background: the ring ceremony a couple of months after the seahawks win of super bowl 60 has a new couple coming out of the shadows for the first time.
(all pics from pinterest, all rights reserved)
notes: first aj fic!! anyways i do want to mention there is y/n having doubt of them being a couple in public (because the media can be a bitch..) anyways
word count: 1.3k
warning: this is a alternative universe, fluff, aj being a lover boyyy in the beginning like ouu shii
Y/N spent the entire afternoon pretending not to be nervous for the sake of AJ not worrying about her. It wasn’t about the dress, the heels, or her walking into the biggest event of the year for champions.
But she was nervous because tonight would be the first time anyone saw her with AJ.
For almost a year, she and AJ had somehow managed to keep things private. Not secret exactly. His family knew. Her family knew. A handful of teammates knew.
Luckily, the public knew nothing, no Instagram launches or accidental background appearances in her videos or his sightings. And now she was standing in her and AJ’s apartment in downtown Seattle, staring at herself while trying not to puke everywhere with her anxiety.
The blue dress on her was drop dead gorgeous as it hugged every curve perfectly, the front dipped low enough to show cleavage without being inappropriate, while the back was completely open all the way down to her lower back.
AJ stepped out of the bedroom, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit, and immediately froze.
His mouth literally fell open to the ground.
"Wow."
Y/N rolled her eyes.
"Don't."
"No."
He laughed, “No, hold on.”
“AJ..”
He crossed the room immediately. The extremely tall tight end stopped in front of her and looked her up and down, and then did it once again.
"Holy shit."
She covered her face.
"Stop."
"I'm serious."
His eyes widened.
"Baby."
He looked genuinely stunned.
"You're the prettiest woman I've ever seen."
She felt flustered immediately, "You're biased."
He looked back down again, “Okay, but who allowed this??”
"It's just a dress."
"Just a dress?"
He looked personally offended.
"Do you see yourself?"
She couldn't stop smiling.
AJ dropped down into a squat in front of her, this giant man putting on her heels nearby.
"What are you doing?"
"You'll fall."
"I know how to wear heels."
“Oh really?”
She smacked his shoulder lightly, being careful not to make him fall, which wouldn’t happen with his size.
AJ grinned.
Then carefully took her foot into his hand, gentler than anything he does, even on the field. Yet somehow it made her heart melt, because if you told AJ months ago he’d ever get to this stag,e he’d slap you for lying.
He fastened the strap around her ankle.
Then the other one.
"There."
He stood back up.
Then his eyes landed on the partially zipped dress.
"Turn around."
Y/N did.
The backless design exposed most of her back and he gulped loudly.
"You're trying to kill me."
She looked in the mirror, debating if she could put this conversation off, maybe it was a insecurity digging deep into her mind and pretend everything was fine, but this man could see right through her.
“You know.. What if your teammates dont like me?”
“What?”
“I know it sounds stupid.”
AJ was taken aback by this random nonsense coming out of her mouth, where did this come from?
“It does.” he paused before going behind her in the mirror and putting his arms around her waist. “Baby, why wouldn’t they not like you?”
She hesitated.
Then finally admitted it.
“Because im black, thats why.”
He stared at her look in the mirror, and even he was confused.
“I know its 2026, and people won't care as much but still theres some people that live in the world that we shouldn’t be together-”
AJ kissed her on her lips with a quick peck before Y/N could continue.
"Listen to me."
She looked up.
"I don't care what color you are."
"I know."
"My teammates don't care what color you are."
She opened her mouth.
He cut her off immediately, rubbing one of her knuckles.
"No, all they care about Y/N is how you treat me, and how I treat you. You know I talk about you all the time, and I would do anything for you.”
She looked up into the mirror again before sealing another peck to her lips, “Besides that, you’re way out of my league mamas.”
"You look beautiful."
The sincerity in his voice made her chest tighten
"Really?"
He looked offended.
"Do not ask me stupid questions that you already know the answer to."
She laughed then grabbed her purse.
"Ready?"
AJ offered his arm and she took it.
30 minutes later, they’d arrive at the venue which looked absolutely jaw dropping. Blue and white lights on the ceiling and the tables white and elegant. The moment AJ and Y/N stepped onto the blue carpet together cameras immediately started flashing.
And suddenly Y/N remembered why she'd been nervous.
"You're okay.”
He pulled her closer putting his arm around her lower waist before continuing into the main venue.
AJ sat beside Y/N the entire evening, his hand finding her knee underneath the table whenever conversation drifted elsewhere.
The small gesture helped calm her nerves.
A blonde came up to her introducing herself as Madison and within 20 minutes Y/N felt like she’d known them forever.
"You know what's funny?" Riley, one of the backup QB’s wife said.
"What?"
"We've all been trying to figure out who AJ was hiding."
Y/N nearly choked on her drink.
"What?"
Madison nodded.
"Oh absolutely."
"Girl."
"The mystery woman became our cup of tea in the wag suite.”
Sophie, another girl pointed dramatically.
"People genuinely thought he had an imaginary girlfriend."
After dinner, the lights dimmed and the entire room became hype and all the WAG’s pulled out their phones to record because they knew what was going on, the rings were coming, but they didnt know how.
Until, they literally started descending from the ceiling and every player lost their mind and AJ looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
His hands were shaking.
Y/N laughed.
"Open it."
"I am."
"AJ."
"I AM."
Everyone nearby started laughing flipping open the box and the ring was huge, which his hand size didn't make any better when the diamonds shined like it was a mini sun.
Players and coaches were hugging eachother and that included AJ no longer having his suit jacket on, getting pulled in with other players and disappearing into a crowd.
About thirty minutes later most of the girlfriends and wives had migrated toward the back of the room.
Far away from the players acting like college freshmen who had discovered alcohol for the first time.
Y/N joined them.
Immediately finding herself surrounded by laughter.
Madison pointed toward a group of players.
One dude was showing literally everyone his ring every ten seconds.
"He hasn't stopped."
"Three hours."
"Three hours?" Y/N laughed.
"Every conversation."
One of the girls stood dramatically.
"'Hey man, nice weather.'"
She mimicked someone shoving a hand forward.
"'Did I show you my ring?'"
Everyone lost it.
Y/N laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
Then Riley pointed toward Sam Darnold.
"Look at Sam."
Y/N followed her gaze.
Sure enough, Sam was taking approximately his 50th photo of the night.
"He loves pictures."
"He absolutely does."
Madison laughed.
"I respect it."
Y/N smiled.
"I would've done the same thing."
"Exactly."
The conversation shifted to personal stories.
At one point, Madison revealed she'd accidentally met her boyfriend's mother before meeting him.
The group nearly cried laughing.
Then the attention shifted.
Straight to Y/N.
"So."
Y/N immediately knew she was in trouble.
"When did you and AJ start dating?"
The entire group got excited as Y/N laughed.
“Its been almost awhile now,” she said as everyone’s eyes widened who were in the conversation.
And for the first time all night she realized something.
She wasn't nervous anymore because nobody judged her in the slightest, they simply wanted to know the girl who made AJ happy, and some of the guys questioned how he made her happy in return.
yn.yln
❤️ 874,280 💬 28,398
Liked by: ajbarner wagstalk deuxmoi katiedarnold and others
yn.yln: ring season 👀💍
@/12thmanupdates: THAT IS A FOOTBALL PLAYER HAND.
@/sportsgirl98: Girl we don't care about the food WHO ARE YOU DATING???
@/seattlefanforlife: WHY IS EVERY PHOTO CROPPED LIKE A CRIME SCENE
@/footballgirlie: Sis posted evidence and disappeared.
@/wagstalk: Hand too big for a corner.
@/seahawksnation: TIGHT END HANDS.
@/slayedbysyd: BODY TEA AS HELLL.
@/fentybeauty: excuse us while we stare respectfully.
@/beautywithbree: Whoever your man is, he's fighting for his life.
@/ajbarner: im a lucky guy
@/yn.yln: took you long enough to admit it 😘
@/nflupdates: OH THEY FLIRTING FLIRTING.
@/teuniversity: GET A ROOM.
@/oliviaculpo: stunning!!
@/mikefromboston: AJ TEACH ME YOUR WAYS.
@/jalenhurtsburner: i knew he was into sistas bro
@/realpatriotfan89: she's only with him for the money. yall know how these girls are.
