Back When He Was Called "Sunshine"

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - Championship Tears.

Tenth instalment of the forbidden au - lsu!joe x oc

Full AU masterlist here -> ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden

Summary: Joe plays in the SEC Championship game while Daisy watches on from the stands in his jersey, and Joe plucks up the courage to ask her a question that has been dancing on his mind.

⋆｡˚ word count: 7.0k

18+ Content. MDNI :). Mentions of drinking, drug use, smoking and sex. ⋆｡˚

Since getting back from Miami everything seemed to be falling into place. Daisy and Joe were closer than ever before, starting to do things outside the realm of their beds and going out into the baton rouge streets. They were going out for dinner, going to the movie theatre, she would sit in the stands during his training sessions while doing some studying simply because the thought of not being close to him was unbearable. And the sex...the sex had become something so much more. Something gentle and hungry, passionate and loving, fiery and timid. It became something meaningful.

Never did she think they would become like this. Not when she met him in that fraternity kitchen drunk and moody, when he couldn't stand her and she couldn't stand him, that they would turn out this way. Their lives so intertwined and so deeply connected thinking of the time he wasn't in her life was difficult--and painful.

Two weeks.

That's how long they had lived in this blissful paradise where only the two of them seemed to exist.

But right now, that paradise was a state away.

Today was the SEC championship game between LSU and Georgia, and for the first time this season Daisy had made the commute to an away game. She couldn't not be here, and Joe wanted her in the stands more than he wanted to win. In his birthday present, Burrow written in bold across her back like she belonged to him because she did.

The dome was alive.

Mercedes-Benz Stadium pulsed with light and noise, a pressure cooker of anxious fans and family waiting for the coin toss to begin. The noise bounced off the walls like a thunder that never quite faded. Purple and gold flags rippled through the LSU fan section where Daisy sat beside Cassie and Bella. All three of them in the famous baton rouge colours. The night was biting in the early December temperature, but under the stadium lights the air felt hot and humid. Daisy sat a few rows back from the front in the oversized white jersey she had been gifted. The front of it tucked lightly into her distressed denim miniskirt and a thick oversized leather bomber jacket across her shoulders to shield her from any frost in the air. Her hair was half up, half down and slicked back into a purple bow at the back of his head, like she had done when she was cheerleader.

She had been thinking about returning to it in junior year, auditioning in the spring. Jada wouldn't be on the team anymore next year but she would be picking her replacement and team leaders so Daisy knew there was a good chance she could be taken back, especially since she owed her a favour from homecoming.

A coors light can was lodged between her fingers and she took light sips from it to try and calm her anxiety. The journey here she had been a ball of nerves, constantly picking away at the skin around her freshly done purple acrylic nails. Her pinky nail had a small number nine drawn on the tip in white, Joe had told her to do it. He thought it was going to bring him luck for the game but Daisy knew he didn't need it, nevertheless it was on there.

Georgia was a good team, a valiant threat but the tigers hadn't lost all season and they couldn't start tonight--not when it meant to so much. The sea of red in the opposite stands was like a breathing fire, loud and relentless, inextinguishable. Heavy marching bands and drums pounded out like war songs.

There was not an empty seat within the stadium by the time the coin toss took place. Everyone was on their feet, Daisy stood both proudly and nervously in her deep brown cowboy boots as she watched.

Please God, I know i'm not your greatest servant, but let him win.

She prayed. Her sage eyes glancing briefly at the sky above. Please.

The white jersey stuck to him, number 9 on his chest like it was his armour. His white helmet reflected the lights as he called out his his offensive line, his voice sharp and steady as he prepared for the opening snap of the game.

Daisy's heart rose.

Joe hunched over waiting.

The air in the stadium paused. Every thing hanging in a frozen limbo for three seconds. Sucked in breaths held in the chests of thousands.

Then he had the ball in his hands.

The game began.

The field surged around him--Georgia's line breaking through like wolves, closing in on him and fast. Joe didn't flinch. He stepped up into the pockets of free space he had been gifted, his shoulder dipping as he avoided being hit by the opposing players. Pressure snapped at his ankles but he kept his focus downfield, on what he had spent the whole season practicing. He saw his man and he let the cannon fire. A spiral so clean it, cutting through the air like a knife through butter. It was the kind of pass that hung in the sky for a heartbeat too long, too perfect as it dropped straight into the hands of Justin with a precision that caused the LSU stand to erupt in ecstasy. The sideline too. The coaches threw there arms in the air and teammates swarmed. An opening touchdown from an incredible throw but it was Joe Burrow, could anyone expect anything less.

But to Daisy, it wasn't Joe Burrow. It was the boy she knew. The one who slouched lazily in her dorm room playing uno with her roommate while she studied, the one who had let her ice his bruises in a small bathroom. The one who had taken her to Mcdonald's at one am after the worst performance of his life just because she hadn't eaten that day. It was her Joe, who had just done that.

Pride swelled him her chest as she cheered up and down, arm and arm with Cassie and Bella.

Joe tugged his helmet off as the play reset, his jaw tight and ticking, tanned face flushing under the lights. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, neck gleaming but he lifted up his chin. He was looking for her. Through the thousands in the sea of purple and gold, he looked for her. Camera's flashed off to the side, capturing him from all angles. Coaches shouted for him, but he couldn't pay any attention to that--not until he saw her in his jersey, saw that she was actually here and safe, watching him.

As the seconds trailed on he began to feel his heartbeat quicken, still his blue eyes hadn't landed on her face.

But then they did and of course she was already looking at him.

They met. Just for a moment no longer than a breath.

A smile curled at his lips. He held up his hand and tapped at this nail of his pinky finger. A quick symbol. A quick thank you from him to her. She had caused that throw. She was bringing him all the luck in the world and Joe knew, with her in the stands that there was no way he would lose this game.

Daisy smiled back at him. Rubbing the pinky nail he was referring too in between the thumb and index finger of her other hand as if it was a genies lamp capable of granting three wishes. If it was she knew what she would wish for.

Joe's victory.

Joe's lips.

Joe's heart.

Although, she knew she wouldn't need a wish for the first two. The third one, she was still undecided on. He seemed to like her, but he was a frat boy--you never truly know with them.

The game kept going. Noise surged back flooding into her ears. It never quietened to anyone else but Daisy.

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The final minutes of the game ticked down like they were being dragged against gravity. So painfully slow. The whole stadium holding there breathe as if the history hadn't already been made.

LSU was winning.

Winning big.

The scoreboard showed it off in bold red lines. 37 - 10.

When the final whistle blew. The stadium erupted. Grown men in golden body paint screamed and cried, beer was tossed in the skies above them like rice at a wedding. Such untouchable happiness that would never die.

Daisy felt numb. Her legs paralysed as she watched Joe collapse the his knees on the field. Sure, she had watched him win before but this was different, this was heavier. Tears of joy welled in her eyes, she hadn't been expecting herself to find it so emotional. Everyone else around her was cheering but she couldn't cheer, she could only watch.

Joe was walking the field, helmet held firmly under his tense bicep. He was surrounded by a sea of plays and coaches and tv camera, microphones being shoved into his face. He spoke to them with sweat laced blonde curls and a strong voice, he was being played on the big screens. And she watched. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

Purple, cold and white confetti poured from the skies. It stuck in his hair and to the sheen on his skin, his mouth curled as he tried to pull it off. He was so happy. Daisy was so happy watching him be so happy. Warmth swan in the centre of her chest. Flutters radiated through her stomach.

Joe pulled away from the reporters around, cameras still following him and he looked for her. He nodded his way through the slaps on his back and handed off his helmet to a member of the training staff. He couldn't see her in the seats where she had been.

No. She wasn't there.

He moved fast across the green grass.

She was moving too.

She slipped out of Justin's hug on the field and moved past him. Her heartbeat was louder in her chest than the music blaring around the stadium.

They met in the end zone--breathless, flushed, her hands shaking from the cold or was it from him.

Joe looked at her with wide eyes, his jersey grass stained, his face covered in a glow of hard work. The real trophy of tonight was in front of him.

'Congratulations, Joe' Her voice was so sweet it almost hurt him to hear because the ache it caused was so intense. He couldn't handle it, so he did the only thing that would ease the ache. He did the only thing he needed to do.

He cupped her cheeks and brought her lips to his. He didn't even think it through, but when he felt the white flash of a camera through his closed eyes he pulled back.

He shouldn't have done it. Not here. But he hadn't been thinking about anything but her.

'Fuck--I'm sorr-' He began.

'It's okay, really' She soothed.

For the first time that evening, Joe let the grin break fully across his face. A grin which was boyish, tired and full of every emotion he had carried with him to Atlanta, Georgia.

He threw his arm over her shoulder and guided her through the sea of people and towards the tunnel.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

'Wait, no Daisy you look so good' Bella teased as she held up the photo's the journalists had taken two days ago in Georgia on her phone screen. Specifically the one of her and Joe walking through the sea of people.

She groaned as she covered her face with her hoodie covered palms as she lay sprawled across the soft white couch of Bella's off campus apartment. Cassie giggled from beside her and Aalia, Bella's roommate laughed as well. They never really spent time here, and Aalia had a completely separate group of friends so nights like this were a rare, but special, occasion. A complete girls night in the comfort of a plush modern apartment rather than a tight and humid dorm room.

'Can you not, this isn't a good thing. I've had to private my fucking instagram' Daisy huffed. It was true, since the photo's got published she had gained a few hundred new followers and received a few DMs from Joe's fans. It was strange, and felt invasive. She had to shut it down before anything more could happen.

'Your instagram. How ever will you cope?' Aalia jibed sarcastically from the fluffy pink bean bag in the centre of the living room floor. Daisy just rolled her eyes.

'Are you guys dating now or what?'

'What?' Daisy looked at Bella like she had grown two heads and a tail. 'No. Of course not'

'I'm sorry. Is it not reasonable to ask if you're dating a boy who just publicly kissed you on national television?'

Daisy covered her face again, hiding the redness and embarrassment that swept beneath it.

'She had a point, Dais' Cassie spoke softly.

'It's not that its unreasonable, it's just--uhh' Daisy struggled to put it into words what she was feeling.

'Do you have feelings for him?' Aalia asked.

'Yes' Daisy quietly responded, just loud enough so everyone could hear but not loud enough that it felt like a real admission.

'Does he have feeling for you?' Bella asked.

'I don't know' Daisy shrugged honestly. She though he did, he acted like he did but how could she know for certain.

'He does, Ja'marr told me Joe always talks about you. Ja'marr thinks he could be in love with you' Cassie said as she picked at her nails from beside Daisy on the couch.

The air was sucked from Daisy's lungs.

'When are you speaking with Ja'marr?' Bella looked at Cassie with a scowled brow and a squinted look.

'We text' Cassie shrugged.

'Since when' Bella tossed her head to the side in shock.

'Since we were thrown into a dysfunctional friend group of six where you fucked Justin then developed some weird awkward sibling relationship, where Daisy and Joe are so clearly fucking in love but won't ever do anything about it because he's leaving to god knows where in four months and Justin is realising that he might actually be in love with Daisy as well but--' Cassie slapped her hand over her mouth and paled. Her ferocious rambling coming to an abrupt stop as everyone in the rooms mouths dropped.

Daisy's head snapped to her. So much information to take in.

In love. Leaving.

Daisy never spent much time thinking about was was going to happen in a few months when Joe up and left college for the NFL draft and then embarked on a brutal pre-season training regime. She'd never let her mind wander to that far in the future but now it was here on her doorstep, banging on the wood trying to get into her mind.

Her heart thrummed against her caged chest with a rapid pace.

Justin.

'What' Daisy croaked out through her now dry lips. Her throat clogged with a lump.

'I wasn't--shit--I was told not to say anything' Cassie winced at herself. 'Justin told Ja'marr that, that he thinks he cares about you more than a friend should'

Joe could never find out. Never. That would destroy everything. This had to be kept quiet just until they were no longer teammates, until the season was done and the national title had been won. Everything was temporary now. The whole friendship between the six of them, it was all destined to crumble to the ground and turn to an ash they would simply mourn.

'Welp. Sucks to be you guys' Aalia said with an awkward chuckle, rubbing the palms of her hands on her knees and then standing up, walking in the direction of the kitchen to grab a bottle of dark cherry red liquid.

Daisy bit at her nails. Her mind still running wild with...well, with everything.

'You can't tell Joe' Cassie grumbled. 'Not now, not yet'

'I know, Cass' and Daisy did, more than Cassie even knew.

'This is so beyond fucked' Bella huffed, sinking back into her seat.

Daisy couldn't stop thinking about all the small moments between her and Justin, that she hadn't even bothered to dwell on before. It was like a third eye was opening in the centre of her forehead and she was seeing everything in a clear light.

Them moments, like when he helped her on the field after the SEC championship and pulled her into a warm embrace, or when he dropped by her dormitory with game tickets and a Jefferson jersey. When he jumped up off the couch first in Miami when she asked if they were coming to the beach. Maybe the most obvious sign she missed was when he would text her late at night asking what she was doing, or if they could hang out. Most of the time she said no, but there were times when she said yes. And he would come over, freshly showered near drowning in sandalwood scented cologne and sitting on her bed with her talking and talking and talking about anything.

All them times Joe had been jealous of Justin, and she had so valiantly defended him. How had she missed it? All them signs seemed clear as day now in the hindsight that was 20/20.

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Daisy was spread out under the soft covers of Joe's bed. Her head pounding and her throat dry. Yesterday had been his birthday party, and a combined championship celebration at the fraternity which meant thing had gotten pretty out of control. So much alcohol. So much spilt beer. So much grinding against each other. Half of the night was a blur, a black void of forgotten moments that both her and Joe were paying the price for this morning.

'Happy birthday' Daisy turned over and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. Joe groaned and stirred, his own head pulsing with a harsh and painful beating. His lazy eyes looked over her messy hair and clean skin, a breath of fresh air in the musk of his fraternity bedroom. He would never get used to the sight of her in the morning, when she woke up all disheveled from being roughly fucked only hours earlier. Her smile so sweet and sickly, her eyes so bright yet tired. He ran his hand through her hair, playing with the lightly curled ends as he looked at her with adoration.

'thank you, cub'

She beamed at the nickname that seemed to stick.

'I got you a present' Daisy bit her bottom lip to hide her smile. 'Give me one second and it will be ready' then she ran off into the bathroom leaving the underneath of Joe's arm cold from her quick departure.

After a couple minutes, Daisy called out from the bathroom through a slit in the door.

'Close your eyes'

'No. Dais- what are yo-'

'Close your eyes' She said more sternly, and then he shut them.

He heard her bare feet walk out onto the bedroom floor, he heard the creak and then the click of the bathroom door. Then, she cleared her throat giving a signal that he could open his eyes. and he did. and then he closed them again. Multiple times at a quick pace. He tried to blink away the vision in front of him because there was no way it could be real. Heaven could not be stood in his room.

but it was.

She was.

Daisy was stood in black lace lingerie, the bralette see through. The thong connected to guarders wrapped around her soft thighs. Lace stockings landing just beneath them. Her puffy lips bitten between her white teeth. Her sage eyes glossed over in a hungry nervousness and suddenly his hangover was cured. He had been touched by a miracle in the form of the pretty flower in front of him.

'holy shit'

'You like it' Daisy twirled, lingering a second longer on the behind view so Joe could see her ass in the thong.

'Come'ere' Joe egged her over with a flick of his head. He was already hard beneath his boxers and he yearned to feel her skin pressed against him.

It hadn't even been six hours since they last had sex, but that amount of time still felt too long.

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The sound of slapping skin and passionate moans hung in the dense air around them. Joe took Daisy from behind, pulling on her hair as she arched for him. One hand guiding her every movement down his stiff length. He left the stocking and guarders on, but he ripped off the bra and thong only moments after she had put them on. He liked the stockings. He liked the stockings a lot.

'Mmm, Joey' She moaned, her eyes fluttering closed.

'That's it, baby. You like getting fucked like this?'

'Mmhmm' She moaned again as Joe upped the pace of his thrusts. Sweat beading on his forehead and a warm glow shining across Daisy's back.

'That's my girl. No one else will ever make you feel like this y'know. Just me, cub, just me'

Joe brought his hand to her dripping core, touching her sensitive area. The stimulation made Daisy's legs shake and lock in unfathomable pleasure. She knew he was right. Know one else could make her feel like this because Joe was one of one in every capacity.

It was only moments later she felt the intensity of her climax while she screamed out into the pillow beneath her face. Joe came around two minutes later. He moaned her name. He always did when he came, and Daisy still couldn't get used to such a sweet sound.

