Chapter Text
Bury the Axe, It's Xmas!!
(Adventures of Holiday Barbie and Puppy)
Part I: Gunning for Festive Felony
Absolute fuckin’ chaos.
Screams were mandatory in his presence. But this was pure, unadulterated hell on the ear drums.
The shutter clicked through wails of terror behind him, prefaced by the flashbang in the already too goddamn bright concourse, courtesy of the miserable skylight and every surface lined with tinsel, glitter, or red-and-green bulbs.
He stayed knelt at the front of the cardboard sleigh, his lips stretched further than chapstick cared to cover. His jaw ached like a dime-piece on the corner ‘til the photographer was satisfied.
“That’s good enough! It’s just for the proof when he’s grown,” the woman chortled, adjusting the screeching spawn on one hip and a Louis Vuitton on the other. She then whipped out a black card to pay for the overpriced trauma trophies.
Maybe Corpsehound should take notes from Mr. Claus.
Hyunjin stood, knees like stale Halloween Pop Rocks. Postcard families were lined and belt-buckled into the queue, rumbling and bumbling and jingling, ring-ting-tingling too—waiting for him to shepherd the next hellions toward the set. He assisted them into the bench with Mr. and Mrs. Claus before they could eat shit off the porcelain mall tile.
Kids. Lots of them. Smiling up at him like ducklings imprinting on a wolf dressed in festive, noisy polyester. Job title: Oxymoronic Giant-Elf Prop and Sugar-Drunk Toddler Control.
By 11 AM, he’s already lost count of how many times he’s said smile! and how many candy canes he’s tongue-sharpened into shivs like he might get jumped by a swarm of wobbly kindergarteners. North Pole, Hell Hole, same shit.
The kiddie railroad chugged along the outskirts, blowing its whistle every hour, on the hour, for every flimsy arm that made the universal gesture. Tracks might make a nice pillow…
If the distant carolers competing with the Village speakers and squeaking offspring didn’t give him an aneurysm first.
Suffice to say, this was not his first choice. But JCPenny’s background check was a little too thorough (piss test came back pristine though! Everyone say thank you to orange juice). Santa’s Village was more lax; they only cared that he wasn’t on any…lists. And as a consequence of that, Hyunjin was two—perhaps three—missed Zoloft and one (1) crooked wreath away from a holiday bonfire.
And it was only December 3rd.
But he had a job until New Years; that’s all the unemployable, starving artist, failed theater kid gave a shit about (Also, he liked candy canes, and they kept following him home. Practically falling out of his ass every time he wiped).
The tights were itchy, though, and the pointy shoes were half a size too small. He resembled an overgrown Peter Pan rather than a North Pole employee—only, he had been blessed with matching shorts to cover his frog eyes from bulging through cheap pine-green nylon.
The next group that filed in was tolerable. Santa—some guy named Harold—did his whole spiel, hearing the list and what not (don’t mind his Crown Royal cheeks). Hyunjin laughed when prompted along with the other corporate-issue ugly elf and far-too-young Mrs. Claus.
It was like getting paid to dissociate—hah, imagine that. After the frantic snapping of photos, he patiently helped the kid down. Hallelujah, no squalling.
Coworker Elf (Jennie? Genevieve? Jeanette? He’d heard her called more aliases than a joker on the run) signaled to Manager Elf that she wanted a smoke break. Manager Elf gestured toward the dwindling line.
Hyunjin followed the bulging finger toward the next group approaching, a half-dozen cluster of local college varsity jackets—not screamin’ 4-foot-nothings. Happened on occasion, social media trend.
A few sets of heels clacked between the testosterone. So, Hyunjin preemptively held out his hand to assist them into the sleigh when his attention was caught by Jennie(?) .
“Jinnie, could I borrow a light?” she whispered, eyes pleading for something Hyunjin didn’t have the luxury of. “I’m feelin’ generous. I’ll share.”
“I don’t smoke, doll,” Hyunjin drawled, nodding his head toward the red, burly imposter. “Ask Saint Nicotine.”
Jennie tossed her mane of grown-out extensions back in a cheery cackle like her fellow elf had uttered the punchline of the century. A sideways glance that begged, are you watching?
Her eyes lingered too long. So did his. Decent tits. Maybe list; leisure priority. Except her laughs made scissors contestants for earplugs and her hands were always stuck to any bicep at arms-length.
And so, he was distracted when a leather-clad hand slapped into his.
He turned to greet with his hair-trigger grin, but petite heels had already hiked up into the sleigh like twin gunshots. Then Hyunjin caught a secondhand huff of what could only be described as filthy, obnoxious, throbbing sex.
A scent that fractured his nose and palmed his groin without so much as a hello.
