#aaron judge imagines

[yankeelxver]

౨ৎ QUINN’S LIBRARY

“the rust that grew between telephones.”

anthony volpe

anthony rizzo

cody bellinger

aaron judge

[judgeyswife]

Breaking the Tension

Aaron Judge x Fem!Reader

summary: after a tough loss, your husband needs some cheering up

warning(s): SMUT !

notes: this man is so underrated it hurts

—

It was a cold night in the city of New York when the door to the penthouse suite of Aaron Judge's home opened and then promptly slammed shut. The sound of a lock clicking echoed throughout the spacious living area, followed by the unmistakable thud of a duffle bag falling to the ground.

To say Aaron was pissed would be the understatement of the century. He had just come home from an absolutely abysmal game against the Baltimore Orioles, in which he had struck out 4 times and dropped a ball that a 2nd grader would've caught. The frustration of it all was eating him alive and he needed a release.

He kicked off his sneakers and threw his hat on the floor, running his hands through his sweat-soaked hair. He was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice you walking towards him until you began to speak.

"Aaron-"

"What?" he snapped, his tone harsh and biting.

You were taken aback by his response, as he had never spoken to you like that before. He'd had bad games before, but he always managed to brush it off and move on. But for whatever reason, tonight had gotten under his skin and he was letting it fester.

"I- I just wanted to see if you were okay..."

You walked closer to him and reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled away.

"Don't. Just don't," he said, his voice full of anger. "I'm not in the mood for your fucking pity, alright?"

He moved past you, his shoulder roughly bumping yours, and made his way to the bedroom. You stood there for a moment, stunned at what had just happened. You could tell he was upset, but you'd never seen him act this way before.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a door slamming shut. You took a deep breath before kneeling down to pick up his hat and place it on the coat rack. His shoes were placed neatly beside the door before you grabbed his duffle bag and slowly began making your way to the bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar, allowing a thin beam of light to pour out into the hallway. You stood there for a moment, unsure if you should go inside or not.

Finally, you decided to enter. You opened the door slowly and peeked inside, seeing Aaron standing in front of the mirror. His back was to you, his body tense as he gripped the edge of the dresser.

You entered the room and gently placed the duffle bag by the bed. Aaron's eyes locked with yours in the mirror, the anger and frustration still evident in his gaze. He turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

You took a tentative step forward, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm, and this time he let you. You could feel the tension in his muscles, his body practically vibrating with emotion.

"I'm sorry about before," he muttered, his eyes darting to the floor, "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

You shook your head, giving him a soft smile, "It's okay, I understand."

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. His arms enveloped you, his chin resting on top of your head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked, your voice muffled by his shirt.

"No, not right now."

You nod, rubbing small circles into his back. You could feel some of the tension leaving his body as he relaxed into your touch. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, a steady and reassuring rhythm.

You stay like that for a while, neither of you saying anything, just basking in each other's presence. Eventually, you stood up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his jawline. He shivered slightly, his arms tightening around you.

You continued kissing him, moving from his jaw to his neck and collarbone. You could feel his breathing quicken as you reached the sensitive skin beneath his ear. You nibbled on his earlobe, earning a low groan from him.

"Anything I can do to help?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his skin.

He pulled away slightly, looking down at you with lust-filled eyes. "You could start by taking off your clothes," he said, his voice raspy with desire.

You hummed, a smirk forming on your lips. Without a word, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. He responded instantly, his hands coming up to cup your face.

Somehow, you managed to steer him towards the bed without breaking the kiss. You pushed him down onto the mattress but didn’t climb on top of him just yet. Instead, your fingers found the buttons of your black pajama top and slowly undid them, revealing more and more skin with each one.

Aaron watched with rapt attention, his gaze following every movement of your fingers. When the last button is undone, you shrug the shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

His eyes roamed over your body, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of your shorts being thrown onto the floor. You reach behind your back and unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor. You ran a hand down the curve of your hip, dipping below the waistband of your panties, and he swallowed thickly.

"Come here," he growled, reaching out to pull you on top of him.

Your lips crashed together in a frenzied kiss, his hands roaming all over your bare skin. His tongue invaded your mouth, tasting you, savoring you. You ground against him, feeling his hardness press against you through the fabric of his pants.

He breaks the kiss and nips at your neck, his hands squeezing your ass, "You're so fucking beautiful," he says, his breath hot against your skin.

You gasped as his fingers slipped into your panties, teasing you, "Oh god," you moaned, grinding down on his hand.

He pulled his hand away and smacked your ass, the sound echoing through the room. You yelped, your hips bucking involuntarily. He repeated the action, eliciting another moan from you.

"You like that, huh?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

You nodded, unable to form words as your hands slipped beneath his shirt and rake your nails down his chest. He groaned, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt and you raised your hips to tug it over his head and throw it aside.

You admired his sculpted torso, running your hands over the planes of his chest and abdomen. You lean down and place a trail of kisses along his jawline and down his neck. Aaron shuddered, his hands tangling in your hair as you continued down his body.

Your hands found his belt and slowly undo it, the buckle clinking as it fell open. You tugged at his jeans, pulling them down his thighs, and he helped kick them off. A smirk forms on your lips when you notice him straining against the fabric of his boxers.

"Looks like someone's excited," you teased, palming him through the fabric.

Aaron groaned, his hips jerking forward, "Don't be a tease," he warned, his voice laced with desperation.

You give him a coy smile before tugging his boxers down, your hand wrapping around him. You pump him slowly, twisting your wrist as you reach the base. He lets out a hiss, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"Fuck," he breathed, his head falling back against the pillow.

You continue stroking him, your pace steady and torturously slow.

"You're killing me here," he muttered, his eyes squeezed shut.

You chuckled, giving him one last stroke before releasing him. He looked at you, a mixture of annoyance and lust written all over his face. You reached down and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down.

Aaron's breath hitches as he watches you remove the last shred of clothing, exposing yourself fully to him. His gaze raked over your naked body, drinking in the sight of you. Your hands slid up his thighs and grip his hips, lifting yourself and positioning him at your entrance.

You sank down onto him slowly, hissing as he stretched you. His hands found your waist, guiding you down until he was buried to the hilt. You let out a shaky breath and he moaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

You begin rocking against him, your hands braced on his chest. His hips buck upwards, meeting your every thrust. You gasp, feeling him hit that spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

"Shit, baby, just like that," he moaned, his voice low and husky.

You increase the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air. You felt his fingers dig into your thighs, his grip almost bruising. He grunted with every thrust, his muscles flexing beneath you.

"Aaron, oh god," you whimpered when one of his hands came down to rub tight circles on your clit.

He continued his assault, his thumb moving furiously against the sensitive bundle of nerves as his hips slammed into yours. You can feel the familiar coil of heat building inside you, your orgasm looming just beyond reach.

"Aaron, fuck, I'm close," you gasped, your movements becoming erratic.

Aaron nodded, his teeth gritted, "Me too, baby."

He thrusts into you harder, his movements frantic and desperate. You cry out, your nails dragging angry red lines down his chest as you teeter on the edge of release.

"Oh god, oh god," you chanted, the heat building inside you threatening to boil over.

With a final thrust, you fell over the edge, a loud moan escaping your lips. You came hard, your walls clenching around him, drawing out his own orgasm. He groaned, his body shuddering as he spilled inside you.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you panting heavily as you came down from your highs. Aaron wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You buried your face in his neck, inhaling his scent.

"Feeling better?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper as you lifted your head to look at him.

He hummed, his eyes drifting shut, "Much better," he said, planting a kiss on your temple, "Thank you."

You smiled, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, "Anytime."

The two of you lay there for a while, content to bask in each other's presence. Eventually, your exhaustion got the better of you and you drifted off to sleep, safe and secure in Aaron's arms.

[burkhxrts]

thinking about couch sex with aaron judge in your pretty house that’s decorated for christmas and people drive by and catch you through one of your windows <3

you almost never have your blinds shut (even after your mothers many many attempts.) you like the sunlight that fills the room and you and aaron can’t help but people watch all day. 

the thought never occurs to you when aaron comes home after a long and tiring game, burying his head into your shoulder and venting about the things the team did wrong that night. he also doesn’t hesitate to flip you on your stomach, ass in the air and face buried into the soft cushions of the couch. 

you don’t protest, your body melting at his familiar touch, broken moans spilling from your lips with each harsh thrust, the only sounds echoing through your house are his loud grunts and the sinful slaps of his hips slamming against your ass. 

aaron pulls you up suddenly, wrapping one hand around your throat while the other snakes around your waist. he chuckles lowly into your ear, thrusting into you with a pace and makes you see stars.

“looks like we have an audience.” he murmurs, and you snap your eyes open, eyes locking onto a pair of young women driving by your house with a painfully slow pace, their jaws dropped and eyes blown wide. 

You wriggle in his arms slightly, reaching behind you and grasping at the back of his neck tightly. “w-we should s-stop-“ 

“no.”  his voice is firm, and he can’t help but pick up his pace, his thick dick filling you so well it’s practically imprinted in your soft walls.

“a-aj, they can see us-“ 

“i don’t give a fuck. let ‘em watch. let ‘em see how good you take my cock.” 

his response makes you whine, and you can’t help but clench around him tightly. the thought alone makes you want to cum, but the thought that he enjoys it too makes you squeeze around his cock tighter than before. 

“you like that? you like people knowing you take my dick like a good girl?” 

your thighs tremble, and you can’t bite back the needy whimper that escapes you, your cunt wrapped around him tightly as you gush all over his cock. 

your brain is practically mush, so immersed in your  own orgasm you don’t hear aaron groan loudly in your ear, dick twitching as he cums inside you. 

after a few minutes, he pulls out, removing his hand from your throat and wrapping both of his arms around your waist firmly, burying his head into the crook of your neck and peppering soft kisses to your skin. 

“they’re gone.” he mutters, placing a soft kiss to the side of your head. 

“y’know if i knew you liked being watched i would’ve done this a long time ago.” 

[mvpswift]

pictures of aaron you’d have in your camera roll!

[luveline]

I love ur writing 💕 can I request something where reader is dense sortof/has low self esteem, so she likes hotch, admires him and would love to date him but can't imagine he would view her that way,, so he has to be really obvious with his advances? Not self indulgent at all 👉👈 no worries if not. Love u!

Hotch has to break the news that he’s been pursuing you. fem, 2k

Hotch would like to call you unassuming in the kindest way possible. Unassuming, in that not everyone who looks at you would find themselves immediately aware of your beauty (an old-fashioned way to put it, and true), because your poor self esteem leaves you shy. 

You don't believe anyone would want you. It doesn’t matter to Hotch beyond a weary heartbreak for you, as he doesn’t mind if it takes time to convince you. He only wishes you’d have more confidence. You’re pretty and you deserve to know it. 

“Hello,” he says, with intent to try again. 

You like him. He’s a grown man and a good judge of character, better of action, and he’d like to think that your sudden grimace whenever he speaks is again this cloud of insecurity rather than a true dislike for him. You have to warm up to him every day, but you do warm. 

“Hi, Hotch.” 

And listen, he’s not one to flirt at work, but if he ever wants a real shot with you, he has to be heavy-handed. “Hi,” he repeats, smiling, “how are things today?” 

You’re assistant office administrator for the BAU, and so Hotch isn’t technically your boss, but you do work beneath him. “Things are the same as always.” 

“Not too hard for you, then.” 

You catch his teasing, which is a new development. “Not too hard for me,” you say.

He doesn’t pretend he has reason to hang around. He thinks it might’ve contributed to you not believing he’s interested; he’d drop by with coffee because you seemed tired, or checked in on issues that didn’t need his supervision, and you’d taken every extra minute spent at your door as his attentiveness to his job, rather than an affection for you.

He stands with his hand on the doorway and just looks at you. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“You look beautiful today.” 

You touch the button at your neck. “It’s too much for work.” 

“No.” You’re wearing normal business casual clothing. You’ve pulled a necklace over your sweater, soft collar of a shirt kissing your throat. He imagines you’re wearing regular pants and flats or maybe a skirt and short heels beneath the desk, it doesn’t matter. “It’s not just what you’re wearing. You look pretty.” 

You could catch flame if something sparked near you. Lost, your lips part, and eventually you squeeze out a timid, “Thank you, Hotch.” 

 “Aaron.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Can we get coffee?” He dislikes the panic in your eyes and regrets how casual he sounded. “Can I get you a coffee?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“Well, maybe we can take lunch together?” 

“Have I done something?” 

“Have you?” he asks. 

He feels… young. Haley was the only woman he’d been with at a time, and casually there have been others now, but you’re the first woman he’s attempted to woo like this. He sometimes forgets that you’re shy and that he’s been married, distracted by his fizzing, almost joyful feelings for you. Flirting with you is a pleasure. 

You lick your lips quickly. “Where did you want to go? For lunch?” 

He was thinking you could bring your sandwich to his desk, but what you’re asking is a thousand times better. “Where do you want to go? Melanie’s?” he suggests. 

You breathe out in a strange laugh. “For lunch?” 

No, perhaps not. It’s rather fancy. “Somewhere nice, at least,” he says. 

“I don’t know where’s nice.” 

“Well, we can find somewhere. I’ll try to find somewhere before one, what do you think?” 

“Okay.” 

He smiles. “Okay.” 

He’s pulling away from the doorway when you stand up from your rolling chair and say his name, a near yelp, “Hotch! Wait, uh, wait a second.” 

He immediately turns back. “What?” he asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“Are you sure I’m not in trouble for something?” you ask. To your credit, you give a bashful little laugh. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap.” 

“I have no intentions of trapping you anywhere.” 

“Please don’t fire me at Melanie’s.” 

He smiles at you again and leaves your alcove of the office to head back to his own. Around the desks and the bullpen where his team sit doing their paperwork, up the stairs to the landing. He pauses before he goes inside.

JJ’s standing behind Derek’s desk. They’re chatting, JJ sipping at a mug, a small smile on her lips. Spencer watches her from his own desk. He doesn’t like her anymore to Hotch’s knowledge, but it doesn’t stop him from smiling at her with that slight thread of lovelorn shyness when she asks him what he’s so busy doing. 

Hotch has a moment of clarity at his desk when he realises he needs to find somewhere perfect to take you come lunch time. You hadn’t seemed convinced of your job security when he’d left you, and he spends some time pondering how best to accommodate you as he sorts thought Quantico’s best cafes and restaurants. 

He has emails to answer, phone calls to take, and to make. Time moves quickly, and by 1:02 he’s all sorts of late. It’s almost 1:12PM when he’s again at your office door, a warm plastic bag against his side. 

You’re looking at your lap. Coat in your hands, lip nibbled raw, there’s an internal conversation happening that he’s not privy to. He doubts he’d like it very much —the agony of self-doubt is written plainly in your slouch. 

He knocks your door, feeling very sorry for your startled jump. “Hi. Sorry, I’m late, I know. But I thought I’d bring dinner to you.” 

He thought of it like this: if he were to take you to dinner, you could explain it away as a professional superior who was going to fire you and changed his mind, or a superior checking in on his employee, or a superior simply being kind. He has, on occasion, taken different members of his team or office out to discuss things in their lunch hours because he was busy and needed their time at a convenient hour. You might not think anything of it. 

Right now, Hotch really wants you to think something of it. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Is that okay with you, if we stay here?” 

It’s a little much for you, apparently. You finally tip into incredulity. “Aaron, is everything alright? I really don’t understand what’s going on.” 

“I’d like to eat lunch together.”

“But why?” 

“Because you’re good company.” He’s sat knee to knee with serial killers, and his next sentence is still scary, “Because I like you, and I’m not sure how else to show it.” 

You press your coat to your stomach, frowning. “You like me.” 

“I was under the impression that you liked me too,” he says, smiling despite you and himself. Hotch might be a drill sergeant and a bully all those terrible moody stations as a boss, but he’s also just a man, and there’s little room for stoicism in love. 

“But you…” 

He waits, but then feels too sorry for you to let you flounder. “Honey, I don’t know how else to put it. I’ve tried compliments, I brought you that plant,” —he points to the still blooming orchid on your window— “I ask you what your plans are every weekend.” He looks swiftly behind him. Alone, he edges into your office to close the door and allow some privacy. “And every weekend I ask you if you want to get a drink. I’d think you didn’t like me if it weren’t for your tell.” 

“What’s my tell?” 

Your hand. Whenever he’s around, you take something into your hand and squeeze at it or feel it like you’re going to explode with nerves. He saves you the explanation, and instead lays his most gentle look on you. “If I’m wrong, please let me know. I’d never want to put you in an uncomfortable position, but you’re lovely.”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” you say, semi-disbelieving. “You never do. I'm just confused.” 

“I’d really like to get to know you as more than a colleague.”

“You know me,” you mumble. 

He does. He knows what your favourite colour is, your favourite food, your soccer team. He sent you flowers on your birthday, asks after your sick neighbour, and checks your office light every night when he goes home, though he knows what time you leave each evening. And he knows that you’re scared to admit to liking him or anyone, because you worry you’re not allowed. 

“I do,” he agrees, giving the plastic bag a jostle. He doesn’t need big answers now. “Can I sit down?” 

You might not have a big answer to give, but your expression tells a story nonetheless. You wheel your seat backward and he pulls a spare chair toward your desk, your smile like an adornment as you push aside your things to make room. You smile so hard it changes your entire face. 

“Do you have napkins?” you ask, not so subtly breathless as he places the bag down and pushes the plastic back. 

He pulls out a wedge of them. You pinch them, and for a second the both of you hold them, your eyes meeting, your cheeks appled with matching smiles. 

“I thought the orchid was for secretary’s day,” you say quietly, taking the napkins. 

“You aren’t a secretary,” he says, holding out a plastic fork. 

When you go to grab it, he moves it up out of the way. Your startled laugh is beautiful. Totally stunning. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d wanted the quiet intimacy of teasing you over lunch until he had it. 

You grab the fork before he can move it again. “Too slow,” you say. 

“Oh, you think so?” he asks. 

“I know so, Aaron. Who has the fork?” 

Aaron, he thinks. Finally, Aaron. “You have the fork, but I have your lunch. I’d tread carefully if I were you.” 

[storiesofsvu]

Once

Prosecutor!Hotch x reader warnings: language, teasing, semi public sex, smut. This might be my last one shot for a while, I'm likely going to be working on one shots in tandem with the series I want to wrap up, but only be posting the series for a while. This plan is so that when I eventually get back to work (cause yes, we shut down again and the job I was *guaranteed* to have over the break was pulled out from under me at 2am the day we closed by the same ppl who promised it to me...) i have a lot of stuff finished to queue so y'all aren't empty handed lol. Like Hotch and don't want to miss out?! Sign up for the taglist here! Enjoy what you're reading or want to prioritize a request? But me a ko-fi! 🩵🫶🏻

Aaron had been eyeing you up since you’d refused his plea deal back at the precinct, then again, he’d been eyeing you up for what felt like years already. He found it incredibly hard not to, you were always well dressed, clothes fitted, likely designer and tailored perfectly for you, never a hair out of place, your lips coated in a shade that complimented your skin perfectly and made him want to kiss you until he felt drunk. He had yet to win a case against you and shamefully felt like his attraction towards you was more or less the reason, constantly distracted while you did your crosses, feeling admiration at the way you spoke, wrapping the jury around your perfectly manicured finger rather than annoyed that you were swaying them against his client. His eyes raking up your form, trying not to linger to much on your curves perfectly accented by your skirt suits, feeling the rush of adrenaline when you’d suddenly turn back to the gallery, nearly catching his eye before cocking a brow or sending him a smirk, a sure fire sign that you knew you were about to win.

The lingering glances went both ways of course, you happened to be just that much more subtle about it, your eyes on Hotch while your ears were still vehemently listening to his questioning, ready to object whenever you could. You were able to play it off easier than he was, barely giving him a glance before you would redirect the witness and be whisking past him to the stand, a whiff of your perfume enough to intoxicate him for a moment.

It wasn’t a flirtation, it wasn’t a trend of ‘will they, won’t they’ it was rather a game of cat and mouse. Who was going to give in, who was going to be the victor and rightfully claim their prize, though it was a constant guessing game between the two of you of who was the predator and who was the prey. You flaunted yourself more often than he did, clothing in rich colours, pulling focus in the court room, designer heels that brought you up closer to his eyeline, shiny pieces of jewelry placed in just the right spots to have him glancing where he wouldn’t otherwise. Aaron rarely even opted for a colourful tie, leaving practically everything to your imagination, which honestly, you weren’t complaining about.

But it wasn’t just about the over the top professional and shark like performances in the courtroom that drew you to each other. It was the more candid and intimate moments when he would show up at your office to drop off a warrant or barter through an offer. Catching you halfway through lunch, your blazer off, exposing more skin, the curve of your breast peeking out over the top of your blouse when you bent over your desk to grab something. The more casual way you spoke, the way you insulted your client, agreeing that they were an idiot, the way the word ‘fuck’ rolled off your tongue so perfectly he wished he could hear you moaning it.

The judge called for lunch and Aaron felt like he could barely keep up with your stiletto powered steps in the hallway as you sauntered towards the elevator. Quips and teasing jabs were volleyed back and forth as the stern tone of the courtroom dissipated and a playful nature took over between the two of you. Aaron’s large hand, warm and strong was suddenly on your waist, guiding you out of the way of incoming foot traffic and it practically electrified your senses. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, nails tickling his skin and he felt himself twitch in his pants, suddenly intoxicated by the smell of your shampoo as your head whipped around to look at him.

