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jamaisjoons · 5 years ago

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peach parfait I | ksj

⏤ 𝚜 𝚞 𝚖 𝚖 𝚊 𝚛 𝚢 : you and seokjin have always been at odds as the top two chefs at big hit academy of culinary arts. enemies to lovers au

⏤ 𝚙 𝚊 𝚒 𝚛 𝚒 𝚗 𝚐 : seokjin x reader

⏤ 𝚐 𝚎 𝚗 𝚛 𝚎 : fluff, smut, slight? angst

⏤ 𝚠 𝚘 𝚛 𝚍 𝚌 𝚘 𝚞 𝚗 𝚝 : 19k

⏤ 𝚠 𝚊 𝚛 𝚗 𝚒 𝚗 𝚐 𝚜 : female solo masturbation, slight nipple play, sex toys - ring vibrator

⏤ 𝚊 / 𝚗 : hello demons!!!!!! welcome to my first ever ksj au!!! it finally happened wow,,,, honestly this wasn’t supposed to be this long but here we are,,,, 19k in on the first part whoops. there will be a second part out [hopefully soon, i already have about 8k of it written] but until then, i hope you enjoy this! // lowkey this was inspired by shokugeki no soma skfjak

⏤ Part I | Part II ⇥ complete

“Kim Seokjin, a perfect 100!” Head Chef Hobeom called out.

Your entire body stiffened as if you had just been drenched in ice-cold water. You could feel the tell-tale scowl already forming on your face, your features twisting in annoyance as you took in the sight of Kim Seokjin’s smug face. His dark, slightly wavy locks fell loosely around his stupid forehead and he was dressed casually, in a plain white t-shirt, further accentuating his unnecessarily broad shoulders. Light wash jeans hung low on his hips, the material of the denim tugging around his ridiculously toned thighs. Not that you were admiring him. No. You would never admire your greatest rival. Which is exactly what he was. Your gaze fell back to his face, his nose slightly scrunched, luscious lips pulled into a half-smirk and eyes shining with mirth.

That smug bastard.

You could hear the screams and cheers from all the female students, and even some male, as Seokjin bowed to the rest of the class while you angrily threw your spatula down. You grumbled to yourself and began cleaning up, ignoring the cheers for Seokjin as best as you could. You knew why you lost. You had made a stupid, rookie mistake. One that you were now kicking yourself for. How the hell had you managed to forget to season the meat before cooking? It was probably the most fundamental step of any recipe and yet in the heat of the moment and under pressurised circumstances, you had completely neglected that crucial step and it had cost you the exam. Well not really, you still passed but Seokjin had scored higher. And now, Seokjin would be able to brag until the next time the two of you faced off. From the corner of your eye, you watched Seokjin saunter over to you and immediately growled to yourself, eyes narrowing.

Great, now he was here to gloat.

“Hey ____, that’s what, my three hundred and fifty-eighth win? Who’s winning right now? Cause according to my count it’s me” Seokjin taunts, his tone laced in both arrogance and glee. You could feel your eyebrow twitch, taking a deep breath before turning around, your eyes in slits as you scrutinised his smug face.

“Until the next round. You forget before this round, we were both tied at three hundred and fifty-seven” You spit out, tone saturated with hate and loathing. Seokjin, however, is unbothered, letting out a little snicker.

“Yeah we were both tied but you could have won this round. I can’t believe you lost because you didn’t salt the meat. Slacking a bit, aren’t you? Isn’t seasoning the most basic rule of cooking? Do you need to go back to the first year? Or if you really want, I could teach you? I think you’d benefit from my classes. We could call it, cooking for dummies: back to the basics” Seokjin jeers and you let out a low growl, slamming your most prized knife back into its case as you continue cleaning up your station. You’re trying not to let his words get to you, but you can’t help it. He’s completely right. You could have won if you had simply seasoned the god damned meat.

“Oh, bite me Seokjin, we’ve all done it once or twice. Or did you forget the time you forgot the soy sauce in a chow mein? A dish which is basically just noodles, bean sprouts and soy sauce. So, do us both a favour and kindly fuck off, I have pastry class now,” You sneer and Seokjin laughs as you grab your knife set before storming away. You can feel his eyes on your back the entire time, the hairs on your neck standing in irritation. You can still hear his stupid squeaky laugh up until you leave the class.

Once out, you take in a deep breath and calm yourself down, face pulled into a frown. There were many reasons you had lost that match. Many reasons the flavours of the dish didn’t tie in together as well as they should have. The biggest reason, was, of course, the lack of salt on the meat resulting in a bland tasting dish despite the number of spices and herbs mixed into the sauce. You had also overcooked the butter, leading to a slightly smoked flavour that offset the dish and because of that, you hadn’t been able to sauté the onions long enough and thus they weren’t caramelised enough to compliment the beef. You continued muttering what had gone wrong with the dish to yourself, noting them down so that next time you could and would beat Seokjin at his own game.

“Hey, you okay?” Jimin asked and you snapped out of your daze, slightly startled by your best friend appearing out of nowhere. You looked around, brows knitting in bewilderment as you wonder just when you’d gotten to class. Had you been lost in your thoughts that long?

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. I was lost in my own head” You said as you popped your knives under the counter and slipped your apron on, washing your hands before taking your place at one of the many counters in the room, awaiting the chef’s arrival.

“It seemed like you were mumbling about food. Oh wait, today was your exam with Jin-hyung wasn’t it? I take it, it didn’t end well” Jimin says and you scowl at him.

“I forgot to salt the fucking meat. And as usual, perfect Kim Seokjin’s dish was faultless. So yeah, that ass won” You lament and Jimin’s face scrunched in concern.

“You did pass the exam though yes?” Jimin asked, worry laced in his tone and you quickly shot him an exasperated look. Of course, you had passed. Failure in exams resulted in expulsion, no questions asked.

That was the reason Big Hit Academy of Culinary Arts was the best culinary school in the entirety of Asia. Less than 5% of the students who enter graduate. The Head Chef’s at the school pushed until you were tired and pushed even more after. The academy had no place for people who couldn’t stand the heat of the kitchen nor the pressure or competition. And you’d be damned if you weren’t in the top 5% of graduates. Of course, graduating paid off handsomely. Graduates from Big Hit were guaranteed to get jobs in the most prestigious of restaurants across the world. The Big Hit name carried weight; hell, even if you made it to the third year before failing would guarantee you a job in a high class, albeit small restaurant.

“Jimin, if I failed, I wouldn’t be here. I passed the exam. I came second, after stupid Seokjin. I scored a 95 whereas he scored a perfect 100” You replied and Jimin beamed at you, his eyes scrunching up into half-moons.

“That’s great ____! You should be really proud of that” Jimin says cheerily but at the annoyance still carved in your face, he deflates, rolling his eyes at you in exasperation.

“It’s in 90s ____. Some people would kill for that score. Some people never even reach that boundary, you and Seokjin-hyung are the only two to consistently get scores over 90 so stop pouting. Besides, I don’t understand why you both still go head to head. You’re trained in completely different backgrounds. Of course, Jin-hyung was going to do better on the exam. He’s a rotisseur. Someone who is trained and specialised in cooking meat and savoury dishes. You’re a god damn pâtissier. You bake bread and make desserts. They’re two completely different ballparks” Jimin, forever the voice of reason, argues and you shrug.

“It’s just always been like that. Ever since we both entered this academy. Besides we didn’t always specialise in what we do now. There was a time when we both cooked whatever. We still do. We just tend to focus on our specialities more now. You know the best chefs are experts in all disciplines and masters in their own discipline,” You refute and Jimin nods, barely paying attention to you now.

“Please don’t throw Headmaster Bang’s words at me. I still can’t believe he does that exact same speech at the start of every year. But I guess you’re correct. Besides, according to everyone, including the head chefs, you both are the best chefs this academy has seen in years. It’s alright though, the next exam is a sweet based one isn’t it? He’s never beaten you on one of those,” Jimin says offhandedly, as he too starts preparing for class and you nod.

It was true.

Ever since you entered Big Hit Academy of Culinary Arts those three years ago, you and Seokjin had gone head to head countless – except of course you both kept count – of times. But it was almost predictable at this point. If the exam had anything to do with baked goods or desserts, you would score nothing less than a perfect 100. You were currently unrivalled in the academy when it came to desserts. However, the same could be said for Seokjin and any meat dishes. He too had yet to score less than a perfect 100 on any of his dishes that included meat. Hence, you both would win those respectively and those exams were almost predictable. However, there were anomalies. If either of you were in an exam for fish, sauces or any specific cuisines, it was anyone’s game. Sometimes Seokjin scored higher; sometimes you would. Hence, the two of you were tied at three hundred and fifty-seven wins each. That was until today. When Seokjin took the lead with his latest win.

You scowled once more.

Stupid Seokjin and his stupid pretty face and stupid cooking skills.

“Alright. Welcome to today’s exam. As mentioned before, the theme is Chantilly cream. You will find an assortment of ingredients at your counter. You may prepare whatever you want, so long as you only use the ingredients at your counter. You have two hours to complete your dishes. You may begin,” Head Chef Sejin calls out and you immediately begin looking at your ingredients. This was one of the hardest challenges; everyone was given ingredients and could prepare whatever you wanted. However, you were limited by your ingredient supply and variety.

Your eyes quickly scanned over all the ingredients; butter, flour, vanilla extract; strawberries; cream; chocolate; sugar. Damn no eggs. You discarded any recipe at the top of your head that would need eggs. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head and your eyes lit up with excitement. You quickly began gathering the ingredients before grabbing any equipment you’d need. You looked up briefly, taking in the sight of the other student chefs, panic etched into their faces. Your eyes fleetingly wandered over to Seokjin, who like you, had already begun grabbing ingredients. You scowled slightly before going through the recipe in your head.

You slowly began to work, beginning by creating your base. You submersed yourself into creating the dough, white dust puffing up in a cloud around you as you added the flour. Your shoulders relaxed, fingers moving in soft circles as you incorporated the butter into the flour. Briefly, you glanced up, slightly startled when you realised Seokjin was watching you work. As soon as your eyes made contact, he winked at you. You felt the vein in your head pop and immediately grew agitated. Sneering at him, you went back to focusing on your kneading, now a lot less gentle than before as you began pounding the dough, working out your frustration with Seokjin on it.

Realising the force behind your kneading, you quickly stopped, fearing that you’d overwork it resulting in a tough pastry. Wrapping it in clingfilm, you placed it into the fridge to cool before taking a deep breath. You wouldn’t allow Kim Seokjin to crawl under your skin. No matter how irritatingly handsome he was. Wait- where had that come from? You quickly shook your head, thinking over your recipe as you hurry to begin your next step lest you run out of time. You grabbed the strawberries, as needlessly red as Seokjin’s lips, chopping off the leaves before dumping them into a saucepan along with vanilla bean paste, a squeeze of orange juice and cinnamon. Your secret ingredients to enhance the flavour of the strawberry coulis and gain an edge over whatever Seokjin had planned.

You waited for the strawberry mixture to begin boiling, stirring continuously as it began to reduce. The task was mindless and involuntarily your thoughts wandered off to Seokjin, a frown marring your face. You couldn’t resist chancing another glance at him, brows furrowing when you realised he was placing cake tins into the oven. An eggless cake? You scoff haughtily. Most of the other students were also making eggless cakes. You turned your attention back to your saucepan, the strawberries were completely mushy and reduced, leaving a thick scarlet sauce. You grabbed a bowl and strained it, removing any clumps of skin or seeds and leaving a completely clear coulis. Placing it to the side, you checked your timer before grabbing your dough out of the fridge.

Moving onto your next step, you grabbed your previously abused dough from the fridge. The heels of your palm pressed into the soft, chilled dough as you began working it once again. Once you deemed it was ready, you grabbed the rolling pin and began rolling and folding it into what was to become your puff pastry. From your peripheral vision, you noticed that Seokjin was idly standing around, leaning against his counter in a completely relaxed position. Your brows furrowed, wondering just why he was sitting around doing nothing when the timer was still running. You cursed internally; why the hell were you so caught up in what Seokjin was doing? He was your rival. If he failed, it worked out better for you. But that didn’t sit well with you. You wanted to win on your own merit, wanted to be better than him because you were better; not because he threw the exam. You look up once again, locking eyes with him.

This time, when your eyes meet Seokjin simply stares. Against your will, you send him a questioning, albeit concerned look. Seokjin reels slightly in surprise before he composes himself. His hand moves and soon he’s blowing you a kiss causing you to roll your eyes at his antics. You hear the female students swoon, cheers surrounding the entire class causing you to roll your eyes. Seokjin simply ignored them, smirking at you before getting to work on whatever he needed to. Satisfied that he was taking this seriously, you turned back to your dough. Realising it was ready, the butter marbled perfectly through the flour; you wrapped it in cling film again before placing it in the fridge once again.

Taking a look at the timer, you realised you had just under an hour. Clearing up your counter hurriedly, you began preheating the oven. The last bits would undoubtedly be the easiest; just whip the cream with vanilla and sugar in order to satisfy the Chantilly cream requirement and you’d be golden. All of a sudden, your individual timer went off; you swiftly wipe your hands clean and pulled the dough from the fridge once again, this time rolling it out and cutting it into perfect rectangles, placing them into the oven. Then, you continued clearing up, realising Seokjin was doing the same.

Both of you had your bases in the oven, which meant, you’d both most likely finish around the same time. Although, he was a bit pressed for time. It’d most likely take him longer to assemble and decorate his cake than you would. You both had about forty-five minutes left. It was time to get serious. You pulled your pastry out of the oven, ensuring they were golden and crisp, but more importantly, cooked all the way through. You needed to cool them quick; you walked to the blast chiller, depositing your tray into the machine. You turned around and bumped into someone, immediately apologising before you looked up and realised it was Seokjin.

“Hey ____” Seokjin sing songs, looking down at you with a small smirk, his voice playful, and you instantly rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. You watch as he carefully places his tins into the machine, just under your tray. The two of you stay by the chiller, your arms crossed as you look around at all the other chefs, some of who were panicking as they ran out of time.

“Looks like we’re both going to be in the top again,” Seokjin says nonchalantly and you snort.

“When are we not at the top?” You snidely retort. It’s a rhetorical question considering both of you were always in the top and Seokjin knew that. Seokjin simply shrugs, looking back at you, his eyes glistening with something you just can’t seem to place. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume it was pride. But there was no reason for him to be proud of you. In fact, if it was pride, it’d mainly because he was proud of himself.

“So, what are you making? Didn’t look like a cake” Seokjin asks casually and you feel your eyebrow twitch. It seemed to do that a lot whenever he was involved.

“If you can’t tell then maybe you should just drop out” You sarcastically respond and Seokjin laughs in that squeaky, carefree way that he does, that leaves you wanting to punch him in the throat.

“Well I know you’re making a mille-feuille, I just thought you’d make something a bit more interesting, you know? I guess I overestimated your skills” Seokjin says nonchalantly and you can feel the nerve on your forehead throb in anger.

“Excuse me? Those are big words coming from someone making a cake” You retort and Seokjin shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe. But I’m not the pâtissier out of the two of us, am I?” He replies with a smirk and your fingers twitch, the urge to smack him coursing through your palms. How dare he? How dare he just come here and insult you like that!

“Anyway, my cakes should be cool now. See you at the end. Maybe I’ll win this round,” Seokjin says with a wink and your eyes widen before you let out an incredulous laugh.

“I don’t think so, Kim. You have yet to beat me when it comes to desserts” You replied smugly and Seokjin snickers, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“There’s a first time for everything. Maybe you’ll forget to add sugar to your dish, who knows” Seokjin taunts and you clench your jaw lest you scream at him.

That bastard.

As if you would ever make such a stupid mistake in your own discipline. That ass. One day you’d wipe that stupid smirk off of his stupidly pretty face. Really who was that stupidly pretty?!

You grab your tray from the blast chiller and stalk over to your counter, grumbling the entire time. You’d show him. You quickly whip up the Chantilly cream, ensuring it’s stiff but light and flavoured just right before you carefully begin assembling your mille-feuille. You place the first pastry layer on the presentation dish, dusting it with a light coating of icing sugar before pipping on the cream over, garnishing with the strawberries and drizzling a sparing layer of the coulis. Not too much; just enough to enhance the flavour but not enough to turn the pastry, that you worked so hard into making crispy and flaky, soggy. You continue layering until you hit the third and last layer.

You place the pastry gently on top, making sure all the edges line up. When satisfied, you pipe small dollops of cream, topping them off with strawberries and mint leaves to add some vibrant colours to your dish. You quickly glance at the time, smiling when you realise you have just enough to finish with a light dusting of icing sugar and cinnamon and then clear up so your counter is sparklingly clean. You finish up quickly and then gently cover up your dish. It’s a beautiful concoction of reds, greens, whites and golden brown. The dessert almost makes your mouth water and you know you’re sure to pass. It may not be extravagant but it was perfect.

“A minute left. Please start bringing your dishes up” Head Chef Sejin calls out and you grab your dish, walking up to the judges. You place yours down and bow, the chefs all smiling at you. From the corner of your eye, you see Seokjin bring up his own dish and briefly, very, very briefly you wonder what would happen if you just tripped him up. However, both of you believed in the integrity of healthy competition and neither of you had ever sabotaged each other before. So instead, you just glared at the huge expanse of the back of his shoulders as he walked up to the table, placing his own dish down.

Soon, other students began bringing up their dishes and you winced slightly at some of them. Even now, in the third year, people made stupid mistakes when cooking. It was why these exams took place, to put people under the time pressure and stress they’d face when in the kitchen of their own restaurants someday. One person had forgotten to cool down their cake and thus the cream was slowly melting. It seemed like another hadn’t had enough time to cook their cake, causing it to collapse in the middle. You grimaced at those two; a mishap that big was sure to lead in failure and as a result expulsion.

Sadly, Seokjin’s cake was as beautiful as your mille-feuille, with pristine piping, delectable, soft-looking peaks of Chantilly cream and a vibrant array of fruit from kiwis to summer berries. There wasn’t much you could fault him for in his presentation. Even when compared to your perfect dessert. The deciding factor would be the taste. You were sure of it.

The judging process slowly began, and slowly people were eliminated. The two who had panicked had received 0s like you had predicted. Other than that, the lowest score was 46 and the highest so far 78. And then, Head Chef Sejin looked at you and Seokjin. He regarded you both with smiles and you immediately feel nervous. Chef Sejin was currently the best pâtissier in Asia and he was your idol. No matter how many times he judged and approved of your work, you still got nervous, hoping it was up to his expectations.

“I take it you two are competing again?” Head Chef Sejin asks and both you and Seokjin nod, causing Chef Sejin to laugh. Your rivalry with Seokjin was widely known throughout the school, most people anticipating it. The Head Chefs even actively encouraged the friendly competition, sometimes pitting other students against each other in order to drive them further and give them a purpose, a reason to excel and do better than they already could. Of course, you and Seokjin had been non-stop competing for three years now.

“Alright then, Seokjin, I believe you are the current winner, from your last exam? Would you like to go first?” Chef Sejin asks and Seokjin nods. You watch with bated breath as Chef Sejin cuts up the cake, the judges oohing at the soft, airy texture of the sponge. How he managed that without eggs, you’d forever be surprised but you wouldn’t dare openly compliment him. The judges begin tasting small bites, all smiling and noting down their scores. They quickly look at each other, discussing the results and then Chef Sejin smiles at Seokjin.

“Truly, a beautiful sponge. Airy and soft, despite the lack of eggs provided. How did you manage this?” Chef Sejin asks and Seokjin smiles.

“I substituted the butter for oil to give the sponge a lighter texture and added both baking soda and baking powder with a little bit of lemon juice react with the two powders to make it airier,” Seokjin says simply and the corner of your lip twitches. Damn him.

“Ah, of course. A wonderful job, and 98, the highest score of the class so far. And now for ____ 's mille-feuille” Chef Sejin compliments Seokjin before looking at you kindly; however, your shoulders stiffen. That was an awfully high score. It meant you now had to score a 99 or perfect 100 in order to beat him. You could feel the hairs on your spine stand as you anxiously awaited the judging of your own dessert. You were almost sure it was perfect, to you it was. And granted, you’d never scored anything less than a perfect on a dessert or bread dish. But Seokjin was right. There was a first time for everything.

There could be a number of times in the future when your dish wouldn’t score a perfect. Today could be one of those times. You watched with bated breath as the judges cut up your mille-feuille, the pastry crackling under the knife before it glided through the cream and fruit. You sucked in a deep breath, watching as the judges daintily put a spoonful of the pastry and cream into their mouths. It was as if time moved slowly. Every chew, every ooh and ah. The palpitating of your heart pounded in your eardrums, your palms behind your back sweaty, wrists wringing nervously. Chef Sejin placed his fork down and then the judges began writing down their own scores. You can feel Seokjin near you but you’re too tense to even give him a second thought. You don’t notice the way he looks at you, a knowing look on his face. You don’t notice the way he lets out a small, displeased sigh before shaking his head.

“Once again ____, you’ve outdone yourself. This was… absolutely perfect. The texture of the pastry was crumbly and flaky, cooked to perfection. The cream soft but stiff and the sweetness of the strawberries are cut beautifully by the cinnamon and tanginess of the orange in the coulis. Truly a masterpiece. Congratulations, another perfect 100” Chef Sejin compliments and you release your breath, grinning brightly at the older man despite your still shaky hands. You quickly bow in thanks, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you beam with pride. The chefs thank all the students before they begin leaving. You spin on your heels, grinning at Seokjin.

“Well, Seokjin. That brings us both to three hundred and fifty-eight. I believe that means it’s another tie. Of course, I’ll be sure to win the next round” You say and Seokjin looks down at you, his face blank. Your fists clench slightly because despite his blank expression, you can still see the slight disappointment in his eyes and you know it’s not because he lost.

“Any first-year could have made that. Like I said, I was hoping for something more. Besides, win? Lose? Who cares, at the end of the day, I still have this face. Therefore, who is the real winner here?” Seokjin says and with that, he walked away. You can feel your cheeks and ears burn with rage, your fists clenched on either side of your body. And that was exactly why you’d never compliment him on anything, his dishes, his looks or anything. Because not once, not a single time had he ever admitted your dishes were good or that you had done well. All he ever did was criticise you and your work.

God, you hated him.

Storming into your apartment, you slam the door shut, the vibrations reverberating through the room. You stomp into the living room, throwing your stuff haphazardly onto the sofa before making your way into your bedroom. You let out a frustrated scream, flinging yourself into the bed before kicking your legs rather childishly. You could not believe him. Where did he get off telling you that any first-year could have made your mille-feuille? It was perfect! You’d pay any first-year 500,000 won if they could replicate it!

You scowl into your pillow, eyes narrowed as your blood boils at the thought of Seokjin’s words. He was honestly so full of himself. You couldn’t wait to triumph over him and put him in his place. Granted, it would only last for a short time. But still! You were determined to come out on top. His words flash through your head once again and you let out another scream, this time muffled by your pillow. You grabbed your pillow and threw it against the wall, finally working out most of your frustration.

You sat up with a groan, a scowl still on your face. Your shoulders were tense and your back ached from standing up all day cooking. A shower, you decide, was the best course to work off not only the day’s grime but also to calm you down. You tut slightly at yourself, reprimanding yourself for allowing Seokjin to work you up so much. Getting off your bed, you stripped down to just your panties, exhaling with relief as soon as your breasts were out of the wretched cage that was your bra.

Stepping into the en-suite bathroom, you turned the shower on, letting it heat up for a few minutes before stepping in. With a loud sigh, you let the hot water run along your body. The heat of the water, powered with the steam, slowly worked your exhaustion and frustration out. You felt your sore muscles slowly relaxing, rolling your shoulders to remove the kinks. You lathered your body in soap, allowing the loofa to gently exfoliate your skin. It was almost ritualistic, with each stroke you could feel your ire at Seokjin slowly decreasing.

You spend another fifteen minutes under the shower, letting the hot water run over your body. Finally, when your fingers start pruning, you decide to step out. Wrapping a large fluffy terry cloth towel around yourself, you pad bag into your bedroom. As much as the shower has helped, you still can’t help but feel the slightest bit of tension persist in your muscles. Your eyes flick to beside your bed and you make a split-second decision.

Crawling in bed, you made yourself comfy. You slowly unwrapped the towel from your body, dropping it to the floor. You shivered slightly, your nipples hardening from the cool air. The difference in temperate from the steamy bathroom to your cool bedroom was highly noticeable, especially considering you were completely naked. You relaxed further, sinking into your bed as you’re hand slowly drifted down to your stomach, working your way towards your naked sex. Your body was already slowly heating up and you can no longer register the chill of the room against your still slightly damp body.

Your fingers circled your belly button, your skin prickling under the sensation as you gradually lose yourself in the pleasurable haze, your breath hitching. Without a second thought, your hand slowly worked down towards your wettening pussy, letting out a low groan when your hand brushed lightly against your clit, the small bundle of nerves hardening against your hand. You loosely played with your slit, a finger barely dipping in before pulling out, spreading your wetness all over your lips.

You bit your lip at the sensation, needing more but wanting to draw out the feeling. Involuntarily, you rolled your hips, trying to get more friction against your hands, your breathing heavy now. Unconsciously, one of your hands moved to your breast and your eyes immediately slipped shut. You imagined a faceless man, with dark hair and broad shoulders hovering over you. You imagined it was his hand playing with your nipple instead, rolling your breast in his palms before flicking the nipple with his thumb. Vaguely, the man you’d imagined looked familiar to you, but in your lust induced haze, you didn’t care.

You moved your second hand to your other breast, lightly squeezing and massaging, pinching one nipple between your thumb and forefinger as the other continued rolling your other nipple. You let out a shuddering breath, hips now grinding against the bed as you pussy cried out for attention, weeping with your arousal. Your nipple aches against the hand pinching it, the delicious pain only making you cry out weakly at the sensation. You squeeze harder, twisting slightly and moaning at the sharper pain before releasing it. Desire burned in your veins, imagining the man squeezing even harder, wishing his puffy pink lips could wrap around them. Pink lips? When did the faceless man have lips?

Your mind floods with fervour, mouth dry as if all your wetness seeped from it towards your aching cunt. A wanton cry escapes your lips, your sex crying out to be touched, to give it some friction and relieve the ache deep within your cunt. You raise your knees slightly before spreading your thighs almost obscenely, shivering at the sensation of the cold air against your hot, needy pussy. Your fingers flit against the soft flesh of your sensitive thighs. You’re so close and you curse yourself for drawing out the pleasure for this long. You still imagine the man is over you; it’s him that’s teasing you and you now find yourself cursing him.

You gingerly move your fingers to your folds, back arching slightly. Your nerves are afire, your lust seeping into every pore in your body. Fingers slowly splay your pussy open, and you imagine it’s the faceless man’s crooked fingers instead of your own, shuddering once again at the cold air. The heady, musky scent of your arousal fills the room. Every one of your senses is clogged by desire; your arousal is so thick that you can both smell and taste it. You can feel the stickiness between your legs, your juices coating your thighs and you can hear the slight squelching of your pussy lips.

A prolonged, needy groan escapes your throat as your fingers finally come into contact with your hard clit. Your middle finger pushed down, pressing into the bundle and you exhale breathily, rolling it under the pad of your fingertip. Your finger slowly pushed down, spreading your lips and wetness coating your pussy before you curl your finger back towards your bud. You cry out again and again as you work your clit over and over again but you need more.

You blindly reach over to your bedside table, opening the draw as you continue playing with your clit. You open the drawer, reaching inside and feeling around until you touch the cool plastic of your vibrator ring. You claw at it, grabbing it before reluctantly removing your hand from your clit. You slip the ring onto your finger, before switching it on. Your hand hastily moves back to your sex and you cry out at the low reverberations of the vibrator strumming against your clit, eyes almost rolling back.

Your pussy is on fire, clenching and unclenching uncontrollably; your abdomen flips and tightens, your orgasm slowly nearing. But you’re still missing something. You let the vibrator rest against your clit, stimulating you over and over again, your heart beating rapidly, thundering in your ears. You suddenly plunge one finger into you, mewling at the sensation, imagining it was the man’s long crooked fingers instead, while simultaneously wishing your fingers were longer. Slowly, you press a second finger into you, wincing at the stretch before your mouth gapes open in pleasure. You imagine it’s the faceless man who is rapidly sinking two fingers into you, his plush lips pulled into a small smirk, nose slightly scrunched and strong, thick eyebrows furrowed as he brings you the most pleasure you’ve had in a while. You’re too lost in your own pleasure to even realise the faceless man’s features slowly forming.

