joeybisbootiful - Tumblr blog

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Text

i'm a bit late to this but... i'm obsessed with them.

'F**k the L-word day' - LSU!Joe & Doll Blurb

-ˋˏ this post contains (little) NSFW content, but my page is still 18+ only - enjoy at your own risk - don’t like it, don’t fuckin read it ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ A/N: Yall already know I didn't proof read. But I got multiple asks about Valentine's day w/Joe and Doll. So enjoy this lil blurb :P ˎˊ-

-ˋˏ Word count: 1,359 ˎˊ-

Joe’s grimace was potent, carved deep into his features as his thumbs tapped furiously against his phone screen. A scowl settled in place, his jaw tight as he grumbled under his breath, scoffing out a, “Fuckin’ stupid idea.”

He barely acknowledged Doll as she stepped into his room, a small gift bag swinging at her side. It was obnoxiously festive—sparkly pink with red and pink tissue paper sprouting from the top like a bouquet of artificial affection. She sent him a tentative smile when his eyes flicked up, but they barely lingered before he was back to glaring at whatever was pissing him off on his phone.

"Joe—" Doll started, kicking off her shoes by the futon before shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

"Nylah fuckin’ convinced Marr to have the party be Valentine-themed. She’s an idiot," Joe cut in, tone sharp, fingers still flying over his screen.

Doll’s brows furrowed as he complained about Nylah, “Joe, that’s cute! It should still be fun—” she tried to reason, keeping her voice light, but Joe wasn’t having it.

"No—no, it won’t be fun, and it’s not fuckin’ cute," he snapped, mocking the word cute with a sneer. "What fuckin' frat party is themed around lo—” He cut himself off, exhaling harshly before making his final decision. “Fuck it. I'm just not gonna go."

With an aggravated huff, Joe locked his phone and let it drop into his lap. He leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head as if the topic exhausted him beyond belief.

Doll blinked. “Isn’t it… isn’t it here? You’re not gonna go to your party? In your house?” She narrowed her eyes, crawling onto the bed, trying to make sense of his logic.

Joe scoffed, shaking his head in frustration, “February makes me fuckin’ sick.”

Joe spat the words with such unfiltered disdain that Doll couldn’t help but fall silent for a beat. She pressed her lips together before observing out loud, “You’re saying the f-word a lot.”

Slowly, Joe turned his head toward her, eyes narrowed, face tight in a deep, deadpan glare—his face practically screaming, Did you really just say that?

Doll shifted uncomfortably. She hated when he looked at her like that—when he let silence drag out instead of saying something. To distract from his scrutiny, she lifted the bag onto her lap and held it out to him, awkward but hopeful.

JJoe’s eyes flickered down, tracking the movement, his scowl still in place. His gaze locking onto the pink monstrosity.

"Happy Val—"

"Don’t."

His voice cut through the space like a blade, sharp and immediate. Still, he snatched the bag from her hands with a sigh, yanking the tissue paper out with aggressive force, sending glitter onto his sweats.

“Worst bag choice ever. That shit’s gonna be everywhere.” He grumbled, flicking a stubborn speck of glitter off his thigh.

Doll didn’t say anything. She just watched, rolling her eyes as she knew Joe would find anything to complain about.

The first thing he pulled out was a ziplock baggie of homemade red velvet, heart-shaped cookies she had baked the night before. The recipe was her own, and she had made way too many batches, trying to perfect it. Joe didn’t say a word. He just plopped them into his lap and reached for the next item.

And that’s when his already soured expression somehow managed to worsen.

The grimace deepened as he held up a mesh bag containing two pre-rolled joints, wrapped in pink rolling paper, tied neatly with a soft pink bow.

"First off—" he started, tone already disapproving, but Doll was quicker.

"Before you say anything—" she blurted, cutting him off. "Ja’Marr bought the weed from your dealer, and Nylah rolled them. It was my idea, but… I don’t know how to… buy… drugs… so…"

She trailed off, feeling small under Joe’s unimpressed stare. His narrow-eyed stare lingered on her a beat too long, unreadable. He didn’t rip her apart or question her. He actually found it slightly endearing, but he didn't thank her. Instead of saying anything, he just let out a low hmm before setting the joints down with the cookies.

