#criminal mind

[spencers-gun]

no one understands glasses reid like i do i need that man in ways that are so disrespectful to feminism. id do things to that man no one could believe ,i wanna see them glasses fogged up

[abnormaltwist]

He's a dangerous criminal

[dxhxe]

spencer reid doing the face where he has an awkward smile…

[cruxiohp]

She is mine

pair: husband!spencer reid x wife!reader

warning: fluff

summary: your husband and 3-year-old child are fighting over you.

You stare confusingly at your husband of 7 years and your 3-year-old who seem to just be glaring at one another. "She's mine" your child grumbles stomping their foot on the cold brown wooded floor.

You have just come back from the grocery store thinking that you could leave your adult husband with your child, but it seems that you were wrong seems that it was a mistake seeing as they are now looking at you their lips in a pout.

"Tell him you're mine" "Tell this spawn that you're mine"

You glare at your tall husband for calling their child a spawn, they are anything but one. "What is this about?" You ask putting down the bags on the glass table that brightens the place up.

Your husband walks up to you wrapping his arm around your waist not far does your 3-year-old come running trying to climb your leg up like a koala.

Your tall brown hair husband glares down at y/c/n, "You stay away" he says holding tightly to you. "Tell him, she was mine first" he says burying his head on my neck tickling me.

"I should bite you just to prove it." he whispers

why is your genius husband jealous of our 3-year-old? "I'll bite her first" grumps y/c/n feeling their mouth on your bare leg and your husbands on your neck. Your eyes widen, "Do-" but you were to late their mouth closed biting lightly.

"Guys, I am both yours now please let go." You whine wanting them to let go.

"Not until they let you go first" they grumble

'God aren't I just lucky' you think putting your hand on their head rubbing soothingly.

[littlecarmine]

CRIMINAL MINDS | 5.21 “EXIT WOUNDS”

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Magistrate Simon Cordier

Diary of a Madman (1963) dir. Reginald Leborg

[bring-back-hotch]

Pov: when you look at the authors of your favourite fics and realise that the entire ship you love is being carried by two people

[the-au-thor]

Little Witch | Prologue

A/N: I've been working on this for a while but i was too shy and scared to post it. Is not finished and it's supposed to be a love story. Anyway; enjoy it if you want. Remember english is not my first language and there might be mistakes, as always feedback would be very appreciated.

Summary: You and Spencer have to deal with the fact that you are tied to each other for the rest of your lifes because of certain adorable little witch— or how to co parenting without falling in love.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader. [No use of y/n]

Words: 2.5 k

Trigger Warning: read it here!

⇝

Little Witch

Prologue

One thing Spencer didn't like was giving lectures at the university. Surprisingly, academic work had secretly attracted him for a long time, a desire he had set aside to join the BAU. Despite carrying a gun and working with the best minds at the bureau to catch dangerous criminals, they occasionally left fieldwork to visit prestigious universities to attract prodigies to the FBI. Initially accompanying Gideon to his talks, he occasionally attended his classes. It didn't excite him; he was awkward, sad, and socially inept. People laughed at everything about him except his jokes, which he found hilariously funny but stopped making after Derek pointed out that students weren't laughing with him but at him.

Against any logic the bureau made an unusual decision: to send him to give lectures completely alone or occasionally accompanied by a new recruit who would only be there to distribute pamphlets and make a demonstration. He decided he would hate academic work. At that moment, it seemed like an injustice to be denounced with his bad mood and certain unwillingness. However, he rediscovered teaching and the fact that, unlike years ago when he accompanied Gideon or Rossi to talks, he was now a proper professor. He was looked at with respect, and even, though it made him nervous, he caught interested glances from women and the occasional flirtatious comment that didn't go unnoticed.

"Dr. Reid?" A brunette with green eyes approached him with a smile. She had a specific type of smile. The woman took a step forward, too close to his personal space. He pressed some forensic science books against his chest, making his sweater tighten around the area. Not that he was staring. It was just too obvious. Anyway, he raised his hand and waved it in the air as a greeting. She didn't seem upset by the gesture; her smile widened even more.

"My name is Naomie, Naomie Larson, and I must say I loved your seminar. I attended last semester, and I wanted to attend the current one, but my schedule is too tight," she adjusted her hair behind her ear and blinked slowly, "I was wondering... could we share a coffee and a conversation about everything I missed?" Maybe she saw his hesitation because she twirled a strand of her hair around her index finger and tilted her head, looking at him with another one of her smiles, "coffee's on me," she added persuasively.

