MISSING YOU* -> a late night FaceTime call gets spicy
ALL'S FAIR* (Part 1), LOVE & WAR* (Part 2) -> a no strings attached arrangement turns complicated BABY TRAINING CAMP -> Joe has some anxiety about becoming a dad, you help him work through it in an unconventional way COCOA & KISSES -> you and Joe get some much needed quality time after a stressful few months PUT A RING ON IT* -> you surprise Joe with a gift and he shows you just how much he likes it. MY GIRL (Part 1), STILL* (Part 2) -> the breakup wasn’t messy, but the aftermath is GOTCHA -> a lazy day in with Joe that’s equal parts cozy and playful TEARS* -> Joe treats you like he's supposed to do, you know the rest BABY, I’M DRUNK -> Joe has a little bit too much fun for a change
There was one play that I saw during OTAs where the Bengals had a false start, and Joe Burrow took the football and fired it into the ground as hard as he could. I've never seen him do that at a practice before... I do think it's an example of what Joe talked about when he talked about being meaner or more stern with his teammates. I think it's the next evolution in his leadership.
pairings: joe burrow x reader 🩷
wc: 1.7k
an: thank you to the anon for requesting this based on this conversation 🥹 for @honeydippedfiction #sinfulsundays
this is just smut… with no plot, which honestly i don't do a lot, so i'm a little nervous about this one. be gentle w me loves 🩷
masterlist here if you want more 💋
The bedroom is quiet when you come in.
He’s on the bed with his back against the headboard — sweatpants, no shirt, hair still damp from the shower. His phone is face-down on the nightstand. He looks up when he sees you and smiles. The private one.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
“I was brushing my teeth.”
“Mhm.”
You climb up onto the bed on your knees. He watches you the whole way. His eyes go over the sleep shorts, the thin t-shirt, back to your face — and by the time you’re crawling toward him, he’s already reaching, one hand on your thigh, sliding higher, guiding you where he wants you.
You catch his wrist.
“No.”
His eyebrow goes up.
You put a hand flat on his chest and push. He lets you. Goes back against the pillows without a word, arms falling wide on either side of him, and looks up at you.
“Okay, baby,” he says. Low. “Show me what you want.”
You climb over him. One knee, then the other. Sit up on his hips with your hands on his stomach.
His hands come to your thighs.
—
His hands stay on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow lines up and down as you lean down to kiss him. He meets you halfway, mouth warm and sure, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck like he can’t help it. The kiss starts easy, almost lazy, but it doesn’t stay that way. It never does with him.
You shift your hips, grinding down against the growing bulge in his sweatpants, and he makes a low sound into your mouth. His grip on your thigh tightens. When you pull back just enough to look at him, his eyes are darker, that smug little tilt already pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Keep doing that,” he murmurs.
You do. Rolling your hips again, slower this time, dragging over him until his breath catches. His free hand moves up under your t-shirt, palm hot against your skin, pushing the fabric higher until he’s cupping your tit, thumb brushing over your nipple. He squeezes once, firm, watching your face the whole time.
“Take this off,” he says, tugging at the hem.
You sit up and pull the shirt over your head. The second it’s gone, his hands are back on you, both of them now, kneading, thumbs flicking, mouth following a second later. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, tongue lazy and wet, while his other hand slides down to grip your ass, spreading you a little as he pulls you tighter against his cock.
You can already feel how hard he is. How much he’s letting you set the pace even while his hands tell you exactly how bad he wants it.
He switches sides, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, then soothes it with his tongue. When he pulls off, he looks up at you, lips shiny, voice low and rough.
“You gonna ride me tonight, baby? Or you just gonna tease me until I lose it?”
You get up on your knees to answer him. Work the sleep shorts off, one leg then the other, and his hand slides between your legs while you’re still balanced — two fingers pressing against you where you’re already wet.
“Already?”
“Shut up.”
He laughs, low, doesn’t stop touching.
You push his sweats down enough to get him out. He’s hard in your hand. You line him up, one hand braced on his stomach, and lower yourself — slow, because it’s a lot, because it’s always a lot.
His head goes back against the pillows.
“Oh — fuck, baby.”
His hands find your ass. Palming. Pulling you the last inch down until he’s all the way in.
“Take your time,” he says.
—
You try. But the stretch is deep, the angle pressing him right where you need it, and after a few slow rolls your rhythm starts to slip. Your thighs shake.
