#and then there's characters i love but will straight up not include

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: No one is crazy about him atm, me included, so this is strictly for my readers and my readers only. I don’t condone his behavior at all -Just let me finish out this fic please. Don’t come for me. I’m only a girl with a google doc whose spent hours upon hours and days on end on this fic

Chapter 10 - So Different | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.4k

Trent laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a storm he couldn’t quiet. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound jolting him momentarily out of his haze. Jack’s name lit up the screen, but Trent didn’t move to answer it. He couldn’t. The guilt was suffocating. Every time Jack called, every time Trent saw his name flash across his phone, it felt like a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He couldn’t face him. Couldn’t lie to him. Couldn’t explain to his best friend that the reason he’d been distant wasn’t some random funk but the unbearable heartbreak of losing you. You weren’t just Jack’s sister. He was coming to realize, you were his person, his peace, the one he went to when everything else felt like too much. And now, you were gone, and Trent didn’t know how to function without you. Since that night, he’d gone completely off the grid. He showed up for training, went through the motions, and then went straight home. He couldn’t bring himself to see anyone, to pretend he was okay when he wasn’t. His chest ached constantly, a dull, throbbing pain that he didn’t know how to soothe. He thought about you constantly. The way you’d cried, the way your voice broke. The look in your eyes. It haunted him. He replayed it over and over, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Was it the secrecy? The guilt? The fear of what Jack and the others would think?

You hadn’t said, ‘Why don’t we just tell them?’ And so, he hadn’t. He’d been too afraid, too consumed by the what-ifs. But now, lying there in the quiet of his room, he wondered if things could have been different if he’d just had the courage to say, I love her. I don’t care what anyone thinks. His phone buzzed again, and he turned his head to look at it. Jack was calling again, and for a fleeting moment, Trent considered answering. But what would he say? How could he explain that he was grieving the loss of you, the girl he was never supposed to fall for but couldn’t help loving? He turned his face into the pillow, the tears coming unbidden. He missed you so much it hurt. He missed your laugh, your smile, the way you made him feel like the best version of himself. He missed the way you fit perfectly in his arms, the way your lips felt against his. He missed you. But he couldn’t have you. He’d made his choice that night, torn between his desire to console you, to pull you into his arms and make you stop crying, and the guilt and fear of Jack finding out. He’d walked away, and now, he was paying the price. Trent closed his eyes, his chest tightening with the weight of it all. He felt like he was losing both of you—you and Jack. He couldn’t talk to his best friend about it, couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t even pick up the phone. He was trapped in his own guilt and heartbreak, unable to see a way out. Day in and day out, he lay there, caught in a trance, replaying every moment, every word, every touch. He didn’t know how to move forward without you, didn’t know if he even wanted to. All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before, and he wasn’t sure if he ever would again.

You weren’t fairing all that well yourself. You curled up on your bed, muffling your sobs into the pillow, hoping the sound wouldn’t carry through the walls. But Jack had already noticed. He’d been noticing for days—the way you avoided him, the lack of your usual energy, the way your eyes always looked on the verge of tears. Jack wasn’t one to pry, but this time, he couldn’t stay silent. You heard the knock at your door, a quiet but firm tap, tap, tap.

“Y/N?” Jack’s voice was soft, cautious. “Can I come in?” You froze, wiping your face quickly, though you knew it was pointless.

“Yeah,” you croaked, your voice betraying you. The door creaked open, and Jack stepped inside. His expression shifted instantly when he saw you, eyes red and swollen, clutching your pillow like a lifeline. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, taking it in.

“Come here, what’s gotten into you?” he asked finally, his voice gentle as he opened his arms. You hesitated, guilt twisting in your stomach, but the look on his face broke you. Slowly, you got up and walked into his embrace. The moment his arms wrapped around you, the tears came again, harder this time, like a dam breaking.Jack held you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow circles on your back. “Hey, you’re okay,” he murmured. “Just breathe for me, yeah?” You tried to, but the sobs kept coming. After a long moment, Jack pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he searched your face. “What’s going on, Y/N? Talk to me. Who’s got ya like this? Is fucking Josh again?” The question hit you like a truck. Who. Not what. He already knew this wasn’t about work or anything trivial. He knew it was someone. You shook your head, pulling away from his touch, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively. 

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled. “I’m fine. Really.” Jack’s brows furrowed, his concern deepening. 

“Y/N, don’t do that. Don’t shut me out. I’m your brother. Just… tell me who it is, and I’ll sort them out.” He cooed with a sympathetic smik. You laughed weakly through the tears, the irony of his words hitting you. If only he knew.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Jack stepped closer, his hands gentle on your arms. 

“Why not? You know I’d do anything for you, right? Just tell me, and we’ll fix it together.” You shook your head more forcefully this time, the guilt washing over you in waves. You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him. Not when it was Trent. Not when it was his best friend. Not when it would ruin everything. Not when you had betrayed him. 

“I just can’t, Jack,” you said once over, your voice cracking as fresh tears streamed down your face. “I’ve already lost so much over this. You’ll be mad and I can’t lose you too.” Jack’s face softened, but he still looked confused, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle without all the pieces. 

“Y/N, you’re not gonna lose me,” he said firmly. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it. Jack was all you had left, and if he knew the truth, you weren’t sure you’d survive the fallout.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, stepping back toward the bed. “I just… I need to figure this out on my own.” Jack looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed and nodded, his hands falling to his sides. 

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But if you change your mind, I’m here, alright? Always.” You nodded, biting your lip to keep from breaking down again. When he finally left the room, closing the door behind him, the silence felt deafening. You sank back onto the bed, your heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. You made a decision then. You couldn’t keep doing this—to yourself, to Trent, to Jack. The guilt was eating you alive, and the secrecy was tearing everything apart. It was time to end it. For good.

The week of silence was unbearable. Days stretched into nights, with every moment consumed by guilt, longing, and the reality of what you had both built under Jack’s unsuspecting gaze. For so long, you’d tried to ignore the weight of it all, but now the cracks were too wide, the guilt too heavy. You couldn’t breathe. When you finally stood on Trent’s doorstep, your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. You hadn’t texted or called; you’d just shown up, your emotions too raw for words. Trent opened the door, his brows furrowing in surprise when he saw you standing there. His hair was still damp from a shower, his face soft and unguarded. 

“Y/N?” he said, his voice laced with concern. “What are you—”

“We can’t do it anymore,” you interrupted, your voice trembling, already on the verge of tears. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” The words hit him like a blow to the chest. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Just..” He couldn’t even talk before he instinctively reached for you, pulling you into his arms. You collapsed against him, the weight of your words crashing down as sobs racked your body. His strong arms held you tightly, his hand cradling the back of your head as if he could shield you from the pain you were feeling. “Don’t say that,” he murmured into your hair, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t say that.” But you couldn’t stop. 

“I can’t keep lying to Jack,” you whispered against his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. “I can’t keep lying to myself. This… this isn’t right, T. It’s not right.” Desperation flickered in his eyes as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. 

“I know,” he admitted softly, his voice filled with sorrow. “I know it’s not fair to you. Or to him. But…” He trailed off, his words faltering under the weight of his emotions. The silence between you was heavy, the tension palpable. And then, as if drawn together by some unseen force, his lips found yours. The kiss was desperate, full of unspoken words and heartbreak. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you poured everything you couldn’t say into that moment. Before you knew it, the two of you were in his room, tangled in his sheets, your bodies pressed together as if trying to erase the distance that had grown between you. It wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a last-ditch effort to hold onto something slipping away. When it was over, the silence returned, heavier than before. You lay in his arms, your cheek pressed against his chest as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. He pressed a kiss to your hair, a soft hum escaping him. The tenderness in that simple gesture broke something inside you. You sniffled, tears slipping down your cheeks once more. 

“This has to be it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Okay?” You whimpered.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice low and full of sadness. He tightened his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple. “But Y/N… can you just stay though? Just for tonight?”  He meekly asked you, his tone desperate. Your breath hitched as his words hit you. 

“Trent…” You cautioned him already struggling to will your body away from his.

“I didn’t know it’d be our last night,” he continued, his voice trembling. “And I just… I just want to remember it right.” You nodded silently, your tears soaking into his skin. You didn’t have the strength to say no, not when he held you like that, not when you could feel his heart breaking beneath your hand.

“This isn’t right,” you whimpered, your voice barely audible. But Trent didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All he could do was hold you tighter, his silence speaking volumes. The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of goodbye hanging heavy in the air. You knew this was the end, but for now, in this fleeting moment, you allowed yourselves to pretend that it wasn’t.

The morning was heavy with unspoken words as you pulled your clothes on, trying to keep your composure. The air between you and Trent was thick, weighted with everything that had gone wrong and everything that still felt so heartbreakingly right. As you made your way toward the door, Trent followed, his steps slow and hesitant, like he was trying to draw out the moment. 

“Y/N, Stay,” he said quietly, his voice cracking just enough to break your resolve. “We can figure this out. Please.” You paused, your hand resting on the doorknob, your back turned to him. Tears threatened to spill again, but you fought to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to cry anymore. You didn’t want to feel this ache that had embedded itself so deeply into your chest.