When they came down from the highs of their orgasms, they lay beside each other, their legs intertwined and tangled. Naked flesh against naked flesh. The room was dim, washed in the golden light of winter sun which made everything around them look like a dream. The soft sheets were messy at their waists, the air still warm with the smell of sex and the faint hint of salt on their warm skin. Joe had one arm beside his head while the other wrapped around her petite frame and traced absent-minded love hearts on her shoulder. Daisy's hair fell softly against his arm, her lashes low but her eyes not quite closed as she embraced his soothing touch. Joe stared at her like he was trying to memorise ever small detail on her perfect skin, and maybe he was or maybe he had done that already.

He swallowed once, his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth and a lump of nerves forming in his throat. He had been thinking about asking her something the past few days and now, in this light, on this morning he had decided it was time to be a man and do it.

'Cub' He said softly, a voice in the back of his clouded head yelling at him to stop before he couldn't take what he was about to say back.

Daisy turned her head slightly, eyes meeting his. Her expression was open, sleepy and a small bit curious.

'I want you to come with me' He murmured, like it was hard for him to say and it was. 'To the Heisman'

Daisy's brows lifted in both surprise and awe. She had never expected this, never in a million years did she think these words would fall out of his mouth.

'You want me there?' She whispered, her voice so low and breathy like she his invite was so fragile she was scared she may break it.

Joe looked at her--he really looked at her.

'I want you with me, not just there'

The words came out more vulnerable than he had planned. Daisy stared at him and something moved behind her eyes -- an echo of every moment they'd held back from saying what this really was between them. This was as close as Joe would ever come to telling her that this was something more than what it had started out as. His family would be there, and she would sit beside them. He would win the trophy and she would watch from the audience. Then he would give a speech, and maybe he would mention her. Finally, he would make his way back to her and place a kiss on her cheek, invite her beside him to take a photo with the most prized possession of his career so far. This meant something. This meant more than anything.

'Are you sure?' Daisy gave him another chance to take this all back, maybe it was the post sex euphoria that was making him feel this way and as soon as he came down from it, he would change his mind.

'I'm sure' Joe stuck by his word.

'People will talk' Daisy spoke the plain truth, one which Joe was already aware of. Media would be there and they would print it in the press that she was his girlfriend. She would be publicly claimed for all of America to see, and he would be seen as off the market.

'Let em'

Joe didn't care about what anyone else had to say, he just cared to make sure that Daisy would be there by his side on the greatest night of his life. Both of their pulses drummed against their necks. The gravity of Joe's words pulling at Daisy, the world around her seemed to tilt.

This was Joe telling her--i'm happy to be known as yours.

This was Joe asking her--are you happy to be known as mine?

Daisy let out a trembled breath, just a little one.

'Okay, I'll come'

Joe didn't smile, not fully but the corners of his lips curled. His eyes softened in a way that felt so much deeper. Grateful. A little bit relieved that she had said yes. He didn't know what he would have done if she had said no. He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Then they stayed in that moment for a short while, in the warmth of his words and the cover of his duvet. Their bodied curved into each other like a perfect puzzle.

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The rest of the week Daisy's excitement built and built. She went dress shopping with Bella and Cassie in New Orleans, and she managed to find the perfect skin tight deep silver dress that was equal parts sexy and classy, elegant and sultry. Joe had begged to see it while she straddled him in his bedroom when she got back but she refused to let him, she wanted it to be a surprise for the ceremony in just over a few days time.

Them few days seemed to be lingering on for too long.

The classroom buzzed softly -- the bright fluorescent white lights overhead, the occasional rustle of snuck in snacks and the turning of notebook pages. The professors voice faded into the background, monotone against Daisy's thoughts as she sat beside a bored and uncomfortable Bella who still had her sunglasses on due to the rager she went to last night.

Daisy sat beside her, her back straight against the uncomfortable blue plastic chairs. One hand curled around her pen as she tapped lightly against the table. Her eyes focusses on the clock in the centre of the blank white wall. It ticked in a slow cruelty. Every second stretching so longingly. She bounced her leg under the desk. Only five minutes of class left before she can race across campus back into Joe's bed.

When class ended, she scrambled to pack away her belongings as rows of students exited from the back of the hall. But then--she was interrupted.

'Hey, you're Daisy Moore right?' The words came out the thin red lips of a stunning red headed girl. Freckles spreading all across her cheeks and piercing blue eyes. She was petite and pale. Her striking hair wafted over her shoulder in waves that were too perfect to be accidental. She smiled, but behind it there was a secret. Daisy could see it, but she didn't know what it was and her stomach churned with a fear she may be about to find out.

Daisy's brows pulled together with caution while Bella too turned her head to the red head in curiosity. 'Yeah' Daisy breathed.

The girl nodded like she had known the answer already, her gaze shifted to one of guilt and sympathy. She shifted, looking at Daisy's notebook, then back to her.

'You're dating Joe Burrow?'

Daisy for a beat froze, then she shook her head.

'No.' She croaked out as the cold, villainous hands of anxiety wrapped around her throat. 'We're--we're um friends'

For a moment, it seemed like relief washed across the red head's face and she debated her next decision through her mind. Daisy watched, she could see the cogs in her head turning.

Don't tell me. Please. Don't tell me. Daisy thought because she knew there was only one thing that could be coming in a conversation like this. Bella grabbed her friends hand reassuringly because she too knew what bomb was about to land in the middle of the lecture hall.

'Right. Well. Just in case' The red head readied up the weapon in her mouth.

'It's just, I saw him kiss you after the Georgia game and I just thought you should know that a few--' She hesitated like it was painful to say. 'A few weeks back, he had been messaging me--you know, late at night, um sexting me and I replied because I had no idea about you. I'm sorry, I really am, I just--even if you're not together I though you should know'

'How long ago?' Bella asked because Daisy could not speak. The world around her came tumbling and crashing, burning it's way to the ground.

'When he was out of state--for the game against Arkansas'

That made the world simply explode into grey ash that could never be put back together. He had done this after Miami. A few days after. Was it the second he left the state, was that when he was on the phone to another girl begging her for nude images and then tugging himself away to her. Bile rose up in Daisy's throat. She was going to throw up at the thought of him.

'Cunt' Bella spat from beside Daisy.

'Thank you, for telling me' Daisy could only whisper her words to the red head who had just destroyed her. It wasn't her fault but she still couldn't bring herself to look at her. The pain was too fresh and too raw for her to stare at.

When the girl had left, and so had pretty much all of the other students -- Daisy opened up the flood gates. The tears spilled over her waterline and cascaded down her cheeks. Bella pulled her into a warm hug, one which she so desperately needed and she sobbed against the cotton fabric of her friends t-shirt. Bella held her like she was paper, fragile and crushable all at once. She held her like she was scared to let her go. How could Joe have done this? She thought but she knew how, because he was a frat boy with only half a cold dead heart. Lucas was the same, they were all the fucking same. Joe had Daisy fooled, he had everyone fooled because even Bella had believed that there was something special between them. But this. This act of down right nastiness had shown otherwise. And from this, Joe could never come back--not for Bella.

'I'm so stupid' Daisy sobbed heart wrenchingly into the crook on Bella's neck. Her words breaking apart just like the heart that pounded in her chest. 'How could I be so stupid--again?' Daisy cursed herself, and this blow, this heartbreak was twice as painful as the last because it brought everything back. All the times girls had told her stories of Lucas' cheating, all the messages and photographs of hard proof flickered through her mind. And now Joe. He hadn't cheated. How could it be cheating when they weren't together? He hadn't even gone against their arrangement. Sexting and exchanging nudes wasn't physical intimacy so he could be spared of this betrayal on a thin technicality but it still hurt. God, did it hurt. It hurt more than anything. The pain in Daisy's chest made her feel like she was going to die. She couldn't catch her breathe and everything seemed to be fading to black.

Her tears came harder -- hot, aching and bitter -- the kind of cry you can only let out when your in a deep state of mourning.

'You're not stupid, Daisy' Bella wrapped a caring hand around her friends head as she held her in the crook of her neck, lightly stroking her hair. 'He invited you to meet his family, he gave you birthday presents, he showered you in kisses and affection. You fell for him, like every woman would fall for a man that did that'

Daisy shook her head into Bella's shoulder like she couldn't believe what she was saying.

The classroom around them stayed quiet, the professor had gone as soon as the class went so it was just the two of them in the wreckage of the bomb site. Overhead lights blinked and hummed in a way that felt almost taunting because they reminded Daisy of the lights in Joe's bathroom. She didn't know why she was crying anymore. She couldn't tell if it was because of Joe or her own stupidity. Bella let her friend fall apart never once asking her to speak or tell her how she was feeling, she just let the emotions flood through her and out into her arms.

Then, the phone on the desk buzzed.

Daisy pulled back and looked at it with mascara smudged all around her eyes and a sniffling red nose.

Joe

His name flashed up on the screen because she was late to meet him. She hadn't even realised she had been sat crying into Bella for close to forty five minutes.

She winced as she watched it ring away. She winced as she watched his name fade from the screen. She couldn't speak to him, not now -- probably not for a while. Not until she figured out what was happening in her head and her heart.

'We should get back to your dorm, Dais. A class is gonna be in here next period'

All Daisy could muster was a nod in agreement, then she turned off her phone as he rang it again. She couldn't even handle the pain of seeing his name.

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Joe paced in his room. Daisy was over an hour and a half late. Her phone was going straight to voicemail and he could feel it deep in his bones that something was wrong. A feeling of dread clawed at his stomach. The air felt different in a way it had never felt before.

He sent her another text. Then he sent Cassie one. He just wanted to know where she was, he just wanted to know that she was safe.

He didn't even hear the heavy footsteps of someone running up the stairs to his bedroom, but he did hear his door slam open.

'Tell me you fucking didn't'

Justin was seething with anger. His eyes so pointed and full of hatred. His chest puffing and panting from the intensity of his emotions rather than the run to Joe's room.

Joe looked at him startled.

'TELL ME YOU FUCKIN DIDN'T' Justin commanded with a harsh shout Joe had never heard before. It sounded like it came from the depths of his teammates stomach. It sounded like a beast had been unleashed from it's cage.

'Didn't what' Joe could only shoot back a cocky response, he didn't want Justin to see that he was rattled by him. But Joe made the wrong choice, he made a fatal error.

Justin ran at him, grabbing him by the colour of his black training shirt and shoved him hard against the bedroom walls. Joe was taller than him, and usually stronger but Justin's adrenaline gave him an uncharacteristic advantage against his quarterback.

Ja'marr stood in the doorway, he heard the noise and came rushing to see what was happening.

'Did you fucking sext some bitch in Arkansas? Huh?'

Justin knew the answer the second the blood drained from Joe's face. Bella had texted him about what had occurred in the classroom, instructing him to figure out if it was true but he already knew it was because he knew exactly what Joe was capable of doing. Joe wasn't a good guy, not for Daisy. He knew it from the moment they started hooking up that something like this would happen.

'You're a fucking dick, Joe' Justin looked at his teammate dead in the eyes, wanting him to really take in the words he was saying. He wanted him to feel it, every bit of shame he could for what he had done to Daisy.

'Does she know?' It was all Joe cared to ask. He could deal with Justin later.

'Does she know?' Justin scoffed. 'Yeah, Joe, she fucking knows'

With that, Joe shoved Justin off him and ran out of his bedroom refusing to acknowledge the winced and shy look of shame his best friend Ja'marr gave him as he darted past. He could feel all that later, but right now he needed to get to her, get to Daisy. He needed to explain it. Not that he could.

He had sexted that red haired girl. Macy. Late at night, after drinking at a club in Arkansas, when he was bored and alone in his hotel room and Daisy wasn't picking up the phone because she must have been asleep. It wasn't even extensive, just two nudes of a Macy's breasts and some half assed flirting before he got bored and snapped out of it. He never even saved the photos, in fact he deleted them and blocked the girl on everything. He, even drunkenly, realised the monumental fuck up he had made. It was like for a brief moment he slipped back into his old self, like Daisy didn't exist. He never thought anyone would find out. He never though this would happen.

Joe sprinted across campus. Across the quad. Across the green grass. Ignoring everyone who looked at him as he passed. He had blinkers on, his mind only focussed on getting to her. His breath was so ragged, his own heart beginning to crack at the fact that he knew deep down that after this, he and Daisy would never be the same. His lungs burned. Or maybe it was his heart. He couldn't stop to find out.

He thought about how Daisy would be hurting. How she would be thinking that he had fooled her. How she would be thinking that she didn't matter to him at all. That spurred him on. He ran even faster. The wind hitting against his skin like icy daggers. His hair blown back. Never had he ran like this on the field because despite his love of football Daisy meant more, he realised that now, in the moment when he knew he was losing her -- he realised that she meant more to him than it all, than everything. The Heisman wouldn't mean anything if she wasn't their to watch him win it. The national championship wouldn't mean anything if she wasn't their in the stands.

He hit the steps up to the entrance of her dorm building, he took them two at a time. The halls inside were busy, and warm, lit by the soft sleepy light of sunset through the vast windows. His hand clung to the walls as he rounded the sharp corners. He knocked into people and didn't stop as they shouted curse words behind him.

When he finally saw her dorm room door at the end of the hallway. He hesitated for a second. Only a second. He had no clue what he was going to say, but he had to try. His chest clenched in regret. He didn't even understand why he responded to Macy's message in the pale moonlight. Why couldn't he have just gone to sleep?.

He knocked on the door with a shaking fist.

No answer.

He knocked on it harder, with purpose and pain.

'Please' He begged.

When he heard the handle twist he braced himself to see her. To see her red eyes and hear her pain stricken sobs.

but as the door opened they never came.

Cassie stood there with a look of pure, truthful hate. He didn't even know a girl like Cassie was capable of hatred. But she was, because she hated him and he could feel it.

'I need to see her'

'You can't.' Cassie held her chin high, and her voice strong.

'Please. Cassie. Let me explain to her'

'You can't' She spat at him, venom dripping off each word.

'Cass--'

'She's gone, Joe' She told him coldly. She wasn't happy that he had dragged her best friend away from her.

The coldness of her words looped through his mind like static, unravelling the world he had build around him. Gone.

'Where?' Maybe he could go to her, maybe he could find her. If she was in Austin he would travel there with no question. If it was New York or California, he would get on a plane and follow her there.

'London'

Too far. She was going somewhere too far away from him. A place he wouldn't be able to touch her. He had the Heisman ceremony, the end of season games, Christmas with his family. London was too far from him.

Daisy knew that.

That's why she went. She took the earliest flight to her father.

She always spent winter break there.

What difference did going a few weeks earlier make?

Especially when it meant she would be away from every reminder of him.

The boy who had just shattered her barely mended heart.

౨ৎ

a/n: i'm sorry. (many years of angst coming)

Also, I listened to the bridge of I know the End by Pheobe Bridgers when writing Joe running across campus. Highly recommend.

Back when he was called "Sunshine"

Missing him😔

after party - joe burrow

summary while celebrities chase invites to exclusive after parties, joe slips away knowing the only invitation that matters is waiting in his hotel suite

content 18+, porn w/ more plot this time, edited repost

"C'mon," Joe hums, voice half-drunk on desire, fingers unforgiving where they work between your thighs. "Show me how much you missed me."

The California King sprawls beneath you, a cloud of soft white sheets and plush pillows that envelop you as he hooks his arm under your knee, spreading you wider. His dress pants remain on, belt undone, white shirt hanging open with its sleeves pushed to his elbows. There's something devastatingly intimate about him being partially dressed while you're completely bare—as if he’s maintaining the last semblance of control while demanding your complete surrender, a reminder of the power he holds so effortlessly.

The air is suffocating, a mix of warmth and tension that presses against your skin, laden with the scent of him—spice and sweat from whatever that cologne is, the one he always wears back home. The one that clung to you for days after he left. New York, Miami, back to New York again. Each night, only his voice on the phone.

But texts and blurry FaceTime calls weren’t enough. Not when yesterday, in the middle of his fitting, he sent you a quick text asking what you were doing. Before that was a mirror selfie, the kind he knew exactly what he was doing with.

He stood in his hotel room, presumably in this outfit for The Met, chin tipped down as he stared at himself through the screen. The top two buttons of his shirt were left open, exposing the thick lines of his collarbone and the shadowed dip between his pecs. The jacket was hanging loose as if he couldn’t be bothered to finish getting dressed. His belt hung low, the buckle unfastened, his pants unbuttoned, the V of his hips on full display. His eyes were dark, daring, and the angle was purposeful, like he wanted you to look. Like he knew you would.

You couldn't tear your eyes away. Couldn't stop imagining your hands undoing the rest of those buttons, the way the fabric would slip from his hips.

So you snapped a picture in response.

You were stretched out by the pool, the water glinting in front of you in a way that made your skin glow. The thin strap of your bikini slipped low over one shoulder, the angle strategic enough to reveal the curve of your hip and the slight dip between your thighs. A book was propped against your stomach, a finger resting on the page, your other hand holding the phone just high enough to make sure the angle captured the way your body arched over the lounge chair.

