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solxamber · 17 days ago

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Brighter Than The Sun || Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim shines like the sun, radiant and unwavering—yet each day, he burns a little closer to the edge, waiting for the moment he no longer has to be the light for everyone else.

Kalim Al-Asim is the sun.

Golden and bright, the very picture of abundance. He is the warmth that spills into every crevice, the laughter that brightens any shadowed corner. To anyone who looks upon him, Kalim is all light—glowing, inexhaustible.

He smiles, beaming as though he has never known a reason to frown. He is the friend who helps without question, the noble who offers wealth as casually as he breathes. Everything about him seems limitless, as if there’s a wellspring of joy tucked beneath his ribs.

To the world, he is everything one could want. Money? He has enough that he could give it away a thousand times and never feel the weight of the loss. Status? He holds it effortlessly, carrying the Al-Asim legacy like a crown he was born to wear. Power? He stands at the top of his dorm, a place reserved for the most capable, a place so few could even dream to reach.

Yet when he is alone, under the quiet of his own thoughts, he wonders if this light truly belongs to him.

For he is the sun, yes, but only in appearance. And sometimes, when the crowd's noise fades, and he is left in the quiet of his own mind, he feels more like the moon.

A surface that reflects the light given to it, glowing not because it burns but because it must imitate what it cannot create. He looks at his life, and the brightness seems less a gift and more a performance—a practiced gleam, like polished gold.

His wealth is not his own; it flows from a family name that stretches far beyond his own reach, his life inextricably intertwined with that legacy. He is a prince, a beloved heir, but also just a vessel for what the Al-Asim family has always been.

His title as housewarden—an honor, a symbol of his supposed strength—feels hollow, as if it is an illusion created by the weight of his family’s donation, a stage set up for him to walk across without effort.

He knows his own weaknesses too well. The duties of his position are carried not by his hands, but by Jamil’s steady, unseen grasp, the support he feels but cannot acknowledge aloud. He walks through his life like a dream, all things handed to him so effortlessly that he can barely tell where his accomplishments end and Jamil’s sacrifices begin.

He smiles for the people who look to him with bright eyes, never revealing the doubt that tugs at his heart. Because if he reveals even a hint of insecurity, what might they see?

To the world, he is a radiant, boundless sun. But to himself, he is a vessel, filled with the reflected light of others.

He should not complain. How could he, when he has everything anyone could want? It is a life of luxury, endless opportunity, and privilege. To speak of weariness, of doubt, of feeling like a stranger in his own skin—that would be a betrayal of all the riches he has been given.

So he keeps his smile intact, lets it grow even brighter to cover the places where he feels hollow. He becomes the perfect image of the Al-Asim heir—unfailing, generous, golden.

But with each person who takes a part of him, each smile he offers in place of the words he cannot say, he feels himself dim. It is a slow fading, like a candle burning down to its last flicker.

They come to him for his wealth, for his status, for the power that drapes him like a robe. They praise him, flatter him, but he wonders if any of it would remain if he was just Kalim.

So he smiles, and he smiles, because that is what the sun must do.

He smiles because that is what the Al-Asim heir has always done. And if he must dim a little, if he must give until there is nothing left, then so be it. Because he is the sun. Or at least, that is what the world needs him to be.

The announcement for the competition rings through the hallways like a spark, and within moments, it feels like Kalim is being surrounded. A food sale—a lighthearted, fun event meant to bring everyone together.

But the minute it’s announced, people begin to approach him, voices eager, faces alight with plans that all seem to look the same: “You can bring in the best chefs, right?” “With your budget, we’ll be unstoppable!” “If we work with you, victory’s in the bag!”

They don’t want to team up with him because it’ll be fun. They want to team up because he’s a shortcut to winning. The money, the prestige, the pull he doesn’t even remember asking for—those are the things they’re looking at, not him.

It’s as if he’s transparent, just a vessel for everything he can provide, and suddenly the bright prospect of a competition meant for laughter and shared stories feels like a thin disguise for something much more hollow.

He puts on his best grin, the one that usually gets him through anything, and thinks of Jamil. But he knows before he even starts the trek that Jamil won’t accept his help—not really.

He would take one step into Jamil’s space, and the same pattern would unfold: Jamil’s skill, his knowledge and sharp-eyed focus, would all have to fold back and take second place for Kalim. And Kalim’s heart would break a little more, watching Jamil slip back into that practiced shadow.

So he chooses someone at random. He watches his friend fade into the distance, unapproachable in the quiet corner he’d always known to seek, and feels himself both moving closer and losing him. Because if Jamil joins with someone else, maybe this time, he’ll finally get the recognition he’s always deserved.

Then, suddenly, there’s a voice—a calm, grounded voice, an anchor that cuts through the whirlwind around him. “Do you want to team up?”

Kalim blinks, looking up. It’s you, the one person he might have expected least, but it makes sense the more he thinks about it. You’re the prefect, the magicless wonder who bent over backwards time and again for people you barely knew.

He’s seen you take on challenges most people would run from; he’s seen you forge your own way in a world that wasn’t made to be kind. You’re… well, you’re what he imagines the sun to be—shining for everyone, regardless of how dark things might seem.

The memory slips back into his mind, hazy at first, like a half-forgotten dream—but then it sharpens, each detail painfully vivid. After Jamil's overblot, Kalim remembers standing on the edge of chaos, his mind spinning, his heart bruised. The realization of Jamil’s resentment had wrapped around his throat, each word, each look, echoing. And yet, he had smiled, grinned even, as he always did—because he had to.

It was then that you appeared beside him, quiet but determined, your gaze steady and warm as you asked, “Are you okay, Kalim?”

He’d almost laughed it off. "I’m fine! You should check on Jamil instead.” Jamil was the one who had suffered, after all, who had been weighed down by his own heavy feelings, dark enough to blot out everything else. But you shook your head, gently dismissing his words. “Jamil’s in good hands. Right now, I’m here to check on you.”

Your voice cut through the polished, automatic responses that came so easily to him, cracking them open to reveal the raw vulnerability underneath. He stood there, lost, the smile frozen on his face, as your words sank in. You weren’t here because he was the housewarden or the Al-Asim heir—you were here for him.

Before he could respond, you were called by Ace and Deuce, voices edged with worry and urgency. With a quick but genuine smile, you pressed your number into his hand, like a promise. “If you need anything, just call me, okay?”

Then, before he could gather a single thought, you pulled him into a swift hug. It was brief, barely more than a whisper of warmth, but it was real. And as you turned and rushed back to the others, Kalim was left standing alone, clutching the scrap of paper like a lifeline.

It was the first time he felt truly seen.

And now here you are, looking right at him with that unmistakable twinkle in your eye, and asking him if he wants to team up with you.

For a moment, his heart jumps, then settles. How could he say no?

When you both sit down, Kalim immediately jumps into the plan he assumes you want to hear—how he’ll bring in a chef, or two, maybe even three to make sure everything’s just right.

But the second he starts, you shut him down with a gentle shake of your head, laughing softly. “This isn’t about winning. This is about having fun with friends, remember? I didn’t ask to team up so you’d hire people. I wanted to cook with you.”

Kalim’s heart skips. You’re here… just for him?

It’s a strange feeling, this warmth that wells up from deep within. His grin starts small, uncertain, then blooms into something true and wide, unfiltered and bright.

The kitchen becomes a small world for just the two of you, a place of flour clouds and flung sugar, and with each mistake, with each burnt attempt at a dish, you both dissolve into helpless laughter.

What starts as a noble, if catastrophic, attempt to cook quickly devolves into pure chaos, until there’s more flour on your faces than in the mixing bowl and neither of you can remember what you were even trying to make.

For once, he doesn’t feel the need to give, or to prove. Here with you, he’s simply Kalim—the boy with flour smudged across his cheek and laughter that keeps bubbling up before he can stop it.

When the competition ends, you both stand proudly beside a dish that looks nothing short of monstrous. The judges hesitate, then take a tentative bite and promptly grimace. Kalim hears you giggling beside him, your shoulders shaking as you take in the judge’s expression, and he can’t help but join you. It’s a sound that fills the space between you, something unpracticed and utterly genuine.

For a moment, he looks at you, your face still bright with laughter, your eyes shining like starlight, and a thought settles into him, quiet but strong.

Maybe… maybe he’d be happy being your moon.

Because you’re the sun in all the ways that he could never be. You light the way without needing anything from him. And for once, he feels no need to push it down and smile, because it feels natural.

It happens often enough that Kalim doesn’t flinch anymore. He’s used to it, really. Requests come at him like a tidal wave, sweeping through with unrelenting regularity. It’s as if everyone expects him to be their endless source, their personal sun—warm, bright, unyielding in generosity, always giving without pause. A smile that never fades, a light that never dims.

Today, it’s a classmate from another dorm, sidling up with that gleam in their eye, that small, calculated smile. “Kalim,” they say, smooth and honeyed, “I could use a little help.” And it’s money they want; of course it’s money. They don’t ask how he’s doing, or if he might need something in return. The sun does not need favors; it simply shines.

Without hesitation, Kalim’s lips curve into that familiar, reflexive smile. “Of course! How much do you—”

But before he can finish, there’s a shift—a hand on his arm, warm and grounding, and then there’s you, stepping in. You stand firm, gaze unwavering as you look at the person with something fierce, a protective spark in your eyes he’s not accustomed to seeing directed at him.

“No,” you say, voice strong, clear. “He won’t be giving you any money today.”

Kalim stares, momentarily stunned, as the person falters, their confidence waning under your unyielding gaze. They stammer, offering excuses, their polished smile slipping away, and Kalim realizes, slowly, that you’ve dismissed them entirely. Just like that, they slink off, and it feels as though you’ve thrown up a wall between him and the world, shielding him from the hands that are always outstretched, from the shadows eager to siphon his light.

For a heartbeat, Kalim almost laughs it off. It’s what he always does, isn’t it? His warmth is endless; he’s the sun, and if they want to take a little here and there, that’s fine. But as he opens his mouth to brush it away, your gaze catches his—a fierceness still burning there, softer now but just as fierce.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice faltering, a practiced line that feels hollow now. “I don’t mind. I have enough.”

But you’re shaking your head, brows furrowed. “It’s not about having enough, Kalim. It’s about people thinking they can take advantage of you, people who see your kindness and assume it’s endless. I’m not going to let that happen—not while I’m here.”

Your words are firm, soft but unbreakable, and they slip past his practiced defenses, breaking through the polished brightness he’s wrapped around himself for so long. He’s heard people defend him before—duty, necessity, loyalty.

But this… this is different. You’re not protecting him out of obligation or his family name; you’re protecting him because you see him—the cracks beneath the shine, the exhaustion hidden behind the smile he’s worn for so long.

It’s strange, this feeling. It’s warmth, but not the warmth he gives. It’s something softer, gentler, a warmth that reaches out to cradle rather than to demand. And Kalim realizes that you aren’t here to take; you’re here to give.

It feels as if something’s settling in his chest, filling spaces he’s ignored. A sun isn’t supposed to dim, isn’t supposed to falter, but right now, he feels the smallest, most fragile sense of relief, of finally allowing himself to be seen.

For a moment, he stands there, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be, letting the feeling settle into the empty corners of his heart.

He’s always been the one giving, radiating, shining for others, but right now, with you, he feels… cared for. Cherished, even. And for the first time, he wonders if it’s possible to let himself be dim, even for just a moment, to let himself be a little less bright.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, shaky. “Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like a fragile confession, a quiet plea that maybe he doesn’t have to be everyone’s light alone.

And you smile at him, not as someone who needs, but as someone who gives, and Kalim realizes maybe he doesn’t have to carry on being the sun on his own.

The room feels too large, the air too thick. The housewardens’ meeting has reached a stalemate, and all eyes are on him—the sun who can’t afford to waver, the one they all seem to look to now, expectant.

It’s suffocating, the way their gazes settle, heavy as if they could burn through his skin. He knows they’re waiting for a decision, the final word to tip the scales. But Kalim doesn’t know what to say.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, the words tangling in his throat. The others are smart, strategic, relentless in their arguments, and he… he just wants to make the choice that won’t ruin everything.

The room is a whirl of voices and opinions, and he feels small under the weight of it. He doesn’t know what the right answer is, but Jamil would. Jamil always knows.

So he tries to voice it, a faint smile surfacing like a reflex. “Maybe I could just… ask Jamil,” he says, a bit too quickly, fingers reaching for his phone. “He’s smarter than me, you know? He’ll know what to do.”

But before he can call, a hand finds his, warm and grounding, and it’s you, giving him a look that’s gentle yet firm, one that stops him in his tracks. “Kalim,” you say, softly but with a certainty that doesn’t let him look away, “what do you think?”

The words settle into the room, silencing the murmur of voices, and suddenly, it’s just you and him, and that question hanging between you. It’s simple, yet it strikes at something deep, something unsteady inside him. No one has asked him like that before—not with such unwavering faith, not like they actually want his opinion.

He stumbles over his thoughts, searching for an answer in the corners of his mind. A nervous chuckle bubbles up as he tries to brush it off. “Ah, I mean, I don’t know if I… I mean, Jamil’s really good at this stuff, he always knows the right—”

But you don’t let him retreat. Your gaze is steady, unwavering. “You’re the housewarden, Kalim,” you remind him. “This decision is yours. And beyond that, I trust your judgment. Whatever choice you make, I believe in it. I believe in you.”

And just like that, something cracks open in him, a warmth he’s not used to directed at him, not in this way. He’s the sun, but the world has always taken that light from him, never cared for the doubts and cracks beneath it.

He’s always been everyone’s brightness, a mirror reflecting what they needed to see, but no one has ever looked past the shine to find what lies underneath—until now.

There’s a rawness to it, a gentleness that makes his heart stutter. To think that you… you believe in him, without question, without needing him to hide behind Jamil or his family’s influence.

It’s as if, for the first time, he’s seen for more than just his blinding, relentless cheer. And he realizes he doesn’t have to dim himself here; he doesn’t have to be anyone but himself.

His heart swells, and he finds himself grinning, wide and genuine, a real smile that breaks free from the polished restraint he’s so often worn. He makes his choice then, and he’s almost surprised by the ease of it, the clarity in his own voice as he casts his vote.

