#pls let me know if i need to tag anything else

[jackietaylorsghost]

TWIN PEAKS (1990) YELLOWJACKETS (2021) (insp @holdbeast) 

[yooniesim]

Hi uh, I hope it's okay to ask, but which creator are you referring to? Because the whole cp thing is kind of a huge accusation and I'm definitely not comfortable with supporting someone who's into that kind of stuff

tianshii88/rentbunny/zhuhaitang/yin-shimo

to be clear it's not csam (real children) it's fictional (drawn & in sims), but they're extremely creepy as a person & remind me of abusers in my past that exposed me to that same fictional material as a child. it's common for those that do have bad intentions to use it to blur the lines/make minors feel like it's normal/okay so that they're easier to groom & abuse. this isn't something that everyone that consumes this content does, obviously, but the amount of times they specifically have had questionable boundaries raises red flags for me. (Having a minor character in a fetish pose in a preview on a blog they specifically allowed minors to follow for cc, defending that by saying the original mangaka posed the character that way first so it was his fault not theirs, having a discord server with a dead dove channel that minors could access & saying it was ok bc they had to use a react role to get in, calling survivors that were uncomfortable with this crybabies, puritans & dumbasses, etc)

I never could finish the full post i was making about them bc it was frankly pretty triggering to me & I was dealing with my father's passing at the time, but I still have the screenshots despite them changing their name multiple times, wiping their blog of everything & changing their pinned to be 18+ only. There's also other people that have called them out for certain things (like the pose incident) before in the past. I'm not saying they're a predator or child abuser, since I know they'll jump to that immediately- but I am saying they're creepy and their history of a lack of solid boundaries between minors & the adult content they consume is irresponsible and unacceptable. I certainly wouldn't feel comfortable having them in the same spaces as minors in this community. I personally blocked them a long time ago when they were rentbunny bc I saw they (as a non-black person) liked posts that were calling me a c*on and telling me to kms, but the full extent of all the rest that was brought to my attention was staggering tbh.

When I figured out they were in my server at the time (members came to me with the proof & said they were uncomfortable/triggered), I banned them silently. They responded by publicly harassing me for weeks and claiming that I had bullied them. They openly admitted they had only been in my server with the aim of baiting people into talking about them, and then posted screenshots of... people saying their cc was too high poly, had too many swatches for their liking, and someone editing the buns off one of their hairs for personal use. And they listed off usernames of people that had never mentioned them/were not active, purely with the goal to get others to attack them. They also mocked me for being in mourning for my father that had just passed, and after I had blocked them continued to make passive aggressive references to my grief. And this isn't even counting all the cc issues, taking money for commissions & ghosting the commissioners for months, and miscellaneous bigotry & bad behavior they've been involved in. This is all now deleted & they changed their username to yin-shimo directly after acting a complete fool towards me. But none of my posts are deleted, and I didn't forget. A lot of other people haven't either. So overall, I think they have bigger issues in their own house to focus on before worrying about someone else's cc dress.

[angered-box]

come get ur android his gpu is going crazy

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

The First Memory

-----

Tequilla wakes up slowly in the dim morning light, his sibling still fast asleep next to him. It's laying nearly sideways in their bed, clutching a blue bunny stuffie that has been here far longer than he has. Their leg twitches as they dream. He's been happy, living here for this past month.

Has it really only been a month? He feels like there should have been some kind of celebration for that milestone.

He's been getting those faraway feelings for as long as he can remember. Which, admittedly, is not that long. His earliest memory is waking up in that forest all alone, wander for several days foraging for scraps, running and hiding (where did he learn those skills? Who taught him?). He wonders if his memory has always been bad. Poll told him that she hasn't noticed him forgetting anything lately, so maybe he just bumped his head. That's how it goes in the cartoons. You just bump your head a little and get amnesia, right? Then your friends show you something familiar and every memory comes back all at once.

Maybe they've been doing it wrong or something. The child's drawing, the bedroom, even his own grave haven't stirred any memories. Not even the items he's carried in his bag for weeks have stirred anything. Sometimes he considers getting rid of them, they're junk items anyways, but there's a weird gut feeling that makes him feel icky if he tries.

He wishes he knew what happened to them. He hopes they know he's okay. They seemed to care about him.

He wishes he missed them.

Tequilla paws at his eyes and sniffles. He's got to be the big kid now.

His mind feels fuzzy from sleep, eyes bleary.

From the kitchen, a voice emerges, loud and happy and full of love.

"Tequilla, my little peanut, come get your breakfast!"

Carefully, he slides out of bed. Poll's papa doesn't make breakfast very often, so this must be a special treat. Maybe it's for that celebration? He really feels like a month is cause for celebration.

