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divinedelusional · 4 days ago

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jazzzyyy🥹

six hours of trouble

summary: you and jazz, known for your playful antagonism at yankees events, are roped into co-hosting a 6 hour charity livestream together trapped in a tiny studio where your banter and chemistry quickly take center stage.

word count: 5.6k words

⸻

The small studio felt even smaller than you remembered as you stepped inside, arms full of Yankees merch, stacks of giveaway items, and your carefully prepared cue cards tucked neatly under one arm. As the Yankees’ event coordinator, you were no stranger to cramped spaces and tight timelines organizing chaos was literally in your job description but this?

This was a squeeze even by your standards.

Cameras were crammed into every corner, cables snaking across the floor, Yankees banners pinned at odd angles like someone had thrown them up in a hurry. The small table was cluttered with mugs and signed baseballs ready for auction, and right in the middle of it all sat one glaring logistical oversight.

A single loveseat.

Not two chairs, not even a long couch just one too small loveseat, pushed awkwardly into frame with hardly any space to breathe on either side.

Perfect.

You were still arranging your cue cards into a precise stack color coded tabs peeking out the side, timed segments highlighted just so when you heard it.

That voice.

Low, smooth, threaded with mischief as it slid through the doorway behind you. “Figures they’d stick me with you.”

You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was the smirk practically dripped from every word, unmistakable even without looking.

But you did turn.

Arms crossed, expression cool but amused, you met Jazz Chisholm Jr.’s grin with one of your own. “Try not to look too excited, Chisholm.”

He took his time stepping fully into the room, moving with that relaxed swagger that always made it look like he owned the space the second he entered it. Yankees hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, chains catching the studio lights just right, dark curls effortlessly tousled of course.

His gaze swept across the studio quickly, taking in the chaos you’d tamed into order, but he honed in immediately on your binder of notes.

“Over-prepared as usual, huh?” he teased, nodding at your pristine checklist and carefully arranged cue cards.

“Didn’t realize co-hosting a livestream needed a whole battle plan.”

You arched a brow, letting your tone stay cool and sharp.

“That’s because you show up late and wing it. My job remember? is making sure things actually run smoothly.”

You gestured pointedly to the pile of giveaways, the perfectly stacked merch, the clock ticking ominously toward livestream start time.

Jazz just laughed, that infuriatingly easy, confident laugh, before sprawling dramatically across the narrow loveseat like he’d planned it this way all along.

He stretched an arm across the back casually, taking up as much space as humanly possible, and then with a glint in his eye patted the one small spot left next to him, a wink punctuating the gesture.

“Come on, boss. Yankees event coordinator or not, you’re stuck sitting right here.”

You hesitated for just a second, pulse picking up speed despite yourself, before finally lowering yourself into the seat beside him.

Shoulder to shoulder. No choice.

Even as you adjusted your mic pack, you were hyperaware of every point of contact. The warmth of his arm brushing yours each time he shifted, his knee bumping lightly against yours as if he couldn’t quite sit still, or as if he wasn’t even trying to keep distance at all and then that maddening, distracting scent of his cologne.

Clean, sharp, a little earthy and undeniably him.

Jazz, of course, leaned in a little more, closing what little space there was left between you, and dropped his voice low just for you, just enough to make your breath catch.

“Six hours, huh?” he murmured, grin crooked and knowing.

“Hope those notes can save you.”

You tilted your head toward him, refusing to let him have the upper hand, your smirk matching his as you locked eyes.

“Six hours?” you echoed, keeping your tone light but laced with challenge.

“I’m hoping you can keep up.”

And that was it.

The tone was set.

Playful, sharp, but already simmering with the kind of tension that made your skin prickle the kind that neither of you would acknowledge aloud but both of you felt.

The cameras hadn’t even turned on yet.

And it was already obvious this was going to be a very interesting day.

⸻

The livestream was barely ten minutes in, and Jazz was already testing your patience and clearly enjoying every second of it.

You were mid-sentence, eyes flicking to your neatly arranged cue cards, posture perfect as you read off a raffle announcement when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught him leaning in.

Too late.

His fingers shot out, smooth and quick, plucking the next card straight from your hand with a grin that was nothing short of devilish.

“What’s this one say?” he asked, holding it up proudly for the camera like it was some grand prize.

”‘Upcoming raffle details’ wow, thrilling stuff. Glad we’re keeping the people entertained.”

You froze for a half second, caught between exasperation and amusement, before shooting him a sharp look and snatching the card back, but not before your fingers brushed his.

That brief contact, light as it was, lingered more than it should have. And judging by the smug little smirk that crossed his face, he didn’t mind at all.

“You could read the cards too, you know,” you replied smoothly, slipping it back into its proper place with practiced grace. “If you’d bothered to show up for the prep meeting.”

“Yeah,” he drawled lazily, leaning in again unnecessarily close his breath warm near your ear as he glanced down at the donation counter on the shared monitor.

His arm pressed lightly against yours this time, a soft, deliberate contact that sent an unexpected spark up your spine. He didn’t pull away.

“But this is way more fun,” he added under his breath, grin still firmly in place.

Then, louder enough for the mic to catch it but pitched low, like it was half for you, half for the audience. “Oh look,” he said, voice dripping with mock surprise, “donations are going up every time I lean in. Must be my charm.”

You arched a brow without missing a beat.

“Or the audience is donating to see how long I’ll put up with you.”

And right on cue, the chat exploded.

💬 “They fight like a married couple omg 😭”

💬 “Jazz is definitely flirting and she’s trying SO hard to ignore it lmao”

💬 “This is the content we didn’t know we needed 👏”

The heat rose in your cheeks despite your best efforts you could feel it, creeping up your neck, but you kept your expression smooth, voice steady, gaze locked on the camera as though none of it phased you.

Meanwhile, Jazz kept leaning in, little by little, every excuse to invade your space feeling increasingly intentional.

Each time his arm brushed yours as he reached for the laptop, each bump of your knees under the small table, it felt deliberate, like he was daring you to react.

But neither of you really settled into comfort. The banter remained playful, but under it pulsed a friction neither of you spoke aloud sharp and electric, unmistakably charged. Then, just as you began reading the next segment, he struck again.

Without warning, he plucked another cue card right from your fingers, flashing a wicked grin at the camera as he waved it like a trophy. “Come on, Yankees event coordinator, can’t you keep control of your co-host?”

That did it. You turned your head toward him fully this time so close now that your knees pressed flush together beneath the table, neither of you moving away and your smile curved sweet and sharp all at once.

“Control?” you echoed, tone light but threaded with challenge. “You’re assuming anyone’s ever had control of you, Chisholm.”

His laugh that followed was softer this time lower, quieter but his eyes stayed locked on yours, holding just a second longer than casual, longer than necessary.

And that second was all it took to make your breath hitch, before you forced yourself back into host mode, fixing your gaze back on the camera like nothing had happened. But that tiny shift didn’t go unnoticed not by him, not by you, and definitely not by the audience.

The chat lit up again in a flood of delighted chaos.

💬 “OMG THE LOOK THEY JUST GAVE EACH OTHER 😭😭”

💬 “JAZZ IS DOWN BAD CONFIRMED”

💬 “THE TENSION IS INSANE RN.”

The first hour passed exactly like that playful bickering, teasing competition, constant physical closeness neither of you acknowledged, but both of you felt it. Every time your legs brushed, every time his fingers hovered just a little too close to yours on the shared laptop.

And all the while, donations climbed fueled as much by the flirting as by the raffle prizes. Somehow, you got the feeling that neither of you was really keeping track of who was winning anymore.

⸻

By the second hour, the energy had dipped just slightly the initial rush of viewer excitement settling as the audience paused between giveaways and donation milestones. The chat, so loud and fast at first, slowed to a steady trickle, and the donation counter stalled just for a beat.

A quiet producer’s note flashed across your shared monitor in big bold text, “Viewer lull, keep it light and interactive.”

Without missing a beat, Jazz sat up straighter, leaning forward with a grin that was pure mischief and challenge, his elbows resting easily on his knees as he angled toward the camera. “Truth or Dare, anyone?” he announced suddenly, voice playful but rich with that spark he seemed to thrive on.

His eyes flicked sideways as he spoke, meeting yours briefly and there was something about the way he looked at you right then. Like he already knew exactly what he was doing.

The chat exploded instantly, reigniting in a flash.

💬 “YES! MAKE THEM PLAY TRUTH OR DARE!”

💬 “This is gonna get GOOD 👀”

💬 “Jazz is playing with fire rn I can feel it lol”

You arched a brow at him but smirked despite yourself, shaking your head a little at how easily he could steer the room and you exactly where he wanted.

“Fine,” you said, leaning back just enough to turn your full attention to him, your smile sly. “Jazz Chisholm Jr., truth or dare?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Truth. Hit me.”

You paused for a deliberate second savoring the way he watched you with open curiosity, that barely disguised glint in his eye then asked with a sly smile:

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done on the field?”

For the first time that day, his grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of genuine thoughtfulness. His lips parted like he might deflect like he always did but then something shifted.

He laughed, softer this time, almost sheepish. “Okay rookie year,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck with a slight wince. “I ran out to second base, forgot my glove in the dugout. Whole stadium caught it on the jumbotron. I tried to play it cool but yeah, not my finest moment.”

The chat loved it.

💬 “STOP NOT THE GLOVE STORY 😭😭”

💬 “We need footage of this immediately 😂”

But what caught your attention wasn’t the story itself, it was the way he told it.

No bravado, no cocky exaggeration. Just honest, self deprecating amusement. The laugh that followed wasn’t for the audience’s benefit it was real.

You laughed too, reaching out without thinking to nudge his knee lightly with yours a simple, casual gesture that felt more intimate than anything you’d done all afternoon.

“Even your worst moment is kind of adorable,” you teased before you could stop yourself, the words escaping without filter. His glance toward you was quick, sharp, but softened immediately by something you couldn’t quite read a warmth that settled low in your chest.

“Your turn,” he said after a beat, leaning in just slightly, his voice lower now, quiet enough that it felt like the rest of the world had faded out even though thousands were still watching. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you answered, the word slipping out before you could think twice.

Jazz tilted his head, gaze steady now almost searching. “Alright,” he said slowly, playful edge still there but gentler, “tell us something nobody would expect about you.”

That made you pause really pause.

The chat immediately started throwing out guesses.

💬 “She’s secretly a Yankees fan 😏”

💬 “She can’t stand baseball??”

💬 “Has an embarrassing tattoo maybe??”

But you barely registered the comments. His question felt different genuine, intentional and so did the way he was watching you now.

You hesitated, fingers brushing absently against the edge of your cue cards like they might somehow give you courage. Normally, you’d brush off a question like that, deflect with something clever, something safe.

But the way he sat there not pushing, just waiting made it impossible to shrug off.

And then, just as your silence stretched, he surprised you again.

“You don’t have to answer,” Jazz said quietly, leaning back a little, his smirk gone now, replaced by a small, sincere smile. “We can skip. I was just messing around.”

That unexpected kindness after hours of playful challenges and teasing disarmed you completely. The spark between you was still unmistakable, but now it felt threaded with something warmer, gentler, easier.

You cleared your throat, voice quieter than before but steady.

“No,” you said finally, meeting his gaze fully. “Okay, nobody would expect this, but I get stage fright. Every single time I have to go live even for work I freak out beforehand.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really?” he asked, voice low, softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re literally running this show like it’s nothing.”

You shrugged, smiling almost shyly now something you never would’ve shown on camera an hour ago. “I hide it well.”

His gaze lingered for just a beat longer than necessary softer, thoughtful, but still unmistakably him. “You’re doing fine,” he said quietly, his tone almost tender.

And then, with perfect timing, he turned smoothly back to the camera, flashing that familiar grin but this time it felt different, less performance and more pride.

“In case anybody’s wondering, she’s killing it.”

The chat erupted again.

💬 “DID JAZZ JUST GET SWEET?? 😭”

💬 “Wait this is actually CUTE omg”

💬 “That shift tho 👀👀👀”

But neither of you acknowledged it aloud.

The teasing continued. The rhythm picked up again. But the edges were noticeably softer now, the smiles a little warmer, the glances lingering just a little longer than before. The space between you felt, smaller. Comfortable.