The last thing in the bag was a card.

Joe barely spared it a glance before scoffing and tossing it to the side like it was a piece of junk mail.

Doll gasped, smacking his arm. "Joe! You have to read it!" she whined, snatching it back and tossing it onto his lap.

He rolled his eyes but begrudgingly picked it back up. She watched nervously as he tore open the red envelope, wincing when he nearly ripped the card inside in half in the process.

Joe fully expected some sappy, lovey-dovey shit—some sentimental Happy Valentine’s Day message with her signature scrawled next to a kissy-lip print she’d pressed onto the paper. The idea alone made his stomach turn.

But the moment he flipped the card open, something slipped out—a small polaroid fluttering onto the bed beside him. His scowl faltered, curiosity flickering across his face as he scooped it up. The shift was instant. His sharp glare softened into something else, something amused, as a slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, his gaze locking onto the image.

Joe reacted instantly. “Wh—oh shit?”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the picture for a few lingering seconds, his thumb brushing absently over the glossy surface. But eventually, he flipped it around for Doll to see, as if she didn’t already know exactly what it was—she had put it in the card, after all.

Still, the moment her own image was flashed back at her, heat crawled up her neck, her cheeks tingling with embarrassment. It was one thing to tuck the photo inside the envelope, another entirely to see Joe’s reaction, to watch as he took in the sight of her in that red lace lingerie set. Her hair tumbling over one shoulder, lips parted just enough, her back arched in the way Dove, her roommate, had directed her.

Dove had needed a model for a project. Doll had needed something to put in Joe’s card. And somehow, those two problems had found the same solution—resulting in the kind of picture that left Joe looking like he had just won the lottery.

“This is fuckin’ wild,” he muttered in awe, still staring at it. His grip on the polaroid was firm, like he had no intention of setting it down anytime soon. Doll didn’t miss the subtle shift in his hips either, the way his fingers tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants like he needed a little more room.

Before she could say anything, Joe reached to the side of his bed and grabbed something, tossing it toward her without warning. It smacked her right in the face, sending a few strands of hair flying out of place.

“You’re kidding!” She shrieked, bolting up onto her knees on the bed as she clutched the plushie to her chest. The chocolate-covered strawberry Jellycat—the one she had been obsessing over since its release.

Joe scoffed, “You’ve only mentioned it five thousand fuckin’ times a day.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were actually listening—oh my God, Joe, thank you! I love him!” She was already cradling the plushie like it was her child, eyes wide with pure delight.

Joe furrowed his brows as she called it him, rolling his eyes because he knew damn well she was already brainstorming names for the stupid thing. He shook his head, barely listening as she rambled on about how cute it was, her voice turning into background noise as his focus drifted back to the card.

And then he saw it.

His smirk lingered, but it wasn’t as sharp—faltering just enough to betray the unease curling in his stomach, a feeling he refused to acknowledge.

Heat crept up his neck, sinking deep into his chest.

His grip on the paper tightening, eyes tracing over the words inked on the back of the polaroid…

“F**k the L-word day. Thank yew for the superb dick, 9. Sincerely, your friend (with benefits) — Doll <3"

#joe burrow

531 notes · View notes

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Note

clingy cuddly joey is so cute

I think about this more than a healthy amount for some reason, so I gotta get it out there.

Joe really doesn’t like being called “Joey”. It’s just a childhood name that he feels he’s grown out of. BUT I think he’d have such a soft spot for his girl calling him Joey 🥹 maybe it catches him off guard the first time she lets it slip, but he likes it a lot more than he thought he would. And from then on he only wants to be her Joey and he gets all pouty when she just calls him Joe.

