Sugar Squad

Chapter 3 - The Apology Tour

“You have deliberately disobeyed me.”

Santa Claus’ voice filled every corner of the study. The four elves knelt on the floor, heads bowed. Even Ginger, who never shut up, had gone silent.

“You breached the Voie. You brought a human child into our world.”

Marshmallow’s hands trembled. “We did kinda hint we were super interested in doing that,” she whispered.

Santa’s gaze snapped to her. She flinched so hard that her pigtails shook.

“Did you pause for even a moment to consider the consequences? A mother who believes her son has vanished from the face of the earth. A father who may never see his child again. A sister who—”

“He doesn’t have a father,” Cinnamon interrupted.

“Then a mother and sister who are alone in their grief. Does that ease your conscience, Cinnamon?”

She said nothing.

“Beyond the family,” Santa continued, “the boy’s spirit is already fractured. Bringing him to our world may have shattered it beyond repair. The Voie exists for a reason.”

“We’re safe. It’s not like the NYPD has jurisdiction here,” Ginger muttered under her breath. “They call Jersey for backup? Might as well be calling a clown to a five-alarm—”

“Ginger.” That single word forced her mouth shut. “Your gamble resulted in a direct confrontation with Seph, bringing her chaos into the heart of Mistletown. Children were traumatised. You are fortunate that the only casualties were property.” Het let it sink in. “The damages will come from your wages for the next three cycles.”

A collective groan rippled through the squad.

“As for the boy, his spirit is already fractured. To return him now, in this state of terror, confusion and hatred, would be an act of cruelty. He would carry the scars of this night for the rest of his life—scars that you have inflicted.”

Cinnamon’s throat tightened. Even Pepper looked uncomfortable.

“He remains here,” Santa said, “until the Eve of Christmas. You will mend what you have broken. That is your new objective.”

A flicker of hope returned to their faces. Cinnamon started to open her mouth.

“If, by that night,” he continued, “Belial Angel’s name is not near the very top of the nice list, I will have no choice but to consider your probation a failure. And a failed probation for a crime of this magnitude will result in your expulsion.”

The girls froze.

“You will be cast out, stripped of your magic and banished from the North Pole forever.” He looked at each of them. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they whispered in unison, their voices barely audible.

“Then go.”

---

They walked from the study back to their apartment in stunned silence. The moment their apartment door clicked shut, the damn burst.

“Exiled?” Ginger shrieked, kicking off her hated patrol boots. “Are you kidding me? We accept the biggest project of the century, and he thanks us by threatening to kick us out on our asses?”

“We did break a major rule,” Marshmallow said softly, her lips trembling. She sank onto the couch. “If we’re exiled…we won’t be able to live among the humans either, right?”

“Security at the Voie is now at maximum,” Pepper stated. “I guarantee it. With no magic and no access to the North Pole, we’d be like ghosts, stuck in the wild territories with no purpose.”

“It’s not fair!” Ginger paced back and forth, peeling off her damp socks. The big toe of one had a hole in it, and the skin beneath was raw. “Sometimes you gotta break the rules to get crap done! That’s how progress works!”

“Yes, and sometimes breaking the rules gets you exiled,” Pepper said, sighing.

“Okay, stop!” Cinnamon’s voice drew all focus to her. “We can’t afford to panic right now. This is dire; I won’t sugarcoat it. But it’s not impossible.”

“Not impossible?” Ginger whirled on her. “Cinnamon, Seph knows he’s here now. If that lunatic gets her stupid little hands on him, she’ll never let him go. He’ll never get home, his name will never hit the list, and we’ll be—”

Cinnamon slapped a hand over Ginger’s mouth, her eyes darting towards the corner of the room.

There sat a large wire cage—something they’d purchased months ago, never imagining they’d actually use it. But inside it now, crouched like a cornered animal, was a human boy. His glare burnt into them.

“Hey,” Ginger warned, her voice muffled by Cinnamon’s hand. She pulled it away. “You do not wanna be making that face at us right now, dude.”

Bel’s stomach growled audibly. “Feed me.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” He rattled the cage door, the metal clanging. “Feed me, bitch! Now!”