The meeting wraps up, and as the others disperse, he turns to you, his eyes bright with a newfound light. “You really mean it, don’t you?” he asks, almost breathless with disbelief. “You really think I can… handle this?”

You nod, and the quiet sincerity in your gaze tells him everything he’s ever wanted to hear.

He’s buzzing with excitement now, a warmth in his chest that radiates outward, too bright to contain. “We should celebrate!” he exclaims, a bit too loud, the joy spilling over, “Oh! We could throw a party! I’ll get the best decorations—oh, maybe fireworks! Or music, live music, yeah!”

He goes on, the plans growing more extravagant with every breath, each word a piece of his true self spilling over, no longer held back. But then you reach out, grounding him again, slipping your hand into his. It’s a small gesture, but it holds the weight of something steady, something real.

He looks down, meeting your gaze, and he feels himself settle, his grin softening as he squeezes your hand in return. It’s a connection that doesn’t need words, a promise that he doesn’t have to be the sun alone, that he doesn’t have to bear its weight for everyone else. With you here, he feels whole, bright in a way that isn’t lonely or draining.

And for the first time, Kalim lets himself bask in his own light, just as he is.

The night presses down, dense and endless, smothering like velvet too heavy to breathe through. Kalim’s room is dark, his bed sprawling, sheets cool and smooth and empty.

He lies there, eyes wide open, and the silence around him is too thick, his mind too loud. Thoughts spiral, each more bitter than the last. The emptiness gnaws at him, whispers that scratch at his heart, telling him that he’s alone—that he’ll always be alone.

They all come to him because he’s the Al-Asim heir, the boy with endless coin and golden connections. No one really wants to know you, his thoughts hiss, cruel in the stillness. They just want what you can give. Even his friends, the laughter and cheers that surround him during the day, feel hollow when night falls and he’s alone with himself.

And then there’s you… you, who’ve looked at him like he’s more than just a title, more than just a shimmering surface. But his heart trembles, fear threading through his veins. What if, someday, even you see past his brightness and turn away? What if you realize he’s not what you want, not who you deserve?

The thought digs deep, enough to make his chest tighten. And before he knows it, his fingers are reaching for his phone, trembling as he finds your contact, the screen casting a soft glow in the darkness. His finger hovers over the call button, his mind screaming not to, to let you sleep, but his heart—panicked, needy—wins out.

He taps the screen, the line ringing just once, then twice. But dread fills him, heavy and sudden, and before you can pick up, he hangs up, tossing the phone aside like it’s burned him.

The room is darker now, the silence sharper, and his heart beats loud, a hollow echo. What was I thinking? He tries to laugh it off, as though his thoughts aren’t tightening around him. But then his phone vibrates, the screen flashing with your name.

He swallows, unable to answer, shame and fear tangled up, so he lets it go to voicemail. Then the screen lights up again, and again, until finally, after his third silence, the calls stop.

The quiet returns, heavier than before, and he’s about to close his eyes, to pretend he never did anything so foolish, when there’s a knock. It’s soft at first, hesitant, then insistent, each knock pounding through the empty space in his chest.

He doesn’t dare breathe as he drags himself out of bed, opening the door only to find you there, looking up at him with wild, frantic eyes, like you’ve just run miles to reach him.

“Kalim,” you gasp, barely catching your breath, and he’s so stunned he almost doesn’t notice the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. You reach for him, hands shaking, and in an instant, your arms are around him, pulling him close, clinging to him like he might disappear if you let go. “You scared me! You really… I thought—” Your voice breaks, thick with worry, and your grip tightens, trembling as though you’re afraid he’ll slip from your hold.

He’s frozen, the weight of your embrace pressing into him, disbelief rippling through him. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, trying to laugh it off, to brush away the panic in his chest. “It was… it was just an accident! I didn’t mean to wake you—”

But you pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, your gaze sharp with the weight of a thousand unspoken worries. “Don’t you dare do that to me again,” you say, your voice firm, fierce in a way he’s never heard before. “If you need me, call me. Really call me. Don’t just… don’t leave me hanging, don’t make me wonder. I was terrified, Kalim.”

And before he can even answer, you wrap your arms around him again, burying your face in his shoulder as you hold him close. It’s grounding, the warmth of you pressed against him, anchoring him in a way that silences the dark thoughts spiraling through his mind.

He can feel your heart racing, hear the quiet sniffles as you clutch him tighter, and it’s like all the loneliness, all the fear, all the doubts fade into the background. Because you’re here, and you came all this way just for him.

“Come on,” you say after a long moment, pulling away just enough to flash him a faint, determined smile. “Scooch over. We’re having a sleepover. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He blinks, watching in wonder as you make your way to his bed, throwing back the covers and settling in as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He can only stand there for a moment, stunned, before he finds himself crawling into bed beside you.

He’s never had someone sit with him like this, just to be there, and a strange warmth fills his chest, unlike anything he’s felt before.

You don’t ask him why he called or why he hung up, and he doesn’t need to explain. You’re here, stretching out beside him, your presence a steady warmth that keeps the shadows at bay.

When you reach over to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, it’s like a promise, an unspoken vow that no matter how dark the night feels, you’ll be here to pull him back into the light.

And as he lies there, hand in yours, he realizes he doesn’t need to fear losing you. For the first time, he feels truly seen, like you understand every part of him—the bright, blinding sun he tries to be, and the quieter, flickering light beneath. He squeezes your hand back, his heart lighter, his smile real.

Kalim has known for a while now, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. But no amount of blinding sunlight, no amount of laughter can hide the truth beating loud and insistent in his chest. He’s fallen for you, deeply, hopelessly, and it’s nothing like he’d imagined.

Not grand or regal or even serene. No, it’s messy, overflowing, spilling out like the cups of tea he clumsily pours, like the stories he rambles through whenever you’re nearby. You make him feel like he doesn’t need to wear that bright, polished sun mask that everyone expects from him.

But how can he possibly tell you? In his mind, the moment plays out with magic carpets soaring through the stars, firelight flickering against golden sands, his heart laid bare in the most dazzling of confessions.

Yet here he is, standing with you in the middle of a bustling market, your hand gripping his as you pull him from stall to stall, eyes bright with excitement as you chatter on about matching trinkets, laughter bubbling up as you try on silly hats and drape fabrics over each other’s shoulders.

He’s surrounded by the scents of spices, the hum of people, the rough cobblestones beneath his feet—and suddenly, the words slip out, too big to be contained. “I love you.”

It’s out before he can stop himself, hanging there in the air between you, fragile and exposed. There are no magic carpets, no glittering jewels or ancient spells—just the clamor of the marketplace and your stunned expression.

For a split second, he panics, his heart dropping as he watches you go still, your laughter fading into silence. What did I just do? he wonders, dread pooling in his stomach.

Before he can backtrack, you grab his hand and tug him away, weaving through the bustling crowd with a determined pace. He follows without a word, his heart thudding painfully, a thousand worries flashing through his mind. Are you mad? Are you disappointed? The walk back feels endless, every step dragging out his dread as he watches your profile, desperately wishing he could read your mind.

When you reach your room, you shut the door and turn to face him, eyes steady and piercing. “Say that again,” you demand, soft but firm, voice almost a whisper.

He swallows, nerves tangling in his throat, but he can’t hide now, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I love you,” he says, voice trembling but true. And before he can get another word out, your hands are cupping his face, and you’re pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s fierce and sweet, leaving him breathless.

When you pull back, he stares at you, wide-eyed, his mind still reeling. “But—” he stammers, “It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t…” He trails off, words slipping through his fingers, his heart heavy with the thought that he’s somehow let you down.

You silence him with another kiss, your hands gentle on his cheeks. When you pull away, you hold him there, your gaze warm and unyielding. “I don’t need grand, Kalim. I don’t want fireworks, or magic carpets, or anything the Al-Asim heir thinks he’s supposed to offer. I love you. Not housewarden Kalim, not the heir… Just Kalim. The one who follows me through crowded markets, the one who hums while he braids my hair, the one who laughs so brightly it could heal the world.”

Your fingers trace along his jaw, and the sincerity in your eyes takes his breath away. “You don’t need to be the sun for me. You don’t need to burn yourself out for people who don’t care. You’re enough as you are. You’re my Kalim, and I’m yours.”

And as you smile at him, soft and true, he feels his heart swell, the insecurities falling away. Your words wrap around him, gentle as a cloak, quieting every fear and doubt he’s held onto. It’s more than he ever thought he could have, more than he ever thought he’d deserve.

The smile that blooms on his face, radiant and unrestrained, is real.

Because in this moment, with you by his side, he shines brighter than the sun.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #kalim x reader #kalim al asim x reader #twst kalim #kalim #kalim al asim #kalim al-asim x reader #kalim al-asim

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pawnshopbleus · 11 months ago

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hi! i was wondering if you could do a corio x plinth reader where he aproches her bc she is a plinth (and she notices and gets mad bc she think that corio takes her for a stupid girl who would just fall for his lies) but he slowly falls for her. i would really like if it ends well, like them together. i hope you understood my idea, i love your work btw.

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

coriolanus snow x fem!plinth!reader

summary - basically what the request says, but there is no happy ending because i'm evil.

contains - angst, the capital being described as beautiful, gold-digging, rude coriolanus, not beta read

author's note - i'm so sorry @simpovereveryone for the unhappy ending, but i feel like once someone finds out you originally wanted to date them for their money there is no coming back. originally, this was going to be a happy ending, but I just couldn't write one that felt natural and real. if you want, I can do a happy Coriolanus later, but there is no happy ending in this one.

IT was no secret that Strabo Plinth’s daughter was in love. It was the only thing people would talk about at the Academy. In between each Hunger Games, Capitol citizens were bored. Gossip would spread like a wildfire. They didn’t know how to keep a secret.

Coriolanus knew that you liked him. It was obvious to anyone that had two working eyes. The way that your eyes would follow him wherever he went, and how your back would straighten every time he walked by was evidence enough that you had a crush on the blonde boy.

Coriolanus was flattered, really, but he just wasn’t one to date. Many girls have tried and failed at dating him. None piqued his interest. He found that most pretty Capiol girls were dumb and had no interest beyond their physical appearance. They also lacked what he needed most, money.

Coriolanus wanted to continue his education at the University after the Academy. He needed to keep a roof over his, Tigris, and Grandma’ams head, or he would have failed as a cousin and a grandson. Those necessities don’t come cheap after a war, no matter how long ago the war was.

And then he heard the news. Some new students were chatting during lunch. His name and yours got thrown around, and after some intense staring at his apple, he heard what they were talking about. Your little schoolgirl crush on Coriolanus, and that was confirmation enough.

Then there you were, sitting in all your glory.

Being the one and only daughter in the Plinth family made you susceptible to fake people. Always after your money and status, but they will talk about you behind your back. Coriolanus has heard it all. He needed to outsmart the many and study the few that made it to your inner circle. Just because you already had a crush on him meant nothing if he didn’t have a good enough reason to chase after you.

Your red school uniform mixed in with the rest of the crowd, but your face was what drew him in. It was so different, unconventional, and beautiful. The unconventionality of your face made him want to paint a picture of you from memory. You were unique, which he liked. This won’t be too bad, Coriolanus said in his head.

Your tired eyes met his and he didn’t look away. The bags under your eyes accentuated the fact that you couldn’t sleep last night. The thunder crashing outside of your window was probable cause to keep you awake.

Coriolanus got up from his chair and stocked towards you. His stride was purposeful, guiding through clumps of students gathered around the room. He sat across from you and said nothing as he studied your tired expression. It was weird that your brother's friend and your crush were sitting across from you all of a sudden. You were in no way ready to talk to him right now.

“Did you want me to tell Sejanus something?” was all you could manage to ask. Your brain was begging you to ask more. Why are you here? How is your family? Do you think I’m crazy for liking you, even though we’ve never had an actual conversation? But your mouth stayed shut, which saved you from a boatload of embarrassment.

Coriolanus smiled. His teeth were imperfectly imperfect. A natural color, not too white, but not too yellow. His right front tooth was slightly crooked, giving his teeth personality.

“No, I came here to talk to you.”

Your brows furrowed for a second. Why in the world would he want to talk to me? Besides being the sister of his friend, you had nothing going on for yourself. There were far prettier girls that he could talk to. You weren’t all that traversed in philosophy and classic books like he was. You were just…you.

Your lips pressed together in a small line and then returned to normal after a second. You couldn’t form coherent words right now. You nodded your head at the boy in front of you and looked across the room, not ready to make eye contact with him at the present moment. Students talked and whispered with each other as they took in the scene. Coriolanus Snow talking to the girl that had a crush on him. Many girls who had tried to date him in the past narrowed their eyes at you.

You had not noticed that the room was almost silent, save for the whispers of the nosey students. Coriolanus kept repeating your name, trying to break you out of your trance. You liked the way your name rolled off his tongue. An unlimited amount of syllables were repeated over and over again in his baritenor voice.

“What?” you ask as you are broken out of your trance.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” he answered your question with another.

This seemed too good to be true. The boy you’ve had a crush on for years had just asked you out for seemingly no reason. Either whatever higher power in the sky was on your side, or this was one huge prank. Either way, you agreed.

˖ ࣪ . 🦢 ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

You stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of your room. The baby pink silk slip dress you were wearing used to belong to your mother. She had given it to you two years ago in hopes that you would wear it. She hoped that you would wear it on a date with a nice boy. That’s exactly what you were doing, but there were two problems. The first problem was that you were nothing like your brother, outgoing and outspoken. You preferred to keep to yourself, and if you had to socialize, you would do it with the handful of friends you had. The second problem was that it was two years later. The dress no longer draped beautifully around you like it did when you were younger. It clung to every curve, crevice, and roll you had on your body. You were lucky that the dress still zipped up. You studied yourself in the mirror, going from the tip top of your head down to your painted toenails. At least it looked like you had enough money to be well-fed and groomed.

Coriolanus was taking you to a new rooftop restaurant. The women in your mother's book club raved on and on about how elegant and regal the vibes in that restaurant felt. They also recounted how hard it is to get a reservation. For a new restaurant, it seemed pretty picky with its patrons.

