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nvuy · 8 months ago

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an ode to a nightingale — sunday

summary. you were never anything. sunday begs to differ, in his own twisted way.

notes. a thing i did as an experiment and also as a little gift to a special someone (you know who you are) because we both enjoy staring at this guy's face. he's a funky little dude and a massive green flag. 100%.

i redownloaded hsr and i’ve started penacony. i have no idea what’s going on. it’s probably because i’ve been stuck staring at dr ratio’s boob window the whole time. i’m like a toddler watching cocomelon. i cant look away.

warnings. mdni, for safety. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is a controlling dickhead, you’re an implied streetwalker, yandere themes, insulting, threatening, possessiveness, mentions of kidnapping, gaslighting, obsessiveness, lots of nice stuff like that. please let me know if i've missed anything!

“What do you want from me?”

You looked in the mirror as you spoke, and you saw some pathetic state of a person staring back at you. Behind the edges of the golden vanity was the outline of the filled bathtub with steam wafting from the surface.

And him.

You watched as he sank into the water with a satisfied gleam on his face.

You refused to linger on the scratch marks that left gorgeous red and white lines down his arms, and his chest, and his spine.

It smelled like coconut. Coconut and dusted sugar on creamy pastry. And the clogging smell of mascara.

It smudged down your cheeks, and your lips were ruined and swollen, and your skin was painted in purple bruises and teeth marks.

And you were sore. Every part of your body was aching.

Sunday was leaning against the edge of the tub, staring at you through his lashes. He always preferred his baths boiling, as if he wanted to melt his skin off. Usually, he’d bring a book with him and read it during his off time when given the chance.

He didn’t answer.

“You’ve changed,” he said instead. His voice echoed off of the white tiles in the bathroom.

“I look the same as the night you took me off the streets,” you murmured. “Like a whore.”

Sunday hummed. “Is that how you see yourself?” The wings extending from his ears dipped below the water for a moment. “A ‘whore?’”

You didn’t want to turn to face him.

It was difficult enough to hold his unwavering gaze in the mirror.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Because I think you look damaged.” He was honest this time, and there was bitterness swelling with his tone. He instinctively fluttered his feathers to dry them off.

“By your design.” You were speaking of how he made it his duty to ruin your skin with his teeth.

“What I’ve done to you is nothing. You had already ruined yourself by offering your body to those disgusting animals before I had ever even laid my eyes on you.” He waved his hand as if he meant no harm with his words. “I’ve merely saved you.”

Your jaw clenched.

He fluttered his lashes at you in the mirror and sighed.

What a pretty sight.

“‘Saved me?’” you repeated hoarsely. You tried not to claw at your skin in frustration. You willed yourself not to lunge at him and puncture his eyes from his skull. “Do me a favour and save me from your arrogance next. You’re deluded if you think trapping me in your bedroom is praiseworthy.”

He smiled.

“Think of it this way: a bird is much safer trapped in a cage than free to the winds.” The smell of coconut and sugared powder made your head spin. Of course, he would use the soaps and creams you wore when he first met you. The smell was engraved into his mind like a branding.

Although covered by a robe, you felt vulnerable. His gaze held strong. You weren’t sure if he was even blinking.

Sunday seemed too relaxed. Your freedom was a joke to him; what is freedom if you’re too busy giving your body to strangers? Did you want to go back to that life?

“You want me to get in the tub just so you can humiliate me,” you accused with a dangerous flash of your teeth.

You wanted to sound angry. You wanted to sound furious, but it was only a pitiful whimper of a phrase. You felt pathetically weak.

He was quick to answer, “I did not request your company.” He patted the book with golden edges that sat on a ledge of the bathtub. You didn’t want to ask of its contents. “You came here of your own fruition. You felt lonely.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“But of course.” Sunday plucked the book from the ledge, careful not to wet the pages as he turned to the page he’d marked. “You are mine, after all.”

His tone was light. Confident.

Your face was burning. “Fuck you.”

Who even were you? Who were you next to him?

Nothing, was the appropriate answer. He insisted otherwise, though he’d never given you a definitive answer of what you were. He’d never explicitly stated you to be a whore, disobedient, disrespectful, too independent for your own good.

Everything you hated to hear about yourself, even if it was all true.

He’d only tut and usher you away with a wave of his hand.

You’re his, as well.

His teeth in your skin, his feathers tickling your neck, his wandering fingers that crept below your navel. He’s stained your skin with his. It’s hard to wash off—even harder when he shares the same soaps as you.

Perhaps he knows this, and that’s why he hopes you share a bath with him.

So you’re reminded that there’s a chain around your ankle.

“You’re a fuckin’ hypocrite, y’know. You think you’re so high and mighty, and yet you’re naked and pining after some street whore. And then you insist that I belong to you, but also beg for me beneath your own sheets.” But that wasn’t true.

As soon as the words left your lips you screwed your eyes shut and you leaned over the vanity.

His smile only grew, and the tip of his tongue touched the sharp edge of his canines.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the marble countertop.

Here he was, vulnerable. Susceptible to a swift slice of a blade to his neck, to being held beneath the surface of the water until he stopped flailing.

And you’re still so afraid of him.

He reads you like the book in his hands.

Sunday cooed. “Just like water, you are destructible, easily poisoned, and ever changing. You are lost, entrapped within four walls, so desperate to escape, but you cannot think for yourself.”

You furrowed your brows.