Just to push him a little further, you sent a text alongside the image.

wishing you were here :(

His reply came fast.

You think that’s funny?

You bit your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard, debating how far you wanted to push it. But he went silent. Hours dragged by. The sky shifted from blue to gold to dark, and your phone stayed quiet. The last thing you sent hung there, unanswered, taunting you:

what do you want to do about it?

Hours later, the call came.

You were already in bed, lights off, sheets tangled around your legs. His voice was rough with whiskey and something darker.

"You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?"

You swallowed, fingers twisting in the sheets. "What do you mean?"

"Don’t play with me," he said, the sound of a laugh in the background echoing. You could hear the din of people behind him but all you could picture was the way he’d looked in that mirror. 

"What are you doing?" he repeated his earlier question, the words hushed and edged with something almost desperate.

You told him. And then you told him more. What you would do if he were there. How you’d slip his jacket from his shoulders, let your mouth trail down his throat, taste his skin. How you’d let him press you against the mattress, let him spread you open and—

The call ended abruptly.

In the silence that followed, the ache for him only worsened, and longing well overwhelmed reason. You booked a last-minute flight, landed at sunset, and convinced his security to let you in without telling him. The suite waited empty, lights low, city glow seeping through the curtains like liquid gold.

You indulged in his spa shower, letting the hot water roll over your shoulders, the steam curling around you. Afterward, you wrapped a towel around yourself, skin still warm as you smoothed on his favorite lotion. And then, as you reached for your phone on the counter, the screen lit up.

Impatient, are we?

Now you're cradled against him, back flush to his chest, his hand moving with devastating precision between your legs. Every touch feels like a follow-up to that call—a reminder of every word said and every word he cut off before you could finish.

His breath is hot against your ear, dragging over your skin like he’s marking you from the inside out. His fingers work you open, thumb gliding over your clit drawing a fresh wave of heat that has your thighs shaking.

"You think sending me that picture was a good idea?" his lips graze your shoulder, every word heavy with lingering frustration.

You whimper, hips tilting to meet each thrust of his fingers. "Didn’t hear you complain," you manage, breathless.

A dark, breathy chuckle spills out from him. "You think I would?" His thumb presses down harder in a way that makes your spine arch. "You knew what you were doing, baby. Pushing me like that. Laying there all pretty by the pool while I was stuck in meetings. Was staring at that picture like a fucking idiot, hard as a rock."

His hand slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat as he tilts your head back against his shoulder, forcing you to meet his eyes. The room is dim, shadows stretching over his jaw, but you can still see the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his mouth twitches like he’s barely holding himself together.

"That what you wanted?" he asks, voice deepening to a growl. "Wanted me to lose it? Wanted me to rush back and fuck you senseless?"

You swallow hard, your throat tight beneath his palm, heat pooling deep in your belly as his fingers keep working you—curling, pressing, stroking until you're boneless against him.

"Look at you," he says. "Couldn’t wait, could you? Couldn’t wait to get me alone."

Your lips part, a shuddering breath spilling out. "Talked so much last night," he traces along your jaw, tongue flicking against the sensitive skin just beneath your ear. "Now you’re so quiet. What happened, baby? Run out of things to say?"

You shake your head. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, every inch of your skin buzzing with the memory of his voice through the phone.

Now, it’s like he’s making good on every word. Every promise. Every curse.

He maintains his merciless pace—even as your hips start to tremble, your thighs clenching around his wrist, muscles quaking as the first orgasm rips through you. It hits hard, every muscle locking up as his name spills from your lips.

"Fuck," he groans, the sound guttural against your ear. "That’s it. Just like that. So good, baby."

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

His fingers keep working you, coaxing out every aftershock, pulling every noise from you as he moves down your neck, teeth scraping along your skin.

"You can take it," he breathes. "Come on, let me feel you."

Your eyes flutter shut as your hips continue to move in time with his fingers. The wet, obscene sounds fill the room, his fingers working you open, more and more as the tension builds again. Every part of you tightens up, your composure breaking apart as that aching coil in your belly winds and winds and—

"No, J—"

"I know," he breathes, thumb pressing down in a way that make you choke on your words. "Gotta, let go for me."

"Joey," your voice cracks as another wave hits you, so intense it pulls a sob from your throat. Your thighs clamp down around his wrist as you come again, the sensation washing over you like a fever. Your vision blurs at the edges, reality narrowing to just his touch, his voice, and the overwhelming pleasure he draws from you.

Instead of stopping, he gets rougher. His fingers pump deep, dragging through your slick with, coaxing every reaction from you until it’s too much.

You’re panting, hands scrabbling at his arm, hips bucking, trying to twist away. "Joe, no, I can’t—"

His fingers finally still, buried to the knuckle inside you, the sudden stillness almost more jarring than before. Joe’s mouth moves to your jaw, brushing over your skin in soft, open-mouthed kisses.

"Okay," he says, voice softer now, thumb stroking a soothing pattern over that sensitive spot. "Okay, baby. You’re okay."

His kisses are gentle, deceptively so. They linger a second too long like he’s savoring the taste of you, like he’s plotting what comes next.

Then he shifts behind you, muscles flexing as he lifts you from his lap to the mattress. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he leans back against the headboard, broad chest heaving. His hands drop to the waistband of his slacks, fingers hooking under the belt loops, and he shoves them down his hips. 

The muscles of his thighs flex as he pushes them lower, revealing more tanned skin. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he moves—the way his focus never leaves your face as he undresses.

The second his pants are low enough, he grabs you by the hips, hauling you back into his lap. Your back is pressed to his chest again and he settles you right where he wants you—the heat of his length sliding through your folds, blunt tip catching against your clit.

"God, look at you," he rasps. "Prettiest like this. All spread out for me."

You shiver, pelvis shifting away as he slides himself through your sensitive flesh.

"Shh," he soothes, free hand traveling up your side to smooth over your breast, working your nipple between his fingers. "I know, honey. Just relax. Let me take care of you."

You can sense him sliding through your folds, every movement of his hips sending another jolt of heat spiraling through you. Each motion feels like a silent reminder of everything you’ve been craving.

And then he adjusts, angling his hips just so, his thickness pressing against your entrance. He’s so substantial, the weight of him making you freeze in place as you struggle to keep still.

"See?" he chuckles. "Told you it was okay."

The need builds until it’s almost unbearable, your body taut and strung tight with the need to be filled.

"Gonna let me fuck you?"

You cry out, head tipping back against his shoulder, nails digging into his forearm."Yes," you whimper, a fragile sound that makes him huff out a satisfied breath. "Yes, Joe, please. Need it. Need you."

His jaw clenches, muscles taut as he watches you squirm. "Fuck," he sighs, cock nudging against your entrance. "That’s what I wanted to hear."

And then he’s moving, his hands descending as he lifts you once more, flipping you beneath him.

The air between you is electric, a taut current that pulses through every inch of your skin. Joe pushes forward, the sheer size of him forcing you open, and in that breathless, burning moment, you feel yourself shatter beneath him.

His chest rises and falls in labored breaths, jaw tight, blown pupils fixed on your face as he watches you struggle to take him. The stretch is so complete it borders between pleasure and pain, each inch pressing further until it feels like he’s found parts of you no one else has ever touched.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, a broken rumble that vibrates through your chest. His hands splay over your hips, fingers digging in as he pulls back just a fraction—enough to leave you clenching around nothing and whimper from the emptiness.

Then he thrusts forward, filling you again in one powerful, unbroken glide. The head of him nudges so deep it leaves you speechless, his hips forcing shudders through your body.

Your hands fly to his biceps, fingers pressing into the hard muscle as he sets a rhythm that’s just as demanding as it is consuming. The bed creaks beneath you, the force rocking you up the mattress. The sound of skin against skin mingles with ragged sounds spilling from his throat, all mixing together with your cries

Joe leans down, forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot and heavy against your mouth. Every roll of his hips grinds against that spot that makes your clench around him, that sends you spiraling higher, heat coiling tight in your belly.

"You like that?" he pants, voice unsteady as his hips jerk forward again. "So good. My best girl. Taking me so fucking well."

His words wrap around you like another embrace, the praise pulling you closer to release.

Your body bows beneath him, every muscle taut, hips lifting to meet his relentless thrusts. The ache swells, every plunge pushing you higher, the sensation so intense it’s almost unbearable.

His mouth finds the side of your neck, teeth scraping over your skin, a ravenous sound rumbling from his chest as he pulls out all the way again, hips snapping forward. The impact sends you skidding up the mattress, drawing a cry that breaks into a sob as the pleasure crests and finally crashes over you.

Your body arches, a shockwave of heat and white-hot bliss coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in his hair as waves of bliss ripple through you, your entire being pulsing beneath his unrelenting pace.

Joe’s jaw clenches, muscles straining as he chases his own release. His grip on you tightens, the tendons in his arms standing out as he slams deeper, his thrusts now brutal drives that make you gasp with each impact.

His jaw drops open, hips faltering and rhythm breaking as a guttural moan spills from him. He shudders against you, chest heaving, eyes squeezed shut as he spills, the sensation of him inside you prolongs the ache, keeping you suspended in that heightened state of pleasure.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling in the heavy silence, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. Sweat drips from his brow to your skin, the cool trace of it a startling contrast to the heat still throbbing where the two of you are connected.

Then his grip loosens, fingers tracing lazy circles over the curve of your hip. He brushes a gentle kiss against your neck, his lips dragging slowly over your jaw, his hand sliding to your front as his hips roll forward—grinding into you again, a silent reminder that he’s still there and this is far from over.

WOWOWOWOWOWOWOW I NEED THE NEXT PART NEOW!! also JALEN!!!! HELLO. that confession was everything i needed

this was amazing

we never tell - joe burrow

summary turns out joe burrow doesn't take kindly to being treated like a stranger

content 18+, smut, angst, language, alcohol

part five

You’re getting flashbacks. Stuck in some hole-in-the-wall bar that smells like spilled beer and victory. The sort of place that's seen a thousand celebrations and will see a thousand more.

You're pressed between bodies that reek of adrenaline, trying to make yourself small in a corner booth while Dom argues with someone about LSU's defensive line. The noise is overwhelming, too many voices layered over bad music, the kind of chaos that makes your skull feel too tight.

You shouldn't be here.

Especially not when Joe keeps drifting closer to your end of the table, finding excuses to lean over Dom's shoulder, to grab napkins from the dispenser next to you, to brush past you under the pretense of squeezing through the crowded space. 

Each time, you find a reason to move: bathroom, bar, outside for air. Anything to avoid being in his orbit for too long.

"You want another drink?" Dom's voice cuts through your spiral, and you realize you've been staring at the same spot on the table for who knows how long.

"I'm fine," you lie, even though your vodka soda has been empty for twenty minutes.

He gives you that look, the one that says he's not buying it but won't push. "I'm getting one anyway."

You have to scoot out of the booth to let him pass, the awkward shuffle making you want to melt. When you slide back in Dom's absence leaves a gaping space between you and Joe. You perch on the very edge of the seat, as far from him as possible while still technically sitting down.

"I'll come help you carry," someone whose name you didn’t catch says, pushing back from the table and following him.

Dom walks towards the bar, his jersey already stained with something that could either be beer or barbecue sauce. He looks happy, loose in a way you haven't seen him in months. This is his element—celebrating with friends that weren’t his but suddenly are. Basking in reflected glory, being part of something bigger than himself.

Everyone here looks the same, drunk on victory and possibility, wearing their colors like badges of honor. You feel like an imposter in your simple black top, like everyone can see that you don't belong.

"Come on, just for a little bit," Dom had pleaded outside the Mercedes-Benz stadium, still buzzing from the win. "The guys are celebrating. It'll be fun."

You should be at dinner with your parents right now, somewhere quiet with cloth stitched napkins and muted conversations. Somewhere safe. Instead, you're trapped in this testosterone-fueled victory lap because Dom wouldn't take no for an answer.

Fun. Right.

Your mom had looked disappointed when you chose the bar over dinner, her hand lingering on your arm like she wanted to pull you back. "You sure, honey? We could all go together. Have a nice meal."

But here you are, nursing regret in liquid form, trying not to think about the last time you talked to Joe. And definitely not thinking about the last time you saw Joe face to face.

You smell his cologne and your body goes traitor, remembering what your mind has spent months trying to forget. The urge to run wars with the urge to lean closer, and both options feel like jumping off a cliff.

Your phone buzzes against your thigh, and your stomach does a familiar flip before you even check the screen.

Holy shit you saw that game?? 👀

you: sooo when were you gonna tell me you're some star qb 

You feel eyes on you and look over to catch Joe staring at your screen. His jaw is tight, and there's something unreadable in his expression as he takes in what you've written.

You tilt your phone away instinctively, but he doesn't look away. For a long moment, you're locked in this stare, heart hammering as his eyes search yours like he's trying to make sense of something. 

Then, maybe out of spite—or desperation—you adjust your grip, angling the phone just enough for him to see Jalen’s name lighting up your screen as another message comes through.

You hate that you want him to care. Hate that you’re performing for an audience of one, using someone else’s attention like a weapon. But when his mouth tenses and steel flashes behind his eyes, a sick satisfaction curls in your stomach.

From across the table, Ja’marr calls out a question to Joe and his attention reluctantly shifts. You exhale a breath you didn't realize you were holding, angling your phone away this time as another response comes through.

jalen: Ain’t noo way you saw the game

you: saw you get your ass kicked

jalen: Ouch. And here I thought you were sweet

you: you thought wrong

you: :)

You're smiling despite yourself, the first real smile you've managed all day. Something about texting Jalen feels easy, like you can be the version of yourself that doesn't carry the weight of all this drama.

you: seriously though how did you not mention you’re oklahoma’s qb 

jalen: How did you not mention you're apparently an LSU fan

Your mind drifts back to your initial message to him towards the beginning of the game. You'd been half-watching, half-scrolling through your phone, when the big screen lit up with Oklahoma's starting lineup. One by one, they announced the players, each name echoing through the Superdome as the camera followed them onto the field.

And then: "At quarterback, number one, Jalen Hurts!"

Your phone had nearly slipped from your hands.

There he was, larger than life on the jumbotron—the same honey-brown eyes, the same easy smile, but dressed in Oklahoma crimson instead of the casual clothes you'd seen him in back home. Stats flashed across the screen: 32 passing touchdowns, 20 rushing touchdowns, 3,851 passing yards. Numbers that meant he was really, really good.

Before the screen could flash on to the next player, you quickly snapped a photo and sent it to him along with a string of question marks. What you didn’t notice was how blaringly obvious the pool of purple and gold that you were swimming in looked in the picture.

You: touche

"Oh my god, no way!"

The voice is bright and excited, cutting through the noise of the bar clearly. You look up to see her weaving through the crowd, face lit up with genuine delight. Behind her, Nate follows with the kind of resigned expression that suggests this wasn't his idea.

Your stomach drops.

Dom appears at your side, fresh drinks in hand, wearing a grin that looks suspiciously planned. "Surprise!" he announces, like it's Christmas morning.

You paste on a smile, one that might’ve been genuine if not for everything that happened a year ago. "Wow," you manage, standing to greet them both. "I had no idea you were coming."

Even as you're going through the motions, your attention keeps drifting to Joe's reaction. He's gone very still, that careful mask slipping into place as Bridget gets closer.

She reaches you first, practically buzzing, her cheeks flushed with excitement and probably alcohol. She's wearing LSU colors, a purple top that brings out her eyes, gold jewelry that catches the light. She looks perfect, like she belongs. 

Part of you wants to hate her—for her posts, for being here, for the way she fits into Joe's world. But she's warm and genuine, and that makes it worse somehow. Because it would be easier if she were awful. Easier to justify the sickening jealousy that crawls about when you see her.

"I've missed you," she pulls back to look at your face. "When Dom called however many weeks ago and said he could get us here for tonight, I've been excited since."

"Weeks?" The word slips out before you can stop it, and you catch the guilty flicker in your brother's expression as he sets drinks down on the table.

"Right after we found out your family was coming to the game," Nate confirms, reaching over to dap up the other guys. "Dom said we had to be here for the game. Make it a proper reunion since no Tahoe trip for you this year."

The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. 

Your brother orchestrated this. Set you up like pieces on a chessboard, and you walked right into it. The betrayal tastes metallic, makes your hands shake as you realize how naive you've been. Does he know? About your encounters, about the phone calls, about how you've been walking around with Joe's name carved into you like scar tissue? The thought makes you want to disappear into the floor.

But Bridget doesn't seem to notice your stillness, too focused on turning her attention to Joe.