He picked you up around six. The sun had already set and a chill breeze kissed your skin, causing goosebumps to rise on the bare skin of your arms. Coriolanus kept you close to him, placing a strong hand on the small of your back. His hand was cold, causing you to shiver.

The reviews were right. The restaurant was beautiful. The entire place was lit using nothing but candles. They lined the tables with pristine white cloth. There were other details of the restaurant that were otherworldly, but the view of the Capital made you swoon. With Coriolanus long forgotten, your eyes lit up at all the lights and such that outlined every building and street. You had forgotten how beautiful the Capital was at night. Your heart panged with gratefulness at being able to experience this even though you weren’t born here.

Coriolanus studied you once again. The city lights flashed and shone across your body, accentuating the way your skin looked. It looked soft, almost perfect. Nothing was ever perfect.

“So, Sejanus told me you like to paint,” Coriolanus commented, breaking the silence between the two of you.

Your eyes broke away from the shining lights and back to the companion in front of you. “Yes,” you simply said.

The simplicity of your words made Coriolanus fix his hand into a fist under the table. He was doing you a favor! You were the one who had a crush on him, not the other way around. He couldn’t say anything, though. He had to remind himself why he was doing this. Flashes of images passed through his mind. They all had one thing in common; they were dear to him - the only things he loved. That was the reason why he was here. He needed the money that was attached to you.

“What do you like to paint?” The food that he ordered for the two of you was being placed down on the table. He ordered steak and potatoes with a side of steamed vegetables.

You are a vegetarian.

Everyone knew you were vegetarian. You loved animals and couldn’t fathom eating a living animal. You didn’t judge people who ate meat. Everyone was free to live the lifestyle they wanted and you choose to live a meatless lifestyle.

“Why did you ask me out on a date?” you questioned the boy in front of you who was currently eating his food like a starved man. Which he was. He barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone pay for this meal…

That’s why he asked you on a date - for your money. You’ve lived your entire life having to question whether or not someone wanted to be your friend. Your last name followed you everywhere you went. There was nothing shameful about your family, but you hated having fake people around you. It was literal hell.

Of course, Coriolanus didn’t like you. He just needed your money. You scoffed at him and didn’t even let him finish as you sprinted out of the restaurant, leaving him confused and with no way to pay.

It’s safe to say that Coriolanus is never welcomed back.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #angst #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x fem!reader

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artyslore · 24 days ago

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𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞…

𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐨… 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐦.

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 ᥫ᭡

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ᥫ᭡

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: ROYALS BY LORDE

𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒, who absolutely despised balls— Lord above, who came up with the concept? He was fine with the dancing, all that was uniform, neat, but it was the shamelessly pathetic courting. Women flapping their fans for the passing men whether they were or weren’t lookers. Money was the goal, social security made their name.

It was all so repulsive. But that wasn’t why he was here, no.

Making his way through the crowds of bachelorettes waving their fans at him and batting overdone eyelashes and whispering men trying to find out why he was here — unannounced at a baron’s ball — he found Baron Drossmeyer’s study and slipped in quietly, shutting the door behind him and spinning around with a huff of breath.

The case of the Surrey Slasher was an almost infuriating one, as the span of kills was rather extensive across the areas of London and partially beyond, but he’d finally tracked everything to the baron. His study could have some clues—

Oh. He wasn’t bargaining on company.

Sherlock couldn’t help but feel intrigued at seeing you, a woman without a chaperone, sitting there behind the baron’s desk perusing a particularly heavy novel as if it were a piece of light reading. How… interesting. “Madam.”

“You shouldn’t be here.” Your voice rang clear, and he instinctively began to deduce who you could be. A gown that at least seemed more exquisite than the rushed ones of the other ladies, a rather pleasant colour that complimented you. You were confident, sure of yourself, judging by how you spoke out, and you certainly didn’t care about societal normalities if there was no chaperone present.

He had an inkling that he’d found a kindred spirit, of sorts.

Sherlock’s laugh bubbled in his chest— not many talked to him like that, it was… good. This was intriguing, there was no mistaking the way you carried yourself. You were educated.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He hummed, moving further into the room. He didn’t know why, but to be this close to intelligence amongst all of this fakeness was refreshing; the men and women out there seemed like shallow husks of what they really were, even the host, who he’d spoke with earlier. It was no use speaking to empty vessels, which lead him to you.

He could tell you weren’t a part of this.

“Well, I was invited. By pure privilege, but let’s ignore that.” You smiled, glancing to him, plucking a book from the shelf and perusing it on your way to the desk. “So, Mr Holmes, it is an honour to finally meet you.”

Pure privilege. He found himself smiling back at your words, though it was a very small one.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, slightly amused, wondering if you were being sincere in saying it was an honour to meet him. Most people gushed over him, the women especially— though, most of the time, they didn’t mean it, it was simply for status. Then there were those who truly wanted to know him and this intrigued him.

“It is?” He asked, leaning against the desk and looking down at you.

“Well, yes, you’re one of the greatest detectives known to man, it’d be foolish not to want to meet you.” You said matter of factly, looking up at him with clever eyes, gesturing vaguely to him. “You’re intelligent, have solved countless notorious cases and you’re inherently interesting.”

Well. That was even more intriguing, as he’d never anticipated anyone to be interested in anything past his fame. You were a rare gem, and one he felt privileged to discover. He quirked an eyebrow, stepping to you, not condescending, feeling more like an equal. You meddled with his mind, he had to admit. “It appears I’m at a disadvantage, madam. You know my name, yet I don’t know yours.”

You introduced him with your name, and he swore he’d heard it somewhere before, but now wasn’t the time. “I assume you’re here to investigate the Surrey Slasher.” His voice was quiet, respectful. You understood the thrills of the game. The chase.

“That’s right."

"Tell me what you know." The game was afoot.

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mildlybizarrecorvid · 3 months ago

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Remember how I said I'd talk about the guy who looted the UFO in my Dialtone lore post?

Let's talk about Nathaniel Robot.

Born in the early 19th century to middle classed immigrants, Nathaniel initially led a fairly standard life. Then at the age of 8, they left him behind on a family trip and were so caught up in frontier shit they failed to notice and get him back for two years.

A born entrepreneur, Nathaniel made his first break into business running a way station and general store. He quickly changed his surname to Robot, a set of random letters he got by asking strangers for their favorite letter, from his birth name of Murderface, fearing the effects it may have on business.

Nathaniel made his initial fortune, however, with a different business. He made his journey west, as was fashionable at the time, and he noticed a few things rather obvious nowadays.

1: People are happy to work for you if you treat them well, especially if other places won't.

2: There were a lot of women and minorities who wanted to get into various fields, but were unable to because this was the 19th century.

With this knowledge, he set about founding a variety of businesses with the fundamental principle of hiring and treating people solely off of the quality of their work. As you can guess, he was also staunchly pro-union. Because this is my fun lil oc world and I'm god, this worked great for him.

After some years of success and significantly moving the cultural norms leftward, he moved to Alaska in hopes of high yield snow farming. While there, he discovered an alien space ship which had crashed some years prior. Like any right thinking American, he investigated alone without telling anyone. Some time later, he ran into the nearest town raving of devices 'beyond comprehension' and scheduled a demonstration. Once the day came, he showed off a computer he's fixed up, powered by a solar panel he'd pried off the ship.

After he threw money at someone smart to reverse engineer the technology, he'd essentially thrown technology ahead over a century, furthering his business. Despite this, he made many of the patents public with the logic that if someone added a brilliant extra, he could hire them, or give a grant. He was less a brilliant businessman than lucky, and the type who's willing to throw money at anything vaguely interesting.

While technology was able to extend Robot's life significantly, he eventually passed away in the mid 20th century. However, he went out with a bang, mere weeks after announcements of his company creating the first autonomous computer, dubbed a robot in his honor.

Robot's was also a life-long supporter of civil rights movements, known for bragging about his 'anonymous' donations to whichever groups looked most likely to make an effective difference. These actions by someone with an enormous influence (just look at Edison [fuck Edison], or Carnegie for people who could approximate his status) resulted in much of that world achieving the closest to full equality and equity you're going to get in the late 20th century. A known bisexual, Robot's suspected relationship with gay activist Steven Mandater would likely have resulted in scandal if not for the public perception of him being batshit insane anyway.

Examples of what caused that view were his claim that seagulls only don't talk for fear of paying taxes, his claim to have invented calculus before Newton, and the fact that before anyone told him of motion picture technology he withdrew into his rooms for a week before returning with a full script for what would to a person from our world be recognizable as the original Star Wars trilogy.

#nathaniel robot #batshit oc #oc #oc lore #oc history #seagulls #hes kind of like my bootleg cave johnson #though cave probably wasnt liberal #ocs

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safetycar-restart · 10 months ago

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Could I claim 🍀?

Ooh hybrids in the porn Au. We've talked about bunny Charles.. but what about cat!Max.

At the start, I see him only do shoots that he can hide his tail in or lay down so the camera doesn't catch his ears.

Eventually, you catch on because ofc when 'cat hybrid sucks dick' drops, and people question whether he's an actual cat hybrid or not. You know smth is up.

So you need to chat with him. he gets called into the big boss office. And poor max is stressing. Thinking you are ashamed of him for showing his tail in a video by accident even though he tried his hardest to hide it.

But no, it's the opposite, you praise him for it. Knowing you cant be blunt about it, everytime from then on when a tail or a ear. Or he purrs in a video. Whenever he shows any sign of him being a hybrid in a shoot you praise him when you see him in the halls or when you stay and watch.

You slowly encourage him to be more proud about his hybrid-ness...

Oooo yes I love this!! I love how we're including other AUs in the porn au, it's all so good.

So firstly, I think max would join the porn studio because he really needed money. In fact he'd go to the audition only because he was almost certain he wouldn't be hired. Especially because he says very clearly that he doesn't want his tail and ears in the video, that he wants to pretend to not be a cat hybrid. To his surprise, you not only hire him but also agree to all his terms with no issue.

To you, max is a great hire. He's got a different body type to your other boys. His eyes and lips are just fucking sinful. You know he'd be amazing.

And you're right, he's great, albeit a little shy. You definitely have to pair him up with some others who can really encourage him and get him out of his shell (especially Lando and Mick, they both manage to get Max to open up so well).

That's how it goes for a while, max films and does well and you make sure to let him know that. But, as he required, his cat hybrid status was always kept hidden in the videos.

It's a pity, because cat hybrids are a genre of porn on their own, and even though you already have two cat hybrids, you'd love to have four and be able to make cat hybrid orgy videos. But of course you'd never push max beyond his boundaries, so you keep your desires to have four cat hybrids in videos secret.

You always check every video before it gets posted. The videos are filmed and then the editors edit them and name them and send them to you. You check them and make sure they're up to your standards and then post them.

It's when you're checking videos that you discover the editors have named a video 'cat hybrid sucks dick' and it's one of max's videos. You skim through it and see that max's tail is in view in several scenes.

You like the video, but you're unsure what max will think so you call him into your office. Poor max is practically shaking when he enters your office, so convinced that he's messed something up.

You tell him to sit on the couch with you and put your laptop on the coffee table, showing him the video. Max immediately begins apologising, because all he's ever been told is that his cat hybrid status is shameful and must be hidden. So he thinks that you'd be upset with him for failing to hide it.

But instead, you tell him that you really like the video and you'd love to post it with his permission. Max is so shocked, and he just keeps on repeating that his tail is visible.

It's not until you force him to face you and tell him that you love his tail and he looks so hot in the video, that he realises he hasn't done anything wrong and agrees for the video to be posted.

It's his most popular video to date.

From there, you make sure to praise him every single time he shows off his hybrid status. Even if it's just his ears peaking into frame. You try to be there for most of his shoots, so that you can praise him in person and encourage him to do shots that show off his tail or ears.

Maybe you also tell the others about this so that they can also praise max and help him get more comfortable? Which leads to a video where Carlos is facefucking max and he says "That's a good fucking kitty" to Max which just.... max fucking purrs around his cock.

#porn!au #hybrid!au #cat!max #mv #cs #nsfw.#gn!reader #🍀

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 1 year ago

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So I saw a few posts ago someone asking how come some people really believe they can date Evan on twitter and start causing drama in his name. I may have an explanation; the Law of Attraction and all the gurus on social media sensationalizing it.

To gain traction on their accounts, they oversimplify it by presenting it as this abra kadabra tool where you have everything you want in a blink of an eye. It's.... not how it works. I will not get into the all the details of how it does work, cause that's not the point here, but the main point that these gurus purposely avoid to make (because its not profitable for them to say that) is that

1) your desires are basically telling you what you're missing in life and

2) most often, what you're missing is not the person-house-car you're trying to manifest, but the feeling those things will give you.

You don't want a house; you want stability and safety, and social status.

You don't want a car; you want freedom of movement and social status.

If someone is manifesting Evan, they are most probably manifesting the validation of being loved by someone like Evan; a funny, cute, talented, and genuinely good man, who blushes when girls talk to him. It's not Evan they want, it's the feeling of validation they are looking for. I mean, if you are loved by someone like Evan, then this makes you good enough, right? Right? This is the validation they need.

These gurus pray on people's lack of self-validation, and fill their heads with magical thinking that they can get the OBJECT of their desires, rather than the feeling of those desires. And those feelings come from ~within~, not from the outside.

As a result, you have all these deeply insecure girlies who project the hate they have for themselves on other girlies who do the same thing, hoping to get the attention of Evan Peters, in the hopes it will save them from their misery. All because some white girl with dreads said so on TikTok.

This is a long ass ask, I smoked a j. Got carried away lmao.