And even as the game moved on and the cameras kept rolling, you could feel it clear as day.

Something between you had shifted.

And it wasn’t just for the audience anymore.

⸻

By the fourth hour, something had shifted.

The sharp edges of the banter the playful digs and exaggerated eye rolls had softened into something easier, something that felt, almost intimate. Where before you would stiffen instinctively every time Jazz leaned in too close or brushed against you, now your posture was different.

You found yourself leaning toward him unconsciously when you laughed which was happening more often, as his jokes felt less like barbs and more like shared moments of amusement just between the two of you.

His knee was pressed lightly against yours now a small, constant point of contact neither of you acknowledged aloud but neither of you adjusted either.

That simple press of leg to leg should have felt accidental, incidental, but it wasn’t. It was there, warm and steady, quietly grounding you in a way that was becoming harder to ignore.

Then it happened that small, disarming gesture that cracked the playful rhythm completely. You leaned forward to adjust a Yankees cap on the giveaway table, reaching to straighten it just so, and as you did, you felt his fingers brush lightly against your hair.

Not rushed, not performative but casual, instinctive. Like he’d done it before. Like it was second nature. His fingers tucked a loose strand gently behind your ear, and for just a fraction of a second, his knuckles grazed your cheek.

That touch soft, unannounced sent a ripple through you. Your breath caught.

The chat caught it instantly too.

💬 “JUST KISS ALREADY!! 😭😭”

💬 “They’re literally sitting knee to knee… I can’t breathe 😭”

💬 “Wait did he just brush her hair back?? HELLO??”

Normally, you would’ve laughed it off, thrown out some sarcastic comment about the audience being nosy or desperate for content.

Jazz would’ve jumped on the opportunity too fired back something cheeky, probably turning it into another teasing line.

But this time? Neither of you said a word.

A pause settled between you heavy but quiet thick enough that you could almost feel the shift in the air.

It wasn’t just the audience noticing anymore.

You both were feeling it too.

Your gaze lifted and met his.

His eyes stayed locked on yours for just a second longer than would ever be appropriate for “just co-hosts.”

His expression was softer now, lacking that cocky, teasing edge he usually carried like armor. But there was still that glint, that spark that made your pulse race except this time, it felt different.

Less like a challenge.

More like an invitation.

You felt your cheeks flush, a warmth that spread all the way to your fingertips, but your smile stayed perfectly intact as you finally looked back toward the camera, pretending nothing had happened, even though you both knew something absolutely had.

The playful rivalry that had fueled the first few hours was starting to crack.

And beneath it, something deeper simmered quietly.

Comfort. Connection. Curiosity.

But still, neither of you addressed it. Not aloud. Not yet.

You kept reading the next raffle announcement, your tone smooth, words clear, but your body leaned just a little closer toward him now like proximity was inevitable, like distance had become the awkward choice.

Jazz laughed at something you said, and when he did, he leaned in too close enough that his shoulder brushed yours again, close enough that you could feel the way his breath softened near your temple before he turned back to the screen.

His knee stayed pressed right against yours.

And when you reached for the next cue card, his thumb brushed absently along the edge of it, fingers so close to yours now that they almost touched almost, but never quite.

And all the while, the chat kept begging for a kiss.

💬 “It’s happening I swear 😭😭😭”

💬 “WHY WON’T THEY JUST KISS ALREADY OMG”

💬 “The tension is SO LOUD I’m screaming.”

But neither of you gave them one.

Not yet. Still, it was getting harder, harder to pretend neither of you were thinking about it.

Harder to pretend you didn’t feel that shift humming quietly beneath every glance, every brush of skin, every smile that softened without either of you meaning for it to.

By now, the rivalry was just a memory replaced by something softer but far more dangerous.

And neither of you seemed willing or able to pull back.

⸻

The fifth hour was underway, and while you felt settled into an easy rhythm alternating announcements, inside jokes, and shared smiles the atmosphere between you and Jazz felt, different now.

The playful barbs had softened into genuine conversation, your banter threaded with warmth instead of bite. The physical closeness that once felt like a battle of wills had shifted into something far more natural, something neither of you pretended to ignore anymore.

Then the producer waved a hand, signaling an incoming video call.

Anthony Volpe’s name flashed across the monitor, and before the connection even stabilized, Jazz let out a low groan under his breath, leaning slightly away from the mic but not far enough to hide the grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh no,” he muttered, almost like he could already sense trouble coming.

When Volpe’s face appeared on the split screen, he was practically glowing with amusement, his grin wide and wicked.

“Hey guys,” he greeted casually, but his eyes locked straight onto Jazz with that unmistakable look the look of a teammate about to stir the pot.

“Looks like you’re surviving being stuck all day with your favorite,” Volpe added smoothly, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

The comment landed perfectly, a dart straight into the charged atmosphere.

The chat exploded.

💬 “FAVORITE? 😭😭”

💬 “Volpe exposing Jazz I’m screaming”

💬 “OMG HE’S BLUSHING SOMEONE SCREENSHOT”

And sure enough, Jazz actually blushed.

A faint, undeniable flush crept along his cheekbones rare, subtle, but impossible to miss now that everyone was watching. He waved a hand toward the camera, laughing softly but looking absolutely cornered for once.

“Get outta here, Volpe.”

You couldn’t stop your own laugh from bubbling up, not just at Volpe’s perfectly timed tease, but at the way Jazz struggled, really struggled, to hold onto his usual cocky exterior.

For the first time all day, his bravado cracked. And beneath it something genuine peeked through. It was the smallest shift, but you felt it warm and unexpected somewhere deep in your chest.

The call wrapped quickly after that, but the teasing didn’t end. The chat lingered on Volpe’s comment, fueling more stolen glances between you and Jazz, more quiet grins neither of you fully tried to hide.

Then the producer signaled for a short break cameras still rolling but mics muted while the next giveaway prepped off screen.

You took the opportunity to reach for your water bottle, your mind spinning a little from the exchange, the flush still warming your skin when you felt it that sensation again.

His gaze.

You glanced over and found Jazz watching you really watching expression unusually quiet, thoughtful, with none of the cocky smirk he’d worn so easily earlier.

“What?” you asked softly, curiosity outweighing any pretense now.

He gave a half shrug, leaning back a little in his seat but never breaking eye contact. His voice was low when he spoke, pitched just for you even though the mics were off, it still felt private. “I didn’t really mind being stuck with you today,” he said, the words simple but somehow disarming. “Actually, I kinda liked it.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the honesty in his tone.

No teasing. No sarcasm.

Just Jazz, for once, stripped of the armor he usually carried so easily.

His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees still brushed together, then flicked back up, his smile softer now small, tentative, but warm.

“You get under my skin,” he added, voice quieter still. “But, in a good way.”

That line said so easily, almost like an afterthought landed hard.

It was a rare moment of truth from someone who seemed to live on jokes and quick comebacks, and it sent a ripple of warmth through you that settled somewhere deep.

You sat there for a long second, heart ticking faster now but not from nerves from realization.

Realization that maybe that playful tension you’d shared all day had always felt different because it was different. Because the way he teased wasn’t about irritation it was about attention. Because the way he kept leaning closer wasn’t about stealing space it was about sharing it.

And maybe that was why you’d been smiling more, why you felt so comfortable sitting so close, why you hadn’t really wanted to pull away at all.

You softened, letting your shoulders drop slightly, a small smile curling at the corners of your mouth as you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze fully.

“Same,” you admitted quietly, the words barely audible even to yourself but meaning everything.

Neither of you moved away.

In fact, if anything, you felt yourselves leaning in just a little more subtly, naturally until the space between you felt less like a necessity and more like a choice.

The producer began counting down five fingers raised, then four, then three but neither of you adjusted.

When the mics came back on and the cameras lit up again, you were still sitting just a little closer than before.

No pretense this time.

No playful deflection.

Just you and Jazz quietly aware that something between you had shifted and quietly okay with it.

⸻

The sixth hour felt like a blur.

What had started as sharp banter and elbow jabs had melted into something easier a flow neither of you seemed in a hurry to break. Quiet smiles exchanged over raffle winners, laughter that felt shared rather than performative, lingering glances that lasted just a second too long.

Your knees still pressed together, a constant point of contact that neither of you had even attempted to adjust. At some point it stopped feeling like proximity and started feeling like comfort like neither of you could quite remember sitting any other way.

And you could feel it now.

The shift wasn’t just happening between you and Jazz.

The chat had picked up on it too rabid, delighted, almost invested in the outcome more than the prizes.

Every time Jazz leaned in to murmur something too close to your ear, every time you laughed a little too genuinely at something he whispered off camera, the donation counter would spike.

💬 “WHY IS THE FLIRTING SO REAL NOW 😭”

💬 “Omg are they holding hands under the table yet??”

💬 “We’re literally funding this entire charity just to watch them fall in love 😂”

The audience was eating it up but for once, you couldn’t laugh it off like before.

Not when your pulse jumped every time his shoulder brushed yours, every time his fingers ghosted too close to yours on the cue cards.

Not when the heat that simmered quietly all day now sat fully between you unspoken but undeniable.

Then, halfway through a final giveaway announcement, Jazz made his move.

He leaned forward toward the camera suddenly, a grin spreading across his face so effortlessly charming it made your stomach flip before you could stop it.

“Alright, alright,” he said, raising a hand to address the audience directly, voice rich with playful authority, “I’ve got a challenge for you guys.”

You shot him a look half amused, half exasperated but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to keep the warmth out of your voice. “What now?”

Without missing a beat, Jazz turned fully turned toward you. His gaze was bright, alive, but softer now, lacking that cocky edge he usually carried like armor. “If donations hit $50,000 before we sign off”

He paused dramatically, dragging the moment out just enough that it felt like the room itself was holding its breath.

Then he leaned in, so close your shoulders brushed again, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him, and finished almost gently. “She has to grab dinner with me.”

The chat erupted immediately.

💬 “$50K LET’S GO 😭😭”

💬 “STRICTLY FOR CHARITY he says 😏”

💬 “I HAVE NEVER DONATED FASTER”

Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, head shaking slightly partly at him, partly at the chat but your heart was racing now.

Because this didn’t sound like one of Jazz’s usual stunts.

His tone still held that teasing note, but there was something, earnest behind it.

Something real.

“Strictly for charity, of course,” he added, flashing a wink as he leaned back just slightly, but not far enough to create any real distance. His knee stayed firmly pressed against yours, solid and steady.

You rolled your eyes, the warmth spreading through your chest betraying you completely. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured under your breath, but your smile stayed soft and genuine.

And then with just minutes left the donation counter climbed rapidly, ticking up and up until it hit exactly $50,000.

The chat exploded again.

💬 “WE DID IT!!!”

💬 “YOU’RE WELCOME JAZZ 😭”

💬 “Someone better livestream that dinner too 👀”

You turned toward him again, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up from your chest, but when your eyes met his this time, something was different.

His grin was still wide, still bright, but it lacked the swagger he wore so easily.

Underneath, something softer flickered a sincerity that made your breath catch.

“Guess we’re doing dinner,” he said simply, voice low and warm.

You nodded, pulse thrumming, your reply equally quiet but steady. “Guess we are.”

The producer began the countdown to the final sign off.

You smoothed your expression with practiced ease, turning back toward the camera just as you’d done countless times that day.

“Thank you everyone for watching and donating today,” you said, voice smooth and composed even though your mind was still spinning.

Beside you, Jazz stayed close, so close his arm brushed yours again, so close you could almost feel his next breath.

And as the final seconds ticked down, his hand resting casually on the table, drifted toward yours.

At first, just the slightest brush of fingers.

But then, his pinky hooked gently around yours.

Not an accident. Not a tease.

A deliberate, quiet gesture simple, but unmistakably full of intention.

Like a silent promise.

You didn’t pull away.

And as the camera lights dimmed and the stream officially ended, Jazz didn’t rush to stand.

He didn’t lean back into his cocky persona or fire off one last quip for the imaginary audience.

He just sat there beside you still close, still quiet and smiled.

That same soft, genuine smile you hadn’t expected but somehow felt exactly right.

⸻

The camera light flicked off, and with it, the entire energy of the room shifted.

