#sip forecast

[curiousquill1]

Discover how mutual fund portfolio analysis plays a key role in calculating the average rate of return in SIP investments. Learn how expert portfolio management helps maximize returns.

[investrackexpert]

Nifty 50 Guide to Top Stocks Trends and Smart Investing in 2025

🔷 Introduction

If you're even remotely interested in the Indian stock market, you've heard of the Nifty 50. Whether you're a seasoned trader watching every candle on the chart or a long-term investor building wealth one SIP at a time, the Nifty 50 is likely at the center of your strategy.

Why? Because it's not just any index. It’s a benchmark. A barometer. A mirror to the Indian economy.

As we move through 2025, the Nifty 50 continues to evolve. It doesn’t just reflect the top 50 companies by market capitalization listed on the National Stock Exchange (NSE)—it reflects the direction in which India Inc. is heading.

This guide walks you through everything you need to know:

What the Nifty 50 really represents

The updated stock list for 2025

Sectoral trends shaping its performance

And how smart investors are positioning themselves today

For a regularly updated stock list and expert advisory on Nifty 50 investments, visit Investrack's Nifty 50 page

Let’s dive in.

🔹 Section 1: What is the Nifty 50 Index?

The Nifty 50 is India’s most recognized and widely followed stock market index. Managed by the NSE Indices Limited (formerly known as India Index Services & Products Ltd), it represents the weighted average of the top 50 most liquid and financially sound companies listed on the National Stock Exchange (NSE).

These companies span across 14 key sectors of the economy, including:

Financial Services

IT

Oil & Gas

FMCG

Pharmaceuticals

Automobiles

Infrastructure

Metals

This index is market capitalization-weighted, meaning companies with higher market caps hold greater weight in the index. So when a giant like Reliance or HDFC Bank makes a move, it significantly affects the index's overall direction.

📌 Nifty vs Nifty 50 vs Sensex — What’s the Difference?

Nifty generally refers to the Nifty 50 Index, but it can also be a prefix used for other NSE indices like Nifty Next 50 or Nifty Bank.

Nifty 50 is the specific index of the top 50 large-cap companies.

Sensex is the BSE (Bombay Stock Exchange) equivalent of Nifty 50 and includes 30 companies.

Fun fact: The Nifty 50 captures about 65% of the free float market capitalization of listed stocks on NSE. So yes, it's a solid representation of the Indian economy.

Why Should Investors Care?

It’s a key indicator of market sentiment.

It forms the basis of many ETFs and mutual funds.

It offers a simple, diversified route for passive investors.

In short, tracking the Nifty 50 means tracking the health and growth of India’s corporate ecosystem.

🔹 Section 2: Updated Nifty 50 Stock List for 2025

As of 2025, the Nifty 50 continues to host a blend of legacy companies and modern business powerhouses. While the full official list is available on the NSE website, here’s a representative overview of the type of companies currently part of the index: Company NameSectorReliance IndustriesEnergy & ConglomeratesHDFC BankFinancial ServicesTCSIT ServicesInfosysIT ServicesICICI BankBanking & FinanceHindustan UnileverFMCGBharti AirtelTelecomKotak Mahindra BankBankingITC LtdFMCG & CigarettesLarsen & ToubroInfrastructure

These stocks are selected and reviewed semi-annually based on:

Market capitalization (free float-based)

Liquidity and impact cost

Trading frequency

The most recent rebalancing included the entry of green-energy and fintech companies, reflecting India’s evolving corporate landscape.

To see the full 2025 list and sector classifications, visit: Investrack Nifty 50 Stock List

Sector Representation in 2025

The top 5 sectors (by weight) in the index are:

Financial Services – Banks, NBFCs, and insurance giants dominate with over 35% weight.

Information Technology – Contributing over 15%, tech continues to drive growth.

Oil & Gas – Thanks to Reliance and ONGC.

FMCG – Defensive players like HUL, ITC remain consistent.

Healthcare & Pharma – Increasing weight due to demand resilience.

Stock Weightage Matters

In a cap-weighted index like Nifty 50, each stock doesn't have an equal say. For instance:

Reliance Industries might have a ~10% weight.

TCS could have ~7%.

Smaller constituents might weigh as little as 0.5%.

This is important because even if 30 companies rise and 20 fall, the index may still go down if the heavyweights are in red.

🔹 Section 3: Sectoral Trends Driving Nifty 50 in 2025

Understanding which sectors are fueling Nifty 50's growth (or dragging it down) can help you make smarter investing decisions.

Let’s explore what’s shaping the index this year:

🏦 1. Financial Services — The Dominant Force

Banks like HDFC, ICICI, and Kotak continue to drive the index with strong balance sheets and rising credit growth.

RBI’s rate-cut cycle in 2024 has improved lending and boosted profitability.

Fintech growth and digital lending platforms also support the sector’s expansion.

Stock Movers: HDFC Bank, ICICI Bank, Bajaj Finance

💻 2. Information Technology — Global Tailwinds

IT companies benefit from increased outsourcing and global digital transformation.

Despite margin pressures, demand for cloud, AI, and automation remains strong.

Rupee depreciation also supports export-heavy firms.

Stock Movers: TCS, Infosys, Wipro, HCL Tech

🛢️ 3. Energy — A Balancing Act

Crude oil volatility affects energy stocks, but green energy transition plays are gaining favor.

Reliance’s shift toward renewables is notable.

Power Grid and NTPC continue their stable returns trend.

Stock Movers: Reliance Industries, ONGC, NTPC

🛍️ 4. FMCG — Steady in Storms

These stocks provide defensive support during volatile times.

Rising rural demand, stable margins, and brand loyalty drive consistent performance.

Stock Movers: Hindustan Unilever, ITC, Nestlé India

💊 5. Pharma & Healthcare — Quiet Outperformers

Post-pandemic corrections are over.

The focus on diagnostics, wellness, and exports is growing.

Expect long-term structural upside.

Stock Movers: Sun Pharma, Cipla, Divi’s Labs

🔍 What’s New in 2025?

Renewables and EVs are gaining traction — watch for companies in green infrastructure.

Infrastructure push from the government is also boosting capital goods and construction-related stocks.

Digital India, Make in India, and PLI schemes are creating new winners in auto components, semiconductors, and telecom.

🔹 Section 4: Top Performing Nifty 50 Stocks to Watch in 2025

Among the 50 stocks that make up the Nifty 50, a few have truly stood out in 2025 due to their stellar fundamentals, sectoral dominance, and consistent returns. Let’s explore some of the most compelling ones investors are keeping their eyes on this year.

HDFC Bank remains a market favorite. After the merger with HDFC Ltd, it has emerged as a powerful financial services giant. With an expanding customer base, efficient digital platforms, and sound risk management, HDFC Bank is delivering consistent earnings and maintaining leadership in the banking sector.

TCS, or Tata Consultancy Services, is another heavyweight that continues to impress. Despite volatility in global IT spending, TCS has maintained strong growth through AI services, cloud transformation projects, and enterprise solutions. Its massive order book and low attrition rate reinforce its position as a reliable long-term bet.

Then there’s Reliance Industries, which is more than just an oil and gas player. Its aggressive investments in green energy, telecom, and retail have made it a diversified behemoth. With Mukesh Ambani’s bold restructuring strategies, Reliance is turning into a clean energy and digital infrastructure powerhouse.

ITC Limited has also surprised the markets. Often considered a slow mover, ITC’s FMCG business has finally taken off, contributing significantly to its revenue mix. Coupled with stable cigarette earnings and improving performance in hotels and paperboards, ITC is now one of the most balanced defensive and growth plays.

Larsen & Toubro, India’s largest engineering and construction company, is benefitting from the government’s continued push for infrastructure. Its robust project pipeline, global exposure, and execution excellence make L&T a cornerstone in any long-term portfolio aiming for exposure to India’s development story.

🔹 Section 5: How to Invest in the Nifty 50 Effectively

Understanding the index is one thing, but knowing how to invest in it wisely is what separates seasoned investors from casual participants. Fortunately, Nifty 50 offers multiple pathways for different types of investors.

One direct route is stock picking. This involves selecting individual stocks from the Nifty 50 based on your own analysis or with the help of professional advisors. While it offers the potential for high returns, it also comes with higher risks and demands a solid understanding of sectors, valuations, and market cycles.

For those who prefer a hands-off approach, index mutual funds are a popular option. These funds simply mirror the Nifty 50 and provide market returns with minimal cost. They're especially suited for long-term investors who believe in India's growth but don’t want to monitor markets daily.

Another route is through ETFs, or exchange-traded funds, which also track the Nifty 50 but are traded on the stock exchange like regular shares. ETFs offer liquidity, real-time pricing, and low management fees, making them ideal for digitally savvy investors who want flexibility.

When deciding between SIP (Systematic Investment Plans) and lumpsum investing, the choice often depends on market conditions and investor discipline. SIPs help you invest in a disciplined manner regardless of market levels, averaging out the cost over time. On the other hand, lumpsum investments are more appropriate during temporary market corrections, when valuations are attractive.

If all this feels overwhelming or you're unsure where to start, it’s a smart move to consult a SEBI-registered investment advisor. Platforms like Investrack offer personalized strategies, expert analysis, and a goal-based approach to Nifty 50 investing. They simplify decisions around asset allocation, rebalancing, and tax-efficiency.

Ready to invest with confidence? Start here: Investrack Nifty 50 Advisory

🔹 Section 6: Nifty 50 Past Returns and Future Outlook

No investment decision is complete without reviewing the index’s historical performance. While past returns don’t guarantee future outcomes, they do offer important context and credibility.

Over the past decade, the Nifty 50 has delivered strong, inflation-beating returns. Despite global and domestic shocks — from demonetization to COVID-19 and geopolitical tensions — the index has consistently bounced back. Investors who stayed invested for five to ten years have seen double-digit annualized returns, highlighting the strength and resilience of India's top 50 companies.

The period between 2020 and 2024 was particularly strong, as the market recovered from the pandemic and benefitted from low interest rates, tech innovation, and high government spending. Even with intermittent corrections, the Nifty 50 demonstrated impressive compounding ability for those who stayed the course.

Looking ahead to 2025 and beyond, the outlook remains optimistic but cautiously so. India’s GDP is expected to grow steadily, between 6.5 to 7 percent. Foreign institutional investors are returning in strength, and India's weight in global indices like MSCI is gradually increasing — bringing more international capital to domestic markets.

However, there are factors that could pose challenges. Rising global interest rates, oil price volatility, and geopolitical tensions — particularly in the Middle East and East Asia — can influence investor sentiment. Domestically, inflation and the upcoming general elections may cause short-term volatility.

Despite these risks, analysts remain largely bullish. Many brokerage houses and institutional experts have projected the Nifty 50 to reach levels between 22,500 and 24,000 by the end of 2025, assuming earnings growth continues and macro stability is maintained.

More importantly, the quality of companies in the Nifty 50 is improving. Many have reduced debt, increased operating efficiency, and adapted to new technologies. This means the index is not only growing — it’s evolving.

🔹 Section 7: Nifty 50 Rebalancing in 2025 and What It Means for You

Every six months, the Nifty 50 undergoes a rebalancing — a process where underperforming or ineligible companies are removed, and new, high-performing ones are added. This ensures that the index stays aligned with the market’s best and most liquid large-cap companies.

In 2025, the rebalancing has drawn attention as market dynamics shift, especially with rising sectors like green energy, fintech, and digital infrastructure. Several companies from traditional sectors may exit, making room for emerging leaders from newer industries.

Why Rebalancing Matters to Investors

Keeps the Index Fresh: It reflects the most relevant and robust companies in the Indian economy.

Impacts ETF and Fund Holdings: Mutual funds and ETFs that track the Nifty 50 automatically adjust their portfolios, which can influence short-term stock prices.

Opportunity to Spot Future Leaders: Stocks entering the index often experience a surge in demand from institutional and passive investors.

As an investor, staying informed about upcoming rebalancing dates and changes can help you anticipate market movements and make informed decisions. You don’t need to actively trade based on it, but being aware gives you a strategic edge.

🔹 Section 8: Benefits of Investing in the Nifty 50

If you’re wondering why the Nifty 50 remains a go-to investment choice even in 2025, here’s a quick breakdown of its top benefits:

1. Built-In Diversification

With exposure to 50 companies across 13+ sectors including finance, IT, energy, FMCG, and pharma, the Nifty 50 offers excellent diversification. This reduces the risk associated with individual stock or sector volatility.

2. Stable Long-Term Growth

Historically, the index has delivered consistent returns over long periods. Investors with a 5 to 10-year horizon have often beaten inflation and created substantial wealth.

3. Backed by India's Growth Story

India is set to be the third-largest economy by 2030. The Nifty 50 captures the essence of this growth by including companies that benefit from consumption trends, infrastructure investments, digitalization, and exports.

4. Low Cost Investment Options

Index funds and ETFs that track the Nifty 50 come with minimal expense ratios, sometimes as low as 0.1%. This makes it one of the most cost-effective ways to invest in equity markets.

5. Ideal for SIPs and Retirement Planning

Because of its steady nature and broad exposure, the Nifty 50 is a popular choice for systematic investment plans (SIPs) and long-term retirement portfolios.

🔹 Conclusion: Start Investing in Nifty 50 with Confidence

Whether you’re new to the stock market or an experienced investor, the Nifty 50 remains one of the most reliable ways to build long-term wealth. It reflects India’s economic backbone — evolving, expanding, and growing stronger with time.

From choosing top-performing stocks to investing via index funds or ETFs, there are multiple ways to participate in the Nifty 50 journey. And with platforms like Investrack, you get the added advantage of expert-backed strategies, real-time insights, and personalized investment guidance.

👉 Don’t just watch the Nifty 50 rise. Be part of its growth. Explore the best Nifty 50 investment options at:

[julietsf1]

Strawberry Season - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she was his plus-one, his accessory, his afterthought. but Lando Norris? he made her laugh before her boyfriend even noticed she’d stopped smiling (6.7k words)

content: sad/comfort, slow burn, he falls first, stuck in bad relationship (non-graphic), mutual pining, mention of fish!

AN: I was having a nostalgic day and suddenly I remembered Shawn Mendes exists. listened to Treat You Better and now boom this was made. big kiss to you all!! don't forget you deserve someone who makes you smile <3

--------------------------------------------------

The Hôtel Hermitage had a way of dressing the evening in silk and scent—amber light dancing off champagne flutes, velvet murmurs weaving between notes of string quartets, the faint hush of the sea just beyond the terrace.

You arrived on your boyfriend's arm, perfectly polished, smelling faintly of oud and confidence. Your gown—a midnight blue silk with delicate beading at the shoulders—glistened like the reflection of stars on still water. He, in a tuxedo he hadn’t even ironed himself, gave you a cursory once-over, the kind usually reserved for window displays or weather forecasts.

"You clean up well. When you try," he remarked, the words soaked in backhanded charm and just enough volume to make the sommelier glance over with subtle disapproval. "Didn’t expect that dress to actually work on you."

Then he kissed your temple like one might stamp a document—detached, obligatory—and peeled off toward a group of men with hedge funds and zero personalities, tossing the comment like a grenade dipped in cologne. He chuckled at his own wit before they even reacted, already anticipating the hollow laughter of men who mistook cruelty for charisma.

You blinked once, twice, then turned on your heel and made for the bar.

"One strawberry martini, please," you said to the bartender, your voice calm and glossy, though your chest felt like it was holding its breath. The bartender gave a subtle nod and began working in quiet sympathy.

You leaned your elbow on the marble and exhaled. Your reflection in the mirrored back wall looked elegant and mildly amused. That, at least, you could live with.

"Your boyfriend’s tux looks like it’s been through customs, dry-cleaned with a rock, and ironed with a shoe."

You turned. The man beside you held a glass of something expensive and looked far too pleased with himself. He was, annoyingly, the kind of handsome that didn’t need to try. Hair—perfectly careless. Smile—dangerously self-aware. The overall vibe? Trouble, tailored in what I assume is Tom Ford.

You laughed, sharp and immediate. "Do you know I spent half the afternoon trying to convince him to iron that shirt? Offered him a steamer. He looked personally victimized by the concept of chores. Hopeless."

He looked delighted. "So this was a collaborative failure. Now I feel bad for mocking it. Sort of."

"Don’t. I made one polite suggestion and he acted like I’d insulted his entire lineage. I refuse to be held responsible for his fashion choices," you said, the corners of your mouth finally giving in to a smile. The knot in your chest loosened just a little—this was the most fun you’d had all evening.

"I can’t tie my own ties," he offered casually. "So really, who am I to talk?"

"What do you do, then? Just let your girlfriend do it for you?"

"No girlfriend, just clip-ons. Or my mate George. He’s so posh he probably learned to tie a bow tie before he could tie his own shoes."

You laughed again, lighter this time. The sound surprised you with how easy it felt.

"Well," you said, "I can't even walk in my So Kates for an hour, so I’m in no position to judge anyone tonight."

His eyebrows lifted like you'd said you walked here barefoot. "That’s borderline inhumane. Those are incredibly uncomfortable, right?"

"Horrible," you admitted, sipping your drink. "But the real perk is that I now have a perfectly valid excuse to leave this party in about thirty minutes."

He tapped his glass against yours. "To noble suffering."

"And men who can’t tie ties."

"Ouch. That was personal."

You grinned, the martini smoothing out something tight in your chest. The conversation rolled along like it had always been waiting for an excuse to begin.

"Lando," he said suddenly, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando," you replied, taking it, your grip easy, your smile laced with light amusement.

You tilted your head slightly. "I think I recognise you—from the racing, right?"

His brow quirked, caught somewhere between pleased and intrigued. "Guilty."

You sipped your drink, eyes glinting. "Well, it’s easy to remember a face like that."

"In the positive way?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Please."

His posture straightened just a touch. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but something about it softened at the edges.

"I’ll try not to let that go to my head," he said, a beat late, his voice just a little warmer, his eyes twinkling amused. 

"You already did."

"Unfair. That was disarming. You’re very good at this."

"At what?" you said, feigning innocence.

"Catching me off guard in a way that’s... annoyingly effective."

"I have a talent," you said, sipping your drink.

"You do," he replied, gaze lingering just a second too long before he added, "and you’re very distracting."

You arched a brow. "Good distracting or 'tripped-over-my-own-feet' distracting?"

"Bit of both. Still deciding."

You laughed, shaking your head, the edge of your smile refusing to leave.

And just like that, the night took on a different hue. The room still sparkled, but its edges softened. You talked about Monaco in winter, about awful hotel carpets, about how Lando once tried to cook pasta in a kettle. There were no pauses, no polite silences. It was ridiculous and lovely and utterly unserious.

At some point, your boyfriend reappeared in the distance, laughing too loudly with someone whose blazer had dragons embroidered on the sleeves.

Lando clocked it instantly. "Should I spill something on him? Not on purpose, obviously. But also maybe very much on purpose."

"Tempting," you said.

He set his glass down. "But we’re too elegant for that."

"Allegedly."

The music swelled, a slow turn from something glittering into something that signaled the end of the night.

You sighed and glanced at the crowd. "I should go find him."

Lando leaned against the bar with a smirk. "Are you sure? He gives off strong 'brings up his net worth in casual conversation' energy."

You smirked. "You’re terrible."

"But right."

"No comment."

As you walked away, he called after you, "Next time, I’m bringing backup shoes for you."

You didn’t turn. But your smile stayed with you, long after the violins began their last swell.

…

The paddock terrace buzzed with the sort of energy only Monaco could host—where money didn’t whisper, it practically shouted through linen suits and Hermès bags, and everything smelled faintly of jet fuel and overpriced champagne.

You arrived on your boyfriend’s arm, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete, your dress catching the breeze in a way that had drawn more than a few glances already. The adrenaline in the air was contagious. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. This was your home turf, after all. Monaco at its absolute peak.

You leaned over slightly, catching your first glimpse of the pit lane just below the terrace’s glass railing. The sound, the scent, the movement—it all made your heart flicker.

“This is amazing,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can actually feel the vibration of the engines from here.”

Your boyfriend barely glanced up from his phone. “Yeah it’s whatever,” he muttered. “Look—those guys in the corner, that’s who I need to speak to. Go entertain yourself, will you?”

You opened your mouth, but he was already off, striding toward a group of Loro Piana-clad finance types who looked like they’d never broken a sweat in their lives. One of them gave you a cursory glance before turning his attention back to whatever new tax loophole they were dissecting.

Left alone, you drifted toward the edge of the terrace, your fingers lightly brushing the glass. You looked in the distance, taking in the beautiful track. The air that smelled like tyre smoke. Somewhere, a commentator’s voice crackled through loudspeakers.

Then you heard it—cutting through the din like it was aimed just for you.

“Hey, Strawberry!”

You blinked, turned your head.

Down in the pit lane, Lando was looking directly at you, leaning casually against the garage barrier with his helmet tucked under one arm and a grin that bordered on criminal. “Good to see you again!” he called up, already looking far too pleased with himself.

Your smile widened despite yourself.

He pointed upward, voice still carrying. “What? You thought I’d forget your cocktail of choice? Strawberry martini, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. A few heads turned to see who he was yelling at. You gave a little wave, pretending not to enjoy the attention.

"Fancy seeing you here."

“You look bored up there!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth for dramatic flair. “Wanna come down and see where the fun actually happens?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued.

He motioned toward the stairs behind you. “Come on, Strawberry. I’ll even let you wear the team radio.”

You glanced back toward the terrace. Your boyfriend was still deep in conversation, probably pitching himself like a startup, laughing with one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a drink he hadn’t even offered you.

So, you turned back to Lando—who was now dramatically miming putting on headphones like he was in a music video—and tilted your head like you were still considering it.

"Alright then," you called down. "But if I trip in these heels, I’m blaming you."

"I'll catch you," he yelled back, utterly unfazed. “Or I’ll sue the FIA for putting stairs in a paddock. Either way—worth it.”

You made your way down the metal staircase, the heels clicking like castanets, and by the time you reached the bottom, Lando was already holding out a pair of headphones and an access bracelet with a kind of smug reverence.

“For you, madame,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your official ticket to the chaos.”

You put on the bracelet with a smile, already feeling a little lighter.

“For the record,” he said, holding out the headset, “I don’t offer these to just anyone.”

You took them. “Oh, so I’m special.”

“Undoubtedly.”

You slipped the headphones on as he stepped back, hands in the pockets of his race suit, clearly satisfied.

“Let me guess,” you said, voice a little louder now with the headset in place, “you do this for all the guests who look mildly unimpressed by the view upstairs?”

“No,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just the ones I secretly hope stick around.”

You gave him a look—curious, not skeptical—and he added quickly, “Because you’ve got good race-watching energy. Very calm. Slightly elegant. Makes the garage look better.”

“Right,” you said, clearly amused. “You just want me to make you look cool.”

“Impossible task,” he admitted with a grin. “But I admire your optimism.”

The garage buzzed around you—technicians moving with purpose, radios crackling, tyres getting shuffled like oversized poker chips. And yet, somehow, everything in your little corner felt... light.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I like stealing a few quiet minutes when I can.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot during weekends like this I can imagine.”

He glanced at you, thoughtful for a moment, like he wanted to ask something but decided against it. Then his expression shifted back to its usual mischief.

“Want to see something fun?”

You blinked. “Fun in a normal person way, or in a ‘you drive 300km/h for fun’ way?”

“Both,” he said, tilting his head toward the car in the middle of the garage—sleek, low, and absolutely radiating menace. “Come on. Get in. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “Earned it how?”

“For surviving the upstairs crowd without launching yourself off the terrace,” he said, already grinning. “Also, I feel like you'd suit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want to see me try to climb into that thing in a dress.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “But I’ll make it look like I’m being a gentleman helping you in. Good for my PR.”

You laughed but still let him offer his hand. His grip was steady, warm, guiding you in with an ease that made the whole moment feel weirdly... natural.

Inside, the cockpit felt surreal—like slipping into another universe. Tight, sharp, oddly comfortable in a way that made you sit up straighter.

You looked up at him. “I feel like I need clearance from air traffic control.”

Lando smirked. “You look good in it.”

You raised a brow. “Is this part of your usual garage tour?” He grinned. “Only the deluxe version. Very limited availability.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He crouched beside the car, arms resting on the edge, expression suddenly playful. “Alright—race start. Lights out. Whole world watching. What’s your move?”

You pretended to think. “Adjust my lip gloss. Then floor it.”

He burst out laughing. “Unreal. No notes.”

You smiled, settling back slightly in the seat, the hum of the garage around you fading into a softer kind of focus. His eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary, making you feel a bit warmer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

“Okay,” you said eventually. “I like your version of fun.”

“Told you.”

Just then, you heard your name.

Lando glanced up behind you, his smile dimming just slightly.

You followed his gaze.

There, at the top of the stairs, your boyfriend had finally noticed. Arms folded. Sunglasses pushed down just enough to show a flicker of something more than irritation. 

You shifted slightly in the seat, your back instinctively straightening, your smile thinning.

“I should probably head back,” you murmured, glancing up again. “Before that turns into a thing.”

Lando’s eyes were still on you.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I kind of like that I get under his skin.”

You gave him a warning look, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s... not great with this sort of thing.”

Lando leaned one arm casually against the car, just close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of yours. “What sort of thing? Someone actually talking to you? Enjoying you?”

You swallowed. “He’s just protective.”

“He didn’t look all that interested twenty minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond.

Lando straightened up slightly, his grin flickering into something more assured, less teasing. “You don’t have to explain it. But I’m not sorry for this.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for a second, you forgot the tension humming above the pit lane.

You laughed softly. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning.

You climbed out carefully—again with his help, though he tried very hard not to smirk when your heel caught slightly on the floor.

“Thanks for inviting me down,” you said, adjusting your dress.

He nodded. “Anytime. Next time you should stay for the race.”

You paused at that, surprised, amused, and... something else. Then you turned, stepping away, the noise of the pit building back around you.

“Bye, Strawberry!” he called after you, voice light and full of sunshine. “Try not to break hearts on your way up!”

…

The lunch reservation was for 13:00. The cancellation came at 12:52.

“Something came up. Just a quick game at the club. Have to raincheck.”

You stared at the message like it might change if you blinked hard enough. It didn’t. The text sat there on your screen, casual and infuriating, like a shrug in Helvetica.

The maître d’ at the café had already asked if you’d like to be seated twice. You smiled politely, murmured a no thank you, and slipped out before you started feeling more humiliated than hungry.

The sky was unfairly pretty for a bad day—clear and soft, with sunbeams brushing the cobblestones as if Monaco itself had no idea someone had just bailed on you for nine holes and overpriced cigars.

