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tsunodaradio · 2 months ago

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only exception ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

there are things lando doesn’t like to do, but he supposes he can make some exceptions.

ꔮ starring: lando norris x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 2.7k. ꔮ includes: tooth-rotting fluff, romance. profanity. established relationship. ꔮ commentary box: first 1-2 finish of the year, babyyy! my co-driver @norrisradio wrote an oscar version of this here ‹𝟹 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

♫ the only exception, paramore. more time, alfie jukes. loverboy, young friend. c u girl, steve lacy. white ferrari, frank ocean. everyone adores you (at least i do), matt maltese.

LANDO DOESN’T LIKE WATCHING CARTOONS.

Or, at least, he doesn’t like watching them anymore. He’s in his mid-twenties, he’ll tell everyone. He has no reason to tune into things like The Simpsons or Wallace and Gromit. Lando thinks he has much more refined tastes nowadays, thank you very much.

It’s why he had grumbled and kicked up a fuss the first time you tried to get him to sit down for something. Your yearly rewatch of Avatar: The Last Airbender, you’d said.

He was initially resistant. It didn’t matter how many kisses you promised him, how many hours you vowed to let him game uninterrupted. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the first couple of episodes, and you let him go with a roll of your eyes.

But then the stupid flying bison went missing, and Lando couldn’t help himself.

You liked to watch in his living room, where you could sprawl out on the couch with a bowl of crisps. That made it so much easier for him to move from one room to the other, his eyes flitting a little too long on the television screen as he refilled his water bottle or came home from a quick jog.

Lando hadn’t really tuned in for the first season— or Book 1, as you so often like to correct him— so he’s a little bit lost, but he picks up the necessary context clues. You’re so invested in it, too, despite this being your nth rewatch of your self-proclaimed comfort series.

Every now and then, Lando will linger by the door. He’ll even throw in a comment or two. A mumbled “that Ba Sing Se shit is creepy” or an offhand “fucking Zuko,” and you would respond with small sounds of approval or dissent.

And then he graduates to standing behind you on the couch, his hand on his hip and his gaze fixed firmly on the episode playing. He’s too stubborn to concede just yet that he’s invested, so you settle with this weird getup where Lando kind of just hovers until you call him out.

By the time the Fire Nation’s prince joins Team Avatar, Lando has given up on feigning disinterest.

“You’re telling me she ends up with baldie?” Lando grunts disapprovingly, his arms tightening around you.

He’s referring to Katara and Aang. You had tried to keep your teasing to the minimum, not wanting to have him revert back to his whole too-cool-for-cartoons shtick. Still, you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward as you lean into Lando’s side.

“She does,” you say absentmindedly. The Ember Island Players episode is playing, depicting some bastardized version of the main characters’ love lives. “There’s a sequel to this one where they talk about their married life a bit.”

“There’s a sequel?” Oh, you love it— Lando’s voice pitching slightly higher with enthusiasm, then his attempt to hide it by clearing his throat and repeating, voice suddenly deeper, “I mean, there’s more?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “We can binge The Legend of Korra after this one.”

Lando doesn’t say anything more. He locks right back into the Avatar episode, but you can feel that excitement thrumming through him like a current.

Alright, so— maybe Lando likes to watch some cartoons.

LANDO DOESN’T SET MORNING ALARMS.

Being jolted awake is the worst feeling in the world for him. His years of conditioning had made it easier for him to adapt his body clock to whatever he needed it to be, without the help of a phone blaring some grating tune.

He knows how to wake up at any given time. It’s one of the things you’ve teased him about, being the heavy sleeper that you are.

Nowadays, though, Lando sets two alarms.

You don’t know about them. How could you? He’s always up before you, hoping to get a run in before the sun has risen, or needing to jet off for work at absurd hours. You’re used to waking up to his empty side of the bed.

When he remembers, he leaves something. A crude doodle on a scrap of paper with a dozen x’s and o’s. A misshapen attempt at a towel animal, inspired by whichever country he had been in last.

For the most part, though, it’s the indent of his body in the mattress and the lingering scent of him in the sheets.

Here’s what you don’t know—

The first alarm is set 15 minutes before he actually has to get up. It’s set on a low vibrate, just enough to rouse Lando to consciousness.

Half-asleep, he’ll reach over to find your sleeping form. The two of you tended to toss and turn in your sleep, making it so that he’d sometimes wake up to you on the far end of the bed or facing away from him.

Whatever it is, Lando holds you. He spends the aftermath of that first alarm cuddling into you, whether it’s his chest to your back or his head buried in the top of your head. Nowadays, it’s become a habit; enough that he sometimes finds himself doing it to hotel room pillows whenever he’s off at races.

Sometimes, he spends the fifteen-minute gap waking up. Most times, he drifts back into sleep, but with the knowledge that his touch is a little more intentional now.

When his second alarm goes off, he’ll press a kiss to your forehead and peel away— facing the morning with the knowledge that he has you for one more day.

LANDO DOESN’T LOSE.

He has spent his entire life competing, so it’s practically instinct at this point. When a challenge is laid out before him, he has to win. No ifs, no buts, no second-place podiums. It’s the kind of thing that bleeds into every aspect of his life— from serious things like his career, to absolutely ridiculous things like who can brush teeth faster in the morning.

“No need to pout, baby. What are you so mad about?” Lando taunts as he leans back against the couch. The Mario Kart results screen is still flashing on the television, bright and damning.

His name in first place; yours, a distant fourth.

“I’m mad because you’re a cheat,” you accuse with a dejected sniffle, your grip tightening on the controller.

Lando gasps and presses a hand to his chest. “I would never.”

“You so did.” As he expected, you’re already slamming buttons to bring the two of you back to the selection screen. “One more round.”

He purses his lips, attempting to hide the shit-eating grin threatening to break on his face. “You sure you wanna lose again?” he asks innocently.

You don’t dignify him with an answer, already selecting your character with newfound determination. Lando, for his part, grins like an absolute menace. He spins his joystick as if he’s warming up for battle, his attention divided between you and the game.

Lando doesn’t lose. But sometimes, he lets you win.

Not in a way that makes it obvious, because his ego is much too big for that. He plays it smart. He’ll take the lead for most of the race, just enough to keep you engaged, to keep your frustration bubbling. Then, right at the last second, he’ll “accidentally” mistime a drift. Maybe he’ll take a turn just a little too wide, letting you zoom past him in a blur of victory.

He does it because he likes the look on your face when you win— the way your eyes light up, the way you throw your hands in the air like you’ve just conquered the world. It’s the same way you look at him after a good race weekend when he’s standing on the podium, champagne dripping from his curls.

It’s a look he wants to keep earning, over and over again.

So when you finally cross the finish line ahead of him, when the words 1st Place appear over your character, Lando groans in exaggerated frustration, dragging a hand down his face.

“Nooo,” he whines. “I had that in the bag.”

He’s not about to earn any Oscars for his performance. He knows that much. You’re gracefully oblivious, though, and you’re grinning like this is some grand prix instead of a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“In your face, loser!” you cry, launching yourself at him in celebration.

Lando lets out an oof as you land half on his lap, half on the couch. Your arms fling around his neck. He laughs, warm and fond, and presses a quick kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t get too cocky,” he warns. “Best two out of three, twerp.”

He’ll actually try this time, he swears. But he’ll keep throwing every other match if it means seeing you smile like the game isn’t the only thing you’ve won.

LANDO DIDN’T REALLY CARE ABOUT THE MUSIC HE LISTENED TO.

His brief stint picking up DJ-ing as a hobby had proved that he cared mostly for house music, the kind of pulsing beats that made for a good night out. Other genres, though? He never really gave them much thought. He was content shuffling through whatever was trending, never attaching any particular emotion to the songs he played.

That is, until you gifted him a Spotify playlist for when he was away.

It had been a simple thing. Just a shared link and a text message that read: For long flights and hotel rooms. So you don’t forget home.

He hadn’t expected much. But then he found himself listening to it across a dozen different countries.

Your playlist became his soundtrack while stretching at the gym in Bahrain, watching the rain streak down his hotel window in Japan, lying awake with jet lag in Miami. The songs you chose weren’t just good; they were you. A mix of things he recognized from car rides with you, songs you’d hum absentmindedly while doing the dishes, melodies that reminded him of mornings tangled in bed.

And so Lando gets an idea.

He’ll make you a playlist, too.

He thinks he’s absolutely rubbish at it, thoughts. He agonizes over every song choice, wondering if it fits, if you’ll like it, if it says enough without saying too much. His Notes app is filled with half-written ideas— Do I put that one song from our first road trip? Too cheesy? What about the song that’d played at the café of our first date? Which one was that, even?

He changes the order a dozen times before finally forcing himself to stop, heart hammering as he prepares to give it to you.

It’s stupid. He’s being stupid. This isn’t some wedding proposal or anything; it’s literally just a collection of songs. He half-expects you to laugh when he presents it to you, shoving his phone into your hands with a muttered, "Made you something. It’s probably shit."

But you don’t laugh.

You scroll through the playlist slowly, taking in each title. Then, to Lando’s surprise, your eyes well up, and you blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Hey— hey, what’s wrong?” he panics, immediately regretting everything. “Is it that bad?”

Damn it, he’s thinking. Probably should’ve booted that one Post Malone song.

You shake your head, pressing your lips together to keep them from wobbling. “No, it’s just…” You sniffle, smiling up at him with something so unbearably soft that it makes his chest ache. “You made me a playlist.”

Lando exhales. “Well, yeah. You made me one first.”

“You made me a playlist.” You repeat the words like they mean something more, something bigger. And maybe they do.

He shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dunno. Guess I kinda like music now,” he says, suddenly a bit shy.

You’re on him in the next minute, the force of your kiss sending him reeling. He laughs against your mouth even as you mumble something like shutupshutupshutup. He holds your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away your happy tears, and he resolves to make you a dozen more of these little collections.

Somewhere, his phone screen is still lit, the title of the playlist staring up at the ceiling.

For when I’m home.

LANDO NEVER SAW THE APPEAL IN JOURNALS.

Pen and paper never really meant much to him. He wasn’t the type to jot things down, wasn’t one for sentimental scribbles. Nobody else probably expected it of him, either.

Which is why the media nearly combusts when, during a post-race broadcast, the camera catches Lando hunched over a spiral wirebound in the garage. He’s seen scribbling something with uncharacteristic focus, and then he’s tucking the notebook away like it’d never happened.

People on Twitter are quick to speculate. One viral tweet claims it’s Lando’s Death Note, where he’s listing the names of all the drivers he decimated at the day’s qualifying session.

By the time media obligations roll around, it becomes part of Sky Sports’ list of queries. Once the usual stuff is all ran through, the interviewer pounces on the opportunity for a more lighthearted, humanizing angle. “So, Lando, what’s in the notebook?” the reporter asks, shoving her microphone a little closer to the driver.

The Brit stiffens.

All around the world, people see the open surprise on Lando’s expression. The oh, shit moment where he seems to realize his ‘private’ moment had been put on full blast.

He recovers quickly. Tries to evade by dodging the question with a joke. It’s obvious that the media isn’t going to give in, though, so by the time it’s a beIN SPORTS journalist posing the question, Lando can only sigh in defeat.

“It’s a gratitude journal,” he admits, half-grinning.

There’s a pause. A beat of disbelief before the interviewer laughs. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, inspired by my girlfriend waiting at home.” Lando winks straight at the camera and waves exaggeratedly. “Hi, baby!”

(You don’t find out until much later, when the clip has gone viral on TikTok. The comments are all to be expected— calling Lando a simp, claiming he’s down bad and absolutely gone. It’s equal parts amusing and mortifying.)

The interviewer chuckles. “Well, given today’s pole position, I’m guessing that’s your number one?”

Lando’s eyebrows raise. “No,” he says, his voice tinged with disbelief. As if it’s unimaginable. “I mean, pole’s great and all, but I always have the same thing at the top of my list.”

“Which is?”

“Her name.”

LANDO DOESN’T ‘GO SLOW’.

He’s not built for it.

It’s just not in his nature. Not when he spent his entire life learning how to push the limit, trim down lap times, find milliseconds where nobody else could. He thrives in speed, in the way his pulse thrums when he’s threading a car through corners, the rush of adrenaline when he crosses a finish line. He isn’t known for patience, either, or waiting, or any of those things that require taking his foot off the gas.

And yet.

“Lando,” you say amusedly, glancing at the speedometer. “Are you seriously driving below the speed limit?”

Lando doesn’t look at you. He just shrugs, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Just being safe, baby.”

Your lips twitch, suspicious. You’re onto him, because of course you are. It’s embarrassing how obvious he’s become. In his defense, he never used to do this. Never used to ease into turns, never used to take the long route home, never used to pray for red lights and stop signs if it meant keeping you in his passenger seat a little longer.

But nowadays, he does.

“Baby,” you sing-song. “You do realize I live with you, right? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“Mm,” he hums, noncommittal.

You shake your head, but the look on your face is fond. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

Lando risks a glance at you then. His heart stumbles at the sight.

You’re curled up in the passenger seat, eyes shining, hair mussed from where he’d flicked at it earlier. You look so impossibly soft in the glow of the streetlights, and he’s struck with the kind of certainty that rattles him down to the bone— that this, right here, is his favorite kind of drive.

His hand tightens over your thigh. “Guess you’re right,” he says with a laugh. “I am pretty ridiculous.”

Lando still lingers at the next red light. ⛐

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one fluff #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 fluff #⛐ kae prix #⛐ ln4 #kind of gae of me n tara. wtvr. this is our LIFE now baby #ln i want u so bad..

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goldfades · 3 months ago

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once i fix me, he's gonna miss me | joe burrow⁹ (part two)

part one!!! | here are the people who commented for a part two on part one @rd14

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.9k (oops... sorry)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had spent months apart, each of you learning to live without the other.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and lots of angst!!! joe finding a new gf, hoe joe 🤗🤗🤗 BUT A HAPPY ENDINGGGG!!! YIPEEEE!!!

Seven months.

It didn’t sound like a long time, not really. Less than a year. Barely two seasons. Just over half of what used to be a full calendar with him—training camps, game days, off-seasons that blurred together with vacations and quiet mornings in bed.

But in reality, it had been everything.

Seven months since you had packed up the life you built and left Cincinnati behind. Seven months of unlearning the habits of loving Joe Burrow, of waking up without him, of forcing yourself to stop expecting a text that never came. Seven months of figuring out who you were outside of being his.

And now, just when you had finally settled into this new version of yourself, life was pulling you back.