He turned the page of his book. The water sloshed as his arms moved.

The smell of coconut was hurting your head.

“You speak in tongues because you’re scared of ruining your perfect image,” you said. “You’re just an insecure little boy who's stuck in a daydream.”

That forced his head to turn. He almost snapped his book shut. Instead, his fingers froze on the edges of the crisp paper.

Then, he let out a hearty laugh.

“Allow me to rephrase: your beauty is wicked. It is rotten, vile, and evil.” The sweet scent of sugar was a cruel joke. It juxtaposed everything that spilled from his filthy lips. “Your blood is muddied and ruined. You’ve allowed strangers to see your skin.

“You’re lucky I’ve tolerated your behaviour for this long. If you were anybody else, you would have lost your foul tongue after our first night together.”

The way he said it all made you feel so much smaller than you were.

You finally turned around to face him. The reflection in the mirror made the bathtub seem further away than it actually was.

The tub was in the centre of the room, craved meticulously from a blue crystal. To you, it closely resembled aquamarine. It was big enough to be considered a swimming pool if you removed the golden faucet, but you refrained from insulting his fussy craftsmanship and adding fuel to the fire.

Sunday was particular about everything; sizing, shapes, colours. Everything had to match, everything had to make sense, everything had to be perfect and presentable. Any faults or flaws were dealt with swiftly, whether that be a person or an object. You weren’t sure if you were considered one or the other.

Then came the specifics. A ledge for placing things, voids in the walls for storing soaps, adequate cupboards, flooring, walls, forms, everything.

Aeons forbid you dropped a glass and scratched the precious tiling.

And he was particular about you, though he never clearly stated what he wanted from you.

He wanted you. That was clear from how he would coax you to join him with gentle words and fleeting touches. How he would stain your skin and leave an imprint of your body on his bedsheets.

Anything other than that was muddled, muddied, lost in his own deluded mind.

“What do you want from me?” you asked him again.

Sunday fluttered his lashes at you. “Nothing at all.”

“Have you ever told the truth?”

You had instinctively drawn yourself closer to him. You leaned over the tub, fingers curled around the rim of crystal.

Sunday sighed. He looked sick, like delusion had twisted through his mind like poison ivy crawling along the walls of the gardens outside. “You are afraid of the truth.”

“You’re lying again.” He wasn’t lying, but you refused to make him feel as though he was in control.

That was he fed off.

Your fear, your touch, your taste, your words, every inch of your skin. His. All of it.

“I want everything,” he stated.

You wanted to break the tub and slit his throat with the shards of crystal.

“I want you to give yourself to me. All of yourself.”

How selfish of him.

He still views you as an offering.

You turned away and moved to storm out of the bathroom. You would wait until he was finished. You couldn’t be in the room with him.

The steam was burning your skin, and your scent on him was making your head feel like it was splitting apart.

He grabbed your face and forced you to look back.

You would have described his eyes as beautiful; golden irides with hints of plush velvet and a deep sapphire. But all he did was stare. He’d never look away, and he never wished to.

He saw things you did not.

“I want undying loyalty.” When you squirmed, he held your cheeks harder. “I want hopeless devotion. I want compassion. I want to see the silhouette of you in my bed first thing every morning.”

Your nails were frozen digging into his wrist, still wet and hot from the water.

He seemed as though he wished to say more, though refrained when he let go of your face. He’d abandoned his book now, his gaze remaining locked onto you.

Your cheeks stung from his fingerprints. You feared the patterns would be burned into your flesh.

“I want you to stop,” you whispered.

You knew what he was doing.

“Oh, I will.” This time, when his fingers raised for your face, he simply grazed them along your sore cheek. “Join me.”

You didn’t answer at first. You didn’t even move from your spot, frozen as if he’d drawn ice down your spine.

You breathed out. Your fingers were trembling.

“I’m not stupid,” you said. You were trying to convince yourself it was true.

Sunday only tilted his head. “No, you’re not stupid.”

He was already pulling the string of the bow around your waist. His wings bristled.

“I know what you’re doing,” you insisted, holding onto the fluffy material when he undid the knot holding the robe together. “I know what you’re doing.”

He smiled playfully. His hands pushed away the robe. “What am I doing?”

Your eyes welled with tears.

You don’t know what he’s doing. You are stupid.

You wished you’d never met him. You wished you’d never let soft hands and kind words and those pretty eyes of his draw you into his bed.

You shouldn’t have ever crawled back to him.

You let out a pathetic sob.

“Oh, you sweet thing.”

Sunday tutted pitifully and offered his hand.

Almost instinctively, as if it had been written in your blood since the moment you were born, you took it and leaned into his embrace.

His hair smelled of sugared tea. The feathers of his wings grazed over your face, now soaked with your tears.

He gently drew you into the water, murmuring something bordering on praise. You didn’t even hear what he said.

“I will make you all better.”

The water was hot. His lips on your cheek made you dizzy. The mirror had completely steamed up by now, and your chest pressed flush against his.

You tried to push him off you. You tried. You really did. You’d done this before, many times. Letting him break you down and watching as you lost control of your limbs and clawed at him until he held you.

He was good at that. Predicting. Letting things form the way they always did.

You were so angry. Angry at yourself, at him, at everything. Weakly, you curled your fists and hit his shoulders defeatedly. You heard him laugh.

All you did was betray yourself, surrendering and stilling as his cold hands dipped below the water.

