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ijustcrypretty · 6 months ago

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Sweet Cigar | Joe Burrow

joe burrow x reader

words: 4k

synopsis: the king of the north wants his star

warnings: unprotected sex, teasing, language, smoking [a lot], cocky joe, public sex

a/n: this is a really shitty job and rushed, but I hope y'all enjoy nonetheless!

Get down here, was all he could conjure up in a sweet little text shortly after the game, not even being subtle as to let you know he wanted you down in that locker room with him. And yet, the three simple words didn’t fail to leave your skin warm with tiny prickles, knowing you were his rock, the one who knew how to take care of him properly every single time.

He fucking loved it when you were with him after a win.

Your soft touches that always left chills to his heated skin, or how you’d be off on your own just to trap his vision to the one thing he couldn’t have but so desperately needed. Which is why you took the bait, knowing he’d be extra handsy and equally raunchy the moment you got in there.

It was light and stuffy, temperature warming at the flow of smoke fuming from wall to wall, mixing with the loud bass of “codeine crazy” playing over the speakers. You caught the faint aroma instantly, a sweet leather with hints of musky wood that seemed to permeate the room as masses of men crowded around, heavily decked out in black divisional shirts and hats. Most had fat cigars in hand, holding them fittingly and blowing smoke rings with the release only to return them to their mouths in full regard to winning the north.

You found humor in their postgame high, giggling to yourself as you noticed others passing around small pizza boxes and red solo cups as if the party was just starting. And before you could even fill your thoughts with going to look for Joe, some of the guys were already stealing your attention away.

“(y/n)! What up!?” Tee shouts, appearing before you with a lit cigar in hand.

“Hey! I’m liking the hats,” you say, seeing Mike and Drew slowly pull up behind him.

“They’ve been waitin’ in storage, lil’ dusty,” Mike comments, lifting his cap with an excessive brush off before putting it back on, motioning a tip down to you.

“And the cigars,” you raise a brow with a slight grin.

Tee let out a chuckle before blowing some of the smoke over his shoulder. “Held in the aging room,” he jokes, shrugging it off.

“I see you’re making good use of ‘em,” you chuckle, pointing over at Ted and Alex, who were coiling rings with theirs, which earned heavy laughs from all of them.

You felt at ease during your time with the guys, chatting up new cellies to do in the endzone and even Tee teaching you how to do the griddy, earning sarcastic looks from Ja’Marr across the room, who knew damn well he couldn’t do it for shit. And more of the guys seemed to catch on to your presence pretty quickly, making their way over as if you were the most special thing deserving of all their attention. And soon enough, you found yourself heavily distracted around a crowd of hefty football players, having a good time nonetheless.

From his impeccable peripheral vision, Joe had noticed your white opulent booties standing tall, fitting snugly around those gorgeous legs before his gaze was resting warmly on the sweetheart neckline of the top you were wearing. The fabric was light and complimented you so well, a tangerine base held to your body with glossy cream buttons down the center, the low dip giving him a clear sight into the valley of your breasts. The growing bulge in his pants certainly appreciated the view, loving your nearness as he couldn’t pry his eyes away from you.

How long have you been in here?

He couldn’t possibly know, all he was willing to process was your animated expressions while talking to a few of the guys, your hair curled behind the ears and sleek down your back, giving him a full view of such pillowy soft features refined in their movement. It was almost erotic seeing you like this, and of course, being simply you shouldn't mean any more than it was, but even then, he found you to be purely stunning, attempting to read meaning into your little gestures that really had none.

“Here Joe.” The voice of Mitchell cutting his line of thinking.

“Hm?” He said, peeling his eyes away from you and back to the small group of guys.

“Light it, man!” Cam urged, smacking his shoulder with a look of amusement.

