Kelly

But he’s trying. God, he’s trying.

You’re upstairs, earbuds in, folding laundry, blissfully unaware that your six-foot-four superstar - your quiet, introverted, structured, football-minded boyfriend is currently elbow-deep in the chaos of Ticketmaster resale pages, Twitter threads, fan forums, and shady group chats full of strangers with usernames like “AriMoonlightMommy” and “DangerousWifey94.”

All because you, one hour ago, sighed with a soft little, “I really wanted to go… but they sold out so fast.”

You didn’t whine, didn’t even hint. You just said it in that small, wistful voice, more to yourself than to him. And Joe, whose brain is engineered to solve problems with tactical precision, immediately interpreted it as: Fix it. Immediately. At any cost.

He didn’t even kiss you before he left the room. Just got up so fast the couch groaned under him, mumbled something incoherent, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Which is where he is now, staring at a glowing screen displaying a pair of tickets priced at something obscene, like eighty grand. Eighty thousand dollars. For two slips of digital entry.

And the worst part is, he’s considering it.

Not blindly. Not recklessly. Just with that laser-focused seriousness he usually reserves for film study.

Because it’s you.

Because despite his grumbling and “I don’t get the hype” and his “didn’t she have a show when we were in middle school?” comments, he knows Ariana Grande means something to you. He’s seen the way your face lights up whenever her music comes on in the car, how you lose all sense of self-consciousness singing the high notes while tapping out lyrics on the steering wheel. He’s seen you, bare-faced and in his oversized hoodie, humming “thank u, next” while brushing your teeth. He’s seen the way you beam when you hear the first chords of “pov.”

He might not understand the cultural chokehold Ariana Grande had on your generation, but he understands you.

So here he is. Suffering.

He’s on hold with Ticketmaster customer service. He’s got the Ticketmaster app open on his phone, three browser tabs, two group chats, and one FaceTime call with Ja’Marr - who, to Joe’s absolute horror, somehow knows even less about this than he does.

“Bro, why would you even go to an Ariana Grande show?” Ja’Marr asks, sprawled across his couch half a city away, eating cereal out of the box. “You know she got, like… crazy fans, right? Same level as Swifties.”

Joe pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m dating one of them.”

Ja’Marr bursts out laughing, Joe doesn’t.

He hasn’t blinked in three minutes.

Tee joins the FaceTime from a separate call because Ja’Marr added him, because of course. “You on the floor?” Tee asks, squinting at Joe’s laptop screen from his tiny window. “Damn, is that number real or is your bank app glitching?”

Joe swears under his breath. “It’s real.”

Tee whistles. “You really love this girl, huh?”

Joe doesn’t answer, but his ears turn pink. He doesn’t have to say anything. They all know.

“Alright, alright,” Tee says, getting serious. “What exactly are we doing? Why’s this like a military op?”

“That’s what I said,” Ja’Marr nods. “He’s in there like it’s the damn playoffs.”

Joe glares. “It sold out in like sixty seconds. That’s not normal. That’s-that’s... not human. You don’t understand.”

Tee snorts. “We actually don’t, man but go ahead, coach us through.”

Joe launches into a full breakdown, pointing at charts and drop-down menus, explaining fake scalpers versus legit ones, how certain serial numbers indicate actual resale, how he found a Reddit post about bots sweeping up tickets and how he’s trying to track down one reliable reseller with verifiable proof.

And the two wide receivers stare at him, jaws slack, because somewhere between page seven of a fan forum and a Venmo request screenshot, Joe Burrow - franchise quarterback, has descended into the bowels of the internet like some undercover agent.

“You sure this ain’t identity theft?” Ja’Marr asks.

Joe shrugs, doesn’t even look away from his screen. “If I get hacked, I get hacked.”

“You tryna drop a hundred bands?” Tee adds, eyebrows raised.

“I said if I have to,” Joe corrects, tone flat.

“But why?” Ja’Marr presses.

And that’s when Joe finally looks up.

He shrugs. Not casual but gentle. Thoughtful, certain.

“Because she wants to go. And I want her to be happy.”

He says it so simply that it stuns them quiet.

Ja’Marr slowly nods. Tee lets out a low whistle. “Alright. That’s real.”

Joe is already typing again.

He refreshes, then again. He loses out on two resales within seconds because someone beat him to checkout. He mutters curses under his breath. He tries one more site - sketchier, but verified by a fan community.

Then-

A ping.

Two seats. Lower bowl. Close enough that you’d see the stage lights reflect off her hair. Real tickets, not vaporware. Insanely priced, but not… life-ruining. Not as much as the 80k ones.

He sits up straighter.

Tee leans toward the camera. “You got it?”

Joe clicks.

The screen freezes, then he panics.

Ja’Marr is yelling, “BRO HIT REFRESH - NO, DON’T-WAIT--AHH-”

Tee is yelling, “Stop clicking so fast! Relax!”

Joe is on the verge of cardiac arrest.

Then, mercifully-

PURCHASE CONFIRMED.

He stares at the screen. At the confirmation email. At the ticket transfer.

He doesn’t speak.

Tee and Ja’Marr erupt.

“WOOOOOO-HE DID IT!”

“JOEY B, YOU A POP STAR NOW!”

“You’re gonna be in a sea of glitter and screaming teenagers, bro!”

Joe just sits there, letting it sink in, chest swelling with something warm and bright. He imagines your face when he tells you. The gasp, the wide-eyed disbelief, the way your whole body will light up like a sparkler.

He smiles.

He whispers to himself, “She’s gonna freak out.”

Tee grins. “You’re a good man, Joe.”

Ja’Marr points at him. “You better wear earplugs.”

Joe huffs a laugh. “I’ll deal.”

They tease him for another ten minutes before hanging up, leaving Joe alone in the kitchen with his laptop, his pounding heartbeat, and the surreal knowledge that he just spent an absurd amount of money on something he doesn’t even understand, but he doesn’t regret it for a single second.

He takes a breath. Stands, then cracks his back.

And, just as he goes to close the laptop, you appear in the doorway.