The click of his claws on the hardwood echos in his mind as he pads down the hallway. The light from the windows startles him temporarily, and he rubs at his eyes to make the feeling go away. "Stardust," he mumbles, "what d-did you make for br-breakfast?"

...

He blinks a few times at what he's seeing.

There's a woman in the kitchen. Her curly brown hair cascades down her face and up into a bun, held up by a ribbon bow. Her face is full and wonderful, with golden eyes and large curling horns adorning her head. Her ears droop like his, but with soft brown fur on the inside and outside. Her outfit is overwhelmingly pink, consisting of a large poofy dress with many layers of tule and puffy short sleeves, frills decorating the ends of the sleeves and collar. Around her waist, nestled under her breast, is a large pink ribbon. Her feet are bare, but her wrists are adorned with large golden bands. She's a fat woman, something she always took pride in. She's only a few inches shorter than Dad.

"M..." Tequilla reaches out towards her, taking a short step forward.

She smiles and laughs, extending her hands out in an offering of a hug. "C'mere baby."

"M-momma!" He sobs, running to her with reckless abandon, burying his face in her plush dress.

She hugs him close and wipes the tears from his eyes. "What's wrong baby? Did you have a nightmare?"

Tequilla nods, leaning into her hand. "Momma I mmissed you s-s-so m-much." He struggles to speak through his sobs.

She tuts, crouching down to his level. He feels like a hatchling again, crying over breaking his marker by accident. "I'm not going anywhere, peanut."

"Wh-where did you go? Why can't I ffind you?" He asks through tears.

She cups his face. "I haven't gone anywhere, baby, I'm right here. That must have been some nightmare you had, huh?"

"I guess." He mumbles. "Where's... Wh-where's..." He trails off.

"C'mon golden boy, I've got your breakfast over here." She pats his shoulders, stands up, and pulls him along behind her.

He looks around the room, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Everything feels tilted in his mind's eye, slightly too bright. Too saturated.

"Momma? Where's... Wh..." His tail wraps around his leg. "Why can't I remmember their n-names? Why can't I r-remember their f-faces? What happened to mme, Momma? Where did I g-go?" He shakes her arm, tugs on her dress, does anything to get her to turn around and look at him.

Finally she turns around, a gentle smile on her lips. Her face is obscured now, like it's been scrubbed away by a sponge and covered over with marker. The bright world around him peels and bleeds away like an old painting, leaving just him and the woman in a dark void.

He hugs her tightly, eyes closed so he doesn't see what used to be her face. She strokes his hair as everything melts away.

Slowly, the world around him returns. He can feel the tears streaming down his face, the cold tile under his claws, the lights of the early morning. He squeezes tighter onto whatever he's holding onto.

What is he holding ont-

Tequilla jolts back, looking up at a concerned Stardust. His eyes catch onto their goatlike horns.

His cheeks burn. "S-s-ss-s-s-" He covers his mouth. "S-sorry, Stardust," he says with a little more concentration. "I d-d-don't know what that was."

It looks at him in the same way it looks at Poll when it communicates.

"S-sorry, I still can't understand you. I'll-I'll go wake up Poll."

Stardust grabs his hand, stopping him in his tracks. It holds his hand between two of it's own. It presses his hand against his heart, and it's own where a human heart would be.

He hasn't figured out how to understand Poll's papa yet, but it's meaning seems clear.

"Th-thankss, D- Stardust."

He walks back to the bedroom, tracing the markings on his arms.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

TAZ NC Day 3: Three!

Magnus was never good at sleeping. He was too— too restless for that. His legs could never quite stay still, his mind would never shut up. And he got overwhelmingly hot far too quickly. And then overwhelmingly cold after he threw all the blankets off. His ma used to tell him that he slept like a puppy, thrashin' around and chasing things in his sleep. When he told Julia that, she had laughed and said that just about summed it up.

His sleep had gotten worse since he lost Julia. A lot of things had gotten worse since then.

Magnus sighed, turning over. The tarp he had laid over the ground didn't do much to soften the various rocks and sticks, and his sleeping bag wasn't any help either. Next to him, Merle snoozed away. He had lost his pants somewhere since he had laid down and Magnus didn't even want to think about that. On his other side, Taako was propped up near a tree, snug in his sleeping bag. Magnus knew he was fucked when Taako fell asleep before him. Taako wasn't even supposed to sleep, he was pretty sure.

He turned over onto his back this time, looking up at the starry sky. It had been… Gods, had it been six years already? Nearly six years, at least, since he lost Julia. Since he lost Steven and Raven's Roost and the little budding hope he had in his future. He felt like it had barely been half that time and, at the same time, it had been twice as much. Time didn't mean much to him after that. Nothing really did.

He had wandered aimlessly for a while, brushing off housing offers by those who survived the bombings. They still saw him as a hero back there. How could he be a hero if he hadn't even properly got rid of their villain? How could he be a hero at all? He supposed it was that kind of thinking that got him into the advertising business. At the very least, he was helping someone. And if he got Got while trying to fight some stupid thing? Well, that was no one's fault but his own.

