#Oakwood School | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allophonicmess · 6 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 2

GIF von asgardswinter

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine, descriptions of a panic attack, angst, implicaded age gap, horror elements, description of blood and violence

wordcount: 3.8k words

I am overwhelmed by all your positve feedback :,)

So I wrote Act 2 over the weekend. Depending on feedback I might expand this story to a full 5 Act piece. Tell me what you think of that :) Enjoy Act 2!

When Logan woke up, he noticed everything was quiet around him, except for that annoying pigeon always perched up next to his window. He remembered how one year it tried to build a nest right next to the window and they had asked Kitty to transport just outside of the wall to get rid of it. She accidentally cracked one of the eggs during that job and cried about it for half a week. Logan huffed in amusement thinking about it.

The next sensation that returned to him was touch. And he suddenly felt too hot. There were one too many pillows around his head and he felt how his body started to heat up again after his night's sleep. The same can be said for the double blanket that weighed him down and the hot breeze that hit his neck in a steady rhythm.

Wait.

He frowned.

A hot breeze?

“I thought we were sleeping in…” A mumble came from right next to him. The voice was still raspy from sleep but it took Logan less than a second to realize what had happened.

Fuck.

He swore to himself that he would keep his hands off her till he figured things out between him and Jean. His body stiffened. How to get out of this mess?

Y/N moved closer to him, her head resting on the pillow then placed onto his chest. She hummed contently at the warmth of his body.

Last night's end-of-semester party had ended on a positive note for her when Logan pulled her away from the drink, snacks and conversations to finally kiss her. She was pinned against the ornate oakwood wall coverings in the hallway and it was more beautiful and sensual than she had imagined.

Then they inevitably ended up in Logan's room where they spent the night having sex till they fell asleep. She had waited for him to finally make the move after a constant back and forth between them.

Logan sighed, moving into a sitting position and moving her with him. “We are sleeping in.”, he responded, smoothing his hand along her exposed shoulder and arm. “ I just need to sit up for a minute, bub. You know how my back is.”

She hummed in response, looking up at him with a content, sleepy smile. Why did she have to make this worse?

“I really like you, Logan. This… us, you know?” She asked, her hand moving to massage his shoulder. Why can’t she stop?

He let his head rest against the wooden bed frame. “ Yeah”, closing his eyes and thinking of a way to set things straight again.

“It's not the right time to talk about this but...I told you about my plan to teach at another school for the next few years. See something new, learn and better my teaching.” She moved closer, from her leaning position into a half-upright one. One leg was thrown over his hips.

Yes, please go.

“Yeah, you told me,” Logan answered, trying to keep his voice neutral. Her departure would give him time to sort himself out and or makeup with Jean. He did feel bad for letting Y/n on but she seemed so happy about it.

“I’m not so sure about it now. With you and me… I wanna give this a try.” She leaned forward to give him a soft kiss. Logan turned his head just in time for her lips to partially miss and land in his scruffy beard. He concealed it by hugging her into his chest.

He paused before answering. Feeling her weight against his chest, the soft skin of her back against his arms. This was nice, he admitted. But there still resigned a little dark seed in him that pushed him towards Jean. To try again, keep chasing and not give up. Y/n would be there. She always was but Jean was moving fast, unreachable and glowing.

“Go on” He spoke.

“I’m going to ask the other school to push my visit for another year. Spend more time with you ” She gently moved her hands along his back, caressing it. No, leave. You need to leave!

“Sounds like a good idea, bub.” He sighed softly, letting go of her and leaning back against the bed frame. Y/n had moved into his lap, legs resting over his hips and he felt himself stirring again at the close contact.

She grinned happily at him. Chasing him for another kiss. “Great! Another summer together can’t hurt.” She kissed again, “right?”

Logan shook his head slightly as a high-pitched ringing started to sound around him.

Her hands started racking through his hair, pulling him closer.

If only she had known…

“Oh, I do!” She laughed, kissing along his neck, her hands scratching along his back.

Logan tensed “What?”

If she had known that you would leave her alone to die. She wouldn’t have wanted to stay. She would be fine now. One fucking summer with him cost her all.

“It was a good time though.” She sighed against his pulse, nibbling the soft skin there. Her free hand had moved along his body down under the blankets.

30 days she had with you.

Then you killed her.

She would be fine if you had told her and let her go.

“Why wait that long?” She let go of his neck staring right at him. “We can do it now!”

“What is happening?” Logan tried to push her off but to no avail. He was getting hot, skin prickling with sweat that wanted to squeeze through his pores.

“And this time you are right here. Why not do it yourself?” She smiled softly, both hands caressing his cheeks.

The ringing got louder and louder, drowning out all sounds except for her voice which got more distorted. It scratched against his eardrum painfully.

“On the count of three,” She giggled, moving to position herself steady on his hips.

Logan couldn’t move.

“One!”

He felt trapped, watching her take his hands from behind her back.

“Two”

Serves you right asshole!

She placed his knuckles right under her breastbone. He felt the warm skin underneath his shaking hands.

“Aaaand Three!”

Everything went silent.

His claws pierced through her chest with a disgusting wet sound. He could feel the dense material of her skin and flesh against his claws. The warmth of her body shifted into the metal coating. His shaking hands caused the blades to scratch against her bones and it made him shudder.

She gasped, holding herself upright against his shoulders.

“Oh wow…” She laughed, weakly. A trail of blood leaked from her mouth, dripping onto his hands and running down onto the white sheets. Red droplets spread in the cotton, dying it red.

“That actually really hurts!” She looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. Her body was starting to tremble.

“Y/n…” Logan whispered in horror. Looking at the woman impaled.

“See, Logan, that’s what happens-“ she took his hands and rammed them further into her body. ”Fuck! Ha- When you let me get close”

She leaned forward, moving his arms with her. His elbows knocked against the cool wood behind him.

A soft, bloody kiss was placed on his cheek.

Logan only whimpered, trying to close his eyes but he still couldn’t move.

“Now… Do better.” She whispered in his ear. Slowly she got back into her seated position. She smiled at him with a bloodied smile, teeth stained and dripping red. She lifted her arm and smacked him across the cheek with an inhuman force.

Logan scrambled to get up. A crusty carpet under his fingers, the stench of garlic in his nose and the bright sunlight blinding him.

Coffee.

He could smell coffee.

He was sweating, feeling the little crumbs and bits of dust sticking to his exposed skin. They prick him as he shifts into a sitting position. Logan's back was flush against the cool leather of the sofa he must have slept on, falling onto the dirty carpet.

A dream.

A memory.

A nightmare.

“Whoa! Peanut, you up?" Wade called from the kitchen. He strolled into the living room in his red and white morning robe coffee mug in hand. He eyed Logan cautiously. Noticing the older man's heavy breathing and disoriented look. All jokes aside: Wade felt bad for seeing him in pain. They had more in common than either wanted to admit.

“Fell right off the couch huh?” Wade crouched down in front of Logan. He watched silently as the other came back to his senses, brushing off the dirt on his exposed arms. Wade blew away the steam of his hot coffee.

“Must have been a tumble.” Wade suggestively lifted his nonexistent brows. “A sexy tumble?” He slurped his coffee loudly.

“Get the fuck away from me.” Logan brushed a hand over his sweaty brow and into his hair.

“An unpleasant tumble then? Well, don’t feel bad, buddy. Happens to the best of us” Wade patted Logan's head, getting away fast enough to not get sliced again. He moved back to the counter, pouring Logan a cup in his newly acquired “ hottest DILF in the MCU” cup. And two sugars. Logan would never ask for them out loud but Wade knew that he liked sweet things.

“That’s a bit on the nose, no?” Wade chuckled, bringing the mug over to Logan who had managed to get seated on the couch. The mismatched blanket and pillow pushed off onto the side.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, I didn’t talk to you.”

Logan huffed, taking a sip. “ Fucking maniac” The sweet burning liquid soothed his fried nerves.

Wade grabbed a chair, seating himself at the kitchen counter. Logan needed some space if he was to give some answers.

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, each nursing their drink.

It was Logan that broke the silence: “How did I get back here?” He sighed, staring at Wade.

The other man had been staring out of the window, seemingly lost in thought.

“Oh yeah. Well after you made a run for it, stabbed me on the street, destroyed my brand new light cotton shirt-“

“Get to the point.”

Wade gasped dramatically ” Catty, are we?” He clicked his tongue and continued “After that the party was basically over. And after most of the guests were gone, me and the tag team, went looking for you and picked you up from a piss-drenched alley before you went on to cause more trouble. Please and thank you.”

Logan sighed, upset and embarrassed. He had not only upset Wade and the girl but also wrecked the party for the rest of him. They called him the worst Wolverine for a reason.

Wade turned towards to fridge to scavenge for some breakfast. “Your tab has also been covered.”

Logan almost choked on his drink: “By who?”

“Ohh the X-men… academy? I don’t know.” Wade shrugged, biting into a piece of leftover puff pastry. “Piotr said something about thanking you for stabilizing the timeline. I didn’t really understand and neither did he. But hey! You got your sins paid for with government money. Isn’t that sweet?”

He grabbed a muffin from the fridge and threw it at Logan, who luckily caught it.

“And after all that fucking trouble, you at least owe me an explanation.” Wade's sudden shift from playful to serious sobered Logan.

He stayed silent for a moment, feeling how his jaw tensed. That fucking dream had been like a punch in the gut, his subconscious fucking him up even further.

He sniffed, setting the mug down.

“I knew a Y/n in my timeline.”

“No shit!” Wade exclaimed, his frustration blending into the mocking tone of his voice.

Logan grunted in annoyance. “We were both at the school. Working there. Fighting together. I met her quite early on.” One of his hands rubbed over the rough material of his jeans. “She and I were close; always had my back. And I took that for granted.” He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. “She died, with the others.”

Silence hung in the room, making the air feel thick.

“And?” Wade, asked.

“And what?” Logan was agitated.

“Well yeah, she died. Like the others. But you had no panic attack when you met Colossus, or Ellie, Yukio-“

“She wanted to leave the school for a year abroad. Teach somewhere else but she stayed because of me." His chest was getting heavy again. “She stayed because I let her on, okay? I kept her close in case things with Jean didn’t work out. I knew she loved me-”

“That’s cookie jarring!” Wade exclaimed, excitedly “My Gen Z’s told me about that!”

“The fuck are you talking about?! I am telling you something important and you-“

“It’s when you keep a second option in case love interest numero uno doesn’t like you back. Keeping a sweet backup treat to not end up without a price.”

“I guess so. But never use that term again. I swear-“ Could you have one serious conversation with this ass clown?

Logan sighed, collecting his thoughts. “She felt more for me than I did for her at the time. I mean I did love her but I was a bastard and couldn’t stop chasing after something that wasn’t mine to begin with.”

The picture of his nightmare came back to him. Y/n, impaled, bleeding out by cause of his hand.

“She wouldn’t have been there if you had told her the truth? When the attack happened?” Wade concluded.

“I reciprocated her feelings. Gave her what she wanted for a night after I got frustrated with Jean. I made Y/n think that I was over her.” He scratched his beard, still feeling her lips linger there “I didn’t have the guts to tell her the truth and I was too much of a bastard to stop; couldn’t see that she was the one... She haunts me the most.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“you really are an asshole. A surprisingly reflected asshole.” Wade nodded, lifting his mug in a mocking salute.

Logan just scoffed.

“Great, now that’s out of the way. I have a confession to make.” Wade fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a beat-up notebook.

“What did you do?” The older one said wearily.

“I…” Wade flipped through the pages in a dramatic fashion, mumbling while he pulled out several loose sheets. “… went on a little universe hopping trip while you were having your beauty sleep. And met with the other Wolvies that I had met during the search for you, pumpkin.”

He scattered the pages and some pictures on the counter. “At least the ones that didn’t want to kill me right away or the ones that stopped after they got their steam off.”

“Get to the fucking point. This is worse than the babbling on the home shopping-“ Logan had gotten up from the couch to inspect the pages.

“In every timeline that I visited, there was a Y/n. That was connected and or married to you, big boy.” Wade proudly took a sip of his now cold coffee while Logan rummaged through the material present.

“That can’t be. It’s coincident.”

“Na uh! Not if it’s constant in a bunch of universes and we are talking about a bunch, I mean, a BUNCH of universes. Do we want to say it together?”

“What?”

“Okay, 1,2,3-“

“No.”

“SOULMATES!” Wade cheered.

“No. There are no soulmates and even if there were. That-“ He pointed at the scribbled notes. “Is not how it works.”

“Aw c’mon! There are no rules to soulmates. You can do it in all kinds of ways. Matching tattoos, first words spoken to another, only getting colour vision after meeting the one-“ He gasped “You do see in colour, right?”

“This proved nothing. And you need to stop getting into my fucking business.” Logan crumpled up the note in his hand and dropped it to the ground. “I don’t care what you think. This is bullshit and a waste of time. I-“

He was interrupted by a yelp, coming from the the hallway.

The fucking dog. Logan sighed. It was a mistake to get to this universe.

“Shhh-“ Another voice, hushed the puppy.

Oh no, oh please no.

“She is here?!” Logan spit angrily. He felt betrayed. Why was she here? Why didn’t Wade tell him? And why didn’t he sense it before? She heard everything. The fucking drinking problem and his fucking age were catching up to him.

“What-? She came all the way here. Late and the party ended right after, thanks to someone who can’t keep his shitty trauma at bay!” Wade bickered. “Y/n is my friend too, you know!”

The door to Deadpool’s room opened slowly. There was no reason to keep hiding in there. The pup had blown her cover. “Poppy, no, stay…” She sighed in annoyance as the dog rushed off to her owner. Wade picked her up quickly, kissing her on the tuff of fur on her otherwise naked body.

“She is not my friend-“ Logan pointed at Wade accusingly. His eyes shifted to the hallway where he saw the door open slowly. Wade’s door. He saw red.

“She slept in your room?!” The pointing finger quickly turned into a fistful of adamantium claws, the tips nicking Wade’s chin. “You have a death wish you little fuck?!”

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” Y/n rushed out of the room to de-escalate the unfolding situation. She hoped to make a quiet escape, sneak out through the fire escape, wait it out or call Piotr to stage a plan to get her out of there. But thanks to the puppy and these two hot heads it was going to be the awkward confrontation kind of exit.

She had tried to play it cool last night and not show her disappointment. She had been curious about the new character that Wade brought back from his multidimensional trip. Y/n wanted to find out what he was like, and how this world differed from his. She even asked the older X-team members about their Logan. What he was like, what he liked, and what topics interested him.

And he had made a run for it the second he saw her. Of course, she was hurt. Trying to push the tears down as the others tried to comfort her. She didn’t feel like crying but the sudden attention had made her feel like she should.

“Relax, okay?” She lifted her hands in surrender. “And you, drop the puppy. She isn’t involved in your…” She plucked the puppy from Wade’s arm and set her down. “Whatever this is.”

Logan watched her, looking for little details in her movements, and her behaviour. With regret, he came to the conclusion that she was a carbon copy of the woman he lost. His eyes got glassy as the images of his nightmare played behind his eyes. He shook his head swiftly, eyes set on the wooden counter to calm before he had another outburst.

Y/n watched him and sighed “I slept in his room because the sofa was occupied.” She said calmly, moving past Wade to get to the sink where her carrier sat. It was dirtied with cream and crumbs, a rinse was in order but that had to wait. “And sleeping in your room felt intrusive, I assumed you would agree.” She clicked the container shut.

Wade watched her carefully, his brain working quickly to think of a joke, or a jest… anything to dissolve the situation. He felt like a child, trapped in their parent's divorce. Humour was his sharpest weapon. So he aimed. “yeah!” He leaned onto the counter, closing in on the spot that Logan seemed to be so focused on. “We switched. Some good old game of Ringelpiez. And I gotta say, your sheets smell sweet like honey, badger.” He winked at Logan, knowing fully well that he might end up with his brain skewered.

But the older one simply groaned, annoyed at his antiques.

Y/n softly touched Wade's shoulder “It’s alright. I’m just going to leave” She carefully turned to Logan. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Truly.” His eyes shifted to her for a second and it was Y/n that looked away quickly. His gaze was too heavy, holding emotions that she couldn’t decipher or handle.

“What? Pudding, no” Wade whined “What about girlfriend brunch?” He placed his hands on his hips in dramatic fashion. “You promised”

“Wade- don’t.” She warned him. “Next week, okay?” Logan still avoided her. The Wolverine, a feared and powerful mutant, cowering in a corner over unresolved feelings. One might pity him.

Y/n shouldered her bag and said goodbye to the dog that watched the interaction with native happiness.

She opened the door and quickly stepped into the hallway. The muffled sounds of arguing resumed only a second after the lock clicked into place but she continued on. The elevator was only a few steps away, she almost managed to get out when the door opened behind her.

“Wait.”

