#I think it’s more complicated than that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burreauxoxo · 3 days ago

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make some noise - joe burrow

husband!joe x fem!reader

summary: you had beat childhood cancer but just as you began to live your adult life worry-free, you get the news that a different type of cancer was found. all of the memories you had of the hundreds of hospital visits as a kid came flooding back. you knew what you wanted and even if it scared joe, there was no going the other direction.

warnings: mentions of cancer, nausea/vomiting, hospitalization, swearing, blood

word count: 7.7k

note: this was kind of hard to write and just continued to make me sad but i still managed to finish it. hope you like it!

it all started during the last game of the regular season. the cincinnati bengals were looking at a promising playoff stretch and you knew you wanted to be next to joe throughout it all.

though lately, you haven’t been feeling the best. bouts of nausea, persistent fatigue, the urge to run to the bathroom to empty the contents in your stomach. your friend had suggested that maybe you were pregnant but you knew this was something different.

the sickness that wasn’t just in the morning and the blood that came up last night told you otherwise. you wished this was a pregnancy, but it was a lot more complicated than that.

you made it through the game without too much to worry about. some heartburn but nothing to complain about. eventually, you met joe who was quick to engulf you into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you.” you say into his chest and shoulder area. “thank you.” he replies and kisses the top of your head.

the two of you hung around for a bit, chatting with a few others before you called it a night. the drive home was pretty quiet, your nauseous feeling keeping you from sparking conversation. on multiple occasions, you wanted to ask joe to pull over but you managed to keep it down until you got home.

hurrying into the house, joe grew worried at your sudden fast actions. you flew up the stairs and into the bathroom, where you planted yourself in front of the toilet. no more than a few second pass before joe is right behind you, holding your hair back and rubbing gentle circles to ease your tense feeling.

he takes a peek at your face to make sure you still had your color. but that’s when he notices something alarming.

“baby, there’s blood in there.” he says. worry fills his voice as he begins to pull his phone out. “i’m calling nine-one-one.”

“no! no, i’m fine.” you push before he makes anymore moves.

“no, you’re puking blood! that’s not fine.” joe says and reaches into one of the bathroom organizers for a wash cloth. running it under cold water, wringing it out, then handing it to you was all he could do.

he wanted to contact someone. an advice nurse, your primary doctor, maybe even the team doctor; just to see what he should do. while running downstairs to get you some cold water, he thought about it.

the persistent nausea. the vomiting. the loss of appetite. all of the naps you take. your comment that you were having a hard time swallowing.

it made him dizzy.

he recalls all of the times you reflected on being cancer-free from the battle you faced as a little girl. but could it happen again? could it really be happening now?

“baby, i think you should meet with your doctor as soon as possible.” joe says and hands you the glass of water. he strokes the top of your head, causing a wave of relaxation to flood your body.

“i already have an appointment. tomorrow at noon.” you say and his eyes widen.

“what do you think is going on?” joe asks curiously.

“i don’t really want to talk about it.” was all you could say and all he needed to hear.

the emotions soon became apparent and strong. his wife might have cancer? it took everything inside of joe not to fall back onto someone and start panicking. he knew that was the last thing you wanted and he would do whatever it took to make sure you were taken care of.

“well mrs. burrow, your results weren’t completely clear. after i first seen you a week or so back, i took all of your symptoms into consideration and after confirming through many tests and scans, i regret to inform you that we found that cancer is present.”

your head hung low as the specialist spoke. joe was zoned in on every word she spoke and was ready to jump right into any treatments or trials that they offered if it meant he would get you back to feeling yourself.

“with the type of cancer that she has, is there a good possibility of her coming out of it? or is this something we need to take one day at a time?” joe asks.

“in her situation, with the type of cancer, the numbers can vary. if a patient is diagnosed right off the bat with cancer just in the stomach, there is a seventy-five percent survival rate. in her case, it has already made it to her surrounding lymph nodes.”

“and that would bring the percentage up or down? and by how much?” joe continues to ask.

“unfortunately, it brings it down to thirty-five. now, we have a fairly new trial and it calls for newly diagnosed patients which is your first step for qualifications. if you are open to giving it a go, i can transfer you to their care to assist in giving you the care you need.”

“um, what would happen if i were to just… let it take its course?” you ask and joe turns in your direction.

“it all depends on your own experience with how you handle things. some patients decide that their body isn’t going to last long on all of the medications and would rather try at-home remedies instead to start. some even take it to the last second and they pass at home. both options are individually painful… choose what is best for you.” the doctor smiles lightly.

“what is the expectancy between the two?” you ask.

“patients left untreated can go roughly a year, with treatments such as chemo or radiation, they may just come out with the thirty-five percent or in other cases, roughly ten months would result in other outcomes.”

“can i have some time to think?” you ask.

“absolutely. shoot me a message through the online portal to make your follow up appointment. please take care and know that no matter what happens, everything will be just fine.” she says and pulls you in for a hug.

you felt drained. you wanted to go home, lay in yours and joe’s shared bed, and take a nice long nap in his arms.

“tell me you’re going to give the trials a shot?” joe asks as soon as you get into the car.

“joey, chemo and radiation gave me so much trauma as a child, i can’t do it again.” you admit.

“but you have to choose to live, you are going to make it, i know you will.” joe says, growing emotional.

“i would rather have almost a year lived as free as possible with you, than miserable treatments fulfilling our free time and taking all the life out of me.” you say, taking joe’s hand into yours.

you could tell joe was trying to process your words. his eyes wandered around your facial features. from the eyes he fell in love with, to the nose he runs his finger down when you are having a hard time sleeping, to the lips he loves to kiss.

“it just wouldn’t be worth it.” you add.

“okay. if that’s what you want then… i’ll be right by your side.” joe agrees and gives you a sad smile.

it wasn’t what you wanted though. you really wanted to live worry-free. you wanted to be by your husbands side until the two of you got old. you wanted to enjoy your marriage, let alone enjoy the honeymoon phase you guys were barely able to get through.

you wanted to have kids with joe, watch him sprout his first permanent grey hair, watch your children graduate from school, watch wrinkles appear on each others face, enter retirement and travel the world.

but your time was cut short. every touch of your hands, every kiss, every word spoken… was to be treasured.

you didn’t want this whole situation tearing joe down at all, though you knew telling him not to worry was easier said than done.

he hated having to leave you during his first away game after the news. it was a couple months after deciding home remedies and no hospital stays was your treatment plan.

with a plain diet and no colored liquids such as sodas and unnatural juices, your trips to the bathroom slowed down and you were able to sit on the couch and enjoy a snack as you watched your husband play the game; even though it was just through the tv.

when it came to joe coming home, he took the quickest flight out of the city he was in and made no extra stops until he seen you. once he knew you didn’t need anything from the outside world, he was planted by your side.

you didn’t let him slow down practice wise though. as time went by, he dreaded his alarm in the morning but you graced him with some words of encouragement when you also were awoken by the blaring sound. you woke him right up and put him in a good mood.

he would gather his equipment and make it to the facility, not paying attention to the time because doing that always makes time go slower.

when the training staff would announce that it was time to wrap it up, joe got that spurt of energy. the same spurt of energy kids feel when they realize the school day is almost over.

joe would share some meaningful conversations on the way back to change and grab his stuff. ja’marr was always telling him to make sure you’re resting and doing the right things to prolong your time. he would often come visit to tell you the same thing anyways.

other guys on the team felt for you and joe, but ja’marr was at a different level. he was the mutual friend that got you two together in college. he knows you both as individuals just as much as he knows you two as a couple.

it hurt him just as much when he heard the news. this was like losing a family member with the length and level of connection you two had built over the years. he wanted to visit with you more often but he knew that during the season, there wasn’t a lot of time anyways. so he left whatever time the team got, to joe.

it was now december and you had gotten your news in february. time was ticking faster than ever and your body was trying to tell you the same.

there was no more leaving the house unless it’s to a hospital; which was fairly often because your doctor was keeping track of your current state. there was no more over-exerting movements during the day. your pride and dignity was slowly slipping away.

you couldn’t stand to do the dishes anymore, you called for help in the shower, you can barely cook simple meals, and your emotions were higher than normal.

the media always labeled you as “the housewife every woman dreams to be.” at a point, it seemed a bit offensive to joe because he seen the comment as he only married you to have a woman at home. but in reality, that’s what you were.

you weren’t working at the time you guys got married. so you were the one to have the meals prepped and plated at the time of each meal, you did laundry most of the time, you cleaned, and you took care of your husband.

the difference was the fact that joe never got upset when he came home and it didn't smell like something was cooking or the sound of something clinking in the dryer wasn't occupying the silence. he wanted you to have nights off more often; more than you liked at least. he always said that a night off meant more time for the two of you but you didn't surrender yourself to the couch before the dishes from the day before were clean and joe had all the laundry he needed done was complete.

but you didn’t see it as a bad thing if joe didn’t see it as one. you were happy and proud to take care of joe. if he got a cold from playing in the cold weather, you’d nurse him back to good health by the time he needed to be at practice next. you made sure the stains were out of his clothes and his dietary guidelines were met.

but the illness was coming between you and your duties. you knew it as soon as joe offered to hire a personal chef for the two of you.

“it’s not a bad thing, baby! you need to eat substantial food too!”

when he came home from playing that night and you had dinner made and plated but you were passed out on the couch, he regretted that comment. because now you were going to push yourself too hard. that was the last thing he wanted you to do.

except, you don’t even have the energy to push yourself now.

every morning, joe takes your blankets and pillows and helps you down to the couch in the living room. due to your lack of hospital treatment, you weren't given the option to have a hospital bed to set up in the living room. the couch was just as comfortable though, if not better.

joe offered to buy a bed frame and to get you any type of mattress you wanted, but you declared that it would be a waste as you weren’t going to be here much longer to use it. joe shook his head at your statement.

“even if you get a weeks use out of it, it’s worth it. not even a week, a day! as long as you’re comfortable.”

you protested but when you came downstairs after a nap to see a bed frame with wheels under it and a mattress that looked like a cloud on top, you knew he meant every word.

he seen you were in pain going up and down the stairs so he knew this was going to help more than you thought.

the mattress had the ability to move up and down so you could sit up without having to over-exert yourself. the occasional adjust felt great on your back or even your neck.

it’s january. the bengals and chiefs have come to a match-up, yet again, to see who will make it to the super bowl. joe was on edge for the duration of the game and he didn’t want any messing around until they secured their spot.

right now, the bengals are up by thirteen and there is four minutes left of the game. it’s now or never that their defense holds their spot on the field to prevent any other plays going through.

you were currently at home, your best friend sitting by your side. joe tucked you into your bed out in the living room this morning before he left for the game. they were the number one seed so throughout the playoffs, they scored home field advantage.

your best friend sat next to you on one of the kitchen stools, with a notebook and pen in her hand. you asked if she’d be able to write whatever you had said down for some letters. you were too weak to write a full sentence and this was such a big help.

tears were shed, breaks were taken. but you had gotten letters for your family, ja’marr, and joe done. you were able to tell your best friend every word you wanted to tell her in person. again, tears were shed and she even climbed into bed with you until you fell asleep and she wanted to give you more room.

while you napped, she folded each letter and put them in individually labeled envelopes for each person. you instructed her to put them in your nightstand; which was exactly what she did.

to have more time pass, she watched the game that was playing on the tv. there was one minute left and the bengals had the ball. the chiefs were out of timeouts and since there was less than a minute and a half left, this called for the victory formation.

both teams take their place and joe lines up with the center. give or take a few seconds, the center snaps the ball back, giving it to joe, who drops to his knee and the team floods him with excitement.

due to his extreme accuracy and only four incomplete passes throughout this game, he was to be celebrated. joe stayed on his knee for some time. his teammates stood over him, some even kneeling down around him. joe had the ball in his hands as he tilted his head down to rest his forehead on it. only he knows what was said in that moment.

after getting up, he shares a brief moment with patrick mahomes, something you encouraged him to do.

“hey honey… your husband is going to the super bowl.” your best friend whispers to you as you start to stir.

“hmm?” you manage to say.

“joe… they just won the game. the bengals are going to the super bowl.” she whispers again.

“you’re kidding.” you wake up and tilt your head enough to see the tv screen.

lo and behold, the team is gathered together and confetti is falling.

“the cincinnati bengals are headed to the super bowl! they will take on the san francisco forty-niners, which hasn't been seen in a super bowl since nineteen eighty-nine!” the announcer says.

you look away with a tear in your eye. this was the game you wanted to see and joe has been waiting for. you began to hope you had enough strength to make it. but with it being multiple weeks away, you weren’t sure.

joe quietly made his way into the house, seeing your best friend sitting on the couch watching highlights from the game as you sat up and drank a smoothie.

“hi, my love. it’s so good to see you awake.” joe quietly says as he leans over to give you a kiss.

“why aren’t you out celebrating?” you ask.

“i am. i’m celebrating with you guys. ja’marr will be over later to come check on you.” joe says and runs his hand over your head in a soothing manor.

“i’m so proud of you.” you say as you reach to grab joe’s hand. he gives your hand a light squeeze as he brings it to his lips.

the night was spent quietly recapping joe’s thoughts throughout the game. ja’marr did make it over and he came bearing frozen yogurt for everyone that was there. they decided that staying up an hour or two later than normal to watch a movie and eat frozen yogurt with you was a form of celebration.

the celebration turned into a sleep over. joe climbed into your bed with you as ja’marr and your best friend took the couch. it was big enough for the both of them to lay out completely so they had no problem.

there was one time you had to get up and do your thing in the bathroom. the rush of sugar probably didn’t do you any good.

you being out of your spot woke joe up. he stirred for a second before hearing your slow footsteps coming closer.

