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starsinthesky5 · 9 months ago

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nothing's gonna hurt you baby || joe burrow x reader

description: the first game of the season doesn't go as planned and it kills you to see joe like this. you can't help but feel deja vu...

a/n: ahem, is this thing on 🎤🎤. i'm backkkkk… after a much-needed tiny break (not planned just life getting in the way). this is a little something i cooked up! still working on "taste" which is a slow work in progress but that's the main next fic that'll be coming soon!

as always, thanks for reading & showing love :)))) i hope this wasn’t too much yapping and nonsense lol. the smut isnt my best because i wrote it while i was half asleep but i hope you enjoy it. there’s also plenty of song references throughout the fic (biggest one and the inspiration being this CAS song)

warnings: angst, fluff, smut. that's literally the whole fic :)

word count: 12.2 k

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You leaned back against the wall across from the entrance to the locker rooms, anxiously picking at a thumbnail on your finger as you waited for your boyfriend to come out so you two could go home. You were standing in your orange halter crop top with a little '9' embroidered on the bottom left side and matching white jean shorts with the same '9' embroidered in orange on the back right pocket. The '9' on your shorts was a little bigger than the one on your top which Joe loved because according to him ‘everyone knows who your ass belongs to’. His adorable possessive nature was always something you admired and appreciated. He was very secure in your relationship and knew nobody would take you from him, but that didn't stop him from ensuring everyone knew you were his at any chance he got.

You were also wearing orange stiletto knee-high boots which adds to the overall orange vibe of your game-day outfit. The theme was 'open in orange' so you were wearing as much orange as you could possibly make look cute. Your '9' necklace was the only piece of jewelry you had around your neck, and your wrists were decked out with bracelets given to you by Joe–each one even more polished and expensive than the previous one, and various rings on your fingers. Your favorite one, the beautiful promise ring Joe gave you for your 2nd anniversary, shined brighter than any of the jewelry you had on. It was a ‘secret garden’ inspired ring, one of your favorite books of all time.

There was a growing pit in your stomach as you stood there gazing at the large ‘B’ on the wall outside the locker room, a slow-burning sensation that started about two minutes into the game, and it was only getting bigger as the minutes passed by. By the end of the game, you were the most on edge you had ever been in your entire life.

Since this was Joe's first real game back after his wrist injury, your anxiety was already pretty bad by the time you got to the stadium. Your brain was swarmed with 'what-if?' scenarios and it was eating you alive. Joe, however, seemed the exact opposite of you. He was completely calm, normal, and focused like this was any other game. His peaceful temperament wasn't surprising since he had always been like this before every game but it also should've been expected since he worked through most of his emotions with you the night before and didn’t have anything left to get out. You on the other hand did a complete 360; you were so calm with him last night but right now you were on the verge of ripping your eyelashes out.

Flashback to the night before

You reached over to grab your glass of water, taking a big sip to help wash down the spicy chicken you were eating for dinner. You looked up at Joe as you were swallowing your water, noting how he was playing around with his food on his unusually full plate. You had been eating for almost 15 minutes and by now, his plate should be empty given how much of an animal he was once dinner rolled around.

“Not hungry?” you broke the unusual silence and asked.

Joe's eyes glanced up to meet yours, his cheeks burning because you took note of his behavior, which you weren't supposed to. “Uhh, not really,” he sighed as he placed his fork down and leaned back in his chair, his sweaty hands sliding up and down his thighs out of nervousness.

“You do know you have a game tomorrow, right?” you chuckled as you placed your fork down and leaned back in your chair like he was. “You need all the protein you can get,”.

“...Y- yeah, I know,” Joe mumbled after a few seconds of uneasy silence.

You instantly noticed the change in his body language at the mention of the game; the way his eyes fell down to his lap after his mumbling response, the way he started bouncing his left leg, his shoulders tensing up a little bit, the way he was constantly doing something with his hands as if he was uncomfortable, the way he was chewing at his bottom lip. These were all things Joe did when he was feeling anxious.

But why was he anxious?

“Hey, you okay?” you asked while leaning forward again, his body language making you worry.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he swallowed, still not meeting your eyes. He knew all it took was for you to get one look at his eyes to figure out he was lying and he really didn't want to burden you with his complicated emotions tonight.

“He’s lying,” you thought to yourself. The fact that he was avoiding eye contact with you was a dead giveaway. “Joe?” you said while lowering your head to get into his view.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice slightly trembling as he finally looked into your eyes.

“Why are you lying to me?” you said as your face dropped at the sight of his tired eyes and shaky voice.

“I’m not ly-,” he began to say before you interrupted him.

“Yeah, you are,” you interrupted. “I know you, remember. I know you better than you know yourself,” you softly laughed.

You weren’t wrong there, you did know Joe better than he knew himself and he was the first one to admit it. You knew exactly what he was thinking, exactly how to put his feelings into words even when he couldn’t do so himself, and exactly how to handle him. There was a reason why you were the only person he let into the bubble that he had around himself once football started back up. You were his shelter in the hurricane that became his life once he was back on the field and without you, Joe would be a mess.

Your response earned no reaction from Joe, he just sat there in silence and continued to bounce his leg up and down as he started to play with the wristbands on his wrist, yet another anxiety-related mannerism.

You let out a tired breath, “I’m not doing this, I can’t have him shut me out again,” you thought to yourself before scooting your chair back, walking around the dining table, and sitting down on the seat next to him. You turned your chair to face him and grabbed his hands, feeling the thin layer of sweat that coated his palms which made your heart hurt.

“Joe, it’s just us right now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, talk to me,” you said while giving his hands a soft squeeze. You were feeling deja vu right now, you found yourself in the same situation you found yourself in many times over the early months of the off-season, only then it was 10 times worse than it was right now.

Joe looked into your eyes, his body feeling heavy as self-doubt, anxiety, and fear crept into his mind. He was nervous about tomorrow’s game. Joe had never been nervous about a game like this and you were sitting in front of him, trying to get him to talk which you shouldn’t need to ‘try’ to do, he should be openly talking to you right now about his feelings. He always let you into the bubble, so why was it so hard for him to do it right now?

He realized that he was shutting down again, just like he had when he first got injured back in November. He didn’t want to go back to that dark place again, especially since coming out of it was a struggle that affected you both very badly. “I’m scared,” he choked out a few seconds later, trying his best to push through the wall he was unknowingly building again.

“Why?” you quietly asked as you felt your heart shatter because of the tone of his voice. You hated seeing him like this, it broke your heart to see him like this. You moved your hand up to cup his neck, the pads of your fingers were softly rubbing his tan skin which was a gentle action that you knew would calm him down.

“It’s my first game back from injury. An injury that could’ve easily ended my career. It should’ve ended my career,” he said while lifting his hand to wipe a stray tear from his eye.

“But it didn’t,” you smiled. “It didn’t end your career then and it won’t end your career now,”.

“How do you know that? I haven’t played in a real game since November. I haven’t gotten hit yet, I haven’t gotten sacked yet, and I haven’t been putting that much pressure on my hand. Tomorrow could easily be the last game of my career. Just one wrong move and-,”.

“No.” you interrupted. “You’re not doing that. Not on my watch,” you sternly said, trying to prevent him from getting too far inside his head about everything. Overthinking was his worst enemy.

“I’m being realistic, Y/N. Who knows if I’ll be the same Joe I was before,” he said while blinking away a few tears.

“You don’t need to be the same Joe you were before,” you soothed while continuing to rub his neck. “What you went through was unlike anything anyone has seen before, if people are expecting you to get right back to where you left off then they have no heart or brains. You’ll get to where you need to be, I promise. Things like this take time,” you added. “The Joe you are now is more than enough. You have grown in many ways that you might not have been able to unless you went through what you went through after November. You’ve worked on yourself and become more open, honest, and loose. You’ve put in the work on the field, in the weight room, in training, and even at home. You’re coming out of this a better person and a better player. A better Joe,”.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down. What if we lose tomorrow? With the slow start narrative getting louder and the aftermath of my wrist injury, this could be really fucked. This year is so important and I just don’t want to let anyone down; the organization, the team, the public, you,” he continued, his grip on your other hand becoming tighter. “I know I have a chip on my shoulder and have a lot to prove this year, but the thought of people not seeing that is killing me,”.

“You won’t let anyone down, Joe. And you could never ever fucking let me down, never say that again,” you said as you continued to rub his neck, seeing that he was getting more loose from your touch. “You’ve worked so so hard the past 10 months to get back to where you want to be and everyone and I mean everyone has seen that. I’ve seen that. Adversity always makes you better, it ignites that fire inside of you. That fire makes you who you are,” you said to him, feeling a little more comfortable yourself after seeing his body relax a bit. “Remember who you are. You’re Joe Burrow. Heisman winner, College Football National Champion, the first overall draft pick, one of the Top 5 quarterbacks in the league, one of the highest-paid quarterbacks, Ohio’s golden boy. You’re all of those things for a reason, Joe. You have it in you. You don’t need to be afraid or doubt yourself because you did all of those things, nobody else, just you,”.

You moved your hand over and wiped the tears that slowly were sliding down his cheeks before feeling Joe grab your hand and press a wet kiss to your palm. “I love you,” he sniffled. “I genuinely don’t know what I would do without you,”.

“I love you too,” you smiled before you leaned up to kiss his forehead. “Tomorrow is unpredictable, I will admit. But you control the narrative. You control what happens and what doesn’t happen out there. It’s just you and the football like it always has been. I know you and I know you’re going to kill it,”.

Joe gave you a small nod as he let your words sit inside of his head; you were right and he knew you were right. He did all of this himself, he single-handedly built his reputation and although there was an immense amount of pressure on him to maintain it, he knew that it was his reputation. He had control over his story, not anyone else. He didn’t need to work at anyone else’s speed except for his own. He knows the narrative that the media has been running with since November, that his career has been hindered by continuous injuries and he’s ’injury prone’. He knows what that title has done to the public's opinion on his career and rank as a player, but they don’t get to define him based on what they think. He is defined by everything he does himself.

It’s not their story, it’s his.

He reached out and placed his hand on your waist, gently pulling you from your chair and into his lap. You instantly looped your arms around his neck and pushed his head to the crook of your neck, this warm hug from you was the final thing he needed to fully calm his nerves. “You always know what to say to me,” he mumbled against your collarbone as you ran your fingers through his slightly grown-out frosted tips, his hands softly massaging your plush skin.

“It’s my job,” you chuckled. “I signed up for this when I met you at that football practice all those years ago and I plan on staying true to what I signed up for as long as I can,” you added before you dropped a kiss on his cheek, your mind calming down once you felt him relax against you.