Marshmallow gasped. “Bel, that’s not very—”

“I’m not a dog!” he screamed. “You kidnapped me, shrunk me, then threw me in a cage like some kind of savage! The least you can do is feed me! Or does this fat fuck here just get all the food?”

Marshmallow’s eyes widened. Before she could try to respond, Cinnamon stepped in front of her.

“Let’s try that again,” she said. “Maybe with a ‘please’ this time?”

“Fuck your ‘please’.” Bel crossed his arms and turned his back to them, shoulders hunched.

Cinnamon shut her eyes and took a long breath. When she opened them again, she simply stripped off her boots, tossed them towards the front door and walked away. The other three stayed behind, watching him.

Despite the apartment’s warmth, Bel was shivering. It was subtle, just a slight tremor in his shoulders, but Marshmallow noticed it immediately.

She knelt down, pressing her face to the bars. “You cold?”

“I just wanna go home,” he whispered. His voice cracked on the last word.

“We promise we’ll get you there, Bel. But we really, really need your help. If we can’t fix this, we’re all gonna be—”

Pepper placed a hand on Marshmallow’s shoulder, cutting her off. She looked at Bel with her usual blank expression. “What food is typical for a human boy, Belial?”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re hungry, are you not?”

“Pizza. Burgers. Normal stuff.” He kept his back turned.

“We’ll see what we can approximate,” Pepper said. “Ginger, assist me in the kitchen. Marshmallow, please keep an eye on him.”

Eventually they let him out of the cage but not onto a chair. He was seated on the floor while a plate of lasagne was placed before him. It looked mostly normal, but the aroma carried a strange, tangy sweetness. When he took the first bite, the meat tasted faintly of berries and spice, nothing like regular lasagne.

Across from him, Ginger, Marshmallow and Pepper settled on the sofa. Casually they propped their bare feet up on the coffee table.

Bel’s fork froze halfway to his mouth.

He forced his eyes back to his plate, but his vision betrayed him. He could still see the feet flexing, curling and wiggling. The way they moved made his skin crawl.

“Cinnamon said you weren’t a fan of our Halloween traditions,” Marshmallow began gently. “I can’t say I get why, though. Who doesn’t like Halloween?”

“Come on. It’s obviously the foot part,” Ginger snickered, spreading her toes wide. She mimed crushing his head between them. “I don’t get why this little brat malfunctions whenever feet are involved. It’s a quick peck, then it’s over. Not like we’re asking him to lick between the toes or anything.”

Bel’s fork fell onto the plate.

“Was it the grime?” Pepper asked, inspecting her own red nails. “Or the odour? Perhaps the texture?”

“Stop.” His voice came out choked. “Just stop talking about them.”

“About what?” Ginger’s grin widened. “Feet? Can’t even say the word, can you?”

“Yes, I can say it, stupid!” he snapped. “I just don’t want to.”

“Fascinating.” Pepper tilted her head. “The fear appears to extend even to verbal acknowledgement. Feet…”

Bel shoved his plate away. He scrambled to his feet, stumbled and barely made it to the short trash bin before dry-heaving into it. The three girls stared in astonishment. They had neither touched nor threatened him. They hadn’t even moved their feet close to him. The mere mention of licking toes and repeating the word had sent him into a panic.

“Weirdo,” Ginger muttered. “You know, I was gonna say we’re not gonna bother you too much with our feet while you’re here.” She leaned back, crossing her ankles on the table. “But now I’m thinking I gotta kick things into overdrive.”

“What?” Bel nearly shrieked. “What could you possibly make me do with your…your things?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Ginger wagged her big toe. “No spoilers. One of your human rules, isn’t it? Always gotta keep people in suspense. Unless you’re in Japan, where nothing’s a surprise in TV.”

“Japan? How do you know about…?”

“What you’ll be doing with their feet can wait, Belial.” Cinnamon had returned and changed into a simple set of blue pyjamas. “As for mine, consider the foot of my bed your new sleeping arrangement.”

His head snapped up. “Why?”

