#joseph lee burrow

[monabrrr]

Quarterback SZN 2✨

[softburrow]

k bye he’s so cute

i love him.

[starsinthesky5]

dating joe burrow (headcannons) || joe burrow x reader

description: little things about you and joe’s relationship 💗💗

a/n: this was a request I got! (request can be found here) i haven’t tried this before so im feeling it out :) the fact that it took me the whole week to write this is wild 😭 let me know if you guys like this or have any thoughts, ideas, whatever 💗

side note- almost had a heart attack because i thought none of this saved. this is what i get for writing directly in my tumblr drafts and not google docs first like usual

word count: 4.1 k

warnings: allusions to smut

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he’s a total gentleman. he's always opening your doors for you, carrying your bags, and you never have to ask him to. he just does it on his own, it was a sweet unspoken rule. he says that he knows you’re incredibly capable of doing things on your own and he loves that about you, but he says you always deserve ‘the princess treatment’ and no princess should ever break a sweat or struggle with anything 

he’s always holding your hand when you two are walking together. he hated when you couldn't hold hands because it made him feel far away from you (even if you were right next to him). holding your soft hand, running his thumb along your soft skin, and having your fingers intertwined was the best feeling in the world for joe 

when you're out on the streets, he's always watching out for anything you might step on or walk into such as puddles, uneven surfaces, or grates where your heel may get caught in. you joked that he was like your personal bodyguard, and he took on that role and title proudly. he said that guarding you was a more important job than being a quarterback for a billion-dollar franchise--that's how much he cared for you 

he wasn’t a big touchy-feely guy, but with you? with you it was a completely different story. his hands were always on you, his lips were always pressing sweet kisses around some part of your body, and he was so addicted to you. when he was with you, touching you was all he could think about and when he wasn't with you, he was always fantasizing about the next time he was 

he loves kissing your neck. sometimes a little roughly to leave a few pretty marks so 'everyone knew who you belonged to' but sometimes very sweetly & gently. so many sweet kisses. his soft lips left no part of your body untouched. he was so soft around you compared to the way he was around friends, his teammates, and family. the second it was just the two of you, he became a little baby--your little baby--and was the most precious thing on the planet

you two could be watching a movie on the couch and somehow his head would end up in the crook of your neck, all his focus on kissing your soft skin instead of what was happening on the TV screen 

this would happen when you were trying to finish up some stuff for work too. you would be typing away on your computer and he'd be sitting next to you, so bored and in need of attention from you. he'd start pressing light kisses around your collarbone, and then move up your neck, his kisses getting rougher and more alluring. next thing you knew, your computer was on the floor along with a pile of both your clothes 

he loves it when you thread your fingers through his soft hair while he lays his head on your chest, which he also loves. he loved laying his head on your chest because something about hearing your heartbeat made him feel safe, feel at peace. his arms always wrapped around your middle and his cheek was always squished against your breasts. he just adored it--maybe even for a few other reasons too ;). seeing him like that after a hard day at practice or after a rigorous workout brought you so much satisfaction. you made him feel like that. he didn't need anything else to make him feel like that, just you. it was that simple 

he’s always giving you his full attention when you’re talking. it’s like you’re the only person in the room for him. you two could be on the sidelines of paycor right before kickoff, surrounded by thousands of fans and football players, but you’re the only person he’d be able to see and hear. the rest of the world disappears around him whenever he hears your pretty voice 

your family love love loves joe. 

initially, when you told them you were seeing someone and that someone was joe burrow, they didn’t believe you. they couldn’t believe that you bagged a football player, specifically the star quarterback, and you were slightly offended for a second but their initial reaction made the look on their faces even more enjoyable when you brought joe to your hometown for the first time with no warning 

joe was so nervous to meet your family, it was honestly so cute. he was so quiet and trying to keep calm the entire way to your parents' house. joe was the most confidant person and the most shy person you knew. the cool guy persona he sported every game day was there, but so was the adorable little shy baby that got in his head about things sometimes. he just wanted to be perfect for your family, wanted to show that he was the right man for their perfect & special daughter

your family loved him as soon as they saw him carefully help you out of his car, holding your hand tightly, and leading you to the front door all while making sure that your dress wasn't showing too much because of how intense the wind was that day. he was an absolute gentleman for you, and they loved that

he hit it off with your family within 10 minutes of being at your house, it was insane. he had so much in common with your siblings and even had great conversations with your parents. there was no silence in the house that day because everything was just constantly flowing naturally

he was most anxious around your dad but all of his nerves disappeared once he called joe out to the porch for a drink after dinner. joe thought he was about to get the 'you're a professional athlete, I know how they roll and I'll make your life hell if you break my daughter's heart' talk, but it was the complete opposite. your dad told him how thankful he was to joe for being in your life, for putting that everlasting smile on your face, for making you feel loved in a way you never had been loved before. that's what joe needed to hear, that he was doing good with you. doing good for you 

he’s so respectful to your parents and even addressed them as ‘sir and ma’am’ for a good second. you tried to tell him it was alright to refer to them by their first names, but he felt awkward about it because of how much respect he had for them even though this was his first time meeting them

eventually, he started calling them by their first names. you could see that he was getting more and more comfortable around them and didn’t feel the need to hold up a super suave act. he could be himself around you and your family, they felt like home to him. you felt like home to him

joe's parents loved you as soon as they met you as well 

they were so thrilled that joe had a woman like you in his life. someone who showed him so much love, care, and support 

you weren't super nervous to meet them, mostly because he gave you no time to be. he knew that if he told you in advance that you were going to Athens, you'd freak the hell out. so that's why he told you about 30 minutes before you reached his parent's house. you figured that he was just taking you someplace like a park to go on a walk or something simple like that, not to meet his freaking parents 

joe loved that he could bring you home to his family. he loved that he could show you around Athens and experience all the things he did growing up but in a new light because you were with him

he brought you to his favorite spots to eat, his favorite places to go on walks, his favorite shops, and places he spent a lot of time while growing up. he even snuck you into the football stadium--his football stadium--at the high school one night. joe remembered feeling his heart explode at the sight of your beaming smile once you stepped onto the field and saw his name plastered around the stadium. you just felt so proud of him and your entire body showed that. that's the moment he knew he loved you

he said those three special words, those eight letters, to you first. it came out so nonchalantly one night like it was something that was meant to roll off his tongue that easily. hearing those three words come from his mouth for the first time felt so right, like the stars and planets aligned specifically for you both in this moment. 

the funny thing was, he said it as you guys were stargazing. you were lying on a big blanket in his backyard and watching the planets & stars together

you were looking up at the sky and there was a big smile on your face as you counted how many stars you could see. joe also had a big smile on his face, but not because of the stars. it was because of you. he was looking over at you, thinking about how he was genuinely the happiest he had ever been in his life at this moment, how things finally felt right in his life. it was all because of you