“I will make you whole again.”

#sunday x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #yandere honkai star rail #hsr x reader #sunday x you #✦ ( the macrocosmos. )#✦ ( after hours. )

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coconutmr · 1 year ago

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#Carnival Function in Wedding #Carnival Destination Wedding Experience #carnival weddings #Destination Wedding Concept #Coconut Water Brand #monogram coconut #wedding coconut stall #stamp coconut #tender coconut water #carved coconuts #personalized coconut #carved coconut #peeled coconut #customized coconuts for events

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teaboot · 8 months ago

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You recently mentioned not to use oil based lube on a silicone toy, as it could become porous, but what about crisco/lard (for anal only, of course)? The internet doesn't yield much conclusive answers...

Thank u for your service Σ:3

You already kinda said it at the tip, but I wanna make it extra clear:

DO NOT USE CRISCO, LARD, OIL, OR OIL-BASED LUBE ON SILICONE, JELLY, ABS PLASTIC, PLASTIC, FANTAFLESH™, CONDOMS, DENTAL DAMS, OR 'FEMALE CONDOMS'

*ONLY* USE OILS OR FATS ON METAL, SKIN, OR GLASS

OILS AND FATS OF ANY KIND WILL DISSOLVE SOFT MATERIALS AND BREAK OR WEAKEN CONDOMS SPECIFICALLY, AND WILL CREATE MICROSCOPIC OPENINGS FOR BACTERIA AND SLOWLY MELT EVERYTHING ELSE

Now to answer your other question:

I don't recommend using household products such as crisco, lard, coconut oil, canola oil, or olive oil for any penetrative activities unless you have no other option available.

For skin-on-skin or glass/metal toy anal sex, it's not the worst thing you can do, but it can lead to infections, odours, and allergic reactions. I won't say DON'T, because almost any lubricant is better than no lubricant when it comes to anal, but absolutely don't go for it as your first choice.

A lot of the arguments FOR using oily lubes are these:

"It lasts longer than water-based lube!" (Yeah, because your body absorbs the water out of water-based lubes- add a bit of water when it starts to get tacky and it'll slick right back up.)

"I have bad reactions to water-based lubes!" (A lot of drug store brand water lubes are full of harsh ingredients that react badly on sensitive skin. My favourite brand of water-based lube is Water Slide. It's one of the cheaper specialty lubes, you can buy it online, and after years of stocking it I've never heard of a bad reaction.)

"We aren't using condoms or non-glass/metal toys so we're using it to last longer!" (This is fine, and oil-based lubes are graded for this purpose so they aren't as iffy as kitchen products, but if you want options, you can consider silicone lube. It's a bit pricier, but WAY outlasts oil.)

TL/DR: You probably won't die if you use crisco/lard/olive oil/coconut oil etc. for anal sex, but it will break condoms, and your specific individual body may not like it as much as actual lube.

Important disclaimer, though: I am not a medical professional, and I've only been peddling for about four years or so now. Happily welcoming any credible corrections or additions!

Awesome question, thank you for asking!!!

#Teaboot #Teaboot advice #Body health #Not for work #reproductive health

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sleepynoons · 1 month ago

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Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant.

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!”

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

“We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them.

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate.

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce.

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence.

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin.

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient.

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks.

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar.

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!”

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens.

“The texture’s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #jiaoqiu #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu hsr #honkai star rail jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu honkai star rail #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu fluff #carrot cake!#nereids' realm #house of solis occasum

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rainbowbarnacle · 7 months ago

Note

Please make a tea post so I can save it especially the pineapple ice cubes I need more info

Oh, like, different teas I like to make? Okay! :D

🍍Pineapple Tea🍍

The way I do it is really simple:

Buy a giant jug of already-made tea (I like gold peak!)

Buy a carton of pineapple juice

Freeze the juice into cubes, pour a little of it in the tea for extra flavor

And that's it. That's aaaall you gotta do.

There's all kindsa ways you can dress it up, but nine times out of ten I just do this and drink it by the gallon when it's hot out.

If you wanna get fancy with it, feel free to cold brew your own black (or green) tea, add actual hunks of pineapple fruit in there, add some orange juice, add some honey, add some coconut milk or sweetened condensed milk, whatever sounds good! (Also, pairing pineapple tea with coconut cookies? SO GOOD.) Put mint in the pineapple cubes if you like mint! Add a bit of boiled ginger root or some brown sugar and cinnamon for a little kick! Heck, last summer I used blue peaflower star-shaped ice cubes just because they were pretty.

(Peaflower petals don't taste like much, but they make a GORGEOUS blue, and if you put something acidic in there like lemon juice IT TURNS PINK. :D)

🍓Strawberry Tea🍓

I find this stuff sort of difficult to find where I live, so often I go the same route as the pineapple tea: grab a jug of black tea, grab a jug of strawberry juice, (ocean spray has a really nice cran-strawberry one I like) freeze the juice, mix, and enjoy. Super simple.

If I can't find strawberry juice, I dice some strawberries up and put it in a jar with some water and a bit of sugar for a few hours, then add *that* to the tea. (heck, it's really nice all by itself!)

What goes with strawberry? ANY DANG THING YOU WANT. I am particularly fond of lychee. Jasmine tea and rose petals pair really well with it too. Again, if you like mint, it's *really* nice with strawberry. And you know how if you put black pepper on strawberries they taste even strawberrier? (If you haven't tried this, go do it, it's magic.) Same goes with the tea, add some peppercorns or a teeny bit of chili powder or some ginger.

