel of soggy spinach, especially considering it’s supposed to be creamed spinach.

Taking a bite, you almost moaned, covering your mouth as you chewed your food delicately. You looked up, noticing how everyone was staring at you, minus Alastor who had risen from his seat to lay a napkin on your lap.

Swallowing your food, you flushed. “I apologize! I was truly hungry, and forgot to lay my napkin...”

Angel blinked, before speaking up. “That’s not why we’re staring at you, toots.”

You tilted your head in confusion, before the snake sinner, Sir Pentious spoke up.

“You look utterly graceful, (Name). It’ssss something we’re not truly used to.” He said, enunciating his s’s. You felt your cheeks heat up, and glance down.

“I must give you guys an apology,” You started quietly. “I was harsh with my wording and actions earlier. I was just purely frustrated by the fact breakfast couldn’t have been a peaceful affair... along with the horrendous usage of silverware. ” You utter the last parts, almost inaudible. However Charlie heard it, and giggled.

You glanced at her, embarrassment creeping up on you. “Don’t apologize.” She said, grinning widely. “I should be sorry, this is my hotel, and technically everyone here is under my discretion, and I couldn’t get them to behave properly.”

You shook your head, smiling too. “They aren’t children, Charlie.” You told her, turning back to your food. “I don’t expect you to carry that much responsibility. And I don’t mind helping out a bit either, with my knowledge on mannerisms and proper dining etiquette.”

The two of you smiled at one another, and you began to eat again, the conversation picking up speed now that everyone was content. You used the tongs in the middle to grab at two beignets, noting how Alastor’s eyes followed your movements. You felt flustered at your husband witnessing just how hungry you truly were, especially for his cooking. He always urged you to eat until you were comfortably sated back on Earth, yet you cannot help yourself from limiting your intake.

Beauty standards then were pressuring, and you didn’t want to be called a pig, especially when you were wed to a radio personality... one widely known throughout New Orleans...

Yet with his silent urging now, and the lack of judging looks from the others, you grabbed two more. The beignets were still hot from being in the oven, and when you gently tore into them, the pastry itself was light and fluffy. Powdered sugar dusted your fingers in an instant, and you tore a small piece off, popping it in your mouth. You scanned the table, going to wipe your hands with a napkin, before Alastor appeared.

Or rather, his shadow appeared, and the shadow grabbed the honey jar, using the specific honey dipper that was made out of smooth wood, polished perfectly to avoid any wood shavings in the sticky sweetness. You were pretty much in awe as the shadow drizzled the honey over the steaming beignets, and you felt your face flush when a hand gently swiped the powder sugar from your lip with a napkin.

In an instant, that moment was broken, and you were left feeling absolutely confused at the intimate interaction.

You didn’t let it show though, and began to eat in earnest, your stomach silently begging for food. If a noise was made, you feared you would have been so mortified that you would pass out. While you thought, you jolted at a small pressure against your clothed sex. You glared at Alastor, who gave you a wicked grin. The pressure against your cunt was obviously fingers, rubbing light circles against your clit through the fabric, yet you saw Alastor’s hands right there...

You flushed, and your mouth opened to let out a noise, before Alastor spoke up. “My my, Charlie! Weren’t you going to tell us about your delightful run in with a certain overlord the other day?” His grin was sharp, and you heaved a breath as Charlie perked up, beginning to talk to the entire table.

Shuddering, you inhaled sharply, which made Vaggie look over at you. You let out a shaky laugh, waving her off. She narrowed her eyes at you, then at Alastor, before turning to her pancakes.

You try to focus on something else, you truly did. You didn’t want to reach your peak in front of all your new found acquaintances and friends. Your breathing was unsteady, and you felt your thighs tremble as you inched towards your high.

“ Alastor! ” You hissed quietly, but he only smiled at your fidgeting self. The fingers slid past your panties, touching deep in your most intimate parts.

You couldn’t help yourself as you let out a soft whimper. Charlie looked at you in confusion, before vocalizing her concern. “Are you okay (Name)?”

“Fine!” You said between gritted teeth, blinking away the tears of pleasure as you were almost driven to the edge. “I’m quite fine, Charlie, thank you.” You grasped the edge of the table, biting your lip to stop your noises.

Charlie turned away, gathering everyone else’s attention from your off behavior to her, as she bursted out in a song. You wished you were fully focused on her, but the constant touches caused you to instead focus on orgasming and get Alastor to stop.

You let out a series of small ah’s before you orgasmed against the fingers, walls squeezing and relaxing around them. You wiped your sweat from your brow, and inhaled deeply. Charlie had apparently finished her song, about something you weren’t able to tell. It did what you needed, attention off you.

