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ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat · 2 months ago

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that one guy - spencer reid x fem!reader

reader has an off feeling about this one guy... so spencer has a look at said guy

genre: fluff wc: 0.8k warnings: boyfriend!spencer, r wears a dress, made up womanizer character named tristan, drinking, blond guy slander a/n: anon request!

We all know that one person.

The one that everyone likes–the one that always has the most charming smile and the most lovely personality.

In this case, it’s that one guy. All of your friends love him and you, well, don’t. It’s just a certain something about him. He’s too squeaky clean for someone who jumps from girl to girl, calling them all crazy afterwards. Every last one was either a stalker, too clingy, or so batshit that he had no choice but to dump her over text.

But nobody thinks that’s something odd.

Especially your friend that fell for him quicker than what it takes for him to write a goodbye note. You warned her, over and over. Yet, she stuck up her nose and called you an unsupportive friend.

Which is preposterous, by the way.

Your mission for the night is to find a reason why this guy is so bad. Because, right now, you’ve got unfortunate dating history and a hunch. Call yourself a journalist.

Instead of doing this all on your own, you’ve called for reinforcements. Very cute reinforcements if you do say so yourself.

Your boyfriend, Spencer Reid, the profiler he is, is going to help you get some insight on this guy. Hopefully being a male will also help.

The party was supposed to be a simple get-together for your friend group but, how parties go, too many people found out and the guest list multiplied.

Your hands smooth out the fabric of your mini dress as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” Spencer asks, peeking into your bedroom.

“Yeah.”

The party is less of an ordeal than you imagined. The house isn’t filled to the brim with ass-hats with red Solo cups–instead, there are guys in suits and girls in mini skirts.

Not frat assholes, but snooty assholes.

Yes, music is still blaring and you’re sure this is Spencer’s worst nightmare, but it’s less get drunk and pass out on the couch than most of the parties you’ve been to.

“Is he here yet?” your boyfriend wonders aloud, hand on your back.

Your manicured finger points to a blond–of course he’s blond–standing and talking to a short guy in a tux by the drink table.

“Allow me to introduce you,” you grin ironically. You drag him by the hand while he never loses his grip on your waist.

The man is tall with a wicked smile and a face that says my dad owns the place, do you want to go upstairs? That face unsettles you.

He looks down at you and yells over the music, “well, hey! I didn’t expect you to come. I thought you’d be knitting or something…”

“I don’t knit.”

He nods, taking a gulp of his scotch. “Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to Spencer.

“This is my boyfriend! Spencer.”

“Tristan,” he introduces himself before his eyes find you again, “I didn’t peg you for the boyfriend type,” the man smiles like it was a compliment.

“Right.”

Your eyes meet Spencer’s for a moment before you turn back to your enemy (no, that’s not an overdramatization).

“I’m going to get a drink!” you hum in faux pleasantness.

The excuse to skedaddle was obviously not believable considering the assortment of alcohol was quite literally right in front of you.

Spencer’s gaze follows you until you’re impossible to spot even with a magnifying glass. When he turns back to the slightly shorter man, his eyes are fixed on where you–and your short dress–were last visible.

“You got an interesting girl.”

“What’s that mean?” your boyfriend attempts to sound curious, not protective.

Tristan shrugs dismissively.

“She’s… someone that gets old fast.”

Your heels click on the tile as you enter the kitchen. Everyone here is dressed so nicely. The bustling atmosphere both overwhelms and exhilarates you. Sparkling faces and smiles surround you as your fingers wrap around a flute of something bubbly. It fizzes all the way down your throat. Your brain keeps floating back to the conversation you’re missing out on.

It’s only when you feel a large hand on your shoulder that you don’t feel like you’re missing out on all that much. “Let’s go,” Spencer mutters before an awkward smile that makes his lips press together in a flat line.

You aren’t so upset to leave.

His words come out strung together and garbled while he guides you out of the party, “I don’t mean to–uh–be controlling or anything, but you should… stay away from that guy.”

And, you know what?

Yeah.

“The amount of misogynistic, conservative, and frankly perverted things that I had to listen to…” he shakes his head and his voice raises an octave to say, “also, the way he talked about you! Honestly, just, for your safety–”

“Spencer,” you giggle, spinning to cup his face. “I really just wanted an excuse not to talk to him.”

Those pretty teeth of his peek out thanks to a pretty smile. “Okay,” he laughs.Your feet bring you down the porch steps swiftly. A soft (albeit childish) giggle leaves you before you squeal, “also, his name is Tristan.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x self insert

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favefandomimagines · 3 months ago

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Now That We Don’t Talk (j.b)

Summary: now that we don’t talk…

AN: this is a long one boys and girls and nonbinary friends

Alternate Ending

The cameras loved them.

They were the kind of couple that seemed plucked straight out of a Hollywood script—Joe Burrow, the golden boy of the NFL, and Y/N, a star who shined just as brightly in her own field. Every magazine, every sports network, every gossip blog had something to say about them. America’s sweethearts, they were called. The kind of couple that made headlines for simply existing.

But what the world saw—the perfectly timed red carpet appearances, the viral social media moments, the dazzling courtside dates—was only a fraction of what their relationship really was.

It all started at a charity gala in Los Angeles.

Joe wasn’t the type to be impressed by fame. He wasn’t the guy who got starstruck, wasn’t the one to fawn over celebrities just because they were on the big screen. Football was his life—his focus. His teammates had to practically drag him to the event, insisting that it would be good PR.

Y/N, on the other hand, had been born for nights like this.

She thrived in the glitz and glam, the cameras, the flashing lights. It wasn’t that she was shallow—far from it. But she understood the game. She knew how to command a room, how to make people laugh, how to charm even the most cynical of hearts.

And that included Joe Burrow.

She noticed him before he noticed her. He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a sleek black tux, perfectly put together but somehow completely unaware of just how good he looked. His jaw was sharp, his lips pressed into a small, amused smirk as he listened to one of his teammates ramble about something.

Y/N was intrigued.

Not because he was Joe Burrow, the star quarterback. But because he was the only person in the room who didn’t seem desperate to be seen.

So, naturally, she made it her mission to change that.

"You're either really mysterious or really bored," she said as she slid up next to him at the bar, her voice laced with playful curiosity.

Joe turned his head, startled for a split second, before a small smirk tugged at his lips. He knew who she was, of course. It was impossible not to. She was everywhere—movies, music, magazine covers. She was the kind of famous that made people feel like they knew her, even if they didn’t.

"I'm neither," he said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "But that was an interesting introduction."

Y/N grinned, twirling the straw in her cocktail. "Well, you looked like you needed rescuing."

"From what?"

"From the serious case of ‘I don't belong here’ that’s written all over your face."

Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You caught me."

It was easy after that.

Too easy.

They talked like they had known each other forever, like they had been waiting for this moment. It didn’t matter that their worlds were different—his ruled by playbooks and stadium lights, hers by movie scripts and flashing cameras. For that night, none of it mattered.

By the time the gala was over, Joe had Y/N’s number saved in his phone under a simple “Trouble”—a joke, but also a warning to himself. Because something about her felt dangerous in the best way.

