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skzdarlings · 1 year

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the same but different | the threesome series ; skz ; han/reader/felix

masterlist.

threesome series part 3/4.

You grew up with Felix and Jisung. Your definition of normal has always been unique, considering Felix is a faerie and magically connected to Jisung. So even though you are dating Jisung, when Felix tells you he needs to marry to keep up appearences in the faerie court, you see no reason to say no…

pairing: han jisung/reader/lee felix content info: sexual content. threesome. faerie au. this is an almost 16k word read. one day i will meet my maker and have to atone for that. warning for some ambiguous motivations plus general freaky faerie and supernatural stuff. felix and jisung have a magical connection, reader does not know the details but it seems they can physically feel each other's reactions and urges and they do a lot of the same things in an uncanny way. there is a 'consummation ritual' that involves being watched but reader is clever about it.

Autumnal flurries follow Han Jisung everywhere, little tornadoes of red-and-gold kicking up an elemental fuss wherever he steps. It might be a remnant of his time with the faerie folk, or maybe a coincidence, or maybe he is such a blustery font of chaos that he is simply kicking up wind storms on his own.

He totters into the café with his usual trail of leaves, much to the displeasure of the bus boy who follows with a broom. The wind gets restless at the window. It throws itself against the pane with a heavy, reverberating thunder as if nature is knocking in pursuit of Jisung’s attention. You watch a few pine cones hurl themselves at the glass before everything settles down on its own.

Jisung pays it no mind. He slides into the booth across from you, heaving a big dramatic breath.

“Good afternoon,” you say, amused with your boyfriend’s theatrics. They are as constant as his flurries.

“Yo, is it, ‘cause ah, HAHA—I’ve been having a day.” He thunks his head on the back of the booth and pretends to fall asleep. His round glasses skew with the loll of his head.

Jisung dressed up for today’s date. He is wearing a beige coat that flatters his warm complexion plus that cute checkered scarf you gave him last winter. You don’t mind his usual hoodies and caps as it always puts a swagger in his step, but you appreciate his effort even if it is a little random.

He lifts his head with another musical sigh, golden blonde hair fluttering from his breath. His big glasses make his dark eyes even bigger and you smile again.

“Hi,” you say sweetly.

He whimpers with more theatrical misery.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says like it is the most painful fact in the world. “Why are you so beautiful? And funny, and smart, and mine. If you weren’t gonna be ugly and horrible, the least you could have done is reject me. It wouldn’t have been so bad. I could have been a lonely suffering artist, hidden away in a basement, composing symphonies for the beautiful woman out of my league.”

“I think you just described the Phantom of the Opera,” you say.

“Even better.” Jisung sighs wistfully. “He lived in an underground sex dungeon, right? I don’t think he even paid rent.”

You laugh into your hot chocolate.

“What’s gotten into you?” you say. It’s a rhetorical question. Jisung is always a little silly.

Your playful boyfriend thumps his hands on the table and glares past you, out the window.

“Faeries,” he says brusquely. “And their stupid faerie bullshit. My life is a nightmare and an arthouse horror movie and no one has ever suffered more than me—oooh, is that a chocolate croissant?”

You slap his hand when he reaches for your pastry. He yelps like you chopped it off.

“Jisungie,” you say, lifting an eyebrow, “what do you mean faerie bullshit?”

He pouts spectacularly while unknotting his scarf. He speaks in a watery, despondent voice, very contrary to his usual goofiness, “What do you think I mean?”

This, it seems, is also rhetorical as you have no opportunity to answer. The bell jingles above the door and a little shiver moves down your spine.

Unlike Jisung, you have never been to the faerie realm, but you have a gift for recognizing a supernatural presence. Everything catches your eye as if they are sparkling fireflies, no matter their efforts to hide.

The courtly fae, the ones that look human, have a tendency to cast enchantments both literal and metaphorical, their impossible beauty captivating to any human eye. You are not immune to their gravitas, the way space seems to warp around them like earth is little more than gelatinous mire, but you can sense their other-worldliness before seeing them. This is most likely due to exposure. You did, after all, grow up with a faerie.

You look to the doorway.

Ah. Speaking of.

“Oh my god,” Jisung whines. “He said he’d give me time to tell you.” He steals your hot chocolate and takes a swig like it’s hard vodka.

“Tell me,” you repeat. “Tell me what?”

Though you are talking to Jisung, you cannot help but look over at his… his…

His Felix.

Felix smiles when he sees you. He scrunches his nose cutely and it makes his constellation of dark freckles dance on his sunny face.

The freckles have always been an intriguing part of his glamour – for his human-like appearance is a mask shrouding his true faerie form – because faeries typically regard such things as imperfections. Perhaps the freckles are residual from his time in the human realm, as Jisung’s flurries are the opposite.

Felix is unbelievably beautiful. He is wearing mortal clothes but he does not look truly human. There’s something in his movements, fluid and dance-like, sometimes too swift to perceive. His blonde hair catches the light with a perfect glow at every angle, his slender frame flawlessly draped in a black long-coat and a flattering black sweater. His lovely ringed fingers part the air with his little wave and his perfectly pink mouth curls up in a sweet smile. His dark eyes seem to sparkle.

He crosses the restaurant in a few strides, quicker than a human would. He smiles the whole time.

“Hello,” he says, his deep voice smooth as butter. Or maybe you’re the butter, his voice the knife, gliding right down the centre of you and settling low in your belly. It has always had that effect.

“Felix, hello,” you say in that quivery way you always greet him. You grew up with both Jisung and Felix but Felix flits off to the faerie world when it suits him, and every time he returns you find yourself awestruck by him, as if you had never truly seen him before.

Jisung smacks his head down on the surface of the table. You and Felix look at him, you with considerable more concern. Felix just draws his mouth into a flat line, neither smiling nor frowning, more like he anticipated his… his… his Jisung would behave this way.

“Is it okay if I sit?” Felix asks, pointing to the spot beside Jisung. Jisung is somewhat sprawled in the booth but this doesn’t seem to concern Felix. When you nod, he smiles, smooths out his coat, and simply bumps Jisung with his hip to squish himself into the booth.

Jisung whimpers again, resting his head on the wall and pouting at it.

“So,” Felix says. He folds his hands on the table and tips his head, looking at you. “How are you doing these days, hmm?”

Faeries are known for their decorum. It can turn sour very quickly, but it is imperative to adhere to rules of hospitality and general politeness.

It is still strange and unnerving to have a faerie prince plunk himself into your booth and smile at you so politely. Especially when you haven’t seen Felix in more than a year. A year and fifteen days, to be specific, because Jisung has counted them all. Jisung complains endlessly when Felix visits but he complains even more when he’s gone for too long.

You think Felix must have returned to the human realm a while ago. Jisung is usually friendly when he firsts sees him, but right now he is glaring.

“What?” Felix looks at Jisung. They cock their heads at each other, the same angle, same time.

It is always funny seeing them side-by-side. Singularly, they look nothing alike, perhaps because Felix has intentionally deviated his glamour from being identical. Jisung has a round face, cartoonishly cute at times, his build bulkier from his somewhat erratic workout schedule. Felix is all sharp lines with a pointed elegance to his features, though his presence fills what space his slender body does not. Their only similarity is their hair, similarly bouncy, alike in length, and identically shaded. Right now it is a matching blonde.

Despite their ample differences, there is an uncanny sameness to them. They move the same way, tip their heads at the same time, roll their eyes in tandem. They even take a breath at the same time. You are certain if you pressed a hand to each of their chests, you would find their hearts beating to the same steady cadence.

Felix was once a changeling. Faeries sometimes swap their infants for human ones, occasionally for fun, oftentimes when their offspring is sickly or malformed. Once a changeling swap has occurred, the faerie and human are inexorably linked to one another. If the human parents try to kill the faerie or let it die, it will also kill their child, so it is in their best interest to nurse the sickly baby and hope the faeries swap them back.

Felix was born too soon, a shrivelled little creature, third son of the autumn high prince’s third wife. His mother swapped him for Jisung, stealing the little mortal away in his infancy. Jisung’s mother was not a bewildered, simpering mortal, however. Her resilience and intelligence was part of the family’s initial allure, but it was also the downfall of the changeling operation. She ventured into the faerie realm and won back her son, plus the right to see the lonely faerie prince that had been so unceremoniously abandoned by his unloving family.

She returned to the mortal world with Jisung and Felix. The changeling prince spent his childhood bouncing between the human realm and the world of faerie. You grew up next door to Jisung and the three of you have been a tight-knit trio since before you can remember.

You love Felix just as much as you love Jisung, it’s just that… the faerie-ness complicates things. You aren’t sure Felix really loves you or Jisung in a way you understand. Even now, his enquiry after your well-being seems more like a necessary script than genuine question. He will be uneasy until you complete your side of the exchange.

“I’m good, Felix,” you say. “How are you?”

He smiles, freckles dancing. “Good,” he says. “Thank you.”

Felix cracks his neck and Jisung is compelled to do the same, though he looks irritated about it. The depth of their connection has always been ambiguous to you, but sometimes Jisung feels phantom aches and pains, urges that come out of nowhere and pester him like an itch until he satisfies them.

He seems impatient today, his glare not subsiding for a second.

“You said I could have time to tell her,” Jisung says.

“I gave you time,” Felix replies calmly.

“You gave me like five minutes, man!”

“It doesn’t take more than five minutes,” Felix says. He seems genuinely perplexed that Jisung would believe otherwise. He looks at Jisung with a head tilt that Jisung mirrors, then they both look at you. “Hi,” Felix says. “Will you marry me? See. That was less than five minutes. It was five syllables, actually. Well, I guess if you had asked it, you would have said, ‘Will you marry Felix,’ so it would have been six syllables, but that’s still less than five minutes, even if you streeeeetch it ouuuut—”

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Jisung says, then plants his forehead in his palm. “That came out wrong.”

Felix does not plant his forehead in his palm but he does rest his chin in his hand.

“So,” he says to you, smiling. “Will you? Two syllables, by the way.”

“Shut up about the syllables, dude.”

“Wait,” you say, interrupting their inane blabber. If you leave them to it, Jisung and Felix will dance in verbal circles for hours and still not clarify anything. “Marry you? Why would I— Felix, you know Jisung and I— I don’t understand what’s—”

You love Jisung and Felix. You find them equally attractive, in their own way and as a complimentary pair. As much as you adore Jisung, you feel bereft when Felix is gone for a long time. Your crush on Felix was as inevitable as your romance with Jisung. Only where that relationship has long since solidified into a stable love, you and Felix have never done much more than hug.

Jisung and Felix, on the other hand, have shared their own intimacies. You caught them kissing back when you were teenagers. You got pouty rather than angry, viciously jealous of both of them at once. Jisung was too flustered to speak, mostly chirping like a frightened bird, while Felix just smiled and cheerily said, “Jisungie says we’re practicing.”

“Practicing?” you asked, hands on hips. “Practicing for what exactly?”

Felix frowned, looking confused, like it had never occurred to him to follow that line of questioning.

“For girls!” Jisung exclaimed.

Felix snapped his fingers and nodded. “Right,” he said. “Girls. That was it. Wait.” He looked confused again and pointed to you. “Isn’t she a girl?”

“She doesn’t count,” Jisung said, getting redder by the second. You threw a shoe at him and stormed out of the house.

That was a long time ago. That momentary flicker of suggestion was the only time Felix brought up potentially kissing you. Even then, it seemed less desirous than pragmatic.

And now, for some reason, he is asking you to marry him.

“Oh my god, man, maybe if you used more than five syllables, she would get what’s going on,” Jisung says. His gaze softens when he looks at you. He reaches across the table to take your hand, though it takes you a second to respond. Your fingers are frozen stiff around your mug. “Baby,” he says in a soft, apologetic voice, “I know it sounds a bit strange, but I promise I can explain.”

“I have to get married,” Felix interrupts, ignoring when Jisung scowls at him. “I think it’s just for, uhhh, appearances, basically. My brother Chan just became high prince and I’m the only one of my mum’s kids who isn’t married and she thinks it makes her look bad because all my dad’s other kids have their lives together… anyway, she said either I find a bride for myself or she was going to give me one. And, uh, she’s not very, hmm, generous, is she?”

Definitely a rhetorical question. You do not need to have met the faerie princess to know of her predilection for malice. Felix would most likely be saddled with some Shakespearean donkey-headed monstrosity for all his days. Felix, being Felix, would smile blithely and accept his awful fate, saying little on the matter when prompted.

Felix is like that. He shows neither amity nor animosity to much. His emotions, whatever they are, manifest unpredictably. He smiles a lot of blank smiles. Occasionally he bursts into random tears that flood out of him with terrifying distress. It comes upon him unexpectedly, so big that it is almost theatrical. You think he might be mimicking expressions of human pain to convey whatever interior hurt he is feeling, however severe or benign, then it just stops until next time.

He is not the sort to wail and harass you. Even if he was desperate, he would not force you to marry him. Looking into his dark eyes, you know that much. There are plenty of stories the world over where supernatural princes steal mortal girls from their beds, where they compel them to dance until their feet bleed, where they fill their heads with songs that play until the human goes mad and dies in some anguished pit in their own mind.

There are not many stories where they propose in a café.

“Felix, you idiot!” Jisung smacks Felix on the arm. “You didn’t even tell her the important part.”

“Oh yeaaah,” Felix says.

Jisung scoffs and looks at you, his expression soft again. He squeezes your hand.

“Baby,” he says, “you know how Felix and I have a special, um, connection?”

You know he means the changeling magic but you think about them kissing. You push the image aside, as well as the lingering jealously, and nod.

“Right,” Jisung says. “We’re like… tied together and shit, right? Like if I got hit by a bus, Felix would also go splat.”

“Faeries don’t splat,” Felix says, bristled.

“Splat,” Jisung says sweetly, “like a big stupid faerie pancake.”

“Jisung,” you say, “are you going to make a point?”

“The point,” Jisung says, “is Felix is gonna live a long time, if he doesn’t go splat. So that means… I’m gonna live a long time too.”

“If,” Felix interrupts, “he comes with me to live among the folk.”

The fair folk. Another name for the courtly fae. Divided into seasonal realms, the four courts host a variety of faerie life. Felix is from the autumn court and Jisung was spirited to it as baby. You have never crossed from this world into the faerie world. You know the stories better than anyone, almost more familiar with the foreign realm than the world around you, but its reality has only ever been a distant dream.

This seems like the world’s strangest break-up: your boyfriend leaving you for his changeling faerie to live an immortal life in the faerie realm.

Except it’s not a break-up. It’s a proposal.

“I have no idea what’s happening right now,” you say, juggling feelings of confusion and jealousy and desire. “What does that have to me with me? And getting married?”

“It will bond us together too,” Felix says, smiling again. “Do you understand? Isn’t that wonderful? The three of us can be together for always. I think you’ll really like it.” He looks sideways at Jisung and adds, “And you’re smarter than him when it comes to the fair folk. I would feel better if Jisung had your company.”

“What?” Jisung slaps the table. “What are you talking about? I’m the one who’s been there! I am so totally super smart about faeries all the time!”

“You once ate a magic apple and grew a tail,” Felix says.

“You know I get snacky after my naps. Besides, I got better. Suck on some salty iron and boom, no tail.”

Felix sighs, exasperated, and Jisung sighs, even more exasperated.

“Please marry me,” Felix says imploringly. “For all of us.”

Felix cannot lie. Faerie magic ranges from miniscule to immense, but lying is an impossibility regardless of rank.

An inability to lie does not guarantee honesty. The truth can be obfuscated. Faeries are clever with words, cleverer still what they reveal at all.

Felix has not lied. He needs to marry. It would bond you. You are smarter than Jisung when it comes to the fair folk.

Felix has not told the whole truth. He does not need to marry you specifically. He would be happy with just Jisung, you think. They have something special, something you have always watched from the outside. You know a lot about faeries but you do not belong to their world. Felix could keep Jisung safe. You are a spare.

Despite the loving stare of your two oldest friends, you feel woefully insecure. You take your hands back and rest them in your lap, staring morosely into your cooling hot chocolate.

“Baby?” Jisung says gently.

You look up. They look equally concerned. They reach for you at the same time then look at each other. They mutely come to an accord and Felix takes your hand. You shiver immediately.

“Sweetheart,” Felix says. “It’s just me. I won’t… I won’t make you do something you don’t want to do, but I… I want to know… I mean, do you not…”

“You don’t want to come with us?” Jisung asks, his bottom lip wobbling. Tears spill over his cheeks seconds later. “I-I-I know it’s a bit weird. But you’ve always talked about wanting to see it anyway. And you don’t have any family here anymore. Are you worried about the royal court thing? Because I’m gonna be there and Felix says we’ll spend most of our time at his bower anyway and okay I don’t even know what that means and I didn’t wanna seem stupid so I didn’t ask—”

“It’s just my tree-house, Jisung,” Felix says.

“It’s just his tree-house,” Jisung sobs.

“It isn’t that,” you say. You reach for Jisung so you are holding both their hands. You give them a squeeze. “I love you both. So much. It hurts a little sometimes because of how much. And I’m scared… I’m scared of being left behind.”

They both pause. Felix looks more bewildered than any supernatural creature in history, you are sure. They are inviting you to come along and you express fear of the opposite. It must be incomprehensible to his mind.

Apparently it also confuses Jisung because he softly whispers, “What the fuck.”

You bring their hands together and withdraw your own touch.

“I just mean…” You are too embarrassed to vocalize it.

Recognition lights their eyes at the same time. Jisung rips his hand away.

“I can’t be alone with Felix forever!” Jisung cries. “Are you crazy? We need you! Without you it’s just… just… just us. It’s nothing, it’s empty. You… you’re our person. If you’re not there too… then… then… then I’m not going either. I’d rather get old and die with you than live forever without you.”

Felix’s mouth opens and closes with a storm of unspoken thoughts. He has sobbed spectacularly at birthday cards and scraped knees, but he doesn’t cry now.

Jisung’s exclamation rattles you. It was such a genuine burst of emotion, so rich with devotion that you feel silly for ever doubting either of them. Empty, he said. You never considered what kind of echo might exist between them, how your presence filled it and made it better, not worse.

You intend to remedy your blunder, an apology on your lips, but then Felix finds his words.

“I’ll tell you my name,” he says. “My true name. Will that be enough to convince you?”

Enough?

You and Jisung stare at Felix with your jaws dropped. Felix clenches his jaw, staring back at you.

Faeries go by many names in their long lifetimes. Felix was the name Jisung’s mother gave him, but it is not his true faerie name. Names are powerful things. If a mortal has a faerie’s true name, they can ensorcell and compel that faerie to do their bidding. It essentially enslaves them.

Faeries do not freely reveal their true names, not to other faeries and certainly not to mortals. Tricky mortals have uncovered faerie names, stories of humans triumphing over wicked creatures, but you cannot think of a single story where the faerie got down on one knee and willingly offered it.

Because that’s what Felix does. He gets out of the booth and gets down on one knee in front of you, then looks up at you with dark, desperate eyes.

“I’ll tell you right now if that’s what it takes,” he says. His hands are shaking. The wind starts knocking at the window again, harder than before. Leaves form columns of colour, shooting up to the sky, scattering in every direction.

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t.” The trust this requires is extraordinarily substantial. It means more than any simple I love you. Maybe Felix feels human love or maybe he feels something different. Maybe losing you is not like losing a person, but like losing a limb or something equally vital. It must be, for him to offer up his entire being in a word.

The gesture means more than you can say. The best way to reciprocate it is by refusing it.

“It’s enough,” you say, choked up. “It’s enough that you would offer.”

“I’ll tell you,” he says, like he thinks you don’t believe him. But of course you believe him. He can’t lie.

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry I doubted you. Come here please.”

Felix sits beside you and lets you wrap your arms around his neck. He is tentative at first but then he looks at Jisung and holds you tighter. The world outside settles once more.

“Wow, that was intense,” Jisung says. He grabs a napkin and blows his nose. “Wheeew. Wednesdays, am I right?”

Felix pulls back, just enough so he can see your face. You feel shy under his rapt attention, flush with warmth when his fingertips sweep from your temple to your jaw. He holds your chin and tilts your face up. He seems to be studying you. This close, you can see all the shades of brown in his eyes, even flecks of dark, dark green and threads of gold. There is a shimmer to the black of his iris. If he turned a certain way, you think his glamour would disappear. You think he would be beautiful anyway.

He exhales. His breath flutters over your lips.

“Will you come with us?” he asks, his deep voice rumbling so soft and low. “Will you marry me?”

You look at Jisung. You cannot imagine any circumstance in which a man would look so eager for his girlfriend to accept another man’s proposal, yet this feels completely normal.

Normal. The three of you have always had your own definition of that word, haven’t you?

You look at Felix, at the shimmer of his bold gaze.

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, I will.”

Felix smiles and Jisung lets out a whoop! You laugh, turning aside to wipe an unbidden tear from your eye. Felix touches your cheek. He looks more entranced than anything, blinking long and slow like a content cat.

Jisung is still celebrating. He shoves half your croissant in his mouth while you are distracted. Then, with his cheeks stuffed full of pastry, his eyes get wide.

“Ohyeah, weforgotsumffing!” he says around a mouthful of food. He coughs, swallowing too quickly. Felix clears his throat and passes Jisung your mug. Jisung gulps it down while you and Felix exchange an affectionate glance.

Then Jisung clinks the cup on the table and looks at you, sheepish.

“Haha,” he says. “By the way, you have to fuck Felix.”

There are entrances to faerie in the deepest part of the woods. Doorways are found in unlikely patterns that most humans will declare peculiar but innocuous: rings of spotted mushrooms, circular patches of darkening grass, shadows that arch with a perfect curve beneath a canopy of leaves.