You didn’t want to go home. You weren’t angry, not quite. Just tired in a way that lingered behind your ribs. So, instead, you wandered a few streets over—past a bookstore, a gelato stand, and finally, a small flower shop with wide windows and hydrangeas stacked like frosting.

You paused. Then pushed the door open.

The scent hit you first—green, sweet, almost cold from the water buckets lining the floor. Peonies, roses, lavender, tulips. All in quiet conversation. The florist gave you a gentle bonjour from behind a counter cluttered with ribbon and stems.

You wandered aimlessly. No plan. No occasion. You just needed to feel like something soft could still be held in your hands.

You reached toward a bouquet of pale pink peonies—petals feathered and ruffled, like they were mid-sigh.

“I was hoping you’d go for those.”

You turned—half startled, half already smiling.

Lando was standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a zip-up and trainers, casually gorgeous in the way some people just are when they’re not trying.

“I was going to say,” he added, stepping further inside, “you look like someone who could use a bouquet.”

“You following me now?”

He shrugged. “Just happened to be across the street. Monaco’s small and you have a way of catching my eye.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Lando stepped past you and plucked the peonies from the bucket like he’d been sent here by divine instruction.

“Don’t,” you started, watching as he pulled out his card.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, not even looking back. “They look like you.”

That made you pause. “Soft and overpriced?”

He smirked. “Chic, delicate, vaguely intimidating… but in a very classy way.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as he paid, thanked the florist with a grin that probably earned him three free carnations, and handed the bouquet to you like it was an Olympic medal.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

You looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “I was just trying to walk off a lunch that didn’t happen.”

“Rough day?”

You nodded once.

He hesitated. Then: “Come on. Let me walk you home. Or somewhere. I’m excellent at distracting people.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not even a little.”

You stepped outside together, the late sun catching the edge of your bouquet. He fell into step beside you like it was instinct.

“So,” he said, as you turned the corner, “what car would you never be caught dead in?”

You squinted. “Like… ever?”

“Yes. Immediate judgment. Go.”

You thought. “Anything that looks like it was designed by someone who hates joy. Or a Fiat Multipla.”

“Very specific. I respect it.” He nodded solemnly. “For me, it’s the ones with faces. Like, cartoon villain faces. Headlights that judge you.”

You burst out laughing. “What kind of car trauma are you working through?”

“Deep and unresolved,” he said gravely. “I once had a rental that made me feel like it wanted to eat me. Never again.”

The conversation spiraled from there—into ugly rims, hideous spoilers, the tragedy of beige leather interiors. Every few steps, Lando pointed out a car and gave it a nickname. 

"That one’s definitely a Greg. Greg works in insurance and never tips."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that catches you off guard and warms your ribs a little.

And then—your phone buzzed in your bag.

You glanced down. His name lit up the screen.

Lando noticed the pause.

You looked at the call. Then pressed the side button, letting it disappear. You didn’t say anything about it, and he didn’t ask.

But he smiled. Just slightly.

It was the quietest rebellion you’d made in a while. And it felt... right.

A few minutes later, as you reached your street, you slowed.

“This is me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up toward the front of your building like he was memorising it for later. Or just being nosy. Hard to say.

“Thanks for—well, for all of that,” you said, lifting the peonies slightly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and you believed him.

You turned to go.

“Oh, and hey,” he called, stepping backwards down the street, that familiar grin slipping into place. “If you ever need help judging more terrible cars…”

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it lightly in your direction. You caught it—his number, scribbled on a business card with Lando (flower expert) scrawled beneath in messy handwriting.

“…now you know where to find me,” he finished.

You looked down at the card, then back up.

“I do now,” you said, smiling—soft, amused, and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

And you didn’t look back until your door had closed behind you—and the peonies were already in water. 

…

Your birthday started with a buzz—literally, from your phone. Noon. A text.

Happy bday x

No call. No emoji. No punctuation enthusiasm. Just lowercase indifference and a kiss like a formality. Like he'd done his civic duty and could now go about his day in peace.

By the time your boyfriend actually arrived at the party—a whopping two hours late, no explanation—you were already knee-deep in hugs, flowers, Aperol spritzes, and the cake was nearly finished.

The rooftop was busy. Sun-drenched. Monaco glittered in the background like it knew it was part of the aesthetic. Friends mingled, music hummed, someone had started making mimosas in a blender for reasons no one could quite explain.

And then there was Lando.

He’d arrived on time, casually cool in a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of sunglasses perched in his curls.

You hadn’t expected him to come, not really. But you’d invited him anyway—half as a joke, half because he was one of the only people lately who made things feel lighter. Since the flower shop, you’d been texting—mostly memes, random complaints about ugly cars, and his very intense opinions on croissants. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d started looking forward to his name lighting up your screen more than you should’ve.

So when he appeared with a cheeky smile and a gift bag in tow, you nearly forgot to keep pretending you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, putting the bag on the gift table. “No refunds or returns.”

You grinned. “Perfect. I was just saying how I wanted to make my own life harder today.”

“Glad to contribute.”

Your boyfriend showed up five minutes later.

No apology, no excuse. Just sunglasses, a glance around, and a distracted kiss on the cheek before he handed you an envelope.

Inside was a gift card. For skincare.

“I figured you’d appreciate this,” he said, loud enough for the people around you to hear. “Don’t want an old lady by my side, yeah?”

Someone laughed awkwardly. You didn’t.

You smiled. Thinly. The kind that feels more like a paper cut than anything resembling joy.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, folding the card and tucking it into your bag.

Lando had seen it. The whole thing. He didn’t say anything at first—just sipped his drink, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

A few minutes later, he drifted close, nudged your elbow lightly, and said, “Mind if I borrow the birthday girl for a sec?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

He led you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the terrace, near the railing. The music faded behind you. The breeze picked up, cool against your neck.

“I really wanted to personally give this before I have to leave.”

He pulled something small from his little gift bag.

A Cartier box.

You looked at him, suddenly cautious. “Lando, what—”

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mortgage a yacht or anything.”

He flipped the box open with a little dramatic flair.

Inside: a sleek, elegant watch—timeless and perfectly understated, the metal catching the sunlight just enough to glow. When you looked closer, you spotted it—on the back of the face, engraved in the corner, a tiny strawberry.

You looked back up at him.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets now. “So you know when it’s time to leave,” he said lightly, then winked. “Or when it’s time to stay.”

You laughed, a real one this time, head tipped back just slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I should be offended,” he murmured, carefully fastening the clasp around your wrist. “But you are right.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have a speech.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” He stepped a little closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin just slightly to keep looking at him. “Won’t say it’s well prepared, though.”

You glanced up. “No?”

He shrugged, then looked at you—not performative, just sincere with a glint of trouble behind it. “I figured you already knew. That you’re kind. And bright. And that you maybe make half of Monaco feel slightly boring in comparison.”

Your eyes caught his, something warm pooling between the humour and whatever was quietly rising beneath it.

“But also,” he added, tone shifting back to the familiar grin, “you’ve tolerated me for weeks, so I figured you deserved a prize.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it’s a pity watch.”

“It’s a prestigious pity watch,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, fingers brushing over the charm. “Truly.”

A few friends called your name in the distance, but you didn’t move yet.

When you finally hugged him goodbye, it lingered. A second too long. Not enough to make it obvious—but enough that you both noticed.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hand pressed lightly against your back, and neither of you made a joke this time.

And that’s when it hit you. That soft, uncomfortable, quiet truth slowly creeping up on you.

You didn’t want to go back to the party.

You didn’t want to go back to him.

You just wanted to stay in that warm, safe, ridiculous moment a little longer.

…

It had been one of those dinners where the wine flowed more freely than the conversation, where the seating was all wrong, and the playlist too curated to feel spontaneous. You’d arrived on time, makeup set, dress clinging just right, genuinely hoping the night might turn things around.

He had promised he’d come.

You’d waited. You made polite conversation with strangers. You checked your phone under the table every ten minutes. At 10:14pm, a message finally came.

Running late. Take a cab? x

You stared at it. The ‘x’ annoyed you most—like it could soften the blow. Like it meant anything at this point.

You slipped out quietly, offering the host a graceful excuse. No one really noticed. You walked down the hill alone, heels clicking against wet stone. The rain started halfway to the road—first soft, then persistent, warm but unrelenting.

By the time you reached the corner, you were soaked. Your jacket was thin and decorative. Your hair clung to your cheeks. A cab passed. You raised your hand too late. Another didn’t even slow.

Then headlights curved around the bend.

A sleek black car eased up to the curb, quiet and smug.

The window rolled down.

“Need a ride, Cinderella?”

Lando.

You blinked at him through the rain.

He was in a hoodie, hair damp, wearing Nike slides like he’d rolled straight out of a student flat. His smile was all teeth and trouble, curls damp at the edges, and yet he looked exactly like what you didn’t know you needed.

You exhaled through a laugh. “What are you even doing here?”

“Padel,” he said simply, “with the boys. Charles insisted we needed some cardio. Alex brought protein shakes. It was big.”

You didn’t move.

He nudged the door open from the inside. “Get in. You look like a drenched sad poodle.”

You slid into the passenger seat, wet fabric against warm leather. The door thunked shut, muting the storm instantly.

The cabin smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sweat and jasmine air freshener. It was... comforting.

Lando glanced over. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though the answer was somewhere closer to no.

“Why were you walking?” he asked.

You stared out the window. “My ride bailed on me.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Then, quieter: “Right.”

You could feel the temperature drop half a degree in the silence that followed.

He turned onto a quieter road, headlights sweeping over puddles, rain tapping steadily on the roof.

Then he cleared his throat. “Padel really roughed us all up today.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you professional athletes?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d think we’re all coordinated and elite and whatever,” he waved vaguely with one hand, “but I’ve never seen grown men lose their dignity faster than when we play anything outside of racing.”

You laughed softly. “You’re telling me Charles Leclerc isn’t good at everything?”

“God, no,” Lando said, perking up. “Charles is awful at most sports. He insists though he could’ve been a pro footballer. Brings it up every time he can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Lando grinned. “He once missed three serves in a row at padel, slammed the racket down, and said, ‘It’s because my reflexes are trained for football.’”

You snorted. “He did not.”

“And then there’s George,” Lando said. “Who, by the way, calls padel ‘cheap tennis for the common folks’ but still never declines an invitation.”

You laughed. “I assume this is the same George that helps you tie your bows?”

“Absolutely.” Lando continued, “And then there is Alex who has the coordination of a baby giraffe. He runs like he’s buffering.”

You were laughing now, fully, warmth curling in your chest.

“So what about you?” you asked, glancing sideways. “How much do you suck?”

“I’d like to think I’m one of the better ones in the group,” he said confidently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s definitely not true.”

“I’m amazing at everything, especially other sports.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a god at golf,” he added, eyes twinkling. “Elite. Practically unbeatable. Some say Tiger Woods retired just to avoid me.”

“Some say?”

“Me. Just me. But I say it with conviction.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat, the storm outside softening under the steady purr of the engine.

“You’re good at this,” you said after a pause.

“At what?”

“Distractions.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, easy, the kind of silence that felt earned. The kind you didn’t want to break.

Then Lando turned off the main road.

You lifted your head. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing you a quick glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Two turns later, he parked in front of a small café tucked between shuttered boutiques. Soft orange light glowed from the windows. The sign above the door read Clémentine in fading script.

“I need hot chocolate,” he said. “And you, tragically, look like you do too.”

You laughed. “This your secret spot?”

He grinned. “Sort of. George’s girlfriend loves this place. Alex’s girl says it feels like a Wes Anderson film. Charles’s thinks they do the best croissants in Europe—which is wrong, but she’s charming so we let it slide.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is… an exclusive tier”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

You blinked, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

He looked over the roof of the car and winked. “Let’s go, Strawberry.”

…

Inside, the café was quiet and warm, the kind of place that smells like something’s always in the oven. The barista gave Lando a knowing nod.

“Deux chocolats chauds, extra cream, and an extra cookie, please,” he said as you slid into a corner table.

Your dress was still damp at the edges, and your heels had started to pinch, but the chair was soft and the lighting was kind. 

You watched him as he pulled off his hoodie—without a word—he held it out to you across the table.

“You’re shivering,” he said simply.

You hesitated, then slipped it on. It was warm, oversized, and smelled faintly like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something like orange peel. It pooled around your wrists like it belonged there.

He dropped into the seat across from you, in a plain white t-shirt slightly creased and still damp at the collar. He looked maddeningly effortless. 

When the drinks arrived, he handed yours over carefully, fingers brushing yours as he passed the mug.

“I think you forget how extraordinary you are sometimes,” he said.

No grin. No teasing glint in his eye. Just sincerity, like it had been sitting quietly on his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment.

You looked at him.

And for a heartbeat too long, the world went still.

Then, gently, you lowered your gaze, your hands tightening around the warmth of the mug. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

Something softened in your chest. Something that hadn’t for weeks.

…

The invitation had come via text, in true Lando fashion.

Hiya there’s this art auction Friday. Charles’s girlfriend’s hosting. Could be fun. Come with? Low pressure, high snacks.

You hadn’t even known Lando liked art, let alone attended charity auctions hosted by the Monaco elite, but the message made you smile. You’d read it twice. Maybe three times.

He followed up, minutes later:

Bring your boyfriend, if he won’t spontaneously combust in a room without talking about stocks.

That was how you ended up on the guest list for a night you weren’t supposed to remember as the one where everything finally snapped.

You didn’t know Alexandra—not really. You’d seen her tagged in posts with Charles, always in Dior or vintage Alaïa, always looking like she’d been drawn rather than born. But the invite felt personal in a way you couldn’t explain. Like Lando had meant for you to have something nice.

You showed up with your boyfriend.

He was already half-distracted before you arrived, scrolling his phone as the car pulled up outside the villa, barely glancing at the curated sculpture garden or the warm lighting glowing out from the glass facade.

“Art shows, what a waste of time and money,” he said, adjusting his watch, not even pretending to be excited about going with you. “Hope I can do some decent networking, make something of my night at least.”

As expected, he made a beeline for the restroom the moment you stepped inside. You hated how much relief washed over you—but deep down, you just didn’t want his sulking to cloud your first impression.

But then—you spotted Lando.

He was standing near the champagne tower, wearing a charcoal jacket with the sleeves half-rolled and a grin like he’d been waiting for you.

He caught your eye and made a show of pretending to squint. “Strawberry?” he said dramatically as you approached. “Wow. Look at you, pretending not to know me in front of the important people.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was hoping you’d stay over there a little longer.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded solemnly. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how unreasonably hot you look.”

You gave him a dry smile. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

“And yet, somehow, you keep showing up.”

Just then, a lilting voice cut in—velvety, amused.

“Is this the infamous Strawberry?”

You turned.

She was every bit the Monaco fantasy: Alexandra, in vintage Saint Laurent, hair pinned like a Vogue spread, a glass of champagne in one hand and the quiet confidence of someone who knew every art dealer in the room—and their secrets. And yet, the way she looked at you felt nothing but warm.

“I’ve heard things,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “Mostly from this one, who dramatically insists he doesn’t talk about you, and then does. A lot.”

You laughed, surprised. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable slander in my own presence.”

Alexandra gave you an approving once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way. Please tell me you’re staying for the cocktails after. We have a pianist who’ll play Taylor Swift if you bribe him with compliments or €20.”

“That might be the most compelling reason I’ve ever been given to stay at a party,” you said, grinning.

Alexandra gave you a grin from ear to ear, amused. “I’m really so happy to finally meet you! I can already tell we are going to be great friends! You should meet my dog.”

You smiled. “Oh my god! I would love to!”

“Already regretting introducing you two,” Lando said. “Feels like I’m third wheeling.”

“That’s your own fault, Norris,” Alexandra said, sipping her champagne. “You have been hyping her up for weeks, of course I’m excited.”

You looked at him. “Oh really?”

Lando didn’t even blink. “All good things. Mostly.”

Alexandra raised her eyebrows at you. “He actually tried to be subtle about it. It was cute.”

You bit back a smile. “I can imagine.”

“I’ll come find you later,” Alexandra added, brushing your arm. “Got to make sure Charles hasn’t lost Leo yet. So nice to meet you, lovely!”

She slipped off into the crowd with the grace of someone born to host art auctions and mild chaos.

“She’s my new favourite person,” you said.

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt,” Lando said. “But only because you look stupidly good tonight.”

He sipped his champagne, eyes back on the crowd like he hadn’t just said something that made your pulse tick strangely in your wrist.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t think of anything clever fast enough.

But the flush in your cheeks said enough.

You gave him a side glance.

…

Laughter drifted lightly through the space, more polite than genuine, the kind of sound bred in auction houses and villas with good acoustics. You let yourself drift for a while, away from the main crush of guests and the low buzz of clinking flutes and unsolicited business pitches.

Lando had disappeared into a conversation across the room—arms folded, half-listening, already looking for an escape route. You wandered along the perimeter, letting your eyes pass over sculpture and canvas, nothing really sticking—until something did.

A Monet.

Not loud. Not the centrepiece of the evening. Just tucked off to the side, quietly luminous. The colour was soft, the light dreamlike, and it hit you all at once—how rare it was to stand still in front of something that didn’t need to impress anyone to be worth something.

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t move either.

And then, out of nowhere, a voice landed at your side.

“You’re not seriously getting emotional over that, are you?”

You blinked once.

Your boyfriend had materialised beside you, the corner of his mouth turned up in that smug, half-bored way he always wore at events that weren’t about him.

“It’s just some smudged garden scene,” he added, barely sparing it a glance. “Looks like the guy couldn’t be bothered to finish it.”

You said nothing.

He chuckled, nudging your elbow like he was letting you in on a joke. “Honestly, my niece brought home something just like this last week—finger paints, but same idea.”

You turned toward him.

And for once, your voice didn’t waiver. “Do you ever get tired?”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

“Of being so obnoxious.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I was joking—”

“I know you were not. You just have to be an asshole all the time,” you said, stepping back. “I’m so done with this.”

You handed him your untouched champagne without looking at him again.

And then you walked.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… forward. Certain.

Across the room, Lando caught sight of you. He paused mid-sentence, head tilting ever so slightly, eyes following the clean line of your exit. He didn’t know what had happened. But he knew enough.

And he didn’t see the man behind you calling your name, confusion creeping into frustration, his voice rising in your wake.

…

The days following the gala blurred into a haze of solitude. You hadn't anticipated the weight of ending a relationship that had, for too long, been a source of discomfort rather than joy. Even though it felt like a relief to be free, the fresh perspective you had now gained made looking back on the relationship seemingly harder, being disappointed in yourself for sticking around so long.The walls of your apartment seemed to close in, each corner echoing with memories you'd rather forget.

Then, an unexpected message illuminated your phone screen. It was from Alexandra.

Hii! I know we've only met once, Charles is hosting a yacht party this weekend. I'd love for you to come. It'll be fun, and I think you could use a night out. What do you say?

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Alexandra's warmth was palpable, even through text. The idea of attending a lavish yacht party was daunting, especially solo, but the prospect of genuine company was tempting. Before you could overthink it, you quickly responded you’d be there.

…

The evening of the party arrived with a golden sunset casting its glow over Monaco's harbor. As you approached the yacht, its grandeur was undeniable. Laughter and the clinking of glasses floated through the air, mingling with the soft strains of music. Taking a deep breath, you stepped aboard, the gentle sway beneath your feet reminding you of the fluidity of the moment.

You hadn’t arrived with a dramatic entrance, but you may as well have. There was something in the way you carried yourself—unhurried, unbothered, glowing without trying—that turned heads. The white sundress moved like water around your legs. Your hair was soft, undone. You looked like summer had chosen you personally.

"Hey! You made it!" Alexandra's voice rang out, genuine delight evident as she approached, her embrace warm and reassuring.

She beamed the moment she saw you. “You look like revenge dressed in satin. Come ruin someone's night—in a good way.”

"Thank you! I’m so excited!" you replied, grateful for her presence.

She linked her arm with yours, guiding you through the throng. "Come on, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some people."

So you mingled.

You laughed. You listened. You accepted compliments with a smile that didn’t flicker with doubt this time. The isolation of the past few days had left you sharper, oddly steadier. You hadn’t expected to feel so… grounded. You were alone, technically. But not lonely.

And then—across the deck—you felt it.

Someone watching.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Lando stood near the upper rail, half-leaning into conversation with Charles and George, drink in hand, curls damp like he’d only recently dried off. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive without meaning to be, and he was laughing at something George was saying—until he saw you.

Then he stopped laughing.

His eyes softened. Lit up. Like you’d just stepped out of a dream he wasn’t finished having.

He didn't move immediately. Just watched. And when you finally gave him a smile—small, knowing—he excused himself, barely disguising it.

You turned back to your conversation, heart thudding quietly.

When he reached you, it was casual. Or it would’ve been, if not for the very specific way he looked at you. As if seeing you tonight had knocked the wind out of him slightly.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice easy, but with that familiar edge of amusement.

You tilted your head. “Trying my best. Alexandra told me to come ruin someone’s night tonight.”

Lando’s gaze swept over you, amused. “I’ve got a pretty good candidate.”

You met his look head-on. “You volunteering?”

“I’m begging.”

You took a step closer, just enough. “Careful. I take those kinds of requests seriously.”

His voice dipped. “I was hoping you would.”

You laughed.

He smiled, pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he said, a little quieter now. “I didn’t want to push.”

“I needed a few days,” you replied honestly. “To unpick a few things.”

Lando nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something more, something gentler, but didn’t want to risk it here.

“Want to see the good part of the boat?” he offered instead, gesturing subtly toward the back. “It’s less busy, better view of the sea.”

“Are you offering a tour or an escape plan?”

“Both,” he said. “But this is not my boat so don’t blame me if we get lost mid-tour.”

You smiled, setting your glass down. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He offered his hand this time. Not his arm. His hand. Like it was only natural you’d take it.

And you did.

…

The further you got from the music and noise, the more the sea became the soundtrack. The laughter and clinking glasses behind you faded into something muted and unimportant. Lando walked beside you—not rushing, not talking. His thumb brushed against yours every few steps, like a quiet question he didn’t need answered yet.

At the stern, it opened up—a wide, quiet deck, low to the water, with just enough light to see but not enough to distract from the stars. The sea lapped gently around the hull. It smelled like salt and sun.

You leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze touch your skin. Lando stood beside you, but not too close.

“Nice out here,” you murmured, looking up.

He glanced over at you. “You suit starlight. That’s unfair.”

You gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Absolutely,” he said, eyes warm. “I’ve been holding back for weeks.”

You laughed, quiet and real. He grinned, pleased.

But then, after a second, he sobered. His gaze drifted down, toward the water, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted.

“You look happy,” Lando said lightly, almost teasing. “I almost didn’t recognise you without the polite ‘I’m-fine’ smile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Go ahead and expose me.”

“I’m serious,” he said, this time softer. “It’s good to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, and for a moment, he didn’t try to dodge the feeling in the air. He looked out at the sea and back again.

“I hated seeing you pretend,” he said finally. “These past few months… at the garage, the brunch, the auction—you were always there, but it felt like part of you was somewhere else. You still smiled, still made jokes, still looked beautiful, but…”

He trailed off. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Just because he meant all of it.

You didn’t speak right away.

“You wanted to throw him in the harbour, didn’t you.”

A beat.

“Every single time,” Lando said, with no apology.

That made you laugh again, but quieter this time. Almost sad.

You looked down at the rail, fingers brushing the edge. “I wasn’t really fooling anyone, was I.”

“You fooled plenty,” he said. “Just not me.”

You looked away for a beat. Then quietly, “I haven’t been unhappy around you, though.”

Lando froze.

When you turned your head back, he was watching you like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Say that again,” he said, almost joking. Almost.

You smiled, small and real. “You’ve been the exception, Lando. You’ve always felt like... a relief. Like I could let out a breath I never knew I was holding.”

His expression cracked open at the edges—something flickering across it, equal parts surprise and affection.

“I’ve been trying not to say something,” he said eventually, his voice lower now. “But it’s getting... impossible.”

You arched a brow. “To me or to you?”

He looked at you deeply, green eyes soft but with a sparkle. “Me. Definitely me.”

There was a beat of silence, hanging between you like a held breath.

“You just keep making it harder,” he added, almost laughing at himself. “Showing up looking like this. Laughing at my stupid jokes.”

You stared at him. He raised his hands, just slightly.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s easy to hide behind that. But I’m not playing with this. I’m not here to push or expect anything you’re not ready for.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I just… I need you to know. I’ve been falling for you since the gala.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed or dramatic—just honest. And they landed like something you’d been waiting to hear without realising.

You stayed still, listening.

“Since the dress,” he went on, his smile tugging softly at the corner of his mouth. “Since the strawberry drink. Since you made fun of my bow tie.”

You laughed—quiet and barely there. But it was real.

“Since you made me want to stick around,” he added, “even when you were barely looking at me.”

His eyes met yours fully now. “You’re magnetic,” he said, simple as anything. “Warm. Sharp. And really hot even when you look like a drenched puppy.” He exhaled lightly. “And I just… I didn’t want summer to end without you knowing.”

You stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the change in the air, the shift in his breathing.

You placed your hand on his chest, light but certain.

“Lando.”

He didn’t move.

“If I kiss you, is it going to be a problem?”

His answer was immediate, and sure. “No.”

Then, softer. “But only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long, quiet second.

“I do.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since May. Maybe longer.

And then you kissed him.

Slow, at first. Curious. The kind of kiss that asks before it takes. His hand hovered near your waist, the other brushing your jaw with the gentlest touch—as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted slightly, that control cracked.

His arm wrapped fully around you then, the kiss deepening with a sudden warmth that made your stomach twist. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks. Like he'd held every grin, every brush of your arm, every stolen look in his chest—and finally let them out all at once.

You felt it in the way his hand slid up your back, in the way his mouth moved with yours like he already knew the rhythm.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath hitched.

His forehead leaned against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you smiled, just a little. “So… did I ruin your night after all?”

Lando let out a low, breathless laugh. “You can ruin my life, for all I care.”

He leaned in again, this time without hesitation.

And then he kissed you—like he had nothing left to hold back. Like the wait had been worth it. Like it had always been leading to this.

…

It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a soft breeze. The kind where you woke up to Lando already beside you, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep as he offered to make pancakes—and then promptly convinced you to go out for groceries instead. A domestic detour. A small adventure disguised as an errand. Like you had so many of these past weeks with him.

You hadn’t argued. Not really.

Now, somewhere between the mangoes and the melons in your favourite Carrefour, you were watching Lando shake a pineapple like it had personally offended him.

“That’s not how you check if it’s ripe,” you said, barely holding in a laugh.

He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s not? Then why did that woman on YouTube tell me to do it?”

“You watched a pineapple tutorial?”