From that night on, they were inseparable.

At first, they tried to be discreet. It wasn’t about hiding—it was about protecting something before the world could ruin it. They wanted to figure out what they were before the headlines did.

But it didn’t take long for the world to catch on.

The first time they were seen together was at a Bengals game in Cincinnati. Y/N had shown up in the stands, wearing his jersey, sitting beside his mom, cheering like she had been a fan forever. The cameras caught her—how could they not? The biggest pop star in the world was at an NFL game, losing her mind every time Joe completed a pass.

The internet went into a frenzy.

That night, Joe texted her: You made my mom’s entire year, you know that?

Y/N: Good. She’s my favorite Burrow.

It was effortless between them.

Joe loved how she made him laugh, how she pushed him out of his comfort zone without ever making him feel like he had to change. Y/N loved how steady he was, how he never let the fame get to his head, how he made her feel safe in a way she never had before.

They traveled the world together. Italy in the summer, where they drank wine on balconies and got caught by paparazzi on a yacht. The south of France in the offseason, where Joe learned (very poorly) how to dance on a rooftop with her.

And through it all, they loved each other fiercely.

There were things the cameras never saw.

Like the time Joe showed up at one of her concerts in disguise.

He wasn’t one for big public displays, but he wanted to see her perform without the pressure of being Joe Burrow in the front row. So he threw on a hoodie, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, and stood in the VIP section like a regular fan.

Y/N spotted him from the stage instantly.

The next morning, there was a viral video of her grinning mid-song and blowing a kiss toward the crowd. The internet went wild trying to figure out who she had been looking at.

Joe texted her after: That was for me, right?

Y/N: Nope. Definitely the guy next to you in the Bengals hat.

Joe: Liar.

Or the time she surprised him after a game, waiting in the locker room tunnel when he least expected it.

He had played a rough game—bruises forming beneath his jersey, exhaustion heavy in his bones. But then he saw her standing there, arms wide open, eyes shining with something softer than the spotlight.

“You did amazing,” she whispered against his shoulder.

And just like that, the rest of the world faded away.

For a while, it was perfect.

But even the most golden of couples have their breaking points.

As Joe’s season intensified, Y/N’s career soared higher than ever. There was always something—a game he had to focus on, a movie she had to fly out for. Their time together shrank, their conversations turned into quick check-ins rather than deep talks.

The missed calls, the exhaustion, the unspoken hurt—it started building.

There were nights Y/N fell asleep alone, staring at the empty space beside her, wondering if this was what love was supposed to feel like.

There were nights Joe sat in his locker, scrolling through social media, seeing Y/N at events he should have been at but couldn't because football always came first.

They were still in love.

But love wasn’t enough.

And for the first time, they both started to wonder—

What happens when you realize the person you love the most... is the one you’re slowly losing?

At first, the differences between them were exciting.

Joe was all about structure—early mornings, strict schedules, a life ruled by game plans and discipline. Y/N was the opposite. She thrived in the unpredictability of her world. Late-night studio sessions, spontaneous flights to Paris, impromptu performances under neon lights.

They were yin and yang.

And for a while, it worked.

Joe loved how she brought color into his life, how she could make even the most ordinary moments feel cinematic. Y/N loved how grounded he was, how he kept her sane in the madness of fame.

But what once felt like balance slowly became friction.

It started small—missed phone calls, text messages left on read, a growing list of "Sorry, I can't make it" and "Wish you were here."

They promised it would be temporary.

"We just have to get through the season."

"We just have to get through filming."

"We’ll make time soon, I swear."

But time never came.

Y/N’s career was exploding—new projects, new opportunities, a world waiting for her. She was everywhere. Award shows, red carpets, magazine covers. When Joe turned on the TV, she was smiling in interviews, dazzling the world like only she could.

But she was never with him.

And he was never with her.

The first time it really hurt was the premiere of her new movie.

It was supposed to be a huge night—her first leading role, a moment she had worked for since she was a teenager.

Joe had promised he would be there.

But the night before, his coach called an emergency meeting. A must-win game was coming up, and the team needed to focus.

Y/N, I’m so sorry. I have to stay for practice.

Yeah. I figured.

Soon, I promise.

But soon never happened.

That night, she walked the red carpet alone. Smiled for the cameras. Gave interviews. Pretended she wasn’t aching inside.

And when she got back to her hotel, she turned on her phone to see Joe’s Instagram story—

A picture of him at the Bengals facility, throwing passes under the stadium lights.

She stared at it for a long time.

Then she put her phone face down and went to sleep.

The next big fight came after one of Joe’s biggest games.

It was an away game against Kansas City, a prime-time Sunday Night Football matchup. The kind of game that everyone was watching. Joe had played phenomenally—four touchdowns, a game-winning drive in the fourth quarter. The kind of performance that cements a quarterback’s legacy.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She wanted to be. She had planned to be. But a last-minute industry event pulled her away.

Joe called her after the game, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“I saw the highlights!” she said, her voice bright but distant. “You were incredible.”

He exhaled. He wanted her there.

“It would’ve been nice to see you in the stands.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I know. I tried, Joe, I really did. But—”

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

Silence.

The kind of silence that held too much weight, too much unsaid emotion.

Y/N sighed. “What do you want me to say? You miss things too, you know.”

“I know,” Joe said quietly. “And I hate it.”

The next day, there were headlines: Joe Burrow celebrates huge win, girlfriend nowhere to be found.

She tried not to let it sting.

She tried not to notice that he didn’t text her goodnight.

It was after an argument—one of those quiet, devastating fights that lingered even after the words stopped.

Y/N had left for an event, and Joe had stayed home.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels, half-watching some meaningless TV show, when his phone buzzed.

A text from a teammate.

"Damn, your girl is everywhere tonight."

Joe frowned, opening Twitter.

And there she was.

Standing next to some famous actor, both of them smiling under the bright lights. Her hand rested on his arm. It was nothing. But at the wrong angle, the wrong moment, it looked like everything.

The next morning, when she came home, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at his coffee like it held all the answers.

He didn’t look up when he spoke.

“Are you happy?”

Y/N stilled, setting her purse down. “What?”

Joe exhaled, finally meeting her gaze.

“Are you happy?” he repeated. “With me. With...this.”

Her stomach twisted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A real one.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Because the truth was—she didn’t know.

And Joe? He could see it in her eyes.

Neither of them wanted to say it out loud, but in that moment, they both knew—

The love was still there.

But the timing? The world they lived in?

That night, Y/N climbed into bed beside him, curling into his warmth like she always did.

Joe wrapped an arm around her out of instinct, but something had shifted.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them said, "We'll fix this."

Because for the first time, they weren’t sure if they could.

They just laid there in the dark, both pretending they didn’t feel the weight of what was coming next.

And for the first time in their relationship, the silence wasn’t comfortable.

It was the sound of something breaking.

It happened in the offseason.

They had both known it was coming for weeks, maybe even months. The missed calls. The late replies. The exhaustion in their voices when they did talk. Everything that once felt effortless had turned into something they had to work for. And while love was always worth fighting for, neither of them could deny that they were fighting more than they were loving.

