lyrenminth

[lyrenminth]

Fuck yeah! Herbie and the defense are legit!

97 percent to make the playoffs!!!

[lyrenminth]

Being multifandom is like: one side is having a meltdown, trying to keep people chill and the other side is like "lol, he is using the stain shirt, again"

And I love them both.

[lyrenminth]

Can Kyle stfu? Damn your business and stop talking about Joe when he wants his privacy. This is so unprofessional of him

kyle said it was the housekeepers daughter at the house!! so people can stop being annoying

Yeah, I just saw it

Regardless of who was there, I hope they’re okay. I know the kind of trauma that can come from someone breaking into your home or the place you’re in.

I don’t understand why he’s addressing or confirming the situation. He cleared up one rumor but fueled another.

[lyrenminth]

*screams endlessly into a void*

[lyrenminth]

Oh my god, he was in pain 😭

[lyrenminth]

Stop making plays for Quentin Johnston 😤 that man can't catch a ball to save his life

[lyrenminth]

Baby, please be fine 🥺

[lyrenminth]

He looks so cozy and warm

The awkwardness radiates and I love him for it lol

🎥 (c): NFL

[lyrenminth]

Victory Monday!

+18 adults only

After a win, Justin always was in good spirits. And you too, but that last like a day or something because he would go back to player mode almost instantly. During the season, you didn't see each other that much. He always answered your messages late so a conversation was not possible. Besides, Justin wasn't glued to his phone like other players.

After a win at the SoFi they would have the rest of the day and Monday to spend with their families, but Justin usually review the plays even from home or go out to do something. Still, you couldn't deny how happy he always looked. After the game you drive him to the house, and he was tired but smiley.

"And then, all the receivers were blocked so I had to run" he explained. He was telling you what happened at the game but you were there. It made him happy and it was his way to decompress. "And suddenly, touchdown"

You asked more questions he answered promptly. You went to buy some burgers because you didn't have dinner done, and he accepted it. Once in the house, you eat together and he was starting to get sore from the game. "Do you need a back rub?" you asked. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Do you?" he asked back. You chuckled. You were aware you were entering un uncharted territory. "Yes, if you are sore"

He nodded. "Okay"

You went to your room and as he got undressed you prepare you lavender oil and get dressed in something comfy. When you went out of your closet he was laying on his abdomen, his feet sticking out of the bed. He looked so powerful and relaxed at the same time. Without thinking you slapped his ass, he huffed and scowl at you, a glimpse of happiness in his blue eyes. "Ready?"

"Mmm-mmh"

You sat in his legs, your own legs at each side of his hips. You looked his broad back, milky white and full of muscles. He had some bruises here and there. You applied lavender oil on your hands, and spread them through his back, feeling the tense muscles under. Justin groaned as you worked on his shoulders. You were signing a song and soon you realize his breathing was heavy and slow.

Justin fell asleep. You giggled and let him rest for the night. You made you night routine and join him after, laying next to him and took his big hand between yours. You touched the rough skin, the callouses that you knew weren't only for playing football but also the work he did at the ranch. He was an excellent builder and very hard-working too. Justin rolled to his side, and you could see his face better. His hair was long and messy, his relaxed face beautiful, and he was snoring softly. You counted the moles of his face over and over again until you felt asleep.

You woke up with a furnace behind you. Justin arms were hugging you, bringing you closer to him. You ass was touching his lower abdomen and he was breathing in your hair. You felt like you were inside a cocoon, but it was too hot to stay there. When you stirred he growled. "Let's stay here a little bit more" he requested, his voice deep and sleepy.

You sighed, and giggled when he started touching your breasts with his hands over you pajamas, that was only one of his t-shirt and panties. "You're so soft" he whispered on your ear. All your hair stood up, your core starting to feel the emotion he expressed in his voice. His stubble scrape you when he started kissing your neck, tender and wet kisses all along. His hands roamed from your shoulders to your hips, squeezing. "God, I want this" he said. You clenched and press your legs together, feeling too hot already. Justin's hand went under your shirt, touching your breasts and pinching your nipples. You arch your back toward him, and he moved a little until his erection was against your ass. You were panting, and your hand went through your body's to touch him under his briefs. "Justin" you moaned his name when you felt how hard he was. He bite your earlobe and you squirmed away but he held you steady.

