SUMMARY: Headcannons Of Joe Burrow Being Your Best Friend, But He Likes You Much More Then Friends Than

Back when he was called "Sunshine"

what are joe and songbird doing on this beautiful day?

a/n: wrote this on the way home from the beach <3

they’re doing everything and nothing, again. wrapped in that honey-gold kind of day that stretches on forever, like time has softened just for them. everything slows in this pocket of the world, tucked into the sleepy rhythm of her home state’s coast. it’s the kind of place where the sea smells like memory—salt and driftwood and sunscreen—and the warm wind combs gently through her hair like an old friend. the beach house is perched just above the shore, all sun-bleached shingles and sea glass tones, with crisp white curtains fluttering in every window and wood floors warmed by the morning light. everything inside smells like coconut, linen, and a trace of her vanilla lotion—soft and familiar, like the inside of a hug.

they wake tangled up, limbs strewn carelessly, skin warm from shared body heat and yesterday’s sun. joe’s voice is gravel-soft as he murmurs a lazy good morning against her shoulder, breath fanning over her skin. he’s shirtless, golden shoulders touched by the sun, a pair of charcoal drawstring shorts slung low on his hips. his hair’s all fluffy from sleep, sticking up in tufts she immediately runs her fingers through. she’s wearing one of his old cotton t-shirts, so long it brushes the tops of her thighs when she pads barefoot into the kitchen. her legs are warm and tan, her lips still kiss-bitten from the night before.

breakfast is quiet and unhurried, bare toes brushing beneath the counter, sunlight pouring across the countertops. she makes toast with honey and soft scrambled eggs while he digs through the fridge for juice, drinking straight from the carton. an old playlist—summer anthems from their high school years—plays from her phone on the windowsill. they slow-dance barefoot on the cool tile, orange juice forgotten, his hands splayed on her lower back, hers looped loosely behind his neck. when her favorite summer song comes on, everybody wants to rule the world, he lifts her off the ground like it’s instinct, spinning her in slow, giggly circles until she’s breathless and flushed.

by late morning, they’re wandering down to the beach. the air is thick with salt and heat, the sand warm and soft beneath their feet. he’s carrying a speaker and their little red cooler, she’s tucked under his arm with a paperback novel in one hand and their striped beach towels over her shoulder. they set up beneath the wide umbrella—she sprawls on her stomach in a bikini with her sunglasses sliding down her nose, he stretches out beside her, head tilted toward the sound of her voice. they take turns reading aloud from her book, her cadence smooth and musical, his voice low and scratchy, a little shy at first until she nudges him with her foot and smiles.

when he gets hot, he drags her into the ocean with a laugh, the water biting at their ankles before soothing into something balmy and blue. she wraps her legs around his waist, arms looped behind his neck, squealing when he pretends to lose balance in the surf. he kisses her, deep and slow, the taste of salt clinging to their lips. then he dunks her, and she comes up shrieking, hair stuck to her face, swatting at him with all the strength of a seaweed-wrapped noodle. he swears he didn’t mean to. they make up with kisses and clumsy sand angels, their backs damp and sticky with sun and sea.

in the afternoon, they throw on easy clothes, her in denim shorts and a loose tank, him in a worn tee and flip-flops, and head to the boardwalk. the wood planks are hot beneath their feet, the scent of funnel cake and fried shrimp thick in the air. they stop for soft serve—chocolate-vanilla swirl with rainbow sprinkles, melting too fast under the heat—and take turns feeding each other, licking stray drops from fingers and grinning like they’re on their first date. they wander into little beach shops, trying on matching sunglasses, holding up cheesy t-shirts that read “i’m with him ➡️” and “i’m with her ⬅️,”. she ties a cheap woven bracelet around his wrist—bright blue and yellow—and he pretends it’s designer. he wins her a tiny stuffed dolphin at the ring toss, and she squeals like she’s never been given anything more precious.

as the sky begins to dim, they board a little rented boat just in time for the sunset. her legs are slung over his lap, head resting against his shoulder, hair tousled from the breeze. he’s one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh, lazy and warm. she hums along to her favorite songs—her voice soft and sweet over the gentle lapping of the waves. the sky turns gold, then pink, then a deep lavender, like something straight out of an album cover she’d dreamed about, and she turns to catch his profile against it and swears she’s never loved him more than in that exact moment.

they eat dinner tucked into the back corner of a dockside restaurant, the scent of citrus and garlic in the air, the glow of string lights overhead. her legs are draped across his, her foot tracing idle patterns on his calf. he feeds her a bite of his seafood pasta and makes a face when she steals one of his fries. they split a slice of key lime pie, the crust buttery and the filling cold on their tongues. she wipes whipped cream from the corner of his mouth with her fingertip and kisses him soft and slow, just because.

when they’re home again, windows open to the lull of waves, they light a candle on the kitchen table and play cards with their shoulders bumping every time they laugh. she beats him at uno, twice, and talks so much shit he throws a pillow at her. they settle into the couch with mario kart and fuzzy blankets, legs tangled and heads tipped together. every time he loses, he turns to press a kiss to her temple, and she pretends it doesn’t melt her every time.

they fall asleep like that, blankets pooled at their feet, her hand splayed over his chest, the wind whispering through the open windows, and the ocean just beyond, steady and constant. a day full of heat and kisses and sugar and sand, the kind of day that stitches itself into their bones and stays there forever.