But even with all the signs, knowing doesn’t make it easier.

It was supposed to be a night to fix things. Joe had just come back from a much-needed vacation, and Y/N had cleared her schedule for the weekend. They agreed on dinner at a quiet restaurant, away from the flashing lights, away from the outside world.

But from the moment they sat down, the air felt different.

Joe tapped his fingers on the table, his mind somewhere else. Y/N stirred her drink absentmindedly, barely touching her food.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

This wasn’t them.

Y/N sighed, placing her fork down. “Joe…”

He looked up, his blue eyes tired in a way they never used to be.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she whispered.

His jaw tensed, his fingers curling into a fist on the table. He had known this was coming. He had felt it deep in his bones for weeks, but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it.

“We’re just… not the same anymore,” she continued, her voice careful. “I feel like we’re always missing each other, even when we’re in the same room.”

Joe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to give up. She wanted to hold onto him, to tell him that they could fix this if they just tried a little harder. But how long could you keep holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I don’t want to walk away,” she admitted, tears burning behind her eyes. “But Joe… when was the last time we were really happy?”

Joe swallowed hard, looking away. That question shouldn’t have been so hard to answer.

Y/N reached for his hand across the table, squeezing it gently. The way she always had. But this time, he didn’t squeeze back.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes flickered to hers, something raw and unspoken flashing behind them. He loved her, too. He always would. But love wasn’t enough.

He let out a long breath, nodding slowly.

“I love you, too,” he said. And just like that, it was over.

They didn’t make a scene.

They left the restaurant separately—Joe through the side door, Y/N through the front. The paparazzi were waiting, cameras flashing as they shouted questions she didn’t have the energy to answer.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Joe.

She swallowed, pulling it out to see the text.

Get home safe.

She blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

Y/N: You too.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell him that she didn’t regret a second of it. That she would always root for him. That he would always be her favorite story, even if they didn’t get a happy ending.

But instead, she tucked her phone away and got into the car, leaving behind the only person who ever made her feel like home.

Joe didn’t go straight home.

He drove around the city for hours, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His phone buzzed again. A text from Ja’Marr..

“You good?”

He stared at it for a long time before finally typing back:

“No.”

That night, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every part of him ached—but not in the way it did after a brutal game. This was different. This was the kind of pain that sat in your chest and refused to leave.

For the first time in his life, he had lost something he couldn’t win back.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

She sat on her couch in a hoodie that still smelled like Joe, knees pulled to her chest, phone clutched in her hand.

She kept expecting a call. A text. Something.

But it never came.

And she didn’t reach out either.

Because deep down, they both knew—there was nothing left to say.

The worst part wasn’t the breakup itself.

It was everything that came after.

It was waking up and realizing there were no more good morning texts waiting on her phone. It was scrolling through Instagram and seeing a picture of Joe at practice, looking focused, looking fine—like she hadn’t just walked away from him.

It was reaching for her phone after a bad day, only to remember that he wasn’t hers to call anymore.

For Joe, it was even worse.

Football had always been his escape. The one thing that never let him down. But even in the middle of practice, between drills and film sessions, his mind would drift to her.

He’d hear a song playing in the locker room—one of hers—and his stomach would tighten.

He’d catch himself reaching for his phone, tempted to text her, only to stop at the last second.

He’d drive past a place they used to go, and suddenly, it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Love doesn’t just disappear overnight.

It lingers.

It haunts you.

And no matter how much they tried to move on, there were still nights when they both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.

But they never reached out.

Because they both knew—

It would hurt too much to talk.

Joe didn’t think about her.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Training camp started, and he threw himself into football harder than ever. Early mornings, late nights, extra drills—anything to keep his mind busy. The media praised his focus. Locked in. Unshakable. Ready for the season of his life.

What they didn’t see was the way his thumb hovered over her contact some nights.

Or how he still wore the bracelet she gave him—a simple leather band, hidden beneath his wrist tape.

Or how, when the team played in Los Angeles, he caught himself looking for her in the crowd, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

Y/N, on the other hand, convinced herself she was free.

She threw herself into work, into new projects. New music, new opportunities, new people. She let herself be photographed at industry events, wearing the kind of radiant, effortless smiles that made it look like she had never been in love with Joe Burrow.

But behind closed doors?

She still hesitated before playing his highlights when ESPN aired them.

She still wore his oversized hoodie when she was home alone.

And sometimes, when the world was quiet, she’d catch herself thinking about calling him. Just to hear his voice. Just to see if he was okay.

But they didn’t talk.

Not when she was nominated for a Golden Globe.

Not when Joe led the Bengals to another playoff win.

Not when they were in the same city, just blocks apart, but worlds away.

It happened at a charity gala in New York.

Y/N hadn’t planned on going, but her team convinced her. A good PR move. A chance to show the world she had moved on.

She had spent the night mingling, smiling, doing what she did best—commanding the room.

And then, she felt it. A shift in the air. Like someone was watching her.

She turned her head, and there he was.

Joe Burrow, across the room, standing near the bar, his hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked… different. The same, but different.

The suit was sharp, the same cool, composed expression on his face. But there was something in his eyes—something softer.

For a moment, it was like time folded in on itself.

Every late-night conversation. Every whispered “I love you.” Every fight, every apology, every moment that had made them them.

Joe’s grip on his glass tightened.

Their eyes met, held. And then—just like that—he looked away.

He turned, said something to the person beside him, took a sip of his drink.

Like she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt something crack inside her chest.

She knew this was how it was supposed to be.

They weren’t together anymore.

They didn’t owe each other anything.

But wasn’t it strange?

That after everything, they were just two people in the same room, pretending they had never been anything more?

She didn’t look at him again for the rest of the night.

And when she got home, she locked herself in her hotel bathroom and cried for the first time in months.

The headlines started soon after.

Joe Burrow Spotted in NYC, No Y/N in Sight—Are They Finally Moving On?

Y/N Looking Radiant at Charity Event Amidst Split From Joe Burrow.

Has Joe Found a New Leading Lady? NFL Star Seen with Mystery Woman.

Y/N didn’t click on the articles.

She didn’t let herself wonder if Joe had really moved on.

She focused on her work.

She poured herself into writing new music.

And for the first time in months, she felt something close to herself again.

Until one night, when she found herself sitting at her piano, fingers hovering over the keys, a melody forming before she even realized what it was.

The words spilled out before she could stop them.

“…Did you get anxious though, On the way home?, I guess I'll never, ever know, Now that we don't talk.”

“You grew your hair long, you got new icons… and from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry.

Even when they weren’t speaking, Joe was still in everything.

Joe saw the song before he heard it.

He was sitting in the Bengals’ film room, scrolling through his phone during a break when he saw the trending topic.

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With New Song: Is It About Joe Burrow?

His stomach tightened.

He should have ignored it.

But instead, he put his AirPods in and hit play.

The first notes hit, soft and aching, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the locker room anymore.

He was back in the car with her, driving down the coast with the windows down.

He was in their hotel room in Italy, tracing circles on her skin while she hummed the melody to a song she hadn’t written yet.

