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asharasasylum · 1 day

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I'm a Good Girl, Officer ♡ Corrupt!Cop Toji Fushiguro x Reader

author's note: Had this idea floating around my head for a little while and finally wrote something. Have an idea for a part two but promising I'll write it and publish it. warnings: non con. dub con. power imbalance. blackmail. smut. mention of drugs. stalking. dark thoughts from Toji. use of sir. 18+ MDNI

As soon as he saw you, he knew he just had to have you. Luckily for him trouble seemed to follow you.

Corrupt Officer Toji who knew from the moment he saw you stumbling down the pavement in your fancy heels, and awfully short dress, that he had to have you. You were a pretty thing– clearly dumb to be out at this hour, wearing that tiny thing that barely covered your ass cheeks. Who knew what was lurking behind the corners of the dimly lit street. You were lucky that he had spotted you first before any nasty fucker stepped out from around one of the alleyways.

He rolled his window down as he crept up behind you in his car.

Your whole body went rigid as you twisted your body round to face the car, only to ease at the flash of red and blue lights, bringing the clack of your heels to a stop.

“It’s awfully late to be out here by yourself,” Toji said with a stern tone, turning the lights off as he pulled up beside you. He got a good look at your face then, the dark rings of mascara around your bambi eyes and the streaky wet cheeks. “You could get yourself into a lot of trouble looking like that out here.”

His eyes ran over you, drinking you in and he saw how you shivered under his gaze.

“Got a friend with you?” He knew the answer, he was just seeking out confirmation.

You shook your head, letting out on a small croak, “No, sir.”

Sir. His slacks tightened around him, dick twitching at what a sweet thing you really were.

His eyes darkened as he stared at you, clenching his jaw to keep himself at bay. He wanted to step out of the car then and there, tell you to drop you to your knees and use your throat as his own personal fleshlight. But you weren’t anything like the girls he usually picked up from these streets, all smiling and batting their eyelashes as soon as they saw him. They opened their legs so willingly that he was always sure to use protection with them.

You were different. It was in the way you swallowed thickly as he watched you and how your gaze flickered around you, looking for some sort of escape. You knew not to trust him and while he could tell you were a bit stupid, you weren’t going to fall for his usual lines and open your legs for him.

“Get in.”

“I don’t-I-” you stumbled on your words, looking like you might sprint the second the opportune moment presented itself.

“I’ll take you home,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes, turning to face the road ahead of him. “Trust me on this, no uber is coming here to collect you.”

You didn’t argue at that, slipping into the back of the car behind him and falling into his trap.

But you weren’t that stupid.

You directed him to your place with a few words, even offering him a small smile as you thanked him with another sir falling from your lips. You knew he was watching as you stepped out of the car, walking up to your apartment complex and fumbling around with your keys in your bag as you waited for him to go.

It was only when he pulled over around the corner did he watch you waltzing off to another direction. For this he had to actually get out of his car to follow you, finding you making your way to another apartment complex a few blocks over.

It was a cute attempt to trick him, he’d give you that. But unfortunately for you it didn’t work.

The second time you met had been a complete coincidence. A happy coincidence for sure.

Toji was more accustomed to working the night shifts but today he had stepped in for another officer he owed a favour to. Only to find you when he’s called in for an armed robbery at a corner store.

You gave him a small smile when you noticed him, wincing as you stretched your busted lip. You were holding a bag of frozen peas against it and when you moved it, turning it over to a colder side, he noticed the purple mark caught on your chin.

“Playing hero, huh?” He teased when he came to take your statement, crouching down to where you were sitting in the staff room.

“Didn’t mean to get in the way,” you told him with a soft pout and wet eyes. “Was just trying to help.”

He listened to everything you had to say, jotting the notes down for every bit of description that you could give him. The bastard that robbed this store wouldn’t know what hit him after Toji would be through with him. Even if you did say you pitied the poor man.

You were too good.

“Thank you, Officer…” you trailed off, narrowing your eyes as you tried to make out his name tag.

“Fushiguro,” he answered for you, bearing a wide grin.

“Fushiguro,” you repeated bashfully.

The third time you met had planned on his end. After watching you through the window of your apartment getting changed into that tiny bit of fabric you called a dress, he knew that he had to watch over you. Who knew what sort of trouble you’d find yourself into tonight, especially with the friends you associated yourself with.

He didn’t plan this meeting because he hadn’t been able to get the image of you out of his head all week— or the fact he’d spent the last few nights beating his meat to the sound of your voice spinning around in his head. Sir. Officer Fughiguro.

No, they weren’t the reasons at all.

It was all because of how your ass was barely covered in that dress and the way he knew that by the end of the night you’d find yourself in the same situation he had caught you in only two weeks ago. Only if he weren’t around it would be some other sick fucker that’d have you folded over in some dingy alleyway.

He hadn’t realised he had been staring at you from the other side of the bar, only catching on when one of your friends noticed him and giggled turning to the table.

All of your table looked over at him then, smiling widely as they got a good look at him. He hated the stares but he didn’t back away not when your gaze fell upon him, finally getting a good look at him without his uniform on.

You clearly didn’t recognise him at first, not until his eyes locked with yours and you quickly found yourself looking away. It was then he was sure it clicked.

He wasn’t at all surprised with your friends’ attempts to flirt with him, flinging themselves his way as they passed him at the bar. But he had been surprised at how you didn’t even approach him, not even a smile as you made your way past him to get to the toilet.

To say he was annoyed was an understatement, Toji was thinking of wrapping his hands around your throat and watching as you wheezed each time his thick fingers tightened their grip.

It was what had him following you to the toilet the fourth time you passed him, not even bothering to hide the fact he was hot on your heels. He waited outside the bathroom stalls, tapping his foot impatiently as his hands reached out to catch you at the first chance he got.

Toji wasn’t sure if it was pure luck, or the fact you clearly weren’t all that bright after a few drinks but something was working out for him. Because when you stumbled out of the bathroom, a little bag of powder fell from underneath your dress, landing in the inch of space between you and him.

“It isn’t mine, I swear,” you instantly said, panic washing over you. You stepped backwards into the dim corridor, cursing under your breath.

“This isn’t what I expected at all.” He crouched down, tutting as he picked up the powdered substance. “Want to explain.”

“It’s not mine,” was all you could tell him.

“It definitely belongs to someone, sweetheart,” he said, pulling his handcuffs from his back pocket. “So want to tell me which one of your friends this belongs to?”

Your eyes widened when you looked up at him, breath catching in your throat as you realised what was about to happen.

He had you right where he wanted you. There was no way you would give up one of your friends and even if you did, the drugs fell from underneath your dress, not any of theirs.

“Please,” you pleaded with him, falling further back into the hallway.

Toji followed you though, matching your short quickened steps with his slower strides. He held out the cuffs, practically jingling them in your face.

Your lips parted but you were caught like a mouse in a trap with nothing left to say.

“I feel like you’re normally such a good girl so I’m feeling a little generous.”

He almost chuckled at the way relief washed over your face and your body relaxed at his words. Almost.

“So I won’t handcuff you and parade you around for the whole bar to see,” he told you, placing the handcuffs back behind him. “But that means I need you to be a good girl and follow me out the back to my car.”

It was clear in the way your eyes grew wet that you didn’t want to go with him but you weren’t going to fight him on this.

Toji didn’t even bother driving you home to have his way with you. He lasted all of thirty seconds before he found a secluded spot in the parking lot and shoved you into the back seat, him following shortly behind. before shoving you into the back seat with him following.

You hadn’t been so willing at first but after a few threats of sleeping behind bars for the night, you become pliant in his hands.

It was how you found yourself straddling his waist, holding yourself up slightly as Toji had his way with you.

You whimpered when he slid a third finger into you, barely able to hear the mumble of his, something about getting you fully stretched out for him. You felt so full and if his thick digits were anything to go off of, you were sure that the bulge in his pants was going to leave you ruined.

“Officer,” you whined, at the feel of his palm brushing over your clit.

“Officer Fushiguro,” he corrected, curling his fingers inside of you. “You’re dripping, baby.”

That you were. Your pussy had made a mess all over his pants, a wet patch forming underneath you. He wasn’t upset by it though, not with the way his eyes grinned down at the sight, continuing his antics as he continued to thrust his fingers deep inside you.

“Please, sir.”

You didn’t exactly know what you were begging for but you begged anyway, staring at him with wet eyes and pouty lips.

“Please,” you repeated, clenching around him.

You had wanted to cum, you had wanted it so bad but instead you found yourself bouncing on his dick, being painfully stretched out by his girth.

He held you up, using you as a toy as he fucked himself into you. He didn’t even stop when you sobbed against him, begging him to be gentler with you. Instead he pounded into you like a crazed bull until the pain was only a slight sore tinge and the pleasure finally began to take over. Until all that was left to fall from your lips were desperate sighs of either ‘Sir’ or ‘Fushiguro’.

“Tomorrow I’ll let you call me Toji,” he groaned in your ear as his pace became sloppy and his thrusts became hard. “But tonight I really like the way you address me.” His tone changed, mocking you as he repeated your words. “Officer Fushiguro.” He chuckled, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Go on, say it again.”

“Officer-” you struggled to get out, your words getting caught on your own moans.

“Say it,” he warned, his hand painfully tightening around your hip.

“Officer Fushiguro.”

Your climax hit you hard at that and you screamed at the sudden way your pussy was leaking all over him and your knees almost buckled under your weight.

It had Toji laughing at that, grinning into the crook of your neck as he finally let go himself.

You only realised he was finished when he pulled himself out of you and you felt his warm cum spilling out of you as he pressed a hand against your stomach. Even though you knew that letting him cum inside you was a terrible idea, there was no way you were going to protest against him and in your state, you were honestly too fucked out to care, collapsing onto him.

You also knew that you shouldn’t rest against him— that you shouldn’t fall into his arms so easily. You knew how happy he would be to have you so docile on top of him, already feeling the chuckle rumble in his chest.

And Toji was happy. Even though he was never going to admit it, he was overjoyed with the way he had ruined you into submission. It had only taken one round to get you like this and he couldn’t help but imagine what you’d be like after four.

But he let that thought slip to the back of his mind as he traced his finger into the sweaty skin of your back.

“Officer Fushiguro,” you called, tilting your head up to catch his gaze.

He hummed, giving you a small nod to carry on with what you were about to ask.

“Will you take me home now?” You asked.

“I’ll take you home,” he answered, with a sly smirk. “We can continue this there.”

Your body tensed in his grip, moving to peel yourself away from him only to be harshly yanked back to your spot.

“And you can call me Toji when we’re not fucking.”

(Dividers by @cafekitsune)

reblogs and comments are always appreciated

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brattyfics · 1 day

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Sins of The Flesh

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC [Riley]

Wordcount: 3,000+

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact, No physical description of OC other than her being black, Spanking, D/S Dynamics, Mentions of Heaven/Hell, Alternate Universe (Mike Is Alive), Bratty!OC, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, a tiny bit of Degradation Kink, No P in V, Slight Angst

A/N: Divider by fireflygraphics. Special shoutout to @megamindsecretlair who inspired me to write something for the first time in too long. Thank you!

Riley was the picture-perfect Southern belle. With a preacher for a father and a teacher for a mother, she always kept up her manners in public. But behind closed doors, she had a talent for getting into trouble—and her relationship with Terry Richmond was no different.

He was her very own Black G.I. Joe—six feet, four inches of solid muscle. Intense, stormy green eyes and the face of an Adonis. A flawless specimen—and completely hers.

That morning, she woke up with a familiar ache in her belly. Terry had been gone the entire week to celebrate his cousin Mike’s homecoming, while she stayed behind due to a special work project. It had been seven long days without so much as a touch from the man who couldn’t keep his hands off her whenever they were alone.

He'd returned late Saturday, slipping into bed quietly to avoid waking her.

It was Sunday morning, and as the preacher’s daughter, she knew she had to be at her best. But sleep had eluded her. The rollers she wore to sleep were uncomfortable, and she never slept well when Terry wasn’t there. She woke up feeling restless, only to turn over and see him.

He was bare-chested, the morning light making his skin glisten. The bedsheets were pushed down to his hips, and the outline of his body was impossible to ignore. Her mouth watered.

When her gaze finally made its way up to his face, his eyes were already on her. Terry was always up by six, but some days, he'd stay in bed a little longer just for her.

She kissed her way up his body, starting from his neck and working toward his lips, straddling him.

“Mornin’, baby,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, making her heart flutter. His green eyes framed by naturally long lashes—lashes she spent a hundred dollars a month trying to replicate—fixed on hers. He pulled her down for a tight hug, his lips finding her jaw. She sighed, feeling his strength encase her.

“What time did you get in? I missed you,” she admitted, feeling a little foolish. She was a grown woman, had spent most of her adult life without him, but sometimes it felt like she couldn’t breathe without him there.

His facial hair, grown in during the week they’d been apart, tickled her skin as he nuzzled into her neck—a silent way of saying, "I missed you too."

They lay there for a few moments before he stirred. One arm wrapped around her back, the other reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “We gotta get up. It’s almost eight.”

She groaned. “It’s too early.”

She was up before sunrise on workdays, but weekends were different.

“Come on, we have to.” He patted her back gently.

“Excuse you…” She sat up, crossing her arms with her legs still draped over his hips. “You just got back and you're bossing me around. You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved how spoiled she could act sometimes. She knew he’d give her the world if she asked, and it boosted his ego to know she trusted him that much—knew, deep down, he would always protect and care for her.

“Oh, you think you’re running the show now?” he teased, raising a brow. She bit her lip, debating how to respond. Terry Richmond wasn’t the type of man to play petty games with, but she liked to do it every now and then, just to keep things interesting.

“Duh. I thought you knew.”

He let out a deep laugh from his core, right in her face. She huffed and tried to move away from his lap, but in an instant, he had rolled them over, pinning her beneath him as they both giggled.

“Who gave you command?”

His hand wrapped gently around her neck, and the playful moment turned serious. He positioned himself between her legs, morning wood pressed against her thigh, and her face flushed.

“You did.” She swallowed hard, remembering the last time they were in this position—his hand firm around her throat as he took control. The unspoken command hung in the air: tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll give you what you want.

He raised an eyebrow, “Me?”

“Yeah,” She smirked, “You disappeared so I had to improvise.” Her voice softened, teasing but with a warmth that hinted she missed him. “Maybe don’t leave me hanging next time, huh?”

He shook his head with a chuckle, then his lips crushed against hers, the kiss demanding, until her thoughts were consumed by him and only him. Her back arched, hips shifting as she sought him out. His hand found her neck again as he slowly pulled away, as if it pained him to stop.

“We gotta get up. I let you miss another Sunday, and your dad will never let me live it down.”

His sudden shift in tone made her scowl, especially as he tapped her legs to free himself from her grip. “Why are you talking about my father right now?”