Y/n stopped, looking over her shoulder cautiously. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw dark hair…

“I’m sorry alright…”He stopped looking for the right words. He didn’t think when he ran to the door, leaving Wade standing there mid-sentence. It was like a pull that called him to follow. “I’m sorry about yesterday.” He sighed, frustrated at his mumbling. He was the Wolverine for god's sake.

“I shouldn’t have…. I-“

“apology accept.” She interrupted him, turning around and facing him.

Logan froze.

“But we have to set one thing straight.” She set her shoulders back, unconsciously making herself look bigger. “ I am sorry for your loss. I truly am. But I am not her.” Y/n shook her head softly. “And you are not my Logan-“ She noticed the odd phrasing when his eyes widened ever so little “Not that he was-you get what I mean.” She huffed embarrassed.

“Yeah.” Logan chuckled softly as the tension ebbed away. Was she also feeling that tingle in her chest?

“Anyway,let's do this properly. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/n.” She held out her hand for him to shake.

A simple, friendly and professional handshake. Surely he could manage that, no?

He looked at her hand for a moment, surprised by the gesture. Then his large hand took hers. He was pleasantly surprised at the firmness with which she squeezed his fingers. There was no fear. No uncertainty.

It felt warm and familiar. Like home

“Logan.” He stated.

Taglist: @sarahskywalker-amidala @myu3ki @stinastar @zortlort @zeeader @lolurk @eddiesguitarskills @elianamarie-blog @byhuenii @sunfairyy @weallhaveadestiny @catiwinky

New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

Do comment here for feedback and spreading some love ❤️

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #deadpool wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #x men #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #angs

627 notes · View notes

warping-realities · 1 month ago

Text

2k Special - Coach Knows Best

So, guys, like I mentioned early this month, this year’s been way more complicated than I thought it would be. So much so I didn’t even realize I hit the 2000 follower mark! I had nothing planned for the occasion, but since I can’t let it slide, I whipped up this little story. It’s nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary, to be honest. It’s more of a throwback to my roots—the first stories that pulled me into this world, first as a reader and then as a writer.

My inspirations here are the amazing work of CallMecrazy and Aardvark. 'The Jocking' got me started in this game, and right after that, I dove into 'High School Development.' Also to this day, my all-time favorite story is 'Clifton Jocks: Nick' (though I gotta say, 'An Old Fashioned' is the best thing ever written in our niche).

Anyway, this is my little gift to celebrate with you all. Hope you dig it!"

Coach Knows Best: Finding Brotherhood

Brock woke up kinda groggy after a weird dream where he was on the school debate team. Like that would ever happen. After letting out a half-yawn, half-laugh at the ridiculousness of it, the football jock let out a groan as he rolled out of bed, his massive frame stretching and creaking. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and checked the clock – 5:30 AM. Time to get his butt in gear for another day of practice. After a cold shower, he admired himself, flexing his boulder-sized biceps and tree trunk thighs.

“Damn, Beef, you’re one fine piece of work,” he muttered to himself, before realizing that if he kept daydreaming, he’d end up running late, and the last thing he wanted was to piss off the coach. He lumbered down the stairs, still half-asleep, trying unsuccessfully not to make noise so he wouldn’t wake his mom. Not an easy feat with his massive size. As he stepped into the small but cozy kitchen, he popped open the fridge, chugging a gallon of whole milk and scarfing down a couple of protein bars and lasagna leftovers, shoveling it all in like a cow chewing its cud. Gotta keep those gains coming, bro, he thought as he let out a loud belch.

After put a sleveeles shirt and a pair of compression shorts he hopped into his late dad's beat-up pickup truck and cranked up the radio, bobbing his head to the rap music as he headed to the local high school, where he played offensive guard for the Oakwood Titans. He couldn't wait to hit the field and ball out with his teammates. Oakwood, was the best, the coaches actually cared about their players and the athletes were treated with respect.

Pulling into the crowded high school parking lot, Brock spotted his bro Trey, another offensive lineman, and they fist-bumped as Brock approached.

"Yo, Beef, you ready to crush some skulls today, bro?" Trey said, his deep voice rumbling.

"You know it, man. Gonna put fear in those punks," Brock replied with a grin, pounding his chest.

The two hulking teens lumbered into the locker room, the floor shaking with each step. Brock yanked open his locker, the cheap metal creaking, and started suiting up. He pulled on his compression tights, the fabric straining to contain his muscular legs. Next came the padded girdle, the protective cups cradling his package just right. He smirked, knowing he was packing some serious heat down there. He put on his shoulder pads, the familiar weight settling on him, and finally, his jersey – number 72, offensive guard.

Brock and Trey headed out to the practice field, joining the rest of the team for warm-up drills. Coach Steele, a former NFL player with a jaw like granite, barked out commands, and the players moved in sync, grunting and clapping in rhythm. Brock loved this part, the camaraderie and teamwork. It felt like a well-oiled machine, everyone doing their part.

Soon, they split into position groups for more intense drills. Brock lined up against the defensive tackles, his eyes narrowing as he focused. The whistle blew, and he exploded off the line, driving his feet and using his massive frame to shove the defender back. Again and again, Brock dominated the one-on-one battles, his competitive nature fueling him.

"Atta boy, Beef! That's how we do it!" Coach Steele yelled, slapping Brock on the back, making the young man puff out his chest, soaking in the praise. This was his element, where he thrived.

After a grueling practice, the team gathered for Coach's speech. Brock listened intently, absorbing every word.

"Men, you're showing real promise out there. But I know we can be even better. This season, we're going all the way to state. But it's gonna take sacrifice, dedication, and leaving it all on the field. No half-assing it, you hear me? You're dismissed, boys, and behave yourselves. I don't want to hear any complaints about you from the other teachers. And woe to anyone caught messing with the other kids, no matter how weak they are!" Coach Steele's eyes scanned the players, landing on Brock. "Brock, stay here. I need a favor.” Said the older man. And Brock waited curiously while his teammates went to the locker room and the muscular giant moved towards him.

“ Brock, You’re one of our leaders; I expect big things from you, and now's your chance to prove it." Said the coach.

"Yes, sir!" Brock responded, his voice booming. He was ready to do whatever it took to please Coach Steele, he was his inspiration, and football was his life.

"Kid, there's a boy in your class, a new transfer, who's been asking questions he shouldn't. I need you to reach out to him. Gain his trust."

"Yes, coach, who are you talking about?"

"Aidan Trent. I understand he's your partner in science class."

"Aw, coach, that guy's lame, a total nerd."

"Beef, are you gonna go against my request?"

"No, sir, I'll do as you say!"

"Great, who knows, you might find you have something in common?" the coach replied with a mysterious smile.

Brock doubted that, but this was his chance to prove himself, to show the coach what he was made of.

Alone in the locker room, Brock stripped off his sweat-soaked gear, relishing the burn in his muscles. He grabbed a towel and headed to the showers, the hot water pounding on his aching body. He couldn't help but admire himself – bulging biceps, chiseled abs, thick tree trunk legs. This was the body of a champion, a warrior. He flexed, grinning at the way his muscles rippled.

After cleaning up, he pulled on a fresh pair of tight boxer briefs, the fabric clinging to his package, and slid into a pair of faded Levi's. He topped it off with an Oakwood Titans blue t-shirt, the school colors bringing out the intensity in his eyes.

After strutting in front of the cheerleaders, Brock headed to his biology class, where he was paired up with his target: the scrawny kid named Aidan. Even though he had a mission, he couldn't help but feel annoyed, wanting to be around his fellow jocks instead of some scrawny nerd. But the coach's words were law, and he would follow them to the end.

"Dude, you got a problem or something?" Aidan asked, sensing Brock's irritation.

"Nah, man. Just ready to get this over with so I can get back to football," Brock grumbled.

"Football, huh? You must be one of those meathead jocks I keep hearing about," Aidan said, rolling his eyes.

Brock felt his blood boil. "You got a problem with football, shrimp?"

"Relax, dude. I'm just saying, there's more to life than throwing a ball around," Aidan replied, backing down.

Brock clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to pound this scrawny little twerp into the ground. But he knew that would only get him in trouble, and he couldn't afford to miss any games. So, he took a deep breath and tried to focus on the project. He didn't know how to deal with a weakling like that, but if this was Steele's will, Brock would make an effort.

"Man, what do you know about football?"

"That it's a bunch of guys smashing each other over a ball, just to get concussions and die young." Hearing that sent another wave of irritation through the young giant. But he kept his cool.

"Football is way more than that. It's discipline, teamwork, trust, it's brotherhood. Things I bet you don't have with your buddies in the chess club."

"I'm not in the chess club!"

"I bet you're in the choir or some other girly thing..."

"I'm part of the school newspaper!"

"Oh, right, something way more masculine, living off gossip."

"I bet anything with words escapes your ogre brain," the skinny kid shot back just as the bell rang.

At lunchtime, Brock made his way to the cafeteria, his tray piled high with enough food to feed a whole family. He plopped down at a table, right in the middle of the room, greeted by his fellow linemen.

"Yo, Brock, heard you pancaked Tanner in practice. Dude's still picking his teeth up off the field," one of the guys said, laughing.

"Yeah, man. Gotta let these boys know who's boss," Brock replied, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

The conversation turned to the upcoming game against their rivals, the Westside Warriors. Brock listened intently, already visualizing himself blowing open massive holes for the running backs. Just then, a scrawny figure approached with a tray in hand: Aidan. This was his time to shine.

Brock spotted Aidan sitting alone at a table in the cafeteria and decided to join him.

"Sup, Aidan, you mind if I park my big ol' butt right here? I think things got a bit rough between us, and I wanted to make it right."

"Uh, yeah, sure, go for it."

"So, newspaper? What's the deal, man? What've you been up to?"

"Not much, just... some stuff..."

Making a huge effort to seem interested, Brock continued. "What stuff? What you write for that rag?"

"Since you insist, I'm working on a story about the funding differences between the sports teams."

"Funding differences? What are you talking about?"

"Well, it seems like the football team gets way more money than all the other teams combined. I'm trying to figure out why that is."

"Hold up, you saying we get more cash? So what? We need that to be the best."

"I'm not saying you don't deserve it; I just think it's unfair that the other teams don't get the same level of support."

"Unfair? You don't know jack about football, man. This team brings in way more cash and fame for this school than any other sport."

"Look, I just want to understand how the funding distribution works. I'm not trying to attack anyone."

"You're trying to expose us, aren't you? Thinkin' we're doing something shady!"

At that moment, Coach Steele approached, noticing the heated discussion.

"Hey, hey, what's going on here?"

"This guy's trying to write a story saying we get more money than we should!"

"Is that so? And why do you think that, son?"

"I just... want to understand better how the funding gets divvied up. I'm not trying to accuse anyone."

"Well, I know things may seem unfair from the outside, but the football team brings in a whole lot more for this school than any other sport. That means more cash, more exposure, more opportunities. But it's not like we're stealing it from anyone. It's all within the rules."

"See? I told you we need that to be the best."

"Easy there, Brock. I get your frustration, but let's keep things civil here. Aidan, if you really want to understand how this works, why don't you come to one of our practices with Brock here to see how it all works, and I can explain it all to you calmly."

"Uh, well... okay, I guess."

"Great. Now, let's all go back to eating in peace, alright?"

Brock and Aidan nodded, still a bit tense, under the watchful eye of Coach Steele.

"Beef with me," the coach said with a stern face, and Brock followed him. "A little more subtlety would have been better, kid, but now I know what the kid was after. And to think I thought he might suspect something..."

"Coach?"

"Anyway, kid, good job, but it's not over yet. You heard what I said; tomorrow morning before practice, I want you to go to Trent's house and bring the kid with you. It's our duty to guide him to a proper understanding of the importance of football, right?"

After school, Brock headed home. Entering the simple house, he exchanged a few words with his mom before flopping down on the couch, flipping through channels until he found a replay of a college football game. Engrossed, he barely noticed the time pass until his mom, a night shift nurse at the town hospital, kissed him on the head and told him that she had left his dinner ready. He scarfed down the massive meal, grateful that his mom knew he needed to keep fueling his body to get bigger and stronger. It was tough for a single mom like her to manage the house and a son with his appetite and needs. But one day, he would repay that. He was going to college for football and become a pro, giving her and the coach all the pride in the world. He was going to be a star, a hero to his team and his community. Brock was going to make a name for himself, and no one was going to stand in his way. And if that meant putting up with the nerd Aidan Trent, so be it.

......

The next morning, Brock woke up with a renewed sense of purpose. He had a mission, and he was determined to make the most of it. After finishing his breakfast, he grabbed his gear and hopped into his truck, mentally preparing for the day ahead. As he drove towards Aidan’s house, he felt a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Pulling up to Aidan’s home, Brock took a deep breath. The house looked small and unassuming, a stark contrast to the towering figure of the young man standing outside. He knocked on the door, and moments later, Aidan's father, an older version of the kid, appeared, surprise etched on his face.

"Huh... what brings you here?" asked the lanky man, adjusting his glasses nervously.

"Hello, sir, nice to meet you. I'm Brock Bennett, Aidan's classmate. I came to pick him up so we can go to school together."

"You're a friend of my son's?" the man asked, both astonished and pleased at the prospect. As if the idea of a friendship between the behemoth in front of him and his son was impossible. Something Brock would agree with without hesitation if it weren't for the need to follow the coach's orders.

"Yeah, sure!" he replied with his best boy next door smile. "Could you call him? We're running late for football practice."

"Football practice?"

"Yeah, I said I'd take Aidan with me to help him with a report for the school newspaper, to help him understand the need for the funding we receive and all that..."

"Ahhh... now it makes sense! Aidan, come here, your friend is waiting!" the lanky man shouted for his son.

Aidan appeared at the door, a bit hesitant, but upon seeing Brock, forced a smile in front of his dad, who seemed confused at the prospect of his son making friends with one of the jocks. "Hey, Brock. What are you doing here?"

"Coach Steele sent me to pick you up, man. You were supposed to tag along to practice, remember? And we're already late. If it weren't for having to grab you, I'd already be crushing in the field by now. So, let's go!" Brock replied, gesturing for Aidan to hop into the truck. Once Aidan settled into the passenger seat, they started driving toward school. The initial silence in the car was palpable, with Aidan staring out the window and Brock focused on the road.

"So, Aidan, what do you have in mind for this article? Got any bright ideas?" Brock asked, trying not to sound annoyed like the day before.

"I'm thinking about something on the importance of funding for sports, you know? How it can impact team performance and player morale," Aidan replied, nervously.

"Cool, but don't you think we've already proven we deserve what we got? Football’s a big deal, and we bring fame to the school; we've been state champs more times than any other team," Brock said, trying to make the other guy understand.

"Yeah, but it's also important that other teams get the same support. It's not fair that just one sport gets all the attention and resources," Aidan argued, the fiery passion in his words.

Brock shook his head, a bit frustrated. "Look, I get your point, but you know how things roll. Football is what puts the school on the map. And who doesn't wanna be a star?"

Aidan sighed, looking at his own reflection in the window. "Not everyone has that dream, Brock. Some people just wanna feel part of something..."

Brock glanced at Aidan, surprised. "And what do you think the team is all about, man? What’s it really about?"

"Not everyone has a team to lean on, Brock!"

"Don't you have friends in your newspaper club?"

"I... I've just never been good at making friends... My mom passed away when I was little, and my dad's an accountant who works a lot. He's cool, but he doesn't have much time for me. So, I end up being alone most of the time," Aidan explained, the sadness in his words almost palpable.

Brock felt something unexpected: a pang of empathy. "Man, I'm really sorry to hear that. I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's not easy, but life goes on, I guess. I just focus on school and the stuff I like to do. But you and your friends seem to have it all, you know? Always hanging out and having a blast," Aidan replied, and Brock couldn't help but notice the envy in the other kid's eyes. He was used to that, with others wishing to be in his shoes but not willing to make the sacrifices needed. But this time was different; Aidan wanted things that Brock himself valued the most.

"Yeah, we've got a solid team," Brock said, trying to find the right words. "But it also has its challenges. My dad's not around. He passed away last year. And my mom... well, she works hard to support me. I guess deep down, we all have our battles."

Aidan turned his head, surprised. "You don't have a parent either? I... I didn't know."

"Yeah, it's part of life, right? We gotta deal with it and move on," Brock replied, his voice a bit softer now. "But it's not like I'm alone. I got my friends, and the team is like family."

"That's cool," Aidan said, a shy smile creeping onto his face. "I've always wanted to be part of something like that." Not knowing how to respond, Brock fell silent as he maneuvered the truck into the school parking lot.

Brock and Aidan got out of the truck and headed for the locker room, where the smell of sweat was mixed with the sound of laughter and shouts from the players. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by the sight of a messy place, with uniforms strewn across the floor and equipment scattered everywhere. The atmosphere was lively, full of energy and camaraderie.

“Hey, Beef! Finally decided to show up, were you giving that kid a blast?” Trey shouted, laughing and making obscene gestures, causing the others to burst into laughter and Aidan to shrink back.

