Pull Me Under, Pull Me Out
pairings: Joe Burrow x Reader (Y/N)
description: After another brutal Bengals loss leaves Joe alone with his spiraling thoughts, there is only one person he wants to see. What’s supposed to be another late-night hookup between two people determined to keep things casual slowly unravels into something far more dangerous as Y/N becomes the only person able to quiet the pressure, expectations, and noise constantly consuming him. But the closer they get, the harder it is to ignore that none of this feels casual anymore.
warnings: smut (18+). sexual content, explicit language.
psa: thank you to anyone who reads this! this is my first time writing so let me know what you think in the comments as well as any requests for tropes, settings, themes, etc!!
November 7th, 2024 (34-35 loss to the Ravens)
Joe’s apartment was pitch black except for the city lights bleeding through the windows and the glow of his phone lighting up his face.
Another insomnia night. Another loss replaying in his head on loop.
He tosses his phone onto his chest and stares at the ceiling, desensitizing himself to the hum of the ceiling fan and huffing out a deep sigh before his phone buzzes.
Joe snorts despite himself.
Three dots appear instantly.
Didn’t you throw for like 300 yards tonight?
There’s a pause this time. Long enough that he thinks you must’ve fallen asleep.
Y/N: do you wanna come over?
Because whatever this casual thing happening between you is supposed to be, has gotten into dangerous territory lately.
Casual isn’t supposed to mean thinking about you during interviews where reporters ask how he relaxes outside football.
Casual isn’t supposed to mean checking if you watched the game before dissecting film.
And casual definitely isn’t supposed to mean one text from you can pull him out of the worst mood imaginable.
Joe rubs a hand down his face.
Y/N: wow good job you can tell time Joe
A laugh escapes him before he can stop it.
And suddenly he’s getting out of bed and grabbing his keys.
By the time he gets to your apartment, Cincinnati is dead quiet.
The city always feels strange to him after losses.
Too still. Too aware of him somehow.
Too aware of how he’s let his teammates and the city down.
Joe pulls his hood up as he takes the stairs two at a time. You open the door before he even has the chance to knock.
You lean against the doorway. “I don’t know, maybe Burrow”, you say casually.
“Do I need to file a restraining order?”
“You realize you’re showing up at MY door right,” you point out. “Get in here.”
You tug him inside by the sleeve of his sweatshirt and shut the door. You’re wearing sleep shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. Hair messy, no makeup, looking soft in a way that immediately eases the tension sitting in his shoulders.
That’s the thing about you. You never greet him like Joe Burrow the Cincinnati Bengals Quarterback.
“Hey,” Joe says softly, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear.
You head toward the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and handing it to him.
“You eat anything after the game?”
You sigh. “Right. Stupid question.” No matter how bad of a loss, Joe’s always sticks to his routine meal plan and recovery schedule. Film. Sleep. Repeat.
Joe watches you from across the kitchen island for a second before speaking.
“How bad was it?” You hesitate just long enough for him to get his answer.
Joe drops onto your couch with a groan, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.
“Hey.” You walk over slowly and grab his wrists to pry his hands away from his face. “Don’t do that”.
“I’m being serious,” he mutters. “Every mistake tonight felt fucking stupid.”
“I mean I wouldn’t disagree with that but it’s not all on you Joe, everyone played like shit tonight”
He ignores that completely.
“I should’ve seen the safety rotate over.”
“I’m just saying I could’ve-”
That finally shuts him up.
“You wanna know what your problem is?” Joe looks at you tiredly, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms tightly. “This should be good,” he mutters.
“You don’t know how to lose.” He blinks once. “What?”
“You act like every loss means you’ve personally failed the entire city.”
“That’s literally the job Y/N.”
“No,” you say softly, rubbing your hand on his knee. “That’s the pressure you feel. Different thing.”
Joe uncrosses his arms, eyes fixed on you. Even now, exhausted, irritated, still carrying that intense postgame energy, you look at him like he’s a person first. It ruins him a little every time.
“You know what everybody else did tonight?” you ask quietly.
“Turned the game off and moved on with their lives.”
Joe scoffs. “Must be nice.”
“But you won’t.” Your voice gentles. “You’ll sit here all night replaying every throw like you somehow have the ability to reverse time if you hate yourself enough.”
His jaw tightens. Because, unfortunately, that’s exactly what he does. You study him for a second before settling beside him.
Too close. Joe can smell your perfume now - warm, light, and distracting.
“You care too much,” you murmur.
“Well that’s not exactly a flaw in football Y/N.”
