yourstrulymary

[yourstrulymary]

shame on beyonce and taylor. i mean taylor we all expected but really there are no moral rich people / celebrities. all greedy pigs

[yourstrulymary]

reupload of this post cause the reblogs got turned off

[yourstrulymary]

reupload of this post cause the reblogs got turned off

[yourstrulymary]

hi jade! can I make a request for kbd au, maybe one of the girls gets sick or is in the hospital and Steve and r trying to take care of her and the other girls but are worried themselves. pls ignore if you don’t like this love your writing:)))

ty for requesting! ily i hope this is ok ♡ kisses before dinner —you and beth spend some time in the hospital. mom!reader, 1.5k

“Mom?” 

“Yeah?” 

Bethie looks up in your lap with red-rimmed eyes, her eyelids puffy. They look so sore. You bring your hand up to touch her cheek. 

“When's everyone coming back?” 

You lean back in her hospital bed and pull her against your chest. “Soon, baby. So soon. Are you missing everyone?” 

“Yeah. Avery said, um, that she would let me,” —she rubs her little nose into your collar— “sleep in her bed with her when I go home.” 

Bethie will be sleeping in your bed for a while so you can keep an eye on her, but you let her believe it because she sounds very eager. 

For now, you aren't sure when she'll be going home, but certainly not tonight. She's having trouble breathing at night, and her skin warms yours with the intensity of a space heater. “You're not enjoying our big sleepover?” you ask. Four days and counting, you've slept here every night in chairs slumped over her lap or briefly in the foldout cot beside her. 

She was too sick to remember the first two days, but now she's getting better she's realised you're doing something strange together, and she may be poorly, but she seems particularly pleased to have your undivided attention. “I love it!” she says in a rush, prompting a wracking cough into your shirt. You rub her back. “Sorry.” 

“If you need to cough, you do it, baby.” You bring a tissue up to her mouth and clean away the spittle. “Don't be sorry. Cough all over me.” 

You hold her close. You didn't need Steve to tell you to take care of her to do it, but you can't get the memory of the run up to Beth's hospital stay out of your head.

I think– I think we need to take her to Urgent Care. His sickly terror, but his surety, too. Steve was gonna make whatever decision he needed to and you couldn't have stopped him (and wouldn't want to). By the time you called Robin to watch the others, your girl getting sicker and sicker, Beth couldn't keep her eyes open. 

Not you nor Steve nor Beth made it home that night. Steve, squinting with a migraine, had relented in the early morning. You'll stay and I'll go home, he'd said. You wouldn't call it selfish to want to be the one to stay, but it was selfless of him to volunteer to go home. He hasn't once asked you to leave her side. So you look after her for me, too. You have to do double. 

“Here, my love,” you murmur, bringing a sippy cup to her lips. Doesn't matter that she's too old for it. “It's just juice, don't worry. No more medicine.” 

“I miss daddy,” she says, pushing the cup away. 

“I know. He should be here any minute now, yeah? And when he comes he's going to be all worried and bossy about how you're feeling, so let's drink this juice. It'll make your voice less crackly.” 

“Is it crackly?” she asks, surprised. 

“Yeah, babe,” you say with a laugh, “it's like crunchy sugar, you can't hear it?”

“What?” she asks, giggling between little coughs. 

You hold her cup to her lips. She values her father's esteem for you, drinking her juice and settling back into your arms just in time for him to arrive. He has yet to be mad at you during this time, but you're sure he'd threaten violence if Bethie wasn't getting all the attention and care that could possibly be given. The first thing he says is, “Hello, my girl, how are you feeling today?” 

You try not to rush her out of your arms and into his, but he has company. Steve picks Bethie up from your arms with the same slow hesitance he'd hold a newborn, his lips quick to the top of her head. “Sweetheart,” he says softly, “hello,” before he goes completely silent. 

Robin stands behind him with your teeny tiny baby held in her car carrier with both hands, and Avery and Dove toddle in front of them with matching grins. You slink off of the bed and crouch down, nearly knocked on your butt as they rush you. 

“I missed you! I missed you so much!” you shower their cheeks with kisses before pulling them in for hugs. Over their heads, you give Robin your best smile. “How's she doing?” 

“She misses you. Or she hates me. Either or.” 

“You're the best friend in the entire world.” You close your eyes into the cuddling. “She loves you.” 

Steve sits down on the side of the bed and rubs Bethie's back, all but covering the short breadth of it with spread fingers stroking up and down. “You look better today,” he says. He speaks softly. You have to strain to understand him. “Did mommy give you a shower? You look sparkly clean.” 

Bethie curls into him. 

“I missed you,” he says. “I miss you every second you're not home, I can't wait for you to come home.” He looks up at you. You shake your head gently. “But how about this hospital bed, huh? This looks comfy. Can I lie down?” 

Steve lays down in the bed with Beth against his chest. He looks super tired, his eyes wrinkled in the corners and his jaw set in pain. Bethie rises up to squish her cheek against his. Steve makes a kiss sound. “Aw, Beth. Love you.” 

Dove wants to be on the bed —this is a vaguely new place to her and she's a toddler. She whines until you lift her up, while Robin puts Wren's car seat in a vinyl chair and sets about unclicking her straps.

“Is she feeling better?” Avery asks, holding up her hands. 

You walk into her outstretched arms. “She is. Not one hundred percent better, but better. She just needs to stay a little bit longer.” 

“How long?” 

“What did the doctor say this morning, Beth?” you ask with a smile. “Just one more night for checks. Then hopefully tomorrow we can all go home.” 

It takes a while to get everyone settled. Robin sits in one of the chairs and you the other, Wren placed in her car carrier to your left. Avery climbs into your lap, and you find no reason to dissuade her from sprawling backwards, her head under your chin. Steve hugs Beth with a palpable relief about him, though he holds Dove's hand when the smaller girl insists. It's surprisingly peaceful. There's nothing to do but wait for your girl to get better. 

“I missed you,” Steve says again, Beth hanging on his every word, “I can't remember the last time you spent so long away from home. Are you and mommy having a good time?” 

“My–” Beth struggles for words, her chest giving a weak wheeze, “my voice is funny.” 

“You think so?” He brings his legs up, eyes closing as Beth does the same. “Sounds the same to me.” 

You can't miss the way he's hugging her. You've never seen him so relieved. It lingers in his every touch, every word he says, even as he makes his silly jokes. 

Steve spends at least ten minutes like that laying with them before he looks up. “Ave, you still need the bathroom?” 

Avery jolts. “Thanks for reminding me!” She springs up on her feet. “Mom, will you come with me?” 

