#even if it meant going against his wishes

[varibean]

Ok but when they parallel this scene with Viktor as machine herald looking at jayce’s broken human body and realizing that he too would do anything in his power to save him, what then?

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[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!

Chapter 8 - Caught in The Kitchen, Hidden in The Bathroom | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 11.3k

You and Trent were cuddled up on the couch, a blanket draped over both of you as the late afternoon sun streamed through the living room windows. The air was warm, filled with the soft murmurs of a documentary neither of you were paying much attention to. Instead, the two of you were locked in a lazy conversation, your head resting against his chest while his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders. You leaned into Trent’s chest, feeling the warmth radiating from him and enjoying the comfort of his steady heartbeat. Trent chuckled, recalling a memory that had resurfaced the other week. Recently you and him went to the park you’d gone to a lot growing up. A park where Jack and all his friends would play footie in and you’d tag along for a glimpse of your teenage crush. But this other week in that very park, your crush, Trent, had given you a daisy and confessed something that had long lingered on your mind. Did he even notice you back then? He was about to tell you.

“Baby, you know how we went to the park the other day?” He asked and you hummed confirming. You tilted your head up to look at him, your curiosity winning over the quiet comfort of the moment. “It’s just I was thinking – it’s funny because…” he began to speak, stumbling through words, his voice soft and nostalgic, “I honestly had the biggest crush on you, even then, when we were younger. I wish I was braver to have done something but instead… you know, I just used to try so hard during those pickup games with Jack and all the lads if I knew you were there watching.” He smiled, almost beginning to laugh at himself. You tilted your head up to look at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. 

“Are you implying that you have a crush on me now?” You cheekily asked and he rolled his eyes. “Baby…” You pouted patronizingly at him with a tease. “But also, no. No, you didn’t,” you teased a little more, a smile spreading across your face. “You simply wanted to win those games. You’re the most competitive person I’ve ever met. I was not your concern!” He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Fairs, that’s true that I wanted to win,” he admitted, Trent grinned, his dimples deepening as he recalled the memory, “but I swear… I mean I could even make pinpoint accurate passes then but I was purposefully mishitting the ball just so it’d end up rolling near where you were sitting. You were definitely a concern every time you showed.” He told you. “I mean, you know me always want to show off a little, especially for you.” He chuckled, but his eyes softened as he looked at you. You giggled a little smitten hearing his admission, covering your mouth with your hand at the revelation. 

“You’re not serious…” you asked, smiling at the idea of him planning such an elaborate yet subtle way to get your attention - risking his performance in front of others just to get to you? You couldn’t believe it. He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he replied. “I’d watch out of the corner of my eye, praying you’d look up or notice me. Even if you just rolled your eyes at us, it was worth it.” You couldn’t stop smiling, the memory taking you back to those carefree days. 

“That’s so dumb,” you said, but your voice was warm and full of affection. “For a few reasons, first off you knew I was watching just for you, Jack was shit at footie so I wasn’t exactly coming to watch him.” You both laughed. And he pulled you in a little tighter listening intently for hopefully a less humorous secondary reason. “But also because I was just trying to get you to notice me. I’m impressed with myself that you thought I was just hanging out. I used to try to act all nonchalant, you know? Like I was beyond uninterested. I would say I didn’t want to go tag along with Jack to my dad again and again but an hour later – I was dressed….” You went to keep speaking but Trent cut you off. 

“And you always looked beautiful by the way.” He told you. Butterflies filled your stomach for your current and younger self knowing the extra effort you put in to go to the park had Trent noticing. It wasn’t anything elaborate but your slicked back bun was done well, you’d have your jewelry on, a nice matching sweat set. Simple but evidently… very effective…eventually. 

“You’re sweet. But it was a facade. I’d just sit on a bench purposefully making sure I was in view or if it was warmer, I’d be picking at the grass, always ‘annoyed’ and waiting for Jack to be done, but in my head… I was praying you’d come over and say something, anything really.” You giggled, almost embarrassed you were admitting you’d been trying so hard. Trent’s eyebrows shot up, a look of disbelief and amusement crossing his face. 

“Nah,” he said, his hand moving to cradle the side of your face. “You were hoping for me to come over? Babbyy…” He drew out the word with a frown, not dramatically, not teasingly like yours before but just with a bit of a pout. You nodded sheepishly, your cheeks flushing with the shared embarrassment and sweetness of young, unspoken crushes. 

“Yeah, well…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Every single time. I’d always come for you. To watch you playing– I think I must’ve met some of the other boys ten times over before I even knew their names. All I wanted…  I was just hoping you’d notice me.” You told him. Your words flaring with a smile and then fading out into almost a pang of sadness. Trent felt the switch. He shook his head, but kept a smile full of wonder and nostalgia on his lips. 

“I noticed.” He reassured you, kissing your temple. “I noticed you probably the first time you showed. I had to play it cool though. It was long.” He laughed. “Kind of mad, we went from that to this, no?” he murmured letting you know he understood how crazy this relationship was and how long it had been building for. You looked into his eyes, the space between you shrinking as your faces drew closer. 

“I guess it couldn’t stay under the surface forever. Was bound to bubble over,” you said, a laugh escaping your lips. Trent leaned in, brushing his lips softly against yours, the kiss sweet and unhurried, as if savoring the lost moments from your past. 

“And bubble over it did. No matter how long it took… I’m glad I’ve got you now.” He pulled back just enough to whisper. His thumb traced your cheek as he looked at you, his gaze full of warmth and contentment. You nodded, resting your forehead against his. The whole room slipped into a euphoric still. But then you thought back to those long days at the park, where you’d sit off to the side, pretending not to care but secretly hoping for any attention. Your dad said it’d be good for you to be with Jack and his friends. Layla would even sometimes join you, but mostly because it was just so hard to sit at home at your old house that was filled with so many memories and so you went. You went as an escape and a part of that very escape was your developing feelings for Trent. You felt the lump in your throat form but you swallowed it down. You didn’t want to bring in all of those emotions and so instead you opted for another sweet joke. 

“You know, whenever a ball came over… I just thought that was shit aim,” you teased, nudging him lightly. He feigned a hurt expression. 

“Aye, aye, aye, relax. My accuracy has always been top tier.  Was doing it on purpose.” His voice softened, but it flared with cheek and competitiveness just the way you liked it. “I just wanted any excuse to get near you.” He cooed. You giggled, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. 

“I used to trot over to grab it but you used to look so uninterested in me, like you were too cool to care about any of it, about me,” he said, shaking his head recalling how rattled he felt but how determined he became. You smiled feeling like that wasn’t the case. You tried to play nonchalant but you were screaming inside. “I thought you were impossible to impress.” Trent laughed, his eyes lighting up at the image. “But then I started smiling at you, I’d shoot you a wink and then maybe just maybe sometimes  I think I caught you watching just for me.” He smirked.  You bit your lip, feeling a tinge of embarrassment that he noticed but also amusement. 

“What was I meant to do!” You yelped. “I wanted you to think I was cool,” you admitted, “ but then I crumbled…. as you well know. You were always so loud and confident, it was hard to not look. Even back then, you knew you were good.” He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyebrows raised. 

“I tried to impress you. But to be fair, I knew I could,” he said smugly, the playful arrogance in his voice making you laugh. “But I think you’re underselling how good I really was. It was pick-up footie with schoolmates then I’d bounce off to the academy. You were watching because you knew I was the best one there.” He joked but also semi serious wanting to hear your confirmation he was the best. You rolled your eyes. You remembered once gushing to Layla about how good Trent was, that it was hot to see someone so talented at something. She teased you about having an easy way to become a wag. But that wasn’t it. He could’ve just been Jack's friend. The bouncing off to the academy after was the thing you cared about the least. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” You sarcastically snapped back. “More like, I was just waiting for you to make a fool of yourself,” you joked, your grin widening. “Skying the ball over the bar because you had to take every free kick.” You teased and Trent’s eyes widened but you could feel him loving the banter. Loving it secretly even more than a compliment. “Honestly, I think I’d have been a better player than you if I had joined the games.” You told him with faux seriousness. Trent’s jaw dropped in mock offense. 

“Excuse me? You think you could strike a better dead ball than me? ’Got a better right foot than me?” he asked, his voice incredulous but his eyes gleaming with excitement. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease him further, leaning in closer with a smug smile. 

“Absolutely. I’d have shown you up, easy. Just didn’t want to embarrass you.” You quipped. He pulled away from you immediately, his face contorting into an exaggerated expression of shock that soon melted into a cheeky grin. 

“Yeah? That so?” he questioned, his tone full of playful challenge. “Alright then, if you’re so confident, you’re gonna have to prove it.” Before you could respond, he suddenly stood up from the sofa and, in one swift motion, scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. You let out a surprised squeal, half-laughing and half-protesting as he carried you toward the glass doors that led to the back garden.

“Where are we going?!” you shrieked, still laughing as he ignored your protests.

“To the back garden,” he declared, a competitive glint in his eye. “If you’re so good, you’ve got to show me right now.” You couldn’t stop laughing, your heart racing with the thrill of his sudden challenge. 

“T! You’re being ridiculous!” you managed to say through your giggles, but deep down, you loved every second of it. Trent carried you effortlessly through the house, your squeals and laughter filling the living room as he made his way toward the glass doors that led to the back garden. You squirmed in his hold, trying to wriggle free, but he only tightened his grip around your waist, his laughter rumbling through his chest. “Trent!” you cried out, half laughing, half gasping. “Put me down! I’m not even dressed to go outside!” He grinned at your complaint, completely unbothered, and slid open the glass doors with one hand. The crisp air of early evening swept in, the sky had begun to turn shades of navy streaked with orange. He stepped out onto the grass, finally setting you down but keeping a firm grip on your shoulders to stop you from escaping.

“You think you’ve got a better right foot than me, yeah?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well… go on then. Show me what you’ve got.” He mocked you as you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to feign an air of confidence even though you knew this was ridiculous. 

“I can’t play like this!” you protested, gesturing to your outfit—cozy lounge shorts and an oversized jumper of his but most of all slippers… hardly proper attire for any football.Trent raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a grin. 

“Excuses already?” he teased. “And here I was, thinking you’d at least try to back up all that talk.” You stuck out your tongue at him, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. 

“Fine,” you conceded. “But don’t cry when you realize I’m actually better than you.” You were talking a good game but even with your decent athleticism aside… you were mildly nervous but you continued to joke about. “You’re not cute when you lose.” You teased him recalling all the times he’d simply lost a board game and how he’d pout. Annoyingly, it was actually cute but you’d tell him otherwise for the sake of banter and the moment. He laughed, and the sound was warm and bright in the fading sunlight. 

“I’m not a sore loser!” He yelped and you raised your brow silently telling him to be realistic. He was a bad loser. “Nah, alright, if you embarrass me, I’ll retire from football right now,” he joked, stepping back to give you space. “But I won’t hold back.” You rolled your eyes, feeling the playful competitiveness radiate between the two of you. He jogged off to a shed tucked in the corner of the garden where he had a ball stored, The game about to start as a lighthearted test of skill, with both of you brimming with playful energy. Trent, competitive as ever, had made sure to set the stakes high, a teasing grin stretched across his face as he dropped the ball onto the grass and rolled it toward you. The moment the ball reached your feet your heart slowed. You weren’t sure how serious either of you were being. This was a joke, right? What if he thought you were shit? What if he thought you were trying too hard? Nevertheless, with an exaggerated flick of your hair, you picked your head toward him. 

“Ready to lose?” you taunted. He feigned a look of horror but then smiled. 

“Never, baby,” he said, already moving into a more defensive position. “I rarely do.” He reminded him. You squared your shoulders, and with a grin, you nudged the ball forward with your foot, feeling your heart race. You took a step forward with it. Trent was all playful resistance, putting on his most intimidating game face while still clearly holding back. You juked left dramatically as a joke as if you were actually going to try to go past him and both of you bursting out into giggles. But still you took one more little jab at the ball just to edge it past him amidst the laughter—though, admittedly, it was more because he was enjoying the moment than you actually outplaying him. He turned round and dragged the ball back with his feet. He was going to be offensive now. Trent tapped the ball lightly, his feet dancing around it with a series of quick step-overs and fancy tricks, every movement of his ridiculously smooth. At first you were momentarily mesmerized, seeing it all so close up for the first time. You were experiencing a, yes, exaggerated, humorous, and overzealous, performance of his, but still, close to what it was like to face someone like him on a pitch. You stuck your leg out attempting to poke the ball away or pull it back to you, trying to swipe the ball away from him. He sidestepped easily, a laugh bursting from his lips, not mockingly just teasingly, as he kept the ball just out of reach; enjoying this way too much.

“Okay, okay, you can stop showing off!” you complained, trying to keep up, but he only chuckled, now purposefully dribbling circles around you. You stopped trying minutes ago. You, frankly, never really gave any of this silly game much effort.

“I thought you said you were better, no?” he teased, his voice full of mischief. His eyes glinted with pure joy, and you couldn’t help but smile even through your feigned frustration. Trent loved being good at things and this… winning a challenge, playing football… he was good at. The cool air was biting at your skin, but the warmth of the moment made it hard to feel anything but happiness. “Come on, you’re not even trying!” he taunted, shifting the ball back and forth with smooth footwork. He wanted you to actually try but you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of him. Feigning annoyance you groaned, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it…” You pretended like you were about to actually give it a go but you decided on a different tactic. With a devious smile, you waited until Trent had planted the ball under his foot, taking a moment to catch his breath while still managing to look smug. Then, without warning, you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his waist from behind and dragging your whole weight against him. Trent stumbled slightly, his laughter ringing out into the garden. 

“Oi! Ref!” he shouted, his voice full of playful outrage. “That’s a foul! A yellow card for sure! Get her off the pitch!” You laughed, clinging to him tighter. He twisted around in your embrace, trying to keep the ball pinned under his foot, but he was losing the fight. His laughter made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but grin as you pressed your cheek against his back, feeling the warmth radiate from him. Trent’s laughter began to subside, and he tried to turn his head to look at you, his eyes dancing with delight. “You’re a snake! You think you’re sneaky, huh?” he teased. “Trying to take me out by cheating?” You giggled, unrepentant, as you slid your hands from his waist up to drape them around his neck. 

“What? Me? Never.” Leaning up, you began to plant soft, ticklish kisses along his jawline, moving up to his ear and whispering, “You know, if you’d just given me the ball, I wouldn’t have had to resort to these tactics.” Trent stumbled a bit more, his knees almost buckling as he tried to resist the effect you had on him. His hands moved to hold your arms, and you took the opportunity to pepper even more kisses along his neck. Finally, he twisted fully around, his smile bright and wide, but before he could say anything more, you leaned up and kissed him properly. His eyes widened for a second, but he melted into it, the laughter leaving his body as the energy shifted between you. The kiss started sweet, the two of you still grinning against each other’s lips, but then Trent’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, and you could feel his breath hitch as he gave in. 

“That… that was definitely a red card.” He pulled back just a fraction, his lips barely brushing yours as he whispered. His voice had dropped, becoming huskier, and you shivered at the way he looked at you. The playful atmosphere morphed into something more electric, more intense, and you couldn’t help but feel the heat rising between you. You met his gaze, your heart pounding. 

“Oh? A red card, really?” you murmured. He nodded slowly, his eyes darkening as his hands moved from your back to cup your face. 

