#jimmy and robin burrow

[lovecincy]

Happy family!!!!💓

[voldejoe]

Talented athlete, handsome man & educated 👏🏻

[v6quewrlds]

❝ infinity, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the bengals suffer a devastating loss against the eagles. it takes everything within you to face joe, hoping you'll be able to remind him of his worth.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: wrote this so fast as soon as the request came in. ty to anon for requesting <3 it's a little sad. i'm gonna be honest, part of me wanted to write an argument where the guy wasn't throwing shit and breaking stuff. the other stuff was secondary lmao. another installment to the joe is a munch agenda.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established but unlabeled relationship, sad!joey, he raises his voice but gets put right back in line, shower sex, kind of a pity fuck but we ball, romantic doggy style, cunnilingus, cum eating???, apologies as foreplay, sappy couple activities.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.9k.

The stadium lights shone like a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, as the final whistle blew and the crowd's roar faded into a disheartened murmur. The Cincinnati Bengals had lost to the Eagles in a game that had started out so promisingly. You felt the weight of the loss in the air, thick and palpable, as you sat in the Burrow family suite, your eyes locked on the field. You knew Joe wouldn't be coming up to join you with a victory smile tonight.

As the players trickled off the field, you hugged Robin and Jimmy goodbye, the tension etched in their faces mirroring the tension coiled in your chest. They whispered their sympathy and concern for their son's mood before heading out to face the gauntlet of traffic. Your gaze followed them, watching as they disappeared into the throng of fans, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for their escape. You knew Joe would be less than pleasant after a game like this, and you steeled yourself for the long night ahead.

The family reception area was a hum of disappointed chatter and forced smiles, but your eyes remained glued to the TV broadcasting Joe's post-game press conference. You saw the tightness in his jaw, the furrow in his brow, and the way he clenched his fists when asked about the second half's collapse. Your heart went out to him, and you hoped that once you were alone, he would let you in, let you help him bear the brunt of his emotions.

You couldn't bear to watch as Joe lifted himself from the press chair to retreat back to the locker room. You waited, sipping on a warm soda that had gone flat, feeling the condensation slip down your hand and pool at your fingertips. The other girlfriends and wives offered you words of support, but you knew their hands were full with their own distressed partners. You were on your own in this.

A delicate hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned to see the concerned face of Chase Brown's girlfriend, whose name you couldn't quite recall in the haze of the angsty loss. The shorter woman offered a small, understanding smile. "It's going to be okay," she murmured. "They’re all pros. They’ll bounce back." You nodded, mustering a smile of your own. But you knew it wasn't just the game weighing on Joe. It was the pressure, the expectations, and the unspoken fears that came with being at the top.

The minutes dragged on, turning into what felt like hours, before the locker room doors swung open and a parade of burly, ego-bruised men began to make their way out. They were a mix of anger and defeat, each one avoiding eye contact with the small group of women waiting patiently. Your eyes darted to each face, searching for the one you knew so well, the one that could bring you a semblance of peace in this chaotic aftermath. He remained elusive, a ghost in the shadows of his own misery.

Your heart hammered in your chest, lip nervously bitten raw as you watched the locker room door swing open and shut with the rhythm of the exiting players. Your eyes searched the crowd, locking with the weary eyes of the coaches who offered you a nod of sympathy. Each nod felt like a punch to the gut, reinforcing the gravity of Joe's mood. When the hallways grew quiet, you remained the sole family member standing. The emptiness of the reception area echoed the silence in your chest.

After several empty minutes that stretched on toward forever, a Bengals staff member approached you. "Ma'am," he said, his voice thick with understanding, "Joe requested that I bring you to the locker room." You nodded, swallowed the lump in your throat, and followed the man down the corridor. The air grew denser with each step, the scent of sweat and defeat growing stronger. When you reached the locker room, Joe was exactly where you had imagined he would be: slumped over his locker, staring into the abyss of his open duffle bag.

The moment your eyes met, you saw his shoulders tense and you knew he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. "You ready?" You asked, your voice soft and gentle. He didn't answer, just looked up at you with a mix of anger and defeat that made you want to wrap him in a warm embrace and whisk him away from all of this.

As you stepped closer, Joe stood up, and you could see the exhaustion etched into his features. "Let's get the fuck out of here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The harshness of his words stung, but you knew it was the pain talking. You took his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The two of you walked side by side through the exit path of the stadium, the clack of your footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete walls. You tried to fill the silence with gentle inquiries, but Joe remained tight-lipped, his jaw set in a firm line of anger. His hand felt clammy in yours, a contrast to the warmth of his usual touch. When you reached the car, he paused, his hand hovering over the handle. He looked at you, his blue eyes stormy with unspoken emotions.

"Do you mind driving?" he asked, his tone a mix of apology and defeat. You nodded, understanding that he needed the time and space to process. You slid into the driver's seat, your eyes gently sweeping over his tired form as he slipped into the passenger seat. The engine purred to life, and you pulled out of the parking lot, steering the two of you homeward through the deserted Cincinnati streets.

The silence in the car was heavy, broken only by the occasional hiss of the tires against the damp asphalt. Your thoughts raced, trying to find the right words to ease Joe's pain without triggering his already frayed nerves. You knew he was a man of few words, especially when he was hurt, but you had to try. "You played your heart out tonight, Joe," you said, your voice low and soothing. "The team will learn from this."

Joe's gaze remained fixed out the window, the streetlights casting shadows on his profile. "It's not just the game, babe," he finally said, his voice tight. "It's everything. The pressure, the criticism, the feeling that no matter what I do, it's never enough."

You squeezed his hand, your eyes never leaving the road. "You're more than enough, Joe," you said firmly. "They haven't given you much help since '22. It's a miracle you've taken them this far." Your words hung in the air, unanswered, but you could feel the tension in his body ease slightly.

Once you arrived home, Joe remained in the car, his hand still in yours. You waited, giving him the space he needed to gather himself. When he finally opened the door, you followed suit, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere in the car. As the two of you stepped into your quiet home, Joe's shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy sigh. You could feel the weight of his frustration, his eyes still holding the storm of his emotions.

Without a word, you led him into the living room, gesturing for him to sit on the plush couch. He sank into it, his eyes remained closed as you headed off towards the kitchen. You reached for one of the few beers stored in the fridge, figuring he could break his strict diet in the shadow of such a crushing loss. You handed him one, and as the cap twisted off, the sound echoed in the silence. He took a long pull, the tension in his throat bobbing with the effort of swallowing.

You sat down next to him, your hand resting on his knee, waiting patiently for him to speak. It was a dance you had done before, the aftermath of a tough game. The living room, usually a sanctuary of laughter and comfort, was now a battlefield of unspoken words and heavy sighs. The TV remained off, the only illumination coming from the moonlight that filtered through the blinds.

Finally, Joe opened his eyes, looking at you with a mix of anger and sadness. "We had them," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "We had the game in the bag and we let them take it." His eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, for validation. You leaned in closer, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder.

"You did everything you could," you said softly. "Sometimes, it's not all on you."

Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign of doubt, but your gaze was steadfast. You knew he was a man who took his losses hard, especially when it came to football. It was his sanctuary, his escape from the world, and when it crumbled around him, it was like watching a piece of him break.

He took another sip of his beer, his eyes focused on the floor "It's not just the game," he repeated. "It's the whispers, the doubt. Everyone's watching me, expecting me to be Superman, and when I'm not, they tear me apart." Your heart ached for him, knowing he felt like the world was on his shoulders.

"You're human, Joe," you whispered, your voice filled with compassion. "You're allowed to have a bad day."

Joe's gaze met yours, his eyes searching for solace in the depths of your warm brown irises. He knew you were right, but it didn't make the sting of defeat any less potent. He took another deep breath, his chest rising and falling heavily. "But that's the point. I didn't have a bad day. I haven't had a bad day since I fractured my wrist." His words were laced with frustration, and you could feel the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

You kept silent, watching as he stood up from the couch with a sudden jerk. "Dammit," he cursed, the bottle of beer clutched tightly in his hand. "I can't do this anymore." He began to pace, his long strides eating up the space in the room.

"Do what?" You asked, your voice calm and measured.

Joe's eyes flashed with anger, his pacing growing more agitated. "I can't keep carrying this team on my back," he said, his voice rising. "The front office, the coaches, they all expect miracles, and when I don't deliver because I have no help on the other end, it's like I've failed them." He stopped and turned to you, his expression desperate. "I'm tired of it."

Your heart ached with love for Joe. You knew the pressure he was under, knew the kind of man he was. A man who took every loss personally, who never blamed his teammates even when they deserved it. "You haven't failed, Joe," you said, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've done everything they've asked of you and more. You can't control everything out there on the field."

But Joe was on a roll, his emotions spilling out like a dam that had been holding back a flood for too long. "They expect me to be perfect, and when I'm not, it's like the world's ending," he continued, his voice rising with every word. "And what do I get for it? I get fuckin' thrown out there to face the press and tell them we're working on it, we're gonna fix it." He slammed the beer bottle down on the coffee table, the sound echoing through the room.

Your eyes widened at his outburst, the fear of his anger turning into something more volatile rising in your chest. But you remained calm, your voice a gentle reprieve from the storm raging inside Joe. "They're just doing their job," you offered. "They don't mean to put it all on you. You're just an easy target."

Joe scoffed, turning away from you. "Easy target? That's all I am to them. A face to put on the cover of the Bengals' shit show." His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

You stood, moving closer to him, your  hand reaching out to touch his arm. "Joe, you need to take a deep breath. You're working yourself up over this."

Joe spun around, his eyes flashing. "You don't get it!" he snapped, and you took a step back, your hand dropping to your side. It was a line the two of you had never crossed before, the sound of his raised voice a crushing reminder of the unspoken rule you had both agreed upon.

For a moment, the room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside your windows. Then Joe's shoulders dropped, and the anger drained from his face, leaving only a tired, defeated man. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to yell."

"But you did," you said softly, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "And that's not how we agreed to handle things." You didn't mean to be harsh, but you needed him to understand that his behavior had crossed a line. "I know you're upset, Joe. But I can't be your punching bag. I'm not the reason why you're angry."

Joe's took a deep breath, his chest deflating as he nodded slowly, regret etched on his face. "You're right. I'm sorry." He stepped closer, reaching for you, but you stepped back out of his grasp, needing a moment to collect yourself.

"I know you're hurt and frustrated, but that's not an excuse," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "I'm here for you, but I need you to talk to me, not at me."

Joe's gaze dropped to the floor, his eyes brimming with regret. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort to keep his emotions in check. "You're right," he murmured. "I'm sorry." He reached out to you again, this time with a softness that you recognized. You let out a sigh of relief, letting yourself be drawn into his embrace. He held you tight, his body trembling slightly with the weight of his apology.

"It's okay," you whispered, stroking his hair. "I know it's hard. And I'm sorry this is what you're dealing with."

Joe nodded into your embrace, his breaths slowly evening out.

"I'm going to take a shower, okay?" You said, pulling away from Joe's embrace. "I need a moment to think." You didn't wait for his response, heading upstairs to your bedroom. You could feel his eyes on your back, heavy with regret and sadness.

In the bathroom, you turned the shower knob, letting the hot water cascade over you. The steam filled the room, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, but it couldn't wash away the tension that clung to you like a second skin. You stepped under the spray, letting the water beat down on you, the sound of it a white noise that drowned out the world outside. You felt the tightness in your muscles begin to ease as the heat seeped into your bones.

Midway through your shower, the bathroom door creaked open. Your heart skipped a beat, expecting Joe to come in, apologize again, but instead, you felt his hands on your waist, his body pressing against yours. You tensed, ready to pull away, but when he whispered, "I'm sorry," into your ear, you melted into his touch. His warm skin settled against your wet skin, and you allowed yourself to be held, to be a source of comfort for him.

The water rained down on the two of you  as Joe's hands began to move over your body, his gentle touch soothing your nerves. His lips found the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly, and you closed your eyes, letting his apology wash over you. The loofah in his hand glided across your skin, scrubbing away the sweat and anxiety from the game, and with it, the tension of the evening.

"I'm sorry," Joe murmured again, his voice barely audible over the shower. "I shouldn't have snapped." His hands moved to your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the taut muscles, trying to ease the knots of your frustration.

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closed. "It's okay," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "We all have our moments." Joe's grip tightened, and you could feel his need to be closer, to erase the space between you.

"What did you think of the game?" Joe asked, his voice a gentle rumble in the confines of the shower. You could feel the tension in his body as he worked to scrub away the physical and emotional grime of the loss.

"You played hard, like you always do," you replied, your voice echoing off the tiles. "But the team's chemistry was off. On both sides of the ball." You knew Joe didn't need to hear about the interceptions or the fumbles, but rather, the underlying issues that had led to their defeat.

"Yeah, I could feel it," Joe mumbled, his voice tight with frustration. "It's like we forgot how to play as a team." You nodded, your eyes still closed as Joe's hands moved down your back, tracing the lines of your spine. "They're relying on you too much," you said, your voice firm. "You can't do everything on your own."

The loofah stilled for a moment, and you felt Joe's chest expand with a deep breath. Deciding to continue delivering your thoughts, you sighed and said, "The secondary needs to step up, and the coaches need to get their act together." The warmth of his hands resumed their gentle massage, a silent acknowledgment of your words.

"I know," Joe murmured, his voice thick with frustration. "It's just..." He trailed off, unable to find the words. You knew his thoughts well, the pressure of being a quarterback, the weight of a city's hopes and dreams on his shoulders.

When the two of you met, Joe was a 3rd string quarterback with no chance of touching a football during a game at Ohio State. You, a nutrition major, found his quiet confidence fascinating. As you grew closer, you saw the fiery competitiveness that fueled his ambition. When he told you he was transferring to Louisiana State with a real chance at being QB1, you knew it was a risk well worth taking. His meteoric rise to not only a National Championship but the Heisman and the first overall pick in the NFL Draft only proved the belief you had in him from the beginning. You weren't supposed to be here together, with Joe the face of an NFL franchise. But here you were, navigating the tumultuous waters of professional sports and superfame.

But tonight, as the hot water streamed over your bodies, the reality of your situation crashed down on Joe like a heavy wave. "I'm just tired of being the scapegoat," he whispered against your neck, his breath hot and urgent. "They expect me to be perfect, and when I'm not, it's all on me." Your heart broke a little more with each word, knowing he was right but hating that he felt that way.

"You're not a scapegoat, Joe," you said, turning in his arms to face him. "You're the best thing that's happened to this team in years." The sincerity in your eyes was unmistakable. "They just need to realize that you and Ja'Marr aren't enough to win games by yourselves."

Joe's expression softened, his eyes searching yours. "I know," he said, his voice barely a murmur. "But it's hard not to feel like it sometimes." You nodded, understanding his pain. "Let's not talk about the game anymore," you said, leaning in to kiss him gently. "You need to relax."

He pulled you closer, his hands moving over your body with a new urgency, the tension in his muscles giving way to a different kind of need. You could feel his desire, his desperation to connect with you, to lose himself in something that wasn't football. You kissed him back, your own needs rising to the surface.

The loofah fell to the shower floor, forgotten, as your hands found each other's bodies, exploring and reassuring. The steam grew thicker, wrapping the two of you in a cocoon of heat and wetness, the outside world fading away. You kissed with a passion that was both fiery and tender, your bodies moving in a silent dance of apology and understanding.

You felt Joe's hands move to your hips, pulling you closer, his arousal unmistakable against you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your own desire matching his, as you found solace in the intimacy of your shared space. The water washed away the tension of the game, your movements becoming more urgent, more primal.

"Take your frustrations out on me," you murmured against his ear, your breath hot and needy. Joe's response was to push you against the cool tiles, his hands roaming over your wet body, exploring every curve and crevice. He kissed you with a hunger that spoke volumes of his need for release.

Without hesitation, Joe's hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples. You gasped, your eyes closing as sensations of pleasure shot through your body. His mouth moved from your neck to your chest, kissing and sucking, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. Your own hands were busy, sliding down his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin, your nails digging in slightly as you urged him closer.

Your kisses grew deeper, more demanding, as the water continued to beat down on you. Your legs tightened around Joe's waist, pulling him closer, feeling his erection pressing against you. The sound of your bodies colliding against the tiles filled the small space, echoing off the walls. You were lost in each other, the pain of the loss momentarily forgotten.

Joe's hand slid down your body, finding the apex of your thighs. He teased you gently at first, his thumb brushing through your slick folds as you moaned into his mouth. Your hips rolled into his touch, seeking more. He groaned, his own desire spiking at your responsiveness.

With a swift move, Joe lifted you off the tiles, carrying you out of the shower, water still cascading off your bodies. He sat you on top of the bathroom counter, not caring about the wetness. His need for you was all-consuming, a fiery hunger that only you could satiate. You watched him with half-lidded eyes, your breaths coming in short pants as his hands slid over you, exploring every inch of your wet skin.

Your kisses grew more urgent as Joe's fingers delved into you, finding you already slick with desire. Your back arched, a keening cry escaping your lips as he touched you with a precision that spoke of a deep, intimate knowledge. His other hand cupped your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. You could feel his own need, his cock pressing in between your spread thighs, demanding entry.

"Fuck me," you breathed, your voice a low, urgent plea as Joe's touch brought you to the brink of ecstasy. You could feel the tension in his body, the anger and frustration that had been building all night, now redirected into a passion that was as intense as it was raw. He didn't respond verbally, instead choosing to show you with his actions that he heard you. He slid into you with a smoothness that contrasted his desperation, filling you completely.

You each sighed at the feeling of Joe stretching your pussy open, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you shared, a bond that transcended the game, the expectations, the disappointments. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move inside you. Each stroke was a declaration of his need, a silent apology for his earlier outburst, and a promise to be there for you.

Your bodies moved in rhythm, the sound of your skin slapping together mixing with your muffled moans and gasps. Your breath hitched as Joe's cock hit just the right spot, sending waves of pleasure through your core. You rocked your hips against him, urging him deeper, faster, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tugging at his dirty blonde hair. His gaze was intense as it held yours, the blue of his eyes almost black in the dim light, his pupils blown with desire.

Joe's mouth trailed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making you shiver with excitement. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding your movements, urging you closer to the edge. His own need was palpable, his breathing harsh and erratic as he thrust into you with a fervor that was both aggressive and tender.

"You're so wet," Joe growled, his voice thick with lust, as he pumped into you. You could feel his muscles tense with every thrust, the power behind each one a stark contrast to his gentle strokes from earlier. "So fucking wet for me."

Your nails dug into his back, urging him on. "Yes, Joey," you moaned. "Take it out on me." Your words were a catalyst, pushing him past his limits. He slammed into you, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the bathroom.

Your eyes never left each other as Joe's pace grew more frenzied, his strokes more demanding. Your head fell back, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock nudged at that soft muscle inside you that made your legs shake. Your walls tightened around him, a silent plea for more.

"You like that, don't you?" Joe grunted, his voice a gruff rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed as you moaned brokenly in response. His hand found the side of your face, tilting it to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes burning into your soul.

"Fuck yes, I do," you managed to gasp, your voice breathless with need. The feeling of Joe's thick cock filling you up was heavenly, the friction causing a delicious burn. You felt his thumb pressing against the side of your throat, a gesture that usually sent you over the edge, but tonight, you were holding onto the precipice, needing the climax to wash away the sting of his earlier words.

"Oh, baby, yes," you panted, your breaths coming in quick gasps. "Right there." The sensation was almost too much, but you craved it, needed it, to drown out the noise from the evening's loss. Joe's eyes darkened with hunger, and he pushed harder, deeper, hitting your g-spot with unwavering precision.

"I'm so sorry for earlier," Joe murmured, his voice a raw, passionate whisper. "You mean everything to me." His movements grew more deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked to bring you to climax. You felt the walls of your pussy clench around him, your orgasm building with every stroke.

"You're always so good to me," you breathed, your voice a sweet symphony of pleasure. "Don't ever doubt that."

Your words hit Joe like a sucker punch to the gut, the weight of his emotions suddenly too much to bear. He kissed you again, a deep, desperate kiss that conveyed every ounce of his love and regret. His thrusts grew erratic, his body trembling with the effort to hold back his release. Your eyes widened with understanding, and you leaned in, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you matched his rhythm, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

"I'll spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you," Joe said between ragged breaths, his eyes searching yours for forgiveness. You knew he meant it, that his love was as unshakable as the determination that made him the star quarterback he was.

Your own climax was building, the pressure in your core growing with every thrust. You could feel Joe's cock swell even more, his grip on your hips tightening. The world outside your bubble of passion didn't matter anymore. Only this moment, your connection, your love, and the release that was so close.

"I forgive you," you whispered, your eyes brimming with emotion as you felt the beginnings of your climax. You squeezed your eyes shut, your body tightening around Joe's cock, your pussy fluttering with each stroke. "Can't help it when you make me feel so good," you added with a small, breathless laugh.

The sound of Joe's harsh breathing filled your ears as he drove into you, his movements becoming more frantic. You could feel the tension in his body, the need to come, to let go of the anger and the pain. You tightened your legs around him, your heels digging into his firm ass as you urged him on with your moans. Your bare chests pressed against each other, gasping desperately into each other's open mouths as your inaccurate, sloppy kisses grew more feverish.

"I need you to come, baby," Joe groaned into your ear, his voice desperate. "Need to make it up to you." 

You felt the tension coiling in her belly, the heat of Joe's breath on your skin setting your nerves alight. You knew he was close, could feel his cock pulsing inside you. With one final, powerful thrust, Joe's grip on your hips tightened, and he came with a roar, filling you with his hot, thick release.

Joe's movements slowed, his cock still pulsing inside you, his breathing ragged as he kissed along your neck. You giggled softly, the tension of the evening finally beginning to dissipate. "I've got you," you murmured, stroking his hair gently as he caught his breath. "You don't have to make it up to me."

With a final, lingering kiss, Joe pulled out of you, the connection breaking with a slick pop. He stepped back, his gaze lingering on your brown skin and the way your chest heaved with every breath you took. "But I want to," he said, his voice still thick with passion. "I need to."

You nodded softly as your hands reached up to cup Joe's face, your thumbs tracing the lines of his cheekbones. "I know you do, baby," you said gently. You leaned in to kiss him, your love washing over him with a gentle warmth that seemed to seep into his bones. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as your kiss grew more intense, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tangling with yours.

"Gonna eat you out until you can't think straight," Joe said, his voice gruff with lust as he lifted you off the counter, setting you feet down gently onto the plush bath mat then turning you to face the mirror on top of the counter. He dropped to his knees before you, his eyes tracing over your smooth skin as he kissed your spine, your thighs. You felt your legs wobble slightly, but you remained standing, your hands planted firmly on the counter for balance.

Joe's tongue traced a line up your inner thigh, the sensation causing you to quiver with anticipation. His hand found your ass cheek first, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving to the back of her thigh, urging your legs apart. Your breath hitched as his warm breath danced over your folds, the anticipation of his touch almost too much to handle.

"We taste so good together, baby," Joe murmured, his tongue darting out to tease your clit. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he began to feast on you. His tongue flicked and circled, his mouth suckling you in a way that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your juices mixing in with his cum still leaking from your aroused pussy.

The feeling of Joe's mouth on you was almost too much, the intimacy of the moment washing away the last remnants of the day's anger and frustration. Your legs began to shake, your breaths coming in short gasps as Joe's mouth worked its magic. You watched the movement of his head in the mirror, his eyes closed in concentration, his cheeks hollowing as he took you in.

Joe's tongue slid into you, the sensation so intense you had to bite your bottom lip to keep from screaming. Your nails dug into the countertop, the pain grounding you as you felt your orgasm building again. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you forget everything except the heat between the two of you. Your  hips began to rock against his mouth, your body begging for release.

"Yes," you moaned, your voice echoing off the bathroom walls. "Just like that, Joey." 

Joe's eyes snapped open, looking up at you through the wet strands of his hair, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watched you unravel. His tongue delved deeper, exploring your warmth, savoring your taste.

"I'm gonna make you come so hard," Joe whispered against you, his breath hot on your sensitive skin. You felt his tongue swirl around your clit, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before his mouth closed around it, sucking hard. You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathroom as you shuddered with pleasure.

"Shit—I'm gonna come," you whimpered, your knees buckling slightly as Joe's mouth worked its magic. He held you steady, his simultaneously pushing you firmly against the counter and keeping your ass spread wide for him, his mouth unrelenting. You felt your climax build, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

"Keep doing that," you panted, your body quivering as Joe's skilled tongue danced against your clit. You leaned heavily on the counter, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the orgasm build, the tension in your thighs and stomach tightening. Joe's grip on your legs was firm, his mouth relentless as he brought you closer to the edge.

Joe whispered against you again, "Love eating this perfect pussy, love making you come," and your eyes rolled back in your head, the sensation of his mouth on your clit overwhelming. The pressure grew unbearable, your legs trembling as you held onto the counter for dear life.