“Get up.” His tone tolerated no dissent, and she reluctantly allowed him to pull her to her feet.

She followed him into the guest bathroom, where he'd gone to shower in peace. She dragged her soapy hands down his back, teasing him, offering to help him dry off but using it as an excuse to grope him instead. He wouldn’t give in. She spent the rest of the morning testing his resolve, brushing against him as he scrambled their eggs, and bending at the waist to give him a peek under her slip after "accidentally" dropping the house keys.

By the time they reached the church parking lot, a frown lingered on her made-up face, fading only as they approached the church doors, where she transformed into the picture-perfect preacher’s daughter.

Smiling, saying all the right things, all the while thinking about Terry. It wasn’t right, thinking these things in church, but she couldn’t help it. She prayed for forgiveness but couldn’t stop herself from reminiscing about him—the way he drove her to the brink of madness, how good he always made her feel.

The singing of hymns and the preaching faded into the background as she focused on the analog clock hanging above the pulpit. Church seemed to drag on even longer than usual, as if the universe were conspiring with Terry to tease her to death. He sat there, as tempting as the devil, his button-up shirt clinging to his muscular arms and thick thighs defined even in slacks.

By the time they reached the car, she felt like she was on the verge of catching fire. She’d waved hurriedly at her parents before dragging Terry out the church doors, complaining about the traffic. She was sure her mom would call her and fuss about it later, but she’d deal with that when the time came. He didn’t say a word until they were driving down the main road, his eyes glancing over at her.

“You’ve been acting wild all day. You that desperate for my dick?”

“What?”

“You heard me. You want it that bad?” He repeated himself, a sly smirk playing on his lips. Her mouth hung open as she processed his words. In the bedroom, he was her Daddy—dominant, demanding, intense. A bit of a bedroom bully, but never harsh. She was his princess, and he treated her like one. Terry didn’t usually talk to her like this, but she couldn’t deny the heat that pooled between her legs at his words.

She wished she had something clever to say, but the truth was that her desire for him ran deeper than he could ever realize. “I can’t help it,” she admitted, leaning over the center console to caress his leg. She gave him those Bambi eyes and spoke softly. “I need you, baby.”

“I get it. I've been counting down the days too,” He promised. His voice was steady and calm—too calm—while she felt like she was on the edge. He had unbuttoned the top of his shirt when they got in the car, and all she could think about was undoing the rest. The way the water had cascaded down his chest this morning was sinful. Her thighs clenched together subconsciously.

“I need more than just talk right now,” She grumbled, remembering how he had rejected her earlier that morning. She’d wanted him so badly that she dropped to her knees, promising to make it worth his while. But he remained composed, pulling her back up for a soft kiss on the corners of her mouth. “Later,” he had promised.

All week, she had struggled to concentrate at work, her thoughts consumed with him. And now that he was back, he didn’t seem in any hurry to change that. He should have woken her up last night, church be damned— The same way he did any other night he wanted to be inside her. Her hand inched up to his thigh and squeezed.

When her fingertips grazed his dick, he gently grabbed her hand and lifted it from his lap. “Relax,” he warned, his voice adopting that stern tone she usually loved. But now, it just grated on her nerves. Terry Richmond—who was always so eager—was telling her to relax about sex. How many mornings had he insisted on having her before he left for work? How many days had he stalked her around the house, grabbing her any way he wanted? How many nights had he promised to “do all the work” if she just let him inside?

She kissed her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring out at the cars ahead. He was full of it.

“What’s this? You got an attitude now?”

She snapped before she could stop herself. “What do you think, Terry?” Aggravation burned in her chest, and his eyes widened at her tone. Apparently, his week away had been too long—she had lost her damn mind.

“Any other time, you can’t get enough of me, and now you’re acting like I’ve got the cooties. What’s going on with you?”

“What are you trying to get at?” he asked, sounding annoyed, and it was clear on his face. She stared back at him as his gaze flicked between her and the road, as if her eyes could uncover whether he had been faithful. She trusted Terry, but she already knew Mike’s wild ass had plenty of strippers and trouble around.

What else was she supposed to think? Terry was only a man after all.

“For real?” he replied, meeting her suspicious gaze. “You think I’d do you like that?”

Her stomach flipped. In her heart, she felt one thing, but her head was a different monster altogether. She had a tendency to overthink and jump to conclusions. Terry usually made her feel so secure that it wasn’t an issue. “So, just because I’m not moving fast enough for you, I must be cheating, huh?” He looked at her like a wounded lion.

“I don’t know, Terry,” she shifted her gaze away from him, knowing she had overreacted. “I’m just frustrated, okay?” The silence that fell between them felt heavy. She knew she had made a mistake. “I’m sorry,” she added, her voice softening. “I know you’re not like that; I was just... I don’t know.”

Just like Muni Long, she wished for a Time Machine.

The sting of her accusation settled in his gut. He couldn’t begin to understand why she would doubt him after everything they’d been through.

Terry remained silent for the rest of the ride. Not even when he parked the car, opened her passenger door, and unlocked the house did he say a word. He let her in first, just like always, but the usual kisses to her neck were absent. Instead, he slipped off to the guest room to change while she undressed in their shared bedroom, feeling like a brat. The pretty polka dot dress and brand new stockings he should have been removing only added to her sadness.

She removed her makeup in a somber mood, then finally made her way to the living room when she could no longer put it off. Terry had changed into a T-shirt and shorts, sprawled across the couch while fiddling with the remote, flipping through channels she knew he wasn’t interested in at all.

She settled onto his lap, her thighs gripping him to keep him close. He avoided her gaze until she cupped his face in her hands, gently forcing him to meet her eyes. There was a storm brewing, one that she had caused. “Don’t be like that,” she pleaded.

She rested her head against his broad chest, cuddling into the warmth beneath her. With her chin snuggled comfortably, she gazed up into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was wrong– so wrong. I know who you are and that you wouldn’t hurt me. Please forgive me. I was trippin’.”

He took a deep breath and ran a hand across his low fade, trying to process his emotions. “You really scared me with that.” He grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “I need you to understand that it’s not easy for me to shake off what you said. I love you, but I need to know you trust me.”

“I do. I promise I do, baby. I just lost my head for a minute there. You mean everything to me.”

“Okay,” he conceded after a minute, “Just keep your head in the game, alright? Stick with me. We’re good.” Terry’s habit of framing their relationship in sports terms never failed to make her smile.

"You got it, coach," she teased, then added playfully, "Oh wait—Sir, yes sir," as she offered a mock salute.

“You always know just how to push my buttons, don’t you?”, he asked. “That’s alright, though, because you’re still under my command, recruit.” He delivered a series of sharp smacks to her behind without warning. Riley gasped as she felt the sting of each slap.

"Terry, stop," she protested, trying to push him away, but he was unyielding.

“Nah, baby,” he whispered against her lips, staring her directly in the eyes, “You got a little too bold and need a reminder of who’s running things.”

Her stomach flipped as she realized what was happening. She had been getting more mouthy as the day went on, testing how far she could go. Now it was time for Terry to put her in her place, and while that was always fun, she knew he wouldn’t go easy on her.

As if reading her mind, Terry pulled back slightly, his gaze fierce and focused. "You know I love you, baby," he uttered softly. “But sometimes, a firm hand is needed to keep us in line.”

She nodded, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. A spanking hadn’t been a part of her agenda for the day. All she wanted was to come home, have him in their bed, and make up for lost time, then pretend to watch TV for a little before she rode him to oblivion. But she had ruined that by being impatient. She knew that Terry was right – she had crossed a line today, and this was exactly what she needed.

Taking a deep breath, she eased into him, allowing him to maneuver her over his lap as he repositioned them on the couch. The muted sounds of the TV faded into the background as they got comfortable, her shorts rustling quietly as he pulled them down to her ankles.

“I get that you’re used to having things your way, but that ain't how it works with me,” Terry advised, palming her ass cheeks in each hand. He took his time jiggling the fat there before his hand came down on one side and then the other. Terry was heavy handed, making sure she felt him deep in her soul. She hissed, already reaching back to cover her bottom.

"Gimme your hands," he ordered, locking both of them in one of his own.

Terry started spanking her in earnest, and Riley felt every bit of it— the sharp sting as his hand met her skin, the heat radiating across her backside, and the firm pressure of his arms keeping her steady.

“I’m so sorry,” She whined, squirming in his lap. “I didn't mean it!” He took a breath, grabbed her chin, and locked his gaze on her to make sure she heard him loud and clear. “I know you didn’t plan for this, but you still deserve this punishment. You gotta do better, ma.”

He went back to smacking her ass all wild, hitting it from every possible angle. “Fuck!” She cursed, getting lost in the pain and the pleasure. If the folks at church knew she had a mouth like this, she'd be too embarrassed to show her face again. With each smack, her thoughts become increasingly scrambled, swirling in a delicious haze. It didn’t help that Terry was talking her through it the entire time.

“Remember I’m doing this because I love you.”

“You need to find some middle ground before you take things to the next level. You understand me?”

“Stay exactly like that, don’t move.”

“I know it hurts. It’s supposed to.”

“Here, grab this pillow.”

She moaned and groaned her protests but Terry was too strong and she had earned this ass whooping. She knew there was nothing left to do but surrender. Terry had her and she could let go of all her worries and concerns. She just needed to ride it out.

As the spanking continued, Riley’s breathing grew more ragged until she was breathless. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She apologized fervently each time his hand came down on her ass, sobbing when he gave her a small reprieve, rubbing her lower back gently. “You’re okay. We’re almost done. Are you really as sorry as you’re claiming?”

“Yes, Daddy,” She whimpered, already imagining how sore she’d be the next day, hobbling into her good government job with a bruised backside. She had bit off way more than she could chew and now needed his mercy.

“Repeat after me,” Terry commanded, his tone leaving room for argument. “Say ‘I’ll be a good girl and listen.’” She immediately complied, her voice shaky but sincere as she echoed his words, fully embracing the promise behind them. “I understand that the next time I do it, Daddy is going to spank my disobedient ass all over again..” She repeated his words like a well-trained parrot, and at the moment, it was all she could manage.

She felt lightheaded by the time Terry finished spanking her, and she couldn’t recall the last thing he’d said. She had hit her breaking point.

She laid there for several minutes, completely spaced out, and focused only on catching her breath. Terry massaged her scalp with his fingertips as they both came down from the natural high of their chemistry. Eventually, Terry lifted her up to meet his gaze, being mindful not to agitate her already bruised bottom.

“You good?”

Her head was still reeling. She wanted to shrink into a little ball, but she also wanted to live in his skin. How could she express that to him without sounding unhinged? Terry massaged her back in gentle, calming circles until he sensed her start to unravel. She eventually nodded slowly, acknowledging that yes, she was okay— physically at least, even if her emotions were still in a disarray.

“I’ll do better,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion.

"That’s my good girl," he said, gently wiping away tears from her cheekbone as his expression softened. Despite what she might think, he didn’t get as much satisfaction from spanking her as she believed. It was just something he had to do.

“Come on, pretty. I’ll fill the tub up for you, and then we can order brunch from your favorite spot.”

Forgive me for any mistakes. I had to post this before I lost my nerve, lol. This started as something completely different but I'm happy with how it turned out. Let me know what you think! For more Terry Richmond fics by other amazing young ladies, please check out my Terry Richmond fic rec tag.

#rebel ridge #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond x black!reader #rebel ridge fanfiction #terry Richmond x black oc #Terry Richmond x black reader

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mi-i-zori · 2 days

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A Tiny World

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Snail really likes to play Animal Crossing to relax. Turns out, Ghost does too.

WARNINGS : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Playing Animal Crossing is Snail’s way to escape the world whenever she can’t do or focus on anything else.

At the beginning, her first goal is to fill the museum to the brim - which she does pretty quickly, allowing her character to sit on a bench in front of the exhibits and enjoy the music playing in her ears. The aquarium is her go-to place to fully relax. Sometimes, she even falls asleep, leaving her little persona to bob her head left and right while watching the fishes.

When she really wants to empty her mind, she focuses on building her own little world. She’s quite indecisive about the theme she wants to follow to decorate her island, which leads her to divide it in multiple « regions ». Each one has an aesthetic that progressively gives way to another one, like a natural border that allows her to create a smaller theme in-between.

To go with these regions, she’s made different characters. They, too, live in a house and are dressed to fit a specific theme, and she enjoys crafting stories for each one of them. Her favourite house is like her own little museum, filled to the brim with curiosities of all kinds. Insects, fishes, plants, skeletons… The main room looks like an old apothecary shop, and a part of her longs to be able to make her own apartment a real version of this virtual house.

Ever since he stumbled upon her playing quietly in the common room, Ghost has been sharing this moment of peace with her, watching her play, learning about the game and the little world and characters she’s bringing to life. He rejected her offer to create his own character in there, but it doesn’t stop him from sitting next to her and throwing a few glances at the screen while reading or watching TV, or fully focusing on it while sipping on a cuppa.

« You sure you don’t even want to try playing a little bit, LT ? » Is what Snail keeps asking every single time - and, at some point, Simon gives in.

He finds that he really enjoys fishing the most, hunting bugs being a close second. Snail excitedly explains every single mechanic of the game to him, and the roles end up being reversed. She’s now the one watching him play as he keeps catching the most expensive things for her to sell as if he’s been doing this for his entire life, and he quietly listens as she blurts out random trivia about whatever fish or bug the little character is showing off.

There’s a moment when a neighbour actually manages to steal the expert’s target, immediately digging their own grave. Simon now sees a mortal enemy in them, and is ready to unleash hell on their life whenever he can. Snail taught him how to use the net as a weapon, causing him to whack the poor fellow on sight, despite her asking him to not be too mean. She likes this neighbour - it’s a frog, after all, and they’re nice to her. She does her best to keep them on her island, making it up to them after Simon’s spent at least an hour bullying them.

To try and salvage what’s left of her friendship with that neighbour, Snail introduces him to the islanders she actually wants to move away.

« LT, this one said the custom mushroom dress I made for myself wasn’t fashionable. Can you please help me unleash Hell on them until they leave ? »

« This guy put his house on the beautiful patch of rare flowers I’d made for my new zone. It took me weeks to get them all and now I have to remake everything ! »

« I don’t vibe with this islander. They’re mean to everyone, and made my best friend sad. »

« Equip your net, » is what he always says in return, settling comfortably on the couch before grabbing the controller.

Simon never realised how satisfying it could be to whack the characters of a cute video game on the head in-between a few sessions of fishing. So much that it’s become a little ritual now.

Though he still adamantly refuses to create his own character.