You have known this all your life, but you also knew to never go looking. Not on your own. A mortal wandering into faerie is not so different from a lamb wandering into a wolf den.

Even with a wolf escort, you feel like that vulnerable lamb. You hold hands with Jisung the entire trek, trailing behind Felix who hums as he lightly dances his way through even the harshest terrain. Finally you come across two branches, twining up and up until they tangle like two hands clasping across a chasm.

Winded from the exertion of the hike, you and Jisung come to a slow stop to catch your breaths. Felix hurries ahead, his face brightening as he approaches the archway.

“You ready?” Jisung asks, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah,” you say. “You?”

“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” he says with a laugh. You look at him only to find his gaze turned on the archway, faraway with reminiscence. “I remember it, you know,” he says.

“What?” you ask. Jisung has never mentioned this before. “But you were just a baby.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he didn’t expect an answer. Maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. He laughs, deflecting the tension, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “Magic I guess, or something. I dunno. I just know I remember it. There’s stuff that happened last week I can’t remember. In a year, or fifty, or a hundred, I don’t know what I’ll remember from here. But I remember this place like I never left.”

You squeeze his hand again. He looks at you and smiles, squeezing back.

“Come on!” Felix calls. He is standing at the archway, waving to you. He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a leather satchel slung across his chest. The mundanity of his clothing looks unnatural. If he looked inhuman in that café, he looks even less human now. His glamour is in tact, his freckles pronounced, but there is a quality to him that defies logic. He looks like he could take off flying and it would not be unusual.

You and Jisung exchange a final glance then approach. Felix smiles and walks backwards through the archway. You can see him clearly as if he merely took another step in the woods. He holds out his hands, you and Jisung taking one each, then you step through as well.

Oh.

October orange sunlight pours through the trees, the early sunset colour of a clear autumn day at its close. The woods are a mosaic of colour: green, orange, yellow, red, brown, little swirls of leaves flying from branch to branch, gathering in piles and scattering again. You watch leaves settle over a pile of bones only for the whole apparatus to knit itself together. You stumble to a surprised stop as a cat made of bones and leaves unfurls before your eyes. It scampers up to Felix, rattling like an ivory windchime and somehow still purring. Felix scratches behind its leafy ears, smiling and greeting the kitty affectionately.

“Come on,” Felix says, not noticing the way you and Jisung are completely arrested by the sight of the cat. “It’s not far from here.”

It is the domicile of the autumn court. It is built into the woods, or swallowed by it, grand structures built within and around trees, some abodes very high in the sunlit branches, some disappearing into the ground. They are decorated with garlands of dried flowers, gardens of gourds and harvest fruit weaving around the lower rooms. You jump, startled, when a pile of nearby leaves rises up, revealing itself to be a deer, presumably also made of bones beneath its leafy surface.

“Whoa,” Jisung says, an apt summary. The leaf animals have no eyes, the faces uncanny. The deer turns its neck with a click of bone, dipping its head in a respectful bow to Felix as he passes.

Felix doesn’t notice. He is watching you and Jisung now, smiling with so much mirth you think he might start glowing.

“Do you like it?” he asks, looking directly at you. Maybe he knows what Jisung is feeling without asking. You try to school your expression to show more than just awe.

“It’s beautiful,” you say. You can see how a mortal could be a swept away by the beauty of the faerie court. Between the glitter of crunchy leaves and the wafts of cinnamon and spice, it fantastically overwhelms the senses. You can also see how quickly this dream could turn into a nightmare, if the sun was eclipsed and the undead creatures of the earth turned their vacant eyes on you.

You do not convey the complexity of your thoughts. Felix takes for granted that you always tell the truth, even though he knows you can lie. You think he sometimes forgets. His whole face crinkles up with a smile now, maybe too severely, but you appreciate his attempt to render delight for you.

“A little further to the palace,” Felix says.

“Palaaace,” Jisung says in a sing-song, squeezing your hand. He almost knocks you over when a bird swoops by his head. This raven is real, not made of leaves, and it perches on Felix’s shoulder. “Birds,” Jisung says woefully. “There’s always a freaky-ass bird.”

“This is one of mine,” Felix says, scratching its head. “I think my brother sent it.”

You watch as the bird leans in, eerily person-like in how it seems to whisper in his ear before fluttering off. Felix neither smiles nor frowns, his mouth drawing into a thin line as he comes to a halt.

“What is it?” Jisung asks. His startled tone reveals that Felix might be perturbed.

“They’re expecting us,” Felix says, gazing ahead as if he can see your destination through all the foliage. “They’re already preparing our wedding.”

“What?” you and Jisung say at the same time. You look at each other then you ask, “Did you tell them already?” Felix only proposed yesterday and he has not returned to the faerie realm, unless he snuck away overnight, but you don’t think so. He spent the night with you and Jisung, Jisung insisting on being the little spoon between two big spoons. Felix had his arm around Jisung and his hand in yours all night.

“No,” Felix answers. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“This feels spoooooky,” Jisung sings, then laughs nervously.

“Maybe,” Felix says with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe not. Let’s go.”

You and Jisung exchange another look, but you have gone too far to turn around, so you follow Felix. He leads you to a red-bricked path that thickens with moss the further you walk. When you reach the base of a hill, Felix stops to hold your hand.

“Don’t look back until I say,” he says. “You could fall. Keep your eyes on me or the cat. She knows the way too.”

The cat is running around your feet, mewling, though the clack of its jaws is louder than its airy voice. You decide to look at Felix instead. Apparently Jisung picks the cat because he coos, “Aww, she’s kinda cute in a freaky way. What’s her name?”

“Babyeater,” Felix says.

“Oh nooo,” Jisung replies.

You follow Felix and the cat up an incline that grows so steep that at one point you are walking perpendicular to the forest below. You look at Felix the whole time, squeezing his hand tightly. His returned squeeze is reassuring. You remind yourself this is Felix, the same boy who kissed your scraped knees better, who sat through all your childhood tea parties even though he never really understood the concept of playing pretend, the same boy who has dutifully and lovingly obliged your every whim, however much he failed to understand its human purpose. For Felix, it was always enough if it made you happy.

He leads you safely over the crest of the hill, then it’s just a few more steps through a darker patch of woods before you are stepping into a huge clearing, bright and orange and gold. Three massive, broad trees stand in the distance, an elaborate stone citadel built around the trunks. There are faeries and other supernatural entities wandering around an autumnal garden, some scurrying with bundles of lights and candles and drapery. The clearing and castle have been beautifully and frightfully decorated with pumpkins and dried flowers and bones.

“Is this for us?” Jisung asks. “Uh, I mean, for you?”

“It looks like it,” Felix says uncertainly. “I don’t know how they—”

Jisung screams, a proper shrill yell right in your ear, when something bursts out of some shrubbery and blocks his path. You stumble back with wide-eyed surprise and Jisung instinctively shields you even in his terror. Felix is not scared, his face neutral as ever, but his connection to Jisung has him reacting similarly, guarding you with his body.

An eyeless husk straightens itself, bony limbs stretching for the sky. You hear the crack of a neck-bone and the flutter of leaves, then all at a once a glamour settles over the faerie, revealing a handsome young man with short brown hair and dark eyes.

“He’s still loud,” the faerie says. “You were loud as a baby too. Wahhh-wahhhh-wahhhhhh—”

“Seungmin,” Felix says, nonplussed. “Thank you for the raven.”

Felix bows and the faerie, Seungmin, who must be the aforementioned brother, bows back as per the dictation of decorum.

“Chan is mad he had to find out the news from Hyunjin,” Seungmin says, his mouth quirked in a smirky little half-smile. “You better to be ready to grovel.”

“Ah,” Felix says. He looks over at you and Jisung who are clinging to each other, still wide-eyed with surprise. “Hyunjin is a prince from the spring court,” Felix says. “He can see the future.”

“Oh,” Jisung says. “Yeah, sure, makes sense.” He looks at you with a face that says, it definitely does not make sense.

“Spring court,” Seungmin says with a little eye-roll. “They burst in here with a dramatic fuss like always. It’s embarrassing that the high prince of autumn learned about his favourite little brother’s engagement from a different court...”

“I can’t help that Hyunjin sees the future,” Felix says, more disgruntled than you have ever heard him. It occurs to you, as you look between him and Seungmin, that Felix stands out here just as much as he did in the human world. It is different, as here it is the little cracks of humanity that fracture his faerie face. Not just the glamour, the freckles or his clothes, but some intrinsic bearing. Maybe it is the sameness to Jisung, the way they block you with the same stance, the way they shuffle on the same foot. Maybe it’s something else, but it is suddenly pronounced.

Seungmin does not appear to notice Felix’s tone. He just gives another bow which Felix is forced to return. You see Jisung twitching and you squeeze his hand.

“You don’t have to bow,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says, then bobs twice in an aborted half-bow.

You sigh. You jump when Jisung shrieks again, startled by a little leaf-dog that comes running out of the shrubbery. It is being pursued by some frantic sprites. They yammer at the puppy in a faerie tongue as it starts to chase the cat. All their bones are clattering as they run around, cat then dog then sprites. Seungmin blinks at the fiasco then looks at Felix.

“Let’s go,” Seungmin says. He turns and gives you a bow, as is polite, then looks at Jisung and says, “Boo!”

Jisung jumps and Seungmin cackles, bowing.

Felix gives Seungmin a little shove, his mouth a grim line again.

You follow Seungmin further into the garden, coming upon a feast that seems to be currently underway even while servants continue to set the party around the guests. Food appears and disappears off the table, some faeries eating and some of them throwing food at the servants. You have heard stories of ensorcelled human servants being trapped in places like this, but you only see faeries so far. It doesn’t put you at ease exactly, but you don’t feel quite as frightened.

Then all the faerie guests at the grand table stop and look at you. Then you are frightened.

“Hi,” Jisung squeaks.

It is nervously and thoughtlessly blurted, but it would be impolite to ignore it, so a chorus of “hi” and “hello” circles the table in return.

Most of them have a glamour of some kind. A stockier, handsome faerie with bright orange hair stands. He is on the other side of the long banquet table but manifests in front of you in mere seconds. You are very alarmed to find him wearing bandages under a black army coat, the white wraps stained with blood. It is very at odds with his deeply dimpled smile.

“Hi there,” he says, looking past Jisung and straight at you. “Wow, Felix really did it. Welcome. Call me Chan. Sorry for the, ah, blood, I think it upsets humans?” This apology seems sincere enough, accompanied with a tilt of the head, but he offers no further explanation. He pulls you into an embrace, tucking you into the fold of one muscular arm, and laughing with an unexpectedly adorable giggliness. “We have a human little sister. That’s fun, yeah?” He looks at the table and everyone nods and claps, only a few characters mutely unresponsive.

You smile, maybe. It feels a bit boxy. Your brain is fitting all the pieces together, recalling that Seungmin referred to Chan as the high prince of autumn. Chan is thus the highest font of power in this faerie court and he is hugging you.

The hug pulls you away from Jisung who moves closer to Felix. You look at them, watching as they hold hands, trying to convey with your eyes that you would rather be with them.

There is no time for any extraction attempt because a fuss stirs at one end of the table. A pink-haired faerie bursts out of his seat. He is long-limbed, tall and spindly, and he runs around the huge table at a fairly human speed. He is wearing a billowy green jacket and a long string of pearls, his pastel appearance at some odds to the deepness of the autumn court.

“Hey Fee-lix! Heeey!” he says, very literally bouncing when he reaches Felix.

“Aha, hi, Hyunjin,” Felix says.

“You brought humans!” Hyunjin says, sweeping down to look at Jisung, then turning his dark-eyed stare to you. His glamour is astonishingly beautiful, as bright as his pearls, a face like a handsome marble statue and a supermodel’s stature. But he slinks like a ferret, as smirky as a fox. “The bride,” he says with something of a wistful sigh. His dark eyes are sparkling. “A faerie and a human. How romantic. I love romance.”

Then you are freed from hugging Chan, but only because Hyunjin cups your face in both hands and kisses you. Not a greeting kiss either, but a deep kiss. You sputter when he licks you.

“Um,” Jisung squeaks.

“This is High Prince Hyunjin. Of the spring court, of course,” Chan says amiably, not doing anything to stop the high prince of the spring court from sucking face with his brother’s bride.

Hyunjin stops on his own, smiling at you fondly. “Pretty girl,” he says, stroking his whole hand over your face. “I wish I could marry you.” This is spoken without much longing, but it must be true or he couldn’t say it.

He turns his sights on Jisung next. Jisung straightens, eyes darting around for an escape.

“The changeling baby,” Hyunjin says. “He’s so cute now. Can I marry this one, Felix?”

Jisung’s eyes widen, looking at Felix, then at you.

Felix looks unamused. “No,” he says simply.

Hyunjin pouts, slinking up to Jisung. He grabs his face, long fingers grasping him tight. Jisung’s lips part with surprise, his cheeks puffing when Hyunjin shakes his head around.

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin says. “You already have one.”

“I said no,” Felix repeats.

Hyunjin just sighs. “I knew you’d say that,” he says. “Oh well.” Then he kisses Jisung full on the mouth too, Jisung squeaking through the very wet onslaught. Hyunjin just smiles and strokes his face, then goes back to the table.

Hyunjin’s self-introduction triggers a similar desire in the remaining guests. Soon they are swarming you, forced into the vaguest semblance of a queue when Chan waves a demanding hand. You meet Felix’s mother, who smiles and coos at you like she didn’t mandate a wife in the first place. You meet Changbin, another half-brother of Felix, who thankfully follows the example set by Chan and not Hyunjin and simply hugs you. He is so burly and strong that it lifts you off your feet, but he has enough restraint not to crush you, so that’s something.

There are clusters of other faeries, all noisy, all dipping in bows or trying to kiss you, and all of them from the spring or autumn court. A hush falls over the garden when the remaining guests approach for an introduction. Felix finally appears at your side, Jisung too, standing on either side of you and holding your hands.

“Winter and Summer,” Felix whispers as two courtly fae and their retinues step forward.

You know very well why Felix deigns to warn you. The autumn court and spring court, as per their seasonal equivalents, are shifting and transitory in many ways; they grow and they learn, and they often host humans, be it in a generous or malicious capacity. The winter and summer courts are hostile to change, and both have little to do with humans at all. Whatever human encounters have transpired in those courts have left few survivors to speak of it.

Their glamours fit them strangely, like new clothes not yet broken in. The first prince wears his glamour like a boy forced into dress clothes by a parent, walking with a stiff sort of discomfort. His robes are coloured blue and yellow, long and loose, his blonde hair turning dark blue at the root. His dimples are deep and cheekbones very sharp, and when he smiles he reveals a whole row of long, piercing teeth that he forgot to glamour altogether.

You jump, staring aghast as the otherwise too-pretty prince sweeps into a bow. He looks at Chan, sees him smiling, and copies the expression with a frightful brightness.

“Prince Jeongin,” Felix says. He squeezes your hand, reminding you to bow back. You do so swiftly. “Summer.”

“High Prince,” Jeongin says, laughing for some reason, a wheezing sound.

“You have fourteen older brothers,” Felix says.

“Had.” Jeongin smiles again, his dimples deepening, his teeth glittering. “I ate them.”

“Oh,” Felix says. There is a pause as he looks at you then looks at Jeongin. Your face reveals terror, you are certain, but Jeongin is waiting expectantly. Felix weighs his words and says, “Uh. You must be happy to be congratulated.”

You wonder how you ever thought Felix was strange. He seems so normal suddenly, the only one who finds something wrong with a person eating fourteen brothers. If he did approve, he would not have to word his congratulations so strangely to avoid a lie.

Unless he just did that to appease you, a small voice says in the back of your head. A different truth is not a lie.

You wish you were not such an overthinker. This is Felix. Your Felix. Yours, yours. As much yours as Jisung, who is breathing a little heavier, so it makes Felix breathe heavier, and their combined strain has you close to panting as well.

You are thus all breathless when you meet the final prince, introduced as High Prince Minho of the winter court. He is wearing dark clothes, apparently sans his usual furry winter accoutrements, and his glamour is a barely-there mask that vanishes when the light hits him at certain angles. He wears it like a loosely tied scarf, grudgingly donned. He has not glamoured his eyes, mismatched and vibrant and vacant of all human emotion. He does not smile when he bows. Like Jeongin, he does not hug or kiss you.

He looks you over, his stare raking, then he does the same to Jisung. Whatever he sees makes him laugh, though it is a derisive sound. Then he looks at Felix and says, “They’re fragile. Be careful, changeling.”

When he leaves, Jisung whispers, “Honestly, that last one got me kinda hard.”

“Yeah,” Felix says, unhappily, “I know.”

And just like that, you are trying very hard not to laugh.

You look at Felix and find his returned gaze to be very affectionate. You always thought his regards looked a little too precise, like he was concentrating on forming the appropriate expression, but compared to certain toothy grins and cold laughs, Felix looks positively alight with sentiment. He still looks strange in his t-shirt and jeans, but you think he might look strange anyway.

It never occurred to you before that Felix’s changeling life might have made him an oddity on both sides of the veil.

You feel a pang of sympathy, suddenly.

Felix looks down at where you are holding his hand. You see his gaze flit across to where you hold Jisung’s hand as well. It exacerbates that pang in your chest, recalling your own jealousy when you found them kissing, plus all the years spent wishing you shared their magical connection. It never occurred to you that Felix might feel some type of way about you dating Jisung, about you and Jisung both being human. Maybe it reminded he was an outcast wherever he went. Always very close to being part of something, never quite belonging.

Funny enough, Jisung has always been significantly more blasé. He sets his sights on what he wants and it never occurs to him that he will not have it. He has Felix, he dates you, you marry Felix, he lives forever. You look at your human boyfriend, at the way his dark eyes seem to sparkle as he looks around the garden. You think somehow, despite his occasional shrieks and frights, he looks more home here than Felix.

“Right then!” Chan suddenly claps in your face, startling you. “It’s wedding time, yeah? We’ve never had a human wedding here before but Hyunjin is an expert so he helped us out…”

Two faerie servants rip you away from Felix and Jisung. Hyunjin follows you, looking very keen, his hands clasped behind his back but his whole face lit up brightly. His eagerness does not put you at ease, nor are you reassured by his seemingly “expert” advice. Seeing as he thought it was appropriate to introduce himself by making out with you, you sincerely doubt he is the human expert he has proclaimed himself to be.

Sure enough, the slapdash preparations are very random. You are shoved into a very pretty dress, but then Hyunjin attempts to adorn you with both a veil and a headpiece, and you can see an array of other accessories from international wedding regalia. Being as polite as possible, you decline the offer to any headpiece at all.

“Wow,” Hyunjin says, cupping your face. “You are so humble. Humans are so amazing, the way they just let themselves be ugly. Wow. Wow. I won’t interfere with your hideous but humble head. Should we kiss again?”

“I think it’s better we don’t,” you say. “It might wrinkle the dress?”

He nods sagely. “That would be bad,” he agrees. “Especially because your head is so bare and horrible. The dress is doing all the work. Can I put flowers in your hair or do you really prefer to be ugly?”

“Uh, flowers, yeah, sure,” you say. He says everything so frankly that you somehow can’t feel offended. A compliment would feel just as meaningless.

“I’ve always wanted to attend a human wedding,” Hyunjin says. “You know, spring is a very popular time for human weddings. But humans are always dying so fast after, so it makes me sad to watch them properly.”

“You feel sadness?” you ask. Though Hyunjin and Felix seem quite different, perhaps you can glean an answer to the depth of faerie emotions. Especially considering this marriage business feels like an entirely different beast now that you are in a wedding dress with an entire congregation of faeries sitting in a garden waiting for you. It seemed like a simpler affair when it was just Felix and Jisung in a café booth.

“Oh, of course,” Hyunjin says. “I feel sad all the time. I feel sad right now because you aren’t marrying me.” He says this with a great deal of joviality, smiling at you like he’s proud of his supposed sadness.

You decide not to ask more questions on that front, because you doubt his answers will be very helpful. You do enquire after the wedding festivities. You try not to frown at the very random assemblage of traditions he has baked into a single ceremony. It sounds like a tedious affair but you decide to brace it, supposing it could be worse.

“Then we all watch the royal consummation,” Hyunjin says casually, adding another flower to your hair.

You grab his wrist without thinking, stopping him.

“Did I stab you?” he asks, blowing on your head to check for blood. “Sorry. I keep forgetting pins in heads kill humans.” He says this with a lot of exasperation, like it’s a personal inconvenience to him that humans die so easily.

“No, it’s not that,” you say. He pops another peony on your head, manifesting the little buds out of thin air. “What do you mean ‘we all watch the royal consummation?’ Who is ‘we’?”

“The high princes, obviously,” he says, tucking a rose behind your ear.

You stare ahead, mouth hanging open.

Yesterday seems so long ago now, but Jisung and Felix did explain to you that the autumn court required an act of consummation to legitimize the marriage. Apparently it has nothing to do with virginity or rearing heirs, mostly functioning as a ritual for the sake of itself. Once faeries decide something is a rule they must follow it.

You were very hot in the face the entire conversation. Jisung seemed content to describe the way you need would have sex with his changeling faerie, but you were too embarrassed to meet either gaze.

Maybe it would have been easier if you did not want to sleep with Felix. If it was just a necessity, it would be meaningless.

But you very much do desire Felix, even if he only smiled blithely during the discussion. He seemed unaffected while you were very flustered.

This is a very different type of flustered.

“I was not told there would be an audience,” you finally say.

