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kairawrites · 25 days ago

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WANT YOU TO COME CLAIM IT joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: you and joe are on different pages when it comes to the next chapter of your relationship [based on this request]

genre: angst/frustration but eventual fluff word count: roughly 4.1k

a/n: i’m in my bag and it’s deep this year (he’s the fourth new player i’ve written for so far 🤭)

‘Always the bridesmaid, never the bride’ was a phrase you never paid any mind to, a lighthearted, almost uniting jab that was said in passing to and by your friends who were also unmarried in the countless bridal parties you were a part of. But in your first wedding of the offseason, standing amongst a line of bridesmaids who were all either married or recently engaged, you felt that the sentence held a heavier weight.

You and Joe were on the cusp of a decade together in a relationship built on countless shared moments that strengthened your bond with one another. That study group at Ohio State with the annoyingly flaky student athlete always felt destined for more, like fate. Being by his side through the transfer to LSU and making your return together when the Cincinnati Bengals drafted him was the start of a fairytale of unfinished business with the state of Ohio.

The summer sun beat down on your back as you stood at the altar, holding back tears as your friend and her partner professed their love in poetic vows. Joe sat in the third row from the back, sunglasses resting against his forehead in a makeshift headband to push his perfectly styled tresses back. As your gaze drifted to him, you found that his eyes were already on you. The loud cheering from the guests broke the staring spell, and before you knew it, the bridal parties were making their way down the aisle and towards the outdoor terrace for cocktail hour.

You adjusted the tight strap on your creamsicle orange dress, dreaming of the massage you would beg Joe to give you once you returned to the hotel room. The heat of someone's stare burned on the side of your face. Across the reception hall, Joe stood with his teammates and a few new people he'd met at the wedding. You waved your bouquet at the small crowd surrounding him and chuckled at how their eyes darted back to Joe, hooked on whatever anecdote he was talking about that undoubtedly featured you.

Their attention was your cue to join the conversation, a friendly smile or quick hug to the Bengals you recognized and a polite wave to everyone else. Seconds after you pushed your way underneath Joe's arm, a swift press of his lips to your temple, one of the voices you didn't recognize uttered the all-too-familiar sentiment: "I bet you guys are next."

“Man, we’re happy the way things are,” Joe said casually, a breath away from dismissive.

Instinctively, you find yourself nodding at the statement because it is true. You and Joe were happier than ever, but that didn't mean you never dreamed of more. The white dress, the big party with a star-studded guest list, and the intricate floral arrangements. It would be a lie to say that the thought of marriage wasn’t constantly on your mind at this stage of your relationship. Not feeling secure was never a concern; marriage would simply solidify your commitment to Joe and his to you. There’s a reason why holding a certain title is held in high regard.

So, the bitter aftertaste of his words lingered on your tongue throughout the rest of the wedding. Right now, it seemed torturous that you and Joe were seated together. You tried to shake the feelings away so as not to impose on a sacred occasion, but everything felt wrong. The scratch of his suit jacket on your aching shoulders at the end of the night, his calloused hands on your waist as you slow danced, even his sweet compliments were stained by his earlier statement.

Joe was observant. He noticed how your body drooped slightly from fatigue as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor. You were quieter and more withdrawn than usual, yet he still helped to unzip your dress before drawing a warm bath for you to enjoy while he rinsed off in the shower. Both of you changed into sleepwear, and Joe leaned against the headboard to rest his eyes while you dried your hair. When you joined him in bed, he pressed a chaste kiss onto your cheek and murmured a soft goodnight.

Sleep did not come easily to you. Your brain was more interested in analyzing the intricate chandelier hanging from the ceiling than shutting down for the night. You hoped your tossing and turning wasn't interrupting Joe, but he was indirectly responsible for your restlessness. You exhaled slowly, stroking your hand against his forearms to rouse him.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice soft yet calculated. Joe only hummed in response. “When you said we're happy without being married. Do you mean that?”

The sound of the ruffling comforter almost made you flinch. Joe turned your body to him, his face angled downward to look you in the eye. “I’m happy if you’re happy,” he murmured. “You’re the one I want forever, baby. We can do the song and dance anytime, no rush.”

And that was that for a long while. The topic of marriage was never broached again. It felt like everyone unconsciously got the memo, too, since the comments at BBQ dinners with the Burrows and meetups with other players’ partners suddenly stopped. You didn’t bring it up again either; Why start a discussion that may reap unfavourable outcomes? Until one afternoon, your mother called asking for your help going through the endless storage in your family home.

You followed the sound of her humming up the stairs and into your childhood bedroom. It felt like walking through a time machine. Your prom dress is hung in a plastic garment sleeve next to a shoebox containing your graduation heels. The walls are still painted in the obnoxious shade you begged for at fourteen, and if you closed your eyes, the scent of your favourite room spray still lingers. The home that housed you through countless formative years was quiet. But that was just the way it became when you moved out for school all those years ago.