The warm glow of the livestream’s attention, the endless scroll of the chat, the constant playful performance it all evaporated, leaving behind a stillness that felt almost startling in its contrast.

No chat scrolling wildly in front of you.

No teasing commentary to play into.

No reason left to pretend this was just part of the show.

Just quiet now and him.

Jazz stayed seated for a beat longer than you expected, fingers idly brushing along the edge of the cue cards you’d spent so much time organizing, straightening, perfecting. The subtle scrape of his thumb across the cardstock sounded almost loud in the sudden silence.

When he finally stood, there was no dramatic stretch or exaggerated swagger like you might’ve expected earlier in the day. His movements were slower, almost hesitant, like he was reluctant for the day or at least this moment to end.

His usual easy confidence felt softer now, tempered by something more careful as his gaze found yours again. “So, about that dinner”

His voice was lower, rough around the edges, almost tentative like this was the first unscripted line of the entire day, and he wasn’t quite sure what came next.

You felt yourself smile but this wasn’t the polished, practiced expression you’d worn for six straight hours.

This was something warmer. Real. A little vulnerable, even.

“I figured you’d ask even if we didn’t hit the goal,” you teased gently, turning fully to face him now, letting yourself meet that gaze without the safety net of cameras or distractions.

His grin returned but this time it wasn’t the cocky, playful smirk you’d come to expect from him.

It was smaller. Quieter.

Sincere in a way that made your chest ache just a little. When he stepped closer, you felt that shift all over again that moment where the teasing had finally melted into something honest.

“Maybe” he murmured, leaning just slightly into your space close enough you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close it felt presumptuous. “But it gave me a good excuse.”

That line so casual on the surface but laced with quiet intention hung between you, heavy with all the things neither of you had said aloud all day.

And then he held your gaze.

Really held it.

The playful glint in his eyes was still there, but layered underneath was something else now something steady, curious, and intentional.

Interested.

You didn’t look away.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your voice softer but sure, your smile small but genuine.

“Let’s do dinner.”

Neither of you rushed after that.

There was no sudden break in the moment, no scramble to gather belongings and shake off what had passed between you.

Instead, the atmosphere felt settled light but somehow full, as if the unspoken tension that had carried you both through the day had finally resolved itself into something, easier.

Earned.

You moved almost in sync as you gathered your things, the hush between you feeling more comfortable than any words could have been.

And then, as you finally stepped toward the door together, Jazz reached down casually, like it was nothing and let the back of his hand brush against yours.

That light touch alone made your breath hitch.

But this time, instead of pulling away or turning it into another joke, his fingers simply curled.

Gently. Deliberately.

His hand slid into yours as naturally as if it had always belonged there, warm and certain, thumb brushing lightly along the side of your index finger.

Steady.

Certain.

No audience left to perform for.

No cameras to play it up for.

Just you and him.

And you didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

You simply let him lace his fingers fully through yours, letting that simple, quiet contact speak for itself as you walked together out of the studio out into the quiet hallway beyond.

Whatever this had turned into today.

It didn’t feel like a game anymore.

It felt like something real.

And for the first time all day, you realized you didn’t want to pretend otherwise.

⸻

MASTERLIST

#fic rec #jazz chisholm jr x reader #jazz chisholm jr

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divinedelusional · 5 days ago

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dating aaron judge nsfw headcanons

aaron screams overstimulation for me!!!

he lives for the sounds you make when you're sure you have no more orgasms for him.

silly girl, ofc he will draw them out of you.

he is obsessed with the way your thighs tremble, squeezing his head when he's goin down on you.

he loves seeing you all fucked out for him, coming for him. whether it's on his fingers, mouth or dick. sometimes he goes just for eating you, doesn't care about his hard on, he gets high on a sight of you overstimulated by anything he chooses to give you

sometimes when he knows he wants to take his sweet time with eating your pussy, he puts on a cock ring. and when you come at least three times just from his tounge, he takes it off, finally getting inside of you. the orgasm he gets? out of this world, and he sees spots.

he is big and we know it

no way he looks like that and has something tiny, he's hugeee.

he guides you tho at the beginning, doing everything to prepare you and help you adjust to his size

well you'd always need a little moment everytime he fucks you, let's not fool ourselves

but the longer you are together, it's get easier for you

aaron couldn't be prouder, his girl taking his cock like a fuckin champ

you guys definitely have a safe word

because he's gentle and thoughtful most of the time

but when you both get into it goddd

you both enjoy rough sex from time to time, it doesn't take long to get you into that mood-he looks like a god on a daily bais. he smiles at you and your straddling him, begging him to fuck you stupid. aaron just gets lost in the warmth of your pussy. your moans and chants of his name get him crazy, he suddenly gets this urge to claim you and he pounds into you with speed you had no idea that's it possible

and when you call him captain or daddy? he's goneeee

bc he has a daddy kink, i can't believe he does not. not like crazy and over the top, but when he's in the mood he gets off on you calling him that

that's becasue he is a total caregiver, he's heart full because he knows you trust him, fully give yourself to him

and also loves the idea of you carrying his kid, so yuh breeding kink sometimes shows up!

he just wants to see you having his kid. when you both agree it's time to start trying he can't get enough of your whines:

"aaron please, wanna be full of you, j-just fuck wanna have your babies"

"give it to me, wanna make you a daddy, you'd be such a dilf, fuck"

he kinda is a show off

i mean he likes an idea of someone seeing you two while at it, wants to see the world how good he fucks his girl

but then when he actually thinks about someone seeing you like that, in a state that's meant just for his eyes, he gets possesive and fucks you with even more purpose

wants to fuck you in every room in his penthouse, especially by the huge windows

but he knows you can't have that if you don't feel comfortable with the fact that someone in next building could see you

but when you two go to california to visit his family, he rents you a beautiful house, with the view on the sea and he fucks you anywhere he wants, especially in the balcony or by the pool

and lastly

he loves sex with you. adores it. sometimes gets carried away, but would never hurt you, always prioritizes your comfort and boundries

he's very confident in bed. he knows he ruined you for every other man, but that's fine. he doesn't want any other man to have you like he does

taggin: @laufeyloveshozier @wellspilled @judgepilled @judgeyswife @thelunarbar @xoxokiaraaxoxo

#aaron judge #aaron judge smut #aaron judge x reader #aaron judge fic #mlb headcanon #mlb x reader #mlb smut #mlb fandom #baseball rpf #new york yankees smut #new york yankees x reader #ns/fw headcanons #headcanons #smut

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divinedelusional · 10 days ago

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send requests for my boy jazzzz PLEASE or aaron or volpe

#jazz chisholm jr #jazz chisholm jr x reader #mlb x reader #mlb fanfic #new york yankees x reader

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divinedelusional · 10 days ago

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dating headcanons - aaron judge sfw

he was intrigued from the very beggining

as cliche as it sounds, he never met a girl like you. you were fun, fresh like summer breeze, with unmatched energy. he knew he wanted you from the very begging. it would haunt him for the rest of his life if he hadn't gone for it. that's why...

he's not cocky at all when it comes to dating you!!!

i think I saw it in someone else's headcanons for him and i totally agree. like he knows who he is right, he's Aaron Judge, captain america himself, but suddenly with you, it all goes away. he doesn't care what he's got, his fame, reputation and status. what is being Aaron Judge if you won't have him?

but luckily you chose him!

tho at early stages of dating he still is very careful. he's not shy, no, but he tries to act cool. and most of the time his successful, but you see it in his eyes. his glimpses full of hope when he tells you a joke and waits for you to laugh or when he hands you flowers. he feels like a high schooler and is almost embarrassed, but he knows you're worth it.

if only he knew how you felt during this first dates...

you were also cautious. you knew who he was and was wondering how off all people you were the one who caught his eye. but you admired his efforts and being with him. it all felt so easy. you let him kiss you after your second date, and even that was only a small peck, goodnight kiss as he walked you to your door. always left him wanting more.

and he did. he did want more.

on your third date something shifted. you were sitting in a nice italian restaurant. it was perfect spring evening, and you looked so beautiful with your satin black dress. you had a couple glasses of wine and were tipsy giggling on your way home. by your door he stopped. looked at you, slowly pushing a hair strand behind your ear. he kissed you slowly, waiting for you to open your mouth, gently but steadily grabbing your waist. it was the best one of first kisses and you wanted to melt into him. it quickly escalated and you were practically making out by your building. but you tripped over your shoe when you wanted to walk upstairs, Aaron quickly catching you, pulling apart. you looked at him, coming to your senses. you'd gladly ask him to come upstairs. but something told you to wait. you didn't want it like this. not when you didn't know where you stand with him, and you were both slightly wine drunk. "Aaron I can't today, I... I'll see you later, bye" you kissed his cheek and ran upstairs, leaving him staring at your door in a street for a while.

next morning he decided on something he never knew he had in him

he woke up, rainy morning and thought how nice it would be if he woke up right next to you, he could cuddle you and not get out of bed for at least thirty minutes.

he got dressed, drove to the nearest flower shop and got the biggest bouquet of peonies

he parked on your street and run out of the car, rain was pouring now. it was just a distance from a car to your door and he was soaked. he rang the door bell to your apartment. and then you saw him. his hair wet, barely could see his face through the bouquet.

"be mine, please. i can't stand not being yours"

you stared at him and his heart was thumping in his chest. you came up to him, and put both of your hands on his cheeks and you kissed him, needing it like air. Aaron let a moan slip out of his mouth, as he finally relaxed.

"im flying to Chicago this evening" he sighed when he was lying on your sofa after long make out session.

"i'll miss you" you said and genuinely meant it.

"i'll miss you too" he replied, stroking your hair. "but at least i can miss you as your boyfriend now" you gave him the prettiest smile as an answer.

your relationship took off when Aaron came back from Chicago

you were texting whenever you had time during his stay there. and when he came back, he couldn't be happier to see you

sooo that's how i imagine things went on and what he does in realtionships

he protects your privacy for sure. that's why he wait to sit you in a family section

at first when you go to the games you sat in a spot where he could see you, but was not in the spotlight. then you waited for him in your car or his

but you both quickly got tired of this hiding, so one day so waited for him in the tunnel

and that's when you're introduced to the team as his girlfriend

it's very important to him to include you in his life, so after that day he takes you to team events

everybody fell in love with you!

guys said that you had amazing impact on Aaron

Giancarlo couldn't believe Aaron found you first and Volpe told you in secret that Aaron has been radiating even mote positive energy these past two months, before you came to see them, and now they got to know why

aside from including you in his life, he wants to be part of yours

he supports all of your projects, work, education...whatever you have going on

wants to learn about your passions and hobbys

you were scared at first that he'd found some of your interests silly

"babe, im hitting and catching a ball for a living, c'mon "

but seriously for him it doesn't matter what you do in life

you'd wake up one day and decide you want to make bracelets or plushies and sell them online? he'd get you all the things you need to do that

you wanna pursue academic career and teach at Columbia? he'd be proud that he has such a smart and educated girl by his side

if you don't like your job he tells you, you don't have to worry anymore, because what's his is yours

but if you'd want a career without his financial help he would also encourage you and stand by your side until you reach your goal

he is your rock in life

you love how confident yet humble he is

puts his talents, status and character to a good use, helping the others

he is so kind hearted and giving person, treats everybody with respect, true leader

and your heart grows with love for him everyday

but you also support him

one day he was upset about a game. normally he shrugs it off, years in the league and he learned to ignore haters, not dwell too much on slumps

he smiled at you, but his smile wasn't reaching his eyes, and he took shower without you and went straight to bed, even when it was only 7 pm

you found him lying on his side. you sat next to him. he had his eyes closed, but wasn't sleeping.

after a while he opened his eyes and reached out to grab your hand. he pulled it to his lips and kissed your palm

"im sorry baby, just didn't want you to see me like this"

you move closer, and he rests his head on your thigh now. your go your hand through his curls, to comfort him

"Aaron i see you everyday. all of you. and i don't want you to think there's part of you inside and outside i don't like. it's you and me, for better or worse, right?"

Aaron looks up at you with love in his gaze, light finally in his eyes. "right" he chuckles.