"Hey," she speaks to him. It’s almost personal the way she looks at him, not desperate or clingy, but like she has every right to be here, in this moment, celebrating his victory alongside all of you.

Joe stands from the booth to greet her properly, and you're suddenly standing beside each other, close enough that you can feel the tension radiating off him. 

Before he can react, Bridget's leaning in for a hug. It's brief but intimate, her hands resting against his shoulders. The awkward pat on her arm he gives her seems more obligatory than friendly.

When Joe pulls back, he steps away too quickly and his shoulder knocks into you, sending you stumbling back against the edge of the booth. His hand darts out instinctively, curling around your arm to steady you before you can fully lose balance. 

The contact lingers for a second longer than it should. His touch is careful, but you can feel the way his fingers flex like he doesn’t really want to let go.

His skin against yours is muscle memory, your body recognizing his touch before your brain can build its defenses. For one terrifying second, you want to melt into it. Your pulse skitters like a trapped bird, and you jerk away because staying means drowning. 

You lean away as far as the limited space allows and his face briefly twitches. You tear your gaze away from him only to lock eyes with Ja'Marr, who's been watching the two of you with barely concealed interest. 

There's recognition in his expression that makes heat crawl up your neck. You wonder what he sees, whether the careful distance you've maintained looks as desperate as it feels. Whether everyone in this space can read the story written in the space between you and Joe.

"Sorry," Joe mutters beside you. The first words he’s spoken to you since the messages stopped coming. It had been a couple days after his birthday with no reply from you, when he finally took the hint.

For what? You want to bite back.

"It's fine," you opt for instead.

You tear your gaze away from Ja'Marr and scan the faces around you. Nate is settling into conversation with one of Joe's teammates, the others are making room for everyone, and Dom is watching you.

When your eyes meet his, you raise your eyebrows slightly—that silent sibling language you've perfected over the years. What?

He shakes his head once and looks away, but not before you catch an unfamiliar edge to him. 

There's a shuffle as people start sliding into the booth, Bridget claiming the spot next to where Joe was sitting, Nate squeezing in beside her, Dom and one of the teammates on the other side. You make sure to slide in last, again perching on the very edge of the seat where you can bolt if you need to.

Joe is seated beside you, and you're hyper-aware of the space between you… or lack thereof. The booth that felt too small before now feels suffocating with everyone new crammed in.

Bridget is talking about the flight, about how excited she was to surprise everyone, and you nod along. Nate is talking about the game, how he and Bridget made friends with some random people near the student section, and you smile at his jokes. 

Your phone buzzes again, probably Jalen responding to your last message, but you don't check it. Can't, really, not with Joe sitting right there, not with the memory of his face when he saw you texting someone about being a "star QB."

More people keep filtering into the bar, LSU students still riding the high of victory, Oklahoma fans drowning their sorrows, the energy getting louder and more chaotic by the minute. 

You're ready to jump out of your own skin. The noise of the bar fades to white static as your nervous system floods with the need to escape. Anything but sitting here, drowning in the space between what you want and what you can't have, between who you're trying to be and who you become when he's near.

"—right?" Bridget's voice is directed at you, and you realize she's looking at you expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was saying how crazy it is that we're all here together. Like old times again."

"Yeah," you manage, forcing a smile. "Crazy."

But it doesn't feel like old times. It feels like wearing clothes that used to fit but now pinch in all the wrong places. Joe takes a sip of his drink, and you catch the movement in your peripheral vision, dialed into everything he does.

You start thinking of excuses. Headache. Stomach ache. Parents expecting you back. Anything to get out of here, away from the weight of Joe's presence and prying eyes.

That's when you spot him.

At first, you're not sure—it’s gotten so crowded, bodies shifting and blocking your view. But there's familiarity within the figure near the main bar area, the way he carries himself. You crane your neck slightly, trying to get a better look without being obvious about it.

Oklahoma crimson. The right height. Could it be—?

One of the guys he's with notices you staring and nudges him, pointing in your direction. When Jalen turns and looks, his face breaks into a smile you remember.

Heat crawls up your neck once again tonight, embarrassed at being caught staring, but also relieved beyond measure that it's actually him instead of some stranger. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips in response.

Jalen raises his hand and waves you over, tilting his head toward where he's standing. You slide out of the booth during a natural lull in conversation, your heart hammering so hard you're sure everyone can hear it over the noise.

Your legs feel unsteady as you navigate through the crowd, not from alcohol but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together for so long. You can still feel the phantom heat of Joe's body next to yours, the way your skin buzzed every time he shifted in his seat, the careful choreography of making sure no part of you accidentally touched any part of him.

By the time you reach Jalen, you’re full of something that feels dangerously close to gratitude. He represents everything that booth didn't—ease, simplicity, the possibility of a conversation that doesn't require you to search every word for hidden meanings.

"Look who decided to join the losing side."

"Someone had to check on you," you say, surprised by how normal your voice sounds when everything inside you feels like it's vibrating at the wrong frequency.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. "Check on me? I'm not the one who looks like I'd rather be anywhere else."

Before you can respond, he glances over your shoulder toward the booth, his expression shifting slightly. "So," he says, taking a sip of his drink, "you know half the LSU team or something?"

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your voice light. "Family friend."

"Ah." He nods along, smiling again.

"Speaking of," you say quickly, "when exactly were you planning to mention that you're apparently some hotshot quarterback? I had to find out by seeing your face on a jumbotron."

Jalen grins, the deflection working exactly as you'd hoped. "Hey, I told you I played football at a different school. Not my fault you never bothered to ask which one."

"You said you played football! You didn't say you were..." you gesture vaguely at the TV screens around the bar, where highlights from the game are still playing on loop, "...that."

"What, good?" His grin widens. "I definitely told you I was good."

"There's good, and then there's..." You trail off, shaking your head. "Okay, fine. I should have asked more questions."

"Should've googled me," he teases. "Very first result would've told you everything you needed to know."

"Who googles people anymore?" You. You do.

"Smart people who want to know if they're texting Heisman candidates."

You laugh despite yourself, and it feels good. "Heisman candidate? Aren't you humble." His eyes are dancing with amusement, and you realize you're smiling too much, laughing too easily. You feel like you can finally breathe.

Which is, of course, exactly when everything goes to hell.

"SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!"

The chanting is loud enough to cut through every other conversation in the place, and you don't need to look to know where it's coming from. Joe's voice rises above the rest, commanding and celebratory. It draws nearly every eye in the room. 

"Sounds like your crew's getting started," Jalen observes out loud.

Before you can respond, the entire group is moving like a tide toward the bar and then they're there, surrounding you and Jalen like a wave crashing over a quiet shore. The careful distance you'd put between yourself and all of this evaporates in seconds.

"There she is!" Dom shouts, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Joe's buying everyone drinks!"

You're suddenly pressed between bodies again, the peace you'd found with Jalen shattered as LSU purple and gold invades your space. But it's not Dom you're watching, it's Joe, whose attention is fixed on Jalen with an intensity that makes you waver.

There's a moment of recognition, though the two have never met. Joe's jaw tightens subtly, and something cold flickers before the mask slides back into place.

"Well, well," Joe extends a hand toward Jalen and suddenly sports a smile that doesn’t quite touch the rest of him. "Jalen Hurts. Hell of a game tonight."

"Joe Burrow," Jalen responds, taking the offered hand. His smile genuine. "Appreciate it, man. Y'all played lights out."

The handshake lasts longer than expected, and you can feel the tension crackling between them. Two quarterbacks, two different worlds, sizing each other up with the kind of professional courtesy that barely conceals something sharper underneath.

"This is Jalen," you say quickly, turning to the others, desperate to diffuse whatever this is becoming. "Jalen, this is…" You rattle off introductions, watching as the guys exchange pleasantries, everyone playing their parts in this strange theater of sportsmanship.

But you can feel Joe watching you the entire time, tracking every interaction, every smile you give Jalen, every moment of ease between you two. There's possessiveness in the way he stalks, something that makes your skin feel too hot and too tight.

"So you two know each other?" Bridget asks, genuine curiosity in her voice as she looks between you and Jalen.

"We met back home," you say carefully, overly focused on Joe's attention. "Few months ago."

"Small world," Joe says, and there's an edge to his voice that only you seem to catch. "Amazing how people just... turn up places."

Jalen's eyes flick between you and Joe, and you see the moment he picks up on the undercurrent. His expression doesn't change, but something does in his posture, a subtle straightening that suggests he's reading the room just fine.

"Actually," you say, taking a small step toward Jalen, "we were just going to—"

"Oh no, no, no," Joe interrupts, his hand shooting out to catch your arm before you can move any farther. His grip is firm, his smile still mockingly wide and friendly. "Come on, we're just getting started here. Stay and celebrate with us."

You want to pull away, but doing so would draw attention you can't afford. Instead, you freeze, caught between the warmth of his hand and the weight of everyone's expectant gazes.

"Yeah, absolutely," Jalen says after a moment, his voice easy and accommodating. "I'm in no rush."

Joe orders another round of beers for him and the guys, shots for everyone else who wants because even he's not stupid enough to risk getting caught drinking hard liquor in public during playoff season.

The rest of the night unfolds in fragments, each moment feeling both too long and too brief.

Jalen somehow manages to secure two seats a little ways away, further from the main ruckus but still close enough to the others where it isn’t anything too intimate. You find yourself leaning into simple conversations with him, the kind that flows without effort despite everything swirling around you.

Somewhere along the way, you’d found out that when he left Alabama, Ohio State had actually been one of the schools he looked at. He spent some time there, met a few people, and now pops back whenever he gets the chance.

"So what's your New Year's looking like?" he asks, twirling his beer bottle between his hands. "Seems like I will now be free."

You laugh, "I don't know yet. Probably something lowkey. What about you?"

"Depends," he says, voice tilting just enough to make you look up. "Maybe I'll find myself back in Ohio for a bit. Check on some of those connections I mentioned."

The suggestion hangs between you, loaded with possibility. "That could be nice," you say, trying to keep your voice casual even as warmth spreads through your chest.

"Could be," he agrees, his eyes holding yours a beat longer than necessary.

Behind you, Dom tells some elaborate story about nearly getting kicked out of the Superdome for sneaking into the wrong section, complete with exaggerated reenactments that have half the group in stitches. When Jalen makes a dry comment about Dom's "criminal mastermind" skills, it makes you laugh.

And then, unmistakably, you feel Joe's shoulder pressing against your back. His presence is domineering. You freeze, once again caught between the urge to lean into it and the knowledge that you absolutely cannot.

The moment you stop laughing, he steps away as if nothing happened.

It happens again twenty minutes later when Jalen tells you about the time his teammate accidentally ordered twenty pizzas to the wrong address. Your laugh bubbles up, and there Joe is again, a wall of heat at your back, close enough to make your skin buzz with awareness.

You start to wonder if it's intentional. If he's testing something, pushing boundaries just to see what you'll do.

Later, when the conversation splits into smaller groups, you find yourself inadvertently eavesdropping on Bridget and Joe. She's gotten progressively more animated as the night has worn on, her cheeks flushed, movements a little looser.

"So what are you doing for New Year's?" she asks, leaning closer to Joe. "Please tell me you're not just going to sit at home alone."

Joe shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. "Haven't decided."

"Come on," she presses, her hand finding his arm. "We should do something fun."

"Maybe," Joe says, but his voice is flat.

You watch this exchange with a strange mix of emotions. Part of you wants to feel vindicated—see, he's not interested in her. But mostly you feel something else entirely as you observe him throughout the rest of the night.

The way he throws his head back when Justin tells a story about his rookie year. How Joe genuinely lights up talking about the game, about plays that worked, about the feeling of everything clicking into place. It’s a side of Joe that you don't get to see often anymore. And, despite everything between you, watching him happy makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

He deserves this. This joy, this success, this moment of pure celebration.

The thought surprises you with its sincerity.

As the night wears on, the bar begins to thin out. The post-game high starts to fade into exhaustion, and you realize your head is actually starting to pound—whether from the noise, the alcohol, or the emotional whiplash of the evening, you're not sure.

You're rubbing your temples when you hear one of Jalen's teammates call out, "Hurts! We're heading back. You coming?"

Jalen glances at you, then back at his friend. "Yeah, probably should."

"Actually," you say, seizing the opening, "I think I'm ready to head back too."

"Oh, well let me give you a ride," Jalen offers immediately. "Uber prices are probably insane right now, especially with the game traffic."

It's such a reasonable offer, such a normal thing to suggest, that you're already nodding when Joe's voice cuts through the conversation.

"Oh, nah man, that's good of you but we were probably heading back soon anyway—"

"No!" Bridget interrupts, her voice a little too loud for you right now. "You promised me darts last year, remember? We never got to play. Come on, just one game?"

Your face twists before you can control it, and when you look at Joe, his expression has gone completely pale. There's something almost panicked in his eyes as they dart between you and Bridget, like he's trying to figure out how to navigate this without making everything worse.

But the damage is already done. The reminder of the past year, of all the reasons you spent months learning how to forget sits among you.

"It's fine," you say quickly. "Jalen, if you don't mind..."

"Of course not," he’s already standing, eyes moving to Joe, before back to you. "Ready when you are."

You gather your things with shaking hands, say your goodbyes with a smile that feels like it might crack your face. Joe doesn't say anything as you leave, but you feel his eyes on you until the bar door swings shut behind you.

The ride back to the hotel is quiet, save for whatever music Jalen has playing and the distant sounds of nightlife filtering through the car. You lean your head against the cool glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon colors and shadows.

When he pulls up to the hotel, he puts the car in park but doesn't immediately say goodbye. "Hey," he says, turning to face you. "I don't know what all that was back there, but… just want to make sure you’re good."

Your throat tightens. "Yeah, I am."

"Just take care of yourself, alright? And if you ever need someone to talk to, or if you feel like letting me buy you a drink next time I’m up there…" He trails off, letting the offer hang in the air.

"Thank you," you mean it more than he probably realizes. "Who knows, might take you up on that offer." You muster up a grin, watching as a smile covers his face at the sight.

"I’ll be waiting.”

You lean over and give him a quick hug, friendly enough to remind yourself that there are still people in the world who make things easier instead of harder.

The hotel lobby is mercifully quiet when you walk in, just the soft ding of the elevator and the muted conversations of a few late-night stragglers by the bar. You'd splurged on your own room for this trip, separate from your parents and Dom, telling yourself you needed the space to decompress after finals. It was the one luxury you'd allowed yourself, and right now you're grateful for the foresight.

Your room is on the fourteenth floor with a view of the city that you barely glance at as you drop your purse on the desk and kick off your shoes. Your feet ache, your head pounds, and an exhaustion settles into your bones that goes deeper than just physical tiredness.

The shower you take is scalding, the kind of hot that turns your skin pink and makes the small bathroom fill with steam. You stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the water wash away the smell of the bar and the remaining confusion from the entire night.

When you finally finish, you change into your pajamas. The hotel's terry cloth robe goes over your hair as you pad around the bathroom to start your nighttime routine.

You're working cleanser into your skin, the familiar motions almost meditative, when there's a knock at your door. You freeze, foam still covering your cheeks, your heart immediately jumping to your throat. It's after midnight. Your parents wouldn't come by this late, and Dom would text first.

There’s another knock, softer this time but more insistent.

You rinse your face quickly, not bothering to dry it properly before padding to the door. Through the peephole, you can make out two distinct figures.

Frowning, you unlock the door and open it to find your brother swaying slightly in the hallway, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Behind him, looking tired and more than a little tense, stands Joe.

"Dom?" You look between them, confused. "What—how are you this drunk? I just left like an hour ago." 

Your brother pushes past you into the room without invitation, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Had to—had to talk to you," he slurs, gesturing vaguely as he stumbles through.

You look back at Joe, who's still standing in the doorway, for some kind of explanation. He runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. "I don't know," he says with a shrug. "He just kept saying he had to talk to you. Wouldn't let it go."

Dom has somehow made it to your desk chair and is now attempting to sit down, missing it slightly before correcting himself. "Close the door," he mumbles, waving his hand. "This is important."

You reluctantly shut the door, crossing your arms over yourself. "Dom, what the hell is going on? You're completely wasted."

He looks up at you with that serious expression drunk people get when they think they're about to say the dumbest thing. "I gotta ask you something," he says, pointing an unsteady finger in your direction. "And I need... I need you to be honest with me."

Your heart drops to your stomach. This is it. Somehow, he knows. Your mouth goes dry as you wait for him to continue.

"Is there..." he pauses, swaying slightly even while sitting, "is there anything going on? Like, anything I should know about?"

The question hangs in the air, deliberately vague but loaded with its implication. You can feel the blood draining from your face as you stare at him, your mind racing. He knows. He has to know. 

But then you really look at him, seeing the way his eyelids are drooping, how he's having trouble focusing on your face, at the sloppy way he's moving about. 