Neither of you were entirely sure how you’d ended up behind the locked door of a spare witness prep room, but you weren’t going to complain about the way Aaron had you pinned up against the wall as he kissed you. There was a fire behind it, deep and passionate as you battled for dominance, one of his hands on your hips, pressing you harder into the wall while the other one tangled into your hair. Your hands looped over his shoulders, nails scratching at his scalp while you tried to resist the urge to wrap your legs around his waist. You nipped at his lower lip and he retaliated by slipping his tongue into your mouth, commanding the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, holding you directly where he wanted as his hips rolled against yours, pressing his growing hard on into you. You couldn’t help the moan you let out into the kiss, your tongue moving with grace right along Aaron’s, his free hand crept up your body, palming at your chest and you broke the kiss with a gasp. He took full advantage, mouth moving across your jaw until he was peppering kisses down the side of your neck and your hands were tugging at your blazer, dropping it to the floor once it was off your body.

“This is a one time thing!” You panted, hands clawing at his back as his teeth sunk into your neck, his head nodding ever so slightly when his tongue lapped out to soothe the burn of the bite. You felt the tingle burn its way through you, starting from where his mouth was on you, working down you body to where he was pawing at your chest, all the way to in between your legs where it burst into flame.

“Now why would you say that?” He muttered, a devilish smile on his kiss swollen lips and a dark gleam in eyes and you huffed, grabbing his wrist to direct his hands back to your body.

“Oh just shut up and stop being a tease.” You growled and he laughed.

“Yes Counselor.”

Aaron ducked his head once again, but this time to the other side of your neck, leaving a trail of messy kisses up it until he reached your lips again, swallowing down your moans and whimpers. Your leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you so you could roll your hips, your panties dampening with each time your cunt brushed at his clothed cock. He let out a small groan, his cock throbbing in his pants at just the thought of being buried deep inside you. His hands found the hem of your skirt, bunching it up around your waist before one of them sunk between your legs, palming at you through the flimsy fabric of your underwear. He moaned against your lips, the heel of his hand rubbing at your clit while his fingers gently massaged your pussy, your hips jolted toward the touch, a whine escaping your lips before you nipped at his.

A smirk broke out on his lips at your neediness and he nudged your panties to the side, fingers running through your folds, collecting your wetness before rubbing at your clit. You broke the kiss with a gasp, your forehead resting on his as you panted, whimpers and quiet moans coming from your lips.

“Please…” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut at the way he was toying with you and he swiftly slid two fingers into your pussy, letting out a groan as he did so.

“Fuck sweetheart.” He cooed, “you’re so wet.” His fingers began lazily pumping, the heel of his hand still brushing over your swollen clit with each thrust.

“What did I say about teasing?” You grumbled, a hand sinking between your bodies to palm at his cock through his pants and he let out a hiss, his fingers curling inside you. Your breath caught in your throat, hips grinding down into his touch.

“Have to warm you up honey…” he groaned softly, rocking his hips into your hand, “don’t want to hurt you.”

You could only manage a noncoherent string of words, muffled by his shoulder as your head fell forward when his fingers curled inside you again, hitting your g-spot on the first try. Your pussy began to flutter around him as he scissored and curled his fingers, your juices leaking down his wrist. His free hand began to paw at the neckline of your shirt, pulling it down just enough to pull your tits out and his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth and you let out a moan, your head falling back onto the wall behind you. The hand Aaron had inside you picked up the pace, thrusting deeper into you, wet sounds from your pussy accompanying your quiet moans while your thighs trembled. Your hands shot to his belt, quickly undoing it in order to actually get into his pants and he groaned against your skin when your hand rubbed at his cock through his briefs, the leaking beads of pre-cum smearing against the fabric. Your fingers slid into the waistband of his briefs, shoving them and his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free and his teeth sunk into the curve of your chest as the cool air sent a shiver of pleasure through his body.

“This feels dirty.” You muttered, palming at his length and he chuckled, finally pulling away from your chest as his fingers continued to stretch you out. A piece of his normally styled hair fell forward over his forehead as he glanced down at you with dark eyes, his breath hot on your lips when he spoke.

“That’s because it is.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me already.” You groaned, your body jolting as he curled his fingers once more before pulling them out of your cunt and you let out a whine, grabbing his wrist to suck his fingers into your mouth, tongue lapping around them to get all your juices off.

“Fuck..” Aaron felt any coherent thought leave his brain as his cock throbbed, your eyes not leaving his until your lips parted with a gasp and you let his fingers drop from your mouth and he was able to surge forward, capturing you in a kiss, tongue diving into your mouth in an attempt to taste you. “I don’t have a condom.” He murmured against your lips and your leg wound around his waist again, grinding your pussy against his pulsing cock.

“I don’t fucking care.”

That was all he needed to wrap a hand around his cock, lining it up with your soaked pussy before thrusting forward and sinking fully into you. Your legs eagerly wrapped around his waist as he shoved you into the wall, hips meeting yours as his head buried into the crook of your neck, your cunt already fluttering around him.

“Fuck…” The swear was mutual, you’d never felt so full and stretched out as you were around him, his cock reaching deeper inside you than you’d ever imagined. You were so wet, so warm, Aaron felt like he could combust in that exact moment, but he knew he wanted to feel you for so much longer.

Reluctantly, he pulled out until just the tip was still wrapped in your pussy and set a steady pace fucking you against the wall, knowing neither of you really had that much time. Your whimpers and moans right in his ear were more than enough to drive him wild, picking up the pace, feeling the way your cunt was squeezing around him with each thrust. Your hands clawed at his back, one wrapping around the back of his head, fingers threading through his previously perfectly styled hair. Your lips latched onto the side of his neck directly below his ear, the only visible spot of skin in that area, leaving sticky kisses. In any other moment he’d be worried about the shade of your lipstick transferring to his collar but right now all he could think about was how your pussy felt wrapped around him.

Each thrust of Aaron’s hips you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock dragging over your walls, every time you squeezed around him you could feel him twitch inside you and it drove you wild. He started to grope at your chest again and your head fell back against the wall, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Fuck that feels good.” You murmured, and he fucked into you harder, his hips snapping into yours and you nearly let out a yelp.

“Quiet pretty girl.” He panted, his hand quickly clapping over your mouth, “can’t have anyone know what we’re up to.”

You nodded the best you could, your moans and whines now muffled by his large hand, your breath hot on his fingers. The sensation made his dick twitch inside you, a low swear on his breath when your lips began to kiss at his hand, your tongue surging out, wrapping around one of the digits and pulling it into your mouth. Aaron knew he wasn’t going to last very long with the way you were sucking on his fingers, your moans muffled around them while he fucked deeper into you, his cock absolutely throbbing while your thighs gripped around his waist tighter. His free hand sunk between your bodies, finding your clit and beginning to rub, your teeth scraped against his fingers when he increased the pressure, matching the speed of his thrusts.

Your pussy clenched down around his cock, juices smearing around him with each pass of his fingers and your head dropped against the wall again. Pleasure was shooting through you and if it wasn’t for his hand covering your mouth you were certain the entire floor would know exactly what you were up to. Aaron had you seeing stars already, your body shivering between his and the wall before he nipped at your earlobe,

“Gonna need you to come for me gorgeous.” He panted, his brow slick with sweat, doing his best to hold back his own orgasm until he’d made you come around his cock.

“Fuck!” It came out the best it could under his hand while your body convulsed, thighs gripping incredibly tight around his waist as your back arched off the wall, pussy pulsing around his cock.

Aaron fucked you through you orgasm, slowing the pace of his hips until you were no longer shaking in his arms and one of your legs dropped from around his waist and you started to relax against the wall. A second later and he was slipping out of you, spinning you in his arms to bend you over the table in the center of the room.

A moan broke free from the back of your throat as he re-entered you, his cock a throbbing mess, coated in your cum as he began to chase his own orgasm. A hand tangled into your hair, pulling you up off the table and flush to his chest.

“God you feel so good.” He grunted and you chuckled softly.

“Yeah?” You asked, head turning back to husk into his ear, “you like that Hotchner? The way your thick cock feels buried deep in my wet pussy?” You squeezed as hard as you could around him and he let out a hiss.

“Fuck.” The hand in your hair tightened, “do that again and I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” You purred, squeezing your cunt around him once more, holding it for longer as you felt him beginning to pulse inside you, “come for me Aaron, fill my pretty pussy up with your cum.”

“Shit!” His hips faltered against yours as his grip on you loosened and you barely caught yourself on the table as he pounded the last couple of thrusts into you before he let out a low groan, stilling against you.

A very satisfied sigh left your lips at the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you while his cum painted your walls. Aaron was careful, catching his breath as he squeezed at the base of his dick, making sure every last drop of cum was buried deep in your cunt before he slowly slipped out. Part of him was tempted to see if any of it dripped down your thighs, but he was starting to come back to his senses, tucking your panties back into place, pressing them against your swollen pussy lips to catch all of his release.

“You alright?” He asked, his hand soothing up your back, readjusting your skirt before he tucked himself back into his pants.

“Never better.” You replied with a sigh, pushing yourself back upright. Confident you were no longer on shaky legs you stepped over to the mirror, tugging your shirt back into place, fixing your hair and slightly smeared lipstick.

“Here.” Aaron handed you a paper cup of water from the water cooler and you chuckled.

“Such a gentleman.” You teased, taking a sip before reaching up, fixing his mussed up hair and wiping the remnants of your lipstick from his collar. You were about to tease him again when your phone pinged a couple of times and you pulled it out from your bag, “jury’s back. Guess now we’ll find out who really came out on top.”

Shooting him a wink you were gone from the room before he even managed to fully collect himself and his thoughts, slipping back into the courtroom and behind his respective table just in time. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised twenty minutes later when the jury came back fully in favour of you and you were looking over at him with a cocky smirk as everyone packed their things up.

“Well,” he stepped to your side of the room once you were up, “congratulations counselor.” He stuck his hand out for you to shake and you took it after a small laugh, “can I buy you a celebratory drink?”

“Oh Hotchner.” You chuckled, stepping closer to him, “you know the general guideline is that you’re supposed to buy the drink prior to when your cum is dripping out of my cunt.”

“So is that a yes?”

“I seem to remember telling you that was a one time thing.”

Part 2

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@svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @niyizh @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13 @ratsnestinmyhair @silversprings-mp3 @ssaaaronhotchnerr @itsrainingreid @speedynana @tgskitten @madamsnape921 @aaronandemilysbitch @mrs-ssa-hotch @nachofriess @khxna @tinyprettyangel @cx-emerald-cx x @momily @acctualdeemon @ch3rry-pops @moonlightjxuregui @int4n @hotchfiles

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 12 - Regionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Anxiety, gunshots, panic, chaos, blood, trauma.

A/N: I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if any of the jump/spin combinations in this chapter is actually possible, I just thought they sounded cool together.

Also, I imagined the song reader performs to is Valentine - Måneskin.

Masterlist

The energy bouncing through the arena at regionals was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. The rink buzzed with activity—skaters gliding across the ice, warming up and loosening their limbs with different kicking and swinging motions, coaches muttering last-minute advice, and the hum of the crowd bleeding through the arena walls. The atmosphere was suffocating yet exhilarating. The anticipation and pressure that came with the excitement settled like a weight on your chest.

You were seated on a bench in one of the many locker rooms across the backstage area, staring down at your skates. The laces mocked you with their stubbornness. They weren’t tight enough. No, too tight. You loosened them, pulling the laces free—considering the option of re-lacing your skates completely with a new pair from your bag—only to start over again. Your hands trembled slightly, the nerves making even this simple task feel massive.

Tug. Cross. Loop. Pull.

Each motion was meticulous and deliberate. You knew how to do it, yet failed to do it correctly.

Too loose. They’ll slip.

You untied and tied them again.

Too tight. I won’t be able to feel my feet.

Frustration built in your chest. You sighed, almost letting out a loud groan, and sat back for a moment to collect yourself. You wiped your palms in your blade towel, the chill of the rink failing to reach you as you combat the heat your nerves sparked through every nerve and bone.

The door creaked open slightly, and you glanced up to see Hotch. He lingered in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket. His presence was grounding in a way—working in a matter of seconds—the steadiness in his eyes cutting through the storm brewing inside your head.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. In directly questioning why you hadn't met him outside yet. He had already debriefed the team, only waiting for you.

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and gestured vaguely to your skates. “Just… trying to get these right.”

He stepped further inside, his gaze falling to your hands as they hesitated over the laces once more. He didn't mention it, but he noticed how much they shook. Hotch couldn't tell whether it was the competition or the potential of Collins showing up that was the biggest cause of your trembling.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, crouching slightly in front of you to meet your eye level. “You’ve done this a thousand times before.”

“I know,” you murmured, your voice tight. “But this isn’t like practice. Everyone’s watching. The judges are watching. And if I screw this up…”

“You won’t,” Hotch interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't want you to doubt yourself. He knew you could do it, and so should you. “You’ve trained for this. No one is more prepared than you are.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the knot in your stomach tightened, and your hands returned to the laces. Hotch straightened, giving you the space to wrestle with your nerves, though his presence didn’t waver.

Once again, you tugged at the laces, pulling them tight, only for frustration to bubble up inside you as they didn’t feel quite right. With a sharp huff, you yanked at the knot, untying them for what felt like the hundredth time. The movement was harsh, almost as if you were taking out all your pent-up emotions on the poor laces—if you'd been a little rougher they might've actually snapped.

Hotch had been watching in silence. “Do you want some help?” he asked, his voice calm, trying not to undermine your ability to lace your own skates, but somewhat knowing that you could sit in here all night trying to fix your laces, although they weren't the root of your problem.

You blinked, startled, your hands frozen mid-pull. “I—” You started to refuse, your pride prickling, but then you remembered how steady his hands were in every situation. You exhaled sharply and gave a small nod, handing the laces over.

“I've seen how you tied them before,” he said, getting down on one knee to get closer. “Let me try.”

You watched as his fingers threaded the laces.

Cross, under, pull, remove from hook, and tie 360° around the same hook, repeat.

His movements were deliberate but not hurried, trying to mimic the way he had seen you tie them before. His focus was entirely on the task, brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He pulled the laces snug, double-knotting them once he reached the last hook, almost as if he’d been doing this forever.

When he finished, he looked up at you, still crouched before you. “How is this?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The laces were tied perfectly—secure but not too tight, exactly the way you liked them. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you, so patient, so... stable, it made something inside you shift.

Your heart felt like it had stopped and restarted all at once. You couldn’t stop the look that crossed your face—adoration, pure and vulnerable—before you snapped yourself out of it.

“They’re good,” you said quickly, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to look away. Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you.

Hotch gave a small nod, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile before he straightened up and stood back up.

None of you managed to speak another word as the muffled sound of the announcer’s voice echoed through the hallways, signaling the start of the competition. Your heart skipped a beat. It was happening.

Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You ready?”

You hesitated before nodding. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He gave you a small smile and a nod. “Good. Now go show them what you're made of.”

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, the sound of your guards thumping slightly against the floor in the otherwise silent locker room. Your nerves were still there, clawing at the edges of your determination, but you forced yourself to focus. You had to.

The competition was waiting. And so was your moment to prove yourself.

The tension in the arena was noticeable as you sat in the skaters�� section, hands clenched into fists in your lap. The murmur of the audience filled the space as skater after skater took their turn on the ice. Each one seemed impossibly flawless, their jumps precise, their artistry captivating. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to every single one of them, the doubt creeping in despite Hotch’s earlier reassurances.

But none of them intimidated you quite like Natalia Ivanova.

You’d known Natalia for years, watched several of her competition tapes, and competed against her a couple of times. She was a powerhouse on the ice, her technical skills matched only by her undeniable flair for performance. Even before she stepped onto the rink, you could hear whispers of her name ripple through the crowd, even a few whispers amongst the other skaters.

When the announcer called her, Natalia glided onto the ice like she owned it, her movements fluid and graceful. She beamed confidence, staring the judges down as she paused in the center of the rink to strike her opening pose. Her program was set to a dramatic orchestral piece, the kind of music that made you feel like you were watching something historic in the making.

You sat up straighter, studying her movements, your heart hammering away in your chest. You hated to admit it, but watching her was mesmerizing. Every movement was meticulously planned, and every glide was seamless. The crowd was captivated oohing and ahhing at every single element she performed.

Then came the jumps. She nailed the first two, a triple loop and a triple lutz, both of which looked effortless. But when she approached the quad, your breath hitched.

You had been right, she too had been working on one.

She skated backward, her edges strong, and launched into the air with power. For a moment, it seemed perfect—her rotation tight, her form pristine. But as she came down, her landing faltered. Her skate slipped, and she crashed onto the ice, the sound of her fall echoing through the silent arena as her body slid a few meters across the ice.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Natalia scrambled to her feet quickly, trying to recover, but the damage was done. A fall on a quad was a significant deduction, and everyone knew it. You either did it and succeeded—or you failed.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your nerves flaring anew. Natalia’s mistake was an opportunity for you—if you could manage to land your own attempt at a quad, it could set you apart, it could differentiate you from the rest. But the pressure to deliver felt suffocating.

You had to land it.

Natalia finished her routine with remarkable poise—despite her mistake, you were sure she was beating herself up about it—her expression betrayed no emotion as she struck her final pose. The applause was generous but lacked the usual fervor. She skated off the ice with her chin held high, though you could see the tension in her shoulders as she passed by. Her coach followed closely behind, already reprimanding her for the quad.

Your name was called next.

You rose from your seat and moved towards the open gate onto the ice. As you reached the entrance, you pulled your guards off, taking one last steadying breath before placing them on the boards.

Hotch was waiting nearby, his eyes locked on yours. “You’ve got this,” he mouthed as your eyes locked.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped onto the ice. The cold air hit your face, a sharp reminder of where you were and what was at stake.

The hush that fell over the arena as the lights dimmed was deafening. You skated to the middle of the ice, each push of your blades a deliberate movement. The familiar surface beneath you felt a little extra slippery today.

You took a deep breath as you lowered yourself into your starting pose, one knee bent with your arms outstretched, fingers trembling slightly. Your heart pounded, but you locked eyes with the ice in front of you, blocking out the crowd, the judges, and even Natalia’s earlier performance.

When the spotlight clicked on, bathing you in its white glow, a collective gasp echoed through the audience. The opening notes of your soundtrack poured through the speakers and you felt the lyrics seep into your bones. The tension in your chest eased just slightly.

This was your story to tell now.

The first notes guided you as you pushed off into smooth, flowing backward crossovers, your skates slicing cleanly through the ice and your skirt flowing with the motion. The rhythm of the music matched the beat of your heart. Your movements were fluid, your arms extending in elegant arcs as the lyrics spilled out across the arena.

You told a story through your program—the music was your script, and every step, every spin, was an expression of the raw emotion the past couple of months had left you with. The way you twisted into a tight axel, the way your arms reached toward the sky during a spiral sequence—it all built a connection between you and the audience.

The tension in the music grew, and you shifted into the program’s first big combination: a triple lutz and a double toe loop. You launched into the air, your body twisting, and when you landed, the blades of your skates felt secure beneath you. The applause surged for a brief moment before fading back into breathless anticipation.

Each element led seamlessly to the next. A series of intricate footwork had you carving sharp edges and patterns into the ice, your body moving in time with the heavy drumbeats. Your spins were a blur of motion, your costume catching the light as you transitioned from forward to backward skating with grace.

And then came the finale.

The music swelled, its intensity rising, and you pushed yourself to the far edge of the rink. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you prepared for the salchow.

It was a gamble, you'd only been working on it for a couple of weeks—the jump that could make or break your performance.

You picked up speed, your blades cutting deep into the ice as you set up for the takeoff. Your arms were tight, your focus razor-sharp. As the beat dropped in the music, you launched yourself into the air.

Time seemed to slow.

The rotation was tight, your arms tucked in as your body spun in perfect alignment. For a split second, everything felt right. But as you came down, your left skate caught the ice at an awkward angle.

You wobbled.

Your arms flailed slightly, and your right toepick grazed the ice to stabilize yourself. The landing wasn’t clean, and you knew it, knew points would be deducted despite a completed element.

The applause was still loud, but you could feel the weight of the judges’ pens, scribbling notes about the deduction for the shaky landing. Even so, you had landed it—a quad. That alone was a triumph that only a few skaters managed to during their careers, especially in women's skating.

The music softened, its final notes drifting into silence as you glided to the center of the rink and struck your ending pose. Your chest heaved as you stood there, frozen in place, every muscle in your body trembling from exertion and adrenaline.

The lights of the arena turned back on, bathing the rink in brightness. The crowd erupted into cheers, and you heard your name being called from different corners of the arena.

Your blood ran cold, every nerve in your body freezing in place. The rush of adrenaline and pride from your performance drained from you in an instant, replaced by a suffocating dread that wrapped itself around your chest. Your heart pounded, but it felt sluggish, each beat echoing in your ears as you spotted him.

Collins.

He stood in the stands, his presence impossible to miss despite the sea of people still clapping and cheering around him. His smirk was sharp and sinister, a cruel twist of satisfaction that sent a chill down your spine. His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was unbearable, pinning you in place like prey under the watchful eye of a predator.

Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a choke. The arena, still alive with sound and light, seemed to fade away. All you could see was him, his every move magnified. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket—slow, deliberate, and calculated. The motion sent every alarm in your body blaring, but you couldn’t move. Time slowed, the world around you warping as panic flooded your veins. What did he have in there?

Move. Do something. Scream. Run.

But your legs wouldn’t listen.

"Hotch!"

The scream tore out of you, it was desperate, carrying through the arena like a crack of thunder. It startled even you, your voice trembling with the kind of fear that could only come from the knowledge of what Collins was capable of.

Your cry snapped Hotch into action. From the corner of your eye, you saw him bolt from his spot, his sharp eyes zeroing in on you before following your line of sight to Collins. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, the calm, composed mask replaced by something fierce and determined.

He wasn't about to let Collins get away again.

Hotch's jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he surged through the rows of spectators, cutting through the crowd like a force of nature. His movements were swift, his hand already moving to where his gun rested beneath his jacket.

"Get away!" Hotch’s voice boomed across the ice—it was meant for you, but the crowd seemed to disappear around him quicker than you had registered the urgency in his tone.

The sound jolted you into motion, snapping the paralysis that had held you captive.

Your instincts took over. You pushed off, your skates carving harsh lines into the ice as you darted away. You zigzagged erratically, each movement wild and unpredictable, doing everything you could to stay in motion. The goal was clear: don’t stop, don't be predictable.

In the stands, chaos had erupted. Screams replaced cheers as people began to realize just exactly what was happening. Gasps and cries echoed through the arena as the crowd scrambled to get away, pushing and shoving toward the exits in a frenzy.

Collins pulled the gun from his pocket, the glint of metal catching in the arena lights. For a heart-stopping moment, the barrel was aimed directly at you. Your breath caught in your throat, and you swerved sharply, nearly losing your footing as the ice beneath you shimmered with cold indifference.

A shot ran out, the bullet carving a hole into the ice as it bounced off of it.

He adjusted his aim, tracking your frantic movements, but you didn’t let up. Although your legs burned you forced yourself to skate faster, harder, the fear and adrenaline fueling your every move.

In the stands, the crowd's panic only worsened. People screamed as Collins waved the gun around trying to follow your movements, his face twisting with frustration. His smirk was gone, replaced by a sneer that told you he wasn’t used to being denied.

"You think you can run from me?" Collins’ voice rang out, loud and venomous, cutting through the chaos.

Your heart seized. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was unhinged.

"Stay away from me!" you screamed, your voice breaking as you turned sharply, skating toward the far end of the rink in a desperate attempt to put more distance between you and him.

Collins snarled, shoving through the crowd. His frustration was noticeable even from where you were. He wasn’t just angry; he was desperate, and that made him even more dangerous and unpredictable.

To your horror, he began moving toward the same exit you were near, his eyes locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey.

"You really think you could just leave me without any consequences?!" His voice was a feral growl, each word dripping with venom. "Let that joke of a coach take all the credit!"

You didn’t respond, your throat too tight with fear. Instead, you turned again, your movements frantic and uncoordinated, your legs trembling as exhaustion and terror began to take their toll.

Hotch and the rest of the team closed in, their movements swift and methodical. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi flanked Collins, weapons drawn, their voices cutting through the air as they shouted for him to drop the gun.

But Collins wasn’t listening. His focus was on you, and it sent a fresh wave of panic surging through your chest. You pushed yourself harder, tears stinging your eyes as you skated blindly, your vision blurred by fear.

Meanwhile, Hotch and the team closed in with precision. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi moved as one, trying to corner him, their training evident in every step they took. Their weapons were drawn, aimed steadily at him, leaving him with no visible escape route. The cold tension in the air was thick with the weight of what was about to unfold.

"Collins! Drop the weapon!" Hotch's command rang out, his voice was sharp brooking no argument. His gun remained fixed on Collins, unwavering. His posture was rigid, every muscle locked and prepared for any sudden movement. His presence alone was imposing—he was in control. You knew it, Hotch knew—and you were sure Collins could feel it too.

Collins, however, didn’t comply immediately. He hesitated, his eyes shifting wildly between you, still on the ice, and the agents closing in from every direction. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, and his fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, his finger locked on the trigger, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his gaze. He was cornered, and that realization only pushed him further into a frantic, desperate state.

"You think you can stop me?" Collins spat, his voice was laced with desperation, a blend of anger and fear. His hand gripped the weapon tighter, and for a moment, it looked like he might try to make a final stand. Weighing if suicide by cop was truly worth his revenge. He squared his shoulders, his stance defensive, as though readying himself for a fight to the end. But then, without warning, he moved.

Collins lunged toward the ice, his body jerking forward with a wild, uncontrolled desperation. His shoes slipped, skidding over the slick surface, but he didn't slow down. He was heading straight for you, determined, his movements chaotic but fueled by panic.

"Stop!" Hotch's voice was more of a roar now, filled with urgency and command. It was the sound of a man who would not allow this to escalate any further.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the tension that had been building. The noise rang in your ears, deafening in the silence that followed.

Collins' scream echoed in the arena as he collapsed to the ice, the shock of the bullet striking his leg sending him into a crumpled heap. He clutched at the wound, his face twisted in pain, and blood began to seep onto the pristine ice. The stark red against the white was grotesque, a cruel reminder of how close everything had come to disaster.

"You fucking shot me!" He growled.

"And you didn't listen." Within seconds, Morgan was on him, his large frame a blur of motion as he held Collins to the ground with brute force. The gun was kicked away from Collins' hand, and with a swift movement, slid to the middle of the rink. Morgan slapped handcuffs around his wrists, the sound of metal clicking shut was loud and final.

Morgan snarled something you couldn't quite hear as he yanked Collins away from the ice, dragging him off the rink with efficiency, his grip firm around his bicep. The medics were already on the scene, rushing in to tend to Collins’ wound, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. You couldn’t even bring yourself to breathe.

The adrenaline that had kept you upright began to fade, and it hit you all at once—the trembling in your legs, the dizziness that spread through your body like wildfire. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over.

In a moment of blind panic, you pushed yourself to your feet, but your legs gave out beneath you. You barely caught your balance before you collapsed onto the ice, the world spinning around you. Gasping for air, you fought to regain control, but it was too much.

Without thinking, without even registering what you were doing, you somehow managed to get up and skate off the rink, your feet faltering with each hurried movement. You slipped your guards back on, hurrying into the nearest hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind fogged with a single thought: get away!

Get away from the blood. Get away from the chaos. Get away from the haunting image of Collins’ smirk, still burned into your memory.

Get away! Get away! Get away!

You stumbled down the hallways, your hands shaking as you gripped the walls for support. The tears came then, unchecked, as you reached the bathroom. You barely made it to the stall before your body betrayed you. You collapsed onto the cold tiles, your stomach lurching violently, the bile rising in your throat. The world had become a blur, and the only thing you could focus on was the overwhelming sense of dread, of terror, that had yet to leave your chest.

Hotch’s swept his gaze across the scene before him, scanning the area for any sign of you, anything sign that you were okay. His heart clenched in his chest when he didn’t see you, the realization creeping up his spine that you were nowhere to be found, that you could be hurt.

His instincts screamed at him to move, to find you, and without another thought, he began to search the stands around the rink, his eyes darting from one corner to the next. The rest of the team had the situation under control, he knew he could trust them and the local police officers to finish up the crime scene—you were his priority now.

His search led him down the hallway, his boots echoing against the floor as he moved quickly. He passed the men’s restroom and the locker rooms, but it wasn’t until he reached the ladies' washroom that he heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone puking, the sharp, guttural noises of someone in misery.

His stomach tightened at the sound, and without hesitation, he pushed the door open with a small knock to grab your attention. The sight that greeted him made his chest tighten.

There you were, collapsed against the floor of a bathroom stall, your face pale and streaked with make-up and tears, your body wracked with sobs as you expelled everything from your stomach—the little you had ingested before the competition, most of what was coming up was bile.

The pain, the fear, the aftermath of everything you’d just lived through—it was all too much for you, and it was written on your face.

Without thinking, Hotch moved toward you, kneeling beside the stall, his posture careful and measured. His eyes softened, his heart ached at the sight of you in such distress.

He placed a reassuring hand on your back as gently as he could, trying his hardest not to startle you—he would've held your hair back if it hadn't been braided and tied in a bun.

The warmth of his palm was a stark contrast to the coldness of the bathroom floor beneath you. His touch was calm, as though he was trying to anchor you, to ease your mind back to the reality where you were safe, where Collins couldn't hurt you or the people you loved anymore.

You flinched at first, a sharp intake of breath followed by a quick sob, but the pressure of his hand seemed to ground you a little for a moment. You were still trembling, every breath shaky and uneven, but Hotch’s presence felt like your lifeline.

He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to let the worst of it pass. His only movement was the gentle rub of his hand against your back.

“I’ve got you,” Hotch murmured softly, his voice was low and calm, hoping that his few words would be enough to reassure you. They were a promise—one that he would keep, no matter what.

His heart ached for you, for what you’d just been through, for the fear he’d seen in your eyes when Collins had made his move. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to experience that terror—yet he could in some sense, remembering Foyet.

When the worst of it seemed to be over, Hotch didn’t move immediately. He stayed there, kneeling beside you, his hand still pressed against your back. He waited for you to steady yourself, to find your breath, to return from the overwhelming cloud of emotions that had gripped you.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice was softer now, trying to coax you to turn away from the toilet. “You’re safe. It’s over."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you lifted your head, your eyes red and swollen, and still wet with tears, mascara streaked down your cheeks. Hotch’s gaze softened even more, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck as he gave you a small, comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your shoulders shook with quiet sobs, the weight of everything sinking in. Hotch could feel your body tremble under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed by your side, his presence offering support as you slowly gathered yourself.

When you finally managed to sit up, Hotch remained beside you, watching over you, his face a mixture of concern and relief. The blood on the ice, the terror in your eyes, it had all left its mark on you, but here, in this moment, Hotch would ensure that you wouldn’t have to face anything like that again. He would be the rock you needed, no matter what.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hotch said quietly as he helped you to your feet. His arm was steady around your waist, supporting you as you swayed slightly, still dizzy from the ordeal.

He moved to the sink, turning the faucet to run lukewarm water. The sound of the water splashing gently against the basin filled the small bathroom, almost too peaceful compared to everything that had happened.

Hotch grabbed a stack of paper towels, his movements were quick. He didn’t know if he was doing this right, if this small gesture would make any difference, but he was determined to do something to soothe you.

He turned back to you, his eyes soft with empathy, and gently began dabbing at the streaks of mascara on your face. His touch was careful, almost tentative, as though he were afraid that any sudden movement would break you further. He didn’t know the first thing about cleaning up makeup, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to help, to give you some semblance of comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

His fingers moved lightly across your cheeks, gently blotting away the remnants of mascara that had stained your face, trying to erase the evidence of your distress. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—because his actions spoke louder than words ever could.

But then, just as he thought he might have been doing something to help, he noticed the way your lips started to tremble again, your breath hitching as though another wave of emotion was about to break through. His heart squeezed in his chest as he saw the telltale signs—the way your body shook slightly.

Before he could react, a sob escaped you, followed by another, and then another. The tears came in a rush, the dam breaking once again. His attempt at cleaning you up had been in vain as clearer streaks started forming with each tear rolling from your eyes. Hotch immediately set the paper towels down, his heart aching at the sight of you in pain.

Without thinking, without a second of hesitation, he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as though he could shield you from the world. His chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong.

"Shh, it’s okay," Hotch whispered as he held you close, his hand running gently over your hair. He didn’t have the answers, and he couldn’t take away the hurt, but he would give you the space to feel it.

Hotch felt the way your body shook against his, the tremors that went through you, and he held you, held you tighter than ever before, as though his embrace alone could shield you from everything.

"You’re safe now," he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your hair as he continued to hold you, offering you the reassurance that maybe wasn't as much what you needed, but what he needed to get out of his system. "You’re safe. I’m here."

The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his steady heartbeat, was the only thing that anchored you to the present moment.

In his arms you could cry without fear of judgment, without needing to hold yourself together for anyone else. Here, with him, you were allowed to be fragile.

He stayed there, holding you, his hands never leaving you as he let you cry, not trying to fix anything but simply offering comfort. And for that moment, that small, fragile moment, everything else fell away.

At one point Hotch somehow managed to guide you out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the nearby locker room. His movements were careful, always making sure you were steady and safe in his grasp, as though every step might trigger another wave of panic or emotion. The sound of your quiet sobs still echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but keep you close.

When you reached the locker room, Hotch gently guided you to a bench. He sat down beside you, his posture still protective, and helped you lower yourself onto the cold, hard surface. He didn’t want to leave you for a second—he just wanted to be there, with you, until the worst of it passed. Until you were able to speak, to carry yourself, until you were back to the living.

Once you were settled, Hotch knelt in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern. Without a word, he began to untie your laces. The tension in your body was evident, and he figured removing the skates might offer you a small amount of relief, if not mentally, at least physically. He worked quickly but carefully, easing the tongue away from the bridge of your foot before slipping each skate off and gently placing them against the legs of the bench.

He was fully aware that the blades needed to be carefully wiped clean of any moisture before being packed away in your bag. But at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The skates, the blades, all of it felt insignificant compared to ensuring you were okay. If the blades rusted from neglect, so be it—he’d gladly replace them without a second thought. For now, his only focus was on you.

After a moment, Hotch sat down beside you, his body turned slightly to allow you to curl into his chest. He kept his arm wrapped securely around you, pulling you closer as you tucked yourself into his side, your face pressed into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t speak, just held you as you settled into the rhythm of your breathing, the tears slowly tapering off, leaving behind a quiet, exhausted sadness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The world outside the locker room seemed to cease to exist as you both sat in silence. Hotch’s hand gently stroked your back in slow, reassuring motions, the soft, steady pressure the only sound breaking the stillness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you shifted in his arms, your breath steady but still shaky. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes met yours with the same gentle expression he’d worn the entire time, as though he were waiting for you to be ready to speak.

“You okay?” Hotch asked softly, his voice low, though his words were full of care.

You swallowed thickly, your throat raw from crying, but you nodded. "I… think I’m getting there." You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "It’s just… a lot, Hotch. I didn’t think he’d go that far. Collins… I never thought he’d get so desperate." Your voice cracked slightly as the words left your mouth. It felt like your stomach twisted again, thinking back to the way Collins had come after you.

Hotch shifted slightly, bringing you closer, his arms wrapping completely around your body. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “But I’m here to listen if you do.”

You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes, your face flushed from the tears. “I just… I don’t know how to process all of this right now,” you admitted, the weight of the situation settling back in. "Collins made me feel... like I was back under his coaching, and I just… I froze. I don’t usually freeze. I think I might need to see Dr. Jensen, like, ASAP.”

Hotch gave a small nod, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand. “I think that’s a good idea. Dr. Jensen has some great tools to put trauma into perspective. We all need to check in with her after situations like this.”

A moment passed between you two, both of you processing everything in your own way. Hotch continued to keep his arm around you, giving you the space to breathe, to feel safe, and just be in the moment without any pressure to rush through your emotions.

Eventually, you shifted again, looking up at him, a small, tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I really appreciate you being here, Hotch. I don’t think I could have gotten through this without you and the team.”

His gaze softened as he met your eyes, his hand gently brushing a lock of hair that had escaped from your bun away from your face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” His voice was low, steady, and sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks.

You both sat there for a long while in the quiet, each of you just existing in the presence of the other. There was still so much to deal with for the both of you, but for now that could wait.

As you sat there, curled into Hotch’s side, the muffled sounds of the competition picking back up played in the background. The echo of the crowd's cheers and the soft hum of music slipping through the walls barely registered to you. Everything felt distant—like a world away.

The scoreboard might have flashed up in the rink, but you had no desire to see it. You didn’t even know what your score was, and honestly, at that moment, you didn’t care.

The adrenaline rush from earlier had evaporated, replaced by a heavy fog of exhaustion. Your mind kept replaying fragments of what had happened—his movements on the ice, the way he lunged toward you—but you couldn’t hold onto the details long enough to make sense of them.

It was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately. The persistent, rhythmic beats that had filled the air slowly faded away, leaving a strange emptiness behind. You didn’t look toward the door. You didn’t even need to. The sudden silence stretched, lingering for longer than usual. Your ears, that had unconsciously been filled with the sound of skates cutting into the ice and the crowd’s murmurs, now only heard the quiet thrum of your own heartbeat and the soft breath of Hotch beside you.

You both listened, and you realized—truly realized—that it was over. The competition had finally come to an end, but neither of you moved. There was no rush to stand up, to re-enter the world outside the locker room. Neither of you wanted to break the fragile sense of calm that had settled between you. You stayed there, sitting close, your head now resting gently against his shoulder, your body felt heavy.

The silence seemed to stretch, not uncomfortable, but rather a shared moment of understanding. You didn’t have to speak. Hotch didn’t push you to get up or check the time. There was no need for words when everything you needed was right here.

Time passed—minutes, or maybe even longer—but neither of you stirred. You felt no sense of urgency to return to the world that still buzzed beyond the door. It felt like an unspoken agreement between you two that everything could wait.

It was Hotch who finally broke the silence, but only with a soft, low voice. “Do you want to know your score?” he asked, his hand still resting on your back.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t about that anymore. The numbers, the judges’ opinions, none of it mattered.

Hotch gave a small, understanding nod. He could sense it—that subtle shift in your demeanor. You had given everything you had out there, and now you were processing, letting yourself breathe. He respected that. He didn’t press you any further.

It was only when the sound of the door creaking open that the silence was interrupted. You didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was one of the medics or someone else from the team checking in, but then the unmistakable sound of blade guards thumping on the floor caught your attention.

You slowly lifted your head, and there she was—Natalia Ivanova. Her presence in the doorway felt like a sudden gust of wind, sharp and cool. Her usual poised demeanor was notably absent today. Instead, she stood there, framed by the light from the hallway, her face an unreadable mask.

It was clear she wasn’t happy, her lips were pressed into a thin line and her posture was stiff.

But despite the tension in her body, there was something softer in her eyes as they landed on you. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking over to the opposite side of the room. She didn’t sit down next to Hotch, as if she could sense the connection between the two of you, and instead chose the bench opposite you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She studied you quietly, and you could feel the weight of her gaze—an unfamiliar mix of empathy and understanding. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

“I… I’m sorry,” she began. “I heard about what you’ve been through, and I can tell that you're struggling.” She paused, as if carefully considering her words. “This whole thing, it must’ve been a lot.”

You blinked, surprised by her tone. Natalia was always known for her competitiveness and her need to win. To hear her speak like this, with such a rare hint of vulnerability even friendliness, caught you off guard.

She cleared her throat, her gaze softening as she glanced toward the floor for a moment before returning to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like... but I’m glad you made it out.” There was a brief, unspoken understanding between you two that you didn’t need to elaborate on.

There was a long pause, but then, with surprising sincerity, Natalia’s lips curled slightly. She hesitated only a beat longer before continuing, her voice quieter now, tinged with a different kind of emotion. “And… congratulations. For winning.” She said it like it meant something more than just a passing acknowledgment, her tone warmer than it had ever been toward you.

You blinked, stunned. The words were so unexpected that you almost couldn’t process them. Winning regionals? You hadn’t even thought about the competition in that light, too wrapped up in the chaos surrounding Collins and everything that had happened. You hadn’t expected a win, not after everything. But here she was, telling you that you had actually won.

The shock of it left you momentarily speechless. You weren’t sure whether to smile or simply absorb the reality. You had been too lost in your head, in your fears, to even focus on the outcome of the event. But now that the weight of it was settling on your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of disbelief.

Natalia gave a small, knowing shrug, as if she saw the confusion in your expression and understood it. “You earned it,” she said quietly. “You did great.”

You glanced at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. She was being genuine, her earlier frustration and tension replaced with something softer now—respect, maybe.

Then, before you could fully digest the moment, she added, almost as an afterthought, her voice lower, more reflective, “I’m just glad that, if I had to lose, it was to you.” She didn’t make it a big deal, but the sentiment was there. It was the kind of acknowledgment that took you by surprise, not because you hadn’t worked hard, but because it was coming from her.

It took you a moment to register what she meant by it, but when it hit you, a small, surprised smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Natalia was admitting, in her own way, that she respected you. That, despite everything, there was a recognition between you two.

Hotch, still sitting next to you, didn’t interrupt, allowing the two of you this moment. His hand, still resting lightly on your back, was the only reminder of his presence.

You turned your attention back to Natalia, still processing her words. “Thank you,” you managed to say, the words feeling small but significant. There was so much you wanted to say in return, but you weren’t sure how to express it.

Natalia smiled, just slightly, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t the usual smug smile you’d grown used to seeing from her—it was something else. Something a little more genuine, and perhaps, even... empathetic. Something that made you think that maybe you could be friends one day.

Hotch watched as Natalia left, her steps echoing down the hallway, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the weight of the moment. The door had clicked shut behind her, and he turned back to you.

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should, and something stirred deep inside him. The urge to reach out, to hold you, to offer something—anything—that might make this all go away for you. It almost suffocated him, the way his heart pulled him in two directions. His mind screamed at him to stay professional, to keep things in check, to never let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. After all, he didn’t know where this case was going or where you were going after this.

