MGGs carrot scarf

And... that's enough.

Despite the whole committed relationship thing, you still feel a bit scandalized picturing him like that. And you know from experience these thoughts will only get worse if you stay over here, staring at him, wanting him, so you crawl across the couch and under his arm, settling your head in his lap and looking up at him expectantly. He chuckles—a quiet, dry thing, that says he’s only partially surprised by your behavior. 

“Well hello,” Spencer says, taking one hand off the book to settle on your leg. 

“Hi.”

For a moment he just studies you, affection seeping into his eyes along with the humor already there. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm.”

His brow darts up. 

“With what, baby?”

Baby. Your whole body tingles. He only calls you that when he’s feeling especially soft toward you and your whims. In turn you soften, and you both become rather mushy. 

Unfortunately your brain is not excluded from melting, and you look up at him helplessly. 

“Um…”

Spencer’s hand falls from your knee, taking an unnecessary but appreciated route down your thigh and up your stomach before settling on your cheek. He brushes away a few baby hairs before two knuckles begin drawing soft lines from the corner of your mouth up toward your ear and back again, and your stomach becomes a hail of butterflies. He’s got this soft smile on his face and you love him so much and he’s so sweet and perfect, you could just—

You’re not thinking very clearly when you tilt your head, angling your chin up until you catch his fingers against your lips. His eyes remain on yours as he traces the shape of your mouth with those same two knuckles—until you’re slowly parting, obstructing his path and offering a very different kind of invitation. Spencer’s eyes narrow fractionally and you watch the way his focus changes, the way he only tests the waters at first, letting the tips of his fingers trace the length of your bottom lip, before barely tugging down just enough to feel the soft warmth of the border of it. They skate over the ridge of your teeth and find the tip of your tongue, at which point you can’t help from closing your lips around his fingers, eyes fluttering contentedly as you draw them deeper into your mouth. His brows draw together, and those pretty pink lips part soundlessly like you’re the eighth wonder of the world in a way that has your thighs clenching. You hear the book shut and fall carelessly to the side table. He doesn’t even bother saving his place—too busy bringing that newly freed hand to your hair and combing gently against your scalp. 

It’s strangely calming to have him like this—he’s undeniably with you, undeniably close, against your lips and tongue. All your worries about his distance dissolve and you feel incredibly comforted. With his other hand, his thumb begins stroking a line from the bridge of your nose up your forehead, and you could pass out. 

“Comfy?” He asks after a long moment, slowly withdrawing his fingers from the heat of your mouth. You pout. 

“I was.”

Spencer hums, eyes soft on you. “I don’t think I should be nurturing your oral fixation, angel.”

“You didn’t like it?” You challenge, turning your head inward to nose at his stomach. He  cups your cheek with damp fingers and pointedly turns your head outward again. If he wasn’t so blushy and flustered and cute you might’ve cared more about the feeling of your own spit on your skin. 

“Don’t make it about me.”

You allow a minute to pass in silence. 

Fine.

“I liked it,” you say shyly. 

Spencer’s response is deeply fond as he smiles down at you. “Did you?”

Like he couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm. You should let me do it all the time.”

His smile flickers wider the way it does when he’s about to tease you. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it. I don’t know if you can be good all the time.”

You make a face. “Shut up.”

“Is that what we say when we want something?” Before he can pull his hand away, you nip at his fingers. He laughs. “You’re off to a terrible start. I think you need to work on your manners. Not bite the hand that… goes in your mouth.”

“Is that the saying?”

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods sarcastically, helping you up until you’re sitting across his lap. He lovingly tucks hair behind your ear, eyes warm as they flit across your face up close. “You know, that was incredibly unhygienic. So much bacteria it boggles the mind.”

“Yeah? That kinda turns me on.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you sweetly, choosing your mouth over his worry about bacterial transmission. “You are so psychologically concerning,” he whispers against your lips. You sling your arms around his neck. 

“Because of the bacteria thing or the oral fixation thing?”

His hands settle on your hips. “Both, lovely. For so many reasons.”

It’s only another tease, but you pull back anyway so he can see the full force of your pout. “Don’t say that. It’s mean.”

“I was kidding! It was a joke. I was joking.”

“It was mean.”

“Okay,” Spencer begins, patient and happy to untangle this ridiculous snag if that’s what it takes to make you content again, “Freud’s psychosexual stages of development are contentious at best. I’m not worried about your oral fixation because I don’t really believe in such a thing. I was just teasing you, but I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“So you’ll let me do it again?”

Spencer pulls you back into another kiss. 

“You’re kind of insatiable, you know that?” 

When you don’t answer, only wait for him to respond, he sighs goodnaturedly. 

“You know you can have any part of me whenever you want it.”

You give him a winning smile and kiss his cheek in reward. 

“You’re so nice, Spence.”

“I thought I was mean.” 

“Now you’re nice.”

“Because you got what you wanted?” You nod enthusiastically. He seems not quite as thrilled, though perhaps distantly amused by his own helplessness when it comes to you. “Yeah, I feel like that happens a lot, doesn’t it?”

The bullpen was abuzz with morning chatter. You were making some final adjustments to your filing from the last case before turning it in to Hotch.