“Please don’t make this harder,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned to face him. The look on his face nearly destroyed you—his eyes filled with a mix of desperation and heartbreak, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides.

“I’m not trying to make it harder,” he said, taking a step closer. “I just—this, us—it means something to me. You mean something to me. I can’t…” His voice faltered, and he exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself. “I can’t let you go like this.” You shook your head, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“You’re saying that because we’re behind closed doors, T… but that’s not the problem.” He shut his eyes, his jaw tightening as if the words physically hurt him. You knew he wanted to say something, to fight back, to convince you that it didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together. But deep down, he knew you were right. As you reached for your bag, something poked you in the side, reminding you of what you’d brought with you. A lump formed in your throat as you pulled it out, the tattered book of poems looking smaller in your hands than it had when you first tucked it away.

“I forgot…” you started, your voice barely audible. “I want you to have this.” You extended the book toward him, and he hesitated for a moment before taking it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch sent a jolt through your body, one final reminder of what you were about to lose. “I’m sorry for what I said the other night,” you said, your voice breaking as fresh tears began to blur your vision. “You are the furthest thing from nothing to me. You are everything, in fact. You are it all, T.” His hands shook slightly as he took the book. 

“Please don’t do this,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. When he looked up at you, his eyes were filled with a pain so raw it made your chest tighten. “Don’t go. I’m begging you.” You couldn’t stop the tears now, and they fell freely as you took a step back, creating the distance you knew you needed to survive this. 

“I have to,” you choked out. His hand clenched around the book, holding it close to his chest like it was the only piece of you he’d have left.  Trent’s fingers trembled as he turned the fragile pages of the book, the faint scent of aged paper filling the air. It didn’t take long until he started to notice the black ink penned in a handwriting he’d only seen a number of times in birthday cards. His head was almost hurting because he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t yours. His eyes scanned the handwritten notes in the margins, each word was a delicate imprint of your mum’s love and care, left behind like breadcrumbs leading back to her. The book flopped open on it’s own by its worn seam to a page you’d pressed the flower he’d given you the other week. His heart hurt more than his head at that moment. And then he saw it—why you’d marked the page - a line your mum had circled and underlined, her handwriting curling beside it with a note that seemed to reach through time:

'Even though we never said it to each other - We knew'

'Always reminds me of you and TAA—tell him one day, okay?'

His breath caught, his chest tightening as though the air had been stolen from the room. His grip on the book wavered, his fingers brushing against the daisy you had carefully pressed between the pages, a small but profound reminder of the park, of the simple, unguarded moments you shared. The lump in his throat was unbearable as he felt the weight of everything—the love, the grief, the guilt—all crashing down at once. 

“I know this didn’t work, but…” You stood there, knowing he’d read it, barely holding it together, your voice breaking as you forced yourself to speak. 

“Stop,” Trent cut you off, his voice shaky but insistent, the emotion barely contained. His movements were deliberate as he placed the book down on the counter, as if it were sacred. Then, with no hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, like letting go would shatter him completely. “We’re not doing this,” he murmured against your hair, his voice breaking. “We’re not nothing. I know we’re not. You know we’re not… She knew we weren’t. Y/N please.” The conviction in his words only made the ache in your chest swell. You buried your face in his chest, tears spilling freely now, soaking into his shirt. 

“I’m so scared, Trent,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You felt like in a way you’d disappoint your mum in giving up this but it was terrifying to love him. He was no longer a school boy, he was larger than life. “I’m so scared I’m just the girl of the season to you. That I’ll lose you, Jack, everyone. I can’t do this again. I can’t…” You confessed amidst your tears. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, his hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you even closer. 

“You’re not,” he whispered fiercely, the words shaking with emotion. “You’re not the girl of the season. You’ve been the girl of every season. My only season. You’ve been every single one.” His words cracked something deep inside you, but they didn’t erase the fear. You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, your tears making the world blur around you. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, your voice breaking on every syllable.  “I don’t know how to keep everyone happy and not lose you at the same time. I feel like I’m losing everything.” His hands came to rest on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as his forehead gently touched yours. His voice softened, but it carried an unshakable strength. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his words wrapping around you like a lifeline. “We don’t have to have all the answers now. Just stay with me, baby. We can sort this.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shook your head, the weight of the situation suffocating you. 

“This isn’t right,” you whimpered, your voice breaking under the weight of your emotions. “None of this is right.”

“Stay,” he begged softly, his voice raw and unguarded. “Please don’t leave me like this.” You sobbed into his chest, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you in the storm of your emotions. His grip on you tightened, his own tears threatening to spill as he pressed a desperate kiss to your hair. You nodded through your sobs, too broken to speak, your hands clutching at him like he was your last tether to hope. But even as you let yourself sink into the safety of his arms, the doubts lingered, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on both of you. The unsaid love was there, undeniable and unrelenting, but so was the pain, and neither of you knew how to make it stop. Trent looked at the book carefully, his fingers trembling as he reached towards it with one hand. a centimeter of the daisy still delicately pressed inside sticking out. His eyes lingered on it for a moment before turning to you, his gaze steady despite the rawness between you both. “Keep this,” he said, his voice soft but resolute as he picked it up. “She left more in there than an annotation about me.” He smiled sympathetically at you. He’d glanced at the pages before his name appeared, and although it was brief he understood your mum purposefully left this book for you. It was a way for her to communicate with you, to support you through situations you might face after she was gone. “You keep all the other stuff. I don’t need any more if I know she was on board because I’m not going anywhere… that’s all I needed to know.” His certainty was like a balm against the ache in your chest, but the weight of everything still loomed heavy in your mind. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“But if this doesn’t work… T, I can’t” you started, the fear in your words palpable. Trent stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, catching a stray tear. 

“Then I’ll still be here,” he told you firmly, his voice tinged with quiet determination. “I just told you. I'm not leaving.” His words wrapped around your heart, pulling at every fragile piece of you. 

“But how can you be so sure?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you searched his eyes for answers. “I didn’t mean for this to be a guilt trip. I just wanted you to know…” You babbled as your tears ran down your cheeks. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice steady and calm. 

“It’s not… And… I know… because you’re it for me. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We’ll try, yeah?” You nodded sheepishly, your heart warring with your fears, but his certainty felt like a light in the darkness. “Gonna give it a try, hmm?” he asked softly, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a tender kiss. This time, your nod was more sure, a small smile breaking through the tears. 

“Okay,” you murmured. And in that moment, with the weight of the book in his hands and the promise hanging between you, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward.

The next morning, the doorbell rang, pulling you out of your thoughts. Jack had already left for work, leaving you to shuffle to the door, still in your pajamas. You opened it to find not one but four massive flower arrangements towering in front of you. You blinked, confused, as the delivery man smiled politely and gestured for you to sign.

“Someone really likes you,” he remarked, handing you a small card after you’d awkwardly squeezed the arrangements inside. The arrangements were stunning—each one so different. One was a soft white and cream, delicate and elegant. Another burned bright with orangey-red hues, vibrant and warm. The third was lush with deep greens, earthy and grounding, and the last shimmered in an unexpected blue, rare and calming. You stood there for a moment, staring at the kaleidoscope of colors, trying to piece it together. Then you opened the card.

'To the girl I’ve let wait too many seasons—will you please let me take you out for a proper date?'

You laughed through your tears, the emotions of the past weeks bubbling over at once. The note continued, listing specific details about when and where he wanted to meet you, but you could barely read through the happy blur in your eyes. It was so him, so thoughtful, and yet so immediate—like he couldn’t stand another second without making his words from the night before a reality. The concept of girl of the season really was about his football season but the fact that flowers went beyond that. It was one for each season of the year; spring, summer, autumn, and winter. All there to signify, you were more than just a football season to him and he wanted you to know that. You held the card to your chest, tears still slipping down your cheeks as giggles broke through. He had acted quickly, proving he meant every word, every promise. Trent was asking, not waiting. Not hiding. This time, he was yours, out loud, in full color. And all you could think was… finally.

When Trent typed your address into his phone to send the delivery, his chest tightened with a familiar pang of guilt. It wasn’t just your address—it was Jack’s too. That nagging feeling of betrayal washed over him as his thumb hovered above the screen, memories from years ago creeping back unbidden. He could still hear Jack’s voice, clear as day, as if it were happening all over again. They were in Jack’s room, sprawled out after school, the usual banter bouncing around the group. A newer guy to their circle, loud and brash, had just moved to town and had made an offhand remark about you after seeing a picture on Jack’s phone.

“Is this your sister, mate? Fuck off! She’s well fit,” the guy had said, smirking. It wasn’t even a serious comment, but Jack’s reaction was immediate and sharp.

“Oi, Off-limits,” Jack had snapped, his tone firm and brooking no argument. He glanced around the room then, making sure everyone understood. “If that wasn’t already clear, no one moves to Y/N.” There was a beat of awkward silence before Noah, always the one to push a joke too far, broke it. 

“Come on, mate! What if she likes us? Girls move to me! What if she moves to me, huh?” He teased. Jack didn’t even crack a smile. 

“Nah. If she has feelings for ya, too bad.” Trent had sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his face carefully neutral, but the way Jack’s eyes flickered toward him didn’t go unnoticed. It was subtle, just a moment, but it lingered. Jack’s expression softened briefly before he looked away.

