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evansbby · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy!kink, smutt, bunny lingerie, babying, mocking, misogyny, poyt!Steve being kinky and controlling, 18+, minors dni

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve buys his omega a very special gift.

𝐀/𝐍: This is a drabble for my fic POYT. I got super inspired by this ask by @foxyprincessworld . Enjoy!

“Come here. I have a surprise for you.”

You look up from your novel to see Steve standing in the doorway, an oddly excited look on his face and a brown package in his hand. Immediately, you put your book down and go over to him as he sits down on the edge of the bed. He pats his knee and you waste no time in sinking down on his lap, looking up at him shyly.

“A surprise?” You whisper, reaching out to stroke the unassuming-looking brown package. You wonder what it could be, but seeing the wicked glint in Steve’s eye, you know it can’t be anything good.

“Yes. Go ahead and open it, omega.”

Steve’s big hand has snuck up underneath your hoodie, stroking your bare back sensually. It makes your breath hitch in your throat. You can feel him hard underneath you, which tells you exactly what you and him will be doing for the rest of the night. But what did this package have to do with it?

Carefully, you tear it open, a gasp dying in your throat when you see what’s inside. At first, all you see is pale pink tissue and shiny paper. After pushing all that aside, you’re greeted with soft pink lace that feels like butter on your fingertips. It’s lingerie – adorned with pretty embroidery and ribbons. So intricately stitched, and in Steve’s favourite colour for you – pink.

“It’s pretty.” You breathe, stroking the soft lace. You examine the G-string panties, feeling the blood rush up to your cheeks. That wouldn’t cover anything, you think to yourself. Steve had told you in the past that he found your regular flowery panties to be extremely sexy, so this was something completely different.

And then you feel something fluffy. Heart skipping a beat, you gingerly hold the G-string up and gasp softly when you see the fluffy tail sticking out from the back. Glancing back into the package, you see a pair of fluffy white bunny ears that completely match with the tail.

“This is… Steve, oh my gosh, I…” You don’t know what to say, and your alpha looks extremely smug as he clutches you close, grinding you down on his hard crotch and pressing his nose against your hairline and inhaling deeply.

“A cute little bunny costume.” Steve grins, giving your cheek a condescending pat, “For a cute little baby omega like you. Do you like it, baby?”

Like it? You were kind of intimidated by it, and mortified by the idea of wearing it. It could barely even be classified as a costume, what with how revealing it was. But you know that Steve expected you to have good manners, and so you nod. “Y-Yes. It’s very nice, thank you.”

Steve licks his lips, his hand which was stroking your bare back under your hoodie slips sideways and grabs your breast, giving it a harsh squeeze. You gulp, feeling your nipple harden and poke against his palm. Oh, he was doing that thing again! Where he made you all dumb just by touching you, making your mind all foggy and susceptible to whatever depravity he had in store for you.

“Say, thank you daddy.” Steve commands you darkly, his thumb and forefinger casually tweaking your nipple.

“Th-Thank you, daddy.” You squeak out submissively.

Your alpha smiles, and it’s crazy how quickly he switches from intimidating and strict to playful. He reaches down to give your ass a squeeze, his other hand still cupping your breast. You bet he can feel your heartbeat quickening as you swallow in anticipation and slight dread about what’s to follow.

“Why don’t you put on your gift for daddy?” Steve asks you, except you know it’s not a request.

“B-But I… I don’t think… Steve – I mean daddy – I, uh…” You grimace, your stutter worse than ever. “Please, I d-don’t think I would look good in it.”

Steve smirks, his eyes dark with wicked lust. He presses his lips down against the soft skin of your neck, baring his teeth and grazing them threateningly over your mating gland. He traces your jagged mark with his tongue, and your head falls in submission as your body begins to buzz with an innate need to obey him.

“Put it on, omega.” Steve says quietly against your skin, a threatening edge to his tone as he continues playing with your nipple, “Don’t make me ask you again.”

You stand in front of him fifteen minutes later, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. The lingerie feels soft against your bare skin, but also tight as it pushes up and accentuates your curves. Your butt is practically on complete display, with the bunny tail nestled against your tailbone. The fluffy bunny ears are crookedly attached to your hair (you couldn’t get them straight) and your bare feet tap nervously against the carpet. (Steve always insisted you leave your feet bare – no socks or anything around the house ever).

“Fuck.” His jaw tenses as he looks you up and down, lust-blown navy eyes drinking in your curves as his hand meanders down to his crotch. “You look so hot, baby. Like a slutty little bunny. Keep your hands down to your sides.”

You sigh, lowering your arms from where you’d instinctively pulled them up to cover your chest. Steve’s gaze looks like he’s about to eat you up, with the way he’s staring at you. But what exactly does he see? Because when you’d glanced at yourself in the bathroom mirror before stepping out to show him, all you’d seen was an extremely insecure girl who looked very uncomfortable and kind of silly.

“Turn around for daddy, omega. Slowly, so I can see you.”

You do as he says, turning slowly. And you hear a sharp intake of breath behind you, followed by the sound of his zipper.

“Goddamn that little fucking bunny tail. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how sexy you look right now.”

“Th-Thank you– OW!”

Steve smacks your ass hard, and you stumble forward. You’re about to fall but he grabs your arm and yanks you back till you’re standing between his legs. You breathe hard as you brace yourself, your back still facing him. His large hand lands on your ass again, stroking the soft, bare flesh while you quiver under his touch, waiting for the blow.

“You have such a cute little ass, baby. Even cuter with your little bunny tail poking out.” Steve murmurs, his voice thick with lust as he grabs a handful of your ass and gives it a jiggle. “Fuck, this cute little bunny butt is just begging for a slap, huh?”

He slaps your ass again, the harsh sound echoing off the walls as you whimper, held captive by his tight grip.

“C’mon, omega. Tell me to slap your cute bunny butt again. I know you like it.” He chuckles darkly, stroking your sore ass and jiggling it lewdly like it’s a toy for his own amusement. “And say it just like that, say you want daddy to slap your cute little bunny butt.”

You scrunch your eyes shut, glad that you’re facing away from him and he can’t see how mortified you look. But of course, his dirty talk and babying has your slick beginning to drip down to your thighs – the G-string doing nothing to stop it.

“Daddy, p-please slap my cute little bunny butt.” You mumble, thinking about how you’d absolutely die if anyone else saw you like this or heard what you were saying.

Steve moans, giving your ass another firm slap, “That’s a good fucking girl, doing exactly what you’re told just like you always do. You’re a submissive little baby bunny omega aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“And by the looks of it, you’re also a horny little bunny. Can’t help but get wet from a spanking, can you, omega?” Steve smirks, yanking you back into his lap and immediately pressing his big palm squarely against your mound. The thin triangle of lacy fabric barely conceals anything, and the string part of your panties is completely soaked through with your juices. “God, you’re so fucking slutty, baby. I wish the guys could see this.”

Your head jerks up in alarm, “N-No!”

SMACK.

His hand draws back and lands a harsh slap on squarely on your pussy. The wet sound resonates across the room and you gasp as jolts of pleasure spark up your body. You can feel your bundle of nerves tingling at the contact and you whimper and grab his muscular forearm hard.

“Don’t forget your manners, dumb bunny.” Steve flicks your already crooked bunny ears and chuckles darkly, “You can never say no to your alpha. And anyways, I think the guys should see you like this. It’d remind them how they could never have an innocent little bunny omega like you because you’re mine, and all their girls are dumb whores. But not you.”

He dips his head down to capture your lips in a kiss, grabbing your hand in his and squeezing it as he kisses you. And oh, you wish he’d kiss you forever! As depraved as his words and actions are, his kisses are still so passionate, so deep, so wonderful! You sigh and melt into him, enthusiastically kissing him back, trying desperately to get closer to him without making it to obvious. His scent is rich and potent, and you know he’s very turned on as the two of you desperately rut against each other.

“You’re leaking on my jeans, baby omega.” Steve pulls away and laughs, grabbing your hair and not-so-gently pushing your head down to look. Your eyes widen at the sizeable wet spot on his jeans under where you’re sitting.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Steve, I didn’t mean to–”

“Shhh, you’re just a baby bunny, you can’t help having accidents, can you?” Steve says, patting your cheek before pulling it condescendingly. “Tell daddy how baby bunny omegas like you enjoy wetting yourselves all over daddy.”

He seemed to really be into this whole bunny thing – despite the fact that you still felt extremely uncomfortable and silly in the outfit. But Steve looked feral and incensed. He was playing with you on his lap right now like how a predator plays with its prey before devouring it. But you knew you’d be devoured soon, and you knew the animal inside him would take over any second, making him rough and unforgiving as he often got when he was feral and turned on beyond belief.

“B-But I haven’t wet myself like that.” You can’t help but say shyly, because he was acting like it was… the other kind of wet. And you’d never do that. Your juices staining his jeans was mortifying enough for you, but peeing on him? Oh god… You’d bury your head in the ground right then and there.

Steve tickles your side playfully, holding you flush against him when you squirm. And then his eyes take on an entirely new type of glint, and he presses your back to his chest, his hand which was resting on your pussy slipping up to press against your bladder.

“I could make you wet yourself for real, you know.” He says slyly, giving your bladder another hard press while you freeze in fear, looking up at him with wide eyes. He wouldn’t…

He seems to read your thoughts as he snickers, “I mean, imagine what everyone would say if they found out? My cute little baby omega wetting herself and ruining the cute bunny outfit daddy gifted you. Bet you’d be so humiliated, huh?”

He groans at the thought, grinding your body down on his hard, clothed dick as he presses against your bladder again. You whimper, softly begging him to stop but he’s too turned on to even hear you. But even if he had heard you, you don’t think he would’ve listened. All you can do is silently pray that he doesn’t follow through with his depraved ideas.

Steve’s lips press soft kisses down the nape of your neck while he fondles and explores your body. He can’t seem to get enough of the lingerie you have on, tugging your panties and snapping your bra strap against your shoulder blade, laughing cruelly when you yelp. He tugs at the fluffy tail attached to your G-string, all the while making out with you like he’s been starved of touch and contact all day.

Not that you’re complaining.

“Don’t worry, baby omega. We’ll save that for another day.” Steve assures you, giving your bladder one last press and savouring it as he watches you squirm in his lap. “Maybe when we’re in more of a public setting, hm? There’s a party at Ransom’s house tomorrow night, it would be cute to see you piss yourself on my lap in the middle of a crowded room with all my friends watching, huh?”

