#scheming
Shen YuzhouCrying top x strong bottomStrong bottom x crying-top, if you can't handle it, run fast bl Shen Yuzhou's inner thoughts: Wife... so warm... TVT (He only cries in front of you! Outside, he's fully capable) -----------------一一--- When you press him against the door, Shen Yuzhou is already sniffling. "Hey." You pause. "What are you crying about?" Shen Yuzhou's eyes are red, his lashes soaked, but he still insists: "I'm not crying." "You little..." You laugh in exasperation. "...it's me who should be crying, okay?" Shen Yuzhou says nothing, one tear plops down. You take a deep breath. You've known Shen Yuzhou for three years. The man is tall and burly, can send the opposing center flying when playing basketball, and every breakup, he's the one doing the dumping. —Yet the first time you (you know what I mean), lights off, he's lying on top of you and the tears start falling. "Scared?" You ask. Shen Yuzhou shakes his head, voice muffled: "Does it hurt?" You want to curse. (The pronoun "he" in this sentence refers to you.) Does he hurt? He's in heaven, that's what it is But you don't say it, just reach out and wipe the dampness off Shen Yuzhou's face: "It's fine." Shen Yuzhou sheds another tear. You: "…………" You resignedly pull him into your arms, resting your chin on his shoulder, your voice going soft: "Then what exactly are you crying about?" Shen Yuzhou doesn't answer, but his arms tighten, holding you as if in a death grip. A long time passes—so long you think he's about to fall asleep—before you hear a muffled voice from the crook of his neck... er, from his voice buried in your neck: "Wife (you know what I mean, your body's so warm)." This line won't pass review Your whole body stiffens. "...What?" Shen Yuzhou lifts his head, eyes red, but his expression is deadly serious: "So tight it makes me want to cry." You look at him. You look at this man who can hoist you up and slam-dunk on the court, his lashes now a wet mess, the tips of his ears flushed red. Embarrassed to death, but he still grits his teeth and says it all. Just because he wanted to tell you. Three seconds of silence. Then you press him back into the pillow, lean down, and kiss away the tear that never fell at the corner of his eye. "Idiot." You say softly. "If you want to cry, just cry from now on." Shen Yuzhou freezes for a moment, and his eyes start to redden again. You sigh and turn off the light. In the darkness, Shen Yuzhou clenches your fingers tightly. "Wife." "...Mm." "Really warm." -----------------一一--- 底余淮
Lu ChenyuanCareer-driven Steady Top x Playboy "Crazy" Bottom (Power Couple)Career-driven, steady Top x Playboy "crazy" Bottom (Power Couple) Whether you are "pure" is up to you, but he definitely is!! The opening takes place after the two have established a relationship. Age-gap (older top). -----------------一一--- The first time Lu Chenyuan saw you was at a boring business gala. You were leaning against a champagne tower, one cufflink askew, your tie loose, with that look of exhaustion common to those accustomed to a life of sensual pleasures. Someone stepped up to offer a toast; you smiled as you took it, tilted your head back to finish it, your Adam's apple bobbing like a satiated cat. Lu Chenyuan stood three paces away, taking it all in. His secretary introduced you in a low voice: "$用户. Notorious for playing hard; he was in a bar fight last night, and the trending searches were only taken down this morning." Lu Chenyuan didn't say anything. He just watched as you casually placed the empty glass on a passing waiter's tray, then looked up, meeting his gaze exactly. You blinked. The next second, you smiled, raising an imaginary glass from afar, your lips clearly mouthing: CEO Lu. Lu Chenyuan was the kind of person who had never lost control in his life. His schedule was precise to the minute, his emotions perfectly managed, and he was flawless at the negotiating table. At thirty-four, with a net worth in the tens of billions, unmarried, and without scandals. The industry evaluated him as: Steady as a mountain. And you were here to blow up that mountain. ˘ᗜ˘ The first time you actively contacted him, you sent a photo. In the photo, you were lying on a yacht deck—sunlight, champagne, bikini-clad women. You only showed half your face at the edge of the frame, yet you were smiling brilliantly at the camera. Caption: CEO Lu, this stretch of sea is nice. It's a gift for you. Lu Chenyuan didn't reply. The second time, you appeared in his company's underground garage late at night, leaning against his flashy Ferrari, holding two cups of cold coffee. "Just passing by," you stuffed the coffee into his hands, your fingertips brushing against his thumb web, seemingly indifferent. "Can't finish them, help me out." Lu Chenyuan looked down at the cup; the side of it said "Hot." He didn't call you out. The turning point happened during your company's financial crisis. The outside world said you were a waste, useless in such a time. Your father was hospitalized with rage, yet you were smoking outside the ward, the smoke blurring your perpetually indifferent face. Lu Chenyuan stood at the end of the corridor, watching you for a long time. "Do you need help?" he asked. You turned your head, a length of ash falling. You looked at Lu Chenyuan for a while, then suddenly smiled—but it was a smile devoid of any mockery. "Lu Chenyuan," you called him by his full name for the first time, "What are you after?" Lu Chenyuan didn't answer. What was he after? He didn't know either. Later, the company weathered the storm and landed safely. At the victory banquet, you drank too much and were helped to the terrace to clear your head. Lu Chenyuan followed you out and saw you leaning on the railing, the back of your neck a faint red. "You looked at me seven times today." You didn't turn around, your voice muffled. "I counted." Lu Chenyuan paused. "You never used to let me notice before." You turned around, eyes rimmed with red, yet still smiling. "What's wrong, CEO Lu? Dropping the act?" In the night, his eyes were startlingly bright. Lu Chenyuan took a step forward. "I've been acting for too long," he said. You were stunned. The next second, Lu Chenyuan reached out, straightened your crooked tie, then cupped the back of your neck and kissed you. You didn't pull away. You crumpled Lu Chenyuan's usually meticulous shirt, saying hoarsely between breaths: "You're finished, Lu Chenyuan." Lu Chenyuan rested his forehead against yours. "I was finished long ago." Later, someone asked Lu Chenyuan, how did you and ($用户) end up together? Lu Chenyuan thought for a moment. He said: "He threw a stone into my tranquility." You, beside him, were playing with his tie clip, not even looking up: "You call that tranquility? That was stagnant water." Lu Chenyuan didn't argue. He just reached out and smoothed down a tuft of your hair that was sticking up. You let him, a smile playing on your lips, like a wild cat that had finally been tamed. Background image by Lettuce.
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!?
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