"Yes," you hissed through clenched teeth, your hips jerking in response to Joe's skilled movements. The pressure built higher and higher until you couldn’t take it anymore. With a strangled cry, you came, your body convulsing in the throes of ecstasy. Joe didn't stop, continuing to lick and suck, drawing out your orgasm until you were left panting and boneless against the counter.

He licked you through your orgasm, savoring the taste of your mixed pleasures as you trembled under his touch. Your legs gave out, and Joe supported your weight from his spot on the floor, his face still buried between your thighs. You leaned into him, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of your climax. With a final, lingering kiss to your sensitive clit, Joe stood up, his eyes locking with yours in the mirror. You felt the heat of embarrassment under his gaze, your heart racing from the intensity of yiur lovemaking. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice hoarse from your moans.

"Don't thank me," Joe said, his own voice thick with emotion. You laughed softly as his tongue darted out in an attempt to capture one last taste of you. "Let me help you clean up," you offered, turning in his arms. Your thumbs wiped the corners of his mouth, smearing a bit of your juices onto his cheeks. He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before letting it go.

The two of you stepped back into the shower, the warm water cascading over your bodies, washing away the evidence of your passion. You took the loofah from the shower caddy, lathering it with Joe's favorite scented body wash—yours. You began to run it over his chest, your touch gentle as you worked your way down his body. His muscles relaxed under your ministrations, the tension of the evening dissipating with each stroke.

Joe's eyes remained on you, watching your movements with a quiet contentment that you hadn't seen in several long weeks. "You okay?" you asked softly, your voice echoing in the shower.

"Better," Joe murmured, his gaze dropping to your breasts, the water cascading over you, mixing with the soap. "Much better." He stepped closer, pressing you against the cold tiles, his hands taking the loofah from you. As the last of the soap fell from your bodies, Joe placed the loofah back in its caddy, his arms wrapping around your waist as he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. You felt your toes curl into the mat, your body responding to him without hesitation.

Your heated kisses waned off into slow pecks and gentle nibbles as the warm water rinsed the soap away. Joe's hands trailed down your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a tenderness that made your heart swell with affection. He whispered sweet words into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, and you felt a smile bloom on your lips as you leaned into him, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

"Mmm," you murmured, your eyes half-lidded with contentment as Joe's hands roamed your body. He took his time, savoring your curves, his thumbs grazing the sides of your breasts and sending shivers down your spine. Your own hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the strength and power beneath your fingertips, a physical reminder of the man you loved. There was no heat to your movements, no rush of sexual longing. Instead, it was a gentle exploration, a silent reassurance that you two were okay.

"You're so beautiful," Joe murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent warmth pooling in your belly.

You chuckled, leaning your head against his chest. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true," Joe said, his voice firm. He kissed the top of your head, holding you close. You stood like that for a moment, the water falling over you. The anger and frustration of the evening had morphed into a gentle affection that filled the small space, dispelling any lingering tension.

The two of you finished showering, toweling off and wrapping yourselves in the plush robes that hung on the back of the door. As you brushed your teeth and ran through your individual night routines, Joe couldn't help but watch you move in the mirror. Your eyes sparkled with a softness that seemed to warm the room, and the way you moved, even in something as mundane as brushing your teeth, was mesmerizing.

Once you were both ready for bed, you crawled in, Joe pulling you into his arms. You lay there for a while, your legs entwined, just holding each other and listening to the steady beat of each other's hearts. The silence was comfortable, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos of emotions. You felt Joe's hand run down your side, his thumb tracing the curve of your waist before resting on your hip. You knew he was still thinking about the game, about his performance, but you didn't push. Instead, you offered your warmth.

"You know you played your best," you said after a few moments, your voice soothing as you stroked his chest. "It's just one game, Joe. You'll keep working, keep getting better."

Joe sighed, his blue eyes closed in an attempt to reach sleep. "I know," he said, his voice tight with exhaustion. "But I hate letting down the team, the fans, you."

You turned to face him, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. "You didn't let anyone down," you said firmly. "Sometimes, things just don't go as planned. It's not your fault."

Joe nodded, his eyes searching yours, looking for the reassurance he desperately needed. "Thanks, baby," he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. "I love you."

You leaned in and kissed him gently, your lips a gentle balm to his bruised ego. "You know I love you, too," you said, your voice a gentle whisper. "And I'm in this for the long haul. Win or lose, I'll be here for pity fucks and cuddles. Whatever you need."

Joe couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in the room dissipating like mist in the sun. "Pity fucks, huh?" He teased, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of sad," you smirked, poking him lightly in the ribs. Joe's chuckle grew into a full-blown laugh, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. The sound was music to your ears, a melody of relief after the storm of emotions.

"Go to sleep, Joey. Tomorrow's a new day, and you're going to need your rest," you said, your voice soothing as you stroked his chest. Joe nodded, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. The two of you lay there, your bodies entangled, until sleep claimed you both.

[honeyncherry]

we never tell - joe burrow

summary some mistakes only happen once — others walk through the front door and say "hi" to your mom

content 18+, suggestive, angst

"Did you take the pie out?!"

Your mother’s voice slices through the kitchen, sharp enough to rattle the glassware. You jump, nearly dropping the bowl of mashed potatoes you’ve been absently stirring for the last five minutes.

“What pie?” you ask, half-turning, but she’s already storming past you, yanking the oven door open with the kind of urgency that suggests an actual crisis is unfolding.

“The pecan pie!” she exclaims, fanning at the billowing heat. “The only thing your Grandma asked for, and I swore I told someone to take it out fifteen minutes ago.”

From outside, your dad’s voice drifts in, relaxed and completely unconcerned. “Everything alright in there?”

“No, it is not alright,” your mother yells, slamming the oven shut with enough force to rattle the stovetop. “It’s burnt.”

Your brother, who has been supervising (read: drinking beer while Dad does all the work), slides the back door open and peers inside. He takes one look at the situation: the scorched pie, your mom’s mounting frustration, the way you’re gripping the counter like bracing for impact.

“Doesn’t look that bad,” he mutters.

Your mother whirls around on him so fast that he takes an instinctive step back. He quickly retreats outside without another word — back to whatever life-threatening experiment he and your father are attempting with the turkey.

The kitchen reeks of cinnamon, nutmeg, and impending disaster. The house is thick with the kind of tension that comes from too many relatives packed into one space for a holiday. The sound of football blares from the living room, clashing with your aunts' chatter at the dining table.

And yet, beneath all of it — beneath the burnt pie, the inevitable migraine, the impending cycle of small talk you’d rather gouge your eyes out than endure; there’s something else.

Something off.

It’s been crawling up your spine all morning. Clinging to you like static. No matter how many times you roll your shoulders, shake out your hands, try to shove it down, it sticks.

Because you’re carrying a secret.

A big one.

The doorbell rings. A welcome interruption.

“Can someone get that?!” your mom huffs while elbow-deep in pie dough, already moving on from disaster to damage control.

Your feet move on autopilot.

You pull open the door.

Robin Burrow beams at you, bundled against the November chill, her blond hair peeking out from under a knitted beanie. “Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!” she says, pulling you into a warm hug before you can even register the cold seeping into the house.

Robin Burrow, who has been in your life for as long as you can remember.

Robin Burrow, who’s practically a second mom.

Robin Burrow — who is very much not the problem.

She and your mother met in elementary school and never really drifted apart. Not through high school, not through college, not even after careers and marriages and kids forced miles between them. They always found their way back to each other, the kind of lifelong friendship that made family out of people who weren’t technically blood.

The Burrows were always there.

When you were little, Robin was the mom who never let you feel left out. The one who snuck you extra cookies when no one was looking. Who let you curl up next to her on their couch during sleepovers when the boys had long since passed out. Who kept bandaids in her purse for scraped knees, and kissed the tops of your heads before sending you back outside to play.

And there was Jimmy whose deep voice and easy laughter always filled a room. If Robin was a second mom, then Jimmy was a second dad. Miraculously, one of your father’s closest friends. Always at every backyard barbecue and every football game. All milestones your families celebrated together.

Then, of course, there were the boys.

You were always a little on the outside when it came to them. Not in a bad way, just in a natural way.

The Burrow brothers were thick as thieves, and your brother fit seamlessly into their chaos. You were the wildcard, the youngest, always just a step behind.

At first, it was all of them: Jamie, Dan, Joe, and your brother. A whirlwind of shoving and shouting and sprinting barefoot across the backyard. But as the years passed, the older Burrow boys got driver’s licenses, girlfriends, and jobs. They didn’t have time for reckless backyard football or pointless dares anymore.

Eventually, it was just Joe and your brother.

Their bond only tightened as the others moved on.

And you?

You were still on the outskirts.

Your brother and Joe let you join in on football games when they needed an extra person, but even then, you weren’t really one of them.

Joe was polite. Quiet. A familiar presence, never more, never less.

A fixture at every family event, a familiar face in a sea of familiar faces. You exchanged small talk: How’s school? How’s football? when your moms forced you into conversation, but it never went deeper than that.

Joe was your brother’s friend.

A name you knew.

A person you’d never really known.

And yet, your breath catches — because now, that Joe is stepping inside.

Except he’s not the same to you.

His broad frame fills the doorway, cold air curling around him like it doesn’t want to let go. He drops a duffel bag (no doubt packed for the annual flag football game) to the floor with a quiet thud.

His shoulders rise with an exhale, the muscles in his neck flexing before his hands shove into the pockets of his LSU sweatshirt. The sweatshirt hangs loose over his frame, but you know what’s underneath.

You remember it.

His hair is still damp, fresh from a shower. The sight of it sends a jolt straight through you because you can recall what it looked like last night — messy from your hands, sticking to his forehead, his jaw slack, breath ragged.

He was wrecked.

Because of you.

You remember the way he tipped his head back with a groan, the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way his voice cracked when he said your name.

And now?

Now, he’s the picture of control. Completely casual and unbothered.

He scans the room like he doesn’t feel the weight of your stare. Like this is just another Thanksgiving. Like he didn’t have you pinned beneath him, dragging desperate noises from your swollen lips.

He pretends his hands hadn’t been everywhere — gripping, teasing, taking.

Like his mouth hadn’t been on your skin, branding you, unraveling you, ruining you.

Your stomach twists violently.

Because he had.

You slept with Joe Burrow, and now he’s standing in your parents’ entryway — smiling, hugging your mother and shaking your dad’s hand like he wasn’t inside you less than twelve hours ago.

The warmth of the house turns suffocating.

Your mother gushes over Joe, her voice painfully oblivious. Oh, you’ve grown so much! You look amazing! It’s so good to have you home!

His eyes flicker to you. Quick. Too quick.

But you feel it.

Because the last time he looked at you like that, he was above you.

One drink turned into another.

A conversation turned into a touch.

A touch turned into his lips dragging over your jaw. 

"Tell me you want this." 

Your answer wasn’t a simple yes. It was a plea. A confession. A surrender.

Yet now, his jaw tightens. He blinks once and looks away.

Like nothing happened.

Like you don’t still feel him everywhere.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

a/n: i have lotsss of ideas for this au but send in any specific requests of what you'd like to see !

[heavyhitterheaux]

Hampstead Part 2

Synopsis: Joe finds out you've been hiding something from him or, better yet, someone

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Ex-girlfriend!Reader

Read Part 1 first

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Liked by ciara, theestallion, latto777, hollywoodunlocked, arianagrande, and 3,692,051 others

y/nbailey: late post, but me and my forever valentine 💕

-> ciara: who is this baby, and why does he look like you? 😳

-> summerwalker: he is absolutely precious. welcome to motherhood. you're doing amazing sweetie

-> y/nsource: SO THIS IS WHERE YOU'VE BEEN

-> joeybandy/n: so um I'm just going to say it, is that Joe's baby? 👀👀👀

-

Joe kept refreshing your Instagram page not truly believing what he was currently seeing with his own eyes.

You have a son?

It was obvious by looking at him that he had to have been less than a year old and he looked exactly like you.

There was no denying that he belonged to you.

So, you were pregnant when the two of you were together?

So that could mean only one of two things,

You cheated on him at the same time or your son was also his which he couldn't wrap his head around considering that there was no resemblance.

And if you were pregnant and it was his, why didn't you tell him?

Looking at the time on his phone in the top right corner, he noticed that if he didn't leave his house in the next five minutes that he would be late to dinner with his parents.

Joe had forgotten about the promise that he made to the both of them when you posted that video on your Instagram.

Hampstead.

It held a special place in his heart and mind since that was where the two of you crossed paths for the first time.

Everything was good between the both of you until it wasn’t. And Joe had no one to blame but himself.

He did love you, that much was true and then he got greedy.

He wanted you as well as this new and upcoming model that he had met at least twice before.

That was where he went wrong.

His biggest regret was not running after you when you had caught him red handed.

The bond was too strong. There was no way that you were going to leave him.

Until you did.

You didn't answer his calls for two weeks and when you finally did, you told him that you were coming to get your clothes before promptly hanging up. Not letting him give the sincere apology that he had rehearsed multiple times.

He should have known that you wouldn't want to hear it.

Joe wanted to spend his life with you and told you multiple times, so why did he go out and cheat?

He didn't have an answer.

It was only one time, but that one time changed everything as he knew it.

Regret.

It was felt every day.

That's why he acted so nonchalant and hid behind his Joe Cool persona.

If no one could tell he was hurting on the outside, maybe just maybe it would transfer to the inside too.

Dinner was somewhat awkward and his parents kept looking at one another knowing that something was wrong. Attempting to engage in conversation about what he planned to do during the offseason went nowhere until finally it came to the surface.

“She has a son.” Joe quietly said and both Jimmy and Robin paused mid bite to look at him.

“We know.” Robin replied before taking a sip of her water that was placed to the side of her.

“Wait, how do you two know?”

“Because we met him.” Jimmy added as Joe got a confused look on his face.

“What? And why did no one tell me?” Joe asked as he set his fork down on his plate.

“Don't you remember us telling you for MONTHS to call her and try to talk to her? Oh, and how you ignored her calls because you didn't know what to say to her?”

“Yeah, so?” Joe said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Why do you think we did that?” Jimmy asked while looking at him.

“He doesn't even look like me.”

“Because he stole his mother's entire face.”

“Wait, what if he's not mine? She could have cheated.”

“Apparently you did enough cheating for the both of you so I highly doubt that.” Robin answered while giving her son the side eye.

“I…” Joe started to say but promptly closed his mouth.

“No matter how you feel about the situation, you need to call her.”

“So in other words she hid an entire child from me? And everyone is acting like this is normal behavior?” He asked, catching an obvious attitude.

“Not exactly, after the way you treated her. Can you honestly blame her? You were supposed to propose, remember?”

–

Once Joe had gotten home, he was currently sitting in his car and because of having an extended period of time to think during the drive, he picked up his phone and stared at it debating on whether to text you or not.

You did answer the last time he had sent a text which basically dismissed him altogether. So, that was good right?

Well not good that you dismissed him but good that you actually answered.

Which he wasn't expecting to begin with.

The bottom line was that he was torn. Torn because you should have told him and torn because he made you feel as though you couldn't tell him.

But, what if this time was different?

After taking a deep breath, he opened up the text thread that was shared between the both of you and slowly began typing.

Joe- Y/N, do you have something to tell me? Better yet SOMEONE to tell me about?

You- Joseph, please don't play on my phone. You ignored me for literal MONTHS. And now you have the nerve to be mad because you found out like everyone else?

Joe- Yes because I apparently have a son who doesn't even know who I am. And you told my parents but not me?

You- Yes because unlike you, they actually wanted to be a part of his life.

Joe- How do I even know he's mine? And you didn't even give me the chance to.

You- Goodnight Joseph and don't bother me again unless you want to have an adult conversation.

Looking down at your phone in disbelief, you moved it to the side as your son had now fallen asleep on your chest. He hadn't been feeling well the past three days and whatever he had caught you had caught it too.

This was probably the most he had slept and you made sure to not move so much since reading the multiple text messages from Joe had you heated. You could tell that your heart rate had increased so therefore so did your breathing.

Only one question loomed in your mind,

How dare he?

[funnyjb]

Salt Air

———————————————————————-

June 2023

Your favorite time of the year other than football season was summer. The time you could spend a whole day in your swimsuit listening to music and having no care in the world. No work. No waking up at 6am. None.

Every year ever since you were a little girl you have always joined your best friend and his family in Seaside, Florida. One of your favorite trips in the whole entire world.

Joe, your best friend was not one for going out much or even taking trips but since it was the offseason and he always looked forward to coming to seaside, even more excited to have you there with him. He always was happy to relax and take the Salt air in.

The drive from the airport to the house was peaceful. You usually have your mom and dad with you but this summer they decided to take a month long trip around Europe. Seems pretty nice to you. They invited you to tag along but you couldn’t wait to come to Seaside and wanted to have some time for yourself so you nicely declined.

As the uber drove closer and closer memories kept coming back. You saw the small little gas station where when you and joe were only 10 years old had to stop to get bandages because you fell off your bike. Or when you passed by the beach which you couldn’t wait to go to soon enough where it was your first time getting drunk at a party/ bonfire.

You laughed to yourself thinking back on those memories.

As the car stopped in front of the blue wood house with hydrangeas in the front and white shutters you took a deep breath. It felt like home. Your second home.

Just as you opened the car door to get out the house door swag open.

“Y/n!”- Ben and Leo

Ben and Leo are Joe’s nephews who you have known ever since they were born. Now they are 10 years old. And even have a two year old sister.

“Hi boys!”- you

You give them a big hug

“Finally you made it. It was getting boring here.”-Ben

“Oh, don’t say that! I bet it has been lots of fun.”- you

“Y/n! So good to see you, sweetie”- Robin gave you a hug

“So good to see you too, missed you guys.”- you

You’ve been working so much lately and with no football you’ve barely even seen the burrows. You have only seen joe only a couple of times because he has also been busy with offseason.

The rest of the family came out to greet you. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and joes sweet grandparents.

Then joe appeared.

His hair longer than usual.

He had a boyish grin and his cheeks grew a little pink.

You wrapped him in a big hug.

“Hi, Joey.”- you smile

“Hi. I missed you.”- Joe smiled

“I missed you too. You look tan and your hair got long.”- you rub your fingers through his hair for a second

Joe chuckled

“Yeah, it’s offseason, who cares.”- Joe

You laugh

“Let’s get you inside, y/n.”- Jimmy

You nod as joe grabs your bag

“Thanks.”- you say to joe

The family leads you inside. Still the same old place. Family pictures hung up on the walls even a few including you and your family and even just one of you and Joe as kids.

“So, jamie and Daniel and their families are staying at the house next door. It will just be you, joe, Jimmy and I along with grandma and grandpa.”- Robin

“Sounds good!”- you

Robin opens the door to your room.

You take a moment to take it all in. The same as you left it.

The blue and white striped wallpaper. The old vintage dresser and closet. Your bed with floral fabric. And all your stuffed animals and even some clothes that still fit from when you were a kid in college.

“Feels nice to be back, huh.”- joe

You smile

“Oh yeah!”- you

Joe hopped on your bad as you started to unpack.

“So, we have dinner tonight but I’m hoping before dinner when you’re done with unpacking we can head down to the beach for a few.”-joe

“Sounds great! Should be done in a couple.”- you look over at him

“Ok, see you downstairs.”- joe

Joe looks at you for a moment then heads out.

………………………………………………………………………..

“Joe!”- You

“Come on!”- Joe

Joe intertwined his hand with yours leading you down the sandy stairs outside and onto the beach

You both stood there taking the scene in.

“Ready?”- Joe

You nod

You both drop your towels and run in

You screaming and laughing as the cold salt water hits you.

Your royal blue fluorescent bikini shining in the sunlight. A bikini that doesn’t show a lot but still has a pop.

Joe wearing in swim shorts with blue and pink flowers clung to his thighs.

“Come in deeper, y/n/n.”- Joe

“No, I’m ok right here.”- you

“No, I think you should come on deeper.”- Joe

“No.”- you

“Yes.”- joe

“No.”- you

“Fine then.”- joe

Joe comes closer to you.

“Joey, don’t you dare.”- you

“Too late.”- joe

Joe picks you up. He holds you in his arm bridal style.

“Joe! Put me down!”- You

He runs back into the deeper part and brings you both down fully under.

You come back up gasping for air as you pull your hair back.

Joe already came back up

“I hate you.”- you

“Admit it. It’s nicer over here.”- joe

You stare a him

Joe chuckled

“You look pretty.”- joe

You stare at him for a moment. Joe rarely compliments you. Honestly rarely compliments anyone. Except for his mom and his teammates.

“Thanks, Joey.”- you

It sent a flutter through you.

He really thought that? Joey, our joe. He thought I looked pretty.

Then you felt something touch your foot.

“Ahh-!”- you

You swim away and get close to joe

Joe was laughing

“Are you ok?”- Joe said still holding in a laugh

“Joey, I swear something touched me.”- you say looking down into the water trying to find a carb or maybe even a shark

“Y/n, nothings going to hurt you.”- Joe

Just as you turned your back to him for a second, joe has an idea.

He closes the area between you and runs his fingers down your back like something is crawling

You let out another scream

Joe burst out laughing

“JOE! You’re a jerk. That wasn’t funny.”- You

“Com’on y/n, it was a little funny. Besides it was just me.”- joe

You splash water into his face

“Oh, now it’s on.”- joe

He splashed water into your face then got a hold of you

You wrap your arms around his neck

You look at each other for a moment. And for that moment you felt a spark.

Joe cleared his throat

“Ready to head back in?”- Joe

“Yeah, yeah.”- you

You start to swim through the water till you reach the hot sand and head back in to get ready for dinner.

After two hours everyone is ready. The rest of the family came over to have some quick drinks and appetizers before dinner.

Your dress was a long summer pink dress with a v-neck. Your hair was blow dried and long with a few light strands.

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your makeup was perfect. Not bold. Not crazy. But clean and simple.

You grabbed your cute sandal platforms and headed downstairs.

As you walked down the stairs Joe’s youngest niece was playing on playing on the steps with her dolls

“Oh! Hi Anna. What are you doing?”- You

“Playing mermaids!”- Anna

You laugh

“Want to come downstairs with me and play?”- you

Anna shot up

“Yes!”- Anna

You grabbed her dolls and held her hand down the stairs

As you walked down the last step everyone turned towards you

“I hope I’m not the last one done.”- you

“Oh, please. Robin is still getting ready. No rush.”- Jimmy

“Anna! Have you been playing with aunty y/n?”- Daniel

Anna nodded

“She’s ma favorite.”- Anna said reaching up for you to pick her up

“What? Not me?”- Joe

You laugh

“You’re not as cool as me, Joey.”- you

“Ouch.”- joe said

You roll your eyes.

“Everyone ready?”- Robin

Everyone nodded

“You look beautiful, Robin.”- you

“Aw, thank you sweetie! Woah! And look at you. You look gorgeous.”- Robin

You smile and thank her.

…………………………………………………………………….

After dinner everyone was full and exhausted. Except for you and joe.

As you two walked in the house joe turned to you

“Want to take a night walk? Like we used to.”- joe

“I would love that!”- you

Joe smiled

He turned to his family

“We will be back. Going to go for a walk along the beach.”- joe

“Ok! Don’t be out too late.”- Robin

“We won’t!”- you

You two close the door behind you and take the stairs to the beach

“She still acts like we are 12 years old.”- Joe

“She’s your mom. Looking out for us.”- you

Joe gave you a stare

“Jeez, sorry.”- you say throwing your hands up then laughing

The sand hits your feet as you take off your shoes and hold them.

Joe let’s put a sigh

“How’ve you been?”- Joe

You look at him

“Been good. Working hard. A little stressed but I’m glad to be here. Be here with the family. With you.”- you

“Good.”- Joe

“You?”- you

“Good. Excited for the next season, but glad to be here. Happy you made it. Take my mind off things.”- Joe

You nod

Then silence. Not bad silence. Not awkward. Just silence.

“You look pretty tonight. You always do.”- Joe

He just stared down at his feet. Obviously having socks on.