“There isn’t usually,” Hyunjin says. “But that’s how human princes do it, if I remember. A whole council watches. Felix doesn’t have a council, though, so we’ll have to do it. It would be very rude not to indulge your human traditions. There! All done.”

He steps back to admire your appearance. You are still frazzled from the conversation, from the strong floral scent that is now wrapped around you, from everything.

“You look—” Hyunjin pauses, then, “—not horrible at all! I did a very good job. Now the wedding can start. I’ll tell Chan to start killing the sacrificial wedding goats. We only have one and it’s made of leaves and bones but I assumed that would be okay with you. This way we can just keep killing the same one over and over again. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I—” You feel panicked. You need to see Jisung. Hyunjin has you sequestered in some little golden alcove. You do not want to be hunted down if you just flee, so you ask, “Can I go look at myself in a mirror?”

“You’re testing me,” Hyunjin says, his long fingers covering his mouth with a surprised gasp. Then he giggles. “I passed! I know you can’t look at the bride before the wedding. Wait here!” Then he disappears out the gate and around the corner.

You sit down in a huff and close your eyes. You try counting backwards from one hundred to calm yourself, but you reach the low twenties and still feel tense.

Then you hear the patter of human footsteps. You know it is a human because faeries scarcely disturb the ground where they walk. You hear the crunch of leaves and lift your head, feeling a rush of relief with Jisung pokes his head into the alcove.

“There you are,” he says. “Felix is – uh – they’re getting him – dressed – and I wanted – wanted you—”

You stand as he talks, as his voice drifts, as his breath catches. He looks down the length of your dress then back up, his dark eyes watery as he exhales with a gut-punching whoosh.

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he says. “This – this feels weird. I know it’s – weird. But it’s not – it’s not wrong, right? It’s just weird. But weird isn’t bad. It’s just—”

“Weird,” you say, with a little laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles softly. He wore his glasses here but he has since put in contacts. His hair is neatly styled and he changed into slightly nicer clothes, still human world, but very handsome in his black pants and black shirt. He is so handsome that for a moment you forget about all your worries, taking a step towards him with your hand extended. He catches that hand, bringing it to his shoulder. He sweeps you into a kiss that banishes all your bad thoughts, the familiar taste and feel of him engulfing you. You sink your fingers in his hair, parting your lips under the press of his mouth.

It's him who ends the kiss, breathlessly, stuttering, “S-sorry, wait. I came here to tell – to tell you – the consummation – that pink guy—”

“I know,” you say with a cringe. You bury your face in his neck. “Ugh, a bunch of faeries are gonna watch me have sex.”

“Faeries and me!” he says with a nervous laugh.

“Huh!”

“I tried to stop it, but no one would really listen to me,” he says. “Someone only listened when I said it was weird for a guy to watch his little brother have sex, and some people agreed, so Prince Chan said I should take his place, since there were no faeries of equal rank to him and at least I was human.” He slaps a hand to his forehead. “Sorry. I tried.”

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, giggling a little helplessly at your morose boyfriend. “How do you get yourself into these situations?”

“You’re wearing a wedding dress!” he replies.

“That’s only because I know you!”

“Your life would have been very boring without me,” Jisung says, smiling.

“I know,” you say. “It would have been awful.”

Because for as strange as all this faerie nonsense is, you cannot imagine a world where you never knew Jisung, where you never knew Felix, where you never had this love in your life, as messy and jealous and complicated as it has been at times.

You tip your head, gazing into Jisung’s eyes. He shivers when you twirl a bit of his hair around your finger.

“Jisungie,” you say, thinking of your own jealousy, of Felix’s confounding glances. “Do you ever feel jealous at all?”

“Of what?” he asks, totally innocent.

“I don’t know,” you say. You are not sure how to explain it without seeming ridiculous, which puts it into some perspective. “I mean, me and Felix are about to… you know.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s okay. I don’t want to have sex in front of the cannibal faerie,” Jisung says, making you laugh. “Not a joke!”

“I know, I know.” You kiss his cheek.

“I couldn’t be jealous of you two,” he says, looking contemplative, as if this has never really occurred to him before. Then he looks at you a bit sheepishly, his gaze skittish in how it darts around.

“What?” you ask, recognizing his shy mischief.

“I think it’s… uh… kinda hot?” He rubs the back of his neck. “I love you and I guess I also love that stupid faerie boy. And… maybe… I kinda wanna see…”

You feel very hot again.

“You, um, want to watch Felix fuck me?” you ask, frankly as you can.

“Yes.” He stares straight up, his ears gone completely red and his cheeks turning pink. “I think you’ll look hot together. I was kinda hoping we’d do something like this one day. I mean, the cannibal faerie is a surprise, but other than that…”

You kiss him. His arms circle your waist and he tugs you close, the kiss deepening naturally. You let all your flustered embarrassment fizzle away, thinking about Felix, thinking about Jisung. You get a bit handsy, squeezing Jisung’s biceps then resting your hands on his chest. He makes a little sound into the kiss, one of his needy whimpers. It never fails to light you up.

“I’m nervous,” you say, speaking low, against his lips. “Thinking about so many of them watching me and Felix…”

It is clear by his gulp and frantic nod that Jisung finds the scenario sexier than he should. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “What can I do?”

You know the faeries will be occupied with Hyunjin’s myriad of rituals for a while, so you peck his lips and ask, “Get me ready?”

“Ready,” he repeats. His gaze jumps up to the flowers in your hair. “You are ready.”

“Not like that,” you say.

Jisung really does his best to be appropriate, but he gets pussy-drunk faster than any man you have ever known. A suggestion is all it takes. You tap his shoulder and he obediently drops to his knees.

“Baby,” he says in a reverent whisper, sighing, eyes closing when you run your fingers through his hair.

Heavy-lidded and so seemingly submissive to your desire, Jisung looks up at you. Then he reaches past you, grabs the chair by the leg, and yanks. He is not too gentle, spilling you onto it with a forceful nudge.

You know Jisung does nothing by halves. He is singular in his passions. You ask him to kneel, so he kneels, so he closes his eyes, so he opens his mouth. He pushes your dress out of his way and licks through your panties until the fabric is sticky and you are so so wet that it clings to you. Your thighs tremble and he whimpers softly, high and light in the back of his throat.

“Jisungie…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he says in a raspy voice, drawing the fabric aside. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’ve got you, baby.”

He speaks so sweetly, like he is incapable of being mean, even while he torments you with long, twisting strokes of his tongue, never committing to a single pattern. It is a storm of sensation, rolling through you over and over again. You are so sensitive that slightest nudge feels like a miniature orgasm all on its own. You gasp and whine, trying and failing to close your legs around his head.

“Jisuuung,” you say, your voice rough. “We don’t have much time, I need to come…”

He moans when he buries his tongue in you, when he licks messily up past your clit and back down again. You grab his hair and tug, though it does nothing to deter him.

“Your husband can make you come later,” he says, giggling an inch from your pussy. “I’m just warming you up…”

“Please,” you say, “please, please, please.”

“Hmm?” is his reply, then he sighs and dives back.

Your eyes close, brow furrowing in concentration. You rock your hips against his mouth as he finally starts circling your clit with a single-minded resolve. You feel flushed and shaky, pleasure and heat coursing through you, and you know you must look as ravaged as you feel.

You open your eyes and see Felix standing in the entryway. He looks astonishingly beautiful, his long blonde hair neatly styled back, his freckles pronounced and eyes so dark. Long earrings made of sparkling orange gems dangle from his ears, looking at once like rippling flames and water running over bronze. He is dressed in an approximation of a tuxedo, except the pants are leather and the shirt and blazer are cropped too short.

He tips his head, his eyes on Jisung for a moment. Then he holds your gaze unflinchingly, maybe daringly. His smile appears slowly. It is too gentle to be lecherous, tender despite the fact his gloved hand runs over his belt and tugs. His tongue touches his bottom lip and he tips his head the other way.

His presence startles you for a moment. You should feel caught, or embarrassed, or something. But the initial surprise fades and you just stare back at him. You dig your fingers into Jisung’s hair and breathe harder as he strokes and strokes and strokes you with his tongue.

Felix exhales. His smile is still soft. He lifts a darkly gloved hand and gestures to you, curling two fingers, a suggestive come here.

Then Jisung’s hand goes from your thigh to your pussy, two fingers curling inside you without any resistance. Felix’s smile curves into a pleased, satisfied smirk. He nods.

You come, holding Jisung’s face against your pussy, letting him moan and whimper with his own pleasure as you roughly fuck his mouth. When he lifts his head, his mouth is so obscenely wet that you throb with a renewed ache of desire.

“I think you’re ready now,” Jisung says. He lowers your legs and slowly slides his fingers out of you. Your breath catches, swallowing up a sound of a surprise when he uses both thumbs to spread your pussy open to his gaze – his and Felix. Your head feels fuzzy and not with faerie magic.

“I think so,” Felix says.

Jisung does not seem surprised by his voice. He lets you go, your dress falling back over your lap. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and looks over his shoulder at Felix. Felix approaches, his steps silent despite his big black boots.

You watch. Jisung’s bottom lip twitches. He looks up at Felix with the same hazy intoxication he looked at you. Felix bites the tip of a glove, pulling the fabric off with his teeth, then he swipes his thumb across Jisung’s glistening mouth. Felix brings that thumb to his own bottom lip, his tongue only just swiping the tip of it.

Then Hyunjin struts into the alcove and slaps a shocked hand over his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he demands. You think he is going to remark on the man kneeling at your feet, not to mention your sexually dishevelled appearance, but then he says, “Felix. You’re supposed to have a hat.”

“I don’t need a hat, Hyunjin,” Felix says with a sigh. “I would like to talk to my bride for a minute.”

“That is impossible,” Hyunjin says. “You need a hat. Come with me.”

It occurs to you that you are watching the two most emotional faeries in their courts, even if those emotions are aimed in strange directions, like hats. Because Hyunjin is very adamant and Felix is very annoyed. You are more than a little concerned that if things come to a head, it will turn horrifying without much effort.

Then Jisung leaps to his feet and puts himself between the two faerie princes. It surprises everyone to silence. Even Hyunjin stumbles to a stop. He cocks his head like a predator regards a measly scrap of prey, eyes flashing as he takes a menacing step forward.

Felix has no time to react. You have no chance to scream.

Jisung is a step ahead of everyone.

He bows. Hyunjin stumbles to a stop for a second time. It takes him a second to realize what has happened but when he does his eye twitches. He bows back, then straightens with a huff.

Jisung bows again. You slap a hand over your mouth to hide your surprised laugh. Hyunjin looks far less amused. Glaring, he bows too, as per the rules of politeness.

Jisung leaps to the side and bows again, forcing Hyunjin to follow him. He does this twice more, leading Hyunjin to the exit, bowing back and forth the whole time.

“Make him stop!” Hyunjin shrieks.

“Okay, okay!” Jisung says, hands raised in surrender. He bows one more time, swooping low, then he turns and runs as fast as he can.

Hyunjin, obliged to return the bow, goes chasing after him with a frantic yelp.

“Is he gonna be okay?” you ask, springing to your feet. You dress falls neatly down.

“Yes,” Felix says. “Hyunjin won’t hurt humans. He likes them too much.” He turns to you then, his expression returned to a more passive neutrality, though you do not miss the way he looks you over. “Will you be okay?” he asks. “I’m sorry. I thought we would have more time when we got here. I didn’t know they would do this.”

“It’s okay,” you say, too shy for a conversation after he very much watched you orgasm. “Um. Might as well, I guess… get it out of the way.”

“Yes.” He frowns at this, turning aside. “You want to… get it out of the way. I understand. I’m sorry it had to be this way. You don’t want to marry me.”

He says it so plainly and without any hesitation. He must believe it is the absolute truth. For a moment, you can only stare at him, his handsome profile, the tendrils of sadness that tug at his features. How did you never see it before?

“Felix,” you say gently. He does not look at you. You touch his arm and he looks at your hand. “Felix, I am happy to marry you. I love you.” He looks up at that, his brow furrowed. “And Jisung,” you add. “I’m… I’m glad it happened this way. So that you and I—” He turns to you and your heart skips a few beats, affected by the warmth of his steady gaze. “So that you and I could come together as well. And now the three of us—”

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, then looks aside. “I’m sorry. That was forward, yeah? I just… don’t want the first time to be out there. Is that strange? To be honest, sometimes I don’t know what’s strange or what isn’t. The rules are different everywhere, you know? I don’t think I’m doing a good job of this. I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”

You cup his face and kiss him. It is very stiff for a moment, because you are both surprised by your brazen action. He somehow grounds himself first, a careful hand curling around your hip to guide you a little closer. A breath passes between you then he kisses you back.

You touch his chest, making a sweet small sound into the kiss when his lips slide so softly against yours. You are about to deepen it when Jisung interrupts with, “Aww, you’re kissing! So cute!”

You and Felix look over at him. His hands are clasped and he is gushing as only Jisung can.

“I thought you were running,” Felix says, with a hint of amusement.

“Stupid labyrinth led me back here,” Jisung says. He mimes zipping his lips shut and gestures to you. “Keep kissing. Pretend I’m not here.”

“I wouldn’t want to pretend that,” Felix says, so sincerely that Jisung’s eyes widen. They look at each other for a long moment, then Felix looks at you. He cups your face.

Then Hyunjin comes running in. He swings his arms in a dramatic flail and flower petals fly everywhere. The leaf dog comes running in and starts nipping at the air, trying to catch the petals. In the midst of this chaos, Hyunjin storms up to Jisung and promptly bows. Then he shoves him to the side and grabs Felix by the arm.

“Hat!” he shouts. “Now!”

It is a twenty-six hour wedding ceremony. You and Jisung fall asleep halfway through festivity number twelve, curled up under a furry blanket near a fire pit. You wake when Felix lifts your head into his lap. Jisung is already curled up with his head on your belly, so you smile and snuggle into Felix. He cups your face and strokes your cheek, the flickering firelight casting shadows on his face, making his smile seem bigger than usual.

The consummation ritual is last. It takes place inside the castle, in a beautiful room that appears to have been designed for this express purpose. The mossy stone walls are decorated with dried flowers, the plush bed laden with thick red throws and burgundy cushions. Despite the tall open windows, there is no autumn chill, a lit fireplace cozying the room with its warmth.

It would be a lovely chamber if not for the translucent curtain with a literal audience behind it. The winter and summer princes sit ramrod straight, so uninterested in their surroundings that it actually puts you at ease. Hyunjin looks… a little too eager to be honest, but you aren’t convinced he understands this ritual anymore than anything else today.

Jisung is side-eying Jeongin, who is sitting beside him because Hyunjin refused to sit by ‘the annoying changeling brat’. Minho is sitting between Jeongin and Hyunjin, casting the occasional side-eye to the spring prince. Despite his stoic countenance, his displeasure with the company is clear.

Honestly, the whole tableau is quite comedic. You find yourself trying to stifle laughter when Felix finally arrives. You were sent to separate rooms to undress and change into robes, but you arrived here first. Felix looks at you curiously, clearly perplexed by your laughter.

“You’re not nervous anymore,” he observes.

“No,” you say. “I’ve just been thinking like a faerie.”

He tilts his head at that. You smile and kiss him, a chaste kiss that makes his lashes flutter. The little reaction tickles a flurry of butterflies in your belly. You hold his hand and lead him to the bed where you sit down. His eyes shift with a nervous scuttle, but he follows the direction of your hand when you gesture to him.

You keep your eyes on his, intensely locked as you lift his hand and take two fingers in your mouth. When you close your lips around his fingers and gently suck, his breath catches. It echoes in Jisung.

Then Jeongin whispers loudly, “Is she going to eat him?” He sounds moderately intrigued.

“Be quiet,” Hyunjin replies.

“I think it’s over,” Minho says, catching onto your ruse before anyone else.

You smile and open your eyes. You separate from Felix and turn your head to the silhouettes beyond the curtain.

“A penetrative performance,” you state. “I believe that was the requirement. And I believe that should qualify.”

You are stretching the meaning of those words and you know it, but that’s what faeries do. His fingers ‘penetrated’ the breach of your mouth, so it should count on the most technical level.

“All done,” you say with a smile and wave.

“So you’re not eating him?” Jeongin says, frowning.

Minho is the first one to stand. He flicks Jeongin’s forehead as he passes, but otherwise says nothing before fleeing the room. Jeongin follows with a slightly disgruntled shuffle, then Hyunjin stomps his foot.

“Humans,” he says, marching past Jisung.

The door closes behind Hyunjin. Jisung claps a hand over his mouth and laughs into it, so hard he has to put a hand over his stomach as he doubles over. Felix laughs too, a pleasantly low rumble that he tries to stifle with a cough. You smile up at him, leaning back on your palms and admiring him in the warm orange light. He tucks some hair behind his ear, regarding you with a very tender gaze when he nods his head in a curt little bow.

“All done,” he says. It makes your brow furrow: the little shift in tone, the tension that still draws his shoulders back. You realize that even after everything, he is still uncertain about his place. Even Jisung knows where he belongs, not for a moment thinking he should leave the room, but Felix takes a step away from the bed like he intends to do just that.

You grab his hand, drawing his attention back to you. Blonde hair falls around his face, shadowing it. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes, gaze somewhere on your chin.

“Felix,” you say. His fingers tighten around yours and it feels like a question. You answer by tugging that hand, drawing him closer. His eyes flash gold when you drop his hand to open your robe. This time you can hear Jisung’s sharp breath too, all laughter subsiding as you let the robe fall off your shoulders, laying yourself bare before Felix.

He looks awed but stricken. You can see when he swallows. He looks at Jisung then back at you, his brow furrowing. His lips twitch in a bid to speak but no words come.

It would be funny, this supernatural being somehow struck dumb by you in your most vulnerable state, but your smile is more affectionate than amused.

“Felix,” you say again. “Have you ever done something like this before?”

He shakes his head frantically, his eyes still running up and down your body.

“No,” he says. “Uh, no. No. I can – feel something when Jisung – when you – I mean—” He chokes on an awkward laugh, turning away for a second.

“I fucking knew it!” Jisung says, poking his head between the folds of the curtain. “Bro, you’re such a liar. I asked if you could feel when we fuck and you said no!”

“I can’t lie,” Felix replies, turning to Jisung. He forgets to be embarrassed while arguing, very plainly and patiently stating his case. “I told you most faeries don’t think about sex like humans and that I couldn’t be certain what you were doing, yeah? And I can’t. And I would have told you more but you only asked the first time and I didn’t know you were going to keep… being with her. And I – I didn’t want to make things awkward… for you… okay? By thinking of me every time… so I just… What are you smiling at?” His deep voice breaks, pitching comically higher for a second.

Jisung is smirking and nodding, just a floating head with a vague silhouetted body behind the curtain.

“Man,” Jisung says, “you’ve been acting like a monk but secretly jacking it while we get freaky in the other room… That’s naughty.”

Felix draws his mouth into a flat line then looks at you for help. You are trying to hold in your giggles, lips pressed tight together. When he looks at you, you exhale, waving at Jisung to back down for a second. He ducks behind the curtain again, giggling to himself like the menace he is.

Fortunately, Felix is easy to distract. All it takes is opening your legs for his all his attention to zero in there. He swallows again.

“Sounds like we’ve been teasing you too long,” you say, your voice drawing his eyes back up to your face. You smile and beckon him forward. “Come on. Let me make it up to you.”

He looks like he is going to deflect politely, either because he is a faerie or because he is Felix, but then you grab his robe and yank him closer. He stumbles up to you, his fingers fluttering at his sides and his shoulders still tense. You take one of his hands and place it on the side of your face, soothing him with another gentle smile as you unknot his robe.

He is already very hard and this seems to fluster him, but he points to the curtain and sputters, “He’s – touching—“

“Fuck yeah I am,” Jisung says.

“Jisung, shh,” you say, trying not to giggle again. “And slow down. You’re always so impatient.”

“Am not,” Jisung says, but you can see him lean back, folding his hands behind his head.

You look up at Felix, holding his gaze the way you did when you sucked his fingers. You like the way he twitches and breathes harder, the way his eyes flash, the way his jaw clenches. His thumb curls under your jaw when your mouth slides over him. You can’t help but moan when his whole face contorts with more natural emotion than you have ever seen from him. His breath stutters and stops and starts, his sounds so low and guttural that you feel them inside you.

“Oh, fuck, dude,” Jisung says, rasping. You pull back just a little, drooling and stroking with your hand, and glancing at Jisung out of the corner of your eye. He lifts his hips and squeezes himself over his pants. “We were fucking torturing you, holy fuck.”

“Mmmmrrgh,” is the approximate sound Felix makes. His eyes are partially-lidded, his expression one of immense concentration. He pulls your face back to him with a flick of his wrist. Appetent and quite demanding, he leads your mouth back onto him and holds you in place to shallowly and gently fuck your mouth. He makes a pleased sound, one of deep relief, his head lolling back and the tension leaving his shoulders.

You let him set the pace, matching the animal instinct that overcomes him. He stops himself when he’s close, breathing hard and stepping back. You want to ask if he is okay, but you have to flex your jaw and your voice is momentarily shot. Before you can find that voice, he turns to the curtain and says, “Show me what you did earlier. I want – I want to do that too.”

There is a quiet moment, Jisung maybe surprised at the sudden attention, but then the curtain parts and Jisung steps all the way through. He has unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, his partially unzipped pants doing nothing to hide the bulge behind his fly. The sight of him sets off more sparks, especially when he winks at you with all his cheeky wantonness.