@/nflfan88: seek employment.
@/seahawksforlife: what a odd thing to say.
@/yn.yln: that's crazy considering i had money before i met him lol.
@/wagossip: OH SHE GOT TIME TODAY.
@/brady12: interracial relationships never work anyway.
@/ajbarner: good thing nobody asked.
@/sportsandtea: future first round picks genetically
@/osuburner: her genetics ain't matching his.
@/ajbarner: weird thing to think about another man's future kids.
@/yn.yln: omg please open up the schools
@/katiedarnold: okay but where'd you get the dress because I NEED IT NOWW.
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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 Most people expect drunk AJ to be reckless, loud, horny, or a weird mix of both. Instead, he turns into an oversized golden retriever who suddenly forgets personal space, follows you everywhere and can't stop telling everyone how much he loves you.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 clingy and drunk!aj, mentions of alcohol, party descriptions, sweet aj, insecurities (not by reader), fluffy end
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 4.4k
The thing about drunk AJ is that nobody believes you until they see it for themselves.
And right now, having just won the Super Bowl for the Seattle Seahawks, AJ is absolutely obliterated.
The afterparty is in full swing at the rental house - teammates everywhere, their plus-ones, random celebrities who somehow convinced their way through the door, all of it bathed in that particular kind of chaos that only exists after a championship win.
You've stationed yourself on the edge of the kitchen island with a drink you made thirty minutes ago and forgot to finish, mainly because AJ keeps appearing at your side like he's been pulled there by an invisible string. And he keeps appearing constantly, like a beautiful, six-foot-six homing pigeon.
"Baby," he says now, somehow finding you again even though you're in the same spot you've been for the last forty minutes.
He pulls you into his chest with the kind of determination that suggests this is vitally important information he's about to share. His dress shirt is mostly unbuttoned, his tie is somewhere in the living room (you watched him throw it earlier), and his hair is doing this thing where it's sticking up on one side. "Baby. Listen to me."
"I'm listening," you say, because you are, and also because you've learned over nearly seven years of dating that when AJ gets to this stage of drunk (the emo, clingy stage), it's easier to just let him get it out.
"I wouldn't be here without you," he says, and he says it with the weight of absolute truth, like he's just invented philosophy. His dark eyes are shiny, very serious, and completely alcohol-logged.
"Like, I wouldn't be-" he gestures vaguely toward the living room where his teammates are howling about something "-this. Any of this."
"Okay," you say softly, running a hand up his arm because that's what you do. That's what you've always done.
"No, like, seriously," he continues, and he's gripping your waist now like you might float away. "Without you, I'm just... I'm just some dude. But you-you made me..." He loses his train of thought, frowning at your face like it might contain the answer. "You made me...better. Like, Super Bowl better."
It's genuinely sweet, in a way that would be completely devastating if he weren't absolutely wasted and currently breathing beer fumes directly into your face.
"You won because you're talented," you tell him, but he's already shaking his head, adamant.
"No. No, no, no." He pulls you closer, and you have to grab the edge of the counter to steady yourself. "You. I wouldn't be here without you. I know I say it all the time, but like-" he pauses, his expression becoming very intense, very sincere "-I really mean it."
Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls from the living room. "AJ! Get in here! We're celebrating!"
AJ turns toward the sound, and for one hopeful second you think he's going to let you have a moment of peace. Instead, he grabs your hand and starts pulling you along with him.
He settles on the couch and immediately positions you against his side, his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting on top of your head. Someone shoves a shot glass in his hand - obviously, he takes it, but he doesn't let go of you.
"Seriously though," he says into your hair, and you can already feel what's coming. "I wouldn't be-"
"If you say 'I wouldn't be here without you' one more time," you interrupt, but you're fighting a smile, "I'm going to need another drink."
"But it's true," he insists, with the kind of earnest desperation that only drunk people can muster. "It's like, the truest thing. I wouldn't be-"
"AJ."
"-here without you," he finishes anyway, completely unbothered by your warning. He squeezes you tighter. "It's just facts, baby."
One of his teammates starts laughing. You bury your face in your hands.
This is going to be a very long night.
The pattern becomes obvious around 11 PM.
AJ will disappear into the living room, swallowed up by a crowd of teammates who want to relive specific plays from the game - there's a lot of animated discussion about the fourth quarter, several dramatic re-enactments, and what you're pretty sure is someone trying to convince everyone that they could've been a professional athlete if they'd just tried harder. You stand there on the kitchen island stool, nursing a drink that's getting dangerously watered down, and you give him approximately seven minutes of peace.
Then there's a commotion from the living room, someone shouts something about the playoffs and through it all, you hear AJ's voice rising above the chaos: "Wait, where did she-" followed by the sound of him extricating himself from the couch with all the grace of a newborn foal.
He materializes in the kitchen doorway thirty seconds later, his expression shifting from mild panic to pure relief when he sees you sitting exactly where he left you. It's almost funny, the way his face changes.
"Oh my god," he says, walking toward you with the careful precision of someone who's very aware he's had too much to drink and is trying very hard not to show it (he's showing it). "There you are. I lost you for a sec there!"
"I've been sitting here," you say, but you're already opening your arms because you know what comes next and sure enough, he folds himself down - well, "folds" might be generous; it's more like he's melting - pressing his face into your neck. He smells like expensive cologne mixed with beer and that particular AJ-sweat that you've come to recognize as "just ran around celebrating winning the Super Bowl."
"Don't leave me again," he mumbles into your skin, and he sounds so genuinely distressed that you can't help but laugh.
"You left me," you point out, but you're already running your fingers through his hair, already settling into this particular version of your boyfriend.
"I...what?" He pulls back to look at you, confused. "No, I just went to...I was just..." He trails off, realizing the absurdity of his own statement. A slow grin spreads across his face. "I went to hang out and forgot that I left you."
"Yes," you confirm. "That's what happened."
"That's so stupid," he says, but he's laughing, and then his teammate is calling from the living room again, something about needing to get more shots, and AJ's looking torn between the siren call of his teammates and the gravity of your presence.
"Go hang out," you tell him, because you know he wants to, and because you also know exactly what's going to happen in about ten minutes.
"You sure?" He's already standing up, but he leans down to kiss the top of your head, lingering there for a moment like he's trying to memorize the exact position. "Don't go anywhere."
"I won't," you promise.
He's gone before you can change your mind, disappearing back into the living room with a whoop that makes someone cheer in response.
You've moved from the kitchen island to the couch, wedging yourself into the corner opposite where AJ's friends are gathered. The game highlights are playing on one of the TVs - they've looped back to it three times already, everyone wanting to see their own moments of glory. You're on your phone, scrolling through Instagram pictures people are posting from the afterparty, when you hear it: "Wait. Wait, where's my-"
He appears from around the corner like he's been shot out of a cannon, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room before landing on you. The relief on his face is almost comical.
"There you are!" AJ says like you haven't literally been in his line of sight this entire time, like you haven't just been sitting on a couch fifteen feet away. He's already moving toward you, and you helpfully swing your legs up to make room for him.
He plops down beside you with absolutely no grace, immediately draping himself across your lap like 250 pounds of pure muscle is nothing. Which, to be fair, he probably thinks it is when he's sober. Right now, drunk AJ operates under the impression that he weighs approximately twelve pounds and is made entirely of down feathers.
"I missed you," he announces, pressing his face into your thigh. "It's been like...hours."
"It's been ten minutes," you say, but you're already running your hand along his back, your fingers tracing the line of his spine through his partially unbuttoned shirt.
"Ten minutes is like..." He pauses, doing math in his head that you can visibly see him failing at. "That's like ten thousand minutes in drunk time."
"That's not how time works."
"It is when you're in love," he says, with the kind of absolute conviction that only alcohol can provide. He tilts his head to look up at you. "Did you know that?"
"No," you say softly. "I didn't know that."
"It's science," he informs you seriously. Then: "I can't believe we won. Like, actually won. Did you see that last catch I made?"
You did. You'd been sitting in the stands, screaming your throat raw, watching him haul in that pass in the fourth quarter with defenders dragging at his jersey. It had been one of the most beautiful and terrifying moments of your life.
"I saw it," you tell him.
"I was thinking about you," he says, and somehow he manages to sound both drunk and sincere. "Like, right before the play. I thought about you and then I just knew I was gonna get it, like you gave me luck."