But then, there was the quiet pull deep inside him, the unspoken ache that he’d learned to bury for so long. You were here, in front of him, vulnerable, raw, and beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten. He never allowed himself to truly acknowledge it—not fully—because that would’ve made it too real, too dangerous. But in moments like this, when you were so close, so broken and strong at the same time, that ache in his chest came alive.

He wanted to kiss you.

The thought hit him like a storm, and his breath caught. Just the idea of it—the soft press of your lips, the way you might lean into him, allowing him to hold you in a way that transcended what he had allowed himself to imagine—sent a surge of warmth through him. It was maddening, and he fought against it with everything he had.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he clenched them into a fist, forcing himself to remain still. Professionalism. That was the mantra he clung to. You were a victim of a violent crime, someone he’d been tasked with protecting, not someone he could indulge these feelings for. Especially not now, with everything so raw, so fresh—your life had just been threatened in the most violent way. The last thing you needed was for him to add to the confusion with his feelings.

But there was no denying the pull. No denying how much he wanted to be close to you. To offer something to make you feel safe again. And yet, in his mind, he kept telling himself it wasn’t the right time. Not now. Not when you were still processing everything that had happened. Not when you were still so fragile.

He could feel the battle inside him intensify as he watched you. His heart ached for you—he wanted to be the one to hold you through it all, to offer the comfort and security that was slipping through his grasp.

He stayed where he was, sitting beside you, unsure whether it was the right thing to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

[codename-adler]

musing about jeanaaron rn.... what are your thinkings about them tell me anything

an exception from my to-do list for u orpheus and my loves Jeanaaron <3

- the height difference is EXQUISITE. 5ft vs 6ft2 😍😍😍

- backliner duo backliner tension backliner sync backliner soul

- i understand and read Aaron as a very no bullshit guy, but like, that’s it. he’s not mean about it, not cruel, not condescending, not teasing, not fake, not anything. (unless u are Neil Josten) i think that it’s very refreshing and fascinating to Jean? to meet someone who really has no ulterior motives whatsoever, in life and with his person. very trust material in Jean’s eyes methinks. the very just middle between overly sweet positivity and stabbing despair? idk, i just think Aaron shared Andrew’s honesty, but in a more neutral, idgaf way. does that make sense?

- Aaron tends to Jean’s woundssssss like no one ever has before and there is so much less pain!!!

- Jean cracks Aaron open right down the middle where nobody ever bothered to lookkkkk and there is so much more understanding!!!

- i like the Kevaaron vibe of revenge, like: you took my forever partner, i’m stealing your twin! or; you chose that moldy ginger snap, i’m choosing the same brand of bastard but he is TALL! it’s funny to me :)

- the patience they have for one another is infinite; they feel no rush, no pressure, no resentment. they would wait eternities for just one smile from the other, even if that’s all they would ever get.

- the quiet is important. silence without anticipation? a reprieve of the noise inside and outside? freely? i think they’re both silent people, but with one another there’s no forcing words, no expectations, no waiting for the other shoe to drop. the safest place where everything just stops and all is okay.

- CUDDLES. they are both hardcore heavy duty octopi in bed. holding tight tight tight tight no space all warmth. intertwined like bonsai roots.

- they looooooove to judge people together!!! especially their teammates and classmates. but the grocery store and airport are fun places too.

- i think they should learn to play instruments together. it would be very sexy. and angsty.

- i imagine them taking turns cooking, always one manning the kitchen, and the other sitting on the countertop. the kicking-against-the-cupboard-or-island length varies, but not the domesticity and intimacy of it all.

- Jean is the best teacher Aaron has ever had. for studying AND Exy. Jean is the best backliner, yes, but has that je-ne-sais-quoi that just gets through to Aaron, that just gets Aaron

- Aaron is also suchhhh a sucker for validation and making Jean proud is his #1 kink

- i think Catalina is so much like Katelyn (and woah would u look at that, such similar names 👀) that she instantly takes a liking to Aaron too, and Aaron as well right back despite his best efforts, and Jean is so touched that his bestfriend has adopted Aaron like she did with him, like he truly can have everything 🥹

- Jean immensely appreciate that Aaron is among the very very few people who does not shit on Kevin, but doesn’t worship him either.

- for what Neil did for Jean, Aaron truly starts to resent him less and less thanks to Jean offering a less idealistic vision of Neil that Andrew and the Foxes all share, but showing him Neil’s true colors that can also be good despite their violence.

- Jeanaaron on the motorcycle??? tiny beefcake plastered to Jean’s muscly broad back??? HELLO???

- back to the honesty think, i think where Jeanaaron differs from Kevaaron and is instead more similar to Andreil, is that the walls have to be taken down very painstakingly; Kevin and Aaron already know each other and have seen each others worse, there’s no armour to go through; Jean and Aaron don’t know each other at first, but they understand each other like no one, so it’s a game of truth too, one at a time, tearing down those barriers and touching that soft true heart behind; what makes them panic, what makes them scream, what plagues their nights and days, what lures in their past… it’s a whole new process of dealing with your trauma when no one else could ever handle it, much less want to look at it and kiss it better anyway.

also dusting off me old old playlist i had made for them, just for you:

take me home + 100 bandaids are really my jeanaaron anthems

[eheavenlyy]

my guilty pleasure ship in aftg will always be kevaaron, idk when it started or came to be, but since i read a fic of them awhile ago they have not left my head. now that TSC has been released and we learn that jean finds aaron entirely uninteresting it makes the ship even more intriguing to me because imagine him finding out kevin and aaron are into each other (theoretically)

jean: him? seriously? - as a man formerly in love with kevin he is JUDGING.

kevin: what’s wrong with him?

jean: he’s so… bland?

[yankeelxver]

‘LYRA’S FIRST BASEBALL GAME’ | A. Judge

(part of the lyra!verse!au on my other blog @burkhxrts )

“the greatest in the league. where's the trophy? he just comes running over to me.” -taylor swift [6.8k words]

summary: lyra’s first baseball game is…eventful to say the least.

warning(s): none, a bit suggestive at the end but you get cockblocked cause i was up til 3 am writing this :3

"Hey, sweetheart," Aaron rumbles, his voice low and warm, a small smile on his face, "Bring bug here for a bit?" He gestures to the spot next to him, surrounded by the usual reporters and cameras.

You give him a soft smile, clutching Lyra tighter to your chest as you make your way towards him.

Aaron's eyes light up as you make your way over to him, a small smile forms on his face. He looks at Lyra quickly, before his eyes return to you. He leans forward, his voice low and quiet.

"You staying for the game?" he asks, his voice holding a hint of hopefulness.

“Yeah.” You murmur, shifting Lyra on your hip. The five month old pays no mind, looking around and waving at anyone who looks her way. “Figured it’s time to let her see her dad in action.”

Aaron's eyes soften as you speak, a fond look in his eyes as he watches Lyra wave cheerfully at the reporters. He shifts his body so that he's facing more towards you, still standing where you've come to him.

"She's getting big so fast," he murmurs, reaching out a hand to gently touch a strand of your hair, running his fingers through it.

You hum at his touch, sighing sadly as you look at Lyra. “I know, I can’t believe she’s five months already.”

Aaron watches you watch Lyra, his eyes trailing over your face and the way you look at your daughter. He can see the sadness, the bittersweetness in your eyes, but he gives your hair one more soft, gentle tug.

"She looks like you," he murmurs quietly, his voice warm, "She has your eyes. Your nose."

“You think so?”

Aaron nods, giving your hair another tug. He leans a little closer, his voice taking on a soft, almost confidential tone, just for you to hear.

"Definitely. She has your eyes, your nose, your smile, your lips, everything. She's just a tiny version of you, sweetheart."

You try to suppress the smile threatening to break across your face, but it’s no use. A breathy laugh escapes you, and you shake your head lightly, a playful glint dancing in your eyes.

"You’re a sap, y’know that?" you tease, though your tone carries more affection than mockery.

Aaron grins, a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, as if he knows fully well he is a sap, and that you love it. He gives your hair another gentle tug, a small smirk forming on his lips.

"Just for you," he murmurs, his voice a bit lower, a bit husky. "Only for you, sweetheart."

You hum, closing your eyes for a moment when Lyra presses her face into your neck affectionately. “I love you.”

Aaron's smirk softens, replaced by a small, tender smile as Lyra nuzzles against your neck. He lets his gaze soften slightly on the two of you, his voice dropping even lower, more intimate.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmurs, his hand now resting on your hip. "So much."

You open your eyes, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good luck tonight, baby.”

Aaron smirks as you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, his eyes fluttering half-shut. He can't help the way his breath hitches ever-so-slightly at the contact, the way his heart skips a beat.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he replies, his voice a little rougher than usual. He lifts a hand to gently rest it against the small of your back, pulling you just a tad bit closer to him.

Lyra shifts in your arms, eyes landing on Aaron. She stretches her arms out, whining softly.

Aaron's eyes immediately dart down to the sight of Lyra's small arms being extended towards him. His smirk softens into a smile, his eyes glimmering with adoration and love as he regards the little one.

"Well, looks like somebody wants a hug." he mutters, his voice soft and warm. He opens his arms slightly, watching her expectantly.

You move Lyra closer, grinning when she gives Aaron a gummy smile.

The corners of Aaron's mouth quirk up into a proper smile as soon as she smiles at him. He gently takes her from your arms, holding her up so that she's eye level with him. His expression is warm, affectionate, a hint of playfulness in his eyes as he peers at her.

"Hey there, pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice deep and soft all at once. He gently pinches her nose.

Aaron is completely captivated by the little one in his arms, his attention focused solely on her. His eyes dart all over her small face, admiring her features, his expression filled with a mixture of tenderness, affection, and pride. He can feel the cameras on him, the reporters' lenses pointed his way, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Aren’t you just adorable," he muses, his voice still low and smooth. His gaze flicks back to you, still holding Lyra in his arms. "Just like your momma."

You give him another smile, resting your head on his shoulder as you look at Lyra, who’s playing with the gold chain that rests on Aaron’s chest.

As you rest your head and look at Lyra, she continues to mess with the gold chain, seemingly fascinated by the shiny metal. Aaron can feel you leaning against him, and he turns his head slightly to look down at you for a moment.

His heart warms at seeing you so close, the way you look so comfortable against him. His gaze softens as he looks back down at Lyra, his voice warm and affectionate.

"She's so curious," he murmurs, his arms gently adjusting her in his hold.

“I think she gets that from you.”

Aaron can't help but chuckle at your remark, a small, warm smile tugging at his lips.

"Fair enough," he concedes, his eyes shifting to you again. "I'm certainly the curious one." He can't help the hint of teasing in his voice, but he knows there's a grain of truth in it.

His hand gently pats Lyra's back, his other arm pulling you a bit closer against his side.

The warmth and comfort of having you so close to him, your body pressed against his side, is something Aaron cherishes more than anything. He turns his head slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur, just for you to hear.

"I missed you," he murmurs, his gaze gentle as he regards you. Even with Lyra in his arms and the reporters around, his focus is entirely on you in this moment.

Your eyes softens into something lighter, and you give him a sad but understanding smile. You knew he had been on the road for a week, and that this was the first time you’d actually seen him since then. “I missed you too.”

Aaron's heart sinks at your sad smile, and he can hear the undertone of sorrow in your voice. He knows that, even though he's been gone and you've been on your own, taking care of Lyra, that you've been missing him.

He hates being away from you, hates being away from the family. He gently pulls you closer to him, his hand rubbing soothingly against your back, his voice a near whisper.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." he murmurs, the sincerity in his tone evident.

“Don’t be. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Aaron can hear the sincerity and trust in your voice, a small part of him feeling a bit guilty, but mostly just grateful that you're understanding. It still bothers him that he's not been around, but the reminder that he is now, that he's here, matters greatly to him.

His expression softens, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper, just for you to hear.

"I don't want to miss anything," he murmurs, pulling you a little bit closer. "I don't want to be apart from you and Lyra for so long."

“You’re not missing anything, Bean.” You reassure, subconsciously using the nickname you gave him so long ago. “You're doing what you love, and I’m so proud of you for it.”

Aaron's heart warms at the nickname you give him, a wave of affection washing over him at the endearment. He can't help but love the way it sounds coming from you, and the way it makes him feel.

"I know," he murmurs in reply, a small, almost sheepish tilt to his head. "I know." But he can't deny that he misses you, that he's missed seeing you, seeing Lyra. He still hates the fact that he's been away almost constantly lately.

"Just... missing being a family," he continues quietly.

“We are a family, dork.” You snort, pinching his side lightly. “You don’t have to be there every single second to know that we’re a family.”

Aaron lets out a soft, amused huff, a bit of a huff laugh at the pinch on his side, his expression softening at your words. He knows you're right, of course, but he can't help the possessive, protective streak within him that wants to spend every second with you and Lyra.

"I know," he replies, his voice taking on a hint of playful mock-pout. "Just don't go falling in love with someone while I'm gone."

“I’m offended you think I would even look at another man.”

A small, almost smug smirk tugs at the corners of his lips at your words, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He pulls you closer, his arm now fully around you, practically holding you against his side.

"Just making sure, sweetheart," he teases, his eyes gleaming. His hand gently pats your hip, his voice lowering to a murmur, a hint of possessiveness present. "My girl."

“Your girl.” You hum, resting your head against his shoulder once more, flickering your gaze over to Lyra, who, to no one’s surprise, is waving to another baby in the stands.

Aaron can feel a sense of pride and satisfaction swell in his chest when you confirm that you're his, his girl, and only his. He can't help the smile that spreads across his lips at that, his hand gently rubbing against your hip in a possessive manner.

His gaze goes to Lyra, a small smile forming as he watches her wave to the baby in the stands. He's not surprised at all - his girl was made to be sociable and friendly, after all.

"She's so damn cute," he muses, his voice softer than usual.

“Our social bug.” You murmur, brushing a finger over her cheek.

"She's definitely a charmer," Aaron agrees, his voice holding a hint of warmth and affection. He watches as you brush your finger over Lyra's cheek, his heart swelling as he looks at the two of you.

His hand stays on your hip, holding you close to his side, as he turns his gaze back to the people around you. He's suddenly aware again of the reporters and cameras, but he doesn't seem to care.

You follow his gaze, clearing your throat softly and gently untangling Lyra from his arms. “I should let you get back to your interviews.”

Aaron lets out a small, reluctant huff as you gently take Lyra from his arms, the little one whining slightly at being untangled. His expression softens as he looks at the two of you, his eyes full of affection and a hint of reluctance to part.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice quiet. He knows you're right, but he can't help wanting to keep you and Lyra close to him, to hold onto this family time for just a little longer.

“Yeah.” You hum, and you feel Lyra nuzzle her head into your neck. “We’ll be up in the suites with the girls, so you’ll know where to find us.”

Aaron nods at your response, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but he understands. He gives Lyra a small, parting pat on the back before shifting his gaze back to you, his expression a bit softer, more tender.

"Alright," he murmurs, his voice quiet, just between the two of you. "I'll find you when the game is over, sweetheart."

You mumble out a soft ‘okay’ and lean up, pecking his lips softly. “Good luck, baby.”

The kiss on his lips is something Aaron doesn’t expect, but he can’t help but lean into it, soaking in the softness of your lips. He lets a small smile grace his lips afterwards, his eyes warm and affectionate.

He gives your hip a gentle squeeze, his voice taking on a hint of mock-pouting. “Tease,” he mutters under his breath, watching as you walk away, Lyra still resting on your hip.

The suite is filled with the low hum of the other wives' conversations, the sound of laughter and friendly banter mingling in the air. It's a comfortable atmosphere, made even more so by the suite's luxurious accommodations - plush couches, well-stocked bars, and a large flat screen TV showing the game.

You're comfortably settled among the others, a warm drink in your hand and Lyra napping peacefully on your lap.

As you watch Aaron make the field, you feel a soft hand on your shoulder. You can’t help but jump, turning around to see Amy, Gerrit Cole’s wife.

“Amy what’re you doing here? I thought you hated the suites?”

Amy's presence in the suites is a bit of a surprise to you, considering her previous dislike of such places. You can't help but jerk a bit when you feel her hand on your shoulder, turning to look at her in slight surprise. When she answers your question, a small, sheepish smile graces her lips.

"I know, I usually do," she replies, a hint of resignation in her tone. "But Gerrit said that you were hanging out here, so I figured I'd come keep you company."

“Are you sure you didn’t wanna get a peak of the baby?” You tease, raising a brow.

Amy lets out a small, sheepish laugh at your comment, her cheeks tinting pink slightly.

"Maybe a bit," she admits, a hint of embarrassment in her tone, though there's a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. "But I'm mostly here for you, honest."

“Amy Cole, are you going soft on me?”

Amy lets out another laugh, her cheeks pinkening even more at your teasing.

"No! Of course not." she protests, feigning offense. She tries to keep a straight face, but a small, playful smile tugs at her lips. "I am not going soft. I'm still the same ole badass, thank you very much."

You give her an unconvincing hum, turning your gaze to the field down below, rocking Lyra in your arms.

As your attention turns back to the field, Amy grins a bit wider. She knows damned well she's not going soft, but she's still amused by your teasing. She moves to sit down beside you, her eyes on the game.

"You're the one who's going soft," she counters, a hint of playful mockery in her tone. "Just look at you - you're a walking heart eyes emoji these days."

“Can you blame me?” You scoff, clutching Lyra tighter to your chest, eyes still focused on Aaron on the field.

Amy lets out a small laugh as she follows your gaze, her own eyes going to the field and landing on Aaron.

"No, I can't." she responds jokingly, a hint of a softer, understanding tone in her voice. "But you're always so whipped for him. You're like a walking gush of heart eyes and soft smiles every single time you look at the guy."

“Well it’s been like that since I was sixteen so I doubt it’s going away anytime soon.”

Amy can't help but let out a light laugh at your response.

"Jesus, really?" she asks, a hint of disbelief and amazement in her voice. "Since sixteen? Damn, no wonder you can't stop looking at him. That's some serious devotion, girl."

You nod shyly, unable to stop the flush that creeps onto your cheeks. You keep your gaze on Aaron, watching as he starts to put on his batting gear in the dugout.

Amy watches your gaze fixed on Aaron, noting the soft pink flush on your cheeks. She can practically see the love and devotion radiating off of you.

"You're still gushing!" she points out, her voice a mixture of teasing and genuine affection. "Look at you, going all heart eyes just from watching him put on his gear.”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t get the same way when Gerrit’s on the mound.” You shot back, giving her a look.

Amy lets out a small huff of mock offense, a hint of a blush on her own cheeks at your jab. She feigns indignation, holding a hand against her chest.

"Hey! I most certainly do not!" she tries to protest, but her voice sounds a little too unconvincing. "I am perfectly cool and collected when Gerrit pitches."

“You practically drool every time he walks onto the mound, Amy.”

Amy can't help but let out a small, sheepish laugh at your comment, her cheeks pinkening even further as she's exposed for her true thoughts. Still, she tries to feign mock-indignation.

"I do not drool!" she protests, but the hint of a smile on her lips betrays her. "Okay, maybe I get a little excited when he's on the mound, but who could blame me? Have you seen Gerrit pitch?!"

“He’s one of a kind, for sure.” You comment appreciatively about the Yankee Ace. It was true, Gerrit did do remarkable things for the team's pitching rotation, and it was always a good game when he was on the mound.

Amy nods in agreement, a hint of pride in her expression. Even though Gerrit wasn't pitching in the game you were currently sitting in, it was undeniable the impact he had brought to the team's pitching staff.

"Damn right he is." she agrees, her tone filled with pride and admiration. "He's a hell of a player - the ace of the team, and one of the best in the whole damn league. And on top of that, he's one hell of a husband."

You give a soft hum, focusing on Aaron again as you sit Lyra up against your chest. “And you say you're not going soft.” You murmur to yourself, shaking your head.

Amy lets out a small scoff at your comment, the hint of a blush on her cheeks betraying her softening demeanor.

"Hey, shut up." she tries to protest, but there's no real menace in her voice. "Just because I'm happy and proud of my husband doesn't mean I'm going soft. I'm still the badass Amy you know and love."

“Okay, okay.” You put a hand up in defense, watching as Lyra starts stirring, rubbing at her small face tiredly. “You're a badass.”

Amy snickers at your quick agreement, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

"Damn right I am," she says, a hint of sass in her tone. Her gaze shifts to Lyra as the little one starts to stir and rub her small face tiredly.

"Looks like someone is waking up." she notes, glancing at your little girl sleepily rubbing her eyes.

“Good afternoon, sleeping beauty.” You cooed softly, sitting Lyra on your lap and facing her towards you.

Lyra gives a small, sleepy smile as you sit her up on your lap, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She rubs at her face once more before letting out a small yawn, her little arms reaching up to cling to your shirt.

Amy can't help but smile at the sight, her expression soft.

"She is just too precious," she says, her voice filled with a hint of awe and affection. "Looks just like a little angel."

“You wanna say hi to Mrs. Amy? Wave hi, bug.” You whisper, pointing to Amy, faux-excitement coating your voice.

Lyra looks over at Amy, her eyes still sleepy but curious. She follows the direction of your pointing finger and sees Amy sitting there, a small grin on her face.

With a bit of coaxing from you, Lyra gives a small, adorable wave to Amy, her little hand moving up and down in a small, sleepy wave.

