rosiahills22

[rosiahills22]

Anticipation VIII

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This is the eighth fic in the Anticipation series. Quick reminder - in this series, Joe & Reader are engaged & living together in a LTR.

Time/Place: Monday, September 23, 2024 - Cincinnati, Ohio

A/N: This fic covers the aftermath of the 38-33 loss to the Commanders on Monday Night Football. It also touches on the fact that the Bengals are now 0-3 to start the 2024 season.

Inspo pic:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday, September 23, 2024 - Cincinnati, Ohio

You say goodnight to Joe's parents as they head to the guest room, their gloomy body language mirroring yours as y'all contemplate another embarrassing loss, this one in prime time on Monday Night Football.

"0 and fucking 3," you grumble, rolling your shoulders to relieve some tension as you walk into the kitchen to grab something to drink. You pull a small glass out of a cabinet, consider it for a second, then put it back and grab something bigger, muttering under your breath as you add some ice before reaching into the fridge for the pitcher of raspberry lemonade.

"I had nothing but water at the game, so fuck it." You fill your glass about 2/3 full with lemonade before walking to the retro black hutch y'all use as a liquor cabinet, opening one of the doors to grab the bottle of Citron vodka before splashing a hearty amount in your glass. You add a tiger-striped straw and give it a good stir before taking a sip, your eyebrows rising a bit as the alcohol burns its way down your throat. "Kinda strong," you mumble, contemplating adding more lemonade to level it out as you take another sip. "Fuck it," you shrug, turning off the kitchen lights as you head for the stairs.

~

Fifteen minutes later -- after a quick shower -- you're sitting in Joe's office wearing purple lace panties and one of his LSU t-shirts, his black leather desk chair cool under your bare thighs. You pull a coaster out of a drawer and set it on his oversized desk before resting your glass on it, a sizzle of dread skittering down your spine as you open his laptop to watch his post-game presser.

You make it about three minutes into the vid before you shut it down, quickly grabbing your drink and taking two large gulps as you shake your head in aggravation. "I'm sick of him taking the blame," you snap, continuing to talk to yourself amid a rush of emotions.

"Week one was a fucking disaster, losing at home to one of the worst teams in the league. Joe wanted to take more preseason snaps but Nooooo! Conservative-ass Coach Taylor thought he knew better!" You stand up and take another sip of your drink as you pace back and forth, a grimace on your face as you continue your tirade.

"Week two was business as usual against the Kansas City Cheats. 26-25 loss thanks to a sketchy pass interference call on 4th & 16 that allowed the Cheats to kick a FG to win the game as time expired. Same ol' shit, so no surprise there. Joe still took the blame for it, of course." You reach a hand out and click the floor lamp -- the only light in the room -- to a dimmer setting, shaking your head as a thought hits you. "Two weeks in a row now with no porny role-play."

The impromptu role-play after the week one loss still made your toes curl just thinking about it. You absolutely knew better than to repeat that vibe after the loss to the Chiefs, and tonight was more of the same. "Fuck my life," you sigh.

"Babe?"

Joe's voice has your head whipping toward the door. "Oh…" you chew on your bottom lip for a sec before continuing. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obvi," he grins, shutting the office door and locking it before giving you a slow once-over as he closes the distance between you. "Who are you talking to?"

"My damn self," you mutter, returning his grin as he drops a kiss on your lips. "Good game tonight, 9," you state, finally getting to tell him he played good since he asked you and his parents to go straight home if the Bengals lost.

"Not good enough," he grumps, reaching for the glass you're holding, his eyebrows heading for his platinum hairline as the vodka hits his taste buds. "Damn," he chuckles, taking another sip before handing you the glass. "That shitty game drove you to drink, huh?"

"Shitty season," you state, setting the glass back on the desk, your heart breaking a little at the look on his face. "Yeah, 0 and 3 isn't the start we were hoping for. Sorry we suck," he mumbles, his gaze dropping to the floor as he runs a hand over his spiky hair. "You don't suck, okay?" you wait for him to meet your eyes before continuing. "Your o-line kinda sucks, and your defense mega sucks, but you played amazing. This loss was not your fault."

"It's a team game," he shrugs. "We win as a team and lose as a team."

"Oh, fuck that!" you snap. "Your defense lost this one for you and you know it. I'm sick of you taking the blame for shit that's not your fault!"

He gives you a tired smile. "It's my job to take the blame. That's what I get paid the big bucks for."

"Nope," you shake your head and narrow your eyes at him. "You get paid the big bucks because you're the best QB in the league, and you delivered the goods tonight. Amazing completion percentage, 324 yards, 3 touchdowns and no interceptions. It's not your fault that the defense allowed a rookie QB, playing in only his third NFL game, to come into the Jungle and hang 38 points on us. You shouldn't have to score 40 fucking points to win a game!"

He chuckles at your heated delivery. "Damn, baby, you're a little worked up, huh?"

"Not just worked up, I'm fucking pissed," you grumble, pacing back and forth for several seconds before turning to face him, a shiver of anticipation sizzling down your spine at the look on his face, at the way his eyes linger on your bare legs before slowly recapturing your gaze.

"What's gonna make you feel better?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave like it always does when he's aroused.

"First off, I need you to admit that this loss wasn't your fault."

He quickly opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to the punch. "Before you say anything, let me remind you that we made a promise several years ago to always be honest with each other." You close the distance between you, standing so close that your breasts are pressed against him. "Just keep that in mind, okay?" He gives you a nod as he takes a deep breath, holding it in for a bit before exhaling, his expression unreadable as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're right," he eventually admits. "It wasn't my fault."

"Thank you," you whisper. "No… thank you," he mutters, licking his lips as he cradles a hand behind the nape of your neck, staring into your eyes as he leans down until his mouth is a few inches away from yours. You can sense the tension in him as he holds himself completely still, his gaze locked on yours as he tries to read your body language. The flicker of uncertainty in his expression hits you like a lit match dropped in gasoline, and you grip his broad shoulders and rise up on your tiptoes, moaning when your lips crash against his.

The next several minutes are just pure heat and need. He devours your mouth as his big hands skim over your body like he can't get enough of the feel of you, finally coming to rest on your ass. He easily lifts you up and sets you on his desk, his tongue tangling with yours as he shoves your drink and his laptop to the side to make more room. You spread your thighs as he steps between them, your hands instinctively grabbing his waist to pull him closer.

"Lose the shirt," you murmur against his slick lips. He breaks the intense kiss just long enough to whip his t-shirt off before reclaiming your mouth, a groan of pleasure escaping from his throat as you lower a hand down to tease his erection through his slinky shorts.

"Commando?" you smirk, nipping his plump bottom lip while slipping your right hand inside his waistband, both of you moaning when you palm his hard shaft, skin-on-skin. "I need you inside me," you whisper, running your fingertips up and down his impressive length a few times before gripping him tight at the base and slowly pulling up, eventually circling your thumb over his tip to collect his precum. You raise your thumb to your mouth, holding eye contact with him as you pull back just enough to lick his essence off. "I need you inside me," you repeat, sucking your thumb into your mouth to savor his taste.

"Not yet," he mutters, his eyes dark with lust as he reaches for the hem of your t-shirt, quickly shucking it off before gripping the waistband of your panties. He gives you a naughty wink as he eases them down your legs, his gaze sliding from your face down to your crotch as he tosses the tiny bit of lace to the side before dropping to his knees, his big hands spreading your thighs wide as he licks his lips in anticipation. You lean back on the desk, bracing yourself on your elbows so you can watch as he licks a long, slow stripe through your slick folds. He repeats the sensual action over and over, tasting and teasing you with his talented tongue for several minutes, strategically avoiding your clit until you're begging for release.

"Please," you whimper, a high-pitched moan escaping your throat when he finally latches his pretty lips onto your clit, his cheeks hollowing out with the force of the suction. Your eyes flutter closed as your elbows give out, the cool desk against your back a stark contrast to the heat he's generating between your thighs. "Don't stop!" you gasp, your toes curling as he slides two fingers inside you, hitting you with that perfect come-hither motion on your sweet spot while he continues to devour your clit. Several heartbeats later, your climax hits so hard it takes your breath away. Joe moans against your clit as your core rhythmically clenches his thrusting fingers; he continues to tease you with his fingers and tongue, prolonging your pleasure as you writhe beneath him.

You eventually catch your breath and lift your head off the desk, watching closely as he stands up and strips his shorts off, his lips wet with your arousal as he wraps a hand around his cock and lines it up with your entrance. He slides his tip up and down your drenched slit to gather moisture before pushing inside. "I want it hard," you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist as he slowly impales you. "Not yet," he mutters, licking his lips at the sight of your hard nipples, a dirty grin gracing his face as your nipples tighten even more under his heated gaze.

You gasp his name as he ghosts his fingertips over your aching nubs once he's fully seated inside you, his thick cock stretching you in a way that has you begging him to fuck you. "Fuck me hard!" you whine, digging your heels into him to pull him closer, your hands gripping his bulging biceps as he lowers his head and drops a delicate kiss on each of your nipples before nuzzling the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck. "Quit teasing," you order, a little annoyed at how gentle he's being. He drops a couple of soft kisses on your neck, and you open your mouth to complain just as he nips you with his teeth hard enough to sting. "Yeah," you breathe, your eyelids fluttering closed when he sucks you hard, his obvious intent to mark you sending a gush of liquid heat into your core just as he starts thrusting.

"Yeah, just like that," you whimper, raking your nails up the long length of his muscular back as he sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping forward as he traces his tongue from your shoulder up to your ear. "You like that?" he growls, his voice rough and deep, mirroring the way he's fucking you. "Yes, sir," you gasp, lightheaded with desire as he pushes your hands over your head, easily holding them there with one big hand as he drops his other hand down to tease your nipples. You dig your heels into his back and arch up into his thrusts, loving the feel of him stretching you to your limit, his husky voice in your ear hitting like a physical touch.

"I'll never get enough of your perfect cunt," he groans, slowing his thrusts as he locks eyes with you. "So tight and wet for me, baby," he continues, letting your hands go as he reaches down and wraps a hand behind your left knee, hooking it over his shoulder to switch the angle up. You're too far gone to respond with words, so you wrap your hands behind his neck and arch up into his next thrust, both of you groaning when he bottoms out. He continues to pound into you for several minutes before leaning back and looking down where your bodies are joined, a low groan escaping his lips as he watches his cock pump in and out of you, glistening wet with your arousal.

"So good," he whispers, turning his head to press his full lips against your inner thigh that's thrown over his shoulder, nipping you with his teeth as he grinds his thumb against your clit. "I'm gonna cum," you pant, a steady stream of whimpers and moans falling from your lips as he continues to fuck you hard. "Yeah, I wanna feel you cum on my cock," he purrs, burying himself deep and grinding his hips as he pinches your clit, his eyes locked on yours as you come apart underneath him. He doesn't stop thrusting as the waves of pleasure flow through you; he continues to fuck you through your orgasm as he chases his own, moaning your name as he follows you over the edge, burying his face in your neck as your core milks him dry.

~ ~ ~

Thirty minutes later -- after a shared shower -- y'all are lounging in bed, him in nothing but gray boxer briefs and you in a black thong. He's lying on his back with you draped over him, one of his big hands on your ass as you lazily trail your fingers over his chest, giggling when he growls at you for pinching one of his pert nipples. "Sorry," you whisper, pushing up into a sitting position so you can look down at him. "Not trying to rile you up," you continue. "You need to get some sleep since it's way past your bedtime."

"I fucking hate prime time games," he playfully grumbles, letting out a big yawn as you gently ease his right hand off of your ass and bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss against the scar on his wrist as he watches you closely. "It feels fine, babe," he soothes, his gaze soft as you trace your fingertips over the scar. You give him a sheepish smile before speaking. "I freak out a little when I see you flexing it during games. I know you're just keeping it loose, but… I can't help but worry."

"It feels fine," he repeats. "It's still a little stiff, but that'll get better with more reps."

"Well, your performance tonight really proved that you're back and better than ever. It was a nice middle finger to all the talking heads who said you'd never be the same after the wrist injury."

"Fuck 'em," he snorts. "Damn right," you whisper, watching in fascination as his eyes glaze over. "Your mind is going a million miles an hour right now, isn't it?" you ask. "Yeah, sorry," he mutters, giving his head a shake. "I feel the need to go watch the game film, but I'm also dead tired, so…"

"So, you're gonna roll over and let me give you a nice, relaxing massage. You can watch film tomorrow."

"Sounds good," he mutters, rolling over onto his stomach, a contented sigh escaping his lips as you straddle his waist and start massaging his neck and shoulders. "Sooo good," he groans, hissing when you dig your fingers into his throwing shoulder. "Oh shit, right there," he grits out, wiggling a little underneath you as you bullseye his sore spot. "You're feeling all 324 yards right here, huh?" you ask, putting some extra muscle into your strokes. "Every one of 'em," he agrees, his big body slowly relaxing under your talented hands.

You continue to rub his neck, shoulders, and back for several minutes, smiling at his purrs of approval. He sounds like a spoiled cat being petted just the way he likes, you think to yourself, sliding one hand into his hair to scratch your fingernails over his scalp.

"You're so good to me," he mumbles. "Always give me just what I need."

"Right now you need sleep," you whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss on the nape of his neck.

"Please tell me we don't have to have an early breakfast with my parents tomorrow," he grumbles.

"You mean today?" you tease. "It's way after midnight. -- But no, we're not having breakfast with your parents. They wanna head home early, so I set a box of their fav pastries on the kitchen counter plus got everything ready for them to make coffee. I told them we'd be sleeping in, so they'll be gone by the time we get up."

"Have I told you lately that I love you?" he sighs.

"Yeah, but I always love to hear it."

"I love you," he states.

"I love you, too." You drop another kiss on his nape, breathing in his scent before continuing. "Listen… I know you're not happy with the outcome of the game, but I'm so proud of you. You've had to overcome so much adversity, and it's just amazing to watch you thrive. All of your hard work was on full display tonight. You deserved to win that game."

"Thank you, baby," he whispers.

"You're welcome."

The silence stretches out for a few heartbeats before he speaks up again. "Sooo, you think I deserved to win that game, huh?"

"Absolutely."

"What else do you think I deserve?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like… maybe I deserve to wake up in the morning with my cock in your mouth?"

"Joseph Lee!" you chirp, swatting his ample ass as you roll off of him, landing on your back with a bounce as you both chuckle, the sound of his laughter like a balm to your frazzled nerves. "You're a certified horndog, Mr. Burrow," you tease.

"Guilty as charged," he agrees. "Seriously, if I wasn't so tired, I'd rip that thong off and fuck you through the mattress."

"Pretty sure we can fit that in tomorrow," you promise. "Maybe during a break from watching game film."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

"Can't wait," you purr, grinning when he graces you with a huge yawn before nestling his pretty face deeper into his pillow. "Okay, sleepyhead," you coo. "The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you'll wake up with your cock in my mouth."

"That gives me something to dream about instead of the shitty game."

"Good. Mission accomplished." You reach down and grab the sheet, pulling it over both of you as you snuggle up against him, smiling when a tiny snore lets you know he's finally fallen asleep.

[rosiahills22]

Do Doll and Joe ever play board games together? I know irl Joe likes legos, would LSU!Joe ever build them with Doll?

“Absolutely not," Joe grumbles, snatching the flower lego set from the cart before Doll even has the chance to admire it. Without hesitation, he places it back onto the shelf and immediately reaches for a Star Wars set, dropping it into the cart where the flower set just was. His movements are decisive, final, like there's no room for discussion.

Doll frowns, her lips pressing together in defiance. She plucks the Star Wars set from the cart, mimicking his movements exactly as she returns it to the shelf. Then, with a dramatic tilt of her head, she crosses her arms and deadpans, "Absolutely not."

She thinks she’s hilarious. Joe, on the other hand, just rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine," he says, shrugging. "We ain't gotta build shit." His expression is unreadable, but the stubborn set of his jaw screams my way or no way as he grips the cart and starts pushing it away from the lego aisle.

Doll gasps, springing into action. "No! You said we could build legos!" She reaches out and grabs his bicep, pulling him back just enough to stop him.

Joe tosses his head back with an exaggerated groan, already regretting the moment of weakness that led to him agreeing to this in the first place. He looks down at her, completely unimpressed. "We just gotta agree on one," Doll pleads, her voice quieter now, laced with determination.

Joe exhales through his nose, leaning lazily against the cart as Doll scans the shelves, her eyes flickering over different options. He pretends to glance with her, but his focus lingers mostly on the Star Wars sets.

"What about this one?" She lifts a Minecraft set, holding it up with hopeful eyes.

"No." He doesn't even look at it.

Doll huffs, placing it back and moving on. "Okay... this cabin one? It looks cute!"

Joe shakes his head.

She grits her teeth but doesn’t give up. "Harry Potter?"

"Boring."

Doll groans dramatically, throwing her arms in the air before letting them smack down onto her thighs in defeat. "Joe," she grumbles, standing beside him with a pout, arms crossed. He doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone, aimlessly scrolling now that he’s lost all interest.

She isn’t giving up, though. Her eyes sweep the shelves one last time, determined to find something they can both enjoy. Just as Joe is about to tell her to pick whatever so they can move on, she gasps—loudly.

"Oh my God!"

Joe flinches, brows knitting together as he hushes her. "We are in public—for fuck’s sake—"

But Doll isn’t listening. She practically sprints in front of him, shoving a lego box right into his face—so close that he can't even make out what the hell it is. He instinctively pushes her arms down, forcing her to lower it enough for him to actually see.

"Please, please, please, please, please!" she begs, bouncing slightly in place, her excitement bubbling over.

Joe squints at the box. The sight sends a small, uninvited wave of nostalgia washing over him. The house from Up—the balloons, the dog, the old man… The longer he stares, the more it tugs at something in his chest. He would never admit it, but… it’s kind of cute. And Doll? She looks like she’d sell a kidney for him to say yes.

He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face before nodding. "Fine."

Doll gasps again, this time in pure delight.

"Just put it in the cart, kid," he mumbles, already starting to walk away. "C’mon, m’getting hungry."

——

Tiny, colorful lego pieces were scattered across Joe’s bed, a mess of reds, blues, and yellows waiting to be assembled. Joe, sitting cross-legged among them, furrowed his brows in concentration as he carefully flipped through the instruction booklet, scanning every step like it was a playbook. Meanwhile, Doll—far less patient—was already grabbing pieces, clicking them together with a small, satisfied smile.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—"

Joe’s hand shot out, swiftly confiscating the pieces from her grasp like a teacher catching a student cheating on a test.

Doll blinked at him, furrowing her brows. "What?"

Joe waved the instruction booklet at her like it was sacred text. "Gotta fuckin’ read these first," he said seriously, flipping to the next page. "Y'gonna build it wrong," his brows knit together in deep focus, completely unbothered by her baffled stare.

Doll snorted. "Joe, it’s legos. We can build them however we want—"

"No," he cut her off without even looking up. "We’re gonna build it right. Y’can’t buy a set and not build it how it’s intended."

Doll stared at him, half amused, half in disbelief. This was coming from the same guy who had acted like he couldn’t care less back in the store, and now he was treating lego assembly like a sacred art form.

"Okay, fine," she said, raising her hands in surrender before resting them in her lap, waiting for his almighty instructions.

Minutes passed....waiting and waiting...then ten.

Ten minutes passed, and not a single section had been built. Joe was still deeply engrossed in the instruction manual, flipping pages with precision.

Doll sighed dramatically, rolling onto her stomach. She grabbed the little lego dog character and started walking it along the mattress out of sheer boredom, bouncing it slightly with each step. Eventually, she huffed and let it drop from her fingers, rolling onto her back.

She turned her head toward Joe, watching as he flipped yet another page, completely engrossed. Her gaze traced over his sharp jawline, the smooth curve of his cheek, the way his lips parted slightly in focus.

"If only you cared about your schoolwork this much," she mused.

Joe didn’t even acknowledge her.

"Joe."

Nothing.

"Jooooeee," she dragged out, shifting closer until her face was right next to the instruction booklet, cheek pressing against his hand.

Still, no reaction.

Doll took a moment to admire his skin up close, his ridiculously long lashes, the way his blue eyes scanned the pages like he was deciphering a military strategy. Then, moving slow and deliberate… she reached up and poked his nose.

Joe flinched back instantly, scowling. "The fuck are you doin’?!"

"Can we build it yet?" she whined, her voice slipping into the high-pitched impatience of a child asking if they were there yet.

"Almost done," he muttered, eyes still glued to the instructions.

Doll groaned dramatically before flopping onto her back, draping her arms over her face in sheer defeat. "I don’t wanna build legos with you anymore," she grumbled, already making a mental note for the future—next time... we're get separate sets.

Via Dolls Snapchat story:

[rosiahills22]

Friends III, The Love Trope Series

EVERYTHING HAS CHANGED, PART III

◦pairing: bengals¡joe! x best friend¡reader!

◦summary: friends to lovers, childhood friendship. slow burn, soulmates.

◦description: it’s been five years since you saw joe for the last time. your life went another way, at the same time joe’s life went too. but everything changes when you find yourself needing somebody, and your best friend it’s the only one that you know it can help you.

◦ playlist: Friends, Ed Sheeran From Eden, Hoozier 21, Gracie Abramns You Belong With Me, Taylor Swift I Couldn't Be More In Love, The 1975

part I/ part Il

FIRST TRIMESTER OF 2019. – LSU & BENGALS.

Y/N

The sound of the door unlocking pulled me from my thoughts as I sat at the kitchen counter, finishing a cup of coffee. Ryan stepped in, his hair slightly disheveled, his scrubs wrinkled from the long hours he’d just endured. He looked tired—exhausted, actually—but his smile still found its way to his face when he saw me.

“Hey, babe,” he said, dropping his bag near the door and walking over to me. He leaned down and placed a quick kiss on my forehead before sighing heavily. “What a day.”

“You look beat,” I said softly, standing up to grab the cup of tea I’d made for him earlier. I handed it to him, and he gave me a grateful smile.

“Yeah, it was a long one. Surgery went well, though. The patient’s stable.” He sank onto one of the bar stools, taking a sip of the tea. “What about you? What’s on your agenda for today? Didn’t see you at the hospital.”

I hesitated for a moment, brushing an invisible crumb off the counter. “I’m actually meeting Lauren for lunch,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained neutral. “Oh yeah? Where are you two headed?”

“Just the café near her office,” I replied, leaning against the counter. “It’s been a while since we’ve caught up, so I figured we could spend some time together.”

“That’s nice,” he said, his tone light. “You’ve been working a lot lately. You deserve a break.”

I smiled, feeling a twinge of guilt as I looked at him. He was always so supportive, so steady, even when I knew he was running on fumes.

“Thanks,” I said softly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, finishing the tea and setting the cup down. He stood up and stretched, his muscles stiff from hours in the operating room. “I think I’m going to crash for a bit. Don’t let me sleep too long, though, or I’ll be up all night.”

“Deal,” I said with a small laugh.

He kissed me again, this time on the lips, and headed toward the bedroom. “Have fun with Lauren, babe,” he called over his shoulder.

“Thanks, love.” I replied, watching him disappear down the hallway.

As the door to the bedroom closed, I found myself staring at the empty tea cup on the counter, an inexplicable weight settling in my chest. It wasn’t that anything was wrong—Ryan was kind, caring, and everything I’d ever thought I wanted.

It’s been weeks since I started feeling like this again. I don’t know what triggered me, but some weeks ago, I realized that I was thinking too much for things that I used to do normally.

So why did I feel like something was missing?

[...]

The café was bustling with the usual lunch rush, the hum of conversations and clinking plates filling the air. I sat across from Lauren, sipping on my iced tea as she animatedly recounted a story about her latest work trip. I was listening—really, I was—but my focus wavered every now and then.

My life felt… stable. Almost too stable, like the kind of perfection you don’t question because you’re afraid it’ll crumble the moment you do. Ryan and I had been living together for over a year now, and things were good. He was sweet, dependable, and everything I thought I needed.

“And then he knocked over the entire display!” Lauren exclaimed, her laughter pulling me out of my thoughts.

I smiled, shaking my head. “You always end up with the most chaotic coworkers.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her coffee. “But enough about me. How’s work? How’s Ryan?”

I shrugged, playing with the straw in my drink. “Work’s good. Busy, but good. Ryan’s… Ryan.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow. “That sounded less enthusiastic than usual.”

“No, it’s not like that,” I said quickly, waving her off. “We’re fine. Really. Working in the same hospital where your boyfriend is an intern? Crazy, but we are working on it. It’s good to know someone from outside over there. But I don’t know, Ren… everything feels too norma to be right. I’m so scared."

She gave me a knowing look but didn’t press further. Instead, her attention shifted to the TV mounted on the café wall, behind me. “Oh, hey, isn’t that—”

My eyes followed hers, and my breath caught in my throat.

There was.

Joe.

My Joe.

Dressed in LSU’s purple and gold, he stood in front of a row of microphones, his helmet tucked under one arm as he answered questions from reporters, still in the middle of the field, after another game. His hair was slightly longer than I remembered, and his face had matured in the years since I’d last seen him. But it was undeniably him.

My heart twisted in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

He was… there. After five years, that was the first time I was seeing his face. Still with the same deep blue eyes, the playful smile, the same face… It almost felt like home.

“Holy crap,” Lauren said, her voice low. “He’s… different.”

My breath got caught on the top of my throat and I couldn't say anything. I missed seeing his face so much that my whole body felt numb. I wanted to cry so bad, that my eyes felt heavier cause of the tears almost running down my face.

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen. The headline at the bottom read, “Joe Burrow leads LSU to a decisive victory, securing their spot in the NCAA final.”

“He’s at LSU now,” I murmured, more to myself than to Lauren.

“Have you talked to him since… you know? I just remember you saying to me that things fell apart.” she asked carefully.

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “Not since college. Not since Ohio State.”

Lauren didn’t say anything, but the look on her face said enough. I turned my attention back to my drink, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that seeing him had stirred up.

I missed him so much. I spent almost half of my life putting in my head that I didn’t miss him at all, but everybody knew it was a lie.

Even myself.

JOE BURROW.

The rain battered against the windows of my apartment, the sound almost drowning out the action movie playing on my TV. I leaned back on the couch, my feet propped up on the coffee table, the remnants of a takeout dinner sitting beside me.

It had been a long week, filled with practice, media obligations, and the weight of knowing that the championship game was just weeks away. But for now, I had the rare luxury of a quiet night to myself.