Your cunt feels like velvet, gripping and rippling against your fingers, leaking with your arousal. Your hips grind down against your hand, thrusting into them as you force your clit harder against the vibrating ring, trying to press your fingers deeper into your cunt. You press a third finger in, wincing even more at the stinging sensation and the stretch but you need more and so you persevere against the pain, pushing deeper and deeper until your pussy swallows all three of your fingers. You almost shriek, pistoning them in harder, in and out, repetitively.

You grind harder and harder, moaning and groaning, eyes rolling back into your skull as you pant. Your orgasm is so close. Your pussy is dripping all over your hand and you’re sure you’ve left a slight puddle of your juices on your bedsheets but you don’t care. You push your hips harder once again and curl your fingers, pressing the pad against the rough skin of your g-spot. The overwhelming sensations of your thrusting fingers against the spongy highly sensitised skin inside you paired with the vibration against your clit has your legs trembling.

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher until finally, you release. You let out a stuttering scream. Your orgasm ricochets through you faster than you can process. You cry out louder, chasing your high and riding your fingers. Your walls ripple uncontrollably against your fingers, savouring the touch and high as you tremble and quake violently, legs spasming as you press the vibrator harder against your clit. You let the tide of your climax wash through you, carrying you along with the wave and drowning you in intoxication until you finally pull out, the sensitivity in your cunt too much to handle.

You breathe heavily, the buzzing of the vibrator still continuous as you come down from your high. You pant, your skin flushed and tingling from the post aftershocks of your orgasm, your sweat matted hair sticking to your forehead. Your brain slowly adjusts, pulling itself out of the lust-filled cloud it had found itself in. The man slowly faded from your mind’s eye. You let out a satiated sigh, wondering just who you had been imagining. Deciding not to dwell too much of it however, you slowly pull yourself under the covers, allowing sleep to take you.

It’s a week later when you see him. The exam period had ended and once again, the two of you were tied at three hundred and ninety-six each. You were getting frustrated which each and every win and loss. The balance had to tip in someone’s favour. You couldn’t keep winning and losing against him forever. You couldn’t tie forever. Someone had to give. You’re currently stood in the assembly area; you and the rest of the third-year students all gathered. A slight sense of dread fills you. You have no idea why you’ve all been gathered together, but it cannot be good. Headmaster Bang was known for throwing loops into the student’s schedules; planning hard tasks after exams to weed out the worst chefs and to have the top of the top chefs further excel.

“____!” Jimin called, running up to you with Jungkook and Taehyung in tow. You waved and smiled at the two of them. You were glad they had made it passed the exams. Jimin, was your best friend; the two of you as thick as thieves since your first class when Jimin had somehow preheated the oven too high, resulting in the glass shattering from heat and pressure. Don’t get it wrong, Jimin was a wonderful chef, albeit a bit clumsy. His own speciality was spice. The boy could create spicy foods that had your mouth screaming and your throat burning and yet you couldn’t help but spoon more mouthfuls as it was just that addicting. Jungkook was a ramen specialist. Give the boy some noodles and an array of ingredients and he could create a bountiful concoction of savoury flavours that would make anyone’s mouths water. Including yours. And finally, there was poor Taehyung.

You weren’t even sure how he’d managed to progress to the third year. He wasn’t bad per se but he wasn’t Academy level either. But somehow, he’d survived to the third year. His foods couldn’t rival with the top of the academy, but there was something about Taehyung’s food. It tasted like home. Kind of like a mother’s love. Homey and comforting. It may not have been perfect and he may not be at the top of the academy, but it was his. A style completely unique to Taehyung. The kind of comfort food you crave when sick or hungover, the food you crave after a broken heart, the food you crave when you miss home or your family. Soul food. That was Taehyung’s speciality.

The four of you stood quietly chatting amongst yourselves, wondering what Headmaster Bang had prepared for the third-year students. You continue looking around, realising that the exams had resulted in even more expulsions. At the start of your third year, there were roughly three hundred students still left and now, there were only about half of that, maybe a few more. The hair at the nape of your neck stands on edge and you feel the presence of someone behind you. You quickly turn around, yelping when you come face to chest with someone. You look up and almost growl when you’re met with Seokjin’s face. He’s surrounded by his best friends, Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi.

“Is there a reason you’re so close to me, asshole?” You scorn and Seokjin smirks down at you.

“Awfully hostile today, aren’t we ____?” Seokjin jests and you feel your eyebrow begin to twitch. Honestly, at this point, it was almost like a reflex whenever he was concerned.

“Can we not have a single time when we meet that you both don’t fight?” Namjoon asks and you pout. Namjoon was similar to Taehyung, as in no one had any idea how he’d managed to make it into the third year with next to no cooking skills. He was clumsy, often hurt himself in the kitchen and made stupid mistakes like the time he put his hand in boiling water to check if his udon noodles were done. However, if there was one thing Namjoon was good at, it was leading. He was incredibly intelligent with vast amounts of charisma and patience, all which made him excellent at any leadership role. Consequently, that was why he was training to be a restaurant manager rather than a chef. The boy couldn’t cook to save his life, but no one could run and lead a restaurant better than he could.

“He started it!” You childishly reply and Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head while Yoongi huffs.

“You’re not six ____,” Yoongi reprimands and once again you pout. Yoongi was a master fermenter. Anything from alcohol to cheeses, if you could ferment it, Yoongi would master it and ensure that anything he fermented was the highest quality.

“It’s not like Jin-hyung doesn’t act six himself whenever ____ is concerned” Hoseok defends and you quickly send him an appreciative glance, causing him to wink at you. Hoseok, for as bright and bubbly as he was, was a demon in the kitchen. Specifically, if it included seafood. He could butcher a hanging monkfish with precision unlike any other and deshell and plate a lobster blindfolded. The man was legendary when it came to seafood.

See the worst thing about Seokjin, were his friends. Not because you hated them or anything, your rivalry was with Seokjin and Seokjin only. Your hatred stemmed from the fact that they were also your friends. The issue was that both his friendship group and yours were pretty damn integrated, meaning that even outside of class you had to sometimes see and interact with him. Although, most of those interactions ended up with either the both of you challenging each other to another cook-off or you screaming and stomping away from how ridiculously annoying he could be. Before either you or Seokjin can retaliate, you notice everyone begin to stand straighter. You quickly turn back around to the podium, watching all the academy head chefs begin bowing as Headmaster Bang walks onto the stage. You take a deep breath, steeling in all your nerves for whatever he was about to announce.

“Good afternoon. You’re all probably wondering why, just after your last exams, I’ve gathered all third years here. Well, that is because passing those exams means that you are one step closer to your goals. Graduating from Big Hit Academy of Culinary Arts. For decades, my family has cultivated the best chefs in Asia through this academy. This academy has a reputation for producing the best of the best. However, that comes at a price. The exams are increasingly difficult and any failures result in immediate expulsion. However, this process has led to the production of world-class chef graduates. Congratulations to all of you who have made it here today. But, your assessment doesn’t end there. With the end of your exams, comes your next challenge” Headmaster Bang begins and as soon as the words leave his mouth, you hear everyone begin to groan.

“You are all third years, soon to graduate. However, we cannot let you graduate without first-hand experience of working in a restaurant. Therefore, you will all be paired up and placed in a restaurant for a week. Each restaurant has a different passing criterion, meaning the condition to pass in one restaurant will be different from the condition to pass in another. Anyone who fails to meet their criteria will fail and be expelled. Pairings are based on your performance within the academy within the last three years. Now, we will begin calling out your pairings along with the restaurant you will be working at” Headmaster Bang concludes and you let out a little sigh, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to catch a break for the next week at least.

Your small group of friends listen as names are called out along with pairings. Namjoon and Taehyung are paired together, which makes sense considering both of them somehow fail half their classes; Namjoon due to his lack of cooking skills – knowledge only helps so much – and Taehyung because of how nervous he can get during exams. Jimin and Hoseok are also paired off together with Yoongi and Jungkook making up another pair. You snicker slightly, wondering which idiot would be stuck with Seokjin considering all your friends are now paired up. You grin mirthfully when Headmaster Bang calls out Seokjin’s name, listening eagerly for the name of his poor, poor partner.

“Kim Seokjin and _____ _____, you will be in Hunan, a small Chinese restaurant. Please see head chef Hobeom for details” Headmaster Bang calls out and you immediately pale when your name is called out. Now that you thought about it, of course, it was you. Your grades were only matched by Seokjin so of course, it was you who was his poor, poor partner.

“Well, guess it’s you and me partner” You hear Seokjin snigger against your ear and immediately feel despair wash over you at his overly pleased tone.

This was, undoubtedly, going to be the worst week of your life.

A couple days later, you find yourself staring curiously at the restaurant your challenge would be taking place at. The academy had arranged for you and Seokjin to stay in a nearby hotel considering the restaurant was pretty far from campus. However, the more you look at the restaurant, the more you’re confused. It’s completely empty. At first, you had thought that perhaps it was just closed; but that wasn’t the case. The sign read open, the lights were on and you could see the staff milling about idly inside, doing nothing as they stared out the window. You frowned slightly before checking the time. It read 7:30pm, which was prime time for a restaurant to be busy. You looked around, the streets were bustling and other restaurants were full of happy customers. So why was this one completely empty?

“Weird isn’t it? I wonder why it’s empty” a voice says from right beside your ear and you immediately jump, almost screaming at the sudden presence of someone next to you. Seokjin lets out a shrill laugh, shoulders shaking as he watches you glare at him.

“Don’t fucking do that you ass!” You reprimand with a glower, Seokjin shrugging.

“Not my fault you weren’t paying attention. I did say hi, you just weren’t listening” Seokjin says and a small part of you wants to slap him but you know that won’t get you anywhere. So instead, you take a deep breath and calm yourself down.

“Whatever. Let’s go” You say, approaching the restaurant. The two of you enter, the staff immediately standing with bright, hopeful grins as one of the wait staff approaches both of you with menus.

“Hello! Welcome to Hunan! Table for two?” The man asks with a bright smile. So, the emptiness of the restaurant didn't have anything to do with the customer service then. You look at him sheepishly before bowing.

“We apologise, we’re not here to dine. We’re the students from Big Hit Academy, we’re here to work in your restaurant for a week” You say apologetically and the staff deflate immediately.

“I see. Let me go get the owner” The waiter says and you nod before watching him disappear into the back. A couple moments later, he returns, this time with a young, slender woman.

“Hello! You must be ____ and Seokjin! Thank you so much for coming. I’m Wei Meilin, but you can call me Mei. I’m both the owner and the chef of Hunan” She says, greeting you both with a bow. You and Seokjin both introduce yourselves with a small bow too.

“How can we help you?” Seokjin asks and Mei sighs, looking around forlornly.

“As you can see, my restaurant is completely empty. This has been happening for a while actually. You see, I was gifted this restaurant by my parents because it’s been my lifelong dream to own an authentic Chinese restaurant. It’s even in a prime location and the restaurant is newly renovated. But I can’t seem to draw in customers at all. That’s where you guys come in. I need help to bring in customers” Mei says and you immediately blanch. So, your entire challenge was to prevent a restaurant from going bankrupt and closing down? How the hell were you supposed to do that?

“We’ll try our hardest! But first, do you have any idea why the restaurant could be failing?” Seokjin asks and you gape at him, completely agog. Did he really believe there was a chance the two of you could save this place? You were just students, granted at the top of your class in the best culinary academy in Asia, but still, this seemed almost like an impossible task.

“Honestly, it could just be due to the competition. When I first opened, we had customers who wanted to try the new restaurant and business was good at first. But considering there are a number of Chinese restaurants around here, we just started losing customers until it became like this” Mei says, looking slightly downcast. Your heart gripes for her and you send her a reassuring smile, solidifying your resolve.

“We’ll help you in any way we can! By the end of this week, your restaurant will be back on its feet!” You say, determination sparkling in your eyes. Mei’s eyes widen and she immediately nods, fists balling up as she pumps them.

“I’ll show you both to the kitchen! I don’t know how I can help you because I’ve tried everything, but if you have any ideas please let me know! I’ll be in the office going over the books” Mei says before leaving you and Seokjin to yourselves. As soon as she leaves, you let out a sigh; glowering at Seokjin.

“What’s your issue?” Seokjin asks causing you to frown.

“What do you mean what’s my issue? Do you honestly think we could do this?” You ask and Seokjin’s left eyebrow rises.

“You’re the one who promised we’d get the restaurant back on its feet” Seokjin points out.

“Only because you said we’d try our hardest! We’re students, how are we supposed to stop a restaurant going bankrupt?” You snapped.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? Because this is our task. If we don’t complete it, we fail and both get expelled. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be expelled when graduation is so near” Seokjin says simply and immediately your anger deflates, knowing he was correct.

“Uh whatever, let’s just figure out the problem” You replied, taking a seat at one of the counters. Seokjin takes a seat beside you, flicking through the recipe book Mei had most likely left out for the two of you to browse through.

“Could it be the menu?” You asked curiously, peering over his shoulder to peep at the different recipes.

“No,” Seokjin says, shutting your question down immediately. You clench your fists, ire rising as you grow agitated at his short response. However, you take a deep breath, knowing that you needed to somehow work with him in order to complete the test set by your academy.

“And why is that? You grit out and Seokjin shows you Mei’s recipes. You quickly skim through them, a small frown marring your face when you reach the end.

“See? Her recipes are good. In fact, they’re great. Any of these dishes would be wonderfully flavoured. The spices are harmonious with each other and if the meat or vegetables are cooked to perfection, then she should have no issue with her actual food. It’s not the menu that’s the problem” Seokjin says matter of factly and you grimace.

“Yes, thank you, I’m not completely incompetent, I got that” You mutter under your breath even though you know he can hear you.

“Never said you were incompetent” Seokjin deadpans.

“You’ve never said I was competent either” You rebuke, Seokjin’s mouth quirks slightly before he shrugs you off. You sincerely hated how much he did that.

“If it’s not the menu, then maybe the location?” You ask and once again Seokjin shoots you down as soon as the words escape your lips.

“No. This is a prime location, she shouldn’t have problems with it, especially enough to be a completely deserted restaurant. You saw the number of people outside. The streets were busy” Seokjin recounts. You clench your fists tight, nails digging into your palms as he once again shuts you down.

“Then it has to be the competition like she said” You grit out through clenched teeth. This time Seokjin sighs, looking at you stoically.

“No. There are multiple Chinese restaurants, they’re all competing with each other. Why is it only Hunan that’s completely empty? It doesn’t make sense” Seokjin says calmly and this time, your fists bang into the table, startling him.

“What’s wrong?” Seokjin asks as you glower at him.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?! You! That’s what’s wrong. You keep shutting down my suggestions. If it’s not any of that then what could be the issue? Considering you keep saying no to my suggestions, it means you have to know right? You know what’s wrong? Because you’re so much better than me. So, go on. What is it? What’s the problem Mr-I’m-Better-Than-You? Tell me so you can brag about how you figured it out before me and gloat about how much better of a chef than me you are” You finally blow up, unable to contain yourself anymore. Seokjin reels, baulking at you.

“Where is this coming from? Firstly, I’m not shutting you down, I’m just telling you that it couldn’t be the problems you raised. Was I being difficult or unreasonable? Or did I not give you valid reasons as to why the issues with the restaurant couldn’t be what you thought? Secondly, I have never once said I was better than you, nor have I ever thought it, so I have no idea where you got those ideas from” Seokjin says calmly and you let out a humourless laugh.

“Oh please. Don’t act like you haven’t. Of course, you think you’re better than me. That’s why you never compliment my dishes, that’s why we have this stupid rivalry where we continuously try to beat each other. Because you think you’re better than me. Because you think my desserts and dishes suck. Because you think your cooking is better than mine!” You exploded, pointing an accusatory finger at Seokjin.

"Is that why you think I don't compliment your dishes? Have you really deluded yourself that much that you think I don't compliment you because I'm better than you?" Seokjin questions, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity marring his face.

"Well, what else could it be? You always look disappointed every time I score higher on an exam. That's the reason for our rivalry, right? Because you're upset I beat you even though you think you're a better chef than I am?" You scoff. Seokjin shakes his head, letting out a little exasperated sigh.

"Is that the reason you're always so hostile towards me? Because you think that I think I'm better than you?" Seokjin asks, tone calm as he looks at you, completely bewildered.

"I mean... yes? Why else?" You say, now more confused than angry. Why was he just randomly bringing this up? What else could it have been? Your entire rivalry stemmed from how much he grated your nerves. From how he thought he was better than you. It's the reason you had started competing all those years ago. No one rubbed you the wrong way like Seokjin did.

"Okay. Well, let's get something straight. I don't think I'm better than you. Nor have I ever thought that. That's not the reason I'm disappointed nor is that the reason for our rivalry, at least not in my case. I don't understand how you've managed to twist this so much. Here I thought you got mad because we always drew or because we've always been around the same level and you wanted to do better than me. But clearly, that's not the case. If I had realised it earlier, I would have set you straight" Seokjin says; your brows immediately furrow, your back straightening as you regard him with scepticism.

"Well, then what's the reason?" You snap impatiently. You watch as Seokjin's shoulder slump slightly before he turns back to the menu, flicking through it idly.

"I have never once thought that you were beneath me, or that I was better than you. In fact, it's the opposite. I consider us both equals. You, as a chef, are entirely on my level. No one else could rival me the way you do, no one else could keep up with me the way you do. That's the reason I compete with you. Because you keep me on my toes. Because you make me a better chef. I like competing with you because you inspire me to do better, to make my dishes that bit more delicious, to make them a bit more appetising. No one motivates me like you do. No one makes me want to cook or be a better chef than you do" Seokjin starts and with each and every one of his words you're left astounded.

You're completely speechless, unable to reply or even say anything. Because really, what could you say to that? The entire time he speaks, he doesn't look at you but you see his ears turn from their lightly tanned shade to a bright red; a clear sign that he's embarrassed, even if it's not apparent on his face. You startle slightly, since when did you pay enough attention to Kim Seokjin to be able to read him like that?

"And the reason behind my disappointment every time you score higher has nothing to do with me thinking someone worse than me beat me. It's everything to do with how despite the fact that I consider you to be on my level, you have no faith in yourself. Have you ever realised how much you rely on others to compliment your dishes? How much you care about what the Head Chef's think? Okay sure, their words mean something as they're examining us. But it's like… if they said anything bad about your dish that you'd completely fall apart. You're entirely too reliant on what other people think of your desserts and I don’t like that. It disappoints me that my rival, someone who can keep up with me, someone I consider equal to me, cares so much about another person’s opinion. It annoys me that you don't have confidence in your own dishes" Seokjin continues; you take in a sharp breath, nervously shifting now. He turns towards you, staring at you straight and making you gulp.

There's a certain fire behind his eyes, a slight intensity that has you on edge. Because you know he's right. You never were confident in your dishes. You always focused too much on the what ifs. What if it was overly sweetened? What if you hadn't whipped the cream to perfection. What if you overworked the dough and the bread turned out to be hard and chewy rather than soft and fluffy like you wanted it? Often, you were held back by your own securities. Sometimes, you'd panic during exams and need to take a deep breath even though history has proven that you were at the top of Big Hit Academy. That is unless Seokjin was involved. The epiphany comes as a slight shock to you.

"Except for when you're in an exam with me. You're never as sure in your own dishes unless you're up against me. You're always confident and you believe that you can score a better grade than me. That makes me happy. It makes me happy that somehow you have enough confidence in yourself to trash talk and tell me that you're the better chef. But then the judging begins, and you turn back into that anxious ball of stress, so worried that you may not score high enough or that you may fail. Why is that? Why do you, the joint top chef with me, worry so much about failing? When have you ever scored a grade lower than a 90? I hate it. I hate that you rely on others opinions. Yes, as chefs we cook for other people. But what do other people's opinions matter when you're not confident in your own dessert or own dish? You need to learn to rely on yourself. You're only ever confident with me because your annoyance for me apparently outweighs your insecurities. But I want to see that in you always, in any exam. I want to see you be more confident in yourself, as a chef" Seokjin finishes and you're entirely blown away by his sudden tangent.

Your heart is palpitating in your chest as you realise that Seokjin was entirely correct. You were only ever confident with him, how had you never realised that? But more importantly, how much had Seokjin been paying attention to you to have realised that before even you had? You think back to all the times you had caught Seokjin watching you during any exams you'd both had together. Previously, you'd always believed that he was trying to unnerve you or trying to get under your skin, but now you wonder if he was simply watching you. If he was simply learning about you. You have no idea why, but the thought of it causes your heart to race even quicker, your face heating up.

"I- I didn't know that" You replied quietly, unable to look him in the eye. For three years you had hated Seokjin because you thought that he mocked you. Because you thought he thought he was better than you. You had always considered your rivalry something where you had to beat him, where you had to come up on top. Never had you thought of it like Seokjin had; as a way to make you a better chef. But now that you thought about it, it was true. Just like Seokjin, no one motivated you to do better. You always wanted to beat him and in doing so, you always wanted to experiment and strive to be a better chef. For three years you had hated Seokjin for reasons you had clearly deluded yourself into believing. But now, that wasn't the case. You had no idea what to say or how to respond.

"It's late. Why don't we call it a night?" You suddenly say, pushing your chair back as you abruptly get up. Seokjin jerks at the sound of your chair scraping against the linoleum tiled floor. He watches as you run out the kitchen, brows furrowed, wanting to call out to you. But you’re long gone.

You hurriedly walked through the restaurant, bowing to the servers and staff before quickly exiting. You take in a deep breath, Seokjin's words running through your head at a mile a minute. Your hand moves to your chest, palm flat as you try and still your racing heart. Confusion clouds your every fibre, as you ponder his words. Really what the hell was his problem? How dare he simply confuse you like that? You had spent three years hating him and now what? You knew very well that you couldn't hate him, not when he confessed that he didn't think he was better than you. Because now your hate isn’t justified and if you continued being hostile, it’d just be because you were being petty. You take another deep breath, once again trying to still your rapidly beating heart to no avail. Why did he have to mess you up and confuse you like that? And why the hell was your heart racing so much?

Damn Kim Seokjin.

He really was an ass.

The next day you walk into the restaurant, this time a lot calmer than you had been the night before when you'd all but run out on Seokjin after his confession. You hadn't even waited for him to join you, instead, racing back to the hotel as quickly as you could. You were still somewhat confused about where you now stood with Seokjin. You'd hated him for years and you knew you couldn't just continue hating him. Not when he had inadvertently made you a better chef than you thought. But you couldn't suddenly be best friends with him either, thus leaving you in a weird place where he was concerned. So, with determination coursing through your veins, you decide that you'd be civil. You enter the kitchen, noting that Seokjin is already there. Once again, he has the restaurant's recipe book out but this time, you note, he also has other pieces of scrap paper around him.

"Hey," Seokjin greets and you smile shortly, greeting him back. A large part of you feels completely awkward; this is foreign ground. You'd never been civil to Seokjin, much less had a pleasant conversation with him. But now, looking back at it, that was more your own fault than anything considering you’d usually be the first to get agitated. Of course, it didn't help that Seokjin taunted you either. But more often than not, you'd be the one who'd start the arguments.

"Hi. What's this?" You ask, pointing towards the papers littered around him. The words are slightly stilted and your tone more than awkward but you remind yourself that you'd be polite and try and work things out with him.

"I visited a few restaurants nearby and took some notes. I think I figured out the problem" Seokjin says. You look at him with wide eyed wonder, quickly approaching him. You skim through the pieces of paper around him, realising they have restaurant names and then a few dishes under the name. With a frown, you realise that on each piece of paper there's one dish name circled.

"What's the issue?" You ask, taking a seat next to him.

"Signature dishes. Each and every restaurant around here has a signature dish that their restaurant specialises in. Hunan doesn't have that. I think that's the issue. A lot of the dishes between each restaurant are the same as Hunan's. But the others have a speciality that draws their customers in" Seokjin explains and your eyes bug out of your skull.

“That makes sense! That’s probably why other people are drawn to the other restaurants. If most of the menu is the same, there’s no reason to go to one over the other. But having a signature dish gives a restaurant a certain edge because no one can replicate that specific dish” You quickly respond, catching onto Seokjin’s explanation.

“Exactly and therefore since Hunan doesn’t have one, there’s no reason to come here. Especially when they could get any dishes on this menu at the other restaurants” Seokjin finishes.

“Wow, okay so we should create a signature dish for Hunan? What do you think we should do?” You ask and Seokjin lets out a small sigh, looking up at the ceiling as he ponders the thought.

“Well it needs to be something we can both contribute to, so desserts are out. We probably need something that includes both dough and something with meat. But nothing comes to mind right now and we also need to be sure other restaurants don’t have the same dish. I think we need to go around. I only managed to look at a couple restaurants before I had to be here. Do you want to go check the others out with me?” Seokjin asks, turning his gaze towards you.

“That sounds like a plan. Are we gonna sit in and try dishes or?” You question and Seokjin stares at you blankly.

“Why?”

“Well, it gives us time to look at the menu in more detail but also to check out their specialities, right? It’ll give us ideas for Hunan’s speciality if we try their food too” You explain, Seokjin nodding enthusiastically.

“That sounds like a really good idea. Come on, let’s go” Seokjin says, immediately grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen.

A few hours later, you find yourself treading besides Seokjin. The two of you had been to various restaurants around Hunan, and it was safe to say that you were more than full. In fact, you were sure the two of you had overeaten and you could feel your body becoming lethargic, needing a post food nap. You let out a slight yawn causing the man walking beside you to giggle. You felt yourself grow slightly agitated, elbowing him for mocking you. Although, even you could tell it had lost its usual angry lustre, now being more playful than anything.

“Sorry, you just look so cute yawning,” Seokjin says from beside you. His words are entirely nonchalant and he says them as if it’s no big deal but your entire body freezes and you instantaneously stop, gaping at his back as he continues walking. He gets a few steps ahead of you before realising you were no longer beside him. Seokjin turns around, raising his brow at you; silently questioning why you were no longer walking.

“What’s wrong?” He asks and you immediately close your jaw, shaking your head furiously as you stalk towards him. Your face is heated from his casual compliment and internally you curse him for his confusing words. You were rivals, why the hell was he calling you cute all of a sudden?

“Nothing! Absolutely nothing” You answer quickly, indignation lacing your tone. Seokjin stares at you in confusion before shrugging it off, chalking it up to one of your usual moods around him. You quickly catch up to him, but your pace is brisk and Seokjin is left reeling from your sudden mood change. He quickly thinks back to what he could have done to cause you to behave the way you are when it suddenly dawns on him. His entire face lights up, an impish smile on his face as he looks down at you.

“Are you embarrassed because I called you cute?” He asks slyly and your blood freezes before you shake your head furiously.

“No! Of course not! Why would I care what you think? Me? Embarrassed? Ha! Absolutely not. I’m not embarrassed that you called me c-c-cute. No, absolutely not!” You rapidly blurt out, flailing your arms around you. Seokjin watches you with poorly masked amusement and as soon as you stutter out your final words, you quickly catch yourself.

“Right, of course, you’re not,” Seokjin says, a knowing smile on his face. You let out a small scowl before clearing your throat.

“We don’t have a lot of time. Come on, let’s get back so we can brainstorm new ideas for Hunan’s speciality” You say quietly, tucking your hair behind your ear before once again stalking off.

“Cute” Seokjin chuckles, watching your retreating figure before jogging to catch up with you.

Another few hours later, the two of you find yourself in your hotel room. Seokjin is sat on the floor, leaning against your bed with a cushion in his lap while you lie on the bed beside him. You’ve both got various recipe cards, scrap paper with a mix of yours and Seokjin’s notes scrawled on them and various snack wrappers littered around you. Both your hair is messy from running your hands through it as you brainstormed different ideas but nothing was clicking so far.

“How about a signature hotpot?” Seokjin suggests and you shake your head once again, pointing towards a scrap piece of paper.

“There’s literally an entire restaurant dedicated to hotpot,” You remarked, Seokjin groaning.

“That was such a good idea. Everyone loves hotpot” He comments and you snort.

“Agreed, hotpots are amazing. But how was it a good idea? What would I have contributed?” You question and Seokjin shrugs.

“I don’t know, the noodles?” He jokes and you playfully smack the back of his head.

“You know I’m not a noodle expert. They don’t count as part of my discipline” You point out, causing him to sigh. He throws his head back, neck rested on your bed as he stares at the ceiling.

“Are we ever going to find something? The more I think about it, the more I think that our disciplines are complete opposites. Is there something that we could both create together?” Seokjin mumbles, more to himself than anything. You share in his slightly dejected thoughts. The number of Chinese restaurants around meant that there were very few things that weren’t already specialities and then if you added that you both needed to contribute, it was even slimmer to find a perfect dish. You quickly glanced over to the clock on your bedside table, before exhaling deeply.

