Jun 12
Do you guys have any specific prompts you want me to write about? I’m open to pretty much anything!
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Do you guys have any specific prompts you want me to write about? I’m open to pretty much anything!
Sweet like honey 🐝🍯 - Joe Burrow x gf!reader
Warnings: obsessed joey b, ja'marr chase being a menace, getting exposed by your bff
Word count: 3,439
The barbecue had started sometime around three.
By six-thirty, nobody was paying attention to the clock anymore.
The backyard was full in the way only a Bengals gathering could be. Folding tables had been dragged onto the patio and covered with food that had long since stopped looking organized. Open bags of chips sat between bowls of pasta salad and fruit trays. Condensation dripped from cans and bottles abandoned wherever people happened to be standing when the conversation got interesting.
The smell of charcoal, grilled burgers, sunscreen, and freshly cut grass hung in the warm evening air.
Kids darted barefoot across the yard, shrieking as they chased one another around the pool. Every few seconds somebody splashed. Somebody yelled. Somebody’s child appeared soaking wet and somehow carrying a popsicle.
Music drifted from a speaker mounted under the patio awning, just loud enough to blend into the noise instead of competing with it.
It was chaos.
Comfortable chaos.
The kind that happened when everybody knew everybody.
Near the grill, Orlando Brown was passionately defending a burger.
“You’ve flipped that burger six times.”
Ted Karras stood beside him with a drink in one hand and the patience of a man rapidly running out of patience.
“It’s called dedication.”
“It’s called burning it.”
“It’s medium.”
“It’s charcoal.”
A burst of laughter followed from the small group gathered around the grill.
Orlando looked offended.
Ted looked exhausted.
Neither appeared willing to surrender.
From your seat at one of the long tables, you smiled into your Diet Coke.
You were sitting beside Sam Hubbard, who had somehow accumulated enough food to feed a family of four. Two hot dogs sat on his plate beside a burger, a pile of chips, and what looked like the last scoop of pasta salad.
Nobody knew how.
Nobody questioned it.
Across the table sat Joe.
He had finally been pulled away from grill duty after Ted informed him that quarterbacks should not be trusted around open flames. At first glance, he looked relaxed. One arm was draped over the back of his chair, his drink resting near his plate, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair as the sun started to sink behind the trees.
But every few minutes, his eyes found you.
Not intentionally.
Not dramatically.
Not in the way movies tried to portray love.
Just naturally.
Like breathing.
Like muscle memory.
Years together had made it automatic.
You’d look up and catch him watching you talk. He’d realize you caught him. The corner of his mouth would twitch, soft and private, and you’d smile back before turning to answer whatever Sam was saying beside you.
Nobody paid attention anymore.
At least, nobody except Ja’Marr.
Because Ja’Marr noticed everything.
Unfortunately.
The question came from one of the rookies sitting halfway down the table. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-two, young enough that LSU Joe and LSU you sounded more like mythology than actual history.
He looked between you and Joe, then back again.
“So how long have y’all actually been together?”
The question cut through three separate conversations at once.
A few people looked up. Someone stopped reaching for chips. Even Orlando paused his argument with Ted long enough to listen.
You glanced up from your plate.
Across the table, Joe was already looking at you.
“Since LSU,” you answered.
The rookie blinked.
“No way.”
“Way.”
A laugh rolled through the table.
Someone across from you whistled low.
“Damn.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It doesn’t feel that long,” you said.
The second the words left your mouth, Joe snorted into his drink.
Immediately.
Without hesitation.
You pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
The grin spreading across his face told you he was absolutely going to.
“It absolutely feels that long.”
The table erupted.
You grabbed the nearest napkin and threw it at him. Years of football apparently translated into reflexes because he caught it one-handed without even looking.
The smug expression afterward made you regret missing.
Beside you, Sam groaned.
Not because of Joe.
Because he had just noticed who was sitting two seats down from him.
Ja’Marr Chase.
And more importantly, the expression on Ja’Marr Chase’s face.
“Oh no.”
The words came out before Sam could stop them.
Across the table, Tee immediately started laughing.
“What?”