Soft cuddly little Joey bear is my favorite (grumpy irritated Joe is a very close second)

say it, please || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up!!

a/n: wow? another blurb? who am i?? this might be how i get back on track with YBWM and I'm not complaining!! again, rushed, written in a few hours, so please don't tell me if you hate it

word count: 1.9 k

warnings: fluffy fluff fluff

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @yelenasbraid @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @lilfreakjez @fourburrow

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh joe absolutely despises it when people call him joey. no matter who it is, his mom, his dad, his closest childhood friends, even his nana. he just hates it. he’d complain about how it was too “babyish” and “embarrassing”, and that joe was more adult and manly. joey didn’t fit that stone-cold, joe cool persona he had going on…joey was more like “oh, here’s our soft, cuddly, teddy bear QB1” and he grimaced every time he thought about it.

until you came around.

you knew that he didn’t like the cute little nickname, it was one of the first things robin had warned you about when you had your first one-on-one talk with her. you never really understood why he hated it, because his reasoning seemed pretty dumb. it was just a nickname, right? and it perfectly matched how he’d get when he had those adorable puppy dog eyes and rosy cheeks. it was just so right.

but you loved joe, so naturally you respected his wishes just as he respected yours. you dropped the idea of the nickname and carried on.

until one lazy sunday afternoon in the middle of february.

you were doing your best attempt at shielding yourself from the bitter winter cold, curled up on the couch with your oversized plush bengals blanket and wearing one of joe’s old LSU hoodies. in your lap was your tablet, and the app opened up was your sketchpad. you worked in graphic design, so you were naturally always found with your apple pencil between your fingers and with this app on the screen in front of you. the latest project you had was not the usual kind—this one was a favor called in by a local cafe, a hidden gem in the heart of the queen city which happened to be one of joe’s favorite spots since he came to cincy. it was quiet, hidden, intimate, and the perfect spot to have a normal conversation with normal people; just how joe liked it. so when he had leisurely strolled into the cafe as usual one day after practice, he found himself caught up in a conversation with the owner (more so his newest best friend considering he went to the cafe every single day after practice) and the topic at hand was their recent obsessions. it was silly, but it was a good conversation to have over smoothies & muffins after a grueling day as star quarterback joe burrow. sometimes he just wanted to be joe again, especially with his friends, and this cafe was a great place to do so.

anyway, for steve, his obsession was the latest addition to his cafe. a shiny new espresso machine with too many settings and advancements to count.

for joe, it honestly should’ve been obvious to anyone with working eyes considering every time he thought about it out loud or in his mind—which was a lot—his cheeks turned pink and his eyes softened like he was a stick of melting butter. there was only one thing that could make joe feel and look like that, and everyone in town knew what it was. i mean, it was the hottest topic once you showed up on the sidelines wearing that initial around your neck before the wild card game against the ravens.

his recent obsession was none other than his lovely, adorable, larger than life…future wife.

his precious girlfriend.

you.

he was going on and on about you with that goofy boyish smile to the point where steve was questioning if joe was drunk, high, delirious, or all of the above and just deeply unwell. and honestly, he was.

he was completely, totally, and utterly lovesick.

joe rambled on about anything and everything related to you. from your unique hobbies like forging & pressing flowers into journals and resin molds, to your interests that didn’t involve sitting in the stands and cursing out referees for bullshit penalties, and even your cute little habits such as spraying joe’s cologne on your hoodies while he was at an away game so that you could still be close to him. he just loved to talk about you, to tell people how you and everything about you had been such a breath of fresh air in his suffocating life. you were the change of pace he so desperately needed, and he was going to make sure the entire world knew of that.

then, he started telling steve about your passion for graphic design. you worked full-time at a PR firm for it, but that didn’t stop you from dabbling into side projects in which you had complete control. you’ve designed things like wedding invitations, baby announcements, birthday cards, and even a few shirt designs for your old high school. you were extremely talented, so obviously he’d show you off in that sense too. he loved how hardworking, independent, and creative you were.

that conversation joe had with steve was how you now ended up re-designing steve’s cafe’s logo for him. you really didn’t mind doing it, not that you could say no if you did mind anyway. you knew steve was joe’s friend so if you said no for a good reason, he’d understand, but if word got out that joe burrow’s girlfriend refused to help out a local cafe with something like this…whew. bad bad PR. so, it was a good thing that you loved designing and sketching in your free time because there was no reason for you to say no. everyone would be happy :)

as you twirled your pencil in your hand, gliding the tip along the screen to perfect the border of the design, you felt a weight press down on your shoulder—warm, soft, and familiar.

joe.

he really loved watching you do your thing, bonus points if he got to cuddle with you while you were doing your thing, so this was a natural place for him to be found now. you were completely focused on the task at hand, that you didn’t realize when he started talking to you. your ears picked up on bits and pieces of what he was saying, but most of it was drowned out by your own inner thoughts as you contemplated over which shade of green to use in the logo.