“Research is key,” he said, placing it carefully into the cart. “Anyway, I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You pick the snacks, I’ll handle dinner?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then promptly wandered off to the crisps aisle like a man on a mission.

You lingered in the herb section, still debating parsley versus basil, when a voice behind you slid into your spine like cold water.

“Well. You look good.”

You turned.

He looked the same—your ex. A little too polished, sunglasses indoors, holding a bottle of overpriced green juice that screamed aesthetic punishment.

“Thanks,” you said simply. “I’ve been feeling better.”

It wasn’t petty. Just honest.

He blinked, clearly not expecting honesty.

You were just about to step away when—

“Oh, no. No no no,” Lando groaned from the next aisle, appearing with a look of theatrical dismay. “There’s a full seafood crime scene back there. Half the ocean’s laid out. I’ve never seen so much salmon.”

He stopped short when he saw you. And him.

His entire posture shifted.

He stepped up beside you, one hand sliding effortlessly around your waist, grounding and easy. He didn’t force it. Just filled the space.

“Hi,” Lando said, his tone calm, eyes flicking to the man in front of you. “I’m Lando.”

Your ex gave a tight nod, straightening slightly. “We’ve met.”

Lando’s gaze dipped to the man’s basket—almond milk, snack bars, and two tubs of something suspiciously protein-packed and aggressively vanilla.

“Solid haul,” Lando said, casual. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I’d go easy on the sugar. Causes hair loss, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it, considering your current situation.”

He didn’t smile. Just winked. Cheeky enough to pass for humour. Sharp enough to land exactly where it needed to.

Your ex blinked again. Offered no reply. Just turned back toward the juice aisle with the grace of someone trying not to trip over his own ego.

“Lovely to see you,” Lando called politely, already nudging the cart forward—his hand still warm around your waist.

You let him guide you down the aisle, heart flickering with quiet satisfaction.

“Hair loss?” you asked, giggling, once you were out of earshot.

He shrugged, eyes forward, lips twitching. “What? It was observational science.”

“You’re awful.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. “But I’m yours.”

You laughed, soft and real, tucking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[fireinmoonshot]

the hard way | tyler owens x fem!reader

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Tyler Owens have a bad habit of butting heads, but all it takes is one hint of jealousy and things change in the blink of an eye. Warnings: Tyler is lowkey an asshole, but reader can be too, there is a creepy guy that tries to come onto reader and puts his hands on her. Word Count: 4.2k A/N: I rewatched the original Twister movie today and got this idea while watching it and then it all just came out of my head onto the page and here we have it! I had so much fun writing this, it's honestly one of my favourite Tyler fics I've done so far. I hope you all enjoy it. Thanks for all the love on my Twisters fics so far!

“Oh, here we go again,” Boone says, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you walking towards Tyler, your laptop in your hands. Judging by the look on your face, you have something fairly important to show Tyler – and Boone knows Tyler won’t be happy about it.

Dani sighs beside him, her legs kicked up on their cooler from their spot at the motel. It’s late at night and none of the storms had turned into anything today, leading to a very long day for all of you. You’d driven hundreds of miles only to end up with no new footage.

“How long do you think it’ll take him to get mad?” Dani asks.

“He’s just spotted her and he already looks annoyed, so I’d guess straight away.”

They watch on from a distance as you finally reach Tyler. You move to stand beside him so he can see the screen of your laptop. “I was right after all,” you glance up at him. “See this? That storm was never going to amount to anything and even the radar showed it dying out. We could have saved ourselves half a tank of gas and a few hours if you’d listened to me.”

Tyler rolls his eyes and looks away from your laptop, trying to focus on not burning the dinner he’s been cooking the team on the barbecue that the motel has. “Okay, I get it. But I can’t go back in time and listen to you, so will you just drop it? I’ve had to listen to this all day. You’re drivin’ me insane, sunshine’.”

“Well, if you had listened to me, I wouldn’t have kept bugging you about it, T.”

It’s never been smooth sailing between you and Tyler. You get along most of the time, sure – you have to when you’re working together. But you also tend to butt heads more often than not. With both of you having studied meteorology, you’re the only two members of the team with formal training, which means you often have differing opinions on your interpretations of the weather and the forecasts. 

You disagree with Tyler, he disagrees with you and the rest of the Wranglers watch on, both amused and irritated at the fact that the two of you just can’t seem to work together sometimes. There are, of course, times when you can deal with it. But today… well, Boone had been glad to get out of the car at the end of the day and distance himself from the two of you.

He swears he’s not riding with you both tomorrow.

“If I listen to you now, will you stop bugging me still?” Tyler looks at you.

With a scowl, you slam your laptop shut and hold it under your arm. “If you listen to me tomorrow, then I might stop bugging you. I am not having another failed day chasing because of your inability to choose which storms to follow.”

Tyler sighs. “Why do you always have to do things the hard way?”

You huff and walk away, heading back over to the rest of the team. You grab a drink out of the cooler and sit down on the tailgate of Tyler’s truck, sitting your laptop beside you. The other members of the team watch you cautiously, like you’re a brewing storm that could become a tornado at any moment.

“Anyone wanna take my spot in the truck tomorrow? I’ll ride elsewhere,” you offer.

Boone stares at you for a moment. “You promise?”

You make a face at Boone and take a sip of your drink. “Yes, I promise,” you say. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all that today. God, he just drives me up the wall sometimes. I don’t know how he expects us to continue running this damn Youtube channel or get the research we need if we don’t get the right storms to chase.”

“Hey, no Tyler talk while you’re over here,” Dani pipes up. “This is a safe zone.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you mutter, lapsing into silence just as Dexter, Lily and Kate re-join the group, having headed upstairs to their rooms to refresh themselves before coming back down for dinner. You watch as Kate heads over to help Tyler out.

By the time the two of them bring dinner over to you, you’ve managed to cool off a fair amount and are now discussing the forecast for tomorrow with Dexter, who is leant up against the truck, looking at your laptop over your shoulder. 

“Burgers are ready,” Kate announces as they place the tray of them on the small camp table that someone had set up earlier in the evening. “We worked real hard on them.”

You’re surprised when Tyler picks up two paper plates, puts a burger on each of them and then walks over to you, handing one of them to you before taking the seat beside you on the tailgate. 

“Truce?” He says, looking across at you. “I’m sorry ‘bout today, I mean it.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile. “You promise you didn’t poison my burger?”

Tyler chuckles. “No, not unless Kate put something in there that I didn’t see.”

“Okay, then. Truce,” you nod. “But I’m not riding with you tomorrow.”

He raises his eyebrows just as he takes a bite of his burger. It takes him a few moments to reply, refusing to speak with a mouth full of food – something his mother had instilled in him from a very young age. “What? Why? You’re not still that mad at me, are you?”

“No, I just need a change of scenery or I’m worried I’ll run you off the road. I saw the way you got today when you got distracted cause I was arguing with you. It’ll be good for us to cool off and get a break from each other.”

From across the group, Boone adds “I think you just want to argue over the radio, actually. That’s what you mean by a change of scenery, isn’t it?” His voice is teasing.

“Funny,” you narrow your eyes at him.

“You can ride with me and Lily tomorrow,” Kate changes the subject ever so slightly. “Boone can ride with Tyler. Just like old times, right?”

You look at Tyler, expecting him to be happy with the idea of you riding with the others tomorrow so you don’t bother him all day, but instead he looks concerned. His eyebrows are knotted together and the look on his face shows he’s displeased. 

“Ty?”

He blinks and the look disappears off of his face. “Yeah, go for it. Boone and I’ll be right, hey buddy?” He raises his beer in a cheers to Boone, who does the same thing. “Don’t miss me too much from the other car though.”

“Me, missing you? I think you should try not to miss me, T.”

Tyler grins. “Easier said than done, sunshine.”

The following morning it feels strange to be getting into a car that’s not Tyler’s red truck. It’s your usual mode of transport. Your seat is the passenger seat and it has been for most of the chases in the past, except for ones where footage was the primary purpose of the chase and not research. 

You’re just lifting your bag up into the trunk of Lily’s car when Tyler swoops in behind you and helps you lift it – as if it weighed more than it actually did, as if you were actually having trouble with it. You turn around, eyebrows raised. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Tyler grins. “Haven’t had a sudden change of heart, I see?”

“Not happening,” you smile in return. “You’ll be fine without me. You and Boone will be able to catch up like old times. And don’t worry, if we disagree on something, I’ll be sure to let you know about it over the radio anyway. I have Kate on my side today.”

Tyler laughs. “Oh, double whammy. I’m in danger today, aren’t I?”

Kate appears from the other side of the car, putting her own bag in beside yours. She wraps an arm around your shoulders and shoots a smile at Tyler. “You’re gonna regret letting her ride in a car other than yours today, Tyler. A day driving with Lily and I… she’s gonna be a changed woman by the time she gets back in your truck tomorrow.”

“That’s if I even want to get back in his truck, Kate.”

He stares at the two of you and then shakes his head and laughs to himself. “Okay, I’m getting Boone and getting out of here before Lily shows up and you guys gang up on me even more,” he turns and heads for his truck. “Drive safe, all right?”

You and Kate both laugh, watching him as he walks towards his truck, Boone joining him on the way there. Dani and Dexter aren’t far behind him, hopping into the van, and Lily comes bounding down the steps after them, her bag over her own shoulder. 

“We ready for today, ladies!?” She calls loudly from across the lot. 

“Let’s do this!” Kate matches her energy.

You take the back seat, feeling incredibly out of place in the car as Lily starts the engine and follows the other two cars out of the parking lot, leaving the motel behind. It’s smaller in this car compared to Tyler’s, and as you pull your laptop out of your bag and get the radar up on it to get another look at the storm you’d all chosen earlier in the morning, you wonder if you made the right choice.

You’ve been on the road for two hours, heading for a storm north of you when you look down at the radar again and see that it’s gotten smaller – not becoming the larger storm you were all hoping for and certainly not likely to produce a tornado. It’s your job to reach up and grab the radio from between Lily and Kate in the front seats to inform the others. 

“The storm’s shrinking, I think we should pull into a gas station and regroup,” you tell the others through the radio, already preparing yourself for the response.

It comes through almost instantly. Tyler, laughing, then his voice: “What was that you were saying to me last night about listening to you? Guess you’re off your game, darlin’.”

Kate grabs the radio off of you before you can say anything else. “Okay, we all chose this storm together, Tyler. Let’s not throw accusations around and not over the radio.” 

You’re unaware that in the truck, Boone is telling Tyler off for the exact same thing. 

“Thanks, Kate,” you reach forward and squeeze her shoulder as she hands the radio back to you. “Next gas station, let’s pull in and we can all look at the radar together. I don’t think we’re gonna get anything massive in the time it takes us to regroup.” 

“You sure about that, sunshine?” Tyler’s voice comes through the radio again. “I don’t know if we can trust your ability to forecast the weather anym–” His voice cuts off abruptly.

“Sorry ‘bout him,” You hear Boone say shortly after. “We’ll see you at the gas station.”

You give the radio back to Kate and lean back in your seat, sighing as you look out the window at the blue sky and the clouds scattered around it. How could he have been perfectly tolerable last night during dinner, help you with your bag this morning and yet be so irritating? You hadn’t even said anything to spur him on. 

It’s about an hour later by the time you reach the next gas station and you’re grateful when you can get out and stretch your legs. Lily and Kate both head for the bathroom while you head inside to order some drinks and food for the three of you. You don’t bother to wait for Tyler when you see him hop out of his truck. 

He makes his way up to you once you’re inside, waiting for your drinks to be made.

“How’s the other car goin’?” Tyler asks, nudging your shoulder gently.

You look at him, arms crossed over your chest, and look away, choosing to say nothing.

“Come on, sunshine. You’re seriously ignoring me? Where’s that fiery attitude of yours? Just cause you’re in another car doesn’t mean you can’t give me shit right back when I give it to you,” he tries. 

But you’re not interested in the slightest. His words had been uncalled for – especially when you’d moved to another car in an attempt to diffuse the tension between the two of you, and he’d just brought it right back up.

The waitress slides the drinks over the counter and calls your name just as Lily and Kate exit the bathroom, heading straight for you. 

“Can you guys watch my drink? I need to go grab my phone from the car,” you tell them.

Lily and Kate happily take your drink, moving to stand beside Tyler and make conversation with him as you head back outside to grab your phone. You don’t really need it that badly, it’d be perfectly fine to leave in the car till you headed back outside anyway, but it was your way of getting out of a conversation with Tyler. Not that it really was much of a conversation anyway.

When your phone is in hand, you make no hurry to walk back inside the gas station. You make note of several other storm chasers in the parking lot and filling up their cars with gas. It’s a popular stretch of road for chasers and you assume several of them had been chasing the same storm as you and had realised it was going to be a bust.

You almost bump into one of them as you’re heading back inside. You recognise him instantly. He’s in one of the more well known teams, one of the Wranglers rivals and one of the many other groups of chasers that think you guys are just in it for the money you get from the Youtube videos rather than a genuine love of weather and chasing.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite Tornado Wrangler,” Xavier flashes a smile at you and holds the door open for you to enter, following in after you. “Bit of tension in the group, I hear.”

You frown, unsure about his words meaning, when he continues.

“One of my guys was switching frequencies in the van and got yours on accident. We, uh, we heard your little… disagreement with Owens,” he admits. “I promise we weren’t listening in on purpose. That’s the last thing I’d wanna do. But y’know… open channels and all.”

You can’t help but cringe at his words and let out an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Xavier. It’s nothing a little time and a successful storm won’t fix, anyway. I think everyone in the chasing community knows Tyler and I butt heads nearly every day.” 

“Butt heads? Honey, that sounded a lot more like an intentional insult to me.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, Tyler wouldn’t do that.”

Hearing that Xavier thought Tyler’s words were an insult is the kick you need to make you realise that they weren’t. Tyler was the type to get on your nerves, that was true. But the type to intentionally insult you in an attempt to hurt your feelings? He would never do that.

Xavier gives you an unimpressed look. “Listen, honey – we have a spot available in our team and it’s yours if you want it,” He reaches out and places a hand on your waist, almost making you flinch at the action. You resist the urge to hit his hand off. “You have the degree to prove you know what you’re doing and I think we both know you’re wasting your time with the Wranglers. Especially proven that their leader seems to treat you like something on the bottom of his shoe… me, on the other hand, well… I’d treat you better.”

You try your hardest to control your expression, not wanting to come across the wrong way or to make a scene in front of everyone in the gas station – your team, his team and the several other teams and general patrons all milling about and eating their mid-day feed. Even though you feel uncomfortable as all hell and would love nothing more than to deliver a swift punch to his nose and book it straight back out the door. 

“Listen, Xavier,” you take a step closer to him and almost cringe at the way his lips move up into a smile at your closer proximity. “I wouldn’t join your team if it was the last storm chasing team on earth. If you think I’m wasting my time with my team, I hate to think how much time I’d waste on yours. I’ve seen how much time you spend looking in your car mirrors. If you didn’t know, the tornadoes don’t actually care how your hair looks.” You reach up and pat his chest condescendingly. “And if I hear you say one more bad word about Tyler Owens, I’ll make sure the whole chasing community knows about what happened here today, how you tried to come onto me just to get me to join your team. Trust me, it won’t end well for you.”

You don’t waste anymore time in removing his hand from your waist and leaving him standing alone as you head back over to your group. Kate and Lily are watching you from right where you left them, though Tyler isn’t with them anymore. 

Kate hands you your drink. “You all right? What the hell was that?”

“Just Xavier being an asshole,” you mutter, risking a look over your shoulder to see that he’s gone to join the rest of his group. You hope he’s seething and embarrassed by your words. “I dealt with him though.” 

You can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling still running through your body, though. You try and take a sip of your coffee to calm yourself down. It doesn’t work, really only making you feel more jittery and strange. 

“I’m gonna go wait out at the car, when you guys are all done we can check the radar together and decide where to go from here, all right? You guys can tell the others?” You ask.

Kate nods. “Yeah, course. You sure you’re okay, though?”

You look between her and Lily, noticing the worried looks on their faces, and try and put a smile on your own face to stop them from worrying so much. “Yeah, I promise. It’s just packed to the brim in here and I wanna get some fresh air after all the driving.”

You can feel Kate and Lily’s eyes on you as you leave, coming out the door you’d only just come inside through. You make a beeline straight to the car, taking a deep breath, grateful for the cool breeze on your skin and the warmth of the sun above you. The uncomfortable feeling starts to fade as you open the door to the car and climb up, putting your coffee in the cup holder and leaving your feet hanging out the door as you start to scroll on your phone to distract yourself. 

It’s only a few minutes later when someone stands in the way of the sun and casts a shadow over you. You blink up to meet Tyler’s eyes. He stands in the doorway of the truck, a hand on his hip.

“Already scouting a new group to join cause of me, are you?” He starts, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “I go to the bathroom for two minutes and come out to see you and freakin’ Xavier all close? When the hell did that happen?”

You let out a huff and squeeze your eyes shut. “Seriously, T, can you not do this right now?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to insult you over the radio, sunshine. Usually, you give it right back to me, so that’s what I was expecting, and I know I took it too far – Boone said as much after we put the radio down. I really am sorry about it.”

You open your mouth to tell him it’s all right, that you accept his apology, but he continues speaking, cutting you off and making you glad you never got a chance to actually speak.

“But out of everyone, I see you flirting with Xavier? I mean, come on.”

“I wasn’t flirting–”

“Sure as hell looked that way to me,” he huffs. “You two were all touchy. I saw it.”

You take a deep breath and move to stand up, forcing him to move out of your way. You close the car door behind you and turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. You are not going to have this argument like this. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous, Tyler.”

Tyler doesn’t hesitate before he replies. “Well, that’s cause I am.”

For the first time since you’ve known Tyler Owens, you’re lost for words. You open your mouth once, twice, unable to come up with anything to say to him. It seems Tyler is the same, just staring at you, his eyes ever so slightly wide. 

“Then… then you’re jealous for all the wrong reasons,” you manage.

You should be saying something else – teasing him, getting on his nerves, but your short response is all you can get out and it’s nothing like your usual tone when you talk to Tyler.

He frowns. “Why is that?”

You clear your throat. “Cause he was the one coming onto me, telling me to join his team and talking shit about you, and I was the one telling him not to talk shit about you and not to put his hands on me, like he thought he could clearly do without consent.”

As soon as you finish speaking, you regret your words only because of the look that crosses over Tyler’s face. He glances over your shoulder towards the gas station where you assume Xavier and his team still are. 

“That piece of shit,” Tyler mutters, and then he’s moving.

You’re quick to react, hurrying after him and reaching out to grab his arm and attempt to tug him to a stop. It doesn’t work the first time, but the second time it does. “Tyler, stop. You going in there is not going to help anything, it’s just going to make things worse.”

Tyler turns to look at you and you’ve never seen him look so mad before. 

“You’re telling me that guy put his hands on you and tried to come onto you and you don’t want me to go and give him a piece of my mind? Sunshine, he deserves worse than what I can do to him, but I’ll do my best,” he says.

You don’t miss the fact that Tyler manoeuvres your grip on his arm to take your hand in his instead, weaving his fingers in-between yours and giving your hand a squeeze.   

“I’m saying that I already gave him a piece of my mind, T, and I threatened that I’d tell everyone about what he did if he said anything bad about you again,” you explain. 

“I don’t care if he says anything about me, but the fact that he did that to you… everyone already deserves to know what a piece of shit he is,” Tyler seethes. 

You squeeze his hand, then. “I’m sure they’ll find out one of these days, but not today, T, please. I just wanted to come out here and get some fresh air and try and forget what happened.”

Tyler takes a breath and then takes a step towards you, away from the gas station. “Do you want company or do you want me to go back inside and tell the others to hang back inside a while?”

“You’d do that?”

He laughs softly. “Have the last few minutes not shown you that I’d do pretty much anything for you, sunshine? And last night? The last thing I wanted was for you to ride with someone else other than me, but I could tell it’s what you wanted, so I didn’t fight you on it.”

“And what you said over the radio this morning?”

“I missed you and the way you always disagree with me. I just acted on it the wrong way.”

“Yeah,” you nod your head. “You were a real asshole.”

Tyler’s face breaks out into a grin. “Not gonna disagree with you on that one.”

You stare up at him for a moment, honestly surprised at how quickly things had changed between you. Only minutes ago, Tyler was mad at you, then he was mad at Xavier and now he was standing here, smiling at you like you were as bright as the sun. His nickname was fitting for you, you suppose.

“Will you just come and stay with me for a bit? Till whenever the others come out?” You ask, nodding your head back towards the car where you’d been sitting before.

Tyler nods. “I have one condition, though.”

“Name it.”

“You sit in my truck instead, and you come back and ride with me in it again.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face. “That’s two conditions, actually, T.”

“And you didn’t say no to either of them,” Tyler smiles. “Come on, sunshine.”

[bloodstainedsapphic]

coffee shop fluff with ellie williams rahhh

pitter patter. the slosh of each step onto the sidewalk, the missteps into murky puddles during the drizzle, threatened to seep through your fuzzy socks and erase the last barrier between you and the storm above.  

the forecast had promised sunshine—what a load of shit that was. a pleasant excursion into town with your best friend ellie had turned into a zig-zagging mad dash between stops, making the chill vibes more fickle as you tried to have fun while evading a sniveling cold. the day still managed to be something close to perfect. because, at the end of it all, you were with ellie.

seeking some reprieve from the onslaught of trickling rain, you both slipped into an equally busy coffee shop. despite all the action, you sighed in relief as the inside brought a coziness the foggy, slate-grey spring weather had not granted. it was a steady crowd—everyone else must have had the same idea, trying to escape the lousy weather.  

“whatcha want?”  you asked ellie, who was raking a hand through her auburn hair, now darkened to a deep chestnut from the rain.

“anything but coffee.”  

“got it.”  

you took ellie’s entirely too vague order and stepped ahead to the counter, purchasing yourself a latte and ordering the barista’s special recommendation of tea for ellie.  

as you waited, elbow leaned against the corner of the countertop, your eyes wandered, quickly spotting ellie on the far side of the café. she’s holding what appears to be a comic, plucked from shelves that sat riddled with trinkets, purchasable knickknacks, and dime-a-dozen books.  you quietly head her way.

“did you find the one comic in this café?” you asked, leering over her shoulder, eyeing the yellowed pages ellie was flipping through.  

she snorted, barely sparing you a glance. “obviously.” she traded in the zine for her tea, taking it from you and blowing on the top to cool it down.   

you and ellie made your way to a small circular table near the windowsill, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. it was peaceful, even if you were both wet as stray dogs at this point of the day.  

“you know,” you started, initiating a random topic to keep the momentum going. “i don’t mind the city.”  

ellie shrugged. the city didn’t seem to bring the same twinkle to her eye as it did to you. she leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers idly against the side of her cup.  

“eh. it’s a lot sometimes,” she admitted, “but… not bad if you know where to look.”  

you nodded. “exactly.”  

then you paused, sensing a layer underneath ellie’s words. your eyes narrowed mischievously as you leaned in slightly, like you were coaxing a secret out of her.  

“wait. do you have some mystery spots you haven’t told me about?”  

ellie shrugged again, her false coyness meant to taunt you, rile you up—her favorite pastime, it seemed. “dunno.”  

you groaned, blowing on your drink to soothe yourself, taking a small sip before really grilling her.  

“what are you talking about?”  

ellie hummed noncommittally, slowly swirling her cup in her hand, acting as though the conversation wasn’t all that interesting.  “wouldn’t you like to know.”  

“ellie, you fucking suck.”  

ellie merely smirked, clearly enjoying your weak attempt at prying an answer from her. she took a slow sip of her tea, looking entirely unbothered—maybe even a little smug—as you steeped in your frustration.  

“if we were dating, i’d take you to all the best places…” she mused, her inflection practically begging you to cling to and make a deal of her teasing words.  so you did. “what’s stopping you?” you fired back, playing along.  

in your pride, you caught the way ellie visibly stiffened, her lips pressed to the rim of her cup, frozen mid-sip as if she might choke on your reply.  

“…excuse me,” she muttered, a bit gruff, her eyes flicking toward you as if unsure whether to scoff or take you seriously.  

“you heard me.” you mirrored her energy, wiggling your brows, acting as if the rising tension wasn’t threading through your every last nerve. there had been plenty of cheeky flirts and lingering touches before this titular moment with ellie—she was your pretty best friend. you’d be ‘down’ if she asked. but the possibility had never been quite so direct as this.  

“mmmh, i’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, trying to sound stoic before finally taking that sip she wanted. you caught the quiver in her voice and the rose-petal blush on her cheeks, however, shining through the sheen of rain still clinging to her face and hair.  

“nice.” you grinned, pleased with her words. “when can we start?”  

“start what?”  “dating. so you can show me those so-called best places..duh.” ellie finally, actually choked on her tea.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Her Turn Now - 2

Character: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Twin sisters. Opposite worlds. The eldest is a tough, no-nonsense soldier. The youngest is a quiet, hardworking corporate girl. They rarely meet—until the younger sister collapses from stress, hiding months of workplace bullying.

Furious and protective, the soldier twin trades places with her. Heels off, boots on. Now, the office has no idea what's coming.

She doesn’t play nice. She doesn’t play fair. And while she's serving justice in a pencil skirt, the ruthless CEO starts to take notice…

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , -

Working in an office really doesn't suit you.

In battle, things are simple. When someone annoys you, you shut them up—with a fist or a boot to the face. Problem solved. But here?

Here, you’re surrounded by high heels, fake smiles, and the sharp click-clack of keyboards... and every single sound grates your nerves.

You grit your teeth, nails tapping against the desk, fists clenched under the table just to stop yourself from punching someone in the throat. You’ve only been here two hours, and already, you’re planning five different ways to commit corporate homicide.

Your respect for Levi just skyrocketed. Eight months she endured this hell? You can barely last one morning.

'Should you? Yes, you can.' 'Lock the door. Grab the stapler. Use the pencil. There are weapons everywhere.'

That little voice in your head sounds far too convincing. If it were the real you—Captain McCain—you’d be halfway through your rampage by now. But no. You're Levi now.

And if Levi McCain loses her cool? That delicate record she’s worked so hard to build will shatter.

Just then, a thick stack of papers lands on your desk with a loud thwack. You glance up. Some guy—you don’t even know his name—doesn’t look at you, just keeps walking like you’re invisible.

"What the hell is this?" you mutter under your breath.

Another assignment. Charts. Reports. Forecast analysis? You squint at the spreadsheet like it’s in another language. Honestly, it might as well be.

They're piling it on, testing you. You've been here two hours, and already they’ve dumped more work on your desk than a full week’s load.

You inhale slowly. Count to five. Calm. You’re supposed to be Levi. Quiet. Polite. Fragile. Yeah, right.