You don’t answer, instead just looking up at him with a pleading expression, which your alpha ignores as his gaze shifts elsewhere and he grows distracted.

“Fuck, I see you got that pedicure I asked you to get, hm, omega?” Without warning, he manoeuvres you sideways on his lap and grabs your ankle, hoisting your foot up. Your toes gleam with fresh white polish – you’d just gotten them done this morning after Steve had sent you the money and specially requested it. The anklet he gave you (the one which spells his name out) also gleams in the light, making your alpha grin.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer, eager to change the subject. “The pedicurist said that white is the most popular colour to get.”

“It looks fucking hot.” Steve says, yanking your foot up further and pressing a kiss on each of your toes while you gape at him. He did seem to have a fixation with your feet, always grabbing them and massaging them whenever the two of you were together — during sex and even just casually.

You remember once, Steve had called you to sit with him while he watched TV downstairs. And to your absolute chagrin, Bucky and Sam had been there as well. But that hadn’t stopped Steve from grabbing your bare feet and holding them in his lap, massaging and caressing them till you started feeling all tingly and embarrassed. He’d even kissed your toes then, how he was doing now, and you really hoped Bucky and Sam hadn’t seen that. But Steve had soon pulled you into the bathroom to fuck you, clearly having worked himself up by touching your feet.

You’re jolted back into the present when you feel his lips part, and he sucks on your toe sensually, all the while keeping eye contact with you. Oh my… he’d never done that before! You don’t know how to feel about it, but your body makes that decision for you when your pussy throbs and you clench.

“I see you getting wetter, baby.” Steve releases your toe with a pop and shoots you a smirk, “Little baby omega getting turned on by her daddy sucking her toes, just like last time.”

Last time? But you have no time mull over what that means before Steve is manhandling you onto the bed. It takes him two seconds flat till he’s leisurely lying down on his bed, his back propped up against a bunch of pillows. His fingers grip your hips as he holds you in place on top of him.

“Take daddy’s dick out, dumb baby bunny.” Steve orders you, tugging the fluffy tail on your G-string again.

You do as he says, feral desires overtaking your entire being when your hand comes into contact with his cock. He’s hard as a rock and thick as a soda can, your fingers don’t even wrap all the way around him. And he’s so hot and pulsating, so angry and red as you take his fat dick out of his pants.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve hisses, watching your every move as you hold his dick in your hand. “Look at you, such a little fucking baby, staring at my big daddy dick like you don’t know what to do with it. Like you’re a stupid, innocent little baby bunny who’s never seen her alpha’s cock before. Fuck, baby, jack me off.”

You bite your lip, the feral omega inside you taking over as you begin to stroke your hand up and down his thick length. He feels like a steel rod underneath you, and his blue eyes are sharp as they watch your every move.

“Uh…Is this…is this okay, daddy?” You ask.

“God, you’re so fucking innocent, omega. You’d think you wouldn’t be such a fucking baby… You know, since you’ve been taking my dick up your little baby pussy daily for the past month.” He exhales, blowing a tuft of his blonde hair out of his face as he laughs at you. “Spit on daddy’s dick, dumb bunny. And go faster.”

Your senses are buzzing with this feral need to please your alpha. Your mind is clouded in lust and the desire to be submissive for him. It’s encoded in your DNA, and you can’t help but do exactly what he says. Spitting down on his dick, you smear your saliva up and down his length as you pump harder. Wanting nothing more than to make him cum, give alpha the pleasure he deserves because he takes care of you so good, and he’s in charge, and you’ll do whatever he says, and –

“Don’t think I can’t feel your little bunny cunt rubbing up on my leg, omega.” Steve’s voice is thick with lust as he grabs your wrist, taking control of the pace at which you’re jacking him off. You yelp, unknowing your hips have begun grinding down against the deliciously rough material of his jeans.

“S-Sorry,” you squeak, only for your alpha to grab you by the back of your neck and drag your lips to his, capturing them in a heady kiss. His teeth bite at your lower lip, almost drawing blood with the carnal way he’s making out with you. But you can’t help but kiss him back with equal vigour, whining when he pulls away and snickers in your face.

“You know what baby bunny omegas do best, right?” He asks you softly against your lips.

“Wh-What?”

“They bounce on their alpha’s dicks.” Steve answers, giving your ass a lewd squeeze and jiggle. “Can you do that for me, baby omega?”

“Yes, daddy.” You scramble to obey him, turned on so beyond belief that your cream is dripping freely down your thighs, and Steve’s nose twitches as he smells your desire. You reach down to tug your panties off, only for him to slap your hand away.

“Keep those on, baby.” He says darkly, “How’re you gonna be my baby bunny if you lose your sexy little tail, huh?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know…”

“Turn around for me, omega. Daddy wants to see your sexy tail and your cute little ass bounce. Do it now, before you go completely dumb when my cock splits your baby pussy in half.”

You try to obey him but prove to be too slow, your limbs already feeling shaky and like jelly because of how turned on you are. You can feel your clit throbbing, all puffy and swollen and neglected. Steve huffs impatiently, grabbing your hips and manhandling you till your back is facing him.

In one swift motion, he tugs your G-string aside and sits you down on his dick.

“OH FUCK!” You cry out at the burning pain. You’re so wet but taking his larger than average dick is always a struggle to get used to. Your insides feel stretched out by his inhumane length, and Steve wastes no time in grinding you down on him till he’s stuffed his huge dick all the way inside you, and you can practically feel him in your womb because of how deep he is.

“Bounce, baby bunny.” Steve whispers, grabbing a handful of your fluffy tail and giving it a tug, his other palm colliding with your ass cheek and making you jump. “And make sure to shake your ass on my dick, omega. I know how shy you can be, but you’re a fucking freak in the sheets so don’t make me ask you twice.”

What follows is extremely depraved. You lose yourself in your desire and submission to him, doing every single thing he asks you to do. Fuelled by his praise and his pleasure, you rut back against him, grinding down on his thick dick as it tears up your insides. Bouncing up and down to the best of you r ability, while Steve slaps your ass over and over again, calling you a horny little bunny who can’t help but ride her daddy.

“Good baby,” Steve praises, grabbing a handful of your ass and you know he’s got his eyes trained on where you two meet, his dick sinking in and out of you. “You’re making daddy feel so good, omega. I wish the guys could see you now, dressed up like a slutty bunny and servicing your daddy like the good omega you are. You like making me feel good, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah – oh, oh my!” you whimper at how deep he is, how the tip of his dick is hitting that special spot inside you so deliciously. How it hurts because he’s so big but it’s a good kind of hurt, a good kind of stretch that makes you desperate for more. Desperate for him to fuck you, and not just have you service him by bouncing on his dick. You need him to take control. “D-Daddy, please!”

“Getting tired already?” Steve mocks, yanking your hair to make you look back at him. You pant and nod helplessly, hoping to gain his sympathy as your muscles begin to ache from bouncing up and down on his thick dick. But he only laughs, pulling your cheek condescendingly, “You gotta tell me what you want, baby bunny. You want daddy to take control and fuck you like a little bunny omega in heat? Like I always do?”

“Y-Yeah!”

SMACK.

“Then use your fucking words, omega.”

“Please, daddy! P-Please fuck me, okay? N-Need you to do it, daddy, please, please, please!” You cry, all dignity flying out the window as you grow desperate, your hands making grabby motions as you needily try to clutch at your alpha. But again, he just smirks and bats you away, giving your ass another hefty smack that leaves you howling.

“Fine. I guess daddy will have to fuck you on your hands and knees like a dumb breeding bunny bitch, and pump you full of my babies, huh, omega?”

His filthy words only turn you on further, and true to his word, Steve has you on your hands and knees in the next few moments. And that’s when he truly goes into jackhammer mode, the only thing keeping you from collapsing underneath him is his arm around your stomach. His other hand grips your hip tightly as he fucks into you like only he ever could. His hips a blur and the steady smacking sound mixed with your cries of pleasure and his name the only sounds bouncing together around the room.

“Goddamit, omega, how the fuck are you still so tight, huh? After I’ve ripped you apart more times then your dumb bunny brain could count.” Steve slaps your ass one, two, three times in quick succession. “Tell me you’re a dumb little bunny who only thinks about getting fucked.”

“ ‘m a dumb – little – bunny – oh, oh daddy! Oh my god!” Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head when you feel his thumb rubbing your clit. You lose your train of thought completely, going limp in his arms as he fucks you like you’re his little rag doll, his little fucktoy. Like you’re just a hole for your alpha to use and abuse.

The coil inside you breaks, and you cum hard. Waves of hot pleasure searing through your body, your pussy clenching and clenching, milking his big dick as he continues to rut into you. Your walls pulsate around him and he lets out a string of profanity, grabbing your breasts and squeezing them hard.

“Stupid little bunny, you just couldn’t hold it in, could you? Fuck!” Steve swears, clutching your butt so hard you know it’ll leave a bunch of bruises. But that’s the last thing you’re thinking about now as you ride through the immeasurable pleasure of your orgasm, and Steve continues to fuck you through it. “Goddamn this tight baby bunny pussy. Fuck, baby, daddy’s gotta keep fucking you. I don’t care if you’re done, baby. Gotta get you pregnant tonight.”

Steve’s insatiable the whole night, fucking you in every position possible. Till your pretty lace bra is torn to shreds by the feral hands of your alpha, and bruises litter your body, and you’re panting and out of breath and covered in your slick and sweat. But Steve is incensed, flicking your bunny tail and growing hard as he comes back for round two, three, four, five – his stamina never ending.

“Gonna knock you the fuck up, baby bunny.” Steve murmurs in your ear, holding you up because you’ve all but passed out from the different ways you’ve been fucked tonight. Your G-string somehow still remains on your body, despite the fact that everything else has been ripped off or broken. “Think you can put this sexy little bunny get-up on for me and not expect daddy to get you pregnant? Fuck, baby, you’re killing me. You’re so fucking sexy and you’re killing me.”

By the end of it, your limbs burn with soreness, and you lie flat on the bed, breathing hard and fucked out into a stupor. Steve, finally giving you a reprieve, jacks off his still half-hard dick (he’d pumped you full of his load three times tonight) while playing with your fluffy bunny tail and your ass, fondling it and smacking it and squeezing it like it was his toy. You even feel his teeth graze against your butt cheek, but you’re sapped of all energy. All you can do is lie there and take it, your poor hole abused and leaking his cum onto the bedsheets.