Felix gives Jisung a once-over too, pushing a hand through his hair and steadying his breathing. His features look sharper than ever, darkened with a determined resolve. He says nothing when Jisung sweeps behind him. Jisung wiggles his eyebrows at you while he gathers Felix’s robe and slides it off his shoulders.

“She likes your freckles,” Jisung offers by way of explanation, smooching Felix’s freckled shoulder with a playful little mwah.

Felix tilts his head and looks at you. “Really?” he asks. “I can’t fully scrub them off the glamour. I think it’s somehow your fault.” This is aimed at Jisung.

“Everything’s my fault!” Jisung says with a great deal of pride.

“Why would you want to get rid of them?” you blurt, showing just as much as horror as you did when meeting the cannibal faerie. Felix without his freckles is equally abhorrent.

Felix looks at you, thoughtfully. Firelight is flickering over the room but you do not think it is a trick of shadow when his freckles seem to darken everywhere.

“Aw,” Jisung says. “He’s flirting.”

Felix looks at him with a certain degree of exasperation. “Show me what I asked,” he says.

“Oh, wow, okay, geez, pushy,” Jisung says, circling so he standing beside Felix. Felix drops the rest of the robe, evidently not the slightest bit shy to be standing there naked. Now your gaze is the roving one, jumping between them, darting upward when Jisung cups Felix’s face and turns it to him.

“You need to turn her on first, man,” Jisung says, swaying to the playful rhythm of his own voice. Felix follows, but his eyes narrow into judgemental slits. Jisung seems unbothered by this, standing still, tucking some hair behind Felix’s ear. “C’mooon,” he says, with an impatient little shoulder wiggle and a laugh. “She likes you… she likes me… as they say… badda bing badda boom…”

“I don’t think they say that during sex,” Felix says, frowning.

“He’s right,” you say, giggling.

Jisung sighs and looks at you. “No audience participation,” he says, miming a zip across his lips. “Just sit there and look pretty, baby. We’ll get to you.”

Felix looks at you. Jisung leans close to whisper in his ear. You try to decipher what he is saying based on Felix, but all Felix does is furrow his eyebrows then look sideways at Jisung. There is a moment of quiet, then they smile at the same time.

Felix delicately cups Jisung’s chin.

The last time you caught them kissing, it spurred only jealousy. But that was different. That was your childish reaction to exclusion, your own anxieties speaking over everything else. This time, you are not outside of their connection. You even swear you can feel the faintest tingling on your own lips when they gently come together in a feather-light kiss.

Their hands trace similar paths, Felix’s slipping into Jisung’s pants and Jisung touching him back. The kiss deepens until their tongues touch, then Jisung giggles while Felix grins. They look at you at the same time.

“Go,” Jisung says, nudging Felix forward.

They let go of each other and Felix climbs up on the bed, guiding you backwards until your head is on a pillow. Long tendrils of blonde hair brush your cheeks. He lays over you and kisses you, pressing your head into the cushion. Even lost in his kiss, you can sense Jisung with a fuzzy awareness. You recognize the familiar touch of his palm, his hand gliding up your inner thigh. Felix makes room, joining Jisung at your thighs. You twitch with an instinctive little jerk, pushing yourself up on your elbows to look at them. Jisung puts a finger over his lips and shushes you, smiling.

“We got it, we got it…” he says. He cups the back of Felix’s head and pushes his head down to your pussy.

Felix glances up at you, then him, then down. His eyes close and he sticks out his tongue, his expression one of the sweetest pleasure when he puts his mouth on you. What he lacks in skill, he compensates with eagerness, messily diving in with an open mouth, licking and kissing and making a mess of himself. Jisung threads his fingers into his hair and tugs, laughing a little.

“Easy, easy,” he says. He and Felix look at each other as Jisung lowers his own face. When he puts his expert mouth on you, your head falls back, thighs parting further. You throw your arms over your head and dig your fingers into the cushions. You chase the rhythm of his tongue, looking down when it stops, when Felix replaces him.

“See, look at her,” Jisung says. Felix looks up at you. “Just like that.”

Then Jisung joins him. They torturously alternate whose mouth is on you. Jisung dives at Felix, licking across his wet lips and kissing him before returning to you. You can hardly tell one mouth from the next, gasping under two tongues as they stroke you and each other, matching blonde heads bobbing in perfect coordination between your thighs. It is inhumanly perfect, so harmonious that it almost agonizing. This is how mortals lose their minds here, you think.

Eventually you are so wound up that you can’t help but cry out.

“Oh noo,” Jisung says, very unrepentant as lays beside you. “I think we were teasing her… That’s so mean of us, isn’t it, baby? Huh?” He pinches your face in his hand, cooing at you while you playfully glare. He giggles and kisses you, your own wet desire smeared across his lips. “You’re so wet, baby,” he says, sliding his hand down your body and over your pussy, easing his fingers through the wetness there. When you whimper, he whimpers back in faux sympathy, pouting and nodding. “I know, poor baby,” he says, curling his fingers inside you.

Felix’s eyes light up, watching. He props himself up on one hand and touches you with the other. You make a sound against Jisung’s mouth, a breathy moan as Felix slides his fingers in too. It’s thick, that many fingers at once and so suddenly. Your thighs jerk and you whine into Jisung’s mouth. You see stars when you close your eyes, their fingers moving at the same time inside you. They share a heartbeat, a rhythm, not faulting in the slightest.

For a moment, you just lay there and dizzily take it, stretched around their fingers, wet and silky hot and so turned on that you feel like you’re floating.

“Jisung,” Felix says in his rough, deep voice.

“I know,” Jisung replies, just as hoarse.

Their fingers leave you and Jisung grabs your throat with that same hand, slick fingers nudging your chin to look at him. Your breath catches and you think Felix’s breath catches too.

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says, reaching down at the same Felix reaches up, a hand on each breast, teasing the pebbled peaks. You squirm and Jisung returns his hand to your throat, smiling at you so innocently, scrunching up his eyes with delight. “Good girl,” he says, squeezing. Felix gasps then moans, sucking kisses wherever his mouth lazily roams. Jisung places those same hot kisses on your neck, each kiss landing one after the other, lighting every nerve. Teeth and tongue lave at your skin, no doubt bruising it with each little love bite.

“That’s it,” Jisung says, and you really start to think your human boyfriend is made of more magic than autumnal flurries. His dark eyes sparkle in the light, his mischievous smirk lighting up his handsome face. He is so giggly and sweet despite the dastardly torture of his hands and mouth.

You find yourself sinking into the sensations, eyes closed, body running on instinct.

“Felix,” Jisung says. His hand leaves your throat, sliding down your body. You realize he is spreading your pussy lips again, teasing as Felix pushes inside you. It is easy now that you have taken so many fingers, but the knowledge of what is happening, of who is fucking you, makes your breath stutter and eyes open.

“Ohh,” is the only sound you can make, watery eyes on where Felix is moving slowly in and out of you. His brow is furrowed again, that look of concentration, then he groans and all but sprawls on top of you, fucking you with messy abandon. Jisung thumps his head heavily onto the cushion, panting heavily, as if he was fucking you.

“Felix, you gotta—” Jisung says, his own face twisted up with a tortured sort of pleasure. Felix does not listen to him, still rocking his hips with a frantic unevenness. It feels good and crazy and wild, your head lolling to the side, a hum in your throat.

Jisung finds the resolve to push himself up, groaning with the effort. You watch him roughly manhandle Felix, yanking his head up to get him to concentrate. Felix’s eyes flash gold then go dark. His mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are flushed. He never stops moving.

“And you said I was impatient,” Jisung murmurs, grabbing Felix’s hips and evening out his rhythm. You suppose it stands to reason that if Jisung is the most pussy-drunk man you have ever known, than Felix would be too. Except Felix actually is magic, and everything about Jisung seems to multiply in Felix. He looks completely overcome. Then Jisung suddenly asks, “Good tears or bad?”

“Good,” Felix rasps.

“So you wanna keep going?”

“Ye-es,” Felix hiccups, then suddenly starts crying, all the messy human-ness mixing with his confusing faerie-ness, coming together in an explosive physical and emotional mania that has him burying his face in your neck and fucking you so deep and hard that your own sniffles start.

“Yes,” you say at the same time as him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Jisung touches your hand, his other still guiding Felix’s hips. Felix moans in your throat then marginally turns his head.

“Jisung,” he says. “I can’t—unless you—”

Jisung very unceremoniously shoves a hand down his pants, then looks up at you and smiles.

“Okay,” Jisung says. He moves and Felix sinks back inside you, moaning deeply, clutching you possessively. You hold him back as fiercely, blinking up at Jisung when kneels near your face. “Come on, baby,” Jisung says, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip.

“Yes,” Felix says, nodding at him and at you.

You open your mouth, nodding at Jisung. His pants get tossed somewhere and he removes his shirt at the same time his dick pushes past your lips. They really do fuck with an extraordinary identicalness, perfectly matched without a word. It is easy to fall into their rhythm, not even straining. You feel like you were born to be here, between them, sharing them, sharing yourself with them.

They come at the same time, Felix with his cheek pressed to yours, Jisung with his head thrown back. They lay down on either side of you, flopping back at the same time. Felix has a completely dazed look on his face, his breath stuttering when you tuck some of his sweaty hair back. He looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again.

All three of you exhale at once. The resulting giggle comes in three-way unison too.

“Wow,” Felix finally says. “It’s much more fun like this.”

“Hell yeah,” Jisung says, holding out his fist for a bump. You swat it down before Felix can return it. Jisung just laughs, snuggling up to you.

Felix also rolls onto his side. He tucks one hand under his head and touches your face with the other. You and Jisung both look at him, his faraway stare, the way a small smile unfurls on his face.

“You’re mine now,” he says. “Forever. Yeah?” It’s posed like a question but evidently it is already fact to him, or he could not say it.

“Forever and ever,” Jisung says easily, stretching out on the royal bedsheets like he has always belonged there.

Felix looks at you for an answer too, still smiling. You are not as easy as Jisung, but you try hard not to overthink.

But you remember so many stories of humans wandering in the faerie world, never seen or heard from again, the tales of their disappearances ranging from beautiful to horrifying. You think it would be impudent to think yourself different or better than them. They thought they were safe too.

The question tumbles past your lips before you can think twice:

“Your true name,” you say. “Would you still give it to me if I asked?”

He clearly does not expect the question. He blinks quickly, then his gaze darts to the side. You look there to see Jisung nodding off, already half-asleep on your shoulder. Felix is not sleeping. You look at him, wondering still about the sometimes contradictory depth of their connection.

“Aren’t you tired too?” you ask.

“A little,” he says.

You realize he didn’t answer your other question and you open your mouth to ask again. He kisses you, cupping your face, making a happy sound when you kiss him back. Jisung makes his own little happy sound, sighing on your shoulder.

“I love you,” Felix says, speaking soft and low against your lips. He strokes the side of your face. “I want you to stay with me forever.”

“You’d really tell me your true name?” you ask.

“I’d do anything for you,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Felix,” you say, about to say more when he kisses you again. He smiles so big and bright, it crinkles the corner of his eyes.

“You do,” he says. “That’s the truth. You love me like you love him.”

“It’s the same but different,” you say. “Like how you love both me and Jisung.”

He is still smiling. He kisses the corner of your mouth sweetly. “The same but different,” he says. “Yes. I understand.”

He draws you into his arms and kisses the crown of your head, sighing a happy sigh. Jisung curls up behind you, already fast asleep while Felix murmurs sweet love confessions at you until you fall asleep too, nestled tightly and safely in his arms.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x reader #han jisung x reader #lee felix smut #han jisung smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #faerie au

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edgeofn1ght · 8 months

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Anakin Skywalker is a very talented baker who co-owns a very popular bakery with his mom. Customers and croissants come and go each day, and Anakin bakes and bakes and never pays much attention -- this is his mother's dream. Until one day a very handsome man stops at their store front to gaze at their display, and Anakin is never the same.

I signed up for the @ficwip 5k in an effort to challenge myself to write less than 5,000 words! So here is another entry into my bakery au, from Anakin's POV. It's not necessary to read the Dough or Doughnut, There Is No Rye first, but I wanted to include the link anyway. 😊🍞

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getting together • obikin • 4.5k words • read on ao3 instead

In the wee hours of the morning, as Anakin mixed, proved, rolled, and laminated, he told himself over and over again, ‘This is worth it. This is worth it. I’m doing a good thing. For my home, for Ahsoka, for my mom .’ But as he pushed the sticky dough back and forth across the cool metal table at 4am, he couldn’t help but ask himself WHY.

His mother, Shmi, told him time and time again he shouldn’t listen to his brain between the hours of 9pm and 5am (Ahsoka told him he should never listen to it), but that was easier said than done. But when the answer to 'why' always came back to his mom, he thought it was worth listening to.

Shmi was a gifted and adventurous baker, and had been baking as long as he could remember. She talked often of opening her own bakery but never knew how to make it happen. And after all she had been through in her life, Anakin wanted to make that happen for her. So when he got older, he looked into it.

They opened Ryes & Shine two years previous and as time went on, the small bakery increased in popularity, thanks to their dedication, hard work, and Shmi’s amazing bakes. The baguettes, bagels, focaccia, and loaves of different breads they baked fresh almost every morning were nearly gone by the afternoon. And if not then, then almost certainly the next morning. Eventually it became too much work for just the two of them, so they hired Ahsoka Tano, a young university student who went to school nearby, and who very excitedly told them she had been baking for fun since she was 4. Her excitement and joy was so contagious, Shmi hired her on the spot, even without any professional experience. So she became Anakin’s apprentice.

And today she was late.

Anakin and Shmi could fill the display window alone, they’d done it many times, but with dough needing to go in the oven, come out of the oven, cooled, wrapped, and everything else, they were spread a bit thin when she wasn’t around. Fifteen more minutes went by and she finally appeared in a rush, flying into the shop, tearing off all her winter layers and apologizing profusely the entire time. Mostly to Shmi. Because she knew Shmi would forgive her anything. Anakin? Well, the jury was still out.

But she got to work quickly, helping them finish all the morning tasks before they opened. As she stood at the window rearranging the displays, she suddenly shouted.

“THERE HE IS!”

“Shit!” Anakin yelled as he dropped the basket of freshly-wrapped mini packets of sweet buns. He looked on in horror as the shiny cellophane scattered every which way behind the counter. He scowled at his young apprentice. “Ahsoka!”

She grimaced then giggled as she placed the last loaves of French bread in the basket in the window.

“He probably heard you,” Anakin said exasperatedly as the sweet buns were forgotten and he made his way towards the window. “You’re so loud .”

The man with the gold-red beard stood to the right of the window, bent slightly at the waist, very intently staring at their display. His lips moved almost imperceptibly as he read the display cards all handwritten by Ahsoka each morning. Anakin wondered to himself if this would be the day he came inside.

“You’re staring , Skyguy,” Ahsoka said with a grin as she elbowed him and walked away from the window.

“Why are all the buns on the floor??” Anakin and Ahsoka jerkily turned towards Shmi, who stood at the far end of the counter with her hands on her hips.

Anakin sighed as he knelt to quickly pick them all up. His mother didn’t need to know he was shirking his duties to pine after some random guy he didn’t know who happened to walk by their shop every morning for the past two weeks. NOT that Anakin noticed such things… (he told himself unconvincingly). But he DID notice the man never came inside.

And that would have to change.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

And change it did.

That morning they were busy, like most mornings, but today it felt different. More demanding, more harried, and sometimes frantic. Thankfully Shmi and Ahsoka had been more than willing to man the front counter while Anakin busily cranked out loaf after loaf, mixing, proving, baking, proving again, as well as creating the cold butter layers for tomorrow’s flaky croissants and pastries. It was hard work, but that they were constantly busy made it worth it.

The buzzer on the large oven rang signaling the end of the bake for the latest batch of baguettes. He’d lost count long ago at how many of the medium-sized loaves he churned out in a day, but as long as he made them, people would buy them. They were one of the most popular items, gone almost as soon as he made it to the floor with the tray. Anakin took out the three trays and placed them on the large kitchen island to cool as he busied himself checking on other dough. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror – or had a bathroom break, if he was honest – but he was sure he was covered in flour like always. And even though it was cold outside, back in the kitchen, he could work up a sweat like no place else.

After letting the bread cool, Anakin piled three trays worth of baguettes on top of one tray then headed out to restock. A quick glance at the lobby showed a crowded space and a long line, but his mom and Ahsoka were doing their best to move people through. They’d been so busy all morning, he hoped they had at least already made their daily sales total. Anakin squeezed past the two women with the tray and made his way to the display. He smiled to himself as he put the loaves out into the basket in the window, listening to Ahsoka as she deftly, efficiently, and kindly took care of all their customers.

He loved the sound of the busy bakery – there was a comfort in it.

Rising above the din today was a gently lilting accent coming from the other side of the counter. It wasn’t too often that he heard an English accent in their store, but it was a soothing tenor, and it would be nice if he could focus on just the sound of that particular man’s voice. But Ahsoka…

“Anakin! A baguette!”

He startled out of his reverie and grabbed a paper sleeve and slipped one of the fresh loaves in. He didn’t know why she felt she had to yell at him. If she'd just ask nicely … He laid the baguette on the counter with a grunt and pursed his lips, turning away from Ahsoka and her customer so he could finish his task. He tried to tune her out as she ran her mouth, but it wasn’t so easy as she could be quite loud. However, he secretly admired her ability to become friends with everyone (even if he couldn’t understand how she did it). His method had always been just to let the people pay and go.

“He’s 24 years old, an amazing baker…” he suddenly heard Ahsoka say, then she trailed off again when the customers got slightly louder. He angled his body to hear her better because surely she wasn’t…

Because HE was 24 years old. And a baker. But amazing ?? That would be a new adjective for Ahsoka.

“My name is Ahsoka and I'm pretty much his best friend,” she continued to chatter as she finished the transaction. “Like, anything you want to know about him, I could tell you. Even things you don’t think of! Like how he’s single and really loves–”

“Snips!” Anakin turned then walked over to stand next to his very chatty and oversharing coworker, ready to give her a tongue lashing when he finally looked up. The man from outside. The man with the beautiful beard. He suddenly heard nothing but white noise.

He tried hard to school his features and must have been doing well because the man seemed rather timid. But then the man smiled.

Oh no.

It was just a small thing as the man looked down at his purchased items on the counter, so small Anakin almost missed it.

Oh no. He was so much more handsome than he had been outside just looking in the window. But h e had FINALLY come inside the shop. And Anakin had frozen up.

He spared a single glance for the man – it was all he could do since he was stunned into silence – and headed back to the kitchen. Be cool, don’t run, don’t RUN.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

Anakin took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then berated himself for completely missing his chance. As if he really had a chance. He knew nothing at all about the man, and he’d only been inside ONCE. He’d probably never come in again now that Ahsoka had probably talked his ear off and most likely said something cheeky about Anakin. He dropped his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

“You BLEW it!” Ahsoka fussed as she burst through the kitchen door. Anakin immediately went into an attack stance in his surprise, which the young girl mirrored then laughed. “It’s just me, Skyguy… my goodness, you’re jumpy.”

“Yeah! Well!” He pushed himself off the wall and headed back towards the oven where another timer went off. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that! I could have had a knife or something.”

Ahsoka laughed again. “Anyway, I know you’re avoiding the topic now. I was trying to HELP you! He’s never going to come back in here because you threw his baguette at him!”

Anakin scoffed as he removed the last batch of baguettes from the oven. “I did not throw anything!” That would be the last thing he would say on it, then, if he ignored her, eventually she’d go away. Except Ahsoka rarely behaved like a normal person would.

“He seems really nice! He’s got a great accent. I noticed him watching you. I know he’ll be back for more, I just know it.”

There was no way she could know that. He probably really had blown it. He uncovered a bowl of dough that had doubled in size in the proving. He punched it down with much joy.

“And I gave him your schedule and your number!”

“You what!?” Anakin stopped and looked up. “I should fire you!”

The infuriating child giggled again as she left Anakin with his thoughts and dough in the kitchen.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

A week and a half went by before Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole again.

Abnormally busy Saturday mornings called for bakers to find new and clever ways to keep their stock going, so Anakin wasn’t always afforded the opportunity to ‘camp out’ in the kitchen and ‘hide away from the customers’ (Ahsoka’s words). In the first morning rush, they’d managed to clean off the counter space between the cash register and the window, so Anakin used the long stretch of cool marble to make a batch of fresh rolls and loaves. The counter was a mess of white flour and small lumps of dough as Anakin rolled and stretched and pulled the dough. Though he was rather on display working here like this, he actually found he didn’t mind it too much – the work and steady stream of customers kept him in an oddly good mood for once.

He looked up to check the line once more and there he was. Baguette Guy, which Ahsoka had “affectionately” named the man after his first purchase in their shop. Several days went by before he even learned the man’s actual name – Obi-Wan .

He had apparently come in once when Anakin was quite busy, and no one even thought to come and interrupt. He might have yelled about it initially at the time, but another glimpse of the man would have made all things right. The worst part was that Obi-Wan had apparently even met his mother on that visit. Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole thinking about the conversations they probably had. Embarrassing ones.

But now Obi-Wan was here again, and Anakin was sweaty and most likely covered in flour. Perfect .

“Baguette guy!” Ahsoka called as Obi-Wan stepped to the counter and chuckled – it was such a lovely sound to Anakin’s ears.

“I guess that’s my name now, is it?”

“Those are the rules,” Ahsoka smiled. “You are what you eat. Hey, how’d you like that focaccia?” Anakin could give her one thing – she was a friendly and knowledgeable salesperson. She could probably have the rest of today’s focaccia sold to this one man today.

Obi-Wan finally replied, “It was amazing, actually.”