“No,” you say. “But it is when it starts eating you alive”
The room goes quiet. Joe looks out the living room window.
“And it’s because you continue to burden yourself with other people’s mistakes and make them yours to carry.”
Outside, rain taps softly against the windows, drowning out the gaggle of voices coming from the TV. Joe looks over at you slowly.
You’re already looking at him. And there it is again. That unbearable tension that always builds when you are in a room together.
Joe leans forward, voice dropping lower. “You always do this.”
Your lips twitch slightly. “In a good way or bad way.”
Joe doesn’t answer, just stares at you.
“Maybe your head’s just easy for me to get into.”
He should say something sarcastic. Instead his eyes drift to your mouth.
Your breathing changes instantly. So does his.
Neither of you moves at first. Joe’s fingers flex against the couch cushion beside your thigh.
“You know what the worst part is?” he says quietly.
“I think about you before games.” Your heartbeat visibly stumbles.
Joe notices. Of course he notices.
“And after,” he admits softly. “You’re like… the first person I wanna talk to.”
The look you give him then nearly destroys whatever restrain he has left.
“Joe…” He leans in slowly enough to stop if you want him to.
The second his mouth touches yours, the tension snaps all at once. Warm hands sliding into his hair, Joe pulling you into his lap on instinct. The kiss deepens almost immediately, desperate in that quiet, emotional way that comes from wanting all of someone. When you kiss him back harder, Joe exhales against your lips like he’s finally found the first good thing about tonight. His hands tighten instinctively at your waist, pulling you closer against him on the couch. Your hand drifts down to anchor itself on his arm while the other starts playing at the nape of his neck, and Joe pauses for half a second.
“What is it?” you murmur while softly pecking his lips.
“You’re dangerous.” his voice coming out rougher than expected.
You smile a little. “Good.”
The room feels warmer suddenly. Rain taps softly against the windows while SportsCenter continues silently in the background. Joe leans back into the couch cushions, keeping you close against him, his eyes dragging over your face like he’s trying to memorize it.
“You still thinking about the game?” You whisper.
He gives you a solemn look and lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “Mhm. Can you read minds or something?”
“You get this line between your eyebrows.” Your thumb brushes lightly between them. “It’s very intense. Very tortured quarterback.”
Joe snorts and shakes his head slightly. “I can’t help that I can literally hear the commentators in my head right now.”
“That sounds very healthy,” you say sarcastically.
Joe shrugs and looks away. “It’s not.”
Even now, sitting here with you in his lap, kissing you at nearly three in the morning, he still looks tense around the edges. Like part of him is waiting to be pulled back into game film and reading all the criticisms and expectations written about him the second this moment ends.
Your hand slides gently along the side of his neck, gliding to rest along his shoulder.
“Talk to me then,” you murmur. Joe’s eyes flick back to yours.
“What’s actually bothering you.”
He’s quiet for a moment after that. Not guarded exactly. Just thinking.
“I hate disappointing people.”
The honesty of it hits harder than you expect. Joe lets out a small laugh like he knows how dramatic that sounds. “Which is stupid because logically I know nobody wins every game and one person can’t win every game for the team.” He shrugs slightly. “But after every loss it feels like I should’ve done more somehow.”
“Mhm.” His thumb traces against your thigh absentmindedly while he talks. “I replay everything after games,” he admits quietly. “Every throw. Every read. Stuff I should’ve seen.” Another pause. “Sometimes I can’t turn my brain off for hours.”
Your chest aches a little listening to him say it out loud.
Because everybody sees the confidence first with him. The swagger. The calm exterior in press conferences.
Nobody really talks about what it must feel like carrying that level of expectation every single week.
“You know what I think?” you say softly.
“I think you care so much that you don’t know where football ends and you begin sometimes.”
That makes him go completely still. For a second neither of you says anything. Then Joe looks down with a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving.
“That was annoyingly accurate.”
You giggle softly. “I know.”
His gaze lifts back to yours slowly and there’s something vulnerable in it now that wasn't there earlier.
“Everybody always talks about pressure like it's motivating.”
You stay quiet, listening.
“But sometimes it’s just…” He searches for the word. “Heavy.”
Your expression softens instantly. “You carry an entire franchise on your back for a living,” you say. “I think you’re allowed to feel weird about it sometimes.”
You shift slightly in his lap, and Joe’s hands instinctively settle more firmly on your thighs to steady you. You cup his face in your hands, rubbing your thumbs over his cheek bones. “I can’t even begin to understand the pressure you must feel everyday but what I do know is that you aren’t defined by how the team performs every game. What I see out there is someone who works so hard to be perfect for everyone else and continues to outperform himself, giving his all for his teammates every time. Joe, you are so insanely talented and sometimes I wish you could see through my eyes how much you shine out there and how amazing you are as a person, especially to me.”