Spencer didn't think too much and almost instinctively shrugged.

"I'm sorry. I'm heading out. But registrations for the next seminar will be open soon, and my colleague, David Rossi, will be leading other interesting lectures. There's one about the predestination of criminal minds and behavior," he tried to cheer her up when he saw her disappointed look.

She pouted slightly, then shrugged with a half-smile, trying to recover.

"I'll follow your advice. I'm even thinking of joining the FBI. Maybe I'll visit the BAU for a tour," she let out a short laugh and shrugged, "Naomie, Naomie Larson," she repeated, picking up the coffee she from the counter and giving him one last glance under her lashes, "Don't forget, Dr. Reid."

She walked away from him with a careful movement of her legs, balancing with agility, in a way that made Spencer think she was previously prepared and designed to attract attention. He averted his gaze to the barista preparing his coffee with discomfort and waited patiently in silence, smoothing the strap of his briefcase. He wasn't foolish; he could easily recognize a pretty girl, especially if she followed normative beauty standards. But it was difficult for him to see someone and simply find them beautiful according to his own standards. There had to be something more, more than primitive need, and even if it was that, it had to be governed by a more personal and profound feeling, even if it was brief. That's why he usually didn't get stuck in relationships — besides the fact that he was terrible at the art of seduction — everything for him was more laborious, especially romance.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" another female voice interrupted his wait.

This time, however, her tone of voice was neither sweet nor deferential like Naomie, Naomie Larson's. He turned and saw a woman with her hair tied in a neat bun that kept her face clear, and he could see every detail of the pristine face adorned only with natural features; thick lashes, arched eyebrows, and pink lips with a cupid's bow pronounced that caught his attention. She had a small chin with and soft dimples that gave her a childlike air. He knew that face, but at the same time, it was totally different. The last time he had seen those eyes, even a bit lighter, they were sunken and surrounded by dark circles of insomnia and abuse. He could even say that some tired wrinkles had disappeared from her face. She looked fresh, repaired, and even more beautiful than the last time he had seen her.

He knew you wouldn't recognize him; you are the kind of person who would have forgotten many things since then.

You were beautiful. You always were, even in your worst moments, and he had met you just after hitting rock bottom. Both were a tragedy it in different ways. He had lost a battle against death, and you were losing it against life; you were broken, and at that moment, it seemed like a good idea to try to fight it together, combining the forces you had left.

He had left you on the bed, crying in a fetal position, between precarious and worn sheets that could well have been translucent. You had made muttered promises that he could barely understand because he needed to move on, and you simply didn't want to. He didn't want to leave you, not because he loved you, not because he needed you, but because you mattered; you had been important, and he didn't want you to suffer. But if he had learned anything in life that they didn't teach him a college, it's that no one can help someone who doesn't want to receive help. So he moved on with his life and made the conscious decision that you wouldn't belong to his future if you barely accepted your own past. A whole year and a little more had passed since then, and under that bridge, much water had flowed, but not enough to erase sins and mistakes.

Then he wondered if leaving you had been a mistake.

"Mela?" he asked, and then let out a short and surprised laugh, dodging the hair falling over his forehead and approached you, forgetting about the personal space tale. "It's fantastic to see you. You look... different."

You frowned, your eyebrows coming together, and he noticed the change in color. You had always kept your hair in fantasy colors, and he had never known your natural hair.

"Different?" you murmured, and even your voice was different.

"Different good," he clarified, clearing his throat without avoiding his smile. "What brings you here? Are you studying? You always said you would have loved to study art history here, right?" he asked, accepting the cup the barista had placed on the counter after serving it, again.

A wave of sadness passed through your eyes, almost clouding your irises as if it were a storm. It was almost as if that comment had sharply embedded in your flesh, and then he saw you shook, looking down and then at him.

"I'm not Mela," you whispered, and he saw you swallow hard just before speaking again, "I'm her twin sister," you introduced yourself, raising your hand, but you didn't bring it towards him, just under your nose, scratching the tip with your back as if you suffered from some allergy. You didn't say anything more, just looked at him deeply, as if you were studying him not to forget him, "You look different."

Spencer furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Wait, did we ever meet?" he asked almost with fear. He never forgot faces. He never forgot people.

You shook your head, your gaze lost. For a moment, while your body was in front of him, your mind seemed to be somewhere far away.