Joe leaned into the burning matches, trying to appear present as the ultra-hot flame evenly spread over the tip of the binder, a ray of smoke clouding around before he stood tall again. He always had a thing for the sheer pleasure of a seasoned cigar, whether it be the unwritten tradition behind smoking it or the way one made him look entirely untamed in a smutty way. The archival meaning behind it seemed to take him away for a minute until the mixture of laughter from across the room stole his attention, flicking his eyes over to seek out the source which only led him back to you, watching the way you were casually chatting it up with his friends.

He dotes over your pearled smile, plush lips moving but him not quite having the ability to make out what they were saying, and being as heavily possessive as he was with you, there was a pit in his stomach as though you were intentionally leaving him out; seeking out the guys before him. When you were off on your own, looking all perky and adorable the way that you do right now, it gave him more reason to just stand there and find entertainment in you, shutting out Cam and Mitchell as he couldn’t seem to break his gaze from your perfect figure in those tight leggings. And even in all this time, you still hadn’t gone looking for him.

“I’m gonna go find (y/n),” he says abruptly, chopping into the conversation that he wasn’t even present in. The guys both looked at him with awkward stares, seeing him immediately walk off in a straight b-line with one thing running through his mind, as if it was perfect timing seeing all of the guys disperse, leaving you to yourself.

“Hey, champ! I was looking for ya,” you say, slowly turning to see Joe dawdling his way over looking exceptionally hot in that hat and pair of cartiers.

“I’m sure you were,” he jokes, subtly playing off as though you haven’t been on his radar for quite a while.

He smells of secondhand cigar smoke, a scent so vile but seeming so damn sweet, and the look of him, with his fingers clasped between the wrapper, smoke trailing behind him as that massive display towers you, has an uninvited ache sitting high up in your stomach. Perhaps the no-smoking zone melding with his inebriated appearance made you into it.

“Take a hit, baby,” he offers, enjoying one himself before offering it up to you.

“It’s okay, Joe, I’m fine,” you say, clinging to his wrist in slight protest, but his strength had easily overridden yours.

“Uh uh, open.” He put it to your mouth stiffly, creating a forced part to your lips, and you puffed, the smoke entering your body steadily. “You can take more than that,” he drawls, keeping it planted between your lips.

You grudgingly puff once more, watching his starry eyes leer deeply through those shades as if they were the one thing that stood in the way of telling you when to stop. And before you could even let them get the chance to, the spicy taste had you reflexly coughing, white clouds of smoke releasing with your breath. It felt like the ultimate head fuck, making you feel relaxed while still being so foreign, as though the substances were already screwing with you. Or maybe it was just those eyes—that deep blue gaze reflecting and looking back at you through those cartiers while casually taking another hit.

“Tryin’ to get her loose already, Burrow?” You heard Ja’Marrs voice get louder behind you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder with an unlit cigar in hand, a slice of pizza in the other.

Joe blew steadily, dramatically tilting his head back and letting the smoke diffuse in the soft light. “Maybe,” he smirked, then lit the cigar.

Ja’Marr casually places it up to your lips, insinuating for you to take another as the look of those blacked-out shades did the same, causing them to absently part. You puffed, getting an enjoyable first draw that was very controlled and allowing the smoke to slowly enter your mouth, forming the sweet flavor spike of the cigar. It was different from Joe’s, freshly lit and not having too strong of a taste as it coils around, only to release the moment you open for a blow.

“Damn (y/n), you done this before?” Ja’Marr snorted, perhaps impressed with how natural you made it seem.

“Not really,” you chuckle, the smoke still leaving your system in little puffs of your speech.

As if he found it amusing, you slightly turned and caught a snippet of Joe's cheeky grin. “She’s learning,” he adds, the slightest bit of smoke filtering out his nose.

For nearly the next hour, Joe clung to your side, sharing his cigar every so often and becoming besotted over the way you looked while smoking it. He noticed little things, how you let your mouth open while slowly tipping your head back, thin white wisps releasing through your nose, and eyes glazed once the relaxation hit; you were so simple in your technique, perhaps giving him a reason to show you up the moment he would take it back. He didn’t even know what a boundary was, wrapping those butchered hands around you tightly just to drop them to your ass and teasingly squeeze. You were constantly pressed against him, his lashes falling so casually over your small frame and subtly checking out your cleavage any chance he could get.

