#joeyb

You're upstairs now. In his bathroom. Dress unzipped halfway down your back, makeup wipe in your hand. You can hear him moving around in the kitchen — the cabinet, the fridge, the soft click of a glass on the counter. Familiar sounds. The sounds of his house when you're in it.

You take your time. You like his bathroom. The mirror is bigger than yours. The lighting is better. You hum something under your breath, swipe at your eyeliner, peel your lashes off, and set them on the counter. You're not in a hurry. He's coming up. You'll get in bed. You'll wait for him.

Downstairs, the kitchen is quiet.

His phone is face down on the counter where he left it when you got home. He hasn't touched it since you sat down at the restaurant. That's not unusual. He doesn't half-live with you. When you're there, he doesn't check scores at the table, doesn't scroll between courses, doesn't pull it out in the car. You get all of him. You always do.

He picks it up now.

It lights up in his hand before his thumb hits the screen — notifications stacking on top of each other, a missed call, three texts in the same thread.

Sam: dude.

sam: [screenshot]

And underneath, in another thread:

Trey: LMAOOOO bro 😭 soft launching???

He opens Sam's first.

The screenshot fills the screen, and he stands in his kitchen, a water glass in his other hand, looking at it.

Your story. Still up. The pasta you ordered, the candle on the table, the wine glass half-empty. And in the corner of the frame — his hand. His wrist. The bracelets he's been wearing since forever.

He doesn't move.

He sets the water glass down. Opens the app. Scrolls to your account. It's still there. Twelve thousand views already. He scrolls down to the comments, and they're already there—is that Joe Burrow's hand? NO WAY, girl, post him fr. I know those fucking bracelets anywhere. Y/N spill.

He locks the phone.

He doesn't call up to you.

He just stands there in the kitchen, jaw tight, one hand flat on the counter, and waits.

—

You hear him on the stairs.

You're in bed already. His t-shirt. Hair up. Phone in your hand because you'd posted your dinner and the story is doing numbers — way more views than you usually get, comments lighting up your last post, your friends sending the fire emoji and asking where you ate. The other comments you've been ignoring. Wait, is that—.Y/N. No way. You saw them. You're not stupid. You scrolled past them on purpose. You're not going to make a thing of it. You're going to let it sit. Let people wonder. That's the move.

You'd been scrolling through it lazily, half-paying attention, half-listening for him.

His footsteps are slower than usual. You clock it, but you don't think about it. You assume he's tired. Dinner ran long. The wine.

He comes through the doorway and stops.

Doesn't get in. Doesn't kick his shoes off the way he does. Doesn't start unbuttoning his shirt on his way to the closet. He just stands there in the frame of the door with his phone in his hand and looks at you.

"Y/N."

Flat. Not the way he says it when he comes to bed. Not the way he said it in the car twenty minutes ago, hand on your thigh.

You look up.

He doesn't say anything else for a second. He crosses the room. Stops at the side of the bed. Holds his phone out.

"Take this down."

You blink at him.

"What?"

"The story," he says. "Take it down."

You sit up a little. The sheet pools at your waist. You take his phone from him, and you look at the screen.

It's your story. Screenshotted. Sent to him by Sam.

You see the pasta. The candle. The wine glass. You see his hand in the corner of the frame, the bracelets, the watch, and your stomach does something small and quick that you don't fully register yet because you're still catching up.

You look back up at him.

—

"Joe."

He doesn't say anything.

"I—" You look down at the phone again. At the screen. At your own story still glowing back at you. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

His jaw works.

"I post my dinner all the time," you say, and you hear it come out a little too fast, a little too defensive, and you don't stop. "Especially when it's good. That's like — that's just what I do, that's a normal thing I do, I wasn't trying to—"

"Y/N."

"—I wasn't posting you, I was posting the pasta, I didn't even—"

"Take it down."

You stop.

You look up at him. He hasn't moved. He's still standing next to the bed, looking down at you, and his face is doing the thing it does in press conferences when someone asks him a question he doesn't want to answer. Closed. Smooth. Nothing is leaking through.

You hand his phone back. Pick up your own. Open the app.

Your thumb hovers.

"Joe, it's literally just your hand."

"Take it down."

"You can't even see your face."

"Y/N."

"It's a hand."

He exhales through his nose. Sits down on the edge of the bed. Doesn't look at you.

"I can't just take it down."

He looks at you then.

"What?"

"I can't just take it down, Joe, that's so embarrassing, people already saw it, it's been up for a while now, if I delete it now everyone's gonna know I deleted it and that's a whole other thing, that's like — that confirms it more than just leaving it—"

"Y/N."

"—if I just leave it up it's a hand, it's nothing, but if I take it down now everyone's gonna be like oh she got told to take it down, and then it's a thing, and—"

"I don't care. Take it down."

—

You go quiet.

You're still holding your phone. Your thumb is still hovering. You haven't deleted anything.

"You don't have to talk to me like that."

He looks at the ceiling.

"Y/N."

"You don't. I'm not — I'm not a child, Joe, you can't just—"

"Then stop acting like one."

It comes out before he can stop it. You can see it on his face the second it lands — the flicker of don't, the half-second where he could've pulled it back and didn't. He doesn't take it back. He just holds your eye.

"Wow."

"Y/N—"

"No, that's — wow. That's what you think?"

"That's not—"

"That's what you think. That I'm — what, that I'm immature? That I'm a kid? You think I'm a kid, Joe?"

"I think you posted me on the internet, and now you're arguing with me about why you can't take the picture down because it would be embarrassing for you."

"It would be embarrassing—"

"You don't get it."

"I get it—"

"You don't."

You're sitting all the way up now. The sheet is twisted around your hips. Your phone is face down on the comforter. Your chest is doing something tight and quick that you're choosing not to name.

"So explain it to me."

He drags a hand over his jaw.

"Y/N."

"Explain it to me, then. If I don't get it. Tell me."

"You know what it is."

"No, I don't, Joe, because to me it's a hand, it's literally a hand, and you're acting like I — like I sold a story to TMZ, like I—"

"You didn't think."

"I did think—"

"You didn't. You sat there at dinner, took a picture, and didn't think about me being in the frame, because if you had, you would've cropped it. That's what I'm saying. You didn't think."

"I—"

"And now Sam knows. And Trey knows. And by tomorrow morning, everyone with a fan account knows where we were, what we were doing, that you were there, that I was there. And you want to leave it up because taking it down would be embarrassing."

You don't say anything.

He looks at you. Then he looks at the wall.

"That's what I mean," he says, quieter. "When I say you didn't think."

You stare at him.

"Why does it matter?"

"Y/N."

"No. Why does it matter, Joe? Like — what is the actual problem? For people know we had dinner? That people can see your hand? What is the — what are you actually mad about?"

"You know what I'm mad about."

"I don't. I really don't. Because if it's just that people saw us, then — I don't get it. We're allowed to have dinner. You're allowed to be seen with me. So what — what is it. Are you embarrassed?"

He looks at you.

"What?"

"Are you embarrassed. Of me. Is that what this is?"

"Y/N."

"Because that's what it sounds like. It sounds like — it sounds like you don't want anyone to know, and you're mad that I — that I gave them a hand, like — is that what this is? You don't want people to know it's me?"

"That's not what I said."

"It's what it sounds like."

"That's not what I said, Y/N."

"Then what are you saying. Because I'm sitting here trying to figure out why a hand is a — is the end of the world, and the only thing I can come up with is that you don't want people knowing it was me on the other side of that table?"

He's looking at you. Quiet. Jaw working.

"That's not fair."

"None of this is fair."

"You know that's not what it is."

"I don't, actually. I don't know that. Because you won't tell me what it is. You're just — you're standing here telling me I didn't think, and that I'm acting like a child, and I'm asking you a real question, Joe, and you're not answering it."

He doesn't say anything for a second.

He sits with it. You can see him sitting with it. The hand that was at his jaw drops to his thigh, fingers spread, and he looks at the floor between his feet.

"That's not what it is."

"Then what is it?"

"I told you."

"You haven't."

"Y/N."

"You haven't, Joe. You've told me I didn't think. You've told me I'm acting like a child. You haven't told me what it is."

"It's that you're twenty-two."

It comes out quieter than the rest. Not cold this time. Just true. He's looking at you.

You feel it land somewhere under your ribs.

"Cool."

"That's not—"

"No, that's cool. That's — okay. Got it."

"Y/N."

You're already pushing the sheet off. You're already swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The t-shirt rides up your thighs, and you don't do anything about it. You stand up. You don't look at him.

"Y/N. Stop."

"I'm not doing this."

"Where are you going?"

"Fuck if I know."

You walk past him. You don't slam the door because you're not — you're not going to be that. You're not going to give him the proof. You walk out of the bedroom and down the hall and into the guest room at the end of it, and you close that door quietly behind you.

—

He doesn't follow.

You grabbed your phone on the way out. You don't remember doing it. It was on the comforter, and your hand closed around it without your permission, and now you're sitting on the edge of the guest bed in the dark with it in your lap.

You don't turn the lamp on. The house is quiet around you. The bedroom door is closed at the other end of the hall, and you can't hear anything through it.

You don't cry. You're too mad to cry. You sit there with your hands flat on your thighs, and you breathe through your nose, and you wait for whatever is going to happen next.

Then you pick up the phone.

You unlock it. The screen is too bright. You squint against it and tap into the app, and there it is — your story. Twelve thousand views. Fifteen now. The pasta, the candle, and his hand in the corner.

You hold your thumb on it.

The little menu comes up. Delete story. You tap it.

Are you sure?

You're sure.

You tap it again. The screen does its little animation, the story disappearing, and then it's gone. Just your other posts. Your dinner from two nights ago. A picture of your friend's dog. A sunset.

You sit there in the dark holding the phone.

You didn't do it for him.

You did it because if he doesn't want to be seen with you, then fine. He won't be. You'll take care of that yourself. You'll be the one who decides who knows what. You'll be the one who erases it. Not him.

You put the phone face down on the bed next to you.

You wait.

You don't know how long. Two minutes. Five. Long enough that you start to wonder if he's going to leave you in here. If he's going to make you come back to him. You don't know which one would be worse.

Then you hear the bedroom door open down the hall.

Footsteps. Slow. The hardwood creaks the way it does in the spot outside the linen closet.

He stops outside the guest room door.

—

The door opens.

You don't look up.

You hear it more than see it — the soft click of the handle, the give of the hinge, the strip of hallway light widening across the floor of the guest room until it touches the bed frame. You sit very still on the edge of the mattress, and you keep your eyes on your hands in your lap.

He doesn't say anything.

He doesn't come in all the way. You can feel him standing in the doorway, weight in the frame. You can hear him breathing. Slow. Long. Like he's been holding it.

"Y/N."

You don't answer.

"Look at me."

You don't.

You hear him take a step into the room. Then another. The door eases closed behind him, and the strip of light goes with it, and you're in the half-dark again, just the spill from the hallway under the door and whatever's coming through the window from the streetlight outside.

He stops in front of you.

You can see his feet. Bare. He took his shoes off at some point. The hem of his pants. You don't look up.

"Y/N."

His voice is different. Lower. Not cold anymore. Not soft yet either. Just quiet. The way he talks to you when he's trying to be careful.

"What?"

"Look at me."

"I don't want to."

"I know."

You stare at his feet.

You can hear him breathing. You can feel the heat of him a foot away from your knees. You can feel the want to lean forward and put your face against his stomach, and the want to push him away with both hands, and you don't know which one is going to win.

"I shouldn't have said it like that."

You don't say anything.

"Y/N."

"You said what you meant."

"I said it cold. I shouldn't have said it cold."

"Same thing."

"It's not."

You finally look up.

He's looking down at you. His face is doing the thing it does when his guard isn't all the way up — that small softening around his mouth, the way his eyes are tired. He hasn't put a hand on you yet. He's keeping them at his side. You can tell that's a choice.

"It's not the same thing," he says again. "Saying it cold and meaning it. They're not the same."

"Then say it warm."

"Y/N."

"Say it warm, Joe. If they're different. Say it warm and let's see."

—

He doesn't say anything for a second.

You can see him looking for it. The way his jaw moves. The way his mouth opens and closes. He's never been good at finding the words when it counts. He's looking for them anyway.

You don't let him find them.

"I deleted it."

He stops looking. He looks at you.

"When."

"Before you came in."

His face does something small. You see it happen. The half-second where he thinks you did it for him. The half-second where his shoulders start to come down.

You don't let him have that either.

"I didn't do it for you."

He goes still.

"I did it because if you don't want to be seen with me, I'll be the one who decides."

He doesn't move.

You can see him taking it in. The way his eyes go a little flat. The way his hand at his side closes around nothing. He doesn't say anything for a long time. Long enough that you start to wonder if you've actually done it now. If this is the part where he leaves the room.

He doesn't leave the room.

He closes the space between you.

His hand comes up, and his palm is on your jaw, his thumb under your chin, and he tilts your face up so you have to look at him. His grip is firmer than it was going to be a minute ago. He's not asking.

You let him.

You haven't kissed him yet. He hasn't kissed you yet. He just stands there with his hand on your face and looks at you like he's trying to find the part of you that did it. The part that sat in here in the dark with your phone in your lap and pressed delete on him before he ever apologized. He's looking for her.

"Y/N."

"What?"

"Look at me."

You're already looking at him.

"Look at me."

You don't know what he means. You hold his eye anyway. His thumb drags along your jaw. Slow. Not soft. Just slow.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't erase me."

You don't answer.

He kisses you.

It's not soft. It's not asking. It's the kiss of someone who just got told something he can't take and is putting it somewhere in his body because he doesn't yet have the words for it. His mouth is hard against yours, and his hand is still on your jaw, and the other one comes up and grabs the back of your neck, and you don't kiss him back at first.

You make him work for it again.

He doesn't pull back this time. He just kisses you harder. Until your mouth opens under his. Until your hand comes up off the comforter and grabs the front of his shirt because you have to hold onto something. Until you kiss him back because the alternative — not kissing him back — has stopped being available.

He pulls you up off the edge of the bed by the back of your neck. You're standing. You're chest to chest. His other hand is on your hip, fingers spread, and he's pulling you in against him, and you can feel him through his pants, and you can feel his breath hot and fast against your mouth, and his control isn't where it was an hour ago. It's not anywhere. He's not pretending anymore.

"Joe."

"Don't talk."

"Joe—"

"Please, Y/N."

You don't.

He pushes you back. Your knees hit the mattress, and you sit. He stays standing. His hand goes from your neck to your hair, and he's holding it at the root, not tight, but enough that you have to keep looking up at him.

He looks down at you for a second.

Then he kneels.

—

He puts his hands on your knees. Pushes them apart. The t-shirt — his — rides up your thighs, and he doesn't help it. He looks at you sitting there in nothing but his shirt with your legs open in front of him, and his jaw works once.

"Joe."

"Shhhh."

He puts his mouth on the inside of your knee.

You don't make a sound. You're not going to give him sound yet. You're still mad. You hold onto the comforter on either side of you, and you watch him because watching is the only thing you have left, and you're not going to close your eyes for him.

He works up the inside of your thigh. Slow. He's not rushing. He kisses the soft skin above your knee and then higher and then higher, and when his mouth gets to the crease of your thigh, you can't help it — your hips shift. Just a little. Just enough that he notices.

He stops.

Looks up at you.

"You good?"

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"I'm fine, Joe."

He looks at you for another second. You don't soften. He goes back to your thigh, and this time he doesn't stop at the crease. He pushes your knees wider with both hands and pulls you forward by the hips until you're right at the edge of the mattress, and his mouth is on you.

You make a sound then. You can't help it. It's short and bitten off, and you hate that you made it.

He doesn't acknowledge it.

He doesn't tease. He doesn't draw it out. He goes at you like he's been thinking about it the entire fight, like the whole time he was standing in the kitchen with his phone in his hand and his jaw tight, he was also thinking about this. His tongue is hot, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough that you're going to have marks tomorrow, and you can hear yourself breathing now, fast, uneven, and you don't try to be quiet anymore.

Your hand comes up to his hair. You don't mean to. You grab it.

He groans against you, and you feel it in your whole body.

"Joe—"

He doesn't stop. He hooks one of your knees over his shoulder and pulls you closer, and his arm comes across your hips to hold you in place because you're not staying still anymore. You can't. Your back is starting to arch, and your head is going back, and your hand in his hair is gripping harder than you mean to be gripping, but he doesn't seem to mind; he's not slowing down, he's not letting up.

"Joe — Joe—"

"Mm."

"I'm—"

"Mm."

"Joe—"

He pulls back half an inch. Just enough to look up at you. His mouth is wet. His eyes are dark.

"Tell me you're mine."

You stare at him.

"What?"

"Tell me you're mine."

"Joe—"

"Say it, Y/N."

His arm tightens across your hips. His other hand is still gripping your thigh. He's looking up at you from between your legs, and his mouth is right there, and his breath is hot, and he's not going to give it back to you until you say it.

"I'm yours."

He waits.

"I'm yours, Joe."

He puts his mouth back on you.

—

He doesn't pace it now. He goes hard and steady, and his arm is still locked across your hips, and his hand is still gripping your thigh, and you're not breathing anymore, you're just making sounds, you're just holding onto his hair, and the comforter and your back is arching and your eyes are closing whether you want them to or not.

It happens fast.

You don't get a warning. One second you're chasing it, and the next it's already happening, the wave breaking, your whole body going tight under his mouth and his hands, and your knee tightening on his shoulder, and the sound that comes out of you isn't a word, isn't anything, it's just sound.

He doesn't stop until you stop.

He works you through it slowly. His grip on your thigh loosens. His arm at your hips eases. When you finally let go of his hair, he kisses the inside of your thigh once, soft, and then again, and then he sits back on his heels and looks up at you.

You're trying to catch your breath.

He's watching you do it.

His mouth is wet. His eyes are dark. His t-shirt is pulled tight across his shoulders from where he's been braced. He looks like a man who hasn't gotten what he came for yet.

He stands up.

You can hear him breathing, too, now. His hands go to his belt. He doesn't look away from you while he does it. He gets the belt loose, and the button and the zipper, and he pushes everything down at once and steps out of it, and his shirt comes off over his head in one motion, and then he's standing in front of you, and you're sitting in his t-shirt on the edge of the guest bed, and your legs are still open.

"Up."

You don't move.

"Y/N. Up."

You stand. Your legs are still shaking from coming. You wobble, and his hand is on your hip before you can fall, holding you. He reaches down, grabs the hem of his t-shirt, and lifts it. You raise your arms. He pulls it off over your head and drops it on the floor.

You're naked.

He looks at you.

For a second, he doesn't move. He just looks at you in the half-dark in the guest room, and his face is doing something you can't fully read. Not soft. Not cold. Just — looking. Like he's making sure.

Then his hand comes back to your jaw.

"Get on the bed."

You get into bed.

You back up onto it on your hands, and you go until your shoulders hit the headboard, and you sit there with your knees up and your eyes on him, and he's standing at the foot of the bed watching you do it. He puts one knee on the mattress. Then the other. He crawls up between your legs slowly, deliberately, his hands on either side of your hips, his eyes on yours the whole time.

He stops when his face is above yours.

He hasn't kissed you yet.

"You okay?"

You nod.

"Say it."

"I'm okay."

"Y/N."

"I'm okay, Joe."

He kisses you then. Hard. You can taste yourself on him, and you don't care. His hand slides down between you and lines up, and he's looking at you the whole time, his other forearm braced by your head, his face an inch from yours.

He pushes in.

—

You take him in one long exhale.

He goes slowly. Slower than you expect after everything. His forearm is still braced beside your head, and his other hand is on your hip, holding you steady, and he sinks in inch by inch and watches your face the whole time. Your eyes close. He says your name.

You open them.

"There you go."

He's all the way in. He doesn't move for a second. He just stays there with his forehead against yours and his breath coming hot and uneven and his hand on your hip flexing once, twice, like he's holding onto something he's afraid of losing.

Then he starts to move.

Slow at first. Deep. The kind of pace that's not about chasing anything — it's about reminding you. His hips pull back and push in, and your hands come up to his shoulders and his back and his hair, and you can't keep them in one place. He's heavy on top of you. He's warm. He smells like the cologne he wore to dinner, fainter now, and like him underneath it.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"Look at me."

You're already looking at him. He knows that. He says it anyway. His face is close enough that you can see his lashes. The flecks in his eyes. The way his mouth is parted.

"You're twenty-two."

You don't say anything.

He doesn't break his rhythm. He's still moving in you slowly, and his eyes are still on yours, and he says it again, quieter.

"You're twenty-two."

"Joe—"

"I'm saying it differently."

You feel it land. You feel it in your chest before you feel it anywhere else. He's not weaponizing it now. He's looking at you and saying the same word he said in the bedroom, and meaning a different thing with it. You don't know what the different thing is yet. You don't have to know yet. He's not asking you to know yet.

He kisses you. Slow. Wet. His tongue in your mouth and his hand sliding up your side and his hips still working into you, and you feel the first crack of it then — the thing in your chest that's been held tight since the kitchen. The thing that made you delete the post. The thing that's been bracing for tonight for months.

You make a sound against his mouth that isn't pleasure.

He hears it.

He pulls back half an inch. Looks at you. You don't know what your face is doing. You can feel water on it. Not crying. Just water.

His hand comes up. His thumb brushes under your eye.

