#Tux trouble

[smokingbomber]

[dandyshucks]

wait okay im thinking about guzbug. i have such a hard time dressing for summer irl bc of a few factors. so i am thinking about how Sinnoh is cold in a lot of its areas, and then maybe I wouldn't have brought clothes that are cool enough for Alola. and Guz would be concerned about me getting heatstroke (I've had it before and it SUUUUCKS) so we could go ... shopping...

i don't usually like shopping but i do like looking around thrift stores so maybe we could do a thrift store run to all the ones on the islands and find some region-appropriate clothing for me :3 also i think shopping would be bearable if it was with him fndkdl, i think he'd kind of get into it and have fun choosing things for me to try on heehee :]

[femmefaggot]

need to find an art program we like but rly dont wanna pay 55 dollars for csp

[grinchwrapsupreme]

an episode of the venture bros centered around pete and billy's wedding that they're putting on for the sake of rose but also because they could use the insurance benefits and through the course of the episode they start to realize they do have feelings for each other for real and it's weird and new and billy goes to talk to his mom about it and says, "mom, i think i might be gay" and she's like, "oh sweetie i already knew that 😊" and pete goes to rusty like "hey rust it's so weird but i think i might actually be gay for billy" and rusty's like "white we are literally at your gay wedding are you stupid"

[lcrk]

.

[favefandomimagines]

Now That We Don’t Talk (j.b)

Summary: now that we don’t talk…

AN: this is a long one boys and girls and nonbinary friends

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

||

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

||

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

||

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

||

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

||

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

||

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

||

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

"Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight."

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

||

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

“You good?”

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

“No.”

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

||

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Split From Joe Burrow.

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

||

Joe hadn’t been looking for it.

He had just finished practice, his body sore, his mind exhausted. The locker room was buzzing with post-practice energy—teammates joking around, music blasting from someone’s speaker. He pulled his phone out, scrolling through notifications absentmindedly, until—

There it was.

A headline from E! News, pushed to his phone by an algorithm that clearly didn’t give a damn about how much he didn’t want to see this.

"Y/N Goes Public with New Romance: A Red Carpet Debut with Superman Star David Corenswet!"

Joe froze, his thumb hovering over the screen.

He shouldn’t open it.

He should swipe it away, pretend he never saw it.

But his hands had a mind of their own.

The article loaded, the first thing he saw was a photo.

A picture of her.

Y/N, sitting in the back of a sleek black car, wearing a stunning gown that looked like it had been made just for her. Her hair was styled perfectly, her makeup soft but radiant. She looked beautiful. Effortless. Happy.

And beside her—him.

David Corenswet. The new Superman. A literal superhero.

He was leaned in close, whispering something in Y/N’s ear. And Y/N?

She was smiling.

Not just any smile. That smile. The kind Joe hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. The kind that lit up a room. The kind that used to be reserved for him.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.

A sharp pang shot through his chest, something bitter settling in the back of his throat.

Y/N and the actor had revealed their relationship on the red carpet of her new movie.

A premiere. Something Joe had never gotten to do with her.

Because of football.

Because he was always too busy.

Because he never made the time.

And now? This man was there. Supporting her. Walking beside her with his hand on her waist, proudly standing by her side, looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

Like she deserved. Joe never gave her that.

He had been too caught up in his world, too focused on his career, always thinking there would be time later.

But later never came.

Because he had lost her.

And now, she had moved on. She had forgotten him.

Joe felt something tighten in his chest, a slow, suffocating kind of realization creeping in.

She’s happy without me.

The words echoed in his head, loud and unforgiving.

The article went on about how they had been spotted together for weeks, how David had been at the premiere, supporting Y/N like a real partner should. It even mentioned how the two of them looked completely in love.

Joe couldn’t read anymore.

He turned his phone over, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor of the locker room.

Around him, the noise of his teammates laughing, talking, living their lives carried on. Like nothing had just shattered inside of him.

“Yo, Burrow, you good?”

Joe blinked up at Ja’Marr, who was standing in front of him, helmet in hand, brows raised.

Joe forced a shrug, masking it. Because what was he supposed to say?

"No, actually. My ex, the love of my life, just soft-launched her new relationship with Superman, and I think I might be having a breakdown."

So instead, he exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Ja’Marr smirked. “Man, get some sleep. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Joe let out a humorless chuckle.

Ghosts were easier to deal with. This?

This was watching the person he once thought he’d spend forever with, moving on as if he never existed.

And the worst part? She deserved it.

She deserved someone who would show up for her. Someone who wouldn’t make excuses. Someone who could love her out loud, the way he never could.

Still, the realization left a sour taste in his mouth.

Because no matter how much she had moved on—Joe hadn’t.

And now? He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 Crimson Silk & Cameron Sins . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- when your married lover gives you a weekend alone in his mansion, what's a girl to do? Try on his wife's clothes and fuck him in them, obviously.

warnings -- 18+-mdni smut with plot (unprotected piv), cum denial, infidelity, pussywhipped! rafe, slight sub! rafe, our girl highkey has daddy issues (relatable content)

other woman masterlist | main masterlist(s) | taglist | based on this ask | wc: 2.5k

You stood in awe of Tanny Hill, finally seeing in person what you'd only glimpsed through his wife's carefully curated Facebook photos.

Your bag slipped from your grasp as you took in the magnificent estate, slowly making your way through corridors that breathed old money and preserved elegance.

Rafe clicked the lock into place behind you, his movements deliberate and purposeful.

"You like what you see, baby?" The smugness in his voice was palpable. "Tanny Hill's completely empty." His hands slid around your waist, pulling your bodies together in a slow, hypnotic sway. "No kids. No wife. For an entire weekend—"

"Just us," you interrupted, melting into his warmth, your body betraying your eagerness.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect - her grandmother's sudden passing in Minnesota had cleared the house for the entire weekend.

You felt a twinge of guilt for the flash of joy you'd experienced upon hearing the news, but it vanished quickly. After all, you hadn't wished the old woman ill; you'd just benefited from the circumstance.

The emergency family gathering had whisked away his picture-perfect wife and their carefully coordinated children, leaving Tanny Hill deliciously empty. Just thinking about having Rafe all to yourself in this shrine to his marriage made your skin tingle with anticipation.

His breath tickled your neck as he chuckled at your eagerness. "Just us," he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "And every room in this house to ourselves." His grip tightened possessively around your waist, one hand sliding up your spine to tangle in your hair.

"Where should we start?" he murmured against your ear, already guiding you backward toward the nearest wall. "The master bedroom?" His lips brushed your neck. "The kitchen?" Another teasing kiss. "Or maybe right here in this hallway?"

Your words dissolved into silence as he pressed you firmly against the expensive wallpaper, the heat of his body trapping you in place. His eyes held that dangerous gleam - the one that promised trouble - while his fingers toyed deliberately with the waistband of your tennis skirt, making his intentions unmistakably clear.

"No, not here," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to do it in the master bedroom."

The implication hung heavy in the air - you wanted him in their bed, in the sacred space where his wife sleeps. The suggestion made his pupils dilate with dark approval.

Rafe seized your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a grip that bordered on painful. He practically dragged you toward the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time in his desperate haste. His breathing was already ragged, matching the frenzied energy radiating from his body as he led you up toward the master suite.

The polished bannister glided beneath your free hand as you struggled to keep pace with his long strides, your footsteps echoing through the empty house. Each step brought you closer to crossing a line that couldn't be uncrossed - exactly where you both wanted to be.

Family photos lined the stairwell wall, each perfectly framed moment mocking you as you ascended. Her face smiled down at you from every angle - his wife, beautiful and poised in her designer dresses, always at Rafe's side at charity galas and beach club events.

Their wedding photo dominated the landing - her in white lace, him in a tailored tux, both sun-kissed and privileged. This should be your life.