“That’s Skyguy’s own recipe!”

Maybe if he focused on the dough, they would all go away.

“Skyguy?” Obi-Wan waited for an explanation, but before he could say anything else, Ahsoka chimed in again.

“Skyguy is Skywalker over here,” she said as she hooked a thumb in his direction.

“Skywalker…”

Anakin had to look up again. He supposed he already wasted enough time NOT looking at the beautiful man.

“That’s me,” he said, resigned to his fate. Suddenly Obi-Wan’s eyebrows did a thing – a frowny, furrow-y thing.

“Did you know you’ve got…” Obi-Wan gestured at his own face. “A bit of flour just there?”

ShitshitshitSHIT. Anakin’s gloved hand flew to his face and rubbed at his jaw.

“No, other side… there, no…” Obi-Wan attempted to direct as Anakin clearly was not following. It seemed that no matter what part of his face he touched, it was not right. Or else, he just had that much flour on his face. If he could crawl into a hole, or just disappear behind the counter, that’d be great. But Ahsoka – the traitor – seemed to be having a grand time at his expense.

He huffed, “Ahsoka, help a bestie out here?” How dare she act like she was doing him a favor when she left him hanging in such a way!

Then it got worse. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Ahsoka lick her thumb then reach out and rub it along his jaw in the one spot he clearly had missed.

“Ew, Snips!” He reeled back. “Don’t put your spit on me!”

Next, Ahsoka smirked and he just knew that was going to hate whatever was going to come out of her mouth next.

“I bet you wouldn’t say that to Obi-Wan.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he knew it wasn’t from the warmth of the shop. She turned back to Obi-Wan – the incredibly handsome customer that Anakin had been pining after for weeks – and put back on her best customer service voice and smile. “Anyway, what can I get for you?”

Obi-Wan seemed stunned, and who could blame him after that little display? “Oh, right, yes, the reason for my visit… still have any brioche?” If Anakin could get what he wanted quickly, then he could get him out of here quickly and berate Ahsoka quicker.

“You’re in luck!” He said before Ahsoka could say one more thing. He walked to the window and grabbed the last one. “Last loaf.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan smiled and Anakin wanted to melt. He had to hold himself together.

“You better use some of this to make French toast,” Ahsoka added. “I’m telling you, best stuff you’ll ever have in your life. Unless you somehow manage to screw it up.”

Luckily Obi-Wan chuckled instead of stomping out of the shop. He'd be well within his rights after she just insulted him . “Well, I certainly hope not, but that’s good to hear because that was my intention. Going home to make it right now.”

Ahsoka smiled and clapped her hands, completely oblivious to the daggers Anakin was shooting out of his eyes. "Excellent."

She finished the transaction and Anakin got back to the bread. That's why he was here – bread. Not the thought of brioche French toast for breakfast in a handsome man's apartment, made by the aforementioned handsome man on a lazy weekend morning. Just when he thought he was in the clear, in the safety of his own daydreams, she spoke again.

"You know, Anakin lives upstairs over the shop."

"Snips!" He glared at her. Obi-Wan meanwhile was clearly trying to suppress laughter. Anakin could not be more embarrassed.

"What!? You do!" She cried in defense.

"Yeah but you don't have to tell… strangers where I live!" He gestured at Baguette Guy on the other side of the counter. "No offense."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "None taken, I assure you."

"This isn't a stranger! It's Obi-Wan, Baguette Guy!" She cried again. That sinkhole under the city could swallow him up any day now. He'd be surprised if Obi-Wan ever came back now after Ahsoka's lack of decorum. "Anyway, that'll be 3.75," she said then leaned over the counter to whisper something Anakin couldn't hear. He knew it was nothing but trouble.

"Uh, well, thanks," Obi-Wan said as he paid and left.

Anakin forlornly watched him walk out of the shop, sure he'd never return now. He turned to his evil apprentice, "You're gonna pay for that."

Ahsoka's eyes widened for just a second before a smug grin spread across her face. "You can't kill me in front of all these witnesses."

"Next!" She shouted and turned away.

🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖🍞🥐🥖

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Ahsoka asked as she flattened her buttery square of dough.

Anakin looked up to find her watching him with that same self-satisfied smile she had been wearing for weeks. He regretted long ago ever expressing any interest in the stranger who passed by their shop every day. But the thing was… if Obi-Wan actually did dare to ever come back into their shop, Anakin would have to finally say something to the man.

“Thinking about whom ?” He replied and continued to roll out the dough.

“ ThInKiNg AbOuT wHoM? ” She mocked with a laugh. “You know exactly WHOM.

“Why don’t you concern yourself with–” Anakin stopped mid-sentence when the kitchen door swung open and in walked his mother… and Obi-Wan.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile and a small wave.

“Hello,” Anakin said, maybe almost too quickly, and turned back to his task. He was here. He actually came back.

“You get to see us in action!” Ahsoka smiled.

“He asked what laminating was, so I brought him here to see,” Shmi said as she headed back out front. “It doesn’t hurt to show him!”

Anakin’s brain was pinging back and forth, trying desperately to think of something to say. Maybe if he just continued laminating he would either magically come up with something. Or it was more likely that Obi-Wan would actually get bored and leave. (He hoped he wouldn’t.)

“So you see, Anakin put a large slab of butter in there then folded the dough over it then rolled it again,” Ahsoka explained and Anakin worked. “You do this numerous times, turning the dough and folding it and chilling it, and you’re incorporating the butter each time and that’s what gives the croissants their many buttery layers!”

Anakin was almost proud – she actually had been listening to him.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “I never knew that’s how they did that. I never looked it up.”

“You were meant to find us so we could tell you,” Ahsoka said as she folded the edges of her own dough.

Anakin didn’t believe much in soulmates or people being ‘meant’ to find each other, but he supposed there was always time to change one’s mind.

“Did you like the brioche?” Score one point for remembering to speak.

“Oh yes, it made a wonderful French toast, just like you said, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’m always right,” she replied. “Just like how I’m right about you and Anakin–”

“Snips!” Anakin shouted. “I hear mom calling for you.”

Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “I didn’t…” She paused and her expression changed immediately back to smugness. “Oh yes, I see.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, “You see nothing, now, don’t keep her waiting.” Maybe with Ahsoka out of the way, breathing down his neck and waiting for Anakin to make any move at all… maybe he could find room to actually breathe.

“Whatever you say, Skyguy! I’ll leave you and Obi-Wan alone,” she said very pointedly as she practically skipped out of the kitchen.

They were finally, truly alone.

“Don’t mind–”

“Would you like–”

They both started their next sentence at the same time then laughed at the gaffe.

“Apologies, you first,” Obi-Wan said as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Perhaps he was as nervous as Anakin felt?

He put down his rolling pin and leaned against the table. “No, actually, you first. What were you going to ask?”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly. “It’s not important.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s not true. What were you going to ask?”

Something soft fluttered in Anakin’s chest as he watched Obi-Wan flex and crack his knuckles – a sure sign of nerves. His cheeks were also slightly flushed. It was probably just the heat of the kitchen, but Anakin preferred to believe otherwise.

“Well…” Obi-Wan stammered. “I was just… well, I was just wondering if you’d–”

“Yes!” Anakin said quickly, interrupting Obi-Wan. He didn’t need him to finish. He was taking his own leap now.

Obi-Wan laughed. “You don’t even know what I wanted to ask!”

Anakin walked around the table towards where Obi-Wan stood. He wiped his floury, buttery hands down his apron. He wasn’t as big a mess as usual, but it was more than he’d like when he was actually alone with Obi-Wan for the first time. He imagined this moment going so much differently from this. He stopped a few feet away then leaned against the table then folded his arms across his chest. It was now or never.

“Then if I am so mistaken, ask what you wanted to ask.” He didn’t know where this nerve came from.

“Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?” Obi-Wan asked with a gentle smile. Force, he was a handsome man , and Anakin was a goner.

Anakin grinned. “Like I said… yes.”

Obi-Wan barely had time to smile himself before Ahsoka and Shmi burst into the kitchen.

“Finally!!” Ahsoka sighed and rolled her eyes. Shmi stood behind the girl smiling.

Anakin threw up his hands in a huff. “Can’t I have one moment alone!?”

“You can have a whole night alone,” Ahsoka said as she waggled her eyebrows. “With Obi-Wan!” The poor man sputtered then tried to pass it off as clearing his throat. At least his mother laughed.

“Well, then,” Obi-Wan said as he began to put his scarf back on, trying to recover from Ahsoka's cheekiness. “Can I come pick you up at say, 7pm? I know where you live.” Maybe Ahsoka actually did a good thing telling Obi-Wan where he lived. Even if he had still been a stranger at the time.

In another fit of boldness, Anakin reached out and helped rearrange Obi-Wan’s scarf. “Yes, you can,” he smiled as he smoothed down the knitted wool. But he froze when Obi-Wan reached up and touched his chin, most likely wiping away some rogue flour. Anakin didn’t even care anymore. His teeth could be full of spinach at this point, and he wouldn’t care.

“Did you two already forget we were in here?” Ahsoka huffed.

“Why are you still in here? Aren’t there customers or something?” Anakin waved his hands dismissively. She was like an annoying fly buzzing around at this point. Shmi was even chuckling as she pulled Ahsoka out of the kitchen, finally leaving him and Obi-Wan alone again.

“So…” Obi-Wan started with a small grin. “How long?”

“How long?” Anakin was slightly confused.

“How long have you been sitting on ‘yes’?” he asked.

“Since the first time I saw you.” At Anakin’s response, Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he had not been expecting that answer.

“When I came in for the baguette?”

“No, the first time I saw you,” Anakin replied as he took a step closer. He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Obi-Wan’s coat, rubbing his fingers along the heavy wool. “I guess you were on your way to work, but you stopped – only for a minute. You stood there and just stared at the window, like you were enchanted by whatever you saw.”

Obi-Wan thought for a moment then spoke again. “Anakin, that was the very first day I came by this shop. That’s been weeks!”

Anakin looked up with a grin then shrugged. “You didn’t stop. Then suddenly you did.”

“Oh, Anakin…”

What Anakin wouldn’t give to hear his name from that mouth for the rest of his life.

“Anyway, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened slightly. “Before our first date?”

“Before our first date,” Anakin replied, tugging on Obi-Wan’s coat and pulling him closer. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Anakin resisted the urge to moan as he felt Obi-Wan’s arms slip around his waist. He could most certainly get used to this.

When they finally broke apart, Anakin laughed at the state of Obi-Wan’s torso. “Oops…” His coat was covered in a fine dusting of flour from when he had pulled Anakin close.

“I can’t really walk into work like this. They’ll be able to guess immediately why I’m late.”

“Don’t go in at all,” Anakin brushed down the front of Obi-Wan’s coat. Mostly to get the flour off, but maybe also to feel the solid body underneath. “Stay here and let us teach you how to make some bread.” For as long as we both shall live.

“I guess that sounds… loafly to me,” Obi-Wan said with a wink.

Anakin groaned as he dropped his head back, “Don’t make me rethink this date already.” He was trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t believe the pun. Maybe Obi-Wan was a bigger dork than he anticipated.

Obi-Wan removed his coat and scarf again. “I thought you’d like that.”

Anakin walked across the room and found another apron, then brought it back and slipped it over Obi-Wan’s head and around his neck. The man’s cheeks were tinged pink, much to Anakin’s delight.

“Ok, fine, I loved it…” He smiled as he tied the string around Obi-Wan’s waist.

Obi-Wan’s smile was lovely and infectious. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling at how this day was going nothing like he expected… and it was oh-so-much better.

“Ok, well, get those cute buns over here and let’s make loaf,” Anakin groaned inwardly at his own terrible puns, but Obi-Wan seemed to love them. And that was all that mattered.

He was half in love with the man already.

#my writing #obikin #ficwip 5k 2023 #modern au #bakery au #obi wan x anakin #loaf is all you knead

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lollipencil · 9 days

Text

In The Pale Moonlight: What If...Reevesverse?

This idea just randomly grabbed me and started screaming until I wrote it down. So, @harleyification, let's see what the Moon Son AU looks like in the Reevesverse (and also if I can even replicate that style).

This took so much longer than I thought it would.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

The floodwater had finally receded, washing away the horror of that night and of Vengeance. Batman looked at the cops milling about the scene, before turning back to the object embedded in the wall.

It was not the first. Reports of brozen crescent blades had started shortly after the flood, but they all seemed to vanish one way or another at sunrise. Even in front of other's eyes. But the way this one was placed suggested something different than the others. The owner wanted Batman to see it.

Jim Gordon shuffled up, breath caught in his throat. "Please tell me this ain't another guy looking for friendship," he remarked as Batman untied the note that had been attached to the blade. "Gotham Museum of Art. Gods of Egypt exhibition. Don't keep my friend waiting," The note read, with a string of hieroglyphs acting as a signature. "You're going to go there," Jim sighed as he himself read it. "I have to," Batman confirmed, "See if they can translate the hieroglyphs." Handing off the note, Batman melted into the shadows.

---

Naturally, The Gotham Museum of Art was silent when he entered. When Batman entered the exhibition, his eyes made sure to glance at each piece as he went by. While not authentic, the purpose of the exhibition was to teach and inspire, something Gotham needed after the flood.

A white light drew Batman's attention away. A figure stood before an image at the end, short and dressed in a white suit, tie and waistcoat which appeared to be emitting the light. A small bowl sat at his feet, inside was a single croissant. Batman paused. Wind suddenly seemed blow through the room, the figure's head turning to follow it's direction. "Oh, hello mate," the figure greeted with a chirp, "I was hoping you'd be along soon."

Between his frame and voice, Batman knew he was looking at either a preteen or someone who just crossed that line, "Hello. I was told to meet you here by your...friend." "Yep, just a quick chat about things, and we'll be out of your hair."

British accent, sounded slightly fake but somehow Batman could tell it wasn't put on. "'Things'?" "Yep," the kid nodded, "Hashing out details, that sort of thing. After all, this was your city first, innit?" Batman tilted his head. "Well, simply put. You're doing a cracking job with the criminals, recent events not withstanding. However, you have no experience with, let's say, a werewolf. Or ghosts, or someone with a magical artifact on hand. The point is, you have a slight gap, and we are here to fill it."

Batman blinked. "You and your friend?" he asked. "Yeah, well, there is another. You'll likely see him too," the boy reached down and picked up the bowl, "Either way, don't worry. Any weird stuff happens, we'll handle it." The lower portion of the mask unravelled by itself to reveal a youthful mouth smiling up at him, "Not that we won't help if we see anything else. We'll be in touch." And with that, he walked off, taking a bite out of the croissant as he went.

Watching, Batman left soon after himself, but not before glancing at the painting the boy had stood at, making sure to include the name of the god depicted: Khonshu.

---

Gordon was waiting with an envelope in hand the next time the signal was lit. "Got a translation," he greeted, holding out the envelope. "'The Protecting Soldier of The Moon'?" Batman read off. "Looks like the new guy's got his theme down." "Guys," Batman looked up at Gordon, "Met his friend. He's young." At this, Gordon frowned and stepped closer: "How young?" "Early teens, short in height."

"Don't let him hear you call him that."

At this new voice, Gordon pulled out his gun and Batman one of his new "toys". "See that someone's been copying us," the short, white clocked figure standing shadowed by the nearby pillar. Instantly, the "toy" and the gun were put away. "Geez kid," Gordon borderline wheezed, "How'd you get up here?" "Flew."

Gordon half-grinned awkwardly at this statement. "You want us to call you that?" he indicated with his head at the translated letter. Even covered in bandages, those glowing eyes still allowed Batman to see his slight cringe: "Kinda. 'Moon Knight' doesn't translate that smoothly, turns out." "What's your friends' names?" Batman asked. "That one you've met, he's been playing around with 'Mr Knight'," Moon Knight shrugged, "the other insists on also being Moon Knight. Call him what you wish." "Ok."

Silence echoed around the area. "That was all I had to say," Moon Knight stated softly to replace it. And he quickly turned and lept from the roof. Batman and Gordon instinctively surged forward, but Moon Knight's form was soon soaring over the rooftops with visible ease, cape fanned into a crescent.

---

Over the next two months, Batman regularly glimpsed "the triplets" as Gordon dubbed them. Only ever one at a time, but all with the same basic abilities. Aside from Mr Knight's inability to fly.

But something kept bugging him about them. It evaded him everytime he tries to identify it, but the core of it was unmistakeable.

Something just wasn't right.

It came to a culmination one cold night. From the start, Moon Knight seemed out of it. Thankfully not enough to affect his combat ability, but he was defiently sluggish. "Moon Knight?" Batman drew his attention after he'd nearly clipped the edge of a aerial. "I'm fine," he slowly stated, "I'm- Uh oh."

Instantly, Batman rushed to Moon Knight's side, but it happened. Thankfully, he'd managed to remove his mask beforehand. When he looked up, Batman didn't pay attention to his face: only the flushed skin and sweat-drenched hair clinging to it.

"Ohhh..." Moon Knight moaned in such utter misery, that Batman's hand instinctively brushed his curly locks away from his face. "The flu's been making the rounds," he noted outloud, "Where do you live?" "Why'd you wanna know?" Moon Knight's speech slightly slurred in delirium. "So I can get you there safely." Moon Knight frowned and opened his mouth to argue, when a gust of wind blew suddenly, almost sending him to the ground. "Alright," Moon Knight sighed, and sagged like a deflating balloon in Batman's arms.

Thankfully, he was coherent enough to give instructions. Even more thankfully, it was fairly close by. The inside was anything but something to be thankful about.

A mattress with multiple broken springs was the only piece of furniture in the whole flat, which clearly was not his and was marked as condemed due to flood damage. Black mold claimed most of the ceiling. Next to the "bed" was a ziplock bag holding three crackers.

Just standing in that flat made Batman feel ill.

"Where's your friends?" he asked in place of the many other questions swirling in his head. "They're here," Moon Knight forced out as he reached under the matress, and pulled out a shard of something shiny. "That's how I see them. Otherwise, they're here," a poorly co-ordinated finger taps the side of Moon Knight's head as he offered the mirror.

Staring at his own reflection, Batman tried to find the meaning in this statement. Looking back up, Moon Knight had clearly zoned out entirely. With slow and quiet movements, Batman crossed the room, sat on the matress next to him, and calmly waited.

For a minute, nothing. Then he twitched a finger. And something impossible happened.

In front of Batman's camera-covered eyes (and he would review the footage several times to make sure he'd not mistaken what he saw), Moon Knight's suit changed. Bandages seemed to rearrenge themselves, before fusing into a mesh and turning black. White armour plates lost their bronze details and grew crescent shaped additions, with the cape losing hieroglyphs as well. Until, finally, the other Moon Knight's suit had formed. "Que?" the voice was the same as the other Moon Knight's too, but it was coming from the first one, but-

Oh.

Batman quickly brushed the realisation aside. Not important at that moment. "Hey chum," he said soothingly, "you with me?" "With you?" Other Moon Knight echoed, blinking in his effort to focus, "Batman...?" "You can't stay here." "The hell we can't," Other Moon Knight doesn't even notice the plural and tries to stand. His knees objected quickly.

"This place is only going to make you sicker," Batman explained, "You need somewhere clean to recover." "Got nowhere else to go," Other Moon Knight admitted, tears beginning to glimmer in the corners of his eyes. "You can stay with me."

It came suddenly. Even Batman was shocked by it, but meant it all the same. As Other Moon Knight opened his mouth to object, the wind once again intervenes. But the window was closed. Batman stiffened, then Other Moon Knight leans into him, pressing a overheated cheek into wind-cooled armour. "OK."

---

August 10th - Emergency custody went through with suprising speed. Would have investigated for potential corruption if not for a comment Gordon gave last night. Given my lack of juridiction with the Chicago Police, I'll likely never know what was said behind closed doors. A tells me to "accept this blessing for what it is". Given the lack of other viable options, I suppose I can let sleeping dogs lie. Just this once.

The boys appear to be settling in ok. Still tired from their illness, but recovering. A's meal plan is a hit. Gave Gordon an excuse as to why he won't be seeing the Moon Knights for a while, he seemed worried still.

I am unsure how to be a father. But, A won't let me fail. I know he won't. I will do whatever it takes to give them a good life, like he did for me.

And maybe, with their help, Batman can learn gentleness in turn.

#my fics #crossover fic #moon knight (2022)#the batman (2022)#bruce wayne #battinson #james gordon #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley

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theerurishipper · 8 months

Text

Inspired by the Marichat Enemies AU post by @ladyofthenoodle. It was getting too long to continue in the reblogs, so I just made it into a fic!

Parts 1-3 here. And I finally wrote a part 4, for anyone who's interested!

Adrien stared at his computer screen, mind whirling, filled with horror and happiness alike. Behind him, Plagg bounced off various objects and shot across Adrien's room in various directions, unable to stop laughing.

He was in a catgirl tournament. And, for better or worse, he was winning.

"Stop laughing," he muttered, as Plagg's cackles embedded themselves into his mind. Plagg paid him no mind. Adrien continued to stare at the computer screen, perusing the article detailing just how Marinette Dupain Cheng came up with the idea to show her respect and admiration for Chat Noir by having him win the official catgirl tournament.

"Oh, so sneaky, I'm impressed," Plagg snickered, wiping away tears.

"What do you mean?"

Plagg sighed, heading back to his Camembert. "You'll see," he said cryptically, and swallowed the cheese in one go, leaving Adrien to contemplate his existence and the nature of the world.

In the same mansion, Gabriel Agreste was facing a dilemma. "Hm," he muttered, pondering his choices. One was a choice he didn't particularly care for, but the other was one that went against everything he stood for.