He's absolutely obliterated. The kind of drunk where he probably won't remember his own name tomorrow, let alone this conversation. If you can just deny everything, play dumb, he'll wake up tomorrow with a massive hangover and no memory of whatever suspicions brought him here tonight.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, your voice coming out higher than normal. "Dom, I'm tired. It's been a long day and I just want to go to sleep."

But Dominic isn't deterred. He's rambling now, words tumbling over each other. "Because like... I see things, you know? And tonight was just... there was all this weird energy and I don't know what's happening but—"

"Dom." You move toward the door, desperate to end this conversation before it goes anywhere you can't come back from. "Seriously. There's nothing going on. You're drunk and you're not making sense."

You pull the door open, gesturing for him to leave. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room."

Dom looks like he wants to protest, at one point saying he’ll be back to talk more, but you're already moving toward him. Your hands are on his shoulders, guiding him up from his chair and toward the doorway. He stumbles a bit as you push him into the hall and that's when Joe steps forward, catching Dom's other arm to steady him.

"Alright, man," Joe says, his voice gentle but firm. "Let's go."

Joe gets Dom about halfway down the hall before your brother decides he needs to sit down right there on the carpet. While Joe's trying to convince him to keep moving, he keeps looking over his shoulder at you.

Joe’s eyes meet yours for the third time, and that's when you've had enough.

"What?" you snap, your voice cutting through the hallway. "Do you need something?"

His head whips back around, drawing back slightly like he wasn't expecting the bite in your tone. He stares at you, your brother momentarily forgotten at his feet, mouth slightly ajar.

You slam the door before he can say anything else, the sound echoing down the hall. Your hands shake as you turn the deadbolt, heart pounding against your chest.

So startled, you can't even finish what you were doing. The towel wrapped around your hair feels too heavy, so you yank it off and let it fall to the bathroom floor in a damp heap. Your skincare products sit abandoned on the counter as you stumble to the bed, crawling under the covers.

Your phone becomes your new best friend, something to focus on that isn't the chaos in your head. You scroll mindlessly through Instagram, TikTok, anything that might quiet the noise. The blue light burns your eyes but you keep going, thumb moving on autopilot.

Ten minutes pass. Maybe fifteen. You're deep in some random cooking video when a loud knock reverberates through the room.

Your stomach drops. Dominic. He probably got away from Joe, sobered up just enough to remember he wasn't finished interrogating you. The anger that's been simmering all night finally boils over.

You throw off the covers and storm to the door, fury making your movements sharp and reckless. "Fuck off, Dominic!" you seethe as you yank the door open. "I already told you—"

But it's not Dom.

Joe stands in the doorway, one arm braced against the frame, and his face is hard in a way that makes you take an involuntary step back. There's something dangerous in his expression that you've never seen before.

"The fuck is your problem?" he asks, his voice low and sharp.

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. Your brain shorts out completely, every angry word you had ready for Dom evaporating in the face of Joe's presence. You try to close the door, instinct taking over, but his hand shoots out to stop it, palm flat against the wood.

"Don't," he says, and there's warning in his tone.

"Don't what?" you snap, finding your voice again. "Don't close my own door? Get your hand off it."

"Not until you tell me what the hell that was about," Joe says, pushing the door wider instead of letting go. "What was that shit in the hallway?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You try to push the door closed again but he's stronger, and the door doesn't budge.

"Bullshit." He steps into your room, and suddenly the space feels impossibly small. "You ignore me for how long. Won't even look at me. And then tonight you're all over Jalen fucking Hurts."

Dread fills your body—embarrassment, anger, the sick realization that he doesn’t care he'd been watching you all night, just like you felt. "I wasn't all over—"

"Acting like he hung the fucking moon, jumping at the chance to leave with him, making little plans." Joe's voice is getting louder. "Real cute how you can be yourself with him but you treat me like I've got the plague."

"That's not—"

"What? That's not what happened?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I watched you!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't I?" Joe steps closer, and you can see the hurt beneath the anger now. "Because it looked like you were having a great fucking time with Oklahoma's golden boy. Really moving on, huh?"

"So what if I am?" The words come out defensive, meaner than you intended. "So what if I'm talking to someone who actually treats me like I matter?"

Joe rears back for a second. "Someone who treats you like you matter? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Your chest tightens. You've said too much, revealed too much of the hurt you've been carrying. "It means," you say, your voice shaking with anger, "that he doesn't sleep with other people and then act like I'm the problem."

The silence that follows is deafening. Joe stares at you, his expression shifting from anger to something that looks almost like panic.

"Is that what you think happened?" he asks quietly.

"I don't think it, Joe. I know it." Your voice breaks. "I saw you. Both of you." At the mention of it, the memory floods your mind once again like how it's haunted you for months. Bridget’s smudged makeup, fumbling with her pants. Joe’s unkempt appearance, his eyes locked with your own hopeful ones. Your stomach churns with the same sick feeling you felt that night.

"Jesus Christ." Joe runs both hands down his face. "You think I—you’re thinking about it wrong."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Tears are burning behind your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. "You had your hands all over me one minute, and the next you're fucking Bridget."

"It wasn't—" Joe stops, his jaw working like he's trying to find the right words. "That's not how it happened."

"Then how did it happen, Joe? Because from where I was standing, it looked pretty fucking clear."

He's quiet for a long moment, staring at the floor. "I was angry," he says quietly. "I was hurt and pissed off and I did something stupid."

"Stupid?" You laugh, but it comes out cracked. "Is that what you call it?"

"I call it the biggest fucking mistake," Joe says, his voice raw. "I call it something I've regretted every single day since it happened."

"Oh, well that makes it better," you say, sarcasm dripping from every word. "You regret it. Great. That totally fixes everything."

"It meant nothing," Joe says suddenly. "It was just—I was angry and hurt and I wanted to hurt you back."

His words do nothing but draw up more of the memories you’ve been trying to run from. "Don't."

"I'm serious. It felt wrong the entire time because it wasn't you. Because you're the only one I wanted and I was too fucking scared to admit it."

"Stop talking." Your voice is barely a whisper.

"You want to know the truth?" Joe's voice is getting louder again, more desperate. "The truth is I've been crazy about you since that first night together. The truth is I've spent the last year hating myself for fucking up the one thing I actually wanted to keep."

Your world tilts sideways. Every wall you've built, every reason you've given yourself for staying away from him, starts to crumble. This is what you wanted to hear for so long, but now that he's saying it, you don't know if you can believe it.

"You're lying."

"I'm not." Joe takes a step toward you, and you can see tears in his eyes now. "I'm not lying. I really fucking like you. And I fucked it up because I was scared and stupid and I didn't know how to tell you."

"I wanted to believe it didn't mean anything," you whisper, your voice cracking. "All of it. I wanted to believe you didn't care because it was easier than thinking you chose her over me."

Joe's face crumples. "I never chose her. Not for a single second. I was just—I was so fucking scared of how much I needed you that I did the one thing guaranteed to push you away."

"Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why were you scared?"

He pauses for a second, looking lost. "Because you're you. Dom's smart, gorgeous, sister who was—is too good for me. I knew that if I let myself fall for you completely, there'd be no coming back from it."

"And now?"

"Now I've spent a year trying to come back from it anyway," he admits. "And I can’t. I can't shut it off. You're in my head all the fucking time.” 

Joe sighs, "I miss it even when I know I shouldn’t." He cuts himself off before he rambles even more, but you can see it in his eyes, the same need that's been eating you alive for months. 

"Miss what?"

"You," he breathes. "All of you. Not just—not just the physical stuff. I want to wake up next to you. I want to know how your day was. I want to be the person you call when something good happens, or when something shitty happens, or when nothing happens at all."

Your breath hitches, throat closing. "Joe..."

"I know I fucked it up. I know I don’t deserve you. But if there’s any part of you that still wants to even try—" his voice breaks there, unsteady, "just give me that.”

You stare at him, at the tears on his cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing keeping his heart beating, and suddenly, you can't remember why you've been fighting this so hard.

"I never stopped," you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I tried to hate you, tried to move on, but I never stopped wanting you."

The second the words leave your mouth, something in him snaps.

Joe surges forward, hands finding your face with a desperation that makes your breath catch. His mouth is on yours before you can take another breath, tasting of months of regret and every unsaid word. You gasp into him, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt.

His lips move against yours with an urgency that feels almost painful. His hands drop from your face, skimming down your sides, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, needs to feel you everywhere at once.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper his name, breathless, before he’s chasing your mouth again, hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips drag along your bare skin, drawing a cold shiver from you as you lean into him instinctively, craving more, needing him.

"I missed you," he repeats against your lips, voice shaking as his hands slide higher, up your ribs, thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts. "I fucking missed you."

"Then show me," you whisper back.

Joe groans and the next time he kisses you it's messier, deeper, all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up need exploding between you. He walks you backwards blindly, until your legs hit the edge of the bed and you fall back with a breathless gasp, pulling him down with you.

His hands never stop moving, like he's terrified this is all some dream he’ll wake up from. His lips trace a hot path down your throat, over your collarbone, his breath shaky against your skin as he murmurs, "need you so bad."

Your fingers thread through his hair to pull him impossibly closer. Everything else fades away—the fights, the hurt, the miscommunication. Your back arches off the bed as his mouth moves lower, and you can feel the desperation in every touch, every kiss.

His mouth finds the soft dip beneath your ribs, warm breath ghosting across your skin as he pauses. His fingers tighten around your waist, composing himself there before sliding up again, dragging your shirt with his hands.

You lift your arms wordlessly, letting him peel it over your head and toss it somewhere behind him, forgotten. The second your skin is bare, his eyes dart around like he doesn’t know where to look first.

“My god,” he exhales, face breaking into a sly grin. His thumb traces over your sternum, then up to the hollow of your throat. “Don’t even know what you do to me.”

You do. You feel it in the tremble of his hands, in the heat of his breath, in the way his pupils have blown wide, swallowing the blue. But you don’t say so, just enjoy the fact that you do.

His lips follow his hands—over your chest, down your stomach, each kiss burning hotter than the last, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He pauses there, breathing hard, his forehead dipping against your hip like he’s on the edge of breaking again.

“Say it’s okay,” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes lifting to meet yours.

You can barely get the words out, “’s okay.” His fingers hook beneath the fabric, sliding it down. The cool air hits your skin, making you shudder as the last of the fabric clears your ankles, tossed aside somewhere neither of you care to look.

Joe stays knelt between your legs for a moment, eyes roaming over you. His breath is shaky as his gaze drags up the length of your bare body. You wait for his next move, but instead of leaning back in, he moves suddenly.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping tight, and with one smooth motion, he flips both of you over, shifting his weight until his back settles against the headboard, pulling you up to straddle him.

You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders for balance as you land in his lap, the rough denim beneath you a delicious contrast to your bare core. The unexpected motion knocks a breathless laugh from your throat, and for a second, the heat between you softens.

Joe’s mouth curves into a crooked grin at the sound of your laughter, his eyes never leaving your face. “There she is,” he murmurs, eyes flickering between your mouth and your swollen lips.

His hands trace up and down your sides, over the curve of your waist, up your bare back, thumbs gliding across your skin like he’s mapping you out. The touch sends goosebumps chasing after his fingertips, your breath catching again as your body settles fully against him.

When your laughter fades and your gaze finds his, you’re both a little dazed. For a long second, neither of you say much of anything as you take each other in.

His hand drifts higher, fingers curling lightly under your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his thumb brushes along your cheekbone. Then his other hand slides into your hair, threading through gently, pulling you closer until his lips hover right over yours.

The tension between you thickens with every slow pass of his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, pulling a soft whimper from your chest as your hands fist into his shirt, clinging to him.

Your kiss deepens, messy and open, heat pooling low in your stomach as you shift in his lap, grinding down instinctively against the hard length of him still trapped beneath thick denim. The friction makes both of you groan, his grip on your hips tightening as his head falls back against the headboard for a second, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

You roll your hips again, slower this time, dragging yourself over him tauntingly, loving the reaction you draw from him.

“Good,” you whisper against his mouth, lips brushing his as you speak. “Deserve it.”

Joe huffs out a breath against your mouth—something between a laugh and a groan—but his hands never leave you. His fingers adjust, digging in just a little harder.

Still breathless, you tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling under the fabric, desperate to get it off. “Take this off.”

He leans back just enough for you to yank it up, his hands helping as the material drags over his head and lands behind you. Your eyes drop, taking in the stretch of his bare chest, the rise and fall of it as he breathes hard beneath you.

You’re already leaning in again, mouth dragging along the sharp line of his jaw, down his throat, lips parting against the soft skin there before he gets a chance to fully settle. His head tips back instinctively, giving you more space to work. 

Joe’s breath catches as your tongue flicks just beneath his ear. “Fuck, baby.” Your hips hover as he shifts beneath you, fumbling at the waistband of his jeans. His fingers work fast as he undoes the button and drags the zipper down. You stay pressed close to him, lips never leaving his skin.

Lifting his hips, he shoves both his jeans and boxers down in one rough motion, breath hissing between his teeth as he finally frees himself. You feel the hard weight of him press up against you, hot and heavy, and it knocks a small gasp from your lips as your hips instinctively roll forward again.

The sensation makes his hands fly to your hips first, then lower, gripping handfuls of your ass as he holds you there. You rock your hips again, slower this time, dragging yourself over him to feel the slick heat of him sliding against you.

His breath punches out of him, head tipping back with a dull thud, his throat working as he swallows hard. “Jesus,” he grits, voice strangled. “You feel that?”

You nod, breath hitching and hands spreading wide across his chest, digging into the warm flex of his muscles. You can feel how hard he is, how thick, sliding perfectly against your swollen center every time you move. The friction alone is enough to make your thighs tremble, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“Joe,” you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of what’s to come, “can I?”

That does it. His hands slide down, one moving to grip the base of himself, lining up with you, while the other holds you tight, steadying you.

“C’mere, baby.” He guides you, “nice and slow.”

You hover for half a second, mind clouded with lust as you feel the blunt head of him catch at your entrance. Even after everything, the stretch makes your breath stutter when you finally start to sink down onto him.

His mouth drops open, a sharp exhale leaving him as his fingers dig into you, sure to leave bruises for the morning. “Fuck—fuck, that’s it. Just like that.”

The burn is sharp at first, that perfect edge of too much and not enough, and you brace your hands on his shoulders, panting softly as you take him inch by inch. His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every single reaction play out across your face like he can’t look away.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice barely audible. “You’re goddamn perfect.”

When you finally bottom out, fully seated in his lap, you both pause for a moment. You’re panting and overwhelmed, completely full all at once. You swear you can feel the pulse of his heartbeat inside you, throbbing in time with your own.

His hands slide up your back again, one threading into your hair as he pulls your face back down to his, kissing you hard. The first slow roll of your hips pulls a broken groan from both of you, your nails scraping lightly over his chest as you start to move, grinding down into him.

The friction is dangerous now—your bare skin dragging over him, every tiny shift making his breath stutter against your mouth. With each drop of your hips, your clit catches against the base of him, sending sharp little sparks skittering through your stomach, dragging you closer every time you fall into him.

“Missed you so fucking much.”

At his words, you whimper into his mouth, grinding harder, chasing that spark curling low in your belly with every drag of his cock inside you. His head drops again, forehead resting against yours as you ride him, the tension building tight between you.

Every roll of your hips sends another pulse of pleasure through both of you, until neither of you can keep your breathing steady, until you feel his grip start to falter, desperate to fuck up into you.

You feel his control slowly begin to fray, his need urging to take over. His voice breaks, as he stutters your name out. “I—fuck—I need—”

In the next breath, he shifts beneath you, planting his feet flat against the bed, using the leverage to thrust up into you hard, deep, dragging a sharp cry from your throat as your body jolts.

“Oh my god.” your voice shatters on a breathless gasp, your hands scrambling at his shoulders.

“That what you needed?” His voice is mean against your ear. “That what you’ve been thinking about at night? Riding my cock just like this?”

And yes, you had. More than you wanted to admit. Some nights, no matter how hard you tried, the only thing that could pull you close enough to release was the thought of him like this, buried deep, your body moving over his just like now.

He thrusts up again, your body lifting slightly with the force of it before dropping back down onto him, fully seated. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his bare skin, head falling forward.

He kisses you again, swallowing your broken sounds, tongue sliding against yours like he can’t get enough of you—like he’s trying to breathe you in, steal every sound you make and keep it for himself

Your hips start to move with him, finding a perfect rhythm together. You grind down as he drives up into you, his cock dragging deep with every stroke, the friction catching exactly where you need it, making your head spin.

The wet slap of skin fills the air, the sound of your gasps and his low curses blending into something obscene. Your body is trembling now, the coil low in your belly tightening to the point of snapping, every roll of your hips dragging you closer, every thrust sending a sharp jolt of heat through your veins.