"No. Never," you answered, and then you rummaged in the pockets of your polo dress.

That was another thing different from Mela, and then Spencer knew why you looked so familiar but at the same time so different. It was the same face, a bit more youthful and clean. And your clothing was the complete opposite of Mela's, who loved wearing jeans and T-shirts with pop culture references. That and the old Converse were the only fashion Mela knew. You, on the other hand, had a graceful and pretty way of dressing, like the typical girl next door. You didn't stand out, but certainly, he couldn't say that you were indecent or neglected.

He had to bend down a bit to get a better look at the paper you were showing him; it was an old instant photograph almost worn out in which he and Mela were at the movies with popcorn everywhere and childish grimaces.

"Do you remember this?" you asked with a serious look, as if the question were much more meaningful, "Do you remember?"

"Yes. We went to see a silent film cycle. She hadn't seen any Charlie Chaplin movies. It was her first time," Spencer answered with a furrowed brow, feeling terribly confused.You laughed with disbelief.

"Mela didn't like movies. She hated anything she had to pay quiet attention to for a long time."

That phrase didn't escape Spencer's attention, and a sharp cold went through Spencer's back with a feeling of deadly expectation.

"Wait, she didn't like...?" he knew before even receiving a clear answer. He didn't need you to nod to know that something had happened to Mela. Something irreversible.

He didn't know how to react. He couldn't say he didn't feel sadness, but neither surprise. Someone like her was precisely a person who would be constantly in that danger unless something had changed in her life since they had taken separate paths.

"She died a few months ago," you seemed genuinely distressed saying it, and your voice lightened and broke at the end of the sentence, but with a clearing of your throat, you looked at him again, "She talked to me about you. A couple of times at least. It was hard to get any words out of her about how... how you met," you said with difficulty, "But two days ago, cleaning her things, I found this photo, and then..." you observed the moment captured in the photo and looked at him, "I tried to contact you at your job, but you're never there. They always told me to leave a message. But this isn't the kind of thing you should talk about so casually," you seemed to apologize and have a deep internal debate at the same time, "I searched for you. I had to see what..." you made another pause, looking elsewhere as if afraid to ask anything, "... Do you have time? I'd like to talk to you."

He could've said no, but he needed answers. He needed to know what happened and why you were looking for him when he had only been mentioned a couple of times and was just a face immortalized on a worn-out paper.

They sat at an isolated table, one by the window, and the daylight hit your hair and skin. Spencer saw your bare fingers and perfectly manicured nails with a pale pink tone. You were the complete opposite of Mela, always so gloomy, distant, and sad. You looked transparent, careful, and serious, but not sad, at least not the kind of sadness that constantly covered Mela's face.

"How...?" he didn't have to continue asking the question. You understood the doubt perfectly, and for a moment, you seemed to enter a trance before answering.

"At first, I thought it was an overdose: she mixed some other drugs with heroin, and that was it," you answered, unconsciously scratching the back of your hand with your nails, "But then, cleaning her things, I found a note. That's when I knew it was on purpose. Mela had been sober for more than year. It made as much sense as it didn't."

Spencer nodded in silence. What could he say that would be a comfort for the situation?

"Did anyone else know about her suicidal thoughts?"

You furrowed your brow.

"Nobody. She attended her NA meetings, and no one suspected anything. I mean, Mela was always a bit melancholic and negative, but never suicidal," you stopped abruptly, as if the sentence had hit you in the face, and blinked rapidly, trying to forcefully expel the idea from your mind. "Why did you stop seeing each other?" you asked hesitantly.

Spencer, caught off guard by that question, didn't refuse to answer. Losing your twin sister had thrown you into a whirlwind, and everything was happening too fast for his usually methodical thoughts.

"Our interests changed," he replied after a brief reflection.

You slightly furrowed your brow, dissatisfied with the answer. "Interests?"

Spencer began to feel his discomfort growing in his chest, squeezing it. He felt like a suspect being interrogated.

"Yes," he replied and started to stand up. "Listen, I really am sorry about Mela," he said sincerely, looking you in the eyes. You remained seated, watching him with sadness. "I know she wanted to recover from her addiction," he murmured gently. "And I also sorry we met under these circumstances."

You then finished furrowing your brow harshly and looked at him with controlled anger.

"So, you're leaving? You know, I hesitated a lot about coming here," you stood up just as he was turning to leave the café. "In fact, I still think it's crazy," you admitted, walking toward him with a stern look. "But I had to see you. I had to know you."

