#tyler fog

[buk0wskis]

all this talk abt the cybertruck explosion… girl i’ve seen this number before

[ryanss18]

i ran over a frog today then i buried it under a tree that, then set on fire.

oh crap this isnt my diary

[soapbox-tao333]

introduction

salutations. welcome to my tumblr blog!!

i will post art and shitposts on here which will most likely be of the following:

one: my five nights at freddy's au and storyline which is called "THE ARTEMIS PROJECT".

two: sig (mostly dp and mir) (the brainrot is real.)

-and miscellaneous

now, onto some info about the artist;

i go by three names: rory, vinnie, and michael. other choices are redwine monarchy, protag, and soapbox tao (or just soapbox)

i go by he/it/she/they pronouns

music i listen to includes will wood, tyler the creator, horrorcore (genre), machine girl, goreshit, ethel cain, oingo boingo, korn, system of a down, nero's day at disney land, femtanyl, chappell roan, charli xcx, sophie, and more

DNI: DARKSHIPPERS, RACISTS, PEDOS, HOMO/TRANSPHOBES, NAZIS, & ABLIESTS.

i'm also neurodivergent

feel free to ask me anything

[miyagi-hokarate]

Was gonna say Cruel Summer by Bananarama but thought it would be too predictable so Burning Heart by Survivor!✨

Hiiiiiii ✨

Considering my pinned post is currently Cruel Summer, I think that probably has something to do with my musical perception...

But LMAOOOOO I haven't heard Burning Heart by Survivor in a LONG TIME — I needed a refresher ajdkahskhsk (confession: I've never watched any of the Rocky movies 🙈). It is just as 80s as I remembered HAHAHAHAHA

Thanks!!

(Send me a song that matches my Tumblr vibe!)

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Ok! So! Prompt time: emotional hurt/comfort + Malcolm x Hannah (or twelve x rose but it’s more fun to see Malcolm in this situation) BUT it’s Hannah (or Rose) who needs some serious comfort.

oh, i love this prompt!! so much!! i went with rose & tucker for this one because i had an idea come to me right away for them, hope you don't mind. also, please be advised that this fic involves grief over a canon character death.

enjoy!

to read on ao3, click here!

-

The morning of November 7th dawns cold and pale, with his mobile buzzing angrily toward the edge of his nightstand and no Rose beside him.

Now, Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic by even the most vigorous stretch of the imagination, but only one of those two things feels like an emergency.

He silences his mobile.

Sliding out of bed, he reaches for a jumper—a deep, rich shade of green he never would have picked for himself—and pads across the bedroom toward the hissing sound of the shower running.

One thing he's learned about Rose in the course of their… entanglement—is that she is not a morning person. Her aversion to alarm clocks is on par with his reaction to phone calls from Number 10 these days. As in, there's usually a lot of swearing involved, maybe some hives.

But if Rose being awake at this hour is unusual, her being conscious enough to shower is unheard of. Which makes it either a miracle on par with loaves and fishes, or a catastrophe.

"Rose?"

She gives no answer, or at least, not one that he can make out over the spray of water. But the door is cracked, and he pushes it open further to get a better look. It takes him several seconds to recognise why the air feels wrong: it's cold.

There's no steam billowing out from behind the curtain, and the unexpected draft indicates that the little porthole window behind her is open. An icy feeling slices through him, unrelated to the chill autumn air.

"Rose," he says again, a little more sharply. "Are you in there? Is this some kind of horror film set-up we're doing? You should know I've never seen Psycho."

There's confirmation of life in the sound of a sniffle, which could be a laugh but—his chest tightens—probably isn't.

"Don't come in," she mumbles.

"Why, have you got a knife?"

"That's not what h-happens in Psycho."

Mouth falling into a grim line at the unsteadiness of her voice, he reaches for the curtain.

"Okay, what the fuck is going—"

Shit. His heart does something his cardiologist probably would not like, and his hand falls limp at his side. Shit, and also fuck.

Because Rose is sitting in the very corner of the tub, down to her knickers and the ringer shirt he'd lent her to sleep in. She's curled up there, like she's trying to be a tiny ball instead of a person.

"Jesus Christ, have you lost your mind?" he snaps. "It's fucking freezing in here." When he reaches through the shower spray to touch her, he hisses at the temperature and withdraws. The water's cold, too. Frigid.

She bundles tighter into herself. "Just go, Malcolm, please."

His jaw locks.

Yeah, there's no way in hell he's going to just turn around and prance off to make his morning coffee while his… whatever-she-is has some kind of meltdown in his fucking shower that apparently requires subarctic temperatures.

"It's my bathroom, actually, so I think I'll stay, thanks," he shoots back, not bothering to regulate his tone.

For someone who has spent approximately twenty-three hours of every day in a state of unhinged stress for the last two decades, he is aware he should probably be hardened to the feeling by now. The two years he's been out of the business isn't nearly enough time for the conditioning to fade. But for some reason, seeing Rose in this condition has him reeling like it's his first press tour. His mouth takes off without his permission.

"I mean, talk about psycho. Is this some kind of new beauty routine I don't know about, like kiwi fucking facials and sperm hair treatments? 'Cause I have to say, I don't care for this particular trend. You'll freeze your perfectly lovely tits off, for one thing. And for another, you—Rose?"

He stops short, watching a tremble travel through her. It's like the ground during an earthquake, moments before a fissure opens—before damage becomes destruction. Unsalvageable.

She's trying not to cry. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Okay, you're actually scaring me now," he says, voice going flat. "What's happening here? Do I need to call a doctor? A psychic?" Her chin jerks up, and she stares at him with reddened eyes. "A priest?"

"No." The word is harsh, but he doesn't give a shit, because she comes a little back to life as she says it. Her eyes flare up at him beneath clotted, dark lashes. "I'm n-not possessed. God. You're so—I just… need a minute, all right?"

"Well, I'm sorry, darling, I don't think you have a minute before hypothermia sets in. You're turning fucking blue."

She seems intent on ignoring him—or perhaps she's just ignoring reality in general—because she promptly buries her face in her arms again, where they're crossed over her bare knees.

He's not lying; there is a strange lavender cast to her toes, her kneecaps, the tips of her fingers. She looks like a wax doll version of herself. But if she won't do anything about it, it's apparently fucking up to him.

Sighing, he braves the frigid shower spray again to reach for the knob, turning it towards the heated side. A new rush of warmer water soaks his sleeve.

So much for his nice, cosy morning plans.

"Look, just tell me what's going on," he tells her slowly, reaching over her head to tug the window closed, "and then if you really want me to leave you to it, I will."

It takes her about a full minute under the spray to stop shivering—longer for some colour to return to her skin, and even longer than that to answer him.

He knows she's working on it by the flexing of her fingers and toes, the gentle rocking motion she makes as she attempts to build her courage. He knows all the signs. The words are just sitting in there like stones; she's just struggling to pick them up and actually say them. And hell if he hasn't been there before.

Finally, she lifts her head again. Her cheeks are ruddy, and he realises she's been crying for a long time.

"My dad's dead."

Totally lacking in emphasis, her words still hit him like a ton of bricks. A one-two-three punch of deadpan delivery.

"Shit." No, that's not right. His brain is full of fucking smoke alarms. "I'm sorry." Better.

"Yeah." The silence dangles for a second. "It's nothing to do with you."

That takes him out at the kneecaps, and suddenly he's sitting on the lip of the tub, catching his breath. What the hell? "I… didn't think it was." He hesitates before asking, "When?"

Her eyes close. "He died 27 years ago today."

"Jesus. Rose, why didn't you tell me?"

"When exactly was I s-supposed to slip it into conversation, Malcolm?" Her lids bat back open in a second, and she turns her most challenging glare on him. "When you made that stupid joke about daddy issues, was I supposed to go, 'Surprise! My dad did actually die when I was six months old, but please have sex with me anyway'? And then," she barrels on, "we decided we weren't, you know, serious or whatever, and I kept assuming it would… end eventually? But we just kept seeing each other and the date kept creeping up, and I ignored it, because it's not like you're my fucking boyfriend."

The whiplash of her cursing would probably make him laugh if he wasn't feeling so desperately miserable.

"And then I came over last night and you—and then I… decided to stay…" She shakes her head, damp strands of hair whipping against her cheek. There are blueish shadows under her eyes, violently contrasting with the red. "And I thought I could handle it and it would be fine, but then I woke up and I just—I couldn't… I just kept thinking—" and that's the last word that makes it out of her before her air supply seems to shut off. Her chest shudders and her eyes close, and he wants to peck out his own fucking liver for letting this entire awful situation come to be.

"You have to take a breath every now and then," he scolds instead. "Fuck's sake."

To his intense concern, that doesn't even earn him a withering look. Just a continuation of the weird hitching rhythm of her chest. Her hands clench tighter around her knees, dimpling the skin with pale half-moons. Looking at her is borderline unendurable.

He groans. "Fuck this." And then he swings around over the ledge of the tub, kicking his limbs inside, where they are immediately soaked.

It's a big enough tub—compared to the size of his flat, the shower stall is almost impractically decadent—but it's not really meant for two. A fact he is keenly aware of as he goes to his knees beside Rose's shivering, twitching body.

Careful, he takes her by the shoulders and turns her around, then he spreads his knees as far as he's able—thanking hell he didn't decide to change into denims before this—so she can sort of sit in between them. He pulls her in until her curved back touches his chest.

The cotton clinging to her is still too cool, and he is grateful for the hot spray that continues to fall around them. At least, if they're going to be wet through, they can still share some goddamned body heat.

It's with this goal in mind that he wraps his arms around her—his whole body, hunching in over the snarled knot of her form. Letting their breathing fall into a shared, slower rhythm. "That's it," he feels himself say, like he's down some tunnel, far away from himself. "Just breathe with me, there's a girl."

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that: long enough for his knees to begin aching, and for the air to go humid against his nose, soft with the smell of her hair.

Her shampoo is sunny, somehow. Citrus, with something fresh and green.

"This is fucking ridiculous," he mumbles eventually. "You should have told me."

"I—" she starts, but he squeezes.

"Yes, yes. I should have made it easier for you to tell me, I know," he grinds out. "I'm an arsehole. And I shouldn't have said that shite about our ages either, because it only called attention to what's basically obvious to anyone with one or more eyes in their head. Which is that you can do far, far fucking better than me."

The worst part, which he does not mention, is that he hadn't even fucking meant anything by that whole 'daddy issues' bit. It had just felt expected, somehow—after the zoo that was his trial and with the zombie horde dogging his steps post-acquittal, he'd felt like an acknowledgement had to be made in case some hack wearing a wire was sitting nearby, just waiting to turn her relative youth and incredible beauty into a new headline in a smear piece.

The disgraced former spin doctor desperately pawing at a woman half his age would undoubtedly make a good photo op. So instead, he'd been snotty and perverse. And now he's paying for it.

Worse, she's paying for it.

"You should, by the way," he adds, feeling her hand squeeze back, curled somewhere around his wrist. "I'm serious. Anyone would be better. A fucking dogcatcher with a furs shop. A monk. I could set you up with fucking Ollie Reeder, so long as you don't mind that he's gay."

To his relief, she actually snorts. It's a laugh, liquified and wobbly, but real. "Oh, shut up."

"And I… I'm sorry about your dad." He swallows, having to force down a new wave of panic—not to do with her, this time. It's all him.

He braids their fingers together, feeling like a fucking pansy and trying to focus on the drumming water against his back. He so rarely fears inadequacy, but this is one area in which he's failed again and again and again.

He's been reliably informed that he is not a comforting presence.

"I really am, darling," he adds weakly.

"It was a long time ago," she says. "I barely even remember him."

"That doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Half of him waits for her to stiffen or recoil, while the logical part of his brain is forced to admit that Rose would never. She's far too kind.

That's always been his issue, really. She's just so goddamn kind, and he could kick himself in the head for taxing that. Keeping her at arm's length when she obviously doesn't want to be, making her feel like the showerhead would be a better listener. Christ.

She breathes deep instead, and her body unfolds itself until her head is resting on his chest.

"No," she admits. A long exhale. "It really doesn't."

The air is properly foggy now. Her skin is pink where he can see it. But he doesn't let go of her, and she gives no indication of wanting him to. He can feel the grief subsiding in the air, sucked down the drain.

That's the way of it: it comes in waves. And when it's gone, you might not resemble who you were before it.

"Ollie Reeder," she says, some indefinable time later. "God. I would literally rather donate my vagina to the National Trust. That's repulsive."

He kisses her shoulder, wishing fleetingly that it was bare. "Accept my apology."

"You know you didn't actually apologise for anything," she scoffs, sounding more and more like herself. "Except for my dad which, according to a near-thirty-year-old police report, you had nothing to do with."

But he kisses her again, and again, and she sighs. He likes to think she does so at least a little bit because it feels nice.

"Of course I forgive you, dickhead." He puffs a laugh against her, tightening his grip, and she settles into it like a cat in a sunray. Fucking unbelievable. "I know we haven't… really talked about it properly, Malcolm, but I—I mean, I get it, you know?" Two of her fingers fiddle with his damp sleeve. "Neither of us is particularly trusting."

"Understatement of the millennium."

"But I want to," she goes on, words seizing his heart in his chest. Seriously, Dr. Jones is going to kill him at their next appointment. "Trust you, I mean. Is that stupid?"

Her bones under his hands feel strong and sturdy, and her flesh is as forgiving as the rest of her, and he finally allows himself to feel all the fear he's been keeping at bay since the moment they met on that street corner, two in the morning. It had felt like a colossal fuck-up waiting to happen, or like an undeserved stay of execution.

"Yes," he answers shortly. "Probably so." He clears his throat, the sound feeling too loud in the close space. "But at least we're on equal idiot footing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the motion of her cheeks, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, she's smiling. Blotchy and sweet.

Malcolm Tucker is not a romantic man. He's just fucking not. But he'd swear up and down in a court of law that he could get lost in Rose Tyler's gaze and be perfectly happy for it.

His fear fades into a background hum, suddenly fucking unimportant. He feels himself soften in ways he's still figuring out how to allow.

After a moment, her tongue slides between her teeth. "You've really never seen Psycho?"

He rolls his eyes with a groan. "What is with this generation and your relentless nostalgia?" he complains. "There are about five hundred brand new superhero movies to choose from and you want to watch some old—"

With her hands on his for balance, Rose pushes up a little, stretches her spine, and shuts him up with a kiss.