"Hey."

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"I'm fine."

"Look at me."

You look at him.

"I've got you."

That's what does it.

You don't sob. You're not going to sob. But something in you lets go — the held thing finally easing, your shoulders dropping into the mattress, your hand on the back of his neck pulling him down because you need him closer, you need him heavier, you need his weight on you because if he's on you, he can't leave the room.

He goes. He drops his weight onto you. His forehead is at your temple, and his arm comes under your shoulders, and he's holding you down against the bed and moving in you slower now, deeper, and you can feel the change in him too. He's not making a point anymore. He's not claiming you. He's just here.

"Joe—"

"I know."

"Joe—"

"I'm so sorry, baby."

He says it like that. Baby. Low. He says it when his control is gone, and his control is gone now. His hips are getting heavier. His breath is getting shorter. You can feel him losing it in slow pieces — the rhythm getting less clean, his hand at your hip gripping harder, the sound he makes against your neck low and ragged.

"Stay with me."

"I'm here."

"Stay with me, Y/N."

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here."

You don't know if you say it three times or thirty.

He comes hard. His whole body locks up against yours. His face is in your neck, and his hand on your hip is bruising, and he's saying something you can't quite catch, something low, and his hips push into you one last time and stay there.

He doesn't move.

You don't either.

His weight is on you, and his breath is hot against your collarbone, and your hand is in his hair, and the room is dark, and the t-shirt of his is on the floor somewhere, and the comforter is half off the bed, and outside the window, a car goes by on the street, and neither of you moves.

For a long time, neither of you moves.

—

He's the one who moves first.

He doesn't go far. He shifts his weight off you, slow, careful, and rolls onto his side. His arm stays under your shoulders. He pulls you with him. You end up on his chest with your leg thrown over his and your hand flat against his sternum and his hand on the small of your back.

The room is so quiet.

You can hear him breathing. You can feel his heart under your palm. He's still catching his breath, and so are you, and neither of you has said anything yet.

You don't want to be the one who says it first.

You wait.

His hand moves up your back. Slow. Spread. He's not stroking it. He's just keeping it there, palm flat, like he wants to know you're solid.

"Y/N."

"Mm."

"That wasn't — " He stops. You feel his chest move. "What I said in the bedroom. That wasn't about you."

You don't move.

"Y/N."

"I'm listening."

He doesn't go again for a second. You can hear him thinking. You can feel his chest moving under your cheek, the way he's working something out, and you wait for it because you can tell he's not done.

"It's been in my head," he says. "Your age. It's been in my head the whole time we've been together, and I haven't told you that."

You don't say anything.

"Not because there's anything wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with you. You're not — you're not a kid. You're twenty-two, you're an adult, you know what you're doing. That's not — that's not what I'm saying."

He stops. His hand at your back has gone still.

"I'm saying it's in my head. It's mine. I'm twenty-nine, and you're twenty-two, and I keep doing the math in my head about it. Like I'm trying to find the thing that makes it okay. And tonight I — when Sam texted me, and I came up the stairs, I was already — I was already thinking about it. About the math. And then you said I can't just take it down, and it would be embarrassing, and I — I used it. At you. Because it was already in my head."

He stops again.

"I shouldn't have done that."

You don't say anything.

"It's not your thing to carry," he says. "It's mine. And I made you carry it tonight."

You're quiet.

His hand starts moving again. Slow. Spread. His thumb finds the dip at the base of your spine and stays there.

"I'm working on it."

"Okay."

"Y/N."

"Okay, Joe."

You don't say it warm. You can't yet. You give him the word and you mean it, and that's the most you can do right now. He takes it.

You lie there.

You don't know how long. His hand on your back. Your hand on his chest. The window across the room, the streetlight outside, the car that goes by every few minutes, the quiet of the house, and the quiet between you.

You're the one who says it.

"I knew you were going to look at me like that one day."

His hand stops.

"What?"

"Like — " You don't finish. You don't have to. He gets it. You can feel him get it. His hand starts moving again, slower than before. His other hand comes up, and his fingers find your hair.

"I'm sorry, baby."

You don't say anything.

"I don't look at you that way."

You let it sit.

You think for a second he's done. That he's not going to say anything else. You're okay with that. You've gotten more from him tonight than you usually get, and the silence is its own kind of answer.

Then he says it.

"You make the room bigger."

You don't move.

"Y/N."

"I heard you."

"Okay."

You're quiet.

You feel him breathing. You feel his hand on your back. You feel his fingers in your hair and his thumb against your scalp and his heart steady under your cheek, and you're trying to hold onto it because you know he's not going to say things like that twice.

Except he does.

His voice is so low you almost don't catch it.

"You make me feel alive."

You close your eyes.

You don't say anything back. You don't have words for what to say back. You press your face into his chest a little harder, and his arm tightens around you, and his hand stays in your hair, and that's the answer you have.

You don't know when you fall asleep.

It's not a decision. One second you're listening to him breathe, and the next your eyes are heavy, and the next you're somewhere underneath all of it, drifting, his hand on your hip now, his thumb moving slowly.

He's still awake.

You don't know that. You'll never know that. He'll lie there for another hour with his hand on your hip and his thumb moving slowly over the bone and his eyes on the dark ceiling, and he'll go back through every line of it — the kitchen, the take it down, the twenty-two, the way you sat on the edge of the guest bed and told him you'd erased him.

And then he'll start working it.

Coffee in the morning. You like the oat milk. He's out. He'll send for it before you wake up.

Your friend's birthday next month — you'd mentioned it on the drive home, the trip to Austin, you weren't sure you could swing because of money. He'll book the flight tomorrow. He won't make a thing of it. He'll just tell you the trip is handled.

The math. He has to do something about the math. He doesn't know what yet. He knows he can't keep doing it. He knows he has to figure out where it actually comes from before he can put it down. He'll think about that. He'll keep thinking about it.

He won't sleep.

His thumb keeps moving.

Outside, another car goes by.

THE ANNUAL HALLOWEEN BENGALS PARTY was… subdued, if not outright awkward. Music pulsed through the room, drinks gleamed under dim lights, costumes flitted past in flashes of neon and sequins—but beneath it all, a tension hummed like a live wire. The defense and the offense were at odds after the last few games, tension simmering beneath every half-hearted joke and awkward interaction. The team was fractured, and tonight was no exception.

You were honestly surprised the organization had even gone through with it. The Bengals were in shambles. Their star quarterback had been sidelined for most of the season, injuries piling up, losses stacking like unread voicemails. Morale was low, and every mistake on the field had amplified into locker-room drama.

Still, tradition was tradition. One night of pretending everything was fine wasn’t going to hurt. Open bar, loud music, dimmed lights—a temporary escape from the reality that the team was teetering on the edge of collapse.

The media was a whole different beast. They’d found their scapegoat early in the season and weren’t letting go: the defence.

“If the defense had made that stop.”

“If the defense had done their job.”

Week after week, same story, same blame.

If. If. If.

Carter, your younger brother, was a rookie linebacker for the Bengals. It had been a dream come true for him—and for your family, rooted deep in Ohio. You’d stayed in Cincinnati partly for him, partly because it was home.

Carter was many things—annoying, stubborn, and just a little reckless—but he was still your brother. And you could tell it was starting to wear on him. That was the only reason you’d offered to tag along tonight—mostly to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. He was already on thin ice, and the last thing your family needed was for him to get traded halfway across the country.

He’d shown up dressed as Homelander from The Boys, which was both ridiculous and on-brand. Still, he looked like he was finally loosening up, which was all that mattered.

You, on the other hand, had thrown something together last minute — a simple Lois Lane costume, mostly because David Corenswet as Superman was criminally attractive. A white button-up left slightly undone to reveal a superhero tee underneath, a pencil skirt, a pair of glasses — the whole journalist look. Honestly, not bad for three hours’ notice.

And if you were being completely honest, the only reason you’d agreed to come tonight was because Carter had sworn up and down that Joe Burrow wouldn’t be there. That had sealed the deal. You could breathe without feeling like the air might catch fire. Because you hadn’t seen him — hadn’t spoken to him — since you’d disappeared from his life months ago, right around the time Carter signed with the Bengals.

You hadn’t planned on it ending like that. One text left unsent, one call ignored, then another, until silence became the only thing between you. You told yourself it was the right thing to do. Out of respect for your brother. Out of self-preservation.

But seeing him again — that wasn’t something you were ready for. Not tonight at least.

The limo ride over had been better than expected. Everyone was good fun, and by the time you all pulled up to the venue, you were already tipsy from pre-gaming.

You stepped out of the limo with your brother at your side, his voice booming over the music as he talked loudly with a few of the other defensive players. They were in their own little orbit, laughing, joking, elbowing each other like nothing could touch them. You slipped past them, weaving toward a booth near the side of the room where a few of the players’ wives and girlfriends were already seated, glasses in hand, chatting animatedly. You sank into the cushioned seat, letting the music pulse through you as you nursed a drink and leaned into the conversation, laughing at a story one of the girls was telling about the team’s ridiculous pregame rituals.

The club was decked out in typical Halloween fashion — fake cobwebs hanging from the corners, glowing jack-o’-lanterns tucked into every nook, a fog machine letting wisps of smoke curl over the dance floor. The open bar gleamed under the colored lights, bartenders working furiously to keep up with the stream of drinks.

Across the room, you noticed the offensive players clustered on their own side of the club, a little more contained than the defense, who were clearly running wild. Ja’Marr Chase caught your eye, chasing after his girlfriend, Deja, both laughing hysterically. Their costumes were cute — he was a milk carton, she was cookies — and you couldn’t help but grin at the sheer ridiculousness of it. A couple of the other offensive players were around too, but they were quieter, almost deliberately low-key compared to the chaos on the defense’s side, where everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You rolled your eyes and nudged Amanda, the wife of one of the safeties, who was perched on the couch beside you, her costume a slightly over-the-top witch ensemble. “This whole separation thing,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the two sides of the room, “it’s so childish.”

She leaned back, smirking, and let out a small laugh. “Tell me about it. It’s like high school all over again.” That earned a few chuckles from the other girlfriends and wives nearby. Soon, the small group had formed a loose semicircle around you, cocktails in hand, the conversation shifting naturally toward the topic everyone was too polite to bring up outright — the offense.

“Seriously,” Amanda said, narrowing her eyes toward the other side of the room, “they think they run the show, but all they do is catch the damn ball. Defending is a whole different game.”

Tamara, a cornerback’s sister sitting across from you, rolled her eyes and leaned in. “Exactly! It’s like they live in a completely different world. They get all the glory when things go right, but when it doesn’t? Suddenly the defense is the problem.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up more easily than you’d expected. For the first time that night, you felt a flicker of ease, a sense of solidarity among the women who’d all been dragged into the same mess. “Right? And don’t even get me started on the media. Every time the team loses, it’s automatically our fault. Like the defense is singlehandedly ruining the season.”

Amanda nodded, swirling her drink with lazy amusement. “Exactly. If the defense makes a stop, it’s expected. If they don’t? Boom, instant headline: ‘Bengals Defense Blunders Again.’ Meanwhile, the offense can fumble three times in a row, and it’s just ‘unlucky.’”

You settled deeper into the cushions, letting the soft chatter of the other women wash over you as you sipped your drink.

The conversation meandered, laughter bubbling here and there, and for a moment you could just exist in the comfort of the little circle you’d carved out on the couch — until it suddenly stopped.

At first, you didn’t notice the shift — just a pause, a lull in the chatter. But then you caught it. The way the laughter dimmed. The way everyone’s gaze subtly drifted toward the club’s entrance. You were about to ask what had caught their attention when you saw him.

The last person you were expecting.

Joe Burrow.

Someone beside you let out a low whistle. “Some entrance,” Amanda murmured, tone teasing. The air left your lungs before your brain caught up. You felt your pulse stutter, heat rise in your chest, and your hand tightened slightly around your glass.

He was dressed in a sharp suit — tailored, dark, understated — the kind that should’ve looked out of place at a Halloween party, but somehow didn’t. His hair was messy, wild, sprayed a vivid green that made him look both dangerous and magnetic under the shifting club lights. The Joker. Of course. You could almost laugh at the irony.

Chaos personified.

And he was staring now. At you.

Your stomach flipped as your heart thudded against your ribs. He wasn’t trying to hide it, wasn’t pretending to be polite or casual — he was just looking. Calm, collected, as if he had every right to. And maybe he did. You were the one who had disappeared on him. You were the one who had left without an explanation, who’d chosen silence over complication.

You’d spent months convincing yourself he was just a phase — a bad decision made in secrecy, in moments that never should’ve happened. And now, looking at him again, every single lie you’d told yourself unraveled.

You blinked hard, dragging your eyes away, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your brother joined you at some point — loud, drunk, arm thrown around your shoulders, laughing too hard at something Tamara said. You smiled, forcing your heartbeat to slow, grounding yourself in the noise, the chatter, anything that wasn’t him.

The last time you’d seen him had been in your apartment — low light, the sound of rain tapping against the windows, his hand still resting on your hip as you told him, softly, that you couldn’t keep doing this. He’d just stared at you then too — silent, unreadable, jaw tight — before nodding once, slow and resigned, like he already knew he’d lost you before you ever spoke.

Now, sitting here in a crowded club months later, it felt like that moment was happening all over again. Same silence. Same weight in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, reaching for your drink, telling yourself that it meant nothing. That Joe wasn’t looking at you anymore. That this — whatever this was — had been buried the night you walked away. But you could still feel it — the static under your skin, the ghost of something unfinished.

HE HADN'T EVEN PLANNED ON SHOWING UP tonight. Halloween wasn’t his thing — never had been. Too performative, too loud, too full of people trying too hard. But this year, things were different. The frustration of being benched with an injury, the constant whispers about the team’s dilemma, the way everyone tiptoed around him like he was fragile — it all sat heavy on his chest.

Still, somewhere between another sleepless night and the echo of the team’s group chat buzzing with plans, the thought had crossed his mind — you might be there. Carter was a rookie; it wasn’t far-fetched to think he’d bring his sister along. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but that off chance he’d see you again, was enough to make him say screw it.

The Joker suit had been a last-minute decision. It was dark, ironic, and a little on the nose — but that was kind of the point.

There was something cathartic about walking into a room full of tension and broken egos dressed as chaos itself. About watching people stare, not with pity this time, but curiosity.

He’d come alone. Easier that way. Less to explain. The offensive guys had already claimed a cluster of couches near the bar — Ja’Marr, Tee, a few of the O-line guys. The music was loud, the drinks stronger than they should’ve been, and everyone was pretending the locker room wasn’t split down the middle.

Joe was trying to pretend too. Trying to follow the conversation, to laugh when everyone else did, to care about whatever story Ja’Marr was telling — but he couldn’t. Not when you were sitting across the room.

You looked the same and somehow completely different. The dark hair. The soft curve of your mouth. The way you laughed, head tilted back, eyes shining under the low lights. Lois Lane. God, of course you’d pick that. Always the reporter, the observer. Always pretending you weren’t part of the story when you were right in the middle of it.

He watched you for a while, trying to be discreet about it, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. Ja’Marr noticed first.

“Yo,” he said, smirking as he leaned forward, following Joe’s gaze across the room. “You good, man? You’ve been staring at Carter for, like, five minutes. You want his girl or something?”

Joe didn’t answer. His jaw shifted slightly as his eyes flicked between you and your brother. Carter’s arm was around you, his laugh loud, protective — and yeah, Joe knew exactly what that looked like to everyone else.

“Carter’s girl?” Tee repeated, turning his head to look. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn. She cute. Rookie's got taste. Didn’t think she was your type, though.”

Joe’s head snapped toward him, the muscles in his jaw tightening just a fraction. “Why wouldn’t she be my type?”

Tee grinned, unbothered, taking a sip of his drink. “Because I think she’s hot. And we all know you’ve got questionable taste in women, so I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

The guys around them laughed, Ja’Marr nearly choking on his drink, while Joe just shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in irritation he tried to disguise as amusement. He reached over and shoved Tee’s shoulder lightly, enough to make his point.

He leaned back against the couch, eyes finding you again across the dim, crowded room. You weren’t Carter’s girl. You were Carter’s sister. And the last time Joe had seen you, you’d been tangled up in his sheets, whispering that you couldn’t keep doing this. You’d said it softly, like you didn’t want to hurt him — but you still did. You said you couldn’t keep sneaking around, couldn’t keep lying to your brother. You said it wasn’t fair.

And maybe it wasn’t. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch you walk out.

He’d told himself he respected it, that you were right — that Carter didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal from either of you. But the truth was uglier. The truth was, Joe had spent the next few weeks trying to hate you, and failing miserably.

Now, seeing you again, he realized he’d never really stopped waiting for this — for the moment he’d get to look at you again and remind himself why you were worth the mess.

He could still remember the way you’d looked at him — calm, certain, even though your voice had trembled. The rain against the window. The way he’d felt you slip away before you even left the room. And now here you were, sitting just a few yards away, pretending he was a stranger.

He exhaled slowly, letting the laughter from his teammates fade into static.

Your eyes met his for less than a second — quick, almost accidental — but it was enough to hit him like a sucker punch. You froze, just barely, before looking away, the muscles in your jaw tightening the way they always did when you were trying to keep control.

Yeah. You felt it too.

Joe forced himself to breathe, to keep his expression unreadable, but the air felt thick all of a sudden — too warm, too heavy. His chest tightened with something that was part frustration, part want, part whatever-the-hell he’d been trying to bury for months.

You shouldn’t have been here. Or maybe he shouldn’t have. Either way, it was a train wreck waiting to happen.

He watched you stand — slow, graceful, unbothered — like you hadn’t just wrecked his focus for the last thirty minutes. You said something to Amanda, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and then you turned, weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway. He didn’t even think about it. His body just… moved.

He set his drink down with a quiet thud as he pushed off the couch.

Ja’Marr arched a brow. “Where you goin’, bro?”

“Bathroom,” Joe said shortly, already half turned.

“Alright…” Ja’Marr drawled, drawing the word out like he didn’t believe it for a second. “Bathroom. Sure.”

Tee snorted. “He don’t even know where the bathrooms are in here.”

Joe flipped them both off over his shoulder without looking back, and that only made them laugh harder. But he didn’t care — not tonight.

He cut through the crowd, his stride easy but deliberate, keeping his head down as if that could disguise the fact that every nerve in his body was locked onto one target. You.

You were ahead of him, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor as you disappeared around the corner into a quieter hallway. He paused before following, dragging a hand over his face as if that could steady the storm building inside him. It didn’t.

What the hell was he doing? He’d told himself for months he was done with this — done with you. But then he'd seen you, looking like that, and every carefully built wall in his head had cracked down the middle.

He rounded the corner and stopped short, breath hitching before he could stop it. There you were — standing by the hallway mirror, head tilted slightly as you adjusted a loose strand of hair. It was the same nervous habit you’d always had, that tiny tell he could still read like a book. You looked calm to everyone else, but he knew better.

For a second, he just stood there — watching you in the reflection, the distance between you feeling like a live wire.

You looked up then, catching his gaze in the mirror, and for the briefest moment, everything stilled. Your eyes widened slightly. Surprise. Maybe guilt. Maybe something else entirely. But you didn’t move. 

And neither did he.

FOR A SECOND, YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE imagining it — that familiar weight of a stare pressed against your back like static. But when your gaze met his in the mirror, all the air seemed to vanish from the hallway.

Joe Burrow.

He looked different and exactly the same. The green hair, the smudged makeup, the dark suit that fit him too well — it should’ve looked ridiculous, but it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Even under the fake madness, you could still see him — the steadiness, the sharp focus that always made you feel seen and cornered at the same time.

You hadn’t been prepared for this. You hadn’t been prepared for him.

You swallowed hard, pretending to adjust your glasses as if that would buy you a second to breathe. But your reflection betrayed you — the way your chest rose too quickly, the way your fingers trembled just slightly.

You’d told yourself that if you ever saw him again, you’d be fine. You’d nod, smile politely, pretend what you had was nothing more than a stupid, reckless mistake. The problem with that was that your body remembered before your brain could even begin to lie.

The rain on his window. The warmth of his breath against your neck. The way he’d looked at you that last night, quiet but certain, like he was memorizing you before letting you go.

And then you’d walked away. Because it was the right thing to do. Because your brother had joined the team, and you couldn’t be that person.

So why did seeing Joe now feel like stepping right back into the fire you swore you would never touch again?

You forced yourself to turn, to face him instead of his reflection. The noise from the party was muffled here, the bass fading into a low hum beneath the pounding of your heart.

“Joe,” you said, and it came out smaller than you intended. He didn’t answer right away.

He just watched you with that unreadable expression — the one that always drove you insane because you never knew if he was angry or amused or both. He’d been that way the night you left too, quiet and composed even as you’d fallen apart trying to explain yourself.

Now, though, there was something different behind his eyes. Something sharp.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” you said, trying for nonchalance. Your tone came out lighter, teasing even, but it felt hollow in your chest.

He huffed out a laugh — humorless, low. “Yeah, well. Guess I had a reason.”

Your stomach flipped at that. A reason. You wanted to ask what he meant, but you already knew. You were the reason. And you hated that part of you liked that answer.

You shifted your weight, crossing your arms to keep your hands from fidgeting. “You shouldn’t have come,” you said, softer this time. It wasn’t accusation — it was something close to pleading.