You felt he was savoring you. Taking his time. You turned your head to kiss him, your tongue exploring his mouth. He was eager, biting your lips and touching your everywhere. You hand starting moving around his shaft, up and down.

His hand went south and put your panties aside, his long finger found your clit and start touching you the way you needed. "Fuck, Justin" you cried. Your hips were looking for more and you couldn't stop all the noises coming out your mouth. "Yes, come on my hand" he whispered, his voice raspy and dry. "Come for me, baby" he increased the pace and changed the movements on your sensitive spot, the orgasm was building inside you, you movements became erratic, the ache unbearable. You forgot to keep pleasing him with your hand because it was too much. "Yes, yes, yes" you repeated, frowning. "Like that, yes...oh, my..." your legs started shaking and your body tensed for one second to relaxed all at once. You felt like floating and falling at the same time. When you came back from your stupor he was pulling your panties down. You looked down to find his finger glistening with your wetness, it was the hottest thing. He looked you dead in the eye and licked his fingers, giving you a wolf-ish smile.

"Justin" you said his name as a pleading. He kissed you in return, his pupils dilated until the blue almost disappeared. His face was blushed too. "You're beautiful" he gave you a kiss and then flipped you over, so you were all fours. He stood behind you, and he coated himself with your juices, running his penis over your folds. No time wasted, he slide in, inch by inch. "Fuck" he growled, loving how good you took him in. "You're perfect" he whispered more to himself. You shove your hips backwards. "Justin, please" you sounded so desperate he almost came. He kissed your neck and bite your earlobe, a shiver ran down your spine. Justin was a caveman from time to time. You turned around to stare at him in disbelief, his broad chest coated in sweat, the perfect V and the trail of blonde hairs going down his belly button, but mostly his eyes and the lust you saw in them. He was yours to enjoy.

He started thrusting in a slow pace, like enjoying his time inside you. Slow, deep strokes. You whimpered and buried your face in the mattress. He slapped your ass and grabbed you by your hair, pulling. Your face went up and he moved faster. The slapping sound melted with your moans and his occasional groans. It was a bit painful, but gosh you loved to see him lost control like this.

He let you hair go, and grabbed your hips pushing you toward his cock. "Oh, fuck" he sighed, his voice strained. He stopped and you keep moving your hips, he leaned on to kiss you. "You make me crazy" he confessed.

You smile against his lips. He licked your lips and stood upright again. "Gosh" he increased his face once again, and a vein popped on his forehead. "You ass is perfect" he mumbled. You gripped the sheets, trying not to scream as he thrust deeper. "Yes, yes" he growled and you felt his cock throbbing inside you. Your legs were a little shaky when he turned you around. His little smile made you swoon. He laid next to you, and kissed you on your nose, chin and jaw in that order.

"Happy Victory Monday!" you sang.

[lyrenminth]

I'm convinced this man only dresses with the things sponsors send to him

Justin Herbert with the stylist of his new cut [2 Dec 2024]

📸 (c): SportsClips Quail Hill

[lyrenminth]

Nothing to do with it

But I love his reddish beard

so we’re ignoring the stain on the sweatshirt

[lyrenminth]

A complete and absolute model

[lyrenminth]

Still, Harbaugh has less drops than Johnston.

Coach Harbaugh introduces Justin Herbert to the other Coach Harbaugh like a proud father [25 Nov 2024]

🎥 (c): Baltimore Ravens

[lyrenminth]

This is so 🥰

LATE-NIGHT CALLS ─── JOE BURROW

request: "I feel like Joe would always insist on calling you after every game even the late ones. Even if it’s just a sleepy, half-coherent conversation he refuses to go to bed without hearing your voice"

Joe's post-game ritual has always been the same: shake hands, hit the showers, face the press, and head home. But since the two of you started dating, he added a new step—one he never skips. No matter the hour, no matter how late the game runs or how exhausted he is from the rush of adrenaline and the strain of the field, he calls. Even if it’s the kind of late that makes your voice thick with sleep and your words slur together, he’ll still dial your number, waiting for the soft click of your sleepy “Hello?” on the other end.

You used to worry about his exhaustion, insisting he could wait until morning, but Joe’s stubbornness won out. It’s his way of winding down, he says, the easiest way to let the adrenaline taper off—to hear you, half-awake and warm under your blankets, murmuring about your day or teasing him for that one pass he wishes he’d thrown differently.

