HOT IN HERRE, JOE BURROW.

im still here

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.

JOE BURROW — the met

summary — he didn’t think she got invited. she tricked him and shows up anyway.

warnings — fem!olympian!reader, fluff, language, smut, barely proofread

note — not entirely happy with this but if i keep looking at it i’m gonna scrap it. so pls be nice :)

tags — @willowsnook @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @joeyfranchise @hannahjessica113 @hotburreaux @iosivb9 @softburrow @irishmanwhore @kazsbrckkers @sportyphile @ebsmind @joecoolburrow @wickedfun9 (comment/send an ask to be added!)

“WHAT?” HE WAS FURIOUS. His hands gripped the invitation, but he stared at her empty hands. His eyes were blown with disbelief, his heart pumping wildly in his chest; she didn’t get invited. His girlfriend, a gold medalist in the Olympics, didn’t get invited.

“Joe, it’s not the end of the world,” she tried to assure him, “it’s high fashion. It’s not really my thing,”

“Babe, I wanted you there with me. I don’t want to walk that carpet by myself,” he answered her, raking his free hand through his curls. The Met Gala, a prestigious gathering of the rich to show off different themes each year. People ate it up, and she always looked forward to seeing what her favorite celebrities wore.

But Joe was invited this time. The same Joe who didn’t do social gatherings.

“I saw Justin was going to be there,” she tried again, “and Jalen. You know them, especially JJ,”

“They’re not you, Y/N. I wanted you there,” he argued. Every social event he brought her. She grounded him and kept him sane. When the flashes of the cameras blinded him, when the shouts of reporters deafened him, all he wanted was her. He wanted her soft touch and her graceful reminders. He didn’t know if he could do it alone.

“I know, baby,” she sighed, cupping his face in her hands. She had her own little secret, one she cradled in her chest. She’d been invited, and she was definitely going, but she wanted to surprise Joe. This was the Met, his first ever, and she wanted it to be extra memorable.

“You’ll be watching, right?”

“Of course,” she chuckled, flicking her eyes over his face. His blue eyes were deep with his affection, his expression tranquil under the softness of her touch. She soothed his nerves, the anxiety of the attention he’d receive.

In that moment, she wanted to spill her guts. To let him in on the little secret she had. She could see the lines of his face, feel the indents of his anxiety on his skin. He was nervous, but at the same time, she knew he was excited.

“Good,” he sighed, “if my best girl can’t be there, I want her watching,”

“Why? You gonna blow me away?” she teased, earning a smirk from Joe.

“I think you’ll blow me away,” he winked, and she smacked his arm. He laughed, the sweetness of his laughter filling the room around them. He always found a way to insert a flirty innuendo into their conversations.

“Pervert,” she smirked, turning to walk from him. He stepped after her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back to him. He pressed his chest to her back, laughing as she giggled. His arms were strong, holding her in place as he rocked them.

“Only for you,” he hummed into her neck. Joe placed soft, gentle kisses to her skin, the softness of his touch making her shiver. She hummed, letting his hands roam up her chest, fondling with her breasts.

“Clearly,” she chuckled. His hand gently squeezed her breast, walking her back towards their bedroom. His curls tickled her skin, soft chuckles leaving her lips as he kept his hold on her.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” Joe murmured into her neck. His hand rested on her breast, his kisses persisting on her neck. Being invited to the Met was an honor, one that Joe was excited to be given. But being without his girl? It scared him even more.

He relied on her. She kept him grounded through the small things, like tracing his knuckles with her thumb or holding onto his bicep. The small, subtle gestures that helped him remain planted. The football field was one thing, the red carpet was another.

“I’ll be right there,” she hummed as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. He leaned his bodyweight against her, sighing deeply into her skin. She rested her arms on his, softly closing her eyes.

She would be right there. He just didn’t know it yet.

— The Met —

Cameras. Shouting. Flashes of light. It was overstimulating. Joe’s been in front of fans before, he’s done interviews, but this seemed like a whole different level. He held his confidence, even if he felt empty handed.

She wasn’t by his side.

“Joe! Take the glasses off!”

