The year is 1995, and you're newly single and ready to mingle in Stradania, the dysfunctional micronation whose chief exports are pig iron,
Dates & Wires: Augmented Edition, our visual novel of ill-advised holiday hookups in the cyberpunk future that never was, launched on Steam today. We're offering a 10% discount for the duration of launch week - a big thanks goes out to everyone who wishlisted or otherwise spread the word these past months.
If you played the original and were left wanting more - new edition has unlockable second dates, partial voice acting, new CGs, sprites and locations. The original content also got some minor rewrites and improvements.
We worked super hard on this one and had a lot of fun coming up with believable, but satisfying date scenarios for these weirdos - hopefully you'll have fun playing it, too :)
Images taken from the insta linked here, but apparently final source is here (please check out their lovely yaoi Genshin stuff!)
I was supposed to be writing something else but but I saw this so um yes I am sorry
Obligatory WARNING: NSFW At this point though I really think Dr. Vyn Richter being in these minific posts should be enough warning already, jus' sayin... XD
Luke
Lovemaking with Luke is like either a warm, gentle sunshine, or a soft night breeze that greets you when you when you step out of your office building after a particularly tiring, stressful work day.
It starts off relaxed, as casual as two old friends chatting about their day.
Luke would oftentimes take your sore feet onto his lap, massaging them, distracting you from the slight discomfort caused by skillful fingers pulling at the muscles, tiny bones, and tissues of your feet with his smartly-timed jokes that never get old despite being shared since your childhoods together.
Your feet all better, with a cute wiggling of your toes you would "accidentally" brush the crotch of his cargo pants, earning you a cute, flustered blush from his face--you never, ever get tired of the sight of his face glowing bright pink. It's beautiful, it's maddening how you never took notice of it during your school days when blushing Luke would have been at peak adorableness.
"Watson," he would call you out, mock-growling, then launch a full offensive of tickling your sides that would send you laughing and screaming for him to stop, please stop, you'd do anything just to stop the fingers wreaking havoc to your sides...
"Anything?"
Anything, you promise, and full-knowing what would happen next you throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for that sweet, sweet kiss that you have been waiting to happen all these time since the moment you drop by his quarters above his antiques store. Unfortunately for Luke's patrons (especially the girls who drop by to make googoo eyes at him) the store would be closed early for the day--the handsome, roguish proprietor will be fully booked by you for the next few hours, or longer depending on how generous you're feeling that day.
He would gather you effortlessly in those strong arms of his--gently carrying you like he would the most delicate and precious item ever displayed in his shop--never breaking your sweet, sloppy kissing until both of you get to his bed.
The scent of Luke permeating the bedsheets remind you of those salad days when you would jump into his bed in an effort to wake him up--he was notorious for sleeping in as a child--but somehow, somehow, his scent now triggers something else within you and so you beg him to lay his hands on you, for Luke to mark you...
Frantic hands peeling off layers of clothes. Feverish breathing. Quickening, pulsating heartbeats. So much had changed since the eight years when he checked out of your life as a lanky, awkward young teenager until he came back as that handsome man who took your heart away the moment you met by chance in the city.
Luke would plant several kisses on your bare skin: on the neck, your breasts, your stomach--everywhere he could mark you with using his lips. It would be as if he is making up for all of the lost opportunities when he could have given you so many kisses for the last eight years he had been away from you.
When the time comes for the main act of lovemaking, he would lace his strong fingers lovingly with your slender ones, holding your hands down on the sheets as he takes you with gentle, probing thrusts into your throbbing flesh.
He would shower you with sweet words of affirmation as he drives again and again into you--the words gradually turning into expressions of lust and need as soon as his thrusting picks up speed and, in one delicious moment, moan your name out loud as spills his seed onto your stomach.
His hands never let yours go all the while. As he would never let you go, not after finally finding you after eight long years of separation.
Marius
Lovemaking with you is Marius von Hagen's stress relief.
Marius is capable of many things--he is an immensely talented artist whose alter-ego's works easily fetch millions in the market; he is also a capable, functional budding leader of a vast conglomerate who easily handles people decades older than he is and could go toe to toe with the conglomerate's internal power struggles.
It is easy to forget that Marius is also only twenty-one years of age.
You are the only person in his life aside from his assistant who truly knows who Marius von Hagen is: a young man at the cusp of his adulthood, a boy who yearns to chase his dreams now nigh unattainable thanks to the immense burden put on his shoulders.