Brock smiled but quickly turned his attention to the approaching coach, his presence demanding respect. Coach Steele had a serious look, but there was a spark of understanding in his eyes.

"Brock!" the coach said in a firm voice. "I'm gonna let this tardiness slide, but only because you brought Aidan. Now, go get changed and put on your uniform, we've got a lot of work to do!"

"Yes, sir!" Brock responded, feeling a surge of motivation at Steele's words. He quickly headed to his locker, grabbing his uniform and starting to get ready for practice. Meanwhile, the coach turned to Aidan.

"Aidan, come with me to my office. I want to talk to you a bit before we start," Coach Steele said, gesturing for the young man to follow him.

Aidan hesitated for a moment, glancing at Brock, who nodded encouragingly. It was strange how just a few words had made the other boy look at him with a completely different attitude. Neither of them noticed it, but Steele, an old fox, knew at that moment that things were heading in the desired direction. He then led the smaller boy along while Brock quickly changed.

Brock felt adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was his moment, the time to show all his potential, any thoughts about Aidan completely forgotten.

As he joined his fellow offensive linemen, Brock exchanged a few back slaps and jokes with his teammates. But he knew that as soon as the whistle blew, the fun would be over. It was time to work.

The warm-up began with the classic push-ups and squats, led by assistant coach Morrison. Brock followed the commands with precision and determination, feeling his muscles warm up and get ready for the challenge.

Next came the line drills. Brock positioned himself at his station, facing the training equipment that represented the defender he would have to face. At the whistle's signal, Brock exploded forward, using his immense strength to push the obstacle back. He maintained the correct position, with squared shoulders, feet firmly planted on the ground, and legs bent. He repeated the movement several times, feeling his body heat up and his determination grow with each thrust.

Then, with Coach Steele returning, the team was divided into smaller groups to practice different game schemes. Brock watched the instructions closely, memorizing the positions and movements he was supposed to execute. They rehearsed some passing and running plays, with Brock blocking defenders with precision and aggression.

During the breaks, Brock drank water and chatted with his teammates. They exchanged tips, encouraged each other, and reminded themselves of the importance of the season. The Titans had a tradition of winning, and in Brock senior year, they would not disappoint.

When practice ended, Brock felt his body tired, but his mind was more focused than ever. He knew that every drop of sweat, every push, every effort was worth it. Brock was part of a team of champions, and he wouldn't let anything or anyone stand in his way. As he laughed and exchanged bravado with Trey and the others, he let all his arrogance and ferocity show.

And then he came face to face with a mesmerized Aidan.

“Hey man, did you watch the whole practice?”

“Yeah! You guys… you are… awesome!” Aidan replied, surprising Brock, but not as much as his next sentence. “I… I want to be just like you… bro!” Said the smaller boy with unfocused eyes and drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

What the hell was that? Something wasn't right.

“Coach! Coach Steele, sir!” Brock called out in alarm. “Something's not right with Aidan. He's…” the gigantic young man began to say as the coach approached.

"He's exactly as he should be, my boy!"

"But coach…”

“No arguments, Beef. You’re going to have to trust me.”

“Yes, coach.” Brock replied as he made his way to the locker room accompanied by the stupefied Aidan.

Brock watched Aidan with a mix of confusion and concern as the young man walked beside him, with a glazed expression and a silly smile on his face. Something was definitely not right, and Coach Steele's request seemed increasingly strange.

Upon reaching the locker room, the characteristic noise and smell filled Brock's senses. He greeted his teammates with back slaps and a few jokes, but his attention was focused on his new "friend."

Aidan seemed completely oblivious to the chaos around him, his eyes fixed on Brock with an expression of admiration and devotion. Brock couldn't understand what was happening, but he knew he had to keep an eye on him.

Brock began to undress, taking off his sweaty uniform and heading for the showers. Aidan followed him like a puppy until Brock made him sit on one of the benches where he remained still, but without taking his eyes off the big guy. Brock felt uncomfortable with that gaze but tried to ignore it, focusing on washing the sweat and dirt from practice.

After the shower, Brock returned to his locker, putting on a pair of jeans and a school t-shirt that outlined every detail of his powerful muscles.

"Hey, Brock, who's your little buddy?" Trey asked, nudging Brock.

"Oh, it's Aidan. Coach asked me to keep an eye on him," Brock replied, trying to sound casual.

"Seriously? That's weird. Well, if the old man told you to, you better take good care of your pet, huh?" Trey laughed and walked away, leaving a confused Brock behind. He approached Aidan, who continued to watch him with that disturbing look.

"Hey, Aidan, you okay, man?" Brock asked, trying to understand what was going on.

"Yeah, Brock, I'm great! You're so strong and amazing," Aidan replied, his voice full of admiration.

Brock felt uncomfortable with that reaction, but before he could respond, Coach Steele approached.

"Brock, Aidan, come with me. I have some things to discuss with you," the coach said with a serious look.

Brock and Aidan followed him to the coach's office, where Steele made them sit.

"So, Aidan, what did you think of the practice?" Steele asked, with an enigmatic smile.

"It was amazing, coach! The guys are so strong and skilled, football is awesome, and Brock too! I want to be just like him!" Aidan replied, his eyes shining.

Steele nodded, satisfied with the answer.

"Great, great. I see you've understood the importance of football for this school. And that's exactly why I want you to join us."

Brock widened his eyes, surprised by the proposal.

"But, coach, he doesn't play football. He's a nerd from the school newspaper," Brock protested.

"Exactly, Brock. And that's why I want him to join us. He needs to understand the true value of football, and there's no better way than being on the field, side by side with the players. Don’t take your eyes off Trent. Understood?”

Brock still wasn't convinced, but he knew better than to question the coach's orders.

"Alright, coach. I'll take care of him," Brock said, reluctantly.

"Great. Now, go get ready and enjoy the rest of the day. Don't take your eyes off Aidan, Brock. I want him at your table at lunchtime and tomorrow morning at the usual time, I want you two here, ready to train, understood?" Steele said, dismissing them.

Brock and Aidan left the office, and Brock couldn't stop thinking about what was happening. He couldn't understand why the coach wanted Aidan to join the team, but he knew he had to follow the orders. After all, football was his life, and he wasn't going to risk it all for a nerd, he justified to himself.

The morning went relatively normal if it weren't for the new adoring shadow Brock had over him in the form of Aidan. Although as the hours passed, the other boy seemed more normal. If Brock had paid more attention, he would have realized that the behavior he was taking as normal was expected for jocks like him and not nerds like Aidan. He only noticed the extent of that change when it came time for lunch when he found himself forced to share the table with Aidan and the football team boys.

During lunch, Brock found Aidan eagerly waiting for him at the football players' table. The skinny and awkward boy looked out of place among the muscular giants, but his posture and facial expression had changed drastically.

"Hey, Brock! Saved me a seat, bro?" Aidan said, in a deeper, more confident voice than Brock was used to hearing.

"Uh, yeah, sure..." Brock replied, still a little confused by the sudden change in behavior.

Aidan sat next to Brock, his tray overflowing with food, just like the other players. He began devouring the food with the same voracity as his teammates.

"Wow, Aidan, you're eating like a horse!" Trey commented, laughing.

"Yeah, man, gotta keep these muscles fed, right?" Aidan replied, patting his abdomen.

Brock widened his eyes, realizing that the boy was not only imitating the players' manner of speaking but was also bragging about his "muscles," something that definitely did not match his physical appearance. Or was it? Looking closely at the boy, he no longer seemed so skinny. He hadn't obviously reached the muscle mass of the team boys. But compared to most of the nerds at school, he was light years ahead.

"Seriously, Aidan, are you okay?" Brock asked quietly, so only the other boy could hear.

"Of course I'm okay, Brock! Never felt better. This football thing is awesome, man. I don't know how I lived without it until now," Aidan replied, laughing deeply.

Brock remained silent, watching Aidan interact with the other players. He joined in, made jokes about flatulence, and even started telling stories about his conquests with girls, which left Brock speechless.

"Hey, Aidan, I heard you're hitting on Brittany. Didn't know you had game, dude!" Connor the quarterback said, giving him a friendly nudge. Since when did those two know each other?

"Oh, you know, I've got my mojo. That blonde can't resist my charms," Aidan replied, winking.

Brock couldn't believe what he was seeing. That wasn't the same Aidan he knew. The skinny and shy boy had been replaced by a caricature version of a football player, complete with bravado, arrogance, and even romantic interests—everything Brock himself was. So why did it seem to bother him so much?

While the other guys laughed and continued the conversation, Brock remained silent, analyzing the situation. Something was very wrong, and he had a feeling Coach Steele was behind it all.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, Brock turned to Aidan.

"Hey, Aidan, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, in a serious tone.

"Sure, Brock, what's up?" Aidan replied, with a confident smile.

Brock pulled him aside, away from the other players.

"Man, what's happening to you? You're not like this, what did the coach do to you?"

Aidan looked confused for a moment, but then his face lit up with a smile.

"Happening to me? Nothing, Brock! I finally realized how amazing football is. And all thanks to you and Coach Steele. Now I want to be part of it, be one of you, brothers!"

Brock frowned, unconvinced by the explanation.

"Aidan, I know you're not like this. You're a nerd from the school newspaper, remember?”

“Nah, man, just because I write for the paper doesn't make me a nerd. If things don't work out with football, I'm gonna be the next Adam Schefter, we even share the same name! Me, a nerd? You're a jokester, bro! I gotta go, see you tomorrow morning. Get ready 'cause tomorrow I'm gonna show you my skills.” Said the not-so-small boy as he walked down the hall while a stunned Brock stayed behind.

Still dazed, Brock headed to his next class, but his mind was far from there. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened at lunch and Aidan's strange words. That sudden transformation left him uneasy.

During class, Brock tried discreetly to contact Coach Steele, but his messages went unanswered. He needed to understand what was going on, but the man who should have the answers seemed to be avoiding him.

At the end of the day, Brock ran to his car, determined to find out what was behind that bizarre situation. As soon as he got home, he threw himself on the living room couch, opening his laptop and starting to research.

His searches led him to stories about the "Stepford Wives," a fiction novel that talked about a community where women were replaced by perfect, obedient, and submissive replicas. Brock couldn't believe the similarity between that plot and what was happening with Aidan.

Could Coach Steele be involved in something similar? Was he turning the boys at school into idealized versions of football players? The mere thought made Brock feel sick. He didn't want to believe that his mentor, the one who inspired him so much, could be involved in something so dark.

Confused and worried, Brock eventually fell asleep on the couch, his mind restless with theories and speculations. He knew he needed to act, but he wasn't sure how to proceed. After all, Steele was his idol, and he didn't want to believe that the man who helped him become the player he was today could be involved in something so disturbing.

.............

The next day, after a restless night's sleep, Brock felt like a wreck. However, he still decided to train. Upon arriving at the locker room, he was approached by Trey and the other players.

"Hey, Brock, what's up, man? Where's Adam? Coach Steele is gonna be super pissed when he finds out you didn’t bring him.”

Brock felt a knot form in his stomach. What if Steele finds out Brock suspected something was wrong?

"I... I don't know, Trey. Something very strange is happening with Aidan, and the coach seems to be involved," Brock replied, hesitantly.

"Man, are you serious? The coach? No way, he's the man, our mentor. You're tripping, Brock, and it's Adam, man! I thought you were the guy's best friend!” Trey said, laughing.

Brock wanted to insist, he wanted to convince his friend to believe him, but before he could say anything, Steele himself entered the locker room, his demeanor serious.

"Brock, my boy, where's Adam?” the coach asked, his voice firm.

"I... I don't know, coach. He hasn't shown up yet," Brock replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in the presence of the man who until a day ago had been his idol.

“If I recall correctly, you were supposed to have picked him up at home and brought him to practice? You disappointed me!” Responded the coach, making a feeling of shame arise in Brock's chest, after all, despite his suspicions, Steele was still the great example for Brock.

"Relax, coach. I took the opportunity run a little to warm up,” said a deep voice. Turning towards it, Brock was taken by a huge shock. It was Aidan, but it wasn't. Before him stood a man who had familiar features in a gigantic muscular body. As if someone had fused Aidan with a muscular man.

"Brock, my boy, you should have picked up Adam as I asked," Steele said, with a serious tone. "Apologize to your teammate."

Brock swallowed hard, feeling ashamed. "Sorry, Aid… Adam. I... I forget you were coming."

"It's all good, Brock. I get it," Adam replied, with a confident smile. "The important thing is that I'm here now, ready to show what I can do."

Steele nodded, satisfied. "Great, great. Now go get changed, we have important practice ahead."

Brock and Adam headed to their lockers, starting to gear up with their game uniforms. Brock grabbed his number 72 jersey, the padded pants, and the protectors. Putting on that uniform always made him feel part of something bigger, a team of brothers.

While changing, Brock watched Adam out of the corner of his eye. The boy seemed so comfortable, as if that environment was his natural habitat. He put on the uniform with ease, adjusting the protectors precisely.

"Hey, Brock, you ready?" Adam called, already fully equipped.

"Ah, yeah, I'm coming," Brock replied, finishing getting dressed.

Together, they left the locker room towards the field, where the rest of the team was already warming up. Brock could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the desire to show all his potential returning with full force.

As soon as they arrived, Trey and the other players greeted Adam enthusiastically.

"Hey, Adam, ready to show your worth?" Trey said, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

"You know it, Trey. I was born ready," Adam replied, with a confident smile.

Brock watched the interaction, still a bit confused. How had Adam integrated so quickly into the team? Could Steele really have something to do with that transformation?

Before he could think more about it, the coach's whistle blew, signaling the start of the warm-up. Brock positioned himself, ready to give it his all. He couldn't let his concerns distract him. After all, the football field was his domain, and he wasn't going to disappoint his team brothers.

Throughout the practice, Brock watched Adam's performance closely. The boy seemed to have become a completely different person, with agile movement, strength, and determination. He stood out among the others, and Brock couldn't understand how that was possible.

During the first break, Brock tried to talk to Adam, trying to understand better what had happened. But the boy seemed absorbed in his own world, focused only on improving his performance.

And truth is Brock was impressed with Adam's performance on the field. The two seemed to communicate without words, anticipating each other's moves with impressive synchronicity.

When the coach yelled a play, Brock and Adam positioned themselves instantly, knowing exactly what to do. They blocked the defenders with precision, opening holes for the runners to advance. The offensive line worked like a well-oiled machine, with each piece fitting perfectly.

Adam's confidence was contagious. He moved with agility and strength, overcoming his opponents with ease. Brock felt motivated to give his best, wanting to be on par with him.

In one of the breaks, Brock couldn't contain his excitement:

"Damn, Adam, you're flying out there, man! Never seen anyone integrate into the team so fast."

Adam smiled, giving Brock a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Oh, you know, I've always be a good player. Just needed a chance. And Coach Steele gave me that opportunity."

Brock nodded, impressed. He couldn't understand how it was possible, but he couldn't deny that Adam's performance was exceptional.

"Hey, you and I are a scary duo, huh?" Brock said, with a smile.

"You bet, bro!" Adam replied, excited. "Together, no one can stand against us."

Brock felt more confident than ever. Having Adam by his side made him feel invincible. They were a force to be reckoned with, an unstoppable duo.

As practice went on, Brock found himself focusing more and more on the game, setting aside his worries. The synergy with Adam helped him forget the doubts about Coach Steele and the strange transformation of the kid.

When the final whistle blew, marking the end of practice, Brock felt exhausted but extremely satisfied. They had given it their all, and the result was evident.

As they headed to the locker room, Adam looked at Brock with a confident smile.

"Hey, man, you really are an amazing guy. I'm glad to be on the same team as you."

"Thanks, Adam. I'm happy to be part of this too," Brock replied, with the same smile, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to. However, those concerns came rushing back as soon as they entered the locker room. Seeing Adam strip down made Brock question his sanity for the thousandth time that day. It was impossible—Adam, Aidan! His name was Aidan! And It was impossible for him to have that body. Before him was a man with broad shoulders, a defined chest, and arms full of muscles. The tanned skin only enhanced the imposing nature of his physique.

"Holy crap, Adam! You're a beast, man!" exclaimed Trey, giving the new player a pat on the abs.

"I know, I know," Adam replied, laughing heartily. "No wonder the girls drool over me."

"I only see Brock drooling over there, huh?" Connor nudged Brock with his elbow, making the others laugh.

"Ah, shut up, man!" Brock tried to hide his embarrassment, averting his gaze.

"Ah, leave Brock alone, he's just jealous of my bod," Adam said, doing a flex, making his muscles pop.

The other players applauded and whistled, impressed with the display.

"Damn, Adam, you think you're CBUM!" Trey commented, laughing.

"It's not that, it's you guys looking like a bunch of nobodies next to me," Adam retorted with a confident smile, while hugging Brock completely naked.