And not before long, he was on his own, sauntering around and bobbing his head to the music with that cigar still locked in his left hand. He was so in control of himself, finding distractions in the guys and giving you nothing but bedroom eyes when those shades finally came off, his hat later following with the let-down of those messy curls. It would be a lie if you said it hadn’t completely turned you on, the man who couldn’t be two inches away from you that suddenly wanted all the distance—it’d be another to say you didn’t miss it, being the center of his attention and having those torn hands rough all over you.

Soon enough, it was getting late, most of the locker room cleared out, other than a couple of the guys gathering their things as were you, and much like earlier in the night, Joe had been sitting back in his own little corner, seeming lost in an opium of desire watching you clean up a mess you didn’t create. You had been doing it unknowingly throughout the night, picking up cups when you saw them lying around nearly empty; Joe simply stuck on the way your ass moved during such a simple task. And when you went to throw the last bit of trash away, he smirked, seeing you dim the lights as if you were getting ready to head out yourself.

“Not so fast,” you heard, slowly turning your head to meet Joe who was sitting in front of his locker, still puffing on that damn cigar. He sat up playfully slow, arms folded over the bulk of his chest before they unraveled, finally putting the cigar to rest in the ashtray beside him. Those hands had been clasped to it all night, and now they were empty, searching for something else to bind to just as they found you, curving every lustrous swell of your body so tightly and having you fall neatly into the depths of his security as he leaned into the crook of your neck.

“What are you doing?” You giggled nervously, seeming there was the easy pass of anyone walking in.

“Taking what I deserve,” he murmurs below your ear, his touch roughening with a gentle squeeze.

“Joe, please,” you say uneasily, peering from wall to wall as if you could sense you weren’t alone.

The small whine in your breath led your words to dissolve, giving him more reason to keep his hands moving, one pressing to the small of your back, the other going straight for your ass. His grip was overly rough, kneading what those desperate fingers could grasp as the subtle aroma of cigar spice caused that unintentional ache to resurface, perhaps even from peeking over his shoulder and seeing the smoke rise from its still position by his seat.

It left a warm tingle on your skin that almost took away from the way Joe was working you, weaving his hands around thin fabric while his lips traced near the plumpness of your breasts, and before he could go any further, you squirmed in his grasp. “Baby…”

“We can’t, we’re in the locker ro—“ you started to say, only to get cut off by your own moan when Joe gently sucked along your jaw, using his teeth to hold you still while his wet tongue caressed your lightly blemished skin.

“You think too much,” he whispers before leaving a trail of kisses along the spot where your neck and shoulder connect. And before you could dare spit out another word, his lips were claiming yours, the taste of wood and ash filling your tastebuds, and fucking hell was he sweet—so goddamn sweet as his tongue swept the roof of your mouth.

Every stroke has your fingers impulsively digging into his biceps, aiding the feeling of his harsh tongue as his hips did the same, searching for any kind of friction while he gently grinded against you. He could feel his cock painfully thicken at just the taste of you—a craving he was so blinded by that it has his finger running down your torso, inching closer and closer to the sweetest part, and within seconds you gasped, back arching the moment he cups your heat.

“(y/n),” he crooned against your lips. The smooth glide of your leggings as he circled his fingers had him releasing light sighs, pleased at the warmth he felt, and the hostility you once had started to fade when you realized just how desperate you were, not even stopping his teasing touch as he was back on your lips.

His groans reverberated in your chest, mixing with a collection of whimpers and moans all spilling out from you before he was pulling away at full tilt, a string of saliva going with him. Those fingers naturally came to your chin, tilting your head so you were staring straight into his drunken daze, the waxed glow in them eyeing your cherry-red lips coated with a soft sheen.