Your photos on these walls. Your social media posts from exclusive galas and exotic vacations. Your perfect children with his dangerous smile running through these halls. Your name engraved on family heirlooms and country club memberships. Your status as the youngest, most envied Mrs. Cameron in Figure Eight's elite circle.

Instead, you're sneaking through her house like a thief, stealing moments with her husband while she plays the grieving granddaughter states away.

Your grip tightened on Rafe's hand as bitter jealousy coiled in your stomach. She had everything you wanted - the Cameron name, the social status, the legitimate claim to this man who was now pulling you toward her bedroom.

But for this weekend at least, you had something she didn't: her husband's undivided attention and unrestrained desire.

You barely had time to take in the master bedroom's elegant design before Rafe threw you onto the king-sized bed - their bed.

He straddled you immediately, attacking your neck with hungry kisses. As he worked his way down your body, your eyes wandered around their shared sanctuary.

Her presence was everywhere - expensive perfume bottles on the vanity, family photos on the nightstand, a silk robe draped over a chaise lounge.

Each item twisted the knife of jealousy deeper. The walk-in closet door stood slightly ajar, offering glimpses of her designer wardrobe perfectly arranged beside his suits.

Rafe's mouth traced lower, his hands pushing up your skirt, but you couldn't stop cataloging all the ways she'd marked her territory - the monogrammed pillows, her jewelry box, her books stacked neatly on the bedside table.

You were an intruder here, a temporary replacement in a space that screamed her name. Yet somehow, that only made you want him more - want to erase her presence, if only for these stolen moments.

His tongue had barely made contact with your cunt when your attention drifted to the walk-in closet again. The door opened wide, revealing her extensive wardrobe in the soft ambient lighting.

One dress caught your eye - a crimson silk number that probably cost more than your monthly rent, its sequins catching the light like drops of blood.

"Wait," you breathed, pushing Rafe's head away. He looked up, confusion and frustration darkening his features.

"What's wrong?" His voice was rough with desire as he palmed himself through his expensive slacks, clearly impatient with the interruption.

You slipped out from under him, drawn to the closet like a moth to flame.

The dress called to you - her dress.

You ran your fingers along the smooth fabric, imagining her wearing it to some exclusive Cameron family event.

"I want to try it on," you announced, already pulling it from the hanger.

Rafe's expression shifted from frustration to intrigue as he watched you strip down and slip into his wife's dress.

The silk clung to your body differently than it would have to hers, but the fit was close enough. You turned to face him, now standing in the middle of their bedroom wearing his wife's clothes, the ultimate act of territorial invasion.

His eyes darkened with dangerous appreciation. "Come here," he growled, the command sending shivers down your spine.

Rafe shifted to the edge of the bed, spreading his legs wide as you moved between them, the silk dress whispering against your skin with each step.

"Shit, look at you," he breathed, his hungry gaze traveling slowly up your body. "Do a spin for me."

You turned slowly, letting the crimson fabric catch the light, knowing you were playing with fire. The dress felt like power - her power - now wrapped around your body.

Each rotation brought a deeper gleam of approval to Rafe's eyes, his fingers flexing against his thighs as he watched you model his wife's clothes.

"You wear it better," he said, his voice thick with desire. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the silk. "But it needs to come off. Now."

You caught his hands before they could strip away the silk, holding them against your waist again. Something reckless stirred inside you, pushing you to test boundaries you knew better than to cross.

"Don't you wish you could leave her for me?" The words tumbled out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'd be such a better Mrs. Cameron." Your fingers traced along his jawline. "I'd know how to keep you satisfied. How to handle your… darker needs."

The dangerous flash in Rafe's eyes told you you'd crossed a line. His grip on your waist tightened painfully, fingers digging into silk and flesh. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by something more volatile.

"Don't," he warned, his voice carrying an edge that should have scared you. But you were too far gone, drunk on power and jealousy and the thrill of playing with fire.

You slowly straddled his lap, making sure her crimson silk dress stayed perfectly arranged around you. The fabric whispered against both your bodies - a constant reminder of whose clothes you were wearing, whose life you were trying to claim. His hands automatically found your hips, bunching the expensive material between his fingers.

"Just imagine it," you whispered against his ear, rolling your hips slowly against his. "Me wearing dresses like this at all those charity galas, turning heads in Figure Eight." Your fingers traced his chest while the silk rustled between you. "I'd be the perfect Cameron wife. So much younger, so much more… willing to please."

You felt his breathing quicken despite his attempt to maintain control. "Think about those family vacations," you continued, the dress sliding smoothly as you pressed closer. "Me by the infinity pool at your beach house, giving you a reason to actually enjoy those trips." Your lips brushed his neck. "And I'd give you what she couldn't - a real family. Little Camerons with your dangerous smile and that fire in their blood."

His fingers twisted deeper into the silk at your hips, wrinkling her perfect dress - a warning and an encouragement all at once. You were playing a dangerous game, wearing his wife's clothes while whispering promises of replacing her entirely.

"I need you," he growled, the words rough against his throat. His composure was cracking, control slipping as his hands bunched the silk dress higher around your thighs. "Right now. In this dress."

You smiled against his skin, knowing you'd won this round. The silk rustled as you shifted, keeping the dress carefully arranged while guiding him inside you. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hips as you sank down, the expensive fabric of his wife's dress pooling around where your bodies joined.

A groan escaped his throat as you began to move, the crimson silk sliding between you like liquid fire. Each roll of your hips was deliberate, calculated - a reminder that you could give him everything he secretly wanted. His hands roamed possessively over the dress, marking the fabric with desperate fingerprints, defiling this symbol of his marriage with every thrust.

"Tell me you need me," you breathed against his ear, maintaining the torturously slow pace. "Tell me I'm better."

"You're… you're everything," he gasped between ragged breaths, bucking his hips to meet your torturous rhythm. "So much better. God, I need you."

You rewarded him by grinding down harder, savoring the way he filled you completely. His hands clutched at your silk-clad body, desperate for more.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Are you really going to leave her for me this time?" Your hips never stopped their maddening dance, the silk dress whispering against your skin with each movement.

His hands tightened on your waist, fingers digging into the delicate fabric. For a moment, you thought he might resist, might cling to that last shred of loyalty. But then you clenched around him, squeezing his cock in a vice-like grip, and his resolve shattered.

Rafe's eyes were wild, pupils blown wide with lust as he gazed up at you. At that moment, with you bouncing on his cock and squeezing him so tight, he would have agreed to anything.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, I'll leave her. I'll do anything. Just don't stop."

A thrill of triumph shot through you at his words. You began to ride him in earnest, the silk dress whispering against your skin as you moved faster. Rafe's hips bucked up to meet yours, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

"Mine," you panted, claiming him with your body. "You're mine now."

Rafe could only moan in response, completely lost in the sensations you were giving him. You reveled in your power over him, knowing that in this moment, you owned him completely. The knowledge spurred you on, your movements becoming more frenzied as you chased your release.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as you rode him with increasing urgency. The silk of your dress clung to your sweat-slicked skin, adding another layer of sensual friction. You leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, swallowing his moans of pleasure.

"Say it," you demanded breathlessly, breaking the kiss. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," Rafe gasped, his eyes dark with lust and surrender. "All yours. Only yours."

The words sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled groan from his throat. His fingers dug into your flesh hard enough to bruise as he thrust up into you with renewed vigor.

The coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter with each roll of your hips. You could feel Rafe trembling beneath you, fighting to hold back his climax. But you weren't done with him yet.

"Not until I say," you commanded, your voice husky with arousal.

Rafe whimpered, his jaw clenching as he struggled to obey. You slowed your pace torturously, drawing out the exquisite torture for both of you. When you felt him start to relax slightly, you suddenly clenched around him again, eliciting a shocked gasp.

"Please," he begged hoarsely. "I can't… I need…"

"You want to cum?" you purred, still wearing her silk dress like a trophy. "Tell me who owns you."