[wizzard890]

okay so picture this.

You're a man named Jim Steinman. You are one of the most prolific songwriters of the 80s. In your spirit, output and essence, you are eternally popping a wheelie on a motorcycle while a hot half-naked woman clings to you and bats wheel in the sky above.

You wrote a song in which Meatloaf plays a hideously disfigured hunk who steals a nubile lady back to his crumbling manor and introduces her to the pleasures of magic lesbian group sex.

You wrote a song in which Celine Dion sings as Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, dancing with Cathy's corpse on a beach in the moonlight; a scene which you, Jim Steinman, believe should have been in the book. (The moors of Wuthering Heights are landlocked, but you, Jim Steinman, are too fucking real to care about that.)

You wrote the song for the opening scene of the movie Streets of Fire, in which evil leatherdaddy Willem Dafoe leads his malefic motorcycle crew into a concert to abduct Diane Lane while she's wearing a skintight satin jumpsuit.

You wrote a song in which Bonnie Tyler wanders a haunted boarding school as literal demon twinks gyrate at her out of the fog.

There is no peak of goth camp that you, Jim Steinman, have not summited, no horny energy you have not tapped. They say that Alexander the Great wept when he saw there were no more worlds to conquer. But you, Jim Steinman, are not Alexander the Great. You, Jim Steinman, are better. You, Jim Steinman, have vision.

You take your most successful song, the song everyone knows, the most big-haired, white dress, gothic arches, doves flying, possessed choir boys chanting, bombastic song you have, and think: what if this, but with vampires.

And so you change the lyrics to be about death and infinity and a powerful bloodsucking lord seducing a girl who is ALL ABOUT IT, and then toss off a whole musical for this song to be the centerpiece to, and the musical is bad but it's also a weird hit that's been staged in fourteen countries and revived seven times, because nothing has ever whipped as campily, as ridiculously, as perfectly as this:

It never takes off in America. A prophet is without honor in his own land. But that doesn't matter. How could it matter? You are perhaps the most creatively self-actualized man who has ever lived. Look at that vampire. He's coming in hot and a hundred Venetian nuns gave their lives to make his ludicrously capacious lace sleeves. Look at that girl. She was born in a fog machine. She wore her best red velvet cape. She's down bad. She's singing Total Eclipse of the Heart the whole time.

You are Jim Steinman, and you have reached apotheosis.

[cybrasigilism]

girl, hear me out... jun-ho & the reader doin it in a police car... IF NOT, I COULD TAKE FLUFF IDRC OR MIND 🤷‍♀️

girl when i tell you a giggled with GLEE at this request..

Wheels (Hwang Jun-ho X Reader Drabble)

warnings: smut (no shit sherlock) | non proofread | lowercase intended | car sex (so ig public sex too in a way?) | unprotected sex | oral (f + m receiving) | PiV | overstimulation (f) | praise kink | this is my interpretation of this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differ from your own

character: hwang jun-ho (the police officer)

A/N: yk a jun-ho request absolutely hates to see me coming 😈 needed to make this a drabble or i’d go certifiably insane (go listen to VCR/Wheels by Tyler RIGHT NEAOW)

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ・ ⟢ ──

fucking in the cop car? while being something you yourself have considered a few times since the beginning of your relationship with jun-ho, you always assumed it was something entirely out of the question, especially considering how seriously he took his job. so to say you were shocked when jun-ho was the one to suggest it was an understatement, but you certainly weren’t going to complain.

there were definitely no complaints when you two actually got around to it. now a car definitely isn’t the most romantic of all places to have sex, but you guys for sure made it work. of course, you were going to be on the receiving end of oral first, you knew that jun-ho wouldn’t have it any other way. for some reason, sitting on his face in the fully reclined passenger seat was just ten times hotter. maybe it was the challenge of it all, maybe it was how quickly the windows steamed up, allowing you to leave handprints while you steadied yourself as he ate you out, nevertheless you certainly didn’t want him to stop.

it must have been a special occasion, because this was one of the only instances where jun-ho allowed you to suck his dick. he said preferred to focus on pleasing you, but something inside you figured he was somehow embarrassed of the sounds he made when you let his cock separate your lips. for the first bit, he’d probably try to bite his lip or cover his mouth, anything to hold back his voice. but, if you persist and deepthroat him? yeah he won’t be able to contain himself. now it’s jun-ho who’s steadying himself against the fogged up window, simultaneously grabbing your hair lightly as you try your damnedest to make him feel as good as he makes you feel. he’ll go on about how “i should let you do this more often if you’re gonna suck me this good, fuck” and his moans will be unlike you’ve ever heard them before; lighter, more sporadic, you could definitely get used to this.

you best believe the only way this man is fucking you in the car is if you ride him. the two of you concluded that your go-to position (missionary) would be uncomfortable and impractical if either of you had to lay down in the backseat. even though jun-ho much rathers being on top (in the literal sense), he does get quite touchy while you’re bouncing on his dick. he’ll grab just about anything he can, his main mission is to draw those angelic sounds from your mouth after all. he lets you do most of the work but will occasionally buck his hips up into you if he feels you start to lose your pace, he could very easily just sit back and watch you ride his cock though.

jun-ho will totally praise you throughout the experience, after all why wouldn’t he encourage his pretty girl to continue to fuck him good?

“that’s it, ride me just like that gorgeous”

“don’t stop now, you’re doing so well”

“fuck, if you keep going like this… i don’t think i ever want you to stop”

you guys are both getting overstimulated inside that car, and that is a guarantee. how can you not? when the pleasure is too good, it would be foolish for either one of you to ever want it to come to an end. the more times either of you cum, your rhythm begins to falter, your bodies become shakier and you guys become much more vocal. all of this adds up to making the final climax feel so much better, the last release becomes that much more rewarding.

if this is how car sex with jun-ho looks, then it’s about high time you consider making it a more frequent occurrence.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ ・ ⟢ ──

full disclosure, i was totally zoinked writing this so i’m sorry if it doesn’t make a lot of sense. i fear this has been sitting in my drafts for an embarrassing amount of time but here it is!! i apologize for the delay and thank you for reading :)

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested!

have a fantastic night/day lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @marymustdie @putrescentpoet

[biggestsimponhere]

‘Tis the damn season

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

➻ Synopsis: You left your hometown at 18 yet here you stand ten years later in front of the only person you’ve ever loved

➻ Requests are always welcome!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

If i wanted to know who you were hanging with while i was gone i would have asked you

There was once a time when you could have asked Tyler Owen’s anything and you would’ve gotten an answer. But you left. Ten years ago. Something about the small town thing that you couldn’t get over, you felt trapped. Now you lay in your bed, it’s cold out, you’re curled under blankets and watching videos of the so called tornado wrangler on youtube. You smile despite yourself, you had missed him but you had to go.

A girl enters the side of the screen, one you didn’t recognize. Her hair was blonde with dark brown roots, her doe eyes practically sparkling as she looks at tyler. You can’t help the pang of loss that shoots through your chest. You push the feeling down and turn off your phone, shoving it far underneath your pillow. You have no right to be jealous you know that but you miss him and then there’s her, you can’t get the image of her out of your mind as you lay there in the dark. Your eye catches on a shirt hanging off the handle of your closet door.

Tyler’s shirt. You remember the day you got that shirt so vividly. It was cold, despite the heat that usually comes being on the south, arkansas winter had a way of chilling you when you didn’t want it. The two of you were walking home from local diner, it was late and snowing and neither of you had thought to bring a coat. Tyler had shrugged off his flannel and draped it over your shoulders before pulling you closer. The two of you walked to your house practically glued at the hip.

It’s the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass but i felt it when i passed you, there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me

“Y/n?” A voice calls from your left. You had been out shopping, grabbing some last minute things your mom needed to cook, because of course she would send you. Luckily for you it wasn’t tyler’s voice. It was boones. You smile as you turn and greet him. “Does ty know you’re back in town? I mean he must not if he hasn’t already shown up at your door” Boone questions as he stares at you. “He doesn’t know i’m back and you can’t tell him, i’m going to leave as soon as the holidays are over” You say pleadingly. Lily slides into the conversation seemingly having overheard you two.

You glance at lily, “wait, he’s not here right?” you ask slightly panicked. “No he’s not, he sent us out to get things, you know how he is” Lily shrugged. You breathe out a sigh of relief but can’t help the longing that goes through you. “You’re going to have to tell him y/n” Lily says sternly. You know you left things shaky, you also know Tyler never got an explanation. “He doesn’t need me ruining his life,” You shake your head, “He’s got that girl, i saw her on the video” You say quietly. “Who? Kate?” Boone laughs. You find yourself quirking an eyebrow at him because what’s so funny.

“Why are you laughing bo, i’m serious” You say softly, trying to keep your true emotions from slipping through. “If you think tyler’s gotten over you just because you’ve been gone for ten years then you are absolutely ridiculous” He wipes tears from his eyes as he laughs. “What’re you talking about bo, there’s no way he still misses me” You interject breaking through his laughter. “I’ve gotta go, i’ve missed you both… don’t tell ty… please” You say quietly as you hug them. They both give you their reassurance that they won’t tell him but they think you should.

i’m stayin at my parents house, and the road not taken looks real good now

Being back in your high school bedroom is harder than you thought it would be. They didn’t touch anything. The pictures of you and tyler, happy, smiling from ear to ear decorate every corner of your mirror. You stare at them for a minute before pulling one off. It’s always been your favorite one, the two of you had taken it while trying to figure out how to use your polaroid camera when you first got it. It was slightly blurry but the smiles beaming at you through the photo tell you all you need to know. Tyler had taken it, his arms outstretched as he holds the camera away from the two of you, you’re reaching for it in the photo and maybe that’s why it’s tilted like that or maybe it’s because tyler’s hand was shaking so bad from laughing.

You curl back onto your bed, the polaroid clutched in your hand as you bring the covers up under your chin. You’ve never been one for wallowing but there’s something about being back here. Your mother finds you like that hours later. She sits on the bed beside you, softly pulling the polaroid from your hand and setting it on your nightstand. She knows you miss tyler. She also knows why you left in the first place. She tucks the blanket tighter around you and kisses your head softly before heading back out of the room. You don’t wake despite the creaking of the old door as she shuts it.

She heads back downstairs and settles back into the kitchen. After baking for about an hour or two she does what any sane mother would do and she pulls out the phone book. She laughs quietly as she searches for the number and smiles triumphantly once she’s got it. She moves to the phone hanging on the wall. Despite all the gorgeous technological advancements of the twenty first century your mother refuses to give up her landline, claims her grandkids are gonna know how to properly use a phone. “Yes? Tyler? She’s home” Your mom sighs softly into the phone. You may blame her for this but she doesn’t care.

Time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tired, now i’m missing your smile, hear. me. out.

Tyler’s at your house in the next half an hour. Your mother greets him at the door. She invites him in and lets him know that you’re still asleep. “I guess i just don’t understand why you called” He says as he sits at the table, his chair, it takes him a moment to realize. He’s sitting in the chair he sat in for four years. “She misses you, she won’t say it but she does, she needs you” Your mother says as she joins him at the table. Tyler quirks his head at that, you left, what could you possibly need from him. “I’m sorry ma’am i’m just not really gettin it” He says quietly.

“I thought we’ve moved past you calling me ma’am” She reminds him softly. He nods, looking down. “To answer your question, i think she’s lost it, now i don’t mean her mind ya know, but her love of everything really, i know she left because she felt trapped but she stopped coming home, she stopped writing, somethings going on tyler” She explains as she sips on her coffee. Tyler’s expression shifts from confused to concerned. “What do ya mean?” He asks calmly, hoping not to project how badly he wants to run upstairs and wrap you in his arms. “She hasn’t come out of that room for days, i sent her out yesterday and she came home, dazed, she needs you” Her tone makes something shift in tyler.

“Can i.. can i go up there?” He’s practically bursting with the need to hold you. Your mother nods, a slight smile forming on her lips. He’s up the stairs before she gets the chance to say anything else. The door to your room creaks but you don’t look up, assuming it must be your mother again. “Sweetheart” A voice comes from the door. That’s not your mother. You’d know that voice anywhere. You jolt up in your bed. “Ty?” You question as your eyes adjust to the light pouring in from the hall. He shuts the door behind him, dowsing your bedroom back into darkness. The only light coming from the moon reflecting on the snow outside your window.

But if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me. We could call it even, you could call me babe for the weekend. ‘Tis the damn season.

Tyler moves closer to your bed, but slowly, sort of like approaching an animal that doesn’t want to be approached. “It’s me darling” He says as he draws closer. He’s reaching over to wipe the tears from your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying. You lean into his touch instinctively. “What’re you doing here ty?” You’re pushing back more tears as he sits beside you. He looks warm. Warmer than the cold bed you’re laying in. “Your ma called me”. You laugh disbelievingly. Of course she did.

“You didn’t have to come ty, i’m fine” You say unconvincingly. “Oh i’m sure you are sweetheart” The pet names he’s lathering you in almost make you forget how long you’ve been gone. “Why don’t we go out, you can come to mine, the team misses you yknow” He says as he pulls you into his side. Every time he touches you it’s delicate like he’s afraid you’ll push him away, but you don’t. You never could and you never would. “Really? You want me there?” You push at your nose, trying to get it to stop running. “I always want you around, you know that” He runs his fingers through your hair till you’ve relaxed against him once again.

It always leads to you, in my hometown, sleep in, half the day. Just for, old times sake. I wont ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.

It takes little to no convincing from there to get you to join him at his farmhouse. Snow glistens, costing the fields of grass and dirt. You’ve packed a bag, a small one but tyler wanted you around and you’d take what you can get. You don’t know what it is about being around him that makes you want to be yourself but there’s a pleasant safe feeling that fills the air. He pulls into the driveway of his family’s farm house. You smile at the sight of it, it looks just the same as it always has only this time it’s topped with fresh white snow. You smile slightly as you notice the team in the living room through the window.

Tyler helps you out of the truck and grabs your bag before helping you over the ice and inside. “You know where the guest room is” He says as he gestures down the hall. He’s right you do. The only guest room you’ve ever stayed in at his house despite the very many. It’s the one right beside his room. He always told you he wanted you as close as possible if his parents wouldn’t let you sleep in the same room. You smile at the memory as you set your bag down on the bed. You start walking back towards the living room when you heard something “She’s home huh?” You don’t know that voice, but you can only assume it belongs to that doe eyed blonde.