“I think it’s time to call it a night. we’re both exhausted and we’ve been at this for hours. It may help to get a good night’s sleep and looking at this with fresh eyes in the morning” You say, Seokjin nodding as he yawns loudly. You watch his lips in a slight trance, the way they stretch out before returning to their usual plush and puffy state. Briefly, you wonder if they feel as soft as they look before shaking your head. You look away, gaping at the wall. Just how tired were you that your thoughts were straying to completely unnecessary and uncharted territory?

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll see you tomorrow then” Seokjin says, grabbing the snack wrappers before standing to his full height. Your neck strains to look up at him from your position and you’re taken aback from how tall he really is. You’d never really noticed it, usually too busy scowling at him as you thought up ways you could beat him in your exams. But now that the two of you were alone, and on more civilized terms, you were truly able to take in his figure.

He was tall; so tall that he stood an entire head over you. And ridiculously broad; was it even possible to have such broad shoulders naturally? Especially with how narrow his waist and hips were, leading to long legs and thick thighs. With a startling realisation, you realise that Seokjin is handsome and far more beautiful than you had ever pegged him for. It should have been illegal or at least completely impossible to have been built like that with a face like that. It was unfair; how was anyone supposed to compete? You’d always thought he was stupidly attractive but this level of handsome was completely unnecessary.

“____? You okay?” Seokjin calls out and you abruptly jerk back, realising how close he was. His face is almost touching yours, and you can feel his warm breath against your lips as he stares curiously at you. All of a sudden, you let out a little squeal, pushing him away as you roll, trying to put more distance between him and you.

“Woah, you okay?” Seokjin asks and you nod rapidly, trying to stay as calm as possible despite your previously traitorous thoughts and rapidly pumping heartbeat.

“Perfectly fine!” You call out, quickly getting off the bed before placing your palms on his chest in an effort to push him out of your room. The minute your palms touch his chest however, you’re quickly wondering just what he looks like underneath his shirt because his chest feels hard and perfectly chiselled.

“____?” Seokjin asks curiously, and once again you realise that your mind was wandering to places you definitely did not want it to be.

“GOODNIGHT! BYE” You all but scream, pushing him towards the door before practically throwing him out, slamming the door in his face. As soon as he’s out, you scrunch your flushed face, leaning your head against the cool door.

“What is wrong with you? Get a grip of yourself! He’s your rival! Whether you’re on better terms not or not! You still have to beat him” You chastise yourself, reigning in your mind as you refuse to let your treacherous mind wander into that territory once again. You quickly slap your face with both hands before rushing into the bathroom to get changed. This was, undoubtedly, going to be a long week.

Two days later and you and Seokjin still haven’t come up with a solution to your task, no matter how much you’d brainstormed. You walk into the restaurant dejectedly on the fourth day. You had four days left until your challenge ended, which included today. How you were going to pass, you had no idea. You press open the steel door of the kitchen; however, instead of seeing Seokjin hunched over the counter with various pieces of paper like you were used to, you see him grinning with a wide array of ingredients around him. Your face crunches as you approach him curiously.

“What’s going on?” You ask as Seokjin throws you a chef jacket.

“BAO!” Seokjin all but yells in triumphant and you lurch slightly, astounded by his sudden outburst.

“What?” You question, puzzlement lacing your tone.

“Bao! I don’t know how we didn’t think of it before! But Hunan’s speciality should be Bao!” Seokjin explains and your eyes widen, shining with hope as you nod enthusiastically.

“Yes! Oh my god! That’s perfect!” You cry, abruptly and inadvertently throwing your hands around him in joy. Seokjin’s arms instinctively wrap around you and soon you’re both stiffening, unsure how to respond to the unfamiliar situation. You stare up at him, his dark gaze on you. It takes you a couple moments for you brain to kick back into gear; realising exactly what you’d done, you quickly let him go before clearing your throat, trying to stifle your blush.

“Right. Sorry about that, I wasn’t thinking” You quickly apologise; Seokjin simply laughs it off, hand rubbing the back of his head as he tries to play it cool, despite his red-hot ears.

“That’s fine, you were excited, it’s completely understandable,” Seokjin says, brushing it off. The two of you stand still, unsure of how to continue as an awkward tension washes over the two of you.

“So… how did you come up with bao?” You ask, trying to move on from the painful silence.

“Oh! I visited a small convenience store and they were selling frozen bao and it got me thinking. There is not a single bao restaurant in the vicinity and none of the restaurants have them on their menu. I think that’s why we completely forgot about them. But, it has both our disciplines. I can make the meat filling and you can make the bao dough yes?” Seokjin asks with a grin, beaming with pride.

“That’s…” You start with a smile before it slowly falls off your face. You want to congratulate him and tell him he’s done well, but you’re unsure how to. This was completely new territory for the both of you. You glance at Seokjin, realising he’s waiting for you to continue. You take in a deep breath, gathering all your strength and courage before stomping down your own screaming pride. Plastering a genuine smile on your face, you beam at him.

“That’s amazing Seokjin. Thanks…. I was starting to lose hope in completing this challenge” You mumble earnestly, rubbing your arm shyly. Seokjin’s eyes soften at how small you look before placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey! We’re two of the best students at the Academy. There was no way we’d fail this, right?” Seokjin says in an effort to cheer you up. You nod, the entire situation slightly jarring because here was Kim Seokjin, you sworn rival, comforting you. You shake off your thoughts, instead, taking off your outer jacket and slipping on the chef jacket as you get ready to work. You quickly tie your hair up and wash your hands, turning to him in determination.

“Alright! Let’s do this. You get started on the meat filling and I’ll start the dough” You immediately delegate. Seokjin raises his eyebrow at your sudden change in demeanour before he lets out a lopsided smile. With a mock salute, he turns and begins pulling out various meats from the fridge, getting to work.

Half an hour later, you spot Seokjin placing his pork into the oven. You turn back to your dough, kneading it as hard as you can as you try to get it to the correct consistency. Seokjin quickly clears up before walking up to you, watching you curiously. He takes a look at the large bowl, letting out a whistle at the amount of dough you have inside.

“That’s a lot of dough” Seokjin comments and you roll your eyes at the obvious statement.

“Yes, well done Sherlock. I figured we’d need more than one portion considering we need the staff to try it. Also, I assume you have more than one type of filling” You reply but Seokjin simply shakes his head, rolling his sleeves up.

“No, I thought we’d keep it simple and go with a classic. Char Siu Bao, a fan favourite and guaranteed to draw customers in” Seokjin states, sending you a thumbs up, as if he’d just advertised the best dish. You deflate slightly.

“It’s a good plan but this just means I’ve made too much dough” You almost whine, your arms already tired from all the kneading. Seokjin simply pats your head, drawing closer towards you.

“Here, let me help,” He says before placing his hand into the bowl with you. Your startle slightly, gawking up at him in astonishment. He ignores you, instead, focusing on kneading the dough in the bowl with you.

“I know I’m handsome but are you just going to stare or are you going to help? Your hand’s kind of in the way” Seokjin grins playfully and you feel the vein in your forehead throb as you tut at him.

“With the amount you call yourself handsome, some would think you were in love with yourself,” You remark, Seokjin chuckling at you.

“Is there something wrong with loving yourself?” He asks.

“I said in love with yourself, not loving yourself. There’s a difference” You reply, causing Seokjin to shrug.

“In love, loving yourself. It’s all the same when you have a face like a flower” Seokjin says, flicking his hair out of his forehead before fluttering his eyelashes at you. You burst into laughter at his ridiculousness, giggling as he grins at you.

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day you actually laughed at something I said. Usually, you’d just insult me and walk away. Does this mean you no longer hate me?” Seokjin questions out of curiosity and you immediately sober up from your giggling fit. Having Seokjin point it out feels weird, but the more you think about it, the more you realise he was right. This was weird. You were having a pleasant conversation with your rival and hadn’t felt the surge of hatred you usually felt when interacting with him.

“Hm. I guess I don’t. It’s easier to not hate you when I know you don’t think I’m beneath you. Besides, if I continued hating you now, it would only be out of pettiness” You explain, Seokjin grinning at your words.

“Aha! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my charms for too long” Seokjin teases, eyebrows rising suggestively, and you roll your eyes at his antics, refusing to even dignify him with a response.

“Yes, that’s what happened. Let’s just go back to kneading the dough. We still have the challenge to pass” You say, ending the conversation. Seokjin nods, saluting once again causing you to roll your eyes again.

You focus on kneading the dough once again; it’s almost to the consistency it needs to be; but with the amount of dough in the bowl, you know it’s going to take slightly longer than planned. Suddenly, you feel Seokjin’s hands bump against you, your fingers brushing against each other’s as he gently but firmly kneads the dough. Involuntarily, you watch the way his long but slightly crooked fingers work the dough, heel of his palm pressing into the bao mix... You’re almost mesmerised by the movements; you had never truly taken time to watch Seokjin work but right now, as he was gently working the dough, you realise that he, like you, truly loved cooking. You could feel the amount he cared for his craft through the gentleness of his touch, slowly but surely kneading the dough into submission. You watch the way his heel compresses into the soft mixture, dough pooling on either end of his palm.

“It looks about done, right? What do you think oh great Dough Master?” Seokjin jokes, looking at you for advice on whether to keep going or to stop. You glance up, and you faintly acknowledge that he’s said something. In fact, his lips are moving but you can no longer focus on his words, nor can you comprehend them. Instead, you’re completely lost in the way his lips move. They look incredibly pillowy and pink, a slight sheen on his upper lip from the heat of the kitchen. You wonder what they’d feel like against your own lips.

“____?” Seokjin finally says, waving dough covered hands in front of your face. You blink owlishly, your eyes coming back into focus as you’re brought out of your thoughts. You stare up at him questioningly, hoping he’ll repeat himself.

“What?” You say, but Seokjin can tell that you’re slightly dazed. He stares at you, puzzlement etched into his face before pointing at the dough.

“Do you think this is okay? It looks pretty much done” He repeats and you turn back to the dough, blinking owlishly. Your brain slowly kicks back into gear and your face heats as you nod furiously.

“Oh! Um yes! This is perfect! It just needs to rest for two hours now” You say, hastily letting go of the dough, almost as if it had burned you. Briskly walking to the sink, you wash your hands, silently berating yourself for once again getting distracted by Kim Seokjin.

The next few hours move quickly, you and Seokjin throwing yourselves into creating the char Siu bao to the best of both your abilities, presenting the dish to Mei and the rest of her staff. Thankfully, everyone loves the idea of a speciality dish and you and Seokjin grin at each other, happy that you had some sort of plan to tackle Hunan’s lack of customer base.

The following days passed in a blur. Day five sees both you and Seokjin teaching Mei how to create Hunan’s signature bao. Seokjin and Mei work on the meat filling together, Mei chiming in with her own two cents every now and then on what ingredients would make the dish more authentic and which spices would complement each other better, bringing out the flavours of the pork even more. When she’s done with Seokjin, she works with you learning your dough recipe and some techniques you’d picked up during your three years on how to create the perfect dough texture every single time.

Days six and seven you have no time to speak to Seokjin; you both take turns, one trying to promote the new bao on the street, drawing in customers while the other helps in the kitchen. By the end of both days, you’re both completely exhausted and as soon as you get to your hotel rooms, you crash. Luckily, by the end of the week, you’re back in the academy in your own studio apartment, ready to sleep for an entire week after having accomplished your challenge. You were completely exhausted, from your exams, which you had not managed to recover from and from the consecutive week-long excursion to Hunan, in order to gain some restaurant experience.

“Hey ____, your burner is too high. We’re supposed to slow cook the meat,” Seokjin says from a counter diagonally to yours. You hear everyone take in a deep breath, the head chef at the front of the classroom suddenly sitting straight. You know exactly why the class responded the way they did; they were most likely expecting you to blow up and yell at Seokjin to mind his own business, the head chef even getting ready to break up the impending fight.

“Oh? You’re right. Thanks, Jin,” you simply say, turning your burner down before turning back to your task of chopping up the vegetables. Everyone stares in disbelief at your casual acceptance of Seokjin’s advice. The head chef is completely still, mouth dropped at the unexpected occurrence. In all three years of teaching both you and Seokjin, you had never once been civil. The class slowly came to life, some students eagerly whispering to one another, undoubtedly gossiping while others just stared nervously at both you and Seokjin, wondering what the hell had happened.

The rest of the class follows without a hitch, and as usual, you and Seokjin scored the top marks in the class, although Seokjin scores slightly higher than you. Surprisingly, you’re not filled with a burning all-consuming rage to beat him. It had been a month since your trip to Hunan and unsurprisingly you and Seokjin were on much friendlier terms; although no one was as happy as your little friendship group, who were just glad that you could all hang out without you and Seokjin being at each other’s throats. Or, well, more you being at Seokjin’s throat. Sure, the two of you still argued and still had your little competition to see who was the better chef, but everyone could tell that there was no real heat behind the little spats anymore. Now, whenever Seokjin teased or taunted you, you were filled with annoyance and exasperation more than hate.

Seokjin catches your eye as he’s leaving the room; he pauses briefly before grinning, winking and then waving as he leaves. You awkwardly wave back at him before you continue gathering your things. Everyone else, however, just stands in complete astonishment as they watch the little interaction between the two of you. You slowly wander down the long corridor, face slightly scrunched as people stare at you, whispering between themselves. You strain your ears slightly, trying to listen to the hushed conversations.

“Do you think they’re together?”

“Oh my god, Seokjin totally winked at her and she didn’t even yell at him! She just smiled and waved back!”

“Have you noticed that they actually… like, get along now?”

“Yes! They don’t fight anymore, it’s so weird. I never thought I’d see the day”

“It’s really kind of weird… like it’s just weird to see them getting along”

“Really? I always thought they’d end up together”

“WHAT?”

“What? You can’t hate someone that much without wanting to fuck. They always say there’s a thin line between love and hate”

“You’re right! And oh my god, weren’t they paired up for the restaurant challenge? And they stayed in a hotel away from campus!”

“Oh yeah they totally hate fucked and now are in love with each other”

“Ugh, she’s so lucky!”

“Wah! I could totally see that! Even when they argue now it’s like flirting more than an actual argument”

“Agreed! They’re totally secretly dating.”

Throughout your entire eavesdropping session, your face slowly grows warmer and warmer until your ears are hot red. For most of it, you can ignore them. They’re just baseless rumours running through students who had nothing better to do with their time. However, the last few have you suddenly stopping and instantly turning on your heel, stalking towards the two girls who had now moved on from speculating that you and Seokjin were both secret lovers to when it began. They watch you approach them, immediately shutting up as their eyes widen in slight fear, exchanging a nervous glance between each other.

“No! That would never happen! How could you even think of such a thing? M-M-Me and him? Not in this world! Not in any alternate world either! So, what if we get along now? Nothing wrong with it… right? RIGHT! Yes, we just get along. But that would never happen. No, no it wouldn’t! It couldn’t! He likes cooking meat and I like cooking sweet things! See, complete opposites. It would never happen!” You burst, arms flailing around before stomping your foot down. You cross your arms and nod as if you’d made the world’s most flawless argument.

Everyone stares in confusion, murmurs of ‘what is she talking about’ and ‘did you even understand her’ roaming around the corridor. You grow slightly sheepish as even more eyes stare at you. You quickly pull your bag closer to you before briskly walking - really you were practically running - down the corridor. The students all stared at your back, wondering if your rivalry with Seokjin had finally caused you to lose the plot and go insane.

“That was weird right?”

“Do you think she was listening to us?”

“I mean, even if she was… I still have no idea what she was talking about.

“Bro… she didn’t even make any sense”

“God, I can’t believe they thought Seokjin and I would be secretly dating… it’s completely insane! We’re rivals… nothing more! Although we are becoming friends I guess,” You begrudgingly admit to yourself as you slowly open your apartment door. You place your bag down by the door before taking your shoes off and slipping into your house slippers.

“There’s no way. I don’t even like him like that… right?” You speak out loud, more to yourself than anything. But even you have to admit that it sounded more like you were trying to convince yourself than anything. Admittedly, you’re still somewhat confused by your entire relationship - or lack thereof - with Seokjin. It was strange to go from hating him to suddenly being somewhat friendly with him. Although, you have to admit that you had always been moderately confused by Seokjin. Even when you had hated him, you had somewhat admired him reluctantly. A small part of you even acknowledges that the admiration was most likely why you needed him to admit you were a good enough chef. Granted, he now had admitted he thought you were a good chef, hell he’d even said he considered you on his level. Perhaps that was why you were suddenly flustered by him.

Yes. Of course! That had to be it!

Hours later, you were still plagued by thoughts of Seokjin. You lay in bed, mindlessly scrolling through twitter, barely reading the tweets. Your eyes flicked to the top of your phone, groaning when you realised it was nearing two am. You jostled in bed, turning onto your side as you continued scrolling aimlessly, mind still preoccupied on Seokjin. Ten minutes later however you stumbled on a video of two teens snorting crushed ramen. You shook your head, wondering just where people got the idea for this stuff. However, at that very minute, your stomach began growling and suddenly you were craving something sweet.

You pulled yourself out of bed, trudging through your bedroom and into the kitchen. You quickly opened the cabinets, realising you had absolutely no snacks before checking your fridge, hopeful that maybe you had something left over from one of your earlier experiments. However, you had no such luck. Your stomach growled again and you shut your fridge with a groan. You swiftly threw on your jacket, slipping into your trainers before grabbing your keys and wallet, heading out to the twenty-four-hour convenience store next to campus.

The spring night air is crisp and the cool breeze chills your bones slightly, causing you to pull your jacket closer to your body. You wander through the well-lit streets, thoughts once again wandering to Seokjin and your bizarre friendship with him. No matter how much you think about it, you simply can’t comprehend him nor the sudden confusion that clouds your mind whenever it comes to him. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to figure it out. It had been hours and you couldn’t come to a single, plausible solution that made sense to you.

Soon you arrive at the convenience store, however, just as you’re about to go in, someone steps out. And of course, that person is none other than the man who had been plaguing your thoughts for most of the day. You blink owlishly, staring at the tall man in front of you. He’s dressed in a loose white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, a long blank jacket draped over him. Your gaze briefly snaps to the plastic bag he’s holding, your face scrunching up before you burst into laughter at the contents of his bag.

“Yah! What the hell are you laughing at?” Seokjin says in indignation, in the same loud voice he usually speaks in whenever Jungkook insults him.

“Why do you have instant ramen?! Oh my god, this is priceless” You cackle, eyes practically tearing up and doubling over as you point at his bag. Seokjin’s ears immediately turn red and he swiftly hides the bag behind him, tutting at you.

“What’s wrong with instant ramen? I’m allowed to buy it!” Seokjin grumbles but his words only cause you to laugh harder.

“Because you’re a top-rated chef, that’s why! Oh my god, I cannot believe you’re buying instant ramen at 2am…” You gasp out, trying to catch your breath from your sudden fit of laughter. Seokjin glowers at you, grumbling to himself before shoving his hands in his pocket, the plastic bag hanging from his wrist.

“Shut up… I was hungry and I didn’t have anything that I could make quickly” Seokjin reasons, but you only grinned brightly at him, as if you had been handed the best prize in the world.

“There, there. I’m only joking” You say and Seokjin nods curtly, his ears still red.

“So why are you here?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

“I was craving something sweet cause I was hungry… but I think I could do with some ramen too. Come on, let me go buy a packet and I’ll make it for you” You say, grabbing his jacket sleeve without thinking before dragging him back into the store. Seokjin allows you to pull him toward the ramen isle and you soon pick your favourite ramen off the shelf as well as some eggs before paying for it. You and Seokjin walk outside toward the little ramen area.

“Why are you making it for me?” Seokjin asks curiously as he hands you his ramen packet, watching the way you open it, placing the noodles in the tin foil before adding the sachet and hot water.

“Jungkook specialises in ramen remember? His guilty pleasure is instant ramen. But you can’t tell anyone that! He’ll lose his credibility as a ramen master! Anyway, he’s taught me a thing or two about perfecting instant ramen” You explain Seokjin laughing mischievously.

“Oh, that’s some good blackmail material for when he calls me old” Seokjin says and you turn to him, eyes wide before shaking your head furiously.

“No! Absolutely not! I’m the only one who knows, so if you bring it up he’ll definitely know it was me that told you,” You quickly retaliate, your eyes wild at the thought of what Jungkook would do if his little secret got out.

“It’s really not that bad-” Seokjin starts, but you cut him off.

“No! Promise me you won’t say anything!” You quickly shout and Seokjin immediately nods, deflating slightly.

“God! Fine! I won’t say anything. I promise” Seokjin calls out and you smile, nodding before turning to the ramen.

“Oh, nice! It's done! Come eat” You call, grabbing the two tinfoil containers before sitting on one of the wooden benches. Seokjin sits opposite you; you offer him the disposable wooden chopsticks but he shakes his head, pulling out his own from his jacket.

“Why the hell do you just carry chopsticks in your jacket?” You ask, blowing on your ramen before slurping on them.

“You never know when you need them! Like now, see. Now I’m not wasting disposable chopsticks like some people,” He says pointedly causing you to roll your eyes.

"Okay yeah, whatever just eat your damn ramen" You retort, Seokjin laughing before picking some noodles between his chopstick, blowing and placing them in his mouth.

“How is it?” You asked curiously.

“Hmm. It’s good” Seokjin replies as he slurps some more. You grin, tucking into your own container. The two of you sit in silence for a couple moments, unsure of what to say. You haven't really been alone with him since a month ago when you'd both been paired up for the restaurant challenge.

"So," You say, uncomfortable with the tense silence between the two of you. You had foolishly offered to cook him ramen in a spur of the moment decision but you had completely forgotten that you'd have to sit and eat with him. Of course, you had sat and eaten with him when you’d visited all those restaurants at Hunan, but at least then you could talk about the menu and food. What were you supposed to do now? Talk about the history of ramen?

"Why did you become a chef?" Seokjin asked, breaking the silence. He looks at you curiously, slurping some more ramen into his mouth.

"That's... kind of a personal question don't you think?" You answer back, Seokjin snorting slightly before pointing his chopsticks towards you.

"I thought we were friends" comes Seokjin's direct reply.

"I mean... I wouldn't go that far but okay" You respond, looking away, his words startling you. Were you friends? Sure, you weren't exactly enemies anymore, but wasn't friends pushing it? If it were up to you, you'd call it casual acquaintances or something similar.

"Go on then, why did you become a chef?" Seokjin repeats. You let out a little sigh before placing your chopsticks down. You glance up at the sky, the city lights drown out most of the sky, but there are still a few stars that lit up the night sky.

"My parents used to run a small cake shop in our town, so I basically just grew up baking and making desserts. I learnt a lot from mom and grandpa and eventually just got better than them. I think the first time I baked one of grandpa's recipes was around the age of five. Mom helped obviously, but grandpa loved it so much. He'd started baking for grandma and he loved that I picked up the skill and well, that's why I started baking" You say, a small wistful smile on your face as you remember your grandfather's smile when you'd presented the cake to him.

"That doesn't explain why you became a chef though. A pâtissier yeah, but not why you joined Big Hit. You don’t have to have studied professionally to run a family-run cake shop" Seokjin points out and you turn back to him, cocking your head to the side.

"That was because by the time it got to applying for universities, mom and grandpa knew there was nothing more they could teach me. They both had been saving up to send me here because they thought my talents were wasted in their little bakery and well, after all the years of saving, I didn't have the heart to tell them no and so here I am, three years later. It was probably the best decision of my life" You say, a wistful smile on your face as you remembered their kindness.

"So, you decided on a whim then?" He clarifies and you shrug.

"I guess so. I never really thought about anything other than baking in grandpa's bakery but they both knew there were bigger things out there than a small cake shop in Busan" You say Seokjin nodding.

"That's fair enough, I just thought that maybe it would have been a big dream of yours of something. I always wondered why you were so hell-bent on always being the top," Seokjin comments offhandedly and you sneer slightly at him.

"Grandpa and mom spent a lot of time and money on my tuition here. I can't exactly disappoint them by failing, now can I... especially now after I've come so far" You point out, Seokjin nodding in accord.

"Still doesn't explain why you wanted to beat me so bad. You didn't have to fail but that didn't mean you had to try so hard to be first either" Seokjin points out, causing you to scowl at him again before your face turns passive once again.

"No, you’re right. A lot of that was to do with how much you annoyed me," You deadpan, Seokjin snickering, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Okay, enough about me. Why did you become a chef?" You ask, curious to find out Seokjin's reasons for becoming a chef.

"It's not as meaningful as yours. I did it more as an act of defiance than anything" Seokjin replies, both of you long since finished with your ramen. You quirk an eyebrow, waiting for him to delve deeper into his explanation.

"Well my dad wanted to go into the family business, but I really didn't want to. This was... let's say a compromise" Seokjin responds.

"Okay yes, because that isn't cryptic or anything... come on! I told you my reasons" You whine slightly, and Seokjin chuckles.

"Stop pouting, I can't say no to you when you do that," Seokjin says all of a sudden and you immediately jerk, face flushing as you process his words.

"W-What? Don't just say things like that!" You scream, pointing at him accusingly. Really, what was his problem? What was he so flirty for?

"But if I didn't then I wouldn't be being true to myself. But anyway, if you really want to know... my dad's a CEO, he owns a chain of restaurants and wanted me to take over even though I didn't want to. I wanted to be an actor but he said no to that. My other hobby was cooking considering I’d been in professional kitchens since I could walk, so I said I'd take over if he let me attend Big Hit Academy. He agreed" Seokjin elaborates but you simply scrunch your eyebrows.

"Where's the compromise in that? Doesn’t he get what he wants in the end anyway?" You refuted but Seokjin just sends you a sly glance before leaning in.

"See, what he doesn't know is that I'll only be taking over one restaurant, which I won't manage but be the head chef of" Seokjin loudly whispers, his tone conspiratorial.

"Won't that piss him off? But also, who will run the restaurants then?" You ask, curious about Seokjin's future plan. Seokjin's face contorts with pride as he grins at you.

"It won't matter because I'll be in charge anyway so he won't have a say in it. But also, I'll just hire a professional CEO or something, someone who could actually manage the restaurants. To be honest, as graduation is nearing, I was wondering if I could just hire Namjoonie to do it. No one is as good a manager as him, plus it's all boring like numbers and graphs and he likes that stuff, right?" Seokjin asks, staring at you earnestly. You giggle slightly, imagining Namjoon's face if Seokjin offered him the job before nodding enthusiastically.

"Yeah, I think he'd really love that to be honest," You replied, smiling softly at Seokjin, causing him to respond with his own smile, the wells in his cheeks at the corner of his lips deepening. It's adorable and only further draws attention to his already perfect lips. How had you not noticed them before?

"Damn, it's almost three am. Do you want to head back? I'll walk you home" Seokjin offers as he gathers up your empty foil containers, plopping them in the bin before wiping down his chopsticks, placing them back in his pocket.

"Oh, you really don't have to! It's not a long walk from here anyway" You quickly say, trying to refuse his offer. Seokjin simply sends you a look that has you sighing, immediately knowing that there was no way he'd be letting you off that easily.

"Come on, I can’t let you walk alone at this time of the night," Seokjin says and you quickly follow him, leading the way.

The two of you spend the short walk speaking more about your life out of the academy. You tell Seokjin about running the little cake shop with your mother and grandfather, your father spending most of his time in the city with his office job. You don't even stop and think about opening up to him as it all comes naturally to you. You'd never really noticed how easy it was to talk to Seokjin, not that you'd really had any reason to beforehand considering your - now that you thought about it - petty rivalry. You tell him about how you'd bake a special cake for the bakery once a week that would have people bustling in for your desserts. You even tell him about how you and your grandfather bake a special cake for your mother on her birthday. In turn, Seokjin tells you more about his home life. His father, as loving and doting as he was, would usually be too busy running the business, leaving his mother to look after both his brother and himself.

"If I was being completely honest... the reason I started cooking wasn’t that I grew up around kitchens. Sure, it interested me… seeing how basic ingredients turn into something else. But, I started because my mother is an awful cook and my brother is no better. I got tired of eating inedible food and took over the cooking in the house. And well, it turned out that I was really good at it. Sometimes I wonder if I should stop and just take over the family business like dad wants but then I remember my mother's smile every time I would cook her something, and I remember why I started and how much I love it, and it just motivates me to keep going" Seokjin says, a wistful look on his face as the two of you near your apartment complex. Your head snaps to him in slight awe of his sudden confession.

"Wow... I had no idea you thought about quitting or giving up" You mutter, Seokjin looking down at you with a rueful smile.