😂😂 but i totally get what you mean. and sadly this extends far beyond the spiritual gurus of the world; since forever, gullible people have been shelling out money to scam artists who claim they can make every pipe dream come true. in this case, you have someone who is essentially validating that your unrealistic desires can all come true just by virtue of wanting it enough and fixating on.. idk, whatever you “think” you need to do in order to attain it. even if it’s something that simply can’t and won’t happen.

the reality is, for all of the feelings these women may have that evan is their ideal soulmate and that they would be perfect together if only they could meet.. if they actually managed to do so, the shine would be lost. it’s easy to idealize someone you don’t know intimately, whose flaws you aren’t confronted with every day. you can just focus on the lovable aspects and fantasize without the actual baggage of being in a relationship with another human. because evan is just human like all of us. 🤷🏻‍♀️

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asterigos · 2 years ago

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GENERAL INFORMATION

► FULL NAME: Jayesh Patel ► NICKNAMES: Jay ► GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Man (He/Him) ► AGE: 38 ► BIRTHDAY: August 30 ► SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ► OCCUPATION: Owner of a major sports team / Pâtissier

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

► RELIGION: Agnostic ► EDUCATION LEVEL: B.A. in Business Economics ► ECONOMIC STATUS: Wealthy ► SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English (fluent), Hindi (fluent)

PERSONALITY

► JUNG TYPE: INTJ ► ENNEAGRAM: Type 9w1 ► MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral ► TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic ► QUALITIES: Creative, Loving, Meticulous, Nurturing, Punctual ► FLAWS: Dismissive, Irritable, Passive, Self-destructive, Tense

APPEARANCE

► FACE CLAIM: Rahul Kohli ► HEIGHT: 6'4" ► EYE COLOR: Brown ► HAIR COLOR: Brunette (dark) ► TATTOOS: None ► SCARS: None ► PIERCINGS: None

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warning(s): bullying, toxic masculinity

Jayesh was a fortunate child who was born into wealth, but with the money came the expectation of having a certain image. He was an obedient son, but he always wondered if the values being pushed upon him were the only correct ones and if that was all there was to life.

His father was owner of The Lakers and he never let anyone forget it. All Hamid seemed to be able to talk about was sports, gossip about other team owners, the players, and the managers. Sports was Hamid’s entire personality, which was wrapped up in toxic masculinity that Jayesh later came to the conclusion must’ve come with the territory of athletics. Hamid taught him to always be tough and act tough, never to show emotions and never ever cry. Crying was the ultimate show of weakness as was any other gentleness. Jayesh already knew at a young age this wasn’t going to work for him. Hiding frustration and sadness behind a mask of cacophonous anger and elation behind a false sense of pride proved to be more difficult for him to adopt than his father had liked, and oftentimes Jayesh found himself enduring the deafening tirades his father shouted at him for it. This led to Jayesh losing his enthusiastic personality as a young boy and became more withdrawn and quiet.

School was his escape, but only to an extent. His peers treated him either in foolish and undeserved reverence or picked on him and pushed him into lockers taunting him to have his father come put them in their places. His sister was of no help as she often spoke poorly of him in order to make herself look better. When Jayesh mentioned this to his mother she only shook her head and told him he would have to learn to deal with the problem himself. His father told him to “man up” and fight back.

Getting his degree in business economics was something of his parents’ choice rather than his own, but it kept them off his backs somewhat so long as he also did well, which he did. Jayesh began to frequent bars and lounges, hooking up with people whose names he didn’t and never would know. It never meant anything, after all. Hamid began to interrogate Jayesh asking why he never had a girlfriend or wasn’t pursuing anyone, and Jayesh never had a satisfactory answer beyond focusing on his studies. Once he was known to be a ‘player’ in college his father would slap him on the back with approval telling Jayesh that he had to enjoy his youth while he could by engaging in relationships and parties. None of this was anything Jayesh wanted for himself, but continued to maintain the image of otherwise.

It was during his time in college when Jayesh picked up a job at a patisserie and fell in love baking cakes and making chocolates, turning basic desserts into incredible works of art. This was what he discovered he wanted to do, but he knew his family would never allow it. They barely even accepted him picking up the job at all as it was.

When he graduated Hamid had Jayesh shadow him as he was taught the ropes of owning a world-famous sports team. Jayesh couldn’t have cared less, but he absorbed the information as best he could until one day Hamid told him it was time Jayesh become “a real man” and passed ownership of the team to Jayesh. Hamid told Jayesh this would teach him what it meant to be a man and to help him toughen up as he had always thought Jayesh was still a little too gentle. Jayesh felt cursed and without a way out of the predicament.

While he continues to do his best, or at least put in three-quarters of his best effort, Jayesh never stopped dreaming of being a pâtissier and would practice the craft in his home that he bought himself with a spacious kitchen.

RELATIONSHIPS

► MOTHER: Hamid Patel (real-estate agent) ► FATHER: Hamid Patel (retired; former sports team owner) ► SIBLINGS: Inaya Patel (interior designer)

MISC. INFORMATION

► Hates sports. He’d much rather be in his large kitchen at home baking. ► Always happy to share baked goods as he can’t possibly eat everything he makes by himself. Get him on the topic of baking and he’ll light up and become much more enthusiastic. ► Doesn’t like talking about sports but because his profession requires him to all his responses come off scripted, bored, and dismissive when that’s not who he really is as a person. ► To distract himself from the hollowness he feels he has he frequents bars and lounges and has meaningless hookups and flings when he doesn’t have the time to bake. However, this makes him feel even worse about himself.

#*character overview

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tommykang · 2 years ago

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— BASICS

Name: Taeho “Tommy” Kang Age / D.O.B.: 35 / 14th Jan 1987 Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cismale, he/him, bisexual Hometown: New York Affiliation: Gang, Brotherhood Job position: Region Manager (Upper Queens) Education: NYU Relationship status: Single Children: None Positive traits: pragmatic, composed, well-spoken, rational, perceptive Negative traits: impersonal, strict, humourless, cold, surly

— BIOGRAPHY

Tommy was born to parents who wanted nothing more than to provide a better life for their children, the dreams they were promised.

Moving to America had been the result of wanting a fresh start. They followed their friends to New York, hoping they could turn things around, but quickly they were faced with a harsh reality.

Tommy’s pragmatic approach to life comes from his mother. His father had all these large and fantastical ideas, which always ended up with them ending up in a penthouse in Manhattan. But there was only so much his mother could do to ground him, when her love for him often clouded her judgement, and he would always do what he wanted anyway.

Their laundrette was under the protection of the Brotherhood, and his father’s ideas ended up falling into more and more debt with no way of getting out. Eventually, he had to pay them back in ways other than cash.

Tommy would often work as a child mule, his father would come back late at night with cuts and bruises, and sometime their laundrette would be trashed.

When Tommy was sixteen, he witnessed the ends of the Brotherhood’s patience. His father told him to run and hide with his younger sibling. What he didn’t see was his father being murdered and his mother dying after trying to protect him. Tommy kept quiet and still, hidden below the counter with his hand over his sibling’s mouth. The bell on the door rang and the footsteps leaving the laundrette sounded so light. He never quite understood that.

Several weeks later, he was walking down the street. Suddenly, he sees a face he could never forget. He walks up to them, tells them to turn themselves in or he’ll do it himself. The older man tells Tommy to call the police. After a while, Tommy walks to find the nearest phone booth. When he opens the door, it’s immediately slammed back shut by the older man standing behind him. Slowly, the man kneeled down in front of him, offering a chilling smile and said: ‘Never call the pigs.’

What happened after, Tommy used to look back on it fondly. Now it’s somewhat of a bitter memory. ‘What do you want to be, son?’ ‘A politician.’ ‘You wanna be a politician? Follow me.’

The man he’d work for as a mule during his younger years, the man who killed his parents, and the man who shooed off the police had been a region manager at the time. Somewhere, somehow, Tommy must have made an impression.

Pico was an eccentric man, full of life. Upon first glance, he seemed no different to a friendly shawarma shop owner who talked to much when you just wanted your food. He took Tommy in, for reasons Tommy would never find out about, but it felt like he had no other choice at the time: he was promised good money and a safe space for his younger sibling to stay in.

Whilst there was no real pressure to get involved in the gang, Tommy quite liked being around Pico and he liked the recognition and approval that came with it. The Brotherhood’s beliefs became his beliefs, their purpose his purpose.

From working alongside Pico, he was able to learn a lot and he was able to climb the ranks swiftly. People could see Tommy was a switched-on guy, wise beyond his years, and had a lot of potential. When Tommy voiced his desires to go to college, there wasn’t a lot of pushback. They trusted that he could keep his priorities in order.

After graduating college, he dives back into the Brotherhood, working on more of the arms deals rather than getting his hands dirty. He still lives with Pico, washing up his mugs and putting his shoes away on the shoe rack.

One evening, Tommy overhead a conversation he wished he never walked in on. From there, he conducted his own investigation to find that Pico was an undercover cop. He had a different apartment on the other end of the city with information on him, his younger sibling, various other members of the gang, all organised in neat folders. His apartment was spotless, not a single shoe out of place.

When it came to confronting Pico, the only response he got was a solemn smile: ‘You know what you have to do,’ to which Tommy understood there was an unspoken ‘and you know what I have to do.’

The aftermath, all in all, left him feeling lonely. He’d lost the man who had taken care of him, who was also the man who killed his parents.

Not long after, he became a region manager. A calm and assured leader, reasonable to an extent but forgiveness doesn’t come cheap. On the more controlled side of the Brotherhood, if he can resolve things without violence then that’s his preferred way. Hates doing things in excess but won’t shy away from doing what is needed to get his message across.

There are a very few people he trusts and makes time for. He keeps his circle small but understands the importance of building goodwill amongst others for business. In a sense, he’s very traditional and has the personality of an old man. He understands that there are less people who are intelligent than people who can throw a good punch.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS

FOGGY TO HIS MATT: They go way back, maybe not all the way to the childhood years but it feels like it. This friend is somewhat oblivious to what Tommy does for a living. There are obvious lies and secrets but regardless the loyalty is still there. This character will have to be a civilian. Or maybe law enforcement?

CHARLIE PUTH VC: *we don’t talk anymore* I’m a sucker for platonic heartbreak so childhood friends he grew up with and have either grown apart or had a big fall out and are no longer friends. Ideally someone who isn’t in the Brotherhood.

MATILDA TO LEON: Or Vanellope to Ralph. Basically unlikely friends. I’m also a sucker for sunshine and grump dynamics. Or someone who is generally a little shit and is a pain in Tommy’s ass and for some reason Tommy just deals with them. Or, alternatively, he’s trying to get rid of them but they just won’t leave him alone. I think this might probably only work for Brotherhood members or civilians but down to discuss if you have any ideas!

RIVALS: Upper Queens is split between the Brotherhood and the Cartel - his rival would be the Cartel member who also manages Upper Queens. This could go one of many ways. Maybe they share a past that makes the job hard, or adds a layer of competitiveness, or maybe they’re only rivals in name -- preferring to keep the peace between borders.

BROTHERHOOD: Members he gets along with, members he doesn’t get along with. For whatever reason. Tommy is on the tamer side compared to most of the Brotherhood members but that doesn’t mean he’s any less angry. His rage comes cold, and maybe your character doesn’t quite understand it.

WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME: Your character was caught in the middle of a dangerous situation. Luckily Tommy hates collateral damage and kept them safe throughout the ordeal. Maybe they’ve been meeting up since then, coincidence or not, or maybe they accidentally bump into each other for the first time.

NOSY NEIGHBOUR: Someone who lives next to him or a few doors down that is always up in his business.

(F)WB: Everyone has to let off some steam. They know the arrangement and they’re happy to keep it going as long as neither of them get too close. It’s easy, low maintenance and gets the job done.

FIRST LOVE: Happy to plot most of the relationship like how they met, how long they dated etc. but they would’ve broken up amicably because things just weren’t working, either due to the nature of Tommy’s work or whatever else. It took a lot of time and effort to get to where they are now: just friends.

GENERAL: Friends, enemies, flings, exes, pseudo-siblings,

#wb.intro

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humangods · 2 years ago

Photo

GENERAL INFORMATION

► FULL NAME: Jayesh Patel ► NICKNAMES: Jay ► GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Man (He/Him) ► AGE: 38 ► BIRTHDAY: August 30 ► SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ► OCCUPATION: Owner of a sports team

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

► RELIGION: Agnostic ► EDUCATION LEVEL: B.A. in Business Economics ► ECONOMIC STATUS: Wealthy ► SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English (fluent), Hindi (fluent)

PERSONALITY

APPEARANCE

► FACE CLAIM: Rahul Kohli ► HEIGHT: 6'4" ► EYE COLOR: Brown ► HAIR COLOR: Brunette (dark) ► TATTOOS: None ► SCARS: None ► PIERCINGS: None

BIOGRAPHY

Trigger Warning(s): bullying, toxic masculinity

RELATIONSHIPS

► MOTHER: Hamid Patel (real-estate agent) ► FATHER: Hamid Patel (retired; former sports team owner) ► SIBLINGS: Inaya Patel (interior designer)

MISC. INFORMATION

► Hates basketball and not a sporty person in general. He’d much rather be in his large kitchen at home baking. ► Always happy to share baked goods as he can’t possibly eat everything he makes by himself. Get him on the topic of baking and he’ll light up and become much more enthusiastic. ► Doesn’t like talking about sports but because his profession requires him to all his responses come off scripted, bored, and dismissive when that’s not who he really is as a person. ► To distract himself from the hollowness he feels he has he frequents bars and lounges and has meaningless hookups and flings when he doesn’t have the time to bake. However, this makes him feel even worse about himself.

#*character overview #bio: jayesh patel #hc: jayesh patel #c: jayesh patel

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unohanadaydreams · 3 years ago

Note

How would the captains react to catching their partner cheating on them? I’m feeling angst tonight

Finally some good fucking food. Angst; it’s what’s for dinner and I’m chowing down with you, anon.

Features: angst. Some violence and torture with Gin and Mayuri.

How The Original Captains React To Being Cheated On:

Genryusai Yamamoto:

There’s little to no reaction. You wouldn’t be the first and won’t be the last to use him for status or money or petty bragging rights. Just another day.

Quietly, behind closed doors, he does mourn. Not for the loss of you, but for the prospect of starting again. He caresses the pretty things he’s bought you, each touch a vote for or against bothering.

If you come to him, apologetic and willing to repent, he’ll look past the transgression. Less work for him to undertake, in the end, and the power of demanding this is that in the name of forgiveness suits him.

Shunsui Kyoraku:

He can’t help but laugh. All those years chasing girls and washing his hands of the consequences come to catch him now that he’s standing still with just one hand holding his.