In the adventuring business, there were very few places to mess up. And Magnus had made his fair share of mistakes, but he always got the job done. No one really cared until Merle.

Here's the thing about Merle: He just kept popping up every time Magnus thought he was gone. That man was a disaster in a way that even Magnus wasn't, but gods-damn, he had great timing. His shitty healing had gotten Magnus out of a few of his worse spots, even as Magnus had begged him to leave. After one particularly nasty wound (turns out taking on a pack of hellhounds— hellpuppies, really— wasn't the smartest thing to do alone), Merle had practically glued himself to his side.

"You don't get to die on my watch," he had said. As if saving people who would much rather just deal with the consequences of their actions was an everyday occurrence for him. When it became obvious that Merle wasn't leaving, Magnus stopped complaining.

And they roped Taako in eventually. Well, Magnus saved him from some kind of demon bear— it's— it's a whole story by itself, but the point remained: Taako got roped into sticking with them and suddenly Magnus was very aware of what his actions looked like from the outside.

They weren't— they weren't exactly your standard adventuring group. Hell, more often than not they got more injured on the way to the monster than they did actually fighting the thing. But for once, it was okay. For once, Magnus felt… a part of something. In a way that mattered. It wasn't just him anymore. He had two people on his side once more.

Three was a pretty good number.

Hammer and Tongs had three bedrooms attached to it. Two upstairs and one downstairs near the shop. Magnus used to have the downstairs room until it became obvious he and Julia weren't going to be spending the night in their own rooms anymore. Steven had not so much traded as he just decided to move all of Magnus's things into Julia's room and all of his own things downstairs. That left an empty bedroom of course, and they had plans to— for—

"Mags."

Merle's voice startled him. Magnus jumped, reaching for his ax, but Merle sat up very quickly, hushing him.

"You're gonna wake up Taako," he hissed.

"Taako isn't asleep, homie," Taako said from the depths of his sleeping bag.

Magnus exhaled, trying to get his heart rate back down. Merle reached over to take his hand, squeezing tightly.

"You okay?" he asked.

Magnus had to squint to see him in the dark— Merle was squinting too, but that was probably because his glasses were off. Taako's eyes just about poked out of his sleeping back, looking at them both with what could either be disdain or worry. It was hard to tell with Taako sometimes, but Magnus got the message anyway.

"I…" Magnus glanced between them. He swallowed back some tears. "I will be, I think."

[bayheart]

AND one last AF attacks post, including specifically just the revenge chain I had with @dizzyst4rs this year!! i was. once more plagued by his silly oggy robots (and their brother) and asked him so sweetly if he would revenge chain me so i had an excuse to draw them one million times 🫶 THANK U FOR ENABLING ME BELOEVED <3

got a pmv i whipped out in a day, an entire ref sheet (i hated using her old one so now she matches her sister :] ), a hypothetical non-canon scene piece, and a fun redraw of some 2013 art of Loe's that i will Not be sharing here for his sake and sanity <3

i'm really nromal about these ocs specifically i promise ipromsie i swear i'm so normal about them guys (i designed one of their related npcs and their alt mode this month too but that didn't count as an attack) (i am the king of normal)

[roboraindrop]

These are three of my favorite images from the series. I think they speak for themselves dkdjsksh

[omarwolaeth]

So there's a fic, right,

Fan art for Dramaturgy: Standard by @team-frightfur of Chapter 33

[restinpeacesensei]

I stepped into a room with clocks That all told different times I stepped into a mirrored world That mirrored all our crimes

You keep picking at the scab And I'll keep selling the plaster You keep telling me that I'm bad But I keep on getting better faster

I've lost, I've lost my innocence I've found my self-belief And in a cup of loneliness I've found instant relief

[sunflower-chai]

so. i watched shubble’s vod. i just feel so so sorry that she had to go through that but i’m glad she’s in a place now where she felt comfortable sharing her story. i truly believe it’s going to help so many people. there were parts of her story i could relate to and it was incredibly validating to hear that some of the things i went through were not okay. it’s been 4 years and i feel like over time i’ve tried to downplay exactly what happened. i’ve also blocked a lot of it out of my memory and genuinely can’t recall a lot of specific instances. but just hearing her put her experiences into words was so healing for me. i hope she feels all the love from her friends and fans and continues to heal and thrive. and i don’t know how likely this is, but i hope the person who hurt her never has the opportunity to hurt anyone ever again.

