faramore-drafts

[faramore-drafts]

“Can’t sleep?”

His voice is crinkled with rasp from lack of use, having just woken up from your lack of presence. You sit, almost possessed, staring blankly in the dark as time drips away mockingly, teasing you for not being able to shut your brain off long enough to doze and get the rest your body desperately craves.

You hum. He hums back.

The entire bed shifts as he sits up next to you, pawing for your hand. You let him lace your fingers together, and his head comes down to rest on your shoulder, you can practically feel the way his eyes struggle to stay open. “You wanna talk about it?”

You don’t say anything. He understands. He always does.

“We can just sit,” he says softly, yawning. “I’m alright with that.”

“Do you wish you never met me?”

“Huh?”

“Sometimes I feel like it be better if no one ever met me. Then this perpetual feeling of dread and fear of disappointing others might not be so unbearable.”

He goes quiet. You wonder if you opened a can of worms you shouldn’t have, a box that should’ve stayed closed, and as you open your mouth to pardon yourself, he chuckles and squeezes your hand.

“Sometimes, I forget a time you weren’t mine,” he says, and you scoff. “I mean it,” he continues. “Like, I lived a life before you. I had a few years where you and I were strangers, people who’d pass each other on the street and think nothing more. But,” he turns his head to kiss your shoulder, “it’s not worth my time to think about. Because my life started being memorable when I met you.”

Your breath hitches and your lip wobbles. His eyes flick up to your face, but he keeps going. “It was foggy before you. Things I should’ve remembered needed a spot in my calendar. Things I never should’ve forgotten about slipped my mind constantly. But then I met you- and things got worth memorizing.

“I know your favorite snacks and how you take your drinks. I know the color of your coffee and tea needs to be exactly the shade you’re looking for. I know your favorite songs live in a playlist called ‘brain ticklers,’ and I know your favorite animal, so every time I see a plush or keychain or something in a store, I’m sure to buy it for you. I know you like condiments on certain things, if it’s on something you don’t think it should be you straight up won’t eat it. I know your different laughs, like when you think something is genuinely funny or you’re just trying to be nice- thanks for bailing me out in front of our friends the other day, by the way. I know your favorite cartoon from when you were a kid, and a movie you can basically quote from memory. Hell, if you woke me up before this and asked me your favorite Sanrio character or Pokemon, I’d tell you within an instant.”

At some point, tears started to slip down your cheeks, and you barely flinch as he brings a thumb up to wipe the sticky track from your warm cheek, “things about you are worth remembering. And I love learning new things about you. So please,” he kisses your cheek before resting his forehead against it, “don’t doubt that I’m grateful to know you. Because I love you. And if staying up at ungodly hours is what you need, I’m happy to do it. Because it’s for you. And you’re worth staying up for. You’re worth all the love I can conjure and way more.”

Your shoulders heave. You crumble into your tears, sniffling and letting out the most upsetting whimpers you’ve ever heard. Your free hand instinctively come up to wipe your eyes, and he sits up straighter and wraps an arm around you, curling you close to his side. “It’s okay, baby… let it out.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” you sob, chest aching in search of air that doesn’t seem to fill your lungs. “I’m so… so tired…”

“That’s okay. You can be tired,” he assures, kissing your head. “We can be tired together. As long as we are together, I’m okay with that.”

“No,” you whimper. “You don’t deserve that. I’m not dragging you down with me.”

“You don’t deserve to bear the burden alone,” he says. “I’ve got your back. I always will.” You don’t say anything, he doesn’t expect you to.

Instead, he sits with you, thumb rubbing over your shoulder and lips occasionally kissing your forehead as the sky slowly becomes a lighter shade of purple, minutes dribbling into the universe as he stays awake with you in the silence.

Maybe the weight of the world doesn’t have to break your shoulders every day. Maybe it is alright to share the burden.

Let the man who knows your condiment preference and your favorite Sanrio character take some of it off of you.

Maybe you are worth knowing.

[faramore-drafts]

!! the bachelors after their first kiss with you

contains ; fluff! gn!(but written with fem in mind)farmer for most. implied male in alex’s. non canon setting (for most). unestablished relationships—pre dating. alcohol usage. smoking (cigarettess).

note ; i had a nice time in my imagination with this one

harvey.

he stares at you, stunned at how easily you were able to do the thing he’s been thinking about for weeks. how soft your lips felt, how comforting your hand on his chest was, and how genuinely intoxicated just one simple kiss from you was already making him feel.

he clears his throat, and almost like you just sucked every word out of him, all he could muster up was a mumbled, “thank you.” he thanked you. for kissing him.

you purse your lips, trying your darnedest not to laugh watching his face just drop, realizing the first thing he said to you after you kissed him for the first time was a thank you.

“oh no, it was my pleasure.” you tease, allowing a small giggle to slip. he sighs like his blood has run cold, too embarrassed to even respond. luckily for him, you’re just too perfect, and you cool his sting by leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a smile, hand cupped over the opposing one, “goodnight harvey. i’ll see you tomorrow. you can thank me for that one, then.”

sam.

he acted almost as quick as you did, the moment he saw your eyes fixate on his lips and lean in, he wasted no time to fill in the gap between you two.

“you kissed me.” he says, face washed in amusement and adrenaline. he remains a solid grip where his hands rest on your lower waist, clear he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon.

“i might’ve.” you murmur, flickering your gaze to and from his. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think—

“are you all shy now? did i make you nervous?” he angles his head to chase your nervously wandering eyes, mischievous grin and tease in his tone. his hand consciously cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing into your jaw to gently force your chin up and maintain eye contact.

you huff, shaking your head. “well, a little! we just kissed!” you try not to sound too whiny—though, the way his grin spreads almost makes you forget that plan.