"Does it not get too much for you sometimes? The pressure...? Everyone expects you to always be at the top or for you to come up with amazing dishes time after time. Sometimes I forget how much I love cooking and the pressure just builds up but I just remember mom and her smile and everything gets better" Seokjin states, his tone light again, a genuine smile returning to his face. Your fingers twitch slightly, wanting to reach out and grasp his hand to offer him some semblance of comfort. But you can't do that. You may be somewhat friends, but your relationship was nowhere near that level of intimacy. So, you settle for the next best thing.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm glad you didn't quit. I'd miss our rivalry... and you do make me a better chef" You admit grudgingly, Seokjin raises an eyebrow at your statement, an amused smirk on his face. You immediately flush, "B-Besides, winning by default isn't really winning" You stammer, trying to explain yourself but you and Seokjin both know you're lying.

"I'm glad I stayed. You make me a better chef too" Seokjin says with a wink. Your face heats further and you try to respond, but instead, you simply stutter, unable to think of a response.

"Oh look! We're here! Wow, it's really late. I'll see you at the academy!" You suddenly blurt, your words rushed as you try and get away from him. Seokjin instantly reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you back.

"Hey! We've got a break now, I won't see you for a week or something. Besides, that's not a proper goodbye" Seokjin points out and you scowl despite the prominent blush on your face.

"What do you... mean?" You start before trailing off, watching as Seokjin bends over to the rose bushes planted at the bottom of your complex. He plucks one off of the bush, it's not fully bloomed yet, only a few petals unfurling from the bud, before handing it to you.

"Goodnight ____," Seokjin says with an over-exaggerated bow. You roll your eyes at his antics before accepting the flower, breathing in the subtle scent of the rose. Seokjin stands straight again and then winks at you before turning around and walking away. You roll your eyes at him again before you too turn around and enter your building.

A couple moments later and you're back in your small studio apartment. You wander to the kitchen, pulling out a vase from the cabinet before filling it with water. Carrying the vase, you place it in the living room on your coffee table before placing the rose in it. The vase is slightly too big for the single flower, but it still looks pretty nonetheless. You glance at the rose one last time before returning to bed, a small smile on your face.

a/n: uwu what did you think?? please let me know!!

▷ Part II | Masterlist

#btssmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #kpopwonderlandtag #kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #btsprotectnet #thekimlinenet #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #bts jin x reader #bts seokjin x reader #bts au #bts fic #bts imagine #bts kim seokjin x reader

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Text

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck. “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home.

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home.

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while.

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.”

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips.

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him.

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat.

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches.

“Have you been crying?”

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew.

“How many of those blasted things do you have?”

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring.

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room.

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on.

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?”

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment.

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice.

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing.

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door.

Perhaps a new plan is in order.

----------------------------

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing.

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does.

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit.

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed.

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror.

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, ��y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

----------------------------

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good.

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous.

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld.

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on .

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.”

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses.

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground.

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger.

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table.

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were.

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room.

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look.

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?”

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold.

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it. Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place.

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark.

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea.

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

-----------------------------------------------

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car.

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied.

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror.

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck.

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly.

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

------------------------------------------------

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot.

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily.

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again.

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here. One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more.

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn.

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos.

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers.

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.” The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany.

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible.

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.”

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers.

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again.

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face.

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #duck x indrid #meet ugly #demon au

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calumcest · 4 years ago

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dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

[ao3]

yes its 1am yes i just finished this fic yes i am exhausted yes i currently have an exam i should be doing looks like Helen’s Deadline Season Coping Mechanism is back in full swing

i have to give my everlasting thanks to @ashesonthefloor and @clumsyclifford for their chaotic minds providing me excellent ideas and for always being so supportive of the things i write and motivating me to keep writing and also especially to ainslee for patiently listening to me talk about this for like the past three weeks before i could actually write it

also this VERY very loosely based on christianity but as you will see: VERY. VERY. loosely

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”

“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

Humans, Michael thinks sourly, wouldn’t be nearly as interested in getting to Heaven if they knew Ashton were in there.

He means well, Michael knows that, and he’s just doing his job, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating when Michael gets Summoned twice a week to answer for whatever petty crime he’s committed this time. So sue him, he forgot witchcraft was sacrilege, and forgot that astrology falls under that umbrella, and he’d been amused when he’d seen a lady claiming to be able to tell him what was in store for him next year, and he’d had ten dollars on him. He’s thousands of years old, how the fuck is he supposed to remember every tiny rule? Plus, he thinks, cocking his head, she’d told him that a colleague would present difficulties for him, and the way Ashton’s ranting right now is just vindicating the poor woman.

“...set an example, Michael,” Ashton’s saying, when Michael tunes back in. “You were an archangel. You have to be better.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ashton, I swear to God-” Ashton slaps his hand down on the table.

“That’s exactly your fucking problem!” he says furiously, and then tenses as he realises what he’s said. Michael can feel the repentance washing over Ashton, the genuine purity of it, and it makes him wince a little bit. Ashton clears his throat, and tries again. “You can’t be blaspheming like that. You’re an angel, Michael. You have free will, and you know what a double-edged sword that is.” Michael folds his arms, wings ruffling defensively. Ashton’s always so fucking hot on how dangerous free will is, like he’s had some kind of bad experience with it, and Michael doesn’t get it. Ashton’s never stepped more than a centimetre out of line in his entire life.

“I’m loyal to Him,” he says firmly. “He knows that.” Are you questioning Him? remains unspoken, but rings loud in the air between them.

“I know,” Ashton says wearily. “But He did demote you. Again.”

“I mean, I did give the Son an onion disguised as an apple,” Michael points out. Ashton glares at him.

“Are you trying to make this worse for yourself?” he demands, and Michael holds his hands up in defence.

“Not my fault Jesus doesn’t have a sense of humour,” he mutters, under his breath so Ashton can pretend not to have heard it. He still thinks it was hilarious, made even more so by the connotation of original sin. Maybe the fact he hasn’t repented is why He keeps letting Michael get reamed out by Ashton for the smallest fucking things.

“You’re lucky He didn’t count that as a rebellion” Ashton tells him. Michael rolls his eyes.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Ash?” he says, spreading his hands, ignoring the way Ashton flinches at the curse word. “I’m sorry? I repent? Forgive me Ashton, for I have sinned?” Ashton sighs, but chooses not to comment on the sarcasm.

“I’m assigning you another case,” he says instead, “and you’d better not mess this one up.” Michael groans, and Ashton gives him a sharp look. “You’re always free to leave, Michael. You know that.” Michael tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and lets his eyes flutter shut, shaking his head.

“What is it?” he mumbles. He hears paper sliding across Ashton’s desk, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a minute, inhaling deeply, before forcing his head back forwards to see the file Ashton’s pushed at him.

“A demon,” Ashton says.

“Oh, for fu- for Go- uh, for goodness’ sake,” Michael says hurriedly, when he sees the look Ashton sends his way. “Seriously, Ash? A demon?” Ashton shrugs.

“You want to act like a kid, you get treated like a kid,” he says. Michael exhales heavily, and picks up the file, flicking it open to the first page.

“Calum?” he says sceptically. “What kind of a name for a demon is that?”

“You’d do well to remember who named him,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t look very threatening,” he remarks, flicking through Calum’s file. “What, a couple of possessions, a few cases of muteness...c’mon, Ash, this is well below my pay grade.”

“Firstly,” Ashton says, in that tone that says I don’t like what you just said at all but I’m going to be the bigger angel here, “you don’t have a pay grade, and secondly, you’ll take what you’re given.”

“I know, but c’mon, this?” Michael says, waving the file in Ashton’s face. “You could deal with this in two minutes, Ashton, why send me after him?” Ashton presses his lips together and looks away, and Michael cocks his head, realisation dawning on him. “Oh, shit. He’s sending me after him.”

“You know I can’t comment on that,” Ashton says, but his wings twitch uncomfortably and he doesn’t even tell Michael off for cursing, so Michael knows he’s right.

“What does He want me to do this for?” Michael asks curiously.

“The Lord moves in a mysterious way,” Ashton says primly, which is his go-to response when he knows the answer but doesn’t want to say it. Michael sits back in his seat heavily, grinning.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll take the case.” Ashton rolls his eyes.

“You’ll do as He darn well says,” he tells Michael, who grins.

“I’ll do as I damn well please,” he says, and Ashton just sighs in defeat.

-------

The first time Michael finds Calum, he’s loosening lug nuts on car wheels in the dead of night.

He’s knelt on the floor, spanner in his hand, humming something to himself as he works. Michael leans against a car behind him, folding his arms, and watches him for a while, watches the way he bobs his head to the song in his head, taps his fingers on the spanner, grins to himself when the lug nut loosens enough for him to move onto the next one.

“Man, what kind of demon uses a spanner?” Michael comments after a few minutes. Calum spins around, on his feet at the speed of light, eyes black, teeth bared. Michael just gives him a bored look.

“Who are you?” Calum hisses. Michael cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t recognise me?” he says, and Calum just growls at him. “Damn, how long were you in Heaven? Two minutes?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Calum spits. Michael sighs, pretending he’s not enjoying this as much as he is, and lets his wings unfold, big and pure white behind him. Calum’s eyes widen, still all-black but with an edge of fear, and he takes a step back. Michael tries his best not to smirk.

“You’re not an angel,” Calum says, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself.

“Aren’t I?” Michael says coolly, tucking his wings back in. They feel a little cramped, but he’s made his point, and it’s cold.

“You said damn,” Calum says, still a little afraid, but also a little confused. Michael shrugs.

“I have free will,” he says. “Perks of being an angel.” Calum stares at him, and his eyes flash back to looking human again. Michael can’t see too well in the poor light, but they’re still dark, maybe a deep brown, and there’s some sort of a spark in them that makes Michael’s stomach flip.

He can see Calum a little better now as his eyes adjust to the dark, can see the black jeans and black leather jacket and thin black t-shirt hugging his muscular physique, can see what looks like tattoos on his hands and collarbones and can’t help but wonder whether there are more to be found.

And yeah, that’s a dangerous train of thought, so he stops himself firmly, allowing himself a sigh. Of course He’s saddled Michael with the hottest demon to walk the realms.

“Whose car is that?” Michael asks, nodding at the car Calum’s been working on. Calum’s eyes linger on him for a moment, like he doesn’t trust that Michael’s not going to attack him the minute he blinks, and then looks over at the wheels.

“Don’t know,” he says.

“You’re trying to fuck with someone you don’t even know?” Calum shrugs, eyes flicking back to Michael.

“Why not?” he says. Michael narrows his eyes.

“You know fucking with humans is, like, bad, right?” he says.

“For you,” Calum says, and there’s a glimmer of wicked amusement behind his dark eyes. Michael swallows. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but my boss isn’t so hot on all of those kinds of rules.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says darkly, because if there’s anyone from Hell Michael’s well-acquainted with, it’s the Devil. Calum, who seems to have now decided that Michael’s had his chance to kill him and hasn’t, casts him one final glance before picking up the spanner, twirling it in his hands (Michael chants a prayer to keep the thoughts about Calum’s fingers at bay), and kneeling at the next wheel.

“Who are you?” Calum asks again.

“Michael,” Michael says, as Calum starts twisting the lug nuts the wrong way, tightening them instead of loosening them. “That’s the wrong way, man.”

“Fuck,” Calum mutters, and starts twisting the other way. Michael cocks his head.

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”

“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

“Aren’t you a fucking archangel? Michael?”

“Used to be,” Michael says. “Got demoted.” Calum snorts.

“Demoted?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, with a sigh. “Big man doesn’t like it when you play practical jokes on the Son.” Calum laughs.

“Yeah, you’re a really shitty angel,” he tells Michael, who bristles slightly.

“Well, I did defeat Satan,” Michael says defensively. Calum grins, all wicked and sharp teeth.

“Yeah, he’s mentioned,” he says, and then leans back from the wheel with a sigh. “Man, would you give me a hand?” Michael cocks his head.

“I’m meant to be stopping you, dude,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes.

“You’re not doing a very good job,” he says. Michael thinks he would do a much better job if Calum weren’t so fucking pretty. That’s kind of unfair, he thinks. It gives Calum an automatic advantage.

“Stop it,” Michael says, and Calum laughs, tilting his head back, and Jesus Christ, Michael wants to mark up his neck. He sends a quick apology prayer to whoever might have heard that thought, and clears his throat. “Seriously, Calum. Stop.”

“Or what?” Calum says, eyes glittering mischievously. “You’ll scowl at me?” Michael cocks his head, and the grin slips off Calum’s face as he starts to choke. He clutches at his throat, looking somewhere between confused and shocked. Michael lets it go on for a few more seconds, relishing the way Calum’s gasping for air, before he lets Calum go. Calum falls back on his heels heavily, a pained expression on his face.

“Stop it,” Michael says simply, and he hears the power in his own voice. Calum winces, head jerking down in a forced bow, and right, yeah, Michael forgot that holy power has that effect on demons.

“Damn,” Calum says, looking up through inky lashes when Michael lets him go, voice hoarse, but eyes twinkling. “Didn’t take you for the kinky sort.” Ashton is going to string Michael up by his wings for the thoughts that follow that sentence.

“Fuck you,” Michael says, scowling, as he sends up yet another apology prayer. Calum cocks an eyebrow, grinning.

“If you’re offering,” he says, rubbing at his throat. Michael sighs to hide the please that’s probably written all over his face.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says instead.

“What, you’re not going to kill me?” Calum says, and he sounds a little surprised. Michael frowns at him.

“You want me to?”

“Just thought you would,” Calum says, shrugging. Michael hesitates.

“You’re not really that threatening, dude,” he says eventually. And you’re far too pretty to kill. “I think the world can handle you.” Calum scowls at him, and flips him off with his left hand, picking up the spanner again with his right. Michael wordlessly tightens all the lug nuts again with a surreptitious flick of his wrist.

“See you next time, angel,” Calum says, slotting the spanner onto another lug nut.

“Not if you know what’s good for you, demon,” Michael says, turning away and tipping his head back up to Heaven. He hears a grunt behind him as Calum tugs on the lug nut, and grins to himself.

“Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” Calum cries, and it’s the last thing Michael hears before everything turns white.

-------

The second time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him in a Starbucks. His leather jacket is hung across the chair behind him, and he’s staring at a guy a few metres away from him with a look of pure concentration on his face. Michael takes a moment to drink it in, because he looks really fucking cute and his biceps are, like, right there - and yeah, Michael was right about there being more tattoos - before sliding into the seat opposite Calum. Calum jumps, tearing his eyes away from the guy to Michael, scowling when he realises who it is.

“Hey,” Michael says nonchalantly, reaching for Calum’s coffee and taking a sip. It’s, like, pure fucking caffeine, and he pulls a face, pushing it back to Calum.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Calum hisses.

“According to my superior, you’re up to no good,” Michael says. “I’m here to stop you.” Calum rolls his eyes.

“You’re no fucking fun,” he says. Michael shrugs, and reaches for Calum’s chocolate muffin. He’s always regretted not planting the idea of chocolate in the minds of humans earlier.

“What were you trying to do?” he says, through a mouthful of muffin.

“Why would I fucking tell you?” Calum says, folding his arms. “You’ll just undo it.” Michael raises an eyebrow, and swallows.

“The guy’s tattoo,” he says. Calum scowls again. “What’d you do to it?”

“It said Lisa,” Calum says sullenly. “Changed it to ‘Lice’.” Michael looks over at the guy’s tattoo again - and yeah, he does actually now have a heart with Lice in it proudly displayed on his arm. Michael can’t help the snort that escapes him. God, would Ashton kill him if he left that one as it is? The answer is almost a hundred percent, but he thinks it might still be worth it.

“That is fucking funny,” Michael agrees.

“Man, how the fuck are you still an angel?” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a laugh, taking another bite out of the muffin. Calum snatches the rest of it out of Michael’s hands.

“This is my fucking muffin,” he says, waving the remnants of it in Michael’s face. Michael shrugs.

“Steal yourself another one,” he says.

“You steal yourself one,” Calum mutters.

“I’m an angel, dude,” Michael says.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Michael rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers as Calum raises the last bit of the muffin to his mouth. The muffin disappears and Calum bites down on thin air, looking confused for a split second before glowering at Michael.

“What the fuck?” he demands. “Why’d you do that? That was a good fucking muffin.” Michael shrugs, grinning.

“For the hell of it,” he says, snapping his fingers again, and the muffin re-materialises in his hand. He throws it in the air, catching it in his mouth, and winks at Calum as he chews. Calum watches him, half in intrigue, half in outrage, mouth slightly open. He’s got such full lips, Michael thinks, and then hastily swallows both the muffin and that train of thought.

“You’re the worst angel I’ve ever met,” Calum says decisively, sinking back in his seat.

“You met many?” Michael asks casually.

“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re the worst they’ve got,” Calum tells him. “I’m going to write a letter of recommendation to get you kicked out of He-” he winces. “Up there.” Michael cocks his head.

“What’d you do to get kicked out?” he asks.

“What do any of us do?” Calum says grumpily. “Exercise our free will.”

“I exercise my free will,” Michael points out.

“Yeah, to fucking swear,” Calum says. “You’re like that kid at school who gets an adrenaline rush from telling someone to shut up.” Michael scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says, and Calum grins wickedly.

“You kiss your Father with that mouth?” he says. Michael flips him off.

“Right, well, this has been fun,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin as he gets to his feet, “but I’ve got to get going. Stop fucking with humans.”

“Man, you’d be way more fun if you weren’t an angel,” Calum says mournfully.

“I dunno,” Michael says, mock-thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t get to do this then, would I?” He snaps his fingers, just for dramatic effect, and the Lice tattoo on the man’s arm rearranges itself to say Lisa again, and an identical heart with Lice appears on Calum’s bicep. Calum twists his arm around with a look of absolute horror.

“You absolute fucking bastard,” Calum shouts, making at least five people in the Starbucks turn around and give him a sharp look (not that he’ll fucking care).

“Be a good boy, demon,” Michael says, throwing him a grin before heading out into the warm October air.

-------

The first thing Michael’s going to do when He gets over Himself and reinstates Michael as an archangel is have a word with Him about ever giving Ashton Summoning powers.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Michael mutters, using his right wing to rub his head where he’d banged it on impact.

“Are you serious?” Ashton says, hands on his hips. “You come straight into my office and blaspheme?”

“Don’t fucking Summon me with no warning, then,” Michael says, shaking his wings out. Ashton throws him a glare, probably for cursing, possibly for having the gall to respond at all.

“You’re an angel, Michael, you’ll come when you’re called,” he says reprovingly. Michael rolls his eyes, but throws himself down on the chair on the other side of Ashton’s desk heavily.

“What?” he says, with a long-suffering sigh.

“It’s Calum,” Ashton says.

“Again?” Ashton throws him a look.

“You could’ve killed him,” he says pointedly. Michael shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He knows he should have, but something about Calum just draws Michael in, makes it impossible for him to say no.

“He was fucking with tattoos and unscrewing lug nuts, Ash,” he says, a little too defensive. “Not exactly crimes of the millennium.” Ashton scrutinises him for a moment, and then purses his lips.

“Well,” he says primly, “apparently he’s turned up in LA.” Michael can’t help but smile at that, because yeah, LA sounds like exactly the kind of place a demon like Calum would show up. Ashton sees it, and frowns. “Michael, this is a case, you hear me? Calum’s still a demon, no matter how much you want to copulate with him.” Michael scowls. Fucking Ashton, always listening to his prayers.

“No one says fucking copulate anymore,” he snipes, because he can’t exactly deny it. “You’d know if you ever got down off your high horse and visited Earth.” Ashton rolls his eyes.

“I’m pretty busy up here,” he says, gesturing to all the paperwork piled high on his desk.

“I’m telling you, station Pahaliah with Peter at the gates,” Michael says. “You’d cut all this in half.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ashton says. “Pahaliah’s had his work cut out for him since the Enlightenment.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Alright, Barachiel, then,” he suggests. “He’s a fucking pain in the arse. Might do him some good to do something mundane for a few centuries.”

“I think He has bigger plans for His archangels than guarding the gates,” Ashton says. Michael raises an eyebrow, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “You’re not an archangel anymore, Michael.”

“I am in all but name,” Michael says with a shrug, because He always relents where Michael’s concerned. “This is my, what, twelfth demotion? Thirteenth?”

“This one might stick,” Ashton says warningly, which is what he says every time it happens. His concern is kind of cute, Michael thinks, if unwarranted. Ashton’s never understood Him like Michael does.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says dismissively, because he’s not about to have this discussion with Ashton again. “Can I go now?” Ashton frowns at him, which Michael takes as a yes. He lifts himself up from the chair, stretching his wings and arms out, and turns to leave.

“Do not copulate with the demon, Michael,” Ashton says.

“I won’t,” Michael promises, heading for the door. “Might fuck him, though.”

(The force with which Ashton slams him into the wall makes the whole building shake, but it’s absolutely worth it.)

-------

LA is cold in November, which Michael had forgotten. It’s also busy, which means he can’t draw his wings around himself for extra warmth, nor simply teleport himself to the studio Calum’s apparently in. Instead, he has to huddle into himself and elbow his way through the Hollywood crowds, meaning he’s in a pretty bad mood by the time he actually gets to where he needs to be.

Michael distracts the security guard momentarily with a quick wave of his hand, enough for him to slip inside unnoticed. It’s a small studio, only a handful of live rooms, and Michael only has to peek into two before he finds the one Calum’s in.

Calum, clad in his usual all-black get-up, is leaning against the wall of the studio, grinning as he watches the sound engineer frowning, fiddling with a bunch of his controls. Michael can see the shimmer of the glamour he’s cast, and wordlessly casts one of his own as he clicks the door shut behind him. The sound engineer doesn’t even look up, so preoccupied with trying to fix whatever’s going wrong, but Calum hears the sound and whips around, scowling when he sees Michael.

“Do you just, like, have a sixth sense for when there’s some fun occurring that could be stopped?” he asks, and Michael grins at him.

“Just got a sixth sense for shitty demons,” he says, and Calum’s scowl deepens.

“Fuck you,” he says. Michael raises an eyebrow, then casts a look over at the live room on the other side of the glass. There’s a band in there, two girls on guitar, one on bass and one on drums, all frowning at their instruments and fiddling with tuning pegs or tension rods.

“You’re un-tuning their instruments?” he says. “That’s pretty bad, even for you.” Calum makes a noise of outrage.

“What do you mean, even for me?” he says, sounding scandalised. “That tattoo was fucking hilarious, you said so yourself.” Michael’s eyes flick down to Calum’s bicep, even though it’s covered by his leather jacket. Calum notices, and folds his arms. “Yeah, fuck you for that. Do you have any idea the number of favours I had to call in to get rid of it?” Michael snorts.

“Who the fuck owes you favours?” he asks, and Calum grins, eyes gleaming.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking,” Michael points out. Calum rolls his eyes, and turns back to the sound engineer, who looks like he’s ready to cry.

“I asked around about you,” Calum comments casually, as they both watch the sound engineer fiddle with yet more knobs.

“Oh?” Michael hums, interest piqued. “You know, the Devil and I had a good understanding.”

“Yeah, until you waged a war against him,” Calum says.

“On the Lord’s orders,” Michael says, a little defensively.

“Well, he found it pretty funny that you got demoted,” Calum says. Michael rolls his eyes. Of course he did.

“He would,” Michael says. “Did he tell you about the time the Lord made him wash the Son’s feet in front of the whole host?” Calum gapes at him.

“No,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. Michael grins, feeling oddly satisfied.

“Yeah, I bet he didn’t,” he says. “Didn’t realise he concerned himself with petty demons like you, anyway.” Calum scowls.

“I’m not a petty demon,” he says, a shade petulantly.

“You un-tune people’s guitars, dude,” Michael says. “Pretty sure demons are meant to be out committing homicide, and stuff.”

“There are plenty of demons who do the whole murder thing,” Calum says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m striking out.” Michael can’t help but grin at that.

“I’ll put that in your file,” he tells Calum. “‘Not Like Other Demons’. Got it.”

“I’ve got a file?”

“What, you think we just let demons run around unchecked?” Calum blinks at him.

“You know Galadriel’s in the US president’s cabinet right now?” he says slowly.

“Of course we know,” Michael says.

“And you’re leaving him be?” Michael shrugs.

“Not my department,” he says. Calum stares at him for a moment, and then a grin breaks out on his face, and he shakes his head.

“Man, things have definitely changed since I was up there,” he says.

“When was that?” Michael asks. Calum shrugs.

“I dunno, I’m not great with time,” he says. “One, two thousand years ago?” Michael hums thoughtfully.

“You remember Raphael?” he says. Calum rolls his eyes, and now that, that is a sentiment Michael can really get behind.

“Unfortunately,” he mutters. “He still so fucking holier-than-thou?”

“You thought he was holier-than-thou then?” Michael says, raising his eyebrows. “You should see him since my latest demotion.” He pitches his voice up a few octaves, and mimics: “Oh, Michael, if you just repented, you could have your seat at His side again. We’re all rooting for you. You’re just letting yourself down.” Calum grins.

“You get demoted often?” It’s Michael’s turn to shrug.

“Every couple of centuries,” he says. Calum laughs, all straight white teeth and sparkling eyes, and Michael’s stomach flips. God, he’s far too fucking pretty for Michael to handle. Is that why He sent Michael after him? Is this His idea of revenge?

“I have no idea how you’re still an angel,” Calum says, shaking his head, still smiling.

“Pure heart,” Michael says solemnly. “That’s why I keep defending these poor, helpless humans from your shitty little tricks.”

“They’re not shitty,” Calum protests, as Michael throws a glance over to the girls in the live room, tightening their tuning pegs and tension rods wordlessly. Calum sighs dramatically, eyes following Michael’s gaze. “Man, you’re so fucking boring, you know that?”

“Whatever you say,” Michael says with a grin, stepping back. “Behave yourself, demon.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Calum says, eyes twinkling. Michael smirks, and drops Calum’s glamour with a snap of his fingers. The sound engineer whirls around immediately, eyes widening when he sees Calum in the corner of the room, and scrambles to his feet, grabbing a nearby guitar and brandishing it like a weapon.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy shouts. “How the fuck did you get in here?” Calum shoots Michael a glare.

“I fucking hate you, angel,” is the last thing Michael hears before everything goes white.

-------

The next time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him with another demon who looks decidedly undemonic, blonde hair framing baby-blue eyes. Calum’s head whips around when Michael clears his throat, eyes black, poised to pounce, but he relaxes when he sees who it is. Michael’s not sure what to make of that. The other demon, though, bares his teeth, eyes flashing to black, tensing at Michael’s presence.

“Evening,” Calum says casually as his eyes flicker back to looking human, like they’re friends, and like Michael doesn’t have the power to kill him with a snap of his fingers.

“What are you doing?” Michael asks, cocking his head. There’s glue and there’s coins, and he doesn’t understand how the two of them combine.

“Gluing coins to the footpath,” Calum says, stepping back to let Michael see. In the dim light of the streetlight a few metres away, Michael can see a few coins shining back at him.

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Who’s your friend?”

“Luke,” the other demon says, eyes narrowed and black, posture defensive. He’s oddly familiar, Michael thinks, a bitter taste rising in his throat when they lock eyes. Michael’s dealt with a lot of demons in his time, but he doesn’t remember any called Luke. “Who the fuck is this, Cal?”

“This?” Calum says, far too nonchalantly, kicking at one of the coins to make sure it’s properly stuck. “Michael. You know, the archangel?”

“C’mon, dude,” Michael protests. “That’s a sensitive topic.” Luke looks at him, and there’s an edge of a glint to his eyes that Michael doesn’t like the look of.

“An archangel?” he asks Calum, eyes still on Michael.

“Well, no,” Calum says cheerfully, dropping to his knees again and sending Michael a pointed look, eyes glittering with humour. “He got demoted. Just a regular angel now.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” he says. “Who are you, the Raphael of Hell?” Calum snorts, and Luke looks from Calum to Michael and back again.

“Are you going to kill us?” he says.

“That depends,” Michael says. “Are you going to piss me off enough to make me?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Calum tells Luke, reaching for another coin and some glue. “He’s the worst angel they’ve got.” Michael sighs, an I didn’t want to have to do this but you’ve twisted my arm kind of sigh, and raises his hand. Calum jerks into the air, feet dangling beneath him, and his wings instinctively shoot out, beating wildly to try and escape Michael’s chokehold. They’re kind of gorgeous, actually - sleek, black feathers, a little unkempt.

“Huh,” Michael says thoughtfully, as Calum struggles against his hold, wheezing and spluttering, and Luke stares at him, looking only mildly interested. “Nice wings, dude.” He lets Calum go, who drops to the ground with a loud crack, splitting the footpath on impact. Calum winces, rubbing at his throat, and folds his wings back in.

“Thanks,” he says, coughing. “Always thought black suited me better.” Michael hums in agreement. He can’t really see the pure, brilliant white he has on his own back working with Calum’s aesthetic.

