#i was trying to make this look like the game's style for the first one but i thinkit just looks like shuchelles style shoutout to the homie

[mrsstarkey1]

getting rafe hooked on dress to impress

my fav thing i’ve ever written i can’t even lie

word count: 1.2k

obx masterlist

you yawned loudly and abnoxiously as you walked into rafe’s bedroom. you kicked your shoes off, grabbing one of rafe’s t-shirts from his drawer, changing out of your uncomfortable clothes. “didn’t think you were coming back, it’s late as fuck.” rafe said, looking at you oddly as he sat up on the bed against the headboard.

“longest fucking day of my life. need to unwind.”

rafe smirked, reaching his whole body over the bed to grab your forearm. "like the sound of that," he mumbles.

you let yourself move toward him, but you groan, “not like that.” rafe momentarily pouts, but doesn’t let go of your arm. in fact, he pulls you closer onto the bed with him urging you to cuddle up into him.

he snakes his arm around you, soft fingers tracing circles into your side. "wanna talk about it?"

you yawn and shake your head, "nah, can we just watch a movie or something?"

rafe nods, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand. "you don't wanna watch some chick-flick do you?" he asks, grimacing already.

you sigh dramatically, “i guess not. fast and furious?”

rafe obligies, satisfied with your suggestion. you get comfortable on the bed, your head rested on rafe's shoulder and your phone rested on his chest as you scroll through tiktok.

about 20 minutes later, you see a video about the new halloween update on dress to impress and gasp before you can stop yourself. rafe jumps slightly, eyes wide. “jesus christ, what’s wrong?”

"sorry, nothing," you grin apologetically, "can I borrow your laptop though?"

he looks at you like you've lost your mind, but he still grabs his macbook from the nightstand, handing it over to you. you sit up excitedly, leaning up against the headboard.

you open the laptop and sign into your roblox account, side eyeing rafe as he gives you an odd look. "the fuck are you doing?"

"playing a game," you respond innocently.

he raises his eyebrows, "roblox? wheezie used to play that shit.. when she was 8," he says, judging you hardcore.

you glare at him, "you don't understand," you sigh. "just watch me play, it's genuinely fun."

he watches you click on dress to impress, making a disgusted face. "yeah I can't defend you on this one," he says and you shove his shoulder.

"well have you ever played dress to impress?" you ask him.

"obviously not," he says, his sassy side on full display.

"well don't judge then. just watch and i'll let you play a round when i'm done," you say with a smile, patting his cheek softly.

"hell nah," he says, directing his attention back to the movie.

you shake your head, giving up on getting him to play. you start a round, looking around at all the new pieces they added. the theme is holiday for your first round, so of course you do halloween.

you notice rafe's eyes on the computer screen as his curiosity clearly starts to creep back in despite himself. he watches as you piece together combination of a witch hat, spiderweb dress, and dark boots.

“what even is this shit?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly intrigued.

you grin, not taking your eyes off the screen since you only have a minute left. “you compete with other people to make the best outfit based on a theme. you'd be pretty good at it, you've got great style," you say, trying to persuade him.

he gives you a look, shaking his head, "sounds dumb as fuck," he says, and you just laugh. he's silent for a moment before turning slightly to have a better view of the screen, "so what you just like... dress them up and shit?"

you nod, watching the time run out. "yes, then everyone votes on each outfit and the top 3 get on the podium. see," you point to the screen, "the voting's starting now."

an outfit that's completely off theme struts down the runway and you grimace, "see like that one's ugly as fuck so i give it a 1. oooh look, this ones mine," you say with a proud smile. "doesn't she look great?"

rafe shrugs, "i guess."

you ended up getting third place, losing to two terrible outfits. you curse under your breath, before turning to him. “you wanna try a round?” you smile, looking up at him.

rafe scoffs, glancing back at the movie, but curiosity gets the better of him. “alright, fine, hand it over.” he takes the laptop.

"okay the theme is beach day," you tell him.

he hums in response, looking around at the clothes aimlessly. "rafe, you gotta pick something that actually matches,” you say, stifling a laugh as he pairs a yellow bikini top with neon green shorts.

"shh, I have a vision," he says, dismissing your words. "wait why the fuck doesn't she have a face?"

"you gotta go to the makeup and hair room, over there," you point at the screen.

he scrolls through the makeup options, finally decided on one. "mhm, she bad ain't she?" you chuckle, knowing rafe is secretly loving this.

time runs out just as he adds the coconut drink, and you see him watching the screen eagerly, waiting for the voting to end. one girl dressed in long pants and a jacket walks out and he looks over at you, disgusted, "this bitch didn't even look at the theme." all you can do is laugh and nod your head in agreement.

when rafe places second, he smirks, looking way too pleased with himself. "ha," he says, "i did better than you."

you roll your eyes. "yeah you're done playing," you say, snatching the laptop back.

the next night, you texted rafe that you were gonna come over after your morning shift and you didn't get a response, which was odd. you let yourself into his house with the key he'd given you. "rafe?" you called out, walking into the living room. "you here?" no response.

you furrowed your eyebrows, walking up the stairs. maybe he was just in his room, you thought, taking a nap or something. you creak open his bedroom door, met with the scene of him sitting on his bed, looking intently at his laptop.

his eyes shoot up to look at you and he slams his laptop closed, guilty look in his eye. you raise your eyebrows, "what were you doing?" you question him, walking toward the bed.

he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, shaking his head. "nothin.'"

your eyes narrow, "were you watching porn?" you joke, sitting down next to him.

he sighs, "worse.." he trails off. he mentally debates for a minute, before pulling his laptop back into his lap, opening it slowly to reveal dress to impress on full display.

your hand shoots to cover your mouth, laugh escaping your lips anyway. all he does is glare at you, "this is your fucking fault."

you lean into him with a laugh, "I know I know, sorry. don't be embarrassed, rafe." you press a kiss to his lips.

as you kiss him, you can’t help but laugh again, glancing at his screen. "okay wait that's actually a cute outfit. you're getting good," you nudge him, "fashionista," you add quietly with a chuckle.

he looks at you straight-faced, "I'm only playing this dumbass game because you dragged me into it. i was just bored so,” he gestures to the screen.

“sure, rafe, whatever you say,” you tease, cuddling up beside him. "feel free to keep playing, don't stop at my expense."

he scoffs, but gives in and restarts the game.

you wrap your arm around his middle and watch as he puts together outfit after outfit, the grin rarely leaving your face.

you just love your little fashionista.

----

requests are OPEN 💌

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 87 (Ghost Night at the Salty Paws Saloon)

Though rare for bars to welcome ghosts with discounted prices, the Salty Paws Saloon in Fisherman's Wharf wanted to embrace any form of sim who dared spend simoleons at their middling establishment.