“Joe! Adjust your collar!”

“Joe! Over here!”

He felt his heart racing in his chest. He flexed his hand at his side, imagining her hand in his. He really needed her there.

Joe moved through the carpet, adjusting the sleeves of his suit coat. He felt every eye on him, the weight of their expectations and their assumptions. Joe swallowed, his eyes flicking across the row of reporters as he chose which ones to talk to.

He silently hoped one of them was her. But it never was.

“Joe Burrow,” Joe turned to see Justin, and for a moment his world brightened. Joe dapped him up, going in for a warm and comforting embrace with his friend.

“No Y/N?”

“Nah, she didn’t get invited,” Joe answered, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

“What?” JJ was shocked, “a gold medalist, world record holder, and the girlfriend of Joe Burrow didn’t get invited,”

“I dunno, man,” Joe shrugged, raking a hand through his hair, “these kinda things are picky,”

“Yeah, but still,” JJ huffed, leading them both further down the carpet, “she’s a badass. I’d hope to see her here,”

“What, so you can ogle at her?” Joe teased, even if there was a flare of possessiveness.

“No, so I can watch you go all doe-eyed on her,” JJ teased back. The two friends laughed, and Joe’s anxiety for a moment subsided. He still wished she was there, holding his shaking hand, but she was watching. He knew that.

Just as he breached the stairs, the buzz of the reporters kicked up again. He didn’t turn until he heard her name. He whipped his head around, his eyes falling on the woman who stepped onto the carpet. His jaw slacked, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. He felt his cheeks warm, warmth pooling into his belly.

She was here and she looked stunning.

“Well well well,” Justin chuckled, clapping Joe on the shoulder, “looks like someone did get invited,”

Joe was speechless. He let his eyes take her in, the tailoring of her dress hugged her body perfectly, the unique design of her outfit accentuated her flare and her strength. She commanded the room, her presence shutting out those who ever doubted her.

She was a world record setter. An Olympian. She was to be respected.

She tried not to adjust her dress for the upteenth time. She hoped that her breasts wouldn’t pop out of the dress or her ankles would give out in her heels. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself in front of millions.

She answered questions, polite smiles and attitudes thrown towards any reporters that ate it up. She had one goal; to see Joe.

She carefully stepped her way up the carpet, trying not to trip over the train of her dress. She wasn’t used to wearing such extravagance, but it was the Met Gala. It was expected.

Her eyes flicked up to meet Joe’s. His slack jaw and his fidgety hands made her heart swell. He looked good too, though she had some criticism. She wanted to see some more muscle out of that suit.

“Careful, Burrow,” she hummed as she walked up to him, “gonna catch flies if you keep your mouth open like that,”

He was absolutely mesmerized. She didn’t wear dresses like this. Seeing her there, the scent of her perfume wafting over his senses, it turned him into putty. He swallowed, offering her his arm.

“You’re gorgeous,” Joe hummed as she slipped her arm through his. Her hand curled to rest on his bicep, giving him that reassuring squeeze that he’d wanted from her, that he’d needed.

“Thank you,” she smiled, “you don’t look too bad yourself,”

“The suit could be fitted better,” he hummed, tugging at the edge with his free hand, “but I like the color. It’s comfortable too,”

“It is,” she agreed. They walked into the gala, the hum of people swarming them. She stuck to Joe as people came and spoke to them, as they met new people and saw old friends. Joe couldn’t stop staring at her. She had to have on body glitter on with how she sparkled under the dim lighting. Her presence was all-consuming, bringing him to his knees.

Fuck.

He swallowed, controlling his thoughts as they rambled around in his mind. His hand flexed, his heart racing. Her on the bathroom counter. Moans filling his ears. Nails scratching down his back.

“I’m starving,” her words broke his concentration. He looked down at her, watching as she flicked her eyes over the gala for food. She found one of the few snack tables, pulling Joe along.

“I think it’s just rich people food,” Joe hummed as he walked with her. She shot him a look, her eyes glistening in the dim light. Those damn eyes.