“Yeah. But we can play on. I’m not sure I mind your tactics,” he whispered. His fingers traced your jawline, and the way he looked at you made your knees weak. The playfulness had melted away, leaving only a shared desire, and you knew the game was long forgotten. A smile tugged at your lips, but you leaned in, capturing his mouth with yours again. The air was still cool, the night sky overhead, but all you could feel was Trent, his warmth, and the way he made the world fade away. You both stood there, catching your breath and grinning at each other, the garden bathed in the last light of the day. It felt like one of those perfect moments you’d remember forever—just the two of you, tangled in laughter and love.

One night, it was a friend of a friends birthday party you all had been invited to; Jack, all his mates, Trent, Layla, it was a massive event. Your house buzzed with the energy of pre-party excitement. Music played from every direction on surround sound speakers. A few of Jack’s mates had already shown up, their laughter echoing faintly from the living room. You had invited Layla over to get ready with you, knowing you both wanted to look your best for the party. The evening was promising to be memorable, with everyone gathering together for the night out. Although a part of you was really anxious, you worried about your feelings, alcohol, and Trent mixing in the same room but you pushed it down. You giggled upstairs with Layla trying on outfits in your wardrobe, but had taken extra precaution ahead of time to hide any remnants of Trent; a jumper, some boxers, condoms, an array of items that frankly wouldn't be damning evidence but you were nervous. In the middle of getting dressed, you realized you desperately needed water—both you and Layla did. You’d promised her a drink to aid in staving off the inevitable hangover you’d both likely have tomorrow, so you ran downstairs in your relaxed outfit: oversized sweats and a tiny tank top. Despite your hair and makeup being perfectly done, you felt comfortable and at ease at home as you snuck down quickly but all it padded with a sense of nerves. As you made your way into the kitchen, you noticed Trent. He’d already arrived to pregame, his presence instantly shifting the air in the room. He looked incredible, wearing just a white t-shirt that highlighted his tan skin, his hair freshly trimmed, and a gold chain peeking out from beneath the neckline. The look on his face that lit up when he saw you was sweet, and genuine. A moment to be alone together again suddenly appeared but you'd do your best to ignore it. Not here. Not now.

“Hey pretty girl,” he greeted, his voice low and teasing but quiet. The nickname wasn’t something other people hadn’t heard. He’d called you it for ages but what you hadn’t done for ages was what you were doing lately. Something was very different. You were sleeping together to say the least. You rolled your eyes at him pretending not to care as you normally would, walking around the kitchen island to get your drinks. You’d say something eventually but you had to play it cool. Jack and all their friends were in the other room, Layla upstairs. You filled a cup of water, moving to fill a second. But before you could do that, before you could say anything to him, he closed the distance between you, reaching out to tug on the waistband of your sweatpants and pulling you backward into him. You yelped, almost spilling the water you had just gotten. 

“Babyyy,” you whined instinctually, playfully, glaring at him with mock exasperation, but your pout couldn’t hold as Trent wrapped his arms around your waist. It was too natural now. It was as if any fear dissipated when he stepped within a foot of you. Trent knew everyone was occupied in the other room with a game, he knew Layla was upstairs so he couldn’t resist stealing this moment. He wanted you to be back in his arms. He held you tight, his touch warm and familiar, his grip grounding you in a way that made your heart race. He chuckled, pressing his chin against your shoulder. 

“Shhhh.” He hushed you calling him the pet name aloud although with a smile because he didn’t actually mind hearing it. “Can’t be doing that... but I just couldn’t resist you though,” he murmured, his voice full of affection. He thought you were alone, that this was a stolen moment between just the two of you. And so did you. You leaned back into him, pouting dramatically. 

“You made me spill my water,” you said, your voice half a giggle, half a protest. Trent smirked, clearly amused but unfazed. He leaned in closer, his face hovering near yours, his intentions obvious. His gaze held that gentle intensity that always made you melt, and you prepared to let him steal a kiss—

“OH MY GOD!” Layla’s scream cut through the air, making you both jump apart. Your eyes widened in shock, and you turned to see her standing at the base of the stairs, eyes as wide as saucers, her mouth hanging open. “I fucking knew it!” she yelled, her voice rising in pitch with excitement. “I fucking knew there was something bigger going on between you two! Oh my fucking god, how long has this been happening?!” She yelled running into the kitchen.  You stumbled out of Trent’s embrace, your face burning.

“Lay… oh fuck. It’s not… it’s just…” you tried to form a coherent sentence, stepping toward her in a flustered panic. “Just shhh.” You now hushed her.  Trent scratched the back of his neck, clearly equally rattled but there was a fullness to his cheeks.

“Lays, we’re just…” he began, trying to calm her down. But she wasn’t having it. She looked between the two of you, her eyes lighting up with even more surprise and delight. 

“This is serious! You two are so… so lovey-dovey! Oh my days. So it wasn’t a one time thing? Jack’s going to die when he finds out!” She babbled on too overtaken by her surprise to have any sort of decorum or consciousness, mindfulness regarding the delicacy of this all. You ran over to her, covering her mouth with your hand, your own heart pounding with anxiety.

“Please, Layla,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t say anything yet. I promise I’ll tell you everything. Just… not now. You can’t tell anyone. Please.” You whispered harshly pleading just to her. You looked at her seriously. A look she knew well. It confirmed you and Trent were more than nothing. Trent came closer to you both, still looking uncomfortable but trying to add to the appeal. 

“Yeah, we’re… just figuring things out,” he said cautiously, trying to convey the delicateness of your situation. “Just let it stay hush for now, yeah?” He told her. Layla pulled your hand off her mouth, her eyes wide and questioning. 

“Figuring things out?” she echoed, confused by the vagueness turning towards you for clarity but you didn’t have any. She could sense that. Her gaze softened, and she nodded slowly, realizing the tension between the two of you. Both you and Trent felt a twinge of awkwardness at what you had both said. Even though it was honest, Trent belittled you and his relationship down to figuring things out. Where Trent thought you may have been wanting to hide things entirely, forever. It was all so confusing. You wondered if he was downplaying your relationship, and he worried that maybe you were keeping things too ambiguous. It stung a bit, this uncertainty of what you both really meant to each other. But for now, officially… someone else knew. Someone knew that you and Trent were no longer just friends. Layla had seen the reality of what you and Trent were, how real and raw this thing between you was. The secret was out, and the weight of it felt equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

You left the room with a nod of certainty from Trent. You had no option other than to drag Layla upstairs immediately swearing her to secrecy. You couldn’t risk Jack overhearing this conversation downstairs any longer. You hated you hadn’t told her more since the first hook up but how could you? Trent shot Layla a wink and her jaw dropped as you pulled her to the staircase.  As soon as the door to your bedroom shut, you and Layla burst into almost panicked laughter, the nerves of her catching you with Trent bubbling over. Her giggles were of disbelief, yours in fear. Layla immediately threw her arms around you, still bouncing with shock and delight. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck! Why did you hide this from me!!?!” she squealed, her voice just barely above a whisper but it was strained as if the walls themselves might betray the secret.

“I’m so so so sorry... Seriously, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you admitted, guilt mixed with an overwhelming need to finally let someone in on everything. You couldn’t hold back the truth anymore, not with Layla’s eyes wide and eager. She tugged you over to the bed, her curiosity palpable. 

“Alright, secret's out. Spill it,” she demanded, crossing her legs and folding her arms, ready to listen. You took a deep breath, searching for the words to explain the whirlwind of the last few months. 

“It’s been…” You couldn’t bite back the smile that Trent brought to your face.

“Oh my god!!!! So you’ve been properly hanging out, not just fucking?” Layla jumped the gun, completely shocked by the look the relationship brought to your face.

“Layla….” You steadied her. You’d tell her everything, if she’d just be patient enough to listen. She waved an apology telling you to go on. “It’s been so good. Honestly, I never expected it to actually happen, but he’s just…” Your voice softened, the warmth flooding your cheeks as you thought of him. “He’s been so sweet, Lays. Like, really sweet. Thoughtful, kind, funny. He has this way of making me feel like I’m the only one in the room, even when we’re hiding from the world.” You started to let the stories spill out, one by one: the little glances he’d give you across crowded rooms, how he’d brush his hand along yours in passing, those quiet moments spent tangled up in each other’s arms as morning light painted shadows on the sheets. “We’d just lay there, not needing to say anything,” you murmured. “He’s so different when it’s just the two of us. There’s this softness to him, this… I don’t know, it feels so real. But—” You stopped, that familiar ache settling in your chest. Layla’s brows furrowed slightly. 

“But?” she prompted gently. She was biting back a million questions, comments, and concerns. She was trying just to listen, no opinions just yet.

“It’s like… every time we’re together, I feel like we’re on the verge of something real. But the second he leaves, I’m left wondering if I even exist in his life outside of those moments.” You let out a sigh, frustration mixing with the warmth of your memories. “It’s just—everything’s hidden. We’re hidden. And I’m terrified that I’m just some secret he’s keeping, like… like one of his other ‘girl of the season’ situations.” You explained sheepishly. You hated that this insecurity came with all the joy. You were almost embarrassed to let Layla into how complacent you’d been to it all. 

“So, you’re afraid that he sees you like he’s seen other girls in the past? Just… temporary?” Layla looked at you thoughtfully. You nodded, looking down, feeling the weight of the confession. 

“He says it’s different, and when I’m with him, I believe it. I want to believe it. But I can’t shake this feeling that I’m living this double life, like I’m only part of his world when it’s convenient. It’s one thing to keep it from Jack, but keeping it from you, from everyone else—it just makes me feel like… maybe he’s not serious about this. About us.” You muttered. Layla reached over, squeezing your hand, her face softening with understanding. 

“I mean to be fair… I don’t think girl’s of the season have been given cars no strings attached.” She smirked teasingly knowing this relationship had been long brewing. “But that’s kind of the point… you could never be them. This situation is so sensitive. But, you know… it sounds like it’s real to you. I think what’s hard is that you are not just a secret in his world, you’re a big one. He winked at me when we left, like a confirmation I’d keep a tight lip. And I get that it’s complicated, but you deserve someone who isn’t afraid to let everyone know how he feels about you. Publicly… Openly.!” She told you the opinion you were waiting to hear. The one you knew had kept you from telling her to begin with. One you had a hard time stomaching because you knew it was correct.  You bit your lip, her words hitting you harder than you expected. 

“That’s the thing… when I’m with him, I don’t doubt it. I know he cares. But the minute he’s gone, it’s like I’m pulled back into reality, and I realize that in addition to his footballer lifestyle… layer on the fact that I’m still just—Jack’s little sister. And the thought that I might never be more than that to him—it terrifies me.” You earnestly admitted. Layla wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her expression soft but determined. 

“Look, you deserve to be someone’s first choice, not a hidden chapter in their life. I know it’s scary,it probably is for him equally but maybe it’s time to be honest with him about what you need. All these little moments—they’re beautiful, yeah. But you deserve more than just stolen hours and hidden smiles. You deserve a real relationship. At the very least, I deserve a relationship you can at least tell me about.” She teased with a smile but it was tense. Her words lingered, settling somewhere deep within you. It was the honesty you’d been too afraid to face, the thing you’d been pushing aside every time you let yourself get lost in Trent’s arms. And as you sat there, talking it through with Layla, you felt the weight of your choices, your emotions sharpened into something you could finally name. You had a choice to make—keep clinging to the comfort of those stolen moments or take the leap and tell Trent that you wanted, needed, something real. “And… you can’t change the fact you are Jack’s sister.” She sheepishly reminded you hesitantly almost as if she could feel the knife twist inside of you from it. You and Layla sat quietly, the weight of her question heavy in the air between you. She looked at you expectantly, and when she asked when you’d tell Jack, the answer flew out of your mouth without hesitation.

“I can’t,” you said, the words sounding almost defensive, but as they hung there, something shifted inside you, a realization settling in your gut like a stone. Layla noticed it, too. Her face softened as you fell silent, the gravity of it finally hitting you both. 

“If not now… when?” she asked gently. Her words were careful, but the question was razor-sharp, and you felt it cut right to the heart of everything you’d been holding back. You thought about it, really thought about it, for the first time. When would there ever be a right time? Layla seemed to read every doubt as it flickered across your face. She sighed, trying to keep the worry out of her voice but not quite succeeding. Your relationship with Trent unraveling before your eyes. It took all of two questions for the foundation to shake. “Babe,” she started, reaching for your hand, “If you really want him and he makes you happy… that’s all any of us want for you. Jack just wants you happy. It might take him a while, but he’d get over it.” She paused, giving you a small, uncertain smile. “But… I won’t lie, it might be a bit of a mess. Especially now that it’s been hidden so long.” She slyly reprimanded you for not even filling your best friend on this whole situation. She was right. Was she right? You nodded anyway, undecided but unable to look at her directly. You hadn’t just hidden this from Jack—you’d hidden it from her, from everyone. And the longer it had gone on, the more it had felt like the walls were closing in. You looked at her, the weight of the truth crashing over you like a wave, pulling you under.

“How did I let it get this far? How did I let it become… this?” The guilt twisted in your chest, and you almost couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Layla’s eyes. “How could I lie to you, to Jack, and for what? To be a secret hidden away in his mansion?” She squeezed your hand, trying to find the right words. What once felt exciting felt anything but.

“Hey, listen,” she said softly, “I know it’s more than that. It must be to him as well. He’s risking a lot. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t real, if there wasn’t something worth all this.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But… I get it. This isn’t you. Keeping secrets, hiding things—it’s not who you are. Never has been.” And as she said it, you felt it. The ache of it, how far you’d drifted from who you wanted to be. You’d always trusted Layla, trusted Jack, and now here you were, caught between fear and love, between loyalty and your own heart. 

“I didn’t technically lie,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “I just… omitted the truth.” You sheepishly told her, reminding yourself that you also trusted Trent and your heart and that’s why you ended up here. Layla nodded, her face thoughtful but filled with understanding. 

“But does it feel worth it?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. You were silent, unable to answer. Because the truth was you didn’t know if it was worth it—worth the risk, worth the lies, worth the tension pulling at you from every angle. And as you looked back at Layla, her eyes full of hope and worry, you wondered if you’d have the courage to find out. 

Maybe you didn’t know exactly what you wanted out of the relationship but tonight, after a tequila shot that ignited a confidence you didn't realize was simmering, you and Layla both decided what you wanted, for at the very least tonight; was him. The night unfolded in a familiar dance between you and Trent, just as it always had. You stayed close, barely touching, your hand brushing his as you passed by, leaning into him when you laughed, your voice lingering just a bit too close. But then, you pushed it further. You caught his gaze and held it, a mischievous spark lighting up in your eyes. As the party pulsed around you, you slipped closer, cupping the shell of his ear, whispering something lighthearted into his ear while your teeth grazed his earlobe, feeling his whole body react. He turned, a cheeky, almost disbelieving smirk spreading across his face, clearly caught off guard but thrilled by the shift. 

"Oh, so you want to play that way?" he teased, his tone low and daring. You two always tucked off at parties this wasn’t news but what you just whispered was. You nodded, flashing a smile, more certain than ever. He chuckled, narrowing his eyes in that competitive, confident way that both thrilled and terrified you. "I don't lose, baby," he reminded you, his voice a challenge as he leaned back, arms crossed, watching to see what you'd do next. The thrill of his words sent a shiver through you, your heartbeat matching the tempo of the music, and suddenly, it was all a game of daring glances and lingering touches, neither of you breaking the tension. So you continued to tease as you brushed your hand over his as you reached for a drink, let your fingers trail across his back as you slipped past him, laughing a little too sweetly in his ear. And Trent was no less relentless, stepping close enough that his breath tickled your cheek, his hand brushing your lower back just as he moved to let someone by, his gaze a quiet, playful reminder that he was more than ready to keep up. It became an unspoken competition, each of you pushing the limits just to see who would break first. Now that you had had a taste, knowing what was possible, every moment grew sharper, more electric, and even in the crowded room, it felt like it was only the two of you, locked in this game of desire and restraint, neither one willing to give in-yet. Until an idea popped into your head to get him to cave. 