Your hair is still slightly damp from your shower. You’re in one of his old LSU t-shirts, socks mismatched, cheek smudged from where you must’ve leaned on your hand. You look soft and sleepy and entirely unaware of the silent war he just fought in your name.

“You okay?” you ask, eyes warm. “You kinda disappeared.”

He looks at you.

At your curious eyes, at the little smile you carry without knowing it, at the person he’d willingly navigate hellish resale markets for.

And he bites back his smile, playing it cool.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just… handling something.”

You squint. “Something bad?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Something good.”

Your brows knit together. “What kind of good?”

He kisses the top of your forehead. “You’ll see.”

You lean into him without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest. He melts, like he always does, burying his chin on top of your head, hands sliding down your back, thumbs brushing your hips.

You hum. “You seem stressed out.”

He huffs a laugh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

You look up at him, lips twitching. “Why? What’d you do?”

He taps your nose. “Later. Promise.”

You pout. He caves instantly, kisses you again - the soft kind that makes his heartbeat slow down from the frantic rhythm of thirty minutes ago.

When you finally pull away, he just stares at you, something intensely fond in his eyes.

He thinks, not for the first time, he would do anything for you.

Even face the wrath of Ariana Grande’s fanbase, even go to a concert surrounded by neon lights, choreography, screaming vocals, glitter everywhere, even spend a ridiculous amount of money to see your joy explode in real time.

You loop your arms around his neck and sway a little. “Whatever you did,” you whisper, “thank you.”

He smiles.

“You’ll thank me more later,” he murmurs.

And you will - oh, you absolutely will - when you see two digital tickets sitting neatly in your inbox with a note that reads:

“Dress comfortable. I love you.”

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

It was a cozy fall evening at home for Joe and I, a rarity during the season. We were both snuggled up on the couch, I was lying between Joe’s legs with my back to his chest and a blanket draped over us both. To get into the spirit with Halloween around the corner, Joe decided it would be a good idea to watch a scary movie. The first one he found was Scream.

While the movie played in the background, Joe and I talked about the upcoming Halloween get together we were planning with some of our friends. It was going to be our first Halloween together and I wanted to do something special for it. Joe, being more introverted and as costume-opposed as he was, agreed because ‘it would make me happy’.

“You could always do something simple like one of those masks or something” feeling myself get excited as I said the idea out loud. That had been one of my newly discovered kinks, never trying it myself before, but finding something about it to be extremely hot. Knowing it would be Joe underneath the mask, letting him do what pleased to me under a façade. I hadn’t said anything to Joe yet, not that I feel like he would necessarily judge me for it, but it wasn’t the most traditional kink out there.

“You mean like that ghost one or something?” Joe questioned, oblivious to how his words were affecting me. I squeezed me thighs closer together at the thought of Joe masked up and fucking me senseless. 

I must’ve been lost in my thoughts longer than I thought, Joe nudging my back from behind waiting on a response.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I questioned, voice slightly labored.

“I asked if you wanted me to wear a Ghostface mask for the party. I’m not big on costumes, but I could make something work with that” Joe stated, feeling content with the idea. 

I could feel my cheeks heating up at the thought, mumbling something into the blanket. Joe looked at me confused, pulling the blanket down to see my rosy cheeks.

“What’d you say babe, I can’t hear you when you’re mumbling” he looked at me, eyes soft and waiting for an answer. 

It was now or never, the worst that could happen would be him saying no. 

“I feel like you would look hot dressed up as Ghostface” I spoke quickly, darting back under the blanket to hide my embarrassment for, what I felt like, would be the inevitable judgement I’d get for the confession.

“Hey, hey why are you hiding on me? There’s no need to get all shy on me now” Joe said with a light chuckle, pulling the blanket back from my face yet again. Flushed cheeks and shallow breathing an obvious indicator of the thoughts on my mind. It was a miracle Joe hadn’t pointed that out yet.

“I think I could make that work for you, I could make a pretty hot Ghostface huh” Joe said, pulling me back against him and turning his attention back to the tv. I felt my desire growing, images of Joe in the mask flooding my thoughts for the remainder of the evening. I couldn’t wait for the party.

The next day

I had just gotten home from work, excited to get out of my work clothes and ready to change from my skirt and sweater to one of joe’s hoodies and sweatpants. I was able to get out early which was a rarity and figured I would help Joe do some more of the decorating for the party. He had the time available and offered to do what he could, but I didn’t expect him to do everything when it was my idea to host. I slid my key into the door, unlocking it and shutting it gently behind me.

When I was met with silence, I called out to Joe, letting him know of my early arrival, just to be further met with silence. I slid off my jacket and took off my shoes by the door walking further into the house, looking to see if he was in the kitchen. I noticed that he had started to put up some of the decorations for the party, but I also noticed something else on the edge of the kitchen island. There was a bloody handprint made out of red paint. I continued further into the house, finding more handprints as I went, but not Joe. When I finally made it to the bedroom after finding the last handprint, I was met with an empty room.

“Joe?” I lightly called out, questioning where else he could possibly be. 

‘I wonder where he went’, I said to myself in my head, noting that his car was in the garage when I pulled in. As I was about to turn around to leave the room, I felt a firm hand slither around my waist, the other coming up to cover my mouth. I was first met with a feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach, but that soon diminished to desire, knowing it was Joe behind me. I could feel his muscles as he pulled my closer to him, making it harder for me to escape. 

His hand slid down from my mouth to my throat, grasping me to pull me towards his mouth as he leaned to my ear. His voice came through muffled, telling me that he must’ve listened intently to our conversation the night before. I turned my head the best I could and noticed that there was a mask over his face.

Joe turned me to face him, my breath hitching in my throat as I was met with a Ghostface mask and a shirtless Joe, his muscles on full display. Joe pushed me up against the wall, caging me in with his body, leaning his masked face down by my ear. 

He whispered, “looks like it’s my turn to play”.

It was so sudden; I was swept up into his arms and tossed back on the bed. It was quite a sight to behold, my Greek god of a boyfriend shirtless, masked up, and ready to do what he pleased with me. I could feel the familiar burn in my stomach begin to grow and the mess of thoughts going on in my head of the endless possibilities. 