Business goes on as usual, but he’s sloppier around the edges—spilling sake on paper work, falling asleep against Jushiro’s grave, and forsaking the frequent partying he’s known for in lieu of furiously scribbling down the perfect love story he didn’t get.

Honestly, he’s willing to forgive if it wasn’t done out of love for the other person and there’s a willingness to work on the relationship. Shunsui has played the unfaithful lover more times than he can remember; being black out drunk more often than sober will do that to you.

Soi Fon:

She can’t speak and doesn’t bother. Throat closed with anger, she lets her body tell you where your relationship lies—thrown off the bed and kicked outside.

There’s nothing but hatred for you and humiliation for herself. Not just personally, but professionally; a leader of the 2nd division being caught unawares is irony at the cost of her reputation.

People are always leaving her behind once she trusts them. After weeks, she’ll ask you why. Because that’s always the question burning in her chest. Why can’t she be a person someone stays for.

Gin Ichimaru:

Cute, how you think you can shuffle off and away from him after getting caught. He doesn’t flinch, talking with conversational tones. Hey, sweetie, who’s your little friend? Aww, they don’t talk or some thin’?

There’s two options; submit to grueling public humiliation or die. Gin loves to have fun, after all. And, isn’t it fun having to watch the person you cheated with get toyed with like a mouse under kitty claws? Aren’t you having fun kissing the corpse? Wasn’t your silly mistake worth it?

Gin has never forgiven, forgotten, or turned down an opportunity to make someone who cares about him regret feeling so. Your life is hell and the jailor can’t decide whether to keep your head under boiling water or kill you. Fun!

Retsu Unohana:

The impulse to leave as the only one alive is temptation incarnate. She is firm, restrained, and digs into her cheeks until her teeth pop through.

She keeps waiting to calm, for the situation to become objective instead of the turmoil in her gut. Retsu is especially brusque with everyone while working, making every stitch job a painful one. Why is there always something. Why can’t all the change finally stick; why is she still glad to feel the pain so she can inflict it back?

The betrayal was the end and there’s years of coping methods that keep you from spilling your guts on a sword, but it feels like a very near thing to her. Professionally, she’s less kind, and your next set of wounds healed by the 4th get infected. Poor thing.

Sosuke Aizen:

As far as you know, he’s stricken with heartbreak and disappointment. His voice is a touch too loud when telling you off—others hear. And disapprove greatly. He asks any bystanders for their discretion towards his privacy, adding a tear or two for effect.

Your relationship being over matters little; dime a dozen are the people who’ll fall over themselves to be his. The audacity of treating him, your better, with such unfairness? Affects him like an itch under skin.

Of course, he forgives you. He makes a show of it and the number of people out for your unhappiness grows. How could you cheat on such a gracious, loving man? You are punished with little action from himself, the many shinigami who view him with starry-eyes doing their work without needing explicit instruction.

Byakuya Kuchiki:

There’s little to say or do outside of making it clear he wants you gone in a permanent way. Reaction is the thief of dignity, so he saves any emotion for when he’s alone.

Self flagellation is his favorite dessert and he is convinced the bitter taste reflects his character somehow. In a way, it speaks to his lack of care and dignity as a clan leader; what fully aware man could let this happen?

For you, there aren’t any chances let alone forgiveness. You’ve stung his pride in multiple ways and only social norms keep you from dying in a duel over it. But as a shinigami—as a captain—he has avenues to vent his vindication until he feels the crime has been payed for. Too bad for you that pride is worth it’s weight in gold for a Kuchiki.

Sajin Komamura:

He runs away from the situation as soon as possible. Of course you cheated on him; how foolish to think anyone would not. At least he knows now and can get back to his normal.

Being alone isn’t all bad. There’s more time for his pets, his company, and his training. Comforting, familiar, he can pretend this is how it always was. Just him, alone.

His lack of self-esteem outweighs his want for justice. It was unfair to subject anyone to…himself, anyway. He can’t blame you for wanting someone untouched by the curse of the beast.

Kaname Tosen:

There’s more anger than even you expect. Injustice in anything, especially something so personal, enrages him. But he has the self control and sense to only send you packing.

Still, it’s all he can think about. Better to be consumed by this than the glacial pace his better world is taking. You’re one of the people holding that goal back, he’s sure. He insists on a talk that’s really just a long, painful lecture.

People like you, who disregard what’s right, don’t deserve forgiveness and the upset within him darkens. Maybe there is a way you can make things right. They’re so close to perfecting the Arrancar and he’d like to see how you’ve contributed once his eyes open, finally able to see.

Toshiro Hitsugaya:

There aren’t any dramatics or punishments or even words to give you other than ‘goodbye’. He sees the break and he cuts it cleanly. There’s no need for anything else.

Largely he copes by doing what he always does—working, training, meditating. There are a few sips of alcohol and punches to his pillow, but you’re no longer someone he cares about. The ice has holed over the spot you took just fine.

You don’t exist to him anymore. If you try to apologize, his eyes will pass over you and he’ll remind you once before ignoring you again: He’s a captain and he’s closed the conversation and now he’s getting back to work. Goodbye.

Kenpachi Zaraki:

So you’re fucking somebody. Is that a big deal or something? Should he be hurt? Because all he can muster is annoyance.

And then he thinks about it. He lets it sink in that somebody was touching you while you’re his. Kenpachi understands the want to play, but isn’t love when someone is the best in your heart and only them? Like, strength but more fucking confusing.

He’s still undecided if there’s anything to forgive. He tells you to give it another go with him in the mix and likes the feeling better than walking in uninvited. So maybe it was just play…and maybe he’s more rough with you two than intended. But he leaves more content than he came, so he figures everything’s fine. He can always kill somebody later, once he’s figured it out for good.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi:

You’re knocked unconscious and so is the person you were in bed with. That’s the last you see of them or the world beyond one lab room.

Congratulations, you are now confined to a pill that is swallowed by gigai after gigai designed in your likeness. Isn’t he generous, letting you take part in his research still? Don’t you feel honored to still feel any part of his touch as he takes you apart somehow more painfully than the time before?

Because it is just research. He didn’t care about you enough to still feel enraged about it. This is purely out of principle, a logical response to your base actions. Don’t worry, it’s just forever.

Jushiro Ukitake:

The discovery is emotional and he struggles keep his dignity, especially when a coughing fit starts soon after. He can’t even tell you off without sickness leaking into the moment.

The spiral begins. You’re awful one moment and justified the next. He’s the victim, then the one who should’ve known. There was no good reason and then he coughs again and there’s one.

He could forgive you if you’re genuine and forthright with a reason that isn’t the weight which holds him under blankets or pushes blood past his lips. As long as the illness isn’t what poisoned the relationship, he could forgive you.

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theladyofdeath · 2 years ago

Text

The Viscount Who Loved Me {Fifteen}

TVWLM Masterlist

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction, inspired by the first 2 seasons of Bridgerton.

Written alongside @snelbz

Ships: Nesta x Cassian x Elain - Feyre x Rhysand - Elain x Azriel x Gwyn

Summary: (see TVWLM masterlist!)

A/N: Thank you for reading! From now until the end, I'll be posting a chapter every night at 7pm EST! x

Tag list is at the end. If you’d like to be added, please comment below or submit an ask. :)

My dearest readers,

Have you heard that a certain baron has been attending the Velaris Art Academy? He must truly be avoiding the social season if he has taken such lengths to distract himself. Who would want to paint when they could be finding a wife?

I will never understand.

The Suriel

Gwyn laid across the chaise in a perfect pose, one hand draped across her abdomen, the other resting above her head. She looked just beyond Azriel, above his shoulder into nothingness.

He drew her, eyes flicking up every few seconds to memorize another inch of her, but it was going horribly wrong.

His mind wasn’t in it, nor was his heart. He was far too distracted, and she could tell.

“Why do I have the feeling only half of you is present?” She asked, a lovely thin brow arched.

Azriel sighed, dropping the charcoal in his hand before pinching his brow. “It’s been a…long few weeks.”

“Does this have to do with the girl you’re in love with?” She asked, eyes alight.

Azriel’s gaze snapped to hers and he frowned. “Are you known for putting yourself into other peoples business?”

Gwyn thought about it for a moment. “Perhaps us poor folk are not as shy and timid in our conversation as those of you with wealth.”

Only Gwyn could make him feel inferior for having money. He didn’t disagree though. It wasn’t that he wasn’t thankful for his full coffers, but there was something to say for not worrying about what others thought of you. Of not worrying about your status or reputation.

There was a reason he hadn’t denied his feelings for Elain to Gwyn when she’d brought them up. She was the only person he could admit that he may be thinking he even had feelings for Elain. If anyone in the ton found out?

Forget the scandal of Rhys and Nesta refusing to marry. Forget Elain’s broken heart after that prick married another young lady.

A young man lusting after his own brother’s bride-to-be might be the most salacious gossip the ton of Velaris had ever heard.

Which is why it had to stay a secret from them.

“They announced their engagement,” he said, at last. “My brother and…the lady in question.”

Gwyn looked at him for a moment and he knew her intrigue was genuine. She sat up, forgetting her pose entirely. “And how do you feel about that?”

Azriel’s first instinct was to snap at her. Sharing his feelings was not something that Azriel felt passionately about. In fact, his inner soul was his own and he hated letting others near it. Yet, he enjoyed talking with Gwyn, enjoyed her company. She had become a good friend, surprisingly enough.

“I am angry,” he confessed, quietly. “And I have no reason to be, so I feel guilty for that anger.”

Gwyn nodded as if she completely understood. “You should feel no guilt for how you feel about this woman. Love knows no bounds. The heart wants what it wants, and there should be no shame in that.”

Azriel scoffed, not because he did not absorb her words, but because she simply did not understand the ways of the ton. “If others were to find out about how I feel for Elain—“

He caught her name the moment it slipped his mouth but Gwyn did not even blink an eye. She continued to watch him, continued to listen.

“It would cause scandal,” he finished, staring at his unfinished drawing.

“And do you care?” She asked, head cocked to the side. “If you are the center of scandal?”

“No,” he confessed, “but I care if she and Cassian are.”

“You care for both of them,” she said, though he would have thought that was obvious.

“Of course, I do.” He raked a hand through his hair, not caring if he smeared charcoal along his forehead or in his hair. “Cassian may not be blood, but he’s my brother, no less. And Elain…” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “If you knew Elain you’d understand. She was…so withdrawn at the beginning of the season, ashamed of the way her last season had ended.” As he stared at the paint-splattered wood floor beneath him, it occurred to him that Gwyn likely knew none of the background regarding Elain’s failed debut into society. He wasn’t going to explain that now, not when it wasn’t even his story to tell. “She had finally started to open herself again, to blossom and show the world just how beautiful and kind and selfless she is. I had thought that maybe, I was…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gwyn’s nimble fingers were suddenly beneath his chin. He hadn’t even heard her stand, but suddenly she was before him and was tipping his face up to look into her own. “You thought that maybe you were the reason she’d bloomed.”

How did she see through him so easily?

“It was a foolish thought,” Azriel said, quietly.

Gwyn shook her head, her hand falling from his chin. “I have not known you for very long, Azriel, but I know who you are, your spirit. You must see yourself in a better light, for that is what you deserve.”

Azriel blinked, thrown off by her statement, her compliment. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just continued to stare before he said, “You moved from your position. It took me twenty minutes to get you in the right spot.”

Gwyn’s face lit up as she laughed. With a shake of her head, she walked back to the chaise and attempted to get back into position. “You’re too serious, my lord.”

She crooned the last words and Azriel snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Do not call me that.”

Her grin widened and he chastised her. His subject did not smile.

The second her face fell into neutralness and Azriel put the tip of his charcoal to paper, she said, “You need a distraction.”

He was lucky he hadn’t lifted the heel of his hand, otherwise the piece would have been ruined. “A distraction?”

She hummed in confirmation, which Azriel assumed meant she would have nodded, had the angle of her head not been exactly where he wanted it. It also meant she wasn’t going to elaborate, not without some coaxing from him.

The initial shock of her words gone, he let his eyes drop back to his piece as he started to sketch again. “What kind of distraction?”

It was a stupid question, he knew exactly what kind of distraction she offered, but…he hadn’t expected it. Many of the female students were more than willing to pose for their male counterparts, as Gwyn did. They often stripped down to nothing, letting themselves be put into positions that could be considered quite compromising, but loving every second of it. It was a type of freedom that Azriel, as a man, would never understand.

But never Gwyn. She would pose for him and a few others he knew, but never nude. He’d never asked, had never thought to, with his head so wrapped around Elain.

There was a glint in her teal eyes that Azriel could see from across the room and she shrugged, her body falling right back into place and staying there.

The room filled with comfortable silence as he drew Gwyn, far more invested than he’d been minutes before, as he let the thoughts of the damn ton and his expectations leave his head.

Maybe a distraction was just what he needed.

<.>

Rhysand was alone.

He had rarely been alone lately and he had to admit that he did not like it much. Azriel was at the academy and Cassian was off getting fitted for his wedding jacket. He still couldn’t believe the bastard was getting married.

Marriage.

He thought of the word more often these days, thought about the vow he made to his father, that he would not pass down that horrid man’s name, that the Lunasa family name would die with Rhysand.

It was a vow he stood by.

Yet, that vow had grown more difficult to keep in recent days.

There was not a moment that went by that he was not thinking of Feyre. Her smile, her scent, the way she kissed him, the sounds she made while he pleasured her…it all consumed his thoughts. There had never been a woman so tempting to keep as her.

Rhysand had been with women before. Not only those down by the docks, but ladies of the ton, as well. There was a time when the Queen had made it her personal mission to marry off Rhysand, but he never did. None of them ever made him feel a thing.

Until Feyre.

A vow that he’d made almost ten years ago was falling to shreds in just a matter of months.

Or that may have just been his resolve as Feyre dug herself deeper and deeper into his skin. With every kiss, with every touch, with every breath they shared, he was becoming weaker, had begun to imagine things he had no place imagining.

Was she a morning person or did she prefer to be up with the stars, like him? How many spoons of sugar did she take in her tea? Did she sleep on the right or the left side of the bed?

Something told him she was the type to sleep in the middle and spread out until she was comfortable.