Back to Cincinnati. Back to the city that still had pieces of you scattered all over it. Back to him.

It wasn’t about Joe.

You had spent months proving that to yourself, and you weren’t about to start unraveling now. This was about you.

About the job offer that had landed in your inbox three weeks ago, the kind of offer people in sports media fought years for—an on-air analyst role with The Ringer, covering the NFL, sitting at the same table as some of the most respected voices in the industry.

It was the dream. Your dream.

And you weren’t about to say no just because it happened to be in the same city where the ghost of your old life still lingered.

So, for the first time in months, you packed your bags for yourself. Not for a man. Not for a relationship.

For you.

But still, as you stared at your suitcases lined up by the door, heart pounding just a little harder than you wanted to admit, one thought lingered in the back of your mind:

What happens when he sees you again?

Joe spent the summer in places that never felt like home.

Hotel rooms, penthouses, beach houses that weren’t his—always someone else’s space, someone else’s idea of a good time. The kind of places that smelled like overpriced perfume, spilled liquor, and bad decisions.

And for a while, that was the point.

His teammates told him this was what life was supposed to be like.

“You’re 27, bro. You should be living.” “You’re Joe fucking Burrow. Act like it.” “Man, you wasted all your good years locked down.”

That last one made his stomach twist. Because it didn’t feel wasted.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he let them drag him to Miami, to Vegas, to private clubs where the rules didn’t apply to men like them. He let women press into him, let them murmur in his ear, let them take his hand and lead him places he wasn’t sure he wanted to go.

Because that was the goal, wasn’t it?

To fill the silence. To drown out the memories. To stop thinking about you.

So, he drank.

Not recklessly—never sloppily—but just enough to take the edge off. Enough to let the vodka burn its way through his chest and dull the parts of him that still felt too raw.

He spent the nights doing what everyone told him he should—wrapped up in women he barely knew, letting them touch him, letting them call him baby in a voice that never sounded quite right.

Sometimes, in the blur of it all, he almost let himself believe he was having fun.

But then morning would come. And he’d wake up in a bed that wasn’t his own, sheets tangled, a warm body beside him that felt wrong.

She would still be asleep, breathing slow and even, and Joe would stare at the ceiling, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t name pressing down on his ribs. It was always the same.

He’d lie there, his head still heavy from the night before, and tell himself this was good for him.

This was healthy. He was moving on. He was living. He was making up for lost time.

But then she would shift beside him, mumble something sleepily, and for a split second, he would forget where he was. For a split second, his body would expect you.

His arm would twitch, muscle memory almost pulling him toward you—except it wasn’t you.

It never was. And in that moment, when the reality of it came crashing down, Joe had never felt more hollow.

So he would slip out of bed. Pull on his clothes. Leave before she woke up, before she could reach for him, before she could make him feel even emptier than he already did.

Then, like clockwork, his phone would light up with a text from one of the guys.

Round two tonight? Another night, another city, let’s run it. Burrow, we’re not letting you sit this one out.

And every time, he would hesitate. Every time, he would think about saying no. But then he’d think about what saying no meant.

Silence. Loneliness.

A bed that really felt empty. And worst of all—thoughts of you.

So instead, he would type out the same thing he always did. I’m in.

And just like that, another night would begin. Another night of pretending. Another night of trying to convince himself that this was good for him.

That this was better than thinking about the one person who used to make him feel whole.

And the beginning of the season was always theirs.

It had been for years.

It was the one time of year where the entire world faded into the background—where it was just the two of them, preparing for battle in the way only they knew how. Training camp, preseason, the long, grueling days where his body ached and his mind buzzed with too much information—none of it ever felt as heavy when you were there.

Because you had made it easier. You always knew what he needed before he even had to ask.

You knew how to blend his smoothies just right—protein-packed but never too thick, not too sweet, not too chalky, just enough banana to hide the bitterness of the greens he hated but needed. You knew how many calories he needed to maintain weight, which meals gave him the best energy, when he needed something light and when he needed something hearty. You knew when he was too sore to get off the couch, and you’d already have an ice pack in one hand and a heating pad in the other.

You knew him. And now, you were gone.

Preseason was hell. Not just because of the training, not just because every muscle in his body burned by the time he got home, not just because he was still trying to prove he was fully back from the injury—but because this was the first time he was doing it without you.

For the past seven years, the start of the season had always meant you.

It meant waking up to you shaking him gently, telling him his morning shake was ready, pressing a soft kiss to his temple before he even opened his eyes. It meant coming home to meals that were already planned, already balanced, already exactly what his body needed to recover. It meant you running through the nutrition plan with him, tweaking it when necessary, doing the math so he didn’t have to think about it.

It meant structure. It meant routine. It meant you making sure he was okay, even when he was too stubborn to admit when he wasn’t.

Now, none of it was there. And he felt it more than ever.

The moment he walked into his house after practice, exhaustion hit him like a brick wall. His body was done—his legs sore, his back aching, his head pounding. All he wanted was to throw his bag down, take a shower, eat, and crash.

But instead, he just stood there. Because for the first time, he realized how much there was to do.

You weren’t there to remind him to drink his recovery shake. You weren’t there to make sure the fridge was stocked with what he needed. You weren’t there to have a meal ready so he didn’t have to think about it.

And fuck, he had never thought about it. Not once. Because you had always done it.

Joe sighed, rolling his shoulders, heading into the kitchen. The fridge door swung open with an empty, lifeless hum, and his stomach sank at the sight.

Nothing was prepped.

There were random ingredients, sure. Leftover takeout. Some eggs, maybe. A couple of protein bars shoved in the back. But nothing was ready. Nothing was measured, planned, easy.

And that’s when it really hit him.

You weren’t just gone. You had been holding his life together.

He shut the fridge, pressing his hands against the counter, breathing heavily through his nose. His head felt too full and too empty at the same time.

For years, he had been able to come home, sit down, and just be.

Now? Now he had to do everything himself.

Now, he had to think about what to eat, had to plan it, had to cook it. He had to wash the dishes after instead of finding them already cleaned. He had to remind himself to stretch properly, to ice his ankle, to foam roll before bed.

And it wasn’t that he couldn’t do it.

It was just that he had never had to before.

Because you had done it all. Because you had loved him enough to do it all. And he—

Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head like that could make the thoughts disappear. Like it could make the guilt settle.

But it didn’t. It never did.

So he grabbed a protein bar, ate it standing up, and stared at the empty kitchen like it was mocking him. Like it was reminding him of everything he lost.

The morning you left Columbus, the sky was overcast, the air thick with the kind of lingering summer heat that stuck to your skin. It felt heavy, suffocating, like the world itself knew this wasn’t an easy goodbye.

Your best friend stood by the trunk of your car, arms crossed, shifting her weight like she was trying not to say something sentimental that would make you both cry.

"You sure about this?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

No. Not even a little.

But you nodded anyway, forcing a smile. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. You were sure—about the job, about the opportunity, about the fact that moving back to Cincinnati was the next step for you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t terrified.

Because Cincinnati wasn’t just another city. It wasn’t just a place on the map.

It was his city.

It was where you had built a life with Joe, where every street held memories, where every turn would remind you of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

You took a deep breath, reaching down to scratch behind Larry’s ears as she sat in her carrier, blinking up at you with wide, judgmental eyes. “Guess it’s just us now, huh?”

Your best friend let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, well, if she could talk, she’d probably tell you this is a terrible idea.”

“She doesn’t need to talk. She’s been staring at me like I ruined her life since I put her in there.”

“Because you did ruin her life. She was thriving here.”

You sighed dramatically, crouching to peer into the crate. “I get it, Larry. You’re a city girl now. But you’ll be fine.”

She flicked her tail. You took that as reluctant acceptance.

Your best friend leaned in, her voice dropping. “For real, though. If it gets to be too much—if you get there and you feel like you can’t do it, like it’s swallowing you whole—you call me.”

You looked at her, something tight forming in your throat.

You had spent the last seven months healing in this apartment, in this city, with her. She had seen the worst of you—the nights you couldn’t sleep, the mornings you barely got out of bed, the moments when you swore you would never go back to Cincinnati, to that life, to the person you used to be.

But here you were.

And you weren’t sure if you were proving yourself right or setting yourself up to fail.

“Promise me,” she pressed.

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I promise.”

She exhaled, reaching forward to wrap you in a tight hug. “Go be great.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, held on a little longer than necessary, and then let go.

It was time.

The first hour of the drive was quiet.

Larry had settled into the passenger seat, eyes half-lidded in irritation but otherwise calm, curled up on the blanket you had thrown there. The GPS said you had just over an hour to go, and the closer you got, the more your heart pounded.

It was happening.

You were actually doing this.

You were going back.

You were going back to Cincinnati, to a city that used to feel like home, but no longer did.

Going back to the restaurants you used to love, the streets you used to walk, the stadium that still felt like an extension of Joe himself.

Going back to a version of yourself you had spent seven months trying to bury.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter.

This was a mistake.

Maybe you should turn around. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe you had done all this work just to unravel the second you saw him again—because you would see him again. That was inevitable.

You sucked in a breath, reaching for your phone, scrolling through your playlists with one hand until your thumb hovered over a title that made you pause.

"I Can Do It With a Broken Heart."

You hesitated.

Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit play.

The first beat kicked in, and the song filled the car, the steady rhythm drowning out the anxious thoughts spiraling in your head.

“I’m so depressed, I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

You huffed out something that was half a laugh, half a scoff.

Yeah. That sounded about right.

You turned up the volume, tapping your fingers against the wheel as the song pulsed through the speakers.

You weren’t going to let this break you.

You weren’t going to let the fear win.

This was your life.

Not Joe’s.

Not the life you built for him.

Not the future you thought you had.

This was your fresh start.

So you sang along, let the music wash over you, let the lyrics be a reminder that you had already survived the worst part.

Now, you just had to keep going.

The first week passed in a haze.

It was the kind of week where you moved on autopilot, where you unpacked boxes without really thinking about it, where you got up early, dressed professionally, walked into work like you belonged there—even when people looked at you like you were some kind of open secret.

You knew what they were thinking.

Knew what they whispered when they thought you couldn’t hear.

That’s Joe Burrow’s ex. Didn’t she used to be at every Bengals event? Wonder if she got the job because of him…

You ignored it.

You ignored the careful glances, the way some of your co-workers hesitated before talking to you, like they weren’t sure whether to bring him up or pretend they didn’t know anything.

You weren’t Joe Burrow’s ex.

You were you.

And you belonged here.

You knew that.

So you held your head high, settled into the studio, studied film, took notes, prepared for your first on-air segment like your life depended on it. You threw yourself into your work, into the statistics, into the plays, into the debates about teams and formations and Super Bowl contenders.

And it helped.

For a little while.

But then you went home.

And that was when the silence hit you like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t Columbus, where your best friend was always there to fill the quiet. Where you could crash on the couch and vent about your day. Where you could talk about Joe without every conversation feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

This was alone.

For the first time since the breakup, you were truly alone.

And God, it was loud.

The absence of Joe wasn’t just in the city itself—it was in the routine, in the things you used to do without even realizing they were because of him.

Like how you still woke up too early, your body trained to match his schedule, expecting to hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, making coffee before heading to the facility.

Except now, the kitchen was silent.

Like how you caught yourself walking toward the fridge with the muscle memory of preparing his post-practice meal—only to stop halfway when you remembered he wasn’t coming home.

Like how you reached for your phone when the Bengals played their first preseason game, fingers hovering over Joe’s contact, because for years, your first instinct was to text him after every game.

But there was nothing to say.

And maybe the worst part?

You weren’t just missing Joe.

You were missing the you that existed when you were with him.

The version of yourself that felt certain—who knew her place in the world, who belonged somewhere, who mattered to someone.

You had spent months finding yourself again, carving out your own identity, telling yourself that you didn’t need him to be whole.

But now, back in Cincinnati, back in the place where he existed so loudly—

You weren’t sure if you believed it anymore.

So you curled up on the couch, pulling Larry onto your lap, listening to the faint echoes of the city outside your window, and let the loneliness settle in.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t loud.

It was just… empty.

And that, somehow, was worse.

The first game of the season was electric.

The stadium roared with life, packed with thousands of fans wearing his jersey, screaming his name, riding the high of the first Sunday of football like it was a holiday. The air was thick with anticipation, the adrenaline thrumming in his veins like a drug, the kind of high that made everything else fade into the background.

It was the kind of game where Joe felt alive.

Where every snap, every pass, every perfectly executed play made him feel like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. Where he could silence the doubts, the guilt, the quiet gnawing ache that had followed him around since the summer.

By the time the final whistle blew, and the Bengals secured their first win of the season, he was buzzing.

His teammates clapped him on the back, Ja’Marr pulling him in with a grin, shouting something in his ear that was lost in the deafening noise of the stadium.

Joe was smiling. Laughing. Letting the moment consume him, letting it drown out everything else.

And then, out of instinct—out of years of routine—he turned to the stands.

He looked for you.

Because that’s what he always did.

After every win, his eyes found you first. No matter how crazy the stadium was, no matter how many cameras were flashing, no matter how loud the world got—he always, always found you.

You, standing there in the family section, wearing his jersey, waiting for him with that soft, knowing smile. You, with your hands cupped around your mouth, cheering louder than anyone else. You, who had been there since before all of this, since before the world knew his name, since before he was anything more than a college quarterback with big dreams.

You, who always made the wins feel real.

But tonight?

You weren’t there.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs.

The stands blurred, the celebration around him suddenly too loud, too suffocating.

Because of course you weren’t there.

You hadn’t been there for months.

And still, somehow, some way, he had forgotten.

For the first time in seven months, he had let himself exist in a space where you were still his. Where you were still waiting for him, still there at the end of it all, still his person.

But you weren’t.

You were gone.

And in your place, in the section where you used to stand, where you used to belong—

Was Katie.

His girlfriend.

She was standing there, blonde hair perfect, wearing a Bengals hoodie that was probably brand new, clapping politely as she smiled down at him.

Nice. Sweet. Pretty.

Not you.

His stomach twisted.

Because Katie wasn’t bad. She wasn’t anything, really. Just another part of the life he had built in your absence. Something easy, something light, something that should have made him feel better but didn’t.

Because she didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not like you did.

She didn’t know what to say to him after a loss. Didn’t know how he liked his breakfast in the mornings. Didn’t know the exact way he liked his shoulder massaged when the soreness became unbearable.

Didn’t know him like you did.

And for the first time since convincing himself this was what moving on looked like, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

A very, very big mistake.