“aha! i made you nervous! am i so handsome? am i such a good kisser?” he muses, snickering in triumph.

“sam,” you test, narrowing your eyes through your eyelashes.

“what? you dunno know the answer? wanna kiss again to find out?”

shane.

he didn’t actually think you’d lean in, much less keep it going for so long that he’d have to push against you a moment later to give him a second to breathe.

but you shake your head, misinterpreting it all so quickly. “i’m sorry—i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have kissed you, i don’t know why i did that, i’m sorry—“

“whoa, i wasn’t pushin’ you away,” he immediately rouses, “i’m not mad that you kissed me.” and he snickers lowly, “more like pounced on me.”

“you’re not?” you hum breathlessly, straightening your pants and tucking pieces of your hair back. now your chest bubbles with a new kind of embarrassment. you nibble on your lower lip, attempting to ease your breaths. “i—i dunno why i did that. i don’t usually drink…much less makeout with people while i do.”

you slouch back down on the old, creaky dock next to him. he snorts, tilting his head, “‘m just too irresistible, huh?”

you shoot him a glower. “yeah,” you say like it’s sarcastic, but really, you’re well aware you aren’t drunk enough to start behaving irrationally. “i just didn’t mean to do that.”

“i don’t mind that you kissed me.” he shrugs.

you watch as he takes a swig from his beer can. his eyes focus on the overall still lake in front of you both. “you don’t?”

he almost wants to tease you for all your disbeliefs. he chooses to scoff out a laugh instead, shaking his head. “mm-mm.”

you turn to face the water, gently swinging your dangling legs over the edge. “hm,” you hum back, “maybe we should talk about that when we’re both sober.”

sebastian.

he’s borderline shocked at how easy it was for him to kiss you back—no hesitation after your fingers brushed the back of his hair to pull him in. he’s almost loopy, too, and he’s never been the type to swoon so hard from these kinds of affections. but he’s also learned a lot has changed since he first met you.

“you taste like cigarettes.” you murmur as you step back, licking your lower lip as if to repeat the taste. you turn towards the city lights, and for the first time he’s finding it nearly impossible to follow your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” he truthfully says, absentmindedly stepping down on the previously tossed cigarette butt at his shoe. “i’ve been trying to stop.”

“tastes like you, too. mixed in, i guess.” you note with a smile, “it’s not terrible though. but good, you should try and quit.”

he honestly doesn’t know how to take that—in his mind, he can’t imagine that tastes good, much less the combination any glorious. yet you turn to him again, stuffed hands unfolding from your pockets to reach across for his.

all you had to do was to give him a tiny tug, sliding your hands up his shoulders before he repositioned his own back to where they previously sat on your waist.

“let me bask it in while i can, though.”

alex.

you’ve almost never seen him with this soft, content look on his face. you’re half expecting him to burst into laughter, try to justify his actions with a teasing lilt and offer to pretend like it never happened.

but no. all he does is look at you, watching the way your eyes shift between each of his, evaluating. like he’s waiting for one of you to break.

you take the bait. “why’d you do that?” you murmur, quiet enough the wind almost picks it up.

he shrugs. “i dunno. it felt right.” he hums, and despite his uncertain words, he says it with sincerity. “was that the wrong choice?”

you think for a moment. for you, you surely thought about it for weeks. but the timing certainly didn’t feel appropriate. vulnerability changes a man like him most of all, and the last thing you’d want to do was take advantage of that. you absentmindedly swirl the grains of sand under your fingertips.

“no, i don’t think so.” you respond easily.

he nods. you’ve never seen him this quiet, but despite that, you’ve got an idea of what’s exactly going through his mind. when he turns away, you’re certain.

“you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“of course not.”

elliott.

he had almost forgotten why he invited you over—just for inspiration on the last couple chapters of his novel, or did he honestly plan for it to go like this?

“so…what happens after they…kiss?” you coyly murmur, still held in his embrace so close you can smell the drop of pomegranate on his lips.

“well, i haven’t written that far just yet,” he pauses to take a breath, “i was hoping they’d finally confess their love.”

he’s so handsome this close, your head still reels and lips feel fuzzy as you struggle to bring back in your even breaths.

you nod, slow and computing. “yeah—no, that sounds good.”

your plump lips hold him in a trance, as do his, making it so hard to concentrate on his words all the while you feel you’re too fixated on them.

“so you believe they love each other? that they should finally tell the other?”

the kiss rendered you thoughtless—what can you expect from a romantic like him? however, the metaphor is not lost on you. and had he let you go at this point, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to eagerly nod, “absolutely. two people in love should tell each other they’re in love.”

[faramore-drafts]

[faramore-drafts]

Obey me social media

Post:

"Me asking him if he wears silver or gold jewelry. (for when I can chain him up in my basement)"

*mc has liked this post*

Mammon: Is there something you want to explain?

Mc: Relax, I know it's gold. <3

[faramore-drafts]

underrated criminal minds duo

[faramore-drafts]

Aaron Hotchner in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 5, Episode 22, ‘The Internet Is Forever’

Masterlist ✰

[faramore-drafts]

We are all victims.

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

[faramore-drafts]

⋆°• ☁︎ 𐙚 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖

>> l lawliet x reader

>> fluff, established relationship

you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and being lulled to sleep by the rhythmic clacking of L’s keyboard. 

“you know what i wish?” you muse, watching the light coming off his computer brighten and darken as he flicks between screens. 

“wishing is of little consequence,” he replies, almost automatically. “it won’t change the reality we live in.”

you ignore him. “ryuzaki, you want to know what i wish?”

he sighs, knowing you’ll persist anyway. “what do you wish, my love?”

