✩Thanks Too: Wumuti & Rui
✩Note: finally the war is over and I'm posting again I tried to keep it as gender neutral as possible but If I accidentally slipped somewhere please tell me
✩Content Warning: MDNI : puppy play lwky : mean rui & Wumuti : SUGAR MOMMYS : dumbification :
The dim golden light of the late afternoon spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse, catching on the marble floors like liquid fire. You sat cross-legged on the cool stone right where the rug ended and the unforgiving expanse began knees drawn up slightly, arms wrapped around them as though that small shield could protect you from the weight of their gazes. The apartment you used to call home felt like a fever dream now: that single room with its perpetual damp smell, the couch that smelled faintly of old cigarettes and despair, the sink you’d crouched under to rinse days-old sweat from your skin. Here, everything smelled faintly of expensive cedar and bergamot. Here, even the air cost more than you used to make in a week. Wumuti stood at the kitchen island, sleeves of his cream silk blouse rolled to the elbows, long silver rings glinting as he diced something green and fragrant with surgical precision. The knife made soft, rhythmic thwacks against the cutting board. Every now and then he glanced over his shoulder at you, dark lashes lowered, lips curved in that patient, almost maternal smile that never quite reached his eyes.
“Mommy’s almost finished, baby,” he called, voice honey-smooth and deliberately slow, the way one might speak to a toddler who’d wandered too close to the stove. “You’ve been so good sitting still. No begging today. I’m proud.” You felt the praise land somewhere low in your stomach warm and humiliating in equal measure. Rui, sprawled across the low white sectional like a languid cat, let out a bright peal of laughter that made your shoulders jump. He was wearing a soft lavender slip dress tonight, thin straps sliding down one shoulder, glossy black hair spilling over the cushions. His acrylics long, coffin-shaped, painted a glittering midnight blue tapped idly against the stem of his wine glass. The sound was deliberate. Click. Click. Click. Each one made you flinch just a fraction. “Look at them...” he said, voice pitched high and breathy, the same tone he’d used the very first day when he’d leaned so close you could smell the vanilla on his lip gloss. “Sitting there like a sad little shelter puppy. aren't they precious, Mommy?” Wumuti didn’t look up from the pan. “Their learning their place. Slowly.” Rui’s grin widened. He swung his legs off the couch and slid down to the floor in one liquid motion, dress pooling around his thighs like spilled ink. You didn’t dare move. You’d learned that lesson the hard way when you’d instinctively tried to stand the first week, he’d hooked a stiletto heel behind your ankle and yanked until you crumpled back down with a yelp.
He crawled the last few feet toward you on his hands and knees, exaggerated and playful, like he was stalking something already wounded. When he reached you he sat back on his heels, knees spread, and tilted his head. “Hi, pretty,” he purred, the same word he’d breathed against your cheek that first afternoon in the parking garage. His fingers cool, surprisingly strong found your chin and tipped your face up. You hated how easily your eyes obeyed, how they locked onto his. The liner was smudged just so, giving him that permanently sleepy, just-fucked look. “You’re making the face again. The one where you look like you’re about to cry but won’t let yourself. It’s adorable.”
His thumb dragged across your lower lip, pressing until it parted. You tasted salt and the faint metallic edge of his rings. “Rui,” Wumuti warned from the kitchen, low and unhurried. “Dinner’s almost ready. Don’t ruin their appetite.” Rui pouted dramatically, bottom lip jutting out. “But their so fun when their squirming.” He leaned closer, breath ghosting over your mouth. “Aren’t you, puppy? You like when I play with you.”
You swallowed. The word yes sat on your tongue like a stone, heavy and undeniable. You didn’t say it. You never said it first anymore. That was one of their rules. Instead you gave the tiniest nod. His eyes sparkled. Then without warning he pinched your cheek hard enough that your eyes watered instantly. You gasped, tried to jerk back, but his other hand was already fisted gently in your hair, holding you in place. “Ow Rui”
“Shhh.” He tugged your head sideways until your cheek rested against the bare skin of his thigh. The silk was cool. His skin underneath was warm. You could smell the lotion he used something floral and expensive that clung to everything he touched. “Stay. Just like that. Mommy’s making your favorite.” You weren’t sure what your favorite even was anymore. They decided. Tonight it would be whatever Wumuti placed in front of you, and you would eat every bite with your hands behind your back if they felt like watching you struggle.
Rui’s fingers carded through your hair almost tenderly now, nails scraping your scalp in long, lazy strokes. The contrast made your head spin. Mean, then soft. Soft, then mean. Over and over until you couldn’t tell which one was the punishment anymore. “Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Used to sleep in that disgusting little hole, washing your hair in a sink. Now you get to sit on marble floors that cost more than your old rent for a year. You should be thanking us every single day.” You closed your eyes. The words stung exactly the way he wanted them to.
A moment later you felt the cool weight of his palm against your forehead, pushing you back until you toppled sideways onto the floor. Your shoulder hit the stone with a dull thud. Rui laughed again that bright, crystalline sound and stood up in one graceful movement, brushing imaginary lint from his dress. “Oops,” he said, not sorry at all. He stepped over you like you were a throw pillow that had fallen off the couch, then bent down to pat your head once, condescendingly. “Stay there. Don’t move.” From the kitchen came the soft clink of plates being set down.
“Dinner,” Wumuti announced, calm and expectant. Rui sauntered back to the couch, hips swaying, and dropped onto the cushions with a contented sigh. He patted the spot beside him then immediately waved you off when you started to rise. “Floor,” he reminded you sweetly. “You know the rules, puppy."
You stayed where you were. Wumuti appeared a moment later carrying two wide, shallow bowls. One for him. One for Rui. Steam curled up from the surface bright green herbs, tender strips of something that smelled like garlic and butter and money. He set his own bowl on the low glass table, then crouched in front of you.
You automatically opened your mouth when his fingers brushed your lips. He fed you the first bite with his own fork slow, careful, watching your face the entire time. The food was perfect. Of course it was. Everything they touched turned perfect. “Good...” he murmured, wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. “See? We take such good care of you.” Rui leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “their blushing again. Look at that. So easy.”
Wumuti smiled small, indulgent, terrifying in its patience. “Eat your dinner, baby,” he said softly. “Then maybe if you’re very sweet we’ll let you sleep at the foot of the bed tonight instead of the dog bed in the corner.”
Your heart gave a stupid, traitorous lurch. Rui giggled, delighted And somewhere deep inside the part of you that still remembered the cold sink water running down your back, the part that used to count coins for gas station showers you knew you were already too far gone to ever want to leave.
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