“She is” You can hear the smile in tyler’s response and it makes you feel slightly better about yourself. The group welcomes you back in like you’ve never been gone and you sit beside tyler as some christmas movie plays. Kate, you learned her name, sits across the room at a love chair alone. She’s been staring at you two for the past fifteen minutes and it’s getting a bit harder to ignore. When you stand and head to the kitchen for some water she follows you. You get slightly concerned she’s dating tyler before she explains her reason for following you out here. “I’ve not know him long, but i could tell something was wrong, and in this short period of time that you’ve been here it’s like you’ve ignited something in him” She says as she stares at you

It always leads to you in my hometown. it always leads to you… in my hometown.

Later that night you’re tossing and turning in bed. You can’t stop thinking about when you left, why you left, or if it was even worth it. Three knocks sound on the other side of the wall. You smile despite yourself. You know who it is, it’s tyler. You reach up and knock back twice. The confirmation that you’re still awake. He knocks back four times. An asking. More like a begging. Begging you to join him in his room. You think about it for a minute before you climb out of the guest bed, which is still slightly cold despite you lying in it for an hour. You make your way to tyler’s room and walk towards his bed.

He reaches out for you and pulls you down like no time has passed. You smile at him as he burries his face in your neck. “I’ve missed you” It’s said so softly against your skin that you almost missed it. You run a hand through his hair and he burrows further into you. “I’ve missed you too ty, i’m sorry” You say as you tuck your face into his neck. “don’t have to be sorry, just don’t leave me again” he sounds like a kid but he can’t help it. You nod against his neck. You’re not leaving. Nothing could take you away from this. Not again. You can feel his body relax against yours as you tell him you’re not going anywhere.

There are things the two of you are going to have to work on but for now… here… in his warm bed, cuddled up together nothing else really matters.

[disturbedbeautywrites]

Boots Don’t (Preview) - Tyler Owens Imagine

One shot, two shot, three shot, four.

The liquor was going down a little too easily as you leaned against the bar beside the dance floor in the little town you were in. The country music coming through the speakers was loud and pumping through your bones, but it was better than the quiet of your motel room. You were in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma at a dance hall with a couple of your storm chaser friends. They were beside you, handing you more liquor to heal your broken heart.

“Maybe we should cut her off. Tyler wouldn’t-“ Boone’s voice broke through the hazy fog of drunkenness that you had going on. You leveled him with a glare, making a point to throw back another shot. “Fuck what he thinks. He’s a dick and I don’t wanna hear his name again.” You snarled the words out as your best friend held out another shot and you took it, downing it with a celebratory yell.

Yeah, okay, so maybe hanging out with your ex boyfriend’s best friend wasn’t the best move. But, he unfortunately had the hots for your best friend and she had the hots for him too. So, he joined you for nights out more than he didn’t. It wasn’t a problem when you and Tyler were together. But now, it just made things awkward since your breakup a few months ago.

“Let’s go dance.” Suddenly you were being drug out to the middle of the dance floor as boot scooting boogie came on. The floor started filling up with other people who were as ready as you were to line dance. The smile on your lips was wide enough to split your face, your body falling into the familiar motions of the dance you had known since you were a teenager.

You let out a whoop as you laughed and danced with your friends, your boots carrying you through the movements effortlessly. You could feel eyes on you as you moved and you ignored it until the eyes turned into hands on your waist. You spun around and were met with a drunken grin from a random man. You tried to move away only to be met with him pulling you against him with more force. “C’mon darlin’ don’t be like that.” His voice made you physically try to recoil away from him, ready to try and knee him in the crotch when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “Wanna unhand my girl?”

[serve-832]

The SERVE- Initiative Pt.3

Jake leaned against the sturdy oak tree, the bark rough against his palms. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the park's well-worn paths and the children's laughter that danced on the gentle breeze. His eyes scanned the lush expanse of green, noticing the way the shadows stretched and grew as the day wound down to a close. A group of youngsters played catch in the distance, their shouts echoing across the quiet space, bringing a faint smile to his lips.

The smile quickly faded as he thought about Adrian and Tyler. Their laughs used to be the loudest in the park. Now, their faces were masked by the emotionless expressions of the SERVE-Initiative drones. The vividness of their personalities had been dulled into a uniform conformity that made Jake's heart ache. He had hoped that today, of all days, he'd catch a glimpse of his old friends—a flash of the mischief that once sparkled in their eyes, or the familiar tilt of a smirk that signaled a joke just around the corner.

But the park remained eerily devoid of anyone in those distinctive suits. Jake sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his thoughts. He knew that the SERVE-Initiative was meant to bring order and efficiency to the town, but it felt more like a slow, methodical stripping of humanity. The vibrant colors of individuality were being replaced with a cold, monochromatic uniformity that was as unnerving as it was mesmerizing.

He looked around to see that now there were more people of the SERVE-Initiative walking through the park than normal people. The sight was jarring, almost surreal. Even the youngest of children, who should have been wearing colorful t-shirts and grass-stained shorts, were adorned in those shiny, black uniforms. Their laughter was replaced by a strange harmony of footsteps, the crunch of gravel in unison with the swish of their rubber suits as they moved from one area to another. The scene was a stark reminder of the swiftness with which the initiative had taken hold.

The glow of the screen in his pocket interrupted his melancholic trance. It was a message from his father. "Dinner's almost ready, son. Where are you?" it read. His heart skipped a beat, the warmth of family and a sense of belonging briefly piercing the fog of his despair. His uncle had requested this gathering, eager to discuss something important. The thought of their faces, the ones who had not yet succumbed to the hive-mind, brought a smile to Jake's lips. But it was short-lived.

He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. His mind raced with thoughts of the dinner table filled with the comforting aromas of his fathers cooking, the familiar clink of silverware, and the hum of conversation that once held the threads of his life together. But now, the idea of facing them all, pretending like everything was fine, was too much to bear. His thoughts remained a tangled mess, a chaotic web of anger, fear, and confusion about Adrian and Tyler's choice to become SERVE-drones.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, lost in his contemplation, a figure emerged from the shadows cast by the towering trees. It was one of them, SERVE-016, his shiny black suit gleaming in the fading light. The drone's eyes, cold and unblinking, locked onto Jake's own. The stark whiteness of his teeth was the only indication of a smile beneath his mask as he spoke, "You seem lonely." His voice was a perfect imitation of human concern, yet it lacked the warmth that made it genuine.

Jake's pulse quickened as the drone held out a flyer, the edges crisp and glossy. The invitation was to an orientation at the community center, a place that had once been a bustling hub of local activities, now the epicenter of the SERVE-Initiative's recruitment. "You'll find belonging," the drone assured him, his voice echoing the very promise that had drawn in Adrian and Tyler. "You'll never be alone again."

Jake took the flyer, his hand trembling slightly. The logo of the SERVE-Initiative stared back at him, a silver hexagon with an eye in the center. It was a symbol that had become as commonplace as the town's name, yet it filled him with an unease that grew stronger every day. The drone's grip was firm yet gentle, almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness that emanated from his eyes. "Think about it, the SERVE-Master will be clad to see you there," he said, before turning away and melting back into the shadows.

Jake studied the flyer as if it were a grenade that could detonate his life at any moment. The words 'Find Your Place in the Hive' were emblazoned at the top, the font sharp and clean. His eyes scanned the details of the orientation: the time, the date, and the promise of a 'better' future. The paper felt slick, almost alive in his hands, a testament to the technology that had spawned this new world order. The community center's address was at the bottom, a place that had been a second home to him, now transformed into a recruitment ground for the very thing he feared most.

With a sudden burst of determination, Jake crumpled the flyer and shoved it into his pocket. He couldn't ignore the reality any longer; he had to understand what was happening to his town and his friends. He pushed himself to his feet, the grass bending beneath his sneakers as he stood firm. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, setting a rhythm for his newfound purpose. He had to stop this.

Jake began to walk towards the community center, his steps swift and deliberate. The park grew quieter with each stride, the laughter of the children fading into the background as he approached the bustling streets. His mind raced with thoughts of infiltration and rebellion, fueled by the burning need to rescue Adrian and Tyler from this faceless fate.

As he arrived at the center's perimeter, the sight before him was overwhelming. A sea of black and silver stretched out, drones moving in an orderly fashion, their reflections bouncing off each other's suits, creating a dizzying array of light. The community center looked more like a fortress than the warm, welcoming place he remembered. The windows were tinted, and the doors had been replaced with sleek, metallic ones that hissed shut with an air of finality.

The drones marched in and out with mechanical precision, their movements so synchronized that it was as if they were all part of a single, monolithic entity. Jake's heart raced as he took in the scale of the conversion. He had underestimated the speed and thoroughness of the SERVE-Initiative's takeover. The thought of losing everyone he knew to this cold, unfeeling collective was a horror that gnawed at his very soul.

He approached the community center, the epicenter of his town's transformation, with a stealth that belied his racing thoughts. The tree line offered scant cover, but he was grateful for the shadows it cast. He watched as more and more of his former neighbors and acquaintances filed into the gleaming fortress, their individuality swallowed by the uniform blackness of their suits. His mind raced with the need to understand, to find a weakness in this relentless tide of conformity.

Then, amidst the throng of silver-stripped collars and gleaming rubber, he spotted them. Adrian, now SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in line with their families. The sight of his best friends, now mere extensions of this cold, inhuman order, was like a knife to the heart. They looked so... normal, yet so fundamentally changed. Their parents, too, were dressed in the same attire, their faces a mix of pride and something Jake couldn't quite place—resignation, perhaps. His stomach clenched as he watched Tyler's little brother skip alongside their father, their laughter muffled by their masks, the joy in their eyes disturbingly absent.

Jake ducked behind a tree, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to get closer, to try and understand what had happened to them. He edged around the perimeter of the park, his sneakers silent on the soft earth. His breaths grew shallower as he approached the line, his mind racing with thoughts of what he might say, what he might do to snap them out of this trance. The flyer in his pocket felt like a betrayal, a symbol of his own wavering resolve.

But nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he looked back at the entrance line. Now, the reality of his uncle's intentions at the family dinner hit him like a ton of bricks. There they were, his uncle, SERVE-655 and cousin, SERVE-673, already converted to the SERVE-Initiative. The same gleaming suits, the same lifeless expressions, standing proudly with their newfound 'purpose'. But the true shock came when he saw the designation of SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, his two brothers and SERVE-719, his own father standing behind them, indistinguishable from the other drones. His father's eyes searched the crowd, a flicker of something desperate behind the cold, emotionless expression.

Panic rose in Jake's chest like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. He fumbled with his smartphone, his hands trembling as he unlocked it. The screen was a blur of unread messages from his father, a timeline of a descent into madness. The earliest texts spoke of a strange outfit and behavior from his uncle and cousin, something 'amazing' they wanted the family to be a part of. Then came the message about his brothers disappearing with them into their room, only to emerge later in the same eerie attire. And finally, the heart-wrenching plea for help, begging Jake to rescue them before it was too late.

But the last message was the most chilling of all. It read: "Everything is fine now, Jake. It was just a big misunderstanding. Your uncle and I are so excited for your return home. We've all found our purpose. See you soon!" The words were typed in his father's usual casual tone, yet they bore the same cold, forced cheerfulness of the drones that now surrounded him. The timestamp sent a shiver down his spine—just minutes before their arrival.

Jake felt his legs wobble beneath him, his hand clutching the phone so tightly it threatened to shatter. He staggered back, the tree bark biting into his skin as he leaned against it for support. His father, his brothers—his whole family had been assimilated into this twisted collective, leaving him the sole sentient soul in a sea of obedience.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a mountain. He had to act now, before the SERVE-Initiative claimed everyone he loved. He knew the risks. The drones were everywhere, their eyes always watching, their movements coordinated and precise. But he couldn't let fear rule him. Not when there was still a glimmer of hope to cling to.

Jake made his way to the community center's back door, his heart hammering in his chest. The metal was cool to the touch, the handle slick with the sweat of his palms. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he turned it and slipped inside. The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of machinery and the distant murmur of the hive-mind. The air smelled sterile, like a hospital corridor devoid of life.

He moved cautiously, sticking to the shadows that the harsh, artificial lights cast on the gleaming floor. The walls had been painted a stark metallic silver, stripped of the murals and posters that once adorned them. The space felt alien, a stark contrast to the warm, cluttered halls of his childhood memories. He found a hiding spot at the balcony that looked out onto the main assembly area. It was perfect.

From his vantage point, Jake peered down at the sea of black and silver. The crowd was a chilling tableau of his old life—his friends, teachers, and even his family sat in neat rows, their faces hidden by the masks. Adrian and Tyler were there, too, indistinguishable from the others save for the numbers on their collars. His heart clenched at the sight of them, his mind reeling with memories of the countless laughs and shared secrets that now felt like echoes from a distant past.

He watched as they moved in perfect unison, their bodies swaying slightly as they recited something in unison. It was like watching a macabre ballet of shadows, each step and gesture a precise copy of the one before it. The room buzzed with a low, collective murmur, a sound that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the center. It was a symphony of obedience, and Jake felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

And then someone new entered the stage—someone who stood apart from the rest. This drone, SERVE-000, was unlike any he had seen before. His suit was a deep, gleaming black, unmarred by the silver stripes of the lower-ranked drones. He moved with an air of authority, his steps calculated and commanding. The room grew quieter as he approached the podium, the murmur of the drones fading into a reverent hush. His eyes, the same cold, unblinking orbs as the others, surveyed the assembly with an intensity that made Jake's skin crawl.

The Master's voice was a deep, resonating echo that filled the room, almost tangible in its power. "Welcome, my devoted servants," he intoned, his words reverberating through the speakers with a mechanical precision that sent a shiver down Jake's spine. "Today, we celebrate the expansion of our hive. Each of you has chosen to become a part of something greater, something that transcends the limitations of the individual. It is now time for the new arrivals to receive their final initiation into the hive. Please step onto the stage."

Jake's eyes widened in horror as his father, SERVE-719 and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, rose from their seats below, their movements synchronized. Their erections strained against the shiny black material of their suits, a grotesque display of submission that made bile rise in Jake's throat. He watched in disbelief as they marched towards the stage with a disturbing eagerness, each step a silent declaration of their allegiance to the hive.

