#my tablet is too scratched to use and i just found this whiteboard in the dark recesses of my room

[wallowaffles]

#not tcest #this just feels on brand for them #also sorry for poor quality #my tablet is too scratched to use and i just found this whiteboard in the dark recesses of my room #anyway #obligatory tags: #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #art #my art #waffles draws

[amphxtrite]

spencer reid x reader

chapter 2 • coffee or tea?

series summary: a new case brings the BAU to New York, investigating a string of murders involving girls who appear very similar. The unsub is relentless, desperate to fill the needs of his fantasy. In the midst of it, spencer meets the girl he been writing with, but had yet to see, prompting a love to blossom in the midst of the storm. Is disaster inevitable? Or will the duplicator’s rein fall?

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, murder, mainly fluff this chapter

chapter summary: the investigation continues, but the team is in dire need of rest after a late night of work. Spencer makes a call to the reader and a plan is put in place to meet, the only question Spencer will have to answer today is a simple one, coffee or tea?

taglist: @le-weasley-simp @thatsonezesty13 @paperandplasma @padsfirewhisky @clubfairy @kiramdd @peach-cliquee @goldeng1rl8​ (message/comment to be added)

word count: 5.7k

“Hotch here.” The unit chief’s voice states, raising his cell to his ear.

“Hey Hotch, this guy’s a romantic, he’s leaving roses and quotes from books at the scenes, we’ve found two already.” Rossi’s voice sounds through the phone.

“Roses? You don’t think-” 

“Yeah I do, he’s keeping them to try and make them fall in love with him.” Rossi sighs.

“But he’s angry, can’t handle the rejection for long.” Hotch finishes, nodding to himself. “Thanks Rossi, if you find anything else let me know.” He chimes, hanging up the phone and going to find JJ.

“Agent Hotchner!” A voice calls to the profiler, prompting him to turn.

“Yes that’s me.” He responds.

“Sorry, I’m Detective Dakota Trent, I’m also working on the case with Detective Kimathi, she’s just at the crime scene.” A brunette with close cropped hair greets the agent, shaking his hand.

“Good, have we come up with anything new yet?” Hotch asks, following Detective Trent to the interrogation rooms.

“Well we’ve talked to both Olivia’s fiancee and Georgia’s boyfriend. They’ve both got solid alibis and people to back up their claims, it’s not them.” Detective Trent shrugs.

“Have you heard about the roses yet?” Hotch questions, examining each of every person’s movements behind the glass.

“Yeah, Kimathi called me just before I found you, we’ve got a romantic serial killer?” They ask.

“What he’s experiencing probably isn’t love, it’d be impossible for him to feel it. My guess is this is an obsession over someone he’s lost or been rejected by.” Hotch explains. Detective Tent nods and points to another direction.

“Agent Jareau just finished interviewing Georgia’s family, you can find her through there.” They smile, Hotch thanks them and steps through.

The unit chief walks down a hallway and peers past each door until he finds the blonde sitting in an empty room; going over the case file again. 

“How are the families?” Hotch asks, stepping in.

“Torn apart.” JJ sighs, closing the file and leaning against the wall behind her. “Olivia’s mom just had enough in her to clear Alice, then she broke down into tears. Isabelle’s parents had it worse though; she was an only child, a miracle one too, her mother had troubles conceiving.” She continues. 

“And Georgia’s parents.” Hotch questions.

“Tried to be strong, but-” JJ pauses. “They could barely look at each other, let alone me.” She concludes sadly.

“Have any of them given any possible suspects?”

“Lots, mainly ‘strange’ ex boyfriends, but I had Garcia check them out and they’re clean.” The blonde shrugs, standing and following Hotch back out.

“They’ve given us a room to set up in, When Spencer gets back I want you to help him come up with a geographic profile.” Hotch nods, opening a door to a room filled with whiteboards and a large table.

“You got it, and maybe ask them to bring a coffee machine in, we’re gonna be up for a while.” JJ giggles, opening the case file again and placing the pictures of each scene up on the whiteboard.

“Hey we’re back from the ME, toxicology found ketamine in both victim one and two.” Prentiss states, opening the door to the board room with Spencer in tow.

“But not victim number three, does that mean he’s devolving?” JJ questions.

“Or she was a victim of opportunity, he couldn’t pass up the chance so he took her.” Spencer includes, shrugging his shoulders, and taking a seat next to JJ after seeing the map in front of her.

“Again it’s hard to know, but Morgan and Rossi found flowers at two of the dump sites so far.” Hotch tells Prentiss and Reid.

“Flowers?” Emily asks.

“A note too, some quotes about finding true love, we’re hoping you could help us with them kid.” Rossi suddenly chimes from behind the group, seeming disgusted at the thought of it. “We found the third one by the way, hidden in some bushes by the bridge.” 

“What did the cards say, Rossi?” Spencer questions, removing his gaze from the map.

“The first one said ‘I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life.’ Second one said ‘He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.’ Third one said ‘Do I love you? My god, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.” Rossi lists reading off his tablet.

“All of those have to do with love alright, this unsub is absolutely infatuated with the idea of finding his true love.” JJ notes, looking at her own tablet.

“Maybe this unsub has some form of erotomania? Thinking all these girls love him, so he kidnaps them only for them to ruin his fantasy?” Derek suggests, fiddling with a pen in his hands.

“It would make sense why he’s keeping the girls only to kill them, and why they’re fed while he’s holding them.” Prentiss adds, looking to Spencer who looks deep in thought..

“Well now that we know more let’s get to work, we’ll deliver the profile in the morning so every officer can hear.” Hotch states, glancing out the window at the sky which had faded to an eerie black.

“I’ve got it!” Spencer suddenly exclaims. The team looks to him curiously.

“The first quote was from Atonement by Ian McEwan, the second quote was from Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, and the last one was from The Princess Bride by William Goldman!” He explains, standing from his seat and writing each quote on the whiteboard.

“These are all famous quotes about love, some of my favourite books too. This unsub is educated, definitely enough to read classic literature-”

“Wait Spence, the other two I can get, but you’ve read The Princess Bride?” JJ asks, excitement lacing her tone.

“Um yes, I saw it at the library so I decided I’d read it.” Spencer murmurs, turning to the whiteboard again to hide the hitch in his voice. The truth was it was another book you had practically begged him to read, he couldn’t say no. Spencer would have never guessed it would have aided him in a case.

“Oh Spence, I love that book too, you should come over and watch the movie with me and Henry, I’ve been meaning to show him.” JJ continues.

Spencer sighs in relief. “Yeah that sounds good JJ.”

---

“You’ve got to be joking.” A tired voice chimes from outside the door.

Hotch glances up at the voice, JJ inhales deeply as she wakes up, Prentiss and Spencer both take long sips from their coffee cups and Derek snores in his seat.

“Can we help you Detective Trent?” Hotch asks, turning to face them. Dakota doesn’t miss the dark bags under the unit chief’s eyes.

“Yes as a matter of fact, go to sleep!” Dakota smiles in a sickly sweet manner.

“I don’t think-”

“They’re right Hotch, you know we aren’t much help dead tired.” Rossi practically pleads.

“I could use some solid food too.” Emily adds, swirling around what remained of her fourth cup of coffee that night.

“You guys have a hotel for a reason, pretty much every other officer is either patrolling or at home, get some rest and we’ll see you in the morning.” Dakota smirks, waving the team off and heading towards the exit.

Hotch sighs and rubs his eyelids, feeling the relief of closing them before opening them again.

“Derek, Derek wake up!” JJ mutters, tapping on Morgan’s shoulder until he finally slumps forward, awake.

“Is it morning yet?” He grumbles.

“No, but we’re heading to the hotel now, and getting food.” JJ smiles, watching Derek perk up at the mention of something to eat. “What’s everyone in the mood for?” She asks, turning to everyone.

“M’ good with anything.” Rossi yawns, leaning against the door frame.

“There’s a shawarma place close to the hotel?” Spencer proposes, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the joint.

The team nods in agreement, shaking the tiredness off to walk back to the hotel.

Spencer enjoyed moments like this, when his team didn’t have to focus on a case for just a few moments, where he could let his mind rest for a minute.

“Hey player, meet any lovely New York ladies yet?” Derek chuckles throwing his arm over Spencer’s shoulder.

Scratch that, this is not what he had in mind.

“Nope.” He responds plainly.

“Right, right… What about that lady you’ve been writing too?” Derek teases, watching Spencer avert his gaze to the sky.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He murmurs. Derek’s smile grows.

“A mystery woman, Spencer I didn’t think you had it in you? Is she older? Rich maybe?” Derek lists playfully as Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Sorry Derek, maybe you’re just thinking too much.” Spencer shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets and sighing.

“Alright, I’ll back off.” Derek sighs, lifting his hands in mock surrender, only half telling the truth.

“Take a left here.” Spencer nods, pointing to a dimly lit building. “The shop is down there.” Spencer nods.

“I’ll go with the genius, you guys head back to the hotel.” Derek says, waving off the tired agents as he pushes Spencer forward towards the store. 

“Hey Morgan, do you mind if I call Garcia, I’ll meet you inside.” Spencer smiles as they reach their destination. 

Derek thinks nothing of it and nods, turning to swing open the door and order.

Spencer sighs and glances to both sides before turning and walking in the direction of the payphone. He had chosen this spot not only for convenience sake, but because there was a payphone right outside. It had been a while since Spencer had heard from you, and he felt bad not being able to read your letters.

Taking a deep breath he steps into the phone booth and dials your number.

“Thank you for subscribing to Lynn’s cat shop. Would you like to hear a fact about cat paws?” Your distinct voice chimes from the other end of the line.

“Well I do already know quite a bit, but hit me.” Spencer jokes back, smiling when he hears your audible gasp.

“Dr. Reid!” You laugh, sitting up straight from your lying position in bed.

“Hey what happened to cat facts?” Spencer teases gently, leaning against the side of the booth.

“I thought it was a spam call!” You justify, looking at the number again. “Hey Doc, this is a New York number-” You say slowly, putting two and two together. “You’re here! Are you on a case?”

“Yes actually.” Spencer replies with a soft smile. 

“Is it about that ‘duplicator’ guy I’m seeing on the news?”