I scooted back as far as I could go towards the headboard before Joe gripped one of my ankles, dragging me back towards him and lifting up my skirt in the process. He began to climb up onto the bed, his presence filling the entire room. I laid there before him, feeling defenseless and excited for what was to come. 

“Take your sweater off for me. Now” Joe demanded, and without a second thought I did. 

“Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Is this living up to your fantasy that you had in your head?” Joe asked his voice dripping with desire as I struggled to form coherent thoughts.

I quickly nodded my head, a grumbled yes being the only thing I could come up with. A gasp escaped my lips as he slid his hands down my bare thighs, forcing my knees to bend, hiking my skirt higher up my legs, as I laid back on the bed. Joe growled with approval of my evident desire laid out before him, trailing his fingers over my clothed pussy. He was looking at me as if I was an entire meal ready to be devoured. 

“if I knew this would get you this wet sweetheart, I would’ve done this sooner. You’ve been holding out on me huh” Joe joked as he continued to tease me. 

I could feel my patience wearing thinner the longer he held out on me continuing to tease my clothed center. 

“Please Joe “I begged, the need to feel his hands on me properly growing with each passing second. 

“Look at you, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re already soaked for me. Can barely even form a sentence, you’re so needy. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours hm? Are you thinking about how badly you want me to touch you, fuck you with my fingers while I’m wearing this mask” Joe continued, finally sliding my panties down my legs, the cool air hitting my pussy causing me to shiver. 

Before I could give him a proper answer, he thrust his two middle fingers into me, pressing in all of the right places with the right speed and pressure. The best response I could come up with was a moan as my back arched up off of the mattress. 

“Look at my girl, already a mess from just my fingers. Think you can cum just from my fingers for me?” Joe questioned, voice low and gravely.

At this rate with how he’s been with me, it felt like a genuine possibility. With Joe’s other hand, he moved my bra up off of my tits to gain access, immediately pinching one of my hard nipples. I felt the familiar knot begin to tighten, ready to snap at any moment. 

“Cum for me sweet girl, I know you can” Joe mused as his paced quicken and began to touch my clit with his thumb. That caused the snap, becoming a moaning mess beneath him. It took me a good minute to regain my composure and come back down from my high. 

I looked up at him from the bed, reigniting my desire to have him again. 

“I want your pretty mouth on my cock baby before I absolutely ruin you. The only thing you’ll know how to say is my name” Joe __, his erection evident in his sweats.

A new wave of desire washed over me, eagerly getting down on my knees, wanting to obey him. I placed a delicate kiss over his clothed crotch, my fingers toying with the waistband of his black sweatpants while I looked up at him innocently.

“I’m not in the mood for games right now, baby girl you don’t want to test me” Joe groaned firmly, not wanting to test him any further.

“Yes sir” I said, eliciting a deep moan from above at my word choice, before pulling down his sweatpants and boxers all in one swift motion. His hard cock came free, causing my mouth to water at the sight of it. I gave his head a kiss before licking a stripe from the base to the tip, taking him into my mouth as far as I could go.

I created a steady rhythm, taking in what I could and using my hand for what I couldn’t. I felt my hair being pulled into a makeshift ponytail.

“I want to fuck your mouth so bad right now” Joe said, voice filled with lust.

I nodded, letting him take control as I felt my eyes begin to water from his thrusts, though he was still careful to not go too deep. 

“God I love how your mouth feels on me, but nothing will ever beat your pussy” Joe said pulling me up from the floor and back to the bed. 

He lined himself up at my entrance and pushed in slowly, giving me a moment to adjust to his size. At my nod to continue, his pace picked up quickly, thrusting into me at a punishing rate. My hands reached around to his back, my nails digging in to ground myself somehow. This caused Joe to groan and throw his head back with pleasure.

“Think I didn’t notice how you reacted last night when we were talking about the mask? I could feel you getting flustered thinking about me just like this” Joe said, voice rough from exhaustion. 

His comment caused my head to spin, bringing out my own groan at his confession. I felt him adjust slightly, allowing a hand to grip onto my throat, squeezing slightly.

“That’s my girl, love my hand on your throat while I fuck you masked up” Joe said his pace faltering slightly, signaling that he was getting close too.

“Joe I-I’m so close” I whined, voice breaking from the pleasure I was feeling.

“Me too baby, cum around my cock for me yeah? I know you can do it” Joe praised, luring me closer to the edge.

With a few more hard thrusts, I felt myself all over the edge, screaming out Joe’s name without a care for who heard. I felt Joe finish shortly after, his body falling on me from sheer exhaustion.

We laid like that for a little, before Joe lifted his head, taking the mask off and meeting my eyes with his blue ones.

“Hi” I said, voice small after the acts that had just ensued. My shyness returning 

“Hey” Joe replied, placing a soft kiss to my lift. 

He got up, pulling out of me, eliciting a groan at the loss of contact with him. He walked off to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth to clean me up. He left scattered tender kisses as he cleaned my skin, cleaning himself in the process and getting back in bed with me. He pulled me into his chest and placed a kiss on top of my head, letting myself fall into his warmth.

I spoke up, breaking the silence, “I think that was one of the kinkiest things we’ve ever done” following my statement with a breathy laugh.

Joe chuckled in agreeance, “you’ve been holding out on me apparently. Are there any other secret kinks I should know about?”

I blushed, tucking my head into his embrace further. “Maybe that’s something we can explore together”.