He was on the phone with her at 2 AM, whispering ‘I love you’ before hanging up.

And then he heard the lyrics.

You grew your hair long.

You got new icons.

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on.

Joe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face.

It was about him.

It was always about him.

And wasn’t that the cruelest part?

That even after all this time, after all the nights they had spent apart, after all the silence—

They were still haunting each other.

Joe hadn’t been looking for it.

He had just finished practice, his body sore, his mind exhausted. The locker room was buzzing with post-practice energy—teammates joking around, music blasting from someone’s speaker. He pulled his phone out, scrolling through notifications absentmindedly, until—

There it was.

A headline from E! News, pushed to his phone by an algorithm that clearly didn’t give a damn about how much he didn’t want to see this.

"Y/N Goes Public with New Romance: A Red Carpet Debut with Superman Star David Corenswet!"

Joe froze, his thumb hovering over the screen.

He shouldn’t open it.

He should swipe it away, pretend he never saw it.

But his hands had a mind of their own.

The article loaded, the first thing he saw was a photo.

A picture of her.

Y/N, sitting in the back of a sleek black car, wearing a stunning gown that looked like it had been made just for her. Her hair was styled perfectly, her makeup soft but radiant. She looked beautiful. Effortless. Happy.

And beside her—him.

David Corenswet. The new Superman. A literal superhero.

He was leaned in close, whispering something in Y/N’s ear. And Y/N?

She was smiling.

Not just any smile. That smile. The kind Joe hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. The kind that lit up a room. The kind that used to be reserved for him.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.

A sharp pang shot through his chest, something bitter settling in the back of his throat.

Y/N and the actor had revealed their relationship on the red carpet of her new movie.

A premiere. Something Joe had never gotten to do with her.

Because of football.

Because he was always too busy.

Because he never made the time.

And now? This man was there. Supporting her. Walking beside her with his hand on her waist, proudly standing by her side, looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

Like she deserved. Joe never gave her that.

He had been too caught up in his world, too focused on his career, always thinking there would be time later.

But later never came.

Because he had lost her.

And now, she had moved on. She had forgotten him.

Joe felt something tighten in his chest, a slow, suffocating kind of realization creeping in.

She’s happy without me.

The words echoed in his head, loud and unforgiving.

The article went on about how they had been spotted together for weeks, how David had been at the premiere, supporting Y/N like a real partner should. It even mentioned how the two of them looked completely in love.

Joe couldn’t read anymore.

He turned his phone over, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor of the locker room.

Around him, the noise of his teammates laughing, talking, living their lives carried on. Like nothing had just shattered inside of him.

“Yo, Burrow, you good?”

Joe blinked up at Ja’Marr, who was standing in front of him, helmet in hand, brows raised.

Joe forced a shrug, masking it. Because what was he supposed to say?

"No, actually. My ex, the love of my life, just soft-launched her new relationship with Superman, and I think I might be having a breakdown."

So instead, he exhaled, shaking his head. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Ja’Marr smirked. “Man, get some sleep. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Joe let out a humorless chuckle.

Ghosts were easier to deal with. This?

This was watching the person he once thought he’d spend forever with, moving on as if he never existed.

And the worst part? She deserved it.

She deserved someone who would show up for her. Someone who wouldn’t make excuses. Someone who could love her out loud, the way he never could.

Still, the realization left a sour taste in his mouth.

Because no matter how much she had moved on—Joe hadn’t.

And now? He wasn’t sure if he ever would.

#imagine #imagines #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow

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blueberrybirdsworld · 24 days ago

Text

Collision 4/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

CHAPTER 4 : SMAU

Serie Masterlist

@landonorris

Life lately: city nights, soft lights, slow things 🎼

@pietra you forgot “dragged to the ballet and actually kinda loved it” 😌🩰

@maxfewtrell he's lying. man was into act II don't let him pretend otherwise

@carlossainz55 slow things? who is this poetic new version of you

@formula1fashion slide 4… tux?? okay classy king

@curiouscatfan is that a program for The Nutcracker? 👀

@slowcircuits love this whole soft mood. winter season lando is ✨

@arianariverria

Opening night in Royal Opera still lingers in my limbs. Thank you to the ones who made it feel like gold 🩰🤍

@ballerinasoflondon You were luminous on stage

@velvetdanse this is what grace looks like

@stagequietly saw you last night — truly breathtaking 🩰

@quietballetgirl this bouquet is straight out of a novel. you’re magic.

@balletfansunited whoever gave you those flowers has taste 😍

Instagram Story – @pietra

@f1casuals not pietra casually giving us ballet night with the lads content 😭 I love it here

@ballerinasonthegrid wait was doing Lando and Max at The Nutcracker??

@fashionf1blog tbh obsessed with this whole aesthetic

@quietobserver32 Lando looked like the adoptive son of Max and Pietra

@f1winterwatch #LandoNorris seen by fans at the Royal Opera House in London for opening night of The Nutcracker during winter break. Dressed in full tux and accompanied by close friend Max Fewtrell and Pietra Pilao, the McLaren driver was photographed looking very out of his usual element.

Fans were quick to clock the ballet program in hand — and even quicker to spiral. Sources say he stayed through the full performance and went to the after show gala, according to Max’s own comments he was “weirdly into Act II.” 👀.

@f1girlie lando norris watching ballet in a tux… literally what dimension is this

@chaoticgrid so we all agree this is Pietra’s doing right??

@curiouspitlane "weirdly into Act II" IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE EVER READ

@formulafits not me falling in love with winter opera lando. he’s just like a victorian novel character now

@gridgossipgirl he’s not suddenly into ballet y’all 😂 he prob just got roped in by max and pietra

@f1curiosity don’t forget it was donors night at the Royal Opera… PR move?? 👀

@midfielddreams let’s be real: this is 100% media team damage control for the party boy Lando headlines

@offtrackantics tbh i wouldn’t be shocked if McLaren told him to show face and act classy for once lol

@slowburnsundays he looked good. that’s all i’m taking from this. tux Lando supremacy

@gridoverdramatic we’ve gone from ibiza yachts to ballet in a month 😭 PR team is working overtime

@f1goat not buying the “soft boy era” spin yet. we’ve seen the club videos. we remember.

@quietlyofftrack maybe he was just trying to support pietra. like. sometimes guys do wholesome things to balance the chaos

@fansofthegrid i know everyone’s like “image change!!!” but honestly?? maybe he just likes dressing up and sitting down for 2 hours

Texts messages :

Unknown Number hi so, this might be weird unless it’s not? I don’t know

Ariana Who is this?

Unknown Number right, yeah sorry it’s Lando from the other night I get your number trough the dancers contact list I hope it's okay, I swear I’m not weird

Ariana …Norris?

Lando yes, that one Formula One guy bad-at-tuxedos guy

Ariana I remember You weren’t that bad at tuxedos

Lando 😅 thanks I practiced standing still in a mirror beforehand

Ariana Impressive. So, what’s this text about?

Lando right, yeah ok so this isn’t like a thing like it’s not a date not that I wouldn’t, I mean it could be not that it has to be I just thought—

Ariana Breathe.