But you didn’t come into this unarmed. Oh no. You came with a secret weapon.

Thanks to Casey.

The night before your little infiltration mission, she handed you a sleek tablet loaded with a custom AI system she’s been tinkering with.

"You’re a genius in combat, boss. Not in spreadsheets," she said with a smirk. "I built this so you can focus on wrecking those bastards emotionally instead."

So while everyone else thinks you’re slaving over numbers, you're calmly sipping your coffee and letting Casey’s AI handle the data analysis.

Now, with zero hesitation, you lift the freshly completed reports and toss them right back at the guy’s desk with a smooth flick of your wrist.

He freezes, staring at the documents like you just performed black magic.

Around the office, heads start turning. Whispers ripple through the floor like electricity.

'How did she finish that so fast?' 'Wasn’t that supposed to take a day?' 'Did she make any mistakes?'

You lean back in your chair, legs crossed, eyes sharp. You don’t say a word. Just stare at them all like a predator in disguise.

Let them wonder. Let them whisper.

You’re just getting started.

You weren’t made for this world of polite requests and passive-aggressive comments—and you’re done pretending.

When someone dumps files on your desk and tells you to print them, you don’t even look up.

“Do it yourself. The printer’s right on your table.”

Another, bolder one strolls over, holding out a coffee order list.

“Buy some for the team, will you? Get that caramel thing we like.”

You raise a brow and don’t even break stride as you type, voice flat and sharp.

“Try Uber Eats. Or your own damn legs.”

They blink, stunned, as you go back to work like the conversation never happened.

Lunch hour can’t come fast enough. You head down to the building’s park—if you don’t get some air, you might actually kill someone.

You sit on the bench, arms crossed, legs tense. The sun is warm, but your mood is ice. Your jaw still clenched tight.

Then you hear it—laughter.

Voices carry across the grass. Familiar ones.

You glance to your left.

A group of men are huddled in the smoking area—coworkers from your department. Laughing, puffing away, basking in their own stink. You recognize the manager too.

You stay still. Listen.

One of them exhales smoke and scoffs.

“Can’t believe Levi came in today. What’s she trying to prove, showing up now?”

Another snickers.

“Yeah, like she belongs at the celebration. After everything? Please.”

The manager—Levi’s direct boss—chimes in, laughing low and mean.

“She probably thought we’d be happy to see her. Delusional.”

The first guy adds, “Well, no one tell her where we’re going tonight, alright?”

Another laughs. “As if she’s invited. The restaurant doesn’t take extras anyway.”

And then—what finally makes your blood boil—

“If she hadn’t flagged that budget error last quarter, we’d have had bigger bonuses. What a buzzkill. Should’ve just kept her mouth shut.”

Silence hits your chest like a gut punch.

Your hands ball into fists on your lap.

So that’s how they talk about her. About Levi. After all her quiet effort. Her eight months of biting her tongue, holding back, working herself into the ground.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You sit there until they finish their smokes and saunter off, laughing like nothing happened.

When they’re gone, you finally exhale—and realize your hands are trembling. One still clutches your phone.

You hit speed dial.

“Yeah, boss?” Casey answers, casual as always.

You look up at the sky. Your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Prepare a runaway car. Gloves. Face mask. And night vision goggles.”

Casey pauses.

“…Do you need a lawyer too?”

You let out a slow breath.

“I don’t think I’ll need it. But yeah, just in case.”

You hang up.

No more playing nice.

They wanted Levi to stay quiet. Big mistake. They got you instead.

💥💥💥💥

The restaurant was packed—but only with them. Levi’s entire department had booked the place for a night of fake smiles and undeserved celebration. Laughter rang loud. Glasses clinked. Wine flowed freely.

The manager, drunk on his own ego, stood up and raised his glass. “To us—the real backbone of this company!”

Cheers followed. Forced. Loud. Hollow.

Then— Darkness.

The lights went out without warning.

A beat of silence. Confused murmurs.

“Probably just for a while,” someone said, chuckling nervously.

Then— “Uhk!”

A rough, strangled sound.

“Sounded like a duck getting choked,” the manager joked, and the room erupted in laughter.

But the laughter didn’t last.

It was replaced by chaos.

A chair crashed to the floor. A plate shattered. A man screamed. Another was silenced mid-sentence by a punch to the gut.

One by one, they dropped.

No warning. No mercy. Male. Female. Coworker. Manager. None of them were spared.

They didn’t even see who hit them.

Fists, elbows, knees—precise and brutal. The air filled with the sound of bodies slamming into tables, glass crunching beneath shoes, and groans of disbelief.

The manager took the worst of it. A swift kick to the chest sent him straight into the dessert table. A metal tray slammed across his face. His hands scrambled for cover that didn’t exist.

By the end, the room was wrecked. People groaned and whimpered in the dark, crawling, gasping, too stunned to react.

Only one person walked out untouched.

Calm steps. Back straight. Breath steady. No fear. No remorse.

As you stepped past the broken chaos, your thoughts were razor-sharp.

'Karma takes her sweet time… So I gave her a hand.'

🏢🏢🏢🏢

The Next Morning

A sleek black sedan sat idling on the curb. The tinted windows reflected the city skyline, but inside, the air was tense.

In the back seat, Bucky Barnes—CEO, sharp-suited and sharp-jawed—sat in silence. His dark eyes were unreadable as he glanced out the window. His posture was relaxed, but his fingers drummed lightly against his thigh. A storm brewed behind that calm exterior.

“I thought you were joking when you called me,” Bucky finally said, voice low and cool.

He had just landed from London, where he’d been in talks with a major international partner. The time difference and chaos hadn’t fazed him—what did was the reason for the call.

Kyle, his vice president, sat beside him. Unlike Bucky, Kyle looked restless, flicking through files on his tablet.

“I wish it was a joke,” Kyle muttered. “But it’s real.”

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back. “If it is, then good.”

Kyle blinked. “Good? You’re joking, right? Twenty-nine people were admitted to the hospital last night.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. I've been trying to clean out that bloodsucking department for years. They're toxic, slow, and arrogant. Half of them think they run this company. Maybe now they'll shut up.”

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh god...”

Bucky raised a brow. “There were supposed to be thirty people, including the intern. Why is the count only twenty-nine?”

“One of them didn’t show up,” Kyle replied, swiping through his screen. “Or maybe she wasn’t invited. Probably the same one they suspected was being bullied.”

At that, Bucky’s face tightened.

“The bullied one?” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “And no one thought to warn me?”

Kyle nodded. “Yes. That’s what I was told.”

Bucky leaned forward, jaw clenched. “I’ve been asking H.R. for weeks for an update. They keep giving me the runaround. I don’t even know her name!”

“She canceled her statement,” Kyle said, tapping his tablet. “But this is the person who filed with H.R. before backing out.”

He handed Bucky the screen.

Bucky took one look at the photo—and froze.

His face went still. No words. Just quiet, cold fury building behind his eyes. His hand gripped the tablet a little too tightly.

Kyle watched carefully. “You okay?”

Bucky didn’t answer.

He just kept staring at the photo.

And in that silence, the air inside the car grew heavier.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was about to get involved.

🏢🏢🏢🏢🏢

Back at the office, you were the only one who came in.

The silence was almost peaceful. You hummed a light tune, your fingers dancing across the keyboard as you typed—line by line—a resignation letter.

It was time. Levi deserved better. A company that didn’t treat her like trash. Not this toxic circus masked as a professional environment.

You clicked ‘Print’, and just as the printer began to whir, your phone rang.

“Yeah, Mom?” you answered casually, leaning back in your chair.

Your mother’s voice was calm but firm. “Your sister told me everything”

You sighed. “I’ve handled it.”

“They cry in pain?”

“Choked in their tears,” you said with a smirk, watching the printer spit out the paper.

“Good.” A pause. “Do you need a lawyer? I have a lot of friends whose husbands are great lawyers.”

You chuckled. “No, Mom. Everything’s under control.”

“Good job, baby.”

"Is Dad at home?" you asked.

"He’s still on a trip with his friends," your mom replied.

"What if he finds out about Levi?"

"Only God knows, honey."

You picked up the resignation letter and glanced at Levi’s name at the top. “This will be my last day… or should I say, ‘Levi’s’ last day. I’ve already printed the resignation letter.”

“No, dear! Don’t give the letter,” your mother said suddenly.

You paused, frowning. “Why not?”

“Because—”

She didn’t finish.

You froze mid-step.

Two figures walked into the department.

You turned your head slowly, eyes widening as you saw who it was.

Your hand, still holding the letter, trembled slightly.

Of all people…

'What the hell are you doing here?'

*****

Yesterday, at the McCain House

The black SUV rolled quietly into the driveway. The engine cut off, and the passenger door opened. Ortiz stepped out first, then turned to help Levi out of the car. Her movements were slow, stiff. Casey gently supported her from the other side, guiding her carefully as if she might break.

Levi squinted at the familiar front porch, her expression puzzled.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ortiz exchanged a glance with Casey before replying, “Captain said staying in the city would only stress you out more. The doctor agreed.”

Before Levi could respond, the sound of laughter echoed from inside the house—warm, bright, and unmistakably familiar. As they stepped through the front door, they saw Elle McCain, Levi’s mother, laughing with two of her friends in the sitting room.

Elle's eyes widened when she spotted her daughter.

“Levi? Honey?” she asked in surprise, setting her teacup down and rising to her feet.

Levi offered her mother a tired smile. “Hi, Mom. I just need some rest. We’ll talk later.” She didn’t wait for a reply and slowly made her way upstairs.

Elle blinked, clearly confused by her daughter’s sudden arrival and unusual demeanor. Her gaze shifted to the two people standing in the doorway.

“Ortiz. Casey.” Her tone softened, recognizing them instantly. “You two again. Have you eaten any home-cooked food since you got back?”

Both of them stood straighter. “No, ma’am,” they answered in unison.

“There’s pork ribs, mashed potatoes, peach cobbler, and iced tea in the kitchen,” Elle said with a knowing smile.

The moment she listed the food, both Ortiz and Casey's stomachs practically growled in unison.

“Thank you, ma’am!” they said quickly and hurried off toward the kitchen.

Elle waited patiently until her friends left later that evening. Once the house was quiet again, she climbed the stairs and gently knocked on Levi’s door. No response. She opened it slowly and stepped inside.

Levi was curled up on the bed, wrapped tightly in a blanket pulled over her head like a cocoon. The only thing visible was the slight rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

Elle walked to the bed and sat on the edge, then carefully pulled the blanket down from Levi’s face.

The sight broke her heart.

Levi’s face was pale and gaunt. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes sunken. Her once-vibrant presence was now drained and brittle.

“My daughter…” Elle whispered, her voice catching. “What happened to you?”

Levi turned her head away, unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

Elle placed a hand on Levi’s shoulder, gentle but firm. “Does your sister know? Is that why her friends brought you here?”

Levi gave a slow nod, her eyes brimming with tears.

Elle stood abruptly. “Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Who did this to you?”

Levi hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a long story.”

Elle crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve got all night.”

Levi sighed, knowing she couldn’t avoid this. So she began to speak. Slowly at first, then all at once. She told her mother everything—what she endured at the company, how the bullying escalated, how she lost weight, sleep, confidence. How she tried to tough it out. And how her sister—impulsive, fearless—took matters into her own hands.

It took Elle a long moment to fully grasp it all.

“So... your sister is pretending to be you. She’s working at the company. In your place.”

Levi nodded again.

Elle’s expression darkened. “Good. Let them taste hell.”

“Mom…” Levi said gently.

Elle sat down again beside her daughter. “Honey, you’re a smart kid. Why the hell did you stay in that toxic place for so long?”

“That place gave me a lot of benefits,” Levi murmured. “And I had a friend there…”

Elle narrowed her eyes. “A friend? You stayed because of someone?”

Levi nodded slowly. “I wanted to work beside him.”

Elle’s voice lowered. “Who is this person?”

Levi hesitated, her voice trembling just slightly. “He’s…”

*****

Back to the present time…

You froze.

The two figures who stepped into the department caught you mid-sentence with your mother. You slowly lowered your phone, your eyes widening in disbelief.

Standing there was someone you hadn’t seen in years—but you'd recognize him anywhere. Tall, sharp-featured, with piercing blue eyes and hair swept back like he always used to wear it.

James Buchanan Barnes.

He stepped closer, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Levi?” His voice was softer now—gentler than you remembered. “I’m sorry I’m too late. Are you alright?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “Yeah… yeah.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. You hadn't seen Bucky in what felt like a lifetime. Not since high school. And back then, you and Levi had shared more than just the same face—you shared the same crush.

You both liked the same food—steak medium rare with garlic butter. You listened to the same music—acoustic rock. You even loved the same person.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky looked at you—really looked. “I should’ve found out sooner,” he said, his jaw tightening. “I had no idea what was going on in this department. The H.R. covered it up… and the manager too. They knew we knew each other. That’s why they hid it.”

You blinked. “You knew?”

“I recognized your name the first time it landed on my desk,” he admitted. “But I thought maybe I was just imagining things. Until Kyle told me what really happened.”

You nodded slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. Of course Levi never wanted to quit. Was it because… of him?

Your chest tightened.

Bucky took a breath and stepped closer. “You don’t have to work in this department anymore. Starting today, you’ll be my assistant.”

That’s when your heart really started to race.

It beat so fast, you were sure Bucky could hear it. Was this what it felt like… meeting your long-time crush again after all these years?

But it wasn’t your name he’d said with such warmth. It was Levi’s.

You weren’t just standing in someone else’s department. You were standing in someone else’s shoes. And it hit you harder than you expected.

You swallowed down the sudden tightness in your chest. Why did your chest feel tight? It was just a high school crush—a long time ago.

You glanced down, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck.

‘Alright, Levi…’ you thought. ‘I’ll stay. I’ll hold the door open for you—so you can finally be with Bucky.’

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

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Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[lxndonorris]

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air. 

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport. 

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics. 

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible. 

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you. 

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it. 

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter. 

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart. 

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk. 

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference. 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. 

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. 

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper. 

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him. 

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. 

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk. 

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances. 

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him. 

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze. 

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement. 

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss. 

This time, he didn't hold back. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze. 

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. 

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material. 

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

"Should've Been Perfect"

[Bucky Barnes x fem!reader]

Rewrite of Do You Want to Dance Too?

Masterlist

Summary: A ruined date turns unexpectedly sweet when you and Bucky get caught in a summer storm.

Warnings: none. just fluff

Word Count: 924 words

A/N: rewriting simply to see how far I've gotten since my first fic, and I guess this counts as me officially being back.

Bucky's cursing was nearly drowned out by the first raindrops hitting the pavement as you both ran into the café's doorway.

"We should've checked the forecast," Bucky grumbled, shaking water from his hair like a disgruntled Labrador.

You shrugged, pretending not to notice the way his damp shirt clung to his shoulders. "It isn't that bad."

"It's going to be." He nodded toward the windows.

You couldn't help but giggle at his sulking. The Winter Soldier, brought low by some rain. Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, but the effect was ruined when a droplet slid from his hair down the bridge of his nose.

Ella appeared from the back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well, if it isn't my favorite disaster couple," she drawled. "Let me guess—hot chocolates?"

"You know us too well," you said, sliding into the corner booth that had somehow become yours over time.

Bucky sat beside you, still glaring out of the window. Mother Nature didn't seem to like that; the rain intensified its assault against the glass, as if in direct response to his scowl.

You took his hand in your own. "Today was great, Jamie," you assured softly.

He shook his head. "That's not enough. It should've been perfect."

Ella set two steaming mugs before you with a smile, wisely retreating to give you privacy.

Bucky's throat worked as he swallowed. His gaze dropped to where your thumb brushed his vibranium wrist - a gesture that would have made him flinch years ago. Now he turned his palm up to catch your fingers.

"Perfect is boring, Buck, you know that," You murmured, "We had a good time, and that's enough for me."

Bucky's eyes softened, the tension in his jaw finally easing. His thumb brushed your cheek, catching a raindrop you'd missed.

"What would I do without you?" he wondered out loud.

You grinned, leaning in until your nose brushed his. "It's too awful to think about."

He laughed against your lips just before he kissed you, slow, sweet, and lingering.

When he pulled away, he murmured, "We should probably finish this hot chocolate."

You frowned. "Is hot cocoa really more important than kissing your girlfriend?"

He chuckled. "It is really good."

You couldn't deny that argument.

As he sipped the drink, it was your turn to look out of the window. You watched the raindrops hammer against the window, each one exploding like tiny water balloons. Storms always brought back memories you'd rather forget—cold nights, empty promises, the kind of loneliness that soaked into your bones. But Bucky was here, and he had an unintentional habit of replacing bad memories with good ones.

That gave you an idea.

"Wanna make a run for it now?" you asked suddenly, nodding toward the downpour outside.

Bucky paused mid-sip and gave you that look—the one that says you're insane, but he loves you anyway. "It's pouring."

"Yeah, but it's not going to get any better."

He scoffed. "You want to dance too?"

The question made your eyes light up. "Can we?"

James' eyes widened, regretting his words immediately. "I was kidding."

"Why not? It's as cliche as dancing in the apartment," you pointed out, "Besides, it'll be fun."

"We are not dancing in the rain," he said firmly.

"But—"

"It's way too cold, and the last time you got a fever, you couldn't get out of bed for a week."

You hid your wince with a pout. "Fine. But we should go for it anyway."

Bucky drained the last of his hot chocolate with a resigned sigh, then stood and shrugged out of his leather jacket. "Here," he said, putting it over your head like an umbrella. "At least this'll keep you somewhat dry."

You grinned up at him. "My knight in shining armor."

"Shut up," he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched as he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders. "On three. One—"

You bolted before he reached two, dragging him out into the downpour with a shriek of laughter. The cold rain hit you like a thousand tiny needles, soaking through your clothes in seconds.

"Hey!" Bucky shouted over the storm, but he was laughing too as he caught up effortlessly, his jacket now doing little good for either of you.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the empty street ahead. Somewhere between gasping breaths and puddles, you stumbled. Bucky's hand quickly found your waist, his grip steadying you.

"You're insane," he panted.

"You love it."

Bucky huffed as you turned to him. His shirt was practically transparent now, clinging to every ridge of muscle. You might have stared a little too long.

"See something you like?" he teased, stepping closer.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a slow sway right there on the sidewalk, the rain still pouring around you.

Bucky didn’t resist, his hands settling at your waist as you moved together, your soaked clothes clinging.

"You’re going to get sick," he murmured, but his grip tightened, pulling you closer.

You grinned up at him, rainwater dripping from your lashes. "I'll live," you said quickly, standing on your tip toes and chasing his lips.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose—half exasperation, half surrender—before sealing his mouth over yours in a kiss.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that you'd absolutely pay for this in a week, with sneezes and sniffles and Bucky's overbearing mother-henning. But as his teeth grazed your bottom lip, his groan vibrating against your mouth, you decided—

Yeah.

Worth it.

[buttercupblu]

God is Fair|The Lore

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: ever since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he came into your life like a storm and grew closer no matter how distant you seemed. he swelled and captured your heart every time he was near. so why did you keep fighting him? w.c: 12.7k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two the rest (god bless) tags: fem!reader, mostly angsty….pretty much 90% angst for part 1, repressed feelings, jealousy, lingering lips and fingers, a little bit of self-depreciation at the end but pick that crown up love, reader gets a little violent at the end 😳|if i missed anything, pls comment or DM ☺️ angel’s note: this story started as one thing and ended up as another—so goes the way of life. PSA: most of the good, filthy, mack-nasty shyt is in part 2/3, but you’ve gotta wade through the fire first to get it. It’s always worth it|thanks for reading 🖤 earworm 🐛: Chihiro|Billie Eilish

Over time, you became perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender fingers grip and drown under his raven locks, barely saving you from the shallow breaths you must take to stay alive.

You’re just above water, and he steals your air, spelling poetry with his tongue over your folding petals.

Broken coos spill from your puffy lips—his favorite melody to ever grace his ears.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or forever—you fall—in and in and even deeper into his grasp. Under the waves and trapped in his ocean—he gently pulls you under—your lungs yearning for air, but you never want out.

And the way he dives in, drowning to taste every drop, every sweet, delectable sip of your nectar like he could live the rest of his life without oxygen—tells you that he doesn’t either. 

You learned to love each other’s oceans and came to mix seas. Both treaded rough waters but learned to float with calm bodies.

Now you lie hand in hand, limbs weaved like vines through each other’s arms, as you cuddle. Completely spent from another night in each other’s depths. Grateful. Grateful for his love—his patience.

And wondering how on Earth you thought it’d be possible to exist without someone you swore you despised.

Suguru has always been the best—the best at being good, the best at being kind, the best at being quiet—the best at being better than you. 

When you were eight years old, he made his quiet introduction into your quaint little neighborhood, arriving in a flashy Mercedes-Benz followed by two moving trucks that pulled right into the driveway directly across the street from your humble home. Heels painted with red bottoms adorning stocking-covered legs were the first things you saw as you watched from your bedroom window. 

The sound of movers drew your attention. No one ever came to your city, let alone your cul-de-sac. You felt a shift. A change was coming.

A tall woman, her long, sleek ponytail blowing in the wind, stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing large couture shades that took up most of her face. The overhanging forecast made everything bleak and gray, but the sunglasses stayed. A man exited the passenger seat and came to the woman’s side. He gingerly took her hand and looked around with a small smile, gently rubbing her arm. She slightly grimaced and handed him what looked like one of those small, overpriced designer bags.

They looked so…out of place.

They had to smell like money.

What the heck were they doing here? 

In a city like yours, one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everybody's business, you instantly knew that this couple would be the talk of the town. At least with the adults.  

You blew air into your bangs. You weren’t expecting new neighbors, but they could have at least come with a kid—someone who might actually want you around. 

“Hey, Bug,” your dad called from the garden.

He always left the back door open so he could hear you in case you needed him. He must have heard the rumbling of their heavy trucks now being unloaded with elegant furniture. Would all of that even fit in there? Their house was bigger than yours but not by much. “Sounds like we’ve got new neighbors. Might go by later and say hi if you want to come.”

“No thanks.”

You turned back to the window, resting your head on your arms. Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Richy Rich didn't sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day.

For once, you wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised with something you wouldn’t expect, like hitting the jackpot or whatever.

And then you saw him.

Inky black hair drawn into a short ponytail, emerging from the back seat of the fancy car and clutching a book thicker than his torso. His starched white-collar shirt and beige shorts reminded you of school. He kept his chin tucked and looked like the wind just might knock him over if the book wasn’t keeping him upright. 

He and the woman were near twins. Definitely mother and son. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and put on a genuine smile for him. The man draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he took in the neighborhood. Slow and sheepish. You thought his eyes caught yours when he looked behind him and you ducked under the window sill. 

Sh—

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time, Bug,” your dad called again. It sounded like he might be wrapping up. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You inched back up to the window and peered over the edge. The boy looked like he was just as lost as to why he was there.

Anxious. Reserved. Kind of boring. 

Not your speed.

You blew a raspberry and turned away. So much for that. You wouldn’t be missing much.

In your neighborhood, all the kids walked freely to each other’s houses to see if anyone was home. This was before everyone had cell phones to save time and figure it out for them. 

You watched it happen with the other kids all the time. They’d visit each other and either stay inside (super rare) or gather the rest of the neighborhood to play in the cul-de-sac or park. 

But you were never quite given a direct invitation.

The few friends you were close with moved away about a year ago, and the thought of making new ones who would eventually do the same kept you emotionally at arm's length. To make it worse, you swore the group you were left with undoubtedly hated you.

Why?

Because you had a history of sucking. 

Everyone else in the neighborhood was naturally good at something. Anything. Everything.

But you?

You had to try.

Mess up. And try again. At almost anything you could name.

Basketball? Trash. 

Tag? You were slow.

Football? Pssssh. As if—like you’d let yourself get hurt? You sat out every time.

So, the kids stopped inviting you or always picked you last. Both were grimy slaps in the face. Because you always knew you could be better. Delulu was the solulu if they’d only give you a chance. Or two. Or a few. But damn, you were trying. 

At least you weren’t the only one being left out. 

It’d been weeks since you saw the new kid on the block—not like you thought about him much after you dismissed him. But slowly, as the sounds of Spring beckoned him outside, he reminded you that the new “rich” neighbors did indeed have a kid.

It started with the curtains in his living room window gently ruffling before he’d peek out, scanning the scene for signs of life. Then eventually upgraded to gracing the neighborhood with his presence to sit outside. For hours, he watched from his front porch as the neighborhood kids dashed past your houses to play in the cul-de-sac. 

It kind of made you jealous—the amount of space and freedom on their porch that his parents clearly weren’t taking advantage of. Only two plastic chairs and a small table occupied the space, and they weren’t nearly as lovely as the things you saw go into the home on move-in day. If it were up to you, you’d string up one of those hammocks big enough for two like you’d seen on TV and just float in the breeze under the overhang. It had been a frequent daydream of yours long before they moved in. 

Instead, a gawking boy with too much time on his hands made it his home. Watching. Fiddling with his fingers and leaning on the rail. Watching. Always seeming too afraid to approach.

He had what you thought was the best house in the neighborhood (and probably the most money), and still, he looked so lonely. 

With the background he seemed to come from, you thought he’d be more ballsy. 

One day, you were, and you walked right up there, took the hand of the wide-eyed kid, and led him to the rest of the kids down at the park. His dad watched the whole thing go down from the kitchen window as he did the dishes, silently laughing as the boy stumbled behind you without saying a word. 

This was your chance. You were so tired of the other kids being better than you. With him being the new kid, you thought he’d at least be somewhat on your level or maybe even a bit worse. Anything was better than being the odd one out. 

You and the boy just a few inches shorter than you crashed the party right before the next game started. You beamed at the group like you had caught a prized fish. 

“Guys, this is um…um…” Then you realize you hadn’t asked his name. And he was still holding your hand. 

You dropped it and nudged him. “Suguru,” he said softly, seeming to avoid eye contact.

Suguru hadn’t seen that many kids in a group like this outside of school. He didn’t mean to look so anxious, but he wasn’t used to being in a neighborhood full of kids his age. He instantly felt like an outsider seeing how comfortable everyone was with each other, apart from you by his side. While soft smiles offered him a glimmer of acceptance, the stares made him self-conscious. He wondered if he could ever fit in.

You repeated his name in case no one heard him. Suguru. It naturally rolled off your tongue. Soft and sweet. Like the boy. He fidgeted with his fingers, but hearing his name felt reassuring. You looked at him and grinned. It was time to see what he’s got.

Tee-ball was the game. One you hated the most. Running was not your sport, and you certainly didn’t have an arm, so it never hurt your feelings too much when you weren’t picked for teams. But you made sure Suguru was. You wanted to see him in action. 