"You do," he choked out, his whole body trembling with need. "Fuck… you do."

His submission was intoxicating. You increased your pace, the silk dress now damp with both your sweat, the fabric forever marked by this moment. His fingers dug bruises into your thighs as his control finally shattered, your name - not hers - falling from his lips as he came undone beneath you.

Your own release followed, intensified by the knowledge that you'd made Rafe Cameron come apart while wearing his wife's clothes in their bed.

As you collapsed against his chest, the ruined silk dress bunching between you, you couldn't help but smile. She might have his ring, his name, and his public image, but you had something far more precious - his surrender. In this moment, in this bed, you'd won. You'd made him yours in ways she never could.

His breathing gradually steadied, but you noticed he didn't push you away immediately like usual. Another small victory. You traced lazy patterns on his chest, surrounded by the evidence of your conquest - her wrinkled dress, their messed-up sheets, his marks on your skin. The perfect crime scene of infidelity.

"Take off the dress," Rafe said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. "You've had your fun, but it needs to go back exactly where you found it."

Reluctantly, you slid off the bed and walked to the closet, the silk now cooling against your heated skin. As you carefully removed the dress, something caught your eye - a delicate diamond tennis bracelet carelessly left on her jewelry tray. Without thinking, you slipped it into your palm before hanging the dress back perfectly.

When you returned to bed, Rafe's eyes narrowed, studying you with dangerous precision. "What did you take?"

"Nothing," you lied, but his expression told you he knew better.

"The bracelet." It wasn't a question. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Give it back. Now."

You retrieved it reluctantly, the diamonds catching the light as you placed it in his outstretched palm. His fingers closed around it, jaw tightening.

"If you want jewelry so badly," he said, his voice softening slightly, "I'll take you shopping tomorrow. Get you something that's actually yours." He set the bracelet aside, pulling you back into bed. "Something better."

You curled against him, satisfied with the promise. After all, stolen jewelry was just borrowed power - but having Rafe Cameron offer to buy you your own? That was real victory.

a/n -- thanks for reading, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore @madzig @thatdesigirl17 @drewstarkeysrightarm @seqhyvnz @romantasyreader2024 @luizaelias @rafe-cameronswife @emmavzlsblog @aileenunfiltered @swe3theart-succubus @511rkive @morrrrphin @xcinnamonmalfoyx @obxrafeandjj @rafegf-real @theeternaloptimistt

[tj-is-down]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy (Tyler Owens x Reader)

Back again with another random fic for y'all. This is not proofread, so don't hate me!

Summary: Tyler and the reader have been on and off "together" for years now, keeping it secret. Until, suddenly, one of them decides they might want more.

Word count: ~2.1k

Warnings: None except some swearing, and reader is described femininely in this one.

Here’s the thing about Humble Creek: everybody knows everybody. A small town made up of just under five thousand, there was nothing that anybody could do in secret, because if one person knew, then it was just as if they’d taken a bullhorn and announced it to the entire town.

Which made Y/N’s life all the harder. See, she did have a secret, and although it hadn’t gotten out yet, its secrecy was held in the hands of a monster. A tyrant, a tool, a pain-in-the-ass douchebag with a cowboy hat and a Texas accent.

Tyler Owens.

Y/N had known he was trouble since they were kids. Growing up on rival ranches, they were destined to be enemies, and even more so, to blur the lines. Y/N had never trusted him. Not because their families were constantly fighting, as she believed everybody deserved their own chance to prove themself, but because he had fucked his up, royally. 

In elementary school, middle school, high school, Tyler was always the talk of the town. Always with a girl on his arm, Tyler was confident, and everybody else was just putty in his hands. Y/N told herself she didn’t understand what people saw in him. 

She lied.

It started in eighth grade, when Tyler showed up in a too-big tux and a bouquet of flowers he’d handpicked from his family’s garden.

“You wanna go to the dance?” He asked, grinning cockily. Even then he knew how to charm, before he even knew what charm was.

Y/N’s dad had said no, absolutely no way, but Y/N was in her rebellious phase and so this only pushed her to say yes. She went out right then, in her mud-stained t-shirt and jeans, and they’d walked to the school together at seven p.m. and walked home together at nine. He’d kissed her cheek goodnight and she’d wiped it off, embarrassed.

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“And you’re pretty, L/N.”

On the next Monday he came to school with Cherry Lee.

Y/N tried to be mad. She tried to hate Tyler, to swear that she’d never talk to him or think about him or even look at him ever again. But two months later, when Tyler and Cherry broke up, he’d knocked on her door when he knew her parents weren’t home and, against her better judgment, she’d let him inside.

They’d been on-and-off “together” ever since.

Now, Tyler wasn’t single for long intervals, usually just a couple of weeks here and there, and he would never cheat, nor would Y/N let herself become a homewrecker (no matter how fragile the relationship), but when Tyler showed up on her doorstep, bouquet in hands and that look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no. 

She was an adult now, but still, she couldn’t resist those eyes. Tyler had been single since before leaving for college, and when he came back it was like he’d never left. Sure, now he had a truck, a big name, a crew, and a YouTube channel, but he still had those eyes, and his family still had a garden with a never-ending supply of flowers.

He showed up on her door one morning, after her parents had left for church.

“Can I help you?” She asked, opening the door. As always, a t-shirt and jeans, dirty from the morning’s work on the farm.

“You’re not at church?”

“You knew I wouldn’t be.”

“Well, maybe the two and I can practice praying on our own? I think the first step is kneeling down; you wanna start?”

Y/N went to close the door, but Tyler’s hand reached out to prop it open.

“Come on, Darlin’,” he said, laying the accent on thick. “You want to go for a drive? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

“Hold the coffee,” she said, walking past him. “I’d rather not have anyone see us together.”

He grabbed her waist and stood behind her, kissing her neck. “We’ve been doing this for years, babe. No one’s gonna find out, I promise.”

She leaned her head towards him, breathing in the scent of firewood mixed with his cologne. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You gettin’ sappy on me?” He asked. Though his voice was soft, she could feel his smirk.

“Nope.” She pulled out of his grasp and got into the passenger seat of his truck. “We going, or are you just gonna stand there looking all doe-eyed?”

“For you, I’d stand here all day, sweetheart.”

“Just get in the car, Romeo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*** 

They drove for a while, to the outskirts of town, when Tyler stopped the truck and leaned over. He kissed her lips, hard and slow, putting his hand on the back of her neck to pull her closer. She reciprocated, holding his bicep, moving her mouth in tandem with his and letting herself fall into him.

“Why are you being so love-y today?” She asked after they separated.

“I can’t show my girl some love?”

“Is that what I am? ‘Your girl’?”

He shrugged. “Is that so bad?”

“You’re annoying, Owens.” She pushed his shoulder.

He mock-pushed her back as he said, “You’re pretty, L/N.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Seriously, though, there is something I wanted to talk to you about—”

Y/N scoffed. “Are you about to ask me out?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Okay, good.”

“Would that be so bad of me?”

“Kinda.” Y/N breathed a laugh, but when she saw Tyler’s face, serious and a little upset, she stopped. “I mean, it’s not like we have the best thing going on here anyways, and I just don’t want to be—” She paused, about to say heartbroken, or used, or a placeholder for when you find someone better, but Tyler cut her off.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He started the truck, engine roaring to life. “It was dumb, nevermind. I’ll take you home.”

“Tyler, you know what I meant—”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re just messing around, right? That’s all this is, just messing around.”

He didn’t say another word on the ride home. 

He dropped her off, barely waiting for her to shut the truck door before he drove away.

***

Tyler didn’t answer any of Y/N’s calls or texts for the next few days. Y/N was upset, barely leaving her room checking her phone obsessively for any sign of Tyler Owens. She even started watching his YouTube channel, but there hadn’t been any uploads for over a month. Nothing on Instagram or Facebook, either.

