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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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NSFW A-Z LSU!Joe x Angel

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Synopsis: nsfw a-z with our favorite couple, Angel and Joe while they're at LSU.

Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, (Graphic depictions of consensual sex, oral sex, masturbation (solo and mutual), dirty talk, choking, cum play, sex toys, power play, praise kink, light bondage (handcuffs), mirror sex, and self-made intimate videos). MDNI🔞

WC: 10.9k

A/N: looove doing this, I'll finish the current version here soon

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• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Requested: Yes by this lovely anon

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After sex, Angel is all softness and slow breaths, like the world around her has melted into something warm and golden.

She doesn’t rush the come-down. Doesn’t fight it or hide from it. She feels everything—every echo of pleasure still blooming in her limbs, every ripple of satisfaction that moves through her like waves pulling gently back from the shore. Her body is heavy in the most delicious way, sunk deep into the sheets or Joe’s chest, wherever she’s landed. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, glowing in that hazy, spent kind of way that makes Joe stare like he’s trying to memorize her.

There’s no armor afterward, no walls. Just her. Unfiltered. Open. Still trembling a little, still catching her breath.

And Joe—he lives for this version of her.

He pulls her in close, one hand tracing idle shapes on her skin, the other tangled in her hair. He whispers to her, voice low and thick with leftover heat—“You good, baby?” or “Still with me?” And Angel, blissed-out and foggy, usually just hums, curling against him like she was made to fit there. Sometimes she kisses his jaw without a word, sometimes she just smiles, that lazy post-orgasm smile that says you ruined me in the best way.

It’s a quiet kind of intimacy. The stillness after the storm. And she loves it—being held by the man who just wrecked her, letting him bring her gently back down to earth.

Joe is different in the quiet after. The drive and intensity he carries on the field slip away, peeled off with the last piece of clothing. What’s left is the man beneath the shoulder pads—the one who looks at her like she’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

His body, usually coiled with purpose and control, loosens completely. There’s a softness in the way he breathes, in the way he moves—slow, almost sleepy. His hands, large and sure, become gentle explorers of familiar skin, drifting without urgency. He doesn’t speak much, not at first. Words seem too heavy in that hush, so he lets his body do the talking—resting his forehead against hers, brushing his thumb along the edge of her jaw, curling his arm around her like a quiet vow.

His eyes, half-closed and golden in the dim light, don’t wander. They stay locked on her, like he’s trying to memorize her all over again. Every freckle. Every breath.

There’s a certain stillness to Joe in these moments. Not blank, not empty—just full in a different way. Full of feeling he doesn’t always know how to say aloud. He’ll hold her longer than necessary, even after her breathing evens out, as if letting go might undo everything they just built between them.

When he finally moves, it’s not to leave. It’s to care. He gets up quietly, barefoot on cool tile, and returns with a warm cloth, always tending to her first. His touch is slow and careful, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. He doesn’t rush, not with her. Not ever.

And when he climbs back into bed, arms pulling her close again, there’s a noticeable exhale from deep in his chest. Like now, with her wrapped around him again, he can finally breathe. This version of Joe—unguarded, tender, a little wrecked by love—is one the rest of the world never sees.

But Angel does.

Every time.

Σ>―❤→

The cicadas buzzed outside in the sultry Louisiana night, their rhythm as steady as the breath that rose and fell between two bodies tangled in sheets. Moonlight poured through the slatted blinds of the bedroom window, casting soft gold lines across Angel’s bare shoulders, her dark skin glowing like honey in the low light.

Inside the small off-campus apartment, the hum of a box fan filled the silence. The kind of silence that came after everything and before anything else. The kind that only happened when the world didn’t matter—just this moment, and each other.

Angel lay curled against Joe’s chest, her cheek pressed to the space right above his heart, where she could feel every beat. Slow and even now. He always slowed down after—after the heat, after the rush, after the way they clung to each other like they couldn’t breathe unless they were touching.

Joe had a stillness to him that felt like safety. Like shelter.

“You good?” he asked, voice low and a little hoarse, the remnants of emotion clinging to every word.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, fingers drawing lazy patterns on his ribcage. “You?”

A pause. His hand swept up her back, fingers threading gently through the ends of her curls.

“I’m good,” he said quietly. “Really good.”

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a second. Her body felt like it was floating, wrapped in a warm cocoon of love and sweat and everything that was them.

“You always get like this after,” she whispered, teasing but affectionate.

“Like what?”

“All... sweet,” she said, lifting her head slightly to look at him. “You turn into a damn teddy bear.”

Joe laughed, the sound soft and genuine, vibrating through his chest and into her. He reached up to brush a damp curl off her forehead. “Don’t tell the team.”

“Oh, I’m telling everyone. Coach O, too.”

He groaned and buried his face in her neck, his nose brushing her skin. “You’re evil.”

“I know,” she grinned, then softened, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But you like me anyway.”

“I love you,” he said without hesitation.

There it was—clear, simple, sure. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and it wouldn’t be the last, but every time Joe said those three words, Angel felt the ground under her get steadier.

She held onto him tighter.

A minute passed, maybe more. Long enough for the heat between them to settle into something gentler, more grounded. Joe shifted a little, then leaned back just enough to see her eyes.

“Be right back,” he said, kissing her shoulder before slipping out of bed.

Angel watched him move through the darkened apartment, his broad back disappearing into the bathroom. There was something about watching him in these moments—quiet, focused—that tugged at her heart in ways she couldn’t always explain. Joe didn’t just love her with words or grand gestures. He loved her like this—intentionally, gently, every damn day.

He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, kneeling beside her like she was something sacred. And when he cleaned her up—soft strokes, his hand cupping her thigh with care—he never rushed. Never looked away. It wasn’t just a routine; it was reverent.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice quieter this time.

She nodded, touched beyond words. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He kissed the inside of her knee, lingering there for a moment before taking care of himself quickly. Then he tossed the cloth into the laundry basket and climbed back into bed, tugging the sheet over both of them and wrapping himself around her again.

Her back against his chest this time, she sighed when he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade.

“Water? Snack? I think there’s peach cobbler left that your aunt made,” he offered into her ear.

Angel laughed softly. “You really think that’s still in the fridge? You ate like half of it after practice yesterday.”

“Untrue,” he said, feigning offense. “I shared.”

“Barely.”

Joe poked her side playfully. “I saved you the last bite.”

She turned over to face him, eyes dancing in the dim light. “You always do that. Save me the last bite. Hold the door. Pick out the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms ‘cause you know I hate ‘em.”

He shrugged, his thumb brushing the apple of her cheek. “Because I love you. Because I know you.”

Angel leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. “You really do.”

They lay like that for a while—faces inches apart, hands tangled together. He ran his fingers down her spine, over the slope of her waist, grounding her in every way she never knew she needed.

“You ever think about what’s next?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her, brows furrowing. “Like… next week or next year?”

“Both,” she said, her voice thoughtful now. “Like, when the season’s over. When you go to the league.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear and let his thumb trail the edge of her jaw.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think about it a lot. But none of it matters if you’re not there.”

Angel blinked, emotion catching in her throat. There was a weight to his words—not heavy, but solid. Permanent.

“You mean that?”

“I do.” His eyes held hers. “You’ve been with me through everything. Since before the scouts started showing up. Before people cared about what number I wore or how many yards I threw. I’m not going anywhere if you’re not coming with me.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, pressing her forehead to his. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“Good,” he whispered. “'Cause I don’t know how to do this without you.”

She smiled against his skin. “You won’t have to.”

Outside, the cicadas hummed on, and the night stretched gently forward. Wrapped in each other’s arms, hearts steady, breaths slow, Joe and Angel drifted into sleep—safe, loved, and ready for whatever came next.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Joe has always been drawn to Angel’s body, but her thighs and ass are his undoing. It’s instinctive—primal, even—the way his gaze lingers when she walks past, hips swaying like she already knows what she does to him. And she does know. She teases him with it, carries herself like a woman who’s loved and wanted and fully aware of her own power. Joe doesn’t just notice—he worships.

Her thighs are strong, full, a perfect blend of muscle and softness that make him lose track of what he was saying mid-sentence. When she’s on top of him, knees pressing into the mattress, thighs flexing around his hips—Joe forgets everything but her. And when she shifts, arching her back just slightly, the curve of her ass pushing against him—he swears, it borders on spiritual.

It’s not just about sex, though. It’s the way her body moves through the world. The way she climbs into his lap like it’s her throne. The way he’ll find himself reaching for her—hands full, greedy and unrepentant—when she’s cooking, folding laundry, or even just brushing her teeth. His favorite view is her walking away, and half the time, he’s following just so he can grab a handful and pull her back.

There’s something grounding about it for him. Something safe. Her thighs around his waist, her body flush against his—it centers him, like he’s exactly where he belongs. And in the quiet moments after, when her legs are draped over his, tangled and warm, it’s a kind of peace he doesn’t find anywhere else.

Joe is an ass man, through and through, but with Angel, it’s more than obsession—it’s devotion. He could write volumes about the way she feels in his hands. But he’d rather show her, every time.

Angel is no better when it comes to Joe’s hands and back. She tries to play it cool, but the truth is, those two things ruin her every time.

His back is pure art—broad, solid, carved with muscle and quiet strength. She watches him move across a room, or stretch after practice with his shirt riding up, and it sends a slow, deep ache straight through her. There’s something about the way the muscles in his back ripple under his skin when he’s lifting, or even just reaching for something in the kitchen. It's not flashy strength—it’s controlled, lived-in, earned. And it does things to her. Powerful things.

She’s touched other men before—boys, really—but no one felt like Joe. No one had that weight, that stability, like he could carry anything. Carry her.

And then there are his hands.

God, his hands.

They’re big, calloused in places, worn in that way that comes from years of gripping footballs, lifting weights, bracing for hits. But with her, they’re something else entirely. Gentle. Intuitive. Capable of every kind of touch—from slow and teasing to firm and grounding.

She loves the way one palm can span the small of her back, anchoring her in place when they’re dancing in the kitchen or tangled in bed. The way his fingers splay wide across her thigh, confident and proprietary. The way he holds her face when they kiss, thumb brushing her cheekbone like she’s something precious.

When he wraps his arms around her from behind and she feels his bare chest press against her spine, strong hands sliding around her waist, fingertips grazing her hips—she melts. Every single time.

And in those quiet, post-intimacy moments, when her fingers trace the lines of his back, feeling every dip and curve of muscle, it feels like communion. Like memorization. Like she’s learning him again and again, and never growing tired of the study.

Angel might tease him about being a little obsessed with her thighs, but when it comes to his back and those hands—she has no room to talk. She’s addicted. And the worst part?

He knows.

He’ll stretch deliberately, arms raised behind his head, back flexing as he watches her out of the corner of his eye, smirking when he catches her stare. Or he’ll slip his fingers under her shirt at just the right time, palm resting against her skin like he owns the space—and maybe he does.

Because Angel is completely, shamelessly undone by him. And if Joe’s hands and back are her weakness, she’s never wanted to be strong.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Angel swears she can taste the shift in him when he’s close—his grip tightens in her hair, his thighs tense, and that cocky, controlled quarterback exterior cracks just enough to let the rawness show. And when he loses it? Really loses it? Finishes on her face with a grunt so guttural it echoes in her spine?

She lives for it.

It doesn’t happen every time. Joe usually likes it slow, intimate—her swallowed in the sheets, his name whispered against his lips, the kind of release that melts into kisses and afterglow. But on the rare occasions she’s on her knees, eyes locked with his, mouth slick and pretty and eager, and he lets go—really lets go—painting her cheeks, her lips, her throat?

She smiles.

Because there’s something dark and feminine and utterly feral about it. Something ancient that hums inside her chest when he gives in like that. When he marks her in the messiest, most possessive way. When she watches it drip and feels his whole body stutter above her like he couldn’t hold back even if he wanted to.

Joe never says it out loud, but he loves the look in her eyes when she wears it. Like it’s hers just as much as it’s his. Like she chose to take that part of him and wear it with pride.

But his favorite? Finishing inside her.

Always has been.

It’s the heat of it, the weight of it—the way her body clenches around him like it’s trying to keep him there forever. The groan he lets out when he finally spills, hips twitching, chest heaving against hers. And when he pulls out, slow and aching, watching himself leak from between her thighs? That sight alone has him halfway to hard again.

It’s primal. Addictive. A quiet little promise carved between them without words.

Sometimes she cups it with her hand and shoves it back in, biting her lip like she’s teasing him. Sometimes she moans at the stretch afterward, hips rocking like she’s still not done. And Joe? He can’t tear his eyes away. Can’t stop himself from pressing his fingers there, from watching the aftermath of what they’ve just done.

It’s messy. Intimate. Beautiful.

And neither of them would have it any other way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Their dirtiest secret lives in the echoes of the LSU football facility—the kind of memory sealed behind locked doors and heavy silences, known only to them and maybe, maybe, the poor janitor who’s learned to knock twice before entering.

After big games, when the adrenaline’s still coursing through Joe’s veins and the stadium lights are still seared into his vision, sometimes he doesn’t want to wait. He doesn’t want to take her home or make it sweet. He wants her right there—in the locker room, lights low, pads still scattered across the floor, the scent of sweat and victory thick in the air. Angel, perched on the edge of a bench, legs parted, whispering “We shouldn’t,” even as she’s already pulling him closer. He’s still in partial uniform, helmet in one hand, her thigh in the other, telling her exactly how proud he is—and exactly how he’s going to show her.

But the gym? That’s a different kind of filth.

It starts innocent enough—shared workouts, her in leggings and a sports bra that makes Joe forget his reps entirely. But then he's behind her at the squat rack, "spotting," hands too low on her waist, breath hot against her neck. And before either of them can help it, they’re tangled together in front of the mirrored wall, her palms pressed flat to the glass, his voice in her ear saying, “Watch yourself, baby. Watch what I do to you.”

That’s what gets her—the mirrors. The way he makes her look, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, moaning softly as her reflection blushes and bends for him. Joe watches too, obsessed with the sight of her coming undone from every angle, like the image alone could keep him hard for days.

No one knows. Not their teammates, not her friends. But every time they walk through those halls, exchange a glance near the weight room, or pass the entrance to the locker room after a game—there’s a heat behind their eyes that says: we’ve already claimed this place.

And that secret? It only makes everything burn hotter.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Angel is experienced—undeniably so.

She’s had her share of casual hookups, two real relationships before Joe, and more than enough time to learn what she likes, what she doesn’t, and how to read her partner’s body like it’s speaking directly to her. There’s no fumbling, no hesitation when it comes to her in the bedroom—she knows what she’s doing, and she knows exactly how to make someone feel it.

She’s been with women before, dated them, touched them, learned their rhythms and how different kinds of pleasure unfold. Same with men. She never saw sex as a shameful thing, never treated her desire like something to suppress. For her, it was exploration. Discovery. Power and vulnerability all wrapped into one. So when she steps into intimacy with Joe, it’s with confidence—not cocky, but steady. Assured.