“Baby,” she chuckled, “we’re part of those rich people ya know,”

“True,” he chuckled, “doesn’t mean I like it though,”

She laughed, clicking her tongue as she looked over the foods. She found a piece of baklava, something that her family used to make, and she plucked it from the plate.

“Ever had this before?” she asked, biting into the sweet, flaky treat. She extended the other half of the treat to Joe.

“No, what is it?” he asked, taking the treat from her hands. He watched as her eyes sparkled, as she raised her thumb to her lips to suck off the sugar coating.

Fucking hell.

“Baklava. I think this is made with walnuts, though. My personal fav,” she shrugged. She wasn’t oblivious to how Joe looked at her, how his eyes widened and his pupils dilated. He was turned on, and she fought the urge to look and see just how turned on he was.

Joe took a bite, the sweet and sugary treat melting in his mouth. It was overly sweet, nearly making his eyes water. He’s never had it before, and he wasn’t sure he’d have it again.

“It’s not that bad,” she joked, giggling at him.

“It’s straight sugar, babe,” he coughed rather dramatically, “I can taste each individual particle of sugar,”

She just shook her head, rolling her eyes at him. She was glad she came; she watched him relax under her gaze and her touch was refreshing. She could tell he needed it, that he needed her.

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes. She let her eyes drag down his body, taking him in. His hair was in perfect, thick curls, his eyes sparkled in the dim light, matching the color of his suit. The necklace that he wore, the gold against the tan of his skin, it made her heart skip a beat.

“Now this,” she purred, looping a finger around his necklace, “this is a nice little accessory,”

Joe’s breath hitched. Her finger brushed against the triangle of exposed skin on his chest, twirling around the gold piece around his neck. He felt heat swell in his belly, his thighs aching with tension.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes fluttering, “you like it?”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark with clouds of desire. Her lips tugged into a smirk, her expression seductive.

“Oh do I,” she purred, running her hand down his chest.

“Babe,” He warned, his voice low and raspy with his growing desire. His pants grew tighter, the erection in his boxers straining against his outfit.

“Yeah?”

“Keep doing that and we’re gonna have to find a bathroom,” Joe leaned closer, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The ache down in his cock was nearly unbearable, especially as the images continued to flood his brain.

Her taste on his tongue. Her pussy wrapped around his cock. Her sweet, sweet moans.

He didn’t give her a chance to decide. His hand grabbed hers and he led her through the crowd. His heart pumped, his blood running hot as he walked with her. His mind was hazy, filled with only one thing.

Her touch. Her taste. Her smell. Her.

He pushed opened the bathroom door, the elegance of the room taking them in. Granite countertops illuminated by warm lights, gold inlaid doors and handles. It was beautiful.

He locked the door, his hands flipping to grip her hips. He pushed her against the counter, his lips hungrily slotting against hers.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease,” he growled against her lips. Hunger intertwined them, passion glued them together. It was an ancient language, one that needed to be translated and understood. One they were fluent in.

“I wanted this,” she panted as Joe interrupted her with kisses to her lips. Her fingers dug through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He moaned, feeling his cock twitch in his boxers.

“You wanted this?” he repeated, his lips trailing down to her neck, “you wanted me all riled up?”

Joe’s hands hoisted her up onto the counter, her legs parting for him to stand between. His hands ran up her thighs, pushing under her dress. She could feel the beginnings of arousal slick her panties, the ache pulsing deep within her.

“Did you like your surprise?” she asked him, feeling his fingers hook under the fabric of her panties. His fingers were calloused over, years of football built into his skin. He tugged her panties off of her hips, letting them fall to the floor.

“Oh baby,” he murmured against her skin, “I’m gonna show you just how much I liked it,”

His desperation drove him, it strung together his limbs and held his head on straight. She was his drug, the constant high he needed. His fingers parted her folds, the skin slick with her arousal. Her pussy was hot, slippery with her musk. His fingers moved in and through them, his eyes darkening with lust. A gasp fell from her lips, her hands gripping the granite countertops.

“Fuck,”

“So wet for me,” he breathed against her neck. He didn’t take his time. He pressed into her clit, the sensitive bud throbbing under his touch. He pulsed his fingers, her body responding to the electricity with a shiver. She whimpered, her jaw slack with the sheer intensity of his touch.