Alastor just gave you a toothy smile, then began to keep eating.

The rest of breakfast went by in a daze for you, with you eating your fill. You felt amazing afterwards, and had walked to the adjourned wash area. There wasn’t any toilet or bidet around, instead just a sink that was mounted into the wall. A full length mirror was to the left of the sink, and above was another mirror, purely for touching up the face. You turned to the right, where most of the cleaning supplies and cabinets were taking space. It was tidy, and when you opened the cabinet, there were a few drugs disguised as over the counter medicine.

You feared you overstepped, and quickly washed your hands. There was a hand towel next to the cabinet, but upon closer inspection you realized it was for cleaning, notably due to the overwhelming smell of bleach and other chemicals on it.

Exiting the small space, you gently shook your hands, finding no other way to dry them without a towel. “Oh! (Name)!” You startle, and Charlie runs up to you, presenting a small hand towel so you can get the remaining moisture from your hands. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“No,” You said softly, facing her fully. “Why do you ask?”

Charlie pocketed the slightly damp hand towel. “I wanted to know if you wish to run some errands with me? I think it’ll be fun to do, and we can talk on the way.”

In truth, you had wanted to spend time with your husband, but with the way Charlie gazed at you, longing for a female friend like yourself... you caved, eventually.

“Alright,” You agreed readily. She smiled, and directed you up into the more comfortable washroom, explaining that you should wear something sweet smelling to mask.

You were confused, but grateful for the fact you were in a larger bathroom. You took a moment to preen your wings before you folded them up, and they disappeared within your back easily. The marble top was littered in feminine products, like a curling iron and some hair ties. Among those items was a beautiful perfume bottle, and a note with clear handwriting. ‘ For you.’

Taking the glass bottle in your hands, you examined it, almost gasping as you touched the engraving in the bottle. It clearly had ‘ No. 5 Chanel Paris’ on it, but you almost couldn’t believe it. When you and Alastor were alive, you had seen it in the shops after it debuted. You told him that one day, you were going to buy it, and he promised that he’ll buy it for you in the near future, after he saved enough money.

That day never came.

Blinking your tears away, you spritz the scent lightly, inhaling the citrusy smell. When you took another breath of the perfume, you noticed the more subtle notes, flowers.

After you fully freshened up, you met Charlie down at the foyer, where she explained that this errand was truly easy to do, just tedious.

When you inquired, Charlie opted to glance away, whistling a soft tune instead. You narrowed your eyes at her behavior, before shrugging it off, choosing to ask her later when you two were out of the hotel’s range. Alastor had seen you two off, with him pressing a feathery light kiss against the back of your hand, eyeing you carefully.

You blushed deeply at this action, and chose instead to look away from your husband, who still manages to fluster you through death.

Charlie whisked you away after that, and after idle chat, she seemed to get more serious. “You know the extent of what Alastor has done, right (Name)?”

You frowned, shaking your head. “No. He never told me. Why?”

She seemed to pause at this, her steps faltering, before she continued her slightly brisk pace. “Well,” Charlie started, fixing her bangs as she looked at you. “He’s killed people.”

“I’m aware.” You smile wryly. “He’s a serial killer... heard a few sinners talking about him.”

“Yeah, but he also...”

“What?”

Charlie seems to lose her confidence in her words, instead opting to remain silent for a few long seconds, until she spoke up, finishing her sentence. “He also eats people.”

That stopped you, this time. You stared at her, absolutely bewildered at her statement. “Pardon?”

“It’s true! I saw him eat demons before-”

“I don’t wish to know that!” You cried out, groaning lightly. You rub your head, and begin to walk again, with Charlie stepping in pace with you. “Gosh Charlie....”

She had the decency to look upset at your own expressions. “I’m sorry, I just wanted you to know-”

You smile placatingly at her, before groaning again. “Wow.”

“Do you still truly love him, though? Despite that?”

You pondered her words. Did you? And in that exact moment, before you thought any further, the answer came to you. You turned to her, and she looked at you with expecting eyes.

“I told him in my vows that nothing he has done, or will do, will ruin my love for him as long as he doesn't hurt me. And he never hurt me. Even if he ate people, and murdered, he never hurt me, and he loves me. So if he loves me truly and genuinely, then I love him truly and genuinely too. I love Alastor, Charlie.”

She smiled, and gathered you in her arms, hugging you tightly. “Sorry, I just needed to know.”

You laugh wetly. “You’re forgiven, Ms. Morningstar.”