“I’m definitely down for that”.

her fingers drift into his hair, combing through the thick, sun-warmed strands with a kind of devotion usually reserved for prayer. she twists a piece around her finger, watches it coil and release, again and again, like tides. sometime's it even gets caught in her ring, but she never minds because she feels as if the ring shines brighter every time he touches it. occasionally, a soft hum escapes him, fragile, unguarded, a sound she wants to trap in her palms and never let go of. to anyone else, he is made of steel. to her, he is spun sugar and skin. she studies him the way poets study light—the subtle flutter of lashes against cheek, the faint berry flush of post-shower skin, the tiny scar near his palm she once kissed before he left for a road game. she memorizes him in stillness, like he is her favorite passage.

and it hits her, like it always does: how can someone so powerful, someone who commands stadiums and silences crowds, trust her so completely he melts into her touch like this? his mouth parts in a barely-there sigh, his arm slides further around her waist, fingers curling into the hem of her sweatshirt as though anchoring himself before the world sweeps him away. it is instinctual. unconscious. not possession—but seeking. stay, his body whispers. stay, stay, stay. she thinks of all the versions of him the world believes they know—ice-veined competitor, franchise savior, myth. but none of them know this boy. the boy who leans into her hands like they hold salvation. the boy who craves quiet more than glory. the boy who never asks to be held, but always sighs when he is.

she presses her thumb to his forehead, smoothing those soft curls back, tracing the curve of his hairline. he shudders. barely. but she feels it as if it’s her own pulse. she could write entire songs about this, and she has—the way love, real love, looks nothing like fireworks but everything like this: a couch at midnight, mismatched socks, thunder in the distance, his weight on her thighs, her fingers in his hair. she wonders if he knows how beautiful he is like this. not the kind of beautiful cameras capture, no spotlight could catch the gentle tremor in his breath, the vulnerable slack of his mouth, the quiet trust that only appears when he is hers and only hers. this beauty is secret. undefeated. hers to protect.

she drops a kiss onto his temple. slow. featherlight. sanctified. and in that barely-there moment, she feels him breathe something she can’t quite name, like he is silently admitting that this, she, is the only place in the world he is not required to be strong. she tightens her hand in his hair, not to pull, but to promise. to vow in silence what she has whispered a thousand times across skin and bone: you are safe here. you are known here. you are home.

sometimes he starts to drift, that hazy place between sleep and waking where his defenses dissolve completely. his lashes flutter, but he doesn’t open his eyes; instead, he tilts his head into her touch like a cat searching warmth, a soft mmm slipping past his lips—barely audible, but enough to send something molten through her chest. she pauses, thumb tracing the delicate dip of his temple. keep doing that…please. it comes out slurred, hushed, as if he’s afraid the world might hear how desperately he needs her. she smiles, small and aching. for all his power, for all the times she’s watched him command a huddle with fire in his eyes, this is her favorite version—the one who thinks needing is weakness everywhere but here.

she continues, fingertips gliding through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp just the way he loves. she discovered it by accident, very early on in their relationship, after a long flight he took straight from practice to her place in new york, he had laid his head in her lap the same way, heavy-eyed and quiet. she combed through his hair absentmindedly, and he let out a sound so low, so guttural, it startled them both. now, it is ritual. sacred. it is how she wordlessly says i love you when the world has taken too much from him.

eventually, she shifts—just slightly—to ease a cramp forming in her knee. his brows knit the second she moves. he makes a small, disgruntled sound, like a child roused too early. she hushes him with a whisper, smoothing a palm across the side of his face. “i’m right here,” she breathes. three words. but his body responds instantly. the tension uncoils. his lips part in what might be the ghost of a smile. right here.

god, the things those words mean to him. you’re not leaving. you’re choosing me. when i’m quiet. when i’m tired. when i’m not impressive. you stay.

she watches him like this for a long while, heart swelling with a tenderness so potent it nearly hurts. this is everything love should have been for him his whole life—restful. forgiving. wide open. she leans forward and presses her lips to his forehead. not quick. not casual. a long, lingering kiss that says everything she has never said out loud.

his eyes flutter open at last. hazy. oceanic. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t need to. he just looks at her, really looks, and it feels like a hand closing around her ribcage. no one else ever gets this gaze. it’s his deepest truth, unspoken. i love you. i need you. don’t ever doubt it. his hand finds her cheek. thumb strokes her jaw. his voice, when it finally comes, is gravel-soft. “come here.” it isn’t an order. it’s a plea.

she slips beneath him without question, shifting until she’s straddling his lap, their bodies pressed chest to chest, heart to heart. he exhales, a single heavy breath through his nose, arms encircling her waist with the kind of hold that feels like forever. he tucks his face into her neck, breath hot at her collarbone. she runs her fingers through his hair again, gentler now, nails tracing the nape of his neck. his whole body shudders. “god,” he murmurs, voice muffled against her skin, “you have no idea…how much i…,” he trails off. words aren’t his language, despite the beautiful things he says to her. touch is.

he’d just got home from rehab. it helped the build up, the sexual tension that riddled his muscles. he limped through the threshold, his footsteps heavy as he walked into the kitchen to fill his water up.

“you’re home,” he hears her, and then he feels her. arms wrapped around his middle. her face pressed against his back. he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling that undeniable sense of lust.

“yeah, baby,” he hums. he turns to face her, leaning down and kissing her softly. he meant it to be soft, a quick kiss to the lips, but his jaw loosens and his lips devour her with slow movements. she doesn’t pull him back, doesn’t push him off.

God knows she’s needed this too.

“you’re gonna get yourself worked up,” she warns. joe doesn’t care. he’s been worked up for the past month, not able to fuck his girl properly.

“been worked up,” he mutters, kissing her jaw, “it’s killing me,”

she knows it has. it’s been killing her too. she’s gotten off a couple of times, needing some sort of release. but nothing compared to his dick being inside her body making those ungodly sounds.

he doesn’t let her go. he leads her over to the couch, sitting down. he guides her to his thigh, which he presses against her crotch.

“ride it,” he tells her. the sheer dominance in his voice, the roughness of his tone makes her thighs ache. she grabs his shoulders and repositions herself, slowly grinding against the hard muscle of his thigh.

“atta girl,” he breathes, almost relieved to have something else to watch than his own dick in his hand. he watches as her hips move languidly across his thigh, starting in slow, careful thrusts. he holds her hips, guiding her movements.

“shorts off,” he tells her, “panties too,”

so she strips. it’s bare pussy to bare thigh. she gasps, and she wants to get used to the feeling of his thigh against her pussy, but joe isn’t waiting. he pulls her down and pushes his thigh into her crotch, making her whine.