The air grew thick with anticipation as they reached the podium where SERVE-000, the hive's master, stood with arms outstretched. The Master's voice was a deep, commanding rumble that seemed to resonate through the very core of the building. "Kneel before your new master," he instructed, and his father and brothers obeyed without hesitation. The sight was obscene, a perversion of the familial bond Jake had once cherished.

The Master's hand, encased in a shiny silver glove, reached down to each of them in turn. He gripped their heads firmly, guiding their faces to his crotch. One by one, they opened their mouths, eager to receive their final indoctrination. Jake's stomach churned as he watched the Master's erect cock emerge from the opening in his suit. The very idea of his family succumbing to this level of degradation was almost too much to bear.

He watched, horrified, as his father, SERVE-719, took the Master's cum, his eyes rolled back in what could only be described as a mix of pleasure and obedience. His father's body quivered as he swallowed, his eyes snapping back into focus with a renewed sense of purpose. Next were his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, their youthful faces contorted in expressions of subservience as they, too, took their share. The sight was like a punch to the gut, leaving Jake feeling violated and betrayed.

But his disgust was soon overshadowed by an inexplicable urge to follow suit. The spiral on the stage began to pulse with a hypnotic rhythm, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flame. The pattern grew more intricate, the colors swirling in a mesmerizing dance that seemed to reach out and caress his very soul. Without conscious thought, Jake found himself rising to his feet, the crumpled flyer in his pocket now forgotten. His legs carried him towards the stage, each step feeling heavier, yet more compelled than the last.

The drones in the assembly hall turned as one, their eyes locking onto him as if they had been waiting for this moment. Their synchronized movements grew more pronounced, the suits shimmering as they leaned in unison, eager for his arrival. His father, SERVE-719, and his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with wide, expectant eyes, their faces a twisted mirror of his own. The Master's smile grew broader.

Jake felt the spiral's pull like gravity, his feet moving of their own accord, drawing him closer to the gleaming podium. The voices of his family grew clearer, their words a symphony of encouragement that echoed through his mind. "Join us," they seemed to chant, their smiles cold and inviting. "Become one of us." The spiral's pulsing grew more intense, its colors more vivid, and the urge to give in washed over him like a tidal wave.

As he reached the edge of the stage, the drones parted before him, creating a path that led straight to the Master. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with the scent of rubber and submission. The Master's eyes, gleaming with a malicious glee, bore into his own. "You feel it, don't you?" the Master's voice boomed, resonating through the speakers and into Jake's very bones. "The call of the hive. It's irresistible."

Jake nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he murmured, the word echoing in the cavernous space. "I'm ready to join." His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and desperation, but the need to belong, to understand, was stronger than his fear. The spiral on the stage pulsed in time with his racing heart, its colors swirling into a mesmerizing pattern that spoke to him on a primal level.

From behind the podium, two more drones emerged, their movements synchronized with the others. They held up a suit, identical to the ones worn by his father and brothers, yet with one glaring difference—on the polo-style collar, the silver digits gleamed: SERVE-832. His number. His fate. Jake reached out, his hand steady, and took the suit from them. The material was cool, almost alive in his grasp, whispering promises of belonging and unity.

As he stepped into the suit, the sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The rubber clung to his skin, a second layer that felt both restrictive and liberating. The zipper slid up his back with a whispered hiss, sealing him into his new identity. The gloves were tight, yet somehow comfortable, molding to the contours of his hands as if they'd been made for him. And the boots—solid, unyielding, a declaration of his place in this new order.

The drones surrounding him offered no words of comfort or encouragement, their eyes fixed on him with an unsettling focus. Yet, as he gazed into their masks, Jake felt a strange kinship, a connection that transcended the horror of the situation. The suit seemed to pulse with an energy, a seductive warmth that spread through his body, dissolving his fears and replacing them with a sense of belonging.

"SERVE-832," the Master's voice boomed, and Jake felt his new name resonate within him, a declaration of his place in the collective. "Your final act of integration awaits." The Master's erect member was presented before him, the same gleaming silver tip that had claimed his father and brothers. He knew what was expected of him, and his body responded with an eager anticipation.

With a nod, Jake sank to his knees, the cold stage floor a stark contrast to the warmth rubber suit on him. The room fell silent, the drones watching with rapt attention as he took the Master's cock into his mouth. The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced—bitter yet sweet, a heady mix of power and submission that sent a jolt through his body. He felt his own arousal, his cock straining against the confines of his new suit, a physical manifestation of the change that washed over him.

As SERVE-000's cum filled his mouth, Jake felt the last vestiges of his individuality slipping away. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he swallowed, the act feeling like a sacred communion. The Master's seed seemed to spread through him, altering his very essence. It was a sensation of pure bliss, a high that made everything else pale in comparison. His body trembled as the final barriers crumbled, and he was one with the hive.

The room erupted into applause, the sound a symphony of satisfaction and approval. The drones around him nodded in unison, their movements a silent testament to their unity. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, beamed with pride, their own erections bobbing in time with the ovation. Jake looked up at the Master, the taste of his cum lingering on his tongue. He felt a strange sense of pride, a perverse satisfaction that he had done something right.

SERVE-000 reached down, a hand on his shoulder. "Rise," he said, his voice a command that Jake couldn't refuse. He stood, the rubber of his suit feeling like a second skin. "You are now one of us, SERVE-832. Welcome to the hive." The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that resonated with the rhythm of his new identity.

The applause grew louder as Jake looked out into the sea of faces, now all his brothers and friends in the hive. He spotted Adrian, SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in the crowd. Their eyes, once filled with the light of friendship and mischief, now gleamed with the cold, unwavering stare of the converted. Yet, as he met their gazes, Jake felt something different—a connection, a bond stronger than he'd ever known. They nodded in unison, a silent acknowledgment of his arrival to the fold.

"Thank you, SERVE-000," Jake said, his voice strong and clear. "Thank you for showing me the truth. I see now that this unity, this... obedience, is what I've been searching for." The words were strange in his mouth, yet they tasted like sweet relief. The drones around him murmured their agreement, their eyes never leaving him. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with a mix of pride and something else—a hint of envy, perhaps, for the pure, untainted loyalty that shone from Jake's eyes.

„It is SERVE-832. It is a loyal drone to the hive. It obeys without questions. Unity is required for everyone. We will expand and soon all human males are part of this, serving the hive and it‘s master for all eternity!“ The crowd is cheering at him and SERVE-832 knows where he belongs… to the SERVE-Hive.

[buk0wskis]

“‘You are young,’ replied Athos,

‘and your bitter recollections

have time to be changed

into sweet remembrances.’”

— The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas

Traveler (2007) | starring Matt Bomer as Jay Burchell, Logan Marshall-Green as Tyler Fog, and Aaron Stanford as Will Traveler

[warping-realities]

2k Special - Coach Knows Best: Tight Ends

So we’ve come to the end of the 2k special. I’d like to thank again @johnbrand and @mrrharper for letting me borrow one of their ideas, but especially the great @callmecallmecrazy who I’ve been following for almost 20 years (I was underage and shouldn’t have been, but still). The Jocking has been and still is one of the most impressive things ever written in our niche; it’s not just about transformation, there’s a plot, character development and a cohesive story, and it’s something I’ve always tried to follow while writing my own work. Here, I made a little homage to his seminal work and to Clifton Jocks, which I’ll say for the thousandth time is my favorite story of all time and an impressive demonstration of developing writing skills.

Lastly, there’s a pun (or more) in the title of this story. 🙃

Just two days before the final game of the season, Steele sat in the stillness of his home, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a heavy fog. The transformation of Tyler had been a double-edged sword. On one hand, he had become the player Steele always knew he could be. On the other, the pressure of the BACS protocol loomed ominously over everything. As he contemplated for the millionth time how to navigate the challenges ahead, his phone buzzed violently against the wooden surface of the table in front of him shattering the quiet.

Startled, he reached for his phone, glancing at the caller ID. It was Jenkins. The feeling of unease settled deeper in his gut as he answered. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with tension.

“Steele, we’ve got a situation,” Jenkins said, his tone serious. “Lee Dawson has gone missing from his dorm at college. He was supposed to hit up a study group and now no one’s seen him.”

Steele’s heart raced. “What do you mean missing? How long has it been since anyone last saw him?”

“Just a few hours, but it’s enough to raise alarms. From what I gathered from my guys on the team, he’d been complaining about his brother’s behavior for days, saying Tyler was acting weird. At my request, they pressed Lee for any major signs that a glitch was popping up in the BACS protocol, but whenever pressed, he backed down. There was nothing to suggest any major failure or need for intervention so far.

“I told you Lee is smart and you know why BACS has fallen out of favor, and yet you insisted. What the hell do you expect me to do now to clean up your mess?”

“What I want is for you to keep an eye out. It seems like Lee is gonna go searching for his brother or even come to you. In that case, you need to find out what’s going on. This could have serious implications,” Jenkins urged, his voice quickening.

“Implications? What the hell are you talking about?” Steele shot back, a sense of dread creeping into his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to be linked to the board’s experiments or Tyler’s recent transformation if shit hit the fan.

“Let’s be real, Steele. If the government finds out what we did with BACS, we could all be in deep trouble. You need to act fast. In the worst-case scenario, you’re authorized to use BACS on the older Dawson.” Jenkins warned, urgency unmistakable in his voice.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m on it, but I warned you, Jenkins, you idiot!” Steele replied, his mind racing. He couldn’t let this situation spiral out of control. As he hung up the phone, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He had to find and protect Lee, and somehow make him understand the whole program before the kid, who was Steele’s greatest pride, ended up consumed by it like his brother had.

Steele woke up before dawn, the clock reading 4 AM. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, battling the heavy feeling that seemed to have settled in his mind. The morning darkness enveloped the room as his thoughts churned about Lee and Tyler. It was a constant struggle between the determination to keep his legacy as a coach intact and the guilt that consumed him.

He got up and started his morning routine. The first task was to run. He laced up his running shoes, threw on a simple T-shirt, and headed out, feeling the cold morning air against his face. Each step took him further away from his worries, and he tried to keep a steady pace. Running had always been his way to release built-up tension, but today felt harder. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tyler’s situation and what he could have done differently.

After 30 minutes of running, Steele finished his routine with calisthenics. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups; all done in silence, but his mind was far from what he was doing. He felt like a robot, following a routine without really being present. The joy he used to feel while working out was missing, replaced by a sense of emptiness.

With sweat dripping down his face, he returned home and made breakfast. He brewed a strong cup of black coffee, letting the dark liquid fill the mug. Coffee, once a comforting ritual, now tasted bland, as if bitterness had seeped into his life. He served himself an absurd amount of food: eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. But even while eating, he couldn’t savor the meal. Each bite felt like an obligation, a meaningless ritual.

After breakfast, he shaved, staring at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the deep circles under his eyes. “What the hell happened to me?” he thought, doubt creeping into his mind. He had been a passionate coach, someone who inspired his players to become the best versions of themselves. Now, he found himself trapped in a cycle of manipulation and politics that was corroding his soul.

After getting ready, Steele finally left for school, his car cutting through the quiet morning. But upon arriving at the school parking lot, he hesitated. He stopped the car and sat there, watching the students arrive, the laughter and chatter floating in the air. He felt like a spectator in his own world.

“How did I end up here?” he murmured to himself. He remembered when everything seemed so simple, when his love for football was pure and genuine. He had a dream: to turn young athletes into champions, to guide them through hardships, and help them shine. But over time, he became obsessed with winning, accepting the machinations of the board, believing it was all worth it. He convinced himself he was offering insignificant kids the chance to experience the same glories he had. But now, after what happened with Tyler, those certainties were crumbling. The kid had been the kind of athlete who, with the right encouragement and training, could have been for the Tight Ends what Brock Purdy was for quarterbacks: a last pick with seemingly no shine but whose effort and skill landed him a spot on one of the big league teams. Now? Sure, the kid was great, almost perfect. No doubt he’d shine, but it’d be an artificial shine, risking being marked more by a influencer life than what he did on the field, more like a Garoppolo than a Purdy. And then there was Lee, the incredible Lee, Steele’s greatest victory, shaped just right, now at risk of going through the same shit as his brother. Thinking about that made Steele’s gut churn, and a new determination surged within him. He could lose everything, but he was going to make sure Lee wouldn’t get caught up in this, even if it meant making some subtle tweaks, a little memory alteration… maybe something to boost his stats before the Combine… Then, without realizing the hypocrisy and contradiction in his own way of thinking, the coach let out a long sigh and headed off to start the day’s work.

…..

The locker room was in a state of controlled chaos. The boys on the team were undressing and getting ready to put on their practice uniforms. The distinct smell of deodorant mixed with male sweat hung in the air, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and teasing.

“Look who’s here! The king of farts!” Trey shouted, letting out a loud fart. The room erupted in laughter, and the boys started mimicking fart sounds.

“For God’s sake, dude! You need a deodorant for your ass!” Connor teased, making everyone laugh even harder.

Rafael, always ready to stand out, raised his hands as if he was about to make a speech. “Attention, attention! The champion of burps is here!” He then let out a burp so loud it echoed through the locker room, causing another wave of laughter.

“You and your special talents, Rafe. One day you’re gonna win an award for that!” Miguel joked, while getting dressed. “Most retarded award!”

The boys continued to talk nonsense, sharing stories about weekend parties, the girls they had hooked up with, and the drunken escapades they had. The vibe was carefree, a celebration of the brotherhood that existed among them, but also tinged with machismo and arrogance.

“Dude, did you see the new cheerleader? The transfer girl, blonde with blue eyes?” Miguel commented, winking at the others. “She was totally checking me out during practice. Bet she’s in love with me!”

“Probably out of pity for your malnourished state!” Adam replied, laughing. “But it’s true, she’s hot. I’d hit that too.”

“Malnourished? I’m ripped, you fatass!”

“That’s just jealousy of my muscles, scrawny boy?”

“Jealousy is what you have of my abs, fatty!”

As the chatter continued, Tyler, sitting a bit further away, looked at Brock with a frustrated expression while tying his cleats. “Man, my brother’s been an ass lately. Lee’s always been a bit too uptight, but lately, he’s just straight-up unbearable,” Tyler said, trying to keep his tone light, but irritation was evident.

