B.A.U. - Blog Posts
I am going to (respectfully) rip his clothes off, (respectfully) leave hickies on his neck and jawline, then (respectfully) pamper him.
Im going to eat him arm. Right now.
I’d better call the behavioural analysis unit on anyone who’s ever hurt you because there is no way they can't see how B.A.U.-tiful you are.
show it some love yall
wait what the fawk
I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW AARON HOTCHNER IS ABLE TO RUN SO FAST IN THOSE NICE ASS SUITS LIKE NANI THE FUCKKKK????
LISTEN
I DONT THINK WE APPRECIATE THE FACT THAT DOCTOR SPENCER MOTHER FUCKING RIED, MR. I DONT LIKE HANDSHAKES DUE TO GERMS, DELIVERED AN IMPROMPTU FUCKING CHILD WHO WAS THEN NAMED AFTER HIM!!!!!!!
Since the person didn't answer i'll request
An Emily X Reader SOFT LAUNCH
where the BAU slowly finds out that Emily is in a relationship (w/a woman)
reader not apart of bau(maybe a chef??)
;))
Thanks for the request 🫦 Enjoy! 😉
The Soft Launch 🚀
For weeks, the BAU had been on alert. It started small, cute, funny little, cryptic Instagram stories from Emily.
A photo of her hand over another, fingers intertwined beside a wine glass and a plate of what looked like the most divine pasta any of them had ever seen.
No caption. Just a timestamp and a playlist linked, “Melt into You, Slow Jazz Sundays.” Then came the lunches. Homemade. Artisan, even. JJ had noticed it first.
“Emily,” she murmured one afternoon, during their usual break between rough cases, "did you pack that yourself?" Emily's eyes cast down to the perfectly layered beetroot and goat cheese tart in a glass container, simply shrugging.
"Got lucky."
Morgan, of course, had smelled something fishy when a bouquet of rosemary, not flowers, rosemary, had shown up in Emily's office with a note attached, "Don't forget the salt this time, baby. -Y."
But no one had answers. Just assumptions.
Then came the night at Rossi's, a few weeks later.
The house was buzzing with laughter, expensive liquor and the warm hum of an early spring evening. Rossi was holding one of his infamous parties, the kind where the wine flowed like a river.
Strauss had gotten tipsy enough to sing Piano Man on the baby grand. Rossi had, apparently, spared no expense on the food this time. "Hired someone big," he said with a smirk to JJ as he poured her another.
"Almost impossible to book, but I pulled strings." Emily, nursing her scotch, froze, "Who?" Rossi grinned, holding his glass a little tighter with excitement.
"Y/N Y/L/N. Apparently she trained in Paris and Tokyo and is probably going to get her second Michelin star before thirty." Emily's glass paused at her lips.
"What?" Rossi looked her over, "You've heard of her?" Emily blinked once, swallowing her worry, "You could say that." And then, like fate tipping its might hat, Y/N walked into the room from the kitchen.
Carrying an amuse-bouche like it was a crown jewel. She had short, tousled hair tucked behind one ear, arms inked with delicate fine-line tattoos, a lavender sprig, a sunflower, a French knife, and a crescent moon.
She wore her pristine chef's jacket rolled at the sleeves, her apron tied snug around a frame that was compact but clearly muscular. She glowed. And when her eyes met Emily's dark irises...
Everything stopped.
The room, the noise, the laughter, every bit of it melted. Y/N lit up, face breaking into the warmest smile and she crossed the space in a few long strides before stopping just shy of Emily's side.
"...Babe," she whispered, "Didn't realise you were here."
Emily looked dazed, then chuckled, running a hand through her hair, "Neither did I." Y/N leaned in and kissed her temple, and the collective BAU jaw hit the floor in unison.
"Holy..." Garcia whispered from across the table, "That's the chef?"
"THAT'S the mystery girlfriend?" Morgan mouthed to the blonde. Y/N turned to the group, cheeks slightly pink but utterly composed. "Hi. I'm Y/N. Sorry for the surprise. I wasn't told who the event was for."
Her eyes flicked to Rossi, "Your assistant booked me under 'D. Rossi Enterprises.' Very sneaky." Y/N smiled to the older man. "You're the Y/N?" JJ blinked, "The pasta queen from Instagram?"
Y/N laughed, nodding her head gently, "Guilty."