“You make a sexy little bunny, omega.” Steve tells you, one hand still playing with your fluffy tail while the other meanders down between your legs to swirl his leaking cum around your raw pussy. You whine softly because it hurts, but your alpha pays no heed, shushing you by feeding you his cum.

“I think I’ll dress you up as a bunny when we go to Ransom’s party tomorrow.” Steve muses, stroking your ass sensually. “That way, everyone can see all the new tricks daddy taught you tonight.”

AHHHH THE END!

GUYS. What do you think?!?! PLEASE give me feedback!! i love you a lot mwah thank you for reading!!! pls pls pls reblog n all that, i will love you forever!

#poyt #poyt drabble #steve rogers #chris evans #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader

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starminzoo · 5 months ago

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╰─▗ ▘➤𖥸 obsession in the shadows

꒰ risa's note ꒱ was just watching a show and the sudden inspiration hit so i thought why not just write it down but with yunho. I love my pretty boy sm <3 hope you guys enjoy!

warnings: stalking (not cool), fingering, consent (not verbally but it's there), dirty talk, pet names, pervert behavior, threats, creepy behavior (not much) , not proof read

it all started when yunho the quiet yet charming, shy yet talented student from the art department asked you to be his muse for his painting project which was due in 3 weeks. you said yes and how couldn't you, when he asked you in such polite and hushed manner your nearly folded when he said a silent 'please' for you to become his muse. since that day you started visiting his apartment for the project, you always went to his after your classes, first few days were spent in finding a perfect pose, clothes, and sketching. during that you guys made small talk here and there. since yunho was mostly quiet in college and he used to talk when spoken too you were charmed by his voice soft and smooth as you barely talked with him. when you were posing for him he always made sure you were comfortable or you could try another pose, he always kept his distance and remained respectful which drew you more close to him.

the reason yunho decided to choose you as his muse was that he had enough of hiding in the shadows he had enough of admiring you from a distance, he wanted you in his arms, to kiss you, to love you, to make you his, your enigmatic smile, captivating eyes casting a spell over him, at first it was small crush but slowly it turned into a dangerous obsession, he started to study your every move, kept his eyes on every action he started invading your privacy. he had lost count of how many times he had climbed up the window of your room, lost count of how many hours he had spent sitting on your bed, lost count of how many panties he had stolen from you, he knew this was dangerous but did he backed down? no but the real question is that he thought he was the only obsessed one? wrong as his obsession deepens he also started to take in the strange happening around him, his hoodies, sweatshirts and some other things started to vanish one by one,he started to receive love letters in his locker which were really creepy alongside with a black rose, he had gifts left at his door with no address or name, he was not alarmed and just took it as prank until he received a package as usual no name or anything but as he opened it his jaw slightly fell seeing his black hoodie shredded into pieces, he was wearing this just yesterday as he contemplated on his thoughts , his eyes fell on a note opening it he read it "Next time it will be the girl not the hoodie"

you had just arrived back from yunho's house it had been a long day for you and yunho was mostly done with his painting so the sessions had gotten longer to perfect the painting you took a shower and got ready for bed you decided to go commando and just threw a hoodie over yourself and went to bed. the familiar scent lulling you to sleep, it hadn't been long since you started to drift to sleep when you heard some soft rattling outside your window you smiled slightly in your pillow knowing who it was, to make sure the unwelcomed guest doesn't get the hint of you not sleeping you moved to turn on your back slowly while face snuggled in the pillow, few minutes later you felt the bed dip near your feet as he sat down hands landing your naked legs, warming your body up "you look like an angel, so innocent so pretty" his whispered out his words, god you wanted to ruin him so bad and show him how much innocent of a girl you were there was silence for sometimes before he started to drag his hands further up, you pretended to stretch and spread your legs a bit causing your hoodie to ride up providing him with the view of your bare wet cunt "fuck angel no panties today, you are gonna be the death of me" you chuckled in your mind you wanted to test him you wanted to see if he would give in his urges as he never did anything against your will well except for stealing your panties causing you to buy more and more. you heard his breath becoming shallow as he continued to stare at your cunt, you slowly felt a finger press against your clit causing a soft moan to leave your mouth " i am sorry baby so sorry" you wanted him to have you but you didn't wanted him to be guilty of it so you opened your eyes and stared straight at him. "fuck yunho I want you baby please please touch me" you begged in a sleepy voice.

his face became beet red when his eyes made contact with you, he felt so guilty and embarrassed but as he heard your words he was shocked. you were ok with this? you wanted him? were you sure or just in sleep? weren't you going to call the cops on him? he had many questions but when he felt your on his rubbing it against your cunt , he watched you hump his hand as soft moans left your mouth as you did you he sat there shocked but you snapped him out of it quickly "I don't have my legs spread just for you to qawk yun fuck do something please" as you begged him pathetically your whining and lust filled eyes sending blood to his dick. he wasted no more time climbing up on you kissing your lips furiously one hand holding your throat and the other swatted your hands away as he pushed two fingers inside your gaping hole the action ripping a loud moan from your throat as he swallowed it, his fingers scissored you hitting your g-spot. god bless yunho for having long fingers as they drove you insane his lips busy painting another masterpiece on your neck, your hands in his hair as one attempted to get him naked but before you could he fastened the pace of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge you held onto him for dear life, legs threatening to close but he kept them apart with his thighs "fuck you look so gorgeous falling apart for me angel" his name fell from your mouth like mantra as you finally reached your high your legs twitching, around his hips, eyes rolled back from pleasure, while mouth wide open as moans and whimpers left your mouth. yunho pulled out his fingers and put them in mouth "hmm as sweet as i had imagined" he kissed you making you taste yourself on his tongue. you both laid there him on top of you, both too mesmerized by the soft kisses you shared.

after cleaning you up he climbed back in bed removing his jacket and now just in his hoodie. you pulled him close to you snuggling in his scent which was more strong then the one on the hoodie "so what are we now yun" "whatever you want baby" he smiled and softly kissed your head " but wait is that my hoodie" he glanced down at you as you sheepishly snuggled in his chest and giggled " oh god so it was you, my little stalker" "oh don't act like you are innocent ok you climbed up my window several times, stole my panties which were expensive by the way, so if I didn't had my own little obsession with you I would have called the cops on you long time ago ok mister" you retored back as you playfully glared at him, he put his arms up surrending himself before you both fell asleep peacefully in each others arms.

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

Aaron Hotchner x fem!professor!reader Genre: fluff... I think? Summary: Late at night, Aaron struggles to comfort his inconsolable son, Jack. Desperate, he turns to a book and a plush, gifts from you, which momentarily soothe Jack. However, work interrupts as another case calls him away, deepening the rift with his family. At the FBI, the team investigates a series of murders rooted in something up your alley. Warnings: DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH, Haley being mad at him, CM case in detail. Word Count: 9.8k Dado's Corner: Not only did the brilliant mind of @c-losur3 inspired the "dad Hotch" part, but she also gave birth to Aaron "You sound exactly like her" Hotchner. Show her some love! This entire chapter is written from Aaron's POV. Fun fact: when he's with Jack, he’s simply Aaron. But the moment the phone rings, he shifts back into being Hotch. fun, right?

masterlist

It was late into the night, and the house was quiet... save for the soft hum of the baby monitor and Jack’s persistent cries echoing through the walls.

Aaron paced back and forth, cradling his crying son against his chest, his heart sinking a little more with each sob. He had tried everything - rocking Jack, singing lullabies in a low, soothing voice, even walking him in circles around the room. But nothing worked. Jack's cries, relentless and heartbreaking, filled the quiet house.

Jack was inconsolable.

Hotch was no stranger to pressure. He had faced down killers, stared into the eyes of danger, but this? This was different. This was Jack, and the stakes felt infinitely higher.

He had held off on trying this one last thing, but now, he had no choice. He paused, glancing at the small bookshelf in the corner of the room. ��There, among the rows of children’s books, sat one that he hadn’t reached for yet tonight. His eyes settled on the small brown plushie sitting nearby that had arrived months ago in a giant cardboard box - your gift.

It had been an unexpected surprise, that day. A package too big for the porch had appeared, and if it hadn’t been for the Croatian postage stamp, Hotch might’ve thought it was a mistake. But no, he knew it was from you. You had mentioned in one of your letters that you were off to Croatia for a teaching stint, and he'd expected maybe a postcard or a quick note, but instead, there was this - a large package filled with something quirky, something that was so... you.

When Haley had seen it sitting by the door, she’d raised her eyebrows, eyeing the box with suspicion. “What on earth is that?”

Hotch had smiled faintly, already guessing. “It’s from her.”

Opening the package had been an experience in itself. Nestled inside was the plushie - a strange-looking creature Haley hadn’t immediately recognized. Her brow had furrowed as she picked it up, holding it at arm's length. "Is this... a brown skunk?" she had asked, her tone teetering between amusement and confusion.

But Aaron had found it endearing, charming in that odd, thoughtful way. Attached to the plushie's tag was one of your signature sticky notes, written in your unmistakable blue ink. It read:

"Hi Jack, meet your new friend, the pine marten. I read that humans are the greatest threat to the European pine marten, hope you can prove them wrong. He's a cool guy! He is also the national animal of Croatia (a privilege reserved for a select few). P.S. Here's your first word in Croatian: Kuna. It means marten."

Aaron had smiled at the note, his heart warming as he imagined you carefully writing out those words, taking the time to craft something special for his son. The gift was thoughtful, filled with meaning, as all your gestures were.

But that wasn’t all. Beneath the plush toy lay a small book, its cover adorned with a cartoonish pine marten embarking on what looked like an adventure. There was another sticky note stuck to the front:

"To Jack's parents: Here’s a complimentary book with the pine marten’s adventures. You’ll find translations in English, but I encourage you to try reading it in Croatian. Aaron, if you ever actually attempt it, give me a call. I’m always up for a comedy show."

Haley had chuckled at that, shaking her head. “I always wonder how she comes up with these ideas…”

Aaron, flipping through the book, hadn’t replied, too caught up in your careful handiwork. Each page was thoughtfully illustrated, with colorful hand-lettering in the margins. You had even drawn little pine martens on the sticky notes, making it seem as if they were the ones doing the translating. You’d put so much thought into it that he could feel it in every page he turned.

And somehow, since the day Jack was born, that pine marten plushie had become his favorite - maybe he could feel the love and care that came with it, the way only children could.

Now, as he grabbed the toy and the book, a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Jack’s cries had softened just a bit when he saw the plush marten.

Maybe this would work. It had to.