“Hey, d’you have a halo?” Calum says to Michael, voice still a little hoarse.

“‘Course,” Michael says. “Do you have horns?” Calum snorts, getting to his feet.

“I can if you want me to,” he says, throwing Michael a wink. Luke stares at him.

“Wait, are you two fucking?” he asks, a note of trepidation in his voice. Calum’s eyes flick to Michael, dark and hungry.

“Not yet,” he says, not taking his eyes off Michael. Michael swallows, and apologises to Ashton, who he just knows is listening, for the string of thoughts that just went through his mind.

“I’m just doing my job,” Michael says to Luke, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Calum’s.

“Isn’t your job to kill us?”

“No,” Michael says. “Just to stop you. And, I’ve got to be honest, stopping Calum isn’t exactly hard. He’s kind of a shitty demon.”

“Fuck you,” Calum says, scowling, and Michael grins.

“If you’re lucky,” he says, winking at Calum before turning to Luke. “You don’t seem like a very intimidating demon either, dude, not gonna lie.”

“Oh, you should see him when he’s pissed,” Calum says, and Luke huffs, looking a little embarrassed. “Remember that transport minister in Berlin that fell in front of a train a few months ago?” Michael gapes at him.

“That was you?” he says, rounding on Luke.

“Yep,” Calum says gleefully, on Luke’s behalf.

“What, he stood on my foot on the underground and didn’t apologise,” Luke says defensively. Michael stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head.

“You’re a way better demon than Calum,” he says, and the cheerful grin slips off Calum’s face, replaced with an indignant scowl.

“What the fuck, dude?” he demands. Michael shrugs.

“Find yourself a better sidekick, Luke,” he recommends, taking a step back.

“Go fuck yourself,” Calum says. Michael grins, flicking his wrist, and all the coins start rolling down the footpath towards the gutter.

“What did I tell you about behaving?” he mock-chides, as Calum makes a noise of outrage, trying to stop a few of the coins with his feet.

“Fuck you, angel,” Calum grumbles, and Michael blows him a kiss as he transports himself back home.

-------

Michael’s in the middle of a debate with Peter about whether or not Julius Caesar should really have been let into Heaven when Ashton Summons him.

“-just shouldn’t have crossed the Rubicon, if you ask me,” Michael finishes his sentence addressing the wall in Ashton’s office. He spins around, annoyed. “What the fuck, Ash? I was having a conversation.” Ashton holds up a picture of Luke and Calum that Michael had put in Calum’s file, tapping on Luke.

“Who’s the friend?” he says.

“Luke,” Michael says. “Can I go now?”

“No,” Ashton says, motioning for Michael to sit. Michael sighs dramatically, but throws himself down into the chair. Ashton sits down opposite him, wings poised, and steeples his fingers against his chin.

“You know Luke?” he asks carefully. Michael shrugs.

“Met him once,” he says. “They were gluing coins to a footpath.” Ashton nods thoughtfully. “Oh, and he killed that transport minister in Berlin a few months ago.”

“I think he’s killed a lot more than just the transport minister,” Ashton says, tapping on a thick, unmarked file on his right. Michael shrugs.

“Humans have to die of something,” he says. Ashton gives him a look.

“We’re meant to protect humanity,” he says reprovingly.

“C’mon, Ash, they live about as long as it takes me to blink,” Michael says. Ashton purses his lips, but he knows Michael’s right.

“I’m going after him,” he says eventually. Michael does a literal, honest-to-God double take.

“You’re doing what?” he says, astounded. “You’re going down?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ashton says, a little snappily. “Gabriel’ll take over for me when I’m gone.” Michael groans.

“C’mon, Ash, can’t you pick, like, Uriel, or Selaphiel, or something?” he asks desperately, because he’d rather die than answer to Gabriel, but Ashton shakes his head firmly.

“Gabriel’s the only one qualified,” he says, eyes back on the picture of Luke and Calum.

“What’s so interesting about Luke?” Michael asks, seeing the way Ashton’s eyes linger on him. “Why can’t you send someone else after him?” Ashton hesitates, then looks at Michael with a serious expression.

“There’s never been a demon called Luke.”

-------

Michael next sees Calum in a shopping centre food court.

Calum spots him before he manages to get to him, and beckons him over, grinning excitedly. Michael tries to suppress a grin and ignore the way his stomach flips at that, pushing through the crowd to get to the booth Calum’s sat in and sliding in opposite him.

“Watch this,” Calum says gleefully, nodding at the woman to their right. She takes a bite of her margherita pizza, nodding at whatever her friend is saying, and then stops, frowning, hand flying to her throat.

“What did you do?” Michael asks, as the woman starts to cough.

“Made her allergic to salt,” Calum says nonchalantly, and Michael snorts. The woman looks like she’s starting to struggle to breathe, so Michael waves his hand, and she relaxes, coughing a few more times, looking extremely confused and concerned.

“So you’ve progressed to actually killing people now?” Michael asks, mildly intrigued. Calum shakes his head.

“Knew you’d turn up,” he says, flashing Michael a grin. Michael rolls his eyes.

“You don’t know that,” he says. “I’m a busy angel.” Calum snorts.

“Right, that’s why they’ve sent you after me,” he says sarcastically, dipping a chip in some ketchup and popping it in his mouth. “Sure.” Michael shrugs.

“He wanted me to go after you,” he says. Calum stops chewing, and frowns.

“He?” he says, swallowing. “As in, Him?” Michael nods. “What the fuck? I’m on G-” he winces. “I’m on His radar?”

“Apparently so,” Michael says, reaching for one of Calum’s chips and looking around for the mayonnaise. “Hey, where’s the mayo?” Calum stares at him.

“You eat mayo, and I’m the demon?” he says in disbelief. Michael scowls at him, and conjures some mayonnaise.

“It’s the best condiment,” he tells Calum, through a mouthful of chip. Calum shakes his head at him, looking genuinely disappointed.

“What does He want with me, then?” he asks. Michael shrugs.

“Do I look like God?” he says. Calum shrugs.

“Never met Him,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows.

“Well, who kicked you out?” he asks.

“Raphael.”

“Bet he enjoyed that.” Calum huffs out a laugh, sticking his finger in the ketchup and then in his mouth. Michael’s not sure whether he should be grossed out by the fact Calum’s eating pure ketchup, or turned on by the way Calum’s got his lips wrapped around his fingers, looking up at Michael through thick, black lashes.

“You’re disgusting,” he settles for, but it comes out weak, and a grin’s flashing across Calum’s face in a second.

“Only for you,” he says, with a wink. Michael rolls his eyes, and hopes the pink on his cheeks isn’t too obvious. He reaches for another one of Calum’s chips, and Calum’s eyes follow him. He looks like he’s weighing up whether or not he wants to say something.

“What’s He like?” he asks eventually, curiously.

“God?” Michael asks, and Calum nods. Michael swallows his mouthful of chips, and clears his throat. “He’s cool. Pretty laid-back guy. It’s the Son you want to watch out for.” Calum cocks an eyebrow in intrigue, and Michael nods. “Yeah, the Son’s got a proper stick up his ass. Never met anyone so uptight in my life.”

“Might be a side effect of crucifixion,” Calum suggests, and Michael snorts.

“Well, you know, there’s the whole Trinity thing,” Michael continues, “so He’s pretty strict when it comes to the Son. God, the Son’s so spoilt. You think Raphael’s bad, wait until you meet Jesus.” Calum snorts.

“Don’t think I’ll be meeting the Son anytime soon,” he says, and there’s something hard in his eyes and bitter in his tone. Michael frowns, but it’s gone as soon as Michael opens his mouth to ask.

“What about Hell?” he asks instead.

“What about it?”

“Well, what’s Satan up to nowadays?” A look of amusement flashes across Calum’s face.

“Oh, y’know,” he says. “Same old.”

“Being the proudest motherfucker around?” Calum laughs, eyes twinkling, and Michael has the feeling he’s said something much funnier than he intended to.

“You could say that,” Calum says.

“He still funny?” Michael asks. “Heaven’s way more boring without him. He was the only one with a fucking sense of humour.” Calum’s eyes glitter with mirth.

“I’d say so,” he says, grinning.

“Well,” Michael says, a little awkwardly, because Calum’s finding this way funnier than it should be. “Give him my best.” Calum bursts out laughing.

“Will do, angel,” he says.

-------

God is nothing like humans think.

Okay, He’s a little like humans think - He’s got the beard - but that’s about it.

“Hey, Mikey,” God says, grinning at him when he knocks at the door. “How’s my favourite angel?” Michael rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re not supposed to have favourites,” he tells God.

“I don’t,” God says, eyes twinkling. “But Raphael was listening.” Michael snorts, shaking his head, and God gestures at the seat opposite His desk, capping His pen as Michael sits down.

“You reinstating me as archangel?” Michael asks cheerfully. God sighs, giving him a serious look, and the smile slips off Michael’s face.

“You know, Jesus is still mad about the onion,” He says gravely. “You made Him look bad, which means you made me look bad.”

“You know I didn’t mean to do that,” Michael says, because He can see Michael’s intentions laid out in front of him, clear as day. “And you know I’m sorry.”

“I know,” God says. “So I am reinstating you. But don’t play around with the Son again.” Michael nods meekly, wings sagging a little.

“Thank you, Father,” he says. God waves His hand dismissively, grinning.

“You knew I was going to reinstate you,” He says.

“Ashton’s going to be pissed,” Michael says, and God chuckles.

“He knew too,” He says. “He thinks you get special treatment.” That fucker. And, yeah, whoops, Michael’s in the presence of the Lord, and isn’t censoring his thoughts. Whoops. Sorry. “Apology accepted,” He says, grinning.

Michael hesitates, then, because it reminds him of some things Calum’s said - you exercise your free will to swear, and the many different iterations of you’re the worst angel up there. God raises an eyebrow, motioning for Michael to ask.

“Why don’t you kick me out?” Michael blurts. God leans back in His seat.

“You want me to kick you out?” He asks. Michael shakes his head.

“But I- y’know,” Michael says, shrugging a little uncomfortably in the heat of His gaze. There’s nothing quite like the scrutiny of the Lord. “I swear. I blaspheme. I- uh.” He flushes, and God smirks as images of just what exactly Michael would like to do to Calum flash through his mind. Michael clears his throat. “I’m not exactly a model angel.” God looks at him, calculating, and Michael tries to resist the urge to fall to his knees.

“You use your free will exactly as I intended it to be used,” He says. “You do as you please with a pure heart, unwaveringly loyal to me. You never have your own interests above mine.”

“Even when I blaspheme?” God looks at him for a moment, and then smiles.

“Even when you blaspheme,” He says gently. “You’d do well to remember my omniscience, Michael. Raphael may think obsequiousness is the way into my good books, but that was the reason I gave you free will. I knew some would use it for wrong, I knew some of you would use it to serve me blindly, but you’re the only one who’s ever used their free will as I intended, and the only one I’d ever want at my right-hand side.” Michael has to drop his gaze, can’t meet the holy power shining from His eyes.

“Thank you, Father,” he says again, and he hears the awe in his own voice. Jesus Christ, he sounds like a human. God snorts at that.

“Yeah, you do,” He says. “Now, go and tell Raphael you’ve been reinstated. I’ve seen how it plays out, and you’re going to love it.”

“Can I tell him I’m your right-hand angel?” Michael says hopefully, and God laughs.

“The fuck you can,” He says, eyes twinkling, and laughs again as Michael gawps at Him. “Oh, you think you’re the only one who can swear in here?”

Yeah, Michael should have seen that one coming.

-------

The next time Michael sees Calum, he’s with Luke again. It’s the middle of the night, and they’ve both cast glamours, whispering to each other in a dormitory in a hostel in Prague. Luke’s pointing at something across the room, and Michael silently casts his own glamour, sauntering over to them nonchalantly in the hopes of picking up what they’re talking about.

“...the right side of the room, you take the left,” Luke says, gesturing to the other side of the room.

“For what?” Michael asks, and both Calum and Luke jump, eyes instinctively turning black and baring their teeth. They both relax when they see who it is, though.

“Can you let us have one night of fun?” Calum says, sighing.

“Depends,” Michael says. “Does ‘fun’ involve fucking with the humans?” He indicates the ten people sleeping soundly in the room, and both Luke and Calum hesitate.

“Well, yes, but-” Luke begins.

“No can do,” Michael says smoothly, and Calum scowls at him.

“You ever get tired of being a boring cunt?” he asks, and Michael can’t help but laugh.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

“Unplugging people’s phone chargers,” Luke answers, eyes gleaming. “They’re all going to wake up with thirty percent charge. Some of them might even miss their alarms.” He sounds so fucking pleased with himself. Michael rolls his eyes.

“What are you, three hundred?” he says, and he opens his mouth to make another scathing remark, but is interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He whips around in surprise, because who the fuck can see through his glamour, to find Ashton standing there, looking equally surprised to see him.

“Oh,” Michael says, turning back to Calum, who looks bewildered, and Luke, who looks shocked. “This is my superior. Although, actually, that’s not true anymore, is it?”

“You get demoted too?” Calum asks Ashton sympathetically. Ashton sends Michael a glare, and shakes his head tightly. Calum looks back at Michael, who’s grinning widely.

“No way,” he says incredulously. “You got reinstated?”

“He always gets reinstated,” Ashton mutters.

“Jealousy’s not a good look you, Ash,” Michael tells him sweetly, and Ashton scowls at him.

“Ashton,” Luke says suddenly. Ashton’s eyes slide over to him, something unreadable in his expression.

“Yes,” he says, a little tightly. Michael frowns. What the fuck is Ashton’s deal with Luke? He’s just a harmless fucking demon. He’s about to start unplugging people’s phones, for God’s sake. Not exactly the kind of criminal mastermind Ashton usually descends for; the last time Ashton had come down had been for Attila the Hun.

“Huh,” Luke says, a little smile unfolding on his lips. “You’re still fucking hot.” Michael’s eyes widen, and Calum chokes on his next breath, disguising it badly as a cough.

“You know him?” Michael asks in disbelief. Luke grins, eyes glittering, and waves his hand. Michael watches as all the phone chargers in the room simultaneously unplug themselves and fall to the floor, and his jaw drops. No demon should be able to do that. Calum wouldn’t even be able to unplug two chargers at the same time.

“Cal didn’t tell you?” Luke says sweetly. “Luke’s short for Lucifer.”

-------

For want of a better phrase, all hell had broken loose as soon as the words had left Luke’s lips.

Ashton and Michael’s wings had flown out, in warrior mode without a second’s hesitation, and Calum and Luke had responded in kind, growling, eyes black, teeth bared.

“I knew it,” Ashton had hissed, holy light rolling off him so brightly it even almost hurt Michael’s eyes. Calum had shrunk back, but Luke had been unperturbed. “The minute I saw that picture, I knew it was you.” Luke had grinned, all sharp teeth and gleaming black eyes.

“You think about me that often?” he’d said.

“Of course I fucking think about you,” Ashton had spat, and Michael had stopped short, stared at him.

“Did you just fucking swear?” he’d asked.

“Not really the point, Michael,” Ashton had said through gritted teeth.

“Man, you’re not the only angel to swear?” Calum had said to Michael.

“He never swears,” Michael had told him, bewildered.

“These are special fucking circumstances,” Ashton had snapped, and the power in his voice had made Calum stumble back a few steps.

“Look,” he’d said carefully, when he’d regained his footing. “Michael’s an archangel, you’re...whatever the fuck you are, and Luke’s the Devil. All I’m seeing here is I’m going to come out bottom if this comes down to a fight. Why don’t we take this somewhere else?” They’d all hesitated, tense and poised, none of them willing to be the first to give in, until Calum’s gaze had flickered to Michael, a pleading note in his brown eyes.

And really, who’s Michael, archangel of the Lord, to say no to petty demon Calum?

“Fine,” Michael had said, folding his wings, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ashton had followed suit. Luke had taken a moment longer, until Calum had nudged him pointedly, and then he’d folded his sleek black wings in too.

That’s how they’ve ended up here, in a McDonald’s that’s open all night. They’re huddled in a booth, too close for comfort, Calum and Luke on one side, Michael and Ashton on another.

“So,” Michael says awkwardly, cutting into the uncomfortable silence, because someone has to be the first to speak. “Sorry about, y’know. The war, and all that.” Luke snorts.

“Water under the bridge,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, but his eyes don’t stray from Ashton. “You were always my favourite angel.” Ashton flinches at that.

“What’s the fucking deal here?” Calum demands, and Michael’s silently grateful that he’s not the one who had to ask the question and risk getting publicly reamed out by Ashton. “How do you two know each other?” Luke grins, still gazing at Ashton.

“You wanna tell them, or should I?” he says, and Ashton stiffens. “I guess I should, huh? It is my story, after all.”

“Fucking spit it out already, Luke,” Calum says. Luke raises his eyebrows at Ashton, and then finally tears his gaze away.

“Ashton’s the reason I fell,” Luke says. Michael feels his jaw drop.

“What?” he says, at the exact same time as Calum.

“How?” Michael demands.

“What the fuck?” Calum says.

“What happened?”

“What did he do?”

“Hang on, I thought you fell because of pride,” Michael interrupts, jabbing a finger at Luke. Luke shakes his head.

“I fell because I loved someone more than I loved Him,” he says, and then nods at Ashton. Michael blinks.

“Sorry,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “Not sure I’m getting this.”

“Yeah,” Calum chimes in. “Sounds like you’re saying you and Ashton were, like...a thing?”

“That’s what he’s saying,” Ashton says.

“You- hang on,” Michael says, holding his hands up. “You, Ashton, angel who tells me off for even thinking about blaspheming, dated the Devil?” Ashton nods curtly.

“Nah,” Calum says, shaking his head, “sorry, not having it.” Michael has to agree with that. No way did Ashton date Satan.

“Wait,” he says suddenly. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. Why do you look different?” Luke shrugs.

“Changed it up,” he says. “You get a much more exciting range of powers when you’re not confined by His morals.” He grins, and looks back at Ashton. “Ashton still recognised me, though, didn’t he?” Michael stares at Ashton.

“You dated Satan?” he asks, and Ashton nods. “You never thought to fucking tell me?”

“What was I supposed to say, Mike?” Ashton says.

“Oh, I don’t know, hey, Michael, sorry about all those times I slammed you against a wall for swearing, turns out I dated the fucking Devil?” Michael suggests, slightly hysterical. None of this makes any fucking sense.

“You slam him against walls?” Calum asks, sounding intrigued. “Huh. Shame. I won’t get to be the first.” Michael scowls at him.

“Are you serious?” he demands. “I find out Ashton dated the literal Devil, and you want to make innuendos? What are you, an incubus?” Calum grins at him.

“Might be,” he says.

“Could make you one, if you wanted to be,” Luke offers.

“If you’re Satan, why the fuck are you messing around with people’s phone chargers and gluing coins to footpaths?” Michael says. Luke shrugs.

“Being annoying is way more fun than being evil,” he says. Michael stares at him, because yeah, that does actually sound like something Lucifer would say. But Lucifer also didn’t fucking date Ashton.

“You two didn’t date,” Michael says, shaking his head. “That’s just- that’s just not true.”

“I can’t lie, Michael,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael bites his lip, because it’s true, he can’t, but he also didn’t fucking date the Devil.

“So,” Luke continues, like this whole interlude hadn’t even happened, spreading his hands. “Turns out I loved Ashton more than he loved me. I get cast out, he doesn’t follow, cue thousands of years of warfare.” And actually, that’s a point.

“You let me fight that war,” Michael says tightly, rounding on Ashton. “You let me lead that. You let me lead angels, your brothers, into battle to die, and you could have stopped it all along.” Ashton puts his head in his hands.

“I couldn’t,” he says miserably. “I couldn’t force myself to love Lucifer more than I love Him.”

“Man, this is like a fucking soap opera,” Calum puts in, leaning back in the booth with a grin on his face.

“I’m glad someone’s fucking enjoying themselves,” Michael snaps, and Calum holds his hands up in defence.

“I’m a demon, dude,” he says. “I kind of get off on chaos.” He pauses, and then adds: “So do you, actually, don’t fucking lie. You said the tattoo was funny.”

“That’s exactly why I’m so worried about you, Michael,” Ashton says. “You abuse your free will. I don’t want you to fall, too.” Michael rolls his eyes.

“Ash, if I were going to fall, it’d would’ve happened a long fucking time ago,” he says. Ashton shoots him a look.

“You’ve never been as close as you are now,” he says bluntly, eyes flicking to Calum.

“Oh, c’mon, I want to fuck a demon, so what?” Michael says. “You actually fucked the Devil, and you’re still up there.”

“You want to fuck me?” Calum interrupts, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Dude, of course I want to fuck you,” he says. Calum looks at him for a moment, and then his face splits into a self-satisfied grin.

“Don’t blame you,” he says. “I am pretty fucking sexy.”

“Not the moment, Calum,” Michael says warningly, and it’s Calum’s turn to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t retort.

“He’s not going to fall, Ash,” Luke says, and there’s something gentle and reassuring in his tone that doesn’t really sit well with Michael’s idea of Satan. “Trust me. He’ll never love anyone more than he loves Him.” Calum’s grin drops at that, and Michael tries to ignore the unpleasant flip in his stomach.

“You don’t know that,” Ashton says. “You haven’t seen how he uses his free will.” Michael hesitates.

“I spoke to God about it,” he says, after a moment of dithering. “I- look, I can’t tell you what He said, but we’re on the same page.” Ashton throws him a sceptical look. “Come on, Ash, am I going to lie to you about what He said in front of Him?” Ashton hesitates, and then deflates.

“No,” he says reluctantly. “But-”

“No, I’m not taking any more fucking criticism from you,” Michael interrupts, pointing a finger at him, “ever. You dated the Devil. I’m going to swear to fucking God-” he relishes the way Ashton flinches at that “-and I’m going to fuck Calum, and there’s absolutely fucking nothing you’re going to say about it.” Ashton opens his mouth, and then closes it again, and Michael gets a rush of satisfaction almost as strong as when he’d told Raphael he’d been reinstated as archangel, again.

“Fine,” Ashton mutters. Luke shoots him a look somewhere between concern and amusement, and Michael tries not to think about the fact that Satan seems to at least somewhat care about Ashton, instead lapsing into an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes until Calum clears his throat.

“So, Michael,” he says hopefully, breaking the tension. “We were gonna fuck?”

-------

Just because Michael and Calum are fucking now doesn’t relieve Michael from his duties, as God kindly but firmly reminds him when he goes to ask about whether this is, like, even permitted.

(“You know where I stand,” God had said. “Love no one more than me.”

“For you are a jealous God,” Michael had muttered, and God had grinned.

“Exactly.”)

He’s begged Calum to stop fucking around, but Calum seems to think it’s even funnier now that they’re whatever the fuck they are, uses it as a fucking booty call. His ideas are getting more and more ludicrous - he’d gone to someone’s house and put tiny holes in all of their socks, for God’s sake - just to call Michael down for a quick fuck.

So when Michael hears that Calum’s caused a ten-car pileup on a motorway in England, he’s a little concerned.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Calum says, aiming for light-hearted and missing, not even looking up when Michael sits down next to him on the overbridge.

“That’s all in your hands,” Michael says, looking out at the (pretty impressive) traffic jam Calum’s caused. “Damn, dude. Bad day?” Calum huffs out a laugh, but it’s humourless.

“Yeah, guess so,” he says moodily. Michael hesitates. On the one hand, Calum’s a demon, and even though they’re physically intimate, Michael’s not supposed to emotionally care about him. On the other hand, Michael’s an angel, so caring is kind of in his nature, and something about Calum just draws Michael in.

“Wanna talk about it?” he says eventually, gently. Calum shrugs.

“Nothing you can do about it,” he says.

“I can listen,” Michael says. “Angel, remember? I do a lot of listening.” Calum snorts.

“What are you angel of?” he asks.

“Healing,” Michael says.

“You heal broken hearts?” And, oh. Okay. Michael swallows. He shouldn’t care about that as much as he does. It shouldn’t matter to him that someone that isn’t Michael has broken Calum’s heart.

“I can try,” he says, aiming for jovial, but it falls flat. Calum sighs.

“Remember that dude who wrote that play about the people who couldn’t be together?” he says, kicking his legs out. Michael frowns. “You know, the one set in Italy? Couple of centuries ago?” Michael frowns, and Calum rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man, you know who I’m talking about. Ro- Roleo? No, wait, Romeo? Romeo and Juliet, that’s the one.”

“...Shakespeare?” Michael says.

“Yeah, him,” Calum says in relief.

“What about him?”

“Didn’t he write the whole star-crossed lovers thing?” Michael raises his eyebrows.

“You remember that, but not Shakespeare’s name?” he says. Calum scowls, but it’s half-hearted.

“My point is,” he says, and then he stops, and kicks his feet out again.

“Your point is?” Michael prompts. Calum sighs, and stares down at the cars.

“You ever feel like that?” he says gloomily. Michael follows his gaze.

“Like a traffic jam?” he asks slowly. Calum rolls his eyes.

“Like we’re star-crossed lovers,” he says, and oh.

Oh.

Oh, fucking hell.

“Calum,” Michael says carefully, and Calum sighs again.

“I know,” he says, before Michael can continue. “You don’t fucking care about me, whatever. It just fucking sucks.” He laughs humourlessly, and then adds: “You think He’d ever let me back in?” Michael dithers on that for a moment, before deciding to go for the truth.

“I don’t think so, Cal,” he says gently. “You wouldn’t be able to love Him more than anyone else.”

“Is that such a fucking crime?” Calum says bitterly. “That I have the capacity to love with thought, with intention, not just blindly?”

“No,” Michael says kindly. “It just means you’d make a shitty angel.”

“You’re a shitty angel,” Calum says.

“I am,” Michael agrees. “But I’ll also never love anyone more than Him.” Calum deflates, and shit, are those tears? Can demons even cry?

“What the fuck are we even doing then, Michael?” Calum asks flatly. Michael sighs.

“I do care about you, Cal,” he says. “A lot. I should have killed you the first time I met you, but I couldn’t. There’s something about you, I just…” he trails off. “Look, it’s complicated. I do care about you. I’ll just never love you more than I love the Lord.” Calum stares at the traffic below them.

“But you could love me?” he says to the cars. Michael nods.

“Easily,” he says. Calum bites his lip.

“I could be second best?”

“You already are second best.” Calum’s brow creases, like he’s trying to make some kind of decision.

“Okay,” he says eventually. Michael frowns.

“Okay?” Calum shrugs, and the wicked gleam is back in his eyes, just like that.

“You know what they say,” he says, grinning. “First the worst, second the best.” Michael rolls his eyes, hard.

“You really gonna have a breakdown and end it like that?” he says sceptically.

“Demon, dude,” Calum reminds him. “Not really keen on serious.”

“You sure you’re not, like, a poltergeist?” Michael says, and Calum shoves him off the overbridge. Michael squawks, wings unfolding so fast he thinks he might have sprained something, and he hits Calum upside the head with his left wing as he sets himself back down next to him. “You’re a fucking arsehole, you know that?”

“And proud,” Calum tells him, and then sobers again.

“What?” Michael prods. Calum sighs, and holds his hand out, fingers spread, for Michael to hold.

“I don’t want you to fall for my sake,” he says.

But, as Michael laces his fingers through Calum’s and stares at the cars under their feet, he thinks: would that be such a bad thing?

#malum #lashton #5sos fic #5sos slash #5sos fanfiction #im so tired i will rsvp to messages tomorrow im sorry xx #holyverse

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years ago

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Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER SIX

The knife strikes with a steady, precise rhythm against the board, the pearly onions rendered to slices within moments. Then there are the leeks, shallots, garlic, and bunches of mint, all of which sit idly by the expansive chopping board. The bandages wrapped around my hands prove to be rather cumbersome in the task, reducing my efficiency -- but it is my experience that allows me to work deftly around the obstruction. It is likely that I would have to change the bandages at some point within the next hour: the crushing of the cumin, cinnamon, wild bulbs, and numerous other spices that I had found myself unable to name have both stained and left the bandages with a savory smell, leaving me currently unable to work with other meat. Or any other food, for that matter. I imagine that baking a butterscotch pie with traces of pork fat and savory spices would have little appeal.

Despite my best efforts, I find that the image of her is branded into my mind. Seared deep into the recesses of my memory, dredging up both unpleasant and pleasant thoughts. Her dark curls had spilled over her shoulders as I pressed her to me, and I was vaguely aware of the soft, full lips that laid beneath my fingers. The moonlight had illuminated her features in such a loving manner, embracing the soft brown tone of her skin, the shape of her curls, the dark pools of her eyes. Everything about her had been impossibly ravishing, even more so than usual. Had I not known she was only human -- a human spirit, to be exact -- I would have assumed she was a fellow demon who had come to seduce me. A succubus in the most innocuous sense of the word.