If you wanna drink it hot or cold brew a batch of your own, here are some brands that are also nice:

1. Strawberry Sensation

2. Adagio Strawberry Tea (this is also where I got the peaflower petals)

3. Any of Lupicia's Strawberry Teas they are HEAVENLY

🍏Apple Tea🍏

As with the pineapple and strawberry teas, it's totally fine to just go find some ready-made tea and mix it with some apple cider or apple juice for tasty low spoons fun. If you drink it iced, a bit of sugar and lemon juice brings out the apple flavor nicely!

I prefer drinking this stuff hot though. You know that Fall Drink post that was floating around? IF YOU HAVEN'T YET, TRY IT, IT'S AWESOME.

☕Chai Tea☕

So here's the thing about chai for me personally: I don't tend to drink it iced or sugary, but if you do like it iced and sugary, there are a couple of really nice chai tea concentrates:

Oregon Chai Latte

Tazo's Chai Latte (Forget the "skinny" nonsense, I just wanted to include an option with no milk so you can add whatever you want to it)

Pacific Chai isn't concentrated, but you can use it to make hot or iced chai and it's really lovely, not too sweet and super easy to work with. As for dressing up chai, I don't tend to! There's already so much going on with all the flavors, I just drink it as-is most days. Play with milk-to-tea ratios or sugar amounts all you like, figure out what's your jam.

I do know that mixing chai and coffee together (or chai and chocolate together) is guaranteed to make a feeling groovy kind of morning, at least if you have two thumbs and you're me. Iiii think that's all the tea blather I can think of for right now. Thank you for asking, anon, it was fun! Anybody reading this, feel free to add your own favorite things to do with tea. :D

#domestic blifs #this has been tea blather with rainbowbarnacle #thank you for attending my TEA-d talk

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lagataprrr · 2 months ago

Text

Blame it on the Club's Playlist| Chapter 2 Hey Baby (Drop it to the Floor)

S. Gojo x plus!size fem reader

Warnings: slight dry humping, heavy makeout session, heavy petting, fingering, multiple orgasms mentioned, car sex, Gojo being completely obsessed with reader, readers insecurities maybe getting the best of her

Blame it on the Club's Playlist | Masterlist

Credits to @super-marvel-dc for the gojo divider!!! They have more on their profile🥹

a/n: PART 2!!! thank you to the sweet messages and comments about wanting to be added to the taglist. This one is a little longer and you'll see that the song isn't made too much of like a deal as the previous but that was on purpose swearrrr. ANYways, I hope y'all love it, part three is already in the works as well.

Also! Y/F/D = Your favorite drink just in case anyone was wondering.

Strong hands gripping your thigh, your back arching as you let out a high pitched moan. The euphoric feeling of his warm tongue going in and out of your gushing hole making tingles run through your entire body, your toes curling and the knot in your lower belly tightening. You were about to cum, the feeling making you tremble, your thighs threatening to close.

"Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" His words vibrating against your clit. Moving his lips to suck on that sensitive bundle of nerves.

"O-Oh ngh, fuck-"

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You jolted awake, your old college sweatshirt sticking to your skin from the sweat that had broken out on your body. The feeling of your underwear so moist and sticking to you made you cringe.

You had another wet fucking dream about him. It's only been about six days since you had gone to the club with your friends. Six days since you had gotten head from that really hot man in the VIP area. Six days since you practically ran away from what could have been the best fuck of your life. Letting out a sigh, you pushed the duvet off you. Your feet touching the cold hardwood floors of your room, as you walked into the bathroom. Stripping off your clothes and turning on the shower faucet, waiting for the water to be as cold as can be. The ice cold water brought a sort of relief to you scalding skin.

It's like ever since Satoru ate you out he left your skin on fire. You can't even forget the way his fingers dragged over your thighs. His mouth on you branding its way into your very core.

Your cunt practically throbbed at the thought of him, a pulsating sensation on your clit making you bite your lower lip. Shaking your head and lathering your body in your coconut soap. The rest of your shower spent on thinking of Satoru.

♡

"Oh come on, you have to come with us tomorrow!" Your friend whined, her grip on your hand tight.

"You have to go and get your man." Your other friend pointed out.

"Absolutely not. I've already embarrassed myself enough." You mutter, your eyes reading over the homework instructions on your laptop screen. Slipping your hand out of your friends grasp to quickly type something in your blank google doc.

Your friends roll their eyes. "He ate you out, he was clearly into you." your eyes widened, looking around the library, to see if anyone had heard your very loud friend.

"For christ sake. Do not keep saying that shit, we're in public."

"Well you were in public too, you know." Your friend pouts and you slap her shoulder. "I'm just saying, you didn't really care."

You shook your head at her antics, typing away. Your other friend giggled, scrolling away on social media. "Just leave her, if she doesn't want to hang out with us its her decision."

You gasp. "It is not because I don't want to hang out."

Your other friend lets out a pout. "You're right, she doesn't wanna hang out with us."

You slumped your shoulders. Knowing they were teasing, and the little voice in the back of your head begging for you to just take a chance. Go with them. Maybe finish what was started. But the other voice, the opposite of this one, denied it. Saying that you shouldn't. You would just embarrass yourself.