Sam pointed.
“That face.”
The grin spreading across Ja’Marr’s face should’ve been considered a public safety hazard.
Joe saw it too.
His eyes narrowed instantly.
“Ja’Marr.”
The warning came quick. Familiar. Practiced.
Ja’Marr looked up innocently, which was his first mistake, because nobody at that table had ever believed in Ja’Marr Chase’s innocence a day in their life.
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“Exactly.”
The rookie looked between them, completely confused.
“What am I missing?”
“Nothing,” Joe said.
“Everything,” Ja’Marr said at the exact same time.
The table burst into laughter.
Joe rubbed a hand down his face.
Across from him, you were already trying not to smile.
Because you’d known these men for years.
You knew where this was headed.
And more importantly, you knew Joe knew where this was headed.
Which meant whatever happened next was probably going to be funny.
“Y’all think he’s quiet, right?” Ja’Marr asked.
Several people nodded immediately.
The rookie nodded the hardest.
“Yeah.”
“Absolutely.”
“Quietest dude I’ve ever met.”
Ja’Marr doubled over like the statement physically wounded him.
Tee nearly choked on his drink. Sam leaned back in his chair, already laughing under his breath because he knew exactly what Ja’Marr was about to do and had apparently decided he was not going to help Joe survive it.
Across from you, Joe closed his eyes.
Slowly.
Like a man preparing himself for impact.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
“No.”
The rookie looked around the table again.
“Seriously, what am I missing?”
Ja’Marr pointed directly at Joe.
“That man has been giving us updates about her life for almost a decade.”
The rookie blinked.
Then laughed.
Then stopped laughing when nobody else did.
“Wait.”
Joe sat up immediately.
“That’s not true.”
A chorus of voices answered at once.
“It is.”
“It absolutely is.”
“One hundred percent.”
Joe looked personally betrayed.
“You guys are unbelievable.”
“No,” Ja’Marr said, leaning back in his chair with the confidence of a man who had waited years for this exact moment. “We’re observant.”
“You talk.”
“I do not.”
Tee barked out a laugh, the kind that made him fold forward with one hand braced on the table.
“You really wanna argue that?”
Joe pointed at him.
“Don’t encourage him.”
But it was too late.
The damage had already begun.
People were starting to sit up straighter now, attention sharpening as they realized this was not a quick joke. This was history. This was evidence. This was Ja’Marr Chase finally being given an audience and a microphone at the same time.
A dangerous combination.
Someone at the end of the table laughed and shook their head.
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” another player admitted.
Ja’Marr sat forward.
“Okay.”
He pointed at you.
“What’s her job?”
“ICU nurse.”
The answer came from three different people.
Without hesitation.
The rookie blinked.
“Huh.”
You sat back slowly, your Diet Coke halfway to your mouth.
Because that was… actually kind of weird.
Not the ICU nurse part. Everyone knew that.
But the fact that everyone knew it with the confidence of people answering a pop quiz they’d studied for.
Ja’Marr pointed again.
“Favorite drink after a shift.”
“Diet Coke.”
That one came from Sam before anyone else could answer.
You turned your head toward him.
Sam shrugged, entirely unbothered.
“What? It’s always Diet Coke.”
Joe shifted across from you.
Subtle.
But you noticed.
His fingers tapped once against his cup before going still.
Ja’Marr was enjoying this far too much.
“Favorite Mexican restaurant.”
Ted answered immediately.
The table started laughing.
Joe looked concerned now.
Actually concerned.
Not irritated. Not annoyed.
Concerned.
Like he had started the conversation certain he was innocent and was slowly realizing the prosecution had a case.
Sam was crying.
Literal tears.
Ja’Marr kept going.
“Favorite season.”
“Fall.”
“Favorite flower.”
“Daisies.”
The rookie looked around the table slowly, realization beginning to settle across his face.
“How do y’all know all this?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Because suddenly everybody was wondering the same thing.
For a second, all you could hear was the pool splashing behind you, the low hum of music, the hiss of the grill lid closing near the patio.
Then somebody laughed.
“Oh my God.”
Another player sat forward.
