Nina

[sentrybites]

i saw someone saying on twitter about a woman who said that her boyfriend was so nervous when propose her that he forgot everything and ended up just getting on his knees saying “please”.

i hope every writer who reads this makes the best of it

[irisinlovee]

wherever you are — spencer reid 

pairings: husband!spencer x wife!reader

summary: the beautiful, romantic and comedic story of how they met

theme: fluff

a/n: I can't get enough of my three under five family. I wrote this in the back of a car, while I accompanied my parents on their errands. :) I knooooow I have to get to the requests but I just can't get enough of this family ISTG.

"Dad? How’d you meet Mommy?"

The question drifted from the back seat, cutting through the soft hum of the car’s engine. Spencer glanced into the rearview mirror, catching the curious gaze of eleven-year-old Saxon. The boy was leaning forward as much as his seatbelt would allow, clutching a chocolate milk box, one that his mom packed this morning when they left. Today was Saxon Day. It was a sacred tradition in their household. With six children running through the halls like a miniature riot, Spencer made it his mission to carve out a world for each of them, one-on-one. He wanted to know their fears, their favorite colors, and the way their minds worked when the noise of five siblings finally faded away. It was his way of ensuring they felt seen. Spencer felt a familiar, warm tug in his chest, the kind he only felt when he thought about the woman who had spent the morning hunting for Saxon’s lost sneaker. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Mommy never told you the story?" Spencer asked, his voice softening with the memory. Saxon shook his head, taking a thoughtful sip of his milk. "She just says you were 'the clumsiest man in the city' and that she felt sorry for you."

Spencer let out a short bark of a laugh. "Well, she’s not wrong about the clumsy part. I practically fell over a chair just to get to her." He adjusted the mirror, his eyes locking onto his son’s. The playful light in Spencer’s expression settled into something deeper, something more reverent.

"But the truth, Saxon? The moment I saw her standing behind that coffee shop counter, I felt like the world just... stopped spinning for a second." He paused, a lump forming in his throat as he pictured her face that morning, framed by the chaos of their kitchen.

"I instantly knew she was the love of my life.''

The steam from the espresso machine hissed, a rhythmic percussion against the soft, acoustic indie track drifting from the ceiling speakers. Behind the counter, she was a whirlwind of practiced grace, her fingers dancing over portafilters and steam wands. She wiped a stray smudge of foam from a tall paper cup, took a sharp breath, and projected her voice into the crowded room.

"One Café Latte! With extra... five pumps of vanilla syrup. For Spencer!"

She held the cup aloft like a trophy, her gaze sweeping the store with a spark of genuine curiosity. Spencer, she thought. A solid, sturdy name. She imagined a man in ironed khakis or perhaps someone with very sensible, weather-proof shoes. The shop remained still.

She glanced at the Sharpie-scrawled name again, a small, amused huff escaping her lips. She leaned over the polished wood of the counter, her voice lifting into a melodic, teasing lilt that could have cut through a thunderstorm.

"Extra sweet latte for Spencer?" Suddenly, a chair screeched violently against the hardwood in the far, shadowed corner.

A man who seemed to be composed entirely of long, disorganized limbs and frantic energy launched himself into a standing position. He was mid-sentence, his phone pressed to his ear, but the moment her voice hit him, he fumbled the device, nearly dropping it into someone’s blueberry muffin. He shoved it into his pocket with a panicked grunt and began a treacherous trek toward the counter. He clipped the corner of a bistro table. He nearly tripped over his own feet performing a sort of desperate, wobbling skip to regain his balance.

By the time he reached the counter, he was breathless, his glasses sliding dangerously far down the bridge of his nose. "I’m—that’s me! I’m Spencer!" he blurted out, his chest heaving. He didn’t even look at her yet, his eyes fixed on the napkin dispenser as he stammered through a cloud of embarrassment. "I am so sorry. Work call. Boss. Total chaos. I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry. Really, truly, deeply sorry."

And then, she laughed. It wasn't a polite, customer-service chuckle. It was a bright, cascading sound, warm and honeyed, the kind of laugh that felt like a sunbeam hitting a cold room.

Spencer finally looked up. In that heartbeat, the bustling café faded into a soft-focus blur. His brain simply stalled. She was looking at him with the most disarming smile he had ever seen. It wasn't just in the curve of her lips, but in her eyes too. They seemed to catch every light in the room, shimmering with a kindness that felt like an invitation.

