You’d known your husband, Spencer, for about twenty years now.

You’d been married for 14, together for 18.

You met through the BAU. You’d joined as his direct partner, and the two of you instantly became friends. After five years of oblivious pining, the two of you finally got together.

When you got pregnant with your first child, after 13 years of working at the BAU, you left. Spence did too.

From being falsely imprisoned, to the two times he’d gotten shot, the drug addiction he’d developed from being held hostage, it was time he moved on. With you, his wife.

He now works as a Criminology professor at Georgetown, which was something he’d been reassigned to do temporarily after he got released from prison.

You now work as an online trauma therapist.

You have two kids together, now. A 10 year old daughter, and a 7 year old son.

Even after knowing you all those years, being with you for as long as he had, he was still so whipped for you. Helplessly in love.

He didn’t shy away from expressing that.

You were folding laundry when you felt the arms around your waist, the familiar lips against your neck and shoulder.

“The kids’re asleep…” Spence muttered against your jaw, gently swaying the two of you back and forth, tightening his hold on you a bit.

“Y’know what that means…?”

You could practically hear the smile on his face.