“Sure I will.” You stand with her, giving Wren a quick glance over before sidling up to the side of the bed. Steve looks up at you funny. “Steve?” 

“What?” 

You lean down to his ear. “Honey, will you stay with Beth tonight? Just so I can see the baby? I can't stand being away from Beth when she's sick, but I'm really worrying about her,” you whisper. 

Steve's eyes widen. “Are you sure?” 

He's not stupid. He knows what you're doing. 

You nod quickly. You could say a lot of things to him —of course I'm sure, you should've stayed two days ago, you've been so good letting me be here with her— but Avery tugs on your hand, winging, and you only have time to touch Beth's back. She'll be in good hands. 

Beth is upset to see you go that night, but she missed her dad. Steve hugs each of the girls in turn while Beth lays tucked in bed, even Robin, who laughs and complains about his touchiness and how it gets worse every year. You wait with them in your coat for your turn, sick to your stomach.

“I'll call you before nine,” he promises, squeezing you tightly. “You did such a good job, Y/N.” 

“...What, no joke about leaving it to the pro?” 

“I'm being thoughtful.” Steve kisses you, hugs you again, kisses you a second time. He can't decide what he's doing. “I love you. I'll see you in the morning.” 

You kiss his cheek. It takes you another fifteen minutes to leave, busy making Bethie promises. I'll see you tomorrow, I love you so much, brave girl, your dad's gonna take the best best best care of you ever. And then we're gonna spend the next week in bed so we can stop missing each other so much. 

[yourstrulymary]

his ass is NOT a mechanic!!

[yourstrulymary]

i think i have talked about it everywhere but here, cause it’s the app that i use less sometimes…

I came here to say that I stand with the people of Palestine, and I encourage you (specially if you are from the west) to keep spreading information, to keep talking about it, to keep amplifying Palestinian voices that can’t be heard right now. We need to be their voice and help raise theirs.

If you are from a big city, from one of the big countries that refuses to listen (USA, Canada, UK) MAKE THEM LISTEN!!! Palestinian people have not stopped fighting for their land for more than 70 years now, and we CANT keep our heads down and our voices quiet about this, not anymore.

the “isr4eli” government has tried for so long to squash their voices, to fill the west with propaganda and make us think that they’re the victims. so NO, get educated, get active, and raise your voices. Don’t let yourselves be fooled by a few videos made in english to make us feel bad for an oppressor who is actively committing genocide.

here’s a list of things you CAN do:

Targeted boycotting, forget about all the long lists of brands. BDS has called to boycott these specific brands for a much more impactful result.

(Domino’s Pizza, MacDonalds, Papa John’s, Pizza Hut, Burger King, AXA, Puma, SIEMENS, Carrefour, HP, AHAVA, soda stream, and fruits and vegetables labeled as from Isr4el.) It’s not on the list, but a lot of people are including Disney after their large donation to Isr4el.

Here’s a list of brands that are PRO-Palestine

If you’re an artist, STOP SHARING YOUR ART IN DEVIANART!!! they support isr43l

Join a protest! If you can, of course. Here’s a thread of upcoming protests in different countries

If you do go to a protest, i urge you to take care of yourself, here’s a thread on useful tips to keep yourself safe during a protest.

“i’m not educated enough to talk about it” GET EDUCATED! here are some sources that were helpful for me (a westerner):

and last but not least, keep TALKING ABOUT THIS!!! Palestinian people have not lost hope and neither should we! People all over the world, THOUSANDS of people support Palestine, we MUST get other people to listen, and open their eyes, opening other peoples eyes to propaganda also helps the cause. The more people who wake up from that fake countries lies the better.

from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!

[yourstrulymary]

silly questions

[yourstrulymary]

Hi! If you’re ever in the mood, maybe could we get Hangman going into a florist shop (maybe to get his mom flowers or something idk) or a bakery and meeting reader who works there and she is just overall really sweet and he pretty much falls head over heels

The man that he has to shoulder past in the doorway makes Jake assume that his breakfast voyage to the new bakery on the coast will be a disastrous one, but one glance from you has him reconsidering.

Your eyes are trained on him from the moment he lumbers through the door, but Jake chooses to think that's because he's so impossibly handsome rather than because he's the only person there. You smile at him with all of the warmth of the pastry oven beside you, but none of the bite of its flame, and he steps up to the counter feeling like he's been sun-kissed.

"Hello, sir." You offer, and your voice is sweet like the glaze drizzled over the cinnamon rolls in your window, "What can I get for you this morning?"

Perhaps if you were different - harsher, maybe, sharper - he'd have asked for your number. But you seem too sweet for a savory one-liner, and he bites his tongue until his spit bleeds hot to restrain himself.

"Uh, just a blueberry muffin and a black coffee-" It takes every ounce of self-control not to call you sugar, the word ironically sour on his tongue, "-please."

"Warmed?" You pause from tapping his order into your computer, gazing curiously at him. He blinks, once, twice, then realizes you mean his muffin rather than his rapidly beating heart, nodding disjointedly.

"Alright," You smile, movements smooth like dough that's been expertly kneaded- not that Jake needs to be thinking about kneading you right now, "I'll have that ready for you in a moment, sir. Uh- military discount?"

You eye his bulging biceps pointedly, spying a tan neckline beneath the zipper of his jacket. His face melts into a dopey smile like butter over pancakes, and he tries keeping his voice similarly smooth when he nods, "Yeah."

"Thank you for your service," You nod before totaling his order up, and even if it's a phrase that's programmed into you, memorized just as diligently as the recipes you bake by, he finds that it means more from you than it ever has from any passing stranger.

He lingers at the counter while your system loads his payment, and keeps his head ducked towards the pin-pad though his eyes wander to your busy form.

You brew his coffee easily, and place his blueberry muffin into the oven with enough care that not a single crumb of the topping falls off. You give it fifteen seconds, then package it in a plastic box, retrieving his coffee and setting it on top. You hand him his two items, one on top of each other, and it means that your fingers linger on the babse of the container and the lid of his coffee cup longer than they need to, just to be sure he's not going to drop the precariously balanced meal.

"Have a nice day, sir." You beam at him with more of that celestial warmth, and the tinkle of a bell means that Jake has to step aside to let a new customer order. Otherwise he thinks he might linger, feet stuck to the floor and elbows growing achy as he leans them against the counter to talk with you while you work. He files the plan away for later, a recipe for a first date, and takes his leave, though not before throwing one last glance at you as he opens the door with his back.

Maybe it's wishful thinking, but he's fairly certain you're looking at the new customer a little more like a stale croissant than the sugary feast you'd seen in Jake.