“i wish that we were in a romance manga,” you tell him, clutching a pillow to your chest and letting your head hang off the side of the bed. “and you’d be just a detective and i’d be just me.”

he’s silent for a moment, taking in your words before he responds. “but i am a detective and you are you. where would this divulge from reality?”

“no one would die, because it’s a romance manga and it’s not that kind of story,” you say with a sigh. “the biggest mystery you’d be solving was how to ask me out and the only crime committed was how you’d stolen my heart—” he almost laughs at that part, “—and we could have a beach episode and montages of cute dates and a christmas special and—” you prattle on, excited merely over the prospect as you list off other fantasies. 

ryuzaki listens as he works, used to this dreamy behavior from you (especially when you’re half asleep like this). your ramblings amuse him. 

“i could take you to the beach,” he muses, eyes wandering in thought. 

“hm?” 

“watari owns several private islands,” he says, wheeling around in his chair to face you. “they’re used for different purposes, mostly as safe houses for emergencies. but i’m sure he wouldn’t mind us staying there on a long weekend.”

“are you being serious, ryuzaki?” you ask after a moment, clutching the edge of the mattress to keep yourself upright. your eyes are big and curious and hold a little ember of hope and giddiness. 

“when am i not serious?” he mumbles in reply, clacking away on his keyboard but unable to hide a small smile. 

you clap in delight, letting out a happy squeal. “oh my god! a private island retreat!”

“it’s nothing fancy,” he insists, turning back to his work, “so don’t go thinking this is some grand occasion.”

“ryuzaki, what about a private island isn’t fancy?!” you reply, clambering off the bed in a hurry. you whirl about the room, darting between the closet and nightstand and dresser. “i have to pack all my swimsuits and summer clothes and oh, my sandals! and my hats and sunglasses!”

“i didn’t say we were going now,” he chides, casting you an incredulous glance as he watches you flit about the room. your manic energy is endearing, if somewhat exasperating. 

you straighten from where you’d been bent over the drawers, grinning and sweeping your hair from your eyes. “ah, you said a long weekend. there’s a holiday next week! if we leave in the next couple days, we can beat most of the travel congestion for the break.”

a small smile manages to overtake him at your spindle of logic. “so you’ve got it all worked out then?”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was teasing you

“yes,” you reply indignantly, “now get watari on the phone and tell him i said ‘pretty please with a cherry on top’.”

he huffs with a soft laugh, shaking his head. you aren’t demanding of much, but once you have your sights set on something there’s no stopping you. “very well, my love. i’ll call watari, but that ‘cherry on top’ you mentioned will be for me, accompanied by a significant amount of cake.”

“deal,” you grin, shooing at him to make the call. 

[faramore-drafts]

the nurse doesn't even get a full sentence out before you hear it—the loud, unmistakable, drawn out moan from behind the curtain.

"uuuuuuughghhghhhhhh."

you blink.

"that yours?" she asks, arching an eyebrow, holding back a smile.

you sigh. "unfortunately, yes."

she laughs softly and pulls the curtain back.

and there he is.

gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, your very dramatic boyfriend, currently conked out in the reclining recovery chair like a ragdoll someone left in the sun for too long. his blindfold is gone (carefully folded on the side table, somehow), his mouth is half open, one of his arms is hanging off the chair like he's mid-shakespearean death scene and one leg is swinging mindlessly like he's in the middle of an interpretive dance.

"ughhhhhhhhhh," he groans again, eyes fluttering, unfocused. "where am i. is this the void? the infinite void? am i in the purgatory between dimensions?"

"you had a wisdom tooth removed," you say, walking up to him with your arms crossed.

satoru's head rolls toward the sound of your voice. it takes him a solid five seconds to gain his bearings and settle his gaze on you.

and then—his whole body jerks.

"oh my god," he gasps, pointing a floppy, trembling finger at you. "you're the taco bell goddess."

you blink again, taken aback. the anesthesia is really doing a number on him. it's entertaining. "i'm sorry, what now?"

"i knew you were real," he whispers reverently, nodding to himself. "you came to me in a dream once. you had like, this glowing chalupa aura and you whispered 'live mas' into my soul."

you stare. "what—what the hell are you talking about?"

"don't play coy, my divine temptress of the drive-thru," he says, hand clutching his chest like he's about to write an epic soliloquy in your name. "you bring hot sauce and justice to this cruel, flavorless world."

"okay," you say slowly, looking around for the nurse, "how much anesthesia did they give you?"

"enough to see the truth," he says dramatically.

you laugh so hard you have to grab the side of his chair for support.

satoru squints at you. "wait—wait, no. are you—are you even the taco bell goddess? or are you some kind of fraud, preying on innocent taco followers?"

"i'm your girlfriend," you reply, still wheezing. "you live with me."

his sky blue eyes go comically wide. "you mean i bagged the taco bell goddess and i live with her?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose to calm yourself. "you need water and maybe an exorcism."

he doesn't hear you. of course he doesn't. he's busy throwing up both hands like he's just won an oscar.

"somebody better put me in a commercial," he says proudly. "'cause i'm livin' mas, baby."

you're practically crying with laughter now, and you don't seem to be stopping soon.

"you're a disaster," you choke out.

he grabs your hand and holds it reverently. "disaster, or super cool legend?"

you lean in and kiss his forehead, lips twitching. "definitely a disaster."

satoru beams. "you kissed me! i'm telling everyone. you kissed me first. that's legally binding."

"we've been dating for two years."

"two years?!" his jaw drops. "that's like—" he counts on his fingers "—more than ten kisses!"

you have to bite your lip before you start cracking up again. then, his eyes impossibly wide, he pats around on his lap like he's looking for something. "where's my phone. i gotta tweet this."

"you're not tweeting while high."

"but the world needs to know i'm in love with a celestial being."

"absolutely not."