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sarahreesbrennan · 2 days

Note

Also also: is there any way, or will there be any way, for readers without whichever special edition (?) it’s in to read “Letters to My Lady from the Abyss…”? Reading your Reddit AMA in a desire to know more about this wonderful book and the idea of a tiny bit extra has me 👀

Thank you for wishing to know more! FairyLoot special edition is the special edition with bonus content. I will explain more. FairyLoot is a wonderful UK-based group who make fancy special editions for their monthly boxes. People sign up for FairyLoot and get books picked for them. You can get Young Adult, Adult Fantasy, or Romantasy, or a combination thereof - Long Live Evil was the August Adult Fantasy pick - and you can buy other special editions from their website. So the FairyLoot folks are Tastemakers as well as makers of beautiful objects. (ISN’T IT BEAUTIFUL? Pictures stolen. Interior art by Bon Orthwick who got Marius’s hair PERFECT.)

But you can’t buy the monthly boxes, unless they have extras! If they do have extra Evils to buy, I will put up a link.

There are many boxes now, but FairyLoot and Illumicrate are the two biggest and have made a lot more people embrace reading and see books as a special treat. Waterstones and Barnes & Noble have started making special editions of books because of them. A while back I knew none of this, because I was staying away from publishing, working with IP books (very different branch of publishing) and training for a different job. But then I did a catch-up call with my frien. She talked about FairyLoot. I did not understand her and thought maybe the deadlines had got on top of her and she believed fairies had looted her manuscript.

Holly: So these FairyLoot editions have (She holds up a copy of… I think… the Coldest Girl In Coldtown?) been amazing for UK sales.

Sarah: Sorry but why are these books so beautiful?

Holly: Because I just explained to you why, girl. Sarah: Can I have this.

Holly: No they’re limited!

So then I knew FairyLoot was a Giant Deal and they were offered Long Live Evil but I was sure they wouldn’t pick me.

My lovely editor Jenni: great news, the FairyLoot people picked you! Sarah: are you. are you quite sure.

Jenni: … yes? Could you write them some bonus content? Sarah: YES! A thing I can do for them? Oh yes! Here’s three things I can do. Tell them they can pick which one they would like!

I wrote a letter for them as well, to be bound in with the book. But the bonus content is an extra adventure or point of view you didn’t get to see in the main book. FairyLoot picks what they think their readers might like most.

I really like epistolary novels, where the action is told though letters, such as Jane Austen’s Lady Susan and Amal El Mohtar and Max Gladstone’s This Is How You Lose The Time War. So I thought it would be fun to do a story through letters!

Obviously I then had a moment of dark self-doubt.

Sarah: O my god why did they pick this nobody’s going to like him what shall I do! Holly: When I was writing Cardan’s letters you said ‘epistolary is so fun, you said, this is a piece of cake, you said, get in loser we’re writing romantically sinister letters, you said…’

Sarah: my Vision is a romantic The Screwtape Letters. Holly: … oh dear. Okay. Get in loser we’re writing romantically sinister letters.

And so with a lil help from my kind frien, I wrote Letters to My Lady From the Abyss, which is an epistolary short story with a POV we don’t get in book 1 and an adventure we don’t get to see. But I did write it, as you see, for FairyLoot so it belongs to them and it’s up to them. I think I might get it back in a year and then I’ll put it up on my website. I will let you know!

I am so sorry for this very long explanation, I just wanted to let you know what was up.

Should you read it, I hope you enjoy. And I will write more bonus content, I promise!

Also speaking of FairyLoot, they’re doing a readalong of Long Live Evil right now if anyone might like to chat about the book. Here’s a link to people talking about chapters 1-7 - they will do a different chunk every day! I like that people are choosing favourite characters, so far the Cobra, Key and Emer have the votes!

#long live evil #key of the cauldron #fairyloot #holly black #this is how you lose the time war #cardan greenbriar #epistolary #Readalong

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reaper-in-reverie · 2 days

Text

—come, stay a while.

(though it's not nice to see a familiar face.)

preview.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

synopsis. kaiser, and how his change doesn't seem to change much at all. angst. character interpretation.

warnings. derealization. typical kaiser backstory implications - abuse, neglect, etc. alcohol/alcoholism mentioned. blood but only very little. 1k words. not proofread.

notes. ooc definitely lol. i think it's a bit too melancholy but i don't plan on fixing it. I am projecting so hard. the hyperspecific details are actually references to me :3

He could physically feel himself get worse on more stressful days.

The dull bathroom light illuminated the mirror as Kaiser stared into it. He brushed his blond locks from his face, scanning his own features; the stress of the day etched into them, the natural gleam of attractiveness in his eyes.

He'd accepted a long time ago his life was but a reflection of people before him.

In the mirror, in puddles of rain, in the words of people around him — "you look just like your mother!" It used to sting, the reminder of a mother who looked exactly like him yet he never knew; never loved him as a mother should. First there was anger, spreading over his whole being like a wildfire — why compare him to such a coward, run from home and left her blood behind?

He hated it, disowned it like his mother did him; he hated his blue eyes, which seemed to naturally have a charming gleam in them; he hated his blond hair, which seemed so naturally beautiful he had to make an effort to keep it shaggy, to try to keep him as different from his mother.

The acceptance took years to settle. Eventually he'd come to live with the fact that his reflection was the only thing his mother had left for him to keep. He'd come to find comfort in this fact — somewhere in his blood he was both blessed and tainted with memories of his mom. Truly, engraved within his blood and soul, he still belonged to something. Almost comfortingly, he belonged to his mother. But he did not know his mother. She had no arms to hold him, no voice to guide him; just a face, haunting him in every reflective surface.

Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and not see himself.

Now Kaiser would stare into the bathroom mirror and expect to his mother.

He brushed his blond hair falling into his blue eyes again, in search for something to belong to.

This time, there was something else.

Wrinkles settling in his forehead with his eyebrows knitted together, a deep, skeptical frown upon his lips as he scanned his reflection, a sense of dread filling him at the familiarity of it.

Oh god, he looked just like him.

For the first time, Kaiser felt the intense urge to cover his face. He winced at himself, looking into his own eyes with extreme disgust and judgment, his own expression reminding him of someone else. Why would his father make an appearance now? He'd just never thought he'd find himself looking like...

He tried looking himself in the mirror again, brushing some of his bangs out of his hair. Some pathetic part of him searched for his mother in the reflection, yearned for her care the same way he had when he was younger. And still, like before, there was no one who came to his side. He couldn't unsee it.

He took a sharp breath in, rubbing his eyes long enough until he had splotches of black in his vision. Kaiser looked himself in the mirror again—

And still, his father was there. Silently staring from the mirror in judgment.

Suddenly Kaiser was ten again. When he looked up to the low ceiling, there were splashes of milk stretching out from above his bed up to the corner of the room, painting the ceiling with stars. The pads of his tiny fingers were bleeding from trying to open a can of tuna. The familiar scent of alcohol filled his nostrils — his father was drunk in the living room — but he didn't move from his bed to ask his father for bandages. He did not move to ask his father to open the can himself.

His bedroom walls slowly rotted away, cracks in the corners, the paint peeling off. It didn't take much to notice how many things were in bad condition; entering the house itself had the doors creaking, hell, even the door to his own rotting bedroom creaked loudly when opened.

But Kaiser did not ask his father to get the walls fixed. He did not ask his father to oil his doors' hinges. He did not ask his father for anything. Excluding maybe all the times he'd beg not to be hit...

But he did not ask his father for anything.

And to think that but a child was soaking up such an environment. A polished and unassuming to-be-copy as it sat in the corner of the room. All he could do was reflect what he hungrily absorbed.

That's enough. Kaiser turned away from the mirror, hastily shutting off his bathroom lights. He didn't want to keep seeing his father in himself. He didn't want to see at all.

He walked into the connecting room, leaving the bathroom door open and grabbing a glass to fill with water. He swallowed with fervor, a dizzying feeling of misplaced yet familiar paranoia washing over him in waves.

He had to remind himself he wasn't ten anymore. There weren't any more rotting walls and no more drunk fathers in the living room.

So what was scaring him?

No, what was scaring him more: that it still felt as if his father was here, looming over his every move and judging his every mistake; or that he was the one bringing his father into his own life, in his own actions and in his very reflection.

That somewhere deep down, down to the very nature of his soul, he was bound by blood to a monster.

That somewhere deep down, he belonged to something.

Kaiser glanced towards the rest of his home now. A small apartment. He didn't even live in Germany anymore. Still, he felt he was carrying some part of himself with it. Eerily, it was like nothing had even changed.

Some of the paint on the walls were peeling. He placed the glass of water down to nervously rub the pads of his fingers together. He noticed the bathroom door was still open. Crossing the room to get his hand on the handle, he took one last glance at the mirror. It was dark in the bathroom. He couldn't see himself. He pulled the door closed.

The door creaked loudly shut.

#—reaper writes.#blue lock #bllk #bllk kaiser #blue lock michael kaiser #blue lock fanfiction #bllk fanfiction #michael kaiser #bllk fanfic #kaiser michael

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warping-realities · 21 hours

Text

A Better Brighter Future

A brief explanation, this story is a spinoff of Dalton Academy, you don't need to have read that series to understand this story, but you will miss some references. The themes here are also controversial and I need to remind everyone that just because I wrote it doesn't mean I agree with what's happening! Otherwise, a great read for anyone interested!

Director Horace Johnson wasn’t having a good week; in fact, the week he was having was bloody dreadful. The blonde, skinny bloke, fifty years old, had dedicated a good chunk of his adult life to educating young people, finding that calling shortly after leaving university. A staunch defender of human rights and a proponent of positive education, he faced all sorts of problems with reactionary teachers throughout his career, none worse than Ethan Wood, the former PE teacher at King Richard All Boys Institute, affectionately referred to by everyone in the tiny village of Daffodil-Meadow-Over-The-Hill as Lionheart School. However, after numerous run-ins over the three years he’d been the head of that institution, he finally got fed up with the other bloke's speeches, attitudes, and teaching style, and thanks to an anonymous tip about some dodgy behaviour that led to his dismissal, nearly all the students and many of the teachers breathed a sigh of relief; that sort of hardline, oppressive treatment had no place in today’s world. The one thing Horace couldn’t imagine was the struggle to find a replacement who shared his progressive ideals, not to mention the fact that he had to deal with the backlash from some conservative parents, teachers, and board members. Just another battle they were fighting; he should have known, it was like that when he banned the posh uniforms or tried to authorise the use of gender-neutral pronouns – one battle won, another lost. But he was determined to come out on top again; he refused to put another outdated troglodyte in that position. A better, brighter future was the motto of that school, and he was going to make it happen.

While he was mulling over these issues, sitting in his office with a good cup of tea, his privacy was invaded. With a loud BAM, the door to his office was flung open, causing him to quickly raise his eyes from the document he was reading, only to see the monstrous figure striding towards him. A black man in his thirties, dressed in a polo shirt, tracky bottoms, and trainers, exuding the brash vibe of a sports coach, swaggered confidently in his direction. He couldn’t remember scheduling any interview, and certainly not with someone so rude, who gave off exactly the impression of the type of professional he refused to hire.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave this room; I’m busy and we haven’t got a time booked!” he said, standing up and positioning himself beside his desk, noting the absurd difference in build and muscle between the two.

“And since when do old mates need permission to see you, Henry?”

“That’s not my name!”

“I know that, Henderson, you tosser, but if you reckon I’m not gonna use your nickname just because you’re the head honcho of a fancy school now, you’re sorely mistaken. Just wait until the lads on the rugby team find out the Steamroller Henry is all posh now; they’ll be laughing their heads off!”

“Sir, I… I don’t know what you’re on about… I insist you leave!”

“Now that’s the Henry I know, always ready to pull a fast one on his mates.” The man said, slumping down in the armchair opposite his desk. “But enough of the banter, mate. After you got in touch, I did a bit of digging into what’s going on around here, and you’ve got some serious problems. Losing a bloke like Ethan Wood must have been a right kick in the teeth, especially after scrapping the uniforms; they might have been a bit too posh, but they helped maintain a sense of unity and shared identity. Good on you for getting rid of that daft idea of using gender-neutral pronouns. Still, mate, I can see why you need me here. Transforming these crybabies into real men can’t be easy, but don’t you worry; you called the right person!”

“I… what…? I don’t get it…”

“What’s hard to understand, Henry? You need help to rein in this progressive agenda that’s trying to take root here, so you called your old uni mate Blake Ian Garret, The BIG and said, ‘Mate, I need your help with these wankers trying to sabotage me; old Wood is out, I need you for the job!’”

“I… Blake… BI… BIG, then… do you accept?”

“Of course I do, you muppet; it’s exactly what I’ve been banging on about! That whisky you’re drinking is probably messing with your already dodgy brain. I wonder how they let you become a director, Henry; not that I’m complaining, we need more blokes like us in charge.”

“I also wonder how I ended up here; I only became a teacher because that dodgy Wood promised to pass on his job to me when he retired, and next thing I know, I’m stuck in this boring role and now I have to give the job I wanted to an arse.” He said with fake exasperation.

“Shut it, mate; I know you missed having another real man around here, and while I explain how things work in the place I was working, why don’t you pour me a bit of that drink? I think you’ll love hearing about Dalton Academy.” The man commented, noticing the change happening in Horace Johnson. In a blur of movement, the skinny man’s body expanded in muscle and height, while the wrinkles vanished from his face and his blonde hair started to grow back where it had receded. In less than a second, Henderson “Henry” Johnson found himself grinning, offering a glass of whisky that hadn’t been there before to his old university friend and now professor Blake Garret, The BIG in his realm.

“A toast to the best hire I could have made,” he said, raising the glass to his old friend, who broke into a wide smile.

“To a better and brighter future, indeed!”

…..

The students and teachers didn’t know why they were gathered in the school gym. The summons came from Director Johnson himself, and they knew they had to comply quickly, as the man had a military rigidity about that sort of thing, not tolerating any behaviour he deemed lazy. So, what a surprise it was for everyone to see that it wasn’t Henry Johnson heading to the packed gym.

“Good morning, gentlemen! My name’s Blake Garret and I’m the new PE teacher here at Lionheart. The director Johnson and I have known each other for a long time; we were university mates and teammates, and he’s shared with me his concerns about the behaviour and ideals presented here. This nation is infected, gentlemen. Infected by a parasite called progressivism. Progress should be encouraged, yes, but with proper control, guided by the ideas of our parents and ancestors. Progress for the sake of progress should be discouraged!” He said, striding across the gym floor like a caged beast ready to break free, pausing only to observe the indignant faces of some teachers and a few students who bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. But that was about to change, and it was going to be now. “When Henry told me that the infection was spreading here too, I couldn’t believe it. I said to him, ‘Surely not, Henry, my dear. Lionheart is a beacon of clarity amidst a stormy sea of harmful ideas; the teachers are exemplars of masculinity and manliness, and the students are the pinnacle to which every young man in this nation should aspire; surely there’s no such behaviour here.’ But… but now that I’m here, I see! Gentlemen, my eyes fill with tears at what Lionheart is.” He said, taking another pause to take in the disgusted expressions before finally finishing what he had come to do there. “Tears, yes, tears of pride! For you are much more than I imagined, gentlemen. You are paragons of masculinity, the example of what every man should aspire to be; you haven’t allowed yourselves to be contaminated by the corruption attacking our country from within; you are what gives me hope for the future of our great nation.” He said, resuming his frenetic pacing, and with every step he took, the audience transformed; teachers, students, staff, all expanding in size while ideas and thoughts shrank, casual clothes being replaced by training gear that showcased their muscular and defined bodies, while a powerful funk that only dozens of sweaty gathered men could produce dominated the atmosphere, not that anyone there cared about it.