“You better plan on it. I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he said as he pulled you in tighter.

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t want to go anywhere,” you giggled in his ear before pressing a kiss to it, then turning back to serious to finish off your little pep-talk. “I’m so proud of you, Joe. More than you’ll ever know. You’re truly the hardest working man I’ve ever met and you continue to amaze me with your dedication and determination every single day. Never think that you’re not good enough and you’re not who everyone thinks you are. You’re Joe Fucking Burrow. Never forget that,”.

“I won’t,” he sighed contently, finally at peace. “I won’t forget,” he said again before he pulled you closer and closed his eyes, getting lost in your palliative embrace.

End of flashback

You were so calm last night and now you were the complete opposite; you couldn’t figure out where and when things went south with your emotions. During the game, your brain was running a mile a minute as you thought of everything that could go wrong: Joe re-aggravating his injury, someone else on the team getting badly injured, and the team not being able to beat the slow start narrative. You were anxious, nervous, and deeply scared once the first quarter of the game started, and your feelings were validated when two minutes into the game Joe got sacked and fumbled the ball.

You remember your heart stopping once you saw him go down as this was the first time he had been hit since November.

“No!” you screamed as you shot up from your seat, your hand gripping the necklace around your neck as you looked down on the field and saw a bunch of large behemoths on top of him. “No, No, No,” you panicked as your breaths got shorter, your anxiety getting worse and worse as you saw flashbacks from the Ravens game in November. “Please be okay,” you thought to yourself as you were on the verge of tears.

Then you remember your heart dropping to your feet once you saw the ball come loose and even though he recovered it, this whole play left a bitter taste in your mouth since it was literally the first few minutes of the game and things were already not going as planned. Luckily, his going down didn’t seem to affect his wrist, but you could only imagine how it affected him mentally.

You thought that would’ve been the only sack of the game, but once again you were wrong. Each time Joe went down, you felt your heart stop. Each time he ran, your heart stopped again as you got flashbacks from early last year with his calf injury. Each time the camera panned to the sidelines and focused in on him, you felt like crying because you could tell the way the game was going was eating away at him by his facial expressions.

Every sack, every fumble, every drive that ended without scoring, and every turnover was killing you because the things Joe feared were happening even though you told him they wouldn’t. Seeing him flex his wrist on the sidelines and in between plays was the one thing that really did it for you. You didn’t know if this was just to keep his hand loose because he was feeling some tightness or whether this was because something was actually bothering him, your brain was in panic mode for the rest of the game.

“I hope he’s okay, that was ugly,” you thought to yourself before you jumped at the sound of the locker room door swinging open and snapping you out of your daze.

You watched as Joe walked out of the locker room, his eyes exhausted and defeated as he gave you a small ‘reassuring’ smile, however, it wasn’t very reassuring because his eyes gave his true feelings away in an instant.

You returned his smile with a smile of your own, opening your mouth to ask him if he was okay but before you could he leaned forward and dropped a kiss on your lips. He held it for a few moments as he melted into your touch which was the only relieving feeling he had felt all day before pulling away, entwining your pinkies, and leading you out to the car.

“That’s not good, he’s never this quiet when I come to meet him after the game,” you thought to yourself. If you didn’t say something first, he almost always did, but he wasn’t saying anything which was concerning. You stayed quiet as he led you out to the garage, your eyes not leaving his weary face for one second. You could tell he wasn’t okay, you could tell he was beating himself up over today’s loss.

A few moments later, he led you over to the passenger’s side of the car, an unusual move since you always drove the both of you home after a game. “I thought I was driving,” you gently said as you looked up at him.

“I got it,” he said with no emotion in his voice, dropping your pinky and looking into your eyes with his now cold and emotionless ones.

“But Joe I-,” you began to say but before you could finish your sentence he turned around and walked to the other side of the car.

“He definitely heard me,” you thought to yourself as you watched him open the backseat door and roughly throw his bag in, then slammed the door shut with a little more force than usual which startled you.

You let out a deep breath before opening your door and sliding into the passenger seat, your body stiff and frozen because of the way he was acting. You were scared to say something, scared to do something because you didn’t know what reaction you’d get from him, “He’s not doing this again, right?” you worried.

10 minutes into the drive home, you started getting agitated. He had yet to say anything to you, not even asking you if you were cold and if he should turn down the AC which he always asked you whenever you were in the car since he knew you got cold easily. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were practically turning white and his eyes were so locked in on the road in front of you that he hadn’t even noticed that you started shivering a little bit.

“Are you okay?” you finally broke the tension and asked, your bottom lip in between your teeth out of nervousness. Joe rarely ever raised his voice at you or got irritated by you saying something to him, but that didn’t stop you from getting nervous around him whenever he was acting like this.

You saw his jaw clench for a brief moment, your heart skipping a beat as you braced yourself for a potentially explosive reaction, but then you saw him unclench it. “I’m fine,” he said, once again with no emotion in his voice.

You gave him a small nod and then a few seconds later asked another question since he wasn’t budging, “How’s your wrist?”.

He let out a sigh, one that you could hear from his nose so it was definitely coming from a tired place, “It’s fine,” he said again, not giving you much to work with.

“He’s not fine, lying yet again. Maybe I could make him laugh? I need to do something to get him to loosen up” you thought to yourself, your brain scrambling to think of something to make him laugh even if it was for a brief moment.

“At least you guys scored a touchdown this time,” you smiled a few seconds later. “Even though you didn’t win the game, I’d say it was better than week 1 last year against the browns,”.

You studied his face carefully after you finished your sentence, searching for any tiny muscle movement that resulted in his lips curling up into a smile, but nothing. “Yeah,” he nodded, once again with no emotion. He then reached over to the center console, turning the knob for the volume up so that the once softly playing music was blasting throughout the car.

You felt your lip quiver and your eyes started to pool with tears as you continued to look at him, praying that he would look at you for even one brief moment, but he didn’t. “He’s doing it again,” you thought to yourself as you fell back into your seat. “He’s fucking doing it again. Just like he did after he got injured. He’s shutting me out,” you thought as you felt a tear slide down your cheek, your head turning away so that you were looking out the window so if Joe did happen to look over at you, he wouldn’t notice your silent tears.

Joe did look over at you. He was waiting for you to stop looking at him because he couldn’t look into your eyes right now, not when his brain was all over the place and he could regret the things that potentially came out of his mouth. He looked over at you when he saw you turn your head to the window from the corner of his eyes, his eyes softening when he saw your body shaking. You were cold. He always asks you if you’re cold, and this time he didn’t.

“I fuck everything up,” he muttered under his breath as he reached over to turn the AC down.

30 minutes later

After a car ride filled with deafening silence, you made it back home a half hour later and were pouring two glasses of water for you and Joe. He was sitting at the kitchen island behind you scrolling on his phone, still quiet as ever. You grabbed his glass and placed it in front of him, getting a peek at what he was looking at on his phone.

Media reactions.

Joe never looked at what the internet was saying about a game after it happened, it was one of his ‘blocking outside noise’ methods, so why was he looking at them?

“You really shouldn’t be looking at all that bullshit,” you said to him as you took a small sip of your water, the cool liquid feeling like a quiet unraveling of tightness within your body.

Joe was so focused on his phone that he didn’t notice that you were talking to him, the only things that he could hear were the voices of reporters talking about the team’s constant slow starts, his poor performance–saying that he played scared, rusty, and didn’t look like himself and that this team is constantly setting itself up for failure.

A video came up on his phone, an analyst was talking about his performance in today’s game, “We have to talk about Joe Burrow. He said he was ready, he said he felt great, and he said that this team was ready. But did that Cincinnati Bengals team that played against the Patriots today look ready? Absolutely not. Did the Joe Burrow who stepped out onto that field look ready? Absolutely Not. He looked scared, he didn’t look like himself. The lack of Deep Balls, the lack of throwing down the field. That’s not the Joe Burrow we’ve seen in years past. What’s truly going on in Cincinnati? Is there a deeper issue within that we aren’t seeing?”.

“They see right through me,” Joe thought to himself, feeling his eyes sting from the hot tears that were threatening to come out. He felt like the room was on fire, and there was invisible smoke. Nobody could really see what he was going through, all they saw was the burning room.

You felt your heart drop as you heard the reporter talk about Joe’s performance in today’s game, knowing that Joe was probably already criticizing himself and this was going to make it worse. “Joe?” you said a little louder, snapping him out of the dark haze he was stuck in.

“Hm?” he hummed as he looked up at you, noticing your pursed lips and worried eyes.

“Are you okay?” you asked again, feeling uneasy from the look he had on his face.

“...I said I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a little rougher than earlier.

You shook your head, “I know you’re not fine. Stop lying to me,” you said with a more rigid tone.

“I’m not lying to you. I said I’m fine. I don’t think it could be more simpler than that,” he rolled his eyes as he picked up his glass of water, taking a big sip.

“If you are really ‘fine’,” you say, making air quotes around ‘fine’, “Why are you looking at all that bullshit? You never look at any of that because you say it messes with your head,” you say.

“Because I can?” he scoffs, standing up from the barstool and walking around the island to place his water glass in the sink.

You take a deep breath, trying not to point out his snappy attitude because you know he isn’t in the right headspace right now. “Joe, seriously. I know you’re not fine but it’s just me. You can talk to me,” you gently say as you walk over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder but he quickly turns around and walks back over to where he was sitting to grab his phone which made your hand drop from his shoulder.

“I know you had a shitty game, I know you’re in your head about it, I get it. Trust me I do, but just let me-,” you begin to say as you walk over to him before he interrupts you.

“Do you though?” he asks. “Do you really get it? Sweet talking and hugs don’t magically make everything better, Y/N,” he says, his voice a little louder.

“Ouch.” you thought to yourself. “No. Remember, he’s not in the right headspace, Y/N. He’s not trying to be hurtful,”.

“I’m not saying that,” you say to him. “I know that doesn’t make everything better but talking to someone about your feelings does. You know that. You spent weeks working on that, remember?” referring to the therapy sessions he had this past off-season to work through the emotional and mental effects of his injury and just overall mental health.

“I know, but I said I’m fine. I don’t need to talk about anything, especially with you,” he said, his words feeling like a punch to your gut.

“Okay, what the fuck?” you thought to yourself. “What do you mean ‘especially’ with me?” you asked, your tone switching from gentle to slightly angry.

Joe stays quiet for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on the concerned look on your face. He knew what he was saying to you was most likely hurting you and you were coming from a place of worry, but he couldn’t control the things that were leaving his mouth right now. “I’m not doing this with you right now,” he shook his head and turned around, walking over to the stairs.