"Hey, knock it off, man!" Brock replied, lightly pushing his teammate.

"Chill, Beef, don't get jealous, bro. You're a prime specimen too," Adam said, giving a friendly elbow to Brock.

The other players laughed at the joke, and soon the conversation turned into a typical teenage banter, with jokes and bravado about who was the strongest, fastest, or most attractive.

After showering, Brock and the others got dressed, donning their school uniforms. Adam flaunted his new body with pride, intentionally wearing tight shirts and pants to highlight his muscles.

"Hey, Adam, you're more stuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey," Trey commented, laughing.

"Hey, man, gotta keep this bod on display. After all, the chicks love a hot athlete," Adam replied, winking.

Brock watched the scene, still unable to believe what he was seeing. That wasn't the Aidan he knew. That was a football player in every essence, with the same arrogance and confidence that Brock and the others displayed.

While the other boys bragged and joked, Brock remained silent, his mind racing. As they left the locker room, Brock noticed that Adam seemed to have won the admiration of all his new teammates. They laughed and joked with him, treating him as one of their own. Brock, on the other hand, felt increasingly distant, his doubts and worries isolating him from the rest of the group.

As they walked, Brock couldn't help but watch Adam closely. The man seemed so confident and popular, greeting all the classmates they passed by. It was almost as if he had been part of that group his whole life.

When they reached the classroom, Brock noticed Adam's behavior. He sat next to Brock, but instead of grabbing his class materials, he started taking selfies, showing off his muscles in different poses.

"Man, have you seen how many likes I got on this pic?" Adam said, showing his phone to Brock.

"Uh... no, I haven't," Brock replied, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Oh, you gotta see! It's blowing up, everyone's commenting on how ripped I am," Adam continued, not taking his eyes off the phone screen.

Brock watched the scene, unsure of what to say. The skinny, studious boy had been replaced by someone who seemed to care only about his appearance and popularity.

When the teacher finally entered the room, Brock tried to focus on the lesson, but his attention kept straying to Adam. The kid wouldn't stop fiddling with his phone, taking more and more photos and updating his social media.

"Hey, Brock, you think this pose looks better?" Adam whispered, leaning closer to Brock.

"Uh... I guess so," Brock replied, unable to hide his discomfort.

"Cool! I'll post this one later," Adam said, smiling with satisfaction.

Brock shook his head, still unable to believe what was happening. He glanced sideways at the teacher, who seemed to completely ignore Adam's behavior.

Did nobody else notice the drastic change in the kid? Or was everyone simply accepting that transformation as something normal?

During lunch, the table was full of laughter and lively conversations. The Oakwood Titans football players gathered around a table, with trays full of food, ready to discuss strategies and share dreams.

"So, what's your favorite NFL team, Adam?" Connor asked, while biting into a burger.

"The Chiefs, no doubt! Mahomes is a beast! I'd love to be part of his offensive line," Adam replied, his face lighting up as he talked about the quarterback he admired so much.

"Oh, you and Brock with that obsession over the guy. But he'll never be a Brady. There's only one GOAT. And I'm gonna be the one to take that spot from him! I want to be the quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys and take them back to the top! Imagine me playing for the packed crowd at AT&T Stadium! Connor Walsh making The America’s Team Great Again!” Connor exclaimed, gesturing enthusiastically while the others booed and threw food at him.

Adam, who had cheerfully thrown an apple core at Connor, nodded, laughing before continuing. "It'd be awesome to play alongside Brock on the Chiefs' offensive line, man! We could dominate any defense!"

"For sure, Adam! And you could protect Mahomes while I make the plays! It'd be a perfect combo," Brock said, feeling increasingly comfortable with the new Aidan/Adam.

"By the way, wouldn't it be great if we could all be in the NFL someday?" Trey commented, a hopefull smile on his face. "Imagine us four, playing together on a real team!"

Brock started laughing, imagining the scene. "That'd be epic! What could go wrong? A team of linemen ready to crush anyone who crosses our path!"

"Yeah, and we'd still have to fight for that chance, right? It's not easy getting there," Adam added, his eyes shining with determination.

"But who says we can't do it? We have the skill and the strength!" Connor said, pounding the table to emphasize his point.

As the conversation flowed, Brock let himself be carried away by the excitement and camaraderie. He was genuinely having fun, laughing and sharing stories with Adam and the others. For a moment, the doubts he had about Aidan's change disappeared, overshadowed by the energy around him.

"I remember the last time we played against the Warriors," Brock began, laughing. "We crushed them! It was a real show of strength."

"Yeah! And that touchdown you made? It was insane! I almost fell off the bleachers with excitement!" Adam exclaimed, laughing along with the others.

"That's right! And I still have a video of it! Brittany sent it to me. Too bad you weren't playing with us yet. But now I'm gonna post it in our group for everyone to see!" Trey said, grabbing his phone.

“Hey man, not cool!”

As the group continued to chat, Brock realized he was genuinely enjoying himself. He liked the new Aidan—Adam—and the way he fit in with the team. It was a relief to see that even with the strange transformation, the boy seemed happy and confident. But deep down, Brock knew something wasn't right. Aidan's change wasn’t natural, but at that moment, surrounded by his friends and immersed in conversations about football, he decided to set aside his worries.

"So, who's ready for the next game? Let's show them who's boss!" Brock shouted, raising his diet soda cup in a toast.

"I'm in! Let's crush them!" Adam replied, raising his cup as well.

The table filled with cheers and laughter, and Brock felt that, for a brief moment, everything was as it should be.

Brock and Adam left the cafeteria table, laughing and chatting animatedly about the upcoming practices. As they walked down the hallway, Adam suddenly stopped in front of a large mirror, adjusting his hair with his hand and admiring his reflection.

"Hey, man, could you cut it out with the vanity? You're not a runway model," Brock joked, giving Adam a pat on the back.

"Ah, shut up, Beef! I just want to look presentable. A football player has to take care of himself, right?" Adam replied, winking at the mirror while running his hand through his hair again.

"Take care of yourself? You seem more worried about that than the next game!" Brock laughed, amused by the scene.

"Relax, I just want to make sure I'm ready to shine on the field. And you should worry more about your image too!" Adam retorted, pulling Brock in front of the mirror.

Brock hesitated, but Adam had already grabbed his phone and positioned himself for a selfie. "Come on, smile! One, two, three!"

Brock made an exaggerated face, and Adam enjoyed the image. "Perfect! Now I'm gonna post this!" He quickly added a filter and before Brock realized, he was typing the caption.

"Rivals to brothers!" Adam said, with a satisfied smile as he pressed the button to post.

Brock was confused. "Rivals to brothers? Why'd you put that?"

Adam looked at Brock, surprised. "You're kidding, right? We’ve been playing as rivals our whole lives! And now we're on the same team! That's a big deal, man!"

Those words hit Brock like an arrow. He had forgotten for a moment that this bro wasn't real. Now, that post, the idea of being "brothers" on the team made his concern return.

"Wait a minute, Adam. You really don't remember anything, don't find anything... strange?” Brock said, trying to find the right words.

Adam frowned. "Strange? No, man! This is just what happens when you finally find your place. Football is my passion! And you should feel that way too, right? Don't tell me you're having an identity crisis!"

Brock didn't know what to say. Adam's transformation was so drastic that he couldn't ignore it. "No, it's not that... I just... just…” Brock mumbled. He knew something was wrong and couldn't let it pass. "I need to talk to Coach Steele," he decided, determination growing within him.

"Talk to the coach? About what?" Adam asked, his eyebrows raising.

"About you. About this strange transformation. It doesn't seem right, Adam," Brock responded, feeling more firm in his decision.

"Transformation? What the hell is that? You're out of your mind, Beef! The coach is amazing! He only wants the best for the team. Don't get carried away by silly thoughts!" Adam exclaimed, a tone of concern beginning to emerge in his voice.

Brock looked at Adam, and for a moment, he saw the boy he knew before—the nerd who cared about school and writing. But now, the image he saw was of a vain football player, completely different from the Aidan he knew.

"I need to go," Brock said, determined.

"Go where? Brock? Brock???" Adam asked worriedly, but Brock was already walking away, ignoring his friend.

As he walked towards the coach's office, Brock felt adrenaline rushing through his veins. He was about to uncover a mystery that could be affecting not just Adam, but the entire team. He needed to know the truth. No matter what happened.

Brock knocked on the coach's office door. "Coach Steele, I need to talk to you!" He announced, his voice firm.

"Come in, Brock," replied the coach, his expression serious but welcoming.

As soon as Brock entered, he closed the door behind him, determined to find out what was going on. He faced Steele, who looked at him with a mix of expectation and curiosity.

"Coach, I... I don't understand what's happening with Adam. He's not the same, and you seem to be behind it!" Brock said, frustration evident in his voice.

"Oh, Brock... you really got worried about that?" Steele responded, his voice calm and controlled. "Don't you see that this is for his good? For the good of all of us?"

"For his good? He's becoming a version of himself that I don't recognize! This isn't right!" Brock exclaimed, feeling anger growing within him.

“This isn't right, coach. He's not being himself!"

"You don't understand, Brock. Football is a game that requires strength, courage, and confidence. And sometimes, that means leaving behind who we were before. Adam was a threat and now is an essential part of our team," Steele replied, his voice firm.

"But at what cost? What are you doing with him? This isn't natural!" Brock insisted, feeling the conversation was intensifying. “And why me? Why use me to do this to him?”

"Because I needed a catalyst and you were perfect for that, boy. Understand, you're dealing with a new world, Brock. A world where the weak have no place. And I'm doing nothing but what's necessary to ensure our success. You should focus on what matters: winning," Steele replied, his expression unwavering.

Brock fell silent, the coach's words echoing in his mind. He was about to lose everything he had fought for—his friendship, his identity. And now, what was more important? Victory or the truth?

“Let me help you understand better, son. Changes are necessary for us to be the best version of ourselves, Brock. You've been through it yourself," Steele said, his gaze penetrating.

“I... what? No, that's not true, I would know…”

“Just like Adam knows? You want to take the risk? I can reverse what happened to him, but by doing so, I'll do the same to you. So, boy, what's your choice? I leave it in your hands. What do you say?”

“I… I prefer to stay as I am.” the boy replied.

"I thought so. Now, so they don't say I'm a monster, relax, boy, I assure you everything will be fine."

….

Brock woke up the next morning, the sun's rays peeking through his bedroom curtains. He stretched his muscular arms and legs, feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep. As he got out of bed, he couldn't help but admire his physique in the mirror - the chiseled abs, the bulging biceps, the powerful thighs.

"Alright, time to get this day started," Brock said to himself, heading to the bathroom to start his morning routine. He brushed his teeth, splashed some water on his face, and then made his way downstairs, the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.

In the kitchen, Brock's mom was busy cooking up a hearty meal - scrambled eggs, bacon, and fluffy pancakes.

"Morning, sweetie," she greeted him with a warm smile. "I made your favorite. Gotta keep those muscles fueled, right?"

"Thanks, Mom," Brock replied, sitting down at the kitchen table and digging in. He savored every bite, knowing he needed the calories and nutrients to power him through another intense football practice.

After breakfast, Brock headed outside to his truck, ready to make the drive to school. As he pulled out of the driveway, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. Football was his passion, his purpose. He couldn't wait to get on the field and prove himself once again.

Brock pulled up to Adam's house, ready to give him a ride to school. As he approached the front door, it swung open, and a tall, muscular man stepped out. Brock immediately recognized him as Adam's father, although he looked vastly different from the lanky, bespectacled man he had met just a few days earlier. not that he had any memory of that encounter.

"Brock! There's my boy!" the man exclaimed, his deep voice booming. He strode over to Brock and enveloped him in a bear hug, slapping him firmly on the back.

"Mr. Trent, good to see you," Brock replied, a bit taken aback by the man's enthusiastic greeting.

"Please, call me Hank. We're practically family now, with you and Adam being such good friends and all," Hank said, flashing a wide grin.

"Uh, yeah, sure, Hank. Is Adam ready to go?" Brock asked, glancing past the muscular man.

"Adam! Your ride's here!" Hank called out, and moments later, Adam emerged from the house, a confident grin on his face.

"Brock, my man!" Adam exclaimed, jogging over and exchanging a fist bump with Brock. "Ready to crush it at practice?"

"You know it, bro," Brock replied, still a bit bewildered by Adam’s father.

Hank chuckled and placed a heavy hand on Brock's shoulder. "I've been hearing all about your football exploits, Brock. Sounds like you boys are gonna have one heck of a season, eh?"

"Yeah, we're really looking forward to it," Brock said, nodding.

"That's what I like to hear!" Hank boomed. "You know, I used to play a little ball back in the day. Maybe I can give you boys some pointers, huh?"

Brock's eyes widened slightly. "You played football, Hank?"

"Sure did, son. Defensive end, back in my glory days. Though these days, I'm more focused on keeping the town safe as a firefighter," Hank said, puffing out his chest proudly.

"Wow, that's really cool," Brock replied, genuinely impressed.

"Yeah, Dad's a total badass," Adam chimed in, grinning.

" I'll remind you that you said that the next time you call me out and call me cringe, dude! Yeah, I miss my glory days, but one upside of quitting gaming was I could dive into amateur bodybuilding and finally focus in becoming shredded as hell. Now you and Adam don’t have to stress about that just yet, you need to be the biggest and badest player on the field or my fellow defensive line brothers will eat you alive. But from what I see around the house, and looking to you son looks like you guys are totally in the loop about it. Anyway, you should probably get going, Boys. Don't want to be late for practice."

"Right, of course. It was great seeing you, Hank," Brock said, shaking the man's hand.

"Likewise, Brock. Take care of my boy, you hear?" Hank said, winking.

Brock nodded and headed towards his truck, Adam falling into step beside him. As they climbed in, Brock couldn't help but feel a bit more at ease. Hank's warm, fatherly presence remember him of something he hadn't received since his father's death, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it.

"So, your dad's a firefighter, huh?" Brock asked, glancing at Adam.

"Yeah, man, he's the best. Always been my hero, I want to be exactly like him." Adam replied, his eyes shining with admiration.

"That's cool. I almost can see the resemblance if we take off some grease from you."Brock said, chuckling.

Adam laughed heartily. "Hey, Aren't you listening to him? We gotta keep up our physique, you know? Gotta be ready to tackle anything, on and off the field."

Brock nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. As they drove towards the school, the two chatted about the upcoming game and their plans for the season. Brock couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Adam, a feeling he hadn't expected to have for a former rival.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, he could already feel the energy and excitement in the air. The sounds of laughter and the sight of his teammates gearing up for practice filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.

"Alright, Beef, let's do this!" Adam exclaimed, jumping out of the truck and heading towards the locker room, Brock following close behind.

In the locker room, they joined the other players, all pumped and ready for another day of intense training.

"Yo, Beef, did you see that pic I posted yesterday? It's blowing up on Insta!" Adam said, giving Brock a friendly nudge.

"Yeah, man, it's blowing up for real! You're looking like a pro athlete already," Brock replied, laughing.

The other players gathered around, all with big smiles on their faces.

"Hey, Brock, Adam, ready to smash the Westside guys on Friday?" Trey said, high-fiving both of them.

"You know it, Trey, we're gonna make them beg to leave the field!" Adam replied confidently.

"Damn right, bro! Let's show them who's boss!" Connor chimed in, pumped up.

Brock watched the interaction, feeling like part of something bigger. These guys weren't just his teammates; they were his brothers. He belonged to this group, this family.

"You guys ready to kick those punks' asses?" Brock said, joining in the excitement with his friends.

"Of course, Beef! Let's crush them!" Adam responded, pounding his chest.

The players continued to get ready, cracking jokes and hyping each other up. Brock felt more confident than ever. This team was his second family, and he would do anything to protect it and lead it to the top.

When Coach Steele entered the locker room, everyone fell silent, knowing it was time to get down to business.

"Great work this week, boys. You're showing you've got what it takes to go far this season," Steele said, his gaze sweeping over the players. "I want to see that same effort out on the field today. I expect nothing less than your best. Now, go warm up!"

The players charged onto the field, adrenaline pumping through their veins. Brock and Adam lined up side by side, ready to give it their all.

The practice began with the usual warm-up drills, and Brock lost himself in the rhythm, focused solely on executing each movement to perfection. Nothing else mattered but becoming the best player he could be.

When it came time for the line drills, Brock and Adam took charge of opening gaps for the runners. They worked in sync, predicting each other's movements and crushing any defender who dared to get in their way.

Brock felt the sweat pouring down his body, but he ignored the fatigue. All that mattered was victory. He needed to prove to himself and the team that he was worthy of being part of this champion squad.

During breaks, Brock and Adam chatted animatedly about the plays, exchanging ideas, complimenting each other, and joking around.

When practice ended, Brock felt exhausted but satisfied. They had given it their all, and he knew they were more prepared than ever to face their rivals.