“Maybe…” Jack muttered under his breath, something unsaid hanging heavy in the room. But then, just as quickly, he turned back to Noah, snapping back into his usual banter. “But she’s not interested in you, mate. You’re a charity case.” The rest of the room burst into laughter, and the moment was gone, buried under their usual teasing. But Trent hadn’t laughed. He had felt something then, a pang of disappointment mixed with the quiet realization that Jack knew. Maybe Jack didn’t know the extent of it, but he’d always known there was something unspoken between you and Trent. And now here Trent was, years later, actively crossing the line Jack had drawn so clearly. He wasn’t a clueless teenager anymore, and the weight of what he was doing—and who he was risking—felt heavier than ever. But then his thoughts shifted to you. The way you’d looked at him the night before, your voice shaking as you’d told him he was everything, even when you thought you were losing him. That was enough to push the guilt aside, if only for a moment.

You called Layla that morning from your bedroom, your voice still thick with emotion but tinged with something lighter-relief, excitement, maybe even disbelief.

"When I tell you I was sobbing," you started, gripping the the edge of your dresser as you tried to steady your voice. "I was a mess, Layla. But then —he literally sent me flowers today. Like four arrangements. Four!" You explained. Layla didn't even pause before diving in, her tone pitched halfway between glee and exasperation.

"Finally! I've been screaming 'about time' since the first time you finally hooked up! That man's been fucking you for ages and he's just now asking you on a date?" She fell into giggles. You couldn't help but laugh, your cheeks heating even as you rolled your eyes.

"Layla! Can we not put it like that?" You tried to fight back a laugh.

"But I'm right!" she shot back. "It's been this whole dramatic saga of hiding and sneaking and you ending up crying at all hours because he's scared. And finally, he's putting it out there. I'm sorry, but I'm thrilled." You sighed, glancing at the arrangements. 

"It feels... so different this time. He said he wants to do it right. He called me the girl of every season." Your voice cracked on the last few words, the weight of everything hitting you all over again. Layla softened instantly. 

"Oh, babe. That's what you've wanted to hear, yeah? That he's sure. That he's not just scared of what Jack and the boys think but ready to fight for you." She cooed. You nodded even though she couldn't see you, tears pooling in your eyes. 

"It's just...so much. I feel like I'm still holding my breath. Like, what if it's too good to be true?" You asked her sheepishly. 

"Then let him prove it's not," Layla said firmly. "You've already been through the worst of it. Let him show you he's ready for the best of it." You sniffled, wiping at your eyes. 

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but...l think he is. Is that bad?” You asked her hesitantly hoping she’d almost lie to you if she felt otherwise. But Layla answered honestly, always. 

"No. This is good, Y/N, I can feel it," she said. "I''m so happy for you. Now we just let him sweep you off your feet properly. And wear something hot. You deserve to make him sweat." She told you very matter of fact and your mind began to work in overdrive after that imagining what you possibly had in your wardrobe that was fit for the occasion of all occasions; your first proper date with your brother’s best friend.

When the evening came, getting ready for the date felt surreal. You’d spent so long imagining this moment, and now that it was happening, the weight of it settled over you like a heavy, fluttering blanket. The mirror reflected your carefully chosen outfit, but your nerves made you question everything—was it too much? Not enough? Layla’s voice echoed in your head: Make him sweat. When the doorbell rang, your heart lurched. Trent was at your house. For a date. You opened the door with a shy smile, and Trent’s reaction stole whatever breath you had left. 

Trent had stepped out of the car, his heart already thudding in his chest as he approached the front door. For a split second, he hesitated, the weight of everything—Jack, the years of denying his feelings, the risks—hitting him all at once. This was your house, but it was also Jack’s house, and the lines between those roles had always blurred in his mind. You weren’t supposed to be this person for him. You weren’t supposed to be his. But when the door opened, and you stepped out to greet him, all of that disappeared. Everything—Jack, the past, the unspoken boundaries—faded into nothing. All that was left was you. And you were breathtaking. He blinked, stunned, as his eyes drank you in. You were wearing a black Saint Laurent mini dress that clung to your figure in all the right ways, the fabric draping elegantly across your body. The deep V neckline hinted at so much but revealed just enough to keep it tasteful, leaving him completely undone. The simplicity of the dress only heightened how stunning you looked, and Trent couldn’t believe this was the same girl he used to see in oversized jumpers and trainers, lounging on Jack’s sofa. You didn’t look like Jack’s sister anymore. You didn’t even look like the girl he’d been secretly pining for all this time. You looked like his.

“Wow,” he finally managed, his voice low and a little hoarse. He shook his head, clearly taken aback as his eyes swept over you slowly. He couldn’t stop staring, his gaze trailing from your perfectly styled hair down to the way the dress skimmed your thighs, then back up to meet your eyes. “You look…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly as if trying to find the right words.  He didn’t even finish the thought, just stepped closer and brushed a hand down your arm as if grounding himself.

“I look…?” Your nerves melted a little at his touch, and you dared to tease him. He smiled, leaning in to kiss your temple. 

“You look perfect. Unreal…”  He cooed. A shy smile crept across your lips as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, feeling the intensity of his gaze. Trent took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he reached for you.

 “You don’t look like…” He stopped himself, realizing how ridiculous it would sound to say, you don’t look like Jack’s sister right now. Instead, he smiled, his eyes softening as he leaned in closer. “You look like you. But more. If that makes sense.” Your smile widened, your cheeks flushing. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, trying to ease the tension that was crackling between you. But Trent didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. His eyes were too busy tracing the way the soft lighting from the porch framed your face, making your features glow. You weren’t just beautiful—you were magnetic. “Let’s go,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something more than affection—something closer to awe. 

“Hold my hand.” His words were so simple, but the warmth in them settled your nerves as you slipped your hand into his. His fingers gently brushing yours before intertwining, his grip reassuring. He gently tugged on your hand, pulling you toward him as he bent down to kiss your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment.  And as he led you to the car, his heart racing and his mind whirling, all Trent could think was how wrong he’d been to ever believe you were off limits. You weren’t just something he wanted anymore. You were something he couldn’t imagine letting go. As you walked toward the car waiting outside, the weight of the situation loomed again. You hesitated, beginning to voice your lingering fear. Your anxiety if you should even be holding his hand here in front of the house skyrocketing. 

“Are you…?” You began to speak but Trent didn’t let you finish. 

“Yeah, I’m really sure.” His voice was steady, his gaze unwavering as he glanced down at you. He traced his thumb along the back of your hand, his certainty radiating through his touch. The tension in your chest loosened, and you let out a soft hum of approval. 

“Okay.” You leaned in, kissing his shoulder as the two of you reached the car. Trent smiled down at you, opening the door with care. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something real.

The restaurant’s ambiance was a perfect blend of understated elegance and intimacy. The flickering candlelight reflected off the polished wood of your table, casting soft shadows that danced across Trent’s face. The low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter from other diners barely registered; your world felt narrowed to the man sitting across from you. Trent was watching you intently, his eyes never straying far from yours. It was as though he was memorizing every detail, every expression, and every shift in your mood. You took a sip of your wine, savoring the moment, but before you could set your glass down, Trent leaned forward. His thumb gently brushed the corner of your mouth, catching a droplet of the deep red, his touch light but deliberate.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. His thumb lingered for a few seconds longer. You blinked, caught off guard by the tender gesture. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible as your cheeks heated. You ducked your head slightly, shy under his steady gaze. But Trent wasn’t about to let you retreat into yourself. He leaned across the table a little more, his hand moved to hold for your chin. His fingers tilted your face toward him, his touch as soft as his voice. 

“Look at me, baby,” he said gently, and when you lifted your eyes to meet his, he gave you a small, reassuring smile. Then, before you could overthink it, he closed the gap between you. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss so light it felt like a question, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as the kiss deepened for just a moment before you pulled back with a nervous giggle.

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip. “That was… woah, you had me…. That was a lot...” You laughed shaking your head. You weren’t sure what planet you were on. He had pulled you into this world tonight that felt so surreal. He’d never done that to you before, kissed you in public, flirted with you at right while you sat across a table from him, it was all so confusing, and yet, he looked calm as ever. His movements were slow and deliberate. But then Trent chuckled, leaning back in his seat, but his hand stayed on yours, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. 

“Was it now?” he teased, his grin playful. You smirked, trying to compose yourself. 

“How many girls have you done that to?” you asked, your tone light but with a touch of curiosity beneath the joke. Trent raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. 

“What kind of question is that?” He asked you. His smile now sickened handsome and taunting.

“An important one,” you shot back, your grin widening. He held up his hand, palm out like he was swearing an oath. 

“Hand on heart, I have never wiped someone’s face. Not like that.” He told you. You narrowed your eyes at him, skeptical.

“Sure,” you drawled, the sarcasm dripping from your tone.

“I swear,” he said, leaning forward with a laugh. “You can ask anyone. I’ve never done that before.” You shook your head, trying to hide the way his words made your heart flutter. 