Last summer, you guys found an old traffic cone to use as the tee and placed sticks around the field for bases. 

You didn’t expect much from Suguru when it was time to bat because…look at him. He was so small and timid. The bat borrowed from someone’s dad was almost the same size as him, and you swore you saw his feet lift a few times during his practice swings. Too much of that and he’d be airborne. You prepared to give him a “job well done” pat on the back once he hit the ball a few feet.

Suguru squared up at the tee—on his way to join you at the bottom of the barrel.

And wouldn’t you know it? 

He knocked the ball clear out of the park and didn’t even skim the cone. 

Your mouth fell open before you remembered you were the designated retriever since you weren’t playing the game. You grumbled the whole walk and search for it. 

And then he did it again. And again. And again. 

And surprise, surprise, he excelled at every game he played after. Everyone wanted Suguru on their team. 

You gaped at the feat—so much power, strength, and coordination in such an unassuming body.

And instantly hated him.

Not because he was the best or braggy about it. 

It was the complete opposite. 

He barely seemed to acknowledge it—not in an arrogant, dismissive way, but more like he was just happy to be involved and doing something. He was sheepish with compliments and even seemed nervous to receive them. He’d rub his head and give a little close-eyed smile before returning to the game.

And peer over to you on the sidelines for approval. 

Every swing, every hit, and every game after, his purple eyes would find yours whenever he thought he’d done something worthwhile.

You tried to hide the jealous scowl, returning his shy smile with a nod and told him to keep his head in the game. 

But he noticed.

He saw it. He knew you were unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to help. 

So after that, you kind of mirrored each other. 

The kids always saw you as a try-hard—constantly on repeat, trying to make yourself valid and stand out. You’d grab failure by the throat and wring its neck, determined to make it forget your name. Not because you were attention-seeking; you only wanted to be counted in.

And so the student became the teacher. Suguru began to slip you little nods as if saying he saw you—just like you saw him all those times on his front porch. It’d annoy you at first, what you thought could’ve been pity, but it felt nice to finally be acknowledged by someone. 

And so gradually, you looked to him as a spectator, earning silent yeses and nos until you finally worked up the courage to do what you were afraid of most. Ask him to be a friend. 

To help you perfect your skills, of course. 

But the friendship blossomed like the Spring, and you and Suguru actually grew really close—instantly drawn to each other. Pop-ups to his house were the norm as you had the most advantage out of everyone in the neighborhood by living right across from him. And you both were always brought up by one another’s parents.

Turns out Suguru’s dad was a lot like yours and they got on really well. They’re both funny, kind. But your dad’s a little bit different. He’s got rebellion in his bones, as he often talked about when he told you stories about his youth and take-no-shit hippie days. 

“I’m serious, Bug. So, there we were, strapped to the tree. Shackled, really.” 

He mimicked the story with his arms in between laughs. 

“So, so we’re all chained up, right? And this bulldozer is coming right at our heads, ya? I look over to Stanley,” your even crazier God-father who showered you with gifts every time he visited, “I say, ‘Stanley, toughen up. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.’ And he goes, ‘I’m not scared. I forgot to go before we locked ourselves in.’” 

Your dad roared with laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes like he hadn’t told that story a million times. Like he was going around trying to collect little activists. But Suguru almost fell over, leaning into his every word. He was such a shy laugher, always creasing his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he did. It made your dad feel like the funniest guy alive when Suguru entertained his jokes.

“You were so brave,” and Suguru called your dad by his nickname just like your dad told him to. “I want to be that brave when I’m older.”

Your dad winked at you—you stuck out your tongue. Suguru was a good kid, he thought and reminded him a bit of himself.

Those days, your dad was mostly the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live a quaint and peaceful life. He’d talk your ear off about activism, travel, and stories about your mom who passed when you were born. You never got to “meet” her, but you always felt like you knew exactly who she was. And she was totally different from Suguru’s mom, who you learned was a hard-working corporate baddie. Red bottom heels. Makes sense.

By the end of that first summer, your families were practically joined at the hip. You and Suguru even more so. Outside of house calls and playing games with the rest of the neighborhood, the two of you also made frequent trips to the makeshift pier. Almost everything in your neighborhood and the surrounding area was walkable, including a small, wobbly, probably dangerous dock that sat over the small lake in town. You’d play a little alphabet game you made up on the walk down and constantly challenge him. Only for him to literally beat you at your own game nine times out of ten. 

“Angels shop at—” You skipped down the dirt path.

“Blessed boutiques,” Suguru finished, “Beautiful coats—”

“Can clothe their wings. Dashing dolls—”

“Eat every sweet. Forks will find—”

“Giant…giant,” you thought and thought and thought, “Giant—”

“Geese!”’ Suguru tagged you and ran down the dock, deeming you the loser of that round. You strolled down to meet him near the water reflecting the sunset. A pout took up your face. He patted the deck, motioning for you to sit. “You’re gonna miss the fireflies.”

Watching them pop up one by one and glow on the water as the sun went down became a ritual. And one of your favorite memories of summer.

The following school year, you were even more inseparable. And when the end of fifth grade rolled around the year after, you knew it was fate when you found out you’d be attending the same middle school. 

You were overjoyed. So was Suguru, but for different reasons. To you, now it was on. 

Academics was an area where you had a fair shot at flourishing. You were studious, attentive, and almost the perfect student. And while you didn’t have bad grades, you always felt like you could be better. And you know why. Because everything came naturally to Suguru, of course. 

Thank goodness for extracurriculars, though. The two of you didn’t need to do everything together, and you both benefited from the time and separation to do your own thing and discover your own interests. The Newspaper club caught your eye and was more interesting than you thought it would be—the first hobby to make you fall in love with words. 

Suguru took an interest in robotics and, surprisingly, Yearbook. He was pretty crafty with a camera and made sure to snap the best photos of you during your events. 

But the two of you rarely spoke of school or after-school activities. You never wanted him to know if you were struggling or needed help with anything and tried not to rely on him so much those days, so everything with you was always good.

It had to be.

He was still the competition, after all.

And you had to appear just as flawless. 

Instead, you enjoyed late-night phone calls that went way past both of your bedtimes as you grew into middle schoolers. Pretending to be asleep and slipping the phone under your pillow without moving a muscle when your parents checked in was a sport, but it couldn’t be helped. The books you were reading, shows you were watching, and thoughts on what high school would be like were too good not to talk about into the late-night hours—even when your eyelids got too tired to stay open. Falling asleep with your cellphones in hand or occupying a space on your pillows was the norm. 

“What’d ya think about the movie?” 

“I mean, the book is always better, right? But like,” you sighed happily into the phone, “they made their lives look so…amazing.”

The two of you watched The Great Gatsby 1979 version on DVD at Suguru’s house right after school that day before you had to scurry off to help your dad in the garden. Suguru finished the book a few days ago, and after catching him with it during lunch and poking him enough to get him to spill some of the details, you were sold.

A glamorous romance about a life of luxury and passion?

Say less.

And because you couldn’t resist, you told him you’d finish it in less time than he did.

Suguru thought the movie was pretty true to the book, but man, what a sad story. You, however, were in love with the lifestyle.

“What about Daisy?” he asked.

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her life she had been spoiled, something you were a total stranger to but didn’t make a point to say—only dismissed her frivolous ways and called her a coward. “Just the money and parties would be enough for me,” you said in a daydream. “It’d be too happy to be that shallow.” 

Suguru laughed and said that wasn’t the point of the book. “Money can't always buy happiness. She could’ve had love. It was right there.” He sounded so sophisticated when he said it, much too wise and sappy for a 13-year-old. 

You sucked your teeth. “That’s easy for you to say.” And you reminded him that he has a nicer house, clothes, car. “And when are y’all getting the Benz back?”

Lately, you and Suguru had been getting picked up by his dad in a major downgrade of a car. It’d been at least two months, and you were missing the feel of luxury against your skin.

The phone went quiet for a second, and Suguru scratched his head. “Uh, we actually don’t have it anymore.”

Your eyes widened as if he'd just told you someone died. Borderline devastation set in like it was your family losing one of its greatest displays of wealth. But Suguru didn’t sound the least bit sad when he told you that his dad referred to the “new car” as a “cash car” because they needed something quick.

And then it clicked, and you realized why you’d been noticing that furniture and things had also been disappearing in his house when you came over. And why he had to switch to the free lunch program you were also on at school. And why his dad mentioned looking for a second job the other day.

Suguru’s family had been hit by the recession.

And that’s how he became your neighbor.

Most of everything Suguru grew up with in his previous family home was placed in storage when they first moved into your neighborhood. His mom thought their stay would be temporary; she had been demoted at work but didn’t think it was a big deal, and things would quickly be back to normal—maybe even come with a promotion if she worked hard enough.

But it wasn’t her skills that was the problem. The economy was in shambles, and her company was running out of money. After two years of hoping for a miracle, she and over 40% of her company were laid off.

They kept all of this from Suguru until only a few weeks ago. He was much too young to understand what it all meant when it first happened—he was just a kid. But now, he was older, smarter, way less naïve. They couldn’t keep lying to him about why the car was away at the shop or why the family heirloom dining table went missing, among other things. 

When they told him that he’d have to slow down on his growing book collection and only get one gift for his birthday that year, that’s when he started asking questions—not that either of those things meant much to him. He was more than happy to frequent the school library, and you noticed that he’d been spending a lot more time there than usual during breaks.

What bothered Suguru the most was the looks his parents gave him when they told him everything. Like they were delivering the worst news in the world. Like they were so worried that they’d be disappointing him. Like they should be ashamed. 

It hurt him more to know that they felt like they had failed him. 

“My dad just looks so tired all of the time now.”

Mr. Geto, who had been a stay-at-home work-from-home employee since before Suguru was born, had to get a part-time job working overnight to help bridge the widening gap between their old and new lifestyle.

Now, Suguru doesn’t get to see him as much except to make breakfast and kiss Suguru goodbye with a sluggish smile on his face before school.

He really missed his dad. And it made you feel like shit for momentarily being a Daisy.

For the rest of the night, you just listened to Suguru tell stories about back home—what his parents were like, the things they used to do, the trips they would take, and the time they spent together. Little memories from a place you’ve never been but could clearly see as he talked through the night.

Never once did Suguru mention missing the things he used to have or wanted now. The people in his life were what he cared about most. 

“My dad got a new antenna for the TV to surprise my mom with so she can still watch her favorite channels from back home,” he laughed. “It’s so big. I hadn’t seen one before, so it was kinda funny to look at, but I’m glad it’ll make her happy.”

You solemnly smiled and propped up on your arm. “Do you ever miss home? Like being back there?”

He mentioned that he thought about it sometimes: the plush green grass in his front and backyard that he’d lay in for hours, the much sunnier skies compared to the frequently gray and cloudy ones, and humid air here in your rainy city, the few friends and family members he had to leave behind.

But he liked it here better and surprised the hell out of you by saying so. 

Anywhere was better than being here. 

Even though his family was going through a hard time, they still managed to get the nicest house in the neighborhood. You could only imagine what his childhood home looked like compared to the one bedroom and living room your dad made into his own space.

You asked why. What could possibly make this place any better than where he came from?

You could hear him shrug through the phone as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just something about this place.”

You still think about that conversation sometimes.

The end of middle school came in a blaze, and so did puberty. 

Suddenly, you became aware that it was time to start caring about what you looked like.

Some nights, you would call it early with Suguru in favor of spending hours on YouTube watching videos and learning how to wear makeup. You put more thought into how you dressed and tried your best to style the little clothes you had into mostly decent outfits.

Every morning, you’d beam when you entered the kitchen to grab breakfast and say goodbye to your dad. He’d try his best not to cry, watching his little Bug grow up before his eyes. 

Suguru did some growing, too.

The summer of 7th grade, he got a little taller, and when your final year started, you guys were finally neck and neck. He was beginning to be able to see the top of your head when he lifted his chin, and he would make little jokes about it in his prepubescent boy voice that was starting to crack. You’d push the too-big glasses that he got at the start of middle school up the bridge of his nose and tell him not to get too cocky. This was the tallest he would get, you’d tease. He may have been good at everything, but he’d always be a pip-squeak. 

When you weren’t going back and forth with Suguru, you were hanging out with the new gal pals you made at school. Your little trio started spending more time together, window shopping at the mall, attending football games after school, and talking each other’s ears off about anything in between throughout your last year. You couldn’t tell Suguru everything, of course—there are some things that guys will simply never be able to relate to or understand. 

And one day, while the three of you sat at lunch together while Suguru was off with his robotics team, one of your gals leaned over the cafeteria table to poke you with a devious smile and ask the age-old question: who do you like in school?

Your brain had the audacity to picture Suguru first. 

Your friends squealed watching your face blush beet red, but you turned away and never answered the question—only said that you were more focused on school and extracurriculars to help you in college more than anything else. 

But where the hell did that come from? 

Suguru was, debatably, your best friend, but that was it.

Not that you needed to convince anyone else of that. Just…yourself?

Before that day, you never really thought of Suguru in that light. He was this quiet, nerdy, prodigy of a boy who was great at everything and gave you another reason to want to be just as good. You secretly looked up to him, if you wanted to call it that, but you certainly didn’t like him. 

He was just the boy next door. 

The boy next door who was challenging you once again: to push the little hints of affection that had been blossoming aside and dismiss them.

Bury them down, keep your eyes on the prize, and finally be rewarded for your efforts.

To keep up with him, not fall in love with him. 

On a rare sunny Saturday, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, the two of you sat on his beloved front porch with the future on your minds.  

Suguru picked at the grass growing between the wooden boards. “Thinking about trying something new next year?”

You popped another sugary blackberry from your backyard into your mouth while stretched out on Suguru’s favorite quilt. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you looked, drinking up the warm sunbeams on your skin.

“I don’t know,” your arms folded behind your head as you stared at the ceiling, “I love Newspaper, but…I don’t know. I think I wanna branch out.”

You just weren’t sure how yet. You had done some research on the high school you’d both be attending next year and ran down the list looking for something to jump out at you. Something you could really put yourself into. You still loved writing and expressing yourself, but there was nothing else besides repeating Newspaper or trying Yearbook (Sugu’s territory). The rest of your options weren’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“How about volleyball?”

“Nah.”

“Art club?”

“Mmm-mm.”

He leaned against the wooden railing. “Hmmm, choir?”

You laughed and didn’t even bother to respond to what was clearly a joke. 

He sighed and pensively licked the sugar from his fingers before asking if maybe you’d want to do something together. 

You looked at him and squinted. “What?” he shrugged.

“You know what.” And he shook his head all innocent-like.

Always innocent that Suguru. Effortlessly wrapping everyone around his finger. Your dad, his teachers. Even your trio mentioned him from time to time about how helpful he was. With all the times he went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even you were starting to let your guard down. Watching him now as his ponytail blew softly in the wind, looking so naïve as to what you meant but still wanting to understand, made you blush sick.

Not having much of a reason to actually be so guarded, you made one up. “You tryna go toe to toe with me, Geto?.”

Your brow cocked, and you used his last name because you knew it’d get to him. He was fully aware that you only say it when you’re serious, and it’s mostly blurted when you guys go at it on Mario Kart. 

“Just because I said we should do something together?” 

“Yeah, so you can one-up me.”

If there was a hobby or favorite pastime that you really enjoyed and might actually be better than good at, you knew it was best to keep it out of Suguru’s reach. Academic and recreational competitions needed to remain separate if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Suguru took a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t bother competing with you at, it was arguing. He knew you wouldn't back down if he just sat here and tried to convince you; you’d poke a hole in every counter until he simply gave up.

So, instead, he pandered to your inflated ego, chewing his lip before telling the truth. “C’mon, Twin. I promise I won’t. Do it for me.”

His soft purple gaze landed on you, and you got a funny feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t felt before. 

He was serious. 

He really wanted to be at your side trying something new—exploring together—helping each other find yourselves.

The shy teen who was as quiet as a mouse and yet a beast of a kid wanted to be right there with you. And he wasn’t afraid to say it.

You cleared your throat and averted his gaze. “Fine,” you agreed, but on one condition, “It stays a hobby, no competing.” And it sounded like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But valedictorian? That’s mine.” And you tossed another blackberry into the air and caught it perfectly in your mouth, making Suguru raise his eyebrows.

“That’s a bet,” he said, reaching over to wipe a bit of sugar from the corner of your lips. You swat away his hand and punch his shoulder, but damn him if the gesture didn’t make you feel all weird inside. He faked an “Ow” and rubbed his arm before joining you on the quilt to soak in the sun. You closed your eyes and pretended to float in the breeze whistling through the railing. Even without the hammock, it kind of felt like you were. 

“Sooo, what do you wanna do this summer?” And the possibilities felt endless.

Who knew this core memory of each other’s youth, the moment you finally let his fingers inch across the blanket and softly brush yours without pulling back, would be one of your last? 

Two weeks before break started, after all of your plans for the summer and the following school year had been planned out, it happened. 

To this day, you question the timing of your worst nightmare—just when you thought you were living the dream—coming true.

The Geto’s were moving on up. 

For years, Suguru watched his mom grind in corporate America. It wasn’t new to him; she had one of the hardest work ethics he’d ever seen, but it was on a different level after his family moved to your city.

Something in her had changed—the thought of instability.

She knew Suguru was used to not seeing her due to long hours at work, but when it started to affect her husband, when it began to shift the family’s dynamic, she knew she had to figure something out, and fast.

She could sacrifice her time for the family. She couldn’t sacrifice Suguru’s time with his dad. 

All these years, Suguru’s family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps while Suguru was lost in the bliss of friendship. Mrs. Geto’s hard work paid off, and she got a promotion—on the opposite end of the country. 

The day was bright and sunny when he left, the exact opposite of how you felt watching the beat-up car that had grown on you drive out of the neighborhood.

You looked on from your window because you didn’t want him to see you crying, watching, or caring. 

You had been right from the first time you saw him. 

And were back to square one.

Alone.

You guys tried to stay in touch, you really did, but being in totally different time zones made keeping up with each other a little harder. New apps for your phones, like Snapchat and Instagram, helped a little, but they didn't compare to the late-night phone calls you missed so much. 

At first, Suguru would Snap you about how he was getting on in his new city, neighborhood, and places his family would explore over the summer.

The thought of him being someone’s new boy-next-door made your stomach twist.

When school rolled around, he’d send Snaps and joke about his preppy new uniform that came with a vibrant red tie and over-starched navy pants. His mom got him into a fancy private school because, of course she would, but they were really strict with phones, so you weren't able to talk to him until he got home. By the time he did, the sun had already gone down for you, and you’d be too tired from your own after-school activities to keep your eyes open.

You missed Suguru—even your dad missed him and his family terribly. 

You missed him so much that you began to resent him—his new life, fancy school, and new “friends”. Jealousy reared its ugly head, forcing you to put your walls up again. 

Another friend, gone, moved on to bigger and better things. Leaving you behind once again.

You had finally found a friend, a real friend, who never made you feel bad—someone you could tell almost all of your secrets to.

Who got whisked away.

Who you’d give anything to see again and go back to the way things were. 

Though it’d only been five years, you felt like you’d known him your entire life.

But what you thought was fate, turned out to be folly.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes I fall But still, I rise To the skies high above  In the clouds my ego Will go where no one knows

Why I am here

And why I try

To defy what I believe What it means to succeed To be won

To be one

To be “the one”

A smoking gun.

“Thank you.”

The cafe filled with snapping fingers as you walked off the stage, heart pounding and a smile plastered on your ducking head. 

Look at you now. Performing in cafes, libraries, open-mics, wherever you could be that called for an audience. Still a little shy, but letting it motivate you and pour out on the floor to be soaked up by the listeners. It was an adrenaline rush, finally finding something you knew belonged to you and being damned good at it. 

No one was better than you at telling the world how you felt while simultaneously mesmerizing an audience with your soliloquy and speech. Words still had a hold on you; you just figured it was better to say them out loud than keep them written down.

“Good job, Bug.” Your dad handed you a hot cup of tea fresh from the counter with your nickname scribbled in big cursive letters across the cup. 

“Dad, please stop calling me that.”

He frowned. “But you’re my little bug.” He threw an arm around you, almost making you spill the hot liquid. 

You groaned and protested. “I’m not a kid anymore.” And took a sip too soon, burning the tip of your tongue. You held it in and swallowed, looking around to see if anyone else saw the scorned look on your face. 

You thought of 15 as one of your prime years and kept yourself busy to prove it. Just a sophomore in high school, Baby had a new hobby: dominating slam poetry. You had taken over the scene in your city with expansion heavy on your mind.

Though it was hard for your dad to hear, you were right; you weren’t a kid anymore. But you knew he was just proud of you. More than you could ever know. It made him happy to see you had something no one could take from you. 

With a tsk, you leaned into his hug. You should be thanking him more. When the idea of doing slam poetry first crossed your mind, you were a hot mess (surprise, surprise) at being confident (BIG surprise)—your stage presence was lacking, to be specific. 

On the page, your poems were like water in a desert, but opening your mouth and performing it with your whole chest was…different. 

Fixating on your lines and rhythm made you want to pull your hair out. It was hard making sure your words sounded like you and would be understood. You needed to be understood. 

You’d practice your performances in front of your dad until you were blue in the face. A show was put on for anyone who would listen. And secretly, you missed Suguru’s presence because he’d be perfect for it.

But you didn’t need him. You were on your way to competing in your first official local competition. All your practice around the city and long hours at home agonizing over your talent for slam poetry built up to that moment—the time to show the world what you had to offer. 

Nothing felt better than holding the gold 1st place medallion between your fingers afterward. Regionals came next, and nothing could have validated your talent more than the medals you took home on top of the prize money your dad stashed away for college. 

It was time to travel, and Nationals was your next target.

You couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being outside your city. The thought of being beyond the walls of home once felt like a hopeless dream. New cities, new friends, new organizations, and new styles of poetry were within your reach. The exhilarating travel that worried your dad put a thrill in your heart. You wanted to see everything—be heard everywhere. Life was full of opportunity and everything it had to offer. 

“So you’re gonna do the group piece and then an individual one, maybe?” 

You leaned against the cool bus window as you and your teammates winded down the road to your next hotel. Over the summer, you traveled with your state’s top slam poetry organization to compete in regional cities around the coast. All of this was practice for the Nationals coming up that August before school started. The day was coming faster than you could imagine. 

“I don’t know about a solo,” you wondered.

You looked out the window and chewed your bottom lip. Your team lead had been pushing you to do a stand-alone piece for the Nationals for weeks, but you felt far from ready. You were strong in a group, but on your own, looking out into a crowd of people while demanding their attention on an empty stage, the thought made you queasy.

This wasn’t your local library or a small regional contest. Nationals is where you tell the country who you are and why you matter. 

“Hey,” a hand rested on your shoulder, calling you back. “You’ve got this. You deserve this.” 

And you did deserve it. You’d worked too hard and advanced so far in such a short amount of time. You didn’t think you’d get here so fast, but here you were, on a double-decker bus full of others who were just as talented as you, in a place where you belonged. In a place where you didn’t have to try so hard or look for that slight nod of approval to let you know you were seen. 

August was in a hurry to put you on the stage because, before you knew it, it was time to head to California for the Nationals. What better place to begin to live your dreams than in the place where they all come true? Sunny skies, sandy beaches, and the aura of art and performance lingered in the air. It was the complete opposite of where you came from. It felt like home. You could see how Suguru could get easily lost in all. 

You always wanted to visit the West Coast and see how he was living.

It’d be so funny to randomly Snap him after all this time and tell him you were so close, but you decided against it.

Cali was HUGE; there’s no way the competition would just happen to be in his city for you to casually bump into him.

Plus, imagine that awkward reunion after a few years of radio silence.

You two could be completely different people now.

He probably wouldn’t even want to see you.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

So many great things happened since his family packed up and left. In fact, without Suguru around, you found yourself excelling more naturally at anything and everything than ever before. Comparisons were a thing of the past, and you knew you had something no one else could take away from you.

Except maybe the competitor going on before you at the Nationals. 

The audience was loud and clearly approving of his killer performance as they ate him up with whistles and snapping fingers.

Who needed a mic when you had a voice like that?

Easily projecting across the entire venue with every rhythmic pop, beat, and enunciation of his words.

You might have met your match or worse.

For the first time in your poetic career, you thought you just might lose your winning streak. 

Anxiety convinced you to head back to the holding area. You just needed to run through the lines of your solo only a few more times.

You’ve got this.

He was nothing.

This was nothing.

You were taking home first place—absolutely positive that success was literally on the tip of your tongue. Until you saw him. 

The boy with the raven hair. 

Unmistakable and stopping you dead in your tracks as you saw him in the flesh for the first time in 2 years, standing long and tall in the venue.

Not in the audience.

Not as a stagehand.

But in another team’s holding room.

As a competitor. 

Your heart plummeted into your ass.

What in the fuck was he doing here???

You swiftly ducked behind the wall leading to your team’s holding area, hand flying to your chest to still the thunderous beating. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. DEEP B R E A T H S. 

Suddenly, your mouth was desert dry.

The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—how you would suppress the urge to call him, think about him, or wonder where he would be when you were here.

You covered all of the bases.

But here he was in a place you least expected.

In a place you now knew you’d dread seeing him the most.

The boy you had become a ghost to was haunting you, but somehow, you knew this would happen.

You only got a quick glance at him before you vanished, but it was enough of a glimpse to notice the chances.

And God, were there changes.

As teenagers do, you both had grown out of your prepubescent bodies and into your young adult ones. And while you thought you looked relatively the same with a few upgrades here and there, Suguru had gone through a full-blown glow-up that set yours on fire. 

“Almost ready?” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your teammate followed your line of sight and smirked. “Know him?”

You shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and said you thought he looked familiar but didn’t. “Shame,” she rested her shoulder on the wall with a dreamy gaze. “He looks like a dream.” 

You turned away before you threw up and realized that you were about to be called up next. The frazzled look on your team lead’s face let you know she’d been looking for you, and you took a synced deep breath when she spotted you. Her hands fell on your shoulders before you went up the stairs to the stage. “You’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. . . . You don’t got this. 

Your legs felt like Jell-O walking up the short set of stairs to the black platform in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t been on one this big, in a venue so large, with an audience so vast and eyes in the hundreds. The row of judges sat below you, yet looked so intimidating. Heat engulfed you from the lights above—a literal deer playing the lion in the headlights.

Sight zeroed in on the judges, you avoided the audience. Hoping that he wasn't still there because you knew seeing him WOULD freak you out. 