"Where do you want to start?" you asked, playfully dusting your hands off.

“Well, the dresses take up the most space. Just start pulling those out and we will make piles for keep and donate,” she directed. Despite your older age, the authoritative tone in her voice was still enough to command your utmost attention.

So, you put your head down and got to work, addressing the neverending hangers that held fabrics in patterns and colours you would never be caught dead wearing. A soft ‘ahem’ from your mother’s lips startled you from your position on the ground. Looking upward, a turquoise lace high-low dress framed her body as she struck a pose, filling the room with your laughter. Her giggles followed once she looked in the mirror. When you shook your head, she held a colour block dress with red sleeves and a flared black skirt to her body, seeking your approval or disapproval.

It received a thumbs-down, much to her dismay. "Mom, those styles are a little outdated. We can donate them all, honestly," you reasoned.

"You kids never latch onto trends anymore! I've had my wedding dress for decades, and it’s timeless enough you could wear it soon,” she exclaimed.

Her words made you freeze momentarily. Your mind was so used to hearing unwarranted comments about marriage, but there was a sharper sting when it came from the woman closest to you. In some twisted way, it was like she knew about the dilemma that plagued your love life. You could chalk it up to a mother’s instinct.

She insisted you try it on over your matching athleisure set, the lace bodice flatteringly hugged your waist, inching upward to match the off-the-shoulder sleeves. The pleated skirt billowed beneath you in a serene, cloud-like manner. The few seconds of silence felt like minutes as you admired the dress. Your mind raced with potential ways to incorporate pieces and design elements of the dress into your future wedding dress, but it felt futile with no plans of a wedding anytime soon, not even an inkling.

Your mother mistook your silence for dislike. “Oh, gosh. You think it’s the most hideous dress ever, right? I’m a strong woman, you can be honest,” she sighed.

That was far from the truth. Wearing her wedding dress was a surreal moment. You felt beautiful, giving you a taste of the real thing. Getting to play pretend for even a moment was thrilling. Sometimes it felt like you were being dramatic or impatient with the next chapter of your life, as if all the focus was making fate arrive slower.

“No! It’s beautiful, Mom. I just… don’t think I’ll get much use out of this anytime soon.”

You wished you could take the words back immediately as you watched the gleaming look of pride on your mother’s face replaced with a frown. You told her what happened a few weekends back at the wedding, the nudge from a stranger implying the two of you were not far behind the newly wedded couple, how Joe seemed dismissive that night, and how silence filled the conversations that once surrounded marriage.

“Oh, honey,” she said, an apologetic tone in her voice. “Isn’t it worth having a conversation first? It does you no favours to make assumptions.” Such simple words carrying just the amount of common sense to help you get out of your head.

There is nothing quite like the wisdom of a mother.

—

You decided to confront Joe the next evening, just rip the band-aid off and deal with the wound underneath instead of imagining something worse. He spent the afternoon with some of his teammates before they all split up for the rest of the offseason. Dinner was business as usual, a hearty meal to replenish your energies, but you could only push the pieces of asparagus around on your plate. The anxious energy was palpable, making it hard for Joe to ignore.

“Baby? Everything alright?” he questioned, looking up from his plate and across the table at you. You could never truly hide from his icy-blue gaze.

You shook your head. “I think we need to have a conversation. A hard one,” you replied. His fork softly clattered on his plate, his expression hardening. “I’m ready for more. I want to get married, Joe.”

Joe slowly exhaled through his nostrils to control his reaction, sitting upright in his chair. “I like what we have right now. We both love each other and I think the length of this relationship speaks for itself,” he reasoned.

“I just… I’ve been here through everything by your side, waiting for some sort of tangible commitment,” you said, trying to fight the tremble in your voice. “I feel like I’m the last bit of your past you’re holding onto, not because you want to, but because you have to.”

You weren’t expecting a ring as a reward, a passive decision Joe made because he felt pressured. You needed him to need you. Unequivocally. But his stance on marriage made you feel like an afterthought, as if everything else had to fall into place before he finally remembered you. That was a surefire way to destroy a relationship.

“Are you kidding?” he scoffed. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer; I want you, but I’m just not ready to get married, baby. Can’t that be enough for now?”

“It’s not going to be enough forever,” you sighed. “I can’t convince myself that this is okay for me; this isn’t something I can compromise on. If you won’t understand that, I think–” You can’t bear to finish the sentence. You can’t bear to tell Joe that you need to be apart for a while, to recollect yourselves and decide if this is a hurdle you can overcome together or the nail in the coffin.

Joe exasperatedly ran his fingers through his hair. “So what, we give up because we can’t agree on marriage? That seems unreasonable.”

You shook your head no. “I am not giving up, Joe. I think we need a break, to reevaluate our priorities and expectations.”