“Doing what?” you said loudly, following him over to the stairs. “I’m just trying to get you to talk to me but you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be,”.

“How am I making this a bigger deal?” he grumbles, turning around to look at you. “You’re the one that won’t leave me alone. I’ve said that I’m fine to you like 5 times now,”.

“You’re making this a bigger deal because you’re shutting me out, again,” you say, feeling your cheeks burn with anger, frustration, and sadness. You and Joe hardly fought, and whenever you did, it broke both of you. You felt like absolute shit right now and you couldn’t even imagine how Joe was feeling.

“No, I’m not. You’re being unbelievable right now,” he rolled his eyes again and started walking up the stairs with you hot on his tail.

“No, I’m not,” you say, echoing his words. “You are shutting me out just like you did after your wrist injury. What happened to letting me in your bubble? Because right now it feels like I’m being pushed 100 feet from your bubble for no reason,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you tried to hold back your building tears.

“I’m not shutting you out, Y/N,” he said loudly, his voice even more rougher. “Just because I don’t want to talk to you about how shitty I did today doesn’t mean I’m shutting you out. I just don’t want or feel the need to talk to you about it,”.

“See, you aren’t okay. I knew you weren’t okay. You know you played like shit so you’re clearly not fine,” you huffed as you made it to the top of the stairs.

“Is that all you wanted to hear? That I played like shit? Okay, yeah, I played like absolute shit. You win. Now will you leave me alone?” he said, trying to hold back from shouting at you even though he was dancing on the line that separated shouting from talking loudly.

“That’s not what I want to hear, Joe. You know that,” you said, your voice cracking once you felt a hot tear slide down your cheek. “I just want you to talk to me about your feelings, especially after our conversation last night. I don’t want you to go through all that again because I know how hard you tried to move past this mentally. You shut me out before and dealt with all of this on your own, and I saw how badly it affected you. I don’t want you to do that again. I can’t see you like that again,” you cried, your body shaking as all of your built-up emotions from the entire day were coming out.

You wiped your eyes as you followed him down the hallway, both of you walking past your bedroom and heading toward his office. You made it to the door and watched him open it and step inside. You were going to follow him in, but he turned around on the doorstep which blocked you from going inside. “No,” he shook his head.

“But..Joe I-,” you cried harder.

“No. Just please go away,” he said, his jaw clenching again like it was earlier, but this time it stayed clenched. “I can’t deal with you right now,” he said, his words feeling like a stab to your heart now.

There was nothing behind those eyes now. He had built up that wall again, that wall you tried so hard to prevent from being built because you knew you’d never be able to get over it. The same wall that he had built back in November after his injury. He did it again. After working so hard to be more open and honest about his feelings, thoughts, and emotions, he went straight back to square 1.

“Joe, please,” you pleaded. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby, if you just talk to me,” you cried more forcefully.

Joe stared at you for a few heartbeats, his heart-shattering at the sight of the state he had brought you to. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault; the game and now this argument. Deep down, he knew you were right, but he just couldn’t see it because the wall he had built was too high.

He was about to open his mouth to say something, trying to listen to you and talk to you about how he was feeling, but he backed down once he saw you start to shake. He saw your distressed face, your red eyes, your trembling lip, your shaking body, and your rapid breathing. He knew this was all his fault. If he unloaded all of his incredibly heavy, intense, and dreadful feelings on you right now, that would be so incredibly selfish of him.

Joe backed up in the doorway which made you think he was letting you come inside, but just as you were about to come in, he shut the door on your face.

You stare at the closed door for a few seconds, not processing what just happened. He really wasn’t letting you in. After all that, after everything he went through? After everything you both went through these past 10 months?

“Do you know how scared I was the entire game? Do you know how every time you went down my heart stopped? Do you know that I spent 5 minutes crying in the bathroom during halftime because I saw the look on your face?” you shouted at the door, your sobs getting louder. “I know this is hard for you but I’m here, Joe. I’m always h- here,” you choke out.

“Just leave me the fuck alone!” Joe shouted through the door, tears sliding down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut because he instantly regretted saying that to you especially with that harshness in his voice that he knew would hurt you.

You backed up from the door once you heard him shout at you, he never shouted at you, not even when you had arguments worse than this. You looked around the hallway, trying to collect your thoughts but there were none left to collect. You said everything that you could’ve possibly said to get through to him, what more was there left to say?

He wanted you to leave him alone, so you were going to do just that.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone,” you whispered to yourself, turning around and walking to your shared bedroom, your sobs echoing throughout the house as you disappeared inside your room.

On the other side of the office door, Joe was sitting in his office chair, hot tears sliding down his cheeks as he was drowning with regret. He lamented saying those things to you, he doesn’t know what came over him. What was wrong with him?

“Why did I do that to her? Why the fuck did I do that to…her?” he sniffled. He knows his anxiety and fears are controlling him right now, but there was absolutely no reason for him to take it out on the one person who always is there for him no matter what.

“I fuck everything up,” he cried as he looked at a photo of the two of you sitting on his desk, a photo his mom took after he got his wrist surgery.

Flashback to November 27th

“Babe, can we go skydiving?” Joe laughed as he rolled his head against the pillow to look at you. He had just woken up from surgery so he was feeling the effects of the anesthesia, and boy were they funny. The things that were coming out of his mouth were nothing but lighthearted, pure fun. It was good to see him laugh and smile especially since how melancholic his attitude had been since he got injured.

“Absolutely not,” you said while giving him a serious look. “You are not jumping out of a plane as long as I am on this earth,”.

“But why not? They have parachutes,” he pouted. “I think it would be sooooo fun,”.

“This is the same man who hates flying. Can you believe it?” Robin laughed as she finished typing up a text to send to family members to let them know the surgery went really well.

“I know right?” you laughed with her.

“How long did they say I can’t do stuff with my hand for?” Joe asked you with his adorable wide-eyed stare.

“I think they said to have it in a sling for at least a month right now until your first follow-up,” you said as you brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“A month?” Joe dramatically gasped, his jaw dropping to the floor.

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Sorry baby, you’re not Deadpool and can’t heal within 5 seconds,” you smiled.

“Wait, does that mean we can’t have sex for a month?” he gasped again.

“Joe!” you shrieked, your cheeks turning red because his mom was right in front of you both.

“Ah, wait. Loophole, duhh. You can just be on top which I know you love,” he winked while using his finger to point at you for emphasis.

“Oh my god,” you whined as you hid your face in your sweatshirt sleeves, hearing Joe’s mom break out into a fit of laughter.

“Hey, don’t hide your pretty face from me,” Joe pouted as he used his good hand to lower your hands that were covering your face. “Ahh, there she is. My beautiful, adorable, sexy-as-hell, fiance,” he said after you uncovered your face.

“Fiance?” you raised an eyebrow and asked. “Is this your way of proposing?” you giggled.

“No. When I actually do, it’ll be way more grander, sexier, and special than this,” he winked. “Like I’m talking maybe on the top of the Empire State Building, maybe in the middle of the football stadium, maybe at the top of the Eiffel Tower, maybe even while we go skydiving type special proposal. But I know I’m marrying you and I like the word fiance better than girlfriend,” he laughed.

“You’re insane,” you laughed as you dropped your head to his chest, feeling him cup your head with his good hand and drop a kiss on your head.

“I love you like a lot,” he giggled. “Like a lot a lot,” he giggled again.

“Ohh, I know,” you cheesed.

“You definitely don’t. I love you more than words can describe,” he smiled, you craned your head up to look into his sweet eyes before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Burrow,”.

After you pulled away you were about to get up from his hospital bed but his mom spoke up, “Wait, stay like that. I’m going to get a picture,” she smiled.

“Yesss,” Joe nodded. “I loveeeee pictures, especially with my fiance,”.

“You are really something,” you giggled as you sat up straight.

You moved your hair back and helped Joe scooch up in the bed before turning your head and pressing a kiss to his cheek, placing your hand under his chin as he had a giant grin on his face. His good hand was wrapped around your waist and was holding you as close as possible to his body.

You two were so happy. For once this past month, you were laughing, you both were smiling.

“Are you going to be my protector for the next few months?” Joe giggled. “Not let anything bad happen to me and my wrist?”.

“Oh, 100%. I am your nurse, personal bodyguard, and protector. Nobody is hurting my man on my watch,” you grinned again as you smothered his cheeks with kisses.

You both knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but as long as you were by each other’s side, nothing was going to hurt you.

End of flashback

“Nothing’s going to hurt me as long as she’s with me. I can’t keep pushing her away,” Joe whispered to himself as he snapped out of the sweet memory and wiped his tears.

2 hours later

It had been two hours since your fight with Joe so it had been two hours since you had last seen him. After going into your bedroom earlier, you spent about 10 minutes crying in the bathroom as you tried to change into some comfier clothes. You felt awful about the whole thing. The way you lost your cool a few times, the way he was talking to you, just everything–it was horrible.

You were currently sitting on the couch, sipping on some water and scrolling through some photos on your phone of the two of you. You let out a small laugh when you came across a silly photo of the two of you at a Hurricane Party you dragged him to at LSU. You remembered he was fully against the idea of going to a party during a hurricane, saying it was ‘batshit crazy’ and a ‘death wish’ but you managed to drag him along with you because you didn’t want him to sit inside and stress about the storm. In the photo, you two were standing on the deck of your friend’s house, the wind blowing so hard against you that Joe’s hat was flying away, and you with the hat you were trying to catch. His hand was tightly gripping onto yours and there were silly, drunk, lovesick smiles on both your faces as you were being soaked from the rain.

“We’re insane,” you sniffled, realizing how batshit crazy it really was to party during a hurricane.

As you were looking at other photos, you heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. You looked over at the bottom of the staircase, seeing Joe coming down in comfy clothes and wet hair which meant he showered and came out of his office at some point.

“At least he wasn’t in there for the entirety of these two hours looking at stuff from the game,” you thought to yourself.

Joe met your eyes as he walked into the room, seeing how red and puffy they were which was yet another thing that made him feel like absolute shit. He turned his head away at the same time you turned yours and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a glass from the cabinet.

He started pouring you a glass of water, adding a few ice cubes because he knew you loved to chew on ice after you cried. At first, he didn’t understand the correlation, but then you explained to him that the ice has this cooling effect that can reduce heat and swelling around the face that happens after crying for a while.

He grabbed the glass from the counter and slowly walked over to the couch, standing in front of you and holding the glass out. “Here,” he softly said, his voice just as heavy as yours which told you that he was crying too.

You slowly looked up at him, noticing that his eyes were also red and puffy. He definitely was crying too.