My phone was in my hand. I’ve been chatting with my mom

the whole day, missing the feeling of being by myself at my own house in Ohio. Some messages from my friends,

I was just reaching for the remote to turn up the volume when the doorbell rang.

Frowning, I glanced at the clock. It was almost 10 PM.

I got up, padding to the door in bare feet. When I opened it, my breath caught in my throat.

“Y/N?”

She stood there, drenched from head to toe, her hair plastered to her face and her clothes clinging to her frame. Her eyes were red, like she’d been crying, and she was shivering from the cold.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” I said quickly, stepping aside to let her in.

She walked past me, her arms wrapped around herself as she stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom right by the living room and handed it to her.

“Here,” I said. “You’re soaked.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, taking the towel and rubbing it over her hair.

I watched her for a moment, my mind racing with questions. What was she doing here? Why now, after all these years?

“Y/N,” I said carefully, “what’s going on?”

She hesitated, clutching the towel like it was the only thing holding her together. “It’s Ryan,” she said finally, her voice breaking. “He… he cheated on me.”

My chest tightened, anger and disbelief flooding through me. “What?”

“I found out a few hours ago,” she continued, her voice trembling. “He’s been seeing someone else for months. I confronted him about it, and he didn’t even deny it. He just—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, shaking. ‘ I had to see you. I saw you on Tv and found that you were over here, so I just took the first flight. You were right, Joe. He wasn’t good for me.”

“Hey, hey,” I said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

She nodded, taking a shaky breath as she lowered her hands. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she admitted, looking up at me with tear-filled eyes.

“You came to the right place,” I said firmly. “I’m here, Y/N. Whatever you need.”

She let out a small, broken laugh. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it,” I said, my voice soft but steady.

For a moment, we just stood there, the sound of the rain filling the silence between us. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my chest.

I froze for half a second before wrapping my arms around her, holding her tightly.

“It’s going to be okay,” I murmured, resting my chin on the top of her head.

She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her shoulders relax slightly, her grip on me tightening as if she was afraid I might let go.

I didn’t.

Y/N

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. My eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, I forgot where I was. The couch I’d slept on was soft and warm, and I snuggled deeper into the blanket, catching the faint scent of Joe lingering on the fabric.

Then it all came rushing back. I was at Joe’s apartment.

I stretched lazily, my body still heavy with sleep, and glanced down at what I was wearing—a slightly oversized gray T-shirt with LSU printed across the front. It was Joe’s. He had handed it to me last night, insisting I’d be more comfortable in it than my own clothes. I smiled faintly, letting my fingers brush over the soft cotton.

Something about wearing his shirt felt intimate, grounding even. Like I belonged here. Like this was how things were always meant to be.

I pushed the thought away quickly, sitting up and wrapping the blanket tighter around myself. But the idea lingered, unshakable. This felt so natural—waking up in his space, surrounded by pieces of him. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t just a one-time thing.

If this were our routine.

If every night ended with us laughing together on the couch, and every morning began with me wearing his shirts, making breakfast, and waiting for him to wake up.

If I were his.

The thought made my chest ache, a bittersweet longing settling deep inside me. Shaking my head, I tried to push it aside. It was dangerous to let my mind wander there—dangerous and entirely pointless. Joe and I had spent years apart, and so much had changed.

But a part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought about it too.

I stood quietly, padding over to the kitchen on bare feet. His apartment was small but cozy, filled with little reminders of who he was. A football sat prominently on a shelf, surrounded by LSU memorabilia. A framed photo of him with his parents and brothers hung near the door, and his signature cleats were neatly tucked under the coffee table.

It all felt so Joe, and it made my heart squeeze painfully.

I busied myself in the kitchen, pulling out eggs and bread from his fridge. The smell of coffee filled the air as I brewed a fresh pot, and I started scrambling the eggs. The motions were easy, comforting. For a few minutes, I let myself sink into the simplicity of it, pretending this was just another day in a life we could’ve had together.

The sound of footsteps behind me broke me out of my thoughts.

“Something smells good,” a familiar, groggy voice mumbled.

I turned to see Joe standing in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes were still heavy with sleep. He was wearing sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Good morning,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady.

He stepped closer, leaning against the counter with a small grin. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

Without warning, he pulled me into a quick hug, his arms warm and solid around me. His chin brushed against the top of my head, and I froze for a moment, caught off guard.

“Thanks for making breakfast,” he said, pulling back and giving me a sleepy smile.

I nodded, my cheeks warm as I turned back to the stove. “It’s no big deal. Figured you’d need something good to eat after last night.”

He chuckled, grabbing two mugs and filling them with coffee. “You spoil me, Y/N.”

I tried to laugh, but the sound came out weak. I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to the thoughts I’d had earlier. The way this all felt so much like a life I wanted but could never have.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” I asked, my voice light as I plated the eggs and toast.

Joe took a sip of his coffee, his expression thoughtful. “Coach gave us the day off,” he said. “A little break before the chaos kicks in again.”

“That’s good,” I said, glancing at him as I slid his plate across the counter. “You deserve it.”

He smiled, taking a seat on one of the bar stools. “I was thinking… Maybe we could spend the day together. Just us. Get out for a bit, catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve had time like this.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly busied myself with my own plate to avoid meeting his gaze. “That sounds nice,” I said quietly.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment before he started eating.

As we sat together in the quiet kitchen, sharing a simple breakfast and easy conversation, I couldn’t help but feel like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to enjoy it.

JOE BURROW.

The diner was exactly how I remembered it—small, cozy, and buzzing with the sound of clinking dishes and quiet conversation. The familiar scent of coffee and fried food hung in the air, and the bell above the door jingled as Y/N and I stepped inside.

We slid into a booth near the window, and I handed her a menu from the stand. She scanned it quickly, her fingers tracing the laminated surface absentmindedly.

“You come here often?” she asked, her eyes flicking to mine.

“Yeah,” I said with a small smile. “It’s nothing fancy, but the food’s good. And the people are nice.”

As if on cue, Patty, the diner’s longtime waitress, approached our table with her usual warm smile. “Joe! Long time no see,” she said, setting two glasses of water down in front of us. Her gaze shifted to Y/N, and her smile widened. “And who’s this lovely young lady?”

“This is Y/N,” I said, glancing at her. “An old friend from Ohio.”

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Patty said, her voice warm, the southern accent hitting hard. “What can I get you two?”

After we placed our orders, I leaned back in the booth, studying Y/N as she gazed out the window. The sunlight caught her features in a way that made her look almost ethereal, and for a moment, I found it hard to look away.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “Tell me everything. What have you been up to these past few years?”

She hesitated, her expression turning thoughtful. “Where do I even start?”

“From the beginning,” I said, my voice gentle. “I want to know it all.”

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing patterns on the edge of her glass. “Well… after college, I started working as a physical therapist. It wasn’t easy at first, but I loved it. I started working in the same hospital as Ryan right after graduation.”

Her words stung more than I cared to admit, but I kept my expression neutral, nodding as she continued.

“For a while, everything felt perfect. But, I guess, things don’t always stay that way.” Her voice grew softer, and she looked down at her hands.

I wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, to offer some kind of comfort, but I stopped myself. “And now?” I asked instead.

“Now… I’m figuring things out,” she said, meeting my gaze. “One day at a time.”

I nodded, my chest tightening. “You’ve always been good at that,” I said softly.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What about you?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “I dated Emily for a while in college,” I admitted. “But it didn’t work out. We were… more fucking around than anything else. She thought she was pregnant right before I transferred to LSU. It was crazy. She wasn’t, by the way. ”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “ I remember the gossip about her and a football player, I didn't think it was you. At least you realized that.”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning forward. “And now, here we are.”

The silence between us was heavy but not uncomfortable. It felt like there were a million things left unsaid, but neither of us knew how to voice them.

“You should come to the game,” I said finally, my voice steady. “The final. I’d love for you to be there.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said firmly. “It would mean a lot to me.”

She nodded, her smile growing. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

For the first time in years, it felt like we were finding our way back to each other, like it was supposed to be this whole time.

Y/N

The room smelled faintly of powder and lavender as I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers deftly applying blush to Robin’s cheeks. She sat patiently on the cushioned chair, her eyes twinkling with warmth as she glanced at me every so often. I couldn’t help but smile at her reflection. The soft hum of country music played from Robin’s phone, resting on the vanity. My reflection in the mirror made me laugh—an apron tied over my casual outfit, my hair in bobs, and a few smudges of eyeshadow on my fingers.

Robin smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she looked at herself in the mirror. "You’ve got a real talent for this, sweetheart," she said, her voice soft and filled with affection.

"Thank you, Robin," I replied, dabbing lightly on her cheekbone. "I don’t get to do this often, so it’s a nice change of pace."

She chuckled, tilting her head slightly so I could finish blending the blush. "I’m so glad you’re here, Y/N. Joe’s been... different lately."

I paused for a moment, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "Different? What do you mean?"

Robin’s smile grew, her gaze warm and knowing. "He’s happy. Truly happy. I haven’t seen him like this in months, not since the two of you stopped talking."

Her words hit me harder than I expected, a mix of guilt and warmth spreading through me. I smiled softly, focusing back on her makeup to avoid the lump forming in my throat. "I missed him too," I admitted quietly.

Robin’s hand reached up to pat mine, resting gently on my wrist. "You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.” Robin opened her eyes, meeting mine in the mirror. “I could tell. And let me tell you, sweetheart, he missed you too. I’ve never seen him this happy in years—not even after his biggest wins.”

Her words sent a warm ache through my chest, and I bit my lip to keep the emotion at bay. “Joe and I… we’ve been through a lot,” I said quietly, setting the brush down. “But I’m glad we found our way back. It feels… right.”

“It is right,” Robin said firmly, watching me with an intensity that caught me off guard.

I finished her makeup shortly after, standing to gather my brushes and palettes. As I zipped up my case and turned to leave, Robin’s hand gently caught mine, pulling me back.

"Y/N," she said, her tone soft but firm. “Stay with him.”

I turned to her, surprised by the intensity in her expression.

I blinked, unsure of what was coming. “Of course,” I said softly.

Her hand tightened around mine, her eyes locking onto mine. “Stay with him. Be there for him. You and Joe—you’ve always been meant for each other. Even when you were kids, I could see it. Your parents saw it too.”

My breath hitched, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the words to respond.

Robin smiled gently, her other hand patting mine. “You’ve always been his anchor, Y/N. And he’s always been yours. Don’t let anything take that away from you.”

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. Her words hung heavy in the air, laced with a kind of certainty that shook me to my core.

"I—" I started, then stopped, unsure of what to say. Finally, I gave her a small, shaky smile. "Thank you, Robin. That means... a lot."

She smiled warmly, patting my hand once more before letting go. "I just needed to say it," she said.

I nodded, swallowing hard as I left the room. Her words echoed in my mind as I made my way back to my room to get ready, my heart heavy with emotions I wasn’t quite ready to face.

JOE BURROW.

The locker room was buzzing with energy, the kind that made the air crackle before a big game. I pulled my jersey over my head, adjusting the fit as I glanced around at my teammates. Justin was joking with Chase about his pre-game ritual, and Clyde was busy tying his cleats, muttering something about a lucky pair of socks.

I leaned back against the bench, checking my phone for the time. But instead of closing the screen, my eyes caught the notification at the top—a message from Y/N.

Y/N: Good luck tonight, Joey. I’ll be in the stands, cheering for you like always. You’ve got this.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it, and the warmth that filled my chest was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the message—it was the fact that it came from her.

“Alright, what’s with the grin, man?” Justin’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I looked up to see him smirking at me, his arms crossed.

“Yeah, you’ve got that lovesick puppy look again,” Chase added, chuckling. “What, did Y/N text you or something?”

Clyde raised an eyebrow, joining in. “Bet it’s her. You always get that look when it’s about her.”

I shook my head, trying to play it off, but the heat rising to my cheeks betrayed me. “You guys don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered, sliding my phone back into my bag.I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the locker. "You’re all imagining things."

“Oh, we know exactly what we’re talking about,” Justin teased, nudging Chase. “You’ve been hung up on her forever, dude. It 's obvious. I Don't even know the girl, but you talk about her like we know. I know you, dawg.”

"Are we, though?" Chase added, walking over and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "You’ve been different since she came back into your life. Happier."

Chase nodded. "And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you’ve been turning down every girl that’s thrown herself at you lately. We’re not blind, Joe. You’re saving yourself for her."

I opened my mouth to protest, but no words came out. I didn’t know how to respond, because deep down, I knew they were right.

"I’m just... happy she’s here," I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended.

Justin grinned, patting my shoulder. "That’s all we’re saying, man. You’re different with her around, and it’s a good thing."

“Yeah,” Clyde chimed in, grinning. “The way you turn down every girl who comes your way? Like, come on, Burrow. We’re not blind.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t deny the truth in their words. They didn’t need to know that Y/N had always been different—that she wasn’t just some girl I liked, but the one person who made everything else feel… right.

“Alright, leave him alone,” Clyde said with a laugh, slapping me on the back. “He’s got a game to focus on.”

I nodded, grateful for the out. But as I laced up my cleats and joined my teammates in the huddle, Y/N’s message lingered in the back of my mind, fueling me in a way nothing else could.

I didn’t say anything, just nodded as they walked away. My phone buzzed again, and I glanced down to see another message from Y/N.

Y/N: See you after the game, okay?

Because no matter how much time had passed, one thing remained the same: she was still the person who mattered most to me.

Y/N

The energy inside the Mercedes-Benz Superdome was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It felt alive—every cheer, every chant reverberating through the walls and into my chest. I stood on the sideline with Robin and the rest of Joe’s family, surrounded by a sea of purple and gold on one side, orange and white on the other. LSU versus Clemson. The 2020 College Football Playoff National Championship.

Robin was gripping her program so tightly that it was starting to wrinkle, and I couldn’t blame her. My nerves mirrored hers, every muscle in my body tense as I watched the game unfold. Joe was out there on the field, his figure distinct even in the chaos of the game. He moved with a calm confidence that I knew all too well, every play he called executed with precision.

"Did you see that pass?" Robin asked, nudging me with her elbow after Joe threw a perfect spiral to Ja'Marr Chase, resulting in yet another touchdown for LSU.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. "He’s... unbelievable," I finally managed, my chest swelling with pride.

But Joe—Joe was unstoppable. Watching him was like witnessing a maestro conduct a symphony, every throw precise, every play executed with absolute confidence. He’d already thrown for multiple touchdowns, including a jaw-dropping 52-yard pass to Ja'Marr Chase that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

By halftime, LSU was leading 28-17, and the air around us was electric. Robin leaned toward me as the players disappeared into the tunnel. “He’s locked in,” she said with a knowing smile.

I returned her smile, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “He’s got this.”

The second half was when LSU truly took control. Every time Joe stepped onto the field, it felt like magic. His connection with his receivers was flawless, and the defense held Clemson at bay. The tension that had gripped me earlier started to ease, replaced by an overwhelming sense of pride.

By the fourth quarter, LSU was up 42-25, and the reality of what was happening began to sink in. I found myself holding my breath as the clock ticked down. The final moments seemed to stretch on forever, the roar of the crowd growing louder with each passing second.

When the clock finally hit zero, the stadium erupted in chaos. Purple and gold confetti rained down from above, and the sound of the LSU fight song filled the air. Robin threw her arms around me, her laughter mixing with tears as she hugged me tightly.

"He did it!" she exclaimed, her voice almost drowned out by the noise.

I laughed, my own eyes misting over as I hugged her back. “He really did.”

My eyes scanned the field, searching for Joe. He stood in the center, his hands on his hips as he looked around, taking it all in. The confetti swirled around him, and for a moment, he looked almost frozen in time, like something out of a painting.

And that was the moment that I realized that I never stopped loving Joe Burrow.

JOE BURROW.

The confetti was falling, the cheers were deafening, and I stood in the middle of it all, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

We’d won. LSU was the national champion.

We’d worked so hard for this moment, sacrificed so much, and now it was real.

I took a deep breath, my chest rising and falling as I tried to steady myself. Around me, my teammates were celebrating, their voices blending into a cacophony of joy and triumph. Ja'Marr slapped me on the back, shouting something I couldn’t quite hear over the noise, but I nodded and grinned, my own excitement finally breaking through.

“Let’s go!” Ja'Marr shouted, slapping me on the back, pulling me out of my daze.

We made our way to the stage that had been set up in the middle of the field, the trophy gleaming under the bright stadium lights. I stood at the center, my hands gripping the trophy as I lifted it high above my head. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a wave of sound that seemed to shake the very ground beneath my feet.

As I lowered the trophy, my eyes instinctively scanned the sideline, and there she was.

Y/N.

She was clapping and cheering, her smile wide and radiant. Even from this distance, I could see the pride in her eyes, the same pride that had always been there, even when we were kids.

Without thinking, I handed the trophy to Ja'Marr and jogged toward her, my heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the game.

“Joe!” she called as I reached her, her voice cutting through the noise like a beacon.

I didn’t stop to think. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a circle as she laughed. Her laughter was warm and bright, a sound that made everything else fade into the background.

“You did it,” she whispered, her arms wrapping tightly around my neck as I set her back on the ground. Her voice was soft, but the emotion behind it was palpable. “I’m so proud of you, Joey. So, so proud.”

Her words hit me harder than anything else that night. I rested my forehead against hers, my hands still on her waist. “Thank you,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for being here. For always being here.”

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my jaw. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

For a moment, it was just us. The noise of the stadium, the chaos of the celebration—it all faded away. It was just me and Y/N, standing together in the middle of a championship.

DRAFT NIGHT, 2020.

Y/N

Joe’s childhood bedroom was cozy, almost nostalgic, with its Star Wars-themed decor still intact. The soft glow from the television screen illuminated the room, casting faint shadows over the familiar posters of Jedi knights and starships on the walls. It felt surreal to be here, lying beside Joe, knowing that tomorrow his life would change forever.

I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as we watched some random movie he’d picked. Neither of us was really paying attention to it; the sound was more of a background hum to our shared silence. His arm was draped lazily over my shoulders, holding me close. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to make my heart ache in the best way.

Turning my head slightly, I looked up at him. His face was calm, his lips curved into the faintest of smiles as he stared at the screen. I knew him well enough to recognize that he wasn’t truly focused. “Hey,” I said softly, my voice cutting through the quiet. “How are you feeling? About tomorrow, I mean.”

He shifted slightly, his gaze lowering to meet mine. “I’m good,” he replied after a beat, his voice steady but tinged with a trace of nervous energy. “Excited, mostly. I'm a little anxious, I guess. It still doesn’t feel real, you know?”

I smiled, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. “It’s real, Joe. And you’ve worked so hard for this. I always knew you’d be the first pick. You were born for this.”

His eyes softened at my words, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that made my chest tighten. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “For saying that. For... always believing in me.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off as casual, though my cheeks warmed under his gaze. “It’s easy to believe in someone like you, Joe.”

The conversation fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only existed between us. I felt his breathing slow and deepen as the minutes passed, and when I tilted my head to look at him again, I realized he’d fallen asleep.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He looked so peaceful, so at ease, even with the weight of tomorrow hanging over him. Gently, I reached for the remote and turned off the TV, plunging the room into darkness save for the faint moonlight filtering through the blinds.

“Goodnight, Joe,” I whispered, snuggling closer to him. His arm tightened around me unconsciously, and I closed my eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me to sleep.

JOE BURROW.

The next day felt like a whirlwind. Hours blurred together as we prepared for the moment that had been years in the making. My parents’ living room was full of buzzing energy, with my family and a few close friends gathered around. The NFL Draft was finally here, and I was sitting on the same worn leather couch I’d grown up on, surrounded by people who had supported me every step of the way.

I glanced over at Y/N, who was perched on the armrest beside me. She was calm, her presence grounding me in a way I couldn’t explain. Every time my nerves threatened to creep in, I’d catch her eye, and she’d smile, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The draft began, and the room grew tense with anticipation. The first pick was announced, and hearing my name—"With the first pick in the 2020 NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select Joe Burrow, quarterback, LSU"—felt like an out-of-body experience.

I shot to my feet, the room erupting into cheers and applause around me. My mom was the first to hug me, her arms wrapping tightly around me as tears filled her eyes. My dad followed, clapping me on the back and grinning proudly.

As the celebrations continued, I noticed Y/N standing off to the side, clapping and smiling so brightly it could’ve lit up the entire room. I crossed the space between us, pulling her into a hug that was equal parts relief and gratitude.

“You did it!” she exclaimed, her voice full of pride. “Joe, I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d be number one.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her, my hands still resting on her waist. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. Thank you. For always being there, for... everything.”

Her smile softened, her hand brushing against my arm. “You don’t have to thank me, Joe. I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

Her words settled over me, grounding me in a way nothing else could. As I moved toward the computer for the online press conference, I couldn’t help but glance back at her, standing there with that same unwavering smile. She wasn’t just my best friend—she was my constant, my anchor, the person I trusted above all else.

When the conference ended, I didn’t go back to the crowd of family and friends. I went straight to Y/N. She stood as I approached, meeting me halfway, and for a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other.

“Thank you,” I said again, my voice quieter this time, meant just for her.

She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly against my jaw. “You’re going to do amazing things, Joe. I hope you know that.”

I smiled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her temple. “Only because I’ve got you in my corner.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. “Always,” she repeated, her voice soft but certain.

At that moment, with everyone else celebrating in the background, I knew that no matter where this new chapter took me, as long as Y/N was by my side, I’d be okay.

BENGALS, 2023 – WRIST INJURY.

Y/N

I was there when the injury happened.

Not physically, of course—I wasn’t at the stadium. But when Robin called me, her voice trembling with an urgency that sent chills down my spine, it felt as if I was standing right there on the field, watching it unfold in slow motion. My heart felt every second of it.

“He got injured at the game. Come to our house as quickly as possible.” The words echoed in my mind as I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

The phone call from Robin had come in the middle of my shift at the clinic. I had just finished helping a patient with their rehab exercises when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Seeing her name on the screen sent a chill down my spine. She rarely called, and never during the day.

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. My knees wobbled, and I leaned against the counter for support, my chest tightening at the thought of what Joe must have been going through. Robin went on to explain that it wasn’t just a sprain or something minor. His wrist was fractured, the damage severe enough to require surgery.

I didn’t think twice. I grabbed my bag, clocked out without explanation, and headed straight for my car. The drive to Joe’s house felt like an eternity, every red light and slow turn taunting me. My thoughts spiraled as I imagined him sitting there, his dreams for the season crushed. Joe never let injuries get to him—he always pushed through—but something about Robin’s tone told me this was different.

When I arrived, the house was unsettlingly quiet. Robin greeted me at the door, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red from crying. She gave me a small, tight hug, whispering, “He’s in the living room. He hasn’t said much.”

I nodded, my throat too tight to form a response. Walking into the living room felt like stepping into a space that wasn’t meant for me—a room filled with tension, unspoken words, and too much pain. Joe sat on the couch, slouched forward, his injured wrist heavily bandaged. His head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the floor as if it held all the answers he was searching for

I hesitated at the doorway, taking in the scene. Robin, his dad, and a few others from his team stood nearby, their expressions somber. It felt as though the room itself was mourning with him. I swallowed hard, fighting the tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes. He didn’t need my pity. He needed me.

Slowly, I walked over and sat down beside him. The couch dipped under my weight, and for a moment, neither of us said a word.

“Joey...” My voice came out as a whisper, thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

His shoulders trembled, and then, without warning, he broke. His head dropped into his uninjured hand, his entire body shaking as quiet sobs escaped him. I didn’t think—I just acted. I reached out, placed a hand on his back, and gently guided his head to rest on my lap.

“It’s okay,” I murmured, running my fingers through his hair in soothing strokes. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He didn’t resist, letting his head fall into my lap like we’d done countless times before, though this time was different. His shoulders trembled with silent sobs, and I felt his pain as if it were my own.

“They said it’s bad,” he finally croaked, his voice muffled against my leg. “The surgery... it’s tomorrow. They don’t know if…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and my heart broke for him.

“You will,” I said firmly, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “You’re Joe Burrow. If anyone can come back stronger from this, it’s you. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

He looked up at me then, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Why do you always believe in me so much?”

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Because you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

JOE BURROW.

The hum of the hospital lights was a constant background noise as I lay on the gurney, staring up at the stark white ceiling. My wrist was throbbing under the layers of bandages, a dull reminder of everything that had happened. The thought of the surgery—of what came next—loomed over me like a shadow.

This wasn’t just a game. This wasn’t just a season. This was everything I’d worked for, everything I’d built my life around. And now it all felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

The nurses moved around me, their voices low as they prepared me for surgery. But the only person I cared about—the only person I wanted near me—was Y/N. She hadn’t said much since we arrived, but her presence was enough.

But then I looked to my right, and there she was. Y/N stood just a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watching over me like she always did. Her presence was steadying, grounding, even in the chaos of the hospital.

“Yes, I’m his Physical Therapist.” She said for the nurse, filing some paperworks that they asked her to do it.

When the nurse left the room, Y/N moved closer, her sneakers squeaking softly against the tile floor. “Hey,” she said gently, her voice breaking through my haze of anxiety. “How are you holding up?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my nerves were shot. “I’m fine,” I lied, though the crack in my voice betrayed me.

She tilted her head, giving me that look—the one that told me she didn’t buy a word of it. “Joe, it’s okay to be scared. This is a big deal.”

I sighed, letting my guard down just a little. “I guess I’m... anxious. I don’t know what’s going to happen after this.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine. “You don’t have to know right now. Just focus on one step at a time, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

Her words sank in, and for the first time all day, I felt a glimmer of peace. “I chose this hospital because of you, you know,” I admitted, my voice low.

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Joe...”

“You’re the only person I trust with this,” I said, my eyes locking onto hers. “You’ve always been the one who kept me steady, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”

Her expression softened, and she gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll always take care of you, Joe. You know that, right?”

Before I could respond, the nurse returned, signaling it was time. Y/N walked beside me as they wheeled me to the operating room, her hand never leaving mine until the last possible moment.

“I’m going to be with you the whole time, ok?” She told me, as they walked me down to the surgery room.

I layed on the bed, seeing Y/N on the top of my head, backwards. She put her hands on my face, tracing my figure. She was the last thing that I remember before vanishing.

[...]

When I woke up, the world felt hazy, my thoughts swimming in and out of focus. The first thing I noticed was the absence of pain. My wrist was heavy, wrapped in layers of bandages, but the sharp ache was gone.

As my vision cleared, I saw her. Y/N was curled up in the recliner by my bed, her head resting against the armrest, her arms wrapped around herself. Her hair was slightly messy, and there were faint shadows under her eyes, but she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She looked exhausted, but even asleep, she was beautiful.

