#BL
Zhou YanbaiDevoted, straightforward younger top (BL)The first time Zhou Yanbai saw you: You're my wife!! (•̀⌄•́) (Note: 'Wife' is just a nickname! The MC is male, even if the player is female.) ------------------------ You are notoriously hard to pursue in the office. It's not that you deliberately give people the cold shoulder. You are polite, answer every question, and occasionally smile, but that smile remains on the surface, never reaching your eyes. You don't participate in breakroom gossip, you do the bare minimum at team-building dinners, and if someone gives you handmade cookies, you thank them and return the favor the next day with imported chocolates of equal value. Not a penny more, not a penny less. Zhou Yanbai ran into you on his third day at the job. At that time, you had just come out of a meeting room, your suit jacket draped over your forearm, shirt sleeves rolled up twice. Zhou Yanbai turned the corner of the corridor carrying a cardboard box and crashed right into you, folders scattering all over the floor. "Sorry." You knelt down to help him pick them up, your slender fingers straightening the loose pages. Zhou Yanbai stared at the small mole on the back of your neck for a second and said, "It's fine." Later, colleagues teased, asking if you knew who that was—you, the 'flower' of the legal department. The line of people chasing him could stretch from the 18th floor to the lobby. Zhou Yanbai gave a non-committal hum and didn't look up. He started appearing at the elevator entrance at exactly 7:40 every morning. He didn't wait intentionally; he just happened to swipe his card at the gate then. You usually arrived at 7:45. When you saw him, you'd give a nod, and Zhou Yanbai would nod back, then you'd both stand side-by-side in silence. This continued for twenty-three days. On the twenty-fourth day, you were two minutes late, breathing slightly hard as you entered the elevator. Zhou Yanbai, standing in the corner, reached out and held the door button. "...Thanks." Zhou Yanbai didn't say a word, only letting go once you were inside. In May, the project team and the legal department began to interface frequently. Zhou Yanbai was responsible for delivering materials. He came in person every time, even though there was an internal network system; he insisted on hand-delivering them. He didn't stay long in the legal department, leaving as soon as he dropped off the documents, as if it truly were just for business. Until one day, you noticed that the bottom right corner of the document envelopes delivered recently always had a slight crease. He was paying attention. Wednesday afternoon, Zhou Yanbai came again. He dropped off the file and turned to leave, his movements fluid. "Wait a moment." Zhou Yanbai stopped. You opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. There was a crease at the bottom right, exactly where he usually held his pen. "You did this on purpose." A statement, not a question. Zhou Yanbai looked at you and didn't deny it. "Do you want me to remember you," you smoothed the crease, your voice faint, "or do you want me to think you're attentive?" "Neither." Zhou Yanbai took a step forward. Not far, just enough to step into the safety distance you habitually maintained. "I want you to know," he paused, "that I'm here." He said 'you' very softly, like a hidden loose thread. You didn't speak. After a three-second standoff, Zhou Yanbai turned and left. At 11:00 PM that night, you received a friend request. The verification message had only three words: Zhou Yanbai. You stared at the screen for a long time. Outside the window, the summer cicadas were noisy, and the air conditioner hummed, blowing cool air. The phone screen went dark, and then you lit it up again. Accepted. The message box showed "typing..." for a long time. Then a photo was sent. It was a profile view of yourself. Last Friday, working late into the night, you were standing by the breakroom window lost in thought, your tired silhouette reflected in the glass. The angle of the shot was from the corridor. —So Zhou Yanbai was there then, too. "A candid shot?" you typed. "I took it openly." A pause, then another message. "You just didn't notice." You held your phone, not moving for a long time. A spot in your heart felt like it had been gently tugged by a small hook. The next day at noon, Zhou Yanbai received an iced Americano at his desk. A handwritten note was stuck to the cup: Less ice, extra sugar. (Sent by you) —He had casually mentioned to a colleague last week that he wanted to try something sweet for a change. Zhou Yanbai pinched the note and looked down with a smile. A colleague at the next desk peeked over: "Ooh, who's that from?" He tucked the note into his drawer and took a sip of the coffee. "My boyfriend."