She doesn’t need direction, but she’s not afraid to ask. She knows how to please, how to listen—not just to words, but to breathless moans, sharp intakes, and the kind of body language that speaks louder than anything else. And it shows. Joe never has to guess with her—never has to wonder if she knows how good she is at this, how natural it feels when she takes control or falls apart beneath him with practiced grace.

But the real shift? The real change came with him. Because even with all that experience, even with all the partners she’s had—none of them ever felt like this.

Joe makes her feel wanted in a way that turns all that knowledge into something sacred. He doesn’t just appreciate her experience—he reveres it. He knows she could have anyone, has had others, and still, she chose him. And that makes him meet her energy with just as much fire, just as much focus.

She pleases because she pays attention. And because she loves it.

It’s one of the first things Joe noticed about her. That quiet, devastating confidence that didn’t need to brag—she just knew. When she dropped to her knees and looked up at him with that teasing smirk, or when she climbed into his lap and whispered exactly what she wanted in his ear, he realized real fast: this woman could take him apart in ways he didn’t even know were possible.

And Joe? He might not have had the same track record, but don’t let the boy-next-door face fool you. He’s had experience, sure—but more than that, he’s attentive. Detail-oriented. Competitive as hell. Once he realized Angel had been with women too, something clicked. It wasn’t jealousy—it was drive. He wanted to learn her body better than anyone ever had, especially the ones who’d come before him.

Angel’s always known how to please. But with Joe? She gets to be pleased in return—fully, deeply, unapologetically.

Joe’s no rookie when it comes to sex. He’s had his share of experiences—hookups during early college years, a few real relationships before things got serious with football. He’s been with women who were casual, and women who left a mark. So yeah, he knows what he’s doing. He understands pacing, pressure, when to take his time and when to push. He’s confident in his body, in his touch, and in how to read a moment.

But with Angel, everything shifted.

Because Joe wasn’t just interested in sex with her—he wanted to learn her.

Every sigh, every twitch of her hips, every time her breath hitched when he kissed the inside of her thigh—he paid attention. He didn’t come to their bed trying to perform. He came to connect. To understand what made her unravel, what made her feel safest, what made her want.

The first time they were together, he didn’t rush. He explored like he had all night—and he would’ve taken even longer if she let him. Joe asked questions with his mouth, his hands, his eyes. Is this good? Do you like this? Tell me what you need.

And he remembered.

He catalogued the places her breath caught, the way she curled her toes when he hit just the right rhythm. The exact pressure she liked when his hands gripped her hips. The pace she needed when her head tipped back and her nails found his shoulders.

Joe was experienced, yes—but with Angel, he became intentional.

It wasn't just about getting her off—it was about knowing her, mapping her body like it was sacred territory he was lucky to travel. And the more he learned, the more he wanted to learn. Every time was a little different, a little deeper. He’d press a new kiss to her skin and think, Does she like that? Did I hear that breath catch?

And God, when she did fall apart beneath him, when he knew without question he’d found that perfect spot—that noise she made, low and breathless, always left him wrecked. Not because it stroked his ego, but because he gave her something real.

Because he earned it.

Joe had experience, but with Angel, he found purpose. He wasn’t trying to impress her. He was trying to understand her.

And he did.

More every time.

Together? They’re explosive. Experienced. Electric.

And they never stop learning each other.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Some nights they play with angles—Joe bending her leg up over his shoulder in deep, dragging thrusts that make Angel clutch the sheets and moan his name like a prayer. Other times it’s from behind, slow or rough, her arch perfect, his grip bruising, and both of them lost in the rhythm of it.

But Angel’s favorite, without a doubt, is when he puts her in a full-on mating press.

Legs folded to her chest, hips tilted just right, Joe’s body heavy and pressing into hers like he’s trying to become a part of her. There’s something about the way he looks at her in that position—possessive, hungry, completely gone—that makes her brain melt. It’s the eye contact, the power in his strokes, the sheer intimacy of being held open and filled so deep she swears she feels it in her throat.

He makes her take it, all of it, hands gripping her thighs, whispering filth into her ear—“You were made for this. For me.”And she is. She feels it in her bones, in the way he moves inside her like he’s never letting go. Her back arching, mouth falling open, thighs shaking from the stretch and the overwhelming pressure of being wrecked exactly the way she craves.

Joe loves all of her—the way she moans in missionary, the way she trembles when she’s on top—but there’s something primal in the mating press that brings out the unfiltered version of them both. Angel coming apart under him, body pinned and perfect. Joe thrusting slow but deep, groaning through clenched teeth, “Take it. That’s it, baby.”

It’s not just about the depth—it’s about the closeness. The way he can kiss her while he breaks her down. The way she can beg and praise and cry out his name all at once, wrapped up in his sweat, his weight, his world.

Every time he folds her like that, Angel swears she sees stars. And Joe? He swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful than the way she falls apart beneath him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Joe’s not the type to dissolve into giggles mid-moment, but neither is he immune to the kind of ridiculousness that sneaks in when you least expect it. There’s a steady fire in him, a focus that pulls him deep, but the space between them is never so heavy that laughter can’t slip through the cracks.

Maybe Angel says something silly, or Joe’s fingers miss their mark, and suddenly the room is filled with their shared breathless laughter — that mix of surprise and delight, where neither can keep a straight face, and the world outside fades into a softer, warmer glow. Those bursts of giggles ripple between them, light as the whispers they exchange, grounding their passion in something joyful and real.

Their playfulness doesn’t end there. After everything — the quiet satisfaction and the heat — come the teasing words, the gentle roasts exchanged with fondness. Joe’s voice roughens with humor as he ribbings her about how she “always cheats when she’s winning,” and Angel’s grin lights up the space, eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

Even in those moments of laughter, the tenderness underneath never wavers. Joe’s touch is soft and sure, a slow trail of warmth down her spine, a kiss lingering like a secret kept just between them. The way they lean into each other afterward, limbs tangled, hearts slowing, is a quiet promise — that this blend of light and deep is theirs alone.

Angel nestles closer, fingers drawing lazy shapes on his skin, their smiles mingling with whispered jokes and teasing confessions. When Joe peels away the last layer between them with a playful flick, the giggles return — sweet, easy, like an echo of the love that’s never quite serious but always deeply felt.

With Joe and Angel, the night is a dance — equal parts laughter and longing, a space where passion and playfulness live side by side. It’s messy, it’s warm, it’s theirs.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Joe keeps it trimmed—neat, clean, nothing fancy. It’s not about vanity; it’s about comfort, practicality. Football is brutal enough without the added friction, the sweat, the sting of irritated skin. He’s learned what works for his body, what keeps things smooth without going too far. His skin is sensitive, and he doesn’t need any extra distractions when he’s already got enough pressure coming at him from every angle. So he keeps it simple—low maintenance but well-managed. He likes control, even here.

Angel is different. Hers is a ritual of its own. Wax appointments booked like clockwork, every few weeks without fail. It started back in high school, after an offhanded comment from a friend—“If it’s hairy, it’s scary. What guy wants wolf coochie?” It was a joke. One of those throwaway lines girls say to each other without realizing the damage it might do. But it stuck. It etched itself into the back of her mind, whispering every time she looked in the mirror.

Now, staying bare is part habit, part armor. She likes how it feels—clean, polished, soft—but sometimes she wonders if she would’ve chosen it on her own. Still, she doesn't regret it. Not when Joe touches her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Not when he kisses down her belly and murmurs, "Pretty, just like this." Not when his hands trail between her thighs like worship, not judgment.

And no, the carpet doesn’t quite match the drapes—not exactly. But Joe’s never cared. He’s not inspecting her like a checklist, he’s experiencing her. He’s far more concerned with the way she moans, the way her body arches into his, the way her skin tastes after a long day. He loves her waxed, but he’d love her anyway.

For them, grooming isn’t about impressing each other. It’s about feeling good in their own skin—about comfort, confidence, control. And a little bit of heat.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When Joe and Angel are in the moment, it’s less about urgency and more about presence. Their connection is quiet but electric—like they’re sharing a secret language only they understand. Joe’s focus is all on Angel, his eyes tracing every curve and every flicker of emotion on her face. He moves with a tenderness that speaks of respect and awe, as if holding something precious in his hands.

Angel matches that tenderness with a confidence that grounds them both. She’s open, vulnerable, yet utterly sure of herself, inviting Joe in not just physically but emotionally. Their touches are slow, deliberate—each caress a word, each kiss a sentence in a conversation of love and desire. They listen to each other’s breath, to the little sounds and sighs that tell them what the other needs.

Romance isn’t just in what they say, but in the silences between, the way Joe brushes a stray hair from Angel’s face, the way she wraps her fingers around his wrist, holding on like she never wants to let go. There’s laughter sometimes, soft and shy, because being with each other feels safe enough to be completely themselves.

It’s not just sex—it’s a dance of trust, a celebration of intimacy where they lose themselves and find each other all at once. In those moments, the world shrinks until it’s just them, two souls wrapped in warmth, desire, and a love that’s growing deeper with every shared heartbeat.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

They both do it—of course they do. But it’s never mindless, never just for the release. For Joe and Angel, even masturbation carries the weight of longing.

Joe only really reaches for himself when their schedules are a mess—when Angel’s slammed with internship hours or knee-deep in a project, and he’s got meetings and practice stacked until the day bleeds into night. That’s when it hits him hardest: the ache of not having her under him, around him, on him. He’ll close his eyes, fist tight around himself, and imagine—not just her body, but the way she sounds. The way she whispers his name like a secret, the way her breath stutters when he hits that spot.

And Angel? She’s the same. When it’s late and her body’s buzzing, and Joe’s stuck at team events or traveling for a game, she’ll give in to it. Pull the covers up, hand slipping low, mind already painting vivid pictures of him—his voice, his groans, the look in his eyes when he’s wrecked and wanting more. Sometimes it’s not even about fantasy. It’s about missing him. About needing that closeness in any way she can get it.

Sometimes, when it’s really bad—when the separation feels sharp and skin-hungry—they’ll call each other. Nothing overt at first. Just soft little “I miss you” and “What are you doing right now?” But one of them always cracks. The shift in their voice, the catch in their breath, the heat curling into the conversation like smoke. Then it's moans over the speaker, whispered filth across miles. The sound of skin and want and barely-contained desperation to be together.

They don’t love doing it alone—but they don’t shame it either. It’s just another way of staying connected. A pulse of intimacy in the in-between. And when they’re finally back together after? They always make up for the time lost—twice over.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Angel has a thing for Joe’s hands—always has. The way they grip the football with precision and power, the veins that pop along his forearms, the way his fingers look wrapped around a glass or lazily tugging at his collar. But when those same hands are around her throat?

She melts.

It’s not about aggression—it’s about trust. It’s about the way his palm rests over her throat, firm but careful, his thumb stroking the pulse point like a silent check-in. Her breath catches, her hips roll, and she goes pliant for him, eyes wide and hazy. He never fully squeezes—just enough pressure to make her feel owned, claimed, completely his. And when he pairs it with his hips grinding slow and deep, with his mouth murmuring filth in her ear?

She doesn’t stand a chance.

Joe, on the other hand, goes absolutely feral when she calls him daddy. Even if it’s in a playful, mocking tone—especially if it is. She’ll smirk, bite her lip, tilt her head, and drop it mid-sentence like it means nothing. “Whatever you say, daddy.” And suddenly, Joe’s eyes darken, his jaw sets, and Angel finds herself flipped, pinned, and breathless in seconds.

But more than that, Joe has a massive praise kink. He gets off on knowing she’s feeling good, knowing he is the reason. Every moan, every “Just like that,” or “You’re so good to me, Joe,” drives him wild. She could be breathless and trembling, legs shaking, and still whisper something like “You ruin me every time,”—and that’s it. He’s gone.

Angel’s no different. She thrives under praise—needs it, drinks it up like honey. Joe knows just what to say, how to say it. “Look at you takin’ me so good.” “My pretty girl’s so perfect for me.” And she’ll come undone from his words alone, eyes fluttering, hands grasping at anything just to stay grounded.

They’ve got the basics covered: choking, praise, a little name play, teasing dominance and soft submission wrapped up in heat and trust. Nothing extreme—just enough to keep it dirty, honest, and theirs. Enough to make every moment feel like it toes the line between devotion and destruction. And they love walking that line together.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Their bedrooms are the obvious sanctuaries. Safe, familiar, worn in with memory—Angel’s bed smells like her vanilla body butter and soft linen, while Joe’s feels like a fortress: warm, solid, and a little too big without her in it. Those spaces are sacred, sure, but they’ve never been the type to stay confined between four walls.

The couch gets its fair share of action. Especially late at night, when a movie’s playing in the background and Angel’s curled into Joe’s side, tracing slow circles on his thigh with that mischievous look in her eye. One thing leads to another—legs straddling hips, mouths searching—and suddenly they’re breathless against the cushions, half-undressed and unable to make it to the bedroom.

The kitchen island is more chaotic. It’s fast, frenzied, usually after she’s just finished making something sweet and he walks in from practice still sweaty, still keyed up, eyes locked on her like he’s starving. He lifts her like nothing, sets her right on the edge of the counter, flour still dusting her thighs, and makes a mess of her right there. She always pretends to be mad about it later. She never really is.

And then there’s Joe’s truck. Parked in some quiet corner of a lot, seat pushed all the way back, the windows fogged up with heat and laughter and her hands in his hair. Sneaking around, hearts pounding like something forbidden. Something electric. The cramped space only adds to the urgency, her knees hitting the dash, his hands fumbling with her waistband, the gear shift digging into his side as they both fall apart in a rush of gasps and stifled moans.

They’ve never needed candlelight or hotel suites. Just a spark and each other—and maybe a surface sturdy enough to handle it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For Joe, it's embarrassingly easy. Anything Angel does—anything—can light a fire under his skin. She could be brushing her teeth, stretching in the morning, humming while she ties her hair up, and it’s over for him. He’s already thinking about peeling her out of whatever she’s wearing.

But the top of the list?

It’s her, bare-faced and wrapped in his clothes—especially after a long night, when her voice is still raspy and she’s walking around in one of his old tees, sleeves too big, hem grazing just below her thighs. That quiet, soft version of her, glowing without even trying, smiling at him like he’s her entire world? That’s the moment Joe’s officially gone. He’s stiff in his sweats and struggling to pretend he’s not ready to pull her right back into bed.

He’s a goner for that kind of intimacy. No makeup, no show. Just Angel, real and radiant, looking at him like she already knows what he wants.

As for Angel? Please. She just has to look at Joe and she’s halfway to breathless. Can you blame her? She’s dating LSU’s golden boy, the star quarterback with the body built by God and grit, the kind of jawline that makes good decisions go straight out the window.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he carries himself—shoulders broad, confidence effortless, voice low and smooth like velvet when he says her name. It’s how he watches her like he’s thinking things he shouldn’t say in public. It’s the slight flex of his arms when he lifts his helmet, the way his veins pop when he’s lacing his cleats, the subtle smirk he gives when he catches her staring a little too long.

