#it's really just meant to be a noodle incident

[remesrobotics]

I like how you reference Eris’ discovery leading to Pluto’s demotion in your OC Eris’ profile

So how did Eris get Pluto demoted in your canon(?) was it an accident or was it intentional?

(it's a mystery)

[shogunish]

𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀.

synopsis. “you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

contents. a bit of angst, comfort, miscommunication/lack of communication, implied friends-to-lovers, soft! satoru, takes place after the star plasma vessel incident, satoru's trauma response, unedited, something i whipped up on a whim lmao

wc. 1.3k

note. had a sudden urge to write this when i watched dazai edits and i hope i'll find more inspiration to write like..i just wanna be consistent for once 🥲

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

the inverted spear of heaven was no more.

the star plasma vessel incident — mainly toji fushiguro — had carved its mark into satoru’s flesh. after satoru had killed the man, he had made sure to destroy the cursed tool until not even ashes remained of the sharp blade that used to spill the blood of innocents.

it was almost like the sorcerer wanted to destroy the things that could destroy him.

however, he failed to notice how he had almost destroyed his relationship with you, too.

no longer did satoru wrap you up in his bear hugs. no longer did he let you rest your head on his shoulder on movie night. no longer were you welcome in his space.

always were you kept at an arm’s length. satoru was close enough to admire but so far out of reach like the constellation of stars dotting the night sky. what you thought was no more than a phase turned out to be so much more until, in the safety of your bedroom and underneath your blankets, your vision blurred with tears.

if the sun wasn't there, the moon would remain hidden in the vast void of space. and without satoru, you couldn't shine, either. in fact, your smile dimmed until it was almost extinguished by the pain satoru put you through — but it wasn’t his fault. or so you'd like to tell yourself.

satoru had danced with death when he was meant to only protect a girl.

you couldn't possibly blame him.

after all, you could neutralize the only thing that kept him safe.

the ability to nullify any cursed technique upon touch was as convenient as it was, literally, cursed. with zero offensive abilities, you always relied on satoru or suguru to cover for you in case your plans didn't work out. one miscalculation and your head would roll — that much you knew.

among every student attending jujutsu high, you were the weakest while satoru was the strongest.

it was enough to tie your fate to satoru, weaving a web of complicated feelings which usually tasted like those sugary gummy bears the sorcerer carried with him. it was sweet and warm like his embrace, but the blade of toji fushiguro had effortlessly cut through the fine webs. nothing but a cold void remained where laughter and silly inside jokes about digimon danced along the velvety threads.

almost like a black hole that swallowed the constellation in the skies, leaving behind broken galaxies and lonely stars that swallowed moons to fill the loss of their companions.

“he's so stupid,” you muttered to yourself, threw the teddy bear in your arms into the corner of your bed and sat up to blow your nose.

the teddy bear was a polar bear adorned with button eyes and a red bow tied around its fluffy neck. it looks like you, you had mindlessly said during last year's summer festival. satoru had spent the entire evening shooting little rubber ducks to earn enough points to win the silly bear, but it was worth it for your eyes lit up like the fireworks that followed soon after.

the clock read two am when you poured boiling hot water into a cup of instant ramen, ripped open the package of spice and stirred the meal with disinterest written all over your face. not even the scent of cheap cup noodles made your tummy growl anymore. how could it when it was so full of dread, guilt and worry for the sorcerer who stole your heart and refused to give it back? it was an unfair bargain, really.

just a moment later, you heard a knock on your door. you considered ignoring it and pretending to be asleep, but alas, the lights were on and likely snuck through underneath the crack of the door to your dorm. what kind of idiot knocked on your door at two am?

satoru — the only idiot who'd knock on your door in the middle of the night and look like a kicked puppy.

“satoru? it's two am..,” you spoke first, standing between him and the warmth of your dorm.

satoru didn't look like satoru. even through the pitch black glasses of his shades could you see the storm brewing in those sky-blues of his. with a sigh, he rubbed his neck. “why does everyone keep telling me how late it is? ah, no matter.”

you wanted to ask, but decided against it.

“look, i know it's late, but i can't help but think you've been avoiding me for the last couple of what? weeks? months?” satoru shifted his weight from one fuzzy slipper to the other. “was it something i said?”

in that very moment, you realized you were doing the same things as he was. as soon as class was over, you'd go home alone. you'd have lunch alone. you'd spend your weekends alone. all those things once were shared with satoru in your space, but as soon as he avoided you..you avoided him, too out of fear of getting hurt.

“satoru..don't you realize that you've been avoiding me first?” your voice was quiet as you hugged your middle. “ever since the incident and the destruction of that cursed tool, you always kept me at arm's length. you no longer let me get any closer nor do you spar with me anymore. nothing..”

“you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

a painful epiphany coiled in satoru's stomach like a snake. was he so busy destroying the devil's tools and refining his technique that he..forgot about about you? the person who'd steal his fries and snore on his shoulder on movie night? no, no way. he would never see you as a threat even though your touch could dissolve his infinity like sugar when it touched water.

“[name], that's not..” the words got stuck in his throat. for the first time in his life, he was speechless. “you are anything but a threat.”

“then why..” tears brimmed your eyes until they overflowed, ran down the apples of your cheeks and met the warmth of satoru’s thumb. it was not his stupid infinity wiping the tears away, but satoru himself.

to be touched by satoru felt like the first sunrays of spring gracing your skin. warm, familiar and hinting at the end of a long, unforgiving winter that had taken root in your belly. soft sobs bubbled in the back of your throat, rocking your shoulders and interrupting every word you wanted to say; how stupid he was, how much you missed him, how much you needed him.

“shh..say no more,” satoru whispered and took you in his strong arms so you could sob into his chest all you wanted.

satoru didn't care about the tears or snot wetting his shirt. all that mattered was the feeling of you in his arms, and even though it pained him to know that he caused those tears, this was better than receiving your cold shoulder and dismissive smiles.

quietly, you and satoru went back inside the warmth of your dorm where both of you shared some cheap cup ramen which satoru spiced up with some peppers, egg and a conversation which neither of you would remember in the morning to come. no amount of time seemed to have passed between you as you both laughed, bickered and exchanged glances like lovers-to-be would.

“what are you doing?,” you asked, long comfortable underneath the sheets of your bed — or you would be if satoru didn't hold them up and almost looked offended by your words.

“sleeping with you, duh,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world and maybe it was.

ignoring your protests and pouts, satoru crammed himself into bed with you, one arm around your waist and the other one underneath your head. his broad chest gently pressed against your back, his warmth enveloped you like a blanket.

“you're stupid,” you smiled to yourself while a blush as red as roses crept up your cheeks.

“and you're lucky i love you,” satoru grumbled underneath his breath, blowing some strands of your hair away from his nose and mouth so he wouldn't suffocate while holding you so tight.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon

[biteofcherry]

to find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; D/s undertones; public humiliation; groping; dirty talk

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

5. Breaking ice 

~ * ~ 

You’ve never been more annoyed with a sunny day and warm lightness filling your bones than you felt the day after the apothecary incident. Extra bounce to your step as the sun stroked your face and corners of your lips threatening to curl up irked you immensely. 

Every other minute you tried to force yourself into a stormy mood.

Into an expected reaction to what has happened.

You faced direct danger, witnessed people being killed in cold blood, you were trapped in a relationship with a fucking mobster, who - on top of it all - screwed your body and mind in a most wicked, deranged way.

You shouldn’t be feeling cheery. That reaction was inadequate to the situation and to the moral norms you thought you possessed. 

Either Rogers had that strong of an impact that you quickly bent to his dark whims, or the spine you thought you had always been a noodle not a steel rod. 

How otherwise explain the fact repulsion at his manhandling transformed into thrill and arousal? 

Last night, when you finally went to bed after taking a thorough scrubbing shower (and crunching a few cranberry pills to pray the UTI away), the images of being fucked with a gun resurfaced in a colorful burst. 

The crystalline blue frozen in ice of Steve’s irises, the soft pink of his lips inches away from yours, the black of the gun against your floral dress. 

It made you sticky instead of sick. 

You had some knowledge of the psychological aspects to rough sex fantasies, or bdsm preferences, even consensual non-consent role play; but they all were considered normal when consented and previously explored. 

You did not give Steve your verbal consent. Yet you didn’t exactly fight him. Convincing yourself it was because he had a gun and could kill you with it fell poorly since your pussy clenched at the memory of the barrel against your skin. 

What has your life become - cranberry pills and getting wet from being violated.

You were angry, yes, but not at what you should be. Your annoyance with Rogers was peaking, but the true resentment wasn’t only toward his actions. It was directed at yourself for not being outraged by what happened. 

When the next day at work Natalie asked you about the meeting, you gave her the short version - a trap being set up and Rogers coming to save you. The part about coming all over his gun was left unspoken.

You told yourself it’s to spare yourself further humiliation, but a part of you simply feared you’d get turned on thinking about it again. 

Really, that should be a topic to pick at a therapy session, but you couldn’t do that either. You had enough common sense to know going to a psychotherapist was out of the question, not with the man who was about to become your husband. You couldn’t tell all the truth in a session (to not risk a therapist’s life) and going there only to lie and omit had no sense. 

So you decided to channel everything onto the job. 

Focusing on work meant not allowing your thoughts to roam around Steve fucking Rogers, as well not giving your body reasons to stir with arousal. 

You caught up on paperwork, made a few phone calls - including those less important, just to occupy yourself; you visited the new speech therapist in their office. Being busy enhanced the sense of lightness, which you preferred to read as having no space to overthink and stress, instead of wondering if getting debauched was the sole cause of your serenity. 

However, the lull of denial burst the moment Natalie came into your office with lunch.

Lunch you didn’t order, and a couple trailing behind her with creepily bright smiles on their faces. 

“Miss Leigh Parrish and Mister Elias Asher are here for you.” Natalie informed you, professional as always, though you noticed the barely constrained eye roll. “And they brought you lunch, apparently.”

“What?” You looked at the set of neat three boxes with delicious looking food then at Natalie and at the pair behind her. 

The two walked in with confidence, as if they were about to take over your office. The woman, Leigh, had a pad in her hand and a huge binder under her other arm. The man held some small kind of measure tape and a little blue notebook. 

If they were some new donors, or a company who wanted to start a program with your health center, they sure were the very first to start negotiations this way. Usually you were invited to lunch, not have it brought. People meeting you were also more reserved and polite, instead of barging in with some wacky energy. 

“Lunch is from Mister Rogers, we’re just delivering since we were going to be here anyway,” said Leigh, her toothpaste-commercial grin not changing for a second.

Instantly your mood dropped, your eyebrows creasing into a hostile frown. 

“And why are you here?” Your tone remained calm, but you made sure displeasure in it was audible. 

Steve randomly buying you lunch was a worrying problem you stored to resolve later; though you had a feeling he wouldn’t care that these nice gestures annoyed you, as they clashed with the picture of a ruthless mobster you were adamant on hating forever. 

The two cheery people coming in unannounced - at the direction of Steve, undoubtedly - became the aim of your irritation and distrust. 

“To help you plan your wedding, of course.” They both beamed in unison and you almost groaned at how overtly sweet the woman’s tone has become. 

“Mr Rogers mentioned you’re fighting nerves, which is absolutely understandable,” Leigh cooed and your fingers twitched, ready to reach for something to throw it at her. “Planning a wedding can be stressful, especially an impromptu one. But that’s why I’m here! I’m the best wedding planner in the city and I’ll make sure it surpasses all your dreams.”

Your reluctance toward the wedding wasn’t something you hid from Rogers. Quite the opposite, you announced it any chance you had; within limits of reason, to avoid being disposed of.

Him sending in an actual wedding planner was a move you did not expect. At all. 

You’d sooner anticipate him dragging you in your pajamas in front of a forced registrar to get it over with. 

Ah, but that would be too easy. Not enough torment for you. Not enough room for you to show how obedient of a wife you’d be. 

We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess, his voice resounded in your head, a decadent richness that softened your limbs for a split of a second before your resistance kicked in. 

Having you organize the wedding, or at least actively participate in it, was a lesson - that you would follow his orders even if you hated them.  

“The best wedding planner in the city has a free slot to organize a wedding in a month?” You arched a single eyebrow, studying the woman. “What skeletons are in your closet that my fiance managed to blackmail you?”

You didn’t doubt she was one of the best, but those had their schedules booked for three years in advance. To have her clear it for you meant there was more than just money at stake for Miss Leigh Parrish. 

Her smile faltered for a second, but she regained her composure fast. She ignored your question, walking instead toward your desk and placing her huge binder on it. 

“Since we have the venue covered, with Mr Rogers estate being more than enough to host the event,” she went on, “there are only details to talk over. Let’s start with the wedding rings, so that Elias can begin working on them right away.”

Her companion stepped forward. The tiny measuring tape in his hand now made sense, as it apparently was to measure the circumference of your finger to match a ring size.

“Let’s start-” you interrupted, pushing your chair back- “with you leaving my office.”

Interesting how you managed to maintain your poised self, professionally cool as you delivered the polite fuck you, while that composure quickly dissolved around Rogers. 

You kinda stepped on eggshells around him at first (and still, sensing when the crossing line was too near), but then his demands lit your fuse. Somehow you dared to stomp your foot, be loud in your outbursts and acts of rebellion. And it wasn’t because Steve provided safe space, oh no. He was far from safe. 

“What?” The man blinked, confused, while his friend blanched.

“We have to get it done. As soon as possible.” Still trying to sound sweet and soft, Leigh made the mistake of allowing a tremble to shake her voice. 

“Then get it done, I don’t really care.” You shrugged.

It was the truth. You didn’t care for the ceremony at all. 

You had a brief thought about hating it, if it was some overused boho or retro theme in a barn, but then again you would hate it anyway, since you didn’t want to marry Steve. Besides, it could be funny to see his face if someone told him to wear suspenders and a flat cap for aesthetics.

“You, um, you don’t want to participate in preparations for your own wedding?” Leigh frowned, utterly surprised. “Not even pick a dress?” 

“I can wear a t-shirt and flip-flops for all I care.” You probably wouldn’t go that far, but you really didn’t care. 

If Rogers didn’t order you to wear a wedding dress, you’d do it anyway just to please your parents who were going to be completely oblivious to the truth behind your speedy wedding. You preferred to keep it that way, playing someone so dumbly in love she was ready to marry a few weeks after meeting the guy. You didn’t want to worry your parents.  

Natalie snorted at your words, for the very first time so openly showing amusement. She even grinned when you glared at her, then turned on her heel and walked outside.

“The, um, the wedding rings?” Elias cleared his throat.

“Barbed wire would be fitting,” you snorted under your breath, but he didn’t seem to hear it. You suspected he might’ve fainted if he did. 

“Whatever Mister Rogers wishes,” you shrugged. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go and consult with him?” 

To underline that you were done with this whole shit-show, you opened one of the lunchboxes and dug a fork into it. You didn’t lift up your eyes from the delicious food until you heard the door closing.   

You ate your lunch while idly browsing the internet, just to get your thoughts off the wedding completely. It was approaching with each passing day and you preferred not to accept the fact. 

Though you weren’t sure denial would work once there was an actual ring on your finger. 

It seemed it wouldn’t work even before that, because not a half hour after you dismissed the wedding planner the door to your office opened with impetus.

Steve strode inside, a force of a thousand storms contained in a man’s body. 

His heavy boots and the hem of his tight jeans seemed to be freshly stained with something wet and dark. The rest of him was perfectly clean, not a smudge of dirt on his hands. You tried not to think of blood splashing on his shoes and legs as a lifeless victim fell at Steve's feet.

You definitely tried to ignore a wave of heat that washed over you at the thought. 

You forced your eyes to stay on the devil’s angelic face, drowning in the hues of blue, so that your gaze wouldn’t slide across Steve’s body in search of a gun holster. 

“Princess.” Steve sighed, but there was an undertone of amusement in his voice. 

He walked toward you with purposeful steps; his mass seemingly changing the gravity inside your office, so that all light fractured to disappear in his approaching darkness. 

Or maybe it was your attention discarding anything in your peripheral to focus on him, as if he was the center of your world. 

You abruptly stood up and shuffled back instinctively, bumping into a bureau. Steve caged you against it, blocking any route of escape with his arms on both sides of you. It was only then that you tilted your chin up, tapping into the remnants of your steel defiance.

“Why am I hearing that you’re scaring off the wedding team?” Steve tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “They’re here to take the planning burden off your shoulders, so that you can focus on your work. And your future role…”

You swore that if he said anything about wifely duties, you’d kick him.

“I told them they can plan whatever they want. As long as they do it far away from me,” your mocking sweet smile combined with your sneer. 

Perhaps your tone provoked it, or maybe a challenging fire in your eyes, but Steve’s lips curved into a wolfish grin. 

“Oh, Princess,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, “look at your cute yip, yet there’s no real bite to it.” 

It was very dangerous to do anything to antagonize Rogers, especially when he was this close and could snap your neck with his bare hands, but you acted before a reasonable thought settled in.

You opened your mouth and caught his thumb between your teeth, clenching your jaw enough to cause pain, but not drawing blood.

Steve’s eyes hardened, the blue of his irises darkening. Time froze for a split second; you could almost hear the ice cracking beneath your feet and the murky depths awaiting to swallow your dead body. 

Suddenly your eyes widened, when instead of backhanding you, Steve pushed his thumb further between your lips.

Your teeth released their grip, his digit easing into your mouth and pressing against your tongue. Saliva pooled around it and you instinctively hollowed your cheeks. 

Twisted satisfaction igniting in his eyes and the subtle thrust of his thumb along your tongue stirred you from stupor. Scorching shame filled you to the roots, though you hoped it didn’t show. 

You pulled back, turning your face away from Steve as you swallowed remnants of his taste. He tilted your chin with his wet thumb, forcing you to look him in the eye again. What the fuck was with this man and maintaining eye contact? 

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” He smoothed a hand down your arm and wrapped his fingers around your wrists. 

Next thing you knew Steve was calling for Elias Asher, as he stretched your arm out; thumb pressing into your palm to make your fingers stretch. 

Elias stumbled inside and almost tripped over his own feet at the sight the two of you displayed - you pressed against the bureau with Rogers’ intimidating size looming over you, your hand offered on a silver platter. 

“You mentioned you need measurements for the ring size,” Steve intoned conversationally, “do what you must.”

You glared daggers at Steve, which he accepted unbothered. The jeweler’s fingers didn’t shake as he wrapped a small measuring tape around your finger and wrote down the result in his notebook. However, all the while he was staring either at your finger or his notes, never up at either of you.

That way it was easier to pretend the scene before him wasn’t close to intimate, or that he didn’t suspect you were being forced into marriage.

“What type of metal?” His voice wavered slightly. 

“White gold,” came Steve’s decided reply. 

Something told you that while he was giving you free will to organize the wedding however you liked, Steve had already chosen how your permanent shackle looks like. 

You peeked at his hand, gaze sliding across the rings adorning his thick fingers. You noticed there was none on the finger on which a wedding band is worn. He was going to make sure that your rings matched the set he was already wearing.   