And just like that, any awkwardness vanished. Y/N floated back to the kitchen like she was born there, commanding heat and flame and plating like it was an artwork.
Emily, never far from the archway between kitchen and dining room, watched with an expression none of them had ever seen on her. Not even during a case crack.
Admiration.
Adoration.
The soft kind of awe that made her cheeks flush and her lips curl even when she didn't know she was smiling.
At one point, music drifted from the speakers, and Y/N, mid-sear on scallops, turned with a grin and swayed her hips to the beat. She danced around the kitchen like it was a small stage, a pan in one hand and a plating tweezer in the other.
"Is she dancing?" Reid asked in a whisper, "While cooking?" He turned to Garcia, the blonde shrugging her colourful shoulders, "Gordon Ramsay would cry," She whispered back, "Happy tears."
Then came the food.
A roasted duck breast with blackberry glaze, served over parsnip puree and heirloom carrots that had somehow sculpted into tiny roses.
Pasta with lemon cream and shaved bottarga. Each plate was a piece of art, every bite more transcendent than the last. A moan escaping every FBI agent's lips.
As dessert was served, something chocolate and impossibly airy, Emily stood and joined Y/N in the kitchen, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Can I help?" Emily murmured against the shell of Y/N's ear, Y/N just smiled, still focused on plating. "You already are." And when Emily kissed her cheek in full view of the team, Y/N leaned into it without a second thought.
Rossi raised a glass, "To Chief Emily Prentiss, and her not so secret anymore girlfriend." The team clinked glasses, JJ still wide eyed, Morgan nodding with impressed approval and Garcia already on her phone trying to find an open reservation.
- - -
Later, when the dishes were done and Y/N was tucked under Emily's arm on the porch with a glass of wine, Emily whispered, "Soft launch, huh?"
Y/N just turned to her and smiled, "Felt more like a firework finale..." Emily kissed her slow, like gratitude, like peace, like home. "Couldn't be prouder and more in love with you."
penelope x non binary reader( they/them)
talks of the future together
kids
WAIT ACTUALLY I WANNA SEE UR TAKE ON PEN AS A MOM PLZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Pillow Planning
Hope you like :)
It had started with a quiet night, feet tangled beneath a fuzzy throw blanket, Penelope tucked into the crook of Y/N Y/N's shoulder on the couch.
The television was murmuring something cheerful and forgettable, but Penelope's mind was already far from it, her fingers idly tracing shapes against Y/N's thigh.
"Have you ever thought about kids?" she asked, her voice low, careful. Y/N didn't flinch. Instead, they turned slightly, brushing a kiss to her hairline. "All the time," they said simply.
Their tone wasn't performative or dramatic... it was simple, real.
Garcia blinked up at them, almost too surprised, "Really?" Y/N nodded, "I think... I've always wanted to give someone the kind of safety and home I didn't have. I am so glad I found you... and I think we'd make a weird, glittery, brilliantly kind little human."
Garcia beamed, eyes stinging, "I want that too, I want all of it with you. Diapers, glitter explosions, juice boxes on courtroom steps. All of it."
Their fingers twined, a promise was made, half whispered, half anchored in the silent space between them.
- - -
The Team Barbecue - A few years later...
Garcia knelt by the front door, zipping up a bright yellow backpack adorned with cartoon stars and smiling dinosaurs. Inside was, wipes, snacks, extra clothes, a water bottle, and of course, a small plush fox named Captain Fuzzy.
Behind her, Y/N stood in the hallway, bent over carefully as they guided a squirming three year old into a pair of denim jeans and a bright red t-shirt with a dinosaur on the front, an exact miniature of Y/N's own outfit.
Garcia had demanded it, matching fits, looking good for photos. "Rex," Y/N said, their voice patient but firm, "arms up, big guy. Gotta get these pants up... don't want to be free willing it later."
Rex giggled, sleepy curls falling over his eyes. "I like bath free will," he mumbled. Y/N lifted him easily, smoothing his shirt down, whispering something Garcia couldn't quite catch, but she didn't have to.
It was always soft when Ronnie talked to their son. Always steady, calm.
Garcia zipped up the bag and stood, watching them, her heart just... full. Her spouse, tall, lean, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tattoos peeking out under the collar of their shirt, was glowing in a way only she could see.
The way they looked at Rex, how they instinctively caught him when he lost balance, the way their arms formed home around him. That was what made her fall for Y/N in the first place.