[yourstrulymary]

elon musk should kill himself elon musk needs to kill himself elon musk would make society as a whole better if he killed himself now

[yourstrulymary]

elon musk should kill himself elon musk needs to kill himself elon musk would make society as a whole better if he killed himself now

[yourstrulymary]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗿 | 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼

summary: carmen has been busy at the restaurant, he decides to make it up to you with the thing he knows best... food. content: 18+ MDNI + aphrodisiac food in the bedroom + both carmen and you having a breeding kink + emotional sex + d/s dynamic + dom!carmen + sub!fem!reader + oral (fem receiving) + p in v + crack ending bc I didn't know what to do rip </3 also it’s my first time writing a full (?) fic for carmen so be nice to me 🥹

You've been looking forward to this all day.

"I'm taking the night off," he'd said, hand on your cheek while he kissed you goodbye on the way out the door to the restaurant for the lunch rush. "Just you and me, yeah? Feel like I haven't seen you in ages. I'll cook."

"You don't have to cook, bear. We can order in."

"I don't mind," he smiled at the way you nuzzled his palm like a cat, almost without noticing. "Y'know I love cooking for you, baby."

So it's because of these words, and the promise of his undivided attention, that your cheeks already hurt from smiling as you bounce on your feet outside your apartment, key struggling with the lock.

It's not long before the door opens from the inside to reveal a confused looking Carmen, frowning at you with a kitchen towel over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Sorry," you smile, cheeks aching. "I'm just excited."

Carmen's own cheeks flush slightly as he steps aside to let you in, laughing when you stamp a wet kiss on his cheek.

He barely manages to close together before you're on him, hands in his hair, front glued to his. Your coat is still on and your shoes step slightly on his socked feet.

Carmen indulges you for a while, almost losing himself in you before he remembers what he's prepared. He hums and pulls away but not without struggle, shushing you with amusement when you whine and reach to bring him back. "Hold on, baby, breathe." He thumbs at your pout. "Put that away."

"Jus' missed you," you say against his thumb.

Carmen sighs at that, half endeared half riddled with guilt. "I know, I'm sorry. I missed you too, so fucking much."

You stand there for a second, looking at each other with sad but understanding eyes. He pecks your lips again, "I got us a couple things from the shop on Ellice."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Chef?" you giggle, squirming away with a laugh when he pokes at the sensitive spot between your jaw and your collarbone.

"Quiet," he warns, though an amused smile taunts at his lips. He helps you shrug off your coat and then watches you toe off your shoes before he starts pushing you down the hall. He stops you, however, when you go to turn towards the kitchen. "Nope," he redirects you with his hands on your hips, "go to the bedroom and get out of your clothes."

You smile, biting your lip, and start walking backwards down the hall. "All of them?"

He tugs at the towel over his shoulder and gives you a loaded look, lips quirked. "All of them."

--

It feels like hours before you finally hear his footsteps coming down the hall. On the one hand, it probably feels that way because you've been hot and dripping for the last six hours in anticipation for this moment. On the other hand, your boyfriend is known to enjoy teasing you until you're crying, so it's not entirely out of the question that it has been hours.

When he appears at the door, his eyes look as dark as the night sky outside the window when they zero in on you.

Your clothes lay in a neat little pile on the dresser. He notices and gives it a half smirk, knowing full well it's for his sake. When his eyes turn back to you, he's fully in control. "Keep your legs apart."

Oh, you think, cunt throbbing. It's one of those nights.

He nears the bed quietly, eyeing you as you do as he says, thighs trembling already under his gaze. It's only when he puts a plate on the bed that you realize he'd been carrying one.

“Lay back, head on the pillow, hands to your sides.”

You do as he says, because of course you do. Your eyes are already starting to glaze over the slightest bit. It’s been a while since you’ve really played. You’ve missed it, and you can tell he has too. For you, there’s something relieving about handing full control over, letting someone else worry about your pleasure. And for Carmen, it’s knowing you’ll do exactly as he says, with shiny eyes and a sweet little smile reserved only for him. When he’s with you, there’s no worrying or yelling or chasing after people doing whatever the hell they want. All he needs are his words, level toned, and his haunting eyes keeping you in place.

Well, at least when you’re in a scene. You’re known to be a bit of a brat otherwise.

When he doesn’t ask you to recite your safewords, though, you know you won’t be doing any hard play. He just wants your full attention. He’s careful with the plate when he leans over to kiss you, slow and methodically—steady. “I’m going to be nice to you tonight.” Another kiss. “And you’ll be good and listen, right? Let me give my girl what she deserves?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, sir.”

“Good,” he praises, fingers ghosting over your nipple. It hardens under his touch, straining for his attention. “You’re so beautiful like this, you know that?” His head ducks down so he can watch your nipple pebble, curls tickling your chin. “Even when I’m at work, a thousand orders coming out, Richie and Tina on my fucking ass. Sometimes even then I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He lowers his head lower until his hot breath fans against your nipple. “All mine, right?”

Your back arches slightly, chasing, and your hands fist at the sheets to stop from reaching for him. He kisses gently right under where you want him, on the swell of your breast, ignoring the way you whine. “Right, baby?”

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming. “All yours, Carmen. Always. Please.”

His tongue makes contact first and before you're halfway through your moan, his lips are wrapped tightly around the hardening nub. 

It’s over before you know it, but he already has  your brain starting to pool out of your ears. It’s so easy for him it’s unfair, the way he can turn you brainless with a single touch.

Before you can complain, he’s back. This time with what looks like honey dripping from his fingers. He swirls the digits around your nipple, chasing it with his tongue until he’s licked the soft supple skin clean.

The second time he pulls away he grabs a strawberry and slots it between your lips. It’s soft and juicy and sickeningly sweet. “Hold it there,” he says, chasing the juice dripping down your chin with his tongue. “If you drop it, I won’t be pleased with you.”

It’s cruel, you think to yourself when you moan around the fruit. It’s hard, so incredibly difficult not to swallow it when his mouth knows the secrets to everything that makes you come undone. 

Once he’s done biting and suckling on your tits, he begins trailing wet kisses down your chest and to your tummy, leaving the tender nub with a parting kiss. He reaches for a piece of pineapple and lets the juice drip down your navel. The nectar glides past the patch of curls that crown atop your cunt and finally through your folds, tickling at your sensitive clit as it preens and begs for his attention.

Carmen groans at the sight of your cunt, puffy and slick and aching. He noses at the crease where your navel meets your thigh. “I can fucking smell you, baby. So fucking sweet. What do you want, sweetheart, tell me.”

You mewl around the fruit in your mouth, whining until he comes up and kisses you. He bites at the strawberry and lets the juice drip into your mouth. Both your tongues are coated in sticky nectar, and the kiss becomes messy, primal. When he pulls away he whispers, “tell me.”