“fuckin’ ride it, baby,” he growls, “like you ride this dick,”

and she does. she plants herself, grinding her bare pussy and his thigh. the hardness of his thigh against her pussy sends her into a bliss-like coma. she holds his shoulders, his hands guiding her hips faster against his thigh.

and fuck it felt good.

“been needin’ this pussy,” joe grumbles, watching her pussy lips spread across his thigh. her slick spreads, like slime. it’s cool, but it makes his skin crawl with heat. her body moves on its own, chasing the feeling of her own release.

this was better than any head he’s ever gotten.

“joey,” she whispers. it’s desperate, a prayer on her lips. he can feel her grow slicker, her thick arousal coating his muscles. He watches, the erotic sight of her pussy spreading and accommodating for the muscle of his thigh. He shifts her down, putting his knee right against her clit.

“oh God,” she moans. it’s exactly what he wants. he rolls his knee around her clit, pulling her orgasm closer and closer towards the edge.

she finally spills over the edge. she lifts her hips as she squirts, hot and thick liquid expelling out of her pussy. it runs down his thigh, it drips down his leg. she shakes, her moans fill the living room. joe swore he was going to cum in his shorts from watching her orgasm take her over. his hands still hold her hips, watching as her lips parted, eyes rolling into the back of her head. her body writhes, a beautiful piece of art coming to life.

“Jesus,” joe curses, planting her back down on his thigh, “and just my thigh did that to you?”

she chuckles, an airy sound coming from her lungs. her hair is a mess, running wild with sweat. she leans her hands on his shoulders, his hands running up her sides.

“i’ve needed that,” she breathes out a chuckle. joe had to agree, but now his dick was hard as a rock under his shorts. he smirks, his hands sliding up to cup her face.

“do me a favor,” he rasps, his blue eyes hooded with need, “get on your knees,”

by dessert, you swore you couldn’t take another bite, but joe still slid his fork toward you, grin soft and teasing, and you gave in. your best friend groaned about how “disgustingly cute” you two were, and joe only shook his head, his eyes crinkling tighter as he tried—and failed—to stifle the smile you always drew out of him.

when you finally spilled out onto the sidewalk, the city hummed with low nighttime energy. your bestie and her boyfriend walked ahead, their laughter echoing, while joe’s hand slipped into yours. he pulled you slightly closer to him, thumb brushing along your knuckles, and tilted his head toward the sky. the moon hung pale and perfect above you, but his gaze was fixed on you instead., when you pointed towards the moon and how "pretty it looked," all he could do was continue to stare at you. “you’re prettier than the moon,” he murmured, and though you rolled your eyes at the cheesiness, your heart kicked at your ribs.

“cheesy” you teased, and he bit down on his lip, eyes squinted tighter, as if holding his grin in place. but still, his gaze stayed glued to you.

as you neared the parking lot, your best friend came next to you and tugged at your sleeve, pulling up a video on her phone. it was that tiktok trend—couples walking next to each other before the guy scooped the girl up with one arm like it was nothing. you laughed, nudging joe. “think you could do that?”

he glanced down at you, brow arched, that restrained smile threatening to break free. “yeah.”

“really?” you challenged, grin tugging at your lips.

he didn’t elaborate—just gave your best friend a small nod. she was already pulling her phone up, giddy, whispering, “okay, walk a few steps first.”

so you did. joe’s hand brushing yours, both of you taking a few easy strides down the quiet sidewalk. the sound of your heels tapped against the pavement, your arm brushing his as you leaned into him. and then—without breaking stride—he shifted.

your arm went naturally to the back of his neck, anchoring yourself there, fingers brushing the hairs at his nape. his outside arm slid smoothly beneath your legs, just right under your butt, bending once, and then in one clean motion, he lifted.

you gasped, a startled laugh tumbling from your lips as your heels left the ground, your whole body tilting up into the night sky. his arm bore your weight with stunning ease, the strength in him steady and sure, as though you weighed nothing at all. your dress swished with the movement, your head tipping back before you pressed yourself closer against him, clinging to his neck for balance.

joe’s eyes never left you. they darted across your face, your wide smile, your flushed cheeks, your parted lips—like he was trying to memorize it all but couldn’t pick just one place to rest. you teased him, whispering breathlessly, “show off,” and he bit down hard, fighting the grin, his eyes squinted tighter than usual. but the smile still broke through, soft and full, right before he turned his head to press an unhurried kiss to your cheek, again, again, and again, as though he couldn’t get enough.

your bestie’s delighted laughter carried over the sound of the city, but for you, the world had narrowed to just this—joe carrying you with in his arms (or arm), steady and unshaken, his eyes glued to you like nothing else existed, like nothing else mattered but the joe you got out of him doing this simple let tiktok trend.

he kept walking, slow and sure, carrying you all the way to the car as if you were the lightest, most precious thing in the world. because to him, you were.

⸻

caption: 💕

audio: beyoncé – all night

your comments:

ilovethecolorpink: the kiss on the cheek mid-carry… i just threw my phone across the room.

user123209:

ilovecats: need me a joe burrow immediately. universe please hurry up.

ilovefanficgion: he's 😭😭 only😭😭 staring😭😭 at😭😭 her😭😭😭 no😭😭 where😭😭 else😭😭

yourbsf25: as the camera person i can 100% confirm he wouldn’t let her down after and carried her to the car🙂‍↔️

↳ teamjoe9: omg stopppp that’s even cuter 🥹🥹

whodeybengalss: this is the CUTEST one of this trend i’ve seen, no contest

user37473: look at me i’m in a happy & healthy relationship, have a high-paying job, and my boyfriend is a 6’4 nfl qb and he loves me so much

ughimsingle: this trend is just bullying at this point ... i want what they have.

ihatethechiefs: hahaha… so happy for you girl….😶

whodeynationn: “and then he picked her up with one arm.. ONE ARM!??!”

joeburrowfan12: for my mental health, this is fake.

view 1,230,320 more comments !