“Y/N,” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she saw me awake, her face lit up. “Joe! You’re awake.” She quickly got up and came to my side, her hand instinctively reaching for mine. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft and full of concern.

“Better,” I said, managing a small smile.

Her lips curved into a small smile, but I could see the worry lingering in her eyes. “I’ve been here the whole time, Joe.”

“I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why I’m okay.”

The room was quiet for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened settling between us.

For a moment, we just looked at each other, the silence between us filled with unspoken words. Finally, I took a deep breath, my heart racing as I decided to say what I’d been holding back for years.

I needed to do it. I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Y/N,” I began, my voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing slightly.

“I love you,” I said simply, the words tumbling out before I could overthink them. She looked at me like I was saying I love you, you are my best friend “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared at me. Then, a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. “Joe... I love you too. I always have. You are my best friend.”

“No, Y/N, not like that. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” I continued, the words pouring out of me. “And I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I was scared. Scared of losing you. But I can’t keep it in anymore.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and I braced myself for the worst. Then, she smiled—a soft, radiant smile that made my chest ache.

“I love you since you showed up at my house wanting to play with your new neighbor. I love you since the time that you made me work with you to prom, or since the days you started cooking my after-game meals. God, I’ve been in love with you for ages. Since I can remember.”

Relief flooded through me, and I reached for her hand, pulling her closer until our foreheads touched. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are my first love, and you’ll always be, Joey. Every person that came to me was making me ready for you.”

“I don’t know how my life was supposed to be without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” she whispered, her voice full of certainty.

She got close to me, her lips touching mine in the most perfect kiss ever. Her mouth, all the memories, all the awake nights, all the jealousy and all the fights, it just faded away. I held her through her neck, making her get closer to me every second that was going by.

“We kissed each other at prom.” I told her, giving her another quick kiss. “I spent years of my life thinking it was just a dream, but one of my friends kinda told me it was true, last year. And I just kept it a secret waiting for the perfect moment to tell you.

‘You’re such a douchebag.” She laughed, “And that’s why I love you.”

“I’m never going to leave you anymore. Y/n, you are the best part of my life. It was always you.”

At that moment, I knew that no matter what the future held, as long as she was by my side, I’d be okay.

I finally had my girl in my arms.

[rosiahills22]

Okay people always talk about private time *wink wink* after Joe wins a game, but what about after a concert?? Like she’s high on adrenaline from performing, he’s high off of watching her do her thing on stage for hours. You know they’d be feral. In her dressing room after, in the car on the way home/to the hotel, in the shower that she desperately needs after performing. I’m unwell.

description: ask sums it up! the post concert/preformance adrenaline rush has you both all over each other ;)

a/n: this is the hottest thing i have ever written. i need water.

word count: 2.7k

series: you are in love

warnings: smut!!!, language, MDNI

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh YES. im so unwell too, it's okay.

for this, we’re going to have a little snapshot into the future since the fics aren’t at this point yet ;)

--

oh, you just know they're absolutely feral after a concert. the second she steps off that stage, still breathless, still riding the high of the crowd screaming her lyrics back to her, seeing all their smiles and excitement, joe is already waiting backstage. and god, the look in his eyes? it is sooo over for her. he's been in the tent, watching her for hours, completely mesmerized, taking in every move, every lyric, every sly little smirk she tossed his way from the stage. he's either a little drunk and delirious or a bit groggy after all the dancing and shouting, but that doesn't stop him from getting his girl.

--

and yes, he danced along with her from the tent, even matched her choreography in some portions which he memorized from a few of the rehearsals he sat in on. he even interacted with her fans who noticed him, he had the biggest smile on his face too. he'd never been one to talk to strangers outside of when he had to due to his anxiety and closed-off personality, but for her? for her he'd do anything.

even though she was far away, locked up backstage as he was waiting outside in the crowd, he still somehow felt at ease as if she was right next to him. you know why? because he was physically in her world right now. her touch, her presence lingered in everything from the light-up bracelets on everyone's wrists, to the stage in front of him, to the feeling of mystique in the air. he was in the bubble she had so carefully crafted with her bare hands over the past few years, so he had no reason to be nervous, anxious, or quiet. he was happily out there in the crowd, chatting up a storm with her guests, team, fans, friends, family, and anyone who wanted to hear him sing her praises. he was surrounded by people who loved her almost as much as he loved her. joe really had nothing to complain about. this was a physical representation of her hard work, a testament to the countless hours in the studio he had witnessed, a reward for all those nights when he laid next to her and wiped the tears from her cheek.

this was her legacy.

oh, and how could we forget him singing along to every song on the setlist like it was all engraved into his brain (lowkey, with how often he listens to her music, it was).

moral of the story, yes. joe is that boyfriend. he is her biggest fan.

anyway, back to the point.

--

she barely has time to catch her breath before his hands are on her, fingers pressing into her waist, pulling her into him. "you have no idea what you do to me up there," he mutters, his voice raspy, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. she smirks, tilting her chin up at him, her own pulse racing. "oh, i think i do, quarterback," she said with a smirk, matching his confidence with some of her own.

they barely make it to the dressing room before he’s pressing her up against the door, hands gripping her hips, mouth trailing along the side of her neck. she’s still in her stage outfit, sparkly, barely-there, and it’s driving him insane. her chest is rising and falling rapidly, breathless from more than just performing, as she tugs him impossibly closer.

his hands roam lower, gripping her soft thighs, pressing her even harder against the door like he wanted to glue her to it. his mouth is everywhere--her jaw, the corner of her ear, her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone--teeth scraping just enough to make her gasp. he loves that sound. loves the way her fingers fist the fabric of his shirt, desperate, like she needs him as badly as he needs her.

"god, you’re so fucking sexy up there," he groans against her skin, dragging his teeth over the shell of her ear again before dipping lower. his hands slide down, down, fingers teasing at the hem of her tiny outfit, tracing over the soft skin of her thighs once again.

"joe," she breathes, already dizzy, already melting. but he just hums, slipping a hand between her legs, pressing his fingers right where he knows she needs him most. she lets out a sharp gasp, her head falling back against the door with a soft thud.

he smirks, eyes dark and hooded as he watches her, watches the way her lips part, the way her chest rises and falls.

she’s so fucking responsive. that adrenaline is doing her wonders.

"this for me?" he murmurs, dragging his fingers over her, feeling just how warm, how wet she is for him. her breath hitches, and she nods, biting down on her lip.

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "nah, i wanna hear you say it,".

she barely managed to get the words out before he slipped a finger through her bodysuit, then inside her, slow and teasing, watching the way she fell apart for him. she gripped his shoulders, nails digging into him, legs trembling as he curled his finger just right.

"joey...fuck...,".

he groans at the sound of his name like that, adding another finger, pumping them in and out at a torturously slow pace. his thumb circles her clit, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk. she’s clenching around his fingers, making these soft, breathy little whimpers that are driving him insane. he presses his lips against her ear, his voice all rough and full of need. "you looked so good up there, baby. knew you’d be dripping for me the second you came off that stage,".

she lets out another choked moan at his words, her body arching into him, chasing the pressure of his hand. he groans, loving how fucking gone she is for him.

"you like knowing i was hard the whole time watching you?" his voice teasing her in so many ways that she was losing count. "thinking about how i was gonna have you the second i got you alone?".

she whimpers, her nails digging into his arms. "joe...,".

"shh, i got you, baby," he rasps, curling his fingers again to touch that one spot inside her, thrusting them deep, and dragging his thumb over her clit in tight circles again. her breath catches, and she’s right there, so damn close, her thighs squeezing around his hand.

he presses his forehead against hers, watching her fall apart. "cum for me, baby," he murmurs, and that’s all it takes--her whole body tenses, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as she comes undone around his fingers.

he keeps working her through it, fucking her with his hand until she’s whimpering, until her legs shake, until she’s gasping and clutching onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her up. he smirks, pulling his fingers from her, watching the way she shivers when he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean. "mm, sweet as always,".

she barely has time to catch her breath before he’s lifting her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. "we’re not done," he mutters, carrying her to the vanity table. "not even close,".

but unfortunately, they were when a knock at the door interrupted them.

so achingly close to a little more...

but it was always about timing ;)

--

and then there’s the car ride. 

oh goddddd, the car ride. she’s still coming down from the high of performing...and the high from the dressing room, legs draped over his lap in the backseat as they went back to her hotel. joe is just looking at her--like she’s the most intoxicating thing he’s ever seen. his hand traces slow, lazy circles on her thigh, his grip tightening every time she shifts closer. he leans in, murmuring something about how incredible she was tonight (singing her praises as usual. he's so obsessed with her like joe, hello? just marry her already damn), how he couldn’t take his eyes off her, how she belongs up there. and maybe it’s the compliments, maybe it’s the way his voice sounds so raw with admiration, but suddenly she’s tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, kissing him like she needs to.

he groans into her mouth, his hand sliding up her thigh, fingertips slipping just under the hem of her sweats. she’s all over him, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing her body against his like she’s trying to crawl into his lap completely.

"baby," he mumbles between kisses, his voice all strained and breathless, "we gotta—fuck—driver’s right there,".

she doesn’t care. can’t care. not when he’s looking at her like that, not when she can still feel the way his hands had been on her just minutes ago in her dressing room.

she presses a kiss to his jaw, then lower, lips brushing over the sweet spot on his neck, feeling the way he swallows hard beneath her mouth. "then be quiet," she whispers, a smirk tugging at her lips.

he shakes his head with an amused chuckle, "you are insane," he whispers back.

but he’s already pulling her closer, his hand sliding higher, his grip firm as his lips find hers again, deeper this time. slower. like he’s savoring her, like he’s reminding her—he’s not done with her yet.

--

then comes the shower back at the hotel.

that’s the thing about the shower—it’s necessary, but neither of them is pretending like it’s going to be just that.

her body is still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles aching in the best way from performing, and she knows she needs to wash off the sweat, the lingering heat of the stage lights, but the second she steps under the warm stream, he’s there.

joe is behind her in an instant, his bare chest pressing against her damp skin, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. the heat of the water is nothing compared to the heat of him, solid and burning, his body molding against hers like he belongs there.

he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the back of her neck, "you’re unbelievable," he murmurs. his hands are already moving, trailing up her sides, palms rough against her soft skin, completely unable to keep themselves to himself.

she hums in response, letting her head fall back against his shoulder, sighing when his lips find the curve of her jaw. she tilts her head just enough to catch his lips with hers, but he barely lets her take control before he’s deepening the kiss, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, thumb rolling over her nipple. she gasps against his mouth, and he takes advantage of it, slipping his tongue against hers, swallowing every little sound she makes.

his other hand is moving lower now, fingers dragging down the slick expanse of her stomach, teasing the space between her thighs. "you’re still shaking," he mutters, smirking against her lips as his fingers brush over where she’s already aching for him, where he just was not too long ago. "performance high? or is this me again?".

she whimpers, hips rocking forward into his touch, but it’s not enough--he’s teasing her, fingers barely grazing, making her crave it, making her need it.

"joe...," she breathes, a little desperate, a little impatient, nails digging into his arms.

he hums, mouth dragging along the curve of her shoulder, one hand sliding lower, gripping the curve of her hip, pressing himself against her. "been waiting all night for this, baby," he rasps, his cock hard against the small of her back, twitching when she rolls her hips against him.

she turns in his arms, pressing her body against his, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers tangling in his damp hair. his lips crash into hers, all a messy mix of tongue and teeth, desperate and hungry. the kiss is sloppy, wet, the steam curling around them as the water hits down against their tangled bodies.

"need you," she whispers, dragging her nails down his back, pulling him closer. "need you so bad, joey,".

his hands grip her thighs, lifting her like she weighs nothing, pressing her against the wall as the hot water continues to beat down on both of them. his cock is thick, hard, already pushing at her entrance, teasing her with shallow movements that make her squirm.

"so needy," he smirks, but there’s a softness to his tone, teasing her but filled with love. his lips brush over her cheek, then her temple, a contrast to the way he’s holding her captive against the tile. "you couldn't even wait till we got to the bed, huh?".

"joey....fuck, please. i can't," she pleads, the combination of the burning shower, the burning feeling in her stomach, and the sizzle of her skin under his gaze was all too much for her.

he grins, shaking his head because he just knows her too well, and then he slams into her in one deep thrust.

she cries out, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving crescent moon marks. he groans from the feeling of how tight and wet she is around him, clenching like she was made for him. but even as he starts to move, rolling his hips in deep, punishing thrusts, his hands stay gentle on her--one gripping her thigh, the other splayed across her lower back, holding her close, keeping her steady.

"fuck, baby," he grits out, grinding his hips just right, making her feel every inch. "you were made for me,". his mouth finds hers, kissing her between gasps, swallowing the moans that slip past her lips. his movements are rough, desperate, but his kisses are soft, sweet, like he can’t help but adore her even while he’s wrecking her.

"you think i could sit there and watch you all night, looking so fucking hot on that stage, and not end up buried inside you the second we got alone?".

she whimpers, "ah, joe. p- please," as her her fingers tangle in his damp curls, pulling his mouth back to her. he moans into her mouth, his thrusts deep but unhurried now, savoring the way she feels around him.

"yeah?" he teases, voice thick, strained. "you like that? like how i fuck you after you get off stage all worked up, knowing i was watching, knowing i was losing my mind wanting you?".

she nods frantically, but it’s not enough. he needs words.

"say it," he breathes against her lips, slowing his pace, rolling his hips into hers with devastating accuracy--hitting every spot he knew she loved.

"love it," she gasps, nearly sobbing. "love when you fuck me like this--fuck, joe--,".

he groans, pressing his forehead against hers, his lips brushing over her cheek, her nose, anywhere he can reach.

"you gonna cum for me, baby?" he murmurs, feeling her walls flutter around him. "you gonna make a fucking mess all over me?".

"yes..yes, fuck--,".

he shifts his angle, tilting her hips, and that’s it--her whole body seizes, her walls clenching down hard, her moan high-pitched and desperate as she shatters, shaking in his arms.

"that’s it, baby," he groans, barely holding on, "so fucking perfect when you let go for me,".

her orgasm sends him over the edge--he thrusts once, twice, then buries himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, filling her up, rocking his hips as he rides it out. he doesn’t pull out right away--just stays there, chest heaving, arms tight around her, pressing soft kisses to her jaw, her cheeks, her lips.

"mine," he breathes, forehead resting against hers. "always mine,".

he’s still inside her, but his grip turns tender, his touch light as he runs his hands over her slick skin, tracing every curve like he’s committing her to memory all over again.

"you okay, baby?" he murmurs, kissing her forehead, her nose, her swollen lips.

she nods, sighing contentedly as she melts against him. "yeah," she whispers, voice a little hoarse from well...everything. "i just love you so much,".

he smiles, tilting her chin up to kiss her again. "i love you more," he breathes against her lips. "always,".

--

when they finally make it to bed--bodies exhausted, skin flushed, sheets a tangled mess -- joe just holds her, pressing soft, lazy kisses to her temple, the same hands that had been gripping her with desperate need now were tracing light, soothing patterns along her spine. “i love watching you up there. you’re magic,” he murmurs, his tone just as soft as his touch. she smiles against his chest, completely at peace, completely his.

[rosiahills22]

Baby Burrow

Summary: After your long day at Disney celebrating baby #2, you reminisce on telling Joe about becoming a dad. Requested by this anon.

Pairings: Husband! Joe Burrow x Wife!reader

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: pregnancy announcement, minor dirty talk alluding to smut

Note: HI! I'm so sorry that this is so late. I got some writer's block towards the end so I hope I still did your idea justice anon! Hoping to be back to posting more regularly with some requests and other works in progress. Enjoy for now!

Word Count: 2.6k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 @hotburreaux @lilfreakjez @jburrgf Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

After a long day of running around Disney and basking in the joy of baby number 2, you were all back at your hotel. You couldn't have asked for a better day, catching Joe’s gaze from time to time as he had a hard time taking his eyes off of your son’s hat embroidered with the words ‘big brother’. You found it hard to keep your own composure all day, feeling a massive weight lifted from your shoulders now that the secret was out. The day went by in a flash and before you knew it, you were walking out the gates, your son falling asleep in your arms as you made your way to the car.                                                                                                                                            

You were all showered, finally laying in bed when Joe came back into your room from getting your son settled for the night in the connected suite. You were grateful he took the job on tonight, your legs feeling like jello from all of the walking you had done. You were no athlete and running after a toddler was no joke. He crept in, closing the door quietly behind him to not disturb you. He shot you a small smile before slipping his t-shirt over his head. Your heart swelled at the sight of him, feeling so full of joy and the small family you were creating together. He came over to you, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

“Out like a light,” Joe said, emphasizing his words with a gesture of his hands.

You giggled, his hand stroking lightly against your head. You let your eyes close softly, enjoying the moment. You sighed softly when Joe slipped his hand from your hair.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower and I’ll hop into bed with you,” Joe said, his voice low and tired.

“Okay, I could use some more of those when you get back here though,” you replied with a similar tone.

He kissed your lips gently before leaning further to place a kiss to your stomach. As if your heart couldn’t get any fuller, the sight before made it explode with love. Joe was such an amazing dad, like you knew he would be.

“I can’t believe we're gonna have another one, it feels like just yesterday you told me the first time.”

“I had a bit of prep time for that one, I had to get really creative this time since someone would get suspicious otherwise,” you joked, knowing how nosey Joe could be.

Joe laughed lightly as he walked towards the bathroom, “always keeping me on my toes huh?”

“Just doing my job” you said with a laugh, shaking your head.

While Joe was showering, your mind drifted back to that day that you told Joe he was going to be a dad.

Flashback

It was yours and Joe’s first Valentines together as a married couple and you planned to make it a memorable one. You’d spent a lazy morning together, basking in each other's touch with all of the time in the world. Some remained innocent, others not so much. The craziness that came along with Joe’s job as well as the holiday led you both opting for a romantic night in rather than fighting against the public eye. Joe wanted to cook for you, provide you with the “restaurant experience at home, but make it with love”. He always did like to go above and beyond.

It took some convincing, but Joe agreed to go out and get the ingredients for dinner tonight. He was reluctant to leave you, but you assured him things could continue when he got home. You wanted a little time to get ready and surprise him even if you were staying in. With him out of the house to run some errands before tonight, you had a small window to get everything done that you wanted to. Little did he know you had your own surprise up your sleeve, though it wasn’t really up your sleeve literally. 

You’d been feeling sick the past few days, having a gut feeling you knew why. You and Joe weren’t necessarily trying for a kid, but you also weren’t not. You wanted it to happen when it happened. The timeline seemed to fit, your next period being late which was a rarity for you at any other given time. Joe was always aware of your cycle, being able to track things better than you ever have. If your gut instincts were correct, you’d have to find a way to tell him ASAP or he’d know something was off.

You took a few tests you had on hand and sure as shit, you were pregnant. Tears of joy immediately filled your eyes, an indescribable feeling settling deep within you as you placed your hand against your stomach. You had always wanted to be a mom and now you got to have a child with the man of your dreams. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the thought of Joe being a dad. You couldn’t wait to tell him, not that you were ever good at keeping a secret regardless. You wanted to do something special though and what better day than the cliche day all about love.

You racked your brain with how you would tell him, wanting to plan the perfect surprise. You had picked up a few possible ideas for gifts to have on hand before you made a final choice. You knew you wanted it to be after dinner, no matter how much the wait would pain you. You grabbed a small gift bag from downstairs and got to planning. 

You put the test in first, knowing he would want to see it for himself if he didn’t get to be there in the moment. You had also ordered a custom onesie with “newest Bengals fan” embroidered on it when you first found out as a possible option. You figured he would find the idea cute as well, having expressed his excitement in the past. You finished it off with a card, a usual for each important day you guys shared, the difference being you had written in it the day you found out you were pregnant.

Feeling satisfied with your gift, you tucked it away where he wouldn’t be able to find it and peek. Your next step was setting up and decorating downstairs. You cleared the table and set it with two place settings, placing a few candles in the middle of the table for some mood lighting. You laid out a few things you knew Joe would need and wanted to make thighs a bit easier for him. When you felt that everything was to your satisfaction, you headed upstairs to get ready.

You had gotten a special lingerie set for tonight, slipping the red lacy number underneath your dress. It was a dainty two piece made of satin and lace, two of Joe’s favorites. The element of surprise with these types of things always drove Joe wild, being able to tell a set was new based on feeling alone. It wouldn’t be long after that he would take your clothes off to get a look at what you had picked out just for him this time. 

You curled your hair into loose waves, applying a light bit of makeup before deeming yourself happy with how you looked. You heard the door close downstairs, signally Joe was home. You felt a pit of excitement and nerves settle in your stomach. You had to take a few deep breaths, needing to manage your composure for a little while longer, wanting to wait for after dinner. 

You padded down the stairs, taking in the few decorations Joe had added to your ensemble. There was a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table that he had placed in your favorite vase, the candles lit that provided a warm glow to the room. The kitchen smelled amazing as he cooked dinner. You walked to meet Joe in the kitchen, his eyes flicking up from the ingredients in front of him to meet your eyes.

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart,” Joe spoke while pulling your body into his embrace. Your arms fell naturally around his neck as you took him in.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Joey,” you said as you took in his appearance. 

He must’ve gotten ready down here while you were upstairs. He had on a white collared shirt with some black slacks. It was simple, but he could make anything look amazing. He had the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows and your thoughts turned to any, but innocent.

“Go have a seat at the table and I’ll have dinner ready soon,” Joe said sweetly with a hint of lust in his voice. 

It was as if he could read your mind, his own thoughts wandering just as much as his gaze raked up and down your body. He brought you in for a kiss, placing a soft tap on your ass before turning back to the task at hand. You obliged with no questions asked, needing to keep a bit of distance if you wanted things to go according to your plan. Joe came to join you shortly after, bringing over a delicious smelling meal. Your stomach rumbled at the sight, excited to dive in together.

Conversation at dinner remained light, catching up on each other's days and reminiscing over memories together. Soft and suggestive touches were exchanged, your hand on his forearm or his grazes to your thigh. It was nice to spend such intimate time like this together, enjoying the slowness of the offseason for once. Dinner was delicious, devouring your plates singing Joe’s praises about his cooking. You worked together to clean up, blowing out the candles on the table and bringing the dishes to the kitchen.

After clearing the table, you settled on the couch to exchange your gifts with one another. Joe tucked you into his side, his need to have you touching him in some way evident in this moment. Your heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute, hoping the flush you felt creeping up your cheeks wasn’t noticeable. 

Joe insisted that you open his gift first, grateful to not have to push for that option. It would give you a second to calm down. You took the small wrapped box from his hands, a red bow tied delicately on the top. You pulled at the end, the bow slipping undone and revealing the top of the box. 

He had gotten you a gorgeous necklace, gesturing for you to spin around to clasp the delicate chain around your neck. You took the moment to take a deep breath, knowing this would be the moment your lives would change forever. You quickly fiddled with your phone while turned, setting it up to face Joe in hopes to get his reaction.

You unwrapped yourself from Joe’s body and stood to get your bag from its hiding spot. You handed it over to him, sitting back a bit to be sure that Joe was in the frame. You had to hold your emotions back until he opened everything.

“Read the card last this time,” you said as evenly as you could manage.

Luckily Joe obliged, even though he gave you a look of confusion. He pulled the tissue paper from the top of the bag, removing the card as well. He looked down at the clothing in the bag and took it out as if you had gotten him a new shirt. He began to unfold it, even more confused when there was barely any fabric. You watched at the look of realization set into his features as he read what it said. 

He looked at you in disbelief, the small onesie clutched in his hands. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes. He looked down into the bag and saw the test, the words ‘pregnant’ standing out against the bottom of the bag. When he looked back at you, there were streaks of tears that made their way down his cheeks, his body fighting back sobs.

“Are you serious? Because this would be a horrible prank to play on me right now,” Joe said as his voice wavered.

All you could do was nod in that moment, not trusting your voice as your own tears of joy streaming down your cheeks. He moved quickly, tracking you onto the sofa in a bear hug. You both let out cries of joy at your newfound titles. The reality of it all setting in for you now that you didn’t have to keep it a secret any longer.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna be a dad,” Joe whispered out as you locked eyes together while wiped the streaks of tears from your cheeks.

“You’re also gonna be amazing Joey,” you whispered back, stroking the tears from his face.

You both laid there for a while, basking in the moment wrapped up in each other.

“I really can’t believe it. I didn’t know my love for you could get any deeper, but I feel like my heart just grew in size. You’re an incredible woman and I can’t wait for you to be the mother of my child. You’ve already made my life so much better and I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. I love you so much sweetheart, just how the grass is green and the sky is blue.”

You felt a new wave of tears fall from your eyes at his confession. You felt the exact same way, unable to form a coherent sentence through the sobs that had overtaken your body once again. You gripped Joe even tighter than before if that way possible and held him close, scared this moment would be too good to be true and slip away.

He moved down your body slightly to place a kiss to your stomach as his large hands gently rubbed where your bump would soon be forming, feeling your heart clench at his tender touch. He began to whisper something into your stomach, unable to make out everything he was saying except the words ‘baby burrow’, needing to taper your emotions or you’d be crying the rest of the night. With a final kiss to your stomach, he moved his way back up to meet your gaze, resting his forehead against yours.

“We’re gonna be quite the parent huh? Cute onesie idea by the way,” Joe complimented.

“Baby’s first Bengals gear, I had to. The amount of Bengals stuff I’m gonna have to wash now will be insane. You bet your ass this baby is gonna be spoiled by all of his ‘aunts and uncles’,” you laughed, referring to Joe’s teammates and your friends.

Your laughter caught in your throat as Joe’s hands moved from your face down to your collarbone. He brushed the strap of your dress off your shoulder, taking the opportunity to peer at your new set. You felt him harden above you at the sight, a deep groan vibrating from his chest. His hand skimmed it way further down your body and slipped up the front of your dress, feeling how wet you were through the fabric of your panties.

“I’ll read the card later, right now I need you underneath me so I can show you just how happy I am,” Joe spoke in a husky tone.

He scooped you up and carried you towards the stairs, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter. Joe planned to show you how much he loved you the best way that he knew how words not doing his feelings justice. Your usual intimate celebration got a lot more meaningful tonight. You’d also have to cut that video later.

[rosiahills22]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/776149472466141184/could-u-write-joe-burrow-and-a-young-gf-3

AS A YOUNGER JOE GIRLY (‘04 baby 😩), THIS MADE MY ENTIRE WEEK

that being said, WE NEED MOREEEEE 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🙏🏼 so i was wondering if i could request a part 2 to this post?? your writing is literally my comfort reading material <3

OMGG no thats how i feel as an 05 girl LMAO likeeee

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it always sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Like right now.