“Right,” you muttered, looking down at your plate to avoid his gaze. The restaurant around you felt like a cocoon. The warm lighting and muted colors created a sense of privacy, even though you knew other people were dining nearby. It was hard to tell if his choice in restaurants that felt hidden was intentional or if it was just your perception, but either way, it was okay. The world outside might as well not exist you were so transfixed on him tonight. You had recently got to spend a lot of time with Trent but really getting his undivided attention at a dinner had your head spinning. And apparently that internal chaos was something he could feel. 

“Stop overthinking,” Trent said suddenly, his voice breaking through your thoughts. You looked up at him, startled. 

“I’m not.” You smiled softly trying to just act normal but you couldn’t. 

“You are.” He smirked, his fingers sliding across the table to intertwine with yours. “I can see it all over your face.” You sighed, letting your thumb trace over his hand in return.

 “Maybe I am,” you admitted. “This just… it feels surreal.”

“Surreal good or surreal bad?” he asked, his tone soft but his expression serious.

“Surreal good,” you said quickly, meeting his eyes. “Definitely good.” He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart skip a beat.

 “Good,” he said simply, squeezing your hand. The rest of the evening unfolded in a blur of easy conversation and quiet laughter. Trent kept finding ways to touch you—his hand brushing against yours, his knee bumping yours under the table, his fingers trailing lightly over your wrist when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Each touch felt deliberate, like he was grounding himself in the moment. By the time dessert arrived, you’d forgotten about everything outside of this little bubble you’d created together. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t worried about what came next. You were just… happy.

Just as the waiter placed dessert on the table, your eyes drifted across the restaurant, scanning the room out of habit. That’s when you saw him—a player from Manchester United, someone you vaguely recognized. It took a moment to place him, but when you did, your stomach dropped. He wasn’t just another footballer. He was someone who was friends with Josh. And worse, he also knew Trent. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table as a wave of anxiety crashed over you. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but it didn’t matter. The possibility that he might put two and two together made your throat tighten. Your heart raced as your mind spun through a dozen worst-case scenarios.

“Everything okay?” Trent’s voice cut through the fog. He’d been reaching for his fork, but now his full attention was on you, concern flickering in his eyes. You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. Trent didn’t buy it. His hand reached across the table, covering yours. 

“What’s wrong, baby. Is this not what you wanted?” He asked. You weren’t sure if he meant the dessert you just ordered or tonight in general, and while you thought you wanted both before now… you weren’t sure.  You hesitated, glancing back toward the other player, who was now laughing with his group, blissfully unaware of your presence. 

“It’s nothing,” you said, your voice quieter.

“Y/N,” Trent said firmly, his hand squeezing yours. “Talk to me.” You looked back at him, his steady gaze grounding you for a moment, but the weight in your chest didn’t lift.

“Someone we know is here..” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Who?” Trent’s brows furrowed, his body tensing slightly as his protective instincts kicked in.

“Some lad on Man United… I think you know him,” you said, your eyes darting nervously toward the man again. “But he knows Josh… and he knows you.” Trent’s jaw tightened, and his grip on your hand shifted, his thumb stroking over your knuckles in a soothing motion.

 “Okay,” he said slowly. “And?”

“And he might recognize me,” you blurted out. “Us. Together.” Trent leaned back slightly, his expression softening as he pieced together your anxiety. 

“You’re worried about people finding out.” He cooed softly empathizing with your fear.  This was a big change to go from stolen kisses in the kitchen to sitting out in public together. You nodded, your stomach twisting. 

“This whole night has been amazing, but… I don’t know if I’m ready for this. For being public. For the questions, the stares, the judgment. I mean, what if Jack—” you began to babble, faster more panicked.

“Stop, pretty girl.” Trent interrupted gently but firmly. “Breathe for a second.” You took a shaky breath, but your chest still felt tight. “Look at me,” he said, his tone steady. When your eyes met his, he leaned forward, his expression open and earnest. “I get it. I do. This is… a lot. And if you’re not ready, we can figure it out. But right now, it’s just us. No one else matters.” He told you in a tone that Trent reserved solely god you. It was commanding but incredibly weak all at once. You swallowed hard, his words calming you slightly, but doubt still lingered. 

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“You won’t,” he said, his tone firm. “I won’t let you.” The conviction in his voice made you want to believe him, but the weight of everything—your past, your ex, Jack, the scrutiny that would inevitably come—still sat heavy on your chest.

 “I just…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“Baby... please. Just be here with me ,” Trent said with a small smile. “I’m here with you. That’s all that matters right now. And if it's really too much, just say the word. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work but for right now.. Just try.” He cooed gently.  You stared at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. 

“You’re being too nice.” You giggled nervously. Trent had always been unreasonably patient and kind with you and that clearly wasn’t about to change. “I don’t deserve you,” you whispered.

“Yes, you do,” he said without hesitation, his voice so sure it made your chest tighten even more. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that you could do this, that you could be brave enough to let this relationship exist outside of the shadows. But as you glanced back at the other boy across the room, your stomach churned with doubt. Trent’s hand on yours pulled your attention back to him.  “Hey,” he said softly. “baby, I'm serious, if you’re not ready, we can leave. No pressure.” Trent meant what he said but he'd be lying if a part of him wasn't aching for you just to try with him. To really commit to him, to this, to trying- it hurt. You hesitated for a moment before shaking your head.  The dinner had been perfect so far—Trent’s soft smiles, the way his fingers occasionally grazed yours on the table, and the playful, teasing lilt of his voice when he spoke. But your nerves had made it hard to focus entirely on him. You were too aware of your surroundings, glancing discreetly across the restaurant, noting every unfamiliar face. And then him. Josh’s friend. Maybe his name was Devon, you couldn't remember. And while he hadn’t said a word to you or Trent, his presence alone had unsettled you, pulling your mind into a spiral of what ifs. You felt like you were holding your breath, waiting for something to go wrong. You looked at Trent, his concern breaking through the wall of anxiety building in your chest. Trent was being so gentle, so patient, and it hit you—he deserved all of your attention tonight. It wasn’t fair to let the past shadow this moment.

“I’m okay, baby. Thank you. I'm sorry. I'm here." you said, smiling as you squeezed his hand. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to let go of the tension in your shoulders, and allowed yourself to fall back into the bubble he created. With each passing minute, it became easier to focus solely on him. His laughter was infectious, the way he leaned in closer to you when you spoke made your stomach flutter. You’d forgotten how safe it felt to be wrapped up in someone like this, where the rest of the world melted away. But while you were blissfully unaware, Josh’s friend wasn’t. From his seat across the restaurant, he stared, squinting as recognition settled in. First, he caught sight of Trent—someone he knew well from the pitch, a rival he loved to hate. Then, his gaze shifted to you, seated across from him, clearly on a date. It was all too good. You, the ex of his best mate, now smiling, laughing, leaning into the guy who had made headlines time and again for his assists. He reached for his phone, holding it low as he snapped a photo of you both, capturing the intimacy of the moment. Trent’s hand resting on yours, your head tilted slightly as you laughed at something he’d just said. He smirked, tucking the phone away, already composing the perfect explanation to Josh when they inevitably debriefed. Meanwhile, you and Trent remained nonchalant, completely unaware of the brewing storm outside your little world. It didn’t matter, though—not right now. Your focus was on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, on how his foot brushed against yours under the table. For that moment, it was just the two of you—soft beginnings and unspoken promises, blissfully unaware of the chaos looming on the horizon.

As the car rolled down Trent’s driveway, the engine cut and he turned to you, his hand still loosely holding yours. “I’m off tomorrow,” he said, his voice soft but hopeful. “You’ll stay with me tonight?” He asked. You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. 

“Obviously,” you teased with a giggle.

“C’mon,” he said with a smirk, stepping out of the car and coming around to open your door, his hand extended to help you out. As you walked to his front door, he hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone quieter. 

“I know this might sound stupid, but… I feel like I don’t sleep as well when you’re not here.” Your heart clenched at his honesty, and you turned to look at him, warmth spreading through your chest. 

“Aw, I’m sorry,” you said, teasing but still genuine. “Guess you’ll just have to invite me over more often.”  You smiled at him.

“Yeah?” He smiled down at you, his eyes soft in the dim light. 

“Yeah,” you said confidently, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.” Trent unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first. 

“That’s all the time.” As you walked past him, he murmured under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. You stopped just inside the doorway and turned to look at him, your expression softening. 

“Hmm?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, a bashful smile tugging at his lips. But you weren’t letting him off that easy.

“No, say it again. You said something,” you cooed, stepping closer to him, your curiosity piqued. He hesitated, running a hand over his hair, before finally meeting your eyes.

 “I said that’s all the time. I need you all the time.” He repeated himself feeling a little embarrassed. For a moment, the air between you felt heavier, charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. You stepped closer, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. 

“You’re such a closeted melt, you know that?” you teased, your voice trembling slightly with emotion.

“Yeah, well,” he said, his voice softening as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. “You bring it out of me.” You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. It was just you and Trent, tangled up in each other, finding solace in the quiet honesty of the moment.