Tonight, the call comes later than usual, your phone buzzing on the nightstand as you squint at the clock—well past midnight. You know the routine by now, though. His name glows on the screen, and you don’t hesitate to answer, even if you’re barely awake yourself. Because somehow, even in those moments of barely-there conversation, there’s something grounding, something steady in the sound of his voice—low and sleepy and comfortable.

The phone buzzes again, and you let out a small sigh, rolling over in the sheets that are tangled around your legs. It’s late—way too late for anyone but him. You fumble for the phone, knocking your book off the nightstand in the process, and finally manage to answer on the last ring.

“Hey,” you say, voice thick with sleep, barely more than a mumble. Your eyes are still closed, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice before he even speaks.

“Hey,” he says, sounding tired but happy. There’s a warmth in his voice that makes you want to sink deeper into the blankets, your body relaxing even as you struggle to stay awake. You hear a faint rustling on his end of the line, the sound of him settling into whatever hotel bed or quiet corner he’s managed to find for this call.

“How’d it go?” you ask, even though you watched the whole game with half your attention, laptop open on your lap as you listened to the announcers shout his name. You already know he won. You can tell just by the way he’s breathing—steady and content, like the weight of the world isn’t pressing on his shoulders anymore.

“We got the win,” he says, and you can practically picture the satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Defense pulled through. Felt good. Tired, though.” There’s a pause, just long enough for you to hear the creak of the bed as he stretches out, and you imagine him there, hair still damp from the shower, pillow propped against the headboard, eyes half-lidded and heavy.

“You sound tired,” you say, letting your own eyes drift shut again, his voice washing over you like a lullaby. He always sounds different after a game—softer, looser, the careful edges he keeps in place during the day falling away in the quiet of the night.

“Yeah,” he admits, a low chuckle humming in his throat. “Long night. But I’m good. Needed to call you first.” He says it like a fact, like calling you is as essential as breathing, and it makes something warm settle in your chest, even as you struggle to fight off sleep.

You know what he looks like right now—can see him so clearly it’s almost like you’re there. His face is flushed from the game, the last traces of exertion still lingering in his expression, and he’s got that soft, worn-out smile you only see when he’s alone with you. He’s probably half-reclined on some too-firm hotel bed, still wearing sweats and the hoodie he threw on over his jersey. You can picture the way his hand would brush over his face, rubbing at tired eyes, his fingers trailing down to the scruff along his jaw. He’s handsome in a way that doesn’t need effort, like he forgets sometimes that anyone’s looking.

“What’d you eat?” you ask, knowing he probably hasn’t had a proper meal yet. There’s a muffled sound, and you can almost see him shrug.

“Grabbed a sandwich at the stadium,” he says. “You know, the usual. But I’m not really hungry.” His voice is softer now, like he’s already sinking into the comfort of the call, the post-game rush fading away. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything, just the quiet hum of the line connecting you, stretching across the miles.

His breathing evens out, and you know he’s lying back now, probably letting his eyes drift shut the way you are, letting the night pull him under. This is the quietest part of the day, the only time where everything seems to slow down, where it’s just you and him, your voices mingling in the spaces between words.

“Did you see the game?” he asks suddenly, and there’s a hint of teasing there, like he already knows the answer. He’s always known when you’re watching—can sense it in some unspoken way, even when you’re not at the stadium, cheering him on in person. You hum, the sound halfway between agreement and a sleepy sigh.

“Of course I did,” you say. “Saw that touchdown, too. You looked good out there.”

He chuckles, the sound low and deep, a bit self-conscious but pleased. “You think so?” he asks, his tone playful but with that slight, genuine curiosity you’ve come to love—like he still isn’t sure how you see him, even after all this time.

“Always,” you reply, and it’s true. Even when he’s a mess, jersey streaked with mud, hair wild from the helmet, he’s yours. There’s something honest about him on the field, something raw that you can’t help but admire. He doesn’t play with swagger—he plays with determination, with a kind of quiet, relentless grit that makes your chest tighten with pride.

“Wish you were here,” he murmurs, and there’s a softness to the words, a longing that cuts through the distance between you. You can hear the weight of it, the way he doesn’t mean for it to sound so heavy, but it does anyway.