"That's not how luck works, either."
"Everything's different when you believe," he says, and honestly, at this point you're not going to argue with drunk philosophy AJ because it's kind of sweet, even if it's also making no sense. He's quiet for a moment, then: "I wouldn't be-"
"Don't," you warn.
"-here without you," he finishes anyway, grinning at you like he's very clever.
You throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand, somehow, which is impressive given his current state, and he just looks so pleased with himself that you can't actually be mad.
One of his teammates notices him and starts waving frantically. "AJ! AJ, come look at this replay!"
By 1am, you decide to wrap it up
He's gotten progressively drunker, progressively more emotional, and progressively less aware of the fact that he's 6'6" and 250 pounds of dense muscle. He's also apparently decided that you leaving him to hang out with his teammates is a personal tragedy of epic proportions, because when he finds you this time, he actually looks hurt.
"You were ignoring me," he says, and he sounds genuinely betrayed.
"I was standing by a window," you point out.
"Exactly." He's nodded his head like this confirms his entire point. "You were by the window instead of with me. That's ignoring me."
The logic is so flawed that you'd laugh if he didn't look so genuinely upset about it. Instead, you grab his hand.
"Hey," you say softly. "Come here."
He follows you like you're pulling him by an invisible leash, and you guide him to the nearest chair, gently pushing him into it. He goes without resistance, which tells you exactly how drunk he is. AJ's not usually this compliant.
"What's happening?" he asks, looking around like the room might've shifted while he wasn't paying attention.
"You're very drunk," you tell him, running a hand through his hair. "And we're going to the hotel."
"No," he says, but there's no real conviction behind it. "I'm fine. I'm having fun. I-I'm celebrating, I won the Super Bowl."
"Yes," you agree. "And you're going to feel like you got hit by a truck tomorrow if you don't get some water and sleep. Come on."
You don't give him time to argue further. Instead, you pull out your phone and order an Uber, keeping one hand on his shoulder the entire time. He leans against your legs like they're the only thing keeping him upright, which, given his current state, might actually be true.
"I don't want to leave," he mumbles, but he's also standing up when you tell him to, following you toward the door when the Uber arrives. One of his teammates tries to convince him to stay for "just one more shot," but you give the teammate such a look that he immediately backs down. There are benefits to being the long-suffering girlfriend of a professional athlete: people generally respect your authority in these situations.
The Uber is a mistake, in retrospect not because the driver is bad - she's lovely, actually, and pretending very hard not to notice that the extremely large drunk man now leaning entirely on you is currently playing for the Seattle Seahawks. But AJ, freed from the responsibility of standing under his own power, apparently decides that this is the optimal time for a full emotional unload.
"Did you see that catch in the fourth quarter?" he asks again, to no one in particular. His head is on your shoulder, his arm is around your waist, and he's leaning approximately 80% of his body weight on you. You're pressed against the car door, your ribs probably doing something they shouldn't be doing, but you're not about to make him move.
"I remember," you say.
"That was for you," he announces, like this is breaking news. "I was thinking about you and I just knew. I was like-" he gestures vaguely, nearly elbowing you in the face. "I was like, she's up there in the stands, she's probably nervous, she's probably worried I'm gonna mess it up, and I can't mess it up because what if she thinks I'm not..." he stops, losing his train of thought.
"Not what?" you prompt, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.
"Good enough," he finishes quietly. Then, immediately: "Wait, no, that's not what I mean. I know I'm good. I caught a touchdown in the Super Bowl but like, what if I'm not good enough for her? What if she realizes that she could do better and she leaves and then I'm just a guy who plays football but doesn't have-"
"AJ," you interrupt gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
"That's what you say now," he says mournfully, "but what if... like, Jacob Elordi moves to Seattle? What if you meet him at a concert and you fall in love?"
The Uber driver makes a noise that might be a laugh disguised as a cough.
"Jacob Elordi is not moving to Seattle," you assure him. "And I would not fall in love with him."
"But you like his shows," AJ argues.
"That doesn't mean I'm going to run away with him."
"But what if," he presses on, "what if he came to Seattle specifically to meet me, and he was like, 'Hey man, great catch,' and we became friends, and he introduced you to all his famous friends, and one of them was like, the most interesting person you've ever met, and-"
"AJ."
"-and you decided that my life was boring compared to his life..."
"AJ."
"-and you left me and I'd have to learn Spanish all by myself-"
"AJ." You grab his face, forcing him to look at you. "I am not leaving you. I'm not running away with Jacob Elordi or any of his friends. I'm here, I'm always here."
He stares at you for a long moment, his drunk eyes very serious. "Promise?"
"Promise," you say.
"Because I wouldn't be here without you," he says, and you can hear the sincere emotion beneath the alcohol. "Like, none of this would be here without you. Not the win, not the-the achievement or whatever, none of it. You're like the thing that makes everything work. You're like the-" He gestures again, searching for the word. "The framework. Or the foundation. Or like, the good luck charm that's also a person."
"That's very sweet," you say, "but you're also very drunk and you're crushing my ribs."
"I'm not that heavy," he insists.
"You're 250 pounds."
"But I'm soft," he says, patting his own chest like this is an argument. "I'm fluffy, like a cloud."
The Uber driver definitely laughs this time.
You manage to convince him to shift slightly so that you can breathe, but he doesn't actually move away. Instead, he just repositions himself so that he's leaning more on the seat and less on your lungs, his arm still around you, his head still on your shoulder. He's quiet for approximately thirty seconds, which feels like a miracle, but then:
"I'm gonna learn Spanish though," he says. "I'm serious about that. Like, I'm gonna download an app and everything. I'm gonna be like, fluent by next year."
"That's a good goal," you tell him, patting his knee.
"I could talk to Bad Bunny," he muses. "Like, in Spanish. 'Hola, Bad Bunny, I love your music" but like, in Spanish, so it would be way more impressive."
"Very impressive," you agree.
"Gracias," he says proudly. "I know that one. It means thank you. I'm already learning."
You press a kiss to the top of his head and try very hard not to laugh. He takes this as encouragement and continues his dissertation on Spanish language acquisition and Bad Bunny appreciation for the remainder of the ride, occasionally throwing in tangential comments about how much he loves you and how he wouldn't be here without you and how the halftime show was "literally the best thing he's ever seen besides you."
Getting him out of the Uber is a production. He's gone completely boneless, the way drunk people do, and his long limbs are folded into the back seat like he's a very large pretzel. You have to basically drag him out, one arm around his waist, your other hand gripping his arm. The Uber driver actually gets out to help, which you appreciate because AJ is heavy and currently unhelpful.
"I can walk," he insists, immediately proving that he cannot walk by nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Yeah, yeah, very athletic," you say, keeping him upright. "Come on, big guy."
The hotel lobby is relatively empty, which is good because you don't need anyone seeing one of the Seahawks' newly minted Super Bowl heroes being carried through the lobby like he's a sack of potatoes. You manage to get him to the elevators without incident, though he does spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the elevator buttons like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen.
"These are so high up," he observes. "Like, so high. They're just there, on the wall, where any tall person could just push them without even reaching."
"You're not that tall," you tease.
"I'm 6'6"," he says proudly.
"Yes, and that's tall, but it's not so tall that you're having existential crises about elevator buttons."
He considers this. "Fair point," he finally concedes.
The elevator ride up is mercifully quiet. He leans against you, his forehead pressed to your head, his arm heavy across your shoulders. You rest your head against his arm and try to mentally prepare yourself for the next part: getting him into his hotel room, out of his clothes, and into bed without him either passing out or continuing his stream-of-consciousness commentary but you're not very optimistic.
You get him into the room and immediately guide him toward the bathroom, which is the first step of your well-rehearsed drunk AJ protocol. He needs water, he needs to brush his teeth, and he needs to put his retainer in, which is a battle you've fought many times before because drunk AJ does not believe that a retainer is important.
"I'm not brushing my teeth," he announces, flopping onto the bathroom counter like he's just run a marathon. "I don't care. I've already won the Super Bowl. My teeth don't matter anymore."
"Your teeth are going to matter tomorrow when you regret all of your life choices," you say, grabbing his toothbrush and grabbing a water in the mini-fridge. "Here, drink this first."
To your surprise, he actually does. He sits there on the counter, in his unbuttoned shirt and expensive suit pants, drinking water like his life depends on it, which gives you at least a small amount of hope.