Their new Ghost Night was an experiment promoted in the Ambrosia Society's final newsletter, and Heather and Conrad had come on a mission of their own.

"You really think it's possible the man you met outside the historical museum could be here?" wondered Heather. "At Ghost Night?"

Conrad shrugged. "I haven't seen or heard trace of him since that night, and without his name I don't know how to find him. Besides, you're the one who suggested he might be a ghost."

"Yeah, but I was kidding."

Brindleton Bay had little in the way of nightlife. The Calico Lounge and Yacht Club down the road was where higher society danced and socialized, but spending the night surrounded by ghosts in a dive bar was just fine for Heather and Conrad.

In the early days of their relationship, when Ash was still a baby, they'd come here after watching seals at the pier. They'd share a basket of fries and maybe watch a sportsball game or two on the big screen. It was even where Ash learned to pull himself up to stand, and would always be a sentimental place for them.

Now with busy careers, two kids, and the added stress Conrad tried to keep to himself, it had been too long since they'd been out together. Considering their laid-back dating style, it was unsurprising they'd chosen such an untraditional night out.

Conrad pulled out his phone so they could mug for a selfie. "After everything we've seen with the Ambrosia Society newsletters, are you not just a little curious?"

"Of course I am. I want you to find an answer to at least one mystery taking up space in your mind. You're so stressed lately with work, the kids, and now with George Brindleton, closing the book on something would be good. And I want to help you, like always. It's just...What are you going to do if you find out the old man is a ghost?"

"Find out what he wants, I guess? His unfinished business."

They were both a little hungry, but the food at the Salty Paw was usually terrible, so they settled for sharing a bowl of chips from seats at the bar. The place filled first with human patrons, but as the night wore on, several ethereal beings floated into the pub.

One took a seat at the empty barstool to Heather's right. He gave them both respectful nods, and they returned the polite greeting, unsure what to say next. What sort of small talk were you supposed to make with a ghost?

But this man took an immediate interest in Heather, taking care of the small talk on his own. "Good evening, miss. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My friends call me Felix Psyded, Esquire. Lawyer, entrepreneur, and founder of the University of Britechester."

Conrad smirked. "They call you all that? I think I remember reading urban legends about you when I was in college."

"I've read them. None are true. I haven't stayed haunting the halls of my own university. I've been trying to visit as many places as I could."

"As a ghost?"

Felix turned up his nose at Conrad's surprise. "And what do your friends call you?"

"My friends call me Conrad. Pretty much everyone else calls me Sargent Gordon."

"Well, Sargent, what brings you out to pay full price for drinks on a night for sims in my predicament? Are you here to remember lost souls in the spirit of the day? Maybe a war hero?"

"My fiancee, Heather, and I are on a date tonight."

"And we're looking for someone. He might be a ghost. If he is...maybe you know him?"

The ethereal lawyer nodded warmly. "Miss Heather, I've been a ghost for many years and I've met many like me. What's his name?"

"That's the thing, we don't know it. He said he's lived in Brindleton Bay all his life, came out of the museum and offered to show Conrad around the lighthouse after hours."

"It's hard to get far without a name, and I haven't spent that much time here over the years. What does he look like?"

"Well, he's not...translucent," said Conrad. "He's elderly, tanned skin, wavy hair, mustache...I met him once outside the historical museum but I haven't seen him since. I haven't been able to get out to Deadgrass Isle much lately, either, but no one at the museum knows him, and I'm starting to think if he's not a ghost, I imagined him completely."

Felix sniffed. "Sounds very generic. Maybe it is all in your head."

"Forget it. I don't see him here, anyway."

"I'm not saying I couldn't help you. I've become a bit of a ghost historian in the many, many years since I expired."

"Why haven't you crossed over?" asked Heather. "Do you have unfinished business?"

"I most certainly do! Today is the anniversary of my death - I died all the way back in 1915, before this day was even known as Remembrance Day. And I came here to drink myself into a stupor so I can forget how I died far too soon."

"Your unfinished business is to just drink your pain away every year?"

"No, Sargent. I pine for the life I could have lived! I had just opened the University of Britechester with a ribbon-cutting ceremony and the linguistics professor told a very good joke. I laughed harder than I intended. You might say I became hysterical - very unbecoming in my day - and the next thing I knew, the Grim Reaper himself was offering to help me cross over. I told him thank you, but no thank you. Even if I couldn't live as a human, I wasn't going anywhere."

"That's a terrible reason to die, because something was funny," said Heather, as she and Conrad both took a drink of their cream colas in perfect sync. But Conrad finished his in a single gulp, and Heather noticed.

Felix sighed. "That's not even the saddest part. When I died, I lost my love. She remarried another man and had a family and all but forgot me, while I spent her years on earth unable to move on. She's spending her afterlife with her husband, and I can't say I blame her..."

"That's rough," acknowledged Conrad. "I'm sorry."

"I would be willing to keep helping you, if you can point me in the direction of someone who's here for the Ambrosia Society. I've heard the Watcher's put an end to emotional deaths, and I can laugh as hard as I like without keeling over a second time! I was hoping to finally meet someone who can make ambrosia."

Heather smiled. "I could do that. I've learned how! I haven't made it yet, but we have the ingredients. We took the society up on their challenge for our own reasons, but we could always get more ingredients later. Will you help us figure out the identity of the old man at the museum if I make you some ambrosia?"

"I would be honoured to help you, Miss Heather. Though I do have one more imposition to place on you. Would you allow me to stay in your home tonight? Brindleton Bay has little in the way of empty rooms, and I would only ask for a humble sofa to rest."

Conrad wavered. His phone beeped and he checked the call display, cringing when he recognized the San Myshuno area code in the unlisted number.

"Is that work?" asked Heather. "Do you need to answer that?"

Ximena had finally returned the call he'd placed yesterday in frustration, but she'd waited until the evening, when he was more likely to be with his family. He put the phone back in his pocket. Ximena would have to wait, and Rafa, too. Wherever he was.

"It's not work. It's an unlisted number, probably just spam." He turned to their new ghostly acquaintance with a frown. "Listen, we've got kids at home, Mr. Psyded."

"Esquire. Felix Psyded, Esquire," complained the apparition. "And I'm very good with children. I'd like to have one or two of my own someday, should I get to live again."

Heather and Conrad stood to speak quietly. "Ash and Lavender will both be in bed by the time we get home," she reasoned.

"And when the kids wake up in the morning?"

"Maybe...maybe meeting a real ghost is how I can start talking to Ash about life and death. He's so smart - too smart for his own good sometimes, I think. But if he learns about ambrosia and death flowers now, maybe one day if he ever hears about the curse, it'll all be easier to talk about."

Felix poked his head in with interest. "Who's curse?"