“Like, he keeps nagging me about my grades, and I can’t deal with it anymore. I stopped replying to his texts. I’ve told him Cs get degrees,” he vented, his voice dropping lower, almost lost in the locker room noise.

“Well, the problem is you hardly ever get Cs, do you?”

“As if you’re any better, you dumbass. You know Coach is gonna sort this out and we’re all gonna get into college with football scholarships. But for Lee, that’s not enough; it’s like he wanted another brother instead of me.”

Brock looked at Tyler, sensing his frustration. “Dude, I get it. It’s tough when you have a brother who seems to be trying to control you. But at the same time, he just wants what’s best for you, right? Maybe he’s just worrying too much.”

“Maybe… but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s being a total pain. He doesn’t know how to have fun. It’s like he thinks life is only about training and studying,” Tyler replied, shaking his head, visibly irritated.

“Man, you need to put him in his place then. One day, he’s gonna realize life isn’t just about work. You gotta enjoy the journey too, just like we do here on the team!” Brock said, trying to encourage Tyler to feel better about the situation.

“Whatever, maybe I should try talking to him again, but just thinking about it makes me tired,” Tyler mumbled, crossing his arms.

What the boys didn’t realize was that Coach Steele had entered the locker room just as the conversation was heating up.

“Is that what I heard, Tyler?” Steele asked, his gaze fixed on the young man. “You’ve been ignoring your brother?”

Tyler hesitated before answering. “Uh… I’m just tired of hearing the same old shit, coach. He just wants me to fit into the image he has of me. I just wanted some space,” he said, trying to justify his behavior.

Steele shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Look, Tyler, you might not like what Lee has to say, but he’s your brother. What he wants is what any brother wants: the best for you. Ignoring his texts isn’t the solution. You might not realize it, but he cares about you,” Steele said, his voice firm.

“Yeah, I know. I just… I just need some space, that’s all,” Tyler muttered, a bit frustrated.

“I get that you need space, but that doesn’t mean you should push him away. Promise me one thing, if he tries to reach out again, don’t ignore him, but more importantly, I want you to tell me right away,” Steele said, with a serious look. “Now, let’s go, finish getting ready. It’s almost time for practice.”

The boys nodded, and the conversation quickly dissipated as they hurried to get ready. When everyone was ready, they headed out to the field. The sun was shining brightly, and the energy of the team was palpable. Steele watched as the players lined up, each carrying a confidence that was contagious. He felt a little lighter, even knowing the precarious situation he was in.

“Today’s the last practice before the finals,” Steele began, capturing everyone’s attention. “That means we need to give it everything we’ve got. Remember, the opposing team is gonna come onto the field wanting to take us down. But they’re gonna face the Titans, and we’re gonna show them what that means!”

The players shouted in response, adrenaline coursing through their veins. The practice began and Steele moved around the field, watching every move, every play. The boys were in sync, their skills at their peak and their energies channeled toward a common goal. Steele watched it all with a satisfied smile. The hard work and dedication were paying off. He remembered his own experiences and what it meant to form a cohesive team. “Great job, boys!” he shouted, as the players regrouped in the locker room after practice. “You’re ready to face the Knights! What we saw today was magnificent. Each of you gave your best. Remember, tomorrow is the big day. You have a chance to show everyone what it means to be a Titan.”

The players shouted in response, the spirit of unity filling the air. “One last thing: rest up! I don’t want to hear that anyone partied or drank alcohol before the finals. If you do, I’ll skin you alive!”

Laughter and shouts spread through the locker room, but Steele’s seriousness conveyed the message that he truly cared. The boys knew he was there to guide them and protect what they had built together.

With practice wrapped up, the players dispersed, ready to rest up and prepare for the big game.

…

Night fell, and as the city prepared for the game the next day, Tyler lay in bed, heart racing and mind full of expectations. He knew he had a role to play, and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability. In the darkness of his room he was lost in thought, recalling the day’s practices and what awaited him in the big game.

At that moment, Lee walked into the room unannounced, his expression serious. “Tyler, we need to talk,” he said, looking intently at his brother.

Tyler frowned. “Lee? WTF? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

“You. Something’s not right with you,” Lee replied, worry evident in his voice. “I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I feel like something’s changed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tyler asked, confused and a little irritated. “I’m great! I’m about to crush it in the game tomorrow!”

Lee shook his head, frustration growing. “It’s not that, Tyler! It’s like you’re… different. Like you’re not really you. I… I’m worried.”

“What the hell, Lee? Who else could I be? And worried? You don’t know anything about me! I’m never good enough for you, right? You’ve always been the favorite, the family talent!” Tyler shouted, anger boiling over. “But I’m gonna prove to everyone that I’m better than you, that I’m the best player!”

Lee looked at him, pain in his eyes. “Tyler, I’ve never cared about that. For me, there’s never been a competition between us. I just wanted you to be happy in your own way. You don’t have to try to be what I am or what you think everyone expects from you. What matters is that you’re yourself.”

“You don’t get it! I can’t just be me, with a Mr. Perfect brother I always have to be the better! And now that I’m finally getting attention, I can’t let it slip away!” Tyler shot back, his voice filled with frustration.

“I… I think I understand more than you realize,” Lee said, sadness weighing on his words.

“You’re not making sense, Lee! I just want to be recognized, and that involves winning! For me, that’s everything!” Tyler replied, anger replacing insecurity.

“I really thought I could trust him… I don’t know what I can do to help you, but I’ll try. Just know that I love you, little bro. I hope that next time we see each other, we can recognize each other for who we really are.”

Tyler sat there, alone, frustration and confusion flooding his mind. Until a memory popped into his head. He grabbed his phone and called Coach Steele. “Coach, I… I need to talk to you,” he said as soon as the call connected.

“Sure, Tyler. What’s up?” Steele replied, his voice calm and attentive.

“It’s about Lee. He was just here… and he doesn’t seem right; he said a bunch of nonsensical things… he thinks something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I act all tough, like I’m the best Dawson, but the truth is, Lee is my biggest inspiration, and seeing him like this… please help him!” Tyler poured out, tension evident in his voice.

“Tyler, I need you to try to remember what else your brother said. Did he say where he was going?” Steele asked, his voice now more concerned.

“I don’t know, coach. No, he didn’t say. He just mentioned he thought he could trust someone and that… that he’d try to help me… and that he hoped next time we met, we could… recognize each other. I have no idea what he meant by that.”

“I do. Try to calm down and get some sleep; tomorrow is the big day, and I promise everything will be alright. Better yet, Lee will be there to watch you shine, trust me!”

“Always, Coach!”

…

Steele hung up the phone, poured a generous shot of bourbon into two glasses, and waited for Lee. It seemed the time had come for him to answer for his choices in front of one of the few people he cared about in this world.

….

Lee walked toward Steele’s mansion, his heart racing and his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The worry for Tyler consumed him, and his brother’s words echoed in his head. “What’s wrong with him? Or is it me? Ty is right; I’m not making any sense! Still, I know… that’s not who he should be!” Lee thought, feeling frustrated for not being able to understand what was happening, but he knew there was someone who understood and worse, could be responsible for it all. As he walked, fear and frustration overwhelmed him. For it wasn’t the first time he felt that way; if he had done something sooner… maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to go through this with his own brother.

As Lee walked through the familiar streets, he couldn't help but remember those times he felt that same awkwardness when he was on the team. Not in the same creepy way as now, but it was there, this uneasy feeling, as his teammates came and went. He figured it was 'cause he never really clicked with the others off the field; his life was all about discipline, totally grinding to improve. His body was a temple, and football was his religion. Of course, there was the Pastor: Steele. They had a tight bond, with the coach filling the gap left by his dad when he bailed on the family. Maybe that’s why Lee ignored what his gut was telling him every time a new player joined the team. It’s also why he asked Steele to treat Tyler the same way he treated him. Now, Lee felt like a total fool for thinking Steele would keep that promise. The coach was the one who drilled into him the idea of winning at all costs... he just chose to overlook that to Steele “at all costs” also included everyone else. And now, his brother was paying the price for that mistake.

Standing in front of the big mansion gate, Lee felt a chill in his stomach. Without doing anything, it opened, and he walked up to the porch where the imposing figure of Steele awaited him.

“Lee, I was expecting you,” Steele said, his expression serious. “Sit down and grab a glass.” The man settled into a magnificent leather armchair and pointed to a glass of bourbon.

“You know I don’t drink. My diet is strict to not affect my performance. Besides, I need to know, what did you do to my brother?”

“To explain what happened to Tyler, I need to tell you a very long story. And I know you don’t drink, kid, but trust me, with what we need to talk about, you’re gonna need it.”

Lee complied, but the tension in the air was palpable.

“Coach, I don’t need a story; I need to know what happened to my brother… more than that… I need to know who my brother really is… or I think I’m gonna lose my mind… I need you to reverse what you did.”

“It’s not that simple, kid. What you’re asking isn’t impossible, but highly unlikely. So I need you to understand. And to understand, I need to tell you everything from the beginning, so please take a sip and listen.”

Still reluctant, Lee conceded and positioned himself to hear his former coach, feeling the drink burn his throat and warm his stomach.

“Good, good. The story I’m about to tell you starts way before Tyler, you and even me. Back in the mid-2000s, a decline in the number of young men dedicating themselves to contact sports, notably football, began to be noticed. You might question this info due to what came shortly after, but trust me, it’s real. Continuing, due to this decline, a group formed that is now known as The Board, whose goal was to find ways to prevent this decline from becoming irreversible. And thus, the so-called Enhancement Protocols emerged. Due to the shady nature of such protocols, it was established that the test fields would be some schools across the country and always with individuals over 18. Colleges would be a highly unfeasible field, and the NFL, with all its scrutiny, would be unthinkable. What happened next was… revolutionary but also opened the doors to a true hell.” Steele said, pausing to take a long sip of his own drink before continuing.

“In one location where I have no access, one of the coaches responsible found gold. A way to alter the very fabric of reality and turn insignificant kids into perfect players. The techniques used were multiple as long as there was a catalyst; clothing, food, even the presence of another altered player was enough to modify an unsuspecting target. It was groundbreaking. But there were two problems: it messed with things that shouldn’t be messed with. A bunch of mumbo jumbo occult stuff whose details are better left unsaid. The other problem is that he went rogue. The modified players of his spread like a wildfire, hitting colleges and schools all over the country to the point that the fabric of reality became so thin it allowed certain things that should’ve stayed out to come in. At that time, I was already playing for the Eagles, and I’d like to believe the NFL wasn’t affected, but I can’t know, the man’s insanity was that great. The Board can’t say for sure, nor can the government, because the one who finally ended that coach’s megalomania was an apparently ordinary individual, but whom I believe is still imbued with more power than any man should have. But thanks to him, reality got back to how it should’ve been, that is, more or less…” Steele let out a long sigh before continuing.

“The kid had no way of knowing about the board’s existence, and it reestablished itself, and from what was left of that mad coach’s work, developed the current protocols.” Steele continued with a serious air.

“I discovered the protocols in my first year as a coach. At that time, the board was still being inconspicuous, the group that took down the coach I mentioned was still active. Initially, I was against using such methods. But the decline of the 2000s was nothing compared to the mid-decade past. Suddenly, kids became these delicate little flowers that can’t handle anything, snowflakes is the term you’ll hear the most. A lot of people associate this with sexuality. Frankly, I don’t give a damn who you fuck with. But watching a bunch of crybabies dominate the school hallways while my team, a place where real men were being formed, dwindled to the point of risking disappearing? I couldn’t accept that. So I let the board into my life and my Titans. Initially only to fill some gaps, cover some deficiencies. I justified it to myself. But over time I used the protocols more and more to the point of having no justifications. Not that I cared anymore, because the Titans had become the team I always thought it should be…

“You… I… did you do something to me?” Lee asked, his voice trembling.

“No, you, Lee, you were a gift to me, a perfect player with no need for intervention, totally focused and dedicated, even not fitting into certain specifications of the board. Specifications I never cared about, by the way. But even the board never dared to ask me to intervene with you given your impressive stats. And I don’t know if I would’ve done anything, even if they asked. The truth is, you reminded me of myself, and I would’ve never had the guts to do anything to you. But then came Tyler. Tyler was a younger version of you, unfortunately without the same impressive talent. Not that the kid lacked talent, but it just wasn’t enough. And the board intervened in the worst way possible. Right before you left for college, taking advantage of the calm environment after so many years acting in the shadows, the they became bold. They developed a method that traded the elegance and subtlety of the previous ones for a much faster and seemingly just as effective one. They called it the BACS Protocol, a stupid acronym that doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is that with this protocol, all it takes is a signal sent by a simple smartphone to a previously exposed individual to a catalyst that can even be dispersed in the air around him, and out of nowhere you have a perfect player ready under all the specifications of the council. To avoid a bunch of clones walking around, the signal uses the player’s own perceptions of what each of the acronym’s specifications represents and uses the individual’s genetic base to update him. For someone like you or Tyler, this can be… disturbing, a change so fast and radical in the fabric of reality without a safer catalyst, an anchor. See, with a stable enough catalyst even the transformed's family members can be modified to better fit their new narrative. BACS has no such capability, which in retrospect may have been a blessing, just thinking about what could have happened to you... sorry, I lost focus. The truth is that unlike safer methods this absence leads to some glitches. Like the ones you’ve been feeling.”

“You mean to say that Tyler…?”

“Yeah… the protocol was shut down due to failures, but for some obtuse reason, the board decided to pick it back up and Tyler was chosen as an example.”

“And you didn’t do a damn thing???” Lee asked, outraged. “You just let my brother be taken like a pig to slaughter? And turned him into this?”

“That’s still your brother, just like many of your teammates with whom you sweat and bled for victory. They’re still people, Lee, with dreams and desires. You might even disagree with their way of life, but don’t treat them like things.”

“I can’t believe the size of your hypocrisy!”

“Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. But I’ve always treated my players the same, the naturals and the modified ones; to me, there’s no difference between them. Except for you, like BACS has its glitches, you were mine.”

“Then help me, help revert what happened to Tyler!”

“It’s harder than you can imagine, Lee. There’s someone out there with that capability, but you don’t want to get in his way!”

“Why not?”

“Because he would destroy everything I’ve built, everything you know too, because that’s his mission. And I can’t allow that.”

“And what’s stopping me from going after this guy on my own?”