Her mother yelled up the stairs to her one night, calling her down.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Her mom said upon seeing Y/N.

“This is what I always wear. Why?” Y/N was suddenly self conscious, confused as to why her parents cared what she wore in the house.

“Tonight’s the fair,” her mother responded, attempting to jog her memory.

“You’re helping us run our booth?” Her father tried.

“Ah, shit,” Y/N mumbled, remembering. “Do I have to go? I totally forgot.”

“Of course you have to go!” Her father said. “We need the three of us there; it’s a family ranch, remember?”

“Besides,” her mother added. “The Owens’s will be there. We can’t let them get a leg up on us! If you’re not there, Tyler will be running the show for sure.”

“Well, maybe not,” her father said. “He’s doing the kissing booth, remember?”

“The what?” Y/N said. “Tyler’s doing a kissing booth?”

Her father nodded. “To raise funds for his family’s ranch. He and his whole ‘team’ will be there, whatever they’re called.”

Y/N paused for a moment, trying to wrap her head around it all. Was that what Tyler was trying to talk to her about the other day? The kissing booth? But why would it matter what Y/N thought about it?

Her mother ushered her up the stairs. “For Pete’s sake, change into something nice, and quickly!”

Oh, shit.

***

The Humble Creek Fair was bustling with energy. People from nearby towns came to see what it was all about, and it was always the most popular time of year.

Y/N sat at her family’s booth, eyes peeled for Tyler. She kept checking her phone to see if he’d answered, but when she didn’t get any notifications she decided to take matters into her own hands.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said to her parents.

They both nodded, and her father added, “Make sure to see how the Owens’ booth is doing. I want to make sure we’ll still be in business next year.”

Y/N looked around for the kissing booth, and when she saw a long line of women, she followed it to the front. She walked around to the back of the attraction, but didn’t see Tyler anywhere. It wasn’t until she’d nearly given up entirely when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you wearing?”

She whisked around, coming face-to-face with Tyler, who was holding some sort of weird meat on a stick.

“What are you eating?”

“Pork leg, fried and marinated in pickle juice,” he said, shrugging. “I’m hoping it’ll make my breath smell bad so less people come up. Now, back to you.”

“What about me?”

“You’re wearing a dress. You never wear dresses. ‘Jeans and a t-shirt, that’s me,’” he says, doing a poor impression of her.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes you do, but that’s besides the point. What’s your deal?”

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. “I wanted to, I guess.”

Tyler looked at her dead-on. “You look nice, Y/N.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been texting you for days. No response. But now that I’m here, all I get is, ‘I look nice’?” 

“What else do you want from me?”

“An answer, Tyler. What’s your deal? Why didn’t you tell me about the kissing booth?”

“I tried to, but then you came at me with all that ‘this is a bad idea’ crap, and I figured you didn’t want me to tell you. Or you didn’t care if I told you or not.”

“Okay, so—”

“Wait.” He stops her. “Do you care?”

Y/N kicks the ground. “If I did?”

“If you did,” he said, stepping closer to her. “I’d drop the pork leg and kiss you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’d eat the pork leg, and I’d kiss a bunch of people who aren’t you, and I’d feel like shit about it.” He took another step closer to her, nearly closing the gap between them. “Please say you care.”

“Ugh,” she scoffed. “You’re gonna make me say it? You can’t just, like, infer from the situation?”

“I’m really bad at inferring things,” he said, a cocky grin on his face. “So, I’m gonna need to hear you say it.”

“You’re annoying, Owens.”

“You’re pretty, L/N. Like, so pretty. But I do need to hear you say it, and I’m also gonna need you to—”

“I care, Tyler. Now shut up and kiss me, or I’m gonna take it back.”

“Can’t take it back, babe. It’s set in stone.”

In one fluid motion, he dropped the pork leg, grabbed Y/N by the waist with his other hand, and pulled her into a kiss. It was deep and passionate, not like any of the other times they’ve kissed. They kept it going for as long as they can, holding their breath until they couldn’t anymore, and then they pulled apart, gasping for air with their foreheads touching.

“Will you go out with me?” He asked her, still struggling for air. “Like, on a real date, not just driving in the truck?”

“I guess,” Y/N said, teasingly. “If I have to.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. But if you do, I’m gonna need you to wear this again.” He grabbed her and pulled her closer to him, if that’s even possible. “Because, if I’m being honest, L/N, this is the hottest I’ve ever seen you. Like, I didn’t think you could get hotter, but here we are. Speaking of, can we go? I really want to go somewhere with you. Like, privately.” He winked at her, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes again.

“Don’t you need to raise money for your farm?” She asked him, gesturing to the booth behind them.

“Fuck the farm,” he said. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy, yeah?”

“Fuck off,” she said, pulling him into another kiss.

“Seriously though, can we go?”

[urhoneycombwitch]

Hi, cutie 😘 Slutty metalhead for your thoughts?

oh SO many thoughts but u know the main one rn is… nostalgia 😭 look at that fresh faced baby boy. made me think of revisiting that spot in your later years with Eddie… back in town for a wedding, mayhaps…? I love u sooooo much sarah!!! muah muah muah 

(cw: drug & alcohol mention, R wears heels+ a dress and has breasts, fade-to-black sex SOZ mdni +18 as always!!)

Eddie looks so good in a tux. Except right now, he’s yanking at the loop of his tie like it’s choking him (it isn’t, he’s being dramatic), and shedding the confines of his smart black tailcoat into a messy pile in the back of the van (on loan from Uncle Wayne for the duration of your visit, the engine still running miraculously smooth after all these years).

Nancy and Jon aren’t getting married until tomorrow so now that the rehearsal dinner is done with, everyone is under strict instructions to rest up for the big day- but based off the gleam in Eddie’s eye and the corners he’s taking at light speed, you’re guessing the guest bed at the trailer isn’t the main destination right now.

You get comfy, too, kicking off your heels, tucking your feet up underneath the silk of your dress train, giggling as Eddie talks a mile a minute. It feels like old times; the passenger window gets rolled down, cool spring night air of Hawkins breathing life back into the both of you. 

It was stuffy, hot, and crowded in the main hall, a raucous ball of light and music and hugs over tables loaded with food; you both went delirious with happiness at seeing everyone in one room again.

Even so, the stark contrast of the still, dark forest is a relief. Eddie parks at the edge of trees just outside Hawkins High, pools of light from the parking lot swallowed by the thick perimeter of sycamores. 

You’ve never been on this side of the forest before- the two of you were friends, in highschool, but Eddie was a deft hand at keeping you away from his less savory dealings back in the day. 

Now, he takes your hand, confident and sure-footed, your bare feet pressing into the soft underbrush as you follow close behind. 

After a minute, your eyes adjust- at dizzying heights, the trees split apart to reveal the sky, twinkling pinpricks of stars lighting your path to the centre of the woods. Eddie’s laughing while he recounts the time an old gym teacher caught him out here, and points out the exact tree he had to scramble up to get away. 

Your fingers are warm, weaved in between his, and it’s either the champagne or the love that makes you tipsy, leaning into the twine of arms, resting your forehead against his shoulder- “Wish I could’ve seen it.”

“Nah.” Eddie kisses the crown of your head, strokes his thumb over your knuckles as the picnic table appears into view. “Glad you stayed out of trouble and let me be the one to get into it.”

The wood table is decidedly much older than in its heyday as a pharmacy counter, but in good enough condition to hold your weight as you sit right on top, leaning back into your hands- “Got into plenty of trouble, I was just a bit better at hiding it, s’all.”

“That right?” Eddie comes to stand between the v of your spread legs, hem of your dress climbing along with his hands that settle on either side of your bare thighs. In the moonlight, the sleek black of his hair glows, backlit in white like a halo.

He’s grinning. You are, too, no sense in playing coy- but you’ve got another card to play, before the chase is up. 