In the silence Between the shattered and oppressed dreams I found, I tore The roar Of my own voice Reclaiming the night

Your lines flowed out of you more naturally than water, eyes closed, unfocused, or hazy as you transformed your surroundings into the scene of your story—the journey from struggle to empowerment—the story of why you deserved to be here. In that moment, there was no one else—not even the judges—just you, the stage, and the song that belonged to you, even if it mattered to no one else.

But it mattered to him.

And you didn’t see him until near the end of your set.

The familiarity of your voice called him to confirm it for himself. To make sure it was you. He couldn’t believe it. You looked so…powerful. Fully fledged in your adulthood, kicking ass and taking names. Fierce and poetic. The same attitude as the girl he grew up with but in its full realization. 

Your voice cracked a little when you spotted him, completely awe-struck by you, but you played it off like it was part of your set. Damn the boy who had the same gawking eyes that used to watch the neighborhood kids—quiet and longing. You hoped it wasn’t obvious, but Suguru noticed. He knew. He still had some kind of effect on you. He could tell by how quickly you looked away. You still felt a way about him. He wasn’t just a nobody to you. But given the circumstances, he didn’t know whether to love or hate it by the time he took the stage. 

The mic fit snuggly between his fingers. It was rare that someone fully approached it without starting their piece first. You wondered where he was going with this, why he looked a bit tense, why he kept his gaze low—if it could be because of you.

You held your breath and crossed your fingers. Once again, it was time to see him in action under the sweltering stage lights. And in seconds, you saw your gold medal fleeting.

You expected nothing less. 

His voice was lined with melody—a sweet, ethereal flow and a melodious string of vocabulary that wrapped you in an envelope and swaddled you like a baby. He sounded so mature. He sounded so much better…than you. 

The nerdy boy with too-big glasses and cracking voice had been replaced by a young man who towarded over the audience with a long side-bang and gauges in his ears. The red tie around his neck did look absolutely ridiculous like he said, but the rest of his navy blue uniform was tailored to perfection and fit like a glove.

He looked and sounded like where he came from. Money. But he was more than that. You found yourself hanging onto his every word as you watched from out of sight. He couldn’t see that he made your heart thump, but it was begging to fall out of your chest by the second.

This wasn’t about slam poetry anymore.

Suguru had entered your arena.

Shy, reserved, and knocking the ball out of the park. 

Out of over 200 solo acts, you came in 6th. Suguru came in 5th. 

And you couldn’t even feel good about it. Because you knew what this meant.

Regionals took over the remainder of your sophomore academic year, but when summer rolled back around, it was time to look Suguru in the face again at almost every out-of-state competition. The West Coast was once a dream—now you dreaded touring the area because you knew he would be there.

Performing.

Waiting to chew you up and spit you out. 

Over the final two years of high school, you both spent most of your free time hopping around the nation and directly squaring off with each other.

Growing more apart as you did.

Silent hatred brewed and led the way every time you saw him—unmistakably written on your face. 

He chalked it up to the fact that the two of you had changed over the years, and maybe you’d simply outgrown him. But he never thought someone he used to call his best friend could give him a look so cold. With no other choice but to follow your lead, he kept his distance and pretended you weren’t there.

But the way he racked up medal after medal, winning over judges and audiences alike, was loud and clear.

With him, you could only hope for second best. Though out-of-state competitions were just practice, losing to him in any capacity was a constant reminder that what was yours, wasn’t anymore.

If it ever was.

This time, anxiety burned through you instead of helping you. 

During junior year, one of the most pivotal moments of your poetic careers, you met face-to-face again at the Nationals. Both of your organizations fought their way to the semifinals, but as you held your breath waiting for the judges to call his team’s name, silence swept both of you when you realized that neither of you made it to the finals.

Again.

By that summer, you were tired, good and tired of inching closer and closer to third place, then second, but never first in out-of-state competitions where Suguru was in the mix.

He was sucking the life out of you, but you couldn’t show it, especially when on stage where you knew he’d have his eyes glued to you.

Then, in August of your senior year, it finally happened; you returned to the Nationals, your final opportunity to win and go international. This time, it was close to your territory, in Georgia.

All bets were off.

The winner was a toss-up.

And what a slap in the face to finally win….and tie with Suguru. 

You sulked on the inside the whole ride home while your teammates cheered and celebrated around you. To them, you’d just made history with your organization being the first in your state to go to the continental competition and have a shot at the World Poetry Slam Championship. 

To you, your freedom of expression kept escaping you.

You felt yourself starting to mold into something outside of yourself.

Some nights, you lied in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats rack through your brain.

Analyzing them.

Judging them.

Mimicking them.

Wanting to be like the best.

Your foundation was shaking.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the continental competition. Winning wasn’t the point; only earning one of the top 10 high scores to be automatically qualified for the WPSC. 

It was a dream come true.

But how come it tasted so sour when you stood on that stage, your teammates going absolutely insane in the crowd at the news of you advancing to the international championship, but once again with a score just shy of Suguru’s? 

The two of you were declared the best in your country…and you were sulking. 

It shouldn’t matter!

You're one of the top 40 poets in the WORLD, babe!

And, for Godsake, a free plane ticket and trip to leave the country was waiting for you with your name on it! Belgian waffles and fountains of chocolate are more than enough reasons to get over yourself and this one-sided beef. 

But your dad still got an earful about it.

Weekly chats with him almost always centered around poetry and Suguru ever since you first saw him sophomore year.

The closer the world championship came, the sadder you sounded.

“What if I-”

Your dad stopped you. “Don’t even finish that sentence. What have I always said?”

You hugged the phone to your ear, rolling your suitcase back and forth between your legs in the airport terminal. “Bug,” your dad said after a moment’s silence.

You groaned. “We don’t say ‘what-ifs’. We say ‘what is’.”

“And what’s going to happen.”

You looked over to your team lead, soundly napping in the corner. It was the butt crack of dawn, and both of you had gotten to the airport way too early for your liking to make sure you didn’t miss your flight. Your first international flight. You actually had a passport, like??? 

So much had gone into getting you here.

Energy. Time. Effort. Trust. Encouragement.

People were rooting for you. They wanted to see you win. You wanted to see you win. 

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“Then you’re already a winner, Bug.”

God, your dad was gushy. And God, you loved him for it.

You didn’t feel so bad by the time you watched the sunrise in full bloom through your airplane window.

Pink, orange, and yellow washed over your face, making you feel so small. It wasn’t your first time in the sky, but definitely the most nervous you’d been.

Local papers, blogs, and newsletters featured your name—people knew you now; they had expectations.

A reputation had been made, and now you were in the fight of your life to keep it.

You sighed into your palm with your dad’s words in mind.

David was determined to take Goliath down.

Belgium.was.cold.

Like you hadn’t packed nearly thick enough coats type of cold.

You felt like an idiot. 

You were a lyrical genius but couldn’t even put ‘Belgium in December’ and ‘it might be freezing’ together. But the lobby of your quaint little hotel with hot chocolate on tap was warm and inviting.

Your team lead handed you a cup, and you found yourself missing your teammates. They would have loved this and cheering you on at the top of their lungs.

The feeling was lonely—nerve-wracking.

You were in the beautiful country of Germany for a competition, not leisure, so you couldn’t even relish in the fact that you were overseas.

At least the food was good. Nervous eating made you binge until you felt sick the night before the competition, but a quick stroll in the brisk morning air made you feel better.

The bus ride to the venue felt like you were about to hop into a boxing ring. And the gloves were off.

Crossing the threshold into a space full of chosen people was like marveling at the diamonds of top-society. And you were one of them. Your team lead walked by and closed your gaping mouth with a smile. “Chin up, dear.” And disappeared into the crowd.

You'd never met a foreigner before and were thrust into a venue full of different skin tones, accents, languages, and ages. It would’ve been even more overwhelming had it not been for the smell of coffee wafting through the air, reminding you of your last safe space for poetry before you went pro. With half an hour left until the competition, you thought exploring a little wouldn’t be a bad idea.  

The venue was dark and moody, perfect for setting the atmosphere and circulating the rising tension in your body. The main stage basked against the background of darkness under a single warm light that cast a circular glow.

Your final destination.

His burial sight. 

Suguru was nowhere to be found, but by the looks of the thick crowd shuffling in to fill their seats, it was easy to get lost. You met back with your team lead to run your rhythms a few more times. 

“Please don’t say it.” And she laughs, giving you a small nod and shoulder squeeze.

You still hear it in your head. You’ve got this.

But man, were these poets giving you a run for your money.

It was exhilarating and terrifying—a glaring reminder of why you were here among the best.

Translations were available on the screens behind the performers as you ping-ponged between their words and their expressions. Both demanded your attention and the crowd’s.

But so did you and Suguru when you both breezed through the semifinals.

For a second, you thought he hadn’t made it to the venue at all when you looked for him during your performance. But he let you and everyone else know he was in the building when he graced that stage. A hush fell over the space, and even you felt your face go soft while watching him.

He more than deserved that advance, but you weren’t done just yet.

After a brief intermission—the DJ wasn’t playing any games—you turned the corner to line up for the final round when you collided at 100mph with Suguru. 

“Fu— oh.” You held your arm as you looked at him—really taking him in.

When he was on stage, you noticed he wasn’t in his usual uniform, but up close, the alternative was definitely a choice. The loose black tee ruffled as he smoothed his bang. 

“Sorry.” 

He rubbed his shoulder and kept his eyes low. His hands stuffed into his black cargos as he looked away, not wanting to upset you. Or see the look of resentment on your face.

You could tell he knew he made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how different he wished things could have been.

Hurt was written all over the face of your childhood best friend, and you never knew Suguru to be upset about anything. 

You cleared your throat. “Good luck.”

His head drew back like he’d seen a ghost.

His lips parted.

Then he kind of smiled, leaning against the wall—looking at you for a moment.

You were so grown up and had accomplished so much.

Suguru was fully aware that you hated his guts and was so proud of you—even if you didn’t need him anymore. 

He reached out to shake your hand. “Good luck, Twin.” 

Your heart thumped—no one had called you that in 4 years—sweet and low from honeyed lips.

Suguru’s hand lingered in your air for a second before you gingerly took it.

Soft and warm.

Just like you remembered but stronger—firmer.

The gloves were off for him, too.

Things were done a bit differently for the final rounds. Instead of holding deliberations for the end of the rounds after everyone had gone, everyone got their votes front and center from five random audience members.

Paddles would fly in the air, displaying the scores to be tallied up and held until the end.

Thank God you could do quick math. Numbers were racking up—bone-chilling talent was on full display.

You were amazed, laughing, shocked. Every set was different from the last.

The crowd fell into a hush when one guy came on stage and laid straight down. Bareback to ground. Then fired off rhythmic jokes that made you laugh at some and ponder the seriousness of others.

Dark humor often has truth in it. 

Most sets were in a completely different language yet spoken so beautifully that you dug your nails into your palms to keep from crying. Emotion was universal. And you were feeling a lot of them.

Suguru walking onto the stage snapped you out of it as you watched from the other side of it. 

Though you’d just seen him a few minutes ago, this was a completely different light. Something had shifted.

Nice to meet you My name is Suguru Oh really? So is mine! It’s nice to meet you too.

Tell me what you’re like, what do you like to do? Lately, I’m not sure Was hoping for a breakthrough

In a world where masks are sticky and glue I’m lost in a maze with no clear view Doubt will cling like morning dew Caught in the storm of shifting hues

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Suguru was having a mental breakdown.

Your jaw tightened, clothes fidgeting between your fingers.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined. And this was just the beginning of the journey through his paradoxical mind.

His ship was sinking. And he was taking you all down with him.

…I wear many faces each one feels new, But none will fit like I want it to Left with a voice that's small and untrue Burying deep I don't know what to do

In this mirror, I’m searching for clues, But this reflection is oddly askew. You scream through the glass, “Stay real and stay true!” But if you’re me, then…who are you?

You could hear a pin drop.

Suguru stopped breathing.

He couldn’t believe that he actually did it. He had never been so vulnerable.

If you thought you knew him and what he was going through before, you were left stunned and corrected.

A few of his scores floated into the air, and though you couldn’t see them all, the few you did were perfect 10s.

It would’ve been hell to go directly after that—thankfully, you had a few more people before you. 

Time crept closer and closer to your set—nervous sweats and fidgeting fingers kept you company.

So much for keeping a hobby a hobby, you thought, pacing backstage.

This wasn’t fun for you anymore; it was always supposed to be fun, easy, natural.

But this was no longer just about you.

It never was.

It was about proving anyone who ever doubted wrong.  

When the host called your name, you made those 3 minutes on stage feel like your last.

Rain, rain don’t go away, You’re the only one who stays, Cross my heart and hope to die I promise that I will not cry

Build and build and There it goes! All for naught and just for show Hypnotize your guards to grave Leave the trust to fade away

This was your final plea to be heard by the world if you had ever made one.

A letter to those who ever dismissed, ignored, or left you.

Fire and brimstone poured from the pit of your soul—served up on a plate with the audience in mind but Suguru as the guest of honor. 

You thought he’d be away in the dressing room or at least within earshot, but no. He stood tall and bright, leaning against the door frame that led out to the hall, backlit by the warm lights that framed his figure, watching.

Listening.

Knowing the poem was partially about him.

You hoped it hurt him as much to hear it as it did for you to write it.

Deep breaths kept your voice steady—he wouldn’t hear it crack this time as you powered through your trembles. Bold and brash. Unleashing your truth.

He saw it in your eyes and unconsciously did the only thing he knew to support you, the beginning of your connection—trust that blossomed into turmoil. The small nod of approval. 

Years had passed.

Envy had pushed you to avoid him.

He accepted that you no longer saw him as a friend.

Yet he still wanted to show his support. 

And it pissed you off.

…Lo and behold the savior's light Here to take another flight Take me by my desperate hand Lead me how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What I am. I am alone...

You walked off stage before you could see your final scores.

Whatever would be was now out of your hands—the relief felt agonizingly sweet.

Your team lead wrapped you in her arms as you silently cried. You didn’t know how long the tears had been building up, but the release was like a dam burst.

Crying on your first international trip to Belgium.

Nice. 

A final intermission was left, and the scores were tallied. You guzzled down some water and took a few breaths before meeting the rest of the contestants. Finally, finally, you and Suguru stood side by side again on stage. Your entire history had built up to this moment—ready to declare a winner. Ready to determine whether you finally caught up.

His pinky brushed yours, sending sparks to your belly like that day on his porch.

Head down, you waited for a name to be called.

Any name, every name, would be better than—

“Suguru Geto.”

Naturally rolling off their tongue.

Suguru stiffened beside you like he couldn’t believe it himself as they motioned for him to come forward. In your mind, everything went quiet. You couldn’t feel anything but emptiness in the pit of your stomach. Not even anger.

Before he moved a muscle to claim the spotlight, he turned to you, daring to offer his hand again. But it felt less like a “Job well done!” and more like a pitiful “I’m sorry.” And you had had enough of condolences. 

You turned away and left the stage in the midst of the raging applause for Suguru. No one else may have caught the cold shoulder, but to Suguru, it felt like he was trapped in ice. He could leave your life forever now for all you cared.

This was your one, final chance to make things even between you two.

But reality was a bitch.

You couldn’t get away from him quick enough.

Yes, you’ve gotten to travel the country. Yes, you got the opportunity of a lifetime to go overseas just off your hard work alone, but all of that meant nothing if you were only second best. 

It was redundant. 

What was even the point in trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

You brushed past your team lead, contestants—anyone trying to tell you how amazing you did. You couldn’t stand being bathed in lies and beelined out the back of the venue. 

“Fuck this.” You choked back tears, breath escaping you as you pushed the door open.

The contrast of sharp, cold air whipped your face, making you realize you didn’t grab your jacket, but it was just what you needed to set the gravity of your situation in. 

You were nothing. 

You bawled your fists.

And foolish for trying. 

Hyperventilating.

Look at what you came from. Look at what you get for trying to change that.

Hot, fat tears spilled down your face as you huddled in a corner of the building. You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to shield the icy winds, but you already felt dead inside. Pathetic and worthless. It was out of your hands to change that.

A voice called after you, belonging to the last person you wanted to see right now. That soft, angelic voice that swooned the world and made your insides boil. Why couldn’t he just get it?? Why couldn’t he stay the fuck away??

You thought you had hidden yourself well by putting a bit of distance between the exit and the corner you tucked into, but he found you in seconds, tears dried on your face, crouching into your knees.

He stood there gaping, completely overwhelmed by the state of you.

For once, he was out of words.

“Well??” It was hoarse and cracking. 

“I-I’m—”

“Oh my God, pLEASE fucking save it!” You shook, burying your head into your arms.

It was enough that he got to bask in your pathetic breakdown with front-row seats. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it.

But Suguru was fed up with your bullshit and came looking to tell you about it. The final straw was leaving his extension of sympathy high and dry as you walked off stage. Giving him the ultimate “fuck you” in his moment of congratulations. 

He never understood why you hated him—the resentment, what happened, what he’d done. But he was about to make you explain yourself. 

“Get up.” Gentleness left his voice.

He came closer and towered over your petite frame, cornering you so you couldn’t run away. “You think I don’t know how much this meant to you?”

When you didn’t answer, he crouched down to your level. 

“Hey.” 

You buried yourself deeper. 

“Hey.”

“Don’t touch me.” You brushed him away, pressing your back into the wall as you stood up, shivering in the wind.

But it felt like you had punched him in the gut.

He had never seen you so bothered before, and the revelation that you were pointing the finger and naming him the culprit made his chest feel tight. It felt worse attempting to bury your heart on your sleeve. But the extent of your scorn was on full display.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru.

Why you hated him. Couldn't stand to look at him. Avoided him.

Why you started all of this competitive bullshit in the first place.

The root of it was more painfully obvious to see than the daggers in your eyes. What else could it be?

“You’re jealous.”

And that set you off.

“HA!” It almost hurt to laugh. “Jealous?!”

People could probably hear you inside the venue. But Suguru knew just what to say to get you to talk. 

“This whole time, I thought you were upset because I left, but…you’re just jealous.”

You snorted. “You’ve never worked hard a day in your life.”

“What? You don’t think I earned this?”

“Who knows? Mommy buys you everything.”

“Woah,” he held up a hand and laughed, “Is that what this is about?” 

Your cheeks burned hot, but you had egg on your face and had just spilled the beans. But fire still raged in your chest.

“You could have had anything else. Anything! Anything in the world, but you just had to take this from me!”

“How was I supposed to know??” he cut you off, “You stopped talking to me.” 

You felt a pang and fell silent—flurries of unread texts, unopened Snaps, and missed calls played in both of your minds. 

“How was I supposed to know anything? How was I supposed to have anything without making you feel bad?” 

“Me?” You scoffed. “Without me, you’d probably still be sitting on that dusty ass porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and fucking live life.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the blooming goosebumps on your arms.

“Whatever, you think I owe you or something? You want a ‘thank you’?”

His tone made you shift, but you puffed up your chest.

“No, I don’t need a thank you." Your eyes narrowed. “I’m just not that impressed.”

Oh?

He scoffed, backing away with a smirk, arms swinging as he looked away then back at you. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You were questioning his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies—but it was a shot at his reputation nonetheless. 

His smirk faltered as he clasped his hands. “You wanna go?” And then he got closer. Your breath caught as he studied your face, his left arm shooting out to frame you, pinning you into the corner.

The heat radiating off his body should have been a comfort in the frosty air, but fuck, you also felt other things that raced your heart and made you hate yourself. 

He leaned over you. “How would you like to eat your words? Fried? Or sautéed?”

His eyes bore into yours, daring you to buck up or back down. But just because he finally had the balls to challenge you and take up space didn't mean you were intimidated.

He was the same little boy he'd always been.

And you were quick to remind him.

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, capturing your lips in a way that shot electricity down your spine and stole the breath and shriek right out of your body.

In an instant, you swore your pupils morphed into hearts. For so long, he's wanted to do that—kiss your sweet, supple lips that ramble nonsense and shut you up—bridge the gap between your broken friendship to ask for more, to make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him.

Knees weak, you nearly staggered, scrambling for the walls to keep you up, but was saved by his hand cradling your hip to hold you. Keep you. Protect you. Your heart burst.

You pulled away, eyes heavy. Leaving a sliver of space between your lips to see your heated breaths mingling in the chilly air as he rested his forehead against yours. Softly, you cradled his face in your hand, feeling waves of longing swell through your body—his had already burst. Then you slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left. 

extended angel's note: this story took a TOTALLY different turn from what i originally planned (thanks Mac Miller) but omg it's sO much better and kinda fits into all of the sugu angst i have planned (oh how i love to hurt myself so). this story in particular was supposed to be like all smut and no exposition but um…things happen 😅 sO, all of the low-angst, ‘enemies’ to lovers lives in part 1, with a focus on the resolution in part 2: lovers who give in and chose each other arc while remaining focused on my original goal of making a smut that spotlights and actualizes realistic sex. learning each other, listening, patiently growing, and choosing.

[explorevenus]

addicted ♡ re2r!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call the cops

word count - 2.9k

description - by the end of the summer, you're bound for college and your boyfriend leon is bound for his shiny new police officer job in raccoon city. knowing your relationship could be threatened by the distance, your need for each other has become insatiable.

tags/warnings - porn with plot, soft dom leon, car sex, cunnilingus (f receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie, breeding kink, mildly angsty, no use of (Y/N)

a/n - this was a request by my beautiful goth puppy wife chaos baby @nexysworld <333 special thanks to @dollfacefantasy for beta reading and believing in me and also being my momager <3

recommended listening - addicted by saving abel

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w; <3

-venus ♡

Young adulthood felt so scary and new and weird.

You and Leon had been dating since high school and now you were fully legal adults, figuring out what to do with your lives and pretending you would both fit together seamlessly in each other’s plans. Just weeks ago he had graduated from the police academy and you had until the end of the summer to spend as much time together as possible before he would move into the city to become an officer, and you would be moving states away to attend college.

You told each other you would visit as often as possible, that you would call every day, that as soon as you finished school you would move back to Raccoon City to be with him, or he would find a hiring police station near you to settle into, and you would live happily ever after.

But there was a silent, knowing melancholy that hung over you all the while, and it intensified every day. Neither of you wanted to address it, for fear of spoiling what little time you had left, so it just hung there unspoken as you clung to each other for dear life.

Leon knocked quietly on your door, hoping not to wake your roommates. It was a crisp, clear summer evening and the forecast indicated a meteor shower would be visible, so as soon as he finished up at work, he took the top off of his Jeep, loaded the back with blankets and made his way to you.

His heart softened at the image of you wrapped in a blanket, ducking out of your apartment to follow him out to the car. It was nearing midnight and you were already in pajamas, but it felt right that way. Comfortable. 

Soon enough you were sipping slushies from the gas station, your sneakers kicked up on the dashboard and the wind rushing through your hair as Leon drove the two of you up the base of the Arklay Mountains. There was a little lookout tucked away less than five miles up, one you frequented together practically since you met. This lookout had seen numerous makeouts and unquantifiable hours of conversation, silly and stupid and serious and solemn.

The car slowed to a stop and Leon threw it in park, moving his seat back so he could get comfortable. His lips were stained pink with cherry slush as he looked over to you with a gentle smile.

“Pretty, huh?” He asked, watching as you stared up at the sky, awe-filled eyes searching every gap in the void for a shooting star. His warm, broad hand still rested on your thigh, thumb skimming over the soft fabric of your sweatpants in a gentle caress. 

Relaxing into his touch, you nodded, looking over at him now. Your own lips and tongue were tinted blue and what remained of your slushie was cold in the palm of your hand. It was funny, you thought, that you’d driven all the way out here to watch the meteor shower but still, you couldn’t help but watch each other. The breeze blew warm and the radio played lowly.

“You’re pretty,” You replied quietly, playing with his fingers. Even having been together for years, he still managed to make you shy.

Leon let out a soft laugh and shook his head, his other hand coming forward to tip your chin up. “You’re pretty too,” He began, and you were just beginning to blush when he added, “Pretty corny.”

You threw your head back and groaned dramatically, swatting at his chest. “You’re pretty annoying,” You griped, but before you could continue your playful rant, he guided you back toward him and pressed his lips against your own, and just like always, you melted almost instantaneously. 

At the start the kiss was quite tender, communicating a sense of longing and connection that you had only ever felt with him. His thumb traced your jaw while his grip tightened on your thigh in an affectionate little squeeze and you felt as though you could sit here with him forever, craning your neck over the center console of his Jeep just to kiss him beneath the stars, just to breathe him in, to be with him. Leon was your safe place and even the thought of being away from him sent you into withdrawals.

Your shaking hand came up to cradle the back of his neck, fingers curling into his golden hair as you took it upon yourself to deepen the kiss, wanting to get as much of him as you could. You wanted to horde him all to yourself, you wanted to sink into him and have him sink into you, to pause time and keep him there until you were sick of each other, though you knew no length of time together would ever feel like enough. Tongue swiping against his lower lip, you flattened your palm over the crotch of his jeans and massaged gently.

“F-Fuck, baby,” Leon grunted into your mouth, feeling all the blood rush to his cock in response to your touch and your languid kisses. “I’m gonna miss this…”

“Don’t,” You whispered, “I don’t wanna talk about it… Just wanna feel you…”

With a short nod of understanding he reconnected your lips, sliding his hand beneath the waistband of your sweatpants to dip a finger into your folds, delighted at the realization that you had gone without panties for the evening. He grinned into the kiss and slipped his tongue past you, the pads of his fingers quickly finding your clit with practiced ease.

Your lashes fluttered and your thighs shifted together, a quiet mewl of pleasure tumbling from you as you bucked up into his hand. With each passing second your heart was beating faster and you could feel the wetness collecting beneath his touch.

“Mm, my pretty baby,” He sighed out, the pad of his thumb flicking at your clit while his middle and index fingers petted at your hole. “Put your seat back. Let me taste you.”

There wasn’t a beat of hesitation as you reached down to recline your seat and push it back, and as you did so, Leon was making quick work of climbing over the center console to join you in the passenger seat. He gripped your thighs and pushed your legs up to rest on the dashboard as he yanked your sweatpants down in one swift motion, wasting no time smothering your plush inner thighs with kisses.

His pupils dilated by the scent of your cunt alone, and while he initially planned on taking his time with you, he just couldn’t help himself. Cramped down on the floor of his own passenger seat, Leon’s fingertips printed into your thighs as he dove forward to kiss and lap at your wetness, drinking you up with a deep, wanton need. 

You tensed at the feeling, glittery heat washing over you before you relaxed into his mouth and brought one hand down to tug at his hair, encouraging him further. Your hazy eyes blinked open to look straight up at the sky, the cool night air foreign on your most intimate parts, but not unwelcome. It was quiet out, serene, private, as though you and Leon were the last two people on Earth. A shooting star cast across the sky in a blur, and you quickly realized that your wish was for you and Leon to be the last two people on Earth. Maybe that would be nice. At least your time together wouldn’t be so limited.