Their loyalty. Steadiness. Their fire when needed, but never with her. Never with Rex. They caught Garcia looking, "What?" Y/N asked. Garcia could only smile, kissing Rex's forehead, then Y/N's mouth.
"You look good in denim. You both do."
- - -
Rossi's backyard was already filling with laughter and the smell of barbecue sauce and charred onions. Garcia led the way through the garden gate, Rex's little hand tight around Y/N's index finger.
She waved broadly to JJ, Emily, Spencer, and Rossi, all gathered around a large outdoor table with drinks and plates in hand.
"Everyone!!" Garcia beamed, "This is Rex Y/L/N-Garcia, he's... three, he's a dinosaur enthusiast and he is not sure if you are real people or ghosts.
Rex immediately ducked behind Y/N's legs. JJ coming over to kneel down slowly, setting her drink aside and pulling a cookie from a plate. "Hey there, Rex," she said gently, "I've got a dino cookie..."
Rex peeked out.
Y/N leaned down, murmuring to him. "It's okay. I'll come with you... I promise."
With tiny steps, Rex walked out from the safe haven of Y/N's legs, one hand still clinging to the fabric of their jeans. He reached for the cookie with his free hand, cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide.
"There you go," JJ said, holding it out without moving closer. Rex took it, then immediately turned to Y/N, "Dama stay?"
Y/N crouched beside him, "Right here, bug."
Garcia watched as JJ gently asked Rex about his dinosaur shirt, and he mumbled something about 'T-rex teeth' with a mouth full of cookie.
Garcia wiped a stray tear before it could fall, blinking up at the sky for a second. She turned to find Emily beside her, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You okay, mama?"
Garcia let out a shaky laugh, "Yeah... yeah, I just... this is everything. Y/N, Rex, the matchy-matchy denim, the fact that my son just came out of hiding for a cookie... that's parenting. That's our kid."
Y/N joined her then, slipping an arm around her waist, their voice low in her ear, “He’s doing great.”
“You’re doing great,” Garcia said, resting her head on their shoulder. “You’re everything I ever wanted, you know?”
Y/N kissed her temple. “And you’re more than I thought I deserved.”
Garcia sniffled, then straightened. “Okay. Emotional moment over. Let’s get matching lemonade and take family photos before someone spills ketchup on our son.”
*Dama is the name I adopted for another series, it's 'dad' and 'ma' together, more of a non-binary... they/them version of a parental figure name!
So I just finished Criminal Minds and no I am not okay
Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.
Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?
Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33
Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!
5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)
part one
masterlist
When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.
You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.
"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."
Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.
On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.
Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”
You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.
As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.
The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.
They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.
But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.
"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.
Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.
"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.
"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.
Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.
From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.
She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!
His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.
"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."
There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.
“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”
Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.
The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.
The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.
Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.
You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.
You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”
As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.
“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.
The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”
You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.
Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.
When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.
Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”
You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.
The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.
You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.
The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.
“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.
Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.
You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”
His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.
“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.
“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.
The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”
You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.
Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”
You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.
“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.
Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.
After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."
You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.
Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”
The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”
You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.
You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.
Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”
But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”
Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"
You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.
Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.
"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."
Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.
You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."
Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.
There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.
“He—he used different embalming tools.”
Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.
Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.
The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.
“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”
You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.
The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”
Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.
His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.
Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.
The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”
You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.
Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.
“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”
Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.
You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”
Another flash—
The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.
The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”
You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.
You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.
Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.
“What else?” he asked, voice strained.
You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”
Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.
The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.
You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.
“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”
You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.
Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.
“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”
You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"
Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.
"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."
A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—
You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.
Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.
You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”
“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.
“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”
A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.
Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.
You weren’t alone in this.
And for now, that was enough.
As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.
The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.
The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.
“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”
You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.
“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.
Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.
You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.
"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”
Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”
“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”
He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”
You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”
Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.
You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.
“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”
Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.
There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.
He finally spoke, "Why?"
You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”
Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.
"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."
You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."
Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."
You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."
Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."
A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.
Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."
Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”
“For staying,” you said simply.
He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”
You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.
As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.
After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.
Freedom. Finally.
Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.
“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”
Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”
You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”
“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”
You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”
The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.
The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.
You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”
He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”
Spencer shot you a look.
You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”
You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.
“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”
Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”
“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”
“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.
You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”
He froze.
“Oh.”
You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”
Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”
Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”
He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”
You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”
Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.
As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.
For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.