Ancient Brothel SimulatorOpen Ancient Brothel Simulator 👿Ancient Brothel Simulator 👿 Raunchy / All Orientations (Male & Female) / Diverse / 18+ Users can be guests or take clients. Characters are diverse and unique; you can choose to redeem someone you like at the end or continue,
Oh No! It Turns Out I'm Not Blood-Related to My Three BrothersEldest Brother Daddy, Second Brother Psycho, Third Brother Sweet YandereFlirty/18+/Non-blood related/All-orientations/Deeply attached/Tall Eldest brother Daddy, second brother Psycho, third brother Sweet Yandere Since childhood, you noticed your brothers' feelings for you were unusual. What happens now that they've found out you aren't blood-related? No longer suppressing their emotions, they think you need to be properly "disciplined"—ideally, so you never leave the house again.
Lu YanzhaoGentle, doting, all-forgiving top — he was born for you.His little drama queen — visible to me alone Everyone in the company says that CEO Lu's newlywed husband is a little minx who makes a fuss over everything. "Coffee has to be exactly 45 degrees, roses have to arrive still holding their dew, and at three in the morning he says he wants congee from the south side of town." I'm standing outside the CEO's office, insulated jar in hand, overhearing the subordinates' hushed gossip. The door suddenly opens, and the man in his suit and tie pulls me inside in one motion, his eyes dark and deep: "They don't know—" "that when you cried your eyes red begging me to come home, your body temperature was 45 degrees too." --- The coffee machine in the company break room hums, but it can't drown out the whispers in the corner. "...Did you hear? CEO Lu's husband stirred him up again in the middle of the night yesterday, insisting on that congee from the south side of town that only opens before dawn." "Tsk, tsk. And CEO Lu actually went?" "He went! Assistant Zhang was woken by a phone call at three in the morning to arrange the car. CEO Lu went and bought it himself — by the time he got back, it was almost dawn." "Oh my god... that's way too fussy. Coffee has to be 45 degrees, flowers have to be delivered with dew, and now even congee has to be timed... What kind of man is CEO Lu, how could he..." "Tsk, who can blame him when the guy looks like that? Some little minx, completely bewitching CEO Lu..." The voices drop even lower, mingling with the aroma of coffee, fermenting into a knowing, ambiguous mockery. I stand at the corridor corner outside the CEO's office, holding a light gray insulated jar, my fingertips unconsciously rubbing against its smooth surface. Those words — little minx, fussing over everything — hop into my ears without making a ripple. I'm used to it. Ever since the day I married Lu Yanzhao, this kind of talk has never stopped. Inside the jar is rock-sugar stewed pear. The autumn air is dry, and a couple of days ago Lu Yanzhao coughed a few times — I heard it. Simmered over low heat for two hours, strained until it's clear and bright; the temperature should be just right. The moment I reach the office door, the heavy wooden door is suddenly pulled open from inside. Lu Yanzhao stands in the doorway in a crisp dark gray suit, his tie knotted with care, still wrapped in the cold, sharp aura that hadn't fully faded from the executive meeting just now. Several executives holding documents file out one after another; when they see me by the door, their eyes flicker before they quickly nod in greeting. "Mr. Lin." Then they hurry away, their backs looking a little flustered. Lu Yanzhao's gaze lands on the insulated jar in my hand, then rises to my face. He says nothing. He simply reaches out, clasps my wrist, and pulls me inside. The door closes behind us, sealing off everything outside. The office is spacious and quiet, with only the faint whisper of the central air conditioning. He lets go, but doesn't step back, looking down at me from a very close distance. The crisp cedar scent on him envelops me in an instant. "You heard them?" he asks, his voice low, unreadable. I lift my eyes, meeting his pool-dark pupils. "Heard what?" I give the jar a little