At that moment, I had wanted to do nothing more than devour her. To tear her apart in the most wonderful ways imaginable. To feel her body writhing beneath mine as I brought her to orgasm again and again, her pretty mouth letting out soft moans. To hear my name on her lips as her blunt, human nails rake down the skin of my back, the control of her body having fully lost itself in the sensation. To feel my own release paint her insides white. I had prided myself once on my ability to resist temptation, even against my own nature as a demon -- but I could not help but become undone at the sight of her loveliness. Despite the guilt --

A sudden warmth carves a path down my palm. I pull myself back into the present, forcing myself to focus on the sensation.

There is a rather nasty, painful cut on my thumb. The blood spills into the bandages. I watch with horror as the skin does not immediately knit itself back together, the wound remaining a fresh, vivid crimson.

* * *

The hours pass by much quicker than I expected. While the other kitchen staff are allowed nearly an hour of a break for lunch, lower servants such as I have only been given half an hour’s worth. The higher-ranking chefs couldn’t be bothered to do something as lowly as peel potatoes and chop onions, after all. I make a note to increase the pay and rest hours of the castle servants once I return to Lord Diavolo’s castle. There are only twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds until I must return to the kitchens. Twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds for me to scout the servants’ halls and whatever else I can find.

And so I make haste.

Maria’s instructions had been vague, given her general unfamiliarity of Sanctum’s layout -- but they are enough. The marble corridors, great columns, and alabaster sculptures pass by in a blur. My eyes flicker towards endless halls and gatherings of various servants as I make my way towards what should be the laundry room, paying little mind to the vicious, judgmental gazes of the paintings as I pass. Even with the aid of the Apple of Lies, there lies enough power left in the paintings for the forms to sense my presence. Given my innate sense of time, it is all too easy to discern the thoughts of the silent works of art, their words echoing in the back of my mind.

Impostor! Impostor! a plump, painted cherub wants to cry out. Its stare is both hateful and scathing. This one is an impostor!

Sinful, abhorrent demon, another wishes to spit. If the alabaster sculpture could shift its features or throw its voice, it would. I hope you rot in the ashes of your own guilt. Have you no shame?

You are but a simple, loathsome creature, says the carving of Samson, one of the Celestial Realm’s greatest demon-slayers. Who were you to play god? Who were you to make her suffer for your own ends? The human hates you! Detests you! Loathes you with every fiber of her being!

Or perhaps it is only my imagination.

True to Maria’s words, a relief of an archangel stands just outside of the laundry hall. The sounds of splashing water and falling garments can be heard from within. I stride just to the threshold of the room, catching sight of a ruddy-faced angel. He stands on the highest most step of a ladder and reaches towards a clothing line that has been strung up high on the ceiling. A sopping wet garment and a pair of pins are in his hands. I knock on the door.

The angel nearly falls off the ladder. The pair of pins clatter onto the floor, the garment meeting the surface with a squelch.

He regards me, eyes wide. “You -- you --” he stammers angrily, clutching the ladder, “-- you could have killed me, you idiot! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“You know what I meant!” The angel looks with frustration towards the fallen garment. He begins to clamber down the ladder, each step prompting another creak from the rickety object. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. The head laundress will have my neck for this, I assure you, and I’ll be sure to mention --”

“I’m looking for someone named Maria,” I lie. “Do you know where she is?”

He raises a bushy brow. “Maria?”

“Frizzy hair, frail, stands at approximately this height.” I gesture with my hands. “Have you seen her?”

He taps a sole finger on his chin, his free hand holding himself in place on the ladder. “Frizzy hair, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You must be talking about the little one, then. The head laundress sent her out back to gather some water for the washing.” He juts his chin towards the end of the room. A painted door stands wide open, the rays of sunlight nearly blinding me as I look towards it. “Don’t expect info like that to come free, though. In exchange for nearly killing me, lad, you can --”

I’m already halfway to the door.

The sunlight nearly blinds me as I step outside, flooding my vision with pure white. I find myself blinking in the aftermath, shielding my eyes against the sun. Thankfully, the effects do not last long. It is only nine seconds and twelve milliseconds before I am able to fully discern the image before me, the overgrown flora nearly obscuring the path. The nearly hidden path seems to have experienced little, if any, tending, reflecting only a few other areas of Sanctum. Areas that are less likely to be seen by high-ranking officials tend to be either under construction or completely unattended. Even the great hanging garden at the heart of Sanctum appears to have just experienced the fruits of the gardeners’ labor -- an aspect that the pale creature had checked on the first day of our arrival.

That indicates one of two options: one, the new empress has little control over her servants and people, thus leading them to be disobedient; two, the new empress has just come publicly into her position and has had little opportunity to exercise her power. If it were the latter -- which I would assume it is, given the general lack of unrest -- that would further indicate an unsteady balance of power amongst high-ranking officials.

If the new empress wants to keep her head, she’ll have to rule with an iron fist.

I continue onto the path, deftly avoiding the brambles and clumps of thorny flowers that seem to lunge at my feet. Five minutes and forty-one seconds later, the path finally opens into something a bit more spacious. A dry well sits in the middle of the space, a bucket having been long abandoned beside the stone structure. The sounds of activity can be heard beyond the weathered walls of the buildings that surround me. I press forward.

The sounds of activity, as it would turn out, originate from a rather extensive training yard. Despite its size, however, as well as my own biases towards those of the angelic persuasion, I must admit that its design is rather clever. The training yard is divided into exactly three levels, each of which is populated by a number of recruits testing the true might of their weapons. Swords ring out rather noisily against spears; another group trains with a smaller set of daggers. A stairwell leads up to each level, allowing convenient access to the space, while an observation deck sits some distance from the highest level. My gaze flickers instinctively towards the observation deck, inspecting the figures that stand there.

My eyes widen at the sight of the pale creature. A rather thick veil covers her visage, creating a shadow -- but it is obvious that she is having great difficulty discerning the finer details of the training. Her pink pupils shiver and waver under the assault of sunlight, and she squints. A slightly shorter angel stands beside her, her skin a deep, rich umber. A number of painted designs trail what skin is visible through her light robes, the fabric dyed surprisingly a vivid collage of orange and gold. Her long, braided hair is beset with gold coils. She lifts her hand to her mouth as she laughs, the multiple rings on her fingers gleaming under the sun, and her teeth --

I pause. I have never seen such a sharp, fearsome maw on an angel.

“Barbatos?”

I turn towards the noise, despite the nearly inaudible quality of it. Maria stands by a well that is situated on the far end of the training yard, hoisting a sizable bucket of water under her arm. A number of curls fall from her low bun, making her appear disheveled, but she strangely shows no other signs of effort. Then again, the shadow created by the awning above does much to obscure her form. Her sudden vigor is likely my imagination.

What are you doing here? she mouths. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?

I tap my wrist, miming a wristwatch. She nods in understanding, positioning the bucket of water at her hip as she begins to make her way towards me from the well. Given the odd structure of the training grounds, she manages to pass where it is cooler in the shade.

Tomorrow, she mouths once more. As if I would forget. She manages the steps quickly, spilling only some of the water over the edge of the bucket. I am only vaguely aware of the racket of the training yard as Maria begins to near me. If --

I sense the shift in the air before I hear the scream. The sharp reverberation of a blade, passing wildly through the air. The gasp of an onlooking recruit as they turn to witness the disaster that will be, their own reflexes and speed too underdeveloped to make a difference. My eyes only catch the vestiges of the image as the blade moves towards Maria, the human continues unaware down the steps, the balance of the bucket occupying her thoughts at the moment.

I lunge for her. The blade nicks my cheek as it passes by, slicing open the flesh -- then it is embedding itself audibly into the column beside us. Maria squeaks as she falls beneath me, releasing the bucket. It is only a moment before we are both soaked in its contents. I wrap a bandaged hand behind her head before we can both fall against the stone, disregarding the pain that is to come. It is, as anticipated, as unpleasant as I thought it would be: the flesh of my hand nearly tears itself open upon impact, the cut on my hand reopening within the confines of the bandages, and I can just barely see the blossoming of crimson. No matter. Maria’s head has not met the stone. Her body has likely produced no more than a few bruises.

It is six seconds and twenty-one milliseconds before I pull myself away from her. One hand propped up against the stone, the other cradling her head. Her eyes are still wide with shock, the dark, coiled strands sticking her forehead, but upon inspection I discern that she is unharmed.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

There is a clamor before us. I look in its direction, curious -- only to see the empress making her way down the stairs in her finery, the gold coils clinking against one another as she does so. A portion of her robes are gathered beneath her fingers, allowing her to move with haste. Combined with her many rings and golden bracelets, however, it is a wonder how her pace has not slowed from the sheer weight of her jewelry. Even more surprising is the worry that is etched on her features. The pale creature follows close behind, nearly soundless as she glides down one stair to another.

“Are you two alright?” the empress asks, stopping a mere distance from our fallen bodies. Her robes meet the stone once more as she releases them, falling with a hush. Her golden eyes -- the form of which also seems a bit strange, I note -- inspect both Maria and I thoroughly. They widen at the sight of my cheek, which has now been fully drenched in its own blood. “You are wounded, good angel!” she cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. The empress turns to the pale creature. “Oh, Gallatha -- Gallatha, my dear, come closer -- this one is wounded!”

The pale creature, Gallatha, nods. “It would appear that he is. I will send for a healer.”

“Send for the best one that we have, my dear,” she orders. “What if he expires?”

“My Divinity, I am sure that he will not expire at this very moment.”

Before I can react, the empress pulls me from my position and back onto my feet with astounding ease. She reaches for Maria as well, searching her for injuries as she does so, and frowns at the sight of lacerations on her knees and elbows. Maria fidgets awkwardly beneath her inspection, clearly unsure of how to react to the overbearing empress’ attention.

Her face flushes, her eyes quickly averting themselves from the empress’ gaze. “My -- My Divinity, I’m pretty sure that Boris and I are --”

“Oh, nonsense!” She ruffles Maria’s hair with ringed fingers, smiling with the grace of a benign monarch. “There’s no need to be so reserved, my dear girl. The days of that horrid system are now gone. I will ensure that the recruits are duly reprimanded for their carelessness. My advisor will ensure that you two are treated in the infirmary.” She turns to the pale creature. “Gallatha?”

Gallatha steps forward. “Of course, My Divinity.”

I cannot help but stare in disbelief.

According to what Maria could remember in limbo, the coup d’etat had seemingly been the work of one ravenous, powerful beast. A golden creature had stormed into the throne room one day, interrupting a private meeting between God and his council members. The grand doors had slammed against the marble walls with such ferocity that none could help but stare at the intrusion, the sound giving the act a sense of finality. The air of an execution. It was only after a moment that God had dared to speak from his throne.

Begone, foul creature! he had ordered, rising to his feet. You have no business here. Leave this place, and you shall leave here alive. Stay, and I shall smite you until you are no more than scorched earth!

The creature had only tilted its head in a curious manner, its teeth clicking together in terrible humor. Is that so? the creature had said, the sound of its precious stones and many golden coils echoing in the hall. Will you smite me, truly? You, an insect who dares to place himself above the affairs of men and beasts? You, a cowardly beast who has become obsessed with power? You are nothing more than a false idol. Your throne is no more worth than a bed of mud.

And then the great creature had thrown back its head and laughed, its maw shining in the divine light. God had ordered his guards to seize the blasphemous creature, demanding that it be executed at once. Declaring it to be an affront to the Celestial Realm itself.

But he had neither the foresight nor the knowledge to realize what this creature was.

The creature took God by the collar, dashed him against his own throne, and devoured him whole. All was silent for a moment, the screams of the desperate being dissipating to the air. The council, who had for so long reveled in the absolute power and control over the caste of the Celestial Realm, could only watch with horror. And then the golden, wondrous creature had turned to the council with an all-consuming hunger, licking its chops, and the throne room regressed into chaos.

Rich, sweet blood, pooling on the marble. Lumps and limbs scattered about, the bodies having been long torn asunder. The golden creature had lapped at the remnants, its maw a deep, vivid crimson. And then it had plucked the crown from the marble, the precious metal stained with the blood of its former owner, and settled upon the grand throne.

For all that Maria could not remember of her time in limbo, given her state, she had told me these things with the utmost confidence.

And so the kind, generous empress before me cannot possibly be the one who had staged the coup d’etat. She cannot be anything more than a figurehead. I find myself searching the empress’ smile before she is escorted away by her guards, searching for any signs of that terrible maw. Yet there is nothing but the image of her plump, smiling cheeks, her teeth very decidedly not sharp and horrible, her genuine, kind gaze, and her array of golden adornments.

END OF PART ONE

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me barbatos #obey me oc #obey me oc x barbatos #obey me mc x barbatos #obey me mc #obey me writing #obey me fanfic #fanfic #writing #carajillo ii

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years ago

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🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 031 [Finals Begin!]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,786

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold. But you will remember me, remember me for centuries. And just one mistake is all it will take, we’ll go down in history.” Fall Out Boy, “Centuries”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Do you see him, kid?” I asked, holding his ankles in my hands.

Riku was sitting on my shoulders so he could look over the crowd. He crossed his arms, resting them on the top of my head. “Nope. There’s Mt. Lady, but my brother isn’t anywhere around. Where is that idiot?”

I hummed, approaching the blonde-haired hero. “Let’s gather some clues.”

“Like Scooby-Doo!” I could hear the smile in his voice and chuckled.

She noticed us approaching and lifted her chin, hand on her hip. “Did you finally come to apologize?”

“Not even on your life,” I deadpanned. “Oi, Riku.”

“Right! Have you see a teenage boy that’s really desperate for your attention?”

If I wasn’t holding his ankles to keep him from falling, I would have facepalmed.

She sweatdropped. “There’s a lot of those, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“Umm, well, he’s eighteen-years-old, never had a girlfriend that isn’t an anime character, got rejected from two different colleges, he’s a huge pervert with a large stack of dirty magazines under his bed and his favorite color on a girl is pink! Does that help?”

My eye twitched. Really starting to remember why I don’t fuck with little kids… I cleared my throat. “Maybe start with his name…”

“Yuki Reigen.”

“Okay. Now, what does he look like?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “He’s kinda short for his age and he dyes his hair blonde, but he’s really bad at it so it’s super streaky. He wears blue contacts but his eyes are actually brown like mine! His skin is kinda oily, especially his nose, even though he uses this weird smelling cream. He thinks it works but it doesn’t at all!”

Mt. Lady tilted her head, her finger on her chin. Her face suddenly lit up with recognition. “Oh yeah! He was so desperate for my number, he said he’d do anything for it, it was honestly pathetic. I was just about to tell him he could have it after being my slave for two years, but then he suddenly panicked and ran off.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked.

“Yeah, you’re a creepy old hag!” Riku added. “My brother will never be a slave to someone as ugly as you!”

“What did you just call me, you brat?!”

“Mt. Lady!” Woodsman came speed-walking up, putting his wooden arm between us before she could advance. “You’re supposed to be patrolling!”

Riku started to shake, his fingers curling around my short hair as he sniffled. “S-She’s so s-scary! She threatened to h-hit me!” His crying alerted the other people around us, who stopped to see what was going on. Hearing his words made a few of them glare at her, clutching their children closer.

The color drained from her face and she hastily tried to explain the situation. “W-What? No, I -”

Woodsman put his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “You made this child cry, now say you’re sorry!”

“But I didn’t -”

Riku started to cry louder.

“O-Okay! I’m sorry, just stop crying!”

His cries died down to soft sniffles. I swear if he gets snot in my fucking hair I’mma rage.

Woodsman turned to us with a sigh. “I’m really sorry about her, she has no filter. You really should be getting back, the finals will be starting soon.”

“I can’t.” I motioned toward the kid shoving his face onto my head. “He can’t find his brother and I’m trying to help find him.”

“Oh, I see. Here, let me take over.” He held his hands out and I bent down so he could gently grab Riku under the arms, lifting him up and over my head before bringing him into his arms. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll find his brother.”

I nodded, ruffling Riku’s hair. “Don’t leave that idiot brother of yours again, okay? And no more jumping from the stands.”

He nodded, wiping at his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Thank you, big sis.”

Woodsman nodded his head at me before walking away, Riku leaning over his shoulder. His sad expression morphed to a smug grin, all traces of his tears gone.

I exchanged a look with Mt. Lady and I knew we were thinking the same thing – children are fucking demons.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Thank you, Cementoss! Hey, sports fans, are you ready?! After all the action you’ve already witnessed, it’s time for the real battle to begin! Can you feel the excitement?! Our competitors are on their own now! Sometimes heroes have only themselves to rely on! Heart, skill, strength, wisdom, courage – they’ll have to use all of these things to rise to the top!”

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek as I took a deep breath. Why the fuck do I have to go first? Man, there’s gonna be so many fuckers watching me. Just the thought makes me want to die. Maybe I’ll just forfeit…

Strong hands landed on my shoulders. “You’re pretty tense, kid. Nervous?”

I turned around to face Snipe and Toshi. “I’m always tense, it’s a way of life.”

“Don’t worry, young Jen, you’ll do great.” Toshi gave me a thumbs up and a grin. “You fought against young Reggian a bit in the cavalry battle so you know a bit about his quirk already.”

“Somethin’ to do with air, I think?” I scratched my cheek.

“Just don’t kill ’em and you’ll be just fine,” Snipe put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a half hug. “We’ll be rootin’ for ya, kid.”

“Thanks, guys.” I grinned.

“Well, well, audience, let’s cut to the good stuff and not delay these finals any longer! Welcome our first fighters – with a potty mouth and an attitude to match, it’s Jen Winchester from the hero course!”

I stepped through the doorway, hands shoved into my pockets. My eyes squinted as the sudden bright light invading my vision. The crowd was screaming, but I did my best not to pay them any mind as I approached the arena.

“Versus! His sanity is seriously up for debate, it’s Regina Reggian from general studies!”

“Hey, I’m lucid sometimes, twatwaffle!”

“What did he just call me?!”

“A twatwaffle.”

“Don’t ever say that again, Eraser…”

I rolled my eyes before glancing across to the other doorway where Regina was exiting from, looking smug. Man, this guy really has a face I just wanna punch. With a fucking metal chair.

“The rules are simple – immobilize your opponent or force them out of the ring! You can also win by getting the other person to cry uncle! Bring on the injuries because we’ve got our very own Recovery Girl waiting on standby! So put your morals aside and don’t be afraid to play dirty, but of course, no life-threatening crap, folks, it’s not allowed! Real heroes use their powers to throw villains in jail, not kill them!”

“I’ll stop anyone that tries to get too rough,” Cementoss said calmly. He was sitting beside the ring, directly centered with it in a chair he had made with his quirk.

I scratched my cheek. Call me old-fashioned but should they really be encouraging teenagers to beat the ever-living shit out of each other? Sounds fucking suspect.

Regina grinned at me. “I’m gonna force you to give up, nerd!”

“Not even in your dreams, kid.” I grinned back. “Be careful, you don’t wanna get burnt.”

“Ready?!”

“You’re a magician’s red burnin’ chicken looking ass.”

“What the fuck does that even mean? Your taste sound like ass. I’m gonna fucking annihilate you like Kunimitsu Tezuka did to the dinosaurs.”

“Nani the fuck?”

“BEGIN!”

We both took our stances. He held his hands out like he were gripping a sword and the air around him started to solidify, forcing the hilt of a sword. The blade started to form… is that a fucking cactus? “Hey! This is my cactus and his name is Pablo!”

I sweatdropped. What is with this guy? “Oi -” I suddenly gagged as something solidified in my mouth. It tasted like if you took Kirishima’s dirty gym socks, wiped your ass with it, and then pureed it with rotten onions. My stomach turned as I spit it out, coughing violently as I tried to ignore the taste on my tongue. Is that… a mother fucking sock?!

“Winchester just spit up a sock! What is this sorcery we’re seeing, folks?!”

“Take this!” Taking advantage of the distracted he had created, he moved in close, swinging the sword above his head. My hand shot up, connecting with the translucent spikes of the cactus. They broke the skin, small drops of blood flowing from the holes.

“Reggian has successfully launched the first attack! How will Winchester respond?!”

“Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“No, you’re a nerd.”

“Hmph, can’t argue with that one, but you’re gonna have to die now, thanks!” I squeezed my hand, increasing the temperature of my skin until the cactus exploded. My hand was throbbing.

“PABLO, NO!!!”

I punched him in the stomach, sending him stumbling backward, clutching his stomach and coughing.

“You’ll pay… for killing Pablo… you thot!” He held his hand up and the air started to solidify. “Improvised special move, Pablo Jr!!” He threw the small, potted cactus at me and I grunted, smacking it away. As soon as my hand touched it, it exploded.

“It’s hard to see but if you look closely you can see a bunch of translucent spikes now stuck in Winchester’s body from that last attack!”

“Son of a bitch,” I grunted. He lifted his hands again and I dashed forward. I won’t even give him the chance to – smack. I fell face-first on the ground, the cold cement seeping through my clothes.

Silence fell over the stadium before a roar of laughter erupted.

“Oh my god!”

“Did you see her face?!”

“I’m so glad I came, this is hilarious!”

“What a classic move!!”

“I’m wheezing, someone help!”

“Ahahahaha! Class 1-A isn’t looking so cool now, is it?!”

“Shut up, Monoma!”

“No one can get past my second improvised special move – Banana Peel Field!!” Regina laughed loudly.

“I can’t believe it! In all my years, this is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone slip on a banana peel during the sports festival! This is great!!”

I slowly lifted my head, my teeth clenched in annoyance. I fucking slipped on a mother fucking banana peel made of goddamn air. This fucking brat is toying with me and it’s pissing me off. I pulled myself to my feet, my blood boiling as flames engulfed my hands. I thrust them out to the side and lines of fire shot out in all directions, swirling around the arena.

I clenched my fists, grinning when he took a step back. “I’m not gonna give you the chance to give up, but don’t worry bro, I will give you the chance to die!” I slammed both fists against the ground, the concrete splitting as fire snaked through it directly toward him.

“Ah, shit -”

The flames shot up from the ground, hitting him in the gut and lifting him off his feet. I teleported behind him, pulling my leg back before slamming my shin against his back and into the cement. He coughed, doing a somersault to avoid my boot. He breathed heavily, lifting his hands again, but I didn’t give him the chance, teleporting behind him again. Pain shot through my skull and I knew I needed to end it soon.

The flames raged on my arm as I cocked my arm, bringing my fist against his face. He flew backward and I stomped my foot, sending a wave of flame to propel him farther. It smacked into him like a spout of water, forcing his body out of bounds and pinning it against the wall. His eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness, the flames dying out. The air spikes in my body disappeared.

“Reggian is out of bounds!” Midnight raised her hand, the metal cuff clanking from the movement. “Winchester advances to the next round!”

“Woah, that chick is kinda scary, don’t you think?”

“She told him to die!”

“That’s not a very heroic thing to say…”

“Reggian did really well!”

“He’s hilarious! Imagine having him as a sidekick.”

“Right? There’d never be a dull moment!”

“His power is pretty unique, too. If you think about it, the uses for his quirk are pretty limitless.”

“Right? Fire’s a pretty basic quirk, no creativity there.”

My eyes narrowed at my hand, watching the blood drip to the cement.

“Go see Recovery Girl.” Midnight ordered.

“Yeah, whateva.”

“And with that explosive display, we have the first victor of the finals! Class 1-A’s Jen Winchester! Ah yeah~ that was a pretty amusing first fight, kids! Both of you fought bravely, let’s show them some love!!”

I won the fucking match, but I feel like a fucking loser. I shoved my hands into my pockets as I approached the dark hallway. I wanna go home.

“Hey, big sis!”

I glanced up at Riku’s voice. He was leaning over the railing again, waving his hand like crazy. A taller boy stood behind him, gripping the back of his shirt to keep him in place. That must be his older brother. Good, I’m glad the Woodsman was able to find him.

“You were so cool out there! Your power is uber strong!” he grinned brightly, closing his eyes. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

My heart skipped a beat as warmth flooded me, my lips twitching up as I released a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. Thanks, kid… I needed that.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Gimme some sugar~” Gran pressed her lips to my cheek and patted my bandaged hand. “There, all better, deary.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

“Why the glum face? You won, after all.”

I sighed, falling back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I mean, I know I won the fight, but he won over the crowd. They totally hated me.”

She hummed. “There will always be times when people prefer one quirk over another. Don’t let it get you down, deary. You’ll always be number one in my heart.”

I smiled, turning onto my side and propping my cheek up against my palm. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Of course you may.”

“What does it mean… to be a hero?”

She sent me a surprised look before humming, her hand on her chin. “Well, everyone views it quite differently. At its very core, a hero is someone that wants to help others, but everyone has their own reasons, their own desires, to become a hero.”

“But I don’t,” I frowned, picking at the white sheet beneath me. “I don’t have that drive. I’ve thought about it a bunch of times, but I can’t think of a reason to fight. Besides… if people find out who my mother is, won’t that make them hate me, anyway? Bakugo told me not to tell anyone. He was dead serious about it. She was an A-Class villain turned pro hero. No one trusted her…”

Gran set her small hand over mine, her voice warm. “That may be true, but you are not your mother, deary. You’re your own person and if they view you differently, well, that’s their loss. No matter what happens in the future, you will always have a place here at U.A.”

My fingers wrapped around her hand. “Do you think… I’ll find a reason to be a hero?”

“I do, but you must remember that you grew up in a world where heroes are nothing more than fiction. It makes sense that you have no desire to be a hero because you grew up believing that such a dream simply wasn’t possible. I believe that, with time, you’ll find your reason to keep fighting. You just have to have some patience. These things can’t be rushed.”

I chuckled. “Patience has never been my strong suit. When I was a kid, the loading screen for my new game was taking too long so I kicked the TV.”

She laughed, patting my hand. “Yes, well, you are still young, deary.”

I glanced at Regina, who was unconscious on the bed across the room. “He gonna be okay?”

“He’ll be just fine. I’ve healed his wounds, now he just needs to recover his stamina. No need to worry.”

“Che, as if I’d worry about that idiot.” I rolled over onto my back, folding my hands behind my head. “Can I rest here for a bit?”

“Of course, deary.”

“Thanks, Gran.”

She pressed a kiss to my cheek before returning to her work, leaving me to mull over her words.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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somedumbassclown · 4 years ago

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Music video Michael Jackson is Cotton Eye Joe

He mysteriously appears, steals someone's girl, and hee hees back into your mom's bed like the mailmagician

Furthermore, who the fuck fused with Cotton Eye Jackson at the wall eyes and became the real Slim Shady?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Onto the real point of this post

In the song Spiral Of Ants by Lemon Demon, the narrator is an ant who doesn't remember where they're going or where they came from, which fits with Slim Michael Joe's description in the song Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex, which is from a confused and angry person asking where he came from and where he'd gone

Michael Eye Shady is an ant with full control over other's memories, but very little grasp on his own, who, upon his death in the spiral tragedy, transcended mortal limits to live on in all of us, also buffing up his abilities of memory dominion by removing the ability's requirement of direct contact to work by bringing him closer to the soul than any physical body could ever allow before. He exists within all of us. There is no escape from Cotton Shady Jackson. It doesn't matter where you go. He's working everywhere, he's even working at that Burger King, spitting in your onion rings.

#But that's just a theory.#A big band theory.#Thanks for watching.#This took hours and it's near 4am.#I must sleep.#Change da world.#My final message.#Goodbye.#Fades into New Pussycat.

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neverending2012 · 7 years ago

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My Journey To You Chapter 27

SUMMARY: Mercedes experiences a racist incident and must confront her fear before it takes a toll on her family. The Hummels come for Christmas.

RATING: Mature

WARNING: Racist situation and language, mild violence, cursing, and sexual situations

CHAPTER 27

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR

Mercedes zipped up Rosy's bright red parka and put on her hood. Jake stood next to his sister, holding her hand, and patiently waiting. He was already bundled up in his blue parka. Mercedes kissed their cheeks.

"I know both of you will be good at the supermarket, and no pulling things off the shelves."

Jake and Rosy looked at each other and then back at Mercedes.

"I'll be good," Rosy said.

Jake nodded.

"Me too."