As they headed back to the locker room, Brock looked at Adam, who seemed radiant.

"Man, you're flying today! We're getting more and more in sync," Brock said, giving Adam a friendly nudge.

"That's right, Beef! Together, no one can stop us," Adam replied, with a confident smile.

When they reached the locker room, the other players were already hurrying to shed their sweaty uniforms. Brock and Adam joined them, laughing and sharing stories about practice.

"Did you guys see that play Beef made? That was awesome!" Trey exclaimed, giving Brock a slap on the back.

"Ah, man, it was nothing. You guys were killing it out there too," Brock replied, feeling proud.

"No way, Beef! You're the man, dude!" Connor joined in, giving Brock a friendly punch on the arm.

At that moment, Coach Steele gathered the players in the locker room.

"Boys, you did great out there today. I'm proud of you," Steele said, his penetrating gaze sweeping over the athletes. "But we can't stop there. This season is gonna be the toughest you've faced yet."

The players listened in silence, knowing the coach was about to deliver one of his motivational speeches.

"You need to be willing to sacrifice everything—your comforts, your personal interests, even your social lives—for this team to reach the top. There's no room for ego, no room for laziness. You're a family now, and family comes first."

The players nodded, their faces filled with fierce determination.

"So, I want to see you give your blood on that field. I want to see you surpass yourselves every day, every game. I want to see you become champions!"

"Yes, sir!" the athletes responded in unison, their shouts echoing through the locker room.

After the coach's inspiring speech, the players began to strip down and head to the showers. Brock and Adam walked side by side, chatting animatedly, completely naked, without the slightest bit of shame. They were brothers.

As they approached the showers, the sounds of banter and laughter filled the air. The players, now naked, examined one another, comparing muscles and sizes.

"Hey, Trey, your leg looks like it's getting thicker. You been doing extra squats, huh?" Connor said, giving his friend a friendly elbow.

"Oh, yeah? Well, check this out!" Trey replied, flexing his bicep.

Soon, all the players were laughing and teasing each other, showing off their muscular bodies.

Brock watched the scene, feeling increasingly integrated into that group. He knew these were not just his teammates but his brothers. They would fight together, sweat together, and, if necessary, die together in pursuit of victory.

While showering, Brock felt the tension in his muscles dissipate. He knew that with this team by his side, nothing could stop them. They were invincible.

After the shower, the players left the locker room in a group, chatting and laughing animatedly. They walked through the hallways, drawing the attention of other students with their imposing presence.

As they walked, other players joined the group, high-fiving and greeting each other enthusiastically.

"Hey, QB's getting stronger, huh?" Lance a running back said, admiring the quarterback's muscles.

"You got it, man! I need to show these guys who's boss around here," Connor replied, smiling.

The group grew as they moved through the hallways, attracting curious and admiring glances from other students.

"Hey, did you see those cheerleaders over there?" Connor said, pointing to a group of girls.

"Of course I did, man! Brittany's dying for me to ask her to the homecoming dance," Adam replied, with a mischievous smile.

"And I'm tagging along with her friend, Brie," Brock added, laughing and being joined by his friends, their deep and powerful voices echoing through the hallway. The cheerleaders watched them with longing looks, some waving and smiling at the athletes.

"Hey, Beef, you're on fire, huh?" Trey said, giving Brock a nudge.

"You know it, man. We're the best," Brock replied, laughing and heading to class.

At the end of the day, Brock and Adam were surprised by a request to meet with Coach Steele and made their way to his office, curious about what he wanted to discuss.

Upon entering, Steele greeted them with a serious demeanor, but his face soon softened into a smile.

"Brock, Adam, I'm glad you came. Please, have a seat."

The two athletes obeyed, settling into the chairs in front of the coach's desk.

"Well, boys, I called you here because I want to know how you're feeling about all this. I know things have changed a lot since Adam joined the team, and I want to make sure you're comfortable with the situation."

Brock exchanged a look with Adam before responding.

"Look, Coach, I trust you and your decisions. I know you always do what's best for the team. And Adam's arrival has only made our squad stronger."

"Great, so nothing's bothering you, kid?"

"Other than the fact that we haven't crushed the Warriors yet, there's nothing wrong, Coach!"

Adam nodded, laughing and adding:

"That's right, Coach. I know my coming here was unexpected, and Beef and I had a rivalry, but that's in the past. I feel completely integrated into the team now. All the guys welcomed me with open arms, especially Beef, and I couldn't be happier to be part of this family."

Steele observed the two athletes attentively, satisfied with their responses.

"I'm glad to hear that, boys. You're key pieces of this team, and I want to make sure you're fully engaged and committed to our goal. Now, Adam, about your article. I understand it comes from a good place, but perhaps it's best not to stir up controversy."

"Article? What article?" Brock asked, confused.

"Mr. Trent here is also a member of the school newspaper, Beef. And he wrote an extensive piece explaining why the football team needs more funding. Which is admirable, Adam, but raises questions that are best left alone. Which I trust you will do."

"Yes, Coach, your word is law," Adam replied, while his friend looked at him with a mocking gaze.

"Hmm, newspaper? Didn't know you were such a nerd, Trent."

"I'll show you who's a fucking nerd, Beef!"

"Boys, enough. Now I suggest you go home and rest because tomorrow is the big day."

After the conversation with Coach Steele, Brock and Adam left the school and headed to Brock's house in the old pickup truck.

During the drive, the two guys sang rap songs loudly, each defending their favorite artist.

"Man, there's no way around it, Eminem is the greatest of all time!" Brock exclaimed, pounding the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

"Ah, come on, Beef! Kendrick Lamar is way cooler than Eminem!" Adam retorted, giving his friend a friendly punch on the arm.

"Are you crazy, man? Eminem is a legend, the guy's a lyrical genius!" Brock countered, turning up the radio volume.

The debate over who was the better rapper continued throughout the drive until it eventually shifted to their favorite topic.

"So, Beef, who do you think is the GOAT of football? Tom Brady or Mahomes?" Adam asked, curious.

Brock thought for a moment before answering.

"Ah, man, that's easy. Tom Brady, no doubt. The guy's a legend, got an insane resume. That dude is the standard of excellence in football."

"Seriously? I think Mahomes is getting close to surpassing him. The guy's a phenomenon, plays like a beast!" Adam said, excited.

"No way, man. Brady's unbeatable. How many Super Bowls has Mahomes won? Three? Brady's got like, seven!" Brock retorted, laughing.

"Yeah, but Mahomes is younger, he'll get there. And the way he plays is way more exciting than Brady's!" Adam insisted.

"Excitement is good, but titles are what matter, brother. And Brady's got more than double Mahomes'. He's the GOAT, no question!" Brock concluded, giving Adam a slap on the shoulder.

The two continued debating the merits of the two quarterbacks until they arrived at Brock's house. Even with different opinions, it was clear that their friendship had grown stronger.

As soon as they entered, Brock tossed his backpack into a corner and went straight to the fridge, grabbing some drinks and snacks for them to share.

"Alright, Beef, now that we're here, tell me, are you really cool with me joining the team?" Adam asked, looking at his friend seriously.

Brock thought for a moment before answering.

"Man, I'll be honest. At first, I was a bit skeptical, after all, we were rivals and all. But now, after all the dedication you've shown, I can't imagine the team without you. You've proven to be a brother to us, and I know that together, no one will be able to stop us."

Adam smiled, giving Brock a friendly punch on the shoulder.

"Thanks, man. I don't see myself outside this family either. Let's show those Westside guys who's boss!"

The two guys clinked their zero-sugar soda cans, toasting to their brotherhood and the victory that awaited them.

While Brock and Adam chatted in the living room, Brock's mom walked out of her room, all dressed up and elegant. She was carrying a bracelet and struggling to fasten it around her wrist.

"Sweetie, can you help me with this?" she asked, approaching Brock.

Brock looked at his mom, surprised by her appearance.

"Sure, Mom. You're all dressed up today. Something special going on?" he asked, fastening the bracelet on her delicate wrist.

"Well, actually, I swapped my shift at work tonight. I have an appointment," she replied, with a slight smile on her lips.

Brock raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"An appointment? What kind of appointment?"

Brock's mom let out a soft laugh.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm an adult woman and single. I'm allowed to have my own appointments, don't you think?" she said, giving Brock a kiss on the cheek.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation.

"That must be my date," Brock's mom said, quickly fixing her hair before going to answer the door.

Brock stood there, watching his mom walk away, with an expression of surprise and confusion on his face. So, she had a date? His mom, the woman who always seemed dedicated only to him and her work, had a personal life?

He exchanged a quick glance with Adam, who also seemed intrigued by the situation.

"Hey, Beef, is your mom going on a date?" Adam whispered, with a mischievous smile on his face.

Brock shrugged, still trying to process everything.

"Looks like it, man. I didn't even know she was seeing someone."

The two guys stayed silent, listening to Brock's mom's footsteps and the voice of a man in the house's entrance. Brock felt a twinge of curiosity, but also some concern. After all, his mom was everything to him. He let out a long sigh.

"Man, this was unexpected," he commented, still processing it all.

Adam chuckled, giving his friend a pat on the back.

"I can't even imagine my dad going on a date with someone, dude."

The two guys exchanged nervous smiles as they listened to the conversation at the entrance of the house. Brock couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension upon hearing the man's voice accompanying his mom.

When Carol returned to the living room, she was accompanied by a tall, muscular man, whom Brock immediately recognized as Hank, Adam's dad. The shock was evident on Brock and Adam's faces, and an awkward silence fell over the room.

"Dad?" Adam exclaimed, with a look of surprise.

"Adam… Brock?" Hank responded, equally surprised. "I had no idea you were Carol's son!"

"Wait, Mom, you're going out with Adam's dad?" Brock asked, trying to process the situation.

Carol and Hank exchanged glances before starting to laugh, breaking the tension in the air.

"Well, it seems we have a little coincidence here," Carol said, smiling. "Hank and I met when he brought a patient to the hospital. We talked a bit about our kids, but we never imagined… this.”

"This is kinda... strange, but funny too," Adam commented, scratching his neck.

"Yeah, I guess life has those surprises," Hank added, still laughing. "But don't worry, guys. It's just a casual date."

Carol nodded, looking at the two young men. "We're just getting to know each other better. Who knows what could happen, right?"

Brock and Adam exchanged glances again, still trying to get used to the idea.

"Well, be good boys and don't make a mess while we're out," Carol said, giving Brock a kiss on the cheek before leaving with Hank.

As soon as the door closed, Brock and Adam exchanged nervous laughs.

"That was totally unexpected," Brock commented, still laughing.

"Totally! But, hey, if things work out, we could end up being real brothers," Adam said, winking at Brock.

"Yeah, that would be pretty crazy, but also pretty cool," Brock agreed, feeling a strange sense of happiness at the thought. Having a badass stepdad like Hank and a brother like Adam would make his life even more perfect than it already was, eliminating one of the few worries he had, which was his mom's loneliness. And if there was one thing Beef hated, it was worrying and overthinking. That's what he had Coach for, and things were better that way.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #mental transformation #jockification #musclegrowth #my story

175 notes · View notes

blackdollette · 10 months ago

Note

poookieee!! as much as i love me some subby spence.. im dying for soft!dom spence ><

maybe a little prof-teacher taboo something if you’re feeling nasty 😩

i love a challenge!

"pick me up after school, you can be my baby." | spencer reid

ridin'. - lana del rey

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden

college student!female!reader x professor!spencer

word count: 1.0k

contents: y/n is a legal adult, teacher/student dynamic, unprotected p in v, public sex, creampie

you had been taking an unsolicited slumber in the middle of your biology class with mr reid.

the last period of the day when all the irrelevant tangents he went on would enter through one ear and come right out the other. so really, it wasn’t your fault that you just couldn’t keep your attention on him, regardless of his meek elegance and gentle composure. you had fallen asleep to his soft tone of voice, confident that he wouldn’t catch you as he rambled on. which was why you were completely baffled as to how he had you bent over his desk as he scolded you, your plaid skirt on the ground, hugging your ankles.

you had to admit, the tension between you two was palpable. with such a small age gap, it was hard to not fall for a teacher who had such a close resemblance to a greek god. as good as he was at keeping up his professional demeanor, you constantly caught him stealing occasional glances at you as you walked away from him or popping up in your physical education class, catching you in your shorts and tank top as a thin layer of sweat shone off your body. it was the way things had always been.

he tsked, one of his ringed hands having a tight grip on your bare hip. “snoozing during my class? i expected much more from you.” your cheek pressed against the cool oakwood of his neat, organized desk. you would’ve cringed at how cliche this scene was if it wasn’t what you had been thirsting for all along. you pouted, squirming as he used his other hand to keep your hands behind your back. “i-i didn’t mean to, mr reid. i swear..!”

as you moved, your hips pushed into his ever so slightly. he grinned a little, pulling his glasses away from his eyes and carefully placing them on top of his hair to hold back a few stray strands of hair. “i bet you say that to all the teachers, my dear…” your knees shook as his voice dropped an octave. you still had your panties on, which were soaking wet from the heat of the atmosphere.

he swallowed audibly hard, his breath growing shakier by the second as the awkward side of his personality began to flicker through. “y-you’re a very beautiful girl, y’know that..?” your cheeks heated up as he slowly began to trail his thumb up and down your clothed slit, a throbbing sensation growing in his concealed, starched uniform pants.

you whimpered quietly, your hot breath condensing onto the polished wood. he brought his lips to your ear, whispering in a tone that rang through your mind. “i ought to teach you a lesson for being such a bad girl in my class today…” he slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out a square-shaped, golden package. a condom. you didn’t think guys like him would carry them around on the fly.

he moved his hand to the button and zipper of his pants, undoing them both swiftly. he tore open the condom pack with his teeth, baring pearly white canines. a white droplet began to seep through the thin fabric of his briefs, revealing his arousal. his thumbs kept a good rhythm on your soaking cunt, starting to slip underneath your panties as he whipped out his cock and rolled the condom onto himself with a deep groan.

your body trembled as the wait became agonizing. you felt so open, so exposed to him. his hands groped and caressed the most intimate parts of you as he lined himself up with your pulsing hole. you desperately moved your hips back, making him chuckle. “someone’s eager, huh?” he gripped his cock with a shaky hand, talking to you as he began to push himself into you. “well i could never deprive my favourite student of something she wants so badly…”

your hands ball into fists as he entered you, inch by inch as he stretched you out until you were full to the brim. you yelped, making him shove two fingers into your mouth to shut you up. your jaw closed around him, drool cascading onto the desk as he started to fuck you. he started slow and steady, his rhythm matching the one of a brand-new metronome.

you moaned and whimpered, your insides struggling to adjust to his size. but surely, he talked you through the overwhelming pleasure. “there you go… just like that..” his voice was low and breathing, your ass bouncing each time he pounded into you. the room filled with lewd noises quickly and you thanked the heavens that the classroom door was locked.

his balls slapped against your puffy clit as he picked up the pace, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your soft flesh. tears filled your eyes as the overstimulation became mind-boggling. a mess of wetness and precum dripped down your inner thighs. you felt his thick girth twitch inside of you, his breathing getting louder with each thrust.