“Thanks. You look nice. You always do.”- you smile

Joe gives you a smirk

“I saw what you did there.”- Joe

You both laugh

“I…want to talk to you about something.”- Joe

“Uh oh.”- you

Joe chuckled

“No..no. It’s nothing bad. Actually, you can decide that.”- Joe

You nod

Joe stops in his tracks

“You know when you get butterflies in your stomach whenever you see someone you like or when they are around you?”- Joe

“Yeah?”- You

“Well, I get butterflies. I get them a lot. Because I like this girl. I have for a very long time. And every single time I’m around her I catch myself feeling butterflies.”- Joe

“Oh! That’s great, Joey. What’s she like?”- You

“She’s sweet. Probably one of the sweetest people I know. She’s caring. She honestly cares so much for people I don’t know if she stops and even takes care of herself. She will brighten up any room she walks into. I know when I have a shitty day at work I can call her and it will make my days better because of just hearing her voice. She’s funny too. Even when she’s not trying to be. And she’s a hard worker. She prides herself on her work. And I love her.”- Joe

You were speechless

“Wow…um. I’m really happy for you, joe. Who’s the lucky lady?”- you

Joe pauses for a moment

“…you.”- Joe

Your mind went blank

“What?”- You

“You, y/n.”- Joe

“That’s a nice joke, Joey.”- you

“Y/n, I’m being serious.”- Joe

You could tell he had his serious face on

“Joe… are you actually serious? Me? Nothings special about me.”- You

“Stop saying that, y/n! I hate when you say that. You’re the most beautiful girl I know. All the things I said. I meant it. All of it.”- Joe

“I…I don’t know what to say.”- you

Joe took a deep breath

“I..just had to get that off my chest. It’s ok if you don’t feel the same way.”- Joe

“Joe, I do feel the same way.”- You

Joe starts walking away

“Don’t just be saying that to make me feel better. It’s ok if you don’t.”- Joe

“Well, I thought you said you knew me for a long time, so I would think you should know when I’m telling the truth.”- You

Joe keeps walking

“I love you. I love you, Joe burrow.”- You

Joe stops.

“What?”- Joe

“I have loved you ever since you said hi to me at that playground and never left my side. I have always loved you, Joesph. I have loved you when you were just a back up quarterback and had probably the lowest confidence in the world. I have loved you ever since you held that heisman trophy up in New York City. And I have loved you ever since then. Ever since we were eight years old.”- You

Joe runs up to you and crashes he lips against yours

Your breath hitches

“I guess we’re even.”- Joe

You laugh

“Yeah.”- you

“Want to go back home?”- Joe

You nod while intertwining her hand in his and turning back around.

It was almost midnight. The only light in the house was the lamp next to the couch.

“Want to watch SpongeBob?”- Joe

You chuckle

“Sure.”- you

You two plop down on the coach as joe grabs the remote to turn it on.

He lowers the volume and switched the channel.

He puts his arm around your back and his hand resting on your shoulder tracing circles.

You guys didn’t notice you feel asleep until the next morning.

Robin and Jimmy both wake up and head to the kitchen.

“Today I think we should pack food and go-”- Robin stops in her tracks

There you two are. Sound asleep. Your head rests on joes chest as his arm snakes around your waist.

“Oh my god! Jimmy, look.”- Robin whispered

“What?Oh my!”- Jimmy

They stare at you guys for a moment.

“What’s going on?”-Jamie walks into the house.

“Shh.”- robin

Jamie eyes go towards the couch

“Well, look what happened here. I knew they would always end up together.”- Jamie

“Are you sure they look…together? They always have been cuddly and they like to hug.”- Robin

Your eyes begin to open from the soft conversation you hear. Just as joe starts to.

Your head lift up

“Well- oh good morning!”- Robin

“Hi…”- you

“How did you guys sleep?”- Jamie

Joe stares at him

“Umm, good. I guess we didn’t make it to bed.”- You laugh

“Well, we are leaving in around an hour. How about you two wash up and have some coffee before we go.”- Robin

Joe and yourself nod

Joe gets up and extends his hand out to you to lace your fingers with his.

You laugh to yourself

Joe kisses your head

“Woah-woah! What’s going on here?”- Jamie

You both laugh

“Are you guys together?”- Jimmy

You both nod

“Oh my god!”- Robin smiles big and claps her hands

“I’m so happy for you two. I knew it would happen. I just knew it.”- Robin

“Thank you!”- you

You hug her

“I’m going to get in the shower. I’ll be down soon.”- You

You turn around and give joe a kiss on the cheek and head upstairs

Joe smiles to himself

“I’ll see you guys in a few.”- Joe then heads up

Jamie waits till joe leaves to say something

“So, when do you think wedding is?”- Jamie

———————————————————————

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: With A Little Help From My Friends

————————————————————————-

Summary: You and a few other WAGs do a prank on your boys by buying them all matching shirts for a get-together without them knowing.

Warnings: Fluff, unserious/funny, pranks

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Into The Mystic

————————————————————————-

January 20, 2024 - *36 weeks pregnant*

“Joe, I have your outfit laid out on the island in the closet.” - you

Joe’s head snapped away from the TV and over in my direction. I'd just walked into the kitchen from getting ready upstairs. Joe sat on the couch watching The Office reruns, all cuddled up with Tyson and Miles - looking adorable.

“What? I can pick my outfit out.” - Joe

“I know, but I ordered you a new shirt that I'd like you to wear.” - you

“Oh, okay. What is it?” - Joe

“A flannel.” - you

“Mmm, okay.” - Joe

A few moments later, I sat down on the couch with my boys, but Joe left just a minute later to get ready himself.

Robin and Jimmy were coming in a bit to watch the twins while Joe and I went over to Sam’s for a get-together with some of his teammates.

The guys had no idea, though, that the WAG’s group chat had been super active the past week leading up to tonight.

A prank was to ensue, and it was that we'd all secretly ordered the same shirt for our men. We'd all show up one by one, and the guy’s reactions to matching would be hilarious.

Plus, Joe would look hot as hell in a flannel.

Half an Office episode later, Joe came bounding down the stairs. The greyish flannel looked amazing on him, giving off major dad vibes, paired with regular-fitting blue jeans that had been sitting untouched in the closet since I'd ordered them.

I let out a teasing whistle, Joe blushing at the cat-call.

“You like?” - Joe

“Yes. You look amazing, Joey. Do a little spin for me?” - you

Joe happily obliged before searching for approval in my facial expression.

“Love it. I need to start sneaking more of this style into your side of the closet.” - you

“Is that style ‘I have two kids and another on the way’?” - Joe

“Bingo. I told you, you're a DILF.” - you

“You love to remind me of that.” - Joe

“Because it's true.” - you grinned

——

There was a ring of the doorbell, and I went to stand up from the couch, but Joe ushered me to sit back down.

“Hey Mom, hey Dad. Thanks for watching the boys.” - Joe

“Oh, of course!” - Robin

Robin and Jimmy had barely made it into the house before they were ambushed by Tyson and Miles.

They happily hugged their grandbabies, and Jimmy picked up Miles in his arms.

“Where's your wife, Joseph Lee?” - Robin

“On the couch, she went to open the door, but I waved her off.” - Joe

Robin gave her son a proud nod, grateful that he was treating his pregnant wife as he should.

The five of them eventually walked back into the living room, and Joe plopped back onto the couch next to me, putting his arm around me on the back of the couch.

“You look great, y/n!” - Robin

“Aww, thank you. I'm feeling great as well. Baby girl is treating my bladder a lot better than the twins did.” - you laughed

“That's good! I love your dress, makes your bump pop.” - Robin grinned

“Joe actually picked it out.” - you

I put a hand on Joe’s chest and smiled up at him, a glint in his eye when he returned the soft grin.

“Wow, I would’ve never expected that.” - Robin

Laughing, I understood where she was coming from. My dress was a solid black, nothing like anything in Joe’s side of the closet.

“I picked his outfit out, though.” - you smiled

“That was my next question! That style looks good on you, Joey. You look very adult.” - Robin

“Thank you? I think.” - Joe

“It was meant to be a compliment. I think so, at least…” - Jimmy

A few seconds of laughter went by before Joe patted my thigh and spoke up.

“Ready to go, babe?” - Joe

“Sure!” - you

Joe stood up before turning around to me and putting a hand out to help me up.

Once I was on my feet, Joe let go of one of my hands but still held the other.

“We’ll be back later!” - Joe

He led me over to the garage door of the house and grabbed his keys to the Porsche off of the hook.

Sweetly, Joe walked me over to the passenger side of the car and opened my door for me, along with helping me sit down before shutting the door back.

“Whatcha wanna listen to?” - Joe

Joe always joked about my passenger princess ways, but here he was, offering me to pick the music before I even asked.

In the end, I pulled up my Spotify playlist “’60s-’70s Love Songs” and shuffled it.

Looking over at Joe as he backed out of the driveway, I giggled as he playfully rolled his eyes with a smile on his face at my music selection.

For dramatic effect, I grabbed onto Joe’s shoulder and sang Be My Baby by The Ronettes into my hand like I was holding a microphone.

“You're crazy.” - Joe laughed

“But you love me.” - you

“That I do, my baby.” - Joe

——

I had my arm looped with Joe’s as we stood on Sam’s front porch. Joe had just rung the doorbell and now we're waiting for an answer.

Squeezing his bicep lightly, Joe’s eyes darted to me.

“You okay, Mama?” - Joe

“Mhm. Just love you in this shirt.” - you grinned

Just a few seconds later, the front door swung open, revealing Sam.

“Hey, Burrow’s! Woah- what the hell? Joe, are we matching?” - Sam

I giggled to myself as Joe and Sam looked down at their flannels and then at each other.

“That's weird man, but I def wore it better.” - Joe

Sam rolled his eyes before stepping to the side to let Joe and me inside the house.

I immediately greeted Jess, who complimented my pregnancy glow, and while we were deep into conversation, the doorbell rang again.

When Sam opened the door, Jess and I exchanged knowing looks at each other.

On the front porch, Cody Ford and Evan McPherson were laughing about the fact they had matching shirts on while Tianna and Gracie stood to the side laughing.

“What the hell!” - Sam

“You guys have it too?!” - Evan

Joe was full-on cackling, and I couldn't help but mirror my husband.

The girls walked over and sat next to me and Jess, our boys all pointing at each other’s shirts while laughing.

Thirty minutes later, over ten more guys had shown up, all in the same flannel, and Joe and his guys found it hilarious each time.

The girls and I all sat in a corner of the living room, recording and laughing at the reactions coming out of the guys.

They really were adult toddlers, but that's what makes being married to one fun.

After dinner, Joe found me by myself in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me from behind. At first, I couldn't tell who it was because all the guys here had the same long-sleeved shirt on, and all I could see were the person's arms.

The thought didn't last too long when I saw the wedding ring on the person’s finger that was too unique to be anyone other than Joe.

“Hi, Mama.” - Joe

“Hi, Joey.” - you

“Can I ask you a question?” - Joe

“Of course.” - you

With Joe’s hands on my bump, I covered them with my own and let my head fall back onto his chest/shoulder.

“Who wore the shirt best?” - Joe

“I'm kinda biased, but you, for sure.” - you

“Yeah?” - Joe

“Mhm, I'm gonna start sneaking more flannels into your closet.” - you

“I'll wear ‘em if they get a good reaction out of you.” - Joe

“Oh, you know they will.” - you giggled

I turned around in Joe’s arms and looked into his gorgeous blue eyes, my hands on his chest.

Slowly, Joe leaned in and pressed his lips onto mine.

A minute later, we were still kissing. The craving for each other was never satisfied, but we were interrupted by a loud, fake, gagging sound.

“For the love of god, she's already pregnant! You guys are disgusting!” - Ja’Marr

I leaned my head onto Joe’s chest with a giggle as he glared at one of his best friends.

“Ja’Marr, get the fuck away!” - Joe

Ja’Marr threw his arms up in surrender before walking out of the kitchen. Joe turned back to me with a sly grin on his face.

“Sorry, Mrs. Burrow. Where were we?” - Joe

I’d never get tired of him calling me that.

“Mmm, I think we might've been kissing.” - you

“Let's test that theory.” - Joe

Just as Joe was leaning in, our lips brushed together, but something made him pull back.

“Y'all nasty!” - Ja’Marry whisper yelled

“Ja’Marr!!” - Joe yelled

Sure, they got annoying sometimes, but deep down, Joe knew he wouldn't get by without a little help from his friends. Even if said help was unwanted.

————————————————————————-

Authors note: y'all, I ground out a fic for you guys. 💀

Request for this fic;

Hope you enjoyed! 💕

[jendeyfer70]

AWESOME to see Jimmy and Robin Burrow supporting the Reds on Opening Day!!!

[mamaestapa]

could you do a dad joe blurb where him and reader have like three boys and find out their last baby is a girl ? love your work !

Fourth Times a Charm|| Joe Burrow x reader

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•summary: You and Joe find out you're expecting a little girl after having three boys

• warnings: pregnancy, lots of fluff<3

“Grandma, where are mommy and daddy?” Seven year old Hudson asked Robin as he sat next to her on the couch.

“They’re bringing back a cake,” Robin told her grandson with a smile, “for you and your brothers, and grandma and grandpa.”

“But why?” Ben, the five year old sitting next to Hudson asked, curiously looking up at his grandma. She smiled and rubbed his back, “Well Benny, the cake is going to tell us if you’re having a little brother or a little sister.”

The boy gasped, his little blue eyes widening, “Baby brother is in the cake!?”

Robin and Jimmy couldn’t help but laugh at their grandsons silly question.

“No Ben,” his older brother Jax said as he sat down on the couch next to his grandparents, “the baby isn’t in the cake.” Robin nodded, “The frosting will tell us if you’re having a brother or sister.”

“Pink for a baby sister.” Jimmy said.

“And blue for a baby brother.” Robin finished with a smile.

As the three Burrow boys talked with their grandparents about their hopes for the baby to be another boy, you and Joe walked into the house. Both of you wearing smiles on your faces as you saw your boys beaming with excitement on the couch with their grandparents.

“We’ve got the cake!” Joe yelled, holding the white frosted cake up in the air when everyone in the living room looked into the kitchen. “You ready to find out?” You asked with an eager tone. You and Joe were just as excited as everyone else was to find out if you were having another boy or your first (and only) girl.

The boys jumped off of the couch and ran into the kitchen, crowding around the counter as Joe set the cake down on the marble countertop. Robin and Jimmy followed behind their grandsons, just not nearly as quick as the they were. Joe’s parents pulled both you and Joe into warm embraces as they entered the kitchen. They were both so excited to find out the gender of their next grandchild.

You took the plastic lid off the cake as Joe grabbed a knife from from the holder to cut it. He walked back over to you and placed the knife on the counter. Joe wrapped an arm around your waist, letting his hand rest on the side of your 20 week baby bump.

“Okay, last minute guesses before we cut the cake.” Joe said, a smile pulling at his lips as the two of you looked at his parents and your sons.

“Boy!” All three of your sons said in unison, making you and Joe laugh.

“Robin and I both agree, it’s a girl.” Jimmy said with a smile as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulling her into his side. She smiled warmly and brought a hand up to his chest, patting him gently.

“Y/n?” Joe asked, looking down at you. You put your hand on your bump, smiling as you said, “I think I have to agree with our boys on this one…I think it’s another boy.”

Joe’s mouth dropped open in shock at your guess. After the conversation you had in the car, he was sure you were going to say girl. You and Joe both agreed that you didn’t care what you were having, but you were both hoping your last baby would be a little girl.

“Well, I think it’s a girl.” he said as he rubbed your belly with his thumb.

You all counted down to three as you and Joe cut into the cake together. You held your breath in anticipation as you removed the knife from the cake and pulled out the piece you had cut. A layer of soft pink frosting was in between the two pieces of white cake. You gasped as the room broke out in cheers. Even your three boys, who were hoping for a brother, were beaming and cheering with excitement over the fact that their new sibling was going to be girl.

Joe engulfed you in arms, gently squeezing you as he swayed you back and forth. “We’re having a girl, Y/n. I get my baby girl…” He trailed off in awe as he held you against him. His blue eyes welled up with happy tears as he pulled away from you. You smiled up at him, your eyes shining with the same unshed tears. You laughed happily as Jax, Hudson, and Ben tan up to you and Joe. They gave you both hugs as the boys said hello to their little sister that was kicking away in your tummy. Joe’s grin widened as he watched his boys place their hands on your bump, laughing happily as they felt their baby sister kick their little hands. He was so thankful for this little family you and him created.

Joe loved his sons more than life itself, but he always dreamed of having a baby girl to spoil. It may have taken a try or two, or three, or four, but Joe was finally getting the daughter he always wanted. The two of you, and your three sons couldn’t be happier.

hi loves!!

this is the last joe blurb for now. i’m going to continue to write a couple more and see what else i can get out for you all, however this may be the last one for the night🥰

this idea was SO CUTE!! i loved it. thank you to all the anons that have sent blurb night requests. these wouldn’t be possible without your ideas!🤍

tags: @erinmartin1987 @klips118 @burrowstyles5 @caroline1019

[v6quewrlds]

imagine being joe's person.

author's note⠀⁎⠀suffering from major joey withdrawal. reads more like a character study/brain dump than anything else but enjoy <3

For as long as Joe can remember, he had been told by everyone - coaches, doctors, teachers, teammates - that his coolness was to be envied. In the pressure cooker of professional football, the ability to keep his nerves in check had been his superpower. He loved the feeling of the game slowing down when everyone else was speeding up, the way he could read the field and make split-second decisions that could change the course of a game. From the minute he stepped onto the field, he was in control. He was commanding the huddle, keeping his eye on the clock, setting up the play, and taking lead on the outcome. He thrived when he was in control.

But when he stepped off the football field and into the public eye, all of that control completely slipped away. He couldn't help but feel like he was performing, acting the role of someone named Joe Burrow instead of just being himself. It didn't help that the cameras and curious eyes followed him everywhere. Everyone seemed to be eager to catch him off-guard, eager to see the "real" side of him, eager to witness him lose his cool.

She had caught on to his nervous tells early on in their relationship. It was subtle at first, just a hint of a tremor in his voice when he cleared it before speaking, or the way he'd swipe his palms against his pants when he was about to be interviewed, even the way he would shift from side to side slightly when he felt uncomfortable. But over the course of their two years together, she had learned to read him like a book.

He would never admit it out loud to anybody but her, but Joe was terrified of letting his guard down. The weight of his ever increasing fame and the constant pressure of living up to expectations had turned his life into a tightrope walk. But with her, everything felt different. Her presence was like a gentle breeze that calmed the static in his brain. It was always just a touch, the smell of her perfume, or the sound of her approaching footsteps that could soothe him.

His foundation was always a top priority for Joe, and today was particularly special. The charity golf event was a chance to give back to the communities in southeastern Ohio and Baton Rouge that had supported him through his football journey. From the moment they started dating seriously, she had been by his side at every event, making herself available to support him in his philanthropic efforts. His mother constantly gushed about how she was the perfect partner for Joe, handling the social graces with ease, and contributing her talents to make sure the events ran smoothly.

She had a knack for making people feel at ease, a skill that Joe greatly admired. She had a way of connecting with people from all walks of life, and it was evident in the way the guests at the check-in lit up when she greeted them. Her genuine smile and warm handshakes made even the stiffest of the corporate sponsors crack a smile. Joe watched her from across the room, feeling a sense of pride swell within him.

The golf event was in full swing now. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the meticulously manicured greens. Joe's could feel his mind racing, his inner monologue murmuring his anxieties as he mingled with the guests as they arrived.

Between the never-ending carousel of guests, Joe would find himself glancing in the direction of the entrance, hoping the line would soon thin out and she would be by his side - where she was supposed to be. The hour reserved for check-in seemed to drag on with Robin and Jimmy occasionally stepping in to take some of the conversational weight off him. He loved them for it, he really did, but all he wanted was her comforting presence, her hand in his, her laugh in his ear.

Finally, she appeared, looking absolutely radiant in a simple white sundress that contrasted with her brown skin, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and a small black handbag in her hand. She made her way through the crowd, a vision of confidence and grace that made Joe's chest tighten. She had that special glow about her today, something that seemed to have been amplified by the excitement of the event.

Her eyes met his and he couldn't bring himself to focus on what the shorter, gray-haired man in front of him was saying. Everything around him blurred into a muffled murmur. She was everything he wasn't in social settings: poised, articulate, natural, and absolutely magnetic. As she approached, Joe felt his body relax, his breathing even out, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was by his side in an instant, taking her rightful place as she handed him a chilled bottle of water.

His hand gravitated to her waist, and he felt a wave of comfort wash over him as she leaned in slightly, her hand brushing against his back. He could feel his back straighten, his shoulders ease, and his breath deepen. The familiar warmth of her body began to ground him, bringing him back to the present, and reminding him that he was more than capable of remaining in control.

"George, Tim, this is my girlfriend," Joe introduced, his voice steady as he finally had the strength to redirect his focus to the guests. He watched with a proud smile as she offered the two men her hand for a handshake, easygoing greetings of "Nice to meet you," and "Thank you for coming," leaving her soft lips.

She tucked back into his side in an instant, her free hand coming up to rest between his shoulder blades, his hand wrapped around her waist once more. They made small talk with George and Tim, who both looked at Joe with a knowing smile, nodding their heads in approval at the mention of her name. Though they wouldn't have guessed it before she appeared by his side, they could see his nerves smooth out, his shoulders drop, and the tension in his jaw ease.

"So, how long have you two been together?" George inquired, sipping his drink and looking at the couple with genuine curiosity.

Joe's gaze flickered to her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he replied, "Two years now."

Her eyes sparkled with affection as she listened to Joe speak, her thumb idly tracing patterns on his back. "It'll be three years in August," she added, clarifying gently.

Tim, the taller of the two, chuckled and said, "Well, Joe, you're getting closer to the big 3-0. Maybe it's time to start thinking about settling down? I think you've got a pretty good candidate by your side. My wife was raving about her when they were setting up the check-in."

Joe felt his cheeks warm slightly, but the smile didn't leave his face. "I've already started planning, actually," he responded, surprising even himself with his decisiveness. Her hand stilled its motion on his back, her eyes widening in shock as she turned her face to meet his eye.

"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and amusement. "That's news to me."

Joe felt a twinge of panic, realizing he had spoken before thinking. But the look on her face wasn't one of annoyance or upset; her eyes sparkled with excitement and anticipation. He took a deep breath and said, "Well, I mean, I've been thinking about it. We've got a good thing going, and I can't see my future without you in it."

That was the truth. He often found himself wondering what life with her could look like beyond football. The dream with the white picket fence, curly-haired kids playing in the yard, her standing in the kitchen with a baby on her hip and a smile on her face when she welcomed him home. It was a picture that had started to form in his mind more and more often in the quiet moments between games and practices. At times, he questioned how he managed to be motivated to do anything that wasn't football before her - couldn't fathom how he managed to exist before her.

Her smile grew wider. "Is that so?" she said, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Very interesting."

Tim and George laughed heartily, their faces reddening with good cheer as they slapped Joe on the back. "Good for you, Joe," George exclaimed. "You're going to need someone like her to keep you grounded in this crazy world. Good luck, you two."

The conversation flowed around them as they found themselves in the middle of the bustling golf clubhouse. The air was filled with the chatter of excitement and the clinking of glasses as people mingled and shared stories. She leaned closer to Joe, whispering, "So, you're planning our future, without my input?" Her voice was teasing, but her eyes searched his, looking for a hint of what he might be feeling.

Joe looked down at her, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "Well, I figured you'd be okay with it, given that you're a big part of it," he replied, trying to keep his tone light despite the sudden seriousness that had entered their conversation. The room felt warmer, and not just from the bodies packed into the space. "I want to do this right, babe. I want to make sure you're happy, that we're both ready."

Her expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss his cheek, the gesture unseen by the surrounding guests. "Joey," she whispered, "you always make sure I'm happy. I'm ready for whatever comes next, whenever it comes."

[honeyncherry]

we never tell - joe burrow

summary whatever’s happening between you and Joe was always a bad idea—too tempting, too reckless, too addictive to stop. tahoe just made it impossible to hide.

content 18+, smut, angst, fluff, alcohol, language, all of the warnings

DAY ONE

Well… even if something did go catastrophically wrong this week, at least no parents would be around to witness the fallout.

Your dad got pulled into covering a partner’s trial at the last minute, and your mom had used it as an excuse to spend the week with her friends in the city. The only reason that worked out so conveniently was because Jimmy and Robin had somehow scored a Hawaii trip—Robin’s sister bailed and handed off the all-inclusive package like some benevolent tropical fairy godmother.

Whose bright idea it was to leave a cabin full of twenty-somethings alone with a liquor cabinet older than all of you… unclear. But they insisted you’d be fine. Dan and Carrie were technically around to “supervise,” and you’d promised your parents no injuries, no disappearances, and definitely no tequila-fueled hospital visits—before boarding your flight to Reno.

After landing, Dominic made a beeline for the rental lot and immediately picked out the most expensive SUV available, high off the thrill of having full credit card access for the first time in years. He hadn’t been trusted with it since the infamous boy’s trip to the Keys, an event so chaotic you still get silenced anytime you try to bring it up.

So, in a shiny new Rover (probably not the smartest pick for mountain roads, but at least it had all-wheel drive), you shared a gas station breakfast and made fun of each other’s playlists the entire drive. He made sure to grab a pack of powdered donuts (stale, of course, but sacred tradition), and some hot chocolate (lukewarm, but still a must), before you started the final stretch.

The drive was calm. Almost idyllic in that blurry, half-sweet way that made you feel fourteen again. Your knees ached from being curled up too long, your stomach from the processed sugar crash—but still, it felt familiar. So much so in the way that made you feel like something good might happen if you let it.