“Yes, but don’t worry we’re doing well with the profile, and he’s only killing people that fit his victimology.” Spencer reassures you.

You remain quiet for a moment.

“Y/n? Are you still there?” Spencer asks, eyebrows drawing together at your sudden silence.

“Oh yeah, s-sorry Doc. Hey if you’re up for it, we could- meet up?” You ask, turning the conversation and popping the ‘p.’

“O-Oh.” Spencer stammers, caught off guard by your sudden proposition. “I-I mean I do have to work on the case…” Spencer sighs.

“But?” You plead, leaning into your phone.

“I can meet you earlier? Six am maybe?” Spencer offers quietly, feeling his voice break.

“Ooh you’re pushing it Doctor Reid, but I’ll manage.” You tease.

“Great! Great, um where do you want to meet?” Spencer asks, relief showing through his voice.

“There’s a park beside campus, my favourite spot is the field beside the cafe.” You smirk, dropping a not-so subtle hint.

“I-I’ll be there! Yeah See you then!” Spencer mutters in an excited tone.

“Sounds like a plan. Bye Spence!” You say in a sing-song voice before hanging up.

There it was again, Spence. No matter how many times he’s heard his name before, there was something special about you saying his name. Something that made him feel good.

“Spence…” He murmurs to himself, hanging the phone up and walking into the shawarma shop.

“Bout time pretty boy, what were you even calling about.” Derek asks, as he takes a bite from his wrap.

“Just checking if forensic found anything on the flowers yet.” Reid lies coolly.

“Anything?” Derek says in a muffled voice, throwing a wrap to the brunette.

“Not yet.” Spencer says in a slight yelp, just catching it before it falls.

“Oh well, it’ll probably be there in the morning.” Derek shrugs, picking up the bagged wraps. “Thanks again.” Derek waves to the owner before exiting the store.

“Did you know the origin of the word shawarma comes from the Turkish word çevirme, which means ‘turning’ which makes sense because of the-”

“Just enjoy the food pretty boy, just enjoy it.” Derek sighs, pushing the Shawarma up against Spencer’s mouth.

“Mm-” The younger agent protests, pushing his face back and snatching his shawarma back.

“Hurry up genius, the team is waiting.” Derek laughs.

The brunette rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but speeds up his walk beside his friend anyways.

---

Spencer wakes up to the sound of an alarm in his ear and without skipping a beat he sits up and throws his covers off, careful not to wake Derek sleeping in the bed next to him.

Slowly, he picks up his bag and tip toes to the bathroom, glancing at his watch, the time reads 5:00 am, still dark out. Spencer nods to himself.

Pulling on a white collared shirt and a black- no, black was too formal. Maybe red instead? No, this isn’t a date… “Blue.” Spencer murmurs, placing the tie around his neck and tying it slowly, being sure not to mess up. “Hi I’m Doc- no wait, hi I’m Spencer.” The brunette murmurs to himself as he ties his shoes. Spencer curses himself for only bringing converses and striped socks, but his jeans covered most of it to his relief.

“Hi I’m Spencer-”

“Spence, who are you talking to this early in the morning?” Derek’s drowsy voice groans from his spot in bed.

“I’m heading out early, I’ll see you later Morgan!” Spencer calls, pulling on his jacket to fend off the cool November air and swinging his bag over his shoulder so he could head back to the police department afterwards.

Stepping off the elevator, the hotel was practically empty, Spencer sighs in relief, he must have looked like a psycho constantly fixing his hair and tie. 

He exits the front door into the windy New York outdoors, suddenly regretting not wearing his scarf, but regardless, pushing on.

tousled brown hair swaying in the wind, Spencer checks himself in the glass of a building beside him, licking his chapped lips and swiveling his head back to the pavement ahead of him, careful not to bump into anyone.

Taking another turn, Spencer sees the sign for your university campus and feels his heart begin to race.

All of his thoughts began to jumble. What was his name again? Where was he going? A sudden squawk from a crow brings him back to himself, but his hot face and racing heart were impossible to shake.

As he grows closer to the coffee shop you mentioned to him, he begins to stumble, his feet beginning to fail him. He’s able to play it off as a funny walk, but when he spots the coffee shop, and beside it, the field. He completely stops.

A man grunts behind him, cursing at Spencer before turning and walking around him.

“Sorry.” Spencer murmurs, walking to the side of the pavement before crossing the street quickly.

Glancing down at his wrist again, his watch reads 5:45. Great, now he just had to sit and wait-

“What?”

Spencer’s thoughts are cut short when his vision is cut off by something...warm. Hands.

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone-” A sweet voice whispers in his ear.

The melodic voice from across the phone, it was you!

“W-We find it with another.” He stammers out, smiling as he hears your laughter.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, finally we meet.” You sigh, removing your hands from his face and dropping them at your sides.

“Y-Y/n-” Spencer says, turning to face you. 

He freezes for a moment as his eyes adjust to the light again. Then his jaw drops.

“Y-You’re…” Spencer’s eyes follow your y/h/c hair, jawline, eye shape and height. 

“No, no, no, no.” Spencer murmurs, glancing from side to side, overanalyzing every single person in your vicinity.

This was impossible. So, so impossible, yet there you were. Your description matched those girls perfectly, yet here you were out in the open talking to him. You weren’t safe.

“I-I know Doc, but it’s okay, I’ve got my pepper spray and everything!” You reassure Spencer, squeezing his hand gently.

“Y/n, y-you fit this unsub’s type, you can’t just be out here like this it’s not safe!” Spencer snaps, pulling his jacket off by the sleeves and swinging it over your head to hide you.

Your eyes widen and Spencer’s stomach fills with dread.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I just want you to be safe.” Spencer explains, lowering his voice and leaning closer to you.

“It’s alright Spence. I knew the risk, but I just wanted to see you.” You mutter, crossing your arms and sighing.

“Hey, you- you finished Love and Living.” Spencer smiles softly, remembering the quote you whispered to him when you covered his eyes.

“Yeah, it just kind of stuck with me. Thomas Merton can really write.” You smirk, nodding your head a little.

“Well I certainly prefer him over J.C?” Spencer asks, sarcastically tilting his chin.

“J.K, but you already knew that.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“I did?” Spencer jokes, eyes widening when he finally realizes how close the two of you are to each other, his eyes shyly draw downwards.

“Ahem?” You smirk. “Eyes up here Doc.” 

“O-Oh it’s not like that, I swear.” Spencer rushes, quickly looking back up in panic.

“Hey Spence! I’m just teasing, it’s alright.” You stammer in a hushed tone, gently moving your hands to cup Spencer’s face as reassurance.

The hits just kept coming today. Spencer internally trembles, but nods, darting his tongue out again to hide his quivering lip.

“Hey, since we’re both just standing here, do you want to grab something to eat?” You shrug, awkwardly retreating your hands to your chest.

There it was again, the sound of his name on your voice.

“C-Coffee?” Spencer sputters. “How about coffee?” Spencer repeats, clearing his voice and moving his hands from your shoulders to his sides.

“Yeah, coffee sounds great Doc.” You nod, taking Spencer’s hand and pulling him forwards.

“I’ve been going to this place since my first year here, amazing coffee, tea, and even seasonal sodas.” You gush, squeezing his hand and opening the door to the local shop.

“Any idea of what you want to order?” You ask, turning to face the brunette and shifting his jacket from your head to your arms.

“Uh, regular coffee is fine?” Spencer’s voice comes out almost as a question, he feels himself growing timid at the size of the menu.

“I’ll tell Choi ssi to surprise you.” 

Spencer nods, his lips pulling up into a line.

“Ah if it isn’t my favourite little boba pearl, what can I get for you today?” A man in his late forties calls to you with a smile. “And who might this be?” Mr. Choi motions to Spencer.

“Choi ssi, I’d like you to meet my Doc.” You smile. Spencer feels his face heat up at ‘my’

“I-I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He explains, nodding to the man behind the counter.

“I’m Viktor Choi, and Doctor? Wow, how old are you kid?” Mr. Choi questions in slight awe.

“Twenty five.” Spencer answers plainly, shrugging his shoulders.

Viktor’s jaw drops.

“Yeah I get that a lot, are we gonna order now?” Spencer blurts, turning back to you.

“Yeah of course. I’ll have my boba, and Doc-” You pause, tapping Spencer on the chest. “Would like to be surprised.” You smirk.

“Oh adventurous.” Choi smirks back to you, raising his eyebrows. You nod.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow, feeling something strange was awaiting him.

“Oh you’ll love it!” You smile, placing a paper bill on the counter and pulling Spencer towards a table.

From the shake of Mr. Choi’s head and your small smirk, Spencer made an educated guess you gave him more than what was expected.

“Here.” You point to an empty table beside one of the large windows that wrapped around the shop.

“A window seat.” Spencer smirks, sitting in the chair across from you.

“What, you have a profiler fact for me?” You tease.

“Well, people who prefer window seats are more selfish and easily irritable.” Spencer shrugs feeling his smile widen. 

“Hey I just like to feel the sun.” You protest, looking out into the busy traffic not too far from you.

“I see.” Spencer smirks, glancing over to see you gazing into the sunlight.

Spencer is caught off guard at first, beauty isn’t usually a thing he notices, but it would be impossible for him not to admire you.

Your e/c eyes seemed to glow in the sunrise, your hair shined and your smile grew and seemed to shine brighter than the sun could ever be, figuratively though, obviously. 

Strange, Spencer felt his hands clam up and heart began to race again.

“Order for miss boba and her doc!” Mr. Choi calls, drawing both yours and Spencer’s attention.

“You seemed like a coffee kind of guy.” He shrugs as you bring the two drinks back to your table.

Spencer smiles in acknowledgement before looking down at what looked to be a simple coffee with a rim of milk foam and- Spencer furrows his eyebrows, chocolate shavings.

“Don’t be deceived, his coffee packs a punch.” You smirk, stirring your drink with the straw poking out of it.

“Good.” Spencer nods, drawing a laugh from you, as he lifts the mug to his lips and blows on the hot liquid, finally getting a taste.

The first thing that hits Spencer is the sweetness, just the right amount that made him smile as he drank it. The next was how rich it is, practically gliding over his tongue like melted chocolate, of course just not as viscous. 