"the stars make me think about how infinite the universe is, but even with all that endless space, the thing I want most in the world is right here next to me. being with you makes everything else feel small, like all I need is right here," he said to you

and then he ended his sweet small speech with an adorable, sorta quiet because he felt nervous, 'i love you'

you felt your heart explode when you heard him say those three words. the same three words you wanted to say to him since the day you met. you had never loved someone like you loved joe, this was so special and you both knew it 

his house was so clean and organized, the exact opposite of what you thought it'd be like when you first came over. you thought it would be full-on bachelor pad, messy, boy vibes. but it really wasn't. it was clean, organized, well-decorated, and it stayed like that. it really felt like a man lived there, not a boy. and joe was a man all right, that was very clear 

joe loved to send you cheesy football puns. his personal favs were "you're the touchdown to my game-winning drive", "you've intercepted my heart and I'm not even mad about it", and "you're the MVP of my heart"

lots of late-night snack runs after prime-time games. it was honestly insane to you at first because you thought he'd want to get home ASAP, but he wanted his sweet treat--and he wasn't just talking about you ;)

he even brings you to practice sometimes. you loved to watch him from the sides, doing his thing and watching him in his element. he sometimes even through the ball back and forth with you before or after practice--always showing off a little to make you laugh

your form had definitely gotten better ever since you started throwing with him. you are learning from the best of the best

joe's closet is your closet. he loves it when you take his shirts and hoodies. you love how big his stuff is on you and also how everything smells just like him. it's even better when he's away and you're missing him. his scent is always on you no matter what

joe's always there for you whenever you come home from a hard day at work or are just having a shitty day in general. he's always there, holding you against his chest, letting you soak his shirt with your tears while he presses soft kisses on your forehead and listens to you vent about everything

he knows how hard you work, so it breaks his heart to see you crack under pressure or feel like you weren't doing enough. he gave the best advice and was the best listener, having him in your corner was the best thing that could've happened to you

it was also the best thing that could've happened to him. you were his escape from the pressure that the football life brought. his peace after all the chaos that transpired on the field. his calm within the storm

joe likes to get up early, like early early. he says that he likes to get the most out of the day, which is fair. but it's honestly so bad because you hate getting up early, but his adorable morning smile makes up for it. it's the first thing you're graced with when you get up

when he wakes up, you wake up (even if you feel like dying because it's so early). he always ends up laying his head on your chest as he presses kisses along your skin, your fingers lightly scratching his scalp at the same time. it's the best way to wake up in all honesty. in each other's embrace, all warm, cozy, and secure

he's so cute in the morning. his hair is all messy and he has this raspy voice that makes you want to pounce on him, even if it is still a little dark outside as the sun isn't even fully up. 

during the off-season, he made it a rule that he'd cook you breakfast at least twice a week. joe wasn't the best cook (he was learning) so his attempts at cooking breakfast were always so sweet to watch 

also because watching him cook breakfast half-naked was like personal porn for you. his tan, bare, muscular back was the star of the show

he'd attempt to make you french toast, pancakes, waffles, literally anything your heart desired. he got better each time he made you food, but also because he'd help you out whenever you made dinner so he picked up on a few skills 

it was pretty funny whenever he'd have breakfast fails. like the first time he tried to make french toast, he burnt them and one piece even caught on fire. it was so funny to watch him run around frantically trying to make sure he didn't burn the house down

he loved to help you out when you made dinner. he made himself your little sous chef, helping you out in any way he could. he'd turn on some music so you two danced around in the kitchen as you cooked together, it was something so simple but it brought you two so much joy

your favorite songs to dance around to together were disco by surf curse, my girl by the temptations, angeleyes by abba, heavenly by cigarettes after sex, apocalypse by cigarettes after sex, hunger by ross copperman, pretty boy by the neighbourhood, and lover by taylor swift

sometimes you were so caught up in dancing together that you completely forgot about the food on the stove. the dancing sometimes led to some other things, so naturally, you got distracted. you would end up ordering some chinese takeout and calling it a night whenever that happened 

joe loves kissing you. like a lot 

sure, he loves kissing spots around your body, but nothing could compare to the feeling he'd get when your lips were pressed against his

that man loves his sloppy, sexy, slow makeout sessions more than anything. noses brushing against each other, his hands wandering around your perfect body, tasting each other...it was so good. especially because 90% of the time they led to some other things ;)

joe was so careful with you in that sense. he always made sure you were alright before you two did anything. he never pressured you for anything, everything would be done on your terms 

he's too good in bed. like it's insane. he quite honestly takes your breath away. he can do it all. slow lovemaking & hair-pull worthy, sheet-gripping sex. the way he worshipped your body was truly something out of a fairytale. you'd lose track of time whenever you two got in bed like that, and it was honestly worth it. he was just so damn good. you wanted to stay like that with him as long as you could

he's a lowkey blanket hogger too. he wraps himself in a little burrito blanket, looking all cozy and soft while you stare at him with a straight-lipped face. buttt he caves and lets you into his little blanket burrito. it's so comfy, especially in the winter. the combined heat coming from his body and the blanket made you feel like you were in a soft cocoon 

joe loves it when you call him joey, J, burrito (a funny play on 'burrow'), or JB. you didn't really use his other nicknames such as shiesty, joe cool, or joe brr because it felt wrong. those were all football joe names. your nicknames for joe were just joe names 

he loved that he was just joe to you. he made sure when you first started dating, you got to know just joe. not Cincinnati Bengals star quarterback joe burrow. just joe

you always found joe doing the most normal things super hot and sexy. he could just be sitting on the couch and doing something on his iPad and you'd find yourself drooling (it was definitely because of that man spread that sent you into orbit)

bringing in bags of groceries out of your car, washing the dishes, putting away your laundry for you, cleaning up the kitchen. it was all so fucking hot. he was just so hot 

sometimes while he was doing these things, you'd have an epiphany. you'd realize that he was all yours. nobody else's, just yours. he'd laugh whenever he caught you like this. it was so enchanting to him how you'd randomly become hyperaware that you were his girlfriend and he was your boyfriend 

you and joe love flowers so much. you always surprise him with random flower deliveries (especially after a loss) because you know his face will automatically light up once he sees the beautiful plants. he also scheduled weekly flower deliveries for you. a vase of flowers would be at your door every monday morning, the perfect way to start off the week

he loves to pamper you as well 

he's always buying you things without reason. clothes, jewelry, books, random little knick-knacks. he just loved to show how much he loved you in every shape and form possible

all of your daily jewelry was given to you by him. your two necklaces (one being a necklace with his initial), your 3 bracelets, your 4 rings (two on each hand, one being a promise ring), and your anklet which had 9 citrine orange gemstones in it along with multiple diamonds

proper date nights are a must in your relationship. even during the season, he made sure you had one night in the week where you two went out for dinner together. but you'd also have the best date nights at home

sometimes you just ended up building legos on the floor & watching a silly movie as a date night, but you two loved doing simple things like this. sometimes you'd just eat dinner outside in the backyard together as a date night. sometimes you'd just go on a night stroll together. simple things like that were special because it kept you two grounded. you didn't need to go out and drop $200 on some fancy dinner when you could have the same level of enjoyment by sitting on the floor, building a lego set from 'the office', and stuffing your faces with takeout. as long as you were together, you didn't really care what you did 

he never fails to tell you how amazing you are. those sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear every night before bed were the things you craved the most in your previous relationships. just being told how much you brighten his world, how pretty you are, how easy it is to love you, and other things like that made your day. he never skipped out on telling you those things

you love hearing his laugh. whenever he laughs around you, he laughs with his whole body. it's such a sweet sound, a sound you wish you could hear forever

you were so obsessed with joe’s body. his thick thighs, large muscles, veiny hands, and gorgeous face. he was a literal greek god, it was so hard to believe this man was real. he was equally as obsessed with your body too, and he made sure to show you that almost every night ;) 

your friends love joe so much. they always call him your prince charming, the man who made all your dreams come true and the man who treats you like you're a real-life princess. they always tease you because of how down bad you act for him too. whenever you're with them and joe isn't there, they have to keep a tally of how many times you bring him up or say 'i miss joe'. they find it precious that you act that way for him 

when he first met your best friends over dinner, he was lowkey intimated by them. they're so protective over you, so they had this tough front on. the entire dinner was like a test for him, and he passed it with flying colors

they watched as he paid such close attention to everything you said, how he was holding your hand under the table, how he subtly checked in on you to see if you were comfortable, offering his jacket in case you were cold, stayed off his phone the entire time, his nonchalant & genuine compliments towards you, making sure you were included in all the conversations, actively engaging with your friends and making a genuine effort to get to know them, his gentle touches like placing his arm around you or lightly rubbing your arm, how he spoke so highly of you, how he took care of the small things such as filling your water glass without you even having to ask, the little inside jokes you two had, and noticing and responding to your little signals when you got anxious that only your friends knew about until now

after the dinner, your girls pulled you over and they had the biggest smiles on their faces. they told you to send them a save-the-date invite ASAP because they knew you were going to marry that man. they saw the way he acted around you and that alone was enough to seal the deal 