“Thanks,” you quietly say as you take the glass from him, taking a big sip and letting the ice cube float into your mouth.

“At least he remembered the ice,” you thought to yourself, appreciating the fact that he added them.

You start to chew on the ice as you see Joe plop down on the couch next to you, your body freezing up because you remember everything he said to you earlier. You knew he was coming from a place of anger and guilt, but it still hurt. Joe noticed you tense up next to him, because of him, and that felt like a knife to his heart.

You both stayed quiet, staring at the random re-run of an episode of Friends that was playing on TV, but your minds weren’t focused on what was happening in the show. They were focused on each other.

Joe felt his bottom lip start to quiver as his eyes once again pooled with tears, all of his emotions were coming out again. He fucked things up with you so bad tonight that he didn’t even know how to fix it. He hurt you. You were just trying to help him for his own good and he shut down on you. He shut you out. The one and only person that he let into his bubble. The one person he needed in his bubble.

His brain was already crowded with anxiety and fear regarding football, but this was the worst thing out of everything. He didn’t want to go back to that dark place again, he didn’t want to deal with this on his own.

You heard soft sniffles come from beside you so you looked over, your heart shattering again as you saw Joe on the verge of tears, his eyes so red and his lip trembling like he was trying to hold it together.

He didn’t need to hold it together, not around you. You knew that. You needed to make sure he knew that. “Come here,” you whispered to him as you put your arm around his shoulder and pulled him into your chest.

Joe immediately snaked his arm around your waist and rested his cheek against your chest, letting his tears fall from his eyes onto your pink tank top. You wriggled your hand into his frosted tip hair, scratching his scalp and pressing kisses to his head as he cried harder into your chest.

You hated seeing him cry, but you knew he was feeling a lot right now and he needed to get his feelings out and this was the best way for him to do it. “It’s okay,” you soothed as you rubbed his back. “I’m here,”.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m s- so fucking sorry,” he cried harder. “I didn’t mean to yell at you, I didn’t mean to say all of that horrible shit to you. You don’t deserve any of that, you were just trying to help,”.

“I know, baby, I know,” you said, blinking away a few of your own tears. “It’s okay,”,

“No, it’s not okay,” he said. “This is all so fucked up. I fucked everything up,” he sobbed.

“No, you didn’t,” you said to him as you continued to rub his back. “You didn’t fuck anything up, Joe. Everything’s fine,”.

“I did. I fucked up in the game and then I fucked up things with you. Nothing’s fine,” he sniffled.

“Listen, Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby. As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine,” you said to him before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Like I said earlier, I’m right here. Just talk to me,”.

“...You’re right,” he sniffled, breaking through the mental wall he had built. “You belong in my bubble, I can’t keep you out of it,”.

“So don’t,” you said, pulling him in tighter.

“I’m scared,” he breathed out a few seconds later. “I feel guilty about everything. This game was supposed to be different. I was supposed to be different. I feel like all of this was my fault because I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was. This was my first game back and I played like absolute shit out there,”.

“Oh, Joe,” you said as your face dropped as well as your heart.

“I disappointed everyone. Most importantly, I disappointed you. Even after everything you told me last night, I couldn’t do it. Everything that could’ve gone wrong went wrong and I didn’t do anything to fix it,” he said as a few more tears fell from his eyes.

“You didn’t disappoint anyone, Joe. Nobody expected you to go out there and play like you had a completely normal year. You went through so much with this injury, obviously things weren’t going to go back to normal in one game,” you gently said. “And you could never disappoint me. I told you, I know you. The public doesn’t know you like I do so they’re going to run with whatever bullshit they want as an explanation for why the game went the way it did. I know why things went the way they did, I’m not disappointed in you at all. I’m proud of you for going out there and doing what you did today,” you said as you pressed another kiss on his forehead and moved your hand back up to his soft hair.

“I just feel like I had the shinest wheels, you know? There was so much hype and fire around me when I first got drafted, but ever since then, I’ve just disappointed everyone. It feels like the wheels are rusting. I know what everyone’s been saying, and I get it. I would say the same thing if I was in their shoes. It’s been 5 years of nothing but injuries, slow starts, and coming up short. I feel like I’m falling behind everyone, everyone keeps getting better and I feel stuck. Right now, all of my cages are mental and that’s why I’m scared. If I keep doing this, I’m wasting my potential. I’m stuck as the ‘injury prone’ and ‘wasted potential’ quarterback,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice comforting you because it meant he was letting you in.

“I haven’t done what I promised to do when I got drafted, so why should people believe me when I say that I’m built for this? Why should they believe me when I say that this year will be different? And you know what? They don’t believe me, at least not anymore and I saw that today. They see right through me. Even I see right through me,” he said.

“Can you see right through me?” he asked you, looking up into your soft eyes.

“Yes,” you nodded, his brows furrowing at your response. “Not in that way though,” you added. “I see right through you because I know you. That’s why I knew you weren’t fine the second you walked out of the locker room. Remember, the media, the fans, and the public don’t see through you, they only see the surface level because they don’t know you. They don’t truly know how hard you work, how strong you are, how much passion you really have for this. They’re going to spew whatever bullshit they want because that’s what they do. If they were in your shoes, then they would know why these things happen and the reality of the situation. They can’t see through you, I promise. And as for the not getting better, you’re crazy if you think that. I saw you in practice, your throws have never looked better. You have never looked better, all this muscle and beefiness is a part of getting better. And like I told you yesterday, you control the narrative. You don’t have to be the ‘injury-prone’ quarterback, you can change it. Deep down, you know who you are. Don’t let these trolls and interlopers define you,”.

Joe nodded as he felt his breaths steady out and his tears start to dry up. “I played scared yesterday, and I don’t know why? I thought I was ready, you know? We weren’t supposed to lose that game,”.

“I know,” you sighed. “But you’ve gone through so much these past 5 years, it’s completely normal to be hesitant and nobody should be blaming you for this. Yesterday’s loss wasn’t just on you. You’re on a team, Joe. They didn’t play perfectly either and the blame shouldn’t only fall on you. You’re a piece to the puzzle, a big piece, but not the only piece. The media always wants to pin everything on one person. One thing that I admire about you is how easily you block out the outside noise, don’t change that. Block it out like you always do,”.

“This is game 1 out of 17. Don’t let this define you and don’t let the noise get to you,” you said as you used your thumb to rub the skin underneath his eye, wiping away the wet tear trails.

Joe nodded again, taking in all of the words you were saying to him. You were right, about all of it. He was so in his head about everything and so panicked that he couldn’t use logic and sense to think clearly. This was just one bump in the road as you explained. He had 16 more games to play and 16 more opportunities to show everyone what he’s made of.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “This was one game. I can take this, learn from my mistakes, and get better,”.

“That’s exactly what I like to hear,” you smiled after hearing him work through his complicated feelings. “You’re going to get better. The team is going to get better. If you want to fix the blaring issues, do it with a calm, collected, and cool mind. You’re called ‘Joe Cool’ for a reason. Live up to that name,” you giggled. “Don’t lose your cool, don’t lose your composure over shit like this. I know you feel awful about how things went today, but one bad game doesn’t define a player and doesn’t define the entire season. Things were rough, but you always, no, you will bounce back,”.

“Thank you,” he sniffled against your chest, his brain feeling like it had just been given a nice comfy king-sized bed and cloud-like blanket to sleep in for the night. You were the only person that could make him turn his brain off and he couldn’t thank you enough. “I think I just got panicked after seeing everyone’s reactions and seeing how things looked out on the field plus everything I was feeling yesterday made it worse,”.

“Of course,” you smiled as you gave his head another kiss before holding him tighter against you. “And I get it. Sometimes it feels like the walls are caving in but that’s why it’s always important to talk to someone when you feel that way. Bottling up those feelings only makes it worse,”.

“You're 100% right, Y/N. I’m sorry about earlier,” he said while looking up into your eyes again. “That was so fucking uncalled for. And I’m sorry for raising my voice, I was a dick to you the entire night,”.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “You were a dick, I agree,” you began to say, earning a laugh from Joe which made your heart smile, “But you’re my dick and I know how to handle you,” you smiled, then quickly furrowed your brows.

“Wait, that doesn’t sound right at all,” you slapped your hand against your mouth after realizing what that sounded like, another laugh coming from Joe’s mouth.

“I know what you mean,” he smiled. “But seriously, everything I said was straight bullshit. You mean the world to me and without you, I really think I would end up in an insane asylum. You’re the single most important thing in my life and I appreciate everything you do for me. Don’t ever leave me alone if I ask you to. Like please, I can’t live without you. Chain yourself to my wrist if you need to,”.

“Noted,” you smiled. “Just don’t freak out on me like that again, okay? You worked so hard this past year to get out of that zone, break free from that dark cloud, and I don’t want to see you back there,”.

“I promise I won’t go back there and if I ever feel like I am, you’ll be the first person I come to. I’m never going to keep you out of the bubble again,” he said as he pressed a kiss to your chest. “I love you,” he said with another kiss to your chest.

“I love you too,” you smiled down at him. “I love you like a lot a lot,” you giggled, echoing what he said to you after his wrist surgery.

“You know, sweet talking and hugs do make everything better,” he laughed as he looked up at you with his child-like smile you loved to see.

“Oh, I know,” you winked. “But you still feel pretty stiff right now. Are you sure you’re 100% okay?”.

“I think it’s just all the tension that I didn’t get to release out on the field. And I guess everything that happened after made it worse,” he grimaced.

“Ah, that makes sense,” you nod, trying to think of a way to help him get his tension out because you knew if he didn’t, he’d be whiny all night about it. “How about some hot, post-loss sex to make you feel better?” you wiggled your eyebrows and asked.

Joe’s eyes jumped up to meet yours as he was a bit taken aback by your straightforwardness. “For real?” he asked as he got up from your chest.

“Mhm, the perfect way to get the tension and aggression out,” you said while licking your lips and giving him a sultry smile.

“I love you, so fucking much,” he growled in your ears before shooting up from the couch, snaking his arms under you, lifting you up, and leading you up to the bedroom bridal style.

“At least the wrist seems to be just fine,” you giggled as he quickly ran up the stairs with you.

Not even 5 minutes later, you two were mostly naked, on the bed, and attached to each other’s lips as if you had never kissed each other before. His lips moved against yours hungrily, signaling that he was feeling that way tonight and that you should brace yourself for what was to come.

You felt him pull away from your lips and start pressing wet, sloppy kisses down your body. “I thought we were getting right to it?” you asked him as you felt his gentle lips on your belly.