"Oh... wow," Spencer breathed. The words left his lips before his brain could process. The silence that followed was heavy with the scent of roasted beans and sudden realization. Spencer’s eyes widened. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, his ears turning a shade of cherry.

She blinked, her eyelashes fluttering once, twice, and then she broke into a second, even wider grin that Spencer felt certain would be his undoing. "It’s okay," she said softly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum as she slid the warm cup across the counter. Her fingers lingered near his for a fraction of a second. "Here. Enjoy your sugar rush, Spencer."

The way she said his name, with a slight, playful emphasis on the 'S' sent a literal shiver down his spine. His heart was drumming against his chest. "Thanks," he squeaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

He snatched the cup as if it were a holy relic and turned on his heel. He walked toward the exit with the stiff, mechanical gait of a man who had forgotten how his legs functioned. He pushed the "Pull" door, realized his mistake, corrected it with a flustered jerk, and stumbled out into the crisp morning air.

Outside, leaning against a silver sedan with the smug patience of a man who knew exactly what had just happened, stood Derek. "Well, well," Derek said, pushing his sunglasses up. "Look at you. Why are you glowing? A pretty girl in there?"

Spencer didn't answer. He couldn't. He was staring at the plastic lid of his cup. "My man!" Derek leaned in, peering through the café window at the girl in the apron. "You get a name? A number? A sign from the heavens?"

Spencer simply shook his head, a dazed, lopsided smile beginning to tug at his mouth. He climbed into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut, cocooning himself in the car's silence. Derek chuckled, putting the car in gear.

Spencer remained silent as they pulled away. He took a sip of the latte. It was cloyingly, ridiculously sweet, but as he closed his eyes, he didn't taste the sugar. He only saw her eyes. He only heard the way she said his name, and for the first time in his very sensible life, Spencer didn't care about being sensible at all.

The second time Spencer saw her, he nearly became one with a display of potted blue hydrangeas. It wasn't just a coincidence; it felt like the universe had such an undeniable comedic timing. He had stepped into the flower shop seeking something "polite." Something that said 'I am a functional adult who buys thoughtful gifts' and not 'I panicked and bought you a half-melted Hershey bar from the gas station.'

Instead, he walked straight into his own undoing. She was there, leaning over a weathered wooden workbench. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, revealing forearms dusted with a stray petal or two. Her hair was swept up in a messy, effortless bun. She was focused, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she snipped a rose stem with surgical precision.

"Hello! Welcome to Iris and Poppy!" she called out, her voice like a warm melody. She didn't look up yet, her hands busy tucking baby’s breath into a cloud of pink carnations. "I’ll be right with you, just giving these guys a haircut!"

The smile was audible in her voice, that same, light-drenched energy that had short-circuited his brain over a latte three days ago. "Hi," he finally managed. One syllable was all his genius brain could muster.

She glanced up. The recognition was instantaneous, her face lighting up immediately.

"Oh! Hey! Spencer, right?" The fact that she remembered his name and his questionable sugar preference nearly caused his knees to give out.

"Yes," he croaked. "Yes. That’s... I am... yes." She let out a soft, musical giggle, setting her shears down. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, Spencer. Or maybe just a very intimidating lily?" She gestures to her right, where the flowers sat.

"You're... here," he said, his eyes darting around the shop as if checking for hidden cameras. "Guilty as charged," she said, leaning her elbows on the wooden table. "Student debt is a relentless beast, unfortunately. I’m currently on the 'Multiple Jobs World Tour.' If you see me at the Trader Joe’s down the street on Friday nights, be sure to say hello to the girl stocking the frozen peas, okay?"

Spencer blinked, his brain struggling to keep up with her wit. "How did you know I was literally just wondering if you were following me?" She shrugged a shoulder playfully, a dimple flickering into existence. "Lucky guess. You have a very 'Why is this happening to me?' kind of face. It's cute."

It's cute. The words echoed in his skull like a cathedral bell. "So," she continued, snapping back into professional mode, though the twinkle in her eye remained. "What can I help you with today? I'm sorry there's no sugary lattes here," She jokes, making him laugh sheepishly.

"Right. Flowers," he stammered, gripping the edge of the counter. "For a friend. She’s... sick. I wanted something that doesn't smell like a hospital."

She nodded, her expression shifting into one of focused empathy. "Okay, let’s see... Lavender is the way to go. It’s calming and helps with the stress of being stuck in bed. And Sunflowers," she reached for a vibrant, golden bloom. "For warmth and comfort. They’re basically bottled sunshine."

