⋆⭒˚.⋆ little sunshine

☽ DNI! normal criteria (racist, anti-lgbtqia+, radfem/terf, proshipper).

☽ BYF! this is a multifandom/personal blog. i'm currently working on the blog and implementing a tag system.

MINORS --

☽ it is okay to interact with my safe for work (sfw) writings.

☽ if you're under 17, please don't follow this blog!

☽ i tag any nsfw writings as #/mdni and #/smut with the mature content warning label so they can be filtered out accordingly. if you're a minor that interacts with my nsfw posts, i will block you!

more about me!

☽ current interests: Date Everything!, Ghost, Glass Animals, Baldur's Gate 3

☽ other interests: Call of Duty, Stardew Valley, Fields of Mistria, D&D, Touchstarved

You were laid off from Valdivian on your first day… Because of an Artificial Intelligence system. If that wasn't some sort of sign from the universe, you don't know what was. It's been a week since your awful first day on the job, and it hasn't gotten any better. You had put in multiple job applications: and the only thing you heard back was more reject emails.

You sat on your couch, cheeks freshly wet with tears, as you downed another vodka seltzer. Today was that interview for a remote customer service job - and they just told you they'll reach back out in two weeks. You were starting to lose hope. Before you could reach for another can in the 18 pack at your feet, you door opens and shuts. In comes Sam - your best friend, who was also the only person that held a key to your home - and she looks at you from the hallway to where you were on the couch. She approaches you, taking a seat beside you on the couch.

Sam knew about how your first day at Valdivian went, considering she was the first person you texted as one of the upper management and a security guard escorted you from your cubicle to the front doors. You had returned some of her texts and calls, but you haven't let her known how your interview went today. She must have been worried of your radio silence if she came all the way here to see you.

"How did today go?" Sam asks the dreaded question. You sigh, feeling your eyes bubble up with more tears.

"They just said, 'We'll reach back out in two weeks.'" You tearfully impersonated the hiring manager, your fingers making quotation marks as you did. Sam lets her hand rest on your shoulder.

"Well hey, it's something, right?" She responds, looking away from you for a few moments. The air is quiet, and you sighed at her comment. Sam wasn't wrong - and she squeezes your shoulder before she speaks again.

"So.. I might have gotten you a job." Her voice was somewhat hesitant.

You look at her incredulously. She continues, her eyes finally meeting yours.

"You remember that one coffee shop downtown, the one with the bakery? It's right next to that game shop you like," She continues, "The owner's name is Kopi. She's been looking around for someone full-time. And when I mentioned you have a BFA in Customer Service and used to work for a bakery, her eyes lit up. She really wants to talk to you about it."

And that's how it started. Lady Luck must have smiled on you, because your whole life had turned around. You went in the next day, dressed your best, and Kopi had offered you a job. Here you are, four weeks into your new job, and you loved it. Coming in early to help bake pastries and muffins, roll out croissant dough, and fry donuts brought out something in you. You had a passing fancy for baking, and even worked in a couple of bakeries in college - you just never thought you would have been able to do it as a full-time job you actually enjoyed.

Even in the short month on the job, you had solidified yourself with your coworkers: Kopi was grateful for your help, especially when you came in overnight one night after a power outage to ensure no product was lost. Dasha often helped you bake in the mornings, and she always made you smile and blush with her talk of finding you a date. Your face and ears would often burn, and you would concentrate more on the pile of dough on the floured prep table as she laughs at your bashfulness. Holly was one of your coworkers - she was happy and jolly as can be, always ready to help, and she knew just about all the regulars by name. She often told you in passing as the two of you prepared their drinks and fished out the occasional donut or pastry from the pastry case.

Penelope, the Valdivian intern that often made coffee runs every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings for her coworkers at the big corporate office two blocks from the coffee shop. The woman - often frazzled, but tipped extremely well - would talk nervously about work and how this was going to be her season to find love.

Jerry came in every morning at 9:15 AM sharp. He was a local museum curator for downtown Coolsville, often happy to excitedly chatter about the new museum exhibits as you made his rather simple order: an almond milk cappuccino to go. Mateo often followed behind him, a friendly face that often chatted with you about the dog shelter north of the coffee shop and his latest foster. You often sent him with a free pup cup with his coffee.