"come here" you say, laying down next to him but slightly higher, so he can lay his head on your chest.

he's quiet for a while, realizing you're the one for him. that he wants to put a ring on your finger. but he doesn't tell you. not yet.

he learns to let you in

he tells you everything and you tell him

can't imagine a day without you

this past couple months he's been dating you, being one of the best of his life

he knows he doesn't want to let you go

and he won't

he knows you'll get married but for now he has anniversaries to plan

each is better than the previous one

he is so thoughtful

he pays attention to everything when it comes to you

he knows which hoodies you steal from his closet

you walk around the store and you like a sccented candle? he buys it and next time you come over, his place smells like the said candle

reads your mood like no one else

random thought at the end, but i get the feeling like Aaron enjoys reading!!

so if you do too, you sometimes spend afternoons or evenings, cozied up on the couch, each reading your own book

or he asks you what you reading and genuinely gets interested in the plot, sometimes reads it after you, so you two can discuss

sometimes he just reads to you out loud, whatever he is reading now, because you just can't get enough of his voice and it calms you down

got a little carried away and its probably a little different that I planned, but I hope you guys enjoy!

tagging: @judgepilled @wellspilled @judgeyswife @laufeyloveshozier @thelunarbar @xoxokiaraaxoxo

reblogs, comments and thoughts highlyyy appreciated 🤍💗

#aaron judge #aaron judge x reader #aaron judge fic #aaron judge fluff #mlb x reader #mlb fic #mlb headcanon #aaron judge headcanons #new york yankees #new york yankees fanfiction #new york yankees x reader #baseball rpf #dating headcanons #sfw

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divinedelusional · 10 days ago

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you’re actually so talented when it comes to writing for Aaron!! Since we’re both kinda crazy for Aaron (just remember sharing is caring) how about some sfw and nsfw dating hcs and don’t worry and take your time babes. Welcome to the Yankees and fan fiction fandom!!💙🤍

ily💕 and thanks for the welcome!!

took a little but it's finally posted! (nsfw will be in the other fic)

#xoxo alana

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divinedelusional · 12 days ago

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i just know jazz would fuck me so good

#ughhh #im sorry #just want him #need that #jazz chisholm jr #mlb fandom

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divinedelusional · 13 days ago

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𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐬

fluff - ♡ nsfw - ☆

𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞

fingering you ☆

handling your anxiety attack ♡

dating headcanons sfw ♡ nsfw ☆

𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐩𝐞

coming home to you ☆

going down on you ☆

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐉𝐫.

post game fun ☆

#new york yankees #new york yankees fanfiction #new york yankees smut #mlb x reader #mlb smut #aaron judge #aaron judge x reader #aaron judge fic #anthony volpe #anthony volpe x reader #jazz chisholm jr x reader #jazz chisholm jr #jazz chisholm jr fanfic #alana's masterlists

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divinedelusional · 13 days ago

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OBSESSSD

the chase was worth it

summary: it started as a game, but somewhere along the way, you stopped dodging you were finally running out of reasons to say no and let jazz catch you.

word count: 3.6k words

a/n: he deserves so much appreciation he’s doing so good right now! i love jazz, so i decided to start writing for him too!

⸻

It all started with Samantha Judge.

You should’ve known better the second she called you that morning voice sweet, casual, suspiciously bright.

“Hey, you’re coming to the charity dinner with me tonight, right?” she asked.

You froze, phone balanced between your shoulder and ear as you reached for your coffee. “Sam, what? Since when am I going to charity dinners with you?”

“Since tonight,” she shot back breezily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Aaron needs me there and I’m not sitting through two hours of speeches surrounded by athletes alone. Come keep me sane. Please?”

You hesitated, already sensing a trap. “This feels like a setup.”

Her laugh was just a little too innocent. “It’s not a setup! It’s totally chill. No pressure, no agenda. Just food, some music and me needing my best girl at my side.”

You sighed, weighing your options, when you heard another voice in the background low, amused.

Aaron.

“Babe,” he called to her, “tell her she should come. She never gets out enough.”

You could practically hear Samantha’s grin as she held the phone away from her mouth and whispered dramatically to him, “I know! She’s going to resist, but I’m working on her.”

Then, suddenly, Aaron’s voice came through loud and clear because Sam had obviously put you on speaker.

“Hey,” he said, tone warm and easy, “you really should come tonight. Get out of the house for once. You work too much. You deserve a night where someone pours you a drink for a change.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off smoothly. “Besides, Sam’s right. She needs backup.”

You groaned. “This is an ambush.”

Samantha laughed again, victorious now. “It’s not! We just love you. And you never get out anymore. When’s the last time you had a fun night that didn’t involve netflix and ordering takeout?”

Ouch. They knew you too well.

“Fine,” you muttered, already feeling your resolve crumble. “But this better actually be chill.”

“Promise!” she said quickly, cheerful and triumphant. “Lowkey, just some food, drinks, and honestly the company will be worth it.”

That last part suspicious.

You should’ve trusted your gut.

⸻

It was not chill.

From the moment you stepped into the venue a dimly lit, upscale restaurant filled with linen tablecloths and polished silver you knew Samantha had undersold the entire evening.

“Just dinner, totally chill,” she had said. Right.

The place was packed with athletes in sharp suits, their significant others dressed to perfection, and the unmistakable hum of big money and bigger egos filled the air.

And there you were, in a black dress Samantha had hyped you into wearing at the very last minute. “Effortless but hot,” she’d called it, tossing you a wink as she zipped you up. You felt anything but effortless now as you clutched your clutch, scanning the seating chart.

And then you saw it. Your name. Neatly printed on a tiny folded card. Right next to his.

Jazz Chisholm Jr.

As soon as you approached the table, he looked up, that grin already firmly in place. Laid back, cocky, impossibly good looking his eyes catching the soft light, diamond earring glinting as he tilted his head. He had the audacity to look like he was expecting you.

And the way he watched you slide into your seat, legs crossed, clutch resting neatly on your lap.

Like he already knew exactly what kind of trouble he wanted to stir up tonight.

His lips quirked as he leaned in slightly, forearm resting on the white tablecloth between you.

“Hey,” he greeted smoothly, voice low and easy, like this was some private joke only he understood. “I’m Jazz.”

You arched a brow, utterly unimpressed but unwilling to deny how unfairly attractive he was.

“Good for you,” you replied without missing a beat, your tone light but cool.

Across the table, you caught Samantha’s barely suppressed smile as she pretended to check her phone, and Aaron’s amused glance as he chatted with Giancarlo Stanton.

Jazz laughed softly at your response, leaning back in his chair, eyes still fixed on you like he was just getting started.

That should have been the end of it. Polite introductions, maybe some small talk, then polite distance.

But Jazz?

Jazz Chisholm Jr. didn’t exactly take no for an answer not on the field, not in life, and definitely not with you.

Throughout dinner, he kept finding excuses to speak to you witty comments about the speeches, playful nudges whenever you reached for your wine glass, leaning just a little closer than necessary when he asked if you were enjoying the food.

And every time he caught your gaze across the flickering candlelight, his smile deepened teasing, knowing, like he already considered this entire night a win simply because you were sitting beside him.

By dessert, you weren’t sure whether you wanted to roll your eyes or laugh at his persistence. Probably both.

But deep down.

A very dangerous part of you knew that this was only the beginning.

⸻

From that moment on, he was locked in.

It didn’t matter how casually you brushed him off at the dinner table, or how politely you dodged his charming attempts at conversation Jazz took every deflection as encouragement, like you were dangling a challenge right in front of him.

“You free Friday?” he’d ask with a grin, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Sorry, busy,” you’d reply smoothly, even though you didn’t have plans at all.

He didn’t blink. Just smiled wider, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Good. Gives me the weekend to convince you.”

That grin. That maddening confidence. It carried over after that night, too.

The next morning, you woke up to your first text from him, “Morning, mystery girl. What are you doing later besides pretending you’re too busy for me? 😘”

You laughed out loud in spite of yourself and left him on read. It only seemed to fuel him.

The DMs started showing up next.

A selfie from batting practice him tipping his cap at the camera with a caption that read, “Would look better with you here.”

A random snap of the sky over Yankee Stadium: “Blue skies, perfect day for you to stop dodging me.”

When that didn’t work? The “coincidences” began.

You went out for coffee with Samantha? Jazz “just happened” to show up, claiming he was nearby and “needed caffeine anyway.” You joined Sam for a quick lunch in midtown? Jazz strolled in ten minutes later, looking smug and pretending to be surprised to see you.

“Small city,” he’d say, leaning on the table beside you, sunglasses pushed up onto his head, curls perfect, that infuriating grin plastered across his face.

It became a thing his relentless, playful pursuit and your increasingly flimsy excuses.

And Samantha? She was no help at all. If anything, she encouraged it.

Every time you dodged one of Jazz’s texts, Sam would be right there, nudging you with a teasing smile. “He’s persistent because he likes you, you know,” she’d say knowingly.

Aaron would just chuckle from across the room, tossing out comments like, “She’s got you working hard, huh, Jazz?”

And Jazz, oh, Jazz never missed an opportunity to lean into it.

“Working hard for something worth it,” he’d reply with a wink in your direction.

You couldn’t even act annoyed anymore. Because somewhere between the texts, the “coincidental” appearances, and his easy confidence.

You were starting to enjoy it.

His attention felt warm. His persistence felt flattering. And the truth was? You were running out of reasons to keep saying no.

You could trace it all back to that one morning phone call, the way Samantha and Aaron had teamed up, convinced you never got out enough, and practically pushed you straight into Jazz Chisholm Jr.’s path.

And now?

Now you were starting to wonder, maybe you hadn’t really been dodging him after all.

Maybe you’d just been waiting, waiting for him to catch you.

⸻

That charity dinner turned into a three week long game of cat and mouse.

Jazz made it his personal mission to wear you down, but in the most charming, infuriating way imaginable.

After games, even late at night, your phone would light up with his name, “Morning. Let me know when you’re done pretending you’re not into me 😉”

“Hungry? Because I’m free tonight. And tomorrow. And the night after that. Actually, let me know what your schedule looks like for the next decade.”

It wasn’t just texts. He left flirty comments under your instagram stories, always toeing the line between playful and bold.

A mirror selfie captioned “just a lazy day”? Jazz, “Looks like you need company on that couch.”

A photo of a latte art heart? Jazz, “Did you think of me when you ordered this? Because I’m thinking of you.”

And then, the crowning moment, a coffee delivery to your office completely unprompted with a Yankees cap tucked inside the bag. But not just any cap.

This one had his name embroidered on the side.

The note?

“So you can think of me when you wear it. And yeah, the coffee’s your favorite. I pay attention 😉.”

You couldn’t help it you laughed. Right there at your desk, you laughed. But you still didn’t text him back. You kept playing your part in this little dance. You had fun dodging him artfully, playfully enjoying every second of watching how far he’d go.

But then came Samantha. And Samantha was back in full matchmaking mode.

At brunch that morning, she slipped her arm through yours as soon as you arrived, practically dragging you toward your seat.

“Backyard barbecue tonight at our place,” she announced, too casually. “You’re coming.”

“I’m not,” you said automatically, eyes narrowing. “I have plans.”

Across the table, Aaron didn’t even glance up from his phone as he said dryly, “Doing what? Ordering takeout and watching three hours of true crime documentaries?”

You froze. “Rude, you two are menaces,” you muttered, shooting a glare at both of them.

Samantha just laughed, squeezing your arm tighter. “Come on. Lowkey. Good music, good food and Jazz will be there.”

You groaned, pushing your sunglasses up your nose as you tried to hide the blush you could feel creeping into your cheeks. “Exactly why I shouldn’t come,” you shot back.

Aaron finally looked up, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Exactly why you should,” he corrected smoothly. “You’ve made that man chase you long enough. Let him have a burger with you.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but Samantha cut you off before you could even form an excuse. “You need to get out more,” she said, her voice softening, but her grin still completely unapologetic. “And admit it you like the attention.”

You huffed, glancing down at your phone as if it might provide an escape. It didn’t.

Jazz had texted again.

“Just say yes already. You know you want to.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair. “This is pure betrayal.”

Samantha squeezed your shoulder affectionately. “It’s friendship. The fun kind.”