“Joe—” you choke out, barely breathing. “I—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he pants, his hands moving around, one threading into your hair again as he pulls your mouth back to his once more. “Let me feel you.”

And when it hits, when you finally snap—you fall apart in his lap, a sob ripping from you as you clamp down around him, the waves of it crashing hard and fast. Your whole body jerks against him, muscles locking up as your orgasm blooms through you.

“Fuck—fuck—” Joe groans, his own hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, and with a last broken thrust, he follows, spilling into you with a sound that vibrates against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you move, bodies locked together, his arms wrapped tight around you. Your breathing slowly evens out, the frantic desperation giving way to something softer. Joe's hand traces lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder, your neck, wherever he can reach.

The exhaustion hits you both at once—emotional and physical, everything finally catching up. You clean up quietly, moving around each other with a careful tenderness, like you're both afraid to break whatever fragile thing has reformed between you.

When you finally crawl under the hotel sheets together, you fit against him like you never left. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, and for the first time in a year, the knot in your stomach finally loosens.

You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing evening out behind you, his face buried in your hair, his body solid against yours. Your mind drifts with questions you can't answer—whether this changes anything or if morning will bring back the same careful distance, whether he'll pretend this never happened, or how you even begin to navigate whatever this is when you're not hidden away anymore.

Rich Uncle

Operations series Father’s Day special!

Admittedly, he loved the title at first. Uncle Joe. All the perks, none of the responsibility. He could rile the kids up with sugar and loud toys, earn a few giggles and “you’re the coolest” points, and then hand them back over without a second thought. To this day, he could proudly say he’d never changed a diaper. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t even sure where to start if he had to.

Kids made sense when Jamie had them. He was barely a senior in high school when he became an uncle for the first time. That was different. His brothers are way older, they were fully settled—the kind of adults who knew what “sleep training” meant. That phase of life belonged to them.

But then all his guys started having kids. Ja’Marr, somehow even more grounded now that Little Uno was around. Ted was always bringing his kids to team events, wearing soggy Cheerios like a badge of honor. Cam and Mike, chasing toddlers around the family room at the stadium, pausing mid-conversation to dish out high fives and open juice boxes like pros. Joe would play along, drop a few Christmas presents when it mattered, and then head home. To peace. To quiet. To clean furniture and uninterrupted sleep.

Your lives were yours. No diaper bags or nap schedules. You could book a flight on a whim, sleep in whenever you wanted to, eat late dinners without cutting someone’s food into tiny pieces first. And during the season, especially, Joe needed that. Sleep, structure, his routine—non-negotiables. Kids were cute, but they weren’t in the equation.

Until maybe they were.

That afternoon, drained and sore, he came home to an empty house. You were still at work, so he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cold enough to make his hand ache, and padded upstairs. The AC hummed low through the vents, and the tiles were cool under his bare feet as he stepped into the bathroom. Steam curled up around him as the hot water hit his back in the shower, loosening the tension in his shoulders.

He barely remembered lying down afterward. Just a flash of pulling the comforter up, his body sinking into the mattress.

The nap wasn’t supposed to be long.

Joe had only meant to close his eyes for a minute or two. Just enough to recharge after practice, maybe before you got home. But somewhere between the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the weight of the comforter pressing him deeper into the mattress, sleep hit hard.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard it: a soft, high-pitched wail, muffled at first, like it was coming from behind a closed door.

A baby.

Still half-asleep, Joe barely cracked one eye open. His brain sluggishly pieced together possibilities, someone visiting you, probably. He sighed and rolled over, pulling the blanket higher. It wasn’t his problem. Not his kid.

But the crying didn’t stop. If anything, it got sharper. Closer.

Joe groaned, face smushed against the pillow. “Babe?” he called out, voice hoarse and half-hearted. “You home?”

No answer. Just that cry again—piercing, rhythmic, insistent. Like it was meant for just him to hear.

He blinked a few times, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and dragged himself out of bed. The floor was cold under his feet. The house felt quiet otherwise, still and golden in the late afternoon light. That kind of eerie calm that didn’t make sense with the sound of a crying baby echoing through the hallway.

The sound led him to the room closest to the master,the one that had always been a catch-all guest room. Only… it wasn’t anymore.

He stepped inside, slow and confused.

The walls were a soft sage green now. There was a rocking chair in the corner, one of those cream-colored ones you’d pointed out at that baby store once. A mobile dangled above a white crib, casting gentle shadows as it turned. And inside—angry-faced, squirming, and real—was a baby.

Joe froze. His mouth went dry. His heart slammed into his ribs.

What the hell is going on?

He took a step forward. Then another.

The baby blinked up at him, tears clinging to their lashes. Their tiny fists opened and closed like they were reaching for something or…someone.

And then he saw it.

Your eyes.

Wide and glassy and unmistakably you.

Every thought emptied from his head in an instant. He didn’t know how or why this baby was here, didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but his body moved before his brain could catch up. He leaned down, arms trembling slightly, and scooped the baby into his chest.

They fit there like they belonged.

The crying stopped on contact. Instantly. Like someone had cut the sound from the room.

A soft exhale puffed against his collarbone. The baby’s cheek pressed into his chest, warm and damp. Their tiny fingers tangled into the front of his shirt like they’d done it a hundred times.

Joe didn’t breathe.

His arms closed instinctively around the small body. His heart felt like it might tear open from the inside. Something about the weight, the heat, the smell, faintly powdery and sweet, cracked him wide open.

He started to rock, not even thinking about it. Back and forth. Back and forth. The motion was awkward at first, but then…natural. Soothing.

Like this was exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was meant to do.

His throat tightened. There was a burn behind his eyes as the baby’s tiny fingers clutched his shirt like they knew they were safe. Somehow, in that impossible moment, Joe felt like he knew them too.

Not just in a dream. But in his bones.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing,” he whispered, voice cracking as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

But they didn’t care. They were safe. Warm.

Joe jolted awake.

His eyes snapped open, chest heaving. The bedroom was back, soft gray walls, the ceiling fan still turning lazily overhead. He ran his fingers through his hair with the sheets twisted at his waist and his heart pounding in his ears.

The house was still.

No crying. No crib. No baby.

Just him.

He sat up slowly, pressing his hands to his face, trying to piece himself back together. His arms still tingled. His chest still ached. The feeling, that strange, aching warmth, lingered.

It didn’t scare him. It didn’t make him want to run.

It made him want.

Not just a baby in theory, not just a distant someday, but a real, warm, squirmy little person with your eyes and his lopsided grin. A world that wasn’t just the two of you anymore.

Joe exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle.

Maybe this wasn’t just some weird dream.

Maybe it was the universe, finally telling him out loud what he’d been quietly thinking for weeks now.

He wanted to be a dad.

And he wanted it to be with you.

Joe knew he couldn’t deliver earth-shattering news like he was calling out a play. Not this time.

Two days had passed since the dream, and he was still reeling, not from fear or doubt, but from how right it had all felt. He’d been trying to make sense of it, tracing the way it had his heart pounding out of his chest. He definitely wasn’t the signs-and-symbols type, but since that afternoon, it was like the universe had grabbed him by the collar.

Everywhere he looked there were baby reminders.

A diaper commercial as soon as he turned on the tv. A buybuy Baby billboard he’d probably passed for weeks without noticing, now felt like it was practically winking at him. Even his Instagram algorithm had turned against him. Every third ad was for strollers, pacifiers, or sleep sacks.

And every time, his chest would tug just a little bit.

It wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t believe in those anymore.

When you got home from work that night, he was on the couch in a hoodie and shorts, legs stretched out, iPad balanced on his knee, scrolling through camp film with laser focus. At least, pretending to be.

You dropped your bag and toed off your shoes, already grinning. “Hey sunshine. Still locked in? Even on your day off?”

Joe barely looked up. “Can’t go to sleep with everyone acting like Dax is the second coming of corner Jesus.”

You snorted and plopped down next to him, thigh brushing his. “God forbid you throw a couple offseason picks, Mr. Perfectionist.”

“Perfection in June could mean orange confetti in February. I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity for that.”

“Okay well, between your football-induced psychosis,” you teased, kicking your feet up onto the coffee table, “we should go somewhere. Maybe…Greece?”

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Greece? Babe, you say that like it’s down the street.”

You shrugged. “It’d be so fun. I feel like we need something big. Jess called this morning, and she was covered in baby puke. It was horrifying.”

Joe swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. There it was, the opening.

“How’s she doing? With, y’know…”

“The baby?” You chuckled, twisting to face him. “She’s actually really happy. Tired, yeah, but she said it’s the best thing she’s ever done.”

He nodded, quietly. “Sam’s over the moon. He always wanted to be a girl dad, and now he’s basically in baby heaven.”

There was a pause. He looked back down at his screen, then slowly locked it and set it aside.

“Do you ever think about it?” he asked, voice lower now.

You looked up. “About what?”

He hesitated. “Having a baby.”

You blinked. “Sorry. I don’t think I heard that right,” you squint at him, “the last time your mom mentioned kids, you practically gagged into your mashed potatoes.”

Joe laughed under his breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I know. I know, okay? But something…shifted.”

You leaned in a little, curious. “Shifted how? What happened?”

“I had a dream,” he said quietly.

“Alright MLK…what was this dream?” You laugh.

He gives you a deadpan look and shakes his head. “It was a weird one. A good one. We had a baby, like, a real baby. And it was just me and them in this room, and I was holding them and…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands like he could still feel the weight there.

“It—I don’t know—it felt natural. It felt like they were already mine. And they looked just like you, and I didn’t want to put them down.”

He paused, breathing through it.

“I know it was just a dream. But I woke up, and I swear, I missed them. Like I was grieving someone who hadn’t even been born yet.”

You sat quietly, your amusement fading into a puddle of emotion.

“I’m not saying we need to have a baby tomorrow,” he added, his voice gentle. “Or ever, if you don’t want to. But I think…I think I’m ready. Not just to be a dad. But to do it with you.”

His hand found your knee, thumb brushing lightly back and forth. “You’re my person. I love you more than anything in the world. And the idea of creating someone who’s half you, half me, that’s been in my head nonstop. But like I said, no pressure. Just…honesty.”

You stared at him, heart thudding, a little overwhelmed. “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. In your entire life.”

Joe smiled sheepishly, but you weren’t done.

“And since we’re being honest,” you said, eyes sparkling now, “I have always wanted to make you a DILF.”

He burst out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, the tension in his shoulders easing like a thread had finally been cut. “Guess we have to go to Greece now.”

You nodded, curling into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. The room was quiet except for the soft tick of the clock and the low hum of the fridge down the hall. And the constant wheels turning in your head as you tried to come to a decision.

The night before your trip, Joe padded upstairs expecting to find you half-packed, maybe wrestling with a suitcase or tearing apart your closet looking for that one sundress he loved. Instead, the bedroom was lit softly by the bedside lamp, and you were kneeling on the floor, surrounded by papers, planners, and a very intense-looking ovulation tracker open on your phone.

Sticky notes, highlighters, and three different pens scattered around like you were preparing for finals all over again. A calendar had dates circled in red, little hearts scribbled in some corners, and numbers counted out in weeks.

Joe leaned on the doorframe, blinking. “Um… hey,” he said slowly. “As much as I want to understand what all this is…you’re making me nervous.”

You looked up at him, a little sheepish but mostly proud. “Don’t be. Come here.”

He stepped in, and you stood to meet him, taking his hand and guiding him to the floor like you were unveiling some master plan.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the colorful chaos, “is the baby board. Target due dates, best time to start trying, timelines, everything.”

He looked down, eyes wide, and then back up at you. “You’ve got, like…phases and windows and strategies.”

“Exactly. Because the last thing I need,” you said, poking his chest lightly, “is to be taking care of a newborn by myself while you’re in your office breaking down coverages and watching Ja’Marr run a go route for the millionth time.”

Joe winced like he’d been caught. “I can’t help myself. It never gets old.”

“When we do this,” you continue, folding your arms with mock authority, “it’s gonna be during the offseason. When you’re home. And you…” you raised a brow, “…will be changing every single diaper.”

His eyes widened in mock horror. “Every one?”

“Yes. Until I feel like lifting a finger. I’m not birthing an entire baby just so you can swoop in for the fun cuddly stuff and peace out when it smells weird.”

He laughed, stepping closer, slipping his hands around your waist. “So—does this mean…”

You smiled up at him, soft and sure. “Yes, Joe. I want to have a baby with you.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you like he’s still wrapping his mind around the fact that this is real. Then he leans in, presses his forehead to yours, his hands warm on your back.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s do this. Uncle Joe is getting promoted.”

I just know y'all are itching for some MNF... Monday Night Fanfic that is 😛

splitting this shit into two parts sooo burreaux pt I (16k words) is scheduled for 8:15pm est

all good things - joe burrow

summary in the morning light, where all good things come to an end

content 18+, smut, angst, language

You met Joe the spring he got drafted.

It was a fluke, one of those nights that wasn’t supposed to be anything special. You were bartending part-time at a rooftop lounge downtown, working your third double in a row, already dreaming about the frozen pizza in your freezer and the bath you’d promised yourself if you made it through the night. 

Despite it being late, past midnight, the Louisiana air was still hot and thick with it’s signature humidity. Your first sign something was different should’ve been the way the crowd didn’t thin out like it usually did.

He was sitting in the corner booth when you finally noticed him. Shoulders raised, baseball cap low, head bent toward the guy across from him. 

You wouldn’t have recognized him if not for the table of college girls at the other end of the bar whispering about it, zooming in with their phones, giggling behind drink menus.

You’d heard the name before of course (everyone in the city had), but you didn’t follow football and you didn’t really care. You were too busy trying to make rent, finish school, survive.

He tipped well. That was the first thing you liked about him.

He also didn’t stare at your ass when you walked away, which already made him better than 90% of the guys who came through there.

The second time he showed up, it was just him. He sat at the bar and asked if you remembered his order. You did. And when he left, he asked for your name.

By the end of the summer, he knew the shape of your bedroom window and you knew how he liked his eggs in the morning.

It was never supposed to last. You both knew that. He told you from the beginning there wasn’t room for anything serious—he was leaving in a couple months, and you weren’t the type to follow anyone across the country.

You told him you never would, like you were proud of it. Like you weren’t already half in love with the way he smiled when he was trying not to.

That was over a year ago.

Now you’re sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in a city you don’t live in, wearing one of his shirts and trying not to let your makeup smudge from the tears that won’t stop welling up behind your eyes. 

You shouldn’t have come. You told yourself that on the flight over and again when he met you in the lobby without a kiss or at minimum a hello.

The sex was good. It always is. Good enough to make you forget, for a minute, that none of this means anything. That you’re not his girlfriend. That you’ve never met his friends. That he only calls you when he knows you’re alone.

And the worst part is—you answer every time.

You let him push your hair back and call you “baby” in the dark even though he never says it in the daylight. You let him whisper things into your neck that sound too much like maybes, even though you both know they’ll never turn into anything more.

And then you get dressed and go back to your real life, pretending none of it matters to you.

You used to think you were good at pretending.

Lately, not so much.

You hear him moving around in the bathroom. Nothing purposeful, just the soft shuffle of routine. You stare down at the comforter, absently smoothing the wrinkles beneath your thighs, and try not to read too far into the fact that he hasn’t said a word since he pulled out of you twenty minutes ago.

That’s always how it goes.

You touch, and then you don’t talk.

Or you talk, and then you don’t touch.

But rarely both.

He comes back out with a towel in his hand, wiping his face like he’s hoping it’ll hide him. The glow of the city hits his shoulders just right—he looks good. Tired, but good. 

His hair is damp from sweat, flushed along the collarbone, a few faded scratches visible on his ribs. You left those. He hasn’t looked at you since he stepped into the bathroom, but he tosses the towel onto the chair by the window.

The tension between you and Joe is thick enough to chew on. His back is to you as he grabs a bottle of water from the counter and drinks half of it without stopping, his throat working in tight swallows. You watch him from your place on the bed and try not to say what you’re thinking. Try not to say anything at all.

“You leave tomorrow morning?”

You nod even though he’s not looking. “Early flight,” you say, your voice scratchy.

He hums in acknowledgment, and you can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed. You don’t think he knows, either.

Joe walks over to the foot of the bed and stops like he’s not sure if he wants to sit. You think maybe he’ll say something else—ask you to stay, tell you this feels different this time, something dramatic and stupid and out of character—but he just stretches one arm across his chest and winces at the tightness there.

“Are you okay?”

He shrugs. “It’s fine.”

It’s not what you meant and you think he knows that, but you let it go.

The silence stretches between you. You let your head fall back against the pillows, sighing softly as your legs shift beneath the sheet. Your body’s sore in the places he touched you. Your heart feels worse.