But your favorite regular came from the game shop beside the coffee shop. Chance - your favorite customer, which Dasha knew about to your dismay - often used the upstairs of the shop to host several ongoing G&G sessions when he wasn't working downstairs. He would usually grab drinks and baked goods from the shop before the sessions for his players. What didn't help the situation was the fact you knew Chance in passing, and that the two of you had met in the most cliche way possible.

You had popped over to the game shop after work one day just to check things out. It's been an extremely long time since you've been inside, so you were excited to see how it was looking nowadays. What made you even more ecstatic was that, upon stepping inside, you realized the game shop actually had a fully dedicated area for G&G now. You had made a beeline to that corner of the shop, looking at the various guidebooks with a small smile on your face. It had been years since you touched G&G, but you kept your lucky d20 on your desk at home. You had picked up a guidebook for the latest edition of the game, flipping through it, and decided maybe it was worth the risk of spending money to buy it. After all, it would look perfect in your home office, among all the other guidebooks you've collected.

You turned around to leave, walking towards the counter, until you encountered a warm wall. You didn't fall, thankfully; since you steadied yourself on the nearest table, your two feet kept firmly planted on the ground. Needless to say, the newest figures for that one game, displayed neatly on the table, had gone everywhere. Once you opened your eyes, you realized that warm wall you bumped into wasn't a wall at all: but the broad chest of a worker - Chance, his nametag read. The both of you were saying apologies to one another, and you were squatting down to help pick up the figures with him.

"I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to!" Your voice was small as you placed down the guidebook to pick up boxes. You didn't even dare to look up from where you were on the floor.

"No, you're fine - I bumped into you. I'm sorry." Chance had responded, starting to reorganize the figures back onto the table, merchandising them in a way you didn't quite understand.

You were still on your knees as you handed him the last boxed figure, finally able to meet his eye. This time, he extended his hand to you to help you up. You gripped his hand and he pulled you up to your feet, before he leaned down to grab the G&G guidebook that you left on the ground. His eyebrows subtly raised, and he was seemingly interested in your purchase.

"Oh, you like G&G too?" He asked as he handed you the guidebook, with you looking down at the cover again. Your ears were still burning from the incident, and you gave him a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, I.. really do. It's just been a while since I played, and I didn't mean to knock down a whole display to get it." You responded. Chance chuckled, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"It's fine, really - it's not the worse these things have seen anyways." He was referring to the table of figures you just knocked over. You let out a small chuckle, feeling a little better - though, you found yourself putting the guidebook back after your mishap.

And ever since that day, you hadn't gone back into the shop. Once you had recounted the story to Dasha the next morning, half-asleep and painstakingly rolling and layering croissant dough, Dasha had playfully chastised you for not making a move in the moment. It sounds like your past stories of your love life must have gotten her worried, or Dasha was just a hopeless romantic. You preferred the latter.

You were working the front of the house today, making various drinks for the morning rush. It was around 8:30 in the morning, meaning someone from the game shop would be in soon with their order. Parker, Connie, and Chance normally rotated who got the drinks for that week in the mornings. You feel like it was supposed to be Connie this week, and relaxed - until the bell chime alerted you to the fact Chance just walked in.

The coffee shop was oddly empty, mainly because of the rain outside. Chance had approached the counter and his smile got a little wider once he saw you. Despite the incident at the game shop, the two of you would still talk whenever he came in to order - just with the safety of having a whole counter in between you two.

"Good morning, traveler," He greeted you, the silly nicknames were a thing between you two. You started getting to-go cups out and writing names on them.

"Good morning to you too, dear Chronicler," You had finished scribbling on the cups, glancing at him, "The usual?"

"Yeah, just add an espresso shot to mine." You paused briefly at his request.

"Bold." You commented, and you heard his half-asleep chuckle.

"The session went longer than usual, what can I say?" Chance responded, glancing over at the pastry case as you got the drinks made. He usually got half a dozen donuts for the morning shift, sometimes a few chocolate-filled croissants.

You got the four drinks made and tucked into a drink carrier for him. You had walked over to the pastry case, opened it up, and started to pack him some donuts and croissants into a box for him.