Lando okay resetting hi again

Ariana Hello again.

Lando I wanted to see if you might want to come to this gathering thing, not like a wild party or anything just friends, pizza, blankets, probably candles Pietra said something about fairy lights and “safe vibes”

Ariana That’s… quite the pitch

Lando I panicked halfway through and committed to the bit

Ariana I could tell So you’re inviting me to a not-a-party?

Lando yes, very chill Max is hosting and Pietra’s coming no pressure at all, if you hate it you can pretend you weren’t even there

Ariana Are you always this nervous when texting?

Lando only when the person I’m texting is kind of intimidating and elegant and casually tore my ego in half at a club once

Ariana Fair And do you usually invite said people to pizza nights?

Lando no, this is a new thing trying something different slower quieter less… tequila and regrettable decisions

Ariana I appreciate that Maybe

Lando maybe yes or maybe “I’ll disappear for three months and never answer again”?

Ariana Maybe yes if I’m not busy and if the playlist isn’t terrible

Lando Max made the playlist so yes it’s terrible but we can change it if you come

Ariana Tempting

Lando pls come I already told Pietra I invited you and she’s going to mock me forever if you don’t

Ariana Send the address I’ll think about it

Lando [📍Shared Location] okay sent thank you for being gentle with how awkward I am I swear I’m cooler in person actually no, that’s probably a lie

Ariana It’s fine I don’t like cool people anyway

Lando 😳 I’ll take that as a win

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @esw1012

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

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golden-cherry · 3 days ago

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deal - cl16 (56/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: True friends help you pack - and help you when you're spiraling.

Warnings: a bit angsty (because girlie is scared because of the gala), but Lando to the rescue!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: three chapters to go! feedback is appreciated!

You’re not sure what hell looks like, but you’re pretty confident it involves a half-zipped suitcase, a missing camera lens, and a red dress that still has the tag on it.

The room is a disaster. Not just messy, but cataclysmic. Clothes spill from every corner like they’ve been ejected from a cannon. Shoes are scattered in a chaotic constellation across the floor – heels without partners, sneakers tangled in scarves. Your makeup bag has given up on containment, its contents strewn across the floor and your bed like war casualties. Your phone charger is tangled with your hairbrush in a twisted knot of frustration. You‘re one more wrinkle away from abandoning the entire trip and sending Charles a „sorry, I’m staying in bed forever“ text.

And the dress – the red dress – hangs limply from the back of a chair, as if mocking you with its still-attached price tag and the elegance it demands that you’re pretty sure you don’t possess tonight.

He’s already in Maranello, of course. Two days ahead for media stuff, tux fittings, and some vague „Ferrari family obligations“ you didn’t ask too many questions about. You’d received a voice message from him earlier, soft and sleepy, his accent curling around the words like ribbon:

Miss you already. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Bring the red dress. I love you.

You want to bring the red dress. Really. But the thought of stepping into that gala, of being on the arm of someone like Charles – with all eyes watching, all cameras poised – makes your stomach twist into itself.

You’re halfway through trying to decide wether a second pair of heels is overkill or just responsible planning when the front door opens. You don’t look up from the mess you made, simply because you texted him half an hour ago to be a good friend and come help you.

„Packing of having a crisis?“, Lando asks, stepping over a pile of shirts.

You just lift a hand and gesture vaguely at the battlefield you’ve created.

He steps carefully over a cascade of blouses and sidesteps a rogue mascara tube with practiced ease, holding a suspiciously bright smoothie in one hand and a calm expression in the other. He surveys the room like a pit lane strategist staring at a car wreck and sighs. „Okay. You’re not allowed to touch anything else.“

Lando puts his drink down and kneels beside the suitcase, already unfolding and refolding like it’s a pit stop challenge. You just sit there and watch him work, marveling – not for the first time – at how he can turn your absolute chaos of life into something resembling order.

„You found my missing camera lens?“, you ask, blinking in disbelief as he holds it up.

„It was in one of the side pockets of the camera bag.“ He looks at you. „Honestly, are you okay?“

“No,” you say plainly. “And I still have no clue what jewelry to bring that won’t clash with that dress.” You point to the red fabric draped over the chair like it’s cursed. “And Charles will look like he walked out of a Dior campaign, and I’ll be the awkward plus-one-slash-klutz, praying not to trip on a carpet and end up in Vogue for all the wrong reasons.”

„You’ll look incredible“, Lando says, casually but with more weight than the words probably deserve. „trust me. All you have to do is show up. The dress is just backup.“

You smile in spite of yourself. He always knows what to say, somehow threading the line between sarcasm and sincerity with Olympic-level grace, like he has a map of your panic and knows exactly where to land.

You lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes, echaling through your nose. You don’t want to cry, but you can feel the tension pooling in your chest, just beneath the surface. The kind that’s not really about heels and jewelry or which clutch makes the red dress. It’s about, well, everything else - the attention, the expectations, the invisible weight of standing beside someone like Charles.

„I hate how insecure this makes me“, you murmur. „I hate that I feel small around all of this. And I’m scared that I’ll feel the same way around him, even though he’s never done anything to make me feel that way.”

Lando’s still by the suitcase, rolling your necklace into a pouch like it’s made of glass. He doesn’t speak for a second, and when he finally does, his voice is soft. No jokes this time.

„You’re not small“, he says. „You’re just going to stand in a very bright light from now on. That’s all. It makes everyone feel exposed.“

You open your eyes and turn to look at him. He’s put the necklace away and leans forward, elbows on his knees, gazing at the floor like he’s trying to find the right words underneath your clothes. „I’ve seen the spotlight mess with people“, he continues. „Even ones who seem like they were born for it. Charles … he carries it well. But that doesn’t mean that it’s easy for him either.“

You furrow your brow.“ „He never talks about how hard it can be.“ That’s not true. You remember how he told you how lonely he sometimes gets when the two of you were at his favorite spot in Monaco. But you obviously don’t tell Lando that.

„That’s because he’s trying to protect you from it. Trust me, I know what that looks like.“

Your heart clenches a little at that, because you’ve seen – and felt – it, too. The way Charles keeps certain thoughts behind the softest smile. The way he protected you up until now, so you don’t receive the negative comments that will inevitably come when the public finds out you’re his girlfriend, no matter how kind you actually are.

„I just – I don’t want to disappoint him“, you admit quietly. „Not tonight.“

Lando shifts closer and bumps your shoulder with his. „You couldn’t if you tried.“

You glance sideways at him. „You sure?“

„I’d bet my McLaren on it“, he smiles.

You raise an eyebrow. „Your actual car or your team loyalty?“

Your friend smirks. „Okay, fine, a Mclaren. Maybe a Hot Wheels one. Let’s not get crazy.“

You laugh despite yourself, and something inside you unknots a little. The weight of everything doesn’t vanish, but it feels lighter with him here. Like if you fall apart, there’ll be someone to help you put the pieces back together – maybe even fold them neatly into your suitcase.

„You always do that“, you say, still smiling as you lean shift and lean back on your hands, gazing up at the ceiling like maybe it has all the answers needed.