He needed you bad, the light numbing left on his mouth pathetic without the feel of yours, and he wasn’t gentle, taking a hold of your wrist and leading you towards his locker where that padded chair sat right in front, his cigar still newly lit. And without much thought, he took a seat and popped it between his swollen lips just to take another hit before he set it back down, then guided you into his open legs until you were being pulled on top of him.

“Joe, someone could walk in,” you press as he starts to peel the buttons of your shirt, eagerly placing sloppy kisses along your collarbone with your words slipping right past him once again, as if he was highly driven by the risk of one of his teammates coming back to see you straddling him.

“Forget about it (y/n).” His words were muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, finishing what he started with the faint bites and instantly sucking to etch them deeper. As if all your worries had subsided, you tilted to give him more access, placing your teeth on his shoulder and biting when he did.

It was absolute torture, his solid muscle keeping you held to him as those lips wandered your body, going from one abused area just to make another with kisses that were so rough and raw. And when he licked your throat, oh so gingerly, you swoon, just as you always did from his fervent touch. He blew teasingly, setting a cold patch to your wettened skin before those fingers were back on you, playing with the band of your leggings and slowly peeling it over your ass. You could see the pure need in his eyes, that glimmer still present and possibly more polished than ever with a deep hunger to be inside you, perhaps led by such passion as he helps you off of him to strip you bare.

Seeing you beautifully displayed has him eagerly doing the same, fiddling with the zipper of his pants as you await with a rush of fervor. You chewed on your lower lip, seeing him remove the bottom half of his uniform and peeling off the pads that had been lying underneath this entire time, noticing his wicked intention of leaving his division shirt on while revealing that thick length of his. Your mouth went dry, the opposite of what everything felt like as your gaze traced up his shaft, over his throbbing tip, and then—

“C’mere,” he growled, so roughly it was barely noticeable as he gripped the back of your thighs, guiding you to straddle him once more with your clit pressing firmly on his length.

Joe let out a low groan of approval, feeling you seep out onto him, easily dripping down to his base as your hips undulate, coating him in your anticipated arousal. His breath was heavy, chest heaving while smoke left his nose with every exhale, feeling more relaxed than ever as he tapped your ass, encouraging you to lean forward against his massive frame when his tip glided through your slick folds, beads of precum painting you in white before he’s filling you effortlessly.

"Joey,” you whimper, toppling over his chest with your hands tucked beneath you, clenching his shirt tightly.

“Shhh baby, stay quiet,” he breathes, that unmistakable scent floating to your nose.

There was no denying how insanely full he made you feel, going deeper and deeper until his tip reached your cervix, finding it to be easy in this favorite position of his. And even with all the control, you give yourself no time to adjust as you’re able to find your balance, pushing up to hold onto his broad shoulders before endless moans force their way out of you.

Your eyes flutter, fingers squeezing around the black fabric of his shirt as you start to bounce, ass rhythmically meeting his thighs when you take him entirely. His hand rests on the swell of your hip, pinching generously as he sits back and watches just how intoxicating you look above him; head tossing back and teeth clamped over that bottom lip. Such a delicious sight somehow landed that cigar back between his lips, puffing away as your bounces became harder, your heated arousal stringing from his balls every time you moved off his cock. Following the loud slaps of your ass that had him peeking down just to feel himself harden all over again at the way you swallow him up.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans, releasing the long hit he took when smoke crowds between you two.

There was so much luster in his eyes, lifting back up to your writhing form as if you were the most fascinating thing. The amber glow coming from the showers had every curve that made your body what it was looking even more angel-like, laying a soft shadow on your gilded silhouette. Joe seemed to have no shame here tonight in his little corner of the locker room, getting you relaxed ahead of time just to have you completely blissed out while taking his cock. He loved seeing you like this, all worked up because of him, your eyes glazed over with a sheen of water as they opened, and the little pants and moans streaming out from that precious mouth.