his friends loved you too. they instantly noticed how perfectly you matched joe's vibe, how happy you made him, and how you were practically made for one another. they called you two peanut butter & jelly; you went together so well

game days were always so fun for you two

you grew up in a football family so you were already a big football girl before you even met joe. being a football players girlfriend was written in the stars for you 

joe didn't believe you initially when you mentioned to him how much you loved football. he thought you were just saying that to impress him. he found out the hard way that you were being serious 

you two were watching a MNF game (prior to actually becoming boyfriend/girlfriend) and your (then) favorite team was playing against one of their longtime rivals. joe's jaw was on the floor the entire game because of how you were screaming at the tv, jumping onto your feet at every bullshit flag & call, and so locked in on everything that was going on 

your keenness towards football made your relationship even more exciting. you'd get to watch your boyfriend do what he loved, which happened to be one of your favorite things in the world

seeing you in his suite every week gave him an extra boost. he knew you were watching him and he wanted to make you proud & happy at all times 

he also loved to see your game-day outfits. seeing his name, his number, his colors all around your body did some unspeakable things to him. sometimes he wondered how fast it would take for anyone to notice he was missing. the storage closet seemed like the prime quickie spot on game days ;) 

you had a routine before kickoff too. you'd go down to the sidelines before the start of the game to give joe a little pep-talk and it always ended with a passionate kiss and little handshake you two made up on your first date (a sort of good luck manifestation tactic). at the end of the game, win or loss, you'd be waiting in the tunnel to give him his post-game kiss and a singular rose (as you know, he loves getting flowers)

the orange rose you gave him after the 2021 AFC championship game (the super-bowl sending game) sits in his office. he got it pressed and plated by a professional, a way to preserve the special memory that the flower held 

the love you two shared was truly something that only came around once every few lifetimes. it was so special, so rare, so exciting 

“every time I look at you, I feel like I’m falling in love all over again. the way you laugh, the way you move, even the way you think—it’s all so beautiful to me. i could spend the rest of my life just watching you be yourself and never get tired of it. i can’t stop thinking about you. you’re always on my mind, like a song stuck on repeat. every time I’m with you, it feels like the world fades away, and all I can see, hear, and feel is you. i’m completely mesmerized with everything about you," he said to you

--The End--

[honeydippedfiction]

NSFW A-Z LSU!Joe x Angel

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

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

WC: 10.9k

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

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

Requested: Yes by this lovely anon

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

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

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

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

And Joe—he lives for this version of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Angel does.

Every time.

Σ>―❤→

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he said without hesitation.

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

She held onto him tighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Barely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there are his hands.

God, his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

He knows.

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

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

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

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

She lives for it.

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

She smiles.

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

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

But his favorite? Finishing inside her.

Always has been.

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

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

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

It’s messy. Intimate. Beautiful.

And neither of them would have it any other way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that secret? It only makes everything burn hotter.

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

Angel is experienced—undeniably so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But with Angel, everything shifted.

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

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

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

And he remembered.

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

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

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

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

Because he earned it.

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

And he did.

More every time.

Together? They’re explosive. Experienced. Electric.

And they never stop learning each other.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

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

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

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

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

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

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

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

She melts.

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

She doesn’t stand a chance.

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

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

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

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

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the top of the list?

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

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

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

But it’s more than that.

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

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

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

They stay ready for each other—always.

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

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

Threesomes? Off the table. Absolutely not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It depends. With them, it always does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course they are—they live to experiment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s all it took.

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

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

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

His eyes darkened. His grin said say less.

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

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

It’s dirty. Intimate. Undeniably them.

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

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

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

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

Their sex drive? Off the charts.

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

But the offseason? That was a different beast entirely.

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

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

But Joe?

Joe worshipped it.

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

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

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

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

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

But her body has other plans.

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

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

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

Σ>―❤→

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

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

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

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

[poisonouscat-tail9]

Sassy Joe🤭😎😂

[joesheadband]

SUMMARY: Ranting to Joe about your relationships, until you come to the conclusion why you have these issues.

WARNINGS: Second person point of view, fluff, little angst, and oblivious reader.

You were with Joe, like always, at his house. He was on the couch while you on the other hand ranting about your relationship with some dude.

“Joe, I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even care about me! For my birthday all he got me was some flowers, not even my favorite ones! It’s like we’ve been dating for almost seven months for what?” You ramble, tears slightly falling down your cheek every now and then.

As you were talking, Joe lets you get every word out, not bothering to say anything. Joe does in fact hate every guy that you get with, ever since college. It’s like you can’t see his feelings for you but everyone else can.

“Joe? Are you even listening! I swear you never do-” You ramble, getting cut off by him standing up. His face expression slightly faltering, his eyes flickering over your face.

There’s a silence in between you two, only hearing your heavy breathing and the sound of the air conditioning.

After a few seconds, Joe shakes his head, scoffing. “Are you seriously crying over him?” He shortly said, his voice hinting with slight annoyance.

It gets him so so so mad that everyone can see it but you can’t.

You look up to him, your eyes narrowing. “Well, I am. But it’s not like that! I just expected him to be better, we’ve been dating for seven months.” You attempt to say, getting slightly choked up. You feel hot tears form in your eyes, shaking your head.

Joe scoffs again, less annoyed this time. “Really? Really. He doesn’t deserve you! I don’t know how many times I need to even hint something, for you to understand.” He says with more empathy, his eyes moving all over your face, examining each of your emotions.

You shake your head, your eyes widening as it hits you like a truck.

Joe likes you. It makes sense. It makes sense why he hates all of your boyfriends, it makes sense why he always shows up your boyfriends.

“Joe..” You softly say, feeling your tears finally fall down your cheek.

You stay silent, loss of words once again.

After a few seconds, you see Joes face soften. Silence falling between you guys again, this time much more comfortable. The only sound is both of your guys breathing now and the sound air conditioning.

You open your mouth, your throat dry. “Joe, I’m sorry.” You quietly say, your eyes flickering between the floor and his eyes.

Joe nods, bringing his hand to between your waist, pulling you into a hug.

You’re quick to hug him back, your tears staining his grey Nike shirt.

There’s a silence again, nothing but the sound of the air conditioning on.

A few minutes pass, you look up to him, your eyes moving around his face. “I’m so so sorry again Joe. I didn’t even realize, I mean you are such a good friend, a good person. I was just too caught up in my feelings, and how I-”

Joe interrupts you, crashing his lips onto yours. You immediately return the kiss, a quiet gasp escaping your mouth. This one kiss, this one kiss that Joe has wanted, that you’ve wanted too. It’s happening, you’ve needed this, he’s needed this. All into one singular kiss.

Joe breaks off the kiss, quickly pulling you back into the hug.

You feel your tears pour out again, this time not out of sadness but out of happiness.

i’ve never wrote something like this, so hope you guys like it! 🤗

[burrowheadjoe]

[burreauxwrites]

Joe has been very on-edge lately with the season almost starting, and after a particularly rough practice session, he comes home grumbling and slamming doors and stuff. You go up to your shared bedroom to see what’s wrong, and on the other side of the door you hear him crying, which he’s never done around you before. You’re able to calm him down and assure him he’s doing great.

“PERFECT” - (joe burrow x reader)

description: see request above! ^ this is set after joe’s wrist injury and he’s trying to come back from it :)

word count: 1.1k

warnings: none! just the reader comforting joe!

you’re humming and prancing around the kitchen, preparing some food for dinner. you’re also baking a few sweet treats; and you feel kind of bad because joe can’t have any (because he’s focused on eating healthy).

joe has been a bit off-kilter, but it’s something you’ve come to recognize. the new season comes around and it’s go time for him. he’s usually anxious and focused coming from the off season.

speaking of joe, he comes back from practice, the door swinging open. but instead of hearing a “hey, love”, there’s an exasperated sigh that comes from him. he closes the door with a force you’ve barely ever seen from him.

practice must’ve been bad, you thought. joe was always hard on himself; even if practice was 90 percent perfect, that wasn’t enough for him. he honestly strives for 110 percent, knowing him.