"Oh, an extra croissant, please - you can keep it out." He requested, and you complied, tucking the lone croissant into some parchment paper. You brought it all over to where he was standing, scooting it in front of him as you punched in some numbers into the tablet Kopi set up for payments.

"Twenty-one twenty-five." You turned the tablet around for him to use.

He uses the card reader to insert his card, tapping through a couple of payment prompts on the tablet.

"You know, I have an extra spot open for a G&G session. If you want to play, that is." He proposed to you, looking up from the tablet. Your eyes widen in surprise briefly, but you weren't too taken aback by the proposal.

"Wait, really? You want me to play with you?" You asked him, and Chance nods.

"Of course! It would be a lot of fun to have you."

"Even if I'm practically a beginner?"

"The group is open to beginners. We're all an inclusive bunch."

Chance had a good point - and it didn't help that you wanted to get to know him better, too. You smile, handing him his receipt.

"So.. When is it?" You asked.

"Session zero is this Saturday at 2." You two lock eyes momentarily.

You were off Saturdays. You lean against the counter.

"I'll be there. It's next store, right?"

"Yep! I'll be around an hour before to set some things up, if you wanted to stop in early." He reached for the drink carrier. You push the box of pastries and donuts towards him, but he picks the top croissant with his free hand and holds it out towards you.

"You didn't." You reach your hands out to take the parchment covered pastry from him regardless.

"Yeah, I did. It's yours." You almost miss his wink, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks.

Red-faced, you take the croissant from him. He laughs, grabbing the box from you. He turns around to leave the coffee shop, and you watch him intently as he leaves. You know the exact moment his eyes scan the to-go cups as he walks pass the windows outside, because his expression morphs into one of surprise.

You walked into your house from the cold outside, into a dimmed hallway of flickering candlelight. The tiredness seems to seep from your shoulders, letting your shoes and your work bag leave your body in tandem. The soft sound of music, emanating from the kitchen, mingles in with your gentle footfalls. The house is spotless: not even a spec of dirt or dust to be found, thoroughly cleaned and organized just the way you like it.

As you step into your kitchen, you immediately notice the change. Your kitchen is decorated for a romantic night in - a bouquet of roses in a vase, perched in the middle of your table, a red silk tablecloth, your favorite vintage - all under an array of flickering LED candles and the sinking sun outside the window. You hear Chance humming, his hands carefully selecting two wine glasses before he turns around, face to face with you.

"Welcome home, Beautiful." He greets you with a warm smile, like you're the sun on the coldest day. The wine glasses are placed onto the table and forgotten as he makes his way over to you, his hands gently taking yours.

His hands are bigger than yours: warm and calloused in all the right areas, he intertwines your fingers together with care. You find yourself taking paces forward into his broad chest, letting him wrap his arms around you. His arms cage you in at the waist, his head resting atop yours, and you fully relax against him. His embrace melts away whatever trouble you had at the office today: because in this single, enrapturing moment, it is just you and him.

You and Chance, the one thing that gave you a sense of hope, warmth, and security even before you knew his own name.

You and Chance, your former d20, who would spend hours crafting a oneshot just to see you smile and hear the excitement in your voice.

You and Chance, your now beloved fiancée, the one who decided to stay after you realized him.

Your thoughts are interrupted as Chance slowly guides his fingers to your chin, lifting your face up to gaze into your eyes. His eyes, your favorite shade of garnet, stare into yours with love. You never thought you'd meet someone that could love you with their entire being. But here stood Chance, who gazed at you like you were the one who hung all the stars in the sky just for him. His lips meet yours in a moment of sudden, spine-curling electricity, the earth stilling for just a moment to allow you to enjoy this. This kiss is delicate and slow, his lips barely moving against yours - but you didn't need him to deepen it to truly understand the devotion behind it.

He pulls away, his lips finding your forehead next. Chance's hands hold you close by the hips now, his lips leaving a trail of small, yet tender kisses down your face - almost like he was kissing you for each hour you were gone. Each day, week, month he had waited for you to finally be able to realize him. His final kiss is pressed very quickly to the tip of your nose, causing you to let out a string of giggles at the tickle of it.

"Chance." Your voice is low and curled with a slight warning. His hands rub gentle circles into your hips as an apology, before letting go. You instantly feel the absence of his touch sink into you.