“am i being a bed-hog?” he jokes.

“always.” you joke and you both quietly laugh.

you crawl back into the bed, curling up as close as possible to joe. you tucked your arms close to your chest, scooting even closer to him. he drapes his arm over you as he turns to his side.

he runs his fingers up and down your back after lifting your t-shirt some. he felt you shiver, a small smile creeping up on his face.

“feelin’ okay?” he asks.

“yeah… okay as okay gets.” you whisper.

“everything is going to be just fine. i promise.” he whispers into your forehead before leaving a kiss on it.

“joe… i’m scared.” you quietly admit and he stops what he’s doing.

he tilts his head down so he can look at your face.

“why are you scared, baby?” he asks.

he knew why but he wanted to hear your reasoning. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared out of his mind. aside from silly flings with other girls, he’s never known anyone else but you. it’s always been you.

“i don’t want to leave this life behind.” you say and he starts to mess with your hair.

“i don’t want to say goodbye to you guys. i want to live every day with you and all of our friends. i want to wake up to you every day, i want to make more memories with you.” you continue on.

“you are going to live every day doing just that. we are going to be right by your side every chance we get and we are going to make many more memories, i promise.”

“yeah but… it’s creeping up on a year. i might not even see next week. i want to see you win the super bowl. i want to see everything.”

“you’re going to. we are going to go out there and win that game. we won’t be too far away, new york is right there.”

“i wanted to be there with you.” you admit.

“sometimes life happens my love. i already told myself that this game is for you.” he admits.

“i don’t want anything to be for me. i don’t want to die, i shouldn’t be dying right now.” you say and start to cry.

“shh, everything is going to be okay.” joe whispers.

he was able to calm you down until you fell asleep.

it was early in the morning when ja’marr shook joe awake to signal you needing help in the bathroom. without a question, joe flies out of bed.

before he turned down the hallway and into the bathroom, he had gotten you a glass of ice water.

“joey… it’s all blood.” you cry.

“oh, baby.” he says and leans down to pull your hair back. he rubs soothing circles into your back as you cried.

ja’marr comes to the doorway to make sure everything was okay.

“shit man, i think she should go in. that’s not a good sign to be throwing up all that blood.” ja’marr says and you stay quiet.

“you want to go in?” joe asks, still rubbing your back.

“i guess.” you say, defeated.

in your head, you knew this was probably the last time you’d be home while you’re coherent enough. you gave the living room one more look before sitting down.

while joe grabbed a few things, you slowly made your way up the stairs with some help from ja'marr. you stood in the door way to your bedroom and gave it all one more look. you walked over and felt your original bed sheets. you looked in the closet and seen all the clothes you had made so many memories in, including your wedding dress. you ran your hand down the white fabric and sighed. you looked out the sliding door to the balcony and took in the view; just one more time.

eventually, ja'marr helps you back downstairs.

“should we stay here or head out? we can do some work around here.” ja’marr asks.

“you guys can go. i’ll keep in touch with what’s going on.” joe suggests. deep down, ja’marr knew what he was going to do.

joe took the quickest route to the hospital but still drove at a safe speed. when it came to checking you in, he wheeled you inside in a wheelchair and explained your situation so you didn’t have to waste your energy talking to the nurse.

they brought you back immediately for not only comfort but privacy reasons.

“due to how busy we are, we might need a minute to gather things and keep the other patients rolling. we just wanted to get you comfortable in the meantime in case the wait is longer than you can handle out there.”

both of you appreciated the nurses kindness and made sure to express it verbally.

while you two got settled into the room, ja’marr and your friend stayed behind at the house, getting some work done.

there were some stacks of dishes that needed to be done, as well as laundry. your best friend changed the sheets on your bed in the living room. ja’marr vacuumed and wiped some items down for bacteria clearance.

time went by slowly but it was still keeping you here. any second you were gifted, the people around you thanked any lord above for it.

you were declining at a fast rate. joe has expressed that he wasn’t sure if he was able to go through this alone. the blood never stopped as the pain was only worsening. the nurses distributed some strong pain medication that had you knocked out. you had been transferred to the normal side of the hospital rather than staying in the emergency department.

in the mean time, joe had called your family and his both. he was a mess but he knew what needed to be done. the box of tissues that sat next to his wildly uncomfortable hospital chair, slowly but surely dwindling. the thought of the chair being uncomfortable was a quick and useless thought. he knew you were in more discomfort than he was and you were in the bed. soon enough, the chair was comfortable; just right as long as he was next to you.

one of the nurses came in and wanted to check on you. she called for some assistance when she realized that the pain medicine was only knocking you down more.

“we are going to slow down on the morphine as her heart isn’t tolerating it the way we wanted it to.” the nurse says.

“she won’t be in more pain, will she?” joe asks.

“at this point, i don’t think so. if she is, i don’t think she will be able to express it.”

“is… is she going to die? like… soon?” joe manages to ask.

“based on her current state of health, i wouldn’t say soon as in within the hour but maybe a day or two. i am so sorry, mr. burrow.” the nurse says, empathetic smile rising to her face.

it was time to crack down. joe never left your side, he called the people he knew you loved to come say their goodbyes. the bags under joe’s eyes only grew bigger as time went by.

it had been three days in the hospital and you had only woken up twice; once during the first night to roll over some and again when joe had told you that it was okay to let go.

he was running his fingers over your head and whispering beautiful words to your peaceful face. he had one of your hands in his other hand and he knew when your grip loosened with each squeeze, it was time to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.

“i’m going to win that game for you. ja’marr is going to give his speech you wanted him to do at your funeral. your family will be back as soon as they can be, they told you to hang on.” he whispered.

“you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever laid my eyes on and i will never forget your illustrious and eternal soul.” he says,

the more words he spoke, the more the pain was evident. he was scared to do life alone. like he’s expressed, all he’s ever known was you. how could he do anything without you.

but reality really hit him when he was sitting out in the waiting room, trying to catch his breath with ja’marr by his side. his face was red and he had a few crumpled up tissues in his hand. ja'marr had been crying as well, dreading what the future was about to throw at them.

“she’s not going to make it to see us play… we just got married a year ago, how is that long enough? she deserves more time.” joe says, head in his hands.

he’s gotten maybe a couple hours of sleep in the last two days. the picture of the blood that made its appearance in any way it could, glued to the back of his eyelids in a way that won’t escape him. you were suffering and he couldn’t help you.

“mr. burrow, we did all we could.” a nurse says, turning the corner with a mask and gloves on.

joe shoots up to stand on his feet.

“what? i was just in there! not even five minutes ago.” joe says as he shoves his way through to your room.

there you were, still as still could be.

ja’marr stood next to joe as they both took in the heartbreaking sight. the blood pressure cuff was erroring out and the heart monitor was at a steady beep. your oxygen level was dropping to nothing and they both knew this was the last bit of life they would ever see in you.

“oh god.” joe says and turns around, huffing out a breath of air that he felt was trapped in his lungs.

this was it. this was the end of beginning.

the service and celebration of life were done. the cremation process had begun. ja’marr spoke in front of everyone at your service and joe hasn’t touched a single thing that belonged to you in the house. everything was going to stay the same unless a move was planned. all of your clothes, your decorations, your bedding; it was all staying in its given place.

he had your wedding ring planted in its box on his nightstand. but it was soon shoved in his bag that he was taking with him to new york for the super bowl. he searched in various places for a specific necklace you considered lucky but soon took off as soon as you received the cancer diagnosis. he looked in your jewelry box, he looked in the bathroom, the only place left to check was your nightstand.

in a hurry, he tugs the drawer open, moving a couple pieces of paper over to see what was under them. he found the necklace but what else he found, shocked him.

on top of the necklace, sat a few envelopes that were all addressed to different people. one to him, one to ja’marr, one to your family and a couple more for the other members of it that you had mentioned, one to the team as a whole. he knew he’d have to actually find their address and mail them or send them out to be delivered by your family members.

joe immediately sits on the edge of the bed and rips open his envelope.

“dear joe,

when life gives people twists and turns, they are usually the most unexpected events that they never thought would happen to them. no matter how bad my twists and turns were, i am so grateful to have had you waiting for me once the path straightened out.

though my last twist never came to an end, you held my hand when i felt like i was all alone to remind me that i never was.

i want to thank you for gifting me the most beautiful, peaceful yet eventful, exciting, and blissful years of my life. i wouldn’t have wanted to do these last few years with anyone else.

i am so sorry that i had to leave you behind so early. in a way, i am grateful i went first because there is no way i’d be able to do life without you. you were my rock and i look forward to being yours in spirit form.

just remember, i am no longer in pain. i am no longer wondering when it will all end.

the other day, you had just left for a game and the house was quiet. i thought of you as i climbed out of bed. i thought of how quiet it was as it rained and it was just me and my thoughts. it made me realize how you were going to be once my time comes and it made my heart hurt.

i don’t want you drowning in the silence to a point of no return. i want you to get out there and make some noise. find the noise if you need to. if it is silent in a moment where silence shouldn’t fill the atmosphere, i will come turn the tv on. i don’t want you in silence if it shouldn’t be silent. so don't be scared if you hear music start playing or the sudden sound of spongebob laughing... it is just me.

i could spend forever talking while this is being written but at the moment, you are playing for a spot in the super bowl. if you made it to the super bowl, i want you to play your heart out for not just me, but for everyone. i want you to win that game like it was your last and everything you’ve ever done comes down to it.

you’re a winner in my heart no matter the outcome. just know that i will always be proud of you for getting up and trying again. you’ve always been great at it.

i know our dreams were endless. i know our love would always be tested. i know our expectations for the future were bright. don’t let anything change it.

i want you to know that you need to live life to the fullest. do not let this or the past slow you down. i want you to sit back and realize that being here is a gift and as much as i know you do appreciate how your life has changed for the better… make it even better.

your worth is everything in my eyes and my heart… let that sink in. run with that thought and never look back. make mistakes. realize things aren’t going how they should. find something new you like. watch movies you thought you hated. talk to people you think look cool or redeem yourself to someone you messed up with. these things make you who you are but your mistakes do not define your worth. you are worth everything.

i want to say that i love you, i loved you, and i will never stop loving you.

thank you for being everything to me. you are the person that i was made to meet and i thank you for listening to ja’marr when he said you needed to meet me. you’ve always been a great listener.

i love you, joe. go out and live that special life of yours. go win that game! and never forget me, i will always be your biggest guardian angel.”

day of the super bowl

there was a time and a place to be nervous. to joe, this was the last place he should be nervous.

he carried every single word you spoke and every word of yours that he read and reminded himself that being nervous or stressed out was unacceptable.

joe carried a game face all day. ja’marr knew this was the last place he wanted to mess around in. they were playing a solid team in the super bowl who in the end, had a batter record against them.

joe spoke a very minimal amount of words and everyone took their sign to let it be just like that. if they wanted him at his peak performance ability, then they need to let it slide.

coach taylor got his two words in and that was all joe needed.

he ran out onto that field like he was the main character of a film that all of america was anticipating. the crowd cheered, people had signs, then there was the occasional ‘boooo’ from the other side. joe took all of it in, ready to play this game like it was his last.

each play, each drive, each complete pass, they all came from joe like it was nothing. with the halftime performance being a mere two minutes away, the forty-niners have only snagged three points while the bengals have seventeen.

they weren’t in the clear, the niners were known to come back in the second half. everyone seen what they did to the lions in the nfc championship that one year.

taking the field once more, joe has yet to release the tension in his body that kept him in his form. the release was far ahead of him as he was just as ready for the second half as he was the first.

he spoke words to you in his head. he held back the flood of emotions that threatened to spill at any given moment. ja’marr has said his share of support with very minimal response from joe, but he took no offense.

“burrow is at his peak with this game being played at an absolute high. his performance numbers for a post-season game have never been this high and we might be able to thank someone for this.

just a matter of weeks ago, burrow lost his wife. though they weren’t married for long, their relationship was lengthy and their time spent together, was spent with care.

since being in new york for this game, he opened a donation location for cancer research.

‘i won’t let my wife be defined by the battle she put up against cancer, she was much more than that. many others around me feel the same towards the evil illness and that is why it is one of my missions to assist in finding a cure. all donations made will be matched by me and will be given to the cancer research foundation as well as my personal donation to the grief center which helps families cope with loss. nobody’s pain deserves to be ignored, no matter the source.’

if anyone is interested in donating, the link will be available here on your very screen.”

the viewers heard just a portion of his mission and the story behind it from the announcers.

there was a commercial dedicated to donating and everything. joe was serious, just as serious as cancer was. he was done seeing it appear stronger than the innocent people who are suffering under its power and succumbing to their pain. though his wife wasn’t the only one to fight, he wanted it to end. the pain he felt did not deserve to be shared.

these very thoughts and the plans he represented kept him standing until the end of the game. until he sunk to his knees in an emotional release when it is declared that the bengals have won their first super bowl in nfl history.

ja’marr is the first one to land next to joe. they both release their emotions in an emotional hug with each other as they sat on the field.

“this was all she wanted for us.. and you both made it happen.” ja’marr says, hands gripping his shoulder pads.

“holy shit man, i can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now.” tee says as he squats down to his teammates level.