Conrad snapped his head back. "Just a minute, Felix Psyded, Esquire."

"You're not having a very good night. Are you, Sargent?"

"I did notice you kept giving moon eyes to my fiancee."

"Both of you, stop! We'd be happy to have you over tonight, Mr. Psyded. Esquire. But please don't get off on the wrong foot with Conrad or come home and scare our kids."

"You have my word, I won't possess a single piece of furniture!"

They spent a few more hours meeting several ghosts who made their way to the bar for cheap drinks, hoping against hope that the man from the museum might eventually turn up. But after midnight, they gave up waiting and settled their tab, bringing a giggling Felix with them.

"I'm so excited, I'm vibrating. Can you hear me?"

But Heather and Conrad were quieter. She knew something was bothering him, and she wanted to know what it was. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: I didn't initially set out to schedule this post on Remembrance Day. This is just where the last week of Reaper Rewards stuff fit in my existing storyline, but how fitting, in a way. 🌺

NOTE 2: On one hand, Conrad should be romancing her extra hard considering he's lying, but if he tries over-romancing unflirty Heather she'll know something's up even more strongly. So they get a dive bar date night to fulfill the last tasks of the Reaper Rewards challenge.

[lj-lephemstar]

Progress Checkup! (Nov. 2024) | Scratchin' Melodii Devlog

​​Hey again guys! Sorry if it's been a bit since the last devlog. With how much I've been up to, it sure feels like it!

Let's get right into it. For starters, the 3rd rival battle of Act 2 is complete! I'll likely be showing a gameplay preview of it sometime soon. This is the first song to use the new framework that I'll be using for all the other stages going forward, which also means I've had to spend the past couple weeks getting the previous songs working with this new system too... Did you know that in the demo builds, if I wanted to change something about the gameplay, I'd have to manually go back and change it for EACH individual song one by one? Well now, imagine all the songs had like a peace treaty to just share one good, clean, and organized system that I can easily tweak and add to as I please. So development is gonna be smoother than ever from here! This is how most games are SUPPOSED to work, but I was a liiittle too stupid to figure out how to do this until recently!

While I was moving Cream Cheese Icing over to this new system, I took the opportunity to make the chart a bit more beginner-friendly! For example, the first line went from this...

To just this!

As you can see, it has less notes, therefore it is less scary for new players. Believe it or not, I actually never intended for Cream Cheese Icing to be so difficult for new players in the first place! Naturally, being too good at my own game can make gauging the difficulty curve a bit tricky at times, but I think I'm figuring it out!​

You may have also noticed that the characters have new UI icons too! I felt like the old ones were too flat and boring, so I did a new take on them, aiming for more dynamic shapes and angles, not to mention how my art style's just kinda grown a bit in general since I last drew the icons. I also ended up leaving out the circles behind them. I was a little worried I was gonna run out of unique colors for all of them at some point, plus SOME of these guys can have really big hair and/or hats that pretty much just cover up the whole circle anyway. (hi rensa)

Speaking of artwork, here's a little look at some of the updated animation I've done for Stir & Mix! (Try to imagine it in not highly-compressed-gif-form. I promise it looks better in-game!)

When working on Stir & Mix related stuff, I can't help but feel a bit of a sense of dread knowing how people may react to it... Honestly, sometimes I kinda wish it never got as popular as it did in 2022. But hey, doing my own thing regardless of what's expected of me is the most Scratchin' Melodii thing I could do!

Speaking of which, Mia learned a ton of new stuff while doing the VOCALOID tuning for the last rival battle we worked on, so we might revisit Stir & Mix's vocals again at some point before release to give it even more style! (By the way, Mia and 2cada are the same person! Sorry if I refer to both names interchangeably! She's been the one doing all the VOCALOID tuning and vocal mixing for the game since 2023.)

Well, I think that's all for now! Here's another friendly reminder that there will NOT be anymore demos of the game. Any new content will be saved for the full game's release. I know I've said it before, but I probably won't stop saying it until people stop getting confused about it LOL. Thanks for reading!! I appreciate you. - LJ

[wisteria-lodge]

Hi! I would like to ask this Narcissa seems to love Lucius and Draco, cares for them and appears to be a family oriented person but how come it is stated in her wiki that she despises the Blacks, wouldn't this imply she considers herself more of a Malfoy and I mean why would she despise the Blacks when it comes to blood purity/superiority, I don't know the correct term but don't they practice/talk about it more/the Blacks prioritize it so shouldn't she be proud of being a Black?

So I just want to say real quick that the fanwiki is not always... accurate. It includes a lot of data from the games, interviews, interviews with the actors that I would never count as canon, and it's also written by y'know, fans. it's actually pretty funny to read through the entry on say, Lucius, and be told that he was a "high achieving model student" and "his talent in potion-making even earned him a place among Slughorn's elite Slug Club." (right. it was definitely just the potions.) I'm learning that he "favours a more elegant, refined technique when he engaged an adversary and generally demonstrates great form in his duelling style." [citation: Jason Isaacs is pretty]. And while we're on that topic "it is likely that his looks might have improved upon the fall of his former Master." Very important that we know Lucius gets hot again after the books.

My guess is that this is the bit you read:

[text id: Narcissa had a close relationship with her oldest sister Bellatrix despite their differing temperaments and personality traits. Narcissa always despised the Blacks, but had great respect for those who did. The ones who dared defy their family's beliefs, such as her older sister Andromeda and cousin Sirius Black, leading her to ignore and disown them.]

I don't know about this. Maybe Narcissa and Bellatrix were close at some point, they do use nicknames to refer to each other, but in the timeline of the books there's a LOT of friction.

Narcissa is actively trying to get Bellatrix to "leave [her] alone" during the Spinner's End chapter (which is what the snippet up there is citing.) Bellatrix is... unhelpful about the Draco situation, saying things like, “If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!" She's also blaming Lucius for the Department of Mysteries fiasco, which Narcissa is pissed about:

“Don’t you dare — don’t you dare blame my husband!” said Narcissa, in a low and deadly voice

We also see some sort of power struggle between them later on, in Malfoy Manor:

“This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my —”

In the books, I don't think we get any details about how Narcissa specifically feels about Sirius, or Andromeda. There's this:

“I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.”

Which is just a very Narcissa way of saying "you're on thin ice." I guess the "dear" feels slightly mocking. But she's also actively threatening Harry, so not the most representative moment. We do get this from Bellatrix:

“We — Narcissa and I — have never set eyes on our sister [Andromeda] since she married the Mudblood.”

But... she is also speaking for Narcissa, and panicking in front of Voldemort. This might not even be true.

As for the wiki saying "Narcissa always despised the Blacks, but had great respect for those who did" - that's such an odd sentence I kinda feel like there must be a typo in there. I'm not sure there's any evidence in the books that Narcissa despises the Blacks.