"okay, but hear me out," he says, slumping deeper into the chair with a dopey grin. "what if we got married. right now. here. in the dentist's office. we've got witnesses. we've got—" he frowns at the table next to him "—fluoride."

you're really trying your best to not lose it. "you want to get married surrounded by cotton swabs and expired magazines?"

he reaches for your face with both hands like he's about to cradle something precious. except one hand flops uselessly against your cheek.

"you're all i need," he slurs.

you smile, warmth creeping up your neck. "oh my god."

"wait, wait. do i have a ring?" he pats his pockets in slow motion. "we can use a paperclip. i'll macgyver it."

"i'm confiscating your paperclips."

he groans. "you never let me have any fun."

you take his hand, kiss the knuckles. "oh, toru. you're a full-time menace, so i have to be the responsible one."

his eyes flutter, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips now. "but you love me."

you sigh, brushing his hair back gently. "i do. against my better judgement."

he grins. "ha. got 'em."

you let your forehead rest against his.

the strongest sorcerer alive. in love. loopy. wearing a bib that says 'tooth be told' with a cartoon molar giving a thumbs-up.

and somehow, impossibly, still the love of your life.

you whisper, "when you're coherent again, i'm going to tell you everything you said. never letting you live this down."

his eyes crack open. "noooo."

"yes."

"i'll sue."

"i dare you."

and he giggles. giggles. like a chaotic little gremlin in your arms.

you hold him close, his fingers twined in yours, as the strongest sorcerer in the world melts into a puddle of affectionate nonsense on anesthetic. and you think, grinning—

god, i love this ridiculous man.

[faramore-drafts]

THIS!!! \ (•◡•) /

A HELLO AND A KISS

pairing: aaron hotchner x lawyer!reader summary: aaron hotchner survives serial killers and endless paperwork—but apparently not you breezing past him without a hello, based on this request. (im so sorry, i got carried away and did not include the part of r meeting the team!!! pls dont hate me) warnings | an: jealous hotch, protective hotch, simp hotch, hotch is just down bad for his girl, one bj joke word count: 2.4k

✧ masterlist

You hadn’t come home last night.

Aaron had simply received a brief text: Don’t wait up. A case fell into my lap last minute. It wasn’t unusual—not in your line of work, and certainly not in his. You’d both sent that message before, more times than either of you could count. It came with the territory.

You and Aaron had always kept your professional lives separate. A clean, white, necessary line in the sand. It helped keep the bloodstained parts from crossing over and kept your dinner conversations from becoming post-mortems or courtroom recaps. After all, it was easier not to talk about the men Aaron arrested when you were the one prosecuting them.

He didn’t put it together right away.

But all five of his senses were attuned to you. Honestly? his sixth sense was you. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there—he could feel you, hear you, even smell you before he ever caught a glimpse.  It didn’t take much. Sometimes, it was just the sound of heels—your heels—that gave you away.

It was that click-clack rhythm that he had grown accustomed to over the months, filtering through early mornings when you forgot your keys, then your case notes, then your coffee. It trailed after you in the hallway, embedded in every corner where you’d left pieces of yourself scattered around his home.

And now, that same sound echoed from behind him, followed by the heavy thud of the courtroom door swinging shut.

“Can’t believe he’s actually trying to weasel out of this,” Prentiss muttered under her breath, just as you swept past their row.

The unsub’s public defender had filed a not-guilty plea days earlier—citing supposed evidence mishandling, mistaken identity, even floating some half-baked theory about a setup. It was desperate. Flimsy. But just credible enough to stall the trial, to buy time he didn’t deserve.

You didn’t look Aaron’s way. Didn’t slow your pace. You gave no reaction at all, just glided by, slipping into the prosecution’s chair like it was your usual seat at the office.

“New face,” Prentiss noted, leaning toward Hotch. “She wasn’t at the prelims was she?”

Hotch finally cleared his throat. “No.”

He meant to say more—something neutral, something about new counsel, something properly professional, something more him—but the words got stuck somewhere behind his ribs. Especially when the most him thing in the world was standing right there, only meters away from a man he’d gladly kill with his bare hands if he so much as looked at you the wrong way.

Though, truthfully, he knew you’d get to him quicker with words, with strategy, with that cool, calculated tone that could cut deeper than any punch Hotch could throw.

You still hadn’t looked at him. Fully locked into that little world of yours, where the second you stepped into a courtroom, you grew fins and dermal denticles, transforming into a shark in couture and four-inch heels.

It stung. Just a little. But he knew why you were doing it. He just couldn’t begin to imagine what it must feel like to sit in a room and watch you give someone like that—worst of the worst—your full, undivided attention.

He’d only had the pleasure (and slight terror) of watching you in court twice before—neither case connected to the BAU and already, he was starting to sweat. Just a little. Maybe.

Aaron clamped his jaw tight, trying to keep his expression neutral, but the effort must’ve been visible because he caught Rossi huffing a laugh under his breath.

Of course Rossi knew. Rossi was the only one who’d actually met you off-duty. And the last thing Hotch needed was Rossi even hinting at the tiny, minuscule, barely-worth-mentioning fact that you wore Aaron’s old college t-shirt to bed, or that just a few hours ago, he’d been ogling your bare legs as you stumbled out of the shower, mumbling at him to go back to sleep.

Because as soon as Prentiss or Morgan—who already looked half-asleep in his seat—caught wind of it, it wouldn’t be a murder trial they were interested in anymore. No, it would turn into entertainment, something far more exciting than sitting at their desks, pretending to work through paperwork they never submitted on time anyway.

He shifted in his seat. No engagement was the best engagement, he figured.

Instead, he forced his eyes off you and onto the defendant, who was fiddling with his tie like that would suddenly make him more credible. Like anyone in the room would forget what he’d done just because he shaved and tucked in his damn shirt.