“Actually, I kind of brought you out here for something.” You sit up, pressing the length of your body against his, breasts to chest, nose notching to the side of his own; Eddie sucks in a painfully sharp breath. 

When your leg hooks at his hip, pelvis pulling flush with yours, his grip tightens.

You kiss your way up the column of his neck, then whisper, “I was kinda hoping I could buy some weed off you.”

“I- whuh?” Not quite words, Eddie talks around a tongue that’s gone limp; his head swims from the feeling of your teeth behind his ear. “You wanna… I don’t. I won’t charge you.”

You tsk, pulling away just far enough to give a reproachful look- “Come on, did you give up the goods this easy for every pretty girl who asked?”

“Nope. Just for you.” An easy and honest answer. Eddie slots himself further into the warmth of your body, the growing bulge in his slacks making contact with the strip of wet fabric between your thighs; you moan into his kiss, tongues a greedy slide of want in the others’ mouth.

Trying to keep up some semblance of the roleplay, you gasp out- “You didn’t even… let me offer to pay- oh, fuck, there- with an alternative method…”

Eddie gets a hand past the cup of your bra, massaging the fat and catching your nipple in a twist between thumb and forefinger. Your spine arches into the touch, giving Eddie’s other hand ample room to press against your low back, keeping you rocking forward in a slow grind.

“Let me guess.” His breath is a ragged heat at the side of your neck. “Was sex on the table?”

“Exactly.” 

With a tug to his roots, Eddie follows you down flat against the creaking wood, laughing at your quick wit, relaxing into your body- there’s nothing scary about these woods anymore. 

[cinnamoodles]

what are ur favorite anthony bridgerton five

hi! i'm assuming this says fics, and i am SO HONOURED that you trust me to recommend my favourite fics to you!

first up… the amazing and fantastic @fayes-fics, one of THE MOST skilled writers alive. she never misses!

some of my personal favs from her are:

➥ a beneficial arrangement [ ⭐️ ]

a marriage pact with a viscount. what could possibly go wrong?

➥ rescue and ruin

anthony rescues something for you… and it will likely lead to your ruin.

➥ the friends+ series

modern AU. series of fics that feature anthony & journalist!reader’s burgeoning relationship.

those are just a few of my favorites, but READ HER ENTIRE MASTERLIST! you will not regret it, promise.

secondly, a series of fics by the wonderfully talented @rubysunnday, and once again, be sure to read all of her masterlist!

➥ take my hand

as much as y/n appreciates anthony’s matchmaking efforts, it’s hard to accept them when he’s the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

➥ a long, long time

y/n has waited a long, long time for anthony bridgerton to finally decide to get married. but by the time he finally decides to find a wife, y/n has run out of time and anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

➥ it’s a bad idea, me and you [ ⭐️ ]

y/n was ready to give her entire heart to anthony bridgerton. only for him to shove her aside in favour for sienna rosso. but, now, sienna is gone and despite what y/n keeps telling herself - anthony truly does own her heart.

now, for the queen of the modern!anthony au, @eleanor-bradstreet! some of my favorites from her are…

➥ gala

you attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

➥ locked out

when you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

➥ take me instead [ ⭐️ ]

you and anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

next we have @colettebronte, BRIDGERTON SMUT AUNTIE HERSELF WOOO!

(warning, these fics are VERY mature, and include BDSM and other possibly triggering material).

➥ rise and breathe

newly arrived back in london after a long journey across the mediterranean sea, you encounter a pathetically drunk viscount bridgerton the night he is rejected by sienna rosso. after a sobering morning on all counts, you sense that he is indeed lost and in need of a new purpose and direction. through submission and service, he may just find it.

➥ what (who) are you doing on new year’s eve?

a mysterious benefactor invites you to ring in the New Year with them.

➥ kinktober day ten: blindfolded

your tenth evening with your client. day ten for kinktober. I’m going with two prompts tonight, blindfolded and massage.

finally, we have some individual fics that stole my heart.

➥ diamonds and pearls by @multiharlot

diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage.

➥ enamoured by @dreamwritesimagines

everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst. yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. they had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight. regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss. that assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though. you were nowhere near ready.

➥ right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch

you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

➥ right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

the only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a viscount. surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. or the one where your arranged marriage with anthony bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

➥ melt away by @healmydesires

the night you give your love and body to your husband.

➥ sham, pride, and illicit affairs by @peeterparkr

or, the story of how you rejected his proposal because you once loved him.

➥ enchanted by @imthebadguyyy

you and anthony don’t need words to converse.

➥ better man by @midnightfictionlibrary

anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

➥ no longer in denial by @iwritefandomimagines

anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

➥ the language of flowers by @cinnamoodles (shameless self plug)

you and anthony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but what happens when his world turns upside down? will he open his heart and let the woman silently pining for him in?

AHH ok that was it, and these are the bridgerton fics i love with all of my soul. thank you so much for your ask, it was so nice to see all these wonderful fics again.

xo, lottie !

[messenger-of-babel]

Dick Grayson Who...

Summary: Thoughts about your relationship with Dick Grayson.

Word Count: 1.3K

Notes: Was written in a half daze if I'm being honest.

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Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Is hardly ever home and has hardly ever been since you began your relationship. When he is home, he sleeps heavily and is exhausted in everything he does. Yet he still finds just enough time to talk to you when you climb into bed, forcing his eyes to stay awake so he can listen to you talk about your day. Little do you know that he fights to stay awake because hearing your stories is the favourite part of his night.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Comes home black and blue, and not just in the suit. In fact, you don't even know the suit exists, stashed behind his tuxes worn only for Bruce's galas and date nights. He comes back riddled with bruises that shiver under your touch, and he feels like he's been beaten all over again when he sees the grimace and worried expression on your face. It all comes to a head one night when you tearfully confront him, asking if he's fallen into the wrong crowd, and if he's in trouble. You offer him a way out if he is, worriedly telling him that you'll ask your friend at the GCPD to put him in protection if he needs to be. He assured you that wasn't the case and you reluctantly bought it. The subsequent patrols were noticed by Robin and Spoiler, with many less quips than usual from the cocky vigilante and him dodging before any thug could lay more than a hand on him.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Takes you to every and any gala that Bruce throws, despite his half-hearted attendance at those events before. He had enjoyed them of course, more than his other family members at least, but not to this extent. Now everyone knew that he was an expected face at whatever fundraiser or ball that was held in the Wayne name, but very little knew why. Only a few knew that he went to every event just so he could have you on his arm, all dressed up and beaming with the smile that lit up his world. That every gala was an excuse to be able to kneel down in front of the bed as you put on your heels, taking the shoe from you so he could do it himself, or to let his fingers brush against the back of your neck as he fastened the necklace he got you last anniversary.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Worries constantly that you'll find out that he's Nightwing, but more than that, that you'll leave him if you do. Who sneaks home to slip in next to you every night, pretending that he hadn't left. When he wraps you back up in his arms and can feel the tension of his patrol melt away, he can almost pretend he never did. He fiddles with your hair as you sleep, lost in thought and eyes boring into whatever wall or ceiling is his victim that night, running over all the ways he could tell you if he only had the courage. If he wasn't so scared of you leaving, but more than that, if he wasn't so scared of you wanting to join him.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Has his identity revealed regardless, in a way that he hadn't planned. The suit was his second skin, the persona he had lived and breathed in more than the life of Dick Grayson, until you came along and brought Dick Grayson a life he never knew he wanted. When Red Hood had called in over the coms, letting everyone know that the Bristol area of North Gotham was the target area of Scarecrow's fear gas, he hadn't thought twice. His heart beat as if he himself was affected by the fear gas, slamming hard against his ribs to the point it hurt as he raced to your apartment. He had thrown open the door in a hurry, out of breath and Batman yelling in his ear to fall back. You had just stared at him as he ran to you in the kitchen, gripping your arms and telling you to leave. It was only once he caught sight of himself in the shiny fridge reflection that he glimpsed the black and blue of his second skin, blood freezing in his veins. He looked to you, your eyes widened in shock and mind trying to process everything.