(I mean I do think, in a fun headcanon way, that you can make a case that she went subtly low-contact with her family after she married Lucius. The Blacks seemed to have a pretty toxic family dynamic going on circa the first war, and one thing you can say about the Malfoys is that there's a lot of love there, and as a family unit they seem solid. Maybe Narcissa did start to think of herself as more of a Malfoy than a Black. (Maybe her Malfoy-blonde hair isn't natural...)

I also think there's something going on with the house elves. The Blacks clearly have a culture of house elves, and the Malfoys... don't? Like there don't seem to be any house-elves there once Voldemort takes over (and I mean, Dobby was such a *stunningly* bad security breach, I'd be shocked if there were.) But the house seems to run just fine, while hosting a bunch of Death Eaters, Snatchers, and prisoners. Makes me think Dobby was the *only* house elf, and that he was originally a Black family house elf who came over with Narcissa when she got married. In that case, I suppose the decision not to get more might mean something. But all that's just me having fun with the worldbuilding. )

[junicane-art]

CRINGETOBER DAY 4: Angel X Demon!!

I was gonna do something else but then i saw this video today and changed my mind! first picture's designs by @lispeaks_ on twitter

the base

[toytulini]

dont get mad at me this is a subjective opinion but like. like i enjoy stardew a lot and this is by no means a criticism, more of like. just a Wish.

I want a game very similar to stardew valley in terms of play and "difficulty" but animated/artstyle like, botw.

[peapod20001]

One of my many talents is the ability to do things, but not know I can do things

[teaandinanity]

Me, gnawing off my own arm in frustration: FINE is there a cheat engine table for this--

Some divine genius, musing on the forums: I mean, the saves are totally comprehensible and you can open them with notepad++ if you just want--

Me, now enlightened: A thousand blessings on your house for averting the fury aneurysm I was dangerously close to, I'm going to make my character a tiny god.

[undercover-bun-etc]

My brain created an entire gacha game for my dream last night and honestly I'm sad it's not real.

[fmhobeus]

so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

[in-class-daydreams]

Imagine ex-husband Gojo and your son, Sen, getting into the nastiest fight to date.

"Doman expansion: Infinity Castle!"

You feel yourself floating right side up, then everything shifts and you're suddenly falling upside down. You hit the tatami mats with an "oof!"

Sen's domain is a Japanese-style castle with infinite rooms he can manipulate at will. The domain is infinite and some rooms can lead to nowhere, reminiscent of Satoru's domain. When he and his best friend Naoki overlap their domains, one could find themselves isolated, battling shikigami in various parts of the castle.

Sen and Satoru land on their feet not far from you.

"Yikes," Satoru says. "Pretty crude, if you ask me."

"Good thing I'm not asking!" Sen would say, powering up his next attack. Satoru would move to counter and by now you have a headache and a bruise, and you've had it with the bickering.

"Domain--"

"Enough!" You put your hands together. "Domain expansion: Thousand Heavenly Gates"

The scene shifts and you find yourselves standing on water with a clear sky above you. One thousand torii gates stand tall all around you. Your ex and son feel the rage inside them start to fade away.

Pointing an accusing finger, you scold them, "You two are two of the strongest sorcerers who ever lived. Using your gifts to bicker with each other is some of the most blatant disregard for your stations I've ever seen! I don't want to see another domain used for this kind of stupidity again. Am I clear?"

"Yup."

"Yes, mama."

"Now," you say slowly. "When I drop this domain, you two are going to spend some civil father-son time together. Go get lunch. I don't care where, but on the way back, pick me up an ice cream. Double scoop. Satoru?"

You ex-husband grimaces and has the decency to look chastised. "Yeah, I know what flavor. That swirly one you like."

"Good. Don't come back until you've learned to play nice."

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo picking you up from girls' night.

Sen goes back to the school dorms at night, so you figured you go out for a few drinks with your friends to catch up. Satoru heard about the event from Shoko and offered to take you home. You agreed and on the way took a detour to your favorite arcade from when you and Satoru were teens.

"Ugh! I swear these things are rigged!" you groan in frustration when the claw game drops the plushie you were aiming for.

"My turn," Satoru says. He scoots you out of the way and focuses hard on the white one-eyed cat you've been trying to get.

In the reflection of the plastic, you notice a slight glow behind Satoru's blindfold.

"No way you're using the six-eyes for this!" You whack his arm playfully, trying to stifle your laughter.

"Don't hate the player, babe, hate the game," he replies. With that, he presses the button and the claw drops. It hits the toy dead center. Closes. Lifts. The two of you hold your breaths.

And drops right into the chute.

"Yes!" you squeal while Satoru retrieves it. His face screws up in a look of contempt.

"Ew, it's even uglier up close."

You snatch it from him and hug it close to your chest. "Don't say that! He didn't mean it, Gege, don't worry."

"You named it already?"

"I named him."

"His face makes me mad for some reason."

"Your face makes me mad for many reasons."

Satoru lightly punches Gege in the face, which leads to you chasing him all the way back to the car, brandishing your new friend like a weapon.

~

Imagine ex-husband Gojo walking you to your front door.

You thank him for the ride and for taking you to that arcade. He doesn't need to know this, but being there with him made you feel like you were seventeen again.

Many things about Satoru remind you of how happy he made you. Even now.

"I'm sorry I acted like that," he says. Your reminiscing means you didn't catch the first part of his apology but you nod like you've been paying attention the whole time. "We're not together any more and I haven't been good about respecting boundaries and I'm sorry."

He blabbers on some more but all you can think about is how this whole apology is exactly the kind of communication you'd been wishing for throughout your marriage.

"So if you're seeing someone now, I get it. I mean, it doesn't matter if I get it or not because it's none of my business but--"

"Oh, shut up, Toru!" Fisting a hand in his shirt, you drag him to your level and kiss him like you’d never get to again.

~

Thanks for reading!