gonna vent a little below the cut:

thankfully i was never physically abused, but i was in an emotionally manipulative/borderline abusive relationship for about two months. thankfully my friends are incredible and helped me to see the red flags quickly so it didn’t last longer or progress more. but when shubble started talking about how this guy would say she was remembering things wrong and tell her she’s overreacting or being dramatic, that really hit close to home for me. because whenever my ex would do things that upset me and i called him out on it, he would say it wasn’t a big deal and i just didn’t know how relationships worked because i had never been in one before (at the time i was freshly 20 and he was 25).

also when shubble said she had to help this guy clean his house/do chores, and maybe he had never learned so she felt bad for him, i just flashed back to my ex telling me all of his childhood trauma, making me feel bad for him and like i couldn’t leave and break his heart. he admitted one of the reasons he started dating me was because he liked my family and wanted a replacement for his dysfunctional one. idk it’s a loose connection, but it’s interesting how abusers will make you feel sorry for them and sort of trap you in the relationship.

also the bit about the safe word. i laid out my physical boundaries very early on and he promised not to cross them and then he did multiple times. he would weaponize this. whenever i upset him by not texting him back immediately or had to reschedule a date because i was a busy college student, he would tell me i could make it better by offering physical affection. and i would do it bc he made me feel like i had done something awful when in reality no sane person would react like he had.

the part that made me really sick to my stomach was when shubble talked about how this guy pinned her down and told her to try to push him off and she couldn’t. and then he said she wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a fight. that is so unbelievably messed up. and all i could think of was the time i was at my ex’s apartment watching a movie and i fell asleep on his shoulder. and when i woke up he said “i can’t believe you fell asleep. i could have done anything to you and you wouldn’t have known.” if a romantic partner is thinking about and telling you these things RUN VERY FAST IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. to this day i’m still so glad i didn’t date him for a longer amount of time, who knows what might’ve happened.

okay last thing. the part about shubble’s ex insisting that he loves her more than she does. it just brought me back to when i broke up with my ex and he insisted that no one would ever love me as much as him. there were no guys out there who were as good as him. and for the longest time i believed this. i internalized that i was unlovable, that i would never find a guy who would treat me right, that all men were terrible. and i was scared of dating for years after this because i didn’t want to go through all the anxiety and waking on eggshells and screaming my anger into pillows again. but over time i’ve been able to heal, thanks to family, friends, and my relationship with God. i’ve opened my heart up to the possibility of romance again. i haven’t dated anyone since i ended things with my ex, but i’m open to the idea. but i will not settle for anything less than what i deserve. shubble’s story has definitely contributed to my resolve.

okay that’s all. if you’ve read this far thank you for letting me get this off my chest. i love you and take care of yourselves ❤️

[superbadgrrl]

As I lie here after an amazing weekend, I think of what could have been, and how hurt I still feel in silence because of “what could have been, would’ve been”.

 I feel personally touched by Carmella’s post a few days ago of all her worries during their current pregnancy… I couldn’t imagine the fear they felt, but I celebrate their rainbow baby 💕 all I know is how I felt finding out and being pregnant then suddenly feeling like no one was home anymore, was one of the most absolutely terrible feelings out there. 

We were so convinced we were having twins because we were the same size as a YouTuber who had them... however, it was a fibroid the size of a cantaloupe accompanying our baby, which caused a miscarriage. I had it removed for our future pregnancies, the scars reminding me every day of what happened. 

I like to believe this baby made me aware of the issue that would have caused complications with them and any future babies had I not removed it, and somehow I mentally form some sort of idea of them being some blessing in disguise that was here for a short time for its future siblings that’d be here for a long time.

I also want to extend a thank you to those who reached out and shared their experiences and I was unable to respond because I felt so personally touched by all the kind words you all sent and shared, just mentally I wasn’t and still not there to connect with the matter, and I’m sorry for feeling that way just like I feel sorry for myself for somehow feeling like this is all my fault, even when I know it is not.

[rodeorun]

"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—make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him." THAT'S DEVOTION BRO YOOOO

God is Fair

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

the deets: since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he comes into your life like a storm and grows closer no matter how distant you seem. he swells and captures your heart every time he's near. so why do you keep fighting him? w.c: 11k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two (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, 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 had become perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender, gripping fingers 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 threaded 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 had 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, riding 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 adorned stocking-covered legs and 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 did not sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day. For once, you just wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised—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.

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 call up 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. Like 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, 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. 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 sad. 

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 but didn’t say 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 feats—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 would 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 telling 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, determined to make it forget your name. You weren’t attention-seeking; 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 just 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, tough 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 still the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live life quaint and peaceful. 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. You 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. 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.”

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 story 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?”

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her if 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 suck 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 had 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 get only one gift this year for his birthday, that’s when he started asking questions—not that neither 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 are 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. You’d beam every morning 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's voice, which 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 than anything else. 

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 over 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 competition 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 and told the truth. He chewed his lip. “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 toss another blackberry into the air and catch 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?”

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 was back to square one.