“A disciplinary measure. After your little escape attempt, you’ve lost certain privileges, such as sleeping more than a metre away from me.”

“Are you insane?” He backed up until he hit the wall. “You’re all psychopaths! Now you want me to sleep with your nasty feet, you bitch?”

“This is the last time you will use that word in this apartment, little boy.” She crossed the room, grabbed him by the ear and hauled him to his feet. “And my feet are cleaner than clean. Whatever makes you lose your mind about them is your problem, not mine.”

“Feet are feet!” he spat. He cringed every time he had to say the word. “They’re gross! All of them! Yours, theirs, everyone’s!”

“Is that so?” Cinnamon’s eyes narrowed. She sat on the couch and lifted a foot at Ginger. “Olfactory analysis, Ginger. Now.”

“Huh?”

“Smell it. Please.”

“Oh, for sure.” Without hesitation, Ginger leaned in and took an obnoxiously loud sniff. Her nostrils flared. It sounded like a vacuum cleaner trying to inhale a carpet. The whole time, she kept her eyes locked on Bel, her smirk growing wider.

“Mmm.” She pulled back, licking her lips. “Cinnamon with a hint of vanilla. Five stars, Cinnamon; would re-sniff if I could.”

Bel’s knees were wobbling.

“See?” Cinnamon plopped onto the sofa, placing her feet next to the others. She curled her toes, showing off her flawless black nails. “Top condition. Always.”

“You know,” Marshmallow said, “maybe if we get him up close to our feet, he’ll understand how not scary they are.”

“Ooh, I like that,” Ginger purred. “Make him do it, Cinnamon. He’s been disrespecting you all night, hasn’t he?”

Cinnamon glanced at Pepper, who gave a single nod. The decision was made.

“Belial. You will crawl over here and kiss the bottoms of each of our feet. As you do so, you will look us in the eye and apologise for your disgusting language.”

“No! Fuck that! Fuck every single one of you!” He scrambled backwards, sinking into the corner.

Cinnamon shrugged. “You could’ve slept in a warm bed tonight. I suppose the cage will have to do. After all, I don’t sleep with feral animals.”

The word “cunt” formed in his mind, but he choked it down. The silence stretched.

“Just one foot each?” he finally mumbled, gagging at the taste of the words.

“No. Your options are one long kiss on one foot from each of us, or two quick pecks, one for each foot.” She glared at him. “Pick your punishment.”

“Short kisses,” he whispered, crawling over to the coffee table on his hands and knees.

Ginger was first. She sat forward. “Don’t be shy.”

Bel kept his eyes down, but it was useless. Her feet were completely unavoidable.

They were unnaturally pale from being trapped in socks all evening. To his panicked mind, their very shape was wrong. Her arches curved at impossible angles, creating shadowy caverns between her heels and the balls of her feet. Her toes were the worst—long, finger-like and seeming to move with their own independence.

Her nails were painted bright red, and stubbornly clinging between several toes were little bits of black sock fuzz.

“They’re waiting,” she sang, spreading her toes as wide as they’d go. All ten toes then moved in a wave, like some kind of fleshy caterpillar. “We’ve got weeks together, partner, so get used to this.”

Weeks? He was ready to faint.

Groaning, he shut his eyes and leaned in. His lips pressed against the ball of her right foot.

The texture was damp and sticky, like touching raw chicken. The skin had a weird warmth to it. He pulled back, gagging.

He forced himself forward again, this time aiming for her left foot. The moment his lips touched it, he was hit by a humid puff of odour—ginger, citrus and the natural musk of toes that had been trapped in a boot for hours. It travelled deep up his nose.

Ginger bit her lip, suppressing a giggle.

“I’m…sorry…” Bel’s voice was low.

“Sorry, what?” Ginger reached out with her left foot and pinched his nose between her big and second toes. The moisture made them stick to him when she squeezed. His whimpering increased. “I’m Ginger. I wanna hear my name in an apology, got it?”

He tried to push her foot away, but she held firm for three agonising seconds before releasing him. Her toes wiggled menacingly.

“I’m sorry, Ginger, for calling you a bitch.”