But then again, maybe just try? It's not like he's going to be there again right? You can just go, dance, have a few shots again and just have fun with your friends. You're not going because of Satoru. You're going because you just want to hang out with your friends.

Chewing on your bottom lip, pondering, your friends exchanged looks. Already knowing that they would come with you back to your apartment to get ready.

After a few quiet minutes, you turned back to the both of them. "Fine. I'll come with."

Your friends immediately squeal in delight, only for the librarian to come around the corner and shush them loudly. Closing your laptop and stuffing it into your bag. "Okay, I am leaving before the librarian kicks me out because of you two." Your friends laughing as you walked out. Heading down the campus square to the small cafe shop you've accustomed yourself to go too whenever you wanted to be alone. The little bell on the glass door chiming, and immediately your met with the buzzing of students talking amongst themselves, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries baked in the early morning. Getting in line, you pull out your phone, scrolling through social media and answering a couple of messages you've missed when your ears perk up at a table that was a few feet away.

"You're so lame Suguru, we could be doing anything right now. But you just want to be doing this stupid project." Glancing up to see a mop of familiar white hair and wide back. The tall body fit into the small chair of the cafe table. You felt your stomach drop as you recognized him.

"If we get this over with, we'll have the entire weekend to be free, Satoru." His friend with dark locks sat across from him reminded, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on his own chair. The white-haired man in front of him groaning and throwing his head back, making you panic, turning your head to look elsewhere.

Would he recognize you? No, no he wouldn't. You're not dolled up like you were that night. You're wearing a pair of comfy leggings and a way oversized hoodie, that sort of makes you look a little bigger than you normally are, and your comfy socks covered by your tan colored crocs. Your hair pinned up in a sort of bun, that you were sure your hair was probably falling out of.

"I can take your order now ma'am." Your attention was ripped away to the smiling cashier, which you recognized was a classmate from a class from your last semester. You stepped towards the counter and gave her a small smile. "Hey Y/N, good to see you!"

Forgetting the white haired man sitting a few feet away, you nodded at the cashier in acknowledgement. "Good to see you too. I hope your semester is going well."

"It is. What can I get for you today?"

"Can I have Y/F/D and a cheese danish, please?" The cashier nods, inputting your order into the register. Tapping your student id against the reader, and grabbing the pastry you stepped to the side awaiting for your drink to be prepared.

Engrossed in your phone for a few minutes till your name was called. "Y/N, your drinks is ready." You smiled and thanked the cashier, grabbing the drink and heading out of the cafe.

Completely unaware of a pair of striking blue eyes that would not leave you not even as you walked out of the building, following your figure till you disappeared.

"So I'm going to assume that's her." Suguru says, staring at his best friends dumbfounded face.

Turning his head back at the raven haired man. "Huh?"

"Y/N. The girl you met last Friday that you will not shut up about." He says, taking a sip of his oi cha green tea. "The one you met last Friday? You know the one that ran away from you-"

"Yes, yes thats her. No need to rehash her running away from me." Satoru groans, slumping in the chair with a pout.

"She saw you when she came in."

Satoru sat up at this, his eyes widening. "She did?" A grin forming on his lips.

"Yeah. Saw your dumbass, and turned away. Thought she was gonna run again." Suguru teased and Satoru pouted. "I'm just kidding, man. Look, for all you know maybe she's just shy."

Satoru groaned, laying his head on his open notebook. His cheek squished against the page, creasing the paper making Suguru roll his eyes. Tapping his pen on Satoru's head. "Your creasing your pages."

"Why do you think she ran out on me?"

"Maybe you gave her bad head."

Satoru was quick to lift his head and glare at him. "Excuse you, she came twice, in a row. So no. It can't be." Suguru laughed, shaking his head. Satoru glaring at him as he closed his notebook and stuffing it carelessly in his bag, Suguru doing the opposite.

"Anyways, I don't know man. Maybe she is shy, or she freaked out."

"About what? I was clearly into her, I mean fuck. She was perfect."

Suguru could practically see heart eyes on his best friends face. An uncommon look for him, since usually he's a one and done kind of guy. "What you in love or something?"

"What? No. I'm just saying she was just so pretty. Well, is."

Suguru hums, walking beside his tall friend. The sun illuminating the square nicely across campus, students moving to the dorms and others to their cars.

"You going to the club again tomorrow?" Suguru asks, and Satoru shrugs.

"I don't know. My new Digimon game I ordered arrives tomorrow." He grins and receives a smack to the back of his head.

"Stop being such a idiot, and go to the club. I'll go with you if you want. We can go after practice." Suguru offers and Satoru hums, putting a finger under his chin dramatically thinking. "Offer disappearing in three... two... one-"

"Fine. Fine."

And now here he was. Satoru tapped his fingers against his steering wheel of his blue BMW M8. The rich leather of the steering wheel feeling comforting against the pads of his fingers.

What the fuck? You're Satoru Gojo. Get a grip. Satoru thought to himself, as he shook his head. Putting on his glasses and killing the engine, stepping out of the car and tossing the keys to the nearest valet worker.

"Yo' Gojo." Turning his head, he's met with the familiar sly grin of Toji Zenin, right behind him Suguru and Nanami Kento.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Came to see your pussy ass. Heard all about your Friday night when you were telling Geto."

"Or more like his nosy ass, was eavesdropping when you called." Suguru mutters, and Satoru groans.

"Ever the nuisance." Nanami says and Toji rolls his eyes.