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 wouldn’t be 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.

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 your 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 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 plummets 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. 

Your mouth suddenly became desert dry. The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—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 did, both of you 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 isn’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 see 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. 

You came in 6th out of over 200 solo acts. Suguru came in 5th. 

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 lay in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats. 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, 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 in 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 had never met a foreigner before, and now you were being 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 and 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 started firing 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.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined that made you fidget with your clothes. 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 is 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 himself 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. You saw a few of his scores float into the air throughout the audience, 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 of 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 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 how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What it feels to be 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. 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.”

And it rolled off their tongue naturally.

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.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

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 the point in even trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

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.” Your breath escaped 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. 

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 to how bothered you were. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it, you thought.

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.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru. “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. 

Fire 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 porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and live their lives.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the 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,” and your eyes narrowed, “I’m just not that impressed.”

He smirked, swinging his arms and looking away. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You questioned his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies— but it was a shot at his credibility 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 it made you feel other things, too. 

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. 

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, his lips capturing yours in a way that shot electricity down your spine. It was the first time he stole the breath right out of your body, and you swore you felt your pupils turn 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—make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him. You swooned and nearly staggered—knees weak and relying on the walls to keep you up when his hand cradled your hip to hold you. Your heart burst. You pulled away, leaving space between to see your heated breaths in the chilly air as he rested his forehead on yours—then slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left. 

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.

[propertyofwicked]

SMITTEN - LN

ln x reader, platonic!grid x reader SMAU

based on this request ✧ my inbox is open ✧

warnings: none, just a little swearing throughout - also she's a short one

masterlist the playlist

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

yourusername made a new post!

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yourusername 10 years ago today, i competed in my final karting race in order to pursue my dream career - and i would do it all over again, especially when i still get to spend my days with these losers

tagged: charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, pierregasly

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yourusername made a new post!

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yourusername thank you mclaren for having me today! trying to get the drivers to sit down and answer my questions may have shaved a few years from my life but i had fun regardless!

check out the video on youtube now!

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yourusername taking a break from being your favourite journalist to become the ultimate stray cat whisperer

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yourusername test drive

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username3 test drive? THE CAR OR LANDO?

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yourusername made a new post!

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yourusername back to work, and back to mercedes for the first time in a while! keep your eyes peeled for some race week content coming your way!

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⤷ username14 sometimes i forget she used to kart with like half of the grid

⤷ username14 like girly out here interviewing her childhood friends every week

mercedesamgf1 i feel like we need context for the last image, y/n

⤷ yourusername there are some things you will never know, admin

landonorris come back to mclaren tf?

⤷ yourusername soon 🤫

username4 lewis actually took part in social content? don't give me false hope i beg of u

⤷ yourusername not only did he take part, but he served cunt whilst doing so

⤷ lewishamilton i don't think i want to know what this means

⤷ yourusername probably for the best grandpa 💖

username15 sorry is everyone just ignoring lando being desperate in the comments?

⤷ yourusername if we ignore him, he'll go away

⤷ landonorris wrong. ill get worse! hope that helps x

yourusername made a new post!

liked by landonorris, lilymhe and 42,601 others

yourusername cats out the bag

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landonorris milf.

⤷ yourusername im not a mother??

⤷ landonorris *yet.

username3 wait how short is she? 'cos lando is not that tall i SWEAR

maxverstappen1 don't you mean...cougar?

⤷ yourusername you wanna talk to me about age gaps rn?

lilymhe that should be me holding ur hand

⤷ yourusername it still can be babygirl

⤷ lilymhe say less

⤷ alex_albon no please do say more - if im losing my girlfriend id like a full explanation

⤷ yourusername my hairline is still intact?

⤷ landonorris devoured.

username15 does he not get bored of you asking him questions all the time?

⤷ yourusername not really, 'cos when i run out of work related questions i spiral into asking if he's mad at me every 20 minutes

⤷ username6 honestly so real for that

[bbieangel]

Sticky

Joel Miller x F!Reader (18+)

mdni please

You and Joel find another way to make the summer heat more bearable.

tags: smut (duh), food play (popsicle), anal play, creampie, unprotected p in v (do not! do this! pls!), kind of? oral (f receiving), praising, dirty talk (joel doesn't know how to shut up and we love him for that), mentions of gagging (once), reader is abled, afab reader. joel is 20 years older. idk if I forgot anything else.

word count: 9.2k

a/n: this is just another level –for me, at least– of things I wouldn't normally write. please take my phone away? thanks. I think I was possessed when I came up with this. anyways! hope you enjoy.

this was inspired by If You Like Piña Coladas by @gutsby ! it was amazingly written, I loved it and after reading it I came up with this idea. <3

as always, please enjoy and lmk what you think! reblogs, likes and comments are always deeply appreciated 🫶🏻

It all started when you were out on patrol, scavenging and rummaging through abandoned places, looking for supplies to take back to Jackson.