Your breasts collectively move with every bounce of your body, another part of your lewd display he found utterly sexy, and he just couldn’t resist, clenching the cigar between his teeth as he reached up to play with them. You moan through your bitten lip, feeling a shudder wave over you at the added stimulation of him groping you, the hard clasp of his fingers leaving tiny pinches around your nipples that have you sobbing out pathetically.

A grin curves along his parted lips before he retracts, earning a soft whine as you glance down, continuing your steady movements while he pops that cigar out of his mouth only to wet his finger and lay it back to you, smearing his spit over your bruised bud and seeing it glisten in red.

He really couldn’t get enough of you, finally setting his cigar down in the ashtray before both of those calloused hands were tugging at your waist, guiding you up and down as your bounces became more frantic. Such a sight, seeing you all hazy with your hands moving regularly around his muscled frame, digging into his chest and biceps, his throat to his hair, all while the feel of cream trickled down his length, creating more delicious lubricant.

“Keep going, baby, just like that,” he encourages, laying a harsh smack to your ass. Both his words and the light prickle to your skin have you clenching around him as you whimper and shut your eyes, feeling your stomach cluster into a ball of singeing heat.

“Fuck Joe!” You mutter, reaching for his throat again and pressing your thumb just below his adam’s apple, feeling him swallow deeply at the touch, knowing it was something he always did to you, and now the tables had completely flipped. You were in a daze of pleasure, leading your other hand down to find your clit and rubbing furiously as you flutter against him.

“Sh-it,” he breathes, feeling himself get closer and closer and not liking how you were slowing down, let alone touching yourself just to finish. He leans back further, having you topple over his chest to where his arms wrap tightly around you, his hips halfway off the seat for him to begin a tortuous pace, slapping aggressively against your ass as his cock hammers so unbelievably deep. You cry out in such sweet pleasure, tears pacing down your cheeks and soaking into his shirt at the feel of him pounding into you with no mercy.

He listens to how blitzed you are, squeaks spewing from your lips and into his ear, your hot breath leaving heat to his skin as he fucks you absolutely senseless. It was a side to you he adored even more, sitting back to watch the way you take him so well, only for him to finish you out.

“Fucking hell, (y/n),” he groans deeply in your ear at the swelling tightness, your contractions closing around him so wonderfully as he thrusts into you faster, harder.

“J-Joe, I’m gonna—” You nuzzle closely into his chest, fingers gripping all of him that they possibly could while your teeth bite into his pec, all of which held you in place for such a beautiful release.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, sloppily handing you a few more thrusts until he’s spilling into you deeply.

Your breaths were n-sync, matching up with one another as he ever so slowly slipped out of you, further groaning at the feel of your mixed arousals dripping onto his softened cock. He showers you with loving affection, peppering kisses to your neck and shoulder, soon locating your lips that were blistering red from being incessantly chewed. He kissed them so tenderly, aiding with the softness of his while those hands gave small strokes to your back.

“Easy, I need you for later,” he murmurs against your cheek, feeling that brash grin form along your skin.

You giggled blissfully, hugging him tight to your weak self with that cigar still in view, realizing you had a long night ahead.

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ijustcrypretty · 7 months ago

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Football vs. Futbol

Summary: Your parents are a former 49er and a retired ballerina. They gave birth to you, a soccer star who played at Stanford from 2018-2022 (and three-peated), and your twin brother, a UC Berkeley basketball player. You are currently playing for Bay FC after leaving Chelsea and moving back to the states, as well as the USWNT. Your brother is a rookie for the Sacramento Kings, and well… bitches are thirsty for him. Your family ties and the increasing fame that comes with being your generation's greatest female soccer player lead to you being in room with many interesting and exciting people, including the mysterious and elusive Joseph Lee Burrow.

Reminder: THIS IS FICTION. Y/N is not a real soccer player that exists, the character of her dad and brother aren’t based on actual athletes, etc. The only part of this story that is based off real people is the Joe Burrow aspect of it all. His character will for the most part remain true to who he is, or who people perceive him to be, in the real world. Everything else I am literally pulling from my ass.