"Whatever, point is, came to get some game too. Since I'm tired of the campus girls."

"Or they could be tired of you and your broke self." Nanami says and Satoru and Suguru snort, walking past security into the loud club. The voice of Toji cussing at Nanami being drowned out by the booming base of the current song playing. Women's and men's heads turned at the group, making Toji grin at the attention.

"Well I don't know about you bums, but I'm gonna go get a piece tonight." Toji says and immediately disappears in the crowd.

"I'm gonna go get a drink." Nanami mutters, and Suguru nods.

"Yeah me too, you want something?" Suguru asks, and Satoru shakes his head.

"I'm heading to the bathroom." and the raven haired man nods, following the blonde head towards the bar.

Satoru walked through the crowd, not really feeling the sweaty bodies that kept bumping into him. Just a few feet of the bathroom until someone else collided into his chest.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry-"

"No, it's fine- Oh! It's you." His eyes focusing on your pretty face. The look of realization falling on your features, as soon as you recognize just the person you bumped into.

"Umm, I think you might be confusing me with someone." You rush, and were about to turn when his hand grabs your forearm.

Your head turns to him, surprise on your eyes and Satoru reluctantly let go of your arm. "My bad."

You nod and head off back to your friends. Leaving a Satoru to once again stare at your ass as you walk away. Wearing another pretty dress that made you look so so good. Even if it was walking away from him.

Before he could even react, Suguru's arm went over his shoulders, passing him a glass of some sugary liquor.

"You might need this tonight, you know, so you can grow some balls again."

♡

"He's here?!" Your friends squeal over the loud music. "What did he say?!"

"Nothing he just recognized me, and I just came back to you guys."

One of your friend groans while the other facepalms. "Seriously?"

"Y/N come on! He clearly came tonight in hopes of seeing you!"

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. Suddenly feeling out of place, and uncomfortable.

Let her go, la-la-la-la

If your girl wanna play, let her go (ah-ha)

Said let her go, la-la-la-la

The song blared through the speakers, the bass feeling like its directly in your chest. Shaking your head, you grabbed the shot of tequila from your friends hand and throwing your head back. "I'm gonna go dance." Wanting to get away from your friends questions and advice. Getting through the crowd of people and finding a spot the corner of the dance floor, where there were barely people and the colorful lights barely shined on. Swaying your hips to the beat, and trying to drown out the rest of the people.

If your girl wanna play, let her go (ah-ha)

Said let her go, la-la-la-la (ah-ha)

If your girl wanna play, let her go (ah-ha)

Said let her go, la-la-la-la

From afar, blue eyes were on you again, you could feel the gaze. Your eyes looking through the crowd to meet them, and feeling a knot on your lower belly once you did. It felt like last Friday all over again. You became entranced, your body warming up from his gaze all over you. Once again the alcohol in your veins served as a motivator to move your hips to the music. Closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost to the rhythm, entrapped in the beat and the loud pounding of the bass.

Satoru watched you, and he was fully enraptured by you. Unbeknownst to him, he had started moving your way. Making his way through the people, until he reached your little corner. Bringing the sweet drink in his hand and taking a sip. The sweet liquor nursing his nerves, and making the warmth in his skin to start to overheat.

Even with your eyes closed you knew he was right there, the nerves in you beginning to pick up but also your heart beat pounding. Or maybe that was just the loud ass bass from the music? Letting out a shaky breath, and opening your eyes, lifting your hand to him. "Wanna dance?"

Satoru lets out a grin taking your hand, and you pulled him behind you. Your back meeting his front immediately, and Satoru this time was a bit more mindful. Not wanting you to run away again, he kept his hand in yours. In your mind you questioned it.

You ran out on him, you idiot. You thought. Shaking away your doubts, you brought his hand to your hip, placing it there and keeping your hand over his, as a motion for him to hold you. Following your indication, he did, digging his fingers in the fabric that covered your hip, though even with the dress you could feel the burning touch of his fingers.

Hey, baby girl, what you doin' tonight?

I wanna see what you got in store (hey, hey baby)

You're giving it your all when you're dancin' on me

I wanna see if you can gimme some more (hey, hey baby)

"I haven't stopped thinking of you, since that night." He admits into your ear. Your ass grinds against him, and he was already semi-hard, letting out a low groan against you.

"I haven't stopped thinking of you either." You respond, turning your head slightly to look at him. More like, look at his mouth. His pink lips that had a little glaze from the drink he had been drinking. His breath smelled like sugar, and a teeny bit of liquor. Satoru moved his hips in rhythm with yours, pushing his hard on against your ass making you hum.

"You looked good yesterday, you know." His words make you widen your eyes, looking up into his own. He grins, moving his head closer to your cheek at the corner of your mouth. "Too bad you avoided me, wanted to talk to you." He pouts, placing a kiss on the spot. Your lips itching for him to kiss you.

"You saw me?"

"At the cafe, on campus."

Your breath hitches and you felt your throat run dry. He grins, and brings his drink up to his lip, your eyes watching his every move, the Adams apple on his throat bopping as he swallows. And suddenly you're so fucking thirsty.