And so he latches onto you, the only big sister figure he has in his life, and also his biggest, baddest crush, his heroine who stood by him in his time of need when nobody else got his back.
Whenever Marius feels as if all the expectations placed on him would crush him alive, he frequently comes to your doorstep, seeking your sanctuary.
At nights after intensively stressful work days dealing with the duplicitousness of the capitalist world, he would drop by your apartment unannounced, frequently enough that traces of his presence slowly crop up in your place: his toothbrush, his mug, a change of clothing in case he decides to spend the night.
Marius, to the surprise of no one, is incredibly touch-starved. "Missy," he would always say in his mock-plaintive tone, "I need a hug."
Eventually it becomes your little ritual that whenever Marius steals away from the lofty towers of his workplace and into the sanctuary of your apartment, you would greet him with the tightest of hugs that you could muster.
And, brimming with all the pent up stress and frustration seeded into his worn and weary young heart, Marius would return your hug with a rough kiss, a kiss laced with his resentment--not targeted at you, of course--and impotent rage against the machinations that threaten to swallow Marius whole day by day by day by day.
"I'm sorry, Rosa." He would sometimes drop his pet name for you and call you by your actual name; a clear indicator of how badly things went for him at work.
"I need you."
===
There is only one way to address his pent-up stress, and it is you on your bed, writhing underneath him, his hands gripping your wrists tightly down on the sheets as he drives hard into you, again and again, moaning your name in the same intensity that he would like to use to curse, rail, and protest against the old men who are threatening to split apart the legacy of built by his family.
Marius would leave teeth marks on your neck, collarbone, your shoulders, all to stifle his frustration of having to bite back all of the things he wanted to say at work but couldn't as part and parcel of being burdened with such a tremendous responsibility.
And you accept all of it. Lovemaking with Marius does not always go like this--but when it does, you take it upon yourself to help him deal with things larger than he is.
You also know that in the next morning, Marius would make it up to you, focusing on your pleasure this time around with his tongue and those artful, artful fingers of his. You do not know how it came to be, but Marius's aftercare is incredible.
Artem
Lovemaking with Artem is, quite surprisingly, an exercise in endurance.
Artem had spent his most of his life traversing the straight and narrow path: the best in his field, youngest among the senior attorneys. He is so straight-laced and methodical that people around him have learned to talk and interact only with him when it comes to work.
What they didn't know--but you do--is that behind his business-only persona there is an immense romantic inside of him that yearned deeply for a human connection, a connection that he is rarely afforded except when he is with you.
You had your suspicions early on about his yearning for connection even before your relationship: while he remained standoffish with his co-workers, he would be secretly delighted when they came to him for anything not-work related, such as for his impeccable cooking, or when they approached him to do such unorthodox things such as representing the law firm in a stage play.
And, when your relationship finally started Artem would initiate physical connections with you: holding your hands as he guided you on how to properly handle knives; gentle touches as he drew a pumpkin on your face as part of Halloween festivities; guiding hands as he taught you how to fire a pistol.
It just so happens that you are the only one source of the human connection that he secretly yearns for, and this quite amusingly translates into him trying to make up for the sheer lack of connection during the times he is intimate with you:
By making love to you over and over until your knees give out. His hands over yours on the sheets, maximizing your skinship with him as he affirms your connection with him through repeated rounds of sex.
And Artem, as awkward as he is, also tended to depend on books whenever he has to learn about something he is not too familiar with. It is to your amusement to find out that he actually purchased more than a few books on the art of lovemaking and, for better or for worse he actually makes it a point to try out all positions, all techniques, that in one instance he spent more than three hours with you trying to perfect the art of eating you out that you had to beg for him to stop lest you pass out with overstimulation.
Artem is, for all intents and purposes, an awkward yet secretly passionate man.
You definitely do not want him to change.
Vyn
Vyn's lovemaking does not have a tendency.
Rather, he makes it a point that his lovemaking would be a novel experience for you as much as possible. You have experienced him pouring wine all over your naked body, he had blindfolded you more than a few times, he is definitely not squeamish about having sex with you during your period, and in a fit of fancy he has even marked you with own blood during sex.
Among many, many other things.
===
Vyn has mentioned earlier that dessert would be on the table. But when asked, he could only give vague answers about what dessert, and what table.
And now, laid out naked and helpless in his bed with your hands tied above your head, you learn exactly what dessert, and what table.