You must have noticed a change in his demeanor because you begin to giggle to yourself.

You couldn’t help it, the look on Spencer’s face was too good not to notice.

His eyes widened, brows raised to his hairline and he tilted the cup higher in an instant to get more.

“Adorable.” You sigh to yourself, not realizing you had said it out loud until Spencer suddenly chokes on his drink.

“Oh my god, Spence are you alright?” You worry, holding a napkin to his chin as drops of coffee spill past his lips. 

The brunette nods, bringing the drink back down onto the table to see he had already drunken half of it.

“It’s good right?” You grin, pulling the napkin away but not moving back just yet.

Spencer nods, already feeling a buzz, but unsure if it was from the coffee or your sudden proximity, or you calling him adorable.

His ears felt as though they were burning, and this time he couldn’t blame the coffee.

Timidly glancing up, it seemed as though you could say the same for your cheeks.

Spencer lifts his mug up again to take another sip of his beverage, clearing his throat a bit before speaking again.

“I-If it makes you feel any better, I find you rather endearing, myself.” Spencer says just above a whisper, too nervous to look you back in the eye.

“Thank you Spencer.” You smile, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest and in your face.

Without thinking you look up and tilt Spencer’s chin back up to face you. His eyes read amazement and sheepishness, prompting a giggle from you.

Usually Spencer would have pushed the hand touching him away, ready to list facts about germs to make sure no one in the general vicinity would try that again. But there was something about his racing heart and your gentle hands that smelt of lavender, that made it impossible for any words to come out at all, he barely wanted to move.

“Hey Doc, do you feel like going for a walk?” You ask, stroking your thumb down Spencer’s cheek to catch his attention again. 

“Yeah, yeah a walk.” Spencer glances down at his watch, 6:24.

“I have to be back at the station for seven, but I can walk you back to your dorm?” Spencer offers, half suggesting it just to make sure you got back safely.

“What a gentleman.” You smirk standing and prompting Spencer to follow you. “You can drop the cup off at the counter over there.” You say, Spencer nods, standing and placing the mug at the counter for an employee to sweep it away in seconds.

“Now come on, we’ve still got time for me to give you a little tour.” You grin, putting a bit too much emphasis on little.

To the profiler’s surprise, you take his hand into yours as you wave goodbye to Mr. Choi.

“Bye my little boba pearl and Dr. Boyfriend!” He shouts out to you and Spencer as you exit the door. Spencer doesn’t even have time to sputter out a correction before you’re pulling him towards your campus. 

“Isn’t he the best! He and his husband have been running that place for years, the best coffee in the city if you ask me.” You chuckle, slowing your speed to a steady walk beside Spencer.

“Yeah, we should go again sometimes.” Spencer shrugs, finally closing his hands around yours, growing accustomed to the feeling.

“D-Did you know that multiple studies, including one conducted at the University of California Los Angeles, show that human touch triggers the release of oxytocin, in our brain. Oxytocin is-” 

“A neurotransmitter that increases feelings of trust, generosity and compassion, and decreases feelings of fear and anxiety, aka the love hormone.” You finish, smiling up at him reassuringly.

You knew Spencer began listing off random facts when he felt he’d made an atmosphere awkward. You’d started noticing these cues once the two of you began talking on the phone, so you made sure to ensure everything was fine to him. 

“Yeah, t-that’s the one.” Spencer mutters.

The brunette was always cut off while he tried to explain a statistic or fact. He knew it was never to hurt him in any way, but it still got frustrating for him when he was talked over.

When you cut him off on the other hand,  it is to finish his sentence and complete the fact. He was starting to see why so many people found this gesture romantic.

Your smile grows as you notice Spencer’s eyes downcast on your hands.

Rounding the corner deeper into your campus, you stop at a couple spots to tell Spencer more about your school life and how your studies were going.

“I can’t believe I’m really graduating this year.” You sigh dreamily, looking up into the sky.

“Do you have any ideas where you may want to work?” Spencer asks as you lead him to a fountain in the centre of a field.

“Well, not exactly, but I’ve still got time to decide.” You grin, digging into your pocket for something Spencer couldn’t see.

“You know the BAU will always be an option.” Spencer shrugs, watching you pull out a shiny quarter.

“I dunno doc. All that stuff might not be for me.” You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment before flipping the coin into the water of the fountain.

“Yeah I guess serial killers and psychopaths aren’t everyone's cup of tea.” Spencer says seriously, causing you to break out in a fit of giggles.

“Do you believe in wishes coming true Spence?” You continue laughing, pulling Spencer in the direction of your dorm.

Spencer’s head snaps up at his name, but his eyebrows furrow.

“Well the act of throwing valuables into water hasn’t always been for wishing, it used to be for worshipping gods and other deities, but as the years went by it became popularized to wish for things by throwing something of value into the basic fundamental of human life.” Spencer pauses looking to you apologetically.

“It’s okay Spence, I’m listening.” You smile.

“Oh okay- First used to honour gods, people began asking for favours such as a good harvest or for a loved one to get well from a sickness which is where wishing wells came from.” Spencer nods, squeezing your hand as a silent ‘thank you.’

“So to answer my question-” You draw on, looking curiously into Spencer’s hazel eyes.

“While there’s no sound science to prove anything, I don’t see why people can’t have something to believe in, as long as they understand if it doesn’t come true.” Spencer shrugs, stopping when you do, outside a large building.

“So I’ll take that as a yes, but.” You smirk.

“I suppose, besides sometimes the wishes do come true out of pure coincidence, but you can never say that.” Spencer shrugs.

“It sounds like you speak from experience.” You laugh, nudging him in the side.

“My friend Penelope wished I’d get my haircut, but didn’t tell me until I did, three months later.” Spencer chuckles.

Both of you knew you were supposed to say goodbye now, if you remained just standing there any longer you’d become a problem for sleep-deprived students. Not a good mix.

But neither of you could find the will to move, your hands stayed interlocked and your smiles remained as Spencer began talking more about a couple books and some more facts about wishing wells.

“Y/n?” A loud voice calls to you from afar. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The voice chimes again, slowly getting closer.

“Oh I’m sorry Adira, I was meaning to tell you.” You apologize, letting go of Spencer’s hand to turn around and speak to the person calling you.

For a minute Spencer forgot how to function his hand, he just sort of hovered it in the air for a second, before regaining his train of thought and dropping his hand back to his side and turning.

“I’ve been worried sick y/n, you haven’t been answering your phone and with that ‘duplicator’ guy running around-” Adira begins, cutting off to wrap her arms around you. “Don’t do that again, please.”

“Alright, I’m sorry Adira, but I had a friend with me, see.” You smile, turning her to face Spencer.

“Hello.” Spencer greets awkwardly, placing his hands into his pockets and nodding.

“Wait he sounds just like-” Adira pauses. “That’s Doc?” They pause, jaw dropping as she begins tugging on your sleeve.

“Yes- that’s him.” You smile, tapping on her hand to try and get her to stop before your face overheats.

“Okay okay!” Adira laughs, rolling her eyes as she fixes her headscarf and extends her hand.

“Nice to finally meet you, y/n has not stopped talking about you since you started writing to each other-”

“Adira!” You intervene, bringing your hand to your face to hide your blush.

“Wow you’re even cuter than the photo-”

“Okay, we still have that project to work on right, let’s go.” You laugh nervously, pushing Adira towards the door of your dorm room as she remembers something.

“Oh right, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

“Perfect, we’ll finish it up when we get inside.” You smile.

“Nice jacket by the way, where’d you get it?” Adira comments, poking the black suit jacket on your arm, and then back again at Spencer standing in a collared shirt and tie.

“Y/n!” She laughs teasingly, turning around and grabbing a hold of your shoulders.

“I’ll head in on my own, now have fun, but not too much fun.” She smirks, pushing you back towards Spencer before walking into the building and throwing you a wink.

“I-I’m-”

“There’s no need to apologize, I’m rather flattered you talk about me.” Spencer shrugs, looking down at the ground subtly.

“Well of course I do, you’ve become a big part of my life y’know.” You smile, taking Spencer’s large hands into yours.

Spencer smiles fondly, hiding the internal regret he held, the profiler had yet to tell any of his friends about you, wanting to have this one thing for himself in his twisted world.

Squeezing your hands, Spencer nods and glances down at his watch.

“I should get back to the station.” The brunette murmurs.

“You should get back to the station.” You reply, loosening your grip only for Spencer to pull you back.

“I-I’m happy I got to meet you by the way, please call me if you need anything, or just to talk.” Spencer pushes his lips back in a forced smile, he was reluctant to leave you alone.

“I will Spence. Catch that guy for me alright?” You smirk, wrapping Spencer in a short hug before shrugging off his jacket, placing it over Spencer’s shoulders and turning to finally walk into the building.

Spencer barely had time to react to your gesture, but while he processed it, he simply stood there. It was as though you had left an imprint of yourself on him, a reminder you were real, and really held him. He was truly awestruck.

His suit jacket held the faintest scent of your perfume, the feeling of your arms lingered on his torso and his hands still reached for yours though you were long gone.

This feeling was foreign to the brunette, but not rejected. Spencer quite enjoyed it after all.

After a few moments of not moving the brunette finally picks up his feet and turns to leave, not noticing the figure not too far away clenching his fists so hard, blood begins to trickle slowly out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader series #spencer reid x you #spencer read x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds series #criminal minds x reader series

[relatablegenzwriter]

heya~ bit weird but do you have any advice for outlining? I always outline but half way through actually writing something I realise I've not thought of something (OTL) Thanks in advance!!

Advice on Outlining

I honestly never thought I’d see the day someone asked me for advice on outlining. When I was about ten and aiming to be the world’s youngest published novelist (lmao look how that turned out), everyone who knew me as a writer also knew that I would never, ever outline before I wrote something. I argued that it sucked all the fun out of writing. I couldn’t let my characters do whatever they wanted if I had to stick to a script. I would have to spend more time planning that I could’ve spent on actually writing my stories. I’d see all the gaps and places where my story was lacking in its plot. I’m not selling this outlining thing well, am I?