“hey, joey,” you murmur, turning to him after turning the stove off, “how was practice?”

“it was fine.” he answers bluntly. too bluntly, it’s almost like a hiss coming from him.

you frown, feeling more than worried at this point. “are you sure…?”

“yes, y/n. it went fine.”

joe continues walking, not even sparing a glance at you. that’s also weird. normally, he’d at least crack a small joke, give a small tidbit of how things went. but he almost ignored you. that’s when you hear a loud slam, causing you to jump.

was practice that bad?

you sigh, deciding to give joe a moment. maybe he’d come down after taking a brief shower or something.

except that wasn’t the case.

your baked goods were finished, all toasty and warm. and yet joe was still in the bedroom. this was absolutely not like him. at all. he’s always been reserved and calm, but that changes when he comes home. you always called joe a sour patch kid, because, well, at first he’s sour, then he’s sweet. but right now, he’s definitely upset about something.

feeling immense worry, you head towards your shared room, bringing some cookies and brownies with you. as you step closer to the door, you hear something.

it sounds like…sniffling. was he…? no, surely not. the weather has been changing a bit, so it could be his allergies? there’s no way that joe could be crying. the only time you ever saw him cry was when you watched his heisman speech on youtube. but right in front of you?

you slowly open the door, and there he is, sitting on the end of the bed with his head in his hands.

“oh. joey, baby…” you mutter, slowly heading towards the night stand and placing the cookies and brownies there before sitting next to joe. “hey…what’s wrong? talk to me.” you try to coax him into at least saying something.

he lets out a subdued sob, his body shaking a little. oh no. your heart essentially shatters at the sight and sound, having never seen him so broken and upset. you frown and wrap an arm around him, your thumb caressing his shoulder.

“it’s okay, love…” you speak softly, a few more sniffles coming from him before he inevitably breaks down, unable to keep his emotions at bay. the stress and frustration of today’s practice finally got to him, and he was pouring it all out in front of you.

gently, you pull joe in close to you, letting him bury his head into your shoulder. your hand comes up to the back of his head, caressing it tenderly as you sway him side to side a bit. small words of reassurance escape your lips as you let him cry against you. his body was trembling with every snivel as you held onto him.

after a moment, joe finally calms down a little, pulling away a bit.

“you…wanna talk about it?” you ask again, cupping his cheek in your hand as you wipe away a dry tear.

“i just…i feel like i’m not doing enough,” he sighs, his voice trembling as he looks at you, his eyes red and watery, “i made too many mistakes at practice today, especially with my throws.”

joe was coming off of his wrist injury, and that was going to naturally make his comeback harder. that too broke your heart, seeing him sit back and not be able to play the sport he loves.

“joey, darling…everyone has rough patches to get over. for you to get surgery, focus on healing, and come back?” you remark, your voice smooth and assuring, “not many people would feel confident with that…”

“i know. but i really wanted to have some good reps today,” he explains, leaning into your touch, “plus…people have been saying i won’t be the same after my injury.”

god…he’s seen what people are saying. that was a massive heartbreaker for you, having joe notice all the comments from haters and those who are doubting him.

“well. what those people say doesn’t matter to me. at the end of the day,” you smile softly, looking into joe’s stunning blue eyes, “i know you. i know that you’ll prove everyone wrong, and you’ll go back out there and do what you do best.”

joe sighs, looking at you with a beseeching gaze. “yeah…? you really think that?”

“i know it, love. you are amazing at what you do,” you compliment him, nodding affirmatively, “and even with the setbacks you face, you manage to keep going. and i love that about you.”

joe nods, smiling a little as he takes in your words. he still feels bad about how practice went, but he does feel better knowing that you are confident in him and his skills.

“thank you, baby,” he sighs, kissing your hand as he looks at you fondly, “i love you, so much.”

“any time, joey. i love you too,” you mutter sweetly, leaning in and kissing his lips gently for a moment.

you reach over to the night stand, grabbing a cookie. “here…i made cookies.”

“babe…don’t tempt me. you know i have a strict diet.” joe warns, looking at you as you hold out the cookie.

“cmon! it’s only one cookie,” you frown, “besides, you deserve it.”

joe’s eyes scanned your expression, seeing your pleading eyes and your lips jutted out slightly in a pout. he knows he can’t deny you, not with you’re this sweet and caring.

“fine. i’ll eat the cookie. but just this one.”

you laugh as joe happily bites into the sweet treat, your gaze fond as you look at him. even in joe’s darkest moments, you’ll always be there as a shoulder to lean on.

because to you, he’s absolutely perfect.

[chromakpopia]

our star, sun, and moon ⭐️☀️🌙

(almost cried when making this istg…they CANNOT be broken up)

[monabrrr]

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE 🎅🏼🤍✨

[keelt9]

Chapter 1

Masterlist 😉

Injury…Again.

Joe isn’t sure if the optimist of the doctors is hardly forced or is a hopeful one, either way, sucks knowing he will be one more time stuck in the bench at the middle of the season, getting hurt in one of the most important games with the season on the line.

Either way, opposite of what people expect he went to the following games for support and to be there for their teammates.

With another win with Jake on the controls, he dares to believe the playoffs are at the reach, at the same time he knows the last games will be crucial.

“Morning Joe.” Officer Lynch greets him as every morning and like every morning he gives a hot coffee. “Thanks.”

Joe smiles, putting his hand on his hoodie. “Free day?” 

“Guys have an amazing game, it’s a deserved one.” Joe smirks, missing being in the game but focusing on the role he’s playing right now.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Officer Lynch takes a sip of his coffee with a smile in his face. “I'd better go, I still have a few laps before shift over.”

The park is kind of secret. It’s an old park far away from the new ones where you have thousands of things to do; this is kind of classic; just trees, flowers in spring and a lot of places where you can sit and enjoy the view. 

The last places where you can see the clear sky without the big buildings covering it.

Joe believes that is it’s secret, nothing too fancy to talk about.

He’s been visiting this place three days after getting injured, he needed a place away from everything and everyone as Ja'Marr drove him to his house, they found it. Joe is pretty sure that Ja'Marr looks at him like he actually lost his mind when he asked him to leave it there. 

In an old but well cared for park surrounded by old houses, still he agrees, telling him, called if he needs to drive him back home. 

Three weeks later, it became his routine, coming here early in the morning, spending long hours walking, or just sitting loving the peace and calm he feels right there, the anonymity it’s a plus, a golden one.

Sitting in his favorite bench, hidden behind two big trees, where he bets on spring the leafs will help him to be totally aisled of the world.

His calm was interrupted when he heard a curious sound. 

He turns to his left, nothing, to his right, nothing, at the back nothing, in front of him just the sunlight painted the blue sky with a soft yellow. 

He forgot to look under him. 

It’s until the sound intensifies and a small head, with a lot of black dots over it appears under him, smelling his shoes.

Sniffing, that’s what it hears a loud sniffing. 

“Whoa!” Joe exclaims seeing how confident a dalmatian puppy came out and keeps smelling his pants until his knees. “Asking for permission is way too much, huh?” 

The dog raises its eyes and Joe notices a peculiar black dot that covers all the left ear. 

Observing him like he just said the most stupid thing in the world, the dog tilted his head, turning around to sit in front of him, admiring the view.

“Am, hey, are you lost?” Doesn’t turn around. “Your owner is around here?” Nothing. 

He searches to see if he has a collar or something but all he can see it’s a navy blue bandanna around the neck; so he stands up kneeling in front of him quivering for he could get a bite.

“Don’t bite me please.” The dog turns around when see from the corner of the eye a hand approaching him, Joe is pretty sure now, he will get bitten.

Until he doesn't, the dog sniffs his right hand where the cast is, slowly gives him a small lick. 

“Ok, I just…” By the time he tried to move the bandanna the dog definitely stood and jumped backwards. “How do you expect me to call you owner if you don’t let me see if you have a plaque?”