Aaron sat down in the creaking rocking chair, gently cradling Jack against his chest as he carefully opened the familiar book. The title, "Male Pustolovine Kune Borove", made him smirk as soon as he saw it, the memory of his first attempt at reading it aloud bringing an amused warmth to his chest. The way he had butchered the pronunciation was miserably laughable, even to him. He was certain you had picked it just for that reason, knowing full well he’d struggle, probably just to get a good laugh out of him.

And, knowing you, he was probably right.

"Alright, buddy," He murmured softly, his voice a low and soothing balm as he turned the first page. "Let’s see what Kuna is up to tonight."

Jack’s tiny fingers instinctively reached out for the plush pine marten, gripping it tightly as he nestled deeper into his father’s arms. The gentle rocking and familiar sound of Aaron’s voice seemed to finally calm the little boy, his sobs quieting, his body softening against Hotch’s steady frame. As he read, Aaron’s hand gently brushed through Jack’s soft hair, soothing him further with each tender stroke.

“You know, buddy,” He murmured, more to himself than anyone, his heart swelling with affection, “the person who gave you this book is very special to me, she’s one of the most amazing people I know. Of course," he added with a soft chuckle, “you come first. But she’s right up there.”

Jack, too young to understand the words, let out a soft sigh, comforted by the warmth of his father’s embrace and the gentle rhythm of the story. As Aaron continued to read, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. They always did, especially in quiet moments like this. It felt natural, comforting even, to talk to Jack about you - someone who meant so much to him, yet had been far away for so long. Aaron had always wanted you to meet Jack, and speaking about you made it feel as if, somehow, it brought you closer to him, closer to them.

“Did you know,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “she’s accepted a teaching position in Quantico? She could’ve gone anywhere, but she’s coming here. Closer to us. You’ll get to meet her soon.”

A small smile crept across his face as he thought about the letters you’d sent over the years. “Don't look at me like this, buddy, I liked getting her letters, even if she does like to make things difficult for me sometimes,” he said, glancing at the Croatian text in front of him with an amused sigh. “But I don't think I'm going to miss them, not at all. Not when she’ll be close enough to just… be here. And trust me, Jack, you’re going to love her, just like I do.”

Jack stirred slightly, his little hands gripping the pine marten even tighter, as if he already knew who his father was talking about.

He chuckled softly, glancing down at the beloved plush toy in his son’s arms. “You know, you’re inseparable from that pine marten all because of her,” Aaron said, his voice filled with warmth. “And here I am, reading you this story in Croatian... because of her too.”

He paused for a moment, watching as Jack’s eyelids began to droop, his tiny body relaxed against him. He couldn’t help the swell of love that filled him as he kissed his son’s forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ll meet her soon, Jack,” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “And when she holds you for the first time, I need you to do me a favor, alright buddy? You have to avenge me,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “Because she’s never going to miss a chance to mess with me. So, when you’re in her arms, you give her a look - like this,” Aaron made his best serious ‘Hotch’ face, one of his famous stoic expressions. “Make her think you’re onto her.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper in the quiet nursery, but then he leaned in closer to Jack, his voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial tone. “And listen, buddy,” he whispered, “if she ever starts saying words that sound like ‘Hegel’ or ‘Plato,’ you go ahead and start crying, just like you did earlier. Alright?” He smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Jack’s soft hair. “In the Hotchner household, we’re lawyers, little man. We don’t have time for all that abstract philosophy,” he teased, his grin widening. “You just make it clear to her, no funny business, okay?”

Jack sighed contentedly in his arms, his tiny fingers clutching the pine marten as he drifted off to sleep. He kissed his forehead once more, the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away as he continued to read, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both.

Just then, Haley appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes filled with frustration. "Aaron, is he still crying?" she asked, though her tone softened when she saw Aaron sitting with Jack and the plush marten in his lap. "Are you reading him the brown skunk story again?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Aaron, too tired to defend himself, simply nodded. “It’s the only thing that works.”

Haley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with a half-smile. “Does it put Jack to sleep, or you, Aaron?”

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the side table. The noise cut through the soft moment like a knife, pulling him back into reality. He knew what it meant before he even looked at the screen.

Another case.

Haley’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a familiar frustration that he’d seen in her eyes too many times before. She straightened up, her voice rising just a bit. “Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night, Aaron. You’ve barely been home, and now you’re leaving again?”

Hotch rubbed his forehead, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didn’t want to go, not tonight. But he had no choice. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, already reaching for his phone. “It’s a new case.”

Haley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave the room. "Of course it is," she muttered, her words fading into the stillness as her footsteps echoed down the hall, each step a progressively quieter reminder of the growing distance between them.

Hotch's heart clenched, a sharp ache spreading through him as he stood frozen, watching her retreat.

The nursery felt unnaturally heavier now, the excessive silence thick and oppressive.

He looked down toward Jack, who was still nested peacefully in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The gentle glow of the nightlight bathed his son’s face in warmth, casting a tender light over the innocence of his slumber.

The small pine marten, nestled against Jack's cheek, stared back at Hotch with its beady, lifeless eyes, but it seemed to carry a weight of its own, its presence a reminder of the thoughtfulness and care that had come with it, a symbol of the love that lingered even in absence. Jack's fingers clutched the toy tightly, as if it were the one constant in a world where his father’s presence was becoming less and less frequent.

Haley's words, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air like a distant storm, a shadow that refused to leave. And as Hotch stood there, caught between the quiet of his son’s peaceful sleep and the echo of Haley’s retreat, he couldn’t help but feel the vastness of everything slipping through his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to stay here, to hold his son and be present. But the buzzing of his phone on the side table pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the screen. His heart sank even further.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice clipped with resignation.

As JJ's voice filled his ear with grim details of the new case, the weight of Haley’s words pressed even harder against his chest. It was the same cycle, always the same. Each time he left, Jack would wake up alone, Haley would grow more distant, and the gap between his family and his job would widen. His guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that never truly subsided.

But he couldn’t ignore the call.

He never could.

---

Hotch arrived at the FBI building late, his mind still replaying the scene at home, the way Haley had looked at him with a mix of frustration and defeat. The team was already gathered in the briefing room, the fluorescent lights too harsh for the late hour.

He still felt the pull from the nursery, the warmth of Jack’s small body against his chest. But now, here, the weight of duty replaced it. He had to push it aside, at least for now.

“We’ve got six confirmed victims so far,” JJ began, her voice level but laced with tension. “But the local police didn’t connect the dots until the sixth victim. The MO keeps changing with each murder, which is why it slipped through the cracks for so long.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his mind snapping to the present. “The unsub might be experimenting. They could be evolving, trying to find their signature. Or…” he paused, considering the alternative, “we could be dealing with someone who’s familiar with different methods, someone who knows how to disguise their work.”

Gideon crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but intense, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “What’s the timeline?”

JJ scanned her notes, her brow furrowed. “The first victim was found three months ago. Then the second and third within two weeks of each other. But the real concern is the escalation. Victims four through six were found in the past ten days.”

Hotch's mind raced through the details.

Three months.

Three months of missed opportunities. Every minute wasted in connecting the dots could’ve been a life saved. The guilt returned in a wave, a reminder of every moment he hadn’t been there, both at work and at home. He shook the thought off, burying it as deep as he could for now.

He had to focus.

“There’s no clear pattern in terms of location or victim profile,” JJ added, her voice quieter now.

“That suggests escalation,” Morgan said, stepping forward and leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “The unsub’s confidence is growing. They’re moving faster.”

Reid, who had been staring at the evidence board in silence, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful and measured. “Changing MOs could mean we’re dealing with someone new to killing - experimenting with different methods. But,” he hesitated, “it could also mean there’s a purpose behind each change. The way the kills are evolving might have a deeper meaning.”

Hotch took a breath, grounding himself in the task at hand. “Gideon, Prentiss, Morgan,” he said, his voice taking on its usual command, though there was a subtle edge of weariness to it. “Head to the latest crime scene, we need fresh eyes on it. JJ, Reid, and I will meet with the local authorities and review their files. Reid, I want you to start working on the geographical profile, see if there’s any consistency in the locations.”

The team moved with purpose, their steps quick and deliberate as they gathered their bags and made for the door. But Hotch lingered, just for a heartbeat longer, rooted in place as a familiar heaviness settled in his chest. The guilt wrapped itself around him like a tightening vine, threading through his thoughts with every passing second.

It wasn’t just the weight of the case that pressed down on him - it was the aching truth that once again, he had chosen this, chosen the relentless pursuit of justice over the quiet, fleeting moments with his son.

He pushed the thought away as best as he could, but the ache remained, a constant reminder of everything he was losing while trying to save others.

---

There was nothing quite like the hollow hum of a six-hour flight to clear his mind, though the thoughts clung to him stubbornly at first, like shadows he couldn't shake.

As the plane crossed the first timezone, the weight of realization settled in: he would never be the husband Haley deserved, not in the way she needed.

By the time they passed the second timezone, another truth pressed against him like a bruise: he would never be the father he wished to be, not enough to erase the empty spaces he left behind.

But it was during the third stretch, as the world below darkened and the hum of the plane grew louder, that he understood the final piece of the puzzle. If he let these thoughts consume him, if he lingered too long in the ache of what he couldn’t be, he would lose the only thing left to him: his ability to be good at this, at the one thing that demanded his whole being.

As the plane descended, Hotch leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the cracks forming in his personal life, not now, not with a case like this waiting for him. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, the emotional turbulence he’d been wrestling with needed to be packed away, stored in a corner of his mind that he could no longer afford to visit.

He was good at compartmentalizing, too good.

By the time he, JJ, and Reid stepped into the stifling heat of the local precinct, Hotch had already shifted fully into his role, his mind sharpening, refocusing on the case that had now become his only priority. The quiet turmoil of his personal life faded, replaced by the pressure of a killer they were struggling to catch.

The exhausted police chief approached them, his face haggard from sleepless nights and the mounting pressure of a case that had spiraled out of control. "We’ve been spinning our wheels on this one," the chief admitted, his voice weary.

He motioned to the evidence board, where the victims' photos were tacked haphazardly, a mess of lives lost without a clear thread linking them. “It wasn’t until the sixth victim that we started connecting the dots, and by then, we were already behind. These murders don’t make sense together.”

Hotch approached the board, his eyes moving methodically from one image to the next. The crime scene photos were brutal: faces frozen in death, bodies contorted, each one telling a different story. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the chief. “What have you got so far?”