“you don’t even want to know.” joe says with a laugh.

soon enough, they stand up and watch coach taylor get absolutely demolished by a wave of blue gatorade. super bowl champion shirts were being thrown around the team as they were gradually replacing the view of their jerseys. it was a surprise when joe looks over at trey to see he was holding one specifically for joe.

joe unravels his shirt to see that the sleeve has a periwinkle ribbon woven into it. this made his heart hurt and long for a hug just like all the other guys were receiving.

“had this specially made for you. i know i’ve been pretty distant in this whole process of you grieving but know that you don’t go unnoticed.” trey says, pulling joe in for a hug.

joe sniffles yet again, waiting for the sadness to end and for the adrenaline to take over. he knew you wouldn’t want him to be this sad on a day like this. he toughens up, slips the shirt on, and smiles.

“there it is! there’s that smile!” trey says and the two of them laugh.

eventually, joe is pulled over by someone who is wanting to interview him. he didn’t feel like he was too full of words but he knew he needed to try.

“joe burrow… what a game you had today! i want to start with saying i am personally so sorry for your loss, she was a phenomenal person and you are just as phenomenal for honoring her the way that you do.”

“trust me, i am nothing compared to how great she was.” joe squeezes out.

“you officially broke tom brady’s record that he made in oh-five. you finished with a passer rating of one hundred and one point five. you threw for four hundred and twenty-seven yards with four touchdowns and only one interception. nobody has seen anyone play that well since the previous record made by brady. how does that feel?”

“well, it’s feels surreal. i never would have guessed that would be the outcome coming into this season or this game alone. i can thank my teammates for setting me up for such success.” joe jokes.

“we see this personalized shirt you have gifted to you by trey hendrickson. we want to give you your time to speak on the matter, are there any words?”

“of course. i want to thank trey personally for this, this will be treasured. the ribbon here holds as a symbol for stomach cancer awareness. if anyone is unaware, i recently lost my wife to stomach cancer and without her, i wouldn’t be here today.”

joe continues to explain his reasoning behind opening up a location for donations. but it was time to find out the super bowl mvp.

joe relished in the moment for a little while longer. he stood there all alone with confetti still falling, watching each piece claim its own path in the air and landing in its own place.

with the team starting to load onto the stage that was quickly built for the occasion, joe snapped out of it.

it was a given who would receive super bowl mvp but the moment was more special than someone would imagine.

“i would love to accept this award but i would also love to share it with everyone on the team. everyone who has a number on their jersey, everyone who coached us and coordinated us here, down to the ones who supply our water… this is all for you. my hard work couldn’t be done without you.” joe says as he looks around and the crowd cheers for his every word.

as coach taylor takes the microphone, joe looks around. he reads a few signs, pointing to a few. one read, “when you have nobody else to look through in a crowd, look up to see the crowd has been extended!”

the rest of the celebration on the field felt silent. everything around joe seemed quiet as he was in his own little world, talking to you in his head.

“i did it. all for you.”

“everything i do is for you.”

“we won, we finally won.”

the words shared with you never came to an end.

even on the ride home.

he held onto the idea of coming home to see you. he held onto the dream he had the other night of going on a victory vacation with you. he held onto a lot.

but what he didn’t hold onto was the crowd at the after party. his after party was waiting at home.

ja’marr said not to get too sad and that he’d be over after a bit. joe was never one for crowds and especially when he’s full of emotions, the only thing to cure him was his home.

“honey, i’m home.” joe announces.

when he said nothing was going to change, he meant it. he switched the lights on, he dropped his bag at the end of the stairs, and he made it up to the bedroom.

when he is met with an empty room, he realized just how sad this was. that was when it hit him.

“find the noise if you need to.”

he pulls out his phone and asks ja’marr what his set plans were for the night. he texted back that he was stopping in at a party one of their teammates were throwing at a club and that he’d be over after.

“i actually want to go out tonight.” joe texts ja’marr.

“serious? i’ll send you my location and i’ll wait for when you get here.”

and that was it.

joe knew what he was previously going to do. he was going to drown in the silence and fall into a depressed slump. but once again, you wouldn’t want that. so, he found the noise. now he’s going to make some of his own.

just as you wanted him to.

fyi… i cried a time or two while writing this because battling cancer is real and i truly wish it wasn’t. any medical condition has its pain and all of them are valid but truly… f*ck cancer.

#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #football #nfl #fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #WHY SO SAD #pick a fic!#burreauxoxo pick a fic!

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bluebellhairpin · 2 days ago

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Sanji Vinsmoke X Fem!Reader

Summary: Sanji takes his job as cook on the Going Merry very seriously, and seeing as he has yet to discover what you enjoy eating, he makes finding out his top priority. Lucky for Sanji, Luffy lends a hand. (a.k.a, reader has a complicated relationship with food, and Sanji finds a way to help fix it.) (wc. 2.8K)

Warnings: Food, food, more food (possibly a ED warning needed). They make out in the end :) Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied +tragic backstory.

Listening to: 'clementine' by Halsey - "Left my shoes in the street, so you'd carry me, through a breakdown. Through a breakdown or a blackout, would you make out with me on the floor of the mezzanine?"

Masterlist || AO3 link

To Sanji Vinsmoke you were an enigma, and it was driving him half mad trying to figure you out. Sanji had figured out everyone else in Luffy’s crew fairly quickly. In regards to food that is.

Luffy loves meat, Nami has her tangerines, etcetera and so forth. But you? He barely saw you finish a single plate of food, let alone go back for more - or forbid look like you were enjoying eating at all. Sanji’s whole life revolved around food, and he wasn’t going to have someone he decided to care for so deeply dislike it so much.

His stare pinned you to your seat at the kitchen table, fingers tapping the wood as he ran through the list in his head to find something new to try your tastes at.

“You’re really sure you don’t like tangerines? They’re in season at the moment.” Sanji watched your face form into a grimace, teeth bearing as you sucked air into your mouth.

“Not really. Sorry.” He waved his hand, shooing away your worry like swatting a fly. His thoughts wandered again before speaking after a few long moments of silence.

“Your not liking seafood feels like a crime.” he mumbled. As he looked at you he saw your eyes flicker to the side.

“I’ll eat it, I just can’t say it’s my favourite.” you said.

“You’re just saying that.” he smiled, “I saw your face screw up the first time Zoro had a poor attempt at making sashimi.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” You sat up, ready to defend yourself from Sanji’s interrogation. “I’m just not used to eating raw fish!”

“He can’t make it like I do.” he said softly. You looked into his eyes and he had to hold himself back from sighing dreamily.

Sanji, besides believing food shouldn’t be wasted, loved seeing people who needed to eat happy with what they ate. You worried him, since it had been weeks and yet you’d never expressed such approval. You never even went back for seconds - which obviously was on his mind more than he’d ever admit. He tried so hard to find something you’d like, and hadn’t yet. He wondered how happy you’d look when he finally found out what you liked. How your pretty eyes might light up, or how you might finally bless him with a real toothy grin instead of a shy smile.

He almost sighed again at the thought of how beautiful it would be.

“You care a lot about food, don’t you?” your voice was quiet, but it cut through Sanji’s thoughts like a knife. He watched your face soften. “You don’t have to answer. I can tell.”

He watched you, the way you took a deep breath and how it shifted your shoulders. Then you stood, and came around the table. You hand rested inches from his, and he knew he shouldn’t want to hold your hand as badly as he did. He wondered if your fingers were soft or calloused, felt hot or cold. He wanted to hold your hand so badly, but he didn’t.

“You don’t have to care so much about me, Sanji. I’ll eat whatever’s put in front of me, whether I like it or not.”

Your words made him frown, and he watched you turn and leave. Something about your words left him feeling an immeasurable amount of sadness. He once said women were mysteries to be unravelled slowly, you were the slowest he’d come across. You sounded so sad when you spoke, as if resolved to a fate you never wanted.

It made him scared to uncover what possibly happened to you to resign like that, and sad to think about how different you might be now if you hadn’t gone through it. Clearly, you had gone through something, or someone, to make you so uncaring for something many people found joy in.

He decided then that he would help fix it. Sanji would bring joy back into your life through food.

Calm, quiet nights on the Going Merry were a favourite of yours. The sea was still, the salt sat lightly in the air, and the sky was so clear you could see stars no matter which direction you looked. It was peaceful. Carefree. On nights like these you could clear your head, spread out your thoughts like photos on the floor and organise them one by one.

You kept nights like these a secret because you knew if someone found you and got you talking that you’d keep no more secrets. With your vulnerability laid bare before you it was also laid bare to anyone who came by. Doing this small ritual late at night meant no one ever had seen it. Tonight changed that.

A hand reached at the railing inches from your face, and a wide grin soon followed. Someone had found you.

“You trying to scare me into a heart attack Luffy?” His grin softened at your nonchalant reply.

“I don’t believe I really scared you with how you’re reacting.”

“My heart’s beating right out of my chest, really it is captain. You should feel it.” You said, watching him climb over the railing and sit down beside you. His quietness while doing so was unusual. “You don’t usually come up here.”

“I wanted to ask you something -”

‘Here we go,’ you thought, rolling your eyes.

“- You gave your dinner to Ussop tonight. Distracted him by getting him to tell a story then put your plate in front of him so he wouldn’t notice. But I did.” he said. Luffy looked across at you, his hat rested around his neck by its drawstring. Without the hat he looked more serious - that paired with the genuine concern in his eyes and your own aforementioned vulnerability was dangerous.

“Why did you do that?” You looked at him, and he looked back at you. You sighed.

“Before dinner he said he was starving.” you said, “After he finished eating I gave him mine so he didn’t have to get up.”

“You need to eat too. He says that all the time, it’s just a joke.”

You sighed. Your arms rested across the banister of the crows rest, and your chin now nestled on top of them. When you spoke again your voice was soft, and you didn’t look back at Luffy.

“It’s not a joke to me.” From the corner of your eye you saw his position mirror yours, and his legs slowly started swinging from where they dangled over the edge.

“Why?” he asked. It was such a small unassuming word. Normally it wouldn’t bother you, but tonight it was the one thing you were most worried about. It could open a floodgate you’d been dying to keep closed since you joined the Straw Hats - and now it had opened.

“My family.” you said. “My island was good. We weren’t well-off but we never went without the things we needed. Then pirates came, and the marines came. Then if we had something and it wasn’t stolen by pirates, it was allocated to the marines. We started starving.”

Finally, you looked across to Luffy. He stared at you with a frown, the kind he’d get when he was focusing and trying to understand. You’d seen him direct it to others but had never been on the receiving end yourself - it felt strange. With that look, however strange it was, he made you feel like you needed to keep talking just so he understood. So you kept talking.

“With the lack of what we needed, my mother died, then my father. I had to look after my sister on my own, so I worked. I skipped eating so she got breakfast and dinner, I only ate the food I got from work. I did my best to go hungry so she didn’t have to and she died anyway.”

The weight of your words sat heavy in the night air. Your words were gentle, resigned - you’d gotten used to the thought long ago that losing your family was an act you were helpless to stop no matter how hard you tried. You’d spent the rest of your life until now trying even harder to see if that would have made a difference.

For a long time all you heard was the lapping of seawater on the ship’s hull.

“I don’t want to see the people I care about go hungry again. I want them to be happy. I want you all to be happy.” You turned your cheek to rest on your arm, suddenly feeling tired as you looked back at Luffy. “So I give up my food, I don’t eat more than my share.”

Luffy, again, mirrored your action. His cheek squished against his forearm as he looked at you. He lacked the frown now, and his eyes held understanding. You could tell your story made him sad, but he also looked grateful. Eventually his face broke out in a new, wide grin.

“If you could eat anything without a care in the world, what would it be?”

At the look on Luffy’s face, you let out a quiet noise that almost could’ve been a soft laugh. His eyes were expectant, so you looked back to the ocean and thought.

“I know it’s a drink, but I loved tea.” You sighed dreamily. “French earl grey was my favourite.”

Sanji knew you liked your quiet time, so he never went up to the crows nest with you. He stayed on deck, out of sight and smoking, until you climbed down and went to bed. He liked to think he was making sure you didn’t fall, but really he treated it like your own secret.

You up there, him down here, and that's the special time you get to spend together, a moment where it was just the two of you - even if you didn’t know about it. When Luffy started climbing the rigging, Sanji was prepared to get really pissed off for ruining your peace. He was glad he didn’t though.

Still night’s means sound travels well and fast. He heard everything you and Luffy talked about.

Thanks to your Captain, he’d figured you out - and he wasn’t going to bed tonight. He stomped out his cigarette and turned around back into the kitchen.

The plan for today was to dock the Going Merry and spend most of the day ashore, either gathering supplies or, in Luffy’s case, finding some local trouble to get in the middle of. Sanji’s original plan was to do that too, but after last night he had new plans.

The fact everyone else would be gone was fantastic - and your own plan to stay close to the ship to spend time around the hull scraping off barnacles was even more perfect.

Sanji was even more grateful to Luffy’s talk with you last night, since your whole mood seemed lighter today. Convincing out to climb back aboard was almost too easy - and the lack of trouble it took to get you to entertain his shenanigans was almost just as easy.

“Sanji I don’t know why you have to cover my eyes, I can keep my eyes closed just fine.”

“I don’t want you peeking.”

“If you’re going to show me some food sculpture again,” you trailed off. Sanji controlled the fluttering in his chest at the feeling of your cheeks moving under his palms - movements that meant you were smiling.