He tilted his head, that small, crooked smirk tugging at his mouth. “Pretty sure you don’t get to say that. Not after ghosting me.”

You don’t respond — because what could you possibly say to that? He’s right. You did ghost him. You’d spent weeks crafting excuses in your head, but none of them sounded good enough to say out loud. Not to him.

So instead, you turn back toward the mirror, pretending to focus on something else — anything else. Your earring had caught in your hair, the fine chain looped around a few strands, and your fingers fumble uselessly with it. You curse under your breath, more to fill the silence than anything else.

“Hold still,” Joe says quietly.

Before you can tell him not to, he steps in close — too close. His reflection looms just behind yours, tall and solid and there. You feel the heat of him before you feel his hand, the brush of his fingers as he gently frees the chain from your hair.

Your breath catches. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. His fingers graze your neck, lingering for a second too long, like muscle memory took over before reason could stop it.

You can see the small crease form between his brows — the same one that used to appear when he was concentrating, when his hand was on your skin in a completely different way.

You almost thank him, but the sound dies in your throat. You meet his gaze in the mirror instead — that same steady, deliberate look that always made you feel like he was seeing something you didn’t want him to.

He studies you through the mirror for a long moment — eyes tracing over every inch of you like he’s trying to catch up on all the months he missed. Then, softly, his voice slips into the quiet.

“You look good.”

You laugh under your breath, sharp and defensive. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he murmurs, his tone steady — not teasing, not joking. “It’s the truth.”

You shake your head, eyes dropping, but before you can take another step back, he moves. Slow, deliberate. His hand comes up, brushing the hair off your shoulder, fingers grazing the curve of your neck as he lets it fall down your back.

“My Lois Lane,” he says, voice low enough that it almost doesn’t reach your ears.

You frown, meeting his gaze in the mirror again. “Lois Lane belongs to Superman,” you manage, the words coming out quieter than you meant them to. You weren’t big on comic books, but you were certain that the Joker and Lois Lane had absolutely nothing in common.

Joe’s smile is small, dangerous — the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes but still pulls something deep in your chest. “Not in my world.” He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “In my world, she likes danger. Likes the way it feels when she forgets what’s right.”

Your pulse stutters. You open your mouth to tell him to stop, to remind him why this is a terrible idea — but then his hands are on you again.

One settles on your hip, the other at your waist, fingers spreading slow, sure, possessive. His body fits against yours like it used to — solid, certain — his chest brushing your back, his breath ghosting down the side of your neck.

“In my world,” he murmurs, his voice rough now, “she doesn’t walk away.”

Your eyes flutter shut, because God, you shouldn’t want this. You shouldn’t still feel this. But the moment his thumb drags lightly against your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt, all the months of pretending start to crumble.

You can feel his heartbeat against your spine, steady and infuriatingly calm while yours races out of control. You draw in a slow breath, trying to find your voice — but all that comes out is a whisper, shaky and broken at the edges. “Joe…”

He hums in response, a low sound that vibrates through your bones.

You tell yourself to move, to pull away, to remember why you ended this. But then his hand slides higher, tracing the line of your ribs, and your resolve gives out completely.

Your eyes stay closed as your head tips back just slightly, brushing his shoulder. For a second, you let yourself remember what it felt like — that impossible mix of heat and safety that only he could make you feel.

And when he leans in, his lips barely touching your skin as he whispers, “Tell me to stop,” you can’t.

You don’t.

His fingers slide under the hem of your pencil skirt, pushing it up just enough to reach the lace edge of your panties. You grab his wrist, your voice a hushed plea. "Joe, no—we can't. Not here." But your body betrays you, hips shifting slightly as his touch grazes your thigh, the mirror reflecting every flicker of hesitation in your eyes.

He doesn't stop. With a low chuckle that vibrates against your neck, he hooks the fabric aside, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the hallway. His fingers part your folds, slick already from the tension building between you, and he circles your clit slowly, deliberately.

"Why'd you leave your friends and come out here alone then, hm?" he murmurs, his free hand gripping your hip to hold you steady.

You bite your lip, stifling a gasp as he presses one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right. The stretch burns in the best way, but the risk—the distant thump of music from the party, the chance of footsteps echoing down the hall—makes your heart race. "I... I needed air," you whisper, but it sounds weak even to you.

"Bullshit." His thumb rubs your clit in tight circles while his fingers thrust deeper, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet space. "You knew I'd follow. Knew I'd come find you and fuck this pussy like it belongs to me. Because you miss it. Miss me stretching you open, making you forget everything else." His words are a growl, laced with that Joker edge, his red-smeared lips curling into a smirk as he watches you in the mirror.

"Eyes on the mirror," he commands, his thrusts growing urgent, fingers driving deeper inside you. "Watch how you fall apart from nothing but my hand," he taunts softly, his tone dripping with false pity, the words slithering from his lips like a serpent's whisper.

The mirror forces you to confront your choices: your skirt hiked up, his hand buried between your thighs, your mouth parted in silent pleas. You note the flush on your cheeks, the way your lips are swollen, the wild, glassy look in your eyes…

"Stop holding back," he urges, voice rough. "Let me hear you moan my name. Fuck everyone. Let them see how bad you need this— need me."

The pressure builds, your climax hovering so close, but then you blurt it out, "I can't do this. To Carter I mean. He's why I... I can't—"

Joe freezes, his fingers stilling deep inside you, right on the edge. The denial rips through you like a slap, your body whining in protest as you rock against his hand desperately.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, leaving you empty and aching, your whine echoing softly. In one swift motion, he spins you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. "Jesus Christ, stop thinking about your brother for five seconds and start thinking about what you want." His voice is low, a dangerous rumble as he searches your gaze.

For a few heart-pounding seconds, the world narrows to just this: heavy breaths mingling, chests heaving, the air thick with unspoken history. Your pulse thunders in your ears, and then you lean in first. Your lips crash against his, hungry and forgiving all at once. The kiss explodes, tongues tangling fiercely, his hands roaming everywhere—up your back, squeezing your ass, tugging at your shirt. Yours fist in his suit jacket, pulling him closer as he backs you against the mirror, the cold glass a shock against your spine. He devours your mouth, nipping your lower lip, swallowing your gasps like they're his.

"Jump," he says mid-kiss, the word muffled against your lips. You obey without thinking, legs wrapping around his waist, heels hooking behind him. He lifts you effortlessly, strong arms holding you as your mouths stay locked, the kiss turning frantic. Carrying you down the hall, he tests doors—one locked, another leading to a closet—until one swings open.

Still kissing you, he kicks it shut behind him, the click of the lock sealing you in privacy. Red lights bathe the small karaoke booth, casting eerie glows that make his Joker paint stark and wild, green hair vivid against the shadows.

He sets you on the edge of a low table, the surface cool under your thighs. Breaking the kiss just long enough, he starts unbuttoning your white shirt, fingers deft and urgent. You help, shrugging it off your shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. His hands yank at your pencil skirt next, zipper rasping as he peels it down your legs, leaving you in just the Superman tee clinging to your skin, panties damp and askew, heels still on your feet, glasses perched on your nose.

He shrugs one shoulder to slip out of his suit jacket, the dark fabric sliding down his arm like it's ready to hit the floor. But your hand shoots out before he can, fingers curling into the lapel, stopping him cold. Mid-kiss, your lips brushing his in a breathless gasp, you murmur against his mouth, "Leave it on. Please."

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his brows knitting in confusion, that sharp blue stare piercing through the painted chaos on his face. "What?" he asks, voice rough with arousal, a hint of bewilderment threading through it.

Your cheeks burn, heat flooding your face as you realize how it sounds. You bite your lip, eyes flicking down to where your hand clutches the fabric, then back up to him. "I just... I like how you look. It's... hot. Keep it on?"

For a beat, he stares, processing, his expression shifting from puzzled to something wickedly amused as it clicks. "Oh," he says, low and teasing, leaning in closer so his breath fans your ear. "You get off on the whole villain vibe, huh? My little reporter chasing the bad guy."

He straightens the jacket with deliberate slowness, rolling his shoulders to settle it back into place, the tailored lines hugging his broad frame just right. His hands slide down your sides possessively, thumbs hooking into your panties' waistband but not pulling yet. "Alright, Lois. If that's what you want... I'll play the part."

The heat in your belly coils tighter as he chuckles, that throaty sound vibrating against you. "So how am I supposed to fuck you like this?" he asks, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Just... pull your pants down a little," you whisper, your voice shy but insistent, cheeks still flaming as you meet his gaze. He rolls his eyes, smirking wider, but there's no real protest—only hunger as he complies. His fingers work the button of his pants open, zipper rasping down, and he shoves the fabric along with his boxers just low enough on his hips to free his cock. It's thick, hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

He strokes himself once, base to tip, watching your reaction with that focused intensity, jacket still draped perfectly over his shoulders like he’s going to claim you in full costume. "Like this?" he murmurs, stepping between your legs, his free hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider.

The painted grin on his face looms as he rubs the head of his cock along your inner thigh, teasing higher, brushing the damp spot on your panties. Your breath hitches, glasses slipping a fraction down your nose, but you don't push them up—too lost in the sight of him.

He slides it back and forth without pushing in, the head nudging your clit each pass. You squirm, restless, hips bucking up for more. "Why aren't you—" you start, frustration lacing your voice.

"Was it hard?" he interrupts, eyes locking on yours, the question hanging heavy.

You furrow your brows, about to ask what he means, but he slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness rips a cry from your throat, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in as your pussy stretches around him.

He gives you no time to adjust, pounding into you relentlessly, the table creaking under the force. Your heels dig into his back, urging him deeper, moans spilling out as pleasure crashes over you.

"I asked you a question," he grits out, hips snapping hard, his jacket brushing your thighs with each drive.

You can barely think, lost in the rhythm. "Huh?"

"Walking away," he says, jaw tightening, thrusts never slowing. "Was it hard for you?"

You tense, his name a gasp on your lips. "Joe..."

He laughs softly, bitterly, shaking his head as he fucks you harder, the slap of skin echoing in the red-lit booth. "'Cause it didn't look hard. You disappeared like I was nothing. Like it didn't mean a damn thing."

The words hit harder than you expect, slicing through the haze of arousal, leaving you confused, defensive even as your body arches into him. Your pussy clenches around his cock, torn between the sting of truth and the building ecstasy.

"That's not it," you manage, voice breaking on a moan as he angles deeper, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes.

He leans in, lips brushing yours in a whisper of a kiss that feels more like a challenge, his cock buried deep inside your pussy, hips grinding slow and insistent against yours. The friction sends sparks up your spine, your walls clenching around his thickness as he holds still, waiting. "No? Then tell me I'm wrong."

You open your mouth, words caught in your throat, but before you can, he kisses you again—deeper this time, angrier, pouring all the pent-up hurt and hunger into it as he drives into you without mercy.

He doesn't stop—each drive of his cock into your pussy deliberate, punishing, like he's fucking the truth out of you. The red lights flicker over his painted face, making his eyes look feral as he holds your gaze. Sweat beads on his forehead, smudging the black paint around his eyes, but he doesn't care, pounding harder, like he's chasing the confession he needs.

“What's your problem?” you demand, your voice shaking with more than just frustration, breaking on a gasp as he angles his hips to hit that spot deep inside, making your toes curl in your heels.

“You are,” he says, and it comes out too fast, too real, his breath hot against your neck as he leans down, teeth grazing your collarbone before sucking a mark there. Something in your chest twists, even as your pussy flutters around him, pulling him deeper.

“You think this was easy for me?” you shot back, voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to heartbreak. Your hands slide up to tangle in his green-tinted hair, tugging hard enough to make him hiss, his pace faltering for a second before he retaliates by pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip to hold you steady as he fucks into you relentlessly. “You think I wanted to end it? That I liked pretending I didn’t—” 

“Didn’t what?” he bites out, eyes flashing open wide, his free hand releasing your wrists to cup your face, thumb pressing into your cheek as he forces you to meet his stare. “Didn’t want me? Didn’t love me?” He slows his thrusts just enough to tease, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in.

You stare at him, breath catching in a sharp inhale as he rolls his hips, circling deep inside you, the pressure building low in your belly. Your legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back through the suit fabric, urging him on despite the ache in your heart.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered. 

“Do what?” he challenged, his jaw tight, eyes searching yours like he was trying to drag the truth out of you by force. He laughs, a short, sharp sound that vibrates through his chest as his painted lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your next breath. “You ghosted me," he growls against your mouth when he pulls back, nipping at your lower lip hard enough to sting, then soothing it with a swipe of his tongue.

“Because I had to,” you snapped, voice cracking as your body chasing the pleasure amid the pain. “Because you’re his quarterback, Joe! What was I supposed to do — keep sneaking around? Pretend it wouldn’t blow up everything?”

"You had to?" he echoes, voice low and disbelieving, like he doesn’t buy a single syllable. He slows to a torturous grind, his cock pulsing inside you, thick and hot, as he leans down to whisper in your ear, breath ragged. "So that’s what you're going with."

His fingers pinch your clit lightly, sending a shockwave through you, your back bowing off the couch as he starts thrusting again—slower, deeper, drawing out every inch of sensation while his eyes bore into yours, demanding more than just your body.

Your hands clutch his shoulders, nails scraping through the fabric. "It wasn't a choice," you gasp, the words tumbling out between moans that escape unbidden as he rolls his hips, grinding deep against your cervix. "It was damage control."

He growls, one hand sliding up to grip your throat—not hard, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck. His lips crash against your pulse, teeth grazing as he sucks a mark there, his cock plunging deeper. "Damage control" he mocks, breath hot against your skin. "Is that what you call walking out without a word."

"Joe—fuck," you whimper, your pussy clenching around him as the anger fuels the heat coiling in your belly. Your heels press harder into his back, urging him on even as tears prick your eyes. "You think it was easy?"

“Do you want to know what I think? I think it was convenient,” he said, leaning in until his forehead nearly touched yours. “You get to feel noble while I get to feel disposable.” He punctuates the words with a sharp roll of his hips, his thumb finding your clit and circling it roughly, building the ache until your thighs quiver around him.

Your hands were on his chest before you even realised it, meaning to push him away, but instead you gripped his jacket, knuckles white. “That’s not fair,” you breathed.

“Then tell me what is,” he murmurs, voice rough and edged with desperation, his painted lips brushing yours as he spoke. He releases your throat to tangle his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back gently to expose more of your neck, where he latches on again, sucking and biting. “Because I’ve been trying to make sense of it, and all I’ve got is silence.”

You clench around him involuntarily, your heels scraping down his back, pulling him impossibly closer. "You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he said, and the words were a dare, a plea, and something darker all at once.

You shake your head, eyes glassy with unshed tears and the overwhelming sensation that only he could give you. “If I stayed, it would’ve destroyed everything. Him. You. Us.”

His jaw clenched. “News flash,” he muttered, voice breaking on the edges of restraint, “you leaving did that anyway.”

He kissed you then — hard, desperate, the kind of kiss that felt like punishment and forgiveness all tangled together. You gasped against his mouth, hands fisting in his shirt, the fight bleeding into want, into ache. When he finally tore back, both of you were breathing hard, eyes locked, the air between you trembling. 

“It hurt me too,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I loved you. Still—oh god—still do. But I couldn’t keep choosing you when it meant losing my brother.”

Joe froze. Every muscle in his body went still, like the words had landed somewhere he didn’t expect. His hand, still resting against your neck, loosened its grip. For the first time all night, he didn’t look angry — just… stunned.

His mouth parted, but nothing came out. His eyes searched yours, fast, desperate, as if he was trying to figure out if you meant it or if it was just another wound you’d opened without realising. Then he lifts you off the table in one fluid motion, arms wrapping under your thighs, his cock never leaving your slick heat.

You yelp, legs tightening around his waist as he carries you the few steps to the booth's worn couch, dropping you onto it with a controlled thud. The cushions sink under your weight, but he follows immediately, pinning you down, his body covering yours as he starts thrusting again—harder now, the new angle letting him grind against your clit with every stroke.

"You loved me?" he demands, voice breaking on the words as he fucks you into the couch, the fabric rough against your back. Then why does it feel like you ripped my heart out and stomped on it? I waited for you damn it, I thought you'd come back to me."

You buck up to meet him, the Superman shirt riding up, exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your glasses fog slightly from the heat, but you don't care—your hands roam his chest, feeling the muscles flex under the shirt. "God, I wanted to," you cry out, voice raw.

"Every time I saw you, it felt like I was holding my breath. But I couldn’t—if I’d reached for you again, I don’t think I would’ve been able to let go and I couldn't do that to Carter."

His pace falters, just for a heartbeat, emotion flashing across his face—hurt, anger, longing all mixed. But then he kisses you fiercely, tongue invading your mouth as his hips piston faster, the wet slap of his balls against your ass filling the booth. "Fuck Carter," he mutters against your lips, one hand shoving your panties further aside for better access. "This—us—this is what matters. You feel that? How your pussy milks my cock like it never wants to let go?"

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs higher around him, heels scraping his thighs. The couch creaks under the force, your body jolting with each powerful thrust. "Joe, please... I never stopped wanting you. Every night, I told myself I’d moved on, but I still felt you—everywhere. It was hell pretending I didn’t still crave this… crave you."

He groans, burying his face in your neck, his breath ragged. "Then stop pretending. Be mine again. No more running." His hand slips between you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, insistent circles that make your vision blur.

The fight dissolves into pure need, words turning to gasps and pleas. "I don't even know how to want anyone else," you whisper, the admission breaking something open inside you. "Please Joe… Make me forget everything else."

He does, pounding relentlessly, his cock swelling inside you as your walls flutter around him. The tension builds to a breaking point, your bodies slick with sweat, the red lights casting shadows that dance with every movement. "Come with me," he growls, eyes locked on yours, his thumb pressing harder. "Show me you feel it too."

You shatter first, crying out his name as your orgasm crashes over you, pussy spasming around his cock, pulling him deeper. 

He follows seconds later, thrusting erratically before burying himself deep, hot cum flooding you in thick spurts. His groan vibrates against your skin, bodies trembling together in the aftershocks, finally synced in release.

The haze of your shared climax lingers, your body still humming from the intensity, but as Joe eases his cock out of you with a soft, wet sound, a wave of overwhelm crashes over you. He shifts back slightly, reaching for a stray napkin from the booth's side table to wipe himself clean, his painted face softening in the red glow. 

The rush of adrenaline is gone now, replaced by the heavy quiet that follows something you can’t take back. You turn away instinctively, curling into the couch cushions, your chest tightening as silent tears well up and spill down your cheeks.

The weight of what just happened crashes over you — the realization that by letting Joe in again, you’d undone every boundary, every promise you’d made to yourself.

Joe pauses mid-motion, his eyes snapping to you. He tosses the napkin aside and leans in, voice firm but laced with concern. "No, no, no—you don't get to regret this." His hand hovers near your shoulder, not touching yet, as if afraid you'll shatter.

You shake your head, wiping at your face with the back of your hand, but the tears keep coming. "I don't regret it," you whisper, voice thick and broken. "That's the problem."

He studies you intently, eyebrows drawing together in that focused furrow he gets when he's reading a defense on the field—or you, piecing together every flicker of your expression, the subtle tremble in your shoulders, the way your fingers twist into the couch fabric. It's like he's scanning for the truth behind your words, gauging if the storm in your eyes is fear or something deeper. Gently, he reaches out, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

His gaze never leaves you as he scans the dim booth, spotting your discarded clothes amid the tangle of passion—your white button-up shirt crumpled near the table, the pencil skirt flung halfway across the floor. He stands, tucking himself back into his pants with quick efficiency, then retrieves them both. 

“Hey,” he says softly, crouching in front of you. “Look at me.”

You do — reluctantly at first — and he offers a small, crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The paint on his face is smudged, his hair a mess, but somehow, in that light, he looks more human than you’ve ever seen him.

Knelt in front of you, he holds the skirt open, his hands steady on your calves as he guides your heels through the leg holes. You lift your hips without a word, letting him slide the fabric up your thighs, over your panties, and zip it snug around your waist. His touch is reverent, fingers lingering just a second on your skin before he straightens.

Shifting to sit beside you on the couch, he drapes the button-up over your shoulders, his body close but not crowding. One by one, he buttons it from the bottom up, his knuckles grazing your stomach, then higher, securing the fabric over the Superman logo peeking from beneath.

The tears have slowed now, leaving just occasional sniffles that you try to muffle. As he finishes, his hand moves to your hair, gently combing through the tousled strands with his fingers, tucking a loose piece behind your ear to make you look a little more presentable—though the flush on your cheeks and the smudged remnants of your makeup tell the real story.

"There," he says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. With the hem of his jacket sleeve, he dabs carefully at the tear tracks on your cheeks, wiping away the salt and any lingering fog on the lenses of the glasses before settling them back on the bridge of your nose, straight and secure.

"Thank you," you mutter, meeting his eyes, the words small but sincere.

He nods, expression still etched with that concentrated concern, but softening now as he sees the storm in you calming. "Come closer," he says, opening his arms wide, an invitation wrapped in warmth.

You lean in without hesitation, nestling against his side, and he wraps one arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush to his chest. His heartbeat thuds steady under your ear, a grounding rhythm in the quiet booth, his free hand stroking your arm in slow, reassuring circles.

The silence stretches, comfortable in its own uneasy way. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the muted thump of his heart against your ear. The world outside the booth feels far away — laughter muffled, bass fading into a slow, steady hum.