“Small.” Muzzle buried in cotton candy hair, a rugged inhale of burnt sugar and arousal. “Tight.”
Thighs flashed inches from his face. Ripped tights. Leather skirt. Red fabric more suggestive in shade than Santa’s suit.
“Mm, I like my dogs feisty.” A grin that got off on sin.
Painted claws left his hand, but Hyunjin felt them in his back. Along the delicate spine and skintight leotard that might just disappear down the crack of heaven’s gates, a pink braid fell down from a black beanie like a Candyland guillotine.
Felix’s laughter—dressed up in slut-coded wrapping paper under Hyunjin’s Charlie Brown tree—the gift he didn’t fucking ask for.
Hyunjin’s dick didn’t know whether to plead or flee. You gotta be fuckin’ me in the ass right now.
Hyunjin collapsed to his knee before the unmistakable nightmare could glance back at him. Hyunjin didn’t need confirmation. That siren song lingered even in his sleep. Loomed over him worse than Mariah Carey since November 1st.
He overheard the fake beard fuck chuckle something about about naughty or nice. To which the demonic Princess Bubblegum replied something lurid, followed by: “But I think this’ll look nice on my mum’s fridge~”
“Yes—Good boy—!” the blond rasped, cheap praise drooling off his gloryhole tongue as Hyunjin’s hips fucked in ragged little jerks against his thigh.
“Alright, everyone ready?”
The photographer readied the tripod; the hooligans coordinated their poses with gift box props and 3-foot candy canes; this was the worst possible place for Hyunjin to be re-living the best fuck of his life.
“Look right here at the reindeer’s nose, and 1, 2, smile big, 3!”
Hyunjin slapped on his best Christmas Cryptid grin, eye twitching as the flash went off.
“Eek! I think I blinked!” Felix squee-d.
“That’s okay, sweetie. You get four cuts—” the photographer assured, gum smacking as they gestured, “Put your arms around each other, spread that cheer! Closer—”
Greedy fingers curled over Hyunjin’s shoulder. He didn’t dare look up from where he kneeled. But he adjusted.
“Jinnie…! Good puppy!” Oil-slick nails clutching his skin. “O-Oh, fuck, Hyunjin—!”
The camera winked thrice more, documenting Hyunjin’s seasonal PTSD like it was cinematic perfection.
“Awesome! If you just go up to this kiosk and swipe on…” yadda, yadda, yadda.
Doll hands clapped, springing up from the sleigh and thanking the actors cheerily. Adorable.
Felix’s friends (of which, Hyunjin recognized two) jumped sleigh to check out the photo screen while Felix loitered, chatty. Behind the sleigh, Jeanette had closed the rope gate and was making a break for the exit.
Hyunjin clambered to his feet. He wanted to bolt after her. Really. He did. He’d learn pyrokinesis if that’s what it took.
Because the biggest drawback of this shithole? No mask. Were it anyone else, he’d be incognito sans muzzle and gore. But Felix had seen Hyunjin. All of him. Then blocked his Instagram.
Before he could escape—Holiday Barbie, Slut of the Year Edition™, twirled on his shiny black kitten heels. Everything slowed. The thirst trap locked eyes with the lanky mall elf, the one with a heart two sizes too small.
Festive Fawn Felix faltered.
Everything around them gradually fell silent as Hyunjin tunnel-visioned on the glossy harlot. No better than a sickeningly sweet goddamn Hallmark film.
Freckles. Trouble.
The swarm went quiet. The elf held out his hand.
Felix appraised Hyunjin’s face, then his sweaty palm.
Hyunjin’s stomach tensed as glossy lips twitched—
But instead of recognition, he was awarded that diabolical little smirk—the one that curled like a kitten kneading Hyunjin’s ribs.
The lil’ leather glove landed in his stupidly wide hand, making Felix seem more the elf than Hyunjin.
And Felix smiled. Pearly. Pretty.
“Thank you.”
Took every ounce of morality not to yank him down to his pretty knees.
In the face of Hyunjin’s stoic meltdown, the pixie fucker simply hopped down and rejoined his friends at the checkout, stood beside the same beanstalk lookin’ guy from the night that ruined Hyunjin’s life.
Bounced on his heels, skirt waving goodbye, dumbass.
Well, there was his answer. And Hyunjin was slapped silly by humiliation.
He made a beeline for the shift manager.
Every single fucking sound ever invented flooded him.
The jittery elf fumbled, the clank of betraying bells and buckles herding the kicked puppy to safety.
He darted behind the gargantuan mall tree—a convenient stockade—hands slammed down on the staff table. “Saw Jess taking her smoke break,” he rasped to Manager Elf, giving her a fright. “Mind if I run too?”
