hubby!joe who . . . still wears his wedding ring during practice even though the trainers tell him not to. he keeps it on a chain under his shirt because he “likes having it close.” he fidgets with it when he’s thinking - little subconscious reminder that he’s yours.
hubby!joe who . . . always ends up standing too close when you’re getting ready. like, you’re doing your hair and he’s behind you, pretending to look for something on the counter but really just watching you in the mirror. he’ll kiss your shoulder and mumble, “you smell good.”
hubby!joe who . . . has a weirdly precise morning routine. like, the same playlist (you’ve heard that one drake song every morning since 2022), same mug, same order of getting ready and if you’re standing in the kitchen, sleepy and messy, he’ll break the routine just to kiss your forehead.
hubby!joe who . . . talks in his sleep sometimes. not full sentences, but like he murmurs your name, or little fragments like “where’s my girl” or “don’t forget the keys.” it’s endearing and a little embarrassing, but you never tell him because it’s too sweet.
hubby!joe who . . . will brush past you on purpose. like, every single time he walks by, there’s that light touch at your hip or back. sometimes it’s just muscle memory. sometimes it’s not.
hubby!joe who . . . insists he’s a “grill master” but burned the burgers the first time you had people over. now it’s an inside joke - every cookout starts with you handing him the tongs and saying, “try not to incinerate them this time.”
hubby!joe who . . . always has a random bruise or tiny cut and gives you a full dramatic explanation every time you ask about it.
hubby!joe who . . . insists on doing the grocery run together because “it’s a date if we get snacks after.”
hubby!joe who . . . loves grocery shopping with you. he’ll push the cart, grab random things you don’t need (like fancy cheeses and five different flavors of sparkling water) and somehow still forgets the one thing you actually went for.
hubby!joe who . . . drives like a grandma when you’re in the car but somehow gets a speeding ticket the one time you’re not with him.
hubby!joe who . . . comes home after away games and immediately goes into “house husband” mode - doing laundry, unpacking, cleaning up the kitchen. he’ll say, “just trying to help out,” but you know it’s his way of grounding himself after the chaos.
hubby!joe who . . . randomly sends you pictures of things that remind him of you. like, a sunset that’s the same color as your favorite hoodie, or a dog wearing sunglasses. his texts are chaotic - zero context, all heart.
hubby!joe who . . . never remembers where he left his keys, but always remembers to plug in your phone before bed.
hubby!joe who . . . can’t fall asleep without touching you somehow - a hand on your waist, fingers linked, his arm under your pillow. even when he’s half-asleep, he’ll pull you closer like it’s muscle memory.
hubby!joe who . . . is secretly competitive about board games. like, ridiculously. you tried to play monopoly once and it ended with him negotiating fake trades like it was a contract deal. you banned him from “game night” privileges for a week.
hubby!joe who . . . gets irrationally proud when a meal he makes actually turns out good. you have to hear about it for days.
hubby!joe who . . . saves every anniversary card, ticket stub, and random note you’ve ever given him in a small box in his nightstand. you found it once by accident - he got all flustered and just said, “don’t make fun of me.”
hubby!joe who . . . is weirdly good with kids. that one guy who ends up holding a toddler’s hand at a barbecue like it’s the most natural thing ever.
hubby!joe who . . . insists that the cat loves him more, but every morning the cat sits by your side of the bed.
hubby!joe who . . . takes candid photos of you constantly. like, you’ll be doing something completely ordinary - folding laundry, reading, drinking coffee and later you find it in his camera roll labeled “home.”
now that we know that joe and songbird are engaged, does joe call her ‘mrs.burrow’ around the house?
oh absolutelyyy. he's the biggest my wife guy before they're even officially husband and wife. he’s shameless about it in private, almost like he’s been waiting his whole life to finally have the right to call her that. around the house, it slips out constantly. woven into everyday conversation so naturally that it almost doesn’t even sound like a nickname anymore. sometimes it’s playful and lighthearted, sometimes soft and with complete intent, as if he’d marry her right in their backyard if he could, sometimes in that teasing way only he can manage, with that spark of mischief hiding in his voice. it’s not even something he thinks about anymore—it’s natural, like breathing, like the way he always reaches for her hand without realizing he’s doing it.
like he’ll wander into the kitchen after a nap, hair sticking up in uneven curls, his t-shirt wrinkled and hanging off his frame in that unfairly perfect way. his socks slide a little on the hardwood as he pads toward her, the kind of quiet entrance that still somehow demands her attention. he’ll lean against the doorway with that slow, knowing grin, arms folded across his chest, eyes sweeping over her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. then, with his voice all teasing and sweeter than honey itself, he’ll go, “what’s for dinner, mrs. burrow?”, like it’s the most ordinary question in the world, like he hasn’t just set her entire heart racing with three little syllables. and she just rolls her eyes, though her lips twitch like she’s holding back a smile, muttering, “joe…,” because god forbid he gets too comfortable and says that in front of the wrong person.
or when they’re curled up on the couch, a blanket tossed lazily over their legs, her feet in his lap while he absentmindedly traces slow circles on her ankle with his thumb. the tv hums in the background, flickering light across his face, but he’s not really watching—his gaze drifts to her, soft and steady, as though he couldn’t possibly look away. it comes out then, unforced and impossibly tender, “i love you, mrs. burrow,” quiet and casual, as if it’s always been her name, as if he’s already said it for years. she feels her whole chest squeeze at the sound, her stomach fluttering like it’s the very first time he’s ever said it, and he just smiles like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.
sometimes, though, he wields it like a weapon—his favorite kind of teasing. like when she absolutely smokes him in mario kart, he’ll throw his head back dramatically, groaning like the world’s ending, clutching the controller like he’s lost a championship. “unbelievable. can’t believe i’m marrying the woman who just destroyed me with a baby peach combo. mrs. burrow, show some mercy,”. he’ll drag it out with theatrical flair, giving her that faux-serious look while secretly reveling in the way it makes her blush, because he knows she loves it no matter how many times she sighs and swats at him.
and she gives him the look every single time, that sharp little side-eye paired with her firm voice, “joe. someone could overhear. they don’t know yet,”. it’s half-scolding, half-pleading, because she’s so careful, so protective of their secret, while he’s maddeningly nonchalant. he’ll just shrug with that infuriatingly calm quarterback composure, the one that says he’s already made up his mind. “don’t care. it’s true, it’s happening, i’m relishing it,”. he says it with that quiet stubbornness that’s so distinctly him, the kind that makes her both want to kiss him breathless and strangle him in the same moment.
it drives her absolutely crazy because she loves hearing it. she can’t stop the way her heart leaps every single time, like she’s hearing it for the very first time. it makes everything real, makes her stomach swoop at the thought that she’s actually about to become a wife. she’s about to marry the greatest man she’s ever known. she’s about to be someone’s forever—something she had almost given up on before him. but it’s also risky, teetering on the edge of exposure. she’s so careful about keeping it quiet until the moment’s right, while he’s mildly unbothered, like he couldn’t care less about timing or secrecy. sometimes she wonders if he almost wants to slip up, just so people will know she’s his forever already. but then he’ll see the worry flash in her eyes, and it softens him instantly. because he knows how much it means to her to wait, to hold this piece of their life close until it’s ready. and for her, for the woman he already calls his wife in every way that matters, he’d wait until the ends of the earth.