He watched her work, mesmerized by the effortless grace of her hands. She handled the flowers like they were glass. "Would you like these in a bouquet?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.

He nodded, unable to look away. She began to wrap them in rustic brown paper, tying a twine bow with practiced ease. The shop was quiet, filled only with the scent of damp earth and blooming things.

Spencer hesitated. This was the moment. "How about..." he started, his voice dropping to a shy, barely-audible register. "What would you suggest... for someone you have a crush on?"

The rustling of the brown paper stopped. She paused, her hands hovering over the twine. Very slowly, she tilted her head up. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, one that didn't just reach her eyes but seemed to settle deep within them.

"Hmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "Gerbera daisies. Definitely. They symbolize admiration and cheerfulness." Spencer felt his collar getting tight. "You want me to add them to the 'Get Well' bunch?" she asked, reaching for a bright orange daisy.

He shook his head quickly. "No. Please make a separate one. Just the daisies." Her smile widened, just a fraction, but it was enough to make his head spin. "Coming right up."

She assembled the second bouquet, mixing and matching the different colors available so it would pop better. When she was finished, she led him to the register. "Get well soon to your friend," she said warmly, sliding the larger bouquet across the counter. "And good luck to your crush, Spencer. She’s a lucky girl."

He nodded, his throat tight. "Thank you." He took the flowers. He turned. He walked three steps toward the door. His hand hovered over the brass handle. He could feel his courage dissolving.

Turn around, Spencer. Don't be a coward! He convinced himself.

And so, he spun back abruptly, almost losing his balance. He marched back to the counter before his brain could talk him out of it and gently placed the smaller bouquet of gerbera daisies in her startled hands.

"Okay, uh, here," he said, the words rushing out in a single, panicked breath. He didn't wait for a reaction; instead, he turned on his heel and bolted out of the shop, the bell above the door jangling a frantic, silver goodbye.

Inside, the silence returned, heavier and sweeter than before. She stood frozen behind the counter, her fingers curling around the warm paper of the bouquet she had just made. Her cheeks burned with a sudden, heat that made her vision blur for a second.

It would have been a lie to say she hadn’t thought about him. She’d replayed that café encounter a dozen times, the way he’d stumbled, his accidental "oh wow," the sheer, honest vulnerability in his eyes.

And now, she was holding the very flowers she had recommended for admiration. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was convinced it echoed all over the store. She looked toward the glass door, catching a glimpse of him practically power-walking down the sidewalk, his shoulders hunched in adorable embarrassment. She brought the daisies to her face, breathing in the faint, green scent of them. "Spencer," she whispered to the empty room, a small, breathless laugh escaping her.

After that day, Spencer had spent the better part of the week being paced through a "romance boot camp" by his friends. Penelope had spent an hour color-coordinating his outfit in her living room, insisting that the lavender sweater "brought out his pretty boy eyes," while Morgan had spent the other hour giving him a pep talk that felt like a halftime speech at the Super Bowl. "Just breathe, kid," Morgan had told him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Go get you girl."

Spencer had left work two hours early. He stopped first at the coffee shop. He didn't order the five-pump latte this time; instead, he ordered a single, perfectly balanced one for her. Then, he sprinted to the flower shop, grabbing a fresh, vibrant bouquet of gypsophila, flowers that say 'I Really Like you'.

He arrived at the Trader Joe’s at exactly 6:00 PM. The air smelled of rain and rotisserie chicken. He navigated the aisles with a newfound sense of purpose, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He rounded the corner of the frozen food section, and there she was. She was kneeling by the freezer chests, surrounded by mountains of frozen peas and corn. Even in the harsh, sterile light of the grocery store, she looked like a dream. She was humming a soft tune, her brow furrowed in concentration as she organized the bags.

"Hi," Spencer said. The word was small, but in the quiet hum of the freezers, it sounded like a thunderclap. She looked up. The moment her eyes landed on him, there was a wide and genuine smile plastered across her face before she even stood up. "Spencer," she said, her voice breathless as she rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron.

Spencer stepped forward, holding out the latte in one hand and the flowers in the other. He looked like a man from a rom-com, drenched in rain, who had prepared a thousand-word speech but had forgotten every single syllable the moment he saw her eyes. "I... I didn't mean to run out the last time," he started, his words rushing out in a nervous tumble. "I just... I didn't know what to say, and my brain sort of exited the building, but I went back to the café, and I got you this—less syrup, because I know you’re on your feet—and I wanted to come here, to where the peas are, and I asked my friends what to do if you like a girl and they said just to ask and here I am now and I want to ask you if..."