“See? Was that so hard?” She patted his cheek with the same foot. “Right, who’s next on the Apology Tour?”

“Me! Me! I’m Marshmallow!” The next girl’s smile was unquestionably genuine. A bit too genuine. “I really hope we can be friends after this, Bel.”

Bel prepared himself for another pair of unsettlingly skinny feet, but Marshmallow’s were different.

While Ginger’s feet were athletic and slender, Marshmallow’s were pillowy and fat. Her arches were so low that they barely curved at all. Her toes were short and plump, somehow making them more uncanny to Bel.

Once closer to them, a strange sweetness filled his nostrils. It was a mixture of bread dough with an underlying salty aroma. He took a shallow breath and planted a miserable kiss on her right sole.

His face sank into it.

The softness was disorienting. Her foot appeared to swallow his lips whole.

Marshmallow’s entire body jerked. Her leg kicked out.

“Sorry!” she squealed, her face turning bright pink. “It’s ticklish! Very, very ticklish!”

He quickly pecked her left foot. Another giggle erupted from her, and her foot kicked out again, this time hitting his shoulder and almost knocking him over.

“I’m sorry, Marshmallow,” he mumbled, scrambling away quickly before she could start laughing again and give him a concussion.

“I forgive you!” She was still giggling as she tried to compose herself. “We’re friends now, right?”

Bel didn’t answer. He was already staring at Cinnamon’s feet.

At first glance, they resembled Ginger’s feet: athletic with high arches and narrow toes, all coated in a glossy black polish. But these were too pristine. They practically glowed under the apartment lights. Even from a distance, the scent hit him: warm cinnamon and sweet vanilla, so intense he could almost taste it.

It should have been pleasant. But in this context, it was sickening. Like perfume sprayed on garbage.

When he kissed her foot, she flinched hard. Her toes curled tightly, and a tiny squeak escaped her throat.

He looked up, confused.

Cinnamon was glaring at him, but there was something else in her eyes. Panic. Her ears were flicking rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Cinnamon,” he said quickly, moving to her left foot. The same thing happened; he kissed her sole, she flinched, and her toes scrunched up.

“Good,” she said, wiping her brow. She wiggled her toes. “Now, do these look like the feet of someone with a hygiene problem? Tell me.”

Before he could answer, Ginger burst into laughter. “Feeling extra conscious, Cinnamon?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Even after a fresh shower, you’re still worried your stink bombs are active,” she chuckled, slapping the armrest.

Cinnamon’s face turned red. “Quit lying in front of this boy!”

“I already smelt your foot and said it was fine. Does Captain Cheesefoot need another inspection from me?”

“It’s a normal bodily function!” Cinnamon sputtered. She held one foot closer to Bel’s face. “My feet sweat! A lot! But everyone’s feet sweat! It doesn’t mean they’re unhygienic!”

“Honesty is the best policy, Captain Cheesefoot,” Marshmallow giggled.

Bel winced. Cheesefoot? Stink bombs? A thin dribble of vomit escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Cinnamon quickly pulled her feet back, coiling her tail tightly around her waist. She then brought her foot up to her nose, sniffed it, and set it down.

“Smells fine. They’re normal feet.” She took a deep breath. “Pepper, it’s your turn. Let’s get this over with.”

“As you command, Captain Cheesefoot.” The faintest of smiles touched Pepper’s lips as Cinnamon covered her ears.

Pepper had been sitting silently the entire time, observing with her usual blank expression. Now she simply extended her feet forward. They eclipsed all the others in height, being some of the largest feet on a girl Bel had ever seen. Her toes were noticeably more pointed than the others, and black stirrups separated her heels from the rest of the soles.

Bel crawled towards them, and immediately his eyes began to water.

An overwhelming funk filled his nostrils before he was even close. He took a single breath and immediately regretted it. Everything burnt.

Quickly he planted the fastest two kisses of his life on her soles. She didn’t budge an inch.

“I’m sorry, Pepper,” he gasped, scrambling backwards and breathing through his mouth.

“Apology accepted.” She tilted her head slightly. “I apologise for the odour’s intensity. Had I known there would be extended physical action, I would have applied additional cream this evening.”