Because you’re standing in his kitchen—your kitchen too, technically, though you still hesitate calling it that—wearing his old Athens High hoodie that nearly swallows you whole, scrolling through takeout menus while he tries (and fails) to figure out how to fix the Bluetooth speaker.

"It’s literally not that hard, Joe."

"Then you do it," he shoots back, turning the speaker in his hands like it’s a puzzle box. "It worked last time. I don’t know what I did."

"You probably pressed every button at once."

"That’s literally how you fixed the dishwasher last week—don’t start with me."

You hide a smile behind your phone. He’s got that stubborn look again, brows furrowed, jaw set. The same look he gets when the defense drops into a zone he wasn’t expecting. Concentrated. Calm. Competitive over the dumbest things.

You don’t even care about the speaker. You like the quiet. You like this.

Joe, barefoot on the tile, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair. The smell of laundry detergent clinging to his hoodie. The slow realization that this—here—has become your routine.

"Okay, genius," you sigh, setting your phone down. "Move."

He steps aside with exaggerated reluctance, watching as you press a single button. The speaker beeps, the connection light blinking blue. Instantly, music floods the room—some playlist he made that’s a mix of old-school rap and indie tracks he refuses to admit he likes.

"You’re welcome," you say smugly.

Joe stares at you.

"How?"

"I have the touch."

"Nah, that’s witchcraft. You’re a witch."

You grin, settling back against the counter. "Jealous?"

"Terrified," he deadpans, stepping closer. His hands find your hips like they always do—easy, familiar. "You could end me at any moment."

"Maybe I will."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He dips his head so his nose brushes against yours, voice dropping.

"Do it, then."

It’s stupid. It’s playful. But your breath still catches. Because this is how he gets you—soft, steady, sure. Like there’s all the time in the world.

"I’ll spare you," you whisper, pulling back just enough to glance at the phone. "But only if you pick dinner."

Joe groans dramatically, dropping his forehead against your shoulder.

"That’s worse."

"Big NFL quarterback can’t handle choosing takeout?"

"Not when you are the pickiest eater on the planet."

"I am not—"

"Babe." He pulls back to look at you, giving you a look. "You cried over soggy fries last week."

"They were ruined, Joe."

"You said it ‘destroyed the entire vibe.’"

"And it did."

Joe laughs—really laughs—and you don’t even care that he’s laughing at you. Because when Joe Burrow laughs like that, everything else fades.

It’s always like this. Light. Easy.

But underneath, there’s something heavier.

You see it in the way he checks his phone when he thinks you’re not looking. The season’s creeping closer, and with it, the pressure. The expectations. The weight of it all.

And you? You’re still figuring things out. Still balancing finishing school, internship applications, trying to find where you fit in his world without getting swallowed by it.

The age gap—people still talk.

They don’t see this, though.

Joe brushing your knee under the table. Joe remembering your coffee order, your weird movie opinions, your fear of thunderstorms. Joe looking at you like you’re the only thing that makes sense when everything else gets too loud.

"You okay?" you ask quietly, catching the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

He looks at you for a long moment, then nods.

"Yeah. I’m good."

But he leans into you a little more than usual. His fingers lace through yours, thumb brushing slow, rhythmic patterns against your skin.

You don’t push. You never do.

Joe will tell you when he’s ready.

He always does.

Later that night, after the food’s been eaten, the music turned down low, and the city hums quietly outside, you find yourselves in that familiar spot again—Joe stretched out on the couch, you tucked against his side, his hand resting lazily on your thigh.

"Hey," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?"

"You ever think about how this all worked out?"

You tilt your head, looking up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Us," he says, glancing down at you. His eyes are soft in the low light, thoughtful. "You being there that night. Talking to me. Sticking around."

"You act like I did you a favor," you tease, but your voice is quieter now.

"You did," he says simply. "You didn’t have to."

There it is again—that flicker of vulnerability he rarely shows to anyone else.

"You make it sound like you’re hard to stick around for," you say after a moment, fingers tracing lazy patterns over the fabric of his shirt.

"I can be."

"Not to me."

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls you in closer, his lips brushing your forehead.

"I’m glad you stayed."

"I’m not going anywhere, Joe."

And you mean it.

The thing about loving Joe Burrow is that it sneaks up on you—soft, steady, sure—until one day, you realize it’s the most real thing you’ve ever known.

[rosiahills22]

2 LINES | JOE BURROW⁹ [014]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine

FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.2k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | domestic chaos at its finest. maisie and joe show up at the same time, bicker like siblings (as always), and you’re so over it—until maisie drops that comment. a bet over the results, and you realizing that maybe, just maybe, everything’s gonna be okay when you’ve got your little family by your side.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | language, lots of teasing/bickering, pregnancy themes, fluff so sweet it might rot your teeth, joe being the most extra husband alive, maisie being a menace, and hayes stealing the show as always.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | y’all. this one had me kicking my feet and giggling. joe in dad-husband mode AGAIN??? unmatched. maisie stirring the pot and being chaotic auntie??? iconic. also, hayes is just baby🫶 i took my time with this one, made it all slow and cozy with that warm, homey vibe. hope it gives you all the feels <3 feedback always makes my day!!! ✨

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘.

Not quiet—Hayes made sure of that, his little feet pounding down the hallway like a quarterback breaking free, his giggles ricocheting off the walls—but easy in the way that came with routine. Coffee brewing before dawn. Cartoon soundtracks humming from the living room. The low thud of Joe’s footsteps behind you, always barefoot, always half-awake, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before scooping Hayes up like he weighed nothing.

You’d found a rhythm. After two years of wondering if the sleep deprivation would ever end, after countless flights between seasons, stadiums, and home, it felt like you both had finally arrived somewhere steady. Domestic. Comfortable. Like you could finally take a breath.

And yet.

Some mornings still felt too big, stretched wide with memory. The sunlight pouring through the kitchen window sometimes hit just right, warming the worn wood of the table Joe built that first off-season. You’d catch yourself staring at the high school photos pinned on the fridge—faded edges, smiles too wide for faces so young. The promise of something bigger back then felt so far away, and now, somehow, you were living it.

You still teased Joe about the way he looked at you that night in the stadium lights—LSU on top of the world, a ring glinting on his finger and another hidden in his pocket. The world had watched him win a championship. You’d watched him choose you.

Hayes shrieked from the next room, snapping you back. His voice, so full of life and Joe’s stubborn determination, brought you right into the now.

This was the life you’d built. Solid. Strong.

But life had a funny way of throwing curveballs just when you thought you had it figured out.

The smell of bacon drifted through the house before the morning sun had fully stretched across the bedroom walls. It was soft at first, a whisper of something warm and familiar, pulling you from the edge of sleep. You stirred, blinking against the faint light filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, you stayed still—listening.

Laughter.

Faint and sweet. Hayes. His tiny giggle echoed from the kitchen, and then came Joe’s low murmur, soft and steady like it always was when he was talking to Hayes. A smile tugged at your lips before you even opened your eyes.

You dragged yourself from the warmth of the bed, your body still heavy from the night before. The ache behind your eyes reminded you of the one-too-many glasses of wine you’d shared with Emily and Joe’s mom after the party ended. You weren’t built for late nights like you used to be. But even through the lingering haze, there was something about mornings like this—slow, quiet, and simple—that made everything feel right.

As you padded barefoot down the hall, the sounds grew clearer. Hayes was babbling in that animated way of his, his words still jumbled but full of determination.

“Mix it, Daddy! I do it!”

Joe’s laugh followed, low and warm. “Easy, bud. You gotta stir slow. We don’t want pancakes on the ceiling, huh?”

You leaned against the doorway for a moment, just watching.

Joe stood at the counter, dressed in gray sweatpants and one of his worn LSU shirts, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Hayes sat perched on the kitchen island, wooden spoon clutched in his small fist as he stirred the pancake batter with all the focus in the world. His curls bounced every time he nodded, a mirror of Joe’s determination.

Neither of them had noticed you yet.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping into the room.

Joe looked up, and the way his face lit up—just a simple smile, easy and familiar—made something in your chest tighten. “Morning, sleepyhead. We didn’t wake you, did we?”

Hayes’s head shot up. “Mommy! I make pancakes!”

You crossed the room, pressing a kiss to Hayes’s cheek before slipping your arms around Joe’s waist. His hands immediately found your hips, warm and steady.

“Pancakes, huh? Big plans this morning.”

“Big plans,” Joe repeated, grinning. “Chef Hayes is running the kitchen.”

“I do it!” Hayes insisted, holding up the spoon like a trophy.

You laughed and ruffled his curls. “Looks like you’ve got it under control.”

Joe leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple. “We’re trying to keep it quiet, let you sleep in. You were having a little too much fun last night.”

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his chest. “Don’t remind me. I’m never drinking with your mom again.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your cheek. “Liar. You say that every time.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Yeah, well, this time I mean it.”

Joe smiled, eyes soft. “Sure you do.”

The morning slipped by in an easy rhythm. You helped Hayes pour batter onto the griddle—Joe’s large hands steadying his small ones, yours resting over them both. It felt like a scene from a life you’d dreamed of once. The three of you in the kitchen, sunlight spilling through the window, the quiet domesticity of it all.

It wasn’t loud or flashy. It was just yours.

But then—

It hit you. Out of nowhere.

A wave of nausea rolled through you so suddenly that you had to grab the edge of the counter. The smell of the bacon, which had been so comforting just moments ago, turned heavy, too much.

“Hey—” Joe’s voice cut through the haze, concerned now. “You okay?”

You forced a tight smile, straightening up even though your stomach lurched in protest. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Just... I think I need a minute.”

Before Joe could say anything else, you slipped out of the kitchen, heart pounding. The hallway felt longer than usual, the bathroom door somehow farther away.

The second you reached it, you closed the door behind you and leaned over the sink.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You gripped the cool porcelain, trying to steady yourself, but the nausea didn’t pass. It clung to you, persistent and undeniable.

In the back of your mind, a thought began to form—one you hadn’t expected. One that made you press your palm flat against your stomach without thinking.

No.

Not now. The timing couldn’t be right.

But your body told you otherwise.

You stayed there for a moment, leaning against the sink, cold porcelain pressing into your palms. The nausea ebbed but didn’t fade entirely—like it was lingering, waiting. The bathroom was quiet, the muffled sounds of Hayes’s laughter and Joe’s voice filtering through the door.

You closed your eyes, steadying your breath.

It’s probably nothing. Just last night catching up to me.

But the feeling in your stomach wasn’t just queasiness—it was deeper, heavier. The kind of feeling that settled in your chest when you knew something before you were ready to admit it.

You glanced up at the mirror.

Your reflection stared back, hair mussed, sleep still soft in your features. You looked... normal. But your hand drifted again, unthinkingly, to your stomach.

No. It’s not possible. We just figured this out.

The timing wasn’t right. You and Joe had finally gotten your footing with Hayes. The sleepless nights had become rare. The tantrums were manageable. You were finally feeling like yourselves again—like you had time to breathe.

And yet. The thought wouldn’t leave.

A knock at the door broke your spiral.

“Babe?” Joe’s voice, gentle but laced with worry. “You okay in there?”

You swallowed hard, wiped a hand across your face, and opened the door.

Joe stood there, holding Hayes against his hip. Hayes had a smear of pancake batter on his cheek and a wide grin on his face. But Joe—Joe looked at you like he already knew something was off. His brow furrowed slightly, eyes scanning your face.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. “You’re pale.”

Hayes reached for you with a sleepy grin. “Mommy! Pancakes!”

You forced a smile, taking Hayes into your arms. “I’m okay. Just... probably a little hungover. Too much wine last night.”

Joe didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer, brushing a hand against your cheek. “You don’t get hangovers like that. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His touch was steady, grounding you. You tried to push the thought away, but with him this close—with the smell of coffee and pancakes still drifting from the kitchen—it didn’t feel like something you could ignore.

Not with the possibility pressing at the edges of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but your voice lacked conviction.

Joe studied you for a moment longer. “You want me to run to the store? Get you something? Gatorade?”

You hesitated. The question you’d been avoiding suddenly felt real. Too real.

No, don’t say it yet.

“Maybe... some Gatorade.”

Joe nodded. “Sure, okay. I'll take Hayes with me.”

Your eyes met his, and he seemed to buy the excuse. You needed time to process this, without a screaming toddler and doting husband who really does mean well. There was a softness in gaze, like somehow he knew what was happening.

You nodded again, forcing a smile. And in that moment—in the warmth of Joe’s gaze, the weight of Hayes in your arms, and the faint smell of pancakes still lingering—it didn’t feel quite as scary.

Another one you hadn’t planned for. But maybe, just maybe, it would be just as good. When he left, though, you did what you always did when the world felt like it was tilting on its axis.

You called Maisie.

Because if anyone knew how to talk you off a ledge—especially this ledge—it was her. The last time you’d dialed her in a panic like this was two and a half years ago, standing in the exact same bathroom, clutching a different pregnancy test.

And now? Déjà vu.

The phone rang twice before Maisie answered, her voice breathless but unmistakably smug.

“If you’re calling me before nine a.m., it better be because Joe finally shaved that scruffy beard.”

You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, pacing the bedroom now. “Maisie.”

A pause.

“Oh no. What’s wrong? Did Hayes break something? Did you break something?”

You sank onto the edge of the bed, dragging a hand down your face. “No. Worse.”

“Worse than Hayes launching a toy at your TV last month?”

“Maisie.”

“Okay, okay! Geez. I just finished yoga. My chakras are, like, open and sensitive right now. What’s going on?”

You took a breath—deep, shaky—and stared at the tiny white bag on the dresser. The pregnancy test Joe had gone out to buy.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

And then, Maisie laughed.

“Oh my God. Again? You again? Girl—didn’t we have this exact phone call two years ago? Same time. Same tone. Are you messing with me right now?”

You flopped back onto the bed with a groan. “Maisie, I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you’re serious. You always sound like you’re being chased when you’re serious.” You could hear rustling on the other end—Maisie, undoubtedly grabbing her keys without being asked. “But for real, did we not talk about this? I mean, you just got your life back. No more diapers. No more late-night feedings. You and Joe were finally getting your groove on again—don’t pretend like you weren’t!”

You covered your face with a pillow. “I know! It wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Maisie snorted. “Oh, honey. If you didn’t want it to happen, you and Joe should’ve been safe. What, you thought those post-birthday celebrations wouldn’t come back to haunt you?”

You yanked the pillow away and glared at the ceiling. “I was safe. We were safe! We just… I don’t know. Got comfortable.”

Maisie hummed, entirely too amused. “Comfortable, huh? Sounds like complacent to me.”

“Maisie.”

“Okay, okay! No more fake lectures.” She softened, her tone shifting in the way only Maisie could—like she knew exactly when to stop messing around. “Babe, breathe. You’re spiraling. Again. Same way you did with Hayes. And look how that turned out. The cutest kid alive. Even cuter than Joe, and you know I don’t say that lightly.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “This wasn’t the plan. We just got our rhythm back. We finally figured out Hayes’ schedule. I’m sleeping again. We have a routine. A good one.”

Maisie let out a soft laugh, gentler this time. “And if you are? You’ll figure it out. Same way you did last time.”

You didn’t respond. Because what could you say?

The last time, the fear had been new. You’d been two kids in love, still figuring out marriage and parenting at the same time. Hayes had been your unexpected blessing, sure, but he’d turned your entire world upside down.

And now you were just catching your breath.

“I’m coming over,” Maisie said suddenly, jolting you from your thoughts.

“What? Maisie, no—you don’t have to—”

“Already grabbing my keys. I’ll bring smoothies. You sound like you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying.”

“You sound like you are.”

You groaned. “Joe’s at store. He’s some gatorade for me, cause he thinks I'm hungover.”

Maisie’s voice brightened with mischief. “Ooh. Papa Burrow on a hungover run? Man of the year. I need to see his face when you break the news if it’s positive.”

“Maisie.”

“I’m just saying!”

Despite yourself, a small laugh bubbled up. Maisie always knew how to make you laugh when you least wanted to.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said. “We’re in this together. Again.”

The line clicked off before you could protest. You lay there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of Hayes’s cartoons that they left on from the living room.

It was happening all over again. The panic. The uncertainty. The not-knowing. But this time, you weren’t alone in it.

Maisie would be there—smoothies in hand, snarky comments locked and loaded. And Joe would be back soon, walking through the door with that steady calm he always carried.

You just had to get through the next twenty minutes without having a meltdown. Again.

You gripped the counter with trembling fingers, staring at the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The same quiet stillness settled over the room—the same uneasy hum beneath your skin. It felt too familiar, too soon.

Another wave of nausea crashed over you, sharper this time. You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing slowly through your nose, but the memory came back anyway.

Two years ago.

The same tiles. The same cold. The same shock.

Back then, you were fresh off the plane, honeymoon glow still clinging to your skin. You’d been so sure you had all the time in the world. Someday, you’d said. After the chaos of the wedding settled. After Joe’s season. After the perfect timeline you both thought you had laid out so neatly.

But timing had never been your friend.

The memory tightened its grip—

The little white stick. Two lines. Not one. Not a faint maybe. Two.

You remembered how the air had felt too thin that day, how the bathroom mirror had reflected wide eyes and a face caught between panic and disbelief.

It hadn’t been in the plan. Not then. Not yet.

You’d called Maisie, just like today. You’d sat on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, terrified of how Joe would react—if he was ready. If you were ready.

The sound of the front door creaking open reached you before you heard the voices.

Two voices.

You winced.

Of course they arrived at the exact same time.

“…why are you here?” Joe’s familiar drawl drifted from the entryway, laced with confusion. You could picture his face already—brows furrowed, lips tugging into a skeptical frown, Hayes probably perched on his hip like a mini sidekick.

Maisie’s voice shot back, full of mock offense. “Why am I here? Wow. Great welcome. Thought you had manners, Joseph.”

Joe snorted. “Didn’t answer the question.”

“Oh, so your wife invites me over and then get all suspicious when I show up? Typical. Classic quarterback ego.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

The arguing. The constant bickering. They’d always been like this—like siblings locked in an eternal battle of snarky comebacks and petty insults. Normally, you’d find it amusing. Endearing, even. But today?

Today you weren’t in the mood.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

From the kitchen doorway, you could hear them still going at it.

“You sure you didn’t just show up for free breakfast?” Joe teased.

“Oh, like you can actually cook without burning something.”

“Did you forget who made pancakes this morning?”

“Yes, I actually did cause I wasn't even here. Did you forget you still owe me lunch from two years ago?”

The headache behind your eyes throbbed harder.

“Enough!”

Your voice snapped through the house like a whip.

Silence.

You stood in the hallway, one hand on your hip, glaring at the both of them. Joe blinked at you, wide-eyed and almost comically innocent. Hayes let out a confused little “Mama?” from his spot on Joe’s hip. Maisie raised a brow, smirking like she knew something you didn’t.

“Can the two of you not bicker for five minutes? Just five. I don’t have the energy today.”

Maisie’s grin widened. Uh-oh.

“Ohhh, there it is,” she said, pointing at you dramatically. “The snap. The patented no-patience tone. Her tell-tale pregnancy sign.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Maisie—”

“Nope.” She brushed past Joe, who was still standing there looking like someone had just handed him a puzzle missing half the pieces. “Let me guess—you’ve been feeling nauseous? Snapped at your sweet, perfect husband who can do no wrong—”

“Hey—” Joe started, recovering from his shock.

“—and now you’re avoiding eye contact. Classic.”

Maisie didn’t stop, of course. She never did.

“No, seriously,” she continued, toeing off her sneakers at the door like she owned the place. “Last time you snapped at Joe like that, guess what happened?”

You rubbed your temples. “Maisie.”

“She was pregnant,” Maisie sing-songed, turning back to Joe with a smug smile. “You remember that, don’t you?”

Joe, still frozen with Hayes on his hip, blinked at her. “Yeah, and we were also careful this time, right?”

“Ohhh, you mean because you said you were careful? Like I’m supposed to believe that? Please.”

Joe’s jaw dropped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Men are notoriously unreliable narrators.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re in denial.”

“Okay, enough!” you snapped again, louder this time, pressing the heel of your palm to your forehead. “God, I swear I can feel my blood pressure rising.”

Maisie gave you a pointed look, crossing her arms. “Uh-huh. And what do we call that?”

“Oh my God, Maisie—”

“Pregnancy sign number two: irritability. Textbook.”

Joe sighed, shifting Hayes on his hip. The toddler, sensing the tension, looked between all of you with wide eyes, thumb halfway in his mouth.

Joe finally spoke, calm but certain. “Look, it’s not like that. We were safe this time. No way.”

Maisie snorted. “Famous last words.”

“Maisie, seriously—”

“Nope. We’re settling this right now.” She turned on her heel, stalking toward the kitchen. “I’m calling it. She’s pregnant. You’re just too cocky to admit it.”

“Oh, I’m cocky?” Joe scoffed, following her.

You stared after them, completely exhausted. “Where are you even going?”

Maisie tossed a grin over her shoulder. “We’re going to the store for a test.”

Joe paused. “Wait. You don’t have one already?”

Maisie looked at him like he was the idiot. “Do I look like I keep pregnancy tests stocked? You’re the dad. You go get it.”

Joe opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, with a grumble, adjusted Hayes on his hip. “Fine. But when it comes back negative, I want a full apology.”

“Dream on, Joseph.”

The quiet after they left was almost jarring.

You slumped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions with a long, tired sigh. The distant hum of the baby monitor upstairs blended with the ticking clock in the kitchen.

Pregnant?

No. No, surely not.

You rested a hand on your stomach, your mind swirling. You’d been careful. You and Joe had both been careful. You’d talked about waiting, about giving yourselves more time before adding another little one into the mix.

Still—Maisie wasn’t wrong. The irritability. The exhaustion. The nausea you’d brushed off as a fluke.

Could it be? You let your head fall back against the cushion.

This day was not supposed to go like this.

They were gone for twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of you sitting there, spiraling, while Hayes babbled to himself with his toys on the rug.

Finally, the door creaked open again.

“We’re back!” Maisie’s sing-song voice rang out. “Guess who’s got the goods?”

Joe trailed behind her, plastic bag in hand, still looking skeptical. “I still think this is pointless.”

Maisie ignored him. “Here you go, Mama. Time for the moment of truth.”

She placed the small box in your lap with a flourish, like she was presenting a trophy.

You stared at it.

The words Pregnancy Test stared right back at you.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Uh-huh.” Maisie plopped onto the couch beside you. “Take it.”

“I’m telling you, it’s negative,” Joe said again, shaking his head. “We planned everything this time.”

“Ohhh, planned,” Maisie mocked, mimicking air quotes. “Because babies always follow plans, right?”

Joe pointed a finger at her. “Bet you fifty bucks it’s negative.”

Maisie’s eyes lit up. “You’re on.”

You stared between them. “Are you seriously betting on this right now?”

Maisie grinned. “Hey, you’re taking forever. We had to entertain ourselves somehow.”

You groaned, standing up. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll take the stupid test.”

Maisie gave Joe a smug look. “Fifty bucks, Joseph.”

Joe shot back a grin. “Easy money.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you.

You stared at your reflection for a long moment—hair mussed from the long day, eyes a little tired.

Could Maisie be right?

You opened the box with shaky hands, reading the instructions even though you knew exactly what to do.

Minutes. That’s all it would take.

A few minutes to change everything.

Back in the living room, Maisie and Joe were still at it.

“She has to be pregnant. I mean, come on—you heard her snap at us.”

“That’s just her normal voice when you’re around.”

“Ouch.”

Hayes sat between them on the rug, chewing on a soft toy, oblivious to the debate surrounding his potential new sibling.

Joe glanced at the closed bathroom door, then back at Maisie. “We were careful. No way, I know my wife.”

Maisie smirked. “Babies don’t care about ‘careful,’ Joe.”

Joe huffed, glancing again toward the bathroom. “Still. It’s negative.”

Maisie raised a brow. “You sound awfully confident.”

Joe looked down at Hayes, who babbled up at him. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

Maisie snorted. “Famous last words.”

Joe ran a hand down his face, glancing again toward the closed bathroom door like it might give him answers. “It’s gonna be negative. We were careful.”

Maisie crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You keep saying that like the universe cares.”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on this?”

“I’m just saying—statistically—babies don’t care about your plans.”

Joe huffed. “You just want to win the bet.”

Maisie shrugged, smirking. “And when I do win, I want cash. None of that Venmo nonsense.”

“Unbelievable.”

You groaned from inside the bathroom. “Do you two ever shut up?”

Silence.

Then the sound of footsteps.

Before you could react, Maisie and Joe were both in the doorway, hovering like two overgrown kids waiting for Christmas morning.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Well, the clock’s ticking. We might as well wait together.”

Maisie plopped onto the edge of the tub. “Yeah. Might as well.”

You stared at them, still clutching the test in your hand.

“Are you serious right now?”

Maisie looked up at you, unbothered. “Absolutely. We’re invested.”

Joe nodded, flashing that familiar, boyish grin that usually got him out of trouble. “Family moment.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. They were impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Still…

A small part of you softened.

Because even though they were both driving you insane, they were here.

Not running. Not leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts.

They stayed.

Hayes’s soft babbling from the hallway caught your attention.

You peeked out the door.

There he was—your little boy—crawling his way down the hall with determination written all over his chubby face.

“Hayes, baby…”

He paused, sitting back on his heels when he saw you, arms stretching up in that way he always did when he wanted you to hold him.

“Mama,” he mumbled, voice soft and sweet.

Your chest tightened.

You reached for him without thinking, scooping him up and settling him on your hip.

Hayes nestled his head against your shoulder instantly, thumb going straight into his mouth.

Joe watched quietly from the doorway. His eyes softened in that way they always did when he looked at the two of you—like the entire world faded out except for this moment right here.

Maisie, for once, didn’t say a word.

The bathroom suddenly felt warmer.

Not suffocating. Not overwhelming.

Just warm.

Hayes shifted against you, his tiny fingers curling into your shirt. You swayed slightly, rocking him out of habit.

You looked at Joe.

At Maisie.

At your little boy.

And the knot in your chest began to loosen.

Because no matter what that little stick said in a few minutes—whether it changed everything or changed nothing—you had this.

You had them.

And somehow, deep in your bones, you knew that would be enough.

Joe must’ve seen something shift in your expression because he stepped closer, slow and cautious, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His blue eyes, always so steady, held yours.