Back when he was called "Sunshine"

after party - joe burrow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you snapped a picture in response.

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

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

wishing you were here :(

His reply came fast.

You think that’s funny?

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

what do you want to do about it?

Hours later, the call came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The call ended abruptly.

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

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

Impatient, are we?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, J—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gonna let me fuck you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

im still here

Lines We Cross - Joe Burrow

Summary: A small lie in the heat of the moment leads to unforeseen consequences. Sometimes, pretending feels a little too real.

Warnings: fem!reader, fluff, mentions of injury

Author’s note: This fic was inspired by the events of Bengals vs Steelers game. This is only a work of fiction. Also not proofread.

The stadium buzzed with electric energy as you settled into your seat at the paycor stadium. The air was crisp, the perfect night for football, and the roar of Bengals fans clad in orange and black, on their feet, waving banners, faces painted with tiger stripes, echoed through the stands. The smell of beer, popcorn, and adrenaline hung heavy in the air. It was chaos, but it was also magic—the kind of energy that could make you believe anything was possible.

You couldn’t help but feel the excitement coursing through your veins as you watched Joe step onto the field, his usual confident swagger on full display. The crowd erupted, chanting his name, and you couldn’t help but feel proud of him. It was a big game, and the stakes were high.

It had been a wild ride for him since his LSU days, and you’d been there every step of the way. Watching him thrive in the NFL felt surreal.

To the rest of the world, Joe Burrow was the golden boy quarterback, the face of the Bengals. To you, though, he was just Joe—your best friend since elementary school, the guy who put glue in your hair as a prank, then spent the whole afternoon trying to fix it with water and paper towels.

You sat in the stands with your Bengals jersey pulled tight and your heart beating harder than it probably should. This wasn’t your first time at one of Joe’s games, but something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was because every time he threw a pass or took a hit, you felt it like it was happening to you.

Being Joe’s best friend was hard enough—being secretly in love with him was a whole other level of torture.

Not that you’d ever admit it to him.

The game was intense. Joe was in the zone, moving the ball downfield with precision, but the opposing team wasn’t letting up. You cheered with the rest of the crowd, your voice hoarse from shouting. The Bengals were up by three points in the third quarter when it happened.

The pocket collapsed in a split second, and before Joe could release the ball, he was hit. Hard. One defender wrapped him up around the waist while another came barreling in from the side, slamming him to the turf.

The stadium fell silent as he stayed on the ground longer than he should have.

Your stomach dropped.

The medical staff rushed onto the field, and your world narrowed. Without a second thought, you stood, your legs moving before your brain could catch up.

You wove through the stands, brushing past strangers who barely seemed to notice you, all their attention fixed on the field. You didn’t care about the looks you got, didn’t care about the rules. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a frantic rhythm driving you forward.

By the time you reached the tunnel, your breath was coming in short gasps, your pulse roaring in your ears. But just as you tried to push forward, two security guards stepped in front of you, hands raised to stop you.

“Sorry, miss, you can’t go through,” one of them said.

“I need to see him,” you said, voice trembling. “I need to know he’s okay.”

“I'm sorry but only medical personnel and team staff are allowed- ”

“I have to see him. I’m his girlfriend!” you blurted, the lie tumbling out faster than your brain could stop it.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your palms grew clammy as you felt the weight of what you’d just said. The words felt foreign, wrong even, but they were out there now, hanging in the air like a challenge.

The staff exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of skepticism and uncertainty.

“Wait here,” one of them said curtly, before disappearing down the dimly lit tunnel.

You let out a shaky breath as he walked away, but the relief was short-lived. What were you going to say to Joe? That you’d panicked and lied to get back here? That you couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him? The lie had spilled out before you could stop it, but there was no taking it back now.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. You shifted your weight from foot to foot, wringing your hands, every nerve in your body wound tight. And then, at last, you heard footsteps echoing down the tunnel.

Joe emerged, limping slightly, his gait uneven but otherwise he looked fine. Relief crashed over you like a wave, and a shaky breath escaped your lips before you even realized you’d been holding it.

His gaze found yours instantly, locking onto you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken all over again. Even from a distance, you could see it—the faintest curve of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, equal parts mischief and reassurance.