"Lay, can you see my nipples in this?" you asked, feigning nonchalance as you all stood in the kitchen. You turned solely to Layla, your eyes wide with playful innocence as you tugged at the hem of your shirt. The overhead recessed lighting illuminating you. You tilted your head slightly, looking down at the thin shimmery material, your fingers tracing the fabric, exposing just a little more of your skin. It was a bold question but Layla hummed not phased in the least. Playing her role. Yes, you wore this shirt because you could do just that very thing. 

"Babe, I think that's the point of that top," she teased, her eyes sparkling as she looked you over. Her humor was unwavering in character, pretending this wasn’t a planned conversation. "But it's a party, you look stun! Your tit’s are perfect. Arguably, the best part of the fit." She told you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Trent shift slightly, his jaw tightening as he took another sip of his drink. You knew he was trying to hold back, that this question was pushing him to his edge. So, you decided to take it even further, turning to him with a coy smile.

"What do you think, T?" you asked, tilting your head as if you were just seeking an honest opinion. His eyes flickered over you, his hand tightening around his glass, his expression a mix of amusement and restraint.

"Think you know what I think," he said, voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone. He shot you a look, something intense behind his gaze, and you could see him fighting not to react as much as he wanted to.

“Well could you share with the class?" Layla interrupted, prompting Trent to actually have to articulate his feelings and smiling as she did it. You shrugged, tossing her a wink as if this was all in good fun, but you felt the charge in the air between you and Trent. You'd pushed him just far enough, and the look in his eyes told you he'd make you pay for it later. Trent's gaze dropped, his expression shifting, a mix of amusement and tension in his eyes as you dared to pull him further into this game. His grip tightened around his drink once over, clearly trying to hold himself back. He shot you a low, heated look that felt as much a warning as it did a challenge. 

"You're pushing it," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. But there was a hint of a smirk as he looked at you, a spark that showed he was just as invested in this as you were.

"Why?" You teased aloud, cocking your head with feigned innocence, fingers lightly tracing the edge of your top, letting his eyes follow the path. "Does it not look alright?” You asked. He exhaled, a slow, measured sound, his gaze moving from your shirt to your face.

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," he replied, fighting a grin, as his hand discreetly brushed your arm. His voice was soft, almost casual, but you could feel the tension behind it, each word carrying a weight he didn't want to admit out loud. He was a little annoyed that you now had Layla on your team to tease him. It was 2 v 1.  You now had a man advantage.

“So you don’t like it?” Layla asked Trent, feigning offense for you. Trent rolled his eyes at her. She laughed, shaking her head.  You just smiled, playing along, turning to Trent with a mischievous look.

"Wait, you don’t like it?" you pressed, pretending not to notice how close you'd pulled him into your orbit. Trent took another breath trying to think how to navigate this. All he wanted to do was drag you into any bedroom and tell you just how much he really liked the way you looked but he couldn’t. Layla already found out tonight, no one else could. His silence was telling but also deafening. "Do you like the way I look or not?" You asked with drunken confidence. He looked at you, eyes sharp, with a grin he couldn't contain. 

"Enough. You know my answer. Drop it" His voice had that edge again, that quiet challenge that sent a thrill through you. There was a split-second pause, a moment charged with the unspoken, before you stepped back, keeping your own playful expression in place. But you knew it was a matter of time before one of you broke, before this playful game turned into something real.  

As the night wore on, the crowd and music faded into a backdrop, leaving only the charged atmosphere between you and Trent. It was an unspoken battle of wills, a daring game that grew bolder with each passing second. You felt his eyes following you across the room, and the thrill of being wanted, truly wanted, filled you with a mix of confidence and something new, something closer to risk. The sheer top and conversation didn’t prove to be enough and you were starting to feel a bit… needy. The music pulsed as you approached him with a casual smile, keeping your expression neutral while letting your fingers brush along his arm as you passed. He barely reacted, save for a flicker in his gaze that told you he felt it. Moments later, he slipped past you in a crowded corner, his hand just grazing the small of your back as he leaned close, lips at your ear. "You're not going to win," he whispered, his voice both soft and daring. You shot him a challenging look, cocking your head just slightly. 

"You think I'll back down that easily? For you?" You taunted. A knowing smirk played on his lips as he took a slow step closer, his arm stretching around you to reach for a drink. His body pressed just lightly against yours, lingering in a way that made your skin tingle. 

"Not sure you know what you've started," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally pulled away. A small gasp left your lips, covered by the music, as he gave you a smug look and turned his attention back to the party. It only made you more determined. The evening continued like this-every move, every touch, carefully calculated. You brushed his shoulder with your hand while walking by, your fingers trailing just enough to make him turn. He placed a hand on your arm, steadying you as you reached for your glass, his fingers pressing just enough to remind you of his presence. By the time the lights dimmed, your heart was racing. You were now getting antsy. He was too good at having restraint. You now were beyond needy. 

"Not going to quit, are you?" You leaned in close, brushing your lips by his ear as you whispered. A chuckle escaped his lips, low and filled with confidence. 

"Not a chance. I told you-l don't lose." He smirked. You took a bold step forward, letting your hand linger on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm as you looked up into his eyes. The tension was almost overwhelming, each of you daring the other to give in. But instead of backing down, you pulled him even closer, so close you could feel his breath on your neck, close enough to hear him exhale as his hand settled firmly on your waist. This wasn't the subtle game it had started as— it was unmistakable now, and neither of you conscious enough to know if anyone would noticed. No one had, too caught up in their own drunken escapades to noticed you’d fallen down a rabbit hole in yours. You slipped your hand around his back, pressing into him as the tension between you reached a breaking point. Trent looked at you, a mixture of heat and amusement in his eyes as he brought his lips close, stopping just shy of kissing you, letting the moment stretch out until it was nearly unbearable. "You want me to call it a draw?" he murmured, voice thick with that same mix of excitement and restraint. You smirked, shaking your head just a fraction. Your heart raced at the thought of being alone with him, away from prying eyes. You'd fantasized about this moment since your last and now you wanted it even more. The thrill of it almost being public but still hidden turning you on an embarrassing amount, pushing any clear thinking out the window. 

"No, I thought you don’t lose." You reminded him. And he didn’t. You did when you tucked off to the bathroom. The party’s buzz felt distant as you stumbled down the hallway, your movements light but unsteady, fueled by a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Your skin burned with the heat of Trent’s lingering touch, your head spinning from the intensity of his gaze, the press of his body against yours. You’d hit your limit, unable to take the teasing any longer, and now all you could think about was escaping to collect yourself Trent’s dark eyes followed your retreat, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, as he watched you sway slightly in your steps. You didn’t turn back—you couldn’t. If you did, you’d be pulled right back into him, and you weren’t sure if you could hold yourself together. Trent chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He knew exactly why you were walking away, and the thought of you trying to resist him only made him more certain of his power over you.

When you reached the bathroom, you pushed the door closed with a soft thud, pressing your back against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. But you were determined and horny. Your fingers trembled as you peeled off the flimsy sheer top you’d teased Trent in the whole night, your skin cooling in the quiet sanctuary of the bathroom. The mirror caught your reflection, the flush on your cheeks, the messy allure of your hair, and the way the glow of the dim light seemed to highlight every curve. You bit your lip, tilting your head as you studied your reflection, feeling bold under the influence of tequila and Trent’s attention.You grabbed your phone, angling it just right as you snapped a few photos in the mirror, each one bolder than the last. Finally, satisfied, you selected the one that captured just the right mix of sultry and confident. The thrill of the moment rushed through you as you typed out a single message.

You hit send, your heart pounding as you imagined his reaction. Across the party, Trent felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. A signal of victory. His smirk deepened as he pulled it out, casually unlocking the screen. When he saw the photo, his breath caught for a split second, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his eyes lingered on the image. You looked unreal. Without hesitation, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and straightened up, his casual demeanor hiding the urgency he felt. He didn’t bother replying; words wouldn’t cut it. He needed to see you, touch you, remind you exactly why you couldn’t stay away. As he weaved through the crowded party, his smirk stayed firmly in place. Trent Alexander-Arnold was a man on a mission, and he had every intention of making sure you regretted ever starting this game. 

You waited for him, like you always had. The air in the bathroom felt thick, charged with anticipation. Your heart raced as you adjusted your stance, bracing yourself for what was to come. A soft knock broke the silence, cautious yet laced with the kind of confidence only Trent could muster. You bit your lip, smiling to yourself.

"It's me," he murmured through the door. You hummed softly in confirmation, and he didn't hesitate to slip inside. The door closed with a quiet click, and the lock turned with a finality that sent shivers down your spine. "Baby, baby, baby…," he taunted, his voice low and teasing as he leaned casually against the door. You couldn't hold back your smirk. His presence filled the small room, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. "You going to be gracious in defeat?" he asked, his eyes dark and focused as he closed the space between you. You tilted your chin up defiantly, even as your pulse quickened. 

"You never told me if you liked the top or not," you countered, your voice a soft challenge.Trent's smirk widened, predatory, as he stepped closer. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him with a force that made your breath hitch. The edge of the marble sink pressed into your back as he pinned you there, his body crowding yours.

"I think," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending a delicious shiver down your neck, "I might like you better without it.” Before you could respond, his lips descended on your neck, warm and insistent, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make your knees weaken. You gasped, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders for support.

"T..." you started, but your words dissolved into a moan as his mouth trailed lower, sucking softly at the sensitive spot near your collarbone.

"You were being too obvious," he scolded lightly between kisses, his voice vibrating against your skin. You tried to protest, shaking your head. 

"I wasn't..." you began, but the sentence fell apart as his teeth nipped at your neck, followed by the soothing sweep of his tongue.The sound that escaped your lips was involuntary, a mix of frustration and desire. "God, I fucking love how your lips feel on me," you breathed out, your head tilting back as he smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as he continued his slow, deliberate assault. He wasn't just kissing you-he was claiming you, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried to play coy, he would always have the upper hand.

"Say it again," he murmured, his lips hovering just over your jawline. You barely had the breath to comply, your fingers curling into his shirt. 

"I love it," you whispered. "I love the way you-" Trent silenced you with his lips on yours, cutting off the confession as his mouth moved with an intensity that left you dizzy. The room spun, and for a moment, the world outside that bathroom didn't exist. "We’ll be quick and you’ll be quiet, yeah?” he said, his voice dropping and getting huskier. You looked at him in a haze, your eyes taking in his muscular frame, accentuated by the soft glow of the lighting. 

“I’ll be quiet but this won’t be quick," you whispered, reaching up to caress his face. Trent's eyes darkened with desire as he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in another passionate kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting the remnants of the liquor you'd been drinking. You moaned into his mouth, your hands roaming over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in his arms. Breaking the kiss, Trent trailed his lips down your neck again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. He nipped at your sensitive skin, causing you to arch into him, craving more. 

"I think we’re getting a little reckless," he murmured against your skin almost tauntingly.

"Absolutely," you whispered, your voice breathy with anticipation. Trent's hands came to palm your bare cheat. Finally after all night, all that teasing, behind that flimsy material, your tits were all for him. He cupped them, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, eliciting a gasp from you. 

"We should maybe stop" he whispered, his breath hot on your skin. He was mocking you. He wasn’t going to stop. Not in a million years and you both knew that. You leaned back against the marble counter, allowing him access to your body. 

“Definitely.” You whined as his kisses to your jaw, over it, working down your neck towards your collarbone diligently. He sucked on a sensitive spot, bitting a little with his teeth pulling at your skin. You hissed at the pain and then melted into pleasure as he continued sucking over the spot soothing it with his tongue. He placed a few more harsh bites on you leaving behind marks as your eyes rolled back in pleasure feeling his perfect lips. Trent moved over your body in what felt like slow motion as he reached your tits. You could barely think straight as his lips closed around one nipple, sucking gently at first, then with increasing urgency. His tongue teased and flicked, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You threaded your fingers into his curls, holding him close, encouraging him to continue.

"You love this, don't you?" he asked, his voice hoarse with desire, muffled against your skin. "You wanted to get caught.” He told you partly out of curiosity and partly out of seduction. 

"Yeah," you breathed, your head falling back as he switched to the other nipple, lavishing it with equal attention. "Don't stop, please." Trent's hands traveled down your body, his fingers deftly unzipping your skirt, sliding it down your legs until you were before him in just your panties and heels. He took a step back, his eyes raking over your naked form, a look of pure admiration on his face.

“You’re fucking unreal.” He cooed a bit in disbelief caught in a place of wanted control and loosing any sense of it around you. “We’re gonna get caught, you want that baby?” he said, his voice thick with mock. You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and reached for his belt, eager to touch him. Your fingers fumbled with the buckle, but soon you had his trousers unfastened, revealing his boxers, tented with his obvious arousal.

“Please.” You whimpered as took over, quickly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, standing proudly before you. You sank to your knees, taking him in your hands, stroking his length. Trent's breath hitched as you leaned forward, licking the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded there. You took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, earning a groan of pleasure from him.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he muttered, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper, your throat opening to accommodate his girth. Trent's hips thrust gently, meeting your rhythm, as he savored the sensations you were providing. 

“Do you like winning, baby?” You mumbled sloppy  words, knowing they’d only turn him on more. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, as you sucked and teased, determined to give him the best blowjob of his life.

"I'm close, baby," he warned, his voice strained. "But you’re gonna let me come inside you, hmm?" He asked but really he was telling you. You stood, your body humming with desire.  His hands pushed your hips towards the sink counter. The cold marble protruded into your back. You gasped but he swallowed it with a kiss. He lifted you up easily and placed you on the counter. The kiss was hot and heavy, his tongue immediately invading your mouth and toying with yours. He let his hand drift back down and slid one finger directly inside you eliciting another gasp from you. His sudden moments made the base of your spine tingle, but when his thumb began to draw precise circles on your clit, your body shook slightly as a deep moan got lost in his mouth. When he dipped another finger into your wet heat, he pulled another deep moan from you and in an attempt to push you closer to the edge, he curled his fingers even further against that one spot and pressed his thumb into your clit harder. It didn’t take long until you came around his fingers. Your slick dripping down his hand. He pulled his fingers out slowly covered in your juices, he stuck them in your mouth and you greedily sucked his fingers licking around them like you just did his cock while he began pumping his leaking hard on with his other hand. In swift movements, he was aligning his cock with your entrance. His hands gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. With one smooth thrust, he filled you, eliciting a moan of pleasure from both of you. He dropped his forehead to your chest, trying to avoid cumming on the spot.

“T, baby.” You could only manage another whine, too focused on the slow drag of his cock, you could feel every hard vein and ridge of it slowly fucking into you.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his voice raw. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his powerful thrusts with your own. The party boomed outside marrying sounds of the rhythmic slapping of skin on skin and your mutual moans of pleasure behind the closed door. Trent's hands roamed your body, squeezing your boobs, pinching your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through you. He leaned down, his lips capturing one nipple, sucking and biting gently, as his hips continued their relentless pace.

"You're so good f’me baby," he panted between kisses. "Why’d you have to tease me all night. You knew I’d give you this cock tonight” He told you as you arched your back, pushing your tits into his mouth, craving more. 