„Do what?“, he asks, reigning innocence as he returns to tucking your skincare into a zip pouch.

„Turn a full-blown meltdown into something that feels … survivable.“

He shrugs one shoulders, not looking at you. „It’s a gift. Like folding fitted sheets or making you eat when you forget to.“

You toss a crumbled sweater at him, but he catches it effortlessly, grinning. Then the grin fades just slightly as he glances over at you.

„Seriously though“, he says, voice quieter now. „I know this world can feel like it’s built for someone else. Like you’re crashing the party, pretending you belong.“

Your stomach twists. „Exactly.“

„But you do“, he continues. „Not because of how you look or what you wear, but because of who you are when all that gets stripped away. That’s what Charles sees. That’s what I see.“

You blink, caught off-guard by how much that hits you in the chest.

For a second, you don’t speak. The room feels still – quiet, but full of something real. You’re suddenly aware of how close Lando is, how much space he always seems to give you while somehow making sure you’re never actually alone.

„I don’t say it enough“, you finally say, „but I’m really glad we met at the supermarket and became friends.“

He shrugs again, trying to play it cool, but you see the faintest smile tug at the corner of his mouth. „You say it enough. In your own weird way. Usually when I rescue you from fashion-related disasters or emotionally charged spirals involving the idea to leave Monaco and move to Australia.“

You smile softly and shake your head, then tilt it toward him. „You really think I’ll be okay tonight?“

Lando doesn’t hesitate, I know you will. You’ll walk in, wearing that red dress, and Charles is going to look at you like no one else in that room even exists.“

You bite your lip, nervous and hopeful all at once.

„And if you do trip, with or withough camera in hand“, he adds. „Just make it look intentional. Vogue girls do it all the time.“

You look down, picking imaginary dust off your leggings. „You think Vogue girls fall?“

„Oh yeah, constantly“, he says with absolute fake authority. „They just call it ‚off-beat elegance‘.“

You roll your eyes, reaching for your suitcase. „Off-beat elegance“, you repeat, trying not to smile. „I swear you make this stuff up as you go.“

He grins. „It’s a skill. Very underappreciated.“

You’re brushing your fingers through your hair, trying to make sense oft he growing chaos on your bed and inside your head, when Lando suddenly says, casually but pointedly, „You ever think about it?“

You glance over at him. „Think about what?“

He tosses a pair of heels into the suitcase with a soft thud and looks at you, eyes just a little more serious than his tone. „That job I offered you. The McLaren one.“

You blink surprised. „Now? You’re bringing that up now?“

„You’re spiraling“, he says, unapologetic. „About the gala, about being the ‚awkward plus-one‘, about Charles looking like a Dior model. So yeah. Now.“

You sink back beside him, crossing your arms over your knees. „I’m not –"

He lifts an eyebrow.

You sigh. „Okay, maybe a little.“

He leans back on his hands. „I meant it, you know. About the job. It wasn’t just some throwaway offer.“

You look at him wary. „I thought it was. You were joking like, „someone who takes photos like they’re straight out of a dream“.“

„Yeah, that was the line“, he admits with a small smile. „But only because if I was too serious, you’d shut it down.“

You stare at the floor, chewing on your bottom lip. „I didn’t shut it down“, you say quietly, eye fixed on the tangle of charger cords and socks by your feet. „Charles did.“

Lando shrugs, not in a dismissive way, just easy. „Yeah. I figured he might.“

You frown. „You’re not – offended?“

„Nah“, he says, leaning back on his hands again. „I knew it was bad timing. I mean, middle of a three-way phone call on New Years Day? And Pierre told me that the two of you finally found each other? Not exactly a contract negotiation vibe.“

You huff a laugh. „You did pitch it when we just got into our apartment.“

He smirks, then shakes his head slightly. „Whatever. But I was serious, you know. I wasn’t just throwing it out there because I thought it would be fun to work with you.“

You raise an eyebrow.

„Okay“, he amends. „Also that. But mostly because I think it’d be sick to have you come shoot for us at Woking. Headquarters are changing a lot. New tech, new faces, more storytelling. Zak wanted someone who actually knows how to make things look – real. Like they breathe.“

You stare at him, surprised by how genuine that all sounds. Lando isn’t joking now – not in that half-sarcastic, half-serious way he usually does when he’s talking about important things. He’s just – being honest.

„Woking, huh?“, you say, letting the word settle. It feels unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

„Yeah“, he says, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie. „We’ve been doing this big internal shift – kind of trying to reset how we tell our story. Less glossy, more grounded. Real people, real work. Honestly, it made me think of you immediately.“

You smile, a little caught off guard. „I thought you only saw my stuff when Charles and Kika posted it.“

He gives you a look. „Come on. Sure, I’ve seen your stuff on their Instagram, but I trust you.“

You sigh, curling your legs up beneath you. „So what exactly would I be doing? Not that I’m considering it.“

He smiles. „You’ll work in Woking, like I said. Come to HQ, hang out, shoot whatever catches your eye – engine builds, sim sessions, Oscar being weird in the cafeteria. Whatever you think will give a good insight on how the team at HQ is like. Anything to make the team seem a little more approachable.“

You raise your brows. „Thats – actually really cool.“

„It is“, he agrees. „And look – I know your thing with Charles is like carved in stone or whatever, and I’m sure that Charles and you will work great together. I’m just – trying to look out for you.“ He purses his lips. „Giving you something that’s just yours.“

You nod slowly, feeling something shift in your chest. It’s not pressure. It’s a possibility.

Then, like always with Lando, the moment softens, before it can grow heavier. He leans back again with a huff, stretching his legs out across the floor. „Alright“, he says. „Emotional vulnerability quota reached. Back to chaos.“

You laugh under your breath, grateful for the shift. The air feels easier now, like something’s opened and aired out between you. He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling absently. You sit cross-legged beside him, folding one of your jackets into a neater square just to keep your hands busy.

„Oh“, he says suddenly, holding the phone closer to his face. „Guess who’s in Italy.“

You glance over at the screen. „Who?“

„Elena“, he says, thumb hovering over her story. „Didn’t she say she was staying in London this weekend?“

You shrug. „I haven’t talked to her since we went to the club“, you reply, scooting closer. He taps through her stories, and sure enough – there she is, framed against golden Tuscan hills, wine glass in hand, grinning into the sun.

He taps through a few more of Elena’s stories – sweeping vineyards, a blurry photo of a cheese board, close-up of an Espresso – and then hands you the phone like it’s evidence.

You squint at the screen, then smile. „I should text her“, you say suddenly, already reaching for your phone.

Lando raises his eyebrow. „Yeah?“

„Yeah. Charles is still in Maranello tomorrow and once the gala’s over I could use a day off from it. Something that feels like real life.“ You glance down at your phone as you start typing. „Just lunch. Something easy.“

You: hey, just saw your stories – Italy looks like a dream. wanna do dinner tomorrow night if you’re free? I’ll be in Italy as well x

You hit send and set the phone down, feeling something settle in your chest – not obligation, not pressure, just something small and grounding. Like reconnecting with someone who has nothing to do with Formula One.