But he didn't truly have a choice. In the grand scheme of things, Gabriel was forced to accept that in this instance, his will and principles mattered not in the face of a greater goal.

Gabriel Agreste voted for Chat Noir in the official catgirl tournament.

Master Fu furrowed his brows, looking over at Wayzz, who nodded solemnly. Ah, the things he did to preserve the balance.

His vote went to Chat Noir.

All the way back in London, Felix Fathom didn't hesitate for a second before choosing Chat Noir, snorting derisively all the while.

After voting for Chat Noir multiple times with numerous sock puppet accounts, Marinette lay back in her bed, congratulating herself for a job well done. Not only had she put her subtle yet brilliant plan against Chat Noir into motion, but she had also managed to bag herself a beautiful boyfriend. She was truly on top of this world.

Tikki floated beside her, trying to keep her thoughts on the delicious macarons she had eaten that day. It was the only way to stay sane.

"Step 1, complete!" said Marinette, and Tikki tried to block it out. "Now, Chat Noir will know that I'm going into action. The sheer humiliation of being in the catgirl tournament and actually winning will cause him significant emotional damage! And to top it all off, he'll be able to see my name in the article, innocently wanting to show my respect for a superhero. But he'll know the truth, Tikki, and he'll know what I'm trying to say."

"I don't know what she's trying to say," Adrien cried, pearls falling from his eyes.

And naturally, Chat Noir ranted to his girlfriend whom he had to pretend was his platonic pal Ladybug about it.

"I don't get it, M'lady," he said to his girlfriend who didn't know she was his girlfriend. "Why am I in the catgirl tournament? To what end? What does this say about life as we know it?"

Ladybug ate another croissant, calculatedly not offering her distressed partner any. She was a real genius like that.

"The general populace would disagree with your cynicism," she said casually, rejoicing in her brilliance deep within the confines of her mind. Her plan was working!

"I'm not a catgirl," Chat Noir huffed, tail swishing.

Ladybug scoffed. "Don't be such a silly kitty. Catgirl is not a label but a state of being. Embrace it."

Chat Noir sighed, feeling lost and defeated, and storm clouds began to gather, manifesting from his despair. Lightning struck, and Ladybug took that as her cue to leave.

Adrien ate his dinner, surrounded by the people in his house who cared about him.

Which is to say, he dined alone as usual.

Nathalie showed in Gabriel's stead to wish him a good night, to at least try to hold up the pretense that Adrien was still cared for by his father.

Adrien felt a little braver today, on account of having become Ladybug's boyfriend. As Nathalie turned to exit the awkward scene as fast as she could so that she might get another glimpse of Gabriel before retiring for the night, Adrien's voice caught her attention.

"Yes Adrien?" she asked, turning to face him. Adrien's steely expression caught her attention, and she knew the matter at hand could be nothing less than life changing.

"Who did my father vote for in the catgirl tournament?"

Nathalie gave him the answer with the true gravitas that such a matter deserved. "He voted for Chat Noir."

Adrien's eyes widened. "But Chat Noir isn't a catgirl... is he?"

Nathalie sighed. "We've discussed this before. Being a catgirl is a state of being, a way of life. Your father would want you to know this."

"Alright, Nathalie," said Adrien, now educated.

Nathalie turned and left. Hopefully, she could catch that last glimpse if she hurried. She walked of briskly, noting the increasing downpour of rain, unaware of the increasing despair gripping the boy she was leaving behind.

Marinette was having a grand time reading all the messages pouring into the Ladyblog that praised her for her brilliant idea. "Ha ha!" she crowed, as Tikki drowned her sorrows in pastries. "I bet Chat Noir's having a huge identity crisis right about now! Soon, it'll be time for phase 2!"

Suddenly, she felt a strange feeling in her mind, and gasped. "My Adrien sense is tingling!" she cried, astonished. "My sweet sunshine needs my comforting presence! I must go to him!"

Tikki leapt up in glee, ready for the euphoria of escaping her predicament.

"Tikki, spots on!"

"Your girlfriend's coming, don't let her touch my cheese," said Plagg, right before he sunk into a cabinet full of Camembert.

Adrien gasped dramatically, turning to the window just as Ladybug came barreling in, tripping and landing on her face in Adrien's room. Adrien almost shed a tear at how elegant and graceful she was.

"My sweet sunshine! I felt your sorrow through our soulmate bond, and I hastened to your side! Let me kiss away your sorrows!"

Saying this, she smooched him on the lips. Adrien shed many tears, and they would surely have blinded Ladybug had her eyes not been closed.

As soon as the kiss ended, Ladybug swept Adrien up in her arms. "Let us get some soulmate ice cream," she said, and Adrien threw his arms around her. In his happiness, the rain dissipated, and the stars began to shine brightly in the sky.

Meanwhile, Andre the ice cream man was trying to escape the law- I mean, bring true loves together. He sang a merry tune as he led the authorities on a wild chase across Paris, making sure they could never catch him.

Just as he planned to retire for the night, Adrien Agreste's girlfriend and Ladybug's boyfriend came swinging in to get a taste of his delicious concoctions. He watched, shocked, aghast and appalled, as they came dancing in towards him, looking like the very picture of love.

It couldn't be true! Ladybug was supposed to end up with Chat Noir! Not some supermodel she'd found on the street! This went against his ice cream and the Ladynoir fanfiction that he'd posted onto Wattpad! It had received two comments, which meant that Ladynoir was practically canon! It couldn't be true!

Andre, of course, refused them service. Ladybug stuck her finger at him. Adrien gave a small whimper, and all his ice cream melted instantly.

Gabriel hastened to his lair, ready to akumatize the man, and noted with horror his son's blossoming relationship with Ladybug. Well, no matter, Glaciator would break them up good and proper!

Glaciator did not break them up good and proper.

In the simplest of terms, Ladybug kicked his ass.

Chat Noir showed up thirty seconds later to find that a massacre had taken place, and that Glaciator had been torn asunder by Ladybug's wrath. Her lucky charm had been an ice cream cart, and for once, the solution had been quite simple and also quite violent, with a hint of delicious irony. The perfect flavor.

While Gabriel seethed and raged, Adrien fell in love with her all over again.

#MLB #Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Gabriel Agreste #Nathalie Sancoeur #Nino Lahiffe #Tikki #Plagg #Ladybug #Chat Noir #Marichat #Ladynoir #Ladrien #Adrienette #Fanfiction

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the-comfort-den · 8 months

Text

Undertale(and aus) character masterpost

Notes: For bitties i will do any character from undertale/deltarune and not just the ones on this list :]

Tale:

Sans,

Papyrus,

Gaster,

Grillby,

Asgore,

Toriel,

Nice cream guy - Gelato

Burger Pants - Burger

Fell:

(Fell Sans)Red,

(Fell Papyrus)Boss,

(Fell Gaster)Scholar,

(Fell Grillby)Potassium,

(Fell Nice cream guy)Sherbet

(Fell Burger Pants)Croissant

Swap:

(Swap Sans)Blue,

(Swap Papyrus)Honey,

(Swap Gaster)Bake,

(Swap Grillby)Carmine,

(Swap Nice cream guy)Sherbet

(Swap Burger Pants)Roll

SwapFell:

(SwapFell Sans)Nox,

(SwapFell Papyrus)Rus,

(SwapFell Gaster)Cook,

(SwapFell Grillby)Lithium,

FellSwap:

(FellSwap Sans)Wine,

(FellSwap Papyrus)Coffee,

(FellSwap Gaster)Tea,

(FellSwap Grillby)Strontium,

Horror:

(Horrortale Sans)Oak,

(Horrortale Papyrus)Willow,

(Horrortale Gaster)Camphor,

(HorrorTale Grillby)Steam,

HorrorFell:

(HorrorFell)Spruce,

(HorrorFell Papyurs)Redwood,

(HorrorFell Gaster)Banyan,

(HorrorFell Grillby)Smoke,

HorrorSwap:

(HorrorSwap Sans)Birch,

(HorrorSwap Papyrus)Acacia,

(HorrorSwap Gaster)Baobab,

(HorrorSwap Grillby)Gas

HorrorSwapFell:

(HorrorSwapFell Sans)Bristlecone,

(HorrorSwapFell Papyurs)Ginkgo,

(HorrorSwapFell Gaster)Suber,

HorrorFellSwap:

(HorrorFellSwap Sans)Cinnamon,

(HorrorFellSwap Papyrus)Maple,

(HorrorFellSwap Gaster)Cypress,

Echo/G!:

(Echotale Sans/G!Sans)Citrine,

(Echotale Papyrus/G!Paps)Beryl,

(EchoFell Sans/Fell!G!Sans)Charoite,

(EchoFell Papyrus/Swap!G!Paps)Malachite,

(EchoSwap Sans/Swap!G!Sans)Topaz,

(EchoSwap Papyrus/Swap!G!Paps)Chrys,

(EchoSwapFell Sans/SwapFell!G!Sans)Howlite,

(EchoSwapFell Papyrus/SwapFell!G!Paps)Calcite,

(EchoHorror Sans/Horror!G!Sans)Moonstone,

(EchoHorror Papyrus/Horror!G!Paps)Sunstone,

Outer:

(Outertale Sans)Galaxy,

(Outertale Papyrus)Cosmos,

(Outertale Grillby)Nebula,

OuterFell:

(OuterFell Sans)Comet,

(OuterFell Papyurs)Asteroid,

(OuterFell Grillby)Constellation,

OuterSwap:

(OuterSwap Sans)Star,

(OuterSwap Papyrus)Sun,

(OuterSwap Grillby)Solar,

OuterSwapFell:

(OuterSwapFell Sans)Moon,

(OuterSwapFell Papyrus)Planet,

(OuterSwapFell Grillby)Jupiter,

OuterFellSwap:

(OuterFellSwap Sans)Cosmic,

(OuterFellSwap Papyrus)Meteor,

(OuterFellSwap Grillby)Sapce,

Error:

(Errortale Sans)Error,

(Errortale Papyrus)Glitch,

(Blueberror)Berror,

(Fell!Blueberror(or Fell!Error)Ferror

ErrorFell:

(ErrorFell Sans)Virus,

(ErrorFell Papyrus)Hitch,

ErrorSwap:

(ErrorSwap Sans)Bug,

(ErrorSwap Papyurs)Mal(function),

ErrorLust:

(ErrorLust Sans)Blip,

(ErrorLust Papyurs)Mishap,

Ink:

(Inktale Sans)Ink,

(Inktale Papyrus)Paint,

InkFell:

(InkFell Sans)Marker,

(InkFell Papyurs)Brush,

InkSwap:

(InkSwap Sans)Crayon,

(InkSwap Papyrus)Pencil,

DreamTale:

(Dreamtale Dream)Dream,

(Dreamtale Nightmare)Nightmare,

(Dreamtale Shattered!Dream)Lucid,

(Dreamtale Shattered!Nightmare)Night terror,

DreamBerry:

(dreamberry Dream)Bluebs,

(dreamberry nightmare)Strawbs,

(dreamberry shattered!dream)Rasps,

(dreamberry shattered!nightmare)Apps,

DanceTale:

(Dancetale Sans)Pop,

(Dancetale Papyrus)Rhythm,

(Dancetale Gaster)Jazz,

(Dancetale Grillby)Salsa,

DanceFell:

(Dancefell Sans)Waltz,

(Dancefell Papyrus)Tango,

(Dancefell Gaster)Tap,

(Dancefell Grillby)Twirl,

DanceSwap:

(Danceswap Sans)Jump,

(Danceswap Papyrus)Jive,

(DanceSwap Gaster)Swing,

(Danceswap Grillby)Spin,

MafiaTale:

(Mafiatale Sans)Snipe,

(Mafiatale Papyrus)Buck,

(MafiaTale Grillby)Arsenic,

MafiaFell:

(Mafiafell Sans)Butch,

(Mafiafell Papyrus)Chief,

(MafiaFell Grillby)Epsom,

MafiaSwap:

(Mafiaswap Sans)Ace,

(Mafiaswap Papyrus)Slim,

(MafiaSwap Grillby)Boric,

LustTale:

(Underlust Sans)Charm,

(Underlust Papyrus)Sugar,

(UnderLust Grillby)Firecracker,

LustFell:

(Lustfell Sans)Spice,

(Lustfell Papyurs)Pepper,

(LustFell Grillby)Firework,

LustSwap:

(Lustswap Sans)Spark,

(Lustswap Papyrus)Salt,

(LustSwap Grillby)Firestarter,

FarmTale:

(Farmtale Sans)Farmer,

(Farmtale Papyrus)Rancher,

(FarmTale Gaster)Farmhand,

(FarmTale Grillby)Lake,

FarmFell:

(Farmfell Sans)Bull,

(Farmfell Papyrus) Rooster,

(FarmFell Gaster)Ram,

(FarmFell Grillby)River,

FarmSwap:

(Farmswap Sans)Peach,

(Farmswap Papyrus)Carrot,

(FarmSwap Gaster)Pear,

(FarmSwap Grillby)Pond,

FarmSwapFell:

(FarmSwapFell Sans)Plum,

(FarmSwapFell Papyrus)Grape,

FarmFellSwap:

(FarmFellSwap Sans)Apple,

(FarmFellSwap Papyrus)Strawberry,

FarmDream:

(FarmDream Dream)Banana,

(FarmDream Nightmare)Blackberry,

(FarmDream Shattered!Dream)Pomegranate,

(FarmDream Shattered!Nightmare)Elderberry,

MafiaDream:

(MafiaDream Dream)Humble,

(MafiaDream Nightmare)Kind,

(MafiaDream Shattered!Dream)Pride,

(MafiaDream Shattered!Nightmare)Envy,

Killer:

(Killer!Sans)Black,

(Killer!Fell!Sans)Crimson,

(Killer!Swap!Sans)Indigo,

(Killer!SwapFell!Sans)Violet,

(Killer!FellSwap Sans)Rust,

Dust:

(Dusttale Sans)Dust,

(Dusttale Papyrus)Phantom,

(DustFell Sans)Ash,

(DustFell Papyrus)Poltergeist,

(DustSwap Sans)Soot,

(DustSwap Papyrus)Ghost,

Fresh:

(Freshtale Sans)Fresh,

(Freshtale Papyrus)Swag,

Geno:

(Geno!Sans)Geno(cide),

(Geno!Papyrus)Mur(der),

(Geno!Fell!Sans)Mas(sacre),

(Geno!Fell!Papyrus)Hom(icide),

(Geno!Swap!Sans)Heca(tomb),

(Geno!Swap!Papyrus)(Exter)Mina(tion),

Reaper:

(Reapertale Sans)Reap,

(Reapertale Papyrus) Grim,

(Reverse!Reapertale Sans)Soul,

(Reverse!Reapertale)Fate,

Eldritch(kinda my au):

(EldritchTale Sans) Batter,

(EldritchTale Papyrus)Bruise,

EldritchFell(kinda my au):

(EldritchFell Sans(kinda my au))Bust,

(EldritchFell Papyrus)Break,

EldritchSwap(kinda my au):

(EldritchSwap Sans)Crack,

(EldritchSwap Papyrus)Fracture,

Raging Wars(My au!):

(Raging Wars Sans)Mulch,

(Raging Wars Papyrus)Timber,

(Raging Wars Gaster)Forest,

(Raging Wars Grillby)Sulfur,

(Raging Wars Asgore)Thorn,

(Raging Wars Toriel)Vine,

Color:

(Color!Sans)Color,

(Color!Fell!Sans)Shade,

(Color!Swap!Sans)Tinge,

(Color!SwapFell!Sans)Tint,

(Color!FellSwap!Sans)Tone,

Disbelief:

(Disbelief!Papyrus)Disbelief,

(Disbelief!Fell!Papyrus)Doubt,

(Disbelief!Swap!Papyrus)Distrust,

X-Tale:

(X-Tale Sans)Cross,

Beast:

(Beasttale Sans)Beast,

(Beasttale Papyurs)Fiend,

BeastFell:

(BeastFell Sans)Varmint, (BeastFell Papyrus)Monster,

BeastSwap:

(BeastSwap Sans)Critter,

(BeastSwap Papyurs)Mutt,

OuterHorror:

(OuterHorror Sans)Andromeda,

(OuterHorror Papyrus)Maffei,

Flowertale:

(Flowertale Sans)Daffodil,

(Flowertale Papyrus)Sunflower,

FlowerFell:

(FlowerFell Sans)Buttercup,

(FlowerFell Papyrus)Dahlia

FlowerSwap:

(FlowerSwap Sans)Yarrow,

(FlowerSwap Papyrus)Marigold,

EldritchFellSwap:

(EldritchFellSwap Sans)Dagger,

(EldritchFellSwap Papyrus)Knife,

EldritchSwapFell:

(EldritchSwapFell Sans)Axe,

(EldritchSwapFell Papyrus)Hatchet,

FlowerLust:

(FlowerLust Sans)Lavender,

(FlowerLust Papyrus)Iris,

Mythic aus(not mythical au varients lol):

BirdTale:

(BirdTale Sans)Dove,

(BirdTale Papyrus) Crow,

(BirdTale Gaster)Raven,

(BirdTale Grillby)Phoenix,

BirdFell:

(BirdFell Sans)Sparrow,

(BirdFell Papyrus)Hawk,

(BirdFell Gaster)Eagle,

(BirdFell Griblly)Roc,

BirdSwap:

(BirdSwap Sans)Bluebird,

(BirdSwap Papyrus)Yellowbird,

(BirdSwap Gaster)Swan,

(BirdSwap Grillby)Thunderbird,

BirdSwapFell:

(BirdSwapFell Sans)Budgerigar,

(BirdSwapFell Papyrus)Lovebird,

BirdFellSwap:

(BirdFellSwap Sans)Duck,

(BirdFellSwap Papyrus)Goose,

HorrorBird:

(HorrorBird Sans)Cassowary,

(HorrorBird Papyrus)Secretary,

HorrorBirdFell:

(HorrorBirdFell Sans)Emu,

(HorrorBirdFell Papyrus)Shoebill,

HorrorBirdSwap:

(HorrorBirdSwap Sans)Kiwi,

(HorrorBirdSwap Papyrus)Ostrich,

Lamias(you can change the type of snake if you want):

(UnderTale Sans)Laze,

(UnderTale Papyrus)Slinky,

(UnderFell Sans)Viper,

(UnderFell Papyrus)Cobra,

(UnderSwap Sans)Racer,

(UnderSwap Papyrus)Napper,

(SwapFell Sans)Adder,

(SwapFell Papyrus)Python,

(FellSwap Sans)Copper,

(FellSwap Papyrus)Boa,

(HorrorTale Sans)Venom,

(HorrorTale Papyrus)Poison,

(DreamTale Dream)Sunrise,

(DreamTale Nightmare)Sunset,

(DreamTale Shattered!Dream)Eclipse,

(DreamTale Shattered!Nightmare)Midnight,

(Killer!Sans)Drips,

(DustTale Sans)Dusk,

(DustTale Papyrus)Dawn,

(Cross/Xtale Sans)Blank,

(ErrorTale Sans)Regal,

(InkTale Sans)Rainbow,

(FreshTale Sans)Neon,

Mers(you can change the type of fish/mer if you want):

(UnderTale Sans)Sea,

(UnderTale Papyrus)Ocean,

(UnderFell Sans)Wave,

(UnderFell Papyrus)Typhoon,

(UnderSwap Sans)Pond,

(UnderSwap Papyrus)Lake,

(SwapFell Sans)Shark,

(SwapFell Papyrus)Eel,

(FellSwap Sans)Lemon,

(FellSwap Papyrus)Black tip,

(HorrorTale Sans)Great White,

(HorrorTale Papyrus)Megalodon,

(DreamTale Dream)Goldy,

(DreamTale Nightmare)Moony,

(DreamTale Shattered!Dream)Leach,

(DreamTale Shattered!Nightmare)Parasite,

(Killer!Sans)Thrasher,

(DustTale Sans)Sand,

(DustTale Papyrus)Gravel,

(Cross/Xtale Sans)Glass,

(ErrorTale Sans)Jaws,

(InkTale Sans)Bubbles,

(FreshTale Sans)Lights,

Moths:

(UnderTale Sans)Blueshade,

(UnderTale Papyrus)Orangeshade,

(UnderFell Sans)Redshade,

(UnderFell Papyrus)Crimsonshade,

(UnderSwap Sans)Fluff,

(UnderSwap Papyrus)Floof,

(SwapFell Sans)Violatshade,

(SwapFell Papyrus)Plumshade,

(FellSwap Sans)Tigershade,

(FellSwap Papyrus)Foxshade,

(HorrorTale Sans)Dustshade,

(HorrorTale Papyrus)Carrionshade,

(DreamTale Dream)Lamp,

(DreamTale Nightmare)Shade,

(DreamTale Shattered!Dream)Zap,

(DreamTale Shattered!Nightmare)Zat,

(Killer!Sans)Nightshade,

(DustTale Sans)Dusty,

(DustTale Papyrus)Eepy,

(Cross/Xtale Sans)Prism,

(ErrorTale Sans)Zig,

(InkTale Sans)Zag,

(FreshTale Sans)Beam,

Fankids:

Note! Remix is @gaysertail 's oc! shes kinda like dream/nightmare when shes sans like but not a sans, I don't write for Remix but I write for any kinds on this list!!

Danceswap Sans x Shattered!Nightmare fanchild: Rythem

Male, likes hiphop dance like his dad but also has an interest in reading like his other dad, he can be a little bossy but he's a fantastic dance coach and can have you learning at least a few simple hiphop moves by the end of the week!