She’s got a whole internal reel of Joe being unintentionally sexy, and it plays at full volume any time he walks into a room.

So yeah, it doesn’t take much. A look, a grin, a flash of bare skin. One touch, one whisper.

They stay ready for each other—always.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are lines neither of them are willing to cross—lines drawn not out of judgment, but out of how fiercely they love each other. How deeply they belong to each other.

Threesomes? Off the table. Absolutely not.

Joe knows Angel’s had experiences with women before, and while a small, curious part of him wonders what that looked like—he never dares ask. He knows her too well. Knows how quickly her smile would drop, how fast her eyes would cut to his, sharp and incredulous. She doesn’t share. And neither does he.

They’re both too possessive for it. If another pair of hands touched her, Joe wouldn’t be able to hide the rage crawling under his skin. He’d take her home, pin her to the bed, and remind her—slowly, thoroughly—why he’s the only one she’ll ever need. And if Angel ever caught someone else trying to touch him? She’d burn it all down before she watched it happen.

Watching? Also a no. No open doors. No cameras. No performative moments for anyone else’s eyes. What they have is private, sacred, theirs. The way he worships her body, the way she moans his name like it’s the only word that’s ever mattered—it’s not meant for an audience. Never will be.

And when it comes to pain? Joe has his limits. He’ll grip her throat, bruise her hips, leave marks on her thighs that she blushes at the next morning—but he refuses to slap her. Even when she’s in her bratty moods, daring and teasing. His jaw tightens at the idea. “I can fuck you until your legs give out, but I’ll never put my hand across your face.” That’s not dominance. That’s a boundary. One she respects, just as he respects hers.

They’ve talked through their turn-offs, set their rules in the kind of trust only two people this tangled together can build. No slapping. No sharing. No degradation that crosses into cruelty. No extremes that twist something beautiful into something detached.

What they have? It’s raw. Intense. Real.And it’s too good to risk on anything that doesn’t feel like them.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Joe swears he could live between Angel’s thighs and never want for anything else. It’s his favorite place to be—warm, soft, sweet, and all hers. He takes his time down there, like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like worship is a slow, methodical act. He learns her rhythms, reads every gasp, every twitch, every arch of her back like scripture.

He says it plain, too, with that lazy drawl and a glint in his eye: “You sit on my face, I’m not coming up for air.”

But that doesn’t mean he’s immune to the sight of her on her knees—bare legs, steady eyes, full lips curved in mischief. That image burns itself into the back of his mind, keeps him up at night when she’s not around. And when she is? He lets her take control, lets her drag her fingers down his abs and lick her lips like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Because she does.

Angel lives for taking Joe apart. For making the man who commands a football field come undone with just her mouth. She’s not called the throat goat for nothing—rumor or not, she’s got the skill to back it up. She watches his face the whole time, takes pride in the way his brows pinch, the way his hands grip the sheets, the way he tries—and fails—to keep his composure. She loves pulling sounds out of him no one else gets to hear. Loves knowing she can make LSU’s golden boy fall apart with nothing but her lips and a wicked look in her eye.

But truthfully? They're both givers at heart. Both obsessed with each other’s pleasure, both greedy when it comes to drawing it out. Joe gets off on getting her off. And Angel? She feels powerful with his pleasure in her hands, on her tongue, between her legs.

It’s not about who gets more. It’s how far they can take each other—how many times they can push the other past the edge before finally tumbling down together.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends. With them, it always does.

Joe isn't a man of one tempo. He’s all instinct and intention, all coiled control wrapped in raw desire—and how he touches her reflects exactly what’s brewing under the surface. If he’s had a long day, if practice ran him dry and his muscles ache with frustration, he doesn’t say it out loud. He shows her. He finds her, pulls her close, and the kiss is rougher than usual, deeper, hungrier. There’s no time for soft. He needs to bury himself in her, lose himself in her, grip her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

And Angel? She lives for it. For the tension in his shoulders, the heat in his stare when he looks at her like she’s the only thing that can settle the storm in him. She aches for the way he throws her around like he’s forgotten his own strength—like she can take it, and more. She craves the growl in his voice when he mutters "mine" against her skin, the way his hands slide under her thighs and lift her like she weighs nothing, like the need might rip right through him if he doesn’t have her now.

But then there are other nights. Nights where the world slows down just enough for him to remember how delicate she is beneath all that fire. When he runs his fingers over her skin like he's trying to memorize her all over again. Kisses her like he’s rediscovering the shape of her mouth, taking his time, tasting every sound she makes. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t grip—he glides. Draws pleasure from her in lazy, lingering waves until she’s trembling under him, whispering his name like a prayer.

Angel loves both versions of him. The rough, unrelenting force of nature and the slow-burning worshipper. There’s something holy in both. Something that makes her feel like the most wanted woman in the world, no matter how fast or how slow he moves.

With Joe, it’s never just about the pace—it’s about the intention. And whether he’s wrecking her with bruising passion or unraveling her with patience, it always ends the same way: with her completely undone, and him right there to hold the aftermath.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies aren’t a compromise—they’re a necessity, an art form, a shared language carved out of chaos.

LSU keeps them moving. Between his practices and her internship, their days are built on borrowed minutes and crashing schedules. But somehow, they always find time to steal something just for them. A kiss stretched too long in the doorway. Hands slipping under clothes while the coffee brews. A moan half-smothered in the crook of a neck. Quickies aren’t plan B—they’re part of the rhythm, part of the heat that coils around them like a secret.

Joe isn’t picky about the when or the where. If he’s got five minutes before warm-ups, and she’s standing there in that damn tank top, lip gloss still dewy from a rushed goodbye kiss—he’s pulling her back inside, locking the door, and pressing her up against it like he’s got all the time in the world.

Angel matches him beat for beat. She’s no stranger to setting a timer on her phone, breathless with laughter as she drags him toward the couch with her skirt already hiked up. She’s learned how to grind against him with precision, how to make every second count, how to finish fast and full, and still feel utterly undone.

They don’t need candles or slow music. Not every time. Sometimes, it’s just urgency—the burn of now—that makes it perfect.

They’ve made it in the backseat of his car, in her shower with the water running ice cold, against the kitchen counter with the fridge still open. It’s messy and rushed and sometimes they forget where they dropped their clothes—but it always ends in flushed cheeks and shared grins. Sometimes it's a promise whispered with teeth grazing skin: Later. Slower.

But until then, they’re not above worshiping in stolen moments.

Because when the clock’s ticking, and desire’s coiled just beneath the surface, quickies are their superpower—and they wear the chaos like a crown.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Of course they are—they live to experiment.

Joe and Angel are the kind of couple that turns curiosity into chemistry. That quiet kind of bold, where boundaries aren't just pushed, they're explored together with trust like a safety net stretched beneath them. They're not reckless, but they are intentional. If something sparks in the back of their minds—some dirty idea, some "what if we tried…"—they don't ignore it. They talk about it. Tease it out of each other like a secret. And then, if the vibe is right? They go there.

They’ve already hooked up in places they shouldn't have—the LSU locker room after a win, the university gym late at night with sweat still clinging to their skin. It’s not just about the thrill (though that’s definitely part of it); it’s about discovery. Pushing the edge of what feels good and finding out what feels better.

Angel's handcuffed Joe to the headboard before, watching him squirm and groan beneath her, all that power restrained and turned over to her control. Joe’s done the same, eyes dark and full of heat as he leaned over her and clicked the cuffs around her wrists, whispering, “Tell me everything you want. Or I’ll take my time guessing.”

They love learning what the other is into—not just physically, but emotionally. What gets their partner buzzing. What unravels them. What makes them whisper do it again.

But always, always, they talk first. There’s a mutual respect laced through every risk, a quiet you okay with this? before they jump. Nothing is off-limits if the foundation feels good, grounded, safe. Because when it comes down to it, their willingness to experiment isn’t about novelty—it’s about intimacy. About exploring every inch of desire together, one boundary at a time.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

During the season, Joe runs on discipline and exhaustion. His body’s a finely tuned machine, but it’s taxed—early mornings, weight training, practices that leave him drained in every muscle. Still, when it comes to Angel, he finds the energy. Always.

Two rounds minimum, even when he's bone tired. That first one is usually fast, raw—weeks of tension and adrenaline crashing into the moment. But the second? Slower, deeper. That’s where the emotion creeps in, where he holds her closer, keeps his strokes controlled, deliberate, like he’s trying to prolong the high just for her. And he does. He always does.

But once the season’s over—when there’s no 5AM lifts, no playbooks to memorize, no looming games to burn through his stamina? It’s a whole different man she gets.

Off-season Joe has time. Has patience. Has something to prove. He’s going for three, sometimes four rounds if she’s up for it. He takes his time between them too—kissing, teasing, whispering things that make her shiver and giggle, only to pull her right back in the moment he feels her hips shift with want again.

Angel never complains. She rises to the challenge like she was born for it. She’ll tease him right back, eyes gleaming, fingers dragging down his chest like, "That all you got, QB1?" And he’ll flash that cocky grin—tired, sweat-slicked, completely wrecked—and still flip her over for one more.

They don’t always keep count. Sometimes it’s not about rounds or minutes. It’s about the echo of it after—the sore muscles, the lazy smiles, the way she curls into his chest and murmurs, “I missed this,” like it’s sacred.

But if you're asking for numbers? In season: two, strong. Off season: as long as it takes to leave them both breathless, dazed, and entirely satisfied.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Angel had fallen for the hype—like everyone else, she’d let the rose whisper sweet promises to her body on lonely nights, let it bloom against her until her legs trembled and her breath came in desperate gasps. She’d laughed about it with her girls, even said no man could ever measure up to that kind of precision, that kind of efficiency. And then she met Joe.

Joe isn’t a man threatened by toys. Not really. He doesn’t sneer at them or toss out ultimatums. He just doesn’t see the point—when he’s around.

Because when he’s there, he wants to be the pulse beneath her pleasure. The breath in her lungs, the burn in her thighs. He wants to work her up slow, make her wait, make her beg, remind her of all the ways his hands can outpace even the most advanced motor. It’s not about being the best. It’s about being hers. The only one who gets to taste the way she shudders, who memorizes every flicker of her moans like verses to a song no one else will ever hear. He wants her bliss to bear his fingerprints, his rhythm, his name on her tongue.

Still, he’d slipped her a box on her birthday with that signature smirk—the one that spells trouble and triumph all at once. Inside? A mold of his dick. Hyper-realistic. Almost obnoxiously so.

“Figure I’d stay with you, even when I’m not,” he’d murmured, low and amused, as she stared at it with wide eyes and a laugh caught in her throat.

She keeps it tucked away. Not because it doesn’t work. Because it does. Not because she doesn’t miss him. But because nothing comes close to him—the heat of his body, the command in his voice, the way he touches her like she’s sacred and wild all at once. When he’s near, nothing battery-powered stands a chance.

She still uses the rose sometimes. But she never tells him. And he never asks. Somehow, they both know—it’s always him she’s thinking of when her knees start to shake.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Joe and Angel’s teasing was never just innocent fun—it was a deliciously wicked dance, a game that twisted desire and laughter together until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began. Tonight, that familiar heat was thick in the air, settling like a charged storm between them.

Joe lounged beside Angel on the couch, his fingers barely grazing the bare skin at the curve of her waist, teasing just enough to make her shiver. His voice dropped low, gravelly with mischief. “You know I love making you squirm, right? It’s like a secret weapon.”

Angel’s breath hitched, eyes darkening with a wicked sparkle. “Oh, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she purred. “And I’m going to make you pay.”

Joe’s fingers slid under her shirt, tracing slow, tantalizing circles over her ribs, his touch feather-light but loaded with intent. “You’re all talk, Angel.” His lips found the tender skin behind her ear, nibbling and sucking, sending sparks trailing down her neck. “I’m the one who gets to decide when this game ends.”

Angel moaned softly, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers digging into muscle as she pulled him closer. “Then maybe it’s time to change the rules.” She leaned in, breath hot against his jaw. “Because I’m not just going to take your teasing—I’m going to make you beg.”

Joe’s grin was devilish, eyes smoldering. “Is that a challenge?”

Before she could answer, Angel’s fingers slipped lower, trailing just inside the waistband of his pants. The sudden boldness of her touch made Joe’s breath catch, his hips twitching forward. “You like playing dirty,” he murmured, voice thick with want.

“Only with you,” she whispered, lips brushing his earlobe, her voice a wicked promise. “I know exactly how to push your buttons, and I’m not afraid to use every single one.”

His hands roamed with increasing urgency, pulling her shirt up just enough to expose the smooth curve of her waist, the soft skin begging to be touched. Joe’s mouth found hers again—this kiss slow and demanding, lips parting and tongues dancing as the heat between them spiraled.

Angel’s hands slipped under his shirt, nails grazing his skin in feather-light scratches that had him groaning low in his throat. “You’re so unfair,” she teased breathlessly, “but damn, I love it.”

Joe chuckled darkly, fingers tightening at her hips as he pressed closer, their bodies flush and humming with need. “Unfair’s just another word for irresistible.” His voice dropped, nearly a growl. “Tell me you want me as much as I want you.”

Angel’s eyes locked with his, her smile sultry and fierce. “I want you to lose control. I want you to forget everything but this moment—me, you, and the fire we’re setting.”

Joe’s hands slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, fingers trailing teasing, maddening lines over the bare skin of her hip. Angel gasped, arching into him as the teasing turned urgent.

“Not so innocent now,” Joe whispered against her lips. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.”

“And you’re going to love every second of it,” she breathed.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Angel is not quiet—and she’s never tried to be. She moans without apology, breathy and beautiful, sometimes broken by gasps of “Right there,” or “Don’t stop, Joe, please—” She’s vocal in every way: the whimpers when he hits just the right spot, the cries when she’s close, the soft, drawn-out sighs when she finally comes down. She feels everything fully, and she lets him hear it.

They’ve gotten more than a few noise complaints—especially during the off-season, when they’ve got time to be unhurried, unrestrained, and thoroughly loud about it. Angel once joked they should bake cookies for the neighbors as an apology. Joe smirked and said, “Or we could just keep giving them a show.”

Joe’s no better. He doesn’t moan—not usually. That’s not his default setting. He’s a talker. A low-voiced, dirty-mouthed, in-control kind of talker. He praises her in real time—“So good for me,” or “You feel perfect, baby,”—and when she’s close, he’s egging her on, whispering things just rough enough to make her fall apart even faster.

But Angel on her knees? That’s the exception. That’s his kryptonite. All that composure, all that swagger—it goes right out the window. When she’s looking up at him with those big, doe eyes, her lips wrapped around him like she was made for it? He’s groaning, low and guttural, one hand in her hair, the other braced somewhere—anywhere—just to keep himself from unraveling completely. And yes, sometimes a moan escapes, half-formed and helpless. He can’t help it. Not with her.