“Mmm, I gotta make it up to you first, then we can get to it,” he smiled up at you.

“But I said I-,”.

“Nope. I have to make you feel good first, you deserve it,” he winked before he continued to kiss down your body. You felt him attach his lips to the skin of your inner thigh, rhythmically sucking and biting which would surely leave a mark while his hands crept up to the waistband of your lace panties. He then moved his lips to press a kiss to your clothed core before pulling your underwear down, tossing it to the side, and then flashing you a devilish grin since he saw how you were squirming around on the bed because of the undeniable ache between your thighs.

The next few minutes passed by like a blur and the next thing you knew, Joe’s head was buried deep in between your thighs and your back was arching off the bed. “Joe,” you moaned as you felt him push you back down, the expert swirl of his tongue sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. “J- Joe,” you whispered, your head falling to the side as your eyes fluttered shut.

Joe couldn’t help but smile into you as he continued to eat you out like a starved man, the beautiful sounds coming from your mouth making his heart happy but also, his dick.

“Mmm, fuck..,” you whimpered as you gripped the silk sheets, tossing your leg over his shoulder and lightly gliding your foot along his muscular back. The sudden touch made Joe groan into your core which sent vibrations throughout your body, your heated touch feeling like fire against his cold frame.

He continued to lap at your drenched folds, all while his hands were tightly gripping your hips and massaging your plush skin. “You’re so fucking good at this,” you whispered with another loud moan following after as you felt his perfect ski-slope nose rubbing against your aching clit.

You placed a hand into his hair, softly pulling on the strands as you pushed him closer to your core and yet another moan came from your mouth. Joe lifted his head out from in between your thighs and looked up at you, “You’re extra vocal tonight,” he smirked, his lips and chin coated with your wetness.

“Shut up,” you whined before you pushed his head back down, a smile appearing on your lips when you felt him attach his lips to your bundle of nerves and flick your clit with his warm tongue. You felt yourself fading away, getting lost in the sensual supernova that was happening down below.

“...Oh my god,” you whined a few seconds later, feeling him thrust a finger into your core which pushed you closer to your orgasm even faster than before. “Don’t stop,” you said while pulling on his hair, your leg lightly wrapping around the back of his neck.

You felt him move his other hand down, his thumb resting on your clit as he rubbed slow circles around the bundle of nerves–this movement made you see stars. The combination of his thumb rubbing your clit, his finger thrusting in and out of your slick core, and his mouth going unhinged was making the imaginary band in your stomach tighten harder than it ever had before.

“I’m close,” you whimpered, your hips gently bucking at the jolt of pleasure moving through your body. “I’m..s- so…c- close,” you whimpered, this time a little louder because his thumb started moving faster around your clit. You then feel him add another finger into your core, your hips grinding against the bed as you search for any form of relief, but the only thing that could relieve you was taking his sweet time.

“Baby, please,” you begged, your eyes fluttering shut as your back arched off the bed again, his fingers rapidly thrusting in and out of your core while you felt a more extreme feeling begging to be released from inside of you. “Oh, fuck,” you moaned, the feeling about to break through in just a few seconds.

Joe curled his fingers inside of your core and moved his mouth back up to your clit, roughly attaching his mouth to the bud and sucking you in a way that he knew drove you crazy. And then just a few seconds later you dropped back down to the bed as you felt yourself tip over the edge, his name falling from your lips like some seductive chant while you came undone. “Joe!” you screamed, tightly closing your eyes and feeling your entire body shake with the force of your orgasm.

Joe looked up through his eyelashes, watching you restlessly move around and hearing breathy moans leaving your beautiful mouth as he lapped at the juices of your intense–still going–orgasm. He was slowly getting more and more worked up as he watched you come apart, knowing he was the only man who had ever seen you this vulnerable and raw and was the only man who was going to see this.

A minute later you open your eyes, your chest heaving as you recover from the intense high that washed over you, “Holy fuck,” you panted as you saw Joe smiling at you, his lips and chin completely covered in your release, his face showing that he somehow enjoyed this just as much as you did.

“Did I just-,” you asked, feeling the soaked sheets below you, as you caught your breath. Your eyebrows shoot up in amusement as you watch Joe wipe his chin with his fingers before using his tongue to lick them clean.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “You did,”.

“Oh my god,” you said, hiding your face with your hands out of embarrassment.

Joe let out a throaty laugh before kneeling on the bed again and hovering over you, then moving your hands off of your face, “Why are you hiding,” he smiled.

“Because I just…,” you said while biting your lip, his bedroom eyes making you want to pounce on him right that second even though you also wanted to run and hide for some reason.

“What?” he said while trying to hold back his cocky smile. “Squirted?” he asked while moving your hair out of your face.

“You don’t have to say it like that…,” you said while hiding your face again.

After all this time, you still felt shy around him. He’d seen your most embarrassing moments, your best and your worst. He’d seen it all. The fact that you felt embarrassed about this little thing was adorable and another reminder that you were the most precious girl he had ever met.

“Don’t feel embarrassed, babe. It’s not the first time and it’s definitely not the last time,” he softly said while leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I think it was super hot and super sexy,”.

“Really?” you asked while peeking out at him through your fingers.

“Mhmmm. Besides, I’ve seen way worse than this. Can’t forget the time I walked in on you fingering yourself while I was away at practice,” he grinned from ear to ear, as if he was proud that he made you so worked up even when he was away from you.

“Joseph Lee,” you screamed while playfully slapping his bare chest.

“Hey, it was a great show,” he shrugged. “I can still remember the sounds,” he said while clearing his throat. “Oooh, Joe. Ohhh Joe, fuck. Joe, ah… Joey!” he moaned as he mimicked you, all while laughing because he couldn’t be serious about it.

“You know, I don’t have to offer an outlet for you to release your tension,” you shrugged as you started to get up from the bed but felt yourself being caged in by your large boyfriend.

“Ahem, I don’t think that’s how this works, baby,” he shook his head. “Once you put something on the table, you can’t take it off,”.

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “What if I do?”.

“You don’t wanna know,” he whispered in your ear before slamming his thick cock into your dripping entrance with no warning.

“Joe,” you gasped, the sudden feeling of him stretching you out and filling you up so extreme and lively.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned as he threw his head back, his cock moving at an instantaneous pace. “That’s it…,” he said again but a little quieter while he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, the feeling of your warm walls wrapping around him so intense and special.

“Joe, fuck,” you whimpered as you felt his cock repeatedly slam into your cervix, his body moving against yours recklessly and roughly. His thrusts quickened as he moved deeper and deeper inside you, the sounds of your breathy moans getting louder with each snap of his skilled hips. He sported a euphoric look on his once-tired face, a sign that he felt relaxed and it was all to your credit.

The next few minutes were hot, steamy, and messy as he whispered filthy praise into your ear which matched the pure vulgarity that was happening between you two on the bed right now. His hard thrusts made it difficult for you to hold it together, your nails clawing at his tan back as you bit down on his shoulder and got lost under his touch. “You’re so good to me,” he moaned in your ear, his hand moving up and wrapping around your throat.

“Joe,” you struggled to moan, feeling his grip around your throat becoming a little tighter as the pleasure inside of you was rapidly building.

“Ah, fuck,” he panted as he picked his head up and cupped the back of your leg, and lifted it over his shoulder; this new position opened you up even more and made it easier for him to hit all the right spots inside of you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpered, the sight of his lip in between his teeth and his thick body moving against you making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“I’m close,” you moaned as you looked down, moaning again at the sight of his shaft rapidly moving in and out of your slick heat.

“Fuck, me…too,” he groaned, his pace getting rougher and rougher as sounds of your skin slapping against each other echoed throughout the room. “I love you,” he moaned loudly once he felt his cock start to twitch inside of you.

“Joe, fuck…please, I need to come,” you whined, his grip on your leg getting tighter.

“I know baby, I know,” he whimpered, “I’m almost there,” he added as he dropped your leg and moved his hand to the headboard, gripping it tightly as he used it as leverage to slam into you even harder. All the tension, all the aggression, it was all coming out in the most fruitful way possible. He was getting away from himself, and it was all thanks to you.

“Ah, fuck,” you screamed, feeling yourself on the brink of pleasure, stars filling your eyes as his pace remained rough and hard.

A few seconds later, you felt him shoot endless ropes of cum into your wet heat which were accompanied by another loud moan from him. “Fuck. Oh fuck,” he panted as he slowed his thrusts into you, making sure that his release stayed inside of you and that you reached your high.

“Joe, please,” you pleaded, needing to feel your high right this second.

“I’ve got you,” he said while giving you a lazy smile, his hand moving down to your clit and rubbing rapid circles around the sensitive bud as he slowed his thrusts even more. A few seconds later, you clamped down on his cock, arched your body up into him, and felt yourself let go for the second time tonight. “Oh my god,” you moaned before you felt him press gentle kisses all along your neck and eventually your face, your lips meeting in a sloppy kiss as your highs washed over you.

A few minutes later, you were both lying against the messy sheets, your head tucked into his chest as he played with your hair and once again apologized to you for how he acted earlier tonight.

“Joe, I promise, It’s okay,” you giggled. “You’ve made it up to me in more ways than one. The fact that I can’t walk right now is an apology enough,”.

“Okay, I’ll stop now,” he smiled. “Thank you for everything though. This and for everything you said earlier,”.

“No need to thank me, baby. I told you, this is my job. We’re in this together and I promise that nothing’s going to hurt you as long as you’re with me. Like I said to you back in November, I’m your protector,” you grinned.

“That you are,” he laughed, his body feeling loose and light under you for the first time all day.

“Thank god he feels better," you smiled to yourself. Joe was the most important thing in your life, having him relaxed, focused, and calm was all you wanted. He deserved all the happiness, success, and love in the world and you needed to make sure he knew that. Moments like this were going to happen all throughout his career, but they were controllable and you were a big reason as to why they were. He wasn't kidding when he said he needed you inside his bubble or he'd end up in the insane asylum. You were his safe haven, his place of tranquility, his calm in the storm.

“I love you more than anything, Joe. Everything's going to be alright, I promise,” you smiled up at him, then leaned in for another kiss before you felt him pull the sheets over you both.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he smiled as he nuzzled his nose against yours and leaned in for another kiss.

–The End–

part 2 is on the masterlist!

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #nfl imagine #joeburrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #Spotify

612 notes · View notes

honeydippedfiction · 29 days ago

Note

Joe x Angel General #30 “why is arson always your first answer.” With # 7 “ Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

One thing Angel is going to do? Crash out over her man. The one time she does, she goes viral for it.