His hands clenched into fists.

The celebration around him felt like static, like background noise in a life he wasn’t sure belonged to him anymore.

Because winning used to mean everything.

But tonight, standing in the middle of the field, looking up at the stands and seeing her instead of you—

He had never felt more hollow.

For the first couple of months back in Cincinnati, you told yourself you were thriving.

You said it like a mantra, like if you repeated it enough times, it would become real. You made new friends—real friends, not people who only saw you as Joe Burrow’s ex, not WAGs who looked at you with thinly veiled pity, not reporters who were too polite to ask what really happened.

They were normal. Kind. Fun. The kind of girls who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, who invited you to wine nights and didn’t bring up Joe once. With them, you could pretend that Cincinnati wasn’t laced with ghosts of your old life. You could breathe.

You picked up new hobbies.

You took a pilates class, went to farmer’s markets on Sundays, tried baking even though you burned half the things you made. You started running again—not because Joe had told you once that he liked how focused you looked when you ran, but because you liked the way it made you feel.

You tried to redefine football as yours.

Not Joe’s.

Yours.

You threw yourself into your job, memorized rosters, studied plays, made sure you knew everything about the game so that when you sat in that studio, behind that microphone, no one could say you got this job because of him.

And for a while, it worked.

For a while, you really did feel like you were thriving.

But then, one afternoon, it all came crashing down.

—

It was a normal day at work. Normal segment. Normal conversation.

Until it wasn’t.

You were on air, talking through some Week 4 analysis, debating quarterback performances with your co-host, when he said it.

Casual. Offhand. Like it wasn’t about to shatter you completely.

"Well, I guess we can trust your take on Joe Burrow—you did have a front-row seat for a long time."

The words landed like a gut punch.

Your stomach clenched, a prickle of heat rising at the back of your neck.

You forced a laugh. A quick, easy, I'm completely unbothered laugh.

"Guess so," you said, brushing it off, moving on like it was nothing.

But inside, you were shaking.

Your hands under the desk. Your breath. Your entire body.

You spent the rest of the segment in autopilot, nodding at the right moments, forcing yourself to focus on the words, on the script, on anything but the feeling of your past creeping into a space that was supposed to be yours.

And the second the cameras cut, you were gone.

You barely made it to your car before it hit you.

The unraveling.

You collapsed into the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tight they ached, and then—

You broke.

It wasn’t quiet.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was months of holding it together, of telling yourself you were fine, of pretending you had rebuilt yourself from the ground up—only to realize you had been balancing on a fault line the entire time.

The sobs came fast, chest-heaving, breathless.

You had spent so long trying to reclaim Cincinnati, trying to convince yourself that you weren’t just a remnant of Joe Burrow’s life—that you could exist here, in this city, in this job, as your own person.

But the truth was, he was everywhere.

And right now, in this moment, you weren’t sure if you were anything without him.

Because Joe was the only person who had ever truly known you.

He knew the way your nose scrunched when you concentrated, the way you got irrationally angry when you lost at board games, the way you never finished a drink, always leaving the last sip untouched.

He knew your moods before you did.

He knew how you got quiet when you were sad, how you hated crying in front of people, how you avoided confrontation until you couldn’t anymore—until it bubbled over in sharp words and slammed doors.

He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself.

Like how you sometimes clenched your jaw in your sleep when you were anxious. Like how you had a habit of counting your steps when you walked, not even realizing it.

Like how, right now, you would be breaking down in your car, gripping the steering wheel, feeling completely and utterly lost—and the only person who could make it better was him.

But he wasn’t here.

And that was the worst part of all.

December used to be your favorite month.

The lights, the music, the warmth of it all. The way the whole world seemed to slow down, wrapped in twinkling lights and the soft hum of Christmas songs playing in the background.

But mostly, December meant him. It meant Joe.

His birthday, tucked right in the start of the holiday season, had always been something sacred to you. It was your thing—the one time of year where you could spoil him without him complaining, where you could go all out, where you could make sure he felt as loved as he made you feel every other day of the year.

You had never held back.

You would spend months planning—picking out the perfect gifts, arranging surprise dinners, making sure every little detail was right. One year, you got him that limited-edition Rolex he had been eyeing but never pulled the trigger on. Another year, you rented out a private cabin in the mountains for just the two of you, knowing he needed to escape the chaos of football for a few days.

Last year—God, last year—you had thrown him a surprise party with all of his friends and family. He had kissed you at the end of the night, hands cupping your face, murmuring against your lips, How do you always know exactly what I want?

Because you knew him. Because you had loved him.

And now, here you were.

A year later. A year without him.

And December didn’t feel magical anymore.

You tried. You really tried.

You put up the tree in your apartment, even though it was smaller than the one you used to decorate with him. You bought yourself Christmas candles, filled your space with the smell of cinnamon and pine, played holiday music when you cooked.

But it all felt wrong.

Because December had always been his month, too. It wasn’t just the holiday season—it was the anniversary of the last time you had ever been his.

The breakup had happened right after his birthday.

It had been cold, the city wrapped in the kind of sharp, biting winter that made everything feel harsher. And in a way, it had been fitting—because that night, when Joe had walked out, when the door had shut behind him, the warmth had left your life, too.

And now, a full year later, it was still gone.

His birthday came and went. You didn’t text him. Didn’t even let yourself think about what he might be doing, whether he was happy, whether he even thought about you at all.

But your body knew.

You woke up that morning feeling it like a weight in your chest, like something pressing down on your ribs. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t open Instagram, didn’t give yourself the chance to see what the world was saying about him.

Because it wasn’t your place anymore. Because you weren’t the person celebrating with him.

Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times you told yourself that you were okay, December would always be the cruelest reminder that you weren’t.

That you had once been his world. And now, you were nothing.

You spent Christmas with your best friend, and it should have been nice. It was nice. Warm. Cozy. The kind of Christmas you had always loved.

But it wasn’t his family.

It wasn’t his mom, who had always pulled you into a hug the second you walked through the door. It wasn’t his dad, who would slip you a knowing smile when Joe snuck a hand around your waist at dinner. It wasn’t his brothers, teasing you like you were already part of the family.

And it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t Joe, pulling you against him on the couch, wrapping you in one of his hoodies, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. It wasn’t his voice murmuring, Merry Christmas, baby, in the quiet, sleepy warmth of the morning.

It wasn’t your life. Not anymore.

So, you smiled. You opened presents. You drank hot chocolate and laughed at dumb Christmas movies and let yourself pretend that this was enough.

But when you got home that night, alone in your apartment, staring at your Christmas tree that suddenly felt too big, you let the truth sink in.

December without him was unbearable. And you weren’t sure if it would ever get easier.

You had almost convinced yourself that you were fine.

Almost.

The past year had been a cycle—of loss, of healing, of learning how to be you again. But tonight? Tonight, you felt like you had finally gotten there.

You had put effort into your outfit, just because you wanted to. You weren’t dressing for anyone but yourself, weren’t trying to impress Joe or prove something to anyone. You had slipped into a sleek, fitted black dress, let your new friends style your hair in soft waves, even wore that deep red lipstick that had always made you feel untouchable.

And when you stepped out of your car in front of the restaurant, that new Chanel bag resting effortlessly on your shoulder, you felt good.

Not just okay. Good. Like yourself.

Or at least, the version of you that wasn’t still haunted by him.

Joe had seen you first.

And it hit him like a fucking freight train.

It wasn’t just the shock of seeing you—it was how he saw you. It was the way you walked into the restaurant, laughing at something one of your coworkers had said, your smile easy, effortless, real. It was the way you carried yourself, exuding that same quiet confidence that had once made him fall for you in the first place.

And God, you looked good. Not just good. Stunning.

Like you had stepped right out of a dream, wearing that black dress like it had been made for you, your hair falling in perfect waves, that red lipstick making his mouth go dry.

For a second, Joe forgot how to breathe. Because this was the first time he had seen you in a year. And somehow, you looked okay.

Without him.

The nausea hit immediately.

Because the last time he had seen you—really seen you—you had been crying. You had been begging him to fight for you, to stay, to want you enough to make it work. And now, a year later, you weren’t the woman who had walked away from him, heartbroken and lost.

You were this. Whole. Beautiful. Radiant.

Like he had never even existed in your world.

You didn’t see Joe right away.

Your coworkers were leading the way to your table, your heels clicking against the polished floors, your heart light in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. You were okay. You were doing this. You were thriving.

Until your stomach dropped. Because suddenly, you felt it.

That indescribable feeling—the one that came when someone was watching you. And when you turned your head, your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was there.

Joe.

Sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, not alone. You blinked. Your heart lurched. Your ears started ringing. He had a girlfriend.

You didn’t even know he had moved on.

And yet, here he was, sitting across from some blonde—long hair, perfect makeup, the kind of effortless beauty that made your stomach twist in a way you hated.

Because Joe wasn’t supposed to move on.

Not when you were still here. Not when you had spent the past year rebuilding yourself just to survive the loss of him. And now, in a single second, everything inside you cracked.

You felt sick.

Not because you wanted him back. But because, for the first time, you were faced with the reality that he had built a life that no longer included you.

That the man you had once known better than anyone—the man you had loved with everything you had—was now sitting across from another woman.

That you weren’t his anymore.

Joe watched the realization hit you.

Watched the way your face fell, your eyes widening slightly, your body stiffening like you had just been punched in the stomach. And suddenly, he hated himself.

Because you looked like you—strong, composed, pulled together—but in that brief second, he saw it. That crack in the armor. That hurt.

And fuck, fuck, he wanted to fix it.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t moved on.

Not really. Not in the way that mattered.

Yeah, Katie was nice. Yeah, she looked good on his arm. But she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he needed after a bad game, didn’t know the songs that made him think of home, didn’t know that he couldn’t sleep with the TV on because the noise made his brain race.

She wasn’t you.

And as much as he had tried to convince himself that this was right—that you were the past, that this was his future—he couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Because seeing you here, standing across the room, looking like this, feeling like this, made him realize something.

He didn’t want this life without you. And for the first time in a year, Joe felt something worse than heartbreak.

He felt regret. And Joe could feel Katie watching him.

She had been talking—something about how the steak wasn’t as good as the place she went to in LA—but he hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were locked on you.

On the way your body tensed, on the flicker of hurt that flashed across your face before you smoothed it over like it was nothing. On the way your fingers twitched at your side like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Like you wanted to run. And fuck, he hated that.

Hated that he was the reason you looked like that. Hated that even after a year, he could still hurt you just by existing. Then he felt it.

Katie’s hand sliding up his arm, curling around his bicep, nails digging in slightly as she pressed herself closer. She knew.

Of course she knew.

He hadn’t talked about you much—at least, not in detail—but she wasn’t stupid. She knew you had been important. That you had been in his life for longer than most people had even known his name.

And now, here you were. The ghost she had probably been waiting to meet.

"Joe," she said, sweet but pointed, her voice breaking through his haze. "You okay?"

Her fingers squeezed his arm. He barely resisted the urge to shake her off. He was so close to losing it.

He could feel his patience hanging on by a thread, could feel the way his body was coiled tight, his chest aching with something he didn’t want to feel.

Because it was his late birthday dinner. His friends were here. He was supposed to be happy. But all he could think about was you. And how you were standing there, looking like that, looking like everything he had ever wanted and everything he had already lost.

He pulled his arm from Katie’s grip as casually as he could, pretending to adjust his watch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered.

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because every second that passed, the more wrong this felt. The more suffocating the entire situation became.

The dinner had already been irritating—his friends were drunk, the restaurant was too loud, and Katie had spent half the night making passive comments about how he never posted her, about how she just wanted to feel special.

And now, this? Now, you were here?

It was like some kind of cruel joke.

Joe felt like the room was closing in on him.

The sounds of the restaurant—the chatter, the clinking glasses, the faint hum of music in the background—blurred into nothing, white noise against the sharp, singular reality of you.

Standing there. Looking like that. And worse—looking like you didn’t need him anymore.

That realization settled deep, lodged somewhere between his ribs, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake.

His fingers twitched in his lap. His knee bounced once before he forced it to stop. He was trying, really fucking trying, to play it cool, to keep his face neutral, to ignore the way his body had tensed the second he saw you walk in.

Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

He wasn’t supposed to see you like this—unexpectedly, in a crowded restaurant, after a year of living separate lives. He had told himself that when it happened, it wouldn’t matter. That by the time he saw you again, he’d be fine. That whatever you two had been, whatever had been left unsaid, whatever this was, it wouldn’t affect him anymore.

But he had been wrong.

Because seeing you now—standing there in that black dress, your hair falling over your shoulders in that soft, effortless way he used to push his fingers through when you were tired, your lips painted that deep shade of red that had always driven him insane—he felt like his entire body was betraying him.

His stomach clenched. His throat went dry.

Because for a split second, before his brain caught up, before reality sunk its teeth into him, he had expected you to walk toward him.

Like you always had. Like you were supposed to. Like this was still your moment, your ritual, your life together.

And then, just as quickly, he saw it—the way your shoulders stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, the way your lips parted just barely before pressing into a tight line.

The way your hands shook.

No one else would have noticed. But he did.

Because he had spent years learning you, memorizing you, knowing every single tell, every little habit, every reaction before you even knew you were having one.

And that? That fucked him up the most. Because it meant this hurt you, too.

It meant you weren’t indifferent. It meant that even after a full year, he still affected you. And that should have made him feel better.

But it didn’t.

Because the way you had reacted wasn’t the way you used to. There was no fond exasperation, no teasing smirk, no warmth in your expression.

It was shock. Discomfort.

Like you didn’t want to be here. Like he was the thing making you feel sick.

And the worst part? He knew he had no right to be hurt by that. Because he had done this. He was the one who had walked away first. He was the one who had let you go.

And yet, even knowing that, even with the weight of that truth pressing down on him, he still felt something ugly coil in his chest at the thought of you not caring at all.

At the thought of you moving on without him, just as much as he had tried—and failed—to move on without you. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his pulse hammering in his ears, and then—Katie.

Katie, who was still gripping his arm, nails pressing into his sleeve like a silent claim, like she knew. Like she could feel the shift in his body, the way all of his attention, all of his focus, had zeroed in on you.

And then, as if to confirm it, she pulled herself closer, her chin tilting up, her lips curling into something sweet but firm.

"Joe," she murmured, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the restaurant, "you’re all tense. Relax, baby."

Joe clenched his jaw. Because now? Now, it wasn’t just about you being here. Now, it was about this.