The dog blinked before barking, making Joe jump slightly, but before he could continue with his talk, Officer Lynch came running to the bench founding a funny scene a dog barking to a guy of 6´4 who is sitting in front of him.

He relaxes his shoulders as he scoffs. “Well, you met each other.”

Joe narrows his eyes confused. “I’m trying to find who the owner is so I can call, but she isn’t cooperative at all.”

Officer Lynch approches to the dalmatian patting the head, in totally amenity. “Isn’t a she, is a he.” The dog closes his eyes in every pat. “And his name is Monet, besides people around here know his owner.”

“Then why is he alone?” Joe stands cleaning the back of his pans.”And why I haven't seen before.”

“Oh, Monet has been out a couple of weeks, visiting family, right boy?” Monet barks. “And he isn’t alone, his owner must be somewhere in the park.”

“Is it legal?” Joe asked in disbelief for the fact that such a puppy walks around this place alone.

“Joe, relax.” The officer knew he needed to give him a big explanation for him to be calm. “Monet is been around this place since he has 2 months old, first carried by his owner as they walk around as he grew up, we’ve know him, he’s kind of restless for be sit while his owner is working so he start to wonder around; the first time believe me she has a almost had a heart attack when she couldn't find him.”

So, the owner is a she.

“But slowly they set a routine, since all we work or pass through frequently here, we agreed to give her a hand. Little Monet will go freely around this place and we don't mind keeping an eye on him.”

Now all has sense.

“But of course you didn't know that.” Monet lay on the grass next to the Officer.

“How can he know when it's time to go? I mean she will look out for him all over the place?” Joe scans the puppy, probably around 4-5 months old.

“She whistles.” Officer Lynch smiles. “He hears it and then he will run to find her.”

Joe highly doubts that can be possible for a puppy.

“How do you know he is Monet, could be any other dalmatian?” Why is he so curious?

“This.” The Officer points to the bandanna. “Monet always has a blue or green one. If he doesn't, then he isn't Monet.”

Monet raises his head, to stand fully a second later.

“Time to go Monet.” Officer Lynch said patting his head. “See you tomorrow.”

Monet barks before running and gets lost among the trees.

“See? It's time to leave.” Joe bliks in disbelief, how can hear something?

Officer Lynch receive the call, time to change shifts. “Well, Joe, see you tomorrow too.”

Joe smiles and nods, having more questions than answers for such a puppy.

For 2 weeks, Joe and Monet find each other on the same bench, at the beginning they just barely see each other but by the second week Joe carefully pat his head, still Monet simply ignores him as he keeps seeing the blue sky.

With Christmas around the corner presents are a daily thing.

“What can you give a dog?” Tee turns his head around, for hearing better.

“What?” Trey, even sitting next to Joe is confused for a random question.

They flew backwards from Pittsburgh, with a loss he tried to distract them.

“Yeah, what would you give to a dog?” Joe asked one more time scrolling in his phone about leashes.

Tee sees Trey who shakes his head. “You don't have a dog.”

Trey has a point. “You're a cat boy, too.” Tee has another good point.

“I met a puppy, a cute one, so before Christmas I like to give something.” Joe sees them with weird expressions on their faces. 

“And who is the owner?” Trey asked. “That must help, ask and then give something that the puppy likes.” 

“That's the problem!” Joe says it's frustrating to not know such a basic thing. “I don't know who she is.”

Tee giggles. “What a story! Joey doesn't know a girl but he knows the puppy and the present is for the puppy.”

Joe laughs. “I care about the puppy, not about the owner.”

Trey smiles while putting his headphones on. “I guess a simple dog prize must be enough.”

It sounds simple until he arrives at a pet store and  he sees more than 3 options of snacks.

Joe's confusion must be so evident for the way a boy approached and asked him.

“Do you need help?” A boy in uniform from the store points to the snacks. 

“Yeah, which one of those is the best?” The boy blinks confused for the fact Joe points from side to side of the shelf. 

“Am, it depends, your dog has a special type of diet or something like that?” Joe opened his eyes that even hadn't crossed his mind.

“Diet?” He whispers more to himself but it’s audible for the boy.

“Yeah, sometimes a dog has a certain type of diet and you must be stuck to a special…” Joe tilts his head to the left more and more. “Isn’t your dog, right?” 

Joe giggles. “Not, is not.” 

“Right, in that case, if you don’t mind, why don't you pick a toy, all dogs love toys.” Joe sees the boy who points to the other side of the corridor. 

But he finds equally lost, the squeaky one, the fluffy ones, the hard ones, a frisbee. 

“Maybe the name could give you a clue.” The boy waits next to him.

Joe sighs. “His name is Monet.” 

“Like the painter.” The boys hear another man speak behind them. “A french painter, Claude Monet.” 

He’s on the back shelfs picking a cat toy. “Sorry for the interruption. Big fan Joe.” He shakes hands with Joe. “But that could be the reason.”

The boy gasps. “Oh, we have a fluffy toy with the shape of a paintbrush.” The boy started to look in the basket until he found it.

And it actually is, a fake red paintbrush, any squeaky sound just fluffy and light.

“Perfect, thanks.” Joe said after the toy has a pretty wrapping. 

The boy who helps him and the cashier smiles, for seconds later adding, who dey?

For a week Joe waited but Christmas passed as New Year too and Monte didn't come. Every morning he arrives at the same bench with the toy in his hands and leaves after a couple of hours with the same toy in his hands.

After the last press conference of the season Ja’Marr waits for driving him home, even though he insisted he can already drive, both of them were so stubborn for letting one drive and the other let the other drive.

“Come on Joe! You can show me where you spend your mornings that lately you look so defeated.” Ja'Marr smiles seeing Joe quiver, a second later opening the door of  the passenger seat. 

“Where?” Ja’Marr asked as Joe typed the direction on the screen.

Ja’Marr feels kind of defeated too, just arriving at the place, the same old park for the first time. He side-eye to him, as Joe, still he didn't say anything when they walk inside, Chase clearly surprised of how good care the park is and more surprised by the fact a lot of people say hi to Joe, and he doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all. 

A bark scares Ja’Marr but Joe turns around quickly with a smile on his face. 

Chase simply couldn’t believe a dalmatian running to Joe jumping over him when his best friend patted his chest with his left hand as he stood on his two legs waiting for Joe to pat his head.

For the size Chase calculates he will be 4 probably 6 months old but by the confidence they have it seems that they have already met for a long time. 

“Hey buddy!” Joe keeps patting his head so Ja’Marr actually has to lean to witness that smile.

“He’s a dog.” Joe nods but he keeps seeing Monet running around him. “Joe?”

“His name is…” 

“MONET!” The female voice makes Ja’Marr feel relieved, of course, the owner dog, that’s why he feels so defeated.

“Where are you?!” Joe looked around and he didn’t recognize the voice, so any one of the people working in the park must be.

Monet barks, calling for the girl to find him. After a couple of seconds, a girl with a big jacket and jeans appears with a leash on her hands. 

Probably finding two NFL players here is out of her dreams for the way she stops dry and her cheeks turns in a burning red.

Monet runs back to the girl sitting in front of her. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you.” Joe said, putting his hands on his pockets.

“Oh, am, no…Sorry. I mean.” She takes a deep breath. “I was just scared, Monet runs so fast and normally he doesn’t do that.”

“You didn’t know?” Ja’Marr asks speechless for the way they look as totally strange. 

“No, we don’t.” Joe said sharply and clearly. “Am, Joe.”

“Yes, I know.” The girl smiles and walks closer. “And Ja’Marr, right?”

Chase smirks and nods. “A pleasure.”

Joe sees Monet sitting next to the girl when she stands in front of them. “Monet is such a good boy.”

“I know, that’s why I get scared. He is a good behaved boy.” She put the las over his lapels. “His owner will rip my head if I lose him.”

Wait, she isn’t the owner of Monet.