Losing Leon felt like losing a limb, even if he was only moving a few hours away to the other side of the mountain. Another shooting star streaked across the night sky, and you barely even noticed you had said something until you already finished speaking, “I wish you could stay… I feel like I can’t breathe without you…”

He hummed into your slick pussy, tongue swirling over your bud before pulling back just far enough to respond, “Not talking about it, baby, remember?”

Your face scrunched up a little bit as you realized your mistake and nodded, returning your focus to the glittering stars above you while your boyfriend sucked and licked at your cunt like he was starving. Soon enough his middle and index fingers were prodding at your hole, tracing the shape of you before sinking deep into your sticky, wet heat, your needy walls sucking him in.

What you didn’t know was that Leon had been focusing so much pleasure on you over the summer because it felt like making up for what he wouldn’t be able to do from thousands of miles away in the fall. You were the only thing he could bring himself to think about since roughly halfway to graduation at the police academy, when he was beginning to pester Raccoon City Police Department with his exemplary test scores and ever-growing resume– by the end of the year you would have both gone so far in separate directions, and long distance wasn’t something you ever excelled at. He knew that the day he left for Raccoon City, he would be effectively nailing the coffin shut.

So he bided his time by fucking you senseless almost daily, eating you out, pinning you down and driving you to tears with your toys, feeling every inch of you beneath his hands just so he wouldn’t forget. Every moan, every mewl, every whimper and sob and plea from you was like music to his ears, like pure heroin directly to the vein. Just like a drug, the better it felt in the moment, the more he knew it would hurt you both later on.

He felt you bucking into his nose and whining quietly, and every twitch of your muscles made his cock throb in his jeans. Leon couldn’t take it anymore, he needed you now.

Pulling back from your core, Leon moved quickly to undo his belt and shove his jeans down his thighs, desperate for some relief from the pressure and intoxicating desire. He was already dribbling precum just from the taste of you, a distinct wet patch growing at the front of his soft blue boxers that soon joined his pants down his legs, and shortly thereafter he was clumsily crawling over you in the passenger seat of his Jeep.

Almost like muscle memory, your arm fell behind you in a blind search for your purse in the back seat. You quickly retrieved it, digging through its contents as Leon’s hands shoved their way up your shirt to paw at your breasts, devouring your throat with kisses, making it a little difficult to maintain your focus. Finally you found what you were looking for, fingers coming into contact with that trusty little box… only to find it empty.

“L-Leon… mm, babe, hey,” You panted in an attempt to gather his attention. He hummed a barely noticeable sound of acknowledgment, but otherwise didn’t budge. You let him continue for a lingering second before breaking the news in a near whisper, “Leon, we’re out of condoms…”

He paused, breaths short and hips rutting into your own with need, his woefully hard cock grinding against your slit. While his body acted on its own in search of any friction he could get, his mind was spinning. He knew you weren’t on birth control and he knew a risk like this could ruin everything you’d both worked so hard for… but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In fact, it sort of spurred him on.

He buried his face into your neck again and sucked a harsh, dark mark into your skin, a feeling of possessiveness taking root in him. “Then we’re gonna risk it,” He said definitively, his voice low and almost growling in your ear. “Just think about it, sweetheart… Maybe if you let me knock you up, you can forget all about college… I could just whisk you away to the city with me and take care of you for the rest of our lives…”

A rush of heat struck you like a moving car and knocked the air out of your lungs. You knew it would be stupid to throw away your scholarships and every dream you’d had for yourself on a whim, but it was admittedly a nice fantasy at the very least. Arching into the palm of his hand, you relented.

“F-Fuck, fuck… Fuck me, Leon, please, just fuck me…”

And just as you anticipated, he took you up on that. A cool breeze rushed through the open vehicle as he lined himself up at your hole and drove into you, his vision going white for a second just at the intensity of the pleasure he felt, being engulfed by you again. Your body was heaven on Earth to him, you were heaven on Earth to him. 

He sheathed into you down to the hilt with a low groan, one hand clutching your hip and the other tangled in your hair. Leon tugged your head aside by your hair so he could speak directly into your ear, “You’re mine, you hear me? All mine. My girl, my wife, my pretty little baby mama…”

Each declaration was punctuated by a thrust of the hips, his swollen, leaking cock stuffed so deeply inside you that it was almost like you could feel him in your throat. Any and all concerns about your future, individually and as a couple, burned to ash in the far back of your mind as he fucked into with fervor. In this moment, Leon was all that mattered.

You quivered and writhed beneath him, your gummy insides pulsing and clenching around his length, and even with the top off the Jeep, the windows were beginning to accumulate a subtle fog on them. The two of you were hot and slick with sweat, drowning in the heat of each other and the late summer air.

“Leon,” You moaned, nails biting into his shoulders as you clung to him for dear life, for any shred of stability. “Make me yours…”

At this point, you couldn’t even tell if you were serious, and similarly to Leon, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were drunk on him and everything about him, the warmth of his skin, the pheromones that clung to his sweat, the strong grip of his hands and the sound of his breaths and the feeling of him railing into you like you were made for each other. 

“Plannin’ on it, baby,” He said in response, words breathy and a smug grin tugging at his lips. He let go of your hair to plant his hand against the window as he increased his pace, plunging into you with ardor, his balls heavy and aching for release. “Gonna keep you all to myself, give you everything you ever wanted.”

The hand of his that was holding your hip just a moment ago was now wedging itself down between you to rub steady circles into your clit. You jolted at the contact, an incoherent cry tumbling from you, molten heat pooling up in your stomach. His earlier ministrations left both him and you especially sensitive and nearing your climaxes.

He could feel your peak approaching through the way you were convulsing around him, your wet cunt tightening and pulling him deeper with each stroke until he couldn’t even think anymore. Every last one of his senses was clouded– no, drenched with you. His pace stuttered just a little bit as he decided he couldn’t possibly hold back any longer.

With a loud, pleasured groan of your name, Leon stilled inside you as a torrent of cum flooded your waiting womb, warming you from the inside. What finally pushed you over the edge into your own release was Leon’s sly fingers tugging and pinching at your bud with expertise.

“G-God, fuck,” You sobbed, breaking skin as your nails raked down his strong back and gripped him as close to you as you could manage. Tears were pricking at your eyes as you coated his cock with your release, leaving behind a creamy white ring of arousal at the base of his softening sex.

Silence fell over the car as you clung to each other, broken only by your gasping breaths for oxygen. Leon buried his face into your shoulder and kissed the sizable hickie he’d left you earlier, still fresh and stinging.

“Did so good for me,” He huffed into your ear, nibbling at your lobe. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Eventually he pulled out, a sticky mixture of your juices dribbling out of your spent hole and down to the leather seat below you. As Leon climbed less than gracefully out of the passenger seat with his pants around his knees, you were both startled by the unexpected sight of headlights traveling up the very same mountain road that led you here, and the vehicle was pulling into the lookout.

“Shit,” Leon grumbled, rushing to fix his pants and toss you a blanket from the back seat to cover up with, given your sweatpants were lost somewhere on the floor of the car.

The intruding vehicle pulled up right behind Leon’s Jeep, headlights shining into the cabin as a person got out of the driver’s side… with a flashlight. Of course it had to be a cop.

Leon took a deep breath before rolling his window down with a polite smile. “Evening, officer… Nice night, isn’t it?”

[curiousquill1]

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[softpascalito]

Comfort I Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It is summer in Austin and you long for an uneventful day with Joel. Your diabetes has other plans.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Non-Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.6k Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort , Fluff, Diabetes, Health Issues, Diabetic Reader, (reader wears a dexcom and uses insulin pens), Guilt, Soft Joel Miller, Hypoglycemia, Forehead Kisses, Comfort

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: a huge, huge thank you to the wonderful @Rainybee17 for allowing me to learn more about diabetes and patiently answering all my questions. i have tried my best to make this oneshot a good representation and even though everyone's experience is different, i hope that someone can find themselves between these lines. smooches and happy sunday! ♡

this fic is not medical advice. if you or someone else is struggling with diabetes or if you'd like to learn more please visit the international diabetes federation or speak to your doctor.

Comfort

True to the weather forecast that you watched on TV with Joel last night, the temperatures in Austin have shot up overnight. The sun has barely risen, only a few thin streaks of light falling through the blinds that cover the window of your bedroom. Which is Joel's bedroom, really. But during the summer, it has evolved into something that feels more like yours rather than his.

You blink groggily, feeling the mattress dip beside you as Joel reaches over to shut his alarm clock off, the beeping noise that woke you dying down the moment his hand touches the button. A small noise leaves your throat in protest, your left leg still tangled between his and Joel turns back to face you. “Not today, darlin’. I gotta start goin’.”

Some days, your pouting works, keeping him in bed for a few minutes longer. But he takes his jobs seriously and you don’t blame him for wanting the heavy lifting done before the temperatures peak around lunchtime.

Joel’s beard scratches against your skin as he leans over to press a kiss to your face before he begins to carefully disentangle himself from you. His arm slides out from below you, his embrace that you were so peacefully resting in until a moment ago gone. He makes sure not to brush over the dexcom that is currently attached to your upper left arm, the white device peeking out from below the sheets. You can see him pause at the sight, his gears already turning. “Why don’t you get up too? Think I’ve got enough time to have a coffee.”

“Fine,” you groan, only reluctantly agreeing to his peace offer. It's not as good as staying in bed with him but you can always take a nap later and enjoy his presence while you have it. You peel the sheets off your body, padding over to the bathroom while you listen to Joel pull on jeans and a shirt that already has so many holes in it you don't bother to count them anymore.

You’ve settled into a comfortable routine during the summer months, even with him leaving early and coming home late. With Sarah at football camp, you have the house all to yourself, a luxury you enjoy more than you’d like to admit. You’ve spent countless days lounging in the backyard or swimming a few laps around the pool, occasionally preparing a fancy dinner for Joel or making yourself useful in any other way. He drinks coffee by his kitchen window every morning, unless he’s running late. Today, you join him, hopping up onto the counter as the sun steadily rises and the first cars are started up outside, bringing people to work.

You remind him to give you a kiss every day, despite knowing that he’d never forget. No matter if you’re in the kitchen with him or still in bed or already nose-deep in a book. Without fail, Joel Miller finds you before he leaves.

“We’re finally getting that delivery today,” Joel hums, swirling the last sips of his coffee around in his mug. “If the load ‘s good, I could get off early.”

“That would be nice,” you agree softly, rubbing the last bit of sleep out of the corners of your eyes. “Think I’ll take a dip in the pool later.”

“Then I better be home to see that,” Joel teases as he turns his back to you, washing his mug out in the sink. Then, he leans over to kiss you again and it only makes you long for him more. You’re certain he feels the same.

“You check your levels?” He hums into your neck and oh, he’s gotten smart, asking when he knows you won’t push him away.

“All good,” you reassure him. Some days, you think he is more occupied with your condition than you are, fussing over you and reminding you to track your sugar and insulin constantly. It’s gotten annoying occasionally, but you know he only does it because he cares. And if you’re being honest with yourself, that is a big part of why he has become your favorite person rather quickly.

You watch as Joel grabs his tool belt and heads out the door, giving you one little last wave. Then, you listen to the truck start up outside and the sound of the engine that slowly fades away into the distance.

“Fine,” you mutter to yourself, jumping off the kitchen counter to reach for your phone. You prefer tracking with the dexcom sensor, the device making it so easy to check your levels at all times. Today, you’re in the clear. The number inside the small circle in the app reads 110.

The blue insulin pen is waiting for you beside the fridge, placed on a small wooden tray that conveniently showed up there the first time you slept over. It holds a few small juice boxes, glucose tablets and your trusted pen.

You stare at it for a few moments, weighing it in your hands as you calculate how much you’ll need for your breakfast. Then, with practiced ease, you poke yourself with the needle, allowing the chosen amount of liquid to flow into your body.

“Ten minute warning…” You hum, putting the pen back into its place and reaching for the kitchen shelf instead. You’ve gotten much better at timing your breakfast properly, making sure that the insulin doesn’t act too fast nor too slow.

Once you’re done eating, you check the number again. 160. All fine, just like you promised Joel. Good.

It’s still early but you don’t feel like going back to bed. Thursday means the farmer’s market is happening at the local community center and for once you may be early enough to have the first pick. The fresh fruits and vegetables have a tendency to bring mouth-watering recipe ideas for dinner to your mind so you lock the front door behind you and head out.

Indeed, the stands are not yet picked over and you take your time, enjoying the nice weather and chatting with a few familiar faces. The short trip turns into a few hours and it’s only when the heat starts to press down on you below the plastic tents that you make your way back. The groceries are unloaded rather quickly and you fetch your current read, a book about a spontaneous summer love in Italy, from upstairs.

It’s been exactly the kind of uneventful day you enjoy in the summer, the one that leaves you feeling warm and tanned and thankful for pools and cool drinks. The way it should be. You have no idea that this is about to change.

The deck at the back of the Miller’s house is shaded so that you don’t feel like you’ll immediately burn up in the sun. A soft groan of relief escapes you as you stretch out on the lounge chair, opening your book to where you left off. You read about cicadas and pine trees and steady waves rolling ashore and slowly but surely, your eyes begin to droop.

***

Something is wrong. The sun is much lower than it was a few minutes ago. The front door opens and closes. Joel can’t be back yet. It’s still lunchtime.

For a moment, you think you are just too sleepy, that you are still in some kind of dream. Then, you think you’ve spent too much time in the sun. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the way you’re feeling, a bit hazy, a bit like you’re floating– it’s low sugar.

You blindly reach to your right, onto the wooden table beside you but your phone isn’t in reach. When you turn your head, you realize why. You never brought it outside. It’s still on the kitchen counter, where you left it after unloading the groceries.

Slowly, you stand, looking down to see that your legs are trembling slightly. You force them to take one step after another, coaxing your body in an attempt to stay upright. You can already hear the soft beeping noise from inside the house that alerts you to a number outside the safe range. You push past the screen door– but before you can reach the kitchen, and with it your phone, Joel reaches you.

His eyes are wide, the panic clear on his face as he holds your phone in his right hand, the alert on the display blinking in a steady rhythm, displaying a too low 63. “Did you eat?” He presses out, his free hand coming up to rest on your shoulder, steadying you. The worry in his voice is palpable and you shake your head at his question.

“Okay, okay–” The gears are turning in his head and you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself. “Okay. We need– Do you need me to get the emergency pen?”

“No,” you quickly decline. “No, it’s okay, it’s not that bad.”

You can see him weighing his options, his eyes raking over your face and your body for a moment, no doubt trying to assess your state. You know you’re shaking and that your face likely looks drained, a thin sheen of sweat covering it. His gaze turns to the kitchen next and you can see him fight with himself. Ultimately, Joel steps forward, wrapping an arm around you and leading you into the living room, his grasp not leaving you until you’re securely seated on the couch. “Can’t have you passing out now. Don’t try and stand, alright? Just … sit tight.”

He puts your phone down and rushes to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the low number on the display that almost seems to laugh at you. What were you thinking, dozing off like that?

Joel is back after mere seconds, holding up a juice box in one hand and the package of glucose tablets in the other, silently letting you choose. You point at the juice and he nods, kneeling in front of you and sticking the thin plastic straw into the pre-punched hole. “One apple juice, coming right up.” You can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood but you can’t bring yourself to give him more than a weak smile in return.

He nudges the box into your hands and then sits patiently as you begin to drink, one of his hands coming to rest on your thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles into your skin. “15 – 15 rule, right?” Joel asks and at the look of surprise on your face, he adds; “15 grams of carbs, wait for 15 minutes. Then see if it helped?”

“Yeah,” you agree in between small sips. “Yeah, how do you know about 15 – 15?” You watch as a faint blush spreads over his cheeks but he shakes his head, dismissing the question.

“Just do. It doesn’t matter.” His motions on your leg pause as you finish your juice, allowing him to take the empty carton from you and place it on the floor behind him. “You feelin’ any better, darlin’?” You can tell by his voice that he is still anxious, his entire attention zoned in on you. You lean back into the cushions, taking a deep breath, slowly calming down. You’ve been there before, you’ve gone into low numbers. But it never gets less scary.

“It’s fine,” you reassure him because you can still feel his gaze on you. “Not like this hasn’t happened before.” The dry comment is aimed to brush him off but it seems to do the opposite.

“No. I mean, yes, but it shouldn't be happening at all,” Joel shakes his head and ow. You know you messed up but hearing it from him stings more than you thought it would.

“You try tracking every meal every day and living with this– this–” You can feel you working yourself up, anger bubbling inside you, anger more than happy to find an outlet. But then your eyes fall onto Joel's face. And you see the moment his eyes widen in sheer panic.

“No, no, god no, that is not what I meant–” He stumbles over his words in an attempt to get them out. “I wasn't blaming you, I was saying that– that it's not fair. I just hate to see you suffer, that's all.” His brown eyes remind you so much of a kicked puppy that you almost want to cry.

A soft hoot from your phone makes you both turn your heads, the number 107 popping up. Back in range. Joel sighs in relief.

“Good. This is good.” He stretches slightly, one hand pressed against his lower back. “You want a nap?”

“Just had one,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“Right,” he hums, pinching the bridge of his nose for a few moments and you know he’s thinking again, trying to figure out what to do with you. Because of course you have to make a lovely summer’s day so difficult.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying and failing to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening, I know you had work–”

He cuts you off by squeezing your thigh once, shaking his head as he maneuvers himself onto the couch beside you. “Look at me, baby,” he coaxes you to shift towards him, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I never ever want to hear you apologizing for this again. It ain’t your fault, darlin’. Never was and never will be. And I’ve told you before, we’re in this together. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek and he catches it with his thumb, tutting quietly. His arms find their way around you and he pulls you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair, whispering sweet nothings into the otherwise silent room.

“How ‘bout we watch one of them movies you like so much?” Joel offers when he pulls back after a few minutes, his hand still intertwined with yours. You have movie night more often than not, but usually, he doesn’t let you pick. Nor you him. It's a middle ground, one that is found after quite a bit of discussion.

“You hate them,” you argue weakly, a small laughter slipping out. You’ve tried introducing Joel to Rom-Coms, the classics, the modern ones, those that he may not at first glance recognize as such. But so far, you haven’t hit his taste.

“Not today,” he hums with a small smile. “Today I promise I’ll love them.” You both chuckle quietly and he does let you pick, not once complaining as he kneels in front of the TV to start the movie. He keeps a watchful eye on you throughout the next roughly 90 minutes, getting you a glass of water and another snack when you need it, his arm comfortably wrapped around your shoulder like he’s not quite willing to let go.

“How did you know?” You ask into the near-silence when the credits are flickering over the screen, some love song quietly playing over them. “About the rule I mean.”

“Uh, let’s see–” Joel makes a face. “Might’ve read a book or two.”

You squeeze him a bit tighter at that. Because you know that people who see Joel in his truck or at the construction site may think he’s gruff and cold. You had similar worries when your eyes first landed on him. But you know how much he cares. About Sarah and about you, about being there in whatever way he can. No matter if it’s stocking up on juice or kissing you every morning or secretly reading books so he can understand you better. He’s here for it all. And so are you. Together.

Notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment or a follow ♡

[sapphicandgraphic]

Ride It Out—Chapter 1

Synopsis: A hurricane rolls through Philly, and Melissa invites you over to ride it out. 

Chapter: 1/?

Series Warnings: Mentions of minor violence, protective Melissa, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: None

—————

You had been sitting in the parking lot for almost ten minutes when Melissa materialized beside your car holding an umbrella. She rapped her knuckles on the window, startling you from your thoughts. Her familiar raspy voice was slightly muffled through the glass when she spoke. 

“You waitin’ for an engraved invitation, kid?” 

As usual, the sight of the redhead lifted your mood instantly. Her teasing question was rewarded with one of your megawatt smiles. You grabbed your bag before clambering out of the car, ducking to join her under the umbrella.

“Everything ok?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” you said, stifling a yawn. “I was just holding out for a break in the rain.”

Melissa hummed but didn’t say anything. She had seen your car pull up, had watched you shut the engine off and then sit there with a zoned out, exhausted look on your face. 

In the last few months, you had handled every challenge that Abbott threw your way, rising to the occasion with easy, unruffled confidence. If Melissa hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn you’d been teaching for years. 

You arrived early and stayed late; always made time to cover classes when other teachers needed a helping hand; volunteered for any after-school event; held parent-teacher office hours every week. 

At first, she had been impressed by your relentless determination, your seemingly endless well of energy and patience. It was rare that rookies could take on so much responsibility and not crack under the pressure.

But now, taking a closer look, it suddenly occurred to her that you might just be hiding the signs of burnout. Sure, you made it look easy. But she knew firsthand that it never was. These long, demanding hours would take a toll on anybody. 

Together you shuffled across the parking lot, making your way into the school and down the hall to the teacher’s lounge. It was still early, but Barbara was already seated primly on the small sofa, watching a weather report on the television. 

“Hurricane Huey is steadily barreling its way up the coast,” the announcer said. “Experts predict the Category 3 storm will make landfall later tonight.” 

You stilled, listening to the forecast as you poured two cups of coffee, adding extra sugar to Melissa’s.

“For now, the greater Philadelphia region is advised to be on alert for fast-moving thunderstorms packing heavy rain, high winds, and pockets of large hail. This storm is likely to bring down trees, flood roads, and knock out power lines.” 

“Yeah, yeah, now tell us what we really want to know,” Melissa said, leaning against the arm of the sofa and crossing her arms expectantly. “Are they closing the schools or not?” 

You joined the two older teachers, handing Melissa her coffee before taking a sip of your own.

“Three sugars?” The redhead asked. 

You nodded, bumping her hip with yours. “I know how you like it.”

“Thanks, hon,” she smiled, and you felt that familiar pleasant rush when the redhead winked. 

Barbara shushed you both as the reporter turned to the topic of school closures. 

“We’re just now hearing from the school district, confirming that all Philadelphia County public schools will be closed tomorrow and Friday.” 

Barbara whooped. “Thank you, Jesus!” 

Melissa chuckled, turning away from the TV in time to catch the worried look on your face. 

“What’s a matter, kid? 

You bit your lip, trying to push down the bubble of apprehension. “You think the flooding will be bad?”

Melissa shrugged, stowing her lunch in the refrigerator. “Most neighborhoods near the river usually get a decent storm surge,” she said. “Why?” 

You shook your head. “No reason.” 

Melissa straightened up and turned around, a curious look on her face. But before she could interrogate you properly, Gregory and Janine walked in. 

In the ensuing chatter of updates about the storm, you slipped out of the lounge and down the hallway to your classroom. 

Hours later, Melissa pushed back from her desk and stretched. It had been a busy day. But with schools closed tomorrow and Friday, the promise of a long weekend spent indoors riding out the storm sounded like a mini-vacation. 

She was heading toward the parking lot when she noticed the lights were still on under your door. She paused, realizing she hadn’t seen you at lunch. You had a bad habit of forgetting to eat. Melissa’s feet detoured automatically, approaching your classroom. 

You were hunched over your desk. Melissa leaned against the doorframe and watched you for a few moments, appreciating the thoughtful frown of concentration on your lips. The only sound was the furious scribbling of your pen as you marked tests and made notes for next week’s lesson plan. 

Melissa cleared her throat, but you didn’t turn around. She walked over and opened her mouth, intending to coax you into packing up. But as soon as she laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, you flinched and recoiled, turning around with a wild look in your eyes. 

“Whoa!” The redhead raised her arms, palms-up. “Easy, tiger, it’s just me.”

“Mel!” You placed a hand over your heart, which was hammering. “Sorry, I - I didn’t hear you.”

The older woman perched on the edge of your desk, concern shining in her green eyes. “Okay, what’s going on? You’re not usually this jumpy.”

A cloud seemed to pass over your face as you considered her words. Melissa waited, an uneasy feeling growing as she watched you hesitate, deciding how to answer.

“Nothing,” you said finally, running a hand through your hair. “Just didn’t hear you.”

Melissa knew you were lying—but she didn’t know about what, or why. Without more to go on, she decided to let it slide for now. 

“Come on, it’s late,” she said, gesturing at the work on your desk. “This will all still be here when we get back next week.” 

You looked at your wristwatch, thinking out loud as you stood up and stretched. “Yeah, maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow.” 

Melissa scoffed, helping you into your jacket. “School’s closed tomorrow, remember?” 

“But…that’s just for students, right?” 

“Um, no,” Melissa looked dumbfounded, straightening your lapels absently. “You can’t come here, the place will be locked.” 

“Shit,” you said, rubbing your tired eyes. 

“Were you seriously planning to come in tomorrow?” Melissa said, regarding you with a mixture of fondness and incredulity. “During a literal hurricane?” 

“Well,” you hedged. “The latest weather update is advising a few neighborhoods near the water to evacuate—including mine.” 

Melissa zipped up your jacket, her knuckles ghosting over your stomach and chest. You tried not to shiver. The redhead seemed not to notice your reaction. 

“They don’t mean evacuate here,” she said dryly. 

“Big brick building, not in a flood zone, no interruptions,” you said, ticking off the obvious benefits. “What’s the problem?” 

Melissa stepped forward and leaned over your desk. Without thinking, your eyes automatically gravitated to her ass. She was wearing leather pants that hugged her figure in all the right places. You shook your head, feeling like a horny teenager. 

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” she said, scribbling on a sticky note. “Go home, pack a bag, and meet me at this address.” 

“But -“

“This ain’t a negotiation, doll,” she said, tone final. “Jacob’s going to stay with his boyfriend, and you’re coming to stay with me.” So I can keep an eye on you, she thought. 

“I can’t do that, I don’t want to impose…” you started. 

“Please.” Melissa, having anticipated this reaction, smoothly interrupted you. “You’d be doing me a favor.” 

At your look of confusion, she continued. “Storms make me…nervous, alright? It’d be nice to have company for the weekend.” 

The redhead glanced down, hoping her damsel-in-distress demeanor was convincing enough to sell you on the idea.

“Aww,” you said, bumping her shoulder gently with your own. “Is the big, bad Melissa Schemmenti afraid of thunder?” 

She glared at the floor. “Not afraid.” 

“Don’t worry, Mel,” you said softly, and she looked up to find you standing quite close. “I’ll protect you.” 

Melissa swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. 

“S-so, we have a deal?”

Your eyes darted briefly to the pile of papers on your desk.

“Yeah,” you said. “I can just come in early on Monday to catch up…”

Melissa snorted, placing her hand at the small of your back and guiding you out of the classroom. “We’ll see about that.” 