After a while, his voice breaks through the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You know,” he starts, his thumb tracing absent circles over your arm, “there’s this version of Superman — It’s from this story called Injustice.”

You hum softly in response, too tired to lift your head, but the sound encourages him to go on.

“In that universe,” he says, “the Joker goes after Superman instead of Batman. He… tricks him. Makes him think he’s fighting one of his enemies. But it’s really Lois. The woman he loves. And when he realizes what he’s done — it’s too late. She’s gone. And Metropolis goes with her.”

Your breath stills a little. His tone isn’t animated the way it used to be when he’d talk about football — it’s quieter, almost reverent. Like he’s not really telling a story about superheroes at all.

“He loses everything in one moment,” Joe continues. “And the worst part is… the Joker laughs. Because he didn’t just take Lois from him. He made Superman become the thing he hated most. The villain.”

You shift slightly, eyes still half-lidded against his chest. “That’s… dark,” you murmur.

A soft chuckle rumbles through him. “Yeah. It is. But I always thought there was something kind of—” he hesitates, searching for the word, “—tragically poetic about it. Two people who were never supposed to be connected… still end up bound together in some way."

Your throat tightens. “You think that’s us?”

His gaze finds yours, steady in the dim light. “I think if there’s a universe where we get it right, I don’t let you walk away.”

You lift your head just enough to glance at him, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards despite yourself. “You were always such a comic book geek,” you say quietly, brushing your thumb over the messy red paint still streaked along his jaw. “Some things never change.”

He smiles faintly at that. “Guess not.”

And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just sit there, the story hanging in the air between you — two people who shouldn’t have found their way back to each other, but somehow did anyway.

Right now, there’s only this. Only him.

There’s too much to say, and none of it belongs to this moment. The questions — what now, what are we, what happens when we go outside — can wait. Maybe they’ll destroy you later. Maybe they won’t. But here, now, it’s just quiet.

You know, deep down, that the moment you step back into that party, you won’t look back. You’ve trained yourself for months not to.

You’ve built walls around what you feel for him, convinced yourself it was for the best, for Carter, for your own sanity. And yet, here, with his hand finding yours again, the one person you swore you’d never let yourself have, you allow yourself to forget all of that.

You rolled your eyes, a laugh bubbling up from your chest. "You have no idea," you replied, your voice filled with energy. "I've been holding it together for hours, and now all I want to do is kick off these heels and dance like a lunatic."

Joe chuckled, his sarcasm giving way to affection as he stepped closer to you. He reached out and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle caress. "Well, Mrs. Burrow," he began, his voice low and teasing, "once we make our grand entrance, the dance floor is all yours."

Your eyes lit up at the sound of your new title, a grin spreading across your face. "And what will Mr. Burrow be doing?" you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Joe shrugged, his own smile growing. "Probably tripping over my own two feet. You know I'm more of a 'sway and hope nobody notices' kind of dancer."

"Not tonight, Joey." You said with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Tonight, you're dancing with me like you mean it."

Joe feigned a dramatic sigh, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable. "Fine," he drew out the vowels, rolling his eyes playfully despite the unmistakable grin that was spreading across his face. "But only if you promise not to laugh when I get a few drinks in me."

Your laugh was music to Joe's ears, and he felt his own tension start to unwind. "Deal," you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly. The kiss was chaste, but it carried the promise of a million more to come, each one more passionate than the last.

The door to the room swung open and in barged a rush of laughter and chatter as your wedding party piled in. "Alright, Mr. & Mrs. Burrow," your wedding planner called out, her voice a mix of hurry and delight. "It's showtime!"

-

"You're up to something," Joe murmured, catching the mischievous glint in your eyes as you sauntered into the hotel room. The evening air clung to your skin, carrying the faint scent of your wedding flowers with you. He was lounging on the plush bed, scrolling through his phone, his muscular form stretched out in the white cotton pajamas that matched your own.

"Me? I'm not up to anything," you retorted, your laughter twinkling in the quiet space. The sight of you made Joe's heart stumble, the way you filled out those pajamas like they were tailored just for you—they were. He knew that look, though. The way you bit your lower lip and your hips swayed just so. You had something on your mind, and it sure as hell wasn't sleep.

Joe set his phone aside, settling deeper into the pillows. "You're smiling too hard for it to be nothing," he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

You prowled closer, your smile deepening with the grin that spread across your face. "Maybe I'm just happy to see my husband," you said, your voice a purr that sent a shiver down Joe's spine. "My shiny, new husband."

He knew better.

That glint in your eye was the same one you had before you tackled him into bed back home. Before he could say anything else, you straddled him, your thighs pressing into his hips, palms pressing him into the hotel bedsheets eagerly.

"Your wife is ovulating, Mr. Burrow," you whispered into his ear, your hot breath tickling his neck. Joe couldn't help but laugh, his hands instinctively reaching to grip your waist.

"And that means?" Joe replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your body. Despite his amusement, there was a flicker of interest in his eyes.

"It means I want you to do something about it," you said, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper. You began to rock your hips against him, the friction making you wetter by the second. Joe's laughter died in his throat, and he stared up at you, his eyes darkening. 

"I know how much you love it when I'm like this," you cooed, your hands sliding under his shirt to trace the contours of his solid upper body.

"Is that so?" Joe said, his voice thick with amusement. He couldn't deny that there was something about you at your most aroused that made his heart skip a beat. It had become a secret little card between the two of you, one that you loved to play when you knew he was at his most susceptible.

"Mmhmm," you murmured, your teeth grazing his earlobe. "Remember that time you said I smell like heaven when I'm ovulating?"

Joe couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. "I might have said something like that," he admitted, his voice a low, playful rumble.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin. "Well, heaven's calling," you said, your hips moving in a slow, deliberate circle that made Joe's eyes roll back in his head.

"You're going to be the death of me, woman," he groaned, his hands tightening around your waist as you continued her delicate torture.

Your grin grew wider, your brown eyes gleaming with mischief. "Is that a 'yes'? You’re not too tired?" you asked, your voice dripping with sweet seduction.

"It's definitely a 'yes', sweetheart. I could never be too tired for you," Joe managed, his breath hitching as your hips continued their mesmerizing dance. He pushed your pajama shorts aside, the gold wedding band glittering against his skin as his fingers moved to reveal your slick folds.

"But you better be quiet," he warned, glancing over at the walls that separated them from your parents' rooms on either side. "I don't think they need to know what we're up to over here."

“It’s our wedding night, baby. I think our parents would hope we'd be having dirty marital sex on our wedding night,” you giggled, the sound light and airy, as you leaned down to kiss him. "They want grandbabies and this is how it happens."

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, tasting like mint and a hint of the champagne you had picked out for the reception. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, until Joe couldn't take it anymore. He flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours, his cock pressing against your heat.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with wonder and lust.

"Told you," you said, your voice a smug whisper. You reached down to stroke him through his pants, feeling him twitch against your palm. "You always get me like this."

Joe chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling with desire. "So it’s not just the multi-million dollar fortune now in your name?" he murmured, kissing you deeply.

"We can't have you waking up the whole floor." He pulled your pajama shorts down before throwing them over his shoulder to discard them. Your laughter was muffled against his neck as he positioned himself between your legs.

He slid into you with a groan, the feeling of your tight warmth around him making him forget about the walls that were a little too thin. Your nails dug into his back as he began to move, slow at first, savoring every inch of you.

"Fuck," you breathed, your eyes squeezed shut. "You feel so good."

Joe's teeth sank into your shoulder to keep his own moans quiet. "You're so wet, baby," he murmured, his voice strained. "So, so wet."

"I can't help it," you panted, your legs wrapping around him. "You looked so good out there, all husband-y and...fuck, Joe, right there."

Joe chuckled against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he hit your sweet spot with precision. He knew exactly how to make you squirm. He loved it when you lost control, when you forgot about the world around you and just focused on the pleasure he was giving you.

"I’m so thankful you’re mine," he whispered, his hips driving into you with increasing force. The headboard hit the wall with a muffled thump that made you both giggle, despite the intensity of the moment. You wrapped your arms around Joe's neck, your nails lightly raking his scalp as you pulled him closer, silently begging for more.

Joe's breath was hot against your neck as he murmured, "You're so fucking tight."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but moan a little louder. "Shh," Joe said, a hint of laughter in his voice as he pressed a finger to your lips. "These walls are so thin."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your breath hitched when Joe reached over to grab a pillow. He slammed it over your face, muffling your laughter. "Not helping," you mumbled into the softness.

He threw the pillow aside with a laugh and slid his thumb into your mouth instead, your teeth grazing the pad as you tried to keep your noises down. It was a struggle, especially as he found his rhythm and your moans grew more insistent. The scent of your arousal filled the air, and Joe couldn't resist the urge to bury his nose in your neck, inhaling deeply. It was like a drug, making his cock throb even more.

"So good. My wife’s so tight, squeezing her husband’s cock so well, like she was fuckin' made for it," he groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair as he held you in place. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your body arching up to meet his every thrust. The quiet room was filled with the slick sounds of skin on skin, your harsh breathing, and the occasional muffled curse.

"You're so...so...oh, fuck, Joey," you managed, your words barely audible around his fingers. Your legs trembled, your body poised on the edge of release.

Joe couldn't hold back his own groans any longer. He knew he was pushing your buttons, and the way you squirmed beneath him was all the encouragement he needed. "I know, baby," he murmured, his voice a mix of affection and lust. "You're close, aren't you?"

You nodded, your eyes squeezed shut as Joe picked up the pace. You were close, so close, but he wasn't done with you yet. He pulled his thumb from your mouth and slammed into you harshly, his balls slapping against your ass. The sound was obscene, but Joe couldn't bring himself to care. All he could focus on was the feel of your tight pussy clamping down around him, your walls pulsing with each thrust.

Your eyes snapped open, and you looked up at Joe with a mix of love and pure desire. "Don't stop," you begged, your voice a breathy whisper. "Please, Joe, don't stop."

"Never," Joe promised, his voice a gruff growl. He thrust deeper, feeling your muscles tighten around him. He knew you were close, and the thought of you coming apart under him was all he needed to fall over the edge. He reached down to rub your clit in tight circles, his fingers slipping and sliding in your wetness. "I'm gonna fill this sweet pussy up. Make my wife happy like I vowed. Might even make you a mama." he murmured, his voice low and guttural.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your breath coming in short gasps. The pressure was building, coiling in your stomach, threatening to break free. You nodded, your hips bucking up to meet his. "Please, Joe," you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need it."

With a powerful thrust, Joe gave you what you craved. Your eyes snapped open, and you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming. He didn't stop, though, his strokes growing faster and more erratic.

"That's it, baby. Keep squeezing me, just like that. Gonna make you feel real good, sweetheart. Get you all nice and warm with my cum, huh?" Joe's voice was a gruff whisper in your ear as you rode the waves of pleasure. 

“Is that what you want?” His words were like gasoline on a fire, sending sparks of arousal through your body. You could feel him thicken inside you, his breaths growing harsher with each thrust. “You want me to give you a baby?”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you nodded, your hips moving in time with Joe's. The room was a whirlwind of sensations, the scent of your sex mingling with the faint ocean breeze that slipped through the open balcony doors. The sound of the waves outside seemed to echo the rhythm of your lovemaking, a steady movement building up to a crescendo.

"Oh, Joe," you breathed, your voice strained. "Fuck, yes. Yes."

Your eyes met, and Joe saw the desperation in them, the need for release that mirrored his own. He leaned down, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce kiss as he slammed into you, giving you everything he had. Your nails dug into his back, your body writhing beneath his. And then you were there, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, your inner muscles clenching down around his cock in a spasm of pleasure. He spilled over the edge at the same time, filling you with his hot, thick spend. You both froze for a moment, the room silent except for the harsh sounds of your panting.

"Holy shit," Joe breathed, collapsing onto you with a satisfied groan. His chest heaved with each breath, his heart racing in his ears. The feel of you, warm and wet around him, was heavenly. He kissed your neck, your skin salty with a sheen of sweat.

You chuckled, the vibrations traveling through Joe's body. "You're such a romantic," you teased. "Now get off, you're 20 pounds heavier than normal."

"Nah, gotta make sure it all stays inside, you know?" Joe quipped, his voice muffled by your shoulder. He didn't move, enjoying the feeling of your body still quivering with the aftershocks of your climax. You giggled, your breath warm against his neck.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured, your voice still shaky with pleasure. Joe's laughter rumbled against your skin, his body a delicious weight that you didn't want to shift just yet. The two of you lay there, tangled in the sheets, your hearts racing in sync.

"There's no way they didn't hear something," you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. You could feel Joe's cock still twitching inside you, the evidence of his release seeping out to wet the bed between your legs.

"Your mom's been talking nonstop about a grandchild. I think she'll appreciate the knowledge that we're working on it right away," Joe replied with a lazy grin, not bothering to move. You playfully slapped his ass, making him yelp.

"Get off, you're crushing me," you giggled, pushing at Joe's shoulder. He chuckled, rolling off you and flopping onto his back. His cock slipped out with a wet sound, and you couldn't help but stare at the mess you had made. You felt a warm trickle of his cum slide out of you and trickle down your thigh.

Joe glanced over and grinned. "Looks like we've got a little cleanup on aisle five," he said, gesturing to the wet spot on the bed.

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught with ease. "You're so annoying," you said, your voice filled with affection. "If you're gonna be into this breeding kink thing, you're gonna have to help clean me up after."

Joe sat up, his chest heaving from the exertion. "Fair enough," he said, tossing the pillow back at you. "Can I lick you clean?" he offered with a waggle of his eyebrows, his voice filled with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your gaze betrayed your arousal. "Perv," you murmured, a smirk playing on your lips.

Joe shrugged, unabashed. "What? Is that a yes?" He leaned over to nip at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the teasing, there was a genuine question in his voice, his breath hot against your skin.

"Not today, playboy," you said, swatting Joe's hand away as he reached for your still-sensitive folds. "But I'll keep it in mind for later."

You slithered out of bed, the dampness between your legs leaving a stain on the sheet. "For now, I'm going to take a shower before your mom starts knocking on the door wondering if we're okay."

Joe watched your retreating form with a lazy smile, his eyes lingering on your round, firm ass as you disappeared into the en suite bathroom. "Without me?" he called after you, pouting as he feigned disappointment in his voice.

When you looked at him over your shoulder, a smile pulling at your lips, he leaped out of bed. His cock was still half-hard as he chased after you, his playfulness evident in every step.

-

You stretched your limbs against the crisp, white villa sheets. You blinked your brown eyes open to the early morning sun peeking through the luxurious curtains, hinting at the promise of a new day. Next to you, Joe lay still, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep. His dirty blonde hair was a mess, a heartwarming contrast to his usually meticulous grooming.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight of the man who was now your husband. Your first days as a married couple had been filled with passion and laughter, and you were eager to start this new chapter of your life together.

Your private plane ride had been nothing short of a dream. The thrilling rush of flying high above the clouds, sipping champagne, and even sneaking away to join the mile-high club in the spacious bathroom.

As you slipped out of bed, the soft carpet whispered a greeting beneath your bare feet. You padded over to the floor-to-ceiling window, taking in the breathtaking view of the tropical paradise that stretched out before you. The sea was a canvas of azure, blending into the horizon where the sun had just begun to paint streaks of gold and pink. It was the perfect setting for a honeymoon, and you couldn't have been more grateful for Joe's thoughtful surprise.

As you continued to gaze at the view, you felt Joe's arms snake around your waist from behind. He pulled you into his embrace, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. "Good morning, Mrs. Burrow," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and a hint of pride. You giggled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"Good morning, Mr. Burrow," you replied, leaning into his touch. "I can't believe we're actually here." You twisted around in his arms, your smile widening as you met his gaze. Joe's blue eyes sparkled with love as he said, "I know what you mean. I had to pinch myself during the flight to make sure it wasn't just a dream."

"Was that before or after we christened the plane's bathroom?" You quipped, your eyes dancing with mischief. Joe chuckled, his arms tightening around you as you shared the intimate memory.

"Before," he said, his voice low and playful. "But I'm sure we can make some more memories today if you're up for it."

You decided to shower together, the warm water cascading over your bodies as you soaped each other up. The sensual act of washing each other had become a morning ritual for you, a gentle reminder of your love and devotion. As you stepped out, Joe couldn't resist smacking your ass playfully, making you yelp in surprise. You shot him a mock glare, which quickly melted into a grin as you grabbed a towel and dried off.

Dressing in your swimwear, you headed down to breakfast. The hotel had laid out a spread that could feed a small army, but you kept it simple: avocado eggs benedict for you and an omelet for him, a side of crispy bacon for you both. You sat by the pool, sipping on tropical smoothies, the gentle sound of the waves in the distance setting the mood for the day ahead. You felt your excitement build as you listened to Joe recount the plans he had made for your day.

Your midday snorkeling adventure was nothing short of magical. The crystal-clear waters revealed a vibrant underwater world of coral reefs and a rainbow of fish. You couldn't help but cling to Joe's arm in amazement as you floated above the aquatic wonderland. His constant, nerdy stream of ocean facts kept you laughing. You held hands underwater, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight that pierced through the surface, a symbolic declaration of your commitment to each other.

-

"You're so sunburnt," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mirth as you traced your finger across Joe's pink shoulder. Your own skin, kissed by the sun, had a warm glow that contrasted with the vibrant, floral-printed sundress that clung deliciously to your curves like a second skin.

Joe groaned dramatically, his fair complexion suffering from the tropical heat more than your naturally darker skin. "You think that's funny?" he shot back, though his smile gave away his playful annoyance.

You had spent the entire day snorkeling in the crystal waters and lounging under the palm trees, and Joe in all his stubbornness had decided against sunscreen, claiming it would be nice to get a "tan" in. Needless to say, the Caribbean sun had been less than kind to his poor, Midwestern pale skin. You had been more fortunate, your skin a beautiful canvas of brown with the hint of a shimmer from your coconut-scented sunscreen.

"It's hilarious, actually," you said, leaning in to kiss his burnt nose. "Come on. We can grab some aloe from the gift shop for your poor, crispy skin."

Joe rolled his eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh, the joys of being married to a smartass," he murmured, pulling you closer to his side. Your hand splayed across his chest, ring catching the golden sunlight as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your temple.

"You love this smart ass," you quipped back, gasping with surprise as Joe's left hand reached down to smooth over the fabric covering your ass.

"I do love this ass," Joe murmured lowly, delivering a full-handed squeeze to each of your cheeks. "No lie."

After retrieving the aloe from the gift shop, you retreated to your luxurious villa. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting a warm, romantic light over the plush California king-sized bed and the floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the stunning view of the ocean. You carefully applied the cool aloe vera gel to Joe's sun-bitten skin, your gentle touch offering a sweet respite from the sting.

Joe's eyes fluttered shut as you worked your way down his back, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, which had been honed from countless hours in the gym and on the field. He could feel the tension of the day melting away under your touch.

"I'm sorry, baby," you hummed softly as Joe hissed when you reached a particularly tender spot. "I know it stings."

"It's okay," Joe managed through gritted teeth, his eyes still closed. "Guess I'll have to stay out of the sun tomorrow."

You chuckled, your hands continuing their soothing dance across his skin. "I can't imagine that happening. It's so beautiful out there," you said, glancing out at the horizon where the sun was dipping below the waves.

"Just means I get to stay in bed with you all day," Joe murmured, his voice thick with innuendo. He turned his head from his spot on his stomach, looking at you over his shoulder with a smoldering gaze.

Your laughter turned into a knowing smile, and you leaned in to kiss the back of his neck. "Is that a promise?" you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down his spine.

Joe's gaze met yours in the reflection of the large, ornate mirror on the opposite wall. "I'm a man who takes his vows seriously," he replied, his voice low and gruff with desire. Your eyes darkened with anticipation as you set the aloe aside, replacing it with a bottle of massage oil. You climbed back onto the bed, straddling his back with the bottle balanced delicately in your hand.

"Let's see if we can make this feel a little better," you said, your tone a mix of sweetness and conspiracy. You began to work the oil into his shoulders, your soft, skilled hands kneading out the knots that had formed from a full day of swimming and sun.

Joe groaned in pleasure, his eyes still locked on yours in the mirror. "You're a miracle worker," he murmured, feeling the heat of the oil and your touch seep into his sore muscles.

You grinned, your eyes glued to his baby blues. "Just doing my wifey duties," you said, your voice dripping with sweetness. You continued to massage him, your hands moving in slow, firm circles that grew increasingly sensual as you worked your way down his back.

Joe felt his body responding to your touch, his muscles relaxing and his skin prickling with goosebumps. "Is this part of the standard honeymoon package?" he managed to ask, his voice strained.

You giggled, your hands sliding lower, dangerously close to the waistband of his swim trunks. "Oh, this is a special upgrade," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear as you leaned forward to press your chest to his back. "Just for my favorite man."

Your thumbs dipped beneath the fabric, tracing the waistline of his trunks and sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He bit his lip, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "What else does this upgrade include?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

"Well," you began, your hands moving to the back of his trunks, "It's a full-service deal. I'll take care of every inch of you." You tugged the material down, exposing his firm, sun-neglected ass. His skin was tight and pale, practically begging for the warmth of your palms.