A sharp crack of thunder split the air, louder than the previous low rumbles. Joe flinched, his eyes opened just in time to see a small, orange blur leap onto the bed. Colby leaned his weight onto his front paws, pressing into Joe’s chest, his tiny body trembling against the cotton of Joe’s t-shirt. Green eyes were wide, focused on the rectangular sliver of window space exposed between the curtains.

“Hey, Colby Jack…” Joe murmured, fighting off sleep. He lifted his hand slowly, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder from the awkward position, and stroked the kitten’s back. The fur felt impossibly soft, vibrating with each anxious breath that escaped the small kitten.

“Just noise, buddy. Can’t hurt you.” He kept his touch slow, rhythmic, a subconscious counting in his brain keeping him in time. Colby’s tremors lessened slightly, and he tucked his head down, burrowing closer to Joe’s warmth.

Joe felt the kitten’s heartbeat, rapid and frantic against his own ribs. “I’d turn the whole sky off if I wasn’t immobilized,” he kept talking, low and steady, nonsense sentences about the Polynesian ruins and how the rain was just water falling, like the showers Joe preferred to baths.

The kitten’s breathing eventually slowed, matching the rise and fall of Joe’s chest. The tension seeped out of the small body, replaced by the boneless weight of sleep. Joe’s own eyelids grew heavy again, the narrator’s voice blending with the rain into a soothing drone. His hand rested on Colby’s back, a protective anchor as the storm grumbled outside. He drifted, the warmth of the kitten and the soft bedding pulling him under.

When she finally completed the last steps of her routine, she found Joe slumped against the pillows, head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted in shallow sleep. Curled tightly against his chest, nestled under the blanket Joe must have pulled up, was Colby, a tiny orange semi-circle of fur. The sporadic twitch of an orange ear betrayed the reality that he wasn’t a stuffed toy. The blue TV light played softly over them, casting long shadows over the height of the headboard.

She carefully retrieved her phone from the nightstand, capturing the moment before plugging the device into its charger, right next to her boyfriend’s matching purple one. Joe stirred slightly as she slid under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping with her weight. She pressed a gentle kiss to his bicep, pulling in the comforting scent of his skin through her nostrils.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she whispered, her voice soft in the quiet room.

Joe’s eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first. He blinked slowly, his gaze settling on her face. A drowsy smile tugged at his lips. “You took too long,” he replied, his words linking together as he spoke. He shifted carefully, mindful of the boot and the kitten still pressed against him. “A real kiss would be nice… as an apology.” His hand found her hip under the blankets, fingers curling gently into the soft fabric of her shorts, pulling her closer until she was propped onto her side facing him.

She grinned, leaning in. Instead of his lips, she pressed a kiss to his jawline, then the tip of his nose, his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, each touch of her lips feather-light. “There,” she breathed. “A whole bouquet of apologies for my tardiness.” Her fingers traced the line of his stubble, then drifted up to brush a stray lock of golden brown hair off his forehead. Colby stirred slightly between them, emitting a soft, sleepy noise, but didn’t fully wake.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” she whispered, her thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone.

Joe groaned, turning his face into the pillow. “Not cute. Just tired. And wounded.” His voice was muffled, but the hand on her hip tightened, anchoring her against him. He tilted his head, seeking her lips properly. “One real one, please, for the patient.”

She laughed softly, a warm puff of air against his skin. She obliged, meeting his lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted faintly of their mint toothpaste. Joe hummed contentedly, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him despite the kitten wedged between them. Colby let out a disgruntled sound but settled again, his purr vibrating against Joe’s sternum.

“There,” she said again, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Happy now, grumpy?”

“Getting there,” Joe replied under his breath. The thunder rumbled again, farther away this time, and Colby tensed briefly before relaxing under Joe’s absentminded strokes.

“He okay?” she asked, lifting her head to peer at the kitten.

“First storm. Freaked him out.” Joe’s fingers on his right hand traced the curve of Colby’s spine. “We had a talk.” Outside, rain lashed the window, but the thunder had retreated to a distant grumble. The blue TV light flickered over Joe’s face, highlighting the exhaustion etched around his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw from thinking too much.

—

joe slides his car into the empty space, and shifts gears to park, checking his phone to see if kate had already texted him that she made it to the park. he looks around the parking lot to see if he can find her car and he does, about five spaces down. he opens his door and quickly gets out, tucking his phone into his pocket and jogging over to where she is. 

kate steps out of her car as she sees him approaching and quickly walks to the back, opening up the trunk to show off her supplies to joe. 

“how’d the talk go?” she asks, grabbing out two of the tote bags. “well… i think she’s mad at me,” he admits, raising an arm behind his head to scratch at the nape of his neck. “what did you do?” she scolds, sassily placing her hands on her hips. 

“i told her you and i were gonna have brunch… and that i made plans before i knew how our talk would go.” 

kate shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “you couldn’t come up with any other lie? joe, she’s not gonna want to go anywhere with you now!” 

he knew it. he had immediately regretted lying to you about where he’d be going, and he knew his facial expressions would give him away, make him seem guilty for something. he also knew you were mad about what he’d told you yesterday, that he ‘kept you around’ because he knew you’d be the one for him, and that he just wanted to try other flings before testing things with you. it was wrong, he knew it. the admission had been hard for him to say, and it was hard to watch you take it. he knew it was shitty, but he loved you, and he knew more than anything now that you were questioning that. 

“i know, i kinda fucked up. but maybe this’ll fix it.” 

“fat chance,” kate scoffs, taking two more bags from her trunk and shoving them towards joe. “but we’ll try our damndest.” 

kate grabs the two bags she’d placed on the ground and throws them over her shoulder before locking her car and shoving her keys into the pockets of her leggings, and joe locks his car quickly, too. 

they begin walking through the parking lot and over toward the hiking trail, joe following behind her at a lazy pace. his mind races as he follows, wondering just how upset you’ll be with him. 