“If I was, you’d be very impressed.” He guided you to a stop, making sure to position you just right. He suddenly felt very nervous. This felt worse than when he made his very first meal. What if you didn’t like it? What if this was a big mistake? What if-

“Sanji?” you whispered. He didn’t even realize his hands were resting on your shoulders until your fingers came up and grazed his own. “Are you okay?”

He smiled. Of course you’d ask that - it made sense now, now that he knew you were the most selfless person he’d met.

“I’m perfect.” he said, hands squeezing your shoulders, “Are you ready to see your surprise?” You nodded. He let out a soft ‘okay’ and reluctantly pulled away to stand next to the kitchen table.

Sanji watched as you took it in, but your face gave nothing away. He nervously looked toward the table again - maybe something was out of place? - then back to you.

“What is this?” you asked. Your voice was so soft that if he wasn’t on a knife's edge he wouldn’t have heard it.

“Earl grey and chocolate cheesecake, and a lemon and earl grey chiffon cake.” He noticed your eyes lingering on a porcelain set just behind the cake. “And tea ready to brew.”

“Sanji, you didn’t have to do -”

“No!” His objection was abrupt, and it made your eyes snap from the spread to him. “I’m sorry, but no. I won’t hear you say it. Just eat it. Please.” Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, too scared to even blink.

You could tell Sanji felt just as tense as you did. No one had ever gone through so much just for you - hell you didn’t even know there was French earl grey tea anywhere on the Merry, and here Sanji was with a whole morning tea that was themed after your favourite flavour. You didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll get on my knees and beg if you want.” he offered with a small and unsteady grin. Your head shook, declining, and his eyes glanced down at where your fingers nervously fiddled with themselves. You stilled them, instead gripping the coarse fabric of your skirt.

“What I want?” you said softly, almost to yourself. You looked at the food, so carefully prepared and baked, then back at him. “Could you join me? I don’t want to eat alone.”

Instantly, his nerves seemed to visibly melt away - and you in turn felt like you could relax too. He was by your side again, guiding you with a phantom hand at your waist into a seat, and then took the one beside you.

“You’ll have tea, obviously.” Sanji offered, reaching for the teapot, “You’re sweet as you are, but do you need some sugar today?”

Your hand faltered for where it reached for a piece of the chiffon cake. He turned his head to face you, to see you frozen again. This time the look on your face was different. Like a cheeky child had been caught with their hand in a cookie jar.

“Do you think I need some sugar today?” you asked, snickering.

“I’d give you some any day you want.” Then you started giggling - a sound he’d never heard from you before. He looked over and there it was - the smile he’d been longing for a chance to see.

“I think I need some sugar today,” you said with a smile. Your giggling had stopped, but you looked up at him with a soft smile. He couldn’t have been dreaming, but he might’ve since he swore you lent closer.

Sanji decided to be brave. His arm came up to rest on the back of his seat, and his fingers brushed your jaw. His heart skipped a beat when you let him do it.

“How much sugar?” he asked, feeling like he’d been lulled into a daydream at the sight of your happiness.

“A little bit,” you replied, shyly smiling over at him.

“Like this?” he said softly. Ever so carefully he lent forward. His fingers held your chin gently, and when he was close enough to count your eyelashes, your eyes fluttered closed. Gently, he pressed a kiss to the edge of your mouth. It was a short kiss, but he could die happily now - he knew he’d remember the feel of you on his lips even from beyond the grave.

“No,” you whispered, and your fingers ghosted across his jaw to guide his head closer still, “Like this.” you said. Then you kissed him. Your kiss was just as soft, just as gentle, but it was longer, and less afraid. When you pulled away your eyes finally opened.

Before, Sanji could tell you weren’t the kind of person to have done that. To have taken a kiss for yourself, no matter how willing the recipient was. To think all that it took to break that spell was a morning tea.

“Thank you Sanji, for doing all this for me.” You said. Your smile was content - it wasn’t the full toothy grin Sanji had hoped for, but it was genuine, and it made him feel fuller than any meal ever could.

“No, thank you,” he replied, “Thank you for letting me know you.”

#sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece x reader #opla x reader #opla sanji x reader

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pollackpatrol · 2 days ago

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you could easily google what it means, or you could learn welsh (the language it’s in) to dissect the compound word yourself. since that’s, you know, what it is, and is i assume a concept you’re familiar with since they teach about it in the third grade.

actually, here’s a link to the town’s wikipedia page. i’ve already jumped to the section to the history of the town’s name for you. in case you won’t click—Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch means “St. Mary’s church in the hollow of the white hazel near to the rapid whirlpool of Llantysilio of the red cave," and it was probably named that as a marketing gimmick to attract tourists. The name is genuinely very long so it's usually shortened to Llanfairpwllgwyngyll or even further to Llanfairpwll, both of which are perfectly pronounceable if you understand how Welsh letters work.

How do Welsh letters work, you might be asking? Great question. You are, I assume, a Spanish speaker, or at least basically familiar with Spanish pronunciation rules, so the idea that letters can change pronunciations across languages shouldn't be a surprise to you. Most relevantly--in Welsh, "W" is a vowel. It sounds like the English "o".

Do you see how just knowing that single thing makes Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch infinitely more pronounceable than trying to struggle through it with pronunciation rules from English, which isn't even in the same language family as Welsh? Additionally--"LL" is pronounced by putting your tongue into the same position as you'd put it in for the English "L" noise, and blowing. "CH" is a voiceless uvular fricative, like in the word "challah"--though that's assuming you haven't displayed a similar lack of linguistic curiosity and don't think the "CH" there is pronounced as in "chair." "F" in Welsh is pronounced as the English "V."

Now here's a bonus question--are you familiar with the English word pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis? Do you know how to break that down into "pneumo," "ultra microscopic," "silico," "volcano," "coni," and "osis?" Does that lead you to guess that, perhaps, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis is a lung disease brought on by inhalation of silica dust as found in volcanoes? Just because you aren't familiar enough with Welsh to break down Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch the same way doesn't mean it doesn't break down the same way, it means you don't know Welsh.

Anyways. As OP said in another reblog. It's that long and "complicated" because it's another language. Hope this helps <3

It's always sooooo funny when English people or Americans are like "Why are Irish names so hard to pronounce?? Why are these Welsh words so insane???" that's because it is a different language that you do not speak hope this helps ❤️

#jg og

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starlit-writer · 3 days ago

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i am Poorly™️ and now my brain (what functioning bits are left from this MIGRAINE) can’t stop thinking about the boys of tf141 reacting to reader unconscious in medbay after an op.

capt. john price - silent guard dog. obviously, as the captain of the taskforce, he doesn’t get the luxury of dropping everything right off the helo to run to your side, no matter how much he wants to. but, he is restless and short-tempered as he rushes through the post-op debriefs, snapping at anyone or anything who wastes his time or gets in his way. but once he’s in medbay, your unconscious body finally in his sights, the violent, rough edges of his agitation soften. the protective streak of the captain is no less sharp, however, as the older man keeps a watchful eye on everything as his hands run through his mutton chops, mustache, hair, over his clothes, anything to distract him from the fact that you’re hurt. he won’t touch you - doesn’t quite trust himself to not break down and beg for your beautiful eyes and warm smile to grace his presence again if he does. no, he stands vigil in the room, watching over you and protecting you until he hears you start to wake. then, your beloved captain gets down on his knees beside your bed, his face pressed into your hand that lays on the sterile, scratchy white sheets as he mutters kiss-littered reassurances into your skin as his hands brush softly over your hips and stomach in a gentle, comforting manner. if there’s one thing that breaks his stoic, mountain man exterior, it’s you.

lt. simon “ghost” riley - the other side of the captain’s coin. where do you think he learned it from? where the captain attempts to keep some semblance of composure, simon is incapable of the same. he’s all bristled hackles and barking commands as he jumps off the helo before it even fully touches down, ignoring the protesting ache in his joints as he sprints towards the med bay just to get to you as quickly as he can. he’s tormented, replaying the last moments before you were injured in his mind. he’s angry; at the enemy, at the injury, at the world, at you. he has half a mind to throttle you himself as soon as he bursts through the medbay door, to scream at you until he’s hoarse about how stupid you were to get yourself injured. but that anger is a thin shell covering the aching fear of losing you, and as soon as you’re in his sights, he is at your side, his hand finding yours. he runs his thumb over the back of your hand as his other hand comes up to brush a loose lock of your blood-matted hair out of your face. it doesn’t quite quell the anger bubbling through his veins, but you’re still alive. where the captain keeps a silent vigil, simon is right by your side. he pulls a chair as close to the bed as he possibly can, keeping a watchful, terrifying eye on anyone and everything that comes into the room. but, when he’s alone with you, his demeanor falters; whatever thoughts crossing his mind spilling from his shaking lips as his touch brushes over every part of you that he can reach. he’s a complicated man with a very poor grasp on his own emotions and reactions, but you are the only thing that keeps him grounded, and he can’t lose you.

sgt. john “soap” mctavish - johnny isn’t angry. no, he knows his emotions well enough to call it what it is: he’s terrified. much like simon, he rushes off the helo, but unlike both his lieutenant and his captain, he doesn’t even glance at anyone else. his mind is laser focused on getting to you, completely avoiding and ignoring everything that is between you and him. however, as he gets closer and closer to the medbay, the terror builds. restless, panicked energy floods his veins, his adrenaline shooting through the roof. what if it’s worse than he was told? what if this is it? does he really want his last memories of you to be the sight of you hooked up to god knows how many machines? he’s in touch with his emotions, certainly much more than the rest of his team, but that also makes it that much easier for him to start spiraling to the worst case scenario, especially when it comes to you. he’s caught between the desire to rush to your side and the panic freezing his momentum, resulting in him pacing outside of your room, his fingers alternating between tugging at the longer strands of his mohawk and at the elastic of the com mic around his throat. and that’s how he stays, stuck in this perpetual loop that is slowly ripping him apart. it’s not until he hears that your awake that he finally peeks in, stepping in slowly as to not frighten you. however, once your gaze meets his, all bets are off. he rushes to your side, his hands grabbing onto you as he presses his forehead against yours as tightly as he can. muttered apologies for not being here for you fall past his lips between the kisses he presses gently to your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, your chin, as his hands gently run across your sides. the apologies quickly turn into reassurances, but he doesn’t leave your side. he stays standing over you, covering you with his touch and his soft kisses. if there’s one thing he believes in more than the golden cross that hangs next to his dog tags, it’s you.

sgt. kyle “gaz” garrick - he’s better at compartmentalizing than the rest - has to be, after everything that he has done and seen. he keeps a tight lid on his emotions through the entire helo ride back to base, the vacant stare into nothing ahead of him and the way his knee bounces ever so slightly the only signs that anything is wrong. where the rest of the boys are basically foaming at the mouth when their bird is injured, kyle knows that he can’t. that’s not to say that he doesn’t care about you - doesn’t love you - he just knows that if he gives into the fear, it will be impossible for him to pick himself back up. and he needs to be strong for you, for his team. he feels like the entire world rests on his shoulders, and if he falters, even for you, everything will crumble around him. he goes through the post-op motions robotically. anything anyone says to him is met with a monosyllabic reply. it’s only after he’s finished his duties that he’ll find himself in med bay. he pulls a chair to the side of your bed, one of his hands wrapping around yours as his other comes up to his mouth. he has a horrid habit of biting at his cuticles when his emotions are high, and, well, you’re not here to slap his hand away. he holds onto you, his thumb running over the ridges on the back of your hand as he mutters prayers to whatever could possibly be listening to bring you back to him. he is much more outwardly relaxed than simon or johnny, but inwardly, his mind is racing with the same terror. and when you finally wake, his soft voice is there, coaxing you back as his touch brushes gently over your cheek. while he feels like the fate of the entire world rests on his shoulders, that weight feels a lot more manageable when he remembers that you are his world.

(lol oops this turned into so much more writing than i was planning but whatever. i love playing angst barbies with these boys and exploring the differences and similarities between them. as always, i hope you enjoy, and i would love to hear what you think! thank you thank you thank you for all the support mwah mwah)

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xichilie · 3 days ago

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Mydei x (fem)reader

Readers Birthday 🎂

Mydei wasn’t sure when it started—this constant awareness of her.

He’d always been protective of Y/N, always found himself drawn to her presence, but lately, it had turned into something else. A restlessness. A need to be closer.

And now, with her birthday coming up, that feeling had only intensified.

The problem?

He had no idea what to give her.

Birthdays weren’t a big thing in Kremnos. They didn’t celebrate the day someone was born—only the legacy they built. Warriors were honored for victories, for battles fought and won, for their strength and skills. Not for simply existing.

But Y/N wasn’t Kremnoan. She was from Okhema. And here, birthdays mattered.

Which meant he had to get her something.

Something worthy of her.

Mydei sat at the training grounds, absently sharpening his blade as his thoughts spiraled.

Armor? No, that felt more like a duty than a gift.

Something practical, then? She liked practical things.

But what?

In Kremnos Weapons and strength are everything...

“You look like your brain is overheating.”

Mydei didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

Phainon plopped down beside him, blue eyes far too amused.

“Go away.”

Phainon ignored that. “You’ve been acting weird lately,” he mused, resting his chin on his hand. “Especially today. Thinking about something?”

Mydei grunted. “No.”

Phainon smirked. “Uh-huh. Let me guess—it’s about Y/N.”

Mydei stiffened.

Phainon’s smirk widened. “Thought so.”

“Mind your business,” Mydei muttered, focusing harder on his blade.