He didn't even get to finish the question. He didn't get to ask about Friday night, or dinner, or a movie. "Yes," she said. The word was immediate; it was sure. Spencer blinked, his mouth still open to finish his sentence. "Yes?"

"Yes, Spencer," she laughed, taking a step toward him, the gap between them closing until he could smell the faint scent on her skin. "I’ve been stocking these peas for an hour just hoping you’d show up. The answer is yes." She reached out, taking the flowers and the coffee, but her gaze never left his. The blush that crept up her neck was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Spencer pulled the car into the driveway, the memory of that grocery store still making his chest feel tight with gratitude. He looked back at Saxon, who was staring at his father with wide, impressed eyes.

"Mom said yes before you even asked?" Saxon asked, leaning forward. "She did," Spencer whispered, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "Because sometimes, Sax, when you find the right person, the questions don't matter as much as the answer."

As if on cue, the front door of their house swung open. She stepped out, waving at them, her hair a bit messy from a day with the other five kids, but that same beautiful smile still firmly in place. Spencer watched her, his heart performing that familiar, wonderful stutter.

"And that," Spencer said, turning off the engine, "is how I knew I was the luckiest man in the world." He comes around the car, opening the door for the boy who had excitedly unbuckled his seat and ran towards his mother, who already had her arms wide open.

"How was your day with Dad, sweetheart? I missed you and Dad today," she asked. She didn't wait for an answer before wrapping Saxon in an embrace, her eyes closing as she pressed a lingering kiss to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of outside air and chocolate milk.

"It was the best day ever," Saxon muffled into her shoulder, his voice thick with the kind of excitement only an eleven-year-old can possess. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his expression dead serious. "Dad told me the story of how he met you."

"He did?" she asked, her gaze drifting upward to find her husband. Spencer was currently losing a cuddle battle. The other five children had swarmed him like a joyful, chaotic tide, a tangle of limbs and laughter that had him enveloped in a giant group hug. Over the top of a toddler’s head, Spencer caught her eye. He looked tired, disheveled, and completely, hopelessly smitten. He offered her a wink, the same clumsy, endearing one he’d given her a lifetime ago.

Saxon tugged on her sleeve, pulling her attention back down. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he were revealing the greatest mystery of the universe. "Mom? I think Dad loves you. Like, so so much." The sincerity in his small voice made her breath hitch. She felt that familiar, radiant heat bloom in her chest, the same one that had started with a cup of impossibly sweet coffee and a bouquet of gerbera daisies. She leaned in, mirroring his secretive posture, a playful yet tender spark in her eyes.

"Can you keep a secret, Sax?" she whispered back. The little boy nodded vigorously, his eyes wide.

"I love Dad too," she breathed, her smile widening until it matched the one she’d worn behind a café counter years ago. "So, so, so, so much."

Saxon let out a delighted giggle, the sound of pure, untainted joy, and squeezed her neck tight. Across the room, Spencer finally broke free from the huddle of children, his eyes locking onto hers with a look that said he didn't need to hear the whisper to know exactly what she’d said.

Because the truth was, it didn't matter where the world took her anymore. Whether she was standing behind a steaming espresso machine, weaving stems in a quiet flower shop, walking the fluorescent aisles of a grocery store, or cooking dinner for the family they so happily dreamt of and built, she would never be alone. Spencer would be right there, a few steps behind or waiting at the door, forever the man who found his home in her smile. He had followed her through every job and every dream, and he would keep following her for the rest of his life, because wherever she went, she carried his heart in her hands.

[dark-vader28]

“post-prison reid” this, “late seasons spencer” that

i miss my cringefail know-it-all loser :[ bf

early seasons spence, you were a national treasure

[quanticohome]

no thoughts just early seasons Spencer Reid

OK BUT SERIOUSLY

Early seasons Spencer does not get NEARLY as much love as he deserves

like look at that perfect bone structure!

those floppy brown locks!

those pretty amber eyes and cute button nose!

[thecrazyreadersstuff]

i'm so done with seeing and finding purely smut fics, what happened to yearning?? what happened to developing plots??character development??fluff?? angst?? hurt/comfort?? what happened to those monologues of characters that hurt your heart and made you go insane AGH

[jupitereleven]

my “twins weasley phase” wasn’t just a phase.