As I’ve written more, I’ve also warmed up to the idea of outlining. I’ll again preface this by saying I have never finished a novel, despite having started countless, so I can’t speak to how outlining has helped me throughout a project. But I do have a general sense of what works and what doesn’t, at least for me, so I’ll do what I can.

After some careful thought, here’s my advice on how to outline.

Don’t outline.

At least, not right away. I’ve found that I need to know my story, its characters, its ~vibes~, etc. before I can really make an accurate outline. A common concern with outlines is that you’ll make people do things out of character, or that the story won’t want to go in the direction you tell it to. Test out the waters a little bit first. Write that one scene that’s been in your head–you know which one I’m talking about–and figure out the style, the main characters, the mood, everything you really need to get the feel of your story. I like to write a bunch of beginnings, which can be helpful even if you don’t know where to start your story. Some people like to do character questionnaires so they know who they’re dealing with. Others will have that one scene that they think of when they think of their story, and will write that first to figure out where to go from there. There’s a lot of ways to warm up to the story, so play with a bunch of them and figure out what works for you. The point I’m trying to get across here is that you can’t successfully outline if you don’t know your story well enough. Fortunately, that’s an easy problem to fix.

What’s next?

That depends. If you look up “outlining methods”, you’ll find hundreds of lists, questionnaires, and weird diagrams that look like they came straight out of high school English class. There is no magical way to outline. With that being said, I’ll describe the way that I outline my work, and then add some general tips at the end.

       2. The basics.

Trying to write out every little detail from the beginning will likely overwhelm you and create writer’s block before you’ve even started writing.

don't do that.

Instead, get your basics all in one place: who are your characters? Where is it set? What is the premise? Once you do that, make note of the events that you know will happen. “Lily dies”, “Sam and Evan kiss”, “Aiyana confronts her family”, etc. I sometimes like to fill this out on paper or on a whiteboard like a timeline. Otherwise, making a bulleted list in a digital document also works. The one thing I’d advise is not to make this kind of list on paper, because as you start to insert more events between others, it’ll start to get really crowded.

      3. Fill in the rest!

Start to generate scenes and events that go between the ones you already have. Some things to consider:

what propels the story from point A to point B?

what needs to happen to further your characters’ arcs? (a follow up: do you know how you want your characters to grow throughout this story? what needs to happen in order for them to change?)

what could POSSIBLY happen?

is there a character who’s not doing enough yet who you want to give more attention to? something that’s not highlighted much in your list that you want to focus on more?

And essentially, you’ve made an outline! I know, so few steps. But this is actually going to take a while. This method may not work for you, and you’ll have to find other ones (that I’m not going into detail about because I don’t use them or know much about them). You’ll have to take some time to get to know your story. Step three WILL give you writer’s block, and as always you’ll be able to break through it, but don’t expect this process to be easy. But it is worth it!

And finally…

      4. Change it.

Once you sit down to write your story, chances are you’ll run into a plothole, or something you want to do differently. You asked about this in your question, and all I can say is yes! You’re right! For my oldest WIP, which has been around for almost six years, I can recall four specific outline revisions where I wrote the whole outline again from scratch. (This particular WIP has given me SERIOUS trouble, so take my experience with a grain of salt.) What I can say is that every time you revise your outline, it will get stronger, you’ll know your story better, and you’ll have more opportunity to be creative and revisit your story. I don’t understand why it’s considered the norm to outline once and then move on with a project, when it should be perfectly acceptable to pause your writing, say “that doesn’t look right”, and outline the story again. Your story, especially in the early stages, is fluid! You’ll actually be surprised by how long it remains that way, too. Point is, it’s okay for things to come up in the writing that don’t make sense with the outline, as long as you’re willing to revisit your original plans and reassess. I haven’t seen this approach discussed much if at all, so there’s a very good chance I could simply be a very disorganized writer who hasn’t made much progress on her big projects. But there could also be some legitimacy to this word jumble, so take what you will from it.

      5. Other outlining exercises…

Try to map out individual character arcs as part of your outlining. That way, you can make sure that their development lines up with the events in the story and the development of other characters.

If you’re a visual person, writing plot points on sticky notes and arranging them on a wall is very useful and also makes you feel like This Man. 

Free write (no erasing!), by hand, a summary of your plot–no detailed prose or dialogue, just a straightforward description of what happens. If questions come up, write them into the outline and keep writing. Once you finish you can go back and highlight all the questions you wrote.

Speaking of questions: when one comes up, really dive into it. What I like to do is write the question on top of a piece of paper and make a bulleted list of all the possible answers. Dive deeper into the ones you like, maybe combine a few. You could also do one of those web diagram things (those ones that look like clouds) if you’re the diagram type.

As your outline evolves, reassess why each scene is there. If it’s only purpose is “I like writing it”, maybe it’s time to write it for you and cut it out of the story. (Side note: this still applies to That Scene. You know the one.)

Call someone and explain the plot to them. They don’t necessarily need to be a writer, just someone who’s willing to listen to you relay the plot of a whole story to them. They can give input if they like, but the purpose of this is for you to have to explain your plot to someone else. It’ll be more obvious to you when something doesn’t make sense or belong in the story if you’re explaining it to another person. Especially note any clarifying questions or moments of confusion that they have. If you don’t have a person willing to do this, record yourself talking about it to your phone/camera/tablet/computer.

Don’t be afraid of the dramatic. When you’re first coming up with an outline, you’re exploring ALL possibilities. Even if your answer to “How does Aoife end up at Shauna’s house?” ends up being “She took the bus” instead of “The mailman, who is actually her estranged uncle, kidnapped her from her home and hid her in Shauna’s basement because Shauna and her uncle were having an affair”. You get to be creative, have fun, and even if you take the more realistic route, you’re reaffirming that that’s the direction you want to take.

Best of luck to you!

#writing #writers #writing tips #outlining #answering asks #my advice posts

[em-be-lievable]

Split-Brained

A/N: Aight, I know this isn’t what y’all wanted but in light of recent events I’ve found myself getting triggered and wanting to vent with Patton to cope. Thank @virge-of-a-breakdown for inspiring me to purge my feelings in fic form (also if you haven’t read their fic ‘The Invisible Language’ you really should because it’s great 10/10 would recommend not reading this self-indulgent garbage and reading that instead kkkkkkkk) No explanations, we project our problems on our favorite characters like men. 

(Song pairings for this fic are: Girl Anachronism by the Dresden Dolls, Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger, and We Know Where You Sleep by the Paper Chase)

Words: 3255

Warnings: mentions of psychosis, disorganized speech, memory loss, visionary/auditory hallucinations, paranoia, mentions of hospitalization, mentions of medication, mentions of gaslighting and abuse, kinda sympathetic deceit (If you count making him a dog being sympathetic- Deceit has become my own personal meme guys, I’m sorry.)

Ships: LAMP/CALM (Because you should know by now if I can shoehorn in a healthy, supportive, polyamorous relationship I 100% will)

Summary: Patton was ‘Split-brained.’ If people were computers, then he would be a pc still running with windows 98, dial-up internet. It wasn’t bad, but it was something he had to live with every moment of every day.

Recovery was a game of chance. He could go into a psychosis tomorrow, and never get out of it, or he could wake up a week from now and never have another symptom again. Medication kept him functioning, and therapy helped him deal with the worst of it. But both could only do so much with the chemical war in his brain. That was just the volatile way life was for him, and he had long since learned what to avoid and how to make the best of living day-to-day

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waking up in the morning always had to be the hardest part of the day for Patton. Getting to sleep was tricky in its own right, but it didn’t compare to the struggles that were coming back into consciousness. Morning was when his mind was the loudest.

Remy was actually the one to wake him up. The black and tan german shepherd barking, and nosing him until he came to. He couldn’t even be mad at the dog- after all this was a service Remy had been task trained to do. It wasn’t the puppo’s fault that auditory hallucinations of his phone alarm kept waking him up until 4am (eventually rendering him immune to the very real sound of his actual phone alarm now in the daylight hours. He’d have to change it again.)

“Danger. Don’t leave. Not safe. Stay. We’re not alone. We’re in danger. Don’t leave. Don’t move-”

Prying himself from the warm cocoon of soft blankets, Patton pet and praised the dog for performing his task, before getting up and sleepily stumbling to the bathroom. Once he was in there his eyes darted to the vibrant pill case one of his boyfriends, Roman, lovingly decorated for him. It was Logan’s suggestion, having the case be brightly colored, and in plain sight on the counter would make it easier for Patton to remember to take his medication- and Ro was all too eager to support his partner however he could.

Pat was grateful for his three, wonderful partners- but he couldn’t shake the intrusive thought of him being a burden on them. They did so much to help him out- Logan leaving him little reminder notes, and checklists all over their shared apartment, Virgil constantly responding to frantic phone calls and texts to give reality checks, and Roman always taking breaks from work to take Patton to therapy, and appointments with his psychiatrist (going alone gave him a lot of anxiety.) And despite their constant reassurance that they wanted to be there for him, he couldn’t help but let the negative thoughts creep up into the back of his mind.

He looked down at the multicolored tablets in his hand. “Poison. Don’t take it. It’s poison. They’re trying to change you. These are going to kill you. They’ll just turn you into a zombie. Don’t trust it. Poison-”

Sipping on a glass of water, he popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed before they could reach his tongue. The whispers were on a tirade again, but it had been a long time since he stopped really listening to their opinions on medication. He couldn’t always tune out, or ignore what they were saying; but he was getting better at managing his responses to it.

The voices weren’t always scary, sometimes they were just odd. Most of the time they just echoed thoughts he had. As Pat stepped in the shower there was an chorus of “Water. Warm. Shower. Water. Hot water. Soap. Shower. Warm-” that eventually cascaded into white noise. Before he started taking his antipsychotic medication they would talk to him, or amongst themselves and it would get so loud he couldn’t hear his boyfriends shouting directly into his ear. There also used to be more ‘types’ of voices too. Some he’d hear like people were speaking next to him, others were more like thoughts that didn’t have his voice or would have really weird accents. Then there were the really bizarre ones that felt like a tingling in the back of his head. He couldn’t ever make out what they were saying but he could always tell if they were mean or angry.