Mercedes put on her coat and scarf, peeking out the window, she sighed. It was a cold, gray Tuesday morning. The trees were barren with a thick coat of frost covering the branches. She got the car keys from off of the key rack near the front door and they left the house. On their way to the store, Rosy and Jake sang along to the Moana soundtrack. Since traffic was light, they arrived in no time at all, and she was grateful to find a parking space close to the entrance. She braced herself against the harsh, frigid wind blowing in their faces as they walked the short distance to the store. Out front was a jolly red-cheeked man dressed as Santa Claus, ringing a silver bell, while standing next to a scarlet red Salvation Army kettle that hung from a tripod. Upon closer inspection, Mercedes realized it was Mr. Kramer, the owner of the local hardware store, he always gave Sam discounts because he was such a loyal customer, she forgot that he said he was working with the Salvation Army this year. He always doted on Rosy and Jake and she wondered if they would recognize him as she dropped a few dollars into the kettle.

"Hello Mr. Kramer," Jake and Rosy said.

Mr. Kramer shook his head.

"Ho, Ho, Ho, no it's Santa Claus, I came all the way from the North Pole."

Rosy and Jake looked at him and laughed.

"Mr. Kramer, you look funny!" Jake said peering up at him, his black hair falling into his eyes.

"Ho, ho, ho," he said, "Have you both been good?"

The twins giggled and Rosy patted his beard.

"Soft," she said.

He winked at her before releasing them from the hug.

Mercedes wished him a Merry Christmas and he gave each child a candy cane.

Once inside, the wonderful aroma of baking bread greeted them and the heat warmed their hands and faces. A holiday display of gingerbread house kits was right in front of them on a table decorated with sprigs of holly and fake cotton snow sprinkled with glitter. Rosy let go of Jake's hand and rushed up to the table and she reached for one of the boxes. Mercedes shook her head.

"Rose Emerald Hummel what do you think you're doing?"

Rosy stepped back.

"Sorry."

"Remember what we talked about?"

Rosy nodded. Mercedes put her hand on her hip.

"Come back here right now."

Rosy shuffled over to Mercedes and Jake.

"I know you're a good little girl so behave, ok?"

"Ok, Mommy."

Mercedes hugged her.

"Come on, we've got shopping to do."

Rosy smiled and the scolding was over.

Mercedes got the twins situated in the grocery cart, and headed toward the produce section. The store was practically empty. The white tiled floors shined beneath the fluorescent lights and Frosty the Snowman played over the sound system.

She got a few heads of lettuce and bags of baby spinach, then she moved over to the onions where a young, clean cut man, with buzz cut brown hair, wearing round frame glasses, a marble blue sweater and black dress pants was putting a few yellow onions into a plastic bag. She smelled his citrus cologne as she surveyed the red onions trying to decide if she should get them or not. She saw a flash of his gold watch as he picked up another onion. The man stared at her. His blue eyes were cold. Mercedes ignored his rude staring and continued perusing the onions. Jake pointed to the red onions.

"Red," he said, proud that he knew the color.

"No, blue," Rosy said.

"Actually they're purple, but we call them red for some reason," Mercedes said and pulled a plastic bag from the dispenser overhead and began to gather up onions and put them in the bag.

"We can put these in our salad. Your father will like that." she said, keeping up the chatter. She decided to be nice and smiled at the man, but he only glared at her, so she looked away and continued the task, her elbow bumped into his, while she tied up her plastic bag.

"Sorry," she said.

"Couldn't you have waited until I was done?" he said.

Before she could respond, the man said:

"I bet you're used to everybody helping you and your kids. How many baby daddies do you have?"

"Excuse me? How dare you - "

"Oh, don't act so surprised. Somebody needs to put you people in your place. Turning my country into – "

"Your country?"

"Yes, my country. I'm sick of it. But I'm not hiding any more; you can't come into this town and think you're first for everything. You need to know your place. Your kids aren't even the same race. You opened your fat legs for every man coming your way, so you can get that government check and when working class whites have to -"

"You will not speak to me like -

"I'll speak to you any damn way I please. Get out of this town and get out of my country. It belongs to us. Real, working white Americans, not some monkey leeches who scream in the streets every time one your bastard sons gets shot. Hollering about how your lives matter. Fuck you! Our brothers in blue put their lives on the line to protect your worthless asses and what do you do to repay them? Rob a liquor store and get shot."

His voice drowned out everything around them, he was a demon unleashed. Rosy and Jake began to cry. She had to get away from him. The funny thing about it was, he looked like the All American respectable, tax-paying citizen, right down to his spit-shined loafers, but the vitriol coming from his thin-lipped mouth proved otherwise.

"Get away from us or I'm calling the cops!" she said rushing away from him, pushing the cart as fast as she could, but the racist man wasn't finished with this tirade.

"You mean the same cops that shoot niggers? No, you cunt, you're not running away from me," he said walking behind her, "You're going to listen to every word I say."

She kept going. His cologne stung her nostrils. Then he grabbed her arm.

"Don't touch me!" She said pulling away from him as he gripped her arm, not letting go.

"You're not going anywhere you black bitch!"

Suddenly, the store manager, Roy, who was built like a pro-wrestler and Clarence the security guard, a heavy set man with long black hair and huge biceps bursting through his navy blue uniform, ran up to them.

Clarence grabbed the man who took a knife out of his pocket and stabbed his arm. He screamed out in pain but he overpowered the man and wrestled him to the floor, while Roy took away his knife, Clarence sat on top of the crazy man, crushing his skinny body.

In the mayhem, Mercedes picked up both Rosy and Jake and runaway.

"I know my rights!" The man screamed, as he struggled beneath Clarence.

"Mrs. Hummel! We've called the police" Roy called out to her, but she kept running.

The man was enraged.

"She's infringing on my rights as an American, I – "

"Shut the hell up!" Roy yelled. "You racist piece of shit. Mrs. Hummel and her family come here all the time and their lovely people. You will not harm her or her family. What kind of man are you? Screaming at a mother and her children!"

"You think this is over? Do you? We're rising up against them. Taking back what's ours." The man said.

Mercedes ran outside to the parking lot rushing past Mr. Kramer who called out to her, but she ignored him and and got in their SUV. She didn't even bother putting the twins in their car seats. She sat with them in her arms and locked the door. They clung to her crying on her shoulders. She was too shaken to drive. Police sirens wailed in the distance and soon two cop cars pulled up to the supermarket. The officers ran inside the store. Mercedes called Sam. He was only a few blocks away at the paint store and he made it to the supermarket in record time. He parked his truck next to her, got out and she opened the door for him, and as soon as he saw her tear stained face and the twins shaking in her arms, he gathered them in his arms and hugged them close but he boiled with anger.

"Where is the motherfucker?" he asked, his voice low in her ear.

"He's inside I guess. I don't know. Sam please I – "

Sam continued holding them, whispering how much he loved them and how everything would be ok. The police came over to the SUV to get a statement from Mercedes. Sam was furious and wanted to know who the guy was so he could kill him.

"Sir, we'll have to ask you to calm down," one of the officers said, he looked too young to be a cop, but he had a muscular build and an authoritative air about him. His partner was a tall black woman, with a lanky frame, and big, round eyes that reminded Mercedes of a Precious Moments figurine.

"Calm down? Some asshole threatens my wife, puts his hands on her, and scares my kids, and you want me to remain calm? What if it was your family?"

"I understand how you must feel, but – "

"No, you have no idea how I feel. Whatever charges that can be pressed, we're pressing all of them."

His partner said:

"We understand. And we promise not to take up much of your time."

Mercedes answered the questions. When they were done, the officers thanked them for their time and said they would be in touch to follow up. Mercedes felt shell-shocked. Sam buckled up the twins in their car seats, took the car keys from her and said he would drive them home.

"But what about the truck?"

"I'll come back for it. I want to get you and the kids home."

Mercedes didn't protest. He drove slightly above the speed limit so they made it home in half the time. Rosy and Jake were cold and scared. After getting them out of their parkas and scarves, the twins wouldn't let go of their parents. Sam and Mercedes sat with them in front of the fireplace and prayed, doing their best to calm them down. They eventually stopped crying and they fed them lunch then attempted to put them in their cribs but the twins wanted to get in bed with their parents. Mercedes was thankful for their king sized bed and after changing into sweats, they all piled into the big, soft bed with Jake and Rosy between them. When the children were asleep, Sam and Mercedes stayed with them and had a quiet conversation about everything that happened.

"Sam, I'm going to ask you not to do anything that could have you arrested."

Sam looked out the window. It had begun to snow.

"He threatened you, put his hands on you, and scared the babies. You can't ask me not to retaliate."

"But what good does it do if it lands you in prison?"

"Damn it to hell, what do they expect us to do? I can't sit by and let racist dicks like Mr. White America harass my family. Do you think he's part of that group?"

"I don't know. I don't care. I want us all to be safe. And we are. And he's been arrested. I know you'll protect us and I have no problem with that. You stood them down in Town Square, but Sam this was different."

"How?"

"It was only one man angry at me for existing. Blaming me for whatever he thinks is corrupting America. I want to beat his ass too, but I also want to be here for our kids."

"He had a knife."

"I know and I can't stop thinking about what could've happened. It crossed my mind that he could've had a gun too."

Sam leaned over and hugged her.

"I have to get a handle on this. I won't take this lying down."

"I'm so tired," Mercedes said.

"I can't have you and the kids being in danger. You say it's one man but what's next?"

"I don't know."

They talked some more until Mercedes fell asleep. Sam was too wound up to even close his eyes. Then the doorbell rang and he went downstairs to answer it.

STRENGTH IN UNITY

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Roy standing on the doorstep with bags of groceries at his feet. His fluffy white down coat made him look like the Abominable Snowman.

"Roy, what are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"I came by to check on you guys and to bring you groceries. It's on the house. I know what Mercedes gets every week and I added in a few things."

"You didn't have to do that."

Roy picked up all the bags.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course."

Roy wiped his black leather cowboy boots on their red and green Santa Claus welcome mat, and Sam let him inside and closed the door.

"Where should I put these?"

"Follow me."

Roy followed him into the kitchen where he put the bags on the counter then sat down to the table. Sam began brewing a pot of coffee.

"Mercedes is taking a nap."

"I'm so sorry about everything that's happened."

"Thank you for helping her."

"Is Mercedes ok? How are the twins?"

"Getting there."

Roy sighed.

"I'll pray for them."

"Thank you," Sam said.

"This isn't our town."

Sam poured them each a cup of coffee and joined Roy at the table.

"I used to think that too. I'm not so sure any more. We came here because it felt like home."

"Are you thinking of moving?"

"I don't know. You can't move every time bullshit happens. The anti-hate rally brought every one together and that's a start. Our neighbors really stepped up and we look out for each other… I try to stay hopeful."

Roy laid a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I wish I had some advice but I don't."

"Is Clarence ok?"

"Yeah, he only needed a few stitches in his arm."

"I take it he pressed charges."

"Yeah, he did, just like you." Roy said as he poured cream into his coffee. "For what it's worth, I think you have a beautiful family and you and Mercedes are good people. I hope this is an isolated incident and I'll continue my policy of 'no dicks allowed in my store.'"

Sam laughed.

"Great policy to have."

Roy stayed and helped Sam put away the groceries. Sam was surprised to find four packs of steaks. He held them up.

"Is this your something extra?"

Roy shrugged, a blush rose in his cheeks.

"Yeah, well… "

Sam patted his back.

"Thanks, man."

Sam also found extra Gerber juice boxes, animal crackers, and wagon wheel pasta for the twins and for Abby there were jars of coconut oil and E.L. Fudge cookies.

"You know my family," Sam said as he continued unpacking the groceries.

"You get to know your loyal customers," Roy said, while putting a couple of cartons of eggs in the fridge, "I learned that from my father."

Roy visited a while longer and then returned to the store. Sam spent the afternoon cooking a big dinner for Mercedes and the kids. He made all of the Hummel family comfort foods: macaroni and cheese, garlic butter steaks, collard greens, corn bread, sweet potatoes, green beans with bits of ham, tossed salad and a vanilla cream cake for dessert. He knew he was overcompensating with food, but he needed to do something that gave him joy, and cooking for his family always did.

Yet despite the delicious aromas that wafted through the kitchen and the happiness he felt from making the elaborate meal, Sam's mind wandered to revenge. Though he wasn't sure what it meant. Mercedes accepted he was a gun owner and when the town square incident happened, he signaled to the group, he was ready if something went down. And for a long time afterwards, whenever they went out as a family, he brought his gun. But then the rally gave them hope and promise, so he left it locked in the safe. Now, the urge to take it with him crept up again, but he couldn't be with Mercedes 24/7. Ever since the supremacy group came to town, the energy was different.

Abby came home late that afternoon because she had a nature club meeting after school and Travis' parents brought her home.

Mercedes was upstairs with the twins giving them an early bath, when Abby arrived. Sam told her what happened because keeping anything from his daughter was a bad idea; Abby was too observant for her own good, and she would have picked up on everyone's vibe that something was amiss. As he recounted the ugly event, Abby listened, her eyes filled with tears.

"What if he hurt Mommy and the twins?"

Sam hugged her and said they were fortunate they were unharmed. He went upstairs and helped Mercedes get the twins dressed for bed. She had changed into her short- sleeved nightgown and as she buttoned up Rosy's pink Princess Jasmine pajamas, Sam saw a purple bruise on her arm. He touched her shoulder.

"Did that bastard do this to you?"

"Sam, please."

"He grabbed your arm so hard that it left a bruise."

"I'm ok."

Sam finished putting Jake's Elmo pajamas on and they carried the twins downstairs for dinner. Though they tried to have a normal family dinner with all of the delicious food Sam prepared, it was a somber affair and dessert was left untouched. Afterwards, they said a prayer in the living room, seated in a circle, holding hands, heads bowed while Sam asked God to watch over them and give them strength. When he and Mercedes finally went to bed, he held her close, kissing her forehead.

"I don't know how make this better."

"We have to focus on what we have. Which is a lot. The good people outweigh the bad."

"Do they?"

"Sam…"

"Your bruise makes me want to kill him even more."

"Roy and Clarence helped me. Nowadays, most people would've recorded what happened on their phones and posted it to social media, not intervening at all. But they helped me. And that lunatic stabbed Clarence."

"I'm still furious. You could've been the one he stabbed or Jake and Rosy"

"I know and I'm angry too."

"I'm buying you mace. I know I can't be with you all the time, though I'll do my best."

"Let's get some sleep."

They kissed and soon Mercedes was asleep, but Sam remained awake, listening to the silence.

NOTHING TO FEAR

As the weeks passed, every morning Mercedes and Sam prayed together, before the children woke up and the day began it's hectic crazy run of insanity; they knelt on the floor, facing each other, bowed heads, hands clasped together, and said a prayer; then they meditated. The private sanctuary of the bedroom where they shared quiet moments together gave her strength, but it wasn't enough to assuage her fears and she dreaded leaving the house ever since the supermarket incident, but she kept her anxiety to herself, and pretended everything was fine.

Instead of going grocery shopping, she had the groceries delivered, telling Sam she was saving on gas and that the twins could get sick in the cold weather. Even though she knew the neighbors watched over Abby, she made up things for her to do indoors and discouraged her from going outside or even hanging out with friends. Her behavior shamed her. Wasn't she the woman who said they should build a snowman after the supremacist group left a flyer on their door?

What happened to her? What happened to her courage? Mercedes couldn't explain the transformation into barricading herself behind closed doors. The threat at the supermarket affected her more deeply than she realized. Whatever the reason, leaving the house became more difficult with each day and she only left if she had to, which was rare. She even had Sam staying home as much as possible, finding things for him to fix, and when that wasn't enough, she asked him to build her some bookshelves.

"Are you planning on making a library?" He asked her as he stroked her hair, they were cuddled on the couch in front of the TV, watching the news. The children were asleep upstairs. It was late Friday night and icy sleet beat against the windows.

"No, I just think we need some for the den. Abby can help you."

"Hmmm," he said, touching her cheek, "You've been giving me a lot of projects."

"You're good with your hands," she said, smiling up at him, "You should put them to use."

Sam leaned down and kissed her.

"Flattery is not my weakness."

"But pleasing me is."

Sam laughed and kissed her again.

"I know you're taking this conversation in other places, but I am curious about your sudden interest in my woodworking talents?"

Mercedes sighed.

"Oh, I don't know… she said, looking down at her hands. "It's such a nasty night, I'm glad we don't have to go out anywhere."

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"Saying what?"

"How you're glad we're stuck home."

"I don't feel stuck at home. I feel safe. Don't you?"

"I want to take you dancing."

"There's no place to dance in Star Pride."

"I'll find a place."

"I don't know, then we'd have to find a sitter, why can't we dance here?"

Sam looked around the spacious room.

"In our living room?"

"Remember how we danced at your old house in Tennessee?"

"Yeah, but – "

"That was romantic."

"Yes it was. I dipped you."

"See we don't have to go anywhere."

Sam said nothing and kissed her instead. Mercedes was glad he didn't press the issue. Maybe she could eventually conquer her fear. But in the mean time, there were no more date nights or spontaneous outings. When she did go out, she timed it to a "T" and never lingered or dawdled, as she ran away from the imaginary ghost that haunted her. Every stranger's smile made her suspicious, of what she wasn't sure, but she was on edge, even when she smiled back she wondered if their eyes told the truth.

She knew she should talk to Santana, but her trusty friend and therapist was on maternity leave; she and her new wife, a buxom black woman named Ella, were expecting their first child together. They were having a girl. Santana referred a therapist to her while she was on leave and though Mercedes liked Dr. Freemont, he wasn't Santana and it was difficult to open up to him.

One morning Sam told her about a new second-hand toy store downtown. They were getting dressed after showering.

"It's called Second Hand Rose. You and the kids should go."

"I have housework to do."

"The house is clean."

"I have higher housecleaning standards than you," She said, chuckling as she fastened her bra.

"Well you should go to that new kiddie play land at the mall, I heard they have a really nice jungle gym."

"Why don't you take them on the weekend?"

Sam sat on the bed next to her and rubbed her shoulder; he was shirtless and he smelled shower fresh, his damp, pink nipples were hardened into stiff peaks.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, why?"

"You're always home."

"So? Everything is so crowded this time of year. Besides, I'm saving on gas."

"We're not in financial trouble."

"That's because I do my best to save."

"Mercedes, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't know what you mean. Most men would kill to have a wife who runs a household like I do. You don't have to lift a finger and this is the thanks I get?"

Sam looked at her as if she'd gone crazy.

"What are you going on about? You know I appreciate everything you do. Are you saying I'm not pulling my weight?"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she said pulling her purple sweater over her head.

Mercedes knew she was picking a fight simply because he was noticing her behavior again. Sam reached for her hand.

"I love you, you don't have to hide anything from me. Tell me what's wrong. Does it have to do with that racist lunatic?"

"No, it doesn't and you're overreacting. I'm fine. I'm sorry if I upset you. Do you want sausage with your eggs?" she asked him, rising from the bed.

He shook his head.

"Please don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Put up a wall."

"I'm not putting up any walls. I'm fine."

Sam stood up and put his arms around her.

"I love you with all that I am. You know that."

Mercedes nodded looking up at him.

"I swear I'm ok. I just don't like crowds or cold weather."

"Since when?"

"Sam, just stop."

He shook his head.

"You can't hide from me."

"Who said I was hiding?"

"Jane at Starbucks said she hasn't seen you in a while, and wondered if you were ok."

"So sightings from the Starbucks barista are your measuring stick?"

"No, and stop being dense. I can see something is wrong."

"I'm going downstairs," she said, pulling away from his embrace, "I have to start breakfast."

Sam's eyes grew misty. He sighed.

"Ok, Schätzchen, have it your way. I'll be downstairs in a minute."

She went to him and kissed his cheek.

"You worry too much," she said and left the room.

He never mentioned it again after that day, but she noticed him watching her more and this increased her anxiety. Since she was at home all the time, the house was immaculate, the meals became more fancy and elaborate and the twins grew restless, unlike Abby who had the outlet of school, the twins suffered more since they had nowhere to go. They couldn't understand why they couldn't go outside for a walk or to the nearby park to play the way they used to.

"You can catch cold," Mercedes said to Rosy as she braided her hair one frigid morning.

"I want to see the sun," Rosy said.

"You can see the sun from the window."

"I want to see clouds," Jake said, sitting beside his sister, holding her hand. The two were inseparable. "They miss us."

"Who misses you?" Mercedes asked.

"The clouds. And the birds too."

Mercedes continued to braid Rosy's hair and she gazed out the living room window. Their peacock Speranza wandered about the back yard making her weird human-like birdcall.

"We can play in the back yard for a little while," Mercedes said, hoping this would appease them.

"I want to go to the park," Jake said.

"We can feed Speranza," Mercedes said, "She's due for a treat."

Speranza mostly ate birdseed, but the vet said they could occasionally give her bread and fruit as a treat. She loved grapes.

Sesame Street came on TV distracting the twins from their desire to go outside as they watched Elmo dance about on the screen, singing about the color orange. Mercedes finished Rosy's hair, tying red ribbons at the end of her braids. Then she brushed and combed Jake's hair. Since he wanted to do everything like Rosy and vice versa, she put a tiny bit of Tui oil on his straight, shiny black hair, though he didn't need it. His hair wasn't dry, quite the opposite, yet she humored him anyway.

The twins were dressed in their play clothes: matching blue Thomas the Steam Engine warm up suits and thick white socks covered their pudgy feet. Mercedes had put a couple of apple pies in the oven and the air smelled like cinnamon and apples, a fire crackled in the fire place and the dark hardwood floors gleamed in the sunlight.

The timer went off in the kitchen and she went to take the pies out of the oven. When she opened the oven door, she was happy to see the golden brown crust on each of the pies. She put on her oven mitts and retrieved the pies, setting them on the counter to cool. Sam loved her apple pies and he would be pleased to see she made them, the thought brought her momentary joy, but the twins felt trapped in the house, and she couldn't deny them fresh air simply because she was afraid.

The rest of the morning was spent doing laundry. Finally she let the twins go outside in the back yard. They ran races with each other, the hard, frost covered ground, crunched beneath their snow boots as they ran across the yard, the wind in their faces, yelling for no reason at all, just simply from the joy of being outdoors.

They fed Speranza some grapes and she gobbled them from their hands before returning to her birdhouse to sit in front of the heating lamp Sam installed to keep her warm. Mercedes watched the twins with careful eyes, and gritted her teeth. Her heart thudded in her chest. The sunlight was harsh and bright. She checked her watch, willing the time to move faster. She scanned the yard for potential threats, thinking someone could climb the fence. Rosy and Jake were now doing somersaults, laughing as they tumbled about on the grass.

"Look at me!" Jake shouted to her as he attempted a cartwheel.

"Be careful," Mercedes called to him, "Cartwheels are hard."

Jake only laughed as he fell, and Rosy giggled beside him.

The wind blew, chilling her face; she squinted in the sun, thinking how she should've put on her shades. For the sunshine to be so bright, it provided little warmth. She checked her watch again, and bit her bottom lip. She thought about the man in the supermarket, how he grabbed her as if he had every right to touch her, belittle her and frighten her babies, and recalled the fear in her chest as she ran away.

Then she felt someone touch her shoulder. She screamed, turned around, and punched the intruder in the stomach. She refused to be the same fool twice; she had mace in her coat pocket and she knew the combination to the gun safe; and Sam gave her shooting lessons on the weekends. She cursed herself for not having it with her, but she reasoned she wouldn't need it for the back yard. The bottom of the intruder's face was covered with a thick blue knit scarf; she pounced on him, knocking him to the ground, and pulling out the mace, aiming it at the fallen stranger, ready to spray it.

"Leave us alone!"

"Mercedes, it's me! Please calm down!" Sam said, holding her hands, and pulling down his scarf, "It's me, Schätzchen."

"Sam I…"

"Just breathe."

"I, I can't…" she began to cry and the twins ran over to their parents.

"You jumped on Papa," Jake said, bewildered, "Are you mad?" he patted Mercedes arm.

"She's sad," Rosy said, pointing to their mother's tears.

"Let's go in the house," Sam said, slowly rising from the ground.

They went in the house, with Sam holding his stomach where Mercedes punched him. He took off the twins' coats, hats and scarves and made them some hot chocolate, telling them everything was fine and that Mommy made a mistake, while Mercedes went upstairs to their bedroom, sat on the bed and cried. Sam came upstairs about 30 minutes later, leaving the twins downstairs in front of the TV with their building blocks. Mercedes didn't know how long he held her as she cried; she released everything within her. When she couldn't cry any more, Sam said:

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're afraid. I knew something was wrong. But you pushed me away."

"I'm sorry."

"Tell me everything you're feeling right now. I don't care how long it takes, we have the baby monitor on and the door is open. I'm with you and we're safe. I love you and I want to help you. Please let me."

So Mercedes told him everything: the constant fear and anxiety, the need to stay in the house where she felt safest, the thought that maybe someone would hurt them again. And Sam listened to her, never interrupting, holding her in his arms, as she talked and cried.

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I thought I could do this. I thought it would go away."

"Please stop apologizing. We'll get through this. Why won't you tell Dr. Fremont?"

"He's great but… I'm ashamed. Other people have been through much worse, like getting run over in the street or shot. I was spared. I shouldn't crumble."

"Yes you should crumble because you're human, and I don't care what happened to everyone else, I care about what happens to you. Never be ashamed of feeling afraid. And stop comparing yourself to others. You're not them. You're you, understand?"

"Yes."

"Santana trusted Dr. Fremont enough to handle her patients while she was away and you said yourself that you liked him."

"I do."

"Would it help if I sat with you on your session?"

Mercedes hadn't thought of that.

"Actually it would."

"Ok, we're calling him now and we'll make an appointment."

They made an appointment and called Stacey to pick up Abby from school and watch the twins. Mercedes told Dr. Fremont it was an emergency and he said they could come in that afternoon. Later as they drove to his office about a half an hour away, Sam held her hand, as they zoomed along the expressway.

"You know I'm always by your side. Just as you've been by mine," he said, "It hurts when you hide stuff from me."

"This wasn't meant to hurt you. I just never felt like this before. It's a new experience for me."

"I love you, I hate to see you hurt. Like when I saw your bruise, the image stayed in my mind for a long time. I couldn't un-see it"

"I love you too and the bruise is gone."

"I know. But my anger isn't."

"The court date is next month."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten."

"I'm sorry I punched you."

Sam smiled and kissed her hand.

"You can pack quite a punch. I'll give you that."

"I'm sorry about what happened."

"Baby, it's ok. And I'm sorry to. I didn't mean to scare you."

"How's your stomach?"

"I'll live," he said, kissing her hand again.

"I'm glad you calmed Rosy and Jake were down."

"Me too."

They talked about everything that happened. As they pulled into the parking lot of Dr. Fremont's office building, Sam said:

"How do you feel now?"

She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Hopeful."

ooo

Dr. Freemont's office was sandwiched between a small accounting firm and a chiropractor on the second floor of brick office building across the street from a sad, little strip mall that boasted an all you can eat Chinese buffet restaurant, a dry cleaners, a dime store straight out of fifties with it's retro font on it's faded plastic red and white sign that said Vidlers 5 & 10 and a fried chicken joint called Fanny Pride's Chicken House advertising a 10 piece special until 6PM. This town was a far cry from Star Pride. It was more like a ghost town with people hanging on to what was once a bustling community. After the local pencil factory shut down a few years ago, it was never quite the same. Some stayed because it was cheap and found jobs in nearby towns, but many left to find better opportunities elsewhere. Dr. Fremont chose the location because the rent was cheap and the area needed a psychiatrist. Sam parked the car and got out, opening Mercedes' door for her. He walked with his arm around her, as Mercedes shivered inside her coat. The sky was turning twilight purple and the air was penetrating cold.

An overweight man with a bushy mustache wearing a long brown mink coat stood at the entrance of the office building, puffing away on a cigar, gold and diamond rings on his fingers, he tipped his white cowboy hat and opened the glass door for them. He smiled at them and Mercedes forced herself to smile back, even with the tension rising in her chest.

The tobacco smelled sweet, almost pleasant, and it followed them into the building, drifting down the long hallway to the elevator. The hall was lit with bright white fluorescent lights overhead. The waxed black and white tiled floor squeaked beneath their feet. Sam held her hand, squeezing it in support. She loved this man so much. How could she ever do something so foolish as push him away? What was wrong with her? When they got to the elevator, Mercedes hugged and kissed him, taking Sam by surprise. Tears filled her eyes.

"I love you," she said.

Sam melted in her embrace, rubbing his big hands up and down her back.

"And I love you."

Mercedes pulled back, wiping her eyes, as he pushed the UP button on the elevator. They got on and heard Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing on the stereo system, a silver wreath with blue glitter balls hung on the elevator wall. The bell chimed and they got off, walked down the hall to Dr. Fremont's office and went inside. His secretary, an elderly woman in her 80s named Madge, with teased, dyed red hair and way too much blue eye shadow, greeted them with a big smile, her teeth refrigerator white. She smelled like lavender. Red rouge coated her pale, wrinkled cheeks. The light reflected off of her blue rhinestone rimmed cat eyeglasses. Silver bells decorated the red knit cardigan sweater she wore, and jingled every time she moved. Red Christmas stockings filled with candy canes hung from her gray metal desk and a little Christmas tree decorated with gold tinsel and red lights sat on top of the filing cabinet next to her desk, and on top of the tree, was a pretty black angel, with a long, gold gown and curly black hair that was styled in an Afro, and a silver halo was nestled in her voluminous curls.