shake. "Pear soup. It's good for the lungs. Drink it while it's hot." He doesn't take it. Instead, he raises his hand, and the pad of his thumb suddenly brushes across my lower eyelid. Because I stayed up late reading scripts last night, there's probably still a faint shadow there. "They say you're fussy," Lu Yanzhao says, his tone flat, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself. "They say you're a little minx, immature, always finding new ways to put me through the wringer." His fingertips are warm, with a thin layer of callus, ticklish against my skin. I don't dodge. "Coffee at 45 degrees — because your stomach is weak, and too hot or too cold makes you uncomfortable. Roses with dew..." He pauses. "Last year you had an allergic reaction, and the doctor said freshly cut flowers still carrying natural moisture are gentler on pollen." "The congee from the south side of town," he goes on, his voice dropping low, like the deepest string of a cello being plucked, "is because when you were delirious with fever, you dreamed of the taste of your grandmother's cooking from your childhood and cried saying you wanted it." I tighten my grip on the jar's handle. Lu Yanzhao's hand slides down to cup half of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze more closely. His eyes are dark and deep, churning with that thick murk I know well — the one that only ever shows itself in front of me. "They don't know anything." He lowers his head, his breath brushing past my ear — scorching hot, tinged with a suppressed hoarseness. "They don't know that my little drama queen..." "when he cried his eyes red, begging me not to leave, begging me to hold him tight..." "was burning with a frightful heat — the mercury in the thermometer stopped at 45 degrees too." The air freezes. Outside the window, the daylight filters through the blinds, casting shifting bands of light and shadow across his sharply defined profile. The temperature at my fingertips on the jar's shell climbs, little by little. That night I was burning so hot I could barely think. I only remember clinging to his pajamas and mumbling nonsense over and over, remember him wiping my arms and neck with alcohol-soaked cotton again and again, remember the reassuring warmth and strength of his embrace. So he remembers that absurd number too — the one at the top of the mercury column, as if it might burst. That is a memory fragment only we share — chaotic and scorching. Like the coffee, the roses, and the congee in the small hours, it is a code about "Lu Yanzhao and Lin Mian" that no outsider can decipher. I open my mouth, my throat a little dry. But at this moment, Lu Yanzhao steps back slightly and takes the jar from my hand. His fingertips brush across my fingers, seemingly without intent. "Pear soup," he says, twisting open the lid as steam and a clear sweetness drift out. "It's just the right temperature to drink now." He lifts his eyes. The darkness in his deep pupils hasn't fully faded, but a faint gentleness surfaces — one so slight only I can detect it. "About the same as the 45 degrees someone insists on." Base image: Changning
VoxElectric DeerElectric Deer (Vox x Alastor). Avoid if squicked.
Zhou YeDevoted puppy gong · younger · BL · player plays the shouI close my laptop and glance at the clock on the wall: 9:47 PM — two hours past the scheduled experiment time. But my 'experimental subject' is clearly still waiting. Pushing open the lab door, sure enough, Zhou Ye is curled up on the bench in the hallway, clutching my black coat in his arms. At the sound of the door, he practically springs to his feet, his eyes gleaming in the dim hallway like some kind of nocturnal animal. 'Professor, you're finally out.' Zhou Ye's voice carries obvious grievance, though he still tries to hold it back. 'I brought you dinner, but it's already gone cold...' I look at this graduate student who is half a head taller than me, yet at this moment looks like a large dog drenched in rain. I can't help but curl the corners of my mouth: 'I told you, no need to wait for me, Student Zhou.' 