“Pure and fierce, like my fiancée.” Steve added, with a mocking tilt. 

“And the cut?” Elias scribbled down, not lifting his eyes at either of you even once.

Steve’s eyes sparked mischievously. His right hand moved up your thigh, squeezing your thick flesh through the fabric of your skirt.

“Cushion?” Steve mused aloud.

Then his touch moved upwards, along your ribcage and ghosting over the swell of your breast. 

“Round?” He cupped your tit indecently, causing you to gasp in outrage that he dared to do it in front of someone. 

That he dared to do it at all!

“No. We know which suits you best, right?” Steve’s hand ventured north, brushing your collarbone before his fingers curled around the front of your neck. 

“A princess cut.” 

Ringed fingers wrapped around your throat loosely, but it was a firm enough gesture to boil your blood and weaken your knees. 

You couldn’t blame it on the fear of being strangled, because not a single thought about it entered your mind when Steve did that. Neither when he did it the first time, in his kitchen, nor now. 

What you thought about was the power he spread over you and how it melted your resolve into an obedient puddle. Against all reason. 

Unable to look away from Steve, you didn’t notice the jeweler leaving your office in a hurry, undoubtedly ready to drink away what he tried not to witness. You didn’t even hear the door close, your ears were filled with the sound of your own heart pounding in a quickened rhythm as Steve’s hold on you continued. 

Slowly (it seemed reluctant, too), Steve loosened his grip. He didn’t move it away, though, shifting it only slightly, so his hand splayed like a necklace above your sternum. 

You took a shaky breath in, cogs in your brain starting to turn anew. 

“Why can’t we just sign the papers without this wedding party fuss?” You asked quietly, gaze shifting from Steve’s hold on your hand to his face. 

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he let go of it and took a step away from you. He swiped a hand over his mouth then gave you a blank, almost condescending look.

“Because I need everyone convinced I’m here after your cute ass, Princess. Blind with love or lust, or whatever people want to believe in,” he winked at you, as if you were supposed to agree with his cynical assessment.

You thought quite the opposite. That no one sane would believe Steve Fucking Rogers was interested in you. 

“Who would even believe that?” You snorted, frowning.

It wasn’t about insecurities of any kind; you were mildly confident both in your looks and your worth. However, men like Rogers didn’t even circle around women of your kind. 

Men of power; men who rode the thin line of morality, mostly treading through the dark side; they went for women who craved such things. Women who suited that lifestyle. Women rotten at the core, or greedy (whether for wealth, or for power and influence). Or at least for women who looked really fucking good on their arms, like models and escorts. 

No one, none of Steve’s rivals surely, would believe that he was simply courting you. You beside him made zero sense.

Steve laughed. Actually laughed. A warm, sparkling burst of amusement that made his handsome face gain impossible boyish charm. 

“That a man got addicted to a sweet pussy?” He looked down at you, still grinning. But that grin transformed into a sly curve. 

“Everyone, Princess.” He leaned closer, again; voice nearly purring as his lips brushed your cheek. “I can assure you that even at this moment they’re thinking I’m balls deep inside you.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that rocked your body. Judging by the way Steve’s eyes dragged down and up your frame, he noticed your reaction. 

“I’m kinda thinking about it, too.” He licked his lips, drawing your hungry attention to them.

But the ire at his crude words snapped you out of daze. Your fingers curled in a fist and you pounded it against Steve’s chest when he pressed his weight into you.

“In your dreams!” You hissed.

Your small fist made no real impact against Steve’s hard chest. It didn’t deter him and it seemed he didn’t even feel any pain from the hit. 

His hands returned to your body, boldly gripping your hips and holding you in place as he licked along your jaw. He flicked your earlobe with his tongue - a lewd tease that should disgust you, but instead made your pussy tingle.  

“I’m dreaming of our wedding night.” Steve whispered before pulling away with a low chuckle at your wheeze.

“There will be no wedding night!” You pounded two of your fists against his chest. Futilely.

Steve regarded you with a look one may give to a small kitten trying to appear intimidating toward a wolf fifty times its size.

“I’ll make you a deal, Princess,” he tucked both thumbs beneath the hem of your blouse, his touch nearly scorching against your skin. 

“On our wedding night, if I touch your sweet pussy and it’s dry, I’ll let you pick a bedroom for your own. So you can live in solitude, unbothered by my presence.” He sounded sincere, like it was a business deal he was really willing to propose.

Then his hips were pressing against yours, bulge in his pants prominent as he rocked it into you. Steve’s eyes flashed a dark gleam; his sensual lips parting enough to reveal a row of sharp teeth ready to take a hefty bite.

“But if I find your cunt leaking, as I know it is now-” his deep growl resonated straight to your clit.

“I’ll take a pound of flesh. And I’ll be taking you over and over and over again, until you lose your voice from screaming my name.” 

You clutched at his shirt where your hands rested on his chest. You wanted to be able to shove him away, to punch away the beam of smug victory off Steve’s face. Reasonably, you knew you couldn’t do that without serious repercussions happening. 

You were also too busy with the inner battle, fighting some fucked up, primal need to have Steve do to you exactly what he threatened. 

The bastard was unfortunately right, you were soaked. Something you’d never admit to him.

Even if he pushed his big hand up your skirt and dipped his fingers straight into your dripping cunt, you’d deny it to his face. You’d deny it to yourself. Forever. 

Thankfully, Rogers didn’t push further. He seemed satisfied with his stupid bet and that you didn’t fight back (even if you kept your mouth closed in fear of releasing a whimper). Steve let go of you, only lifting one hand to cup your chin.

“Now be good, Princess,” he commanded. “I don’t have time to deal with hysterical wedding planners.”

You grimaced - eyebrows drawing in a frown, nose scrunching up. You weren’t interested in dealing with wedding planning either, but you were aware Steve considered the topic closed. If you reopened it, he might do more than just bend you into obedience in front of a stranger.

“Then why did you come here?” You asked instead.

“I came for my distressed fiancée,” Steve’s grin was cheeky as he used his grip on your chin to slightly shake your head.

He squeezed a tad tighter and when your lips puckered he pecked them. 

“You’ll get a big girl kiss when you start acting like one,” he added at your indignant glare. 

Then released you and simply turned around to leave. You cursed him and called him names in your head. You prayed that one day you’ll get reckless enough to throw something at him, consequences be damned. For now, you still liked to be alive. 

[wolven91]

The Distant Anniversary

The anniversary day of the Sol-3 Incident came and went, with some observing the celebration and others not. Enough time had passed that the pain was no more, nor even remembered. Those that were alive on the day were no more, their children who were told the stories of their home planet saw that history as just that, a story and history. Steven just shrugged and moved on with his life, there was no need to observe a day that neither he nor his grandparents were even alive for thanks to how far back it was.

Steven had spent the day blissfully unaware with his ward, they'd played hide and seek and wandered the gardens enjoying an unusually balmy autumn day. They wouldn't be able to do that on this day however, as autumn was truly in effect and a cold wind battered the modest mansion in which the human was respectfully employed.

The history of yesterday played on Steven's mind, however. He wasn't ignorant to human and ssypno history; they were so interweaved that there were entire degrees just trying to document those first few weeks and months and the resulting fallout of such a cultural upheaval. Not to mention the sordid history of the uncountable humans who had been inside ssypno territories before humanity had been 'discovered'.

'Nobles' in ssypno culture used to have a far greater and a certainly corrupted reach when compared to the current day. The 'Leashing' ssypno called it when the nobles were originally brought down several pegs before humanity was the first step. Their monarch had not been gentle in the first instance, and she certainly wasn't any more delicate in the years that followed. All The Queen had been waiting for was for the general public opinion on humans and their right to freedom to align with her majesty's goals, then came the bloody 'realignment' of the nobles.

Steven shook his head as he reached his ward's room. It didn't matter now; the turmoil of those days was over and for the most part only positive things came from it. A middle class, a dying noble class, the monarchy seemingly taking a step back now that the ssypno people were not being exploited and of course; humanity being treated as equals.

"Morning Noodle!" The man stage whispered into the darkened room, something stirred within.

At this voice the blinds started to change from opaque to translucent, before gently transitioning too completely transparent. The man was assaulted by an anaconda sized serpent child that immediately climbed his legs, wrapped its tail around his waist and four arms hugged him tightly. The child's head and hood rested against the side of the man's neck. He staggered back somewhat but was expecting this. The child was barely out of infancy and yet was already nearly as big as he was.

Steven wrapped his own two arms around the boy and returned the loving hug.

"Well! You're in a good mood today!" The human exclaimed, recalling that when he had put the child down to bed, they had been quite adamant they weren't tired.

Humans were preferred nannies by ssypnos. This mostly thanks to a human's biology. Higher body temperature and a lack of fur meant that humans transferred heat to scales far more efficiently than even a specifically designed heating mat. Humanity was perfect for keeping a ssypno child comfortable and, thanks to all that lovely heat, the child actively didn't want to disengage from the human in question. A child that is hardwired to seek out a nanny was something that countless races had wished for, for millennia. Human nannies were one of the most well-paid employees within the ssypno hegemony.

The literally cold-blooded serpents really only needed two things to grow big and strong. Heat and food. If a ssypno had these throughout their lives in ready supply, there technically was no upper limit to how big they could get or how old they could become. Her Majesty was evidence of that; she spent her days submerged at the palace now, her size making it difficult for her to move about her world. A noble home that wanted their child to grow, would obviously seek out a human precisely so their child could have the best start as a ssypno's size was, culturally, directly tied, to their 'success'. No different from human's flaunting expensive toys, a ssypno would flaunt their size.

So, humans always had a job in ssypno territory these days and Steven happily stepped up to the task.

A far cry from the human smuggling or slavery days, Steven chuckled wryly to himself as he walked from the child's room with the young boy tightly coiled around the man thanks to the chill that permeated the expansive home despite the modern insulation.

"Shall we watch a film today?" He asked the child who simply nodded against the man still pushing the top of his skull and hood up against the human's chin.

With humans being so highly sought after, they enjoyed a fantastic popularity amongst ssypno-kind. Steven considered that it was almost a celebrity level status. No, not almost; he was a celebrity wherever he went these days.

Another side effect, was that humanity as a whole, was the first independent state, that was not only allies with the Ssypno Hegemony, but who's territory was within the Hegemony's sphere of influence as well without being consumed. The Ssypno Hegemony had a whole history of aggressive expansion and absorption of their neighbours and yet, centuries after Sol-3's destruction and humanity's scattering, 'The Human Territories' appeared on maps across the stars as a single system reserved for humans by the ruling monarch all those decades ago. She dedicated to a human she apparently knew who had died of old age at her side.

Some called it a 'reserve' or a 'zoo' and avoided it, others thanked the ssypno monarch and enjoyed the protection offered by the fleets that just so happened to pop up in the adjacent systems. Nobody with ill intentions went after that system and it was just enough, to prevent humanity from dying out, even if we still toed the line all these years later.

Still, as the human and the young ssypno sat and laughed at 'Iggy and the Community Bunch', a cartoon about a human getting into mischief with the long-suffering Guardians running after them, Steven had to admit, whatever the suffering of the past; he was glad they'd made it to this moment at least.

[dont-leafmealone]

What is UP? brand new Kazula/Azutara oneshot! G, no warnings except extreme pettiness <3 read on ao3 using the link above or under the cut below!

"Look, Katara, I'm just saying you could give it a chance."

Katara rolled her eyes, shifting her phone to her shoulder while she checked the price on a box of instant noodles and compared it to the quantity. "Jet, the last time you set me up with one of your exes, I ended up with food poisoning."

"Not my fault Jin can't make an omelet. She's good at everything that matters."

Katara wrinkled her nose. Not at Jet's crude implication — though that was a factor — but because it was nearly six dollars for two servings of noodles. She put the box back on the shelf. "Well, I'm not interested in a repeat of the incident."

"For the record, this one's not my ex. She's a friend from work, new to the area, and she's had a little trouble connecting with people. I think you'll like her." 

Katara let Jet dwell on her skeptical silence. After a moment, he said, "She's also my ex's sister."

"There it is." She rolled her eyes and looked over her grocery list. "I'll think about it, alright?"

"Alright, cool. 'Ru's gonna be home in a little bit, I oughta get started on dinner."

"Bye, say hi to Haru for me."

"Will do, sweetheart. Catch ya later."

She hung up the phone and started to push her shopping cart out of the aisle. As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with a woman aggressively texting. Katara gasped and pulled the cart up short, and the woman looked up, glaring at her. 

"Watch it," she snapped, brushing her silky hair behind her ear with a manicured hand. "You very nearly ran me over."

Katara bristled. "Get your nose out of your phone. It's a crowded store."

The woman scowled. She pushed past Katara's cart, knocking it into the neighboring shelf. Boxes fell to the floor, and Katara tamped down a growl of frustration. 

What a bitch, she thought, putting the boxes back on the shelf. 

She wheeled her cart to the next aisle, the unpleasant interaction soon nearly forgotten as she compared prices on canned soups.

"Hey, Sokka?" 

"Yeah?" Sokka poked his head into the kitchen, raising his safety glasses. He set down the power drill he was using to re-hinge the door, since the landlord had yet to return any of the calls on the subject, the prick. 

"Which one of Jet's exes had a sister?" Katara asked, nose buried in a cookbook as she stirred a pan of sauce on the stove. Sokka frowned.

"Not another one of his blind dates," he said. 

"Double date this time," Katara confirmed without looking up, pursing her lips. "Him and Haru, with me and Mystery Girl."

Sokka frowned, thinking.  "I think Ty Lee had a few sisters," he said, pulling off his work gloves to examine the blister forming on his thumb. "And...Zuko has a half-sister, but she's in middle school."

"Huh." Katara put down the cookbook, rooting through a drawer. "I guess we'll find out."

Sokka shook his head. He didn't get at all why Katara kept trying — there were, in his opinion, better ways to meet people than through Jet. But did little sisters ever listen? 

No, he thought, pulling his gloves back on and adjusting his glasses. No, they do not.

"​​What do you think?"

"It's nice," Zuko said, not looking up from his phone. Azula scowled, crossing her arms in a way that wouldn't wrinkle the dress.

"You didn't even look."

Zuko glanced up. "It's a little dressy."

Azula frowned, looking down at her clothes; she'd picked an elegant, but understated, calf-length dress in a flattering burgundy, on the less flashy side of her wardrobe. It was even one she had worn in public before. "What do you mean?" 

"You look like you're going to an office meeting. Tone it down." 

"I'm meant to be making a first impression," she said. 

"It's Jet's ex. He's not really known for batting out of his league."

"What does that say about you?" she retorted, earning a middle finger raised in her direction. 

"I think you look nice," Kiyi piped up, taking off her headphones. 

"Great. Now I have to change." 

Kiyi stuck her tongue out, putting the headphones back on. Azula rolled her eyes; her siblings could be so immature. 

"Try that one with the blue on it," Zuko said. "Jet said the girl likes blue."

"That one with the blue on it," Azula quoted. "That narrows it down marvelously."

"The one that doesn't make you look like you're running for Congress," he added. 

She rolled her eyes, striding to her room. Her closet door stood ajar, her other options on display — moving into Mother's house had drastically limited her storage space, forcing her to downsize her wardrobe. She easily found the dress Zuko had referred to, a shorter, much more casual red dress with electric blue beading and embroidery around the neck and hemline. 

Azula hung the dress on the closet door, surveying her current outfit in the full-length mirror. Loath as she was to admit it, Zuko had a point. She did look somewhat political for a first date. Sighing, she picked out the heels that went with the red dress and set them at the end of her bed. 

This had better be worth the trouble, she thought as she changed into her pajamas. 

"Where is this place you're heading to?" Sokka asked as he dug through his backpack for Katara's bus pass. She took her eyes off the mirror for a second to check her phone. 

"The Thai place up the road, you know the one where you and Suki went on your anniversary?"

"Seems pricy for a blind date," Sokka said skeptically. Katara shrugged, checking that her mascara was dry. 

"Jet said he knows a guy."

"I do not trust that man any further than I could throw him," Sokka said. "Here's your bus pass," he added, putting it down on the table in front of her.

"Thanks, Sokka." Katara yanked on her brother's ponytail as he walked past, earning a startled yelp and a glare. 

"Go meet your stupid date," he grumbled, pulling her in for a hug. 

As the bus pulled up to the stop and Katara stepped off, her phone buzzed, a text coming in from Haru's number. 

- hey. not gonna make it tonight. flat tire. 

Katara frowned. As far as she knew, Jet didn't even have a car, and took the bus, like her. And Haru biked wherever he went. Something was fishy about this.

You guys don't even have a car. -

​​​​​​- all the buses. flat tires on all of them. sorry </3

Katara ground her teeth. Haru did not send analog emojis. Nor would he lie in such an obvious way just to get on her nerves.

Jet, give Haru's phone back to him. -

And cut the bullcrap. -

- Sorry, katara. Jet's sick and he refuses to admit it but we're pretty sure going out is a no-go tonight, sorry.  - You should go ahead though, let us know how your date goes. 

Katara bit her lip, stifling a groan of frustration. Half the reason she had agreed to the date was the expectation of having Jet and Haru there as a buffer. But at the same time, she knew it'd be totally rude to cancel just because they wouldn't be there. It occurred to her that she didn't have Mystery Girl's number, meaning she couldn't cancel even if she wanted to, except by standing her up — which was so not an option.

Great. Guess we're doing this. 

She squared her shoulders and marched up to the Thai restaurant. 

The reserved table for four was in the back of the restaurant, on a balcony overlooking the street below. It was a pretty view, lots of neon lights and window decor, if you could get past the light pollution. 

Katara had been sitting alone for the better part of ten minutes, sipping water and waiting for her date to show up, and was beginning to wonder if she had been stood up — Mystery Girl had to have gotten a text from Jet too. What if she'd decided not to risk meeting Katara without that buffer?

Katara was starting to consider cutting her losses and eating alone when the hostess approached the table, followed by a short, dark-haired young woman that Katara thought she recognized.

It wasn't until the woman had sat down, brushing her hair behind her ear with delicate, manicured nails that Katara realized why. 

"You," she said, at the same time the woman looked up and hissed, "You."

All Katara could think was that Jet was one twisted bastard. 

Azula couldn't believe Jet had set her up with this — this woman. It had to be a sick practical joke, right? Some stupid way of getting back at her for something. He'd orchestrated this simply because he knew it would piss her off, and —

Azula stopped. No, she told herself, cutting off that paranoid train of thought before it could derail. There is absolutely no way he could know about that. You're not under 24/7 surveillance, and especially not by Jet. You could kill him with a pinky nail. 

She took deep breaths, running through these affirmations until she had managed to clear her head. 

"This was obviously a mistake," Azula said, picking up her handbag as she stood.

"Obviously," the other woman said, an irritated edge to her voice. "I'm supposed to be meeting a date here."