About the fact that he had spent the last year convincing himself that this—Katie, this relationship, this new life—was what he needed. That this was how he moved forward. That this was the best thing for him.

But the second you walked into the room, it had all come crashing down.

And when Katie pressed even closer, her hand sliding down his arm, her fingers curling into his, something in him snapped. Not visibly. Not obviously.

But he felt it.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even the first time since the breakup, he wanted out.

Out of this night. Out of this restaurant. Out of this version of his life where you weren’t in it.

But his friends were here. His teammates. People were watching. So instead, he inhaled sharply through his nose, casually slipping his fingers from Katie’s grip under the guise of adjusting his watch.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice tight. "I’m fine."

But he wasn’t. Not even close.

Because when he glanced up again, when his eyes found you across the restaurant, he saw the moment you turned to your coworkers and muttered something under your breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Saw the way you inhaled deeply, steeling yourself, before turning on your heel and walking toward your table like he wasn’t even there.

Like he didn’t exist. And that?

That hurt worse than anything.

You had spent a year healing.

A year rebuilding yourself, re-learning how to exist outside of him, re-training your mind to stop associating every little thing with Joe Burrow. A year convincing yourself that you were okay, that you were better, that you had made it through the worst of it.

And then, in a single moment, it all shattered.

Because he was here. Not just here—here with her.

You felt it before you even saw him. That undeniable shift in the air, the creeping sensation of familiarity that made your breath catch in your throat. And then, when your eyes finally landed on him—on Joe—it felt like something inside you cracked open, raw and bleeding.

Because he wasn’t alone. He had a girlfriend. And it wasn’t just that. It was how he looked.

Relaxed. Unbothered. Like the past year hadn’t touched him the way it had ruined you. Like he had moved on so seamlessly, so effortlessly, while you had spent sleepless nights trying to pick up the pieces of yourself that he had left behind.

And maybe the worst part?

He looked happy.

Not the kind of happiness you had memorized—the quiet, real, content kind that came when he let himself breathe around you. Not the kind of happiness that was soft and easy, that came from forehead kisses in the morning and whispered inside jokes.

No, this was performative.

This was the kind of happiness you pretended to have when you were trying to convince everyone—including yourself—that you were fine.

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing that this wasn’t real, it still hit you like a knife between the ribs. Because while you had spent the last year trying to be better, trying to move forward, Joe had spent it trying to erase you.

Like you never existed. Like the seven years you had spent together were just some forgettable chapter in his life, one he could close and move on from without looking back.

And that? That was unbearable.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms damp as you curled your fingers into fists under the table. You felt like you were spiraling, like you were seconds away from breaking right here, in the middle of this crowded restaurant, in front of everyone.

No. No, no, no.

You refused. You had spent too long putting yourself back together just to fall apart now. So you inhaled sharply, forcing a small, tight smile as you pushed your chair back.

Your coworkers looked up, brows furrowed.

“You okay?” one of them asked.

You nodded, already reaching for your bag, voice light, too casual. “Yeah, I just—ugh, I think something I ate earlier isn’t sitting right. I’m gonna head out.”

They nodded, accepting the excuse easily, offering quick well wishes as you grabbed your things and turned for the door. And you didn’t look back.

Not once. Not even when you felt the weight of his gaze burning into your back. Not even when every single step felt like it was dragging you further away from the life you had once lived with him.

Not even when, for the first time in a long time, you realized that no matter how much you had tried to heal, there were some wounds that time just couldn’t fix.

Joe watched you leave, and something inside him snapped.

It happened fast. One second, you were there, and the next, you were gone, slipping through the restaurant like you couldn’t get out fast enough. And fuck—fuck, he hated that.

Hated that you looked right at him and then turned away. Hated that you had left, just like that, without even acknowledging him.

Like he was nothing. Like he had never existed in your life, either.

It made his hands twitch, made his jaw tighten, made his stomach coil with something sharp and awful and unbearable.

It made him move.

He barely heard Katie calling his name. Barely registered the way his friends were still laughing, still drinking, still living in a reality where everything was normal.

Because nothing was normal. Nothing had been normal since you had walked out of his life. And for the first time in a year, Joe didn’t fight it.

Didn’t push it down. Didn’t try to convince himself that he was fine. Instead, he stood up, threw some cash on the table, and went after you.

Joe pushed through the restaurant doors just in time to see your taillights disappear into the night.

Gone.

Just like that.

And it felt like he was right back there again—standing in the middle of your living room, hands shaking, heart in his throat, watching as you begged him to just say something. Just fight for you. Just be the man you needed him to be.

But he hadn’t. He had let you go. And now, a year later, he had done it all over again.

His chest ached, his ribs felt too tight, his pulse was hammering so loud in his ears that he barely heard Katie calling his name behind him.

But then she touched him—her fingers curling around his wrist, her voice dripping with confusion and irritation.

"Joe, what the hell was that?"

He ripped his arm away so fast that she stumbled back a step.

"Are you serious right now?" His voice was rough, raw, his body vibrating with something he couldn’t contain anymore.

Katie scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I am serious. You just humiliated me in there! You followed your ex-girlfriend out of a restaurant when I was right there—on your birthday dinner, Joe."

She said it like it mattered. Like any of this fucking mattered. Like this wasn’t the single worst night of his life. Like he cared.

Joe let out a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand down his face, feeling like he could burst out of his own skin.

"Jesus Christ, Katie," he muttered. "You knew. You always fucking knew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Knew what?"

"That this—us—was nothing." His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. His hands were shaking, his chest felt too fucking tight, and suddenly, everything came out. "You knew I was never over her. You knew you were never—never fucking her."

Katie flinched like he had slapped her. And maybe, in a way, he had.

Because he never said it. Never admitted it. Never acknowledged the fact that he had spent the past year trying to force himself to be okay, to be normal, to be the guy who could move on.

But it had always been bullshit. It had always been a lie. Because he had been living in a fucking delusion thinking that he could be with someone who wasn’t you.

And now? Now, he was standing outside a restaurant, watching the only woman he had ever truly loved drive away from him again, and he felt like he was being ripped in half.

Katie’s eyes were burning. She was angry, but worse—she looked humiliated.

"You are such a fucking asshole," she spat. "You let me think—" She cut herself off, shaking her head, biting the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. "You know what? Fuck you, Joe."

He barely reacted. Because nothing she said, nothing she could say, would make him feel worse than he already did.

He was a fucking mess.

A fucking idiot. A fucking coward.

"You need to go," he muttered, voice hoarse.

Katie huffed out a bitter laugh. "Gladly."

He pulled out his phone, tapped the Uber app with shaking fingers, ordered her a ride, and barely looked at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away.

She scoffed. "Seriously? You’re not even gonna drive me home?"

Joe clenched his jaw, staring down at the pavement. "I can’t."

And that was the truth. Because if he got in his car right now, he knew where he was going.

He didn’t remember the drive. Didn’t remember putting the car in gear, didn’t remember making the turns, didn’t remember how his foot even got on the gas.

One second, he was standing in the cold outside the restaurant, and the next—

He was here.

In front of your apartment complex.

The one he only knew about because of some casual conversation in the locker room, when one of his teammates had mentioned running into you near downtown.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t thought about coming here. But his hands were gripping the steering wheel, his breath was uneven, and he was here.

His knuckles were white. His mind was blank. His heart was breaking all over again.

And for the first time in his life, Joe Burrow didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Joe stood outside your door, heart hammering against his ribs, hands curled into fists at his sides, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt like he understood.

All of it.

The songs, the poems, the movies that had once felt dramatic, exaggerated, over the top. The grand gestures, the desperate pleas, the kind of heartbreak that knocked a man to his knees.

Because this—this—was the lowest he had ever been.

Worse than losing a game. Worse than getting injured. Worse than anything he had ever experienced. Because he had lost you. And he couldn't live like this anymore.

Couldn’t keep pretending that he was fine, that he had moved on, that he didn’t miss you every single second of every single day. Because the truth was, he did.

He missed everything.

Missed the way your voice sounded in the morning, still laced with sleep, soft and warm and home. Missed the smell of your shampoo when you curled against his chest. Missed your laugh, your stupid little quirks, the way you always knew exactly what he needed before he even said a word.

He missed loving you. And he missed being loved by you.

Because no one—not Katie, not any of the women who had tried to take your place, not a single person in the past year—had ever come close to what you were to him.

And maybe it had taken him too long to realize it. Maybe he had been too fucking stupid, too proud, too scared to fight for you when he should have.

But he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

So before he could talk himself out of it, before the fear could win, before he could convince himself that he had already ruined everything beyond repair—

He knocked.

The sound echoed in the quiet of the night, and for a second, all he could hear was the deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

Then—

The lock clicked, the door creaked open.

And there you were.

Standing in front of him, still in that black dress, your hair a little messier now, your eyes red-rimmed, like you had spent the last hour doing exactly what he had been doing—falling apart.

Joe felt something crack inside him.

Because you looked just as broken as he felt.

And before you could say anything, before you could slam the door in his face, before you could tell him to leave—

He broke.

“I—” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. It all came out—rushed, jumbled, messy, barely coherent, but real.

“I can’t—fuck, I don’t even know where to start. I—I don’t know how to make this right, I don’t even know if I can, but I have to try because I can’t—” His breath hitched, his hands shaking at his sides, tears burning his eyes as he forced the words out. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t keep waking up without you. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. When I haven’t been since the second you walked away.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like you weren’t sure if this was real.

But Joe couldn’t stop. Because if he did, if he gave himself a second to think, he might break down completely.

So he just kept going.

“I was a fucking idiot,” he choked out. “I—I should have fought for you. I should have been the man you needed. I should have—fuck—I should have never let you think for a second that you weren’t the most important thing in my life. Because you were. You still are.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he didn’t even try to stop it.

“I miss you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you so much that I don’t know how to—how to breathe without you. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

His throat was closing up, his chest heaving, his heart fucking shattering, and all he wanted—all he wanted—was to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to show you how sorry he was.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet. Because this was your decision now. So he just stood there, completely open, completely raw, completely yours, and waited.

Waited for you to slam the door in his face. Waited for you to tell him that he was too late. Waited for you to break his heart all over again.

But there it was again—that ache.

That deep, unbearable, all-consuming ache that only Joe Burrow had ever been able to pull from you. That had always been the problem, hadn’t it? That no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you had tried to move on, he was still Joe.

He was still your Joe.

And now, he was standing in front of you, breaking apart at the seams, giving you everything he should have given you a year ago. His eyes were glassy, his breath uneven, his entire body taut like he was waiting for you to destroy him.

And you could have.

You could have slammed the door in his face. You could have walked away, left him out in the cold, given him a taste of his own medicine.

But you didn’t.

Because the truth was, you had never stopped loving him.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before your mind could catch up with your heart, you stepped forward and pulled him in.

The second your arms wrapped around him, Joe broke.

A sharp breath shuddered out of him as he buried his face into your hair, his body sinking against yours like he had been waiting for this moment for so long—like he had been starving for this.

His arms circled you, strong and desperate, his hands gripping your waist like he was afraid to let go, like he needed to hold onto you to keep himself standing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his voice cracked and raw. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face into his chest, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie as your tears finally spilled over.

Because fuck.

This was the first time in a year that you had felt this. The warmth. The safety. The rightness of being in his arms.

You hated how good it still felt. How much you still wanted it.

Joe tightened his grip, his arms pressing you closer, his body trembling slightly as he mumbled more apologies, more I should have fought for you, I should have never let you go, I should have never—

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.

And for the first time in a year, you really looked at him.

His face was different. A little more tired, a little more worn, his jaw sharper, his cheekbones more defined, but his eyes—his eyes—were still the same. Still that impossible shade of blue, still holding that same intensity, that same Joe-ness that had always made you weak.

And suddenly, that was all you needed.

All the months of heartbreak, all the lonely nights, all the pain—it all blurred for just a moment. Because the only thing that mattered was him.

And then, you let him inside.

Joe looked around, taking in your apartment, the newness of it, the little things that weren’t his, that weren’t yours and his.

And then, finally, you both sat on the couch.

There was no space between you—his thigh pressed against yours, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You exhaled shakily, forcing yourself to sit up straighter, forcing yourself to speak.

Because if he was here, if he was really going to do this, he needed to hear everything. He needed to understand what he had done.

So you told him. You told him everything.

“You broke me, Joe.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “You really, really broke me.”

Joe inhaled sharply, like the words physically hurt him.

“I spent months—months—trying to figure out what I did wrong,” you continued, your throat tightening. “Trying to understand why I wasn’t enough for you. Why you couldn’t just try. Why you let me walk away when I was begging you to fight for me.”

Joe’s head dropped into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His breathing was uneven, like he was barely holding it together.

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheek. “I had to learn how to exist without you. And it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Joe let out a slow, ragged breath. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Your voice cracked, your hands gripping your knees. “Because while I was trying to survive losing you, you were out there—” You hesitated, shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. “You were living. You were drinking, partying, fucking around with people who weren’t me. You had a girlfriend.”

Joe flinched, his jaw tightening. “She was nothing.”

“That’s not the point, Joe.”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. “I know.”

You blinked, breathing through the sharp ache in your chest. “I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I haven’t thought about this moment a million times,” you admitted, voice softer now. “Because I have. But if you think I’m just gonna let you back in, like none of it ever happened, you’re wrong.”

Joe sat up, nodding, his hands clasped together tightly. “I don’t expect that,” he said, voice low but steady. “I don’t expect anything. But I—” He let out a heavy exhale, running a hand through his hair. “I need you to know that I never stopped loving you.”

Your heart clenched.

Joe turned to face you fully, his knee bumping yours, his expression desperate and real and so fucking raw.

“I never stopped, not for a second,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought I could live without you. I thought I could move on, that I could distract myself, that I could convince myself that I made the right choice. But I didn’t.” His hands curled into fists. “I ruined the best fucking thing that ever happened to me.”

Your chest felt like it was being squeezed, your body so tired of carrying all this pain.

Joe swallowed hard. “I will do anything to make this right. Anything.” His eyes were pleading now, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you. “But you have to tell me how.”

You hesitated, inhaling deeply, your fingers twisting in your lap. And then, finally, you said it.

“You have to try.”

Joe nodded instantly, like there was no hesitation, no doubt, no fear left in him. “I will.”

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m not just gonna let you back in.” You met his gaze, steady despite the storm inside you. “I need you to prove that you mean it. That this isn’t just guilt, or nostalgia, or regret.”

Joe didn’t blink. “I know.”