Together, they’re loud in the way that love and lust demand. Walls shake. Beds creak. Words echo. And neither of them has any intention of quieting down.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

It started as a question, whispered against Joe’s bare shoulder one lazy night when the world felt quiet and small around them.

"What did you used to watch... you know, before me?"Joe chuckled, arm draped around her waist, lips brushing her forehead. “Why, you tryin’ to take notes?”

She rolled her eyes, but the curiosity lingered. So he showed her—nothing crazy, just clips saved in the depths of his phone’s browser, grainy videos he never expected to share. But when Angel curled into his side, watching with wide eyes and her teeth tugging on her lip? He felt heat stir low in his gut. Especially when she asked, soft and breathless, “You ever think about me like that? When I’m not here?”

And that’s all it took.

Curiosity turned into tension, tension into hands wandering, clothes peeling, and suddenly they weren’t just watching anymore—they were reenacting. Their own version. Sloppier. Wetter. Real.

From then on, watching together became a thing. Not often. Just now and then—when the mood struck and they wanted something more than skin on skin. Something visual. Something dirty that felt like both a tease and a promise.

Then came the night Angel, hair still mussed from earlier, reached for Joe’s phone and said, “What if we made one?”

His eyes darkened. His grin said say less.

They’ve made a few since—never posted, never shown, just little secret windows into nights when the world didn’t exist beyond their bed. Shots of Joe whispering filth against her skin. Clips of Angel riding him, head thrown back, his hands locked tight on her hips. One video where he finishes on her face and she laughs, breathless and glowing, pulling him down for a kiss.

Sometimes, when she’s away or he’s had a long day, he’ll queue one up on the TV. Sit back and watch her take him like she was made for it. And when she’s there too? They’ll watch together, letting the sounds of their own moans echo off the walls while they do it all over again.

It’s dirty. Intimate. Undeniably them.

Their own private cinema—unedited, unfiltered, unapologetically theirs.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We all know why he wore the ‘Big Dick Joe’ hat. He’s packing and he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Their sex drive? Off the charts.

Even during the season—when Joe's body was beat to hell and sleep was sacred—his need for Angel never dipped. Sure, he might’ve only had the stamina for two solid rounds, but the want? The hunger? It simmered constantly under the surface. She only had to walk past him in one of his shirts, hair pulled up, hips swaying like she didn’t even know—and it was over. Practice or not, tired or not, he'd find time. He'd make time.

But the offseason? That was a different beast entirely.

No playbooks, no curfews, no limits. His sex drive bloomed into something relentless, like all that restraint had just been waiting to unravel. Angel barely had to look at him a certain way before he was on her—lips on her throat, hands under her clothes, voice thick with need. They’d lose track of time in bed, on the couch, even in the shower when they were supposed to be getting ready to leave.

As for Angel—hers has always burned hot. Restless. Past partners made her feel like it was too much, like she had to apologize for wanting too often or too eagerly. She used to carry that shame quietly, curling it into herself, afraid of being "too needy."

But Joe?

Joe worshipped it.

From the first time she reached for him like her body couldn’t wait another second, he made her feel powerful for wanting. He never once made her feel like a burden. If anything, he took it as a challenge—a privilege. Something that made him proud, knowing his girl was always ready for him, always aching for more.

Now, it’s just who they are. A touch here, a look there—and suddenly the air between them is thick with heat. They’re in sync. Starved for each other in a way that never really calms, just hums beneath the surface until one of them finally breaks.

It’s not about how often—it’s about how completely they need.And they’ve never tried to hide that from each other.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Angel wants to stay awake after—it’s not like she’s in a rush to close her eyes. She loves the quiet part just as much as the chaos that came before it. Loves listening to Joe’s breathing slow down, loves feeling the way his fingers trace lazy patterns against her skin. That little window where they’re still tangled up, all limbs and heat and softness, where they talk in hushed voices about nothing and everything—she lives for that.

But her body has other plans.

Because once the high fades and her muscles finally start to unclench, once Joe starts running his fingers through her hair or tucking the blanket over her hips, it’s over. Her eyelids get heavy, her voice starts to slur around the edges, and all that warmth and safety just lulls her under. She fights it sometimes—murmurs about wanting to stay up, to keep touching him, to hear him talk a little longer—but then she’s yawning mid-sentence and curling tighter into his chest.

Joe always notices before she does. Always smirks when her breathing evens out and her body goes limp against him. Sometimes he’ll kiss her forehead and whisper “Tried to hang on, huh?” before adjusting the covers and pulling her closer.

Angel’s always the first to fall asleep, wrapped in his arms, completely spent and utterly content. And Joe wouldn’t have it any other way.

Σ>―❤→

After the quiet hum of their closeness, sleep doesn’t rush in—it drifts slowly, like a soft tide pulling them deeper into the calm. They lie tangled in the tangled sheets, bodies still warm, breaths mingling in the heavy Louisiana night. Joe’s arms curl tighter around Angel, anchoring her to him like a lifeline, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

Their fingers trace lazy, familiar patterns—no need for words now. The world outside falls away, replaced by the steady buzz of cicadas and the gentle whisper of the box fan. Neither rushes into the dark, but instead savors the silence, the softness between heartbeats. Angel’s head rests just above his heart, every beat a reminder that this—this closeness—is their sanctuary.

Joe shifts slightly, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder, then pulls her closer still. There’s a quiet understanding in the way their bodies settle, a gentle slowing that carries them toward sleep like a lullaby. His eyelids flutter heavy, golden eyes dimming as he holds her like a secret he never wants to forget.

Minutes stretch, filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing—deep, even, and safe. Finally, the weight of exhaustion settles in, pulling them down, wrapping them in the warmth of the night and each other. Their bodies soften completely, and together, they drift off, not rushed but embraced by the lingering sweetness of a love that speaks without words.

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madridnoora · 4 months ago

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౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden AU - LSU!Joe Burrow x OC Masterlist ⋆

Main story Instalments ⋆｡˚

౨ৎ { read them in order! :) }

one -> third times a charm

two -> it did happen

three -> a quick glance

three.two -> a quick glance

four -> God bless texas

five -> homecoming

six -> a messy night

seven -> halloween

eight -> blind dates and ice packs

nine -> surprise!

ten -> championship tears

eleven -> London

twelve -> national championship

thirteen ->

౨ৎ

⋆｡˚Blurbs - events outside of the main timeline.

{requests open}

No specific order.

౨ৎ Pumpkin Carving

#joe burrow #lsu!joe #joe burrow au #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x oc #joey burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x reader #౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ forbidden - joe burrow au #lsu joe #joe burrow smut #cincinnati bengals #cincinnati football #joe burrow bengals #nfl imagine

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burreauxwrites · 6 months ago

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“LOATHING” (joe burrow x oc)

CHAPTER FOUR - “big dick joe”

word count: 3.4k

warnings: THIS IS A MDNI 18+ CHAPTER! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), car sex, soft(ish)dom!joe and sub!virgin!winnie, slight dumbification, oral (f receiving), cum eating…slight bits of fluff and sweetness if you squint, praise, size kink.

parties were definitely not winnie’s thing. at all. that’s why when she was invited by joe and ja’marr, she was a bit hesitant. she doesn’t enjoy all the drinking games and the overall craziness that comes along with these house parties. however, she also doesn’t want to be a complete let down and a loser. she was invited and not showing up would be a bit selfish from her.

and so, winnie’s standing in the mirror, dusting off her champagne colored body-con dress as she looks at herself. her hair was curled and styled neatly, framing her face a bit; on top of her hair, she’s put on some light makeup.

upon checking the time, she gaps, realizing she’d be a bit late. she grabs her wallet, and heads out to her car, putting the address of the party into her phone and heading over that way.

she arrives, and it’s like your average party. she looks around, trying to look for joe. a soft smile forms on her lips as she spots him.

“hey, joey,” she says, looking up at his hat.

big dick joe.

huh. that’s interesting. she giggles a little, looking at him up and down. he looks…good. his clothing was simple, but he still stood out.

“well look at you, winwin,” joe whistles, his own gaze moving across winnie’s frame. the way her dress hugs her curves, and her hair is styled almost drives him crazy, “you look…stunning.” he compliments her, his voice softening a bit.

“i can say the same for you.” she smiles, looking at joe fondly. her cheeks turn a faint pink shade, one that can barely be seen.

time passes by, joe and winnie are in the corner, watching the chaos ensue. ja’marr himself was in the middle of a circle, showing off his dance moves. but at least everyone was occupied with that.

joe cannot tear his eyes off of winnie. everything about her is absolutely gorgeous. and it all brings him back to that stupid wet dream he had about her before. it’s hard for him to deny it, but he wants her. bad. so so bad. he gently takes her hand, whispering into her ear.

“wanna head to my car…? it’s kind of crazy in here, huh?” he asks, looking at winnie.

winnie nods in agreement, a small giggle leaving her lips. “yeah. it’s a bit much.” she murmurs, squeezing joe’s hand.

they both sneak out the front door, heading towards joe’s car. they both hop into the backseat, taking in a sigh of relief as they escape the noise. they share a laugh, enjoying a small moment of silence.

after a while, winnie looks at joe, raising an eyebrow. “did you see ja’marr and his dance moves though…?” she asks, giggling a bit.

“i did…they were…something, for sure.” joe laughs as well, nodding as he looks at winnie. he isn’t sure if it’d be too bold of him, but he couldn’t resist anymore. there was no way. he needs to let winnie know just how gorgeous she truly is.

he reaches over, ever so softly placing a hand onto her exposed thigh looking into her eyes. winnie, flustered, but not against the sudden contact, looks at joe and waits for him to speak.

“winnie…?”

“yeah?” she murmurs, watching as joe scoots closer towards her.

“you look…so fucking gorgeous tonight.” he boldly admits, looking at winnie and her frame. he loves the way the dress looks on her, but in the same breath, he couldn’t help but want to tear it off of her, to do things that…friends wouldn’t normally do.

winnie, surprised by joe’s compliment, looks away with a bashful look on her face. there’s no way that he’s complimenting her. and the grip he has on her thigh is definitely not helping her case at all. his hands are strong, veiny; and she couldn’t help but imagine them all over her body.

joe senses winnie’s meek reaction to his compliment, gently grabbing her chin and making her look at him once again.

“you have no idea…all the things i’m thinking about.” joe whispers, his fingers tracing along her jaw as he looks at her.

winnie’s body subconsciously shivers at his words, the hair standing on her delicate skin. she finds herself leaning in towards him and his touch, her breath hitching slightly.

“joe…i…we shouldn’t,” she whispers, though she still finds herself gravitating towards him. she feels his hands snake around her waist, and mindlessly finds her arms around his shoulders.

“are you sure?” joe teases, his thumbs caressing her waist over her fitting dress. he chuckles, looking at winnie, “you and i both know that this is something we want.”

with that, the space between the two of them got smaller and smaller, until their lips finally locked in a slow kiss. there was no rush in the kiss, just savoring the moment between them. their hands roamed each other’s bodies with every second, as if trying to commit the other’s frame to memory.

ever so gently, joe lays winnie down against the backseat, still kissing her, albeit with more passion and desire. and winnie reciprocated his desire, letting out a small whine as his tongue darted against her glossy lips. she easily grants him access, letting him fully savor the kiss.

after a moment, joe pulls away looking down at winnie. seeing her beneath him, her lips swollen from kissing and her breath slightly uneven, he can’t help but be aroused. on top of all this, winnie had never done anything like this. he would be her first, and in a setting like this? the thought made his pants tighten slightly.

he grabs the bottom of her dress, looking into her eyes. “may i…take this off?” he asks, making sure not to scare winnie away

“yes…g-god, yes…” she pants out softly, eliciting a chuckle from joe as he lifts off her dress.

there she was, almost entirely nude in front of him, minus her panties. they’re white and a bit lacy, which joe thought was very fitting for her. he grins, his hands caressing the soft skin of her stomach.

“god…look at you,” joe mumbles, unable to take his gaze away from her. he presses small kisses to her neck as he caresses her body, slowly moving up towards her perky breasts, “such a pretty girl…fuck, you’re beautiful, winnie.” he sighs, his thumb carefully finding a place on her nipple.

the sensation makes winnie gasp, her body jolting a little from the feeling. goosebumps cover her skin as she leans her head back, getting used to joe’s hand on her breast. everything about this, being his friend and doing this in his car…it felt scandalous, but good at the same time.

and joe knows she likes this too, taking in all her reactions to his touch. he cups her breast fully in his hand, whispering in her ear.

“i love how sensitive you are, sweet girl.” he says, rubbing her nipple in circles while his other and caresses her waist.

his lips descend across her body, pressing small kisses and giving an occasional nibble on her skin. he could feel every shiver and shake of her body, and it almost drives him feral.

soon, joe’s hands and lips stop at winnie’s waist, his thumbs just lightly brushing against the top of her underwear. he looks up at her, seeing her flushed cheeks.

it’s cute. she’s cute. and for him to have his cute, nerdy friend trembling like this? it gives him a bit of an ego, because he’s essentially responsible for the loss of her innocence.

“may i?” he asks, his fingers gently grasping at the fabric of her underwear while he waits for winnie’s response.

and so, she nods, looking at joe. behind the lust in them, she sees…fondness and care. “yes…you can, joey.”

with a smile, he carefully pulls down the lacy garment, setting it aside as he looks down at winnie, who is completely bare. if joe wasn’t already hard, the sight of her would surely do him in.

joe’s hands gently lift up her thighs, his grip a bit rough, but not too rough to startle winnie. as he stares at her bare cunt, he can’t help but want to feel her, to taste her. maintaining eye contact with her, he kisses her inner thighs, slowly getting closer and closer to where she wants him.

sensing her shyness and watching her gaze veer off, joe tsks a bit, grabbing her chin and forcing her gaze back onto him.

“winnie,” he mutters, looking into her round, cocoa colored eyes, “i want you to look at me while i eat your pretty little pussy out. can you do that?” he asks, his thumb brushing against her plush bottom lip.

with her body trembling in excitement and nerves, winnie nods, looking down at joe as he speaks. his words make her legs jolt a bit. “mhm…i can…” she whispers.

joe chuckles, his hand leaving her chin and moving down her body. “good job, sweet girl.” he praises her, gently taking his finger and caressing her wet folds as he gauges her expressions. he chuckles at the soft whines that leave her lips, continuing his movements ever so slowly.

he leans down, giving an agonizingly slow lick up her center, drawing a moan from her as her back arches from the car seats. the sound is like heaven to joe’s ears, all he wants is to hear her beautiful voice.

as joe begins to slowly eat her out winnie finds herself squirming slightly, beams of pleasure moving through her body. the feeling of his tongue against her sensitive core is foreign, but so good.

pulling away for a moment, joe chuckles, taking his hands and holding winnie’s, interlocking their fingers. the gesture, though small, was rather intimate, causing his heart to flutter slightly. “do you like this? how my tongue feels against you?” he murmurs, kissing her thighs softly.