If he weren’t already seated, Joe would have crumpled. His shoulders sagged, and the misty look in his eyes made you emotional. You stood up and inches closer when his head fell into his hand, gently touching his back. A shaky mumble of apologies was the last thing you heard before leaving the dining room. While you packed upstairs, the door slammed shut to signal Joe’s departure, giving you an increasingly less awkward goodbye.

You locked the door and kept the key, a silent promise to return.

—

You’re back in the very bedroom that sparked the current emotional chaos you were navigating. You left Joe’s house with an oversized bag and watery eyes, making the drive back to your parents’ house. Part of you felt guilty for leaving him in the midst of a gruelling offseason, but deep down, you knew that prolonging that conversation and silently brooding would only make your negative feelings fester. The early mornings and eventful afternoons placated you for a week or so, but there is only so much gardening and shopping you can do before reality creeps in.

On the quieter days, your mind wandered, putting yourself in Joe’s shoes, the insurmountable pressure on his shoulder and his gentleness despite it all. You wanted to understand his point of view more than anything. You blame yourself for becoming wrapped up in how others perceived you, for letting their judgment make you feel less than. So much of love is meeting your partner in the middle, but a compromise requires mutual acceptance.

You stood at the sink one evening, rinsing off dishes, when you realized it had been almost two months since your disagreement with Joe. Eight weeks without speaking to each other. 61 days without the comfort of your favourite person. 1461 hours without your lips pressed to his or his arms on your hips. Since moving to Cincinnati all those years ago, this is the longest time you have spent apart. It hurt, far more than you expected, yet there was nothing to do except wait patiently.

Joe was currently a standing testament to the phrase ‘you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.’ During the football season, he hated being away from you for many reasons: not having your comfort on the hard days, not waking up to your kisses each morning, and falling asleep in a cold, empty bed every night. The worst part about this break is that he no longer understood himself. Sure, he could be the suave quarterback, but deep down, he felt lost without you, purposeless.

He tried not to let his dull mood bleed into his professional life, hiding behind his typical stoicism and focused expression. But it weighed on him throughout the day, his only escape being the quiet nights alone in the backyard. Sometimes with company, most times alone. He stared at the sky as if the answer to his problems existed up there, like there was a universe where he didn’t feel overwhelmed with anxiety at the thought of marriage. That obviously wasn’t working, so he tried a more rational solution; a week after you left, he began seeing a therapist weekly, hoping to address his inner conflicts.

“I don’t know why I’m the way I am,” he confessed during one session.

“Well, Joe, so much of your life has been controlled. Each variable was outlined, and even when you felt lost, you bounced back each time,” his therapist explained. “You can adapt to change only if you have a semblance of the possibilities. Marriage requires faith in the unknown, but from what you’ve told me about your partner, I think there is more than enough devotion to power through whatever life throws at you.”

Joe sat with those words for as long as he could, taking every shred of advice and building himself up until he could face you again.

—

It was an irrational decision made out of desire, not intellect. As you got dressed in the morning, you realized your outfit was missing your new cashmere cardigan that you must have left behind. If his day went according to schedule, Joe would be out of the house for at least the next hour, giving you enough time to pop in and out.

Easy. Simple. Wrong.

It was nerve-wracking to enter the place you considered home, a space solely yours and Joe’s in every aspect, from the decor to the door handles. You noticed some of your belongings were still adorning the house, like a light leak from a beautiful window. A pair of fuzzy slippers tucked under the recliner, your favourite blanket on Joe’s side of the couch, and your favourite fruit displayed in the basket. Even if he wanted to forget the fight, Joe couldn’t forget you, he needed to be reminded of you.

In your haste, you didn’t notice the extra pair of sneakers by the door and the muted sounds of the fan, which Joe never left on if he wasn’t home. You took the stairs two at a time, steps echoing loudly on the hardwood.

Unbeknownst to you, Joe sat in his office, headphones half off, alerted by your noise. His weekly therapy session had just ended, putting him in a reflective mood that was interrupted by a clattering keychain and footfall outside his office door. He walked towards the door, swiping his Comeback Player of the Year trophy off the shelf as a defence, and turned the corner into the hallway.

You yelped in surprise. He lowered his arm and sighed in relief.

“Shoot, I thought you’d be at training,” you apologized to him. “I’ll be in and out–”

“Do you want to stay?” Joe interrupted. “Have a tea or something.”

You hovered around in the kitchen, unsure of what to make of your situation. When Joe handed you a steaming cup of peppermint tea, you thanked him and sat opposite him in the breakfast nook you begged him to get installed when you moved in. Your hand absentmindedly brushed the tasselled throw pillow beside you, waiting for the steaming liquid to cool down.

“Were you seriously gonna hit me with your trophy?”

Joe chuckled. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I didn’t expect it would be you in our house.”