But the second you stood, rising slowly from your chair, Aaron’s gaze snapped right back to you, so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Still, you didn’t look his way. Of course you didn’t. You were here to do a job. And right now, that job was dismantling a man with nothing but your voice.

He swallowed hard.

Yeah. He was definitely sweating now.

By the time the trial hit the halfway mark, he could tell your energy had changed—or was about to—with the unsub being called to the stand.

Hotch sat stiffly, watching you shuffle your notes with little effort. Morgan had finally roused enough to start paying attention, and Prentiss was scribbling away in the margins of her legal pad—none of which, Hotch would bet good money, had anything to do with the actual trial.

You stood once more, brushing that stubborn piece of hair away from your face—the one that always seemed to fall whenever you were reading something from above. He wished he could push it away for you, wished he could pull you out of this courtroom entirely, shield you from every ugly, broken thing the world could throw at you.

But then your voice cut through the room, reminding him that this was your job.

"Alright," you began, voice crisp but bored, like you were already three steps ahead. That’s what anyone else might think. But Aaron knew you were ahead five.

"Let’s go back to March 5th," you said, pausing just for a second. "You said you didn’t know Jessica Harlan."

"I didn’t," Tanner snapped back, so fast it almost made Hotch smile.

That kind of panic was never a good sign—and he knew it was one of your favourite tells. The second someone cracked like that, it was like flipping a switch, like flashing a green light across the battlefield. Go get him.

"Right," you hummed, nodding like you were humouring a stubborn child throwing a tantrum. "Right."

Another pause.

You were good at that—giving the poor soul on the receiving end (victim, really) of your arguing capabilities enough time to think. To second-guess themselves. Hotch had picked up on it early on, and when he’d once asked you about it, you gave him a dry, matter-of-fact answer: it gave people enough time to realise how stupid they sounded.

"And yet, a witness places your car parked across the street from her apartment two nights in a row. Same make, same model, same license plate."

Tanner shifted in the witness chair, but you didn’t rush him. You stood there, cool and composed, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

“I –”

"Parked there?" you cut in, tilting your head like you were offering him an easy out. The trap was already set.

You reached for the remote, clicking the TV monitor on.

"Okay, that’s completely understandable," you considered with a polite nod toward the jury. "Though I’m not quite sure what your explanation is for getting out of the vehicle on the second night and standing in front of Jessica Harlan’s apartment for—" you glanced down at your watch, "—thirty-seven minutes."

You glanced back up, eyebrows raised just enough to look curious but not confrontational. Just a lawyer looking for answers.

Tanner opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands like maybe they’d have a better explanation than he did.

Aaron recognised the footage immediately, thanks to Garcia’s handiwork. The screen showed Tanner stepping out of his car, glancing around, and then just…standing there. Across the street from Jessica’s apartment building.

Doing absolutely nothing.

For thirty-seven minutes.

The same number of stab wounds Jessica and every other victim had endured.

You didn’t even glance at the screen. Your focus stayed fixed on Tanner like a blade against his throat.

“Maybe you were just out getting some fresh air. Though I’m not sure stalking is generally recommended for cardio.”

"Objection, Your Honour—" the defence attorney barked, already on his feet.

You raised a hand, before the judge even had time to respond. “Withdrawn.”

"I wasn’t watching her,” Tanner argued, drawing the attention back to himself.

"No?” you echoed, cocking your head to the side. “Then what were you doing, Mr Tanner? Practicing your standing endurance?"

He huffed out a weak laugh with no real humour behind it. It was the kind that people made when they realised they were cornered and didn’t have the tools to dig their way out.

“I just... needed some air,” he repeated, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

"I get it, I do," you agreed in faux sweetness. "We all need fresh air. Though it’s odd, don’t you think?"

“I’m sorry?”

“Jessica Harlan was stabbed thirty-seven times…" You took a step closer to Tanner, and Aaron had to physically stop himself from moving. Remind himself that you knew exactly what you were doing. That this was all part of the strategy. Even if, deep down, he wanted nothing more than to stand between you and every monster you faced.

"Which," you continued, "happens to be the exact number of minutes you spent outside her apartment."

Tanner swallowed, but that didn’t seem to faze you.

"Just like you spent thirty-seven minutes outside Eliza Horne’s place of work," you listed off, each word tightening the noose around Tanner’s neck. "Thirty-seven minutes outside the gym where Marissa Cole trained. Thirty-seven minutes at the café Danielle Ruiz visited every Thursday—”

Aaron felt Prentiss lean in beside him. “She’s good.”

He didn’t look away from you long enough to answer.

Good didn’t even begin to cover it.

You were extraordinary. And somehow—somehow—you were his.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, what twist of fate had put you in his path, but he would be grateful for it for the rest of his life.

Grateful that you had let him in.

Grateful that he got to see you whole.

Whether it was in a courtroom, where you left your smile and affection at the door to tear the truth out of some of the worst people, or in the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed—the way you teased him for how he pronounced pecan—he had seen it all. And he wouldn’t trade a second of it.

A nudge from Rossi pulled Aaron out of what felt like a permanent trance—the one you had managed to put him in with no effort whatsoever.

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"Got you reminiscing about your prosecutor days?"

Aaron let out a breath that almost passed for a laugh. "I think if I’d stayed," he said, glancing back toward you, "she would’ve put me to shame."

"Would’ve been one hell of a show,” Rossi murmured. “Don’t let her get away.”

Aaron’s mouth tipped into the barest hint of a smile. He wasn’t planning on it. Hell would have to freeze over before he let even the smallest possibility of that happen.

His eyes found you again—right where they belonged—just as you finished with Tanner.

The day wound down eventually, and Aaron doubted the trial would drag on much longer, not after what you’d done to Tanner and his defence team. There wasn’t much left of them by the time you were finished.