“That was a brilliant welcome drill, lads; now off to the showers and back to your uniforms for your lessons. Teachers, I ask you to stay a bit longer; I need to know about any absent students today.”

….

Franklin was in deep trouble; he missed the bus to school and had to walk all the way from the village of Grimchurch to Daffodil Meadow, which wasn’t pleasant for a skinny, asthmatic kid. The worst part was that he ended up terribly late for school, and knowing the kind of reception he would get, he thought about just not going, but that would bring even bigger complications, so he decided to face his fate with resignation. He was greeted by the guard, who merely directed him to one of the classrooms where a teacher would speak to the late students and administer the necessary punishment. Sighing with resignation, he headed to the indicated location, but upon arriving, something stopped him from entering the room; some sort of primitive alert resonating within his mind. Peeking through the corner of the window, he saw a teacher he didn’t recognise, a tall and very strong man with skin as dark as his own, talking to Bernard, Vincent, and Timothy, three of the biggest truants at Lionheart, who were looking at him with bored expressions. But then, in the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened; the boys he had known all his life were replaced by larger, stronger, muscular versions, wearing uniforms and smiling as if they were getting drunk on every word the teacher was saying, words which Franklin couldn’t hear. But then the teacher approached the door, and he could hear the end of the speech.

“… rowing at the end of the day; you lot are to be congratulated, I wouldn’t be surprised if any of you ended up representing England at the Olympics. Oh, before you go, Bert and Victor, you’re in the same class as Franklin Burke, right? If you see him, let me know; I need to have a word with the lad, the same goes for you, Tom.”

Hearing that, Franklin took off running, desperate, not fully understanding what he had witnessed but knowing the risk he was in; he urgently needed to get out of there. In his despair, he didn’t notice that the man had left the room and smiled when he saw a skinny kid running toward the changing rooms.

Franklin thought the safest way to escape the trap he had fallen into would be through the school gym, which should be empty at that hour. Sneaking in as quietly as possible, he finally reached the changing area; he just needed to cross it and head to the football pitch, which would be free from whatever was happening there. But there was a hitch: someone was using the changing room. Quickly hiding behind the door, he saw the stranger swaggering arrogantly through the space. Recently out of the shower and wearing only a jock strap, the muscular Chinese lad strutted as if he owned the place. Stopping in front of the mirror, he admired himself. Who could he have been before? No… no… Lionheart only had one Chinese student. That must be… Anshen? Franklin’s best mate… no… this was a nightmare.

“I can see you there, mate!” said the muscular lad, crossing his arms. “Coach BIG is looking for you. I wouldn’t irritate the bloke if I were you.” He added with a cheeky grin. Having been discovered, Franklin stepped out of hiding.

“Anshen… is that you?”

“The name’s Ashton, Franklin. Honestly, how could you forget the name of the captain of the school swimming team?” he said, acting as if that made him the most important person in the room. Without even glancing to the side, he brushed past that aberration towards the corridor leading to the football pitch.

“Hey, mate, the coach’s office is the other way!” shouted the other lad, but Franklin didn’t pay him any mind. He was running anxiously toward the door that was his salvation. Only to see it swing open and the monstrous giant that was walking toward him with a grin. Between the two giants, he chose to face the smaller of the two and took off running in the direction he had come from, without seeing the smile fade from the man's face or hearing him grumble.

“Don’t know why they run…”

Upon reaching the door of the changing room he had just passed through a few seconds ago, he found it locked. How? Ashton must have locked it. Franklin grunted as he cursed the other lad with every ounce of strength not being used to try to open the door.

“It’s useless, lad. Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot in this school. But you know what? I like you; you’ve got fire in you. Turn around.” The man said with authority, and Franklin felt his body obey against his will. Gathering courage, he faced the man.

“Who are you? What are you?”

“What I am is something to be answered another time. Now, who am I? Frankly, Farrel, that’s no way to speak to your godfather.” Coach BIG replied, seemingly hurt, although a slight tremor at the corner of his lips indicated he was actually enjoying himself.

“What? Godfather? I don’t have a godfather and I don’t even know who you are! And who the hell is Farrel?”

“Farrel is my godson; a lad, strong and sure of what he wants. A man who knows a man’s rightful place in society. He’s a bit of a rogue, the type who’s too smart for his own good, always finding a way to dodge consequences. Except when he’s on the pitch; he’s the captain of the rugby team and takes that role seriously, even knowing his future lies in politics, thanks to the silver tongue he possesses. In short, Farrel is you, you great numpty. Now that it’s just the two of us in my office, come give your godfather a hug.”

“I… what? No…!” Franklin stammered as he felt his legs move on their own and a dreamy smile form on his lips, even as he internally screamed in anxiety.

Anxiety? He never got anxious! At least not off the pitch. There he was a monster, a bull. But off it? Off it, he was the face of relaxation. Chill out and have a laugh was Farrel Burke’s motto! Thought the muscular black giant that few would believe was only eighteen years old. While he put on the school uniform in his godfather’s office, admiring his beautiful body and smiling.

“Farrel? Farrel! Bloody hell, lad, can’t you pay attention for a minute?”

“Sorry, Uncle BIG… I mean… Coach BIG… oops… Professor Garret.”

“If you weren’t my godson, I’d give you a right telling off, lad, and just because I’m your godfather doesn’t mean you can use my office as if it were your personal changing room.”

“If you hadn’t dragged me from the changing room, I wouldn’t need to finish getting dressed here!”

“Is that a dig at my behaviour, lad?” BIG asked seriously, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“No, sir, professor. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” The lad replied, sensing the danger.

“Great. As I was saying, I want to implement some of the ideas I brought from Dalton; while you finish getting ready, let me talk to you about the clubs…”

…..

By the end of that week, BIG’s initial work was complete; there were no more students or teachers left to be improved. The uniforms had returned to being the norm, and all the lads were required to be part of at least one of the school’s sports teams. Moreover, the social clubs had been formed, ensuring that the lads, even after school ended, would have a reason to return to Lionheart and not forget what they had learned there. BIG was proud of what he had accomplished, and those above him were too. Now it was time for the expansion phase, to take what was taught at Lionheart outside the school’s walls and fields. BIG’s approach was different from that taken at Dalton; times were different, and in the war they were waging against those who wanted to remove men from their rightful place, there was no room for the discretion adopted by the sister school. Europe was falling too quickly; it was necessary to be more incisive. That’s why Lionheart would focus not only on creating the leaders of tomorrow but a whole generation of influencers, and sport would be their flagship. And there was no sport more popular worldwide than football. Knowing this, the Lionheart team became a priority for BIG, and he created a particularly talented and charismatic group, but they still lacked a coach of the right calibre. But that would soon be resolved, and quickly too; normally, BIG liked to savour the moment he transformed a pathetic figure into a real man. However, as the mass transformation of the first day showed, when the need was pressing, he acted fast. And that Sunday morning, it was needed again. While the lads prepared for training, the stands of the school filled with students from other teams, but also with parents and locals from the surrounding towns. This would be exhausting. And the cherry on top was the old man walking across the field with an angry look directed at BIG, who returned the scorn before breaking into a smile.

Zachariah Hastings, a member of the school board and a staunch conservative, which in theory should please BIG, but the problem was that the old codger was too conservative. Homophobic and racist, he seemed to boil inside the outdated suit he was wearing at that moment. He indeed represented that mythical figure of patriarchy that the snowflakes loved to point out as the cause of all ills: the white, heterosexual, cisgender man. BIG had nothing against a man who was all those things; on the contrary. The problem was that this figure represented everything that the enemies of the brotherhood of men took pleasure in using to attack. BIG’s group merely wanted to return men to their rightful place in society; they didn’t care about race, religion, whether you were an immigrant or who you slept with. Implicating with those things only created divisions, pushing men away from the real goal. And it was precisely for that reason that Zachariah had to go. Without any fanfare or manipulation, in one moment, the old codger was there with a bewildered expression, as if he knew what awaited him, and in the next moment, a fine specimen of a black man, very much like BIG himself, stood in his place, while every man in that audience became an upgraded ally, and BIG enthusiastically announced to everyone the arrival of the legendary Zeke Hastings, newly retired player from Manchester City and multiple-time champion of the Premier League, Champions League, and Euro Cup, to take the position of coach for the school’s football team, sending all the men in that place into a frenzy of delight, while BIG himself smiled, satisfied that the first part of his duty was finally fulfilled.

**Two months earlier**

Barret couldn’t stop tapping his foot while waiting in the posh waiting room of Dalton Academy; after all, this was his big chance, even if he didn’t understand why an American school would be interested in an English literature teacher. Although the whole place reeked of Old Money, perhaps that justified the interest in him.

“You can come in, Mr. Garret.” A metallic voice startled Barret, who looked around for the source, but found none. Collecting himself, he stood up, straightened his suit, and opened the massive door to the office. What he saw there gave him a sense of strangeness. Smiling and walking towards him in a space much larger than would be possible, was a handsome lad, no more than eighteen years old. Was this some sort of prank by the posh students?

“Come in, Mr. Garrett. Barret Garret; your parents had an interesting sense of humour; I would have certainly liked them…” commented the smiling young man before frowning. “Why the scared face? Ahhh, I always forget these modern conventions; in my day, this would already be the appearance of an adult man.” The young man said, his face concentrating, and then, as if by magic, he began to walk towards an office desk that Barret could have sworn hadn’t been there seconds before. When he reached the desk a blonde, older, and muscular man wearing a slightly less formal outfit smiled at Barret.

“I think you’ll prefer this appearance, my dear. You can call me Mr. Edgar. And even though I’ve used a bit of trickery to bring you here, since unfortunately there’s no place for you on Dalton’s faculty, by the time we finish our conversation, it’ll be as if you know the place better than you do yourself, and I guarantee the goal I have in mind for you will leave you quite satisfied. Put a smile on that face and step in.” Even against his will, in that incomprehensible situation, Barret found himself smiling and stepped into the creature’s lair.

If anyone who wasn’t an active member of Dalton was watching what was going on, they would have been shocked. But within those walls, it was almost routine. A young, well-dressed black man hesitating in front of a portal, only to, upon crossing it, see his body modify and expand, while he aged a few years, though that only made him even more charming; his slow steps transforming into the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And anyone who knew Blake Ian Garret, coach BIG, could tell that that impression would be correct, though incomplete. BIG not only knew what he wanted but would also do everything in his power to achieve his goals. And those goals at the moment consisted of returning to England to find a way to occupy a position at Lionheart School, which conveniently was established on top of one of the largest dormant power points of the old country, but which only needed a spark to awaken. A spark that Mr. Edgar handed to him, only demanding in return that he use that power to ensure that the occupants of the place, both the established ones and those who would come, and even the unsuspecting traveler passing through, became the right kind of men. The exact type that BIG himself represented.

….

**6 months later**

“Son, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. I survived high school; you will too.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to be transferred in the middle of the second year to a school with the highest concentration of wanker athletes that would have certainly made your life a nightmare.”

“Duncan, I understand; I was transferred as well, remember? I need to make friends at work too.”

“Dad, that’s completely different; none of your colleagues are going to shove your head in a toilet or anything like that.”

“I’m sure that only happens in films, Duncan.”

The pair of overweight blonde father and son walked through the corridors of the Lionheart Institute towards Director Johnson. The truth is that even Alex, the father, was not comfortable with that arrangement, but there was nothing to be done; Lionheart was the best school in the area, and he refused to send his son away from him. Duncan was a shy and reserved kid, just like he had been at that age. That school would be a challenge, but any other would be too, and there he would be close by if something happened.

“Dad, didn’t you read the articles I sent you? This journalist, Aaryan Patel, wrote a series of them talking about what goes on here; all the students here, regardless of where they came from, are some kind of athletes; some have even competed in the Olympics. And there’s more; all of them have behaviour described as toxic; some have been banned from giving interviews; some bloke named Ashton Zhang won a bronze medal in Paris but said so much rubbish about the opening ceremony that he almost got banned from competing.”

“Well, then they’ll know what it’s like to have a mathlete among them now! And who knows, you might become a good influence on them or even get motivated to take up some sport; exercise does wonders for a young lad.”

“Says the man who’s never set foot on a court in his life…”

“Duncan, enough! You’re coming to study here, and that’s final.” The father snapped, as he noticed a giant figure approaching confidently down the corridor.

“But Dad, I think Aaryan Patel has a point…”

“Duncan! I don’t want to hear you talking about Aaryan Patel anymore!”

“You do quite well.” Commented the giant black man approaching them, his smile vanishing upon hearing that name. “Mr. Patel has only been defaming the good name of this school with lies and distortions, when what he should be doing is praising the performance of our students in all areas of life. I’m Professor Garret and I believe you are Archibald and Duncan, am I right?”

“In fact, my name is Alexander…”

“Ah, some misunderstanding then.” Commented the professor with a cheeky smile before continuing. “Director Johnson should have welcomed you, but he had a slight hiccup and asked me to do it for him. I thought I’d chat with you, Archibald, while one of the lads shows Duncan around the school. Where is that rascal? Ah, here he comes.” Professor Garret finished speaking without giving Alexander a chance to correct him about the name error, although he himself had forgotten it when he saw the lad strutting down the corridor, almost like a mini version of the professor. Although saying that anything about that lad was mini would be an affront. Broad shoulders and strong limbs pushing the limits of the school’s smart black uniform, made up of a full suit, tie, and dress shoes that must have been tailor-made to fit the boats that were his feet, the overall effect was one of sophistication but also of dominance and confidence that left Alexander gaping and Duncan, who was already fearful, completely terrified.

“Good day, Coach BIG… hum… Professor Barret; good day, sir.” The lad said politely, although a mischievous sparkle danced in his eyes.

“Farrell, my boy. Would you be so kind as to show the school’s facilities to Duncan here while Archie and I have a chat?”

“With pleasure, Professor Garret. Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Duncan?” He said, positioning himself next to the other lad who, although overweight, was shorter and lighter than him, before turning to Alexander with a cheeky grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Archie.”

“The pleasure was mine, lad.” replied Alex, again forgetting to correct the name error. “We’ll see you in a bit, Duke.” He ended up saying to his son, who looked at him first with wide eyes of pleading and then in surprise at how his father had called him. But there was nothing to be done, for at that moment the muscular giant lad took him by the arm and carried him down the corridor, while his father walked away in the opposite direction, chatting amiably with the behemoth that was Professor Garret.