Your head throbbed from two straight hours of paperwork, and your cheeks felt clammy thanks to the summer heat.

Spencer entered, nudging open the BAU’s double doors with his back. He had two coffees precariously balanced atop his own stack of case files, and made a beeline for your desk.

“Here you go,” he said, setting one down in front of you, “Your coffee. Cream, no sugar.”

“Oh my gosh! You remembered!” you gushed, taking the cup from him, your heart giving a tiny skip. You weren’t used to such a thoughtful gesture, even if, to most, it seemed small, “Thank you, angel.”

“You’re, uh…” Spencer cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning pink, “You’re welcome, babe.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it.

You froze. Your skin grew hot, and this time it had nothing to do with the weather.

“I’m gonna-“ Spencer pointed vaguely toward the other side of the room, already retreating with the lame excuse that ‘Hotch needed him’.

Morgan, having watched the entire interaction, sauntered over to your desk with a grin so wide you’d have thought he’d just won the lottery.

“Did he just say what I think he said, princess?”

“What are you talking about?” you said, sipping on your coffee, trying - and failing - to act natural.

You fixed your hair and took another sip. Morgan just gave you a pointed look.

“What?” you protested, throwing your hands up, “You can call me ‘princess’ all the time, but when Reid calls me ‘babe’, it’s weird?”

“They’re not the same, and you know it,” Morgan laughed, shaking his head, “Just admit it.”

You sighed and caught sight of Prentiss, not-so-subtly loitering nearby and doing a terrible job of pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Don’t you dare, Prentiss.”

Prentiss held her hands up innocently, though the smirk already stretching across her face told a different story, “I didn’t say anything!”

She didn’t have to. You could practically hear the cogs, of some plot of hers, turning.

And turns out, it didn’t take long for those cogs to start turning at all.

It had been exactly three hours and seventeen minutes since what you had dubbed The ‘Babe’ Incident - not that you were counting.

You were trying your best to focus on inputting your notes from the last interview into the system, when a familiar voice called out from across the bullpen:

“Hey, babe, you got the witness statements from yesterday?”

You looked up to find Morgan, leaning back casually in his swivel chair, trying to suppress a smirk. In your opinion, he wasn’t trying hard enough.

“I’m going to pretend that didn’t just happen,” you replied, flashing him a tight smile, before turning back to your work.

“Oh, come on, babe,” he said, dragging the word out just to get under your skin, “Don’t go all cold on me.”

From the other side of the room, Prentiss chimed in, without looking up from her laptop:

“I don’t know, Morgan… she might only respond when Reid says it.”

Your jaw dropped as you turned your disbelieving stare onto her, “You’re awful.”

“Only for you, babe.” Prentiss said sweetly, finally glancing up with a wink. She held up her printed notes, “Do you want to proofread these, or should I just hand them over to your boyfriend?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat as you noticed Spencer, standing directly behind Prentiss’s chair.

He was holding a manila folder, his expression caught somewhere between confused and mildly horrified.

“Boyfriend?” he echoed, blinking like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Prentiss didn’t miss a beat. She turned slowly in her chair to face him, her grin only growing as she said, “Oh, hey babe, didn’t see you there.”

This joke was very quickly becoming old.

It was days later, after a suspiciously small amount of ‘babe’ usage around the BAU office, that it happened again.

The unit was stationed out West and you were onto a strong lead. A few more hours and you suspected you’d have the guy nailed - you just needed some concrete evidence to your theory first.

“This is your captain speaking. We are now prepared for take off. Destination: all the answers you could ever need.”

You smiled amusedly to yourself, “Hey, Garcia, could you pull up a list of any white males with a petty crime record, living within eight miles of the community centre?”

“I most certainly can,” she chirped in reply.

You set the phone onto speaker as you waited for her to come back with any hits.

“Okay… looks like we’ve got nine gentlemen who fit the bill.”

You heard a series of keys tapping on Penelope’s end, as she hummed, “I’m sending them to your phone now, babe.”

“Garcia, not you too!” you groaned, putting your head in your hands.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, babe,” she winked, even though you couldn’t see it, before hanging up. You could almost feel her grin through the phone.

You hung up with a deep sigh, only to find Spencer leaning against the doorway, trying very hard not to smile.

“Y/N,” you looked up immediately at the sound of Hotch’s voice. He stood in front of your desk.

“I need you to take a look at these reports,” he said, placing the files down, “Check them against what we already have in the system. I need them done by noon.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, already setting aside your current work to make room for his reports.

“Thanks, babe.” he added, then carried on walking toward his office as if nothing had happened.

You stared after him, mouth slightly agape, before letting out a shocked laugh. Your brain hadn’t quite processed what you’d just heard.

“You got Hotch to say it? Really?” you called over to Morgan.

Who simply grinned wide, shaking his head, “That’s the magic of ‘babe’.”

From behind, Prentiss squeezed your shoulder teasingly, “Careful, next thing you know, Hotch’ll be calling you ‘princess.’”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.

You glanced towards Reid’s desk, and suddenly, you didn’t mind if ‘babe’ stuck around a little longer.