He lingered just outside the courtroom, waiting. He’d managed to come up with a half-convincing excuse to stay behind, though neither Morgan nor Prentiss seemed to question it. They were too busy arguing over whether they could convince Penelope to hack into your trial schedule just so they could sit in on another one.

Not that Aaron could blame them.

The courthouse entrance doors swung open again, and you finally stepped through, files tucked under your arm, eyes fixed on your phone as you breezed past.

You didn’t even glance his way.

Again.

Aaron blinked. Really?

"So I don't even get a hello?" he asked, stepping lightly into your path with a raised brow. “Twice in one day. Must be losing my edge.”

You looked up, startled for half a second before your entire face lit up at the sight of him.

"I’m so sorry!" you blurted, already smiling. "You know how much I hate it when things fall into my lap last minute. I've been running around all day just trying to catch up—”

"No, no," he interjected, keeping his face painfully neutral, though the corners of his mouth twitched, just a little. "It’s fine. I’m obviously not that memorable."

"And I thought I was the needy one." You shook your head, still laughing under your breath as you tucked your phone away and shifted your files into one arm.

“Come here,” you cooed, hooking two fingers into the front of Aaron’s jacket, tugging him down.

He went willingly—no surprise there.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek first, soft and easy, before leaning in for a slower one on his lips. The kind that made him forget you were still technically in public.

"Better?" you asked, pulling back just enough to see the answer written all over his face.

"Only a little," he murmured, and before you could so much as blink, he reached out and took the files and your briefcase from your arms like it was second nature, like he’d been carrying your things for years.

“You carrying my stuff now, too?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to earn my next hello.”

You laughed, the sound unwinding every knot in Aaron’s chest, loosening him in ways only you ever could.

“Keep this up and you’ll have my mouth doing a lot more than just saying hello.”

Yeah.

He was completely gone.

tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley

[faramore-drafts]

~(˘▾˘~)

training with giyuu heheheuroejeoejoe hes so pretty

you stood across from him, feet planted in the dirt, katana angled just slightly downward as you caught your breath. giyuu hadn’t broken a sweat. of course.

“you’re faster today,” he said, circling slowly, eyes scanning your stance.

you grinned, adjusting your grip. “maybe i’m finally worthy of being your rival.”

“you’re not,” he said without malice.

“rude.”

he moved first — fast and fluid like a current, his blade arcing toward your side. you blocked just in time, your arms shaking slightly with the force of the impact.

“you’re still hesitating,” he muttered.

“i’m distracted,” you admitted.

he stilled for a beat. “by what?”

you stepped back and pointed your katana at his face, a little smug. “your hair’s in your eyes. and i want to push it back.”

his jaw twitched.

“i’m serious,” you continued, tilting your head. “it’s really soft. i think about it mid-swing. that’s probably dangerous.”

“you’re not taking this seriously.”

“i’m taking you seriously. just… in my own way.”

he advanced again, this time close enough that your blades locked — hilts straining against each other, both of you breathing heavy. your faces were inches apart.

you smirked. “see? there it is again. hair. right in your eyes.”

he didn’t move, but you noticed the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

you reached up — slowly, deliberately — and brushed his bangs to the side with the back of your hand, blade still pressed between you. “there. now i can see your pretty face properly.”

he blinked. “you’re insufferable.”

“you let me do it,” you teased, leaning in like you were going to kiss him.

he stepped back just before you could — not flustered, just… managing.

“again,” he said. “and focus this time.”

you set your stance again, but your smile didn’t fade. “can’t make any promises.”

he sighed and muttered something about your attention span, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on you for a heartbeat longer before raising his blade again.

and maybe, just maybe, he was the one getting distracted now.

[faramore-drafts]

I kind of wonder what Lucifers reaction would be if MC just out of no where, started petting/stroking his wings…. (Hopefully not death lol… I wanna pet the wings)

Demons can never resist temptation.

Lucifer said that himself once, with his prideful smirk and half-lidded eyes, that beings of his kind will never resist when presented with desire.

You suppose it holds true for humans too.

Because the wings adoring his back are tempting you to touch them—stroke the onyx black feathers and ruffle them up, feel their texture and lightness.

You want to feel Lucifer.

So when you reach out and stroke a feather, the demon immediately stiffens, yet makes no move to correct you or ask to move your hand towards your textbook.

When you glide a finger across the middle, he shivers, and when you tentatively reach out to feel the wings in the palm of your hands you silently glance at Lucifer for permission. He says nothing, merely stares at your expectant fingers and glides his right wing across your wrist.

It's soft, almost ticklish, the way his feathers smoothly glide across skin, soft and delicate for a demon.

They were white once, you remember, six instead of four. Mammon had told you about Satan's birth, and you suppose the boa might be Lucifer's wings. But you're yet to find out.

When you smoothen a hand over the wing Lucifer sighs, before opening his eyes and gazing at you with a tired, but fond, expression.

"What are you doing?" He mutters, but it's more of a statement than a question at this point. You stroke the outlines of his wing before answering. "Stroking your wings."

The demon chuckles softly at that.

When you move to stroke the other wing, while keeping one hand on the place where his spine should be, he shivers in anticipation when you give the other the same treatment. Lucifer shoots you a tired look. "You like them so much that you want to feel them?"

"Only because it's a part of you." You whisper, and you swear you can feel the demon's eyes widen as he takes in the meaning of your words.

And suddenly, before you can even blink, you find yourself in his arms, with your head on his chest and his wings surrounding you, hidden from the world, for your world now is the arms of the Avatar of Pride.

In his room, with a vinyl playing and you stroking his wings, it's a moment you never want for to end. Such moments of tranquility are rare and few in between, and any moment now his brothers might come storming in, but you'll make the most of now.