“O-Oh?” She tilted her head, her mandatory grin glitching. “Thought you didn’t smoke.”
Couldn’t think. Face hot.
Flashing lights, tinsel garland. Perfume tester smog maiming his brain cells. Ball sweat drenched the emasculating leggings to wedge right up his gooch like a bathroom bully.
All around him, unswallowed sperm squealed and echoed between the earsplitting fuckin’ bedlam of carols, train whistles, desperate kiosk flat-iron claps, out-of-sync marching, food court clatter, maddening bees— Did a goddamn dog just bark—?
“Well,” Hyunjin swallowed like a champ. “I do today, s-so if I could just—”
Then, he felt it.
The ghastly hand of fuck’s past. Perched on his shoulder. Inevitable.
Fuck. My. Life.
Quite frankly, he’d rather be forced into cuffs again—the you-fucked-up kind, not the furry ones—than have to—
“Y’look good in tights, Mr. Corpsehound~”
Maybe he should’ve gunned for felony. Three hots and a cot sounded a lot safer than a thot with doe eyes.
That fuck-me grip clasped Hyunjin’s bicep, holding him hostage. Felix pranced around to stand beside his hunched over form.
“What’s the one-up from thrice in a lifetime?” the brat giggled.
Hyunjin was actively short-circuiting. Because Felix stood so fucking close.
So close that his flat chest was mashed close enough for nipples to prod Hyunjin’s arm through the skimpy top. Hard. Little puff of a gasp.
Manager Elf raised a tattooed brow, eyes flicked between Hyunjin and the terror hanging from his arm like a raunchy ornament. “You…go handle that. Shift swap is in 5, anyways.”
Then, she fled the scene, abandoning Hyunjin to his doom. Maybe if he just. Didn’t move…
The hold on his arm squeezed.
…Worth a shot.
Hyunjin straightened his spine, turning militarily, glaring down at the candy corn whore painted red and stripey with goddamn Christmas puppies littering a v-cut cashmere. Sweet, glittery eyes.
A child shrieking ‘cuz Santa Claus is going on his Dunkin’ Donuts break, cheery music crackling through the shitty intercom, and the jingling scuffle of a twink being dragged into the department store hosting Santa’s Village.
Felix yelped like a dog with its nose in piss when Hyunjin grabbed him by the scruff, shoving him into the breakroom alcove.
Behind the cover of vending machines and a corporate plug-in tree, Hyunjin whirled the Holiday Barbie to face him, glaring down his nose with a snarl, “The fuck are you doing?”
“You aren’t happy to see me, puppy?”
That pout could start religions…Or cults; sweet Satan in a mistletoe thong, a tithe pan where the sun don’t shine. Hyunjin pinned the little Lucifer by the shoulder at arms-length. Not taking a chance on that sermon.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Hyunjin snorted. “You ghosted me, lil’ racer.”
“I did.” No shame, unbothered, Felix offered his peppermint-striped cup. A caffeinated condolence for an oopsie poopsie. “For your own good.”
Hyunjin scoffed. “Is that so, heartbreaker?”
Felix’s gaze followed Hyunjin’s free hand. The way his palm engulfed the lid, lowering it between them. When that burnt candy stare trailed back up, the pink-headed imp cracked a smile, like he knew the bees quieted for him.
Hyunjin leaned a breath-and-a-half from a merry mistake. His thumb brushed Felix’s bare collarbone. Tried not to glance down at the festive dogs on the leotard judging him. All meanness and coal, he sneered:
“Then why the fuck are you chasing?”
“Mm…That is the question,” Felix murmured. Then reached up, tugged the edge of Hyunjin’s gold hairs poking out from the elf cap. “Blond…?”
Hyunjin captured his flimsy wrist, pinning it to the wall with an irritated growl.
Felix—again, unphased—batted his curled lashes, pretending to fan himself with the captured hand. “Size kink the HOUSE, first of all. Second, not a heartbreaker,” the sugar plum hummed, sleazy grin spread almost as wide as his legs did last season. “I get…curious. Whether things are a one-off, or…”
The free-wandering claws traced the waistband of Hyunjin’s costume shorts, slipped into the back pocket, and squeezed Santa’s Little Helper closer by the ass—
“Pattern,” Felix concluded, warm and smoky like chimney breath. “Like…studying.”
“Yeah?” said the elf, eyes narrowed. “What made you quit studying, sweetheart?”
Felix shuddered, pressing up on his tiptoes with a hand clapped over Hyunjin’s shoulder—dwarfed even in heels. “Thought I might let you off my hook. Catch n’ release. But turns out, I’m curious what Jack The Pumpkin King fucks like as Daddy Christmas—Hey!”