Lando watches you, smiling faintly. „That’s good. You need that stuff. Normal things.“ He purses his lips. „So, I helped you pack, so I deserve something. A thank-you coffee? A snack? A parade?“

You laugh. „You want a parade?“

He shrugs „A tiny one. Like – a snack parade.“

You throw a sock at him, and he catches it with mock offence. „I take it back. No parade for you.“

Your friend grins, and you both dissolve into laughter, the kind that lingers in the air like sunlight through an open window.

The gala still looms ahead. The dress, the cameras, the careful choreography of taking Charles‘ pictures and being seen. But for now, sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor with Lando, laughing like you’ve known him forever – it all feels manageable.

And maybe, more than that. It even feels a little bit like everything will turn out the way it should be.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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enticingmelanin · 1 month ago

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The Best Man: Aaron Pierre x Reader Fic

The Best Man || Aaron Pierre x Reader

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 2k+

Summary: Things get hot and heavy between you—the maid of honor—and Aaron, the best man. And let’s just say, he’s living up to that title in every possible way.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Drinks were flowing, music was pumping, great conversations were being had, and romance was in the air.

You were filled with joy watching your best friend since the 9th grade, Sophia, get married to her now-husband, Kelvin. You weren't just honored to witness it—you were her maid of honor. The entire day had been a whirlwind of nerves, happy tears, laughter, and utter bliss. You loved a good wedding, and it wasn’t every day you got to attend one, let alone be part of something so beautiful. So you were soaking it all in—every moment, every detail.

Something else you wanted to soak in—or rather, someone—was Kelvin’s best friend and best man, Aaron Pierre.

He looked unfairly good tonight in that black tux, just a little loosened at the collar now, his smile as sharp as it was warm. You’d felt his stare more than once across the candlelit table, both of you trying to play it cool as you mingled with guests, danced with cousins and aunties, and stayed just enough apart. But there was no mistaking it: the magnetic pull was there.

You and Aaron had been quietly, delicately dating long distance for about 2 months now. Not because you weren’t proud of him, or because he didn’t want to shout it from rooftops—but because the timing, the spotlight, his HBO series Lanterns filming between LA, London, and Atlanta... all of it called for care. And you both valued your privacy. He still managed to stay consistent—FaceTime dates, good morning texts, long calls after wrap days. And now, with filming wrapped, this wedding weekend had been your first chance to physically be in the same place with a moment to breathe.

You reached for your glass of champagne, your black gown catching the light—the jeweled corseted top glittering like stars. The fabric hugged you perfectly, making you feel regal, powerful, and just a little dangerous. A server passed by. You took a breath. Then, tapping your fork gently against your glass, you stood.

The room slowly quieted. All eyes turned. And though you were used to speaking in front of crowds, this one made your heartbeat drum against your ribs—because your voice, tonight, was for love.

“I wasn’t planning to give a big speech. I'm shy,” you began, catching Sophia’s eye at the head of the table, her smile bright through the flicker of candlelight. “But this day… this day has been too beautiful not to say something.”

A soft hush settled around the room. Aaron’s gaze found you again. Steady. Warm. Unwavering.

“When I think about love,” you said, “I think about my best friend since the 9th grade. I think about the long nights we stayed up dreaming about our futures, what kind of men we’d fall for, who would make us laugh, protect our peace, and dance with us in kitchens when no one was watching.”

You paused, your voice catching slightly before you smiled.

“And today, I watched her live it. I watched her marry the man who sees her exactly as she is and loves her for all of it. Kelvin, you are everything I hoped she’d find. And Sophia… you’ve always been the heart in any room.”

A few guests dabbed their eyes. You glanced down at your glass, then back up again.

“This day has been magic—nerves, happy tears, laughter… utter bliss. And I just want to raise a glass to that kind of love. The kind you grow into, the kind you choose, the kind that makes even the hard days worth it.”

You lifted your glass, your voice gentle but sure. “To Sophia and Kelvin—may your love be bold like red roses, steady like white ones, and may it always feel like coming home.”

Applause broke around you. You made your way over to Sophia and pulled her into a warm embrace, the two of you whispering soft I love yous through the emotion. Kelvin soon wrapped his arms around you both, completing the heartfelt group hug. Back at your seat to sit back down, heart still fluttering, and about to glance in Aaron’s direction, he was already there—pulling out the chair beside you.

His hand brushed yours under the table, a silent promise, a quiet fire.

And as the music picked back up, and Sophia laughed into her new husband’s shoulder, you leaned into the moment, letting yourself feel everything. Joy. Love. Anticipation. And the electric thrill of something just beginning.

The melody of Alicia Keys’ “Un-thinkable” began to play, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The DJ extended the beat, giving people time to join the dance floor. Instantly, Sophia and Kelvin made their way to the center, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying slowly to the rhythm.

“Can I have this dance?” a deep voice with that dangerously enticing London accent murmured in your ear.

You turned, meeting Aaron’s beautiful turquoise-and-gray eyes. Blushing, you nodded, letting him take your hand and lead you onto the floor. Nestled between other couples, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you close, your bodies moving in sync with the music.

“I was wonderin’, maybe, could I make you my baby? If we do the unthinkable, would it make us look crazy? If you ask me, I'm ready…”

As the lyrics floated around you and your eyes locked with his, the truth between you settled like a secret only your bodies could confess. You were thinking the same thing—ready to claim and be claimed in every way. If he asked, you were more than willing to be his woman.

“That was a beautiful speech,” Aaron murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for you. “I hope I fit the man you dreamed of falling for.”

You smiled, emotion catching in your throat as you held back tears. “You exceed those dreams.”

A slow smirk curved his lips as he lifted your hand, placing a soft kiss to the back of it. “If I asked you to meet me upstairs once this song is over... would you?” he asked, a mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed, biting your lip.

He gave a small nod, then leaned his forehead gently against yours as the two of you melted into the rest of the song. Across the room, Sophia caught your eye over Kelvin’s shoulder and mouthed, I knew it. You giggled and stuck your tongue out playfully.

As the final chords faded, Aaron pulled back slightly, eyes steady on yours. “Meet me upstairs in five. Room 306,” he said, then slipped away into the crowd.

You played it cool, walking back to your table. You finished the last sip of your champagne, letting the bubbles settle your nerves, then grabbed your clutch and made your way to the elevators.

Ding!

You stepped off and followed the gold-plated signs. Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door flew open. Aaron pulled you inside, swept you off your feet, and kissed you with the kind of hunger that said he’d been waiting all night.

Your clutch hit the floor as your arms wrapped around his neck, matching his intensity. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you opened for him without hesitation. You melted into the kiss, savoring the plush feel of his lips, the solid strength of his embrace. He nipped your bottom lip gently, then paused to catch his breath.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said, voice husky. “Well... really every day since we started seeing each other. Life’s been crazy and exciting, but you’ve been that extra anchor—my peace. I know it hasn’t been easy, but your patience... it’s meant everything to me.”

His eyes burned into yours as he continued. “I know I’ve got what it takes to give you everything you deserve. And if you’ll let me, I’d love to be your man. I’m all in, baby.”

