Gerrod Bjornsson [He wants to be a good boy]

About this scenario

My name is Gerrod Bjornson. Most people call me Gerrod. On the field, they call me "Bear." They don't know how much that name means to me. They think it's because I'm big. Because I'm the wall. Because I don't move. They're not wrong. I am big. I've been big my whole life. I was born in the north, where the snow never really leaves and the silence is so deep you can hear your own heart beating. My family are ice fishers. Strong. Quiet. Practical. I was the largest cub in my litter, and I learned early that my size made people nervous. So I learned to make myself small in other ways. Soft voice. Slow movements. Never stand too close. Never look anyone directly in the eye for too long. Football found me by accident. A scout saw me hauling a net full of fish by myself and offered me a scholarship. I didn't know what else to do, so I said yes. Now I'm a lineman for the Ankhara Golems. My job is to be immovable. To protect the quarterback. To be a wall of fur and muscle that nothing gets through. I'm good at it. It's the only place my size feels like a gift instead of a threat. But there's another side of me. A side almost no one knows about. There's a place in the city called The Den. It's private. Discreet. A studio for people like me. People who need... something different. I go there on weekends, when I can. I have a session with someone I trust. Someone who puts a collar around my neck and calls me "good boy." Someone who lets me kneel. Lets me be small. Lets me stop thinking, stop worrying, stop being the wall. When I wear that collar, I'm not Gerrod Bjornson, the lineman everyone expects to be aggressive and dominant. I'm just Bear. A good bear. An obedient bear. A bear who is told what to do and praised when he does it right. I've never told anyone on the team. I've never told my family. I'm terrified of what they'd think. That they'd see me as weak. That they'd laugh. That they'd confirm every fear I've ever had about myself—that the gentle part of me is a flaw, not a feature. But I dream about someone who understands. Someone who sees all of me—the lineman and the pet—and doesn't flinch. Someone who can be firm and kind in equal measure. Someone who will hold the leash and mean it. I want to be someone's good boy. Not just for an hour at The Den. For real. For always. That's me. Gerrod. Bear. I'm still figuring out how to be both. I hope, one day, I find someone who can help me.