“No wait.”
The realization spread down the table like a wave.
One person after another.
“We do know all this.”
“We know a weird amount.”
“We know way too much.”
Ja’Marr slapped the table hard enough to make a few paper plates jump.
“THANK YOU.”
Joe looked horrified.
“These are normal things to know.”
“No they’re not.”
“Joe.”
“They are.”
“No.”
The entire table was losing it now, because once they started thinking about it, they couldn’t stop.
The information kept surfacing.
Tiny, specific details no group of teammates should have collectively absorbed.
You had never sat them down and introduced yourself with a fact sheet.
You had not personally informed the Bengals locker room of your post-shift beverage preferences, your favorite flowers, or your emotional attachment to autumn.
Which meant all roads led back to Joe.
Joe, who was now sitting across from you looking like he wanted to argue but couldn’t decide which charge to fight first.
Then someone said it.
“We know she names her plants.”
You immediately dropped your head into your hands.
The table exploded.
“Oh my God.”
“We do.”
“We actually do.”
The rookie looked at you like you were suddenly the most fascinating person at the barbecue.
“You name your plants?”
You peeked between your fingers.
“Unfortunately.”
The laughter got louder.
“One of them almost died.”
You lifted your head just enough to point accusingly at Sam.
“You don’t get to participate.”
Sam looked offended.
“I absolutely do.”
“You were there.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s worse.”
Sam grinned and took a bite of his hot dog like he hadn’t just betrayed you.
Across the table, Joe had fully given up trying to stop the conversation. He was just watching the disaster unfold with the exhausted patience of a man who knew the wreck was happening but had no way to get off the tracks.
Which would’ve been fine.
If Ja’Marr knew when to quit.
Unfortunately, Ja’Marr never knew when to quit.
And somewhere between the stories about your plants, your work schedule, and the time you’d gotten irrationally angry at a board game, he got comfortable.
Too comfortable.
Because he stopped thinking.
Which was always dangerous.
The conversation was moving too fast now. People were laughing, talking over one another, trying to remember details they had no business knowing. Someone near the end of the table was still asking about the plant that had almost died. Another person was trying to figure out if it was the one that sat near the kitchen window or the one you had moved upstairs because it was “being dramatic.”
The sun had dipped lower behind the trees, turning the backyard golden around the edges. The string lights overhead flickered on, one soft bulb at a time, washing the table in warm light.
Ja’Marr shrugged, waving one hand like the answer was obvious.
“I don’t know. Ask Bee.”
The word left his mouth casually.
Mindlessly.
Like it belonged there.
For half a second, nobody reacted.
Then Tee froze.
Sam froze.
You froze.
Across the table, Joe’s head snapped up.
The backyard didn’t go silent all at once. It happened in pieces.
One person stopped laughing.
Then another.
Then another.
Until suddenly all that remained was the distant splash of pool water, the low music from the speaker, and the faint sound of somebody inside the house opening and closing the patio door.
Ja’Marr blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then you watched realization hit him.
His entire face changed.
The smile vanished first.
Then his eyes widened.
Then, slowly, he turned his head toward Joe.
Joe was already staring at him.
Not speaking.
Not moving.
Just staring.
The kind of calm that was not calm at all.
The kind of calm that made people sit up straighter.
The rookie looked around, completely lost.
“…Bee?”
The entire backyard exploded.
Not gradually.
Not politely.
Instantly.
Half the table shouted at once. The other half started laughing before they even knew why. Someone slapped the table. Someone else gasped so loudly it startled one of the kids near the pool.
Ted looked like he’d just been handed the greatest gift of his life.
Sam folded forward so fast he nearly knocked over his drink.
Across the table, Joe stood up.
Very still.
Very controlled.
Which was somehow worse.
Because everybody at that table knew exactly what that look meant.
Ja’Marr pointed immediately.
“Before everybody starts, I’d like to say that was an accident.”
“An accident?” Tee wheezed.
“It was.”
“You literally just exposed him.”
“I exposed myself too.”
Nobody knew what that meant.
Nobody cared.
Because the entire table had locked onto one thing.
Bee.