Amy's heart just about melts at the sight of Lyra's little wave, a soft laugh escaping her lips. She returns the wave with a little wave of her own.

"Oh, look at you," Amy coos, her voice just as soft as yours a moment ago. "You're such a sweetheart. So cute and adorable."

Lyra lets out a small, sleepy giggle at Amy's cooing and words of praise, her little hand coming back down to cling to your shirt. It's clear that even in her sleepy state, she loves the attention.

Amy's eyes soften as she looks at Lyra, her expression warm and affectionate.

"She's just too cute," she says, her voice filled with a hint of awe. "You and Aaron have made one helluva adorable baby."

“We did, didn’t we?” You hum, pressing a kiss to Lyra’s rosy cheek. The five month old doesn’t respond, clutching onto your necklace and babbling softly.

“You most certainly did.” Amy agrees, watching as you press a kiss to Lyra’s cheek. She can’t help but smile at the infant’s soft babblings and the way she clings to your necklace.

“She’s got your eyes,” she muses, a small laugh escaping her lips. “And Aaron’s hair. And his adorable little nose.”

You smirk at her, raising a brow. “You got a crush on me and my husband, Aims?” Lyra moves to stand on your knees, and you hold the soft skin of her waist.

Amy lets out a small laugh at your comment, her cheeks flushing slightly. She tries to brush it off with a wave of her hand.

"Oh, shut up." she responds, feigning mock-indignation. "I just happen to have eyes, okay? Your baby’s cute, and your husband’s hot - sue me.”

You huff, turning Lyra around and facing her towards the field, her wide eyes flickering all over the stadium, landing on Aaron. “What about me?”

Amy gives you another small laugh, shaking her head.

"You're cute too, obviously." she replies with an eyeroll. "I just don't feel like gushing over you like a love-sick fool in front of a baby. But, you're not half bad yourself. Pretty cute, actually - and good taste in men."

Lyra's wide eyes flicker to the field, taking in the whole stadium. She seems particularly intrigued by Aaron, her little head tilted as she watches him batting.

“Very good taste in men.” You murmur, focusing on Aaron’s at bat, mimicking Lyra and tilting your head as well.

Amy snickers softly at your murmured comment, nodding her agreement.

"Damn right you do." she mutters in response, her eyes moving to the field as well. Both of you sit there, watching as Aaron steps up to the plate, both of your heads tilted to the side as you focus intently.

The game continues, Aaron successfully making it to first base after hitting the ball to the left side of the infield. He looks up into the stands as he makes it to first, scanning the bleachers until he spots you in your suite, Lyra sitting on your lap.

He gives you a small grin and a wink before returning to the game, now waiting patiently on first base.

You wink back, taking Lyra’s small hands into yours and clapping them together softly.

As you wink back, Aaron can't help but smile wider, his grin showing hints of his dimples at the corners of his lips.

Lyra watches you clap her little hands together, her head tilting in confusion. She's still too young to understand the significance of the game, but she seems happy just holding onto your hands and playing the makeshift clapping game.

The game moves on, with the Yankees gradually building up more runs and gaining the lead. In the end, the team wins, and the stadium explodes in applause. You and the other wives clap and cheer along, knowing the celebration you’ll have once you make your way down to the clubhouse.

As you all make your way down towards the clubhouse, your arms gently bouncing Lyra in your arms, the chatter of the other wives can be heard around you. They share small talk, commenting on the game, their husbands' performances, and other small things.

Amy walks beside you, every now and then chiming in to the conversation, though her eyes dart ahead to the entrance of the clubhouse, likely eager to see Geritt.

You stay perched by the door talking to Lyra in hushed murmurs as you wait for Aaron to finish his shower and post-game interviews.

The time seems to tick by slowly as you wait by the door, talking softly to Lyra. Your gaze flickers occasionally to the other wives, but mostly stay on the corridor where the showers are located, waiting for Aaron to emerge.

The sound of the shower spray comes to a stop after a few more minutes and you can hear the faint sound of male voices coming from the other room, likely the media and their questions.

The faint sound of the media’s voices and the sounds of lockers closing fill the air as the players answer the reporters' questions and pack away their things.

After a few more minutes, Aaron emerges from the other room in a fresh set of clothes, towel slung over his shoulders, scrubbing his wet hair back from his forehead. His eyes scan the hallway, searching for you.

You don’t notice him at first, still continuing your one-sided conversation with your daughter, who’s resting her head against your chest and looking up at you sleepily.

Aaron can't help but smile when he sees you and Lyra standing near the entrance to the clubhouse. The sight of you talking to a sleepy Lyra, her head resting against your chest, is sweet and endearing.

He walks over to you as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb the soft murmur of your voice. When he's standing directly behind you, he reaches out and places a gentle hand on your hip, his touch causing you to jump slightly in surprise.

Aaron grins when he feels you jump at his touch, watching as you slowly turn around while cradling Lyra in your arms. "Scare you?" he teases, his hand still resting on your hip.

“A little bit, yeah.” You murmur softly, giving him a small smile and pecking his lips in greeting.

He chuckles lightly when you admit to being frightened, his grip on your hip tightening just a little as he returns your smile. "My bad, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice low and gentle.

Aaron leans in to press his lips against yours in greeting, his hand tracing a small circle on your hip. "Missed you." he murmurs against your mouth before pulling back slightly.

“Missed you, too.” You whispered, giving him one more kiss. “You did great out there, Bean.”

He smiles against your lips as you return his kiss, his hand still tracing small circles on your hip. "Thanks, babe." he murmurs quietly.

Then he glances down at Lyra, who’s still resting her head against your chest, sleepily looking up at the two of you. Aaron grins at the sight. "Looks like someone’s getting sleepy."

“She wore herself out with all the clapping she did.”

Aaron lets out a soft chuckle as you mention Lyra’s excessive clapping. “Must’ve been some real good applause if it tired her out that much.”

He reaches out a hand to gently brush a finger against Lyra’s cheek. “Poor girl’s all tuckered out.”

"Definitely." you murmur. Lyra’s eyes are just barely open, a soft yawn escaping her small mouth as her head lolls against your chest. The poor baby looks so tired she’d probably fall asleep right in your arms if you let her.

Aaron continues to gently brush his finger over her cheek, shaking his head affectionately. “Sleepy little bug.”

"We should probably head home soon, or she might pass out right here." you say, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Though the very sight of Lyra falling asleep where she stands is adorable, you'd rather get her safely buckled into her crib back at home.

Aaron nods in agreement, a grin still playing at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, you're right. We’ve worn our princess out."

You gently adjust Lyra in your arms, making sure her head is resting comfortably against your shoulder. The poor baby is practically already asleep, her little eyes slowly closing and eyelashes fluttering.

Meanwhile, Aaron continues to keep his hand on your hip, walking beside you as you make your way towards the exit.

The two of you make your way out of the clubhouse, the cool evening air hitting your bodies as you step outside. The sky is just beginning to darken, the last traces of sunlight disappearing over the horizon.

Lyra sleepily mumbles against your shoulder as you walk towards your car, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck.

"Poor baby," you murmur gently, gently stroking Lyra's back as she nuzzles against your shoulder. She lets out another soft yawn, her eyes barely open.

Aaron nods, his expression affectionate. "She really did wear herself out, huh?" he muses, his hand still resting on your hip.

"Yeah, looks like it." you agree, shifting your hand to cradle her head. "She’ll be out like a light any second now."

The three of you reach the car, and Aaron unlocks it with a small click of the key. You’ve almost got Lyra buckled into her car seat when she suddenly opens her eyes fully and lets out a small, protesting cry.

“Shhh, it’s okay, bug. You're okay.” You murmur, brushing a curl from her face.

Her small cries continue as you reach out to brush a stray curl from her face, her tiny hands reaching up to grab at you. Lyra doesn’t seem very happy about being placed into her car seat.

"Shhh, baby." you soothe, gently stroking her hair. “You’re okay. We’re just going home.”

Lyra just responds with another grumpy cry, her hands still reaching up towards you. It’s as if she doesn’t want to be separated from you, even for the short car ride home.

Aaron watches from the side, a small smirk on his face as he observes the scene. He can’t help but find it a little amusing how fussy the baby has gotten.

You sigh, pulling off your jacket. You place the sweater over her small frame, hoping that the smell of your familiar perfume would comfort her.

Lyra seems to settle a little once your jacket is placed over her small frame. She buries her face in the soft material, inhaling the scent of your perfume. The soothing fragrance of your jacket combined with your gentle touch seems to work, and her small crying gradually subsides into soft whimpers.

"Looks like all she wanted was a little piece of Mommy." Aaron says teasingly, watching as Lyra calms down in your arms.

The baby continues to nuzzle her face into the jacket, still whimpering a little, but no longer fully crying.

You sigh in relief, stepping back and closing the car door softly. You turn around to face Aaron with a small smile, tilting your head up at him. “Hi.”

Aaron grins down at you, his expression affectionate as you tilt your head up at him. "Hey." he murmurs back, his hand returning to the curve of your hip.

He gazes down at you for a moment, his eyes flickering across your face, as if taking in the sight of you. "You know," he says, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Lyra's not the only one who missed you."

You laugh softly, a soft blush coating your cheeks. Even after all these years, he still manages to make you blush like a schoolgirl. “I guess I didn’t give you a proper hello, huh?”

Aaron lets out a low chuckle at your soft laugh and the blush that crept onto your cheeks. He can’t help but feel a slight sense of satisfaction at the fact that he can still make you blush so easily after all these years.

“Oh, did you forget something?” he teases, his hand on your hip tightening just a little. He steps closer to you, close enough that you’re nearly pressed flush against his chest.

You hum, frowning in thought. “I guess I did. Wonder what it was.”

His hand moves from your hip to slide under your chin, tilting your head up ever so slightly. His eyes flicker down to your lips, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Hmm, wonder what it could be."

He moves even closer to you, his body now fully pressed against yours. The proximity is practically making heat coil in your gut as he looks down at you. "Care to remind me?" he murmurs.

You keep your curious facade up a little longer, leaning even closer into the warmth of his body. “Hmmm, I think I remember now.”

"Oh, do you now?"

Aaron responds by pressing closer into you, his body molding to yours perfectly, like a puzzle piece slotting into place. His fingers keep your chin tilted up, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips.

"And what do you remember?" he asks, his voice low and husky, his own playfulness laced with something deeper.

“I think I remember something like this,” You whisper, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And this,” Another kiss, but to one of his cheeks. “And…this.” A final kiss, finally on the lips.

Aaron lets out a low hum of satisfaction when he feels your lips press against the corner of his mouth, his eyes closing as he relishes in the feel of your touch. As you move to kiss his cheeks, his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering.

And then, as your lips finally press against his own, he lets out a soft, almost inaudible moan, a shiver running down his spine. His hand moves away from your chin to rest on the small of your back, gently reeling you impossibly closer to his body.

The kiss deepens, your lips moving against his in a slow, languid dance. Despite the years you two have been married, there's still something almost electric about the simple act of kissing one another. His hand on the small of your back tightens, gripping you closer to him, his body yearning to be as close to you as physically possible.

He breaks the kiss after a moment, pulling back just enough to look down at you. Lust pools in his eyes as he takes in your flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips.

"Damn, I missed you."

The words slip out of his mouth in a soft murmur, his hand on your back gently rubbing small circles on the material of your shirt. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the taste of your kiss.

Aaron's gaze remains fixated on you, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and swollen lips. He can't help but appreciate the sight, his own heart rate beginning to quicken in response.

“Missed you too, handsome.” You murmured, giving him another soft peck.

The corner of Aaron's mouth quirks up in a small, almost boyish smile. He can't get enough of your affections, and the sound of your voice uttering an endearment only makes him want you more.

He returns the small kiss, his own lips lingering on yours just a bit longer. "Still as sweet as ever, huh?" he murmurs against your mouth.

"Can't help it when I'm around you." you reply, your lips brushing against his again. "You bring out the sweet in me."

Your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, tugging gently in a playful gesture. There's a hint of a smug smirk on your face, as if you're aware just how much your affection affects him.

Aaron lets out a huff of laughter, a slight rumble in his chest. Your reply and the tugging of his collar causes a shiver to run down his spine. He can't help but fall apart at the sight of your smirk.

"Such a tease." he says in a low murmur, his hand on the small of your back dipping just low enough to nearly dip into the back pocket of your jeans. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

You laugh softly, the sound both sweet and just a touch evil. "Of course I do." you reply, keeping up the playfulness in your voice. "You think after all this time, I wouldn't know how to get a rise out of you?"

Your hand moves from his collar to instead slide down his chest, fingers tracing the muscles underneath his shirt. All the while, your smirk remains in place, your confidence unwavering.

Aaron swallows hard, the feeling of your hand on his chest and the sight of your smug smile are nearly too much for him. He can hardly form a coherent thought, let alone speak in anything more than a low, gruff murmur.

"You're gonna be the death of me, you know that, right?” he manages to mutter, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

You chuckle softly, the sound almost a purr. "I know." you reply, the tone of your voice almost sultry. You let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breaths.

A coy smile graces your features. "But you love it."

Aaron lets out a low rumble deep in his chest, his eyes closing as he leans his head against yours. He can't deny the truth in your words, no matter how teasing you may phrase them.

"Damn right I do." he admits, a hint of desire in his voice. He lets out a breath that's almost a sigh, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

Your smirk widens at his admission, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. It's always good to know you still have the power to make him weak.

"Good." you murmur, shifting your hand from his chest to once again toy with his collar. "Because I'm planning on making you suffer a lot more tonight."

Aaron lets out another low rumble, the sound almost like a growl this time. The implications in your words send a shiver of anticipation racing down his spine, his grip on your hips tightening reflexively.

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" he asks, his voice deep and roughened with desire. He lets his forehead rest against yours again, his eyes opening to meet yours again, the hint of lust still visible.

"Oh, I have a few ideas." you reply, your tone still dripping with an intoxicating sense of confidence. You know exactly how much your words are affecting him, and you bask in it.

You press your body against his, closing the distance between you even more. Now, you're practically flush against his chest, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your own.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

Aaron's breath hitches as you press against him, the feeling of your body flush against his making it difficult for him to think clearly. It takes all his will power not to react like a horny teenager and push you against the car and have his wicked way with you right here in the parking lot.

A low whine escapes his lips as he leans his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He lets out a hot breath against your skin, a low moan escaping his mouth. "You're killing me, y'know that?"

A shiver runs down your spine as you feel Aaron's breath hot against your skin. His low whine and the sound of his voice against your ear make your heart skip a beat, your chest tighten at the raw desire in his words.

"But you love it when I tease you, don't you bean?" you murmur, your voice low and sultry. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, nails gently scratching his scalp.

Another shiver runs down Aaron's spine as he feels your nails scratching against his scalp. He lets out another moan, the sound muffled against your neck. He can't help but react to your touch, his body begging for more.

He manages to pull his head away from your neck, his breathing still heavy and ragged. He meets your gaze again, his eyes dark with desire. "God, you're so unfair." he mutters, his hands running up and down your sides.

You can't help but smirk at the sight of him all worked up, loving the feeling of how much your teasing affects him. It's almost delicious, seeing him come apart under your touch.

"Oh, is that so?" you purr, your fingers continuing to run through his hair. "Why don't you do something about it, then?"

You press your body even further against his, your chest now fully against his, your faces inches apart.

Aaron lets out a low groan, his restraint slowly slipping away. It's hard for him to resist you when you're so close like this, your body pressing against his, your voice sultry as you dare him to do something about his current state.

He can feel the heat of your bodies mingling, the contact sending bolts of need through his body. He wants you, now.

“Let’s go home.”

[burkhxrts]

'SWEET CAROLINA' | A. Judge

"if you're ever stressed out, just dance in the night if you get those baby blues." -lana del rey

summary: comforting your husband after a rough game was one thing. comforting him after his first career ejection? that's a whole other whirlwind.

warning(s): none, but now I want a baby.

To say that Aaron was pissed, was the biggest understatement of the year. To get his first career ejection when they were up 5-3, in the seventh inning, was just plain stupid. Ryan Blakney was an asshole, and a very horrible eye behind the plate. 

Aaron was paced back and forth in the locker room, unable to stop grumbling to himself.  The whole experience was still replaying in his head, and he couldn't help but feel a little shaken. But then, his phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.

He picked up the phone with a sigh, tiredly rubbing a hand over his face. “Hello?” 

“You got ejected?” You blurt, pacing the living room, cradling your baby girl in your arms safely.

Aaron’s shoulders slump at the sound of your voice, leaning against one of the lockers. 

"Yeah." He says, his voice weary. He can practically sense your reaction to his admission—the disbelief, the worry.

“God, what did you even say?” You mutter, voice coated in disbelief. This was Aaron Judge for god’s sake. The man was practically Snuffleupagus in human form.

"I didn't even say anything!" Aaron scoffs. "I got in his face for a second and got tossed from the game." He shakes his head, still in disbelief that he was booted from the field so abruptly.

You sigh, shaking your head as you continue to pace around the living room. “That’s bullshit.” You murmur, fixing your gaze to your daughter.

Aaron lets out a low, frustrated exhale. "Tell me about it." He grumbles through the phone. "It's the most ridiculous call I've ever seen."

You let out a weary sigh, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. Shaking your head, you glance down at Lyra, her small frame curled tightly into itself. In her sleep, she stirs uneasily, her body trembling as though caught in the grip of some distant dream. Soft, plaintive whines escape her parted lips, the sound fragile and haunting. 

Aaron hears the faint sounds of your sleepy daughter and the soft shuffle of your footsteps. A small sigh escapes his lips. "What's she fussin' about?" he mutters, his voice tinged with worry.

“Guess she thinks it’s bullshit too.” You joke softly, rocking the three month old gently.

Aaron grunts a laugh. "Sounds like her." He mutters. He hesitates, then says, his voice more serious, "You okay, babe? You're not...upset about me getting ejected, are you?"

You shake your head quickly, wanting to get the point across even though he can’t see you. “Absolutely not.” You mumble, rocking the now sleeping Lyra. “I was watching the whole thing, the guy had a bad zone the whole game. Still does apparently.”

Aaron lets out a low snort of laughter. "So you were watching the game." he mutters into the receiver. "Did you watch the part where I gave him a piece of my mind?"

“Yeah.” You sigh, moving towards the couch. You start to move Lyra’s everyday necessities, diapers, wipes, etc. “Is it bad I thought you looked really hot?” You grimace, cradling Lyra to your chest.

Aaron's eyebrows shoot up, a hint of surprise in his gravelly voice. "You... thought I was hot?" he asks, his tone tinged with genuine surprise. He leans against the wall, a smirk playing at his lips. "Just watching me getting ejected?"

“You never get angry!” You defend, shuffling into the cushions. “You’re like…big bird. You just hit home runs.”

Aaron can’t help but reel his head back slightly, a confused look on his face. "Big bird?" he scoffs, a hint of amused disbelief in his voice. He can't help but let out a snort of laughter. "Is that really the best description you have for me?"

“We’ve been watching a lot of Sesame Street, okay? It’s the first thing that popped up.”

"Of course it is." he teases, a warm smile on his face. "You're lucky, you know. Most guys don't have their wives watch them strike out and get ejected...and think they look kind of hot for it."

“You're not most guys.” You hum, tilting your head. Lyra wiggles slightly, a sleepy grin stretched across her face. 

"And you're not like most wives," he chuckles, his voice a low rumble. He can picture your expression perfectly, the slight tilt of your head, the way your hair frames your face. It's a comforting image in his mind.

Aaron lets out a soft sigh, his thoughts drifting to you and the little family you've built. He doesn't want to think about the game anymore—the ejection, the umpire, the way he'd been humiliated in front of the crowd. Right now, the only thing that matters is hearing your voice, seeing your smile.

"I wish you were here," he mutters quietly.

“Me too.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to Lyra’s cheek. “Come home soon, okay? Don’t worry about all the stupid interviews and stuff.”

"You know I'll do them all." Aaron sighs, a slight edge of annoyance in his voice. He'll do the media appearances if they ask—he knows it's part of the job, but he can't help but wish he could just come home and relax instead. "You sure you're gonna be okay on your own?"

“I’ll be fine. I have my sleepy girl with me.”

Aaron chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You just keep telling yourself that." he teases, his voice laced with a mixture of fondness and worry. "Promise me you won't watch highlights of that damn ejection."

You smile to yourself, eyes focused on the game that continues in the background, it seems less interesting now that Aaron’s not playing. “I can’t promise anything.” You tease, smiling lightly.

"I hate you," Aaron mutters, his tone dry but fond. Even through the phone, he can picture the smirk on your face. He knows you're teasing him, and he loves it.

“You looked good, what can I say? I’m sure half of Twitter agrees with me.”

Aaron can't help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Half of Twitter, huh?" he mutters, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You better hope you aren't getting death threats from my fangirls."

“Your fangirls are nice. They think just like me.” You sigh wistfully, flicking your eyes towards the ceiling. It’s true, every fangirl, no matter what age, seems to share one thought with you; your husband’s hot. 

Aaron grunts a laugh, leaning against the wall. "Oh, really now?" he muses, a hint of dry humor in his voice. "And what exactly do you and my fangirls think, then?"

“That you look hot when you’re pissed off.”

"Damn." Aaron mutters, a low, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips. "Is that all?" He pauses for a moment, then teases, "What else are you and the fangirls talking about?"

