⤷ ゛about me! ˎˊ˗
noor ⋆ she/her ⋆ 9teen ⋆ joe burrow
⟢ joe burrow masterlist ⟣ · ⟢ #fic recs ⟣ · ⟢ colston loveland masterlist ⟣ · ⟢ to be written ⟢
recent works ˎˊ˗
· still mine, still yours (joe burrow)
· sex on the beach (joe burrow)
all posted works are mine. i spend a lot of time writing, editing, and perfecting them, so if you don’t like something, please keep unwanted opinions to yourself. my inbox is always open, but i do not tolerate hate or bullying in any way. please think twice before sending an ask—you never know what someone is going through. at the end of the day, this is just an app. we don’t know each other personally or what’s going on in anyone’s day-to-day life. i’m using this space as a little escape, making friends while at it, so please don’t say dumb shit , be weird, or you will be blocked <3
i just want to say life is so precious. live your life to the fullest because you never know when it can be taken from you. tell your family and friends you love them everyday.
Summary: Six months after your day in Greece, you and Joe spend a week together in Samui and get to explore the island and see if there’s something real between you.
Word count: 6.9K
Part I
“How many cities has it been this month? And how many total?” Joe asks, adjusting his AirPods.
“Five, Joe. And it’s only been one city a month. I’m not on some—”
“Biotech US tour?” He finishes for you. “Because from where I’m sitting, that’s exactly what you’re on.”
You laugh, leaning into the camera so you can put on your earrings, not even registering that he’s taking up most of the camera space. Maybe you should’ve just done this in the mirror, even though you’d been on FaceTime enough times with him the last few weeks he probably wouldn’t mind sitting on the phone while you brushed your teeth.
“I will be home in two days…” you tell him with a sigh, “…just to do this all over again and get on another plane. Have you packed yet?”
He groans, “Fuck no. I might just throw some stuff in my suitcase and call it a day.”
Looking at yourself in the mirror one more time, you lift your phone and look him in the eyes. “You cannot show up to Thailand wearing bullshit. So pack carefully, fill up that suitcase. And lift with your legs, not your back, when you put it in the car. Pro tip, and I gave it to you for free. Most have to pay for my services.”
“You think you’re so funny,” he deadpans. “I’m hanging up. You have to go anyway. Enjoy your last stop.”
All of this started back in January after you responded to his DM. Honestly, you don’t even remember the exact words you said; all that really mattered was the conversation didn’t die down after that. It was every single day, random tidbits about your day, his gym adventures in LA, and his plans to stay there throughout the offseason. He was networking with celebrities, attending parties, then there was Super Bowl week.
In San Francisco, maybe 25 minutes from your house.
Life didn’t really make way for a romantic, post-vacation reunion like it does in the movies.
You came home from Greece and went back to work full-time. When Joe was in LA, you were at the office prepping for natural science conferences, awaiting private announcements of scientific advances that start-ups were wanting to showcase and get investors like your company to buy in to advance the field and drive innovation. When the Super Bowl came to town, you were in Boston for the RESI conference, Redefining Every Stage of Investment. Its focus this year was on early-stage life sciences, things like gene therapy and plant-based proteins. Joe called it “green thumb material” and swore your job was pretty cool.
One night, you spent five hours on the phone with him, recapping the day while he gave a thorough, very detailed, physiology-filled explanation of his latest Pilates workout. This accidental quality time made you feel less bad for missing out on what would’ve been a fun week spent with him.
“Something’s different with you. Your voice sounds different,” you told him over the phone a few weeks ago, a little after the draft.
He laughed a little. “I’m happy to be back at the facility, getting to meet the new guys.”
“And…Sexy Dexy?”
“Definitely helps things,” he admitted. “I don’t know. Things feel a lot different this year already. Body feels good. But there’s a new energy and I think—I think we have a real shot.”
There was genuine joy in him, actual excitement. You listened to him talk about workouts that were coming up and how the next few weeks would be busy for you both, but things would slow down in June.
“Football is great, but I’m thinking I need one more trip before training camp. Somewhere warm, probably, adding a stamp to my passport. It’s pretty empty.”
“Joe, what are you implying?”
“Our schedules haven’t worked out. Now they do. We should go somewhere.”
“You wanna go on another vacation, and you want me to come?”
“I want us to plan a trip together. Been long enough,” he clarifies with a shrug, like this isn’t a big deal.
Maybe it wasn’t to him. Maybe planning vacations was a thing he’d done before, but this was definitely a first for you. And yet, after four months of consistently trying to convince yourself that this was a one-day fluke meeting that meant nothing, that he’d get bored and move on, yet here he was going out of his way to see you again outside the country because it clearly wasn’t working when you’d been residing in the same state for the past few months.
Between SynBioBeta and AACR in San Diego and Chicago in April and May respectively, you planned a trip to Thailand like a lunatic.
And you couldn’t wait to go.
There were several outfits laid out on the bed. Swimsuits on one side, cover-ups, nighttime clothes, a few oversized shirts and sleep shorts, and other random walking-around-the-villa-with-no-set-plans outfits. You tossed in some cute island casual wear, cute sets that would work for dinners, and some stuff that would be perfect for sightseeing. And you may or may not have packed the Alo hat and the matching set he sent you a month ago.
Again, in the back of your mind, you told yourself that it was insane that he sent you a package from his biggest sponsor. It felt weirdly intimate, but you could not let yourself dwell on the little things. Not the fact that he booked a private villa and offered to pay for your flight. You declined the second part after a lengthy discussion but compromised on the villa. It felt weird letting him pay for things for you, especially on top of spending an entire week with him in a foreign country.
You literally hadn’t breathed the same air as this man since the offseason started, half a year ago. And when you were with him, that was one day—not even a full 24 hours either. Was it gonna be weird to go to sleep next to him? To wake up next to him? What if you two realized that you’d been hanging onto this really good day and that you actually weren’t compatible outside of a phone call?
Great thing you had a 20-hour flight to think about the million questions running through your mind.
The driver waiting to take you to the resort was kind, his smile bright, your name etched neatly on the crisp white piece of paper he held for all to see. He helped you with your bag as you settled into the back seat. Everything outside looked like the epitome of a perfect postcard. The trees, the sky, the water you could see from the street—the island’s landscape was one of the Earth’s most incredible creations as far as you were concerned. There was no way this was a real place.
Joe’s text had come through as soon as you stepped off the plane, letting you know that he was waiting in the villa for you. When you got to the resort, the staff was impeccable, offering water and what seemed to be freshly squeezed juice. The offer was appreciated, but your skin was literally buzzing with excitement at getting in the room and seeing him, so you declined. One of the staff members took you to your villa via buggy, giving you a quick tour as he drove by the different activities available right where you were staying.
He gave you a business card with a phone number on it and said that your stay included unlimited service. There was a QR code you could scan for a full menu, delivered right to your door for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Midnight snacking options and a full bar, right at your fingertips. You thanked him, and he smiled and said he hoped you’d enjoy your stay.
You took a deep breath and used your key to unlock the door and wheeled your suitcase inside.
This villa was by far the nicest place you’d stayed in. Not only was the constant service at your fingertips cool, but the view was unbelievable. You felt like you’d stepped into a season of White Lotus.
That thought—and any other—evaporated into thin air when you saw him.
He was barefoot, already comfortable in his home for the week in the most simple outfit: a plain white tee and black shorts that stopped above the knee. But you stared at him anyway. Like you couldn’t believe he was actually here, waiting for you. Some deep, dark, sinister part of you thought this whole thing was still an elaborate joke, that you’d pinch yourself and wake up from this fantasy you’d conjured up in your head.