“s-such a good girl… takin’ me so well…” his words were slurred and melted into each other like ice cream. groans and whimpers echoed through the room, crescendoing until they reached a loud climax. your teacher tossed his head back as his balls tightened up and sent hot ropes of cum shooting into your guts.

your cunt swelled as he filled you with his seed, your whole body going heavy as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. you bit your lip, hard enough to draw blood. you gasped as he pulled himself out of you, feeling empty by the lack of him inside you. he flipped you around, awkwardly taking you into his arms and kissing you deeply on the lips, his jaw clenching as he tasted you. the heat between your legs grew to an unbearable state and you wrapped your legs around his waist, kissing him back until he pulled away, cheeks stained with pink.

he cleared his throat, crouching down to help you pick up your skirt. he lifted you off the desk, helping you put it on. he even took the extra step of grabbing you a handkerchief and dabbing away at the sticky mess on your thighs. as he finished, he looked at you and nodded with approval. “you’d better get going. i’ve assigned three chapters that must be read for our class discussion tomorrow.” you groaned, picking up your bookbag and slinging it over your shoulder. he chuckled, kissing you on the cheek and bringing his lips to your ear. “until next time, my dear.”

author's note: stream karma by jojo siwa

423 notes · View notes

chaaistained · 11 days ago

Text

☕︎ my marauders dr; intro •°

🗝️ you’ve now unlocked the recipe to my marauders dr ≈

name : julia ephemeri potter

age (when i shift) : 15 — i’m experiencing the whole slow burn.. and i just know it’s gonna be torture . but we persevere

— (when i post about my script) : most of the time, i’ll be talking about me from the ages of 16-21 onwards

occupation : student of witchcraft at hogwarts

+ (eventually) some form of adult occupation . i’ll edit this later i genuinely don’t know and i don’t need to know for good few years at least so..

details :

— house : gryffindor

— wand : sandalwood with a mermaid hair core , 9.5”

+ wand breakdown tbd

— patronus : brown bear / sable (undecided, i love both.. help)

— amortentia : ocean air , candle wax , musty paper

+ amortentia breakdown tbd

— fav subject : alchemy

— top subjects : (+ alchemy) ancient runes , charms , muggle studies

— pets : sadie / sadie sue (ginger tabby cat) , barnaby (brown barn owl , shared with james..)

side hobbies/hustles : gryffindor quidditch team seeker

+ (eventually) editorial team of the hogwarts herald

+ (eventually) prefect

s/o : regulus arcturus black ৻ꪆ

౨ৎ meet miss juju berry

an incandescence, forged of tart blood and a permeating sense of melancholy — she finds herself in a constant search, an unsolvable quest for meaning, latching onto anything that can define her identity and yet feeling irrevocably lost to herself — she is only the light, not the sun . she is only the shell, not the pearl . she is only the stain , not the blackberry

i unfurl into this reality with the kind of effervescence found in firewhiskey, a bubbling surprise of sorts, one that my own parents weren’t expecting. my mum calls me a gift, she calls my brother a blessing . i don’t know if the difference in term denotes a difference in how we’re perceived, and truth be told it drove me crazy as a kid and sometimes it still does but for whatever purpose or prosperity, the fates resolved that i was meant to be born and here i am

a toppling fire cracker of a girl, or so i’m told, i’m one of the rambunctious gryffindors that barrel down the marble hallways of hogwarts castle. i bunk with seven other girls, one of whom is my best friend — mary macdonald. along with the charming ravenclaw — emmeline vance — and a snark of a hufflepuff — hestia jones — the four of us can be found in various locations around the school campus; passed out in a heap on the softest patch of grass near the black lake , shooting pine cones over the whomping willow and keeping score of who gets the most over without the tree smacking them away , secluded in the third booth on the second floor of the library . our quills drying out while we distractedly ignore our transfiguration homework in favour of finding the right spell to conceal our carved names on the bottom of the booth’s oakwood table (the result of emmeline sneaking alcoholic butterbeer into the school, and a series of bad decisions later, we’d all drunkenly vandalised the furniture.. thankfully mcgonagall doesn’t know or i might lose my prefect badge)

with small flowers in my braid and golden earrings that shimmer as i shake my head, i slip between the sea of students with an ease that can only be spotted in the agile gait of a seeker. though, nothing about my speed on the ground can compare to that which i showcase when i’m hundreds of feet in the air, my broomstick being an extension of me, something i trust to a concerning degree, coming up with the sorts of tricks and techniques that would land me in the hospital wing if i wasn’t as good as i am. that attention to detail, the pedantic precision of my sight is also what makes me a renowned editor of the student body’s newsletter — a semi-professional scrapbook of a weekly issue, a holistic voice of all students from all houses . honestly it can be hard to maintain that harmony but perhaps that’s why dumbledore sanctioned the club, a forceful hand at coexisting

regardless, it’s the least of my worries, a pastime really, my main focus being the exceedingly irritating presence of a certain slytherin seeker, who grows more and more unbearable by the day, not to mention he’s constantly around, in almost all my classes, assigned to same hours of prefect patrol, not a moment of peace . and yet paired with that bothersome nuisance brews the burning desire to find out more

and if you want to know why, then i suppose you should keep reading

(merlin’s name, i can write intrigue splendidly, they should assign me as the journalist not just the bloody editor)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ my black bird

a rising tide in his own right, he is determined to maintain what is deemed to be perfection, unwilling to admit that no two waves ever look the same, no two stars ever shine alike, there is no apex . and yet he tries. haunted by ancestry, rippling currents that pull him into the ravine of his family’s legacy, it’s a future he wishes to inherit whilst believing it impossible. until his brother abandoned his birthright and that status, that title, that name he always wanted to earn yet never actually trained for, was now his

that unassuming final breath before striking a curse, the calm interwoven with calamity, that’s what regulus feels in every waking moment .

there is a blurry haze of memories when he tries to decipher where it all began — did envy bleed out of him every time sirius entered the room and commanded attention with his mere presence? or was it admiration? did he love his brother or loath him? maybe neither, maybe both, maybe everything in between and nothing at all, it never made sense and it probably never will.

so then leaves the question of his own significance — fostered from birth? or handed down simply because he is the spare to the heir? in this instance both made sense but neither option would ever be clarified.

and so regulus chooses to not feel anything, reserve all emotions to be shared with a few select friends — evan and barty had a way about them, his laughter was not something he could hold back in their presence . dorcas founded a semblance of solitude even though the space was shared, as if their silence was a mutual understanding, a shorthand of sorts . pandora had the gift of gracing their group with his smile, he considered it a curse that she had such a superpower, to bring out these genuine joys in other people, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way — those were his people

not his brother . who he shifted his eyes to look away from whenever they passed each other .. only to turn back and glance over his shoulder, observing the elder son’s movements, wishing he’d turn back too, and then hurriedly clenching his fist, squashing the thought before it even had the chance to breathe

not his parents . who stood tall yet hollow, ghosts of who they were before their family was “torn apart” according to them, holding metaphorical goal posts only to keep moving them higher and higher every time regulus attempted to score, before tutting as he slipped and fell, unable to maintain the impossible altitude of their expectations

no. his people were his friends, the people who could mellow out his misgivings, erode his stone walls

and yet, those stone walls remain intact, erosion takes time.

unless of course someone me shattered the very structure of his world view, erupting his life into firework flurries of emotions, clandestine nights, musty sunrises drenched in dew drops and fog, leaving a wafting air about the world, scented jasmine and blackberry, amber gold flecks embedded inside twin irises . the kind of beauty that haunts his dreams and burns fire in his heart

he really should not be giving in to such a tragically stupid connection, not when majority of the time is spent bickering amongst dusty textbooks, whispering shouts bouncing off cold castle walls in the middle of the night, hexes spewing back and forth before finally forfeiting from fear of being caught .. that isn’t what he should want

he shouldn’t want anything

and yet he does

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ candlelit hearts

sinking into an unknown abyss, falling from the sky with a smile on your face while the halo around your head crackles, wax dripping down the curve of your back, you were destined to fall, that’s what you are meant to do, that’s who you are meant to be — a tidal wave tore through your heart, engulfing you entirely and yet you let yourself descend deeper and deeper — for reasons unknown, you found a companion in the darkness, a fire in the flesh, a home between interlaced fingers, foreheads pressed together and a single flickering candle flame that burns bright from the magic of your shared love

it’s funny, when i look back at it. because i suppose we always knew the other existed, but i only really met him when i was 13..

whatever classes we shared before, whatever moments were missed where we walked past each other through hallways or on moving staircases, those never really registered.

i just remember the cold, the prickly sensation of snow on my bare fingertips, crunching under my feet, glittering from the shy slithers of sunlight that flitted through the bleak grey sky. the constant dinging bells, the sound of students exploring all that hogsmeade had to offer, and yet there we stood, facing each other in an alley between shops, frowning in a way that would become all too familiar in the years to come

for what it’s worth, it’s easy to dislike the guy — almost always beating me by a few marks, his facial expression was more than enough of a gloat in itself . creating nicknames for whatever trick i use in a quidditch match and always coming up with a counter move (he can’t ever let me win. personally speaking, of course, i win plenty of matches) . it’s always something with him, and whatever quick bursts of emotion i bring out are hurriedly buried under a blank expression and a tired, almost uninterested visage that boils my blood in a way i cannot possibly describe . and yet i find myself thinking about it, about him, in the ungodly hours of the night.. only to get back at him of course

and it isn’t as if i can speak for him, for the longest time i had no clue what he’d be thinking no matter how long i stared, trying to decipher his thoughts.. but i’d be an idiot to have not noticed a change — the way he would walk through life with a strive to prove himself and yet constantly controlling how much of that ambition he could show.. living each day almost half present, half minded, elsewhere entirely, focused on a far reaching future as if it was right around the corner

he wasn’t like that anymore, he seemed to flourish, to spark, to appear alive . but only when teetering on the tightrope of an improbable partnership, an impossible romance, a strange little love story written between the aged cushions of an abandoned couch, in a hidden lounge, behind an old potions classroom — we found it together . or, more so, we argued and raced to unlock the door first, but regardless, it was our space . a space in which the kindling fire of an unlikely friendship would blossom into something greater than i could ever hope for

and when the mysteries within the castle walls start to crack through, when the secrets between the students stir the cauldron of rumours, and the history of influential families begins to pull itself up from the grave .. i guess it’s not so surprising to admit, but someone as curious as me, paired with someone as persistent as regulus? it’s no big shock that we find ourselves in the middle of such a storm

one transmutation away from uncovering the truth, waking up old bones, and burying the new ones

don’t swallow the tea leaves ! for they leave you a message 🍂

the people have spoken (i’m referring to the poll) and so i post ^this .. it did take a while bcs of numerous reasons that i don’t want to go into but anyway, i adore this dr so so much and i’ve worked so hard on the fic version of it T^T however it is a bit too traumatic for me to actually live out so .. this dr is slightly more tame — i just want to relive high school in hogwarts with the people that helped me through a lot of the shit i faced when i was in high school and they were merely characters on a screen — although, i can’t help myself, there are a few mysteries and bouts of intrigue to keep me entertained, i just .need to figure out what.. i could leave it up to my subconscious but . i don’t wanna do that ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

118 notes · View notes

insidecroydon · 7 months ago

Text

Lloyd Park listed building Coombe House for sale for £6m

Another impressive Croydon heritage building is being placed on the property market, potentially to be bought for residential development. Going, going…: Coombe House, next to Lloyd Park, previous Cedars and then Oakwood School is up for sale at £6m The 263-year-old GradeII-listed Coombe House sits next to Lloyd Park, and has a host of period features, including what was thought to be carvings by…

View On WordPress

#Cedars School #Coombe House #Coombe Road #Croydon #Lloyd Park #Oakwood School #PACT Educational Trust #Virgo Fidelis Convent School

0 notes

arroganceisherfavoritecolor · 2 months ago

Text

Girl Next Door

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ Donnie Darko finally gets his hands on his neighbor...

warnings: sequel, somnophilia, p in v, donnie is kindaaa mean

pt. 1

Donnie saw [Name] at the bus stop, looking at the birds on the ground in front of her. Instantly, he thought of what he witnessed the night before. He had caught [Name] masturbating. His cock was indeed sore from jerking off so much last night, his balls still a little achey. He walked towards [Name] the image of her still fresh in his mind.

"Oh, hi Don!" [Name] chirped, happy to see her best friend. She had no idea that Donnie was fucking himself while watching her through her window. Donnie blushed, the thought of [Names] perfect body flashed in his mind, almost making his dick stand up. "Hey [Name]." Donnie averted his gaze, putting his hands in his pockets. [Name] furrowed her eyebrows, noticing something was wrong. "Is everything ok? You look like you're thinking about something." Donnie looked up at [Names] face. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't take it anymore and that he needed to fuck her, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't dare risk their friendship. "Huh? Oh, its nothing, i'm fine." He smiled, reassuring [Name]. She smiled, nodded her head, and the two began walking to school.

The day had passed quickly. Donnie laid in his bed, fresh out the shower and on the phone with [Name]. She was talking, as always. Something about Tiffany and Brenda having a fight in Biology? Donnie didnt really know, and he didnt really care either. His hand was currently down his pants, slowly stroking his dick to the thought of [Name].

"Uh huh...oh yeah? Really...fuck- ah fuck! That...that sucks." Donnie wasn't actually listening to a word [Name] was saying. He pictured her sitting right on top of him, her breasts exposed to him and her face flushed with embarrassment. She'd bounce on his dick mindlessly as she looked down at him, drunkenly grinning. He thrusted up into his hand as [Name] continued to blabber on about her day. Either she was really dumb, or she knew about Donnies perversions and was enjoying it.

Eventually, it was time for the two to hang up. Donnie stared out his window, thinking of [Name]. He looked at the neighborhood, the quiet scene bringing him peace. He gazed at [Names] window...her open window. Suddenly, something in Donnies mind clicked. He was going to sneak into her house.

Really, [Name] had snuck Donnie over plenty of times, only to watch movies and eat snacks of course. He knew how to climb up to her window, knew how to be discreet. He jumped up and put on his shirt and shoes, determined to sneak over to [Names] house. He went out through the garage door of his house and down the street. He was met with [Names] tall, oakwood fence. Using sheer strength and willpower, Donnie managed to haul himself over just like the times before. He climbed up the patio roof, and tumbled into [Names] bedroom.

There she laid, her face illuminated by the moonlight. Her hair was sprawled out over her pillows, and her body covered only by a silky nightgown. Her face rested peacefully as she softly snored. She looked like a beautiful statue, her beauty frozen in time. Donnie stood over her on her bedside, taking in the sight before him. Her nipples poked through the thin fabric of the nightgown that barely covered her thighs. As Donnie stared at her, [Name] turned her head and made a sound. It sounded like a whimper, almost a moan. Is she having a bad dream? Donnie thought, wondering what was going on in [Names] head. "Oh...Donnie..."

What the fuck. Donnies face turned a deep red. There was no way this was happening. No way his best friend was dreaming of him. Suddenly, [Name] rolled her hips and moaned. "Oh...fuck Donnie..." her voice was gruff and sleepy, almost drunken. Donnies cock strained in his pants as he thought of the scenario [Name] was dreaming of. It was in this moment that Donnie decided to make his own dreams come true.

He got on top of [Name], careful not to wake her. He leaned down gently and inhaled the scent of her neck. Perfume. Before she went to bed, she must have sprayed the perfume she bought with him at the mall last week. Donnie pressed a kiss to her collarbone. He wanted to kiss her lips, but that might've been too much. He kissed [Names] neck and chest all over. Slowly, he teased the hem of her nightgown. He couldnt help himself from pushing it up, exposing her breasts. They bounced slightly, her nipples already hardening from the cool air that blew through her window. Donnie leaned down and kissed all over her breasts, her chest moving up and down as she breathed.

"Mmm...Don..." Donnie licked and sucked on her tits, her breathy moans only spurring him on further. He kissed all the way down her stomach, until he was met with her panties. They were cute, pink with a little white bow on the lining. And a little wet patch in the middle, most likely from [Names] dream. Slowly, inch by inch, Donnie pulled down her panties. Her pussy was exposed and slick, her clit almost throbbing. He leaned down and dared to lick a stripe up her slit. He earned dreamy whimpers from her lips as she ground on his face. His hands rested on the bed, scared to wake her up if he gripped her thighs. His tongue buried itself inside [Name] when it wasnt flicking her clit.

Donnie suckled and slurped her juices, his face buried in between her thighs and the rolls of her hips. Suddenly, Donnie stopped. This made the slumbering [Name] whine. He looked down at her face that was etched with confusion and lust. He thought for a moment. What would happen if [Name] woke up right now? Would she be angry? Scared? Excited. The more he thought about it, the less his moral compass worked.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he pulled down his pants and boxers. He lined his tip up with [Names] entrance. He pushed forward, slowly to make sure [Name] wouldn't wake. He let [Name] warm up to the feel of his dick, assuming she was a virgin. He watched [Names] face intently. Her brows furrowed together and her mouth opened. She began grinding again. Donnie moved his hips back and forth, in and out of [Names] pussy. He grunted and groaned quietly, still aware of [Names] sleeping state. Suddenly, her pretty eyes shot open. She looked up at Donnie with urgency. "D...Donnie? What- ah! What are you doing?" she asked, gripping onto his strong arms that were on either side of his head. Shit. He'd been caught, he was sure [Name] would push him off any second.

But this didn't make him stop, in fact, it only made him go faster. "Fuck [Name], you're so perfect. Love you so fucking much." Donnie confessed as he thrusted. He put [Names] legs over his shoulders and started pounding her. The limits he'd put on himself didn't matter now that [Name] was awake. "Oh! D-Donnie! Fuck me!" she wrapped her arms around his neck, clawing at his back. Donnie leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, trying to silence her moans in fear of getting caught. "Needed you so fucking bad, for so long [Name]. Always teasing me at school with that skirt 'nd those panties, fuck!" Donnie groaned, a primal hunger in his eyes and words. "Love you so much Donnie! 'M yours!" [Name] quivered under him, her tits jiggling with each thrust. Donnie kissed and sucked all over her as he felt his balls tighten.

With a loud moan, [Name] came violently around Donnies dick, her pussy gripping him with force. He kissed her soft lips again, not wanting her parents to catch their daughter's best friend fucking her. Now that [Name] was satisfied, Donnie was going to use her body for himself. He continued pounding her, one hand gripping her leg and the other fondling her tit. [Name] panted and whined, tears threatening to spill from the overstimulation. "Donnie! 'S too much! P-please!" She pressed down on his pelvis as she whined for him to slow down. Donnie instead let go of her tit and grabbed her wrists. He pinned them over her head, still jackhammering her pussy like a dog. "Shut up, acting like you aren't a fucking whore. You think I didn't see you fingering this pussy with your window all open last night?" Donnie asked, his blue eyes boring into [Names]. She shook her head no as tears spilled. "You're mine now, so I'll fuck you how I wanna." He said, his voice deep and lustful.