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” You reassure, running a hand soothingly across Lyra’s back. She doesn’t move, only sighing softly into your chest. 

Aaron huffs out a laugh. "Hey now, you know I love my pretty little head." he mutters playfully. He can practically picture your expression, the slight smile that lights up your face, the way you brush back his hair, run your fingers through the dark curls. It makes his heart ache.

“I love your pretty little head too.” You murmur.

"Damn right." Aaron grins, a hint of cockiness in his tone. He leans his head back against the wall, sighing softly. There's a pause, and then he mutters quietly, "I miss you."

“I miss you too.” Your voice is soft, and you clutch Lyra tighter against your chest.

Aaron's heart clenches, the simple words making his chest feel tight with longing. "How's Lyra doing?" he murmurs, a hint of worry in his voice. He knows you're a natural at the parenting thing, but he still can't help worrying about you both, all alone at home.

“Sleeping the day away as always. Could’ve sworn she was paying attention to some of the game.”

"That's my girl." Aaron muses, a small hint of pride in his voice. He can picture her little head nestled against your chest, fast asleep, the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Despite it all, he manages a faint smile. "What about you, how are you holding up?"

“I’m doing okay.” You mumble, closing your eyes sleepily.

"Good," He responds, a hint of relief in his voice. He can hear the tiredness in your voice, the way it slurs together just a little. He knows you're exhausted. Even though he feels his own exhaustion weighing on him after the game, he still wants to stay on the phone and talk to you for a little longer. Anything that keeps you both in each other's orbit. "You should rest, too."

“I’ll rest once you come home. I just…I need to see you.”

"I know," Aaron mutters, his voice quiet and earnest. He loves being able to come home to both of you, to walk in the door and know that you're both waiting for him. "Just...try and get some sleep." He pauses, then hesitates before adding, "And I love you. You know that, right?"

“I love you too, Bean.” You whisper. You can’t help the nickname that slips from your lips, and it makes you smile softly. 

"You're a dork." He mutters in response, but there's no malice behind the words. Only affection, and a hint of amusement. He remembers the first time he saw that damn nickname, the way he'd rolled his eyes, how you never once relented with using it. "I hate that nickname." he huffs.

“Really?” You press a soft kiss to Lyra’s cheek. “I love it.”

"You're impossible." Aaron mutters fondly. He can practically hear the sound of you kissing Lyra's cheek, the soft sigh you let out afterwards. It makes his heart ache with longing. "I can't win with you, can I?"

“Nope.”

"Unbelievable." He scoffs, a hint of amused frustration in his voice. "Remind me why I married you again?"

“I was the only one who put up with your crazy ass schedule.” You teased, shuffling slightly when you heard Lyra whine in her sleep.

"Oh yeah, that's right." Aaron mutters, a slight huff of breath escaping his lips. Being a professional athlete took up a lot of his time, and it definitely tested his patience and stamina. But even he has to admit you were the one person who always stayed by his side, and for that, he was incredibly grateful. "You're still a dork" he teases back.

“Oh, I know.” Lyra wriggles even more now, her whines forming into soft cries.

Aaron can hear Lyra's whiny cries over the phone, the sound tugging at his heartstrings. "Is she awake?" he asks, his voice tinged with worry. He's not sure he's quite ready to end the conversation just yet, but the thought of his daughter being upset makes him want to be by your side immediately.

“Think she’s just hungry.” You mutter, patting her back softly. “What’s wrong? Hmm?” Lyra whimpers, gazing up at you and pouting her lips softly.

His heart clenches, the image of Lyra pouting her lips at you while holding up her little arms, demanding to be fed tugging at something deep in his soul. He can't help but think how perfect you are as a mother. "Is she gonna want me when I get home?" he asks quietly, a little hint of insecurity in his voice.

“More than likely.” You murmur, pulling the phone away and pressing the speaker button. You set it down beside you, shifting Lyra in your arms and starting to pull down your shirt. “Is that right, bug? You miss daddy?”

Aaron can't see everything that's going on from his point of view, but even so, the thought of you starting to feed Lyra makes his heart ache. There's something about that moment, the way you cradle her in your arms, the way she latches onto your breast and sucks instinctively...it's one of those moments that make him love you even more. 

He swallows hard, his voice thick with a mixture of emotions. "Is she drinking?" he asks, a hint of longing in his voice.

“Yup.” You murmur, admiring your daughter lovingly as she lets out small grunts, hand grabbing your chest gently.

He can't help but picture the scene, you holding Lyra, feeding her, cradling her against your chest. He loves that image, it makes his chest feel warm with affection. "When I get home," he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper. "Can you promise me something?"

“Yeah?”

"Promise you won't fall asleep before I get home?" He mutters quietly, a hint of earnestness in his voice. The last thing he wants is to get home only to find you asleep, tired and exhausted. He wants to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around. "I want to kiss you, hold you. I want to feel your body against mine. So, promise me, okay?"

“I promise.” You whisper, flickering your gaze over Lyra’s small face.

"You better keep that promise." He mutters in reply, a hint of gruffness in his voice. He lets out a soft sigh, his mind wandering to the thought of coming home to you, the feel of your body against his own. "I swear, if I get home and you're asleep, I'll be pissed."

“Hurry home, dork.”

"I'm getting there, dork." Aaron mutters in response, a soft snort of laughter escaping his lips. He knows he should be annoyed at the pet name, but at this point, it's just become a part of who you are. And besides, the way you say it never fails to make his heart flutter. "Just you wait. I'll be home within the hour."

“Okay.” You murmur, brushing your thumb against the soft skin of Lyra’s cheek.

Aaron can practically feel the gentle caress of your hand, the way you brush your thumb against Lyra's soft skin. And damn, how he wishes it was his skin you were caressing. He swallows hard, fighting the urge to lean against the wall and think of nothing but the image of your fingers tracing invisible designs over his back, your body pressed against his. "I miss you." He mutters.

“I miss you, too.”

You can hear him sucking in a sharp breath, the sound heavy, almost ragged in his throat. He's fighting, and failing miserably, to keep his emotions in check. He wants -needs- to feel your body against his own, the heat of your skin. "I need to kiss you," he mutters, his voice low and laced with need. "I need to hold you, touch you. I need you."

“Come home.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper, and you clutch Lyra tighter against you

"Yes, Ma'am." Aaron's tone is low and gruff, as he straightens up from the wall. He has two more things to do before calling it a night - he's gotta shower and make sure he's got everything ready to head home to you - but he's not going to let any work come between him and you and Lyra tonight.

 "I'm on my way."

————

Aaron finally trudged his way to the front door, unlocking it and slipping inside. He quickly strips off his jacket and hat, tossing them onto a nearby couch. His body feels heavy as all hell, the exhaustion he usually tried to fight finally catching up with him. For a moment, he lets himself just linger, letting everything sink in. He can hear sounds of you and Lyra in the next room and it's then, he steps further inside. “I'm home," he calls out, his voice gruff and rough.

“In the living room.”

He sighs, feeling the tension in his body ease a little at your words. His boots thump against the hardwood floor, each step feeling heavier than the last. He pads his way through the living room into the spacious common area, and that's when his eyes lock onto you. 

You're both sitting there on the couch, you with an arm around Lyra, the baby's tiny head resting against your chest. The sight alone makes his heart ache. "You still awake?" Aaron rasps quietly, stepping further into the room.

“I kept my promise.” You murmur, smiling at him sleepily.

Aaron's eyes flick from you to the small form of Lyra nestled against your chest, and then back to you. His heart clenches as he sees how tired you are, the weight of holding their daughter all night must've drained you. 

He steps over to the couch, taking a seat right next to you. It's a tight fit with the little baby still in your arms, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he wants to be as close as possible to you right now.

You gaze at him lovingly, still cradling Lyra in your arms. As cute as she is, it’s unfortunate that she's awake this late.

Aaron's gaze remains fixated on you and Lyra, the sight of the two of you causing an odd sort of warmth to bloom in his chest. Even after all this time, he still can't help but be amazed at the idea that you were once the woman he fell in love with and the mother of their daughter.

He reaches out, his hand brushing against your shoulder gently, before resting it on Lyra's back softly. "Did she keep you up all this time?"

“She woke up fully an hour ago.” You mumble, lifting her up and sitting her on your stomach.

"An hour?" Aaron mutters, his voice thick with disbelief. He leans back against the couch, the familiar sense of fatigue washing over him now that he's no longer standing.  "You sure did keep your promise, didn't you?" He teases quietly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“I don’t like breaking them.” You tug Lyra close to you, brushing your lips against her cheek softly.

Aaron huffs a small sigh of amusement as he sees you lean down, pressing soft kisses against Lyra's cheek. There's a warmth in his eyes as he watches you with a daughter, something deep and primal inside of him aching to be a part of that as well. 

He remains quiet for a moment, his hand idly resting on the couch next to you, before he finally speaks up again. "Is she still hungry?" he asks lowly, his voice softer.

“I dunno.” You hum, pulling her back so she can look at the two of you. “Are you hungry again, bug? Or are you just up to spite Mommy?”

Aaron raises an eyebrow, watching the interaction closely. He's always found it endearing how you talk to Lyra, the way you treat her like a little person, the way you gently tease. 

He leans closer now, his face just inches from you and Lyra. "I think she's just hungry to spite you." he murmurs, the corner of his mouth turning up into a small smirk.

You hum, raising your brow at the baby. “Yeah? Is Daddy right? My hungry girl.”

Aaron stifles a small chuckle, watching the interaction now intently. He likes this, seeing you and Lyra together, seeing the bond that forms. It's cute, heartwarming, and a little bit sexy. 

He leans his head against your shoulder lazily, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder now. "Looks like I'm right, huh?" he murmurs, his voice gruff.

“Y’know, I may be biased.” You start, pulling Lyra closer to the two of you. “But I think we made the cutest baby ever.”

Aaron laughs softly, his breath warm against your neck. "We did, yeah." He agrees, his hand moving slowly to rest on Lyra's back. 

He shifts his attention from Lyra and turns his gaze toward you instead, his eyes lingering a little longer on your face. "We definitely did." he repeats with a soft smirk, his thumb idly tracing circles against your shoulder.

You pull your gaze away from your daughter, making eye contact with Aaron. “I missed you today.”

Aaron's eyes soften slightly, a warm and tender expression forming on his face as he looks at you. It's such a simple phrase, but somehow it makes him feel all warm inside. He swallows thickly, his hand still tracing lazy circles against your shoulder. 

"I missed you too," he murmurs in reply, his voice gruff yet soft. "So much."

You hum, leaning forward to press your lips against his gently.

Aaron tilts his head a small fraction, leaning into the kiss and letting his eyes flutter shut. He lets out a soft sigh, his hand shifting to rest against the side of your face. God, he needed this so bad. 

He holds the kiss for a few long moments, enjoying the simple intimacy. When he finally pulls back - though reluctantly - he stares at you with a slight edge of desire in his gaze.

You pull away, giving him one more soft kiss. As you move to say something, Lyra’s babbles interrupt you.

Aaron lets out a soft grunt of annoyance as the sound of Lyra's babbling cut through your moment, though it's all a bit tongue in cheek. He can't even pretend to be mad, especially at the tiny baby in your arms. 

He leans back onto the couch now, shaking his head in amusement. "Damn kid has terrible timing..." he mutters.

You laugh softly, shifting so you’re pressed against one of Aaron’s shoulders. You lift her up, swaying her gently. “What do you want, huh? What’re you saying, my beautiful bug?”

Aaron lets his head rest against your shoulder, his gaze fixed on Lyra now. There's an endearment in the way you call her "my beautiful bug", watching her little babbles with an affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

He moves his gaze to you again, his expression soft now. "She's being a little demanding, isn't she?" he mutters, a hint of warmth in his voice.

“Kinda like you, in a way.”

He huffs softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're not wrong, there." 

He's about to say something else when he's interrupted by Lyra's baby babbles, the soft sound drawing his attention back to the baby in your arms.

You watch as she stretches out her arms, gaze fixated on Aaron. “What’s up, bug? You want Daddy?”

Aaron's expression softens as he sees Lyra reaching her arms out toward him. He lets out a soft sigh, his heart already weak at your words. He can't say no to either of you.

He moves closer now, reaching out for Lyra gently. "Hey, bug." he murmurs, shifting her into his arms carefully.

Aaron holds her, settling her on his lap. He supports her with one arm, running the other over her hair, stroking her cheek. 

He glances up now, raising an eyebrow at you. "You're not jealous already, are you?" he teases lightly, a hint of a smirk on his face. 

“Quite the opposite, actually.” You murmur, watching the two of them and smiling softly.

Aaron lets out a soft hum, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he stares down at Lyra. He adjusts her position slightly on his lap, his hand now resting against her back. 

"Oh really?" he muses quietly, his voice low and soft. "You sure you're not even the least bit jealous? I mean, she's getting all my attention over here."

You shake your head softly. “You look good with her. It looks…right.”

Aaron lets out a soft breath, a warm feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. It's not often that you say things like this, and he adores the rare times you do. 

He glances at you one more time, his gaze softening even further. "Yeah? I'm good, huh?" he mutters almost to himself. He keeps one arm holding Lyra, but reaches out with the other and rests it on your thigh.

You hum, shuffling further into the cushions, running a finger over Lyra’s soft belly.

Aaron watches intently as you reach out and stroke Lyra's soft belly, his gaze tracing the gentle movement of your fingers as they caress her skin. He's watching you both with a soft expression, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. 

He shifts a small bit on the couch, his hand resting still on your thigh, his fingers occasionally rubbing against your skin in small, mindless motions.

“Y’know, I thought I was gonna be a horrible mom?” You murmur, keeping your gaze on your daughter as your trace soft circles on her tummy, smiling softly when she babbles.

Aaron's expression softens considerably as you speak, shifting a small bit on the couch again. He gazes down at Lyra, watching her small babbles and soft smiles with a hint of fondness. 

He glances up at you as you continue, raising an eyebrow. "Really? What made you think you would be terrible?" he mutters, genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Thought I would be like my own mom.” You whisper quietly, eyes locked in on Lyra. “Some…spineless person who let her husband walk all over her daughter. Let him ridicule her for every little thing she did. 

But then, when I looked at her for the first time, it all went away. I had no doubt in my mind that I would be a great mother.”

Aaron listens intently, his expression changing as he absorbs your words. He's silent for a moment, a wave of emotions swirling through him as he imagines what it must've been like watching your own mother act in such a way. 

He moves his hand up from your thigh, shifting it now to rest on your cheek. His thumb softly brushes over your skin as he speaks. "You are a great mother," he mutters, his voice soft and sincere. "A fantastic mother."

“You’re a great father.” You counter back, turning your head to face him.

Aaron's heart nearly skips a beat at your words, a warm feeling of affection flooding through him like an avalanche. He swallows thickly, trying to fight back the emotions that threaten to overcome him. 

He stares into your eyes, letting his gaze hold yours intently. He can't recall the last time someone had said something like that to him, and it leaves him feeling all soft and mushy inside. 

"You think so?" he murmurs, voice quiet.

“Yeah.”

Aaron can't help but smile softly at your simple response. His gaze remains locked with yours, a mixture of warmth and affection evident in his eyes. 

He lets his hand rest on your face for a moment longer, his thumb still tracing against your skin. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans in, his face just inches away from yours. 

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere. "So damn much."

You smile, leaning in and brushing your lips against his. “I love you too.”

Aaron closes his eyes as you lean in, savoring the feeling of your lips against his. It's just a soft, brief press of your mouths together, but it sends a wave of warmth through his body. 

He lets out a small sigh as he pulls back, his gaze lingering on your face. "We should do this more often," he murmurs quietly, his voice still thick with emotion.

“What? Be sappy?” Your voice is light, your thumb still brushing Lyra’s tummy soothingly.

"Mmhmm" Aaron confirms, his own smile mirroring your light tone. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hand now resting on your knee instead. 

"Yeah, that," he teases, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Cuddles, kisses. All of it, really." He lets his hand run lazily across your thigh, not moving any higher just yet.

You’re silent for a moment, flicking your gaze over Lyra’s face. “I um…I know we’ve been…busy.”

Aaron frowns slightly at your words, letting his gaze also linger on Lyra for a moment before shifting it back to you. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing he's been distant recently after everything. 

He lets his hand still for a few moments, his fingers now tracing small circles against your skin. "Yeah?" he mutters, his voice quiet. "I've been a bit…absent recently, haven't I?"

“It’s not just you.” You reassure, focusing on Lyra’s small babbles and grunts. “I’ve been busy with this little bug, you’ve been busy games and stuff. We’ve never really…gotten a moment to ourselves.”

Aaron hums softly, letting your words sink in. He's aware he's been somewhat neglectful lately, and the fact that you've been preoccupied as well makes him feel a bit better. 

"Guess we haven't," he murmurs, a hint of regret in his voice. He lets his hand slide further up your thigh, his fingers now gently rubbing against your skin. "We should change that."

He lets out a small sigh, shifting again on the couch so he's facing you a little more. His hand remains on your thigh, his fingers rubbing small circles against your skin. "Can we make it happen now?" he mutters, his voice a bit huskier now.

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. “As much as I would love to. We can’t do anything with this little heathen awake.”

Aaron groans in disappointment at your words, but he knows you're right. That baby's always got terrible timing. 

He lets his hand fall away from your leg, instead resting it on the couch next to him. "Yeah, yeah, you're right," he murmurs with a huff. "She really knows how to kill the mood, I swear."

You huff, leaning forward and scooping Lyra up into your arms. Lyra doesn’t object, only babbling louder. “She’s lucky she’s cute.”

Aaron watches as you scoop Lyra up, a slight smile forming on his face at your words. He doesn't bother to deny it, agreeing wholeheartedly. 

"She's got us both wrapped around her little finger," he mutters, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and affectionate resignation.

Lyra’s babbles grow louder, and you press your face into the crook of her neck, pressing quick kisses to the soft skin. “My spoiled bug.”

Aaron's heart warms as he watches you shower Lyra with affection, his gaze softening even further. It's rare to see you this soft, and he loves it. 

He lets out a small hum, a smile tugging at his lips. "You spoil her way too much," he teases, his voice affectionate.

“It’s only gonna get worse when we have another.” You mumble, holding Lyra close to your chest, pressing kisses to every inch of her face.

Aaron lets out a soft huff at your words, a small smirk playing across his face. He's known that for a while, and he's just as whipped as you. There's no fighting the overwhelming instincts to spoil the crap out of our kids. 

"Oh, yeah?" he murmurs, raising an eyebrow. "You're planning the second kid already?"

“…Maybe.”

Aaron blinks at your words, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing across his face. "Maybe? Is that so?" he teases, his voice thick with skepticism. 

He raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a playful smirk, as if daring you to admit it and make it more than a maybe.

“Not so soon, though.” You murmur, cradling Lyra close to your chest. “Maybe when bug is three or something.”

Aaron can't help but chuckle at your words, his smile widening. Of course you'd wait, you *do have some sense after all. 

He lets out a small huff, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Three? You're making me wait that long?"

“We can always practice.” You tease, raising a brow.

The implication of your words causes Aaron's cheeks to turn slightly pink, a small shiver running through him. 

His gaze is now locked intently on your face, a smirk forming on his lips as he looks at you. "Practice, huh?" he muses, his voice low and filled with an underlying hint of desire.

“Yeah.” You hum, Lyra’s babbling filling the comforting silence. “We had a lot of fun the first time.”

Aaron lets out another soft shiver as your words register in his mind, memories of that night replaying in his mind. The way you had looked, the sounds you had made…everything about it was just perfect. 

His eyes dart over your facial expression, his own gaze darkening ever so slightly. "You're killing me, y'know that?"

“Sorry.” You mumble, though your voice has no apologetic tone. You lift Lyra up, looking into her wide eyes. “Got a good time and a cute baby out of it.”

Aaron gives a small huff of mock frustration, pretending to glare at you, though it's laced with affection and amusement. "Cheeky," he mutters, his tone light and playful. 

He's about to say something else but is interrupted by Lyra's sudden babble, the soft sounds drawing his attention. He watches her for a moment, his eyes softening considerably.

“What?” You coo, lifting her up further. “Why are you still awake, huh? You’re supposed to be my sleepy bug.”

Aaron huffs softly as he watches the interaction, quietly observing. Despite his earlier frustration, he can't help but admire how effortlessly you transition from teasing him to being just adorable with Lyra. That's one of the many reasons why he's enamored with you. 

He can't help but chuckle at your baby talk with Lyra, amused by the way you're trying to get your little bug to sleep.

“C’mon bug, you’re interrupting some quality grown up time.” You grumble, blowing a soft raspberry into her cheek.

Aaron can't help but snicker softly at the sight of you blowing raspberries into Lyra's cheek, her little babbles and giggles filling the room.

You gasp, pulling her away and looking at her intensely. “Oh my god. Did you just- Did you just laugh?”

Aaron grins, his heart skipping a beat at the expression on your face. He can see the excitement in your eyes, and it's like you suddenly discovered gold. 

He raises an eyebrow, his voice a mix of amusement and disbelief. "You caught that, huh?"

“She’s never laughed with me before.” You murmur, eyes flickering over her face.

Aaron listens intently, his own eyes now fixed on Lyra's face. He watches as you examine her expression, looking for any hint of a laugh or even just a smile. 