“Joe,”

Joe pulled his fingers away, lifting them to his lips. He licked his fingers clean, the bitter musk of her arousal making him shiver. He wasn’t going to take his time. This bathroom counter would be the place where he’d make her scream.

The entire Met Gala would know whose she was.

He guided her off of the counter, his hands guiding her hips so she turned around. He looked at her through the mirror, his hands gliding up her thighs again. His anticipation grew, his desperate need to have her climbing.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, princess,” he mumbled in her ear, kissing her neck. Her eyes met his in the mirror, his blue eyes dark with lust. His hands hiked the skirt of her dress around her waist, revealing her bare ass to him.

His hands roamed her skin, squeezing the muscle of her ass. He moved his hands down, parting her legs for him. He looked at her in the mirror, her cleavage in perfect view. If he had the time, he’d make sure to taste every single crevice of her body.

But he didn’t have the time.

Joe undid his slacks, yanking them down along with his boxers. His veiny, thick cock sprung free, red and sensitive with his arousal. His body ached, his heart slammed wildly against his chest. He was so driven by his animalistic need that he didn’t care they were in a public bathroom. He didn’t care if they were caught.

With one hand, Joe held her chin up, making her look at him. With the other, he guided his cock against her velvety folds. His eyes fluttered, her slick coating the hardness of his cock, his lips hovering above her ear. His soft grunts filled her head, the burn of his cock filtering through her folds making her body jerk.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Joe growled in her ear, “so desperate, so mine,”

Without warning, he pushed himself into her. She gasped, arching her back against his chest. Her velvety walls molded around him, taking him in full. The burn was sweet, it electrified every nerve that wired her body together. His hand slid from her chin, cupping around her throat. His hand was warm, firm with his grasp. He didn’t restrict her breathing, but the way he held her made her eyes roll.

Joe’s hips slammed against hers, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the bathroom. His brow was creased with his pleasure, with how her walls clenched around his cock. He held himself up as he thrusted himself in and out of her, the sweetness of the friction making him whimper.

“Needed you all day,” he murmured in her ear, his hand still around her throat. Joe slammed into her, the burn from his thrusts making her moan. Her body jerked with each thrust, her eyes watering from the intensity. She could feel the heat of his cock kiss her cervix, every thrust making her whimper.

“Joe,” she whimpered, her hands holding his hips. It felt so good, so painfully good, she thought she was seeing stars.

“That’s right baby,” he kissed below her ear, “say my name,”

“God,” she moaned, his hips snapping against hers relentlessly, “Joe, fuck,”

She consumed him. Her sounds, how her pussy wrapped so beautifully around his cock, the way her eyes looked in the mirror. His eyes were dark, nearly black with lust as he watched her in the mirror. Her head thrown back, her breasts threatening to tear free from her dress with every thrust. The muscles in her arms bulged, her shoulders tensed as she held onto him.

She was a greek goddess worthy of his worship.

“Look at yourself,” Joe growled. He watched as her eyes peeled open, her lips parted with her whimpers and moans.

“So beautiful,” he growled, feeling the rubber band coil in his gut. She clenched around him, her whimpers becoming erotic as she neared the edge herself. She felt her muscles give, her face contorting with the orgasm that stung the edges of her nerves.

“Joe-”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hips snapping against hers. His lips hovered over her neck, his hands both holding her hips as he pounded into her. She tensed, her orgasm rolling over her in a wave. She felt her orgasm slide down her legs, hot and sticky. She moaned, her muscles shaking as she came, the heat and sweetness of her release making her head spin.

“Fuck,” Joe whimpered as he came inside of her, keeping his body pressed against hers. Hot spurts of cum shot from his cock, coating her walls. His hands held on to her hips, digging into her muscular and soft skin. He panted, sweat clinging to his skin as he slowly pulled himself out of her.

The mirror was fogged, their silhouettes the only things noticeable in the mirror. Joe’s hands caressed her sides, his lips pressing soft kisses against her neck. He could feel her heartbeat in every kiss, could hear the unevenness of her breaths.