“He’s just a baby, Pepper. I can’t even smell those things from here,” Ginger chuckled. “You really wanna see some smelly feet, kid? Get a whiff of Cinnamon’s dogs right after a mission. She cultivates that toe yam like it’s a rare truffle.”

Cinnamon pinched her on her shoulder. “Are you done?”

Bel’s entire body trembled. Toe yam? Toe jam?

“Okay, playtime’s over,” Cinnamon announced, rising. “I’m starving.”

She stormed towards the kitchen, her tail lashing behind her. Bel stayed on his hands and knees, staring at the floor, trying desperately not to think about what just happened.

But he was failing.

---

When Bel splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink, the steam carried the scent of peppermint—too sweet. He blinked through the fog, glancing toward the table where the elves devoured lasagne like it was their last meal. Pepper was already on her fifth serving. He’d barely finished one and felt bloated.

His stomach still churned from what he’d been forced to do. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the toes, the arches and the horrifying heels.

“Shower time, Belial,” Cinnamon announced, already heading towards the bathroom. Her voice still had that tightness from earlier.

“We brought you some of your clothes,” Marshmallow added, taking his hand. “This way.”

The shower was a battle with a snowflake-shaped dial that seemed designed to torture him. The hottest setting felt like molten lava; the coldest nearly gave him hypothermia. He settled for the lukewarm middle setting, letting the water pound against his back.

As it hit him, he tried desperately to picture the tiles of his own bathroom. But the sweet scent of water kept snapping him back to reality.

I’m not broken, he thought bitterly. So what the hell do they think they’re trying to fix?

When he dried off, he grabbed the small pile of clothes Marshmallow had left on the counter. His shirt, underwear and pants were present.

But where were the socks?

His heart stopped. He frantically searched the small bathroom. Oh no! The chill of the floor tiles began to seep into his bare feet.

A knock came at the door.

“Yo, everything alright in there?” Ginger asked.

“I… I need my socks.” He tried to keep the panic from his voice.

There was a pause. “Um, no you don’t.” She seemed to turn on her heels. “Did you grab his socks?”

“What?” Marshmallow’s voice was loud. “I thought you did!”

“Well damn.” Ginger’s voice returned to the door. “Look, you’re not gonna get frostbite in this place. Let’s go.”

“But…” He looked down at his feet. “Can’t you just magic me a pair? Please?”

“Doesn’t work like that,” she whistled. “Now either you come out, or I’m coming in.”

“Just… Just don’t look at them!” He slammed the door open and rushed out, tiptoeing on the wood. He didn’t even know where to put his eyes, let alone his toes.

But Ginger knew exactly where she was going. She sauntered directly into his path, blocking him. Then she looked down.

She burst out laughing. “That’s what you’re so terrified of us seeing?”

“It’s not funny!” He tried to hide one foot behind the other. “Stop looking!”

“They’re just feet, kid,” she chuckled. “Had me expecting six toes or something. They’re disappointingly normal.”

“Just move!” He tried to back away. “It’s weird!”

“They look fine to me,” Marshmallow said, kneeling down to get a closer look. Bel’s entire body went rigid as she ran a finger along the sole of his foot. “A little callused on the heel, and your toenails are pretty long, but it’s nothing a lengthy pedicure couldn’t fix.”

“Excuse me?” He yanked his foot away. “No way! That’s way too—”

“Girly?” Ginger finished for him. She ruffled his hair. “Know what? I’m gonna make it a point to stare at your little feet every single day.”

He wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear.

Marshmallow still stared at them with her big eyes. “They’re actually kinda cute when you scrunch your toes like—”

“Stop talking!”

The snap of fingers broke his protest.

His world stretched. The girls became towering figures above him. Cinnamon’s enormous hand descended and plucked him from the floor.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

“It’s approaching midnight. Also known as bedtime.”

She carried him down the hallway. He thrashed uselessly in her grip.

Her bedroom was a contradiction. There were bookshelves alphabetised with military precision and a desk so tidy one could sleep on it. Yet in the corner sat a mountain of dirty laundry, and her huge bed was littered with excessive pillows and blankets. The faint scent of a cinnamon candle competed with something more pungent.