His own expression softens, a sense of awe and joy filling him at the idea of your little bug's first laugh. "It's a milestone, isn't it?" He muses quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

You nod, shifting the three month old in your arms and bringing her closer to your face. “Can you laugh for me again, my beautiful bug?”

Lyra gazes at you with wide, dark brown eyes, her little face scrunching up in concentration. 

For several moments, there's nothing but absolute silence, her babbles the only sound breaking the quiet. 

Then, with a hint of a start, she lets out another laugh, a soft, high-pitched sound that fills the room.

You practically melt. Cradling her in your arms like she was the last thing on earth. “Oh, my beautiful bug.” You lean her closer, pressing soft kisses all over her face.

Aaron's heart practically melts at how you're practically enamored with her, showering her little face with kisses. He can't help but smile softly at the sight. 

He shifts a bit to get a better look, watching how your expression turns so tender and absolutely smitten as you hold her close.

“She laughed.” You whisper, turning to face him, and you can’t help the tears that well in your eyes.

Aaron blinks at your teary eyes, his own expression softening considerably. He can see the joyous tears shining in your eyes, and his heart melts just a little more at the sight.

He moves closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "She did," he murmurs, his voice quiet but full of warmth. "She did laugh. You caught it."

You close your eyes, pressing your face into her head and sighing softly.

Aaron keeps his arms around you, rubbing your shoulder softly. He's utterly endeared by how much you care for her, watching as you press your face against your darling baby's head. 

After a few moments, he tilts his head, a small smirk playing across his lips. "You gonna hog her all night, or-"

“Shhhhhhh just let me.” You whisper, leaning your shoulder and shifting her in your arms so you both can look at her.

Aaron huffs softly, the amused smirk still present on his face. He can't argue with your words - how could he argue with how utterly in love you seemed? 

He shifts, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both look down at her.

“Can you laugh for me again, buggy?” You murmur, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting her against them, almost as if she’s on display for the two of you.

As you pull Lyra against your raised legs, cradling her in your arms, she gazes up at you with those wide eyes, her face scrunching in concentration once more. 

For several long moments, there's nothing but the soft babbling from Lyra, her babbles the only thing breaking the now-comfortable silence. 

Then, almost as if on cue, she lets out another laugh, a soft high-pitched sound that fills your ears.

“Oh my god.” You slump against Aaron’s shoulder dramatically, looking at your daughter as if she hung the moon. “She’s the cutest baby in the world. Like- there has to be a record for cutest laugh.”

Aaron holds you closer, supporting you against his shoulder as you practically slump next to him. He keeps his chin lifted to look down at your beautiful daughter, watching you practically dote over her. 

He can't help but chuckle at your words, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I can't argue with that." He murmurs quietly, the warm tone in his voice evident.

You sigh, pressing Lyra against your chest. “Thank you.”

Aaron gives a small hum, his arms wrapping around you as you press both of you against your chest. 

"For what?" He asks softly, peering down at you.

“For giving me everything I’ve ever wanted.” Your voice is low, barely audible above Lyra’s soft babbles.

Aaron's heart practically soars at your words, an intense wave of emotions crashing over him. He can't help but pull you closer into his arms, wanting you as close as possibly. 

His voice is low and quiet when he speaks, his voice carrying a hint of a vulnerability you don't hear too often from him. 

"I'd give you the world if I could."

“You already did.” You sigh, holding Lyra closely in front of you two, gazing at her lovingly.

Aaron lets out a soft huff, his heart *swelling* at your words. He can feel your love for her, your tenderness and dedication. 

He follows your gaze, his eyes landing on her small form cuddled against your chest. She gazes at the two of you with those big, curious eyes that seem to hold the world within them.

Aaron leans closer, pressing his lips against your forehead. "She's perfect." He mutters quietly.

“So perfect.” You whisper, brushing a finger over the soft surface of her cheek.

Aaron watches your interaction with Lyra intently, his heart practically melting at the sight. He's never been the most openly sentimental person, but even he can't help but notice the devotion you had for your little bug.

He remains close, his chin resting on your shoulder as he continues to watch. "We made her, you know." He murmurs softly.

“Guess we were destined to have cute babies.”

Aaron lets out a soft hum, an amused smile forming on his lips at your words. 

He's not one to believe in 'destiny' or 'fate,' but hearing you say that sparks a warm feeling within him. 

"Guess so." He responds quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

You pull your gaze away from Lyra, looking up and flickering your eyes across Aaron’s face. Gently, you lean in and press your lips against his.

Aaron's expression softens as you pull your gaze away, his full attention now on you. He watches your eyes flit over his features, the intensity of your attention not lost on him. 

When your soft lips press against his, Aaron lets out the softest of huffs, his heart throbbing in his chest. He responds to your kiss, his own lips moving against yours in a slow, gentle rhythm.

The kiss between you two continues, a gentle, slow and sweet exchange of affection between you.

Aaron's mind is blissfully quiet, his focus now completely on you and you alone. He shifts, shifting a bit closer to you and drawing you closer against his chest, as if he could somehow merge you both together into some sort of hybrid. 

When you finally pull away, he keeps you against him, not quite ready to let go yet.

You don’t say anything, still pressing slow kisses to his lips, almost as if you’re trying to convince your lips to pull away.

Aaron can't help but chuckle softly, the sound muffled by your continued kisses. His own arms tighten slightly around you, keeping you as close as he can. 

As much as he wants to prolong the moment, he can feel his own need for air getting a bit desperate. He hums lowly, reluctantly pulling away.

"Hey, breathe." He mutters between soft huffs, a small smirk on his lips.

“Sorry.” You breathe sheepishly, pursing your now swollen lips.

"You should be." Aaron quips, still holding you close against him. He reaches a hand up, gently tracing over your now swollen and rosy lips. 

"Can't have you suffocating." He teases.

“I’d die a happy death.” You joke, pausing when Lyra wriggles in your arms.

Aaron huffs at your words, his expression shifting to one of faux irritation. He rolls his eyes, his tone still playful. "Don't be stupid."

Then, he looks down as you adjust Lyra, a hint of amusement appearing on his face. 

"She looks uncomfortable." He notes quietly, his eyes observing as Lyra wriggles in your arms.

“She’s getting sleepy, I think.”

He studies her for a moment, a small hum on his lips. "You should put her to bed." He suggests quietly, his eyes flicking back to your form.

You hum, nodding softly to yourself and slowly making your way off the couch. “C’mon, my sleepy bug.”

Aaron watches you carefully as you stand up, cradling Lyra in your arms. He stays close, quietly observing as you walk away.

He can't help but smile at the way you address her - "my sleepy bug" - how utterly adorable. He follows after you, silently walking beside you.

Lyra babbles sleepily in your arms, wriggling with every step you take to her room. You hum a soft tune as you open her bedroom door, opting to turn on the lamp rather than the big bright light.

Aaron follows behind you into the bedroom, taking in the soft, almost peaceful atmosphere. He leans against the wall a few feet away, quietly watching as you gently walk to her crib, humming a soft tune.

He stays there, leaning against the wall, simply observing as you gently lay her down.

“Are you sleepy, buggy? Huh? You tired after doing nothing all day?” You whisper softly, rubbing at her tummy softly.

Aaron grins quietly, watching you coo at her so affectionately. His heart gives a throb of emotion as you continue to gently play with her. 

Lyra lets out a series of high-pitched sounds, her babbling filling the quiet room alongside your soft whispers.

“C’mon honey, go to sleep. Go to sleep for Mommy, please.” You brush one of her curls away from her face

Aaron watches silently as you continue to coax her into sleep. 

He can't help but think how utterly beautiful you look in this moment, how absolutely perfect you are as you tend to your little bug with such love and tenderness. 

He lets out a soft huff, quietly moving away from the wall and moving closer to the crib.

Aaron stops just beside you, peering down at Lyra with an almost amused expression. Lyra's eyes are still wide open, fixated on your face. 

Aaron huffs softly, a hint of a smirk forming on his lips as he glances up at you. "She's not going to sleep anytime soon."

“Nope.” You sigh, smiling when she shoots you a gummy smile.

Aaron chuckles quietly, shaking his head as he turns his focus to Lyra. He can't help but smile at the tiny smile she shoots you, and he finds himself wondering just what exactly she's trying to convey. 

"You never want to sleep, do you?" He remarks to the little bug, his tone affectionate.

Aaron watches silently as you continue to try and coax Lyra into sleep, his smile still present on his face. He can see the determination in your eyes, how you're willing to try almost anything to get her to go to sleep. 

He can't help but find your dedication endearing.

"Any ideas?" He asks finally, referring to your little efforts to get her to sleep.

“Lemme try the bassinet by the bed.” You sigh, scooping the baby back into your arms and making your way to your bedroom.

Aaron follows quietly after you, his hands buried in his pockets. He listens as you start to talk to Lyra again, wondering to himself if this different location will do the trick. 

Once you reach your bedroom, Aaron stands in the doorway, watching as you set her down in the bassinet beside the bed.

“Alright, miss thing.” You whisper, setting her down gently. “How about now?”

There's a moment's pause before Lyra gives another tired little giggle in response to your words. 

Aaron huffs, a small smile on his face as he watches the exchange. "Still awake, huh?" He muses quietly.

You sigh, giving him a tired smile. “I think I’m just gonna let her ride it out.”

Aaron gives a soft nod, smiling back at you. He takes a few steps further into the room, coming to a stop right beside the bassinet.

Lyra's eyes, still wide, are fixated on the two of you. Another soft giggle erupts from her tiny mouth.

You smile at the sound, sitting down on the bed.

Aaron moves to sit beside you on the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He keeps his eyes on Lyra, watching the little bug's every move. 

He turns to look at you, studying your tired expression and trying to gauge your thoughts. "You look tired."

“Just a little bit.” You murmur, tilting your head as you look at him.

Aaron hums, watching as your gaze drifts away from Lyra and lands on him. He reaches a hand out, gently brushing it across your cheek.

He studies your tired expression, his touch gentle and reassuring. "You look worn out."

You hummed, leaning into his touch sleepily. The sounds of Lyra’s soft babbling is starting to make you even sleepier.

As you lean into his touch, Aaron's other hand comes to rest on your back, his fingers rubbing slow and gentle circles on your back. 

He looks down at you, a hint of amusement visible on his face as he notices how the soft sound of Lyra's babbles are making you sleepy.

You sigh, giving Lyra one more look before shuffling towards your end of the bed.

Aaron watches as you begin to shuffle towards your end of the bed, his hand still holding onto your back and keeping you close. 

He notices how tired you seem, how your movements are starting to slow, and he can see you starting to doze off right in front of him. 

He moves to lay down behind you, pulling you close against him.

Aaron wraps his arms around you, holding you close against his chest. He can feel you beginning to relax against him, your body slowly giving in to how tired you are. 

He buries his face into your hair, breathing in your scent, and he smiles at the sound of your soft yawn.

“I’m crazy about you, y’know that?” Your voice is soft, coated in sleep.

"I know." 

Aaron's voice is quiet in response, so as not to wake the baby. 

He holds you a little bit tighter, pulling you a bit closer against his chest. His own eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but he stays awake long enough to speak.

"I'm crazy about you, too."

[mvpswift]

+18. SMUT

a/n: never wrote smut like in detail before so if it’s bad, SORRY.

thinking about when you accidentally call aaron “captain” in an interview the both of you are doing together because he won mvp. it makes him all feral inside and crazy. and aaron can’t wait to get you all alone as his family and friends are all around. so as soon as your family and friends finally leave he has you all to himself.

you were in your kitchen. as you were putting the dishes into the dishwasher. as you placed the last dish — suddenly aaron grabbed your waist. pinning you to the counter.

“yes?” you ask him. as you look up at him confused. all of a sudden he had you pinned to the counter and you bad no clue why.

“what was that earlier?” aaron asked you.

you tilted your head, until you remembered. was he talking about how you called him captain? did he dislike it?

“i just called you captain? thats what the fans and your teammates call you?” you say innocently. you really were saying it innocently. having no clue that it riled him up like that.

“but when you do it- it does something to me,” aaron whispers before his lips are on your skin. which makes your heart start to race.

“say it again darling.” aaron whispers.

“captain” you whisper.

aaron started to trail kisses down your neck. sucking on your sensitive spot. making a whimper escape from your lips, which made aaron smirk.

your lips connect, as the kiss becomes needy and lustful. aaron picked you up, your lips never leaving each other. as aaron brought you into the bedroom, laying you down on the bed.

aaron dragged his lips down your neck, taking your shirt off. before all of your clothes are off and suddenly he’s fucking you.

“fuck captain.” you stutter out as he thrusts into you. you grip the sheets as his thrusts become faster and deeper at your words.

“again.” aaron demands never slowing down.

“shit. i- captain please..” you pleas.

“what do you need princess?” aaron whispered in your ear as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“i need to cum captain- please.” you begged.

“since your such a good girl for the captain. go ahead darling,” aaron says.

and you did. your brain was fuzzy, letting go as you finally relax. aaron fell beside you, as he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame.

[lovingrosewho]

Framed

Hello there! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything but I recently began watching Criminal Minds again and fell in love with Aaron Hotchner all over again as well, so I just had to write this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) This is my first Criminal Minds (published) fanfic, and the first Hotch x Reader I’ve written ever! (also the first nsfw)

ONE SHOT (but who knows, it may even have a part 2 on a future maybe not-so-near but not-so-far-away either)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Cis!fem!reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3467

Summary: reader has been accused of murdering her older, rich ex-fiancé (of course I took my inspo for this piece of fanfiction from Brooke Whyndam, of the movie “Legally blonde”, also, the line “then show them a picture of his dick” is from that movie).

Warnings: NSFW content (innuendo, sex, curse words, age gap - reader is in her mid twenties, Hotch is in his early/mid forties)

“I didn’t do it!” you scream one last time slamming your fist on the table, on the edge of tears.

It had passed around 8 hours already with you in custody, accused of the murder of your ex-fiancé, a (quite older) man, CEO of a big company in town, and as if that wasn’t enough, the best friend of the sheriff.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rubs his face, tired, after observing Prentiss and Morgan’s attempts to get you to confess. It’s almost 3am.

“Sheriff, with all due respect, I think she’s telling the truth” he tells him with a soft voice after a deep sigh.

“And with all due respect, you profiled that the suspect would be a female in her mid twenties, who we’d have to get the information out of her”.

“And we also profiled she’d be seeking for attention and validation which we don’t see it happening do we?” Aaron retorts rolling his eyes discreetly.

The sheriff gives SSA Aaron Hotchner one last glance before grabbing the doorknob of the interrogation room and storming in, Hotch follows close behind, seeing how the sheriff turns off the videocamera recording what happens inside the interrogation room, knowing no good can come from asking the same questions over and over again when everybody is also tired and fed up with trying to get a false confession out of you, which, from your behavior, Hotch knows it’s impossible.

“That’s it!” the sheriff yells “You killed my best friend! Either you confess or I’ll let you rot in here the rest of the 72 hours we can have you legally detained!”

“For the last time, I. Didn’t. Do it!” you yell back.

The BAU team exchanges glances between each other.

“What judge is going to believe you huh? You were engaged to a successful man in his mid fifties! And then he goes and marries someone even younger than you!”

“That was over two years ago!” you talk back.

“You had motive and opportunity, no judge nor jury is going to understand any other reason for you to be with him that is not for the money”.

“Then show them a picture of his dick! That might clear a few things up” you finally bark at him. The sheriff looks at you in astonishment. Morgan disguises a snicker as a cough, Prentiss bites down her lower lip to suppress a laugh, and Hotchner… Hotchner just stands impassive at you.

The sheriff leaves the room enraged, and everyone else follows, not before giving you an apologetic look. Hotchner is the last one to stay. You see the slightest doubt on his eyes and the subtle twist his lips make. You know he’s thinking about letting you go, but he then lowers his stare and gets out of the room, just like everybody else.

You sigh, drained out of energy after all the interrogations. This can’t be happening to you.

You knew since the moment you met John, that just his pure acquaintance could ruin your life. He had many enemies, and even more groupies who belonged to social circles that if you hadn’t met him, you would have never even imagined they existed, but what you had never imagined either, was that after all the heartbreak, loss and pain of what you thought in that moment to be the love of your life, you’d be reliving all those feelings, cause of some stupid cop negligence.

You lay your head slowly on the table, feeling the coldness of the metal surface on your cheek, and close your eyes for just a couple of minutes. You can’t sleep, not until this nightmare is all over, but at least, you get to have a few moments of peace and quiet before some other agent enters the room and begins yet another interrogation, demanding new information. Information you don’t have.

Outside the gray room, where you can’t hear nor see anything, the BAU team argues with the sheriff about your freedom.

“We’ve gotten out of her everything we’re going to get, I’m telling you, she didn’t do it” Morgan tries to reason with him.

“An unsub who planned a homicide this calculated would be equally calculated both on his answers and his behavior, this girl was in shock when we started showing her the case photos and couldn’t get a single cohesive phrase out. You can’t pin this murder on her” Emily backs up Morgan.

The sheriff looks at both of them, puffs a sigh and places his hands on his hips before discussing.

“Look, I get it, you profilers or whatever think you’re better than all of us, but this is still my county, and while I can have her in custody, I will. Who knows? She might even give up a confession or at least some new information. Goodnight gentlemen. And lady” he starts to walk to the exit without giving any of them any chance to convince him “I suggest you too get some rest. It’s been a long day and there’s one even longer ahead of us. Lock up when you get out”.

With that last statement, the sheriff ends the discussion and exits the precinct. Morgan and Prentiss move their heads in disagreement, proceeding to look back at Hotch, who is frowning at the door the sheriff just left through.

“What now?” both the BAU members look at the unit chief.

“Sheriff is right in one thing: you should get some rest. I’ll stay here with (Y/N), keep her company and see if there’s something we missed” he declares “Call Reid, Rossi and JJ, head back to the hotel, I’ll catch up with you in a few hours”.

“Hotch she’s not our unsub” Morgan defends you again “I mean we could, let her go right?”

“I’m afraid not. If we step ahead of the local officers, we might make things worse by getting ourselves kicked out of the investigation. It’ll be of more use the sooner we find something, anything, that might help (Y/N) clear her name and get her out of here” Hotch answers, he’s looking at Morgan but directs his orders to both of them, he knows his team too well to not know for a fact that Emily is the one who’s more inclined to let you go. They both nod silently.

“All right” Emily surrenders, not just because she’s too tired to continue arguing, but because she also knows that perhaps getting back to the hotel and going over some of the facts and scenes with Reid or JJ, might be more useful “Do you want me to stay with you? I mean the precinct is completely empty. You’ll be here all by yourself”.

“It’s okay. You and Morgan. Hotel. Rest. We’ll gather first thing in the morning and go through everything we have so far” he assures and doesn’t wait for a reply, beginning to walk back to the interrogation room, hearing the exit door of the precinct close behind him and the key turning.

When he enters again, he finds you on the same position you were trying to rest, your cheek against the now warm table, your hair falling on it and covering parts of your face.

“I’m not asleep” you mutter softly “I just needed to clear my head, breath and relax for a bit”.

Hotch lets out an almost imperceptible sigh, but everything is so quiet, that you get to hear it.

“(Y/N) I know you didn’t do it” he pronounces just as softly as you.

“Really?” you frown and shift your position, sitting back on the chair, looking at him “Then… can I go?”

He presses his lips into a straight line, and lets out a firm, but still tender “no”. A single tear escapes your right eye and you wipe it off quickly, not quite giving in to the emotions just yet. Hotch notices and comes to stand right next to you, laying on the edge of the table.

“If I’d let you go, the local authorities would not let us continue the investigation and they’d pin that murder on you. Trust me, the best we can do right now is wait a few hours until everyone has cooled down and come back with fresh eyes” he guarantees you, his features relaxing as he tells you this “Everything’s gonna be fine”.

“Everything’s gonna be fine” you repeat his words slowly, then look up at him. Damn it. He’s handsome. It’s no secret to anyone you have a thing for older men, but did that trait really have to emerge right now? You can’t help but to laugh out loud at the thought, it’s absurd to you that you could be thinking of that when you’re being accused of murder.

“What’s so funny?” he asks confused, and distances himself ever so slightly from you, without leaving his place on the table.

“Nothing, just…” you start, in an attempt to explain yourself and don’t end up looking crazy “God, if I had met you under any other circumstances, I’d probably be all over you right now”.

SSA Aaron Hotchner does not move, nor his face changes towards you, but you can see the most subtle blush on his cheeks, and his fists tightening. His lips finally crack up a light smile, finding the situation absurd as well, he quickly remembers the videocamera is off.

“You do realize you could be facing murder charges, right?” he asks playfully, kinda mocking you, keeping the volume of his voice down.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry” you apologize “It’s just so late, I’m tired, and well, you’re smoking hot” you confess with an apologetic, but also mischievous, look. Hotch finally lets out a laugh. Get a hold of yourself, Hotchner, he thinks to himself, takes a deep breath and goes back to his serious stare.

“(Y/N), I understand it’s been a long day in which you’ve been under a lot of pressure, but for me to keep up this game would be not only unprofessional, but also unethical. Your mind is probably just making up this crush for you to pass the time and distract yourself from what is happening. You’ll get over me” he explains sweetly.

“I wish I could get under you instead…” your witty retort catches him off guard, he swallows hard and starts coughing. He’s not used to women flirting with him anymore, not for a long time, let alone women almost half his age.