You promise as you stroke a feather, and Lucifer sighs before kissing the top of your head.

[faramore-drafts]

Same with Levi’s. if I was MC it would be so hard not to be tempted to pet his tail… mostly just cause I want to see his embarrassed reaction.

It serves as a third hand.

You only realize it when you see him grab the pouch of juice from the floor, the long appendage making it convenient to game and drink at the same time.

You envy him, honestly, for that serpent tail of his seems to be pretty handy. He has picked up objects from the floor without having to bend down, and even smacked you in the face once accidently.

The poor demon was profusely apologising, while your focus was elsewhere—on that tail. Soft and cool to the touch, covered with scales. Strong, when it collided with your cheek.

And now when he's gaming, utterly focused on beating the final boss, his tail tensed, it seems too good of an opportunity to pass up.

When you grab the appendage, the first thing you notice is that it is cool to the touch, and the second: Levi has jumped three feet in the air. Seems like physical contact flusters him, maybe because he's never been touched that way before.

"W-what are you doing?" He chokes out, red in the face from your touch, the game forgotten. It's cute to see him all blushy, but you mustn't push his boundaries too much, otherwise the demon might faint.

Your grin is cheeky.

"Stroking your tail," You mumble, mischievously smiling as you stare at his face, red from your words and actions. Levi fumbles with the controller as he removes his headphones.

"W-Why?"

"Do you wish I would stop?" You question, utterly serious as you do not wish to make him uncomfortable, but Levi shakily swallows. "J-Just," He stutters, still in disbelief at your words, "Why w-would you want to touch someone l-like me."

That reply breaks your heart.

"Levi," You whisper, all signs of mischief gone as you kneel by the bathtub. "You're not gross. You're not yucky. You're Leviathan, a demon of great passion, one who always beats me at video games and cries while watching sappy movies. You're you."

Your words have an immediate effect on the demon who blushes as he hides his face in his hands. Maybe this was the first time he was being complimented like this..

You will adore him more.

Levi, too flustered by your words, didn't notice his tail coiling around your waist until you did. A gentle, cool pressure.

"Levi?" You mumble, taking care not to startle him even further.

Only when the demon looks up and sees his tail hugging you, he falls out of the bathtub with a thud.

[faramore-drafts]

I started using them recently because I am so bad at using commas. I didn’t realize it was a thing AI used too. Especially considering how dumb most of AI sounds. ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[faramore-drafts]

♥‿♥

This is an appreciation post for the fanfic authors who aren’t included on rec lists

For the fanfic authors who don’t get art of their fics

For the fanfic authors who can’t get to 1000/500/100 hits

For the fanfic authors who don’t get comments/reviews

For the fanfic authors who write for small fandoms

For the fanfic authors who write rarepairs or gen fics

For the fanfic authors who get hate for the ships/characters/fandoms they write

For the fanfic authors who write in English despite it not being their first language

For the fanfic authors who don’t write in English

For the fanfic authors who don’t think anyone reads or likes their work

For the fanfic authors who aren’t big name fans

For the fanfic authors who don’t get requests in their inboxes

For the fanfic authors who can’t write stories that are more than a thousand words

For the fanfic authors who only write one ship

For the fanfic authors who are just starting

For the fanfic authors who have been writing fic for years

For the fanfic authors who use fanfic to practice writing

For the fanfic authors who write self-insert fics

For the fanfic authors who write about their OCs

For the fanfic authors who write to vent or cope

For the fanfic authors who are just waiting for their big break

Keep creating, I love you ❤️

[faramore-drafts]

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧❤️❤️❤️❤️ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

Classroom Talk | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer drops your lunch off to your classroom filled with apparent love experts, who then question the man you’re with and tease you two for not being married yet…

A/N: idk why but I just thought of this, it’s adorable though. Not proofread too tired for that. LOL.

BYR(b4 you Reid): light teasing, Spencer getting kind of bullied by teens, and fluff :))

You were at your desk, deep in teacher mode. Grading assignments, updating the grade book, the usual rhythm of a productive day.

You glanced up and saw your students working quietly for once, either reading the latest chapter you’d assigned or scribbling their thoughts in journals. It was that rare magical moment every teacher silently prays for: peace.

Naturally, it didn’t last.

There was a knock at the door.

Every single head turned in unison. Including yours.

“Hello.” A familiar voice said, soft and polite, peeking into the room like he wasn’t about to cause utter chaos.

Spencer.

Your brilliant, shy, awkward boyfriend. Standing in your classroom.

You blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?” You asked, smiling like this was the best little surprise.

“Someone.” He said, raising a brow and holding your bag up. “Forgot their lunch at home.”

You walked over to meet him halfway, shaking your head. “Wow, I didn’t even realize.”

His hand instinctively went to your waist as he handed you your lunch, you turned to face your students, you immediately regretted it.

Half of them were staring blankly. The other half wore smug little smirks, the kind you’ve seen way too many times this year.

You sighed, already sensing the storm brewing. “Everyone, this is Spencer.” You introduced him. He gave an awkward wave and shy smile, very much regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

“Hi.” Came a chorus of teenage politeness, which was immediately shattered by

“Is that your husband?” Silas blurted. Of course it was Silas.

You chuckled. “No, not my husband.”

“Fiancé?” Someone else chimed in.

“Boyfriend.” Spencer said, trying to sound casual.

“Oooh!” “Awws” “no way” erupted from every direction.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “You have a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell us? We thought you were lonely!”

You blinked. “I-well- I didn’t think you needed to know about my personal life.”

“Why? We always tell you about ours.”

You stared at them. “That’s…true, unfortunately.”

“I always thought you and the basketball coach would be cute.” Someone tossed out.