But, if he was being honest, auditory hallucinations were the least troublesome part of his mental illness. When he was first getting diagnosed they were terrifying- but now they were just annoying. Just a low thrum softly filling his head as he got out of the shower, got dressed, and began the trek downstairs to the kitchen.

If he had to pick the most troublesome part of his disorder, it’d be the stuff that you never saw portrayed in media. Hallucinations were just the tip of the iceberg- and out of every movie about a person like him he never saw the part where they addressed the other stuff. Things like memory loss, fractured thinking, compulsive behavior, or disorganized speech patterns.

“Coffee. Stirring. Cup. Warm. Hot. Coffee. Mug. Warm. Cup-”  It was honestly irritating. Then again the only time he saw people like him in media was in horror films. But even then they had perfectly coherent Hannibal Lecter type people who just occasionally see stuff. The reality was much less pretty- if it wasn’t for Logan’s lists everywhere, and Remy, he wouldn’t remember to brush his teeth, or eat. On a good day he only had a minor stutter, and on bad ones he couldn’t talk at all.

He remembered he tried to explain it to Virgil once. He and his emo boyfriend couldn’t sleep and were chatting on the couch when Virge asked him what it was like. Patton, not being the best at explaining things, had decided to show him. So he found a few of Logan’s unused note cards, and asked Virgil to write out a thought with each word of it being on a different note card.

“Okay n-n-now lay it out in o-order.” Patton instructed, earning a raised eyebrow from the emo as he quickly laid out the sentence in order on the coffee table. Once he was done, Patton took the note cards and scrambled them- shuffling them up so they were completely out of order.

“N-now lay-lay it out ag-agai-again.” He said, handing back the cards and watching as Virgil sifted through the cards to find the first word, then the second, and so on until the whole sentence was on the coffee table in front of them.

Patton explained that while neurotypical people had their thoughts in order, like the first deck of note cards, his were constantly scrambled. So he has to put everything back in order before he does anything. That the metaphor applies to everything- talking, actions, thoughts. It was why he physically froze when he couldn’t remember what he was doing, or why sometimes he’d stare at his boyfriends looking for an answer for a question he forgot to ask. If people were computers, then he’d be a pc still running with windows 98, dial-up internet.

“But what about the…” Virgil paused, taking a moment to find the right way to phrase his question, “...other...stuff?”

Patton thought that was a bit more tricky to explain. He could spend the rest of his life talking out the small nuances of the ‘other stuff’ and only scratch the surface of what it entailed.

It was the way him, his thoughts, and his feelings felt like separate entities and not one solid person. It was going for a walk at 1pm and coming back at 9:30 with no recollection of where he went, or what he did. It was his mind latching onto a statement like ‘does Ohio even really exist’ and ruminating on it so much that he became convinced nothing was real anymore. It was loving people, but simultaneously not being able to trust them and avoiding them. It was flipping the light switch on and off because there was a dark figure in the corner when the lights were off but if he flipped the switch EXACTLY 26 times then it wouldn’t come after him, or his family. It was taking pictures of things with his phone to send to Virgil so he could ask if Virgil saw what he was seeing. It was existing in two separate realities at the same time and constantly having to figure out which one was the real reality and which one was just his illness.

It was staring off into his coffee cup for a half an hour while his service dog barked to snap him back into the moment- like now.

Patton shook his head, trying to refocus. His chronic ‘spacing out’ (to put it lightly) was why Logan no longer let him use the stove. Speaking of Logan- Patton padded his way to the refrigerator where his wonderfully intelligent boyfriend had made a whiteboard checklist for him. In Logan’s neat, almost font-like handwriting there were various tasks written in sharpie with little boxes next to them for Patton to check off every day. When the others returned from their jobs they’d double check it, and remind him of what he didn’t do yet.

“Marker. Blue. Smooth. Marker. Drawing. Write. Blue. Draw. Marker-”

Picking up the magnetized expo marker Pat went down the list. Medication? Check! Brushing teeth? He’ll do that after he drinks his coffee, and eats breakfast. Shower? Did he take a shower today? Patton reached his hand to feel his hair- it was still damp, so he must have. Check! Breakfast? He should do that. He wasn’t allowed to use the stove without the others in, but it was unlikely he would do any serious damage with a toaster, right? Right. Plopping a piece of bread in the machine, he got out some crofters, and butter before going back to the list while he waited. Put out food and water for the pets? Aw, shoot. That’s probably why Remy was barking.

Recapping the marker, Patton moved to fill the dog’s food and water dishes. Telling Remy to shake before he set down his food dish.

“Dog. Noise. Crunch. Food. Dog. Soft. Warm. Hairy. Dog. Woof. Noise. Dog-”

The service dog had actually been Virgil’s idea, and one that Patton was wholly opposed to at the start. It wasn’t like he didn’t want a dog- he did! He loved dogs! But a service dog was a whole other animal (pun intended.) Getting a service dog meant he actually had to admit he had a disability, and Patton didn’t really feel like he was disabled. Sure, certain things were harder to do, yeah. And he had to navigate around obstacles his mental illness provides- but disabled seemed like a stretch. If he’s being honest it still seems like a stretch; but after an hour of Logan listing him all the ways the service dog could help, and how common service dogs had become in the mentally ill community, Patton finally agreed.

There was another reason though, with the dog came the addition of having to explain what his disability was. And Patton...didn’t like having to tell people. He barely liked even associating himself with the word. He was…..split-brained. He had the big S. But the stigma that surrounded it didn’t apply to him. Every time he opened up to a close friend they always expressed how they couldn’t believe it given how ‘normal’ Patton seemed- definitely not what came to mind when someone thought ‘schizo.’ What if people didn’t believe him? Confrontation was never really his thing.

It was actually Roman who supplied a solution. If Patton was getting a dog, then Virgil would too. That way when they went out together it wouldn’t be as weird. That’s how the small yellow Tibetan Spaniel, Dee came to be Virgil’s emotional support animal. Unlike Remy, Dee wasn’t trained to task, he was just there to comfort Virgil when his three boyfriends couldn’t. And all the love and pampering made Dee into something of a complete mischievous diva. The little fluffy dog had a habit of appearing out of nowhere and yapping very loudly right behind Patton. Especially when it came to the horrendous offense that was feeding Remy first. But Virgil had taken the little puffball to work with him today so Patton was safe from any yappy startling.

Patton chipperly checked off the task from the list with the expo marker, recapping it and moving to the living room where his laptop sat. Holding down on-site jobs was, frankly, unrealistic for him. But he managed to still stay on his own two feet by freelancing. It wasn’t easy (and required so many reminder notes) but with Logan’s organizational help he was able to work in his own way, and remain (relatively) independent. Which was a godsend compared to spending the rest of his life living with his parents.

Don’t get him wrong, Patton loved his parents, and they did so much for him. Life couldn’t have been easy with a split-brained kid, and they had been pretty patient with him early on with his first few psychoses. But (why was there always a ‘but’) they still had ticks, and expectations he couldn’t meet. He’d recognized too little too late that they were gaslighting him to make their lives easier. Every now and again, when they’d say something that’d upset him, he’d try talking about it only to be met with ‘I never said that’ or, ‘are you sure that’s how it really happened?’ And Patton believed them because he couldn’t really trust his own perception that much. Their distaste were in the way they presented himself to other people too. “You probably shouldn’t tell them about your….disorder.” They’d lecture in car-rides going to social gatherings that Patton loathed. “It isn’t that we’re not proud of you! Other’s just might not be so understanding-” Their words always echoed in his skull, quickly becoming fodder for his mind to latch onto and use against him. He couldn’t stand the way they grimaced whenever he was brought up in conversation. All the times his mom uttered the hushed words of “Patton’s…...different-” made him want to scream out.

‘Just say it. Say what you’re thinking. Crazy. You think I’m crazy.’

He knew he scared them. Living with them always guaranteed the looming threat of hospitalization if he displayed symptoms they weren’t comfortable with. They always felt the need to walk on eggshells so as not to disturb him more than he already was. His illness became a weapon against him more often than not- a way to discredit him and excuse their own actions. Even with all the tips and tricks he learned to covertly hide; pretending to be talking on the phone when he was arguing with the voices, or practicing proper empathetic faces in the mirror to use when talking to people. Locking himself up in his room whenever he was having a psychotic breakdown, or visual hallucinations, and doing everything in his power to not react to the loud auditory ones. It never seemed to be enough though, and he was always met with glazed over eyes, and disapproving frown of his mother whenever he forgot something and did it several times over, or had too much disorganized thought to speak properly. They just wanted him to be normal, to get better. But unlike other mental illnesses, recovery was a game of chance. He could go into a psychosis tomorrow and never get out of it, or he could wake up a week from now and never have another symptom again. Medication kept him functioning, and therapy helped him deal with the worst of it. But both could only do so much with the chemical war in his brain. That was just the volatile way life was for him, and he had long since learned what to avoid and how to make the best of living day-to-day. But his parents never seemed as satisfied with that as he was. And more often than not it had a negative impact on his mental health, and he found himself getting worse while staying under their roof.

It was Roman who noticed the effect his parents had on Patton, and convinced him to leave. At first Pat dug his heels in. He really didn’t believe Roman knew what he was signing up for. Yeah, they had all been dating since sophomore year of high school- but Patton had done everything in his power to keep the worst of it from his boyfriends. He could take a lot, but he couldn’t take them being scared of him too. It took months of convincing, the final straw coming with Patton’s most recent hospitalization.

