intimacy .ㅤㅤㅤㅤfeat. the main myth men ~
warning(s): suggestive themes, slight mischaracterization(?), reader insert
author's note: y'all i'm gonna be honest... this took wayyy too long, but i lowkey ate with writing the b-bros. but tell me what you guys think cuz i busted my ASS trying to write all this. (don't ask me what possessed me to write bendy that way... i don't know either)
this man treats every interaction like a dance. conversations of fluidity, body languages bouncing off one another like a set tempo... you push, he pushes back harder—likewise, you contract, he mirrors you.
on top of that, he’s heavily fluent in the way the body responds, it might as well be his second language. there’s really no need to tell this demon of how you feel…he’s read every involuntary shift, every change in the rhythm of your breath, and has placed accurate meaning to it. in tandem, bendy leads in response to your reactions. he leads most of the time… but you only realize you’ve been following long after he’s been satisfied with you.
bendy is aggressive, but not in the typical way you might think. he’s simply very… venomous and predatory when it comes to his desires. he’ll approach like a feline, and trap like a serpent, his voice and body tangling around you till it squeezes the inhibitions dry out of you.
he loves flipping the script. if you try to tease him, he leans into it even more. if you try to ignore him, he makes himself impossible to overlook. every move you make becomes something he can riff off of, like an improvised routine where he’s always half a beat ahead.
this demon is almost sarcastic in the ways he teases. every poke, every jab at your ego… he savours it like something delectable between his teeth. it’s almost like it’s some sort of test on you—he provokes you in the most frustrating ways, then dangles himself before you mockingly to see if you’ll strike back with a painful smirk your way.
there’s a playful cruelty to how he leaves things unfinished. a sentence cut off with a smile. a look held a second too long. he plants little hooks in your mind and walks away, perfectly content knowing you’ll be thinking about it long after he’s gone.
boris’s simplicity is the heart of how he loves. instinctual, unburdened by overthinking, he doesn’t second-guess what his body already knows. he never hesitates when desire settles in his chest. you’re chosen with the certainty comparable to that of his keen sense of smell.
this wolf doesn’t seduce—he gravitates. when his interest is piqued, he doesn’t ever dance around his attraction, he just moves closer, speaks softer, with a slight gruffness, and it all comes natural to him. his body tells you long before he needs to.
he’s deeply attentive, but not in a meticulous way. it’s intuitive… he notices the smallest tells that most others miss. he accommodates without comment, like he’s always known how to meet you exactly where you are.
silence with boris is never awkward, it’s actually quite sweet. there’s no need for theatrics or filling the empty space. just bodies syncing, breathing lining up, hands finding familiar places. he makes relaxation feel effortless, because of his calm, innate energy.
boris tends to be very protective over the things he cherishes… this way of living, it translates into something tactile. boris uses his paws, his scent, to not only mark you, but also to shield you from the harms of the world. his touch is gentle, yet firm. it’s grounding.
affection with him is unpretentious and constant. not showy, not restrained—just there. like touch is his default language, and closeness is something he maintains the same way he breathes.
cuphead isn’t exactly a man with impulse control. he catches on to something shiny, sweet, and new—he’s jumping on it before his mind even has time to rationalize his decision. his recklessness makes him almost arrogantly confident, and so he flaunts himself like a red peacock. his words are filled with innuendo, he acts like a drunkard who can’t help but get under everyone’s skin.
this man can and will treat everything like a game, especially when it comes to his liking of you. flirting is competition, teasing is a challenge, and your reactions are the scorecard. he’ll push buttons just to see what makes you snap, then act smug and oblivious when he gets exactly the response he wanted. half the time, he’s not even chasing pleasure… he’s chasing the win.
cuphead uses his voice like a dare. he talks like someone who grew up running barefoot through trouble and never learned how to lower the volume of his want… that lazy drawl, the bite behind his words, the way he laughs like he already knows how this’ll end.
cup’s less interested in the slow burn and more obsessed with the spark. he thrives in boiling hot moments of passion, chasing them like a jackpot he almost hit once and now needs again. your body is like a vice to him… he knows if he keeps investing, it’s only gonna hurt him later; but he’s not too worried about it.
he’s handsy to the point where it’s irritating. cups won’t keep his hands to himself, constantly manhandling that frame… palms settling where they absolutely don’t need to be. fingers hooking your belt loop just to tug you closer and then letting go like nothing happened when he gets caught.
sadly, cups isn’t the type to commit. it’s only because his own feelings erupt quickly, and he’d much rather stay in the “honey moon phase” than ever try and survive actual relationship dynamics. he keeps things loose, keeps things moving, because standing still means admitting that the game stopped being a game.
mugman worships you. his touches, they feel like acts of pure devotion. his love for you doesn't feel like a cage, it feels like responsibility he never wants to let go of. when he holds you, it’s less about possession and more about promise. you’re not something he owns; you’re something he keeps.
his mind has always been anxious, yet his hands…they're much more certain. he overthinks everything until he touches you. then his thoughts quiet. his body knows exactly what to do, even when his mouth doesn’t. mug’s hands have this weight to them, like he’s gently anchoring you to him with his touch.
mug's a giver, because seeing you in your element because of his actions gives him a sense of peace. he’s practically addicted to pleasing you, because the reassurance of your mutual want shows him that he’s doing exactly what he needs to do.
he's needy only because he has to be. he craves closeness in small, almost unconscious ways—it shows in the way he drifts toward you, how he lingers just a second longer than necessary, how his presence naturally overlaps with yours. he doesn’t even demand attention most of the time. he just quietly positions himself where he can feel you exist. proximity soothes him. distance unsettles him.
there's just something about the build-up that just does something to mugman. even if he wouldn't ever outwardly admit it, he loves the chase. having to work for your attention really gets him going. he’s almost like a masochist in a way; he’ll white-knuckle till he pops a vessel when it comes to revealing and expressing his wants. he’ll relieve himself only when given the green light.
his desire simmers nice and slow, like a hot pressure cooker. it grows alongside him, and it festers until he can't hold back anymore… and once that heat has accumulated for too long? it simply takes over him, and becomes inevitable, sometimes even rough. all that pressure finally releasing feels less like losing control and more like surrendering to something he’s been nurturing the whole time.
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