You stare up at the ceiling.

“You know this isn’t working, right?” you ask.

It’s not a question, really. You say it too calmly for it to be a fight, too softly for it to sound like an accusation.

Still, Joe flinches.

He finally looks at you then, brows tight, mouth a little open like he’s about to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

You sit up slowly and cross your legs under you, pulling the sheet higher even though he’s already seen all of you. You hate that you feel like you need to cover up now. Hate that you always feel that way after.

You swallow. “I know we said this would be easy. That we could do this—long distance, no pressure, just when we feel like it…”

He nods, watching you carefully. You hate how good he looks to you even in this moment.

You let out a humorless laugh. “But I don’t feel like it anymore.”

His expression doesn’t change, not at first. But you see it in the way his jaw ticks. The way his shoulders roll back. The way he sets the water down on the nightstand like it’s something delicate, even though his hands are anything but.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” he says eventually, voice low.

You stare at him, blinking.

“You didn’t ask me to stay either,” you shoot back, and it sounds sharper than you meant it to.

He closes his eyes, dragging a hand over his face. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” you say, and your voice cracks just a little. “What’s not fair is pretending like this is still nothing. Like it hasn’t been months, Joe.”

He exhales hard through his nose and sits on the edge of the bed, his back to you now. His elbows rest on his knees, hands laced together like he’s bracing for something.

You don’t know why you keep going, but you do.

“I don’t want to feel like some layover between everything else in your life. I don’t want to keep flying across the country just to fuck you in a hotel room and go home pretending like we’re strangers.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even flinch and you feel your heart fold in on itself.

“I know you’re busy,” you whisper. “I know this isn’t the right time. But it’s never going to be the right time with you, is it?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, finally, he says, “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

You freeze.

Joe turns around, meets your eyes, and for the first time in hours—maybe days—he looks like the version of him you almost let yourself fall in love with. Tired and a little lost, like he knows he’s fucked it all up but doesn’t know how to fix it.

You could say something. You could forgive him. You could slide closer and touch his jaw and kiss him like it’s a promise and not a mistake.

Instead, you sit there, staring at each other across the bed, letting the weight of the moment crush everything that used to feel easy and careless. 

It’s hard to say how long you two are caught like that. Long enough for the air in the room to shift. Long enough for the space between you to start feeling like something tangible.

Joe lifts his body from the edge of the bed to sit beside you. His thigh brushes yours, just barely, but it's enough to make your breath catch. He doesn’t reach for you, or touch your hand, leg, or the small of your back like he would if this were still just about sex. He sits there, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them, eyes on the carpet.

You’re quiet for a while, thinking that maybe this is where he apologizes. Where he says it’s been hard, that he didn’t mean to make you feel like this. That he missed you. That he doesn’t want it to end.

But that’s not who he is. Joe doesn’t talk when things are hard. He shuts down. Retreats inward. You’ve seen him do it on TV after a bad game—answering questions like they don’t matter, smiling without humor, eyes heavy with something that never makes it to his mouth. You should’ve known that if he couldn’t say it then, he wouldn’t say it now.

Still, you wait.

Because part of you wants to believe he’ll surprise you. That this version of him—vulnerable and two inches from the edge—might actually say something this time.

But all he says is, “I don’t know how to do this.”

His voice is low and quiet enough that you almost miss it. You lift your head slowly. His thumbs are rubbing over the calluses in small, distracted circles. “Do what?” you ask, even though you already know.

His jaw flexes. “Be something.”

You blink. “Is that what this is?”

He doesn’t answer.

You let out a breath through your nose and look away. Your throat feels tight again.

“I didn’t come here to trick you into a relationship,” you say. “I just… wanted to know if this thing we’ve been doing meant something. If it was ever going to be more than… than this.”

Joe nods like he hears you, but doesn’t say anything else. And that hurts more than if he had just said no.

You stand up, knees wobbling slightly from how long you’ve been sitting. Joe’s t-shirt hangs low on your frame and you hate how much you’ve come to think of it as yours. You open the closet, pulling your suitcase out.

“I’ll grab a ride to the airport early,” you say, more to the wall than to him. “There’s no point in staying.”

You expect him to let you go. He always has. That’s been the thing about Joe—he takes and takes and takes, but he never asks you not to leave.

Which is why it nearly undoes you when he says, “Don’t.” He exhales, long and uneven. “You don’t have to go tonight.”

Your hands hover over the suitcase, trembling just a little.

“I don’t want to wake up in the morning and feel like you’re already gone.”

You close your eyes.

It’s the first real thing he’s said all night. And that should be enough. Maybe it should feel like progress.

But it’s not a promise. It’s not even clarity. It’s just another thread in the tangle you’ve both been pulling at since last April—sweet, sincere, and ultimately useless.

You turn slowly, meeting his eyes across the room.

“I don’t want to stay because you’re lonely,” you say.

He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Joe’s mouth opens and closes once. He looks up at you like he wants to say something even bigger, something even truer, but it dies on his tongue.

You cross your arms over your chest, heart thudding so loud it’s hard to breathe. “I’m not asking for you to give me something you don’t have. I just—I need to know if there’s something here. Something worth staying for.”

Joe doesn’t say anything at first. He looks at you like he’s trying to find something in your face that he’s never been brave enough to name. Like he’s measuring the quiet, trying to decide if it’s safe to speak into it. When he finally does, his voice barely carries.

“There’s everything here.”

It’s not a dramatic confession but the weight of it settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected, like maybe it took more out of him than he’ll ever admit. You don’t move because you don’t trust yourself to, but you watch him, caught in the space between wanting to believe it and knowing how long it took to hear.

“I just don’t know how to let it in,” he adds, and this time the words sound smaller. Less certain.

Your throat tightens. You blink, hard and fast, but one tear slips through anyway, trailing hot and slow down your cheek. He sees it. You know he does.

He stands carefully, like even his own body might betray him if he’s not gentle with it. When he steps in front of you, he pauses. His hand lifts to your face, it’s cautious, thumb catching the tear before it can fall any further. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

And you believe him.

You always do.

But it doesn’t change the room you’re standing in. Doesn’t change the months you spent pretending that crumbs were enough, that touches without words didn’t leave marks. 

The hotel is still unfamiliar and your heart still aches in the same places. But when he leans in and kisses you with a certain tenderness you haven’t felt from him in weeks—you let him. Because for now, this is what you have.

At some point, the shirt comes off. You think he takes it off you, though it’s hard to remember. It’s all hands and shifting weight and his mouth brushing the side of your neck like he’s trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. 

The sheets pull around you as he guides you backward, one hand braced near your shoulder, the other skating down your body like he needs to relearn what he’s spent the last year forgetting. His forehead rests against yours for a breath longer than it needs to. His eyes stay closed the whole time.

Later, when the lights are out and the room has settled into a deeper kind of quiet, his body curves around yours like it always has. One arm drapes over your waist, bare legs tangled beneath the sheet, your cheek pressed into the crook of his bicep. His thumb traces a slow, absent path across your stomach, like he’s touching you just to make sure you’re still there. You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

His breathing evens out eventually. Yours doesn’t.

And still, you stay curled into the shape of him long after sleep should’ve taken you both.

By the time dawn cracks through and the sounds of the morning begin to crawl in under the door, you’ve already been awake for hours.

There was a softness to the room that morning, the kind that made you move quieter than usual, as if anything louder than a breath might rupture whatever peace had settled into the corners overnight.

You’d already showered and dried your hair, fingers pulling slowly through the damp strands as the sky outside changed from gray to something even paler—washed-out and undecided. The kind of light that didn’t reveal much, only dulled the edges of what it touched. 

It never quite sharpened into morning, just hovered across the room casting everything in a glow that made things look softer than they were. It slid over the floorboards, caught faintly on the edge of the mirror, and never reached far enough to feel like a reason to stay.

Standing in the bathroom in a tank top and underwear, you dab moisturizer beneath your eyes with your ring finger, watching your own reflection like she might say something first. Your skin was still flushed in certain places, warm to the touch where his hands had pressed down too hard without realizing it. You didn’t bother covering it up. You weren’t sure why, but it felt like erasing the evidence would’ve been dishonest.

Somewhere behind you, the low creak of the mattress echoed softly. Sheets shifting. A familiar breath pulling in through his nose as he stretched somewhere just beyond the bathroom door. You kept your eyes on your reflection and reached for your mascara.

When he appeared in the mirror a moment later, he moved with the kind of unhurried weight that only came after a full night’s sleep—when the body was still heavy with it, slow to catch up to the present. 

His hair stuck up slightly at the back, his jaw shadowed, shoulders broad and relaxed in the way you never got to see during the day. He crossed to the sink beside you without saying anything, brushing past your arm with the kind of easy closeness that felt instinctive now.

He reached for his toothbrush while you leaned over to sweep mascara through your lashes, your hip nudging his absently when you adjusted your stance in front of the counter. There was something oddly domestic in the way you both moved around each other, even if this was only your second morning waking up together in this hotel, this city, this version of whatever it was you kept doing.

After spitting, he rinsed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and didn’t say a word. You weren’t in a hurry to break the silence either.

You were still smoothing your fingers along your collarbone, checking for any trace of product left behind, when his hand reached for yours. His thumb brushed lightly over the curve of your arm, and in a voice low enough to get lost in the silence, he murmured, “Come here.”

You let him guide you, stepping back without protest as he pulled you gently in front of him. You stopped when your back hit his chest and your eyes met his in the mirror.

His hands settled at your hips first, palms spreading slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold you still or simply remind himself that you were there. One hand traveled higher, skimming beneath the hem of your tank, grazing the edge of your ribs before settling just beneath the swell of your breast. You could feel his breath shift behind you and his lips hovered near your neck without touching.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

He watched you in the mirror while you watched yourself, jaw set slightly, chest rising slower than usual. Every part of your skin felt lit up under his hands, like you were waiting for something you knew you shouldn’t be.

A brush of his thumb across the underside of your breast made your mouth part on instinct. He pressed closer, his body curving around yours like the thousand times before. You could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton of your underwear, his hips steady against your own.

“I like seeing you like this,” he murmured. His hands continued their path, easing your tank up and over your breasts, bunching the fabric just beneath your arms before his hands returned to your skin. 

He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either. His touch landed somewhere in between confident, like he knew what you liked, but thoughtful enough to make you feel like this wasn’t just a reaction. Like it wasn’t just about getting off this time.

Your head tilted back slightly when his fingers rolled over your nipple. He breathed in at the same time you did. You could feel the tightness building already, low in your stomach, the kind that came not from what he was doing but how he was doing it. Less like a transaction, more like an answer to your questions.

There was something quiet in the way his hands slid lower, how he dipped his fingers past the waistband of your underwear without looking down, just watching your reaction in the mirror. Two fingers moved through the wet heat between your legs, the motion of his wrist barely visible, but enough to make you shift back into him without meaning to.

His free hand flattened across your stomach, thumb anchoring just above your navel. That steady weight kept you grounded while he circled your clit in slow, purposeful strokes—just the edge of pressure, just enough to make your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.

The tempo never changed. Not when his fingers slipped inside you, not even when your hips started moving in rhythm. Your eyes fluttered half-shut and your mouth fell open, the softest sounds slipping out before you could swallow them down. He held you against his chest with one hand and fucked you with the other, and all of it felt impossibly close—like there was no part of you he wasn’t inside of.

“I think about you more than I should,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Even when I try not to.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. It felt too close, too exposed. But he held you with his body flush to yours, breath uneven now as he whispered, “You feel so good like this. Always do.”

You came with a soft, broken sound, his name catching somewhere between your tongue and the back of your throat. The orgasm moved through you slowly, one long, rolling wave that left your legs shaking and your body slack against his. He didn’t stop, one arm tightening around your waist while the other stayed between your thighs, still moving, coaxing you through every last aftershock. Your head dropped back onto his shoulder, breath catching, muscles quivering, skin hot where it touched his.

He didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on you in the mirror, watching the way your body responded to him, the way you unraveled without a word. Like he needed to memorize it, maybe if he studied you closely enough, he might be able to hold onto something this time.

You weren’t sure what made your chest ache more—that, or the fact that you wanted him to.

He stepped back just long enough to drag your underwear down your legs, hands moving slow, fingers grazing the backs of your thighs like he couldn’t stand losing contact for even a second. Rising behind you, he pressed his chest close, his hand slipping to rest low on your stomach.

You leaned forward, palms braced against the counter, spine arching instinctively when his hips aligned with yours. When he pushed in, it was one long, aching glide that left no part of you untouched. 

He filled you like he was made for it, like his body already knew the way yours would take him. Your breath hitched on the exhale, mouth falling open, fingers curling tight around the countertop. He stayed buried to the hilt, not moving yet, just letting you take in every inch, one hand planted beside yours for balance and the other tight at your hip.

Every inch of him was inside you, and it now didn’t feel close enough.

He started to move—shallow at first, then deeper, the pace measured, like every thrust was something he’d been trying not to ask for. You clenched around him, the burn twisting into something heavier and needier, the kind of pressure that lives beneath the skin.

His grip shifted, fingers threading through yours on the counter. The other arm wrapped tighter around your waist as he drove into you again, harder, more certain, holding you open as you shuddered beneath the weight of it all. Each thrust pulled something out of you, soft and silent and old. Like the months had carved a space in you that only he could reach, and now he was trying to fill it all at once.

Through the mirror, you watched the flush spread across your chest, the way your mouth parted, how your eyes fluttered like you were trying to stay inside your body and outside of it at the same time. His hand dragged up your side, fingertips skimmed over your ribs, settling on your breast.

His thumb circled over your nipple with a pressure that felt more like a question than anything else. Not asking for permission. Just wondering if you’d still let him have it—your softness, your silence, the parts of you he doesn’t deserve.

His mouth dropped to your shoulder, lips brushing the edge of your neck.

“I don’t say shit the right way,” he whispered. “But I’m better when you’re here. You know that, don’t you?”

It would’ve hurt less if he’d stayed silent. Tears started to pool, but you blinked them back, not wanting to break the moment—not wanting him to see.

Still, you didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. Your body kept reaching for his, falling back into the rhythm like you’d never left it. His pace stayed steady, every movement felt heavier than the one before. He slid his hand down to your stomach again, pulling you back into him with each thrust, guiding your hips as if he needed the friction just to breathe.

He pressed his forehead to the side of your head, breath spilling into the curve of your jaw. There were no more words. Just the desperate sounds that tumbled out between you. Your name on his lips, his name on yours, softer and softer until you gave in to it completely.

You came again with your hands gripping the counter, voice breaking, thighs trembling as you pulsed around him, hips locking back into his. He followed seconds later, groaning into your skin, hands tightening and hips pressing in one final time as he spilled into you, holding there like he never wanted to leave.

Neither of you looked away from the mirror.

His eyes were on you. Yours were on him.

And for a second, it almost felt like enough.

One of his hands caressed your skin, the other lifted to your face, fingers curling beneath your jaw. His thumb brushed away the single tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded and let him believe it.

He kissed your cheek, then your temple, then once more just beneath your jaw.

From the bedroom, his phone rang. The sound broke the stillness in a way that felt almost nauseating.

He sighed. “Give me a second.”

The hotel room door clicked softly behind him, and you were alone again.

Your hand was still resting lightly on the edge of the counter, your other arm limp at your side. The silence felt different now. Not empty, exactly—but momentary. A pause you had to move through.

Then came the buzz of your own phone, faint against the marble behind you.

You turned your head slowly, eyes drifting to where it sat beside the sink, screen lighting up once before fading back to black.

Your driver has arrived.

No sound left your mouth, but something in your chest cinched tight. You moved before you could talk yourself out of it—pulling on a pair of jeans, not bothering with socks as you slipped into your shoes. 

The sweater you’d laid across the chair went over your tank. A charger still tangled on the nightstand was shoved into your bag. You tucked your earrings into the side pocket without much care. Everything felt half-packed and hastily folded, but in the moment, it didn’t matter to you. You weren’t planning to look back.

The suitcase handle made a soft sound as you lifted it off the floor.

And that’s when the door opened.

Joe walked in, still rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, phone no longer in sight. At first, his expression was neutral. But then he saw you, and everything changed in an instant.

He stopped short in the doorway, brow creasing as his eyes dropped to the bag at your feet.

“…What are you doing?”

You froze.

“I—I just got a text,” you said, voice quieter than you intended. “My ride’s downstairs.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. “Wait. You’re— You’re actually leaving?”

“You knew I had a flight.”

“That was before.”

He took a step forward. Then another. His voice picked up—still low, but sharper now. “I thought we were good. I thought we figured it out.”

“I didn’t—” you started, then stopped. “I just… it’s already been booked. It’s done.”