“You,” you whine, hips bucking. “Please, Carmen, p-please.”

He nips gently at your jaw and works his way back down to suck on the skin of your inner thigh. “You always get so polite when you want something. Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you whimper, “your mouth on me, please.”

“My mouth where?” he asks, kissing chastely right above your clit. “Here?”

“No,” you cry, “o-on my pussy, please.”

He grins against your skin while you flush and curl into yourself at the lewd words. “On your pretty pussy, baby? You know you gotta be nice to my girl.”

“On my pretty pussy,” you parrot, flustered and embarrased but so fucking wet. “On my pretty pussy, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and then the heat of his mouth is everywhere.

His tongue weaves through your folds, slurping at the pineapple juice mixed with your slick, the sweetest thing he’s ever fucking tasted.

“You taste so fucking good. Always, so fucking sweet.” He teases at your entrance and then presses the length of his tongue flat against your slit, moaning at the taste while your back arches dramatically off the mattress “Should bottle it up, make it my secret ingredient.” He grunts and noses at your clit ignoring your little squeal. “I’d have to kill every motherfucker that had a taste, though.”

“Bad for business,” you sigh, giggling breathlessly when he laughs gruffly against your skin.

“Think you’re right. I’ll keep you just to myself then.”

He makes out with your cunt for a while until he has you right on the edge, and then with a final nip to your puffy clit you gush right into his mouth. He laps up every drop, drinking it like it’s holy fucking water.

Chest heaving, you squirm and try to pull him away, head dazed, “too much,” you mewl, “s’too much”

He hums, giving your twitchy clit one final kiss that makes you whine before pulling away and shuffling until he’s kneeling between your thighs. Big hands make easy work of moving your thighs off the mattress and pressing them against your chest. He kisses at your ankle and then slides his tongue to suck on the sensitive skin of your arch. “You got another one in you, right baby? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Y-yeah,” you blink blearily at him, reaching for him with a pout until he gives in and folds you in half, chest to the back of your thighs, your feet over his shoulders. He kisses you then, still dripping with pineapple juice and your slick, melted into a sweetness that he’ll never get out of his head. You blink again and he coos when you speak, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nose bumping against yours. “So fucking much, it’s embarrassing.”

“Missed you,” you whimper quietly, chasing his lips until he gives in. “S-so much, I missed you. I love you.”

“I know, I know, baby,” his heart aches at your sad weepy eyes. His sweet girl, he thinks, always soft hearted, but especially when she comes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Been neglecting my girl, huh?”

You nod dumbly, brows furrowed and lips quirked downward. You sniffle and he kisses you again while the tip of his cock teases at your entrance. He slides in slowly, grunting into your mouth while you gasp into his. “The prettiest fucking girl. Only thing that matters to me, y’know? Most precious thing in the world.” His hips smack against the fat of your ass with every thrust while your walls do their best to accommodate his length. “Fuck,” he’s babbling now, “squeeze so fucking good around my cock, baby, always do.” His forehead knocks against yours, “I’d give it all up for you, yeah? You just gotta ask, sweetheart.”

“Carmen,” you sob, tightening like a fucking vice around him when he makes you come again. The curls at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your clit, stimulating the puffy nub until it’s aching. He kisses you through it, soothing and all consuming. 

“Just say the word,” he urges, now chasing his own high as he picks up speed. “You’re all I fucking need, baby. Gonne fuck a baby into you, and that’s all we’ll ever need, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you pant, “Please, please, please, Carmen. Inside me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck , fuck.”

When he comes, he comes buckets—like he always does. It spills and drips down your ass until it’s pooling on the sheets. Carmen sags against you, barely managing to keep his weight from fully crushing you. Not that it matters since you cling to him like a monkey, wrapping your legs tight around his waist once he helps you lower them from his shoulders. Your arms wrap around him too, keeping his head in the crook of your neck while you both struggle to catch your breath.

With a grunt, Carmen pulls out, and with him a ribbon of cum trickles out and down the back of your thigh. “Shit,” he laughs. You gasp when he scoops it up and sticks it back into your cunt, hand circling his wrist at the overstimulation.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters with a smile against your forehead before dropping down next to you, one arm behind his head while the other beckons you into his side and away from the damp spot.

You’re both quiet while you lay there, still breathing heavy while Carmen rubs up and down your arm, and you draw nonsensical shapes on his chest.

“You don’t have to give anything up, you know?” you say quietly, kissing the inked skin of his pectoral. “I know I said I missed you, and I did obviously,” you laugh, still quiet. “Like so fucking much, but… I’d never make you stop doing what you love, not unless it’s hurting you.”

“I know,” he hums, thoughtful. “I’m shit at balancing though… I know that. But I’m working on it, baby. Promise I am. I don’t ever want you to feel I love anything more than you. I’d be a fucking idiot, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?” you smile against his chest, knowing full well he doesn't because the man is nothing if not completely smitten. Carmen huffs, pinching your ass until you’re squealing and squirming until you’re laying on top of him. 

There’s cum still pooling out of you, making Carmen hum when he feels it drip on him. His hands knead at your ass, smiling gently when you kiss at the underside of his jaw. “Gotta clean you up, you’re leaking.”

“Carmen!” you whine through your laughter, slapping him halfheartedly. “You’re gross.”

“Me?” He teases, a mischievousness in his eye that anyone else would find unlike him. Not you though. “You’re the one being a human twinkie on top of an innocent man.”

You lean up on your elbows, staring at him stone faced. “I’m telling Richie you said that.” 

[yourstrulymary]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗿 | 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼

summary: carmen has been busy at the restaurant, he decides to make it up to you with the thing he knows best... food. content: 18+ MDNI + aphrodisiac food in the bedroom + both carmen and you having a breeding kink + emotional sex + d/s dynamic + dom!carmen + sub!fem!reader + oral (fem receiving) + p in v + crack ending bc I didn't know what to do rip </3 also it’s my first time writing a full (?) fic for carmen so be nice to me 🥹

You've been looking forward to this all day.

"I'm taking the night off," he'd said, hand on your cheek while he kissed you goodbye on the way out the door to the restaurant for the lunch rush. "Just you and me, yeah? Feel like I haven't seen you in ages. I'll cook."

"You don't have to cook, bear. We can order in."

"I don't mind," he smiled at the way you nuzzled his palm like a cat, almost without noticing. "Y'know I love cooking for you, baby."

So it's because of these words, and the promise of his undivided attention, that your cheeks already hurt from smiling as you bounce on your feet outside your apartment, key struggling with the lock.