“y-yeah…feels really good.” she answers, nodding as she looks at joe with a shy but pleased smile.

joe chuckles, leaning back down and continuing his movements against her core. gently, he squeezes winnie’s hands as he plunges his tongue into her. the feeling makes her eyes water ever so slightly, her legs quivering.

deciding to test the waters, joe carefully lets go of one of her hands and prods at her core with a finger, watching as winnie’s mouth fell open in a soft gasp.

“oh my god…joe…!” she moans softly, feeling him slowly push his finger inside of her as he continues eating her out. her stomach flutters from the pleasure and she tries her best to stay still.

“yeah…? does that feel good, sweet girl?” joe murmurs, gently pumping his finger in and out of her as he watches her squirm against the leather seats. “you like this, huh? taking my tongue and lips like the wonderful angel you are.” he says with a soothing voice before leaning back down and continuing his attack with his tongue.

winnie is overwhelmed, but content with the pleasure, her stomach churning more and more as joe continues to finger and eat her out. she grips joe’s hand that she’s holding onto, her legs visibly becoming more and more shaky.

“j-joe…! i-i think i’m-”

“gonna come?” he finishes winnie’s words, chuckling as he watches her nod, his eyes taking in her shaky frame. he continues licking her wet folds, his finger thrusting into her. “that’s okay,” he says gently, squeezing winnie’s hand in reassurance. sensing the fact that the pleasure is getting to her, joe whispers.

“come for me, sweet girl. you can do it.”

before she even takes his words in, her vision goes white, her core clenching against joe’s finger. “o-oh god…!” she whines, waves of pleasure running through her as she comes against his tongue and hand.

for a few seconds, joe guides winnie through her oragasm, only stopping his movements until it’s completely over, he finishes lapping up any cum from her cunt before sucking his finger. he looks at her the entire time while doing this, smirking at winnie’s shy expression.

“how was that for your first time getting eaten out?” joe teases with a cocky expression. his touch his soft however, using his free hand to caress winnie’s hair.

with a breathless nod, winnie answers. “g-good…yeah. i really liked it…” she admits, her voice soft.

“i’m glad you enjoyed it, sweet girl.” joe grins, looking down at winnie with some lust still in his gaze. he wants to go the full nine-yards and fuck her, though he’s unsure of if she’s ready for that or not.

gently, he moves his hand to winnie’s cheek. “winwin?” he asks tenderly, his voice soft, “do you…want to go further with this?”

“further as in…?” winnie trails off, to which joe nods.

“mhm,” he confirms, “it’s totally up to you, baby. i won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” joe reassures her, caressing her cheek.

winnie thinks back to everything up until this point. the way he looked at her volleyball game, him literally getting off to her voice. she becomes slightly aroused by it all. deciding on her answer, she nods as she looks at joe.

“yes. i want to go further,” she answers, her voice a slight plea as she looks at joe, almost imploring him to fully take what’s his, “please…i’m ready.”

please.

joe chuckles lowly, his hands immediately moving to unbuckle his pants as he looks at winnie. he sets his belt on the floorboard, shuffling off his pants, leaving him in his boxers. before taking off his boxers, he gently holds onto her wrist, guiding her hand carefully to his raging boner.

“you feel that, sweet girl? how hard you make me?” joe questions as he looks at winnie, his own breath hitching as he watches her nod. she slowly moves her hand over his clothed cock, eliciting a small hiss from him.

he tuts and shakes his head, moving her hand away. “not too much, baby. gotta be patient.” he laughs.

finally, he removes his boxers, his girth springing free from them as he pulls them down. he tosses them aside, looking at winnie. as her for her, she’s quite…stunned. he looks…well, big. her eyes widen as she looks at the pre-cum on his tip, her cheeks turning bright red.

“what? you never seen a man’s dick before?” joe raises an eyebrow.

“n-no? i’ve watched porn, i guess, b-but i…” winnie stammers, her voice soft as she tries to find the words. giving up on modesty, she offers a blunt, but meek response, “you’re…big.”

joe laughs at winnie’s honesty, gently ruffling her hair. “yeah? well, i guess you understand my ‘big dick joe’ moniker huh?” he smirks, his hand moving down her body. he’s trying so hard to not lose all control. but it’s kind of hard for him at this moment.

he leans over her, looking down into her round eyes. they’re so precious and cute. he almost feels guilty, stripping his best friends purity by fucking her in the back seat of his car. but when she looks the way she does, begging the way she is…who is he to resist?

“are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” joe says softly caressing her body.

“mhm…please, joe,” she urges, her voice an eager but gentle plea as she looks up at him, “please…fuck me.”

fuck me.

those last two words almost make joe lose it. his grip tightens against winnie’s hip, his eyes burning into hers with desire. this is it. he lines up his fully erect cock with her entrance, his eyes meeting hers as he does so. his hands gently slide over hers, their fingers interlocking as he pins her hands down gently.

he slowly pushes into her, letting out a groan as he does so. she’s so tight, he swears he could almost come just from being inside of her for the first time. once he’s about halfway through, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss against her lips and giving her gentle praises.

“god, you feel so good, sweet girl, taking me so well.” he says in a hushed tone, his hands grasping onto winnie’s hip as he finishes pushing into her fully. he kisses her neck gently, occasionally leaving a hickey here and there.

after letting winnie adjust to the feeling of him inside of her, joe rocks his hips lightly, his thrusts gentle and slow. he looks up at her, watching as her eyes fill with tears of pleasure from how full she felt.

she grips onto joe’s hands, soft moans leaving her lips. in one meticulous move, joe almost pulls out before thrusting back into her, drawing a loud moan from her lips.

joe laughs against her neck, ever so slightly quickening his thrusts as he looks at winnie. “you’re so loud, baby. it’s almost like you want to get caught with me.” he teases, letting out a grunt of his own as he feels her clenching around him.

he couldn’t help but watch just how well she took his length, noticing a slight bulge with every thrust he makes. lets go of one of her hands, pressing his against her stomach as continues thrusting.

“mmh! f-fuck…! god, joey…!” winnie whimpers, looking up at joe as he thrusts into her, the sound of their skin meeting filling the car with every move. her eyes are slightly glossy, rolling back as he rolls into her more intensely, groans leaving his lips.

“mhm, sweet girl? what is it?” joe asks between groans, not stopping his movements as he looks down at her. he smirks, noticing that she isn’t answering and just letting out moans.

he smiles, holding onto winnie’s face as he thrusts “seems like there’s nothing in that pretty little head of yours,” he taunts, looking into her pleased, but dazed eyes. how the tears formed in them and threatened to spill with every thrust, “this is kind of dirty, hm? your best friend fucking you in his car?” he asks.

“m-mhm. yeah…” winnie gasps, looking up at joe as he gently lifts her thighs, his thrusts being deeper and deeper.

“but you like this, huh? making you feel so fucking good,” he practically growls, “you don’t have to think about anything other than me.”

at this point, feeling too absorbed in pleasure, winnie simply nods, all sorts of sounds leaving her lips. the way he’s pushing his hips against hers feels too good, not a single coherent thought comes from her. but she doesn’t mind; in fact, this was more than good. she loved this feeling.

soon enough, joe could feel her walls squeezing against him again, sensing that she was about to come again. “you wanna come, sweet girl?” he grunts, moving his hand to her clit, but not doing anything yet.

winnie looks at joe and affirmatively shakes her head yes, her voice shaky and desperate. “yes…i-i need to come s-so badly…!”

“beg.”

stunned, but too eager to disobey, winnie nods, pleading as she looks at joe. “please, joey…! p-please let me come! fuck, i-i’ve been good! please…!”

joe smiles, taking his thumb and rubbing her clit in circles to help guide her towards her orgasm. he murmurs, his own voice trembling from the pleasure. “that’s it. come for me, baby.”

a sob escapes winnie’s lips as she reaches her climax, her hands gripping onto joe’s shoulders tightly as she lets every sensation take over. from his intense thrusts to his hand on her clit, it was a lot, but it felt so damn good, like the best thing she’s ever felt.

once she slowly comes down from her high, joe pulls out, groaning as he jerks himself off. he eventually comes as well, spurts of the white, sticky fluid landing on her chest and stomach. he pants, looking down at winnie. he moves some hair off her forehead, his voice tender.

“hey, winwin,” he whispers, his voice a bit hoarse. “are you with me, sweet girl?”

winnie nods, humming as she looks at joe. she doesn’t know that she was crying until she feels the pads of his thumbs wiping away the salty tears. she sighs, speaking quietly herself.

“thanks…for being my first.” she smiles, watching as joe carefully lays next to her.

“hey, it’s no problem. i’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he beams softly, kissing her cheek, “or at least i think you did.”

“trust me. i…i had a blast.”

joe laughed, pulling winnie closer to him. it’s odd. neither of them are sure as to what their status is now. are they friends? friends with benefits? lovers even? who knows.

all that matters is the relaxing afterglow of their passionate time together.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe brrr #joey b #joe burrow x oc #nfl #joe burrow lsu #joey burrow #lsu!joe #lsu joe #this was pure filth lowkey

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joecoolburrow · 3 months ago

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I need cocky lsu joe so bad

Get in line behind me

#lsu!joe #joe burrow #asks #anonymous

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yelenasbraid · 7 days ago

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does joe ever nerd out with his einstein girl? what is that like?

oh does he

she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch. her laptop is perched in her lap, notebook to her side. she’s practicing a caesar shift. shift each letter 4 times to the right in the alphabet. it’s her homework, and it’s one of her easier assignments.

then there’s joe. sitting on her other side, he’s locked in on a youtube video. she can hear it, something about lizards and how they can adapt to their environment.

specifically about chameleons and how they ‘change color.’

“If I were a chameleon and I saw you, I’d change color,” joe blurted, his back against the armrest of the couch. his feet are propped up, pushing against her thigh. he looks like a kid who’s having his ipad time.

“Huh?” she turns her head, her focus breaking on her ciphers. he flicks his eyes from his phone, his finger tapping the pause button. she asked for it.

“Male chameleons change color whenever they want to attract a mate or rival another male,” joe rattles off, “so, if you’re my mate, I’d change color,”

“Okay, please don’t call me your mate. That’s weird,” she chuckles, shaking her head. it’s like joe to flirt with her using scientific facts.

“What? Don’t want me to be your mate?” joe wiggled his eyebrows at her, nudging her with his foot. she only laughs, flicking her eyes back to her ciphers.

“Ew,” she grimaces, earning a pathetic whine from joe. he curls back against the couch, scrunched against the armrest. he kicks her with his feet, like a toddler.

a few more beats of silence, the youtube video filling the room. her fingers hold her pen, scribbling down her translation, when joe shifts again.

“They change because of their melanin stores,” joe speaks up, his voice slicing through the air. she looks over at him, slowly, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. he’s engrossed in his youtube video, his knees pulled up, his eyes barely visible over his knees. it’s cute, how his blue eyes are dialed in on a video about chameleons.

“How?” she asks, picking his brain.

“It’s a chemical,” he explains, “it causes the melanin to spread, darkening their skin,”

it’s a cool fact, she admits. she always thought the lizards changed color to hide from predators, which in a way was true. arousal causes them to release that chemical, whatever it was.

“So I’m assuming that whenever they’re aroused, like fear or attraction, that chemical tells the melanin to spread,” she hypothesizes. her words make joe’s eyes flick up to meet hers. god her brain was beautiful.

“Yep,” he nods, feeling his toes tingle and his stomach clench, “maybe you should take up science instead,”

“Please,” she laughs, shaking her head, “I’d blow up the room mixing chemicals together that aren’t supposed to be together,”

joe laughs. he shifts, maneuvering his body to lean against hers. he likes watching her work; he swears he can hear the gears in her head turn as she works. it’s mesmerizing.

“You arouse me,” he murmurs, “like a chameleon. Except I don’t change color,”

“Yes you do,” she chuckles, “your cheeks get all red,”

he can’t argue with that. he can’t help that she makes his blood rush to his cheeks…and other places.

#joe burrow #manda’s asks #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fluff #TYAM blurbs #lsu!joe #tonight you are mine #joe burrow blurb

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burreauxsss · 6 months ago

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2025 is a f it we ball year

but anywho i miss joes lsu era its not even funny

#joe burrow #lsu!joe #he could **** me with the cigar in his mouth

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honeydippedfiction · 1 month ago

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what was Joe and Angel’s first time having sex together like?

It started like every other night they’d spent together that week—casual, familiar, and humming with the kind of slow-burning electricity that neither of them wanted to name out loud. Not yet. They were still figuring each other out, still moving through that sweet, fragile phase where every touch was a question, every glance a test of restraint. But the pull between them had been undeniable from the start, growing heavier and hotter with each passing day.

Outside Angel’s apartment window, the cicadas screamed against the heavy Baton Rouge air. The late-September heat hung thick and unmoving, pressing against the glass like breath. The ceiling fan turned lazily above them, pushing around pockets of warm air that clung to their skin, already damp from the lingering humidity.

Joe lay stretched out on her worn navy couch, one long leg bent at the knee, the other draped over the side. He was dressed in black joggers and a white tank that clung to the sharp lines of his chest and shoulders. One arm rested behind his head, showing off the subtle flex of his bicep, while the other rested possessively on Angel’s hip. She was curled up sideways against his chest, her bare legs draped across his lap, head nestled just beneath his jaw, fingertips lightly tracing the curve of his ribs like she couldn’t not touch him.

They were supposed to be watching Goodfellas. Joe had insisted it was one of his all-time favorites—“a classic, babe, trust me”—but after the first ten minutes, the movie might as well have been white noise. Neither of them had the attention span for mob hits and voiceovers when the tension between them had its own gravity.

“You’ve been staring at me for like five minutes,” Angel murmured, not looking up, though the sly curve of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Joe tilted his head down, brushing his nose along her temple before answering with a lazy, self-satisfied smile. “I wasn’t staring. I was… admiring.”

“Mmhmm.” She scoffed and propped her chin on his chest, her curls brushing against his collarbone. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“I mean,” he said, voice low and teasing as he twirled one of her curls around his finger, “you make it pretty damn hard not to. Especially when you’re wearing my shirt and those little ass shorts like that’s not gonna do things to me.”

Angel arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “You’re the one who left them in my drawer.”

“I’m the one suffering for it now,” Joe muttered, eyes sweeping over her legs before locking onto her face again. “Swear to God, they get shorter every time you wear ‘em.”

Angel’s grin spread slow and wicked. “You like them?”

Joe leaned in slightly, his hand drifting down to rest at the curve where her thigh met her hip. “I like you in them. But they’re not gonna survive the night if you keep sitting on me like this.”

Her breath caught—just the faintest hitch—but she didn’t move. If anything, she leaned into him more, tilting her hips so she could press herself deliberately against the growing heat in his joggers. The fabric between them did little to hide how hard he already was.

Joe’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as he gripped her waist more firmly, trying and failing to keep his cool. “Angel…”

There was warning in his voice—low and gravelly—but there was need, too. It vibrated in the silence between them like a plucked string.

