wanting 12 ⎯patrick feely
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- Parts 23
MatureOngoing4h 4m
Last published Mon, Jul 6, 2026
All my life, I've been someone's sister. Someone's daughter. Someone's shadow.
Never me. Never enough.
I thought Transition Year at Tommen would change that. My chance to step out of the background and finally be someone.
Then Patrick Feely happened.
Seventeen. Number 12 on the rugby pitch. My brother's best friend everywhere else.
He's kind when I least expect it. Funny when I need it most. Broken in ways he'll never admit.
And against every warning in my head, I can't help falling for him.
But Patrick Feely isn't simple.
Loving him isn't safe.
And wanting him might ruin everything.
Because I'm already drowning-in anxiety, in expectations, in the weight of not being enough.
And Patrick Feely could be the one thing that saves me... or the one that drags me under.
Patrick Feely x fem oc
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Brian O'Neill. The coldest fella Tommen's has ever seen-or so they say. And I get it. He walks down the halls like he owns the place, never says much unless he has to, face like it's carved out of marble, always unreadable. He's like a winter prince-untouchable, a bit terrifying, and way too beautiful to be real. But he's mine. He's my boyfriend. He makes my heart beat like a bloody war drum every time he so much as looks at me with that stormy gaze of his. Protective to a fault. He'd burn the whole world down if it meant keeping his siblings safe. They're everything to him-his whole bleeding heart, even if he acts like he hasn't got one. And he fights. Not schoolyard scuffles. Not rugby scraps. I'm talking about underground, illegal fights. The kind you don't talk about. The kind you pray he walks away from. *** Daisy Biggs. If sunshine had a body and a runway walk, it'd be her. She's Ireland's it girl-covers of magazines, Vogue campaigns, CHANEL deals before she was even out of third year. Everyone knows her name. Every girl wants to be her, and every lad stares a bit too long when she walks past. But she's mine. She's my girlfriend. Yeah-me. The cold bastard with blood on his knuckles and bruises under his hoodie. I don't know how I pulled her, honest to God. Maybe 'cause she sees something in me no one else bothers to look for. But we keep it quiet. No one at Tommen's knows. Can't risk the papers finding out, or the other students. She's soft with me. Gentle in a way that makes me forget I've got cuts across my ribs or a busted lip. When I show up to her place, bleeding or shaking or just not right in the head after a fight, she never freaks. She just pulls me in, cleans me up, and wraps her arms around me like I'm something worth saving. I know she hates the fights. Hates what they do to me. Hates what I have to do to win. But what am I supposed to do? When you've got a da who treats you like a weapon, you learn real quick that choices are a luxury.
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