It's not long before the door opens from the inside to reveal a confused looking Carmen, frowning at you with a kitchen towel over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Sorry," you smile, cheeks aching. "I'm just excited."

Carmen's own cheeks flush slightly as he steps aside to let you in, laughing when you stamp a wet kiss on his cheek.

He barely manages to close together before you're on him, hands in his hair, front glued to his. Your coat is still on and your shoes step slightly on his socked feet.

Carmen indulges you for a while, almost losing himself in you before he remembers what he's prepared. He hums and pulls away but not without struggle, shushing you with amusement when you whine and reach to bring him back. "Hold on, baby, breathe." He thumbs at your pout. "Put that away."

"Jus' missed you," you say against his thumb.

Carmen sighs at that, half endeared half riddled with guilt. "I know, I'm sorry. I missed you too, so fucking much."

You stand there for a second, looking at each other with sad but understanding eyes. He pecks your lips again, "I got us a couple things from the shop on Ellice."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Chef?" you giggle, squirming away with a laugh when he pokes at the sensitive spot between your jaw and your collarbone.

"Quiet," he warns, though an amused smile taunts at his lips. He helps you shrug off your coat and then watches you toe off your shoes before he starts pushing you down the hall. He stops you, however, when you go to turn towards the kitchen. "Nope," he redirects you with his hands on your hips, "go to the bedroom and get out of your clothes."

You smile, biting your lip, and start walking backwards down the hall. "All of them?"

He tugs at the towel over his shoulder and gives you a loaded look, lips quirked. "All of them."

--

It feels like hours before you finally hear his footsteps coming down the hall. On the one hand, it probably feels that way because you've been hot and dripping for the last six hours in anticipation for this moment. On the other hand, your boyfriend is known to enjoy teasing you until you're crying, so it's not entirely out of the question that it has been hours.

When he appears at the door, his eyes look as dark as the night sky outside the window when they zero in on you.

Your clothes lay in a neat little pile on the dresser. He notices and gives it a half smirk, knowing full well it's for his sake. When his eyes turn back to you, he's fully in control. "Keep your legs apart."

Oh, you think, cunt throbbing. It's one of those nights.

He nears the bed quietly, eyeing you as you do as he says, thighs trembling already under his gaze. It's only when he puts a plate on the bed that you realize he'd been carrying one.

“Lay back, head on the pillow, hands to your sides.”

You do as he says, because of course you do. Your eyes are already starting to glaze over the slightest bit. It’s been a while since you’ve really played. You’ve missed it, and you can tell he has too. For you, there’s something relieving about handing full control over, letting someone else worry about your pleasure. And for Carmen, it’s knowing you’ll do exactly as he says, with shiny eyes and a sweet little smile reserved only for him. When he’s with you, there’s no worrying or yelling or chasing after people doing whatever the hell they want. All he needs are his words, level toned, and his haunting eyes keeping you in place.

Well, at least when you’re in a scene. You’re known to be a bit of a brat otherwise.

When he doesn’t ask you to recite your safewords, though, you know you won’t be doing any hard play. He just wants your full attention. He’s careful with the plate when he leans over to kiss you, slow and methodically—steady. “I’m going to be nice to you tonight.” Another kiss. “And you’ll be good and listen, right? Let me give my girl what she deserves?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, sir.”

“Good,” he praises, fingers ghosting over your nipple. It hardens under his touch, straining for his attention. “You’re so beautiful like this, you know that?” His head ducks down so he can watch your nipple pebble, curls tickling your chin. “Even when I’m at work, a thousand orders coming out, Richie and Tina on my fucking ass. Sometimes even then I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He lowers his head lower until his hot breath fans against your nipple. “All mine, right?”

Your back arches slightly, chasing, and your hands fist at the sheets to stop from reaching for him. He kisses gently right under where you want him, on the swell of your breast, ignoring the way you whine. “Right, baby?”

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming. “All yours, Carmen. Always. Please.”

His tongue makes contact first and before you're halfway through your moan, his lips are wrapped tightly around the hardening nub. 

It’s over before you know it, but he already has  your brain starting to pool out of your ears. It’s so easy for him it’s unfair, the way he can turn you brainless with a single touch.

Before you can complain, he’s back. This time with what looks like honey dripping from his fingers. He swirls the digits around your nipple, chasing it with his tongue until he’s licked the soft supple skin clean.

The second time he pulls away he grabs a strawberry and slots it between your lips. It’s soft and juicy and sickeningly sweet. “Hold it there,” he says, chasing the juice dripping down your chin with his tongue. “If you drop it, I won’t be pleased with you.”

It’s cruel, you think to yourself when you moan around the fruit. It’s hard, so incredibly difficult not to swallow it when his mouth knows the secrets to everything that makes you come undone. 

Once he’s done biting and suckling on your tits, he begins trailing wet kisses down your chest and to your tummy, leaving the tender nub with a parting kiss. He reaches for a piece of pineapple and lets the juice drip down your navel. The nectar glides past the patch of curls that crown atop your cunt and finally through your folds, tickling at your sensitive clit as it preens and begs for his attention.

Carmen groans at the sight of your cunt, puffy and slick and aching. He noses at the crease where your navel meets your thigh. “I can fucking smell you, baby. So fucking sweet. What do you want, sweetheart, tell me.”

You mewl around the fruit in your mouth, whining until he comes up and kisses you. He bites at the strawberry and lets the juice drip into your mouth. Both your tongues are coated in sticky nectar, and the kiss becomes messy, primal. When he pulls away he whispers, “tell me.”

“You,” you whine, hips bucking. “Please, Carmen, p-please.”

He nips gently at your jaw and works his way back down to suck on the skin of your inner thigh. “You always get so polite when you want something. Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you whimper, “your mouth on me, please.”

“My mouth where?” he asks, kissing chastely right above your clit. “Here?”

“No,” you cry, “o-on my pussy, please.”

He grins against your skin while you flush and curl into yourself at the lewd words. “On your pretty pussy, baby? You know you gotta be nice to my girl.”

“On my pretty pussy,” you parrot, flustered and embarrased but so fucking wet. “On my pretty pussy, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and then the heat of his mouth is everywhere.

His tongue weaves through your folds, slurping at the pineapple juice mixed with your slick, the sweetest thing he’s ever fucking tasted.

“You taste so fucking good. Always, so fucking sweet.” He teases at your entrance and then presses the length of his tongue flat against your slit, moaning at the taste while your back arches dramatically off the mattress “Should bottle it up, make it my secret ingredient.” He grunts and noses at your clit ignoring your little squeal. “I’d have to kill every motherfucker that had a taste, though.”