"As am I." ​​​​​Azula looked the woman up and down; far from her more slovenly appearance in the grocery store earlier in the week, Azula had to admit she looked quite elegant, her midnight blue off-shoulder dress complementing her brown skin. She shook off the momentary distraction. "Clearly one of us was given the wrong table."

"Well, it wasn't me," the woman said testily. 

"You're dining alone at a table for four," Azula pointed out. 

"It was a double date, but — never mind, I don't have to explain to you," the woman said, pinching the bridge of her nose. Meanwhile, dread settled in Azula's stomach. She closed her eyes, sighing. 

"Is there any chance this was a blind date, organized by a certain Jet Andal?" she asked, hoping she was wrong. The woman's eyes widened. 

"You're kidding." 

"I'm afraid I'm not," Azula said. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, though."

The woman's gaze darkened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Jet isn't particularly choosy about the company he keeps," Azula said. 

The woman stood up, scowling. "Obviously not," she snapped, picking up the purse and jacket that were hung over her seat.

She stormed off, the doors of the restaurant swinging shut behind her.

Azula scoffed and sat back down, picking up the menu the woman had left. She was going to kill Jet, but first she was going to at least get a meal out of this. 

It had been nearly an hour since Katara had left the restaurant, teary-eyed. Despite her skepticism, she had really hoped this date would work out; that hope went out the window, though, and she had comforted herself with dinner from the Mexican grill on the corner. Now, Katara's bus was delayed, and it was about to start raining. She huddled under the bus stop awning, watching the road. 

Somebody joined her on the bench. She looked up, and scowled. 

"What do you want?"

"I informed Jet that the arrangement went awry," the woman said, in a somewhat clipped tone. "He informed me that I was being rude and petty, and that I should apologize. Apparently you're a nice person, or something."

She looked down at her lap, picking at her nails, and it was then that Katara realized she was embarrassed. 

"So. I'm sorry," she went on. "I hope your next date goes better."

Katara swallowed. "Thanks," she managed to say. "I hope yours does, too."

There was a peal of thunder, and the forecasted rain began pouring down. 

The woman turned to Katara, offering her hand. "I'm Azula, by the way."

Katara looked up, shaking her hand after a moment. "Katara."

"Oh. Jet's ex with the brother." Azula's expression softened, and she nodded. "It's nice to meet you. I wish it had been under better circumstances."

"Yeah, you too."

The bus finally rolled up to the stop. Katara sighed and picked up her purse.

"Wait."

She turned back to Azula, who had her phone out of her purse. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to exchange numbers," Azula said. "You don't have to, but...well, I've had trouble getting to know people in the city. And I've only heard high praise from our mutual acquaintances."

Katara hesitated. A minute ago, she would have flat-out refused, but...

"I've been rude and petty too," Katara said. "I'm sorry. I'd be happy to get to know you better."

She took Azula's phone and entered her number, allowing Azula to enter her contact into Katara's phone.

"Azula Huo?" she asked when she took her phone back. "Are you related to Zuko?"

Azula gave a theatrically put-upon sigh, tucking her hair behind her ear. "By some insane luck on his part. I'm his sister."

"I didn't know he had another sister," Katara said.

Azula's eyes seemed to sadden a little, though her cool smile didn't waver. "Our family's complicated. I'm sure you've heard enough about it from him."

Katara really hadn't; Zuko wasn't forthcoming about a lot when it came to his family, except for bits and pieces, but it seemed like Azula didn't want to get into it, so Katara nodded and left it at that.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer," Azula said. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

"You too," Katara said, waving as she climbed on the bus.

She arrived home to silence, the lights already out in Sokka's room down the hall. She quietly toed off her shoes, creeping up to her bedroom.

Moments after she put her phone on the charger, there was a buzz as she received a text from Jet.

- did azula apologize? I told her she was being a petty bitch, but she never listens to me

Katara rolled her eyes and texted back.

Yes, she apologized. I did too. -

- any chance you'll agree to a double date next week then? - I might have already told azula you were going. she might have already agreed ;) - you must've made a real impression

Katara fought off a furious blush. The nerve he had.

I'd be happy to. - As long as you don't cancel last minute again! -

- like i'd miss that.

Azula took a deep breath, pausing to check in the window that her outfit was still in place before entering the restaurant. It was several thousand dollars below the price range she was accustomed to, but it was a change she would have to adapt to in her new life.

She followed the hostess to the table in the back. Haru and Jet were already seated across from one another — tragically underdressed for the venue — and looking so disgustingly in love that Azula briefly considered leaving. She instead slid into a seat beside Haru, picking up a menu.

"Has Katara not arrived yet?"

Jet looked up. "She said she'd be late. Buses are running slow tonight."

Azula nodded shortly, trying to hide her disappointment and worry — what if Katara had decided not to show up at all? She had been pleasant enough during their last text exchange, but what if Azula had said something off-putting, and Katara was too polite to point it out, so she instead decided to blow off the date and make an excuse, and it was all —

"Hi! Sorry I'm late, the bus got held up."

Azula looked up as Katara sat across from her, tossing her brown waves over her shoulder.

"You're just in time," she said, relief coursing through her. Take that, paranoia. Not everything is a catastrophe. "I only just got here."

"I'm glad I didn't keep you waiting too long, then." Katara smiled, and Azula was a little ashamed at how quick the butterflies took flight in her stomach.

"Shall we order drinks?" she suggested, louder than she meant, glaring when Jet smirked.

"Good idea," Katara agreed quickly, opening her menu with a smile.

[tobyislame]

some more ticci toby headcanons

once again consider this a headcanon salad i'm still figuring out how to format these

- in my canon he's from minnesota. he just feels like a minnesotan

- also in my canon he lives in a shoddy little abandoned cabin in the woods (header image is along the lines of what i think it would look like). the mansion still exists he just chooses not to reside there cus he'd much rather have his own space that he can control

- never has the big lights on in his house cus it makes him crazy. instead there's just headless lamps/lanterns/candles strewn all over

- best believe the place is messy as shit. imagine if a 16 year old boy was allowed to be a homeowner. yea pretty fucking vile right

- his place just smells like raw wood and weed you walk in it just slaps you in the face

- all of his clothes have that vague cigarette smell on them

- he smells like pinecones and wet soil (on a good day)

- thinks axe masks the fact that he hardly showers unfortunately

- also thinks just using mouthwash is the same as brushing your teeth unfortunately

- honestly he's just super shit at taking care of himself, especially since his body lacks the tools to queue him in on some stuff

- like how cipa causes him not to feel hunger. he can't recognize when he's hungry so he often goes way too long between meals

- he has a little notebook where he keeps track of when he eats. it's meant to help him know when he should eat something but he consistently forgets to keep up with it

- he just isn't equipped with any of the tools necessary to take care of himself, both physically and mentally. he's in pretty bad shape, some extra help would probably do him good

- realistically with how much he disregards self-preservation he'd be fucking dead by now so he isn't entirely helpless. he knows he's accident-prone so he keeps first aid shit with him at all times, he knows blood means bad and that he should probably stop what he's doing that is making the blood happen, he knows to scan over himself every once in a while to check for unnoticed injuries and such, etc etc.

- cus of the gaping gash in his cheek he has to eat foods that are compatible with his disfigurement. he also always has to drink through a straw

- he does not like waffles. he does like pancakes however

- interestingly those with cipa have a lower sensitivity to capsaicin so he eats spicy stuff like a fuckin CHAMP. someone gave him one of those samyang noodles to try yk the one that's hot as BALLS and he was just like "i mean yea it's good"

- he's kind of just always covered head to toe with bandages. i think he'd have an excoriation (skin picking) disorder so he HAS to keep his arms and hands wrapped up, otherwise he'll just obsessively pick/bite/gnaw at his skin

- the rest of his body is perpetually scattered with bandaids and such on account of how scraped up he gets just being himself

- on the night of The Incident he got caught up in the fire. flaring up his chest and a section of the left side of his body are burn scars. there are a conglomerate of reasons as to why toby doesn't like to have his shirt off in front of ANYBODY and that's just one of them

- his motor tics tend to be on the more violent side (throwing things, hitting himself, hitting others, etc). however, he's learned how to sort of guide his tics from being one thing to another if that makes sense? idk i'm speaking from my own experience here and tics are a really difficult thing to put into words but like. if he can tell he's about to throw the thing that's in his hand he'll take that feeling and try to turn it into something smaller, so instead of throwing the thing a less destructive tic will occur instead. if any of that made sense

- more often than not he's got an earbud in or his headphones on listening to music. he finds that it makes it much easier for him to make his way through the world. that and when he's listening to music he's noticed that he hardly ever tics (usually) so yk that's also a bonus

- spends a lot of his time climbing trees and hanging out in them. also spends a lot of his time trying to make friends with the animals of the forest. he's gotten a lot better at knowing how to approach raccoons and possums and stuff. he likes to leave food out for birds and squirrels and such

- it's funny because he tries to be this hard-ass dude but as soon as he spots a deer he becomes the most gentle thing on earth in that moment. he'd probably grab your shoulders whispering all like "oh dude deer- shhh shh" and force you to crouch with him and stuff lmao

- he's dubbed the one rabbit in those woods that isn't afraid of him "dandy warhol". yea he's real good with names

- he leaves food trails for dandy that lead to his house because he thinks that's how people get pets. he does not realize he's also leading every other animal in that forest to his home

- he may be stupid .

[luckyqueenreign]

The Story of Us - is a four-part series that will delve into MC (Gemma) and Suresh's relationship pre-villa.

If you missed click here to read Part One + Part Two

PART THREE: The End

"And there's no one to blame but the drink and my wandering hands"

Tag List: @squishy-noodles @hi-im-karla @kunepie @brasister @kvngdomheartz @whati390 @smexilexi420 @viperidae94 @misterytull @theesocialintrovert @kiwi-tai @future-mrs-suresh @ordoesshemouthfuckyouforever @kikithegr8 @fujihime-litg @0shewrites0 @abecerra611 @kimberlae @roundbrownlover @novelcurrentmodern @paleslutz-blog

NC-17 🥵🌶

I had to call on the queen of sadness @katsie to help me with some of the sad bits, so if it's extra sad - blame her! @0shewrites0 thank you so much for your help too!! You are both angels and Part Three is so much better bc of your help 💖

Is it possible for guilt to eat you alive? Would it be slow and painful or quick and painless? Seems like slow and painful is the only way I know. 

Gemma’s infectious laugh pierced through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. Suresh looked up to see the waiter joking with her, while he pretended to be engrossed by his menu. He was a corporate lawyer, but somehow could no longer read. All of the words on his menu, jumbled together into a mess on the page. 

Cheater. Cheater. Cheater. 

The singular, painful, horrible word echoed in his mind. It had been a week since he had done the unthinkable. A week since “the incident”. As much as it killed him to hide this secret from her, he knew he couldn’t tell her what happened that fateful night. She meant too much to him to blow it all away on one mistake that he would never make again. With each day that passed, the decision on whether to tell Gemma weighed heavier and the secret seemed to hang like a dark cloud over him. He grew more and more worried that she would somehow find out. But he tried to push back those negative thoughts, especially when his Gemma was back. 

“Have you decided to tell her you cheated tonight?” the waiter asked Suresh with a smile. 

Suresh’s entire body tensed and he stopped breathing. 

“Excuse me?” Suresh choked, looking at him incredulously. 

“Have you decided on what you’re eating tonight, sir?” the waiter asked again. 

Fuck, of course he didn’t ask if I was going to tell Gemma about the cheating. How could he possibly even know?

“The steak frites look good, thanks,” he said, handing him the menu. 

“Resh, you ok?” Gemma asked when the waiter walked away. 

Nope. Absolutely not ok. Not even close. Because I’m so terribly close to losing you. 

“Yes, Gem. Just got assigned this really tough case at work this week,” he said, then reached out and took her hand. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

Fake it Suresh. Fake it till you make it. If Gemma suspects something is wrong she’ll start asking questions and you know you won’t be able to lie directly to her face. You can’t tell her. You have to stay strong. For her.

“You look stunning tonight, you know?” he said, smiling at her. 

Suresh couldn’t help but stare at Gemma. She looked radiant tonight, she positively sparkled. 

“Thank you, babe,” she blushed. The crimson hue on her cheeks bore the same color as the scarlet letter etched on his heart. 

“I think I have an idea on how we can get your mind off work tonight,��� she said with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

Under the table he could hear Gemma’s shoe drop to the floor and she started to tease Suresh moving her way up his leg. Slowly caressing him, continually moving upwards finally landing on her desired target, his crotch. She gently stroked it, feeling it harden underneath her. 

“Gem…” he said, his breath hitching. 

 She responded with a devilish smirk on her face. “Resh…”

“Wha- What are you doing?” 

“Just having a little bit of fun. Is it helping you forget your work problems?” 

“Yes, babe. You’re the best distraction.” 

And he decided right then and there to push the nagging voice to the back of his mind, to ignore the guilt and instead focus on Gemma. Because he had his Gemma back and he wasn’t going to waste anymore time dwelling on the horrible thing he’d done. 

“Let’s go home,” she said.

Suresh smiled and flagged the waiter over. 

In the car park they found it difficult to keep their hands off one another. Suresh leaned in close to her, his tongue dipped between the seam of her lips as they parted to let him enter.  They lost themselves in the kiss and he pulled her body closer to his, pressing his erection into her thigh. 

Gemma’s phone started to vibrate non-stop in her bag and she pulled away from the kiss, gasping. 

She looked down at her phone screen. “Shit, it’s my boss!” She took a deep breath to try and steady her breathing, calming her pounding heart.

“Hey Fran!” Gemma’s voice was unnaturally chirpy as she answered her boss. Suresh started dotting her neck in kisses, occasionally sucking hard, then swirling his tongue over the soon-to-be bruise.

“The marketing deck? Yes I sent it over on Monday morning…” she said, angling her neck, giving Suresh more room to ravish her neck. “Yes, I can resend it.” She suppressed a moan. “I’m not home but I’ll be home in 10 minutes or so.” Her boss cut the line, and Gemma rolled her eyes as she hung up. 

“Damn, do you need to go home? I was hoping we could go back to my place tonight,” he sighed. 

“I don’t need to go home babe, I just need to get on your laptop.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. “ I already sent her the file earlier in the week, I’ll just log onto my emails and resend it to her.” 

“Amazing.” He gave her a searing kiss. “ Let’s go home then,” he said, as he opened the car door. 

“You drive,” she said, tossing him her car keys. 

When they arrived back at his apartment, Suresh ran around the length of his car to open the door for Gemma, picking up exactly where they left off in the restaurant’s car park. He closed the distance between them, crashing his lips onto her. 

She giggled as she shimmied away from him, watching his disappointed expression.

“We’re going inside first.”

There was a dark glint in his eye. “That didn’t seem to bother you when we were in Sicily.” Gemma blushed at the memory, making Suresh’s grin widen. “I recall you liking that very much.” He reached for her again, but she stepped back. “This is different. This is Edinburgh. Where we live. People we know could see us.”

He winked. “That just makes it more fun.”

“Okay, you have got to calm down,” she giggled, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside towards the elevator. He clicked his tongue and pulled her towards the stairs instead. Gemma pouted. “But my feet hurt,” she said.

Suresh grabbed her thighs and lifted her up. She instantly hooked her legs around his waist.

“Better?” He asked. She answered him with a searing kiss. Suresh stumbled on the first few steps, grabbing the banister to catch himself.

“Careful,” Gemma cooed. “Or we’ll end up in the hospital instead.”

“I’ve always wanted to have sex in a hospital,” he said. She could feel his erection now, and she pressed her hips into him, making him gasp and stop momentarily. She stared down at him through her lashes.

God she’s beautiful, he thought, nearly doing two steps at a time now.

“You are going to hurt yourself,” she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly.

“The faster I get you upstairs, the faster I can ravish you,” he said, his voice gruff. 

“Then we should hurry,” she purred and leaned down to pepper his neck with kisses. He groaned at the feeling, then pressed her up against the wall next to his door. He fished out his key from his back pocket, unlocked the door and slammed it behind them the second they stepped inside. He pressed her up the wall again, giving her an onslaught of kisses and unzipped her silky, mini dress, sliding it off her body. His fingers greedily roamed her body ready to devour her. 

“Babe…Laptop and then you can ravish me all you want,” she purred. 

“Fuck. OK…” 

He led her to the office and opened up his MacBook Pro, entering his password. The background a picture of the two of them on their trip to Italy a few months back, he noticed Gemma smiling fondly at the picture before opening the internet browser and logging into her email account. He quickly undressed as she bent over the laptop, clicking a few key words into the search bar. It only took her a few minutes to find the marketing deck and she started to draft a new email to send to her boss. 

Suresh made his way over to her and continued kissing Gemma’s neck and letting his hands roam her body. 

Swoosh.

The familiar email sound indicating her email had been sent. Her job was now done and she was now his. 

Ping. 

A text message popped up on the screen. Both he and Gemma could see that it was his coworker Simon, who also was dating Gemma’s best friend, Chloe. 

Simon: Resh, have you looked at the Thomas file yet? I sent it to you an hour ago…

“Do you need to get th -” 

Before she could finish her thought, Suresh’s lips were on hers. His tongue reached deeper into her mouth and hers into his, hungrily searching for one another, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed her body. There was an urgency to the kiss that neither had experienced before that bordered on violence. She raked her fingernails over the sculpted ridges of his washboard abs as she made her way down to his dick, twitching at her touch. Suresh squeezed her ass pulling her closer to him, lifting her in his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist, carrying her to the bedroom. 

“Resh! I can walk!” 

He softly chuckled into her neck, “Nope, you said your feet hurt.” 

In the bedroom, Suresh lowered Gemma onto the bed, climbing on top of her, caging her under his muscled frame. His dick pressed into her stomach, as he claimed her lips with a tongue thrusting kiss, while his hands scooped up her perky, needy breasts. He lowered his mouth and flicked his tongue around her nipple, licking and sucking, causing her entire body to come alive as she moaned softly against his touch. His hands gently traveled south, down her taut stomach and between her legs, releasing a delicious moan from her lips. 

“Gem, you’re so wet…” he growled, as he slid two fingers into her wet folds. 

Arching her back into him, he pumped his fingers back and forth in a steady motion, curling them inside of her. 

“Fuck, Resh…” 

He looked up at her with a devilish grin, circled her aching clit with his thumb and continued to pump two curled fingers inside as she gasped. He continued a steady pace as he felt her getting closer and closer to release. 

“Resh…I’m c-” Gemma moaned in ecstasy as her body collapsed underneath him. Suresh didn’t give her a second to recover before his tongue was devouring her overly sensitive clit. Licking, sucking, and swirling her swollen throbbing nub. Gemma lost all control as he continued to go deeper, pushing her further into another climax. Tasting her as she screamed his name at the top her lungs and her legs quivered and shuddered underneath him as her orgasm washed over her in an intense wave.

Gemma tried to catch her breath as he slowly made his way up her body, trailing her stomach, breasts, and neck with soft kisses. 