But here he was, walking toward you, and you expected a hug. Not really knowing why, but him wrapping his arms around you wasn’t a surprise.
“Hi.”
He was warm and smelled great. The cologne was probably expensive, but you stopped thinking about that long enough to say hi back. Your hand tapped his chest, right at his collarbone, and you tore your eyes away from his collar and looked up at him.
Joe didn’t waste much time after that.
Once you locked eyes, everything shifted.
His lips were on yours in a hurry, lightly tugging at your bottom lip. It was a surprise, but a good one, and you parted your lips as the kiss grew in intensity. You felt his hands roaming down to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze like he needed something to ground himself, almost as if he thought this was all in his head too.
Before you realized what you were doing, you had a fistful of his shirt, kissing him back with just as much urgency, more than making up for that almost kiss in Greece.
The kiss was more than a test in chemistry.
It was for that night he laid in bed after you left him in the street, thinking about how he should’ve asked for your number. Or on the plane when he felt like an idiot for taking an earlier flight. For the random times he’d thought about you since then. And the way he tried not to look toward the door every five minutes ever since he got to the villa.
It took every sliver of self-control he had left to come up for air.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for six months,” spilled out of his mouth before he could talk himself out of saying it.
“So have I,” you admitted with a breathless laugh, tugging him by his shirt and kissing him again.
He reciprocated, his composure slipping a little as he heard you sigh into the embrace. He had a speech planned, but he couldn’t remember a single thing he was going to say, not with you kissing him like that.
You rested your forehead on his sternum and took a deep breath before making eye contact.
Both of you just laughed.
“Glad you made it,” he said with a smirk. “Do you want a tour?”
Joe watched you nod, and you noticed him looking at your lips again, but you stepped away from him to grab your stuff that you’d forgotten about when you saw him.
Your shared place was still part of a larger resort. But there was complete privacy here. It almost felt secluded, like its own private island. This entire area—the pool, the terrace with outdoor seating, a TV in the bathroom, outside and in the main bedroom, two massive glass showers, and a floating stone double sink—all this open space was just for the two of you.
If you were to look up paradise in the dictionary, this would be pretty damn close.
“How’d you even find this place?”
Joe sighed, lips curled into a soft smile.
“I asked around. Knew some people that had been to Thailand before, and it was pretty easy from there. Pretty cool spot,” he said, looking out at the water.
“Pretty cool? Yeah, I’d say that’s the understatement of the century.”
A dry laugh escaped you in disbelief.
“I didn’t really notice how much I needed a break from…” You gestured aimlessly, unsure of how exactly to describe how exhausting being an adult with responsibilities and bills could be. “Needed a break from everything. And the company isn’t so bad, I guess.”
“You guess?”
He folded his arms over his chest, standing up straight. You knew he was trying to look intimidating, but his face gave him away. Every ounce of him was wordlessly screaming that he was thinking about kissing you again.
And Joe knew that you knew exactly what he was thinking, so he cleared his throat, adjusting his stance.
“You’ve been on a plane all day,” he said, changing the subject. “If you wanna get some rest before we explore, I don’t mind.”
“I’m not tired,” you told him quickly.
Truthfully, your entire body was still buzzing from seeing him and kissing him, and all the jet lag had practically jumped out the window.
“We should go see the sights.”
He turned and walked back to the living room and grabbed his shoes and his phone, texting someone.
“Car will be here in five. You sure you’re good?”
“Honestly? Never better.”
“Joe, look, there’s a 7/11 here.”
His eyes were bright, walking through the night market like this was Disney World. His phone was out immediately, no doubt taking a picture and sending it to Ja’Marr.
“Should we go in?”
“I think we kinda have to,” you nudged him, heading towards the gas station, dragging him along. Not that he seemed to have an issue with that.
This market had practically everything you could ever need—clothes, a British baked potato bar—but you guys were more interested in the street food. Joe was a little more apprehensive, understandably, with the whole athlete diet thing—but he honestly was less picky than you thought he would be. Probably because you started off with an easy, familiar option.
“These are the best dumplings I’ve ever had in my life,” he said between bites.
“Should we try the pad thai or the pad kee mao next?”
Joe continued staring intently at the menu.
“Let’s split both. And we can get the Chinese BBQ chicken skewers too, those look great.”
“They do.” You leaned over, seeing someone walk by with a full stack of them on a heavy-duty paper food tray. The food smelled so incredible it was almost hypnotizing. “And…mango sticky rice for dessert?”
“And mango sticky rice for dessert,” he affirmed with a slight chuckle.
Four plates sat between you as you dug in, sampling your finds without a care in the world.
“Do you remember our first phone call?” you asked, picking up a skewer. “I was so nervous, and then it felt almost weird seeing you again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’d seen pictures of you leaving Oscar after-parties, and in the morning I’m seeing you eating egg whites in your Airbnb like life is completely normal.”
Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t. I remember thinking, ‘Oh, we just do not live the same life.’ And then you went to the MET.”
He reached for another spoonful of dessert before answering.
“And now we’re sharing mango sticky rice at a night market in Thailand.”
You looked around at the crowded tables, neon signs glowing in the background as other people were engaged in their own conversations.
“We flew across the world just to hang out with each other. It sounds a lot more insane now that I’m saying it out loud.”
Joe smiled, innocently wrapping his foot around yours under the table.
“A little crazy, but it feels like a full-circle moment. And I wanted to see you again.” He turned his spoon in the rice a little before he spoke. “Turns out FaceTiming someone every day makes you miss them.”
“I missed you too.”
A smile formed, blooming over your entire face, and you were glad he didn’t look up.
“And I wanted to see you. Phones are great, but nothing beats the real thing.”
The silence was comfortable afterward, a mutual sense of relief that the feelings you’d developed since the day you met weren’t exaggerated. And when the food was gone, you walked side by side to see what they were selling.
Your first stop was a sunglass shop. There were endless options, but you and Joe bought matching pairs of frameless yellow lenses, and Joe bought a waterproof camera at a souvenir stand to document the trip. There was a bag store, a customized claw clip booth that almost had you, but mostly you just enjoyed walking around shoulder to shoulder with him.
“Are you getting tired? We can head back.”
You shook your head no, even though you’d just yawned. Joe gave you a pointed look and walked ahead toward the buggies.
“You know we don’t have to do everything today, right? We’ve got time.”
You lagged behind a little, like him saying the word “tired” made you want to look at the back of your eyelids for the next 20 hours, at least.
“Okay, fine. I just need a shower and I’ll get my second wind.”
“Sure.”
“I promise I’m not tired,” you said for what was probably the fourth time that evening.
Joe looked up from unpacking the last few things from his suitcase.
“You’ve been awake for like thirty hours.”
“I’m fine.”
He studied you for another second before shaking his head. “Okay.”
You disappeared into the bathroom to shower and change, emerging in sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, feeling extremely grateful to get rid of that long plane ride.
“Movie?” you suggested, climbing into bed and grabbing the remote. “Kinda wanna do a Spider-Man rewatch before the new one comes out.”
Joe glanced over from where he was gathering his toiletries.
“Sounds good.”
By the time he finished showering and changed into a different T-shirt and shorts, you were scrolling through Disney+.
He stood in the bathroom doorway, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth while washing his face.
“Are we starting with Homecoming?” he asked, opening the floss container.
No response.
Joe looked up.
You were curled up against the pillows, remote still loosely clutched in your hand, completely asleep.
He couldn’t help but laugh quietly to himself because five minutes ago you’d been insisting you weren’t tired. He moved carefully, as quiet as he could, taking the remote from your hand and switching the television off before climbing into bed next to you.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you shifted over as he pulled the blanket over your sleeping form. Joe shut the light off and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how this was so much better than anything he envisioned over the last six months.