“Bad for business,” you sigh, giggling breathlessly when he laughs gruffly against your skin.

“Think you’re right. I’ll keep you just to myself then.”

He makes out with your cunt for a while until he has you right on the edge, and then with a final nip to your puffy clit you gush right into his mouth. He laps up every drop, drinking it like it’s holy fucking water.

Chest heaving, you squirm and try to pull him away, head dazed, “too much,” you mewl, “s’too much”

He hums, giving your twitchy clit one final kiss that makes you whine before pulling away and shuffling until he’s kneeling between your thighs. Big hands make easy work of moving your thighs off the mattress and pressing them against your chest. He kisses at your ankle and then slides his tongue to suck on the sensitive skin of your arch. “You got another one in you, right baby? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Y-yeah,” you blink blearily at him, reaching for him with a pout until he gives in and folds you in half, chest to the back of your thighs, your feet over his shoulders. He kisses you then, still dripping with pineapple juice and your slick, melted into a sweetness that he’ll never get out of his head. You blink again and he coos when you speak, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nose bumping against yours. “So fucking much, it’s embarrassing.”

“Missed you,” you whimper quietly, chasing his lips until he gives in. “S-so much, I missed you. I love you.”

“I know, I know, baby,” his heart aches at your sad weepy eyes. His sweet girl, he thinks, always soft hearted, but especially when she comes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Been neglecting my girl, huh?”

You nod dumbly, brows furrowed and lips quirked downward. You sniffle and he kisses you again while the tip of his cock teases at your entrance. He slides in slowly, grunting into your mouth while you gasp into his. “The prettiest fucking girl. Only thing that matters to me, y’know? Most precious thing in the world.” His hips smack against the fat of your ass with every thrust while your walls do their best to accommodate his length. “Fuck,” he’s babbling now, “squeeze so fucking good around my cock, baby, always do.” His forehead knocks against yours, “I’d give it all up for you, yeah? You just gotta ask, sweetheart.”

“Carmen,” you sob, tightening like a fucking vice around him when he makes you come again. The curls at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your clit, stimulating the puffy nub until it’s aching. He kisses you through it, soothing and all consuming. 

“Just say the word,” he urges, now chasing his own high as he picks up speed. “You’re all I fucking need, baby. Gonne fuck a baby into you, and that’s all we’ll ever need, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you pant, “Please, please, please, Carmen. Inside me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck , fuck.”

When he comes, he comes buckets—like he always does. It spills and drips down your ass until it’s pooling on the sheets. Carmen sags against you, barely managing to keep his weight from fully crushing you. Not that it matters since you cling to him like a monkey, wrapping your legs tight around his waist once he helps you lower them from his shoulders. Your arms wrap around him too, keeping his head in the crook of your neck while you both struggle to catch your breath.

With a grunt, Carmen pulls out, and with him a ribbon of cum trickles out and down the back of your thigh. “Shit,” he laughs. You gasp when he scoops it up and sticks it back into your cunt, hand circling his wrist at the overstimulation.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters with a smile against your forehead before dropping down next to you, one arm behind his head while the other beckons you into his side and away from the damp spot.

You’re both quiet while you lay there, still breathing heavy while Carmen rubs up and down your arm, and you draw nonsensical shapes on his chest.

“You don’t have to give anything up, you know?” you say quietly, kissing the inked skin of his pectoral. “I know I said I missed you, and I did obviously,” you laugh, still quiet. “Like so fucking much, but… I’d never make you stop doing what you love, not unless it’s hurting you.”

“I know,” he hums, thoughtful. “I’m shit at balancing though… I know that. But I’m working on it, baby. Promise I am. I don’t ever want you to feel I love anything more than you. I’d be a fucking idiot, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?” you smile against his chest, knowing full well he doesn't because the man is nothing if not completely smitten. Carmen huffs, pinching your ass until you’re squealing and squirming until you’re laying on top of him. 

There’s cum still pooling out of you, making Carmen hum when he feels it drip on him. His hands knead at your ass, smiling gently when you kiss at the underside of his jaw. “Gotta clean you up, you’re leaking.”

“Carmen!” you whine through your laughter, slapping him halfheartedly. “You’re gross.”

“Me?” He teases, a mischievousness in his eye that anyone else would find unlike him. Not you though. “You’re the one being a human twinkie on top of an innocent man.”

You lean up on your elbows, staring at him stone faced. “I’m telling Richie you said that.” 

[yourstrulymary]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗮𝗿 | 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘇𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗼

summary: carmen has been busy at the restaurant, he decides to make it up to you with the thing he knows best... food. content: 18+ MDNI + aphrodisiac food in the bedroom + both carmen and you having a breeding kink + emotional sex + d/s dynamic + dom!carmen + sub!fem!reader + oral (fem receiving) + p in v + crack ending bc I didn't know what to do rip </3 also it’s my first time writing a full (?) fic for carmen so be nice to me 🥹

You've been looking forward to this all day.

"I'm taking the night off," he'd said, hand on your cheek while he kissed you goodbye on the way out the door to the restaurant for the lunch rush. "Just you and me, yeah? Feel like I haven't seen you in ages. I'll cook."

"You don't have to cook, bear. We can order in."

"I don't mind," he smiled at the way you nuzzled his palm like a cat, almost without noticing. "Y'know I love cooking for you, baby."

So it's because of these words, and the promise of his undivided attention, that your cheeks already hurt from smiling as you bounce on your feet outside your apartment, key struggling with the lock.

It's not long before the door opens from the inside to reveal a confused looking Carmen, frowning at you with a kitchen towel over his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Sorry," you smile, cheeks aching. "I'm just excited."

Carmen's own cheeks flush slightly as he steps aside to let you in, laughing when you stamp a wet kiss on his cheek.

He barely manages to close together before you're on him, hands in his hair, front glued to his. Your coat is still on and your shoes step slightly on his socked feet.

Carmen indulges you for a while, almost losing himself in you before he remembers what he's prepared. He hums and pulls away but not without struggle, shushing you with amusement when you whine and reach to bring him back. "Hold on, baby, breathe." He thumbs at your pout. "Put that away."

"Jus' missed you," you say against his thumb.

Carmen sighs at that, half endeared half riddled with guilt. "I know, I'm sorry. I missed you too, so fucking much."

You stand there for a second, looking at each other with sad but understanding eyes. He pecks your lips again, "I got us a couple things from the shop on Ellice."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Chef?" you giggle, squirming away with a laugh when he pokes at the sensitive spot between your jaw and your collarbone.

