Realistic or Modern 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ✧ 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘹 𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦

[neon reverie]

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[fluticasone]

fluticasone fluticasone

lucio

Lucio Go. It's not a name that's well-known now, but Lucio intends for it to be eventually respected and even feared.

Having grown up on meager government subsidy that was further reduced by his father's drinking habit, he swore he'd only stick around long enough to make sure his younger brother graduated from high school. But when he caught his good-for-nothing sperm donor taking a fist to his younger brother, his plans shifted earlier than expected with an add-on to boot. He supported himself and his brother through a scholarship and part-time jobs, eventually landing himself a role at his current office after graduating. It's the perfect backstory for a hardworking new ace of a company.

If only they knew that behind closed doors, Lucio hated every single second of it. The mask he wore was as fake as the rest of them, but at least he worked to get where he was. The same couldn't be said of all the heirs and nepo-babies he was forced to rub shoulders with. They knew nothing of struggling, and for that reason alone, they were beneath him.

he/him

27

godorise

 

[neon reverie]

fluticasone fluticasone

Giselle

A modern day princess who does not believe in family, because blood has been muddled and fissures exist where lines got crossed. Half her love lies in a grave that only she visits from time to time, the existence of a mother seemingly buried by the rest just as soon as the heart stopped beating. Half her hatred is bottled in a porcelain vase crafted from fragments of a broken heart in a foreign land. She swears she is over him.

Life is not supposed to be that kind of a game, but she plays anyways. Manipulation is a tool well used in a world that raises you up only to let you down. Her work ethics can be deemed as questionable, but don’t ever tell her that she’s not result driven. While her presence at the office is a rare one, little escapes the heiress. She knows what you all say about her during lunch, knows just what kind of dirty gossip travels.

And maybe all of it is deserved. Maybe Giselle is just greedy for what she can’t have, so she takes everything else. Maybe her standards are higher than the walls she build, and the throne she sits on is colder than the chill running down your spine as she looks you down. Maybe she is too materialistic, too temperamental, too sharp and never with enough regret. Maybe she is just someone who doesn’t care about anyone, because why would she when nobody truly cares about her?

she/her

26

citrine

 

[neon reverie]

CITRINE

Giselle.

XS

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outfit

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fluticasone

They say diamonds are made under pressure, but Giselle doesn't mind being sharply imperfect if it means drawing blood. She is aware of what the public finds of her; cruel and crazy, wretched and wrong— a spoiled princess who is teetering on the edge of grace, so close to falling into depths people could rarely crawl out from. She knows how many are looking through the cracked windows of their lives into the mansion of hers, always looking out for when the chandeliers would crumble and the crown would finally fall. Insignificant beings they are, always losing their senses like fragile leaves coming undone from their wooden homes, destined to flutter aimlessly before being trampled by someone greater than them.

Giselle knows better than to pay them any heed.

She had hoped her father, as any sensible person, would've as well....

But alas, her inheritance and the empire she was destined to rule, was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand stained with blood. All because his ears were tuned to the buzzing of pesky bugs. Arranged relationships were not necessarily uncommon in their echelons; money and marriages mingle together like ink on parchment, drawn and destined to each other. The statuses of both always remained in the same league, though. Hers and his? She'd have to take a spaceship to visit his poor plane of existence.

She'd rather perish somewhere in space.

It was insulting, degrading even, to think about being in a relationship with her new fake boyfriend, and Giselle feels the indignation flare inside every time she imagines Luca — Lucy, whatever his name is again — with his greedy hands all over her life, smudging the polished surfaces with his dirty fingerprints. Another gold digger who she'd only like to see crushed before he could steal from her. Before he could any crawl closer. Giselle frankly can do without ever seeing him. But unfortunately, she has to.

Thinly veiled annoyance crackles in the thin air inside the sleek black car; not even a pair of oversized black sunglasses could hide the displeasure within. Arms and legs crossed, she sits across from him, her mind busy concocting ways to get away with committing parricide. Rudely interrupting her earlier shopping spree with the command to meet her fake boyfriend was one thing, stitching an 'impromptu date' to it was borderline maniacal; there is nothing in the world that she would like to do less.