Also MDNI. This will be a story about ADULTS doing ADULT THINGS so go to your 3-hour shift at Jamba Juice and mind your business if you're not an adult. Please and thank you :)

ALSO. I will hopefully maintain writing this specific storyline and sequence of events but I am very open and would love to write random offshoots and blurbs with the same characters involved. So PLEASE feel free to send me any requests/asks for little plotlines you'd like to see and I may include them in this storyline or write a separate story/blurb when I have time. I may keep up with that more than I keep up with writing the full on story because I get bored and sidetracked easily :(

. . .

You tried. You really did try to pay attention as your manager Becky droned on and on about all the opportunities you were getting and should be taking. “Its important for the world to see a successful female athlete dominate the world and not give a shit what people think. Its what the boys do,” she says.

“I mean signing a contract for 15 million a year is unprecedented Y/N. Completely unheard of. You should not be sitting here doubting yourself, bringing yourself down. You’re the shit, and you should be allowed to know that about yourself”.

“Becky. I know I’m the shit. I just don’t necessarily need to be going on fucking Pardon my Take. What's next, you want me to get in with the guys at Barstool? I feel like all this press shit is a lateral move at best” you argue. The last thing you want to do is not be true to yourself. You are not doing any of this for men. Being sexualized by men in sports media has been bad enough, but if you began to lean into that? God, you’d hate yourself.

“Y/N, the entire world is looking at you. This is an opportunity for you to break down doors and let other women in with you. I know you don’t necessarily WANT men to like you, but what's wrong with having male fans? You have an opportunity to expand your fan base? Take it.”

You left the meeting in a huff, knowing that Becky was right, but your pride was not allowing you to accept the facts. Yes, you have a lot of fans because of my talent. But plenty of your fame has come from the completely and utterly thirsty people of the internet. It just feels so much worse when the sexualization comes from straight men. Even though that is ironically exactly the group of people that you want to be attracted to you.

But Becky was right. You needed to stop avoiding spaces dominated by men simply because you were afraid of being sexualized and not taken seriously. It was going to happen regardless, might as well take all the opportunities you could get. So you dialed the number.

“Heyyy Y/L/N”

“What’s up Big Cat. I’ll do it.”

. . .

“Listen imma be honest, I didn’t know how this was gonna go but you’re actually so dope” said Big Cat. “However, I am unfortunately going to have to appease the fans and at least try to get some of these answers okay?”

“Oh God. Hit me with it I guess” you responded.

“Lets say that hypothetically” PFT began, “you were single.”

“Oh Godddd” you groaned.

PFT laughed. “I’m sorry. We have to. It's our job.”

“Listen Y/N, we have all the connections,” Big Cat said. “Just give me 3 Inames of any athletes, and I can try to set you up. I know you must have some dusty motherfuckers in those DM’s, let me figure out what you like and maybe get you someone quality okay?”

“Listen, I appreciate it, I really do. But I don’t have a type. And I sure as hell will not be saying any names,” you say. “But if you know anything Big Cat, let me know. Because some of these guys are all talk but don’t make a move when they get the chance.”

“Ohhh I know things Y/L/N,” Big Cat replied. “I ask this question to everyone, and they all have a little crush on you, and they all ask me to cut it out. I’ll tell you after.”

“Oh jeez I appreaciate it i guess?” you said.

“Wait you’re going to Paris for the athlete fashion things right Y/N?” PFT interrupted. “Because boy do we have some info for you.”

“Haha yeah I’m going. I’m super excited to get more involved and it’ll definitely be fun to meet new people. I’m really passionate about fashion so I’m really excited to do more of that this year” you said. “But I am NOT going for any other reason okay? Just for the fashion.”

“Righttttt” Big Cat replied. “But it won’t hurt that a bunch of 6’4 athletes will be there will it?”

“I guess not Big Cat, I guess not”

#joe burrow #cincinatti bengals

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