And somehow, despite every excuse you could muster, every argument you half heartedly tried, you showed up that evening anyway.

You showed up wearing the Yankees cap he’d sent you, no less.

Because deep down, you knew exactly what you were walking into.

And maybe you didn’t really mind.

⸻

Judge’s backyard was already alive when you arrived, string lights glowing overhead, smoke curling from the grill, warm summer air thick with laughter and music humming from a speaker tucked near the patio.

The Yankees were everywhere scattered in clusters, laughing, teasing, beer bottles clinking.

Near the pool, Volpe and Rice were locked in a dramatic cornhole match, arguing loudly about whose shot was more impressive.

“You can’t even throw straight!” Volpe teased, flipping a beanbag into the air.

Ben just smirked, lazily tossing his next shot straight into the hole. “Scoreboard, Volpe.”

Near the food table, Stanton held court as usual laughing loud, leaning casually on the edge of the cooler, clearly enjoying himself. Every few minutes, he threw a chip in his mouth like he owned the place (which, honestly, he basically did).

Leaning against the fence was Max, looking far too effortlessly cool in a Yankees cap pulled low, quietly sipping his beer while watching the chaos unfold. His expression was relaxed, almost unreadable but every now and then, you caught him shaking his head with an amused smile at whatever nonsense Volpe and Ben were shouting.

Over by the grill, Weaver was talking animatedly with Aaron Judge, who was flipping burgers like it was a playoff game.

But none of them noticed you first.

Jazz did.

Standing near the cooler hoodie sleeves pushed up, sunglasses perched in his curls, looking dangerous in that effortless, cocky way he spotted you the moment you stepped into the backyard.

“Look who finally made it,” he called out, voice warm and teasing, that trademark grin spreading slow and easy as he walked toward you.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. “Had to,” you replied coolly. “Samantha insisted.”

He stepped closer, just inside your space, until you could catch that now familiar, woodsy cologne he always wore. The kind of scent that stayed on your skin a little too long.

“And here I thought you came for me,” he murmured, head tilted, eyes twinkling like he already knew exactly how much he was affecting you.

You gave him a lazy smile, playing it cool. “Keep dreaming.”

Jazz’s grin only widened as he leaned in just a little more. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Making me chase you.”

“Maybe,” you teased. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”

From the grill, Aaron’s voice cut through the air, loud and laughing: “Hey Jazz, she’s here now. Don’t blow it!”

You froze for a split second and then realized the entire yard was watching this unfold like a live soap opera.

Stanton was the first to wander over, holding a paper plate stacked high with chips and burger fixings, nudging Jazz as he passed. “Man’s been talking about you for weeks,” Giancarlo said directly to you, flashing you a conspiratorial grin. “Give him a shot already.”

Before you could even react, Volpe piped up from across the yard, tossing a beanbag in the air with a wicked grin. “He literally texts the group chat every time you leave him on read!”

Your cheeks flushed, heat blooming across your face but you kept your stance, arms crossed, head tilted.

“So you’ve got the whole clubhouse invested in this now?” you asked, turning back to Jazz, eyebrow raised.

Jazz’s expression softened, but only slightly, as he stepped even closer so close now you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

He dipped his head, voice low enough for only you to hear, “I told them, I don’t lose. Not on the field,” he said, pausing just long enough to let his words sink in before adding, “and definitely not with you.”

You swallowed hard, pulse quickening despite every effort to keep your composure.

From behind you, Rice called out with a grin, “He’s been waiting for this barbecue all week, by the way this is basically a game day for him.”

And even Max, normally quiet and laid back, lifted his beer toward Jazz with an approving smirk. “Ball’s in your court now,” he said simply, but with that trademark deadpan that made it land even harder.

Jazz met your gaze, his smile turning a little softer less smug, more genuine but still carrying that dangerous confidence that had been chasing you for weeks.

Your heart raced, but you managed to keep your voice steady.

“We’ll see,” you murmured back.

And even though you tried to sound casual.

The truth was, everyone including you could tell you were already halfway caught.

⸻

The rest of the evening was an escalating game of cat and mouse.

Jazz kept finding ways to drift by. Stealing fries off your plate like it was his right. Tossing a baseball up and catching it lazily while holding your gaze. Bumping your knee under the picnic table during dessert, playful and deliberate.

Finally, he caught you off guard near the cornhole set.

“You playing?” he asked, one brow raised.

“I might.”

“Partner up with me,” he said, offering his hand. “Losers buy dessert.”

You rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway and that was when the shift happened.

Every time you scored, he whispered “Nice shot,” low and close, his fingers brushing your shoulder.

When you missed, he leaned in, murmuring “We’re still winning this. Promise.”

You could feel the tension humming between you both warm, electric, undeniable.

As dusk settled, the game wrapped and Jazz turned to you with that infuriatingly perfect grin.

He took your hand gently, but with purpose.

“Dinner tomorrow. No dodging. No excuses,” he said confidently.

The whole yard was watching now Rice, Stanton, Max, Volpe, Judge, and Samantha all leaning in for your answer.

You looked up at Jazz, smiling despite yourself.

“…Fine,” you said, laughing. “I’m in.”

He squeezed your hand, pulling you just slightly closer.

“Best decision you’ll make,” he whispered against your ear.

From behind you, you heard Weaver call out, “Finally!”

And that was that.

You’d officially lost the game.

Or maybe you’d just finally decided to let Jazz Chisholm Jr. win.

⸻

The second you opened your door that evening, you knew you were in trouble.

Jazz stood there leaning casually against your doorframe, hoodie swapped for a crisp short sleeve button down, collar just slightly undone, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth like he already knew he’d won.

“Damn,” he said the second he saw you. “You clean up way too nice you sure you’re ready for this? Because I’m not.”

You laughed despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stunning,” he shot back without hesitation. Then he held out his hand, fingers warm as they curled around yours. “Come on. Before you change your mind.”

⸻

The restaurant he chose was perfect. Small. Cozy. Dim lighting. A little jazz band playing quietly in the corner and a playlist that made you want to lean across the table, cheeks warm.

And Jazz? He was in his element. Relaxed, leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling every time you said something that made him laugh.

“You’re nervous,” he teased at one point, tipping his glass in your direction.

“I’m not nervous,” you insisted too fast.

He smirked. “Uh huh. Curious, then.”

“Curious about what?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, dropping his voice low. “Curious about what it feels like when you stop running from me.”

You swallowed hard and that was when your phone buzzed.

Group chat.

Anthony Volpe: “So… is it happening? 👀”

Ben Rice: “Bet she’s only there for the food 😂”

Giancarlo Stanton: “Somebody take a picture. We need proof.”

Jazz caught sight of the screen before you could lock it and let out a low, delighted laugh. “They’re worse than me,” he murmured, shaking his head.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You planned this.”

“Guilty as charged.” He winked. “But worth it, right?”

It was. The conversation flowed so easily no pressure, no awkward silences, just him being warm and funny and attentive in all the ways that surprised you. He really listened when you spoke. He teased gently when you teased him back. And by the time dessert arrived, your knees were brushing under the table and neither of you moved them away.

When he walked you home, his fingers brushed yours again casual at first, but deliberate when he finally took your hand and laced your fingers together.

At your door, he didn’t rush. Didn’t press for more. He just stood there looking at you with that same infuriating grin, softer now, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“This is the part,” he murmured, “where you say yes again.”

“Yes to what?” you asked, even though you knew.

He stepped in close, leaning down so his lips hovered just over yours.

“Yes to me seeing you again tomorrow.”

Your heart skipped just like it always did around him and this time, there was no hesitation.

“Yes,” you whispered.

And when he kissed you?

It was slow and soft, deliberate, like he was savoring every second.

Like he wasn’t chasing anymore because he knew you weren’t running.

⸻

The next afternoon, you were back to normal life or trying to be. You sat outside a coffee shop downtown, laptop open, halfway through answering emails, when your phone buzzed again.

Jazz: “Look up 😏”

Your stomach flipped.

You did.

And there he was Jazz, standing across the street, leaning against a light pole like he had all the time in the world. Hoodie back on, Yankees cap pulled low, that familiar cocky grin firmly in place. He crossed the street without waiting for the light, dodging traffic casually, then slid into the seat across from you like this was his usual spot.

“Good morning,” he said, sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Miss me yet?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Miss me,” he corrected.

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again this time, another group chat text.

Ben Rice: “Is he there? He told us he was gonna show up unannounced 😭”

Volpe: “Can confirm he’s been pacing the clubhouse talking about it all morning.”

Giancarlo: “Somebody take a picture. I need receipts.”

You let out a groan and flipped your phone face-down on the table.

Jazz just laughed, leaning forward with that familiar twinkle in his eye.

“Still persistent,” he said softly. “Still not losing.”

And you.

Well, you weren’t running anymore.

⸻

#jazz chisholm jr fanfic #jazz chisholm jr x reader #fic recs #my babies

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divinedelusional · 13 days ago

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START SPREADING THE NEWS, BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#new york yankees #love them #my boys!!!#aaron judge #jazz chisholm jr #anthony volpe #volpe my babyy

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divinedelusional · 14 days ago

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thinking about aaron judge helping you handle anxiety attack

you were working on an assingment in a comapny you had your internship in. the whole process was very excitong for you, as you loved desining. you wanted to finish it last night, but you're eyes were closing and Aaron convinced you to go to bed and finish the project in the morning when you're well rested.

you slept well and were woken up by a smell of freshly brewed coffee. you went to the kitchen and saw Aaron, unpacking bagels from a bag. you came up to him and hugged him from behind. he was shirtless, wearing just his pj shorts. you pressed your face against his back, craving warmth, not fully awake. Aaron hummed at your touch.

"morning, sweetheart"

"good morning, handsome" you mumbled. Aaron chuckled and turned around in your embrace, putting his hands on your hips. "there's my pretty girl, how you slept?"

"good actually, but wished i could stay in bed longer with you"

"tomorow we can, games's at seven, so practice will be later"

you smiled at Aaron and he pecked your lips.

"you hungry? i ordered us bageles. beacon egg and cheese for you and also got you blueberry one" Aaron knew your inability to decide between savory and sweet breakfasts.

"god Aaron you're the best. spoiling me and it's not even nine"

"that's bare minimum, sweetheart"

the morning was very pleasent. you ate breakfast with Aaron with no rush. you two took shower together, joke around while doing skincare. relaxed and dressed in comfy sweats you brought your laptop in dining area to finish the project and watched Aaron play with Gus and Penny. you knew it was just finishing touches, but you felt stress creeping at you. it was the details you wanted to be perfect. presence of Aaron and the dogs was helpful, it brougt a smile to your face, despite the uneasiness building in your chest.

Penny run up to you and you picked her up at cuddled to your chest. "what is it girlie? just a moment, im finishing im gonna join you" you mumbled to Penny and you scan your laptop one more time. you called for Aaron to take a look on a presentation you were about to send to your team, along with the project. He stood behind your chair, leaning into the screen.

"baby it looks really good! very professional if you ask me" he wrapped one arm around your shoulders, propping himself with the other on the table and kissed the crown of your head. "amazing as always" he said into your hair and you chuckled, turning around to pull him into sweet kiss.

"i need to get going" he said after he pulled away.

"already?" you asked "oh shit, yeah it's almost eleven"

Arron laughed "yeah, but i'll be back soon, two hours tops okay? just batting practice today".

"okay" you smiled at him and pecked his lips "say hi to the boys for me".

Aaron grabbed his things and left. you went to the kitchen and prepared yourself a plate of fruits. you played with Gus and Penny and then they grew tired and cuddled together. you grabbed a book and sat on your favourite armchair. you read a few pages, but couldn't focus. your thoughts tracing back to the project. you brushed them off and grabbed the plate with fruits and cozied on a couch with blankets and started your comfort show. you relaxed during first episode, but on next one your thoughts came back: have you really done good? you could always do better. is this thing you do the one you even wanna do in your life?

you hated when your perfectionism kicked in. it wasn't all the time, but when it did you truly felt awful. it always started with this desire to improve and usually ended in a spiral of dark thoughts and feeling like a disapointment. and it was happening today.

you felt the wheels in your mind turning. you wanted to stop your overthinking but couldn't. you began to shiver under the blanket, your cami top suddenly to thin despite the warm weather outside. you got out of the blankets and run to the closet to put on one of Aaron's hoodies. you wore them around the house when he was away and it made you feel grouned, having his smell around him. you came back to the living room, Gus and Penny already on a couch waiting for you, as they sensed something is wrong.