“That felt amazing,” she breathed. Her body was warm, the edges of her nerves thoroughly frayed. Joe’s hands guided her back around to face him, resting his forehead against hers. His thighs shook, his heart slamming against his chest.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he hummed. His mind was consumed with her, his craving for her satisfied. Joe recognized the risk they both took, but it was worth it. Seeing her blissed out was worth it.

“Thank you,” she hummed, looping her shuddering arms around his neck. They let the silence sit, the calm after the passion. The bathroom was hot, humid with their sex and their love.

Joe cupped her face, slotting his lips warmly against hers. She hummed into the kiss, her body slowly recovering from the burn of her pleasure. His lips slowly smoothed over her nerves, letting her come down from the blinding lights of her orgasm.

“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away. She smiled at him, her eyes finding his. His cheeks were flushed, his curls askew, and his pupils were blown with affection. She was the object of his desire, his idol, the one he worshiped.

“I love you, too,” she hummed. She took a deep breath, letting her hands fall to his hips. She didn’t know how they’d go back out to that party after that. She kissed him again, quicker and softer, a smile painting her lips.

“Think we can look like nothing happened?” she asked, pulling away from him. She didn’t know if his curls would be able to recover, or if her legs would cooperate.

“I think so,” he exhaled, tugging on his trousers again, “we can always blame it on nerves or something,”

“That’s not gonna work for my wobbly legs, babe,” she admitted, sliding her panties back onto her hips.

“I can make ‘em a lot more wobbly for you,” he winked. He intended to make do on that promise, but not in the gala. He’d risked enough by having her in the bathroom.

“Later, cowboy,” she smirked, readjusting her breasts in her dress, “we do have to make our appearances, ya know. Plus there’s an after party to get through,”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned, opening the door for you, “it means I gotta wait longer to have you,”

“I think that time can hold you over,” she kissed his cheek. They walked back in, hand in hand. They entered back into the gala, pretending like they didn’t just ravish each other. She forgot about the mess she made on the bathroom floor; hopefully someone would blame it on a broken water faucet.

Back when he was called "Sunshine"

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.

A decent pic! 🖤🤍

Posted by Matt Siegel on IG

what are joe and songbird doing rn

a/n: im ovulating so here’s a smutty little blurb for everyone this fine evening

warnings: smut, hint of munch joe

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

his shoulders were pressed firm between her thighs, broad and warm and unwavering as he buried himself between them like a man starved. the room was dim—just the soft amber glow of the hallway light spilling in, casting a glow across the sheets—but everything about the way he touched her felt lit from within. like reverence. like worship.

she was already breathless, one hand gripping the comforter, the other buried in his curls, fingers curling instinctively every time his tongue flattened against her clit. slow, calculated licks that made her toes curl and her hips rise, only to be pressed back down again by those damn hands of his—one on her stomach, the other hooked under her thigh to keep her right where he wanted her.

“joe—,” her voice caught, high and airy, already dissolving into a moan.

he hummed in response—low, satisfied, the sound vibrating through her—then did it again, lips sealing around her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted. and maybe she was. because in the quiet of the off-season, with no film to study, no meetings to rush to, no weight of the world on his back—he could just have her. take his time with her. and god, did he ever.

he pulled back just enough to look at her—his mouth shiny with her arousal, jaw flexing as he dragged two fingers through her slick and pushed them in slow, curling just right. “this okay, baby?”.

she nodded, too breathless to speak, the answer written all over her face. pupils blown, lips parted, chest heaving like she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe unless he told her to. “good,” he murmured, kissing her thigh. “been thinking about this all damn day,”.

then he was back on her, tongue flicking over her clit while his fingers fucked into her slow and steady, coaxing her right to the edge. her thighs shook. her back arched. and he just kept going—murmuring sweet nothings against her, telling her how good she tasted, how pretty she looked like this, how much he loved making her fall apart for him.

his pace was patient, but purposeful. like he had nowhere to be but here. like every slick, shivery sound she made was carved into his ribs. his fingers curled just right inside her, slow and rhythmic, dragging pleasure from her in long, aching pulls. and his mouth—god, his mouth. open and warm and relentless, lapping at her like it grounded him.

when she finally came, it was with his name on her lips—long and trembling and sacred—and he didn’t stop. just held her through it, kissed her through it, licked her through every last wave until she was gasping, tugging at his hair, whispering, “too much, too much,” even as her hips chased after him.