BIG entered his office and sat down at the desk, although he hadn’t asked Archibald to enter, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

“So, Archibald Dunhan, that name doesn’t sound unfamiliar to me.” Commented the professor.

“Well, it’s not exactly a common name these days.” Archibald replied, accepting the name as if he had always used it.

“No, it’s not… Archibald, Archibald Dunhan, Archie, Archie Dunhan! But of course! Wall Archie! You could have been a legend at Arsenal, material for the England team, if it weren’t for that nasty injury in that game against Manchester City; but from what I know, your career as a player agent isn’t going too badly.”

“I… I think you’re confusing me with someone.” Archibald timidly replied, still standing at the door. Just the idea of thinking of himself as a former footballer was hilarious. Although he was indeed a die-hard Arsenal fan and risked a few matches with his mates on weekends. No, not that…

“No, I’m not mistaken; you were a leak-proof goalkeeper, you were a wall indeed, Archie; don’t let something that wasn’t your fault bring you down.”

“That accident ruined me, mate…” Archie found himself responding automatically. What the hell was he talking about?

“I know, but managing guys like Haaland and De Bruyne is also a success story. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being too humble!” Why would he say something like that???

“Then we’ve got the same problem!” replied Garret, bursting into laughter, and Archie joined in, unable to contain himself, stopping with a startled look only when the other man spoke to him again.

“What are you doing standing there, Archie? Come in, come in; we’ve got Duke’s future to discuss.”

Hearing that name stirred something in Archie; there was something very wrong with all of this, but then he took a step into the room, and everything changed. In a blur of movement and colour, his muscles expanded, height increased impressively, and fat seemed to evaporate from his body. When he stopped smiling in front of the other man, any trace of humility or shame had left his body. He was one of the most successful sports agents in the country; there was no reason to worry about that sort of thing.

“BIG, you’ve got 5 minutes to convince me to bring my son to this school, mate.”

“Archie, you know me you wanker; I can do it in three.”

….

“Take a seat, chubby; I’m not going to give you a hard time.” Said the muscular black lad to Duncan, although he clearly was already doing that. The moment Duncan’s dad and the teacher left their line of sight, Farrel dropped the politeness, throwing aside all false pleasantries, revealing himself to be exactly the type of person Duncan believed and feared he would be. He didn’t show anything Duncan might find relevant about the school’s facilities, leading the lad through some of the many sports facilities on site. They had courts for all sorts of sports imaginable, gym equipment, swimming pools, running tracks, and even a complete weightlifting gym. After the exhausting tour of Jockland, they finally arrived at the spacious and luxuriously furnished room where they were.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Duncan said, approaching the window of the room, which overlooked the well-kept football pitch of the institution.

“You know best, but carrying all that weight can’t be good for your knees.” Farrel commented venomously, as he took off the top part of the school uniform with no ceremony and flopped down on the sofa in the room. “But that won’t last long; BIG will have you sweating off all that flab in no time.”

“I wish you’d stop making comments about my body.”

“When you’ve got the physique of a real man, I’ll stop, chubby. And trust me, you will; in no time, no one will recognise you, not even you.”

“I’m fine as I am; I don’t intend to change anything.”

“As if anyone here gives a toss about what you think, lad. I repeat, soon you’ll be one of the lads at Lionheart and won’t even remember the wimp you are now. And even if you did, you’d be ashamed of what you let this society do to you.”

“I won’t let myself change; you can do what you want with me, humiliate me, torture me; I won’t change.” Duncan replied, feeling an uncharacteristic rage and turning from the window, seeing for the first time Farrel’s bare chest, which made him blush deeply, while the other lad shot him an intrigued look.

“Seeing something you like, chubby? You a queer or something? Not that I have a problem with it; It’s an all boys school after all, and the lads have their needs. Besides I know what my body does to others." He said, flexing his powerful muscles as if he was at some kind of obscene show, which made Duncan look back at the window, only turning around when the other spoke again, hitting the target this time."No, no… it’s a different kind of desire, isn’t it? Ever thought about having a body like this? Ever wished for muscles like these?” He conclude, looking distracted for a moment, as if he were reliving an old memory.

“I don’t need that; I’ve got my mind, and it’s more powerful than any bulging muscle.”

“Loooser! I wish I could record this and show it to my new bro when he comes out of you; it’ll surely make him die of embarrassment.”

“I… what?”

“You know where we are, Duke? At the headquarters of one of the Lionheart clubs, my club; not just anyone gets in here, but I decided you’d be one of the lucky ones. I’m the captain of the rugby team and would love to have you with us, but the boss has other plans. Speaking of which, you know what’s even more curious? The club is located exactly one floor above Coach BIG’s office. An office that has a direct exit to the football pitch. That exit, I believe, must have been used quite recently, so while you’re at the window, tell me what you see.” Farrel asked, his eyes sparkling and his voice filled with an uncontrollable mix of eagerness and excitement.

Without really knowing why he was obeying the other lad, Duncan looked outside, initially seeing nothing of note, but then his gaze landed on the pitch, and what he saw shocked him. Professor Garrett, who at that moment should have been with Duncan’s father, was walking across the pitch, bare-chested and laughing animatedly with a blonde man who was just as monstrous and muscular as he was. But if Garret was there, where was Alexand… Archibald?

“I don’t get it? Where’s my dad?”

“With all that talk about intellect, I thought you’d be smarter, Duke.”

“My name isn’t…”

“Duke!” Duncan read the lips of the gigantic blond man more than he heard him speak as he waved vigorously, beckoning him to join him and Garret on the pitch. Why would a complete stranger act that way? Unless… unless he wasn’t a complete stranger.

“No… it’s impossible…”

“Finally, you got it, chubby, although I think this will be the last time I can call you that.”

“No… dad?” Duncan asked, although the man who continued to wave excitedly couldn’t hear him. “What did they do to you?”

“Oh, old BIG has a thing for The gentlemen’s sport; even though he’s never been a pro himself. I’d say we’d put you on my team, and that would be that. But for a former pro rugby player, he doesn’t value us much. He says nothing gets as much visibility as football, and our team is about to lose the captain to a contract, and we still don’t have a worthy replacement. Plus, the old rogue managed to create a connection with someone who can get him the best seats at the games.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You don’t need to understand, Duke; you just need to accept.”

“I can’t accept this… I won’t accept this…”

“Duke?”

“What!?! He screamed back, enraged in response.

“Come over here, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, mate!”

“Of course you are; you’re my little bro; me and Ash were looking forward to finally having our little brother with us! Farrel, Duke, and Ashton, best mates. FDA, like the American agency, and like them, we run the bloody show! F for a lot of food, D for drugs to grow and an A for, shit what is the A again? Let it be A for awesome because that's what we are, mate!"

“I…”

“Think about it, Duke; you want to make your dad proud.”

“Yes…” he replied, shivering at hearing that.

“Then get your arse off that window and come with me to meet him; for you, I’d even play a match of football just to see the old geezers eat dust.”

“Haha, I want to see you try to score on my dad, F! The bloke’s a wall; not that he can stop his son from scoring.”

“That’s what I want to see; let’s go, then.” Farrel insisted, and Duke finally took a step back and went to meet his fate. In an instant, the fat seemed to be sucked from his body as his muscles expanded into a strong and toned physique, far from the giant muscle mass of Farrel or his father after the forced retirement and years dedicated to bodybuilding. A slim and strong body, except for the long, powerful legs with thighs capable of exploding a watermelon if it were squeezed between them. His unkempt hair giving way to a well-groomed cut, the sad, chubby face transforming into a beautiful, almost angelic face, but still unable to completely hide the mischief within him, easily identified by the cheeky smile playing on his lips at that moment.

“Don’t know why you’re so excited, bro; with that size, dribbling you will be the easiest thing in the world.”

“Watch what you say, scrawny boy.”

“This is definition, something a ogre like you will never know what it is.”

“Come talk about agility when you compete with me in rugby.”

“And why would I stuff myself into a game with a bunch of lard arses?”

“Who are you calling fat, punk?”

“Not me, your body mass index.”

“You’re getting quite cheeky there, lad. I want to see you crack jokes on the pitch.” Farrel replied with false irritation.

“When I get past you, you won’t even notice, chubby!”

….

Aaryan Patel was absolutely fuming; he had no idea why his boss at the Independent Herald had sent him from London to that conservative hellhole that Daffodil Meadow had become. And to top it all off, he was heading straight to the epicentre of that rubbish, the King Richard Institute for Boys, aka Lionheart School. A place he had written a series of scathing articles about in recent months, which didn’t mean he wanted to walk into the lion’s den, especially when it was the lion himself who had sent the invitation. But his editor insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up, and now here he was, walking purposefully along the edge of the grass on the school’s grand football pitch towards Director Johnson, who was at that moment in one of the few empty stands. Apparently, it was a tradition for the school and the surrounding villages to gather every evening to watch some sort of competition from the different teams, and today it was a football match. What didn’t make sense was the question Aaryan kept asking himself: why the hell did Henderson Johnson make him walk across the pitch where the students were parading around with their muscular bodies on display while the school staff prepared everything for the match?

As Aaryan made his way to his destination, he passed two muscular black blokes wearing the infamous light blue polo shirt of the sports team, one of whom was much bigger than the other. The one he wanted to take down the most. However, when the larger man glanced at Aaryan as he walked towards the nearest entrance to the stands, the lad who considered himself a brave man felt his knees go weak. Feeling angry with himself as he watched the two lugs burst into laughter, Aaryan quickened his pace and climbed the stands to meet Director Johnson.

“Mr. Patel, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person after reading the rather vehement words you used to describe me, my school, and my students.” The man said with a threatening smile. But Aaryan wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated; he was indeed brave, and although he was much leaner than the brute, he wasn’t a total wimp; he could handle whatever the other bloke had to throw at him. And any words spoken would receive an appropriate response from his sharp mind.

“Vehement is an appropriate but incomplete description of what I have to say about this place, Director Johnson. And that description could also be applied to the behaviour of the people here, although belligerent might be a more fitting term.”

“And you know a thing or two about belligerence, don’t you? Big guy like you? Bet you’ve had your fair share of scraps, haven’t you, Aaron?”

“The name’s Aaryan! And I prefer to fight with words.”

“Ha, I knew there was a fighter in you; I never miss.” The man commented as if Aaryan's response had been completely different, leaving the journalist confused for a moment. Quickly shaking off that momentary confusion, he turned back to the giant blonde.

“So, Director Johnson, what’s the purpose of summoning me here? And summon is the right word; my editor informed me that you pressured him quite insistently and intimidatingly, I should add.”

“Right, lad, I just wanted you to see for yourself what it’s really like here, what you’ve been so harsh about. You might not realise it, but what you write affects people’s lives, people I care about; my staff and my students.”

“Forgive me, Director Johnson, but the actions of those people you care about affect many others’ lives.”

“You paint us as monsters, Aaron, but do what I asked you: roam about, chat with my students and teachers; there’s one teacher in particular who’s quite eager to have a word with you.” The director said, smiling and nodding towards the pitch where Blake Garrett was watching closely as Zeke Hastings paced back and forth, correcting both teams’ players’ positions.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of talking to that man. Forgetting to correct the misuse of his name, he responded to the director.

“Alright, I’ll do that, but I don’t think anything will change my mind. I’m sure the teachers are lost causes by now and the students are probably already conditioned to the behaviours taught here.”

“We’re not a cult, Aaron, but if you want a fresh opinion, why not have a chat with the centre-forward for the black team? The blonde lad in number 9. Duke has been at the school for less than a week; see what he has to say after the game.”

“I know how to identify a centre-forward, thanks! And I think I’ll do just that; cheers!” replied the journalist, who until a few minutes ago certainly couldn’t identify any positions.

After chatting with some students and teachers who repeated the same toxic spiel about masculine values, manliness, and the rightful place a man should occupy in society, Aaryan felt drained. Coming here had certainly been a bad idea. He thought about leaving and writing another scathing article about the evils of that place. However, he realised that the game had finally come to an end when he saw the blonde centre-forward walking to the edge of the pitch, opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig that practically emptied the bottle in one gulp. As Aaryan approached him, the lad poured the remaining water over his sweaty hair, then shook it off vigorously just as Aaryan reached him.

“Good afternoon, lad; my name’s Aaryan Patel, Director Johnson told me I could have a word with you.” He said, moving closer to the lad and using an authoritative figure as a reference to ensure the lad paid attention; he had dealt with many of those arrogant lads in the past couple of hours to give the kid a chance to mock him or simply ignore him.

“Eh?” The lad huffed, flexing his muscles and shaking the soaked t-shirt. This was pretty much the expected behaviour from any football player giving an interview after an hour and a half of strenuous exercise. What Aaryan, as any good fan of the game, should have remembered. So he repeated the information to the lad.

“My name’s Aaryan and you’re Duke, right? I want to ask you a few things about the school.”

“Sure, mate.” The lad replied, looking more awake after taking off his shirt and showing off his powerful physique, even though it was clear that not much was going on upstairs. This diminished Aaryan’s hopes of getting any productive conversation, as it was obvious the lad belonged there. Still, he decided to press on; when in Rome…

“So, what do you think of the school? Settling in well?”

“Aaron, mate, this place is brilliant! I begged for nearly two years to come here, but my dad thought I’d have better chances of getting signed if I kept training in a bigger city. It was only when Coach BIG took over the sports department that he was convinced.”

“Um… just out of curiosity, who’s your dad?”

“Haha, as if you don’t know who he is, Aaron, mate! I’m not some little kid to fall for your tricks.” The lad replied, giving a thumbs up.

“What are you on about?” Aary… Aaron asked, confused. But then something worse happened; the lad turned to the middle of the pitch where his teammates were milling about, shirtless, chatting and joking under the watchful eye of the coach, who was in turn under the direct supervision of the head of the sports department, the infamous BIG, who was precisely the person the lad was addressing.

“Oi, Coach BIG! Come meet my mate, Aaron.” And to Aaron’s horror, the man who instilled all his primal fears turned to him, serious for being interrupted, but soon a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Strutting towards the two with all the arrogance in the world, looking at Aaron with the same gaze a lion gives to a gazelle before it attacks, making Aaron’s knees tremble… but why? He should respect the bloke, of course… but no matter how big he was, Aaron could handle him… how? Certainly not with words… hey… what was he thinking here? What intrusive thoughts were those? However, he had no time to fight against those ideas so contrary to his essence because at that moment, the coach was standing before him, eclipsing everything else with his immense physical presence.

“Aaryan Patel, the man of the moment! You have no idea how much I wanted to meet you!”

“It’s Aaron… sir.” He added. The respect for the figure of coaches ingrained in him wouldn’t allow him to respond any other way. But why so much respect?