And yet here they were, forced by the same hands that pointed to the empty spot on two damning papers. Her choice ceased to exist the moment the ink leaked into cursive. She is now contractually bound to do unspeakable things, such as acting as if his existence doesn't trigger abhorrence — in public that is. Now that they are still in private, Giselle doesn't feel the need to keep up the fake niceties. Behind her shades, her eyes scrutinise every little detail about him. If she has to give any sliver of a merit to her father, it would be that he at least chose one objectively pleasant to look at. Or his face at least.

"Are you aware that you most likely will be photographed today?"

She asks, looking down at his attire captiously. She could see the cheapness from her seat.

 

[fluticasone]

Every time he thought about it, Lucio wasn't sure how he got himself into this mess. The plan had been simple: enter a big company, climb the ranks, and make money. Signing a contract? He'd done that countless times before. Signing a contract for a fake relationship? Well... that's exactly why he had trouble believing it. Yet he couldn't ignore the annoyance that seemed to permeate the space, all of it coming from the woman beside him.

"Are you aware that you most likely will be photographed today?" Lucio's eyes wandered over to the driver; he kept his eyes on the road, feigning ignorance of the drama that was about to unfold behind him. He wasn't even sure what her problem was, but it was definitely a jab at him.

"If they're taking photographs of me, then that means you failed to hold their attention." He faced her, irritated he was unable to meet her eyes due to the giant lens that obscured her features.

She was the company's princess, a woman whom he'd never expected to have ever had to share a space with, much less feign affection with. Rumors, most likely exaggerated, trickled down even to his lowly department, despite his best efforts to shut out the unnecessary.

A capricious bitch who'll run the company to the ground once she sat on its throne. A flighty spoiled brat who's never been told no. A daddy's girl whose idea of hard work was a shopping spree across Europe.​

One truth amongst it all however, was that a pretty face could let you get away with anything. And what she couldn't with her beauty, her family took care of instead. It was little wonder her old man had taken to measures as extreme as the one he'd gotten himself involved in. Contracts were one way to guarantee how someone would behave.

"It's just a walk in the park with some coffee. If you can't even take that much, you don't have what it takes to manage your precious inheritance." Of course he knew of the terms; they'd signed the same contract after all. A brat like her wouldn't survive without the safety net of her family — she was at least smart enough to realize that.

"We can even sort out your little problem with me being photographed, though I can't imagine what exactly it is." His voice sat easy, cloyingly indulgent as if he were speaking to a child. If he couldn't smoke the stress away, at least he could watch someone else be miserable with him.

 

[neon reverie]

CITRINE

Giselle.

XS

location

car

outfit

https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b4/f3/7b/b4f37bbd85df4fac87d512d06c61441d.jpg

click me!

https://i.pinimg.com/736x/b4/f3/7b/b4f37bbd85df4fac87d512d06c61441d.jpg

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lucio

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fluticasone

Ire blazes inside like molten gold at his words, and a withering glare being sent his way from behind the shades. How dare he, this imposter, this leeching charlatan, have the audacity to speak words that grazes insult against her? For him to insinuate something as preposterous as being undeserving of her family fortune is enough for Giselle to briefly consider throwing him out of this vehicle, uncaring that it's currently reaching a speed of 60kms.

He knows nothing about her or her family; does not know what she has to endure with serpent as step-mother and arrogant preening peacock as step-brother. They, along with a legion of incompetent fools, vey for a birthright that was never theirs to claim. They wished the erase the only lingering presence of a mother who simply loved a daughter. Giselle deserves more than just riches for being the only one protecting a ghost others were so quickly to forget. She certainly deserves better than to be subjected to crude assertions of a parasite.

Giselle's nostrils flares with disdain as she regards him, a scowl etching itself upon her lips like a blemish upon flawless skin.

"Nobody will believe us together when you dress so poorly,"

she retorts, voice dripping with contempt,

"surely anyone with a sliver of intelligence could grasp that."

How could he expect to maintain the illusion they were tasked with upholding when he looks as though he has crawled from the gutter? Revulsion flickers within; he really looks uglier by the second. It simply would not do. Giselle would sooner be caught dead than to be seen with someone wearing such abominable attire. With a decisive snap of her finger, her attention travels towards the chauffeur.

"To Godiva mall,"

she declares, her tone brooking no argument. Because if she has to keep up this humiliating facade of being in love with someone way below her, she would at least not allow him to drag her pristine image down with his sartorial ineptitude.