Spencer let out a dispirited laugh.

"I don't think I was that important to your sister. Honestly, I think she might have hated me. Not that she didn't have reasons."

You shook your head frantically. "She didn't hate you."

"She didn't hate me, but she didn't like me either. You said you could barely get any information about me from her."

"That's not the reason," your voice faded as you gave that response. Spencer saw your eyes fill with tears and your lips tremble softly. You took a deep breath before speaking again. "She never told me your name. I knew you existed, I mean, you had to. But I wasn't sure of anything until I saw the photo. Then I connected the dots."

Spencer saw the first tears fall through your cheeks as you looked again at that worn photo in your hands, a photo he suddenly wanted to destroy. It took him a while to string his words together, and no matter how much he thought about them, they still didn't make sense.

"What are you talking about?"

You looked up at him, shaking your head.

"She loved her. Maybe she feared you'd take her away. I mean, look at you; you could have if you wanted," you murmured, brushing your face free of the fine hairs that had come loose from your ponytail and revealed themselves on your forehead. You glanced around somewhat embarrassed, but no one in the café was paying attention. They were too focused on their own affairs.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Spencer apologized nervously. His head was starting to ache due to this strange situation. "Listen, you need to calm down. Our brains perceive loss as a physical threat. Your heart beats fast, you tremble, you sweat, and you can even lose track of time because your body is preparing to defend itself against something that's more emotional than physical."

You let out a humorless, choked laugh, looking around as if searching for the answer to something that wasn't there.

"What the hell am I doing here?" you whispered, lightly hitting your forehead with the palm of your hand. "I'm sorry for wasting your time, Spencer Reid."

Spencer saw you starting to walk away, and his internal alarms began to flare with fear. He didn't want it to end like this. He knew what it felt like to lose someone and the pain that came with it. He wouldn't know, however, the pain it would mean for a person to lose their brother, especially someone with whom they shared such a special connection like you and Mela.

"Wait!" He saw you walk out of the café, then turned towards him to hear what he had to say. "Why did you come and look for me?" he asked insistently, gently grabbing your arm.

He didn't do that; he didn't touch strangers unless it was a chase, and he loosened his grip when you looked at him sternly. You pulled away from him gently, even though he noticed you were controlling yourself not to do it abruptly. You took your phone out of your bag, and as you unlocked it, you let out an annoyed huff.

"I'll tell you why," he saw your cheeks redden, and you lifted your chin while showing him a photo of you with a small, smiling girl. She had almond-shaped eyes, dimples on her cheeks, long and curly eyelashes, and platinum hair. She was happy, a cute, happy little girl. "This is Matilda. In January she'll turn one. She's Mela's daughter, and I think she's yours."

[omglord1]

season 7 hotch is so fine

[lilliesm]

one of the most beautiful relationships of cm is reid and prentiss, she really acts like his big sister it's super cute ill always miss them together

add: it's kinda crazy that everytime reid gets into some trouble shes ready to abdicate her position to save him. she does that in the whole prison arc and some few other eps

[mothmanslovechild]

So this is the most random shit but whenever I binge Criminal Minds do you know how often my brain just goes

My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

[spencers-gun]

mgg hand appreciation post <3

i̶ n̶e̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶m̶ a̶l̶l̶ o̶v̶e̶r̶ m̶e̶

[veryberryjelly]

🥐 — character shipping !

(criminal minds pls!)

I'm majoring in psychology, I LOVE sushi, I'm pretty short (5'2), brunette, i love romance and human anatomy books, i'm bi with a preference for men, my aesthetic is downtown girl, i like to think i'm an orange tabby cat, i eat... A LOT, i am an ambivert, REALLY funny ofc, i am TERRIFIED of intimacy

𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

i ship you with...

spencer reid !!!

spencer reid with a short gf <3

i know spencer would help you out with your major cause he's literally a genius.

while he doesn't really read romance books, he will read anything you reccommend to him!

it'll only take him about 2 hours anyway

and if he sees any other books like the ones he sees you read, he will buy them up for you and leave them on your pillow, acting like he didnt even know it was there.

i can picture spencer being really attentive while you're studying for exams & stuff, he'll leave you to it, bringing you the occasional snack and drink and making sure you take a few breaks.

[dxhxe]

spencer grabbing derek’s hand instead of bumping it back is just one of the many things i love about him

[elleminds]

DM♥️

[agent-tempest]

I'm officially in love with Spencer Reid