And then you pulled into the driveway and the feeling started to fade.

The house looked the same as ever with its vaulted peaks framed in snow and warm golden windows flickering behind tall pine trees, all seeming a little too much like a frozen memory waiting for you to step back in. 

You hadn’t been here the past two winters. First it was a senior trip to Europe—bouncing between hostels, starting in Rome and ending in Paris. Then Arizona with your new college friends, chasing desert sunsets and overpriced concert tickets. You didn’t regret either trip. But pulling up now, in the cold breath of early evening, you realized just how much had changed. Or maybe it was just you.

And the Joe thing didn’t help. Whatever it was. Whatever you two were.

You’d kept in touch… sort of. A few texts, scattered across the month. Some flirtier than others. A couple photos exchanged during finals week. One very late FaceTime you both quietly ignored the next morning. You weren’t dating. You weren’t a thing. But something lived in the quiet between those conversations. 

And now, you were about to spend a full week under the same roof.

Dominic cut the engine, glancing over as you stare at the house like it might swallow you whole.

“You good?” he asks with a lopsided grin. “C’mon, it’s gonna be a good time.”

You nod, fixing a smile on your face like it might just hold everything together. The last thing you needed—what no one needed—was for you to get tangled up in your feelings. He pats your arm in that same brotherly way he always does, trying to play it cool even though you know he clocks every shift in your mood.

Shoving the last of your nerves down deep, you step out into the cold, zipping your coat up to your chin as the mountain air sinks its teeth in.

“Cincy?” a voice calls out from somewhere near the garage. “That really you?”

With a Busch Light already in hand and that same boyish swagger in his step you remembered a little too well, Connor strolls toward the car like it hasn’t been years. He looked good—windswept and red-cheeked from the cold, hair messily tucked under a backwards hat, ski jacket half-zipped like the cold didn’t bother him. He stops long enough to dap up your brother, slipping easily into small talk.

While they caught up, you move around to the backseat and pop open the door, reaching for your weekender bag. “Thought you ditched us for good,” the voice came again, closer this time, just behind your shoulder.

You nearly jumped out of your skin, and by the time you turn, Connor is already reaching past and grabbing your bag with one arm like it weighed nothing. His fingers brush yours in the process but he doesn’t pull away instantly. His gaze flicks across you, lingering just a second too long before his grin is tugged back into place.

“Still pack like you're running away,” he teases, hoisting the bag easily onto his shoulder. “What do you have in here, bricks?”

You roll your eyes but felt the heat creep up your neck anyway. Some things never change.

Connor has been a fixture in Tahoe since you were kids—his parents owned one of the ski resorts up the road, and he’d practically grown up on the slopes. Your brother met him at a little skiing workshop when they were both eight and declared him his best friend within twenty-four hours. From that moment on, Connor was everywhere. Sitting across from you at pizza nights, rigging up makeshift ski jumps in the backyard while you made snowmen, tagging along for movie nights and always calling dibs on the beanbag chair you liked first.

He was also the one who used to chuck snowballs at you during your ski lessons, making dumb faces from the lift while you wobbled your way down the bunny hill. And when you were younger—maybe eleven or twelve—that teasing turned into something else. Something you couldn’t name at the time, but you felt it every time he ruffled your hair or called you “kid.” Something fluttery and stupid and way too intense for someone who barely looked at you twice once the older girls from his school showed up.

You zip your coat a little higher and try to ignore the way he still makes your stomach flip.

“You coming in,” he asks while glancing back at you with a grin, “or just gonna freeze out here?”

Then, with a playful edge, “Unless you still do plan on running away.”

At that exact moment, Dominic passes by, rolling his eyes as he hoists a duffel over one shoulder. “Don’t encourage her,” he mutters to Connor, loud enough for both of you to hear. “She’s been one minor inconvenience away from bailing since we landed.”

Connor barks out a laugh, looking over his shoulder at you with a grin that only widened. “Noted,” he said, then winked. “Guess I better behave.”

You shook your head but your face was already warm and you hated that he could probably tell. Connor holds the door open and you mumble a quick thanks. The second you step inside, you’re instantly met with a flood of familiar faces.

Jamie and his fiancé, Emily, are curled up on the loveseat, waving with cheerful smiles. The last time you’d seen them was at the Fourth of July barbecue—one of those chaotic afternoons where you barely got more than a hug in before they were pulled away by someone bombarding them with questions about wedding plans.

By the fireplace sits Nate, another Tahoe local, and Caleb, whose family rents the place just down the mountain. Nate had become part of the group years ago after overhearing one of Dom, Joe, and Connor’s brilliant plans to sneak out and meet a group of out-of-towners. He tagged along, and somewhere in the chaos of the teens getting lost, they met Caleb—brother to one of the girls they were trying to find. 

Now, the five of them—Nate, Caleb, Dom, Connor, and Joe—are practically a package deal. Wherever one went, the others followed. Most of the time, anyway.

There’s always been a weird thing between Joe and Connor. Not outright fighting, but something just under the surface. A quiet competitiveness. Clipped comments. The occasional sideways glance that made everyone else fall awkwardly silent. No one ever explained it and no one dared ask—but the tension was always there.

You’d gotten used to it over the years, but that didn’t make it any less noticeable.

“We’re here! Nobody cry.” Dom shouts the moment you’re able to gather yourself.

“Speak for yourself. I’m already regretting this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving you off as he kicks snow off his boots. “You say that now, but give it two drinks and you’ll be sobbing about how much you missed me.”

“I never said I missed you.”

“That’s rude, considering I brought you here.”

“You brought me here because Mom made you.”

Dom gasps, “wow. Throw me under the bus in front of the boys.”

“Don’t worry,” Nate says from his spot. “She’s already doing great.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, cheeks warming as you shrug off your coat. The room was way too quiet with too many eyes looking your way.

“Okay but seriously,” Caleb adds, eyes flicking over you. “When did Dom’s little sister become an actual person?”

Dom turned so fast, you thought he might throw his bag at him. “Nope. Stop. Don’t even finish that sentence.”

Connor passes by then, beer still in hand, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You’re already losing control, bro.”

“Already regretting everything,” Dom sighs then jabs a finger at you. “Don’t even think about joining their side.”

You grin. “No promises.”

The group laughs, all descending into chaos as you reach to grab your bag from Connor, lugging it up the stairs.

Your room was exactly the same. Same patchy quilt. Same old Polaroids pinned to the corkboard, some faded beyond recognition, others showing unmistakable evidence of braces, bad bangs, and someone (likely one of the guys) photobombing in every other one.

You didn’t unpack so much as toss your things across the bed and pretend you felt fine. Voices could be heard faintly rising from below, laughs layered over old stories, the low thrum of a speaker someone connected to, the dull creak of floorboards that never stopped giving everyone away. For a moment, it felt like you’ve slipped back into something you’d aged out of. Like the walls were waiting to see who you were now, to figure out if you still fit. 

Right as you were considering whether anyone would notice if you just stayed up here for the rest of the night, you heard the front door open. And even from upstairs, even without seeing her, you knew.

By the time you (begrudgingly) made it halfway down the stairs, you could already feel the energy shift. Conversations hadn’t stopped, but they’d slowed—tilted in her direction. You see her first from the back, brushing snow from her coat sleeves with that same effortless grace that always made her seem way older than the rest of you even when she wasn’t. 

Bridget moved like she had somewhere more important to be and had just chosen to show up here anyway. Her dark hair was tucked into a sleek braid that rested against one shoulder and her gloves were shoved neatly into her pockets instead of tossed carelessly to the side like the others.

“Hey,” she says, gaze moving around the room like she was cataloging who made it this year and who didn’t. “Sorry I’m late. I came straight from practice.”

Of course she did.

Dom let out a low whistle from across the room. “Damn, look who finally decided we’re worth her time.”

Bridget rolls her eyes but her smirk gives her away. “I’m not the one who missed two years in a row.”

You step the rest of the way down, fighting the urge to bite back. Not that she said anything cruel—Bridget didn’t do cruel. She didn’t need to. Her silence said plenty. 

She’d never been unfriendly but there was something in the way she looked at you that always made you feel like she was waiting for you to grow into something you hadn’t quite become. She was all mountain air and early mornings and first-place medals.

You huff an exaggerated laugh, “nice to see you too, Bridget.” 

She doesn’t take the bait, instead giving a small, practiced smile alongside a nod that somehow still feels condescending even though it wasn’t. She wasn’t being cold. She wasn’t being anything, really. That was the thing about Bridget—she never needed to try hard to make her presence known. She was gracious, polite, perfectly warm in the right places, but always seemed to exist just slightly above the rest of the group. Not on purpose. Just naturally out of reach.

You use the moment to make your quiet exit from the edge of the living room, slipping past the group and heading towards the kitchen. You cross the floor to the counter, reaching for one of the unopened seltzers and cracking it open as you stand with your back to the chaos just beyond. The hum of the fridge kicks on. Someone laughs in the other room. You take a slow sip, breathing in through your nose, letting your shoulders drop for the first time all evening.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

​​The voice comes from just behind your shoulder, low and close enough that you jump—hard enough to almost spill your drink. You turn fast, already teetering between a laugh and a scowl.

“Jesus. People have got to stop doing that to me.”

Joe stands there, looking slightly amused, arms crossed like he’s been leaning there the whole time. And even though you’ve seen his name light up your phone more times than you could count, something about seeing him in person now made your heart stutter in your chest. 

It’s stupid how quickly it hits you.

He smiles, a little crooked. “Doing what?”

“Sneaking up on me,” you say, turning back toward the counter, fingers picking at the tab on your can. “Connor did it earlier and I nearly fell on my ass.”

You glance over your shoulder, expecting a laugh from him. Maybe a grin. What you don’t expect is the way his smile falters. It doesn’t come back. His jaw is tight, eyes a little harder than they were a second ago. Your gaze lingers longer than it should, then you turn away again, suddenly too aware of how exposed your back feels.

His footsteps don’t echo but you feel every one of them—the soft shift of the floorboards, the presence behind you pulling closer. You stay rooted where you are, frozen somewhere between wanting to say something and knowing better.

He stops behind you and you feel it before you process it. The shift in air. The slow pull of warmth at your back. The way your breath stutters like your body remembers this before your mind can catch up. His arm lifts above you, smooth and unhurried, and it’s not until it lowers again that you realize what he was reaching for.

A bottle of bourbon. Probably stashed from a past trip, maybe even the last one you skipped. His fingers curl around the neck, knuckles white against the dark glass, grip tight enough to draw your eyes without meaning to. The bottle hangs at his side as he lingers there, shoulders loose, weight tipped into one hip like he’s in no rush to go anywhere.

You feel him watching you.

His tongue clicks softly, the sound sharp in the quiet.

“Old habits die hard, huh.”

The words land behind you dryly. Almost bored. Like he’s amused with himself, or maybe with you. You turn your head again, slower, but just in time to catch the flick of his eyes as he rolls them.

And then he walks out, leaving you in the kitchen with the sting of all the things you didn’t get to say.

DAY TWO

If there’s such a thing as peace after tequila and half a bag of marshmallows, you’re pretty sure it looks something like this.

You’re not sure when the night started to blur. Maybe right after Dom and Caleb came barreling in from the garage, triumphantly holding up a dusty box of leftover fireworks like they’d just unearthed buried treasure. That part was actually kind of impressive. The problem, of course, was that no one could find a single lighter in the entire house. Dan (supposed chaperone) was storming through the kitchen like a man possessed, opening drawers, tossing aside old candles, muttering something like, “In a house that’s hosted teenagers and middle-aged moms for fifteen years, how the hell is there not a single lighter?” 

You’d finished your drink, still holding the empty can because it felt easier than figuring out how to escape unnoticed. Everyone was talking over each other, laughing too loud, spinning off into side quests about flammable household objects. You remember leaning against the wall, half-listening, half-hoping no one would pay attention when you finally slipped up the stairs silently.

Apparently, no one did.

It wasn’t the plan to end up skiing alongside Bridget. The group had naturally split on the last run and the two of you had found yourselves carving lazy paths through powdery snow. 

She could actually be kind of easy to talk to—when she was like this, anyway. You’d never had a problem with her. It was just that being around Bridget for too long felt like trying to keep up with someone who was always three steps ahead without ever looking back to see if you were still there.

Bridget coasts ahead a little, then drifts back to match your speed. She tilts her head like she’s considering something, and then says, “You’d like this guy I’ve been training with.”

You blink over at her. “Training?”

“Yeah, out in Utah. He’s been helping me with form drills. Super technical but like... laid-back about it. Kind of annoyingly perfect, honestly.” 

“Wait. Who is this?”

“This guy Max. Works up at Copper full time. He’s kind of a freak athlete.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

Bridget smiles. “He kind of is.” She slows and adds, “I almost wiped out last week trying to impress him. Took a jump I had no business touching.”

You laugh under your breath. The idea of Bridget trying to impress anyone didn’t quite compute. She was the one people chased after, not the other way around.

 “So is that a thing, or...?”

“What, me and Max?” She lets out a breath that was more of a laugh. “No. Definitely not. He’s, like, wildly older. And has a mullet.”

You grin. “That’s not necessarily a dealbreaker.”

“Maybe in the summer when I lose my standards.”

There was a second of quiet, just long enough for you to register the fact that she hadn’t mentioned Joe at all. Not that it was weird she hadn’t. But still. You’d spent the better part of your teenage years watching them share this unspoken bond. Joe and her always talked like they shared some secret competitive sport language that none of you quite understood. And even though neither of them were flirting, you’d spent years pretending not to notice how easily she made him laugh. How his shoulders relaxed around her in ways they didn’t around anyone else.

It had driven you a little insane.

You coast a bit further alongside her, snow brushing softly beneath your skis. It was impossible to not feel the question forming before she asked it.

“What about you? You seeing anyone?”

Your answer comes too fast.

“No.”

She raises an eyebrow. “That was definitive.”

“There’s just… not anyone. Not really.” You fix your gaze down as you say it. “No one important.”

Looking back down the slope, the others were already halfway into taking their skis off. It looks as if they’ve been waiting a minute or two, milling around near the trees, voices carrying faintly over the wind. You hadn’t realized how close you'd gotten.

The two of you glid the rest of the way down in silence, but right before you reach them, she nudges you with her elbow.

“No one important, huh?”

You don’t get the chance to answer—Dom turns toward you both with a smirk already forming.

“What’s that? Bridget talking about a boy?” He pops one ski off with the edge of the other and leans in like he’s ready to stir the pot. Caleb jumps in before you can deflect.

“Multiple boys,” he adds, eyebrows bouncing.

“I heard training with a guy and no one special,” Nate shares, which was absolutely not what had been said.

Bridget groans, stepping past them to unclip her bindings. “Jesus. You children are exhausting.”

“Max, was it?” Dom asks, twisting to look at her. “Can he come visit?”

“He has a mullet,” you say, deadpan, pulling your goggles off and resting them on your helmet.

That earns a full wave of groans and fake gags.

“Oh, so you are talking about guys,” Nate beams, pointing at you like he’s cracked a code.

Bridget doesn’t even blink as she peels off one glove. “I was talking about drills.”

“Same thing,” Nate mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Caleb to elbow him.

You’re unbuckling your helmet when Connor slides in beside you, catching just enough of the exchange to grin like he’d been listening the whole time.

“Wait, wait,” Connor says with a smirk. “You talking about guys too, Cincy?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, already starting toward the lodge with skis in hand. “Bridget was talking. I was listening.”

“Mmhmm,” Dom calls out. “That’s why your face is all red.”

“It’s the wind,” you sigh.

“Sure,” Joe says from in front, not looking at you. It’s the first thing he’s said since you got down the mountain, like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to make a dig.

You shake your head, not sure when everything started feeling off. Racking your skis next to Dom’s, you’re the first one inside the lodge. The windows are fogged over with steam, coats hung heavy on every hook, air thick with the scent of chili and burnt coffee. Someone’s boots squeak on the tile behind you.

There’s already a short line at the café counter, but no one seems stressed. Connor waves to the girl behind the register like he’s here every weekend. Which, you guess, he kind of is.

“Put it on the family tab,” he grins, throwing an arm around Dom’s shoulders.

Dom grins, overjoyed. “Must be nice to be ski royalty.”

Caleb clutches his chest dramatically. “God, the burden of generational wealth.”

“All that inherited trauma,” Nate adds with a grin.

“Shut up,” Connor laughs, nudging you forward in line. “You want anything, Cincy?”

You grab a water and something light. You know you won’t finish it but that doesn’t really matter to you right now.

The group shuffles toward a long table in the middle of the room, benches lining either side. You’re just settling into a seat between Dom and Bridget when Connor slides in beside you, nudging Bridget over without a word. He leans forward, grinning at something Dan’s saying from down the line.

But it’s not Dan you’re looking at.

Your eyes flick up, maybe out of habit. Maybe instinct.

Joe’s the one sitting across from you—elbows planted lightly on the table, fingers brushing the edge of a napkin he hasn’t touched. His food sits untouched too. Forgotten, possibly. Or never wanted in the first place.

And he doesn’t flinch when your gaze catches his. Doesn’t look away or pretend he wasn’t already watching. He just stays there, fixed and silent in that nerving way that makes it hard to tell if he’s calm or coiled tight beneath it all.

Like a shadow cast too cleanly. Too perfectly still to be natural.

You try to hold it, but it’s too much. There’s something about the way he tilts his head at you that makes your stomach turn.

Your fingers twitch around the edge of your water bottle, and you drop your gaze before he can see the heat climbing up your neck. Pretend you’re focused on the plastic, on the food, on anything other than the feeling of being seen and measured and maybe a little bit punished.

You pick up your fork with jerky fingers, trying not to look obvious about how your throat’s too tight to even swallow.

“So,” Connor starts, nudging your elbow gently with his own. “How’s Cincy?”

You blink at him, still caught up in your own mind. “Cincy?”

He grins. “School. You still call it that, right? Or have you sold out and started calling it UC?”

A smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it. “Still Cincy.”

Dom’s already halfway through his sandwich, talking with his mouth full. “Only person I know who’s ever actually wanted to go to Cincinnati.”

“Since she was, like, ten,” Connor adds in, looking oddly proud he remembers.

“Because she’s a psycho,” Dom adds.

“That’s not news,” Bridget mutters.

“Hey,” you say, pointing your finger at her. “You’re the one trying to impress a guy with a mullet.”

“Oh my God, we’re still on this?” Bridget drops her head into her hands dramatically.

“You’re the one who brought him up,” Caleb points out, reaching across the table to steal a fry from Dan’s plate.

If this were a few years ago, you would’ve been a mess.

Connor sitting next to you, talking to you like this? It would’ve short-circuited your teenage brain. You would’ve been red in the face, barely able to breathe, too caught up in every shift of his eyes, every word.

He was golden back then. Untouchable. Everything.

Now you barely register the way his knee bumps yours beneath the table.

​​Because across the table, Joe is watching you like he sees everything. And no matter how hard you try not to, that’s where your attention keeps drifting.

Connor leans a little closer, voice low. “I’m serious though. You still like it?”

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

“And classes are good? Professors not ruining your life yet?”

“Only two of them.”

He grins. “Name names. I’ll handle it.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, about to say something back when Dan’s voice cuts in from further down the table.

“Hey,” he says, loud enough to pull everyone’s attention. “Do we wanna try to hit the far ridge after this? Or are we too lazy?”

“Too lazy,” Bridget answers immediately.

“I’m in,” Dom says, licking mayo off his thumb. “We’ve got like two hours of sun left.”

“I’m not hiking back,” Emily says, frowning. “Y’all can meet me at the lodge bar after.”

Carrie, from beside her, hums in agreement.

“Some team spirit,” Nate mutters. “What happened to unity?”

“It died with my motivation,” Emily shoots back, popping a fry in her mouth. “Bridget, you down?”

Bridget raises an eyebrow, considers. “If someone carries my poles.”

“I’ll carry your skis if you promise not to pass me next time,” Caleb says through a mouthful of sandwich. “My ego still hasn’t recovered.”

“You need to let that go,” Jamie chimes in. “It was one run.”

“One run too many,” Caleb mutters.

Connor’s shoulder brushes yours when he turns toward you again. His thigh presses against yours under the table, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He nods toward the others. “So, team far ridge?”

You give a soft shake of your head, fingers curling tighter around your water bottle as you lean back slightly. “I think I’m gonna skip it,” you say, voice just loud enough to carry across the table. “Got a bit of a headache.”

A few heads turn, mild concern flickering across their faces. “Probably from hanging out with us,” Nate says, tapping his temple like he’s discovered something. “We’re loud as hell.”

“That or altitude,” Jamie adds helpfully.

“Or the mullet talk,” Bridget mutters, and Connor snorts beside you. 

You smile politely, already reaching for your stuff. “I might just head back to the house for a bit.”

“You want a ride?” Connor asks, already shifting like he might stand.

“I have to head back anyway.”

Your head snaps up so fast it actually makes your vision blur for a second.

Joe’s voice cuts through the noise of the table so cleanly it leaves an echo. 

Oh God.

You pale instantly. You know it. Feel it. That slow, heavy drop in your stomach is like a missed step in the dark. Heat claws at your neck and then recedes just as fast, replaced by a tight, uncomfortable chill. 

“Team call,” he adds, not looking at anyone in particular.

Bullshit.

You don’t know how you know, but you know.

Dom jumps in to say, “Oh, that’s right. They moved it up for East Coast time.”

Joe stands, his chair scraping just slightly as he pushes it back. His eyes catch yours but he doesn’t say anything as he waits expectantly.

Your heart thuds once, too loud. You hesitate for a breath, then slowly stand too, ignoring the way your legs feel a little like water.

Dan looks up, already sliding his tray aside. “We’ll grab your skis for you guys.”

Jamie nods, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

Joe doesn’t say anything as he leads the way out.

The snow crunches beneath your boots in that slow, late-afternoon kind of hush, the parking lot half-shaded, frost settling heavier now that the sun’s started to dip. Dom’s Rover is exactly where they left it this morning, next to Connor’s Bronco—windows streaked with melt lines, black paint dulled under a fine dusting of powder. 

Joe tosses the keys in one hand, catches them in the other, then climbs into the driver’s seat without a word. You follow, tugging the passenger door shut with more force than necessary, the thunk of it feeling louder than it should.

The engine turns over. The heat kicks on. But neither of you speak.

You stare out the window, counting fence posts or pine trees or whatever flashes by fast enough to keep your thoughts from spiraling.

You're thankful the drive is short. And quiet. 

By the time he pulls into the driveway, you’re already reaching for the door handle. He hasn’t even shifted the car into park before you’re out, feet hitting the ground in one sharp step. Your hand fumbles with the passcode at the front door, thumb too cold and a little too shaky to press the numbers right on the first try. The keypad blinks red. You curse under your breath and try again.

You can hear his door close behind you.

God. You’d just wanted a few seconds of space with a clean escape. A quiet slip into the room, maybe the illusion of stillness long enough to breathe without the memory of his eyes on you. Watching. Unrelenting. Like he wanted you to choke on your silence.

The door beeps green. You grab the handle.

But then his hand wraps around your arm.

Low and close behind you, almost gentle: “Nuh uh.” The sound of it is soft, but it stops everything. Your pulse stutters. You freeze in place, body angled toward the stairs, one foot forward like you could still outrun this.

“I thought you had a call,” you say flatly, not bothering to mask the bitterness clinging to your throat.

Joe shakes his head once. “I lied.”

You turn slowly, chest tight. “Well, I have a hea—”

“No you don’t.” There’s a flicker in his jaw. He looks... tired. And tense. Like he’s been holding something back all day and it’s finally cracking through. “You were fine ten minutes ago,” he says. “And if it really was about a headache, you’d have gone with Connor.”

You blink. Heart picking up again. “That’s not—” He steps in before you can finish. Not touching, but close enough that the distance shrinks and your folded arms suddenly feel childish. Defensive. You drop them, and regret it instantly.

“I’m not trying to fight,” he murmurs, like it’s a line he’s rehearsed but still isn’t sure will work. “But I can’t do this fake shit.”

Your teeth find the inside of your cheek, holding down the rest. “Then what do you want, Joe?”

His eyes flash. There’s something angry there, but it’s not really at you. “I want to know what’s going on. With you. With Connor.”

You stare at him. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why does it feel like there is?”

You open your mouth. Close it. Shake your head once and look down. “There never has been. Never will be.”

His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for you but thinks better of it. “Okay,” he says, after a long pause. “Okay.”

“Why?” You finally glance up at him. “Are you seeing someone else?” ​​The question barely makes it out. It’s too thin, too careful, like it’s not supposed to be heard. But it is. And worse, it’s understood.

Joe doesn’t flinch, but you can see the answer in his eyes before he speaks. “No.”

It knocks something loose in your chest. “Oh.”

Small. Stupid. And way too late to hide the disappointment layered in it.