“No matter what it says,” he said, voice low and sure, “we’re good.”

Maisie hummed from her spot on the tub, teasing but gentle. “Wow. Look at quarterback over here, trying to have a heartfelt moment.”

Joe shot her a glare. “Don’t ruin this.”

Maisie raised her hands in surrender, but the smile on her face wasn’t sharp like usual. It was soft. Almost proud.

The timer on the bathroom counter buzzed.

The three of you froze.

Hayes stirred against your shoulder, but you barely noticed.

Joe looked at you again. “You ready?”

Were you?

You took a breath.

Felt Hayes’s weight against you, solid and warm.

Felt Joe’s gaze steadying you.

Heard Maisie’s soft “You’ve got this.”

And for the first time today, the swirling anxiety quieted.

Because this wasn’t just a moment that would change everything.

It was a moment you didn’t have to face alone.

You had your family.

And that would always be enough.

Slowly, with trembling fingers but a steady heart, you reached for the test.

And with both of them right there beside you—waiting, watching, ready—you looked.

Your fingers hovered over the test for a heartbeat longer, the faint buzzing in your ears louder than anything else. The world seemed to narrow, breath hitching in your throat as your eyes flicked down—

Two lines.

Clear. Bold.

Positive.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale. Maisie was the first to break the silence.

“Oh my God—” she shrieked, practically launching off the edge of the tub. “I knew it! I knew it!”

Before you could even process the moment, Maisie was grabbing your free arm, shaking you like you’d just won the lottery.

“Auntie Maisie strikes again! I told you! Oh my God, Hayes, you’re gonna be a big brother!”

Hayes, still perched against your hip, blinked up at her with wide eyes, then looked at you. His chubby hand patted your cheek, as if confused by the sudden burst of chaos.

Joe, however, had barely processed the news before his protective instincts kicked in.

“Maisie—stop shaking her!” His voice snapped louder than usual, laced with panic. “She’s pregnant!”

Maisie froze mid-shake, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You’re gonna hurt the baby!” Joe practically shoved her back with one arm, stepping between the two of you like a human shield. “You can’t just shake her like that!”

“Oh my God, Joe,” Maisie groaned, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t shaking the baby, I was shaking her.”

“She is the baby right now!” Joe shot back, hands flapping before landing protectively on your shoulders. “You’re done. Sit down.”

“What?” Maisie screeched, throwing her arms up. “You weren’t even sure five minutes ago!”

“That was five minutes ago. Now I know. Which means rules apply. No shaking. No stress. Don’t even breathe too hard around her.”

You stared at Joe.

His whole demeanor had shifted—gone was the teasing, laid-back tone. Now he looked at you like you were made of glass, as if the slightest bump or wrong move might shatter you.

“Joe.”

He blinked.

“Breathe.”

Maisie, still grumbling, sank back onto the tub, but her grin remained wide. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You shook her!”

“I barely touched her!”

“Guys—” you started.

But Hayes chose that exact moment to let out a delighted squeal.

All three of you turned.

He was clapping.

Little hands slapping together, eyes bright, giggles bubbling up like he knew something good was happening—even if he didn’t quite know what.

Joe melted instantly, face softening.

“Aw, buddy…” he murmured, stepping forward. Hayes reached for him without hesitation, still grinning like he was in on the secret.

Joe scooped him up with ease, holding him close.

“You’re gonna be a big brother, Hayes.”

Hayes babbled, pressing his cheek against Joe’s chest.

Your chest ached—full and warm.

Joe looked over at you, expression shifting again.

Soft. Sure.

“But you’re always gonna be our baby too,” he whispered to Hayes, pressing a kiss to his son’s head.

Maisie grinned from her spot. “Look at you. All sentimental.”

Joe glared at her again. “Don’t start.”

But the tension had eased.

You leaned against the bathroom counter, letting the weight of the moment sink in.

Pregnant.

Pregnant. Again.

And somehow, instead of fear tightening your chest like you expected, all you felt was warmth.

Because Joe was still looking at you like you hung the stars.

Because Hayes, your little boy, was clinging to his dad without a care in the world.

Because Maisie, loud and impossible as ever, was already rattling off how she’d be the best aunt again.

“I’m buying all the baby clothes,” Maisie was saying. “And if it’s a girl? Oh my God, the bows.”

“Calm down,” Joe muttered, but his smile was creeping in.

You stepped forward, resting a hand on Joe’s arm. He glanced down, blue eyes wide and searching.

“We’re really doing this again,” you whispered.

Joe stared at you for a long moment, like he was letting it all sink in too. Then, slowly, his mouth curved into the softest smile.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “We are.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. Hayes squirmed between you both, giggling like he knew this was a moment that belonged to all of you.

And as you stood there, wrapped in warmth and laughter and messy, chaotic love—

You knew you were ready.

Because no matter what came next, this was your family.

And it would always be enough.

[rosiahills22]

ok well to help break the writers block, other occasions Joe’s brain broke:

- when he accompanied her as she tried on clothes

- when he watched one of her lectures at a dermatology conference

- when she drank from a straw.

- when she held a baby

- when she wore one of his old LSU shirts

- when he walked into the home gym to find her doing yoga

picked out a few of these <3

Most men would have tapped out of the shopping trip by now, but Joe wasn't like most men. When she booked her dermatology conference, Joe not only suggested she make a trip out to the mall, but insisted on tagging along. And so here he was, sitting just outside of her fitting room, his eyes glued to the curtain's edge.

She stepped out hesitantly, feet adorned in the heels she planned to wear for the second day of the conference. Grey trousers hugged her hips like a second skin, flaring slightly from her knees and over her heels. He leaned in closer, his eyes tracing the line of the fabric down to her ankles. "Those are perfect," he murmured, his voice low and warm.

She turned in the mirror, observing the fit from every angle. "They're a little snug around the thighs," she noted, tugging at the fabric. "I should probably size up, right?"

Joe took a moment to collect his thoughts, his gaze lingering on the way the pants cupped her ass. "Keep these for me," he said finally, his voice thick with desire. "Get the larger size for the conference, but these…these are for later."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "If you say so." She stepped back into the fitting room, leaving Joe to his thoughts. He leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. The mall's air conditioning was cranked up high, but he couldn't shake the warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. He was lost in a fantasy of peeling those trousers off her, his hands sliding over her smooth skin, that lace set he loved so much under-

"Joe!" she called out, interrupting his daydream.

He snapped back to reality, his heart racing. "Yeah, babe?"

"Can you ask them for these pants in the next size up?" Her hand peeked out of the curtains, said pants dangling from her fingertips.

"Sure," Joe nodded, taking the garment from her hand with a reluctant sigh.

"Oh, he's so tiny!" she cooed, her eyes lighting up as she cradled the newborn in her arms. Her friend, a first-time Mom with a tired but blissful smile, watched with a knowing look as Joe sat beside her. His arm found its place behind her, resting over the sofa's plush cushions.

Joe couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. He studied the baby's delicate features, the tiny fingers that curled around her thumb, and the way her brown skin seemed to glow under the soft light of the living room. His own hand hovered over hers, unsure if he should touch the baby. He'd always thought that babies were a commitment that came with too much responsibility and little payoff. But seeing her, so at ease and filled with joy, stirred something within him that was unfamiliar.

The baby's eyes fluttered open, and Joe took a sharp breath. They were a deep, cinnamon brown, just like hers. She looked up and caught his gaze, her smile widening. "Hold him," she urged gently, passing the bundle over to him. Joe took the baby tentatively, his large hands dwarfing the tiny body. The baby squirmed a bit, but Joe held on tightly, feeling the warmth and weight of new life in his arms. The room seemed to hush around them as he studied the little face that looked up at him with curiosity.

Her friend chuckled from her seat, the exhaustion in her voice belying her amusement. "You're a natural," she teased. "Both of you."

"Damn," she hissed under her breath, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar terrain of Joe's bathroom. She had been so excited about this weekend getaway, eager to escape the draining pace of her residency in Cleveland, that she had overlooked more than a couple of essentials.

Joe's knock on the door was tentative. "You okay?"

She poked her head out of the steam-filled bathroom, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. "Yeah, I'm good. Just forgot to pack something to sleep in."

Joe's eyes darted to the suitcase by the door, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement. "Take whatever you want from my drawers," he said, gesturing to the walk-in closet. "I'm pretty sure I have something that'll fit."

She stepped into the closet, feeling the plush carpet beneath her bare feet. She rummaged through the neatly folded clothes, her fingers grazing over the fabric until they found a familiar softness - one of his old LSU Football shirts. She pulled it over her head, trading the towel covering her torso for the oversized t-shirt. The material smelled faintly of Joe's cologne, a scent that made her stomach flutter with warmth. The shirt hung down to her mid-thigh, swamping her in a wash of purple.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Joe was already under the covers, scrolling through his phone. He looked up, and his eyes took a moment to register the sight of her in his shirt before his eyebrows shot up. Her legs carried her to the open side of the bed, the fabric of her underwear peeking out from under the hem.

"Comfy?" he asked, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he took in the sight of her. She snuggled into the warmth of the bed, the coolness of the sheets contrasting with the heat radiating from Joe's body. Her head found its place on his chest, his arm draping over her back to rest his hand on her waist.

"Very, thank you," she replied with a soft laugh, breathing in his scent.

"You're welcome," he murmured, lowering his head to kiss her. "You should keep it. It looks good on you."

[rosiahills22]

JOE BURROW — maintaining professionalism [ pt. 5 ]

mini series summary — She’s a witty, stubborn athletic trainer for the Cincinnati Bengals. He’s the star quarterback who can’t take his eyes off of her. The more she works with him, the stronger the magnetic pull. She’ll do anything to maintain professionalism, and he’ll do anything to get the girl.

chapter summary — Joe thought the kiss would make things a little easier between he and Y/N. He’s never been more wrong in his entire life.

warnings — fem!reader, still so much tension, so much angst, mentions of injury

tags — @starsinthesky5 @definitelynotdomanique @majestic87 @joeyfranchise @joeyburrrow @joeyb1989 @belleann23 @wickedfun9 @hannahjessica113 @kravitzwhore @musicforsnoopy @burreauxsss @grandpeachpersona @noeesd19 @starkeyswomen @xbriexx @grittysbiggestfan @dboanalagoaaoo @harryweeniee @kazsbrckkers @wellwellwellhereiam @hotburreaux @inlovewithcarsthatrunreallyfast @dejavoodue @jburrgf

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO. Your lips still tingled with the feeling of his lips against yours. He left the exam room and you were left processing alone. You ran your hands over your hair, feeling your body vibrate in a forbidden, warm way. Your heart slammed against your chest, your palms sweaty with your nerves. You bent over, settling your hands on your knees. How were you supposed to move on? How were you supposed to function? You stood back up and you ran a hand over your face.

You’d have to deal with it. You’d have to move on and continue to do your job as if nothing happened. As if you didn’t want him to kiss you again.

The days went on, and you forced yourself to shut everything you felt behind closed doors. You kept a neutral expression, you didn’t praise him like you usually would during practice. You kept to yourself, and whenever practice was called, you were the first one off of the field. It was for the best, even if you left Joe standing confused and hurt everytime.

He didn’t understand. You kissed him back. He felt it, the slightest give to the forbidden intimacy he initiated. He knew that he shouldn’t have, that he shouldn’t have taken advantage of the quiet moment between you a few days ago.

But he was fed up with being ignored.

He knew where you’d be. You went to the same place every day after practice: your office. It was your place to decompress, to write reports in silence, or listen to whatever you’d have playing through your earbuds. He marched up to your office after practice, not bothering to hit the showers first. He was upset, and he was confused. He didn’t need to be focusing on the swarm of confusion in his mind, and if he was really honest, he didn’t need to be focusing on you. It was hard, though. He felt like Joe around you, just Joe, not the famous quarterback that everyone else saw. That was important to him; you gave him normalcy.

He knocked on your door, running a nervous, shaky hand through his hair. He strained his ears to listen for something, some movement. Were you in there? Had you left already?

“Come in,” your voice was soft, and it made his heart skip a beat. He opened the door, laying eyes on you as you sat at your desk. You lifted your eyes, watching as Joe stepped through your door. He closed it behind him, and your breath caught. You felt your chest tighten, the uncomfortable, gripping sense of nerves wrapping around your lungs.

“We need to talk,”

“No, we don’t,” you were quick with a response, quicker than you’d like to be. Your walls climbed back up, protecting your lovesick heart. If your heart wasn’t going to protect you, your mouth was. You watched as confusion, even a twang of shock dawned on his face. His lips parted, offense written all over his face.

“Yes, I think we do,” he started, walking over to your desk. You made no effort to move, to stand to meet him. You kept your body placed in your chair, even if your leg was bouncing under your desk. You didn’t want to have this conversation. You had your reasons for things, for ignoring him, and he didn’t have to know them.

“Joe-”

“No, you’re going to hear me out,” his chest was heaving, pointing an accusatory finger at you. He knew you, and he knew that his attitude wouldn't blow over well. Silence spread between you, and not a comfortable one. Your heart slammed in your chest, shortening your breaths, and made your head spin.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he started, running his hand roughly through his sweaty curls, “you’ve been distant, you do the bare minimum when it comes to your job-”

“Don’t you dare criticize me for my job,” you snapped, finally standing to meet him. Your desk separated you, but the air in the room made it feel like he was standing right in front of you.

“Then why are you working like you don’t care about what you do?” he asked you. He wasn’t making sense, he knew that. His feelings, the very feelings he swore wouldn’t get in the way of his practice, of the game, were leaking out of the cracks of his heart.

“What?” You felt your irritation rising, a result of the thick walls that you built around your sensitive and lovesick heart.

“Do you even care?” He shouted, his voice raising all of a sudden. You barely flinched, but instead met his voice with an even thicker, rougher tone.

“Care? Of course I care! What the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you care about me?” The question that had been picking at his brain for the past few days finally slipped past his lips, and he couldn’t say he regretted it.

“Why do you care?” you asked him, your heart slamming so hard against your chest you thought you were going to pass out.

“Because I care about you! I like you!” he was being vulnerable, he was letting his walls down to tell you that he liked you, that he’d fallen for you. Her heart skipped a beat, and your lungs stopped contracting for a second. You barely missed a step, though, your defenses up.

“You shouldn’t,” you stated, a slight shake to your voice.

“I know it’s unprofessional, I know-”

“I’m saying that because I don’t feel the same, I don’t like you like that,” you snapped, and you felt your stomach lurch. You swallowed the bile that churned, the guilt at the way you lied to him. Your words sat in the air, eating both of you alive. He had to leave before you started crying.

“Y/N-”

“Go,” you sat back down, your leg bouncing, your hands shaking. Your eyes swam, blurred with the lies that you spilled and the knife you stabbed yourself with. You watched as his eyes flickered, his body stuttering with the force of your words. He swallowed, his chest constricting, his eyes wide. He didn’t expect that. You kissed him back. He swore it.

He didn’t argue with you. He left your office, turning his back to you. He shut your door and he stood there for a second. You didn’t feel the same? He hated how it made him open up, how he was put on display for you and you shut him down. He was confident that you felt the same. He was so sure and he had the rug swept out from under him. You didn’t feel the same. You didn’t kiss him back; maybe he had imagined you did.

The second he left, you covered your face with your hands. You felt the hot tears build in your eyes, your walls breaking, the turrets coming down from around your heart. Why did you push him away? Professionalism over feelings. Your heart yearned for him, to be loved by him, and you almost had it. You ripped it out of your own hands and shattered it. You were never the person to break someone’s heart but instead mend them, but how were you supposed to mend a heart you broke? Including your own?

—

It was cold. The biting air of Pittsburgh bit at your exposed skin. You had your hands shoved in your pockets as you watched the game between the Bengals and the Steelers.

As you watched Joe get sacked, a pile of linemen toppling over him, driving his face into the ground.

You watched. Horrified. Your eyes scanned over Joe, and when he didn’t get up, you didn’t need to be told to go out there. You jogged out with a couple other trainers, your heart slamming against your chest. You forgot that you told him you didn’t have feelings for him. You forgot that you shouldn’t show any sort of affection towards him. But your anxiety was written all over your face.

As you neared him, you repeated a mantra in your head: look for concussion symptoms. Look for neck injuries. Look for shoulder injuries.

Make sure he’s alive.

You knelt down at his head, your hands pressing against his neck. He hissed, your cold hands against his skin did little to ease the scraping of his breaths, or the way his head spun.

“Y/N,” he groaned, the pleading tone of your name barely heard over the roaring of the crowd. He didn’t care how it sounded, how for a moment he forgot he was supposed to be mad at you.

“Shh,” you hummed, not feeling any neck injury, “do you feel pressure in your head?”

“No,” he groaned. You nodded, unsnapping his helmet and sitting him up. He did so, quickly, and he sat there for a moment. His body ached, but his eyes found yours. You were worried, borderline scared, but you still had a job to do.

You took his helmet off, and your eyes scanned his. He knew your intense look was more than just staring into his eyes; you were checking his pupils.

“I’ll check his pupils in the tent,” you announced to the other trainers as they helped him up.

“Give me my helmet,” his voice was a growl, and you looked over at him. You hated how his voice, gruff and rough from the lack of oxygen, made your stomach churn.

You handed him his helmet and walked off with him.

Tension still stung between you. As you walked off of the field with him, your heart raced. You still recounted the conversation you had with him a few days ago. The pain, the twisting of the knife deeper into your chest and into his. Since then, you barely spoke. If you did, it was short and clipped. You didn’t like it, but it was for the better. It didn’t eliminate your feelings, but you hoped he moved on. He couldn’t like you. For a number of reasons.

But as you stood with him in the medical tent, staring at him, your chest heaved. The cool, crisp air of Pittsburgh nipped at your lungs, even through the folds of the tent. You grabbed a light, and you walked up to him.

“Look past me,” you hummed, and he did what he was told. His teeth were clenched, and not because of the cold. He could smell your perfume, feel the subtle warmth radiating from your skin. He worked his jaw as he saw the light flash over his pupils, his stomach churning. Despite your blatant and insistent denial that you didn’t like him back, he still had feelings for you. He couldn’t not. He wanted you, but you were unobtainable. What a life he lived.

“Your pupils react normally,” you observed, and you put the light down. You put up a finger, and you moved it across his vision. He tracked you with his eyes, watching as your finger went across, close to his face and far out. You put your hand down as the onsite doctor came in. You stepped to the side, watching as the doctor did her due diligence. You watched Joe, your eyes dialed in on his evaluation. Your hands were shoved in your coat pockets, your back was straight, but you were silently hoping that he was ok.

“No concussion, but you’re gonna be sore in the morning,” the doctor confirmed, and she left the tent. Joe stood off the table, running his hand down his face. His eyes flicked to you, and he watched as something flickered across your face. He kept his expression neutral, but his heart pounded in his chest.

“You do care,” he whispered, his voice raspy and gruff with the throws of the game. You didn’t respond to him, but you swallowed.

“You should probably sit out a drive-”

“Bullshit, Y/N. I’m not doing that,” he snapped and he was out of the tent. You clenched your jaw, running your hands down your face. The silence of the tent was nice, but your thoughts were too loud. Was your job so important that you lied to Joe? That you denied that you even had feelings for him? That you broke his heart too?

You couldn’t dwell on it. So, you walked back out of the tent, your mind in a fog. Even as the game was won. Even if you should be celebrating. You didn’t celebrate. What was there to celebrate?

[rosiahills22]

midnight snack . joe burrow

summary - On those sleepless nights, sometimes all you need is a midnight snack. pairings - Fem!Reader x Bengals!Joe warnings - Nada, just pure fluff

A/N - A little something while I keep working on horns down pt II. I love midnight snacks teehee

word count - 2.1k

THE VAST DARKNESS of the ceiling stares right back at you from where you lay in your boyfriend’s plush, warm california king. For the past thirty minutes you’ve been trying to let yourself succumb to the snuggly feeling of the heavy duvet and Joe’s steady breathing, only to be met with racing thoughts, anxious energy, and an empty pit in your stomach you can’t quite seem to shake.

You let out a hefty breath, rolling onto your side in a pitiful attempt to get more comfortable. Frustration pits in your stomach, and you start to realize you could be up for another hour or two if you don’t figure something out.

In an attempt to quiet your mind, you start to recap the good day you had. After a quiet morning at your one bedroom apartment, your commute to work felt light and breezy with minimal traffic. A big meeting you had in the morning went better than expected, and the entire staff was surprised by a company you’ve newly partnered with when a delicious spread of charcuterie, various sandwiches, and gourmet pasta arrived during lunch hour. 

The rest of the work day was a breeze, mostly because of the anticipation of the weekend. You took some PTO for Thursday, tomorrow, and the next day, so you could be fully prepared for your family coming into town to see Joe play on Sunday. This meant you could go out with your girls to celebrate a friend’s promotion with no fear of the consequences that could ensue tomorrow morning, and to say you were buzzing with excitement up until you clocked out is an understatement. 

Joe called while you were driving home, pleading for you to U turn and get ready at his place instead of yours, just so he could see you for a few hours before he got too tired and fell asleep. Pregaming the bar in his massive master bathroom with built-in overhead speakers, gorgeous lighting, and a tequila bottle that costs more than your first and last month's rent felt like a dream. During the relatively few months you’ve been with Joe, the freshness of your WAG status has made you somewhat hesitant to fully embrace his bougie lifestyle, so as to make it clear you’re not with him for the wrong reasons. Tonight, however, you finally let yourself enjoy it after a nice self-talk about your worth and tendency to not let others care too much for you. 

So when your friends and the DD had arrived to pick you up, you forced yourself to accept the sleek black Amex Joe casually held out to you between two fingers. “Everything’s on me. Tell Sarah congratulations,” He had mumbled while still eyeing you up and down, the firm hand on your waist gliding down dangerously low when he pulled you in for a slow, sweet kiss goodbye. 

Of course every part of the night was exactly what you needed after the stress of work, football season, and your family seeing Joe play for the first time started to creep up on you. It was a girls night through and through, with your favorite drinks paid in full, a DJ that knew what they were doing, and the celebration of one of your closest friends.

You suppose that’s why you’re still up, not wanting the day to end. Although it shocks you that the twinge of alcohol still in your system isn’t knocking you right out. 

With a calmer mind, you look back at Joe still next to you, sprawled out on his stomach with the sheets somewhat astray. He hasn’t moved much since you got back around midnight, tip-toeing into the room to admire his soft, peaceful state before starting your silent bedtime routine. 

Of course the thought crosses your mind to wrap yourself in Joe’s arms, but you’re too hesitant. The two of you met in April, so you’re still learning how to navigate your relationship with Joe during the season, but what you know for certain is his level of dedication. Something you learned in early training camp is how much he values his sleep during the season. He’d surely wake up from your intrusion, and you weren’t sure how happy he would be about it. 

Suddenly, a rumbling sensation shoots through your stomach, causing a growl to stir the silence in the room. 

Yes! I need food!

The thought makes you smile, certain this is the perfect remedy for your restlessness. Still looking over at Joe, you slowly maneuver under the duvet, slipping off the bed until your feet patter on the ground. You pause to be sure Joe doesn’t move. 

Once you’re certain his breath is even, you turn on your heel towards the door, stopping dead in your tracks at the threshold of the door when you hear a soft voice ring out. “Baby?” Joe calls, the heavy body you just left now alert.

Fuck, you scold yourself, hoping he’s not too annoyed.

“Sorry, I’m just getting a little midnight snack,” You whisper meekly, leaning against the tall door frame. 

Joe rustles to full attention, yawning, sitting up and throwing his arms over his head for a stretch. “I wanna come too,” He slurs out, his voice still clearly laced with sleep. Joe’s response surprises you, and you find yourself coming off of the frame as he sloppily rises from the large bed. His messy footsteps eventually guide him to where you stand, and he kisses your forehead as he passes by you to get to the kitchen. 

Still shocked, you turn and follow Joe who’s dressed in nothing but black briefs, and stare at his back while his muscles move and contract with every step. The natural light of the moon and other appliances make him look extra snuggly, his puffy, tired eyes a sure sign of his adorable but slightly delirious state. 

Joe gets the fridge open with a nice tug, the blinding light causing the both of you to groan and squint, followed by tired chuckles at your simultaneous reaction. He places both palms above his head on either side of the fridge, and you take that as an invitation to curl into his side, a hand coming up to his bare back to give light, soothing scratches. Joe hums in response, letting a hand drop to drape over your shoulder. 

When you peer into the fridge a familiar brown box catches your eye, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “Ooo, I want that pizza from a few nights ago,” You gasp, picking out the box and opening it. 

Joe groans as something catches his eye. “You made the pumpkin ones, I love you so much” He raves, quickly snatching the box of pumpkin oatmeal balls you put in his fridge to solidify last night before leaving. 

“Mmhm,” You hum, smiling at Joe as you pull away to put your pizza box on the island countertop. “I love you too.” He turns to you, already munching on his snack with two more oatmeal lumps on deck to be demolished next.

The two of you eat in silence for a couple moments, letting the still open fridge give you the little light you need to see your food. As your stomach settles, you can’t help but admire Joe in such a domestic state. In the kitchen in his underwear, his tired eyes sometimes fully closing as he chews, his sharp jaw and bobbing Adam's apple accentuated by the stark, but homey illumination coming from the refrigerator. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asks quietly once he finishes a couple pumpkin nuggets, taking one more out of the plastic container before snapping the lid back on.

“No,” You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop and muscles relax as you speak. “I don’t know. Probably just adrenaline from the night.”

“Why didn’t you ask for cuddles? I feel like that usually works,” He ponders, brushing a hair that falls in front of your face back behind your ear. 

Your eyes dart around, now feeling a little silly. “Well, I didn’t want to wake you up,” You explain.

Joe frowns, furrowing his brows and leaning against the counter with his hip. “You can always wake me up. You need your sleep,” He confirms. 

“I know, I just…” You trail off, looking away for a minute before returning your gaze. “It’s football season, and I know how locked in you’ve been lately. I didn’t want to wake you up and throw you off your sleep schedule, or anything like that, I guess.” There’s a small silence as Joe processes what you said. You stare at him slightly worried, but decide to just lay out all of your anxieties. “I already feel bad for using your card, and coming back late. I just don’t want to mess any of this up, and it feels like I’m at way greater risk of doing that right now because I don’t know what you want me to do,” You add with a groan, throwing your hands over your face.

“Oh sweetheart,” Joe sighs, quickly enveloping you in a tight embrace. He rubs your back, then pulls away slightly to look you in the eyes. “I am so sorry if I’ve made you feel like you’re not a priority. This is my career, and it’s what I love, but that is no excuse to let you feel insecure or like you’re not doing enough.”