But it wasn’t this super nice villa or any one part of the vacation he’d been looking forward to.
It was this.
The little things. You sleeping next to him after trying to convince him you’d make it through an entire movie.
“Liar,” he murmured affectionately into the dark.
“Mmhm,” you mumbled sleepily, not even opening your eyes.
Joe smiled and said, “Goodnight,” knowing he wasn’t getting a response.
He stayed on his back, arm behind his head, until he fell asleep.
He only teased you about the movie twice, which was fine.
You slept in, took your time in the morning lounging around, ordered breakfast, and got in the pool for a bit while actually watching Spider-Man: Homecoming. Your activity for the day didn’t start until late afternoon, so you got to nap.
And kiss him a few more times.
The ride to the elephant sanctuary didn’t take long, and the introductory presentation about the elephants, their behavior, and other fun facts was educational and brief. You’d obviously grown up watching America’s Next Top Model, dreamed of coming here and riding an elephant, but after learning how dangerous it is for them and how they’re exploited, you started looking into elephant sanctuaries.
Joe wasn’t a zoo guy. He hated seeing animals in captivity, so this was an easy yes for him as well. Seeing animals in their natural habitats, getting to interact with them and observe them, would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience that he was really looking forward to.
“We do have two new babies that’ll be excited for visitors,” your guide explained, walking you inside to get ready for your first activity. “They’ll be ready to eat in 45 minutes, so we’re going to cut this fresh fruit for them. They’ve been very into the watermelon lately. It’s very sweet this time of year, so we only give it to them once a week to avoid overwhelming them with sugar. Here’s everything you will need. You can fill up your rolling basket, and when you are finished, we can go out and see them.”
“There’s fruit and look.” You picked up the laminated instruction sheet. “You can make little rice balls for them.”
“Do you want to cut the fruit up first and then do the rice? Or we could split it? I can—”
You held up a finger.
“I think I should do the fruit. And before you say anything, yes, I know you know how to use a knife. You’re 29, not 4. But…the last thing I want on my conscience is you hurting your $40 million hand fighting with a watermelon.”
Joe made a face that almost looked like a wince.
“It’s $55 million actually.”
“Oh, even better. Yeah, you’re gonna make some life-changing rice balls today.”
You laughed, and he joined in, knowing you had a point.
Starting with the large fruit first, you cut large chunks of watermelon and placed them in your basket as Joe held the sticky rice in his hands with a level of concentration that you were sure he used at work.
And it made you feel warm inside that he considered wrapping these rice balls in banana leaves just as important as anything else. He really cared about doing everything right and making an effort, which made him even more attractive, and you placed your focus back on your portion of the task.
There was comfort in the quiet. Just you and him in the room doing your own things, not needing to fill it with small talk and meaningless noise. Just the sound of him wrapping his rice balls and you tossing fruit into your basket until both baskets were filled to the brim.
Your guide walked back in to check on you and walk you out to the open space where the elephants roamed free.
One by one, they slowly walked over to be fed. Your guide, Dara, carefully demonstrated the proper feeding method and allowed you and Joe to take over.
“What are their names?” Joe asked, running his hand gently down one of the elephant’s trunk.
Three of them had chosen to stay with you while others grazed from other guests partaking in the experience.
“This is Ziggy. He’s about 40. Malee is around the same age, and we’ve been calling this little one Sprout because she loves bean sprouts.”
“Sprout?” You placed a hand on your chest. “That’s absolutely adorable.”
“Do you have any bean sprouts we can give her?” Joe asked. “If not, don’t worry about it.”
Dara nodded. “I do have some. Let me grab them for you.”
“Thank you,” you both told her at the same time.
You handed out your watermelon pieces and watched the adults go to town while Sprout stayed close to her mom, nibbling on scraps here and there, not wanting to step too far until Dara handed Joe a bowl of bean sprouts.
He took some and held out his palm, and Sprout lifted up her trunk, placed it in his hand, and took all of the bean sprouts before shoving them into her mouth.
You watched him alternate between the sprouts and the fruit, mesmerized by her appetite and how she kept getting closer and closer to him.
Ziggy playfully threw pieces of banana in the air and walked in a circle while Sprout blatantly followed Joe around.
“I see you’ve made a friend,” Dara noted.
Her mom was still close by, but Sprout let Joe caress her face and feed her a few rice balls.
You walked around to the shaded area as the elephants went for a swim, observing them existing peacefully, learning that Ziggy used to work at a circus and now lived in a place where none of the elephants were forced to perform or do any kind of labor.
After a few hours watching and interacting with them, you were led to a restaurant. After thoroughly washing your hands, you got to enjoy a nice, quiet meal to close out a day in the sun.
By the third day, you felt like you’d known him and been with him for years.
“Did you put on sunscreen?”
He scoffed. “No, I didn’t, mom. Don’t need it.”
“I’m not putting aloe on your back when your skin starts peeling,” you warned him.
“The goggles are a great look.”
Joe raised the camera as you held your thumb up and smiled for the picture.
You held out your hand after adjusting your headgear.
“I’m gonna swim out and take some pictures, see what I can find.”
Thankfully, the water wasn’t very deep before you came across the coral. All of the colors blended together so harmoniously the sea plants resembled flower bouquets, and an octopus wiggled through the rocks, hiding from you and your camera. You just hoped if you clicked enough times you’d capture at least some of the legs.
There was a conch shell too, empty. You picked it up and held the bright pink and orange interior facing out, with the tan shell wrapping the outside, capturing the crystal-blue sea in the background.
Joe came up behind you, arms wrapped around your shoulders, examining your find.
“That’s pretty awesome. Where’d you get that?”
“Right over there,” you nodded towards the little cove.
“I went over there. I didn’t see anything like that. How do you find all the cool stuff?”
You handed him the shell, and he turned it over a few times, feeling like the star of one of those National Geographic specials.
Holding up the camera, you told him to smile as he held up the shell that doubled as your trophy for the day before you swam out, putting it back where you’d found it.
At the end of your snorkeling date, you sat on the speedboat and looked through all the pictures you’d taken so far.
Yesterday’s art explosion when you visited several temples and fulfilled the history part of your vacation. The Red Temple, Wat Ratchathammaram, had a dress code and was worth wearing pants for. The Buddhist temple was a visual masterpiece, and getting to see the gold sculpture again through the eyes of your market camera was still breathtaking.
“These pictures are so high quality,” you told him, remembering Joe trying to capture as much as he could as he walked. It was hard trying to be present in the moment, to read what the symbols meant, but also document the artistry.
Then the lengthy gallery of food pictures. So many meals had been shared it wasn’t even funny. You were kind of thankful you’d been swimming all day, getting a workout, because the rolled ice cream last night was going to be something you’d think about for a while.
Joe’s hand rested casually on your leg as you looked through underwater photos, deleting blurry ones and stopping at the one he took of himself holding your hand as you swam ahead. You hadn’t even realized he was holding the camera then.
“I can’t believe both times we’ve hung out you’ve gotten me on a boat.”
“What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes.”
You placed the camera back in the bag as the boat reached its next destination.
Joe stepped off first and immediately turned and offered you his hand. You happily took it and let him help you step off the boat.
The sand was delicate and bright, this baby-powder texture and smoky white color, the brightest sand you’d ever seen. You knew it was blinding and you weren’t just being dramatic because Joe actually put on his sunglasses when he looked down.
And in the water, right next to you, marched four legs ready for a swim.
This was a regular occurrence for them. They hadn’t paid any attention to you or Joe or the watercraft that had just stopped in their way. They just went around on both sides.
“Are those…pigs?”
“Welcome to Koh Madsum,” the boat driver announced excitedly. “Pig Island.”