Farmfell paps x Undertale Sans fanchild: Rancher

He's pretty laid back but does his work when he needs to, he normally watches over things like chickens though and has a relatively strict schedule for them, and pavloved them to come up for food when he rings a bell!

Remix x Nightmare Fanchild: Mashup

Like his mama he's pretty quiet, and like his dad she's pretty goopy! though he's sassy af and has a slight god complex, so if he doesnt like you he will see you as beneath her, but if they like you they see you as their equal! He uses he/she pronouns and Mashup bitties tend to be bi, pan, omni, or something like that, rarely caring about gender when it comes to a partner! she likes to make music in his spare time and loves to make playlists for anyone she cares about!

Remix x Napstaton Fanchild: K pop

She's all about k pop and being cute! She usually has a more Lolita or Harajuku style or styles similar to those, and likes to dress is pastel blues, pinks, and purples, or just pastel colors in general, shes in a k pop group and she loves to make music with her mom! And she's usually the one convincing her group to do so, since they do a lot of choreography their music videos are something to see!

Remix x Black(Killer) Fanchild: Metalhead

Metalhead bitties, like their name sake, LOVE metal! And despite the fact their dad is Black, he's a total sweetheart and loves to make music! He goes by He/They pronouns and doesnt care about gender, usually being pan or omni, and they're poly! though they'll also have multiple queer platonic partners as well as romantic/sexual partners! Though they arent much of a fan of friends with benefits, but dont care if others are, as long as everyone in the relationship/s are happy they dont mind!

Remix x Jump(DanceSwap Sans) Fanchild: Electroswing

Like their dad they like sing, but they also love to put a twist on it with electroswing! It's not the 20s anymore after all lol hand him a music program and a mic and he'll make some funky music to jive to! They go by He/they pronouns and dosent care about gender when it comes to partners, as long as they love each other they couldnt care less!

Remix x Charm(Lust) Fanchild: Romcom

Unlike most of their siblings, Romcom wants to be an actor! She loves romcoms and picked up acting from her dad(in my version of underlust Charm is a pornstar actor, but he picked up other roles outside of pornos after getting out of the underground!(in his underground there wasnt much else he could do lol)) and got hooked on it, and romcoms since Charm also liked to watch them(and would star in a few), so of course she'd wanna be like her dad! though she also loves getting the chance to sing! her voice is so pretty and she can belt for days!

Remix x Error Fanchild: Dubstep

They are a bit of a loner and prefer to be by themselves or with one or two close friends(which they often end up falling for due to them being very demi), and dont like being completely by themselves all the time, but can usually do fine by being online, since they are untrusting but also very clinging and athazagoraphobic and monophobic, making it hard for them to be alone despite the fact being around others is stressful, overstimulating, and draining for them most of the time, they love to make dubstep music as they find it a lot easier due to the fact they dont have to use words and they can use the music to help keep them from being under or overstimulated!

Remix x Strawbs(Dreamberry Nightmare) Fanchild: Bluegrass

He somehow picked up a very southern accent(probably because his uncle Farmer helped raise him when Strawbs and Remix were busy or on a date lol) and loves bluegrass music! He picked up playing the guitar from Rancher and loves to strum along to a bluegrass tune and even make his own songs to post online! He's a total sweetheart and helps take care of the farm dogs and barn cats so Bluegrass bitties loves cats and dogs and pretty much any pet lol,

Remix x Bluebs(Dreamberry Dream) Fanchild: Country

He also picked up a thick southern accent like his cousin Bluegrass! since Rancher would ususally watch him when Remix and Bluebs were busy(lol, he's a good uncle(and kinda second dad since Rancher and Bleubs are dating lol)), so he has two dads! and he likes it, it means theres more likely to be someone around when one of his parents are busy!(mostly Remix with her being an aspiring idol lol), he's a few years younger than his cousin Bluegrass but he ended up taller! Bluebs thinks its because Rancher helped out with giving him magic when he was younger/needed it(which does make him his bio dad with how young he was lol, the dna test would be confusing for any human lmao), he would help pick fruit with his dads and liked trying to help his mom with some instruments, but he prefers playing, singing, and listening to country music!

Remix x Ace(MafiaSwap Sans) Fanchild: Jazz

He took after his dad an became a mafia boss! He so has a crush on his rival mafia boss(King, a wolf monster) but refuses it outright, he's his rival! he doesnt care about gender lol, but you dont really want to date your rival- especially not in the mafia biz! And his rival is the son of his dad's rival so its a whole situation lol(though Ace wouldnt be upset if they dated, maybe it'd stop the terf wars between them!), like his dad he's optimistic(though he has a lot more anxiety than his more carefree dad), he loves jazz music and ususally has it playing in his office on a record player, sometimes he and Classical will swap records since their dads do buisness!

#ooc #masterpost

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syneilesis · 2 years

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Yves's ambition of running a cafe makes me think of a modern setting coffee shop AU.

Like, Yves owns the cafe and he also bakes the pastries.

Jin, Nokto, Leon, and Luke are baristas. Leon charms the customers into becoming regulars. Jin and Nokto flirt with them at every opportunity, much to Yves's scandalized horror (the customers love the flirting, though, and it's why they come back to the cafe frequently, apart from the heavenly pastries). Jin is also assigned with the task of monitoring Luke in case he eats every pastry with honey.

Licht doesn't want to be a barista, so he hangs out in the kitchen while Yves bakes, taste-testing and all. Whenever there's some trouble outside that may disrupt the cafe operations, Licht is sent out to take care of it.

Much as Chevalier's pretty face would attract new customers, his intimidating aura would probably deter a lot of them. Either way he's not interested in baking or making coffee or talking to people. He does, however, donate the books he's already read ("I've already read those books, Showoff; do whatever you want with them."), so Yves designed the coffee shop to be a library cafe. Sometimes, whenever there's legal trouble or a similar situation, it's Chevalier who steps in and settles them.

Clavis is banned from the cafe, to no one's surprise. There was that incident way back when they were starting the business that involved an unwanted renovation ("Clavis, oh my god, why is there suddenly a waterslide inside this building?!") and creatively experimental recipes ("Clavis, for the love of god, no more exploding croissants!"). For everybody's sake Chevalier had to intervene, so he had Clavis scope out competition and other information-gathering/market-research-related tasks. He does sometimes sneak in the cafe and leave some surprises, to keep everyone on their toes.

Of course, Sariel is their accountant who rules with an iron fist.

Emma and Rio are cafe regulars. Emma loves everything Yves bakes. Rio always ushers Emma to their favorite spot beside the impressive bookshelves and does the ordering himself. This way he can cut off those flirty baristas who've been eyeing Emma ever since they first stepped in the cafe, months ago. The one with the silver hair and foxy smile is on cashier duty today, so Rio engages him in a minute-long stare-off before he finally grits out their orders.

The customer behind him clicks their tongue.

"I'll serve your order on your table when they're ready," Foxy Smile says with a smug smirk.

"No thank you," Rio replies, trying to keep his own smile on his face.

A few minutes later, Rio goes to their table with a tray of their order and finds Emma reading one of the books in the shelves.

"They have such a good selection of books, Rio!" Emma says, and Rio's smile looks more natural now. "There's a name on the first page of this book. C. Michel. I wonder who could it be. I'd like to talk to them about this book!"

For some unfathomable reason, Rio has a bad feeling about that. So he distracts Emma with the food and says, "Here you go, Emma. They've added new variations. Let's try these croissants first."

#ikemen prince #ikepri #coffee shop au #rio doesn't bother knowing jin's and nokto's names because they register as a threat to him #yves's cafe #probably named cafe rhodolite #chevalier is a lawyer in this au i think #he still loves romance books though lol #cafe rhodolite is on its third year of operations #so congratulations to yves

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lucyandthepen · 2 years

Text

last night on earth - iii . | kdy

part i, part ii

you soon find out that there are more dangerous things than the flesh-eating undead during a nationwide implosion.

pairing: doyoung x reader verse: zombie apocalypse au rating: M for horror themes only ! genre/s: romance, horror/suspense warnings: brief but still present mentions of and sometimes depictions of violence, mentions of and possible character death, language word count: 7.6k

author’s note: been a hot minute since i’ve done anything on this blog thanks to real life issues but A PERFECT UPDATE FOR HALLOWEEN METHINKS!!!!!!!!!! enjoy october, everyone! it’s almost the end of the year and you made it through such a tedious year <3

“Is everyone okay?”

You turn to find the three newcomers in a heavily panting huddle; one of them is on the floor, his hand clutching his thigh. Kim Doyoung is in front of them, arms outstretched; it’s clear he wants to help them somehow, but he also doesn’t know how to. The result is him looking like a half-hearted scarecrow that’s, for some reason, breathing as heavily as them.

You can’t blame him, though; you notice that your own chest is heaving, and your grip on the umbrella is so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if your fingers made permanent dents on the handle.

The one who’d been urgently yelling at you to close the door is who responds with a brief but firm nod.

“Thank you,” his voice sounds coarse, like he hasn’t drunk water for days. “You saved our lives.”

“We just opened the door,” Doyoung says, voice back to its normal quiet and fairly calm state. “Hardly heroic.”

“Still more than what anyone else has done for us. We’d been trying to find someone who’d help us for more than an hour. We would have died if you hadn’t opened the door.”

Doyoung spares you a tiny glance that you don’t meet; you turn your back to him, now locking the deadbolt without protest or interruption. When you face the group again, your eyes land on the floor; the other guy hasn’t picked himself up, and his head is resting precariously on the knee of one of his companions, face contorted in pain.

“What’s wrong with him?” You ask, using the umbrella to point to him.

“Like I said,” the first guy’s voice grows a little softer, and maybe a little sadder. “We’d been running for a while. Those things that were after us… well, they were a lot more aggressive than we thought they would be. We got jumped near Gangnam Station, and one got its teeth into Sungchan’s leg. He’s more or less okay, apart from the fact that it’s been getting harder for him to walk, which is why we needed to find someplace safe to stop.”

Those things. The source of all of this chaos was still shrouded in mystery. Your mind briefly flashes back to your disgusting encounter with that cannibal businessman, digging his teeth into that poor lady’s skin, and you press a finger to your mouth briefly to stop the little egg you’ve ingested from coming back up. It’s Doyoung’s voice that brings you back to reality.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I’ll help you upstairs, and you guys can clean up and rest.”

He takes Sungchan’s legs, and the other two take him by the shoulders again; you cringe at the horrible sound of pain that he makes. They make some sort of haphazard human gurney, slowly easing him up the stairs. You’re still frozen for the most part, watching them haul what is essentially dead weight up the stairs while emotions assault you every which way. Deciding standing in front of the stairwell is pretty unproductive, you make your way back to the kitchen, ditching the umbrella back in its receptacle on your way.

The eggs are still on your plates; Kim Doyoung’s plate is almost as untouched as yours, and you pick up your fork, debating on whether or not to continue eating. It’d be a waste to not, especially since there’s not much food left and you’re slowly starting to realize that it really won’t be too easy to procure more food in the state the city is in at the moment. Still, you’re out of an appetite, and you don’t think it would be nice to offer this food to guests considering it’s been touched to some degree. The end result is you simply having a staring contest with your eggs, fork tightly in hand.

The house is quiet; someone, probably Doyoung, likely turned off the television, since you can’t even hear the faint drone of the news channel. You let out a heavy sigh and are a little surprised when it comes out so sharp that you actually feel a bit of pain in your nose.

You’re… angry. No — it’s not that intense of a feeling. Maybe frustration is better — frustration stemming from confusion is bubbling up in your stomach.

Your job is to protect the people; you know this, live by it as much as you can. That, on its own, made the choice you should have taken at the door simple. People were in trouble, and you should have helped them. But you also had a huge job; you had to protect this one particular person, and letting strangers in, risking his life in opening that door really was not the way to do it. Still, did that mean that you were supposed to prioritize Kim Doyoung’s life just because he was richer? Did not doing your assignment also mean you were doing something wrong? And were you really supposed to save everyone just because you felt that was your job?

The headache you gave yourself caused you to stab a piece of egg on your plate viciously before taking your plate up off the table. When you turn to head for the garbage disposal, though, you find Kim Doyoung standing at the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Nothing comes to mind for you to say, so you just place the plate down onto the counter.

“You don’t have to feel bad. About hesitating to open the door. I get it.”

“I don’t feel bad,” you lie, tossing the fork back onto the plate; the clatter it makes is loud and obnoxious. “I still don’t think we should have let them in. My job is to protect you.”

“I’m safe, aren’t I?” He lets out an incredulous laugh that lacks mirth as a whole. It’s once again a little uncharacteristic for him, but it comes and goes so quickly that you don’t have time to dwell on it either.

“You won’t be for long if I have to keep opening the door for everyone that knocks. You’re the number one priority here, and your house isn’t a fortress for everyone to hole up in. The more we let people in, the more you’re exposed to problems, and I’m supposed to stop that from happening.”

“You said yourself that you’re not my bodyguard. This is a temporary job.” He steps further into the kitchen. “You’re a cop. That doesn’t change just because you’re under my roof. If you want to protect people, protect them — people like them. I’d prefer it. It’d be for the best.”

“I can’t save everyone either. That’s just not how it works. If the mayor wants you alive, there has to be a good reason, and I’m not going to be the one that gets you killed by poor decisions.”

“And you’re going to be okay with that? Knowingly letting people die because you have to protect some guy you’ve never met and don’t care about?” He presses, his mouth giving way to the thinnest, slightest of frowns.

You’re taken aback, to say the least. You hadn’t been expecting gratitude, but you also weren’t expecting a lecture — at least not one from someone other than you. This only exacerbates your frustration, and you end up feeling slightly defiant.

“Yes, I’m okay with that,” it feels like a lie again, but your pride is swelling to immense proportions. The only thing you can do is tell yourself that your answer is the right one. “If that’s what it takes, then yes. Sacrifices are sometimes necessary.”

“Well, I’m not okay,“ he says firmly. “I can’t live knowing people died because of me. And I’m aware that I don’t deserve to be saved at the expense of others, so don’t go through the trouble.”

There it is again — that strange, darkly heroic aura he gives off, that he’s not worth protecting. The silence that falls between you is interrupted somewhat by the groans and footsteps coming from upstairs. The entire house feels stuffy now, and not just because there’s more than double the occupants there had been an hour ago.

“Look,” Doyoung manages to break the silence again, a heavy sigh leaving him. He’s rubbing his face, and when his hand falls back to his side, you note the darkness around his eyes. “Forget it. It’s… we’re all on edge, obviously. We just need to rest.”

“You go ahead,” your words are terse, voice distant and robotic. “I need to… do other stuff. Update my partner. I’ll clean up here.”

It sounds like a load of bullshit, and it’s clear that he doesn’t buy it, but he nods anyway, slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out what to say. Instead, he settles on the expected, mundane answer.

“Goodnight, offi — goodnight, _______________.”

You watch his back as it retreats, and you just stand in front of the counter for what feels like forever before you hear his door shut. Your body goes on autopilot, taking his plate and dumping the eggs, making a half-hearted mental note to figure out what the safest route to the nearest grocery store is after this.

You do the dishes, only slightly derailed by the fact that there is literally no dishwashing rack out; it kind of makes sense that he wouldn’t have to do the dishes if he doesn’t eat here, you realize, but the thought of that doesn’t curb the annoyance you feel when you have to scale the kitchen counter to reach the rack, which is perched on the highest shelf of one of his cupboards.

By midnight, you’re worse for wear; you head up to your room and take your phone out again, noticing that Youngho had called you a couple of times and even texted. When you try to call him back, though, it just rings out, which is kind of weird, since he usually has his phone at the ready for any emergencies. You want to worry, but the numbness that comes with tiredness convinces you that he’s probably just enjoying Kim Jungwoo’s hot tub or peeing, or something.

“Sorry,” you yawn into your phone after his voicemail beeps. “Had a situation over here. We have three new civilians to take care of. Unfortunately, Kim Doyoung’s house has become a human sausage fest.” You pause because you know he’s going to need a bit of time to laugh at that; a small smile grows on your lips too, despite it feeling inappropriate for the situation. That smile slips off the moment you hear soft, pained moans and muffled voices coming from the other room, and you realize that the injured guy is probably next door. “Front yard’s currently compromised, but I’ll check in the morning again, since there aren’t much disturbances, for some reason. Call me when you get this.”

Tossing your phone away, you roll over in bed. There’s still something nagging at you about what Doyoung had said, telling you that you need to give it some kind of attention, but your exhaustion causes you to reject it, and you fall into a dreamless but still somehow troubled sleep.

Youngho calls at around half-past eight, your ringtone jerking you awake unceremoniously. In your tossing and turning last night, you’d buried your phone under the excessive pillows on the bed, and the call drops before you can find it. A few seconds later, it starts up again, and you pat around hopelessly for another minute before you find it, answering the phone breathlessly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Youngho’s voice comes down the line, drowning out your hello. “I thought you died.”

“I thought you died!” You fire back, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You didn’t pick up yesterday either.”

“I was enjoying the home theater. There’s no service down in that room, so I left my phone upstairs. The surround system is killer, by the way,” he explains nonchalantly. “What happened to you? You said you’d call me back. Not to sound like the needy boyfriend you’ve always wanted, but I was kind of hoping you’d at least give me a better explanation.”

“There wasn’t much else to tell.” You untangle yourself from the sheets, standing to stretch your back in front of the window. The sky is unusually dark for the morning, especially since fall has just begun; you wonder if there’s a storm coming later. “Three guys came looking for a place to stay. They said… something was after them, and one of them got injured.”

“And you let them in?” Youngho sounds incredulous.

“It wasn’t my decision! Kim Doyoung told me to, and it’s his house, so I didn’t have a choice.”

“And? They’re still there?”

“Well, yeah. What was I going to do, kick them out in the dead of night?”

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t seem right, _________________. They could be dangerous p—“

Your phone makes a shrill noise, and you jerk it away from your ear in surprise; the screen flashes a warning and then goes blank, effectively cutting Youngho off.

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath. You’d forgotten to charge your phone last night, and the battery had already taken a huge hit from all the game playing and music streaming you’d done outside of Kim Doyoung’s house. You’re plugging the charger into the wall when a soft knock comes from your door, and the man himself steps in.

“Morning,” his voice is back to that quiet, aloof tone, like last night hadn’t happened at all. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. You?”

“I slept all right.” He jerks to the door, expression morphing into something sheepish. “I was… standing outside for a little while. I didn’t want to interrupt you on the phone.”

“Oh. Um — it’s fine.” Your phone dings, signaling to you that it’s charging, and you leave it on the windowsill. “That was just my partner.”

“Is anything wrong at my brother’s house?”

“Apart from the fact that your brother is spoiling my partner? Not much.”

He cracks a smile before clearing his throat, tugging at the neckline of his sweater. You watch him move, his small hands fiddling with a stray thread that’s sticking out of the knit. The only relief you get in this situation is the knowledge that he’s feeling just as awkward as you are right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, and it catches you off guard. Your jaw slackens a little, and you grapple with what to say, but he raises a palm to stop you. “I know… I know your job is important to you. Your priorities are different, and… you seem dedicated to your job. The fact that I don’t want to be protected doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been told to protect me.”

Only three men in your life have apologized to you with any modicum of sincerity: your father, who’d pranked you so much into thinking that there was a monster under your bed that you’d lost days of sleep; Youngho, who’d accidentally shot you in the face with a paint gun during the department’s MT (you’re still not sure if this counts because he’d been laughing hysterically while doing so); and Kim Doyoung, who’s currently fiddling with his sweater and watching for your reaction.

“I…” Your voice comes out broken and gross, and you clear your throat too, but you don’t miss the fact that he straightens up a little. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too. Everything you said last night… you were right, and I knew it.”

“It’s still not my place to tell you what to do. You’re the expert in this case.”

“I’m really not,” you smile weakly.

“You still know more than me.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” You dismiss the cursory part of the conversation with a wave. “The point is that everyone’s safe here. We should probably let go of last night’s guilt.”

“Letting go of guilt,” he muses; his gaze isn’t on you anymore. In fact, it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at anything in particular at all, and that somehow makes you feel even less comfortable. “Is it that easy?”

“What is feeling guilty going to do? There’s no real point anymore. We just have to keep moving forward.”

“Right,” he comes back down to earth, it seems, and his fingers resume their movements. “Moving forward. About that — we’ve got three more people in this house, and I don’t think I have anything to feed a single one. I don’t know how much further forward we can move without supplies.”

“Oh god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, kneading at your brow to relieve the sudden headache that comes with the arrival of another predicament. “Shit. Right — okay. You have… cars, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” he replies slowly.

“Great. Can I borrow your least expensive one?”

“You can take whichever you want, but I—“

“I’ll be down in five, then,” you cut him off, looking over at your now-empty bag and wondering why you’d just asked for time when you don’t have any clothes to change into.

He nods, stepping back out of the room. Your phone dings to life, and you turn back to it; it starts vibrating off the hook with a steady stream of messages from Youngho, the screen blinking annoyingly in its attempt to catch up.

[ incoming ] 영호 - STOP HANGING UP ON ME [ incoming ] 영호 - I’m convinced you hate me [ incoming ] 영호 - tough bc you’ll never find a better, more attractive partner and also we’re stuck together for the whole year [ incoming ] 영호 - _______________ can you pick up stop being annoying it’s important [ incoming ] 영호 - are you watching the news??????????? [ incoming ] 영호 - I’m telling chief that I want a partner divorce you’re useless >:(

[ outgoing ] 영호 - my phone died you absolute pain in the ass!!!! [ outgoing ] 영호 - go eat your caviar croissants or something [ outgoing ] 영호 - what’s on the news

“__________________.” Your head snaps up to find Doyoung still standing by the door, hand on the doorknob. He’s twisting it idly, back and forth, the lock clicking every now and then.