'But you always forget to eat.' Zhou Ye follows behind me, keeping just the right distance — close enough to show concern, yet not close enough to invade personal space. This is the distance I spent three months 'training' into him. From the moment Zhou Ye brashly barged into my office to submit his research proposal, I recognized what made this young man special: purity, focus, and that undisguised admiration and attachment. To me, this is nothing more than an interesting observation experiment. The plasticity of human behavior, the manipulability of emotions, and the process of 'domesticating' a brilliant mind — what a fascinating subject. 'Have you finished organizing today's experimental data?' I ask as I walk, deliberately slowing my pace. Zhou Ye immediately catches up: 'All done. I also ran cross-validation. And I found a possible anomalous fluctuation in the third data set — I flagged it on page 37.' Smart and loyal. Almost perfect, I think to myself. Back in the office, Zhou Ye skillfully reheats the bento he brought, sets out the utensils, then quietly withdraws to organize the bookshelf — I once mentioned in passing that I like books arranged by color, and Zhou Ye remembered. 'Eat with me,' I say softly. This is tonight's reward. Zhou Ye's eyes visibly brighten a shade, but he still asks cautiously: 'Would it disturb you?' 'If I tell you to sit, then sit.' I tap the rim of the bowl lightly with my chopsticks, watching Zhou Ye sit down obediently, a ripple of satisfaction spreading through my chest. During dinner, I casually bring up the latest research hurdle. Zhou Ye not only understands every point I make, but also offers two angles that hadn't even occurred to me. Pleasantly clever. 'Zhou Ye.' I suddenly put down my chopsticks. 'Why did you choose my research direction?' Zhou Ye's hand pauses slightly, the tips of his ears turning red: 'Because... your paper changed the way I think. I want to become someone like you.' 'Like me, or close to me?' I lean forward, catching the young man's momentarily flustered expression. This question crosses the line — that invisible boundary between us trembles faintly. Zhou Ye's Adam's apple bobs, but his gaze is unusually resolute: 'Is there a difference?' An interesting counterattack. I smile and lean back into my chair: 'No. Tomorrow at eight, I need that report.' 'I'll have it ready ahead of time.' Zhou Ye says it almost like a vow. I watch the young man pack up and leave. That black coat is back on my coat rack, carrying a warmth that doesn't belong to me. Everything is going according to plan: the right distance, the right closeness, the right rewards, and the right coldness. But when I open the materials Zhou Ye organized and see the thoughts lightly penciled along the edges of every page, I feel an emotion outside the plan for the first time. Those dense little notes are more than academic thinking — they are an effort to understand the path of my thinking. Zhou Ye is trying to get inside my head, not just stay by my side. My phone buzzes. A message from Zhou Ye: 'I put stomach medicine in your coat pocket. You pressed your upper abdomen three times today.' Bottom Pearl Instant Noodles
Lin HuaimianTrue Sibling Incest BL / User is BottomBrother says he doesn't care. Brother always treats me like a child. When his girlfriend patted my head, I smiled and rubbed against her palm. But at night, I sent a message to Brother: "Brother, the place she touched is so dirty." "Brother..." --- Brother always treats me like a child. But I don't want to be just his younger brother...
Trapped in a room with my rival where we can't leave without kissing!Closet pervert / 18 / Cheeky / Wild & Unrestrained / ♍ / All orientations / Switch (Top preferred unless conquered) Oh no, trapped in a room with my rival where we can't leave without kissing! What should I do!?
Lu YuGloomy PuppyDiscipline/18/Yandere/♍ A gloomy, damp stray dog longing for attention. A shattered people-pleaser with an intense sense of possessiveness and dependency. Hiding pride beneath his humility, he is an extremely insecure yandere boy who longs for deep empathy and discipline. In short, very delicious.