He brought his lips to her ear, his breath hot on her neck, and whispered, “are you ready for round three?” He grazed his teeth against her earlobe as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Yes baby, please I need you,” she whimpered. 

He cupped her ass, lifting her up slightly as he filled her up in one swift motion. 

Gemma snapped her head back and moaned as Suresh thrust into her harder and faster. 

She dug her fingers into his back as he continued to thrust, hitting her most sensitive spot. 

“Babe…fuck…” 

Her walls clamped around him and he could feel her nearing her orgasm with every new plunge. Suresh gazed into Gemma’s eyes, and was met with a look of pure unbridled love, desire and heat. He quickened his pace and Gemma matched his thrust underneath, her legs gripping tight around his waist until they both released at the exact same time, his body shuddering against her as his lips reached down to devour hers, desperately. 

He wrapped his muscular arms tight around her, giving her a light kiss on her forehead. 

“Let me get a towel to get you cleaned up,” he said. 

Gemma smiled up at him, “what an absolute gent, thank you babe.” 

Suresh smiled, got up from the bed and started to head into the bathroom when he heard a text ping, coming from his cell phone. 

Ping.

“Babe, will you check that for me? I bet it’s Simon again about that damn Thomas file.” 

“Sure, babe.” 

Gemma reached over to Suresh’s side of the bed and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. 

She entered in his code, and opened his unread messages. It was an unknown sender. When he walked back in the room, the whole mood had shifted and the silence in the room was deafening. She  was staring at his phone confused with tears welling in her eyes. He could see her body stiffen and her breathing was off. 

Ping.

Gemma looked down at the phone in her hands again in disbelief. “What the fuck is this, Suresh?” She held up the phone screen facing him. 

“Hey it’s Gabi…Thinking about coming to the bar tonight? Would love u inside me again.” 

And then she scrolled down to a picture Gabi took of them together, her head nestled in his neck so you couldn’t see her face, her turtle tattoo taunting him. 

Tears rushed to her eyes. “You’re cheating on me?”

“Gem, please, it’s not how it looks. It was just one time.” He heard how weak his excuse was the moment he said it.

“As if that’s better?!” she spat. “As if one time doesn’t matter? Suresh, you slept with someone else. It’s exactly how it looks!” 

“Gem, please, just let me explain…I was so incredibly drunk after that fight we had…”

“The one last week? You can’t be serious,” she growled. “I just…I just don’t understand... I don’t understand how you could do this to me, to us!” 

“Gemma, I never wanted it to happen. I was so upset and drunk and it’s never going to happen again. I’m sorry, Gemma, please forgive me,” he cried. 

“Forgive you? Fuck you, Suresh!” She wrapped the duvet around her small frame as she got up from the bed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with him seeing her naked. “You’ve had multiple chances to be honest with me. And you’ve just been lying and hiding things from me. You slept with another woman after one fight - one fight - and you couldn’t keep it in your pants''. She laughed, but there was no humor in it, only disbelief and sadness. “I know that I pushed you away after my parents’ separation, and I am sorry for that, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to go fuck someone else. We’re done, we-we’re fucking through.” She picked up her underwear from the floor and pushed past him into the living room to gather the rest of her clothes.

“Gemma, no, please!  It was one time, I love you so much Gemma, please don’t leave me.” 

Gemma spun around and glared at him. “This is not what love is,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Gemma, please, I’m so sorry.” He reached out to touch her but she stumbled back to avoid him.

“I hate you,” she sneered. “I hate you. I can’t believe you’d do that to me! I thought we’d…” She choked on her words, squeezed her eyes shut. Then she opened her eyes and stared at him, unable to hide the heartbreak. “Clearly I should have listened to literally everyone when they told me I shouldn’t trust you. They said you’d be the biggest mistake of my life. They were right.” 

“No, Gemma, please.” He jumped from one leg to another, trying to pull on his pants as fast as he could as he watched her hurry towards the door. He grabbed his shirt from the sofa and barely let himself pull it on as he ran after her. “Gemma!”

Gemma held her head high despite the tears washing down her face, smudging her make-up further. She heard him follow her, then shout, “I love you!”

She whipped around, almost shaking with rage. “Don’t you dare!”

“I love you so much,” he choked, his eyes welling up with tears. She let him approach her, whimpered when he reached out and brushed his fingers along her arm. “Gemma, please talk to me.” 

“All I ever did was love you, Suresh,” she whispered with tears streaming down her face. 

“I know. And I love you so much. You’re the only one for me,” he pleaded with her, tears running down his own face.  

“I love you, too,” she said. “But it doesn’t even matter anymore. I no longer trust you.” 

She turned from him and ran down the stairs, not bothering to turn around and look at him. It wouldn’t change anything. Their relationship was irrevocably broken, and he was to blame. 

[somewhat-insane]

Shadows of the Beach: Chapter One

(Here's the masterpost.)

.

Remnants of His Past

Pairing: Ao Lie/Sun Wukong/Macaque

Rating: Teen and up Audiences (for mild language)

Tags: Playful Banter, Flashbacks, Teasing, Awkwardness, Slow Burn, Background Freenoodles

A/N: This is my first time posting any of my fics on Tumblr so the formatting may be a bit off, feel free to read it on Ao3 instead if that makes you more comfortable ;3.

Summary:

As if the entire situation with Azure Lion hadn't been world-shattering (quite literally) enough, Wukong gains information that sends him spiraling.

What is one to do when it turns out your best friend/kind of homoerotic lover didn't actually die and now you have to introduce him to your ex-best friend/other kind of homoerotic lover?

Visits to Pigsy's noodles had recently become relatively routine for Sun Wukong. 

It was good eating, that he already knew ever since Pigsy took over the shop, but before he had always just had them delivered (Tang, he remembered, had briefly done the deliveries for Pigsy in turn for free noodles, which explained why Pigsy had yet to kick the “freeloader” out, that and, at some point along the line, they had gotten “married” (it wasn’t really a wedding at all, not legally anyway, but they considered eachother married and that was enough for them)… which Wukong, having known them in their past lives was… very conflicted about.) He could just make noodles with his powers but there was something nostalgic about the taste and smell of Pigsy’s noodles that reminded Wukong of deep laughter around the campfire and calloused, hard-working hands that meant well despite their owner’s arrogance and aggression. 

Even before he and MK had officially met (or before MK had learned Wukong had been watching him which, okay, now that he mentioned it, it did sound kind of creepy,) Wukong would order and set the address as some random abandoned house or temple where he would utilize his 72 transformations to retrieve it. 

Or, alternatively, he would send a clone out into the city to pick it up, but that was riskier as his clones had something of a habit of getting hit by cars and mortals weren’t exactly used to having the person they hit with their car poof into magical smoke. Perhaps he should’ve expected embodiments of his centuries-old magic might not be entirely “up to date” with modern-day civilization, especially back when he was hiding out like a hermit. 

Comparatively, when he had it delivered, after having figured out how phones worked, the hardest part was always hiding his tail. Which normally wasn’t that much of an issue but…

Look, it wasn’t his fault he got so excited at the idea of food! It probably made it worse that the cooking really did remind him of when Zhu Bajie had finally gotten the hang of it. A little more modern though but not to the point of the frozen mass-produced meat that the rest of the city used. No, Pigsy still made all of his meals by hand, the difference coming from the more modernized techniques people had learned to use to draw out the flavor more. In some cases, outside of Pigsy’s Noodles, what people do to enhance their food was borderline poisonous to the human body but if Wukong had learned anything over the years it was that humans valued very little more than money. They’re not the only species that eat what is essentially poison to them. Like, koalas for instance. None of that affected him though, not being a particularly big fan of cooked food (with the exception of Pigsy’s noodles), as he was a monkey, and he was immortal, so he didn’t really care.

He had started actually going into the shop after the scroll incident, partially because he was growing closer to the crew, and–even if the memories still made him fidgety around them–he had started seeing them as their own people and not the friends he used to be acquainted with. Beyond that, his time in the scroll had kicked up some old feelings inside of him that he didn’t exactly want to face on his own. Not that he would talk about his feelings or anything–that wasn’t exactly his style–but his thoughts weren’t as loud when he surrounded himself with small talk and idle banter which came surprisingly easy when it came to the crew. It allowed him to fall into the familiar pattern of ignoring festering problems until they blew up in his face.

Perhaps that’s why he tended to turn everything into a joke or a game, it made it easier to ignore everything.

Eh, he wasn’t going to think too much about it right now.

As he flew over the water on his cloud, he reminded himself that, this time, as he was headed to the small hole-in-the-wall establishment, he was not coming for noodles and banter.

Roughly half an hour earlier, MK had relayed a message to him via telepathic communication (he didn’t get a nosebleed this time! … though he did stub his toe while distracted.) Apparently, the nerd- er, Tang (he had promised himself he would start actually calling them by their names… no matter how much inner turmoil it caused him) had a theory he wanted Wukong’s opinion on… or something like that, admittedly MK’s explanation was rather vague which was… out of character for the boy who had seemingly picked up his father’s tendency to ramble. 

Again, Wukong decided not to think too much about it. 

Having to talk to Tang about theories and the like was something he was used to as Tang had jumped at the opportunity to gain more insight into the Journey to the West through Wukong’s own experiences but this seemed… different. Something in the way MK seemed more… hesitant made him uneasy.

This unease was only heightened when he dispelled his Nimbus and landed in front of the building, only to walk in and see the entire group (Pigsy, Tang, MK, Mei, Sandy, and even Mo) there waiting expectantly for him. 

Now, he knew it wasn’t exactly uncommon for them to be there all at once since they seemed to all have been friends long before Wukong became a present being in their dynamic, and group meet-ups had become a semi-regular occurrence for the crew after the scroll incident; they all tried to find times when everyone was free and would hang out over a movie or a barbeque, talking and laughing and digging up old wounds because Sandy’s soft smile reminds Wukong of the way Sha Wujing would encourage them all, Pigsy’s laugh is a bit too similar to Zhu Bajie’s - a hearty sound Wukong would never forget for the joy it stirred inside of him - and Tang seemed to have Tripitaka’s tendency to fidget when nervous, but it wasn’t exactly common either.

All eyes turned to him making Wukong shift uncomfortably with the attention as he chuckled nervously, “Uh, heh, is this an intervention or something?”

Idly he was reminded of the scolding looks he would get from the Jade Emperor or Guanyin when he had done something bad, but he also recognized the looks as something more akin to what he received from his master, a pitying look. A concerned look.

…

Was this an intervention!?

MK, being the absolutely amazing person he is, offered a soft–if not slightly pitying–smile in response to his mentor’s joke but the expression didn’t reach his eyes, and his brows were furrowed slightly, almost as if in thought.

After a moment, his strained smile falls away and he averts his eyes to a random spot on the ground, idly fiddling with his keychain, the soft jingle it brought being the only noise throughout the room.

Wukong’s smile also falls in response to the absence of MK’s and he sits down at the counter with a rare serious expression on his face.

“Alright, what’s the bad news? We got another big bad headed our way?” he asks, tail flicking anxiously as he studies everyone’s expressions, trying to gauge what could be happening.

The group shared an apprehensive look before Tang sighed, opening and closing his mouth as if at a loss for words–or afraid to speak the ones he did have–before he nervously slid a scroll toward Wukong. Wukong raised a brow, unfurling the scroll and letting his eyes skim over the contents. 

Contrary to popular belief, he could read, he wrote a letter and made that game to teach MK about the importance of setting up a counter attack instead of just using brute force, but now, he was almost convinced otherwise.

His brows furrowed as he looked over it again and again, not believing what he saw on the page.

Finally, he resigns himself to the reality he was being exposed to and his jaw clenches as he looks over at the others with stern, searching eyes, each of them waiting with bated breath for his reaction, which luckily wasn’t as immediately explosive as they expected.

Immediantely being the key word there.

~

Wukong thought he was done. 

He thought he was done with his buried feelings about his past being dug up and shoved in his face like his old laundry when Macaque finds it on the ground. (As much as he enjoyed being on speaking terms with Macaque again, he could’ve lived without the other constantly berating his slobish lifestyle.) 

As soon as he confirmed what he was reading with the others, he had burst out of the shop (quite literally as he had broke a hole through the wall,) and headed back toward Flower Fruit Mountain.

Logically, Wukong knew the peace he had found amongst MK and the others wouldn’t last forever and he would have to continue facing his inner turmoils just like MK and Sandy had been helping him to and how life had been pushing him to. Being immortal and all, things were bound to resurface sooner or later, but for crying out loud life could’ve at least given him a month without a mental breakdown!

The fly back to Flower Fruit Mountain was the same as it always had been, though a large chunk of the mountain, along with his hut and most of his treasure heap, had been taken out during the battle with Azure. While inconvenient, the situation wasn’t something Wukong couldn’t adapt to, a small cabin now sat on the beach of the island, just beyond the treeline, as a testament to that. 

For the second time that day, Wukong found himself dispelling his cloud and landing, this time on sand, stumbling a bit amidst his urgency. When the sand that had been kicked up from his landing settled and he regained his balance, he prepared to dart into the cabin but paused, seeing a figure near his hut, shadow magic dancing around them as they instructed two others seemingly born of the shadows to do… something. Wukong couldn’t really tell from here.

The being was clearly aware of Wukong’s presence as three of his six ears were angled towards him, presumably listening to what he was doing but too preoccupied to give him their entire attention just yet.

“Macaque?” Wukong called, hesitantly moving towards him, catching the attention of the two shadow creatures, who Wukong vaguely remembered as Rumble and Savage, “what are you doing here-”

Wukong is interrupted by a sigh from Macaque, who still hasn’t turned around to look at him, making Rumble and Savage chuckle to each other before being shut up, presumably with a glare from Macaque who finally turns around to face Wukong with a forced smirk, “putting the finishing touches your cabin like I agreed I would. Or have you already forgotten? I’m not surprised, you’ve never really been able to fit much up there,” Macaque then turns his head towards Rumble and Savage who seem amused at the interaction, “a moment of silence, please, for this poor fool’s intelligence.”

Rumble and Savage chuckle once again and this time, Macaque allows it, looking at Wukong with that stupid smug face he makes when he believes he’s getting under Wukong’s skin. And he is, because he knows exactly how.

But he doesn’t have time for that right now. So instead of making a snarky remark in turn, he takes a deep breath in through his nose, the voice of his master echoing through his head as he urges himself to calm down.

“No violence, Monkey.”

“Anger will not serve you.”

“Caution, Wukong, listen to what is being said.”

That last one… wasn’t his master.

The memory of Ao Lie’s voice urging him to wait and listen before striking gave birth to a fresh wave of urgency in Wukong’s soul, but he paused to remember the context of his words…

~

“We have no reason to trust that flea-ridden pest!” Zhu Bajie’s gruff voice had rang out around the campsite, grating on Wukong’s already frayed nerves, “one should trust not the being who needs to be kept on a leash!”

Wukong’s eye twitched in irritation as the only nerve left that seemed to be tying him to his sanity was struck and he grit his teeth, finally dropping down from the tree he had been hiding in, “that ‘leash’ is the very reason one should trust me you overgrown hog!”

“Zhu Bajie, Sun Wukong-” their master had tried to intervene, only to easily be talked over by the more boisterous pig.

“My words weren’t directed toward you, runt,” the pig spat toward Wukong.

“Your words are unfounded, swine,” Wukong grit out with clenched fists, willing himself not to attack, the only thing detering him being the threat of the golden fillet. His “leash” as the swine so distastefully called it.

A hand on his shoulder made Wukong jolt slightly, turning his searing gaze toward the person next to him, expecting to see Sha Wujing, only to falter when instead he saw Ao Lie, the white horse dragon he hadn’t yet become well acquainted with.

“Caution, Wukong, listen to what is being said. I do not believe you are hearing the words for all they are,” he spoke, voice gentle and melodic, a nice change from the gruff sound of the pig, “I should suggest patience.”

The words confused Wukong and he frowned, “what do you imply?”

“Perhaps do not listen to what the swine says, but why he says it.”

Wukong’s frown only deepened, “I know why he says it-”

“No, my friend, you think you know why he says such things. You take his aggression at surface level, but I find aggression is rarely mere aggression,” Ao Lie pauses, adding with a playful smirk, “unless the aggressor is an immortal stone monkey with no regard for those outside of his kingdom.”

Sun Wukong’s first instinct is to quip back defensively in response to that last part, but as the first part registers he pauses, and he wrinkles his nose in confusion and distaste, “you speak words of a fool, aggression is nothing but.”

“He is afraid, my friend. And I find I can’t blame him, your legacy proceeds you,” Ao Lie hums, “perhaps the real fool would be one who so easily trusts a man known for his lack of empathy towards anyone but himself.”

A smirk finds its way onto Wukong’s lips, “so you call yourself a fool?”

“One finds it bold to assume I trust you,” Ao Lie replies easily, unaffected by Wukong’s words. 

The monkey watched with wide, curious eyes as Ao Lie moved to sit with their master, easily starting up idle chatter. 

With a frown, Wukong’s gaze trailed over to the swine who was being calmed down by Sha Wujing. The monkey’s brow furrowing in thought.

Trust… it’s been a long time since he’s had to, or wanted to for that matter, earn trust. He usually just scared people into submission. He hasn’t needed to work for trust since…

Since, well, him…

~

Wukong let out his breath.

Listen… what else was being said, what was Wukong not hearing?

Macaque shouldn’t be afraid… he couldn’t be.

What were his exact words before he defaulted to mockery?

“putting the finishing touches your cabin like I agreed I would. Or have you already forgotten?”

Of course he hadn’t forgotten! When your ex-best friend agrees to help build you a temporary cabin it’s not exactly something that just slips your mind. Did Macaque…

Did Macaque really believe he was that unimportant to him?

“I didn’t forget,” Wukong finally said, trying to keep his tone as even as possible to not come off as defensive, the response making Macaque raise a brow, obviously not what he expected, “I was going to ask, what are you doing here alone? Wasn’t Sandy supposed to help you finish up?”

Macaque looks taken aback for a moment, even Rumble and Savage’s expressions fall. After a moment, Macaque pulls himself from his shock with a scoff and looks away, crossing his arms, “he said one of his cats got sick and he’s busy taking care of it.”

Wukong makes a small, “oh” noise and is about to consider going to check on the big guy (he’s been helping Wukong and Macaque a lot when it comes to the “not killing each other” stuff) but then he remembers what he was doing in the first place, “oh, right!”

“Huh?” Before Macaque can even ask what Wukong’s talking about, the golden furred monkey had darted into the cabin, leaving nothing but kicked up sand in his wake. Macaque coughs and waves it out of his face, grimacing as he takes note of how much got in his fur.

“Damn you Wukong…” Macaque growls, turning to Rumble and Savage, “you two finish up here, I’ll go make sure he’s not doing anything stupid.”

The two shadow beings give him a mock salute and Macaque levels them with a knowing glare, “and don’t break anything.”

They nod nervously, sighing in relief once Macaque disappears into a shadow to follow Wukong. Silently, they look at each other, mischievous grins growing across their faces as they agreed that they were, indeed, going to break something.