You laughed, watching them trot in the turquoise water, pink snouts glistening in the sunlight.
“They love it here.”
“A local rescued them a few years ago. They have roamed free on this land ever since.”
Joe knelt down to touch one that was super close.
“Cool. Not as cute as Sprout, but I guess they’re alright.”
“Please don’t tell me you got attached to the baby elephant at the sanctuary,” you said flatly.
Although the look on his face made his feelings pretty clear.
“We had something good going. I don’t think she wanted me to leave. These guys aren’t as personable. Sprout welcomed me with an open trunk.”
You stared at him for a second, trying not to make a big deal about how cute it was that he actually missed the elephant he’d spent one afternoon with.
“And mouth,” you noted. “We did have food.”
Pig Island also had little gift shops. You gave the pigs walking around in the sun a drink of water. They were precious.
Giving them the rest of your water was fine because on your walk you got to try Thai tea from the source, trying the Hop Apple Jasmine tea, and Joe had the Lemon Berry.
He took maybe two sips of his drink before saying, “Switch,” and handing you his cup.
You hadn’t held hands in public. He hadn’t placed his hand on your shoulder or outwardly shown any interest in PDA, which was fine because you felt like swapping drinks was intimate in a different way.
Slowly but surely, there had been a level of trust built this time around. No nervousness or awkward what-ifs. He’d literally tied your swimsuit for you that morning before you left and kissed you behind your ear afterward, so gently it tickled. Neither of you had said anything about it. He’d just smiled when you swatted at his arm and told him to hurry up before you missed the boat. Joe then explained he was trying to get both ears, to keep the balance. You let him kiss you again before telling him you really, really did have to get going.
Joe pulled you out of your thoughts. “What are you thinking about?”
“Huh?”
“You look like you’re pondering something big.”
Your shoulders shook with laughter. “Pondering?”
He nodded, proud of himself. “Thinking very carefully before making a decision,” he explained, even though you knew what the word meant. “We’re almost back at the villa. You thinking about a nap?”
“A nap does sound good. But I was more thinking about how I can’t believe we’re leaving soon. And thinking about how I don’t really want to.”
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “This was a great decision.”
“It was yours,” you glanced over at him with a sideways expression.
“Hm. Was it?”
You stepped off the boat and thanked your driver, walking to your door and heading straight to bed “This vacation, a nap. You’re just full of good ideas. I might have to keep you around,” you joked, resting on his chest.
His eyes were already closed, but the smile on his face let you know he heard every word and just wasn’t going to respond. You pressed your lips lightly against his jaw anyway.
The entire trip so far had been filled with excursions, unique activities catered to seeing as much of the island as possible. No amount of naps was going to physically and mentally prepare you for the flight home. So you guys went for the next best thing.
Traditional Thai massages are closer to yoga, focusing on blood circulation, flexibility, and relieving muscular tension through mobility work. You didn’t want to ask, but it was probably Joe’s favorite part of the week. Both of you were fully clothed, resting on the padded mats on the floor rather than typical massage tables as the licensed therapists used their elbows, hands, knees, and feet to assist in the stretch.
The therapeutic experience was meant to balance internal energy, enhance circulation, and support overall health. At least that’s what the brochure said. They allowed you to completely shut your brain off, allow positive activity to flow through you in this almost meditative state with your body and mind at rest even though you knew you weren’t sleeping.
“I feel like I took a two-hour nap,” Joe said as you walked towards the next room.
He’d booked out the spa for a few hours, and you both got to choose which activities you wanted in a total relaxation package. A mud bath was next. You’d never done one, and it seemed harmless enough.
“Seriously, I didn’t think that would feel like that. It was so peaceful.” He nodded, and you looked down at his clothes. “Did you get me this workout set so we could match?”
Joe snorted, taking in your all-black Alo two-piece, essentially the women’s version of what he was wearing.
“Maybe.” He turned away quicker than normal, hiding his glee.
There were two steps to the mud bath. One larger area where you could put the mud on yourself, kind of just an excuse to touch each other, which you weren’t opposed to. So you would stay in that area while the staff filled two tubs full of mineral-rich clay for you to soak in for 10–15 minutes.
“What’s the point of this?”
“Mostly skin detox, exfoliating dead skin. And the soak helps your joints and inflammation, I think. So there’s health benefits. I know that’s what you wanna hear.”
You told him after you’d both gotten in your swimsuits and covered your hair. Clay and mud didn’t exactly sound like something you wanted to dig out of your head tonight. Your answer seemed to satisfy him enough that he dug his hand in the bowl and scooped up some of the mud, using his fingers to put it on your shoulders and back.
Once he was done and you turned to face him, you did the same, lathering it onto his forehead.
“You need this stuff to nourish your skin since you refuse to wear sunscreen. You’re gonna look 80 when you’re 40.”
“My skin is fine.”
“Yeah, it’s blemish-free, but it will wrinkle earlier than it should if you don’t introduce it to some SPF.” He rolled his eyes and kept applying the mud on you, meticulously, like he didn’t want to miss a spot.
“You know you don’t have to do everything perfectly, right?”
“If I’m gonna do something, I wanna do it right. If not, then what’s the point of doing it at all?”
You paused, taking your hands off him. “Are you talking about the mud right now? Or us?”
Joe stood still, wanting to run his fingers through his hair out of habit, but one, it was covered, and two, there was excess mud dripping from his wrist.
“Can’t help it. I’ve been thinking critically about… a lot of stuff. And I want to do this right. I want this to make sense in real life, not just foreign countries and sporadic phone calls.”
“I get that. We are professional overthinkers. That’s what drew me to you in the first place, but—” One of the staff members came in to let you know your baths were ready, and you thanked her, heading into the room.
“We can figure out all that stuff later, we've done it before. I didn’t think I’d ever talk to you again after you left Greece but you made that happen. So I’d say you’re doing pretty well so far. Don’t let yourself get so lost in your head that you don’t get to live in the moment.”
Gesturing towards the clay-filled tubs, you sighed and told him, “We have a lot to talk about when we get home. We know that. But for now, let’s just sit in it…literally.”
He shook his head with a short chuckle and stepped into the warmth. “This feels kinda gross.”
“It does. Now sit and stop thinking so hard for ten minutes.” Your eyes were closed as you leaned back, and he followed suit, trying to get back to total relaxation like he had in the massage room.
He didn’t want to sit in his feelings, or the bath, for that matter, for too long, but he had no other choice.
When the timer rang and the staff ushered you to the showers, giving you privacy, he honestly did feel a lot lighter.
“Why don’t we just shower together?” Joe asked, back to himself. “To conserve water.”
“Right, of course.” You stepped into the shower, and he closed the door behind you, letting the spray wash off the mud and clay and everything else that you’d just been fully submerged in.
When you hugged him, most of the mud was already gone, pooling at your feet in some strange gray-brown mixture flowing down the drain, but he wrapped his arms around you anyway.
Your bodies were pressed against each other so closely that his heart was beating out of his chest, and he hoped you couldn’t feel it through his skin.
Getting on the tips of your toes, you reached as much as you could and kissed him. You hoped that there would never come a day that you’d forget what kissing him felt like, his low laugh that he tried to bury in the back of his throat but couldn’t help, the bliss that consumed him while your mouth was on his. The water disappeared. The spa, everything. It didn’t even occur to you that you were still standing there for a full minute, fully immersed in this, with this person you couldn’t get enough of.
He cupped your face and placed a kiss on your lips again before grabbing the soap and remembering what you two were actually in there for.
You’d almost forgotten how early in the day it was, somewhat surprised by the sunlight on the walk back to your villa where you changed and got back into the water because it was scorching outside.
Joe turned the next movie on after he got new swim trunks on and waited for your food before getting in.