He had developed some kind of allergic reaction to a medication he was on, but in order to find out which one he had to be slowly weaned off all of them. They checked him into the hospital, stuck an IV into him, and closely monitored him as he slipped in and out of psychosis, and got wrapped up in some bizarre delusions. But despite his incoherence and strange behavior his boyfriends didn’t leave his side. They took shifts, ensuring that Patton was always with someone he knew. Logan constantly pelted the doctors with questions on the doctor’s care choices. Virgil brought all of Patton’s favorite stuffed animals and blankets for familiarity. And Roman played all of Patton’s favorite disney movies whenever the room was silent. They learned as much as they could about Patton’s situation. How to handle his delusions and what to do when he had episodes of low empathy, or isolation. It was a breath of fresh air for Pat to have his illness embraced, and not met with the usual disdain he got from his parents. He could have almost cried when Logan didn’t get mad when Patton explained that he didn’t want to eat dinner with them because he was convinced it was poisoned, or when Virgil didn’t find it upsetting when Pat had set up a little ‘nest’ of towels, pillows, and blankets in the bathtub because it felt like the only place They™ couldn’t get him. There was even an instance where Pat thought that Roman had been replaced with someone who looked identical to roman, but wasn’t Roman. The actor didn’t tell him it wasn’t true, or refuted Patton’s pleads for the ‘imposter’ to return his boyfriend. He simply went along with it- telling Patton he was going to return Roman before making a show of leaving the bedroom and re-entering thanking Patton for having the clone return him. (He also explained what he did to Patton later when the split-brain was in a better state.)

It was so nice to not be treated like the burden he thought he was. Their love showed in every one of the caring acts they did for him, trying to make his hectic life a little more manageable in any way they could.

“Patton?” A rough voice broke through his thoughts, making him turn towards the door. It was Virgil, a fussy Dee wriggling in his arms.

“Virgil. Calm. Boyfriend. Love. Virgil. Trusted. Boyfriend. Roommate. Dog. Dee. Virgil-”

“Hi honey, you’re home early!” Patton chirped, a well practiced smile gracing his lips. Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, setting Dee on the floor with little ‘clip clip’s’ from the toy dog’s claws.

“Pat, it’s 4:30, I always come home around this time.” Patton’s face dropped, as he turned back to the laptop he’d been staring at. When had it gotten so late?

“Uh, Virge- could you read this for me and make sure it makes sense?” Patton hummed, trying to reread over the email he was going to send but not quite processing the words. Virgil stalked over, glancing at the screen and humming.

“Sorry Pat, it’s complete jibberish.” He purred, rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Wanna help me with dinner and we’ll take a crack at writing it after?” “Sure.” Pat said with a sigh, as he closed the laptop and stood up to join his boyfriend. Living as a split-brain was difficult, but living with three amazing partners made it manageable.

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Endnote: This was way longer than I intended it to be. Sorry, I had a lot to say.

#em writes #vent fic #patton sanders #ts sanders sides #lamp/calm #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #Please for the love of all that is good read the warnings

[adothoe-archive]

King of Hearts

Request: could you do a fic about jefferson and hamilton both trying to impress the reader? c:

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Warning: it’s a Criminal Minds AU so murder and rape are mentioned several times but none of it is graphic, also angst- hellaaaa angst

Kink Tag: none

AU: Modern/Criminal Minds AU

Word Count: 6041 (yes, really)

Song: “Not Afraid Anymore” - Halsey

A/N: Welcome to the first day of the @hamwriters Write-A-Thon in celebration of us gaining 1K followers there! This au ripped my soul to pieces becuase I love Criminal Minds and this had to have an angst ending. Sorry in advance but hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow for femslash day.

unsub = unknown subject (aka the bad guy)

John rapped on your office door twice and held up a file once you looked up. “We got a case. NYC. It’s pretty bad.”

You stood and grabbed your tablet, looking through the files as you walked with him to the conference room. “Ten bodies? Why are we just now being called in?”

“Lead detective on the case was stubborn.” You snorted and he smiled at you. “But the details got leaked to the media and his captain made the call.”

“The media’s already running the story,” you asked as you sat down at the round table, nodding at each member of your team.

“Yeah,” said Maria as she leaned back in her chair. “They’re calling him the ‘King of Hearts.’ Saying he’s the worst thing that’s happened to the city since the Son of Sam.”

Angelica looked up from the files. “Are we sure it’s one unsub?”

George Washington, your team leader, sat down and smoothed his tie as he did so. “You think it’s more than one?”

“Like partners,” asked John.

Angelica shook her head. “No, I don’t think they’re partners. There are two different MO’s. The only thing they have in common is that they both take things from the victims.”

“Does he leave the things he takes with the next victim like the Reaper,” asked Hercules.

“No,” said Maria, looking over the files. “I’m betting they’re both keeping the items as trophies.”

“Or giving them to a significant other as gifts,” you interjected.

“All good ideas. We’ll talk more on the jet. Wheels up in 30,” Gwash commanded.

“Detective Madison,” Gwash extended his hand for a handshake. “I’m Agent Washington. This is the rest of my team, Agents Reynolds, Schuyler, Laurens, Mulligan, and Y/L/N.

He nodded. “Nice to meet you. We have a conference room set up for you guys over here.” Madison led you to a room with a long table and several whiteboards standing around.

Gwash set his briefcase down. “We believe you’re dealing with two separate killers.”

“Two serial killers in New York at the same time?”

“Actually, given the city’s population and our statistics on how many psychopaths live within a certain square mileage, especially in large cities, it is entirely possible, although exceedingly rare,” explained Angelica.

Madison stared at her strangely then nodded. “So, two serial killers. How can you tell?”

You walked up to the pictures on the board and pointed. “While both unsubs take things from their victims, one has stuck to a specific type while the other has killed a large variety of women with varying ages, hair colors, and race.”

Maria walked up to rearrange the pictures to display what you had said. “Also, the unsub who has stuck to his one type has raped each of his victims.”

“Are you sure they’re not partners?”

You shook your head. “Both of the killers profile as a dominant personality. They wouldn’t be able to work together for an extended period of time without killing each other.”

“We believe that both of them started killing unaware of the other, but as the media attention grew, it turned into some sort of rivalry.”

Madison scratched his head. “So what are they fighting for?”

“Most likely it’s the city. They both see New York as their personal hunting ground and the other as encroaching on their territory,” said Angelica, starting to work on the geographic profile on the map.

“Well, how do we catch them,” asked the detective. “We’ll have to visit the crime scenes and see the bodies to complete our profile.” Gwash started unpacking the files. “Y/L/N, Reynolds, go to the most recent crime scenes. Mulligan, you and I will go visit the medical examiner. Schuyler, I want you to stay here to finish the geographic profile and talk to any families that come in. Laurens, go with Detective Madison and put a lid on the press. We don’t want them feeling emboldened to kill more because they’re getting famous.”

“Yes, sir,” you all said.

You looked over the crime scene that happened last night with Maria, noticing the signs of struggle around the house.

“No forced entry,” said Maria, stepping over the broken glass.

You nodded, looking over the blood patterns on the furniture and over the floor. “So she either knew her killer or he used a ruse.”

“What’d he take?”

“A necklace. The father is bringing pictures over to the station of her wearing it. Apparently, he gave it to her on her high school graduation.”

She sighed. “It’s always so sad. Seeing these families torn apart for no reason.”

You nodded, face grim. “Well, we can help them by stopping the unsubs before they have a chance to kill again.”

Maria nodded. “So this is the rape victim?”

“Yeah. I’d say he came through the front door- she invited him in, whether she knew him or not.”

“And then he rapes her here,” said Maria, standing beside the couch.

“And when he’s done he stabs her multiple times. The blood suggests she tried to crawl to the phone to call 911 before he subdued her.”

“Why would he let her get that far? He’s already got her at her most vulnerable. Why not just kill her on the couch?”

You looked over the living room slowly. “It’s a power play. This unsub’s dominant, right? He wants her to know he has her life in his hands and he can end it whenever he wants. It’s another form of torture to give her hope.”

“Sick bastard.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Maria sighed and nodded. “Next crime scene?”

“Mhm,” you responded, giving the room one final glance.

“Hey, you guys,” called Angelica. “I noticed another pattern. Two, actually.”

“What is it, Schuyler,” asked Gwash.

“The unsub who rapes his victims before killing them has always done it in the victim’s home. The other unsub has been dumping the bodies and they’ve always been less than a mile from a church.”

“So one unsub is religious?”

“It could be more than that,” said Hercules. “There’s a lot of symbolism when it comes to churches and religion.”

“I don’t know. But the other pattern I found is what the unsubs have been taking,” Angelica stood up to reference the board. “The first unsub is taking jewelry from the victims and so is the other, but that unsub is taking exclusively engagement rings.”

“Engagement rings,” you asked, your mind trailing off somewhere for a moment.

“That with the dumping of the bodies by churches…” said Maria.

“The unsub has a fixation with marriage,” Hercules stood up to call Peggy, the tech analyst for the team. “Baby girl, I need you to look something up for me.”

“Ask and you shall receive, my luscious piece of dark chocolate,” Peggy’s voice came over the phone.

“Behave. I need you to find me all the things the second unsub’s victims had in common. We think it has something to do with marriage. Were they cheating on their husbands, or not behaving like a wife should in the traditional sense? Dig up everything you can find.”

“Your wish, my command, mon amour. Peggy out.” And she hung up.

“What about the victims of the first unsub, though? They have to have something in common.” Maria looked over the whiteboard at the pictures of the victims.

“None were married. We know that.” You sat back in your chair to look at the boards as well.

“Then they must have had a place where they all encountered the unsub,” said Angelica, looking over her map with the geographic profile. “It can’t be random.”

“Mulligan, call Peggy back and ask her to look through the bank records of the other victims. See if they were at the same place at the same time or if they frequented the same gym or something like that,” ordered Gwash, looking at his watch. “Other than that, let’s call it a night. We’ll work better in the morning if we’ve had sleep.”

The next morning you were greeted with an autopsy report before you had even sat down at the conference table. You sighed and rubbed your eyes, wishing you had some coffee that wasn’t brewed in a police station.

“Anything special?” You looked up at John who was handing the files out to the rest of the team.

“Oh, yeah. Get this, the unsubs, both of them, are starting to react to the media’s name. The last two victims both had a playing card stuffed down their throats.”

“Let me guess,” said Maria with a sigh, “the card is the king of hearts?”

John nodded and Gwash closed his file and stood, looking around the room at all of you. “We’re ready to give the profile.”

All of you filed into the bullpen, wheeling the evidence boards behind you to reference when you were giving the profile. Gwash said a few words to Detective Madison and all of the officers on duty were sat down to listen.

Hercules cleared his throat and began the profile. “We’ve profiled that you’re dealing with two serial killers. While their MO’s are very similar, there are some specific differences that can help us catch them.”