“I’ll see you in a few hours” he says standing up and reaching towards the door, not really uncomfortable by your approaches, but more by his increasing boner.

“No, okay I’m sorry, please stay with me” you beg him, standing up as well “I was just joking. Well, not really, but just… please keep me company, stay?”

He turns back at you not realizing how close you are, less than a couple steps behind him and he almost crashes into you, but he prevents the two of you from tripping by stabilizing himself grabbing your hips, but his hands can’t get to let go afterwards. You breath heavily, feeling the arousal and heat from the proximity suffocating you.

“Please fuck me” you half ask, half beg, admitting to yourself that what you need right now is precisely what agent Hotchner said: relieving some stress and distraction.

SSA Aaron Hotchner can’t help himself.

Ugh, fuck it, he thinks. It’s the sheriff’s fault for turning off the videocamera in an attempt to scare you and try and trick you into making a confession.

Without any further notice, he grabs your ass and the highest part of the back of your thighs to lift you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his back and your arms around his neck, not breaking eye contact as you let him carry you to the table. He places you on the table with tenderness, caressing your back as he does so. You bring your dominant hand to grab his tie and pull him in for a long, wet, controlled kiss, running your other hand along his arm and chest, ending the trace on his cheek, allowing your thumb to move back and forth on his skin.

Quite to be honest, Aaron doesn’t know how well he’ll be able to perform. It’s been a while since he’s last had sex, and his mind is always either on his job, or his family. He’ll probably won’t last more than a few minutes. But he can try and make it up to you.

He begins to deviate his trace of wet kisses from your mouth, to you jaw, your neck, and slowly your chest, discovering little by little the skin under your clothes, while his hands drop by the side of your waist, hips and legs, exploring you under the midi skirt you’re wearing. His right hand finds the slit between your legs, covered by your panties, and starts caressing it through the fabric. He listens to you moan and brings his other hand to cover your mouth with endearment, letting you know you’ve got to keep quiet.

He moves your panties to the side and traces one finger along your slick, inserting it inside of you. You have to suppress an even louder moan. He moves that one finger up and down, hitting your G spot, inserting another finger when you’re ready.

“Please” you beg once again. Aaron chuckles, grabbing you and getting you closer to the edge of the table, proceeding to get down on his knees and sucking all your juices without any type of heads up. You can’t but let out a loud moan. He looks up at you, and even though his eyes demand silence, you can tell there’s the slightest grin on his lips, before he continues sucking and licking your folds and clit. Your back drops to the table, unable to keep yourself steady so you can watch him. You’re trembling with desire and lust “Agent Hotchner, please” you beg once again. Hearing you call him ‘agent Hotchner’ does something to him. He stands up, wiping a little bit of your juices off his mouth and kissing you afterwards, his hands resting on either side of you on the table, one of them coming to grab each of your nipples one at a time.

“How much do you want this?” he asks softly.

“I need you” you answer “Please, fill me”.

His eyes meet yours and he nods slowly. His mouth comes to encircle one of your nipples as he pulls down your underwear and hides it in his suit pocket, and undoes his belt and trousers, without taking any clothes off. You come up from your laying position to support yourself with your elbows on the table, not wanting to miss how the special agent from the FBI takes his cock out to give it to you.

When he’s got it out and ready for you, he pumps it up and down a couple of times before lifting entirely your skirt and positioning himself in your entrance. He enters slowly, letting you take him all in, allowing you to accustom to his size, and for the love of him, he feels like he could explode any second. He breathes deeply and clears his mind, his ego not letting him end up looking like a teenager having his first time.

“Let me ride you” you ask after a few slow thrusts, needing more of him. He looks at you and nods.

God, what is he doing? At least you’re innocent. Are you? Right? You’ve gotta be. The profile doesn’t fit. But they’ve been wrong before haven’t they?

You exchange positions so he’s laying on the table, you get on top of him and guide his cock back into you again. You part your lips in a moan when you come down on him and begin moving your hips, his hands moving alongside them. You lower yourself without stopping so you can kiss him, rubbing your whole torso on his, your sweat making your skin slip on his skin. He grabs your breasts so he can bring them to his mouth, nibbling them.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if this might just be another trick for you to let your guard down. But what could you say that might incriminate you? You know you’re innocent. What if he’s not even a real agent?

You’re so close that you can’t give yourself permission to sink into those thoughts, instead, you start riding Hotch faster and stronger, your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you do so.

“Aaron, Aaron…” you moan lowly. You don’t know if it’s okay that you’re on a first name basis already, but it just seems weird to you if you call him ‘Hotch’ like his colleagues.

It seems like he’s perfectly fine with it, as he digs his fingertips on your hips, encouraging you to keep going, feeling how your walls tense around him as your orgasm hits you.

You moan uncontrollably as you come, not being able to keep those in, digging your nails in Aaron’s shoulder suit sleeves. Afterwards, you lay slowly on his chest, until you start feeling like he’s pulling himself out.

“Wait” you gather and pull yourself up again, with him still inside of you “What are you doing? Don’t you wanna finish too?”

He looks at you in disbelief.

“Well I thought you may wanna rest or…” he begins explaining. You laugh and look fondly at him, lowering yourself again to murmur “don’t stop” in his ear.

Of course, he remembers. Twenties.

That’s everything he needs to start thrusting into you with everything he’s got left.

“(Y/N) I’m not-“ he tries to phrase “I’m not going to last longer, I’m- is it okay if I…?”

“Come inside me” you order “It’s okay, don’t worry, I’m on contraceptives”.

He decides to believe you, for his sake, and fastens his pace until it becomes sloppy, spilling inside of you just like you asked for, his cum filling you and showing between your folds as he brings himself out.

“Oh my god” he breathes out as he brings you down to his chest, securing his arms around your back, bringing you even closer to him “I’ll put you in handcuffs myself if it turns out you’re not innocent”.

You chuckle, tracing circles on his chest through the fabric of his shirt.

“I am. But still, you can put me in handcuffs any time you want”. He laughs alongside you, still feeling a bit like a teenager. A teenager who just did something very very wrong and that nobody should find out about. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a few seconds before his cellphone starts ringing, he answers almost immediately.

“Hotchner” he says calmly “Yes I’m still here. No, everything’s fine, she’s… behaved. Prints don’t match? Well of course they don’t, was García able to tell whose are they then? Right. Well, tell her to keep digging. I’ll see you in a bit”.

After he hangs up he turns to you with a playful look.

“You never touched the gun that was in your purse, did you?” you shake your head.

“Guns and, weapons of any type really, give me the creeps, I just left it there thinking it was someone’s idea of pranking me or something”.

“Well that may have just made your case. You’re free to go. Whoever was trying to frame you did a lousy job not guessing you weren’t going to grab the gun” he tells you arching his brows at you. You stare perplexed at him.

“You’re serious? Oh my god Aaron! Thank you!” you exclaim kissing him.

“Yes, and we should get dressed and get out of here before anything else happens” he affirms gently, helping you stand up so you both can fix your clothes.

“Well, agent Hotchner, it’s been a pleasure. Truly” you tell him when the two of you are walking out of the interrogation room towards the exit.

“Pleasure is all mine, (Y/N)” he says, winking an eye at you “I’d like you to know… I don’t usually do this. I don’t…”

“Aaron” you interrupt sweetly, one of your hands coming to grab his forearm to stop him “I know. I can tell. It’s okay. I know that if I hadn’t initiated it or followed up you would have never even considered it, I get it… but now, can we please do it again?”

He chuckles.

“You know where we’re staying and the number of my hotel room, sweetheart. And I also recall reading on some case file that you’re from Virginia and were just visiting your home town?”

You smile widely at him as you nod, pulling him in from his tie for one last kiss. Or who knows, it might not even be the last one.

MASTERLIST

[ddejavvu]

Hii my name is eloise and I love ur writing so much.

But imagine the reader gets an Uber home from drinking with her friends and she stumbles into the house thinking Aaron is asleep but really he’s waiting up for her… and he’s like 🫢🤭 are you drunk ????

And then he puts her to bed cutely and makes her drink water and take her makeup off GAHHHH

aww thank you eloise - that's such a pretty name! happy to meet you <3 i fear i changed this up a bit where he knew she was out drinking but he was waiting for a call from her! i hope you still enjoy it <3

--

Opening the door quietly is of utmost importance. If you don't, you might wake Aaron, and he's on a tight sleep schedule as it is. The uber you'd called to bring you home drives slow and doesn't peel away from the curb with a screech, which you're grateful for. Now all you have to do is get the key in the front door, which proves to be more difficult than you'd anticipated in your inebriated state.

You don't get more than a few haphazard scratches of the key against the lock before the door swings into the house, and, as you'd been leaning on it while trying to open it, so do you.

"Woah!" You gush as your feet nearly fall out from under you, but a pair of strong hands push against your biceps, and you're upright again.

You notice Aaron standing in front of you, in jeans and a t-shirt. Not in pajamas, and not sleeping, either. Your hazy brain realizes a second late that he's the one holding you up, and you scramble to hug him where he stands.

"Aaron!" You gush, "You're still awake. I thought you'd be night-night."

He lets out a breath of a laugh at your phrasing, more suited for Jack than himself. He masks his amusement by pulling you through the door and shutting it behind you. It clicks into place and he locks it after, peering down the street at the faint lights of your uber driving away.

"Honey, you're home a little early," He hums, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah! I was getting woozy," You muse, hanging off of his bicep while he stares down at your slumped form, "I thought I'd call it quits and come snuggle up with you."

You shimmy your hips at the word snuggle but you're a little uncoordinated, not that Aaron is judging you for it. He smooths away your mussed hair from your forehead to press a sweet kiss there, happy when you hum at the feeling.

"Sweetheart, I was waiting for you to call me and ask for a ride," He informs you, "You know I'll come get you whenever, right? You don't have to waste money on an uber."

"What?" Your brow furrows, "You don't have to wait up for me, Aaron. That's- I didn't mean to keep you awake.'

A soft line of tears blossoms in your waterline as your lip and voice tremble in unison, "I don't want to be a bother."

"You're not a bother!" Aaron insists, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks, "Hey, no, you wouldn't be bothering me if you asked for a ride. I stayed up because I wanted to, because I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"But you need sleep," You lament, sniffling weakly despite his soothing strokes over your cheeks, "And I would have told you to just sleep if I knew you were staying up. You could have been resting this whole time."

"I couldn't rest if you weren't next to me," He confesses, and he's glad you're a little bit drunk so that you don't tease him for how sappy it is. But it's true, and you sigh against the palm of his hand.

"Love you, Aaron." You hum, "Next time I'll call you."

"Good," He smiles softly, unable to resist leaning in once more to kiss your face. He targets your nose this time, and adores the way it scrunches in response.

"Let's get you changed," He pulls gently on your hand to guide you towards the bathroom, "And I'll take off your makeup too, honey. Then we can go night-night."

[ninyard]

Okay, so in the scenario where Aaron gets found not guilty, I can absolutely see the trial records being sealed.

Probably to protect Luther's reputation, man of god etc, lots in the trial records that could look bad for him, even if it was statements given by unreliable unstable teenagers.

And at that point, what Aaron has to put in the bit of the med school application where it says, "Have you ever been charged with a crime (other than minor traffic violations)" is essentially, "I was arrested and charged with murder. I was found not guilty at trial."

"Found not guilty," legally speaking, is "didn't do it."

He will probably have to go somewhere across the country for medical school, since there's kind of a media circus because of the year the Foxes had. And he'll have to hope that the people reviewing his application aren't exy fans. They wouldn't be allowed to judge him outside of what he put on the form, but also, admissions people are humans.

Otherwise, the people reviewing his application only know what he's put on the form, and "I was found not guilty" is a complete answer. Admissions people legally aren't allowed to google your crimes.

He's probably best off becoming, like, an ER doctor or a hospitalist rather than a family doctor, though. Chances of patients googling your name at some point if you're a family doctor: high. Chances of patients googling your name at some point when they see you in the ER: pretty low actually.

that last point is definitely a good one. i mentioned once that he might change his surname because even if he became a doctor, there’d be a pretty high that someone somewhere is going to google his name. maybe not everyone, maybe not often, but imagine he's older and healing at its years and years down the line, and nobody has mentioned it to him in four or five years and he's treating a kid and their mom goes,

"Wait, Dr. Aaron Minyard? Did you play exy for PSU?"

and he smiles and slides back in his chair and he's like "Yeah, well, I only did that to get me through college, you know. I much prefer doing this now. I'm a healthy guy, not a sporty guy!" (cue hearty doctor chuckle)

He's reaching over to give a kid a sticker or something and the mom yanks her kid out of the way and he knows. He knows the mom knows, that she remembers, that she knows what that name means, what that name did. It'd break his heart everytime that it happens to him.

[aftgficrec]

hi i finally caught this open! first of all thanks for doing this :)

can i get fics with neil and wymack? maybe even jean with wymack? like wymack taking care of them?

Wymack just can’t help himself, he has to take care of those kids!  There’s plenty of Wymack & Neil fics to choose from, there’s not so much content focussed on Jean and Wymack though (not yet anyway).  Maybe the rest of the trilogy will inspire writers to show more interactions between Jean and Coach Rhemann. - S

Previous recs:

Wymack & Neil fics in this parental Wymack post here

‘Wish you were here’, ‘See you again’ and ‘Watchful Eyes’ here

‘You Try Until You Can't’ here

‘Badass coach prompt’, ‘#1 Dad David Wymack protecting his foxes’ and ‘Wymack carrying Neil after Evermore’ here

‘Wymack and his kids pt.1’ and ‘pt.2’ here

‘Consequences of Coaching’ here

‘Taking That Step’ here

You might also like…

‘Yes, Coach’ here

Neil & Wymack

with gentle hands and a heavy heart by RainbowObsidian [Rated T, 1217 words, complete, 2024, locked]

Neil wakes up at the airport on New Year’s Eve and calls Wymack to come get him.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: injuries

hold on (you must be hurting) by ifitmeanslosingyou [Rated T, 1807 words, complete, 2024]

david was tired of his kids having to confess their darkest secrets for the entire world to judge and know and scrutinize first it was the twins during aaron's trial, now it was neil for nathan's it was fucking unfair to have his kids have to relieve their nightmares for the sake of proving they were only trying to save themselves day 15: childhood trauma | painful hug | “i did good right?”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder

though i am bruised, face of contusions (know I’ll keep movin') by ifitmeanslosingyou [Rated M, 1239 words, complete, 2024]

it was dark by the time neil stumbled to the familiar parking lot of wymack's apartment building he wasn't ready to face andrew yet, and he couldn't deal with his teammates concern right now back in may he hadn’t imagined he would be able to walk into a middle aged man's apartment willingly, a place he associated with safety today had been rough enough he needed safety day 22: bleeding through bandages | reopening wounds | “oh, that’s not good”

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: injuries, tw: blood

Festivities by the Dozen by Mercey [Rated G, collection, complete, 2024]

Chapter 3: Scrooge - Neil & Wymack

Some Palmetto shenanigans hehe <3

How to help your mafia traumatized adopted son to heal : An incomplete guide by Lockedoor [Not Rated, 8817 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2024, locked]

Neil is 16 years-old when his mother dies after being on the run with him for ten years. His father's men catch up to him not long after, and Neil turns to the FBI for help. He is placed on witness protection for the time needed to get the rest of his father's men off the streets. Neil is placed in an orphanage at Millport where he catches the attention of Abby, the orphanage's summer nurse. Proceeds to be adopted by Wymack and Abby. So, I'm writing this fic because my heart aches for Dadmack being the father figure that Neil needs.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: ptsd, tw: nightmares

You woke me up one night, Dripping crimson on the carpet by FoxgloveInSpace [Rated M, 547 words, complete, 2023]

This is a tiny one shot I wrote for @imperfectcourt over on tumblr for their post: Someone who is not depressed.... pls write about if Neil had been able to take that knife to his face..... what if Wymack was out of the room or apartment for some reason and could t stop him... And this is what I delivered. (Title from: Are you really ok? - Sleep Token)

tw: self harm, tw: injuries, tw: blood

for the hopes and the fears and the dreams by AmericanCanada [Rated T, 3199 words, 2023, locked]

Part 2 of (wit)jitp series

In the quiet before the others showed up, Andrew could hear their coach’s furious voice talking in his office. Though as the rest of the team filtered in, the noise eventually drowned him out.   Wymack discovers a Raven on his court before practice and isn't quite sure what to do about it.  - Set during chapter 8 of (why is there) joy in this poison, here is a look at what Wymack and Nathaniel talked about when he showed up at the Foxhole Court -

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: injuries

say you will by mitigates [Rated T, 1145 words, complete, 2022]

Nathan gave him the color of his eyes and his name. While he had come to terms with the auburn hair and his blue eyes, those traits were just more things that Nathan gave him.  David Wymack, however, gave him a father. He stood as a father, he stayed as a father, he cared like a father would- like a father should.

Dog days are over by anonymua [Rated G, 836 words, complete, 2022]

When Neil returns from Evermore he’s in worse shape than canon. Good thing Wymack is experienced in patching his foxes up.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: injuries, tw: blood

Jean & Wymack:

please i've been on my knees, change the prophecy by perchancetosleep [Rated T, 23940 words, complete, 2024]

He can almost pretend, sitting in a warm house at the tiny kitchen table listening to Elodie talk about her dance lessons, that everything is normal. He can pretend that he can stay, that Elodie and him were never separated, and that everything is normal and he is good and he will get to keep this. But Jean had died in that fucking basement years ago, and he’s getting tired of forcing his body to keep going. Sure, Kevin had found a way out and made it to college and made a life, but he had a father waiting for him on the outside. All Jean has waiting for him at home is a set of guardians that are going to be pissed off that he’s failing chemistry and that he didn’t do his chores and that he’s alive.

tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: implied/referenced abuse

i swear that i'm a good kid by perchancetosleep [Rated T, 11229 words, complete, 2024]

“Oh, and Jean?” The guidance counselor's voice has him pausing in the doorframe. “Kevin Day has restarted at this school while you were suspended. Both your guardian and his father have requested that you stay away from him. There will be consequences if you do not heed these wishes.” Jean can’t keep the shock off of his face as he stalks out of the office. The last time he had seen Kevin, he was depositing him on Wymack’s doorstep with a poorly bandaged hand, a note he had stolen from Tetsuji’s office, and enough benzos in him to stop him from fighting Jean the whole way there. For about a month after that, Jean held onto hope that Kevin would come back for him, or that he would tell someone about Evermore and they would all get out. That hope has long since died.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: panic attacks 

I wanna heal by Anonymous [Rated M, 1815 words, complete, 2024]

Jean is healing at Abby's house when an unexpected result of his abuse at Evermore comes to light…

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: dissociation, tw: miscarriage, tw: blood

Jean & Coach Rhemann:

they all say that it gets better (but what if i don't) by perchancetosleep [Rated T, 8873 words, complete, 2024]

“Coach, what’s going on?” Jeremy asks, his voice shaking just a little. This is so out of character for Rhemann, who would never ask anyone to return to help the team. This is Rhemann acting like he has for Jeremy, and how he wants to act for Jean: like a parent that they don’t have. “Is Jean okay?” “He’s never going to ask for it, but I think he really could use a visit,” Coach admits. “He’s having a tough time this year.” Considering that Jean had showed up to USC with more stitches than intact skin, Jeremy fears learning what Rhemann means by “a tough time”. “I’m on the next flight out,” Jeremy says, and then he hangs up the phone.  (Or, Jean and the no good very bad fifth year).

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: ptsd 

But Melt Your Headaches, Call It Home by FallOutFanfic101 [Rated M, 5179 words, incomplete, last updated June 2023]

Charlie Rhemann always figured having a one-child household was enough for him (especially in this California economy, thank you very much). Until one day, Jean Moreau stepped out of LAX Airport with a face as battered as his bag, and Charlie couldn’t help but take the kid under his wing. In which over his first year with the Trojans, Jean quickly becomes coach’s favorite.

tw: implied/referenced abuse

David Wymack, fierce protector by @wilhelminyard [tumblr, 2024]

david wymack is such a fierce protector. he loves so deeply and so unconditionally it makes me wanna cry.

Wymack is the one to call by @lesbiansfor-blackbeard [tumblr, 2024]

because wymack is the one you call when you're just lost and you don't know what else to do

Every damn day I wake up and wonder how Wymack must have felt by @inadvisablebutinevitable [tumblr, 2024]

Every day. Every damn day I wake up and wonder how Wymack must have felt hearing Jean say, “Kevin never once doubted you’d take him in …  I laughed at him. I’d never taken him for a dreamer.”

What if Wymack met the foxes before? by @sapphoherselz [tumblr, 2024]

hi do you ever wonder if wyamack EVER met the Foxes before their time? I'm talking any age, any time in their lives, especially the ones where they really needed a paternal figure to help them out or get them out of trouble?

Wymack easily lifts Jean by @hyperboleigh91 [tumblr, 2024]

Art

Dadmack with baby jean and baby kevin by @emerdoodls

for the dad who has everything… by @leroiestmortvivelareine

Imagine having to look for your bitch ass kid in an airport by @clementinecloudz

dadmack or smthn by @clementinecloudz

"help me." "let me." by @02511213942

what if they show up to practice in matching jorts art by @ziegenkind094