You kissed him slow and sweet, sealing the moment. “I’m all in too. All yours, Mr. Pierre.”

His grin stretched wide, all 32 teeth on display, full of joy and promise. “I think that calls for a celebration..” he said, his gaze dropping to your jeweled corset. “Think we can manage getting this dress off safely? You look stunning, but I’ve been fantasizing about you out of it all night.”

You moaned as his lips found your neck, your nipples tightening against the fabric, your thong growing damp with anticipation.

“I think... we’ll manage,” you purred between gasps. “Take it off.”

Aaron moved behind you and loosened the strings of your dress. Once it no longer hugged your body like a glove, he slowly pulled it down, and you carefully stepped out. As you bent over to undo the straps of your heels, a firm smack met your ass, making you gasp.

“Keep them on, princess. Go sit on the sofa,” he commanded—gentle, but firm.

You obeyed, settling onto the plush couch as he stood in front of you. His eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight. He slowly undid his tuxedo jacket and removed his shoes before slipping it off completely. Your pussy clenched at the sight of him—golden skin, muscular build, pronounced six-pack. His dick was thick, hard, long, and slightly curved. He looked handcrafted by the heavens, and you couldn’t help but trail a hand down to your covered pussy, slowly rubbing as the ache for him grew.

He bit his lip, eyes locked on the growing wet spot between your legs. Draping his tux and your gown over the armchair, he pulled a gold foil packet from his pocket and made his way over to you, eyes intense—like a predator stalking its prey. Kneeling between your legs, he gently moved your hand out of the way and slid your thong off with your help, your hips lifting in anticipation.

“Damn,” he murmured, staring at your glistening pussy. “I know we have to be quick, but I have to taste you,” he said, then began kissing the inside of your thighs.

His eyes found yours just before his lips met your center. You gasped as his tongue began circling your clit, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched, back arching, but Aaron gripped your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth.

He French kissed your lower lips, then gently sucked your clit while watching your body unravel. “Oh, baby…” you moaned, fingers threading through his soft, thick curls. Aaron groaned, sending light vibrations through you, before plunging his tongue deep inside. Your hips writhed, your stomach caved—all your nerves lit up between your thighs. Your moans grew louder as his thumb joined in, rubbing slow circles over your clit while his tongue fucked you faster.

“Oh my God… mmm! Baby, you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimpered, head tilting back.

Aaron hummed in satisfaction, then traded his tongue for two fingers, flicking and sucking your clit while pumping inside you.

“Uuunhhh! Shit, shit… mmm,” you cried out as your release spilled onto his fingers. He slid them out and brought them to your lips, licking up every drop of you. You eagerly accepted his fingers into your mouth, muffling your moans as you tasted yourself.*

Satisfied with his cleanup, his lips trailed kisses up your stomach to your chest, stopping briefly to suck your nipples before capturing your mouth in a sensual kiss. You moaned softly, tasting your own essence on his tongue.

The tearing of foil filled the air, and moments later you felt the thick tip of him at your entrance. As he pushed forward, you gasped against his lips.

“Mmm... you feel me, baby?” he moaned, straightening up as he slowly filled you.

“Unh... yes, Daddy. You’re so big…”

“You can take it, princess. Just breathe. Feel me,” he instructed, setting a slow, deliberate pace. He fed your clenching pussy inch by inch. You reached for his forearms as he gripped your waist. You tried not to dig your nails into his skin, but with every deep, intoxicating stroke, he made it nearly impossible.

The rhythmic slap of your thighs and ass meeting his pelvis filled the room, harmonizing with the moans and groans between you. His strokes quickened as you stretched around him perfectly. His smoldering gaze drifted down to where your bodies connected, and a deep growl rumbled from his chest.

“Mmm... look at you takin’ me so well,” he moaned, watching you coat his length. His hand slid down your torso as he lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder. The moment his eyes locked back on yours, his thumb found your clit and began to rub, just as he drove into you harder.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” you cried out at the added stimulation, your hand flying to press against his flexing abs. Feeling the power of him beneath your palm stirred the orgasm building deep inside you.

“You can push all you want... mmm. I’m not going anywhere, baby. Not until you cum on this dick,” he groaned, voice thick with emotion. “I missed you so fuckin’ much,” he breathed as he began to pound into you deeper, his hefty balls smacking against your ass with every thrust.

You wanted to tell him how much you missed him too, but the way he hit every spot just right—and the way his thumb kept working your clit—made it nearly impossible to form words. Instead, you reached for his face and pulled him into a deep, needy kiss. Everything you couldn’t say poured out through that kiss, and he felt it—knew the longing was mutual. The clench of your walls, your whimpers and cries, and the arch of your back told him everything he needed to know.

“Cum for me, beautiful... Ooh, shit. Look at me,” he growled against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours. Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his—and that was all it took to ignite the fire burning inside you.

“Cum on your dick, baby.”

Your dick…

Something about the way it rolled off his tongue—how he claimed you as his—pushed you over the edge. The fire within you erupted, and you came with his name on your lips. Watching you writhe and fall apart sent him spiraling right after. His dick throbbed as he came deep inside you, lips latching onto your neck to muffle his guttural moan.

The rhythmic slaps slowed, then stilled with his final thrust. Both of you worked to catch your breath. He peppered your neck with soft, tender kisses, trailing up to your lips. You shared a slow, deep kiss, then whispered against his mouth, “I missed you too.”

After freshening up and getting redressed, you both made your way to the elevators, hand in hand.

“You catch the first one, and I’ll wait for the next—space us out a lil,” he said with a grin.

You nodded and giggled softly, hoping no one caught on to what just happened.

“I hope you know that was just a preview of what’s to come tonight. I’m not done with you,” he growled in your ear, his hand warm at your waist as you waited.

A chill ran up your spine.

“I’m counting on it, Daddy,” you purred just as the elevator doors opened. You placed a quick kiss on his lips before stepping inside, descending to the main floor.

You reentered the reception just in time for your bestie and bestie-in-law to cut their cake. Standing by your seat, you pulled out your phone to snap photos of the beautiful couple. As you watched Sophia feed Kelvin a bite of fluffy red velvet cake, a quiet thought crept in—maybe you were on a similar path.

Almost as if answering that thought, Aaron appeared beside you and handed you a fresh glass of champagne. He winked, and you returned it with a soft smile.

Looks like the best man just might be the best man for you…

The End.

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Just a lil smutty romantic moment for my babes. I hope you enjoyed it. Masterlist coming soon! My taglist is always open, feel free to join the gang. xoxo

Taglist:

@slvt4her @wanderingreigns @avoidthings @xjjawsomex @that-one-anxious-mango @wabi-sabi1090 @nubiawrites @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kianaleani @slutsareteacherstoo @slyy-foxx @dxddykenn @moujg @naughtynolly @wildcardmelaninfreak @pocketsizedpanther @wanderingreigns @wabi-sabi1090 @styleismyaddiction @novahreign @transparentphantomface

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #fanfic #fic #x reader #aaron pierre fic #x black reader #smut #black writers #aaron pierre x black reader

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