"Anything, really." Maria told you, as the warmer weather was approaching and you needed anything that would help keep people cool. Especially the elders, kids and babies.

Could a horse carry a whole fan back to Jackson? Not possibly. So Joel got to disassemble it while you took the opportunity to look through every drawer, cabinet and box.

"Joel, look!" You said, holding up some molds. They were the kind that you would fill up with juice and fruit, then put the sticks in them to make a popsicle. Maybe it wouldn't keep you cool, but it was a nice distraction.

Joel chuckled as he saw them. He remembered making those with Sarah every summer in a desperate attempt to keep his daughter in a somehow manageable mood, as she hated the heat and made her irritable. You could see the shimmer in his eyes, the kind that showed up every time he thought of his daughter. He has recently started to open up about her, and you didn't really push him to do it: just let him.

"We should keep those." He replied. "Maybe try making some back at home."

The idea sounded fantastic, and there were more molds as you kept scavenging. Maybe you could even make them and offer them at the town hall for people to feast on while they fought the intense rays of sun.

Once back home, you got to work. Joel helped by squeezing the oranges as well as cutting up strawberries and apples, the kitchen ending up a fruity mess. But you didn't mind, if anything, it made your heart flutter at the sight. It was domestic, tender, to be cooking together. Making a snack to make the summer heat a little more bearable for the both of you.

You set them inside the fridge and honestly, forgot about them until two days later until Joel brought them up. The two of you were plopped on the couch, fanning yourself with magazines as you tried to pay attention to the TV with that old DVD player plugged into it, playing a movie Joel had made you watch more times that you could count on.

You were distracted, and you knew it. And he would be a liar if he said he wasn't. Your cause of distraction? The way Joel's cheeks were slightly flushed, sweat trickling down his tanned neck, how the popsicle would drip down his veiny hands. How he would lick it, God, why couldn't he lick you instead? And he was suffering from the same twisted thoughts. The way your lips would wrap around the popsicle.. he was almost sure you were doing it on purpose. Pushing it inside your mouth and pulling it out with a plop! He could think of the times you'd done that with his cock before, the image being burned inside his eyelids.

He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend he wasn't affected by you.

"It take you that long to finish that thing?" He spoke up, his voice slightly hoarse from hiding his desire for too. damn. long.

"What do you mean?"

You asked as you bit into it and chewed a smile piece of the ice thing, then swallowed it. His eyes followed the movement of your throat and oh, you knew.

He wanted to erase that shit-eating grin off your face with the tip of his cock, smearing his precum all over your—

"You know what I mean. You're doing it on purpose."

"And you aren't?" You leaned forward, and that made him feel like he'd been caught red-handed. Truth was that, yes, he had been slurping at the thing like he would swallow your juices whenever he found himself on his favorite place on earth: between your legs.

"What if I am?"

"What if I am too?"

The silence between you grew thick, like a string that was taunt with too much tension. Until he snapped it, grabbing the popsicle and shoving it into your mouth. You tried to protest by whining his name.

"Shut up." He spoke as he quickly worked to take off your shorts. He pushed them down and immediately placed his head between your legs, making you open your mouth so much that the popsicle almost fell. He caught it and put it back into your mouth.

"Keep suckin' it, sweetheart. Don't stop 'til I tell ya so."

And you obliged, a small smile on your face as you loved experimenting new things with your man. He licked a long stripe over your damp underwear, making you close your legs around his head. He was quick to separate them and nuzzle his nose against the cotton of it, inhaling your scent. You would be embarrassed if he hadn't done it like a hundred times before. It was nothing new.

"Joel.." You whined, almost pleaded as you gripped his hair. You kept eating the popsicle, licking and slurping at it to provoke him even more. And did he notice.

He looked up at you, eyes dark from his pupils occupying almost his whole irises. He took a finger and pushed at your entrance, penetrating you with your underwear.

"You take what I give you." He reminded you. Your mouth felt open at the sudden contact, aching to be filled. Some of the juice spilled down your chin and onto your chest, and he looked at it like it was the most attractive, sexy thing he'd ever seen. He pumped his fingers a couple of times before his patience broke.

"Damn it, darlin'. I swear I'm tryin' to take my time but today just won't be the case." He spoke, before pushing down his own clothes and your underwear flew God knows where.

He sat you on his lap, pressing you down against the evidence of the effect you had on him. Gently, never being rough, pushed your legs open with his knees and held you like that.

"Oh, look at 'er.. Already cryin' for me, baby?"

He teased, and brought two of his fingers at your slick. You squirmed on his lap, breathing ragged as you tried to find something to hold onto. But he didn't let you.