“Do you need help?” you asked wide-eyed, seeing him come down the small steps carrying a huge tray.
“I got it.” He carefully stepped in and walked the tray to the edge of the pool, closer to the TV.
“Are we supposed to eat all of this?”
Joe handed you a fork.“Guess so. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Hungry for one meal, not…” you looked at the platter and counted all the items you saw, “…six.”
“This is definitely not enough for six meals.”
You shrugged. “Maybe not for you. But I don’t play professional sports and get pantsed on national television. I eat normal-people meals and do not take flag football too seriously.”
“Okay, that was essentially an Olympic tryout, so yeah, I wanted the call,” he defended. “The pants weren’t super high on the list of priorities.”
“Oh, they weren’t high, period. That was the problem.”
He laughed, telling you about the time in college when it was his bare ass instead of compression shorts, so this time was a lot less revealing. “The fact that this has happened to you twice?”
“I know. Believe me,” he stressed. “I know.”
You poured a little of the coffee into your glass and tasted some of the bread, one of three grain options sitting in front of you.
“Would you want to play in the Olympics?”
“Yeah. Getting a gold medal would be pretty sick. And it’d be in LA, the world’s biggest stage. Sounds like a lot of fun. I’ve been missing that with football the last few years, but getting to play in that and then camp with the team, it’s been the most fun I’ve had in a while. I’m excited to get started, to win something meaningful.”
“Sounds like the Bengals are gonna make some noise this year. In a good way.”
“I think we will,” he said confidently.
Not in an arrogant way, but in a hopeful way.
“And maybe you can come watch in person? Our next vacation could be a staycation. In Cincinnati.”
“Joe, do you think I like you enough to spend an extended amount of time in Cincinnati, Ohio? On purpose?”
He looked at you and was actually beaming, his perfectly white teeth were definitely worth the investment.
“It’s not that bad of a place.”
“I don’t care,” you admitted. “Because at this point, I like you enough I’d visit you anywhere. Unfortunately.”
“Good.” Joe paused, leaning in to kiss your cheek.
“Because going another six months without getting to do this again would really suck.”
free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 Two weeks after returning from your honeymoon, Joe realizes he's lost his wedding ring. Certain you'll be furious, he does everything he can to find it before you notice, only for his secret to spiral completely out of control.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 hubby!joe x wife!reader angst to fluff, descriptions of anxiety, joe being sweetheart, eventual resolution.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 5.3k
ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | first fic of my celly!! yayyy!!! next up is my mom of year fic that's been sitting in my drafts since march lol.
if you want to request a blurb, check out my celly for some prompts and emojis! send some in!! it's active until june 22, 2026! <3
Two weeks after your wedding, life had finally begun to settle into something recognizable again.
Not normal (nothing about marrying Joe Burrow and immediately disappearing to a private stretch of coastline in Italy for ten days had ever been normal) but...familiar. The whirlwind had slowed enough for both of you to catch your breath.
The wedding photos had been moved from your camera roll into framed photographs scattered throughout the house. Thank-you cards sat half-finished on the dining room table, bouquets from the ceremony that were carefully preserved rested beneath glass on a shelf in the living room. Everywhere you looked there were reminders that the last two months had happened exactly the way it had felt at the time: fast and overwhelming, but somehow still impossibly perfect.
The honeymoon had been its own little bubble. No schedules, or reporters, or football. Just sunburnt shoulders, late dinners that stretched past midnight, and the strange novelty of introducing each other as husband and wife. Even now, back in Cincinnati, the words still felt new whenever they crossed your mind.
Joe was your husband. and You as Mrs. Burrow.
Sometimes you'd catch Joe staring at his left hand absentmindedly, turning the gold band around his finger while watching football film. Other times he'd reach across the kitchen island and tap the ring against your own with a smile, as if he still couldn't believe it was real either.
You'd spent months picking them out together. Not because either of you cared about diamonds or price tags or matching aesthetics, but because the process itself had become important for a different reason. Every jewelry store appointment had forced two busy people to sit down and talk about the future in concrete terms.
Not contracts or football seasons or travel schedules. Marriage, home, children someday, the kinds of conversations that felt impossibly far away until suddenly...they weren't, they were finally around the corner.
The rings themselves had become symbols long before the wedding itself.
Joe's was simple. Solid gold, no engraving except the date hidden on the inside of the band. He'd insisted on something practical, something he could wear every day without thinking about it.
That was exactly why he noticed the second it was gone. The realization happened on an ordinary Tuesday morning.
Nothing dramatic, just Joe sitting in his car outside the practice facility, reaching for his coffee before heading inside.
His eyes dropped automatically toward the steering wheel.
Then froze.
The place where the ring should have been...was empty.
For a second he simply stared, then his hand turned over once. Then twice. His thumb rubbed against the bare skin where the band usually rested.
Nothing.
A strange cold sensation slid down his spine. Joe checked his right hand. Then his left again as though a wedding ring might somehow switch sides overnight.
Still nothing.
The coffee was forgotten entirely. He searched the cupholder first. Then the center console. Then every inch of the car.
The panic didn't arrive all at once. It crept in slowly, replacing confusion piece by piece until his chest felt tight. Because losing a wedding ring two weeks after getting married wasn't just losing a piece of jewelry.
It felt careless, irresponsible. Almost disrespectful.
The kind of mistake that shouldn't happen this early, the kind of mistake that definitely shouldn't happen to him. By the time he walked into the facility, he'd already begun mentally retracing the last twelve hours since he'd last seen it.
The gym, the house, the grocery store, the gas station, the shower, the kitchen, the bedroom.
Every place he'd been. Every place the ring could have slipped off. Every place it had to be.
Because there was no chance - absolutely no chance - he was going home that night and telling his brand-new wife that he'd somehow managed to lose the symbol of their marriage before they'd even finished opening wedding gifts.
No. He'd find it first. Then he'd tell you, and once he found it, the whole thing would become a funny story the two of you laughed about years later.
At least...that was the plan.
By the afternoon, Joe had become a problem. He'd grown strangely absent inside his own life, moving through the facility with a distracted intensity that made him seem as though he were constantly listening for something nobody else could hear.
During film review, his attention drifted every few minutes toward the floor beneath his chair. In the weight room, he paused between sets to inspect the rubber matting beneath the racks.
He lingered in hallways after conversations had ended, scanning corners and baseboards with narrowed eyes before finally forcing himself to move on.
The first few hours, nobody thought much of it.
Joe was crouched beside his locker for the third time that morning, one knee pressed against the carpet while he reached his arm into the narrow gap between the metal lockers and the wall. Dust coated his fingertips when he pulled them back - a forgotten wristband surfaced first and a protein bar wrapper, then nothing.
His jaw tightened. The ring had to be somewhere - objects didn't simply disappear. There had to be a moment he could identify - a place, a mistake.
The problem was that every time he convinced himself he'd found the answer, it dissolved into another dead end.
Maybe it had slipped off while changing after practice, or maybe it had fallen into his gym bag. Maybe he'd left it on the bathroom counter, or maybe he'd dropped it while unloading groceries last night.
Every possibility seemed plausible until he checked, until another took its place.
"What are you doing?"
The voice came from directly behind him.
Joe nearly slammed his head into the locker door.
When he looked up, he found one of the offensive linemen staring down at him with the expression people reserved for stray animals or malfunctioning electronics. Curious, but slightly concerned.
Joe straightened immediately. "Uh, nothing."
The response was automatic as the lineman looked at the pile of discarded items sitting on the floor.
"Looks like nothing."
Joe pushed the locker shut. "I'm looking for something."