“Both unsubs have a dominant personality,” began Maria. “They’re alpha males and they most likely have a job that reflects that. Doctor, stock broker, lawyer, politician- any male dominated field that gives the unsub authority.”

“Wouldn’t that fit cops too,” asked Madison, crossing his arms defensively.

“Well, yes-”

“So you think one of us is behind this,” a beat cop from the back of the crowd spoke up.

“If we thought a police officer was behind any of the killings, we would have interviewed all of you by now.” Washington spoke with a commanding voice. “These unsubs have intimate knowledge of how police proceedings work. Enough not to get caught or leave any fingerprints or DNA, but not enough to suggest that it’s someone who is or used to be a cop.”

That got a few nods from the crowd and you could see people start taking notes. “These unsubs are organized. They bring what they need and they leave with it. There are no fingerprints, DNA, not even a treadmark from a shoe. They know how to cover their trail and that leads us to believe that they stalk their victims for at least a day before attacking them; learning their schedule, when they will or won’t be home.”

“I thought you said they were different,” said Madison.

“They are,” interjected Angelica, “but only in minute ways. The first unsub started killing after the other and he only targets women who all have the same features- hair color, eye color, skin tone.” You shivered slightly because, as often was the case, the victims looked like you. “This unsub rapes his victims before he kills them and we believe this is because he’s trying to live out some sort of fantasy with them.”

Mulligan leaned against a desk. “And when they eventually fail, he kills them. He’s so enraged that they couldn’t live up to his fantasy that he stabs them multiple times. It’s overkill.” He crossed his arms as he scanned the room. “Normally, with how he kills- with a knife and multiple wounds- we’d suggest that he’s impotent, but as the victims all showed signs of non-consensual sex before their murder, that’s obviously not the case. This makes unsub number one a sexual sadist. He wants his victims to suffer in more ways than one.”

Angelica got up to point at the second group of victims. “The second unsub attacks only women but he doesn’t have a specific type and there’s no evidence of sexual assault of any kind, unless you counted the stabbing of the heart in each of the victims. This could suggest this unsub is impotent but I highly doubt it.”

“Why’s that,” Madison asked.

Maria spoke up from next to the crime scene photos. “He isn’t getting off on the killing like the first unsub is. He’s doing it just to kill which makes him a psychopath.”

“Finally,” you said, “both unsubs take things from their victims. Unsub one takes jewelry- necklaces, bracelets. But the second unsub only takes engagement rings. That, combined with the fact that each of the bodies were dumped within a mile of a church, makes us believe that his motivation is about marriage. We’re not sure why, but it’s an important difference.”

Washington stepped to the center of the room. “We believe you’re looking for two males, aged 25 to 45 in a high level job that gives them authority and asserts their dominance. They’ve only killed in Manhattan so it’s likely that they live and work here. It’s their comfort zone and they know it well. Race is usually the easiest to pinpoint but as half of the victims probably play the role of a past girlfriend or someone the unsub is obsessed with and the other half don’t stick to any type, we can’t tell you that. When you find the unsub, he’ll be denying it the whole time, trying to pull rank over you. He thinks he’s important and that makes him cocky in every aspect of his life. He’s charming and smooth, both of them are. And when you question the neighbors, they’ll be shocked as to how he could do this.” He nodded at the room. “That’s all for now. Thank you.”

That night, you walked into your hotel room, exhausted from your day, and frowned when you saw a package on the table by your bed. You’d been getting them for awhile anonymously but how would this person know you were in New York? What hotel you were staying at, or even the room?

You opened it and a necklace fell onto your bed. It looked familiar…

And then you realized it had belonged to the last victim.

Your mind started racing, going over the case and all the packages you had gotten in the past couple of months. You rubbed your face and ran your hands through your hair as you paced the room.

It couldn’t be. The unsubs- both the unsubs couldn’t be targeting you.

You shook your head and locked your badge, gun, and the necklace in the safe in your room. You’d tell Gwash and the team about this in the morning. But right now, you needed to think things through and have a drink.

A really big drink.

You found yourself sitting on a stool down in the hotel bar, nursing a single malt whiskey. Your thoughts were still too loud in your head and you desperately needed a distraction from this strange twist in your life.

That distraction turned out to take shape in the form of a handsome man you hadn’t seen since college.

“Thomas? What are you doing here?”

The man grinned at you. Weird, you thought, he was a man now.

“I live here. I was meeting a client.” He ducked his head as he sat down next to you. “I’m a lawyer, Y/N.”

You smiled. You always knew he’d go far. Just too far to take you with him.

“So… how have things been- since, you know…”

“Since we broke up? It’s okay, you can say it. We’re both adults, I think we can handle it.”

He smiled at you and you were suddenly reminded of the time you were in bed with him and he told you that one day he was going to marry you. The thought didn’t make you as sad as it used to, but it still felt like a heavy blow.

You nodded, breaking yourself out of your reverie. “It’s been a long time. Update me on your life. Any special someone?”

He laughed quietly and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no one has ever seemed to match up with you.”

“Thomas…” you said softly. You couldn’t believe your ears. He couldn’t still be in love with you, could he? He held his hands up.

“It’s okay. I know you must’ve found someone much better by now and I don’t hold it against you.” He paused and looked you over. “Though, I don’t see a ring.”

“That’s because I’m not married.”

“Boyfriend?”

You shook your head.

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

You shook your head and laughed quietly. “You were always such the charmer.”

He grinned. “Well, I had to be to land you.” He looked at you intently and pushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Not quite sure how I did that anymore.”

You leaned into his touch. You missed him more than you’d like to admit. He was your last serious boyfriend and you were in love with him. If you were honest, you didn’t think you’d ever stopped.

“I miss you,” he said, echoing your thoughts.

“I miss you too, Thomas.” You placed your hand over his and reluctantly moved it away from your face. “But I’m here working a case and I can’t afford to be distracted. Surely you’ve seen the news? There’s a serial killer out there.” 

He nodded and shifted away from you slightly, noticing your change in demeanor. “Two, if my contact is correct.”

“What?”

“I’m a lawyer. People owe me favors.”

“Okay, I’m not going to ask how you know that but it’s still not safe-”

“Even more of a reason to spend the night with my FBI ex-girlfriend,” he smiled at you. “She’ll keep me safe.”

“Spend the night, huh?”

He tilted his head, his curls flopping over his shoulder. “As long as you want to.”

You sighed, knowing in your heart you couldn’t pass up one last night in his arms. “Okay.”

“Really?” You stood, putting a few bills on the bar to pay for your drink. “Follow me, Jefferson.”

He grinned at you all the way up to your room.

You woke up in Thomas’s arms when your alarm went off and it was like you were in college again. Foolishly in love and thinking that it would last forever.

He stirred next to you as you removed yourself from his embrace and stood to get your outfit ready for the day. You looked him over, curls splayed over the pillow, abs as prominent as they were six years ago, and the sheet tantalizingly low on his hips.

You sighed and walked into the adjoined bathroom, leaving the door open a crack as you got in the shower so he’d know where you were.

When you stepped out, wrapped in your towel, Thomas was fully awake and half dressed, sitting at the edge of your bed.

“To work we go, huh?”

You nodded and bit your lip as you looked at him. “Promise me you’ll be safe,” you blurted. “The killers have only targeted women so far but please don’t be reckless. These guys are unflinching in their ability to kill whoever’s in their way- no hesitation marks. I need you to be safe when I leave here.”

Thomas stood and made his way over to you. When he did he cupped your face and kissed you softly.

“I promise nothing bad will happen to me other than a suffocating pile of paperwork.”

You laughed a little but wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him close. “I’m serious, Thomas.”

He stroked your hair and wrapped his other arm around your shoulders. “And I’m serious, Y/N. I’ll be safe, I promise.” He leaned back to look you in the eye.

You looked down and sighed. “I have to get dressed- meet my team at the SUV. Can you let yourself out?”

He nodded and pulled away completely. You missed his arms around you already. “I’m gonna take a shower before I go if that’s okay?”

“Of course. I’ll probably be gone before you’re done though,” you said, tugging on one of his curls that you knew he was fastidious with when it came to their care.

He grinned at you. “In that case…”

He closed the distance between you and kissed you deeply, leaving you breathless when he pulled away. Thomas rubbed his thumb over your swollen bottom lip.

“We’ll meet up again before you leave?”

“Of course,” you said again, softer this time.

He smiled at you and brought the remainder of his clothes to the bathroom, closing the door firmly shut behind him. You brought your hand to your mouth and smiled slightly.

Who knew after all these years you’d finally be reunited with the last man you’d ever truly loved?

You pulled yourself out of your daze and quickly got dressed, using makeup to cover your hickies. You placed the envelope with the necklace into your pocket after you holstered your gun and tucked your credentials away.

You knocked on the bathroom door as a goodbye and took the elevator down to the garage to meet your team.

“You should’ve told me about this immediately, Y/N. How long have you been getting these packages?” Washington stood in front of you, gesturing at the victim’s necklace that was delivered to you last night.

“Since the killings started. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to think of them. They didn’t come with any note or postage stamp so they seemed harmless. I didn’t even connect them to the case until last night, and when I got it I just needed to clear my head.” You sighed and rubbed your face. “I just don’t see why these unsubs are sending their trophies to me. I haven’t been to New York in years.”

“Maybe they wanted someone in law enforcement to notice them. They weren’t getting it from the local police until recently. Maybe they wanted you to catch them.”

“Both of them? It’s the same signature, Gwash. If how they killed weren’t so different, I’d say we were dealing with a serial killer and their copycat.”

He nodded. “One stabs them in the heart, a clean efficient kill once he gets past the ribcage. The other stabs his victims multiple times in the stomach- there’s overkill, he’s obviously enraged about something.”

You nodded along with him, thinking through the facts of the case.

“Does this give you any hint as to who could be doing this? They must know you, or at least know of you.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m sorry, Gwash, but I don’t. No one I know could do something like this.”

“Okay. I believe you.” He looked at you intently. “We have to go present this to the team though.”

You sighed. “I know.”

Washington’s gaze softened. “We’ll catch them. Don’t worry, Y/N.”

“Thanks, sir. I know we will.”