Hyunjin slammed Felix against the wall, accented by the absurd amount of bells adorning his person, then swiped the coffee cup.
“I ain’t nice just for season, princess.”
He took a swig of diabetic coma, grimacing before tossing it in the corner bin with a pathetic plunk.
“It’s a bona fide pattern of year-round fuckery.”
Felix’s brow twitched. The look mirrored Hyunjin’s when the little fuck pretended not to know him.
With Holiday Barbie stunned into silence, the Pumpkin King couldn’t resist dragging his fingertips up that swan lake of a throat. Without warning, he snatched up Felix’s jaw, almost moaning when—with the gentlest squeeze—heart lips fell open around a hitch of peppermint breath.
“Cat got your tongue, curious boy?” He squeezed Felix’s dimples harder. “Not what you expected?”
But Felix’s pupils were blown wide, sweet little pants rolling off his kitten tongue. Silly bitch. Hyunjin found it hard to resist other things, too.
“I—”
“Nice sweater, by the way,” Hyunjin snorted, releasing Felix’s face in favor of hooking a finger in the neckline, dragging it down further.
Felix didn’t stop him.
“It reminded me of you.”
Hyunjin froze.
He surrendered the low collar, letting the festive puppy fabric snap back into place. His eyes snapped back up.
“No, the fuck it didn’t.”
And with that, the naughty scrooge pushed off the wall with all the dignity left in his jingle-bell balls, then walked off before Barbie knew what hit him.
Except…
“But…it did…”
Hyunjin didn’t turn back.
“Fuck off.”
Absolutely not.
Absolutely fucking not.
No way in hell Hyunjin was just gonna bury the fucking axe, just like that.
Felix was the common denominator.
Hyunjin slammed his locker—not as secure as the one at Horror Nights—but at least the Macy’s had cameras in the right places. Yanked on his hoodie. No makeup to remove, no mask, laced up his ragged-out high-tops, but couldn’t be bothered with the top two eyelets. It was lonelier here.
Keys in hand, clenching his fist around the metal, Hyunjin slung his duffel over his shoulder and marched toward the exit.
But it hounded him. He let the idea sniff and snoop despite the risk.
Felix was the common denominator. Divided every one of Hyunjin’s silly little problems into bite-sized fuck-ups.
Two jobs and freedom.
Felix ghosted Hyunjin after squatting on his dick in a pop-up potty, and now Hyunjin wasn’t allowed within 100-yards of a Hobby Lobby parking lot.
Absolutely batshit fuckin’ crazy, but you gotta understand why.
See, Hyunjin didn’t usually fuck ‘til the third date, but Felix mashed fast-forward, bent over in the woods, dressing room, slurped Baja Blast louder than he slurped dick like a true goddamn passenger princess in Hyunjin’s Accord—not to mention spreading out on his pretty bed under fairy lights, pleading for Hyunjin to rail him ‘til morning—then fucking ghosted him.
At first, Hyunjin thought he went too hard. That he genuinely caused bodily harm. Wouldn’t be the first time he hanged himself by being hung. Then after a third failed DM, he was met with “user not found”. He spiraled.
Every little itch was hinged upon that shitty twink with daddy issues.
The thoughts ramped up from innocent superstitions like
if I crank my car twice, he’ll unblock me,
and
if I dye my hair, he’ll remember me,
to full-on, sincere compulsions, like:
Felix is going to wake up dead if I don’t do something
(that something being double-ing up on his SSRI, but y'live and y’learn).
One ritual led to another, then another, then another more dangerous, harmful one—because the bees swarmed when the sacrifices weren’t big enough.
At one point, they even whispered that the lil’ racer was tailing him. Felix saw it all front row with a bucket of popcorn, but it just wasn’t buttery enough.
So, Hyunjin took matters into his own hands.
A two-step how-to guide on Preventing a One Night Stand’s Apartment from Burning Down:
- Momentary Psychosis
- Candle display immolation on company time
(Turns out, Hobby Lobby was not open to the idea of re-hiring company arsonists—but more on that later).
Moral of the story: don’t stick your dick in crazy when you’re crazier.
And you’ll never believe what he saw once he clocked out of Santa’s Village.
Icy wind sliced at his face, gouging his flustered skin. He tugged his hoodie closer, wished he had a better coat.
He just wanted to get the fuck out of here.
He just wanted to have his pity-party in his crummy hovel of a studio.
Rummaging around in his duffel, Hyunjin wasn’t watching where he was going.
That fucking bird, chirping in his ear, controlling the hive.
“Aren’t you a bit too tall to be an elf, anyhow?”
Speak of the fucking Devil.
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