“...so, is it okay if we order in from gloria’s tonight instead of going out in the storm?” he asked, his warm breath tickling your skin as he pushed himself further into the crook of your neck. he’d hide in there if he could, maybe even nestle himself inside your pocket to be as close to you as humanly possible.

you heard him, and you thought you responded, but that must’ve been in your imagination because then you felt him gently poke your thigh to get your attention. “oh, hm?” you hummed, slightly tilting your head down to see him but keeping your gaze fixed on the screen in front of you. “...yeah, that’s fine joey,” you mumbled, not aware of what you were saying, and what name you just said.

his heart stuttered in his chest, skipping a beat before picking up again, softer this time—like it was melting right into his ribs. that name, the one that usually made him cringe, that usually made him irritated, suddenly felt…warm. safe. like something sacred.

because it came from you.

you weren’t teasing him. you weren’t babying him. you just said it, all soft and dreamy, like it was the most natural thing in the world. like it belonged to him, to you—to both of you.

joe blinked, his lips parting slightly, his body no longer tense against you but loose, relaxed in a way he didn’t even know he could be. his fingers twitched against his lap, itching to reach for you, to pull you close, to hear you say it again.

“yeah?” he murmured, voice quieter now, hesitant almost.

you finally peeled your eyes away from the screen, meeting his gaze, and that’s when it really hit him. the warmth in your expression, the way your lips curled ever so slightly, the way you looked at him like he was your favorite person in the entire world.

god.

and from then on, he only wanted to be your joey. not joe. not burrow. not anything else. just your joey.

and he made it painfully obvious.

the first time you called him just joe after that, it was like you stole the sun right out of his sky. his face fell so fast it was almost humorous—eyebrows knitted together, lips pressed into the softest little pout as he stared at you like you’d just broken his heart.

“what?” you blinked, confused at his odd expression.

he huffed, shifting closer to you on the couch, arms crossing over his chest in the most dramatic sulk you’d ever seen. “nothing,” he mumbled, but it was so very much something.

you tilted your head, studying him, before realization hit you.”oh my god,” you gasped, a slow grin creeping onto your face. “are you pouting because i called you joe?”.

he stayed silent. just pouted harder.

you laughed, reaching over to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his warm, slightly flushed cheeks. “baby, do you wanna be my little joey again?”.

his lashes fluttered, shoulders dropping as he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. and then, so quiet, so needy, it almost made your heart burst—

“say it, please.”

your breath hitched.

oh.

his voice was barely above a whisper, but you could feel it—the weight of his words, the way he needed to hear it from you, how it felt different when it came from your lips. he didn’t just want the name. he wanted you saying it, holding it close like it was something precious. like he was something precious.

you softened, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth. “okay, joey,” you whispered against his lips, the name dripping in warmth, in love, in everything he ever wanted to hear from you.

he melted instantly, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck like he never wanted to leave. and god, he didn’t. he wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in you, basking in the way you said his name like it belonged to you and you alone.

because it did.

no one else could say it like you. no one else could make his chest ache in the best way, could make his heart stutter and swell all at once. no one else could make him love the name he once hated.

only you.

his girl. his love. his everything.

your joey.

only yours. always.

–the end–

#joe burrow

801 notes · View notes

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Note

this is feeding my delusions

could u write joe burrow and a young gf :3

ouuuu i lowkey love this!!! i forget joe is literally almost 30 sometimes cause he's been my baby since 2020 :(

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it never quite feels real.

Not in the way people would assume—Oh my God, you’re dating Joe Burrow—but in the quieter, trickier ways. Like how surreal it is to be brushing your teeth while he’s flopped across the bed scrolling through film, mumbling something about coverages.

Or how it feels when his name echoes from TV screens and sports talk shows, but the same voice that commands huddles and stadiums turns soft when he asks, “You good, babe?” after long days.