The answer should have ended the conversation. Instead, it invited three more people over. Within moments, a small audience had gathered around him, drawn by the same instinct that made teammates stop and watch whenever someone looked even remotely embarrassed.
The attention only worsened his mood. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes.
"What'd you lose?"
Joe rubbed the back of his neck.
For a moment he considered lying, then he realized there was absolutely no version of this story that sounded less pathetic than the truth.
"My...ring."
Silence followed. Three faces blinked at him. Then somebody laughed, the kind of surprised laugh that escaped before a person could stop it.
"Your brand new wedding ring?"
A second laugh joined the first, then a third. Joe's expression darkened, the reaction only seemed to encourage them.
"You've been crawling around the building all day because of a ring?"
"It wasn't all day."
"Joe."
"...it wasn't."
The grin spreading across their faces made him feel about twelve years old.
One of them leaned against a locker. "Dude, just tell your wife."
Joe stared at him.
The suggestion felt so absurd he almost laughed himself.
Tell you?
Walk into the house and casually announce that he'd somehow managed to lose the physical symbol of your marriage less than three weeks after standing at the altar?
Absolutely not.
He looked away first. That alone answered the question.
The laughter erupted all over again. "My god, you're terrified!"
"I'm not terrified."
"You are terrified."
Joe folded his arms.
The fact that he was currently calculating whether he could leave practice early to search his car again did not help his case.
The teasing continued long after the conversation ended, following him through the facility in the form of passing comments and smirks. Normally he would've given it right back, or he would've rolled his eyes and moved on.
Instead, every joke seemed to sharpen the knot already sitting in his stomach. Because to everyone else, it was a ring - replaceable and insured, a minor inconvenience.
To Joe, it felt different.
Every time his eyes landed on the pale band of skin circling his finger, he remembered standing beneath strings of warm lights with your hands folded in his, remembered your voice shaking during your vows and the way you'd smiled at him afterward as though neither of you quite believed you'd finally made it there.
The ring wasn't valuable because of what it was, it was valuable because of what it represented, and somehow he had lost it.
The thought followed him everywhere.
It followed him into the training room, where he spent ten unnecessary minutes inspecting the space beneath treatment tables while trainers stepped around him in confusion.
It followed him into the parking lot, where he emptied his car for the second time that day. Floor mats came out first. Then gym shoes, then loose papers from the center console. By the end, half the contents of the vehicle sat arranged across the asphalt while he searched every crack and seam with growing desperation.
It even followed him to the cafeteria, where he retraced his steps from breakfast before checking a trash can he knew, logically, could not contain the ring.
Still he searched.
By evening, the panic had settled into something quieter and far more dangerous.
Certainty.
Not certainty that the ring was gone forever, no, certainty that he would find it.
He had to.
Which was precisely why, when he pulled into the driveway and saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights waiting through the windows, he made the same decision he'd made the night before - he wasn't gonna tell you until he found it.
So he slipped his left hand into his pocket before opening the front door and stepped inside carrying a secret that had already begun to consume him.
The moment he walked in, you knew something was wrong.
The problem was that you knew your husband too well.
Marriage had not magically granted you that ability. It had existed long before the wedding, long before the engagement, before either of you had become comfortable enough to admit how thoroughly your lives had intertwined. Loving someone for years created a kind of familiarity that existed beneath language. You learned the shape of their silences, learned the difference between exhaustion and frustration, between distraction and sadness, between a bad day and a bad thought.
Joe was hiding something.
The certainty settled over you gradually throughout the evening, collecting evidence with every passing hour.
He kept his left hand tucked into his pocket.
It appeared in strange moments, brief enough that someone unfamiliar with him might never notice. Whenever he stood beside the kitchen island or whenever he thought you weren't looking.
The movement possessed an unnatural quality, as though he were consciously managing something that should have been instinctive.
Twice you caught him reaching for something before abruptly switching hands midway through the motion.
At dinner, he sat with his forearm angled strangely against the table.
When you handed him a glass of water, he accepted it with his right hand despite being perfectly capable of using either.
None of it made sense.
And because it didn't make sense, your imagination began doing what imagination always did when left unattended, it wandered.
The first possibility was injury. A strained tendon or a broken finger. Something football-related he hadn't wanted to mention.
You dismissed that theory almost immediately because Joe was terrible at hiding physical pain.
He could tolerate it better than almost anybody you had ever met, but concealing it was another matter entirely. Physical injuries irritated him, they made him restless and impatient. If he'd hurt his hand, you'd know.
The second possibility lingered longer. Something involving football - a contract issue, disagreement with coaches. Some problem he wasn't ready to discuss yet.
That explanation survived nearly an hour before collapsing beneath its own weight.
This wasn't professional anxiety, you had seen professional anxiety. Professional anxiety made Joe quiet. This was making him nervous. There was a difference.
The realization settled heavily in your chest.
By the time evening arrived, darker possibilities had begun creeping into the spaces logic had vacated.
The thought embarrassed you even as it occurred. You hated yourself for considering it, yet once the possibility existed, it became impossible to entirely ignore.
People hid things when they were afraid of being discovered, people avoided eye contact when they carried guilt, they became strange when they were protecting secrets.
You stood at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes while Joe hovered nearby, pretending to scroll through his phone.
Pretending being the operative word. His thumb hadn't moved in almost a minute, the screen remained unchanged.
Outside, twilight stretched across the backyard in shades of blue and gold. The house felt unusually quiet. The television wasn't on, no music drifted from another room. The only sounds came from running water and the occasional clink of dishes.
The silence made everything worse.
Your eyes drifted toward him, as his left hand immediately disappeared into his pocket.
Something inside your chest tightened. You dried your hands slowly.
Joe noticed.
The instant he looked up and found you watching him, some emotion flashed briefly across his face.
Fear, not guilt.
Fear.
The distinction should have reassured you. Instead it made your stomach drop - whatever was happening had clearly become serious enough that he was actively afraid of your reaction.
"Joe."
The sound of his name seemed to physically affect him.
His shoulders stiffened. "Yeah?"
You crossed your arms. "What is going on?"
The question hung between you, and for a moment neither of you moved. The kitchen lights cast soft shadows across the room. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. The refrigerator hummed quietly.
Joe looked down.
That, more than anything else, made your pulse quicken.
Joe Burrow rarely looked down from difficult conversations. He met problems head-on. Sometimes stubbornly, infuriatingly. But directly.
Watching him avoid your eyes felt profoundly wrong.
A dozen awful possibilities crowded your thoughts and you hated every one of them.
"Nothing's going on."
The answer arrived too quickly and rehearsed.
Suddenly you were angry. "Don't do that, Joe."
His gaze lifted immediately. "Do what?"
"Lie to me. I know you, I know when something's wrong.
The words landed harder than you'd intended.
You watched the color drain from his face and for several seconds, neither of you spoke. Then something changed. You simply watched whatever determination had been holding him together finally begin to crack.
The last twenty four hours had left visible marks.
There were shadows beneath his eyes, shoulders looked tight with exhaustion. The constant tension he'd been carrying suddenly seemed impossible to conceal.
When he finally exhaled, it sounded less like a breath and more like surrender. You expected an explanation -- a confession of some kind, maybe an argument.
But instead he sat down, as though his legs no longer trusted themselves.
The sight immediately extinguished your irritation because Joe looked genuinely miserable.
Not embarrassed or inconvenienced.
Miserable.
The knot in your stomach twisted tighter. You crossed the kitchen and sat beside him.
For a long moment, he simply stared at the hardwood floor.
The silence stretched. Then stretched further.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rough. "I've been trying to find it."
You frowned. "Find...what?"
His eyes closed. For a second, you genuinely thought he might be sick.
The reaction seemed entirely disproportionate to whatever conversation he was preparing to have.