“Yeah?” she whispered, blinking up at him with mock innocence.

“You gotta stop,” he said, every word thick with restraint, “or I’m gonna forget how to be a gentleman.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then slowly back up again, fire flickering in her eyes. “What if I don’t want you to be?”

And that—that broke him.

The kiss that followed wasn’t soft. It was slow at first, deliberate, but the tension underneath made it sharp and consuming. Joe kissed her like he’d been starving and she was the first taste he’d been allowed. His hand slid under her shirt, fingers splaying wide across her bare back as he pulled her impossibly closer. Angel climbed into his lap without breaking the kiss, straddling his thighs, grinding down just enough to make him groan into her mouth.

He kissed her like he’d earned this—like he’d waited, like he’d wanted her for so long and was finally allowed to stop pretending he didn’t.

Angel kissed him back with just as much hunger, her hands pushing beneath his tank to feel the heat of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint trail of hair leading down his abdomen. When her nails lightly scraped along the waistband of his joggers, Joe shuddered. His grip on her hips tightened as he pulled her more firmly against him.

“Jesus,” he whispered into her mouth, breath ragged. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She smiled against his lips. “You’ll survive.”

Things escalated quickly, the air between them thick with breathless laughter and low moans. At some point the movie was still playing, but neither of them noticed. The couch shifted beneath their weight as their movements became more urgent, messier. Joe’s hands slid beneath her thighs, fingers digging in as he stood with her wrapped around his waist, her legs locked behind him. Angel gasped and clutched his shoulders, heart thudding in her chest as he carried her down the short hall to her bedroom like she weighed nothing.

He didn’t even try to flick the lights on. The amber glow of her bedside lamp was all they needed.

Angel hit the bed with a soft thud, her curls spilling across the pillow, shirt askew. Joe hovered above her, his tank now clinging to his sweat-slicked chest, his lips swollen from kissing her like he couldn’t help himself.

He looked down at her, wild-eyed, flushed, and breathing hard—and knew there was no going back.

And neither of them wanted to.

Angel’s back hit the bed with a soft thud, the mattress dipping beneath her weight as the quiet squeak of springs filled the space between their breathless kisses. Her curls fanned out on the pillow, and for the first time that night, she looked up at him—completely laid out, completely still—like she was letting herself be seen.

Joe followed her down, bracing himself on one arm, his body hovering just above hers. He didn’t rush. Instead, he kissed his way down her neck with aching slowness, his lips lingering at the hollow of her throat, over the place where her pulse thundered. Every brush of his mouth was grounding, steadying, like he was trying to ease them both into this moment before it got away from them.

Angel reached for the hem of her shirt, and Joe helped her lift it over her head. His breath hitched the second it left her body.

The glow from her bedside lamp spilled across her bare skin, casting her in soft gold and shadow. Her brown skin gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat, her chest rising and falling quickly, nipples peaked from the cool air and tension. She wasn’t doing anything but being, and still, Joe felt like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

He didn’t say anything right away. He just stared.

“Joe?” she asked, voice quiet but uncertain.

His eyes flicked up to hers, wide with wonder. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, the words coming out like a breathless confession. There was no teasing in his voice this time—just reverence, plain and raw.

Her lips parted, a soft smile tugging at the corners. She ducked her head a little, caught between shyness and pride. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I mean it. Angel, you don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now.”

That made her smile wider, and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair, pulling him down into another kiss. But Joe wasn’t finished admiring her—not even close. He pulled back just enough to trail his mouth across her collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sternum, then lower, taking his time as he kissed over the swell of one breast, then the other. He felt more than heard the tiny gasp she let out when his tongue flicked against her nipple, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“Joey…” she whispered, hips shifting beneath him.

He smiled against her skin. “I know, baby. I got you.”

He continued downward, mouthing along the curve of her stomach, over the faint dip of her belly button, nuzzling the softness there before he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties.

“Okay?” he asked, glancing up at her one last time.

Angel nodded, breath catching. “Yeah.”

Joe slid the thin cotton down her legs, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to miss a second. And then—there she was. Bare and glistening beneath him, legs parted slightly, heat radiating off her in waves.

He nearly forgot how to breathe.

He had imagined this moment a hundred different ways since the first time they kissed, but nothing had prepared him for the real thing. She was soaked, lips swollen and glistening, and her thighs trembled just the slightest bit with anticipation. His cock throbbed inside his joggers, but he didn’t move to take them off yet. He couldn’t. Not before he made sure she was ready.

Even dazed, he was deliberate.

Joe slid two fingers slowly through her slick folds, testing the way she opened for him, watching the way her body reacted. When he circled her clit with his thumb and then eased one finger, then a second inside her, Angel gasped and arched up from the mattress, her thighs falling wider apart like her body was begging for more.

Her walls clenched around him immediately—tight and hot and perfect—and Joe groaned under his breath.

“Jesus, baby…” he muttered, half to himself, eyes fixed on where his hand disappeared between her thighs.

“Joe—” Angel whimpered, hips rolling into his touch, her voice ragged with need.

His free hand slid up her side, anchoring her as his thumb resumed slow, deliberate circles over her clit. “You okay?” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her inner thigh, voice thick with concern. “Tell me if anything’s too much.”

Angel’s breath stuttered. Her fingers gripped the sheets beside her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, eyes dark and pleading.

That was all the permission he needed.

Joe leaned in again, dragging his mouth back up her thigh, nipping at the soft skin there as he curled his fingers deeper inside her. Her back arched. Her mouth fell open in a gasp. He could feel her getting wetter with every stroke, every flick of his thumb, her body trembling under his touch like a live wire.

“Fuck, Angel,” he rasped, his forehead resting just above her hipbone as he worked her open. “You feel so fucking good.”

Angel could barely think. Her body was tight with need, her thoughts scattered and wild as he built her toward the edge with agonizing precision. It wasn’t just the way he touched her—it was the way he looked at her, like she was something holy. Like she was the only thing in the world worth worshipping.

She reached for him blindly, threading her fingers through his hair. “Joey, please…”

Joe pulled his fingers from her slowly, sucking one into his mouth with a groan that vibrated straight through her spine. Then he moved back up her body, covering her with his weight, kissing her like he couldn’t stand to be away from her mouth another second.

He kissed her like he meant it.

Like he was already in over his head.

And when his hand reached for his waistband, she stopped him with a trembling palm against his chest, breathless and still trying to recover from what he’d just done to her.

“Wait,” she said, voice soft.

His heart skipped. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head and looked at him—really looked at him. “I just… I wanna see you.”

Joe hesitated for half a second, then sat back on his heels, peeling off his tank and tossing it aside.

When Joe finally knelt back on his knees and reached for his wallet on the nightstand, Angel propped herself up slightly on her elbows to watch, chest still rising and falling from the intensity of his hands and mouth. She expected the movement. She knew what came next.

What she wasn’t prepared for—what absolutely stole the breath from her lungs—was when he stood fully, gaze locked on hers, and pushed his joggers down his hips with one smooth motion. The cotton pooled at his feet, boxers following, and then—

Her breath caught.

Joe stood there, flushed and fully hard, his body humming with tension, muscles taut beneath sweat-slicked skin. He was big—thick, long, heavy and already glistening at the tip. Not just impressive, but intimidating in the most beautiful, devastating way. And yet somehow still… elegant, restrained. His abs flexed with each breath, his cock twitching slightly under her stunned gaze.

Angel blinked, jaw slack. “Jesus Christ, Joe,” she whispered, voice nearly reverent.

Her eyes widened with awe, and Joe froze. For a heartbeat, he looked unsure, like he didn’t know if that reaction was a compliment or a warning.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and rough.

She nodded too quickly. “Yeah—I mean, yeah. I just…” Her hand twitched on the comforter. “I wasn’t expecting all that.”

Joe’s mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh, but didn’t dare.

“I had a hunch,” she murmured, eyes dragging over him again. “Like, when I’d sit on you during those late-night makeout sessions, I felt it. And the sweatpants? Yeah. Not subtle, Joey.”

He raised a brow. “And that didn’t scare you off?”

“Scare me?” Angel exhaled a soft laugh, then met his gaze again. “Baby, I stayed.”

That made him smile for real.

She didn’t mean to reach for him. Her hand moved before she even realized it, drawn to him by some combination of curiosity, heat, and want.

Joe saw the movement. Swallowed. Then, carefully, he stepped closer, his breath coming fast and shallow. He reached down, took her hand in his much larger one, and gently guided it around him.

The moment her fingers curled around him, Joe’s entire body shuddered. A strangled moan tore from his throat, his hips stuttering forward into her palm.

Angel whimpered. He was hot in her hand—thick and velvety-soft over steel, pulsing beneath her touch. His weight was heavy, his skin impossibly smooth, and the way he responded to even the slightest movement made her thighs clench.

“Angel…” he said her name like a warning, like a prayer. His voice had gone thick and dark with restraint. “You can’t… you keep touching me like that and I’m gonna lose it.”

She bit her lip, dragging her gaze up from where her hand held him to the raw, unguarded expression on his face. “S’big, Joey,” she whispered, breathless. “So pretty.”

Joe growled—growled—deep in his chest, jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked. “Say shit like that again,” he rasped, “and I’m not gonna last long enough to even get inside you.”

Angel smirked, but her touch stilled. She let go slowly, reluctantly, and Joe leaned down to kiss her—hard. His mouth was hungry, desperate, like he needed to feel something to keep from completely unraveling.

Even then—even through the haze of lust and tension—he paused.

He reached again for his wallet, pulling out a small foil packet with trembling fingers. She saw it in his hand and sat up slightly, placing hers gently on his wrist.

“I’m clean,” she said softly, her voice calm but steady. “And we’ve been exclusive for a while now… right?”

Joe’s brows knit as he looked at her, like he needed to be absolutely certain. “Yeah. I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Me either.”

He still didn’t move, the condom packet still resting in his palm. His eyes searched hers. “Angel, I’m not tryna mess this up,” he said quietly. “It’s still early. And I don’t—I’m not ready to be a dad. I just need to be sure we’re protected.”

Without a word, Angel reached for his hand and brought it to the inside of her arm. She pressed his palm flat against the subtle bump beneath her skin, just below her bicep.

“I have an implant,” she said. “I’ve had it for a year. I’m covered, Joey.”

Joe looked down at where his hand touched her, eyes flickering with realization. He ran his thumb gently over the raised outline beneath her skin, like he needed to feel it for himself. His lips parted, a shaky exhale leaving him as the weight of that sank in.

Still, he didn’t move right away.

Angel reached up, brushing her fingers through his hair. Her voice was soft, patient. “If you’re not comfortable, we can stop. I won’t be upset. Really.”

That was it.

That was what broke the last thread of restraint in him—not the offer of sex, but the sincerity in her voice when she gave him the option not to. When she gave him an out and meant it.

He looked at her like she’d handed him something sacred. And then, with reverent hands, he tossed the condom onto the nightstand and bent down to kiss her like he’d just been given permission to breathe.

Angel sighed into his mouth as he crawled back between her thighs, her legs parting instinctively for him. He hooked her knees over his hips, his chest pressed flush to hers, one hand sliding beneath the small of her back to hold her close. Their skin was slick, their breath uneven, but everything about the moment felt slow, intentional—like they were stepping off a cliff together, fully aware of what they were choosing.

Joe lined himself up, his forehead pressed to hers, every muscle in his body shaking with restraint.

He paused—one last time—and whispered against her lips, “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Angel’s eyes fluttered open, wide and shining. She cupped his jaw in both hands.

“I won’t,” she said. “I need you, Joey.”

His breath stuttered.

And then, finally—finally—he began to press into her.

Joe slid into her slowly—painfully slowly—like he was trying to memorize every fraction of a second, every inch of the way her body opened up around him.

His jaw went slack as he eased deeper, the air catching hard in his throat. “Holy fuck—Angel—shit,” he groaned, voice shaking. His forehead dropped to hers, and his hand braced on the mattress beside her head, knuckles white from the strain. “You feel so fuckin’ good. I—I can’t believe…”

His words fell apart, drowned out by the low, broken sound that tore from his throat when he finally bottomed out.

Angel gasped beneath him, her head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut as she tried to breathe through the fullness. Her nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to ground her. He was thick, long, and deep, stretching her in a way that felt impossibly good—like pressure and heat and pleasure all braided together. Her body trembled with the effort of adjusting around him, her legs tightening around his waist as she pulled him even closer.

“Joe,” she breathed, voice thin and high. “Oh my god…”

He didn’t move at first, too busy trying not to come from the sheer feel of her around him. Her heat, her grip, the way her body clenched like she didn’t want to let him go—it was almost too much.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, brushing his nose against her cheek. “So warm. Angel, baby—fuck—you’re perfect.”

She whimpered at his words, her hips rising involuntarily to meet his. That small shift—the way she tilted her pelvis, the way her walls squeezed around him—nearly undid him right then.

He pulled back just an inch, then pushed in again, slow and deep, dragging a moan from both of them.

“Jesus,” he hissed, jaw clenched. “If I move too fast, I’m done.”

Angel’s hands slipped into his hair, tugging gently as she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Then don’t go fast,” she whispered. “Just… stay like this.”

He did.

Joe rocked into her slowly, deeply, like he wasn’t just fucking her—he was feeling her. Every movement was careful, reverent, controlled. His hands ran up and down her thighs, her waist, her hips—gripping, stroking, anchoring himself in her body like he never wanted to leave it.

Their lips brushed, soft and fleeting, between gasps. She could feel him trembling above her, the way he held himself back with everything he had. His control was almost painful, but he didn’t let go—not until she did.

“You okay?” he murmured between kisses, his voice ragged but tender. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Angel shook her head, breathless. “It’s not… It’s perfect.”

He groaned against her mouth, thrusting a little deeper this time, earning another gasp from her. Her fingers gripped his back, nails dragging down as she arched into him, chasing the friction.

“Angel,” he rasped, sounding completely wrecked. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

Her reply was a whisper, eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “Then lose it.”

Joe let out a rough, desperate laugh—but didn’t. Not yet.

He shifted his angle slightly, planting his feet, bracing his weight so he could drive in deeper—right there—and Angel cried out, back arching off the bed.

“There?” he panted, watching her unravel beneath him.

“Yes—Joe—right there—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He locked in, deep and slow, driving into her with long, grinding thrusts that had her panting into his mouth. Her legs were wrapped tight around his hips, her body coiled tight like a live wire. He could feel her getting closer—feel the flutter of her walls, the way her moans turned breathier, sharper, the way her hands scrabbled at his back like she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“C’mon, baby,” Joe whispered, mouth at her jaw. “Let go for me. I need to feel you come.”

She was already there, teetering on the edge, her whole body trembling. He dropped a hand between them, rubbing slow, firm circles over her clit, and that was it.

But even then, even with his whole body straining not to fall apart inside her, Joe couldn’t stop whispering.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmured against her lips, hips still grinding slow and deep. “I need you to come first. You’re gonna come for me, right?”