Joe’s hands lock onto your ass, fingers digging in as he holds you down flush against him, no room to lift, no room to recover. That smug little smirk curves his mouth while he watches you struggle.
“Oh, but I thought you could take this dick, baby.”
He grinds up into you, slow and deliberate, keeping you pinned. You whine his name, broken and needy, and he lets out that low laugh, clearly enjoying the way you’re falling apart on top of him.
“Already whining?” he murmurs, voice dark with satisfaction. “Thought you wanted to ride me. Now you can’t even handle sittin' pretty on it?”
His thumb strokes over your ass, almost soothing, the contrast making it worse. Then his tone shifts, still low but warmer. “Look at you though… doing so fucking good for me. Taking every inch like that. Such a good girl when you try.”
Then he moves underneath you. Lets his hands slide back to your ass, thumbs digging into the meat of it, and lifts you an inch off him before letting you drop.
“Go on then.” His voice is low. “You wanted to ride me. Ride me.”
You brace against his chest and start again. Slow at first — you can’t help it, your thighs are already shaking — and he watches you with his hands on your ass, letting you find it.
You get it back. Rolling your hips forward, lifting up, dropping down. The angle is deep and every time you sink he makes a low sound in his chest.
“Yeah, baby. There you go.”
One of his hands comes off your ass and slides up your body, cupping your tit, thumb dragging over your nipple. He watches his own hand while he does it. His mouth is parted.
“Look at these fucking tits.”
He squeezes. You whine.
“Bouncing for me every time you drop down. Fuck. That’s what I’ve been thinking about all day.”
His other hand stays on your ass, and he uses it to pull you tighter as you grind down — meeting your rhythm now, letting his hips roll up into yours.
“That’s it.”
His grip flexes.
“Look at you. Working so hard for it.”
The praise almost undoes you. You whimper his name, and he catches it, thumb dragging harder over your nipple.
“Yeah? You like that? You like when I tell you how good you’re being?”
You nod.
“Say it.”
“I like it,” you breathe.
Joe’s smirk deepens, but his eyes stay soft on your face. “Yeah, you do.” He gives your tit one last firm squeeze before both hands drop back to your ass, spreading you as he starts guiding your movements. “Then show me. Fuck yourself on it like you mean it.”
You do. You pick up the pace, rising and dropping harder, chasing the drag of him inside you. The wet sound of skin meeting skin fills the room along with your ragged breathing. His grip gets tighter, almost bruising, helping you slam down every time you start to slow.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “Greedy little thing. Can’t get enough, can you?”
You shake your head, whimpering, and he laughs again — low and rough.
“No, you can’t. Look at you bouncing on my dick like you were made for it.” His voice drops even lower. “Such a pretty fuckin' mess for me.”
Your legs start to burn, but you don’t stop. The praise and the filth keep hitting you in waves, pushing you closer. Joe’s hips start snapping up to meet you, fucking into you from below, and one of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit.
“Come on, baby,” he says, voice strained now. “Want to feel you come all over me. Give it to me.”
The combination of his thumb and the deep, relentless drag of his cock finally sends you over. You cry out, clenching hard around him as the orgasm hits hard. Joe keeps moving through it, fucking you through every pulse, low curses falling from his mouth until his own rhythm stutters.
“Fuck — baby —”
He pulls you down tight, holding you there as he comes, hips jerking up into you one last time.
—
You collapse against his chest, breathing hard, and Joe’s arms come around you immediately. One hand smooths up and down your back in slow, steady passes while the other cups the back of your head, holding you close. His heart is still pounding under your cheek.
“Easy,” he murmurs, voice soft now. “I got you.”
He stays inside you for a long moment, just letting you both come down, pressing lazy kisses to your temple and the top of your head. When your breathing finally evens out, he carefully lifts you off him, laying you on your side before pulling you right back into his chest.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw so you’ll look at him.
You nod, still a little floaty. He studies your face for a second like he’s making sure, then leans in and kisses you — slow and gentle, nothing like the way he was talking to you a few minutes ago.
“Did so good for me, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “So fucking good.”
He reaches over for the water on the nightstand and hands it to you first, then takes a sip himself. After that, he pulls the blanket up over both of you and tucks you tighter against him, one leg thrown over yours, his hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades.
You press your face into his neck, breathing him in. He smells like soap, sweat, and home.
“Love you,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. His arms squeeze you once, like he needs you to feel it more than hear it.
You stay like that — tangled up, his chest warm under your cheek, his hand never stopping its gentle path up and down your back — until your eyes start to get heavy.
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