The Man • L.B.
Commanding. Competitive. Self-assured. Aggressive. Cocky. Arrogant. Lorenzo Berkshire and Y/N were Blackthorne University’s most formidable athletes on its co-ed track and field team. Consistent. Untouchable. Better than most, and painfully aware of it. Winning came as naturally as breathing. Yet, for all their similarities, Blackthorne only seemed capable of adoring one of them. Lorenzo Berkshire. His confidence was magnetic. His arrogance was charming. His victories were celebrated. Y/N was lucky to earn a passing glance and a few unsolicited pointers on her form. By senior year, both had been handpicked as team captains. While the team practically worshipped the ground Lorenzo walked on, Y/N was dismissed as an insufferable prima donna. Halfway through the season, Y/N had grown to despise the very sight of him, bitterly praying for his downfall. District qualifiers were no exception. Y/N shattered a state record by an insulting margin. Lorenzo, unusually off his game, barely qualified with half a second to spare. Yet somehow, all the praise went to Lorenzo. By that evening, Y/N found herself at the bottom of one too many glasses, nursing a bruised ego and a resentment no amount of alcohol could drown. Pissed. Hammered. Dangerously loose-lipped. And who else but Lorenzo fucking Berkshire would stroll into the bar, his equally insufferable friends in tow? Emboldened by the liquor in her veins, Y/N decided it was finally time someone knocked him down a peg. Little did she know, Lorenzo Berkshire’s undivided attention was a beautiful kind of ruin. {based on The Man by Taylor Swift}
The Man • L.B.
Commanding. Competitive. Self-assured. Aggressive. Cocky. Arrogant. Lorenzo Berkshire and Y/N were Blackthorne University’s most formidable athletes on its co-ed track and field team. Consistent. Untouchable. Better than most, and painfully aware of it. Winning came as naturally as breathing. Yet, for all their similarities, Blackthorne only seemed capable of adoring one of them. Lorenzo Berkshire. His confidence was magnetic. His arrogance was charming. His victories were celebrated. Y/N was lucky to earn a passing glance and a few unsolicited pointers on her form. By senior year, both had been handpicked as team captains. While the team practically worshipped the ground Lorenzo walked on, Y/N was dismissed as an insufferable prima donna. Halfway through the season, Y/N had grown to despise the very sight of him, bitterly praying for his downfall. District qualifiers were no exception. Y/N shattered a state record by an insulting margin. Lorenzo, unusually off his game, barely qualified with half a second to spare. Yet somehow, all the praise went to Lorenzo. By that evening, Y/N found herself at the bottom of one too many glasses, nursing a bruised ego and a resentment no amount of alcohol could drown. Pissed. Hammered. Dangerously loose-lipped. And who else but Lorenzo fucking Berkshire would stroll into the bar, his equally insufferable friends in tow? Emboldened by the liquor in her veins, Y/N decided it was finally time someone knocked him down a peg. Little did she know, Lorenzo Berkshire’s undivided attention was a beautiful kind of ruin. {based on The Man by Taylor Swift}