All those nights he'd spend in bed after he hung out with [Name], all the scenarios he'd make up, it all led up to this very moment. Donnie was finally balls deep inside [Name], making her moan and whimper beneath him. As he felt his orgasm coming, he thought back to the other day. He was at [Names] house and saw a bottle of pills, she told him that she got on birth control. Donnie smirked, knowing he could cum inside [Name] without worry.

With one final, brutal thrust, Donnie came. He leaned down and moaned into [Names] mouth. "Fuck, I love you [Name]. You're fucking mine." He said in between kisses and pants. [Names] eyes rolled back as she felt Donnies seed warm her up. "Yes Donnie! All yours!" she moaned, her nails still digging into his back and shoulders. Donnie pulled out of [Name] and watched as his cum leaked out onto her sheets. He took in [Names] shaken, fucked out form. He couldn't believe it. The girl he loves, the girl he's always dreamt of, was leaking his cum. He dipped two fingers into her heat and shoved it back inside. "Fuck [Name]. Left that window open just for me, huh? So I could come fuck you?" Donnie asked as he pushed his seed back inside [Name]. All she could do was nod, her eye's fluttering open and shut. She dozed off in an instant, the fucking Donnie gave her wearing her out. He chuckled and kissed her sweet lips, removing his fingers from her cunt.

After putting his pants back on, Donnie left out the window. He made sure to close it from the outside, not wanting [Name] to be in harms way. On the short walk back to his house, Donnie thought of tomorrow. What would [Name] say to him? What would she think? Would they still be best friends? Oh of course! They were more than best friends now, they were lovers...at least in Donnies mind. He nestled into his bed as he thought of [Name]. He stared at her window through his own, thinking of what had just happened. He dozed off to sleep, happy that he finally got his best friend right here he needed.

(wow didnt mean for this to be so long AND take so long to make. i hope i fed u all well!)

#donnie darko #donnie darko x reader #jake gyllenhaal #my fucking man #i wish to eat him

94 notes · View notes

rhys-ravenfeather · 2 years ago

Video

youtube

Today on : ‘Songs That Definitely Gave 2000s Tweens the Feels’...

#rhys-ravenfeather signing on #yeah the first time i heard this song was at my primary school graduation...#and i've been listening to it again lately while looking back over the fanart i saved from the ahit 'coffee shop' au #and heading into oasis to oakwood...

1 note · View note

mikrokosmos · 4 months ago

Text

The Gothic in Classical Music History (1760s-1920s)

Intro Back in high school I fell in love with two things; classical music, and Edgar Allan Poe. I’ve always loved Halloween, October, spooky things, ghost stories, horror and slasher movies, etc. And I always loved finding classical music that was also spooky, or dark, or evocative of the same eerie experience of a cold and foggy October day. Thinking about these memories made me want to put together a short list of Gothic Classical music.

But what do I mean? There is no true “Gothic music” as in a specific movement in classical history, because the traditional Gothic refers to literature. Not all art movements have corresponding trends in all mediums. Even so I thought it would be fun to say, if there was such a thing as Gothic music, what would that include?

18th Century

John Henry Fuseli - The Nightmare (1781)

Music of the 1760s-1790s, corresponding with the first wave of “Gothic Novels” in the English language. Some names in this era include Horace Walpole (The Castle of Otranto), Ann Radcliffe (The Mysteries of Udolpho, The Italian) and Charles Brockden Brown (Wieland). The closest we have to music of this same era would be in the Sturm und Drang style. Sturm und Drang (Storm and Stress) was used to describe music written in a minor key that was restless, agitated, intense, emotional, and more extreme than the typical expectations for restraint and lightness/clarity, music that aristocrats in powdered wigs and velvet and lace could relax with. Strong changes of emotion and more emphasis on subjectivity, reflected by sudden modulations and pulsing rhythms.

The most famous piece that I associate with Sturm und Drang is Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s “little” g minor Symphony no.25, K.183 (1773). It is famously used in the opening of Miloš Forman’s Amadeus (1984). It is a fun piece, and that opening movement is full of fire, and probably the young Mozart having fun (he wrote it at 17. If you ever want to lower your self esteem, look up what music Mozart wrote at your current age.). Another major work would be Joseph Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony no.45 (1772), written in the very unusual for the time key of f# minor. And of course, even though he comes later, anything Ludwig van Beethoven published in a minor key has a lot of muscular passion to it, and his early/classical era of the 1790s is no joke. Check out the final movements of his Piano Trio no.3 in c minor and his Piano Sonata no.1 in f minor, or his most famous early sonata, the Pathetique.

But if the Sturm und Drang style and Gothic genre also emphasize the disturbed and the psychological, we can include programmatic works that do the same. Mozart’s opera Don Giovanni (1788) has an incredible moment in the finale. The sociopathic hedonist is confronted by the ghost of the man he murdered in the first act, who possesses a statue and confronts Don Giovanni with his sins. Don Giovanni doesn’t repent, so he is dragged into hell with a chorus of demons. Always a good reminder that Mozart wasn’t the eternal child who wrote pretty melodies.

19th Century

Caspar David Friedrich - The Abbey in the Oakwood (1810)

Music of the early 19th century corresponds better with Gothic fiction because Romanticism in art brought greater interest in the supernatural, in the subjective, in emotional reactions to the universe… major names in fiction include the poetry of Lord Byron (Darkness), Mary Shelley (Frankenstein, The Last Man), and Sir Walter Scott (The Bride of Lammermoor). Greater emphasis is put on the anxiety of the unknown, supernatural fears beyond our control.

Of all Franz Schubert’s songs, Erlkönig (1815) best exemplifies the Gothic (and this is a bold claim because I only know about a fraction of Schubert’s extensive song output). In it, a father and son are riding on horseback. The son is sick with fever. As they ride, the son cries out that he can hear the Elf King calling out to him, some evil spirit or demon that wants to take the son’s life. The father tries to calm him down, but the Elf King gets closer and closer. By the time they reach home, the son has died. Was the Elf King real? Was the son hallucinating from fever? How literal should we take this text? The ambiguity of subjective experiences and how we interpret and understand reality is a major theme in Gothic fiction.

Many famous German operas lean into the supernatural and magical. In this period we get Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz (1821), considered to be the first Romantic opera. In it, our main character Max who needs to win a shooting contest so he can be allowed to marry his lover, Agathe. He is given a gun that can shoot magic bullets by another forrester Kaspar (who has his own plans). Kaspar tells Max to meet him in the “Wolf’s Glenn” in the woods at midnight for more magic bullets. In the Wolf’s Glenn, Kaspar calls for a spirit, the Black Huntsman Samiel, to help him curse the other characters, offering Max’s soul in exchange. Making deals with demons/the devil was another fascination in Romanticism.

Legends of a diabolical nature were springing around great musicians. At the end of the 1700s, Giuseppe Tartini wrote his most famous composition, the “Devil’s Trill” Violin Sonata in g minor which is full of virtuosic passages. Tartini claimed that the Devil appeared to him in a dream, and that he sold his soul in exchange for the Devil to be his servant. He handed the Devil his violin, and the Devil “…played with such great art and intelligence, as I had never even conceived in my boldest flights of fantasy. I felt enraptured, transported, enchanted: my breath failed me, and I awoke” Source

Similar stories came about with violinist Niccolò Paganini, who astonished the audiences of the early 19th century with his (for the time) otherworldly technique, dazzling them with scales and leaps and scratches the likes of which you can hear across his 24 Caprices for solo violin. A young Franz Liszt was at one of Paganini’s concerts and he was enthralled and inspired to become the “Paganini of the Piano”. He too would dazzle audiences with his percussive intensity, glittering arpeggios, and dreamy modulations to possess women with the spirits of hysteria and other dated misogynistic diseases. Cliche to say but before Bieber Fever, before Beatlemania, there was Lisztomania.

The sense of Faustian bargains comes through in the pieces Liszt wrote after Goethe’s Faust. The Faust Symphony (1857) includes a movement for Mephistopheles, the demon/ the Devil that bargains with Faust. The Mephistopheles movement has no original theme, but takes and corrupts the themes of Faust and his lover Gretchen into a mocking tone. Later on, Liszt was inspired to write a tone poem “The Dance in the Village Inn” or Mephisto Waltz no.1 (c.1862). He also wrote it for piano around the same time. The story has Mephistopheles taking Faust to a wedding in a village and playing the violin so madly, the partygoers are intoxicated by the music and go off dancing in the woods. Emotions taking over and making one act irrationally was another fascination in Gothic fiction.

Liszt would go on in his later years writing a few more Mephisto waltzes, with a lot of forward thinking harmonies and piano writing, unfortunately not as popular. Mephisto waltz no.2 (1881) has moments that make me think of Debussy, and the third (1883) has glittering and ethereal moments. But the best example of Liszt’s interest in the Gothic would be his earlier concert piece Totentanz (1949), or Dance of Death (Danse macabre). In it, the piano and orchestra play out variations on the Medieval chant Dies Irae, always reminding us of the inevitability of death. The variations depict skeletons dancing wildly all while the Mephistopheles at the piano unleashes his seductive tones.

The Dies Irae chant goes across our pop culture, with one famous iteration being a synthesized version of passages from Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique that Wendy Carlos wrote for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) after Stephen King’s novel of the same name. And it was Berlioz’s symphony that enchanted audiences in 1830 with new, titanic sounds beyond what orchestra music had been before. In the story of the Symphonie fantastique, an artist has tried to overdose on opium after feeling rejected by unrequited love, but instead he has a vivid drug induced nightmare where he is sentenced to be beheaded via guillotine, which was still a traumatic living memory for the Parisian audience. He then sees himself among ghosts and monsters during a witches’ sabbath, the lovely woman’s beautiful theme is distorted into a grotesque mockery, the Dies Irae comes back among the cackling. It was a new degree of imagination expected from the audience. Later, Berlioz would depict demons in Pandæmonium (the Capital of Hell in Dante’s Inferno) at the end of his Damnation of Faust.

Through the mid to late 19th century we get authors of Gothic literature such as Edgar Allan Poe, Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily and Charlotte Brontë, Nathaniel Hawethorne, and Victor Hugo. We also get two more operas that have Gothic themes. First is Richard Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman (1843). In this opera, a ship on the North Sea collides with the Ghost Ship of the Flying Dutchman who is cursed to sail the seas forever, but is allowed to come ashore once every seven years and if he can find a wife, he will be freed. I’m sure you can guess how this opera ends. The overture is often played in concert for a condensed version of Wagnarian thunder and romance. The next important opera is Giuseppe Verdi’s Macbeth (1847), because Shakespeare was being revived and translated in different languages across Europe and Verdi loved his plays. In the opera, Macbeth comes across a chorus of witches that foretell his success and downfall. He is too ambitious and goaded by Lady Macbeth, plans to take the throne through deception and murder. Lady Macbeth is later haunted with phantom blood on her hands which only she can see. And Macbeth succumbs to his inevitable fate.

We also get two significantly “Gothic” pieces of orchestra music. They are both tone poems, which also reflects the concert goers’ tastes. The one that has always been a quintessential “Halloween classical” piece is Camille Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre (1875), opening at the stroke of midnight (softly evoked by the harp), a violin shrieks out the tritone (the “Devil’s interval” which the Romantics thought meant was cursed by the superstitious Medievals, really it was an idiom for “hard to use in music”) and introduces ballroom music along with the clacking bones of skeletons dancing in the graveyard (evoked by the xylophone). The skeletons dance through the night until the rooster crows at dawn.

The other great Halloween concert piece is Modest Mussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain (1867) which depicts another witches sabbath, this time on St. John’s Night, a major holiday in Slavic Eastern Orthodox culture. Walt Disney’s Fantasia (1940) would help bring this poem to life with an animated phantasmagoria of ghouls and skeletal horses and other demons flying around the mountainous demon Chernoberg.

[Here I want to give a quick shoutout to Cesar Franck’s Le Chasseur maudit (The Accursed Huntsman), a tone poem about a Count who doesn’t go to church one Sunday, and instead rides around to whip peasants for his own amusement, so demons drag him to hell. Not nearly as famous a concert piece as the others mentioned in this list but it has colorful orchestration so you should check it out.]

The initial idea for Fantasia was for Disney to repopularize Mickey Mouse by writing him into an animated version of Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The original poem by Goethe was a classic that Paul Dukas set to music in 1897. In it, we hear the Sorcerer leave his Apprentice to clean the floors of his workshop. The Apprentice uses magic to bring a broom to life so it can do the chores for him. The Broom mindlessly pours buckets of water all over the floor, and the Apprentice isn’t good enough with magic to stop it. He chops it up into pieces with an ax, but they regenerate into several brooms which go back to marching water in. The Sorcerer returns to clean the mess and scolds his Apprentice. This charming tale has a darker and more diabolically fun tone in Dukas orchestra.

20th Century

Harry Clarke - Illustration for "Masque of the Red Death" (1919)

In the same exact year of Dukas’ tone poem, we get Bram Stoker’s Dracula. At this turn of the century other major names include Gaston Luroux (The Phantom of the Opera), Robert Lewis Stevenson (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde), Henry James (The Turn of the Screw), Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray). At this time, there are a few more pieces that continue trying to evoke Gothic subject matter. One comes from Gustav Mahler’s Symphony no.7 (1905), sometimes dubbed “Song of the Night”. Two of the symphonies five movements are titled “Nachtmusik” (night music), the first is more in line with Gothic anxiety and spookiness than the second which is more like a serenade. But the most Gothic movement is the Scherzo which sits in the middle of the symphony and is like a Viennese ballroom full of dancing corpses and skeletons as waltz music decays with them.

A surprising example (at least, because of how relatively obscure it is) comes from Claude Debussy with parts of an opera based on Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher that he worked on between 1908-1917. Not too much a surprise on the one hand because French translations of Poe’s work became popular and influential. On the other hand Debussy is more known for evocative sound pictures, unique musical colors, and subtlety. Perhaps he was drawn to symbolist and psychosexual interpretations of The House of Usher, the same interests that preoccupied him with his only finished opera Pelleas et Melisande. Roger Orledge reconstructed the opera and tried to stay true to Debussy’s style, so what we do have is passable and as shadowy and vague as his other orchestral masterpieces.

Maybe the hardest work to recommend (but I do recommend regardless, give it a chance) is a Modernist song cycle for chamber ensemble. Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (1910) uses freely chromatic atonality to give a demented color of psychosis experienced by Pierrot, personified version of a stock character for old Commedia dell Arte plays, a clown who over time became the “sad clown”. Maybe a precursor to the demon from Stephen King’s It, or the demented clowns and jesters that laugh at the madness of the cosmos across Thomas Ligotti’s short stories.

This was only meant to be a small overview of works that could fit my own view of the Gothic in music. There are more examples I could include, so as a hint toward today, I’ll end with a piece that was written about a century ago, yet sounds as if it could have been written today. Henry Cowell’s The Banshee (1925) is a short piano piece, so if you can, at least listen to this one. Instead of playing with the keys like you’re “supposed to”, Cowell asks the performer to drag their fingers along the wires directly. This creates disturbing reverberations and scratching sounds that tingle the back of your neck, that feel like the otherworldly cry of a Banshee.

Happy Halloween.

84 notes · View notes

domesticgoddess22 · 1 month ago

Text

wish upon a cowboy

chapter 6: something to live for

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy sex, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst, joel is bad at feelings word count: 4k (chapter 6) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI

masterlist | Ao3 | My Booktower @orcasoul @guiltyaschargedmf @idrkman

a/n: Switching to past tense POV because I’m learning that 1st person isn’t for me. Bear with me and thank you for your patience <3 Also, I am adding a few more tags that I should have added before. ~~~

You learned from an old First Time Expecting book that the first day of your pregnancy is the first day of your last period, which meant you were about ten weeks pregnant by now.

Joel had grown increasingly protective over you. He was hovering over you more, making sure you had enough to eat, enough to drink, and that you weren’t too tired on your journey.

If your feet hurt, he'd stop. You’d swat him away and tell him you were fine, but he was persistent.

Hundreds of giant trees hugged the small clearing you two called your temporary home, a safe sanctuary far enough away from the madness but close enough to town to gather what you needed. You emerged from the tent Joel built for you–and only you because he always slept outside and guarded you like a dog. He had a mug of coffee pressed to his lips and his eyes fixated on a map of the United States.

“Mornin’,” he said gruffly, setting the cup down on the oakwood box, the wet coffee staining his mustache darker shades of gray-brown.

“Good morning.” You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Some.”