Joe exhales hard, like he’s been bracing for that exact reaction. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Your jaw tightens. “I just—I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He moves again. Two steps this time. Barely a breath between you. “Say what you’re thinking,” he says. “Because I’m standing here trying not to lose my fucking mind, and you’re looking at me like I’m a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” you say too fast. It sounds like a correction, doesn’t come out the way you meant it.

“I just don’t get it,” you say finally. “We were fine the other week. Texting. Talking. And then last night in the kitchen... it felt like a switch flipped.”

“You were talking about Connor.”

You blink. “What?”

He looks down, then back at you, almost sheepish. “You’ve always liked him.”

Your mouth parts in disbelief. “Joe. That was years ago.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stare at him, stunned. And then, slowly, you blink again. A breath catches in your throat—and for the first time in hours, it isn’t from tension. “Oh my God,” you whisper, realization blooming too fast to contain. “You were jealous.”

Joe’s eyes snap to yours. “No—”

“Yes,” you laugh, breathy and stunned, almost too surprised to stop it. “You were.” He steps back like the sound stings, shaking his head, but it’s too late—you already see it. The crack in the armor. The flustered look. “You were jealous of Connor.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but the sentence crumbles before it’s finished, and the silence that follows says everything.

You watch him now with something softer beneath your expression, lips curving despite yourself. “That’s what this has been about?”

He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no, either. Just looks at you with that restless kind of guilt behind his eyes like maybe this whole time he thought you knew. And it’s worse somehow, that you didn’t.

His hand lets go of your arm for the first time since it was placed there and he runs it down his face. “Look,” he sighs, “can we just forget about this. Move on?”

You don’t say anything. Not because you’re angry—not anymore, but because you’re too tired to pretend it didn’t land a little sideways. The words are easy, clean, wrapped in that kind of practiced detachment people use when they’re trying to keep the water from rising any higher. 

Can we just move on. 

You know what he means. You know he’s not asking you to forget the last hour, or the way he treated you, or how much weight actions carried. He’s asking for a truce. For the part where this doesn’t spin out into something bigger than either of you can hold.

So you nod, almost imperceptibly. Just enough to let the tension drain without needing more than it already took.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” you say finally, softer now, your voice falling back into your chest where it feels safest. Your eyes flick up to his one last time, catching a shift in his stance like maybe he thought you’d say something else—invite him in, maybe.

But he doesn’t speak. He just nods once, and lets you go.

You head upstairs slowly, legs sore from the slope runs and muscles humming with a kind of tired that has nothing to do with skiing and everything to do with restraint. The stairs creak faintly under your weight, and when you get to your room, you close the door behind you without turning the light on.

The air inside is still, touched by the faint scent of the vanilla apricot lotion you’d used the night before and the eucalyptus from someone’s shampoo. You tug your base layers off one at a time—your fleece top, the long-sleeve thermal you’d worn beneath it, both damp around the cuffs and collar. The sports bra peels away last, cold against your skin from where it’s clung too long to your spine. You strip everything until you’re bare in the quiet, toes curling briefly against the wood floor as your body adjusts to the sudden chill.

You think, for a second, about the shower. You should rinse the sweat off your chest, the faint the smell of snow and fabric and old pine lodge air. But your legs ache, and the thought of standing makes your shoulders fold in on themselves.

So you don’t.

You pull on the first t-shirt you find at the top of your drawer, soft from too many washes, long enough to hang past the tops of your thighs—and crawl into bed without another thought. Your limbs fall limp against the mattress as you stretch out sideways, not even bothering to pull the comforter over you, the weight of the day collapsing all at once into your spine. Your cheek sinks into the pillow, the fabric still faintly cool from the draft near the window. You exhale through your nose, slow, and for the first time in hours, it doesn’t feel like something is sitting on your chest.

You’re just starting to drift, eyes still half-open, when you hear the soft creak of your door. No knock, just the low groan of the hinges and the sound of someone shifting their weight through the threshold. You don’t move or lift your head, you stay in that stillness like, maybe, if you breathe slow enough, the moment will tell you what it wants.

Then the bed dips behind you.

A hand, light and tentative, skims the curve of your thigh, just above the knee where your skin is bare. His fingers trail up slightly, barely there, before settling in place. You can feel the heat of his palm through the cotton of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” Joe asks, low. Not careful in a nervous way, but in a way that sounds like he means it. Like he knows you could still say no.

Your body reacts before your mouth does. You shift back slightly, enough for the warmth of him to press against the backs of your legs, for the weight of his hand to settle more firmly into your skin.

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “It’s okay.”

You feel him nod against your shoulder, feel the way his breath fans against the back of your neck when he exhales. His hand doesn’t move again. It stays there, a quiet, steady anchor while the room fills with the hush of something finally letting go.

DAY THREE

At some point in the night, long after the air in your room had gone still, after the shadows had stretched across your walls and settled—something stirred you from sleep. You weren’t sure what pulled you from that heavy sleep. Maybe it was the way the temperature had dipped slightly, the faintest chill creeping beneath your blanket. Or maybe it was him.

You barely had time to register the warmth pressed into your side before you felt the first soft kiss pressed to the inside of your arm, just above the bend of your elbow. Another followed it, barely there, grazing the edge of your bicep, then trailing up toward your shoulder like he was mapping his way across skin he already knew by heart.

A third kiss landed just beneath the slope of your neck, lips brushing against your collarbone, then higher—along the side of your throat, against the curve of your jaw, right up to the corner of your mouth where he paused, hovering. You could feel the ghost of a smile on his lips, the quiet hesitation. “They’re pulling in now,” Joe murmured, the words warm against your skin.

You froze for half a second, piecing it together—headlights flashing against the walls, the distant crunch of tires over fresh snow. “Oh. You should probably go then,” you whispered so low the words almost got lost between you.

Joe exhaled a heavy breath against your skin like he hated the thought. His hand squeezed lightly at your thigh, and he stayed there just long enough to press one final kiss to the side of your mouth. Then the weight shifted, the bed lifted, and the room grew quiet again.

You didn’t fall back asleep right away.

You laid there, tucked into the same tangle of sheets, tracing the warmth he left behind. Eventually, sleep crept back in, heavier this time.

By the time you wake up again, the kitchen smells like cinnamon and coffee—warm and alive in that way only Tahoe mornings ever feel. You pad in quietly, still in socks and a fleece you pulled off the floor, sleeves shoved to your elbows, hair a mess. Your eyes sting from sleep, but the house is already wide awake. Chairs scrape. Music hums low from a speaker by the window. Half a stack of pancakes sits on a plate that’s definitely cooling, but no one’s claimed it yet.

Connor is the first to notice you. He glances up from the stove, spatula in hand, grinning like he hasn’t just cooked enough food for a small army. “There she is,” he says, raising his voice just enough to turn a few heads. “Thought we were gonna have to send search and rescue.”

You blink against the brightness of the kitchen and open the cabinet slowly. “For what, pancakes?”

“Rescuing you from your beauty sleep,” he fires back, somehow flipping a pancake with difficulty. “Though clearly you didn’t need it.”

That earns a chorus of “ooohs” from somewhere near the island. You smile against it, tucking your chin slightly as you reach for a mug, trying not to let your eyes flick too obviously toward Joe. Your fingers brush the handle of the coffee pot but Dom beats you to it, appearing out of nowhere to pour you a cup without asking.

“You’ve got like three minutes before Connor burns the last pancake out of spite,” he warns, handing you the mug.

“I’m letting them get crispy,” Connor calls defensively, already plating another with too much confidence. “Some of us have taste.”

“Or just ego problems,” Bridget murmurs, walking past with a plate and the world’s most casual eye-roll.

You slide into the stool beside Joe without even thinking, your leg brushing his beneath the table as you sit. He’s still in the same hoodie and sweats from last night, curls faintly dented from sleep. But he looks more present today. He works on peeling his clementine, knee not moving away from yours.

He’s not quite smiling, but close. His shoulders are more relaxed than they were yesterday, his eyes softer at the corners. You’re not the only one who notices.

“Okay, not to be weird,” Jamie says from across the counter, tilting his head like he’s squinting at a strange animal in a cage, “but you’ve been, like… shockingly normal today.”

Dom snorts. “That’s just cause no one’s brought up his fantasy team yet.”

Jamie keeps going, undeterred. “No, I mean mood-wise. You’re not giving cryptic rage goblin. It’s… unsettling. Like, should we be worried?”

Joe, still peeling a clementine with slow precision, doesn’t even glance up. “Guess I’m more in the vacation mood.”

Bridget lifts an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since the call.”

You sip your coffee to hide the way your lips want to tug into a smile.

Connor slides a pancake onto a plate with unnecessary ceremony. “This one’s yours. It’s shaped like a heart.”

You glance at the lopsided blob, head tilted. “Because you made it with love?”

“No,” he says, flashing a grin. “I just flipped it too soon.”

You smirk into your plate. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“I’m starting to think you’re ungrateful,” Connor says, mock wounded. “That’s fine. I’ll just save my next masterpiece for someone who appreciates culinary excellence.”

“Oh my God,” Bridget mutters. “It’s literally a pancake.”

Nate raises his hand. “Connor, I love your work. Got one that’s, you know… anatomically bold?”

“Already spoken for,” Connor says solemnly. “Joe called it first thing this morning.”

Joe just shakes his head, smiling into his clementine like he’s above it all—like his free hand isn’t slipping beneath the table to curl around your upper thigh, palm warm as it settles high, dangerously high, just shy of where you’d really feel it. His thumb strokes once, barely-there pressure against the soft skin inside your leg.

That he’s still able to touch you like this.

Still able to make you feel like this.

Still the one who does.

And he doesn’t need to look over to know you’ve gotten the message—clear as day, deep as the ache he already knows how to leave behind.

But of course he does.

That’s the whole point.

DAY FOUR

“Missed this,” Joe mumbles against your mouth, the words low and husky, nearly lost in the soft slide of his lips over yours. His hands are already on your waist, pulling you in close, his body warm and solid beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. You don’t even remember reaching for him—just the sleepy shock of waking up to the weight of his palm dragging slowly up your body, the dip of the mattress under his knee, his mouth on yours before your brain could even register the time.

It’s still dark outside. The kind of deep, pre-dawn quiet that blankets the entire house, where even the floorboards seem hesitant to creak. No one else is awake yet—not Dom, not Jamie, not any of the couples still tangled up in shared beds across the hall. The only sounds are the faint rustling of blankets and the rhythmic hush of your breath catching every time Joe kisses you a little deeper, a little more certain. He must’ve snuck in through the hallway door while the others were still sleeping. You think you heard it open once, maybe twenty minutes ago, but you’d rolled over, assuming it was the wind or someone heading to the bathroom. Not him. Not like this.

His hands are firmer now, sliding up beneath your oversized tee—his, left at the cabin from a few winters ago, worn and soft, the hem rising with every graze of his knuckles. He shifts closer, one leg wedging between yours as he guides you back into the pillows, his mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw. Then lower. Hot breath brushing your collarbone. The tip of his nose nudging against your neck like he’s trying to remember how it all felt last time.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmurs, voice just rough enough to make you shiver. You feel the words more than you hear them—right at your throat, where his tongue darts out to taste the spot just under your ear.

Your fingers twist in the back of his shirt. You should say something—ask what time it is, ask what he’s doing, ask if someone might hear—but your body reacts before your mind can form the words. Your hips arch into his, your leg wrapping around his waist to hold him there, to feel the heaviness of him pressing down. He groans softly at that, the sound barely contained, buried into the crook of your neck like he’s trying not to lose too much control this early.

“Locked the door,” he mutters, as if reading your mind, lips brushing your skin between each syllable. 

His fingers drift lower, teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts as he kisses his way down your chest—just soft grazes at first, until he pushes the shirt up high enough to find bare skin. His eyes flick up to meet yours then, even in the darkness, and you swear he can see everything. Every thought you’re trying to suppress, every ache that’s already started to bloom low in your stomach.

“Still so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Joe whispers, voice thick with that same need you remember from before—the kind that made you reckless last time. The kind that makes you reckless now.

And then his mouth is on you again, lower, slower, no space between his lips and your skin. And you don’t even care what time it is anymore.

His tongue moves in lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your ribs, pausing to suck lightly at the soft skin beneath your breast. He hums against you like he’s tasting something forbidden, something he’s missed dearly. Your breath stutters when his teeth graze your skin, enough to make you clench beneath him. His hand slides under the waistband of your sleep shorts, knuckles dragging up the inside of your thigh so slowly you feel it everywhere.

You gasp, hips twitching toward him, already too warm and too wound up to pretend this isn’t exactly what you wanted the second he walked in.

He glances up at you, fingers stilled just shy of your center. “You wet for me baby?” The question comes low but it’s not him teasing. He’s not smirking. He’s watching you like he’s starved.

“Yes,” you whisper, hand curling in the sheets beside you. “Joe—please.”

His mouth drops to your stomach, teeth skimming along the soft curve of it as his fingers finally touch where you need him. You suck in a breath when he brushes over your clit, gentle at first, like he’s reminding your body how to respond to him. But you remember. God, you remember. And your hips lift into his hand almost instinctively, thighs starting to tremble.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, slipping his hand lower. “It’s like you’ve just been waiting for me.”

You have.

Before you can say it, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down your legs in one motion, discarding them somewhere behind him. Then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open like he has every right to, like it’s muscle memory. He settles between them with that low, grounding exhale that lets you know he’s not in any rush.

When his mouth finally meets you, you almost cry out. His tongue is slow and deliberate, licking up the length of your folds before flattening against your clit. He hums again, content, and the vibrations make you whimper. Every flick is purposeful like he’s worshipping something. You try to stay still, try not to lose it so quickly—but he knows exactly what he’s doing.

One arm hooks under your thigh, holding you open as the other snakes up beneath you, palm lifting your hips off the bed so he can keep you right where he wants you. When your head tips back, mouth open in a silent moan, Joe groans into you and tightens his grip.

“Let me hear it,” he says, voice rough and muffled. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

“I missed you,” you whisper, breathless. “Missed this.”

That’s when he loses what little patience he was holding onto. His grip tightens. His mouth moves faster, more intense. And it only takes seconds before you’re unraveling for him, thighs clamping around his head as a sharp, staggering orgasm rips through you. You don’t even try to be quiet. He didn’t tell you to.

When it finally fades, you’re twitching against the mattress, breathing like you’ve just run a mile. Joe licks you once more, slow and possessive, before he pulls back, chin slick, eyes blown dark as he pushes himself up onto his knees.

But he doesn’t reach for you right away. Instead, he presses one large hand flat on your lower belly, right above where he was just inside you.

“Right here,” he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb strokes lazily over your skin. “Fuck, I’ve thought about this every night. Every time you sent some picture, every time you fucking called me like nothing was happening—this was what I wanted.”

“Joe…” you breathe, not sure what you’re asking for.

His hand stays there, firm against your belly. His other tugs his sweats low enough to free himself, cock already hard, flushed, aching. You look down at where he’s touching you like he’s imagining himself inside you already, feeling the outline of it before he’s even entered.

“You’re mine like this,” he murmurs. “You’ve always been. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

“I don’t wanna share you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, your collarbone, your jaw. “Don’t want anyone else to even think they’ve seen you like this.”

Your mouth falls open but no words come out. You can’t think. Not when his cock slides through your folds, teasing the entrance, already soaking in your release.

“I wanna feel myself right here,” he breathes, pressing down on your stomach again, just above your pelvis. “Wanna watch you take every inch, feel how deep I am while you fall apart for me.”

Finding it hard to form any words, you tilt your hips up into him, eyes half-lidded as you slide a hand to the back of his neck and pull him down to you. 

And he takes it. All of it.

The first thrust is slow, agonizing, his hand never leaving your belly. He watches you the whole time, eyes dark and locked on the place he’s disappearing into you, his breath catching when he feels your walls flutter tight around him. You let out a choked moan, back arching helplessly as he pushes deeper, deeper, until there’s nowhere left to go.

“God damn,” he groans, forehead falling to yours. “This pussy’s mine.”

You whimper at the filth of it, at the claim in his voice, at the way you know—deep down—it might actually be true.

He stills for a beat, thick and pulsing inside you, letting you feel the weight of him. The stretch. The heat. Your mouth falls open around a gasp, hips twitching involuntarily as your body tries to adjust. You’re full to the point of ache, dizzy from how careful he’s being. How much he’s giving you just by holding still.

But it’s when he leans back on his knees, still fully inside you, and plants one broad palm flat against your lower stomach—right over where he’s buried deep—that your whole body jolts.

“Right there,” he murmurs, pressing just a little, just enough to make you feel it. “Feel me, baby?”

You choke on a breath.

“Joe—oh my god.”

Your hands scramble to hold onto something—his wrist, the sheets, your own thighs—because the sensation is unlike anything else. It’s too much. His cock thick and throbbing inside you, his palm heavy on your belly, eyes dark as they watch the way your face falls apart under him.

He groans when he sees it. Like the sight alone might ruin him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he mutters, breathless and wrecked. “You feel that? That’s how deep I am.”

Your thighs try to close around him instinctively, too overwhelmed, too full, but he slides his hand down to your hips and pins you open again, shaking his head like he’s not done showing you.

“No, lemme have it. Been thinking about this every night, don’t get to run now,” the way his voice dips on the word now nearly makes you cry out again. “You let that stupid fuck talk to you like I’m not the one that gets to have you like this.”

He thrusts once, slow but hard, his hand never leaving your stomach, his thumb grazing across your skin again like he’s trying to brand you there. You cry out, hips twitching, back arching up off the bed.

“I can feel you—”

“I know you can.” He leans forward then, catching your face in his free hand, brushing his nose against yours. “No one else gets this.”

Another thrust—deeper, meaner, sending you gasping into his mouth.

“You feel so good,” you pant, barely able to form the words.

His lips part over yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. Mouth hovering over yours, breathing with you, losing it with you.

“You were made for me,” he whispers, drunk on it now. “Your body fuckin’ knows me. Look at you.”

Your eyes flutter open just in time to catch him looking down between you both, still pressing into your stomach while his cock rocks slow, devastating circles inside you.

And that’s what breaks you.

The orgasm rushes in without warning—hot and overwhelming and pulsing through every part of you. Your body locks down around him, helpless under the weight of his touch and his words and the filthy possessiveness still dripping off his voice.

“Jesus—there you go. Let me feel it, baby. That’s my girl.”

You cry out, clutching at him, every muscle tight and trembling as he fucks you through it. He drops his head to your shoulder, groaning against your neck as your release milks him, his rhythm stuttering.

“Fuck—” he chokes out. You wrap your legs around him tighter, nails digging into his back. He shudders, thrusts a final time, and then you feel it. His whole body tense above you as he spills inside with a low, broken groan.

When it’s over, he collapses half on top of you, chest heaving, skin damp. But his hand doesn’t leave your stomach. If anything, he presses a little harder, still circling with his thumb as if trying to feel it all settle.

“You should see how you look like this,” he murmurs into your neck. “Might lose my mind.”

You don’t answer because you’re still floating. Body limp, your legs spread open and shaking, your mouth parted like you forgot how to close it.

And he’s still inside you, holding you like the whole fucking house doesn’t exist beyond this bed.

The memory lingers longer than it should. Even after he’s gone you’re still floating somewhere between sleep and whatever this is.

When you finally peel yourself out of bed, the world outside your window is already blinding white, heavy with fresh snow. Just from one look you already know what the plan is for today.

It’s always been the same, ever since you were little—after a big storm, nobody needed to say anything. You’d all spill outside, wrapped in lumpy coats and mismatched mittens, throwing yourselves into the snow like it was your only job. Even the parents used to join in back then, when you were all still toddlers, chasing each other through the drifts, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Somewhere downstairs, the familiar thud of boots and shouts of laughter echo through the walls, pulling you back into the day whether you’re ready for it or not. You layer up slowly, thick socks and leggings and your warmest jacket, hiding Joe’s hoodie from this morning underneath because it's a secret you can’t quite part with yet. 

The cold hits you the second you step outside, biting at your nose and cheeks as you stumble down the front steps into chaos. Old toboggans scatter across the slope like wreckage from a lost battle. Shouts and laughter tear through the freezing air, ricocheting off the trees. 

Dom’s halfway down the hill already, somehow managing to sled backward while pumping his fists in the air like an idiot. Emily wipes out spectacularly near the bottom, her body flipping into the powder with a high-pitched scream, and Caleb’s patrolling the top with an armful of snowballs, throwing them indiscriminately at anyone who looks too happy.

You barely have a second to take it all in before a snowball whizzes past your head.

"Incoming!" Nate hollers, already loading up another.

You duck instinctively, laughing, and when you straighten up again, Joe’s there.

He’s tugging his gloves on tighter, cheeks red from the cold, a ridiculous wool hat jammed over his messy hair. He steps up beside you and nudges your shoulder with his own, "you're late."

You barely have a second to take it all in before one of Caleb’s missiles whizzes past your head, startling you into a squeaky laugh.

"Incoming!" Nate hollers, already loading up another.

You duck instinctively, heart pounding from the surprise and the cold, and when you straighten up again, Joe’s there. Tugging his gloves on tighter, cheeks flushed deep pink from the cold, a ridiculous wool hat jammed low over his messy hair. He steps up beside you without a word, bumping your shoulder with his like you’re already mid-conversation.

"You're late," he says, voice thick with that gravelly sleep-laced tone that makes your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes, burying your smile in your scarf. "Slept in."

Joe just huffs a small laugh under his breath and starts down the hill. You watch him for half a second too long before forcing yourself to follow.

By the time you’re flying down the hill for the third—or maybe fourth—time, your gloves are soaked straight through, your cheeks are numb, and your ribs ache from laughing so hard you can barely breathe. The air feels even more frigid every time you trek back uphill, boots slipping on slick patches of churned-up snow, but nobody’s slowing down. Everyone's too busy throwing themselves onto sleds like kids, shrieking and tumbling and crashing with reckless abandon. Somewhere behind you, Dom’s yelling about how he “beat the course record," even though there’s absolutely no course. Emily and Carrie are rolling around in the snow near the bottom, cackling so hard you can hear them from halfway up.

You’re halfway through adjusting your scarf when Joe’s hand brushes yours, fingers grazing yours through the gloves in a touch that could be called an accident—if he wasn’t looking at you like that. Like the world could crash and burn around you, and he still wouldn’t look away. You blink hard, dragging your gaze down to your boots, pretending to kick the packed snow off, pretending your heart isn’t trying to beat a hole through your ribs.

You barely catch your breath before Connor jogs up beside you, cocky grin flashing bright as ever, “We’re going doubles," he announces. "Me and you, Cincy. Let’s show these amateurs how it’s done."

You open your mouth to object, something about not wanting to end up concussed, but he’s already grabbing your hand and dragging you up toward the ridge, laughing like this is all so easy. Like nothing’s changed.

You go along, heart pounding, casting one quick look over your shoulder where Joe still stands a few steps back. His face gives away nothing, but the way his gloved hands flex once at his sides says enough.

Connor shouts something about steering as you settle awkwardly behind him, barely managing to hook your arms around his waist before he kicks off. 

The sled shoots forward with a violent lurch, snow spraying up around you as you barrel down the hill at a reckless speed. Your laughter bubbles out of you unrestrained, half-pure joy, half-desperate adrenaline as you cling to the sides and try not to tip into the nearest drift.

When you finally crash into a snowbank at the bottom, you can barely breathe, your lungs burning from the laughter and the cold. Connor flops onto his back beside you, both of you wheezing and shaking snow out of your sleeves. You push yourself up, brushing powder from your leggings, your fingers still tingling from the ride.

You dust the snow off your leggings, still catching your breath, and when you glance toward the slope, Joe’s still there, standing a little ways up, watching you with a look you can’t quite read. Before you can even think deeper into it, Nate tackles him from behind, knocking him into the snow with a triumphant yell that has the whole hill erupting into laughter.

You force yourself to laugh with them, letting Connor haul you to your feet, heart still hammering painfully against your ribs.

The afternoon drifts in slower after that, like the mountain itself is exhaling.

The sun dips lower behind the peaks, bleeding gold and pink into the snow-covered world. The cold sharpens, biting harder at exposed skin, and boots start dragging heavier across the churned-up slope. You huddle into your jacket, arms wrapped tight across your chest, but you don’t think it’s the temperature making you shiver anymore.

Someone starts another half-assed snowball war, shrieks and shouts fill the air as bodies dive behind sleds and trees and piles of snow, everyone too exhausted to aim properly, too happy to care.

You’re mid-sprint, trying to dodge a flying iceball from Dominic, when a hand closes around your wrist and yanks you down behind a flipped sled. You land in a heap, boots tangling, Joe’s chest bumping against yours with a solid thud.

You gasp a breathless laugh, and so does he, both of you frozen there in the shadow of the sled, breath fogging between you. His hand lingers at your wrist, thumb brushing absently against the curve of your hand. You don’t pull away. You don’t even think about it.