“Oh, but this is very much my business,” Phainon said, stretching. “It’s entertaining. Watching you, of all people, get all worked up over a gift.”

“I’m not worked up.”

“You’re overthinking.”

“I am not—”

“Just ask her what she wants.”

Mydei glared at him. “That defeats the purpose.”

Phainon held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Keep struggling, then.” He stood, patting Mydei’s shoulder. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

And with that, he strolled away, leaving Mydei even more annoyed than before.

By the next morning, Mydei had convinced himself that a sword was still the best option.

It was practical. It was strong. And it was something that would last.

So, he went to the best blacksmith in Okhēma, commissioned a custom blade, and waited.

But when he picked it up later that day…

Something felt off.

It was a fine weapon. Perfectly balanced, expertly crafted. It even had an engraving of her initials, just like his own sword bore his.

But as he held it, something in his gut told him—

This isn’t right.

It wasn’t that Y/N wouldn’t like it.

It was that she deserved more.

And that thought bothered him more than it should have.

“What about something personal?”

Phainon’s voice cut through Mydei’s thoughts.

They were sparring—well, Mydei was sparring, and Phainon was mostly talking.

“A sword is nice and all,” Phainon continued, sidestepping a strike, “but she already has plenty. And gifts should be meaningful.”

Mydei scowled, blocking his counterattack. “Weapons are meaningful.”

“To you,” Phainon corrected, twirling away. “But what about her?”

Mydei hesitated.

And that’s when it hit him.

He’d been thinking about what he would give as a warrior.

But not as himself.

Not as the man who knew Y/N better than most. Who trained with her, fought beside her, watched her laugh, listened to her ramble about things he didn’t always understand but still paid attention to.

He needed to give her something that wasn’t just practical.

Something that meant something to them.

And suddenly—

He knew exactly what to do.

Phainon raised a brow at the look on Mydei’s face.

“Finally figured it out?”

Mydei smirked.

“Yeah.”

He stayed up late, making sure everything was perfect.

It wasn’t extravagant. It wasn’t overly complicated.

But it was his.

And hers.

And when the morning came, and it was finally her birthday—

He knew, without a doubt, that he’d made the right choice.

The scent of warm vanilla, cinnamon, and caramelized sugar filled the air, blending into something sweet and familiar.

The kitchen was immaculate, every tool in its proper place, every ingredient meticulously measured.

This wasn’t just any cake. This was for Y/N.

Mydei worked with the same focused intensity he did when training. But this—baking—was an entirely different kind of battle. It wasn’t about brute strength. It was about precision, patience, and control.

And control was something Mydei had mastered.

He sifted the flour with practiced ease, the fine powder dusting his fingers as he combined it with butter, sugar, and eggs. The motion was so natural to him now, each step embedded in his muscle memory.

Unlike a battlefield, where unpredictability reigned, baking was exact. He followed the measurements, adjusted when necessary, and in the end, the result was something he could shape into perfection.

And today, perfection was the only option.

Because it was for her.

He had spent days planning this. Finding the best ingredients, testing recipes to make sure everything was flawless. He had even gone out of his way to ensure he got the right kind of chocolate she liked, even if it meant having to barter with an old vendor who only sold it in small batches.

Now, the cake was in the oven, rising beautifully, filling the air with its rich, golden aroma.

It smelled perfect.

While waiting, he turned to the other treats he had prepared.

A variety of pastries, neatly arranged, each one chosen specifically because he knew she liked them. He had learned what she liked over time—watching, observing, taking mental notes every time she reached for a certain kind of sweet.

He wouldn’t have done this for just anyone.

But for Y/N?

She was different.

The timer went off, pulling him from his thoughts. He slipped on heat-resistant gloves and carefully pulled out the cake, its golden surface soft and perfect.

There was no hesitation as he set it down, letting it cool before moving on to the finishing touches.

A delicate glaze, smooth frosting, and intricate decorations placed with precise care.

By the time he finished, the cake was nothing short of a masterpiece.

The table was set. The pastries plated. And beside them, a neatly wrapped gift.

Now, all that was left was for her to arrive.

Meanwhile…

Something was definitely going on.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at Phainon, who was suspiciously energetic today.

“Okay, Phainon. Spill.”

Phainon blinked at her, the very picture of innocence.

“Spill what?” he asked.

Y/N crossed her arms. “You never just ask me to ‘take a walk’ with you. Ever.”

Phainon placed a hand over his chest, looking dramatically offended.

“Wow. You really think so little of me?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts, Y/N. Truly.”

She deadpanned. “Phainon.”

Phainon sighed, clearly amused.

“Alright, alright. Maybe I am stalling,” he admitted, walking ahead of her. “But trust me, it’s for a good reason.”

Y/N raised a brow. “What kind of reason?”

Phainon only smirked. “You’ll see.”

She frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is if you stop asking questions.”

Y/N groaned, but reluctantly followed him.

Whatever he was up to, she had a feeling it involved a certain golden-eyed prince.

By the time Phainon finally led her back, Y/N wasn’t sure what she expected.

But this?

This was beyond anything she could have imagined.

The moment she stepped into the room, the scent of freshly baked pastries and warm vanilla wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

And in the center of the room, there it was.

A beautifully set-up table.

A cake, decorated with meticulous detail.

A plate of her favorite pastries.

And next to them…

A carefully wrapped gift.

Her breath hitched.

“Mydei…?”

He stood beside the table, arms crossed, his expression calm and composed— but she noticed the faint pink dusting his ears.

“Happy birthday,” he said simply.

Y/N blinked.

Slowly, she turned to Phainon.

“You were keeping me busy so he could set this up.”

Phainon grinned. “Guilty.”

She turned back to Mydei.

“You did all this?”

He shrugged, looking off to the side. “It’s not that hard.”

Her heart swelled.

It wasn’t just the cake.

It was the effort. The time he put into this. The way he remembered the small details—her favorite flavors, the kind of pastries she liked, even the fact that she never made a big deal about her birthday.

He did all this for her.

Before she could stop herself, she took a step forward—then another—until she was close enough to wrap her arms around him.

A warm, tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She felt him stiffen slightly, clearly caught off guard.

But after a second, he relaxed.

“…You’re welcome,” he said softly.

Her arms lingered around him before she finally pulled away, smiling.

Phainon was watching with far too much amusement.

She turned toward phainon and thanked him as well.

Mydei picked up the gift and handed it to her.

She unwrapped it carefully, fingers moving with curiosity.

And when she finally revealed what was inside—

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was a necklace.

Sleek, beautifully crafted, with a design that was unmistakably personal.

It wasn’t just any necklace.

It was made for her.

She turned to him, eyes wide. “You… designed this?”

He nodded. “Had it commissioned. Took some time.”

Y/N traced the engravings carefully, touched beyond words.

Then, without thinking, she turned back to him—

—and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Mydei froze.

For the first time, he had no words.

And when she pulled away, she grinned.

“Best birthday ever,” she whispered.

Phainon, in the background, was already taking pictures.

_______________________________________

Since it's my birthday today, I figured why not write some birthday fics ♡

Can't wait to pull mydei ♡

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argumate · 20 hours ago

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transgenderer said: very confused by your characterization of TV as beneficial and social media as harmful. either position seems plausible, but not both at once. id consider TV as more harmful than social media, as someone who spent a lot of time watching tv in my childhood and a lot of time on social media in my teens

for TV you have to compare it with the cultural environment pre-1950 and the effect it may have had on why society got so much nicer post-1950.

now of course there were many dramatic changes going on at the same time: child mortality plummeted so we weren't surrounded by tiny skeletons all the time, birthrates slowed and family sizes dropped, we got much richer and ate more food and suffered less disease, lifespans lengthened, everyone learned to read and children started spending more time in school and less time in factories and on farms, etc.

but it's noteworthy that everyone also started spending a couple of hours a day watching television, a giant experiment in mass media (one of many giant experiments we ran on society post-1950).

now, many people assert that it had a negative effect (television shows feature sex, violence, and commercials!) but few people say it had no effect (humans gonna human) and hardly anyone seems to claim it had a positive effect, and I find that a little strange when you think about what television typically shows: highly moralistic narratives that both reflect social norms but also shape them by modeling what we consider to be good behaviour, good relationships, and idealised families, in a context that almost everyone shares, inflected by new elite ideas about psychiatry and psychoanalysis that were obviously very clumsy but a huge leap on what came before.

compare what a child in the '60s or '70s or '80s will learn about what it means to be a child and how adults should act and parents should engage with children and with each other and how the world works compared with a child in the '20s or '30s or '40s; I think the kid raised by television may well have a better baseline in many ways!

this is all anecdotal -- maybe some enterprising academic could do a study where they try to correlate the spread of television with some metrics of social health and disentangle it from the spread of leaded petrol lol -- but there are innumerable examples of the way television is loaded with positive messages, from The Brady Bunch to The Simpsons, even television that was often viewed as antisocial or subversive or potentially harmful at the time.

I mean I was just watching the first few episodes of SVU the other day and amongst all the hard-boiled detective shenanigans and the sensationalism it basically consists of authority figures saying "people do bad things to each other, and even worse sometimes society is unkind to the victim; also rape is a serious issue and women can be cops btw" -- even as copaganda it's a progressive show for the time.

an argument that television is harmful on net needs to account for where the harm is coming from and how it influences people; there are clearly things that would be much better than television as practiced in the 20th century but it seems like a significant improvement on the culture and media environment that preceded it, whether that was vaudeville or public executions.

social media on the other hand is more complicated to analyse because there are so many disparate unrelated things happening on there, it's individualised more like the telephone network or email than broadcast television, even if some general trends are evident.

and social media obviously contains many positive elements -- I love it myself -- but the negative elements are equally obvious; whether it ends up negative on net depends on how you account for them, but it's looking like a much more complicated story than television.

some factors to consider:

the way social media selects for viral spread leads to content that is far more inflammatory than television

"doomscrolling" makes the nightly news broadcast look tame

social media creates an explicit status/attention hierarchy for the world and puts almost everyone at the bottom of it; if the message of television was "you're special" then the message of social media is "you're nothing"

social media permits mob harassment in a way that makes old shows like Jerry Springer look good by comparison

social media appears to be having effects on politics which are not necessarily positive, I would say

social media appears to be damaging gender relations for young people in ways we're still figuring out

youth suicide rates appear to correlate with social media usage

anyway, I think as a society we will develop better cultural antibodies to the worst aspects of social media over time, but so far I think AI in the form of chat bots appears to be more like television (good) and less like social media (bad).

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lordnot · 1 day ago

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Given some of the pushback this post has been getting, I think a little addendum is warranted:

We are specifically taught that the average person is a combination of willfully ignorant and just lazy. Because of this, whenever someone is exploited by an obtuse, complicated system, we are led to conclude that it was their own fault and well deserved. And since we as individuals are so much more intelligent and diligent than the average person, we need not worry about it happening to us. Until it does, at which point it either radicalizes us or wracks us with feelings of shame and inadequacy that often prevent us from talking about it.

This all fits into the larger myth of meritocracy, the idea that people mostly get what they deserve and hard work and diligence is typically rewarded. It is the same myth that explains why American CEOs and other billionaires have only recently had to worry about hiring private security for whenever they are out in public.

One thing you start to realize in adulthood in the U.S. is that most things that are obtuse and complex for a reason.

Taxes are obtuse so you hire a business to help you do them or do them for you. Insurance is obtuse so you pay for more things out of pocket than you need to. Bills and laws are obtuse so politicians can pretend to work for their voters while creating loopholes and giveaways for their donors.

And part of the reason it works is that, as an adult, it's often considered shameful to admit you don't understand something.

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myrleius · 2 days ago

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loud and clear — bokuto k.

bokuto k. x deaf fem!reader│word count: 1.1k

synopsis: You want to cheer Bokuto on, but being deaf makes it complicated.

notes: I got inspired after spending time at my sister’s school for disabled kids, where I met many of her deaf classmates. They were so energetic and we bonded over fandoms. This fic is much shorter than my usual since I’m practicing on writing concise one-shots without losing depth. It’s tricky, but I’m learning!

cw/tags: fluff, established relationship

Silence isn’t empty.

It’s full of color, of movement, of the small details that get lost beneath the noise. You don’t need sound to know the world is alive. You see it in the way the wind stirs the trees, in the way laughter shakes someone’s shoulders, in the way excitement brightens a person’s eyes.

And right now, you see it in the way Bokuto plays.

His presence is a roar even if you can’t hear it. He’s larger than life, bursting with a kind of energy that fills every inch of the court. His teammates react to him, the crowd reacts to him, and you—watching from the stands—feel your heart react too.

You want to cheer for him too. You want him to know that you’re here, watching him, proud of him.

But the last time you tried—

You shake the thought away. No. Not today.

Instead, your fingers tighten around the plastic horn in your lap, the one you spent way too long picking out just for this moment. The one you know he’ll hear.

You didn’t expect someone like Bokuto to notice you.

You remember that day clearly—sitting in the library, flipping through a book, when suddenly, a blur of motion appeared in the corner of your eye.

A boy. Grinning. Talking.

Your brain registered the movement of his lips before anything else. He was saying something, long and fast, but you didn’t understand a word.

“Slower,” you signed instinctively, unsure if he’d understand. You pointed at your ear, then shook your head.

Bokuto blinked. Tilted his head.

Then, realization hit.

“Oh,” you could make that out. His lips moved slower this time, more deliberately. Then again, softer, like he was testing the word. “Oh.”