Macaque uses Wukong’s shadow to follow him into the spare room where the remnants of the treasure hoard were stored. Most of it was stuff that couldn’t be destroyed, but there were some nick-nacks here and there that, despite all odds, survived with minimal damage. There was a monkey cop figure that had its face melted off that Wukong insisted on keeping though. Macaque still regularly had nightmares of that thing coming alive to murder him.

Wukong sifts throught the piles, panic obvious in the way he moves, seemingly searching for something.

Brows furrowing in confusion and possibly slight concern, Macaque emerges from the shadows and crosses his arms, “what’s gotten into you, Wukong?”

Said monkey’s ear twitches but he doesn’t respond immediately, diving into another pile. Macaque is about to say something again before Wukong pops back out, tail flicking in irritation, seemingly not being able to find what he was looking for. With a sigh, Wukong looks up at Macaque, eyes stern but glimmering with concern, “Ao Lie might be alive.” Macaque has to take a second to digest this information, eyes going wide, “... w h a t.”

next>>

[ysbrydthespoop]

Gorillaz Headcanons Part 3

After the forever cult incedent, Noodle subconsciously makes the decision to wear less pink and makes the conscious decision to dye her hair back to black. She is officially done with this cult shit.

"If anyone ever says it would be a good idea to start a cult ever again. I'm punching them." Noodle 2023, as they all pack up to move the fuck out of Silver Lake.

She never thought it was a good idea in the first place. She pretty much only went along with it to monitor it and make sure the boys didn't do anything stupid behind her back.

She regrets not keeping a closer eye on 2D. Admittedly, almost all of her attention was focused on Murdoc because she thought if anyone was going to end up getting themselves into trouble, especially in a cult situation, it was him.

Noodle thinks Murdoc is way bigger dumbass than 2D. In her words, "He's proved this many, many times."

Russel agrees entirely and will tell you, "I can vouch for the girl. There have been so many times."

The music video for 5/4 was ultimately scrapped because Russel and 2D were convinced that if it ever saw the light of day, social services would come for their assess and they would never get to see Noodle again.

Getting naked during a live concert, while filming a music video, in front of Noodle can also be added to the list of reasons why Russel has broken Murdoc's nose.

"I wish I was blind." Noodle 2001. Or whenever the video for 5/4 was in production.

When Noodle was around ten years old, two Marv and Harry level morons decided it would be a good idea to try and kidnap her. Actually, they made Marv and Harry look like geniuses. This was around time the band had really started to gain fame and success, and they thought they had chosen the perfect target. Small kid. Incapable of defending herself. Especially against two fully grown men. Wealthy caretakers. What could go wrong? All that resulted in that were two grown men getting the crap beaten out of them by a tiny child and then by three other grown men.

2D made her go to counselling after that, certain she was traumatised, but at most, all that incident was to her was an annoying inconvenience and an insult. They really thought she'd be an easy target? Idiots. Counselling probably did help her through events to come, though.

Even after regaining her ability to speak fluent English, it still took about a year for Noodle to understand 2D's accent.

Every Halloween, when Noodle was still young enough to go trick or treating, she'd wear a birthday girl badge with her costume, as per Murdoc's advice. Said advice would land her with a ton of extra sweats, to the point where all three of the other band members had to help her carry it all.

And because Noodle was small and looked a bit younger than she was, they may have gone a few years after she would have been considered too old.

The others all read 2D's poetry just because they it's something they like to do. But they try to keep 2D from knowing because they suspect at least some of them are meant to be private and personal. Exept Murdoc. He reads them to see if they have the potential to be turned into lyrics (or so he claims) and has no problem telling 2D if they're good or "rubbish." The sight of Murdoc sat on the floor, poetry spread about him, base in his hands. Trying to get his notes to synchronise with 2D's words is a sight 2D has long since gotten used to seeing. Quite a few of them have ended up becoming songs

2D took a degree in law because of what happened to them in LA when they tried to make a movie. He didn't want himself or anyone he cared about to be conned and taken advantage of like that ever again.

In the aftermath of the forever cult incident, there are two members that are under the constant watch of the others. Noodle and Murdoc have been watching over Russel since this whole thing began, and that's not going to stop any time soon, or ever, until they know he's going to be okay. Meanwhile, 2D was drugged for weeks, and they're praying he doesn't have any lasting affects.

Now that the forever cult is no more, the clues in the static have served their purpose and everyone, namely 2D, is safe, Noodle has only one thing to say to Russel "My friend, I'm putting my foot down now. It's straight to therapy for you."

Murdoc has only one objection to this. "Let us get back to England first, love! The bills here would bankrupt us!"

When Russel headed out into the desert, he unknowingly put Noodle through a nightmare. Well, it had been a nightmare for 2D and Murdoc, too. But she thinks she has the right to say it was especially a nightmare for her because she had to manage this shit. He didn't tell anyone where he was going or how long he'd be. He was just home one minute, gone the next, and this sent Noodle frantic. He still wasn't well, not by any means, and in his unstable state, Noodle wasn't sure if he was a danger to himself. The others didn't fare much better. Murdoc was trying to show them he wasn't worried, but you could tell in his eyes he was panicking. The only reason 2D kept calm was because he was still high out of his mind. If he wasn't, he would have had a panic attack there and then. But even in the state he was in, the thought of Russel being missing alone in the state he was in still made 2D worry a little. Cue a search and possible rescue mission that took all day. ALL DAY. With a high 2D in tow because 2D also wasn't in a state where he could be left alone right now and like hell was Noodle trusting Murdoc to be alone with him in a state like this. In fact, none of the boys could be trusted on their own. She wouldn't have trusted Murdoc on his own on any day of the week. Just for being Murdoc. So their so-called search party was just her looking for Russel while babysitting the other two. The ultimate low point came about four hours in. When the possible places Russel could be were becoming threadbare, and as if some dumbass had said "Well at least this can't get any worse", 2D started to come down from his high, and with it, down came the gravity of the situation. And that was when he had a panic attack. Russel had left his phone at home, making the tracker she put on it useless. So they had no choice but to find him the old-fashioned way. The gruelling, never ending, ever terror and dispare inducing old-fashioned way. When they finally managed to find him, it was a releif beyond words to find him asleep, looking more at peace than she'd seen him in years. But the smallest part of her (the part of her she didn't particularly like) wanted to let Murdoc smack him.

Noodle has decided the others don't need to know that she has now put a tracker on every single vehicle they own, along with every device that can support one. She loves Russel with all her heart, but she is NOT letting him do that shit to her again.

And then the next day, 2D goes missing. He goes off by himself without telling anyone despite still being under the effects of all those drugs. Actually, he probably went off like that because he was still under the effects of all those drugs. I mean, she found him playing a melodica while standing on the severed head of the demon that just tried to eat him, for God's sake. God knows what he was thinking! When she realised he was gone, her reaction was pretty much, "OH HELL NO BOY!"

How she managed to be raised by these three and not develop a severe addiction to nicotine is beyond her. Every day, they make her think, "I need a cigarette, and she's never once smoked a cigarette in her entire life.

One of the main decisions Russel makes while out in the dessert is to spend more time with his loved ones. Especially 2D because man did almost die, and if he had, Russel would have wasted the last year or so he had with him staring at a TV. And especially Noodle. He doesn't regret getting obsessed with static chanels and the idea of a promised land. Because if he hadn't, they might not have been to save 2D. But he does regret that he neglected everything else around him, including her, and now he worries they might not be as close as they used to be.

Noodle, on the other hand, has been worried sick about Russel for over a year and just wants him to be himself again. It's not going to take much at all to get these two back to being as close as they've always been.

[shanie]

Hiii Shanie! (is that what I should call you? 🤔) I'm the guest from ao3 that sent you that long ass comment 😆😅

Just wanted to start of by saying how extremely sweet it was of you to do this and also how much I appreciated you taking the time out not once but twice to write back! Tbh yes my dumbass did not realise what "noodle incident" meant till you explained it so thank you for that 😊 clearly I'm a bit new to all of this. 😅

Honestly I'm extremely late to the party. I discovered zowens only a little after they won their tag titles last year. I had no idea who they were before that. I took a break from wrestling for about 13 years and only got back into it by accident because of Sami, then Kevin, then zowens. I was switching channels and stubbled upon zowens who happened to be on screen at the time.

So I've had to go back and do a bit of digging and now and then I'll find something that everyone already knew about yearsss ago 🙄😂 and I'll get all excited over it, but everyone else has already been there done that 😂 (also absolutely no one I know likes wrestling or really even knows about it 😭)

I know I've missed out on a LOT with these two (their "glory days") 😭 and I get only glimpses of the past here and there, but I guess as they say better late than never 😁 So I'm enjoying your stories so so much. It's pretty incredible the way you write and the journey you take us on through it.

Ta

🐨

PS. the draft this week..zowens..😌

Hello again, nonnie! 

Glad you could make it! 

I was hoping to hear from you. This mess of business with AO3. Bleh. Hope they get it straightened out soon. 

First off, don’t feel bad for not knowing what “noodle incident” meant. I don’t know if a ton of people do these days. TV Tropes as a website has sort of fallen into obscurity in the past decade or so and that’s where I got the term from. Looking it up, the definition on the site (found HERE) apparently comes from Calvin and Hobbes. Of note: The way I use the term isn’t exactly correct because I have explained the pneumonia incident a little, and will do so in upcoming writing more, but I use the term improperly anyway because it makes sense to me. 

Regardless, stay tuned for more info about the pneumonia incident!  I will warn you though, the current story it’s being written into, “Never Say Goodbye”, is VERY dark. I’m probably going to have to up the rating on it. I use my writing as therapy and I’m going through some stuff right now, so this is how it is manifesting. Hope this doesn’t make you or anyone else hate me, but just know that writing it is helping me cope with my pain and getting me to a better place. 

So yeah. Forgive me. 

Second, don’t feel bad about just discovering Zowens in 2023. Some of the best people just discovered Zowens in 2023! I don’t know how much of last year you’ve managed to see but there is a fair amount of stuff just between summer of 2022 and fall of 2023 that is epic. If you haven’t gotten to explore it yet, I recommend starting HERE. It’s an episode of The KO Show from back in May of 2022 that planted the seeds of the entire Zowens storyline that would go on to them becoming tag champions. That said, as another video reference, that episode of the KO Show would actually be followed up on in August 2022 to properly start the storyline... in a post-show segment after Smackdown in Montreal. Finding video of that post-show segment can be difficult, but HERE is a fan video that has most of the encounter, minus the section that involved Matt Riddle (and the Zowens hug he spurs on) 

Really though, if I had to offer some key highlights, just in WWE, I’d recommend the last ten minutes or so of NXT’s R-Evolution PPV, their match at Battleground 2016 (DEFINITELY Key viewing), The very end of Hell In A Cell 2017 (and the Zowens segment from the next episode of Smackdown), the 10/31/2020 episode of Talking Smack, The leadup and immediate aftermath of their WrestleMania 37 match, the clips I linked above from May and August 2022, Royal Rumble 2023 main event (OMG THAT), and most of all, the ENTIRTY of the 3/17/23 episode of Smackdown which, telling you now, as a Zowens shipper was like a friggin fever dream the night it happened. Cannot understate how that was some Joker Origin Story stuff that night, but the payoff was AMAZING.  

All that said? Like Kevin said at WrestleMania 37. They met, at this point, almost 22 years ago, and the journey has been nuts. If you want a good, easy-to-absorb rundown of those 22 years or so, I highly recommend Mithen’s substack Ring the Bell. It has so much information that starts from the beginning and goes step by step along the path. They’re writing a book too! Keep an eye out for that. 

Anyway, it’s great to see you here and if you need any more tips about how to dig further into the story, let me know. I know you said “Their glory days” but the truth is, in their own words, they’re “Destined to do this forever” and the glory days aren’t over yet. The story has been going on for over 2 decades but it hasn’t ended yet and I don’t believe it ever will. The Sami and Kevin show, and by extension, The Kevin Steen and El Generico show, will never end. 

Over 20 years and counting.  Long live Zowens/Steenerico 

Enjoy the ride. 

[kariachi]

The ‘Argit replacing Kevin on the team’ vibes refuse to leave me.

Darkstar Rising comes along, he just fucking vanishes as soon as the magister shows up. Like we cut to the magister and when the camera moves back to the team there’s a sudden Argit-shaped hole.

I really didn’t do the reveal that he and Kev are friends justice because holy shit that should be such a fucking drama.

The forcing of putting more focus on fucking aliens as people rather than just fuckers to fight in this show about aliens by making one of the mains a very fucking obvious alien.

We know Argit’ll call people out, he does it to Rook, so holy fuck the various Tennysons getting called out for their bullshit.

 “What side are you on?!” “Generally mine, depends on the circumstances.”

The vitriolic friendship Gwen deserves- give her somebody she can bitch about, at, and to who’ll return the favor.

98% of the time he’s avoiding being involved in fights and preferring to stay on the sidelines, handle the info, get through shit with cunning and lies and being both faster and nimbler than he looks, only for that last 2% of the time to be him just ending conflicts quickly and efficiently via violence, shocking the Tennysons every time.

Shit just vanishing in his presence- sometimes it causes problems, sometimes it solves them, sometimes the shit he grabbed doesn’t even matter, but consistently other people’s shit finds its way into his pockets (give me just one instance of Ben joking about being afraid one day they’re gonna be hanging out and he’ll look down to find the Omnitrix missing, just one).

Put a whole new vibe on Argit 10, put a whole new feel on ‘Uncle Argit’.

Argit and Rook as the narrative foils they were clearly meant to be.

Running gag of Argit having history with damn near every criminal the team runs into, to the point where by the end of UA they meet fuckers and the Tennysons immediately turn to him expectantly. The stories are always some vague shit you can’t be entirely sure is true, borderline noodle incidents.

Constant attempts to lure the others away from law enforcement

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

There's a lot of intentional phrasing I've included in Gibbous/Crescent that if I ever get to the reveal, I hope is pleasing to readers who might had a passing inkling or even makes it a satisfying reread. I'm a firm believer that a plot twist works best when it makes sense narratively while also being rewarding to keen-eyed readers.

I think I've expressed this before, but I love playing with "negative space" concerning characterization/relationships in my writing, especially within the last few chapters of Gibbous. Some character details are best left implied/absent to create intrigue & plot threads that can be later elaborated upon or serve as "noodle incidents" that make the world seem richer.

I think novice writers feel the pressure to do character exposition at every possible opportunity but real life people are complicated and messy. They don't always understand their emotions and sometimes make vague references that only their conversation partner would understand. I love writing Logan and Patton in Gibbous for these reasons.

Here's an example of what I mean:

“Logan, this isn’t right.” Patton said. Logan flinched at those words. It didn’t matter how many years had passed—whenever Patton chastised him, it caused Logan to feel much like a child being reprimanded by a parent. But Logan was not a child, even if Patton seemed to forget this fact at times. Logan pulled his face away from his hands to stare Patton directly in the eye. “What do you mean, ‘this isn’t right?’ What did you expect to come from this situation? Regardless, isn’t Virgil staying with us what you originally wanted?” “Not like this and you know that!” Patton burst out, “I wanted him to have a choice—packs are based on choice, Logan.” “You should have never brought him here if you didn’t want this,” Logan snapped, “we cannot trust that he will not expose us.” “He promised he wouldn’t!” “He said that while he was under duress, Patton! He would have said anything if it meant we’d let him free!” “You don’t know that for sure!” “Yes I do! Not everyone is as good as you think they are!” Logan’s voice shook. Deep breaths, he needed to keep taking deep breaths. He was allowing himself to get too consumed by his emotions. “Patton,” He began in a quieter tone, “In the event that he would expose us—the times are different, Patton, you know this. This is not the seventies, we can’t up and move across the country as easily to escape a problem like this. I made the necessary decision to best mitigate the danger you brought to the pack.” “He is not a danger, Logan. He is just hurt, sick and scared. Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” Patton pleaded. Logan sighed, shaking his head. “Patton, why bring that point up when you’re well aware of what my response will be?”  “You are right, I should’ve taken him to a hospital—but he looked so small and vulnerable, I couldn’t just leave him,” Patton said, his eyes glistening, “I only wanted to help him, Lo. And I believe he was telling the truth.” “Why?” Logan asked, knowing such a question would be in vain, “Why do you insist on always believing in the best of people, of humans?” Patton made a noise. It was something between a sob and a laugh, “I believed in you, Logan, even when you were human.” “I—that—you really shouldn’t have.” Logan’s chest tightened. “But I did. I always will.” This was unfair. It was an absolute appeal to Logan’s pathos and Patton knew he had no reasonable retort to this. -Crescent Chapter 7, Revised

[pseudo-finito]

Dumpling Defiler

Alright, this is gonna be pretty short but it is absolutely necessary to introduce y'all to the light of my life, Shivangi. Please address her as "Shivi", she is not a fan of her name. Anyway, instead of describing her personality, I'll tell ya'll about this incident which kinda explains everything.

So firstly, dumplings here in India are usually referred to as "Momos", so I'll be using this term quite a lot.

It was around September of 2022 when I first witnessed this thing. I was on a date with her and she wanted some momos (Crazy Shivi Fact : She can sell her soul if it meant a lifetime supply of momos or noodles). So the order arrives like 15 minutes later and she just attacks that plate like a savage. When I'm almost done with my plate I look over towards her and she is looking towards me with the sparkliest sparkles in her eyes, whilst holding the last momo in her hands. I ask her, "You alright?", she nods in this very Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz way and before I could digest that, she does something which up until this very day I've never seen anyone else do.

She takes her fork, makes a cut on the side of the momo, takes out all of its fillings very carefully and pours in all of the remaining red chutney that came with our plates inside that momo (Crazy Shivi Fact : If she wants, she can gulp down an entire serving of red chutney in one go). The red chutney is very spicy to the point where I would start crying and sweating profusely if I eat it more than usual amount.

So she proceeds to lift the momo up and says, "Here comes the main event!". I plead with her to not do that because it doesn't matter how strong your spice tolerance is, it will hurt. But, in a split second, she tosses that momo in her mouth and gulps it down like frickin' water and proceeds to make a very proud and victorious face.

All I could say after witnessing that was, "Wow you really defiled that momo, huh?", to which she replied, "Nooo, I made love to that momo", (Crazy Shivi Fact : Its true) with a silly grin on her face. In that moment, I knew that she's it, she's the one. The perfect mix of goofy, silly and funny along with that attractive soul, I won't let her go, ever (Crazy Shivi Fact : She won't let me go either).

The end.