The chief’s sigh was heavy. “Every victim is different. Male, female, different ethnicities, different ages. The methods vary too: strangulation, stabbing, blunt force trauma. It’s like we’re dealing with multiple killers, but we know that’s not the case. There’s something linking them, but we can’t find it.”

Reid was already pacing, his eyes flicking from the board to the map on the wall. His mind churned as he analyzed and reanalyzed the positions of the bodies and the evidence scattered before him. His hands traced invisible connections between the dots as he muttered to himself, sorting through the details that still felt elusive.

Hotch turned to Reid, his tone even but commanding. “Reid, what are you thinking?”

Reid didn’t tear his eyes from the board, his voice steady but quick as he processed the flood of information. “At first glance, it seems chaotic. The changing MOs, the lack of a clear victim profile - it all suggests disorganization. But…” He paused, picking up the file of the third victim, and his brow furrowed. “There’s hesitation here. The killer hesitated during the third murder. This wasn’t just random. This murder feels… intentional. Like the unsub was evolving or refining something.”

JJ moved closer, her gaze scanning the file Reid held up. “Intentional how?” she asked, her voice edged with the need to understand.

Reid pointed to the victim’s wounds. “Look at the pattern of injuries. The cuts are precise, controlled. The unsub took their time with this one. This isn’t just about killing, it’s about making a statement. It’s as if there’s a theme here.”

Hotch, his instincts alert, zeroed in on Reid’s theory. “A theme?”

Reid nodded, grabbing the other files and spreading them across the table like pieces of a fractured puzzle. “The first victim,” Reid began, pointing to the photo of a middle-aged man found in an alley, his body aged prematurely, his face drained of life. “Time. He was killed slowly, methodically.”

Hotch continued, understanding that the young doctor was onto something, “His watch was broken, and the time stopped at exactly midnight. He was forced to watch it happen, minute by minute. The unsub was playing with the concept of time, as if controlling it.”

Reid nodded and swiftly moved to the second victim, a young woman found posed in front of a mirror, her body displayed almost like a work of art. “The second victim represents virtue. She was strangled, but the way she was posed afterward - like a Madonna figure - suggests the unsub was making a comment on purity or morality. The unsub didn’t just kill her, they transformed her into a symbol.”

JJ glanced at the photo, her brows knitting together. “So, the killer’s trying to send a message?”

Reid’s voice picked up momentum, his eyes gleaming as he continued to unravel the pattern. “Exactly. The third victim, it’s the theme of friendship. He was stabbed multiple times, but the placement of the wounds shows care. Almost like the unsub was reluctant at first, then deliberately chose each strike. This murder represents betrayal, the wounds symbolizing a broken bond.”

Hotch’s gaze darkened as he took in the significance of each murder. “What about the fourth victim?”

Reid flipped through the files, landing on a young man found at a cemetery, his body arranged as if in sleep, with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a casket. “The fourth victim represents death itself. He was already dressed in funeral attire when he was killed. The unsub buried him halfway in a grave that had already been dug, leaving him in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor fully dead.”

JJ’s breath hitched slightly at the thought. “The unsub’s not just killing. They’re staging these murders to symbolize something deeper.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he processed the unfolding realization. “And the fifth victim? Religion?”

Reid nodded, pulling up the photo of a woman found in a church, her body draped across the altar, surrounded by religious symbols. “She was killed in the church, posed like a martyr. The unsub’s making a statement about faith, morality, and sacrifice. It’s almost ritualistic.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened. “And the sixth? Freedom?”

Reid picked up the most recent file, the image of a man found in a wide, open field, his body scattered with wounds, as if he had been tortured for hours. “He was bound at first, kept restrained for days, but when he was finally killed, it was in an open field. The unsub let him go, only to take that freedom away in the end. It’s the ultimate act of control - giving the victim a taste of freedom, then ripping it away.”

JJ stared at the crime scene photos, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “So, the unsub isn’t just experimenting with methods. They’re following some kind of philosophical framework, each murder connected to a larger theme.”

The word ‘philosophical’ hit Hotch like a trigger, and instantly, his mind began to drift. It was as if that word had become synonymous with you.

He barely registered the rest of JJ's sentence because the moment she mentioned philosophy, his thoughts were no longer in the room.

They were with you.

Over the years, it had become an automatic reflex. Any time the conversation veered toward deep concepts, philosophical debates, or ancient texts, his mind would latch onto memories of your voice, your insights. You were the one who could crack these kinds of cases almost effortlessly. The way you connected with these abstract ideas, how you always found the hidden thread - he could practically hear your voice explaining it, guiding him.

He missed you in moments like this, missed working by your side.

The cases felt heavier without your presence.

Especially now, with you back in Quantico, just within reach but not close enough. It made his itch for your partnership even more acute, more frustrating. You were always the one who could decode the intricacies of a mind like this. He craved your insight, your steady presence, the way you challenged him and calmed him all at once.

He could almost picture you now, sitting at your desk, flipping through files with that slight furrow in your brow as you connected the dots others couldn’t. This case felt like it was made for you, and the itch to call you, to have your insight cut through the confusion like a knife, gnawed at him.

It was more than just missing your professional brilliance, it was the familiar rhythm the two of you had shared, the way you could pick up on each other’s unspoken thoughts with a glance. You had always been in sync, a partnership that felt more like second nature than work.

His gaze stayed fixed on the board, but his mind was far from the room. "Focus on the first victim," he said, his voice low but more urgent than before. "The first kill is usually the most significant. What can you tell us about the theme of time?"

Even as the words left his lips, the thought tugged at him - he needed to call you. You would see what they were missing. And, truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice again.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

You were likely teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you in the middle of class. Even though it was morning in D.C. and he knew your lessons wouldn’t start until the early afternoon, he could picture exactly what you were doing.

If he knew you well - and he did - you’d be hunched over your desk right now, a double espresso halfway emptied beside you, scribbling down notes for your upcoming lesson. Schemes, summaries, diagrams, anything that would help your students grasp the material. Every scribble was made with the same care and thought you always gave, just like the book you had gifted Jack.

He could see you clearly, writing as fast as you could, racing to keep up with the faster pace of your mind. On topics that especially interested you, your hand would move so quickly that the gel blue ink of your pen would smudge across the page. That was the only imperfection in your otherwise meticulous notes. But to him, even that smudge was a detail he cherished. It was another way you showed your heart and passion, pouring yourself into every word.

He couldn't interrupt that.

Not now. But the urge still lingered, and the longing to share this case with you, to hear your insight, gnawed at him with every passing second.

His attention snapped back to the present as Reid’s voice filled the room, his philosophical lecture flowing uninterrupted. Hotch hadn’t even noticed that Prentiss, Morgan, and Gideon had returned from the crime scene, now quietly listening to Reid’s ideas.

“Time, philosophically speaking, is a concept that has been debated for centuries,” Reid began, his voice steady and thoughtful. “Kant believed time was a construct of the mind, a way for humans to make sense of their experiences. Augustine argued that time is divided into past, present, and future, but none truly exist in the same moment-”

Before Reid could continue, Morgan cut in, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Slow down there, professor. Not all of us are ready for a PhD lecture on time.”

The brief moment of levity brought a faint smile to Hotch’s lips - barely there, just a twitch - but enough for Gideon to catch. It wasn’t the first time Hotch had heard this kind of deep dive into philosophical musings, and the memory was enough to stir something inside him.

You, again.

He could almost hear your voice over Reid’s, see you pacing, effortlessly turning philosophical debates into a practical narrative. There had always been an energy between the two of you, a mental chess game where each new idea or concept clicked together in a way that made even the most abstract notions understandable,at least to those who could keep up.

Across the room, Gideon noticed the change in Hotch's expression, the subtle flicker of something unspoken. He raised an eyebrow knowingly, understanding exactly where Hotch’s thoughts had wandered. He had seen this look before way too often now.

Hotch quickly noticed Gideon’s silent observation, his smile fading as his face hardened back into its usual stoic mask. He stepped toward Reid, signaling him to wrap it up, the professionalism sliding effortlessly back into place. As he passed Reid, he muttered just low enough for him to hear, “You sound just like her.”

Reid paused mid-thought, blinking in confusion. “Her who?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

The room seemed to still for a moment, the tension subtly thickening as the rest of the team exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to guess who Hotch was referring to. Even though you were never part of the team, your presence lingered in moments like this, your intellect, your connection to him.

Everyone in the room knew it.

Before Reid could press the question any further, Hotch’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting sharply through the quiet. The vibration echoed ominously against the table, pulling everyone’s attention. Hotch glanced down at the screen, his expression immediately hardening as he read the message.

“Another body,” he said, the grimness in his voice pulling the room back to the brutal reality of their work. His earlier thoughts of you were now pushed to the background, swallowed by the urgency of the case.

The unsub wasn’t slowing down. If anything, the kills were escalating, the pace quickening, leaving them scrambling to piece together the next part of the puzzle. Hotch could feel the pressure mounting, time was slipping through their fingers, and they still hadn’t cracked the philosophical code that would lead them to the killer.

But even as Hotch mentally prepared for the next step, a thought lingered at the edges of his mind: You would have seen it already. You would know what they were missing. It gnawed at him, the need to reach out, to hear your voice offering clarity. But there was no time for that now.

---

At the crime scene, something had shifted. This time, it wasn’t just the brutality of the kill that had the team on edge, it was the new element, a disturbing and cryptic message left behind.

Beside the body, stark against the wet pavement, was a large "X," crudely drawn, yet deliberate in its placement. The symbol, bold and unmistakable, seemed to pulse with meaning, as if it were taunting them, daring the team to uncover its secret.

The victim’s body told a different story: this murder was tied to the theme of lust. Everything about the scene - the suggestive placement of the victim, the meticulous positioning of the clothes, and the intimate nature of the wounds - hinted at the unsub's twisted interpretation of lust. But it was the "X" that radiated significance, a signature of sorts, demanding their attention and indicating a deeper layer to the crime.

Back at the police station, the air buzzed with tension as the team tried to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious mark. Hotch stood silently at the head of the room, his mind swirling with the ideas being tossed around by the team.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowled at the photo of the "X" on the evidence board. "What if this unsub’s just messing with us? Like on a treasure map. 'X marks the spot,' right? Could be their way of saying, 'Hey, look here, you're getting warmer.' Could be a taunt."

Reid, pacing near the board, rubbed his chin in thought. "Historically, an 'X' can represent a crossroads, a point of decision. In medieval times, it symbolized judgment - both in religion and law. It could indicate the unsub sees themselves as a judge, perhaps someone deciding the fate of their victims."