"I wanted it now though," you managed to say between gasps. “Wanted you to fuck me baby. You were playing with me." You tried to pout but your lips parted when Trent's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he neared his climax. He withdrew his length almost completely before slamming back into you, hitting your sweet spot with each stroke.

"Fuxk, you’re gonna make me cum again," you whispered, your nails digging into his back. His fingers dug into your skin and his head fell back. He tilted his head back up and looked directly into your eyes. Your heart skipped a bit at the attention. 

“Be a good girl right now. Cum f’me. Cum on my cock while everyone is out there. Don't hold back." He told you through a grunt, his hips moving faster, his body slick with sweat. He smoothly slipped his fingers in your mouth again, stopping your words. You sucked on his fingers desperately dragging your tongue around them, split pooling in the corners of your mouth. He moaned at the sensation. He popped them out quickly though. His wet hand racked down the front of you dipping to come play with your clit. You gasped and let out a filthy moan as he started to draw tight circles around it.  Your orgasm built, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you cried out, your body trembling as you came, your walls clenching around his throbbing cock.  “Good girl. Doing so well, baby. Told you I don’t loose” Trent said with a smile pulling across his face having to bite his lip just from the sight of seeing you cum as his cock continued to pump in and out of you. You wanted to yell at him annoyed but you couldn’t, losing felt too good. His fingers stayed playing with your clit for a little as you trembled, starting to overstimulate you.

“Baby, please cum inside me. I need you.” You begged feeling the overstimulation turn into another bout of pleasure that was consuming all your thoughts, your brain turning to mush as he continued to fuck you. You needed him to fill you up. You loved Trent having control of you, letting him fuck you hidden away in this bathroom. Layla’s cautions evaporating. 

“I got you, baby. Cum for me one more time. Cum with me, yeah?” He whispered in your ear. Your pussy dripped around him. You bit your lip, looking at him with desperate doe eyes. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. “Fuck.” Trent finally filled you, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside you, his breath hot against your neck.  As your heart rates slowed, he pulled your body into his tighter. Goosebumps arose on your skin, finally able to notice the cool of the sink counter contrasting to your hot skin. He wrapped his arms around you so tightly. Your sweaty skin sticking together. The temperature in the atmosphere of the room was so humid. Your eyes stayed closed for a little, you were completely saturated with bliss. You could barely breathe but you had never felt better in your life. 

“You okay, baby?” He whispered into your neck. He rested his head down on your shoulder. You took another deep breath before smiling. “Yeah?”  he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling his heart pounding against you.

"Shit sorry.” You apologized but Trent shook his head dismissing it. It was so reckless but he wanted this just as bad. “I hope no one heard," you confessed, tracing his jawline with your fingertips, starting to feel reality seep under the door and into the room but not being pungent enough to get your mind out of this blissful state of being in front of  him. Trent's eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

"Nah, we’re okay. We’ll be okay," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.  "I got you, baby.” He told you. The sincerity in his voice kept the goosebumps raised on your skin. You giggled almost delirious, your heart fluttering with both nerves and joy at what just happened. The world outside the room started to fade back in more and more but the anxiety that came from your conversation with Layla earlier in the night had melted away entirely by the heat of Trent’s proximity.

•

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

Next part - Chapter 8 xx

[kumkaniudaku]

Sorry 2024

Summary: This is Terry's sorry for 2024. He ain't gonna mess up no more this year.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: None

Previous: *Askew

Pastel blue light filtered through linen curtains and filled the quaint kitchen while Patrice maneuvered between the refrigerator and nearby counter. She spoke a mile a minute, running through a laundry list of important tasks and updates to keep Terry aware of the day’s needs. 

He halfway listened while he scarfed down piping hot oatmeal to satisfy post-workout hunger and used his index finger to scrub backward on game film from the previous week. His receiver core was shaky at best. They’d need to tighten up in the final game of the season if they planned to start their playoff run strong and remain in the hunt for a the ever elusive state championship.

“Honey, don’t forget I’m driving your truck to work because you’re getting my oil changed during your lunch. Where are the keys?” The sugar-sweet lilt in her voice reserved for Terry and Terry only went mostly unnoticed by her husband. 

“Yeah. That’s good, baby.”

Patrice paused packing her lunch and shifted her weight to one side with a hand on her hip. “You’re not even listening to me.” 

“I heard you,” he answered, finally looking up. 

“What did I say?” 

“That you’re taking the leftovers. That’s good with me. I’ll grab something on base.” 

“I said that fifteen minutes ago. Strike two.” 

Terry’s mouth hung open for a half second as he thought back through their one-sided conversation. Admittedly, his mind was split into a million different streams of thought. Work problems, coaching responsibilities, household bills, the incoming holiday season, and its host of arrangements all fought for his attention day in and day out, leaving little room for intentional quality time with his wife. 

For Patrice, the indifference toward her when she talked to him was frustrating and getting old. On too many occasions she’d forgiven him for staring off into space or flat-out ignoring her when she spoke. If silence is what he wanted, she was well on the way to granting his wish. 

Swallowing down a gulp of water, Terry rushed to respond. “Woah, woah! Two? What was the first?” 

“I asked you to turn the dryer on last night while I took a shower and guess who woke up to wet clothes this morning? C’mon. Guess!” 

“Oh, shit.” Terry’s face contorted as he winced at the memory finally returning. 

“Oh shit. Go away.” She mocked with an exaggerated deep voice before rolling her eyes and making a face. Mimicry, in his experience since the tender age of 15, was usually the prelude to a vicious attitude that had turned many into sworn enemies for life.

“My bad, Treece. I started wa-” 

“Watching tape and forgot. Sing me a different song, Terrence.” 

The disappointment etched in her beautiful features sent Terry’s stomach into the soles of his feet. Patrice’s full lips sagged into a heavy frown as she wrestled food containers into her lunchbox without looking in his direction. He could take her mumbling her anger or sending more than a few curse words his way. But the sadness in her silence was too much. 

After pressing pause on his screen, Terry took measured steps toward Patrice to avoid disturbing an angry lion. 

He touched her hip first to test the waters. When she didn’t reject him, he moved in to take up space behind her and pull her back against his body. He pressed a soft kiss behind her ear. “I won’t make excuses. Forgive me, sweetheart. It won’t happen again.” 

Resistance faded slowly but surely as he nuzzled his nose into her neck between kisses. Tense muscles melted under his touch, relishing the extra attention meant to settle a disagreement. Anger fought to remain the chief emotion. Everything in her wanted to continue forging a war path until she was satisfied with the destruction. But she’d always had a weakness for this man with a smooth baritone and big hands that he loved to rub up and down her body.

She kissed her teeth before turning to plant a kiss on his cheek as a silent truce. “Whatever. You’re lucky I like you more than most other people.” 

“What I gotta do to get that like to a love before you leave the house?” 

Patrice pulled Terry’s bottom lip into another kiss and smiled. “It’d be great if you confirmed you used your mama’s Costco card to get the study hall snacks like we talked about.” 

Terry froze. For days he’d had the nagging feeling that he was neglecting a task. Something important but vague among all of the other thoughts and responsibilities swirling in his head. He’d hoped for a reminder, but not like this, not on the heels of wriggling his way out of Patrice’s wrath only moments before. 

Ever perceptive, Patrice didn’t need him to speak to know that he’d, once again, missed a memo. Anger was back from its short hiatus and making her body hot to the touch in a way Terry had been spared from his entire life. 

She fought to wrestle free from his grasp, her body thrashing until he relented and let her go. Terry watched her stomp around the kitchen, snatching items from the counter and forcing them into her bag on her way to the front door. He remained hot on her heels with pleas to make things right on his lips until she stopped short at the coat closet.

“Strike three! You’re so fuckin’ selfish sometimes, Terry, I swear.” She grumbled as she swapped her car keys for his on their shared personal items hook. “I thought you would grow out of that by now but here you are, damn near 33 years old, and still doing the same shit.”  

The dig at his past transgressions stung more than Terry expected. He tried to maintain his composure though the wounded man inside wanted to get to the bottom of why she’d chosen to toss such an insult out so casually. 

He took a deep breath to quell the combative questions clawing through his throat while he watched her shrug on her coat with spite in her eyes. “Look, I messed up. We don’t need to start throwing jabs back and forth. How can I help?”

His attempt to reach out for her hand was thwarted once she snatched away to yank open the front door.

“Terrence, the time to help was early this week. Hell, last night even. I don’t have time for your sorry this morning. I gotta go figure this out by myself yet again.” 

Immense guilt attached itself to Terry, producing a heavy heart as he tried to make sense of Patrice’s most venomous blowup to date. Never had she been so crass toward him, not even when he deserved it most. She’d always been the pinnacle of grace and forgiveness. What scared him most was the suspicion that she was more unhappy with his disappearing act than she’d let on in all their honest talks about their path forward after heartbreak. Half of him wanted to chase her into the early morning chill, stop her from leaving, and convince her to call in so that they could sort through every issue, past and present, until they were back on the right side of newlywed bliss. Rational thought told him that some things were best solved through action.

Bitterness fueled the remainder of Patrice’s day. Jokes in the breakroom were no longer funny. Her class clowns were less charming by fourth period. A fierce bout of irritability resulted in a pop quiz for her senior AP English class for not participating in the group discussion to her liking. Every second of every minute carried a dark, heavy cloud that she couldn’t shake. 

She wanted to scream at Terry until her chest caved in from exhaustion. She wanted to throw things across the room, destroying every item in her path until the sting of compounded letdowns, actions he wasn’t even responsible for, was distilled back into the tiny box of rage she kept tucked away in her heart. She kept it hidden on purpose. If it ever got loose, there was no guarantee she could fix the damage it left behind. 

Once school bells had rang and children were carted off to their respective homes, Patrice sat behind her desk with a small committee of cheerleaders congregating in her classroom. She kept her focus on grading the mountain of quizzes she’d created for herself, silently ready to give everyone extra credit for the attempt. 

“Ms. Ellis,” Alana, her captain, started as she dusted Doritos remnants from her fingers. 

Mikayla cut in. “It’s Mrs. Richmond now. She got married! You see her ring.”

“And you ain’t invite us?” Alana gasped, pretending to be offended. “That’s cold Mrs. Richmond. I thought we were cool.” 

“We’re cool, Lana. I didn’t know I was getting married until it happened. No one was invited.” 

“Can I at least see that big ol’ diamond up close?” 

Young girls with fairytales and romance novels seared into their perception of love begged for a chance to see Patrice’s wedding band up close. With more energy, she would shoo them away and redirect them to the bulletin board they abandoned to snack and gossip amongst each other. But arguments before work were taxing and all she could bring herself to do was push away from her desk and join them in the center of their circle with her hand outstretched for their inspection.

Oooh, ahhs, and everything in between overlapped as each young lady took her turn running their fingers up against the clear stone and white gold band engraved with her new initials. 

“I want me a ring just like this!” Camille explained as she took a picture to send to her boyfriend. 

“Can we see your husband? Is he nice like you?” 

Patrice paused. “Uh…yeah. He’s a nice man. You all should be with nice boys, or girls, or whoever you like. Don’t allow anyone to be anything less than nice to you.” 

“Okay, but can we see him,” another girl reiterated. 

“It’s Coach Richmond, duh,” Mikayla exclaimed. “They got the same last name. And they was in this old yearbook together. I saw it in Ms. Shields's class when we were having a yearbook meetin’.” 

More oohs and ahhs, this time fawning over the new football coach on campus and the picture Mikayla had saved to her cellphone. Patrice listened to them gush over the thorn in her side as she eased into a desk to take the pressure off her aching feet. 

Camille looked between the photo and Patrice with a smile. “He was your boyfriend when y’all went here?” 

“For a little bit. Right before we graduated. But we broke up that summer.” 

“How come?”

“He wanted to go to the military and I wanted to go to college,” Patrice answered after a deep sigh. “So, he went his way and I went mine because I wasn’t changing my mind. Remember that. Do what you wanna do. You have a whole life ahead of you.” 

The girls all mumbled some version of their agreeance before another question pushed the tea session forward. 

“Then how did y’all get married. He came back?” 

Patrice smiled at the memory of Terry standing on her porch that fateful summer morning. “Yeah. He just…came back. We talked and never stopped talking after that until he became my husband.”

“Did he say sorry at least?” 

“He always says sorry. All the time. He’s nice like that.” 

A chorus of swooning ‘awws’ rang out in the classroom and escaped into the hallway. Terry was nice like that. It didn’t matter that Patrice wanted to hate him and call him every name but a child of God. He always apologized and he always meant it. 

A distant smile covered Patrice’s face as she twirled her wedding band around her finger. 

Camille took the opportunity to poke fun at her coach. “Aww, look at Mrs. Richmond, y’all. She smiling big! You gon’ let him come to the AP Christmas party?” 

“That ain’t fair! I’m not in AP English and I wanna see him.” 

“Oh my God, we all gon' see him at the games. Calm down.” 

“Alright, alright, alright.” Patrice couldn’t contain her laughter at their eagerness to meet a man two times their senior with no interest in them outside of their connection to her. “Maybe you’ll meet him one day. Today, I need y’all to hurry up and-” 

A knock at the door interrupted Patrice, bringing her attention to a tall, slender young man who instantly turned heads. He smiled bashfully at all the ogling until Patrice redirected his eyes with a wave of her hand.

“What’s up, Deanté? You leave something in here?” 

“Nah. Coach Rich told us to bring some stuff to you. Where you want us to put it?” 

“Umm, I guess you can put it back here by my bookshelves,” she directed, pointing to the back of the room. Confusion created fine lines on her forehead. “I’m sorry, what’s happening?” 

Deanté shrugged in the way only teenaged boys too cool for school could before waving in the rest of his crew. Each of them came bearing the gift of snacks, carrying boxes of wholesale goodies to their intended place like worker ants serving their queen. Chips, cookies, pretzels, juices, and water stacked high along the wall instantly turned her quaint classroom into a stockroom until they’d delivered the final package. Bringing up the rear was Terry with flowers in one hand and a carryout bag from Patrice’s favorite bakery in the other. 

Pressed khaki slacks and a cotton polo fighting for dominance against his veiny bicep should’ve thanked him for making them look better than they ever could alone. Patrice wrestled her gaze away from his long legs to look away before she ended up flustered in front of impressionable children.

He lightly knocked against the door, his gaze soft and his smile welcoming. “May I come in?” 

Like the audience track from a 90s sitcom, young girls squeal in his presence, making him chuckle. Patrice rushed to control the madness. 

“See, this is why I have to keep my eye on y’all. Head to the gym and warm up. I’ll meet y’all down there.” They groaned their displeasure in a last-ditch attempt to buy more time with Terry. She re-emphasized her instructions. “Go on. For every second I have to keep looking at y’all after I’m done talking, that’s a lap. One, two, three…”

Quick feet and the threat of additional exercise cleared the room quickly, leaving Terry at the doorframe waiting for permission to enter. Patrice stood and straightened her turtleneck before inviting him inside. 

“Come in. Close the door behind you.”

Terry did as he was told in silence, hoping to appease the Queen in her castle. Patrice tried to remain stoic as she approached her portable lectern to thumb through the day’s notes and lesson plans. He deposited the flowers onto a nearby shelf then slid into a desk at the front of the class and waited for her to at least acknowledge him beyond a fleeting glance. 

Finally, she looked up and pointed at the white bag resting in front of him. “Is that for me?” 

“Yeah,” Terry smiled. “I haven’t seen you grab one in a while so I hope you still like the cinnamon roll. If not, I got the lemon loaf too. Your other favorite.” 

After all those years separating their adulthood from an entire semester of sneaking away during lunch for a warm, doughy signature roll, Patrice couldn’t believe Terry still remembered such a trivial detail. 