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[fireinmoonshot]

the tyler owens effect | tyler owens x fem!reader

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary: After realising why other storm chasers think you and Tyler are dating when you aren't, you confront Tyler about it, only to be surprised by his solution. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/alcohol, reader drinks a beer. Word Count: 1.9k A/N: Surprise! Is there any better time to start writing for Tyler Owens again than when a cyclone is meant to make landfall in Australia tomorrow? I don't live in the direct path of it but we have had some insane wind and a lot of rain is forecast for the weekend, so I figured it was the perfect time to write for him again. Enjoy! 💗

Before you and Tyler started dating officially, everyone from the other storm chasing teams always assumed you were a couple. You never really understood why – he always treated you like every other member of the Tornado Wranglers and you were nothing more than just two good friends. 

It’s only when you’re out having some drinks with the other storm chasers in the motel parking lot that you realise exactly what it is that makes everyone assume.

You’re standing by the cooler, a beer in hand, talking to Kate and keeping an eye on Boone – who is already several drinks deep and very much out of it – when you feel a hand on your waist. It’s gone just as quickly as it came and you already know it’s Tyler before you even look at him. He doesn’t even look at you as he steps past you to bend down and grab a couple of drinks out of the cooler.

Kate stops talking mid sentence, noticing your attention has shifted elsewhere. “I didn’t realise the Tyler Owens effect was something a fellow Tornado Wrangler could be affected by,” she says, expecting you not to hear her.

You blink, looking away from Tyler and back at Kate. She has a small smile on her face.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“My point exactly,” Kate takes a sip of her drink and shakes her head, laughing a little. You really were so clueless, even after working with Tyler every day. 

You narrow your eyes. “Kate.”

“I said that I didn’t realise that Tornado Wranglers could be affected by the Tyler Owens effect.” 

“The Tyler Owens effect?” You almost laugh. “Is that a thing?” You’ve never heard of it, even though you’ve been a member of the Tornado Wranglers for a few years now.

Kate nods. “What, you haven’t noticed that everyone turns to look when Tyler enters a room? I don’t think it’s all cause he’s a semi-famous storm chaser, either. I think it’s more to do with the fact that everyone finds him so good looking they can’t help but look at him.”

You stare at her for a few moments and then laugh. You being caught up in the Tyler Owens effect? Please. You can admit that he’s good looking, but so is Boone and so are plenty of other storm chasers you see on a daily basis. You’d only been looking at him before cause he’d walked behind you and made you aware that he was there. It’s totally normal for you to watch him – he’s one of your best friends. The butterflies in your stomach don’t count for anything.

Before you can reply to Kate, you catch Tyler stand up from the cooler, closing the lid and moving back towards the two of you. He has two beers in his hands – likely one for himself and one for another member of the Tornado Wranglers. He holds the necks of both beer bottles with one hand.

“Ladies,” he says in way of greeting.

He doesn’t stay to talk, though. He has a beer to deliver. As he walks past you and Kate, his hand touches your waist again, having to get past a group of storm chasers that are headed for the cooler after him. You ignore the chill that goes down your spine at the feeling of his hand on your waist.

It’s then that the realisation hits.

Tyler always touches you – especially when you’re in public. A hand on your waist as he’s moving past you in a room, an arm around your shoulder when your’e sitting around a make-shift bonfire in a motel parking lot, holding your hand to get you through a packed crowd of storm chasers at a gas station…

“I have a question,” you look back up at Kate, having turned around to look at Tyler as he walks away. Kate is looking at you with a knowing smile on her face, as if she already knows what you’re about to ask her. “Is the reason why people always assume Tyler and I are together is because he touches me so casually? Like just then, he put a hand on my waist as he walked past.”

Kate can’t help it – she laughs. “It took you long enough to realise that. To everyone else, it looks a hell of a lot like a boyfriend just being touchy with his girlfriend.”

“Oh, god,” you run a hand over your face. “That is so…” You take one final swig of your beer before handing it to Kate. “I need to talk to Tyler. I’ll be right back.” 

You spin on your heels immediately, heading in the direction Tyler had been going before. The parking lot is crowded but not so crowded that you can’t see where he’s sitting with Dexter and Dani. He’s sitting on the tailgate of his truck, beer in hand.

Tyler spots you when you’re not too far away from him and raises his hand to wave you over to them. He taps the tailgate beside him, motioning for you to join him there.

“What brings you over this way, darlin’?” He asks, flashing you a grin.

You give a quick greeting to Dexter and Dani before looking at Tyler again. “Ty, we need to talk.”

His eyebrows furrow briefly but he continues acting playful for the benefit of Dexter and Dani. “Well, that never ends well,” he says, setting his beer down on the tailgate beside him. “Can you watch that? I’ll be back for it.” He asks the other two.

It’s second nature for him to reach down and grab your hand, starting to walk you away from your friends and towards the motel, near where your room is and away from all the storm chasers chatting. You’re so used to holding his hand that you don’t even remember that the whole reason you’ve come over to talk to him is to stop him from holding your hand and initiating other random touches.

It’s a little quieter over by your room. There are a few people milling about here and there, going into their rooms or coming out of them, but it’s much better compared to being in the thick of the storm chasers. 

“What’s goin’ on, darlin’?” He asks, letting go of your hand and leaning up against one of the poles holding up the second floor hallway. You can tell he’s worried just by the sound of his voice.

You sigh and prepare yourself for what is likely to be an incredibly awkward conversation on your behalf. Tyler will probably barely even blink at it. You, on the other hand? You’re ready for a lifetime of embarrassment. “Are you aware that a heap of other storm chasers think that we’re dating each other?”

Tyler slowly nods. “Yeah, I’ve had a few people ask me if we are. Why?”

“I know why,” you continue. “You know how you held my hand as we were walking over here? And you came over to get a drink earlier and put your hand on my waist when you were walking past. Kate even confirmed it. People always think we’re dating cause they always see us touching like a couple would.”

Tyler is a little confused. He’s never really put two and two together but it makes sense. He doesn’t touch anyone like he touches you. You are the only person whose hand he holds and whose waist he touches as he passes by. He never even really means to. He just always finds himself drawn to you and it’s just habit at this point. He supposes that the crush he’s been harbouring for a few months now would have something to do with that.

“Do you want me to stop doing that?” Tyler asks, genuinely concerned. If it was something that made you uncomfortable, he’d stop doing it immediately. 

You open your mouth to say yes, but stumble over the word. You know without even thinking about it properly that you’ll miss the comfort of holding his hand or having his hand on your waist if you stop him from doing it… it’s not that you don’t like it, it’s more just that you don’t want people to assume anymore. 

“No, I just…” You trail off and shake your head. “I just want people to stop assuming that we’re dating when we aren’t.”

Tyler looks at you for a moment, then swallows and says “Well, maybe we should just date then.” He shrugs a shoulder, making it look like he’s someone who is totally cool, calm and collected about this – as if his heart isn’t beating a million miles an hour in his chest and he’s not quietly terrified that you’ll shut him down.

You stare up at him, opening and closing your mouth a few times when your mind goes blank and you can’t find anything to say to him. “I– what?” 

Tyler clears his throat. ��Go on a date with me, a proper date.”

“A date… with you…” You repeat. “Tyler, how many drinks have you had tonight? Are you drunk?”

You know that he isn’t. He’s not a particularly heavy drinker, often choosing to keep reasonably sober. But for some reason, the words coming out of his mouth make it seem like he is. Why would Tyler Owens be asking you on a date? He’s your co-worker, your friend… and you get butterflies in your stomach whenever he smiles at you. Totally normal, right?

Tyler chuckles. “I’ve had half a beer, darlin’, I’m not drunk. I’m asking you a genuine question right now. Will you go on a date with me? You said you want people to stop assuming that we’re dating, so let’s date for real and they won’t have to assume anymore.”

You let out a breath and shake your head. “Ty, I… you don’t have to offer me a date just cause you feel bad that I don’t like people assuming things about us, okay? We can just make an effort not to do things that make them assume.”

“Do you not wanna go on a date with me?” He asks, a tinge of hurt in his voice. He considers you one of his best friends but he can understand if you don’t feel the same way about him as he feels about you. “If you don’t, just say so and I’ll drop it. But if even one part of you wants to… say yes, darlin’.”

“Yes,” the word is out of your mouth before you even register it. You throw a hand up to cover your mouth, a little shocked at your own instinct. “I mean… okay, yes, I’ll go on a date with you.” Just to test whether the butterflies in your stomach really mean something or not… just to see…

Tyler can’t keep the grin off his face. He isn’t as terrible at guessing things like this as he had started to wonder he was. “All right,” he smiles. “So, give me a couple days to work somethin’ out and I’ll keep you updated.”

You laugh. “You’ll keep me updated? Ty, I see you every day. I sit in the back seat of your truck for like twelve hours a day.”

He shrugs, a smile on his face. “You’ll obviously be upgraded to the front seat if things go well on our date. I couldn’t have my girlfriend sitting in the back seat while Boone sits up front.”

“Girlfriend, huh?”

“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself, darlin’,” he teases. 

You gasp. “You were the one who said it!”

Tyler laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “C’mon, my beer is getting warm waiting for me over there and I can feel Dexter and Dani’s eyes staring a hole in the back of my head. And I’ve got a busy night of date planning ahead of me.”

[beardedjoel]

omg! could you do 13 please? either for young joel (tho ik you don’t right much for him) or closer joel or neither lol but 13 sounds so romantic omggg

thank you so much for the request! i decided to do it for closer joel and i had fun getting back into his headspace. i was feeling a little rusty after all this time 😆 i imagined this is their first getaway together the following winter after they started dating. i tried to balance sexy and romantic, since you said it sounds romantic, which it totally does!

snowed in — joel x f!reader

request: "being snowed in together and fucking in front of the fireplace". sent in as part of my 5k celebration! can be read as a standalone or with closer joel in mind.

wc: 2.5k words.

warnings: smut (pussy eating + piv), dirty talk, creampie, alcohol, soft dom! joel.

You chew your lip for the umpteenth time, staring out into the layers upon layers of frosty white blanketing the outside. Your own reflection stares back at you in the oversized picture window as you squint past it into the dark, watching fat snowflakes flurrying by. 

“Starin’ ain’t gonna make it go away any faster, angel,” a deep voice rumbles in your ear. Joel slides his arm around your waist as he presses up against your back. It does wonders to ease your growing anxiety, and when he places a full glass of wine into your hand, you feel it nearly dissipate. 

“But what about the rental? What if we can’t get out when we need to check out in a few days?” you ask, that little anxious squeak in your voice grating on your ears. You silently apologize to Joel, even though he’s heard it plenty of times before when your anxiety rears its ugly head.

“Already talked to the owner. She says it happens sometimes, it’s no big deal. Risk comes with the territory, I guess.” It makes sense, the cabin being way up in the mountains, and it truly was the romantic and peaceful getaway with your boyfriend you’d hoped for before the looming anxiety set in of being trapped by the snow.

“Now, can we enjoy our first time goin’ away together, or do you need more convincin’?” You knew that Joel’s version of convincing might involve the plush bed you’d seen in the loft upstairs and your favorite satin restraints packed away in your suitcase, so you keep it in the back of your mind.

You feel a small smile creep onto your lips, the two of you still facing the window together as you take a large sip from the glass of wine. “It is kind of pretty when you’re not outside in it. Peaceful…” you concede, trying to shake it off. The forecast had shown that tonight was the worst of it, so you might as well try to relax and enjoy this rare evening of complete solitude with Joel.

“Attagirl,” Joel murmurs, planting a kiss on your head. You shudder at the contact, suddenly overly aware of everywhere that his body touches yours. Joel notices - of course he notices - and presses closer, hugging you tight. “I got a fire goin’ in the other room, and more where this came from,” he tells you, tapping a finger to your glass. “So c’mon.”

You follow him wordlessly, his hand enveloping yours, and all is right in the world again. One thing you’ve learned with Joel is that if he isn’t worried about something, then you definitely don’t need to be. Half a bottle of wine later, lounged on the floor in front of the fireplace, you smile dazedly at Joel, who is walking back into the room after heating up a frozen pizza you two had gotten when you stocked up at the grocery store in town. You’d spent the last hour cuddled up on the couch, music playing softly through the speakers as you two reminisced about the last six months together and what was beyond. You couldn’t believe that finally after all this time, Joel had managed to get time away from his company to treat the two of you to the romantic getaway he'd been promising. It was already shaping up to be everything you’d imagined and more. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of the pizza, your stomach craving something to soak up the alcohol, and when the smell hits you, you’re a goner. “Shit, Joel, that smells incredible,” you say, sitting up. He sets the pizza on a nearby coffee table, putting a hand up for you to stop.

“Nuh-uh. Back down. You looked prettier than a picture like you were.” Joel’s eyes rake over you as you pause for a beat before laying back again, pulling your lip between your teeth in a shy yet mischievous smile, one you know drives him crazy. Your outfit leaves little to be desired - a fuzzy, comfortable shorts and tank top set, and with the way you’re sprawled out, you know your tits are probably spilling out the top. 

Joel stands above you, and your heart races at the imposing figure of him, the mystery of what he’ll choose to do to you next. Joel has always liked to take the reins, and you’ve always been happy to let him. He toes your legs further apart, moving them until you’re spread wide for him. You tease him, snapping them back shut immediately, eyes sparkling devilishly up at him.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Joel says, shaking his head. He grins coyly, sinking down to your level and pressing your legs all the way open, knees to the plush carpet beneath you. “Unless you didn’t want me to fuck you senseless… have you drippin… ” he drawls, watching you squirm, your gaze darkening with need. “...takin’ my cock ‘till you’re makin’ all those pretty sounds I like…”

One of said pretty sounds slips right past your lips without any thought, a small whimper as you glance down to where Joel kneels between your legs. Damn him for using his mouth so well before it’s even on you.

“N-no, I do, I do,” you blurt out breathlessly, eyes flicking to where he’s tenting in his sweatpants. He grins.

“Y’always make it too easy for me, baby.” His fingers hook into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them off and tossing them to the side. “So wet already, angel…” he muses, slipping his fingers through your folds, making your hips buck at the sensation. You want more, you need more. The stress of the day had a way of making you more needy, more desperate for a release, and you knew you’d find it right between Joel’s legs. “What was it you were thinkin’ about that got you so messy for me already, sweetheart?”

“N-nothing, just…”

He kisses your thigh on each side, letting his fingers continue to wander through your slick folds before asking, “Just what?”

You breathe out slowly, trying to contain yourself as he prods at your entrance, dipping a knuckle inside. “The restraints. I - I thought about you tying me up to the bed upstairs.”

Joel tilts his head, smiling. “I’m sure we can manage that. We got a long weekend ahead of us,” he coos, pulling his finger out, making you immediately miss even the tiniest bit of fullness from it. When he brings it to his lips, savoring your taste, it makes you feel feral.

“Need you, Joel…” you whine, watching him sink his head between your thighs. “N-no, your cock,” you say, watching him light up, smirking as he stares up at you, his face only inches from your bare pussy.

“What, and skip all the fun of hearin’ you beg me, beautiful girl?” He huffs out a chuckle, the air breezing over your swollen, sensitive cunt, making your hips twitch. That only seems to satisfy him more, now burying himself between your legs, his tongue quickly working in flicks over your clit. You gasp, pressing your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself from grinding down into his tongue. You’re already close - the wine running through your veins and relaxing you, the romantic setting giving you a head start on arousal the entire day, and the fact that your sexy boyfriend was so eager to be between your legs was a lethal combination. 

“Fuck. Please, Joel,” you beg him, your pussy fluttering, feeling devastatingly empty. “I’m - I’m gonna - Joel!” Your climax crashes into you, sneaking up quickly and coming on strong, making your hips buck and shake as Joel laps at your cunt all the way through, until you’re trembling and limp again.

His entire body smoothly glides upwards until he’s on top of you, his nose pressed against yours as he goes in for a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his lips. His beard is wet with your arousal, and the sight of him - one you have seen your fair share of -manages to take your breath away. The flickering light of the fire reflects in his dark eyes, his hair messy and his smile lopsided and boyish, yet sexy at the same time. 

It slowly drops into a more serious expression, one hand coming to curl your hair behind your ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. You feel your cheeks grow hot under his attention and genuine compliment, even if you have lost count on the number of times Joel has said those exact words to you. A heart clenching, sentimental feeling grips you, making you feel like the luckiest girl alive to be here with him.

You reach up to touch his cheek, the air suddenly charged with something deeper, more romantic. It’s a tender kiss, one that turns heated quickly, but it’s full of reverence for the other, for the history you share together. A warmth grows inside of you, moving towards a fever pitch of need as you wrap your legs around Joel’s waist. 

“Joel,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses your cheek, then your neck, tasting the salt of your skin, soaking up your desperation for him. “Please…”

He chuckles into your neck. “Drivin’ me crazy, angel. Makin’ the prettiest little sounds, bein’ such a good, patient girl for me.” When he grinds his hard cock against your center, you feel every ounce of patience you had completely vanish into thin air. All you can think about is getting closer, of feeling full of the man you love, letting him work your body in the way only he knows how to do. 

“You need it, sweet girl?” he asks cruelly as your hands grasp at the waistband of his sweats, and you nod furiously, panting. 

“I’ll do anything, j-just… Need you to fuck me.”

You know for as vocal as Joel is, he likes to hear you too, and your desperation sets him off. His cock is out the next second and your legs, already wrapped around him, draw him in deeper. When he pushes in, every inch right from the get go, you both look into each other’s eyes as you gasp and hiss through your teeth at the pleasure. 

“Never get tired of this,” Joel mumbles, quickly finding himself a rhythm, each movement guided by your legs matching his thrusts, hips bucking upwards to pull him deeper. “Already squeezin’ my cock so tight, babygirl, you gonna come already?”

You can only whine out a moan, nodding for him. You really were insanely close to coming again, Joel doing all the right things with his cock as his fingers skim over your skin, pushing up your tank top. He squeezes one of your tits as soon as they’re free of the fabric, and when his finger brushes over the stiff peak of your nipple, your eyes roll back.

“M-my god… f-fuck…” 

“So cock hungry, angel, so needy,” Joel grits out, pistoning his hips a little faster and sloppier, caught up in the moment. He groans when the change in pace makes lewd, squelching sounds ring out through the room. "So wet..." he mumbles, his eyes closing as he basks in his pleasure.

“Y-yes, fuck Joel, you feel so - so good.” Your back arches slightly, legs tense and trembling around him, the heat flickering in your belly now a roaring fire, pulsing through you. Right on the edge, so close to jumping off into that bliss, you cry out. “Don’t stop! Fuck - don’t stop!”

Joel, not missing a beat, hauls your legs from around his waist, placing your ankles on his shoulders, folding you inwards. He then pounds his hips quickly as he grabs onto yours, fingers digging into your flesh with a satisfying pain.

“You want to not be able to walk the rest of the weekend? Th-that it, baby? Want me to make it so you can’t do anythin’ but lay here and let me fuck you for days?” Joel huffs out, and you let out a strangled cry, your hands clawing at his thighs, trying to find purchase on something as you feel yourself about to lose control.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you scream as Joel thrusts into you harshly at a pace that boggles your mind even after seeing everything this man was capable of in the bedroom. Your release sweeps you away, your vision turning to a blinding white bliss as your eyes squeeze shut and your hips lift off the ground, your entire body spasming. Joel is relentless, making sure to squeeze every last bit of pleasure as you moan so loud you’re surprised the roof hasn’t caved in.

You nearly sob as the tight grip of your climax suddenly lets go, your body completely drained. Joel quickly pulls out, his movements clunky and frenzied as he flips your limp body like you’re a doll. “Hands and knees, baby,” he commands.

You make a small noise of protest, your eyes heavy and limbs shaky. “I know. You gonna be a good girl and trust me to do what’s best for you?” You finally nod, holding yourself up by the elbows, your ass popped high up in the air for him. “That’s it,” Joel says smugly before plunging himself back into your sensitive cunt in one swift motion. You squeak out a sound as your pussy pulses around him, the lingering pleasure from your last high already flourishing into something new.

“One more,” Joel says, leaning a little closer, his hand skating up and down your spine as he pumps into you, landing his hand on the back of your neck. 

“C-can’t…” you whimper weakly, but Joel squeezes your neck slightest bit.

“You can. I know y’can. You’re doin’ so good, angel.” He reaches around to your swollen clit, rubbing circles that make you keen and pop your ass out further, getting him deep at this angle. You feel him hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you that makes you dizzy, makes you crazy every single time. Nearly crying at the oversensitivity, Joel somehow starts pulling another orgasm out of you, your moans quieter this time as your body shakes. You hear Joel’s pleased sounds, gruff little noises that tell you he’s close too as he praises you through your high.

“Oh, so good, pretty girl, s-so good…” he strains out, slamming his hips into yours once more, coming hard with a groan. He pulses inside of you and you keep your ass pressed back onto his hips, taking every bit of him. Feeling him like this is always such a rush, that tiny bit of power you get to take from Joel, making him fall apart for you even if just for a moment.

You collapse to the floor, giggling tiredly as your body gives out on you. Joel sidles up next to you, laying to face you with his head propped up on his hand, rubbing lazy circles on your skin. “Told ya you could do it,” he says smugly.

“Ass,” you say breathlessly, laughing as you roll over to your back, clutching at your stomach. “I’m starving. Now can we have some pizza?”

“Knock yourself out,” Joel replies, watching you crawl to the coffee table, not even seeming to care about the mess dripping out of you and down your thighs - food was your primary mission right now. It makes Joel feel his dick twitch all over again as he tucks it away, knowing he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you for long. “Wanted to work up an appetite for ya.” You shoot him a playful glare from where you kneel at the coffee table, ravenously biting into a slice, then making a face.

“Cold pizza it is, then.”

[obvithe-bestsoph]

Since you're doing lots of Kenans fics i want to request one of he and reader in a day off, just slow life and very fluffy

lazy with you.

masterlist requests word count: 1k

a/n: loved this one! genre: fluff warnings: none.

summary: a slow day off with your boyfriend.

Your alarm goes off at 9:20 AM, which is just late enough to feel indulgent. You reach for your phone, but a heavier weight wraps around your waist, pulling you back into the warm bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kenan's voice is sleepy, deep and scratchy in that ‘just-woke-up’ way that makes your heart flutter like it's the first time all over again.

You smile even though your eyes are still closed. "I was going to check the weather."

"You need the weather forecast to decide whether or not you’re cuddling me? Bold."

You let your phone drop and turn to face him, still half buried in the blanket. His hair is messy, his eyes barely open, but he’s smiling. It’s that lazy, genuine kind of smile that only comes out when no one’s looking except you.

“Okay, okay, I’m staying,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and feeling him grin harder against your skin.

It’s one of those rare days when neither of you has anywhere to be. No flights, no training, no media duties. Just soft pillows, sunlight bleeding through the blinds, and the kind of peace that only comes from knowing you get to do nothing together.

An hour later, the two of you finally emerge from bed, mostly because you’re both hungry for breakfast.

You're both still in pajamas, him in his Juventus hoodie, you in one of his old shirts that you absolutely did not steal and have definitely not claimed as your own. He puts on a playlist and starts humming as he pulls stuff out of the fridge, and somehow it feels like the beginning of a music video. The chill kind, with unmade beds and coffee mugs that never leave the kitchen table.

You slice strawberries while he butters toast, his hair still a mess and his grin so annoyingly perfect that you keep glancing at him like you’re trying to memorize him for later.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, looking over at you. “You’re cute.”

You roll your eyes but your cheeks burn. “You literally see me every day.”

“Exactly,” he says, walking over to steal a strawberry and kiss your temple in one move. “And you still make my brain short-circuit. Wild.”

You eat breakfast on the floor of the living room like you’re both college students, cross-legged with mismatched plates and a shared blanket draped over your shoulders. Kenan insists on feeding you bites of toast like it’s romantic, even though he drops crumbs on your shirt and says, “Oops,” with zero remorse.

He ends up lying down with his head in your lap, scrolling through his phone with one hand and absentmindedly tracing circles on your knee with the other. You play with his hair, watching as his eyes start to flutter shut again.

"Don't fall asleep on me," you whisper, brushing a curl away from his forehead.

"I’m not sleeping," he mumbles, not opening his eyes. "I’m just absorbing love through osmosis."

"That’s not how science works."

"That’s exactly how love works," he replies, cracking one eye open just to wink at you.

By midday, you're both in that perfect lazy mood where time feels fake. You sit on the balcony together, watching clouds drift by while sipping hot chocolate. He’s telling you some story about a teammate messing up during drills and trying to cover it with a bad joke. You’re not even paying full attention because his laugh is way more interesting than the actual story.

At some point, he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs dramatically.

“What now?” you ask.

“I wish I could freeze time,” he says. “Like, not forever. Just for this moment.”

You twist around to face him. “You gone soft or something?”

“Only for you.”

You groan at how easily he says things like that, like it doesn’t completely disarm you every time.

He leans in and kisses your cheek. “Seriously. This right here? My dream life.”

You smile, softer this time. “Mine too.”

Later, you’re curled up on the couch watching a movie you’ve both seen a hundred times. You’re not really watching it though. Kenan keeps making commentary, doing weird voices for the characters and adding fake dialogue, and it’s actually funnier than the movie itself.

At one point, he shifts closer and lays his head on your chest. “This is nice,” he says, voice muffled.

You start brushing your fingers his hair, half-distracted. “You say that every ten minutes.”

“Because it is nice. Sue me for appreciating my girlfriend.”

You hum. “Kenan?”

“Yeah?”

“I like slow days.”

He looks up at you with that boyish expression that always melts your insides. “Then we should have more of them. I’ll tell the coach I’m unavailable forever.”

“Please don’t. I like when you do your job.”

“You like me sweaty and scoring goals.”

“I like you sweaty after scoring goals.”

He bursts out laughing and buries his face in your neck, repeating your words like a mantra. “You’re evil,” he says, but he sounds so happy that you know he means the exact opposite.

As the sun starts to set, you both end up back in bed again, tangled in the sheets and each other. The windows are open, and the breeze smells like summer. Kenan has his arms around you, legs intertwined, your face tucked under his chin.

“You ever think about the future?” he asks quietly.

You nod against his chest. “Yeah. All the time.”

“I think about this. About us. A place like this. Slow mornings, dumb movies, you feeding me strawberries. Like… I hope it always feels this easy.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “We’re not always gonna have days off.”

“I know,” he says. “But even on the busy days, I wanna come home to this. To you.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that says everything you don’t need to put into words. You smile and trace a heart on his chest with your finger.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses your forehead, and it feels like the promise of a thousand more slow days just waiting to happen.

And in that moment - no fans, no cameras, no schedules - you realize that your favorite version of Kenan Yıldız isn’t the one the world sees on the pitch. It’s this one. The soft one. The one who steals strawberries and says “I love you” without needing to say a word.