With You
Joe Burrow x Reader
You almost didn’t come.
When Joe had texted asking if you wanted to take a drive, you’d assumed he wanted a quiet night away from reporters, teammates, and the constant noise that followed him everywhere.
What you didn’t expect was for him to pull into the nearly empty parking lot of an old diner two hours outside of Cincinnati.
The same diner where everything had started.
You stared out the windshield, immediately recognizing the faded neon sign.
“No way,” you laughed softly.
Joe smiled, shutting off the truck.
“You remember?”
“Of course I remember.”
Years ago, before the NFL, before the packed stadiums and national commercials, before anyone outside of football circles knew his name, this had been your place.
A cheap diner where college students could afford coffee and pie at midnight.
The place where you’d spent countless nights talking about dreams.
His dream.
Football.
Back then, Joe had very little certainty about what the future would look like. He was transferring schools, fighting for opportunities, trying to prove himself.
But there was one night you remembered more clearly than any other.
You and Joe had been sitting in the same booth by the window.
Rain had been pouring outside.
You had jokingly asked him what he’d do if football worked out.
Without hesitation, he’d looked at you and said:
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure it was worth it.”
You’d laughed.
He hadn’t.
Then he’d reached across the table and squeezed your hand.
“One day I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
At the time, it sounded like the dream of a hopeful college kid.
Now it sounded very different.
Joe opened your door and held out his hand.
“Come on.”
You followed him inside.
The diner looked almost exactly the same.
Same red booths.
Same old jukebox.
Same smell of coffee.
And somehow, sitting across from Joe in the exact booth where you’d spent so many nights together felt like stepping into another life.
For a while, you simply talked.
About old memories.
College.
Friends.
The ridiculous amount of pie he’d eaten back then.
Eventually, the conversation settled into a comfortable silence.
Joe watched you for a moment.
His expression softened.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about that promise.”
Your heart skipped.
“What promise?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You know exactly which one.”
Of course you did.
The diner suddenly felt much smaller.
Joe looked down at his coffee before continuing.
“Back then I didn’t have much.”
“You had plenty.”
He shook his head.
“Not really.”
You could tell he was serious.
“I had dreams. That’s about it.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“And you believed in me anyway.”
Your throat tightened.
“Joe—”
“No, let me say this.”
His voice was gentle but firm.
“There were a lot of days when things weren’t working. Times I doubted myself.”
He laughed quietly.
“Actually, most days.”
You smiled.
That sounded more like the Joe you knew than the confident athlete everyone saw.
“But every time things got hard,” he continued, “you stayed.”
His eyes never left yours.
“You never asked me to choose between football and us.”
“Because I knew how much it mattered to you.”
“I know.”
His voice dropped.
“And that’s exactly why I’ve never forgotten.”
Emotion flickered across his face.
Rare.
Raw.
Honest.
“The truth is…”
He paused.
“The whole reason I worked so hard was because I wanted a future.”
Your chest tightened.
“A future for me?”
Joe shook his head.
“A future for us.”
The words hung between you.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
Then Joe reached across the table and took your hand.
The same way he had years ago.
“I know football has asked a lot from both of us.”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“I know I’ve missed birthdays. Holidays. Random Tuesday nights.”
You blinked rapidly.
“Joe—”
“But you’ve never been second.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“You hear me?”
Your eyes filled immediately.
“You’ve never been second to football.”
The diner blurred.
Joe squeezed your hand.
“Everything I’ve done…”
He swallowed.
“Every workout. Every surgery. Every game. Every sacrifice.”
His eyes shone.
“It was because I wanted to build a life with you.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
Joe smiled softly.
“There she is.”
You laughed through tears.
“Don’t.”
“I love you.”
The words came easily.
Like he’d been carrying them for years.
“I loved you when I had nothing.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“I love you now.”
He leaned forward.
“And twenty years from now, when nobody cares about football anymore, I’ll still love you.”
Your heart completely melted.
Joe stood and moved beside you in the booth.
Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him.
His embrace tightened instantly.
Safe.
Warm.
Home.
After a moment, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
The same way he always did.
“You know,” he murmured, “I think I finally kept that promise.”
You looked up.
“What promise?”
His smile was soft and certain.
“The one I made right here.”
His hand cupped your cheek.
“That one day I’d build a life worth sharing with you.”