She bit her bottom lip to hide a smile as two long short steps took her to the desk beside him. Metal creaked against the floor while they turned to face each other in seats too small for Terry who had come a long way from his high school physique. 

Terry watched Patrice quietly remove her treat from the bag and cut it in half with a plastic knife. She carefully placed one side on a clean napkin and passed it across the small gap separating them. 

She lifted her portion into the air and smiled a friendly smile. “Cheers?” 

“Cheers.” 

Their respective hunks of roll kissed the other briefly before they took big bites to satisfy early afternoon cravings. Terry chuckled as Patrice hummed her satisfaction with her eyes closed and shoulders lifted near her ears. 

A little piece of Heaven. He was happy to provide anything other than the strife he contributed hours early. 

“Thank you,” Patrice whispered once the delight of her first bite had passed and her eyes were open again. “It’s still my favorite. You were right.” 

He didn’t respond past a small nod and a small half smile as he watched her enjoy another bite. His thumbs nervously twiddled around themselves while he wrote and erased apologetic statements in his mind in a search for what to say next. 

“Treece, I can’t say enough how sorry I am.” 

“We don’t need to do this. I overreacted and threw things in your face.” She started, trying to stop the uncomfortable discussion before it could start. 

Terry remained steadfast. “No, you didn’t. You called me out and it was the right thing to do. I have been selfish and you’ve caught the brunt of that for a long time now. It’s not fair.” 

“I just…fuck.” Tears that Patrice had managed to keep at day during work forced their way past her waterline before she could stop them. She dabbed at them with a napkin and took a deep breath. “I’ve had to be really independent for a long time. Relationships didn’t stop me from doing things on my own because they convinced me that asking for help made me weak. Then you came along and immediately took on more than I could’ve ever asked.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.” 

“Yeah, but when you stop all of a sudden or pick and choose when you wanna help, it makes me afraid that one day, you’re gonna stop altogether like everyone else. And I really, really can’t take you being like everyone else.” 

Another layer of Patrice had been shed to leave behind an emotionally raw, vulnerable woman searching for an anchor in her life. The tears were gone, but they left evidence of deep-seated hurt on her face. 

Terry reached across his desk for her hand which she offered without protest though she refused to look him in the eyes. He kissed her knuckles softly, paying special attention to her ring finger before lacing their fingers. 

Sad eyes looked across at her. “You’re my main priority. If you want me to drop all this extra shit, I’ll do it in a heartbeat. Say the word and it’s gone.”

“I don’t want that. Be honest with me. Listen to me. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Okay,” he spoke into the inside of her wrist. “Give me a chance to be better.” 

“You already are.” 

Where misunderstanding has once festered, a flower of progress bloomed. They’d traversed uncharted territory as a unit to find common ground that would lay the foundation for years to come. 

Patrice made the first move toward reconciliation, standing from her desk to meet Terry at his side. Her hands cupped the sides of his face, tilting his head up to hers as she stood over him. 

“I love you. Always. I might still be a little miffed, but I’ll get over it. Promise.” She landed a flurry of kisses on his forehead and he accepted while he wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“I understand. I’ll earn your trust again.” 

Fuzzy feelings and chaste affection in what they believed was a safe space were cut short when a small yelp and thud sent a group of girls crashing to the tile floor, pushing her door ajar.

Patrice giggled along with Terry as she turned to get a look at the spectacle. “That’s what you get for being nosey. Now get to the gym for real this time.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Richmond,” they all chanted as they scrambled to stand and scatter. 

Terry listened for them to exit hearing range before turning back to Patrice and leaning up to kiss her lips. 

“I’ll be done with practice at 6:30 sharp and come straight home. Don’t worry about dinner or anything else. Let me handle it.”

“No problem.”

Final kisses and another promise to be home on time sent Terry and Patrice in opposite directions with optimism pumping through their veins. Tomorrow would bring its own storms and issues to work out. But, those were tomorrow’s problems. 

Today, they’d lick their wounds and settle next to each other on the couch with love in their hearts and the taste of each other on their lips to make every hard time worth the end result.

-----

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[peppermintquartz]

tw: self-harm reference

--

Lucy notices.

Scratches, he says when she asks, nothing to worry about. But Tommy Kinard gets them after every off day. Arms, usually. He says he accidentally got cut doing some DIY at home.

Not that it's any of her business, but one night after Tommy leaves, turning down invitations for after-shift drinks, Lucy thinks she needs to step in. He looks a little strange, enough that her spider sense tingles.

"Hey."

"Hey Buckley, Lucy here. Is, uh, is Tommy going over to your place?"

Buck laughs, a short bark that sounds bitter. "Why would he? There's nothing he wants here."

"Buck, what are you saying?"

"We broke up forty-three days ago," Buck says, and hangs up.

That's over a month, and Tommy hasn't breathed a word. Lucy sighs and rolls her eyes, then tells Gus she's not going out for drinks either.

---

When she gets to Tommy's place, she wonders how to broach the subject. She dawdles long enough in her car that Tommy opens the front door and jerks his head, inviting her inside.

She goes, sucking on her tongue, wishing it didn't have to be her. But if not her, then someone else, someone who might report to the higher-ups.

"Hey. What's with the stalking?" Tommy asks. He presses the time for the microwave. There's a new bandaid near the crook of his left elbow.

She sticks her hands in her jeans pockets. "You're hurting yourself."

Tommy goes very still. She counts; it takes about three to four breaths before he shakes his head. "I'm alright. It's just a minor scratch."

"Every day for the past forty-three days?" She steps closer. "I called Buck."

"So you know."

"You're hurting yourself. Did he - was he the one to call it off?" Judging by the way Buckley spoke, she's reasonably sure it wasn't him, which means it has to be this self-martyring idiot who pulled the plug. But she has to make sure, in case she kicks the wrong ass.

Tommy shakes his head. "I... I didn't want him to feel obligated to stick with his first man. And he would've. He deserves better than me."

Lucy rolls her eyes and kicks him lightly on the seat of his pants. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, I know. I should never have let him talk me into trying-"

"No, I meant the break up!" Lucy blows out a long breath. "Fuck. you know what, it's been a long shift, my words are not making sense in my head, but I am gonna stay here tonight and you - you will explain yourself in the morning, and if I'm not 100% satisfied that the reasons are valid or that the obstacles you've imagined cannot be overcome, I am dragging you to Buckley's and you will fucking grovel for forgiveness."

Then she goes to him and throws her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He tenses, and then relaxes into her embrace.

"I'm your friend, you bloody moron," she whispers. "You shoulda told me. I would've given you enough tequila to drown an elephant, and I wouldn't even take a photo of you crying like a baby." She presses her cheek against his. "No more careless scratches, okay? I like my friends in one piece."

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check

Part 13: No Sleep Til Hawkins

Part 13, Also on Ao3 here and tumblr here

Billy gives up on sleep around 3 am. He’s pretty sure his will to pretend he’s asleep tires out just about the same time as Munson’s girlfriend because it’s silent for once.

He rolls on his side, watching Steve sleep. Steve had babbled nervously right up to the point of sleep and past it, his nonsense mumbles finally petering out.

He knows Steve is nervous, but for fuck’s sake, so is he. At least Steve isn’t dealing with heartbreak on top of that.

Billy sits up and rubs his eyes, conceding defeat. There’s no way he’s going to get any sleep, so he might as well be productive.

He slides out of bed and grabs his backpack before quietly slipping out. It’s not really due for a few days but he has an American Lit paper and it beats lying there in the dark ignoring screams and counting all the tiny fractures in his heart.

The house is quiet. Some of the brothers haven’t even come home from the parties. Billy is hoping when they do they’ll all head up to bed and ignore him in the lounge.

He doesn’t want to see anybody when it feels like he’s lived several lives since this morning. At this point he’s just feral, hardly human. It hurts, the ache in his chest. At the same time though, there’s such a bittersweet relief. Steve knows, and what’s more, Billy wasn’t crazy. They do have chemistry, even if Steve can’t see it.

But he can’t keep turning it around in his head, especially while he’s still tipsy. He has to get out of this headspace.

On the way to the lounge he decides to swing by the kitchens for a snack and maybe a gatorade. The cooks are seasoned frat professionals and they tend to have at least a few things prepared Saturday night in advance. Sometimes it’s overly healthy, but that works for him.

Billy flips on the light and nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees what looks like a black cloaked figure. Christ, maybe he’s dreaming.

The figure turns from where it’s hunched over a bowl of bananas, mouth full.

“Christ, Munson,” Billy drops his backpack and covers his face with his hands. “I thought you were the fuckin’ hat man.”

Munson smiles around his banana, “So’ry.”

Billy lets his shoulders fall, “No worries. Though I wish you would actually lay off the potassium. Christ, my ears would thank you for a cramp some nights.”

“Why?”

“Because, man… we gotta sleep sometimes,” Billy rolls his eyes and flops down in the seat next to Munson’s.

Eddie turns beet red. “You… can hear us?”

Billy remembers too late that he and Steve had more or less agreed to not talk about Munson’s girlfriend. Argyle had been weirdly adamant about leaving him be. ‘Don’t rush the dude, that’s just not your business,’ were Argyle’s exact words.

“Whoops,” Billy cringes a bit. “But… I mean come on, man. Your girlfriend screams like she’s getting murdered. And it’s almost every night. Of course we noticed.”

Munson lets out a noise like a rat caught in a trap and hunches into the collar of his fluffy black robe. He looks chalky pale, like he got caught by a cop.

“And I mean, hey, good on you, dude. Like I’m pretty sure you’re having the kind of sex only lesbians have.” Then Billy remembers Carver and nervousness creeps in. “Not that… jeez, not in like a gross homophobic way.”

“Lesbians?” Munsons squeezes the remaining banana in his hands into a pulp.

“Christ.” Billy gives up and sags against the counter. “It’s been a really weird night, man. I just… I was just trying to make a joke about your girlfriend. Nothing weird.”

Munson blinks with those big brown doe eyes. “My girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I really meant no offense by it, I swear.” Billy held up his hands.

Munson stares at him a beat, and then he lets out the tiniest nervous giggle. “Girlfriend.”

Then he full on laughs, throwing his head back.

“Oh, or… not girlfriend?” Billy frowns. “I guess.”

Munson still laughs, harder and more full bodied.

“Well now this is just mean, Munson. If this is how you treat a lady, I’ll go up there and steal her for myself.” Billy licks his lower lip.

Munson’s hand shoots out and he grabs Billy, smearing bananas all over Billy’s arm. “Do. Not.”

Billy winces, yanking his arm away, and reaches for a paper towel to wipe his hand off.

“She’s like… really classy.” Munson says sheepishly. “She’d be mortified you heard her in my room. Please don’t.”

“I wasn’t really gonna wake a chick up who you left in bed.” Billy rolls his eyes. “What kind of guy do you take me for?”

Munson shrugs. “Same kind as me, that’s why I don’t want you to piss her off. I’m serious.”

Billy tosses the slimy paper towel on the counter and crosses his arms. “So she’s classy. What is she? Tri Delt?”

Munson sighs. “No.”

“Zeta?”

“No!”

“Don’t tell me she’s one of your theater friends?” Billy frowns.

“Hargrove, stop.”

“Does Eden know her? I bet she-”

Munson grabs at him again, looking wild. “Hargrove, listen. Don’t talk to anyone about this, ok?” She’s like… not that kind of girl. She’s classy, ok? Rich and like… going places. She doesn’t want this. You haven’t told anyone already, have you?”

“No. I mean, Steve knows, obviously. And honestly I would ask Patrick and Matt across the hall. I assume Carver.” Billy shrugs with one shoulder. “Argyle told us to, like, protect your privacy or whatever?”

Eddie just nodded vaguely, looking only marginally less unhinged. His hair was mussed, and there was a rapidly developing hickey high on his chest.

“What’s with all the secrecy, anyway?” Billy gasped, and then grinned, “Is she a professor?”

“No, Jesus. She’s just… way the fuck out of my league. Like stratospherically out of my league.” Munson shakes his head and lets go of Billy’s shoulder.

“How stratospheric?”

“Super stratospheric. Like… Buzz Aldrin couldn’t land her.”

Billy whistled. “I have to know.”

Munson sighs. “Look, I’m eating bananas at 3 am. I’m a fucking loser. She’s sleeping to get to her 8 am and she has like a 4.5 GPA and her parents paid for a room in the library or something like that. I can’t talk about it because I’m just… a pressure reliever.”

Billy raises his brows.

Munson doesn’t miss the implication. “Yeah pretty much. I guess I just have slightly more functions than a vibrator.”

Billy grabs a banana for himself, because all the banana talk was making him hungry. “But you’ve been going on like a year now.”

“Ten months, two and a half weeks, three days and well… three hours.”

Billy tries to raise his brows even more but he doesn’t have any room.

Munson leans against the counter and rubs the back of his neck. “Being in l-love with her is one of my many functions.”

Billy almost feels like he could cry. Which is stupid. It’s silly. “That’s sad as fuck, dude.”

Munson sighs, slumping a little more. “Yeah, but what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno what you’re gonna do. I’m gonna sympathize.” Billy says.

“You too?”

“Yeah. At least you’re actually fucking your girl.” Billy mutters.

Eddie shakes his head, hair flopping. “Yeah. Been there too, big time.”

Billy peels his banana, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Same girl, too,” Munson says with a sad little flop of his bangs. “Got me wrapped around my finger since… God. Forever.”

Billy shook his head. “Damn. You, me, and Carver gotta go out sometime.”

“C-Carver?”

Billy nods. “Yeah. He was just telling me about his dating troubles. I’m sure you’ve heard at least some of it.”

“Oh. Right.” Munson nods back almost absently, looking kind of pale again.

“But, hey. You’re fucking your dream girl!” Billy pats Munson’s shoulder uncertainly. “Bring her a banana! Woo her ass, I dunno. She’s gotta be into you at least a little.”

“You think?” Munson looks so innocent like Billy hasn’t heard him do the least classy things ever to his classy girl.

“Your one year anniversary is coming up? I dunno. Don’t take advice from me, I don’t notice anything, apparently.” Billy sighs, leaning forward on his elbows and taking a bite. “It’s been a really weird fuckin’ night, so seriously don’t take my advice.”

Eddie nods slightly, frowning in confusion.

Billy wants to burst into tears or something like that. He thought telling Steve would just end the world, and now the world is apparently still spinning. Munson’s in tragic love too.

Coming out once doesn’t make coming out again any easier. So he resists the impulse to dump the whole sordid tale on Munson, even if he kind of wants to. Because Steve just came out. Billy can’t ruin this time with his own stupid hopeless feelings.

So instead he takes another bite and gets up to grab a gatorade from the fridge, shoving it into the pocket of his sweat shorts.

“Sorry, man, I’m tired. Just rambling. If you ever want to talk about your girl, I’m here for ya, ok?” Billy says.

“Thanks. Uh… you too. You know, if you ever…” Munson peters out, gesturing weakly.

Billy cackles and it comes out way too forced, but he commits to it anyway. “Well, you know me. I have 99 bitches but not one’s a problem.”

Eddie laughs a little, toying with the messy banana peel nervously.

Billy pats Munson on the shoulder and walks back to his room without a second thought, fully leaving his backpack behind. He was supposed to go downstairs.

But Steve is asleep so peacefully. Billy stands at the door and just stares. Steve always sleeps splayed out like a starfish, one of his feet dangling over the side of the bed. Tonight he has his mouth open, drooling slightly.