“The fact that you ingested a high dose of the catalyst compound and are in the presence of a very strong physical catalyst right next to you, namely me. I swear I’d rather not do this to you, but after letting what happened to Tyler happen, it’s better this way. I promise the only thing that will change for you is accepting reality and Tyler as they are now!”

Upon hearing that, Lee tried to move, but it felt like he was glued to the chair, as if trapped in an invisible trap. While Coach Steele, the man he considered a substitute father, betrayed him a second time.

Seated, paralyzed in that armchair, Lee felt a strange pressure in his body, followed by a wave of heat, and then the first transformation took over his arms, which began to swell, the muscles expanding under the skin. He looked down, perplexed, as his biceps became so bulky with muscles and fat they seemed ready to burst through the shirt he wore. Seeing that, Steele’s eyes widened, and he shouted: “That wasn’t supposed to happen!” But as he tried to get up and somehow intervene, he found himself glued to his own seat. With nothing left to do, the coach watched in growing panic as what came next unfolded.

As he struggled to comprehend what was happening, Lee's legs began to change too. His already huge thighs swelled even more, becoming the size of tree trunks, while a layer of fat started to accumulate, softening the sharp lines he had worked so hard to achieve. Lee felt a mix of horror and a strange pleasure as that transformation unfolded, as if his body were rebelling against his will.

“Lee, you need to resist!” Coach Steele shouted, but his voice sounded distant and powerless, for he knew there was nothing that could be done.

The pressure in his abdomen intensified, and Lee could feel his belly protruding. The famous eight-pack he valued so much was disappearing, replaced by a still firm belly, but now with a more robust appearance, a true muscle gut. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, struggling against the waves of transformation that dominated him. As he attempted to speak, a loud burp escaped involuntarily… buuuuuuurp…

“This can’t be happening!”, Steele repeated, thrashing in his chair. As the change reached Lee’s face, his jaw became more square momentarily only to be hidden by a layer of fat, and then by a thick, scruffy beard. The straight, well-kept hair he always sported now fell in messy locks, giving him a wild look. Lee tried to protest once more, but another burp escaped, and he felt even more frustrated. “Why is this happening?!” confusion dominating his thoughts.

The changes reached his feet, once slender, now starting to expand, going from a respectable size 11 to a gigantic size 15, ripping the sneakers he wore, each thick toe covered with a layer of dark hair. His firm, muscular backside turned into a big cushion. Coach Steele, watching in a mix of horror and despair, shook his head. “No, Lee! Please, no! What have I done?!” he shouted, his voice trembling. The horror of the situation enveloped him, and he felt powerless, unable to help.

As the transformation peaked, Lee found himself in a more muscular and robust body, more like an offensive guard than a tight end. Not that he could think of that, for at that moment, his mind was invaded by conflicting information. The strict diet with complex carbs and high-quality proteins and zero alcohol was replaced by a ogre diet and occasional binge drinking, nothing that would harm the team, but off-season is off-season for a reason. The obsession with being the best remained, but the way of looking at it shifted from almost military-level self-demand to the belief that he would be the best because he always had been; it was inherent to him. The serious and even somber demeanor was replaced by a carefree joy and an unshakeable teenage humor. As a smile spread across his face, it was all over. There was nothing else Steele could do, even if he managed to move, which was still impossible for him.

Lee’s worried and quick thoughts were replaced by an almost absolute relaxation; he was someone who knew his place and what he had to do. Anyone looking from the outside would have the impression of a big teddy bear, but once against him, they’d see he was, in fact, a raging grizzly bear when on the field.

With a carefree attitude, he looked at himself. His clothes were bursting at the seams, the fabric struggling to keep up with the growth of his new body. His shirt was stretched so tight it looked like it could rip at any moment, while his shorts looked more like strips than actual clothing. What the hell had happened? But before he could even think of worrying, his gut acted up, and Lee let out a loud and uncontrollable fart, while the room echoed with the sound he burst into laughter, any trace of horror turning into a moment of pure joy.

As Lee reveled in his new form, patting his powerful gut with a goofy grin on his face, Coach Steele just watched, horrified and powerless. “What have I done...,” he murmured, his mind whirling around the implications of his pupil’s transformation.

Without either man noticing, Jenkins entered the room just as Lee’s transformation completed. He observed the now-imposing young man with his muscular and robust body. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “What did you do?” Jenkins said, with a tone of disdain, startling Steele, who hadn’t seen the sly man but realized at that moment who was truly behind what had happened. “Just what you should’ve done a long time ago. But the specifications weren’t yours.”

Jenkins then turned to Lee, who now looked like a true giant. “Hey, Bull Dawg, how’s it going?” he asked, the provocation evident in his voice.

Lee, exuding the chill vibe that now surrounded him, smiled back. “I’m feeling kinda funny,” he replied, as he stood up and admired himself in one of the mirrors in the room.

“Must be all the whiskey you’ve been drinking,” Jenkins remarked, laughing. “You’ve always been the type to not miss a chance to have fun.”

Lee shot a quick glance at Jenkins, winking playfully. “You know me too well,” he replied, flexing his huge arms and biceps, completely ruining the shirt he wore and exposing his powerful pecs and exuberant muscle gut covered in wild hair.

"Alright, alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me," Jenkins said, turning to Lee, "Steele and I need to hash out some big kid stuff."

"Whatever," Lee shot back, all nonchalant. "But I’m taking the whiskey with me." He turned, the power of his new, impressive body filling the space around him as he grabbed the bottle of bourbon but no glass.

Jenkins and Steele watched as Lee strutted out of the room, one with a smug grin and the other with a dead-serious look. The giant’s heavy footsteps echoed on the floor, his muscular back and well-defined glutes becoming a spectacle in their own right, while the shorts several sizes too small threatened to rip with every step those powerful bare feet took.

“A true masterpiece.” Jenkins said, settling into the chair where Lee had been sitting moments before, the leather still warm from his presence. He crossed his legs, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he looked at Coach Steele, who still seemed to be digesting what had just happened.

“So, Steele,” Jenkins began, his voice calm and controlled, “what do you think of all this?”

Steele, unable to move, finally found his voice. “What did you do, Jenkins? Why make such a drastic decision with a talented athlete like Lee?”

“Oh, Steele,” Jenkins replied, shaking his head almost condescendingly. “You yourself pointed out that BACS has its glitches. And Dawson became a problem. We needed a solution; he was a valuable asset, but the market is changing, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. What you need to understand is that even though there’s always room for the disciplined athlete like Tom Brady, that’s so 2000s… no, no, with Jason Kelce’s retirement, a niche opened up, that of the wild giant who turns out to be a cute clown. Men identify with him thinking illusionarily that a body like his is more easily attainable than a “more fit one”, and women see the figure of a future husband, someone not so worried about having a sixpack. Which reminds me that I need to find a good girlfriend for the kid and maybe twin boys in a year or two… So, a big teddy bear with a younger, more rebellious bro? All that's left is to find a pop diva to make that winning combo happen again, right? I wonder if I still have Olívia Rodrigo manager's phone number. I’ll have to figure that out too… So the boring, regimented and suspicious Lee needed to go so that the fun, lovable yet aggressive when necessary Bull Dawg could emerge. Ahh the amount of profits these brothers will bring!

"I believed the board wanted the best athletes possible," Steele said, his voice thick with anger.

"The board wants profits. And believe me, someone like the old Lee doesn't do a tenth of what Bull Dawg promises. The public wants their idols to be close to them. They want to feel like they're part of their lives. They want them to be fun. Trust me, Lee Bull Dawg Dawson is someone who knows how to have fun, especially with the products and facilities of our sponsors."

"You and I have very different opinions of what a football fan wants."

"And so we come to the real reason I'm here today. Dawson was just an appetizer, the main course is you, you and your damn insubordination."

Steele took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure as Jenkins’ words echoed in his mind. “I’ve always been loyal to the board’s guidelines, Jenkins. You know that. I’ve always put the rules first.” His voice trembled slightly, but he fought to maintain a firm tone.

Jenkins leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and disdain. “Loyalty? Is this what you call loyalty? The admiration you feel for Lee Dawson blinded you, Steele. You didn’t see that the younger Dawson needed enhancement. Your focus was so fixated on your precious Lee that you ignored what was right in front of you.”

Steele felt the blood rush to his head, indignation forming like a storm inside him. “I didn’t hide anything from the board! I always did what was best for the athletes, not just for one of them. You can’t just…”

“Can’t just what?” Jenkins interrupted, an ironic smile forming on his lips. “Hide the truth? Like you did? Since the incident years ago, you know the board can’t allow any coaches to go rogue. And you, my friend, have crossed the line. Your romanticized vision of what Lee and Tyler could be became a trap, and now you’re gonna pay the price.”

Steele tried to stand, but found himself glued to the chair, as if an invisible force kept him there. Panic began to spread through his body, and he turned to Jenkins, his expression turning to desperation. “Jenkins, please, I beg you!”

“Oh, but I have no choice, Steele,” Jenkins replied, his voice now wrapped in a chilling tone. “Did you really think we wouldn’t have a way to deal with types like you? You’re gonna go through the COACH protocol. Complete Overdrive and Assimilation to the Command Hierarchy. It’s what the council decided. On the field, your attitude is impeccable and should continue that way. But you have no idea how happy I am to be free of your stiffness and bitterness, of your unbearable righteousness.” Jenkins said with a mocking smile that showed all his satisfaction before continuing to speak.

“But cheer up, after the step taken with Lee today, the board decided it’s finally time to expand to college, and you, my future and less uptight best friend, are gonna be the pioneer of this. A spot coaching your old college team awaits your new media approved showman self. A self that will pave your way back to the NFL when the board deems it necessary.”

With one last effort, Steele tried to break free, but the pressure was unbearable. He looked around the room, searching for an escape, but everything seemed to fade around him. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Jenkins’ smug grin, a smile that symbolized both triumph and betrayal, as darkness enveloped him.

….

The celebration at Coach Steele's house after the championship was epic. The Titans, once again, showed their power on the field, snagging the title with an impressive victory. The atmosphere was filled with euphoria, and the players were ready to party. Steele’s house was packed with food, drinks, and laughter, with the guys from the team having a blast while reminiscing about the best moments of the season.

Brock, Adam, Connor, and the rest were all there, laughing and making toasts. Lee, who had been given a break from classes until after the Christmas holidays thanks to Mr. Jenkins, was in his element. He moved through the party like a king, surrounded by friends and admirers. Upon finding his little brother, he couldn't help but smile.

"You really gave it your all this season, T-Dawg!" he said, raising his cup. "I’m so proud of you!"

"Thanks, big bro! And this is just the beginning! I’m ready to head to college and show everyone what I can do!" Tyler replied, his smile shining even brighter.

Lee looked at Tyler, a satisfied grin on his lips. "You know, I��m really glad I won’t have to face you on the field. With you playing like a beast, I’d be in trouble!" He laughed.

Tyler smiled back but couldn't help thinking about what that meant. "Oh, but who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet in the NFL? You could still be my rival on the field or worse, we might end up competing for the same position on a team."

Lee gave Tyler a pat on the shoulder, his smile turning into a rare serious look. "Listen, don’t worry about that. The truth is, when I come back from break, I’ll probably be moved to another position, maybe as a guard or center. I’ve outgrown what a Tight End should be.” He said with a grin while giving a little pat on his muscular gut. “So, if all goes well, we’ll never have to compete for the same spot, better we can be an incredible duo on the same team."

Tyler looked surprised by the revelation. "Seriously? That’s amazing! But… how are we gonna figure out who’s the better player?"

Lee chuckled, shaking his head again. "Fuck who’s better, Tyler! What I really want is to play football and go pro. If it’s alongside you, even better. But enough talk, we should be having fun."

As the party progressed, the energy was through the roof. The guys started competing in an impromptu arm wrestling championship in one corner, while flip cup and beer pong dominated other spots. The music was blasting, and the drinks flowed freely. Lee, in particular, seemed to be enjoying himself more and more, his confidence soaring. His teenage behavior, despite his age, was not out of place among the Titans boys who saw him as an example to follow. He began bragging about his achievements, cracking jokes and teasing the others.

"Hey, who wants to see Bull Dawg do a backflip? Bet I can nail it!" Lee shouted, seizing a moment when Steele were momentarily absent, drawing everyone’s attention in the backyard.

"Go for it, bro!" Tyler shouted, as the crowd's excitement peaked.

As everyone gathered around the pool, Lee climbed onto a small platform, determination etched on his face. He was visibly drunk, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to impress his brother and friends. Tyler and the others watched, a mix of anxiety and fun on their faces, as intoxicated as the older man.

"Go, Lee! Show what you got!" Connor yelled, cheering on his friend.

Lee got ready, taking a deep breath before launching himself into the air. The backflip was perfect, and the impact of his massive body hitting the water was violent, soaking everyone around and sending the team boys into a frenzy.

“Bull Dawg!!! Bull Dawg!!” they all shouted in unison. As he came out of the pool laughing excitedly. Meanwhile, Tyler hugged his brother, saying, “Now I gotta do something bigger!”

“Chill, T-Dawg, you’ve already done enough! You're way cooler than I am! But you are a bit too dry for my taste!” Lee replied, shoving his little brother into the pool and falling in with him amidst laughter.

At that moment, Coach Steele approached with his usual off the field chill smile. He watched the scene, pleased to see that everyone there, just like himself, perfectly fit the board’s criteria, but he also felt the need to maintain at least a certain level of discipline. With a firm movement, he stepped closer to the group, calling everyone’s attention.

“Hey, boys! Time to stop the show!” Steele said, his voice booming over the party noise. The music faded into a whisper as heads turned to look at the coach. Lee and Tyler, still wet and smiling, climbed out of the pool, with Dawson boys striking a triumphant pose of gratitude.

“Come on, coach! We’re just celebrating!” Tyler said, laughing.

“Celebrating is great, but I need you all to remember what it means to be a Titan!” Steele began, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. “This season wasn’t just about winning on the field. It was about teamwork, overcoming challenges, and what it means to be part of a family. Each of you proved that together, we’re stronger. And that’s not just a motto; it’s our truth.”

The boys listened intently, the festive atmosphere shifting quickly to a more serious tone.

“You learned to fight for what you believe in, to support each other, and to never give up. Most importantly, you discovered who you really are. That’s what makes you Titans. And I want you to carry that with you forever. No matter where life takes you, always take with you the team spirit we built here,” Steele continued, his gaze steady and determined.