With a devilish smirk, you started to massage the oil into his ass, your touch feather-light at first, teasing him with the promise of more. Joe's breath hitched, his body tensing under your touch. You leaned down, your chest brushing against his back as you kissed the top of his shoulder. "Do you like that?" you whispered, your breath hot on his skin.

Joe's only response was a nod, his eyes squeezed shut in focus. You chuckled, your hands growing bolder, kneading his cheeks with a firmness that made him moan. Your fingers danced closer to his crack, and you could feel his arousal growing against your thigh.

"Just keep that finger to yourself, missy," Joe warned playfully, his voice strained with pleasure. Your disappointed groan was like music to his ears, and he felt his cock twitch against the mattress at the sound.

Your response was to give his right cheek a gentle smack, the sound echoing through the room. "One of these days, I'll get what I want," you teased, your hands leaving their spot on his ass to work at his shoulders once more. The warmth from your touch seeped into Joe's bones, and he couldn't help but let out a low moan.

"One of these days," he echoed, his voice thick with desire, "but not today." You knew he was enjoying the anticipation, the buildup of pleasure that you so skillfully crafted. You leaned in closer, your breasts pressing into his back again as you whispered a command into his ear to flip over.

With a groan, Joe obeyed, his cock standing at full attention underneath his swim trunks as he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling fan that lazily spun above you. You took in the sight of your husband, your eyes lingering on the trail of hair that led from his navel to his groin, the faintest dusting of sun freckles across his shoulders, and the way his chest stood proud and firm. You couldn't help but feel a surge of pride knowing that this man, this powerful, successful man, was all yours.

Straddling his hips, you leaned over to kiss him, your oiled hands sliding over his chest. Your kisses grew more heated, Joe's hands coming up to grip your ass firmly, now his turn to kneed your flesh. You felt his cock throb against your inner thigh and you broke away, breathless. "Someone's eager," you teased, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

"You have no idea," Joe murmured, his voice breaking with surprise as you playfully pinched his nipples. You straightened your back as you sat up, your crotch slotted perfectly over his erection. Your manicured nails trailed down his stomach, the cool metal of your wedding ring sending goosebumps skittering across his skin. Joe's hands moved to your waist, his thumbs playing with the soft material of your dress. His blue eyes blazed with need as he took in your beauty, the way your tits strained against the fabric, the curve of your hips, the shadow between your thighs that promised heaven.

"You should wear these dresses more often," Joe said, his voice strained as you ground your hips against his. The dresses in question had been a staple to your honeymoon wardrobe, all thin straps and flowing in every color under the rainbow. You leaned back, arching your spine, giving him a better view of your body.

"You like them? Maybe I'll start wearing them to your games," you quipped, your eyes dancing with mischief. Joe's grip tightened on your waist, his mind racing with the thought of you in this dress, teasing him in front of the cameras. He could picture your figure amplified on national television as the color commentators declared you as his wife, your new last name rolling off their tongues easily.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Joe chuckled, his thumbs stroking your hips as he fought to keep his cool. "No way are you distracting my focus like that."

You giggled, your hands sliding down to grip the bulge of his dick through the fabric of his trunks. "But you'd love it," you whispered, your teeth grazing his earlobe. "Imagine every time you looked over at the sidelines and saw me sitting there, you'd know exactly what's waiting for you after the game."

Joe's eyes rolled back in his head as you squeezed him lightly, his hips bucking involuntarily. "I don't think I'd be able to play," he managed to murmur, his voice tight with need. "I'd spend the whole game thinking about tearing that dress off you. And I don't think I'd be the only one thinking that."

You laughed, your grip tightening on Joe's cock. "We wouldn't want that," you said, your voice a sweet purr. You sat up straight, your oiled hands sliding down your thighs to rest on Joe's. "But you can take it off me now."

He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with lust as he sat up and reached for the hem of the sundress. His eyes were trained on your exposed skin as he tugged the dress up over your head. He threw the thin fabric to the side, leaving you perched pretty on his lap. The ruched, bridal white string bikini you had been wearing underneath the dress contrasted beautifully against your shimmering skin.

"You're so beautiful," Joe murmured, his voice filled with awe. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in the fullness of your breasts, and the way your stomach dipped before flaring out into your hips. You leaned into him, your heart racing as his hands found the strings of your bikini top.

With a swift pull, the fabric gave way and your breasts spilled out, bouncing slightly with the movement. Joe's mouth watered as he reached out, cupping one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple. You gasped, arching into his touch. The coolness of the room washed over your bare skin, making you feel even more exposed and alive.

Joe's eyes never left yours as he leaned in to capture your nipple between his teeth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as you held him to your skin. He kissed and nipped at one peak before moving on to the other, his mouth and teeth teasing you until you were squirming in his lap.

Your hips rocked against him, your pussy slick and hot through the fabric of your bikini bottoms. Joe's cock strained against the confines of his trunks, desperate for release. He reached up, his fingers undoing the strings of your bottoms, and with a firm tug, they too gave way. Your body was laid bare before him, your skin glistening with tanning oil and the light sheen of arousal.

"Your turn," you murmured, your voice thick with desire. You pushed at Joe's shoulders, urging him to lie back on the bed. He did so willingly, his cock bobbing free as you slid his trunks down his legs. Your eyes were glued to his cock, your mouth watering at the sight of his thick, veined shaft.

Without a word, Joe lay back on the bed, his cock standing proud and eager against his stomach. You took a moment to appreciate the view, your eyes drinking in every inch of him. He was perfection personified, and you felt a thrill knowing you were the one who got to claim him.

"Let me taste you, sweetheart," Joe whispered, his voice husky with need as he maneuvered your back to fall against the crisp, white sheets. Your eyes widened in surprise but you didn't resist, your legs falling open to give him access to your slick folds. He kissed and nibbled at your inner thighs, his tongue tracing the path to your core as you squirmed with anticipation. His hands ran up the sides of your thighs, gently caressing the skin before moving them to rest on his shoulders, giving him the perfect angle to dive in.

Your breath caught in your throat as his tongue parted you, tasting your sweetness. You could feel his breath hot against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine. Joe took his time, savoring your flavor, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that made your toes curl. Your grip on the sheets tightened as Joe's tongue swirled around your clit and flattened against your folds, the pressure building until you could hardly stand it.

He knew exactly how to drive you wild. With each flick of his tongue, you felt yourself inch closer to the precipice of ecstasy. "Joe," you breathed weakly, your voice trembling with desire. "I'm gonna come."

He chuckled against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your core. "That's the plan, babe," he murmured, his voice muffled by the wetness of your pussy. He picked up the pace, his tongue dancing and flicking in a way that made your hips buck and your breath hitch. You threw your head back, short, strangled breaths leaving your mouth as your eyes squeezed shut, Joe's mouth worked you into a frenzy.

The room filled with the sound of your moans and the wet, sloppy noises of Joe's enthusiastic indulgence mixing in with your glistening arousal. He was relentless, his tongue probing and lapping until you were sure you couldn't take anymore. You felt your orgasm building, a coil of tension in your belly that grew tighter and tighter with each pass of his tongue.

"Oh god, Joe," you panted, your hips rising to meet his mouth. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding your pussy against his face. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted on your sweetness. You could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling in your core, ready to explode.

And then it did. With a moan that echoed through the villa, your body convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your muscles tightened around Joe's tongue, your juices flooding his mouth as you came harder than you ever had before. Joe groaned in satisfaction, his own arousal reaching new heights as he drank you in. He didn't stop until you were trembling and panting, your body a puddle of boneless bliss beneath him.

Your eyes slowly opened, and you looked down at Joe, your face warm and your chest heaving. "Damn, baby," you breathed, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "I knew you were a munch but that was… wow."

Joe looked up at you with a grin, his face shiny with her arousal. "I was face first in my wife's pussy, couldn't help it," he said, his voice filled with a cocky confidence that made your heart race even faster. He kissed his way back up your body, leaving a trail of heat and wetness in his wake. When he reached your mouth, you tasted yourself on his lips, a heady mix of salt and sweet that only heightened your desire.

Your kiss grew more intense, your tongues dancing together in a rhythm that mirrored the pulsing need between your legs. Joe reached up, cupping your breasts in his hands, his thumbs playing with your still-sensitive nipples. You moaned into his mouth, your hips lifting to meet his.

"Face the mirror, gonna take you from the back," Joe murmured against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. You eagerly complied, turning to face the mirror and scooting closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart thundered in your chest as you watched Joe's reflection, his muscles rippling as he moved behind you.

He slid his hand down your spine, sending shivers through your body, and gripped your waist, pulling you closer to his body. You felt the tip of his cock at your entrance, and you couldn't help but whimper with anticipation. The position was rare for you two, usually reserved for moments when Joe was feeling particularly possessive. Your eyes locked onto his in the mirror, and you watched as he lined himself up, his hand guiding his shaft to your awaiting heat.

With one smooth, powerful thrust, he filled you, making you moan out with a mix of pleasure and surprise. The angle was new, and it hit you in just the right way, making your pussy clench around him. Joe groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he took in the sight of his cock disappearing into your wetness. Your body was a work of art, and he couldn't get enough of watching you react to his touch.

He began to move, his hips sliding in and out of you with a rhythm that grew more intense with each stroke. Your breasts bounced with the motion, your hands straining to grip the sheets as you watched Joe's reflection in the mirror. His eyes were hooded with desire, his teeth bared in a feral grimace as he claimed your body.

Your walls stretched around him, your body adjusting to the new sensation of being taken from behind. Your breaths grew shorter, your moans growing louder with each thrust. Joe's grip on your waist tightened, his strokes deep and demanding as he watched you in the mirror. The sight of your face contorted in pleasure, your dark hair splayed across the pillows, and your body writhing under his, only spurred him on.

"You like that?" he growled, his voice low and possessive. You could only nod, your mouth forming silent words as you struggled to keep up with the overwhelming sensations. Joe's hand reached around to find your clit, his thumb pressing down in a steady, insistent rhythm that matched his thrusts.

"Yes, Joey, I fucking love it," you gasped, your eyes watching him move in the mirror. Your voice was a mix of desperation and pleasure, the words barely recognizable through your moans. His thumb circled your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send sparks of sensation through your body.

"I'm so lucky to have you," Joe murmured, your eyes glazed with pleasure as Joe's cock filled you completely. His hand slid down to cup your ass, his fingers digging in as he pulled you back into each thrust. The angle was exquisite, hitting all the right spots, and you knew this was going to be one of those moments that would be forever etched into your mind.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," you managed to pant, your body jolting with each impact of his hips slamming into you. Your inner walls quivered around him, your pussy greedily sucking him in deeper.

"I promise I'll spend every day of the rest of our lives making you feel like this," Joe groaned, his words punctuated by his relentless pounding. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the promise of another earth-shattering orgasm just out of reach.

Your eyes remained locked with his in the mirror, the connection between you two more intense than ever. Your breathing grew ragged, your moans echoing off the walls as Joe picked up his pace. Each thrust was deeper, harder, more demanding, and you could feel yourself climbing toward the peak.

Suddenly, Joe leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back as one arm wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against him. The other arm fell forward, caging your body in as his hand settled over yours, fingers intertwined, rings nudging against each other. Your chest collapsed, your nipples tightening as you grazed the coolness of the mattress. He whispered sweet, dirty nothings into your ear, his breath hot and ragged, sending shivers down your spine.

"I want to see you come, baby," Joe panted, his thrusts growing more erratic. "Go ahead, baby. Let go for me."

You felt your orgasm building, the pressure in your core growing stronger with each word. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to hold back the inevitable. But Joe's touch was too much. He knew just what you needed, and as his thumb circled your clit faster and his cock pounded into you harder, you couldn't resist anymore.

Your body tightened around him, your muscles clenching as you came, your walls pulsing with pleasure. You whimpered his name weakly, your body bucking wildly under his. Joe's eyes watched as you lost control, feeling your pussy grip him as you spilled over the edge. His own orgasm followed close behind, his cum spurting into you with a force that made you both groan.

Your bodies remained connected for a moment, both panting heavily, the sound of your mingled breaths the only noise in the quiet room. You felt Joe's cock soften inside you, and you leaned back into his chest, your body still trembling from the intensity of your lovemaking.

"I don't know if I can move," you murmured, your voice shaky with the aftermath of pleasure. Joe chuckled, kissing your shoulder before gently withdrawing and rolling over to your side. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around your waist as you both stared at your reflections in the mirror.

"I love you so much, you know that?" Joe murmured into your ear, his breath still coming in pants as he held you close. Your head rested on his chest, your breathing finally starting to even out. You nodded, a content smile playing on your lips.

"I would hope so, you married me last week. You better love me," you replied, your voice teasing but filled with affection as you cuddled closer to Joe, your hand resting on his chest. You could feel the steady thump of his heart, a reminder of the passion you just shared.

The two of you lay there for a few moments, the sweat cooling on your bodies as the tropical breeze gently caressed your skin. You turned your head, your eyes meeting Joe's in the mirror. His gaze was warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he stroked your hair.

"I think that's only the second time we've had sex in this bed," Joe said, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You chuckled, your eyes fluttering shut as you nestled into his warmth. "It's not my fault you can't keep it in your pants long enough to make it to the bed, Burrow," you teased, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

"What's the point of a villa on a quiet island if we're not going to use every surface?" Joe replied with a smirk, his fingers tracing lazy circles into the skin of your lower back. You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest as you rolled over to face him fully. His cock twitched helplessly as he watched you, the sight of your sated smile and glowing skin making him want you all over again.

But he knew you needed a break. And so, you lay together, your bodies entwined in a mess of limbs and damp sheets. Your hand found its way to his chest, playing with the light dusting of hair that trailed down to his stomach. You traced the path with your fingertip, watching his abs contract with each breath he took.

"What do you think your love language is?" you asked, your voice lazy and content. You traced the contours of Joe's chest with your finger, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch.

Joe smiled, his hand moving downward to squeeze your ass playfully. "I'd say my love language is definitely making you happy, especially when it involves me fucking you just the way you like it," he said, his voice filled with pride. You snorted, swatting his chest lightly. "Okay, in all seriousness, I think it's quality time. Nothing makes me happier than being close to you."

Your expression softened, your eyes shining with affection. "Mine's definitely words of affirmation," you murmured, your hand sliding up to caress his cheek. "I love it when you tell me how much you love me, how beautiful I am, how you chose me."

Joe leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll never run out of ways to tell you that," he promised, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "I guess I like that too. Hearing that I'm doing right by you. That you're happy. That I'm enough."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his vulnerable admission. "You are," you said, your voice firm. "More than enough. And I'll never get tired of telling you that." You leaned in to kiss him softly, the sweetness of the moment lingering between the two of you as your bodies settled.

"You wanna know something cool?" Joe hummed, pulling away from the kiss with a playful grin. You hummed in question, your eyes beginning to hood from the sleepiness that was slowly creeping in. "I'm your husband," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief.

"I'm aware," you said with a roll of your eyes, though the smile on your face gave away the joy you felt at the reminder. "But you know what's even cooler than that?"

"What's cooler than being your husband?" Joe asked, his grin widening as he propped himself up on an elbow. His eyes searched yours, eager to hear your response.

"Cooler than that?" you teased, your voice playful. "I'm your wife. That's pretty cool."

Joe chuckled, his hand sliding up to squeeze your hand. "I guess it's a tie then," he conceded. Your smile grew as you watched the love dance in Joe's eyes, feeling it deep in your soul. You were married, and it was still so surreal. The last week had been a whirlwind of emotions, but this moment right here, with Joe's arms around you and the sound of your mingled breaths, was pure bliss.

"Kaitlynn what if he's at the bar today." I told my best friend as we all- me, her, and her boyfriend-climbed into her beat up car she refuses to get rid of even though she has the money to get a new one. According to her it carries too many memories, including her first kiss. "Girl I can promise you that he won't be here. When has he ever gone out on a weekday? Or at all for that matter." She asked me. I opened my mouth to say something but nothing came out. I mean she was right. All joe did after practice was stay at home. "Exactly." She said with a 'hmph' and started to pull out of my driveway. "Guaranteed, he's in his huge fucking house that he lives in all alone building legos or some shit." Derek said in the passenger seat. The deal tonight was that if Derek has to be the designated driver, Kaitlynn had to drive us all there in her car. "What a loser." She said. With a small and slightly unsure laugh, I gave her a small, "yeah, you're probably right."

Why am I so nervous to go to the bar tonight and see Joe? Well, Two weeks ago me and my boyfriend broke up, who just so happened to be Joe burrow. We had been together for five years until one little stupid fight turned into us breaking up. Don't ask me how it happened, because I really have no idea. All I know was that one day we were perfectly fine and the next it was like we hated each other all because I tried to get him to open up to me after he had a rough start of the season and wasn’t right mentally. In his defense, I know that he gets into rough patches when he isn’t doing too well and people start to doubt him and that I should’ve waited for him to come to me, but he didn't have to turn it into a screaming match like he did.

After about 15 minutes, we pulled into the parking lot of our favorite bar that we always come to when we want to have some fun and watch the bengals game; at least we used to come to watch the bengals games, now I have to force myself to watch my favorite NFL team because I grew up watching them and won’t let a breakup stop me from continuing to watch them. I mean how can you be in love with someone one minute and then break up with them the next? Luckily we weren't fully living with each other and I had my own apartment so I wasn't stuck with trying to find a place to stay, although I knew Kaitlynn would've let me stay for as long as I needed to.

"This is going to be fun, okay? Forget about that douche bag and let's go get drunk." Kaitlynn said and wrapped an arm around me when I met her in front of the car. We started walking towards the door, following Derek who led the way. "You know what? Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid little..." I tried to come up with something I hated about him but my brain went blank. Shit. "Dick." Kaitlynn said, trying to help me out and come up with something. I looked at her with a disappointed look on my face and said, "I would say that, but it wasn't small...like at all." The both of us began to laugh while walking inside of the bar, Derek holding the door open for us while trying to forget what I just said.

Immediately we walked up to the bar that was full of people. We squeezed our way in and then the bartender came up to us. First he went to Kaitlynn to get her order and then he looked over at me. "And what can I get for you?" He asked me and looked me up and down, his eyes resting on my breasts a little longer than I would've liked. Let's just say I wasn't ready to hook up with someone to take my mind off of Joe just yet…at least not sober me, which is why I’m extremely glad that Derek’s here because I know he’ll steer me in the right direction. I put my hands on the bar top and said, "can I please get a double vodka pineapple? And let's get a round of fireball please." The bartender looked me up and down once more before giving me a small smirk. "You got it. For you, it's on the house." He said and winked down at me. I tried to hold back a laugh, but as soon as he turned around and I looked at Kaitlynn who was also trying to hold back a laugh, we both couldn't hold it in any longer.

"So you're really planning on getting drunk tonight, huh? A double vodka pineapple and fireballs? You know you're a lightweight right?" She asked me. As I looked over at her, it was hard to ignore how Derek was holding her. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him, and was looking around the entire bar. I couldn't help but think about how Joe would act when we went places. He was never possessive or jealous when we were together, but damn was he protective. He always wanted to be near me with his hands on me and he was always scanning the entire place so he could ensure that I was safe and that nobody tried anything.

"This is my first night out since the breakup so hell yes I'm planning on getting drunk. I don't want to wake up tomorrow without being hungover." I said and nudged her slightly. As soon as I said this, the bartender came back with our drinks including the fireball shots and he placed them in front of us. With one last wink in my direction, he walked away to go make some more drinks. We both picked up our shots and then Kaitlynn gestured over to me so we could cheers our shots. "Let's get so fucking drunk tonight bitch." She said. "Now that is something I will fucking cheers to!" I said with excitement. With an exaggerated head nod, Kaitlynn brought the drink to her lips and then downed it all.

Just as I was about to take my shot, I looked over somewhere on the other side of the bar and saw someone that I wasn't planning on ever seeing in person again. The one and only Joseph Lee Burrow. I hesitated for a few seconds as we held eye contact with each other, both of us looking shocked. I scanned over Joe's face as his mouth dropped open slowly and his eyebrows shot up to his hair line. My eyes then quickly went to his hair and my mouth dropped open as well, not ready for what I saw. Instead of seeing his usual dirty blonde long curls, I was looking right at his buzzed and bleached hair which showed off his facial structure even more than before. It was so incredibly hard to look away. The man I was so in love with just a couple weeks ago was sitting on the other side of the bar looking as good as ever with a new look, and I had to force myself to remember that he broke my heart. After remembering though, it was so incredibly easy to look away.

I quickly downed my shot and then looked over to Kaitlynn as I set my drink down on the bar top. "Shit." I said and then looked down at my hands. I wasn't prepared for this, I really wasn't. The last thing I expected was to see him here. Kaitlynn was right. It was a weekday, meaning that Joe shouldn't be here right now. He never went to bars or even left the house after he got back home from practice, especially now with the rough start to the season and losing to the ravens.

"What? What's wrong?" Kaitlynn asked me, putting a hand on top of my hand and looking down at me all worried. "Look who's here." I said with a fake smile and gestured across the bar without looking, even though I wanted to. Even though I may hate him now, he truly was easy on the eyes, which makes it hard not to glance over at him because I haven’t seen his face in forever. Kaitlynn looked into the direction I wanted her to look and immediately let out a loud groan and rolled her eyes. “We can go if you want, let's go babe." She said and began to rub my back.