He wasn't sure whether to cry or laugh as you opened your mouth, lips curling into a confused smile and shrugging lightly.

"At least it's not drugs."

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Feels like the weight of the world is off his shoulders as you accept and understand his night life. Any scolding of Batman for revealing his identity pales in the light of your worry when he comes home, and the constant fussing of your hands turning his face. He would never admit the selfish part of himself that likes the nights that you stay up, tucked into bed with the bedside lamp on, book in your lap. Your eyes are always tired when he appears at the windowsill of your bedroom, and there's no greater joy to him now than not having to sneak into bed. Instead, you welcome him in with open arms and a tired smile, a siren's call to him after a rough night. The light in your eyes is still flickering despite your exhaustion, and he takes it all in before kissing you on the forehead with a soft, "Sorry I'm late." Then he leans over the both of you to turn off your lamp, book discarded on the bedside table as he settles into the darkness with you for sleep, muscles relaxing under the warm weight of your body against his.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Decides one day that he doesn't want to be your boyfriend anymore.

He wants to be more than that, wants to be something where he can feel closer to you than he already does. he craves it, and it’s clear in the way he trawls through jewellers on his days off, searching for something in particular. He wants the days of coming into the kitchen to see your sleepy form making coffee to last forever. He wants to be the one with you when you grumble about work and wipe the frustrated tears from your face when you get overwhelmed. There's no one else he'd rather send flowers to at work when he felt bored, or swing by to take on coffee dates in their lunch break. He wanted to be there for every birthday and Christmas and Valentines Day, to see you smile at whatever he had carefully wrapped just for you. He wanted to be there to see you bathed in candlelight at every anniversary dinner, except this time he wanted the anniversary to be for something else. As he watched how you laughed with Alfred in the sitting room of Wayne manor after a family dinner, his heart thudded violently. The old man cast a knowing glance at the way Dick wiped his palms on his dress pants, and the harsh swallow of his throat. Everyone else had left earlier to grab either drinks or dessert before curling up by the fireplace, giving him the perfect opportunity. The old man bowed at you, making up a kind excuse that he needed to fetch something for Bruce. As he passed Dick, he gave him a fatherly smile, calming his nerves only slightly. When your eyes meet his it’s like his heart as stopped, your smile chasing away the cold the beginning of winter brought. He smiled back, and it's like the world was lifted from his shoulders as he approached you, the weight of the sapphire studded ring in his pocket now non-existent.

Thinking about a Dick Grayson who...

Wants nothing more than to be your forever.

[aphelionwrotes11]

Safe house - part 1

MDNI 18+

Simon Riley x reader

Cw: violence, reader is apart of 141 so power imbalance (sorta), a little dubcon (I think??), pining, fluff

You and your lieutenant have to spend some time together in a safe house after a mission goes south, what could possibly go wrong? … (lol)

Everything that could’ve possibly gone wrong, went wrong. It was supposed to be a simple mission, in and out. Your orders were to go undercover with your lieutenant, Simon, gather info on a possible target, and leave. Where was this mission to be conducted? A small gala only the elite would be attending.

And so, as you and Simon had gotten ready in a nearby hotel room, you got word from your informant that there may be some extra security at the gala, more than they had thought. You were both told to just keep a low profile. Everything will be fine.

Maybe you should’ve taken that last minute info as a sign to call it, or maybe it was the way your brain turned to near mush as soon as Simon had told you that you looked beautiful.

After finishing your makeup and hair, you took a quick glance at yourself in the mirror of the shabby hotel room. Not too bad. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, and despite your minimal expertise in makeup and hair practices, the YouTube video you watched had been thorough and easy to follow so you could at least pass for professional grade beauty.

When you exited the hotel room, Simon was already outside dressed sharply in a black tux. His blonde hair was dyed brown with a temporary hair dye, and just earlier you had applied a bit of concealer to the smaller scars along his jaw. (As well as you could with your shaking hands.)

“Y’ready?” He asked, glancing at your figure.

“Yes sir.” You replied.

“Don’ call me tha, tonight we’re married luv.” He said, looking unamused.

“Right.. sorry.” You had said, thankful the makeup covered your skin, otherwise he would’ve seen your cheeks flush red.

And as if what he had said wasn’t bad enough, he took another moment to glance up and down at your figure and nod. “Y’look beautiful.” He said, so simply, and yet you felt your brain melt and pour right out of your ears.

“You too.” You said without thinking, and he chuckled.

He turned away just fast enough that you wouldn’t see the twinge of pink on his cheeks.)

As soon as you pulled up to the front of a gorgeous looking manor, you knew there would be trouble. Not only was there double the security you had originally been told, but double the amount of guests. And now, with so many unaccounted and unknown people who were apart of the game, you couldn’t help the terrible unease.

Getting through the security at the front door was a hassle. For a moment you were a bit scared they had rearranged the guest list amidst the efforts of adding the newcomers and somehow, someway, noticed two guests who would be attending that they had never heard of.

But fortunately, you both made it inside.

For a bit, things went smoothly despite the issues. You were able to spot the potential target, surrounded by a group of other elites. Simon had gone a different way to find your guy, but due to the unfortunate circumstances of not having comms (thank you metal detectors!) you werent able to tell him where the target was.

So, you were in your own. And that would’ve been totally fine, really. But as soon as you were able to reach the potential target, gunfire rang out through the manor.

Guests scattered after that, you lost the target, security began attempting to herd people into rooms and through doors, and you couldn’t find Simon.

You searched through the crowd and shots continued to be fired somewhere nearby. When you couldn’t find him with the others, you knew that he was probably the one in whatever gun fight was going on in the next room over.

But you weren’t able to find out, because Simon came round a corner not even seconds later, grabbing your arm and running the two of you out of there. You had more pursuers that you could count, they followed you even after the two of you had gotten into the nearest car and sped off. It took a while, but eventually you lost them somewhere on a twisting road.

Simon contacted your captain and was told to take the both of you to a nearby safe house and wait for backup. Earliest they could arrive would be in two days.

“What the hell was that?!” You asked as Simon followed the directions to the safe house from the gps.

“Guess tha extra security was a las’ minute hire. Couple’a Russians recognized me from god knows where.” He replied casually.

Russians? Great. So now the two of you will be huddled up in a safe house for two days, hiding from Russians with a grudge.

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalal

“M’takin the shower first. Need’ta get this shit outta my hair.” He said as soon as the two of you arrived.

The house wasn’t anything special, just a one story one bed one bath. The kitchen was nearly empty, aside from two cans of soup and some frozen waffles.

Waffles and soup are a pretty odd combo. But after this night, you really didn’t care what food you had, all you knew was that you were starving.

It didn’t take long for the gourmet dinner to be finished. When the waffles popped out of the toaster you shuffle through the cabinets in an attempt to find the plates.

Of course, they are on the top shelf of the upmost cabinet. If Simon were out here, he could easily grab it but it would seem he’s taking his sweet time in the shower. You pray he doesn’t use all of the hot water.

In your foolish attempt to balance yourself on the counter and grab both plates, one slips from your grasp and shatters on the kitchen floor.

“Shit.” You whisper, jumping from the counter with a small thud.

Within seconds you hear clambering footsteps racing down the hall and Simon appears. Naked. Dripping wet. And hard.

Simon is glancing around frantically, gun in hand, he looks from your stunned form to the plate on the ground and lets his gun fall to his side with a sigh.

He looks pissed.

Brows forrowed, mouth set in a straight line, face bright red from his ears to his nose. He’s glaring right at you and so is his cock.

You struggle to look at anything other than him as you open and close your mouth.

You meet his eyes for a moment, “I-I dropped the plate. I-I’m sorry-“ you start.

N’his cock twitches.

Without another word he turns and stalks off, leaving you wide eyed and mouth gaping.