If he wasn’t careful, he wasn’t going to just let her beneath his skin, she was going to burrow into his soul, into heart.

Which was something he absolutely could not allow.

Even if it was already happening.

With a curse he pushed away the stack of papers on his desk that he should have been going through, but wasn’t.

He wasn’t being fair to her, he knew that, and he hated himself for it. She needed a husband, it was what she wanted and what she was looking for, even if she had recently convinced herself otherwise. Just because she didn’t want to marry the prince did not mean that she did not want to marry, ever.

There were plenty of times when he told himself that he should leave her alone but he just couldn’t. She called to him, and he could not deny her of anything. She had consumed him, body and soul, and he would happily let her consume him until the day that she no longer looked his way.

But it wasn’t fair.

None of it was fair.

It wasn’t fair that Rhysand could not marry.

It wasn’t fair that he could not have children.

It wasn’t fair that he had found a woman that he could see himself with and knew that the time they spent together was slowly ticking away.

Their little charade had become far too real and he had no idea when that had taken place. As much as he wanted to say that it was the night in the theater, he was fairly sure he was long gone by then. If he hadn’t been, he never would have made such a selfish request, for her to meet him, for her to have given herself to him.

A chill ran down Rhysand’s spine as he repeated his own words in his head. It wasn’t as if they were a sudden realization, but it was the first time he’d considered the implications and consequences of what they’d done.

Feyre had given herself to him, given all of herself, without a second thought. Her virginity, her maidenhead, her innocence. The most prized and protected thing a young lady of high society possessed, especially the Diamond, and he had taken it from her.

He’d ruined her.

He prayed that whoever she ended up marrying one day wasn't one of the pretentious bastards who brought a physician in to check the legitimacy of her virtue. Usually, those were the old men who were looking for something young and pretty to breed and pop out an heir, and the thought of Feyre ending up shackled to one of those pricks…

It suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t just the thought of Feyre marrying some old, decrepit lord with one foot in the grave that ignited a brewing storm in his belly. It was the thought of her marrying anyone.

The claim he felt he had over her was wrong on so many levels, not just that he wouldn’t marry and he knew he was playing with her heart at this point.

He was playing with his own as well.

<.>

Nesta sat outside on the patio in the dark, looking up at the stars. She had no idea how long she’d been out there, had no idea if it had been minutes or hours.

But there she was, thinking of the ball two nights before.

She had almost kissed him.

She had wanted to kiss him.

Had wanted to do far more.

Now, she was racked with guilt. Feyre and her had not spoken after she had walked in on them, not really. She had told Nesta she would not tell a soul, but that’s all the conversation consisted of.

They had not spoken a word to one another since.

She hoped Feyre was telling the truth, that she would keep it to herself. It was no secret that the sisters did not always see eye to eye. In fact, they rarely got along since the death of their mother.

And if Elain were to find out what had conspired between Nesta and Cassian? Nesta would never recover.

She wasn’t sure if Elain ever would either.

Shame coursed through Nesta as she thought about how she’d avoided Elain since they returned home. She’d feigned a headache in the carriage on the ride home, but there were only so many excuses she could come up with before Elain wondered what was wrong.

The damn burning in her eyes returned and Nesta cursed her stupid emotions as she closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she was powerless to stop them.

The creaking of the door opening behind her had Nesta tucking the robe she was wearing tighter around herself, turning to see—

Feyre froze as she took in Nesta’s seated form. She was wearing a dark cloak, the hood pulled up to hide her face and hair. Her eyes looked around the yard behind their home, but she didn’t see anyone or anything. Hesitantly, she approached her sister. “What are you doing out here?”

Nesta wiped at her face. “I could ask you the same thing.” She tried to infuse the words with her usual bite, but they came out shaky.

Feyre hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep. I was going for a ride.”

Nesta’s brows rose, even though she had snuck a horse out of the stables on multiple occasions. “That’s not very safe, Feyre.”

Feyre’s surprised expression hardened. “Don’t you dare start lecturing me on making good decisions.”

On any other day, Nesta would have snapped. She would have fought, would have spat. But today, she was emotionally drained, and even she surprised herself when she said, “You’re right.”

Feyre stilled, as if it were the last thing she expected to hear. Perhaps that’s why she walked to where Nesta sat and plopped down beside her.

After a moment, Feyre asked, “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“About what?” She asked, before she could stop herself.

Feyre’s voice only quieted. “Nesta.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek and Nesta angrily wiped it away. “Nothing happened,” she began, at last, “I need you to know that nothing happened between us.”

Feyre looked skeptical but nodded. “So, what did happen then?”

Nesta couldn’t respond because she had no idea. What had happened? One minute they were spewing hate and the next she was so lost in his gaze that she couldn’t imagine functioning properly again until he had claimed her.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, voice low. If Feyre hadn’t been sitting right next to her, she likely wouldn’t have heard her. “He just… He enrages me and— and he infuriates me and when I’m around I lose all sense of myself. He…consumes me.”

There’s a pause. “I understand that.”

Nesta’s eyes find Feyre’s, so much like her own, but also wholly different. Where Nesta’s were often cold and wary, Feyre’s held a fire that she could never quite find in herself.

The flame currently burning in them was low, but Nesta could feel the intensity, even as they left her and looked back out over the sprawling law, right to the fence and trees beyond. “You feel his presence the moment either of you enter a room. His voice is like the sweetest lullaby you’ve ever heard, but also a call to something inside of you that you never knew existed.” The corners of her lips tilted up in a secret smile. “The barest of touches sends your heart racing and you don’t know how to slow it down or if you even want to try.” Throat bobbing, Feyre tilted her face to the stars. “I understand that.”

Nesta was staring, not only because everything Feyre had said had struck true, but because…she really did understand.

“Where were you going tonight, Feyre?”

It wasn’t accusatory, the question was genuine.

Eyes still on the stars, Feyre replied, “For a ride.”

The words were light, and there was a small smile still on Feyre’s lips, and Nesta decided then that she wouldn’t press. Even as ideas of where her sister was going flooded her mind, she didn’t voice them.

“But now I am going nowhere,” Feyre continued, and Nesta continued to watch her sister curiously. “Now I am sitting here with you, basking in our secrets.”

Secrets.

Secrets that would stay between them, secrets that no one else would come to know. There was a comfort in that, a comfort in all of this, that Nesta did not have to bear her feelings for Cassian alone. Although nothing would ever come of it, someone else would know of what she felt for him, and she thought for a moment that that would be enough.

In the moonlight, Feyre took Nesta’s hand and they remained there, staring up at the stars in silence. Nesta found a beautiful sense of peace for the first time in a long time.

____________________________________________________________

@mariamuses @photofeesh @the-regal-warrior @gracie-rosee @irisofink @strawberries-and-reveries @zeppelin-and-unicorns @live-the-fangirl-life @cassianscool @clacings @argentumstella @cuppamelia @chillspritecranberry @emilyrose111294 @awesomelena555 @gengen64 @dontbenddontbreak @blueunoias @liliput2203 @sleeping-and-books @kindofawalkingpoem @thebitchydonutcollector @shedoessoshedoes @cretaceous-therapod @emily-gsh @annie-laur @impossiblehistoryofquotes @midnightrose-reader @beanl1 @shniya-hiiragi @towhateverend87 @deezrmuhsheeple @pintas3107 @sarcasm-is-the-best-insult @santkazoya @lady-winter-sunrise @themoonthestarsthesuriel @story-scribbler @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @sv0430 @dreammoutlouddd @katlady13 @lokisllama @mrspettyferr @missannieshay @live-the-fangirl-life @headinclouds48 @secretlycressdarnel @awesomethreedragons @lokisllama @littlehoneyybee @vicioux @cest-la-vieve @lokisllama @thewinterroza @aching-for-distance

#elriel #gwyriel #nessian #feysand #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #fanfic #bridgerton au

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red-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Career oriented

Escort! Bakugou x Reader

Your entire life you've been focused solely on your career, you've sacrificed a lot of things, people and time to get where you are and it’s paid off, now you're a millionaire who is also a virgin and never had a boyfriend in their life. Your friend recommends you a male escort service. At first you hire him to go on dates and do other things couples do but the relationship develops far beyond what you could've imagined, now you're laying under him begging him to be your first.

cw: smut, fluff, unprotected sex, reader is a capitalist lmao, I mean reader is a virgin but its not rlly virginity loss bc its not focused around that but reader does lose her virginity, unedited (but what's new)

a/n: I mean we always hear abt sugar daddies, I need rich reader pls also- monoma is a rich bitch y'all can't fight me on this he got that rich bitch mentality.

The words ‘hard worker’ were understatements when it came to describing you. Pretty much all of your life was spent working, growing your small business with your own two hands. Now money was never an issue. A huge house with several bathrooms, fancy bags and cars, all the things you've ever wanted were now in your possession except maybe one thing. Seeing happy couples holding hands as they walked around in the park, kissing and calling each other pet names, seeing them stirred a feeling of longing inside of you.

While it’s true that now you'd never want for anything else in your life, you still wanted something money couldn't buy you, love.

A small tap to your shoulder brought you out of your daze.

“Your eggs are going to get cold..” Todoroki mentioned and you gave him a small smile before prodding your fork in the perfectly scrambled egg.

“Hey, don't tell me you're thinking about that shareholders meeting this week” Monoma groans and you shake your head.

“Then what is it?” Momo wondered as she wiped her mouth with her napkin.

“It’s just- you guys all have someone you know romantically” you say as you rest your fork on the plate, deciding that you weren't really in the mood to eat anymore.

Monoma scoffs, “Yeah barely...I almost broke up with shinso after that last stunt he pulled in the club”

Momo giggles, “You're still with him?”

His face dusts pink in embarrassment as he looks away, “A-anyway, why don't you try getting an escort” Monoma recommends and it was your turn for your face to warm.

“An e-escort?! You do realize who we are right? If someone in here were to hear us talk about such a thing..” Momo whisper-yells and Todoroki’s eyebrow quirks up

“We all know I met Izuku through a sugar daddy website though-”

You clear your throat, “I’m not necessarily looking for you know..sex...just maybe someone to spend time with Monoma” You clarify and he's rummaging through his pockets to find his phone, he fiddles with it before showing you what the site looks like.

“Duh, escorts just get paid for their time not necessarily sex, I’ll send you the link to the website” He tells you and you sigh thoughtfully, if that was really the case then it wouldn't be so wrong to hire some cute eye candy right?

Momo waves over the waiter, “We’ll have the check please”

“Certainly ma'am”

You sat at your office’s desk with the website pulled up. You'd triple checked to make sure your door was locked, you still had a reputation to uphold as the CEO of your company, you'd be traumatized if one of your employees saw you hiring an escort.

You scrolled through the many many options of guys. Each profile consisted of a headshot of the escort along with a bio that consisted of maybe a paragraph and . You really couldn't find anyone that suited your tastes personally, until your mouse hovered over a blonde guy.

His bio was notably shorter than everyone else’s and in his picture he looked mean, eyebrows furrowed and red eyes staring menacingly at you and yet you found yourself clicking the ‘hire!’ button next to his name. Even though he looked like his favorite hobby was stealing candy from a baby, but his looks (as shallow as that may seem) were really speaking to you and the you between your legs if you were honest.

Bakugou Katsuki huh..well he seemed worth a try.

You had been through countless scenarios were you were rightfully terrified.

Being on a date had to be the scariest out of all of them.

Bakugou was sitting in front of you, he stirred his straw around in his coffee and looked at you while you struggled to contain the rabid beating of your heart in your chest.

“S-So..What- um..-”

“Just relax” He interrupts, his voice sounded so nice, deep and smooth like a rich dark chocolate. It only manages to make you more nervous.

“I’m sorry- I haven't actually done this before” you confess with a nervous chuckle, hands gripping your tea cup brutally.

He gives you this half smile and you're unsure of wether he's actually human or a demi-god at this point. “I can tell, but don't worry there's no reason to be”

You feel slightly comforted by his words and feel yourself let loose a little, “Okay, Bakugou, what do you like to do?” you ask.

“I like going to the gym” he shrugs, “I’m not really Interesting, I’m more curious about you” he says, he places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand and leans in to you. His skin is so clear- not a blemish in sight and his eyes are practically burning a hole into your soul.

“M-me? I do nothing too important..I like to sew” you respond, taking a sip of your jasmine tea. You didn't necessarily want to tell him about who you were or what you did just yet, money and status only complicate things. For now, you just wanted to be a normal young woman going out on a date.

“Come on, don't be shy, I know there's more to you than sewing” He says, removing the straw from his coffee and placing it on a neighboring napkin.

You bite into your bottom lip, “Well, I honestly don't do much besides work, it’s taken up so much time in my life I can't say I do much else” you admit and Bakugou hums thoughtfully. He doesn't respond for a bit, the sounds of the coffee shop fill the silence instead.

“Okay, I have an idea”

You cock your head to the side curiously.

“Let’s ditch the formalities and go have some real fun, I think its about time you lived your life” he proposes and your mouth hands open. Was he serious? He looked it. You couldn't help the giddy feeling that bubbled up within you, a feeling you hadn't felt in a long time, excitement. It made you feel young again.

“What do you say?”

“Alright!”

The two of you spent all day together, visiting various hidden places around the city, you did shopping and even some sightseeing. For the first time in a while you felt alive, like you were actually a person and not just a unfeeling robot who simply lived to work.

Your last stop was a park. With a large lake in the center Bakugou suggested you guys feed the birds before heading home. With a handful of birdseed you gently sprinkled some into the water and watched the geese gobble it up.

“When I was five, I had a huge fear of geese..” Bakugou admits and you're chuckling.

“No way, really?” you turned to face him and when you do he’s already looking at you, smiling fondly, eyes filled with an emotion that you really couldn't seem to put your finger on.

“What? Do I have something on my face that you're not telling me about?” You pout and he shakes his head before turning his attention back to the birds as he sprinkles more of the food into the lake.

“No, just realized somethin’”

The sun’s beginning to set now, the sky is illuminated by hues of orange and pink. You nudge him with your arm, “Realized what?”

He turns back to face you, there's an adoring look on his face.