“I’m serious, Joe. I’m not gonna be your safety net. I’m not just something you can come back to because you’re lonely. I need you to prove that this time, you’re not gonna leave when things get hard.”

Joe shifted forward, his voice so sure, so certain.

“I won’t.”

And for the first time in a year, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

The next few weeks felt new.

Not in the way falling in love for the first time does—full of naive excitement, full of the rush of this is forever without ever questioning what forever actually means.

This was different.

This was love with edges, love with history, love that had been broken down to its very foundation and rebuilt with hands that knew how fragile it was.

You and Joe didn’t fall back into old habits, didn’t slip into the comfort of what once was. Because what you had before hadn’t worked, and maybe that was the point.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

You weren’t together every second of every day. You weren’t just Joe’s girlfriend anymore. And maybe that was exactly what you had needed all along.

Joe never stopped trying.

He took you on real dates again, ones that weren’t just convenient dinners after practice, but ones he planned—a private table at your favorite restaurant, a weekend getaway, tickets to that concert you had mentioned in passing months ago.

He brought you presents—not extravagant, expensive gifts, but things that showed he listened to you. The signed first edition of that book you’d been searching for, the rare vintage jersey you casually mentioned once, the perfume you used to wear back in college but stopped because you thought it was discontinued.

He gave you space when you needed it. And when you talked, he listened.

Really listened.

And that gave you hope. Because this? This was the old Joe.

The one who had loved you before the fame, before the pressure, before the weight of the world had sat heavy on his shoulders. The one who had once promised you the world and had meant every word.

And maybe—just maybe—this time, he would keep that promise.

And Joe had never been happier.

He hadn’t realized what he had until he lost it. Until he spent a year trying to pretend like life without you was still life at all. And now that he had you back, he would never, ever lose you again.

So he did what he should have done the first time.

He showed up for you. For everything.

For your job, which he saw now wasn’t just something you did, but something you loved, something you were good at. He watched every segment, sent you texts after each one, grinned when you debated your co-hosts on-air like you were born for this.

For your hobbies, the ones you had picked up when he wasn’t around—reading late at night, running at sunrise, perfecting your French braiding skills just because you could. He watched you bloom into a version of yourself he hadn’t seen in years.

And he realized—this was you.

The you that had existed before the NFL, before the noise, before the expectations. And fuck, he had missed you.

Not the girlfriend who had once made his life so seamless, so easy, so comfortable.

But you.

The woman who never let anyone take her for granted. The woman who had built a life outside of him. The woman who had once loved him enough to let him go when she realized he wasn’t ready to love her the way she deserved.

Joe had spent years thinking he wanted someone who fit perfectly into his life. But the truth was, he didn’t want a trophy wife.

And you had never wanted to be one.

He wanted this. You, with your own ambitions, your own life, your own dreams.

And now, he had you back. Not because you needed him.

But because you had chosen him.

And he would spend the rest of his life proving that he was worth that choice.

Three months had passed, and somehow, this felt normal again.

Not in the way it once had—not in the suffocating, all-consuming way where your life revolved around Joe and his schedule.

This was better.

This was right.

And tonight, for the first time in over a year, you were his date to an NFL event. The NFL Honors, to be exact. The kind of night that used to feel like pressure, like you had to be perfect, like you were a reflection of him rather than your own person.

But not this time.

This time, it was just a date. A night out. A moment to celebrate him and everything he had fought to reclaim this season.

You would have been excited, had it not been for the fact that you were currently doing your makeup in a moving vehicle.

“You’re gonna stab yourself in the eye with that thing,” Joe mused, eyes flicking to you in the passenger seat as you struggled to apply mascara.

“I wouldn’t have to if someone had given me more time to get ready,” you muttered, carefully swiping the wand through your lashes.

Joe scoffed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Are you kidding me? You literally had hours. I was ready thirty minutes before I even came to get you.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head back for another coat. “Yeah, well, some of us have more to do than just put on a suit and fix our precious curls.”

Joe smirked, barely holding back a laugh. “You love my curls.”

You ignored him, reaching for your lip liner, only to fumble and drop it between your seat and the center console.

“Fuck,” you hissed, shifting to try and reach it.

Joe took the opportunity immediately. “Damn, you that excited for tonight?”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the seat in defeat. “Joe, shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he mused, one hand on the wheel, the other casually adjusting his watch, looking way too pleased with himself. “All dressed up, sitting next to me, getting flustered… You sure it’s the event you’re excited for?”

You turned to glare at him, your face already burning, and the second he saw it—that blush—he grinned.

Like he had just won the fucking Super Bowl.

Like making you blush had been his goal all along.

And honestly? Knowing Joe, it probably had been.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Joe reached over and gave your thigh a small squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel, still grinning. “Yeah, but you love it.”

And the worst part?

You did.

You knew he was going to win before they even announced it.

There had been a lot of speculation, sure, but there was no doubt in your mind.

No one had fought harder than Joe. No one had come back from a worse season to prove himself the way he had.

So when they called his name—Joe Burrow, Comeback Player of the Year—you barely heard the crowd over the sound of your own excitement.

You were on your feet in an instant, clapping, beaming, so proud.

And when he turned toward you before heading to the stage, his hand brushing against yours in a silent moment of acknowledgment, your heart clenched in the best way.

This was his moment.

But you were his person.

—

Joe took the stage, adjusting the mic, the gold trophy shining under the lights.

“Uh—wow,” he started, shaking his head slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip, the way he always did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

The crowd laughed, and he let out a small exhale, gripping the trophy a little tighter.

“I’m not gonna stand up here and act like this season was easy,” he admitted, his voice steady but raw, real. “It wasn’t. At all. I went through a lot—personally, professionally, mentally. And honestly? There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be back up here again.”

Your chest ached a little at that.

Because you knew.

You knew how much it had taken for him to get here.

Joe’s lips twitched into a small smile. “But I had a lot of people in my corner. My teammates, my coaches, my family. And—” He paused, just for a second, and then his eyes found yours.

“And someone who reminded me what I was fighting for.”

Your breath hitched.

It wasn’t a grand declaration.

It wasn’t over the top.

It was just a moment—a split second where it was just you and him in a room full of people.

Joe cleared his throat, shifting his weight, nodding once. “This is for all the people who never stopped believing in me. And to anyone going through something they don’t think they’ll come back from—keep going. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side.”

The crowd erupted into applause.

Joe gave a small nod, turned, and walked off the stage.

And when he got back to your table, the first thing he did was lean down and press a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “Told you I’d make it worth your time.”

And yeah.

He really, really had.

The night felt easy.

The way it always had, before everything got complicated. Before the pressure, before the expectations, before you had to fight for something that should have been effortless.

Now, it was effortless.

Joe was next to you, sleeves pushed up, stirring a pot of pasta while he rambled about the upcoming Super Bowl, going on about the defensive schemes and how the media was making too big of a deal about certain matchups.

Larry sat perched on the counter, her tail flicking every now and then, eyes trained on Joe like she actually cared about football, which was something Joe found endlessly amusing. He had already started referring to her as his cat, despite the fact that she had only tolerated him in the beginning.

“She loves me more than you now,” he had said just last week, smirking as Larry curled up next to him on the couch.

And you had just rolled your eyes. "Not a chance."

Now, standing here, making dinner in your quiet apartment, it felt like you had never left each other’s orbit. Like no time had passed at all.

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about the past.

You were just here. With him.

You turned toward the fridge, reaching to grab the parmesan, when you felt it.

A tap on your shoulder. Instinctively, you turned back. And everything stopped.

Joe was on one knee.

Your breath caught, your heart leaping into your throat as you stared down at him, frozen.

His hands were slightly unsteady, his fingers wrapped around a small, velvet box. His face was flushed, his breathing uneven, his lips parted like even he couldn’t believe he was doing this right now.

But his eyes—his eyes—were sure. There was no doubt. No hesitation.

Only love.

Joe exhaled sharply, running his free hand over his face before letting out a small, breathless laugh.

“Okay,” he started, shaking his head slightly. “I had this whole plan. I was gonna wait until after the summer, do some big, romantic thing, maybe take you on a trip, make it perfect.” He swallowed hard, looking up at you. “But, uh—yeah. Clearly, that didn’t happen.”

Your hands flew to your mouth, your heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear anything else.

Joe’s fingers tightened around the ring box. “Because the truth is, I can’t wait. I don’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about this since the second you took me back, and I—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I bought this ring the week we got back together. I didn’t even fucking hesitate. Just walked into the store, told them exactly what I wanted, and bought it right there. Because I knew.”

Your chest ached.

Joe let out a small, nervous laugh, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “I knew the second I lost you that I had made the biggest fucking mistake of my life. I knew that I couldn’t do life without you, that I didn’t want to do life without you. And I know—I know—I have spent the last year proving that to you. But let me prove it for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurred, tears spilling over as you let out a soft, choked breath.

Joe’s voice wavered slightly, his own eyes looking glassy. “I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we always planned. I don’t want to marry you because it’s what we should do. I want to marry you because I choose you. Every single fucking day. Over and over again. For the rest of my life.”

Your hands were trembling now, your lips parting as you tried to breathe.

Joe swallowed hard, shaking his head. “You are the love of my life. You always have been. And I am done wasting time.” His jaw clenched slightly, his fingers tightening around the box. “So, please, for the love of God, put me out of my misery and say yes.”

A breathless laugh bubbled out of you, your whole body trembling, your face wet with tears.

“Yes,” you whispered.

Joe’s face broke into the biggest, purest smile you had ever seen.

And then you were falling to your knees in front of him, your hands grabbing his face, pulling him in for a kiss that was everything—every promise, every ounce of love, every second of waiting for this moment.

Joe kissed you back instantly, his hands shaking as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as possible, like he could never get enough.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath uneven, his thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

And for the first time in forever, you said it back without hesitation.

“I love you too.”

Joe grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger before he could drop it, and then exhaled dramatically.

“Thank God,” he muttered. “That would’ve been awkward as hell.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as Joe pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, Larry watching in the background like she knew exactly what had just happened—

You realized something.

This was exactly how it was meant to be.

#joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe shiesty #joey b #jb9 #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow smut #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #nfl fic #nfl players #nfl imagine

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months ago

Text

DCxDP Fic Idea: Online Siren

Danny makes a mistake. Or maybe he struck gold. Depending on the perspective you were looking through.

It starts one night when Sam, Tucker, Danny, and Jazz get together for a private party on Tucker's birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Foley had let them have the whole house to themselves on the agreement that it would only be the four of them. They would be keeping an eye on the security camera and motion detectors around the property. At the slightest hints of Tucker having a house party, the pair would return from Mr. Foley's sister's house to shut it down.

The group of teenagers were more than happy not to invite anyone. It's not like anyone would show- at least not with good intentions. They had an entire night plan- coffee drinks based on their types, video games, boardgames ones, painting hour, karaoke, movies, and cake after presents.

They all pitched in for pizza, and Sam offered to buy everyone breakfast in the morning. The party started at four and would end at ten the following morning. The boys would sleep in Tucker's room while Sam and Jazz crashed in the guest room together.

Danny hadn't had that much fun in such a long time that he didn't even shy away from Sam's video camera while singing. The youngest Fenton has always had a fantastic singing voice, but his stage fright has stopped him from showing off his skill in front of anyone who was not close friends or family.

The following morning, while eating at Tucker's favorite breakfast restaurant, Sam checked her phone after noticing all the buzzing. Danny could catch her face turning pastly white at whatever was on her screen. She taps aggressively, nearly frantically, which gains the attention of Tucker and Jazz.

"Sam? Everything good?" Jazz asks gentely.

"I..no..I'm sorry, Danny," She whispers after staring hopelessly at her screen. "I meant to save it in our private share, not...the anonymous one."

"What?"

"I...post poetry anonymously on this voice website. It's audio recordings only." She explains, placing the phone on the table. Her voice is hesitant. "Last night....I accidentally posted the video of you singing from the Karaoke machine I saved. The one from the Realms. And some of my followers saved it and shared it. It's trending."

Danny feels his stomach drop into his legs. "What?"

"No one knows who you are!" Sam blurts as Tucker quickly pulls out his own phone. A few seconds later, Danny's voice blares out of his speaker, the melody blending well with his singing. The Karaoke has a recording option that deletes background noise, making it far more professional than four teenagers dancing around the Foley's coffee table.

"Dude, this sounds amazing," Tucker says after a moment. "I can't believe I finally have a recording of your singing. Just look at these comments!"

The song is an open domain in the Infinite Realms, telling the tell of the first King's fall. It's rather popular for its revolutionary themes and near musical lyrics that blended with the rapid flute melody, so finding a ghost willing to share a Karaoke version took nearly no effort. People online think Danny was the songwriter.

The song on Sam's page had ninty-thousand listens, with just as many downloads- each download places ten cents in her account. So far, Danny's singing has made nine thousand dollars. It's only been twelve hours!

It got so much traction because Damian Wayne had made an edit with a popular anime and posted it on his personal account. His small usage had exploded Danny's song in only a few hours.

"Take it down!" Danny hisses, slapping a hand over Tucker's screen and glancing at nearby tables. "Sam, please take your post down."

"I did! I swear! But it's too late to stop it from spreading on the WorldClip." She tells him, and Danny's heart feels like it will explode until Jazz gently speaks up.

"Sam, can Danny have those nine grand?"

His best friend blinks momently, thrown by the question before she nods, "Of course! It's his money."

"Hmm." Jazz taps her fingers under her chin before turning Danny's face towards her. It's not until her gentle pats on his back that he realizes he is hyperventilating. "You should post more on that anonymous website. Sam can write the songs, Tucker can make the music, and you can sing."

"What!?" He choked, shocked she would even ask him. Tucker and Sam are eyeing them with wide eyes, frozen in their seats. No one knew where the fear had come from, but the two knew how badly Danny reacted to the idea of performing.

Tucker first met Danny when the boy panicked in the music room. After it was announced, the students would be singing Twinkle Little Star in the first grade. It was the first time Tucker had ever called nine-one-one, too.

He was praised as a hero, while Danny was scolded for overreacting. Tucker had held his hand until the sobbing boy's parents came to pick him up and has never left his side since.

"Danny, this fear has always left you in shambles. I think it would help you. This could be a form of exposal therapy," She says, then shrugs her shoulder. "Think about it. No one will know who you are, but your music could reach thousands without you ever having to show your face. You could pay for the college you wanted to go to in Gotham this way. All of you."