The rest of the night is conducted in absolute silence. From dinner to bed. You struggle to figure out the sleeping arrangements with the awkward silence.

So, instead you opt to just take a late night shower and allow him to choose the bed or the couch. When you exit the shower the bed is empty, so you assume he went to sleep on the couch.

Within a couple hours you awake to the creak of the mattress beside you. As you attempt to silently swivel around you are met with the back of your lieutenant, who is now nestled comfortably in a queen sized bed beside you.

Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.

Note: hey guys!!! As per usual this is unedited so plesss forgive any mistakes on grammar or spelling. I’m just So happy I finally wrote something that I like (it’s been a struggle) the part 2 for this is already in progress, yes it will be spicy. Anyways, hope you enjoyed.

Xoxo

[f14fun]

pixelated love (!simmer x mv1) - chapter 4

synopsis: in which the famous three time world champion max verstappen wants to learn how to play the sims 4. except, he doesn't really know how to. so what does he do, search up a youtube tutorial. low-and-behold, y/n's video is the first he watches.

smau ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ prev | next | series index ˚୨୧⋆｡

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yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 162,823 others

yourusername: AYEEEE wedding day in mc! not the type of content that i usually make but here i am getting married to maxie poo in mc! plz pu 😈💐👰🏻‍♀️

view comments:

user1: rip all ppl who actual believed that this is an ACTUAL wedding LMAO. the biggest joke that she's ever made she is actually executing 🤣🤣🤣

maxverstsappen1: What are you talking about?

maxverstappen1: This IS a real wedding??

maxverstappen1: Huh? I am lost.

user2: out of EVERYONE playing into the joke i didn't expect max to go full on roleplaying mode 💀

maxverstsappen1: I am not roleplaying ❌🤷🏻‍♂️

user3: BYE HE IS SO UNSERIOUSSS 😭😭

yourusername: CANNOT WAIT TO FINALLY MAKE BOO MY BOOOOOOOO

maxverstappen1: 😘😘

user4: aight y/n the jig is up you can STOP COMMENTING FROM UNDER MAX'S ACCOUNT 😀

yourusername: what are you talking about... 🫠😞🔐

landonorris: I am still baffled how you got this man to do so many things, oml...

yourusername: he luv luv luvsss me cuz of my beautiful smile and amazing smexy humor 🥰😌😇🤭🤭🤭

maxverstappen: Oh, okay! Believe what you want!

user5: HE ATE HER UP I FEAR LMFAO

user6: DAMN SAVAGE MAX 😭😭😭

user7: bro im so glad we r getting unhinged max bc of y/n omgghhh 👺👺🤡

user8: BYE i need to see max in full wedding smexy smexy smexy attire UGH pls y/n i beg of u to PLS make him show up in a tux on streammmm 😇🙏🏻👼🏻🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

yourusername: 🤭🤫

maxverstappen: 😐

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taglist: @hiireadstuff @sinofwriting @mehrmonga @the-untamed-soul @glai1023-blog @loloekie @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @sheastri @llando4norris @gwginnyweasley @carmenita122 @ririyulife @pausmoon @ur-fav-ave @eveninggstar @maddie-naps @erin-odonnell04 @rexit-mo @ems-alexandra @si1ver06 @iamred-iamyellow @bibissparkles @percypie @formula1blog @lanadelray1989 @rylieverstappen-sargent @luvsforme @eiaaasamantha @kaysmiles42 @mvaldez7821 @stinkyjax @sweate-r-weathe-r @laneyspaulding19 @mingyusbigrighttoe

some of these didn't get tagged, and i'm having trouble (?) it's being very weird, idk, so please let me know if your name is here and it didn't tag you ❣️

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

lmao i lied again, part FIVE i swear will actually include the mc wedding, and for al of y'all's confused, ITS FAKE LMAO they are not actually getting married for reals, just for funsies (shout out to my moots for letting me know this bit was a tad confusing 😭)

i'll see if i can get part five out tmr afternoon or evening!

comment if you want to be added to the taglist! ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

[mintyys-blog]

Loki laufeyson x Reader: Mischievous Duo

WARNINGS: Loki and reader being little menaces to society.

New York City was a playground for two mischievous souls like you and Loki. After years of causing trouble in Asgard, then narrowly avoiding intergalactic consequences, you both had found an amusing haven on Earth. Of course, the Avengers kept a close eye on Loki, but that only made the chaos more exhilarating.

“Darling, I believe I’ve found our next grand scheme,” Loki purred, draping himself over the couch with a devilish grin. You sat across from him, legs kicked up on the coffee table, sipping from a cup of tea that was definitely spiked with something stronger.

“Do tell,” you replied, mirroring his smirk.

Loki wove his fingers together, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We are going to crash a billionaire’s gala, pose as an elite power couple, and ‘accidentally’ replace all their champagne with a rather colorful… alternative.”

You raised a brow. “Alternative?”

“A delightful potion that will dye their tongues bright blue for twenty-four hours,” Loki said smugly.

You nearly choked on your drink. “You’re serious?”

“Always.”

You set your cup down and leaned forward. “I love it.”

Loki grinned, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “That’s why I married you, my dear.”

This was going to be fun.

The gala was a glittering affair, filled with New York’s wealthiest and most pretentious. Chandeliers sparkled, champagne flowed freely, and the scent of overpriced cologne and vanity filled the air. The perfect setting for chaos.

You and Loki arrived fashionably late, dressed to kill—literally, if necessary. Loki, ever dramatic, wore an emerald-green suit that matched his eyes, while you had selected something equally stunning, a sleek black number that made you feel like royalty.

“Remember, darling, confidence is key,” Loki murmured as you both strolled past the security guards, who didn’t even think to question your presence. The god of mischief was a master of illusion, after all.

“I think we’re overqualified in that department,” you whispered back, flashing a charming smile at a passing guest who looked important enough to be worth fooling.

Inside, Loki lifted two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to you. “To us and our undeniable talent for being a menace.”

You clinked glasses. “And to blue tongues everywhere.”

The fun began almost immediately. With a flick of Loki’s fingers, the switch was made—the fine champagne now held his little enchantment. It would take effect with just a sip.

Within minutes, the room was full of confused, horrified elites pulling out their phones to check their reflections. The reaction was priceless.

A woman in an extravagant gown gasped, clutching her throat. “What—what is this?!”

Another man, dressed in a designer tux, gawked at his friend. “Why is your tongue blue?!”

“Why is yours?!”

Loki bit back a laugh, his arm wrapped around your waist as you both stood off to the side, watching the panic unfold.

“Look at them,” he whispered in amusement. “Absolute peasants, all undone by a little trickery.”

You giggled, barely able to contain yourself. “I think we just made high society a little more colorful.”

It was all going beautifully—until you made eye contact with Tony Stark across the room. He squinted at you and Loki, suspicion written all over his face.

Loki sighed. “Ah. And here comes the killjoy.”

Tony started making his way toward you. Time to go.

“Run?” you asked.

“Run.” You grabbed Loki’s hand, and together, you dashed toward the exit, leaving behind a room full of furious, blue-tongued socialites and one very irritated Iron Man.

You and Loki burst through the grand entrance of the gala, laughing as you sprinted down the marble steps. The sound of Tony Stark’s voice echoed behind you—

“Oh, come on! Are you kidding me?!”

“Run faster, love!” Loki grinned, pulling you along as you dodged between fancy cars parked outside the venue.

“I am running fast!” you shot back, heels clicking against the pavement. “You try running in these shoes!”

“You’re the one who chose to wear them.”

“And I looked amazing, so it was worth it.”

Before Loki could argue, a whoosh of repulsor energy lit up the night, and Tony Stark, now fully suited up, landed in front of you with his arms crossed.

“You two just can’t resist screwing with high society, huh?” he said, his helmet retracting so you could see his unimpressed glare. “Blue tongues? Really? What are you, twelve?”