With a sigh, I glanced back up and saw Joe who had his head down slightly. His eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, we're already here and I'm not drunk yet. Fuck it." I said with a shrug. After looking at Joe, I spotted Ja'marr and Sam who were on either side of Joe. It was obvious that they knew I was here but were trying not to make it too obvious, especially Ja'marr. Sam on the other hand glanced up at me and gave me a small and unsure smile and shrug. Before Joe and I met, I went to college at Ohio State and was friends with Sam way before he decided to introduce me to Joe, so it was nice to know that the breakup wasn't ruining things between us.

"Are you sure? There are other bars we can go to." Kaitlynn said. From next to her, Derek leaned over and said, "just say the words and we're out of here." I looked at the both of them and then grabbed my drink. "If anyone's leaving, it's him." I said and took a hearty sip of my drink. The both of them just stared at me for a few seconds before Kaitlynn grabbed her drink with a shrug and took a big sip just like me. The faster this alcohol took effect and my thoughts weren't consumed by Joe, the better.

It felt like every time I glanced up for a split second though to look at Joe, he was already staring right at me. Staring at me with those bright blue eyes. His gaze wasn't soft and innocent or angry and upset, it was just serious. It was hard to read him. It was like he was trying not to let me know what he was feeling or thinking. The one thing that I did know for certain was that he wasn't angry. We spent enough time together for me to at least know that. His brows were furrowed slightly but his jaw wasn't clenching at all.

"You okay babes?" Kaitlynn asked from next to me, tearing me from my thoughts immediately. I looked over at her quickly and then brought my drink to my lips and started to drink it quickly taking big sips, the vodka creating a slight burning sensation in the back of my throat. When there was nothing else left in my cup except ice, I set it on the bar top and then tried to get the bartenders attention once again. "I just need some more alcohol." I said with a sigh. The bartender walked back over to me and took my drink order, and this time I asked for a triple vodka cranberry, hoping it would help me feel something other than the slight buzz I already had going on from the alcohol I’ve already had.

After I finished the vodka cranberry which started to make my head feel a little fuzzy, meaning that I also couldn't stop smiling, I went to the bathroom. While in the stall, it sounded like every single girl in the bathroom was talking about how Joe Burrow was in the same exact bar as them and how they were going to try and act like they didn't know who he was to get his number. I couldn't help but roll my eyes while I walked out of the stall and then went to the sink. I pushed my bracelets up slightly and then turned the water on.

From a few feet away, I watched out of the corner of my eye as a girl got closer to her friend and began to whisper something into her ear, except she was obviously a terrible whisperer since I could hear word for word what she said: "Oh my gosh, that's Joe Burrow's ex. He apparently dumped her because she cheated on him." News to me. With a small scoff, I shook my head and turned off the water quickly as the other girl said, "no way, that's crazy. I'm sure she's a gold digger then." Without drying them off, I walked right past the girls, making sure to look them both in the eyes before I walked out of the bathroom.

"Fuck that." I said to myself, wiping my hands on my pants to dry them off. While I headed over to the bar, I began to look around to try and find Kaitlynn and Derek, but neither of them were where they were when I left. I furrowed my eyebrows slightly as I began to look around the bar, trying to spot them. Of course, me being me and always quick to think the worse, I figured that something happened and they had to leave without me.

But, after a few seconds of looking around, I spotted them at a table in the back of the bar. Both of their chairs were extremely close together and she was currently giving him her bedroom eyes: her eyes were narrowed in on him and closed slightly while she bit her lip. With a small laugh, I went back over to the bar that wasn't as crowded as before and sat on the bar stool. Immediately, the bartender came back over to me and leaned on the bar top with a smirk displayed on his face despite me not wanting another drink yet.

"So, did your friends ditch you?" He asked with a small chuckle and gestured somewhere behind me. I looked behind me again and saw them now kissing each other, quite eagerly may I add, despite Derek being completely sober and usually opposed to public display of affection, kind of like how Joe was with me. With a small eye roll, I looked back over to him with a small laugh myself. "It seems like it doesn't it? Maybe I will take another drink." I said with a sigh, figuring that I might be alone for a little bit since it looked like Derek and Kaitlynn were about to take it into the bathroom within the next few minutes.

"For sure, for sure. What can I get you?" He asked me. I bit the inside of my cheek and looked past him to try and think of what drink I wanted. My already foggy brain mixed with being put on the spot before I could think of what I wanted made for a slow response. "Uh..." I trailed off and then tilted my head a little bit while squinting my eyes, trying to think of what to get. My eyes then suddenly shifted over to Joe who was staring- no, glaring- at both me and the bartender with a slight scowl on his face as him and Ja'marr talked, despite Joe obviously not paying attention and not being interested. While he glared at the bartender who was still leaning on the bar top and occasionally glancing down at my breasts, Joe furrowed his brows while his jaw clenched repeatedly.

Not realizing I had caught him glaring at the both of us, Joe looked over to me with a glare on his face and we instantly made eye contact. Even though I thought he would look away as soon as he realized I had caught him, he never broke eye contact with me. After a few seconds, I furrowed my brows and pursed my lips. There was no way he was actually mad at me right now. I mean I truly must be imagining things. Not only did he break up with me and shatter all hopes of me getting married before 30, but now he's mad at me for talking with the bartender? Either Joe's mad that he's flirting with me or he's mad that I'm distracting the bartender from taking his drink order. Hopefully it wasn’t the first one.

After a few more seconds passed and Joe still never broke eye contact with me, I forced myself to look away and at the bartender who was waiting for me to tell him what drink I wanted. "I uh- I'll do...y'know what, surprise me." I said, feeling my face get hot from what just happened. "You got it, I'll be right back." He said and turned around to go make me something. As soon as he left I couldn't help but glance over at Joe whose eyes were following the bartender as he walked away from me, a scowl still on his face while his eyes were shooting bullets at him.

Before Joe could look back over at me and see how flustered and red I was, I put my head in my hands and started to focus on my breathing, trying to calm my currently racing heart. All of a sudden, a drink was placed in front of my face so I looked up to see a light pink drink. "All of the ladies love when I make this drink for them." He said. With a small smile, I straightened up a little bit so I wasn't slouching and looked him in the eyes. "What's in it?" I asked. "Guess. Here, if you like it...you have to give me your number." He said. I swallowed hard, not expecting him to say that, and tried to hold back a laugh. I wasn't going to come out and tell him straight to his face that I wasn't interested, especially because these free drinks were pretty nice, so I just played along.

"All right." I giggled and grabbed ahold of the drink. While making eye contact with him, I brought the tiny black straw up to my lips and then took a small sip of it. I furrowed my brows immediately and scrunched my face up as the liquid hit my tongue and I tasted what kind of alcohol he used. "Oh my- fuck. That's horrible." I said and pushed the drink away from me while shaking my head, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. "You're fuckin with me." He chuckled as his eyes widened, finding it hard to believe that I hated the drink. It was fruity which I loved, but let's just say I had a bad experience with Malibu when I was a teenager so I’ve stayed away from it ever since. "No, I hate Malibu. Holy shit that was terrible." I laughed and watched him take the drink and take a sip of it himself.

As soon as he swallowed the alcohol, he began to shake his head slowly while holding the drink up. "This fucking rocks, I don't know what you're talking about." He laughed and then set it back on the bar top. Once the drink was back near me, he put his elbows on the bar and then put his face in his hands so that we were eye level to each other. After a few seconds of just looking into each other's eyes, he said, "so I guess that means I can't get your number then, right?" He asked me. I did the same thing as him and put my elbows on the bar top. "No. I didn't say that. Plus we never shook on it so it doesn't even count." I said with a little shrug at the end, making up an excuse as to why I could give him my number.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly. "Oh yeah, is that right? Well I guess I'm in luck then." He said and began to laugh as he got out his phone. "I guess you are." I giggled a little bit. Once he got out his phone and began to go to his contacts so he could get my phone number, I saw someone walking up to us out of the corner of my eye. Thinking it was probably Kaitlynn or Derek, I thought nothing of it and waited for him to hand me his phone. When he reached out to hand me the phone, someone walked up extremely close to me and then pushed the phone away from me. With a small scoff, I was about to look up at whoever was pushing the phone away but as soon as I was about to, my eyes landed on his hand that was now falling back down to his side.

I sucked in a small breath, immediately recognizing those veiny hands and long fingers. There were many distinctive parts about Joe: his hair, his eyes, his lips, nose, and of course his ass, but the other thing that was so distinctive about him was his hands, and now they were right in my face. "Leave her the fuck alone, man." Joe said from above me. My eyes immediately looked up to the bartender who looked up at Joe. His shoulders fell a little bit and his smile dropped right off of his face. His once confident expression and demeanor was instantly wiped away as soon as he was told to leave me the fuck alone by the one and only Joe Burrow. "I am so sorry, I'll leave her alone." The man said nervously and immediately took the drink that I hated and left me alone with Joe at the bar.

"What the actual fuck, Joe? What was that?" I asked Joe, spinning on my bar stool so I was now facing him as he leaned on the bar. Just like before, he wore that slightly angry expression, although this time I swear there was a hint of jealousy in there somewhere. "Oh come on, he obviously just wanted to get in your pants." Joe said, talking to me like I was dumb and couldn't pick up on what the man was trying to do. "Yeah, no shit, thanks for cock blocking me." I told him while rolling my eyes and looking away from him. “You were never the type of girl that fucked with casual hook ups. I mean hell, you even look like you could still be a virgin." He said. I looked back up to him quickly with a scoff and started to slide off of my seat. "Fuck you, Joe. If I'm not mistaken, you were the one who broke up with me, so why don't you just leave me the hell alone." I said while shaking my head.

Before I walked away, I looked Joe up and down with a look of disgust on my face before walking away from him. "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Can we please talk for a second?" Joe asked me. I could hear the sound of his heavy footsteps following closely behind me and it took everything in me not to turn around as soon as he asked me to. The way his voice was lowered drove me insane, and it always happened when he was trying to be serious or when he was mad. "Yeah I'm really not in the mood." I said while continuing to walk away from him. I didn't know where I was going, all I knew was that I wanted to get away from him. I can't believe he had the audacity to tell a man to leave me alone after he was the one who broke up with me. I could see where he was coming from if I was the one who ended things and moved on after 2 weeks, but he isn't justified for this in the slightest, so why should I hear him out? I earned the right to move on.

Deciding that going into the bathroom was probably the only way of getting away from him right now since he could follow me everywhere else, I made a right and headed down the short and secluded hallway that the bathrooms were in. "Don't be like that." Joe said. "Do I actually have to spell it out for you? I don't want to talk to you, Joe. What aren't you understanding?" I asked him, making sure to talk slower and enunciate my words clearly. "You're seriously being unreal right now. I mean honestly." Joe said. I angled my head up with a loud scoff and then turned around so I was now facing him. "Really? Me? Says the one that stopped me from talking to a man despite breaking up with me two weeks ago. Why can't you just go and find someone else to talk to? I'm sure every girl here will gladly go home with you." I said. "I don't want to talk to any other girl, I want to talk to you, alright? Just please let me explain. Give me five minutes." Joe pleaded with me, sounding desperate.

"There's nothing to explain. You're a piece of shit and I should've realize that far before now." I said and started to turn around so I could get away from him. I should've just kept walking in the first place. I knew turning around would be a bad idea yet I did it anyways. "Oh that's real rich coming from you." Joe said. Immediately, I stopped turning around and whipped my head back over to him, standing my ground. I clenched my jaw while biting down on my cheek slightly. "What's that supposed to fucking mean?" I asked him angrily. Joe took a step toward me while looking me up and down. "It means that you complain all the fucking time. If anything, I should've known." He said.

How did I even end up in this position? I mean what are the odds that the only day Joe burrow steps outside of his house and goes to a bar, I also go to the same bar as him? I mean truly. Joe was so against doing anything other than relaxing at home during the season, so why did he have to choose to change that up today? "Me? Alright Mr, 'you're talking to me too much before gameday, I have to get mentally prepared,' or my personal favorite, 'you misplaced my legos.' You complain all the time, Joe, not me." I said. Joe clenched his jaw while looking me up and down and then said, "y'know, this was such a big fucking mistake. I decide to come over and talk to you and you just can't get out of your own way. Typical." Joe said. "A little word of advice, Joe, when you break up with someone and tell them that the whole relationship was a mistake, you generally don't keep in contact with them." I said.

Joe opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He finally shut it after accepting that he had nothing to say to me after what I just said. "Five fucking years, Joe. And all for nothing." I said and took a step away from him. Joe quickly shook his head. "It wasn't all for nothing." He said in a pained way. I waited a few seconds as we both looked into each others eyes. "'This was such a big fucking mistake, I shouldn't have walked up to you in that bar five years ago when Sam introduced us.'" I said, repeating word for word what Joe told me two weeks ago when he broke up with me. As soon as I said this, Joe's tough and serious appearance changed in an instant and he looked so upset. It was like he knew how much he fucked up and was so incredibly disappointed in himself. We held eye contact for a few seconds before I let out a small, "yeah," and then turned around and walked into the bathroom.

Once inside of the bathroom, I put both of my hands on the mirror and held my head low, trying to stop myself from crying and embarrassing myself. It's been three days since I've cried over Joe and I wasn't about to break that streak right now. It was just so hard though. In those four years that we were together, marriage was something we talked about frequently, especially after the third year. We liked to joke around about how we wanted to elope privately and intimately and then have a ceremony with our closest friends and family. We talked about it so much to the point where in my mind, I figured we would never break up and that we would actually get married one day. I mean it's not weird to think that, right?

Looking back on it, it was probably stupid to have such high hopes for something that I didn't know would ever come true, but it was a nice to not have to worry about the possibility of ever breaking up, which I thought we would never do. And now, I have to start all over again, all while knowing that these five years with Joe were a mistake. Those words kept repeating over and over again in my head: "This was such a big fucking mistake, I shouldn't have walked up to you in that bar five years ago when Sam introduced us." I couldn't stand it any more, I really couldn't. Joe is out there living it up and having a blast and I'm in here trying to hold back tears because of some boy. The only problem...he wasn't just some boy.

All of a sudden the door swung open. I quickly turned to see who it was and then leave the bathroom, but when I saw that it was just Kaitlynn, my shoulders fell and I gave her that all knowing looking. "Oh no! What happened?" She asked me and quickly walked up to me. I rolled my eyes while wiping a stray tear that rolled down my cheek. "Talk to me babe." She said and put both of her hands on my arms and started to rub them. If I didn't channel this sadness into something else, I would end up crying on the bathroom floor tonight eating ice cream with Kaitlynn, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do that again. "You know what? Fuck Joe...fuck his stupid ass football career, fuck his stupid ass house, his stupid ass Lego and SpongeBob obsession. He's a fucking lonely nerd and I'm too good for him." I said. Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.

"Hell yes. Are you ready to let go girl? You need this." She said with a big and excited smile. "I am so ready." I said and forced a smile. "Let's fucking do this then." Kaitlynn said. We both walked out of the bathroom together hand in hand and then headed down the small hallway. When we turned to go to our table they had in the back, I looked over at the bar instinctively and immediately made eye contact with Joe who looked upset. We held eye contact for about three seconds before I forced myself to look away and focus on getting drunk and letting all of the sadness and frustration wash away.

By an hour in, all of those sad thoughts and words Joe said to me were all out of my head and replaced with nothing but good ones. We once again found a place at the bar where I kept ordering shots for everyone, except for, "the football players in the back." There was no way I was going to order shots for Joe and his friends, even though those friends also happened to be my friends. "Let's get another round!" I told the bartender who hasn't stopped running around in the last hour. I put both of my hands on the bar and took a deep breath, trying to focus my eyes which felt like they couldn't focus. I also couldn't stop smiling and laughing along with Kaitlynn who was also having as much fun as I was.

In no time, the bartender came back with all of our shots so we all lined them up and then we all threw them back together. "Fuck yeah!" Kaitlynn yelled from next to me. "T-this is just so much f-fun." I said, slurring my words slightly, my brain feeling extra foggy. "Aren't you glad we did this!" Kaitlynn yelled into my face. "Woah, woah, we're right next to each other, don't yell at me!" I yelled right back in her face. The smile on her face fell immediately after I yelled at her but then we both started cracking up laughing. "You're so funny." She laughed. "I know right...What did I even say again?" I said. Once again we froze as soon as I said this and just looked at each other before Kaitlynn said, "I don't fucking know bitch," making us both laugh some more.

In a matter of five minutes, we went from drinking and having an amazing time, to all of the color on Kaitlynn's face disappearing and her holding her stomach. "Oh shit. Babe?" Kaitlynn asked. I put a hand over my mouth with wide eyes and looked from Derek to Kaitlynn, knowing what was about to happen. "If I see throw up...I will throw up." I groaned and pushed my hair out of my face, breathing heavily from all of the alcohol. "Ok, ok. Let's go. It's okay," Derek said in a rush and grabbed her, trying to get to the bathroom quickly, "stay right here, do not go anywhere." He told me sternly. I put both of my hands up into the air in surrender and nodded. "Ok." I said quickly.

Within a few minutes, it went from Kaitlynn and I drinking and having fun, to her and Derek going into the bathroom so she could throw up in private, leaving me all alone on the spinning bar stool. I crossed my arms over my chest while spinning on the stool and humming to myself, waiting for them to be all done and rejoin me out here. "How you doing?" Someone asked from next to me. I looked over quickly, recognizing the man from when I bought him shots. "Oh I'm doing great! Sorry, am I yelling? I can't hear myself." I laughed and tried to focus my eyes once again as they kept losing focus and taking forever to process things. "You're just fine," he said and then flagged down the bartender,  "can we get her some water over here?" I stuck out my bottom lip at the man's kind gesture and looked up at him. "You must be a dad, huh?" I asked him. "What gave it away?" He chuckled.

When my water came, I sipped on it while waiting for Kaitlyn to get done in the bathroom, but when it felt like they would never return, I looked back over to the man. "I'll be back." I said and then slid off of the stool. Pushing my hair away from my face and behind my ears, I was about to walk to the bathroom when something caught my eye from outside. "Aw, it's a dog...wait no, that's a cat." I said and pointed to the cat that was walking by the door leading outside. I looked around to see if anyone heard me, but when nobody acknowledged me, I shrugged and then headed for the door, wanting to take it inside and get it out of the rain. I began to hum to myself while walking to the door, but as soon as I started to push the door open, I felt a pair of hands go on both sides of my arms, holding me back slightly.

Immediately fearing the worst, I let out a small scream. "Woah. What the hell." I said quickly and in a rushed manner, quickly turning around as the man dropped his hands off of me. As soon as I turned around, I was face to face with a man's built chest, which made me immediately blush. "It's just me. It's okay. Let's get you away from the door, alright?" The man asked me. After hearing the man's voice, I raised an eyebrow, feeling like it sounded familiar. My eyes then trailed up the man's tall frame and to those bright blue eyes I used to love. "Oh, phew, it's just you. Hey Joey," I said but then immediately shook my head, "oops, can I still call you that? I know you reserve that for friends and I'm not really your friend anymore considering what happened. I don't think we have to hate each other though since we used to love each other." I said, rambling on and on while Joe just listened with a small smile, although he looked slightly worried.

"Joey is just fine. C'mere, let's go over to the table, is that okay?" Joe asked me. "You know, you were always all about consent. I loved that about you y'know. Your next girlfriend is going to be one lucky gal." I said with a smile before I started to walk in the direction he was leading me. After I took a few steps, I tripped over my own foot and let out a small scream as I started to head for the ground. "Shit!" I screamed. All of a sudden, I felt a pair of arms wrap around me slightly and pull me back up so I didn't fall and could regain my footing. "Oopsies. Sorry." I laughed as Joe quickly let go of me, not wanting to touch me without my permission since I wasn't his anymore, although he kept his arms close to me just in case they were needed again.

"It's okay." Joe chuckled as we reached the table. I stood with my hands on my hips and inspected the table as Joe pulled out a chair for me to sit in. "Is this table up to your standards?" Joe asked me. The good thing was that he knew exactly how I was when I was drunk and knew exactly how to handle me. "Oh yeah, this is a great table." I nodded with a thumbs up and then sat down in the chair Joe moved away from the table. Once seated, I put my head in my hands while looking around at all of the people, a never ending smile still displayed on my face. "I'm going to get you a water. Do you want any food?" Joe asked me, bending down slightly so I didn't have to look up too much to look into his eyes. "Uhh yes-wait...maybe? No actually. I already ate I forgot." I laughed a little bit.

Joe just chuckled and then walked over to the bar where he flagged down the bartender to ask for a water. While he was up at the bar waiting for my drink, he kept glancing back at me occasionally to make sure that I was still in the same place he left me and not walking outside to go get the cat. Then, before he walked back to me, he told Sam and Ja’marr something. After a few seconds, Joe came walking back over with the water in his hand, and at the same time, Derek came walking out of the bathroom with Kaitlynn who was putting almost her full body weight on him. Her hair was in her face and she looked like absolute shit. I couldn't help but laugh as she looked up at me and then put her head down and began to groan. "Fuck this." She groaned some more.