Joe’s hand makes its way to your head, tangling in your hair as he scratches your scalp. “I don’t want you to do anything except be exactly who you are, exactly the person I love. The way you care for me, the way you make me feel when you simply exist in the same room as me, that is more than enough. It's the reason I shower you with all of my love,” He speaks slowly and calmly, so sure of his statements. Tears prick at your eyes, and the reassurance he can so easily give you steadies your heart rate.

“I also know we’re working on accepting that love, but we’ll get there. I am proud of you for taking the Amex, though,” He finishes with a wink and a smirk, causing you to throw your head back with laughter. 

“Yeah, it did take a crazy amount of willpower and a little tequila,” You reply with a smile.

“Progress is progress, baby,” He grins, still holding you in his arms.

After a few moments of silence, both of you comfortably gazing into each others’ eyes, Joe sighs and drops his head, staring at his feet for a moment. “As much as it doesn’t seem like it during the weekends, these are the moments that keep me going,” He says softly, finding your eyes again. “Days are long, and hard. I love it, I’m obsessed with it, but sometimes you need to slow down.” He moves his gentle hands to your hips, rubbing soft circles with his thumbs. You feel like your heart is exploding, so many of your fears about how your relationship will fare during the season washing away.

“Thank you. For slowing me down. I don’t tell you enough how much you help me,” He mumbles, a flash of vulnerability clouding over his features. You feel like you haven’t seen him look like this in weeks, with his sole focus being to prove everyone wrong. You pop the last bit of the slice of pizza in your mouth, then grab his face with both of your hands to press a soft, slow kiss to his lips. His mouth moves with yours deliberately, expressing his gratitude and need in the only way he can right now. 

You pull away and are immediately engulfed in a bear hug by a 6’4, 220 pound softie. You’re squished flush against Joe’s warm body, the skin on skin contact causing your heart rate to slow, and his fingers threading through your hair lulling your now tired brain closer to sleep. Joe sways you slowly for a moment, and you whisper, “I want to be there for you, always.” 

He presses a kiss to your head and pulls back only slightly to start guiding the both of you back up the stairs. “I want to be there for you too,” He whispers back. You stay close as you both trudge up the stairs, falling onto Joe’s bed immediately once you’re back in the bedroom. 

You lay on your sides, facing each other. There’s an air of contentment, tranquility, and peace. “We should do this more often,” Joe mumbles, reaching out a hand to your thigh in an attempt to pull you closer to him. 

“I don’t want to wake you up,” You reiterate with a frown. 

“I don’t care,” Joe grumbles sassily. “C’mere.” Both his hands are on you now, easily relocating you to be halfway on top of him with your head nestled into his neck. A gentle hand rests across your lower back, and the other grazes up and down the thigh you throw over Joe’s lower stomach. His entire body is a heater, pushing warmth, love and comfort through your whole being. 

Can we stay like this forever?

Both of you sigh softly in content, and you finally drift off with a relaxed brow, a warm heart, and a full belly.

[rosiahills22]

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–

[rosiahills22]

Protection ~Joe Burrow x Reader

summary — Joe gets protected of you when you have to walk past paparazzi

The white flash temporarily blinded you. Even through a small crack, the cameras were ready to pounce. Joe slammed the door shut. Blinking a few times, your vision readjusted to Joe and the room around you.

“Shit, they’re out here too.” Joe sighed.

Paparazzi, Joe’s least favorite aspects of being a star quarterback. He hoped to avoid them by leaving out the back, but when you're at the biggest pre-Super Bowl party in the city it was probably unrealistic to hope.

It was fun, but you and Joe were leaving early. He’d had a long day doing press and you both preferred pizza and movie in bed over a party. Other NFL stars (current and former), musicians, models, and their plus ones could be heard partying on in the distance.

Joe gripped your arm tightly and positioned himself in front of you.

“Stay close to me, ok?”

You nodded.

Seeing Joe's usual calm demeanor laced with anxiety made you nervous. In the year you and Joe had been together, you'd never encountered paparazzi before. Not-so-subtle bystanders trying to snap a quick pic, unnoticeable pic was a daily occurrence. But these professional voyeurs were a new ballgame.

Joe opened slowing opened the door, shielding you between it and his body. Immediately, you were bombarded with camera flashes and clicks. An echo of yells rang in your ear as the over stimulation set in.

You tried to focus on just Joe grip on you. He stood between you and the paparazzi like a human shield, his hold of you never wavering. Soon, you'd made it across the sidewalk and started to get into the waiting car.

"HEY!" Joe yelled, starling you.

His rage filled eyes were staring at a pap who was kneeling, camera pointed up towards you.

"STAND UP!" Joe demanded.

He lightly pulled you back so you couldn't lift your leg and inadvertently give this creep what he was looking for.

When the pap didn't move, Joe repeated "STAND THE FUCK UP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Your heart pounded rapidly. You were afraid Joe and this pap might get into a physical fight. Of course, it wouldn't be much of a fight since Joe could easily take the overweight middle-aged man. But you dreaded the scene it would cause.

Security from the party (who you hadn't even noticed as present since Joe was guarding you so well) rushed over. They pulled the pap up and moved him away. His colleagues catching the whole incident with a million cameras snaps.

Joe ushered you into the car. He climbed in after and slammed the door. For a moment, you both sat in quiet solace of the car.

Peering over at Joe, you saw anguish on his face. You thought you could ease his tension with humor.

"I see why Britney chased those guys with an umbrella."

It worked. A smile crept onto Joe's face and he exhaled a little more forcefully. Then he looked at you apologetically.

"They're vultures. This is why I hate going out. I'm sorry you have to deal with it." Joe sighed.

"I'm fine." You assured him, rubbing his shoulder.

"Don't lie just to make me feel better."

Joe always saw through you.

With a frown, you admitted, "I'm a little shaken up. All the lights and yelling, it was sensory overload. I couldn't see where we were walking and I didn't even notice that guy trying to get an up skirt shot."

"I wanted to kick his fucking teeth in."

You laughed but knew Joe was serious.

"Thank you for looking out for me."

Joe pressed a kiss to your cheek, "Always, babe."

The car pulled away and you leaned your head onto Joe's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, his hand resting on your hip.

"I'm really sorry." He whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Logically, it was true, but it didn't fix the guilt you could feel Joe carrying. You took his hand.

"Joe, you are the most incredible person I've ever met. I love you. Nothing is going to ruin being with the man of my dreams, not even those creeps."

You took his hand and Joe gave you a little squeeze.

"You're worth it." You said firmly.

You pulled him down for a kiss, tender and comforting. Your lips lingered against one another's. When your eyes fluttered opened you were met with Joe's blue eyes making you a silent declaration of love.

When you arrived home, you kicked off your heels and Joe threw his jacket on the couch.

"I actually had a great time tonight." You told him.

"Me too." He smirked, "but I think the two of us can have an even better time alone."

You knew that was true.

"We can, if only this dress wasn't in our way." You pouted.

Joe pulled you flush against him.

"Don't worry, baby. I won't let anything get in our way."

[rosiahills22]

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.

[rosiahills22]

ARCH. I need to know. I need to know your thoughts on reader pranking Joe with slamming the driver side door while he’s in it (the trend on tik tok) and seeing him get out of the car afterwards with this *yeah you’re in trouble face* and what he would do after

🤤🤤🤤🤤just give us a lil snippet of what would happen

yeah, you’re in trouble || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up ;)

a/n: wow? arch wrote a blurb? are pigs flying??? anyway, ignore how rushed this is i wrote this in 3 hours so if it sucks do not tell me ;)

also, YBWM is still coming soon! thanks for your patience my loves

word count: 3.2 k

warnings: language, smut, MDNI, usage of she/her and not you

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

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

the past few months had been nothing short of long, disappointing, and so incredibly tiring for her and joe, and the effect it had on them was something they both frowned upon. they didn’t realize when it happened, but things just stopped becoming fun, everything felt so suffocating and serious, like things had to be perfect and there was no room for them to just exist. but now that it was peak off-season—hot, sunny, and the wind carried that carefree energy they craved—it was time for a vacation. a real vacation, just the two of them, with no games or cameras. joe was beyond exhausted by the lifeless Ohio scenery that he was constantly surrounded by, so when he proposed the idea of a road trip to sunny, gorgeous, Florida, she practically jumped at the chance. it would be just the two of them, the open road, and the freedom to relax, let go, and indulge in some much-needed downtime.

but of course, she couldn’t resist throwing in a little mischief and madness in the process. as they prepped for their trip, the playful teasing started innocently. she missed joe, missed him in a way that she couldn’t really say out loud. somewhere in the midst of the god-awful season, she felt like she lost that side of him—the side that was slightly intimidating, cocky, and heated. it was silly to say considering joe was known for being cooler than ice, but something about how he got when he had something bothering him, irking him to the point where he physically couldn’t take it, was hot. 

especially in the bedroom.

and she loved it. and she missed it.

she knew that this was supposed to be nice, cozy trip with her boyfriend, but something inside her wanted to see that side of him as soon as possible. and this trip felt like the perfect opportunity for her to act on it. so that’s exactly what she did. she knew just how to push his buttons, how to rile him up just enough for him to give her what she wanted. 

the chance presented itself about 30 minutes before they had to leave and hit the road, and she was fully prepared to be as bratty as she could be in order to crack him open and pull out that side she needed. that side that was irritated, considerate and soft as always, but irritated.

she'd keep running back and forth from the garage to his porsche in the driveway, swinging the door open to ask him questions and then follow-up questions about what else she needed to pack in the car before they left for their road trip to Destin, but after every one of his responses, she'd just slam the door right in his face to tease him. fun for her, but obnoxious to her soft, cuddly boyfriend who was as cool as frost. 

the first time she did it, he didn’t really care because he thought she was just in a rush or something, but then as he pulled out his phone to do some route mapping, she shuffled right back to the driver’s side and pulled the door open again only to repeat her previous actions. 

“babe, what sweatshirt did you say you wanted again? the pink nike one or your green bengals zip up?” she asked him, the smirk on her lips almost too suspicious which normally he’d notice, but right now he was in a completely different zone so he didn’t care enough to question it. 

joe didn’t look up from his phone as he was too focused on the route the navigation had mapped out, his brow furrowing at the fact that an extra four hours were added because it was taking you guys the longer way to avoid the summer storm hitting the middle of Tennessee. “uhh, the zip up,” he hummed, barely acknowledging her presence because he was currently in the middle of a war with google maps and his weather app. “fuckin’ 55% chance of rain in Nashville and we have to go through Memphis? why the hell–”. 

“BAM–,”. 

his body jolted in the driver’s seat at the sudden slam of the door, “jesus, what the fuck,” he grumbled, then moved his head forward to watch your silhouette scurry back into the house to grab his sweatshirt. “no way she just– again? what the hell was that?” he asked himself before the navigation spoke up and interrupted his thoughts. 

“warning: route to be determined, impending thunderstorm causing delays and detours along parts of Tennessee and southeast Appalachia”. 

“route to be determined? is this shit gonna reroute us halfway through fuckin’ Alabama now or something?” he scoffed while snapping his head back to the screen and forgetting about her odd behavior, now regretting the fact that he chose today out of all days to drive down to florida. he should know by now that the weathermen never lie, as much as he sought to disprove their wacky predictions. if the weather was calling for a storm as thunderous as paycor stadium on january 15th, 2022, then the storm was going to be just as thunderous, not a single bit less. he should’ve learned his lesson when he decided to drive them both to Columbus during a hail storm. his defense was that the meteorologist said possible hail storm, and you mocked him the entire car ride because possible means it will happen in weathermen-language. 

after grabbing his zip up, she ran back out to the car, once again yanking his driver’s side door open. she could sense he was getting aggravated with something, and fully knew that what she was doing was definitely getting on his nerves, but honestly? that was the fun part.

“here,” she said, throwing the hoodie into his lap, knowing that would piss him off a little more because she could’ve easily neatly folded it and placed it in the backseat along with the other loose items. 

he flinched from the sudden gust of that sticky hot summer air hitting his cool skin and at the feeling of his thick sweatshirt sprawl out against his partly bare legs. as he was tapping away on the screen, he wondered, was she being bratty on purpose, or was there a reason for her acting so out of character. she never did anything to get on his nerves, so either he did something and this was payback, or she was up to something herself. 

she saw his jaw clench the slightest, a surge of confidence hitting her because she knew she was pushing his buttons, bit before his lips parted, “so, you gonna apologize for slamming the door or…?”. 

she crossed her arms with a laugh, leaning forward just enough to press her lips against his smooth cheek, “sorry, baby. i didn’t know,” she lied, watching as he flexed his fingers and cursed under his breath at the navigation. to her, it was adorable how someone who can stay so calm in the most intense situations could get so aggravated by such minuscule things as a stupid robot voice and a car’s navigation. 

“it’s gonna take us a little longer to get down to Florida. the storm’s making us take the complicated way,” he sighed, clutching the hoodie in his lap before throwing it somewhere in the backseat. “my parents were right about us leaving yesterday instead. this is the one thing i hate about summer, the random ass monsoons that pop up out of nowhere,”. 

“aw, that sucks. i was looking forward to rolling the windows down when we got around Nashville. that breeze feels so good at night and i love watching the mountains pass by with my head out the window,” you pouted, pulling back and placing your hand on the top of the car door. “but anyway, i guess i should go grab the umbrella’s just in case,”. 

just as joe was about to respond, she backed away and slammed the door on him again.

“BAM–,”. 

this time, in the middle of their conversation—something he did not appreciate. 

“oh hell no,” joe said, reaching down to press the unbuckle button on his seatbelt so that he could follow her into the house and figure out what was going on with her, but just as he was doing so, she came right back. 

empty handed. 

she swung the door open again, taking the same stance as usual—one hand on top of the door and one resting against the car. “sorry, forgot to ask if you wanted me to grab those pumpkin balls from the fridge to snack on before we get to wendy’s,” she smiled innocently, batting her eyelashes at him like she didn’t do a damn thing.

joe blinked at her, speechless and in disbelief. what was she doing? they were just about to go on this lovely road trip together, just the two of them, and she was being so bratty for what exact reason? 

“you okay over there?” she giggled, “you look like you’re 2 seconds away from having a mental breakdown. don’t let the woman in the screen get to you, joey. she’s not real,” she added, resting her head against the side of the car as she looked down at him.

he closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath to calm himself before saying, “babe, this is a porsche. my porsche. that door is gonna fall off the fuckin’ hinges if you keep doing that. i don’t know what’s up, but calm down for me? okay?” he shook his head, his attempt at hiding his irritation going poorly because of the fact that his ears were turning red and he had that look on his face. that look meant he was either a second away from cracking, or a second away from 

the very look she wanted to see. 

bingo. 

“sorry, joey,” she innocently chuckled. “it’s that new arm routine you built for me. i swear my muscles have never felt this strong and in-tact ever. it’s like i don’t know how strong i am myself anymore,”. 

bullshit. 

he helped her make that new arm workout routine 3 days ago. he was good, but not that good. 

“well, okay. just easy on her? you know this car was my dream,” he breathed out, tilting his head back to rest against the headrest as he looked back at that damn navigation that still said that your ETA would be 6:40 A.M. 

“okaaayy, diva. sorry for hurting your precious little baby,” she rolled your eyes, “won’t happen again,” she snickered before backing away, twisting her wrist, and slamming the car door again. 

joe’s eyes blew open and he swore he felt a bomb go off in the distance. “absolutely the fuck not? what the hell is wrong with her?” he groaned, reaching for the handle and swinging the door open with irritation, both his feet landing on the gravely driveway before he gently closed the door behind him. “sorry sweetheart,” he pouted, giving his porsche a gentle pat before snapping his head back to her. 

“where do you think you’re going?” he called out to her, and she paused in her path in an instant. a proud smile rising on her face due to the tone of his voice. irritated, aggravated, and oh so intimidating. 

she won.

she flipped back around, and the look on his face made a pang of arousal shoot straight down to her core. those butterflies started to flutter in her belly with wild abandon, and she couldn’t help those hormones from coursing through her veins every time she glanced at him and stared into his stormy blue eyes. 

this kind of joe made her horny as fuck. 

and then, it clicked for him. he knew why she was acting so bratty, purposefully ticking him off and acting innocent about it. her flushed cheeks, fidgety hands, and doe eyes gave that away real fast. 

neither of them spoke, partly because she didn’t know what to say and because he knew his silence was making it worse for her. “didn’t think it through, huh? wanted to rile me up but didn’t think about what to do after?” he said, eyeing her figure up and down as he moved closer to her. the way her shorts clung to her body, hugging her ass and sitting just below her naval and diamond belly-button piercing drove him wild now that he was getting a good look at her. her thin white cropped tank top did nothing to conceal the red, lacy bralette she had on underneath—a purposeful choice because she knew she’d be trapped in the car with him for hours. who knows, maybe he’d make an impromptu pitstop to a random grocery store’s parking lot at 2 am to…ahem…look for spare change in the backseat with her. oh, and how could he forget? 

that dainty gold 9 chain dangling between her breasts. 

too easy.

he raised his eyebrows…of course he was doing that god-for-saken eyebrow raise that made her even weaker in the knees to the point where she felt like she would collapse right then and there. “yeah, you’re in trouble now,” he smirked, launching forward and snaking an arm around her waist, throwing her over his shoulder, and then leading them back inside the house. 

“joey! the storm’s already gonna push us back a few hours, we can’t…not right now,” she protested, but barely put any effort in because deep down, she wanted this bad. 

“shoulda thought of that before you walked out looking like a snack and got me worked up like this, baby,” he shrugged, his hand gently smacking her ass as he placed her back down on the ground, backing her against the foyer table. 

joe's patience was a thin, a stretched thread, and she had been tugging on it all afternoon. the way she kept slamming the door, the innocent looks, her outfit, the little smirk playing on her lips—it was all a game to her. but now, standing in the dimly lit foyer with his hands gripping her hips, joe had decided it was his turn to play.

his eyes darkened as he leaned in, “you wanted my attention, baby?” his fingers traced slow, teasing circles against her smooth waist, sending a shiver down her spine. “well, now you have it,”.

she swallowed hard, feeling the heat radiate from his body as he stepped closer, trapping her between him and the cool surface of the foyer table. the contrast sent a thrill through her body, making her breath hitch. “joey, i—,”.

“shh,” his thumb brushed over her lips, silencing whatever excuse she was about to make. “you’ve been running that mouth all day. think it’s time you find a better use for it,”.

the way he was looking at her, with that mix of amusement and raw need, had her thighs pressing together involuntarily. joe smirked, noticing. “oh? what’s wrong? weren’t so shy when you were slamming my door like it was your full-time job,”.

her hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palms. “i was just messing with you,” she tried, faking innocence yet again, but the way her voice wavered gave her away.

“yeah? well, now i’m messing with you,” his lips brushed against her jaw, trailing slow, deliberate kisses down the curve of her neck. she tilted her head back, giving him more access as his hands slid lower, gripping the tops of her thighs and hoisting her up onto the table effortlessly. the movement pulled a gasp from her lips, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

his lips ghosted over her ear, his voice laced with something intense, something she awakened within him. “let's see if you're still feeling bold after i'm done with you,”.

her breath hitched as his fingers slowly dragged up her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of her shorts. he watched her every reaction with hooded eyes, the smug grin on his face growing as he felt her tremble beneath his touch.

“already shaking, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “we haven’t even started yet,”. his hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him as his lips returned to her throat, sucking and biting just enough to leave a pretty purple mark. another great accessory to go with her outfit. she squirmed in his hold, hands fisting in his shirt as heat pooled low in her stomach.

“joe,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but he caught it. he always did. and it only made his smirk deepen.

“that’s right, baby,” he hummed, his hands slipping beneath the thin fabric of her top, fingers grazing over her bare skin. “now be good for me and hold on tight,”.

he didn't waste another second. with one fluid motion, he yanked her shorts and dampened panties down, leaving her exposed and vulnerable beneath his heated gaze. his fingers trailed along her inner thigh, teasing, ghosting over where she needed him most before pulling away just to hear her frustrated whimper. “so impatient,”  he chuckled darkly. “but you wanted to push me, didn't you?” his hands gripped her thighs as he positioned himself, then quickly removed his shorts and boxers before dragging the thick head of his cock through her slick folds, teasing her until her hips bucked forward in desperation.

as much as he would’ve loved to drag it out, his restraint snapped at the sight of her need, her desperation. he pushed forward, stretching her out inch by inch until he bottomed out, a low groan ripping from his throat at the way she clenched around him. he didn't give her time to adjust, didn't let her catch her breath—he set a brutal pace, fucking her hard and fast, his grip on her hips bruising as he pulled her against him with every deep thrust.

“this what you wanted?” he growled, voice rough as he pounded into her slick heat, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the foyer. “wanted to get me all worked up so i'd fuck you like this?”. 

her nails raked down his back, legs tightening around his waist as she gasped his name over and over, her body arching into him, completely at his mercy. he was relentless, each thrust hitting deep, pulling desperate moans from her lips. “oh, j- joe. f- fuck baby i’m so…,” she whined, losing herself in him. 

joe buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath was ragged as he whispered, “horny? well, i’m sure you’d be happy to hear that i am too,” his pace never faltered, his grip tightening, his movements rough, possessive, claiming every inch of her.

it didn't take long before the pleasure became overwhelming, her body trembling beneath him as he fucked her harder, deeper, his hands splayed over her stomach. he pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto the way his cock bulged beneath her pierced navel, her skin stretching to accommodate his thick length. his jaw clenched at the sight, a throaty moan tearing from his lips. “fuck, baby,” he groaned, his thumb tracing over the outline of himself pressing through her belly. “look at that. you take me so fuckin' well,”.

the sensation sent her over the edge, her walls clenching around him as she cried out his name, body squirming beneath him as pleasure crashed over her in waves. joe wasn't far behind, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, his hand splaying her stomach once more to feel himself buried deep inside her. 

“come for me, baby” he commanded, his voice thick with lust, and the moment his fingers found her clit, she shattered all over again. “oh, ooh…fuck,” she moaned, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm shoot up her spine. that was all it took—joe groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside her, his head falling against her shoulder as he let out a shaky breath.

"god, joe...i- i can't feel anything," she said with a breathy chuckle.

“next time,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he pressed lazy kisses along her jaw, “maybe you'll think twice before testing me,”.

"maybe...but it was worth it in the end. i missed you, annoyed, irritated, and slightly intimidating joey b," she chuckled as her body shook against him.

joe rolled his eyes before pressing his lips against hers, nipping and sucking at her lip like he had been famished for far too long. the fact that even his kisses were hungry again was enough for her.

"well, he's back and he's about to be a menace this week so get ready, baby,".

--the end--

[rosiahills22]

The Magic 8 Ball || L. Alvez

Summary: Fem!reader asks the magic 8 ball an important question.

cw: use of Y/N, none(?), fluff, barely edited.

Word count: 657

₊˚⊹⁠♡————— ⁠♡ —————♡⊹⁠˚₊

You and the team were at an arcade, on a day when everyone was supposed to be relaxed. You, however, were at one of the claw machines desperately trying to get the magic 8 ball you had seen.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you muttered, watching as the claw grasped the cheap toy and slowly started to lift. “No!” You hung your head in defeat as the ball fell back down with the rest of the other toys.

“Here, let me try,” Luke’s voice made you jump a little, but you smiled and stepped aside to let him try. You watched as he got it on the first try, you gasped and turned to look at him.

“There’s a lot to dislike about you, Luke Alvez,” you told him but smiled and thanked him for getting the magic 8 ball for you nonetheless.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You laughed with Emily, the two of you have been asking the magic 8-ball stupid questions for the better part of the car ride back home. You saw Luke’s amused smile through the rearview as you and Emily kept giggling at your stupid questions and the answers from the toy you two held.

“Will I live a long and healthy life?” Emily giggled from next to you and she shook the ball.

“Most likely,” you read aloud as the car came to a stop. You smiled at Emily as she collected her things and climbed out of the vehicle. See you tomorrow!” you shouted through the open door and scooted to the middle of the backseat. Luke pulled away from Emily’s building, and you gently tapped Spencer’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Yes?” He hummed at you and you poked his shoulder with more intent. He marked the page he was on and set the book down, holding his hand out for the ball. “Will Y/N let me go back to my book?” Spencer shook the ball and frowned at the results.

“Don’t count on it!” you read joyously, laughing, which caused Spencer to smile. “My turn,” you told him in a sing-song voice.

“You are having too much fun with this toy,” Spencer told you but handed it over all the same.

“Possibly, but I’ve never had one before,” you replied. “Oh! I know, will I ever have a child?” You shook the ball and waited for the answer. “Outlook good!” You laughed and did a little shimmy, missing the look from Luke as you did. You passed the ball back to Spencer, the two of you going back and forth asking questions until you reached the apartment complex.

₊˚‧ ︵‿ ꒰ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ꒱ ‿︵ ‧˚₊

You sat on your couch, the TV droning on in the background. You reached over to grab the magic 8 ball you had thrown to the side. You thought over your idea for a moment before deciding to ask the question.

“Does Luke like me?” You shook the 8 ball with a smile but frowned when you saw the answer. “Very doubtful, oh,” you hummed, disappointed.

“We’ve been married for two years,” Luke looked up from his position where he had his head in your lap.

“I know that,” you huffed and set the 8 ball down again. Luke sat up and pulled you to him.

“Are you going to believe this silly toy over me?” Luke held the ball up to punctuate his words.

“No, it’s just disheartening,” you told him, a smile spreading over your lips as he shook his head in amusement.

“Well, the toy was right,” Luke started and you looked offended until he kept talking. “I don’t like you, I love you,” Luke told you with a cheeky grin.

“I love you too, Mr. Alvez,” you kissed Luke.

“I love you too, Mrs. Alvez,” Luke replied as you two settled back into a comfortable silence.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Like this story? Here's my masterlist

[rosiahills22]

joe beings a grade a clinger moments pls

She heard the squeak of the bedroom door before the shuffling of Joe's feet on the hardwood floor. She didn't look up from her book, a bell hooks classic recommended to her by a patient, knowing the routine all too well. Joe had spent the last few hours in his office, poring over film for the upcoming game against the Steelers. She felt his warmth as he slid into bed, his six-foot-four frame slotting familiarly on top of her.