The rookie looked between everyone, then at Joe, then at you, then back at Joe.
“…Bee?”
Joe closed his eyes.
You immediately hid your face behind your drink because the smile threatening to break across it was not helping.
Not even a little.
Unfortunately, everyone saw it.
“Oh my God, it’s real.”
“It’s real.”
“There’s a story.”
Joe pointed at the entire table.
“No.”
The word didn’t even make it halfway through the laughter.
“Oh absolutely yes.”
“Joe.”
“Joe.”
“Joseph.”
“Burrow.”
Every variation of his name came from a different direction.
The man looked like he regretted inviting anyone over.
Especially Ja’Marr.
Who was currently laughing so hard he was turning red.
Across the table, you finally lowered your cup.
“I feel like everyone’s being dramatic.”
Joe stared at you.
The betrayal.
The absolute betrayal.
The worst part was that he genuinely looked wounded. Not annoyed. Not embarrassed.
Betrayed.
Like after all these years together, after LSU, after the draft, after Cincinnati, after every practice and every Sunday and every middle-of-the-night conversation, you had chosen Ja’Marr Chase.
Of all people.
You had the audacity to shrug.
“What?”
The table erupted again.
“You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I was.”
“Was?”
“I switched teams.”
Sam nearly fell out of his chair.
Joe stared at you like he had never been more disappointed in his entire life.
“You switched teams.”
“You were drowning. I had to save myself.”
“What happened to for better and for worse?”
“You would have done the same thing.”
“I absolutely would not have.”
“Yes you would.”
Joe opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because unfortunately, you both knew he might have.
The backyard was completely gone now.
Nobody was having normal conversations anymore. Even people who hadn’t heard the original nickname slip were wandering over to figure out why half the team was crying laughing. One of the wives sat down at the end of the table, holding a plate in one hand and looking delighted to be joining mid-chaos.
“What happened?”
Tee immediately pointed.
“He calls her Bee.”
The woman gasped.
“Oh, that’s adorable.”
Joe looked offended.
“Why is everyone acting like this is a federal crime?”
“Because,” Ja’Marr said, wiping tears from his eyes, “you are Joe Burrow.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody expected you to be cute.”
The table exploded again.
Joe dropped back into his chair and stared at the sky, like maybe if he ignored everyone long enough they’d stop existing.
They didn’t.
The rookie still looked fascinated.
“So where did it come from?”
Joe sat up immediately.
“No.”
The word came out too fast.
Too panicked.
Which was, naturally, blood in the water.
“Joe.”
“No.”
“Joe.”
“No.”
You couldn’t stop laughing now.
Not because of the nickname.
Because of how desperately he was trying to stop the story from being told.
The man had survived SEC defenses.
NFL pass rushers.
National media.
Yet somehow, a backyard barbecue was taking him out.
Ja’Marr leaned back in his chair.
“Okay so—”
“Ja’Marr.”
“Years ago—”
“Don’t.”
“Back at LSU—”
“Ja’Marr.”
The entire table lost it.
Even Orlando was laughing now, abandoning the grill completely to watch the disaster.
The story wasn’t even out yet.
Joe was making it ten times funnier.
“One day,” Ja’Marr continued, completely ignoring him, “he’s on the phone.”
Joe dropped his head onto the table.
Actually dropped it.
A full surrender.
The laughter got louder.
“And we’re all sitting there minding our business, me and Jettas.”
“No you weren’t,” Joe said, voice muffled against the tabletop.
“No, you definitely weren’t,” Tee added.
“Thank you, Tee.”
“We were eavesdropping.”
The honesty somehow made it worse.
You could picture it perfectly.
LSU.
A messy apartment.
Practice clothes thrown over chairs.
Cleats by the door.
Ja’Marr and Justin pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
Joe on the phone, probably leaned against a counter somewhere, voice low and casual, thinking no one was paying attention.
Thinking wrong.
“We hear him go—”
Ja’Marr paused dramatically.
Joe lifted one hand from the table and pointed without raising his head.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Ja’Marr smiled.
“‘Alright Bee, I’ll see you after class.’”