"my babies" you cooed at them. you sat on a couch, legs crossed. you pulled blanket over you and put the hood up, cuddling Gus and Penny to you. "we're gonna watch something and wait for your dad, hm?" you said to them and sniffled. you sat with them like that for a while and you were so grateful that you had them with you, but your anxiety didn't disappear. stressing about the project led to thoughts about future, your career, and the worst happened - you started to question who you even were next to Aaron.

you knew this was stupid, he loved you to death, so did you. you desperatly wanted to call him, but also didn't want to interrupt the practice. you looked at the clock. he had around 20 minutes of practice left. you knew it wasn't a lot and he'll be back soon, but you couldn't do this anymore.

he picked up after three signals.

"sweetie what's up?" he asked and there was a silence. tears began to flow down your face and you couldn't speak. he called your name and you swallowed your tears. "Aaron I..." you began with a shaky voice "sweetheart, are you okay?" he asked, voice steady, but your heard concern.

"I-I'm not, b-but i will be, i kno-know it, just wanted to hear you" you said and couldn't help but cry "i know you practice for a while yet, but, i-im sorry i just needed you"

"shhh shhh, sweetheart, it's okay, you're good, don't ever be sorry. please breathe and tell me what's wrong" Aaron assured you with calm voice.

"i couldn't stop the thoughts from spiriling. it began with this project and then it led to everything else, you know how it goes for me"

Aaron hummed and nodded. anxiety and panic attacks didn't happen as often to you as they used to, but he knew your struggles and always been with you to calm you down and assure you this was just your mind playing tricks on you.

"i love you sweetheart, please don't be sorry you called. you're my number one priority and everyone knows that" you smiled through your tears.

"thank you, baby" you answered and he could hear a smile in your voice.

"you wanna go through the 5-4-3 method?"

"no, i think im good. just needed to hear you 's all"

"we were just finishing anyway, it went good today. i'll be home in 15"

"you really don't have to, i'll manage"

"no baby, i want to. do yo want to keep talking?"

"no, it's fine, i have our babies with me, i'll be fine" Aaron chuckled and you said your goodbyes. you felt much better altough you shivered for a while. you got up to grab water, always felt thristy after crying session.

you checked yourself in the bathroom mirror. your eyes were slightly puffy, but weren't read, so that was a good sign. you put the hood down and brushed your hair, twisting it into quick french braid. you haven't looked your best, but it didn't matter to you right now. you only wanted to see your man.

and there he was, just entered the house when you came back from the bathroom. the sight of you in your sweatpants and his way too big yankee hoodie made his chest full with affection.

you run up to him and he scooped you up, carrying you to the couch.

"oh sweetheart" he sighed when you clinged to him like a koala and started crying again. "it's okay, let it out" he cooed, stroking your hair and back, lying down with you on top of him.

he held you like that for a while, and when you stopped crying you told him everything that went through yoiur mind when he was at practice. he hated that your mind tricked you like that. he loved you and didn't want his precioius girl to struggle with anxieties like that. so he did what he could. assuring you of his love, praising you. you finally looked up at him and give him a tired smile. you took his baseball cap off and run your fingers through his curls. propped yourself up and kissed him slowly, your way of thanking him for listening, for being your rock.

"can we stay like that for a while?" you asked, putting your head on his chest. "wanna nap"

"course we can. you wanna move to bed?"

"nah, im good here"

Aaron noded and reached for a blanket to cover you two. couch wasn't as big as your bed, but it was big enough to have comfy nap. Gus was lying on a floor, resting and Penny hopped on the couch and placed herself on Aaron's stomach.

"they've been amazing company" you said. "im so happy we have them"

"me too"

it didn't take you much to drift off, with Aaron whispering sweet nothings into your ear. he was watching you, hands rubbing your sides. he kissed your forehead and pulled you closer to him, finally closing his eyes too, thinking about you.

he knew anxiety was unfortunetly a part of your life and he's been so proud of you for learning how to fight it. though you could never be sure when anxiety will creep at you, you knew your boyfriend wil be there for you to make it go away.

@judgepilled @judgeyswife @wellspilled @laufeyloveshozier @xoxokiaraaxoxo @thelunarbar @baseballwithleah

#aaron judge #aaron judge x reader #aaron judge fic #aaron judge fluff #new york yankees fanfiction #new york yankees #ny yankees #mlb x reader #mlb fic #mlb fandom #yankees x reader #baseball rpf

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divinedelusional · 14 days ago

Text

i loved thisss

let me in

summary: when aaron starts shutting you out during his darkest slump, you refuse to stand on the sidelines because love means staying, even when it’s hard.

word count: 2.8k words

a/n: something quick i worked on yesterday, i hope you like it!

⸻

The first time you noticed something was off, it was subtle.

Aaron came home from a game and didn’t kiss you hello no warm hug that lingered a little longer than it needed to, no soft, tired smile he usually wore when he caught your eye across the room. Just a hollow, distracted glance. He kicked off his shoes with a sigh heavy enough to fill the entire apartment, muttered something about a shower, and disappeared down the hall without so much as a brush of his fingers against yours.

At first, you let it go. Everyone has off days, right? He’d had a rough night at the plate, maybe one bad game was eating at him. You’d figured he just needed space, that he’d decompress and come back to himself back to you by morning.

But then one night stretched into three. And three nights turned into a full week of cold silences and distant eyes.

He wasn’t himself.

He barely touched his dinner, mechanically pushing food around his plate while you sat across from him in quiet frustration, unsure whether to speak or just let him stew in whatever this was. He stayed up later than usual sometimes way past midnight curled on the couch with his headphones in, locked into watching the same game footage you’d seen on the TV the night before. You caught glimpses of him pausing it, rewinding, leaning forward, eyes narrowed like he could will himself to fix whatever mistake was replaying in his mind.

And then there were the small things the ones that hurt more than they should have.

When you reached for him in bed just to rest your hand gently on his chest, a quiet, familiar comfort he flinched. Almost imperceptibly. But enough that you felt it like a crack in glass.

That’s when the ache really started. Not for him.

For you.

Because loving Aaron had always felt easy. Natural. Like a quiet rhythm, like breathing next to him in the dark or catching his eye during a joke that no one else would have understood.

But suddenly, it was like trying to love a locked door.

No keys. No welcome. Just cold wood where warmth used to be.

You told yourself to be patient. That maybe it was just the slump. Just the pressure he put on himself. But patience started to feel a lot like loneliness. And tonight, tonight the silence felt heavier than ever.

You watched him from the hallway as he stood in the kitchen, stirring a coffee he wasn’t drinking, staring through it like it held all the answers he wouldn’t say out loud. His shoulders were tense, jaw tight, face blank a man somewhere far away even though he was only ten feet from you.

And that’s when you felt it. Done.

Done pretending not to notice. Done waiting for him to come back on his own. Done being locked out.

Tonight the distance between you felt like a canyon, and you couldn’t bear it for one more second.

You stepped forward, heart in your throat, resolve burning in your chest.

⸻

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said from the doorway, voice quiet but cutting through the heavy air.

No response. Just that damn stirring slow, mechanical, almost absent. The spoon clinking rhythmically against porcelain like he could somehow drown out your voice with it.

“You act like I don’t notice you crumbling,” you pressed, stepping just inside the kitchen now, heart pounding so loud you could almost hear it echo. “Like I’m just some cheerleader you can bench.”

His shoulders twitched. A flicker of something guilt, maybe passed across the back of his neck, but still nothing.

The distance between you felt suffocating despite only a few feet separating your bodies.

You took another breath, willing yourself not to let your voice break. “I’m not asking to fix it,” you continued, softer but no less resolute. “I’m asking to feel like I matter to you.”

That hit. You could see it the way his jaw tightened, how his breath stalled in his chest for a heartbeat longer than it should have.

But still, he didn’t speak.

The tears you’d been holding back burned hot at the corners of your eyes now, blurring the sight of him standing there so cold and distant, but somehow so fragile.

Like if you raised your voice just a little more he might splinter completely.

“Say something,” you whispered, feeling yourself teetering on the edge of breaking too.

And then, louder a last desperate push, “Or I walk.”

That cracked something open.

His grip on the spoon faltered a small tremor passing through his hand as he finally set it down on the counter with a soft, almost defeated clatter.

And then, without turning yet, he spoke voice rough, raw, and splintered at the edges, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Your chest ached at those words. “Like what?”

He finally turned.

And when his eyes met yours, it hit you full force the exhaustion there, the weight he’d been dragging around like an anchor tied to his ribs.

“Like I’m not enough,” he admitted, the words tumbling out in a whisper that felt more like a confession than an excuse. His gaze fell as he tapped two fingers against his chest right over his heart. “Like I’m failing. On the field. In here and with you.”

That last part with you was nearly a breath, so fragile you almost missed it.

You stepped forward, closing the space he had kept between you for far too long, your eyes wet now but steady.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” you said softly, searching his face for even the smallest crack where you could fit this truth in. “You just have to let me in.”

His breath hitched audibly.

And then he moved fast and desperate and aching reaching for you like he couldn’t bear another second of distance.

His arms wrapped around your waist with such force it almost knocked the breath out of you, but you welcomed it, melting into his chest as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. His whole body trembled against yours from exhaustion, from relief, from whatever storm had been raging inside him alone for weeks.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out against your skin. His voice was ragged, barely a whisper. “I’ve been pushing you away, and that’s the last thing I want. God, that’s the last thing I want.”

Your fingers slid gently into his curls, holding the back of his head steady as you whispered back, “I know. But you don’t get to shut me out just because it’s hard. I’m here, Aaron. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to carry it all alone.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and when he did really looked at you, you saw it in his eyes all the unsaid apologies, all the fear and pressure he’d been hiding behind that cold distance.

His gaze was glassy, shimmering with tears he hadn’t let fall, and it made your heart ache and soften all at once.

“I love you,” he said finally, voice low and rough, cracking right down the middle. “More than I know what to do with sometimes.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and with infinite tenderness, you cupped his face your thumb brushing just beneath his damp lashes.

“So let me love you back,” you whispered, leaning in.

And then you kissed him.

A slow, deliberate kiss. An apology. A promise.

The kind of kiss that didn’t rush. That didn’t demand or plead. That simply said we’re okay now. That you were here. That he wasn’t alone anymore.

And as his arms tightened again around you not to hold you back this time, but to hold you close you felt him exhale into the kiss, like he was finally breathing after weeks underwater.

⸻

That night, you curled up together on the couch your legs tangled lazily with his, one of his large hands resting on your thigh like a quiet anchor, the other draped snug around your waist, fingers splayed across your side as if afraid you might slip away if he let go for even a second.

He hadn’t let you go since the kitchen. Not really. Every movement, every touch since then felt like it came from a place deeper than habit like he was silently making up for every night he’d kept his distance, every brush off, every moment you’d felt like a stranger in your own home.

The TV played softly in the background, a muted late night highlight reel he wasn’t watching. Neither of you was.

You were too focused on him on the quiet way he leaned his head against yours, forehead tucked gently into your temple like it was the only place he felt safe tonight. On the way his chest finally moved without tension, his breath slow and steady, syncing itself with yours again after weeks of dissonance. On the slow, absentminded circles his thumb traced against your hip comforting, grounding, intimate.

It was the smallest of touches. But it said everything.

“I missed this,” he murmured, voice warm and hoarse near your ear like it was both an admission and a confession.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers along the curve of his jaw, your thumb gently tracing the corner where a smile finally lived again.

“You didn’t lose me, you know,” you whispered, your words feather-light but certain. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to say something to argue, maybe but instead, he kissed you again.

This time slower. Deeper. A kiss that felt like gratitude. Like apology. Like release.

His fingers pressed gently into your hip as his lips moved against yours not hurried, not rushed like he was trying to communicate all the things he hadn’t said with words over the past two weeks, trying to pour them into this one quiet moment.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was still shaky as he spoke, his forehead resting against yours.