The moment you stepped into Trent’s ensuite that night, a wave of peace swept over you, so profound it nearly took your breath away. You paused in the doorway, your hand resting on the frame as your eyes scanned the room. It was large but not overly ornate, it felt like him—clean, understated, yet warm. Your toothbrush stood beside his on the sink, its placement deliberate and thoughtful. A small bottle of your favorite cleanser sat next to his cologne, nestled naturally as if it had always belonged there. A claw clip of yours rested near the edge of the counter, a quiet, unspoken reminder of the nights you’d spent here. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to undo you. You felt a tightness in your chest, not from anxiety or pain, but from an overwhelming sense of being seen. In the past, you’d been in rooms like this before. You’d picked up a bobby pin that didn’t belong to you, brushed past an earring left by someone else, and each time, it stung like a fresh wound, proof that you were just one of many. But here? Here, there were no ghosts of anyone else. Only you. It was all you tucked neatly beside only him. You took a step forward, letting your fingers trail along the edge of the counter. The thought of it—Trent deliberately making room for you, keeping your things here like they were as much a part of his space as his own—made your heart swell. It was such a simple thing, yet it felt monumental.

The sound of his footsteps behind you pulled you from your thoughts. You turned slightly to see him walk in, peeling his T-shirt off over his head in one easy motion. His body, lean and strong, caught the soft light of the room. He tossed the shirt onto the hamper carelessly before his eyes found yours in the mirror. A small, easy smile played on his lips as he crossed the room toward you, his movements unhurried. When he reached you, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you gently into him. His warmth seeped into your back as he pressed his chin against your shoulder, meeting your gaze in the mirror.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, full of sincerity. You turned your head to look at him directly, but before you could speak, he tilted his head down, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, and the simple touch sent a shiver through you. “I mean it,” he murmured into the curve of your shoulder, his voice muffled but no less sure. “I can’t sleep without you sometimes, baby.” His confession made your breath hitch. Your chest rose and fell, your heart racing, but not from nerves. This was so different, quieter, yet somehow so much deeper. You turned fully into his embrace, letting your hands rest on his forearms, your fingers tracing the lean muscles there. His lips trailed across your skin, pressing soft, unhurried kisses along your neck and shoulder. He wasn’t rushing; he was savoring, as if every touch of his lips was a silent reassurance, a promise he didn’t yet know how to put into words. You let your eyes flutter shut, leaning back into him as he tightened his hold on you. His hands slid beneath your shirt, his fingers finding their place on your bare stomach. He rubbed slow, languid circles there, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “You look so good like this,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and reverent. A quiet hum escaped your lips as you leaned into him even more, your head resting against his shoulder. It wasn’t just his touch that made you feel this way; it was the way he held you, like you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

“This,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “This feels… perfect.” You told him.

“It does,” he replied, his voice equally soft but certain. For a while, you stayed there, wrapped in each other, letting the stillness of the moment settle over you. The air between you was charged yet calming, full of unspoken truths and quiet reassurances. As his hands continued their soothing motion on your stomach, you felt it—a profound sense of belonging. This wasn’t just a room, or a night, or even a fleeting moment. This was what you’d been searching for, what you hadn’t known you needed until now.

“You really like when I stay with you?” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly with emotion.

“I really do,” he promised, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. His words weren’t just for the moment; they felt like a vow, one you believed with your whole heart. And as you stood there, his arms around you, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet comfort of something that finally felt like home. Your moment of bliss was split when his phone rang. It was late, no one but someone important would call this late so you nodded for him to take it. He placed a couple more kisses onto your shoulder and your neck before dragging his hands off of you.

"Come to bed when you’re ready," he murmured nodding you on to finish getting ready for bed whilst he answered a phone call that ended up being from his agent.  

As you stepped out of the en-suite, Trent was already lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard, his dark eyes fixed on you. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over his chiseled features. He looked god-esque, his tanned skin glistening in the soft light, and his brown eyes sparkling with desire. You could feel a rush of excitement as you noticed the bulge in his sweatpants, a clear indication of his arousal. Smiling shyly, you approach the bed, your heart racing. Setting your phone down on the nightstand, you climbed onto the bed, your eyes never leaving his. Trent's gaze traveled down your body, taking in every curve, his eyes lingering on your tits, now partially exposed in your little silk pajama set.

"You look beautiful," he says, his voice deep and husky. "I love seeing you like this, at home with me… getting into bed with me.” He told you and though you agreed with loving his domestic this all felt you really liked the undertone of lust. You blushed at his words, feeling a surge of pleasure at the way he was able to make you feel desired. 

"Yeah?” you replied, your voice a little breathless. "I like how you look at me when I get into your bed.” You smirked. Trent chuckled, a low, seductive sound that sent shivers down your spine. 

"I can't help it, baby. You're so fucking sexy." He reached out and ran his fingers along your jawline, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. "I've been thinking about this all day. About having you here, back in my bed, doing all the things I've been dreaming of." Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You'd been dreaming of this moment too, of being with Trent, of a night like tonight exploring the passion and desire you'd both kept hidden for so long now bringing it out in public. Yet, in the bedroom, in private, was where you most wanted to be. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as his thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I want to make you feel good, Y/N," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "I want to touch you, taste you, make you say my name." He cooed gently with a purr. Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. You  always knew Trent was a confident and dominant guy, but hearing him express his desires so openly sends a thrill through your body every time.  You wanted to please him, to submit to his every whim, and the thought excited you beyond measure.

"Yes, please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I want that now, baby." Trent's eyes darkened with a fierce intensity, and he pulled you closer, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, a gentle tease that left you craving more.

 "I'm going to take care of you, baby," he murmurs between kisses. As his lips captured yours, you melted into the kiss, your body molding perfectly to his. His tongue danced with yours, exploring, tasting, and claiming. You can taste the mint from your toothpaste on his tongue, a refreshing contrast to the heat building between you. His kiss was demanding, possessive, and it sent a clear message—he wants you, and he's going to have you. Your hands began to roam over his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his freshly clean shirt he’d just put on. You tugged at the fabric, eager to feel his skin against yours. Trent broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he helped you lift his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted torso. The sight of his bare chest took your breath away. His skin was smooth and tanned, with a light dusting of hair that trails down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his joggers.

"Fuck, you're so hot, T," you whispered, running your fingers over his pecs, feeling the rigid definition of his muscles. Trent's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your words. He leaned back, pulling you on top of him, your legs straddling his waist. The position giving you a delicious sense of power. You took a moment to admire the sight of his strong body beneath you.

"Y/N," he growled your name, his hands gripping your thighs. "Show me how much you want me." He commanded you. You bit your lip, feeling a surge of boldness as you reached down grasping the waistband of his joggers. With slow, deliberate movements, you slid them down his hips, revealing his thick, erect cock, straining against his boxer briefs. You let out a soft gasp at the sight, your body throbbing with need, your fingers tracing the length of his shaft through the thin fabric. Trent's breath hitched as your fingers teased him, he bucked his hips, seeking more contact.  "Fuck, baby," he groans. "Take what you want. Show me.” You didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, you hooked your thumbs under the elastic of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his hard length. His cock sprung free, thick and heavy, the head glistening with pre-cum. You lean down, your breath ghosting over the sensitive skin, making him shudder. "Suck my cock, pretty girl," he commanded smugly, his hands gently dragging up your arm, to your shoulder, before moving to push some of your hair back. You obliged with a smile and a hum, lowering your head and taking the tip of his cock into your warm mouth. Trent let out a guttural moan as you swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the salty sweetness of him. You sucked gently, taking him deeper, inch by inch, until you could feel his hands in your hair, encouraging you to take more. "That's it, good girl," he grunted, his hips thrusting gently, fucking your mouth. And you took him well, minute after minute. "You wanna make me cum, baby? Suck me nice and slow, feel how hard you make me." You moaned around his length, the vibrations sending him over the edge. Trent's hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place as he empties his load down your throat. You swallow, relishing the taste of him, the evidence of his pleasure. He pulled you up, his lips seeking yours, sharing a deep, passionate kiss. "You're incredible," he breathed, his hands stroking your back. "I can't get enough of you." You smiled against his lips, feeling empowered by his words. 

"I want to feel you inside me, T," you whispered, your hands roaming down his body, eager for more of him. He grinned, his eyes alight with anticipation.

“Mmmm, good, cause I plan to be inside you all night, baby." With that, he rolled you onto your back, his body covering yours, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands slide under your top, caressing your skin, making you squirm with delight. "Let me take this off," he murmurs, his fingers deftly pulling up your silk tank top. You lifted your arms, allowing him to remove the garment, baring your tits to his hungry gaze. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of your tits, your nipples already taut and begging for attention. "So fucking gorgeous," he growled, lowering his head to take a tight peak into his mouth. His tongue teased and suckled, drawing a moan from deep within you. You arched into his touch, your hands threading through his hair, holding him to you as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, squeezing, and caressing, making you feel alive and desired in a way you never had. "So good f’me, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as he moves to the other boob, giving it the same attentive treatment. You're lost in a haze of pleasure, your body humming with desire. Trent's hands travel down your body, playing with the waistband of your shorts before sliding them down your legs, leaving you clad only in your lacy panties. He took a moment to admire your naked form, his eyes burning with appreciation. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice thick with admiration. "I’ve wanted this for so long. Every time feels like dream. Just want to worship every inch of you."  His words sent a thrill through your body, almost as if he cast a spell with them causing your legs to magically spread in silent invitation, eager for more of his touch. Trent knelt between your thighs, his eyes fixed on your core, now covered only by a thin layer of silk. "Gonna let me taste you, baby?” he asked tauntingly but his voice hoarse with need.