As soon as Joe heard me laugh, he looked in the direction I was looking at, which was behind him. When he saw how bad Kaitlynn looked he immediately stood up and moved out the chair some so she could sit down in it. Derek, just now realizing that Joe was sitting with me, looked Joe up and down. "What the hell are you doing over here?" He asked Joe. "She was about to walk outside so I stopped her and brought her to the table, that's all." Joe said. I could tell based on his facial expression that he knew he shouldn't have. He wasn't stupid. He knew how much he broke my heart and it looks like he hates himself for it. But he knew that if he didn’t stop me, I probably would’ve wondered off like I usually do. Every time he even looked in my direction, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, but not in anger. His gaze was soft and he got extremely fidgety.

My eyes glanced down to his hands as he began to mess with them and then his bracelets. "Derek he's fineeeee. Not like fine handsome wise, like fine as in not bad." I said and began to laugh at myself. Derek glanced over at me before looking back up to Joe. "Here, she can sit down if she wants. Get her off her feet." Joe said, gesturing down to Kaitlynn in the process who still looked like she got hit by a bus. "I have to go take her home right now. She's about to fucking pass out," he said and then looked over to me, "c'mon, I gotta get you home too." I immediately began to stand up but not before I tripped over the chair and fell down onto my hands and knees. "Oh shit." I laughed. I could see Joe's shoes right in front of my face before I felt his hands go under my arm pits. "Eww you probably felt my sweaty pitties." I laughed as he lifted me off of the ground with ease and set me down on my feet so I was upright.

"Shit. Can you help me get her to my car, man?" Derek asked Joe. Joe looked from me to Derek and then reluctantly said, "I could take her home if you want. You need to worry about Kaitlynn right now." The whole time they talked my attention was focused on them. "No, we're not doing that. Just help me get her to my car." Derek said. Joes brows furrowed and he shook his head while instinctively reaching up and pushing the hair off of his forehead, although there was no hair to move. "I'm not fucking doing this for me, alright? I'm doing this for her. Are you going to walk her up the stairs of her apartment since she's afraid of elevators and make sure she gets to her bedroom alright?" Joe asked Derek, knowing he wouldn't want to leave Kaitlynn in the car for that long unattended. When Joe still wasn’t convincing Derek, he added in, “or what about when she starts to go into her little freak out stage of being drunk where she cries and feels guilty?” Derek hesitated a second before he let out a loud sigh. "She's got to be okay with it though." Derek said.

Both of their heads turned towards me as I was listening intently to their conversation. My eyes widened as soon as the attention was put on me so I just shrugged. “I don't care who I go home with. I’m not crashing yet but when I do, I’m gonna want my bed." I said with a giggle and then began to walk towards the door, knowing that if I initiated it, one of them would be forced to follow after me. Just like I expected, I got a few steps ahead of them and then I heard Joe’s footsteps behind me who started following me. “Oh no!” I said a little too loudly than I should’ve. “What? What happened?” Joe asked me in a worried tone when he finally caught up with me, his long legs able to take longer strides than my shorter legs.

I looked outside and saw that the light sprinkle turned into a down pour. Not the kind that you could run out and still be able to stay semi dry, it was the kind of rain that made you soaking wet the second you stepped outside. The kind of rain Joe and I shared our first kiss in. I quickly shook away that thought and then looked back over at Joe while sticking out my bottom lip. “See?” I asked him and pointed outside before I let out a long sigh and then headed for the door with my shoulders hung low, not excited to go out there and get completely soaked.

While I walked, I didn’t hear Joe behind me, so I waited a few more seconds. When I still didn’t hear him catching up with me, I tried to turn around but the second I was about to, I felt something go over top of my head. I flinched a little bit, not expecting something to be placed on my head and then looked up to see a jacket over top of my head. With a small giggle, I ducked under the jacket and made eye contact with Joe who was chuckling. “Why thank you Mr Burrow.” I giggled again as we reached the door.

“Anytime,” Joe chuckled while reaching into his pocket to unlock his car, “okay, the car’s unlocked, are you ready to run?” Joe asked me. I took a deep breath and then looked back over to him but this time he ducked so I didn’t have to duck to look at him. “I’m ready. Let’s do this thing.” I said excitedly and then reached for the door. In a matter of seconds, it went from Joe and me standing inside together to the both of us sprinting to the car while Joe still kept the jacket over my head.

We both were laughing like crazy while trying to hurry up and get to the car, both of our clothes, shoes, and Joe’s hair getting soaked in the process. As we ran, we both kicked up the water on the ground, making our backs even more drenched. Finally, we got to the car. We were both breathing heavily from running so fast while not being able to get enough air into our lungs from how much we were laughing. As fast as he could, Joe opened up the passenger side door and then moved out of the way so I could climb in. For a few seconds I just stood there looking at his car, forgetting what I was doing out here with him. “Get in!” Joe laughed. “Oh yeah, right!” I laughed and then hopped into his car, joe taking his jacket off of my head in the process.

Once in the car, I flipped down the visor and started to fix my hair in the mirror but instead got distracted by Joe who was running around the front of the car. Before he could get to the door though, he took another step and then started to slip but grabbed ahold of his car instead and then shuffled to the door. As soon as he opened it, I pointed at him while laughing and yelled in a somewhat mocking manner, “haha, you almost fell.” I stuck my tongue out while he jumped into the car and then slammed the door shut.

The clothes he was wearing were absolutely soaked through and his hair was drenched. “Excuse me? I just helped get your ass into the car so you didn’t get your precious hair wet, be grateful.” Joe chuckled before starting the car, turning on the heat, and then looking into the mirror himself. Joe lifted up his hands and ran them through his short hair, water droplets falling off in the process. My eyes then dropped down to his biceps and then, as I was trying to drag them off of him, I spotted his hard nipples peaking through his wet shirt. I gulped slightly before looking up at his face and then processed what he just said.

“Speaking of precious hair…what the actual fuck did you do to your Lucious curls Joey. Wait-is that still cool if I call you Joey? I know your friends call you Joey a lot and I don’t know where we stand because uh-well y’know you broke up with me. Plus I used to say that in a flirty way so if that makes you uncomfortable I understand.” I said, talking extremely fast and rushed while slurring over my words in the process, the mixture of being drunk and currently being in my ex boyfriend’s car proving to be a lot. The only thing that stopped me from continuing was Joe looking over at me.

For a split second I felt like I could see sadness in his eyes from me bringing up the fact that he was my ex boyfriend, but then he blinked quickly and said, “we already talked about this, remember? Joey’s perfectly fine. I uh- needed a change, Y’know? I just had gotten over a season ending injury and I-well, broke up with you…” Joe said and started to trail off but then added in, “yeah I just needed a change. Why, do you not like it?” He asked me and then looked into the mirror to look at his hair and his frosted tips due to his roots growing out considering that the fifth week of football just passed. “No, It doesn’t look bad. Don’t get me wrong, I loved your curls more than anything, but this little buzzed era looks good on you too.” I said.

Just as Joe was about to say something else, I gasped loudly and then brought my hands up to cover my mouth. Joe’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, not expecting me to make such a loud noise. “Speaking of change….I got a tattoo! Kaitlynn and I went a week ago!” I yelled excitedly. “No way. Show it to me or I won’t believe you.” Joe said, shocked that I got a tattoo since I always talked about how I would never get one because of how indecisive I was and how I would surely regret it afterwards. I hesitated for a split second before I took a deep breath and then turned so my back was facing him. I gathered up all of my hair and put it all on one side and then slowly lifted up the shirt I was wearing, revealing my bare back with my lacy bra I wore just in case I got lucky, and the spine tattoo that I just recently got.

It was a long tattoo with different kinds of flowers that started at the very top of my back and ran down my spine to just above my waist line. “Do you see it?” I giggled before Joe gave me a quick, ‘mhm.’ I let go of my shirt and then let my hair fall back down onto my back while turning around to look at Joe again. When I looked at him, I couldn’t help but notice how his cheeks flushed red and the lack of eye contact he was making with me. “Uh oh…is it bad? It’s bad huh? Does it look wonky? Oh no.” I said, getting all nervous.

Joe immediately perked up and then quickly said, “no, no it doesn’t look bad. Not at all. You-it looks really good.” Joe said, stumbling over his words a little bit. I couldn’t help but grin at his comment, knowing that Joe is always honest when it comes to these types of things. “Well thank you.” I said. I reached for the seat belt so I could buckle up and then I reached into my purse, knowing I had a water bottle somewhere in there, my throat suddenly feeling sore, probably from talking loudly and laughing non stop.

When I grabbed my water, I opened it up and immediately started to chug it, not thinking anything of it. Joe waited for me to finish drinking my water so he just sat there, although I could see him looking over at me out of the corner of my eye. I took about four big gulps of water before I finally realized that what I was drinking was most definitely not water. My face scrunched up as soon as my throat and nose started to burn, feeling like it was on fire. I pulled the bottle away from my mouth as fast as I could, spilling a little bit in the process and then swallowed the last bit of liquid in my mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me.” I said quickly while coughing, my throat still on fire from chugging the drink. My whole body was covered in goosebumps and I began to shake a little bit out of disgust.

“No fucking way… was that full of alcohol?” He asked me and grabbed the bottle from my hand. While I tried to recover from the four shots of Tito’s that I just had on accident, Joe brought the bottle up to his nose and smelled it, his own face scrunching up as the strong smell of alcohol filled his nose. “I was just starting to feel more sober. Why did I have to forget?” I asked and put my hands on the top of my head, my eyes quickly becoming slow to react as the alcohol already started to hit me. “Why would you have a water bottle full of straight alcohol?” Joe asked me while he grabbed the cap from me before twisting it back on and throwing it in the back where I couldn’t reach it. “It was Kaitlynn’s idea. I don’t even know.” I said and started to breathe heavier, not ready to feel drunk all over again. Hey, at least this way I wouldn’t be hungover yet.

“Hey, it’s okay. Alright? Don’t freak out on me yet. Are you okay?” Joe asked me calmly. I looked over at him and dropped my hands down into my lap before I started to laugh. “Word. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” I said and nodded at him. Joe just chuckled while putting the car in reverse so we could head to my apartment. After putting the car in reverse, he turned around slightly while placing one hand on the back of my head rest and looking out the rear window so he could backup. A breath got caught in my throat as soon as the smell of his strong cologne filled my nose, instantly reminding me of hugging him after a he got done with his post game press conference when he would douse himself with cologne after the shower.

My eyes then drifted over to his huge arm that was right in front of my face. I couldn’t help but trail my eyes over the long and prominent vein that started on his lower forearm and ran up his entire arm where it escaped under his shirt. My thoughts immediately went to all the times where I would trail kisses up that exact vein. I couldn’t tell if it was all of the alcohol making me hot and flustered or the fact that my ex boyfriend, who I was so in love with just a few weeks ago, was sitting in front of me and showing me all of those features that I absolutely loved.

I quickly looked away from him and forced myself to look straight ahead at where we were going, and by the time I did that Joe had taken his arm off of my headrest and was facing forwards himself. While Joe drove me to my apartment which was fairly close to the bar we were at, the alcohol was quickly taking effect and I couldn’t stop laughing. My eyes were extremely slow to react and every time I tried to talk it felt like I really had no control over my words, which made me terrified that I would say something I would regret considering that just a few hours ago I hated Joe and never wanted to see him again.

“Can I be 100% honest with you Joseph?” I giggled and looked over at him while he turned on his turning signal and merged into the left lane. “Are you sure you want to?” Joe chuckled, not wanting me to embarrass myself in front of him when I couldn’t really control what things came out of my mouth. “All I was going to say was that I’m extremely hungry. Like I could fuck up some Taco Bell,” I said and as soon as I started to think about eating Taco Bell, I accidentally let out a moan while saying, “fuck.” I immediately put my hands over my mouth while laughing, my face heating up while Joe started to laugh, his own face getting red as well. “I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassing. Fucking hell.” I laughed, which made Joe laugh even more.

“Well it’s a good thing that I already thought of that. You want a Crunchwrap supreme?” Joe asked me. I whipped my head over to look at him and gasped. “How do you know that that’s my favorite thing to eat when I’m drunk? Holy shit-can you read my mind? What am I thinking right now?” I asked him and put my index fingers on my temples, trying my hardest to put my thoughts into Joe’s head. “One, I know you, and two, you’re probably thinking about how fucked up your stomachs going to be tomorrow from the Taco Bell mixed with the alcohol.” Joe said before he turned into the Taco Bell parking lot and then got into the drive through.

My eyes widened and I let out another gasp. I lifted my hands up into the air and started to freak out a little bit at Joe’s answer. But then after a few seconds I dropped my hands and shook my head. “No, actually. I was thinking about,” I said but started to hiccup, “how much I want to play just dance.” I said and started to dance to the music that I just realized Joe was playing, but then he turned it down as he rolled down his window. “Hey what the heck.” I said and stuck out my bottom lip. “I’m sorry, I’ll turn it back up in one second.” Joe chuckled and then leaned towards the window as soon as the girl asked what he wanted. “Can I get a Crunchwrap supreme please,” Joe said and then looked over at my lap to see me picking at the skin around my nails, “and a chicken quesadilla?” Joe asked. I looked up at him quickly and immediately stopped picking at the skin around my nails and I could feel the tension in my shoulders ease up.

It was the little things that always made me fall head over heels for Joe when we were together. From the very start of us dating, Joe learned about my weird habits or quirks and the things that made me nervous or anxious, and one of those things was eating when nobody else was. It was something I always struggled with and when I was with Joe I never had to worry about that. Even when he had already eaten or when he hated the food we were getting, like Taco Bell, he always made sure to get something to eat so he could eat with me. Even drunk I still worried about that, and Joe knew that.

When we pulled up to the window, joe payed and then after a few minutes we got the food and were back on the road and heading to my apartment. “Ooh this food smells so good joe. I’m getting excited.” I said and rubbed my hands together while opening up the bag and looking inside of it. Before Joe could say anything in response, the song changed and started to play The Less I Know The Better by tame impala. “Someone said they left together, I ran out the door to get her. She was holding hands with Trevor. Not the greatest feeling ever.” I sang along to the song and then reached into the back and grabbed ahold of my water bottle. “No, no, no. No more.” Joe said, thinking I was going to drink some more, but then stopped as soon as he noticed that I was only using it as a microphone.

“Said pull yourself together, you should try your luck with heather. Then I hope they slept together. Oh the less I know the better.” I sang. I began to sway and dance to the beat of the song, putting my hands up and running them through my hair. When Joe started to sing along to the song with me, I smiled brightly while giving him the ‘microphone,’ but then used it for myself when my favorite part came up. “I was doing fine without ya til I saw your face, now I can’t erase. Giving in to all his bullshit. Is this what you want? Is this who you are?” As soon as this part was over, Joe pulled into my apartment complex and looked for a spot closest to the door so I put down my water and started to look for one with him. “Ooh ooh, right there!” I said loudly and pointed to an open parking spot that just so happened to be right next to my car.

With a small chuckle, Joe pulled into the parking spot and then shut off the car before looking over at me. “Okay, can you wait until I open up your door to get out?” He asked me while I unbuckled my seatbelt. I nodded my head and gave him a double thumbs up but then looked down at my thumbs and furrowed my eyebrows. “Do my thumbs look like they’re wavy? I feel like they look wa-wavy.” I said and squinted my eyes to get a better look at them. “Uhm, do you want them to be wavy?” He asked me, wanting to base his answer off of if I wanted them to be wavy or not. “Ew no that’s scary.” I said and looked up at him while showing him my thumbs. “No, they look pretty straight to me.” He said and then began to open up his door. “Phew, okay good.” I said and let out a huge sigh of relief.

When Joe got out of the car, I watched him walk around the front of the car and then once he got over to my side he opened up my door. “Are you ready to get out?” He asked me. “Let’s do this thing!” I said but then began to laugh afterwards. I quickly swung my legs out of the car and placed them on the solid ground under me which helped my spinning head. Luckily Joe drove his Porsche so we were close to the ground. “Do you think you’ll ever get rid of her? Because if so,” I said but then got distracted by a person that was walking up to the door, “I’ll take her.” I finished what I was saying and then just put my hands out in front of me, needing Joe to help me up.

“Her?” Joe asked me before grabbing ahold of my hands and lifting me up and out of the car with ease. When I stood up, I didn’t realize just how close Joe and I were until I looked up and made eye contact with him. I could see Joe clenching his jaw and I could tell his breathing started to pick up slightly. We held eye contact for a few seconds before his eyes slowly looked me up and down, a breath getting caught in his throat in the process. “Your Porsche, duh. Who else would I be talking about silly goose.” I laughed and then shut the door. With Joe still standing there, practically frozen in place, I started to walk away from him and to the door of my apartment complex. After a few seconds of just standing there and composing himself, l could hear Joe’s heavy footsteps behind me before I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

While we walked he kept his eyes on me the entire time, making sure he was ready at all times to either chase after me or stop me from falling. “I’m not planning on getting rid of her, but if I ever do, you’ll be the one that gets her.” Joe said. I looked over at him quickly and to those bright blue eyes. “Really? You mean it?” I asked him loudly, my mouth hanging open slightly. “Yeah, duh.” Joe said, copying what I said to him when he asked what ‘her,’ I was referring to, making me laugh. “Yes!” I said excitedly. When we reached the door, Joe stepped in front of me so he could hold it open for me and then walked in right after me. To my left was the stairs and to the right was the elevator that I hated so incredibly much. Although it wasn’t an old building, the elevator doors rattle every time the thing moves and it sounds like at any second, the whole things going to fall. It lets out a low groaning kind of sound that practically makes me have a panic attack every time I hear it, which is why I stay away from it.

“Are you able?” Joe asked me. Just as I was about to run up the stairs, I took a step forwards and instantly felt extremely dizzy. “Woah.” I said and grabbed onto the railing by the stairs. “I’ll take that as a no.” Joe chuckled. When Joe realized that I wasn’t going to be able to walk up without help, he walked over to me and then grabbed ahold of my arm gently and put it around his neck. “Oh gosh. Oh boy.” I said, my voice shaking when I realized how hard it was going to be to make it up four flights of stairs. “Hey, I got you. We got this. You ready?” He asked me. I looked over at him and I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw how big he was smiling, obviously finding amusement in my current state that left me basically helpless.

“This isn’t fun-funny.” I said, slurring over my words slightly, my head feeling extremely fuzzy. “Maybe not for you,” Joe laughed and then got serious for a second, “can I?” Joe gestured down to my waist. I looked from his eyes down to my waist where I saw his hand hovering over, wanting permission before he wrapped his arm around me. “Go for it.” I laughed. Joe wrapped his arm around my waist and held onto me with his cool hand, making me suck in a breath at the sudden contact. His ice cold hand that was holding tightly at my waist and lifting me up so he could help me up the stairs made so many thoughts run through my head, except I knew I shouldn’t be having them. It was wrong. You’re okay. Ignore it.

I pushed down all of the thoughts that were currently running through my head while Joe’s hands were on my body and tried to focus on walking up the stairs so he wasn’t doing all of the work, although it was hard because suddenly my legs felt like noodles. “We’re almost there, just a little bit longer.” Joe said, realizing how much the alcohol was hitting me. Just like clockwork, my mind started to go to all of the negative things that happened tonight and how much I was regretting getting drunk. It always happened without fail and I always ended up crying and being scared that people were mad at me or that I would somehow die. “Hey Joey?” I asked him, my breathing getting heavier. “Yeah?” He asked me and immediately looked down at me, sensing a change in my voice right away. “I’m so sorry. This was a bad idea.” I said, feeling tears start to form in my eyes. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s all good. It’s okay. Everything is fine.” Joe said, trying to pull me back from the edge that I already fell over.

“No, I’m so dumb and stupid. I get drunk at a fucking…bar, yeah, a bar, and then I make my ex boyfriend take me home. Who does that?” I said, tears starting to stream down my cheeks. “It happens and it’s completely normal. Nobody thinks you’re dumb or stupid. Plus I offered to take you home, you didn’t make me do anything.” He said and started to rub my arm slightly, trying his best to comfort me while still focusing on getting me into my apartment. “Are you sure?” I sniffled while looking up at him. Joe chuckled while nodding and said, “I am 100% sure.” He said.

I began to nod to myself, the realization that if joe didn’t think it was embarrassing or bad, then it wasn’t, especially because he gets embarrassed easily. We finally made our way up to the fourth floor where Joe opened up the door and then led me into the hallway. My apartment was extremely close to the stairs so in no time Joe walked over to the door and reached into my bag and grabbed out my key. As I stood there with Joe holding most of my body weight up, I began to sway a little bit which made him hold me even tighter.

Everything looked so blurry and I kept forgetting things that I just said. When Joe finally opened up my door, he walked me in and immediately went over to the dining room table where he pulled out a chair and made me sit down. I let out a small groan before a feeling of dread washed over me, realizing just how bad I felt. “Stay right here I’m going to go get some water.” Joe said after setting the bag of Taco Bell on the table in front of me and then disappearing into the kitchen. I put both of my hands on the table and tried to focus extra hard on them, my eyes and whole body feeling extremely weird. “Hey Joey?” I called out to Joe. I could hear the refrigerator open and then close before I heard Joe’s footsteps getting closer to me.