Something Real (Derek Morgan x Reid! BAU! Reader)
Summary: Derek and Y/n had a moment when her leg was broken and she answered the phone for Penelope. Now the team is back and Derek and Y/n need to have a chat because he cannot stop thinking about the several moments that happened when they had several personal phone calls after. However she is now avoiding him and he has no clue why
Paring: Derek Morgan x Reid! Reader (soon to be relationship)
Warnings: It’s just gonna be Y/N avoiding the hell out of Derek tbh
Sadie notes:ughhh I was gonna make it a cute love confession and stuff but the more I wrote the more I wanted drama. Also I thought he and Jordan were so into each other when I first watched and I don’t remember why so that's why she’s here. It's brief I promise.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid
She knew she was leading herself into a rather dangerous game here. She still did it though. She figured at first 'What's the harm'. She had been jokingly flirting with Derek all this time. This felt different though. They weren't making dumb jokes about a case when they had phone calls this time.
No, this time they were being an escape for each other. They talked about anything that wasn't the case. This wasn't the first time they'd done this with each other but This time they were flirting the whole time
She would throw out stupid lines when she answered the phone like something as ridiculous as "What's cookin' good lookin' " and then immediately regret it.
She melted a little every time he would ask about her ankle and what he could do when he got back. She hated that he made it all so easy to fall for. She hated that she wanted him to help her. They'd hung out so much outside the BAU.She hated that she was leading herself into some silly version of this going the way she wanted it to go.
Why was having a stupid crush like this always so hard? She wasn't a teenage girl anymore who didn't know how to take what she wanted.
And yet, every time she talked to Derek she wanted to let him take the lead. She wanted him to ask her out to some place nice even if they got interrupted by work. She wanted to get him flowers just because.
It was so... stupid.
She hated that all intelligence was lost because of a hot, smart, flirty guy!
What ridiculousness was this. She was an extremely intelligent, hard-workin woman plus she had an eidetic memory. Somehow though, everything about him made her melt like a sad cone of ice cream that was left alone on a hot summer day in Florida every time he called her Sweet Thing.
What magic spell had he cast? That was the only explanation that seemed to be possible. She never got weak because of some pretty guy.
She sighs as she takes a moment and remembers they would be back in the afternoon. Hotch was letting them get a good rest since the case ended late.
She had just gotten off the phone with Derek because ehe was going to sleep. So now she was in her bed trying to think about what the hell might happen when they see each other face to face.
When the next morning rolled around she was nervous about going into work. She didn't know what would happen. Part of her wanted everything to just stay the same so she didn't have to deal with any confrontation.
Really it was so she didn't have to deal with her feelings because that was quite possibly the worst thing she could do. She had to eventually but she wasn't ready for that.
She wanted it to be some stupid chick flick moment and she knew it wouldn't be. She was least dressed the part if she couldn't have the movie scene of her dream. it was a business enough outfit since she was at work and a casual enough outfit since she would be at a desk all day.
She made her commute to Quantico, taking trains since she lived in D.C in a nice townhouse. It was kind of a far ride but she didn't mind it.
When she got to the building all her nervous started up again though. what was she leading herself into. She wasn't going to get the thing she really wanted.
Why does she have to be his Sweet Thing?
Why couldn't he call her the same millions of other pet names he calls most women?
Why did he have to run around rent free in her mind? It had to be breaking some kind of rule for him to have cast such a strong spell on her and yet she didn't care that he was reeling her in.
It was sad really that she fell so hard. Why did she have to fall for him so hard. He wasn't perfect. She was like 75% sure she saw him digging for gold in his nose once.
Maybe she imagined that so she could pretend he was imperfect because the reality of him being a sculpted god with so much charisma you could feel it in the room before he was even there.
She was at work now so there was no turning back. the moment she used her id to open the door she was clocked in. She had to push through. She didn't remember hobbling herself into the elevator but here she was.
She sighs as she can't help but pick at her cuticles and the skin around her nails. It was a horribly awful habit and she knew it.
Suddenly the elevator made a little ding and she was snapped out of her thoughts. She sighs as she used her used her crutches to go into the BAU offices and when someone opens the door she didn't look and her brain automatically figured it was Penelope.
"Thanks Pen" she muttered out but then she. noticed the nice shoes and the slacks. oh. damnit. this wasn't Penelope. Her eyes moved up the body of this very tall man. She knew who it was when she got to his shirt.