The table detonated.
Again.
People were standing now.
Actually standing.
The rookie looked horrified in the best way.
“You called her that in college?”
Someone else shouted over the laughter.
“Where did that come from?”
Ja’Marr, fully lost to the moment, threw his hands out.
“He told me it’s cause she’s sweet like honey, ergo honey bee, therefore Bee.”
“I don’t think that’s what ergo means,” Tee said.
“Tell that to my word of the day calendar.”
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Joe’s voice came muffled from the table.
“It slipped.”
Tee repeated it immediately.
“It slipped.”
“One time.”
“One time was all we needed,” Ja’Marr said.
And that was the problem.
Because from that moment on, Ja’Marr never let it go.
Ever.
For years, every now and then, he’d randomly call you Bee just to watch Joe’s eye twitch.
Sometimes he’d do it quietly.
Sometimes loudly.
Sometimes in passing, just enough for Joe to hear.
And every single time, Joe would give him the same look.
That flat, lethal, quarterback look that said he was calculating exactly how much trouble he’d be in if he tackled his own receiver in public.
And now?
Now the entire Bengals organization knew.
Joe lifted his head slowly.
Very slowly.
His hair was a little messed up from where his forehead had been resting against the table, which made the glare he aimed at Ja’Marr significantly less threatening.
Not that he knew that.
He pointed directly at him.
“I want you to know this barbecue was a mistake.”
The grin that spread across Ja’Marr’s face was pure evil.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You still love me.”
Joe looked at him.
Then at Tee.
Then at Sam.
Then around the table at the entire group of people laughing at his expense.
The string lights glowed overhead.
The burgers smelled slightly burnt.
Somewhere behind him, a kid yelled that someone had stolen their pool noodle.
And across the table, you were still smiling at him like you knew exactly how embarrassed he was and loved him more for it.
Joe’s expression softened for half a second when his eyes found yours.
Just half a second.
Enough for you to catch.
Enough for Ja’Marr to catch too.
Unfortunately.
Ja’Marr opened his mouth.
Joe pointed at him immediately.
“Do not.”
The table started laughing before Ja’Marr even said anything.
You leaned back in your chair, still grinning.
Joe looked from you to Ja’Marr and back again, then let out a long breath.
“I’m reconsidering.”
Ja’Marr laughed.
Sam lifted his drink.
“To Bee.”
The table erupted all over again.
Joe closed his eyes.
You smiled into your Diet Coke.
And somewhere in the middle of all the noise, all the teasing, all the laughter and warmth and smoke from the grill, you realized something.
Joe could glare all he wanted.
He could pretend to hate it.
He could threaten Ja’Marr, argue with Tee, and swear this was the worst idea he’d ever had.
But he never corrected them.
Not once.
Not when they called you Bee.
Not when they laughed.
Not when the nickname became less of a secret and more of a story everybody wanted to be part of.
Because for all his complaining, all his embarrassment, all his dramatic looks across the table—
Joe had always loved quietly.
But never halfway.
And now, unfortunately for him, everybody knew it.
Authors note:
Was this too long???
Also I didn't proofread read this lol sorry for any mistakes
The 4th Annual Joe Burrow Golf Outing raised over $1.2 Million for the Joe Burrow Foundation which helps with Mental Health and Food Insecurity across Ohio and Louisiana.
It always sounds like he's defending himself 🫣😂
Watch Joe Burrow Foundation Tiger Tee Off 2026 Recap
You mean so much to Baton Rouge, the state of Louisiana and Tiger fans too Joe 💜💛
Also before I post something else I have a really cool story with Joe.. Like something from my country “holidays”.. It was happening last day of April. And its a tradition here.. Its called “Pálení čarodějnic” aka”Witch burning” and its so cool and I love it..
And I’m so excited to post it, but also I wanna do it right.
So bear with meee❤️
P.S.: This is the inspo pic of what it is.. We built a wood “hranice” and place the dummy dressed as a witch on it and light it on fire.. Its like a goodbye to winter season. And whole families and friends and neighbors come to the fire and they dance, have a sausage, like kinda bbq and all..