“Yeah?” He asked me and then plopped himself down in the chair next to me. I looked over at him with glossy eyes, the tears coming back as my head was filled with the same drunk thoughts that always appear during a night of heavy drinking. Joe was just sitting there and looking at me with a small understanding smile on my face, knowing that this was normal for me. “Am I,” I said but then got distracted by something past him, “am I always going to feel like this? What if it doesn’t go away?” I asked him, tears now streaming down my face. “It will go away, I promise you. When you wake up tomorrow all you’ll be feeling is hungover.” Joe chuckled. I stuck out my bottom lip after he told me I would be hungover and started to cry even more, my bottom lip beginning to quiver slightly. “Hey,” Joe chuckled while leaning forwards and putting a hand on mine, finding it hard not to laugh in this moment, “It’ll be okay.”

I held my face in my hands and then let out a small, “can we eat now?” Joe immediately reached for the bag and dumped out the food inside of it, along with the napkins and sauce packets. “Yes, you need to eat. Can you also drink your water for me please?” He asked me while he placed my crunch wrap supreme in front of me that he opened. I nodded and grabbed ahold of my water bottle and tried to open it. “Come on.” I groaned, the cap not budging. I let go and shook my hand a little bit before Joe grabbed it from me and opened it up. “Oh, thanks.” I said when he handed it back to me. I brought the bottle up to my nose and smelled it a few times, making sure it wasn’t full of alcohol this time. Joe just chuckled while grabbing the sauce packets and opening them up with his teeth, knowing I love to put hot sauce on practically everything I eat.

While he did that I lowered the bottle down to my mouth and started to take big sips. “Woah, woah, small sips.” Joe said to me before he began to unwrap his quesadilla. My eyes dropped down to his hands as he folded back the wrapper on it, finding it hard not to stare at all of those prominent veins that decorated them. While I made it completely obvious that I was staring at his hands-which I’ve told him were my favorite part of his body a million times before-I took a few small sips of my water and then set down my drink so I could start eating. I grabbed ahold of my food, put some hot sauce on it that Joe opened up for me, and then took a big bite of it while tears still streamed down my face. My eyes shut right away as soon as I started to chew the food in my mouth and I angled my head upwards while letting out a groan, suddenly not feeling like crying anymore. “Oh yeah.” I said with a mouth full of food and then took another bite.

When I got to my last bite of food with my eyes still shut and head angled upwards, I began to sway a little bit in my seat, feeling very uneasy and exhausted. I tried to open up my eyes, but they were far too heavy and would take too much effort, so I kept them shut. “Are you good?” Joe asked me after I heard him crumble up his wrapper and toss it into the bag. Without seeing him, I could tell he tossed it like a basketball while imagining that the bag was the hoop, which he always does. “Mhm…tire,” I said but when Joe started to chuckle I perked up slowly but still kept my heavy eyes shut, “tired.”

With the food still in my mouth, I set my head down on the table, wanting to just give into sleep instead of forcing myself to stay awake. “Hey, hey, hey, swallow the food in your mouth.” Joe said quickly. “That’s too…hard.” I said quietly, yawning in the middle of my sentence. “C’mon, sit up a little bit and swallow.” Joe said. There was a few seconds of silence before I snorted loudly from trying to hold back a laugh and then we both burst out into laughter. “That’s what he said.” I laughed while opening my eyes for a split second. Joe reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose while shaking his head and belly laughing.

I kept my eyes open for a little bit longer, just admiring the man in front of me who was laughing uncontrollably. I didn’t realize just how much I truly missed him until now. I missed watching him belly laugh until he started crying. I miss letting him ramble on and on about space and things I don’t quite understand, I miss how caring and compassionate he is, I miss how he never fails to put a smile on my face… and how he could always cheer me up or calm me down in any given situation. In the weeks I spent away from Joe, I realized just how much of an impact he made in my life. When work was kicking my ass and I came home upset, Joe was always there with a shoulder to cry on and encouraging words. When I got drunk and needed help not only physically, but mentally as well when my mind played tricks on me, joe was always there with everything I needed.

When Joe’s laughter died down and I didn’t want him to know that I was staring at him, I shut my eyes once more and rested my head back on the table below me. While I struggled with not falling asleep, I could feel Joe’s eyes on me the entire time. But, In no time, I could feel my drunk and exhausted self begin to drift off to sleep, despite me trying not to. “Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep.” Joe said, slightly pulling me back from a deep sleep. All I let out in response was a quiet and incoherent jumble of words that Joe just chuckled softly at. “Okay.” He said.

The next thing I knew, I could feel my chair being scooted back and then I felt myself being lifted up into the air. Although barely awake enough to realize it, Joe had scooped me up into his arms with one arm under my legs and one wrapped around my back, holding me tightly to him bridal style. I let out a small hum while nuzzled my head into his chest ever so slightly as he carried me. I could tell that Joe was trying his best not to wake me up fully with any sudden movements or by hitting my leg against a wall by the way he silently tiptoed to my bedroom.

In no time, Joe placed me on top of my comfy bed extremely gingerly and then put my blanket over top of me, tucking me in slightly. My eyes remained closed the entire time and my head was still spinning. “Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything else?” Joe asked me. I could tell that he didn’t want to leave me all alone with the state I was in. For all he knew, when he left I could decide to be sick and not have anyone here to help me. I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I knew I should’ve just sent him a text in the morning saying thank you, but I didn’t want to be all alone if I somehow ended up being sick, and I didn’t want Joe driving home this late at night. “Can you stay?” I asked him quietly. I could hear Joe breathe out a sigh of relief before I felt him adjusting my comforter gently. “I’ll be on the couch, yell for me if you need anything at all.” Joe said. I nodded while turning over in bed and breathing out a quiet, “thank you Joey.”

“You’re welcome Ba- …goodnight.” Joe said. I could hear his heavy footsteps leading to the door as he made his way out of the room. Once he reached the door I could tell that he stopped for a split second, maybe looking at me or maybe not, but then he shut the light off and his footsteps disappeared down the hall. Did he just almost call me baby? He couldn’t have, right? That was just my mind playing tricks on me? The last thing I heard before sleep overtook me was the closet door opening up that held all of the blankets, meaning Joe really was staying the night and he didn’t just tell me that to make me feel better…and here I thought I’d never be near him again.

In the morning

My eyes fluttered open the next day to see the bright sun shining in from my window that was open and letting in some fresh air, although I knew it was shut the day before. After a few seconds of trying to process what happened the night before, I sat up in bed and was instantly hit by a headache so strong that it made me grab ahold of my head. I let out a small groan while furrowing my brows and started to glance around the room, not remembering how I ended up here last night. I remembered going to the bar with Kaitlynn, talking with the hot bartender who was into me…then seeing Joe. I quickly took my hands off of my head as the smell of food being cooked filled my nose. My eyes widened and I sat up some more as almost every single event from the night before came back to be all at once. Getting so wasted that Joe had to take me home, getting Taco Bell with him after I drank even more alcohol, having a little freak out moment when the alcohol hit me extra hard, and then Joe carrying me to bed where I asked him if he could stay the night.

“Oh shit.” I said to myself and started to rub my temples. Not only was I apparently having the worst hangover of my life, but Joe was right outside of my bedroom making food. I was supposed to hate him. He was a complete douchebag and broke up with me for no apparent reason not even a month ago. There were no signs or warnings. Nothing. Just him getting angry one day and saying all these things about how the time we spent together was a mistake. He shouldn’t be in my house right now and I should have never let him take me home, except I knew that if he wasn’t the one to take me home, I probably would’ve had a panic attack while being home alone and drunk with no one to reassure me that I wasn’t going to feel drunk forever.

I was quickly pulled from my thoughts when I heard Joe talking to someone from outside of my room. “Mom just calm down I can’t understand you.” He said and at the sand time I looked to my night table and saw three pills of Advil next to a small glass of water. Without hesitation, I grabbed the pills, threw them in my mouth, and took a big sip of water to wash them down, needing this headache and the nausea to go away as soon as possible. “What? What are you talking about? What picture?” He asked. After a few seconds, I could hear a deep sigh fall from his lips before he said, “shit, I didn’t see that. Yes everything’s fine mom I promise.” He said.

I swung my legs over the bed and scooted closer to the door on my bed, trying to listen in to his conversation. I knew I would have to go out there and face him one way or another, but I didn’t want to go just yet. “I said I promise. I was at the bar with my friends and she just so happened to be there as well with her friends. She got drunk so I offered to take her home. She couldn’t drive mom.” He said. “I didn’t take advantage of her,” Joe raised his voice slightly, “she was so drunk that she could barely even walk up to her apartment. I walked up with her and waited there with her until she was ready to go to bed. She asked me to stay so I did…I wasn’t just going to leave her all alone.” He said.

I held a hand up to my mouth and started to bite the skin around my nails, not knowing what to do. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen mom, but I’m not upset that it did,” Joe said and paused while his mom talked, “she’s still sleeping right now and then after I will.” He said. I could hear him rummaging around in the cupboards while listening to his mom talk. “I know I owe her an explanation, but it’s not going to give her any closure. I fucked up and-yeah… I don’t even know.” Joe trailed off. I put both of my hands on my face and began to rub my eyes, not ready to walk out there just yet. I didn’t want to see Joe in my house and know that he was only here because I got drunk yesterday. What made me even more hesitant to walk out there was the thought that maybe he stayed for a different reason.

After procrastinating for a few minutes and tuning out the rest of the conversation Joe was having with his mom, I finally decided to walk out of the kitchen and face Joe. “Okay mom, I love you too.” Joe said. Perfect, he was hanging up. After walking out of my bedroom, I walked past the bathroom and then turned right, which led to the kitchen and living room, giving me a clear view of Joe. He was just standing there with his hands on the counter, his head low and back facing me, looking like he was deep in thought. I took another step towards him and just as I did the floor under me began to creak slightly. Joe perked up and then turned around to look at the noise.

I stood there, frozen in place, finding it weird that he was back in my house after what happened two weeks ago. When we made eye contact with each other, Joe instantly smiled and walked over to the other side of the counter and pulled out a stool for me to sit on. “How are you feeling?” He asked me. I quickly shook my head but then grabbed my head as soon as I realized it made my headache way worse. I let out a groan while Joe chuckled and then started to walk over to the stool he pulled out. “Noted,” Joe said while walking back over to the stove where he was cooking some bacon, “I’m sorry if I woke you up. I tried to be quiet.”

I sat down extremely gingerly and then looked up at him. “Oh, no, you didn’t.” I said. “Gotcha. Good.” He said with an awkward laugh. Because I didn’t want him to be the only one laughing in this eerily quiet apartment, I let out a little awkward laugh too, which just made it even worse. What the hell was going on? Yesterday we were goofing around and having fun with each other like we were back in college and drunk, and now the awkwardness was enough to make me want to jump out of my fourth story window. Our conversation felt like we had just met each other and were trying to make awkward conversation to make it less awkward. Hell, our first conversation with each other wasn’t even this bad and that was after him and Sam were looking for me and walked in on me laying down on the bathroom floor while at a party…and I was completely sober.

I let out a small sigh and then began to fiddle with my fingers in my lap, ripping even more skin off of my fingernails. After a few seconds I glanced back up at Joe, having no idea what the move was, and at the same time he glanced down at me. We both looked away quickly; I looked back down at my lap and Joe turned around to flip the bacon over in the pan. The awkwardness filled the room like a thick smoke that made it hard to breathe, and I knew that if I didn’t say something, it would only get worse. “You had a great game on Sunday by the way. It was a bit ugly but you still pulled out the win. Plus I know you didn’t win but you played amazing against the ravens.” I said, breaking the silence. I began to suck in my lips some at how much I said to Joe, thinking he might find it weird. Immediately Joe turned around to look at me, relieved that one of us finally spoke up. “Oh, yeah, an ugly win is still a win,” joe chuckled but then began to rub the back of his neck, “but I don’t know about ‘amazing’ against the ravens, We still lost in overtime because of my interception.” He said.

I could tell he was beating himself up over it. Joe was always so hard on himself; Always taking accountability when it wasn’t his fault and never putting the blame on his teammates, even when they were the problem. “Joseph Lee Burrow you are leading the NFL in almost everything and scored almost 40 points…you may not believe it right now, but you’re killing it.” I said. Joe quickly looked up from his hands with a small shrug and then a smile appeared on his face. “You really watched the game on Sunday?” He asked me, sounding slightly shocked. I let out a small scoff and nodded. “Of course. We may not be together anymore but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ll always be a bengals fan.” I said. “Phew, for a minute there I thought you were going to say you were rooting for the ravens.” Joe chuckled. “Ew I could never root for them. If you recall they were chanting, ‘fuck Joe Burrow,’ after your wrist injury,” I said and then acted all grossed out, “never, ever, accuse me of rooting for the ravens. Ever.”

The both of us started laughing together after what I said and when the laughter began to die down after a few seconds, we looked up over at each other and held eye contact. For a few seconds we just gazed into each other’s eyes without saying a word, small smiles on our faces. I couldn’t help but think about all of the times when Joe would surprise me in the morning by sneaking in while I was sleeping and make me breakfast. When I woke up and smelled food throughout the entire house, I always knew it was him, and after I would sit on this spinning stool like I am right now and watch him cook.

Then I began to think about how I felt before seeing Joe at the bar and having to start all over again, making me break eye contact with him. I was just starting to feel like I could continue on and build a new life without Joe, who I thought I would marry. Although on the way to the bar my thoughts were consumed by him and the fact that there was a possibility of seeing him, I was confident in the fact that once I got there and didn’t see Joe, that I would be able to have fun, but then I saw him, and my thoughts were flooded with what he said to me during the break up and all of the good times we had together.

Even now, sitting in front of him, all I can think about is the way his hair with his overgrown roots looks and how much I missed seeing him when I wake up. When, in the morning after staying over his house, he would wake up before me and go into the bathroom where I could see him get ready for practice. When he would spray his cologne all over himself that eventually made the whole room smell like him since he always made sure to spray extra since he knew I loved it, reminding me throughout the way that I just had a few more hours before he would come home. Why did he have to be at the bar tonight and then take me home? This shouldn’t be happening. None of it.

As I looked past Joe and thought about all of these things that were going through my head, out of the corner of my eye I could see Joe looking over at me, knowing I was thinking about everything that has happened. When I finally snapped out of it and looked up at him again while forcing a smile on my face, I could see that his brows were now furrowed and he looked extremely upset and guilty. “I am so sorry, for everything,” Joe finally spoke up, not being able to continue on without getting off whatever was on his chest, “for last night when we fought and walking up to you and for basically taking advantage of you. I didn’t mean to, all I was trying to do was keep you safe and make sure you got home okay, but I know I shouldn’t have.” Joe said.

“You don’t have to do this now.” I said and curled in my lips slightly, not expecting him to tell me all of this now. “I do. I don’t regret last night though, I did what I thought was right…what I do regret is ruining the only thing I was sure about in my life. You were the most constant and unconditional thing in my life and I ruined it. I pushed you away and I am so, so sorry.” Joe admitted to me. I sucked in a small breath as I felt tears form in my eyes, being thrown off by him telling me what was going through his head because usually he held things in until I pushed him to tell me. This, though, was all him. As he talked, his eyes also became glossed over with tears. “Why, Joe? Because I’ve been trying to wrap my head around why you would break up with me out of nowhere. One bad game and one little fight and we were just…over. We’ve survived way worse, y’know?” I told him, tears streaming down my face.

I quickly reached up and wiped them away with the back of my hand before placing my hands in my lap again. Joe just shook his head and let out a long sigh, looking at the ground. “It’s not going to give you any closure.” Joe said and then drug his eyes up to meet mine, tears now streaming down his rosy cheeks. “Joe. Tell me the truth.” I said, needing him to tell me why he ended things the way he did; so abruptly and suddenly, leaving me questioning everything. Joe hesitated before taking a deep breath and saying, “it was the day after the panthers game when I broke up with you. I mean that game was our first win of the season and people were calling me washed because I could only beat the panthers. The game before I put up 33 fucking points only to lose by 5 points because the defense couldn’t get their heads out of their asses, making us 0-3. I wasn’t doing good and I knew you knew that and only wanted to help me but I blew up on you anyways and said so many things that I didn’t mean and I regret it all. I know there’s no excuse for the way I acted, I know that, but I am sorry. I didn’t mean it when I told you I didn’t love you anymore and this may be selfish of me to say…but I still love you, with everything in me and more.”

I just sat there, listening intently to him, trying to digest what he was saying, all while trying to keep my composure and not break down right now. “Did you mean it when you said that the years we spent together were a mistake?” I asked him. Joe shook his head quickly and took a step closer to the island I was sitting at. “No, the years we spent together were the best years of my life. I felt like the luckiest man alive, please know that.” He said. I looked down at my hands as tears started to stream down my cheeks once again, but this time I didn’t wipe them away, I wasn’t trying to hide anything.

“You hurt me so much Joseph. It was so sudden and out of the blue…y-you made me question everything,” I said and slowly looked up at him, “do you get that?” Once we made eye contact and he could see how much I was hurting, his shoulders dropped and he put his hands on the counter, more tears now streaming down his face. The one thing that I loved about Joe was his ability to never hold back. Once he was able to talk about his feelings, he allowed himself to cry and feel his emotions. He didn’t hold back for the sake of looking and acting ‘masculine.’

“I know, I promise you I get that I hurt you so incredibly much and I am so, so sorry for that. If I could take it all back I would in a heartbeat.” Joe said. We both just held eye contact while taking in and processing what was said. I heard his apology and his reason why, but I truly didn’t know what to do. Was he trying to reconcile and go back to the way things were right now? I knew he didn’t want to let me go, but I didn’t know what the next step was. “So what’s next?” I asked him, breaking us out of our own thoughts. Joe sucked in a small breath after being torn from his thoughts and shrugged slightly. “I know I fucked up so extremely badly, but I still I know what I want, and that’s you…but I’ll respect whatever you choose.” He said. I could tell he was terrified for what I was about to say. Was I going to give him a second chance or kick him out and carry on with my life without him. Was he going to lose me forever?

“You don’t deserve a second chance, Joe. You broke my heart and a part of me hates you for it.” I said and watched Joe as all of the emotion left his face; any sliver of hope he was holding onto was all gone. I looked back down at my hands and started to pick at my nails when Joe said, “I know, you’re right and you should hate me…thank you for at least hearing me out though,” thinking it was all over. No matter how pissed off and hurt I was by his actions and ruining what we had, I couldn’t just leave it like this. My heart belonged to him no matter what. He was my first real love and I knew that if I tried to move on, I wouldn’t be able to. “I tried to hate you these past 2 weeks, I really did. But I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you and how much I miss you and all of your weird fucking quirks…and I know I shouldn’t do this, but,” I said and looked up at him, “I have to give you a second chance, I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

Joe let out a huge sigh as his eyes widened, shocked at my answer: that even though I shouldn’t, I was giving him a second chance. “Are you sure?” Joe asked me, excitement building in him some. All of the life was brought back into him and he started breathing heavily out of excitement and shock, not knowing if I was telling the truth. “Break my heart again and we’re done for good, do you hear me? I can’t go through that again Joseph Lee Burrow.” I said. “I promise that I will never do anything that hurts you ever again…now can you please call me Joey instead of my full name?” He said, and when I laughed, he too laughed.

“I’m serious.” I said, trying not to laugh while he walked around the island and made his way over to me. When Joe reached me, he stood in front of me as I sat down on the stool and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m serious too.” Joe said in a serious tone, wanting me to fully understand the fact that he wasn’t going to hurt me again. “We need to communicate all the time Joe. Especially when you’re upset after a bad game because I know how much it affects you mentally. I’m always here and I’ll always do my best to help you.” I said. Slowly, Joe bent down some and reached in front of himself and cupped my face gently in his hands. With a sigh, I melted into his touch and closed my eyes for a few seconds, soaking in this feeling that I missed so incredibly much. “I will, I promise, and I know you’re always there to help me, that’s one of the reasons I love you so much.” He said.

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TMZ

Liked by user1, user2 and 969,944 others

TMZ Robert Pattinson is seen with far along pregnant girlfriend Suki Waterhouse only two months after split with Y/n L/n.

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user1 wtffff ????

user2 cheating on y/n and getting another girl pregnant is.... im speechless

user3 HUH

user4 i have no words omg... poor y/n

user5 no way he cheated on Y/N???😧

user6 a baby on the way is actually insane

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lakers

Liked by user1, user2 and 2,469,944 others

lakers The stars are out tonight for Lakers vs Warriors.

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user1 i kinda need all three...

user2 everyone is so hottt

user3 dream blunt rotation but im the blunt

user4 omg why is everyone so horny in the comments???

user5 y/n and joe!! love them

user6 lets so lakers 💜💛

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yourinstagram

Liked by joeyb_9, badbunnypr and 4,869,944 others

yourinstagram lakers in 5

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user1 lakers fan??? this diva

user2 she released a new song like a week ago and the first time she seen is at an nba game... not a serious bone in her body 😭

user3 joe burrow and bad bunny in the likes 👀

->user4 can you blame them?

user5 YOU are irreplaceable

user6 face tea, body tea damn damn damnnnn

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yourinstagram

Liked by joeyb_9, badbunnypr and 7,044,144 others

yourinstagram naughty girl release partyyyy

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user1 so naughty girl is about JOE BURROW???

lahjay10_ !!! liked by yourinstagram !

user2 the hair, the beat, the fit ATE DOWNNNN 10s

joeyb_9 😎✌ liked by yourinstagram !

user3 WAIT POSTING YOUR MAN ON MAIN?!!?!

user4 she's so cunty it's insane omgggg

user5 popstaring in ways that will be studied

user6 HOTTTT