Click [here] for more of Sen being mean to his dad | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[bi-writes]

mail order bride meeting 141 for the first time 🙏

mail-order bride

he likes the way this moment sounds. it will end soon, when you both walk out the door, but for now, he sits, and he doesn't want it to end.

it's not just the sound of the television. his favorite football team has finally fucking put one into the corner of the net. the announcers cheer, but this isn't all that he hears.

the cat is in the kitchen. he can't see it, but he hears it (the little fucker). she's pawing at the cat grass that sits above the sink now. when he leans forward, he notices her little nose pushing it around before she takes a bite out of it.

she leaves the basil alone.

and then there's the sound of you. your feet in the bedroom. when you pass by the doorway, he can see you in different states of getting ready. when you pass by this time, he can see your eyeliner is on both eyes now, not just one, and your hair doesn't have clips or pieces to hold it in its style anymore. it lays perfectly now; he did a double-take when he saw it this way for the first time. you're rifling through the closet now. your clothes used to be in their own drawers. separated. socks not touching one another. your half of the closet, and his half. perfectly divided.

he doesn't remember when it happened. he found your bra under his t-shirt today. he was going through the jackets because your dresses were now between them. in the bathroom, he almost stuck your toothbrush in his mouth because they rest side-by-side in the holder.

when he looks around the room, he can't see where you begin, and he cannot see where he ends. he doesn't see where he started.

but he can see where you will go.

you bounce into the living room, holding up two hangers. there's dresses on each of them, one a dark color, the other light, and you hold them in front of simon who's still sitting on the couch, his head in his hand as he concentrates on the game (where he pretends like he hasn't been thinking about you too hard to really focus).

"simon?" you call, and he grunts, looking over at you. "which one do you like?"

he looks over the two dresses before looking at you. he hums, leaning back against the couch. he shrugs before looking back at the telly. you would look like perfection in either of them, but that isn't what you asked, and that isn't the answer you want.

"the darker one. like ya in tha' color."

you smile a little before going back into the bedroom, hanging the other dress back up and laying the other one out on the bed. you rummage through the dresser for proper undergarments, picking a soft lace pair of panties with a matching bra. you slip them on before stepping into the dress.

you reach around for the waist, and when your attempts to grab it are futile, you look over your shoulder towards the door.

"simon?" you call out gently. "could you come here, please?"

there's a shuffle of sound before simon steps into the bedroom. you point to your back, smiling at him shyly.

"c-could you help me? i can't reach the zipper."

he makes his way over to where you stand in front of the mirror. you watch as his eyes roam over your back, as he takes in the sight in front of him. you swallow as he drags a few knuckles down the length of your spine, his eyes flicking up to meet yours in the mirror before he takes the zipper in his hand and pulls it up. when he finishes, he steps a little closer, dipping his head to look at you from over your shoulder. you turn your head to look up at him, smiling.

"everything okay?" you ask softly, and he clicks his tongue, sliding his hand from its place on your back to wrap around your middle. he spreads a big palm over your tummy before dragging you backwards, your backside pressing against his front.

"mmm..." he scrunches his nose a little, running a pink tongue over his teeth. "look fuckin' beautiful."

you giggle, looking away, spreading your palms along your cheeks to try and make it less hot, less warm--fuck, it's so hot, isn't it?

you pull away to go for your shoes, picking them up from the closet. you take a seat on the bed, trying to ignore simon's stare (impossible), and you put the shoes down to slip your feet into them. just as you bend to buckle them, simon tsks, and you sit up as he kneels down in front of you.

"simon, you--"

"shut it," he mutters, reaching down and picking your foot up by the ankle gently. he wraps the strap around it, fastening the buckle, and you open your mouth to say something, but then he bends, giving your knee a soft kiss before reaching for your other foot.

your eyes meet again as he wraps it around your ankle. he smirks, just enough, and your lip wobbles a little as he fastens the next shoe before setting it back down on the floor. he puts his hands on his knee to get up, standing to his full height, and your neck strains as you try and look up at him.

at times, you feel at odds. he anticipates your needs before you even know what they are yourself. he pushes your meals in front of you just as you realize you're hungry. he helps you to the top shelf whenever you need it, picking you up from your waist without even a grunt. he feeds the cat when she cries, he wipes the tears from your face just as they fall.

you want to be more. you want to be his wife. your life is leisure and warmth, you are cared for like a fine porcelain doll, but what are you to him? what do you do for him? what is it that you bring, why are you here, why did he ever even want you if he provides and all you do is take, take, take?

the pub is alive. the lights flicker and glow a warm orange, and there's many crowds around tables, cheering and laughing and clinking pints together. you swallow as you look around; a crowded place with lots of unfamiliar faces. you freeze at the door, blinking, trying to take it all in. just as you stiffen, there's a presence right at your back.

an arm circles around your middle protectively. simon's warm hand rests at the curve of your waist, and you look up at him. he stares down at you knowingly. he's wearing his mask, obscuring his entire face except for his eyes, but you've learned to read him all the same. his hood darkens the shadows over him, but you see what he's telling you easily.

'm right 'ere.

simon moves you in front of him, walking just behind you, and he leans over to murmur in your ear as he guides you forward.

"in the corner, luv."

you barely have time to register that your husband just called you love when you see an enthusiastic wave meant for you out of the corner of your eye.

simon showed you their pictures, but the grainy selfies from his phone don't do them any justice. kyle has a pearly smile and round cheeks (troublemaker, he could get away with anything with those eyes). johnny has an infectious grin and wild curls that fall in a line down his head (a wild card, he's got eyes that you can't read and a leg bouncing from his terrible inability to sit still). and then there's john, hidden under a beanie and a rough smile (all business, all thought, because even out here, he can't stop his mind from wandering back to the papers on his desk and the cries for help he can't ignore).

johnny's smile drops a little when you come near. he eyes the hand that simon has on you, the proximity of your bodies. he raises a brow when you hold out your hand to shake, gawking when he eyes your other hand, the ring that sparkles there.

"ach, LT..." johnny swallows hard. "is this...is she--?"

simon clears his throat. "this is my wife."

"steamin' jesus," johnny breathes, leaning back in the booth. he picks up his drink and knocks back the entire thing, choking a little as he looks between the two of you. "what the fawk?!"

you blink, stepping back, and simon takes a seat beside john, shaking his head.

"fuckin' hell, johnny. behave," simon mutters. "'s not--"

"ye said y'were showin' us yer new lass," johnny quips. "not yer wife!"

you look at simon, laughing a little.

"simon, you didn't tell them you were married?"

"tha' was need t'know," simon mutters, rolling his eyes. you giggle, looking around for somewhere to sit. simon doesn't give you much time to choose--you let out a shaky breath as he picks you up from your hips, sliding you up and onto his thigh. he spreads his legs a little to accommodate you, but he's such a big man.

simon holds one hand at your back, and the other lays flat against the table. it's easy, falling into conversation with them. they don't talk about work. they're infatuated with their lieutenant and his surprise wife. they ask if he owns pajamas. they ask if he takes the mask off to sleep. they ask if simon whittles, if he listens to music, if there's a snack that puts him in a good mood (jaffa cakes, you tell johnny, who cackles with delight).

when simon gets up to have a smoke, you're surprised. simon never leaves you alone in a public place, ever. he's always at your back, even at the grocery store. he likes to take you aisle by aisle, and he doesn't care if it makes the trip longer, because he doesn't like to have you out of his sight for very long.

he gives you that look, one that you can read. you're safe with these men.

you agree. they bring simon home, every single time.