"Okay," you say, handing him the toothbrush. "Brush."
He looks at it like it's a foreign object. "Why?"
"Because you're not supposed to go to bed with beer in your mouth."
"I'm not in bed yet."
"No," you agree. "And you're not going to be until you brush your teeth."
He grumbles, but he actually does it, leaning over the sink and making a complete mess in that way that drunk people do. Toothpaste is somehow on his shirt. Water is on his face and in his hair. But miraculously, he does brush his teeth, and he doesn't try to argue when you hand him some mouthwash.
"I should floss," he says suddenly, like this is a revelation.
"You're not flossing."
"But what if I have plaque buildup?"
"You're going to sleep. Floss tomorrow."
"Tomorrow I'm going to be hungover and probably regret that decision," he says, with the kind of sad wisdom that only drunk people possess.
"Probably," you agree. "But that's future you's problem."
You manage to shepherd him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where the real battle begins: getting him out of his clothes. He's cooperative, which is good, but he's also very talkative, which is not good.
"Can you believe we won?" he asks as you're unbuttoning his shirt. "Like, actually won? I still don't believe it."
"I believe it," you say, peeling the shirt off his shoulders. He's warm, his skin is flushed, and he smells like sweat and cologne and championship win. "You were incredible out there."
"I was thinking about you," he says, seemingly needing to repeat this fact multiple times. "Like, the whole time. Every play, I was just thinking about you up there in the stands."
"I know," you say softly. You're working on his pants now, trying very hard not to think about how these moments always make you feel weirdly tender toward him. "I was thinking about you too."
"You probably weren't thinking about Bad Bunny though," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice even if you can't see his face.
"No," you confirm, gently pushing his pants down. "I was not thinking about Bad Bunny, except during the halftime show."
He's down to his boxers and socks now, and he plops back on the bed with the kind of dramatic finality that suggests he's about to pass out. But then you grab his retainer case from the bathroom counter, and he opens one eye.
"Don't," he says.
"Don't what?"
"Make me wear that thing. I don't need it. My teeth are fine."
"Your teeth are not fine if you don't wear your retainer," you say, walking back over to him. "Come on. Open."
"No."
"AJ."
"I'm serious," he says, but he's already opening his mouth anyway, because despite all his protests, he knows that you will literally sit on him and force the retainer in if necessary, and he's too drunk to put up an actual fight. He's tried this before. It hasn't ended well for him.
You slide the retainer in, and he immediately looks miserable. "This is oppressive," he mumbles.
"This is dental hygiene," you counter. "Now you're going to lie down and go to sleep."
"Will you lie down with me?" he asks, and his voice is softer now, less drunk, more just... tired.
"Yeah," you say, already moving to get out of your own clothes. "Of course I will."
He rolls onto his side as you slide into bed, and you immediately tuck yourself against him, your head on his chest, your arm across his waist. He wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer, and you can feel him relax against you.
For a moment, it's quiet, just the sound of his breathing, the ambient noise of the hotel, the distant hum of traffic from outside. You think maybe he's finally going to pass out, that you're going to get to sleep without any more drunk declarations of love or random facts about Bad Bunny.
Then he speaks, his voice muffled by the retainer:
"I shove be hersh without you."
You lie there for a moment, trying to decipher this through the retainer-speak. Then you realize: "I...should be here without you?"
He shakes his head, still muffled. "I shhouldn't be shersh without you."
"I know," you say gently, running your hand across his chest. "I know, baby."
He's quiet for another moment, and then: "I'm gonna learn Spanish."
"Yes," you say. "You're going to learn Spanish."
"And talk to Bad Bunny."
"Okay."
"And never leave you."
Despite the retainer-induced speech impediment and the fact that he's saying this like it's a revelation, your heart still kind of melts. "You're not going to leave me," you agree.
"Promise?" His arm tightens around you.
"Promise," you say.
He's quiet after that, his breathing gradually evening out, his grip on you loosening as sleep finally claims him. You lie there in the dark, listening to him snore softly (the retainer makes it sound weird), and you can't help but smile.
This is the thing about drunk AJ that most people don't understand. Yes, he's emotional. Yes, he's clingy. Yes, he repeats the same sentiments over and over again until you want to scream. But underneath all of that is genuine sweetness, genuine love, genuine earnestness. He means every word of it, even if he forgets he's already said it seventeen times.
You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and settle deeper into his embrace. Tomorrow, he's going to wake up with the hangover to end all hangovers. He's going to regret the shots, the beer, the whiskey, and probably the entire conversation about Bad Bunny and Spanish lessons. He's to swear he's never gonna drink again, then he's goig to drink approximately a gallon of water and complain about his head.
But tonight, in this moment, with his arm around you and his breath evening out and his retainer keeping his teeth perfectly straight, he's exactly where he needs to be.
And so are you.
MY 7K CELEBRATION! | NEXT UP IS...VELCRO CHILD FOR PAIGE BUECKERS (MOM OF THE YEAR AU (maybe... lol)
A/N: First fic for this guy! I had so many requests for a Super Bowl fic with him, so I thought I would treat you all and get this out. This was written very quickly, so please excuse any errors, spelling or otherwise! Very excited to start writing for AJ, so please do send in any requests. I cannot guarantee when I'll be able to get round to it, but please do send them in!
Pairing: AJ Barner x sports scientist!reader
WC: 2.5k
Warnings: None! Fluff for this first AJ fic to get an idea of his character 🫶
The atmosphere in the suite after any win is buoyant and celebratory.
It’s different today, though.
The Seahawks have just won their first Super Bowl in twelve years, making AJ a Super Bowl winner in only his second year.
You’re up in the Barner suite with Reva and his sisters, waiting not-so-patiently for the go ahead to go down onto the field.
Since the final whistle, your entire body has been simmering with excitement. Sheer, unbridled joy clouds your mind as Reva hugs you for what must be the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
‘He wouldn’t have got through this season without you, Y/N,’ she murmurs into your ear.
You squeeze her tightly.
‘He’s the one on the field, Reva. I just cheer him on.’ Your voice shakes as emotion finally threatens to spill over.
She pulls back and holds your shoulders, thumbs brushing the fabric of your custom Seahawks jacket that hides your BARNER 88 jersey, a surprise for AJ that you’ll reveal once you’re on the field with him.
‘That’s all he needs, sometimes. Someone who believes in him.’
Her words permeate through the fog in your mind. In the last six months of your relationship with AJ, you’ve come to realise just how unusual this life is. Being the girlfriend of any professional athlete was never going to be a walk in the park, but especially an NFL player with a career as bright as AJ’s.
You’re just a girl from Tacoma who met AJ by chance in a Seattle coffee shop when he accidentally spilled his drink all over you. He had apologised profusely and, when he found out that you were on a lunch break from the clinic where you worked as a sports scientist, gave you his team jacket to cover up the stain. He insisted on driving you back to the clinic and promised to buy you a coffee and pastry to make up for it.
As much as you had refused his offer, insisting that it was an accident, he returned less than an hour later with your exact coffee order and your favourite pastry tucked into a paper bag, still warm from the oven.
When you think back to that day and remember that jolt in your stomach upon seeing his number on the coffee cup after he left, with a scrawled note saying ‘keep the jacket! - AJ :)’, it’s hard to believe that you would end up standing up in the suite with his family, watching him and his team win the Super Bowl.
The world has a funny way of working, but you couldn’t be more grateful.
At last, a Seahawks staffer comes up to the suite to bring you all down to the field.
‘Here we go!’ One of his sisters says excitedly. ‘He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in that jersey, Y/N.’
Nerves bubble in your stomach before you can stop them. AJ was very clear in wanting you in the suite with his family, but going down onto the field, wearing his jersey with his name and his number on…
It makes it real. The two of you agreed that keeping your relationship private was the best idea, especially with your work as a sports scientist. You work with plenty of local athletes, none as high calibre as AJ or his teammates, but it’s still enough to warrant keeping it private. You’ve been seen out together, rumours about AJ having a girlfriend have swirled in the city for weeks by now, but nobody has ever identified you.
Joining him on the field today will be the first concrete public confirmation of your relationship.
Reva seems to catch your nerves as you walk down the stairs closer to the field and reaches out to hold your hand.