"Hello Mercedes," she said, "I see you brought your husband Sam."

Sam looked at Mercedes and smirked.

"I see you've been talking about me."

"Of course she has," Madge said, "How handsome you are!"

"Thank you," Sam said, blushing a little.

"You two can have a seat," she said pointing to the black leather loveseat. A glass coffee table was positioned front of the couch, with silver bowls filled with Hershey's kisses, and a few old coffee stained issues of AARP.

They sat down and waited. Madge smiled at them.

"He won't be long. Don't worry."

She began typing away on her computer, humming to herself as she worked. Sam held Mercedes' hand and whispered in her ear.

"Feel ok?"

She nodded.

"I'm good."

Sam kissed her cheek and Dr. Fremont's door opened. He was an older man in his early 60s with closely cropped white hair and bright blue eyes, a shade that Mercedes had never seen before, almost like a cloudless sky; he wasn't the type to wear colored contacts so she figured he was born with them. He wore a polyester flowered shirt, faded jeans, and brown leather moccasins decorated with colorful red, black, white and turquoise beads.

"Hello Mercedes and Sam, come right in."

They went into his office and he closed the door.

"I was really concerned when you called me. Tell me what's going on?"

Mercedes told Dr. Fremont everything that happened with Sam beside her, encouraging her all the way. She broke down and cried in the middle of her story.

"I was so scared and didn't know what to do, how to process it. When I walked in the market that day, it was just an ordinary day. And this guy just starts acting crazy, saying racist things and threatening me. I was afraid because I didn't know what he would do. I failed."

"How?"

"I should've stood up to him more."

"In what manner?"

"I don't know. Be Wonder Woman?" she laughed and took some tissues out of her purse, "My first instinct was to run because I had to protect my children. He had a knife."

"You did nothing wrong. This is not failure. Is anyone judging you for your actions?"

She looked at Sam who put his arm around her, giving her the strength she needed.

"No, I've just been judging myself. And then I think, what if it happens again? This fear grew inside me. We've been having some racial tension in town and I don't want to put my family in danger."

"The manager and security guard helped you. Before that the community had a No Place For Hate rally and your neighbors all look out for you and your kids since the flyer incident. It sounds like you made a home in a town where people won't tolerate hate and your husband loves you more than any man I've seen love a woman. I'm not saying it won't happen again but I am saying you have a good support system. But fear controls you and that's understandable. We'll work together to overcome it. You aren't weak. You aren't a failure. You're a mother who protected herself and her children from a God-awful racist scumbag. This won't be an easy journey, but it's one I know you can make. I'm glad you're crying."

"Why?"

"You're releasing everything and that's good. I think you attacking Sam brought everything to a head, do you agree?"

"Yes, I do."

"Mercedes, I won't give you a kumbayah speech and say we all just need to hold hands and the bad people go away. I will tell you not to judge yourself, give yourself time to heal and take little steps. I will also prescribe medication for your anxiety."

"Thank you."

"Sam," Dr. Fremont said, "I want you to keep doing what you're doing. Fear and anxiety can be crippling and shameful for those who experience it, and the most soothing thing in the world is to have someone there beside you treating you with love and compassion."

"I will."

"And Mercedes, this isn't a quick fix, you may feel fine one day and not so great the next. It's a work in progress, understand?"

"I understand."

"What comes next for the man who harassed you?"

"He was arrested. All of us pressed charges."

"I hope justice is served and it's not one of those I didn't take my meds, society misunderstands me; I'm a product of my environment bullshit. No, you're a hateful, racist douchebag and you're responsible for your actions. There are no excuses and he stabs a man on top of that."

"You know, Dr. Fremont one of the reasons this upset me so much is because I have told people off, not because of racism but for other reasons. This was different, why?"

"Who were those people you told off?"

"My in-laws and my Aunt Josephine and my employer when I was being stiffed for a raise."

"That was your family and your employer. You knew the situation. You weren't in danger. Standing up to relatives and to a complete stranger who could be armed is an entirely different scenario and your children were in danger too. It's apples and oranges. And you can handle yourself, you knocked down your husband," he said.

"I've been learning how to shoot."

"Well, then, that's a useful skill."

"I know everyone is not an enemy, but my sense of security is shaken. And there's something else."

She looked at Sam and back at Dr. Fremont and said:

"Sam is a wonderful husband and provider. He does everything in his power to protect us. After he saw my bruise, he had such rage in his eyes, and I was afraid if he knew of my fear that he would go after that guy and either kill him or beat him. I love him. I don't want to see him arrested."

Sam squeezed her hand.

"I want to kill him, and if I had been there, I would've." he said quietly.

"I know and I would never stop you from protecting us. But I was alone with the kids and the circumstances were different. I was afraid of losing you."

Dr. Fremont cleared his throat.

"Mercedes, I know you love Sam, but those are his feelings and you can't control them. His wife and children were in danger, so the rage is understandable. However, together you will have to discuss how to move forward too, and I can help with that."

They stayed a while longer and then headed home. As they walked out of the office, Madge gave them each a red tin of her homemade fudge.

"It's an old family recipe," she said thrusting the containers into their hands. Drive safe."

They thanked her and left. The drive home was unfortunately long because of an accident on the expressway. Stacey called to tell them she ordered Chinese food so they didn't have to worry about dinner. Mercedes was glad because she and Sam were in no mood to cook. When they got home, Stacey stayed and visited, talking about her new boyfriend and how her calligraphy business was going. Mercedes was glad she didn't ask them how the session went; for some reason, she didn't want to discuss it, even though it went well. After Stacey went home they put the twins to bed and tucked in Abby.

"Mommy, will you be ok?" Abby asked as Mercedes covered her up with a comforter.

"I'm fine sweetie," Mercedes said, kissing her forehead.

"Your mother and I are working through this," Sam said, reassuring their daughter, before giving her a goodnight kiss on the cheek.

They said a prayer with Abby then went to their bedroom, undressed and showered together. Sam soaped up the washcloth and carefully washed her body, giving her loving caresses, and whispered praise for her beauty. He held her soft body against his firm one as the water sprayed down on them, feeling her heartbeat against his.

"You're beautiful, courageous and kind," he said, "I'm beside you, baby, I love you."

Mercedes held on tight, his words soothing her. When they finished showering, they went to bed and made love, and Mercedes enjoyed the fullness of him as he stretched her inner walls with his member. It was gentle, tender and sweet, the way he held her, and told her how much he loved her and she did the same, praising him as a husband and father, calling him her rock, and she cried because of the gratitude filling her heart. Their orgasm was intense and they held each other as it rippled through their bodies.

ooo

A few weeks later…

Mercedes had regular sessions with Dr. Fremont and he helped her immensely by enabling her to confront her fear and live her life. Though it was a daily struggle; she had a support system, and Sam knew where she was at all times. Aunt Josephine wanted them to move, but Mercedes told her despite everything, Star Pride was home and they were staying put for the time being.

The family went all out that year with decorating the house for Christmas. Blue and green lights were hung on the house and were strung across the surface of the front lawn, an inflatable snowman and Santa were displayed, and big blue electric glitter angels were also in the front yard. In the back yard, they decorated Speranza's birdhouse with blue and green lights too.

One afternoon she braved the cold and she and the twins went to Target to get more wrapping paper and cleaning supplies. She was fine at first as they perused the different wrapping paper in the paper goods aisle, Rosy and Jake called out the colors of each roll of paper with pride in their little voices. A few shoppers smiled at them and told Mercedes how cute her babies were, the Target employees were extremely friendly and kind, asking her if she needed assistance as she pushed the big red cart through the store, and nothing was amiss, but panic seized her heart as she gazed at a shelf of scented candles, trying to decide which ones had the best smells for the holidays, when she felt a cold dread seep into her bones.

Rosy and Jake were giggling and chatting together, their little heads pressed together as they participated in a conversation only they could understand, they shared a secret language sometimes. She looked over her shoulder and saw and elderly couple arguing about the price of scotch tape, then a teenage boy with blue hair passed by her, hands stuffed in his pockets, ear buds in his silver ball studded ears.

What was she afraid of? Then she saw a bald, clean-cut man with a thin mustache, in a black overcoat and red scarf, so all American and so threatening in her eyes, he walked toward her and she took a deep breath. It wasn't the crazy man from the supermarket, but his eyes were the same, something about those eyes. She began pushing the cart and walked quickly. She felt embarrassed and afraid. That man wasn't a threat. He probably didn't even see her. But the panic rose within her, she couldn't relapse, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out. She had to make it out of store, yet her feet wouldn't move. She was stuck in the home appliance section, gripping the cart handle, the sound of Bing Crosby crooning White Christmas throughout the store filled her ears, she felt the twins' hands covering her own; their soft, sticky fingers touched her skin.

"Mommy?"

Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She opened her eyes and, retrieved her phone and saw it was Sam.

"Schätzchen?"

"Yes."

"I want to tell you a story."

"Sam I – "

"Shhh, just listen to me. Take a deep breath, can you do that for me?"

Mercedes took a few deep breaths. Then she heard Sam's voice again:

"I knew a little girl who dreamed of flying horses, grew up crying because she was alone, had parents who died in a fire and an aunt who loved her more than life. She lived through the death of her husband, the silence of her child, drug addiction, mistreatment, loneliness and heartache, and one day she was foolish enough to marry the man downstairs with a huge mouth and loved her like he's never loved another and they got through a lot together. And that woman is all courage; her heart is so big it swallows you up and the universe loves her; sometimes you have to remind her of how she touches everyone's lives for the better, even random strangers, you need to tell her how precious she is, how much her family and friends love her even in difficult times. This woman is a jewel and my heart and I couldn't be more proud of her."

Tears trickled down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away. His voice was the only thing that mattered.

"She's the mother of my children. She's my everything and we walk through fires together."

Suddenly she felt strong arms encircling her waist, holding her close. She turned around and faced Sam. She cried on his shoulder.

"Did you follow me?"

"No, I was taking a break in my truck and your face popped into my mind and you had tears in your eyes; I felt you shaking. You told me you were coming here this afternoon. I wasn't too faraway so I called you on my way here."

"I'm sorry."

"Mercedes Hummel never apologize for this. You've been doing great. We all have our off days."

"Do you feel better Mommy?" Jake asked.

"Yes, sweetie pie."

They paid for the wrapping paper and left the store. Sam followed her home in his truck. By the time they got to the house, her panic had all but vanished, but she knew there was a long road ahead.

ooo

A few days after the Target incident, Santana contacted her to let her know she gave birth to her baby girl, who they named Molly Mabel Lopez Stratton, and since there were no complications, she was home with her wife Ella recuperating. While Sam and the kids went to Christmas Playland to see Santa Claus one Saturday afternoon, Mercedes drove to see Santana and the new baby. She bought gifts for the baby: a beautiful white lace layette set, baby essentials like diapers, lotion, pacifiers, bath items, and a dozen onsies.

The weather was clear and cold and she listened to her gospel Christmas playlist as she drove along the highway. When she arrived to their house about an hour later, she forgot how lovely the old Victorian house was with its bright blue paint, wraparound porch, irregularly shaped black steeped roof, and white shutters. Two black lampposts were positioned on either side of the concrete walkway leading up to the front steps and dark green holly was wrapped around each post.

A green wreath with a giant red velvet bow hung on the front door. Mercedes rang the doorbell and Ella answered the door dressed in a black velour tracksuit, her hair in curlers. She was about twenty years older than Santana, her skin was dark amber and she was plump with a generous bosom. Santana said they met in a creative writing class at the local community college. Ella had been married to a man before and when he died, she finally came out of the closet and lived her life as a lesbian. Ella had a pleasant face, and a pretty smile. She hugged Mercedes upon seeing her.

"Merry Christmas," she said, and Mercedes smelled her sandalwood perfume.

"Hello Ella, good to see you."

Ella pulled her inside the house, and the aroma of baking sweet potato pies wafted in the air.

"Something smells good."

"Girl, you know I got pies baking for my wife. She's been awfully demanding lately."

"I heard that!" Santana yelled from the living room.

Mercedes laughed as she followed Ella down the hall to the living room where Santana was sprawled out on the couch, covered with a heavy purple blanket with Molly in her arms, the caramel hued newborn had a head full of curly black hair and she nursed from Santana's big bare breast, which spilled out from the front of her opened fluffy, pink robe. Santana's long dark hair was in one long braid that reached her waist; her face was a bit fuller, and Mercedes could see she gained weight; her usually angular features were softer. She smiled at Mercedes.

"Hey Mercedes, come meet our little rug rat."

Mercedes walked over to them and looked down at the gorgeous newborn.

"She's beautiful," she said touching the top of her head, "Hi Molly."

Molly continued nursing, oblivious to everything else. Mercedes placed her gifts on the coffee table and sat down in the recliner near the couch.

"You didn't have to bring anything," Santana said.

"Oh, it's nothing and I wanted to."

Ella leaned down and kissed Santana's forehead.

"I'm going to check on the pies, do you need anything?"

"Yes, I'd love some cocoa."

"Sure thing, sweetie," Ella said and turned to Mercedes, "And would you like anything?"

"I'll have some cocoa too."

"Coming right up," Ella said, kissing Santana once more before leaving the room.

Mercedes looked at the diamond sparkling on Santana's hand.

"So how is marriage and motherhood treating you?"

Santana smiled, her eyes misty.

"Wonderful, I know I sound sappy but it's true. I never thought I could love someone as much as I love Ella and Molly. Everything happened so fast."

The two women went to the Justice of the Peace and got married on a rainy summer afternoon then went to Five Guys for burgers and shakes; it was perfect for them. Neither one of them was into weddings and fanfare.

"Ella is sweet."

"She's more than sweet. She puts up with my ornery ass and that's more than I ever thought possible."

"Oh, Santana," Mercedes said.

"It's true. You don't know how many failed relationships I've had but that's for another time. How are you doing?"

"I'm better. I have my days, but… I'm getting there."

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you."

"Thank you for Dr. Fremont."

"I can't leave my patients hanging and he's a great man."

Mercedes nodded thinking of his support then she said.

"Is Molly sleeping through the night?"

"I wish," Santana said gazing down at her daughter, "She wakes up every few hours."

Ella returned with two white mugs with sparkling silver stars, steam rising from each one. Tiny marshmallows floated on the surface of the rich, creamy cocoa. She set them on the table. Molly pulled away from Santana's breast, her dark eyes closing.

"You, finished nugget?" Santana said as she lifted up the baby and burped her over her shoulder, after she belched, Molly fell asleep. Ella took the baby upstairs and Santana closed her robe. She picked up one of the mugs and sipped the cocoa.

"Mmmm, so good," she said, closing her eyes. Mercedes picked up the other mug and took a drink, and she agreed it was quite good, though not as good as Sam's.

Ella came back downstairs and sat next to Santana on the couch; the curlers were gone from her hair, and now it was a mass of bouncy black curls, framing her sweet, angelic face. She sat next to Santana who pulled her into her arms, kissing her lips, and running her hands through her shiny hair.

"I love your hair."

Ella kissed her back.

"I'm glad you like my old lady curls."

"Hey, there's nothing old about you."

Ella pointed to a few gray hairs in the front of her head.

"See this?"

Santana touched the patch of gray, pulled Ella's head toward her and kissed it.

"It doesn't make you old. You're beautiful."

Ella blushed and put her arm around Santana, holding her close to her side, and Santana rested her head on her wife's shoulder. The two were very much love and Mercedes was happy for them.

"Where are you two spending Christmas this year?"

"Right here," Santana said, "We're too pooped to go anywhere. My mother might come over. How about you?"

"Sam's family and Aunt Josephine are coming. I'm looking forward to it."

"How are the kids?"

"Rosy and Jake are talking up a storm and Abby is doing well. I couldn't be more proud of them."

"You've come a long way," Santana said.

"That I have."

"You know Mercedes, when Santana told me what happened to you at the supermarket, my heart broke," Ella said, looking at her with kind eyes, "I worry about women in situations like that, but especially black women. I feel like we're the protectors and not the protected. I was glad those men helped you."

"I was fortunate," Mercedes said, sipping her cocoa.

Santana kissed Ella's cheek.

"I would've protected you."

"I know, love."

Mercedes spent the afternoon with them. She enjoyed their company because they were both so funny and warm. Mercedes could see why Santana loved Ella; the woman had a giving heart and generous soul that could make anyone fall in love with her. They laughed and talked, eating sweet potato pie and trading stories. As the sun began to set, she hugged them good-bye with a promise to come again with Sam and the kids.

ooo

All of the Hummels came for Christmas except for Finn, Matt and Lucy who were still on their road trip. Their absence left a void. Mercedes thought of Rachel in her quiet moments, recalling the sister bond they shared.

Early one morning while everyone was asleep, she sat at the kitchen table, writing in her journal, and sipping a big cup of Earl Grey tea, she was wrapped up in her old blue bathrobe, and the sun was peeking over the horizon outside the window covered with glittering white frost; she began humming Happy Days Are Here Again and for a brief moment she heard Rachel's voice accompany hers, it wasn't the thin, whispery voice she had toward the end of her life, it was the big, strong voice she was born with, a voice that carried her family through difficult times. Mercedes stopped writing. She closed her eyes and sang:

Happy days are here again

The skies above are clear again

Then she heard it again, that unmistakable soprano voice that could easily turn into one of a belter:

So let's sing a song of cheer again

Happy days are here again

Mercedes kept singing with the phantom voice.

Altogether shout it now

There's no one

Who can doubt it now

So let's tell the world about it now

Happy days are here again

Your cares and troubles are gone

There'll be no more from now on

From now on…

Then she felt a thin hand holding hers, smelled a sweet perfume, and a brush of long, soft hair against her cheek. They sang together until the end.

Happy days are here again

The skies above are clear again

So, let's sing a song of cheer again

Happy times

Happy nights

Happy days

Are here again!

Mercedes cried at the final words, the tears flowed down her cheeks and Rachel hugged her. They finally sang their duet.

"I miss you," Mercedes said.

The hug lasted a long time. Then she heard Rachel respond, it was faint.

"I love you."

Mercedes cried harder and told her she loved her too.

"We had so many songs to sing together."

She held on for as long as she could and then Rachel vanished. It took her awhile to process what happened and she had to smile because despite how much she missed her, she knew Rachel was at peace.

When the Hummels arrived, the house was filled to the brim and Mercedes was happy to see everyone. On Christmas Eve, Carol, Stacey, Helen and Aunt Josephine helped her cook and the kitchen bustled with activity. They made the traditional Hummel holiday dishes: potato dumplings, sweet and sour purple cabbage, potato fritters, spinach salad with hot bacon dressing, butter cake and apple strudel. They planned to cook the stuffed goose on Christmas day. They also made some of the Jones holiday favorites like sweet potato pie, collard greens cooked with garlic and smoked turkey, macaroni and cheese, and million dollar pound cake.

Burt, Blaine, Kurt, Sam and Stevie carried on the tradition of the gingerbread hearts and baked them late on Christmas Eve while the rest of the family watched old Christmas movies while sipping on mulled cider and hot chocolate; the children were upstairs asleep as multicolored Christmas lights shined on them. Mercedes and Abby thought it would be fun to turn her room into a Christmas room where all the kids slept, so they decorated the walls with sparkling silver snow flakes, and hung lights along the perimeter of the room. They plugged in Santa Claus nightlights into the wall sockets and sprayed fake snow onto her vanity mirror.

And Abby persuaded her mother to get a little tree to put in the corner of the room and it was decorated with plain white lights and glittering blue stars. Jake and Rosy helped sprinkle glitter onto her dresser, though they got more on the floor, but it didn't matter because a sparkling floor added to the ambience. Now the children were upstairs in that marvelous room fast asleep as a snowstorm raged outside. Mercedes allowed Jake and Rosy to play in the room until bedtime, and put them in their cribs. So they wouldn't feel left out, they decorated the twins' room too.

As It's a Wonderful Life played on the television, Mercedes sipped her hot chocolate from her black Santa mug and felt extremely tired. Stacy was beside her. They shared a big, red blanket and Stacey's long, blonde hair shined in the lamplight. Aunt Josephine sat in the leather recliner, knitting an afghan; Helen was curled up on the loveseat drinking mulled cider; and Carol was in front of the fireplace roasting marshmallows. The Christmas tree sparkled in all it's glory in the corner, with stars, multicolored balls of blue, red, green and yellow, silver tinsel and musical notes and underneath were all of the wrapped presents in bright green, red and gold paper. A fire roared in the fireplace and the spicy scent of gingerbread hung in the air. Stacey scooted closer to Mercedes and put her head on her shoulder.

"I'm pooped," she said.

Mercedes smiled.

"Me too. Cooking wears me out."

She was glad to be tired and she welcomed the laughter and talking brought on when the Hummel clan invaded the house. It made her forget all the ugliness her family experienced. Ever since the Target incident, or relapse as she liked to call it, her anxiety actually improved a lot. The bad days decreased and she was grateful for the therapy and her family's support.

"What's that I hear?" Aunt Josephine said, looking up from her knitting, "Sounds like folks singing in the street."

"Probably carolers," Mercedes said, "I'm surprised they're out this late, and it's really snowing hard."

"I think it's nice you have carolers in your neighborhood," Helen said, sipping her cider, "Too bad the kids are asleep."

Aunt Josephine nodded. Carol peeked out the window: "They're getting closer."

Then Mercedes heard the carolers shout in unison:

"Mercedes Hummel, please come to the door!"

Mercedes eyes grew wide.

"They just called my name."

"I bet Sam has something up his sleeve," Stacey said, as she pushed away the blanket and stood up. "Let's go see what they want."

"But we're in our pajamas," Mercedes said.

"We'll put on our coats, come on."

"You know something don't you?" Mercedes said as she left the warm cocoon of the blanket; she wore her oversized plaid flannel pajamas and heavy red socks.

"I swear I don't know a thing," Stacy said.

Everyone grabbed their coats and went to the front door. Burt, Stevie, Blaine and Kurt were already there, wearing their coats too. Sam was missing.

"What's going on? Where's Sam?" Mercedes asked them.

"Your guess is as good as ours, he said he was going to7-11 for some milk," Burt said.

Mercedes opened the door and what she saw on the front lawn was magical. A group of a dozen carolers wearing white coats, each holding a candle, stood with the blue green lights of their Christmas decorations illuminating their faces, snowflakes falling on them. They looked like a band of angels. She went out onto the front porch, waving at them. Then she heard someone playing the guitar and then she heard Sam's voice singing:

"Bring your tired

And bring your shame

Bring your guilt

And bring your pain

Don't you know that's not your name

You will always be much more to me

Every day I wrestle with the voices

That keep telling me I'm not right

But that's alright

'Cause I hear a voice and He calls me redeemed

When others say I'll never be enough

Then the carolers joined him in the chorus.

When others say I'll never be enough

And greater is the One living inside of me

Than he who is living in the world

In the world

And greater is the One living inside of me

Than he who is living in the world…

He stood in front of the carolers, belting out each note, strumming away on his guitar, his face red from the cold, his green eyes shining in the Christmas lights. When they finished the song, Sam added an extra verse:

"So Mercedes, this song is for you. Merry Christmas Schätzchen. I love you. And greater is the One living inside of you, than he who is living in the world…"

Mercedes was crying from how wonderful it all was. That was her song of strength, and now Sam was singing it to her. This was such a loving, caring thing to do. She didn't even notice how all the kids were crowded on the porch, clapping their hands. Abby held Rosy and Burt held Jake. She walked down the steps in her stocking clad feet, and she didn't even feel the snow beneath the wool socks, and she threw her arms, around him as everyone cheered around. She kissed him, and saw he was crying too.

"How did you do all of this?"

"I got skills, baby," he said, "I love you."

They hugged and kissed until Mercedes realized it was freezing outside and asked all of carolers to join them inside for hot chocolate and treats and they were happy to accept her invitation. Soon the house became rather chaotic with all of the chilly carolers crowded into the living room, but it was so joyous and fun. Now that the kids were wide awake, they joined in the festivities and helped the adults in the kitchen make the hot chocolate and cut up the big vanilla cake they were saving for dinner the next day and serve decorated sugar cookies on a big silver platter. It was an impromptu Christmas party. Since everyone was filled with the holiday spirit, they began singing carols, with Sam playing guitar.

The entire family sang together and Mercedes got to hear Blaine and Kurt's beautiful voices sing a duet of Baby It's Cold Outside. Aunt Josephine sang Blue Christmas, her voice as soulful as Mercedes remembered, when Aunt Josephine sang she was transported back to a time when it was just the two of them in that little house on Christmas Eve, with not many gifts under the tree, but instead they made it special anyway, and they would watch Christmas specials, bake cookies and sing together. It was the only time of year Aunt Josephine sang. She would joke and say her voice was for special occasions. She never worked on Christmas and Mercedes was never alone. As she sang Blue Christmas with only Sam's guitar accompanying her, the living room fell silent, and Mercedes heard all of their holiday memories in Aunt Josephine's rich alto voice. When she was finished, there was thunderous applause and Burt even whistled.

"Now I see where my daughter-in-law gets it from," he said.

Aunt Josephine smiled, suddenly a little shy from all of the attention. Sam put down his guitar and hugged her.

"That was beautiful."

"Thank you, Sam, and you're an excellent guitarist."

Mercedes hugged her too.

"That was every Christmas we spent together," Mercedes said, remembering the smell of million dollar pound cake and roasted turkey wafting throughout the house, and the beat-up television with no cable, but rabbit ears antenna, and the only clear station was PBS. The plastic covering the red couch her Aunt Josephine got on layaway from Sears, and the three All God's Children collectible figurines proudly displayed in the china cabinet in their tiny dining room. The little black children figurines dressed in their Sunday best with kinky hair and patent leather shoes were special because it was one of the few things Aunt Josephine splurged on. No, they didn't have much but they had each other and that was enough.

"Baby girl, I know, I was there, remember?" Aunt Josephine said, kissing her cheek, "Look how far we've come, my Mercy Me."

Tears welled up in Mercedes eyes, falling onto her plump cheeks.

"You haven't called me Mercy Me since – "

"Since you were knee high to a duck, sneaking jam from the cupboard?"

Mercedes laughed.

"I was always getting into something."

"That you were, but I wouldn't have traded you for anything. I love you, baby."

"I love you too," She said, hugging her again.

The kids played in the middle of the living room until the adults saw it was after midnight and told them it was bedtime. Rosy and Jake were fighting sleep but by the time their grandparents took them upstairs, they were asleep in their arms. The party winded down after that, and then the carolers said good night and wished them all a Merry Christmas. Stacey, Helen and Stevie cleaned up the living room, gathering up the empty mugs and napkins while Kurt, Blaine and Aunt Josephine tackled the kitchen. Their family told them everything was covered and to go to bed.

"Merry Christmas," Stevie and Helen said over their shoulders. "Go to bed, we'll take care of everything."

Sam and Mercedes went upstairs to the bedroom, their arms wrapped around each other. Once Sam closed the door, he kissed her, guiding her toward the bed. He smelled like gingerbread and chocolate. Mercedes stood still as he removed her pajamas, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her voluptuous nude body in the moonlight. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs grazing over her large, erect nipples. She shivered. Sam pulled back the covers, picked her up and put her in the bed, covering her up. Mercedes waited for him to undress, which he did in ten seconds flat, and he was hard and ready for her.

He positioned himself on top of her, and thrust inside her, grinding his hips, and she lay beneath him, enjoying the late-night love session, he took his time stroking her, nice and slow, filling her up and satisfying the void within her. They kissed as they made love, she squeezed his firm buttocks and he moaned. After they came, he lay on top of her in the afterglow, his blonde head rested on the soft cushion of her full bosom. She ran her fingers through his hair.

"That feels good," he mumbled as she massaged his scalp.

"Thank you for my gift."

He raised his head and kissed her full lips.

"You're welcome. I'm proud of you."

Mercedes kissed him.

"You make it easy to be who I am. I love you."

Sam smiled at her in the darkness. They kissed again and soon they needed each other again and Mercedes turned around and got on all fours, knowing Sam loved her in this position because he could admire her big, gorgeous, rear end that jiggled with each thrust. When he slid into her once more, she moaned at how good it felt, and they made love three more times before falling asleep exhausted but satisfied. Mercedes never felt so happy.

END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!

#Samcedes fanfiction #sam evans and mercedes jones #Samcedes

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