Instead, with those two fingers, he parted your lips open and looked down at your glistening cunt. It was gaping, closing around air as if it was already preparing itself for the stretch that Joel's length would be.

But.. he didn't do it. Not yet. He pulled the popsicle out of your mouth and pressed it against your hole. Your eyes widened and you gasped for air at the cold sensation, telling him that he couldn't do that, that it was wrong, that—

"Beggin' to be filled, isn't she?" He murmured, hot breath against your ear. He didn't really care about you trying to be cautious, he knew that deep down you didn't care about that either. You wanted to be filled, and he was a man that took your wishes seriously. He placed the popsicle in front of you so you could see it before he slowly trusted it inside of you. You cried out and he hushed you softly.

"Oh, I know, I know." He cooed at you. "She'll get used to it. Now take it."

And you trembled, fighting the internal battle of pulling his hand away or letting him fuck you senseless with a popsicle. The sticky, orange, freezing cold stick was melting inside of you. And every time Joel pulled it out and pushed it back down, some would drip out of your hole. Juices mixed with whatever blend of fruit you poured into those molds, all dripping down to the floor.

You could sense Joel's eyes locked on it, his breath becoming more labored than he would like to admit. He would beg to clean up that mess with his own tongue if it meant tasting your tangy, slightly sour slick.

"Takin' it so good, princess. Look at you. 's it feel good?" He asked, whispering against your ear. You couldn't see him but you knew that he looked pussy drunk, that grin on his face that told you he was high just from watching you take a popsicle or whatever he pushed inside of you.

You were a mess. Hair sticking to your forehead as the old ceiling fan wasn't strong enough to cool down any of you. Your own back felt sticky and hot against Joel's chest. But did he mind? No. He loved every liquid that would come out of you, even your sweat. He had eaten you out after being hours on patrol, sweat pooling in every fold of your body. But he just couldn't wait until you showered. That summed up how little Joel cared about any of that stuff.

Your head fell back against his shoulder and you shut your eyes closed as he stretched you further with the popsicle, the sounds were almost enough to make you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. They were almost pornographic, and you felt Joel's cock twitching underneath your ass.

"Joel—Please!" You cried out. "I want it. Please. I can—"

The popsicle was shoved into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and making you gag softly as he went a little too deep. You could taste yourself in it, and it turned you on even more. Joel was tired of your cries, he would give you what he wanted when he wanted it.

"Hold it." He commanded and you held the popsicle, drool dripping out of it and into your chest, making an orange mess.

With his hands now free, he pushed your hips forward and up, lining the red, unattended tip of his dick against your entrance. You squirmed and cried, voice muffled by the long, cold stick.

"Shh, sh, sh. I got you, sweetheart."

I whispered and pulled you down against it with one swift move, having little to no mercy with your aching hole. He pushed on your lower back and you leaned forward as he started moving his hips deliberately, kissing your cervix every time he went up. He moaned at the sight of orange juice still pouring out of you, coating his cock along with your slick.

"What a sight, baby. I bet.."

He took the popsicle out of your mouth, and you panted for air. Your moans and soft cries filled the room as he filled you, stuffed you full to leave you limping for a week.

"..It'll look prettier like this." You almost didn't hear him, the pleasure overtaking you.. *almost*. But he made sure you did, at least, feel him when he pushed the popsicle into your rosebud, making the small hole stretch around it. He whimpered at the sight, something he never did. You gasped, holding onto the coffee table in front of you for dear life as you could swear you saw your soul leaving your body for good.

The squelching sounds, juices dripping everywhere making a mess around you two, was enough to make you near your orgasm. He pumped the thing in and out at the same rhythm as he raised his hips. You swore you'd never felt more full in your life, warm and cold at the same time in different places. He stared in awe, watching both of your holes swallow both him and the popsicle smoothly.

When Joel noticed that you were near, he picked up the pace of both: the popsicle that entered your anus with ease, melting and filling you to the brim, and his cock that you could swear you felt on your stomach.

"Thatta girl.. milk my cock, sweetheart. Yeah, good fucking girl."

He babbled nonsense, an indicator that he was close too. With not one, not two, but three thrusts he gripped your hips, biting down –gently– onto your shoulder as he painted your walls white with his seed. You could feel your legs twitching as his body trembled, your name coming out of his mouth in soft prayers. You followed quickly after him, closing your walls around his length in a way that almost got it hard again. You stayed there, bodies still intertwined and covered in fruit juices, panting for air until you both came back to reality.

He then scooped you up into his arms and carried you upstairs. He would clean up the mess later, he said as he guided you both into the shower. Once there, he made sure to clean up every dip and crevice of your body while you felt your eyelids drooping. He caressed your back gently and pressed soft kisses against your forehead and shoulders while rubbing you dry, making sure you were taken care of and never felt like any encounter was just to please him. Then, he carried you to bed and cuddled up against you, placing your head on his chest and running his fingers through your hair gently, like he always did to soothe you.