“When young Duke told me he knew you, I couldn’t resist the idea of bringing him here. But where exactly do you two know each other from?”

“Eh… what?” He had just met the lad, right? But then where did the memories of him teaching the kid fighting positions come from? Fighting? What fighting? In the midst of his confusion, it was Duke who answered.

“It’s my dad’s agency that looks after Aaron’s career, coach. In fact, he’s been following Aaron from the beginning; he’s spent more time at our house than at his own over the last few years.”

“Oh, of course. A cunning man like Archie wouldn’t let a talent like that slip through his fingers.” Agency, what agency? Big-name journalists needed agents, but a rookie like Aaron… mate, in his world, even rookies needed a decent agent; it was the difference between a million-dollar career and retirement in the gutter, and Wall Archie was the best; after all, he had experienced firsthand how cruel that world could be. Yeah, the world was a cruel place, and it was his duty to expose those ills… No, not that, what he needed to do was fight… yes, fight for improvements in society… mate, society was what it was and that was that… in this life, you either lose or win, and Aaron Blink Patel, rising star of the heavyweight MMA scene, was born to win. He earned the nickname for the short time he needed to take down opponents. Which was almost the same amount of time he dedicated to interviews with journalists. He didn’t need many words in his life, being known for keeping his opinion to himself, aware of what the media vultures could do to his career. The only time he expressed his opinions was when he was with his friends, when he let out all the intensity inside him, in conversations filled with cheeky banter and heated praises of masculinity in today’s world. And if there was someone who was the ultimate representation of masculinity, it was Aaron Fucking Blink Patel!

“No… no…”

“Aaron, mate, it’s all good?”

“Of course it is, Duke; it’s just the fighter inside him manifesting, but now it’s just a matter of a blink and it’ll all be sorted.” Coach BIG commented.

“Just a blink…” Aaron grumbled, and then… blink… and… his toned, lean torso expanded like a flower blooming, if flowers were made of huge, protruding muscles and their scent was an animalistic musk, with a touch of spices that didn’t go unnoticed even in that place full of sweaty young men… blink … and his legs exploded in size and power needed to crush opponents… blink… and the years dedicated to reading and research evaporated, replaced by training in jiu-jitsu, boxing, and Muay Thai… blink… and all the pent-up rage inside him flowed out in flowery words in sharp texts, concentrating in the massive paws that were his fists and feet… wink… and Aaron Blink Patel found himself smiling at the man and the lad before him, an image seen only by those the fighter deemed worthy. But he’d known Duke since he was younger than the kid, and after hearing the glowing praise he gave about his new coach, the man earned Aaron’s respect without needing to lift a finger.

“Sorry, what were you saying, sir?”

“You can call me Coach BIG; Aaron is what everyone calls me.”

“Yes, sir.” He replied, causing Duke to burst into laughter.

“You’re a lost cause, mate.”

“Actually, I think Aaron is a great example to follow; I wish my rowdy students had his level of respect.” Coach BIG commented, his voice cutting, making the lad’s smile fade instantly. “By the way, after I speak to the team, I’d love for you to have a word with those rascals, Aaron. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a motivational speech to give. Duke, keep him company while I’m at it.”

“Yes, coach, sir.”

“See? Just your presence has instilled some respect in this cheeky little sod.” The coach commented before returning to the pitch to address the teams.

“Could you not be such a teacher’s pet, mate?”

“I only got where I am because I respected my coaches and your dad; authority figures are there to be respected. Don’t you want to be captain of the team? Don’t you want to be a pro one day? You could already be playing for a real team if you had a bit more discipline since talent isn’t lacking. Take advantage of that man.” He said, pointing to the coach who was animatedly giving a speech. “BIG is a legend, a legend capable of making other legends; it was a scandal to find out a man like him had moved to the States, but the results he achieved with Dalton’s teams speak for themselves. And he brought in fucking Zeke Hastings to train you lot, and your dad to manage those of you who are truly capable of going pro. So yes, listen to what your coaches have to say; you may think it’s just theatre, but it’s the attitude that separates the men from the boys.” Aaron finished, flexing his powerful muscles to the point where the polo shirt he was wearing ripped under his arms.

“Wow, mate! That’s wicked! You’re a beast!” Duke said with such genuine admiration that Aaron couldn’t help but smile and repeat the feat, tearing his shirt even more before returning to a serious demeanor and looking at the younger lad.

“And you know how I became who I am today, little brother? By listening to all the shite my coaches had to say to me!” He said, pointing in the direction of Coach BIG, who was just finishing his speech, raising his voice so that everyone on the pitch and in the stands could hear him easily.

“… because this society wants to diminish you, weaken you. They want you to believe that being a man is wrong, that being what we were born to be is a shame. But they don’t know the power you carry with you, the influence you possess; many of you will be professional athletes, some already are. You’ll be seen around the world, admired, able to inspire, capable of making our brothers, hounded by our enemies, react, and more than that, you can make some of those enemies see the mistakes they’ve made and bring them back to the right path, and for those who insist on their mistakes, you’ll be able to hit them where it hurts most, where they’ve been hitting us for years, and I’m talking about their children; You will shape and save them because you have the power to correct what’s wrong in this generation, then in they do same with the next. The truth is men, and never forget it, you have power! And we’ll use it to secure a better, brighter future!

#male tf #jockification #mental transformation #corruption #race change #reality change #mind change #musclegrowth

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lady-of-tearshed · 2 days

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ok…hear me out, a fic where cassian has a kid (prob adopted or smth) that’s nonverbal bc trauma or disability reasons, and it kinda wears on cass so one night he’s like talking to rhys about how his kid isn’t normal, and the kid went to get some water but overhears the whole thing - just angst to comfort

love your writing btw💗💗

Beautifully different

Pairing: Nessian & Their kids (Oc!Briana & Oc!Zion)

Summary: Cassian has a lot of pent-up frustration and worries about his son, Zion, who is diagnosed with selective mutism. He slips up in front of Zion, and now he has to apologize and make it better.

Word count: 1368 words

Warnings: Disabled child (selective mutism), angst, miscommunication, a bit of swearing, allusion to Nessian conceiving another child.

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears ❤️

“It’s called selective mutism,”

Cassian could still remember the confusion and worry that had set in his head the day Madja had announced the diagnosis of his son, Zion.

Cassian’s grip tightened around his mate’s shoulders, his jaw clenched with anger. “So he’s not talking on purpose?”

“No,” Madja’s voice had softly reassured him and Nesta, whom was crying against Cassian's chest. “No, it’s not how it works. It’s a rare childhood anxiety disorder. It’s the brain response to a trigger that makes Zion unable to speak in certain situations or around certain people,”

He remembered how it made his stomach twist with guilt, how the sight of his mate crying in his chest at the hard news had brought tears to his own eyes. But Madja’s comforting hand on his shoulder had calmed him down, grounded him. Her voice had enveloped his heavy heart and soothed his ache like a soft salve.

“It is not your fault, to any of you,” Her other hand gently rubbed circles on Nesta’s back, calming down her sobs with her reassuring words. “There are treatments to attempt to cure this, and things you could do to help Zion’s condition to go away,”

“We’ll try anything,”

Cassian was a bit late to pick up his kids from Feyre’s studio. Madja had deemed it helpful to sign up Zion on recreational activities with other children for him to interact with, so Cassian and his mate did. Of course, Briana, the perfect big sister that she was, had insisted that she absolutely needed to go too so she could hold Zion’s hand if he got too shy (but mostly because she absolutely adored her auntie Feyre, and she was overly excited to make some art with her.), so Cassian and Nesta had no choice but to agree. As if he would’ve ever denied anything to his little princess anyway…

The doorbell rang when Cassian pushed the door open.

“DADDY!”

The tiny bundle of curly hair wrapped in pink chiffon jumped into his arms, and Cassian caught her up in his arms before twirling her around. He bit her chubby cheeks playfully, making Briana’s melodic giggle to fill the room. “Hello sweetie, I suppose you had a great day?”

“The bestest day ever!”

Cassian huffed a laugh before putting her down on the floor slowly. He lifted his eyes and scanned the room, searching behind every canvas where the paint decorating them was still fresh and shining. Finally, his eyes landed on the one exposed on the easel exposed in the farthest corner of the room, where Zion sat, absentmindedly applying the same shade of blue all over the white canva.

Cassian had to hold back his cringe, and forced himself to not look at all the other kids' artworks and compare them to his son’s. Instead, he just caressed Briana’s hair. He crouched down to be face to face with her, and smiled.

“Hey, why don’t you go and play outside with your brother for a while? I need to talk with Auntie Feyre,” Briana opened her mouth to say something, but Cassian poked her nose and cut her off. “Alone.”

Briana sighed dramatically, pouting a little before taking her little brother’s hand and cheerfully dragged him along to the swings outside the studio.

Cassian waited until he was sure that both of his kids were outside, playing, and not paying attention to him, then he made his way inside the studio. His ears led him to where water was running, and leaned in the doorway to where Feyre was cleaning a shit ton of paint brushes. Sometimes, the warrior wondered how she dealt with such messes weakly, for fun.

A chuckle left his throat at the thought, and made Feyre’ face snap up from her task. A bright smile flashed over her red, blue, purple and yellow painted face. Feyre tried to wipe it away, noticing Cassian’s amusement glinting in his eyes, but her attempt very much failed, as it only resulted in spreading the paint all over her face even more.

“Are you here solely to make fun of me, or to actually pick up your kids?”

Cassian chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while a flush of embarrassment creeped up his cheeks. “Yeah, sorry, I’m a bit late to pick up the kids I know… I was…” He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the mental image of how busy him and Nesta had been. “Busy.”

“Busy making more of those little ones?”

Nosy woman.

“How has it been for them today?”

“They’ve been good. Briana has made some progress on her painting today…” Feyre frowned, hesitating. Then she shrugged, avoiding the topic. “They’ve been good.”

“And Zion?” Cassian pushed, moving closer to where Feyre was washing the paint brushes. “Has he… made any progress? Did he make any friends?”

Feyre left the brushes in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, he tried a different shade of blue on his canva today… He didn’t participate actively in the group today but…” She bit her lip and placed a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, “Maybe it’s normal, perhaps that’s just how he is you know… Maybe he’s happy like this-”

“Well I am not. A child needs to have social interactions to develop, Feyre. He’s not normal,” Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his face heat up, his breathing getting as heavy as the guilt resting on his soul. “Madja was wrong. That kid will never be normal. He’ll never be like the other kids,”

Anger bubbled up within him. How was his son not normal, when his daughter was? “Where the fuck did I mess up-”

A thud that came from the other room cut off Cassian. Both Feyre and his face snapped to the door, where a tiny wing peaked out.

Feyre’s face twitched and she patted Cassian on the shoulder. “I’ll wait outside with Briana… and I’ll make sure that the front door stays closed while you talk it out.”

Feyre quickly made her way out of the studio, cheeks red from the embarrassing situation. She carefully avoided eye contact with Zion’s heart-broken face.

Cassian only stayed in the middle of the supply room, staring at Zion’s tiny wing peeking out of the doorway. He sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Zion…”

Zion hesitantly moved from his hiding spot and slowly dragged his feet in front of his father. His head was kept so low that Cassian couldn’t even see his eyes from where he stood. He kneeled in front of his boy, his warm palm coming to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed off some tears staining Zion’s cheek, but he still avoided his father’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I…”

Cassian’s throat tightened, cutting off any sounds when the silent room filled with Zion’s choked sobs. He brought his face to his chest, his own tears now falling on top of his son’s head. He held him tight against him, as if he was afraid that the boy’s heart would crumble if he’d let him go. “I’m sorry, Zion. So sorry…” Cassian whispered against the boy’s ear, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back.

Zion sniffled, his face now tilted up to look into his father’s eyes with so much sadness.

“I said horrible things, I’m sorry. Every kid is different, I know. I just…” His voice broke. Cassian looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply. He calmed his sobs down before taking control of his voice again. “I just want you to be happy, my son,” His eyes met Zion’s, the same shade of hazel eyes staring back at him. “But… I guess sometimes I need to remain myself that being happy for you sin’t the same as being happy for me,”

Zion nodded, his little hands coming to wipe away Cassian’s tears, the same way he did for him.

“Are you happy, Zion?” Cassian whispered, his face painted with concern.

“You make me happy.”

And these were the most words Cassian had heard from his son, but the most beautiful ones anyone had said to him in all of his immortal life span.

Acotar taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover

Cassian taglist: @ladybookstan

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redrose10 · 2 days

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Here is #6 from the photo game!

Warnings: Swearing, hints of cheating, anxiety, depression

A relaxing weekend spent at a cabin with your boyfriend sounded like an amazing idea at the time. No distractions, no work, just you and Yoongi spending a few days together. The fall time was the busiest time of the year thanks to the leaves changing and the brisk air making cuddling by the fireplace more desirable. To make sure you got the reservation and to get the best deal you booked the cabin six months in advance.

Then life happened and you and Yoongi got in an argument. It wasn’t anything new. You two had been together for four years and had arguments every now and then like any couple. You could tell something was different this time though. He seemed angrier, less willing to communicate and more closed off. You walked into the bedroom to give each other some space expecting to work things out later. Ten minutes went by and Yoongi walked in with red eyes and his cheeks soaked with tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t do this any more.”, he whispered before shoving some of his clothes in a bag and running out the door. That was two months ago and you haven’t spoken since.

“Y/N you should go on the trip. Take a relaxing weekend for yourself. You deserve it.”, your best friend said over dinner.

The romantic trip you had planned with Yoongi was coming up. After all that happened you had forgotten to cancel it before the required date and now it was too late. The trip was non-refundable at this point. You thought about just loosing out but it was a lot of money.

“I don’t know. I wish you were available to go with me. Isn’t it kind of weird to go alone? Yoongi also helped pay so I don’t really think it’s fair for only me to go and even worse what if he shows up?”, you questioned.

“Y/N first off you paid for half the trip too so it’s just as much yours as it is his. Secondly I really doubt he even remembers it’s coming up. He looks pretty busy right now anyways.”

You followed her line of sight until your stomach dropped at what you saw. While you were barely able to function the last couple months Yoongi appeared to happily be on a date with another woman across the restaurant like he had moved on with no issue.

“How could he move on from me so fast?”, you asked rhetorically.

Your friend shrugged, “Maybe he’s known her for a while. He could’ve been cheating on you for all we know.”

“No he wouldn’t have done that to me. He wouldn’t have cheated.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”, she said pointing over in Yoongi’s direction. The woman he was with had turned around to grab her bag and you gasped, “Nari?”

You bit your lip trying not to cry. Nari was a producer that worked for the same company as Yoongi. She made you feel really insecure from the moment you met her. She was beautiful and smart and funny and worked as a producer just like Yoongi so they had a lot in common. You were suspicious from the first time you met her. It definitely crossed your mind a few times that maybe he liked her more than he lead on. He assured you over and over that she was nothing more than a coworker though and that you had absolutely nothing to worry about. You believed him. And now here he was staring into her eyes just two short months after breaking your heart into a million pieces. You started to wonder if maybe he really had been cheating on you that whole time. Your sadness and hurt began to change to anger the more you pondered that.