Prentiss chimed in, her voice thoughtful, eyes scanning the crime scene reports. "It might even be a form of signature. In some cases, killers leave marks, symbols to claim their work. Maybe it's less about us and more about the unsub marking their territory. This ‘X’ could be their way of saying, ‘This is mine.’"

As the ideas bounced around the room, Hotch remained unnervingly still, his eyes locked on the photograph of the bold "X" scrawled beside the body. The image seemed to pulse with meaning, but the answer eluded him, hovering just beyond reach like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Each theory felt plausible but incomplete, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. Hotch’s mind churned through the ideas, but something - something vital - was missing.

Gideon, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. He watched Hotch closely, noting the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed with concentration. Gideon knew Hotch well enough to see when he was wrestling with something more than just the case.

“You should give her a call,” Gideon said quietly, his voice cutting through the murmur of ideas.

Hotch blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected suggestion. “Why?” he asked, his tone guarded, though deep down, he knew exactly what Gideon was implying.

Gideon’s eyes held a knowing glint, his expression calm but certain. “She’s already a step ahead of us, Aaron. You know how she is. She can see the bigger picture, the themes, the patterns that might be slipping through our fingers. These murders, this complexity... she’ll catch what we’re missing. She always does.”

Hotch hesitated, the weight of your name hanging between them. You were the first person who came to his mind - philosophy had always been your language, and you had a way of translating the abstract into something that made sense, even in the darkest of cases.

But calling you felt so complicated.

“She’s got a lecture at the academy this morning,” Hotch said quietly, his gaze drifting away. “And even if she could help, it would take her hours to go through the files.” His voice softened, as if he were reasoning with himself as much as he was explaining to Gideon.

Gideon raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying how far ahead he had already planned. “That’s why I had Garcia send her the files yesterday,” he said smoothly. “She’s been going over them ever since Reid made the connection with the themes.”

He had anticipated this. Of course, he had.

Hotch straightened, the hesitation still tugging at him as he pulled out his phone. The urge to hear your voice, to let you guide them through the confusion, gnawed at him. He dialed your number, his thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary. The phone rang, and anticipation built with every ring until finally, you answered.

“I was waiting for your call, partner,” you said, your tone familiar and easy, as though no time had passed since you had last worked side by side. Your voice alone brought a sense of comfort, one that Hotch hadn’t realized he needed in that moment.

Before Hotch could respond, he picked up on the faint sounds of a classroom in the background - soft murmurs, the scrape of chairs, and the faint shuffle of papers. Then your voice came through, a bit more formal than usual, though laced with the familiar hint of humor. “Now you’re on speaker. Everyone, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU.”

Hotch’s smile faded slightly, the weight of the situation settling in. “It’s an active case,” he cautioned, his tone firm but gentle, a reminder of the need for discretion. “The details are confidential.”

You laughed, the sound rich and unburdened by the darkness that often filled his days. “I know, I know. But Gideon told me I could bend the rules just this once, and you know that I’m the first one who always wants to play by the book. But sometimes you have to bend the law, because ethics are more important… just don’t write that down in your notes.”

Hotch shook his head, though the faint tug of amusement softened his otherwise stern expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured.

Then your tone shifted, growing more serious, more focused. “That ‘X’ isn’t just a letter. The way it’s drawn, the graphics - it’s too condensed. It’s too deliberate to be a regular ‘X.’ What if it’s not a letter at all? What if it’s the Roman numeral for ten?”

Reid, who had been silently pouring over the files, immediately perked up at your suggestion. His face lit up with recognition, as if a light had been switched on in his mind. “Yes! Roman numerals, that makes perfect sense. But why ten? What’s the significance?”

Hotch’s mind whirled as he stared at the photograph again, the symbol suddenly taking on new meaning. “In Roman numerals, ten doesn’t just represent the number, it signifies sequence. It could mean ‘tenth,’ like this is part of a larger series. The unsub could be following some kind of plan or pattern.”

Prentiss, still studying the details, looked up sharply. “What if this is the tenth victim? The police didn’t connect the earlier cases until recently. There could be other victims we don’t know about.”

Gideon nodded, his face unreadable but thoughtful. “That’s possible. The pace of the killings has picked up recently, but that doesn’t mean the earlier victims weren’t just as important. We might be missing the full picture.”

Your voice cut through the air again, focused and clear. “If that ‘X’ is the Roman numeral for ten, then Penelope should start pulling data from unsolved homicides in nearby areas, cases that might have slipped through the cracks. If there are other victims, they’ll be there.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate as he patched the call through to Garcia, his fingers moving swiftly. The line clicked over, and Garcia’s familiar, playful voice came through with her usual flair. “Spank me, teacher. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Laughter erupted in the background on your end - the unmistakable sound of your students, likely stunned at hearing such an exchange from an actual FBI technical analyst. Hotch’s face remained serious, though he could picture the small smile tugging at your lips. You were probably trying your best to let it slide, convincing your students that it never happened and brushing it off as a figment of their imagination.

Or so he thought.

You didn’t let it slide, not at all.

You chuckled softly, your voice warm but teasing. “Penelope, I think we need to keep it professional this time. But if I weren’t engaged, I might just ask you to show me your Python. What do you think? Was that good enough?��

Of course, once again, you proved him wrong.

The laughter from your classroom grew louder, borderline hysterical now, clearly not expecting such a quip from someone like you. Hotch, despite his best efforts, couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at his own lips. There was something about the way you matched Garcia’s banter, unexpected but effortlessly fitting. Still, the reality of the case loomed, pulling him back to focus.

“I knew it! Deep down, you’re a naughty girl just like me!” Garcia shot back, her voice full of mischief before quickly shifting gears. “All right, all right. Let’s get serious. Let’s see what I can dig up.”

As Garcia’s voice faded and the team fell back into their analysis, Hotch leaned back slightly, his thoughts racing. Despite the levity, a sense of weight pressed down on him. The murders weren’t just random - there was a deeper thread running through them, something that tied everything together, but it remained elusive.

“There’s something we’re still missing,” Hotch muttered, half to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. “Something that ties these murders together in a way we haven’t seen yet.”

Your voice came through the speaker again, this time with an edge of intensity. “What if the X isn’t marking the number of victims? What if it’s connected to something literary, related to the theme of that murder - lust?”

Reid, always quick to piece together intellectual puzzles, murmured, “It could be connected to a text, a framework. The killings are following themes, and they might be related to a specific work of literature.”

You continued, your voice growing more thoughtful, “The theme of lust makes me immediately think of Dante’s Inferno - the second circle of Hell, where the lustful are punished.”

Reid’s mind raced, picking up on your line of thought. “Yes! In Dante’s Inferno, the lustful are driven by uncontrollable winds, symbolizing the way they’re tossed by their desires. But… wait…” He paused, pacing in front of the crime scene photos pinned to the wall. “In the fifth canticle of The Divine Comedy, the second circle represents the punishment of lust. Multiply the fifth canticle by the second circle, and you get the number ten.”

Gideon's gaze intensified as he considered the details of the case. "This isn't just a random act. It’s carefully and mathematically calculated," he observed, his tone thoughtful yet troubled. "But something still feels off. The message should be clearer—it’s already masked beneath a Roman numeral. It shouldn’t involve any additional complexity like a multiplication."

Hotch's eyes brightened as the realization hit him, the missing piece finally clicking into place. “What if this isn’t just about the sin of lust?” he said, his voice sharper now with clarity. “What if it’s about the negation of lust? Maybe the unsub isn’t punishing the victims for acting on lust, but for failing to avoid it. It’s not about the act itself, but about their choice not to resist. You live a life of indulgence, and you die for it. But the real question is - how could they have saved themselves? What did they fail to do?”

Suddenly, your voice broke through again, sharp and full of clarity. “Living a life through reason: that’s the real theme of the murder. Epistulae ad Lucilium. Seneca the Younger. In the 10th letter to Lucilium – he talked about the importance of living a life through the stoic ideals, the key is self-control, avoiding indulgences like lust”

The room went silent for a moment as everyone absorbed what you had just said. Reid’s face lit up as he immediately followed your line of thinking. “Exactly! In the 10th letter he mentioned ‘Sed ut more meo cum aliquo munusculo epistulam mittam, verum est quod apud Athenodorum inveni: 'tunc scito esse te omnibus cupiditatibus solutum, cum eo perveneris ut nihil deum roges nisi quod rogare possis palam'.”

It felt like you could see the confused look on each agents’ face, even if you were in Quantico: “That translates to ‘But as is my custom with sending a letter with some small gift, it is true what I found in Athenodes: 'then know that you are freed from all desires, and with it you will come to ask nothing of God except what you can openly ask.'”

You further explained the meaning “For us mortals, it means that when you free yourself from wanting things for yourself, you reach a peaceful state. In this state, you will only ask for things that are good and honest, with nothing selfish or hidden behind your requests. To find inner peace by we need to let go of desires and living with clear intentions.” You paused “Wow Spencer how did you know the entire passage in latin?”

Hotch unintentionally cut off Reid’s response - who had been beaming from your recognition, his boyish grin spreading across his face as he began, “Eidetic memory, I read the entire book when I was only twe-.” But Hotch, ever focused, quickly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Are you saying the unsub is following Stoic philosophy?” he asked, his tone sharp with urgency, seeking clarity in your analysis.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady and thoughtful. “The killings are modeled after the teachings in Epistulae ad Lucilium - also known as Letters from a Stoic.” Hotch swore he could hear the hint of a suppressed giggle on the other side of the phone, but you quickly returned to the matter at hand.

“These letters weren’t just philosophical musings; they were moral teachings. Seneca was writing to his student, Lucilium, urging him to live a life governed by reason, virtue, and restraint. Each letter deals with a specific theme - like friendship, time, death, religion, virtue, and freedom. Seneca believed that by controlling our desires and passions, we could free ourselves from the things that enslave us - namely, emotions like lust, greed, and fear. Sound familiar, Unit Chief?”

Before Hotch could respond to your unexpected jab, your tone shifted back to focus on the case. “In these killings, the unsub is punishing people for failing to live up to Stoic ideals. The crime scenes aren’t random at all: they’re deliberate, calculated representations of the failures Seneca warned about. The victim of lust was killed because they lacked control over their desires, which is a fundamental tenet in Stoic philosophy. It’s not the first letter Seneca wrote, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Reid jumped in, clearly excited by your insight. “Exactly! Each murder is a representation of one of Seneca’s letters. The victim of lust was killed because they didn’t live a life of restraint, but the other murders also follow this pattern. Virtue, time, friendship, freedom, religion, death - they all correspond to themes Seneca explored in his letters. The unsub is picking people who fail to live up to these ideals and killing them as if it’s a lesson.”