“Oh — sorry,” you put your phone down, ignoring the fact that Youngho’s name keeps popping up on the notification banner right above a slew of middle finger emojis. “I thought you—“

“No, it’s fine, I —“

He stops when your ringtone goes off again; the piano introduction of Heroine is loud and a little embarrassing, and you pick up a pillow to suffocate as much of the melody as you can.

He smiles, but this time, it almost reaches his eyes. You think that Doyoung’s face suits smiles as long as they’re not half-hearted or sad.

“More Sunmi?”

“She’s a national treasure,” you defend yourself, pressing the pillow down harder against your phone.

“Right. I’ll be downstairs.”

Whatever he’d wanted to say leaves with him as he shuts the door quietly behind himself, and Youngho doesn’t miss the annoyance in your voice when you finally pick up the call. He takes his sweet time getting to the point of the conversation to get even at you.

“The news says it’s some kind of wack infection. They’re not sure how it’s spreading or how it’s starting, but these people aren��t in their right minds. Remember that guy we saw yesterday?” He’d said when he’d finally gotten to the brunt of his call. “I’m willing to bet my mom’s car he was sick too.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We just do what we can. There’s no cure, apparently; I mean, people are still trying to figure it out. All we know is that antibiotics obviously don’t work against viral cannibalism.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I have to go out for some supplies, though.”

“So, duty relief for you today? At least you’ll get to drive a cool car before you get fired–”

You hang up at this point.

Five minutes later finds you jogging down the stairs, and you spot Kim Doyoung and the guy from yesterday who’d explained what had happened. They were both looking up at the television, wordless beside each other; the screen flashed different, horrible scenes — buildings on fire, abandoned cars crushed against one another, and bodies. So many dead bodies. You see a flicker of disgust flash across Doyoung’s face as the screen zones in on a single, rotten arm, and he turns off the television.

“So,” you try to sound like you’re not minutes away from throwing up either, and the two men turn to you. “Which car am I taking?”

Doyoung presents you with a key; it’s one of those button-heavy ones that don’t even need to be inserted into the ignition, and you take it gingerly.

“This is the fancy key to your least expensive car?”

“The price is irrelevant,” he frowns. “What matters is that it works, and it works fast. Minhyung’s coming, by the way. Minhyung-ssi, this is __________________.”

“I can drive,” the other guy, who you now know is Minhyung, volunteers. You nod, slightly relieved that you won’t have to be the one worrying about driving a car worth more than your life insurance among other things. “We checked outside, too; there’s no one there. I guess as long as they don’t see a target, they don’t care that much.”

“Great,” you push the keys into Minhyung’s open hand. “Let’s get going, then.”

Doyoung walks you both to the door, but instead of stopping by the doorway after he opens it, he steps out onto the porch with you. And down the stairs. And walks towards the car.

“Hold on,” you stop, and he stops too, alarmed. “You’re not coming with us.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous, like this is the first time he’s considered you might say that.

“It’s too risky.”

“We’re going to the grocery store. I’m sure I can handle that. ”

“And we don’t know what’s at that grocery store,” you frown. “You have to stay here. We’ll take care of your car. Well, I mean, he will.” You jerk your head at Minhyung, who’s slipping into the driver’s seat.

“It’s not about the car. I want to help you.”

“And I want to protect someone that’s willing to actually stay protected. Only one of us can get what we want, Kim Doyoung-ssi.”

He makes a face — at the return of the formal address, at your words in general, you weren’t sure. You sigh, looking back briefly at Minhyung, who’s just started up the car engine; the windows are tinted, but you can see through them enough to know he’s turned towards the two of you, waiting.

“Look, you called the shots last night, right? I listened to you, and you were right. We got to help people. Let me have this one.” You try to smile weakly, but you think it kind of comes across as a grimace. “At least I can go back to the department and say I did what I could to protect you this one time.”

He stares at you for what feels like ages, but the moment is punctuated with a sigh and a reluctant nod. He steps back up onto the porch, and you offer him a reassuring nod of your own before turning back to the car, tugging the back door open and tossing your uselessly empty backpack inside before going back up to the passenger’s seat.

Minhyung has the car radio on to the news, but it’s more static than voice, and you just end up dialing the volume back down before putting on your seatbelt.

“Is Doyoung hyung not coming with us?”

Hyung? How close were they already? “No. I told him to stay. He’ll be fine.”

Minhyung nods wordlessly, shifting gears into reverse and slowly pulling the car out of the garage. When he turns his face forward, though, he slams down on the break, and an undignified yelp of surprise leaves you.

Doyoung is at your window, a fist raised to rap lightly on the tinted glass. You roll it down, trying to keep the panic out of your voice when you ask, “What? What is it?”

“Make sure to come back,” he says simply. Your face scrunches up in confusion.

“Of course. It’s just a supply run. Your car will be back in no time; don’t worry.”

“No; that’s not what I — don’t —“ He sighs. “Don’t go back to the police station. Just come straight back here. Okay?”

“But I thought you said —“

“I know what I said last night. I’m saying this now.” There’s a hint of pleading in his voice. “Come back.”

“I — okay,” you agree, altogether befuddled. He lets go of the window, and you slowly roll it back up as Minhyung backs out of the driveway. You try not to keep eye contact with Doyoung, fiddling with your seatbelt even if it’s already fastened, but you know he’s standing at the porch, watching you both drive away with yet another unreadable expression.

You trade the radio noise in for the GPS once you’re firmly on the road, and it’s on silent; your guess is that Doyoung doesn’t like the annoying robotic voice telling him where to go, so you have to make sure Minhyung is looking at the screen from time to time. You like that he isn’t unbearably talkative and is fairly safe as a driver, and you think he looks smart enough, which is always a good bonus, considering that you’re used to Youngho as a driver and as a human being.

The residential area of Apgujeong doesn’t have any big marts nearby, so you end up having to look for CUs and Ministops on the map. Even the nearest one is a good twenty-minute drive away, which seems hardly practical considering you’re in a heavily residential area. Even if you like that it’s quiet, though, it feels wrong and pretty awkward that nothing breaks the extended silence, so despite the fact that you don’t particularly enjoy small talk, you start anyway.

“Your friend,” Minhyung breaks his gaze away from the road to glance at you before turning back. “Sung… chan? Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits, tongue peeking out nervously to wet his lips. “We’re not… we’re technically not friends. He and that other kid — Donghyuck — go to the same university, I think. We were just in the same bookstore when the fighting and madness broke out.”

“Oh. So you… you work at a bookstore?”

“Me? No; I was just there looking for some books for research.”

“Are you a teacher, then?”

“No,” he chuckles the way you would expect; it’s a deep, baritone rumble that’s fairly calming and not at all like the wheezing Youngho does that makes you want to smack him upside the head. “I’m working on a novel.”

“That sounds pretty neat. What about?”

“Well it’s — it’s complicated.” His fingers tighten a little on the wheel. “My editor’s been asking me to write a romance novel — you know, since a lot of people are into that these days. But it’s just… it’s not something I can write about well. I’ve never had a real interest in romance novels, so everything I make just comes out bland.”

“So what do you like to write about?”

“Science fiction, mostly.”

“Anything I may have read before?”

“Depends. How prolific a reader are you?”

“I’m not even sure what prolific means,” you laugh.

“My books aren’t that big. Mostly because so much editing beyond my reach happens to them, they never look like what I’d wanted them to in the first place.” He sighs, turning into a smaller street. It’s equally empty here, for some reason, but it doesn’t feel like the safe, quiet neighborhood it’s supposed to be. You see a lone woman limping down the sidewalk, and you wonder, briefly, if she’s sick too. You don’t get a good look at her face, though, and Minhyung’s driving at a speed that doesn’t give you much opportunity to look back, so you let it go. “What about you?”

“I’m a cop. I actually got promoted to corporal fairly recently.” See: yesterday, but you don’t think it’s necessary to specify this.

“That’s great; congratulations,” he throws you a small smile. “No wonder you’re so protective of Doyoung hyung.”

“Yes, well, it’s kind of my job to be.”

“I can see that. I’m sure he appreciates it. Is that why you didn’t want him to come along?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know if he gets that helping out here more is just going to put him in more danger.”

“Maybe he does, though,” Minhyung’s eyes flit to the screen again; the destination is growing closer. “Maybe he just wants the chance to protect you, too?”

You sit there, staring at the road in front of you, trying to decipher what that means. The CU sign comes into view, and Minhyung slows the car as you approach the entrance.

“But,” you start carefully. “Why would he?”

“I’m not a romance expert, but isn’t that normal for couples?”

“It is,” you say, your voice small so that he can’t hear how close you are to imploding from embarrassment. “Except we’re not a couple.”

Not for the first time today, Minhyung steps down hard on the brake. You both lurch forward, but no one makes a sound this time; your bodies just lean forward silently and snap back against the seats with soft thuds.

“Oh. I thought… because you were staying in his house…”

“I’m just here on official business,” you swallow hard, staring out your window so that you both can avoid feeling even more awkward than you already do. “From the police department.”

“He said… his girlfriend didn’t like people going into her room, so I thought —“

“Yeah, that’s… that’s not my room. Sorry.”

“Oh.” His voice trails off into almost nothingness. “Sorry.”

He kills the engine, but the both of you just sit there in silence for a little while, letting the strange atmosphere ebb away. Thankfully, he doesn’t press the conversation further, and you step out first, with him following your lead. Your hand is at your waist, fingers brushing against the stock of your gun, but there are no disturbances for the most part, and you relax somewhat. You and Minhyung both head for the store; the little bell that usually jingles to announce a new customer is on the ground outside.

The inside is fairly empty, too; there are canned goods and flyers on the floor. The microwave is half-open, and you notice that a now-cold sausage is on the dish inside. You start picking up the canned goods, stacking them onto a basket while Minhyung keeps the door open with his foot, bending down to push six-pack bundles of water outside near the front wheel of the car.

“You think anyone’s in?” He’s whispering, and you don’t know why it feels appropriate to move as soundlessly as possible even if the place is deserted. Shaking your head, you pass him the basket of canned goods, and he starts nudging the water towards the trunk of the car with his feet so he can load them.

You wander down the aisles, tugging on everything you think you might need — tissues, snacks, toiletries — piling them all up in your arms. The area feels unsettling, though, so you try to pick up the pace, stuffing anything useful between your arms. There’s a weird noise that hangs over the convenience store, and you realize later on that it’s radio static coming from the set behind the cashier’s counter. You guessed whoever was manning the till was in too much of a rush to leave to turn off the radio. Somehow, though, it makes you feel even more uncomfortable, and you quickly hand off the items to Minhyung, who’s having as much trouble cradling the things in his own arms as you.

You hear it during your second round, when you reach out for a jumbo-sized bottle of shampoo on top of one of the shelves — a low groan that can’t be radio static, can’t be the wind, can’t be Minhyung from outside. A horrible chill runs up your spine as you turn towards the sound slowly, holding your breath.

A man is standing by the staff room entrance on the other end of the shop; his posture is weak, arms limp by his sides, and he continues to make incoherent noises. It’s clear by his wrecked uniform that he’s an employee here, and it’s even clearer by the bloodstains on the uniform that he’s definitely not okay.

Thankfully, his back is turned to you, and whatever had drawn him out of the staff room, he clearly couldn’t find; he’s still whipping his head here and there, trying to spot something anomalous, but he hasn’t found the sense to turn yet. Your arm drops, foregoing the shampoo bottle, and you slowly, carefully back away, your fingers twisted into knots as you pray for safety.

You’re almost by the door when the worst happens; your left foot, dragging backwards against the floor, catches a stray flier and creates a loud, horrible crumpling sound.

The employee turns his head back to a degree way more than any normal human can, spotting you between the aisles; he lets out a shriek as his body turns the rest of the way with him, and he charges straight at you, arms outstretched.

“Shit,” your fingers fly to your gun, but he’s moving so quickly that all your body can think of is fleeing. You almost slip on the flier, managing to yank the door open, only to bump into Minhyung, who’s on his way back in and oblivious to what’s happening.

“________________, what —“

“Move!” You don’t even have time to apologize for pushing him back so hard that he stumbles a little; the rabid employee smacks into the door, and something crunches sickeningly as he does.

“Oh, fuck me—“

This feels like a horrible semi-dejavu moment, in which you’re yelling at Minhyung to get the car door open, and he’s panicking so much that he has no choice but to tell you to shut up while he fumbles around for the keys — except he doesn’t have a gun, and the employee doesn’t have an old lady to be distracted by.

He comes barreling out of the convenience store, and he notices Minhyung first — Minhyung, who’s so frazzled by everything that he’s taken out what appears to be his apartment keys instead of Doyoung’s car keys and is trying to fit it into a keyhole in the driver’s side door that doesn’t exist. The employee lunges, and Minhyung effectively drops whatever he’s holding, running backwards with a panicked yell. This doesn’t work out well for him; his foot gets caught in a sizable crack in the road and he falls backwards.

You leave the passenger’s side, running around the hood of the car while you take out your gun; in your hurry, you don’t get to aim well, and the first shot you fire misses and hits one of the backseat doors of Doyoung’s car. You let out an incoherent groan of frustration that’s drowned out by Minhyung’s more urgent noise; he’s trying to weaponize a bundle of water bottles, but it’s too heavy for him to fling in this position.

You take another shot; it hits the employee square in the leg, and the close proximity causes the bullet to go straight through. Another disgusting noise sounds as he crumples to the ground, but he’s hardly demotivated, using his elbows and one working knee to advance towards your companion. Another shot — it goes through his chest, but it’s like he doesn’t notice.

“The head, the head!” Minhyung yells, scrambling back on his palms and ass. “Aim for the head, _____________!”

You raise your arms slightly, taking another blind shot; it’s not a perfectly centered one, but it blows the top off the employee’s head and ends his advance effectively. Minhyung looks up at you, dazed and covered in a smattering of blood.

“Thanks — oh, god,” he has to turn away to retch, scooting further from the now-limp body and patting around for his apartment keys blindly. He takes your outstretched arm once he finds them, hauling himself up.

“How did you know a shot in the head would kill them?”

“I didn’t,” he doesn’t let go of your hand, looking a little pale, like he’s trying not to think about how he’d just seen someone die in high definition. His grip on your fingers is painful. “It just seemed like the most logical place to aim.”

He finally locates the keys in his pocket, taking one look back at the body and the water bottle pack that’s now covered in blood too. He grimaces, shaking his head, like he’s convincing himself not to go back for it. You have to pry your hands free from his hold before he ducks into the car.

The ride home is absolutely silent; neither of you make an attempt to turn on the radio this time, and the twenty minutes going back seems like an eternity. You notice that Minhyung is driving even slower now, for some reason, but this doesn’t bother you.

The urge to call Doyoung hits hard, for some reason; it seemed like a natural course of action, especially since you needed to cushion the blow his emotions would probably take after seeing the hole you made in his car door, but you realize you don’t have his number. You think about calling Youngho too, but you just don’t move, staring dully at the road ahead until Doyoung’s house comes back into view.

Minhyung jogs to the back of the trunk to open it up while you make for the door, ringing the doorbell. When it opens, you’re surprised to see the other kid from yesterday in front of you.

“Where’s Doyoung?” You demand at the same time that he asks, “Where’s Minhyung hyung?”

There’s louder, more pained groaning coming from the second floor. “Doyoung-ssi’s upstairs. Minhyung hyung,” he calls out, pushing past you to help Minhyung with the supplies.

You take two steps at a time to get to the second landing, noticing that Doyoung’s bedroom door is open. When you peek in, though, he isn’t there; the television is on again, and the news anchor is repeating warnings. Stay indoors. Ration your food. Arm yourselves as much as you can. This is serious, biological warfare.

Hushed voices fill the first floor as the front door shuts; you look down from the banister to see Minhyung and Donghyuck enter the kitchen, cans and water bottles in hand; the rest of the supplies are by the umbrella stand.

“Doyoung-ssi?” You call out.

A moment later, his head pops out from the room next to yours; his face looks grim, but he smiles at you nonetheless.

“You’re back. Did you get what we needed?” He steps out, quietly shutting the door behind him. His free hand is gripping an electronic thermometer and a capped syringe wrapped in a wet towel, and you eye them dubiously.

“Uh — yeah, there’s food downstairs. What’s all that for?”

“It’s for Sungchan. We’re just monitoring his condition. Was the trip okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. Minhyung’s covered in blood downstairs, but,” you raise a hand to still his worry. “He’s fine, too. Maybe a little traumatized, but physically fine.”

“Oh, good.” He nods. “I’m glad for that. Thank you for making the run. And, well,” he inhales, thumb running along the length of the thermometer. “Thank you for coming back.”

“Just doing my job,” you smile tightly.

“I know.” Something like ceramic crashes inside Sungchan’s room, and Doyoung turns his attention to it. “I’ll just… I’ll get that cleaned up.”

“I’ll help them move the supplies downstairs.”

You both nod, but you watch him go first; it’s only when the door shuts that you head downstairs. Donghyuck and Minhyung have moved most of the stuff, leaving only a few bottles of shampoo and a couple of canned soups by the door. You pick them up and walk into the kitchen, finding the two sorting cans into Doyoung’s relatively empty cupboards. It’s funny that Minhyung’s found himself on the counter, trying to stuff cup noodles into the top shelf where the dish rack used to be. You probably looked equally ridiculous last night.

“Minhyung, you really need to go get changed. Nobody wants undead CU employee blood on their ramyun.”

He chuckles softly, slipping off the counter. “That was the last I could fit up there, anyway. Donghyuck will help you sort the rest.” Minhyung makes to clap Donghyuck on the back, but the kid evades his touch, looking at Minhyung’s bloodstained palm like he’s expecting it to grow eight extra fingers. “Right. Sorry.”

You divvy up the food in relative silence, only talking to introduce yourselves and agree on what to set aside for lunch. He keeps turning his attention to the door, like he’s waiting for someone to appear.

“Your friend — how is he? Is he getting any better?”

“I don’t really know,” he admits, emptying a can of soup into a pot and placing it onto Doyoung’s previously untouched induction stove. “Doyoung-ssi’s been checking up on him. I don’t think any of us know what to do, but he said his grandmother had some special medicine for infections that he could try on the wound.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“It’s deep, and he’s been running a high fever we’ve been trying to break since last night. He barely talks, too, and he won’t eat anything. We tried a couple of crackers he had in his bag for his hypoglycemia, but he wouldn’t take them.” Donghyuck sighs, dumping in a little too much salt and pepper into the pot. “I don’t even know what’s happening. We were just there for comic books.”

You help him ladle the soup into bowls before volunteering to call everyone down for lunch, jogging back upstairs. Doyoung clearly hasn’t left Sungchan’s room yet, since his door is in the same position as you’d found it and the television is still going. You shout down to Donghyuck to turn the den’s television on, deciding that he could listen to the news during lunch instead of leaving his bedroom TV on uselessly.

The remote control is on the edge of the bed, and you only need to take three huge steps to get in and reach for it, but it still is technically trespassing, even if all you want to do is help the man conserve some electricity. Still, before you turn the television off, you catch a bit of what the news anchor is saying.

“Remember, it’s imperative that you stay indoors. Avoid contact with these creatures. The virus spreads quickly through the bloodstream, and experts have still not found a cure. Keep any arms or improvised weapons close to you, and make sure to stay away from —“

Your blood runs cold, and your fingers tighten around the remote control.

The virus spreads quickly through the bloodstream.

Your feet think faster than you, it seems, carrying you out of Doyoung’s room. You bump into a freshly-bathed Minhyung, and he raises his palms up like he’s being arrested.

“What’s with you and all this running?” He manages to ask before you shove him away, skidding down the hall as you pull out your gun. You rattle the doorknob only to find that it’s locked.

“Cover your ears,” you snap at Minhyung, who barely has time to do so before you aim the gun at the door and take a shot.

You can tell why Youngho likes the idea of busting down a locked door; the dramatic effect is so powerful, and you’ve now experienced it firsthand. You don’t have the time to dwell on how cool it is, though, especially since the smell of rotting flesh is what hits you the moment you push the door open.

Doyoung is seated, frozen at the edge of the bed; the syringe is still in his hand, but it’s uncapped now. Sungchan is lying back, pale and sweaty, his pant leg rolled up to reveal a deep, bite-shaped wound on his calf.

“_______________, what the hell are you —“ Doyoung starts, but he falls into a stunned silence when you point the gun at him.

“Come here. Stand behind me.”

“If you’d just explain why you’re holding a loaded gun in my guest bedroom—”

“Can you, for once, do what I’m asking you to do without the running commentary?” You hiss, and he stands slowly. You get a better view of Sungchan’s face, and it’s not pleasant; he’s biting down on his lip, but it’s clear the pain is too difficult to contain, and his eyes are constantly rolling to the back of his head. “Come here.”

“Just calm down.” Doyoung eyes the gun warily. “I have to help him.”

“Doyoung-ssi —“

“He’s hurt, ___________________. Just let me give him the medicine.”

“He’s going to turn into one of them.” You swallow hard. “I heard it on the news. He’s going to die, and then he’s going to turn into… into one of those things.”

Doyoung carefully sets down the syringe on the bedside table, slowly walking over to you. Instead of getting behind you, though, he places his small hand gently on yours; with a little added pressure, he pushes the gun down to face the floor. You look up at him, frustrated and confused, these feelings only exacerbated by the inexplicable calm on his face.

“I know he will.”

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