His throat moved, and again. When he finally lifted his left hand from his pocket, your gaze immediately dropped toward it.
Toward the bare finger where his wedding band should have been.
The realization arrived instantly.
The ring, it was gone. For a moment you simply stared, not because you were upset but because your brain was trying to catch up.
Joe interpreted your silence in the worst possible way.
The words began spilling out before you could say anything. "I don't know where it is."
His eyes remained fixed on yours, anxiously.
"I thought I lost it this morning. I've checked my car three times. My locker, every room in the facility, every bag I own."
The confession seemed to gain momentum. Once it started, it refused to stop. "I checked trash cans."
You blinked. "What?"
"I checked trash cans."
The statement sounded so absurdly earnest that you almost laughed.
Joe looked horrified. "I checked six of them."
The fact that he knew the exact number somehow made it worse. For a moment you could only stare at him - the sheer level of panic required to search six separate trash cans was almost impressive.
His expression remained stricken. "I was going to tell you."
A strange realization settled over you. Joe genuinely believed you were angry, and that understanding transformed the entire situation.
Suddenly the nervousness made sense. The hiding, the secrecy. The exhaustion. He hadn't spent a whole day terrified because he'd lost a ring. He'd spent a day terrified because he thought losing the ring would hurt you.
The absurdity of that thought nearly brought tears to your eyes. For twenty four hours he'd been carrying this around by himself.
Searching parking lots, lockers, trash cans, convincing himself the world was ending.
Meanwhile, he looked moments away from throwing up in your kitchen.
Your heart broke because your husband looked absolutely miserable.
"Oh, Joe." Something in your voice finally made him look up.
You reached for his hand, the same hand he'd spent hours hiding from you. The same hand he'd been staring at with mounting panic.
His fingers tightened around yours immediately. Instinctively, almost desperately.
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
The question emerged softly, without accusation or anger.
Joe looked away as a humorless laugh escaped him. "Because we got married two weeks ago."
The answer sounded so obvious to him. So painfully obvious, as though it explained everything.
You squeezed his hand. "It was an accident."
"I know."
"It wasn't intentional."
"I know."
"So why are you acting like you committed a crime?"
The question finally pulled a reluctant smile from him. Only a small one, and only for a second before it vanished.
His gaze dropped toward his bare finger again.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "It...wasn't about the ring."
The words settled between you. You understood immediately.
Neither of you had ever cared much about jewelry. Neither of you had chosen those rings because of their material value. The gold itself meant nothing. The symbolism, however, meant everything.
Joe swallowed. "When I realized it was gone..." he paused, searching for something difficult to articulate. "It felt like I'd been careless with something important."
Your chest tightened.
The vulnerability in his voice was rare because he carried emotions privately and carefully. The thoughts he considered deepest often remained hidden until they had nowhere left to go.
He looked down at your intertwined hands. "I know it's stupid."
"It isn't."
"It is."
"It isn't."
His jaw flexed. "I stood there making promises to you. Then two weeks later I lose the thing that represents those promises."
You stared at him for several seconds, long enough that he finally looked back. Whatever expression he found on your face seemed to surprise him.
Because there was no anger there. Only affection and exasperation and love. "Joe," his name emerged almost as a sigh. "You think a piece of gold is carrying those promises?"
The question seemed to catch him off guard.
You leaned closer. "The ring isn't our marriage," his eyes remained fixed on yours. "The ring isn't why I married you. I married you because you're you."
Raw emotion flickered briefly across his face.
"You could lose ten wedding bands."
"Please don't say that."
Despite everything, a laugh escaped you.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You could lose ten wedding bands," you repeated, "and I'd still be married to the same idiot."
That finally earned a proper smile. Relief began easing some of the tension from his shoulders.
Not all of it, because the ring was still missing.
But enough. Enough that the room felt lighter, that he finally looked like he could breathe again.
You stood first. "Come on."
His brows furrowed. "Where are we going?"
"We're finding your ring."
The search began in the bedroom. Then the bathroom. Then the laundry room.
You checked every surface, every drawer, every pocket.
Joe followed with renewed determination, though significantly less panic than before.
The difference was noticeable. Now that the secret no longer existed, the problem itself seemed smaller. Manageable, almost ordinary.
An hour passed, then another.
Eventually the search migrated toward the mudroom where several bags had accumulated after practice. Joe's gym bag sat beside the wall, large and unzipped.
You eyed it. "Did you check this?"
"Three times."
The confidence in his voice made you suspicious immediately.
You knelt anyway.
The bag smelled faintly like detergent and football equipment. Inside sat the usual collection of necessities like extra shirts, athletic tape, headphones, a charger.
Joe watched. "It's not in there."
You ignored him. One compartment, then another and another.
Nothing.
Joe folded his arms. A look of vindication began creeping across his face, but you rolled your eyes.
Then reached toward a narrow zippered pocket hidden near the bottom seam. "What about this one?"
"I checked that."
"You checked all of them?"
"I did."
"Hm."
The zipper caught briefly before sliding open.
Your fingers disappeared inside. The compartment extended deeper than expected, almost to the bottom of the bag.
For several seconds, you felt nothing except fabric.
Then... Cold metal. Small, and circular.
Your entire body froze. Across from you, Joe immediately noticed. The room became impossibly still. Slowly, you withdrew your hand, the gold band rested against your palm.
For a moment neither of you moved.
The ring that had inspired twenty four hours of panic, the ring that had launched a facility-wide scavenger hunt, the ring that had nearly made your husband physically ill.
Then you looked up.
Joe's expression was indescribable. Relief arrived first, then disbelief.
"Oh my God." The words escaped him in a whisper.
You started laughing.
Joe dropped onto the floor beside you and pressed both hands over his face, the sound that emerged from him was half laugh, half groan.
"It was in the bag."
"It was."
"I checked the bag."
"You absolutely did not check the bag."
"I checked the bag."
The ring disappeared from your palm as Joe immediately snatched it back.
The motion was so quick it made you laugh harder. Without hesitation, he slid it onto his finger, exactly where it belonged.
For a moment he simply stared at it.
The gold gleamed beneath the overhead light - ordinary and unremarkable. A simple wedding band, yet the relief visible on his face made it seem priceless.
Eventually his gaze lifted toward yours.
You were still smiling, still sitting on the floor, still looking at him with enough affection to make his chest ache.
The next thing you knew, his arms were around you, pulling you close and holding you tightly, as though he were making absolutely certain he hadn't misplaced anything else important.
Sitting there on the floor beside a half-unpacked gym bag, with his wedding ring finally back where it belonged and your laughter still echoing through the room, Joe realized the thing he'd been terrified of losing had never actually been the ring at all - it was you.
The morning arrived with the peculiar lightness that follows a crisis once it has been resolved. Nothing about the house had changed. The same pale sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows, catching on the polished countertops and the vase of flowers somebody had sent after the wedding.
The same coffee maker sputtered and hissed on the counter. Outside, a neighbor's dog barked somewhere down the street before the sound disappeared into the quiet of suburban morning. Yet the atmosphere felt noticeably different, as though the walls themselves had finally relaxed after spending two days absorbing Joe's anxiety.
You found him standing barefoot in the kitchen wearing gray sweats and a faded LSU t-shirt he'd slept in, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee while the other remained lifted directly in front of his face. The gold band had returned to its rightful place less than fifteen hours earlier, and already he seemed incapable of looking away from it for more than a few minutes at a time.
Every so often his thumb brushed against the metal in a movement so absentminded it was almost childlike, as though he needed repeated confirmation that it was still there.
The sight would have been endearing had it not been so ridiculous.