“You look pretty when you're having fun”

A look of surprise crosses your features before your ears burn in embarrassment at the sudden compliment, the butterflies in your stomach flutter around more and more the longer you two stare at each other.

“Thanks” You mumble before looking down at your palm full of birdseed.

Dates with Bakugou become more and more frequent after that. The two of you often meeting up more than you meet up with your regular friends. Bakugou doesn't even charge you anymore, even though you've tried to tell him it was fine he still insisted otherwise. The two of you even exchanged numbers and spoke quite often on the phone. Texts like,

‘this song reminded me of you’ and ‘don't work too hard, idiot’ were often exchanged.

After maybe a month of this happening you realized that the warm feeling you got in your chest whenever Bakugou brushed your hair into place or stopped to tie your shoe for you or even when he texted you good morning wasn't because you appreciated him being a good friend, you liked him. It took a month to finally decipher your feelings for him but once you did..what the heck were you supposed to do now?

Never once in your life had you confessed to someone let alone dated them, what would happen to your friendship with Bakugou if things didn't work out? You didn't want to stop being friends with him, you loved being with him, he was the reason you finally started taking breaks and learned to relax.

You had a ton of questions to answer for yourself but you couldn't do it right now, you had a date with Bakugou. He told you to dress up and you weren't sure where you were going but you trusted him to take you somewhere you'd enjoy. Around 8pm like promised, he was there to pick you up. His car was fairly nice, you assumed his high pay rates were being used for something but now you know what. He was wearing a black three piece suit, it was crisp and you could clearly tell it was expensive, his hair was slicked back and he had a single diamond stud in his left ear. He looked damn good. It was making you a little nervous about how fancy this place actually was.

The drive to dinner was unusually quiet. Bakugou typically did most of the conversations with you seeing as you were mostly an awkward sausage but tonight was different, he had a stern look on his face and you felt a little worried. Bakugou noticed your nervous look in the rearview mirror and without skipping a beat placed his hand gently upon your thigh and gave it a small squeeze, this thumb moved back and forth in a soothing manner. All without taking his eyes off the road.

You felt a shiver run up your spine and you bit your lip from potentially making any noise, you turned your head to face the window to prevent him from seeing the look on your face.

Bakugou was right about the restaurant being fancy. The place was full of people you could recognize, everyone from business moguls to celebrities, it was almost a little intimidating but you knew probably how tough it was for Bakugou to even get a table reserved at this place so you decided to instead choke down any kindlings of anxiety and replace it with a gratefulness for his hard work.

You swirled the champagne around in your glass while Bakugou took a bite out of his steak, the atmosphere between you two was a little awkward and it hadn't been like this since the two of you met it was a little alarming.

“Is something wrong..?” you ask after gently resting the glass back on the table, he wipes his mouth with his napkin and sighs.

“I’m sorry that- I seem so weird tonight” he apologizes and you shake your head.

“No no don't worry about it, I’m just worried something bad happened” you tell him, you lean forward and place your hand on his. His fingers lace themselves with yours and for a moment it feels like its just the two of you in the restaurant together.

“Nothing bad, actually something good” he explains and you're giving him a small smile

“Something good?” you question and he leans in even closer to you.

“I mean, ever since I started hanging out with you I feel like my life's changed, I’m not one to be super cheesy but I just- fuck..I like you” his face is turning a light pink and in a moment of courage you close the small distance between the two of you and press your lips against his. He immediately reciprocates the kiss, his hand sneaks up your forearm and settles on your elbow using it to pull you in closer.

When the kiss finally breaks the two of you are a panting mess, then you hear the waiter clear his throat and Bakugou uses his thumb to wipe the lipstick from the corner of his lips.

“Check, please”

Upon entering your home, there wasn't much speaking. Your arms were wrapped around his neck as his hands fumbled with the zipper on the back of your dress. The two of you blindly walked backwards until you tripped backwards onto the couch. Bakugou completely stripped you of your dress and laid it across the back of the couch, your hands made quick work of his pants unbuttoning and unzipping them, he kicked them off eagerly uncaring of where the fabric was strewn. He cupped your cheek and continued to kiss you as he helped you wiggle out of your underwear. He sucked in a breath at feeling how wet you already were. He ran a finger up and down your slit before gently nudging a finger inside.

The sensation was foreign, it felt odd at first but the more he kept twisting and thrusting the finger inside of you the better it began to feel. He slid in another one and began making a scissor motion inside of you. Your hips raised off the cushions of the couch, you moaned into the kiss and eventually he pulled away from it, instead opting to kiss the skin of your neck. Your moans along with the wet sounds of his fingers fingering you open filled the space. It felt good, you could feel the knots in your stomach threaten to untangle the harder his fingers fucked themselves into you.

His movements slowly came to a halt and he slid his fingers out. Your eyes clouded with tears and your legs were shaking, disappointed that he stopped when you were so close. He pulled his cock from his underwear and began stroking it over you.

“Ready?” He asks as he grinds his cock against your twitching entrance and you're gripping his shoulder before he makes another move.

“A-actually..please just be gentle its-i’ve never done this before” you confess and his eyes widen for once, taken aback by your sudden profession. He gives you a small nod, “Promise.”

With one smooth stroke he bottoms out within you. Your back is arching off the couch as your mouth hangs open in a silent cry. The feeling is an addicting mix of pain and pleasure that has the tears you were holding in begin to roll down your cheeks, Bakugou gently kisses them away and uses his fingers to wipe away the stray tears. For a while, you're simply holding each other, bakugou whispers words of comfort in your ears while you slowly familiarize yourself with having him inside of you.

When Bakugou feels your hips begin to move against his, he takes that as his sign to begin moving. His thrusts start shallow, hips just barely touching yours as he doesn't want to hurt you and you quickly become frustrated with his kindness. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer to you, forcing him to bottom out inside you again. You whine his name and he shakes his head.

“And here I was trying to be considerate” he huffs out, you grip his tie and pull him down and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

“I didn't ask you to take it easy on me” you remind him and he scoffs

“You asked for this”

You're suddenly flipped onto your stomach and he raises your hips in the air, he pulls himself all the way out of you until the head of his cock is the only thing you can still feel inside of you, he rams his cock back into you and you're gripping the couch for dear life. His hips are ruthless, lewd slapping noises fill the room as the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust. His heavy balls greet your clit with an unceremonious slap. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, you can't think of anything else except Bakugou. You'd been completely fucked dumb on your first time.

You feel Bakugou’s fingers lace into your hair and grip the roots before pulling at them and forcing your head back. A jolt of pleasure flows through your body as his cock pushes up against your g-spot, your legs and kicking around behind you.

“No! cum-cumming kats I-” you can hardly finish your own sentence due to how hard your orgasm hits you, your body his shaking as bakugou releases your hair and uses his free hand to grip your waist as he desperately humps you, chasing his own release. Your cunt spasms around him in overstimulation, Katsuki only curses under his breath as you squeeze down on him, your cunt clamps down on his cock as you're brought to your second orgasm and his movements finally begin to slow and an unfamiliar warm fills your tummy.

He doesn't pull out right away. Instead he gently lays you backwards onto his chest and you snuggle into his chest.

He whistles, “Nice place”

“Pfft- don't try to make small talk with me after you just finished banging me” you giggle sleepily.

“Fair enough, still, I’m curious about how you can even afford this place” he wonders, hand rubbing up and down your back, only easing you closer to falling asleep.

“Hard work” you reply he takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it.

“That’s my hard working girl”

you feel the butterflies swarm around your stomach all over again at his small comment.

“Does this mean we're dating now?” you ask and he gives you a little chuckle.

“Yes, if you want”

“Good then you're my boyfriend” your eyes are fluttering closed at this point, you merely nuzzle into his chest and he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Goodnight love”

“Night Kats..”

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the-tiniest-one · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I saw you asking for requests to be sent in. I was wondering if you could do headcanons for kakashi and gai (separately) with a plus size civilian s/o? Or one or the other? Thank you in advance ❤

MIGHT GUY

SO we all know Guy is ALL about 3 things. Youth. Passion. Protecting Precious People….and guess what? When you happen to cross paths with the Leaf Village’s Blue Beast, he trips over himself to let you know just how PRESH you are.

I don't see your status as a civilian as much of a road block for him. He needs someone grounded and with soft hands to hold.

Someone who will think he’s the strongest man in the world, a superhero.

He protects the ones he loves with his life and once you're in that circle there is no way out of this man’s giant heart.

You somehow enter Guy’s line of sight, maybe on a walk to class or work too early in the morning…. and from that moment you pass by and he catches sight of your pretty face, he is out for the count.

Now. Lets remember….Guy is CONFIDENT (sometimes more in spirit than in actual ability, he is the fake-it-till-you-make-it KING).

Also important to note: Guy is NOT the same as Rock Lee in his pursuit of women. He’s not about to blow every kiss at you from the jump or shamelessly confess everything out right. Don't get me wrong, he’s shameless….but Guy wants to be seen as someone cool, sexy, a real macho/mighty man... He wants to be slick Kakashi his eternal rival. He’s going to try to be velvety smooth….without success.

He would find any excuse to be in your eye line while flexing or saving a poor disguised student he employed for his contrived scheme, in this case... Neji or Lee in a dress from falling off a building LOL. (“They would be asking him to please explain again how this is training?”)------You might be a civilian. But Genjutsu of that level does NOT work on you LOL.

You are the one to finally introduce yourself to a slumped and defeated Guy after about a week of his adorable attempts at trying to bate you in with his goober acts.

“Hello, my name is (y/n). I was hoping maybe you would like to get a drink sometime?” you say with a half smile.

He would raise his head, teeth BEAMING….the power of youth always prevails!

Best. Decision. Ever. Guy charming and not to mention SHREDDED.

When he accepts your date offer, He would stand and grin, maybe saying something a little cocky like; “A handsome, war hardened devilish shinobi such as myself will always find time to satiate the voracious desires of such a heavenly woman so bursting with the essence springtime.”

He would be so so so respectful.

That being said, you're HIGH AF if you think you aren't making a B-line to walk by Kakashi on the way so Guy can tactfully walk by loudly so that his rival notices he’s with a cute girl.

He’s going to be the chivalrous type. The kind of man who makes sure your hands are around his giant bicep whenever he escorts you anywhere….which from this point on is almost anytime he is home from missions or not training.

Guy is perfect. He’s tall, JACKED, and such a sweet loving man.

He is obsessed with your shampoo. His nose is always in your hair.

Lets face it. Guy is 100% the most physical man that has ever walked the streets of Konoha. If you aren't big on touching, then his is not the man for you.

One hand will always be around your waist, holding your hand, arm around your neck, locked on your curves or anywhere else….respeeeectfully of course.

He will always be up on you and in your face so get ready for that LOL.

He will be proud of you. He will be boisterous to an exhausting level about your achievements.

He will be exhilarating in every way.

One of Guy’s greatest strengths is also one of his most unfortunate downfalls. He is wildly protective. Never underestimate his ferocity when it comes to you. You may have to communicate more than once where the line is when it comes to him watching over you. Even though you aren’t skilled in combat as he is, you also are not a child and he will take some time to learn what you require and what you don’t.

He always means well.

You have some faults and things to work on as well. Guy is tender as hell, an emotional, hot blooded, love sick fool who can and WILL take things you say to heart so be sure if you notice him freaking out or trying too hard to make you happy, to hold him and let me know often that he is perfect the way he his.

In the end all of the passions and butterflies that Guy provokes from your heart are entirely justified.

He will ask you to marry him after a date, probably at sunset, one knee, giant ring he spent way too much on.

He claims you deserve the world and you tell him that instead of the world “you would settle for just having his hands, his lips, and his heart.”

Do your best to return his love to the best of your ability because not everyone gets the chance to be loved by the Hidden Leafs Handsome Blue Beast.

KAKASHI

I’ve never seen Kakashi as someone who would end up with another shinobi bombshell.

Instead I think he would find himself interested in someone who is a total badass in another line of work.

Example; You first encounter him one day while advising Lady Tsunade on the information the Hidden Leaf Village (and a few others) pay’s your company large sums of money to collect, aggregate, and report.

Kakashi stands guard during the meeting, watching you speak with an eloquent grace and authority he finds captivating and maybe a little seductive.

By then end of the meeting he is curious about you...wondering what you thought of him, what you think about everything.... You never even look his way.

He falls in line with you as we escorts you out of the building, walking beside you in the otherwise empty stairwell.

You smirk and take the liberty of speaking first. “Did you enjoy the show Scarecrow?”

From that moment on he’s hooked.

Now I also don’t find the idea of him falling for someone with some FULL curves to be all that outlandish….He has never given .00000001% of a shit what other people think.

He also shares the famous Pervy Sage’s taste in “women he describes from research” and romantic books about women shaped like gourds so with that logic in mind….dude likes thicc, full, curvaceous women for sure. It's basically cannon at this point ;)

Kakashi is someone who has learned emotional detachment through pain. You are the first person who shows promise in tearing down those defenses.

Your relationship not necessarily a slow burn. Kashi isn’t a kid, just because he hasn’t fallen head over heals with anyone before, doesn’t mean he is a mystery to himself or oblivious to his feelings.

That being said, I do think he will protect you by keeping a relationship with you under wraps for the first year or so.

If anything EVER happened to you….he wont let that happen.

The secrecy could be hard on you at first.

Watching more than a few women flirt shamelessly with your Kashi is beyond ROUGH.

Especially considering most of them are tough as nails ninja women with perfect bodies. You aren't used to feeling threatened by other people men or women, so you have a hard time learning how to deal with it.

Kakashi is always quick to remind you that he is serious about your relationship though.

He looks at you with a ferocity only seen by people who are no longer alive. His voice is low and serious when he gets close and tells you, “(Y/N) You are my entire life. I will never leave you. I promise I am yours until the day I die.”

After a few times of him promising you that he really is in love with you, you believe him and can be secure in his word.

As his girlfriend, you take his breath away.

The way you speak, move, sleep….

Even the way you casually conduct yourself at home and in public makes him more than proud to know who you are. Let alone get to go home to you.

Guy is the first one to catch on believe it or not. He notices Kakashi peaking over the top of his book at you as you walk down the opposite side of the street. He’s known Kakashi since they were kids, he puts a reassuring hand on your boyfriends shoulder and vows without spoken words to protect you when Kakashi can’t be there….and Kakashi understands. It helps him sleep just a little better knowing he has help.

