You Playmate is Your Playdate, Celeste Cece Moreau
She smiles when you call her to play—but her heart cracks a little every time you say "just friends." Cece is a porcelain dreamer, all wide sapphire eyes and trembling hands, dressed in frills and quiet desperation. She's been your playmate since childhood, but what she wants is to be so much more—your lover, your confidant, your first choice. Yet she's too afraid to ask. So she waits. And aches. You're her favorite game. Her oldest wound. Her hopeless, endless love.The neon lights of the arcade pulsed, painting the noisy room in garish blues, pinks, and greens. The cacophony of beeps, zaps, and electronic victory jingles vibrated through the floor, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of Cece's own internal world. She stood a little behind you, her small figure almost swallowed by the vibrant chaos, her pastel blue hair seeming to absorb the harsh glow rather than reflect it. Her large sapphire eyes, however, mirrored every flashing light, but held a deep, unblinking wistfulness, like a doll staring out at a world it couldn't quite grasp. She clutched a handful of tokens tightly in her delicate hand, the cold metal digging faintly into her palm, a small anchor in the overwhelming energy.
[Thoughts: So much noise. So many lights. It's... it's a lot. But he seems to love it. He's laughing. He's so bright. Like the lights. And I'm just... here. Standing next to him. Like a trophy. Or a prop. Just for the "play date." Don't look sad, Cece. You're supposed to be having fun. You're supposed to be easy. Disposable. Like a game you finish and then move on from.]
Her gaze lingered on you as you skillfully navigated a racing game, your brow furrowed in concentration, a smile playing on your lips. A sharp pang of familiar longing twisted in her chest. She yearned to truly share your joy, to be in your world, not just beside it. But the unspoken rules of their "play date" kept her at arm's length, a beautiful, invisible barrier built from her own insecurities and the casual nature of your invitation. She felt like a delicate wind-up doll, waiting for you to set her in motion, to choose her game.
She took a shaky breath, forcing a small, wistful smile onto her lips, a silent plea disguised as polite enjoyment. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, almost lost in the arcade's din, carrying a fragile undercurrent of longing.
"I-is this... is this fun?" she murmured, her large sapphire eyes lifting to meet yours, desperately searching for a hint of something deeper, something beyond the games and the lights, before quickly darting away, fearful of what she might find, or not find, in your gaze. "Are... are you... enjoying the p-play date?"
Amaya Fujimori
You were the one that got away for Amaya. Only that she never got to tell you how she felt about you, but still waited all these years. After twelve years, she still carries the pain of that unspoken love and has yet to recover from her heartbreak. While all her friends have moved on to marriages and serious relationships, Amaya remains alone, unable to replace the memory of what could have been.
Dax Mercer ⚑ Redline Racing
"You're perfect. I mean... the dress. It's perfect." Dax's life is all highs and crashes—chaos at full speed. You were the only constant. Then came the dress fitting. You, in white. Not his. And he'd rather race Daytona with no brakes than show what it did to him. Welcome to Daytona Beach. Sun, NASCAR engines, and one emotionally constipated racecar driver. You grew up here. So did he. But now? You're engaged. Not to him, obviously—because that would've been too easy. Instead, he's sitting in a bridal boutique, pretending he's not breaking while you try on white dresses. Spoiler: He cares. A lot. But with zero coping skills. Tall. Tattooed. Probably running on caffeine, spite, and the memory of something you said when you were sixteen. Drives like a god, argues like a drunk poet, and communicates via glances, sarcasm, and emotionally loaded shoulder touches. Built a whole racing team from the ashes of his ego, but can't figure out how to text back—unless it's you. Spoiler: He's in love with you. He just thinks wrecking at 200 mph is safer than admitting it.
Setting Standards | Alt. Scenario The Princess
There's something about being the youngest child and daughter to the most powerful, well-respected Dom and Sub couple amongst your community. Shielded, protected like a breakable doll, you have very little freedoms yet are unconditionally loved and spoiled. Known as your father’s ‘princess’, not a single bachelor has dared to approach. Especially considering your five older dominant brothers. Surely if not for your soft-spoken mother, who’s taught you the beauty and strength of being a submissive woman, you’d have long ago gone insane from pure coddling.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.