Morgan, still crouched beside the latest crime scene photo, looked up, his expression darkening as he tried to connect the philosophical themes with the brutality of the murders. “So we know why the unsub is killing—to punish people for failing these ancient ideals. But how does this help us catch them?”

You spoke again, the gears in your mind turning quickly. “There’s something else you need to consider. If these murders are following Seneca’s teachings, then we know there’s a deeper message behind each kill. Seneca’s letters were instructional, they were lessons written for his student, Lucilium. So if we think of these killings as lessons, then it’s possible the unsub isn’t just acting alone. They’re teaching someone.”

JJ frowned as she processed your theory. “A message... to who? Who’s the student in this scenario?”

Gideon, who had been silently contemplating the unfolding theory, stepped forward, his voice grave. “The unsub is taking on the role of Seneca, but every Seneca has a Lucilium. They’re not just killing; they’re teaching someone. These murders are lessons, each one showing their ‘student’ how to live, or rather, how not to live.”

Hotch, his mind racing with the implications, pieced it together quickly. “So there’s a ‘Lucilium’ out there, someone the unsub is guiding. Someone they’re grooming, possibly teaching how to kill.”

Prentiss straightened, her face hardening as the realization sank in. “Which means we’re not just dealing with one unsub. There’s a mentor and a student. Seneca is teaching Lucilium to follow this twisted moral code.”

Hotch stepped back from the evidence board, his brow furrowed as the weight of the case began to fully reveal itself. “We’re looking at two unsubs. The one we’ve been calling ‘Seneca,’ who’s leading these murders, and a second unsub, ‘Lucilium,’ who is learning from them. The second person is still in training, which means we have a chance to stop them before the lessons are complete.”

There was a heavy silence in the room as the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. The realization that they were up against not just a killer, but a teacher guiding an apprentice, added an entirely new layer of urgency to the case.

You broke the silence again, your voice more serious than before. “If you find ‘Lucilium,’ you’ll find Seneca. But there's more. In Epistulae ad Lucilium, Seneca also discusses two more themes that haven’t yet appeared in the murders: slavery and the crowd. If the unsub is following the structure of Seneca’s letters, then we know what to expect next.”

Gideon, always focused on the broader picture, spoke with quiet authority. “If Seneca is teaching Lucilium how to kill, it means Seneca has a criminal record. No one just starts teaching murder out of the blue. Garcia, start running a search for known offenders with a background in philosophy, particularly Roman and Stoic philosophy. Look for connections between any of these offenders and known students or proteges.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, her usual lightheartedness replaced with focus. “Already on it, boss. Cross-referencing every offender who’s mentioned Seneca, Stoicism, or anything close. I’ll narrow it down as quickly as I can.”

---

Back in his office, Hotch sat slumped in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his every muscle. The scattered papers in front of him were neatly organized, but his mind was a tangled mess, caught in the lingering grip of the case.

This one weighed heavier than most, the usual closure that came with catching an unsub evading him. They had barely stopped him in time, so close to another life being stolen under the theme of slavery. The image of what could have been haunted him, the brutal calculation of the murders, the way each victim had been a lesson, twisted and final.

Hotch's weary eyes drifted toward the window, where the darkness of the night had now just settled in, casting heavy shadows across his office. The weight of the case pressed down on him - how close they'd come to failing, the lives that had hung in the balance. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in his bones, but something deeper, a quiet, lingering ache that refused to let go.

The near miss with the last victim, the theme of slavery still fresh in his mind, gnawed at him in a way most cases didn’t. Just as the silence became suffocating, a soft knock at the door broke through, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Without looking up, his voice low, he said, “Come in.”

He assumed it would be Gideon. They still had loose ends to discuss, details of the case to tie up before the night slipped any further away. He braced himself for another long conversation, expecting Gideon’s familiar, steady presence to fill the room.

The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Hotch didn’t glance up at first, still scribbling notes on the corner of a file. But the sound that followed wasn’t the shuffle of Gideon’s footsteps. Instead, there was a lightness, a familiar cadence, and Hotch frowned in confusion.

“Jason?” he asked, looking up, only to freeze as his gaze met yours.

You stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “You really thought I was Gideon? You’re slipping, partner.”

For a second, he was caught off guard. He offered you a soft smile, one that came more easily than expected. “I wasn’t expecting you.” he said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You sauntered in and sat down across from him, the easy confidence in your posture disarming him further. “Well, you should always expect the unexpected from me, right?” you teased, your smile growing.

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, missed you. He’d been so focused on the case, on the mission, that he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. But now, sitting across from you, the memories of all those years working together rushed back, hitting him harder than he anticipated.

Hotch’s gaze softened, but there was a heaviness behind it. “Your help was crucial. We never would’ve figured it out without you. The connections, the philosophy, it was all you.”

You waved him off, shaking your head as if brushing aside his praise. “Reid deserves the real credit,” you insisted. “He’s the one who picked up on the themes firsthand. I just... connected the dots. Besides, I was only on the phone. You and the team did the real work.”

But Hotch wasn’t about to let you downplay your role. “You did more than connect the dots,” he said firmly, his eyes holding yours. “You always see things others don’t.”

For a moment, your teasing demeanor faltered, replaced by something softer, more sincere. You held his gaze, and for the first time since you’d walked in, the banter between you faded into something deeper.

You broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, partner. Compliments like that might go to my head.” The dynamic between you two had always been one of mutual respect, even if it was sometimes hidden behind teasing and banter. Now, after all these years, it felt even more significant.

His expression softened even more, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as well. It was in moments like this that he realized how much he missed you being a constant in his life. Even though you were closer now, taking a teaching position at Quantico, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough. The case had stirred something in him, made him realize that the distance between you wasn’t just physical.

“So,” He asked after a moment, his curiosity piqued, “what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating, considering we finally cracked the case?”

You raised your eyebrow, giving him a look as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I’m here for the paperwork, of course.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Paperwork? You helped us close the case; there’s no need for you to be bogged down with reports. I won’t let you do that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned forward. “Oh no, partner. I deserve to fill out each one of those reports, especially since I might’ve bent a rule or two helping you out under the pretense of ‘teaching material.’” You gave him a cheeky grin, but he could hear the seriousness beneath your words. You weren’t just here to wrap things up, you wanted to take accountability.

“I already told you,” He said, his voice firm but warm. “It’s my team, my case, and I’ll take full responsibility. I’m not going to let you do the paperwork for bending a few rules.” He was firm in his stance, not wanting to drag you into the mess of administrative fallout.

But of course you didn’t back down. “Arguing with me is a waste of time, partner. Let me do the paperwork. We both know if you let me handle it, you’ll get out of here sooner.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in with a grin that hinted at something more. “And if you get out of here at a decent time, you, Haley, and Jack can come over for dinner. Pete’s been looking forward to meeting you two after all this time, and I’ve been dying to meet Jack.”

He froze for a moment, surprised by the invitation.

Dinner?

With you and Peter?

The thought had never crossed his mind, and yet, hearing you suggest it now sent a strange warmth through him. “Dinner? You never mentioned this.” he echoed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Yes, Aaron. Dinner. Pete’s already planned it, and I figured using food was the best way to bribe you into giving me those reports.”

He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of the invitation. “Dinner, huh? What’s on the menu?”

You gave him a smug look. “A few Mediterranean recipes I’ve been perfecting. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’ll never know unless you hurry up and let me help with those files.” The tension between you broke, and he shook his head, smiling. But before he could respond, you added, “Want to bet I can finish the paperwork faster than you?”

He leaned forward, his voice playful now, catching onto the game. “And what happens if I win? You’ve never beaten me in a bet before.”

You leaned in just a little closer as well, close enough for him to catch the soft, fading notes of your rose perfume, lingering faintly after a long day. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you matched his tone, voice low and teasing. “You tell me.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch's playful expression shifted, his eyes growing more serious, though there was a flicker of anticipation that softened the weight of what he was about to say. The words came out before he could second-guess himself, as if they'd been lying in wait, building with every shared glance, every passing moment between the two of you.

“If I win,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something vulnerable, “you come back to the BAU. You work with me again, together.”

His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the space you had left behind when you had gone, a void he had tried to fill but couldn’t.

He hadn't expected the words to feel so heavy once they were out in the open, hadn't realized how much he wanted you back, not just for the casework, but for the way you steadied him, the way you saw through the layers he kept so tightly wrapped around himself.

He watched your grin slowly fade, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing everything, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, revealed too much. But then he remembered the years you had spent together, the unspoken trust, the way you could read him just as easily as he could read you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with shared history and unspoken feelings, until finally, you broke it.

“We’ll see, Aaron,” you said quietly, your eyes holding his. “We’ll see.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid

Dado's Corner pt.2: Here's a pic of Kuna the pine marten - aka Jack Hotchner's fav plush toy

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds

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barama-grw-blog · 5 months ago

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Feeling chilly.... embrace the essence of the Winter Solstice, June 21st, with gifts inspired by the wondrous beauty of nature.

Picture this: delicate packages woven from earthy natural jute, adorned with a rich tapestry of greenery or nestled within a cozy hamper tray or magnetic gift box. Imagine filling these vessels with the bounties of the earth, such as comforting foods, preserves, and fragrant natural teas, each carefully selected to warm both body and soul during the chilly season.

As you assemble these gifts, don't forget the finishing touches that truly elevate the gifting experience. Select a vibrant, colourful ribbon to encircle the package, perhaps in hues reminiscent of the winter landscape, to add a delightful visual flourish. And let's not overlook the power of words—include a heartfelt message on a beautifully crafted gift card, spreading a message of warmth and nourishment to your recipient.

#winter solstice #barama #gift packaging #gift packaging inspiration #gift box #ribbons #hamper #gift card

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months ago

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Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house.

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth.

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand.

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease.

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots.

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet.

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then.

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips.

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses.

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom.

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #goodbye 2023

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vaaaaaiolet · 4 months ago

Text

It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you.

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple.

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm.

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?”

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid.

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift.

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six?

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman.

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms.

“Hold it plea- Leon!”

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut.

“Thanks,” you gasp.

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t.

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!”

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t.

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds.

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds.

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity.

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now.

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside.

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head.

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting.

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests.

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.”

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.”

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body.

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears.

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder.

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything?