He sits beside you, fully clothed, complete with his white lab coat. Vyn's left arm is cradling a metal bowl filled with cold cream, which is being whisked to a peak with his right hand. "Dessert for tonight," he says, with his maddeningly gentle smile, "is you."
"Great. How can I eat myself?" you ask, playing along with his game.
Vyn lets out a soft laugh. "Simple."
His gaze turns predatory.
"You do not."
"So this dessert is only single-serving?"
"For me only, yes." The beatific smile returns to his face. "Ah, I think the cream is now done." He lifts the whisk to check for peaks. "Perfect," he says, making a show of licking the tip of the whisk while his golden eyes hold your gaze.
You gulp. "W-why are you still in your research center uniform?"
You note that he even still has his ID lanyard on. Vyn is literally wearing his full work uniform for tonight.
And if you were honest with yourself, you actually find it extremely sexy.
Vyn smiles, as if reading your thoughts. "I noticed you have been staring a lot when I'm wearing this. I'm just...indulging you."
"You demon."
"I think I do know, Vyn."
"You do not know the half of it yet."
Again, that immaculate grin dances on his lips. "Do not challenge me."
He spoons a bit of cream and slathers it on your breast. You expect him to smear the cream directly on your nipple, but instead he applies it on the skin directly next to it.
Vyn then dips onto the breast and laps up the cream, his wisps of silver hair brushing lightly onto your naked skin.
His tongue barely grazes your nipple.
Holding that pose, his lips grazing your breast, you see Vyn looking up at you through his glasses with a devious smile. He then flicks the tip of his tongue on your breast, but deliberately avoiding touching your nipple.
Oh shit.
"Did you want me to do something?" Vyn asks as he sits himself upright. "I'm open for..." the corner of his mouth turns up into a leer. "...suggestions."
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of believing he has the upper hand, you remain silent.
"Safe word is macaron."
"Pardon?"
"Safe word is macaron," he repeats.
"Yes, I heard you the first time," you say, a bit incredulous. "Are you going to...um...whips and stuff?" You feel a mild dread, as you aren't ready for that kind of play.
"Of course not," Vyn said, spooning cream onto your other breast, avoiding the nipple once again. "The safe word isn't to stop me, but it is for me to untie your hands so you can have your way with me."
"Fuck you, Vyn," you say, this time impressed that he could come up with something so devious this time around.
"Oh, please do." His lips lightly suck on the cream off your breast, still not affording the erogenous nerve endings of your nipple the attention it deserves. His tongue sensuously traces the edges, the swell, but never touching the sensitive nerve endings that are begging for his sweet stimulation.
You bite back a groan.
Vyn then applies a generous amount of cream on your lower abdomen, just right above your pubic area. He then adjusts his position on the bed so he lies on his side, his face hovering over your naked crotch to lick off the cream with slow, languorous licks.
You squirm, feeling wetness gathering on your slit.
Vyn observes this in mild amusement. "You may want to use the safe word?" He gives your abdomen another lingering flick of his tongue.
You remain silent.
Smiling, he let his fingers brush your inner thighs, and leaves a trail of soft, wet kisses on the soft skin--stopping only just right next to your quivering sex.
And, as you have predicted, he slathers on cream just next to your vulva, and his tongue traces the edge of your sex--always teasing your most sensitive zones begging to be touched.
A sharp hiss escapes your teeth, and, somehow, you tug your hands hard enough that his handkerchief tying your hands to the bedpost above you come undone.
Vyn sees this, and swiftly catches your wrists with his hand, pinning your hands once again above your head.
"You should play by the rules," he whispers to your ear before nipping at your earlobe. "It is more fun that way."
His other hand reaches down to let his fingers lightly touch the edges of your vulva.
You breath shudders at the infuriating play.
"Fine. Macaron."
Chuckling, Vyn's hand releases your wrists. "See? It is--"
He does not get to finish whatever he wants to say, for you, with all the strength that you have, push him onto the bed so you could straddle his waist.
Vyn falls onto his back on the bed so hard his glasses almost fall off his face, his white lab coat spread out underneath him in such a way that it turns you on so immensely you could not comprehend why.
You lick your lips. "I'm going to have my way with you now."
Kinda sad to say goodbye to the world of Olympia Soirée as long as that game was.
Not sure how to fill the void now, maybe I'll finally get back to Collar X Malice, the most revered otome out there that I for some reason got really bored of (and dropped in the middle of Mineos route). I feel like I should at least finish a couple of routes but it's just not been my jam at all even though objectively speaking it's a very well rounded vn :(