‘Don’t stress, honey. He adores you, that’s all that matters. Anything else is background noise.’
You smile at her and pull her closer to give her an awkward side hug as you continue walking.
‘Thank you, Reva, for letting me join you today and… for your son.’
She waves off your thanks.
‘AJ was clear when he said he wanted you with him today.’
Warmth spreads around your chest, but any response disappears from your mind the second you step onto the field.
The only way you can describe it is walking right into a hurricane.
What hits you first is the wall of noise that deafens you. Confetti cannons blast blue and green confetti into the air, raining down around you like snow. Music is booming so loud that the bass makes your stomach shake.
Security personnel, photographers, coaches from both teams jostle around you. Reva reaches behind her to take your hand so you don’t get lost.
‘Make sure your pass is visible so you don’t get stopped by security!’ She has to shout it into your ear over the cacophony around you. You can only nod in response, completely overwhelmed, and move your pass around your body so it’s hanging around your neck with your name and photo clearly visible even from a distance.
‘Can you see him, Mom?’ Another of his sisters asks, craning her neck around the surging crowd on the turf. It’s surprisingly hard underfoot, reminding you of the pain AJ is in after every game. Knowing that he gets slammed into this turf every Sunday from September through January gives you a whole new lens to see him through. The sports scientist in you makes a mental note to research how to help him better now that you know this, but for now, you just want to find him.
It takes several minutes of searching and false alarms, but then - there - you spot him by the field goal with Sam, Kenneth and Jaxon, curls damp with sweat and a white cap perched jauntily on top of his head. His pads are still on, filthy with grass stains and mud.
‘There!’ You shout, already walking towards him without another thought.
You turn around to face Reva, worried that you’re taking her moment with her son away, but she just waves you on, mouthing ‘go on!’ at you.
So you do.
Your vision narrows to AJ and the way his form gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. The crowd is still jostling around you, and you almost trip up over someone’s feet, but you keep going.
Jaxon sees you coming and beams, then shoves AJ in the shoulder. You see him ask AJ something like ‘that your girl?’, pointing at you as he does so. You’re still too far away to hear for sure.
AJ whirls around in the direction Jaxon pointed in. His eyes meet yours and, for a second, it’s just the two of you on that pitch.
Everything else becomes… background noise.
You don’t register the way you’re still walking. You don’t even realise he’s running towards you.
Seconds and hours seem to pass by at the same time.
The cacophony becomes an oddly muffled melee of noise in your ears.
Time seems to warp.
And then he’s swarming you, arms circling around your waist and snapping you back to reality. The din in your ears resumes.
‘Oh my god,’ AJ croaks into your ear. His grip on you tightens, as if he’s scared you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold you as physically close as possible to him, pads and sweat and all.
You squeak when you feel your feet leaving the turf, and then you’re airborne, flying through the air as he spins you around in a bear hug. The squeak turns into a mixture of a laugh and sob that shatters through his resolve. Both of you are shaking violently as the adrenaline reaches its peak.
‘Oh my god,’ he repeats, ‘you’re here.’ The words are sobbed into your neck. AJ sets you back down on your feet but keeps his hands tight on your hips, needing to keep hold of you to keep himself grounded. You reach your hands up to cradle his jaw. Tears are leaking out of his eyes, not that he seems to care.
Even from where she’s stood from several feet away from you, as she watches the exchange play out, Reva can feel the love pouring out of the two of you. Even without the emotion of watching her son win the highest honour in the NFL, the sight of you loving her son is enough to bring her to tears. She holds out an arm to stop one of his sisters from approaching you.
Neither you nor AJ notice it. For a few seconds, it’s just the two of you on that field.
‘AJ, you just won the fucking Super Bowl,’ you gasp out through a trembling sob of your own. You’re crying properly now, tears streaming down your cheeks. AJ leans down to rest his forehead against yours. Electricity crackles between you as his hands reach up to brush the tears from your cheeks. His fingers are shaking, but they’re just as warm and gentle as they always are with you.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
‘It doesn’t feel real, baby. I feel like I’m living in a dream.’
Your eyes meet his when they reopen, and once again, the world around you seems to halt on its axis.
‘This is real, AJ. I’m real, you’re here, you just won the Super Bowl. AJ, I am so fucking proud, I could burst.’
He laughs, it’s watery and tremors as it leaves his lungs, but his eyes crinkle and his dimples appear. You reach up and poke one of them, just like you always do when they appear. It’s a habit you’ve picked up without even realising.
AJ opens his mouth to say something, but then stops himself. One of his huge hands, still muddy from the turf, reaches up to brush confetti out of your hair. The action is so tender that it makes your heart ache.
‘Have you shown him what’s under your jacket, Y/N?’ Reva asks suddenly.
AJ looks over at his mom, then back at you.
‘What?’ He asks with a small smile on his face, almost like he knows what he’s about to see but wants you to show him before he can believe it.
It’s your turn to smile up at him, suddenly shy.
You take a couple of steps back from him, shrug off your jacket and turn around so your back is facing him. When you pull your hair up so he can see the way his last name is splashed across your back in bold, white writing, his face instantly drops in disbelief.
‘Oh my…’ he breathes. A hand reaches forward to trace the letters, like touching it makes it real to him.
You turn back around and step back into his space. His hands find the same spot on your waist, pulling you close to him. AJ’s looking down at you with glassy eyes and a trembling bottom lip, emotion threatening all over again.
‘I wanted everyone to know who I’m supporting tonight. Not just my football team, but my tight end. My guy.’
My tight end. My guy.
Those words are enough to break the dam.
His huge shoulders shake as one sob, then another, breaks free from his lungs.
‘You,’ he starts, then shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You are something else. You know that, right?’
You giggle through your tears.
‘Is that so, Barner?’
He kisses your cheek, then your temple, and finally the corner of your mouth. Heat pools in your stomach. AJ smirks when he feels your breath hitch in your throat, but doesn’t say anything, knowing that his mother can see and hear almost everything between you.
‘I’ve just won the Super Bowl, and then my girlfriend steps onto the field, tells me she’s proud of me and then shows me she’s wearing my jersey with my last name on it.’
He pauses. Takes a deep breath.
The look on his face reminds you of the way he looked at you on your first date; soft eyes, a slight smile on his face and furrowed brow, like he’s concentrating on you and only you.
‘I love you,’ he declares, voice raised so you can hear him over the din that’s still invading the space between you. There’s no hesitation in it. He says it as if it’s the only truth he knows, as if it’s the only truth in the world.
Your chest heaves again, but not with sobs. With relief. With shock. AJ’s arms tighten around you as your knees all but give out from under you, leaning on him for support.
‘AJ - oh my…’ You breathe. Then you swallow, or try to, through the lump in your throat, because you know you need to say it back. It’s the only truth you know. ‘I love you too, Super Bowl champ.’
He’s laughing, shaking his head as his feelings overwhelm him completely. He kisses the top of your head, then he’s holding your face with both hands, tilting your head up so he can kiss you properly.
It’s messy and uncontrolled, teeth clashing against each other. You sigh into his mouth when you taste the sweat on his lips, and you’re suddenly rocking up onto your tiptoes to kiss him properly. He grins this stupid, radiant grin into the kiss, as if he can’t quite believe that he’s kissing you with blue and green Super Bowl winner confetti floating down around you.
It’s a scene from a movie. Except it’s real life. This is AJ Barner’s life now, and he wouldn’t trade a single thing.
When you break apart, his nose bumps yours affectionately, and then he’s pulling you into his side, arm circling protectively around your shoulders to keep you safe against him.
‘If I’m called into media, you’re coming with me,’ he mutters into your ear. You beam up at him, eyes still glassy and lips swollen from the kiss.
‘You sure the people of Seattle want to hear from little old me?’
He kisses your forehead, smiling into your skin.
‘Anyone who has a problem with it can answer to me.’
And you don’t doubt that for a second.
You watch as Reva steps forward to hug her son, finally, and you give them space. The atmosphere is electric, it’s chaotic and people are still jostling around you. AJ doesn’t take his eyes off you for more than a few seconds, though, constantly checking in with you. He raises his eyebrows, silently asking ‘you good?’, and you nod in response, still smiling, still crying.
Pride courses through your body, replacing the adrenaline that you felt throughout the game.
There will be time for a proper celebration, just the two of you, when you’re home and when he’s not aching with the heavy game he’s just played.