“So cancel it,” he said, motioning toward your phone. “Who gives a fuck? I’ll get you another one. I’ll buy you five. Just—why now?”

The hurt was there now, pressed into the edges of his words. You saw it in the way his mouth moved, in the way his hands hung stiff at his sides. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I have to leave,” you said, forcing yourself to keep your voice level. “This is what we said we were doing. No pressure, no expectations. Just this.”

“Right. But last night wasn’t just that,” he snapped. “You know it wasn’t.”

You stared at him.

“I told you how I felt,” he said, voice breaking in places he tried to hold steady. “I showed you. I don’t say that shit to just anyone.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But you didn’t say it in time.”

His breath hitched and his eyes twitched.

“Oh,” he said, voice going flat. “Right. So there was a deadline.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He laughed once—cold, quick. “Sure it is. That’s exactly what you meant.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around the handle of your suitcase.

“You made up your mind before I even woke up,” he said, and this time his voice cracked for real. “Didn’t you?”

“I had to.”

“Bullshit.”

“I did, Joe.”

He stepped back like your words had physically hit him, hands now clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was locked, the muscles in his neck twitching with effort as he tried to hold himself together.

And then his eyes—red around the edges, shining just enough to betray him—finally lifted back to yours.

“I thought you were gonna stay.”

“I know.”

“I thought—” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” you said, barely audible.

“Then why the fuck are you leaving?”

You didn’t answer.

That was when something in him gave out. His chest rose hard with a breath that didn’t sound like breathing at all, and he turned halfway toward the door, like he couldn’t stand to look at you but couldn’t walk away either.

“Fine,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Go.”

You teetered back on the heels of your feet.

“Joe—”

His hand was already on the door. “You wanna leave?” The knob turned fast under his palm. “Then leave.”

The door swung open with more force than it needed, catching the wall with a soft thud that echoed into the hallway. He didn’t look at you, standing there with his hand still on the handle like that counted as letting you go.

With your grip impossibly tight around your suitcase handle, you took a step and rolled it toward the threshold without a word.

As you passed him, the space between your bodies didn’t close—not even by accident this time. Your shoulder didn’t brush his. Your hand didn’t graze his arm. You didn’t move around each other the way you had moments ago, when it was quiet but not like this. And when your foot crossed the doorway, he didn’t move.

The hallway stretched quiet ahead of you. The undecided light from the windows had settled against the walls, clearer now—no longer undecided. It didn’t reach for you. It didn’t soften anything. It just watched as you walked past. Your footsteps landed too softly to interrupt the silence. Not loud enough to be final. Not loud enough to be forgiven.

You didn’t look back. Not once. And when the door slammed, somewhere down the hall, it didn’t startle you.

You’d been waiting for it.

And still, you kept walking.

Because last night, for the first time, he let something real slip through—words he’d never said before, touches that felt like they meant something more. And part of you wanted to believe it could finally be different. That maybe this was where the shape of things changed. But then the sun came up, the silence set in, and you remembered how many times you’d already convinced yourself that wanting was the same as having. 

He meant what he said, you believe that now. But belief isn’t the same as trust, and it’s not the same as timing. You didn’t leave because you stopped feeling anything. You left because you finally did. And this time, you knew better than to wait around hoping he’d catch up before it faded.

YUPPP i love me some lsu!joe

TONIGHT, YOU ARE MINE / JB9, TRACK 1

summary / she’s studying. he’s being annoying. in his defense, he hasn’t seen her all day.

warnings / fem!reader, fluff, smut (MDNI), down bad!joey

note / this is kind of an introductory part to their relationship and the vibes they give. this series will follow his second year with LSU and his time in the NFL. it won’t go game to game, but just be aware of that timeline :)

tags / @willowsnook @ebsmind @iosivb9 @hotburreaux @joecoolburrow @hannahjessica113 @irishmanwhore @wickedfun9 @softburrow @kazsbrckkers @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @blairsworld22 @sportyphile

THE SUN WAS SETTING. Purple and orange hues cast into the apartment, illuminating the scene. A cream colored couch sits in the living room, blankets strewn across it. The coffee table is somewhat clean; used cups from a couple hours ago sit on coasters. The kitchen lights are off; she said that she was picking up dinner with a friend.

“You will not believe the day I had,” she barged in, words barely held as she stepped over the threshold. Her hair was messy; strands falling pitifully out of the bun she wrapped her hair into. The wafts of her perfume filled the apartment, the sight of her a breath of fresh air.

He hadn’t seen his girlfriend all day. Nor had he texted her. She said it made her smile too much.

“Tell me about it,” he offered, patting the place next to him, “but first, I want a kiss,”

She laughed, an airy sound that made her cheeks red. She locked the door, tossing her keys onto the coffee table. She set her bookbag down on the floor, climbing onto the spot next to him.

“How could I forget?” she smiled. She rested a soft hand on his shoulder, leaning over a planting a soft kiss to his lips. It was electrifying, as it always was. There weren't enough kisses in a day. There weren't enough touches in a day. Joe cupped her cheek, sighing into her lips. He pulled away, keeping his lips inches from hers.

“I missed you today,” He confessed, “it was hard not to kiss you when I saw you in the student union earlier,”

“You probably didn’t want to anyways,” she giggled, reaching down to her bag, “I just finished an entire caramel latte; my breath wouldn’t have been nice,”

No one knew that they were dating. To the outside world, they were strangers. They interacted some when it came to the same classes or sitting at the same table at the student union, but no one could know. The media would lose their minds, invading every crevice of privacy. His mother would find out, and she was as protective over him as anyone.

To his mom, dating someone like her would be a slap in the face. Y/N wasn’t the athletic type. Sure, she played softball in high school, but college was all about academics. She strived to make a name for herself, to keep that precious 4.2 GPA that she’s had since she was a sophomore. Joe was proud of her, immensely so. He wished he could go to her paper presentations or the dinners that were held by the history department. But he couldn’t. They loved each other behind closed doors while the outside world waited with pitchforks.

“I still would have liked to at least sit with you,” he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist. His weight pushed her back against the arm of the couch, his body laying on top of hers. She knew that it was hard for him, and it was hard for her too. She wanted to be there for milestones, to celebrate wins, but she had to wait for him back at his apartment or hers. She had to love in private, even when that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“I know,” she hummed, running her hand up and down his back, “I would have loved to have you sit next to me,”

For a moment, they just enjoyed each other’s presence. The day brought its own challenges, its own fountain of problems, but together, the worries washed away. Joe felt at home with her, he felt at ease. He didn’t have to put up a front around her, he didn’t have to be the quarterback that everyone relied on. He was just Joe. Her Joey.

“I have to study, bubs,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. A groan rose from the back of his throat, his arms tightening around her waist. She was always studying, his little genius, but he wanted her attention all to himself. He’d missed her, he was tired of having to avoid talking about her. That’s all he wanted to do.

“For how long?” He groaned into her neck. She chuckled, the sound soft and rumbling. Joe didn’t budge; he kept his weight pressed on her, his limbs tangled with hers.

“I don’t know,” she answered softly, “however long it takes me. I haven’t memorized the different ciphers yet,”

“But you know all the names. You recited them to me last night,” Joe argued. He knew that it was deeper than that. Her classes didn’t just ask for her to know the names of each type of cipher, it required that she could provide an example. It required that she knew how to interpret the cipher. It just took her a lot of time, and he wanted all of her time and attention.

“I did,” she agreed, running her fingers through his scalp. Her fingers dug into his scalp, pulling a soft moan from Joe’s throat. He pressed a kiss to her neck, his hands tightening around her body.

“I’ll study for an hour,” she compromised. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, curling the longer strands around her fingers. He doesn’t move, his nose brushing against the soft skin of her neck. The warmth that spreads through her body is overwhelming. It’s soft, casting gentle rays across her muscles. She missed him, even when she had him all to herself.

“Okay,” he murmured. He slowly pulled himself out of her neck, eyes bleary. He leaned down and kissed her one more time, letting his lips linger on hers.

“It’ll go by faster than you realize,” she promised, a sparkle in her eyes. She sat up, sitting cross-legged on the couch. Joe grabbed a book, What if?: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions. A gift from her. He’d started it, and he was halfway through it.

Minutes passed. Silence spread between them. The tap of her fingers against the keyboard and the whisper of pages turning broke the silence. Joe kept himself close to her, his shoulder leaning on hers.

Joe was a physical touch guy. He found comfort in it, but that was also how he expressed his affection for her. Many people wouldn’t guess he was a physical touch person because of his reserved personality, but he was, at least around her. So, it didn’t surprise her when he started aimlessly dragging his fingers across her thigh, sending warm shivers down her body.

His fingers danced on her thigh for a few moments, his other hand holding his book. He wasn’t focused on it though, the words on the page blurring together. He was too caught up in how her body felt under his touch. She was a drug to him, something that once he got a taste of he’d never be able to let go of. He didn’t want to let go of her, to ever forget her taste.

“Joe,” she hummed, flicking her eyes over to him. He looked back up at her, blue eyes sparkling.

“Hm?” he hummed back, feigning innocence. She smiled, that bright and award-winning smile. Her fingers intertwined with his, pressing them to her lips.

“Just wait a little longer, okay?” she murmured, placing his hand back on his lap. He wanted the contact, the warmth of her skin through the fabric of her leggings. He found pride, though, in that he was distracting her. He nodded, giving a dramatic sigh as he returned to his book.

But he didn't read the pages.

Time slumped by. He read a couple more pages, but his mind was too occupied with her. Her hair was still messily pulled back, t-shirt clinging to her body, and her leggings sticking to her skin. She looked effortless, like a goddess. She expected him to sit by and not do something?

He set down his book, reaching his hand out. He untangled her legs from being crossed under her and pulled her closer. She nearly yelped at the surprise, but managed to compose herself as he dragged her closer to him. Now, she was sitting right next to him, facing him. Her eyes told him all he needed to know. I need to study. He was treading dangerous waters, he knew that, but at the same time, he’d been neglected of time with her. Of course, if she seriously told him to cut it out, he would, no questions asked, but something told him she didn’t want him to stop.

“Joseph,” she warned. Her laptop was still in her lap, open and glowing against her face.

“Baby,” he answered, a smug look on his face. He gently shut her laptop, his hand grabbing it and setting it on the coffee table. Tension blossomed, and the sounds that filled the room now were just the sounds of their breathing. Though she swore he could hear her heart slamming against her ribcage.

“I’m not done yet,” she reminded him. His hand wandered up her thigh, caressing the inseam of her leggings. She inhaled, holding her breath. Joe knew what he was doing.

“Please,” he whispered, “just wanna spend time with you.

His pout always worked. His blue eyes sparkled, bottom lip jutted out. He was ridiculous, but she loved him.

“You’re ridiculous,” she shifted, her eyes sparkling. Studying could wait, she supposed. She didn’t get to see Joe that often, and when she did, time flew by.

“You love me,” he grinned. Excitement filled his chest as she shifted towards him, the movement of her body slowly leaning him to rest his back against the couch. Her hands slid up his torso, a soft hum rumbling through her chest.

“I do,” her voice was smooth, shifting with her attitude. She studied all the time, always focused on the next document or the next cipher. She wasn’t able to let her mind go, to indulge in the pleasure her boyfriend could offer her.

So every time they had sex it felt like it was the first time all over again.

She kissed him. Slowly. Their lips danced together, joined in an intimate tango. His hands found their way to her waist, his thumbs pushing up the material of her t-shirt. His body shivered, the overwhelming sense of her body and her being filling him to the brim. He was the cup she poured herself into, and he’d let her overflow.

Her lips parted from his, trailing down the warmth of his neck. He tilted his head, soft breaths leaving his lungs. Her kisses were tiny fires, igniting the embers of his desire deep within him. He kept his hands on her waist, swallowing the moans that threatened to spill over.

She sat up, the coolness of her lack of touch making him groan. His eyes took her in, watching her. She removed her shirt, revealing her tits cupped by a beautiful yet simple bra. His hands roamed over her stomach, up to cup her breasts.

“You’re a masterpiece,” he murmured, his eyes taking in every piece of her. The outline of her cleavage, her collarbone shadowing her neck, and the soft skin of her stomach. His hands drank her in, committing every line and every curve to memory.

She slid her hands up his torso, easily peeling the shirt from his body. She leaned back down, her lips meeting the meat of his pec. He inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering. Her touch was a drug, it powdered his skin and fueled his desire. Her lips kissed his body, taking in every hard-earned muscle.

“This what you wanted?” she murmured, her lips hovering over the bulge of his sweats. His mind was on fire, any rational thought burned down by the image of her staring down his bulge.

“God yes,” he exhaled. Her fingers pried away his sweats, taking the material of his boxers with them. He was left bare and aching, his cock twitching against the skin of his stomach. Her mouth watered, her arousal building with every passing moment.

But she didn’t take him into her mouth. Not like he wanted.

She slid her leggings down her hips, pulling her panties with her. Her panties peeled from her pussy, her arousal sticking to the material. She tossed them aside. Crawling up his body, she let her lips hover over his. Joe was in a daze, his chest heaving with his breaths. He was under her spell, wrapped around her little finger.

“Baby, please,” he whispered, blue eyes blown with nothing but desire. He wanted her, needed her, to fill his system. She was his constant, his girl. Not having her how he wanted killed him, and that meant more than sex.

“I’ve got you, sweet boy,” she promised. Sliding a hand between them, she grabbed the base of his cock, lining him up with her entrance. He was hot, the velvet of his tip easily pushing into her soft walls. It was as if her body was welcoming him home.

She sunk down onto his cock, her hands settling down on his stomach. He filled her up perfectly, stretched her walls, causing her head to tilt back. She shifted on his cock, rocking side to side before she lifted her hips again. Joe released a breath, the feeling of your pussy clenching around him making him dizzy. His hands explored her body, all while feeling himself come closer and closer to his budding orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, chest heaving with every breath. Her movements started slow, memorizing every inch, every curve of his cock. She shuddered, her body godly above his. His hands held her hips, grounding himself against her electric pleasure.

“I’ve needed this,” she admitted, her hips flexing against his. She leaned down, her heart hammering in her chest. Her arms rested over his shoulders, nose brushing against his.

Her classes had been torture. Day in and day out she studied books, old documents. She translated secret messages and wrote back in the same code. She analyzed patterns to recognize new ones. As much satisfaction as she got from her grades, nothing compared to Joe.

“I’m right here,” he promised her with a groan. He thrusted up into her, meeting her pace. His eyes never left hers, drinking her in like he was parched. With every thrust, a whine bubbled out of her mouth. Joe buried his face into her neck as he snapped his hips to meet hers, creating more passion and roughness between the two of them. She could barely focus, ecstasy blinding her as his cock slammed into the sweet spot deep within her. Moans rode on her exhales, and she could feel the beginnings of a climax building. Her hips met Joe’s with every thrust, the aching feeling in her pussy building. She needed more.

“Fuck, baby,” she exhaled, her hands digging into his taut shoulders. His teeth scraped her neck, quiet whimpers leaving his parted lips. He kept his pace, snapping his hips and helping her ride him. Joe pants in her ears, his whines and moans were enough to teeter her on the edge of the knife. Her walls clenched around him, aching as they were continuously thrusted against.

Her whole body exploded, a grinding moan leaving her lips as he thrusted into her one, two more times. She shuddered, her hips loosening and coming undone. Her orgasm ripped over her, a tidal wave of pleasure and heat. This wasn’t something her grades or honors college status could give her.

It wasn’t much longer before Joe let go, his arms wrapping around her. Thick, hot ropes of cum coated her walls, painting the grooves of her pussy. He stayed buried inside of her, his whines muffled by her neck. His cock twitched, jumping at every movement. Their bodies stayed connected, riding on the wave of pure ecstasy and wild passion. Their breaths hung in the air, thick and heavy. It’s what they needed.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of her. She hissed, but rested her body against his. Their eyes met, hazy with pleasure and exhaustion. She kissed him, tenderly, resting her forehead against his.

“Now you can study,” he teased with a hoarse tone. She laughed, kissing his cheek. There’d be no studying after that.

“How about a shower?” she suggested, slowly sitting up, “think we could use one, hm?”

“What, you saying I smell?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. She gave him a look, scoffing. Was he serious?

“Round two, goofball,” she ruffled his hair, “unless you aren’t up for it,”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he grinned. He scooped her up, and with shared giggles, he carried her off to his bathroom, where they’d continue in their bliss.

can you pick ONE body part of Joe’s that turns you on the most?

His back. His back. His back. His back. His back. His back. besides his like whole face & smile His back. His back. His back. I want to lick his spine. Nibble at his shoulder blades. Press my palm into the small of his lower back just to feel him shiver at the touch. Hiiiiiissssss bbbbbbaaaasccccckkkkk 😮‍💨