Neither Danny's nor Tucker's parents could afford to send them to Gotham University despite it being their dream school. Sam's parents refused to pay for a "useless" degree such as Botany. They had been growing uneasy with the realization dreams were not always promised as the end of the senior year approached in only a few short months.

They would never ask it of him, but Danny could see the genuine hope tucked in their eyes as they waited for his response. He licked his lips, feeling his heart still beating a mile a minute under his rib cage.

He didn't like being this paralyzed by an irrational fear. He also really wanted to help them reach their dreams.

So Danny opens his mouth and whispers, "Only until we can get to Gotham to find jobs"

Jazz's smile is bright.

________________________________________________________

A few months later, Damian practically runs Tim over in his rush to connect to the game room's surround system. Jon is hot on his heels and has the decency to shout an apology as the pre-teens rush by.

"Hey! Watch it!" He still screams at their backs, irritated. "I could've dropped my croissant!"

"Sorry again Tim!"

"You're fat anyway, Drake!"

Tim rolls his eyes, adjusting his hold on his plate as Dick rounds the corner that the children had appeared from. "What's got them rushing?"

"Online Siren just dropped a new song." Dick laughs. "Dami is a bit of a fan."

"Online Siren?"

"That's right, you were in space for five months. Online Siren is this anonymous singer that everyone is going crazy over on the internet. He's an amazing singer, but because no one knows anything about him. Not even Babs."

Tim raises a brow. "He could be using autotune."

"Maybe, but Tim, I'm telling you. Listen to his music, and you'll find you can't stop. Siren is a fitting name."

"He can't be that good," Tim mutters, following his eldest brother into the game room, where Damian and Jon have blared the speakers to the loudest setting and dancing around.

Tim draws up short at the sight of Damian Wayne actually crying as he sings along to the lyrics, acting as if the singer was right there in front of him and he was a long-time fan.

Then, the music invades his ears, and Tim feels like he is ascending on a different plane. The smooth, near silk-like voice glinds into his chest, rattling his bones, and his knees shake when the man holds a soft, seductive "Oh" for a few seconds longer then necessary.

It sends shivers down his spine.

"What is this!? It's so good!" He screams at the dancing Dick, who laughs.

"I know, right!?"

"It's too good. I think this is a real siren." Tim continues, pressing his hands over his ears. His mind flashes back to the few months he spent with his team, running for a mind-controlling alien that had nearly trapped them in the third space sector. "Dick, we're in danger! Get around from the speakers! Mind control!"

Dick stops dancing with a sigh, muttering under his breath as Tim rushes to the control panel of the speaker system. As soon as he slams it off, Damian releases a screech of an angered cat and launches at him, demanding his music back. Jon flouts nervously on the side as the two youngest Waynes brothers roll on the ground, yelling insults and taking dirty shots.

"I wish I could enjoy things with my siblings without them ruining it." He mumbles, striding forward to break up the fight, only to scream when Tim pulls out pepper spray, yowling like a madman.

"Mind control! Mind control!"

"My EYES! "

"Drake, stop!"

"You'll never get me Siren! Never!"

".I'm going to go get Mr.Wayne!"

"Make haste, Jon! Bring my father to stop this baffoon-my eyes! Drake, you bastard!"

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Online Siren #Part 1 #Crack taken seriously #Danny has a crippling stage fright #Time skip for the last part #The Trio are in gotham but still making music #Damian is tweleve with Jon #Tim is just a tad bit paranoid from his mission #Danny is a star #Who is the greatest online singer?#TW: Panic attacks mentioned

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coco-loco-nut · 1 year ago

Text

Gen Z

pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

summary: everyone seems to forget that Max is 26

a/n: not my favorite, but it’s something i’ve been working on for a while there will be no part two

requests open masterlist

—————

Breaking up with Kelly was extremely difficult for Max to do. Despite not being in love with her anymore, he was very aware of what would happen to P. Max knew it was better to break up than stay just because of P, so he bit the bullet. The next few months were lonely, having to readjust to being alone in Monaco with just his cats.

That’s when you came barreling into his life. Only two years younger than Max, you were a breath of fresh air for him. He really didn’t expect to fall for you, not so quick anyway.

You knew a bit about Formula One, but it was more to the extent that your home hosted a race, some drivers lived in the city, and your hairdresser’s son was a driver. It didn’t phase you when Max told you about his career and fame, you just thought the Dutchman was cute.

“Men who own cats are major green flags,” you told him over text when you first started dating. That might’ve been what really made Max fall for you. You made him feel young, understandably so. He was 19 when he first met Kelly, and she was 28.

Max taught you about the races, you helped him connect with his inner Gen Z. He taught you Dutch and how to game, you taught him slang and pop culture. The two of you were sitting on the couch a month before the Monaco GP, watching Cars of course, when Max asked you to join him at the race.

“Of course, anything for Lightning McQueen,” you squeeze his hand. You knew from TikTok that Charles, your boyfriend’s work husband, was Lightning McQueen, but how could that not be Max.

“Kachow,” Max says causing you to laugh. He has been watching the TikToks and reels you send him, usually something formula one or cars related.

Max is watching Cars 2 with you when he points out each driver in the movie. You store the knowledge in the back of your mind for when you watch classic races and Max explains things to you. You feel sufficiently ready for Monaco.

“Lewis, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Max introduces you to the Mercedes driver. You look at him, star stuck.

“I loved you in Cars,” you blurt out, causing Lewis to laugh and Max to hide his face in embarrassment. Max isn’t surprised, but he can’t believe this is how your first interaction is going. Lewis is just happy you aren’t with Max because he is a driver.

“Thank you, how old are you?” Lewis asks, ready to feel old.

“24, two years younger than Maxie,” you smile lovingly at your boyfriend.

“I forgot how young you actually are,” Lewis’s unspoken words hang in the air between him and Max. Now that you are dating someone closer to your own age.

Lewis’s statement seemed to be the general consensus when everyone saw you with him. Max looked and acted like he was 26. He was using slang you taught him, he was making pop culture references that he likely wouldn’t have known otherwise. He was getting to experience his twenty’s like he should have been, not as if he was much older than he was.

Lando was the most excited to meet you, not only were you his age, but you brought out Max’s inner child that Lando never could.

“I’m stealing your girlfriend,” Lando tells Max, wanting to claim you as his best friend.

“No,” Max deadpans.

“What if Lando is my bestie?” you ask Max, who can’t say no to you.

“Then I guess that’s okay,” Max kisses your temple.

“OMG, McLaren is doing another hide and seek video, you two should join,” Lando proposes.

“That actually sounds fun,” Max says, looking at you for confirmation.

“I’m in,” you smile, letting Lando lead the way.

The video is a hit, the fans are loving this version of Max. Max is loving this version of him too, for once he doesn’t feel like he has to grow up faster than he should.

“Stay away from her, she’s no good for you. Act like a grown up,” you overhear Jos tell Max as you come back to the garage from hospitality. You have yet to meet Jos, Max made it very clear that he doesn’t want you near his dad. The memes the two of you send back and forth are a good enough reason why, so you hang back.

“What do you mean? I am. I’m 26, why should I act like I’m 40? I am happier with her than I was with Kelly,” Max argues back, you hold yourself back.

“World Champions are serious, mature. Quit acting like Lando Norris and more like an adult,” Jos is seething.

“Ask Max to come back here, say the team needs him or something,” you as an engineer when you notice Jos getting angrier.

“Then why am I leading by a heavy margin already. You just can’t handle that I am putting myself first. What would you even know about being a champion? You never won a race!” Max yells. The engineer quickly cuts in and leads Max to you.

“You gagged him, baby. Are you okay?” Max hugs you, you just rub his back as he regulates his breathing.

“He’s an opp, for real,” Max mutters into your shoulder, causing you to snort with laughter.

“God, I love you,” you can’t contain the laughter. Max joins in, your smile is infectious.

“I did use it right, no?” Max asks between the laughter.

“You did, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you take a deep breath, calming down.

“No cap?”

“Alright, you are using too much. Where is old man Max, this is freaky,” you take a step back, the smile that remains on your face betrays your words.

“You got me into my gen z era, you get the consequences,” Max pulls you back into him as you groan in annoyance.

“I love you too,” he laughs, peppering your face with kisses.

And when a journalist is brave enough to ask about the shift in Max? He’s always eager to talk about you.

“My girlfriend forced me to watch hours of YouTube compilations about formula one memes. We are always sending different memes to each other, she definitely helps me remember to laugh more,” Max gushes.

“I guess we all forget that you aren’t nearly forty,” the journalist nods. Max answers a few more questions before finding you in his drivers room. He lays down on the couch, his head on your lap.

“What’s on your mind?” you run your hand through Max’s hair.

“Have I changed that much?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you.

“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just started being yourself around more people. You are still the same Max that I first met and fell in love with, everyone else is just seeing that Max,” you are confused about the question, but answer him. Max doesn’t reply, he just nuzzles closer to you.

“I like this version of me,” he says into your shirt a few minutes later, you keep playing with his hair.

“I’m glad, but I like every version of you, Max. Even old man Max,” you smile as he sits up.

“Old man? How about I show you how far from true that is,” there is a look in his eye that tells you that you just started something.

“And how will you do that?” you decide to entertain him as he slips his hands under your shirt.

“I don’t think I need to tell you.”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 grid #max verstappen #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader

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puckinghischier · 6 months ago

Note

jack & luke loving quinn’s gf almost as much as he does bc suddenly they have an older sister they can call for advice on the most random things…

“so, hypothetically, if i wanted to get a pedicure, would they give it to me since i’m a guy?” jack asks you over the phone.

you stop in your tracks, right in front of your car, baffled at the question. “jack, is this seriously what you called me four times about?”

“i mean, yeah. you weren’t picking up. thought you and quinn might be screwing and wanted to break that up as soon as i thought about it,” he admits like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“jack!” you scolded, scoffing at his crudeness. “i was picking up some snacks for the guys before their game today. i couldn’t even get to my phone if i wanted to,” you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“you make it sound like you were ignoring me on purpose,” he says, basically being able to hear the pout on his face.

“i wasn’t not ignoring you on purpose.”

he smacks his teeth at your answer, returning to his original question. “anyways, will they do a pedicure on my gnarly man feet or no?”

you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you, opening your door and finally sitting down in your car. “yes jack, they’ll give you a pedicure. are you actually going to go get one?”

“yes! dude, have you seen my feet lately? they’re disgusting. plus, quinn was telling luke and i about that time you made him do one with you and how much better his feet felt in his skates afterwards.”

you think about the fact that quinn now has monthly pedicure appointments with you, not shocked at all that he shared the information with his younger brothers.

“jack! is that y/n? i need to talk to her!” you hear luke yell in the background of jack’s call, stopping whatever response you were about to give.

you hear shuffling, insinuating the exchange of the phone. “hey! y/n! so, i need your advice.”

“hi, luke, i’m good, thanks for asking! how are you?” your voice drips with sarcasm.

“yeah, hi and whatever,” he dismisses you. “so, if you were a girl, would you rather your date wear a pink shirt to show he’s not a toxic guy, or would you rather him wear blue or black to show he’s serious about the date?”

once again, you pause. you look over to the side, as if there’s an invisible camera there and mouth a ‘what?’

“okay, well first of all i am a girl-“

“well yeah, but like…a real girl. one that isn’t dating quinn and would be ready to hop on the luke train,” he interrupts you, earning his own roll of your eyes.

“as i was saying,” you ignore his interruption, “i am a girl, and i don’t think it’s that serious? wear whatever you wanna wear. if she likes you, she likes you. if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. i don��t think wearing pink is going to either hurt or help the date.”

the line is silent for a moment. “i think i’m going to wear pink anyways. you know, just to let her know i’m not a douche,” he finally speaks.

“okay, well, if that’s what you want to do, then do it-“

“thanks, y/n! bye!” you’re cut off yet again, hearing the line go dead. groaning, you call quinn, letting him know you’re on your way with the food.

“hey, baby! you get the catering order yet?” quinn’s excited voice fills your car as you turn it on and put it in drive.

“yeah, i got it. on my way now. just got off the phone with your idiot brothers,” you tell him, pulling out into traffic.

“oh god, what did they want this time?” he asks you, knowing how often you’re plagued with calls from his siblings.

“well, jack wanted to know if he could book a pedicure appointment even though he’s a man, and then luke wanted to know if he should wear pink on his date so he doesn’t look like a douche,” you give the short version of your conversations.

quinn lets out a laugh, not at all surprised at his brothers.

“quinn, we’ve gotta set some ground rules. i can’t keep doing this. i don’t know how you dealt with this by yourself for all these years. and god, your sweet mother. i feel for her,” you say not entirely seriously, knowing they call ellen more than they call you, if that’s even possible.

“baby, they love you. you’re the big sister they never had, they’re just excited to finally have someone to ask this stuff to other than mom. because mom usually tells them to figure it out on their own,” he chuckles, knowing how much both luke and jack have told him they loved having you around.

“well, i’m about to take the ellen approach because they make me want to pull my hair out sometimes, those disgustingly lovable heathens,” you tell your boyfriend, never really being able to say anything bad about the brothers. they’re like excited puppies anytime they get to see you in person, and it does melt your heart a little bit each time.

“i’ll talk to them about it,” quinn’s still laughing at how you can’t help but talk about how much you love his brothers, even when you’re aggravated at them. “just focus on getting here. i miss you, wanna see you before game time.”

“okay, be there in like-“ you stop talking when your ringtone blares through your car.

“god, its jack again. i gotta go, i’ll see you in a few minutes,” you groan, ending the call to answer the interruption.

“what is it this time, jack?”

(part 2ish)

#alliyaps #idk how i feel about this #but i hope it’s what you were thinking of #hockey #nhl #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes fluff #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #qh43 #hughes brothers

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smutoperator · 6 months ago

Text

Home Run

Myoi Mina, Hirai Momo x Male Reader

Kinkvember Chapter 8

Main kinks: competition, cumplay, condoms, magical girls, cloning, sex with a fan

Word count: 6595.

Seoul, South Korea, October 20th, 2024

Attending a Twice fanmeet is only for the strongest. The presence of nine sexy girls in the room playing with each other makes their fans always flirting with a heart attack, but the best thing is always the secret draws they always perform for their superfans.

That day, you were one of the nine lucky guys that won the draw. The girls then spun the wheel with their names to see who you were going to get. It landed on Mina's name.

"So Minari, what are you going to do with this fan?" Nayeon asked as she and Sana had just kissed each other. "We are going to play some baseball," she answered. The girls blushed, knowing what that actually meant. "But first I need to get a competitor; let's spin it again," she said.