“Mhhhmm. Please, T.” You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as he hooked his fingers under the elastic of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs. He took his time, his eyes never leaving your exposed heat, drinking in the sight of your glistening folds.

"So wet just for me," he murmurs, his fingers gently parting your lips, exposing your clit. You let out a soft cry as his finger brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Trent leaned down, his breath hot against your swollen flesh, and then he replaced his finger with his mouth, his tongue flicking and lapping at your clit.

"Oh God, T, fuck," you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he feasted on your pussy, his tongue delving deep, tasting your essence. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you closer to the edge. His fingers joined his tongue, sliding into your wet heat, stretching and filling you as he suckled your clit. Your body coiled tighter with each stroke, each flick of his tongue, until you were teetering on the precipice of release.

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, his voice muffled against your sex. "Let me feel you come on my tongue." His words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure rippling through you. Trent didn’t let up though, his tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, drawing out your orgasm until you were left trembling and sated. He moved up your body, his lips finding yours, sharing the taste of your climax. "So good f’me, baby," he breathes, his eyes filled with adoration. "I love making you feel good. Love making you cum." You tiredly smiled, your heart full as you pull him close, feeling the deep connection between you. 

"I love cumming for you, T," you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his face. Both of you were using the orgasm as a front. Hiding behind the physical sensations to mask the very deep emotional connection developing. Neither of you really cared about that specific orgasm, no matter how good it was - you just were so clearly in love with each other and needed to say something but this wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. "I've never felt this way before." You sheepishly told him. He kissed you softly, his lips brushing yours in a tender caress.

 "I know, baby. I feel it too. This is just the beginning. Promise" Trent cooed. He was talking about sex tonight but he was also talking about your relationship, your feelings. As his words began to sink in, you realized this night was just the start of something much bigger. The rest of the evening was spent in every position possible. Each orgasm hacking away at your restraint. You were falling weaker and weaker to him literally and figuratively, terrified you’d let those three little words slip. But after round five and orgasm seven you said no more, clinging to Trent, exhausted and spent, your eyes fluttering closed as he held you securely rubbing his hands up and down your body gently. He hummed in agreement kissing your glistening skin. He cleaned you up but you barely remember it as you were focused on nothing else but not letting your tired mind and body mutter how truly in love with him you really were. You successfully fell to sleep with no slip ups but Trent could feel the tension. He almost wished you had said it so he could finally admit it to you but that wasn't the case. And so that night, he held you tighter to him than he ever had before as he dozed off, unable to leave any space for the words you both longed to say. He was struggling to bite back the feelings looking at you asleep in his arms, the words so desperate to come out now. You looked so different now. Different than you did on the porch and you felt different too. You felt like you were his. But it wasn't just you, it all felt different, so different. Things had changed. You two had changed and there was no turning back now.

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 11 xx

[sufferu]

You know, it’s a very minor thing, but it does make me a little sad how the Re:Zero anime adaptation…really DOES tone down a lot of the queer subtext in the original LN.

No Subaru proudly remembering his past as an androgynous, long-haired kid and lamenting that “time has not been kind to him”

All of Subaru’s comments about women being very pointedly based around their clothing (with the only exceptions being when he’s explicitly trying to distract them from something/lighten the mood) being changed to him making sincere comments about their actual bodies

No Subaru crossdressing for the first three days of high school (despite it being hinted to be a really pivotal part of his character actually, in both the text and QnAs—)

No Subaru accidentally dressing as a maid during the last day of the first Arc 2 loop and having a genuinely really hard time stepping out of that more feminine persona

No Subaru calling Otto his boytoy and. Honest to god, with context of what Natsumi Schwartz is like, I’m pretty sure Subaru was straight up flirting

No “supple hips” Julius, or Subaru allying his feelings with Patrasche when he thought she was being aggressive towards Julius’ steed before being told that actually she was trying to MATE with the other ground dragon, and even when they do include some of their interactions it really is toned down from the LN (I get that a lot of it is just visual vs prose medium but it still makes me kinda sad)

No Subaru referring to Reinhard as an ikeman

No Ferris jumping on Subaru’s bed and then going, “Wait did your heart flutter just now—?” and then explicitly staring at him with shock when Subaru hastily tries to deny it

Emilia’s definition of marriage being “between two people who love each other” being changed to “between a man and a woman who love each other” (though maybe that was just Crunchyroll? idk)

No Subaru explicitly being a really insane flirt with men (though I’m kinda holding onto hope that it’ll happen later as it comes up)

Ah, I hope they don’t alter Natsumi Schwartz’ appearance in Arc 7 too much…

[letteredlettered]

I do think Wei Wuxian is the coolest among the MXTX casts, but I also agree that Shi Qingxuan is a strong contender. Embarrassment = 0; confidence = quite high; kindness/goodness/compassion = quite high. I think where they actually lack is in swagger, because I think the "heft" of one's swagger is at least indirectly proportional to badassery. (I didn't mention this in my previous analysis as I think most of us can agree that Hua Cheng's and Wei Wuxian's b-points must be at least by most measures roughly equivalent, and at a level that would make SY!Shen Qingqiu fan himself likely unto death, if he didn't faint first.)

While SQX is quite the badass, people who aren't Xie Lian, Hua Cheng, or Luo Binghe have trouble being in even the same weight class as Wei Wuxian when it comes to sheer BAMFery.

Interestingly, I actually wouldn't place Mo Ran in the same category of badassery, unless one were to successfully lobby to include his specific badassery as Taxian-jun. Then Mo Ran would actually outclass everyone considered heretofore; I would argue his BAMFery one ups even Luo Bing-ge of the original Proud Immortal Demon Way (who must be counted separately than Luo Bing-mei, as they are in fact different people on two different timelines, unlike Mo Ran/Taxian-jun, who are the same person on two different timelines. As we have devolved into parenthetical, I will also take this time to remark that Shen Yuan would inevitably dispute these rankings, and not only out of rabid stanning for his fave, but because I think he would find the Zhenlong Chess Formation so ludicrously OP that Taxian-jun's method of controlling it through the Shared Heart Technique pushes Mo Ran even beyond the role of "wish-fulfillment protagonist" and straight into the result of weak world-building. Even Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky wouldn't write a technique so stupidly OP and easy to hack. If Luo Bing-ge existed in the world of Mo Ran, Luo Bing-ge would surely manage the Zhenlong Chess Formation without resorting to some pathetic worms, a method which literally anyone can master and so proves nothing; it's basically cheating, Shen Yuan would contend).

All right, so Mo Ran would win badassery, but I would not contend that is the only component to swagger. Taxian-jun's habit of raging about and forcing his former tutor into marriage and fucking him repeatedly and abusively while promising to impregnate him as suits his second wife is really actually quite pathetic behavior. Taxian-jun is actually a sadder boy than Hua Cheng and Luo Bing-ge put together, imo, sadder even than Luo Bing-mei when SQQ was a corpse, and why Taxian-jun never resorted to corpse fucking is probably only a result of the fact that he was too doped up on evil flowers to think of it. He's violent; he's a rapist; all swagger is heretofore revoked. Taxian-jun is in fact the opposite of cool.

He's a fucking loser.

Now, if you consider Mo Ran on his second timeline, wherein the Taxian-jun impulses are fully suppressed, in my opinion he doesn't have the swagger necessary to compete with the likes of Wei Wuxian and Hua Cheng. He would never use the Shared Heart Technique. He's just a very strong cultivator, putting him on par with say, Lan Wangji, rather than any of these high b-point contenders.

Meanwhile, if you consider my own scale, in which goodness and openness to love are significant factors, Mo Ran certainly ranks highly, and his gentle dom confidence is of course much cooler than the sort of mindless rage dom confidence to which some danmei characters resort--I'm looking at you, Lan Wangji.

But even at the apogee of his goodness, I would contend that Mo Ran lacks confidence in other ways. He fears Taxian-jun. He is ashamed of Taxian-jun. He knows he is Taxian-jun; he believes he can still become Taxian-jun; he fears Taxian-jun being seen and known by Chu Wanning, and this fear and self-doubt makes him someone who cannot, perhaps, be embarrassed, but can be deeply ashamed, which--while a character trait I am deeply interested in--is not the same as cool.

Meanwhile Wei Wuxian can feel shame, roughly, but forgets about it a few hours later. He's literally too cool to be bothered by much. The guy can have a party in a room by himself. They guy gets tortured and builds a flute. The guy finds a weapon of mass destruction in a turtle and leaves it there because eh, who needs it, and then goes back and gets it--no one knows when--whenever he needs to save the world. The guy saves a bunch of kids with his bad cooking. I can list out some crazy things that Mo Ran and Xie Lian and Hua Cheng all do, but they all take some time to cry and feel a little bad maybe every once in a while, but not Wei Wuxian, king.

inspired by a conversation with @letteredlettered

[fuckyesnessian]

Creator Highlight #11 - @wishcamper

Welcome back to Nessian Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their free time and creative energy to share their work with us!

It's been quite some time since our last one, and what better way to kick things off with showcasing a rare jewel of the Nessian fandom.