Angel nodded, her breath hitching, eyes barely open as her body trembled beneath him. “I’m so—close, Joe… don’t stop…”

“Not gonna stop,” he promised, voice low and wrecked. “You’re doing so fuckin’ good. So perfect.”

Her hands clawed at his back, fingers slipping along his sweat-slicked skin as her body arched up to meet each thrust. She was unraveling beneath him—completely overwhelmed, barely holding on—and Joe could feel it. The way she clenched around him. The tiny gasps escaping her lips. The way her thighs trembled against his sides.

He buried his face in her neck, kissing and murmuring against her skin like he could will her over the edge with words alone.

“Let go, baby,” he rasped, breath hot against her throat. “I got you.”

Angel’s moan turned into a sharp cry as it hit her—finally. Her whole body locked up and then shattered, pulsing around him in rhythmic waves that stole every last coherent thought from her head. Her legs squeezed tighter around his hips, her nails digging into his shoulders as her climax tore through her with a force she hadn’t expected.

Joe felt it.

Felt her squeeze him like she was trying to pull him deeper, keep him there. Felt the ripple of her orgasm around him—tight, wet, devastating. And that was it.

That was all it took.

He’d held on longer than he thought he could—longer than anyone would’ve expected given how insane she felt—but the second her walls clenched down and he heard his name break from her lips like a prayer, he lost it.

“Fuck—Angel—shit—” he groaned, hoarse and guttural as he snapped his hips forward once, twice more, then came hard inside her, body locking up as he emptied into her with a low, broken moan. His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he rode out the high, his whole body trembling from the release, from how fucking good she felt—tight and slick and still fluttering around him like her body didn’t want to let him go.

He didn’t even realize he was whispering her name again and again, like a litany, like something sacred.

Their bodies stayed tangled, skin flush to skin, as they came down together.

The room was quiet but for their breathing—harsh, uneven, then gradually slowing as the world settled around them again. The air was thick with sweat, sex, and something softer… something heavier. Something neither of them was ready to name yet.

Joe didn’t move right away. He stayed pressed against her, chest to chest, his arm cradling her head, the other hand smoothing slowly up and down the outside of her thigh. He could feel her heartbeat against his, both still racing, not quite synced but close. Closer than they’d ever been.

Angel’s fingers trailed softly up his spine, anchoring him there, keeping him from floating too far away.

Eventually, Joe lifted his head, just enough to look at her.

Her face was flushed and dewy, her curls haloed around her, lips kiss-bruised and slightly parted. She looked dazed, dreamy, a little wrecked—and so beautiful he could barely stand it.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. Then her cheek. Then the curve of her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice still low and raw.

Angel turned her head, giving him a sleepy smile that made his chest ache. “More than okay.”

Joe exhaled, laughing a little under his breath. It was a shaky sound—like he still hadn’t fully processed what just happened. “Good. ’Cause I don’t think I’m ever gonna recover from that.”

She grinned wider, kissing the corner of his mouth. “What, the sex?”

“The everything,” he murmured, pulling her closer, their bodies still connected, still warm and sticky and tangled beneath the sheets. “The way you feel. The way you looked at me. The way you said my name like…”

He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without completely exposing how gone he already was for her.

Angel reached up and brushed a curl away from his forehead. “Like what?”

Joe smiled, slow and soft. He kissed her again—this time gently, reverently, like she was something fragile.

“Like I belonged to you.”

Angel's breath caught, the moment stretching between them, full and quiet and real.

“You do,” she whispered.

Joe closed his eyes for a second. Then smiled again—this time dazed, completely undone, completely hers.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

“Good,” Angel whispered, curling closer to him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s the plan.”

And when he looked down at her—messy, glowing, his—he meant it with everything in his chest, every beat of his still-racing heart:

“Already are.”

Joe didn’t move. He didn’t want to. He just held her, face still buried in the crook of her neck, his arms tight around her waist like he needed her to keep him anchored.

Angel ran her fingers gently through his hair, whispering his name softly, over and over, until his breath finally started to slow.

“Hey,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You okay?”

Joe let out a dazed, exhausted laugh. “I think I saw God.”

She smiled, wide and warm, then kissed his cheek. “Same.”

And for a while, they just lay there—no words, no movement, just the quiet, steady thrum of their heartbeats and the knowledge that something between them had shifted.

This wasn’t just sex.

It was the start of something real.

Something neither of them would be able to walk away from.

Not now.

Not ever.

143 notes · View notes

madridnoora · 5 months ago

Text

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - LSU!Joe Burrow Au⋆｡˚ ౨ৎ

LSU!JoeBurrow x Student!oc AU

Hey!! This is so weird for me. I haven't posted on tumblr for like seven years but I've been inspired to write a 'Au' about Joe Burrow. I usually post my writing on other platforms but it felt best to post this one on tumblr :)

So please bare with me as I get to grips with how tumblr works again lol. Other than that...I hope you enjoy and feel free to send me any questions, prompts ect..!!

18+ content ahead. MDNI :)

౨ৎ Third times a charm⋆｡˚

Word count - 5.4k

The First Time

The bass thumps through the heavy air of the crowded frat house as Daisy scrambled trying to find her friends. It was the first week of her sophomore year at LSU. One of the only weeks when she could actually find the time to enjoy these stupid parties without the strain of a heavy poli-sci workload weighing down on her shoulders. A red solo cup full of a concoction of various types of alcohol was gripped strongly in her hand as she pushed her way through the various drunk boys and girls. Daisy wasn’t wasted, but she was stumbling. Her vision was slightly impaired and a heat known as an alcohol blanket pricked at her skin.

‘DAIS’ a muffled voice yells from within the crowd before a hand of god grabs onto her forearm pulling her in a direction. A sigh of relief escaped from her pink lips as she realised it was her roommate and dearest friend Cassie. They embraced in a sloppy drunk hug, the type that usually takes place in a girls bathroom. The type that would make people think they hadn’t seen each other for months but in reality they had only been separated for ten minutes.

‘I fucking love you’ Cassie slurred from her mouth. Daisy beamed a caring smile back at her as she adjusted the stray honey blonde hairs that lay out of place around Cassie’s sweet face. They were randomly allocated a dorm together in freshman year and in that freshman year they became sisters. Daisy never expected it, she thought her roommate would be just that, a roommate, someone she got along with but never went out of her way to hang out with. Like an acquaintance. She had never been so wrong about anything in her life. The girls did everything together, they were joined at the hip. They went to their first parties together, they had their first blackout together, they smoked their first joint together, they went on their first double date together, they shared their first spring break together, they met each other's families and perhaps the most bonding moment; they went through their first heartbreaks together.

‘We need to find Bella’ Daisy shouted into Cassie’s ear over the obnoxious frat music that was playing. Bella had made their duo a trio in the middle of the girls heartbreaks, and she taught them that the boys they spent their days sobbing over were nothing but that; boys. She pulled them out of their slumps and showed them how to breathe again. It was because of Bella that the girls had spent their summer’s working, then partying, then working and then partying. From Louisiana, to Austin, to London, to the Hamptons, to New York, to Miami and then back to Louisiana. The three girls had been on a heartbreak tour this summer and had come back as women. It helped that Cassie was from Miami, Bella was from New York and that Daisy’s dad lived in London for his work. Daisy didn’t see him much, only over winter break and summer. That was how it had been since she was eight years old. She was born and raised in Austin, Texas, spent most of her life with just her and her mom in a small apartment that her dad paid for from across the pond. Her parents weren’t together, the long distance crippled their relationship when she was ten but she didn’t mind. She was used to it just being her and her mom.

‘She doesn’t want to be found’ Cassie replied with a mischievous grin across her wine tinted lips. She then glanced to a corner of the frat house, Daisy followed her eyes.

Bella’s lips tangled with anothers. Her hands pulled on his brunette mullet while his own hands explored her body. Cassie was right, Bella did not want to be found at this moment. Daisy pulled out her phone and sent Bella a text.

‘Find us once you’re done ;)’

‘I want a refill’ Daisy said as she pulled Cassie towards the frat house kitchen.

Ja’Marr, Justin and Joe stood in their kitchen. It was their party. A party to celebrate the start of the college football season and right now it was a success. The island was filled with bottles of alcohol, the front room was crammed with the hottest girls LSU had to offer and tonight they would be taking advantage of that. The three of them took swigs from their beers as they scouted out the crowd, each of the eyes darting to a different girl.

‘You spot one, QB?’ Joe's eyes squinted ever so slightly as he thought about the question Ja Marr had just asked him. He’d seen many women he liked the look of tonight but none that really captured his attention.

‘Nah bro’ Joe said as he shook his head ever so slightly while taking another drink. He was still watching the dance floor, still holding out hope for someone fresh to catch his eyes tonight, so he wouldn’t have to be forced to call up an old hookup.

‘JUSTINNNN’ Two high pitched and drunk voices squeal causing the three boys' heads to snap in their direction. It’s two girls, ones that Ja’marr and Joe were unfamiliar with but Justin knew them all too well. They are rushing over to where Justin is leant against the counter, he didn’t say anything but he looked at the two girls in a comedic annoyance. Joe lets his blue eyes linger on the brunette, trailing them up and down her body. He makes a note of her short denim skirt and the tight white crop top she is wearing with it. Her. He thought. She was the one for him tonight.

Joe looks at Justin in confusion before looking at Ja marr to understand if he knew these girls. Ja Marr shrugged his shoulders with widened eyes.

‘Yeah it’s me, keep your panties on’ Justin was cocky as he hooked an arm around each of the girls necks and brought them in for a quick hug. It was friendly, it didn’t look to be anything more than that.

‘We missed you’ Cassie lingers closer to Justin than Daisy does.

‘You two seem better’ Justin looks at them both up and down before he takes a long drink of his beer. The girls both twirl in front of him before Daisy swings her arm lazily over the shoulder of Cassie bringing them close together.

‘We’re new women now’ She tells him and he just nods. ‘Toootallllyyy over it’ Cassie added.

Justin had the unfortunate job of working with freshly heartbroken Cassie and Daisy for a class project in their last semester of freshman year. He became the girls unpaid therapist, which in this case meant he sat there in class with them and listened as they poured out every detail of their previous relationships to him offering back a ‘that’sss crazy’ or a ‘damn’ every so often. It was hell. Modern day hell, but somehow Justin found himself liking the girls. There was something likeable about them, and also they did all the work on that project making sure his grade was good enough that he could still play college football this year.

‘Yo. These are some friends from freshman year. Daisy and Cassie.’ Justin finally acknowledged his two clueless teammates who had just been standing and watching the whole exchange take place in front of them. Joe didn’t bother to look at Cassie, he kept his eyes only on Daisy.

‘Daisy. Cassie. These are my teammates Ja Marr and Joe’ Justin introduced them. Daisy notices that Joe is looking at her. He has this typical frat boy smirk plastered across his face. His blue eyes are dark with a dangerous glint lying behind them. A glint that made her feel both hot and uneasy. She only glanced at him. She knew what he was after and she didn’t feel like giving in.

‘Teammates?’ Cassie looked at Justin with a confused face. Daisy looked at him also, just registering what he had said fully.

‘From the football team’ Justin explained but the girls still looked lost. ‘I play football, on the LSU football team. I had to miss meetings for the project last year because of away games and training.’ Justin explains further and the girls snap their heads to look at each other and back to him.

‘Ew.’ was all Daisy slipped out of her mouth. Half teasing and half not. Daisy had a pretty rough track record when it came to football players. Her ex was one.

‘What’s wrong with football players?’ Joe finally speaks and Daisy’s green eyes meet his own. She looks him up and down. She takes note of his height, and his tanned skin. She takes note of the way his blonde hair sits in a perfectly messy manner on his head. She takes note of the way drunk her fancies him. She takes note of the arrogance that drips from every corner of his body. She takes note of the smug smile all hot shot college footballers wear.

‘Everything’ she snapped back, a drunken anger she didn’t know still remained gripping to her words. Joe scoffs in disgust. The air thickens. Cassie, Justin and Ja Marr notice it. The hot air now feels almost constricting. Joe and Daisy are having a standoff. Cassie turns quickly and grabs a random bottle of wine off the kitchen island.

‘Come on Dais, let’s go dance’ She pulls on Daisy’s arm causing her eye contact with a furrowed brow Joe to break. ‘See you around Justin’ She offers him a sweet smile, one which says sorry for the awkward encounter that just happened.

When they have left the kitchen Joe finally speaks.

‘What a brat’

He thinks about Daisy. He thinks about the way she insulted him, the way she looked him up and down. He thinks about the fact that when he first saw her he wanted her, he laughs at his own stupid thought from merely minutes ago. She hated football players.

The Second Time

The late August sun beams down on the Louisiana campus. Students hustle and bustle across the pavement, while others sit in their groups on the grass. Joe, Justin and Ja Marr are sitting at a picnic bench soaking in the rays. At the weekend the football season would officially commence with an opening game at Baton Rouge’s Tiger Stadium against Georgia Southern. The team knew it would be a pretty easy win, but with it being the first game of the season there would always be some slight nerves.

Justin spots her before Joe does.

‘Hey! Texas!’ he calls out to her. She was coming from class, Joe could tell by the backpack and the textbook in her hand. She was wearing an oversized soccer top, Chelsea. He didn’t know soccer all that well but he knew that was the team. The top was so big that her denim shorts only just peaked out from underneath. He wondered why she was wearing it. It didn’t look like hers. The size was too big. Maybe that’s why she hated football players, because she was a soccer girl.

Her plump lips stretched into a beaming smile as she recognised Justin, the smile faltered when she saw Joe. The falter was so quick only he could notice it.

‘Hey’ Joe notices the Texas twang now. It was stronger now that he was hearing it sober. She slid into the spare spot next to Ja marr and across from him, placing her politics textbook on the table. Her demeanor is different now. She’s not as bold or brash, she’s not as confident as she had been when she snapped at him. She’s more timid, she’s sweeter. That was what came to Joe’s mind.

‘You coming to the game at the weekend’ Justin asks her.

‘Nope’ Daisy makes the ‘p’ pop.

‘If we win, there’s a party at the frat. You should come’ Joe’s head spins to look at Justin beside him. He couldn’t believe it. Joe had spent pretty much the last few days talking about what a brat Daisy had been and how he couldn’t believe she had spoken to him like that.

‘What’s in it for me?’ Daisy questions. Justin doesn’t acknowledge his quarterback’s quizzing looks, or the anger that is beginning to show across his face. He didn’t want Daisy there. She’d bruised his ego, but Justin didn’t care about Joe’s ego, he cared about something else.

‘I’ll get your drinks’

‘Deal. I’ll make sure she comes’ Daisy was nonchalant in her response.

‘What’s happening right now?’ Ja Marr asked as he looked between his teammate and the brunette girl sat next to him.

‘He wants to hook up with my friend Bella’ She shrugged her shoulders. Ja Marr looked to Justin for confirmation.