For now, you watch as he celebrates with his teammates and his family, safe in the knowledge that you’re the one going home with him when it’s all said and done.
Everything else?
That's just background noise.
AJ BARNER TAGLIST (message/ask to be added!): @cozygirljay @junovee @vroomvroombtch @mrs-delaney @snoopyhughes @coffeebunnibee
AJ fic request where somehow he ends in a strip club. And he falls in love the moment he sees her. Darkskin, tall, slim thick and shines even in the dark. He doesn’t everything in his power to get her to be his, even if she is reluctant to the idea.
A few days after the Super Bowl celebration, AJ Barner and a few of his Seahawks teammates piled into the discreet strip club they hit up every week. The place was buzzing with energy—good food wafting from the kitchen, beautiful women gliding through the dim lights—but AJ wasn't here for the vibes or the variety. His eyes scanned the room for one person only: Onyx.
Flashback to the 2025 season, Week 2 against the Steelers.
They'd just crushed the game, adrenaline still pumping as Jalen and Jaxon hyped up this new spot. "Trust me, it's low-key, no drama," Jalen said, slapping AJ on the back. The crew rolled in, the air thick with bass and perfume. That's when AJ spotted her on stage, owning the pole like it was an extension of her body. 'Do My Dance' by Tyga and 2 Chainz thumped through the speakers, bills fluttering like confetti as she moved.
Onyx—5'7 in those sky-high Pleaser heels that made her long legs look endless—wore an outfit that barely qualified as clothing. Tiny scraps of fabric clung to her thick curves, her dark skin glowing under the strobing lights, tattoos snaking across her arms and thighs like intricate stories etched in ink. She spun around the pole with hypnotic grace, then dropped low, twerking her ass until it clapped in rhythm, drawing whoops from the crowd.
"Awe hell yeah!" Rashid yelled from their table, tossing a twenty onto the stage. AJ couldn't tear his eyes away. Her body rolled like waves, sweat glistening on her skin, that sweet, musky scent already teasing the air even from afar.
When her solo ended, she sauntered off stage, hips swaying, collecting tips as she worked the floor for table dances. AJ's heart thudded—he flagged her down before anyone else could. She approached with a smirk, leaning in close enough for him to catch that intoxicating mix of sweat and vanilla.
"You want a table dance, Tight End?" she purred, her voice smooth like honey over gravel.
He nodded, throat dry. "Yes."
"Onyx," she introduced herself, turning her back to him and lowering onto his lap, her ass pressing firm against his growing bulge.
"AJ," he managed, his hands itching to touch as he slipped twenties and fifties into the straps of her outfit.
"I know," she teased, glancing over her shoulder with a giggle, her body rolling in slow, deliberate waves that made his cock twitch.
From that night on, AJ was hooked. Every weekly visit, he'd seek her out for private dances—no one else. He'd whisper about wanting more, a real connection, but she'd shut it down cold. "You're just chasing the fantasy, baller. You'll fuck me once and ghost when the novelty wears off—or worse, judge me for this job." He'd reassure her, text her nonstop, call from away games just to hear her laugh. She was his number one, but trust? That was a wall he kept chipping at.
Flashback over.
Back in the present, the Super Bowl high still lingered like champagne bubbles in their veins. The team strutted in, laughing and ordering wings, but AJ beelined for Onyx's section. She was working the floor in a Seahawks green thong and bra set that hugged her thick hips and full breasts like it was made for her, the color popping against her glowing dark skin. Even in those Pleaser heels, she barely reached his chest—he towered at 6'6, 251 pounds of solid muscle—but damn, she made him feel small with just a look.
"Hi, baby," she purred, wrapping her arms around his neck, her body pressing close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from her curves.
"Hi," he murmured, hands settling on her waist, inhaling that familiar sweet-sweat scent. "You free for a private dance?"
"For you? Always,' she replied, her fingers grabbing his collar, tugging him toward the back with a sway that had his dick hardening already.
They slipped into the private room, the door clicking shut behind them. Dim red lights cast shadows over the plush couch where he sat, legs spread wide. Onyx stood before him, eyes locked on his as she hooked her thumbs into her bra straps, peeling it off slowly. Her heavy tits bounced free, dark nipples pierced with silver bars that glinted as she shimmied.
"Fuck, you're killing me," AJ groaned, his gaze devouring the tattoos curling over her ribs and down to where her thong barely covered her pussy.
She smirked, turning to grind her ass back against him, the thin fabric of her thong riding up between her cheeks. "You like what you see, huh?"
This was a no-touch club, but rules bent for him. As she rolled her hips in his lap, her thick thighs straddling his, he reached up, cupping her tits from behind. His large hands squeezed the soft flesh, thumbs flicking those nipple piercings until they hardened under his touch.
"Mmm," she moaned, arching back, her ass pressing harder against his throbbing cock straining in his jeans. "You looked so good at the parade, baby. All that confetti on you, holding that trophy like you owned the world."
He chuckled low, one hand sliding down her stomach to tease the edge of her thong, feeling the heat from her core. "Couldn't stop thinking about you up there on that float. Wanted you there with me."
She ground down slower, teasing him with the friction, her breath hitching as he pinched her nipples just right. The dance stretched on, her body undulating, sweat beading on her skin until she was panting, her pussy damp against his thigh through the fabric.
When the song faded, she slowed, still perched in his lap, but AJ wasn't done. He pulled her closer, voice rough with need. "Please, Onyx. I want you to be mine. For real. No more of this half-ass shit."
She laughed softly, sliding off to face him, her tits still bare and heaving. "Come on, AJ. You say that every time. But what's the point? I'm just your stripper fantasy. You'll get bored, or your fancy football world will chew me up and spit me out. No one wants a girl like me on their arm long-term."
"I don't care about that," he insisted, standing to his full height, making her tilt her head up. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her full lips. "You're more than this place. I see you—the real you. And I want all of it."
She crossed her arms over her chest, skepticism in her eyes, though her body language softened. "You don't even know me, AJ. Not really. My real name, my life outside these heels. How can you want a relationship when you don't know shit?"
"Tell me," he urged, stepping closer, his broad frame enveloping her. "Let me in."
She hesitated, biting her lip, then whispered, "Shontell."
The name hit him like a spark. "Shontell," he repeated, leaning down to capture her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. His lips moved against hers tenderly at first, tongue slipping in to taste her—sweet like gloss and the faint tang of her arousal. She melted into it, hands gripping his shirt, a soft whimper escaping as he deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in her hair.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against her lips, "See? Now I really want you. Your real name's sexier than any stage name. Let me take you away from this, Shontell. Dinners, trips, mornings where you wake up next to me—no stages, no tips. Just us."
Her breath came shaky, eyes searching his, the emotional pull warring with her walls. "You make it sound so easy, but..."
"It is," he cut in gently, kissing her again, slower this time, his hands roaming her bare back, pulling her thick body flush against his hard one. "Give me a chance to prove it."
She pulled back from the kiss, her dark eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope, searching his face like she was trying to read his soul. AJ held her close, his massive hands gentle on her bare shoulders, thumbs tracing soft circles to ease her tension. The private room felt smaller now, the air thick with the scent of her sweat and his cologne, the faint thump of music from the club vibrating through the walls.
"We... we can try this," Shontell said softly, her voice trembling just a bit, her full lips still swollen from his kiss. "But I'm not quitting the club until I know you for real. This job pays my bills, keeps me independent. I can't just drop everything on a maybe. And if we're doing this, we go slow—no rushing into your world or mine without talking it out first. Boundaries, AJ. I need to feel safe."
He nodded immediately, his broad chest rising and falling as he absorbed her words, respecting the line she drew. At 6'6 and built like a tank, he could have intimidated anyone, but with her, he softened, his touch light. "Okay, that works. I get it—no pressure on the job. You set the pace. We'll talk about everything, build trust step by step. I'm not here to change you; I just want to be part of your life, however it looks. Dates, calls, whatever you're comfortable with. And if it doesn't feel right, you say the word, and we stop. No games."
She bit her lip, her thick thighs shifting as she stood there topless, her piercings catching the dim light. "Promise? Because I've been burned before—guys who talk big but bail when shit gets real. And my schedule's crazy; nights like this, away games for you... we gotta communicate. No jealousy over the club, no hiding stuff."