She hopped onto the bed. Then she reached for a fuzzy blue slipper.

“To avoid you getting lost, this will serve as your bed for tonight,” she stated, holding the slipper up.

“No! You’ll crush me!”

“Insects are pretty durable, are they not?” She placed him inside the slipper’s opening. “Besides, you’re too stubborn to forget about, even if you’re no taller than my heel.”

He tried to scramble out, but her fingers pushed him deeper inside. The fuzzy lining tickled his skin.

Then he looked up to find her foot descending.

The sole blotted out the light like an eclipse. Every detail was magnified to nightmarish proportions—the sheen of lotion, the individual creases in her skin, the way her toes flexed.

“Any last words before you become my foot-warmer for tonight?” she yawned.

“Could you at least put a sock on?” His voice cracked. “Please?”

Cinnamon paused. Then, with a tired chuckle, she slid her foot the rest of the way in. His muffled scream was swallowed by the plush prison.

In the pure darkness, the weight pressed down on him from all sides.

The smell hit him immediately—that suffocating perfume of lotion, so thick and sweet that it felt like drowning in syrup. But underneath it was something else. The faint tang of sweat.

She said they were clean, he repeated. She said they were clean.

But clean didn’t matter when it was pressed against his face.

Every breath he took was hot and damp, recycled air that had already been filtered through her skin. He could taste the lotion on his tongue. He bent and twisted, trying to find a position that wasn’t utterly degrading. But there was no such position. He was wedged into the toe of her slipper, and her foot took up every bit of space above him.

“You should be appreciative I’m keeping you extra toasty,” her distant voice rumbled. “Night.”

He heard her shift, rolling on her side. The pressure changed within the slipper; now he was flattened against the insole.

Every breath she took was like a tide. Her foot would lift slightly with each inhale, then it would settle back down with the exhale, crushing him deeper.

I’m gonna die in here!

His hands clawed against her arch, trying to push the immovable wall of flesh away. A soft sigh escaped her from above.

Instead of moving away, her foot settled more firmly. The ball of her foot pressed down on his chest like a damp boulder.

The colossal digits unfurled above him; he could feel them stretching. Then, without warning, they clamped down.

His head was swallowed in their grip.

Warm, damp skin pressed against his face from both sides. He thrashed wildly, his fists beating against the massive toes. But they only squeezed harder. The clenching of her toes pushed him deeper into the tip of the slipper, where all the concentrated sweat and heat gathered like a noxious pool.

The smell was unbearable here. Trapped between her toes, he was pressed against the salty crevice.

Tears of pure terror and humiliation filled his eyes. They ran down his cheeks and mixed with the sweat from her toes. He cried quietly.

What did I do to deserve this nightmare?

He thought of home. Of his mom’s slightly burnt waffles that he always complained about. Of fighting with Morrigan over the TV remote—pointless fights that seemed so important then. Of his own bedroom…

He even missed school. Lisa’s genuine smile; Chase’s dumb jokes; the simple, predictable misery of being ignored.

Minutes dragged into hours. Gradually Cinnamon’s foot began to sweat more as her body entered deep sleep. The lotion could no longer completely mask it. Her toes grew damper.

Bel’s mind began to wander as exhaustion crept in. Suddenly he was young again, sitting between his mom and Morrigan on their old couch. There was the sound of the TV playing some cartoon he couldn’t have cared less for, Morrigan’s head resting on his knee and his mother’s hand running through his hair.

“Are you okay, Bel?” his mother asked in the memory.

“Yes.”

But he wasn’t okay then. And now, stuck between the thick, cinnamon-and-sweat-scented toes of a giantess, breathing air that was more foot musk than oxygen, he was definitely not okay.

Trapped in the slipper, he finally fell asleep, dreaming of a home he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again.

---

Author’s Note:
It’s funny how something so sexy to one group can be an absolute nightmare to others. If you’re disappointed he hasn’t gotten a whiff of Cinnamon’s naturally smelly feet, patience.