You can be my girl, I can be your man

And we can pump this jam however you want (hey, hey baby)

Pump it from the side, pump it upside down

Or we can pump it from the back and the front (hey, hey baby)

"Y/N." Your name sounds so good on his tongue, and it sounded so good to your ears. Making a pulse run through your cunt, and you could already feel yourself become more slick in your juices. "That's your name right, pretty girl?" You nod, Satoru placing another soft kiss on the corner of your mouth and you slowly turned your head, kissing him and moaning at the sweet taste on him. Your lips moving in sync, as he licked your bottom lip and playfully biting it, pulling it until letting go. "Couldn't forget you at all, pretty girl. Even when you ran out on me."

"I didn't mean too." You confess into his lips, grazing the softness of them as you spoke. "Got nervous." You mutter and he nods, grinning. His grip on your hip tightened and pulled you back so deliciously, now practically pushing his hard on up and down your ass.

Ooh, baby, baby la-la-la-la-la-la-la (ah-ha)

Ooh, baby, baby la-la-la-la-la-la-la (hey, hey, baby)

"It's okay, baby."

"Satoru," You whimpered, the vibrations on your body and the heat overwhelming. And Satoru could almost bust a nut at the mention of his name in such a sinful way.

"Say it again." Pressing kisses on your jaw, you let out a low moan.

You grind against him, your hips moving up and down, the song in the background only working as a motivation to continue moving.

Ooh, drop it to the floor

Make me wanna say hey, baby (you can have whatever you want)

Yeah, you can shake some more

Make me wanna say hey baby (you can have whatever you like)

Ooh, you got it, 'cause you make me wanna say hey baby (you know what I want)

Yeah, don't stop it

(I want you tonight)

"Fuck." Satoru curses, your ass felt so fucking good. And suddenly he's starting to feel like a 15 year old again, feeling like he could cum in his pants any second now.

In a second you've turned around, sliding your arms around his neck and bringing him down to kiss him. His hand still on your hip, and the other holding on tightly to his drink. Your fingers lightly pulled on the short hairs of his undercut, making him groan. Giving you the chance to run your tongue on his, spit mingling with his.

Don't hate the game that won't solve it

I want to get with you, mami

Now let me see where the Lord split you (dále)

Pulling away, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. You shook your head, still not believing the words coming out of your mouth. "I want more, Satoru."

Like music to his ears, and he's quick to set his drink on a nearby surface and grabbing your hand. Placing a soft kiss on your lips before motioning for you to walk ahead. Though this time, he's guiding you out of the doors. Shooting a quick text to your friends you let him guide you, Satoru grabs his keys from the valet and walks you to where his car was parked. He even had VIP parking, and your mouth dropped at the sight of his car.

He opens the driver side door and settles himself before patting his lap. Realizing the car is a two door, making a feeling of dread for on the pit of your stomach.

"What? No. I'll crush you." It slips out before you could even think what you were saying. Satoru was quick to shake his head, two strong hands gripping your thighs and pulls you forward. Settling you to straddle him as he closes the door and turns on the car, the air conditioner blasting and making goosebumps rise on your skin.

"You could suffocate me with your thighs and I'd thank you, baby." Were his words before he's swallowing your mouth again. You moaned into the kiss, and now that you were on his lap, his rock hard print of his cock was settles right against your underwear. Rocking your hips slowly, Satoru lets go, letting out a groan. Your eyes on him as your mouth a was a bit agape, breathy gasps falling out of it as you grinned your cunt on him. You knew you were wet enough that he probably had a damp spot on his pants but you didn't care. It just felt so fucking good.

His fingers pushed your dress up to the same spot you had told him last time, and he lightly pulled the lacy material of your panties, letting it snap against your hips making you jolt. Taking the opportunities to push his hips up and grind himself on you, "Satoru" You moan.

"Say my name again, baby." He says into your mouth, hands pulling your panties to the and his fingers finding your bundle of nerves with ease. The feeling making you jerk forward, your forehead pressing on his. Practically sharing the same breath as he worked on you. Maneuvering his fingers down and easing them into your cunt, a high pitched whine coming out of you as a shiver ran down your spine. His thumb working on your clit as his fingers curled inside you, pressing on the spongy spot that made you see stars.

"Jesus, Y/N, this pussy is practically crying for me." His words making your thighs tremble. His eyes on your cunt, juices gushing onto his palm as he continued working you open for him. "Look at her, she's crying out to me." You looked down, his hand working wonders on you, and you could see your juices gown down his wrist.

"F-Fuck Satoru-ah- you're gonna make me cum too fast." Pressing a kiss to your jaw, and letting out a chuckle.

"That's the whole point, pretty girl. Gotta work you up, so I can fit."

His words made your mind run with a million thoughts.

Was he being cocky or is he really that big?

Your hips jerked forward from the stimulation and the knot on your belly was impossibly tight. Your brows were pinched and your mouth wide open, filthy moans falling off your tongue and Satoru swore you were the prettiest girl in the entire world as you came on his hand.

He continued to work you through your orgasm, not letting up the pressure of the circles he was drawing with his thumb on your clit making you cry out.

Your arms hugged around his neck, practically smothering him in your tits as you rode his hand. Satoru bit your cleavage, savoring the taste of your skin and you let out a moan. "Pull the top of your dress down for me baby." You did it without even thinking, your tits spilling out and you were so thankful you didn't wear a bra today. Latching his lips on your left niple, Satoru moaned against the bud.

Satoru curled his fingers once more and put more pressure on that delicious spot inside your cunt, your vision going momentarily white as you came again. Your hair sticking to your forehead as you threw your head back. Satoru's eyes watching, drinking in the entire scene in front of him, thanking God for this a million times.