"awwww, no' gonna give yer lass a smooch, LT?" johnny winks. "'s alright, we don't care. won't think ye a big softie cuz o' it."

simon rolls his eyes, pocketing his cigarettes as he stands by the table. he dips his fingers into johnny's pint and flicks him with it before leaning over and kissing you lightly through the mask, a chaste kiss that already leaves you reeling.

you blink, caught off guard, and you blink up at simon so slowly, a syrupy smile falling over your face.

"LT, that wasnae a real one," johnny rolls his eyes. "wut, are ye scared of us?"

"shut your fuckin' mouth, sergeant, i'll make y'do laps tomorrow."

"big baby."

you watch simon take the back door, letting it swing shut behind him. you excuse yourself, following after him, pushing the door open and blinking to adjust to the dark light of the alleyway.

there's stars out. they sparkle, and you pause to stare up at them for just a moment before making your way to where simon leans against a brick wall.

it all reminds you that you're just small. not small, but smaller than simon, and compared to what stares at you across a violet sky, you are nothing but specks in time. you're drifters, composites of organic matter that somehow, for some reason, exist at the same time.

simon's eyes find your own in the dark. it's hard to see; the only light nearby flickers, and it's hard to focus, but you can see his eyes clearly, magnetized even when the rest of him seems so obscure, hiding from your view.

your smile is clear, too. the watery lines of your eyes, they glow, and when you come near, you and simon are in your own bubble, a pocket of the universe that cannot be explained. he has found you, and you have found him, and even when the night sky tries so hard to hide the things you know are there, it isn't strong enough to take away what exists in the in-between.

you slide your fingers under the hem of his mask. this kind of thing is practiced. the same thing you do when he comes home every day. the only acts of service he ever allows, the only things he ever lets you do.

you ask yourself always what it is that you provide. what it is that he sees in you that you can't seem to see in yourself.

maybe it's this. maybe it's the grounding. the gravity he never used to feel, the orbit he could never quite get himself to maintain, the taut line of connection that's been severed ever since the only people he's ever loved were ripped right out from underneath his ribs.

he puts his hands over yours when the mask is over his nose. his palms over the backs of your hands, warm skin over soft, something broken over something seeking.

"you don't want this," simon whispers, and you frown a little, shaking your head.

"how...how can you say that?"

"i'm not..." he flinches a little. "not made for this. 's not wha' y'think."

you're eyes water. you aren't sad. you're upset.

"y-you have no idea," you whisper. "i know what i want. you can always tell when i'm lying, am i lying now?"

"'s not--"

"simon," you stop him. "look at me," you sniffle, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, before finding your gaze again. it's frightening, what he sees. he sees nothing that he expects. no deception. no fear. the honesty, it terrifies him. the reality of accepting what he can't understand hurts inside. it trickles deep, down to his toes, along his spine, a curdling in his stomach that he can't believe because there's no way that someone can love me when i can't fucking love myself. "am i lying now?"

"no," he breathes, and your smile is sickly sweet. he doesn't understand. he doesn't get it. nothing in his life has ever been this easy. nothing in his life has ever been just for him, all for him, just his, and no one else's. there has never been a piece of life that has ever pitied him enough to let him have it exactly as it is, and yet here she is, my perfect girl, arriving on my doorstep.

like you dropped straight from heaven. angels with soft hands and a timid face and a shadow with soft fur and big eyes and terrible little temper.

simon's hand is an anchor on the back of your head. tilting you to the side, drawing you near, until you are on your toes, and your face is canted up.

you kiss in the dark. your mouth slots over his, hands gripping the front of his jacket as you try and get even closer to him. he's a little shy at first, letting you lead while he follows, but it only takes a few seconds for you to feel his hand stiffen against your head as he kisses you feverishly.

you smile between kisses. he smiles, too. you giggle, and he huffs, and he chases you with more kisses as you cradle his face between your hands and whisper between soft presses, i'm sorry and i know and it's all i've ever wanted.

when you pull away, he doesn't let you go. he presses your forehead to his, connecting you somehow, breathing in the warmth that you radiate to try and calm the pulsing of his blood that rushes in his ears.

when your eyes open again, and you look at each other, everything is suddenly clearer. whatever he saw before, everything must have been in black and white.

he sees in color. the stars align. they fall, one by one, sparkling as they form a pattern, one undiscovered by anyone before him, one he will keep all to himself in the time that follows. when he kisses you again, he memorizes that pattern.

he knows it will always lead right back to you.

[crest-of-gautier]

MORE PQ TIME!!! i'm determined to make good progress on it!! i played for around 4.5 hours today, and got around 52% of the 4th floor done. we have a total of 31 hours in the game and most of my main party is at like level 30/31, i think!

i'm feeling pretty content with my mechanics/persona fusions... there are ways i feel that this operates differently from mainline persona (the way petrification is a status that carries over between battles surprised me!), but i feel like i've really gotten into the groove with the boost system (and i have enjoyed using status ailments more than ever).

i'll probably be getting to see destined partner stuff soon... like as early as next session... i'm very interested in it :3

this time i don't actually have anything to say about the scenes i saw today. there were a few times i was 🔪 at atlus choosing to focus on certain traits for some characters (akihiko with protein and making teddie... very... teddie) but idc to talk about that bc everyone's beat a dead horse abt it. actually wait. i have one thing to say and it's about zen (under the cut)

so when we started spot 4 there's this... scripted battle after you open the door immediately after the staircase- where you get to face the golden hands.

i thought it was interesting to have a forced encounter with them (when it's possible that you might've run into them before) at this stage. game design wise i thought it was nice because it lets the players experiment on their own and come to their own conclusion on how to handle these evasive fucks who are the pain of my existence (i find golden hand movement to be entrancing, actually).

and if you didn't figure out that you could agility bind/panic (via tentarafroo or other means). after the battle, regardless of the outcome (i defeated them), zen just... spells it out for you, tells you directly what strategy you could use.

and i just found that... so very interesting? like yeah, to some people they may look at this and go, "yeah, forced tutorial moment." and i can see that (not that i felt that this instance was a bad thing!).

the point that i'm trying to get at is that i'm particularly interested in how zen knows this. like... to know an innate weakness and countermeasure to them... and when the vr attendants very early on discussed that you shouldn't be able to find living humans in the culture festival, and if you do, they're probably tied to persona/shadow-like entities. i'm like. zen are you pulling this out of your ass because you were a shadow once. i'm shaking him back and forth like a tree in animal crossing!! rah!! tell me your secrets!!!

or of course. the game could just have chosen zen to be a vehicle to give this information to the player and i'm looking way too much into things. i don't think persona should give me another amnesiac character again. i will go crazy over trying to dissect them and see if they challenge the norm of amnesiac persona characters or not. i probably sound like im beating a dead horse but GUYS IM ONTO SOMETHING I THINK.

in any case, i feel the game has had really nice ways of emphasizing the importance of status ailments. way back earlier near the start of the 2nd labryinth, the quest legendary medicine required you to agility bind some lust snakes, and i feel like this kinda alluded to the importance of certain status effects over others? idk. i just think its neat to see how certain quests and monsters can teach you things, y'know? video games...! 🥺💛

i'm reallly looking forward to playing more! while i'd like to finish the group date cafe who knows how sidetracked i'll get... but the floor feels pretty straightforward lol so. we shall see!