"I promise," he replied, his voice low and steady, pulling her into a hug that enveloped her completely, her curves pressing against his hard frame. "Communication's key. I'll text you after every game, call when I can. And the club? That's your world—I respect it. Just let me show you mine too."
A small smile tugged at her lips, easing some of the fear in her eyes. "Alright, big guy. You've got a deal."
"Come home with me?" he asked then, desperation creeping into his tone, his hands sliding down to her hips, holding her like she might slip away. He wanted her in his space, away from the neon and noise, just them.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, her shift winding down but not quite over. "My shift ends at 11... I gotta finish up, make my tips."
"Bet," he said with a grin, relief flooding him as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. "I'll wait outside. Text me when you're ready."
He left the private room first, rejoining his teammates with a nod and a forced casual vibe, but his mind was elsewhere. The hours dragged—more drinks, laughs about the Super Bowl parade, but AJ checked his phone every few minutes. At 11:15, his text buzzed: Out back. Don't keep a girl waiting.
He slipped out the employee exit, leaning against his sleek black SUV in the dimly lit alley. The night air was cool against his skin, a contrast to the club's heat. Then she appeared, freshly showered, her dark skin glowing under the streetlight, hair pulled into a messy bun. She wore a pink Juicy Couture sweat suit that hugged her thick figure just right—zip-up hoodie unzipped enough to show a hint of cleavage, pants clinging to her round ass and thighs. A duffle bag slung over one shoulder, money bag in hand, she walked with that confident sway, Pleasers swapped for comfy sneakers.
"Hey, you," she said, smiling as she reached him, rising on her toes to kiss him softly, her lips tasting like cherry gloss.
"Hey yourself," he murmured back, his large hand cupping her cheek before opening the passenger door with a gentlemanly flourish. "Get in, beautiful. Let's get you home—my home."
She slid in, buckling up as he rounded to the driver's side and pulled out into the city streets. Seattle's lights blurred past, the drive to his downtown condo filled with easy chatter—her teasing him about his fur coat he wore to the parade, him asking about her favorite post-shift snack. By the time they parked in the underground garage, the tension from earlier had softened into something warmer.
Inside his sleek, modern place—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline, minimalist furniture with Seahawks memorabilia tucked away—Shontell dropped her bags by the door and flopped onto the kitchen island stool, unzipping her money bag. Stacks of bills spilled out, and she started counting methodically, her fingers quick and practiced, sorting twenties and fifties into neat piles.
AJ watched from across the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, a fond smile playing on his lips as he leaned in. "Damn, girl, you made it rain tonight, huh? Look at you, handling business like a boss."
She glanced up, smirking as she licked her thumb to flip a bill. "Super Bowl vibes got everyone loose. Tips were crazy—enough to cover rent and then some. What about you? Still buzzing from that win?"
"Yeah, but seeing you count like that? Kinda hot. Makes me wanna spoil you so you don't have to hustle so hard." He chuckled, reaching over to tuck a stray bill back into her pile. "You're cute when you're focused, you know that? Like a little money machine."
"Oh, shut up," she laughed, swatting his hand playfully, her eyes sparkling. "Flattery won't make these count faster. But... thanks. Feels nice, you just watching without judging."
"Never judge my girl," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave, making her pause mid-count. "You're perfect as is."
She finished up, stuffing the cash into a lockbox from her duffle, then stretched with a yawn. "Whew, long night. Got anything comfy I can borrow? This sweatsuit's cute, but I wanna unwind."
AJ nodded, disappearing into his bedroom and returning with one of his oversized Seahawks tees—soft gray cotton that would drown her frame. "Here. It'll swallow you whole, but that's the point. Smells like me too."
She took it with a grin, heading to the guest bath to change. When she emerged, the shirt hung to mid-thigh, the neckline slipping off one shoulder to reveal the curve of her breast and a tattoo peeking out. No bra, no panties—just her thick, bare body under his fabric. "How's this look? Your personal groupie?"
"Fuck, Shontell," he breathed, eyes darkening as he pulled her into his arms. "You look better in it than I do."
They settled on the plush couch in the living room, her curled against his side, legs draped over his lap. He flicked on the TV to some late-night replay of the Super Bowl highlights, the volume low as they talked—really talked. About her dreams beyond the club, maybe starting a boutique or a pole dancing studio or both; his fears of injuries ending his career too soon. Laughter mixed with vulnerability, her hand tracing patterns on his thigh, his fingers combing through her hair.
"You know, I was nervous coming here," she admitted softly, nuzzling his neck. "But this? Feels right. Cozy."
"Good," he whispered, tilting her chin up. "Because I want more nights like this. Just us."
Their eyes locked, and he leaned in, kissing her slow and deep. What started as tender—lips brushing, tongues exploring—quickly heated. Her hands roamed his chest, unbuttoning his shirt to feel the ridges of his abs, while his slid under the tee, cupping her ass and pulling her onto his lap. She ground against the bulge in his jeans, moaning into his mouth as his fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her pussy already slick.
"God, AJ," she gasped, breaking the kiss to yank his shirt off, her nails raking down his muscled back. "I want you. All of you."
He growled, flipping her onto her back on the couch, the tee riding up to expose her dripping folds. "Then take it, baby." He shed his jeans and boxers in one motion, his thick cock springing free—long and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum. He knelt between her legs, rubbing the tip along her slit, coating himself in her wetness before thrusting in deep with one smooth push.
"Oh fuck!" she cried, her walls clenching around his girth as he filled her completely, her thick thighs wrapping around his waist. He pounded into her steadily, the couch creaking under his powerful hips, each slap of skin echoing in the room. Her tits bounced with every thrust, nipples hard peaks he leaned down to suck, tongue flicking the piercings while she arched up, pussy gushing around him.
"You're so tight, Shontell—so fucking wet for me," he grunted, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other rubbing her clit in firm circles. She bucked wildly, moaning his name as her orgasm hit, her body shuddering, juices soaking his balls.
But he wasn't done. Pulling out, he scooped her up effortlessly—her legs around his waist—and carried her to the bedroom, laying her on the king-sized bed. She pushed him down, straddling him reverse, her ass cheeks spreading as she sank onto his cock again. "My turn," she purred, bouncing hard, her pussy swallowing him to the hilt. He gripped her hips, thrusting up to meet her, watching her ass clap against his thighs, the sight driving him wild.
"Shit, baby, ride me just like that," he groaned, slapping her ass lightly, the sting making her clench tighter. She reached back, fondling his balls as she ground down, circling her hips until he was throbbing inside her. When he flipped her onto all fours, he fucked her from behind, deep and relentless, his hand fisting her hair gently as she pushed back, begging for more.
"Harder—fuck me harder!" she demanded, and he obliged, railing her until she came again, screaming into the pillows, her pussy milking him until he pulled out and flipped her over, stroking his cock to spray hot cum across her tits and stomach.
Panting, they collapsed together, but the fire wasn't out. "Shower?" he suggested, voice husky. She nodded, and he carried her to the en-suite bathroom, the rain showerhead cascading warm water over their bodies.
Under the spray, he pressed her against the tiled wall, lifting one of her legs to hook over his hip. His cock, hard again, slid into her soaked pussy easily, the water making their skin slick as he thrust up into her. "You feel amazing," he murmured, kissing her neck, biting her shoulder as she clung to him, nails digging into his back.
"Mmm, don't stop," she whimpered, her hand slipping between them to rub her clit while he fucked her steady, the steam filling the air with their moans. He turned her to face the wall, entering her from behind, one hand on her hip, the other reaching around to pinch her nipples. Water streamed down her curves, mixing with their sweat as he drove deeper, her ass pressing back greedily.
"Cum with me, baby," he urged, and she did—her pussy spasming around him as he buried himself deep, flooding her with his release, ropes of cum filling her until it leaked down her thighs.
They washed each other slowly after, soapy hands exploring tenderly, kisses soft under the water. Wrapped in towels, they tumbled back to bed, her head on his chest, the city lights twinkling outside. "That was... incredible," she whispered, tracing his tattoos.
"Just the start," he replied, kissing her forehead. "Sweet dreams, Shontell."
And for the first time in a while she went to sleep thinking about what’s next.