The air between you changes then. Your heartbeat skips a little faster when his hands still their gentle brush across your thighs.
A smile breaks across Joe’s face - small, tired, but genuine. It changes his whole face.
“There he is,” you murmur.
“You. Not quarterback Joe. Just…” You shrug slightly. “You.”
Something in his expression softens immediately.
“Thank you I needed that” he mutters, rubbing his hand up and down your waist. You lean down and kiss him first this time. Joe exhales softly against your mouth, the kiss lingering in a lazy, warm way, the kind that stops feeling like tension and starts feeling dangerously close to comfort.
You pull back and lean your forehead against his.
“You’re staring again,” you whisper.
Joe’s mouth twitches faintly. “Can you blame me? You’re incredible” The way he says it - low and rough - sends warmth straight through you. You laugh softly, and for a second he just watches you.
Just Joe, looking at you like he can’t decide whether you’re relaxing him or ruining his life a little.
“You okay there, Burrow?” You smirk.
“Just wondering how you do that, change my whole mood when you’re around” he shares.
Something about hearing that from him - hearing how much weight he gives your presence - makes your chest tighten a little.
You grin. “Well what are you going to to do now in this good mood”
“I have a couple ideas.” Joe starts planting a trail of soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder, sliding off the strap of your shirt in the process. “Needed you tonight…” punctuating himself with a kiss that runs through every fiber of your body. His hand slips across your back and rides up your shirt. Getting the hint, you lift your hands up as Joe lifts your shirt over your head. His head moves to kiss down your chest, littering kisses along the edge of your bra until you're squirming on top of him.
Joe makes quick work of unhooking your bra, leaving you exposed before him. You can’t help but moan as Joe grasps your breast in his hand, releasing to then roll his thumb over your nipple. You tilt your head back as your hips immediately react to the contact, shifting forward on his lap looking for friction. “Mmm Joe.”
Alternating, Joe repeats the motion on the other side whilst diving his head down to lick your nipple, feeling it harder under his tongue. As he sucks it into his mouth, his other hand traces down your stomach, slipping past your shorts and into your panties. Joe's hand moves between your legs, stroking a finger into your heat, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body as you instinctively rock harder into him as you move with the motion of his finger.
“Joe…. please” you urge as his movements become faster, the need for more friction becoming even more intense as you use his finger.
“Please what baby?” Joe murmurs, smirking at you as you move against him. It’s not uncommon during sex for you and Joe to cross the boundaries of casual but you never talk about it after.
“Please… more Joe” you breathe out, grabbing onto his shoulders to anchor your movement and give you leverage to move quicker.
Joe adds another finger and rubs his thumb softly on your clit, causing you to jerk forward, leaning your head against his shoulder. Joe moves to kiss down the side of your neck, his thumb moving faster over your clit, building the feeling rising through your stomach.
“You like that,” he murmurs in your ear, placing his other hand on your hip to help move you.
Your brain shortcircuits then. Finding it difficult to wrap your head around how this man can think of himself as any less than amazing considering what he’s doing to you right now.
You turn to look at him and find he’s already watching you. The intensity of the moment strikes you hard, catching you off guard and causing a moan to escape your lips.
You push on his shoulders to stop him and he tilts his head up at you, confused as to what possibly could be wrong
“What is it, are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your face in his hands.
You try to regulate your breathing while smiling down at him. Running a hand through his hair to ground yourself.
“Yes sorry I just…” you move off the couch and sink to your knees in front of him, pushing his legs apart to squeeze yourself in close to him. You run your hand up his thigh until it reaches the outline of his sweatpants, playing with the hem.
“It’s just I want this night to be about you.” He lifts his lower body off the couch so you can slide his sweatpants down. You cup his groin over his boxers, reaching up to kiss him as he groans in your mouth at the contact before sliding back down and removing his boxers.
“You work so hard all the time, let me work for you.” You lick him from the base to tip, sucking him in your mouth for a brief moment before releasing and gripping your hand at his base.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he groans out, wrapping a hand inside your hair.
“Good.” you run your hand along the length of his shaft before taking the tip in your mouth, teasing him with shallow motions before taking him deeper. You knew exactly what to do to make him go wild; the pace, the movement, everything. From all the times you’ve hooked up before, you’ve got his tells down to a science, knowing exactly the ways to stimulate him. Bobbing your head on his cock, you move a hand to his upper thigh to stabilize yourself then look up, locking eyes with him and taking him deeper. His breathing grows as he throws his head back. “Fuck Y/N, just like that” Joe grunts tightening his grip in your hair to instruct your movements.