Loki smirked. “Thirteen, actually.”

You coughed to hide your laugh. Tony was so easy to annoy.

“You know,” Tony continued, rubbing his temples, “I promised myself I wouldn’t get dragged into your nonsense tonight. But here we are.”

Loki sighed dramatically. “Ah, Stark, must you always ruin our fun?”

“You poisoned—”

“—enchanted,” you corrected.

Tony shot you a glare. “—the drinks at a charity gala. Some of those people fund my research!”

“Well, now they’ll be funding some therapy too,” you mused.

Tony groaned. “I really don’t have time for this.”

“Then you should let us go,” Loki offered smoothly.

“Not a chance.”

Loki glanced at you. “Plan B?”

You nodded. “Plan B.”

Before Tony could react, Loki conjured a thick green fog, engulfing the three of you. You grabbed Loki’s hand, and with a flick of his wrist, you both vanished into thin air, leaving Tony behind in a swirl of magic.

The moment you reappeared on the rooftop of a nearby building, you doubled over, laughing. “Did you see his face?”

Loki grinned, pleased with himself. “Oh, I relished it.”

You leaned against him, catching your breath. “You know he’s going to get back at us for that.”

“Let him try,” Loki murmured, his voice low and amused. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. “We’ll just be two steps ahead, as always.”

You smirked, tilting your head up to look at him. “We make a dangerous pair.”

Loki’s eyes darkened with something more than amusement as he murmured, “That, my dear, is why I adore you.”

Then, with the city lights glowing behind you, he captured your lips in a deep, mischievous kiss—sealing the night with one final act of rebellion.

[newtonsheffield]

Kate and Anthony get married and Neddy walks her down the aisle right?

Oh absolutely. He’s not even four yet but he’s dressed in a tux that matches Anthony’s and it makes Kate want to cry just looking at him, the flower on his lapel enormous next to him.

“You look so handsome, baby.”

Neddy grinned at her, “Like my Daddy.”

Kate scoffed. “Daddy’s almost as handsome as you.”

“You’re the prettiest girl Amma. Daddy said I should tell you that.”

Kate sighed, “Well, Daddy’s always trying it.”

When it’s time to walk down the aisle Neddy takes her hand, nervously looking around at everyone from the back. They’d kept the wedding as small as they could, friends and family only but the list had kept growing and growing. Some things unable to be done small.

He took tentative steps down the aisle, both of them ignoring the whispers of how sweet it was and Kate kept her eyes focused on the back of Anthony’s head, his shoulders tight before Benedict leaned in to whisper something in his ear, grinning.

Anthony turned at the last moment, tears in his eyes as he took them in, his shoulders relaxing as he crouched in front of Neddy.

“Amazing job, Buddy. Can I have Amma’s hand?”

Neddy nodded, passing Kate’s hand to his Dad and Anthony pulled him into a quick hug, kissing his forehead.

“Love you, Buddy.”

“Love you, Daddy!” Neddy called out for the church to hear as he jumped off the top step going to sit in the front row between his grandmothers.

Finally Anthony straightened, grinning at Kate, “Hello, Trouble. Should we do this thing?”

“If you insist.”

[favefandomimagines]

Now That We Don’t Talk - Alternate Ending (j.b)

Summary: now that we do talk…

AN: here is ‘Now That We Don’t Talk’ with its alternate ending!! Spoiler alert: it’s fluffy lol please read the original work before reading this one!! The lead up is exactly the same as the OG, the ending is just different

Now That We Don’t Talk - Original

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

||

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

||

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

||

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

||

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

||

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

||

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

||

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight.

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

||

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

You good?

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

No.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

||

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Joe Burrow Breakup Rumors

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N’s New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

||

The night of NFL Honors should have been a celebration.

Joe had spent the evening shaking hands, giving interviews, and sitting through speeches about some of the greatest moments in football. People congratulated him, smiled at him, told him how great he was.

But he felt empty.

Because the one person he wanted to share it with—wasn’t there.

He had spent months pretending he had moved on, convincing himself that throwing himself into football would make him forget. But no matter how many games he won, how many records he broke, none of it mattered if he couldn’t share it with her.

Y/N.

Joe let out a breath as he sat on the hotel bed, running a hand through his hair. His phone was in his palm, the screen illuminated with her name.

Y/N.

He had never deleted her contact. Never even considered it.

And before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he hit call.

It rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then it went to voicemail.

Joe swallowed hard, waiting for the beep.

Then—

"Hey."

His voice was rougher than he expected. He cleared his throat and continued.

"I don’t know why I’m doing this," he admitted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I guess I just… I needed to say this. Even if you never hear it."

He exhaled, his free hand gripping his knee.

"I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For not prioritizing us, for all the times I made you feel like you were on the outside looking in. I know you’d tell me it’s not all my fault, and maybe you’re right. But I played a big part in it. And I hate that."

His voice dropped slightly.

"I still love you. I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, because you were it for me. The one who made all the bad stuff feel like a small footnote compared to the good. And maybe I never said it enough, maybe I never showed it enough, but… it’s always been you."

Joe exhaled, his jaw tightening.

"And I know I don’t deserve anything from you—not after New York. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve tried. But I knew if I came up to you, if I even looked at you too long, I wouldn’t have been able to hold it together."

He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"I’m not asking for anything. I just… I needed you to hear this. I needed you to know all the things I never got to say that night at the restaurant."

He paused, then softly—

"That’s it, I guess. Take care, Y/N."

And then, before he could second-guess himself, he hung up.

He set his phone down beside him, staring blankly at the muted TV playing some sitcom he wasn’t even paying attention to.

Now, all he could do was wait.

Joe had just about given up when his phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He sat up quickly, his heart hammering.

Y/N.

He grabbed the phone so fast he nearly dropped it before answering.

There was silence for a beat. Then—

"Hey."

Her voice was soft, hesitant.

Joe swallowed. "Hey."

She let out a small breath. "I got your voicemail."

Joe nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. "Yeah. I, uh… I wasn’t expecting you to call."

Y/N sighed. "I wasn’t expecting to, either. But… I wanted to."

Joe ran a hand over his face, his chest feeling too full and too empty all at once.

"Y/N, I meant everything I said," he told her. "All of it."

"I know," she whispered. "And… I’m sorry, too. For everything I did. I wasn’t perfect, Joe. I made mistakes, too."

He closed his eyes, letting that settle.

She hesitated before adding, "I guess I’m just surprised you called."

Joe let out a quiet chuckle. "Yeah. Me too. But I finally had the courage, and I just… I had to do it."

There was a pause.

Joe swallowed hard.

"I love you," he murmured. "And I’m sorry."

Silence.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"I love you, too."

And just like that, the weight he had been carrying for months finally lifted.

They weren’t fixed. Not yet.

But they weren’t over, either.

And that was enough.

||

It felt like a dream.

Joe stood in the middle of the field, his jersey stained with sweat, his heart still pounding from the final whistle.

The Bengals had done it.

Super Bowl champions.

Confetti rained down, the crowd roared, and cameras flashed as he stood there, taking it all in.

Then—

She was there.

Y/N.

She had been in the stands, watching, waiting.

And the moment she reached him, he didn’t hesitate.

Joe wrapped his arms around her, lifting her slightly off the ground as she let out a breathless laugh.

"You did it!" she said against his shoulder.

Joe pulled back, looking down at her, his eyes shining with something more than just victory.

"We did it," he corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She smiled up at him, the confetti catching in her hair, the stadium lights making her eyes sparkle.

Joe cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

"I love you," he said, the words feeling even more right than they did a year ago.

Y/N grinned. "I love you, too, Burrow."

Then, in the middle of the biggest moment of his career, in front of millions of people watching—Joe kissed her.

And suddenly, the championship ring, the MVP trophy, the confetti—none of it mattered as much as this.

As much as her.

Because, in the end—she was the biggest win of his life.