warnings/themes: fluff, mentions of religion/lack of belief, mentions of periods/reader getting their period (reader's gender is not mentioned though), mild mention of blood & stomach pain technically (but not injury), tw for mentions of one of the worst books/movies ever created.
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you were never one to believe in the "great beyond." having been a technical analyst for the bau for just over five years- and forever digging into the lives of the scum of the earth- what little hope you had in humanity being (apparently) created by some great deity, was very much long gone.
but if there was one thing you definitely believed in, it was that the gooey, warm caramel, sandwiched together by two thin wafers of cookie dough, must have been a gift from the Gods.
it started when spencer had decided to take you to a dutch market for your fourth anniversary of dating. being the ever-antisocial, germaphobic earthworm he was, he had hated the crowds, and the noises, and the exposed food stalls ("did you know that the germ sars-cov-2 was found to have originated from a chinese wet market?" he had exclaimed, whilst trying to avoid several children playing power rangers amongst his legs).
the only reason for his interest resided within the dutch drive-in cinema, and it had been enthralling; cuddled together in the back of the volvo amongst a pile of blankets and pillows, hushed translations of the film being spoken into your ear ("the captions just don't do justice to the original" he had argued (not that you minded in the slightest)).
whilst exiting the market, you could smell something sugary lingering in the air; upon turning around, you noticed a bright orange stall with the word "stroopwafels" printed on the front. "spence, look!" you practically dragged him along whilst following the sweet scent.
"did you know that stroopwafels were first made in the town of gouda, in the netherlands, in 1784?" your boyfriend informed you; "wow, that's really interesting..." you replied, too focused on trying to find the biggest pastry to notice the slight blush that crept upon your companion's face.
"l-look, love" he stuttered out, broken from his loving daze by the sight of a baby sneezing onto one of the paper plates whilst the unsuspecting mother paid. "you know I adore foreign pastries- just as much as you do! but... maybe we would be better off buying a tin from the supermarket? or someplace a bit more sanitary?"
"i guess so..." you trudged back to the car, still hand in hand, and couldn't help the small pout that formed on your face.
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you were woken up the next morning- not by your alarm, not by the gorgeous, charming man sleeping next to you- but by a horrific pain striking you right through your stomach. you held in a groan whilst sprinting to the bathroom (almost stepping on your sleeping cats in the process) and sighed in annoyance at the small trickle of red in the bottom of the toilet bowl. yesterday's events were very much gone from your mind now.
luckily it wasn't a workday, and so you lazed around in bed whilst binge-watching the defenders (again). your partner was a complete gentleman (as always), and more than happy to provide an endless amount of hugs, tea, chocolate, and hot water bottles. at one point he went out to the supermarket to buy something for dinner, and you phoned your coworker to try and raise your spirits.
"mother monster here- speak now, peasant."
a smile graced your face at the ever-optimist chirp of miss penelope garcia. "did i interrupt something, miss gaga?" you managed to speak in between your chuckles.
"why yes, genius. as much as i love you, i was just about to begin my daily rewatch of 50 shades- and you know no one, not even derek morgan, can interrupt my routine visits with mr & mrs grey."
"but it's such a bad film, pen." you groaned aloud, at both your friend's bad taste and the pressure on your lower abdomen.
"well, not all of us have met our soulmates yet, my darling, so dakota johnson is a nice place holder."
"penny..." you said.
"i know what you're going to say and, no. if hot chocolate wants some of my marshmallow, he's gonna have to try a lot harder."
"fair enough." you shrugged- and, as penelope started squealing about jamie dornan's cheekbones, you heard spencer call out from the living room.
"alright, i'm gonna hang up now, babe." your best friend said.
"okay, love ya- say hi to pinky for me."
"hi, love." spencer spoke as he walked into the room (both of your cats following him in procession)- he held up a white tin from one of his shopping bags- "i got something for you."
"what is it?" you asked excitedly, leaning forward; you eagerly took it from him and opened the top.
"you got me stroopwafels?! oh my god, you're the best."
he smiled at you and cocked his head "i know."
it was then two months later, whilst out with the bau, when you drunkenly proposed to spencer, saying that you wanted your wedding cake to be one giant stroopwafel.
you also said an hour later that you were dumping your boyfriend for lesley-anne brandt, but luckily spencer was passed out at that point.