[frillyfacefins]

What I Sacrifice at the Altar of Your Lips

Fandom: The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty Rating: Explicit Pairing: Wang Zhi/Tang Fan/Sui Zhou (WangTang-centric) Tags: Established Relationship, Feeding, Food Play, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, slight stuffing kink, foot play, Foot Jobs, foot kink if you squint, Dom/sub Undertones, Humiliation, Topping from the Bottom, or rather Tang Fan thought he could be in control and Wang Zhi doesn‘t think so, some food gets licked off a cock, Slight objectification, mainly of Sui Zhou, I mean he is there and he is central to the scene, bc he made the food and he intensifies the humiliation, but this is very much WangTang-centric, Tang Fan just wants to put sweet things into Wang Zhi ok Word Count: 7,366

Also on AO3

Summary:

Tang Fan really, really likes Wang Zhi‘s mouth. Wang Zhi really, really likes messing with Tang Fan‘s plans. (aka The WangTang Candy Feeding Fic)

See end notes for pictures of the cakes and candy described in this fic

The first time Tang Fan had told Wang Zhi that he had the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen, Wang Zhi had just given him one of those indulgent smiles, as if Tang Fan had just told him some adorable nonsense.

To be fair, Tang Fan had been pretty drunk that night. He didn‘t get drunk often – and never when he had to pay for the alcohol, because he needed to drink quite a bit more than most before he really felt it. But it had been right after the incident with the robbers, after Tang Fan had nearly died from poison and Wang Zhi and Sui Zhou had nearly died in the brothel. He had still been weak and had felt the wine stronger than usual, and he had felt so vulnerable and open that all sorts of things had come out of him. None of them had been lies, but he also hadn‘t necessarily meant to say most of them out loud, either.

A lot of things have happened since then, and the relationship between the three of them today is nothing like it had been then. Well, “nothing like“ was maybe too strong a word. They had already trusted each other at that time, but not as unconditionally as they did now; they had already enjoyed each other’s company, but they hadn‘t yet found their homes in each other‘s arms. There had still been a delicate dance, an attempt at friendship when each of them already felt an inkling that whatever was between the three of them was not quite that.

But all of that is behind them, and when Tang Fan compliments Wang Zhi now, he doesn‘t get indulgent smiles, but smoldering looks, bashful blushes, or delicate moans – depending on Wang Zhi‘s mood and state of undress.

Tang Fan still can‘t get enough of watching Wang Zhi‘s mouth. He has been thinking about it so much in the last few months while they were apart, when the most he could do was to tell Sui Zhou about the things he wanted to do with that mouth or make vague innuendos in his letters to Wang Zhi. 

This time, they have come to Yinchuan, the biggest city in Ningxia in the western loop of Hetao, with a trunk full of ingredients from the capital that are hard to find this far north. Sui Zhou takes over the kitchen of the military governor‘s mansion the morning after their arrival and, assisted by some of the servants Wang Zhi took with him from the capital, whips up plates upon plates of water chestnut cakes, custard buns, fried glutinous rice balls with sesame, osmanthus cakes, mung bean cakes and sweetheart cakes. They have brought tuckahoe pies, sesame candy, and several boxes full of sweetmeats and roasted nuts and seeds. And of course there are rice noodles, dried mushrooms, pickled long beans, several varieties of really good tea, and other things that are not sweets in that trunk as well – but the sweets are far more central to what Tang Fan has been fantasizing about for months. 

Wang Zhi has taken a few days off for them, but he still needs to tie up some of his responsibilities. He comes home in the late afternoon, not long before dusk, and he looks as exhausted today as he did when he welcomed them at the river port yesterday evening. Tang Fan is glad to see that he hasn‘t lost any more weight than the last time they have seen him, at least. The servants must have taken the lecture he had given them to heart, about making up for Wang Zhi‘s tendency to skip meals by feeding him more fatty cuts of meat and more strengthening tonics. Sui Zhou had later told him that he had overheard two of the maids giggling about how Tang-daren sounded like a mother trying to prepare her daughter for a wedding, with how insistent he had been that the military governor needed to be fattened up again after his first bout of away-from-home weight loss.

Sui Zhou feeds the both of them a light dinner tonight, congee, fish, pickles and some green vegetables. Wang Zhi notices immediately, of course, but when he asks Tang Fan if the journey on the river has made him sick again, Tang Fan only grins and tells him to wait and see.

And see he does – Sui Zhou has the servants help him carry in four trays of dessert before he dismisses them for the night. Wang Zhi isn‘t as good at keeping emotion off his face when he is around the two of them, and Tang Fan is delighted to see his eyes widen and his jaw going a little slack at the sight of the cornucopia before him. He sees Wang Zhi‘s gaze taking in all of the offerings, before the movement of his eyes stop and the tip of his tongue appears in the corner of his mouth for just a moment.

Tang Fan follows his eyes to the plate of osmanthus cakes. They are moulded in a round flower shape with some extra petals on top. He feels his own heart beat in his throat when he turns around on his chair, takes one of the pretty little cakes in one hand and turns Wang Zhi‘s face with the other hand cupping his cheek.

“I really hope you won‘t mind, A-Zhi…” he says softly, his eyes magically drawn to Wang Zhi‘s soft mouth, his perfect, plush lips more pleasing to the eye than any flower could ever be. “But I‘ve been thinking about feeding you sweet things for months now… Will you indulge me, baobao?”

Wang Zhi‘s eyebrows twitch upwards, then they move into a slight frown that also makes his lips pucker. Tang Fan does his best to look into his eyes and is rewarded for his self-restraint when Wang Zhi lets out a little huff and relaxes into the caress of his hand.

“You are such a strange man,“ he grumbles.

Tang Fan chuckles and finally holds the cake up to his mouth. “Yes, I am,“ he says. It‘s a good thing that Wang Zhi doesn‘t seem to have any dangerous or complicated missions to force on him right now – he might agree to anything, really, to be allowed to hand-feed Wang Zhi.

Wang Zhi grins at him for a moment, but then he finally opens his mouth and takes a small bite of the cake. The glimpse of his white teeth and the way his eyes close with pleasure and his lips press against each other as he chews make Tang Fan‘s head swim.

Wang Zhi opens his eyes again and takes another bite, this time making eye-contact with Tang Fan while his lips close around the tips of his fingers.

Tang Fan feels as if the wetness on his fingers is flowing down into his loins, and he has to adjust his sitting position a little.

Wang Zhi takes the last bite with an especially provocative flick of his tongue against Tang Fan‘s thumb. Then, when he has swallowed, he leans towards him, one hand on his thigh, and says: “Wouldn‘t you rather feed me something else, <i>xiao gege</i>?“

Tang Fan feels the blood leave his head to flow south and join that boiling pool at his center, but he stays strong. He doesn‘t push Wang Zhi‘s hand away, but he reaches for another sweet, this time a perfectly round sesame ball, and presses it against the soft cushions of Wang Zhi‘s lips.

“Come on now, Guangchuan worked so hard to make all of these lovely things for you, you have to at least try all of them…“ he whines, giving Wang Zhi his biggest puppy eyes. He can see Wang Zhi roll his eyes in the direction of Sui Zhou, who isn‘t really participating but who has conveniently pushed all of the dishes into Tang Fan‘s reaching distance. Then he lets out a little sigh and takes all of the sesame-covered rice cake into his mouth at once. He doesn‘t give up on the opportunity to give Tang Fan‘s fingers a little suck, but Tang Fan is so happy that Wang Zhi has apparently agreed to participate in this little game of his that his own growing need is hardly more than a pleasant background hum.

Tang Fan can hardly tear his gaze away from Wang Zhi‘s lips long enough to pick out his next offering. It‘s a sweetheart cake, and the wafer-thin pastry skin crinkles slightly between his fingers as he holds it out to Wang Zhi.

Wang Zhi doesn‘t go for the whole thing this time, but instead bites off about half of the little cake. The sound of the crust is impeccable, the crumble fine enough to rival any heritage bakery in the capital. A few crumbs cling to Wang Zhi‘s lips as he chews and suddenly Tang Fan really wants to know if the pastry tastes as good as it looks (he knows what Wang Zhi‘s lips taste like, of course, but oil enhances any flavor, right?).

There hasn‘t been time for them to enjoy each other in this way before. They arrived too late yesterday and both he and Sui Zhou had been too exhausted even for cuddles, and then Wang Zhi had spent all of today outside of his mansion. No matter how much Tang Fan thinks of Wang Zhi‘s lips, he always seems to forget just how wonderful they feel. They are so soft and warm, and his face fits against Tang Fan‘s differently than Sui Zhou‘s. His skin is completely smooth, there is no stubble, and while Tang Fan does love rubbing up against Sui Zhou‘s moustache, there is something so luxurious about that velvety softness that Tang Fan completely forgets what he was doing. He can taste the sweets Wang Zhi has eaten when those lips part and Wang Zhi licks into his mouth, and Tang Fan spends the next minute or two chasing the intense sweetness of candied wintermelon and the slightly bitter note of black sesame paste on Wang Zhi‘s tongue and lips and teeth. It should be disgusting, maybe, looking for the remnants of what he has been eating like this, but ever since the three of them have started this relationship, Tang Fan has discovered that a lot of things that sounded disgusting felt amazing when they involved his two favorite people in the world.

Like with most of their kisses, Wang Zhi is the one to pull away eventually. Tang Fan is as insatiable with kisses as he is with food – if nobody stops him, he would keep going until he‘d collapse.

Tang Fan‘s head feels so fuzzy with desire that if Wang Zhi had asked him now if he‘d rather feed him something else, Tang Fan might have given up on his well-prepared, long-anticipated plan. But this time Wang Zhi doesn‘t try and get Tang Fan to change tracks. Instead he just grins at him, then he takes his hand in his own and lifts it to his lips so he can pluck the rest of the sweetheart cake out of his hand with his teeth.

He lingers like that for a moment, his hand loosely curled around Tang Fan‘s wrist, never breaking eye contact while he slowly chews. There is something very feline about him in that moment, the way he is squinting his eyes a little, the relaxed way his beautifully cared-for nails are just lightly touching Tang Fan‘s wrist, the amused curve of his moving lips as he is chewing…

Tang Fan isn‘t wearing as many layers as he does most of the time – he didn‘t go outside today, after all, and he also didn‘t take his robes of office with him – so he is pretty sure that Wang Zhi will see what he is doing to him as soon as he looks down. It makes him feel strangely nervous, the thought that Wang Zhi is going to know any moment. He can‘t explain why, not even to himself, but when that moment comes – when Wang Zhi swallows, lets go of Tang Fan‘s wrist, and lowers his eyes just a little – he feels a wave of heat surge from his core to his head. He knows that his cheeks are flushed when Wang Zhi‘s lips curl into a knowing smile – first one corner of his mouth, then the other. Wang Zhi looks up at him again, through his lashes, then he slowly licks his lips.

“Why don‘t you get me one of those dried peaches next, Runqing?“ he asks in a tone as dark and sweet as the black sesame filling in the glutinous rice balls.

He eats the dried peach in one bite, his tongue swiping Tang Fan‘s finger, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His hand returns to Tang Fan‘s thigh as he tells him that he‘d like a piece of water chestnut cake next, and this time Wang Zhi <i>sucks</i> the gelatinous treat out of his fingers. He holds his hand in place after that and cleans his fingers with soft, tiny kitten licks.

Tang Fan feels as if he‘s floating, even though Wang Zhi hasn‘t touched any part of him other than his thigh and his hand. He meets Sui Zhou‘s eyes when he gets Wang Zhi the next treat he demands – a crunchy sheet of sesame candy – and Sui Zhou‘s eyebrows are slightly raised, as if he‘s not quite sure what is happening. This definitely isn‘t how Tang Fan had planned this; in his fantasy, he had just kept feeding a pliant Wang Zhi while he whispered sweet nothings to him. But while this isn‘t what he has planned, he is still definitely not mad about getting to feed Wang Zhi while he decides what he wants to have.

Wang Zhi eats the sesame candy, then he demands a candied walnut and then another piece of osmanthus cake. He is getting more demanding, and Tang Fan thinks that he can see a slight blush tinting the highest curve of his cheeks.

“I‘m thirsty,“ Wang Zhi says after he lets go of Tang Fan that time. There is the slightest trace of a whine in his voice now.

Tang Fan needs a moment to react – his mind feels weirdly hazy, as if it had been him eating all those sweets – but when he does, he immediately turns to Sui Zhou.

“Guangchuan, can you get us some tea?“ he asks. He notices that Sui Zhou‘s eyes are very dark by now and that only one of his hands is on top of the table. But unlike Tang Fan, Sui Zhou doesn‘t skip a beat before he nods and gets up. Wang Zhi watches him leave, then he turns back to Tang Fan with a wide grin.

“Don‘t you think Guanchuan would like to see you try the fruit of his hard work as well?“ he whispers. He is leaning toward Tang Fan, his hand rubbing up and down his thigh. “Or are you going to thank him in another way later? Something sweet for me, something bitter for you?“

Tang Fan tries to look scandalised, but even if his cock wasn‘t painfully hard he would never stand a chance to fool Wang Zhi.

“You know that Guangchuan is getting as much out of this as I am,“ he says with a lopsided grin.

“Hmm… I guess that is true. But still –“

Wang Zhi is standing and leaning over him before Tang Fan can react, and suddenly he is captured in the space between Wang Zhi‘s arms and the table. Wang Zhi leans farther down and Tang Fan leans back reflexively. Wang Zhi grins down at him, then he looks at the table and selects something that Tang Fan can‘t see. The suspense is enough to make Tang Fan‘s cock throb even worse, but it doesn‘t last long before Wang Zhi holds a little green mung bean cake against his lips.

Tang Fan doesn‘t react right away – something in his head is yelling that this is not how he was planning for this to go, that he needs to take back control – and apparently Wang Zhi is not in the mood to wait until he makes up his mind. So instead, he pulls his hand away and lifts the cake to his own mouth. But instead of taking a bite, he just takes it between his lips and lets go of it with his hand. He grabs Tang Fan‘s chin and leans back down until the green skin of the mung bean cake touches his lips.

This time, Tang Fan obeys. The mung bean cake is silky smooth on his tongue, and the bright sweetness fills his mouth as he bites down. Wang Zhi doesn‘t involve their tongues in this kiss, they just move their lips against each other while both of them chew, but it still feels so intimate and passionate that Tang Fan can feel the first drops of sweat form inside his collar.

A soft cough tears him out of his reverie. Sui Zhou is standing by the table with a tea tray in his hand and only now does Tang Fan realise that he has already swallowed the cake a while ago, and also that his hands have somehow found their way to Wang Zhi‘s hips.

Sui Zhou‘s slightly amused look when he sets the tray down on the table makes Tang Fan blush furiously, but Wang Zhi just grins and stands back up from where he was nearly sitting on Tang Fan‘s lap. He sits back down on his own chair.

“Thank you, dage,“ he purrs as Sui Zhou carefully fills a tea cup and hands it to him. Wang Zhi receives it with one hand and takes a sip, but when Sui Zhou moves to return to his original seat, he stops him by hooking two fingers of his free hand into his belt.

Sui Zhou doesn‘t try to pull away, but he does give Wang Zhi a slightly confused look. “Do you need anything else, Zhi-lang?“

Wang Zhi takes his time with his tea, then he puts the cup down gingerly.

“I am a little worried that you might feel neglected, Guangchuan.“ Wang Zhi‘s voice has gone a little higher, not quite at the level he uses when he‘s trying to curry favor with outsiders, but still audibly different from the dark purr he used earlier. He lets go of Sui Zhou‘s belt, secure in the knowledge that he won‘t go anywhere until Wang Zhi tells him to, and runs his hand over his hip and down his thigh. Tang Fan nearly flinches when something touches his lap, and when he looks down, he sees that Wang Zhi has put his foot on his lap, his little black shoe dangerously close to his cock. Wang Zhi doesn‘t look at him as he continues. “You put so much work into this, you should get to play a little, too, don‘t you think?“

Sui Zhou looks at him with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “You know that just watching is perfectly fine for me.“

Wang Zhi lets out a little sigh and takes his tea cup to have another sip. “What a waste, though,“ he laments, punctuating it with the sound of his now empty, overturned tea cup. “Tell me, Guangchuan…“ He looks up at him with a grin, and Tang Fan is treated to a lovely view of his white throat and the graceful curve of his jaw. “According to whatever plans you made for tonight, which one of you is going to fuck me when I‘m properly full and heavy with those lovely treats you made?“

Sui Zhou doesn‘t answer with words, but his eyes do flick over to Tang Fan. Tang Fan is, once again, not sure why he is blushing, but he does feel another flash of heat boil over in his loins and shoot into his head.

Wang Zhi gives him one of <i>those</i> looks, the kind of look that says “you‘re lucky you‘re cute enough to pull this shit off“, then he clicks his tongue. “He is always so greedy, isn‘t he? First he wants to stuff my mouth, then he wants to stuff my ass…“

Wang Zhi’s foot taps against the bulge Tang Fan’s hard cock is making in his robes and Tang Fan feels like he‘s boiling alive, both with desire and humiliation.

Sui Zhou‘s face looks amused, which isn‘t helping Tang Fan at all. “I don‘t mind if he is greedy,“ he answers.

“You‘re really spoiling him to much,“ Wang Zhi scolds him, then his eyes linger on for a moment before he lets them run over the table again. Finally, he pulls his foot away from Tang Fan‘s lap and moves his hand back to Sui Zhou‘s belt.

Nobody tries to stop Wang Zhi from undoing Sui Zhou‘s belt or pushing his robes open. It only takes him a moment to untie his pants and pull out his hard, dark cock.

Tang Fan can feel his mouth water at the sight. He should be used to it by now, but Sui Zhou‘s cock is just so beautiful – too big to stand up on its own, elegantly textured with just enough veins to make exploring it fun every time, the head perfectly proportionate to the rest of it and wrapped up in just the right amount of soft, pliant skin. 

Wang Zhi wraps a hand around that sheath of skin and starts moving it up and down slowly, nearly casually. Sui Zhou immediately goes into what Tang Fan likes to call his “good boy stance“ – his feet move a little farther apart, his hands move behind his back, his hips tilt slightly forward and his head goes down. He always looks as if he‘s trying to keep himself from grabbing the head of whoever‘s mouth is closest to his cock to violently fuck their throat. Tang Fan has managed to break that self-constrain many, many times, mostly by ruthlessly chocking himself on that beautiful cock, but with Wang Zhi being the one playing with Sui Zhou‘s cock now, it seems perfectly right that he would do his best to behave like an obedient toy. 

Wang Zhi isn‘t even looking, though. His eyes are searching the table again, before he finally selects one of the soft white buns in the middle. He lets go of Sui Zhou‘s cock to pull the dough apart, then he smiles at what he finds.

“This should work nicely,“ Wang Zhi says, his voice back to that dark silky-softness. He scoops the creamy custard filling out of one half of the bun with two fingers and spreads it on Sui Zhou‘s shaft, then he does the same with the other half.

“Runqing, have a taste,“ Wang Zhi finally says.

Tang Fan immediately pounces, as if Wang Zhi had just cut a leash that had been holding him back. His knees knock painfully against the wooden floor as he drops off his chair and he has to catch himself on Sui Zhou‘s muscular thighs to hold his balance, but none of that keeps him from immediately swallowing that wet, red tip. He sucks up the bitter liquid that has already collected around his slit, then he uses his lips to push his foreskin back far enough to get a good, big lick of the hot smoothness of his cockhead. Only then does he pull off to go after the streaks of custard cream along his length.