Billy has kissed that mouth. He wishes he could go back in time and slow that moment down forever.

Steve was still the worst person to fall in love with, the most unforgivable. And now it would be even harder because Steve had said it so strongly tonight. They would only ever be friends.

Billy wants so badly for anything to be different. He wishes suddenly he’d gone to any other school, anywhere else on earth. He wants to be in Eddie’s place because surely it would be better to be something than nothing at all.

Or is this better. Maybe now he can finally accept-

“B’lly?” Steve still has his eyes closed. “Close th’ door.”

Billy freezes for a moment, before shutting the door gently, plunging the room back into semi-darkness.

By the light of the streetlamp outside and the Frat’s shitty old alarm clock, he can just make out Steve scooting over and raising the blankets on his bed.

“C’mon,” He says.

Billy thinks of what Munson said as he crawls in next to Steve. He tosses the gatorade across the room and settles next to that warm body he knows all too well. Steve pulls up the fuzzy blanket that his mom bought him for Hanukkah last year, the one that smells like weed and Steve. The bed feels scorching hot, and Steve’s long limbs immediately lash around Billy, holding him with the perfect tightness. Steve presses his chest to Billy’s back and sighs, his minty-beer breath brushing the back of Billy’s neck. Billy’s skin prickles everywhere they touch, with almost the same sting as embarrassment.

That this is just one of his many functions. That in some ways he should let go, but he was meant to love Steve like this. Maybe he couldn’t have helped it.

Steve hums. “Promise. N’thing will change, right? We won’t be weird?”

Billy feels like he’s shattered, held together by Steve’s limbs, squeezing tight.

“Yeah,” He says, ignoring the tears that get squeezed free.

[softshuji]

Haitani ran doesn't think this is working out.

You've been staying over more often lately and the signs of your departure are still there whenever you do leave. Hairs woven into the fibres of the muted grey pillows, and recently- a toothbrush that's a hot pink next to his in the bathroom. It's not much but it's evident that slowly you're creeping into his life.

Sometimes, on the nights you're not there, he finds himself wishing you were. He resists the urge to call you when he knows you're working early tomorrow and you'll likely be asleep- or if not- just simply not in the mood for company. Which is fine of course, but it doesn't mean the missing you aspect lessens at all.

Tonight is cold. The kind of cold that makes the sheets irritable against his skin, and has him shivering every time he shifts his position, and because his legs are aching from all the walking and running today, he finds himself moving and turning often from one side to the other more often. Sleep seems far away and when he casts a glance through the gap in the curtain, the pale ivory silk of moonlight slices through the sheer fabric.

He wishes you were here, and the realisation hits like a train. Too sudden, too terrifying, too end of the world for him to make any preparations, for him to do anything but accept his fate.

It's not the same with you. You don't ask for much, even when he knows you should, even when he wants you to. He wishes you would, ask more of him, make him give more, make him more all together. He wonders sometimes whether he's the only guy in your life and comes to believe he isn't. Because there is no way a girl like you doesn't receive the kind of attention he has already given you from others too, and the thought has his stomach turning. Does he want to be the only one? What would be do if he was? These are things he asks himself. Could he really give you what you needed?

Rindou - he thinks- has begun to suspect something. He's started to ask more often whether ran is seeing anyone, or whether he's okay when he finds him listless and daydreaming in the way he often does and pretends not to. Ran has always hidden behind the big brother exterior, and it's been a good cover so far- everything chalked up to responsibility and burdens and things he just has to deal with himself. Rindou has always respected that there are things that Ran just can't tell him, Ever protective of his innocence in a way that used to bother him, but doesn't so much as he got older himself.

He finds himself thinking of your syrupy excited smile often. You try not to, and you're always quick to check yourself and reign it in, despite him saying he wishes you wouldn't. You say you don't like how it looks, and that you're worried he's always going to laugh or be put off by you, and he's always pretending he's not hurt at such a statement that somehow feels like a thinly veiled insult or accusation. You don't mean it obviously, he knows this, you have troubles of your own you're desperate not to burden him with, even though he's more than happy- honoured even- to be of service to you. He likes to make you laugh often because of this. He thinks maybe if you smile more you'll be used to seeing it from his point of view. He has work to do, he knows this but he knows in tandem that the payoff is worth it.

Unfortunately however, he's not able to parade you in the way he wishes he could. In his nightmares, he finds a stray bullet in you meant for him or Rindou. He finds you in an alleyway with injuries he can't name let alone fix and he gasps awake alone, sweating in the sheets and anxiously dialing you just to hear you speak, hear your voice, to assuage the pain that comes from knowing it's more a possible reality than a far fetched nightmare.

He's always strangely distant for a few days till it passes, and rindou worries, as he often does, whether ran is ill, whether ran is keeping something from him- a little put out when he considers that the latter might be more true then the former.

But there's only so much hiding and waiting and wondering ran can do. Especially when he considers that maybe one day you might get tired of this secret keeping, this illicit relationship you can never make public and find someone who is more... Suited to you, and less like him.

But until then, he tosses and turns and looks out of the window, wondering if you're looking at the moon just like he is.

Reblogs appreciated

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 29

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5946

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Meeting Pamela (Yes, this is a warning), Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 29

Waking up in his arms, wrapped in warmth and safety, was something you’d come to treasure. Dean was still sound asleep, his face softened by whatever peaceful dream he was lost in. His brow was unlined, lips parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but wish he could always look this at ease, free from worry.

With your arm over his waist, you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, a comforting rise and fall that matched the quiet room. You wondered, not for the first time, what he might be dreaming about. Whatever it was, you hoped he could have dreams like them often if they brought him this sort of peace.

The soft darkness of your room hid the details of his face, but that didn’t matter. The comfort of your bed paled in comparison to the peace you felt lying there with him, feeling for once that nothing could reach you. You knew that today, the two of you were supposed to go meet this psychic, Pamela, and you had your reservations. 

Bobby wouldn’t have suggested seeing her if she couldn’t help, and you knew that. He trusted her, that much you could tell with how he talked about her the day before on the phone with you. Still, a flicker of apprehension settled in your mind—uncertainty about this “psychic” and what she might see in you.

Taking one last, quiet look at the man who was sound asleep and lost in some peaceful dream, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. Since he’d made coffee the day before, you would do that today. Your wrists still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the first day. An almost annoying reminder of the ordeal you’d gone through only days ago. 

As you waited for the coffee to brew, and during your first cup, your mind wandered, curious and apprehensive about meeting this Pamela person. Bobby had explained that she was a friend of the family, and even knew the Winchesters but hadn’t seen the boys in years, before Dean graduated. You just weren’t sure how to feel about being around someone who called themselves a psychic. Was she an empath, like you? Did she have premonitions, and that was what she called being psychic? You weren’t sure.

“Someone’s lost in thought,” Dean’s voice, warm and slightly teasing, pulled you back. He leaned in the doorway, his hair still tousled, an easy smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” you asked, meeting his gaze as he came closer.

He shook his head, reaching out to rest his hands on your hips. “Not on purpose,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, the kind of kiss that made your heart skip a beat. 

When he pulled away, you looked up at him, feeling slightly puzzled, not understanding what he meant. He loved that confused expression of yours, the way your brows dipped down, your eyes narrowing, just a little, and you always tilted your head, just a bit. God, you’re adorable. You let out a small huff at his thought to you, which only made him smile wider. The warmth of his affection wrapped around you, and you couldn’t be mad at him.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind this morning, huh?” he asked, his tone a little playful but also a little serious. This was the first time your thoughts had pulled him from his dreams, worrying him slightly. 

“Did I actually wake you up?” you asked since he hadn’t answered you.

He nodded, his tone shifting to a gentler seriousness. “Yeah, kinda. Your thoughts… they just sorta pulled me awake.” His words sank in, making you wonder what all he’d heard or felt. Your mouth opened, about to apologize, but you quickly closed it and refused to think the word, which was utterly difficult. Hearing him chuckle at your momentary conundrum brought a pout to your lips. “I feel bad,” you mumbled, looking down and away from his gaze.

Dean’s thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles on your hips, then brought one hand to your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Don’t,” he began in a soft whisper. “You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m in this with you, even if your thoughts wake me up at two in the morning.” He gave you one more tender kiss before pulling away to get himself some coffee. You knew he was right and it wasn’t like you’d done it intentionally. A sigh of resignation left your lips as you got another cup of coffee, joining him at the kitchen table. Your mind, just like Dean’s, was elsewhere, though.

Pamela had told him he’d find his soulmate, but he’d have to have more patience than he’d ever had in his entire life. At the time, he didn’t understand what she meant. Sitting across from you now, with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help the small smile that played along his lips. Pamela typically wasn’t direct when it came to the premonitions she told people. There were risks with that. She was good, though, and she was never wrong.

“How about I make us some breakfast, then we can head out,” Dean offered, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.

Looking up at him, you smiled slightly, then shook your head in mild amusement. “If you want. I also don’t mind just picking something up and eating on the drive.” “Yeah, but this way, I can focus on just driving instead of trying to eat, drive, and sneak glances at you,” he replied playfully, making you smile.

Dean made a simple breakfast for the two of you, which helped soothe the tension your thoughts had brought you earlier. Something about seeing and feeling his emotions when he cooked was different than other times, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. The two of you ate in mostly comfortable silence, with only light conversation. Dean knew you needed a distraction, or you would end up in your head again.

As with all the other times, Dean teased you ever so slightly when he helped you dress, but today, he brushed out your hair. It was a pleasant sensation, even if you were only used to having your aunt do that when you were little. Occasionally, his fingers would brush along the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms. He wasn’t ready to tell you how he knew Pamela, not yet. Plus, he was pretty sure she’d say something when the two of you got there. For now, he was enjoying hearing the thoughts you were desperately trying not to think about due to the light teasing he was doing while braiding your hair. Every time the word ‘tease’ drifted through his mind in that soft whisper, he just chuckled, looking forward to the day you were ready, so he could truly show you what teasing was.

The drive started out quiet, the familiar rumble of the Imapla’s engine and the early morning sun casting long shadows across the road. Dean had his arm draped casually over the wheel, the other between you two, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the leather seat. Every so often, he glanced over, a quiet warmth in his gaze. His thoughts whispered through your mind, You’re not alone in this.

After a while, he broke the silence. “Pamela’s place isn’t far. She lives on the outskirts of the town. I guess it has to do with her physic thing, not being able to be around people. It’s kinda cozy, like a mix between a library and a crystal shop.”

You laughed softly at the mental image, trying to imagine someone who could be a psychic and a grounded friend. “So, any other advice for meeting her? What’s she like?” Dean’s lips quirked up. “She’s, uh… well, let’s say she’d got a bit of a mouth on her. Don’t be surprised if she cracks a joke or two about us. But she’s got a good heart, even if she’s blunt as hell.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, already feeling a bit more at ease. Maybe meeting this Pamela person wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Perhaps she really could help, and she sounded like someone you might be able to get along with. At least now, you weren’t nearly as tense as you had been, and Dean was thankful for that.

About an hour or so later, Dean was parking in Pamela’s driveway, and your nerves seemed to be getting to you again. He sighed, feeling your anxiety tighten around his chest as he opened your door. “Breathe. She doesn’t bite.”

“I can’t help it,” you mumbled, leaning against him as he draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close.

The two of you walked up the few steps onto the porch, but before Dean could knock, the door swung open. Pamela stood there,  her initial smile shifting to a raised eyebrow, like she’d seen something neither of you two did. “You two haven’t bonded yet?” she asked bluntly, seeing the incomplete connection between you.

Dean just chuckled at Pamela’s bluntness, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant with her statement. “Nice to see you too, Pam,” he replied, his tone light.

Pamela gave him a quick, assessing once-over before turning to you. Her sharp eyes sparkled, but behind them, there was a glint of familiarity and warmth, as if she’d known you long before you ever stepped foot on her porch. She’d seen you in several premonitions over the years, even before you were born, but seeing you now, standing there, made it hard to keep her tears away. “You must be the one Bobby told me about,” she said with a soft smile, even though it wasn’t the whole truth.

Taking a calming breath, you nodded. “He said you could help me with the whole empath and premonition thing,” you replied, trying to get your anxiety under control. “But, what did you mean by we haven’t bonded?” Pamela let out playful laughter at your question. She’s still innocent. “Sex, honey. You two haven’t had sex yet.” And with that, she turned on her heel, heading inside, leaving the door open for the two of you to follow.

Your jaw nearly hit the porch at her bluntness while your cheeks turned a bright red in embarrassment. Dean attempted to hide his faint discomfort, clearing his throat before taking your hand. “Sorry. I tried to warn you she was blunt,” he told you apologetically, then left a quick kiss on your cheek before leading you inside.

She was sitting in her living room, relaxing in a recliner opposite a plus-looking couch. Pamela gestured for the two of you to take a seat as she sipped her coffee. “Alright, down to business,” she began, leaning forward and setting down her coffee cup. “I can help you, but until the two of you fully bond, these will only partially work.” 

That blush crept right back into your cheeks, and you glanced away, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. Pamela looked over at Dean, studying him, opening herself up to feel both your emotions. She needed to understand more, the things neither of you were saying, the things her premonitions never included. 

Pamela was able to feel both your current emotions, but she went deeper, like following a thread along a winding path. She had already seen several of the things you’d been through in your life, including the car accident your parents were in. Something else was holding you back; she just had to find it. It was the one thing that always evaded the premonitions she had about you.

Dean gave your hand a gentle squeeze, pulling your gaze to him. I’m right here, Sweetheart. His whispered words in your mind, a quiet warmth settling over your nerves. You scooted closer to him, leaning into his side as he held you close. It’s okay, he thought to you, trying to soothe the wave of emotions rolling through the connection. Goosebumps went down Pamela’s arms as a chill found her spine. You accomplished things you shouldn’t have without bonding with your soulmate. She drew in a shaky breath. “Honey, lemme see your hand,” she asked softly; all playfulness gone now, and it sent a chill through you. You looked over at her, a little puzzled. Pushing past your worry, you hesitantly held out your other hand for her. Pamela moved to sit on her coffee table in front of you, preparing herself for what she knew would come through the contact. She took a slow, deep breath before taking your hand in both of hers. 

As soon as her hands touched yours, an intense wave of emotion crashed over you, her gaze turning distant, almost as if she were seeing something beyond the room. Her eyes shifted, focusing on things only she could see, and her expression grew strained as she glimpsed more pieces of your past, things that her promotions hadn’t included.

The silence stretched as Pamela’s grip tightened slightly. Then, she exhaled slowly, her gaze clearing as she looked back at you with something close to awe. “You’ve been through more than most,” she murmured; her words carried something raw and empathetic. “But there’s something holding you back… keeping you from bonding completely with Dean.”

Dean held you close, his jaw tightening as Pamela continued. Her words had shifted the room’s energy entirely, and he wanted to be sure you were ready for whatever came next. He also felt almost helpless, unable to do more than hold you. That was when Pamela placed one of her hands just above his knee, causing him to jump at the sudden contact.

Pamela’s eyes glossed over, like she had gone into a trance. “Stay in the bunker. Three days past Dean’s birthday, don’t leave. Call Crowley two days before Dean’s birthday. You’ll know what to tell him,” her voice sounded distant, but the words scared the hell out of you. 

The chill in her voice raised the hair on your arms. Your stomach dropped at her cryptic words, the weight of something unseen pressing down. Whatever she’d seen seemed to ripple through her and you wondered if you’d ever reach the ability level she had. However, it also scared the hell out of you.