The two of you walked to the conference room that had become your home base for the investigation the past few days. Peggy’s voice came through over Hercules’ phone and Angelica was writing furiously on the board.

“What happened,” asked Gwash.

Hercules looked up. “Peggy found something.”

“Yes, sir,” came Peggy’s voice again. “Each of the victims for the first unsub had contacted a lawyer in the days prior to their death. Different things for each of them- property damage, lawsuits, theft. And it was the same lawyer that their cases were assigned to- an Alexander Hamilton.”

“Good work, baby girl. Tell him what else you found.”

“I, being the girl genius I am, also found that all of the second set of victims were filing for divorce, and get this, they contacted the same firm that Hamilton works at.”

“Do they have the same lawyer on their case files,” asked Gwash, leaning in towards the phone.

“Not that I can see,” the sound of typing overlapped with Peggy’s voice. “The only connection I can uncover are the pending divorces and all of the victims for both unsubs being linked to that firm.”

“What’s the name of the firm, Peggy,” asked Gwash again.

“Monticello Law Firm. It’s founder, Thomas Jefferson, and Alexander Hamilton are both partners there.”

Thomas? Could he be hurt? If he worked with the unsub-

“That proves the dominant personality,” commented Maria, interrupting your thoughts. “Lawyers are all alpha males.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” Hercules said into his phone. “We’ll let you know if we need you again.”

“You’ll always need me, sugar. PS out!”

Gwash looked around the room at the team and nodded. “Let’s go catch our unsub.”

The team brought Hamilton in relatively easy. He didn’t fight at any point on the way to the station. You were uneasy the whole drive back, though, because Thomas’ secretary had told you he hadn’t shown up for work that day.

Worsening your nerves, once Hamilton was in custody and in an interrogation room, he would talk only to you.

Washington coached you as you stared at him through the reflective glass. “In his mind you already have a rapport. Use that. He’s been sending you gifts. He probably thinks that you’re in a relationship with him. Keep asking him questions, encourage him, and whatever you do, don’t break the fantasy.”

You nodded and picked up the case files you’d need to question him.

“We’ll be watching from here.”

Feeling a little more reassured, you walked out into the hallway and pushed open the door to the interrogation room. Hamilton’s eyes immediately went to you, raking over your body in a way that made you uncomfortable, not that you’d let him see it.

“Y/N,” he said with a lover’s voice. “It’s about time we finally met in person.”

“Alexander,” you sat down across from him and set your files down on the desk, “it’s good to see you.”

“Alex, please.” He smiled at you and he looked so normal it took you a minute to find your words.

“Do you know why you’re here, Alex?”

“Because you’re here.”

“Actually, we brought you in because we believe you raped and killed five women.” He nodded. “Do you deny this?”

He looked at you for a moment before responding, leaning forward as he did so. “Did you get my gifts?”

“So you are guilty of committing these murders, Alex?”

“I hope you liked them. They’re much more appropriate than engagement rings.”

You stalled. “How do you know about that?”

“About the other man sending you gifts? I don’t think they should be called gifts, though. Necklaces are gifts. Engagement rings are something you give in person.”

“Alex, do you know who that man is? The one killing women and stealing their engagement rings?”

“Of course I do.” He smiled at you again but this time it was tight. And just a little bit unhinged.

“Who is it?”

“I’ve known the whole time. He’s who inspired me to start, too. I know him, you know. He’s a pompous, entitled, douchebag.” Hamilton tilted his head at you. “But you knew that. And you know him, too. There’s a reason he only sends you rings. He said he’d marry you one day, didn’t he? But he doesn’t deserve you. I do.” He laughed and you became much more uncomfortable than you were before. “I do. I. Do. That’s something you say on your wedding day.”

You stood and gathered your files, your mind racing. What he said couldn’t be true. You knew him. You… you loved him. You had to know for certain.

You dropped the files in the conference room and called Peggy from the SUV.

“Supreme knowledge, at your service,” she answered.

“Peggy, I need Thomas Jefferson’s address.” “Is there a reason why? Do you-” 

“Just do it, Peggy!”

“Yeah… yeah, okay. I just sent it to your phone.”

You hung up and plugged his address into the car’s navigation system, turning your siren on to get through NYC traffic.

When you got to his apartment building, you took the elevator all the way to his penthouse and banged on the door. “Thomas!”

He opened the door as if he was expecting you over for lunch. “What took you so long?”

You walked past him and into his apartment, pacing the floor before turning to look at him. “Why weren’t you at work?”

He shrugged. “I took the day off. I do own the place.”

“We arrested your partner today.”

“Hamilton? It was only a matter of time before he did something illegal.”

“He confessed to being one of the serial killers.”

“Really?”

“He told me that you were the other one. That you’ve been killing women and sending me their rings because of something you said when we were in college!”

“I did tell you I’d marry you.”

“That’s not the way, Thomas! Did you kill those women?”

“I had to get you to New York-”

You gasped and took a step back. You hadn’t wanted to believe it. But here he was confessing. “You killed those women.”

It wasn’t a question but he nodded anyway, taking a few steps toward you.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time, Y/N. I couldn’t stop. I’d think about you all the time-”

“So you killed people? You do understand I’ll have to arrest you-”

“No, you don’t.”

“You killed people, Thomas.”

“I don’t have to kill if I have you.”

“Thomas-”

“I promise I’ll never hurt another soul.” He looked at you intensely. Normally, you would have melted under his gaze and what he said next, but you couldn’t today. Not after what he did. “Just run away with me.”

You teared up as you stared at him. This man, this man that you had loved for so long had done these atrocious things. And now you had to decide between love and integrity.

Your voice cracked when you spoke. “Don’t you see? I can’t. You killed people, Tommy. Five women are dead because of you.”

He nodded and looked at his feet, seeming as normal as ever. “I understand.”

You kept your eyes on him as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to dial Gwash’s number. You wanted the last time you saw him to be like this, where you were both free. You couldn’t even make yourself handcuff him.

“Y/L/N,” Gwash answered, “where are you?”

You couldn’t keep the tears out of your voice. “I’m at Thomas Jefferson’s apartment. The other partner at the firm Hamilton works at. I, uh, Hamilton said something that made me suspect…” You rubbed your face, hating yourself for doing this, even though you knew it was the right thing to do. “He’s the other unsub, Gwash.”

“We’re on our way.” And he hung up.

You felt hands on your cheeks and you instinctively leaned into him until you remembered what he did, who he was now.

His voice was soft and his gaze softer. “You know I hate seeing you cry. It breaks my heart, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face and your voice unsteady. “What about when those women cried? When they begged for their lives? Did you hate that?”

He stepped forward to try to comfort you again. “They’re not you-”

“That doesn’t matter, Thomas! You shouldn’t have killed them!” “I did that for you, for us-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault-”

“Yes! It is! It’s your fault! It’s all your fault! You should have called me- you should… you should have…”

You couldn’t help it as you broke down in front of him. And this time when his arms encircled you, you did nothing to fight it. Did it make you a horrible person that you still loved him after all he’d done?

Thomas spoke to you in soothing tones as he rubbed your back. You quickly pushed him away.

“You need to go. Leave!” You shouted at him as you rubbed your face. You could get him out of this, you just needed to be smart.

“I’m not leaving you.” His iron resolve reminded you of better days in college when this didn’t exist. When you didn’t have to make this choice.

“Yes, you are. You’re leaving so you don’t get caught. You’ll get a fake ID, you’ll go off the grid. No one will find you.” You rushed towards him for the first time that day and grabbed his hands. “You need to hit me.”

“I could never hurt you. I told you that.”

“You have to. No one will ever believe you got away from me without violence. I can’t lose you and my job, Thomas.” You braced yourself. “So hit me.”

You fell to the floor as the smack came across your face. You landed on his glass table and you could feel the shards digging into your skin painfully. But you could take it.

“Again.” You looked him in his eyes. “You need to knock me out.” You closed your eyes before you could see his fist hurtling towards your face.

You woke up in the hospital a few days later with the news that Thomas had been long gone by the time your team had gotten there. He apparently had a safe full of cash and hadn’t even made a blip on anyone’s radar since then.

You had suffered a concussion, a black eye, and several small cuts all over your body from the table. During your debrief, you weaved a tale in which “Jefferson” had attacked you and you hadn’t thought to bring backup because you’d known him in college and didn’t believe he was capable of those things.

That part was still true.

The Thomas you knew was sweet, and kind, and sarcastic, and you still couldn’t find a bad thing to say about him other than he used to leave the toilet seat up and eat too much mac and cheese.

Your team believed you. Your injuries were convincing enough, but the doctors couldn’t fix the gaping hole in your chest since you let Thomas leave.

A few cases later and you progressively felt worse. You started throwing up in the mornings and after you ate anything that wasn’t mac and cheese.

You didn’t know for certain until after another case when your period refused to come. Right now, you sat at your desk, looking down at your stomach and feeling your world break apart around you.

A knock on your door drew your gaze up and John walked in with a smile. “This was left for you.” He handed you a small envelope that eerily reminded you of the one you received a victim’s necklace in.

“Thank you, John.” He nodded and closed your door behind him.

You opened it gingerly and turned it upside down over your desk. Out fell a matchbook with the logo of a bar printed on the back. You rubbed your thumb over it as you were lost in thought again.

Scotty’s Bar and Pool House.

It was a staple at your college and infamous for never carding.

And it was the where Thomas had told you he loved you for the very first time.

You looked closer at the matchbook and noticed a small 8 scribbled in the corner in blue ink. The message was clear: I love you. And if you want to find me, meet me here at 8pm.

You looked down at your stomach again and you sighed, knowing what you had to do.

You unholstered your gun and put the safety on before you set it on your desk. You pulled your badge out of your blazer pocket and looked at your picture before setting it down too. You shut your phone off and left it in the top drawer of your desk. You left your laptop open in front of you and grabbed your go bag.

You looked over your office one last time before leaving, walking swiftly to the elevators then grabbing a cab instead of taking your car. You emptied your bank account, tucked the cash into your bag, and bought a bus ticket to your college town.

And you slid onto a stool at exactly 8pm in the bar where the man next to you had taken your hand and changed your life forever. This time around, you took his hand and looked forward as you squeezed.

“I love you too.”

The man smiled.

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