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#30 “why is arson always your first answer.” & # 7 “ Is that blood?” “Yes but that doesn’t matter right now, what does matter is-” “You are literally bleeding.”

Joe Burrow x Angel

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

It was a Wednesday. The kind of midweek day where nothing felt right—gray skies, sticky air, and a mood clinging to Joe Burrow like the defensive linemen who kept finding a way past the Bengals’ O-line.

Practice had been brutal. Spirits in the locker room were low. And while Joe wasn’t the type to spiral, the weight of the season—the missed blocks, the broken plays, the endless postgame blame—was heavy.

So when he slid into the car after practice, hoodie half-zipped and hair still wet from the showers, he barely had time to exhale before Angel launched into a full-on rant from the driver’s seat.

Zariyah, their two-and-a-half-month-old daughter, was buckled into her car seat behind them, a pacifier bobbing rhythmically in her mouth as she blinked up at the roof, totally unbothered.

Angel didn’t even wait for the door to close before she launched in.

“You mean to tell me,” she began, one hand on the wheel and the other flying like it was directing traffic in a Beyoncé music video, “that Coach McFlop over there really said you need to play smarter? You? The same Joe who’s been dragging this team like a Costco cart with three busted wheels?”

Joe leaned back against the headrest, watching her with an amused, exhausted smirk.

“And don’t even get me started on the defense. They couldn’t stop a nosebleed if they had a bucket and a plan,” Angel continued. “And the media? The media can kiss my—”

Joe leaned his head back, let out a long, exhausted exhale, and closed his eyes. “Hey, babe.”

“No, no. Don’t ‘hey babe’ me. Because I know exactly what went down at practice today. You think I don’t have sources? You think that equipment manager didn’t DM me the second y’all wrapped?”

Joe cracked one eye open. “You’re texting the equipment guy again?”

“I told you,” she said, eyes on the road, tone deadly serious. “I have a network.”

He let out a slow laugh and shook his head.

Angel wasn’t done.

“I swear, if one more idiot in a headset points the finger at you instead of owning up to that fourth quarter disaster, I will drive down to the stadium with a blowtorch and a Spotify playlist titled ‘Rage, Volume 1. And AGAIN, don’t even get me started on that defense,” she continued, gesturing wildly with one hand while the other stayed on the wheel. “Giving up 380 passing yards and you’re the problem? Please. If I see the D-coordinator in a grocery store, I’m slapping the clipboard out his hand and filing it under ‘community service.’”

“Angel,” Joe interrupted gently, smiling. “Why is arson always your first answer?”

“Because it’s efficient, Joseph,” she snapped. “And these fools have clearly never seen a woman unhinged for her man.”

From the backseat, Zariyah let out a soft coo like she, too, was ride or die.

Angel’s face softened just a little at the sound. “See? She gets it.”

Their destination appeared around the corner: Swirl Up, their go-to frozen yogurt spot. Tucked between a nail salon and a sleepy pet store, it was the kind of small, unassuming place where they could just be a regular couple with a baby and a shared craving for dessert.

It was their spot—lowkey, simple, and always playing early 2000s R&B.

Joe unbuckled and stepped out first, scooping Zariyah from her seat with the kind of practiced gentleness that made Angel’s chest ache every time. He cradled her against his chest, one big hand supporting her head like she was made of glass.

Angel watched them for a beat, then exhaled the last of her rage and followed them into the shop.

It smelled like sweet cream and waffle cones inside, the air cool and clean. Early 2000s R&B hummed low from the speakers—Usher, pre-confessions. A soft smile ghosted over Joe’s lips. For once, it felt like a moment they could breathe.

Joe held Zariyah against his chest as they stepped inside. He rocked her gently, his hand protectively cupped over her tiny back, while Angel scanned the place like a lioness clocking threats in the Serengeti.

They stood in line. Zariyah snuggled into Joe’s hoodie, her small fingers curling against the drawstrings. Joe bounced her lightly on his arm, more out of habit than effort. Angel stood close, their bodies brushing with that familiar, magnetic ease that came from years of being each other’s gravity.

Angel leaned against Joe’s arm while he bounced Zariyah, who was blinking up at the ceiling like it was the Sistine Chapel. That’s when Angel noticed a group of teenagers whispering near the toppings bar, eyes darting toward them like they were witnessing a celebrity Bigfoot sighting.

Three of them huddled near the toppings bar, eyes wide, whispering and nudging each other like middle schoolers at a school dance. One of them—a tall boy with shaggy hair and braces—gathered the courage to walk up, holding his phone like a peace offering.

“Uh… Mr. Burrow?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. “Could I maybe get a picture with you? If that’s okay?”

Joe turned slightly to Angel. Not for permission—he didn’t need that—but to make sure she was comfortable, out of instinct. Just to check in.

She nodded, lips lifting into a small, proud smile, and reached out for Zariyah. “Go ahead, superstar.”

The photo was quick, polite. The kid was beaming like he’d just won the lottery, and when the group left, Angel could hear him whisper-shouting, “Bro! He’s so cool, and his wife is lowkey scary but hot!”

She smirked. “Damn right.”

They ordered—Joe got vanilla with crushed Oreos, Angel picked salted caramel with fresh strawberries—and made their way to their usual booth in the back. Joe sat with Zariyah nestled in the crook of his arm, carefully letting her tiny fingers brush against his spoon, even though she wasn’t eating solids yet. While Angel draped her arm over the back of the seat, finally relaxing.

For a minute, everything was perfect.

Then they heard it.

Two voices—one male, one female—sitting in the booth behind them. The woman sounded like she was just trying to get through the date. The man, unfortunately, had chosen Joe as his topic of the day.

“I’m just saying,” he said, clearly trying to sound like he had authority on the matter, “Burrow’s not that guy anymore. Dude peaked at LSU. He’s a system quarterback. Always has been.”

The girlfriend tried to hush him. “Can you not—he’s right there.”

“I don’t care. Someone’s gotta say it. He ain’t the future. He's fucking Cinderella except his knee is the glass slipper. Broken and worthless.”

Angel’s spoon stopped mid-air.

She hadn’t even looked up yet, but Joe knew—felt—that something had shifted. He didn’t need to hear what had set her off. He already knew what it was.

The booth behind them. A man and his date, talking just a little too loud. Loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Loud enough for someone who was already riding the edge of protective fury to tip right over.

Joe didn’t look back. He kept his focus on Angel, his instincts sharpened by three years of knowing exactly what her stillness meant.

He reached under the table and placed a firm but gentle hand on her knee. “Babe,” he said low, calm, practiced. “Don’t.”

But the rage had already arrived. She was past the warning stage, beyond talking down.

Angel stood slowly, not with sudden violence, but with the deliberate grace of someone who knew they were about to make a scene. Every line in her body was relaxed—but only in that dangerous, feline way. The calm before the clap of thunder.

Zariyah, now cradled safely in Joe’s arms, blinked up at the shop lights, completely unaware that her mother was about to throw hands over froyo.

Angel’s sneakers barely made a sound as she walked toward the booth.

“Hi,” she said sweetly to the man who’d been running his mouth. Her tone was polite, disarming—but the slight upward curl of her lip made the woman sitting with him stiffen in her seat.

“You wanna repeat what you just said a little louder?” Angel tilted her head, her eyes dancing with fire. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

The guy blinked at her, surprised, then offered a smirk. That kind of smug, performative confidence that only ever came from someone who’d never been punched in the face.

“Look, lady, I’m just calling it like I see it,” he shrugged, half-laughing.

Angel didn’t even blink. “Funny,” she said, “because I don’t remember anyone asking you to call a damn thing. What I do remember is my husband putting in more work before breakfast than you’ve done in your whole life.”

Joe rose from the booth behind her, voice steady but concerned. “Alright, let’s—”

“Let me,” Angel cut in, her back still to him. Her tone brooked no interference. “Handle this.”

The guy’s smirk faltered, but he still stood. Poor fool.

He squared his shoulders like someone trying to remember how testosterone worked. “It’s just my opinion.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion,” Angel said, taking a small step forward, “but here’s the thing. You don’t get to disrespect my husband. Not in front of me. And definitely not in front of my daughter.”

The man scoffed and leaned back in his seat, arms folded like he was settling in for a show. “Please, it’s a free country.” he said with a smirk, “your husband’s just another overhyped quarterback with glass bones and a padded contract. Man’s spent more time in rehab than on the field. Honestly, I don’t know what’s softer—his knee, or his ego.”

His mouth curled upward in smug satisfaction.

Joe’s expression didn’t change—but his eyes flicked down for just a second, that old familiar wound reopening in his chest.

Angel, however, blinked once. Just once.

Then her entire expression dropped into something flat. Focused. Final.

The man barely had time to register the shift.

His mouth opened again—maybe to double down, maybe to gloat—but he didn’t get the chance to finish.

Angel’s fist moved so fast it barely registered.

Crack.

The sound echoed through the frozen yogurt shop like a firecracker. It wasn’t a slap, it was a full-force, knuckles-first right hook—years of boxing classes, weight training, and protective rage behind it. The man’s head snapped to the side violently. He reeled backward, crashing into his own table, a hand flying up to his face as blood immediately began to stream from his nose.

Gasps rang out from every corner of the shop. A spoon clattered to the floor. A child started crying.

Joe was already up and moving, Zariyah still nestled in the crook of his arm.

In one smooth, efficient move, he secured Zariyah against his chest, snatched both frozen yogurt cups from the table with a practiced football grip, and hooked an arm around a very pissed-off Angel practically over his shoulder as he made for the exit.

Angel wasn’t making it easy. She was still craning her neck over his shoulder, arms flailing, as if she had just one more thing to say—or throw.

“Let me just—one more shot!” she hissed, twisting in Joe’s grasp. “He said you weren’t the future, Joe! He said it in front of our child!”

Outside, the dusk had cooled the air. Joe all but wedged her between himself and the SUV, using the car as a barrier and his body as a shield.

His voice dropped low, heavy with command. “Angel. Enough.”

The words hung between them. Her chest heaved with adrenaline and fury, but she stilled.

A beat later, a small whimper floated from behind him.

Zariyah.

Joe glanced down. Their daughter’s little face was starting to scrunch with confusion, her lips puckering like she was gearing up for a cry.

Angel’s focus snapped back.

The fire in her eyes faltered, then dimmed as her gaze locked on her daughter.

Her shoulders dropped. “I wasn’t about to let him disrespect you like that,” she said softly, her voice rough with emotion. “Not when I’ve seen the work. Not when I know the weight you carry. Not in front of her.”

Joe didn’t speak right away. He studied her—his firebrand of a wife, breathing hard and bleeding, her knuckles red and raw but her pride intact.