It started somewhere simple. It always does.

Before all the noise, before the headlines, before the whispers about her being too young or him settling down so soon. You were just you, balancing college classes and internships, while he was—well, Joe Burrow. Quarterback. Face of a franchise. The golden boy with ice in his veins and Ohio stitched into his heart.

The age thing? People love to talk.

"She's barely legal," Twitter said. "He's almost thirty—what could they possibly have in common?"

But nobody saw late nights where he quizzed you for exams between reps of watching film. No one heard him tease you about your Starbucks order or watched the way his whole face softened when you walked into a room.

You weren’t high school sweethearts or some college love story. You met after his star had already risen. He was 26 then, fresh off another playoff run. You were 20, still figuring out your major and how to parallel park. It wasn’t supposed to be anything. But somehow, between weekend flights to Cincinnati, cheap takeout, and late-night phone calls that stretched till sunrise, it became everything.

Now?

Now, he’s 28. And you’re counting down the weeks until your 22nd birthday.

It’s different now. The stakes are higher. His window is now, and yours is still unfolding. People don’t get that. They think he should be with someone who has it all figured out. Someone closer to his stage in life. But Joe? Joe never seemed interested in the version of you that had all the answers.

He likes you exactly as you are.

And maybe that’s what makes this all so dangerous. Because you love him like you have all the time in the world. But what if you don’t?

What if time, distance, and expectations catch up?

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it never feels real.

And maybe that’s what scares you the most.

It started in the most unremarkable way, which, in hindsight, made it all the more impossible.

You weren’t supposed to be there that night.

It was late spring—warm air clinging to skin, cicadas humming like background noise. A friend dragged you out, promising “something low-key” that turned out to be anything but. A rooftop bar downtown, lights strung across beams, music low enough for conversation but loud enough to fill silences. The kind of place where everyone seemed to know someone.

You felt out of place almost immediately—twenty, still figuring things out, surrounded by people who seemed to have their lives together. People with jobs, plans, confidence. You clutched your drink like a lifeline, nodding along to conversations you weren’t part of.

And then—him.

Joe Burrow.

You knew of him, obviously. Everyone did. The city’s golden boy. LSU’s champion turned Cincinnati’s hope. The one with the calm stare and colder game. But seeing him there, in a soft gray hoodie and jeans that looked too casual for someone like him, was jarring.

He wasn’t surrounded by a crowd like you expected. No loud entourage, no flashy bravado. Just him, leaning against the railing, a glass of something in his hand, looking out at the skyline like he wasn’t the biggest deal in the room.

You tried not to stare. Failed miserably.

And he caught you.

But here’s the thing—you looked away first. You didn’t smile or wave or give him that Oh my God, it’s Joe Burrow look he was probably used to. You just turned back to your group, back to your half-finished drink, back to your uncomfortable corner.

But he noticed.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just a glance. A flicker of interest, easily forgotten. But when you shifted places an hour later, needing air and space, there he was—somehow always there. Close enough to talk to, if you were brave enough.

You weren’t.

He was.

"Not your scene?"

His voice caught you off guard—low, almost shy. He wasn’t cocky about it, didn’t lead with who he was. Just a simple question. You glanced over, squinting against the fading light.

"Not really," you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yours?"

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Not really."

And that was it. A conversation that began with mutual disinterest in the place you both stood.

No cheesy pickup lines. No starstruck reactions. Just two people, sharing a quiet pocket of space in a loud world.

It started slow after that.

Joe wasn’t the type to rush things. He didn’t blow up your phone the next day. There were no grand gestures. Just texts that came at odd hours—memes, random thoughts, “this reminded me of you” photos. Late-night conversations that started light and ended heavy.

"What do you wanna do after school?" "Not sure yet. Still figuring it out." "That’s cool. You got time."

And he meant it.

He liked listening. That was the first thing you noticed. Everyone assumed he’d be the one with stories to tell, but Joe preferred hearing yours. He wanted to know about your classes, your friends, your opinions on movies you half-watched.

He didn’t treat you like you were younger. He didn’t make you feel like you had something to prove.

And maybe that’s why you fell for him first.