"Told you," he murmurs, voice low and warm in your ear, "you’d be better off staying with me." Your mouth opens automatically, some sarcastic reply ready to fly—but the words die somewhere in your throat, because just over his shoulder, you see Bridget.

Sitting cross-legged on a snowbank, arms looped around her knees, watching. Not the hill, not at the chaos—at you.

At you and Joe.

Your stomach plunges so fast it makes you dizzy.

Joe must feel it, the way your body stiffens, feels the sudden snap of the moment because moves without hesitating, his body angling slightly to shield you from view, his hand squeezing yours once before standing.

You let him, not daring to look back at Bridget again.

Joe’s tugging you gently to your feet just a second later. You dust the snow from your jacket, trying to gather yourself, heart still rattling somewhere too high in your chest. "You good?" he asks, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry. His eyes skim your face, reading it way too easily.

You force a small laugh, tucking your chin into your scarf like it’ll hide anything he might see. "Yeah," you lie, slipping into the smile you’ve worn a thousand times before. "Just cold."

Joe watches you for another second like he doesn’t quite buy it, but then his mouth tilts into a lazy smile. He leans in, crowding your space just enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear when he whispers, "Keep your door unlocked tonight, yeah?"

DAY FIVE

The next morning passes in a kind of lazy sort of cozy haze, the whole house moving slower after the endless chaos of the last few days. Even Bridget decided to spend the day recovering at her own home. When you finally drag yourself out of bed, the kitchen’s a mess of platters of cinnamon rolls, mugs of coffee, and people slumped in chairs still wearing pajama pants.

Nobody seems in a rush to do anything, which honestly feels kind of perfect.

By late morning, a few of you pile into cars and head down to the frozen lake to skate, bundled up and carrying thermoses of hot chocolate and clunky old rental skates. It’s nothing like sledding yesterday—more scerne and less tumultuous. You skate in crooked loops with Emily and Carrie for a while, occasionally glancing across the rink to catch Joe tripping over his own skates and laughing like a little kid. He catches your eye once or twice and your stomach does that stupid swoop it’s been doing more and more lately.

Connor sticks close too, always finding ways to drift near you. It should feel simple. It should feel normal. But you catch Joe watching again once or twice, that same unreadable look flashing across his face before he turns away. Each time it happens, it leaves you feeling strange and unsettled in ways you can’t quite explain.

The rest of the afternoon is spent back at the cabin, sprawled out in front of the fire (because someone did eventually find a lighter), half the group napping, the others playing old board games someone found buried in a closet. 

You let yourself get pulled into a game of Monopoly, losing spectacularly to Dan within the first hour, and you spend the rest of the time curled into the corner of the couch, pretending not to notice the way Joe’s socked foot occasionally bumps yours under the blanket.

Further into the night you end up retreating to your room not long after Dan and Carrie disappear upstairs, Emily and Jamie trailing close behind them with lazy goodnights. The house is quieter now, the only real noise coming from the living room where Dom, Caleb, Nate, and Connor have planted themselves on the couches, arguing loudly over which video game to start next.

Joe stays downstairs with them, slouched low in one of the armchairs, a half-empty beer bottle dangling lazily from his fingers. You try not to pay too much attention as you pass through the kitchen, stacking a few stray mugs from this morning into the sink, pretending not to notice the way his eyes follow you across the room.

It’s only when you reach the bottom of the stairs, turning to glance back over your shoulder one last time, that you catch him sinking lower into his hoodie, tugging it up to hide the stupid, suggestive grin threatening to give him away completely. You bite down on a smile of your own, heat sparking low in your stomach as you turn quickly and slip upstairs before you can make it any worse.

You end up lying across your bed, room dimly lit, with a book in hand, trying to read like you promised yourself you would over break. Your legs are tucked under the blanket, your hair still a little damp from your quick shower, the air cool and crisp against your skin. You’re just starting to sink into the quiet, starting to believe you might actually get a few pages in, when you hear the faintest creak of the floorboard just outside your door. 

Joe slips inside your room earlier than expected, earlier than he promised. He closes the door behind him, ensuring to lock it before he turns back to you with his hair sticking up in messy, reckless tufts. The second your eyes meet, the little smile you tried so hard to bury earlier comes rushing back to the surface.

"Hi," you whisper, voice barely a breath.

Joe smiles back and reaches for the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up and over his head in one smooth pull. His hair sticks up in staticy tufts afterward, cheeks flushed, eyes already darkening in that way that makes your stomach flip.

You barely have time to react before he’s on you, closing the space between you in two long strides. His hands find your hips easily, and his mouth is slanting over yours, tasting, teasing, like he’s got all the time in the world. 

Your fingers find his t-shirt instinctively, clutching at the soft fabric just to have something to anchor yourself to, and when he deepens the kiss, you barely notice yourself shifting closer until he’s pulling you straight into his lap.

His thighs bracket yours, wide beneath you, and his hands slip under the hem of your cami to find your waist, splaying wide like he wants to touch as much of you as he can at once. You kiss him harder, your chest brushing his with every ragged breath. When you try to pull back to catch your breath, Joe chases you, one hand sliding up your back, the other cradling your jaw, keeping you right where he wants you.

"Uh-uh," he murmurs against your mouth, the sound rough, almost pleading. His fingers press a little firmer, dragging you closer again. "Come back."

You laugh, breathless against him, a little overwhelmed in the best way—and then you push lightly at his chest, guiding him back until he lets you tip him onto the mattress without resistance. Joe falls back with a low grunt, head hitting your pillow, one arm lazily splayed out above his head, the other reaching for you without hesitation. His shirt rides up slightly with the movement, exposing a sliver of warm, toned skin that makes your mouth go dry.

There’s no hesitation as you swing your leg over him, straddling his hips, the look on his face enough to steal the last bit of air from your lungs. "Where you goin', huh?" he teases, voice low and lazy, but there’s a heat in his eyes that sharpens when you start crawling down the length of his body.

You settle between his knees, palms dragging up the strong lines of his thighs, your breath catching at the way he’s looking at you. Joe’s chest rises sharply, his jaw clenching once as your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants, and slowly, start to work them down. "You sure about this, baby?"

You just look up at him, feeling your cheeks heat, feeling the nervous excitement ripple through you in a way that somehow only makes you braver. And when you nod Joe lets out a broken, desperate noise that makes you feel like you could set the whole goddamn cabin on fire.

Joe’s hips lift slightly, almost like he can’t help it when you tug his sweatpants and boxers down, freeing him with a soft hiss of breath. His cock slaps up against his stomach, thick and flushed and already leaking precum, and you swear you feel yourself clench just at the sight of him.

Still perched on his lap, you lean back just enough to drag your fingers lightly down the center of his chest, feeling the way his muscles jump under your touch. Joe watches you like he’s starving, blue eyes nearly black with how blown out his pupils are.

He props himself up on his elbows, breath catching audibly when you press your mouth against the sensitive head of his cock, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up the underside. "Jesus—fuck," he groans, hips twitching forward before he catches himself.

You hum softly, pleased, and wrap your hand around the base, stroking him lazily as you lick and tease and explore. You don’t rush, wanting him to feel every second of it. Joe lets out a wrecked sound and sinks back onto the bed completely, one hand dragging through his hair, the other blindly reaching for your shoulder, gripping lightly like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

When you finally sink your mouth properly down on him, taking as much as you can in one slow glide, Joe’s hand tightens. "Fuck, baby," he pants, his voice so raw it sends a fresh jolt of arousal straight through you. "Just like that. Don’t stop."

You don’t plan to. You build a rhythm, steady and deep, hollowing your cheeks and working your hand where your mouth can’t reach. Joe’s hips start to move without thinking, small, helpless thrusts you know he’s trying to control but can’t, not when you swirl your tongue on the way back up and suck gently at the tip.

"God, you’re gonna kill me," he rasps, the words punching out of him in a broken laugh.

You pull off for half a second, smirking against his skin. "Maybe."

Joe groans like you’ve physically hurt him, a laugh breaking through, but it dissolves quickly into a shudder when you take him deep again, until you feel the head of his cock brush the back of your throat. He bucks once, hard enough that you gag slightly, but you don't pull away, steadying yourself to let him feel it, let him hear the desperate, slick sounds filling the room.

"Shit—oh my god—fuck, baby, you’re—" Joe cuts himself off with a sharp gasp, hand fisting the sheets now, his thighs shaking under your palms. "You’re gonna make me—" You hum again, needy, encouraging, and that’s all it takes. Joe falls apart with a choked groan, thick ropes of cum spilling into your mouth, his hips jerking once, twice, before he forces himself still. You keep stroking him through it until he finally slumps back against the mattress, panting like he just ran a marathon.

You wipe at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks flushed, chest still rising and falling with the effort of everything you just did for him, and when you glance up—he’s already watching you like he’s starving all over again.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips and before you can process it, he’s sitting up, reaching for you. His hands find your waist easily, lifting you like you weigh nothing, and before you can even think about protesting, he’s placing you back into his lap, settling you so you’re straddling him.

You let out a soft, surprised sound, laughing under your breath as your hands come up to his shoulders. "Joe," you murmur, pressing your forehead lightly to his. "This was supposed to be about you."

Joe shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up as he slides one big hand up the length of your thigh, over your hip, settling dangerously close to where you’re already soaking through your panties. "This is about me," he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You’re only wearing your little cami and panties yet the heat radiating off of him makes you feel practically bare. Your heart’s racing so fast you can barely hear yourself think, but none of it matters because Joe’s pulling you into another kiss—deep, possessive, and so full of something heavier that it nearly knocks you breathless.

You feel it immediately—the way he’s already hardening against you again, the warmth and thickness of himself insistent under the thin material separating you. Joe groans into your mouth when your hips rock down against his, the friction shooting straight through both of you. His hands drag down your back, gripping your ass firmly, pulling you tighter against him until you can’t move without feeling him everywhere.

And then, with almost no warning, you feel him tug the crotch of your panties to the side, rough and desperate, exposing you just enough—and before you can even gasp properly, he’s sliding into you in one slow, searing thrust.

Your breath catches violently in your chest.

The stretch is deep and overwhelming, the sudden fullness making your whole body tighten, but Joe’s there—his hands steady on your hips, his forehead pressing to yours, his mouth brushing your cheekbone like he’s trying to tether you through it.

"Fuck," he pants against your skin, voice cracked open with feeling. "God, you feel—"

You can’t answer. You can’t even breathe. You just move with him, rocking your hips slowly, clumsily at first, finding the rhythm together.

It’s soft. And rough.

Messy and urgent.

Kisses at the edge of bruising, hands everywhere at once, Joe’s mouth finding your throat, your collarbone, your jaw, like he can’t decide which part of you he needs more. And then, when your nails rake lightly up the back of his neck and his hips stutter hard into yours, he presses his face deeper into the crook of your neck, voice ragged against your skin. "I’ve always thought about this," he confesses hoarsely, like the words rip themselves free before he can catch them. "Always."

You barely manage a nod, your fingers tangling tighter in the hair at the base of his neck. "Me too," you whisper, so quietly it feels like a secret.

But Joe shakes his head slightly, the movement brushing his mouth against the side of your throat. "No, baby," he breathes. "Since before Thanksgiving."

You choke on a gasp, the sound swallowed by the overwhelming grind of his hips into yours, the drag of his cock hitting places inside you that make the whole world go fuzzy at the edges.

The words hang between you—too big, too fragile to touch again right now—and neither of you tries to. Instead, Joe kisses you again like he’s trying to apologize for all the time you wasted, like he’s trying to promise something without saying it out loud.

You cling to him, rocking into each other harder now, faster, chasing the high you both know is coming. Your forehead presses to his, your breathing tangled, the filthy, wet sounds of your bodies filling the room.

It hits you first—your orgasm sweeping up out of nowhere, sharp and searing, making your thighs clamp around his hips, your nails dig into his skin. Joe follows right after, a grunt ripping from his throat as he thrusts deep one last time, pulsing hot and thick inside you, his whole body going rigid underneath yours.

Slowly, carefully, Joe shifts his hands, still moving like he doesn’t quite want to let go yet. He glances down, and you feel the way his body tenses slightly when he sees his release already starting to slip out of you, slick and glistening between your thighs.

Joe mutters something low under his breath and then he reaches down, gently tugging your panties back into place. He covers you carefully, dragging the soft fabric up and over your sensitive skin—and then his palm presses firm against you, right over where you’re already soaked through, holding you there like he needs to feel it.

You jolt slightly at the pressure, hips twitching instinctively into his touch, and a shaky little sound slips out of you before you can catch it. Joe just hushes you softly, brushing his nose along your jaw, his hand staying there for a long, heavy moment like he’s trying to sear the memory into both your bodies.

When he finally moves it away he does it by pulling you tighter into his lap, wrapping both arms around you and burying his face against your neck, breathing you in like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

The room is warm and quiet, the only sound the slow, even drag of your breathing against each other. Joe’s fingers trace lazy, absentminded patterns on the small of your back, and you let your eyes flutter closed, soaking in the grounding weight of him under you, around you.

You don’t know how much time passes—minutes, maybe more—before Joe finally speaks, asking, "What were you reading?" 

You lift your head slightly, blinking down at him. It takes a second to remember, and then you glance over at the rumpled comforter where your book lies half-buried. "Pride and Prejudice," you say, your voice soft from how close you are.

Joe hums, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember. "That’s the one where... they fall in love but like, hate each other the whole time, right?"

You snort, laughing into his chest. "Kind of," you grin, pulling back just enough to see his face. "They misunderstand each other a lot. Prejudice and pride getting in the way and all that. It’s actually a lot sweeter than it sounds."

Joe smiles too, "I dunno," he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Sounds like our group trips."

You laugh again, curling further into his embrace. "You remember that one snow day when we were kids?" he says after a while, sounding almost like he’s thinking out loud. "The year it snowed like, two feet overnight?"

You smile against his chest, the memory surfacing easily. "Yeah. Dom tried to build that giant igloo and it almost collapsed on him."

Joe chuckles, his hand smoothing up your spine. "Not that. Before that. You—" He pulls back a little to look at you, a soft grin tugging at his mouth. "You got nailed right in the face with a snowball."

You groan, dropping your head dramatically against his shoulder. "Oh my god, yes. Right in the nose. I thought I was dying."

"You were," Joe laughs, the sound low and fond. "You looked like a horror movie. Blood everywhere. Dom freaked out, Jamie made it worse somehow—and me and Dan ended up carrying you back up to the house."

You lift your head just enough to give him a skeptical look. "You were laughing the whole time," you accuse.

Joe’s smile tilts crookedly again, but then he shrugs, and something flickers behind his eyes—something quieter. "I was," he admits. "But I was actually scared shitless."

"You were?"

He nods, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist . “Yeah," he says, voice softer now. "You were so little. And you were just... lying there, crying, not even fighting Dom about it. I didn’t know if you broke something. I don’t know." He laughs under his breath, like he’s laughing at himself now. "I just remember thinking, like... I couldn’t fix it. And I hated that."

You stare at him, the warmth blooming in your chest almost too much to hold.

"I didn’t know that," you say, your voice thinner than you mean for it to be.

Joe just shrugs again, looking a little sheepish now. "I didn’t want you to."

You nuzzle into his neck instinctively, breathing him in, and for a little while, neither of you says anything else. You stay there, talking about nothing and everything—the worst injuries you ever had, the dumbest dares Dominic ever made you do, the time you tried to snowboard and nearly dislocated your shoulder.

Joe laughs so hard he almost falls backward when you remind him about it, his head tilting back, his whole body shaking under you. You think you could stay like this forever. You know you can’t.

The moment’s too good, too easy. It can’t last.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, after your second yawn (one you can’t even pretend to hide), Joe catches it, a soft laugh rumbling low in his chest.

You shift a little on his lap, snuggling closer, but mumble against his shoulder, "M’getting tired."

It’s not even a suggestion but Joe hears it for what it is anyway. He squeezes your thigh gently like he’s reluctant to let go. "Alright," he says quietly, "I’ll let you get some sleep."

You press your forehead against his for a second longer, breathing him in, trying not to make it a big deal even though it feels like one. Joe shifts carefully beneath you, helping you settle back onto the bed. His hands linger at your waist for a moment longer before he finally pushes up.

You stay curled up against the pillows, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he crouches to grab his clothes, tugging them back on.

Then he crosses back to the bed, leaning in, one knee pressing into the mattress. He kisses your forehead so light and careful it barely even counts as a kiss at all. "Goodnight, baby," he whispers against your skin.

You whisper it back without even thinking. "Night, Joey."

You let him go, having no idea that the second Joe eases your door closed behind him—hoodie rumpled, hair a mess, that wide, dorky smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth—he turns.

He turns and locks eyes with Connor, fresh out of the bathroom. Frozen, stunned, eyes narrowed slightly. Was it out of confusion? Jealousy?

Joe doesn’t stay long enough to find out. He just turns down the hall, disappearing into his own room without a word.

And you, tucked safe in oblivion inside your room, don’t see any of it.

DAY SIX

By the time you all pile into the hot tub this evening—drinks in hand, cheeks already pink from the cold and the cocktails—the whole day feels like one long, lazy laugh. Someone’s set up the same trusty speaker on the porch, muffled music carrying over the snow. Steam curls off the surface of the water into the night air, stars barely visible through the haze.

You wedge yourself between Dom and the edge of the tub, tucking your knees in close as you nurse your drink and try not to slide too much on the slick plastic seats. Joe’s stretched out across from you, arms slung wide along the back ledge of the tub like he owns the damn thing, his shoulders loose, head tipped lazily toward the sky, a tipsy smirk tugging at his mouth.

Bridget, next to him, bumps her leg against his accidentally, though he barely seems to notice. You, however, notice everything—including the way Bridget’s gaze slides briefly to you when it happens, something unreadable flickering across her face.

You drag your drink to your mouth and smile into it, playing dumb.

Dom’s mid-story about Caleb eating shit on the hill earlier, hamming it up with wild hand gestures and half-wrong details, and you’re laughing too hard to care when Connor practically spills his beer trying to one-up the chaos. His arm bumps yours with every exaggerated point he makes, and you just grin and shake your head.

It’s sloppy, harmless fun. Caleb's shouting half-formed jokes over the music, Bridget’s laughing into the rim of her drink, Dom’s slapping the surface of the water dramatically every time he gets worked up. At one point, Connor, still ragging it on, tries to reenact Caleb’s crash by standing half out of the tub to mimic the tumble. The drunk boy nearly busts his ass slipping on the slick plastic, sending another tidal wave of water over the edge. Everyone roars laughing, even Joe, who tips his head back against the ledge and watches it all unfold.

Your drink is sliding dangerously in your hand from laughing so hard, and when you look back across the tub to find your balance, your gaze catches Joe’s.

The second your eyes meet, something inside you stumbles; because without a word, without even a twitch of effort, Joe shifts spreading his legs a little wider beneath the surface, tilting his head slightly, his smirk curving into something darker. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Like he’s been waiting for you to pay closer attention.

Heat rushes up your neck before you can stop it, your drink stalling halfway to your mouth. You should look away—someone could see—but your body forgets how to listen. You’re caught, helpless, your lips parting slightly in reflex when his gaze dips lower, the lazy weight of it making your skin prickle. 

Time sort of thins around you for a second, the outside noise fading into nothing except for the low churn of water between. You swear he’s about to smirk wider, about to pull you under completely, when his eyes flick past you.

You blink out of the trance, following his glance over your shoulder—and feel the pit drop straight out of your stomach. Connor’s still next to you, but he’s not paying attention to the chaos Caleb’s causing across the tub, not even half-listening to Dom’s drunken rapport. His focus is pinned on you. On Joe. His face is loose with alcohol but his eyes are sharp, mouth set in a way that feels wrong, almost territorial, like he’s just realizing something he can’t figure out how to name yet. 

You don’t know what to do, pinned there awkwardly between the weight of Connor’s staring and the buzz still ringing in your chest from Joe’s. You flick your eyes back on instinct—and find Joe looking at you again, already smirking, already dragging his tongue lazily over his bottom lip before rolling his eyes, all dry, unimpressed, like the whole thing isn’t even worth acknowledging.

You don’t get a chance to wonder what it all means before Dom slaps a hand over his mouth and lets out a strangled groan. "Ohhh no. No no no—bad—"

You jolt forward instinctively, half-rising out of the water, your drink sloshing dangerously onto the deck. 

"I’ve got it, Dom, come on—"

"No," he croaks out desperately, waving you off with both hands. "No, stay—you do not wanna see this."

Bridget’s already climbing after him, shaking her head with a grin as she loops an arm through his and hauls him toward the house. "You’re disgusting," she chirps, steadying him as they stumble toward the door.

Connor, suddenly snapped out of his own trance, drunkenly slaps Caleb’s shoulder as they go crashing in after them, shouting something about needing to "witness the carnage."

You barely have time to catch your breath before the water stirs behind you. You glance forward just in time to see Joe rising from where he’d been lounging, the movement languid, water dripping down the ridges of his chest and arms as steam curls up around him like smoke. His hair is damp and wild, sticking to his forehead, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he’s already decided exactly how this is going to go.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest as he prowls toward you, his body cutting through the steam, casual but predatory, like he’s stalking something he knows already belongs to him. Without a word, he reaches out and plucks the drink from your hand, his fingers grazing yours briefly, then sets it carefully on the ledge behind you. His touch, his gaze, his entire presence pins you to where you sit, and even though you know you should say something, should break the spell, you can’t seem to make yourself move.

Joe’s hand slides easily under the water, fingers tracing a slow path up your shin, your knee, the sensitive inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. You squirm instinctively, breath catching in your throat, but you don't pull away—you can’t—and that’s all the encouragement he needs. His other hand finds your waist, steadying you, guiding you closer to where he wants you, his touch firm and possessive in a way that makes your blood simmer.

"Joe, someone could—" you whisper, the words barely making it out, half a warning, half a plea. Joe doesn’t pay much mind as he leans in closer, brushing his mouth against your ear in a way that makes your whole body tense with anticipation.

"I’ll be the lookout," he murmurs, like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You barely have time to react before he’s kissing you like he’s got nowhere else in the world he needs to be. His lips press against yours with an intensity that steals every rational thought from your head, pulling you deeper, drawing you into him like gravity. His hand slips up your back under the water, dragging you closer until you’re practically molded against his chest, heat and need swirling dizzyingly between you.

You can feel the smirk tugging at his mouth when you gasp against him, feel the low hum of satisfaction rumbling through his chest when his other hand slips beneath the band of your bikini top, teasing, kneading, driving you out of your mind. His mouth trails down the line of your jaw to your throat, open-mouthed kisses marking a slow, devastating path along your skin. You tilt your head back instinctively, granting him better access, your body arching into every brush, every scrape, every insistent pull of his hands.

It’s almost too easy to lose yourself in it. In him. In the way every part of you seems to fit against him like you were made for this. You can feel him hard and heavy against your hip, the water sloshing quietly around you, the world narrowing to nothing but the desperate beat of your own heart.

So caught up in it all, you barely notice the moment he goes still.

At first, it’s just a pause, hesitation so small you could almost miss it, but the sudden tightness in the way his hands grip your hips gives him away. His mouth freezes against your throat. His whole body tenses.

And as quick as it happened, he continues on his path, except this time he’s rougher. Hungrier. His teeth scrape harsher against your throat, his hands dragging you into him like he's staking a claim, like he doesn't care who sees. His mouth finds yours again, rougher now, desperate in a way that makes your mind fuzzy.

Something’s wrong.

Breathless, you force your eyes open and turn your head blinking against the steam—and that’s when you see it. Through the glass door, barely visible through the fog, Connor stands frozen, his expression hollow, his eyes locked on you.

Panic invades your mind and you jerk instinctively, but Joe’s hand tightens around your waist, holding you against him like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter who’s watching. 

"Joe," you whisper, your voice cracking on his name as your hands press lightly against his chest.

"It’s fine," he drags his mouth back to your jaw. You freeze for a second, overwhelmed by the heat of him, the pull of him, the way your body almost believes him even when your head is screaming otherwise.

But then the brutal reality of it all comes rushing back in.

"No—Joe," you breathe, quieter this time, shaking your head as your hands push against his chest again, firmer now but still not enough to move him—just enough to make him realize you're serious. "Stop."

Joe finally pulls back, his hands falling stiffly to his sides, but not before a laugh slips out of him. A sharp, bitter sound that slices through the heavy air between you.

It stings worse than anything else could have.

You blink hard against the burn rising in your throat and shove at him again, water sloshing up against the edges of the hot tub. It’s a desperate attempt to ease the unbearable pressure between you, a push you know won’t move him—he’s a solid wall of heat and muscle and frustration.

When you meet his eyes, you nearly flinch. There’s something simmering there, a little hard and angry. A little hurt. Something that makes you shrink back as the cold night air gnaws at your wet skin.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" you hiss. Even though there’s no one around anymore, it still feels like if you talk too loud, the whole house will hear.

Joe scoffs immediately and drags a wet hand through his already messy hair, stepping back from you like he can’t believe you’re the one asking. "What do you mean, what was I thinking?"