“I don’t want to do any of this without you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek now, eyes glassy with emotion but no longer distant. “And I hate that I ever made you feel like you didn’t matter.”

You kissed his temple, pressing your lips there longer than usual letting it linger so he’d know you meant it. “Then don’t forget it next time,” you murmured.

And for the first time in far too long, he smiled a real, honest, easy smile that reached his tired but soft eyes.

“I won’t,” he promised.

But even as he said it, his arms pulled you impossibly closer, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet not tonight. Maybe not for a long while.

You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, his heartbeat slow and steady under your palm. Your fingers found his again, weaving them together tight as he tucked you in close, head resting against yours like he was finally, finally at peace.

Neither of you said another word for a while you didn’t need to.

The warmth between you, the way his thumb kept moving in slow circles against your skin, the way his breath softened each time you shifted just a little closer it was enough.

And for the first time in weeks, when he kissed the crown of your head and whispered a quiet “Goodnight, baby” into your hair.

You believed him when he held you like home.

⸻

You weren’t sure if you were ready to go to the game. Even after the softness of last night the apology in his arms, the steadying weight of his thumb tracing your hip, the way he’d kissed your forehead like he finally believed he was allowed to part of you still ached. You still carried the quiet, raw weight of the last few weeks the distance, the silences, the way loving him had felt like trying to hold onto a man underwater.

But when Aaron kissed your cheek at the door that morning gentle, almost hesitant and whispered, “Will you come watch me?” in a voice so small and hopeful it made your chest tighten, you couldn’t say no.

Not when he was asking like that. Not when you could finally see that flicker of light in his eyes again.

So you went.

The stadium was already buzzing when you arrived that electric hum of anticipation you knew so well. The vendors calling out, the smell of popcorn and beer heavy in the air, fans filling the stands with jerseys and chatter and nervous energy.

You tucked your hands into the sleeves of your hoodie as you made your way to your usual spot behind the dugout close enough to see every detail, far enough that you could blend into the crowd if you needed to.

But the second he jogged onto the field, your heart calmed.

He looked better today. Not completely free of whatever weight he’d been carrying no, you could still see it in the set of his jaw, in the way he adjusted his cap a little more than usual but there was life in him again. Still serious. Still focused. But lighter. Like letting you in had let him breathe again.

You watched as he stretched, warmups smooth and efficient, nodding at teammates, answering the occasional joke with a smile you hadn’t seen in far too long.

And then almost like he felt your gaze he paused. Scanned the crowd once. Then again.

Searching.

And when his eyes finally found yours. His whole face softened.

That familiar, crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the one that always made your chest feel too small for your heart.

Without hesitation, he lifted one hand, tapped the brim of his cap a small, private salute just for you, invisible to everyone else but blinding in its meaning.

Then he mouthed across the distance just one simple phrase, “There you are.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. But it was everything.

And even with thousands of fans cheering around you, with cameras clicking and pregame chaos swirling, it felt like a bubble had formed around just the two of you quiet and safe and full.

You grinned, cheeks warm, heart full and steady again, and mouthed back, “Always.”

His smile widened the kind that made you think maybe today wouldn’t just be a good game maybe it was the start of him coming back to himself completely.

You kept your gaze on him as he turned, jogging toward the dugout, still smiling to himself like your presence was the only thing that mattered like it was exactly what he needed.

And in that moment, sitting there with your hands tucked into your sleeves and your heart finally light again, you realized you’d made the right choice.

You were exactly where you were supposed to be.

⸻

After the game, the sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over the stadium as fans began filing out and reporters crowded near the clubhouse entrance.

You waited patiently, standing near the tunnel where the players usually emerged, sipping from a plastic water bottle as the post-game noise swirled around you.

And then you saw him.

Aaron came out still in uniform, cap pulled low, but his eyes immediately found yours locked on you like you were the only person in the world worth looking at.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he walked straight over, cutting through the crowd without so much as a glance at anyone else.

And right there in front of the reporters, security guards, teammates, and lingering fans he pulled you into his arms.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performative. It was quiet and sure, the way his arms wrapped securely around your waist, the way his forehead dipped against yours as he whispered so only you could hear:

“Thank you for being here today, for being here always.”

You smiled, your arms slipping easily around his neck as you leaned into him.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” you whispered back.

And before you could say another word, he kissed you soft but unashamed. Not just gratitude, but love pure and simple and public because he didn’t care anymore who saw it.

When he finally pulled back, his smile was soft and easy again, his gaze steady.

“Come on,” he said gently, taking your hand firmly in his. “Let’s go home.”

And as he laced his fingers tightly with yours warm, familiar, steady you realized the ache you’d been carrying wasn’t there anymore.

Because you were home now.

With him.

Where you both belonged.

⸻

#aaron judge fic #aaron judge x reader #fic recs

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divinedelusional · 18 days ago

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the yankees will NOT lose today and will avoid a sweep

#affirmations #ny yankees

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divinedelusional · 19 days ago

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧

jazz chisholm jr x fem reader, smut below, mdni!!

You couldn't help but think you were Jazz' lucky charm. You never witnessed a bad game of his. It's not like he didn't have them, but every time you were at the stadium, he was phenomenal.

Even his teammates joked that your presence wins them games and you should attend more of them.

"Man for the thousand time, she ain't going to Toronto with us!" Jazz told Rice and Judge who were teasing him "she hates to be cold".

"It's not cold in July" Volpe added.

"Whatever, she's not going. She'll be at the subway series tho" he smirked and boys cheered.

You were proud of Jazz whatever the outcome of the game, however you were flattered that he did so good everytime you went to see him play. And man did you rewarded him after these games.

You took your girlfriends to Sunday game vs the A's. You have had a very good feeling about this game, so you decided to dress up. You usually been chill with your outfits to yankees games, opting for Jazz' jersey or comfy set of sweats for the colder months (with sluttiest lingerie under oversized hoodies which drove your boyfriend crazy). This time tho you went all out and decided on archive tiger print dress and skimpy thong by Versace that you knew Jazz would love.

Your girls whistled when you showed up.

"Are you going to change if he doesn't do good?" one of your friends asked.

"That won't be necessary, it's his day" you said sipping on your diet coke.

Jazz hit a home run, had 3 rbi's and was fantastic in defense. Yankees beat A's 12 to 5 and you had a smirk on your face when your girlfriends congratulated you on your impressive intuition.

"Jazz is so getting it tonight" your friend said to which you just smiled, lookin forward to getting home.

When the game finished you waited for Jazz and he almost dropped his things, haven't seen your outfit before, since he left earlier

"Damn it baby" he whispered "im really lucky, aren't I?" you came up to him and kissed him slowly. Jazz put his hands on your hips, gently but steady. Before he could deepen the kiss, you pulled back. "Go get change, okay?" you whispered to him. He smiled and walked to the locker room and you heard Volpe whistling. You winked at him and when he blushed slightly, you laughed, so did Welles.

Jazz loved being rewarded by you after games. He loved sex with you under every circumstance, but post game reward was one of his favourite. He didn't always feel like domintating or having you letting him do whatever he wanted to you. It happened every now and then, but sometimes he even was kind of a pillow princess.

Tonight though your roles were equal. No fight for dominance and neither of you wanted the other to take charge. You didn't know how that was possible but you were both in no rush and impatient. Jazz kissed you slowly when he changed and had the hand on you lower back as you were walking to his car. You offered to drive in case he was tired, but he just kissed your knuckles "you won't be driving in those" he said refering you your strappy sandals on a heel.

Once you were home, Jazz pressed you against the door, his hand caressing your exposed thigh. His kiss was slow, but intense and passionate, drawing a small moans out of you. You didn't pull apart, walking towards your bedroom.

"You've been driving me crazy in this dress you know that?" he said, moving to your neck. "What are you wearing under?"

"Hmm maybe something, maybe nothing" He stared at you and you saw excitment and lust in his eyes.

"You'll see, but now..." you pushed him, so he was now lying on the bed. "...first things first" you climbed on the bed and undid his pants. "I've been thinking bout sucking you off the whole game" Jazz hissed and you saw his dick getting harder.

"Will you let me?"

"Fuck yes, doll" he groaned.

You were always getting horny when Jazz was doing good on the field, thinking only about him fucking your face.

He was panting after five minutes and tried to hold himself back from bucking his hips.

"Shiiit, princess stop, I wanna last"

You pulled away from his cock, grabbing his balls only to whisper: "It's fine Jazzy, I want it, please dreamt about your cum down my throat..."

"Fuck" Jazz whined, fucking whined and his dick twitched. You quickly put him back into his mouth, hollowing your cheeks before he could hesitate. His grunts filled the room and short after he came with a loud cry of your name.

You gave him a while and then kneeled on a bed and undressed, throwing your dress and starpless bra behind you. Jazz eyes went to your pussy, barely covered with a thong.

"God, you really wanna kill me here" he whispered, moving closer to you, kissing your tummy and chest.

"You'd die a happy man" you laughed. Jazz chuckled. "Damn right"

He told you too leave the g string on and asked you to sit on his face, to which you happily agreed. You always were amazed how much going down on him turned you on and you were desperate for release. You were soaking Jazz' face as he ate you out. The orgasm he pulled out of you was spectacular, yet you still needed more. You were straddling him as you made out, grinding your pussy on his hardening dick.

"Jazz" you moaned "baby, fuck me please"

"How do you want it?" he murmured, biting your earlobe.

"I-I don't care, however you wa-want it, need you inside"

Jazz groaned and slapped your ass. "On all fours, princess, need to see this gorgeous ass"

You got on your hands and knees with a lightining speed, wigglin your ass, as Jazz put a condom. He slided in with one swift thrust and you wailed. You wanted it this way, you were wet enough and didn't need extra preparation. Jazz started to fuck you, setting fast pace, his thrusts hard and deep just like you wanted. The sound of his thighs slapping against your ass drove you crazy. You didn't feel like you could last much longer. You wanted to warn him, but he already knew.

"Go ahead doll, cum for me, let everyone know how good im fucking you"

Your eyes rolled to your skull and you gripped the sheets, screaming your boyfriends name. He came right behind you. He pulled out after a while and collapsed next to you.

"You gotta come to the games more often" Jazz let out, catching his breath. You giggled and snuggled to his chest, feeling grateful that he had next day off.

pls lmk what you think and if should continue writing for him!

tagging: @laufeyloveshozier @wellspilled

#jazz chisholm jr #jazz chisholm jr x reader #jazz chisholm jr fanfic #mlb x reader #mlb smut #mlb fic #mlb fandom #ny yankees #new york yankees smut #new york yankees fanfiction

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divinedelusional · 21 days ago

Text

goddd imagine being loved by him

you're just his friend...right?

summary: a lifelong friendship turns into something more when years of unspoken feelings and one jealous moment lead aaron judge to finally admit his feelings in front of the world.

word count: 2.8k words

—

You’d known Aaron Judge since you were fifteen.

He sat behind you in tenth grade biology quiet, awkward, and way too tall for the lab stools. His notebook was pristine, his hoodie sleeves too short, and he always brought two pencils in case one broke. You remember thinking he looked like a baby deer trying to figure out its legs.

So, on the second day of class, while everyone else tried to pair up with someone they already knew, you turned around and passed him a folded up sticky note.

You look like you’d be good at baseball.

He looked up, surprised. Then grinned wide and dimpled and scribbled back.

I am. You any good at science?

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Best friends.

The kind of best friends who could say everything without speaking. Who sat on rooftops talking about nothing until the sun came up. Who had sleepovers that lasted until Sunday and watched movies you both knew word for word. Who went to prom together not because either of you asked, but because no one else felt right.

He was your person before either of you even realized what that meant.

Saturday routines became sacred. Milkshakes split in two glasses. Fries always shared. Long drives with the windows down and music too loud, the kind of quiet comfort that made everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t.

When he started getting serious about baseball, you were the first one he told about the scouts. The first one he called after his college visit. The first one who saw him cry after his first injury.

And when he got drafted?

You were there. Shoving past crowds in a stadium tunnel, heart in your throat, arms around him the second he stepped off the field.

When he made his major league debut?

You were in the stands nosebleeds, but still there. Wearing his number, your voice hoarse from screaming.