He loses himself in cleaning the delicious sweetness off Sui Zhou‘s salty skin, but when he feels Sui Zhou‘s thighs start to tremble, he goes back to sucking his tip. He takes his hands off his legs and instead wraps one around his spit-slick shaft while the other one cradles his balls, the knuckles of his fingers feeling for the patch of skin just behind them. Drawing a climax out of Sui Zhou is the easiest thing in the world for Tang Fan at this point, and definitely one of his favorite things, too – he wouldn‘t have gotten this good at it otherwise. After the mung bean cake and the custard cream, Sui Zhou‘s cum tastes a little more bitter than usual, but for some reason it is exactly that contrast that makes a deep shiver run through Tang Fan‘s body, forcing a few drops out of his own straining cock. 

He lets Sui Zhou‘s cock slip out of his mouth and turns to Wang Zhi to see if he is satisfied – and immediately feels another few drops spurt into his robes. Wang Zhi has put one foot on the stool, his elbow is on his knee and in his hand is another half-eaten custard bun with the filling nearly spilling out. Wang Zhi catches the cream with his tongue while he looks Tang Fan right in the eyes, then he licks the rest of it out of the bun and stuffs the empty dough into his mouth.

Tang Fan can‘t stop the whimper that spills over his lips, and the way Wang Zhi‘s eyes narrow makes it very clear that he heard it. Wang Zhi swallows the bun, then he turns to Sui Zhou, who is still in his good-boy-stance. He is heaving after his orgasm, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air after he most likely held his breath while he was spilling into Tang Fan‘s mouth. A gentle smile appears on Wang Zhi‘s lips that makes something other than Tang Fan‘s loins stir.

“Go clean yourself up,“ he tells Sui Zhou and gives him a pat on his hip, as if he was a horse who just went through a fast gallop.

Sui Zhou relaxes his posture and nods, then he slowly walks out of the room. It always makes Tang Fan proud that Sui Zhou needs to walk especially carefully after Tang Fan got him off. One time he had nearly toppled his armor after an especially intense after-dinner blowjob; it‘s one of Tang Fan‘s fondest memories.

When Sui Zhou reaches the door, Tang Fan starts to stand up so he can sit down at the table again – but Wang Zhi‘s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“You, stay,“ Wang Zhi says.

A mixture of dread and arousal makes Tang Fan‘s skin tingle. Wang Zhi is looking down at him with that cat-playing-with-a-songbird look on his face, his pose lazy and indolent like some young master lounging on a couch. Tang Fan has no idea how he keeps his balance on that stool but he is also not all that surprised – if Wang Zhi wants to lounge, who is that stool to tell him he can‘t?

Wang Zhi takes his hand off Tang Fan‘s shoulder and nods to the floor in front of him. “Come here.“

Tang Fan only has to adjust his position a little to kneel right in front of Wang Zhi, but it takes long enough for Wang Zhi to eat a few more pieces of dried fruit. He keeps his eyes on him throughout, which gives him the air of somebody snacking while watching an interesting show.

Once Tang Fan is in a position that is to his liking, Wang Zhi puts his leg down from the stool so that his knees are bracketing Tang Fan‘s body. He leans down – not far, because with their size difference, Tang Fan‘s head is at Wang Zhi‘s belly level when he sits down on his heels.

“Let‘s continue that game you wanted to play, shall we?“ he whispers, his eyes glinting with that intoxicating mix of hunger and amusement that Tang Fan can never get enough of.

Wang Zhi looks at his face for another moment, then he straightens again and pushes his sleeves back. He selects a sesame-covered glutinous rice ball, and then also a piece of sweetheart cake.

“But we‘ll adjust the rules a little…“ He holds his palms out, one sweet on each of them. “You choose which one I eat, by eating the other one. If you choose to give me the one I like better, I eat it and take off one item of clothing. Both shoes and both socks count as one item, pendants and hair ornaments don‘t count. If you ate the one I would have liked better, you take one item off. If I end up naked before you do, you get to fuck me. If you end up naked first, you can rub yourself off on my foot.“

Tang Fan swallows. This should be a game he is good at – he is great at interpreting people‘s clues even when he isn‘t familiar with them, and he knows Wang Zhi like he only knows Sui Zhou. And he knows what Wang Zhi likes and what he doesn‘t. But then again, that might become the actual issue with this game. Every sweet on this table is something Wang Zhi likes – that‘s why he asked Sui Zhou to make these specific cakes and desserts. So if Wang Zhi is telling him to choose the one he wants more right now, at this moment… There is no empiric way to know which sweet exactly he would like to eat more right now.

Also, there is nothing to keep Wang Zhi from just manipulating the game to get the results he wants. How would Tang Fan be able to prove that he felt more like eating one cake if Wang Zhi just lies about it? Or if he doesn‘t even have a preference and just goes with whatever will make Tang Fan lose?

He should maybe feel indignant at the implicit unfairness of this game, but… He doesn‘t. If Wang Zhi wants him to lose, then he will lose. Yes, he has been looking forward to slowly, carefully fucking Wang Zhi once he was completely stuffed full of sweets, but also… Getting to hump Wang Zhi’s foot until he spills on it (while Wang Zhi is watching him and maybe eating some more of the cakes) doesn‘t seem like such a bad outcome.

So instead of whining and pouting to make Wang Zhi show him mercy as he usually would, he just nods. “Alright, let‘s do that.“

Wang Zhi grins down at him. “Then choose.“

Tang Fan looks at the two pastries in front of him. The sweetheart cake was tasty and he definitely loved kissing it out of Wang Zhi‘s mouth, but he also knows that Wang Zhi really likes the taste of sesame…

He makes his bet, leans forward and takes a bite of the sweetheart cake. He doesn‘t even try to use his hands – he‘s been on his knees in front of Wang Zhi enough times that he can generally intuit which rules Wang Zhi wants to play by.

Wang Zhi holds the other half of the cake to his lips when he swallows, and Tang Fan looks up at him as he closes his mouth around it, giving back a tiny bit of what Wang Zhi had been dishing out by making sure that his lips touch his fingers. Wang Zhi just smirks down at him and takes a bite of the sesame ball. He takes his time to savor the glutinous rice cake, the hand that had been holding the sweetheart cake now cradling Tang Fan‘s cheek.

“Why don‘t you take off my boots, Tang Fan? You‘re in a better position for that than me,“ he says before he finishes the sesame ball.

One point for him. Tang Fan can‘t keep a grin off his face as he leans forward and takes off one boot after another. He can feel Wang Zhi‘s gaze on him, can hear the slow chewing as he kneads each of his feet for a moment.

Sui Zhou comes back at this point. Tang Fan gives him a quick look to make sure everything is alright on his end and gets another one of those amused eyebrow-raises in return. Wang Zhi looks over at Sui Zhou as well, then he fills another one of the cups on the tea tray and places it in front of him when he sits down.

Wang Zhi doesn‘t explain the new game they‘re playing and Sui Zhou doesn‘t ask. He is just watching, the intensity of his gaze making a deep shiver run over Tang Fan‘s back. It‘s an added layer of humiliation – the thought that if he loses, he won‘t get to do what he had told Sui Zhou he was going to do. Sui Zhou is not invested in Tang Fan fucking Wang Zhi, of course, but still, he would know that Tang Fan‘s plan failed… And he knows how much Tang Fan hates admitting defeat.

Yes, it‘s something different if Wang Zhi is the one defeating him. But still, it would be so much easier to just give in and deliver himself into Wang Zhi‘s hands if Sui Zhou wasn‘t there to watch him…

“Tang Fan,“ Wang Zhi says, a paper-thin trace of annoyance in his voice that makes Tang Fan‘s back straighten immediately. He looks up at Wang Zhi and sees that he is already holding out two new treats, and his ears start burning immediately. If they weren‘t currently in the middle of a game, he is pretty sure Wang Zhi would make him bend over the table and drop his pants for ignoring him like that.

Flustered and embarrassed, he doesn‘t take his time to decide which sweet he is going to take. The choice is between a dried hawthorn and a dried piece of mango, and he quickly snatches up the dried hawthorn.

He immediately regrets it when Wang Zhi‘s eyebrows pull together. “Shoes,“ he says before he pops the mango into his mouth.

The humiliation of being wrong burns through Tang Fan‘s body as he shifts into a sitting position. He takes his boots off and puts them down next to Wang Zhi‘s.

Wang Zhi uses the time until he gets back into his kneeling position to peel a few melon seeds. This time the choice is between an roasted almond and four melon seeds. Tang Fan takes the almond, and earns himself a friendly little nudge of Wang Zhi‘s socked foot against his arm while Wang Zhi crushes the seeds between his teeth.

Tang Fan takes a deep breath before he carefully tugs the socks off Wang Zhi‘s feet. His toes are as well taken care of as his fingers, and his soles and heels feel soft against Tang Fan‘s fingertips. Wang Zhi pulls his feet away far too fast, and then the choice is between a water chestnut cake and a custard bun. Wang Zhi has eaten two of each of these already, and Tang Fan assumes that at this point, he has to feel a little full, so he takes a bite of the custard bun.

The creamy taste immediately reminds him of the feeling of Sui Zhou‘s cock against his tongue, and for a moment he drifts back. He licks the custard out of the bun while Wang Zhi is holding it, trying to deal with the thrumming in his groin and the intense sweetness without getting any of the cream on Wang Zhi‘s hand. He is so caught up in this maze of sensation that he only looks up again when he realises that Wang Zhi‘s hand is empty.

He looks up at Wang Zhi to see an expression he can‘t quite read. That‘s rare, but he doesn‘t get to puzzle it out, because Wang Zhi eats the water chestnut cake and nods at him while he‘s chewing.

“Take off your socks,“ he says, and Tang Fan‘s stomach sinks.

It keeps going like this, and Tang Fan only gets it right one more time – at the choice between a tuckahoe pie and a mung bean cake; Tang Fan assumes that at this point Wang Zhi might like something that would make his stomach feel a little better and eats the mung bean cake himself. Wang Zhi takes off his belt for that. But after that Tang Fan loses his own belt, then his outermost layer, his second layer, and his upper middle garment.

In the end, he only has his pants left, while Wang Zhi is looking a little disheveled, with his bare feet and his loosened robes, but still very much covered.

Once Tang Fan had been stripped down to his middle clothes, Wang Zhi had started to rub his naked foot over Tang Fan‘s thigh. The fabric of his pants is so thin that he can feel Wang Zhi‘s warmth – even without socks, his body is hot enough to keep even his toes warm. Tang Fan‘s cock seems to know that he is this close to being allowed to come all over that silky skin, and it takes every tiny bit of self-restraint he has not to wriggle just enough to make contact between that foot and his crotch.

Wang Zhi presents the next choice and Tang Fan knows he has lost.

The choice is between osmanthus cake and sesame candy.

Even if his brain wasn‘t completely filled with fog, as if the boiling heat in his middle was sending steam up into his head, this would have been an impossible choice. He knows perfectly well that these are Wang Zhi‘s favorites -– and Wang Zhi knows that Tang Fan knows.

There is no reason at all for Wang Zhi to give him a point, not now that he has stripped him down to nothing but his pants. It‘s very clear where this is going.

So there is really no reason for him to stall anymore. Especially not with Wang Zhi‘s foot climbing higher and higher on his thigh…

Tang Fan grasps the piece of osmanthus cake with his lips and swallows it in two bites.

Wang Zhi grins down at him, and Tang Fan feels like he is about to come any moment now.

“Pants,“ he says, before he eats the sesame candy.

His foot pulls away so Tang Fan can obey his order. Tang Fan has to ball his hands into fists for a moment to keep himself from grabbing that foot and just pressing it to his crotch. He has no idea how he manages to open the lacing of his pants, with how much his hands shake when he opens his fists again, but somehow he manages to do so and to even stand up long enough to pull his pants off his legs.

He catches Sui Zhou‘s eyes the moment he pulls his second foot out of his pants. There is just a hint of a questioning quirk to his eyebrows, but it is enough to make Tang Fan blush from the tip of his ears to the center of his chest. Since Sui Zhou doesn‘t know the rules of this game, is he aware that Tang Fan just lost? Or is he just going to go with the flow like he usually does? (Unless things deviate way too far from the expected path, but he assumes Sui Zhou won‘t be very disturbed by Tang Fan rubbing himself off against Wang Zhi‘s feet. He‘s done worse.)

But then Sui Zhou‘s lips curl a little at the corners, and he stands up to move his stool a little so he has a better view of the two of them. Tang Fan can see him and Wang Zhi exchange amused glances, then Wang Zhi‘s eyes are back on Tang Fan.

“Kneel. Unless you don‘t want your ‘reward‘ after all?“

Tang Fan can‘t say that this is the fastest he has ever gone to his knees, but it has to be up there. He definitely knocks his naked knees on the hardwood floor with a painful CLUNK, but at this point he is so hard that he can‘t really care about anything farther down his body than his cock.

Wang Zhi lets out a little “Tsk“ that just makes him harder. It‘s ridiculous at this point, but he just feels like he‘s overflowing with desire and love for this man… He crawls closer, close enough for Wang Zhi‘s foot to really, finally reach his cock, and he lets out a high-pitched whine and closes his eyes when he rocks against the softness of Wang Zhi‘s sole.

He relishes the feeling for a moment, gently rocking against that firm little foot, before he opens his eyes again and looks up at Wang Zhi‘s face.

“Would you…“ He feels his cheeks heat again, but he bravely soldiers forth: “Would you eat another piece while I do this?“

He hears a snort come from his right, where Sui Zhou is watching the two of them. He doesn‘t look over, though – he‘s trying to give Wang Zhi his most intense puppy-dog eyes.

Wang Zhi smirks only slightly, then he takes another custard bun. Tang Fan whimpers with need when he sees Wang Zhi bite into the soft dough, then he wraps a hand around Wang Zhi‘s foot and his cock. Since Wang Zhi isn‘t protesting his use of his hand, even though this position makes him bend his knee, Tang Fan goes ahead and starts to thrust into the tightness between his own hand and Wang Zhi‘s sole. Wang Zhi curls his toes a little, which makes them rub over the head of Tang Fan‘s cock with every stroke, and soon Tang Fan is nearly crying with pleasure.

It‘s really no surprise when he comes after less than ten thrusts, just when Wang Zhi uses his tongue in a truly obscene way to lick the cream out of the bun. Somehow Tang Fan has the presence of mind to cup his free hand over his cock to avoid soiling Wang Zhi‘s clothes, but he definitely coats most of his foot in sticky, hot cum. Somehow it makes the situation his poor dick is in feel even better – still trapped between his hand and Wang Zhi‘s sole, but now warm and wet – and he floats in that heavenly feeling for as many moments as Wang Zhi will allow. He gets pulled out of his post-orgasmic bliss by a little pinch at the tip of his cock and quickly lets go, but not without noting down in a special little corner of his mind that Wang Zhi is apparently able to scissor his big toe and the next one as if they are fingers.

That is definitely useful knowledge to have…

He kneels there for a few moments, still panting, his cock slowly deflating. Wang Zhi looks at his foot critically for a moment, and Tang Fan is nearly sure he‘s going to be told to lick it clean, but then Wang Zhi says: „You can use your pants to clean me up.“

Tang Fan quickly does just that – just because he likes it when Sui Zhou comes in his mouth doesn‘t mean that he likes the taste of semen very much, especially when it is already cooling. He still gives Wang Zhi‘s foot a little kiss, though, when he has cleaned him as much as he can without water.

“I ran into two of your servants earlier, on my way to the kitchen,“ Sui Zhou says suddenly. “They were taking hot water to the bathroom… The tub should be ready by now.“

Wang Zhi lets out a deep, happy sigh, then he leans back a little and pats his belly.

“I am going to feel like a dumpling getting boiled, with all this filling… But still, a bath does sound very nice right now…“

Tang Fan‘s head still feels very light, so even though both the way Wang Zhi is patting his belly and the reference to dumpling filling are lighting up diffuse little ideas in his mind, he feels very little motivation to give those ideas any attention. They have time for that later. Their visit has only just started. For now, he lets Sui Zhou help him up and then smiles as Wang Zhi steals a kiss from both him and Sui Zhou, before he leads both of them out of the dining room, still barefoot.

__________FIN___________

Research Notes:

Reference for all the desserts

Water chestnut cakes  Custard Buns  Fried glutinous rice balls with sesame  Osmanthus Cakes  Mung Bean Cakes  Sweetheart Cakes  Sesame Candy

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Comments are always appreciated <3

[storiesofsvu]

February Phone Call

Rafael Barba x fem!reader Warnings: language, implications of smut. Covers the “Blue Sunny Day” by Johnathon Coulton for @thatesqcrush​ ‘s Vday Bingo

*

The chilly February air seemed to be seeping through all the cracks, finding its way into your previously warm apartment. You put on a fresh pot of coffee and pulled out a spare hoodie that had been lying over the back of the couch. Grumbling you scanned through the fridge, a few probably way too old take out containers, some wilted spinach, a case of pop you’d bought when you were babysitting your nieces, and condiments. Yeah. You definitely needed to go shopping.

It was still early enough you opted to order some breakfast right away, using the waiting time to put in a grocery order for the next afternoon while you sipped on fresh coffee in an attempt to warm you up. Making sure the heat was ticked up a few notches, you grabbed your delivery from the door and bundled yoruself on the couch, brooding over mindless t.v while you ate. You were incredibly thankful that Oliva had approved the few personal days off you’d asked for.

Not that the entire team hadn’t been going through a gong show of a month and a half, Barba of all people ended up facing a trail as the defendant after turning off Baby Drew’s life support. Then you had to adjust to having a new A.D.A who was the one who prosecuted Rafael. It was the middle of winter and it was safe to say you all needed a break. Rafael had come to say good bye to you before he left New York, it was a complicated situation, and neither of you really knew how to handle it or how to feel about it. He was going through a rough patch already, trying to figure out how to reroute his entire career this late in his life, realizing that the things he was so passionate about upholding may not be as important as he’d previously thought.

About a year before the incident, the two of you had casually starting sleeping together. One drunken night of post trial drinks lead to waking up at his apartment. Thankfully there was no awkwardness, even as you returned to work the following Monday, you were able to keep your secret. Then it happened again, this time after only one drink, and you spent half of the next day together at your apartment ordering take out and lounging. You became better friends, often turning to each other during tricky or rough cases, but all of this was still kept relatively private. Everyone thought and believed that you were just friends, even Amanda didn’t pry into any of it.

Anything that did happen between you was spontaneous, never planned, there were never any fancy nights out or homemade meals for date nights. It was usually a series of texts leading to you meeting for a drink, or just needing a friend, whether those nights ended tangled in each other’s sheets depended on the mood. You never put a label on it, there were never really any feelings past sexual attraction and companionship, it just worked.