Not that you said it. Not for a while.

You didn’t know it, but Joe liked that you didn’t treat him like Joe Burrow. You talked to him like he was just a guy—messy, complicated, figuring things out. And he wanted that.

For months, things stayed undefined. Texts. Calls. Occasional meetups when he was in the neighborhood. You told yourself it wasn’t serious. Couldn’t be. He had an NFL career; you had classes and part-time jobs.

But then came that night.

It was after a tough loss—one of those games where the city buzzed with disappointment. You shot him a simple text: “Tough one. Hope you’re good.”

Didn’t expect a reply. But he did.

"Come over?"

It wasn’t a question. And when you showed up, hair still damp from a rushed shower, no makeup, heart racing—he looked at you like you were the best thing he’d seen all week.

"You’re here," he said softly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

"Of course I am."

That night, there were no cameras, no expectations. Just Joe—quiet, vulnerable—and you, sitting beside him on a worn-out couch.

He kissed you first.

Soft, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if he should. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

You never wanted to.

So how have you lasted this long?

Patience.

It wasn’t always easy. The age gap made things complicated. He was settling into his prime years—face of a franchise, pressure mounting. You were still growing, still becoming.

But Joe never expected you to catch up. He let you take your time. He liked that you weren’t rushing.

You learned his rhythms—when he needed space, when he needed reassurance. He learned your moods—when you were overwhelmed, when you needed grounding.

You made room for each other.

Not because it was easy. But because it mattered.

And somehow, almost two years later, here you still are.

Joe’s turning 28. You’re on the edge of 22.

Everyone still talks. But neither of you have ever cared much about what they say.

The apartment was quiet in that late-afternoon, honey-gold kind of way. The kind of light that stretched long shadows across hardwood floors and made everything feel softer, slower. The game was on mute—highlights from last week’s win looping on ESPN—while you sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through your laptop.

Joe was in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing a faded Ohio State tee and gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His hair was still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the edges. He moved with that same unhurried calm he always had off the field, focused on slicing up an apple with alarming precision for someone who could launch a 60-yard pass without blinking.

"You want some?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"No thanks," you mumbled, eyes still on the screen.

"Liar," he said, grinning. "You’re gonna steal a piece anyway."

He wasn’t wrong.

Joe crossed the room, dropping onto the couch beside you with a quiet oof. The plate balanced on his knee, and sure enough, when he popped a slice into his mouth, he held another out for you without looking.

"Told you," he muttered around a bite.

"Whatever," you said, accepting it anyway.

This was what you two were like—easy.

No big gestures or loud declarations. Just knowing. He knew you’d take the apple slice even when you said you wouldn’t. You knew he’d watch you more than the TV. The spaces between you were always filled with things left unsaid but understood.

"Whatcha working on?" he asked after a moment, nodding toward your laptop.

"Paper. Boring. You wouldn’t care."

"I always care," he said, leaning back. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. "Tell me."

You gave him a look, skeptical.

"You literally fell asleep last time I explained this class to you."

"Nah," he grinned, slow and lazy. "Just resting my eyes. You were doing great."

"Uh-huh."

Joe bumped your knee with his. "Tell me."

So you did. Stumbling through half-formed thoughts about your topic, tapping at the trackpad, rambling. You knew you were probably losing him—this wasn’t exactly thrilling stuff—but Joe kept his gaze steady on you. Not nodding along just to be polite. Actually listening.

That’s what always got you. He listened.

Even when he didn’t get it, even when he was tired or distracted—he paid attention because it was you.

When you finally trailed off with a shrug, mumbling, "See? Boring," Joe shook his head.

"Nah," he said. "You sound smart when you talk about stuff you like."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed.

"I always sound smart," you shot back.

"Yeah," he said, grinning wider. "But especially when you’re like this. Focused. All serious."

He reached over, tugging gently at the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "Cute, too."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You shoved him, and he laughed, warm and low, catching your wrist with a loose grip. Not tight—never tight—just enough to pull you closer until you were half in his lap.

"Say it again," you teased, narrowing your eyes. "Say I sound smart."

Joe’s eyes sparkled with something playful, something soft.