Suddenly you stood up grabbing your things. “Where are you going?”, your friend questioned confused.

“Home. I’ve got a trip to pack for.”, you gritted through your teeth.

The drive up the mountain to your cabin was a little scarier than you expected. You took your bag out of the back seat and entered in the code that the rental company had given you to gain access to the front door.

The cabin was adorable and you were really happy with your choice. It was tiny but enough for two people and more than enough for just one. The bedroom and the bathroom were at the back of the cabin and after your long stressful drive you wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and lay in bed and relax for a while before dinner.

You were drying your hair after your shower when you heard the front door open and shut followed by some jingling keys. Immediately you went into panic mode. You were alone in a cabin in the middle of the mountains. You couldn’t run anywhere and no one would hear you scream. You grabbed the fire poker from the bedroom fire place to use as a weapon and then slowly tiptoed down the hall ready to fight whomever was entering the cabin.

“What are you doing here?”, a deep familiar voice asked before you could speak. “Me?! What are you doing here?”, you spat back at Yoongi who was glaring at you.

For a brief moment you were a little relieved to see him and not a serial killer ready to claim their next victim but that relief was quickly replaced with anger.

“Seriously Yoongi, why are you here?”

Suddenly it hit you, what if he was here with Nari? Like what if he brought her here to enjoy the romantic couples trip you had planned for the two of you. You felt sick at the thought.

“I paid for half of this trip too. I need some time alone so I can work and get some stuff done.”

“What too many “distractions” at home?”, you rolled your eyes immediately thinking about him and another woman.

“Yeah actually there are. Not that it’s any of your business.”, he clapped back.

That hurt and your angry confidence faltered. Your lip began to quiver. You knew you needed to get away from him before he could see you cry.

“Fine. Do what you want. I’ll be in the bedroom.”, you said storming off and slamming the door shut behind you.

When you woke up the room was completely dark. The curtains were still open and it was clearly the middle of the night. You didn’t mean to cry yourself to sleep but you must’ve been more exhausted than you thought.

You were stretching out on the bed when your stomach started to rumble reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the morning. Slowly cracking open the bedroom door you were met with silent darkness. Maybe you got lucky and Yoongi decided to go back home. That would be ideal you thought.

You tiptoed down the hall only to be met with the sound of soft snores coming from the couch. You peaked over finding Yoongi sound asleep all wrapped up in a blanket. He looked so cuddly and warm and you missed falling asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

Thankfully your stomach grumbled again getting you back on the right track. Yoongi was not yours to cuddle any more anyways.

The kitchen was small but livable. As quietly as possible you poked around hoping to find something you could quickly turn into a meal. Unfortunately thanks to the events earlier you didn’t even think to go to the grocery store to stock up so the kitchen was bare. You chugged a large glass of water hoping it would hold you over a few more hours until you could go get breakfast somewhere.

You turned to rinse out your glass when you saw a note sitting on the counter. The handwriting familiar,

“Pizza in the fridge. Promise I didn’t poison it. Just didn’t want to wake you. -Yoongi.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to run into the living room and hug him. But instead you chose to just take a slice of pizza, conveniently with your favorite toppings which only made you want to cry more, and headed back to your room to hideout until the morning.

Somehow you managed to doze off again for another few hours. The bright sun shining through the crack in your curtains waking you up this time. You got ready for the day, putting a little more effort into your appearance than you had for the last couple months. You kept telling yourself it had absolutely nothing to do with Yoongi.

The kitchen was filled with the scent of pepperoni and garlic. Just as you walked in Yoongi was pulling what was left of the pizza out of the oven.

“This will have to do for breakfast. We’ll have to go into town and get some groceries.”, he said when he noticed you.

“Oh if you want to make a list I can just go. You said you had a lot of work to do.”, you replied wanting to avoid having to spend so much time with him.

But he shook his head, “It rained quite a bit last night. The roads might be rough. We’ll go together.”

You knew there was no use in arguing with him and maybe a small part of your heart warmed up at the thought that he still worried about you like that.

“Okay. We can leave after breakfast.”, you nodded.

The drive into town was silent and uneventful. The little town was cute to say the least. You even took note of the realty company there because you wouldn’t mind moving there some day.

At the grocery store you both quickly gathered what you needed. Mostly snacks since you were only there for one more night. You grabbed some fruit and a giant tub of ice cream. Yoongi grabbed a six pack and some instant noodles.

He surprised you when he suggested you both stop for lunch. You really wanted to say no but he was driving so you didn’t have much of choice anyways. You ended up at a quaint little cafe. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming even though the tension between you and Yoongi was ice cold.

You were sat on the back patio over looking the beautiful fall foliage. Several outdoor fire pits provided more than enough warmth.

“So how have you been?”, Yoongi awkwardly asked.

“Fine I guess. Not as good as you apparently.”, you replied harsher than you meant to.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, he asked confused.

You went to apologize but were interrupted.

“Alright did you two decide what you’re having today?”, the waiter Jin asked.

“Uh yeah just the classic burger for me.”, Yoongi replied.

“The harvest soup please.”, you said handing him your menu.

After he walked away the tension between you both was thicker than before.

You realized that Yoongi had been kind through the whole trip. Saving pizza for you, sleeping on the couch without argument so you could have the bed, heating up breakfast, taking you into town and paying for the groceries, now taking you to a nice cafe and trying to have a civil conversation. You realized you had been the one making things difficult.

“Hey Yoongi I’m sorry about what I sa-“, you began but his phone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and you felt your blood boil when you saw the contact name flashing on the screen, Nari.

“Sorry Y/N. I have to take this.”, he said walking away from the table.

“Of course.”, you scoffed thankful that you didn’t fully apologize yet.

Feeling anxious and not wanting to just sit there any more you walked over to the balcony so you could look out over the property.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they?”, a guy said next to you. He pointed out to the field after noticing your confusion, “The trees.”

“Oh yeah. They’re gorgeous.”, you chuckled.

“They’re tulip trees. They’re even more beautiful when they bloom in the spring.”, he said, “I’m Namjoon by the way.”

He smiled flashing you the prettiest dimples you’d ever seen.

“Y/N”, you said, “Maybe I’ll have to come back in the spring to see them in bloom. That sounds quite nice actually.”

“Oh you’re not a local?”, he asked, “You know… if you want I could show you around the town a little.”

“I’d like that, but I’m just here on a little weekend trip. I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh Uhh are you here on a trip with your boyfriend?”

Your brows furrowed, “What? No I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Namjoon awkwardly chuckled, “Well um does that guy know that because he’s currently staring at us like he wants to kill me?”

You looked where he was pointing to see Yoongi standing there. His hands in his pockets while he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. And he was in fact staring daggers at you. You knew just from that look that he was furious.

“Don’t worry. He’s just a complicated friend thing person….”, you cringed.

“Okay well if you want to give me call I’d be happy to show you around. Maybe don’t bring your friend thing though.”, he laughed handing you his number.

You walked back to the table just as Jin dropped off your meals. You both ate in silence and that carried over to the drive back to the cabin too.

Once the groceries were unloaded Yoongi grabbed his headphones and laptop and went out to the back deck without a word.

You stood and watched him work for a while. The Yoongi that you knew all these years would never just give you the silent treatment. He discussed what was bothering him so that you could work together to solve it.

He answered another phone call. You figured it was Nari again so you walked away to give him some privacy.

You had just finished plating up dinner when Yoongi came walking back inside. He eyed the food and then you. “We didn’t have much to make a big meal but I put together what I could.”, you said shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

“Not hungry.”, he scoffed before turning to walk back outside.

“Seriously Yoongi, what the fuck is your problem?”

He stopped and turned to look at you, “I don’t have a problem. Why don’t you go out and have a nice dinner with your little friend you met earlier.”

You hated that you could feel tears already begin to form, “You’re one to talk.”

With three long strides he was right in front of you giving you somewhat of a startle, “Me? I haven’t done anything other than be a heartbroken mess these last two months without you but the minute a cute guy flirts with you then you’re practically trying to fuck him right there.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Your heart rate was skyrocketing. From his pocket you could hear his phone ringing again and it all came back to you.

“At least I waited until you broke up with me. You are the asshole who was cheating on me the whole time.”, you whispered as the realization of your words hit you. Tears began freely falling as you turned and ran back into the bedroom closing the door behind you.

You never expected that this trip would be filled with so much crying and hurt. It was supposed to be relaxing and fun.

You waited a while until you had calmed down and then decided you weren’t spending another night in the same cabin with Yoongi so you grabbed your bag and packed up your clothes. You did a double check making sure you had everything and with your car keys in hand you pulled open the bedroom door only to hear a loud thud followed by a groan.

Quickly you found the hall light switch flipping it on only to find a very buzzed Yoongi rolling around on the floor. The six pack he had gotten at the store now empty and tossed around him.

“Y/N please don’t leave. I need you.”, he slurred.

You looked over his face. He looked just as bad as you did if not worse. Clearly he had been crying. His nose was bright red and his eyes still teary.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”, you sighed while helping him up thankful you talked him out of the twelve pack.

Worried that he would roll off the couch you decided to let him have the bed. You were leaving anyways so it didn’t matter. Once he was all tucked in you tried once again to leave but he grabbed your wrist, “Y/N you can’t leave. I already lost you once and I can’t…I can’t do it again.”

He started to cry. You started to cry. You agreed to stay.

When you woke up the next morning Yoongi was already staring at you.

“I never cheated on you with Nari. I know that’s what you think happened.”, he said getting right to the point like the Yoongi you knew.

You stared at him in silence. Your throat was sore and your head hurt from all the crying.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Y/N, I broke up with you because that’s what I thought was best for you. Just it’s just that the last couple months I felt like I was drowning. Work was piling up, I was spending less and less time with you. My mental and physical health were deteriorating. I saw how worried you were about me. I saw how sad you were. How tired you were. All because of me. And then I had a realization that I didn’t bring anything positive to our relationship. So when we got into that fight I saw it as my way to get you out of this. To free you from me.”

He paused for a second. He used his thumb to wipe away some of your tears that you hadn’t even realized were there again.

“But after we broke up I realized how much you held me together. I couldn’t function without you but every time I’d pick up my phone to call you or every time I’d stand outside your door ready to knock I would remind myself that this was what’s best for you. You wouldn’t be able to live your life if I was there dragging you down. But I’ve been a complete mess since that night. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My work was slipping so bad and that’s why I had that dinner with Nari. The one you saw me at. She’s a head producer now and technically my boss. She told me that if I didn’t get my shit together that they would have to terminate my contract. That’s why she keeps calling me, to check in and see how my progress is coming along. And I’m sorry about what I said about you and that guy. If you want to go out with him it’s none of my business. I’ll work through my feelings alone.”

You sat for a moment trying to process everything that you just heard because you had no idea that he was feeling that way.

“Yoongi I’m sorry that you felt like that but you don’t get to make that decision for me. I would go to hell and back for you and with you. Part of being in a relationship is being there through not only the good times but the difficult ones too.”

After you heard sniffles coming from next to you, you noticed that he was crying. You pulled him into your lap which he happily allowed wrapping his arms around you and pulling himself as flush against you as he could. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your next to soothe himself.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I actually wanted was trying to do the opposite.”, he spoke through sobs.

“Shhh shhh I know. We can talk more about it later.”

And you did have a long discussion about all of the events that lead up to that moment. It was much needed and helped you both to open up and put all of your feelings out there.

You agreed to take things slow but you spent the rest of the day happily wrapped in each others arms by the fireplace just like you had originally planned .

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #suga #bts yoongi

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vigilxnte-shit · 3 days

Text

no one asked but here are some thoughts on matt murdock and things that smell good

my credentials are i have worked at bath and body works for 3.5 years (these are all bath and body works products. this is not sponsored i just have adhd and was raised by a bath and body works mom iykyk)

for himself:

1. coffee and whiskey cologne

i think he would really like this one because it’s two things he’s already used to the smell of with just a tiny bit of vanilla, it’s very masculine and sexy but still light enough that even i, a cis woman, use it sometimes for layering

2. flannel candle

@millennial-birkin and i discussed this, i think he’d like this one because it’s cozy and clean without being too heavy or woodsy

on his partner:

3. any type of skin scent (think glossier you, pinrose pillowtalk princess, etc)

the server has heard me go off about this multiple times, these are the kind of fragrances that are designed to mingle with your natural scent and therefore smell different on everyone. he’d love these because for one, they enhance your skin’s natural scent, and for another they’re not too strong, typically just light with either a powdery or musky note (or both)

4. vanilla romance

little bit of a bias here bc this is my personal favorite but i genuinely think he would love it on his partner because it’s vanilla (i am a certified vanilla girl it’s my favorite) but it’s a vanilla backed by a soft spicy and light woodsy note. almost like a skin scent with a bit of vanilla in it

random things:

5. vanilla suede laundry detergent

i think he’d love all laundry detergent smells just because they’re clean and fresh (me personally, i want to eat fragrance boosters because of how good they smell) but this one especially has a little tiny touch of warmth that i think he’d love

6. sun drenched linen wallflowers

makes the whole apartment smell good

anyway this isn’t important but i thought i would put it into the open anyway

#matt murdock #vienna speaks #daredevil #charlie cox #matt murdock <3 #netflix daredevil #vienna sillies #vienna writes

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sysig · 7 months

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The familiarity is not very comforting (Patreon)

#Doodles #UT #Handplates #Sans #Papyrus #Asgore #Always with memories/lack of memories being distressing! How memories shape action interests me quite a lot #Papyrus and Sans both have the ''this has been on me since forever so it's normal'' outlook on the plates #Defensive when other people get concerned about their lack of concern haha <3 #But what if ♪#Honestly probably could be set anywhere but I wanted Papyrus to be worried for Sans' safety and not fully know why <3 #Lots of very I don't know why I know this but I'm not happy about it haha #Can you tell I didn't use references for this from Asgore's outfit and the boys being on the opposite sides lol #It was very fun to draw them being carried haha ♥ Asgore's gigantic hands #Teeny tiny babies even still haha #In case it's unclear - Sans is looking at Asgore's text in the second panel and putting two and two together about his hand plate #That was a point of curiousity for me while I was reading :0 All the other text Gaster uses to communicate is WingDings!#All the papers he has the boys do and obviously his native font to speak haha #Wondered briefly if it was perhaps that distancing thing I mentioned a bit back in reference to ZEX actually haha #Like swearing in a different language - a way to not claim the action as his own in some small sense #Or perhaps as reference to their fonts being in that alphabet? I wonder!#I love their little interactions in how they look out for each other even in small ways <3 #Papyrus concerned of course! Falling is dangerous! It'll be more obvious why later but this is emotionally a very strong and real feeling!#And Sans wants to do anything he can to not make his brother sad ♥#It'll all turn out okay you two 💕