[yanderenightmare]

TW: angst, toxic traits, somewhat bullying, breakup

fem reader

You’re his first girlfriend. He’d never bothered with anything serious before—it seemed too messy to trifle with. He doesn’t know why he suddenly decided. Suppose he’d been feeling a little bored, and something within him saw you as a fool-proof opportunity.

It wasn’t because you were anything special. Actually, it was more the opposite. You didn’t seem like too big of a risk. You were just a normal, honest, nice person—a bit of a loser, too, if he was being honest. He could do a lot better and pick someone of the same caliber as him, someone with a cooler style and presence, but then he’d only get caught up in the competition.

You were more to his appetite—a dorky, blushy lil’ nerd who giggled nervously at everything he said. In other words, no competition at all. You’d never dare break his heart because you frankly couldn’t afford it. And he found solace in that imbalance—knowing he held all the cards and that you could only be grateful he’d chosen you.

At least, that had been what he’d thought. But then, here you are, holding his hands from across the table in a cute little sundae café, telling him how this just can’t work anymore.

He’s confused for a whole minute before it sinks in.

You’re breaking up with him.

He’s confused afterward, too.

You’re breaking up with him?

That can’t be right. You must be joking. He almost laughs, almost cackles, but ends up staying completely silent. Something about that pitiful look in your eye makes his throat tight, and he almost thinks he’s going to cry instead. 

You’re breaking up with him. You, with him. His foot starts to tap. Have you hit your head or something? You’re dressed in a hoodie, for crying out loud, with not an ounce of make-up on—effortless, as if his perception of you wasn’t any of your concern while you’re fucking breaking up with him.

No way. There’s just no way. You must be confused about something, is all. There’s absolutely no way you’re doing this.

“What are you talking about?” It comes angry. Louder than he’d intended, enough to make you jolt in your seat. A couple of heads even turn your way. You wait for them to turn back before answering.

“I just think we’re a bit too different. And… I don’t know…” You were trying to find ways of telling him you weren’t in love with him but ended up deciding it was unnecessary—it wasn’t exactly something he needed to hear even though you had a lot you could say.

You’re rude and arrogant and treat me like some rescue pet you’ve nurtured back to health. You act like you’re embarrassed to be with me even though you’re the one without any friends. You’re selfish and spoiled and—

“If you don’t know, then there’s nothing to talk about. Quit being silly.” He has a furrow between his brows as he picks up the pink menu between the two of you, scanning the different types of milkshakes you could share and forget all about it. After all, you weren’t breaking up with him—that would just be absurd. ���Let’s get strawberry.”

“No—”

“Guess we could get mango if you want that instead—”

“I’m not sharing drinks with you—”

“What? You tryna lose weight or something? Not like anyone but me is gonna see you when all you wear are those baggy hoodies all the time. Speaking of which, you should wear mine instead, they’d suit you better—”

“Listen.” You stop his rambling. “I’m not sharing drinks, and I’m not wearing your clothes. I’m not being silly, either. I’m being serious. It’s over—”

“No, it’s not.” His fist bangs against the table—the look in his eye on edge and twitchy. “I asked you why, and you had no good reason—so it’s not, not until you convince me.”

You had wanted to avoid it, but it seems he wouldn’t allow you the grace to spare him. That being said, you hadn’t meant to be so brutally honest…

“You’re a narcissist. You don’t treat me like a girlfriend. I’m more like a charity case or some type of experiment to you. Half the time, it feels as though you’re just playing a game with everyone in your life like pawns for you to shuffle around the board as you see fit.” You’re the one with the furrowed brows now, unable to bite your tongue as you’d kept it in all this time. “I think you should seek help and get your controlling tendencies straightened out before having any type of relationship. Or don’t. In any case, I don’t think I’m the right girl for you.”

There’s a silence. The chatter of the café seems distant. You feel half inclined to apologize as you look at him and stare down the glassy tabletop as if trying to find his reflection for comfort—but then he beats you to the punch.

“You’re right…” he starts softly, mustering the words, and you’re almost proud to see him take it so well, but then there’s a viscousness to his next words. “You’re not the right girl for me.”

When he looks up again, his face is warped—callous and seemingly disgusted by the sight of you. Something about it even seems to lash out at you, seeking revenge.

“I can’t believe I thought I saw something in you,” he sighs. “Turns out you’re exactly what everyone warned me you would be—just a plane-boring old Jane. What a joke—wasting so much time on something so worthless. Forget breaking up with me, I should have broken up with you a long time ago.”

He gets up in a rush and bears over the table, both palms laid flat upon the surface.

“Charity case?” he seethes, then conjures a fake laugh and an even faker grin. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Enjoy sitting here alone like the loser you are.”

And even though you’re the one watching him walk away while ordering a chocolate sundae for yourself, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor guy… 

That had been the most emotion you’d ever witnessed come from him.

Obviously, he doesn’t take it very well, stumbling through the café before bursting out the door, but even he’s surprised by how disheveled it had made him. He’s hyperventilating when the fresh air hits him, almost sprinting to his car so that he can lock himself inside it.

But the car only makes it worse as he’s far from alone in there. You’re everywhere. On the hood, waiting for him with a smile. In the rearview mirror, waving at him. In the seat next to him with a pout, asking if you can stay over. In the backseat, naked with a coy twinkle in your eye.

He knows! He has some of your underwear at home—he’ll threaten to pass them around campus unless you beg him to take you back. No, what’s he thinking!? You’ll never come back to him that way. Fuck, what can he do, what’s he supposed to do!? He just called you worthless—what that fuck was he thinking?!

The tears startle him as they drip down and splash upon his whitening knuckles, where he grips the wheel for dear life even as the car stays completely still—safe and sound in the same plot.

There’s a light pink lip balm on the dash. Yours. You must have left it there—maybe on purpose? No… you don’t play games like that. You’d been honest in the café. The fact terrifies him—his heart seems to want to reject it at all costs, the way it tears in his chest.