Charlie giggled, scrunching her nose. “Ew, don’t call me that. Makes me feel all high and mighty.”

“Are you not?” You jest, and Charlie grins at your words.

She stops soon though, glancing at her watch. “Well, I have to actually run errands.”

You froze, staring at her. “Was we not about to do that on this trip?”

Charlie turns away, whistling again.

“Charlie!”

She laughs. “Sorry! Well, not really. I wanted to make sure you were okay. I do have to run errands now, but I'll take you back to the hotel so you can spend the day with Al!”

You sigh, and give her a loose gripped hug. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Don’t mention it.” She started. “I’ll support you no matter what, (Name).”

After a couple minutes of walking in silence, Charlie began to speak again. “By the way, you should tell Alastor to not engage while the others are around.”

You were heavily confused, and stared at her. “What?”

Her cheeks darkened. “Be, uh, proper at the table...”

“I’m not following.” You stated simply as Charlie got more flustered, biting her lip a bit.

“I sang to keep the attention off you.” She said instead, and you instantly flushed, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You opened your mouth to hurl apologies, but she shook her head. “It’s okay, it seemed like it was mostly Alastor’s plan to engage you anyways.”

You groaned. “Terrible you witnessed it.”

She smirked. “Yeah I wasn’t too much of a fan to know that my employee and new friend were getting it out underneath the table.”

“Oh my goodness, don’t phrase it like that!” You playfully whacked her as she laughed. “This is so embarrassing.”

Charlie gently rubbed your back, smiling. “Not anymore embarrassing than my emo phase.”

“ You had an emo phase!? ” You nearly shrieked, and Charlie cackled at your reaction.

“I won’t show you a photo.”

You nearly whined. “Why not?” Jutting your lower lip out, you looked at her with wide eyes.

She looked away, before finally caving. “Ok, fine, maybe some time this week.”

When the two of you arrived at the hotel, Alastor was waiting by the entrance for you. You bid Charlie a farewell as she turned around to run actual errands. Alastor gives you his elbow and you hold onto it, smiling lightly at the gentleman's actions he always did for you.

Both of you slowly ascended the stairs from the foyer, your steps confident and direct. Alastor let you lead slightly, before he understood where you wanted to go. His dwellings.

He opened the door, and you helped yourself in, sitting down on his bed. Alastor closed the door after the two of you, choosing to dim the lights instead of turning them up fully. The glow it casted the entire space was minimal, but you could clearly see Alastor, so you took his hands, gazing at him.

“What have you done?”

Your question was simple, and you knew Alastor was anticipating it, because he gently squeezed your hands, before dropping them.

“I killed my father.” You had always wondered where Alastor’s father was. You were always told by Alastor himself that he decided to leave the family after welcoming you in. It didn’t make much sense, in your opinion, but it was Alastor’s father, not yours, so you took his words as the truth. In retrospect, you should have prodded more, with what Alastor was telling you now.

“That was the first time I killed; then there was that man you call your friend-” James? “-after that was your other suiter, who almost stole you away from me-” Luke. “-that nasty gal who dared to slap my wife-” Patsy! “-and then strangers, people you do not know.”

You were appalled at what he was revealing. Charlie had only briefed you, but you were truly unaware that your doting husband, your lover, was one of the most wanted serial killers at that time. The biggest one in New Orleans.

“I only ate two of them...” You were horrified. “The rest was buried, truly. Or disposed of in the worst way possible.”

He looked at you, an odd look in his eyes. “Do you regret being married to me?”

You pause for a moment, reflecting on yourself. You don’t hate him, and he never hurt you, and in some sick twisted way this was his expression of love for you. Killing the people who hurt you. He loved you so much that he had killed, just for you, and made sure that you were never an accomplice by sheltering any and all knowledge that it happened.

So you did not regret being married to him, but instead, you fell more in love with him, with the way he loved you fervently.

“I love you.” Was all you uttered, and Alastor pounced on you in that instant, kissing you passionately. You let out a stifled moan at the suddenness of his actions, but you felt overjoyed knowing how much he cared and adored you.

Alastor pulled you closer, nipping at your sensitive skin, his eyes shifting from your form to your lips as he kissed you again. “ I am... ” He began, voice husky as you let out a startled yelp, his claws gripping your hips. Your eyes widened in surprise, then you moaned out wantonly as he pulled your legs further up, resting on his shoulders. “ Utterly devoted to you, darling... ” Your breath hitched and he moved down from your face to your thighs, nipping right at the skin resting against his cheek. “ And I will shower you with affection... When our time on Earth is up... ”

You realized that he was saying his vows after your muddled mind began to process, and he was saying it in his language, in French.