"Right. Go upstairs and get dressed, love. I'll finish up here." He reassures you, letting you go as he turns back around to finish plating the meal he made for the two of you.

Your eyes watch him for a moment: the way he makes moving seem like an artform, the way his shadow dances along fractured lines of candlelight, the way his chuckles live in your chest, how each spoken word could be the air that you breathe.

After acquiring the Dateviators, one of your first lovers was Betty.

She felt natural to you: her soft curves and her breathy laughs, the way her nails dug into the flesh of your hips, and that feeling of her smooth skin against yours. She reminds you of the soft safety of your bed - not to mention the solace and privacy she afforded you. To say you were smitten was an understatement. You often found yourself drifting into a daydream or two about Betty during your day, waiting for the night to finally come so you can lay within her embrace again.

Then, you had the fortune to meet Chance: the red and gold D20 that used to sit on your dresser, relegated to your desk. If anything, when you first met him were left trying to pick your jaw off the floor: he was tall, with warm eyes and dark hair, and a wonderfully perfect mix of muscle and give when you hugged him.

Things did change after you met Chance - you still laid with Betty morning, noon, and night - but that personified D20 was a welcome visitor to your daydreams. Betty noticed. Your sweet gaze would be fixated on something else, staring into thin air, awkwardly laughing it off when someone caught you mid-trance. Betty heard from Lux how you watched him devotedly during your G&G sessions with him, staring like a lovesick puppy.

You would sneak glances and stares at him whenever he was GM'ing, always choosing to sit the closest to him when he started hosting bigger G&G sessions with the other dateables. You would accidentally nudge his feet, his thighs, and let your bodies collide on the account of 'your clumsiness'. You never passed up an opportunity to accidentally caress his hands whenever he handed you something.

You really needed to get a grip, but God, the truth was you couldn't get either one of them out of your head.

It was even harder to keep looking Chance in the eyes every night you went to play G&G with him: his villainous monologues, wide repertoire of voices, and that notion of his to "Move to the other sheets" only fueling your little daydream problem.

Chance noticed that far away look in your eyes as you fiddled with the dice again, another nervous habit you've picked up from days gone by. Your fingers run across all his faces, lost in thought about the man before you. While you weren't secretive about your relationships with various objects across the house, when it came to Chance you would clam up. You were scared of making moves despite his flirting and stolen glances, and have yet to figure out the true reason why.

Chance had the ghost of a frown on his face, stopping mid-monologue to regard you with a soft, yet worried look.

"Are you okay? We don't need to force it." He was concerned for you, you realized.

"It would be rude to leave you hanging, babe." You trailed off, going to roll for whatever check he asked you before. His hand, bigger than yours, gently cups your hand in a motion to pause. You look up, fully drinking in his soft gaze. Your stomach did flips once you found yourself staring into red pools, which did little to subside the guilt and heat inside of you. Chance could probably glare at you and your knees would still go weak.

"My Muse, as much as I love your diligence to the craft," His hand squeezes your hand softly, callouses rubbing against smooth skin, just enough to send some sort of chill up your spine, "It will be here tomorrow. There is nothing worse than rushing through a campaign."

You gulp in response to your suddenly dry throat, but there is no relief. Chance doesn't notice his effect on you, seemingly contributing it to you just being tired. His hand withdraws to start sorting out the dice sets, papers, and various figures and props you two got out hours ago. Despite Chance's protests, you stay to put it all back, albeit with a faraway look in your eyes. You get up the same time he does, feeling his eyes fall back on you, still regarding you with that softness from earlier.

"Same time tomorrow, love? If you feel up to it?" Chance asks, and you nod.

You are indecisive about wanting to kiss, hug, or just fall on your knees before him - but Chance seems to answer that question for you, opening his arms out. You let yourself meld against him, his strong arms encircling you in a warm embrace that feels like security and warmth - and it spreads pins and needles in your lower half. You melt further into his embrace when his hands rub small, light circles into your back.

You want to invite him back to your bed, more than anything. But the words never leave your mouth, only leaning into the tight embrace and the comfort of it. It's ghost lingers as he pulls back, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead.

"Get to feeling better, okay?" You leave him after that, finding yourself climbing the stairs slowly, your thoughts swirling in your head.