“i’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing her inner thigh. his voice was thick with heat, with love. “you’re so good for me, sweetheart,”.

he didn’t pull away right away. no—he pressed slow kisses along her inner thighs, soft and worshipful, fingers still grazing her skin in lazy, grounding strokes. her body was still trembling beneath him, soft and undone, but when she finally opened her eyes, he was already looking up at her. flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark with affection and something much deeper.

and when he finally came up for air, chest rising with every breath, mouth still warm from her, he grinned. lazy and smug and in love. his hands smoothed up her sides, easing her into his chest as he kissed the sweat-damp skin at her temple. he nudged her leg open again with his thigh, voice rough as he muttered, “still thinking about the way you sounded when you came for me,”. his fingers trailed along the inside of her knee, then higher, “can i have you now?”.

she gave him a look—already dazed and cushy against his body, but still managing a soft, teasing smirk. “you already had me. but okay,”.

he just grinned, leaned down, and kissed her slow. a kiss that was tongue and heat and the kind of need that burned steady in the chest, sinking deep and winding tight. she melted under him, legs parting wider, fingers sliding back into his hair like it was instinct. his body pressed flush to hers, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

he reached between them, teasing her first—his fingertips slipping through the slick mess he’d made of her, gathering it on his fingers and bringing it up to circle her clit. slow. soft. just enough to make her whimper and arch, to make her eyes flutter open and lock on his like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. “that’s it,” he murmured, watching every shift in her face, every breath she stole. “just like that,”.

when he finally guided himself to her entrance, he didn’t rush. he rocked forward gently, dragging the thick head of his cock through her folds, back and forth, until she was gasping—hips twitching, hands clawing at his back like she couldn’t take another second of teasing. and he loved it. he loved the way she came undone beneath him, the way her body responded to his every move like it was made for him.

he pressed in slow. deep. inch by inch until he was fully settled, both of them gasping at the stretch, the closeness, the overwhelming rightness of it “fuck,” he whispered, forehead pressing against hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other holding her hip tight. “you feel so good. always so good for me,”.

he held still for a beat, savoring the way she clenched around him, how warm and wet and perfect she felt. her nails scraped down his back, not to hurt—but to feel. to ground herself in him “please move,” she whispered, voice cracked and pleading.

he did, slowly at first, dragging his cock out until just the tip remained before pushing back in, groaning low as she fluttered around him. she moaned, head tipping back, exposing her throat—and he kissed it, again and again, as he built a rhythm. unhurried. deliberate. aching with intimacy.

he watched her like she was the only thing in the world, every flicker of pleasure, every shiver, every moan feeding something greedy and tender inside him. his hips moved with purpose, grinding deep, rolling into her like he wanted her to feel him for days.

his hands slid down to cup her ass, pulling her into him, making each thrust hit just right. she clung to him, body taut and trembling, mouth parted on soft cries he swallowed with his own. he murmured filth into her skin, love into her mouth, worship into her bones.

“mine,” he growled against her throat, fucking her through the steady build of her next climax. “you’re mine. all of you,”.

her body tightened around him as she came, mouth open in a silent cry, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as the pleasure rippled through her. he held her through it, cursed softly into her skin as he thrust through her release—and then he came too, hips stuttering, cock pulsing deep inside her as he moaned her name like a prayer.

they stayed like that—locked together, slick and shaking and breathless—until the world stopped spinning. his fingers traced patterns along her side, soothing and slow, grounding her again.

“you okay?” he murmured, voice gone rough from their activities.

she nodded, lips curling, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something sweeter. “more than okay,”.

he kissed her again—deeper this time, slower—and whispered against her mouth, “good. because i’m not done with you yet,”.

Back when he was called "Sunshine"

Hello?!

In NYC for Bodyarmor

Missing him😔