He picks the slim pink stick up and rolls it around in his hand, which can’t seem to stop shaking. You’d sat on his lap in this very seat, laughing at something dumb he’d said while applying the very same balm on his lip—kissing his forehead while saying something sweet. He knows it wasn’t, but he imagines you’d whispered that you loved him.

When he smears the balm around his lips this time, he imagines kissing you and your soft lips and that everpresent smile he never bothered telling you was pretty.

He’s such an idiot. The birds in the parking lot take flight at the jostling of his car, but no one hears the roar.

And as he sits there in the following silence, wallowing in his own self-pity and regret, he can’t help but feel like the lead of some angsty teen romance.

And like the lead in an angsty teen romance, he swears… whatever it takes… he will win you back.

You will be his again.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Gojo, Naoya, some young type of Sukuna, or Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ AOT – Eren

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[miharuki]

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖃 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 (𝕱𝖊𝖒)

You were inside an otome game, an old classic that you found while searching for games of the same genre.

Imagine your surprise when you realized you were inside the otome game "My Pure Elegant Love," a medieval-style otome game with nobles, kings, and knights. You had just woken up, finding yourself as the daughter of a duke, any duke. Perhaps for a brief moment, you thought you could have reincarnated as Amelie, the protagonist of this game, but you were far from it.

You quickly befriended Amélie; her sweetness and gentleness were at least forced, but you knew that was the vibe of the game. Perhaps being the daughter of a duke, you could meet other characters, like Claude, the noble and best friend of Amélie in the plot and one of the favorite characters of the small group that played this forgotten game, damn it.

There was also Nathan, one of the strongest and most talented knights in the plot. We can't forget about Kalisto, the protagonist's younger brother who had a crush on her, Luka, one of the princes and also a romantic partner in the plot, as well as the wizard Azrael, and the first Duke Eros, all romantic interests of the protagonist.

Being the daughter of a simple duke, you knew you wouldn't have a chance with those of high status like Luka, the first prince. You weren't the protagonist, but you couldn't help but envy her. Perhaps because she was receiving love from handsome boys? Or perhaps because even in this life, in this game, you weren't loved by your family. You thought that being the daughter of a duke would give you some privileges, but oh, how wrong you were. Neglected by your parents, hated by the romantic interests of the protagonist, and simply having a bad reputation.

You thought you were becoming friends with Claude and that you might even win his love, but that was thrown out the window when they all decided to embarrass you at the prince's luxurious party. You didn't know that wearing a dress that Luka himself gave you would make you the target of everyone's ridicule.

"How could you do this, [name]?" How could you? You didn't do anything wrong! There, in front of the stairs with the prince behind her, was the protagonist, wearing the same dress as yours, but prettier. Perhaps because her perfect protagonist's body and beauty were helping her.

All the protagonist's romantic interests, including the ones you liked on the other side of the screen, were looking at you with anger, perhaps even smiling as if it were planned by them, by all of them, including his highness, who at first seemed not to like you, treating you even like a servant. You envy how they were all around that bitch, comforting her, as if you were the villain, which you never were.

Everyone talked, laughed, and even mocked. "I can't believe Miss Amélie has a friend like that!" You heard a lady saying, looking down. Not even your parents cared about you, at this point, you're probably being disowned by the family.

With tears on your face, after trying to explain the misunderstanding to everyone, after being slapped by his highness and the protagonist, you felt like crap. Pulling on the dress, you turned and ran out of the hall, opening the doors brutally. You couldn't stay in that room anymore, not when everyone was now looking at you with hatred.

Unaware, you came across a balcony, hearing footsteps coming. You were scared; the prince might have sent guards after you after you "lied" to everyone while explaining.

With all your strength, you push through the balcony fence, and as you're about to jump, someone forcefully opens the doors, startling you and causing you to slip, now falling to the ground. Your tears are now stronger, groaning in pain as you try to get up.

It was with pain, dirt, and tears that you ended up behind a bush. You couldn't take it anymore; you were shaking from the cold, crying, your makeup smudged, your hair dirty and messy, your "copied" dress dirty and torn. You've never felt so worthless before.

You cried as if you were carrying all the burdens, thinking about how the romantic pairs and the protagonist were not the best; in fact, they were the worst.

Feeling a headache, you sit down, trying to breathe well and calm down as you think, "And now?"

"What's a maiden doing crying in the middle of the woods?" Looking back, you noticed someone coming, a boy. Turning your head forward, you try to wipe away the tears. You don't like anyone seeing you cry; crying is for weak people.

Then you felt something being thrown over you, a thick, large coat. Lifting your head, you now look at the boy in front of you. His melodic and calm voice speaks as he gently crouches in front of you.

"Can you tell me, fair lady?"

You sobbed, trying not to cry, mocking the nickname the boy gave you.

"Fair lady? The way I am right now, I'm barely even a girl, let alone fair or a lady," you say as you use your own dress to clean up the mess of makeup and tears.

"I don't think that," the boy continues to clean as he speaks. "To be honest, I think you're even more beautiful. You just can't see it."

The boy's hands lift your stained and dirty face. You look and notice the looks he's giving, but they're not directed at the protagonist like everyone else's; they're for you.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" His calm and concerned eyes are looking at you, waiting for your response.

You just look aside before sighing. It's better than nothing.

"His Highness, the prince, had given me a dress as a gift... to wear at the ball today, but my friend - no, Miss Amélie was wearing the same one. Some of her friends started mocking me for trying to 'copy' the girl, but when I tried to explain, His Highness said he would never give me a gift in his life, especially knowing that his 'friend' Amélie would be wearing it today," you almost can't finish without starting to cry again, sobbing as you try to explain.

"They all planned to humiliate me in front of everyone, and His Highness still insists that I'm lying!" You say, already crying again, not noticing the arms going around you. You only notice when you feel being embraced by the boy as you cling to him, crying and sobbing.

"My dear, they don't deserve your kindness or your presence. What they did was extremely awful to a lady like you," the boy says as he strokes your hair and back, comforting you, as you've always wished to be.

You were clinging to the boy, feeling betrayed, feeling used. You didn't even notice the boy raising his hand to someone behind you, to someone dressed in black, a gentleman, but not the prince's gentleman, oh no, not that traitor.

You didn't even realize how the castle was beginning to stir.

"Let's go, I'll take you somewhere else. You might end up getting sick staying here," he says as he watches you cling to him. He could feel your warmth, you were starting to get sick from crying so much. Nomura's heart was breaking at the thought of you falling ill.

"Are you okay with this, miss?" The boy asks before you nod in agreement. Nomura gets ready and picks you up bridal-style, using his own coat that was on top of you as a blanket to protect you as he carried you to his own carriage.

Watching as you had already fainted from crying, he held you gently as the carriage headed towards his castle, leaving behind an important part of the game that was happening, unaware that the game's villain was now holding you firmly.

Do I do a part 2?