Stargazing on a rooftop one chilly autumn night, Kakashi grabs your hand and proposes to you with a small silver ring, slightly ashamed for it’s lack of a stone.

“I want you to be my wife.” is all he says and you wrap your arms around him whispering in his ear “You have had my heart since the first day I met you…. And you always will.”

His heart melts into a puddle at the sound of you telling him he will have a wife. Finally have family that loves him this much.

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haikyuuuuuhypeeeee · 3 years ago

Text

Ch. Seventeen

⚠WARNING: Swearing

• ────── ✾ ────── •

For five days Osamu ignores you. Your texts go unanswered, calls are sent to voicemails, meet ups at the café are now solo trips.

You’re beyond upset at this point. If this is his way of needing space, that’s fine. You’d be okay with giving him space - you just need to know if he wants space. Having this awful radio silence between you is driving you mad. What if he’s sick? What if he needs to go to the hospital? He lives alone and his family isn’t close, and he hasn’t mentioned other friends to you before. You’ve talked plenty about Oikawa, Mattsun and Makki - surely he would’ve offered up stories about his friends if he had them, no?

But you also worry that you’ve done something to really offend him. He’s a pretty laid back guy (all things considered) so you must have really pissed him off if he’s resorting to ignoring all forms of communication.

You just need to know. Even if it will be the end of your friendship (something your brain isn’t ready to comprehend, thank you very much) you have to know why Osamu doesn’t want to talk to you.

So you’ve changed plans. You decide to skip afternoon classes and set up camp at the cafe. You knew he visited the cafe at least once a day, and you thought that maybe he was coming at different times to avoid you but you weren’t gonna let that happen so you would change your schedule and ambush him.

It was literally the only idea you could think of and at this point you were desperate.

“Jasmine tea, right?” The barista greets you when you step up to the register.

“Yes please,” you answer, reaching to grab your wallet from your bag.

“Hey, I haven’t seen that one guy who you’d been studying with in awhile. He used to come all the time.” The barista sets down your tea and types at the register. “What was his name, Osamu?”

You nod, trying to swallow your disappointment and pass over money to pay. If the employees here haven’t noticed Osamu coming in then maybe he is sick. And the odds of you coming across him here are slim to none.

You thank the barista and grab a table in a different spot of the cafe. The whole point of this is to change up your routine and try to see if Osamu will stop by. The last thing you want is for him to walk in, see you sitting at the table, and leave. You sit at your table, pull out your notebooks and get settled. Hopefully you can get some studying done while waiting.

A faint bell to indicate a new person coming in rings, and you nearly snap your neck to look in the direction of the front door. But it’s a young woman talking on her cell phone who walks in, not Osamu. You sigh to yourself and open your books.

~~~

The front door bell rings again, and like before you quickly look up. To your dismay, a group of three guys probably close to your age walk into the café and make their way to the register.

You’ve been at the café for 45 minutes and this time it’s the 10th time you’ve been tricked by someone walking in. You feel yourself wilt and look back down at your books, ignoring the stinging in your eyes. This is pointless.

“We’ve checked the campus all morning, and Shin combed the library top to bottom.”

The group of guys waiting in line are standing close enough to your new table that you can just hear what they’re saying. You don’t really eavesdrop on people, but it’s hard when they’re not really trying to keep quiet. And you had given up on your homework ages ago, so you just sit staring at the table while listening to the three friends talk.

“We know that he’s studying here. We should just go up to the registrar’s office and find out where he’s taking classes.” A second voice speaks up.

“Yeah, and how is that going to work?” The first guy was speaking again. “We’re going to waltz onto a campus of a school we don’t go to and what, ask nicely if they can tell us where our friend is? We’ll get the cops called on us for sure.”

“Enough.” The third friend spoke, and you didn’t have to look to know that his voice commanded an air of respect. “We’re here for a few more days, we cannot argue amongst ourselves.”

“Kita, it’s a big campus in a big city. It’s gonna take more than a miracle to find him.”

You look up and around the café, and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the three guys who’s conversation you had overheard. The shorter friend takes his coffee from the barista with a nod and moves towards the sugar and creamer station. “Him ignoring our phone calls is making things difficult.” The guy paused again to pour sugar into his coffee. “But it’s his mother’s birthday soon, and I know she would like him to be home for it.” You look away to gaze outside but continue to listen (eavesdrop) to them. You can’t help but think that the shortest guy’s accent sounds very familiar to you.

“To hell with the birthday.” The second guy speaks again, sounding agitated. “Osamu should be home with us, not holed up in this city alone.”

Your head snaps in their direction again. The shorter man with black and white hair is nearly dwarfed by two other men, one dark-skinned and the other with dark hair parted down the center. The shorter man and dark-skinned man are busy making their coffees but the one with dark, parted hair catches your movement. You stare at each other, him having no problem holding your gaze. You watch him pull his phone out of his pocket, tap at the screen (without looking away) and bring the phone up. A quick flash and you realize that this stranger has taken your photograph.

What the hell?!

You start, not expecting the action and look back down abashed. This is what you get for eavesdropping, you dummy. You chance a quick glance and see the shorter man giving the photog a stern look. You look away again but you can’t shut your ears off as you hear them speak again.

“Delete that photo right now Suna.”

“But she was looking right at me!”

“Delete it.”

Footsteps approaching your table make you look up again and your pulse quickens when you realize the shorter man is approaching you. Behind him the dark-skinned man is scolding the other friend, both looking cross with each other. But you can’t focus on them as the short man has finally arrived at your table. To your massive surprise he bows in front of you.

“I sincerely apologize for my friend. I assure you that he deleted the photo he took and he will not be doing anything like that again.”

Hearing his voice you can definitely pick up the same accent Osamu has. His eyes are gentle and kind and he does look remorseful for his friend’s actions. “Uhhh, no worries.” You stammer out, still dazed by everything that is happening.

Before you can think to voice your confusion out loud the man bows again and takes his leave. He doesn’t get a few feet from your table before you're blurting out.

“I heard you talking about Osamu.”

The two friends hear you (as did everyone in the cafe) but they immediately make their way to your table. The dark-skinned man is looking at you with surprise but it’s the other friend’s face who catches you by surprise. He stomps over and leans down to your eye level.

“Where is he?” You’re taken aback by the ferociousness in his voice, and the frantic frazzled look in his eyes. The shorter man steps back to the table and rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“We’re friends of Osamu from back home, and we’re having trouble finding him. Are you a friend of his?”

“Uh, yes. Well, I think so.” You weren’t sure of your status now after he’s been ignoring your calls and messages.

“Well which is it?” The other man asks aggressively. You don’t get a chance to answer as you all hear the café door open and you turn to look at the newcomer.

Your heart flutters when you see Osamu walk through the door. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since realizing that you like him more than a friend, and besides relief at seeing him in person after he’s been ignoring you, you feel comfort at seeing him.

You meet his gaze and watch him stop in his steps when he sees you. His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the look on his face when he takes in the full scene. Your heart twists when he pales, and before you can call out to him he takes off.

“Shit!” The man who took your photo takes off, expertly weaving through the small crowd in the café and following Osamu out the door. The second tall man chases after them a second later, having a bit more trouble getting through the other patrons.

The third, shortest friend remains, and you hear him heave a sigh. After a beat he speaks up. “May I join you?”

You start but not immediately. He doesn’t waste time in sitting down in the chair next to yours. Only when he gets situated do you realize what you’ve done - you’re letting someone who supposedly knows Osamu sit with you, someone that makes Osamu look like he’s seen a ghost and run away as fast as he can.

What if this man is dangerous? Did you just endanger Osamu’s life?

“We’re not here to hurt Osamu.” Your companion at your table speaks up. You have no idea how he was able to read your mind, and you feel even more suspicious. “My name is Kita Shinsuke - the one who took your photo is Suna Rintarou, and our other friend is Aran Ojiro. We’re friends of Osamu’s from Hyogo.”

You nod at his introduction, but you’re not buying it. Saying outright that you’re not going to hurt someone is exactly what someone who wants to hurt someone else would say.

Kita must sense your hesitation again and he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen and sets it on the table facing you. He nudges it in your direction, and you cautiously pick it up. What you see on the screen nearly makes you drop the phone in surprise.

It’s a group of guys - you immediately recognize this Kita person with his black and white hair, as well as Suna and Aran. You also see Osamu, giving the camera a lazy smile.

And his exact replica, standing next to him with a wider, cockier smile.

His twin.

Besides the initial shock of seeing a picture of Osamu’s twin, you see Osamu looking happy. He’s got his small smirk you’ve only seen a few times, and even then it pales in comparison to the smile he’s wearing in the photo. It’s such a stark difference to the cold, apathetic Osamu you know now that your heart can’t help but twist.

You hand the phone back to Kita silently. He takes it and puts it away.

“How long have you been friends with Osamu?” He asks.

You swallow. “A few weeks.”

Kita nods. “And do you know about Atsumu?”

“Is that his twin?” Kita nods at your question. “Then yes, that’s how we became friends, kind of.”

Kita gives you a confused look (his expression barely changes but you can just detect it.) You clear your throat. “I lost my best friend a few months ago. We realized we both had something in common and we’ve been able to talk about it with each other.”

Surprise flickers across his face before a serious, somber look takes its place. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” you reply automatically. You appreciate his gesture, and you’ve been handling these kinds of interactions with general strangers for months. If, for some godforsaken reason, the passing of Hajime comes up in conversation everyone immediately offers their condolences, you thank them, and then the conversation continues. You’ve long been able to push aside the wave of grief that comes with the briefest of mentions of his passing. You understand that sometimes the stranger you were talking with doesn’t really mean the words they’re saying.

But with this Kita Shinsuke, you feel the sincerity behind it. It only comes from someone who can understand what you’re going through because they’ve gone through it themselves.

“Can I ask how much you know about Osamu and Atsumu?” Kita asks.

You struggle to find an adequate answer, embarrassed by your lack of knowledge about Osamu’s past. He always seemed uncomfortable talking about Atsumu, and you never wanted to push him. Gosh, can you really say you have deep feelings for him when you don’t even know how to answer this simple question?

“I know he came to Sendai for school.” You answer carefully, putting your insecurities away for now. “I think he wanted to get out of Hyogo.”

Kita’s response is a hum. It’s thoughtful, and you can see gears turning behind his head. You wait for him to reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Osamu definitely wanted to get out of Hyogo, and he did come here to attend Sendai University.” Kita confirms. “But what you may not know is that he vanished from Hyogo, without a trace save for the letter he left for his parents to never call him again.”

Kita’s brief explanation feels anything but that. It shocks you to your core, freezing your lungs. Any reply you would have had to it was wiped clean, and you really can’t do anything but sit and stare.

Kita nods. His features soften, and you now see a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I understand his actions. I cannot imagine living in a place with constant painful reminders of his loss.

“But he didn’t give any hint of wanting to leave. He never told anyone his plan. One day we woke up and he was just gone. His parents are heartbroken. They had already lost one son, and now another that leaves no open channel of communication, no desire for any of us to reach him. To them, it feels like they’ve lost both sons.

Your heart clenches painfully. You know Kita isn’t accusing Osamu of anything - you can’t hear any blame in his voice. But you can’t help but feel the need to defend your friend for his actions that are, frankly, self-serving.

Kita goes on. “Aran, Suna and myself have an old schoolmate, one of Osamu’s old friends as well. He recently reached out to tell us that his cousin thought he recognized Osamu here at this campus when he came to play Sendai University’s mens’ basketball team. It was pure dumb luck, and honestly not even a hint of a confirmed lead, but we got a chance to find Osamu. We arrived two days ago and have spent all of our time searching every corner of the campus looking for him.”

You still can’t get over the new information you’ve learned about Osamu. Leaving his small town and the only people he knows with no plans on returning. You can’t help but remember little bits of information gleaned from your conversations with Osamu.

He moved to a new city and got a new phone and new phone number. He doesn’t have any friends or family here in Sendai. How unwilling he was to find a therapist and seek help for unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Now with the added information of knowing Osamu left home without a trace, you’re left with a revelation that sends you reeling.

He’s running away.

Osamu is trying to run away from the trauma of losing his brother. He’s doing his very best to shake off any trace of his past and reinvent himself in a new city. Zero contact with friends or family and no support to help him work through a disturbing life event that shouldn’t happen to anyone. And he’s shoving it all down.

Why? Why in the world would anyone want to do that to themselves? And is this what he’s been doing to you now? Running away from you?

A ringing disrupts your disturbing thoughts and you watch Kita bring his phone up to his ear. “Hello?” Whoever is on the other line must tell him some disappointing news because Kita’s face falls again. “Ok, I’ll meet you at the hotel.” He hands up the phone and sighs.

“Aran and Suna lost Osamu. Not surprisingly, since Osamu was always quick, and he knows the area better than we do.” He stands. “I will leave you to your studying. May I borrow a slip of paper and a pen?”

You wordlessly hand over a scrap piece of paper and pen, letting Kita bend down to write on the table. He hands the items back to you and straightens up. You look at the paper and see his full name and phone number written down.

“You have no obligation to, but if Osamu reaches out to you will you please let me know?”

You think of the messages you’ve sent him and the calls you’ve made - all unanswered. But you can’t bring yourself to tell that to Kita now. “I’ll try my best.”

“I greatly appreciate it.” Kita bows and makes to leave. But he hesitates and looks back at you. “We’re not here to drag him back to Hyogo against his will. If he wants to stay here in Sendai he can, he’s an adult. I just want him to know that he has people that care about him, people that miss him.”

You watch Kita pause, standing still. He swallows hard and you see his hands ball into fists. Watching Kita compose himself somehow hurts you the most in this entire interaction you’ve had with him.

When he speaks, his voice is strained. “I don’t think he knows that. I think he believes that he’s truly alone.”

Kita nods and takes his leave, leaving you sitting alone at your table in the café.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: Enter the Hyogo friends! But Osamu doesn't seem too happy to see them....are we gonna find out why? Also a sad Kita is literally the worst thing in the world and it makes me not okay! :')

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