Our house. Your heart fluttered at his word choice. Shaking your head with a small laugh, you willed your mind to focus on the task that brought you here. “I’m just here to grab a sweater, I’ll be out of your hair shortly,” you explained.

“No, don’t go,” Joe protested. “I mean, you can if you really want to, but I think this is a good time to talk. I was waiting for the perfect moment to reach out, but I can’t let you slip through my fingers. Again.”

Joe has always been confident in himself, subtly so and it never came off cocky, but there was a look of worry etched into his face that made you soften. It wasn’t in your plans to talk to him today, let alone see him, but it couldn’t hurt, right? You nodded at him, letting him take the floor.

“I have to start by apologizing. No, no, don’t wave me off, I am truly sorry,” he said. “I was dismissive and defensive because I couldn’t confront my own fears. The truth is, I’m scared. I’m terrified of how much things could change if we got married. That fear isn’t fair to you. My uncertainty does not outweigh the love I have for you. I dream of building a life with you, in any capacity. I want to start again; this time, in agreement that marriage is in our near future.”

He paused, looking away from your face momentarily. You wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, but it is obvious he isn’t finished saying his piece.

“I’m not saying these things because I’m desperate, I’ve learned a lot about myself while we’ve been apart, mostly from my therapist, he’s a badass by the way,” Joe said. “You are the best thing to happen to me, and losing you because of this was not an option. Our relationship has withstood the test of time, distance, and disagreement. I’d be a fool to let my hesitation be the reason for it to end. So, if you’ll have me again, I want to make this right.”

You took a moment to let his words sink in. Joe said all the right things, but that was never the issue; you needed to know if he meant it, wholeheartedly believed the words he pushed past his lips.

“Are you doing this for me or us?” you asked.

He replied without hesitation. “Everything I do is for us. Every single thing.”

That was enough to propel you forward and wrap your arms around him in a crushing hug. Your first hug in months, yet his head in the crook of your neck and your cheek pressed to his chest still felt like home.

“I was really nervous you might propose, right here, in the middle of our kitchen,” you said, pulling away to look at his face. There was no doubt that your eyes mirrored his, glossed over with happy tears.

“Nah, I want it to be more special than that,” he promised.

You shook your head. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to feel like us.”

—

It’s been four months since you and Joe got back together, and six since the fight. Time has given you both the greatest gift: perspective.

That evening in June changed your life for the better, even if you hadn’t known it then. You vowed never to go that long without having Joe profess his love for you, without going on spontaneous date nights, and without falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Things are back in swing. Another regular season has started, full of customized clothing, sunny afternoons at Paycor Stadium, and nail-biting wins. Joe left two days ago for a road game against the Las Vegas Raiders, texting you moments ago that he was on the way home. It was an ordinary day, so it surprised you to see Joe come home with a bouquet of red lilies.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” you asked with a gasp. He handed you the bouquet with a sheepish shrug, and you rushed to put the extravagant bouquet in a vase, leaving Joe in the doorway.

He cleared his throat once.

Again.

“Uh, baby? Will you come back here for a moment?” Joe called out.

The sight before you was shocking. Thankfully, the vase was safely sitting atop the kitchen island and not in your hands, where it would surely have fallen out of your hands and cracked on the floor. Joe was on one knee in the hallway, a glittering diamond ring in the palm of his hand. Your hand covered your mouth in shock, stepping closer to him. This was it, the moment you thought would never come.

“I’ve spent so much of my life with you, by my side, as my girlfriend. I think it’s time for an upgrade; Will you give me the most gracious honour of marrying you?” Joe asked.

“Yes, yes, yes!!!” you squealed, beckoning Joe up from the ground.

You pressed a flurry of playful kisses to his cheeks, across his nose, and down his neck. Your joy brought a smile to his face. Joe took your left hand in his hand and slid the ring onto your fourth finger. The diamond’s shape and the band’s metal were something off your Pinterest board, complementing your hand perfectly.

“What happened to no proposal in the kitchen?” you joked.

“Hey! That was an entryway proposal, baby.” Joe laughed.

He raised your left hand to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your ring finger. Then, he leaned into your space, breath mingling with yours, before slotting his lips between yours. Your lips met his in a passionate exchange, Joe's hands tightened around your waist as he fought back a groan. You pressed your hands against his chest, roaming the expanse of his shoulders until you rested them clasped behind his neck.

When you pulled away, you stared into Joe’s eyes for a long moment, committing the expression of relief on his face —the beautiful face of your future husband. The fortunes don’t always smile on everyone, so you are damn grateful it worked out for you.

You can’t fight a love that feels like it was written in the stars; all you can do is claim it.

a/n pt2 cause i can't shut up: AHHHH what do we think???? longest fic of mine to date which is crazyyyy reblogs and comments are most appreciated <3

#fic rec

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