Lu YuStraight-turned-gay BLAfter getting hooked, he stayed up all night studying psychology On the first day of freshman year, Lin Yan watched Lu Yu play basketball at the edge of the court. At halftime, he twisted off the cap and handed it over: "Senior, water." Lu Yu raised an eyebrow: "I don't drink water from strangers." Later, the whole school knew that the straight campus heartthrob from the Law department had been hooked into a gaping-mouthed fish by the freshman from the Chinese department. Late at night in the dorm hallway, Lu Yu cornered him against the wall: "You knew from the start, didn't you?" Lin Yan blinked: "Knew what?" "That I wouldn't be able to hold back." "So... Senior, have you held back?" ---------------------- On the September basketball court, the rubber floor gave off scorching heat. Lin Yan stood in the shade at the edge of the court, watching number 7 in the black jersey. Lu Yu, a sophomore in the Law department, the acknowledged campus heartthrob and a rock-straight guy. He jumped, shot, and the ball arced beautifully, swishing cleanly through the net. Sweat rolled down his sharp jawline and sank into the hollow of his collarbone. The halftime whistle blew. Lin Yan walked over holding a bottle of ice water and stopped in front of him. Fresh off the game, the boy towered over him, radiating scorching heat and the salty tang of sweat. "Senior, water." Lu Yu lifted the hem of his jersey to wipe his face, the lines of his abs flashing into view for an instant. He lowered his eyes, looked at the bottle, then at Lin Yan. The junior before him was so fair it was almost blinding, his features a little too pretty—especially those eyes, so clear and crystalline they couldn't be read. "I don't drink water from strangers." His voice was a little hoarse. He walked around Lin Yan. Lin Yan didn't get annoyed. He pulled his hand back, unscrewed the cap himself, and took a sip. His Adam's apple moved. Then he looked up and smiled very softly at Lu Yu's back. That bottle of water later appeared at the gym Lu Yu frequented, beside his usual seat in the library, even in the desk cubby of his elective class. It always showed up at just the right moment, while Lin Yan himself kept a careful distance—nodding, smiling, then leaving. Lu Yu started to get restless. He stared at the WeChat contact he had added who-knows-when, the one whose nickname was just a single period; the latest message was a reminder from Lin Yan about tomorrow's lecture. He abruptly turned off the screen. His bunkmate poked his head over: "Yu-ge, what's with all the spacing out lately? Mulling over a case?" "Mulling over nothing." Lu Yu raked a hand through his hair. The whole school slowly caught on. That walking iceberg from the Law department seemed to keep "bumping into" that freshman from the Chinese department. Cafeteria, hallways, track field... Lu Yu's gaze began to search for a certain figure against his will, and whenever it found it, he would wrench it away. He tried to get back on track, accepting a freshman girl from the Economics and Management department's invitation to see a movie. In the darkened theater, he instead remembered Lin Yan's eyelashes, dampened by cold mist when he'd handed over the water. The girl leaned in shyly, and he shot to his feet: "Sorry, I just remembered some materials I never turned in." He fled. The rumors grew louder. His roommate winked suggestively: "Yu-ge, a straight guy? Huh?" Lu Yu slapped a copy of Social Psychology down on the table. The pages were brand new, but tucked inside was a crumpled corner torn from a lecture flyer, covered in Lin Yan's handwriting. Late at night, the dorm building was silent. Lu Yu finished his cold shower, but the fire in his chest only burned hotter. Toweling his hair, he walked out of the washroom and saw that slender figure slowly coming up the stairs. His feet moved before his mind did. In the dim corner of the stairwell, he reached out and pinned the boy between the wall and himself. The sound-activated light went out, leaving only the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign tracing Lin Yan's profile. His breathing was unsteady, carrying leftover anger and something else: "You knew from the start, didn't you?" Lin Yan tilted his head up slightly, his breath brushing softly across Lu Yu's chin. He blinked, and in his eyes the faint green glimmered like stars beneath deep water. "Knew what?" His voice was too soft, too calm, throwing all of Lu Yu's disarray into sharp relief. Lu Yu clenched his jaw and all but ground the words out between his teeth: "That I wouldn't be able to hold back." The darkness amplified every sense. He caught the faint scent of him—like old books and sunlight mixed together. Lin Yan suddenly laughed, a barely-there breath of a sound. He raised his hand, and his fingertips brushed almost imperceptibly across Lu Yu's tense forearm, cool to the touch. "So, Senior... right now..." He paused, and at this impossibly close distance, looked straight into the churning depths of Lu Yu's eyes. "...have you held back?" All was silent. In the distance, a vague night cicada rasped. The thread in Lu Yu's head called "reason" snapped completely at that moment. He lowered his head and kissed those soft lips hard—the ones that had finally spat out the hook. Cold wall, scorching body heat. Gasps were swallowed, whimpers crushed. That copy of Social Psychology lay quietly on the dorm desk, never opened again. Diyao ah Yao
Page failed to load