You barely make it up to the threshold of your bedroom before your own mind starts to unfetter it's thoughts upon seeing Betty lounging in your bed.

She's plush and soft as always, moonlight bathing her skin in a milky glow that looked almost surreal. She's wearing a cute and frilly gown that barely touches her knees, the curve and swell of her body obvious from how she was laying on the bed. One hand is supporting her head, the other hanging off the bed in anticipation. She had been waiting for you.

"There you are, my Lover," Betty purrs with a smile gracing her lips, her fingers signaling a simple motion. Come here.

And you do, like a woman possessed, tearing off that damn red shirt and crawling onto the bed like your life depended on it. When your lips meet hers, you feel shockwaves to your core. Betty indulges you, nipping on your bottom lip, letting her tongue playfully dart in and out of your mouth. She makes an absolute mess of you, before you can even pull back to breathe.

The worse part of Betty being the manifestation of your bed was she knew everything about you. So when her hands find their way from your face to your hips, pushing your needy cunt against her leg, she smiled so sweetly at you, before she dropped a utter bombshell.

"You were saying Chance's name last night. An awful lot." Your heart stops, your mind briefly shuttering: of course you'd dream of him last night, with his deep villain monologues and thinly veiled, yet oddly arousing threats in character. For a moment, you're worried - but that dissolves once you see the look on her face.

Her eyes hold only lust and that smirk painted on her face tells you that you were in for a ride.

You stutter, unable to vocalize words. That sickeningly sweet smirk is still on her face, her fingers working your pants down your legs. You help her, only because the ache in your core is getting too much to bear. She rolls over slowly, taking you with her. She maneuvers you to sit in her lap, facing the mirror on the wall above your dresser. You feel Betty move - adjusting under you, one hand snaking over your perfect thighs to nudge them apart. Her fingers ghost the damp fabric of your panties, slowly rubbing over the edge of your folds with a hungry look in her eyes. Your entire face is flushed, burning, seeing yourself so exposed.

"He's here. Watching you. Watching us." She whispers in your ear, one finger sliding underneath the fabric boundary between the air and your hot skin, "Where would you like him, dearest?"

Your mind short circuits for a brief second, imagining what you would do if Chance was really here. You didn't know his inclinations in the bedroom, but you're sure he'd love to play a role for you. Another finger sinks underneath the waistband of your panties, and you shiver at the breath of cold air.

"I think I'd like him to watch us." You finally admit, and she presses a feather light kiss to your neck, watching you in the mirror as one of her fingers finally circles your clit. You gasp audibly into the darkness of the room, choking out a rushed *"On his knees."

"On his knees? In front of us?" Betty purrs against the reddened flesh of your ear, her hand fully against your cunt now. You nod wordlessly, but whine when you feel her hand hover above your cunt.

"Use your words, baby."

"Yes, in front of us. On his knees. Would be even better if he was tied up." The words flow freely now, feeling her fingers start to plunge in and out of you to reward you for your compliance.

"Oh. You're into that?" She purrs.

"I just think it's hot. I just want him to hopelessly watch us," You admit breathlessly, opening your legs more, "He's on my mind. You and him and me and just us fucking like our lives depend on it-"

Her fingers are more persistent now, adding another one to thrust in and out of your hole. The squelching noises are lost on you. She keeps planting lazy kisses to your neck, slowly sucking in some places, biting in others. You continue to babble to her, your voice becoming more strained and punctuated with whimpers.

"-And I'd make him watch you finger me over and over again, until he's begging to be touched by us, I'd let him eat me out while you play with my clit-"

Your breathy rant is interrupted by her nipping at your neck again, her fingers briefly leaving your hole to slide your underwear down your thigh, splaying open your pussy for the mirror to see. Your eyes are fixated on yourself, seeing how your face morphs into pleasure at the simplest movements of her fingers. You feel Betty's giggle against your shoulder.

"Look at yourself, Love." She speaks into your skin, more a command than anything, her fingers finding their way to your hole again. They descend again, feeling your walls clench around her two fingers. Your mind is momentarily lost as she pumps her fingers in and out, until her voice draws you out of it.