She saw far more but couldn’t reveal anything else, knowing it could make too many other things permanent. Slowly, Pamela let go of your hand, also withdrawing her hand from Dean. You couldn’t control how your body began to shake the moment she let go. 

“It’ll be okay. Alright?” she told you softly, closing herself off like she had learned how to do so long ago. Your life truly had been one of hardship, a living nightmare that no one should have to go through. But soon, all that would be behind you. She could only give you so much. You would have to do the rest.

“Geeze, Pam,” Dean bit out, holding you tighter as he felt your body shake, and the frustration rising in his voice.”You were supposed to help her, not scare the shit out of her.”

Pamela sighed, returning to her recliner. “Look, I don’t always have control over when I get premonitions, alright? Just… be there for her over the next week and a half. And neither of you are to leave the bunker, for any reason,” it was the only warning she could give them, not wanting to speak what she’d seen out loud. Premonitions were odd in that way. If too much was said, it could solidify what was seen, and never in a good way. She’d seen it happen. It was how she had lost her soulmate, and you were the reason she was still alive. But she couldn’t tell you that either; it would have been too much right now.

The weight of her words had you in a mild state of shock for the moment. It was a lot: the emotions that had flooded through you, the way your memories had flashed quickly through your mind, and then there had been what Pamela had said. Right now, you were just doing your best not to freak out. Pamela knew your nerves were shot; she had felt it before she closed herself off. So, she headed into her kitchen, pouring you almost half a glass of whiskey. Two or three shots wasn’t going to be enough, and it wasn’t like you were driving.

“Here, hon, this’ll help,” she said gently as she held the glass out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the glass, which shook slightly in your grasp. Wrapping both hands around it, you managed to steady the glass, then hissed at the burn in your throat after taking a sip. Dean kept his arm around you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles. He didn’t know how to help this time, not with something so far beyond his reach.

For a while, silence filled the room, giving you time to sip the whiskey and settle your nerves. You couldn’t even form a complete thought before another one began, and then the same would happen to that one as another one quickly tried to take its place. Dean did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that felt right, and that was holding you close while also trying to calm his emotions, which felt like a whirlwind.

Halfway through your drink, you finally took a decent breath, even if it was shaky, and looked over at Pamela. You still had questions, but her words had brought more. “Dean mentioned that premonitions don’t work like I think they do. So, how do they work?” 

Pamela knew this question was coming, she’d seen it, as well as others. “Well, like with your first nightmare, it’s sometimes hard to know what the consistent is, the thing that won’t change.” She began, wanting to find just the right way so you could understand. “In your nightmare, you were taken. In real life, you were taken. Nothing else in the nightmare mattered as none of the other stuff happened.” “That’s frustrating,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to Dean before taking another sip of the whiskey.

She watched you for a moment, reading the two of you like a book. “Your fear. It’s what’s holding you back from everything. You’re afraid of losing him. I get it. Fear has literally been the one thing in your life that you can’t seem to get past. I know this is easier said than done, but if you don’t take that leap of faith, fear will ruin your life.” You felt that knot in your stomach as she spoke, knowing she was right. Dean thought he was going to be sick with what flooded through the connection. It was far more intense than other times he’d felt your fear in the past, like someone had opened the floodgates. “Bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right,” Pamela told him, her eyes on you, and Dean bolted down the hallway.

“What happened?” you asked, puzzled as Dean disappeared.

Pamela sighed, knowing she couldn’t just give you everything. “Fear can be a wonderful motivator or a crippling monster. You’ve been living with fear most of your life, so to you, it’s just part of who you are and how you see the world. But, to someone like Dean, what feels like a small knot in your stomach is ten times more intense because he’s lived with hope.” Those goosebumps found your skin and proceeded to dance along every hair slowly. Then, you furrowed your brow in confusion, setting the mostly empty glass on the table. “No. I just haven’t hoped for anything. It’s not the same,” you tried to explain, but all she did was chuckle.

“Kid, fear is what dashes hope. With all the events of your life, your hopes have been crushed, repeatedly. You don’t see it as being afraid, by not hoping for things. But that’s not how it works. I know you’re afraid of going all the way with Dean. I know you’re afraid that you’ll lose him after doing so, and that, in the end, you’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been,” she explained, her tone soft, even if her words twisted at your gut and brought back the anxiety in your chest. “Yes, you accepted him as your soulmate, but that only connects your mind and soul. Once you fully bond with him, things will smooth themselves out. It’s a giving of yourselves that’s intimate, far deeper than just a physical act. Because of the connection the two of you already have, it’s going to be intense when it happens, but in a good way,” Pamela added softly, trying to give that flicker of hope in you a little more of a nudge.

There were a lot of people who had wanted to argue as to how bonding worked, but Pamela knew the truth. She’d been through it once and had chosen to remain single after losing her soulmate, to never bond with anyone again. Changing the way “the system” saw things was always hard, but at least there were some things they had finally begun to truly look at.

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “How do I get over it?” you asked quietly.

Pamela moved to sit next to you, putting her arm over your shoulders and tugging you a little closer. “It’s called a leap of faith for a reason, hon. Stop being afraid of living life to its fullest with a man who would walk through hell to get to you. I know you want to surprise him on his birthday with it. I also know he’d wait forever for you. Stop being afraid.” 

There was something in the softness of her voice, the way she spoke, that calmed you similarly to how Dean’s presence did. Just mentally considering what she was suggesting made your anxiety spike. Pamela just held you like she had been, shielding Dean from an onslaught of emotions she knew he couldn’t handle in his current state.

Normal people felt emotions on a normal level, like those who hadn’t gone through highly traumatic experiences. Even those who had, as long as they weren’t empaths, they still only felt emotions on a normal level. An empath who had a wounded soul felt emotions so profoundly that it was too much for any normal person to understand, let alone feel. Dean was unique, as he had been able to handle your emotions, at least until your true fear had slipped through the connection. On top of that, the fact that the two of you hadn’t fully bonded, had Pamela utterly intrigued.

When Dean finally made his way back out to the living room, he was looking a little green around the gills, and you offered him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be alright, Sweetheart. Just not used to your emotions being that intense,” he told you with a smile just before a burp slipped out, due to his recovering stomach.

“After you two finally have sex, it’ll be easier,” Pamela pipped in, making you blush and Dean grumble a little. Then she turned to you, “Think about what I said, hun.” Her tone was soft, like earlier, soothing your emotions further. She kissed you on the temple before she went over to Dean, leaning close to his ear while you zoned off a little.

“She’s gonna be okay. Both of you are. Just do what I said, and things will turn out like you’ve been hoping for,” she whispered as Dean tried to keep his expression stoic, when inside, he was almost as happy as the day you accepted him as your soulmate.

Dean’s eyes were on you, taking in your slightly slumped posture, your far-off gaze, and all he wanted to do was take away every horrible thing you were going through. “I’m gonna take her home. Thanks, Pam,” he replied gratefully before going over to you.

You jumped a little when he set his hand on your shoulder. “You ready to head home?” Puzzled, you looked up at him. “But, what about how to deal with other people’s emotions?” 

Pamela chuckled as she sat back in her recliner. “It’s fairly easy. Picture a bubble around you. When you want to let other people’s emotions in, imagine the bubble thinning or going away completely. When you want to keep other people’s emotions out, just picture that bubble around you. It’ll take practice, but that’s the easiest one I can give you to start with.”

Well, it sounds simple enough.

“Thanks,” you sighed, glancing down at the last shot of whiskey, debating drinking it. Before you could even ask your next question, she spoke again. “As for the premonition thing. Only time and practice will help you understand what the constant is, the thing that won’t change. Once you find balance, understanding your premonitions will get clearer.”

The entire ride back with Dean was silent, as you were lost in your thoughts, trying to piece it all together. Feeling how you pulled back, like you were closing yourself off, all Dean could do at the moment was give you space. The whiskey had not only settled your nerves but had also seemed to calm your thoughts far more than they had been back at Pamela’s.

You really did have a ton of questions, but none of those felt like they mattered at the moment. Your thoughts were now only on what had happened back at Pamela’s and everything she had said. It wasn’t so much Pamela’s premonition that was on your mind. It was what she had said about taking a leap of faith. You didn’t focus too hard on it, though, as it only triggered your anxiety. 

As Dean pulled into the garage, he stole a quick glance at you, and it felt like you had your walls up again. All he had felt through the connection was that you were there, but your emotions weren’t mixing with his. Back at Pamela’s, it had been your fear that hit him like a punch to the gut, and he was unable to keep breakfast down, and now, there was nothing. He wondered what Pamela had said to you while he’d been in the bathroom, but now something was nagging at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach you.

When you heard his door open, it pulled your gaze to him, a puzzled look on your face. “Did you need to pick anything up, since we have to stay in the bunker again?”

It was at that moment that your emotions began trickling through the connection again, making him let out a breath of relief. “We’ve got enough to get through, and there’s still plenty of meat in the freezer. I think we’ll be okay,” he replied, giving you a reassuring smile.

You could tell something was bothering him, but you’d ask him about it after getting into the bunker. Still feeling in a bit of a daze over it all, you got out of the Impala while Dean locked up the garage. That awkward silence between the two of you, had Dean debating chewing Bobby out for even suggesting you go see Pamela. 

He silently followed you down the stairs, through the second door, and into the living room. You wrapping your arms around him threw him for a complete loop, but he held you close as your emotions finally began dancing with his again.

“Talk to me, please,” he whispered, unable to truly express what it had felt like when he couldn’t feel your emotions, but you felt all of it from him.

You let the comfort of his embrace sooth everything coursing through your mind and soul. Pamela’s words had shaken you, but they had also clarified things, too. Now, it was just finding the courage to make that leap of faith. For now, though, you focused on the warmth from his body and the tenderness of his embrace.

“Just trying to process everything Pamela said,” you replied quietly, resting your head on his chest as your body finally felt like it was relaxing.

Dean held you just a little closer, fighting the lump of emotion in his throat. “I’m here, if you want to talk about it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Giving him a gentle squeeze, you looked up at him, that small yet genuine smile finally finding your lips. “I know. I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot to sort through. Can we watch a movie and cuddle, though? I don’t want to think about it right now,” you asked.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting your presence and gentle emotions soothe the tension that had gripped all his muscles. “Yeah, we can watch a movie,” he replied softly, gently cupping your cheek.

You hummed as you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, letting all your stresses go. There was plenty of time to face what you knew you needed to. Right now, all you wanted, all you needed was to be tucked comfortably against him while enjoying a movie and his embrace.

“Can I help you get into something comfortable first?” he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully, which matched the smirk that found his lips. You had inadvertently managed to distract him from what he’d been going through, so now, he was going to deliberately distract you.

As a giggle left your lips, he scooped you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. His laughter brought peace to you as he carried you to your room and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You weren’t ready to go all the way with him tonight, but this time, you let yourself enjoy his teases. It was like exposure therapy, and even though it made you anxious, it also helped you push through the feelings.

Dean raised an eyebrow when you hadn’t told him he was being a tease, debating asking you about it. He could feel your desire, so he knew he’d gotten to you. He just couldn’t understand why you hadn’t said anything. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his concern slipping through the connection.

“Yes, Dean. I’m okay,” your words came out playful, so Dean relaxed again, but you could still feel something nagging at him. “I’ll tell you what. Tonight, just hold me, and tomorrow, I’ll share what’s been going through my head, I promise.” 

He feigned frustration; the hint of a smile gave him away, pulling laughter from you. That made his smile widen, and he scooped you up into his arms again, spinning you a couple of times. The way your laughter filled the room made his heart soar. You quickly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and held on. When he stopped, you looked up at him, still giggling a little, and it felt like the moment was frozen in time. The smile on his face made his eyes sparkle as the lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled. Feeling the joy that not only flowed through the connection but also radiated off him made your heart melt.

God, I love you. The thought whispered through his mind, and he just couldn’t help himself, leaning down and capturing your lips in what was intended to be a tender, loving kiss. However, when you reciprocated, and one of your hands cupped his cheek, he had to take a deep inhale through his nose, pulling you ever closer to him. Dean teased your lip with his tongue, desperately wanting to deepen the kiss, and you almost did, but you knew you were ready. Pulling back a little, you looked into his eyes, seeing the desire, the love, and sighed. But before you could answer, he spoke. “I know. I can wait,” he told you gently, resting his forehead against yours.

It was getting harder for him not to progress things, but he would keep his word and wait for you to be ready. With his body tingling, he took you out to the living room, setting you gently on the couch. You worked on catching your breath while he slipped in a movie, adjusting himself before he plopped down next to you. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you against him.

The night was relaxing as you finally found your peace again, without worry. Pamela’s words were still in the back of your mind, but you let them stay there. The two of you slipped easily into your nightly routine, with him cooking and you doing the dishes. He again came up and held you, even teased you a little, but kept it light. Dean mainly had done it to hear your giggle and those cute noises you made when he slipped his thumbs just under your shirt and rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You had insisted that he pick a movie, but he was quite persistent about you choosing one, as he loved seeing that child-like joy sparkle in your eyes and dance through the connection. So, you picked the movie, the two of you lying down on the couch and cuddling for the length of it. Although, after about forty-five minutes or so, you began falling asleep. 

It had been a long, emotional day, and being wrapped up in his comfort let every ounce of stress dissipate from your body. Feeling your petite frame against him, your muscles no longer tense, and the way your breathing began to even out in a sleepy sort of way allowed Dean’s stresses to slip away as well.

“You want to head to bed early?” he asked sleepily, finding himself just as sleepy as you.

“Sure,” you breathed out, forcing your eyes to open again.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he grunted as he got off the couch, climbing over you.

For a moment you just laid there, watching as he turned off the movie and began turning off excess lights. You weren’t sure why it brought peace to you, seeing him do mundane things, but you allowed the emotions from those moments to move through the connection, wanting him to feel it, too.

Even though he was exhausted, he went over and tenderly scooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed. He tucked you under the covers on one side of the bed before he slipped out to change and get the last couple lights. You were almost asleep when he crawled into bed, scooting close to you. Snuggling against him, you let out a content sigh.

“Good night, Dean. I love you,” you whispered, eyes already closed and sleep tugging at your conscious mind.

He held you a little tighter, “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against your head, breathing deeply.

The day may have been rocky, but right now, in this moment, with his arms around you, it felt like a distant memory. The stillness of the room, coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart, gently lulled you into a deep sleep. Dean felt your breathing become steady as your body relaxed further in his arms. A small smile found his lips as he closed his eyes, knowing you were sleeping peacefully.

I love you, Sweetheart. I always will.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 30

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[osamusbigtits]

atsumu presses osamu against a wall. suna watches with wide eyes, not entirely sure what is happening. he only walked in the door a moment ago.

"you gotta go," atsumu says, his voice is strained. osamu growls.

it takes suna a moment to catch osamu's eyes. there's not recognition, just pure hunger.

"when's the last time he fed?" suna asks and takes a step closer.

osamu jerks forward and atsumu forces him back. "suna, you have to go, now," atsumu hisses.

suna searches osamu's eyes. he doesn't see the osamu he knows in there. just the feral hunger taking over.

and he knows what he has to do.

"let him go," suna says softly.

it catches atsumu off guard. for a moment, suna thinks osamu will break free, but atsumu manages to hold him still. it's then that suna notices osamu's claws digging into atsumu's arms. it's bad if he doesn't even have the sense to realize he's hurting his brother.