This week we're highlighting @wishcamper! She has several fanfics that been floating over the last year that we simply love. She's sure to have what you're looking for, whether it be angst, drama, or some classic Nessian romance.

In addition to her fics, @wishcamper is kind to everyone she meets, and uses her background to provide thoughtful insight to character dynamics.

Check out some of our favorites below, or check out their masterlist HERE:

A Court of Vice and Victors

“Then stop, Cassian!” She was shouting now, inches from his face. “Stop fighting for my life! I never asked you to! Forget about me and move on!”

A sparkling tear froze on the tip of her eyelash and he felt a triumph in it, this sign that she was in there somewhere. His hands ached for her. This had all gone so differently in his head.

“I can’t,” he admitted. - Or, a therapist's attempt at an ACOSF rewrite, because trauma's a bitch and muscling through isn't the only way. Featuring: -Nesta's alcoholism and trauma taken seriously -IC family dysfunction reckoning -recognition of Illyrian oppression and effects of colonization -women being resourceful and empowered in spite of their circumstances -healing not being a straight line

pro Nesta, pro healthy Nessian, anti nobody, pro everyone is capable of change

CW: This work explores themes of trauma recovery, colonization and systemic racism, and gendered violence and reproductive abuse, and contains mentions of physical and emotional abuse, suicidal ideation, abortion, substance use, and sexual assault. Specific warnings will be included for each chapter, please take care of yourself.

My Sweetest Downfall

A Nessian re-telling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, set during the first war for human liberation.

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to sex trafficking

For Cassian Week 2024 - Day Two: Hair

I Can Picture it (After All These Days)

Of all the things Nesta had expected since becoming an aunt, the spikes of envy that shot through her watching her father fawn over Nyx had not been among them.

That was what began this whole saga, when she looked back. Her nephew’s birth unlocked something painful that wound its way up inside her, seeking to surface. An anger at her father for having the ability to protect her all along and choosing not to, a darkness, an old fear.

Against the backdrop of a lazy Saturday, Nesta struggles with recovered memories of physical abuse by her grandmother as she and Cassian debate the choice to have children. A lil angsty, a lil fluffy, a lil in-between. Cozy Angst.

CW: mentions of child abuse, PTSD recovery, negative self-talk/self-hatred, light sexual content. (None of the abuse is described in detail, only alluded to.)

Want to nominate someone? Fill out the form HERE

[charcubed]

"Did you love medical school?" Avery asks Max.

"Medical school is the greatest longest hardest thing you're ever going to do," Max says, not answering the question, as he is already fucking famous for doing to get out of talking about himself.

(But this is not a post about Max. This time.)

The use of the word love here and the subtle framing of medical school as a relationship... Well.

My theory for Avery since the start has been that part of her arc is going to be growing to understand herself and realizing that becoming a doctor is not synonymous with fulfillment.

In episode 2, we got her saying,

"I've given up everything good. Everything that matters. Relationships, family. All for this job. And at the end of the day… I'm alone. Adrift. With nothing to show for it. I'm never going to be a doctor. This is all there is for me."

(This follows a pattern of a thing this show does with dialogue where characters say things that are more revealing to us as the audience than the characters themselves are conscious of, but that's a point for another post.)

Her bucket list included,

"I want to know myself."

because she doesn't know herself yet.

And now we got,

“I always thought that if I became a doctor things would start to make sense.”

I think Avery wants far more than just being a doctor... or, to be fully honest with you, I think they're conceivably going to go the route where she decides she doesn’t need to be a doctor because she’s found fulfillment in her life and work (and love!) in other ways anyway. I’m not talking “Rachel gives her life up for Ross” type of bullshit with two men instead of one, but rather tied into the explicit arc of how Avery wants to know and understand herself because she doesn't currently, and the "you're never alone" theme. That's part of what this pregnancy and future abortion plotline is setting up anyway: it's a brute force tool for self-reflection for her.

Does Avery really want to be a doctor, especially at the expense of all other parts of her desires? Or has that just always been The Plan and is she unconsciously thinking that earning that title will fix the holes she feels in herself and in her life?

If you think this sounds tricky to pull off as a story, you'd be correct – but hey, so is polyamory, and yet they're doing that. They’d have to write Avery's arc well enough that it doesn’t come across as reductive, but I really think they could land it because of the character setup they seem to be doing for her – and I've thought that for several weeks already. This week just has me locking in on that possibility more.

Now, going off the rails here from meta to straight up crack theorizing even though it's way too early to be predicting shit...

Weeks ago I was already wondering… what if the season ends with Avery going to leave to become a doctor and the guys decide to follow her? Maybe even in a big dramatic traditional “they run off the ship / to the airport” sort of romantic scene sort of way lmaaaooo. And as the boys abandon ship to follow her, at the same time, SHE turns around to go back to them without knowing they were following her! Idk. Who knows! Not me. Like I said, way too early to know anything.

Regardless though, the Hot Take™️? I would not at all be surprised if Avery changes her mind about wanting to become a doctor. And I think it could, if done correctly, be a weirdly bold move (in a show that's already planning to pull off A Big Bold Move).

[misc-obeyme]

Re: the earlygame beef between Mammon and MC. I always find it so funny whenever I see the (abundantly common, entirely typical) "Mammon has been there for us since day one! Our first man! Mammon is the only brother who never threatened to kill us or try to hurt us!" posts. Because it's just...so incredibly obvious how wrong they are? I have to assume that the people making those posts either literally never played the actual game at all, or they played with their eyes closed. Or perhaps they don't know how to read.

Because the game was literally shoving the fact that Mammon hates your guts and wishes you were dead in your face for like 2 or 3 Lessons straight. On day one when he first meets you? He can't stand your ass. He wants you gone. All the way up until you make a pact with him, and even for a little while AFTER making a pact, Mammon actively despises you and tells you so himself. And then multiple other characters (including Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer) ALSO come along and give you extremely obvious exposition like "wow, it's Mammon's job to watch over you and protect you in this hostile new environment? And he abandoned you the first chance he got, leaving you to the wolves? Haha, classic Mammon. Of course he abandoned you to get eaten by other demons, what a goofy guy"

And YOU LITERALLY ARE ALMOST EATEN BY DEMONS. BECAUSE MAMMON DIDN'T GAF ABOUT DOING HIS JOB AND DITCHED YOUR ASS. The manga goes into more detail about it too, showing that you literally came to harm because Mammon abandoned you when he was supposed to keep you safe. And later on when you call Mammon out, he threatens to kill you and eat you. To your face. He literally does that.

Idk, it's just crazy to me how badly people can mischaracterize these things. I know that Mammon is the fandom baby or w/e but Mammon fans in particular love to rewrite history and infantilize him as this sweet innocent woobie who never did anything wrong. "Mammon is the only brother who never wanted to kill us!" you're literally lying, lol. He threatens to kill you and eat you to your face. "Mammon loved us from the very beginning!" No he didn't, he repeatedly told you that he hated you lmao.

This happens with other characters too, yeah. People include Beel as part of the "never tried to hurt us" group even though he absolutely DID try to hurt us when Mammon physically force-fed us his custard (another thing Mammon did to deliberately harm us) Also Satan gets thrown in the "one of the bad ones who tried to hurt us" camp, despite never actually doing anything to us. He gets angry and goes on an edgy little rant, but if you actually know how to read you'll notice that he doesn't ever actually DO anything to harm us or try to kill us. He never makes any kind of move to actually harm us, but everyone assumes he does? Wild. But Mammon gets this the worst for some reason.

I could go into a whole entire separate spiel about how the Mammon infantilization also applies to the "everyone bullies him for no reason even though he's literally an innocent pure baby who never did anything wrong ever" but I'm just gonna double the length of this already long rant. What's crazy is I don't even dislike Mammon, he's cool. But oh my god some Mammon fans can be absolutely fucking insufferable 😭

Woobie 😭 I'm sorry, I know there's like paragraphs happening here but that word sent me lol.

I'm gonna level with you here, anon. This kinda thing just does not bother me in the slightest. I mean it doesn't matter to me if people mischaracterize or rewrite the story to fit their preferences. If it makes them happy, then they can go ahead and live their truth.

I think I probably land somewhere in between on the Mammon characterization scale, mostly because I like when he's a lil pathetic~

Anyway, if you want me to get into the nitty gritty of how I characterize Mammon, I can certainly do that. But I kinda get the vibe that you just needed to rant a bit. And that's okay, my ask box is always open for ranting or rambling or anything else!

[blacksurvivalnostalgichanges]

Eleven:Next, "What are the colors of Garten of Banban 1 (The Opila puzzle)?" A, red-blue-yellow-white-pink, B, reddish-nothing- red-ish -blue-lilac, C, green-whitey-reddish-pink-lilac-orange, or D, square-triangle-whatsapp-strawberry? Vote now!

Rozzi:I think D.

Eleven:Why are you voting D? It's what I asked you to write down! Strawberry??

Rozzi:It's just in-character for you.

Eleven:But I didn't say that! I didn't- This is recent! I didn't go "square triangle whatsapp strawberry"... Four isn't even the right amount!