He hadn’t known.

His shoulders stiffened, his hands twitched like he wanted to fix his mistake but didn’t know how. Then, determination settled over his features, and he dug into his bag, pulling out a notebook and pen.

A moment later, he slid the open page toward you.

[HI!! I’M BOKUTO KOUTAROU!!!]

The letters were big, uneven, and written with so much force the pen almost tore the paper. Beneath them, an attempt at a doodle—a little stick figure with spiky hair, arms raised high.

You bit back a laugh.

Reaching for the pen, you wrote your name beside his, adding a small doodle of your own.

And just like that, a new page of your life had begun.

Bokuto never let your deafness be a barrier. If anything, he made it a bridge.

He started learning sign language almost immediately. The first time he tried, it was awful—his fingers tangled together, his expressions were exaggerated to the point of comedy, and you had no idea what he was trying to say.

But he never got discouraged. He practiced, asked questions, made sure he got things right. He still talked a mile a minute, but he started signing alongside his words, his hands always moving to keep you in the conversation.

And he watched you, really watched you. He noticed the little things—how your gaze flickered between people when they spoke, how you relied on vibrations, how you always positioned yourself where you could see everything. He adapted without you needing to ask.

But there were times when doubt crept in.

Dating wasn’t something you thought would be easy for you. There were too many little hurdles, too many things you worried would be too much for someone else to deal with.

And yet, Bokuto never made you feel like you were a burden.

Still, some things were hard. Like the first time you tried cheering for him. You don’t think about it often, but sometimes the memory surfaces, uninvited.

Standing on the sidelines, watching him play, you had wanted to join the crowd, to call his name like everyone else. But you couldn’t hear yourself, didn’t know how loud or strange it might sound.

You tried anyway.

But when people turned to look—some with confusion, some with poorly hidden amusement—your throat closed up.

You never tried again after that.

But Bokuto noticed afterwards. Of course, he did.

Which is probably why he dragged you to a party store one afternoon, an impish grin on his face as he led you straight to a shelf of noisemakers.

“If you don’t wanna cheer with your voice, we’ll find something else!” he signed, eyes bright with determination.

He tested each one with theatrical enthusiasm, laughing when a squeaky horn made the shopkeeper glare at him. But then, he picked up this one—the one in your lap now—and blew into it.

Your eyes tracked his reaction, the way his face lit up at the sound you couldn’t hear but knew he liked.

You bought it without hesitation.

Now, here you are.

The game is intense, the energy in the gym electric. Bokuto stands near the net, focused, determined. You know how much he loves this sport. You know how much he gives to it.

And you want to give back.

Taking a breath, you lift the plastic horn, pressing it to your lips.

You don’t hear the sound it makes, but you don’t need to.

Because Bokuto’s head snaps up immediately. His gaze locks onto you, eyes wide. And then—

A grin. So full of joy it’s nearly blinding.

He pumps a fist in the air, then turns back to the game with renewed energy.

You don’t need sound to tell you what he’s feeling.

You can see it. Feel it.

Silence isn’t empty.

It never was.

Bokuto wiped the sweat off his forehead, still buzzing from the win. The gym was as loud as ever—teammates clapping him on the back, spectators chattering as they filed out—but his ears were tuned to one thing and one thing only.

Honk!

There it was.

That ridiculous little honk! cut through the gym’s chaos like a battle cry, sharp and unmistakable. His grin stretched wide as he peeked over his shoulder.

Yn was standing near the exit now, tucking the plastic horn into her bag. When she caught his gaze, she waved, bright and proud, and his heart did a little somersault.

God, he loved her so much.

But there was a problem.

See, under no circumstances could yn ever find out what that horn actually sounded like.

Not because it was bad! No, no, no! It was perfect, adorable even.

But if she knew how it sounded? She might stop using it. And Bokuto needed that honk. Needed to hear it at every game, needed to pick it out of the crowd and know, without a doubt, that she was there, cheering for him in her own way.

So when Akaashi suddenly appeared beside him, raising an eyebrow, Bokuto panicked.

“That horn—” Akaashi started.

“NOPE!” Bokuto slapped a hand over his mouth. “Nope, nope, nope, don’t say it! I don’t know what it sounds like, you don’t know what it sounds like, nobody knows what it sounds like.”

Akaashi blinked. “But I do know—”

“NO YOU DON’T.”

Akaashi sighed, looking vaguely exhausted, but Bokuto didn’t care. His secret was safe.

Yn would never know her chosen instrument of encouragement made the same sound as a goose.

Note: In case you’re wondering, people still stared when yn blasted that horn—but this time, she didn’t notice. She thought it was just a normal, loud honk.

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limegreenbunny · 17 hours ago

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I love timebomb as much as the next person but like....... are they ever gonna throw us Zaun Sisters stans a bone???

#Vi #Jinx #Arcane #thinking about the timebomb mv tomorrow #i realize there are only like three people on the planet who care about the sisters more than the shipping #but still #I thought arcane was gonna be the show to break the curse of romantic relationships automatically overriding any other relationship #in importance #alas nope #actually my feelings on timebomb are...complicated #arcane critical

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cum-a-calla · 3 days ago

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Rivalry

being casually involved with both Benji Kaplan and Roman Roy becomes much more complicated and entangled than anyone could have foreseen.

under the cut: bits of fluff, extremely toxic banter, fingerfucking, oral sex of all kinds, PIV sex, dubcon/noncon elements, light daddy kink, forced orgasms, extremely derogatory name-calling/treatment of a partner, alcohol mention, smokin weed, being recorded without permission, being forced to watch, cum swallowing of all kinds, emotional manipulation at its finest.

important note: there are mentions in this story to this thing that i babbled about a while back, and is somewhat integral to part of the story; i recommend giving it a skim.

“Hey - look what I found on the side of the road, at a - a Starbucks? Yeesh. I thought you were, like… volunteering for the homeless today.” Roman startles you from behind, his spidery fingers clenching playfully into your shoulders as he bends down to bury his nose in your hair. He moans a little in your ear, giggling in his way. “Ugh, you smell good. Scared you, didn’t I?”

“Jesus, Rome. Dickhead. I told you I was hanging out with Benji.” You sip your coffee (if it can really even be called that in the first place) and stare up at him as he stands beside your seat at a little table outside. It’s nice out, the sky a big bright blue with lazy streaks of clouds, little puffs here and there. There was no hesitation in texting Benji to go play outside - grab a coffee, bring a joint or two in your bag, and walk around downtown a little bit.

Roman scoffs, grabbing your cup and obnoxiously licking the opening of the lid before taking a drink. He makes a face as he hands it back, shuddering in mock disgust.

“Right. That’s what I said. Benji - the homeless little mutt you keep babysitting, or whatever it is you two do. Your little chocolate shake here tastes like burnt fuckin’ Oreos. You’re a grownup, for fuck’s sake.”

“You love Starbucks,” you mumble, yanking your cup back and sipping from it. Roman’s eyes flicker to where your lips touch where his were a moment ago, where he licked your cup, and there’s a hint of satisfaction in his spreading smirk. “Also, don’t be rude. Benji’s —”

“Right here,” Benji interjects, coming back to the table. He eyes Roman with curiosity and smiles at you, taking a moment to look between the both of you before his features open up as it dawns on him, eyebrows raised, pointing at Roman. “Oh, fuck. It’s him, right? Roman. Yeah, we do kinda resemble each other, I can… I can see it. That’s nuts.”

“She talks about me, huh?” Roman’s smirk melts into a sneaky little grin at you before returning his attentions to Benji, eyes flicking over his appearance, making mental notes. You’ve seen this look a million times - he’s picking apart, analyzing. Storing potential ammo. Making quick, ruthless judgments. “Don’t believe we’ve ever met, though, champ. Think I’d remember meeting someone like… you. Honestly, any resemblance at all is a compliment to you and a slight to me, so…

Benji rolls his eyes, humming as he turns toward his coffee. “Well, this is fun.”

“Okay, Roman,” you warn mildly. “You go take a nap somewhere and I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Roman’s jaw twitches and he shoots you a look, something that resolves almost as soon as it appears in the first place. Roman smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Just chatting with your new little friend, sweetheart. But sure, yeah, hang out with my - my stunt double, here. You do kinda have that whole haggard look going for you. Except instead of actually working in Hollywood or whatever you - I dunno… operate a cash register in a headshop, or something.”

Benji laughs, genuinely, the sound like bells in the soft, warm breeze. It makes you smile, it’s infectious and silly. He runs his fingers through his hair and slouches back in his seat, relaxed, regarding his abrasive doppelganger as Roman pulls his phone out. It vibrates audibly in his fingers and Roman mutters something under his breath, his brow pinched as he takes in the caller’s name. Benji smiles an easy, shit-eating smile, smug in its own right.

“Busy guy, I bet. Phone’s probably always going off - that sucks, man,” Benji says mildly, eyes glittering at Roman. He laughs again, a tiny snatch of a snicker as he lifts his coffee cup. “You get a lot of crazy calls in your line of business, Roman? You ever - you get any interesting texts lately…? Pictures, maybe, or… videos…?”

Roman’s thumb hovers over the button on his phone to receive the call and he glares at Benji, jaw clenched. It’s rare to see him pissed off enough to stay silent for longer than a few seconds, but he does, phone still buzzing in his hand. For a moment, you think he might actually flip out; you’ve seen Roman go off for way less. That vein in his forehead pulses and his lip curls into a sneer.

“Gotta take this. Grownup business,” he spits at Benji. He puts the phone to his ear and turns on his heel, giving you a parting look that feels almost dangerous. A warning. He snaps his fingers and points at Benji on his way back down the sidewalk. “Teach your fucking dog how to heel. Should get that thing a muzzle.”

The rest of the day goes by exactly as you’d hoped it would - sweet, fun, relaxing. You and Benji swap all kinds of stories, little snippets of each others’ lives and interests, the strange, random things that pass your minds. He’s so beautiful this way, carefree and throwing his head back to laugh, sharing little trail snacks with you when you’re both pleasantly stoned and making up stories about what kinds of people live in the various homes and apartments you wander by. Benji’s really good with direction - he remembers which streets you’ve circled back to, how to get back to where you started.

It feels natural to hold his hand - Roman could never. Benji’s affectionate, constantly reaching out even to hook pinkies, to tickle the inside of your palm real quick when he wants to show you something, bumping his shoulder to yours just because. He reaches out and moves your hair. Kisses the tip of your nose and scrunches his face up when you return the gesture.

Roman’s affectionate in his own ways, in Roman ways that don’t translate to normal physical affection. He likes to guide you - if he could glue his hand to the small of your back, he would. If he could make a home for his fingers on the back of your neck, he would. Touch belongs in a different category for Roman - he uses it to possess you. Groping in public, studying every little flicker of change in your expression when he’s pleasing (or hurting) you. His hands are tools where Benji’s are offerings.

The day takes you both to Forest Park in Woodhaven. Not too long outside the belly of the city (disregarding traffic, of course), you find yourselves traipsing and smoking along the trails. Benji is smiling, the sun is mild and the air pleasantly warm. The shafts of light shooting through the canopies of trees as you get deeper into the trail is devastating - it lights him up, his hair suddenly on fire, shot through with those sneaky grays. Sparkling. His eyes get caught in such a shaft of light, one in, one out, and the illuminated eye glimmers. You can see every little spot of brown, of gold and green. Like an agate. He offers a joint to you, pressing it up to your lips, and you can’t say anything. You simply accept his touch and stare into his eyes. His expression shifts, and he’s staring at your lips, now, watching the smoke stream through your lopsided, silly smile. He takes another hit, deep, pulling as long as he can with those eyes on yours.

He hums and motions to you, and it takes no further conversation - you lean into him and he kisses you, long, sweet, nudging your mouth open with his tongue so you can accept his breath into your lungs. You work your fingers into his shirt, tugging it as it bunches. You want this to last forever, the eternal flow of his breath filling you up. You want everything he has to offer.

Pulling away light-headed, Benji’s all smirk. It’s not cutting, not mean. It’s just his mouth, so stark in its similarity to Roman’s and so wildly different. The same gesture, the same facial structure, and that’s where it ends.

Benji shoves his hands into his pockets, but not before you see it - how hard he is. He hides it the best he can, pushing it silently down as you continue walking for a bit. There’s sort of a trail in the grass to the side, a bunch of it flattened and worn sparse by foot traffic - it’s hard to tell for sure from here, but it looks like it leads to a little clearing somewhere deeper beyond the treeline. You point it out, lifting an eyebrow. Benji pauses and smiles, nodding, taking your hand as you both traverse off the trail.

It’s gorgeous. The sun dapples over the both of you as you giggle, Benji squeezing your fingers between his, and within minutes you’re both on the edge of an open, meadowy area, dotted generously with dandelions and bluebells. It’s heavily shaded, and although you’re only maybe a dozen yards from the trail, it feels so… secluded. Like you’re the only two people in this little pocket universe.

Your turn to Benji and, vibrating on the same wavelength, the rest comes wordlessly and naturally as ever. He sheds his backpack and you do the same, his lips on yours, his hands on your hips as he backs you against a tree. His mouth is so warm, the both of you all minty from the gum you’ve been using to stave off cottonmouth.