“They told me my girlfriend was demanding to see me,” he said, his grin widening as he approached.

Your arms folded across your chest, more out of reflex than defiance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck and settling on your cheeks, but you ignored it.

“I had to say something,” you replied quickly, your tone defensive. “They weren’t going to let me through otherwise.”

He stopped a few feet in front of you, his head tilted to the side in mock curiosity, those blue eyes of his sparkling with mischief.

“So, you’re my girlfriend now?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep the upper hand despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“Don’t get used to it, Burrow,” you shot back, your voice sharp, though the edge was dulled by the waver you couldn’t quite hide.

His laugh—soft, low, and undeniably boyish—filled the space between you, and your resolve nearly cracked. That grin, the one that had been the undoing of countless defenses, was aimed squarely at you. It made your heart ache in a way you’d never admit, not even to yourself.

“Well, girlfriend,” he teased, leaning slightly closer, “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about. Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

You frowned, refusing to let him charm his way out of this.

“You didn’t look fine when those guys landed on you,” you muttered, your eyes darting to the trainers hovering just a few feet away. “You should’ve been more careful.”

His amusement softened into something gentler, and he took a step closer, closing the already small distance between you. His voice was quieter now, meant just for you.

“You were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you cursed yourself for how raw they sounded. Desperate to cover the slip, you stumbled over your next sentence.

“You’re my—” You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest. “You’re my best friend.”

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. He didn’t look convinced in the slightest. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Your frustration flared, partly at him but mostly at yourself. “Don’t read into it, Joe. It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he said smoothly, though his tone told you he already had. “But for the record, you’re a pretty convincing girlfriend. Might have to keep you around for emergencies.”

You scoffed, but the way his eyes softened when he looked at you made it hard to stay mad.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning slightly to hide your face and the heat you knew was there.

“And you care more than you want to admit,” he countered, his voice following you.

Before you could muster a response, one of the trainers called Joe’s name from the sidelines, motioning for him to return. His head turned in their direction, but he didn’t move right away. Instead, he lingered, eyes still on you like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment go.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant for you and you alone. “Since you’re my girlfriend now, I think it’s only fair you give me a good luck kiss before I go back out there.”

Your heart lurched, a sudden fluttering that stole your breath and left you momentarily stunned. You narrowed your eyes, hoping to mask the way his words sent a thrill through you.

“Don’t push your luck, Burrow,” you shot back, your voice steadier than you expected.

“Come on,” he teased, his tone as smooth as silk. “Just a little one. For good luck. You don’t want me going out there unlucky, do you?”

For a second, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment hung between you and then, without thinking any further, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

The second your lips made contact, Joe froze, his body stiffening slightly as if your touch had short-circuited his usual easy confidence. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he didn’t move, the surprise in his expression almost comical.

You pulled back quickly, your pulse racing in the quiet that followed.

“There. Happy now?” you said, your voice slightly breathless, hoping to deflect the sudden wave of uncertainty washing over you.

Joe blinked a few times, as if trying to recalibrate, before his lips curved into a slow, dazed smile.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m more than happy.”

Before you could let yourself process the way his words sent a fresh wave of heat through you—the trainer called his name again, more insistent this time.

Joe sighed dramatically, throwing one last glance your way. “Duty calls,” he said.

“Try not to get sacked again, Joe.”

“I’ll do my best, girlfriend,” laughter in his voice.

As he jogged back leaving you standing there, you caught the way he glanced over his shoulder, that grin still firmly in place.

As you made your way back to your seat, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that it was just Joe being Joe. But deep down, you knew better.

And from the way he’d looked at you, you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew it too.

Rich Uncle

Operations series Father’s Day special!

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

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

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

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

Until maybe they were.

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

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

The nap wasn’t supposed to be long.

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

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

A baby.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stepped inside, slow and confused.

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

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

What the hell is going on?

He took a step forward. Then another.

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

And then he saw it.

Your eyes.

Wide and glassy and unmistakably you.

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

They fit there like they belonged.

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

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

Joe didn’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

Not just in a dream. But in his bones.

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

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

Joe jolted awake.

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

The house was still.

No crying. No crib. No baby.

Just him.

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

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

It made him want.

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

Joe exhaled slowly, letting the thought settle.

Maybe this wasn’t just some weird dream.

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

He wanted to be a dad.

And he wanted it to be with you.

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

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

Everywhere he looked there were baby reminders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s she doing? With, y’know…”

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

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

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

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

You looked up. “About what?”

He hesitated. “Having a baby.”

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

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

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

“I had a dream,” he said quietly.

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

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

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

He paused, breathing through it.

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

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

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

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

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

Joe smiled sheepishly, but you weren’t done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Hello?!

In NYC for Bodyarmor