— 

meanwhile, at your apartment, the sunlight feels too bright as you wipe your face and finally drag yourself out of bed. your body still carries the warmth of last night's memories while your heart stings from this morning's rejection. the silence from your phone feels louder than any notification could be.

what you don’t know is that it’s killing joe not to text you, but he’s still setting up the gazebo and he needs to make sure it’s absolutely perfect, he wants nothing more than that for you. he checks his watch anxiously as he adjusts a vase of peonies, your favorite, for the fourth time. 

the tiny gazebo is transforming under their careful hands. kate strings delicate fairy lights between tree branches, the bulbs catching the golden afternoon light. “she's gonna lose her mind when she sees this,” she murmurs, adjusting a lantern that casts flickering patterns across the blanket.

joe kneels beside a wicker basket, unpacking tiered trays of fresh fruit and tiny desserts. his fingers fumble slightly with the stemware—nerves making his movements less precise than usual. “i just... i want it to be perfect. after this morning, she probably thinks—“ 

“hey.” kate tosses a raspberry at his forehead. “you're doing the grand gesture thing. women live for this crap.” she smirks as she flings a handful of rose petals in a sweeping arc. crimson blooms scatter across the grass and gazebo like a whispered secret, and joe huffs out a laugh. 

back home, you’re padding your way down the hall, headed for the shower. you twist the nobs and undress yourself before tossing your clothes into the hamper and stepping into the hot stream, relishing in the way the hot water works over your tense shoulders and back, the stream sluicing over your skin in warm waves. 

you take a long time in the water just pampering yourself, using all of your favorite products and scrubbing away all the icky feelings you’ve been conjuring up in your head all morning. the shower runs cold by the time you finally step out, your skin prickling from the sudden chill. toweling off, you catch your reflection—swollen eyes, blotchy cheeks. your phone screen stays stubbornly blank when you tap it. still no missed calls. still no texts. just the time glaring back, 1:37pm. 

he didn't just leave. he vanished.

fuck it. you head back to your room to get dressed, opting for leggings, a white tanktop, and your comfiest cardigan from your favorite singer’s merch line. you scrunch your hair dry with the towel as you trudge to the kitchen to make coffee. 

joe's phone feels heavy in his pocket. he fishes it out, grimacing at kate over the time displayed on screen.   

kate waves a hand, shooing him toward his car. “go, you idiot. and stick to the script this time!”

the engine of his car roars to life as joe peels out of the parking lot, his grip white-knuckled on the steering wheel. his heart pounds in time with the turn signal as he rehearses his lines— “please just hear me out”—“this isn't what you think”—“let me show you.”

the tires crunch over gravel as he pulls into your driveway, killing the engine with a shaky breath. through the window, he can see the shadow of you moving inside—shoulders slumped, arms crossed. his stomach twists when he notices how wrecked you look. 

the knock at the door makes you jump, it makes your stomach lurch. you yank open the door. 

joe stands there, shifting his weight between his feet, hand nervously running through his tousled hair. his usual confident smirk is replaced with an anxious bite of his lower lip.  

you have the door open just enough to glare at him, your voice still hoarse from crying earlier.  “brunch must've been really important.”

he flinches like you slapped him. "babe—"  

“what, joe?” your fingers tighten around the doorframe. “you said we’d spend the day together but you were gone for hours. how could you essentially ghost me after—after everything? and now you just show up like—“

“kate doesn’t exist,” he blurts.  

you blink. “what? i saw your phone light up with her contact when she called?”

“okay, she exists,” he backtracks, wincing, “but not like—ugh,” he drags a hand down his face. “there was no brunch. she was helping me set up... something.”

silence falls between the two of you as your teeth worry your bottom lip. 

“i was trying to surprise you,” he murmurs, stepping closer. his thumb swipes at a tear you didn’t realize had escaped. “but then i panicked and screwed up the one part where i was supposed to not be an asshole.  

another beat of silence. your chest aches.  

"... you left me crying in bed," you whisper.  

his expression shatters. “i know. and if you never forgive me, i’ll deserve it.” he offers his hand, palm up. “but let me show you what i meant to do?"  

you hesitate, but you finally relent and slip your shoes on, grabbing your phone and keys to lock up before sliding in his car with him. you intended on the ride staying silent, but joe starts talking. 

“yesterday at practice, kate heard me talking to the guys about you and offered to help me set this up, she’s new at the facility,” he explains softly, reaching out like he wants to touch your hand. 

“what’d the guys say?” you ask tentatively, finally looking up at him. 

“tee said if he was you he’d punch me in the face,” he cracks a smile. “i love tee,” you fight back a grin. 

the park comes into view, and joe helps you out of the car and down the walking trail toward the gazebo. its entrance archway is draped with delicate strings of fairy lights even though it’s mid-afternoon.

you fight back the lingering thoughts you’d been having during the car ride, like what if this is just another mistake?

you let out a slow exhale and then his hand is there, warm and familiar, waiting.  

you take it.  

the entire path to the picnic spot was lined with flickering candles— again, silly for mid-afternoon but so perfectly something joe would do—and rose petals, their scent mingling with the crisp afternoon air. the blanket spread beneath the cover of the gazebo is set with an absurdly elaborate charcuterie board and two wine glasses. 

kate appears from behind a bush, dusting off her hands. “took you long enough, i was fighting birds over your snacks,” she mutters, before shooting me an apologetic smile. “he’s an idiot, but he did try.”

joe shoots her a glare, but she just waves and saunters away, calling over her shoulder, “please don’t forget to return my lights!”

now that you’re alone, joe rubs the back of his neck nervously. “so... surprise?”  

you stare at the setup, your throat tight. “you lied to me.”  

he exhales sharply. “i know, and i’ll spend every day making it up to you if you let me.” his fingers brush yours, the touch tentative. “but today, i just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”  

the first tear falls before you can stop it. then another.  

joe’s face falls. “shit, I’m making it worse—“

you cut him off by grabbing his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss. his surprise lasts only a second before he’s kissing you back, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.  

when you break apart, he’s grinning. “so... not mad anymore?” 

“i’m still a little mad,” you admit. “i kept asking myself over and over, is it too soon to do this yet?”

joe's grin falters for just a second before he catches himself, his hands sliding down to rest at your waist. he leans in, forehead nearly touching yours, voice dropping to that low, rough tone that always makes your stomach flip.  