‘She’s badddd’ Justin told him as he rubbed his hands together, almost in excitement. Justin had wanted to hook up with Bella since he first met her before summer. She had interrupted one of their project meetings and he had been dreaming of her ever since. Well, dreaming of her body. He didn’t want to date her or anything and Bella wasn’t the type to date anyway. They matched perfectly in that sense.

‘I have to run. Got class at ten. DM me the details.’ She stood up from the table and the boy's eyes linger on her.

‘Bye Joe’ She is sickly sweet. Her smile isn’t genuine. It’s a teasing one, one which lets him know that she remembers their exchange in the kitchen. One which lets him know she felt his eyes looking at her for moments too long.

Joe doesn’t respond, he just watches her walk away.

The Third Time

55-3. Georgia Southern never stood a change. Joe Burrow’s LSU were well under way, and they looked good. Screw that. They looked exceptional.

Cheers erupted through their frat house as the boys stood on the coffee table shotgunning beers before throwing them into the sea of people that stood around them. Tonight. Tonight they partied like kings.

Daisy watched from the back of the room alongside Cassie and Bella. She watched as people cheered for him. He was standing in a white LSU top, likely one from his training and some black shorts. The top clung to his skin already, but was now ever so slightly wet from the spilt beer. She could see the outlines of his abs, she could see the outline of his pectoral muscles. His hair was covered by a black backwards cap, one that she hated to admit suits him. His skin is covered in a sheen, the heat of the room affecting him. The tanned skin on his cheeks flushing ever so slightly pink.

A blonde bombshell leans over and speaks to him. Her hand lay delicately on his bicep. He smiles at her. Then his smile is replaced by the smug look all footballer players get when they know a pretty girl wants them.

Daisy sips from her drink as she watches the exchange play out across the room. She watches as Joe and the mystery blonde go elsewhere in the frat house. Classic.

‘I don’t get the obsession’ Bella said as she looked in disgust at the people throwing themselves at the football team. Not even just girls. Other boys preach them as Gods. Showering them in compliments, all in the hopes that they would acknowledge them. All in the hope that they could say they were friends with the LSU football team. Daisy had grown up in Texas, she was more than familiar with how football stars were treated. Her ex was one. And she was his cheerleader. She shuddered at the breath of thought that crept its way into the forefront of her mind. The thoughts of a past life she likes to forget she lived. She downs her drink to halt the memories. Cassie notices.

‘Let’s go dance’ and she pulls both Daisy and Bella into the crowd in front of them.

‘She was so fucking boring’ Joe said as he rejoined Ja Marr in the corner of the frat house. The blonde had taken his interest when she leaned over to him and whispered sweet nothings into his ear. However, a few conversations between kisses in the backyard had nummed him. Cute girl. Good kisser. Absolutely no personality. Not even enough for him to want to go through with the hook up.

‘Shi sucks man’ Ja Marr sympathises.

‘Whatchu doin?’ Joe questions him.

‘Scouting’ Ja Marr smirked. Joe did too. The pair clink their beers together and watch the crowd dancing. ‘White girl’ by Shy Glizzy is blasting through the speakers. The wood floors almost shake beneath their feet. Strobe lights flash across the ceiling and smoke fills the air from the amount of vapes. The smell of cigarettes, alcohol and weed lingers in the heavy air.

‘Yo. Justin got his girl’ Ja Marr hits Joe gently in the chest and nods in their direction.

Justin and Bella are making out, heavily. That meant that the little devil named Daisy was here also. Joe couldn’t help but look for her in the crowd. He spots Cassie first. His eyes move slightly to her right and there she is.

Daisy’s holding her hair up in her hands as she winds her waist to the rhythm of the song. One of Joe and Ja Marr’s frat brothers is stood behind her. A hand loosely on her waist. Joe checks her out, and he can’t help but scoff ever so slightly at her outfit. She’s wearing a tight black tank top that’s clinging to every curve of her skin, her chest pushed up ever so slightly. Enough for Joe to take notice.

He takes a swig of his beer.

He watches her waist move around as she wears distressed denim shorts with a thick tan belt and a silver buckle. A buckle which has a long horned cattle imprinted on it.

He takes another swig of his beer.

Red cowboy boots. She was wearing red cowboy boots to a frat party. It was so painfully texas. And maybe it was the liquor. But right now Joe wanted Texas.

‘I’m hunting bro’ Joe handed Ja Marr his beer before he set off into the crowd.

Daisy whined her waist on the stranger behind her. She was too tipsy to care who it was. She just wanted to have fun. Memories of an ex had somehow plagued her mind since she got here and she would do anything to get rid of them. She hadn’t thought about him all summer but the talk of football had brought him back.

‘Get out of here Jaxon’ a deep annoyed voice deeply interrupts her dancing. The warm hand that had made its home on her bare waist drops and cold air hits the flesh it left behind.

‘She your’s? Shit. my bad QB, my bad’ His voice panicked as it fades further and further away.

Daisy turns around in confusion, wanting to know who had stopped her fun.

Joe.

‘Ugh’ Daisy audibly groaned at the face in front of her. She should have guessed. She should have guessed he was quarterback as well. She should have been able to tell from not only his physical appearance but the cockiness that clings to his every action and every word.

‘You can keep dancing’ He’s smug when he says it. She rolls her eyes. And then that tension comes back. The one that makes the air feel like it’s being sucked away. They’re staring at each other, neither of them saying a word but somehow they’re having a conversation.

She knows why he came over. It’s written all over his face. He knows she’s considering it. It’s written all over her face.

He’s looking down at her. She’s looking up at him. Cogs turning in each of their heads as they try to figure out what they were going to do next.

Daisy knows she shouldn’t want him. She told herself never again. But he’s stood in front of her, in a backward cap that makes him look so good. She can see his muscles almost bursting out from beneath his training top, and she wants to see them fully. If her mind hadn’t been running with thoughts of a previous boy, then she wouldn’t have thought about the distraction Joe could offer her. If she had had two drinks less, she wouldn’t be picturing him on top of her. Joe was a forbidden fruit in the garden of eden presenting itself as a frat house. A forbidden fruit which looked so good she couldn’t help but take a bite.

Joe wanted her from the moment he saw her. Joe had wanted her every time he saw her. He liked that she didn’t want to want him but she still did. He could see it in her green eyes. He could see in the pink lip she held bitten between her teeth. He could feel it in the air between them. He could feel it in the shaky but desperate breath she let out.

‘One time’ It’s like a whisper.

And suddenly the red light flicked green.

Joe grabbed her hand with desperation, like she was going to change her mind at any second. He led her up the stairs of the house to where his room was. Once the door was shut and the lock flicked, their barriers dropped.

It started with a desperate kiss. Joe’s hands were firm on her hips as he pulled her in towards her. She’s breathless as she kisses him back with her own desperation. She pulls the backwards cap of his head and tosses it somewhere in the room before running her hand through his blonde hair, tugging every so often. When she does he lets out small groans. Groans which let her know he likes it.

‘Just one time’ She whispers into his lips. She’s not saying it for him, she’s saying it for herself. Just this once, she would let herself taste the forbidden fruit. Just to escape the thoughts of her last life. The life that ended over a text four months ago.

‘It’s just sex. That’s all this is’ Joe’s breathless when he responds. Heavy breaths leaving his parted lips as he clings to her waist like she’s the most important thing in the world to him. She nods. She didn’t want anything more. She didn’t even like Joe. She didn’t even know him enough to know whether she liked him or not. She didn’t even know his last name. She pulls her lips from his once again.

‘What’s your last name?’

Joe’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Like it was the last thing he expected to leave her lips.

‘Burrow’ He told her. Daisy nods. Then she crashes her lips back into his own and they continue like nothing ever happened. He tasted like beer but somehow it was sweet. Somehow it felt familiar. Joe’s hands move from her hips and instead grip intensely onto her ass in the denim shorts. He offers it a smack, not too hard as he was testing what she liked, trying to figure her out with every reaction she gave to his touch. She let out a small moan and he knew she liked it.

Joe begins to move them backwards, inching closer towards his bed with their mouths still pressed against each other’s and their tongues intertwining in a perfect rhythm. When the back of Daisy’s calves reach the soft cotton bed sheets she lets herself fall backwards. She’s on his bed beneath him, perched on her forearms and looking at him with dark eyes. Eyes filled with an animalistic desire and covered in a drunken gloss. Her chest is rising and falling quickly as she tries to catch the breath Joe had taken from her. Joe looked back at her with his own desire. His once bright blue eyes now deep and sunken, hungry for what lay in his bed. He took her in. His eyes panned over the smooth skin on her legs, then to her chest, then to her swollen lips and then to her eyes. He was slow and precise by how he looked at her. If this was a one time thing, he needed to make it count. He kneeled and Daisy held a breath.

He pulled at the red leather cowboy boots and threw them to the side with a heavy thud.

‘Hey’ Daisy snapped. ‘Careful with my boots’

Joe stood back up and towered over her, not responding to her snappy words. Instead he pulled the white LSU shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He saw her gulp and he let it fuel his already large ego. Daisy’s eyes traced the deep grooves which sculpted his torso, the ones which outlined his abs. He was the most muscular man she had seen in the flesh. Heat pooled in her underwear and her stomach flipped. Fuck. She thought. Her lip once again found itself being bitten between her teeth in a subconscious reaction. The smug look is worn on the quarterback's face once more, but this time she didn’t care. He had the right to be smug because he was making her feel things she hadn’t felt for a long time.

‘Take your clothes off’ His command was rough and deep. They engage in a stand off again. Daisy had never been told to take her clothes off in the bedroom. Her ex would take them off her or she would just do it without being told. She unbuckled her belt and the top button on her shorts.

‘stand up’ Joe once again commands her. She doesn’t know why but she listens.

‘Now take them off’ She follows his words like they’re biblical. She doesn’t even think twice about it. Perhaps it’s the hunger in his eyes as he says it, or the commanding tone, she didn’t know why she was listening to him but she was.

Her shorts dropped to the floor and she pushed them to the side. She pulls her tank top over her head and throws it in the direction of her boots in the corner of the room. Joe watches her, he studies her body like he will take an exam on it. He takes a note of the three moles which sit across her torso and the small scar at the top of her thigh. He takes her in. The singular lamp lighting up his room bounces off her, she appears like she’s almost glowing. Like an angel in a golden aura.

Her bra and panties match, like she knew this was going to happen. They’re leopard print, comically sleazy, and he’s more turned on than he has ever been in his life. He takes off his own black shorts leaving himself in white Calvin Kleins. She looks for a split second. Another gulp.

Joe lets the knuckle of his index finger delicately trace a line on her toned abdomen and his eyes follow it. She holds her breath.

‘I need you’ His voice is low. When his eye’s flick up to meet hers it’s game on again.

He pushes her onto the bed as their lips collide once more. The room is hot and heavy. The music from the party below them is felt through the floorboards. It’s some rap song and people are cheering but they’re not focussed on that. Joe and Daisy are only focussed on each other and getting rid of the aching feeling that's pooling in both their stomachs.

Joe leaves sloppy kisses from her neck down to the waistband of her underwear. Daisy hips already bucking at just the thought of him being inside her. There was something about knowing she shouldn’t be doing this that made her want to do it even more. She widens her legs and she feels Joe smile into her thigh as he places me wet kisses.

‘You need me baby’ He’s almost taunting with his words. He places a kiss on her clit over the underwear and she lets out a shy whimper. ‘That’s it’ He’s so smug it hurts, but there is nothing she can do because she’s panting beneath him. She’s crumbling under his touch. ‘Tell me you want it baby’ He pauses his kisses and looks at her through his eyelashes.

‘Fuck you’ She breathlessly tell him. Then there’s a pause. A small silence fills the space between them. He’s waiting for what he knows is coming.

‘I want it’ She whimpers and Joe rips her underwear in half. He gets straight into pleasuring her. His tongue draws patterns on her swollen clit while his fingers pump in and out of her. She’s almost screaming in pleasure and she’s thankful the party around them blocks out the noise.

‘Fuck. you’re soaking for me’ Joe almost moans as he continues to pleasure her. As pathetic as it sounds, she was almost already at a climax and Joe could feel it. He felt her walls tightening around his fingers and he wanted to feel her. He could make her cum again. ‘You can let it go sweet thing’ Daisy moaned in response to his words. A few pumps of his finger later and she was coming undone.

‘Ah fuck Joe. I’m- ‘mm c’ Daisy struggles to get her words out as pleasure overtakes her. She can’t string together a cohesive thought let alone a sentence thanks to Joe. ‘I know baby, I know’ Joe replied as he removed his lips from her clit.

He gave her only a few moments to catch her breath while he pulled off his boxers letting himself spring free.

Fuck. Daisy thought. 6’4 quarterback, she knew he wouldn’t be small but-

‘On your stomach’ he told her and once again she listened. Her body on autopilot to his commands, she wanted her to put up some resistance but it was like her body was disconnected.

‘Good girl’ She knows he’s beaming with a smile, she can tell it in his tone. It’s like he’s trying to hold in a mocking laugh and yet even that doesn’t stop her from spreading her legs and allowing him inside. She groans as he fits himself within her, he’s gentle for three strokes, letting her adjust to a size she wasn’t used to. Then he goes.

His pace picks up and the noise of skin slapping fills the room. The noise of him smacking her ass as it moves in response to his heavy thrusts echoes around them. One hand gripped on her waist, guiding her down his length. She’s moaning uncontrollably. He’s grunting like it’s the first time he’s fucked someone. She felt so good, so so good. So good it was making his toes curl ever so slightly. He admired her as he took her from behind, admired the way her ass bounced with every thrust, admired the way she arched for him and the way she let out small whimpers of his name. He didn’t think he’d have her like this, but he was so glad he did.

Heavy breaths filled the silence between them as they lay naked next to each other. Neither of them daring to speak, neither of them knowing what to say. Daisy didn’t regret it, that wasn’t what she was feeling but she was feeling something she couldn’t quite place. Was it guilt? She shook the thought away. Why would she feel guilty? She didn’t have any reason to feel guilty, she was single and this wasn’t the first guy she had hooked up with since her ex. So why did this weigh heavier?

‘You wan-’ Joe started. ‘I gotta head’ Daisy finished, not listening to what else he was going to say.

She scrambled around the room naked picking up her different items of clothes. ‘Shit’ She held her ripped underwear between her fingers before shooting an almost murderous look at Joe.

‘Chill’ Joe said nonchalantly as he himself got up and made his way to the top drawer of his dresser. She watched him rummage around.

‘Here. These should be about your size’ He tossed her some random underwear. Daisy looked at him with horror, genuine horror. Some random girls left over underwear had just been tossed at her.

‘What? They’re washed’ Joe looks confused by her reaction. She scoffs, not going near the black lacy underwear that had been tossed to her. She went commando instead.

‘This never happened’ was all she said before she ran out his bedroom door to find Cassie.

#joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joey burrow #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow au #jb9 #lsu!joe #lsu joe #౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - Joe Burrow Au

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