Your breath caught as he licked a long stripe against your soak underwear, a whine bursting past your lips. “ I refuse to let Heaven nor Hell bring us apart, and know that I will do everything in my power to see you, if not for one last time, if our paths were meant to part.... ”

“Alastor!” You moaned, as he snapped his fingers, your underwear disappearing quickly. The air instantly made you shiver with your now exposed dripping sex in view of your husband. “Shit!”

“ Darling.... ” He growled, the static that was present in his voice dropping, allowing his barely noticeable southern drawl to appear. With the transatlantic accent dropped, you could almost moan at the fact he was truly himself, if not for this one moment with you two. “I love you.”

You never heard him say that before, and you felt tears slowly roll down your cheeks as you sniffled, so emotionally overwhelmed with everything that has happened. You loved him so much, and in your marriage, you never heard him say it back at all, until now.

“I love you too,” You choked out, gasping as he shoved his tongue into your cunt, and you saw how he relished the way you wriggled and heaved from the pleasure that was coursing through your veins.

“You’ll never see Heaven again,” He whispered, and you thought that he hadn’t said that, you were purely starting to hear things until he spoke up again. “I will never let them have you, not when I got you back. My darling, my wife. The light of my life, I will keep you here with me forever.” He was rambling now, almost incoherent, especially with his face in your cunt, juices dripping onto his lower face.

You were no better, an absolute mess above him. Yet, when Alastor looked up, utter adoration flooded his face, and he gently nipped at the top of your mound, before angling his head, carefully nibbling your clit. You howled in ecstasy, letting out a heavy moan as your hips thrusted into his mouth, then tried to push back into the mattress to get away from the constant stimulation. However, Alastor held fast, licking and slurping the small bud, causing you to jerk and heave in his hold, your toes curling as you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the pleasure as it is.

“Good girl.” He growled, sucking the bud into his mouth, and you let out a hoarse noise, gripping his hair, and then you pulled, causing him to groan into your cunt.

He repositioned one of his hands that was holding your thighs, angling it at your cunt, before he thrusted two fingers inside. You flinched in pain, and noticing your hurt movements, he pulled the fingers out, instead thrusting his middle finger in. With a steady pace, he began to thrust the digit in and out, pulling his body up to kiss your neck as he did so. “Such a good little wife for me. You’re my perfect wife, right?” He muttered, looking at you as he did so.

You groaned, and nodded. “For you- I’ll be anything you want.” You begged, bucking your hips and biting the inside of your cheek.

A second finger appeared alongside the first one, and he coaxed you to take it, like the good wife you were. You flushed at his words, and clenched around both fingers. Alastor moved down again, stopping right at your abdomen, and moved his free hand to rest right above your skin. “Are you ready for the main course?” He questioned, and at your fervent nod, his ever present grin widened as far as it can go.

Fear coursed through your veins, along with pleasure as you saw him slowly morph, his body doubling in size and his eyes becoming glowing radio dials, staring straight at you. His antlers that were usually hidden by his hair, elongated and you were now in such a position where instead of gripping his hair, you could grip at the antlers.

“Al....” You whispered, but he hushed you opting to instead rip all your clothes off. The shreds of your clothing littered the bed, and you silently apologized to Vaggie in your head for the now ruined clothing.

Alastor’s pants were quickly unzipped, and soon enough his cock laid on your stomach. You instantly paled when you glanced down, as you took in just how sizable your lover was in this new form. “Alastor.”

He made a small noise, eyes staring at you. “It’s not going to fit Alastor- You’re going to break me!” You whispered, your eyes staying on his length. The tip was leaking right by your belly button, and you whimpered. He was going to break you on his dick.

“ It’ll fit. ” Was all he said, and you let out a gasp when he slowly began bullying the tip of his thick cock into your pussy. Whimpers and pleads filled the room, but when he stopped, giving you a look, you realized you really don’t want him to stop.

Alastor leaned in, tapping your sternum twice, and then looked at you. You blinked, before remembering that your safe word when you two were alive was necklace. You shook your head, and he continued, disregarding your pained sounds unless you said the word.

You never did, of course, because you truly wanted this, and if the pain became too much you would speak up.

“Alastor!” You gritted your teeth, and he panted above you, his cock fully inside you now. While you focused on relaxing and breathing, he put a clawed hand on top of your abdomen. You glanced at him, and let out a startled moan as he pressed against the slight bulging of your skin.

“ Look how deep I am inside you, darling. ” You whimpered, and he pulled out almost completely, inhaling the scent of you at the base of your neck, before growling. “ Heaven won’t take you away. You’re mine.”