Not because he loved the ring. You understood that part completely. What remained ridiculous was the fact that he had spent twenty four hours tearing apart half of Cincinnati before discovering it exactly where any reasonable person would have checked first.
The gym bag he had apparently searched three separate times, the gym bag that had contained the ring the entire time. The gym bag you now suspected had become the source of at least three jokes circulating throughout the Bengals facility.
A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you crossed the kitchen and placed a small cardboard box beside his coffee.
Immediately his attention shifted as his eyebrows drew together.
"What is that?"
Rather than answering, you leaned against the counter and watched him pick it up. The box was small enough to fit comfortably in his palm, plain brown except for a shipping label and a company logo printed along one side. Nothing about it appeared particularly interesting until he opened it and discovered the contents waiting inside.
His expression changed almost instantly.
The silicone band rested in black foam packaging, simple and understated. Matte black, lightweight, flexible. The sort of ring designed specifically for athletes, construction workers, mechanics, and every other person likely to destroy expensive jewelry through sheer stubbornness.
For several seconds he simply stared at it, then he looked at you. Then back at the ring, then back at you again.
The realization dawned slowly. "You ordered this."
The accusation sounded almost offended.
You nodded. "I ordered it two days ago."
His face somehow managed to become even more offended. "You ordered a replacement before you even knew I lost it?"
A laugh escaped you. The fact that he genuinely sounded betrayed only made the situation funnier.
"It isn't a replacement, Joe."
"It looks like a replacement."
"It costs twenty dollars."
His gaze dropped toward the silicone band, then toward the wedding ring on his finger, then back toward the silicone band.
The comparison clearly wounded him. You could practically see the argument forming in his head.
"No." The refusal arrived immediately.
You hadn't even formally suggested anything yet. "No?"
"No."
The certainty in his voice carried all the stubbornness that had made him impossible to deal with throughout the entirety of your relationship. It was the same tone he used when refusing to ask for directions, refusing to admit he was sick, refusing to acknowledge that a piece of furniture required instructions rather than intuition.
"Nope," he repeated. "I'm not wearing that."
You studied him for a moment.
The crossed arms, defensive posture. The expression that suggested he believed himself entirely reasonable.
Your eyes drifted toward the gold band currently occupying his finger.
The gold band that had nearly caused a psychological breakdown - a psychological breakdown he somehow, seemed determined to repeat.
"You spent a whole day losing your mind."
"I still found it."
"You checked trash cans."
His jaw tightened, but you continued.
"You dismantled your car."
Silence.
"You made grown men watch you crawl around on the floor looking under lockers."
The silence lengthened.
A smile slowly appeared as Joe looked away. That was always how you knew you were winning.
Not because he admitted defeat (Joe almost never admitted defeat) but instead he developed a sudden fascination with nearby objects and refused to make eye contact until the conversation moved on.
You stepped closer, the silicone ring remained balanced in the center of his palm. "Nobody is taking the real one away."
His eyes lifted.
"The gold ring stays exactly where it belongs whenever you want it to."
His expression softened slightly.
"But if you're practicing, lifting, traveling, swimming, or doing anything that gives you an opportunity to accidentally launch your wedding band into another dimension...maybe wear the twenty-dollar ring."
The argument made sense. Annoyingly so. You watched him struggle with that reality.
Several seconds passed before he finally picked up the silicone band and examined it more carefully. It stretched easily between his fingers before returning to shape, lightweight enough that it barely seemed real compared to the solid weight of gold.
His mouth twitched. "It feels fake."
"You know what's worse than fake?"
He sighed as you smiled. "Losing the real one."
The look he gave you was deeply unimpressed. The fact that he slid the silicone ring onto his finger anyway felt like victory.
For the next several weeks, the arrangement worked surprisingly well, far better than either of you expected.
The gold band remained on his finger most days, especially whenever the two of you attended events together or spent quiet evenings at home. During practices, workouts, travel days, and training sessions, however, the black silicone ring gradually became part of his routine. The transition happened reluctantly at first. He complained about it often enough that you suspected he enjoyed complaining more than he disliked the ring itself.
Then something interesting happened - he stopped noticing it.
The silicone band became as natural as his watch, his headphones, or the countless other objects that followed him through daily life. Some mornings he slipped it on automatically while gathering his things for practice, other days he switched rings without consciously thinking about it at all. The dramatic resistance faded into habit, and habit eventually settled into comfort.
Life continued moving forward.
Football consumed its usual share of attention. Weekends disappeared into travel schedules and game preparation. Wedding gifts finally found permanent homes throughout the house. Thank-you notes were completed. Honeymoon photographs were framed. The strange newness of marriage softened into something steadier and more familiar.
The panic surrounding the ring slowly transformed into one of those stories couples tell at dinner parties years later. The sort of story that always earned laughter because enough time had passed to make it funny.
At least, until three weeks later.
One afternoon while emptying his pockets after practice, Joe stared down at his hand and felt something cold settle into his stomach. Then his eyes immediately moved toward the black silicone band still sitting securely on his finger.
A long silence followed. Slowly, very slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold wedding ring he had removed before practice.
The ring remained exactly where he had left it. Safe, secure, impossible to lose.
For a moment he simply stood there. Then he looked toward the kitchen where you were making dinner, then back toward the silicone band, then toward the gold ring.
A grin slowly spread across his face, because for the first time since getting married, he realized he had successfully managed not to lose his wedding ring.
Mostly because his wife apparently knew him better than he knew himself.
MY 7K CELEBRATION! | NEXT UP IS...VELCRO CHILD FOR PAIGE BUECKERS (MOM OF THE YEAR AU
↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !
↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡
GRRR YESSS!! <33 husband!joe you’re so well missed ;(( i loved this so much!! the perfect amount of angst and worry to fill in your chest, followed by reassurance and what marriage can look like!! A MILLION TIMES YESS!! <33
hey are you alright? you haven't posted in a month! we miss you so much
hello hello!!! i did not mean to go complete mia. i have missed posting on here however i think the month of april has been the best i've had in a while lol. touching grass, preparing for a close family wedding, & just spending time with friends and family was so fun. this app brought negativity into my life in a way and i was just not having it so deleting it was the best decision i had (i actually locked in on my classes!)
also i do wanna be honest about something. i genuinely do not think i plan on writing anymore in the future. writing was always a creative outlet for me, just a hobby that i loved doing for fun, and i’m really grateful for everyone who has supported my work over the last year. but i think for me personally, it’s better if i stop. and honestly i don’t really see myself going back on that decision either. maybe a tiny blurb every once in a while if inspiration randomly hits, but i don’t think full fics and constant posting are something i want for myself anymore.
at some point it stopped feeling fun and started feeling draining. i just don’t have the energy or desire to deal with people in my inbox saying bullshit or creating something out of nothing. this was always supposed to be a silly little hobby and escape for me.
i’ll always appreciate the sweet people i met on here<3 my internet besties forever.
gosh i genuinely cannot stand when western designers rip off desi clothes like you cannot just take culture and history that people were literally mocked for and then rebrand it as your own creation 😂😂
the scandinavian scarf (its a duppatta/chunni?), gracie abrams in a two piece at oscars -> it's a lehenga thank u very much, kendall jenner in a kurti that resembles 2000s bollywood fashion, ralph lauren and the knock off jhumkas, and margot robbie wearing the taj mahal necklace at the wuthering heights premiere but cartier refused to lend diljit dosanjh the Cartier Patiala Necklace for the met gala like oh okay
very intrigued by handled with care, always (you posted a preview of that awhile ago if I remember correctly?) it sounded great then and it still sounds lovely now!
and thank you for the tag <3
i didddd post a preview a while back!!! posted then forgotten lol😭 but hopefully over spring break i’m able to post it<3
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder. people send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then tell them something about it!