Spencer’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

You stepped in. “Okay! That’s enough. You’re scaring him”

The class laughed, clearly delighted.

You turned back to Spencer, lowering your voice. “Thanks for this. Lunch is in fifteen, have time?”

He smiled. “For you? Always.”

You motioned to the chair near your desk, and he sat, awkward but trying. You returned to your seat, praying your students would go back to their journals.

Nope.

Olivia’s hand shot up.

“Yes? Olivia?”

“Why is your boyfriend dressed like he’s coming from a funeral?”

You choked back a laugh, Spencer blinked at you, betrayed.

“Well.” You said sweetly. “Spencer?”

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh…my job?”

“What do you do?”

“I’m with the FBI.” He said, a little more confidently. “Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Boring.” Someone muttered.

Your head snapped up. “Hey! Be nice. His job is actually super important.” You say going to your sweet lovely boyfriend’s defense because only you can pick on him.

“Yeah, shut up. Let him talk.” Silas said.

You raised a brow. “Appreciate the support, not the tone.”

Spencer smiled faintly. “What we do is analyze criminal behavior to help catch criminals. It’s called profiling.”

“It’s like psychology.” You added. “It’s really cool.”

“So you predict what people do? Do me!” Ethan asked.

“Uh…it doesn’t quite work like that.” Spencer replied.

Ethan sighed, immediately unimpressed.

“So you get to catch criminals?” Mia asked.

“Yeah. We do.” Spencer said, nodding.

“Cool.” Silas grinned. “Do you see crime scenes? Are they gross?”

“Very.” Spencer said.

And now they were really invested.

“What’s the worst you’ve ever seen?” Someone asked

Spencer opened his mouth.

“Nope!” You interrupted. “Do not answer that.” The class groaned. “Sorry, guys.”

“How long have you guys been together?” Mia asked.

You hesitated. “Four years. Now get back to work.”

“Four years and no ring? That’s sad.” Silas said. Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Are you guys scared of marriage or something?” Olivia teased. You and Spencer both looked equally offended.

“No.” You said crossing your arms. “We’re just…comfortable.” Spencer nodded. “We’re happy where we are. Right?” He asked, his head snapping to you for confirmation.

You smiled. “Right.”

“Well, if my boyfriend didn’t propose after four years, I’d dump him.” Mia declared. You shook your head. “When did this classroom turn into a relationship panel?”

“Yeah.” Spencer added. “How old are you guys? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

The room broke into laughter.

Finally, the bell rang. “Thank god.” You muttered, watching them pack up.

A few waved at Spencer, others giggled as they walked past. And then Olivia stopped right next to him.

“She’s a lovely woman. You should really put a ring on her finger.”

Then she was gone.

Spencer turned to you, you were already laughing.

“She’s not wrong.” You said making your way to him, grabbing his hand. “I am pretty lovely.”

“I am never stepping foot in this classroom again.” He said. “That was more stressful than interrogating a serial killer.”

“Oh, come on. I think they liked you.”

“Really? Because that comment about the basketball couch felt very personal.”

You laughed and nudged him. “You’re focused on the wrong thing.”

“What should I be focusing on?”

“Marrying me.”

He paused, then smiled. “Noted.”

You walked toward your classroom door, twisting the lock. Spencer was still by your desk, looking mildly traumatized.

“Are you okay?” You asked, trying not to laugh.

“I’ve been shot at less aggressively than I was questioned in here.” He replied, deadpan. “And I sensed one of your students wanting to fight me. I saw the glint in their eyes.”

You laughed. “Well, you held your own. I’m proud of you.”

You moved a chair next to Spencer, and took a seat, unwrapping your sandwich. He watched you for a second, then leaned in with a smile.

“So…four years no ring?” He said, repeating Silas’ line like he was testing it out loud.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t you start.”

“Hey, I’m just saying. The experts have spoken. We’re on thin ice.”

“You’re right, should I just elope with the basketball coach?”

Spencer gave a dramatic gasp. “I knew it.”

You nodded. “He is tall, and charming.”

“Wow. Okay, now I am scared.”

You smiled, nudging your foot against his. “You know I don’t need a ring to feel secure with you, right?”

“I know.” He said softly, reaching out to brush your hand. “But also…I don’t not want to marry you someday.”

Your heart did a flip. You tried to play it cool, like your knees didn’t suddenly feel like jello.

“Yeah?” You asked, voice softer.

He nodded. “Yeah. Just…not because Olivia told me to. Although she is very convincing.”

“She is. Probably runs the underground student government.”

“Definitely. But I’ve thought about it before. And I want to do it the right way. You’d deserve something…meaningful. Not pressured by a bunch of freshman armed with sass and curiosity.”

You grinned. “I do love something meaningful.”

He leaned in slightly, teasing. “So…no courthouse wedding tomorrow after work?”

You thought about it. “Only if we go matching in some ridiculous couples costume.”

“That actually sounds incredible.”

You both laughed, the weight of the moment balanced by the natural ease between you. You leaned your head on his shoulder and exhaled.

“I liked seeing you here.” You murmured. “Even if they grilled you like a suspect.”

He chuckled. “Next time, I’m bringing backup. Maybe Morgan.”

“Oh please, if Morgan walked in here, half the girls would faint.”

He smiled, agreeing with you.

You then grabbed his hand. “Thank you for bringing my lunch.”

“Anytime. Next time I’ll bring a ring, just to keep them happy.”

You lifted your head. “If you propose in my classroom, I will throw a dry erase marker at you.”

“Romantic.” He whispered, his smile never leaving his face, you looked at him, and he kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you most.”

SO ADORABLE WTH

- Tag List ~

@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[faramore-drafts]

Yikes 😬

"Imagine your favorite characters interacting, they will probably be best friends <3"

Eh... (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)