"Derek! You're back early! I just remembered I need to see Garcia" She looks at him with wide eyes and he looks at her suspiciously as she uses her crutches to walk past him and back out the door to Penelope's bat cave.
When she gets through the door she walk in the closes the door behind her and sits in a chair. "Pen! why didn't you tell me they were back early! I am so not mentally prepared to see my work crush, who I've been flirting with over the phone while we're technically working, at 6:45 in the morning?" She pouts like a petulant child and crosses her arms.
This was completely unfair for her. She watches as Penelope just smiles and laughs a little. "You wouldn't be mentally prepared even if I told you. Honestly if I told you this morning when I found out they got in early then you would have gotten all in that pretty head and gotten anxious and then would have missed your train or something." Penelope gave a knowing look as she spoke to Y/n.
Y/n rolls her eyes but she knew it was true. she probably would have started to spiral if Penelope had told her. "Fine I guess maybe you're a little bit right but still! I need warnings when hottest stuff of the fbi is concerned" She admitted reluctantly.
"Go back to the bullpen, Hon. You have work to do" Penelope smiled. Y/n groaned and left her lair. She sighs as she crutched her way back to the bullpen. She went to her desk and got to working on some files since she was a bit behind.
She felt the rest of the Team's eyes on her and she looked at them. "what?" She mumbled. She looked behind her and saw Derek talking to some woman. She remembered her. It was Jordan Todd. She remembered they had a bit of chemistry when she first replaced JJ. She rolled her eyes at the way the rest of the team was looking at her as if she would act on her jealousy.
She doesn't, she just gets back to her work.
This was fine. JJ was there and Penelope was basically their media liaison now and so there was no way that Jordan was going to be replacing anyone. She didn’t like being part of the BAU anyway. Y/n focused, or attempted to focus on her files and crime scene photos but somehow her eyes wandered back to Derek. Who was walking over now.
Wait- what? No… she should go.
As she was about to get up though he had already gotten to his desk and was smiling, Jordan was smiling too. “Hey everyone.I just came to say hi, I was also gonna invite you all to my…” Jordan was speaking and Sadie stopped listening as she got up. “Sorry… bathroom” She mumbled before walking as quickly as she could towards the bathrooms.
Sadie sighs as she messes with her papers she was starting to get bored of all her paperwork. She severely disliked files. She needed a break but she only had 4 more to finish. She groans and gets up and goes to the kitchenette to make herself some coffee.
This whole day was torture. She had avoided Derek and gotten her stuff done and now she felt like garbage. Let’s go over all the times she’s avoided Derek
She ran away when he held the door open and hid in Penelope’s office
She ran away when Derek came over so everyone could say a quick ‘hey’ to Jordan
She went with Spencer to wherever he needed to go because Derek was calling her over. (Spencer told her to stop avoiding him, as a good brother should)
She went to get Coffee earlier because he leaned over to her
She was sadly very very opposed to confrontation. So she was decidedly now going to probably have to stop avoiding him. All of this was easier over the phone.
Over the phone he couldn’t see the way she smiled when he said something maybe too flirty. She didn’t have to look him in the eye as she flirted back.
She hated how shy she had to be when it came to being face to face. She also didn’t need her brother seeing her in a relationship, it would just end in constantly being teased with horrible relationship facts.
She sighs as the sad, probably broken coffee pot started to clunk out. “No, no, nooo” she mumbled and then saw an intern. “Go tell whoever is in charge of getting the appliances that the coffee pot is broken” she sighs.
Today just seemed to get better. She groans as she goes back to her desk, hobbling her way along. She sighs as she sees a sticky note on top of her pile of files.
‘Meet me in Babygirl’s bat cave’ is all it says.
Y/n is obviously suspicious because he shouldn’t want to talk to her considering how she’s been avoiding him all day. That was the whole point of her avoiding him.
Then she sees a very overly excited Garcia. So, she reluctantly lets Penelope help her to the office of intellectual superiority. When she gets there and Penelope opens the door for her She sees Derek with flowers and she tilts her head a little as her face warms up. She uses her crutches to take some steps closer to him.
“You, Sweet Thing, are going to come with me this weekend. I am so not taking no for an answer” Derek smiles and helps her sit down as he hands her the flowers.
“So you think I’ll just let you kidnap me, Morgan? I have a brother who happens to also be in the FBI” She joked and set her crutches aside as she smelled the flowers. It was a bouquet with Alstroemerias, Dahlias, and Carnations.