“too soon?” his thumb traces idle circles just above your hipbone. “no, it’s not too soon. it’s late,” his fingers tighten slightly. “i’m just a dick who took forever to realize everything was always right here… but if you need me to slow down—“  

you press your palm against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat. “well, you don’t get to decide when I’m done being pissed at you,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat behind it.  

he exhales a laugh, warm against your lips. “that’s fair. so... what’ll it take? groveling? public apology via skywriter? i’ll tattoo 'y/n was right' on my—“ 

you kiss him again, hard enough to shut him up. when you pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his breath uneven.  

“start with feeding me,” you say, nodding toward the picnic spread. “then maybe i’ll consider forgiving you by dessert.”  

joe’s grin returns, wicked and relieved all at once. “yes ma’am.”

as he helps you down to sit on the blanket, his hand never leaves yours, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. joe plucks a strawberry from the charcuterie board, holding it up to your lips with exaggerated solemnity. “for m’lady's temper,” he declares in a terrible british accent.  

you bite into it pointedly—juice dripping down your chin—just so he’ll panic and scramble for a napkin.  

“god, you’re brutal,” he mutters, swiping at your face. his thumb lingers, though, tracing the curve of your bottom lip.  

you smirk. “you love it.”  

“unfortunately.” he pops the remaining half of the strawberry into his own mouth before grabbing a slice of prosciutto. “okay, so speaking of brutal— charlie tried to do a celebratory backflip after practice yesterday and fully ate shit in front of the entire team.”

you nearly choke on your sparkling grape juice. “no.”  

“swear to god.” joe’s eyes gleam as he mimics the motion, arms flailing. “dude got one decent touchdown during drills, goes for the flip, and—“ he mimes a catastrophic faceplant into the grass, complete with sound effects.  

you laugh so hard your ribs ache, juice sloshing dangerously in your glass. “did anyone film it?”  

“coach made us delete it,” joe sighs, shaking his head. “but ja’marr drew a very detailed stick-figure recreation on the white-board as a reminder.”

you wipe tears from your eyes, gasping for breath. “you’re all terrible.”

joe leans in, grinning. “mhm, but i’m your terrible.”  

the last of your anger dissolves like sugar in hot tea as he continues to feed you, and laughter continues to flow between you. the afternoon sun is warm and you lay in the grass together, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin. “wanna help me gather all kate’s shit and go back to my place?” he asks softly. you nod your head yes. 

joe carefully folds kate’s blanket while you gather the half-empty juice bottles and food. he keeps stealing glances at you over the baskets—like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  

“kate’s gonna kill me if i lose these lanterns and lights,” he mutters, untangling a strand of lights from a low-hanging branch.

you snort, shoving the last of the cheese into the cooler. “you should’ve thought of that before you decided to fake a date with her.”

joe freezes. “shit.” he whirls around, eyes wide. “you know that’s not what—“ 

you silence him with a finger to his lips. "relax, idiot. obviously now i believe you.” your hand lingers, tracing the stubborn set of his jaw. “but you are carrying all this crap to the car.” 

he exhales sharply, pressing a kiss to your palm before hoisting the picnic basket onto his shoulder. “worth it.”

—

back at his house, joe kicks the door shut behind you, arms full of supplies. he dumps everything haphazardly in the entryway before turning to you with that familiar, hungry look.  

“you’re really not mad anymore?” he asks, crowding you against the wall, hands settling on your hips.  

you tilt your chin up, feigning indifference. “i dunno. i might need convincing.” 

his laugh is dark and promising as he leans down. “gladly.”  

his mouth crashes into yours before you can even form another thought, hands sliding up your sides with a possessiveness that makes your knees weak. the taste of strawberries and the sparkling juice lingers on his tongue as he deepens the kiss, backing you toward the couch until the backs of your thighs hit the cushions.

“convinced yet?” he murmurs against your lips, fingers toying with the sleeves of your cardigan. he slips it off your arms, pressing kisses to your exposed shoulders. 

you arch into him, nails scraping lightly down the back of his neck just to hear his breath hitch. “mmm, getting there.”

joe groans, nipping at your lower lip before pulling back just enough to yank his own shirt off. “fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, hands mapping every curve like he’s memorizing you.  

you drag him down by his waistband, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “better hurry up and prove me wrong, then.”

his laugh is rough as he obliges you, lifting you easily and tossing you over his shoulder, his large hand landing a stinging slap on your ass as he carries you down the hall. fuck.

your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, his body following, caging you in. the weight of him, the warmth, the way his breath hitches when your nails dig into his shoulders—it’s all getting so familiar now, and yet it still makes your stomach flip.

“still think it was too soon?” he mouths against your throat, one hand sliding up your ribcage, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast. his hips grind down, the friction deliberate, teasing.  

you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. “depends.” 

his fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings and panties, yanking them down your thighs in one rough motion. “bullshit.” 

and then suddenly his mouth is right there, hot and wicked between your thighs, and all coherent thought evaporates. his tongue dances over your clit, two fingers already prodding at your dripping heat. he hums as you arch into his touch, the sound vibrating through your core. “joey, please,” you beg, aching to be filled. his answer is in the way he pushes his fingers in slowly, working them in time with the slow licks he’s pressing to your clit. 

his speed fluctuates from soft licks to sharp sucks to quick flicks, but the steady, intoxicating rhythm of his fingers inside you doesn’t change as they curl into your sweet spot repeatedly. tears prick your eyes as your nails claw the sheets, your release barreling toward you relentlessly. 

a pointed flick of his tongue and curl of his wrists tips you over the edge and he groans obscenely as you come apart around him, your spongy walls clamping down over his fingers as your thighs shake. he rides your through it, only pulling his fingers out when your hips stop involuntarily bucking. he crawls up your body, leaning in to let you taste yourself on his tongue. “we’re good?” he smirks. your brain is mush, but you nod. “mhm.” 

he grins, slipping his sweats down. “round two?”