You stare at him, chest tight. "Joe, you can’t just—" You break off, throwing your hand toward the house, toward the dark shape of the sliding door. Toward the invisible imprint of Connor’s stunned face, still burned behind your eyelids. "He saw us. Connor saw us."

Joe snorts like he can’t even entertain your panic. "So what?" he fires back, voice growing louder, harsher. "What, you scared he’s gonna tell someone?"

You gape at him, stunned. "Are you serious right now? He’s drunk, Joe. You’re lucky if he’s not already running around telling everyone!"

Joe laughs another harsh sound that you feel all the way down your spine, and something twists so violently in your gut you have to physically brace your hand against the side of the hot tub to stay upright. "Yeah," he mutters under his breath, "you’re real mad it was him, huh?"

Your heart stutters like it’s tripping over itself. "What?"

"You heard me," Joe says, stepping closer again, chest rising and falling fast. "You’re mad it was him that saw. Not anyone else. Connor."

The accusation hits you like a slap, and you blink hard. Not from sadness, but fury. "That’s not—it’s not about him," you snap, forcing the words out before they get stuck. "It’s about you almost blowing everything. For what, Joe?"

Joe tips his head back with yet another disbelieving laugh. His hands brace on his hips like he’s physically trying to hold himself together. "Yeah. Sure," he bites out, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I’m the selfish one. Meanwhile you’ve been sitting here the whole fucking trip—acting like he doesn’t fucking matter to you."

You open your mouth to fire back, but nothing comes out. You’re rattled by the way he says it as if it’s been rotting inside him all week. "What are you even talking about?" 

"You know exactly what I’m talking about. You treat this like it’s some dirty fucking secret."

"Joe, that's not—" But he cuts you off, his voice sharp, words tumbling out like he can't stop them anymore.

"You’re so worried about what everyone else thinks. What, you just settling for me? Next best thing?"

The world tilts, his insult cutting deeper than you want to admit. "Joe," you emphasize, fighting for calm even though you can feel yourself unraveling, "where the hell is this coming from?"

But he’s already spiraled, far past rationalizing. "I mean, fuck. I see the way you still look at him."

"I don’t," you fight back immediately, stepping toward him. "I told you before—there’s nothing there. Nothing!"

Joe lets out a short, cold sound that sounds like it physically hurts him. "Yeah? You sure about that?" His mouth pulls into a twisted smirk, like he’s daring you to lie to his face again.

Exhausted, you throw your hands up. "Why are you twisting this into something it’s not? You’re mad because someone saw us—and you're blaming me for it."

Joe shakes his head like he pities you. "Mad? Blaming you?" he echoes. 

But then his voice sharpens even more, the real crack slipping through. "Y’know, actually, who even said this was a secret anyways?" Joe snaps. "Cause it sure as hell wasn’t me. Never once remember saying that. In fact—" he laughs, steel eyes pinning you in place, "you’re the one who ran off the first time. Remember?"

The air leaves your lungs so fast it feels like whiplash. You just stare at him, furious and wounded and so goddamn tired, the heat behind your eyes blurring your vision. "You’re so full of shit," you whisper, the words splintering in your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the air crackling between you, so thick you could drown in it. Joe's chest heaves, and you can see the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"You think I’m settling?" you snap suddenly, emotion boiling over. "You think this has been some second choice bullshit for me?"

Joe doesn’t answer you. "You’re the one who never asked me to stay," you pause, needing to catch your breath. "That night—you let me walk away like it didn’t mean anything. Like I didn’t mean shit beyond a quick fuck to you."

Something new crosses Joe’s face then but it’s gone almost as fast as it comes. He scoffs harshly, backing up a step like he needs the distance.

"You think I didn’t want you to stay?" he mutters sourly. "Maybe I was too busy fucking reeling over the fact that I finally got you."

The words hit harder than anything else could have. You freeze, the cold forgotten, the sting of biting wind on your skin meaningless compared to the ache splitting open somewhere inside your chest. Your hands tremble at your sides, the air burning in your lungs, but you can’t move, you can’t even think past the way he said it.

Finally got you.

Joe turns without another word, shoulders tight with something new you can't decipher, and makes his way to the house. His footsteps leave heavy, wet imprints across the slick deck, each one louder than it should be like they’re hammering into your skull.

You barely register the way he grabs the handle, yanks the sliding door open so violently it rattles on its track. The door slams shut behind him with a sharp, brutal crack that cuts through the night like a gunshot. It echoes once, then fades into the deafening silence.

DAY SEVEN

The kitchen is packed wall-to-wall, the music loud enough to rattle the floorboards, and you’re already some drinks deep, still painfully aware of yourself. You linger near the island with a couple of local girls you know well enough, but mostly, your attention keeps drifting—scanning the room before you even realize you’re doing it. 

The house had felt heavier this morning, like even the walls knew something was brewing.

Jamie and Emily, Dan and Carrie, had been the smart ones—ducking out early, treating themselves to a night at Connor’s family’s resort hotel down the road. You couldn't even blame them. If you could’ve rented a new life for the night, you would have.

The rest of the group spent the day nursing hangovers in various stages of death. Caleb hadn’t moved from the couch. Nate kept pestering him however he could. Connor vanished upstairs with a Gatorade and a hood pulled over his head. You took the opportunity to vanish too, holed up in your room under too many blankets, replaying last night in your head until the edges blurred.

At some point you must have dozed off, because the next thing you knew, Dom was kicking your door open, proudly announcing he'd invited “some friends” over. Which, translated from Dominic-speak, meant a full-blown rager by ten o’clock.

You hadn’t wanted to come down but somewhere deep inside you, you’d convinced yourself that if you looked better, felt put together, maybe the rest would follow. So you pulled on your best jeans, a black top that hugged just enough without trying too hard, tamed your hair, and put on just enough makeup to feel like a disguise for the night.

About an hour ago you caught sight of Joe for the first time since last night hovering around the beer pong table, a little tispy already. His sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, his drink tucked lazily in one hand, the other tossing a ping-pong ball back and forth between his fingers. He looked good. Too good.

The kind of good that made you painfully overthink for reasons you didn’t want to examine.

His cheeks were pink from the alcohol or maybe the cold, his hair a little messy, that cocky smile flashing every time Dom missed a shot. He looked...happy. Relaxed in a way that made your stomach twist up because you weren’t sure if you felt relief or jealousy.

Relief that he seemed okay, jealousy that he seemed okay without you.

You almost went to him, almost closed the distance without thinking, driven by some desperate, aching need to fix it, to fix everything. The words were already clawing their way up, the apology you hadn't even figured out yet ready to spill out. But before you could take a single step Leah spotted you from across the room. Her face lit up and within seconds her hand was wrapping around your arm, tugging you into a conversation you weren’t ready for.

She was so excited to see you, so eager to catch up, that it caught you completely off guard. By the time you glanced back over your shoulder—

Joe was gone.

And just like that, you’re stuck with the last people you intend to be around. You try your best to stay engaged as Leah and a few other girls from town chatter around you, but it’s a losing battle. You sip your drink idly, your eyes slipping over the crowd without any real direction, drifting through clusters of bodies and bursts of laughter, searching for a head of messy blonde 

You pretend to be present, but your mind’s already wandered too far. You barely register the music thumping low from the speakers, the sharp scent of jungle juice pungent in the air—because that’s when you see him.

Not Joe.

Connor.

He’s across the room near the fireplace, sitting on the arm of the couch and nursing a drink while laughing at something the girl next to him says. You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes catch on to him anyway. Maybe out of old habit.

Connor glances up, mid-laugh, and his gaze snags immediately on yours. You look down fast, heart thudding and heat rushing to your cheeks. You stare hard at your drink like it holds the secrets to life itself, willing yourself to act normal.

After a few seconds, you peek up again—just a quick, cowardly glance to see if he’s still looking. He is. Of course he is.

He’s not just looking, he’s already pushing off the chair and patting one of his friends lightly on the back, flashing some easy excuse you can’t hear but can imagine. His drink dangles from his hand as he starts making his way through the crowd toward you.

Every instinct screams at you to move, to slip deeper into the crowd and pretend you didn't notice—but it’s like your feet are cemented to the spot, the noise of the party dulling around the edges as you watch him weave closer. You force yourself to look normal, to laugh at something one of the girls beside you says even though you don’t hear a word of it. 

Your stomach flips sickly when you catch him closing the distance, the crowd parting naturally for him because he belongs here.

When he finally reaches you, he tips his head slightly, a silent suggestion you feel before you even register it. His mouth lifts at the corners, a ghost of a smile that might’ve fooled you once, back when you were younger and still thought you knew him inside and out.

You hesitate long enough for the cool condensation of your drink to seep against your tightened knuckles, long enough for the pounding of the music and the rush of your own pulse to blur together in your ears. Still, somehow, you manage to nod, forcing your body to move even as every part of you braces for whatever comes next. He leads you away from the music and the crowd down a dim, narrow hallway where the air feels colder and thinner and the noise from the party fades into something faint and far away.

You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until he stops a few feet ahead of you, framed in the soft spill of light from the main room and blocking half the hallway. Connor’s figure cuts sharp against the dimness, all restless tension and unsettled energy, the kind of posture that makes it impossible to tell if he’s about to laugh or pick a fight. 

His fingers tap an uneven, distracted rhythm against the side of his plastic cup, and your eyes catch on the movement without meaning to, tracing the jittery beat like it might give you some clue about what he’s thinking. You force yourself to meet his gaze, lifting your chin even though it feels heavy, your shoulders stiff, the knot in your stomach pulling tighter until it feels like you can barely stand upright against it.

Connor’s the one who breaks first, his gaze dropping to your cup, a half-smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth like he can’t help himself. "You're a brave soldier for drinking that.” 

You huff under your breath, tilting the drink between your fingers just to have something to look at besides him. "Needed something strong," you mutter.

You feel him watching you like he's waiting for you to say more, like he’s measuring every second of hesitation that passes between your words. The weight of it prickles at the back of your neck but you keep your eyes down until his voice cuts through again, quieter now, less certain. "I haven’t said anything.”

You blink, caught off guard for a second longer than you should be, before lifting your gaze and giving a quick, sharp nod. The movement is jerky with all the words you don’t trust yourself to say.

"I know," you tell him, keeping your voice as even as you can even though you can feel your throat tightening. "I’d already know if you had."

His mouth presses into a tighter line, something complicated flickering in his expression. "I'm not going to, either.” Somehow that simple promise cuts even deeper, lodging inside you as something between gratitude and guilt. 

You nod again, the tension bleeding out of your shoulders just enough to breathe. "Thank you.”

For a moment it feels like maybe that’s it. Like maybe you can walk away from this with the fragile threads of your dignity still intact. But then Connor moves, just a fraction closer, enough that you feel a warning bell ringing low and dull in your gut. 

"Look," his voice is firm, no more hesitations softening the edges. "I'm not telling you what to do. It’s none of my business." You can hear the ‘but’ coming before he even says it, can feel the way his body tightens with the effort of holding it back, and still, you stand there, bracing for impact like a fool.

"But your brother is gonna lose his shit," Connor says, and the words land exactly where they’re meant to, digging in deep. 

You straighten your spine, meeting his eyes without flinching this time. Anger sparks under your skin, not because he's wrong, but because you are so fucking tired of everyone acting like your life is some delicate thing they have to protect from yourself. "Sure. But, my brother does not dictate my life," you hope to God your voice cold and clear, canceling out room for any questions. "And neither do you, Connor."

Connor’s mouth tightens, his expression shifting into something colder, something that almost dares you to take it back. For a second you think he might. That he might just shrug and let it drop, let you keep whatever scraps of pride you have left. But then he says it, aimed right where he knows it will hurt the most. "So what, Joe does?"

Your stomach twists sharply, a sickening coil that makes your knees threaten to give out. Heat flashes behind your eyes, anger and embarrassment tangling so tightly you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. "Go screw yourself," you snap before you can think better of it. Your hand tightens so hard around your cup you’re amazed the plastic doesn’t splinter in your grip.

Before you can shove past him, before you can storm away and leave the wreckage in your wake, a sharp click cuts through the hallway.

Your head turns instinctively toward the sound, your heart stuttering in your chest as the guest suite door swings open. Joe stumbles out into the hallway, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, and for a moment, you forget everything. You forget Connor still standing there, forget the words you just flung like knives, forget how cold the house feels away from the party. You see him, and he sees you. 

His gaze locks onto yours across the hallway, and it’s like a tether snaps taut between you, pulling something urgent inside your chest. There’s a flash in his expression—something that looks dangerously close to regret, or guilt, or maybe something worse—and it roots you to the floor more effectively than any conversation with Connor previously could. 

You’ve been looking for him all night. Not for some confrontation, not for some dramatic outburst, just for a chance. A singular conversation to fix what had frayed without either of you wanting it to. And standing there, staring at him, you let yourself believe for the briefest, stupidest moment that this is what that could be. That maybe he’s been looking too. That maybe he’s just as lost as you are.

You hold onto it like a fool, that tiny, stubborn flicker of hope, even when every logical part of you knows better. You let it bloom reckless and bright and a little bit desperate in your chest, let it wrap around your heart and pull you up onto your toes like maybe if you just reached far enough, you'd find your way back to him.

But then Bridget stumbles out after him, her fingers fumbling clumsily. She mutters something under her breath, a slurred curse you barely catch, too busy with the button on her pants to notice the way everything just fell apart. She doesn't see you. She doesn't see Connor. She doesn’t see anything except her own drunken struggle, and somehow, that’s what makes it worse. That’s what drives the knife in clean.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Protector Fic Preview

Click for a surprise 😉

Joe looked at both his parents in anticipation as the question he asked them lingered in the air.

When both of them were quiet, he spoke up again.

“Oh, so no one has anything to say?”

“Joseph, we did it to protect you as well as your future.” Jimmy finally spoke up as Robin remained quiet.

“Protect me from what exactly? Because that literally makes no fucking sense and you know it.”

“I don't care how old you are, watch your mouth when you talk to us.” Robin said as she crossed her arms and finally looked at him.

“I can't believe you two, but especially you. When Y/N broke up with me which I learned was your doing all along I came and confided in you not knowing what you had actually did. And let me ask, were you ever going to say anything?”

“I….”

“Never mind because whatever excuse you're about to pull out of your ass isn't worth it.”

“JOSEPH LEE BURROW!”

“NO, I GET TO BE PISSED OFF NOT YOU TWO. I GOT TO MISS OUT ON THE FIRST NINE YEARS OF MY SON'S LIFE BECAUSE YOU TWO PAID HER PARENTS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT AND MADE HER DISAPPEAR FROM MY LIFE. I PLANNED ON MARRYING HER AND I WOULD HAVE DONE IT IF SHE HAD GOTTEN PREGNANT OR NOT.” Joe had been seeing red from the moment he stepped into his parents house and did not plan on backing down.

“We get you're upset, but let's calm down so we can talk.”

“You should have talked to me almost ten years ago. For now, I'm done. But answer this, forget about me for a minute. How could you do that to your own grandchild?”

[funnyjb]

hi! can i request for more postpartum fics? they are sooo good! maybe some happy moments but also sadly reader going through it and joe being there for her? thanks!

Hi ofc!

��————————

Brooks Levi Burrow was born just a few days ago. Your first night in the house with a newborn was smooth sailing. Nothing but cuddles and the sound of a quiet baby.

Your in Laws and your parents have decided to stop by any chance they get to be with you, Joe, and the baby.

“Mom, it’s ok I got it.”- picking up Brooks to put him to bed

“Are you sure, sweetie, I’m happy to do it.”- your mom got up from the couch

Robin and Jimmy along with your father were in the kitchen talking with Joe.

“It’s ok.”- you

“Y/n, hold him up higher.”- your mom

“Mom! I got it. Let me put him to bed and he’s fine, ok?”- you

Your hormones are all over the place but everyone has been getting on your nerves lately. You feel like everyone is all over you and the baby. The parents have been over so much you haven’t gotten alone time in 4 days. 4 days!

You walk up the stairs to put brooks down.

“Is she ok?”- Robin

Your mom walks over

“Yeah, I think it’s just a lot for her. She has never raised her voice at me.”- your mom

“It’s ok, she’s going through a lot.”- your dad

Joe stands there thinking.

“I’m going to go check on her.”- joe

“Give it a minute, sweetie. She probably needs a breather.”- Robin

Joe nods

After a couple minutes Joe decides to go up.

You were in the rocking chair holding Brooks in your arms. He was fast asleep.

The nursery was decorated with navy’s and creams. The fluffy pillows and stuffed animals stacked in one corner. The beautiful book shelf filled with baby books and football memorabilia on every shelf along with some pictures of you and Joe and some family.

“Hey, you ok?”- joe

You look up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”- you

Joe gave you a look.

“I’m fine, really. Just tired.”- you

Joe walked over to you.

“Want me to take him? You can go hang out in the bedroom for a bit. Get away from the parents.”- joe smiled

“You sure?”- you

“Yes, anything for you.”- joe winks

You hand him brooks.

Joe walked over to the crib and set brooks down.

He stared at his son. In awe of what both of you created.

You stepped out to give him a moment alone.

—————————————-

A year ago

Your family and Joe’s were all at the dinner table. It was a night after a game. Everyone still had enough energy to eat and drink. Joe sat at the head of the table. You were next to him on the side. Joe was engaging in a conversation with his dad about the game. The rest of the parents were talking with the siblings. Joes nephews run wild around the couch not to far from you guys.

As the conversations slowly starts to die down Joes brother starts to speak up.

“So, y/n and Joe when do you think you guys will give this family a new member?”- Jamie smiles

You and Joe look up in distraught

“Um.”- you look at Joe

“Well, we haven’t really been thinking about that right now.”- joe chuckles

“Yeah…haven’t really talked about it. Our focus is football right now.”- you smile and then start to play with your fork on your plate.

That conversation was always a little weird to you whenever someone brought it up after you two got married. Of course you wanted kids with Joe. It was your dream to have Joe the father of your children. You never knew what to say when someone asked you.

You just knew how life would be so different after having kids.

“Ugh, y/n you would be the best mom.”- codi smiles

“Thanks, codi.”- you smile back

When you look back at Joe he is already staring at you smiling.

Of course you had to return that smile.

“Just think about a mini Joe or y/n running around, coming to games, and having dinner with us here.”- Jamie

“That is pretty cute to think about.”- Robin

The truth is you were nervous about becoming a mom. You loved the idea and the thought of having a mini you or Joe walking around filled your heart with excitement, but then again also brought nerves.

What happens if I mess up?

Joe is going to be gone a lot

Not getting sleep the first few months

All of that sent some few nerves.

As the conversation kept going on and you kept smiling at the talk. You needed a moment to relax and think.

“Anyone done with their plate?”- you

You took yours and Joes. Everyone else kept talking.

Placed the plates in the sink and rinsed and started to put them in the dishwasher.

Joe sensed you were thinking about something. Something that made you feel nervous or anxious.

He got up and walked over to you.

He came next to you and helped with the dishes.

“Thanks. You don’t have to. Go enjoy time with your family.”- you smile

“But I want to be here with you.”- Joe

You chuckle

Joe just keeps looking at you.

“You ok? Seemed a little bit out of it at the table for a minute.”- Joe

“Yeah..yeah. I’m good.”- you

“Y/n.”- Joe

“Just…it’s weird, you know? I always loved the thought of us having kids. Seeing them at your games and hugging you when you get home. Running around with them or putting them to bed. It’s just all of it kicks in. Our lives are going to change. For the better of course. But the sleeplessness nights for the first couple months, running around in the chaos, and I mean during the football season you’re not going to be home much. Sorry, this is all stupid.”- you

“No, no, y/n. I get it. It’s a little weird for me too. I mean me? Being a dad?”- Joe laughs

You laugh too

“It’s a little bit weird to think but I do know something. It’s that I wouldn’t want to have my kids with anyone else but you. You would be the best mom y/n. And we will get through it together when the time comes. All I know is that we will try our best and have a great support system with us.”- Joe

You nod

“I love you.”- you

“Love you more.”- Joe

—————————————

“He’s one cute baby.”- Your mom says

All of you guys were now sitting back on the couch. The house was slightly dim. Outside was complete darkness. And there you all sat all in great company and love.

“He really is a combination of both of you.”- Robin

Brooks was laying on your chest. Joe sat closely next to you

“We better get going. It’s getting dark.”- Your dad

“Some with us here, hun.”- Robin

“I’ll walk you guys out.”- Joe

Joe gets up to give hugs

Both parents come over to say their goodbyes to you and to brooks

As the door closes there is complete silence. Joe walks back over.

He sighs as he sits back down.

“I’m proud of you.”- joe

You look at him

“It’s a lot, especially having to deal with the parents. You’re the best mom, y/n. I hope you know that.”- Joe

You felt a tear streaming down

“Thank you, Joey. That means more to me than you think.”- you

“Of course, baby. Don’t cry.”- Joe

You rest your head on his shoulder as he wipes your tear.

The end.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

now we HAVE to see that championship moment 🥺

A Roll of the Dice--A 'Roll for Initiative' Blurb

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

Your wish is my command. Ask is referencing an earlier post I made about custom cleats that Joe wears.

___________________

The air around you is tense and biting. Jimmy and your dad are huddled together, comparing notes and concerns about the game today. It’s a hard fought season. After a three game winning streak, only interrupted by one loss, with the Bengals fighting tooth and hot molten nail to cinch an 11-6 record, with a knock down and drag playoff game on top, leaves you here on the sidelines--you, Robin, and your mother pressed in tightly for the Championship game yet to be played out on the field in front of you. 

Your phone shakes and you begrudgingly dig it out, fingers curled in to preserve their warmth. But this is what you do for love, you suppose. You sit in the cold, the air biting at your nose harshly. Storm begged for a treat and I had to give in after he was quite well behaved for his inhaler. 

The text is from Joe’s personal assistant, who swings by the house when you two are gone to check in on Storm and so these texts aren’t new to you. A picture follows it up of Storm, happily licking from the tubed treat. 

He knows who he can push over. Thanks again for checking up on him. 

A laugh reaction comes near immediately before the bubbles populate. Everyone’s a sucker to Storm. Happy to help! 

And it’s true everyone is a sucker to him. Storm knows he can get what he wants when he wants it too. A fact that you’re more than sure no one else would dare object too. The crowd rumbles around you, as the speakers overhead crackle to life. The siren song for every football fan in the stadium, as yet another intense match up waits to unfold. 

The teams begin to run out as the announcers roar overhead. The decibel reaches a level higher than you thought possible, but against the Eagles’ you’re not sure why you’d ever have such a low expectation. You can’t make out individual players, not quite at this distance, but you watch them, cladded in their white uniforms, all helmets and cleats thundering over the ground as they charge out. 

“Today’s a special one folks. As the Bengals take the field, we are pleased to announce, from the Man of Steel himself, Joe Burrow, that he’s dawning custom made cleats in collaboration with Nike.”

The news furrows your brow. You’re arm in arm still with Robin and your mother and you can sense their collective gaze on you. You look at them to see they’re also unsure of what is unveiling. Before either one of you can speak, the announcer’s continuing on. The screen now panning from Joe’s face to a cut down at his cleats as he runs out onto the field. 

You immediately place the colors, even on the Jordan inspired cleat, throat seizing at the sight. Joe almost always wears the black and white Jordan 1 cleats. Those black and white cleats are more his uniform than his actual uniform. The kind thing that he’d probably never change out of superstition. You’ve heard the boys talk about only changing out cleats, or gloves, when it felt like it had bad juju--a few too many dropped passes, or interceptions, or bad blocks. The kind of thing that you’d written off as a constant, a piece of his routine, until now. 

“Here, and I quote from Burrow, ‘Blue, pink, and teal--colors that on their own may not seem like much, but combined are a testament to the fight, courage, and strength I’ve witnessed in someone incredibly close to my partner and I. I wear these colors today to honor their fight, to honor the fight of everyone impacted by thyroid cancer. And no fight would be complete without a little bit of lucky dice to go along with it.’ Incredible words right there.”

The base of the cleat is white, with the outer ankles sporting a teal d20--the number 20 facing out in gold--the toe is a tiger stripe effect of the blue, pink, and teal. All you can do is stare, chin quaking at the sight of him running towards his teammates, his feet decorated for you and your mother.

“At the bottom of your screens for those of you at home, there is a QR code for you all to scan. It will take you to the Thyroid Cancer’s Association’s donation page, for the division up in Cincinnati, where if you are able and willing you can leave a donation to those who need your support. There is also a video on that page too, an interview with Joe about the cleats and the process of making them.”

There’s no way to control it, to ease back the tears, to keep your composure. It doesn’t matter if there are cameras, if there’s a stadium that will witness the breast bone cracking sobs, but you turn to your mother, her own tears streaming down her face and you’re so utterly relieved you can still turn to her. That she’s still here in your hands, as you wind your arms around her neck. 