"You sound smart," he murmured, voice dropping.

His thumb brushed slow circles against the inside of your wrist. His gaze flicked down to your mouth, then back up.

"And cute," he added, softer this time.

Your breath hitched, and suddenly the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

Joe always did that—brought things back to the quiet. He had this way of looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Like all the noise—fans, games, expectations—didn’t matter. Just you.

"You gonna kiss me or keep talking?" you whispered.

He didn’t smile this time. Just leaned in, closing the gap, slow and sure.

The kiss wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t some movie-scene, fireworks kind of thing. It was steady. Familiar. Warm. The kind of kiss that said, I know you. I’ve got you.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. Neither of you said anything for a beat.

Then—

"Told you I’d make you forget about that boring paper."

"You’re the worst."

"Mm. But you love me."

"Unfortunately."

He grinned. "Lucky me."

And that was it. That was you two.

Not always perfect. Not always poetic. But steady.

Because at the end of the day, loving Joe Burrow wasn’t about the headlines or the spotlight. It was this—apples shared on a quiet afternoon, lazy kisses between conversations, and the unshakable certainty that when the world got loud again, you’d both still be right here.

#joe burrow

613 notes · View notes

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Text

i feel like ja'marr sends them to him

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

#joe burrow

105 notes · View notes

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Text

he’s so boyfriend coded 💋

#joe burrow

649 notes · View notes

joeybisbootiful · 5 months ago

Text

this made me giggle

meme king — joe burrow

requested: nope!

pairing: joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: using your boyfriend’s meme-ability to your advantage throughout the season 🤪

warnings: some swearing

yourusername 44 minutes ago

liked by yourbestfriend, jjettas2 and 192,826 others

yourusername the rest of the league when they see KC make the super bowl AGAIN (side eyeeee)

view all comments »

user this is why we stan you 😭😭😭

lahjay10_ MEME KING 🐐

⤷ liked by yourusername

joeyb_9 someone needs to go to bed……

⤷ yourusername too busy being a meme lord sry x

user this sent me into fucking orbit pls 💀

andreiiosivas HAHAHAHAHAHA YOU COOKED

⤷ liked by yourusername

bengals who is this diva 🤩

⤷ yourusername real. it’s giving ✨captain sass✨

user LMFAOOOOO DEAD

yourusername 2 hours ago

liked by teehiggins5, bengals and 163,949 others

yourusername teehee

view all comments »

user me when i see joe on my screen

yourbestfriend IM CRYING

⤷ yourusername HAHA ILY

user he’s so baby… i need himmmm

nfl mvp (most valuable pookie)

⤷ lahjay10_ i know yall aint just say that 💀

⤷ yourusername JA’MARR LMFAO

user periodddd, he’s just like me fr 💅

yourusername just now

liked by andreiiosivas, lahjay10_ and 184,076 others

yourusername me after joey went down HEAD FIRST and not a single ref thought to call a penalty

view all comments »

user IT’S RIGGED

user babe u need an official meme page for game days atp 😭

⤷ yourusername @bengals the people have spoken

⤷ bengals don’t tempt us 😏

teehiggins5 beefing with the refs hahaha, girl u wildin 😂

⤷ yourusername next time i see those mfs, it’s on SIGHT

user i’ll never get over these

joeyb_9 you worry too much 💀

⤷ yourusername damn, can’t even hope ur man doesn’t die on the field anymore #woke ✊🏼😭

⤷ user LMFAOAOAOA IM SCREAMING

user YOU GET IT!!! it’s giving motherrrr

yourusername 16 hours ago

liked by haileesteinfeld, jjettas2 and 203,891 others

yourusername sometimes babygirl is a 6’4 nfl quarterback with tree trunk thighs and biceps thicker than your neck <3

view all comments »

user if y/n has no fans, im dead

⤷ liked by yourusername

bengals 😭😭😭

⤷ yourusername ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user y/n y/l/n, you will never not be famous to me 🥲

⤷ liked by yourusername

user this is gold hahahaha

andreiiosivas on main is crazy

⤷ yourusername let me simp over my man in peace 😤

user BYE THIS IS SO REAL

#joe burrow

653 notes · View notes