You never missed a moment.

Not his first home run. Not the time he got ejected. Not the All-Star votes or the rehab stints or the losses he took harder than he let on.

You were at every game you could be. Behind the dugout. In the box. On the road. In hotel lobbies waiting until he finished press. You were the constant. The throughline. The one thing in his life that never changed, even when everything else did.

And for the longest time, that was enough.

But lately, something had shifted.

The way he looked at you lasted a second too long. The way he hugged you lingered at the edge of something else. His hand would rest on the small of your back. He’d call you at midnight just to say he couldn’t sleep. You stopped calling him “bro” because it didn’t feel right in your mouth anymore.

His texts got softer. Yours got longer.

You caught yourself watching him when he wasn’t looking. You caught him doing the same.

But neither of you said anything.

Because if you did, it might ruin everything.

And what would you be left with then?

Still, the world noticed. Even if you didn’t say it out loud.

At first, it was subtle whispers in the stadium, fans pointing up at the box you always sat in.

Then came the interviews.

“Hey, Aaron, is that your girlfriend always in the family section?”

“Who’s the mystery girl in the Yankees hoodie?”

And every time, with that same tight smile, he’d say:

“Nah. We’re just friends. She’s been around forever.”

Just friends.

It was meant to be safe. Simple. Noncommittal.

But to you, it felt like being benched. Like you were this little secret he didn’t want to share with the world.

You laughed along with the reporters. Smiled through the press. But every time he said those words just friends it hit like a line drive to the chest.

You never told him how much it hurt.

Not until the night of the All-Star Gala.

And by then, the words were already burning a hole in your throat.

—

The ballroom sparkled with chandeliers that dripped gold, the light bouncing off crystal glasses and camera flashes. A soft jazz quartet played near the back wall, but no one was really listening this night was for the headlines. The champagne flowed like water, and laughter buzzed under the low hum of conversations between MVPs, broadcasters, and high powered agents.

You stood near one of the long cocktail tables draped in navy silk, your fingers wrapped around a delicate glass of something bubbly and expensive. You’d lost sight of Aaron somewhere between the red carpet and the photo wall another interview, another handshake, another camera flash.

You weren’t looking for anyone. You were just catching your breath.

But that’s when he appeared.

Julio Rodríguez, Seattle’s golden boy. Flashy smile, custom suit, and just the right kind of charm that made people lean in without meaning to. You’d only met him once before at spring training, but he remembered your name immediately.

“Aaron’s friend, right?” he said, slipping into your corner of the room with effortless confidence. “I’d say it’s good to see you again, but that feels like an understatement.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Smooth start.”

He laughed. “I try.”

You chatted about the chaos of the event, the itchy collars of dress shirts, and his theory that the dessert trays were all rigged to disappear before he got to them. He was funny, easy to talk to. But there was something else beneath it. A low thrum of flirtation that grew stronger with every sidelong glance.

“You know,” Julio said eventually, tilting his head just enough to make your pulse catch, “you’re too pretty to be hiding on the sidelines.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it,” he said, gesturing toward the rest of the room. “Everyone here’s trying to be seen. But you? You’re over here being the most interesting person in the room, trying not to be noticed.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “I’m good behind the scenes. Less pressure.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his tone softening just slightly. “That dress? That smile? You’re wasting it on these baseball nerds.”

You arched a brow. “I am talking to a baseball nerd right now.”

Julio placed a hand over his heart like you’d wounded him. “Touché. But I’m a charming one.”

Across the room, Aaron had just finished a one on one with ESPN. He caught sight of you your head tilted back in laughter, the curve of your smile unmistakable even from across the ballroom.

But what really got to him was Julio’s hand.

Resting lightly on your arm. Like it had a right to be there.

Aaron’s jaw tightened.

He was supposed to be happy for you. He told himself that over and over again.

But the second he saw Julio lean in closer, that soft, cocky look on his face, something inside Aaron snapped.

He didn’t think.

He didn’t wait.

He crossed the room with long, deliberate strides, cutting between a couple mid-conversation without apology. His presence landed before his voice did tall, broad, commanding.

“Hey,” Aaron said, his tone too casual to be genuine. “You good?”

You blinked, caught between surprise and confusion. “Yeah. Julio was just telling me about the time he accidentally facetimed a fan while shirtless.”

Julio laughed. “She screenshotted it. Printed it. Now it’s framed on her dresser. Swear to God.”

Aaron didn’t laugh.

“Charming,” he said, his smile a little too sharp.

Julio glanced between the two of you, amused but not threatened. “Didn’t realize you were her plus one, man.”

Aaron didn’t pause.

“I’m more than that,” he said before he could stop himself. “Way more.”

The silence hit like a cymbal crash. Julio’s brows flicked up, clearly intrigued.

You froze. So did Julio.

And for the first time all night, Aaron looked like he wasn’t sure if he’d just made a mistake or finally said what he meant.

Julio took the hint like a gentleman. He raised his glass toward you.

“Nice talking to you,” he said, then turned to Aaron. “Good luck, big guy.”

He walked away, casual as ever.

You turned to Aaron, heart pounding. “You wanna tell me what that was?”

Aaron avoided your eyes. “You didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

Your brows shot up. “So what? I’m single.”

“Yeah,” he said bitterly, eyes still locked on where Julio had disappeared. “I know.”

You stared at him, suddenly breathless. “Is that a problem?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the moment stretched too long. The music swelled too loudly. The lights felt too hot.

And when it all became too much when the ballroom turned blurry at the edges you slipped away.

Up the marble stairs. Past the velvet ropes. Out to the rooftop, where the city air felt easier to breathe.

You leaned against the railing, heart thudding.

He followed.

Of course he did.

Because you were his. And maybe tonight, he’d finally admit it.

—

The rooftop was still quiet in a way that felt unreal after the chaos of the ballroom. Manhattan stretched endlessly in front of you, glittering with noise and neon, but up here, it felt like the city had pressed pause. The only sound was the occasional honk far below and the rustle of wind slipping between buildings.

You stood at the edge, arms wrapped around yourself, your heels dangling from one hand. The marble railing was cool against your fingertips. Your heart thudded in your chest like it didn’t know how to calm down.

You weren’t sure what you had come up there for.

Air, maybe.

Distance.

To stop feeling like your lungs were being squeezed every time someone called you “just a friend.”

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn around.

But you didn’t need to.

His footsteps were slow. Familiar. Heavy.

Then his voice soft, low, so careful it almost hurt.

“You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. Your grip on your shoes tightened.

Then, barely above a whisper: “Do you ever get tired of pretending?”

There was a pause. You could hear his breath catch.

“Pretending what?” he asked, cautious.

You finally turned to face him. The wind lifted your hair, the lights from below painting gold across his face. His tux jacket was rumpled, bowtie undone, and for a second, he just looked like the boy you grew up with. The one who used to text you song lyrics at midnight and sneak you bubblegum in class.

“That this doesn’t feel like more than friendship anymore.”

Aaron’s expression faltered his eyes wide, jaw slack like you’d knocked the wind out of him.

“I—I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said, voice uneven.

And god, that stung.

You swallowed hard. “That’s the problem,” you said, your voice cracking. “You’re either blind, or you’ve been pretending just like I have. And I don’t know which hurts more.”

He took a slow step forward, then another, like approaching a wild animal. Like you might bolt.

“You’ve always been the most important person in my life,” he said softly.

“Then why do you act like I’m expendable the second a mic’s in your face?”

His head dropped slightly, as if the shame physically weighed him down.

“Because I didn’t want them twisting it into something cheap,” he snapped suddenly, the words sharper than he intended. “You’ve seen what they do. Headlines, gossip, speculation. I didn’t want you dragged into that.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh breaking out of you. “You weren’t protecting me, Aaron. You were protecting yourself.”

His eyes snapped up to yours.

“Because maybe,” you continued, “it’s easier for you to say I’m just a friend than admit you don’t know what this is. Or worse that you do, and you’re too afraid to say it.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“And what are we?” he asked, breathless, desperate.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and you could feel your heart in your throat. Every unspoken word every almost, every brush of a hand that lingered too long—hung heavy between you.

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “But we’re not just friends anymore. Not when I look at you and feel like I’m drowning in everything I can’t say.”

He blinked hard, like he was trying to keep the world from spinning out beneath him.

His eyes searched yours panicked, tender, like he was holding a lifeline he wasn’t sure how to use. He stepped closer again. The tension between you stretched to its breaking point.

And then

The click of a door. The shuffling of feet. Loud voices and laughter from the gala bleeding onto the rooftop.

Photographers.

Reporters.

The chaos returned like a wave crashing over the rooftop’s edge.

You turned quickly, swallowing panic. “I should go,” you muttered, turning to slip past him.

But he reached out and caught your wrist. His touch was firm, grounding. His voice urgent.

“Don’t.”

You froze.

“Don’t walk away.”

Your heart clenched. You looked over your shoulder at him.

“Why?” you asked, voice barely steady. “So you can deny me again? In front of them? In front of me?”

“No,” he said so sure, so fast it made you stop breathing. “So I can do this.”

And then he kissed you.

Right there.

On the rooftop, with the skyline glowing behind you and camera flashes flickering like lightning bugs.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It was everything at once frustration, longing, years of almosts and too lates colliding in one desperate, soul deep kiss. His hand cupped your cheek. Your shoes hit the ground. His lips moved against yours like he couldn’t believe he’d waited this long.

And when he finally pulled back, both of you breathless and wide-eyed, the noise faded into the background.

You stared at him, lips parted, heartbeat sprinting.

“You kissed me,” you whispered. “In front of the world.”

He looked at you like he’d never seen anything more important.

And then, just above a breath, he said:

“Took me long enough.”

—

You didn’t speak right away.

The cameras were still flashing behind you, but neither of you turned to look. Aaron’s hand stayed on your cheek, grounding and sure. Your fingers were still curled against the lapel of his jacket, like if you let go now, everything might vanish.

His forehead pressed against yours for a quiet, private second. Just breathing. Just being.

“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured.

You nodded.

He didn’t drop your hand not through the reporters calling his name, not when flashbulbs caught you both mid smile. He just guided you gently down the rooftop stairs, shouldering the chaos like it didn’t matter.

And for once, maybe it didn’t.

He opened the door to the elevator and stepped inside with you.

The gold doors slid shut. Silence cocooned around you. Your heartbeat finally slowed.

He leaned against the mirrored wall and looked at you like he still hadn’t caught up to what just happened.

You stared at the floor, then quietly asked, “That really just happened, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” His smile tugged gently at one side of his mouth. “It really did.”

You laughed softly, stepping toward him. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long, it doesn’t feel real.”

Aaron’s eyes softened as his hands came to rest on your waist. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since prom.”

You blinked up at him. “Aaron.”

“I know. Seven years. Believe me, I’ve done the math.”

You reached up and fixed the front of his crooked bowtie, heart swelling in your chest. “Not running anymore?”

“Not even close.”

The elevator dinged. You both stepped out into the quiet lobby.

His phone buzzed almost instantly.

He looked at it and groaned.

You peeked over his arm.

Volpe: nice rooftop kiss, loverboy. about damn time

You burst into laughter. Aaron blushed and turned the phone face down, trying to hide the rapid fire group chat messages.

“Guess we’re not a secret anymore,” you teased.

He grinned, slipping his fingers between yours again. “Good. I don’t want to be.”

��

The photo went viral.

Your names trended. Headlines screamed. Analysts on morning shows broke it down like a walk off homer. Fans debated in comment sections, your kiss dissected from every angle.

And you?

You sat curled on his couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of his hoodies that hung halfway to your knees. Your phone buzzed nonstop, but you ignored it. Instead, you watched Aaron as he scrolled through Twitter, that soft smirk of his playing on his lips like he couldn’t help it.

“You okay with the world knowing?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

You looked at him really looked at him and nodded.

“I’ve known since we were fifteen,” you said. “Let the world catch up.”

Later that night, when the team flew out and the pregame reporters circled him like sharks, one of them asked it again.

“So…not just friends?”

Aaron smiled into the mic.

“Not even close.”

And for once, it wasn’t a rumor.

It was the truth.

And he was proud of it.

Of you.

Of both of you.