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pepperpixel · 25 days

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Initial drawings of that old man… I literally, I haven’t finished reading the book of bill yet!!! I had to stop and take a break for a week to feverishly draw fanart of myself petting fords floofy hair and giving him attention and shit…!!!! The urge was too great….!! I’ve literally. I had a crush on this guy the instant he was first REVEALED in the show, but I did not have the artistic prowess to draw good looking old men back then… but I do now… thank god… thank fucking god

#gravity falls #ford pines #stanford pines #self ship #self insert #si x canon #it me #doodles #I got a haircut! so my hair looks different now.. as haircuts tend to do lol #anyway… yeah… I LOVE HIM… GRAHHFJH #the confirmation that he rlly is just sad and lonely and insecure and craving attention and validation #OHH FORD BBY.. WE R THE SAME #like… ghghg i loved him already just w his prickly nerdy outer shell but knowing more about the vulnerable center is GREAT. ITS AWESOME #also hes a smart nerdy guy who can do science and expirements and shit which is ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS FOR A CHARACTER TO DO #u kno im all about scientists….#I couldn’t draw ship art back then 1 cuz I didn’t kno how to draw old men and 2 cuz I was like 13 lol… which would have been wierd #but I’m an ADULT NOW. GET OVER HERE FORD #also it didn’t even rlly cross my mind TO draw that stuff cuz even tho I did love ford #self ship and x reader sorta stuff was not NEARLY as popular back then.. like I specifically remember it like. booming in popularity #at some point. but being pretty rare before that. anyway. thank u passage of time and trends and new gravity falls book for introducing #me back to fictional man I love. so I can now draw myself smooching him and shit #hell yeah.#13 is probably not actually correct I do not remember exactly which year fords reveal was in…#but I was probably older then 13.. but still #the point remains lol.#also omg. the bit in the book w the goth moth. ‘ur probably into this sorta thing right?’#I AM INTO THAT SORTA THING FORD. thank u book of bill for being written specifically @ me. the immersion it’s great.#like ur so right ford I AM edgy and goth how’d u guess that tee hee. eyelash flutter #aLSO PLS IGNORE MY FINGER BEING IN FRAME IN THE LAST PIC. I was drawing in a tiny bound sketchbook #so I had to hold the paper down to keep it flat. and. I didn’t feel like censoring my fucking. pinkie finger out of the image

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icewindandboringhorror · 3 months

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What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

#I would get orange juice. black coffee. AND iced coffee ($3) because I love the variety of having multiple drinks #then sausage and scrambled eggs ($8). Then sauteed mushrooms ($3)....AND... hrm.. then spending the remaining $4 would be hard #I wish I could get waffles (as they are my favorite and are superior in every way compared to pancakes. donuts. etc.) but I'm not willing #to give up the other savory things just to get them. so... then maybe I could get a biscuit or english muffin? and just put jam or #honey butter or something on it so it can be my replacement 'sweet and bready' thing instead of something from the $5 row??#OR I could also just assume that having the orange juice plus iced coffee would provide enough of a 'sweet element' to the meal #(since I largely prefer savory foods. I only like a tiny bit of sweet added for variety) and thus forego any sort of #'bready' thing entirely and just get the bowl of beans/onion/tomato (I'd leave the avocado since I don't like the #texture of them really lol). THEN I'd have $1 left to get the milk or the black tea... increasing my total of random drinks..#which is always the goal of course.. as a chronic ''person who is sipping at 5 different drinks at their desk simultaneously always'' perso #OR... I could just do.. waffle. scrambled eggs. sausage. mushrooms. and black coffee and orange juice.. which is... okay variety #augh... so difficult.. As my Ideal Breakfast is like a buffet type thing or something where you have like 25 different things to choose fro #and can get a little tiny bit of everything. My eating style is very much like.. I'd rather pick at a small amount of a ton of #different things than just have a very large amount of only one or two things. Thats why I LOVE sample platter type stuff.#So it's like... augh... the ideal option would be a tiny portion of EVERYTHING actually lol...#Difficult to choose...#ANYWAY.. Also no idea why I added croissant instead of bagel. I only thought about that afterwards. I do actually like bagels.#I've only ever even had a croissant like 2 times in my entire life. Yet I've had many bagels. For some reason it stuck out in my mind more #when I was considering 'essential breakfast foods' somehow... how could I forget them... bagels my beloved...#Blame it on the hot weather... 'What in the blazes? The sun hath obliterated the concept of bagels from my miind!'#(< meant to be said in a silly overdramatic elderly wizard accent or something)#Also I don't think ''bowl of beans. onion. avocado. and tomatos.'' is necessarily a breakfast classic or something gbhjjh #but I was just trying to think of a versatile vegetable-ish side that could be full of common breakfast additions #so people could do stuff like ''oh I get the toast option and then the bowl of stuff and I put the avocado on the toast'' etc.#Like a mix and match. You could mix ingredients from different parts. You could put scrambled eggs and bacon and onion #on the bread or soemthing. etc. I just feel like something is always missing if a Full Breakfast Spread #doesnt have some sort of onions or beans or mushrooms or asparagus or spinach like... some sort of thing that isn't just eggs and meat and #bread.. you know? lol..#But then again.. I am the Sampling Plate Style Variety Lover and Tiny Portion Of Food Picker so maybe thats just a me thing.

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anglerflsh · 2 years

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Did some very surface-level digging for collector design reasons and reworked the colors of the prince a bit + the image on its own for clarity

#[.art]#toh #collector oc #black hole prince #I decided to make them a tiny bit more canon adiancent in quantity of colors and smilar. At the sake of vibrancy but #I do like the desaturated collector designs more than the purpleblue official one #also the collectors in the paintings all have slightly different outfits it seems? plus the one we first saw #so I'm deciding some variety is allowed #the regular design is still the cape+ruffles one I just wanted to put them in a classic collector dress things too

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ancha-aus · 4 months

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RealAgeAU Drabble - Parentalbond Horror

*grinning* I am baaaaaaaack!! @spotaus get over here :D

So. I had the difficult choice on which drabble i wanted to write so For now I settled on this one because I haven't had the chance to write a drabble with Horror's pov since a while and that is a crime.

First Drabble here Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

As always we go in unbeta'ed and unedited.

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Horror checks the windows again before turning back to the couch and seeing Nightmare just staring at him.

Horror tils his skull "sleep will be easier if you actually lay down...." And he looks pointedly at the couch.

Nightmare gains that stubborn glint in his sockets again as he huffs "I am fine. Not tired at all." he looks at the pile of bags in the corner of the room wishfully.

Horror has to keep his chuckling inside as he answers "Shame then that it is bedtime for young skeletons." And adult skeletons. Horror glances at the other three. All KO on the other couch, all still dressed in their normal clothes and none of them actually finished their meals.

Horror will have to pack up the leftovers. Make sure nothing goes to waste. But he will let them sleep for now and just make them eat a big breakfast. But all three had been running themselves ragged lately. Especially after the last encounter they had had with the Stars.

It meant they have been making more jumps and teleports and not going out as much to collect things to make it easier for them.

Horror walks over to them and puts one of the blankets in this apartment over them, he doesn't bother to try and pull them away from one another. The four of them always had the habit of sleeping in a pile and that habit only got worse once they started searching for Nightmare and reclaimed him.

Horror checks Ngihtmare's plate and smiles "You finished it all today." No wonder he is grumpier and more active than usual.

Nightmare pulls a face and crosses his arms. Horror walks over and nudges him at his shoudler "Sleep time." and he waits.

Nightmare grumbles more as he pushes the blankets and pillows around. Horror just crosses his arms as he waits. Nightmare huffs but lays his skull down on the pillow and glares at him.

Horror knows he is grinning but he is proud to say he doesn't actually snort or laugh at the grumpy face Nightmare is pulling. instead he moves closer slowly, the first week of watching Nightmare flinch at every movement and sound had been horrible, and puts the blanket over him as well.

Nightmare doesnt complain about it. Most likely becuase he just saw Horror do the same for the other three.

Horror nods and sits by him "Time to sleep." it is his turn to keep watch and he plans on taking ti seriously.

Nightmare huffs but just turns his face further into the pillow. Tiny body starting to relax with the simple comforts.

Horror tries to not be obvious as he keeps an eye on Nightmare.

Horror knows of course what is going on and he is trying to not give in. At least one of them should not give into the adopting.

Horror can admit he had been surprised that Dust was the first one to actually soul adopt Nightmare. Especially after only a week. It had been so fast and the transition between the before and after state had been so smoothly that Horror had honestly thought that Dust had done it on purpose and planned.

It would have made sense. Dust had been the one to find the book first and been the one to actually manage to get Nightmare back to them.

Only for it to become obvious that Dust had no idea what he had just done.

Soul adoption is a rather normal thing for monsters to do. Though in most universes they rarely happened as monsters don't tend to abandon children.

But well, Horror's AU had been one with starvation and a lot of fighting. People lost their lives in multiple ways. That meant quite a few orphans.

Soul adoption happened when an adult monster willingly took the role as caretaker for a younger monster who doesn't have a caretaker. There are a few more factors obviously but Horror doesn't know all of them of the top of his skull, especially not now with that hole in it.

What it comes down to? Nightmare is an orphan and has no one he could go to that could take care of them, and all of them know this. Dust found out first and surprisingly his soul was open enough to the idea to accept Nightmare as... well... his.

There are more hurdles in this situation of course. The fact that they Nightmare they knew was an adult, which is what Horror thinks is tripping up Cross. But Dust had been very quick with accepting that Nightmare is now a child and so immediantly treated him as one.

Killer took a bit longer but quickly fell into step as well. Calling Nightmare tiny boss and going from his right-hand-man to his babysitter, Killer's words not Horror's.

Horror is however a bit surprised that Killer also soul adopted Nightmare. In theory it shouldn't have happened as Nightmare at this time already had Dust as his caretaker and so technically didn't need one anymore.

Seems like Killer's soul didn't agree with that.

Horror can't say a lot about it though, seeing as he can feel it happening with himself as well. And he has no doubt that Cross is very close to giving into his own instincts and feelings concerning this as well.

The whole thing with their last interaction with the Stars is a very big give away. Even if Cross felt very embarresed by his own reaction.

At least Nightmare is no truly convinced that they won't harm him and will help him. Horror is happy they managed to get there and with it having only been a month since they took him with them. Horror can say they did a good job.

Nightmare has falled asleep.

Horror move slowly and silently and puts two fingers to the the side of his small belly and feels.

Horror may not have a lot of magic himself but his AU was left him with a very useful skill. Wiht how little food there was available and how little magic there was there came issues. One of the issues was that after a while the magic monsters had wasn't strong enough anymore to digest the food that the mosnters did manage to eat. meaning that even if the monster ate food they would not get any energy or new magic from it.

Meaing that even if they ate they would continue to starve.

Wiht how difficult it had been for Nightmare at first to eat or even remember to eat Horror had worried something simular may have happened. That being in the goop form had caused his own magic to grow too weak to be able to function fully.

But all Horror feels is the soft and quiet purr of NIghtmare's magic working hard to use the offered food to rebuild the babybones' small reserves.

Horror sighs a sigh or relieve and just watches Nightmare for a moment. Nightmare, having noticed the pressure on him, makes an unhappy sound and his socket flutters open to give him a sour look.

Horror chuckles as he whispers "I apologise." Horror is unsure how clear his answer is as Horror himself is purring like a loud law mower at this point.

Nightmare blinks at him, still looking like the tiniest little grumpy skeleton this multiverse has ever known, before closing his sockets again and turning on his side. surprisingly not away from the touch and light hold.

Horror watches the other. It is strange. They are all different yet Nightmare still has them all completely under his control. Yet it is in a completely different way and Ngihtmare now doesn't even seem to realise it.

Horror leans on the couch and watches their tiny charge just sleep. Horror had managed to keep the need to complete an adoption at bay by reminding himself that Nightmare already had a caretaker- well two and a half now, Horror is sure that all Cross still needs to complete the soul adoption is a tiny nudge. Horror thinks that Cross is jsut thinking too much about it and doubting his own instincts and feelings.

But that still leaves Horror, and what he wants to do. He figured that it would be better to at least keep one of them unbiased in this nature, just in case that Nightmare suddenly turns into an adult again. But the longer this went on the less likely it seemed to Horror.

Not to forget. Horror doesn't even think Nightmare wants to be an adult again. Not now that he is a child but doens't have to vigilent every moment of every day.

Does he technically already have caretakers? Yes. Does Horror still want to count himself as one? Yes.

So. He just picks for himself.

Horror moves slowly and quietly as he picks Nightmare up. Nightmare grumbles in his sleep at being moved but calms when his magic recognises Horror.

Horror gets comfortable on the couch and lays Nightmare on his sternum. He can still feel the tiny soul beat and pulse fast even through two shirts.

Horror pulls the blanket back over Nightmare and waits.

It doesn't take long as Horror can feel the slight pull on his magic and energy. Hardly noticable and Horror doubts that if he wasn't so paranoid about his own levels he would have noticed.

It is something tiny monsters do. To help stabalise and sharp their own magic they try to take tiny bits of their parents, or caretakers in this case, to help guide them. It all happens naturally.

Horror just holds the tiny babybones closer and feesl Ngihtmare's soul slowly start to match Horror's own soulbeat and he feels all the calmer.

Now it is pretty much done. Horror will have to probably deal with this decision one day but for now he is happy. Their tiny babybones is comfortable and everyone is resting. Tomorrow they will have to worry about getting supplies and where they can go and eventually where they will sleep that night.

But right now? Right now he doesn't have to worry about that. and all he ahs to worry about is that their babybones is comfortable and healing.

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First Drabble here Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

#utmv #RealAgeAU #nightmare sans #deaged nightmare #horrortale sans #horror sans #bad sanses #gang as family #drabble #okay that are the notes :D #I love the different energy i gave horror :D #the others accidentally adopted Nightmare. Horror however knew damn well what he was doing and wanted in.#also cross is like. a tiny tiny nudge away from adopting nightmare as well #but he is stubborn so Cross managed to keep his instincts from doing the thing the longest #but yeah!! a bit more world building and lore in there :3 #Love me some lore :D #I Got so many ideas for drabbles you all #I do worry what will happen once i run out of ideas because i am going through them at a FAST PACE #it is like i am speed running fic writing #but yeah that is it :D for now :3 #I will also be uploading a poll soonish with different ideas for new drabbles. give you a sneakpeak #and see what you guys are more excited about #ALSO ALSO #be proud. a bit of a shorted drabble again :D #I need to chill with the length of these things #okay that was it for now. Time to fix some links #Will I ever make the links all look the same?#no. I won't.#but they will work and go to the right place!

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