[necrotic-nephilim]

How do you think bruce would react to a Robin pile situation?

oooh this is a fun thought. i think it depends *entirely* if you're working with a morally stable Bruce or a Bruce who's a little fucked up and dead dove-ish. somehow, i think it's actually more fun if it's a completely stable Bruce bc that adds so much more drama and issues if Bruce is deeply unsettled by the idea. if it was maybe just Jason and Dick or Jason and Tim dating that's sort of understandable. Bruce knows that while he may see them all as his sons (except Steph bc do know Robin pile will *always* include Steph for me and tbh Cass too as an honorary member. they're all going in the pile.) but he understands that doesn't mean they see each other as brothers. he respects the nuanced and complicated relationships scattered across all of the Batfam.

but if all of them are *dating*? or at the very least sleeping together? that raises a lot of logistical red flags. the most obvious one is the age gap of it all- at the biggest gap you have Damian and Dick who are an easy fifteen years apart, meeting when Damian is a kid. not to mention how many of them have tried to kill each other at some point. it shouldn't work and Bruce doesn't like that it does. Bruce has a history of wanting to control the relationships of the Batkids when he disapproves. and so he'd absolutely try to break them up. at first, he paints it purely as a logistical issue. saying it's smartest not to bring feelings into work and that this is dangerous. i think it's especially fun if this happens at a time when Bruce doesn't approve of Steph or Jason so that *also* plays into it, he doesn't want either of them near the ones he currently considers to be his family. he says he wants to protect them and wants to keep them safe. he tries to appeal to who he thinks would be more logical and listen to him the most. first Dick, and then when that doesn't work, Tim. and when neither of them listen, i *do* think Bruce would stoop to the low of trying to break them up by fabricating internal conflict between them, hoping to divide and conquer the weird polycule it's become.

while i don't think Bruce would be jealous in the sense he wants to be included, i *do* think he's wildly dislike the Robins having this close bond that makes them trust each other implicitly more than they trust Bruce. they will defer to each other before him and clearly keep things from him. he'd despise that. it's an inner circle he's not let in on and it makes him lose aspects of control over some of them, especially Damian who's the youngest and his son, who Bruce deserves the most control over. he would drive himself mad about it. at first for genuine reasons over the perceived fucked up nature of the relationship (even when each of them have confirmed that it is entirely consensual and they're happy) and to protect them. but he becomes so bitter over being ignored. they openly prioritize each other over him when the truth comes out because they see no point in hiding it. and i could definitely see Jason gloating about how he's back in the family whether Bruce likes it or not. Bruce would be beyond pissed about it. he's just never recovering. trying to stop them gets nowhere, even if he manages to cause some internal conflict.

eventually, Bruce would be forced to accept it for fear he would lose all of them. but he's *not* going to be happy about it and he keeps making side comments, hoping to get through to one of them eventually. it doesn't work, but he's definitely not going to stop trying. i also think on some level it would just disgust him a little bit in a visceral way, since they're his kids to him and he doesn't like to picture them in that way. esp when Jason or Steph lean heavily into PDA just to fuck with him. ass grabs, cuddling, sloppy kisses, the whole nine yards. Bruce will not have a moment of peace.

[agentark]

tagged by @aztarion and @agentnatesewell to use this picrew!! 😈

Mason x Rose (wayhaven)

Althea x The Waiter (new fernweh oc reveal lol)

York x Carolina (RvB) ㅠㅠ

tagging @honeylemonbutte @littlemissbumblebee @reesevernerlovebot @kdelarenta and viewers like you 😙

[bullagit]

some days it's just like yeah if the good omens fandom is gonna do one thing, it's watching aziraphale make choices that he clearly feels he has to make, despite whatever he personally wants or what would personally make him happy, because he wants to protect crowley or earth and humanity or whatever

and immediately making him out to be selfish/manipulative/cruel/abusive/too naive/a bigot/etc, solely bc of the fact that crowley is sad in the aftermath...

[sysig]

I did some Souichi studies because I’m love he <3 (Patreon)

Bonus:

Here are the Studies compared to their Originals btw :3

So like, not a joke, not an exaggeration, I’m pretty sure this is my favourite panel in the entire Challengers/KoiBo continuity (and I decided to draw it first lol - it’s ‘cause I have such big feelings about it!!) It just hhhhhh, it so perfectly encapsulates everything he’s feeling in that moment; disbelief, betrayal, uncertainty, distrust, conflict - every moment of love he’s built up to that point has been thrown into immediate relief to what he’s been told and it’s all there, right on his face, it’s such a masterfully done expression ;; <3 I legit cry every time I reread, that whole scene is just so good, I could actually talk forever about his relationship with Morinaga in that one moment

The rest aren’t nearly so intense lol, mostly just grabbed from moments when I thought he was being especially cute <3 Concerned lad! His hair is so swoopy in Challengers hehe <3 <3 It’s actually even fluffier in his super early-on appearances, which are also excellent >:3c But I still like his KoiBo look best ♪ You can also see it’s a bit of a challenge to make his face as slim as he actually is, just thicken the lines inward until it almost looks right! Lol

I love this panel haha, everyone so silly chibi’d out. You can also really get a good look at how ridiculous his hair is, look at how the tuft that’s tucked behind his ear joins up with the tie! How does he tie it up like that, consistently?? How is he allowed in labs like that!! He’s ridiculous <3

Confused and blushy Souichi ft. Morinaga, I just kind of filled in the details he was covering lol. I love Souichi being dumb and having no self-awareness <3 He’s actually quite intelligent and emotionally aware a surprising majority of the time! But his blind spots leave big gaps haha

I love when he has his eyebrows in a relatively neutral position, he’s normally so grumpy! He looks so friendly even with just a neutral expression :D Plus his hair!! The way it’s communicated to be thin and feathery by being able to “see through it” to his lab coat, ah <3 Handsomest

Shy boy <3 I also really love the way his hands and wrists are shaped, such cool lines ah

I could’ve sworn he and Morinaga were like, almost the same size in Challengers... I guess Morinaga did have a second growth spurt, but still! It’s just an excuse to see him being cute!! Oh noooooo (lol)

Grump man <3 Beauty boy <3 His hair flows so beautifully!

It’s also fun to see a younger Souichi in a flashback, rather than in the Challengers style haha. He was a mess by himself, he’d hate to hear it but he really only does well with others haha. I also love how this scene is from the POV of one of his admirers, Momo is such a good girl and she’s so right <3

He’s being such a meanie to his sister in this scene lol, he’s the worst! <3 I was going to leave it at that, but adding his little frameless-glasses stem holes really made it look like Spamton’s googly eyes and I about lost it lol

[ignaciwhore]

it's funny seeing posts on here arguing about how wade is attracted to logan with screenshots and shit like they have to prove it or something. babes. it's not something you have to prove, it's not subtext it's text. like it's actual text you don't have to read between the lines it's there

[necrogfie]

why am i back in my hp era noo

also holy fck i need more lily x reader fanfic i wanna kiss her pls

[primordyalsoul]

"I have no emotional attachment to her at all" anno count your fucking days i swear to god

[b4kuch1n]

one thing I thought was missing from canon sk8 was the mine being haunted apparently. so we are bringing that into burnished house for absolutely no fucking reason

[azol-otl]

Not Reverse Robins or Scrambled Birds but a secret third thing: A Step to the Left.

Not  Dick > Jason > Tim > Steph > Damian, 

but Jason > Tim > Steph > Damian > Dick*.

But not only them. Every sidekick with a legacy name gets shifted one spot. (No I’m not counting the Golden Age because I’m not combing through that ).

This means that Jason’s Titans team is him, Mia (Speedy), Jackson (Aqualad), Cassie (Wonder Girl), and Bart (Impulse but y’know he was KF II in the comics).

The NTT team including Starfire, Changeling, Raven, and Cyborg stays the same since they’re the only ones with those names. Cass gets lumped in here because Jason actually wants to do college/is becoming disillusioned about cape life and the idea of Kori learning Cass's body language is too good to pass up.

Tim gets one (1) cape friend (because Jason only got one) and it’s Zachary Zatara because it has to be a d-lister who deals with that disaster Teen Titans era.

Stephanie gets Jon (Superboy), Yara (Wonder Girl II now), and Irey (Because guess what it’s Impulse on the team and not KF which means we get Impulse II). Secret, Cissie, Anita, Slobo etc. all stay the same.

Damian doesn’t get anyone until he becomes Batgirl.

Duke literally gets Damian’s exact canon team but it’s Kon instead of Jon and probably won’t end with them committing war crimes.

If the character in that placement dies in canon then the new character in that placement also dies (i.e. Jason dies so Tim will die/ Kon dies so Jon will die).

But there will be changes because these are different characters so not all of them would react the same.

For example, Jason and Cass are the first Robin and Batgirl, but Cass becomes Nightwing while Jason becomes Oracle because I feel like Jason generally fits Barbara’s character better than Cass does (which is a fucking shame because Oracle being someone named Cassandra should be a no brainer but yeah).

 Or how Barbara should be Batgirl number three, but it’s actually Damian because Cass would see their similarities between them and offer him Batgirl (which he refuses at first but after his disastrous run as Robin he sees how Batgirl would fit his strengths better).

 Also I refuse to believe that Jason and Cass would let Dick out as Robin so young so he’s benched until later and his place is taken up by Duke and instead of Leviathan it’s Gnomon.