“I get it,” he said finally, gently. “I do. But you can’t fight the whole world.”

Angel’s lip twitched upward. “You just watch me, Joe Burrow. I will burn the whole fucking thing down about you and Zariyah.”

He was about to respond when his gaze dropped to her right hand. His expression shifted instantly.

“Wait… is that blood?”

Angel looked down casually, flexing her fingers. Her knuckle was angry and red, the skin cracked and beginning to swell.

“Yeah,” she said, brushing it off. “But that’s not important right now. What is important—”

“You are literally bleeding, Angel.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That is not the flex you think it is.”

She sighed as Joe gently took her injured hand in his, inspecting it with furrowed brows like it belonged to someone precious. His fingers were careful, tender as he examined the bandage, the concern in his eyes impossible to hide. He stepped back, moving toward the car door. With a subtle tilt of his head, he motioned for her to follow him.

Angel slid into the back seat, her hand cradling her yogurt cup, now a sad soup of caramel and strawberry. Zariyah was in her car seat, hiccup-laughing softly, blissfully unaware that her mother had just broken at least one social rule—and possibly a man’s face.

Joe stood in the doorway of the car, one arm resting against the frame. He reached in, effortlessly buckling Zariyah in with practiced ease, checking every strap, every latch with precision. Once satisfied, he turned and handed Angel her yogurt, the cup warm in her hands.

“I told you not to let me go in there alone,” she muttered, blowing on her knuckle like it might cool the pain. Her voice was quieter now, the fire from earlier finally fading into a mixture of frustration and regret.

Joe gave her a dry smile, his gaze still intense as he leaned slightly into the car. “You walked over,” he replied, his tone even. “I didn’t let anything happen. I witnessed it.”

He stood there a moment longer, eyes roaming over her, the silent tension between them mixing with a faint undercurrent of amusement. He let out a long breath before leaning his head against the top of the car door, looking at her sideways. His expression was equal parts exasperated and awed.

“God help me, Angel,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“You’re gonna give our daughter a complex,” he said, half-laughing.

Angel winced as she took a spoonful of yogurt. “Good. Let her know early—Mama don’t play about Daddy.”

Joe dipped his spoon into the mushy swirl of vanilla and Oreo, feeding Zariyah a finger to distract her from the discomfort of her hiccups.

She gurgled, eyes wide and trusting.

They sat in the SUV with the doors closed and the windows cracked just enough to let the early evening breeze snake through. The adrenaline from the frozen yogurt fiasco had finally begun to taper off, replaced by a still, buzzing quiet that hung between them like smoke after a fire.

The interior smelled like caramel swirl and sugar cones, mingling faintly with the hot pavement outside and the distant scent of lavender from Zariyah’s baby lotion. It was that strange moment after chaos—where everything settled, but nothing quite felt normal yet.

In the back seat, Zariyah had finally calmed down again. Her tiny fists were curled tight, her lips parted in soft sleep-breaths, cheeks flushed a gentle pink from all the commotion. One little sock had slipped halfway off her foot, her pacifier loosely clinging to the corner of her mouth like she’d lost interest mid-suck.

Angel, now tucked into the passenger seat with her legs pulled up, cradled her freshly bandaged right hand in her lap. Her yogurt cup was still in her other hand, the once-firm swirl now a melted, soupy mess. She stirred it absently, the spoon clinking against the sides in soft, slow circles. Her shoulders, tight for the last hour, had finally started to sink back down.

Joe sat beside her, stretched out in the driver’s seat with one arm over the steering wheel and the other resting on the center console. His helmet hair was a little tousled from earlier practice, his shirt still faintly damp at the collar. He hadn’t said much since they’d gotten in the car, but he didn’t need to. He just watched her—calm, steady, his expression unreadable in that unique way only Joe Burrow could pull off. A mix of concern, amusement, and the bone-deep fatigue that only came from trying to wrangle an NFL season and a two-month-old baby in the same lifetime.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It was laced with familiarity—like two people who didn’t need to fill the quiet to feel heard.

Angel finally exhaled, a slow, cleansing breath. Then she rolled her head lazily against the headrest, turned her face toward him, and smirked.

“You know,” she said, her voice hoarse from yelling and full of mischief, “you’re really hot when you go all papa bear/Big dick daddy and drop the bass in your voice like that.”

Joe blinked, caught just enough off guard to smile despite himself.

Angel arched a brow. “No, seriously. That whole ‘Angel. Enough’ thing?” She mimicked his deep, commanding tone with a playful rasp. “Whew. If I hadn’t been in the middle of trying to rearrange that man’s face, I’d have dragged you into the back seat so you could rearrange something else.”

Joe flushed immediately, the tips of his ears turning a warm, familiar pink. It traveled quickly down his neck, his expression somewhere between bashful and charmed.

He laughed, soft and low, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But I’m right.”

He glanced at her sideways, then down at her bandaged hand. “You’re also not off the hook.”

Angel pouted dramatically. “Oh, come on. I only hit him once. That’s growth.”

“You hit him hard enough to make the toppings bar go silent,” Joe said, voice deadpan. “Pretty sure the sprinkles jumped off the counter.”

Angel shrugged, not the least bit sorry. “He called you soft.”

Her tone shifted then—less teasing, more matter-of-fact. She turned her body slightly to face him fully, eyes narrowing like she was daring him to disagree.

“And you’re not. You’re the strongest man I know, Joe. On and off the field. I don’t care how many injuries you’ve had, or what the media says when the team struggles. I’ve watched you drag your body out of bed when you could barely stand, still showing up for practice, for press, for us. You get knocked down and you get back up every damn time. That’s what makes you dangerous. That’s what makes you, you.”

Joe’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything right away—just reached across the console, brushing a thumb along her cheek. The touch was feather-light, but it carried weight. His fingers lingered there, like he needed that physical contact to anchor everything she’d just said.

Angel leaned into it, her eyes half-lidded now, that fire inside her dimmed to something slow-burning and intimate. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside—the whispers, the chaos, the headlines waiting to happen—faded into nothing.

Joe leaned in, just a little, and Angel met him halfway.

Their lips touched—slow, unhurried, but full of knowing. It wasn’t a kiss of apology or passion. It was something steadier. Reassuring. A quiet promise between two people who’d seen each other at their rawest and still chose each other, over and over again.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads brushed briefly before Angel settled back into her seat, a small, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

Joe exhaled, a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“And you love it,” she shot back, grinning now.

He sighed with a chuckle, the sound settling low in his chest. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, glancing toward the back seat where their daughter slept on, undisturbed. “Yeah, I do.”

Angel followed his gaze. Her features softened too, the fight finally draining from her in full. Whatever flame had been burning earlier was now just a warm glow in her chest, resting somewhere between devotion and exhaustion.

She leaned back against her seat, her tone lighter now. “Next time someone disrespects you,” she mused, “I’ll use my left hand. Balance things out.”

Joe gave her a long look, one brow lifting. “I need to start carrying bail money when we leave the house, don’t I?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Better safe than sorry.”

She dipped her spoon into her yogurt again, finally taking a bite. The melted mess didn’t seem to bother her anymore. Joe reached for his too, both of them eating in companionable silence.

The sun had nearly dipped below the horizon, casting the parking lot in that hazy golden-purple light that made everything look softer than it was. The street lamp flickered on with a hum overhead. Somewhere across the lot, a couple of teenagers whispered and pointed in their direction—but this time, Angel just leaned her head on Joe’s shoulder and let it go.

And there, in that quiet moment, with their daughter breathing softly in the back seat, frozen yogurt half-melted in their hands, and Angel’s bruised knuckles cradled in Joe’s large palm, they sat.

A quarterback and the chaos he married.

Wrapped in love, defiance, and melted frozen yogurt.

Joe looked between the two of them—his fierce, loyal wife and their wide-eyed little girl—and despite the bruises, the blood, the chaos of the season, he felt something settle inside him.

No press conference, no critical sports anchor, no bad call from the sideline could touch what he had right here.

Chaos and all.

He shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, and finally closed the car door with a quiet thud. The engine roared to life as he turned the key, the sound a small comfort in the silence that surrounded them. As the car hummed, Joe adjusted the rearview mirror, making sure everything was in place, before giving Angel a sideways glance.

“Alright, Muhammad Ali," he said with a smirk, "let's get you home before you become a hit on WorldStar.”

Angel's lips twitched into a grin, a quiet giggle bubbling up from her chest. Her laughter was light, the tension from earlier slowly melting away. She shook her head, looking at him with a playful gleam in her eye.

"You’re lucky I didn’t knock you out, too," she teased, the warmth returning to her voice.

Joe chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. The world outside may have been swirling with its usual noise, but in this little SUV, it was just them—two imperfectly perfect people with a baby who was probably going to grow up knowing that her mom could throw hands if needed.

And that, in the end, was enough.

Joe smirked, keeping his eyes on the road, but his voice dropped into a more teasing tone. “Save those moves for the bedroom, baby.”

Angel gasped, her hand shooting out to smack his arm. "Joe! Our daughter is right there!" she said, her voice a mixture of playful shock and mock indignation.

Joe laughed, the deep sound vibrating through the car. “Hey, just saying, that right hook? Kinda got me thinking… you’d be dangerous in the bedroom.”

She shot him a glare, though it was softened by the corners of her mouth, which were still curled in amusement. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably lucky,” he quipped, winking at her.

Angel rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. She glanced in the rearview mirror at Zariyah, who had drifted off to sleep again, blissfully unaware of the banter between her parents.

“Just wait until she starts talking,” Angel muttered, "she’s going to be repeating everything.”

Joe laughed again, but it was the kind of laugh that felt like home—easy, full of affection, and just a little bit mischievous.

And as they pulled out onto the quiet street, heading home, Joe knew that no matter how crazy things got, this was exactly where he needed to be.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

The Next Day – Bengals Practice Facility

The sun blazed over the practice field, casting long shadows as the team jogged through warm-ups. Cleats scraped against turf, and coaches barked instructions from the sidelines. Joe wiped sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve as they hit a water break, making his way toward the benches where Tee and Ja'Marr were already half-slouched, guzzling water like it was life support.

“Yo,” Tee said, eyeing Joe with narrowed suspicion, “why you walking like your back’s tight? You sleep on the couch or something?”

Joe gave a dry laugh, twisting the cap off his Gatorade. “Nah. Just trying to recover from last night’s chaos.”

Ja'Marr glanced over. “What happened?”

Joe took a beat. He sipped his drink, then leaned against the bench like someone preparing to drop a bomb.