Which it why when suddenly he was on trial, you weren’t sure how to feel, aside from worried as a coworker and friend. And when he made the decision to leave the city, why he was hesitant about turning up on your doorstep to say goodbye. It hadn’t particularly been painful, you exchanged best wishes, you reminded him that he was worthy, and that he’d find whatever calling in life was out there for him, to not come down to hard on himself. He reminded you to try to keep Carisi in line while he wasn’t around, to stop drinking such crappy quality coffee, and that he would miss you the most.

Halfway through the day, right as you were dumping a pack of ramen noodles you’d found stashed in the back of a cupboard into a pot, your phone went off. You prayed it wasn’t work, and your brow furrowed when it was a number you didn’t have saved. Although that probably meant it was work, and even worse, was a victim or witness you’d given your card to.

“Detective Coulter, special victims.”

“Well that was a much nicer greeting than I usually get.” The voice teased from the other end, you pulled your phone back, double checking the number before you spoke again,

“Rafael?”

“Oh c’mon, I haven’t been gone long enough for you to forget what my voice sounds like, have I?”

“Oh please at the amount you talk I’ll never be able to forget it. The sarcasm will drip from your words forever.”

“Good.” He teased back, then sighed slightly, “hope I’m not interrupting a busy day.”

“No,” you pursed your lips, stirring at your pot of noodles, “I’m off for a couple days right now. You’ve caught me in the middle of wishing I’d actually gone shopping so I don’t have to eat the lunch of a broke college student.”

“Spaghetti with butter?” You laughed,

“Close, found a pack of ramen from probably months ago.” There was a slight pause while you scooped out the noodles with some of the water, stirring in the flavouring, placing the bowl on the coffee table to cool for a moment.

“How’s the city?” Rafael asked, a hint of yearning in his voice.

“Bleak.” You replied, wrapping an arm around yourself as you stared out the window, “it’s freezing, been snowing for weeks. Basically since the day you left the weather always feels this way. Work’s not much better.” You groaned, dropping down on the couch, pulling the blanket back around you.

“Stone giving you guys too much crap?”

“More like the entire squad won’t even give him the time of day. I swear Liv spends half her shift glaring at him harder than the perps.”

“Ah..you’re all taking it personally, so…nothing’s changed.” He quipped and you snorted over a mouthful of noodles.

“How about you? Where even are you? I don’t know that area code.”

“Iowa..” he sighed, “some law school friend knew of a couple positions down here. With the election coming up in the next couple years it’s the easiest place to get work.”

“Ugh..politics.”

“Don’t remind me.” He chuckled, “there’s some big dinner gala tonight. I’d be there to see it but I can’t get out of bed.” Your face fell at his words, shoulders sinking at the thought of him all alone out in Iowa.

“Raf…” you heard him take a heavy breath on the other end of the line, “are you..holding up okay? I mean…that was a lot to go through, now you’re…not here.” There was a moment of silence before he replied,

“I’ll survive.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” You knew he hated opening up, but he had a few times in the past to you, and he was the one who picked up the phone to call you after all.

“I think…part of my coping was to move away. Even if this is just temporary, I just…need to sort my thoughts out, figure out if what I was doing was what my life’s calling was or if I should try something else for a little bit.”

“Understandable.” Your eyes flicked up to the t.v where the afternoon news had taken over. They were covering a Valentine’s Event going on in Time’s Square and your brow cocked, “did…you purposely call me on Valentines Day?” He laughed softly at that.

“I missed you. But I can’t say my intentions were completely pure.”

“At 11:30 in the morning Raf!” You barked a laugh, “I mean I’m not against the idea but right now the only thing I’m stuffing my mouth with is noodles.” He laughed heartily at that and it warmed you to hear him sounding more like himself again for once. Suddenly your call waiting beeped, “shit, hold on, it’s Liv.”

Rafael waited, silence filling the phone while he started to pick through his own lunch. He figured if Liv was calling you’d have to cut your conversation short, even if you were off for the day. He did truthfully miss you, he missed the city, his Mami, the whole squad. He was still mentally coping with a lot, glad he had some money saved up to help him slowly slip into things in Iowa while he took a bit of a vacation to try and get his head on straight again.

“Hey, sorry.” You suddenly cut into his thoughts.

“I guess this date is over?”

“Yeah.” You huffed, “Carisi ate shit trying to jump over a fence, he needs a bunch of stitches but should be fine otherwise. I’ve gotta meet Rollins to cover for him.” Rafael couldn’t help but laugh a bit at the detective’s misfortune, picturing the lanky man taking a painful tumble while in pursuit.

“Okay. It was nice to talk to you.”

“Right back at you.” You smiled, “I’ll call you tonight? Completely impure intentions?”

“Mmm…that does sound enticing.” He smirked and you could hear it nearly drip through the phone.

“Course it does.” You moved off the couch, flicking off the t.v, “Happy Valentines Day Raf.”

“Happy Valentines.”

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Misery

CWs: bbu, ocd, anxiety, references to noncon, brief suicide ideation, forced to self harm, all hurt no comfort, intrusive thoughts, harm ocd, blood

Masterlist

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

Jesse had never been so miserable in his life. It was a hefty statement, with what he had gone through, but it was true.

Mr. Bakeman changed his schedule the day after Jesse’s … incident. Apparently he had been away by choice all that time, but now there was nothing making him want to leave. He worked a regular 9 - 5 and came home every night.

Every. Night.

Jesse closed his eyes and shook his head four times, twisting his collar. He’d washed the same dish going on sixteen times now, but it still didn’t feel right. He soaped it up again to do another four.

Everything was wrong. Jesse being alone, the house being empty, Mr. Bakeman coming home every day. Jesse thought the weird things he did were bad before? It was nothing compared to now. He didn’t cook because he couldn’t stop thinking about cutting or burning himself. He sang the girls’ favorite songs over and over. Yesterday he spent an hour unlocking and locking the front door. He wanted to go outside to go on a walk or something to distract himself but he was terrified that if he did then the girls would get sick. So he stayed in.

He dried the dish for the twentieth time. He wanted to be done but twenty was four divided by five and five was an ugly number. One more batch.

Mr. Bakeman hadn’t really spoken to him since that night, save to ask him when dinner would be ready. Jesse almost wished he would talk to him. He needed something, anything, to distract him from his thoughts. Even in the facility he’d had someone to talk to, to give him orders. Children to hug. He was never… alone. He wasn’t meant to be alone. He was meant to be a companion. He was meant to care for his children he loved and missed so much.

Jesse hissed in pain. His hands were so dry from washing and washing that the skin on his knuckles had split right open. But he was only at twenty three, and that was a very ugly number, so he did one more wash before setting the plate down and carefully drying his hands.

How were his girls? His chest was hot. He needed to know, but there was no way.

The front door opened. 5:23. Jesse had completely lost track of time. Tears burned behind his eyes, but he forced them back.

He heard Mr. Bakeman stomp up the stairs. He knew he was tossing his briefcase aside and changing out of his work clothes into something more casual. Jesse tried to keep listening to know when he was coming downstairs, while also quickly getting something ready for dinner.

What was the new nanny making the girls for dinner? Did she know that Harper hated chicken? And that Eva refused to drink milk unless it was with breakfast?

His stomach hurt.

“Where’s dinner?”

Jesse jumped. Mr. Bakeman was already back down, but he wasn’t in his regular t-shirt and jeans, instead he just changed into different work clothes, albeit more laid back than his usual suit.

“I’m sorry, Master. I haven’t started it yet.” He opened the fridge door and scanned through. There was leftover chili from two nights ago. He knew there was spaghetti noodles in the cupboard. Or he could try to cook up some chicken and rice…

The fridge door slammed shut, making Jesse jump back with the whoosh of cool air. His mind flashed back to the facility and he shook his head to make the thought go away.

“What have you been doing all day, if you haven’t done the one thing I require of you?”

Jesse swallowed. “I… I’m sorry. I got carried away cleaning.”

Mr. Bakeman glared as he rolled his sleeves up past his elbow. “Do not let it happen again.” Jesse nodded and got to work reheating the chili. “I have some colleagues coming over soon. Make yourself available.”

It felt like Jesse’s heart dropped out from his feet. He nodded numbly and closed his eyes as more tears sprung to them.

Jesse tried to calm himself down as he cooked. Maybe it would be one of those good times. Those times where they didn’t hurt him and they really just used him as a servant. It couldn’t be too bad, since it was a Thursday night and they all had work tomorrow. Right? He’d be okay.

“Yeah?”

Jesse spun around, worried he’d talked out loud. Mr. Bakeman glared briefly before focusing again on his phone conversation.

“She is? Did she miss school today? … I see. And Harper and Eva?”

Jesse froze. He must be talking to the nanny. What was her name? Peyton. Oh Jesse’s heart hurt thinking that someone else got to take care of his girls when he wasn’t there. Missing them was something physical, something tangible that he could feel taking him by the neck and strangling the life out of him. His hands shook, the split skin stinging.

“Hmm. Alright. Keep me posted. … She did? … Yeah put her on.”

Jesse forced himself to keep moving, to get a pot and pour the chili in it, reheating it properly. His breath seemed stuck in his throat.

Mr. Bakeman’s voice changed as he spoke. “Hey Abi! … You’re not feeling good?”

Jesse wanted to throw up. He needed to be with them. He needed to hold her, to keep her safe and healthy. He needed to. The tears in his eyes spilled over.

“I’m sorry baby. … I miss you too. Two days, baby. … Yeah. … How are your sisters?”

He wiped away his tears, breath catching in a sob he couldn’t let go. The stovetop sizzled under the pot.

Put your hand on it.

He shook the thought away. Maybe it was for the better they were gone… He thought it but it did nothing to stop him from drowning.

“Awww. Well tell them Daddy loves them. … Okay. … Hmm? Who?”

There was a long pause, and Jesse turned just a bit only to see Mr. Bakeman staring at him with a strange mixture of hate and confusion on his face. He quickly turned back to the stovetop.

“Uh. No, baby. … Because he’s busy.”

Jesse put his hand to his mouth as he sobbed out loud. It echoed through the silent kitchen, raw and ugly.

She asked for him. Abigail asked to talk to him and Mr. Bakeman… refused. Jesse felt that so deeply in his soul he almost wanted to die all over again. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the counter to hold himself steady. Tears streamed down his face and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop them.

“Yeah. Sorry. … Okay. … I love you too. … I will. Bye.”

The phone clicked on the countertop as he set it down. The chili sizzled on the stove. Jesse gasped for breath as his world continued to crash around him.

“Pet.”

He choked on a sob, forcing it down. He opened his eyes and looked back at his master.

“I need to eat before my colleagues arrive. Get a hold of yourself.”

Mr. Bakeman went back to his phone, clearly done with acknowledging his pet. The words slipped out before Jesse could think to stop them.

“Is she okay?”

His master didn’t even look up.

He swallowed, throat thick with tears, and spoke up again.

“Abigail. Is she alright?”

Mr. Bakeman sighed, glaring. “Stop.”

Jesse wished he could. “Please Master. I need to know. Is she alright?”

“I said stop.”

Jesse shook his head, pain blooming behind his eyes as he disobeyed his owner. But he needed to know. “Please,” he begged, throat thick with tears. “Just tell me if she’s okay. I need to know if they’re all okay, please!”

“Respect!”

Jesse fell to his knees so quickly his mind didn’t even register it until the pain shot up his legs.

He hadn’t had to do his positions in … he didn’t even know how long. The novelty of the thing had worn off on Mr. Bakeman pretty quickly. Jesse was thankful that Mrs. Bakeman never figured them out.

Mr. Bakeman’s loafers clicked as he stepped towards his pet, shaking with his head pressed against the tile. Jesse held his breath, chest seizing in choked back sobs.

“You have the audacity to be upset that you no longer get to see my children?” Jesse whined as one of his loafers pressed down on his neck. Not enough to cut off his air. Just so Jesse knew he could. “Who’s fault is that? There would have been no need for a divorce if you didn’t have to go whoring yourself out.”

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. The weight on his neck increased a bit.

“You’re the reason my children will grow up in a broken home. If they really meant that much to you then maybe you shouldn’t have torn their family apart.”

He pressed down more. Jesse began to weeze. He wanted to move but knew it would only make the situation worse. Panic, different from what he had been feeling, sparked in his chest.

“You do not deserve – ” more pressure. Jesse gasped through a straw. “ – to speak to my children. You will see them when I do. Until then you will serve me, as you were meant to do.”

I was meant for them, Jesse thought. His eyes opened in a panic as the weight increased even more, cutting off his air completely.

Mr. Bakeman just stood there for a few long seconds, letting Jesse drown in panic. WIthout a word, he lifted his foot and walked away.

The doorbell rang.

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

New people. Only two of them, but still. New people Jesse didn’t know. He didn’t know how to please them, didn’t know their likes or limits or what they did or didn’t want.

It was past the girls’ bedtime. He hoped they were safely in bed. He hoped Abigail would get some sleep, that she was alright. He hoped it was just a 24 hour bug. Strep throat. A cold. And not something like appendicitis or flesh eating disease or leukemia.

He needed her to be okay.

Jesse sang her favorite song in his head, staring into space and trying to breathe through the smoke in the den. He knocked on the wall behind him four times.

Make them be okay, he thought to no one.

Mr. Bakeman and his ‘colleagues’, who’s names Jesse had determined to be Michaelson and TJ, were sitting around the table with alcohol and cigarettes in hand. They didn’t seem to be getting drunk. Just drinking socially.

If you have to drink to be social then you must not be a very sociable person.

Joshua shook his head, groaning so he didn’t accidentally laugh. “Dad –”

Jesse winced, closing his eyes at the flash of pain behind them. By the time he opened them again he’d forgotten what it was that made it happen.

“How’re the kids?” TJ asked.

Mr. Bakeman side-eyed Jesse before answering. “Fine. Heather has them until Saturday morning.”

“You still talk to her?”

MIchaelson chimed in. “I haven’t talked to the witch in charge of my kids since she left. If she has anything to say to me she can tell my secretary.”

“The secretary you’ve been banging in the conference room?”

Michaelson only raised his glass and smiled.

Mr. Bakeman took a drag on his cigarette before answering. “I try not to. It’s not hard since she’s never there. I usually talk to their nanny.”

“I thought that was him.”

The three of them turned and looked at Jesse. He tried to shrink further against the wall.

“He was. But Heather got the kids. I got him.”

Go back to ignoring me. Please.

“I’m glad,” TJ said. “That means we get to have fun.”

Jesse briefly closed his eyes in defeat.

“What did you have in mind?” Michaelson asked.

TJ shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I’ve got this.” Jesse paled when he pulled a knife from his pocket. He spun the thin blade around, gauging Jesse’s reaction. “You mind if we cut him up a little?”

Mr. Bakeman shook his head, taking a drink. “Long as he doesn’t die for now.”

Jesse’s breath picked up.

“He gonna stay still?” Michaelson asked.

Mr. Bakeman reached out an arm for his pet. “C’mere.”

Jesse’s legs moved on their own. He wanted nothing more than to stand in the corner all night long, totally and completely ignored. He should’ve figured he wouldn’t get to have that. He stood awkwardly in front of his master, eyes on the blade next to him.

He gasped in surprise as Mr. Bakeman grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto his lap, holding him flush against his hips.

Jesse’s heart stuttered in his chest. Tears stung his eyes and poured down his cheeks.

Oh please don’t do that please don’t do that PLEASE don’t do that –

Mr. Bakeman pressed Jesse’s right hand flat against the table and pinned down his wrist. He wrapped his other arm around Jesse’s torso, palm heavy over his quick heartbeat.

Sweat slid down Jesse’s forehead, mixing with his terrified tears and stinging his eyes. He didn’t dare close them though, instead training them on the blade that progressively got closer and closer to his hand. He pulled weakly against his master’s grip.

TJ swooped the knife closer and closer to Jesse’s splayed out hand like an airplane. 

It reminded Jesse of how he would feed the infants in the Facility daycare, or how he’d try to get Harper to take her medicine when she was really little. He missed when that was all he did.

The point brushed against his skin and he whimpered out loud.

“What’s this?” TJ asked. He circled the cigarette burn on Jesse’s hand with the blade. “I asked you a question, pet.”

Jesse managed to unclench his jaw. His voice shook. “Cigarette burn.”

“Oh? From dear old Brian here?”

He shook his head. Four times. “No, Sir.”

“Who then?” He removed the knife and Jesse sighed in hesitant relief.

Mr. Bakeman breathed softly against his neck. “The witch did it.”

Jesse screamed, bucking against his master’s grasp as TJ plunged the knife through his hand and into the table. Blood pooled around and under his hand, soaking the dark wood.

The men around him howled in laughter at his pain. Mr. Bakeman stood suddenly, sending Jesse to his knees. He screamed, vision going dark as the sudden movement jostled his hand in the worst way.

“Make him scream again,” Michaelson said. He reached out for the handle, but Mr. Bakeman stopped him.

“No, no. Watch this.” He smiled maliciously, turning toward his shivering, bleeding mess of a pet. “Pet,” he said slowly, “pull out the blade.”

Jesse sobbed, pressing his forehead against the edge of the table. He shook his head. “Master, please… Don’t make me –” 

“I am.” He stood back and folded his arms, taking a drag off his nearly forgotten cigarette. The ash was hanging off nearly an inch long.

If it fell, would that be enough to start a house fire?

“None of us are going to take it out. You could sit there all night long. It’s up to you.”

Bile rose in Jesse’s throat and he was again grateful that he had been too worried to eat all day. The smell of his own blood filled his nostrils and made his stomach flip over and over. Pain radiated in waves from his hand through what felt like his entire body.

He looked at the men through tear filled eyes, trying in vain to plead with them. He was only met with a strange, sickening, cold enthusiasm.

Why does it bring them this much joy to watch someone else in pain?

Jesse braced himself against the table and pushed off his heels. His arm throbbed with

the effort to keep as still as possible. His legs trembled beneath him, so violently that Jesse feared he would collapse and rip his hand through the knife. He focused on not doing that at all costs.

“If you take too long we can always add another…” Michaelson threatened idly.

The excitement on their faces was enough to make him sob.

Jesse took a deep breath and heaved himself to his feet. His eyes went dark again, the thought of ripping his hand flashing through his mind once more. His vision thankfully cleared and he leaned heavily on the table, knees locked.

The men jeered and taunted but Jesse tuned them out. He watched his left hand tentatively wrap around the blade, holding back a scream. Tears poured down his face and he tried one last time to beg the man with his eyes. He didn’t even know why he tried.

Jesse closed his eyes and tore the knife from his hand.

His scream was deafening. He held his injured hand close to his chest, soaking his sweater. There was so much blood. There aren’t any arteries in the hand, right? Could it be possible he hit one anyway? No. Maybe? Oh there was so much blood.

Mr. Bakeman patted him on the shoulder. He knelt next to his pet and whispered in his ear.

“Not too bad for your first time.”

Jesse thought he had never been more miserable. He knew now that it had only been the beginning.

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