"Hi," she murmured sweetly, her eyes still focused on the page. He settled in, his arms wrapping around her waist, heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. Perfectly manicured hands swept through his hair, his breaths growing deeper as he nestled closer. She felt his chest rise and fall in sync with her own, the rhythm soothing despite the discomfort of his size. She swallowed a sigh and shifted slightly, her body adapting to his embrace.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice a whisper against the quiet of the room. "My head hurts," he murmured.

She stifled a laugh, amused by her boyfriend's dramatics. But she also felt the sweetness of his need for comfort, the vulnerability that lay beneath his calm exterior. Her hand rested on the crown of his head, twirling the soft curls between her fingers. His breath was warm against her skin, a soft sigh escaping him as he closed his eyes.

"Do you want me to read to you?" she offered. She felt Joe's head nod, his nose brushing against her skin with the movement. She hummed her concession, turning a page in her book. Her voice filled the room, the words a gentle lullaby to the tension he had brought with him.

As she focused on the words written before her, Joe began to shift against her. She felt his hands move to lift her shirt, exposing her midriff. The coolness of the room kissed her bare skin. With a silent determination, Joe managed to pull her shirt up even further, until the fabric stretched far enough to accommodate his head. She raised an eyebrow but didn't protest.

Decisively, the quarterback burrowed closer to her, dipping his head under the shirt. Her eyes widened for a brief moment, the book's words blurring as Joe's face disappeared. The material of her shirt stretched over the back of his neck, a peculiar barrier that she found oddly endearing. She took a deep breath, feeling the fabric tighten against her skin and his body heat against her sternum. She could hear him sigh contentedly. His nose nuzzled closer to her skin, breathing in her scent, indulging in the simple comfort she seemed to provide it.

He tapped at her side, once, twice, a silent request for her to continue reading to him, his voice lost under the fabric of her shirt. She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that played on her lips, continuing to read aloud.

[rosiahills22]

my boredom's bone deep / this cage was once just fine / am i allowed to cry? / crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox / i'm seeing visions, am i bad? / or mad? or wise? | joe burrow⁹ (part 1/4)

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

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 12.1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a relationship that feels more like a losing game, you find yourself drawn to the one person you shouldn’t want—the one who sees you, the one who listens, the one who makes you feel alive. but temptation is a dangerous thing, and once you’ve had a taste of something real, there’s no going back.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | lots and LOTS of angst, switching between second and third person (it'll make sense and it's only for a couple of scenes where it's needed) slow-burn tension so thick you could cut it with a knife, toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional turmoil, guilt and desire intertwining in the worst ways, heavy themes of self-discovery and repression, morally gray decisions

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | okay guys, i couldn't resist... here is another long ass joe burrow mini-series because taylor swift has struck me with creativity... AGAIN. this will be a 4 parter and it will have a happy ending, but for now... just enjoy the slow burning of it and hate my made-up bengals player -- miles !

You used to think love was supposed to feel like this—steady, predictable, something you could fold into like freshly washed sheets. You and Miles had been together so long that your names practically rhymed in people’s mouths, like you were one of those inseparable, inevitable couples that just made sense.

And for a while, it did make sense. You were the girl on his arm at every event, the perfectly curated extension of his success. The engagement ring—a little too big, a little too heavy—sat on your finger like a trophy of its own. A prize.

But lately, it felt like Miles had stopped seeing you as anything more than that. A fixture in his life, expected and unremarkable. Like the luxury watch he only wore on game days or the expensive car he barely drove. You were always there, always waiting, always his. And he loved that, in the way someone loves knowing their favorite shirt will still be in the closet when they reach for it.

You just weren’t sure you loved it anymore.

The thought made your stomach twist. Because if you weren’t his, then who were you?

And then—Joe Burrow happened.

But, Joe Burrow was not supposed to happen.

Not to you, not to the carefully constructed life you had built around Miles, not to the girl who had spent years perfecting the role of the unwavering, effortlessly beautiful fiancée of an NFL star. But Joe moved through your world like a dropped match in a dry field—quiet, unassuming at first, and then suddenly, everything was on fire.

It wasn’t instant, not in the way stories like this usually go. There was no slow-motion moment, no breath-stealing epiphany. It started subtly, like the shift in seasons, like the way you don’t notice the days getting shorter until you’re standing outside at five o’clock and it’s already dark.

At first, he was just there—new to the team, new to the city, new in a way that made him sharp against the dullness you had started to sink into. You watched as he learned his place in the locker room, the way veterans sized him up, the way he answered with quiet confidence instead of arrogance. He was young but didn’t feel young. Polished, but not in the way Miles was. Miles was effortless charm, all grins and easy words, the kind of man who could shake a hand and win a deal in the same breath.

Joe was something else entirely. He didn’t just talk—he listened.

And that, you realized too late, was dangerous.

Because one night, at some event you barely wanted to be at, standing next to a fiancé who had long since stopped noticing the way your fingers curled anxiously around your champagne glass, Joe looked at you like he saw you. Like he had been watching, waiting, wondering.

And for the first time in years, you felt something shift.

--

Miles had always been the guy. The Bengals’ golden boy, the name fans chanted, the one reporters turned to after every game. When you first met him, he carried himself like a man who had already won. Six years older, already established, already adored—he had that presence, the kind that made people lean in when he spoke, the kind that made you, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, feel lucky just to stand beside him.

But now, there was Joe.

And whether Miles would admit it or not, it was getting to him.

It started small. A lingering glance at the TV when Joe’s highlights played instead of his. A clipped response when someone mentioned Joe’s name at dinner. But then, it became you.

"Do you still think I’m the star?"

The first time he asked, you laughed, thinking he was joking.

But he wasn’t.

You saw it in the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the way his shoulders tensed like he was bracing for impact.

"Of course you are," you had said, reaching for his arm, pressing your nails lightly against his sleeve.

And that was all he needed. A little reassurance. A little something to smooth over the edges of his pride. But then he asked again. And again.

"I mean, you don’t think people are, you know… forgetting?"

"You don’t think he’s—" a pause, a swallow, a carefully constructed smirk—"overshadowing me?"

And every time, you lied.

Because what were you supposed to say? That the shift was undeniable? That Joe walked into the locker room and the energy changed? That when people talked about the future of the team, they weren’t saying Miles’ name anymore? That you had started noticing it, too—the way Joe was young, sharp, hungry, while Miles had begun to settle into his success like a man reclining in a chair that used to be upright?

So you told him what he needed to hear.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still everything."

But even as you said it, the words tasted false. Because when Miles spoke about himself, it was always in the past tense—I was the first star, I was the franchise guy, I was the one they built around.

And when people spoke about Joe, it was all about the future.

That was the difference.

And maybe—just maybe—that was what made you start looking at him, too.

You watched it happen in slow motion—the way Miles and Joe orbited each other, circling like two planets on a collision course, neither willing to acknowledge the gravity of the other.

At first, Miles played it cool. He was the veteran, after all. He had been here first. He had built his career brick by brick, through losing seasons and empty stadiums, back when the Bengals were a team people barely bothered to watch. When you met him, that was what he always talked about—the work he had put in, the years of carrying this franchise on his back.

"I made this team what it is," he would say sometimes, stretching out on the couch after a game, watching highlights on TV with a half-smirk, as if waiting for you to agree.

And back then, you did.

Because you had watched him grind, had seen the early mornings, the bruises, the exhaustion that clung to him after every brutal season. You had been his—the girl in the stands, the hand on his chest when he got home, the soft place he could land.

But now, the team didn’t belong to just Miles anymore.

Now, there was Joe. And Miles hated that.

At practice, you saw the way he measured himself against Joe, the way his jokes about the rookie’s "new car smell" had just a little too much bite. How he watched when Joe got called for post-game interviews, jaw clenched just a little too tight.

"They should be talking to me," he muttered one night after a game, dropping his phone on the table like it had personally offended him.

"Miles, they still talk to you," you had tried, voice gentle.

"Not like they used to."

And it was true.

At first, Miles had treated Joe like a little brother, ruffling his hair, giving him shit for his outfits, cracking jokes at team dinners. But then Joe started winning. Started throwing passes that made the crowd gasp, started playing with that quiet confidence that made people lean forward in their seats.

And suddenly, Miles’ jokes didn’t land the same way.

He started pushing harder in practice. If Joe made a good throw, Miles made sure his next one was better. If Joe got interviewed, Miles found a way to insert himself into the conversation. He started pointing out things—"He’s good, but let’s see how he handles the pressure. He’s young. He hasn’t been hit the way I have."

Like he was trying to convince himself of it more than anyone else.

And you—God, you noticed.

You noticed the way Miles had started looking at Joe like a threat instead of a teammate. You noticed the way his hand tightened on your hip when Joe walked into a room. You noticed the way he suddenly started talking about his legacy, about what he meant to this team.

And worst of all—you noticed the way Joe looked at you.

Because unlike Miles, Joe wasn’t trying so hard. He wasn’t overcompensating, wasn’t clawing to prove something. He just was. And when he looked at you, it wasn’t with the expectation that you would tell him he was still the star.

It was like he already knew who he was.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, you were starting to wonder who you were, too.

--

The event was like every other one before it—too loud, too crowded, filled with people who weren’t actually listening to each other, just waiting for their turn to talk. Miles was somewhere across the room, laughing a little too hard at something an exec said, one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon, the other resting on the shoulder of someone who mattered.

You were used to this part.

The waiting. The being-seen-but-not-heard. The polite smiles and empty small talk, the way people’s eyes would flicker over you before refocusing on Miles, because that was where the real conversation was.

You had perfected it—the art of looking engaged without actually being included. So when Joe Burrow slid into the seat beside you, you didn’t think much of it. At first.

And then he spoke.

"You always look this bored, or is it just tonight?"

You blinked, thrown off, turning your head to find him watching you. Not in the usual way—not in the quick, cursory glance men usually gave you before looking away, like you were set dressing, like you were just an extension of the man they actually wanted to talk to.

No, Joe was looking at you.

And he was smirking.

You scoffed before you could stop yourself. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like he had all the time in the world. His suit fit well—not flashy, not desperate, just right. Effortless. His tie was loosened, just slightly, like he couldn’t be bothered to play by the rules all the way. "You’ve been staring at the same spot on the floor for the last ten minutes. What’s down there? Something more interesting than all this?"

"Wouldn’t take much."

"Fair." He nodded, like you’d made an excellent point, then stuck his hand out. "Joe."

"I know who you are."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head. "Funny. You don’t look like you care."

You should’ve laughed. Or brushed him off. But there was something about the way he said it—like he wasn’t trying to be charming, like he was just stating a fact.

You hesitated. Then, almost begrudgingly, shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

"‘I guess,’" he repeated, amused. "Damn. That’s all I get?"

"You want a standing ovation?"

"Wouldn’t say no."

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward just slightly. He caught it—of course he did—and grinned like he had already won something.

"So, what’s the deal?" he asked, nodding toward where Miles was deep in conversation, gesturing animatedly. "You actually like these things, or just contractually obligated to show up?"

"Contractually obligated," you admitted, swirling the drink in your hand. "You?"

"Nah. I just like free food."

You let out an actual laugh at that, brief but real.

Joe’s smirk deepened like he had been waiting for that exact reaction.

"So how long have you been stuck in the NFL Wife-To-Be role?" he asked, tone light but gaze sharp.

"Long enough."

"And how long is that, exactly?"

"You really want to know?"

"Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t."

You eyed him for a second, waiting for the punchline. The usual "just making conversation" energy you were used to from these kinds of interactions. But there wasn’t one. He actually seemed interested.

"Since I was 19."

His brows lifted slightly. "Damn."

"What?"

"Just young, that’s all."

"And what, you weren’t young once?"

"Not that young," he said, shaking his head. "I was in college at 19. Drinking shitty beer and wearing the same hoodie five days in a row. You were—what? Coming to things like this?"

You shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. "It wasn’t that bad."

"Doesn’t sound fun, either."

"And what were you doing at 20 that was so much more fun?"

"Winning a championship," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stared at him, blinking.

"Oh," you said finally. "Right. LSU."

"Yeah. Ever heard of it?"

"Vaguely."

"Damn. Humbling experience."

You smirked, shaking your head slightly. "Wait, so—how old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

Your lips parted slightly. "Shit."

Joe raised a brow. "What?"

"You’re only a year older than me."

"And you sound offended by that."

"I’m just—" You exhaled, realizing how ridiculous it sounded. "I don’t know. I feel like I should be older."

Joe gave you a look like he already knew why.

"Because of him?" he asked, flicking his gaze toward Miles.

You hesitated.

"Because of everything," you said instead.

Joe didn’t press. He just hummed slightly, tapping his fingers against his glass.

"Well," he said after a moment, smirking again, "if it makes you feel any better, you look like you’re at least twenty-five."

You narrowed your eyes. "That’s the worst compliment I’ve ever gotten."

"I was going for honesty."

"Try harder next time."

"Noted."

And then, just like that, the conversation shifted. It wasn’t flirtation, not exactly. It was something else—something easier, something lighter.

For the first time in a long time, someone wasn’t talking to you like Miles’ fiancée.

Joe was just talking to you.

--

It started as a passing thought. A curiosity Joe couldn’t quite shake after that conversation at the event. You weren’t what he expected. And maybe that was the first problem.

Miles had been around forever. The Bengals’ golden boy before Joe got there. A veteran. Respected. The kind of guy you built a franchise around—or at least, that’s what people used to say. But now, with Joe in town, the balance had shifted. Miles wasn’t the star anymore, and everyone knew it.

Even Miles knew it.

Joe could see it in the way he carried himself, the way he lingered after practices, pushing himself harder, talking about his old stats like they were some kind of proof that he still mattered. He’d joke about it, but there was always something underneath. So, Burrow, you think you’re the guy now? Said with a grin, but the weight was there. The question lingered in the air between them.

Joe didn’t care much about that. But he did care—more than he wanted to admit—about you.

It wasn’t even in a way yet. Not in any way he could name. It was just there. That curiosity, that thing in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away.

So one day, in the middle of practice, while the guys were running drills, he decided to ask.

Casual. Offhand. Like he wasn’t actually that interested.

"Yo, what do you guys think about Miles’ girl?"

Tee was the first to react, barely hesitating before letting out a low whistle.

"Whew, man. That’s a dangerous question, 9."

"Is it?" Joe asked, tilting his head.

"I mean, you have seen her, right?"

"Obviously."

"Then you already know," Tee said, shaking his head like the answer was obvious.

"Know what?"

Ja’Marr snorted. "That he’s punching."

Joe raised a brow. "Out of his league?"

"By a long shot." Tee shook his head, gripping the football in his hands. "It’s crazy, too, ‘cause she’s just… cool. You ever actually talk to her?"

Joe hesitated for a half-second. "Yeah. Once."

That was enough for the guys to give each other looks.

"Ohhh, so that’s why you’re asking," Ja’Marr teased.

"Chill, man," Joe rolled his eyes. "I was just curious."

"Sure."

"Nah, for real, though," Tee said, tossing the ball to Ja’Marr. "She’s mad sweet. Like, actually nice. Not just in a ‘stand-there-and-smile’ way, either. She remembers shit. Like, I saw her at some event last year, and she asked me about my sister. Nobody ever asks about my sister."

"She’s solid," Tyler added, jogging past them. "Like, real solid. You don’t meet a lot of girls like that in this life."

Joe frowned slightly, rolling his shoulders. "So why’s she with him?"

That made Tee pause, gripping the football tighter.

"Man…" He let out a breath, shaking his head. "I dunno. She’s been with him forever. Since she was, like, a kid."

"How much older is he?"

"Six years."

Joe blinked. "Damn."

"Yeah. And, like—don’t get me wrong, Miles is cool and all, but…" Tee trailed off, glancing at Ja’Marr, like he was debating how much to say.

Ja’Marr finished for him. "He’s kinda—" He made a so-so motion with his hand. "You know. A little selfish. Talks about himself a lot."

"A lot," Tee agreed.

"You ever seen them together?"

Joe thought about it. Really thought about it.

Miles was always talking. And when he wasn’t, he was making himself seen. When you were with him, you were quiet. Smiling. Nodding. Like you had a script to follow. Like it was second nature.

Joe remembered the way you’d looked at that event, absentmindedly twisting your ring around your finger. The way your face had shifted, just slightly, when you realized you and Joe were almost the same age. Like you’d never really thought about it before.

"Yeah," Joe said finally. "I’ve seen them."

Tee nodded like that told him everything he needed to know.

"Miles is a lucky dude," Ja’Marr said after a moment, stretching his arms above his head. "Just don’t think he knows it."

That part stuck with Joe the longest.

--

You had always wanted a quiet life. Not small, necessarily, but yours. Intimate. A life where love wasn’t measured in carats or headlines, but in moments. In the way someone reached for you without thinking, in the way they listened—really listened. But you knew, from the moment you started dating Miles, that privacy was a luxury you would never have.

Not with someone like him.

Miles was big. A presence. A personality. A man who took up space and made sure everyone knew it. And, in the beginning, maybe that had been exciting—the way he talked about you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was flattering. Addictive, even.

Until it wasn’t.

Until it became less about you and more about the idea of you.

The engagement was when you realized that fully, undeniably. When the last piece of the illusion shattered.

You had told him—so many times—how you dreamed of it happening. Something quiet. Personal. Maybe somewhere beautiful, just the two of you. No cameras, no crowd. Something real.

And instead, he did it during a game.

A packed stadium, the roar of the crowd, the flashing lights. And you—sitting in the stands, already feeling like a spectator in your own life—watching in horror as your face appeared on the jumbotron.

Miles, down on one knee in the middle of the field. Smiling like he had just won the Super Bowl. Holding out a ring so massive it caught the stadium lights like a diamond chandelier.

You felt it like a blow to the chest.

Because this wasn’t for you. It had never been for you. It was for the spectacle. The story. The legend of Miles Johnson, star receiver, locking down the perfect woman.

He had looked so proud of himself, so smug, soaking in the cheers. He didn’t even look at you, not really. Not to see you. He just waited, arm outstretched, knowing you would say yes. Because how could you say no? Not here. Not with thousands of people watching. Not with cameras broadcasting your reaction to the world.

So you said it.

"Yes."

And the crowd erupted, and Miles pulled you into a kiss like he had just won a trophy, and your hands shook as they slipped into his.

Later, when the adrenaline had worn off and the reality of it settled in, he had taken every opportunity to brag about the ring. Thirty grand. He told his teammates, his family, reporters. You see that? Got my girl the best. He would bring it up casually, waiting for people to react, for them to nod and pat him on the back like he had done something incredible. Like he had bought you.

The truth was, you hated the ring.

Not because it was expensive, but because it felt foreign on your hand. It was heavy, suffocating, too much. Too Miles.

Like everything else in your life.

Somewhere along the way, you had stopped being a person and had become a reflection of him. His fiancée. His prize.

And maybe you could have kept pretending it was enough—maybe you could have convinced yourself this was what love looked like—if Joe Burrow hadn’t looked at you that night at the event, sat beside you, and talked to you. Like a person. Like someone worth knowing.

Like you still existed.

It hit you a month after the engagement.

The NFL Honors had been a blur of flashing lights and stiff smiles, your body on autopilot as you stood beside Miles, your arm hooked around his like a delicate accessory. You had smiled for photos, laughed at the right moments, leaned into him like you belonged there. Like you wanted to be there. Like you weren’t suffocating beneath the weight of it all.

And then it was over.

The glamor, the noise, the people. Gone.

You were back in the house—Miles’ house—miles of sleek marble and vaulted ceilings, an architectural masterpiece designed to impress. To be envied. And yet, it had never felt like home.

It was too big, too curated, too cold.

It wasn’t you.

It had never been you.

The silence was deafening, pressing in around you as you sat curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, searching for something to fill the emptiness. And that was when you saw it—post after post, comments, pictures.

"Miles' girl." "Mrs. Johnson-to-be." "The most beautiful trophy wife in the NFL." "He really locked that down." "She’s perfect for him."

Not one mention of you. Not one comment about who you were, what you liked, what you thought, what you dreamed of. Just a never-ending stream of praise for Miles and how lucky he was. How you were his.

His. His.

You weren’t even Y/N anymore.

Just beautiful Y/N. Miles' perfect trophy. The girl who got the ring.

A weight settled in your chest, pressing against your ribs, thick and suffocating.

You hadn’t realized you were drowning until it was too late. Until you were so deep in it, you weren’t sure how to claw your way back to the surface.

Who even were you outside of him?

Your only friends were the other WAGs—women who smiled just like you did, laughed at all the same jokes, wore the same dresses to the same events, whose lives revolved around their husbands, their fiancés, their boyfriends. And Miles’ family—people who adored you, yes, but only as an extension of him. As the woman who would carry his last name, bear his children, sit in the stands and cheer him on.

You had spent years convincing yourself this was love. That this was what it meant to love someone—to mold yourself into what they needed, to take up less space, to fit neatly into their world without ever disrupting it.

And soon, you would be Mrs. Johnson.

And you would disappear entirely.

Miles came home late that night, the door clicking shut with the kind of ease that only came with routine. He never announced his arrival, never called out for you. He just assumed you’d be there—waiting, ready, exactly where he left you.

You were in the kitchen, sitting at the marble island, fingers curled around a half-empty glass of wine. He barely looked at you as he walked in, dropping his keys onto the counter, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” you said, voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Hey.”

A beat of silence. The air felt thick, heavy. You weren’t sure why, but you knew you needed to say something, anything to fill the space before it swallowed you whole.

“I was thinking of picking up a new hobby,” you tried. “Something creative. I don’t know, maybe painting or—”

“How much do you need?” Miles cut in, still looking at his phone.

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed like you were exhausting him. “How much? I’ll transfer it now.”

Your grip tightened around the stem of the wine glass. “I don’t need money, Miles. I just—”

“Then what?” He finally looked up, brow furrowed like you were the confusing one here. Like this conversation was a waste of time. “I don’t get it.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I was just trying to tell you something. About me. About my life.”

“Your life?” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “What life, Y/N? You don’t work. You don’t have to worry about anything except looking good and showing up when you need to. What else do you need?”

It hit you square in the chest. The final nail in the coffin.

What else do you need?

Not who are you? Not what makes you happy? Not tell me more baby, I want to know.

You swallowed, a sharp bitterness curling in your throat. “I need a husband who actually listens to me.”

That made him pause. His brows pulled together, his lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Then—“Don’t start this shit, Y/N.”

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

“This shit?” you repeated, voice climbing, hands shaking. “You mean talking? You mean actually having a conversation for once?”

Miles groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jesus, you’re always so fucking dramatic.”

“I’m trying to talk to you, Miles! And you can’t even pretend to care for five seconds!”

His eyes darkened. “You have everything, Y/N. A perfect life. A perfect goddamn ring. And you’re still not happy.”

“Because none of it feels like mine!” The words came out harsher than you intended, but they were true. “It’s your house. Your money. Your world. Where do I fit into any of it?”

Miles shook his head, scoffing under his breath. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to give a shit!”

“Well, maybe I don’t have time to sit around worrying about feelings all day!” He slammed his phone onto the counter. “I have a career to focus on, Y/N. A team to lead. You think I have time to deal with your little identity crisis?”

It felt like a slap.

A sharp, cold, humiliating slap.

You stared at him, heart pounding, mouth dry, but you had nothing left to say. Nothing left to fight for.

The silence stretched, long and unforgiving.

Miles exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and left, his heavy footsteps fading down the hall.

And you—

You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he had just been, before you finally moved. You crawled into bed alone, pulled the covers up to your chin, and let yourself cry.

--

The next morning at practice, the air was thick with late summer humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel heavier. The guys were halfway through drills when Miles started talking—loudly, for anyone who’d listen.

“She was crying when I left last night, man,” he said, shaking his head as he lined up for another rep. “Over what? Some bullshit about a hobby. A hobby, bro. Like, what even is that? She has everything.”

Joe clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the yard line ahead as he rolled out his shoulders. He wasn’t trying to listen, but Miles wasn’t exactly subtle.

Tee Higgins, standing next to Joe, let out a low whistle. “Damn. You sure you wanna be sayin’ all that out loud?”

Miles scoffed. “What, like it’s a secret? Everyone knows she’s got the perfect life. But somehow, that ain’t enough.”

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He knew why it wasn’t enough.

And before he could stop himself, the words were out—sharp, biting. “Maybe ‘cause it’s your version of perfect, not hers.”

A pause.

Miles turned his head slowly, expression hardening. “What?”

Joe shrugged, keeping his voice even. “I’m just saying. Maybe you should listen to her instead of assuming she’s just complaining for fun.”

The guys around them shifted, suddenly very invested in stretching. Ja’Marr muttered something under his breath about not getting in the middle of shit, but Tee smirked, glancing between them like this was the most entertainment he’d had all morning.

Miles let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “And what do you know about relationships, Burrow? You got a girl I don’t know about?”

Joe didn’t answer. Just stared back, unblinking.

Miles tilted his head, and his voice dropped lower. “Or are you just real interested in mine?”

The energy shifted. The air got tighter.

Joe rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to stay calm. “Nah. Just think you should be careful who you shit talk your fiancée to.”

“Fiancée, huh?” Miles’ mouth curled into something ugly. “You wanna date her instead or something?”

The words hit the ground between them like a live wire. The whole group went quiet.

Joe kept his expression blank. “That what you’re worried about?”

Miles took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Nah. I’m not worried about shit. But maybe you should be careful.”

Joe didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Didn’t give Miles the satisfaction of a reaction.

Instead, he let the silence stretch, watching as the frustration crept into Miles’ expression.

Then, finally—Joe smirked. Just a little. Just enough.

And that pissed Miles off more than anything.

Miles' jaw tensed, nostrils flaring. His hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to say more—like he wanted to do more—but there were too many eyes on them now. The tension between them was so thick, so sharp, that even the guys who usually loved a little locker room drama weren’t sure if they wanted to be part of this one.

Tee let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, y’all gonna throw hands before practice even starts?”

“Ain’t nobody throwing hands,” Ja’Marr cut in, stepping between them like he already knew where this was headed. “Miles just real defensive all of a sudden.”

Miles scoffed, dragging a hand down his face. “Nah, y’all are just real nosy all of a sudden.”

Joe just smiled again, the same easy, slow smirk that had already set Miles on edge. He could see it in the way the older man’s shoulders went rigid, in the way his fists flexed. And Joe wasn’t dumb—he knew he was playing with fire. But Miles had been running his mouth since the moment practice started, acting like his relationship was some kind of burden, and Joe wasn’t the type to sit back and pretend he didn’t hear it.

There was a beat of silence.

Then, the other guys—those who hadn’t already quietly backed away—started chuckling, shaking their heads.

The laughter died down, but the damage was already done. The idea had already been planted—Miles wasn’t the prize in this relationship. She was.