“You're not the owner?” Ja’Marr reads Joe's mind before he can even speak.

She stands after making sure Monet is comfortable.

“Oh no, I'm Nora, I know her, well…” Nora thinks for a second. “My sister is her best friend.”

Joe is utterly confused, now.

“She's been snowed under with work and she hasn't been able to take out Monet, so I finish early my school duties and offer to take him for a walk.” Monet smells Ja’Marr hands, making him smile. “She told me this is his favourite park. Now I know why.”

The guys couldn't avoid giggling because of the way she opens her eyes and smiles, of course, she's a teenager. 

Her phone starts to sound so she picks up. “Yes, sorry I got distracted…Oh don't worry, we call an Uber…Not worries, he's fine…Bye.”

She saved it in her pocket one more time. “Your mom Monet, time to go home.” She smiles at the boys. “It's been a pleasure, we must go.”

The boys nod and say goodbye observing Monet and the girl going to the entrance as she takes a quick glimpse, unable to believe what her eyes saw. 

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEFEATED FOR THE GIRL MAN!” Chase raises his hands in the air. “For a dog?”

“I bought him a nice present and he disappeared! I was worried something could happen to him.” Joe laughs walking back to the car. “It's just a puppy.”

Ja’Marr shakes his head. “You're one of a kind man, one of the kind.”

Savannah arrives with her sister Nora to Y/N house with a happy Monet running to the studio.

“Hey my love!” Y/N smiles as Monet gets between her legs under the table.

Monet waits for a kiss in the top of his head before running back to the living room.

“God! If this is more dark I could actually believe you're living in a cave.” Savannah said point the switch warning she will light on all the lights bubbles, like it supposed to be.

Y/N takes her glasses and closes her eyes to get used to the light. 

“What time is it?” By the time she opens the soft white light covers all her studio.

Savannah smiles observing the usual mess when she's so much work, Nora appears next to her sister.

“7 pm, have you even eaten?” See the half bag of chips next to her. “That definitely doesn't count.”

Y/N giggles. “I almost finished, one more layer and this is over.” She laid back on her chair observing her computer, laptop, tablet and a lot of pens all over her desk.

“He behaves?” Said moving her eyes to Nora as she picked up a sketch from the floor.

“Yeah, all good. A small mischief but all under control.” Nora mentions remembering the words of her sister.

<Let's keep between us, if Y/N knows we almost lost Monet she will want to do more than rip some heads.>

“Thanks for taking him out, one more day inside of the house and he will go crazy.” Monet barks to his owner. “Or I.”

“What about pasta?!” Savannah screams from the kitchen. “Forget it, I found shrimps.”

Y/N and Nora roll their eyes. 

“Anytime, I mean it.” Nora giggles remembering her unexpected meeting.

“Don't worry, I'm sending this tonight and I'll go back to normal.”

Y/N stands hearing how her back and legs crack due the hours sitting. 

“I need some fresh air too.” They walk to the kitchen. “Besides, you're about to enter your finals.” Y/N shakes her head. “Focus on that.”

“Wise advice, hear her.” Savannah adds as sauté the shrimps. “You almost finished?”

Savannah sees the canva over the sofa. A couple of months ago it was a plain empty canva, now it's a beautiful paint of a garden in autumn, orange leaves and yellow over the floor as a few green keeps on the branches. 

“Yes, a couple of weeks more and it'll be complete.” Y/N said, perking over the stove seeing her dinner.

“You absolutely have gorgeous views there.” Almost drool just thinking at that moment. 

Y/N looks at Monet with narrow eyes, who just sighs and lays his head over his left paw as he gets comfortable in his bed.

[softburrow]

i love when he does this 😭😭😭

[burreauxsss]

reupload since i dunno what happened on my end but.. BABES HIS FACE CARD

[honeydippedfiction]

I just know the first time Joe made Angel really lose it was while he had her folded in mating press. I'm talking brain mushed, pussy soaked, squirting for the first time, voice hoarse. And Joe is ferallll about it - 🐯

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Warnings: Suggestive/Spicy Scenes, (Graphic depictions of consensual sex, oral sex, squirting, mating press). MDNI🔞

WC: 3.3k

A/N: god they freaky

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

It starts with distance.

Two weeks apart, and it might as well have been a lifetime.

Angel had flown home for a long-overdue family reunion—sun-soaked afternoons spent dodging nosy relatives, navigating folding chairs and spades games, and fielding the same question over and over again: “And where’s that boyfriend of yours, the quarterback?” Every time she answered, her smile dipped a little, heart tugging just slightly.

Joe had wanted to come. He tried. Looked at flights, rearranged his schedule twice, even called his coach hoping to work around the mandatory spring workouts and media junkets. But LSU football had its own orbit, and this time, it didn’t make room for her.

So they made do.

It became routine—midnight check-ins and grainy FaceTime calls lit by lamplight. He’d be shirtless in bed, chain glinting against his collarbone, voice low and teasing. She’d be wrapped in a silk robe, hair tied up, skin glowing from her nighttime routine, legs curled up on her childhood bed like she wasn’t slowly unraveling for him on camera.

“Tell me what you’d do if I were there,” he whispered one night, voice all gravel and heat.

Angel didn’t hesitate. She bit her lip, slid her hand slowly up her bare thigh, her voice soft but wicked. “I’d ride you, real slow. Just enough to keep you desperate.” She angled the camera downward, just enough to tease, just enough to let him ache.

Joe groaned, shifting in bed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he wrapped a hand around himself. “You tryna kill me, baby?”

“No,” she murmured, letting the strap of her robe slide off her shoulder. “Just reminding you what’s waiting for you.”

They flirted like that almost every night—pushing each other to the brink and then pulling back just enough to keep the longing sharp. It was all heat and suggestion, until both of them were left breathless, skin buzzing from a lover’s absence that was starting to feel unbearable.

By the time she flew back, something heavy and electric had built between them.

The sun was barely setting over LSU’s campus the day she returned, and spring break had turned everything into a blur of loud music and too-little clothing. Someone was throwing a courtyard party—a DJ, drinks, half the football team and more than enough bikini-clad students dancing like summer had already arrived.

Angel didn’t dress to be subtle.

She stepped into the courtyard like a storm: skin kissed by her hometown sun, bikini black and strappy, barely covering anything at all. Her curls were still damp from her shower, and her smile? Dangerous. Calculated.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she walked in.

Joe was already there, leaning against the edge of the makeshift bar with a red Solo cup in hand, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His friends were talking, laughing, slapping each other on the back—but he wasn’t listening. Not really.

Not when he caught sight of her.

His whole body stilled, eyes locked on hers like she was the only real thing in the world. And for a second, neither of them moved—just stared, devoured. Every breath, every memory, every missed moment crashing into that one silent look.

Angel was the first to smile. She sauntered over slowly, hips swaying, the way she knew drove him crazy.

Joe watches the way her hips sway when she walks over like she owns the damn place, like she’s not the same girl who had him gasping her name through the phone just nights ago. Her skin’s glowing, her lips glossy, and her eyes say come get me then when she leans in for a hug that lingers too long.

“Hi, stranger,” she said lightly, fingers brushing his bare arm.

“Missed me?” she murmurs, mouth brushing the edge of his jaw.

“You have no idea,” he growls, already hard beneath his swim trunks.

Joe set his cup down without taking his eyes off her. “You wore that for me?”

Angel arched a brow, smirking. “Maybe. You like?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re tryna get me arrested.”

“Then take me somewhere private before you commit a felony,” she said, low and sweet, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He didn’t need more convincing.

They stayed just long enough not to be rude. A couple drinks, some small talk, a slow dance where Joe’s hands stayed glued to her waist, fingers pressing into skin like he couldn’t believe she was real again. She laughed, leaned into him, whispered a few unholy things that made his eyes darken instantly.

And then they were gone.

Back at his apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before Joe was on her—kissing her like a man possessed, lifting her with strong hands under her thighs, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“You wore that just to fuck with me,” he growls against her neck.