“You need any help with anythin’?” You asked, brows pinching together as you cast a glance over at the dwindling food supplies. You’d just about picked over the town, as much as you could without risking your lives at least. And both of you were having trouble in the hunting department. Joel didn’t want to use guns anymore out of fear of drawing attention to yourselves after what happened at the house. You needed to lay low for a while.

“No.” He said firmly.

Not that it mattered if he put you to work or not. Over the last few weeks, you’ve kept yourself busy with your own projects. Like gathering wood and sticks to make trap boxes. You had about four done by now, and were working on a stick trap now that you planned to set up just north of here.

You learned to make traps back in the QZ and even prided yourself on winning first place in the trap creation contest at your high school. Every kid had to go through a checklist of acquired survival skills to graduate from the academy. Basic first aid, cooking, hunting or trapping, mechanics, and foraging.

It was safe to say that you had very entry-level experience with all of the above, none of which were ever applied out in the field, but something was better than nothing. Now you were well accustomed to trapping, enough to at least catch some squirrels and bunnies to help keep both of you somewhat fed. Still, most of your traps were empty when you checked them. Food scarcity was slowly creeping up on both of you.

Joel watched you from his spot near the fire as you got back to it, working the twine around the sticks to wind them together. Things had been off since you had sex, but never spoke of it and it hasn’t happened again since. Your relationship was bordering on platonic as your conversations usually revolved around day-to-day chores and what you’d eat for dinner that evening.

The lack of connection with Joel left you feeling hollow. You weren’t sure what you were hoping for. It would be ridiculous to assume he’d just be your boyfriend and the two of you would live happily ever after. No, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but you weren’t back to whatever it was you were before you had sex either. And now it’s out in the open that you’re about to be the mother of his child.

Joel’s different moods were giving you whiplas. He was sweet with you one day, taking you on imaginary diner dates and making love to you next to a fire, and the next he was icy cold and barely seemed to want you around.

It stung.

“You should sleep. I can keep an eye on everything.” You didn’t want him to feel obligated to do everything and protect you all the time at his own expense. It wasn’t worth it if he was going to start getting grumpy with you again.

“‘M fine,” he croaked, voice saturated with exhaustion.

“Watcha lookin’ at there?” You asked, jutting your chin out to the map in his hands.

“Plannin’ our next move,” he said flatly, and you expected him to share more but you realize you’re going to have to extract it out of him just like with everything else.

“I think I should have a say in that, no?”

“Like I had a say in when you were finally gonna tell me about my kid in your belly?” He snapped back.

You crossed your arms, feeling his eyes like daggers on you before he dragged his gaze back down to the map. “So you’re mad at me.”

There was silence for a few moments and you started to think that he’s going to ignore you until finally, he said, “‘M looking at the routes to Wyoming.”

“Wyoming? What’s in Wyoming?”

“My brother. Tommy.”

“Okay…” you supported Joel reconnecting with his brother, said so from the start. But right now, your pregnant brain tried to wrap your head around where his thought process was. Two months ago, he never wanted to see his brother again. Then he gets a girl knocked up, stays up all night boring his eyes into a map, and then says he wants to trek to Wyoming with his baby mama. “And then what happens when we get to Wyoming?”

“He’ll know what to do. Wherever he is, wherever he left the Fireflies to be, ��m pretty sure it’s a place we’d want to be too.”

“Back when Tommy ‘n I were–” Joel flicked his gaze briefly to the ground and then back to you, stopping himself from divulging too much about his past. You both knew that Joel was a raider, but it wasn’t somethin’ Joel let roll off his tongue carelessly. You figured it was a shame he couldn’t bear to hear.

If you were being honest with yourself, it was a truth you didn’t like to think about either. You always thought of Joel as a good man. He saved you. He had good in him. You knew that. The rest didn’t matter if it was all in the past. Right?

Your mind flashed back to all of the dead men back in that house. They had to die, or both of you would have. That’s what you told yourself as you washed the memory back, burying it somewhere deep in the crevices of your mind and shifting your focus to winding twine around sticks.

Joel took another sip of stale coffee. “We planted Tommy in the QZ to help us make some deals easier. Rest of us didn’t live in there with all their rules, so we chose to roam free. Had a ranch outside the city ‘n everything. Then it all went to shit when FEDRA caught Tommy with us and he had to run for it.” He shook his head, probably remembering some fight they had before he left.

“I asked him to stay with us, but… He was done.” Joel continued.

“Whatever happened between you, I’m sure that he’ll forgive you. He’s your brother.”

“I don’t know. But I have to try. We can’t stay out here forever with you like this…” His eyes shot up to your stomach and then back to his cup. He knocked back the rest of the coffee and then propped his elbows on his knees. He wipes his face with his palm.

“I trust you. If you say we need to go, then I trust you. I think it’s a good idea to reconnect with you brother, I always have. I just hope you’re sure about where he is.” You could tell he was stressed by the dark circles under his eyes. This was weighing on him already. “It’s a long journey from here, and we don’t know what we’ll find along the way. It would be a shame if we went all the way there and didn’t find what we were looking for.”

“He’s alive. I know him.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“He’s alive, and he’s in Wyoming. That’s the end of the story.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.” Whether or not Tommy was alive wasn’t what you were concerned about. You were concerned about whether or not you and Joel would make it alive. You were about to journey through no man’s land. A pregnant girl with no fighting experience and Joel, whose capabilities you didn’t doubt, but he was still just one man.

He took another sip of his coffee and sets the chipped mug down, mustache wet with coffee. “You hungry?”

“Um, not right now.” There isn’t enough food for the day yet, but maybe if you finish this trap…

“How about some eggs?”

“You found eggs?” Your eyes grow wide with excitement.

“Sure did. Got a rabbit too. I finished up some arrows for the crossbow and hunted it early this morning.” He looks proud of himself, and he’s got a right to be.

“Joel.” Your eyes narrowed on the man.

“What?”

“Sleep.” There was an unnatural command to your voice that you weren’t used to, but you couldn’t stand to let him destroy himself.

“I will. Later.”

********

The night air was so cold that it stung the parts of you that weren’t snuggled up inside your sleeping bag. Joel was crouching beside you, shuffling through his pack to find something warmer to put on. You insisted that he get some sleep, but he gruffly refused. Said he needed to keep watch in case any of the nocturnal creatures–or worse–wandered into your camp. He was about as stubborn as the persistent sores on your feet, so you didn’t try to persuade him further.

Joel hovered at the entrance of the tent, brows furrowing in thought as his eyes focused on the corner of the ocean-blue tarp. In the distance, you could see the campfire’s bright yellow waves splashing against the silhouette of branches, jagged arms stretching toward the moon.

The orange glow from the fire radiated along Joel’s profile, illuminating his fierce jawline and the curve of his nose.

“So how long have you known exactly?” Joel’s voice was a gentle whisper, careful not to startle any animals that might lurk outside the clearing.

You sighed, chewing your cheek. Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew that you kept this a secret from him. “Just a couple weeks or so, I guess.”

“‘n why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Joel’s nostrils flared slightly. What transpired between you the night before had been a fleeting moment, an eruption of emotions, heat, physical attraction, and the adrenaline from surviving an altercation. You worried that was all it was.

“It’s not easy being a woman, Joel. Especially not now. We never know what to expect and we need to be prepared for the worst.” You began, but you saw the pressing look in Joel’s gaze that reflected his dissatisfaction with your answer. “I was afraid.”

“‘Fraid’a what?” His Texan tang almost sounds mean with the way his voice raises a decibel above a whisper like he’s accusing you of something–and he wouldn’t be wrong in that. He tutted. “Damn, I knew it. You’ve been walking around carrying my child for weeks and didn’t think I should know?”

“I was afraid that you’d leave me if you knew.”

You wished you could engrain the image of his face into your mind, the epitome of utter shock. His face twisted and his nose scrunched in disgust. It confirmed your suspicions that he was mad at you.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Joel. This–” you paused, thinking about the love you have for the baby growing inside you, but knowing full well you can’t offer them much in terms of quality of life. “This isn’t the time to be pregnant. I know back then it used to be somethin’ to be happy about–throw parties over or some shit, and yeah I’d give anything for a chance to live like they did. To have a child in a world where I felt like they had a fighting chance to thrive. To be happy. But now…?”

You laughed through your nose, casting your gaze to the slit of the tent. Trying hard to ignore the growing lump in your throat that threatened to make your voice go squeaky as tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

Hold it in, hold it in, hold it in.

“Wasn’t always somethin’ people planned. Trust me,” he grumbled.

You tilted your head.

“Look…” He rubs his hand down his face and then his eyes flick to you, still searing your gaze into the firepit crackling outside. “Sweetheart… I'm so–I'm so sorry. I shouldn't of taken advantage of you like that, I’m not the guy you think I am. I’m…”

“It’s not your fault, Joel. We’re both adults. We knew what we were doin’.”

He looked over his shoulder and gazed out at the dwindling fire.

“Back then, people had kids thinkin’ everythin’ was gonna be fine. Then the fuckin’ world collapsed and now their kids are either miserable or dead.” He said.

“We could have died back there. What if you had died and they took me? Kept me around to use as they pleased and then disposed of me when I was no longer useful. Maybe they woulda spared me and kept me around and then did God-knows-what to me while I’m carrying your child. You want that for our baby?” There’s something in your tone that’s almost begging for Joel to say he doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want you.

“No.” He frowned.

“I know you don’t want this. And I won’t be mad at you for bein’ honest with me, ‘mkay?” There was no use in pretending to be something you guys weren’t ever going to be. Your eyes watered and your stupid brain thought of that dumb cardboard cutout family from Target. You wanted to rip it to shreds.

Joel’s chest rose and fell. He studied you, eyes never tearing away from yours.

“The second you told me you were pregnant, I realized I had somethin’ to live for. Someone to fight for.”

The tears finally poured, spilling down your cheek. You folded your lips together to hold back the sobs, tasting the salty wetness that coated them.

“Come're.” He hugged you from behind. “We’re gonna be just fine, okay? We’re gonna figure this out. I’ll make sure ya have everything ya need.” He was whispering into your neck.

“I need you to be more careful is what I need. Thought I might lose you back in town. I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

“Baby, I told you ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me.” He framed your chin with his hand and angled your head upward. “ Look at me–look. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Even though he was right, even though it was clear as day that Joel had an almost supernatural ability to live like bad, unwatered grass that just didn’t die, you still felt an ominous tug warning you to be careful. That your life with Joel would be comparable to weathering a vicious storm that threatened to strip you of your basic resources. It was a gnawing feeling somewhere deep in your chest, a worrying sensation that if anything happened to Joel, you and your baby wouldn’t be able to endure this life.

Joel held you, one arm slipped into your sleeping bag and curled around your waist and the other draped over the worn fabric of the bag. “Stay and lay with me. Please.”

“No. I need to go out and keep watch. Can’t be lettin’ my guard down.”

“Not even for a few minutes?” You bat your lashes and nibble on your bottom lip.

“No.”

“So mean,” you tease. “So strict.”

“Not that again.” You felt his rumbling voice against your back.

“I just want to help you relax a little. Take the edge off.”

No wasn’t an answer you wanted to hear right now. You subtly rolled your hips against his thighs and he stiffened behind you.

Stubborn man.

“I have more on my wishlist, you know.” You smirked devilishly, knowing you were being a manipulative little brat but you didn’t care. “Stuff I want to do… Positions I want to try…” You pressed back into his crotch against, turning your neck to look up at him. You suddenly felt something hard against your ass. He groaned, hand sliding down to your hip and squeezing.

“Tell me what else you’d want to do that you ain’t done yet.”His voice was dripping with lust as he smiled, his teeth against your cheek.

“I want to make love in a tent out in the woods. All. Night. Long.”

“Fuck…” His lips were on your neck, sucking on the soft skin and lapping circles in between sucks. His kisses trailed up and down your neck, frantic and heady.

You turned your head back around to look at him with hooded eyes, gaze landing on his lips in longing. Then your mouth found his, nibbling and tugging on his bottom lip. He let you play and tease him for a minute before giving in to his carnal urges, slipping his tongue into your mouth and forcing you to swallow his groans.

His thumb and forefinger found one of your peaks, pulling the nub a few times. Teasing you. Then he rolled it and you felt every part of your body tingle. Suddenly you imagined you were back in that cabin. On the floor by the fire, naked for him when he took you that first time. It was the first time you made love that he gave you a baby, and it would be a memory you would never forget.

Joel felt something shift in you as he pawed at your breast and it excited him. He rolled his hips into your ass with need. Demanding hands grabbed the lining of your pants and yanked them down. Then he was pressed up against you again and you could feel his warmth through his jeans. You felt him hard and pulsing with need against your ass.

He teased the entrance of your panties, just above the little bow on the fabric, letting his calloused fingertips tickle your skin in slow, unbearable strokes. You shifted yourself upward a little to encourage him to go further. He chuckled sinfully into your neck.

Joel let his fingers slip into your panties, pressing two fingertips to the little bud. You moaned at his touch and he rewarded you by rubbing delicious circles into you and licking the side of your neck.

He sunk a finger into you and you wrapped around him tightly in response.

“Fuck. You’re tight.” He slid in and out, keeping his palm pressed to your clit as he split you open. Another thick finger went in and you were seeing stars. He fucked his fingers into you faster, picking up the pace as you chased your high. Your back arched in need and you could feel his other arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

“Come for me. Can you do that, baby?”

You moaned in response and assumed he took that as a yes by the speed of his fingers thrusting into you, pulling the orgasm from you like it was the last thing he would do. Your jaw went slack and your brows knitted inward, locking eyes with the man as he rammed into you like a beast and made you come harder than you ever had.

When you came to, he left your pussy empty and pushed your back down with surprising force. You yelped a little. His hand was pressed firmly on the back of your head to keep you pinned to the sleeping bag while your ass was up on display. Joel was crouched behind you, swiftly unbuckling his belt with his free hand and then tearing your panties off in one fluid motion. You frowned a little, thinking he better not make a habit out of that or else you’d have no choice but to run around without any underwear.

“Baby I can’t keep my cock outta you. We’re gonna have to find some kind of birth control after this.” It was the only warning he gave before he thrust into your heat, growling and swearing as his shoved into you in one long stroke. His fingers combed through your hair gently and then yanked you upward and his chest was flush against your back.

You screamed. He liked the sound of that, growling and somehow burying himself even further into you. Stretching you full.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed outside of this tent. The only thing that kept you tethered to this earth was Joel and the fullness of him between your legs. You’d feel pleasantly sore in the morning.

“You’re takin’ me so well, baby.” Joel praised.

His thighs slapped against your ass in a steady rhythm. There was a bruising grip on your hips now that you kind of liked. It made you feel wanted. Desired. Like he owned you.

“Fuck me.” You begged, more than ready to submit to him.

He slapped your ass and you felt your cheek ripple. He slapped it again, and you moaned, but just when you thought you couldn’t possibly be more stimulated, Joel sunk his teeth into your shoulder and rammed into you, cursing each time he buried himself to the hilt.

The man was an absolute animal, but you loved every second of it.

There was something addicting about the feel of his teeth on your skin combined with the sound of his deep growls.

Joel fucked hard and fast, but there were moments when he’d slow his pace and slide into you in long, brutal, strokes. He wanted to keep things going for as long as he could. Savoring the moment that your bodies connected like this. You knew because you felt the same way.

“I want to come together.” You were panting violently as you approached your release. The tight feeling in your core was unwinding and threatening to burst.

“Yeah, baby. Fuckin’ come for me.” His words were hot in your ear again. One hand was firm on your hips, drawing you into him with each pounding thrust. The other hand had your hair wrapped around his palm, angling your head back toward him. “Need to feel you suck my cock in so I can come.”

His pace was vicious. Greedy. Like would take, take, take until he ruined you. It threatened to spill you over the edge. His balls were slapping against your clit at just the right angle and then you were done for. Back arching, walls clenching around him. His cock swelled inside you, pulsing as he spilled himself inside of you. It felt warm and hot and wet.

You loved the way he kissed you. The way he licked you. The way he fondled your breasts, teasing the peaks between his fingers. The way he praised you and whispered sweet nothings into your ear to get you to come undone for him. You loved how safe he made you feel with him, even as he completely ruined you. You loved how he fucked you.

But more importantly, you loved him.

When you were done, he zipped up his pants and pulled a sweater back over his chest.

Just as he was about to leave, you touched his arm and tugged him back toward you, silently asking him to stay. He brushed you off.

“Get some sleep.” His tone was curt. Cold. A stark contrast to the heated, lust-driven sweetness from moments ago.

You were pregnant with the man’s child, yet you still didn’t know what the two of you were. ~~~~ a/n: I plan on turning up the drama and angst, so don't get too comfortable. These two will work things out eventually, but Joel is very damaged and needs to find himself first. <3

masterlist here

#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader smut #joel x you #fanfic #the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x preg!reader #joel miller pregnancy fanfic #raider!joel

49 notes · View notes