[nini123]

It's not a phase it's a lifestyle

[bethsvrse]

pov: I find a good smut fic but it includes a daddy kink

[colmiillo]

me acting like I just didn't read the most filthy nasty hot smut fic of my life

[skyeeuphixia]

Being a Harry girl who reads fanfic can be so frustrating at times. When I search up Harry Potter x reader. ITS CAUSE I WANT HARRY X READER FICS! NOT DRACO, OR FRED OR CEDRIC!

[glennussy]

so starved for content I might go to the real hellsite (wattpad)

[im-your-daddy-now-son-16]

Can i just say this 1 thing...

BARTY CROUCH JR IS NOT A SLYTHERIN-

HE'S A RAVENCLAW!!! with pandora and xeno, whilest evan and reg were slytherin, dorcas was gryffindor and marlene-

IM SORRY (im not) BUT PLZZZZZ , I CANT DEAL ANYMORE (yes ik ik, very dramatic)

[sinsilk]

i just need a dorky nerdy man with brown hair and big brown eyes to be my boyfriend PLEASE

[rebelriotrants]

⚠️ this is MY OPINION ⚠️

I can’t stress this enough but can you please stop tagging your work as an x reader if it’s really an oc? Like it’s not that hard I don’t know if people don’t understand that you can mark it as original character x character name. Or like when it’s says an x reader but then ten seconds you see a “random name” heard her name being called or whatever.

Or when a feature of the reader is describe with brown hair or blonde hair or had blue eyes. Recently there was a fix that read x oc but then tag as a x reader like OH MY GOD. I’m sorry if I sound a little bit rude or angry but it’s quite annoying seeing it every time you just want to read an character x reader but can’t because it’s tag as an oc like I get that some people can’t imagine themselves as y/n but instead use a character like that’s fine or like if the author uses a character outline for y/n that’s fine the problem is makeing it as a X READER when in fact it’s not. There’s an author that I i follow and they tell you they have a oc for the story because it helps them and you can use the oc for the insert so read of imagining yourself but it’s still a x reader because they uses h/c,e/c..etc.

Like that’s fine the problem is marking it as a x reader when in fact it’s not. And I know that there’s some people who find this so irritating and annoying and I’m one of them just please mark it as an oc if you’re going to describe a oc instead of tagging it as an x reader

[reiding-writing]

minor rant time, but can i just say how much it irks me that the ‘top posts’ section for fanfiction hashtags are never actual fics?

they’re always for unrelated posts or memes or whatever

like i don’t want to see that, i want to read fics that so many people have liked that they’ve gotta be good

but no, just photoshopped pictures or unrelated text posts

[shoot1ngst4r]

how i look trying to find a remus lupin or sirius black x reader that isn’t a poly fic

[nini123]

I don't really talk about politics but I feel the need to say it

People who voted for trump do NOT care about anyone but themselves they only care to benefit themselves and the celebrities who endorsed him are absolutely selfish

And the women, Mexican Americans and middle class people who have voted for him this WILL backfire onto you

I honestly did not expect Kamala to win because I know that this country is to misogynist to let a woman be in charge plus she did not have much time to get people on her side.

BUT to the woman who voted for her, you are not only stopping other women from the right to abort a child that will end up being mistreated and neglected, but you are also taking the lives of the many women who wanted to have the baby and end up having complications in their pregnancy, and who have to bleed out because doctors are too afraid of giving them treatment. You have been brainwashed to believe that abortion is just about "getting rid of a tiny human being"

You aren't "Pro Life" you're Pro death and pro neglect

I personally have decided from an early age that I would save myself for marriage but that does not mean I don't care about the women who have an active sex life and about the women who are or are planning on getting pregnant

To the Mexican Americans who voted for this man, as a Mexican American and a daughter of an immigrant I am very disappointed. And our ancestors are disappointed that you would give into the brainwashing of a white man. A man who would have stood by the side of the men who took our land. You do not deserve to identify yourself as a Mexican if you voted for this man.

To the middle class, you say that the economy was so great when he was president last. Well that was obamas economic plan! So good job! We actually will have an increase in everything because he does not understand how government works, and business in general. This so called successful business man has lost millions of dollars in many different businesses including when he made a casino!

I live in California, and Kamala won our electoral votes. But looking at each of the regions votes a lot of you voted red... and are still living here benefitting off of liberal policies.

I do not care if you agree or disagree with me at all. I am simply saying my opinions and stating facts. I will not be arguing with anyone in my replies

[naqmeh-art]

Hello everyone🥰

Here's my first drawing of Pedro as Marcus Acacius 🤴🏻⚔️

Hope you like it as much as I do🫶🏻

Art prints ➡️ link in bio