He’s humming and moaning softly into your mouth and you swallow each sweet sound just to echo them back. The both of you, a buzzing, tantalizing force in the world. Your own private moment. Time may as well stop existing beyond the line of trees, because this is all there is - Benji’s lips, his flushed skin and charmingly impatient hands. He pushes one eager hand below the waistband of your pants and moans when he finds you wet, rubbing your clit, pushing deeper to push two fingers inside your cunt. He does something - almost a tap, kind of, a quick, gentle movement as he massages inside of you. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. It’s easy to roll your hips a little, humping against his hand while he licks your throat and hums against the taste of your sweat.

“Wait - wait,” you whisper feverishly, sinking to your knees in the dirt and grass. Benji watches you with a weak, reverent sigh, brows knit like he might come apart on the spot just watching you look up at him like that. Hooking your fingers into the band of his shorts, you pull them down his thighs, his cock bobbing readily out. Thick. Heavy. He shifts a little to rest a palm against the tree trunk, watching you lick and sloppily kiss the head. Oh, his little shudders, his sweet, keening moans.

“Mmfuuuuck,” he whines, hips twitching. He pets your hair as you take him over your tongue, working him deeper, deep enough to make you gag sweetly around him. He loves it. He gasps and groans and gently rocks into your throat. Just a little. Just a bit. Benji’s eyes glaze over and you run your fingers teasingly along his hairy thighs as he ruts into your mouth. His pubic hair is soft, tickling the top of your nose as he moves deeper. It’s natural to slide your hands around to feel the swell of his ass, kneading and squeezing where the curve of his ass meets the backs of his thighs. Delicious. He makes the most intoxicating sound as you grab him there, holding him close. Softly trapping him. He starts gasping as he nears orgasm - his cock swells over your tongue, the precursor to his own climax; you’re almost convinced you can feel the individual, throbbing veins that lie just under all that velvety flesh, trying to trace them with your undulating tongue. You work harder, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as you purposely gag yourself, sucking, drooling, tongue working underneath all that rippled cockflesh as it throbs.

“Oh - oh, m—ohh my god…”

Benji’s voice draws up along with his balls, and that final, sensual feeling of his impossibly engorged cock fills your mouth before he erupts. Cum shoots and drips down the back of your throat in ropes, spurts that you swallow eagerly from him. His voice is a low, shaking mess of syllables - your name, pet names, words that start and then fade into helpless little sounds as he milks himself empty. That’s your favorite part - the sounds. So unabashedly caught up in the pleasure, reduced to a shaky, whiny mess for you.

You unfold your legs, knees uncomfortable, and giggle with him as you pull away and sit on your ass, leaning up against the tree. Wiping your mouth, you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he laughs breathlessly, tucking himself back into his shorts.

“Thank you for that,” he mumbles.

“It’s my pleasure. Little… uh, trail snack.”

“Little, huh?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh as he winks, his grin infectious. “You’re dumb.”

“Mmm. Dumb? Me? That’s a shame,” he sighs, coming down to your level. He slithers between your outstretched legs and leans in to kiss you, the taste of his cum still on your tongue. “I guess a dumb guy wouldn’t know exactly what to do with you right now.”

“Well - well… what would a smart guy do with me right now? Just curious.”

“Aw, didn’t you hear? Curiosity killed that cat. Bummer.”

“No!” You playfully slap his bicep as he slips his fingers under your waistband again. “Satisfaction brought it back, ya dick.”

“Well, if satisfaction’s the case…” Benji slowly pulls your pants down and drinks in your embarrassment, your pretend little protests as he looks dreamily on. He gets down on his belly like a snake, like the serpent in the garden, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He stares at your bare cunt, swollen and slick for him. You could have gone without being touched - tasting him is enough. But here he is, pushing your thighs apart so he can lie in that grass, the dirt and moss and errant leaves. He hooks his arms underneath your legs and reaches up to tickle the generous flesh at your hips while he kisses your cunt, over and over, slow and tantalizingly soft.

Finally his tongue delves between your lips, parted so nicely for him. Considerate. Polite, even. He hums and moans, and again you’re forced to reckon with the difference, the whisper in the back of your mind - Roman wouldn’t do this. If it wasn’t something he wanted to do for himself, he wouldn’t do it. If he’d already blown his load, he wouldn’t bother touching you at all unless he was feeling particularly cruel - making it bad; that’s what he calls it. I’m going to make this fucking bad for you, slut.

Benji’s soft lips, his tongue and teasing fingers… after spending so much time kissing him, tasting and swallowing his cum, you’re already getting close. The trees around you sway just so in the breeze, the leaves shimmering and shaking in the sun. The grass bows gracefully under that slight wind. It goes in rippling waves, birds chattering above your heads. Pot makes your mind deliciously slow, and all of this comes in rhythmic waves of thought, of sensation, much like the ebb and flow of pleasure that Benji gives you. Inching closer and closer to that edge, staring over it. The precipice shimmers ahead, and Benji’s practiced, thoughtful tongue is working its magic. He’s never in a hurry. Always so present, so happy to take the time. You buck a little against his face and he hums a half-laugh.

“Benji,” you whisper. A glance down between your thighs treats you to his lidded, sexy eyes, the sharp blade of his nose in the plush flesh of your mound, knowing his lips and tongue are making you feel this good. You squeeze your eyes shut and crane your neck back, fingers finding his wrists to grasp them. He shakes you off and instead laces your fingers together, and you allow yourself to fall entirely into his mercy. Each lap of his tongue against your clit is electric. You ride the waves and rock your hips, pointing your toes, trapping him between your thighs as you squeeze them around his head. God, you could suffocate him there.

His name is carried on the quiet little moans you make and snatched up by the light wind as you hold his hands, giving completely over to him and his magic. In true Benji fashion, he licks at you well past the sparks, the fireworks, only stopping when you have to press against his forehead to push him away.

“Just a little - little more, just a - just a kiss,” he murmurs, moving cautiously back. If you push, he’ll stop. Overstimulated and stoned, riding on this bliss in the middle of a storybook meadow with your favorite tender man, you pull your hand back from his forehead to free him and he moans. His tongue, his lips. Licking you clean, until he’s ready to give up the ghost. Not a kiss - a prayer. Worship. Something he’s purely giving, expecting nothing. Happy just to lick your cum.

You both lie in the meadow together fully clothed after that, finishing a half-smoked joint and giggling, holding hands as you point out things you see, random thoughts that cross your mind. Coming down. Turning to look at him and finding him already looking at you, reaching out to trace the pad of your thumb down the bridge of his nose. Leaning in to kiss, so fucking soft. Running your hands idly over his chest, his soft tummy, feeling - fuck, feeling… almost - almost like you might be -

You push the thought gently away and keep it inside your chest, where it glows like embers, white-hot and flickering.

There’s a point where time has gone on too long. The pocket of magic seals up, and you both brush each other off and laugh, holding pinkies as you gather your little trail packs and meander back from where you came. Kissing goodbye. Watching him even when you’re getting into your car, waiting for him to drive off first, feeling like you can’t miss a single moment. Tucking them away in your heart like it’s less an organ and more a locket, stuffing little mental photographs in there, hints of sensation, snatches of audio from your day. The sunlight glinting off his hair. Fuck.

Just as promised, you do get a hold of Roman on your way home, as evening approaches. He’s bitchy and short in his communications, but he wants to meet up, so it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself at his doorstep. He lets you in with lidded red eyes and a crooked grin. He’s drunk. Great.

“Come on in,” he drawls, pushing you with that ever-hovering hand on your lower back. “You guys have a nice time today? You… you uh, watch him fuck himself with a bong? Rub patchouli oil on your tits?”

“Already making me feel welcome. You’re so normal about it, aren’t you?”

Roman grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, eyes focused despite being bloodshot. You can smell whiskey on his breath.

“You’re really fuckin’ adorable. I understand why that filthy little cuck wants to cum in all your holes, I do. Because I do, too. I do it harder… deeper… meaner. Right?” Roman rubs the tip of his nose along your cheek, traces it down before he tilts his head to bite your throat. “You don’t need nice. You need a firm fucking hand.”

“Roman, that - that hurts,” you whine, reaching back to grasp at the hand holding your hair. Roman uses his free hand to capture it, squeezing your wrist a little as a warning. His eyes glitter, all that dark inside of them threatening to swallow you whole. Your heart’s in your throat and seeing his blank glare, his smirk, feeling the way his fingers tremble almost imperceptibly sends it straight down into the basin of your pelvis, where it melts and pulses.

“We both know you like that,” he says quietly. He’s scary like this.

“I like a lot of things, Rome, come on. Please.”

“Oh, fuck off. You like a lot of things, huh? Spare me the fuckin’ act. What, you want me to be a crying little cuck baby for you? Yeah? You want me to treat your body like a sparkling, fragile fuckin’ temple, want me to love and respect you?”

Roman’s grip softens, then, and his expression melts a little. He tilts his head, thumb grazing your jaw, your cheek. He glances at your lips and swallows. His expression is almost foreign to you, and it takes you a moment to realize he looks… kind. Earnest. It’s so out of place that it catches you off guard, hypnotized by the softness of it.

“Hey. Is that what you need from me, hmm? To be gentle with you? Telling you how much I think about you, that I miss you when you’re not here? That maybe I’m kind of -” He pauses a beat and then he’s right there, lips ghosting against yours while he murmurs to you. “Maybe I’m kind of… falling in love with you a little bit?”

Your eyes slide shut as he barely kisses against your lips. He hums and you sink into it, heart hammering in your chest, fast, hard, nervous. The soft sound he makes breaks apart, then, splintering into cruel, satisfied laughter. You recoil and glare at him, cheeks flushing an angry, embarrassed red.

“Fuck you, Roman, that was - what the fuck is your problem?”

The vein in his forehead pulses as he giggles, his grin so utterly sadistic it makes you shiver. He winks and walks over to a side table where he’s kept his glass, draining the last sip of whiskey from it as his laughter tapers off.

“God, maybe you are that fuckin’ easy. I mean, don’t get me wrong… makes it all the more fun when I break you apart. You’re like a… like a stretch armstrong in that way. ‘Member those? I can just yank and bend and twist and pull and throw you the fuck around and you always come back to the same soft, pliant little toy that you are.” He shakes his head, lifting his eyebrows. He clears his throat and snaps his fingers, the sound of it sharp in the dead air of his penthouse. “All right. Strip. C’mon. Daddy’s been waiting, honey.”

Whiplash. It’s the only way to describe what you’re feeling right now, so electrically pissed off at Roman and yet unable to avoid feeling the thrum in your cunt when he starts giving you those predatory eyes, licking his lips. The way his smirk starts to slide right off his face the longer you’re not listening to him; the utter disbelief in the twitch of his brow. He takes a step forward and, to your own horrified embarrassment, you take a step back. He smiles again.

“The longer you fuck around, the worse it’s gunna be for you. Is that what you want tonight…? Yeah? After all that fuckin’ hand-holding today, huh, you need - you need a real man to give it to you the way you really need it?”

“Rome -”

“Mm-mmm. Not Rome. Not anything. I don’t want you to talk unless I ask you to, got it? Now get. Fucking. Undressed. Now.”

This time, it’s easier to listen. There’s the dichotomy - he’s being mean, he’s being awful. He’s being controlling and expectant, and despite what he promises or threatens, you know it’s going to hurt, anyway… and it’s exciting. It excites you very much, in fact, and all these things mingle down in your belly. Heat. Anticipation. Anger, fear, anxiety.

Guilt.

Benji wouldn’t do this. It doesn’t matter - they’re not even two sides to the same coin. They’re different forms of currency altogether. Roman, a sleek, dangerously tempting black card somewhere, exclusive and cold. Hard-won, a slippery slope. Benji, a crumpled twenty you find at random - in a cash return slot by accident, in the street, an extra bill given to you by mistake that you don’t notice until you’ve already returned home. A surprise, a happy coincidence.

Roman doesn’t take the time to savor your nakedness, the way your nipples harden up and goosebumps chase over your arms. The way your pupils yawn open for him - not as scary as his are, but enough. Roman’s eyes go over your form with a feral kind of hunger. There’s no softness, no appreciation. Only a stark need for satisfaction. His cock is hard in his slacks, painfully so; you can see it twitching.

It’s only a matter of minutes, if that. Roman moves in for the kill and he swings you around until he’s practically dragging you to his bedroom, shoving you so that you splay clumsily, prettily out for him, all fucking scared and excited like the trapped animal you are. He tosses your clothing on the carpet next to the bed, mindlessly palming the stiff length of his cock through the fabric and hissing with pleasure through those clenched teeth of his. He grins wolfishly, all teeth and sharp, wet canines, and unbuttons his shirt with a quick and effortless grace that takes your breath away. Nimble fingers, cascading down that line of loops and shining little buttons. He shrugs out of his shirt and tosses it aside, undoing his belt, all slim and soft and pale, lip twitching as he crawls across the bed.

“You’re being a very good girl for me, you know that, sweetheart?” His voice is so tender. A mockery. He cages you underneath his body, his arms on either side of your shoulders. He leans down to drag the flat of his tongue up your cheek in a wet stripe. “It’s not gunna save you from any pain, but… it’s nice, nonetheless.”

He laughs as he reaches down to fully unbutton and unzip and push his slacks down his thighs. There it is - god, he’s fucking hard. Harder than usual, flushed almost angrily as he pushes between your thighs.

“Did he touch you today?” He edges the head in and out of your traitorously wet pussy in slow, shallow pumps. “Focus. Did he fucking touch you today?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” Roman grunts, and in a blinding moment he’s suddenly fully sheathed inside your cunt. You make an awful sound as you claw your way back up the mattress, but Roman’s having none of that - he yanks you right back down where you belong, underneath him and at his express mercy, leveling you with his cold eyes and the tic in his jaw. His cock pushes against your cervix and he forces himself to stay there, pulsing. “How?”