"atsumu, please. let me help," suna says. atsumu looks back at suna like he's crazy- and maybe suna is. a human putting himself in the way of a starved vampire.

but seeing osamu in this state breaks suna's heart.

atsumu sighs. "I think you're being stupid, for the record," he says. with a final glance at suna, atsumu pulls back.

in a flash, osamu's onto of suna. suna barely realizes he hits the ground before the sting of fangs in his neck causes him to hiss out in pain. atsumu's nearby, barely an arm length away, ready to pull osamu away.

suna takes osamu's head into his hands, gently stroking his hair. he feels a little dizzy at the blood loss, far more rapid than he's used to.

and suddenly, it stops. osamu breathes out harshly. suna knows it's more of a habit, an instinctual reaction more than the necessity to breathe.

slowly, osamu brings his face up and meets suna's eyes. it's strange to see osamu disheveled like this. eyes wide, blood smeared over his mouth and chin, hair a mess... suna wonders what happened during his trip.

"rintarou," osamu says, breathless. "rin, shit, I'm so sorry."

suna finds himself caring more about osamu- the pale skin, how he feels frozen, his eyes still glossy, like he's moments away from going back into the feral, hungry rage.

"when's the last time you fed? you need blood. are you okay?" suna asks, searching osamu's face. he keeps his hands on osamu, desperate to keep their skin to skin contact.

despite this, osamu's still worried about suna. "baby, shit. I was- I'm so sorry. I was just hungry- I didn't mean to- i never meant-"

suna shushes osamu, running a hand through his hair. "it's okay. it's okay, I'm not mad. I'm not hurt."

atsumu seems to appear with a blood bag, forcing it into osamu's hand.

it takes a moment for osamu to relax enough for suna to convince him to sit up. suna urges osamu to drink the blood.

and atsumu explains.

"we're low on supplies," he sighs. "samu decided to starve himself so I didn't have to. and I didn't realize until yesterday."

"how long?" suna asks, keeping his eyes on osamu.

"6 months," osamu whispers.

suna sighs. the entire time he was gone. he closes his eyes for a moment.

"I'll go out and get you guys some. I met a couple guys who have a similar situation," suna says. he glances to atsumu.

atsumu shakes his head. "I've got it, don't worry. you should stay with him. he's misses you." with the slight blood in his system, a subtle pink dusts osamu's cheeks. "make sure he gets as much as he needs."

suna wants to argue, but decides staying with osamu would be the best choice. so he simply nods and wishes atsumu luck.

[gingermintpepper]

One of my biggest pet peeves is the assumption that something has to be sad for it to be tragic.

I've always been a big believer of the 'Apollo has an awful love life'/'Apollo is plain unlucky with love' line of thinking but it does bother me that the general reasoning for that statement is given to the concept of 'Apollo is somehow undesireable and thus rejected' (Cassandra/Daphne/Marpessa) or 'his lovers die young and thus their love is unfulfilled' (Cyparissus/Hyacinthus/Coronis). I personally think that's a very unfortunate way of looking at things - not only because it neglects the many perfectly cordial entanglements and affairs Apollo has had, both mortal and divine - but because it presents a very shallow interpretation of the concepts of love and loss and how loss affects people.

Apollo can still grieve lovers that have a long, healthy life. The inherent tragedy of an immortal who knows his lovers and children will die and cannot stop it does not stop being tragic simply because those lovers and children live long, fulfilled lives. The inherent tragedy of loss does not stop being tragic simply because someone knows better than to mourn something that was always going to end.

What is tragic is not that Apollo loves and loses but that loss itself follows him. Apollo does not love with the distance of an immortal, he does not have affairs and then leaves never to listen to their prayers again. He does not have offspring and then abandon them to their trials only to appear when it is time to lead them to their destinies. He raises his young, he protects the mothers of his children, he blesses the households that have his favour and multiplies their flocks that they may never go hungry. He educates his sons, he adorns his daughters and even in wrath he is quick to come to his senses and regret the punishments he doles out.

Apollo loves. And like mortals, there will always be some part of him that wishes to protect the objects of his affections. Apollo, however, is also an emissary of Fate. He knows that the fate of all mortal things is death. He knows that to love a mortal is to accept that eventually he will have to bury them. There is no illusion of forever, there is no fantasy where he fights against the nature of living things and shields his beloveds from death. Apollo loves and because of that love, he also accepts.

And that, while beautiful, is also tragic.

[icantdothistodaybruh]

yea sooooo I may have or may have not watched and instantly rewatched all kuro musicals in existence in a spawn of one week and now have roughly 40 screenshots to redraw from

I think I might be insane or something

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

What if I was insane again about the first thing Alpha Grim Sonic hearing when Nine creates him is his purpose—that he is Nine's friend?

Friendship as a concept in Prime is handled interestingly among its main characters. As Sonic (who thinks he knows a lot about friendship) comes to deepen his understanding of what it means to have a home/be home, I think it's safe to say his definition of friendship develops along with it. Compare this to Nine, who's learned everything he knows about "friendship" and personal relationships in general through his relationship with Sonic (at least, after his childhood of bullying).

So of course I think about Nine, who never wants to be hurt again, yet can no longer bear feeling alone (not after feeling that sense of companionship and belonging with someone else), which results in him creating a warped version of friendship for himself (one where he is surrounded by people, but people who only do whatever he wants, who have no opinions and thoughts of their own, who can't backstab him). And so I think about Alpha Grim Sonic, who is the very first robot Nine creates under this idea of frienship and companionship.

Nine is his master, and Alpha Grim Sonic is his protector, his bodyguard, his weapon

But he's also his friend.

Alpha Grim Sonic doesn’t talk back (can't even if he wanted to), but his purpose has always been clear to him: be Nine's friend. That's what he was created to be.

So I imagine Alpha Grim Sonic performing his purpose to the T at first under Nine's framework. He's Nine's friend, so he does whatever Nine commands, he never talks back or challenges authority, he protects Nine at all cost. And then, perhaps unbeknownst to Nine, he begins to shift ever so gradually. Sure, he's never insubordinate, he never offers up opinions, he still can't speak, but the lines of devotion begin to blur.

Is it in his code? Is out of a real sense of feeling?

Alpha Grim Sonic does not understand friendship, no matter whether it believes it does or not. But it's ironic to me if, despite being created under Nine's warped idea of it, the robot slowly grows their own soul, witnesses other displays of frienship and care, and drifts outside the bounds of that idea (a carefully crafted painting begins to leak out of its frame, expanding the masterpiece). They protect Nine, they do only what he commands, and yet they hate to see Nine in pain, they wish to bring Nine comfort (and so it feels good to him when Nine commands him to do such things that might bring his master comfort).

Does this make any sense? To believe that friendship means to hold one person on a pedestal, to protect them, to only listen to them, to never talk back, to never have opinions, and yet, despite believing what your creator tells you of friendship with them (your very purpose in this existence), to slowly fall further into those feelings that true care and love for another person brings, to wish to comfort someone the way one might describe a true friend would, despite not realizing any of this.

[candied-cae]

The way that Stede treated Izzy during episode 3 were some of the ONLY times I could stand seeing Izzy on screen so far this season because it finally felt like someone who recognized him and was treating him rationally tbh

I adore this show and the people who worked on it, but ffs, it feels like they all enjoyed Con too much and the Izzy-Enjoyers Fanon of his character last season and jumped the gun on his redemption arc.

I'm going to go through and explain this more, but I just wanted to put that out there first while I lay out why Stede's expressions and reactions make so much more sense coming out of season 1's events.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

underrated genre of character playlist entry: songs a character would relate to because they do not understand their situation, themself, or the song itself well enough to realize it is not accurate (and might well straight up be a callout for people like them). which song is your blorbo's fight club

[merkerlerspeaks]

I don't know what's happened in Miraculous Ladybug after the New York special but I have a feeling they took Gabriel and made him even worse so if they did I am simply ignoring that and deciding that he stops being a little punk, asks Ladybug for help with Emilie, apologizes to Adrien and becomes the father he needs him to be and also Nathalie is able to heal both physically and emotionally from the whole "assisting in terrorizing Paris because she's to smitten to say no" situation that happened.

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.2

synopsis: "He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury.."

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x fem! reader, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and gore

⚝wc: 1.5k

⚝a/n: I'm still shocked this got as much attention as it did! Thank you for reading, I hope this next part pleases you.

“Please, do your best to remain still,” Uraume chides gently. They press the cotton swab soaked in alcohol to your face, the stinging sensation causing you to wince as it penetrates the cuts on your cheek. Uraume offers a sympathetic glance. “I apologize for this…”

“You don’t need to-“

“Please.” They say firmly “I was aware of the tension between the servants, I... never thought they would do something to harm one of their own.” Uraume’s voice wavers slightly. They move to the wounds on your arms.

The door to the chamber swings open, and Sukuna stands in the threshold, leaning one arm nonchalantly against the doorframe. He surveys your battered form sitting on the edge of the bed—a trace of annoyance etched on his face. Uraume rises swiftly to bow before the king, but he dismisses the gesture with a casual wave.

“My lord, I’ve treated her as best as I can.” Uraume reports.

Sukuna’s gaze shifts to your face, his demeanor cold yet betraying a hint of concern.

“Are you in any pain?”

“No.. my lord and I’m sorry-“

“You are not at fault.” He interrupts you, his voice firm as he strides over, his heavy footsteps echoing through the room. Clad in a black robe with a purple sash tied around the waist, his rippling muscles are visible through the cascading fabric. Uraume steps back, offering a brief bow before exiting, leaving you alone with him.

He scans your face with a piercing gaze, lowering himself to your level. His eyes drift to your empty wrist, narrowing with a mix of concern and intensity.

“Where. is it.” He demands. Your eyes widen as you realize the bracelet you were given today was missing.

“I… it must have fallen off when they attacked me” You piece together aloud. 

“So they would harm you as well as steal…” Ryomen’s voice grows taut with anger he clenches his fist, body tensing up. He rises from his kneeling position, figure looming over you.

“Are you able to stand?” He questions lowly. You nod.

“Good. We will be going now.”

You look up at your king, his expression is unreadable, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his eyes—a silent promise of retribution. 

You lag behind him as he strides purposefully down the dimly lit  hallway. The evening light leaks through the dark red curtains of the hall, casting long shadows that dance along the walls. Each step of his echoes with a menacing authority. He stops abruptly at the entrance to the servants quarters. Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.

“Do you wish to watch?” He inquires, voice low and steady.

“W…watch?” 

“Yes, do you wish to watch as I kill the ones who hurt you.”

“I—“ your heart races, Was this really happening? “No… my lord I do not.” You speak quietly. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, opening the door to the room.

The servants look upon him in reverence… or fear. Ryomen Sukuna did not bother himself with his servants, so seeing him generally meant bad news. He scans the room at the trembling help who shrink under his scrutiny, ‘utterly pathetic..’ he thinks. Their eyes drift to you, standing behind him. Ryomen shoots you a sidelong glance, awaiting you to point out your offenders. 

You look up at him, conflicted. Do you really wish for them to die? He scoffs as if reading your mind.

“You would protect them, even after what they did to you?” He sneers.

 He directs his attention back to the line of servants, all bowing their heads in fear. His gaze lands on one woman, and he notices the bracelet on her wrist—identical to the one he had painstakingly crafted for you.

At the sight of the bracelet, his demeanor changes abruptly. His expression darkens with a fierce intensity. With a swift motion, two of his arms encircle you, gently but firmly covering your eyes.

“Do not open them, until the screaming stops.”

Screams of horror reverberate through the room. You hear slashes mingling with the sound of Sukuna chuckling darkly. All the while two of his arms remains protectively around you, shielding you from the brutality he’s inflicting upon the ones who dared to harm you.

The screaming fades, his breathing slows, upper left arm lowers from your eyes.

“It is done.” And as your eyes slowly open, the sight before you is gut-wrenching. Blood and carnage litter the servant’s chambers. You clasp your hand  over your mouth as you fight back a gag. 

Ryomen looks at you, a hint of annoyance for your lack of appreciation. You gaze upon his bloodied form, he was covered in it. He wipes face, turning his back on the lifeless bodies.

“Let’s go; I require a bath and new clothes.”

You sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, adding oils and dried petals. The act of bathing Lord Sukuna had become quite routine. And yet every time he entered the room your heart would skip a beat. He stood at over six feet tall, his four muscular arms and broad, chiseled chest commanding attention. The tattoos that adorned his toned body only added to his already imposing presence.

He strides confidently over to the bath, crimson eyes never leaving yours. The scent of lavender and roses wafting through the tiled room. He lowers himself into the water, groaning as the hot water enveloped his powerful frame.

You grab a sponge, wiping the dried blood from his chest. Ryomen leans his head back against the edge of the tub, sighing in relief under your touch. He’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water sloshing around echoes throughout the room. One eye opens slightly to observe you, your gentle hands erasing the evidence of his carnage. Massaging away his stress and tension. He speaks in a low, commanding voice.

“Join me.”

You abruptly cease your movements, looking at him in disbelief.

“You mean—“

“In the tub, yes.” You hesitate, glancing nervously between him and the water. Knowing it was not wise to disobey your king, you begin to shed your clothing, covering yourself modestly as you allow the bathwater to cloak you. You settle on the opposite side of the tub, his eyebrow quirks in mild annoyance.

“I will not harm you.” His voice almost… gentle.

You move closer to him. Albeit too slow for his taste, one arm pulls you towards his chest, settling on the small of your back. The unprecedented position of intimacy with your lord both thrilling and unsettling.

“Are you… unhappy with my actions today?”

"No… my lord." It was partly true. You were still reeling from the events that had transpired. The king to whom you had dutifully bowed had unleashed his fury... for you? The man you willingly served, had been so enraged by your injuries that he had taken the lives of those who wronged you. He was both a monstrous force of vengeance and your savior, intertwined in a tempest of passion and fury..

“Good.” Another hand reaches to stroke your hair, a touch so feather light you wondered if he thought you’d break. “I… do not wish for you to be unhappy.” He speaks softly. His finger traces your jawline. You shiver under his touch, but don’t pull away. If your heart were to beat any faster you feared it might give out altogether.  His hand trails down to your chest, placing his palm flat against the valley between your breasts.

“Your heart is racing…Are you frightened of me?” He questioned, feeling the rhythm quicken beneath his touch.

“F…frightened?” You try to keep your voice from shaking, but it betrays you quivering with uncertainty.

“It is understandable; I could kill you right now.” He grins as his words make your heart beat even faster. “I am merely stating a fact. Do not think of it.” His gaze travels from your face to your chest, lingering at the point where the water begins.

He stands up, water dripping down his body, your gaze travels down his abs to his v-line. He only grins as he sees your curious eyes widen at his lower half. It was quite hard not to look when he was so… big. The screams from his bedroom made sense after you were called to his bath the first time. 

“You are permitted to touch.” He declares, snapping your out of your daze, a shaky hand comes up to feel his abs. He groans softly under your nimble fingers, feeling his muscles tighten in response. He was a work of art, as if the gods themselves sculpted his figure.

You knew that after his bath, Lord Sukuna would typically summon one of his concubines to his chambers. This would inevitably result in several hours of indecorous moans and pained screams, audible through the door connecting your room to his. As his servant, you wanted to adhere to your place, but a part of you couldn't help but wonder... what it would be like to bask in your lord’s presence in such an intimate way.

“My lord, shall I summon someone to… attend to your needs?” 

He only chuckles darkly, one arm reaching down to gentle cup your face. His crimson eyes feasting upon your wet, naked form committing this scene to memory.

“No need,” He murmurs, his voice deep and resonant.

 “I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

taglist! (I know a lot a people in the previous post asked for a part two but idk if that meant you wanted to be tagged, lmk!) @haruchi-slit @gg-trini @pastelbunnelby @cauqhtz @shadava