"We gotta make those more often. You know.. to survive the heat."

He murmured with a smirk as you drifted off to sleep. And all you could wonder was how the fuck did a man twenty years older than you have the stamina of a beast.

[faithdeans]

yes, thank you

no problem <3

[mclqren]

LADY KILLER ★ LN4

PAIRING ✦ lando norris x fem!influencer!reader SUMMARY ✦ you're a famous influencer, and you manage to catch the eye of a certain formula one driver. [ SMAU ]

WARNINGS ✦ cursing

NOTES ✦ my first smau! the fc i've used is maria isabel, but feel free to picture whoever you want! my requests are open so feel free to leave a request :)

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liked by landonorris, tarayummyy, and 803,960 others

yourusername getaway to the maldives was so needed ✈️

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user1 omg you're glowinggg!!

user2 prettiest girl everr 💘

tarayummyyy wifeee!

yourusername the one and onlyyy! 😉

user3 omg i was in the maldives!! wish i could've seen you :(

user4 her style is everything to me

landonorris 🔥🔥

liked by yourusername

user5 does anyone else see lando in the likes AND comments?

user6 lando norizz back with a vengeance 🔥🔥

user7 he's been liking her posts for a whileeee now, this is the first one he's commented on though!

user8 most perfect girl ever

liked by landonorris, nessabarrett, and 857,564 others

yourusername new phone, who’s this? 📞

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user13 HOW ARE YOU THIS PERFECT

user14 oh to live the y/n lifestyle

landonorris professional chef 👩‍🍳

yourusername you know it! 😉

user15 lando got a reply??

user16 PROGRESS IN MY EYES 🔥

user17 i’d literally do anything for you

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 822,784 others

landonorris new helmet. 2024 season has started 🏎️

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user18 RAHHH HES BACK 🦅🦅🦅

user19 he literally makes me go feral

oscarpiastri let’s gooo 🤝

liked by landonorris

yourusername oh ur a f1 driver? you’ve never mentioned! 😊

landonorris u sure u didn’t already know? 🤷

user20 the way they match each others energiesss just get together!

user21 y/n is his likes and comments?? can he pls drop the manifestation method 🙏

liked by landonorris

liked by landonorris, lilymhe, and 901,562 others

yourusername these are a few of my favorite things! 🤍

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user22 miss girl gets prettier each day!

user23 real question is which version of the song is in her caption

yourusername the sound of music version! one of my fav movies ❤️

user23 AH YOU REPLIEDDD!!

lilymhe you are stunninggg!

yourusername right back at you!! 🤍

user24 THE WAGS HAVE REACHED HER??

user25 oh so it’s SERIOUS

landonorris how many heels do you need

yourusername these aren’t even all of them

yourusername

( caption one: officially on the move ✈️❤️ | caption two: 📍Bahrain )

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, and 1,021,320 others

yourusername this f1 thing is kinda cool idk

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user34 THE FERRARI SHIRT LMAOOO SHE'S MESSY

user35 who is the man in the second pic? 👀👀

user36 LANDOOO (let's hope!!)

landonorris who gave you that shirt...

yourusername carlosss!! 😇😇

landonorris oh!... @/carlossainz55 we'll be having words later 😊

carlossainz55 not my fault she switched sides 🤷‍♂️

user37 Y/N WITH TEAM FERRARI IM CREASINGGG

oscarpiastri so you acc did switch sides :(

yourusername IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF YOU OSC DW blame lando

landonorris huh why me??

oscarpiastri she doesn't need a reason you're just annoying

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,329,875 others

tagged yourusername

landnorris so...surprise? 😁

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yourusername ARE YOU SILLYYY YOU RUINED MY SOFT LAUNCH

yourusername LANDO NORRIS I ACC HATE YOU KYS

landonorris you don't mean that 😊😊

user41 WE DID IT LADSSSS 🔥🔥🔥

user42 the secret wasn't very well kept now was it!

user43 PARENTS TOGETHER AT LAST WOOHOO

lilyzneimer ah finally!! now we double date.

yourusername oh absolutely.

oscarpiastri so do we have a say in this orrr?

landonorris i think this might just be our lives now.

user44 i am grinning from ear to ear they are so cute.

liked by landnorris, alexandrasaintmleux, and 1,329,875 others

tagged landnorris

yourusername after my oh so lovely boyfriend SPOILED my soft launch, i have no choice but to post this now 😔 happy 8 months you dork.

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landonorris the dork was a low blow

landonorris no one was expecting the 8 months now were they🔥🔥

yourusername WE WIN

user45 I BEG YOUR PARDON EIGHT MONTHSSSS??

user46 so yall weren't lying when you said you kept the secret well.

user47 i am sleeping on the highway tonight.

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