“Maybe,” she breathes, nails dragging down his back. “Worked, didn’t it?”

He’s manhandling her bikini top off, walking her backward toward the bedroom as she tugs at his waistband.

“I missed you,” she gasped against his mouth.

He didn’t slow down. “Missed you too, baby. Been losing my fucking mind.”

She giggled, breath hitching as he dropped her onto the bed and peeled her bikini off like it personally offended him. “You had FaceTime.”

“Not the same,” he growled, crawling up her body, eyes drinking her in like he hadn’t seen her in years. “Couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t feel you shaking under me. Couldn't make you cum the way I need to.”

She whimpered, threading her fingers into his hair. “Then do it. Show me.”

And oh, he would.

That night wouldn’t just be sex. It would be everything—weeks of pent-up tension, all the teasing, the longing, the whispered late-night fantasies exploding into something raw, primal, and consuming.

It was the moment before the storm. The inhale before the quake.

Because Joe wasn’t just going to make love to her.

He was going to ruin her.

Σ>―🧡→

It started like it always did—the soft brush of lips against hers, the low rumble in his chest when she opened for him, the warm slide of his tongue that made her toes curl. She loved the way he kissed, like it was a slow build, like he had to savor every second, every sound, every taste. She loved that his mouth was hungry, but also patient, that he’d take his time, but still manage to make her heart race in a way she’d never felt before.

This kiss was no different—except that it was. There was a hunger in him she hadn’t experienced in a while, not since the days they were still exploring each other, when everything was new and all they wanted was to spend every second pressed together.

Angel was already breathless when he finally pulled away, but before she could complain, his mouth trailed down her jaw, to her neck, to the hollow of her collarbone, and then lower.

She arched off the bed as he licked a slow stripe up the center of her body, his hands skimming up her sides, the rough pads of his thumbs flicking over her nipples. He teased her like that, just barely touching, until she was gasping, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Joe—”

“Shh.” He lowered his mouth, circling one nipple with his tongue before sucking lightly. She bucked, her hips rocking against his stomach, seeking friction. He chuckled against her skin, moving to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

When she whined, tugging at his hair, he finally relented, kissing down her stomach, hands sliding down to her hips. He gripped her tightly, thumbs digging into the crease of her thigh, and lowered his mouth to her cunt.

His tongue slipped between her folds, and she cried out, one hand fisting the sheets, the other twisting in his hair.

“Fuck, Angel,” he murmured, licking up her slit again, parting her, drinking her in. “I’ve been dreaming about this. About how wet you get for me, how sweet you taste.”

She gasped as his tongue flicked over her clit, slow and teasing, his eyes locked on her face. He watched her, like he was memorizing every reaction, every little thing that made her shiver or moan or writhe on the bed. He swirled his tongue around her clit, then closed his lips around it, sucking lightly.

“Joe!” She jerked, her hips canting up to meet him.

He smiled against her. “So sensitive.”

“Please—”

He didn't let up, using his mouth like he was starving, like he needed to devour her whole. It was so good, so perfect, and yet—

“Need you inside me,” she gasped, tugging on his hair. “Now, please.”

He made a sound low in his throat, but obeyed, surging up her body to take her mouth in a deep, filthy kiss. She could taste herself on him, and it made her head spin, made her cunt throb.

He reached down, gripping his cock and lining himself up. She was already so wet, so ready, and when he pressed into her, she could have cried from the sheer relief of it. He stretched her so perfectly, filled her so completely, and when he was buried to the hilt, she let out a ragged breath.

He didn’t give her time to adjust, just pulled out and slammed back in, making her cry out. She wrapped her legs around him, her ankles locking at the small of his back as he pounded into her. It wasn’t like the gentle, sweet lovemaking they’d been doing before she left. No, this was pure, unadulterated fucking, and she was here for it.

“Fuck,” she moaned, meeting his thrusts, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Just like that.”

“You feel so good.” He dropped his forehead to hers, his breath hot on her lips. “Been dreaming about this pussy. Need you so much.”

“Take me,” she whispered, kissing him hard. “Make me yours.”

He groaned into her mouth, his thrusts getting harder, deeper. 

She felt the coil in her belly tighten with every thrust, her breathing ragged as he fucked her just right.

“Fuck—this pussy missed me?” he groaned, eyes rolling back.

“Yes—fuck yes—” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

He pulled back and thrust again, harder this time, the bed creaking under them.

He found a rhythm, a pace that was relentless, deep, every thrust perfectly angled to hit that spot inside her that made her sob. One of his hands slid up to her throat, not squeezing, not choking, just holding—his thumb brushing over her jaw like he owned her.

“You like that, baby? Feel me right here?” Joe groaned, his hand pushing on her lower stomach over the bulge there.

She nodded, gasping, her eyes rolling back. “Y-yes. Fuck, harder—”

And he gave it to her.

Hips snapping into hers, the sound of skin on skin slapping off the walls, her moans growing louder, messier, more desperate. Her nails raked down his back, her thighs locked around his hips, clinging to him like she was about to fall apart.

And she was.

The coil inside her snapped, her body shaking as the orgasm tore through her. She cried out his name, her cunt clenching around his cock as he kept pounding into her, drawing out her pleasure, making her feel every ounce of it.

She was still shaking when he buried himself inside her, groaning her name against her neck as he came. She held onto him, her legs still wrapped around him, as he shuddered above her.

Angel whined as she felt Joe slip out of her, his cock still rock hard. “Baby–” 

She didn’t even get the chance to finish.

He kissed her, a deep, searching kiss, before he pulled back to look at her. His eyes were dark, intense. Hungry. And then he moved down her body, kissing his way down her chest, over her stomach, to the apex of her thighs.

He hadn't even touched her yet, and her heart was already racing.

“But I'm not done with you yet. Gonna take my time with you,” he said, his voice low.

She gasped as he licked a broad stripe over her cunt, still sensitive from her orgasm.

“Joe!”

“I know you can cum again, Angel. I know you can be a good girl for me.”

And with that, he lowered his mouth to her and began to eat her out, slow and methodical, his tongue working her clit, his fingers slipping inside her. She was still sensitive, and within seconds she was writhing, her hips bucking against him. But he held her down, his arm across her hips, his fingers pressing inside her as his tongue circled her clit. She gasped, her fingers twisting in his hair, and when she came, she cried out his name again, her body shuddering.

She didn't even have time to catch her breath before Joe moved up her body again, his cock hard again and pressing against her entrance. Joe’s on her, hands gripping her thighs, folding her effortlessly into the deepest angle, her legs pressed to her chest, body pinned beneath his. He kissed her as he pushed into her, and she moaned against his mouth. He was so deep, so thick, and even though she'd just cum twice, she wanted, no she needed more. She needed all of him.

When he was fully sheathed inside her, he pulled back, looking down at her. His curls fell over his forehead, his eyes intense as he gazed down at her.

“You take me so good, baby,” he rasped. “Always so perfect.”

She whimpered as he started to move, thrusting deep and hard, the new angle making her eyes roll back.

“Oh—fuck—” she gasped.

“Yeah, that's it. Take it.” He kissed her again, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She kissed him back, her hands gripping his biceps, her legs wrapped around him. He broke the kiss, looking down at her again, his gaze intense. “You're gonna cum for me again, baby. One more time.”

“Yes—yes—”

His grip on her hips tightened, and he slammed into her again, again, again. No mercy, no hesitation.

Just filthy, hard thrusts that made the bed rock against the wall. She screamed, her hands scrambling for something, anything to hold on to, but there was nothing—nothing but his body, his cock driving into her like he was trying to brand her with every thrust.

Her third orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, and she came all over his cock again, soaking him. Her body trembled under his, but still, still, he didn’t let up. His body pressed into hers, hands braced on her legs keeping them pinned to her chest, his cock buried deeper than ever before, driving into her, dragging along her walls, making her sob and shake.

The angle was brutal. Relentless. She’d never felt like this before—full, owned, like she was completely at his mercy.