"Quiet," he warns, though an amused smile taunts at his lips. He helps you shrug off your coat and then watches you toe off your shoes before he starts pushing you down the hall. He stops you, however, when you go to turn towards the kitchen. "Nope," he redirects you with his hands on your hips, "go to the bedroom and get out of your clothes."

You smile, biting your lip, and start walking backwards down the hall. "All of them?"

He tugs at the towel over his shoulder and gives you a loaded look, lips quirked. "All of them."

--

It feels like hours before you finally hear his footsteps coming down the hall. On the one hand, it probably feels that way because you've been hot and dripping for the last six hours in anticipation for this moment. On the other hand, your boyfriend is known to enjoy teasing you until you're crying, so it's not entirely out of the question that it has been hours.

When he appears at the door, his eyes look as dark as the night sky outside the window when they zero in on you.

Your clothes lay in a neat little pile on the dresser. He notices and gives it a half smirk, knowing full well it's for his sake. When his eyes turn back to you, he's fully in control. "Keep your legs apart."

Oh, you think, cunt throbbing. It's one of those nights.

He nears the bed quietly, eyeing you as you do as he says, thighs trembling already under his gaze. It's only when he puts a plate on the bed that you realize he'd been carrying one.

“Lay back, head on the pillow, hands to your sides.”

You do as he says, because of course you do. Your eyes are already starting to glaze over the slightest bit. It’s been a while since you’ve really played. You’ve missed it, and you can tell he has too. For you, there’s something relieving about handing full control over, letting someone else worry about your pleasure. And for Carmen, it’s knowing you’ll do exactly as he says, with shiny eyes and a sweet little smile reserved only for him. When he’s with you, there’s no worrying or yelling or chasing after people doing whatever the hell they want. All he needs are his words, level toned, and his haunting eyes keeping you in place.

Well, at least when you’re in a scene. You’re known to be a bit of a brat otherwise.

When he doesn’t ask you to recite your safewords, though, you know you won’t be doing any hard play. He just wants your full attention. He’s careful with the plate when he leans over to kiss you, slow and methodically—steady. “I’m going to be nice to you tonight.” Another kiss. “And you’ll be good and listen, right? Let me give my girl what she deserves?”

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes, sir.”

“Good,” he praises, fingers ghosting over your nipple. It hardens under his touch, straining for his attention. “You’re so beautiful like this, you know that?” His head ducks down so he can watch your nipple pebble, curls tickling your chin. “Even when I’m at work, a thousand orders coming out, Richie and Tina on my fucking ass. Sometimes even then I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He lowers his head lower until his hot breath fans against your nipple. “All mine, right?”

Your back arches slightly, chasing, and your hands fist at the sheets to stop from reaching for him. He kisses gently right under where you want him, on the swell of your breast, ignoring the way you whine. “Right, baby?”

“Yes,” you mewl, squirming. “All yours, Carmen. Always. Please.”

His tongue makes contact first and before you're halfway through your moan, his lips are wrapped tightly around the hardening nub. 

It’s over before you know it, but he already has  your brain starting to pool out of your ears. It’s so easy for him it’s unfair, the way he can turn you brainless with a single touch.

Before you can complain, he’s back. This time with what looks like honey dripping from his fingers. He swirls the digits around your nipple, chasing it with his tongue until he’s licked the soft supple skin clean.

The second time he pulls away he grabs a strawberry and slots it between your lips. It’s soft and juicy and sickeningly sweet. “Hold it there,” he says, chasing the juice dripping down your chin with his tongue. “If you drop it, I won’t be pleased with you.”

It’s cruel, you think to yourself when you moan around the fruit. It’s hard, so incredibly difficult not to swallow it when his mouth knows the secrets to everything that makes you come undone. 

Once he’s done biting and suckling on your tits, he begins trailing wet kisses down your chest and to your tummy, leaving the tender nub with a parting kiss. He reaches for a piece of pineapple and lets the juice drip down your navel. The nectar glides past the patch of curls that crown atop your cunt and finally through your folds, tickling at your sensitive clit as it preens and begs for his attention.

Carmen groans at the sight of your cunt, puffy and slick and aching. He noses at the crease where your navel meets your thigh. “I can fucking smell you, baby. So fucking sweet. What do you want, sweetheart, tell me.”

You mewl around the fruit in your mouth, whining until he comes up and kisses you. He bites at the strawberry and lets the juice drip into your mouth. Both your tongues are coated in sticky nectar, and the kiss becomes messy, primal. When he pulls away he whispers, “tell me.”

“You,” you whine, hips bucking. “Please, Carmen, p-please.”

He nips gently at your jaw and works his way back down to suck on the skin of your inner thigh. “You always get so polite when you want something. Use your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you whimper, “your mouth on me, please.”

“My mouth where?” he asks, kissing chastely right above your clit. “Here?”

“No,” you cry, “o-on my pussy, please.”

He grins against your skin while you flush and curl into yourself at the lewd words. “On your pretty pussy, baby? You know you gotta be nice to my girl.”

“On my pretty pussy,” you parrot, flustered and embarrased but so fucking wet. “On my pretty pussy, please.”

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and then the heat of his mouth is everywhere.

His tongue weaves through your folds, slurping at the pineapple juice mixed with your slick, the sweetest thing he’s ever fucking tasted.

“You taste so fucking good. Always, so fucking sweet.” He teases at your entrance and then presses the length of his tongue flat against your slit, moaning at the taste while your back arches dramatically off the mattress “Should bottle it up, make it my secret ingredient.” He grunts and noses at your clit ignoring your little squeal. “I’d have to kill every motherfucker that had a taste, though.”

“Bad for business,” you sigh, giggling breathlessly when he laughs gruffly against your skin.

“Think you’re right. I’ll keep you just to myself then.”

He makes out with your cunt for a while until he has you right on the edge, and then with a final nip to your puffy clit you gush right into his mouth. He laps up every drop, drinking it like it’s holy fucking water.

Chest heaving, you squirm and try to pull him away, head dazed, “too much,” you mewl, “s’too much”

He hums, giving your twitchy clit one final kiss that makes you whine before pulling away and shuffling until he’s kneeling between your thighs. Big hands make easy work of moving your thighs off the mattress and pressing them against your chest. He kisses at your ankle and then slides his tongue to suck on the sensitive skin of your arch. “You got another one in you, right baby? Gonna come on my cock?”

“Y-yeah,” you blink blearily at him, reaching for him with a pout until he gives in and folds you in half, chest to the back of your thighs, your feet over his shoulders. He kisses you then, still dripping with pineapple juice and your slick, melted into a sweetness that he’ll never get out of his head. You blink again and he coos when you speak, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, nose bumping against yours. “So fucking much, it’s embarrassing.”