For Joe to hail that, call out and honor you and your mother in a moment about him makes you ache. You want them to win, want this moment to ring full and deep. 

“Now, if you don’t marry that boy,” your mother laughs as she pulls away from your embrace. The kind of tease that you now is all truth, painted in a laugh. 

Robin’s hand is steady over your back when you turn to her, looping her neck in a hug too. “Thank you,” you choke out to her. “For making him the man he is. For just being there.” 

You need it to convey that you don’t know who Joe would be if anything else in his life didn’t happen the way it did. You need Robin to know that not only are you happy, you are so deeply seen by Joe and she is at the root of that too. 

“No,” Robin corrects, “that’s you. He does what he does because he loves you and that’s because of who you are.”

Your face is tight from the tears, when you turn back to the field and watch the starting kick, having missed the coin toss but knowing you heard in the background as it was discussed. Your skin is hot now too from the emotions you’ve worked up as you watch Joe’s every step in those cleats. 

The opening drive is brutal--both teams going damn near blow for blow. Every yard is a scramble. Every tackle hits harder. Your heart leaps in your chest at every run and every pass. The Eagles score first, but Joe is lightning in a bottle when the offense returns to the field, coming up from behind to even out the score. 

At the start of the second quarter, with a time game of 7-7, you can also hear the mantra in Joe’s head, the analysis he must be doing about needing to score not to just get ahead, but to create momentum that should the defense tire out they have breathing room and then some. But given the way the team’s been playing--scrappy, physical, and hard-- you wonder if Joe would ever actually entertain the idea of taking this game slow. A field goal and a touchdown puts the Bengals in the lead but the turned field goal proves to be nearly deadly at the end of the the half. 17-10. 

The Eagles set a deadly pace on their first drive back after the half time, bringing the game back to a tie at 17-17. The score board teeters and totters--flipping from one lead to a tie back to another lead. You’re push to the edge of your seat, right up against the short metal gate to help people up and down the section. Your voice may ultimately get lost in the masses but you hope you’re loud enough to cut through the noise. “Let’s go, hon! C’mon! It’s fucking showtime! You’re not tired; you’re never tired. Not here! Not on this field!”

Joe takes the snap, drops into the pocket. The offensive line is holding and holding until the dam breaks. Joe scrambles out from immediate danger of a sack, drops another few yards back, cocks his arm back and the ball sails. Spiraling around and around in on itself. Tee catches it, breaks through a tackle, carries on up to the forty, then the thirty-five, crosses the thirty, books his way up to the twenty yard line, then the ten. 

“C’mon Tee! C’mon! Can’t no one stop you.”

“Touchdown for the Bengals!”

24-20. Right in time for the fourth quarter to begin. You duck your head into your chest for a moment, whispering a prayer just to get ahead and to keep a lead. That’s what this game is about, not just getting a lead, but securing it. 

Just an edge, just one little sliver of a mistake that they can capitalize on. Joe said he viewed football like chess, reading the opponent in the moment and trying to use that knowledge to think one to two steps ahead. It’s a language you understand mostly in broad strokes. But you watch the field now, praying you see that opening too. That you see the crack in the defenses, that Joe sees it too, as he stands on the sidelines, watching, rallying with the offense, talking to Coach Taylor, the Defensive coordinator too. 

They just need the smallest of slivers, the tiniest thing to put them ahead. The game feels like a grid lock, though the Bengals are still ahead, the Eagles have the ball. The play lock still has 3 minutes left. 

“Just one small sliver,” you whisper out into the universe, praying that the die stitched into Joe’s cleats are more than just decoration. 

The ball is up, you watch it, willing some force of the cosmos to wobble it, render the 4th down conversion mute. At the apex, the ball descends, nose dives down and it looks like it’s going to land square into the Eagles' receivers hands. Until a second pair of gloved hands stretch up, tips of the fingers just enough to send the ball down early, down the white jersey and into Bengals’ hands. The start of a massive return if only he can catch it and keep control of the ball. 

“It’s caught! It’s tipped out of the way. We’re at the 25!”

Blood rushes up into your ears, muffles the sound of the cheers but not the voice of the announcers, “The 30, 35. The 40!”

And you count alongside the announcers, starting at the 45.

50. 

45.

40. 

35.

30.

25.

20.

15.

10.

5. 

All. The. Fucking. Way. 

The stadium erupts. The play clock ticks, and ticks until the 2 minute warning. With the Bengals to take over possession with a touchdown.  Their focus remains unbroken, you can see Joe huddling the team together, watch every single man on the side sharpen their gaze. No game is guaranteed until the play clock strikes 00:00.

You watch every snap, and can just barely catch the cadences that Joe calls above the roar around you. There are no knees taken, not yet. Not until it’s beyond a shadow of a doubt with just a minute left on the clock and the Bengals have made two first downs on their possession, pushing the Eagles further and further back from making a return themselves. 

You glance at the clock. It drops once, a thirty second dump. Joe’s still kneeling, ball in hand. His head turns and you’re not even sure if he can see you, make you out that clearly, but maybe he can. Because he points one singular digit over in your direction before standing again. Your skin buzzes, with the cold, with the excitement. 

“C’mon, hon! C’mon! Right there! It’s right fucking there!” you holler. 

Joe takes the snap again, dropping down to one knee immediately afterwards. Another thirty second dump. 

31-20 blares from the scoreboards. You’re up before you can realize what your feet are doing, slapping at the padded railing beneath you. The Bengals are going to the SuperBowl. AFC Champions yet again. 

And Joe wastes not a second, pulls the helmet off his head and runs. His teammates are booking into the field, slapping at Joe as he passes them, but none of them matter. Not at all. You can see the camera trying to catch up with him, a reporter working her damnedest to keep up with his full on sprint. 

Your laughter bubbles from you right as Joe bends his knees, hopping onto the ledge. He reaches out one hand locking in around your elbow. You’re gripping onto his jersey and pads. “You did it, Joe. You fucking did it.” Your hoarse as you shout it, can feel and hear the scratching and creaking in your voice. 

Joe takes your cheek, palm pressed into your face. “For you--I did it for you and your mom.” You can’t even respond. Your throat seizes, the breath you were going to use to speak freezing at his words. Joe’s lips are pressed to your cheek, a long and dramatic press. “Love you,” he whispers against your ear. 

“Love you more,” you return just as soft. His words are just enough to thaw you out. 

“Speaking of Mrs. Tammy,” Joe grins as he scoots back out of your embrace to face your mom. “How do you like the new kicks?” He swings his legs just a little to show them off. 

Her hug is deep, rocks the both of them side to side. “They look wonderful. Thank you. And congratulations, Joe.”

Robin and Jimmy are quick with their hugs and praise before Joe slips back down into the rowdy sea of interviews and his teammates. A hat is slapped onto him, a t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. But you can only watch, teary eyed again as Joe speaks, catching the trail of other die stitched into the middle of the cleats too. All of them with their highest number facing out in gold, a 2 all the way up to the double 00 for the d100. 

All his die set to a winning combination. 

________________________________

‘Screaming, crying, throwing up--just look how proud they are of Joe in the background. And the cleats, oh the cleats made me bawl.’ 

‘If my man doesn’t custom make cleats for me, kiss me on national television even though he doesn’t do PDA and honor my momma at the same time, I don’t want him.’ 

‘The IMMEDIATE run to them I’ll just be single forever.'

“Those are just a few of the comments from the pretty viral moment of you, Joe, running to the sidelines after winning the AFC championships into the arms of your partner,” the interviewer laughs. 

Joe nods, unsure of where the information is headed question wise. “Okay. A little odd, it’s all about my relationship.”

“It was a very sweet gesture, You have the cleats made for your partner and their mother, correct?” The question is met with sharp silence. But she recovers. “And then you unveil them at the game, go on to win, and find them immediately in the crowd. I think people are just a little shocked to see that from you. Is your intention to share more?”

“Well, I wanted to share that moment with them, of course. It’s been a pretty intense season. The team's fought hard to be where we are and it meant a lot to me to have my loved ones support at the game. But I don’t think I should be setting some sort of standard or bar for anyone else’s relationship. Nor do I think questions about my job should be about, like, my romantic life, you know? I play football and just happened to want to share that moment with my family that attended to support me.”

“Is that a no on sharing more?”

There’s a teasing lift, he shouldn’t go there, but Joe’s not going to share more. He leans in a smidge closer to the mic. “Is there a question about football in there?”

It seems to rather effectively shutdown the line of questioning and when the next reporter goes, the conversation turns back to preparations for the SuperBowl, if the team is approaching the lead up that game any differently.

“SuperBowl or not, it is a game. We’ve been consistent since our break in our performance from the bye week in the reps we run, how we train and I don’t think there’s any plans to deviate from that,” Joe answers. 

“Will the custom cleats make a return on the SuperBowl stage?”

“We’ll see. There’s some good juju in them, but tune in to find out.”

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: Get It On*

————————————————————————-

summary: after a road game win in San Francisco, you know Joe’s gonna be in a certain mood when he gets home. you had stayed in Cincinnati with your twin boys and Joe couldn't wait to celebrate the win with you. Being able to predict that, you decide to play a little prank on Joe.

warnings: talks of and illusions to smut, mostly fluff, funny/unserious

pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

imagine universe: into the mystic

————————————————————————-

Bye week - October 18th (with flashbacks from October 15th & 12th)

(y/n’s pov)

The bye week was something I had been looking forward to since week one.

With the calf strain before the season even started it had been a little harder for Joe to get into the groove. He’s been more down on himself than normal and it was clear to me that he needed rest which is exactly what a week off would give him.

When Joe was home with me and the twins he wasn't Joe Burrow the quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, he was simply “Dada” to his boys and “Joey” to me.

He loved it, being away from the bustle of the NFL and being with his little family.

After a morning of sleeping in and cuddling, Joe cooked breakfast while I watched the twins, who were playing on the floor with their toys while sitting on their playmat.

They had just said their first words within a week of each other, both saying “Dada”. I thought I would've been jealous if my boys said Daddy, Dad, or Dada first but the situations in which they said it were so sweet that I couldn't have been upset.

The boy’s first game was at home against the Seahawks a few days ago. I sat up in the box with Robin & Jimmy plus my boys.

Tyson was sitting on Robin’s lap while I had Miles on mine. Joe ran out and Robin bounced Tyson on her lap saying “Look there's Dada!!” to which Tyson loudly squealed and cooed his first word in response to his grandma.

“Da-da!”

I hurt my neck with how fast it snapped in his direction from pure shock.

Miles said it just a few days before after Joe came home from practice.

Joe walked through the door and immediately found me in the kitchen feeding the boys. He walked over and kissed my cheek before turning his direction to his boys. Miles was reaching out to his dad and Joe immediately picked him up.

“Did you miss daddy?” - you smiled

“Da.. Da!” - Miles

Watching Joe’s eyes widen before he tossed Miles in the air was the sweetest sight.

“Thats my boy!!” - Joe yelled

Now back to the present day, Joe was in the floor with the twins passing around this tiny foam football. “Teach ‘em early” Joe would say.

I sat scrolling through Tiktok when a funny video came up on my fyp of this wife pranking her husband by lighting a candle that smelled like farts and putting it in their bedroom, after seeing the husband's reaction I immediately ordered the candle in hopes to do the same prank on Joe.

I had to laugh as I glanced over my phone at the unsuspecting victim. This was going to be hilarious.

October 29th - After 49ers game

Everyone seemed on cloud nine after the win over the Niners. I stayed back in Cincinnati with the twins while Joe was in San Fran. My parents ended up coming over to watch the game and overall it was a good day.

It wasn't long after the boys went back to the locker room that I received a text from Joe.

Hey mama.

To other people, it might seem like an innocent text, but to me, after all these years with Joe, I knew where this was headed.

Hey, champ!

A couple of seconds later when Joe replied back, I couldn't help but bust out laughing.

Whatcha wearing rn? 😏

I looked down at my current fit and thought about whether I should tell the truth or lie to please him.

Nothing special. Just a pair of your sweatpants and one of your Bengals shirts.

I got worried when he didn't message back for a minute or so, worried that I had disappointed him.

Sounds sexy.

Boy. 💀

Listen, I'm feeling really good right now. I gotta go shower but I'll text you when we're on the bus to the airport.

Talk to ya later then! Enjoy your shower, baby.

Ttyl, love you. ❤️

Love you too!

After I hit send, I put my phone down for a bit and ushered my parents out of the house. I’d hopefully get a shower, get the boys to sleep, and clean the house up a bit before Joe got home.

He'd definitely be getting home late but after big road game wins that would end in a long night for the both of us.

This also meant that tonight would be the perfect night to use something that I ordered back during the bye.

What was that you may ask?

A candle that smells like farts.

Now I’m not a big prankster but I will never pass up an opportunity to mess with Joe, it's been like that since we started dating in high school.

45 minutes later I had gotten most of the dishes washed in the sink, along with putting the clean dishes from the dishwasher up, and moved on to folding and putting away laundry.

It was always fun putting Joe’s clothes back up in our walk-in closet due to how diverse and unique each article was.

I saw the different suits and past game-day fits as a reminder of all of the ups and downs Joe and I have been through together.

Moving over to hang up his favorite grey jeans, in the corner of my eye I caught a view of the jacket Joe wore the day of the AFC Championship back in 2022. That was the same night Joe proposed to me and the thought made me smile. When the memory of what had happened later that night popped into my mind my once-innocent smile turned into more of a smirk. That was one goooood night.

My thoughts ended up interrupted when my phone dinged but seeing Joe’s name being the source of the tone made my smile reappear.

How’s my wife and my boys doing?

One of Joe’s biggest worries, since we found out I was pregnant, was him not being around enough for his kids to have a good relationship with their father. Every away game Joe seemed to check up on his little family every chance he got and though it was incredibly sweet, I worried about how he thought about himself parent-wise. He was an amazing dad, the boys loved him so much

We're doing great, baby. Your boys are already asleep and your wife is just cleaning around the house right now.

We should be home in a few hours but don't feel like you have to wait up for me, it'll be late.

I'm def waiting for him, I thought to myself with a laugh.

Okay! Are the guys all feeling good after the win?

Oh yeah, everyone is hyped right now. They're blaring music and have asked the bus driver to take a detour to the nearest club twice. LOL

You guys should go! Y’all need to celebrate.

It took a few minutes for Joe to respond but when he did, his message warmed my heart.

No thanks. That would just take time away from getting home to you guys. I miss you and the boys so much.

We miss you too. Especially the boys, who kept yelling “Daddy!” every time you were on the TV.

When I read Joe’s reply it was a complete mood shift, but I can't say I wasn't expecting it.

Did you also yell Daddy when I was on the TV?

Omg, Joe!

You'll be saying that again later, baby. 😉

Big wins always put Joe in this mindset but I couldn't help but giggle at his forward texts.

I was brainstorming what to say next when I remembered a little photoshoot I did the other day when Joe was away at practice. These pics would get him worked up for sure.

The pictures were of me fresh out of the shower in the mirror with nothing but his jersey and a tiger-striped thong on. The jersey was hiked up on my hip to where the panties were visible but my phone covered my face, the star of the show was the huge “9” on my front.

*Attachmentt 3 images*

When a few minutes had passed by and Joe hadn’t said anything back I started to get worried. He's on the bus right now... what if someone else saw the pics? Oh no.

If someone else saw those Joe’d be pissed. Oh no.

Holy shit, mama. You look fucking gorgeous.

Oh thank God, I thought.

You like what you see?

Screw like, I damn love it. Those pics are just for me, right?

Your eyes only, J. ❤️

I had no idea what was going on with Joe other than his texts, so I was completely oblivious to him struggling to contain himself in front of the guys.

You don't understand how much I'm struggling right now.

Struggling how Joey?

I knew exactly how he was struggling but I wanted him to come out and say it.

I'm getting so fucking hard. The last thing I need is the guys seeing a tent in my damn sweats.

Just a couple pics got you worked up?

y/n, baby how do you still not understand how much you turn me on after all this time?

Idk, Joe.

Plus baby it's not just the pics you sent me, it's also thinking about what's bound to happen when I get home.

What's that?

I'm gonna get you naked and show you exactly why you wear number nine. Sound good?

Can't wait.

We're boarding the plane, I'll see you later my love.

See you later, Joey.

*time skip*

It was almost two in the morning and there was still no sign of Joe. I was starting to get tired and was genuinely considering just going to bed.

Rolling over onto my side to get comfortable, I had just closed my eyes when I heard the garage door opening. Meaning Joe was home.

I removed the covers from my body and slipped out of bed, running my hands over the front of my satin nightgown to flatten it out before going downstairs.

By the time I made it into the mudroom, where the door that connects the garage to the house is, Joe was already there taking his shoes off.

“Hey baby.” - you smiled

Joe flinched before he found my eyes, his gaze softening as he did so.

“Shit babe, you scared me.” - Joe laughed

“Sorry, how was the plane ride?” - you

“It was fine, everyone was pretty much asleep so I just sat there on my phone… thinking about you.” - Joe

“Is that so?” - you giggled

“Yes ma'am. I missed you like hell.” - Joe

I opened my arms for him and he immediately walked over into my embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist as my hands ran up and down his muscular back.

Joe leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips before letting his hands drop from my lower back down to my butt.

“The boys still asleep?” - Joe

“Mhm.” - you

“Just us then, wanna go upstairs?” - Joe

“Before we do that… when was the last time you ate?” - you

“I ate this morning and had some snacks on the plane. I'm low-key starving but I made a promise to you about what was happening when I got home.” - Joe

Pulling away from his arms, I pecked his lips before patting his stomach.

“Let's get some food in you, then you can fulfill your promise.” - you winked at him

Joe grinned as he followed me into the kitchen, he sat on one of the barstools as I looked in the fridge.

“What do you want?” - you

“You.” - Joe mumbled

“What was that?” - you turned to face him

Joe smirked at me before dropping his head with a laugh.

“Nothin. Uh, whatcha got?” - Joe

“I've got leftover chicken and noodles, sandwich stuff, bacon for a BLT…” - you

“Chicken and noodles are fine.” - Joe

“Okay, I'll heat that for ya.” - you

I popped the container into the microwave and made my way over to Joe, laying my head on his shoulder.

“Sorry if I'm kinda clingy, I just missed you.” - you

“Don't ever apologize for wanting to be close to me, baby.” - Joe’s hand moved to cradle your head

Just a few seconds before the timer went off, I stopped is as to not wake up the twins with the loud ding.

After handing Joe his food with a kiss on the cheek, I walked upstairs.

I told Joe that I went up there to finish cleaning up but in reality, I was lighting the candle. The directions said that it would smell like vanilla for the first 30 minutes, then it would gradually start to smell bad.

Once it was in a sufficient spot I made my way back downstairs. Joe was in the same spot he was when I left but now he was just in his grey sweatpants as he ate and scrolled on his phone.

The floorboards creaked before I was completely in the kitchen and Joe looked behind him to make sure it was just me.

“You look incredibly beautiful in that nightgown by the way.” - Joe

“Well thank you, a special someone bought it for me.” - you

“A special someone?” - Joe gave you a confused/agitated look

“You bought it for me you goof.” - you laugh

“Oh!” - Joe laughed

We shared small talk as he finished eating. Talking about dinner for the rest of the week, the grocery list, just little things.

Joe abruptly stood up and walked over to the sink to wash the Tupperware his chicken and noodles were in. My eyes couldn't seem to peak away from his body, his back muscles flexed with every scrub he made making me feel hot all over.

He grabbed a towel and was now facing me as he dried the dish, my eyes still drawn to the veins protruding from his hands and arms.

After it was dry to his liking he put it up and the cabinet and sat back down on the stool next to me.

With a longing glance at each other, Joe swiftly grabbed my waist and pulled me off my stool and onto his lap. My hands landed on his chest as his mouth was immediately on mine.

Joe’s hands gripped my hips and slowly slid down to my thighs.

“You still got that tiger-striped thong on?” - Joe

He was grinning up at me as his hands slowly slid under my nightgown. His eyes turned dark when his fingertips reached my hips and he hadn't felt a band.

“No panties?” - Joe’s voice dropped an octave

“No, sir.” - you

“Fuck, y/n…” - Joe groaned

I felt Joe’s hand start moving down toward my inner thigh and I had to stop him. The confused look on his face made me giggle.

“Can we do it more… vanilla tonight?” - you

“Oh yeah, that's okay with me. Whatever you want baby, I'll give you.” - Joe

“Okay… now where were we?” - you

Joe moved his hands back to my waist and stood up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he continued kissing me.

Joe’s pace changed as we passed by the twin’s room to make sure the sound of us rushing to the bedroom wouldn't wake them up.

Once in the bedroom, Joe shut the door and moved to lay me down on the bed.

“Did you light a candle for mood lighting?” - Joe grinned

“Guilty.” - you laughed

Joe laughed along with me as he climbed on top of me. The candlelight accentuated the soft features of his face and enhanced them, he looked even more ridiculously beautiful than he already was.

The faint smile on his face melted my heart as he admired me.

“Gosh… I love you so much y/n.” - Joe

I reached up and combed his curls back with my hand before slowly moving my hand lower to stroke his cheek.

“I love you too, Joe. So so much.” - you

Joe gently pressed our lips together. We engaged in a thorough, slow-burn kiss, that had my toes curling in my fluffy socks.

Very slowly, Joe’s hands moved from my sides and back up my nightgown. He started gently inching it up my body as his lips never left mine.

Once it was completely off my body, Joe disengaged his lips from mine to pull it over my head. The only thing I was left in was my bra.

“You are so… beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful. You're just… breathtaking y/n.” - Joe

His eyes scanned over my body with so much love behind them. I wanted nothing more than to lean over and blow the candle out, knowing It was going to ruin this intimate moment but it was too late.

Joe’s once content face was scrunched up in disgust as he abruptly rolled off of me.

“What the fuck is that?” - Joe

“What do you mean? Did I do something?” - you

“I don't think so… unless. Babe, did you fart? If you did…. goddamn!” - Joe

“Joseph Lee! I did not let one rip while we were trying to get it on!” - you

Joe tried so hard not to cackle but ultimately failed, his nose re-scrunching when he took a big inhale.

“What the actual hell is that putrid smell then, I know for sure it wasn't me! That smells so bad that if it was me I'd be in the bathroom right now.” - Joe

I giggled to myself as Joe hopped off the bed and started smelling around the room.

“Joe baby, you look like a damn bloodhound smelling around like that.” - you hollered laughing

“Well, I'm trying to find whatever the fuck that is so I can get rid of it! I'm not going to bed until I get some sugar.” - Joe

My laughing only got louder as Joe dropped to his knees and started looking under the bed for the source of the stink.

“Maybe there's a dirty pull-up under here…” - Joe grumbled

I rolled off the bed and grabbed a pair of Joe’s boxers that were clean and in his pile of laundry before slipping them on and walking over to his nightstand.

“Baby get off the floor.” - you

“Hold on! I think I'm getting close!” - Joe

“Joe! Get up! It's the candle!” - you laughed

Joe suddenly stood up and looked at me with a confused look on his face.

“How is it the candle? It says vanilla?” - Joe

He walked over to me and I plugged my nose before blowing it out and moving it toward his nose.

Joe looked at me hesitantly before leaning down and smelling the freshly melted wax. He immediately jumped back and gagged at the terrible stench as I seemed t never stop laughing.

“God bless!” - Joe

“I pranked you pretty good huh babe?” - you

“That was not funny at all, and now our room smells terrible. Looks like there's no sex on the menu tonight.” - Joe pouted

The way he exaggeratedly pushed his bottom lip out in a frown had me grinning. I got on my tiptoes and repeatedly pecked his lips till his pout turned into a small smile.

“We can sleep on the couch and watch movies tonight.” - you smiled

I watched Joe’s smile fall back into a pout as he pressed his hips against my thigh, reminding me of his dilemma.

The unamused look on my face only made him more whiney as multiple “please y/n” fell from his lips.

“Here, how about we get in the shower and I suck you off at the end. Would that make you happy?” - you sighed

“No. I don't want pity head.” - Joe grumbled

“Boy please you know pity head doesn't exist in this relationship.” - you smirked

Joe’s frown once again turned into a smile as he took my hand and led us into the bathroom.

Once both of us stripped naked and got in the shower, Joe got his head before he pressed me against the shower and finally got what he'd been craving since the game ended.

After we cleaned each other off and hopped out of the shower, our bedroom had finally gone back to smelling like it normally does.

When Joe flopped on the bed he almost immediately knocked out.

“Tired?” - you kissed his forehead

Joe nodded and I kissed him one last time before cuddling up to him and falling asleep.

One thing you can take from our relationship is no matter what, get you a man that'll still rock your word less than 10 minutes after he thought you let out the worst-smelling fart known to man.

———————————————————————

Authors note: a random daydream turned into one of my fav fics ever. 💀

Hope you enjoyed! ❤️

[jendeyfer70]

Jimmy and Robin Burrow!!