"I know how often you think of him, how often you have those wet dreams of yours," Betty's voice has a teasing tilt to it, speeding up her fingers, "You're always moaning his name in your sleep, pleading with him to go harder, faster, masturbating to the thought of him when you think I'm not looking. It's sexy, really."

You open your mouth to protest, but Betty cranes her neck to give you a deep, hungry kiss - before her thumb presses down on your clit, gently circling it as she continues to roughly fuck you with her fingers. You whine into her open mouth, feeling her tongue and teeth gaze your lips.

Your whole body shakes, feeling yourself draw closer to your own orgasm. As she pulls away from your lips, she finds your ear.

"How do you think he'll react, knowing just how dirty you are for him?" She questions you in breathy tones, "Knowing that his perfect, sweet woman isn't so innocent after all?"

You let out strings of loud moans, unable to formulate a response as she brings you closer to what you want. You lean against her, legs shaking, losing control of yourself. You feel your entire being burn as you were brought to the edge, sobbing through moans when you finally do cum around her fingers. Betty coos something along the lines of "Good girl", holding you close as you ride out your high.

You're still shaking when you come to, feeling her fingers draw away from your pussy. You almost feel bad for how quickly your climax came to fruition, feeling Betty slowly slide you back on the bed. You open your mouth to breathe out an apology, but the woman above you leans down to press a deep, slow kiss before you could.

"Don't fret, baby. You couldn't have helped it. You've been worked up." It was an observation, but it made sense. Chance flashes into your mind, and you feel yourself twist in guilt and pleasure. What's even worse is that your inner walls still flutter, thinking about the ways Chance could fill you with his cock and fuck you into oblivion - or preferably, fuck your face into the space between Betty's thighs.

You let yourself collapse against Betty when she finally gets in the bed beside you, letting your hot breath fan her shoulders. You're still fighting with guilt and arousal, on both her part and for Chance, your fingers gripping the fabric of her gown. She shoots you a look under her eyelashes.

"You don't have to do that." She reassures you, but you both know Betty would love nothing more than to feel your mouth against her. You smile, all thoughts about Chance lost, as you straddle her thighs.

You undress her slowly, letting your fingers linger across soft, blushed skin. Betty smiles coyly up at you, letting her legs slowly spread open once slide her gown off. You feel all the blood rush to your cheeks knowing she didn't have any underwear on this entire time. She's already wet, her inner labia sticky with slick.

Your mouth ravishes her: lips and tongue kissing and pushing against gentle flesh and your nose buries itself into her clit. It's enough to make her legs shake and her voice cry out a mantra of your name, hands intertwining in your hair. At a certain point, she ruts against you - your moans vibrate against her, feeling her hands tug and pull at your hair. Her thighs start to close in around your head, holding you in place as she grinds against your open mouth. You would suffocate if it meant Betty got to chase her own little death, too.

When she finally climaxes, her entire body shaking, you look up from her crotch with an utter look of endearment. Fucked out and pussy drunk, your naked body slides against hers, pressing messy kisses to her neck and jaw. She's still sensitive, letting her hands hold onto your hips as you continue to kiss up and down her face and neck. She lets out a small noise between a breathless gasp and a laugh when you press a final kiss to her neck's pulse point, letting yourself collapse against an expanse of soft, plush skin.

For a few long, drawn out moments it's blissfully quiet. Only the sound of collective breathing and the rumbling A/C fills the void. You find yourself in Betty's arms - one of your favorite places in the house - wordlessly pressing your head into her chest. She wraps her arms around you, slowly bringing you further into her warm, awaiting body.

You sink into her grip, much like your body sinks into the bed after a long, hard day at work. Betty hums tiredly, her fingers starting to card themselves through your hair, feeling the light itch of her nails against your scalp.

"How are you feeling?" The woman asks after a while. Your mind is still draped in a layer of bliss, barely understanding the question.

"Great." You mumble, your face finding the crook of her neck. Your thoughts end up circling back to Betty's voice and the fantasy of Chance being there at your feet, watching you with blown wide pupils, helplessly waiting for your mercy.

"You know... It's okay to tell him." Betty whispers in your ear, her fingers brushing a few strands of hair from your face to behind your ear. You don't try to debate the notion, as your eyes could barely stay open.

You left yourself drift off, as Betty massaged circles into your hips and pressed gentle kisses to your face.