Getting lost in the pleasure his eyes close, enraptured by the tightness and warmth surrounding him. The sounds of your wet mouth moving up and down his cock are obscene, intensifying his pleasure to a point where he knows he won’t be able to last longer without cumming in your mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” Joe groans, his voice raspy and full of ecstasy. The problem is Joe wants to cum tonight only if it's inside you.
So despite the fire raging through his body, Joe takes your head and lifts it off of him. “Hold on, come here,” Joe grunts. He lifts your shoulders to stand and makes quick work of removing your shorts and panties, leaving you bare before him. With a surge of desire, he grabs onto your hips and directs you onto his lap. You comply, gripping his dick and pumping him once before dropping down on him. You gasp, leaning your body forward and biting into Joe’s shoulder upon the quick intrusion.
“Jesus fucking christ Y/N” Joe groans, holding you still to give both of you time to adjust to the change.
You take a deep breath. “Okay, okay I’m good” you urge and start slowly rolling your hips on his lap. You easily fall into a rhythm, Joe’s hand on your hip guiding your efforts while you brace your hands behind you for leverage. Joe sucks a nipple into his mouth, making your eyes close tightly and a moan emerge from you.
“Joe” you whimper, moving faster now and more erratically on him. Joe pulls you up to him and wraps you into a searing kiss, tongues melting into one another. “You’re so fucking pretty” he states, shaking his head in disbelief as his hips pound into you, each stroke making up for what you lack in depth, hitting the spot that makes you whimper every time.
You're a little bit tired now, lost in the rising pleasure and holding onto his shoulders for support while he pumps into you. Joe groans, smacking your ass and holding you by your hips. “Come on baby, you’re being such a good girl,” he urges.
You can feel yourself climbing closer, the pressure building inside of you. Your movements are completely erratic now, only loosely guided by Joe's hands on your hips. You and Joe’s moans and quick breathes get lost between each other, pressing closer together. You can feel Joe’s muscles tensing as he slams into you, a telltale sign he’s close. Your moans grow louder as your body writhes on his lap, searching for your climax.
You lean forward, grazing your teeth against his earlobe and licking over the spot. He groans, leaning his head back against the couch. “I’m gonna come,” he breathes, lunging forward to kiss you while moving his hand down to circle your clit.
The added sensations make your breath halt as you feel the first waves of your orgasm approaching. “Joe, fuck, Joe” you moan, your voice trembling.
“Come for me baby,” he urges. His breath quickens and you watch his veins bulge throughout his exposed neck, feeling his body tense although he tries to fight it.
Your hips buck wildly now, feeling warmth spread throughout your core. Your orgasm hits you hard, your body convulsing on top of his as you moan his name. As your pussy tightens around him, Joe groans, giving into the pressure building inside of him and releasing inside of you.
You hold each other tight coming down from your highs, both trying to regulate your breathing from the exertion. You rub up and down Joe's arm, trying to gain back the sense of reality you just lost right then, and hopefully also connecting Joe back to Earth.
It’s always this good with Joe. You can’t deny that the sex is better with him every time than any other man you’ve been with even though you don’t want to acknowledge this fact. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, smiling to yourself.
Joe kisses you on the cheek. “And to think I was in a bad mood”
You giggle on top of him, kissing his nose. “Well I’m glad I could help cheer you up.”
Joe’s gaze drags over your face for a second like he’s thinking about something deeper than he plans on saying out loud.
Then the corner of his mouth lifts.
“You always do, don’t you,” he says quietly, smiling softly and cupping your face with his hand. locking eyes with you.
Because he says it so naturally. Like it’s already become a fact in his life.
Joe pulls you closer against him, eyes drifting shut, exhaustion clearly catching up to him. His arm drapes lazily across your waist while his fingers trace absentminded patterns against your skin.
You stay alert. Listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.
The rain outside has softened to a faint drizzle now as a comfortable silence ensues. In that moment, with Joe holding you like you're something worth keeping, it becomes impossible to pretend this still feels casual.
Somewhere between all of the moments you’ve spent together and his quiet admission that you’re the only thing capable of slowing his mind down, you’ve developed feelings for him.
And maybe the worst part is knowing you can never say them out loud. Because this - whatever this is - being balanced on such a fragile line, is worth holding on to. One confession too honest, and it could all disappear.
So instead, you curl closer to him and keep the truth tucked safely within you.
Even if your heart is already starting to belong to him anyway.
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