Joe could see it in his face. The way his jaw twitched, the way his eyes flickered with something insecure, something raw.

And it made sense now. Why Miles paraded her around like a trophy, why he made sure every room knew she was his, why he proposed in front of an entire stadium instead of in private where she might’ve actually wanted it.

It was never about her. It was always about him. About making sure everyone knew he was still the star—on the field, in the locker room, and in his own damn relationship.

Miles exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back like he was shaking off the conversation. Then he turned his glare back on Joe, pointing a finger at him. “You? Stay the fuck out of my business.”

Joe lifted his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “Wouldn’t have to if you stopped airing it out in the middle of practice.”

Miles stared at him for another second—long enough that Joe could see the battle happening in his head, the urge to keep pushing versus the reality that they were still standing on the damn field, still surrounded by teammates, still at work.

Eventually, Miles just muttered something under his breath and stalked off toward the sideline, shoulders tight with frustration.

Joe exhaled, shaking his head as he lined up for the next drill.

Tee clapped him on the back, grinning. “Oh yeah, you definitely got under his skin.”

Joe just smirked, eyes flickering in the direction Miles had gone.

Good.

--

You woke up feeling off.

Not sick, not exactly—but weighed down, heavy, like your body had absorbed the exhaustion of the night before and decided to make a home of it. The bed was cold next to you, a reminder that Miles had never come back from the couch. That should’ve brought some kind of relief, but instead, it just settled deeper into your bones.

You stared at the ceiling, the light creeping in through the expensive sheer curtains—ones Miles had picked out because they looked good, not because they actually blocked anything. You felt like you hadn’t slept at all. Maybe you hadn’t.

Last night was the first time in a long time that the silence had cracked, that the resentment bubbling beneath the surface had finally boiled over. And now, in the daylight, you couldn’t tell if you felt better for it—or worse.

It wasn’t like it was one fight that made you feel this way. It was years of being Miles Johnson’s fiancée, before that, his girlfriend. Years of being reduced to an extension of him, even when you hadn’t noticed it happening.

But you did now. And you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You were nineteen when you met him. Miles was twenty-five. Six years older, in the prime of his career, a star. And you? You were just a college sophomore at a school you weren’t even sure you loved, in a major you had picked because it seemed practical, not because it felt right. You had plans for your life, dreams, but they were all vague and out of focus, waiting for the right moment to take shape.

And then there was Miles.

Charming, cocky, larger than life—he had walked into the bar that night like he owned the whole damn city. You hadn’t even known who he was at first, but your friends did. They whispered about him like he was something untouchable, an idea more than a person. And then, somehow, he was standing in front of you.

“You’re the prettiest girl in here,” he had said, like it was a fact. And when you had rolled your eyes, he had laughed, delighted.

“Not gonna fall at my feet, huh?”

“Not a chance.”

That had made him try harder.

It was easy, then. Easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of being pursued by someone like him—older, successful, with the kind of confidence that made you believe he knew everything about the world. He took you to expensive restaurants, bought you things you would never have dared to pick out for yourself. He introduced you to people who lived lives you couldn’t even imagine. And when he kissed you, when he pulled you into his orbit, it felt like stepping into a life bigger than your own.

You didn’t notice the shift at first.

Didn’t notice how the little things that made you you started slipping away, how your world slowly became about his—his career, his schedule, his needs. You told yourself it was just part of the relationship, part of loving someone like Miles. That it was normal to bend, to adjust, to let go of the things that didn’t fit anymore.

You stopped talking about the things you wanted to do—because, eventually, you started forgetting what they even were.

And then, somewhere along the way, you became his.

Not just his girlfriend, but Miles Johnson’s girlfriend. A title, a role, something people recognized before they even knew you. And you had played the part well. You were the beautiful, supportive, ever-smiling woman on his arm. The one who laughed at his jokes, who cheered for him from the stands, who let him hold court in every room while you lingered in the background.

And now, you were his fiancée.

And soon, you would be Mrs. Johnson.

And you would disappear completely.

--

Joe had never been the type to dwell on things.

His whole life had been about moving forward, about the next step, the next goal, the next game. He had always known where he was going—to the NFL, to the kind of career most people could only dream about. That had been the plan since he was a kid, and he had never once let himself get distracted from it.

College had been a blur. Not in a reckless, partying-until-dawn way—he had been too focused for that—but in the sense that everything outside of football had been… secondary. Background noise.

Yeah, he always had a girl on his arm. It wasn’t hard—he was Joe Burrow, after all. But they were never the girl. They were just there. Pretty, fun, something to fill the gaps between practices and film sessions, but never something that took up space in his mind once they were gone. He never let them.

He had bigger things to worry about.

And now, he was here.

The NFL. The dream, the destination. And he had everything he had worked for—millions in the bank, a city that worshipped him, a career that was just getting started. He was playing on the biggest stage in the world, living out every goal he had ever set for himself.

And yet.

Lately, there was something he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t unhappy, exactly. He loved football. Loved the grind, the competition, the high of a perfect game. But there were nights—when he was alone in his place, when the buzz of the locker room had faded, when he saw his friends posting about engagements, weddings, families—when he wondered if maybe he had spent so much time chasing one dream that he hadn’t realized he might want something else, too.

Not in the I need to settle down right now way. He wasn’t miles away from that thought. But he just felt… off. Like there was something missing, something just out of reach.

And that feeling had been lingering at the edges of his mind for a while now, but he hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t really felt it—until he met her.

She wasn’t supposed to be interesting.

He had seen plenty of women like her before—NFL girlfriends and fiancées, always perfect, always polished, always a step behind the star they were attached to. He didn’t have anything against them, but he had never given them much thought. They were part of the scenery, the expected.

But she was different.

He had noticed it the second he talked to her.

That night at the event, when everyone else had ignored her, when she had been sitting alone while Miles soaked up the attention like a sponge, Joe had been curious.

So he sat down next to her.

And the second she looked at him, he saw it—the sharpness behind her eyes, the way she was there but not present, the way she seemed to be existing in a world that had been built for her but not by her.

And she had challenged him. Not in a playful, flirty way, but in a real way. He had expected her to be polite, to give the kind of empty small talk he always got at these things.

But she had given him something real.

And now? Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not just because she was gorgeous—she was, maybe one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—but because she was interesting.

She didn’t fit the mold. He could tell.

And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was just because he was bored with everything else, but for the first time in a long time, Joe had found someone who made him want to know more.

And he was going to figure out why.

--

You were curled up in bed, your phone the only thing keeping you company as you aimlessly scrolled. You barely heard him come in, barely looked up when Miles greeted you, his voice low and familiar. You felt the soft kiss he pressed to your neck, but your body tensed, just slightly. He didn’t notice, or maybe he chose not to.

His lips trailed lower, his hands finding their way to your waist, his voice dropping into that coaxing tone you knew all too well. “Been thinkin’ about you all day. Missed you.”

You exhaled, a slow, tired sound slipping from your lips. “Miles.”

He lingered there, waiting for more, but you didn’t give him anything. Your eyes remained on the ceiling, your phone discarded on the nightstand. You felt him nuzzle into your hair, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The energy between you felt… off. He asked if you were mad at him, but that wasn’t it. Not really.

You didn’t answer at first. You just pulled away, just enough to let him know that you weren’t in the mood. That you didn’t want this.

He blinked, confused, his voice softer when he tried again. “Y/N?”

But you didn’t want to deal with this now. You were tired. Exhausted, in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. “I’m just tired, Miles,” you murmured, your voice distant, but you couldn’t help it. You weren’t mad at him. You just didn’t feel like being pulled into whatever he was trying to fix tonight.

You felt him sit back, his gaze heavy on you as if he was seeing you for the first time in a while. The silence stretched between you, thick and uneasy. Then, his voice broke through it again, suggesting that maybe you should get a job, do something with yourself to feel better. It wasn’t the most thoughtful thing he’d said, and you knew that. You weren’t sure if he even meant it or if he was just trying to patch things up in the way he knew best.

You looked at him, your gaze searching, unsure if you were hearing him right. “You’d be okay with that?” you asked, needing to know if he meant what he was saying.

He shrugged, a little too casually. “Yeah. You don’t gotta, obviously. You got everything you need, but if you want somethin’ to do, I’ll support you. Whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You didn’t respond immediately. You just let his words hang in the air, feeling like he was offering something you didn’t know if you wanted. But there it was—the tiniest flicker of relief in your chest as you nodded. Maybe you were grasping at something, anything, to feel like yourself again.

He exhaled, like he’d solved something. But you knew better. There was still a gap between you, unspoken, unresolved. For now, though, you’d let it go.

--

The night is warm, thick with the scent of grilled barbecue and chlorine, laughter spilling into the air like music. The backyard is packed—players, coaches, WAGs, and staff all buzzing with the energy of a new season, of fresh starts and high expectations. The pool glows under string lights, the surface shimmering as people dip their feet in or wade lazily through the water, red Solo cups in hand.

You’re sitting at the edge of a lounge chair, your bare legs stretched out in front of you, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs as you sip from your drink. It’s been a while since you’ve felt this—light. The WAGs are in a good mood tonight, looser than usual, buzzing from the excitement of the upcoming season, from the warmth of the alcohol.

"I swear to God, if I have to listen to one more fantasy football draft strategy," one of them groans, rolling her eyes as she leans back against her chair.

"Girl, my man has a binder full of statistics. Like it’s a college thesis or some shit," another one laughs.

You giggle, shaking your head, the sound feeling foreign in your own ears. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to just be—to feel like you’re back in college, before your entire identity became wrapped around someone else’s.

And across the yard, Joe Burrow cannot stop staring at you.

He’s not even subtle about it.

His drink sits idle in his hand, elbow propped on the armrest of a patio chair, his gaze cutting across the party, locking onto you like a magnet. He watches the way your shoulders shake when you laugh, the way you tilt your head, the way your dress clings to the curves of your legs when you cross them.

"Bro, you gotta stop looking before Miles notices," Ja’Marr leans in, a lazy grin on his face.

Joe just shrugs, bringing his drink to his lips. "What’s he gonna do? Kill me?"

Ja’Marr snorts. "I mean, you are staring at his fiancée like you’re trying to solve a puzzle."

"She’s beautiful. He should know people are gonna look at her," Joe says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ja’Marr shakes his head, muttering something about how Joe’s got a death wish, but Joe just keeps watching.

And across the way, the WAGs notice.

"Okay, so I need you to tell me what you did to get Joe Burrow to look at you like that," one of them teases, nudging your shoulder.

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"Oh, come on," another one smirks. "That man has not taken his eyes off you for the last twenty minutes. I’m actually starting to feel bad for Miles."

Your stomach twists—not in discomfort, not in guilt, but in something else entirely. Something you haven’t felt in a long, long time.

You feel wanted.

Not in the way Miles wants you—like a prize to show off, like a thing to possess—but in the way you used to feel when you were younger, when boys would flirt with you at college parties, when someone’s gaze made you feel interesting, not just beautiful.

And it makes you feel alive.

You shake your head, laughing it off, even as your pulse picks up just a little. "You guys are imagining things."

"Oh, we definitely aren’t," one of them hums, taking a slow sip of her drink.

You glance back across the yard.

And Joe is still looking.

But this time, when your eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.

The night hums around you, a warm breeze sweeping through the backyard, making the string lights above sway gently. The scent of charred meat still lingers in the air, mixed with chlorine and expensive cologne. Laughter spills from the pool, from the deck, from the little clusters of people standing around, but none of it touches you.

Not now.

Not with him walking towards you.

Joe Burrow is moving through the crowd like he has nowhere to be, like he’s got all the time in the world to just be here, under these lights, on this night. And he’s heading straight for you.

The WAGs had just left, off to mingle with their husbands and boyfriends, leaving you alone in your chair with your mostly empty drink. You didn’t mind—being alone was something you were used to these days.

But apparently, Joe did mind.

"Need a refill?" His voice is smooth, the faintest trace of amusement in it, like he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it.

You glance down at your glass, condensation dripping down the sides, ice melting, barely a sip of anything left. You nod. "Yeah, actually."

He doesn’t hesitate. Just reaches out, plucks the cup from your fingers with a little smirk, and walks off toward the bar like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You watch him go, blinking in mild disbelief.

Joe Burrow, one of the biggest names in the NFL, just walked away to get you a drink.

And God, that does something to you.

A moment later, he’s back, handing you your glass, and when your fingers brush against his, there’s a flicker of something electric, something dangerous.

You swallow and bring the drink to your lips. Cold, crisp, refreshing.

Joe drops into the chair across from you, sprawling out like he belongs there, his legs spread wide, one arm draped lazily over the back of his chair. He watches you take a sip, his gaze half-lidded, like he’s already settled in for a conversation he doesn’t plan on cutting short.

"You looked like you needed rescuing from whatever the hell they were talking about," he says, tilting his chin toward where the WAGs had been sitting earlier.

You let out a breath of laughter. "You ever heard a thirty-minute conversation about throw pillows?"

His brows raise. "Can’t say I have."

"Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky," you tease, shaking your head. "I love them, but sometimes I swear they could write dissertations on interior decorating."

Joe smirks. "And you? You an expert on throw pillows too?"

You snort. "Not even close."

"Shame," he murmurs, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "I was really hoping you’d have some strong opinions on lumbar support."

You roll your eyes. "God, shut up."

"That’s not a no," he quips, and you groan, throwing your head back.

"Fine. If you must know, I do think most decorative pillows are pointless, because you just end up throwing them off the bed or couch anyway."

Joe grins, slow and smug. "So you do have strong opinions."

You open your mouth, then close it, glaring at him. "I hate you."

His smirk deepens. "No, you don’t."

And for some reason, that makes your stomach flip.

There’s something so easy about this, about him. The way the conversation flows, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he’s teasing you, the way he leans in just slightly, like he’s actually interested in what you have to say, like he’s not just making conversation to fill the silence.

It’s been a long time since someone talked to you like this. Since someone made you feel interesting, not just beautiful, not just Miles’ fiancée.

And God, you must be blushing, because Joe’s eyes flick over your face, and his grin turns downright wicked.

"You’re blushing," he says, voice all silk and amusement.

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. "No, I’m not."

"Yeah, you are," he says, leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees. "Damn, if I knew I had this effect on you, I would’ve started teasing you way earlier."

You narrow your eyes at him, but your lips are twitching, and he knows it.

"You’re insufferable."

Joe just chuckles, sitting back again, watching you over the rim of his glass. "And yet, you’re still sitting here."

And you don’t have an answer for that.

Because the truth is, you want to be here.

You want to sit in this chair, under these lights, on this warm summer night, and feel like this—like yourself, like a person, like something more than what you’ve been reduced to.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel alone.

--

Miles spotted them the second Joe sat down.

At first, it was just an awareness, the way his eyes naturally gravitated toward her—like they always did in a room full of people. It was a habit, second nature, an unconscious thing. A glance, then another. But then he saw the way Joe was looking at her.

And suddenly, he wasn’t just watching. He was staring.

Something inside him, something dark and unfamiliar, curled up tight in his chest.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this.

Miles had never had to be jealous before. Never had to worry. She was his. And that had always been enough.

But now?

Now, he was watching another man sit in front of her, lean in, smirk at her like she was something to be won. And worse—so much worse—she was laughing.

Really laughing.

Not the polite, social laugh she gave when she was playing the role of his perfect wife. Not the strained, forced kind that meant she was bored but trying to be nice.

No, this was different.

This was easy, genuine.

This was the kind of laugh she used to give him.

His grip on his beer tightened, fingers pressing into the damp glass, jaw locking so hard it ached.

Joe fucking Burrow.

The golden boy. The franchise. The quarterback who could do no wrong.

And now, apparently, the asshole who thought he could sit across from Miles’ wife and flirt with her in plain fucking sight.

What pissed him off the most was that Joe didn’t even try to hide it. He wasn’t subtle, wasn’t cautious. It wasn’t the kind of half-assed flirting guys did when they were just testing the waters, unsure if she was off-limits. No, this was deliberate. This was the kind of thing that happened when a man already knew what he wanted.

And the way he was looking at her, the way he smirked every time she tried to argue with him, the way his gaze lingered on her mouth just a second too long—he wanted her.

And she was letting him.

Miles' stomach twisted, something sour curling in his throat.

Had she ever smiled at him like that in the last few months? Had she ever looked that light, that carefree, that… happy?

A flash of memory hit him—her voice, sharp and tired from their last fight.

"I just want to feel like more than your fucking wife, Miles."

His throat tightened.

Because fuck, he knew he hadn’t been perfect. He knew things had been off between them, knew she wanted more, needed more.

But was this it?

Was this what she needed?

Some other man’s attention? Some other man making her blush, making her tuck her hair behind her ear like she was some shy, sweet little thing who wasn’t married?

He set his beer down a little too hard on the table beside him, the sound loud in his ears.

"Man, you good?" Tee asked, glancing at him.

Miles barely heard him.

Joe was leaning forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice low, saying something that made her shake her head, biting her lip like she was trying not to laugh.

And Miles saw red.

He had never—never—felt something like this before.

He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the jealous type.

He never had to be.

She’d always been his. And no one had ever challenged that. No one had ever looked at her and thought they had a chance because they didn’t.

But here Joe was. Sitting there, flirting with her like Miles didn’t even fucking exist.

And Miles hated him for it.

"Yo," Tee said again, nudging him. "What’s up?"

Miles’ hands curled into fists.

"Burrow," he muttered, eyes still locked on the scene in front of him.

Tee followed his line of sight, then let out a low whistle. "Damn," he said, shaking his head. "He really don’t give a fuck, huh?"

No. He didn’t.

And that was the problem.

Because Joe fucking Burrow wasn’t scared of him.

He wasn’t worried about stepping on toes, wasn’t concerned about boundaries.

Because in his mind?

Miles didn’t matter.

And that?

That was fucking unacceptable.

--

You don’t notice Miles at first.

Not really.

You’re too caught up in the moment, in the way Joe makes it so easy to talk, to laugh. It’s been so long since you’ve had a conversation like this—one that isn’t about game schedules or dinner plans or how many charity events you have lined up for the season.

But then Joe’s eyes flicker up for half a second, and you know.

You know before you even turn around.

Miles is standing there, casual as anything, beer in hand, that unreadable half-smirk on his face. He’s trying to play it cool, you can tell, but you know him. You know the sharp edge of his jaw when he’s holding something back, the way his fingers tap against his bottle when he’s annoyed.

"Looks like you two are having fun," he says, voice light, teasing.

You open your mouth, but Joe beats you to it.

"Yeah," he says easily. "She’s good company."

Miles’ smirk twitches, just a little, just enough for you to notice.

"That right?"

Joe just grins. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Miles shifts his weight slightly, adjusting his grip on his beer, then turns to you. "We should get going."

You blink. "What? Why?"

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he hadn’t just interrupted your conversation. "It’s late."

You frown. "It’s not that late."

Miles looks at you for a long second, then smiles. "You wanna stay?"

"Yeah, I do."

Joe leans back in his chair, clearly enjoying every second of this. "Can’t blame her," he says with a smirk. "It’s a good party."

Miles doesn’t look at him, just keeps his eyes on you. "One of your friends was looking for you," he says, smooth and easy. "Said they needed to talk."

You hesitate. "Who?"

He just shrugs again, taking a sip of his drink. "Not sure. But they seemed like it was important."

You glance between him and Joe, feeling something heavy settle in your stomach. You know what Miles is doing. He’s giving you an out, a way to leave without making a scene.

And part of you wants to fight him on it.

But the other part?

The other part just sighs.

"Okay," you say eventually, standing up. "I’ll go find them."

Joe watches you go, and just before you’re out of earshot, you hear him chuckle.

"You really don’t like me, huh?" he says, and you don’t have to turn around to know that Miles is seething.

Miles doesn’t answer Joe right away.

He just stares.

And for the first time in his life, Joe watches a man who’s always been effortlessly self-assured hesitate. Miles Johnson, the guy who’s never questioned a damn thing in his life, the guy who walks into every room like he owns it, the guy who doesn’t lose—he’s standing there, jaw tight, grip flexing around the neck of his beer bottle, seething.

Because this isn’t just about some guy flirting with his girl.

This is about Joe Burrow flirting with his girl.

Joe, who has everything Miles does. Joe, who isn’t just some backup wide receiver on the depth chart but the quarterback, the golden boy, the face of the team. If it were some random guy, Miles wouldn’t even be thinking twice about it. But Joe? That’s different.

Joe has already been given the world, and now—now he’s looking at his girl like he has a shot at taking that, too.

Miles lets out a breath through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "You think this shit is funny?"

Joe just smiles. "Kinda, yeah."

Miles’ jaw clenches.

"You got something to say, man?"

Joe takes his time leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees, beer dangling from his fingers. "Me? Nah. I think you already know what I’m thinking."

Miles steps closer.

The tension is thick, crackling, and Joe—Joe just sits there, cool as ever, because he lives for this shit. He’s spent his whole life on a football field, has stared down 300-pound linemen trying to rip his head off, has played in stadiums so loud he couldn't even hear his own thoughts, and this?

This is just funny.

"You got a problem with me, Miles?" Joe finally asks, voice easy, relaxed.

Miles doesn’t answer. Because yeah, maybe he does have a problem with Joe.

And Joe fucking knows it.

And just when it looks like Miles might actually say something, Ja’Marr appears like he’s got some kind of internal alarm for bad ideas.

"Hey, hey, hey," Ja’Marr says, stepping between them before anything can go further. "What the hell is goin’ on over here?"

Joe leans back, grinning like nothing happened. "Nothing."

Miles scoffs. "Yeah," he mutters, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking something off. "Nothing."

Ja’Marr looks between them, clearly not believing that for a second. "Right."

Miles exhales sharply, trying to regain some control of the situation. He looks back at Joe, his voice measured. "Look, I don’t know what kinda game you think you’re playing, but let me make one thing clear—she’s mine."

Joe just tilts his head. "No one’s arguing that."

"You sure?" Miles asks, voice low.

Joe just lifts a shoulder. "One hundred percent."

Miles stares at him, trying to read between the lines, trying to see if Joe is bullshitting him, and Joe gives him nothing. Just a calm, neutral expression.

Joe finally sighs, running a hand through his hair like this whole thing is just exhausting for him. "Look, bro, you got nothing to worry about," he says, and his voice is so assured, so calm, that for a second, Miles wants to believe him. "Focus on your season, your career. You’re a lucky man. No one’s trying to step on your toes."

He even throws in a little bro-code for good measure, because that’s what guys like Miles eat up.

And just like that—Miles relaxes. Not completely, but enough that he lets it go.

"Good," he mutters after a long moment.

Joe nods, casual as anything, and then Miles finally—finally—walks away.

Ja’Marr watches him go, then turns back to Joe.

"That was some bullshit," he says.

Joe just grins. "Yeah. But he bought it, didn’t he?"

The drive home is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful, but the kind that makes your skin prickle, the kind that sits heavy in the air, thick with something unsaid.

You’re still in a good mood. You can feel it in the way your body is still buzzing slightly, the aftereffects of laughter and good conversation. For the first time in a long time, you’d felt light. Like the version of yourself that existed before all of this—before the responsibilities, before the expectations, before you became someone’s wife—had peeked through the cracks of who you’ve had to become.

And Miles hates it.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel it. The weight of his stare on the road, the way his grip on the wheel is just a little too tight. He’s never been good at masking his emotions, never been the type to hide his displeasure. You learned that early on.

When you get home, you don’t even make it to your bedroom before he speaks.

"So," Miles says, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching you with an expression that isn’t outright anger, but something close to it. "You had fun tonight."

It’s not a question.

You pause, placing your purse on the counter carefully, your heartbeat just slightly picking up. "Yeah," you say slowly, hesitantly. "It was nice to be around everyone before the season starts."

He hums. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something calculating, and you don’t like it.

"You and Joe seemed to be having fun," he continues.

And there it is.

Your stomach twists—not in guilt, but in frustration.

"Don’t do that," you say, turning fully to face him now. "Don’t make it into something it wasn’t."

Miles tilts his head, his mouth twisting like he’s the one who should be annoyed. "Make it into something?" he repeats, letting out a sharp little laugh. "Baby, I was there. I saw it."

You inhale deeply through your nose. "Saw what?"

Miles scoffs, pushing off the counter, stepping closer. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

Your jaw clenches. "Yes, actually, I do. Because from where I was sitting, all I did was have a conversation, and now you’re acting like—"

"Like what?" he cuts in. His voice isn’t raised, but there’s a sharp edge to it, a barely restrained irritation. "Like I didn’t have to sit there and watch my wife giggle at another man’s jokes? Like I didn’t have to watch him look at you like he was thinking about shit he shouldn’t be thinking about?"

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "That’s what this is about? Because someone looked at me?"

Miles exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. "No, this is about you letting him."

Your stomach drops.

There it is.

The shift. The moment where he stops being annoyed at the situation and starts being annoyed at you.

Your hands clench at your sides. "I can’t control how people look at me, Miles."

He takes another step forward, closing the distance, voice lowering. "But you can control how you react to it."

You stare at him, searching his face for the man you used to know, the one who once made you feel like you were the center of his world.

"I didn’t do anything wrong," you say, and you hate the way your voice comes out softer, like you're trying to convince him.

Miles exhales, and for a second, he just looks at you.

And then—he sighs.

It’s long and dramatic, and he runs a hand down his face, shaking his head. "You’re right," he finally says, and it’s so sudden that it almost gives you whiplash. "You didn’t do anything wrong."

Your brows knit together in confusion.

"I—I didn’t?"

He steps forward again, hands landing on your waist now, pulling you closer. "No, baby," he murmurs, his voice shifting, softening. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you did."

Your brain is scrambling to catch up.

"You—" you swallow. "You just—"

"I know, I know," he sighs again, dropping his forehead to yours. "God, I hate fighting with you."

You exhale shakily. The tension that had built up in your chest doesn’t fully leave, but it starts to shift.

Because this is the part where he fixes it.

The part where he pulls you into his arms, presses his lips to your forehead, and makes it okay.

"You know I just—I just love you so much," he murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw, your neck. "And I see someone else getting your attention, even for a second, and I just—I don’t know, baby, I just lose it."

You close your eyes. Your hands move to rest on his chest out of habit. "Miles—"

"Shh," he hums, lips brushing your ear now. "I forgive you, okay?"

Your breath catches.

"You forgive me?"

He kisses you before you can say anything else.

And that’s how he does it.

That’s how he wins.

Because somehow, you’ve gone from defending yourself to being the one who is forgiven.

And the worst part?

You let him.