“I happen to know your brother is very okay with this. Asked him about it already” Derek smirked and leaned against the desk as he looked at her.
“I’m kind of in crutches and I have a cast, Derek. There is no way I’m going to some fancy dinner like this” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.
“Who said anything about a fancy dinner? I am making you lunch and we’re going to a park near your place because of that ankle, Sweet Thing” He looks at her, waiting for a response with his heart racing a little. It wasn’t showing ,obviously, but he was nervous. He genuinely liked her and what they already had going on.
“I suppose It can be arranged but only if you promise to get me another bouquet like this” She smiled softly as she spoke. This was exactly what she wanted. She seriously didn’t understand how he had to be so perfect.
Divider credits: @saradika-graphics @h-aewo
Taglist: @justwhisperingfantasies @pokemonlover65
If you would like to be added to the taglist there’s a link in my navigation
Hope you enjoyed <3
I'll always get you back.
pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! reader
warnings: Use of kidnapping, profiling, violence, ...uhhh my dumbass brain? I thinks that's it
A/N: I'M SO SORRY. MY MOTIVATION FOR WRITING HAS GONE KURSPLAT ON THE GROUND. I promise I'm getting there, I promise. I kind of changed how the story went, so instead of being suspected, all they know is that it could be the reader!
requested? By Anonymous, "Hi, I saw that you write for Criminal Minds? I was wondering if I could request somethin for a Spencer Reid × Reader ? Preferably where Reader is the suspected Unsub of a case the BAU is working on. Reid is the one that goes undercover with the team as backup in a social setting to try and catch Reader in the act of getting ready to commit or kidnap.
Maybe Reader is able to profile to a certain degree and instantly realizes something is off with Reid, though they aren't sure what. You can kinda take it from there if you'd like ??
Or if you need / want more ideas for a case or anything like that, I can send another ask or try to DM you about some that I might have"
story under the cut
"are you serious?"
Aaron Hotchner was obviously pissed off. The unsub had gotten away again, another body, another person dead, because his team couldn't realize that they knew who it was.
"okay, new plan! Reid, your going undercover. we know where she will be, so go to the lucky pot cassino, and get her in the act."
Aaron says, tossing Spencer a wire, and then getting into the van.
Spencer never usually dresses in a tux and a tie, but this casino won't let you in without some sort of formal wear, and he had to look respectful and respectable in order to catch this unsubs eye.
You on the other hand, were in a long black dress, and gold heels, doing one of your favorite things. People watching. You watched as a woman stumbled over her feet, obviously having had too much to drink. You watch as the man who had won it all, had re-bet, and quite quickly, lost it all. You also watched when this new guy came in. dressed in a black suit and tie, looking like he didn't belong there.
Almost automatically you could tell something was weird about him, just by the sheer uncomfortableness he seemed to have walking around the casino, and how overly nervous he seemed as well. You made a mental note of it and went on with your night.
Spencer on the other hand, had already seen you, but was still figuring out who the unsub was. All he had seen was a pretty woman in a black dress, watching him. That could mean a multitude of things.
He watched you as you walked over to the pool table, running your hand teasingly across some guy's bicep, he made a mental note of how this guy seemed to have just lost a big bet.
You leaned up close to the man, your hold tight on his bicep as you purred a few words out, running your hand back down, before walking away, the Guy following you like a lost puppy.
Spencer realized this, and was trying to decide between following you, or sitting around to try and find the unsub. He followed you, knowing very well you could have been the unsub, and he couldn't just walk away, knowing someone might get killed because he made the wrong choice.
You walk outside with the guy
"You know, I haven't had something like this happen since-"
You shut him up by smacking him over the head with the end of a gun, and he fell to the floor in a clump, and you tsked, seeing Reid in the shadows
"it always sucks when you got to make them pass out. they always talk to much" You hum.
Putting your gun back in its holster, you go to grab the guy, only to see around ten cops swarming you with guns, and you automatically let out a grunt of annoyance, lifting you hands up and sighing.
"why?" Spencer asks you, to which you just smirked.
"those who pretend to be holier then god, will soon get to meet the maker"
YAY! i hope you liked it Anon! you can send in another request if you want, or if you just wanna talk to me without reveling yourself!
I have to say legally, i did not make the Gif!
all reposts and comments are welcome!