“You know how Angel is,” he started, voice low but amused. “We went to get frozen yogurt. Just a chill night, right? Me, her, and Zariyah.”

Tee raised a brow. “Sounds harmless so far.”

“Yeah… until some dude at the shop starts talking loud trash about me. Like loud-loud.”

Ja'Marr tilted his head. “You say something to him?”

Joe shook his head. “Didn’t get the chance.”

Both Tee and Ja'Marr stared, blinking. “…Nah,” Tee said slowly. “You don’t mean—”

Joe nodded. “Angel handled it.”

“Handled it?” Ja'Marr repeated, leaning forward. “Bro. Define ‘handled.’”

Joe tried to fight the grin creeping across his face, but failed. “She walked up to the dude, said something smooth and threatening, he said some reckless stuff about my past injuries—like, ‘washed up,’ ‘not the future,’ the usual loudmouth nonsense—and she just… clocked him. One hit. Boom.”

There was a pause. A long one.

Then: “She hit him?” Tee yelled, nearly choking on his water.

Joe held up his hands. “Square in the face. I barely had time to react. Man flew back like someone hit ‘rewind’ on him.”

Ja'Marr started laughing so hard he nearly dropped his bottle. “Naaaah! Not Angel! Wait—how bad?”

“Busted his nose,” Joe said casually. “She messed up her knuckle. I had to carry her, the baby, and our yogurt to the car like we were fleeing a crime scene.”

Tee stood there with his mouth wide open. “Your wife turned a froyo run into a Mortal Kombat match.”

“I told her she was gonna end up on WorldStar,” Joe muttered, shaking his head with a smirk.

“Did she at least feel bad?” Ja'Marr asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

“She flirted with me in the car,” Joe said, deadpan. “Said I was hot when I get all ‘papa bear.’ Then told me next time, she’ll use her left hand to ‘balance it out.’”

Tee just stared. “You married a superhero and a menace.”

Joe shrugged, grinning now. “Chaos and all.”

Ja'Marr let out another laugh. “I swear, if I see this on Twitter later…”

“Oh, it’s coming,” Tee said, pulling out his phone. “Matter of time before someone posts security footage or a witness comes forward.”

Joe sighed, running a hand down his face. “Please don’t let this hit ESPN.”

Ja'Marr leaned in, still grinning. “Nah, man. If it does? I’m sending Angel a ‘thank you’ bouquet.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Y’all are the worst.”

“We’re not the ones handing out haymakers at dessert shops,” Tee said, already laughing again.

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Later That Evening – The Burrow Household

The house was calm—finally.

Zariyah was asleep in her bassinet, arms raised above her head like she was dreaming about leading a revolution. Joe was curled up on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, baby monitor balanced on one knee. Angel padded in from the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas over her wrapped hand and dropped beside him with a groan.

“Remind me to stop punching people who have weak noses,” she muttered.

Joe didn’t look up from his phone. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Because I’m oddly injured,” she replied, lifting the peas to her temple with a dramatic sigh. “He had the bone density of a graham cracker.”

Joe grinned. “I still can’t believe you actually hit him.”

Angel smirked. “I warned him.”

Just then, Joe’s phone buzzed. And then again. And again. And again.

He glanced at the screen.

Then blinked.

Then sat up a little straighter.

“…Uhh. Angel?”

“What?” she asked, head resting on the back of the couch.

“Did you… see this?”

He turned his screen toward her. A Twitter/X video was playing on loop. Grainy footage—clearly a phone recording—captured every second. The frozen yogurt shop. Angel walking up to the man. The exchange. The punch. The gasp. Joe scooping up the baby. Angel being dragged out like a gremlin with unfinished business.

The caption read: “JOE BURROW’S WIFE KNOCKS DUDE OUT FOR TALKING SMACK 😭🔥 #.RideOrDie #.QueenEnergy #.ProtectJoeAtAllCosts”

Angel’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Who filmed that?!”

The video had over 4.2 million views. In four hours.

“Babe,” Joe said, scrolling through the replies. “You are trending.”

Angel whipped around to snatch the phone. “No. Nuh-uh. No way I’m—”

She froze.

The top tweet:

“I need someone to love me the way Angel Burrow loves Joe. I’d commit war crimes for this kind of loyalty.”

The next:

“Joe Burrow has a 2-month-old and a wife who throws hands like she��s in a Marvel movie. Bengals might be 2-5 but he already won at life.”

Then another:

“We don’t talk enough about the fact that a man disrespected Joe Burrow once and caught a knuckle sandwich with extra sprinkles.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “Why is this actually hilarious?”

Joe leaned back into the couch, biting back a grin. “Tee sent me the video and just wrote: ‘AYO. SHE REAL.’”

Angel couldn’t help it—she laughed. Loud, belly-deep, head-thrown-back kind of laugh. “Oh, this is insane.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “But also kinda flattering.”

“I mean,” she said, smirking at him, “you saw me in action. That was love and upper body strength.”

“And great footwork,” Joe added, nodding seriously. “You stepped into the punch.”

“I did, didn’t I?” she grinned proudly.

Another buzz. Joe checked his phone again and started reading: “‘She said “Not in front of my daughter” like she was in a superhero origin story.’”

Angel blinked, then looked at him sideways. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did. And then you punched a guy.”

Angel exhaled. “Okay, so now the entire internet knows I’m a menace. Perfect.”

Joe turned to her, resting his arm along the back of the couch. “No. Now the entire internet knows you love your husband so much, you’re willing to commit a minor misdemeanor in public. That’s soulmate stuff.”

Angel squinted. “You better hope this doesn’t end up on First Take. If Stephen A. Smith calls me a thug, I swear to God—”

“I’ll call him myself,” Joe replied dryly. “And ask if he wants the smoke too.”

They both burst into laughter again.

Angel curled into his side, careful not to bump her hand. “Guess I should work on my media apology voice.”

Joe kissed her temple. “We’ll script it after Zariyah’s next nap.”

The baby stirred lightly in the monitor, then fell back asleep.

Angel sighed. “At least she didn’t see it.”

Joe reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “You know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“You’re officially the scariest Burrow in the house.”

Angel smirked, settling deeper into his arms. “Took them long enough to figure that out.”

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·..·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

The living room was dimly lit, the soft flicker of the TV casting shadows across the walls as Zariyah cooed from her bouncer in the corner. Angel sat cross-legged on the couch, Joe sprawled beside her with one arm draped over the back cushions. Her phone was practically glued to her hand as she scrolled through the endless stream of tweets, memes, and tags lighting up her notifications like fireworks.

“Yo, people are fast,” she muttered, eyes widening slightly as she came across yet another viral remix of the incident—this one set to DMX’s “Party Up.” “This one has theme music. Like, actual sound editing.”

Joe chuckled beside her, his gaze flicking to her bandaged hand as she used it to swipe.

“You good?” he asked, not for the first time.

Angel just gave a dramatic sigh and kept scrolling. “It’s sore, but my pride is thriving.”

Joe smirked, but before he could respond, his phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table. The screen lit up with a FaceTime call.

Ja’Marr.

Joe grinned knowingly. “Here we go.”

He answered and propped the phone up on a throw pillow between them, hitting speaker.

Ja'Marr’s face filled the screen, already mid-laugh. “YO! Angel ‘Hands of Justice’ Burrow! What’s good, champ?”

Angel groaned but couldn’t fight the smile. “Goodnight, Ja’Marr.”

“Nah, nah, you don’t get to go quiet now. Sis, you really hit that man like he insulted your whole bloodline. I thought it was a prank at first. I had to rewatch it like four times.”

“Only four?” Joe teased. “I think Tee’s on his seventh. He said he’s studying her form for when the team fights back at pressers.”

“I’m just saying!” Ja’Marr laughed. “She squared up like she had a fight song playing in her head.”

Angel held up her bandaged hand. “And now I got a busted knuckle and a trending hashtag.”

“#AngelBurrowSaidBingBong is everywhere,” Ja’Marr said, wheezing. “You might be more famous than Joe now.”

Joe leaned into the frame. “I can live with that.”

“You don’t have a choice, bro. Y’all got Black Twitter and suburban moms on your side now. That’s the double threat.”

Angel tilted her head. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Ja’Marr grinned. “Oh, 100%. And guess who else is loving it?”

Angel’s brow quirked. “Please don’t say who I think you’re about to say.”

“Your mother-in-law,” Ja’Marr confirmed gleefully.

Angel sat up straighter. “Wait. Robin saw it?”

Joe raised a brow. “My mom?”

Ja’Marr laughed harder. “Bro, she texted me before I even saw the video. Said—and I quote—‘Well… she did warn him.’”

Angel stared at Joe, stunned. “Your mom saw it?”

“And she’s unbothered, clearly,” Joe chuckled.

“Your dad?” she asked slowly.

Joe’s phone buzzed again. He checked the screen. “And there’s a text from him now. Hold on…”

He tapped it open and held the screen up for her to see. It was a photo of Jimmy Burrow sitting comfortably on the back porch, holding a "#1 Dad" coffee mug, beside a printed-out freeze frame of Angel’s punch mid-arc like a Renaissance painting.

Underneath it was a caption: “Angel’s got a mean right hook. Proud to have her in the family.”

Angel threw her head back into the couch cushions and groaned. “Oh my God.”

Ja’Marr howled. “You’ve made it, sis. Y’all are officially a dynasty.”

Joe leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Angel’s temple, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. “You’re a legend, babe. Chaos and all.”

She peeked out from behind her hands, barely suppressing a smile. “You think Zariyah’s gonna see this one day?”

Ja’Marr answered without missing a beat. “She’s gonna brag about it in kindergarten. ‘My mommy hit a man for talking trash about my daddy.’”

Joe laughed. “We’ll teach her to use her words first.”

Angel smirked. “Unless someone talks trash about her daddy.”

Ja'Marr gave a full salute through the screen. “Can’t wait for her TED Talk: Defending Joe Burrow With These Hands.”

Angel narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Love y’all!” Ja'Marr called out as the screen went black.

Angel dropped the phone into Joe’s lap and shook her head, a mixture of exasperation and reluctant amusement on her face.

“I just wanted frozen yogurt,” she muttered.

Joe slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, whispering with a grin, “And you got internet immortality instead.”

Angel sighed, leaning into him, the bandage on her hand cool against his side. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“No more public dessert spots for the next month.”

Joe chuckled, kissing her temple again. “Deal. We’ll go underground with our ice cream runs.”

And as Zariyah snored softly in the background, the three of them tucked into the kind of peace that could only come after complete and utter chaos—with trending hashtags, family group chats, and a love fierce enough to throw a punch when it counted.

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