And Joe? Joe was gone. Whispering filthy things in her ear, hissing her name through clenched teeth, praising her for being such a good girl. He was watching her, gaze locked on hers, as she unraveled completely, as her body broke apart under his.

It was too much. It wasn't enough. It was perfect, it was terrifying.

She could feel the sweat dripping down her spine, her hair plastered to her forehead, her entire body shaking. She couldn’t stop cumming, couldn’t stop clenching, couldn’t stop begging for more. And he was relentless, never letting up, never slowing down, never giving her a second to breathe.

She was shaking, her whole body trembling as he kissed her, his fingers working her clit, her cunt still pulsing around his cock.

Angel gasped, eyes wide, mouth open. Her whole body froze.

“Joey—!” She squealed, trying to push at his chest. “Wait—wait. Can’t—something’s wrong—”

Her breath caught, her eyes rolled, and her whole body began to shudder.

And Joe felt it, too—that tightening, the frantic pull, the way Angel’s walls clamped around his cock like her body was begging him to fuck it loose.

Joe groaned. Loud. Wrecked.

Ferally turned on.

“Yeah?” Joe grunted, voice low, rough. His hips snapped harder now, more urgent, more demanding. “You gonna give it to me, baby? Come on. Let it go. Show me.”

And Angel did. Just like that. She came completely undone.

Angel shattered beneath him. Her legs trembling, her back arching off the bed.

An almost wounded cry spilled from her lips, and for a split second, Joe thought he'd done something wrong, thought he'd hurt her or pushed her too far, but then—

Then, she squirted for the very first time.

It caught her by surprise, her body overwhelmed by too much, too fast, her hands weakly pushing at his chest.

But her eyes—

Her eyes said, Don't stop. Don't ever stop.

Joe lost whatever control he had left.

"Oh fuck—Angel—" He snarled, his voice more animal than man as he held her hips down, watching in pure disbelief and raw, unfiltered awe as her pussy gushed around his cock. "Oh, fuck—baby—"

His hand dove between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight, fast circles over the sensitive bud.

“Look at you making a fucking mess baby.” Joe panted, his voice wrecked. “Angel—baby—fuck. You didn’t even know what you could do—”

“I—” Angel sobbed, her hips jerking beneath him. “Oh fuck—oh fuck, please—I—”

“Yeah.” Joe groaned again, pressing down on her clit as he slammed into her, making her squirt again, harder this time. The slick gushed out of her, soaking his cock and dripping onto the sheets, making a fucking mess, but Joe couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. “That’s it, baby. Let it go. Look at what I do to you. Mine.”

He fucked her through it, through every single wave, pounding into her soaked pussy, growling every single time her walls tightened around his cock.

“Fuck—fuck—” he rasped, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes locked on her face. “Angel, baby, I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“You can—” she gasped, still squirming, still writhing. “Please, Joey. Please—”

He fucked her harder, his hand tightening on her hip, the other braced next to her head. He was going to cum, he knew he was, and when he did—

When he did, it was with a snarled curse, his cock pulsing inside her as he emptied himself, filling her with thick ropes of cum. He groaned through his teeth, his forehead still pressed against hers, body shaking as he kept thrusting, slow now. Drawing out every pulse, every spurt, every drop.

Angel moaned at the feeling, warm and full and messy. She could feel his cum leaking out of her as he pulled out, but he didn't go far, just dropped his weight on her, burying his face in her neck, kissing her there before he rolled them over so she was on top, straddling his waist.

She could feel him, softening inside her now, and she shuddered, her body still sensitive, still twitching. She could feel the mess between them, feel his cum and her slick still leaking from her. Joe's hands smoothed up and down her back, gentle now, soothing.

“That was—” She swallowed, still trying to catch her breath. “Wow.”

He chuckled, pulling her down to kiss him. His mouth was warm, comforting, and she kissed him back, slow and sweet.

“Mmm,” he mumbled against her lips. “Perfect.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, resting her forehead against his. “Perfect.”

He kissed her again before she could pull back, then wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

“Love you,” he murmured, his voice soft, his eyes closed.

“I love you, too,” she said, and she could feel his smile against her cheek.

They stayed like that for a while, both breathing heavily, before he finally pulled out and laid her beside him. He pulled her into his arms, her back to his chest, and kissed the back of her neck.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

She smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It’s good to be back.”

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore, @danielle143, @kayyybay, @destinyg237

[poisonouscat-tail9]

Joe Burrow 💜💛🤍 Justin Jefferson

[joesheadband]

MY LIFE IS CHANGING EVERYDAY! joe burrow.

SUMMARY: Going to Joes first football game as you two are dating. WARNINGS: Second person point of view, fluff, not proof-read, hate this a lot, and a new layout!

As you woke up Joe was already gone— like he had said. It was his first game of the season, it was a home game, that you so had the chance of going to!

When you woke up and after lingering in bed for god knows how long you finally get up, stretching your arms after you stand up.

You then make your bed, fixing up both sides of the bed and patting down the pillows to have that perfect crease in between the pillow.

You quietly step down the staircase and walk into the kitchen, quickly prepping up a breakfast— it being a microwave breakfast sandwich.

After a few minutes you bring it back to your bathroom, time to start getting ready!

Shortly after you get interrupted in your thoughts as Joe calls you— you’re so quick to answer.

“Hii Joe! Is everything okay? You usually don’t call-” You ramble, your voice with worry but getting cut off from Joes voice.

“Hey, everything’s fine don’t worry.” He mumbles into the phone, his voice echoing throughout your bathroom. “…I was just calling to say hi, I kinda left earlier this mornin” Joe continues, his voice raspy.

“Oh it’s okay! I’m about getting ready.” You beamed, placing your phone on the sink counter as you put in your hair clips to keep your hair out your face.

“Mhm, well you do that, I’ll call you later m’kay?” Joe chuckles.

“Okay! Love you!” You hum, hearing Joe say I love you shortly after the ending the phone call.

After it took you however long to get ready you finally are—you had decided on wearing one of your Bengals jersey with Joes number on the back with a pair of light washed jeans, it was supposed to be chillier then usual but you’ve gotten used to the bipolar weather of Cincinnati.

Before you left you quickly apply your lipgloss, smudging on your cheek a little.

You and Joe had decided on you taking an Uber, so you guys don’t have to drive two cars home.

As you walk into the Uber you’re immediately greeted with a short hey and how’s your morning, you exchange words and quickly after a few minutes the conversation dies down. The sound of the random talk show in the back, and the sound of the cars outside.

After a painfully awkward thirty minute drive you finally arrive at the stadium, you say your thanks as you step out of the car—stretching out your arms and legs.

As soon as you made it through security you immediately made your way down to your seat—it being one of the closest ones to the field. The game hasn’t started yet but there’s already a huge crowd of people in the stadium, it was the first game of the season.

After a few minutes of you sitting down—collecting your thoughts—you walked back up the steps to go to the little concession stands. You had decided on getting a lemonade only, debating whether you should get something else but holding that thought off.

You made your way back to your seat, your hands feeling sweaty from excitement. Even though you weren’t playing this was Joes first game of the season—which doesn’t sound that nerve wracking but it is.

From every part of the stadium you hear the loud roar of each Bengals fan cheering their iconic, “Who Dey” chant.

You join with them, giggling as you are cheering.

Then the starting players of the Bengals rush out onto the field, your eyes immediately locking onto Joe.

As if he could feel your eyes on his he looks over to you, a small smile forming on lips.

You hold up two thumbs up and mouth, “You got this! You’ll so good I know you will.”

Joe nods, quickly rushing over to you. “Hey, you made it in time.” He hums, looking up at you as half of your body is leans over the ledge.

You giggle and nod, giving him a hug. “I told you I would!” You beamed.

Joe laughs, returning the hug as he says his thanks. “I love you.” He mumbles into you, tightening the hug.

“I love you too, Joe.” You giggle, the rest of the stadium and cheering being a blur.

i hate this i needed something to post so bad