“Fuck!! F-fuck, Roman, I - I’m not just gunna -”

Roman takes the barest hint of a breath as he rears back, pounding his cock back into your body so that you can barely catch your breath. It hurts, it fucking HURTS. He does it again, and again, rocking up against you with his dead eyes, grinding balls-deep until you’re digging your nails into his biceps, his shoulders, his back. He notices none of it, so many mosquitos against a titan.

“You are. You are gunna. Tell me what he did to you, sweet girl,” he says, voice so unlike him. Syrupy, smooth. Kind. “What you did to him, even. And - and did you, sweetheart? Do anything to him? Huh?”

“Please, Rome…”

“No. Listen, if you don’t start fucking talking, I’m going to actually hurt you. You get that, right?” Roman searches both your eyes with a hint of a smile. It’s not even a smirk - his lip curls coyly into that little, tight smile, and all you can think of is an animal deciding whether to play with its dinner first or outright eat it. “You believe me, honey?”

You nod immediately, but this response earns you a twitch of his eyebrow and you’re babbling to him, yes yes I believe you sorry yes Roman I believe you, not wanting him to decide what actual pain is. He has to know he’s already hurting you, right…?

“Good. Good fuckin’ girl. Now,” he says, taking your face into his hand. He squeezes his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks, uncomfortable as the way he’s still got his dick jammed up against your cervix. “He touched you. Did he touch you… here?”

Roman skates his palm up your body, plucking at your nipple with slow, firm fingers until it’s peaking for him. You shake your head no, and Roman’s eyebrows rise a little in surprise.

“Straight to the pussy, huh? Wow. Bold. That, or you’re just really, really easy. Is that the thing? You’re just a fuckin’ slut? He finger your little pussy for you?”

“Mm - yeah,” you mumble, uncomfortably turned on.

“Did you cum?”

“No, not -”

“Aw, no? Your dog too old to learn new tricks?”

“Not from that,” you finish bitterly, taking pleasure in correcting him. “Didn’t cum from that.”

Roman’s smile wipes off his face and he pinches your nipple hard enough that it really hurts - you cry out and he keeps his fingers on your face, holding you there while he leans down to trace the throbs of pain in your nipple with his tongue. He lavishes it with a sweetness that is unlike him, sucking softly with his lips. Nibbling. Soothing. Humming against you, blowing cool air on your wet nipple so that you shiver underneath him.

“What did he do to make you cum, slut?”

“His - he… used his mouth.”

Roman saws his hips back and forth, the pace tempered but the depth unchanged. He slides back into your throbbing cunt until he’s pushing too deep, bottoming out. If there’s one thing Roman does that is unlike anyone you’ve ever met, it’s knowing how to parse out his cruelty and make you believe that you want and deserve it.

“And his cock?”

“Um… like - not… not there,” you stammer, suddenly so fucking shy under Roman’s magnifying glass. Shy isn’t even the right word - nervous. Afraid. Roman huffs an impatient breath and glares at you, any hint of calm shattered.

“Not in your pussy, huh? I know he didn’t fuck your ass in the middle of the goddamn park, so that leaves your mouth, right? You, uh -” Roman releases your face with a hint of disgust in his features, pulling his fingers away like he’s touched something rancid. “You swallow his load and everything? Yeah?”

Blinking back a film of tears, you nod. The heady combination of fear, arousal, obedience… it roils around in your belly, that sense of uncertainty. Roman is an unpredictable and fickle man. He wants what he wants, until he wants something else more. The trajectory is ever-changing.

“So. So you guys took a little stroll in the park, he got you all fuckin’ stupid-high, and he fucked your mouth before he ate your little pussy. Do I have it right so far? Missing anything?”

“No, that’s - that’s right,” you whimper. Again, his hips, moving so slow. He shifts himself a little to nudge over and over into that sweet, soft spot an inch or so inside your pussy, studying the way your lips part and the wetness of your tears glittering on your lashes. You feel like a specimen in a petri dish, Roman staring and poking and taking mental notes. Touch here, it does this. Poke there, look at it wriggle.

Roman yanks his hips back and flips you over, the feeling of that sudden, harsh emptiness making you cry out.

Even in your surprise, you hurry to comply - staying movable, changeable for him. Whatever he wants. Your cunt pulses, so fucking empty, so achy. Roman’s sliding his cock back inside of you and the mood has changed. He’s back to being rough, digging his fingers into your flesh and pounding into you, punishing you, grunting with each horrible thrust. It’s easier to fuck up against your cervix this way, easier to lean over you to press your head against the mattress.

Against all else, you do what your body does best - sink into that horrible, cloying heat, the way his viciousness sets you on fire. It’s inevitable. Each brutal kiss against your cervix makes you moan and claw at the sheets, makes you whine and wail. God, does it make him hard watching you suffer like that, so lovely and broken down. He watches a tear slip from your eye and trail over the bridge of your nose, watches your face flush bright red. Wrecked. Just for him, all for him - does Benji get to see this side of you? The pathetic one, the one that cries for him to hurt you, that cums for him without him having to do anything but treat you like his lesser? That’s what you are, right? Beneath him. Physically, socially, sexually.

“Fuckin’ slut,” he hisses quietly. “You know, I know you and Benji enjoy a good call - right? I think we should indulge him. Don’t you, honey? It’s only fair.”

Your heart pounds in your ears, dread filling you up nearly as much as Roman does. He removes his hand from your head and you try to peer back at him - he’s got your phone. When the fuck did he get that? Roman eyes you and smirks.

“Uh oh - it’s ringing. Oh no,” Roman singsongs, speeding up his thrusts. He fucks you in a way he knows you can’t handle, and you’re pulling at the sheets again, gasping and trying to hold your breath, trying to distance yourself. Roman knows this game. He knows you’re squarely and certainly fucked, that all he has to do is let you think you can wriggle away, just to follow you til your head’s butting against the fucking wall and there’s nowhere left to go. He likes that. Watching you lose every goddamn brain cell you have to the pain only he can give you. Forcing you to cum from it, to take it. “Can’t wait to see what your little - oh! Hey, you fucking mutt! How the fuck are you?”

Benji’s voice comes out all tinny, filtered through your phone’s speaker. Roman turns the volume all the way up as he looks down into Benji’s face on the screen, a horrible grin splitting his lips.

“Um - yeah, hey… is there a reason you’re calling me on her phone…?”

“Oh, don’t get all possessive on me, Benji. After all, we share such a special thing together, right? Huh, buddy? And speaking of, I’ve got her right here - wanna say hi?” Roman switches the screen and points it at you, guides Benji visually over your arched spine and to your face, where you hide behind your hands. “Aw, honey, don’t be shy. C’mon. Bark for Benji. Fucking bark.”

“Roman, no -”

Roman buries his free hand into your hair and yanks your head back. Benji’s face changes, then, tense and - what is that - worried…? Roman laughs a little at this, at how fucking serious this guy is.

“‘Roman, yes’, you mean. Bark.”

Humiliated, eyes squeezed shut, you bark. It comes out weak, embarrassed little sounds you make just to get Roman to stop, just so he can get it out of his system.

“Dude, this is - like, what the fuck. Don’t make her do that shit,” Benji says, his tone betraying his anxiety. Roman balks at this, his laugh so utterly sadistic it makes you shudder underneath him, a hint of a moan creeping up your throat.

“She fucking likes it. Don’t worry, Banjo, this is just what Daddy does to your fuckin’ Mommy when you’re not around. I just wanted you to see for yourself, kinda - mmm, kinda returning the favor, yeah? Did you know she’s like this? Huh? You know if you ram your dick right up into her as deep as it goes, like if you really grind into her fuckin’ cervix, she bleats like a slaughtered little lamb for you? Maybe your dick doesn’t go that deep. She ever make these noises for you? Or just for Daddy?”

You feel a ripple of pleasure surge through your core and it takes every ounce of effort you have to cover your own mouth and let it pass through you, not wanting to give Roman the reaction he wants. He gives your hair another yank and you cry out, cunt pulsing against his thick cock, the way he splits you open on it.

“Fuck, yeah. Cum for Daddy, you useless fucking hole. Let’s all fuckin’ hear it.”

“Don’t fucking say that to her -”

“Oh Jesus Christ, save it,” Roman grunts, fucking you even harder. Each miserable sound you make has Roman closer and closer to filling you up. He can’t wait. His fucking balls ache, full of that delicious pressure. Showing Benji what he does to you, forcing him to watch while he forces you to take it and cum on it against your will - Roman could cum now, give it up and call it a day. But it’s too good, and Roman can’t let this slip out of his fingers. He stares right at Benji’s image in your phone, his eyes all lidded and hot, smiling, so utterly pleased with himself he could giggle. And he does. “It makes her cum hard - don’t even gotta bother with her clit. But you’ve got that covered under our, uh - our cunt custody agreement, right? Always fuckin’ slobbering on it. You’ve got all the nice guy shit covered, so she can come home to Daddy and get railed til she’s screaming. Honestly, you’re saving me some work, so, thanks. I should - mmm, fuuuck - I should send you a gift basket or something.”

“This is really fucked up,” Benji mutters. Roman notes with a sense of pure, undiluted joy that Benji looks sick, he looks uncomfortable and - is he sad? Is he fucking sad? Oh, well that’s just delicious, isn’t it?

“Is it fucked up though? You hear her mewling like a dying fuckin’ kitten, right? Can you make her sound like that, asshole? You ever fuck her so hard she cries? I make her cry a lot, Benji, you white-knight cuck. Here, lemme - yeah, let’s fix the angle. Hey, sweetheart, talk to your little puppy for a minute.”

Roman shoves the phone into your hands and manhandles you, grabbing and squeezing until he has you flipped on your back again. He grabs the wrist of the hand you’re holding your phone in and raises it up so that Benji can see you, flushed, chin trembling, lips all plush and bitten, eyes cry-swollen and red.

Benji looks stressed out, his eyes going soft when he looks at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I -”

Roman lines his cock up to your cunt again and plunges into you, taking your breath away. He digs his fingers into your flesh and squeezes, pounding into you in a way he knows drives you to the edge. His eyes glitter, his hair sweat-slicked and hanging in his face. He looks like a demon, watching you, his knowing smirk as you try your hardest to keep it together. You can’t, you just can’t.

“Ohh! Mmm - m’sorry, m’sorry, I’m - I’m fuh-fucking - sorry -” The apology is sincere, but it’s hard to reconcile that with the way you moan it, louder and louder, your pitch going up as your body starts to betray you. Everything pulses and tightens, every muscle helpless to Roman’s brutal attack on your sex.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, and it’s so easy to look at him, his kind smile, forced as it is. God, he’s beautiful. Roman is, too. Looking at both of their faces on the brink of orgasm is strange and feels wrong, so fucking wrong, feels needlessly cruel.

Roman grabs the phone, switches it so he can navigate your body with the camera. He focuses on where he fucks his thick cock in and out of your cunt, how hard he’s fucking you, and with a grin, he tips his hips juuust so.

“Watch this, Benji. Watch her go.” Roman’s nearly salivating as he watches Benji’s torn expression - he’s gotta be at least a little turned on by this, right? Roman’s nearly panting, so fucking excited he might blow his load before he’s ready. He focuses on your face, waiting until he can see the way you look like you’re in agony - you’re gunna cum. Oh, you’re gunna cum fucking hard. “Tell him you love him, honey. Tell Benji you love him while you cum, wouldn’t that be sooo nice?”

“No, no -”

Roman goes harder, a sound ripped from his chest like a wild animal. “Tell him now or I’ll make you regret it. Say, Benji, I love you. Say it while you cum all over my big fuckin’ dick, honey. Go on, tell your boyfriend you love him.”

Tears spilling down your temples, stomach twisting, you look into the little black eye of the camera in your phone and say it: “I l-love you, Be-Benji,” you sob.

Roman grunts as he rolls his hips, snaps them so that it hurts, oh god it hurts, and there it is. You clench and pulse and arch your spine, coming apart at the seams til you’re shaking. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing Roman’s making Benji watch. You can’t stop yourself from writhing and wailing, but you can at least close your eyes, right?

“Good girl. Daddy’s stupid little cocksleeve,” Roman laughs. He pulls his hips out midway through your climax and jerks himself off against your clit, against your hole, your cum all over his shaft and his hand. The sound is obscenely loud, wet as he strokes himself. He takes a certain satisfaction from taking away from your pleasure, using it to further his own. You whine and whimper and try to quietly beg him - please come back, please, please, I need you.

“No.”

Roman makes Benji watch as he shoots his load over your mouth, your face. Ropes of it, thick and copious; fuck, he hasn’t cum this hard in a long time. Roman paints your face with his seed and laughs as he comes down, giving his softening cock a few last pumps before he switches the camera back to his own grinning face, memorizing the way Benji looks absolutely fucking dejected and miserable.

“Well, hey, dogboy - this was fun. Glad you came - or, at least, glad you watched us while we came, right? Hope this was more fun than just a few texts and pictures, dickhead. Fuck off, now, bye-bye!” He says cheerfully, ending the video chat before Benji can even think of a response. He tosses your phone to the side and studies your face, reaching out to collect his cum on his fingers and swipe it down into your mouth.

“Clean yourself up. Come on. Can’t do everything for you, huh?”

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