Slowly pulling his fingers out, Satoru grins up at you and brings them to his mouth. Moaning around his fingers at your taste. You felt heat come up to your cheeks at his lewd expression. "So sweet, pretty girl." You shake your head with a shy giggle, and he's quick to lean up and kiss you. Hands working under him to unbutton his pants and pull his hard cock out. Slowly running his hand up and down his girth, groaning.

You look down and your eyes widen.

He's not cocky, he is fucking huge. And it's looks so good, the first thought on your mind is that you want him in your mouth. You don't care if you can't breathe, if you gag, or cry, you just want his cock in your mouth.

You're snapped out of your gaze when Satoru is ripping open a condom packet, and your fingers take hold it. Satoru watching with an open mouth as your hands rolled the condom on him, purposely squeezing your hand around him making him rest his forehead on your tits. Lifitng yourself up a bit, and guiding him between your fold you hiss as his tip bumps into your clit. The sensation making you jolt and Satoru guides your wrist to your entrance, his mushroom tip gliding through the first ring of resistance, hugging it tightly.

"Fuck baby, pussy is just squeezing me in." He's biting all over your chest, holding himself back from just pushing himself to the hilt in one go. "So happy you didn't run away from me this time."

You're a moaning and babbling mess, the stretch of him making tears gather in the corner of your eyes and your pussy practically crying for him to just keep going. Lowering your hips little by little, you could feel him everywhere and soon enough your fully sat on his lap. His cock kissing your cervix and you felt so fucking full.

"S-So big, Satoru." You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders. Satoru eases on his assault on your tits, who are now decorated in purple marks all over.

"Too big, baby?" He cooes, kissing along your jawline.

"Move," you whine and he does, lifting his hips up into you making you whine. One hand of his already working your clit as hes fucking up into you. At a certain angle that he shifted his hips his tip bumping that spot again making you let your mouth open with an 'oh'.

Taking mental note, Satoru started fucking into that spot. Your arms now wrapped around his neck, sucking on his tongue to quiet your moans. The knot on your belly already forming quickly, from the stimulation and the feeling of him.

Satoru grunted as he felt the familiar tightness in his balls. You were squeezing him so tight, the warmth of your cunt engulfing his cock even with the condom, making him so close.

"Fuck baby, not gonna last long." He moans into your mouth. "Need you to cum for me, pretty girl."

He's mean as he fucks you, the skin of your thighs practically slamming on his lap as he thrust up to you while one of his hands pulls you down by the hip to meet his thrusts. Your tits bouncing as you moved. He was all over you, his smell, his touch, his taste and his sounds were everywhere and it was riveting.

"Sa- oh fuck- 'toru." The nickname made him clench his jaw, finally pressing a mean circle on your clit making your eyes roll back into your head. The sound of juices gushing out of you making Satoru's ears perk up, and glance down. You were squirting all over him, and holy shit that did it. Satoru's letting out a guttural moan, filling the condom up to the brim. Fucking you through his and your orgasm. Your body trembling and jolting at the overstimulating, he was practically drawing out your orgasm to be longer.

Once he started softening, he slowed down until he finally let you rest on his lap. Your vision had dark spots, your mind buzzing in euphoria. Satoru places soft wet kisses around your neck until he met your lips.

"You still with me, baby?"

You meekly nod, trying to catch your breath. He slowly pulling you up, his cock slipping out of you and setting you back. Reaching over the middle condile he pulls out some tissues and cleans you up and him in the process. Your face in the crook of his neck, still reeling from your orgasm. Once you felt a pat on your cunt from him positioning your panties back into place, your mind finally realized everything.

You're pulling yourself back to look at Satoru. You squirted on him, in his car?!

You've reached a new low Y/N. Your mind practically screams at you.

"Hi." He grins and you bite your lip, looking out of his tinted windows. There were a few people from the club walking to their cars.

"You planning on running out on me again?"

"Maybe." You tease and he rolls his eyes. Pulling your dress up over your tits and down to cover your panties, the action making you realize just how exposed you had been.

"So..." Satoru starts. "Can I get your number?"

Your brows furrowed and avoided his gaze. "Why?"

"So I can take you out on a date?"

You shook your head. That mean voice in the back of your head ridiculing you.

This is just a joke. It kept saying.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You mumbled and Satoru tilted his head in confusion. Grabbing your phone from the middle console where it had been forgotten at the start of the rendezvous, he managed to face it towards you. The device betraying you as it unlocked with your surprised face, and satoru was quick to go into the phone app. His fingers typing rather quick on the screen.

Your eyes stayed on his fingers, they looked so long. The fact that they were stuffed inside you just a while ago making your body heat up.

A text message tone rung out and you glanced at his own phone that lit up. Recognizing your number on his screen.

The look of conflict on your face made Satoru's grin drop, clearing his throat and quickly setting a cocky grin. "Or you know, If you ever wanna..." He wiggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively making you let out a soft laugh. "Call me." You nod and open the car door, slowly getting out, while Satoru watched you.

"Can I at least take you home?"

You glanced back at the club, then down at your phone 2:34 am.

"I should actually find my friends. Just to make sure they're not too drunk to drive home." He nods in understanding, getting out of his car and locking it behind him. The loss of warmth making goosebumps rise on your skin as you walked back into the club. Your body on auto-pilot as you scurried through the crowd.

Running away from Satoru, once again.

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