The second spin of the wheel landed on Momo's name. The blonde bombshell licked her chops. "Let's compete, Minaring; you go first. Whoever scores the most points wins," Momo said. "Deal," Mina answered as she invited you backstage. Momo stayed entertaining other fans as she would wait for her turn.

Mina took you to a secret room, pinning you against the wall and kissing you. "I thought we were going to play baseball," you said to her. "Well, we're going to play a different version of it: the more home runs you score on me, the more likely I am to win," she said, taking your jacket off.

Mina pushed you into a bed and sat her big ass on top of you as she quickly unbuttoned your shirt. "Let's score some points," she said, leaning on top of your body. You giggle, unable to process what was going on. But enjoying it regardless. Mina just kept teasing you, touching your body, and kissing you. She licked your torso, sending shivers down your spine as her tongue touched your sensitive skin.

Mina kept massaging and touching your body as she increased the intensity of her moves, putting a finger up your tongue. "I think you're ready for more now," she said, running her hands down your pants now. Mina then turned around, searching for something in her bag as she gave you a privileged view of her big ass that her short skirt could barely contain.

"There it is," she said, showing you a pack of condoms. Wow, looks like you were really going to have sex with one of your biases. Even if it was with protection, just the thought of entering any of Mina's tight holes already made you go crazy. She started opening the pack, counting the number of condoms. "One, two, three, four, five," she said in Japanese.

"We are going to play basecum today," she said, making a wordplay. "Each condom you help me fill will be one point, then Momo will come in and get her turn," Mina said. "There are the rules of the game," she continued, taking your pants off in one go and smiling as your already throbbing cock popped out of it. "I hope it's ready to cum a lot for me, because I want to win this game," she said.

Mina grabbed your cock, making you instantly groan. She touched it softly, licking her chops as you leaked some precum from the get-go. Suddenly, she put her mouth on the tip of it, catching you off-guard. "Slow, please," you begged as she kissed the tip of your penis and then started performing some slow licks that quickly made your body contort. "Ohhhhh," you groaned as she licked the sides of your shaft now.

"Looks like I'm going to score a lot of points tonight," Mina said, increasing the pace of her blowjob. One pack of condoms covered your eyes as a blindfold. "OHHHHHHH," you groaned hard as Mina bobbed her head on your cock much faster now, getting sloppier and softly stroking it with both hands; your cock throbbed as if it had its own life. "The tip of your cock is so tasty," she said, focusing her attention on it.

"Can you take some pictures of it for me to send to Momo?" Mina asked, picking up her phone from the bag. "Of course," you answered as she handed you the phone and you took pics of her sucking your cock. "Show it to me," Mina said. "Perfect," she continued, looking at the pic of your cock in her mouth, grabbing the phone to then take a selca of herself performing it. "I look so pretty sucking that big cock," she said, taking a few more pics.

Mina kept moving with the blowjobs and the selfies, enjoying how beautiful she looks with that big cock in her mouth. She licked and massaged your balls next, kissing it and licking it. "There is a lot of cum ready to burst for me in there," she said as she let you take more pics of her. She took your cock deeper in her throat. "Ohhhhhh," you kept groaning. "Looks like I'm gonna open the score soon," Mina said, bobbing her head like crazy and jerking your cock really hard.

You couldn't contain yourself anymore, ejaculating right inside Mina's sexy mouth. "Come see your work, good boy," Mina said, sticking her tongue full of cum out. She opened one of the condoms and spat the cum right on it. "This is the opening score," she said, admiring your milky white semen inside the condom, even letting you wrap it up. "Momo and I are going to use the condoms as proof of our points," Mina said as she put it right in her bra, resuming the massage on your body, now with some cock jerkoff as well.

Mina started lifting her skirt, showing her red thong. "I'm going to be team red tonight; Momo will be team blue," she said, then pulling it to the side and teasing your cock around the entrance of her pussy. "AHHHHH," you groaned as Mina dropped down on your cock, letting you feel the warmth of her pussy in full display, you having to contain yourself not to cum again.

Mina quickly bounced on your cock, making you scream each time she got all the way down it. To her it was just another walk in the park; to you it was a struggle to resist the warmth of her holes. She then turned around, showing you her big fat ass. "Tell me, this is what you wanted to see the most," she said. "Yes," you said.

You pulled Mina's thong to the side in her buttock area and let her twerk on your cock. Her asshole winked at you as her pussy obliterated your cock. You started having flashes of her performing "7 Rings" on stage and bouncing that perfect big ass in front of those massive stadium crowds. But this time, you were the only lucky guy to witness it. "Ahhh, ahhhh, fuck, fuck," Mina moaned as you could tell she had practiced this move a lot, hitting your cock perfectly with very fast bounces. You grabbed her ass cheeks, but that only made Mina move faster as she wrapped the condom in the string of her thong. "I know more of it will join it soon," she said.

Mina now rode you at full speed; your efforts to make her slow down were futile; once she's on top of a cock, she only stops when she makes them cum. And this was her signature move; everybody knows it, and she knows it better than anyone else. "Ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh, I need that cum," she said, moaning and then switching to a more violent bouncing, letting her ass hit your crotch nonstop. "OHHHHHH," you screamed again. Mina knew it was just a matter of time.

"Give it to me," Mina said as she went for another round of twerking. You were resisting as much as possible. But even the strongest fan can't resist for long getting his cock destroyed by Mina's bouncy big ass. She wanted it; she got it.

"Take a picture of it, baby; you deserve that memory, your idol bouncing her big ass on your cock," Mina said, handing you the phone. But the dream of cumming inside her would be delayed, as Mina wrapped a condom around it and started jerking your cock off. "Film it; I'm gonna fill it up, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh," she moaned, getting back to twerking on your cock.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH," both you and Mina screamed together as your cock pulsated inside the condom. Mina pulled out and showed the filled condom to you. "That's two points for team red," she bragged, spinning the condom with her hands and hitting it on your body, also putting it in the strings of her thong. "I bet this condom belt will grow much larger," she said, picking up a new condom to put on your cock.

Mina used her magical powers to get your erection back up with just the touch of her finger. "This cock looks so nice inside that condom," she said, jerking it off as she slowly put it inside it. Mina got on her knees on the bed, shaking her big ass for you. "Wanna fuck it next?" she asked, bending herself and getting on all fours.

You couldn't resist such an offer and quickly slid your cock inside Mina's butthole. "AHHHH," she moaned as her magical powers had made it bigger for her tighter hole. You were truly living in the dream, fucking your bias's big fat ass in a dominating position, grabbing Mina's butt and thrusting inside her asshole as fast and hard as possible.

"Let's go, pound that ass, fuck, AHHHHHHH," Mina demanded, suddenly screaming when you gave her exactly what she wanted. "Give it to me, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Mina begged as you showed relentless intensity to do what every TWICE male fan secretly dreams of: fucking Mina's big fat ass all the way deep.

Going so hard on Mina quickly exhausted you, as you let her bounce her ass on your cock too, before taking back control. Her butthole was truly one of the best, squeezing your cock at every opportunity and making you push harder and harder to reach the full depths of it.

"Let's go, baby, give me more cum, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHHH," Mina said as you kept a relentless pace of ass-fucking, growing more and more addicted to it; her walls smashed your cock like crazy, and you grabbed her butt for better grip before Mina decided to turn things up a notch, bouncing her ass up and down and letting her anal walls hit your cock from the side. That slut is amazing, as she was able to twerk that ass even in a submissive position.

You stop thrusting into Mina's ass and just let her perform another insane twerking session as she keeps moaning hard. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she said. Mina ramped up the challenge, getting herself back on her feet and letting you pin her against the wall as you now fucked her ass in a standing doggy position. Mina loved the recoil of her ass from each thrust you gave her, enjoying the blissful sensation of your big cock fully stretching her butthole.

You lifted Mina's leg and kept pounding her ass, trying new positions and taking advantage of her ballerina's body flexibility. "Perfect, fuck my ass like that," she commanded, her perky tits jiggling with your thrusts. You then put her legs back down, letting Minari move her ass on your shaft and unleash her twerking, slutty self once again, her soft skin rubbing against yours, making you unable to resist and start pounding her hard again, groping her tits as you gave her ass fast poundings that she loved.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, I'M CUMMING," Mina screamed. Her anal walls clenching as she reached her orgasm were enough for you to bust for a third time. Mina slowly pulled out, looking at your deflated cock as your cum hung on the extremities of the condom. "Three points for me already," she celebrated, taking it out and pushing you back onto the bed, adding it into the condom belt forming around her thong. She quickly grinded on your cock, the contact with her folds getting you hard instantly as she opened another condom and enveloped your cock in it.

Mina gave you a blowjob with the condom on, then teased you by touching the tip of your cock against it. She reached into her bag and picked up her Hitachi vibrator. Facing you this time, she got your cock back in her pussy. "Ready for another ride?" she asked, pressing her hands against your chest and bouncing on your cock.

Mina looked really beautiful as the sexy facial expressions she made while riding your cock and moaning and her cute tits bouncing drove you insane. She picked the Hitachi and put it to massage her cunt. "OHHHHHH," but it was your cock who felt the vibration the most. Mina placed it right at her clit and gave your cock a couple short and fast bounces before stopping and trying to prove she could make you cum with as little effort as possible.

But Mina just couldn't resist being a slutty ballerina, twerking on your cock once again as she pressed the Hitachi between your shaft and her clit. "FUCKKKK," you screamed, already on the edge. Mina sexily moaned, her beautiful hair covering her face and getting messier. She giggled, going with short but fast-paced rides as she increased the vibration in the Hitachi.

Mina then got up as she started to squirt, her cold juices hitting your condom and making you groan even further, even with your cock completely out of her pussy now. Now she just wanted to show she could make you cum in every possible way, squirting all over your body, then finishing you off by grinding on your cock and giving you just enough of a ride to make you cum for the fourth time. You reacted, pushing your cock upwards into her pussy and giving exactly what she needed.

"There it goes," Mina announced with a lot of excitement as she managed to fill another condom with your semen. You could barely breathe, Mina milking you dry as her condom belt got another piece for her to ornate it. But Mina wasn't done; she was already back on third base and wanted another easy score, grabbing your cock and jerking it off hard. "AHHHHHH," you screamed as she opened another condom while her phone beeped.

"Hello," Mina said. "You've been there for a while. When is it going to be my turn?" Momo asked on the phone. "Well, you'll have to wait a bit," Mina says, flashing your cock to Momo on the phone and making her hear your groans. Mina hangs up the phone and goes back to masturbate your cock, searching for one final dose of cum. "AHHHHHHHH," you scream as she picks up the pace, but your balls are just drained, and time has expired. "Well, four points is a good lead; let's see how Momo does," Mina says, getting dressed as she leaves the room.

The minutes keep passing; you get yourself dressed back and wait for Momo. She doesn't arrive, and you start thinking it's just a prank and your fan meet fun was over. You decide to take a nap in that bed, until a tingling feeling between your legs suddenly wakes you up.

"Hi," a short-haired blonde girl introduces herself. If Mina likes to tease, Momo is very straightforward, already greeting you with her tongue licking your cock. She knows she's got some work to do, trying to erase the four-score lead from her groupmate, savoring your cock right from the get-go with a sloppy blowjob as she licks your tip and then dives hard.

"Oh my God, you caught me really off guard," you say to Momo as she keeps masturbating your shaft. "OHHHHH," more groans come from your mouth as Momo shows no signs of slowing down, bobbing her head on your cock without needing to use her hands. She spits on your cock and giggles as your body keeps twisting while she picks up the intensity.

"Let me see the power of that cock," Momo says. She jerks you off so hard you can't do anything but suddenly explode and get her hands full of cum. Momo is shocked but pleasantly surprised by the amount of sperm that comes out of your cock. "Looks like we're going to have a great night; I barely did much and already scored," she says, bragging.

Momo shows you her hands full of cum, opening a condom to put some on it. She teases you now by opening her undersized jacket, letting you take a look at her fantastic abs and big tits ready to bust from that white bra, letting you lick some of your own cum that's still in her hands.

Momo strips you naked at the same quick pace as Mina, sitting her big ass right on top of your cock. She takes her jacket off and starts titfucking your cock with her bra still on, giving it an amazing sensation as your shaft rubs against the fabric of it. As she feels your cock throbbing harder and harder, she increases the pace, your cock completely squeezed between her bra and her sexy pair of momos.

Reaching into her bag, Momo picks a few condoms. She licks and spits on your tip before inserting one in your cock while keeping it stuck between her big tits. As she takes it out of her udders, Momo pulls her jeans down, showing off her black panties that were peeking out from her jeans, and then pulling it from the side as she puts your cock straight inside her asshole.

Momo bounces on your cock with no issue, living up to her anal queen reputation. Her bounces are very straightforward, Momo using her core strength to put maximum pressure on your cock. "You like the way I bounce my fat ass in it? Is it better than Mina's?" she asks, clapping her cheeks hard against your crotch and sexily moaning. "AHHHHHH, GIVE IT TO ME," she says, doing a little grinding on your cock that already puts you on the edge.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH, GIVE ME THAT CUM," Momo already showcases her intentions, leaving you out of breath with very fast-paced bounces. Her asshole is amazingly tight even after taking countless cocks over the course of her career, as she takes on your cock as if it were just a regular dance practice for her. Momo squeezes it hard as you reach to grab her bouncy ass and massage it, making her giggle.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK, ISN'T THAT ASS PERFECT?" Momo says as she moans hard. More grinding follows; the way she smiles while destroying your cock is just amazing. Few bitches love anal sex as much as this Japanese whore; her being named after peaches was truly a foresight of the amazing backside she would grow over the years.

You're another one of the many fans that quickly succumbs to Momo's peach, just letting her bounce as fast as she can until you coat that condom full of cum. "AHHHHHHH," you scream as your cock pulsates, squeezed by her butthole. "Ohh, I love it, so thick," Momo says as she pulls out of your cock, taking the condom as a trophy. "Second score for team blue," she says, impressed with the way you completely filled the condom and then rotated it and slapped it on your body, having a lot of fun feeling proud of her work.

"You want that pussy next, don't you?" Momo says as she lies on the bed and spreads her legs for you to worship her meaty cunt, grabbing her head as you eat her out marvelously, getting very sloppy around her clit while her feet massage your back. "Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhh," she moans as you spread the lips of her pussy and start putting your finger in it. "I see those filthy hands in my pussy; hope you get that big cock inside it too," Momo says.