“Me too,” you admit, turning onto your side, pressing the phone closer to your ear. You know he’s in some hotel room halfway across the country, the curtains drawn against the city lights, the room probably too cold for comfort.

And you’re here, in your own bed, miles apart but tethered by this line, by his voice, by the quiet spaces between breaths that are filled with the things neither of you say out loud.

It’s moments like this that make the distance feel bearable, moments where the miles don’t matter because it’s just you and him, lingering in the quiet of the night, holding on to the sound of each other’s voice like a promise.

“Get some sleep, Joey,” you say softly, knowing he won’t listen, that he’ll keep talking until he’s sure you’re drifting off, that he won’t hang up until he’s heard you yawn, heard the way your voice gets softer and softer until you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

“Not yet,” he says, voice a bit firmer now, a smile tugging at the edges. “Just a few more minutes.”

You don’t argue, just let him fill the silence with the sound of his breath, the occasional murmur about a play or a moment you’d already forgotten, listening to the way his voice dips and slows, lulling you back to the edge of sleep. It’s the sound of home, you think, this quiet, late-night ritual that belongs only to the two of you—a secret shared in the dark, a comfort that’s become as essential as the game itself.

He keeps talking, his voice a low, steady hum, and you let yourself drift, knowing he’ll be there, knowing he won’t let you go until you’ve slipped back into the warmth of your dreams, his voice still echoing in the back of your mind long after you’ve hung up.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[lyrenminth]

Here for you

After a tough loss, you're everything for him.

I wrote this after the Chargers game, I thought it was cute I hope you like it.

Joe's eyes were big, full of sadness and despair. You pressed your lips together, trying to keep it together. He needed you to be strong right know. So you stopped the tears, and the realization that the chances to continue until January were slipping away. You were grateful to travel for this game, because you didn't want to think about being apart in a moment like this.

You waited to see him like forty minutes, he needed to go back to the hotel and decided to go back or what, since the bye week started after this game. You saw the other players, all walking at a slow pace.

When you saw his tall frame, your stomach churned. He was wearing all black, and walked a little slowly. You knew he was sore.

You got closer to him, and opened your arms as an invitation. When you were face to face, he dropped his bag and hug you back. You squeeze him, and ran your hands through his back over and over again, trying to soothe him. "It's what is it is" you said softly. "Let's take it slow" he nodded against your shoulders. "I love you, Joe" you choke a little bit but regain your posture. When he broke the hug, you saw tears.

"I'm tired" he stated, his voice low. And it meant many things, you knew. All the effort he was putting was in vain. Competition was like that, losing hurt when it was like this. You cupped his face in your hands. "It's okay, you need to rest now" his lips quivered but he nodded again, his Adam's apple bubbling. "Are you going to go back with the team?" you asked. Another nod. He wasn't in the mood of talking then. "Do you need something?" he shook his head. "I love you" you repeated, not knowing what else to say.

You hugged him again, and this time he cried a little on your shoulder. You let him be, feeling his heart beating. He was alive, he was here. It was everything. "It'll be alright, baby, it'll be alright" you said, feeling this strong man take a deep breath. When Joe was calmer, you only stared at each other.

Joe looked at you like you were the only thing that keep him sane. You were the person who made him feel that there was more outside this loss. And you were there, for him. Feeling your warm body against his was a relief for his sore body. He only wanted to sleep next to you for the rest of the night, and week, and year. Your presence was healing for him, and he could only cry I'm front of you and his mom, so it was nice to see you there.

"It sucks" you said, a sad smile on your face. He huffed, and couldn't stop the corners of his mouth going up a little. "Yeah, it does"

Someone called Joe and he rolled his eyes. "I have to go" he replied. He leaned in to kiss you briefly. "Take care" you said. Grabbing his hand and giving his a squeeze. "You too" he pressed his lips and sighed. "Thanks for coming" he added.

The person yelled his name again, so he turned around and walked away, looking at you for one last time before disappearing into the tunnel.

[lyrenminth]

This was my Superbowl.

I can't sleep tonight!

[lyrenminth]

I'm happy and sad at the same time. Idk But I'm so proud of Joe and Justin, they are beasts.

Did you see how Justin was looking for Joe at the end? 🥺🥺🥺

Pls, fire Zac Taylor.