You moaned, agreeing completely. You won’t go back to Heaven, not when you have your husband. “Alastor, fuck me.”

He smirked, and began thrusting into your tight wet heat. You were rocked with every thrust, staccato ah ’s leaving your mouth as his hips slapped against your ass.

You knew what you signed up for, truly. You were well aware that you probably wouldn’t be able to walk for a day or two, and bruises would line your thighs and ass. But you loved it, really, the fact that Alastor marked you up so much.

“Harder,” You sobbed, pleasure overwhelming you. You hardly noticed when Alastor’s hand was at your clit, working circles against the small bud to increase your pleasure.

Groaning, you grasped his wrist. “M’close, I’m close-” You whispered harshly, rolling your hips into his ministrations, and you were right there--!

He stopped his thrusting, and you let out a slew of obscenities, glaring up at him. Alastor only gave you a smaller smile, cheeky as his form slowly went back to normal one. You were especially confused when his cock hadn’t decreased in size at all.

“I got a bit rough with you there, apologies, my doe.”

You blinked, huffing. “Just continue fucking me, Alastor!”

He smiled. “No.” No!? He can’t just tell you no! You feared he was about to leave you high and dry, gripping his blazer as you opened your mouth.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” You growled. “I much rather make... love... with you.”

Freezing, you shifted a bit, letting out a small noise at the feel of him still inside you. “Do it, then.” You beamed, kissing his nose.

Alastor let out a small laugh at your change of demeanor, almost instantly, but leaned fully over you, repositioning his legs. He gently cradled your head with his left hand, and his right hand hiked your leg up.

He rolled his hips into you at a steady pace, kissing you passionately. You bit his lip, and his grip got rough as he slid his tongue into your mouth.

You were sloppily kissing him, panting and parting for a few seconds before slotting your mouths together again. His pace stayed slow and sensual, and soon enough you felt your orgasm come back, slowly but surely building up in intensity.

“Rub my-” He hushed you with another peck to the mouth, his hand from your thigh going between your legs to rub your clit again.

Your noises were soft and erotic, and Alastor couldn’t help but get harder, his own cheeks getting a soft tint of redness to them.

“My little doe... won’t you cum for your husband? Prove how much of a good girl you are?”

You loudly moaned, bucking your hips into his as the thrusts got faster. You orgasmed soon after, the waves of pleasure never stopping as he forced you into overstimulation, staring you down as you writhed in his grip.

“More?”

A loud mewl came from your mouth as you pulled him back down to kiss you again. “More, Alastor, don’t stop-”

He smirked at the idea of spilling cum all over your plush body underneath him, but with the way you were begging, he knew you would want it inside you. For him to breed you until you were completely full of his seed, and then some.

“Come here, darling.” Alastor began to kiss you fervently again, losing his rhythm as he jackhammered inside you. “ I’m going to breed you, and you’ll carry my child in your womb. You’ll have to walk around the hotel with everyone knowing that you’re mine. You’re the Radio Demon’s wife, and no one can have even a bit of you. ”

“Fuck! Alastor!” You reached your peak again, thighs trembling around his hips as he pulled you roughly down, thick ropes of cum spurted into your womb as you tried to catch your breath.

He languidly thrusted a few more times, fucking the cum inside you. You tiredly looked at him as he propped your hips up with a pillow. “Round two?”

“ Tomorrow. ” You huffed. You were exhausted at the moment. “Please...��

Alastor smiled, and just laid down next to you, cuddling you into his body. You didn’t expect him to do such a thing, considering everything you heard about your husband now, but he only kissed you and told you to rest.

“You dote on me a lot...” You murmured, trying to stay awake for a few more minutes.

Silence filled the room for a while, before he spoke up, right before you fell asleep. “I care about you, (Name). I’ll only show this to you and our child.”

You turned to him, kicking the pillow from under you so you can wiggle your leg between his. “Could I even get pregnant down here?”

Alastor smirked and rubbed your abdomen. “I hope so.”

You rolled your eyes in mock exasperation, pulling him in for a soft kiss.

“Stay here, in Hell. Please, (Name).” He spoke quietly.

You just squeezed his hand. “I plan to.”

Alastor leaned in, giving you a kiss on your forehead before you had drifted off to sleep.

if only i was good at formatting with tumblr. (it hates me)

#oneshot #fluff #reader insert #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel smut #smut #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel

2K notes · View notes

forlix · 7 months

Text

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying?

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile.

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES. From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket.

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge.

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being.

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair.

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each.

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

2K notes · View notes