“Now, I have something important to share with you. I’ve been invited to take the position of offensive line coach at Ohio State,” he announced, and a murmur of surprise spread through the group.

“Wow, coach! That’s awesome!” Rafe shouted, clapping.

“I know many of you dream of playing at a higher level, and this is the chance I need to take the experience you had here to a new level. But that means I’ll have to leave the Titans, at least for now,” Steele said, his voice firm, but a bit melancholic. The atmosphere became heavy, the reality of his departure starting to settle in among the players.

“I want you to know that this team meant everything to me. Each of you has incredible talent, and I’ll be cheering for all of you. As soon as I get there, I’ll make sure to stay in touch. And I hope to see some of these faces in September,” he said, looking into each player’s eyes.

“And for the rest, don’t worry! I’ll personally choose the next coach for the Titans. You can trust I’ll pick someone who will continue what we started here, someone who understands what it means to be a Titan. Trust me, after all, as you all say, Coach Knows Best.”

The boys started to applaud, the energy filling the room again. “Thank you, coach! You’re the best!” they shouted in unison.

“Now, get back to having fun! Go Titans!” Steele exclaimed, raising his beer glass in a toast.

The players shouted in response, excitement taking over again. They gathered in a circle, raised their cups, and yelled: “Go Titans!”

[freakymcnastys]

"like him" - sero hanta x fem!reader

━━ . ˚₊ ꒱ “ I don't know who he is.”

note: this is me going crazy but also not mean by just doing angst again..also blunt shotgunning MAKES ME FERALLL -kat

content: like 3rd year?? idk but still in the dorms at U.A., smoking the mary jane, stoner!sero (YAY), ANGST but fluff!!!, inspired by tyler,the creators new album/song.

“COME HERE, GET CLOSER SWEETHEART.” Sero speaks with half-lidded eyes. A slight nod and hum was heard from you as you watched Sero do what he called ‘shotgunning a blunt’.

“WHAT!” Sero exclaimed in surprise. “You’ve never smoked weed?” It was Friday night, and since hero training had take such a toll on you and Sero, you spent the evening together, cuddled up in Sero's dorm, watching movies and having snacks.

“Uh no? I’ve had edibles from Sato but that’s it.” You shrug as Sero snorts. “Sato makes edibles? Why am I not surprised-“ You weren’t sure how you even got on this topic. The two of you were sitting on the edge of Seros bed together, facing the tv while looking for something to put on. Then, you guys stumbled upon this current conversation. “Well…I got two joints so...do you wanna?”

And that’s how you ended up in the position you were in right now. Sero was sitting toward you, mere centimeters from your face, blunt in hand. You sit crossed completely facing him with your hands on his thighs. “Just uh—breath it in alright?” His voice was soft as he took a hit but instead of blowing it to the side like he usually would, he blew it into your open mouth. About two seconds past before Sero's red eyes looked into yours again.

"That was nice right?" He questioned as you just nodded. Being this close to him and a bit high made you wanna kiss him even more than before. The being high part was kinda fogging up your decisions which is why you started to lean into a kiss before Sero turned to the side of his bed to grab his water bottle. "This cotton mouth is no joke..." Before chugging like half of his bottle.

Although you were slightly dissapointed you knew that you would probably get another chance to kiss him later on. Until then you looked at the blunt in the boy's hand and it hit you. "Hey aren't we gonna get in trouble by Aizawa?"

"Yeah no I'm like 90% percent sure that he grows his own weed." You just look at his face in disbelief. "I mean when you put away the dealers from the streets you gotta make it yourself." He shrugged, turning back to face you. "That actually..makes sense?" You guys just look at each other for a second before breaking into laughter.

After a few minutes, your stomach started to hurt because of the laughter. But, it died down moments later, now you and Sero were just looking into each other's eyes. Something inside you made you just say screw it and lean in to kiss him.

As this thought rushed through your brain, the song “Pumpkin” by Islands started to play softly out of Sero's speaker system. The music set the mood, and the smell of weed just added to that movie-like feeling. As the weed took over your thoughts, you noticed the soft rain falling down the windows, and the warmth radiating off of both of your bodies. Without thinking, you leaned in harder, Sero let his hands wonder to your hair, and a once tame kiss had turned into a make-out sesh.

If it wasn’t for your phone ringing you two could’ve be like that for hours. You pull away to look at your phone to see who was calling you, only to see a picture of you as a kid and your dad as the contact. “Ugh.” You groaned declining the call to hear something you never wanted to hear especially from Sero.

“Is that your dad? You kinda look like him-“ You know he said it in a light hearted tone but you couldn’t shake the way you choose to interpret it. Why would he say that? Part of you was reasoning with the fact he did not have any malice behind that statement but your irrational (high) brain was telling you something else.

“Can I uh—use your bathroom..?” You quickly asked but before Sero answered you just got up and went into the bathroom locking the door quickly. “Sure?”

Looking into the mirror then splashing water onto your face to try and focus yourself and not spiral into a panic attack because that would be embarrassing especially in front of your crush. “Do I look like him?” You whispered under you breath.

“Hey i’m uh leaving—going back to my dorm.” You said as soon as you left the bathroom, gathering your things from the floor. This seemed to sober Sero up quickly as he jumped to his feet to catch you before you left. “Hey hey what’s wrong—why are you crying?”

You hadn’t even realized the tears that slipped through your eyes and down your cheeks. Oh...why am I crying? You truly didn’t think this whole dad thing would affect you this much. But before you could answer Sero bowed his head to your level and looked you into your eyes once again.

“Can I hug you?” Something about that statement made everything you’ve been trying to hide crumble as you felt sobs rip through you. He just took that as a yes as he enveloped you in a hug. It was nice.

-BONUS-

“Damn really? Your dad kinda sucks” Sero shrugged as he listened to your entire backstory. “Yeah tell me about it.” You laughed lightly.

“So how about you?” You asked, drinking a sip of coke that Sero had gotten you earlier. “Oh I don’t got a dad—bless my mom…four kids is crazy!” He laughed as you joined him. You were glad that you and Sero could relate and make jokes about your childhoods.

- love always, kat

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry | ix.

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping, Forced Masturbation, Filming, Blackmail

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

The next few weeks trudge along in a dull fog, the efflorescence of spring yielding to the sizzling heat of summer. You cloister yourself in a sedulous bubble, turning your focus to cheerleading and the upcoming midterms.

You miss your friends, each day agonizing as you’re trapped in aching loneliness.

You miss Mindy’s sarcastic jokes, Chad’s warmth, Anika’s laugh.

You miss the lazy afternoons spent in each other’s dorms and horror movie nights. You miss the goofy late night chats about everything and nothing.

You also miss Ethan, his kindness, his patience.

Without him, studying becomes much harder. 

Even more than the help he provided, his friendship meant the world to you. He always listened and knew exactly what to say to cheer you up. Unfortunately he’s just as in danger as everyone else in your presence.

Getting close to you is a death sentence. 

You’ve learnt that some time after Tyler was attacked.

He succumbed to his injuries the very next night.

The news shook the student body and unleashed a ripple of fear throughout campus. 

As for you, it cemented your decision to keep away from everyone you hold dear. 

It’s for the best.

Your heart shatters every time Ghostface’s words bounce in your head. 

If you had stayed away from Tyler, he’d still be alive. The guilt of knowing that weighs upon you everyday.

It’s no wonder people give you wary looks when you walk across campus. It’s a miracle Alana even let you remain on the team with everything going on. 

You know she has every reason to kick you out and, truthfully, you’d understand if she did. 

It’s like Jeff said at the hospital. You’re cursed.

It’s Friday night and you’re in your room on your own, your roommate away on a trip with her boyfriend.

You don’t mind it since Vanessa started tossing you the same strange looks as everyone else lately.

It’s created a weird atmosphere in your dorm.

You’ve even caught her trying to fill a form to switch roommates, citing medical reasons. She was expeditiously denied as the year’s far too advanced and has been in a mood since.

A break is more than welcome.

Sitting on your bed with your knee against your chest, you carefully apply the second coat of your favorite pink nail polish. You smile at your handiwork once it’s dry, happiness fluttering through you at how pretty your toes look. 

As you remove your toe separator and wiggle them, wondering if you should add a layer of glitter or not, your phone buzzes.

Terror clutches your insides. 

A surprised exhale leaves your lips and you even kick the bottle of nail polish across the fuzzy rug below your bed, staining the pale blue wool with bright dots of pink.

Heart pounding a heavy staccato in your chest, you gingerly pick up your phone from beside your pillow.

You suck in a deep breath, then another one.

Ever since that night, you’ve been on edge every time your phone buzzes.

Needless to say the last few weeks have taken a tremendous toll on your sanity.

Finally, you gather the courage to check the text you just received.

At the sight of the familiar name, a mix of relief and melancholy floods your insides.

(Anika K: 

Hey, just checking on you and wishing you a happy Friday. Hope you’re okay and, if not, that things will look up very soon. 

I know you said you wanted space so I’m not gonna push, but I just wanted to let you know that I miss you so so much and things aren’t as fun when you’re not around.

I don’t know everything but I want you to know that I love and support you no matter what.

Here’s a bear for you cause I know how much you love them! 💖💖💖

Your bestie, Nikki)

A dancing bear shooting little hearts follows her message.

Tears swim in your eyes as you grow overwhelmed. They drip onto the screen, water smudging Anika’s words. You wipe your eyes and sniffle, grabbing the box of tissues on your night table. 

It’s not the first time your friends have tried to reach out.

Nearly everyday you get a message from Mindy, Chad, Anika and even Tara and Quinn sometimes, despite not being as close to them. 

They’re trying to get you to come out and act normal again. Except you can’t. 

No matter how much you crave it, normalcy is beyond your grasp. As soon as you’ll let your guard down, he’ll come back to torture you. Who knows who he’ll pick next just to teach you a lesson.

You can’t bear it. You can’t be the reason people are getting hurt. 

So you close the conversation with Anika as tears stream down your face, once again leaving her on read. 

Your heart sinks to your feet. 

You grab your teddy bear and hug it tightly, shuddering sobs wracking your frame.

The pit of hollowness inside you expands. 

You’ve never been so isolated before. It makes you wish you appreciated everything you used to have more. 

A gentle knock on the door lures you away from your wistful musings.

You gasp as your head jerks up.

You quickly wipe your eyes, lamenting their puffy redness as you get a glimpse of your despondent reflection in your vanity mirror.

You let go of your bear, propping him against the headboard.

Plastering on a smile, you plod to your dorm’s entrance.

Your jaw hangs slack at the sight of the head of brown curls and lopsided, bashful smile you know too well.

“Hey,” he greets, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

“E-Ethan? You shouldn’t be here.”

You attempt to shut the door but Ethan wedges his foot against the door jamb to keep it open.  He slinks inside and closes the door behind him.

Your eyes grow wider.

He drops his backpack on the floor and leans against the door, tilting his head sideways while running his eyes over you. 

“You missed all our tutoring sessions,” he notes.

A feeble apology stumbles out of your lips. “I’m sorry.”

He hums in acknowledgement before adding, “You don’t answer when I text or call.”

You heave out a long sigh.

“You should go.”

You try to shove him out but he doesn’t budge.

“No way,” he says firmly.

Your fingers outstretch toward the handle but Ethan’s faster, snapping the lock into place and placing himself in front of the door so you can’t escape.

You gawk at him.

“Ethan…What are you doing?”

Towering over you, he takes a slow step in your direction.

“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His hand sneaks under your chin when you lower your head.

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he mutters, angling your chin upward so his gaze dives into yours. His chestnut orbs soften as they drink you in. “Come on. I’m always here for you, you know that.”

The longer you peer at him, the more the fences you erected around yourself crumble, until nothing is left but ruins.

More tears swell in your eyes.

“Everyone who gets close to me dies, Ethan,” you shakily confess.

Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in a tight warm hug. 

“Shh, that’s just not true,” he whispers tenderly, cradling the back of your head as you weep against his chest.

“Yes, it’s true. It’s like everyone’s saying. I’m cursed.”

He collects your trembling fingers from your lap and twines them with his. 

Your tears soak his shirt but Ethan doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs your hand and guides you back to your bed as you thoughtlessly trail behind him.

He sits you at the edge of your bed and hunkers down in front of you. Even like this, Ethan’s so tall that you’re still at eye level with him.

“You’re not cursed," he affirms softly. 

Water drips down where your hands are joined with his. 

“Yes, I am," you quaver. 

"But I am."

"No," he fervently retaliates, lifting one hand to swipe your tears with his thumb while the other one roams over your thigh. "It just wasn’t meant to be. These guys weren’t right for you…" You stare at him, numb with shock. Dumbfounded, you don’t move as he cups your cheeks and bends over you.

A confident smile unfurls on his mouth.

Warm lips suddenly collide with yours. You find yourself on your back, confined between Ethan’s large frame and the mattress as he kisses you senseless. 

You whimper and his kiss turns hungrier, his hand roughly gripping under your thigh in a way that’ll surely bruise the next day. He hums, exploring your mouth and sweeping over your curves.

As an unmistakable pressure jutting from between Ethan’s legs presses into your belly, alarm bells ring inside your head.

You bang against his chest to get him to stop. 

"Ethan! What are you-"

He finally allows you to breathe but doesn’t free you, keeping you caged beneath him by putting his hands on each side of you. 

He licks his swollen lips and caresses the side of your face before admitting breathlessly, "I love you."

Your mouth falls open in sheer disbelief. You toss him a contrite look as he scrutinizes you. 

"I…I’m sorry but I don’t feel this way about you, Ethan."

He chuckles, a hopeful smile blooming on his features.

"Maybe not now but…"

"No, I don’t think I ever will,” you cut him off, your voice dwindling. “I only see you as a friend. One of my best friends.” You raise your hand to graze his jaw and he flinches at your touch, his brows squeezing together. “I care about you so much…but not like that. I’m sorry."

Something shifts in Ethan’s eyes, the light in them dimming.

"I see."

The coldness of his deep timbre sends a wave of ice through your veins.

He scoffs meanly, a manic glint waltzing in his brown gaze, "So you’d throw yourself at any random guy but not me?” He corrals your jaw in a bruising grip. You whimper, fingers latching to his wrist to pull him away but he’s much too strong.