This time, you open the condom yourself and put it on your cock, ready to fulfill her wishes as you put it in her pussy. Thrusting fast and hard from the beginning, you grope Momo's still-clothed tits. "Fuck me hard, baby," she begs, enjoying the way your cock bulges under her fit abs. You slowly pull her bra to the side and start groping her tits. "Come here, baby, show me how much you enjoy those momos," she says as you dive to suck them while still keeping the pace and pounding her pussy.

Momo quickly drives you insane, as you can't resist the urge to pound her pussy harder and harder. The way she's built as a perfect fucktoy to be used like crazy marvels you, as you hit deeper and deeper in her pussy while your mouth stays glued to her massive boobs. "AHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, MAKE ME CUM," Momo screams using her aegyo voice as she squirts all over your cock, pushing it out of her pussy. You use that break as a little relief as Momo picks up her phone before you come with even more force to pound her pussy.

Momo films herself getting pounded like a sex doll, her big tits jiggling massively now as you grab her slim waist and pound her at a frantic rhythm. You finger her clit, hoping for more squirt from her as her sexy body bounces and the bed creaks with your hard thrusts deep in her cunt. You start losing her breath, ready to cum for a third time. You put her feet in your mouth as your cock attacks her pussy really fast. Momo turned into a jiggling toy as she admiired her bouncy boobs on the phone.

You put Momo on a mating press, ready to deliver the final blows to her cunt. She starts spinning the condom you filled following her anal ride, and that quickly makes you burst again. "OHHHHH, OHHHHH, FUCK," you groan, putting Momo just one score behind Mina with another massive cumshot courtesy of her tight cunt, giving her a few extra thrusts to fill the condom further before pulling out.

"Let me see," Momo says, giggling as another cum-filled condom is hanging on your shaft. "Let's tie this game up; I'll let you pick the hole you're gonna use to cum next time," she says. "I want your ass," you promptly answer. "Then take it, fuck me like your little toy," she says.

Momo takes your condom off and, with her magic touch, puts your cock back up again. She gets her face down and ass up as you quickly dive to lick her butthole. "Wait, I didn't tell you you can," she then gives you the green light. you could do it," she says. "Now you can," she then gives you the green light.

You waste no second and dive into licking and sniffing Momo's dirty butthole. Your tongue reaches all the way deep into the cavities of her anus, Momo loving the way she's being tongued. It doesn't take long for you to shove your cock back inside it. Momo makes the first move, bouncing on it before you tame her, grabbing her fat ass and thrusting with a lot of intensity. She moans and spins two of your cum-filled condoms in her hands.

"Show me how much you love that fat ass baby; fuck it hard, all the way deep," Momo demands. Your grip on her body is very intense, as you use Momo the way she's meant to be used. Holding her as hard as you can, you pump Momo with really fast poundings. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she screams as her body can't stop jiggling, her big tits bounce like pinballs. You only get rougher on her, reaching to squeeze her boobs as you clap her cheeks with full speed.

You're exhausted now, but your lust for Momo beats everything. She bounces on your cock a little, but you don't let her breathe, smashing her cheeks and watching her ass recoil hard. You fully remove Momo's bra, letting her bounce her milky udders in full glory, but not for long, as you can't resist the urge of massaging them while you keep pounding her ass. You bring Momo's hot body close to yours, fucking her from behind as both of you get on your knees and kiss each other, you never losing sight of her big tits and keeping your hands on them at all times.

Momo and you fuck like animals. "GIVE IT TO ME, AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH," Momo screams as her big tits bounce. But she quickly flips the script, using her strength to get herself back on top and ride you with her pussy now. Spinning her condoms, she bounces on your cock, giving you a perfect view of her jiggly tits. You reach into her clit, making her walls clench. "Let's go. I want you to cum. Cum for me," she says, slapping you with the condoms. You push your cock up her pussy, ready to burst at any second as Momo enjoys the ride and puts the cum-filled condoms in your torso.

Momo takes some pics of her pussy and the condoms as she picks up the phone to call Mina. "I'm about to tie this game already, and I did it much faster than you," she brags, grinding on your cock like a crazy slut, just waiting for the cum that will inevitably arrive. She moves really fast and moans really sexily, using her dancer skills as she spins on your cock. "Come on, baby boy, don't disappoint me; fill me with your cum," she says. But before she can continue, the doorbell rings, and Mina is soon sneaking back inside the room.

As Mina starts bickering with her, Momo remains unfazed. "I'm going to tie this game first," she says, remaining focused on riding you until you finally fill another condom. "Ohhhh," Mina says, looking at all the cum Momo milked from you. "Are you ready to compete with me, Minaring?" Momo asks. "Absolutely," Mina answers.

"Then, let's use our powers to get twice the fun," Momo says.

Both Momo and Mina press your body hard with their hands. An uneasy sensation starts to fill your body as you get cloned into two as Momo and Mina use their magical powers. Now you're going to feel the pleasure from both girls taking on you as you get split into a left side and a right side body. Both sides of you look at each other, still trying to comprehend what happened. But there is not much time for thinking.

Mina and Momo return to the room, now wearing just a microthong with their colors: red for Mina and blue for Momo. "Hi, are you ready for more?" they asked you together, spinning the condoms and wrapping them around their tiny thongs. They brought new packs on their hands, Momo taking on your left side and Mina on your right side. Sitting their big asses on your cocks, they toyed with your cum on both sides, jerking your cocks off in preparation, Momo getting extra horny as she rubbed your tip against her nipples and gave your left side a nice titfucking, then rubbed her condoms against that cock and made it throb even harder before finally bringing a wheel to spin to see what would be the challenges they would undertake.

"Hmmm, facesitting, blowjob, then anal ride," Mina said, very excited. "This should be a tough competition; may the best prevail," Momo replied. "Ready to print our big asses on this face?" Momo asked. "Absolutely," Mina answered.

Both girls climbed on top of the bed where your two bodies lay, each one sitting their fat asses on their respective side's face. Mina went first, quickly smothering your right side with her big butt, but it was Momo who made the first giggles. Both girls stayed put, letting both your sides sniff their asses before they started twerking. You quickly got addicted to the sexy smell of their booties, as Momo rode your left side while Mina even crossed sides, sitting on your right side face but sucking your left side cock.

Getting yourself duplicated and having two hot girls share both your bodies felt like those ASMR stimulations where each ear is hearing a different thing. But the stimulation was two big Japanese asses bouncing on your face in many different ways, the sideways moving of Momo contrasting with Mina's frantic twerking.

As both girls moved to suck your cocks, the contrast continued; Momo was sloppier, focusing a lot on your tip and jerking your left side cock off. Mina, meanwhile, took your right side dick very slowly, savoring it like an ice cream. "Hmmm, so tasty," Mina said after popping it out of your mouth. Momo was getting really nasty, spitting all over that cock as Mina picked up the pace and started massaging your balls, keeping both hands wrapped around it while Momo bobbed her head without using her hands.

Your cum was going to decide the winner of the round as Mina and Momo moved to the final phase. Mina got off to a stronger start, opening her condom first as she was already bouncing on your right side cock, while Momo faced issues that delayed the start of her ride.

Mina started twerking on your cock, but then gave Momo some time to catch up. "OHHHHH," both sides groaned as you could feel the tightness of both their assholes. Momo opted for a more straight bounce, pushing her butt a little sideways while Mina did her signature twerking. Regardless of style, both girls were putting you on the edge of your seat, both of your sides now grabbing their asses and moving them to bounce even harder on your cock. Momo increased her speed, moaning hard as her ass kept hitting your crotch with very strong bounces. Mina's twerk, on the other hand, was very gracious, the slutty ballerina moving perfectly to the sound of "7 Rings" once again.

Both girls kept ramping up the pace, searching for that thick cum. Which side was gonna win? You didn't know it yourself, as both their big asses bounced and got crazier and crazier, each girl trying multiple motions that squeezed your cock to the maximum. "OHHHHHHH, OHHHHHH," you started groaning as Momo came out on top, getting your left side to ejaculate first and taking the lead in the competition.

"That's not fair; she was already very warm before I came to the room," Mina said as she soon made your right side cum as well. "Well, Minari, we didn't say anything about fairness; the first to cum wins, plain and simple," Momo replied.

"Well, let's go to the next challenge," Mina said. "One, two, three," both girls said together. "Vaginal cowgirl," the wheel landed on it as each girl cleaned their respective cocks and inserted new condoms on it, both girls jerking each cock really fast before putting it in their pussies.

Momo went first as she grinded on your left side cock and let her big tits freely bounce, leaving Mina way behind as she was still preparing your right side shaft with a condom while Momo was already entertaining herself with another sexy ride that showcased the sexiness of her boobs. Momo grinded hard on your cock while Mina took it rather slow, going for a more methodical approach and betting less would be more this time, while Momo stuck to what worked the first time, the very strong bounces as she leaned forward to kiss your left side body, while Mina remained at a straightened position.

Momo was now getting plowed hard, while Mina just spun sideways on your right side cock. But in the end, it was Momo's approach that paid off, as she milked you first once again, letting Mina take a picture of it full of cum. Mina was now in a deep hole, deeper than her asshole, as she had to erase a two-score deficit to Momo. Could the ballerina answer?

Missionary would be the next challenge. Momo liked her odds, holding the six condoms that gave her the lead compared to Mina's four. The ballerina moaned as your right side cock found her pussy first, pounding it hard. Momo didn't gall behind, letting your left side body pound her as hard as possible and making her big tits bounce. "Let's go," Mina said, masturbating herself a lot while enjoying the massive bulge your right side provided her. Meanwhile, Momo was getting drilled so hard and getting her tits groped so badly she was nearly falling out of bed, as your left side grabbed her thighs and bounced her to oblivion.

"AHHHHHHH," Mina screamed as your right side cock pounded on a mating press, her legs twisted as she started orgasming but kept moving her walls around your cock. Momo got really loud as your other side drilled her cunt and tried to match the way your opposite cock fucked Mina, but this time it was too late.

"I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," Mina screamed as one of your cocks went hard in her cunt. "Take it, take it, take it," you told her as you were on the verge of cumming, and this time, even with Momo fully opening her legs, Mina won the round by just a split second, getting back in the game.

Mina tied the condom of her winning effort into her condom belt, and so did Momo to hers. Mina opened another one and spun the wheel, which landed on doggy anal this time. Another category both girls were masters at, with no clear favorite between Momo's fit butt versus Mina's fat booty.

Mina gets a head start as your right side body pounds her fat ass. Momo jiggles her big booty and starts bouncing on your other cock, but Mina is just at a whole level now, twerking her ass hard and searching for that cum that will make her tie the game. The relentless speed of Minari drives your right side to the edge, grabbing her ass hard. Momo pushes her cum-filled condoms into your sight, trying to motivate your left side. But Mina is on a whole new level, her ass recoiling as you pound her fast and hard.

Both girls kiss each other, driving both of your sides mad and pushing harder to fuck them. Their asses are just wonderful, taking your poundings with ease. Both sides of your body grab their waists as both girls scream hard with their buttholes getting stretched out. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," they scream. Your right side grabs Mina's arm and ties it behind her back while your left side gropes Momo's big momos as you thrust hard into her.

Momo moves her hips as her big tits jiggle a lot; meanwhile, Mina just keeps getting drilled hard, their screams filling the whole room. Both girls then move to a standing position, facing each other eye to eye as each of your bodies gets back inside their assholes. Momo and Mina hug their sexy bodies together for more anal penetration, Mina already twerking the moment she gets put in a standing doggy position, both girls riding your cocks with you completely unable to stop them, their hips just moving at full speed as you grope both their tits and they kiss each other.

Mina grabs the cum-filled condom from your right side, flaunting about it being filled to the brim as she ties the game. "You came in too late," Momo scolds your left side as she hits it with the condom. "So, what is the next round?" Mina asks. "Let's do some grinding," Momo says.

Momo starts first, grinding the left side cock of yours against her folds; Mina soon follows suit, both girls rubbing their cunts against those shafts, laughing as their tits bounce a lot. You're so sensitive it barely takes a couple of minutes for you to cum now, Momo prevailing and retaking the lead.

"Well, I concede, looks like Momo won our little bascum game," Mina says. "It's no big deal, Minaring; you were a great competitor," Momo answers. "Well, I'm glad Sana isn't here; she's such a sex machine we would have gotten no points against her," Mina says.

"How about we play some extra innings?" Momo asks Mina. "Of course," the ballerina answers as both girls now focus on your left side body, Momo teasing it with kisses while Mina sucks your cock. "No condoms this time; which hole do you want to cum inside?" Momo asks. "I want to cum on both those big fat asses," you tell them.

Momo and Mina jerk your cock off in anticipation. Both girls play with each other and give the tip of your cock a kiss. Soon enough, Momo is bouncing her big ass on it while Mina sits hers on your face. You're very sensitive now, barely resisting the way her cheeks hit your hips. Momo quickly picks up the pace while Mina squirts all over your face. You bury your face in Mina's squirting cunt while Momo keeps going with her hard bounces. Your right side returns to the scene, and Mina starts it while Momo prepares to milk your left side. "AHHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I NEED THAT CUM IN MY ASS," she screams.

Both girls bounce their asses on your cocks as hard as they can, hitting your hips really hard. You can barely breathe with such intense anal rides, your left side pushing up into Momo's butt while Mina keeps twerking on your right side. Soon your left side strikes to shake and bursts hard inside Momo's asshole. Both girls are elated, loving that white semen comes out of Momo's butthole. Mina wants it to herself and twerks even harder on your right side now. You grab her fat ass, and soon your right side starts to tremble, ejaculating hard in her anus and finishing this perfect fan meet.

Or so you thought.

Mina and Momo turn around and switch your cocks into their pussies. You're so overwhelmed at this point that it takes less than a minute for you to cum inside their breeding holes. The girls high-five each other, grabbing the condoms from their thongs and spreading your cum all over their bodies with both of your sides licking it. What a fanmeet it was; you would never expect such a thing.

As you were expecting them to restore your body into a single unit, someone appeared at the door. It's Sana.

"So I see you two had a lot of fun tonight," she says. "Momo was so eager she even used her cloning powers," she continued.

"Indeed, that was a lot of fun, and cum too," Mina says.

"Well, can you keep him split in two? I think those cocks are perfect for a DP, and I'm eager to do it tonight," Sana says.

"Sure," Momo answers.

Sana touches the cocks from both sides of your body, getting them instantly hard again with her magic touch.

"You thought the night was over, not so fast, naughty boy," she says.

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