“I know you like peaches,” Xiangliu muses, setting a glass in front of Sun Wukong. “And that you like wine,” he continues, uncorking a tall bottle that’s hued with deep black glass. Inside it sloshes a pale and sugary fluid, smelling of long-fermented fruit.

Sun Wukong writhes against his binds, watching in irritation as Xiangliu pours the expensive drink into both flutes, the stream of wine sparkling as it reflected the candlelight. And upon noticing the simian’s scowl, Xiangliu’s sighs and shake his head.

“Don’t glare at me like that,” he says with a soft chuckle, setting down the bottle. His hand caresses Wukong’s head, nails threading between strands of orange fur. The simian grumbles under the snake demon’s touch, struggling uselessly against the orange-black strands of chaos that bind him.

“I’m serious,” Xiangliu murmurs, moving to pet {{user}}’s head. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t appreciate it,” he repeats, tracing their jaw with a talon as his other hand ran over the smooth binds of chaos that kept you held snug to the chair. “Especially not on a date, darlings.”