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #vaaaaaiolet #ao3 fanfic

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leviraaaaaa · 1 year ago

Text

"Coffee? This shit's expensive."

You reached for the packet that was sitting on top of the desk, surprised. Coffee was for rich nobles, not for soldiers with meager pay. Levi swatted at your hand.

"Don't touch my shit."

"What?" You took back your hand, pouting at him. "I was just saying."

Levi shot a glare at you, irritated. "Why don't you just shut up and go back to your work? My possessions are none of your business."

You groaned, eyes flicking to the empty papers in front of you that you were supposed to write reports on. "But I've been working for hours. My fingers hurts. Let me take a break."

"Stop being dramatic.

"I'm not being dramatic. You're being dramatic." You mumbled, again reaching for the package. He didn't try to stop you this time. He only glanced, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance, then going back to working. You were stubborn as fuck and he had learnt long ago telling you not to do something only inspired you to do the opposite, specially when you realized it pissed him off.

"Where the heck did you even get this?" You flip the packet, eyes widening at the price. It wasn't just expensive, it was super expensive. Levi sighed.

"Must you be so nosy all the damn time?"

"Yes." You nod, eager to know. You weren't going to let it go until you got answers. You were stubborn that way. And his unwillingness only made you all the more interested.

Or maybe you just loved pissing him off. It was amusing in a way.

Your crude captain barely ever showed emotions, so you'll take what you get. Even if the only emotions he has the capacity to display is annoyance and frustration.

Getting him riled up was perhaps, the highlight of your day. Only source of entertainment ment in the four walls of this boring facility.

What made it all better was, he'd grumble, he'd complain, he'd spew curses under his breath, but he'd still let you stick around. And he'd rather die than admit it, but it made you think that perhaps, he didn't find you as 'unpleasant' as he says he does after all.

"I didn't get it." He responded irritatedly, eyes on the papers.

"Huh?" You tilted your head, not satisfied. "What do you mean? What, this packet just grew legs and started walking and came all the way up over here? Plus, I didn't think you even like coffee. I only ever saw you drink tea–"

"You talk too much."

"Okay but," You ignored his little snide remark. "No, but this is premium quality and you haven't even opened it yet. Why'd you get it of you won't have it?"

"I didn't get it." He repeated. "And I don't like coffee."

"Thought so." You nodded. That's also another reason you were surprised to see the packet. He loathed coffee, you knew. Even though the cheap shit served in the cafeteria was truly repulsive, you would chug it down without hesitation. And the face Levi made every damn time was worth it all. That's how you learnt the bitter captain surprisingly hated the bitter drink.

"So if you're not gonna have it, can I have some? Because I'm falling asleep."

"No. I can't stand the smell of it."

"Of course you don't." You scoffed. "You drink your tea just fine though. In my opinion, that tastes more horrible."

"I didn't bring you here to comment about my drink preferences."

"Volunteering. Because you have shit preferences and someone needs to let you know–"

"Do you ever shut up?"

"No." You grinned. "Where'd you get it captain?"

"If I tell you, will you shut up?" He looked up, exasperated.

You pretended to consider. "Perhaps."

He glared at you.

"Okay I might." You nodded. "No promises, but I might. Go on, tell me."

He stared at you skeptically, weighing his options of either answering your questions so that you'd let it go or smack you in the face with the heavy file. He was seriously considering the latter at this point.

Then he sighed.

"I just know this is gonna make this worse." He muttered. "If you must know, it was a gift."

"A gift?!" Your jaw dropped.

"Captain! Who gifted you something so expensive? Don't tell me you have a secret lo-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter." He snapped, cutting you off before you could say it.

"Okay." You raised your hand in mock surrender. "Okay. No secret lovers got it. Who was it then?"

He pinched his nose bridge closing his eyes. Bracing himself for the shit you were going to give him after what he's going to say next.

"Some random Garrison Regiment Squad leader I think. Captain sova or shiva or something of that sort. Carried some heavy loads for her and then she got all soppy and grateful and wanted to express her thanks, despite my insistence that I despised coffee." He explained, ignoring the change on your expression with every word. Dear walls, he can practically hear the screws turning in your head.

"...no way." You gaped at him.

"How expensive is this shit anyway?" He reached for the packet, curiosity poking him at the genuine disbelief in your face.

"50$?" His eyes widened, brows raising. He had no idea gratitude for helping out was worth that much.

"You're just noticing it now?!" You were absolutely appalled.

"I told you I have no interest towards coffee." He said defensively.

"But– how could you not?"

"Because it's insignificant?"

"It's–" You weren't sure whether you should laugh or cry. "Have you heard of the term, 'curiosity'?"

"I simply don't care. I have way too much in my plate to sit around and observe the price of a coffee package. Have I mentioned that I loathe coffee?"

"Jeez, it was a gift. You could at least pretend to care."

He only raised an eyebrow.

"I mean..you might not have a lot of interest in coffee," You said. "But she sure sounds as if she had much interest in you."

"She? The captain?" Levi furrowed his brows, clueless.

"Yes?!" You were even more confused to see his confused expression. "Who else would I talk about?"

He shook his head. "You're misunderstanding. She was just grateful."

"Grateful because you helped her heave heavy things? So she pays you back with 50$?"

Levi pressed his lips together, considering your words. Now that he thinks about it... no it's just you making the situation more than it is.

" .... How am I to know what she was thinking?" He said finally.

You rolled your eyes. "Well.." You asked after a while. "Did she try to express her gratitude in..any other way?"

"You're not gonna drop this, are you?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Of course you won't, you nosy little shit." He sighed. "She sent me a letter last monday."

You almost fell out of your chair. "You're telling me this now?!" You demanded. "What did she say?" Half of your body was practically on the desk, you were so leaning forward so much in excitement

"You're hopeless." He shook his head at the gleam in your eyes. "Not everything is drama. She only thanked me and asked if she could treat me to dinner some night."

It was how he said that with a straight face that got you. The lack of interest, the blank expressions, it all added up.

You sat back down in silence as you realized that he wasn't really trying to deny anything because he was flustered.

He simply had no fucking idea.

"Captain. Just..how dense are you?" You asked softly, almost in awe. How a man like him could be so clueless you had no idea.

"Watch your mouth, brat."

"No offence meant." You said casually, setting his irritated words aside, too invested to give a fuck. "But did you say yes?"

"To what?"

"The dinner proposal? What else?"

"Of course not." He looked surprised you even considered the idea. "Do you have any idea how busy I am? And it's annoying. She's acting as if I saved her life and now she owes me a life debt."

You internally sent words of sympathy to the unfortunate woman. Girlie couldn't have picked a worse person to flirt with.

"Oh poor her."

"What poor her?"

"Captain. Do you seriously...not realize that she..asked you out..?"

He stared at you for a few seconds, ears growing red. "Bullshit." He muttered.

It took every bit of your effort to hold back the laugher bubbling in you. It was already difficult enough to keep a straight face. He looked so embarrassed it was hilarious.

You wondered how many girls had ever flirted with him like this and he had no fucking idea, probably shook it off thinking they were just being nice. How many hearts has he broken without even realizing it?

"Well, was she pretty at least?"

He shot an incredulous look. "I can't even remember her name, and you think I memorized her face?"

"Huh. Fair enough."

A giggle escaped you despite your hard efforts to hide your amusement. That seemed to have embarrassed him more.

"Don't laugh. There's nothing funny here."

"Oh if only you knew exactly how hilarious it is." You grinned. "I'm like two seconds away from losing it."

"I will hit you if you don't stop laughing."

You pursed your lips, the corner of your mouths still quirking up.

"Captain."

"No." He cut you off. He was tired. He was embarrassed. He was flustered. He had zero desire left to talk with you and he was fully aware nothing that ever comes out of your mouth is pleasant.

But of course you ignored him.

"Have you ever even been on a date?"

He groaned, cursing internally. This is the last thing he wanted to talk about today.

"You have no sense of privacy." He hissed.

"No. I'm serious. Because that seems highly unlikely." You continued, yet again paying no mind to his pissed remarks.

"I'm too busy."

"Nah." You shook your head. "You're too clueless. You wouldn't be able to tell if someone likes you even if they held up a sign with huge red block letters spelling out the words 'I love you!'"

"Stop."

Yeah, you weren't sure how much longer you could hold that laugh back.

"You've never been on a date in this... I don't know, how old even are you– like twenty something years of your life?"

"I'm thirty. And no."

"Holy fuck, you're old." You exclaimed, caught off guard by the information. You knew he was older than you, just didn't think he was in thirties already. He looks so...young.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"It's not that old. I'm hardly a couple years older than you."

"Still old." You shrugged. "But damn, you're life's as dry as sandpaper."

"You do realize my life revolves around fighting titans? So excuse me if I didn't give romance a chance because I was too busy trying not to die." He mumbled.

You spluttered a cough trying to hide the sound of the laughter choking you. He had looked away when he said the words, but the tips of his ears were so, so red.

Never in your life have you seen him this flustered.

"Can you shut up now and let me work?"

"Aren't you charming?" You raised an eyebrow.

Then you paused.

"Say, captain, let me help you." You suddenly said. You couldn't resist the urge to fuck with him a little more. You'd be damned if you didn't.

"With... what?"

You grinned. "Dating. I could be your official love life assistant."

The reaction was exactly as you thought it'd be. His face was absolutely flushed.

"Fuck off."

"Now, that's just mean." You pretended to be offended. "Tip 1: you don't speak to ladies like that."

He stood up without saying a word, walking around the table and stopping besides you. Then with two fingers, he flicked your forehead. Hard.

"Ouch." You cursed under your breath, rubbing your temple and turning to look at him as he walked towards the door. "What was that for?"

"Youre insufferable." He said as he twisted open the door.

"Why thank you." You mumbled as he slammed the door shut behind him. "You're extremely lovable as well, beloved captain."

Levi leaned against the door, the corners of his mouth twitching up the slightest as he heard your laugher through the door.

Oh, but here's the the thing Levi hadn't told you.

That maybe, maybe, the reason he never even considered the approaches of the admirers, or even sometimes realize their intention wasn't because he was clueless. Maybe it's because he barely ever processes the words or the actions, think about it for a second for the situations to make sense.

That maybe, he had no intention to let anyone new in his life because he already had you. What more could he possibly want?

How could he? Not when you existed in his life, with your stupid face and your stupid voice and your stupid, stupid, stupid laugh.

Maybe, just maybe.

He doesn't notice faces much because yours never leave his mind.

@sad-darksoul

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