“Missed you,” you whimper quietly, chasing his lips until he gives in. “S-so much, I missed you. I love you.”

“I know, I know, baby,” his heart aches at your sad weepy eyes. His sweet girl, he thinks, always soft hearted, but especially when she comes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. Been neglecting my girl, huh?”

You nod dumbly, brows furrowed and lips quirked downward. You sniffle and he kisses you again while the tip of his cock teases at your entrance. He slides in slowly, grunting into your mouth while you gasp into his. “The prettiest fucking girl. Only thing that matters to me, y’know? Most precious thing in the world.” His hips smack against the fat of your ass with every thrust while your walls do their best to accommodate his length. “Fuck,” he’s babbling now, “squeeze so fucking good around my cock, baby, always do.” His forehead knocks against yours, “I’d give it all up for you, yeah? You just gotta ask, sweetheart.”

“Carmen,” you sob, tightening like a fucking vice around him when he makes you come again. The curls at the base of his cock rub perfectly against your clit, stimulating the puffy nub until it’s aching. He kisses you through it, soothing and all consuming. 

“Just say the word,” he urges, now chasing his own high as he picks up speed. “You’re all I fucking need, baby. Gonne fuck a baby into you, and that’s all we’ll ever need, yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you pant, “Please, please, please, Carmen. Inside me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck , fuck.”

When he comes, he comes buckets—like he always does. It spills and drips down your ass until it’s pooling on the sheets. Carmen sags against you, barely managing to keep his weight from fully crushing you. Not that it matters since you cling to him like a monkey, wrapping your legs tight around his waist once he helps you lower them from his shoulders. Your arms wrap around him too, keeping his head in the crook of your neck while you both struggle to catch your breath.

With a grunt, Carmen pulls out, and with him a ribbon of cum trickles out and down the back of your thigh. “Shit,” he laughs. You gasp when he scoops it up and sticks it back into your cunt, hand circling his wrist at the overstimulation.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters with a smile against your forehead before dropping down next to you, one arm behind his head while the other beckons you into his side and away from the damp spot.

You’re both quiet while you lay there, still breathing heavy while Carmen rubs up and down your arm, and you draw nonsensical shapes on his chest.

“You don’t have to give anything up, you know?” you say quietly, kissing the inked skin of his pectoral. “I know I said I missed you, and I did obviously,” you laugh, still quiet. “Like so fucking much, but… I’d never make you stop doing what you love, not unless it’s hurting you.”

“I know,” he hums, thoughtful. “I’m shit at balancing though… I know that. But I’m working on it, baby. Promise I am. I don’t ever want you to feel I love anything more than you. I’d be a fucking idiot, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?” you smile against his chest, knowing full well he doesn't because the man is nothing if not completely smitten. Carmen huffs, pinching your ass until you’re squealing and squirming until you’re laying on top of him. 

There’s cum still pooling out of you, making Carmen hum when he feels it drip on him. His hands knead at your ass, smiling gently when you kiss at the underside of his jaw. “Gotta clean you up, you’re leaking.”

“Carmen!” you whine through your laughter, slapping him halfheartedly. “You’re gross.”

“Me?” He teases, a mischievousness in his eye that anyone else would find unlike him. Not you though. “You’re the one being a human twinkie on top of an innocent man.”

You lean up on your elbows, staring at him stone faced. “I’m telling Richie you said that.” 

[yourstrulymary]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks. 

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head. 

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand. 

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once. 

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!" 

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says. 

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink. 

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour. 

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs." 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up. 

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow. 

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference. 

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed. 

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But… 

"Loser," you mutter to yourself. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile. 

You freeze. "Two seconds!" 

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously. 

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy." 

"Come on out." 

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway. 

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly. 

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher. 

"What upset you?" he asks. 

"Nothing your friends did, I promise." 

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces. 

You cringe bodily. "I'm not." 

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated." 

"It's not my necklace, Spence." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better." 

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see. 

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.  

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused. 

"Not like her." Your voice quivers. 

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face. 

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. 

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction. 

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?" 

"Thousands." 

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do." 

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask. 

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse. 

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you." 

"Spence…" 

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?" 

"I don't know." 

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think." 

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart. 

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly. 

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again. 

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again." 

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that." 

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset." 

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless. 

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad. 

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable. 

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

[yourstrulymary]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks. 

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head. 

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand. 

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once. 

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!" 

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says. 

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink. 

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour. 

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs." 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up. 

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow. 

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference. 

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed. 

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But… 

"Loser," you mutter to yourself. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile. 

You freeze. "Two seconds!" 

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously. 

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy." 

"Come on out." 

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway. 

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly. 

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher. 

"What upset you?" he asks. 

"Nothing your friends did, I promise." 

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces. 

You cringe bodily. "I'm not." 

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated." 

"It's not my necklace, Spence." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better." 

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see. 

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.  

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused. 

"Not like her." Your voice quivers. 

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face. 

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. 

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction. 

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?" 

"Thousands." 

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do." 

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask. 

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse. 

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you." 

"Spence…" 

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?" 

"I don't know." 

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think." 

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart. 

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly. 

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again. 

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again." 

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that." 

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset." 

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless. 

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad. 

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable. 

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

[yourstrulymary]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks. 

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head. 

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand. 

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once. 

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!" 

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says. 

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink. 

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour. 

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs." 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up. 

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow. 

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference. 

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed. 

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But… 

"Loser," you mutter to yourself. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile. 

You freeze. "Two seconds!" 

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously. 

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy." 

"Come on out." 

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway. 

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly. 

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher. 

"What upset you?" he asks. 

"Nothing your friends did, I promise." 

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces. 

You cringe bodily. "I'm not." 

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated." 

"It's not my necklace, Spence." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better." 

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see. 

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.  

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused. 

"Not like her." Your voice quivers. 

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face. 

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. 

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction. 

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?" 

"Thousands." 

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do." 

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask. 

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse. 

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you." 

"Spence…" 

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?" 

"I don't know." 

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think." 

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart. 

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly. 

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again. 

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again." 

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that." 

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset." 

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless. 

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad. 

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable. 

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

[yourstrulymary]

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred. 

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything. 

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice. 

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time. 

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case." 

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails. 

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet. 

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps. 

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?" 

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest. 

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you. 

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution. 

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on." 

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong. 

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright. 

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me." 

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath. 

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything. 

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone. 

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention. 

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy." 

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent." 

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly. 

"That's when you were doing what I wanted." 

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir." 

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond? 

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here." 

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay. 

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV. 

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?" 

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon.