#urmmm

Btw I headcanon that like David is not Builderman but rather Roblox himself, Builderman is just that one creation that pisses him off unless he's working (curious data; David GROOMER-sucky does have an account for himself, the Builderman ACC has been abandoned basically so, yeah, we can canonically start separating the characters from the asshole yayyy)

Like Roblox is called David (Builderman is just Builderman yk cause he gotta work) and it's low-key greed and pride incarnate but worse cause it thinks it's doing the right thing by doing objectively bad stuff, its just really closed off to everyone except its workers. Like, he created Builder and his previous iterations as puppets before deciding that it liked them working under it better.

Except it pisses it off so much it's insane, it hates him. It's deeper than just hate, dude wants Builderman buildergone but can't erase him due to his legacy (Like in real life with the new redesign of old characters and the platform becoming a breeding ground for terrible people but I don't want to talk about that🦦)

I don't like David. None of em. Haven't met a David that wasn't some level of evil yet😔

he doesn't know what you're up to, but he's quiet and waiting, chihiro’s lips part slightly, his face inching closer with every passing second because he’s desperate to get a taste himself.

he’s sitting and you're standing, one of his hands hovering over your hips, like he’s scared to touch you. its like you're bestowing him a gift—two gifts actually. the first: this view. your tongue dances around your two fingers, coating them with your saliva. he’s only ever tasted once, and he’s been thinking about it ever since.

the second: he didn't even know he’d be receiving until your wet fingers left your mouth to rest on his bottom lip. his breath hitched, surprised, but his mouth was already wanting, ready to take you in. his eyes locked on yours as he pushed forward, his tongue following your movements from earlier, the wet muscle dragging across your pointer finger, savoring the taste of the spit he so missed.

he moves on to the next, not missing the space between the two, flicking his tongue once, maybe twice, replacing your saliva with his.

it’s uncomfortable, he thinks. so, uncomfortable. the ache in his pants. but he isn't done. only he knows how much he’s stared at your hands before, wondering how’d they feel if he held them with his calloused ones, or how’d they feel running along his scar, down to his neck. but more than that, he wanted to take them in his mouth, feel every ridge and curve, suck on them until you told him to stop.

its like you knew exactly what he wanted, every time, without fail.