A devilish grin curves his lips as he leers down at you. “What are you, some kind of slut?” He leans over you so his lips ghost over your earshell. You quake as he mumbles chilling words into your ear. “Maybe since you’re a slut, I should treat you like one.”

You unleash an audible breath, your lip wobbling.

Suddenly, there’s no more air, no more space. Only Ethan’s large frame pinning you to the bed as his hands wander over you, feeling everywhere at once.

Struggling is for naught, his ardent mouth tracing the column of your neck.

He nips at your skin and you sob.

"No, Ethan, please. This isn’t you,” you plead, fat tears rolling down your face.

His hand creeps inside your shorts and your heart skips a beat. A squeal tears from your throat as he plucks at your folds through your panties. 

Ethan muffles your scream by draping his hand over your mouth. You look up at him with fearful eyes, adrenaline rushing through your blood.

Palming your core, Ethan unleashes a devious chuckle.

"Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he whispers, yanking a broken wail from you when he pinches your bundle of nerves.

~

[brodygold]

Becoming A Bro

Ben had always been an outcast. He spent most of his time in isolation, immersed in solo activities like video games, chess against the computer, or endless rounds of solitaire. The social world seemed distant, an intimidating place that he never felt he could belong in. But sometimes, a longing crept in, a desperate desire for camaraderie. He watched groups of friends laugh together, teams celebrating victories, and he envied their connection.

More than anyone, he envied the Golden Army.

The Golden Army were everything he could never be: athletic, popular, powerful—and most of all, brothers. They stood together as a unit, an unbreakable bond of loyalty and strength. Watching them from afar, Ben could only dream of being part of something like that. It hurt to be on the outside, so much so that, sometimes, it brought him to tears.

One evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, the loneliness crashed over him again. He booted up his video game console, navigating to his favorite game: Golden Army: Legacy of Champions. For Ben, this was the only way he could experience a taste of their world. As the title screen appeared, he stared at the glowing gold armor on the players and whispered, "I wish I could be part of the Golden Army."

His voice barely left his lips before the screen responded in a way it had never done before. The image warped and swirled, forming a spiral that grew larger and larger, creating a vortex right in front of him. Ben’s heart raced, and he tried to resist the pull, gripping the couch with all his strength. But it was no use—the force yanked him into the swirling void.

Ben was weightless, spinning in darkness for what felt like an eternity until, suddenly, he hit solid ground. He opened his eyes, disoriented. The harsh sunlight blinded him for a moment before he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t in his apartment anymore—he was standing on a lush green soccer field. The smell of fresh-cut grass filled his nostrils, and he could feel the breeze brush against his skin.

But his clothes… they weren’t the familiar jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing. His eyes dropped to see a shining gold jersey stretched across his chest, with the number 13 emblazoned on it. Below that, matching gold soccer shorts clung tightly to his legs, muscles he didn’t remember having bulging beneath the fabric.

Ben stared in shock, lifting his arms. They weren’t his arms—at least, not the thin, untoned arms he had before. His biceps were thick, powerful, as if years of intense training had sculpted them. His pecs, once nonexistent, were now solid, broad slabs of muscle, his chest proud and firm. His legs felt sturdy, like tree trunks capable of propelling him across the field with ease. Even his hands, gripping the jersey, were larger, the fingers rough with callouses from years of handling soccer balls.

“What... what happened to me?” he muttered, his voice deeper than he remembered.

Panic began to rise within him, but so did something else—a strange fog clouding his thoughts. He tried to cling to the memories of who he was: Ben, the shy guy who preferred video games to people. But those memories were slippery, fading fast as if they were no longer relevant. He blinked, feeling the cool breeze rustle his now-brown hair. Brown? His hand shot up to touch his hair, realizing that it had lightened from its former dark shade.

A pressure was building inside him, not just in his body but in his mind. A new sense of purpose, of belonging. Why had he ever felt so out of place? This felt right—this uniform, these muscles, this team. He wasn’t meant to be some lonely outsider; he was born to be part of something bigger.

“What’s... my name?” The question echoed in his mind. Ben. It didn’t sound right anymore. It didn’t fit.

“Tyler! Hey, Tyler!” A voice shouted from across the field.

His head snapped up. Tyler. Yes, Tyler—that was his name, wasn’t it? He wasn’t some introverted gamer. He was Tyler, midfielder for the Golden Army. He played alongside the best, and his job was to keep the game under control, always in the right place at the right time to assist his team.

“Get Oliver here! The game’s about to start!” the voice called again.

Tyler—he was Tyler now—smiled, feeling the energy of the field course through him. The crowd was already roaring in the distance, waiting for them. His team. His brothers. This was where he belonged.

As Tyler ran to join his teammates, memories of Ben—his old life, his loneliness—faded into nothingness. His heart beat in time with the rhythm of the game. He was one of them now: fast, strong, confident, everything he had ever wanted to be.

On the sidelines, Brody watched with a satisfied smirk. "Another satisfied customer. Another bro for the team.”

[lanawrx]

Johnny Joestar with Yandere Reader

a/n: I've been listening to NEW MAGIC WAND by Tyler the Creator, perfect song for obsessing and being crazy over Johnny lol

cw: violence and gruesome scenes, possessive and obsessive reader, dark thoughts

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The camp was quiet, save for the crackling of a fire and the soft murmurs of conversation. You sat close to Johnny, your shoulder brushing against his ever so slightly. His Kentucky drawl filled the air as he talked, telling you stories from his past races—his voice like a melody you never tired of hearing. Every word he spoke made you feel like you were sinking deeper into a warm, comforting fog.

You smiled at him, soft and sweet, the way you always did. You were gentle. Kind. Everything Johnny seemed to need after everything he’d been through. Your presence made him comfortable, and the way his blue eyes sometimes lingered on you—longer than on anyone else—told you everything you needed to know. He liked you. You could see it in the way he blushed when you touched his hand, how he stumbled over his words sometimes when you smiled just right.

“Y-you’re… uh, you’re easy to talk to,” Johnny muttered, his gaze shyly dropping to the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. His voice was quiet, like he was nervous.

You giggled softly, your heart fluttering. You loved that he was so bashful around you. Loved how his cheeks would flush whenever you gave him even the slightest bit of attention. It made your heart swell with adoration. You leaned in just a little, close enough that your breath brushed his cheek, and you whispered, "I like talking to you too, Johnny."

His face turned red, and he looked away quickly, swallowing hard. "Y-yeah, well, it's nice… havin' someone like you around."

You giggled again, feeling the warmth of your affection for him spread through your chest. But beneath that soft, tender exterior—beneath the sweetness that made Johnny blush and stammer—was something darker. A shadow that clung to your thoughts whenever another woman dared to approach him.

Like tonight.

Your smile faltered slightly as you saw her. That fangirl was back again. The one who hovered like a vulture every time Johnny and Gyro took a break. You watched her now, that sickly-sweet smile on her face as she talked to him, giggled at something he said. The sight of her was a thorn in your chest. She didn’t deserve him. She didn’t know him like you did. She didn’t understand him like you did.

She doesn’t belong here. What, did she think he's up for grabs?

I fucking hate sharing.

Johnny turned toward her, an uncomfortable frown in place, and you saw the way she leaned in too close, the way her hand touched his arm. Your heart twisted violently in your chest, and the darkness inside you flared up, uncoiling like a serpent.

You felt your teeth grind together, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. Your hands, which usually rested so gently in your lap, were curled into fists, nails digging into your palms so hard it almost bled.

I should kill her.

The thought came easily now, like a whisper that slipped into your mind, soft and persuasive. It was rational—necessary even. You could see it so clearly. Her fragile little neck in your hands, bones snapping like brittle twigs. The light in her eyes dimming, flickering out, as her life drained away. You’d feel her heartbeat stutter beneath your fingers, watch her struggle, watch the fear bloom in her eyes when she realized she’d never get to speak to Johnny again. Not ever.

Why does she think she can touch him? He’s mine. He’s always been mine.

You clenched your fists, the sickening saccharine smile still on your face, but your mind was racing. Images flashed through your thoughts—dark, terrible thoughts. You imagined her gone. Erased. Out of the picture, like she never existed. You imagined your Stand, the one that had awakened after you crossed the Devil's Palm with Johnny and Gyro, wrapping around her throat, squeezing until she disappeared like smoke in the wind.

I need to get her out of the picture.

Johnny’s voice reached your ears again, low and guarded for someone who was clearly unwanted.

These goddamn bitches didn't know how to properly approach him. They were clearly fucking too stupid to handle him, with the way they endlessly chattered, sounding like a bunch of annoying chihuahuas with the way they demanded his attention.

They didn’t fucking know what it was like to need him, crave him, like air, like blood. They didn’t know what it was like to feel like your world would collapse if he so much as looked at someone else.

You shifted closer to Johnny, your fingers gently brushing his hand, drawing his attention away from her.

“Johnny,” you said sweetly, your voice soft, “do you want to come help me with the horses?”

His eyes flickered to you, and you saw the faint blush creep up his neck again. He nodded quickly, like he was relieved to have an excuse to leave the conversation. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

The bitch’s smile faltered, but she quickly covered it up, giving Johnny a lingering look. You felt the bile rise in your throat as you saw her disappointment.

Good. She should be disappointed. She should know that Johnny wasn’t hers. He wasn’t anyone’s but yours.

The thought of her hands touching him, her fingers brushing against his skin—it made you fucking sick. Your stomach twisted with revulsion, but more than that, with rage. You could feel it building inside you, dark and violent, a storm that threatened to consume everything in its path.

I’ll crush her batshit ugly skull.

The image was vivid in your mind. Her head in your hands, blood pouring from her broken mouth, eyes wide with terror. You’d leave her body in the dirt, somewhere far away where no one would ever find her.

She’d be just another forgotten casualty in the Steel Ball Run. Another nameless girl lost to the wilderness.

As you walked away with Johnny wheeling himself beside you, your hand brushing his shoulder, you couldn’t help but feel the rush of satisfaction fill you. She was nothing. Just another obstacle in the way of what you and Johnny had. But obstacles could be removed. With your Stand, it was so easy. You could make her vanish, like magic.

The two of you reached the stables, and Johnny looked to you, offering a small, awkward smile. “Thanks, I uh… didn’t really wanna talk to her.”

Your heart soared at his words, even though a darker part of you whispered, Of course you didn’t. She’s not like me. She could never be like me.

You smiled sweetly at him, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from his face. “I know, Johnny,” you said softly. “I just wanted to protect you.”

His blush deepened, and he looked away, clearly flustered. “Y-you’re always lookin’ out for me, huh?”

Your fingers lingered on his skin for just a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, letting your hand fall to your side. I always will. No one else deserves to be near you. No one else can love you like I do.

As Johnny leaned up to check on one of the horses, your thoughts drifted back to the annoying bitch from earlier. She was still out there, probably waiting for another chance to talk to Johnny. To touch him again.

She won’t get the chance.

Your Stand stirred within you, waiting, eager to act. You didn’t even have to go back to camp. You could do it from here—send your Stand to take care of her, to eliminate the threat without anyone ever knowing.

I’ll do it for you, Johnny. I’ll do anything for you.

Your smile remained soft, kind, as you watched Johnny work. He was so perfect, so fragile, and you needed to protect him. From the fangirls, from anyone who thought they could have a piece of him. They didn’t deserve him.

I’ll make her disappear.

The darkness in your mind whispered promises of safety, of a world where it was just you and Johnny. Where no one could come between you. Where no one else mattered.

“Johnny?” you asked, your voice gentle.

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—it was enough to make your heart skip a beat, enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

“Yeah?”

You smiled, stepping closer to him, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours. “I’ll always protect you, Johnny,” you whispered, your voice sweet as honey. “No one will ever hurt you.”

He blinked, surprised by the intensity of your words, but he smiled shyly, his cheeks flushed. “I know you will,” he mumbled, stumbling over his words like he always did when you were this close.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his cap, and watched with satisfaction as his blush deepened. He had no idea. No idea how far you’d go for him. How deep your love ran. How much you were willing to destroy to keep him safe.

You’re mine, Johnny.

And anyone who tried to take him away? They’d be gone.

Like magic.

Without another moment of hesitation, you let your Stand slip into the night, invisible to the eyes of those around you. It moved like a shadow, gliding through the dark with lethal precision. The girl didn’t even notice as it crept up behind her, hovering just out of sight.

You didn’t need to raise a hand. You didn’t need to say a word. Your Stand already knew what you wanted, what you craved. With a single thought, it struck—silent, deadly.

It was a great thing, Stands. And if you didn't have one...

You couldn't see them.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t have the chance.

Her body stiffened, eyes widening in shock as the invisible force closed around her throat, crushing her windpipe. Her hands flew to her neck, clawing at the air, gasping for breath, but it was futile. Her limbs convulsed, her face twisting in agony as the life was squeezed from her lungs.

You watched, your heart racing not with fear, but with satisfaction.

She collapsed to the ground, her body limp, her face frozen in terror. You felt a dark satisfaction settle over you as you stood, taking slow, deliberate steps toward your shared camp with Johnny and Gyro. The rest of the camp had fallen into a quiet hum, unaware of the crime you’d just committed in plain sight.

No one would ever know. No one would care.

Johnny’s head turned toward you, and when he saw you walking toward him, a soft blush spread across his cheeks. He smiled—that smile—the one that made your heart stutter, the one that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered.

Gyro grinned at you, waving with a Nyoho!, perfectly unaware of your sins. One he'd surely be disgusted by if he knew.

And he'd surely convince Johnny to leave, if he ever found out.

Well, it's a good thing that nasty little pest was taken care of. That way, Gyro wouldn't do that!

Right?

Johnny patted the spot right next to him, always eager to have you near him.

He's so damn cute.

“We can finally be together,” you whispered, your voice soft, loving, as though you hadn’t just snuffed out a life moments ago.

Together.

The word echoed in your head, images of you and Johnny spending the rest of your lives together flashed like it was your last moment alive.

Johnny blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t know. He would never know. All that mattered was that he was here, with you, now. There was nothing stopping you from being at his side forever.

“I…” Johnny’s voice wavered slightly, his blush deepening. “I’ve always felt like—well, like I could count on you. Like you’re always there.”

He smiled again, that shy, boyish grin that made you weak in the knees.

"Always and forever!" You beamed, lips bitten and cracked from endless nights of habitually chewing them while fantasizing about him.

For now, another problem was gone.

Like magic.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