Seven months had flown by in a whirlwind of stolen moments, late-night calls during training days, and building a life that felt unbreakable. Shontell had quit the club after four months of dating AJ seriously—his unwavering support giving her the push to pour everything into her dream. Now, her pole dancing studio in downtown Seattle was booming: classes packed with women of all ages, private sessions for events, even a partnership with local gyms.
She traded Pleasers for business sneakers most days, her thick curves still turning heads, but now it was on her terms, tattoos peeking from fitted tanks as she taught spins and drops with infectious energy.
AJ and Shontell were thriving. He balanced the grind of training camp and preseason wins with weekend getaways—her laughing as he fumbled cooking breakfast, him mesmerized watching her practice routines at the studio after hours. The preseason had started strong for the Seahawks: two blowout victories, AJ hauling in key catches, his 6'6 frame dominating the field.
But they'd kept their relationship low-key, just them against the world, until now. Week 1 against the Rams loomed, and they'd agreed: time for the hard launch. No more hiding. Shontell would be in the family suite, decked out in his jersey, and post-game, the world would know.
Game day crackled with energy at Lumen Field. The stadium roared as the Seahawks took the field, AJ's number 88 jersey gleaming under the lights. Shontell sat in the suite, her skin glowing against the fabric hugging her curves, hair in loose waves, a Tiffany’s necklace he'd gifted her last month catching the sun. She gripped the railing during warm-ups, heart pounding when he glanced up, blowing her a subtle kiss that made her cheeks flush.
Social media buzzed already—teammates posting cryptic couple pics from the offseason—but this was official. As kickoff neared, she posted a selfie on her Insta: her in his jersey, caption 'Week 1 with my #1 fan. Go Hawks! 🏈❤️ #HardLaunch'. The likes poured in, comments exploding: 'Who’s this?? She is Pretty!!' 'A black Queen supporting her king!' She smiled, nerves mixing with pride; this was them, unapologetic.
The game was a battle. First quarter, AJ snagged a 25-yard touchdown pass, spiking the ball and pointing straight to the suite—cameras caught it, the Jumbotron replaying her jumping and cheering, arms waving. The crowd ate it up, chants of 'AJ! AJ!' thundering. By halftime, Seahawks up 17-10, and the announcers were all over it: "Barner's got a secret weapon up there—looks like the tight end's off the market." Shontell texted him: Killing it, baby. Love seeing you shine. He replied from the locker room: All for you. We’re gonna win this, then home to celebrate.
Second half sealed it. AJ's block sprung a 40-yard run for a score, and in the fourth, he hauled in the game-winner—a contested grab in the end zone with seconds left. Final score: 28-24 Seahawks. The stadium erupted as confetti rained, AJ mobbed by teammates, but his eyes sought her out. Post-game interviews were quick—reporters grilling him on the catch, the win, and yeah, the woman in the suite. "Shontell's been my rock," he said, grinning wide, sweat dripping down his chiseled jaw. "Thrilled to show off my girl. She's the real MVP." Shontell watched from the tunnel entrance, heart swelling, until he broke away, jogging over to scoop her into a crushing hug, lifting her off her feet despite the crowd.
"We did it," he murmured into her hair, his uniform grass-stained and damp. "You were perfect out there." She kissed him fiercely, not caring about the flashes—paparazzi, fans snapping pics. "You won, AJ. Loud and proud." They posed for a quick photo for a reporter, her arm around his waist, before he showered and changed, the drive home a blur of victory high and her hand on his thigh.
Back at his condo—now their place, her touches everywhere from scented candles to framed studio pics—the door barely clicked shut before he had her against it, lips crashing in a hungry kiss. "Fuck, I needed this," he growled, hands roaming under her jersey, palming her full breasts, thumbs circling her pierced nipples until she moaned. She tugged at his fresh tee, nails scraping his abs as she pulled it off, her mouth trailing kisses down his neck.
"Celebrate with me," she whispered, nipping his collarbone, her thick thighs pressing against his growing bulge. He nodded, lifting her effortlessly, carrying her to the bedroom where the city skyline twinkled through the windows. They stripped slow this time—no rush, just savoring. Her jersey hit the floor, revealing lace panties that he peeled down her legs, exposing her shaved pussy, already glistening. He shed his sweats, cock thick and hard, curving up as he pulled her onto the bed.
AJ laid her back gently, kissing from her lips to her jaw, down her neck to suckle her tits—tongue lashing each piercing, teeth grazing the dark peaks until she arched, fingers tangling in his hair. "AJ... yes," she breathed, her body writhing as his mouth ventured lower, kissing her soft belly, the tattoos curling over her hips. He spread her legs wide, diving in to lick her folds, tongue flat and broad against her clit, then plunging inside to taste her sweetness. She bucked, thighs clamping his head, moaning loud as he sucked her nub, two fingers curling into her tight heat, stroking that spot that made her gush.
"Come for me, baby," he urged, voice muffled against her, and she did—shuddering, pussy clenching around his fingers, juices coating his chin. He rose, wiping his mouth with a smirk, positioning his cock at her entrance. "Ready?" She nodded, pulling him down, and he thrust in slow, inch by inch, stretching her walls until he bottomed out, their groans mingling.
He rocked into her steady, deep strokes that had the bedframe thumping, her nails digging into his back as she met every push. "Harder—fuck, AJ, give it to me," she demanded, legs hooking his waist. He obliged, pounding faster, balls slapping her ass, one hand bracing beside her head, the other rubbing her clit. Sweat slicked their bodies, her tits bouncing with each impact, his muscles flexing as he drove them higher.
But it was more than raw need tonight—eyes locked, breaths shared, the win and their launch weaving into every touch. As her second orgasm built, coiling tight, she cupped his face. "AJ... I love you." The words tumbled out, raw and real, her first time saying them.
He stilled for a beat, eyes widening, then softened with pure joy. "Shontell... I love you too. So fucking much." The confession ignited him; he thrust harder, deeper, her pussy fluttering around him as she came, crying his name, walls milking him relentlessly. He followed seconds later, burying deep to flood her with hot cum, pulsing inside her as they clung together, trembling.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, his weight a comforting press as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "First time hearing that... best win of my life." She smiled, tracing his jaw. "Me too. Here's to us—thriving, together." Wrapped in sheets, the night faded into quiet intimacy, their future as bright as the stadium lights they'd left behind.
ik it’s HUMONGOUS bc he’s 6’6” and 251lbs HELLOOO??
Pairing: AJ Barner x Fem!reader
Warnings: oral f!receiving, fingering, smut, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, light choking.
"Baby we did it!!" AJ screams as he spots you after the game.
"Yes you did!! Congratulations!!" You say as you kiss him.
He wraps his arms around you pulling you closer before deepening the kiss, "Fuck I love you."
"I love you too" you reply, "Now go celebrate I'll see you later."
"Yes you will" AJ smirks biting his lip thinking about what will happen later.
"You little freak" you say as you laugh at his face.
"You know I'm not little" he mouths as he walks away to go celebrate.
A few hours, many beers, and a few cigars later, AJ has you pinned to the bed as he kisses the inside of your thighs. One of his arms is holding you down so you can't move while the other is holding your leg open.
"AJ" you whine.
"Patience baby" he says before licking a stripe up your slit and wrapping his lips around your clit.
"Fuck" you moan out as he starts eating you out.
"Tastes so sweet baby" AJ says as he speeds up eating you out.
You moan as he inserts two fingers before thrusting them in and out quickly, "Be a good girl and cum for me baby" he says.
You moan as you cum all over his fingers and tongue.
AJ pulls his fingers out before licking them clean, he stands before stripping his clothes off. He flips you over so your ass is up and your on you hands and knees. He arches your back further before lining up and sinking into you slowly, causing you both to moan.
"Fuck so tight" he says before pulling all the way out before slamming back into you.
You moan loudly as he brutally thrusts into you, "Fuck AJ."
"Yeah that's right let them hear you baby" AJ says before grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you up so he can wrap his hand around your throat. He reaches down and starts circling your clit causing you to moan.
"Squeezin me so tight baby" he says in your ear, "I can tell your close baby."
AJ speeds up thrusting into you causing you to moan as you cum all over his cock, AJ groans before he cums right behind you filling you up.
Once you catch your breath AJ slowly pulls out before helping you lay on your back, he lays down beside you and pulls you onto his chest.
"I love you" he says.
"I love you too" you reply.
You both settle into a comfortable silence, before falling asleep cuddled together.
