#like they deserve some tenderness

[pealingpetals]

Snuggling can get kinda awkward when you're dealing with the whole wingspan, but they make it work.

[angeart]

for @sygni <333

[zhuletta]

Don’t ask me what rune Link’s using just know Zelda likes it

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

gonna platonicize the concept of kissing someone to shut them up. instead just hug them to shut them up.

[smeddiemunson]

Steddie + Valentine’s Day

So obviously Eddie is completely anti-conformity and it tracks that he wouldn’t be into Valentine’s Day. it’s trivial and consumerist, but there is a part of him that wants to do all the silly little celebrations like red roses and heart shaped chocolates, dancing around the kitchen and singing to one another. he thinks it’s a stupid holiday but he just wants to be so ridiculously in love that he doesn’t care about how stupid it is.

And Steve. Valentine’s Day is Steve’s favourite holiday. he loves love! romantic comedies, cooking a special meal and devoting all your time to the person you’re in love with. but with his past partners, he hasn’t really had the opportunity to do that. Nancy was always too busy and the string of hook ups he had were never important enough to share that day together.

So when they finally finally get together they both get to indulge one another. Steve had thought that he wouldn’t get to because of Eddie’s numerous lectures on the predatory nature of the holiday, but he’s woken with breakfast in bed and a red rose. Eddie kissing the side of his neck through smiles to coax him awake.

Steve’s shocked, tells him so, asks about the morals of it all. Eddie can only shrug and say “I’d be a fool not to shower you in affection today. I love you and this is your favourite holiday.”

And Steve is on the verge of tears because no one has ever done anything like this for him! So he sets aside the breakfast and throws himself at Eddie. They fuck slowly, tenderly, pouring love into every motion. The breakfast is cold by the time they eat it, more a late brunch, taking turns to feed one another small bites.

They spend the day strolling around the store, buying all the ingredients they need for a beautiful steak dinner that Steve will make because the last time Eddie tried to cook something fancy, he set the kitchen on fire, but he’ll be in charge of making the dessert; which is only a basic strawberries and chocolate but they’re Steve’s favourite.

When they cook, Eddie pulls out his old record player and Steve choses the vinyl. They kiss against the counter, delaying their necessary separation. It takes them so long to actually get to cooking the food because Eddie will take Steve by the hips, coaxing his arms around his shoulders and shuffle them around in a small circle while crooning along to the songs on any other day he wouldn’t admit to knowing the lyrics.

After they’ve eaten, they put on a film, snuggle together on the couch, practically sitting on top of one another. They don’t watch it. They feed each other strawberries and kiss the juices off each other’s lips. Their hands wander, petting and removing clothes but no more. Not until they’re naked and walking hand in hand to their bedroom, where they pour all their love into one another for the rest of the night.

[serenuum]

having SO many mike warren thoughts i want to share but THEYRE ALL IN MY NATIVE LANGUAGE AND ITS TOO ENERGY CONSUMING TO ACTUALLY TRANSLATE ANY OF THEm like what the FCUKK

anyway its once again going insane over special agent mike warren hours happy going insane over special agent mike warren hours to everyone who celebrates < 3333

[godborn]

💪

          source :   prompted   /   status :   selectively accepting .

intention   governs giorno’s life ;   rarely does he perform   any   action without first gauging its range of consequence ,   weighing every possible outcome on a scale   &   calculating the precise angle at which it skews .   he cannot afford to make mistakes ,   &   this has been true as long as he can remember   ━━━━   housed within the abyss of his elusive   &   untouchable core ,  a wounded child still quivers at the threat of   earning his step - father’s wrath ,   though he often finds himself   caught in that bear trap   whether he can fathom a   ‘  reason  ’   or not .

    years have passed since he gazed upon the interior of that   rotten home ,   yet its position as something of a   foundation   for the way he operates cannot be disputed ;   though the fear has beaten itself into aureate armor ,   though he exhibits an unthinkable power only   bolstered   by the height at which he holds his own head ,   there lies a tenderness in him that he guards with vehemence .   never again will he allow that battered boy to be victimized .

    even now ,   as the boy   man  who   owns italy ,   every twitch of a finger   &   bat of an eyelash must amount to greatness .   an entire population relies on him ,   entire crime ecosystems desire his demise ,   &   a   new dream   beams down on him like apollo himself illuminating the path forward .   for all he has sacrificed ,   all he has lost ,   the only option is to ensure he can uphold the causes for which their lives had been torn asunder .   it is all he ever thinks about ,   now ;   the ways in which he can atone .

    the onus of rebuilding a society   &   the   crushing weight of grief   do not quite evaporate when he returns to his father’s house ,   but there is a   sense of reprieve   to be grasped amid the cold darkness of the manor .   pockets of warmth envelop him upon reuniting with his siblings   &   greeting faces that have watched him grow since he’d been removed from the   broken cradle   of his mother’s neglect   &   his step - father’s violence ,   &   though giorno rarely appears these days ,   far too occupied with his responsibilities across the mediterranean ,   in a bizarre ,   almost   twisted   sort of way ,   this place where many have suffered feels like   home .   perhaps it lies in the reality that ,   for once ,   he was not the one at risk .

    still ,   giorno makes no habit of   letting his guard down .   though his father had never lifted a finger against him ,   he knows what he is capable of ,   &   knows that   he   is the source of the   vicious darkness   that permeates giorno’s very existence ;   that ,   despite his   golden heart   &   reverence for life ,   has always been there   ━━━━   threatening to overpower his true nature ,   but since finding   harmony   with it instead .   infinitely ,   it is part of him ,   his father is part of him ,   yet giorno knows himself well enough to discern that they will never be the same .   his refusal to unhinge himself from his humanity   &   descend into the   calculated depravity   wherein his father dwells places a certain   strain   on their relationship ,   but it is not so intense that it unravels whatever love is there .   it only makes it   [   . . .   ]   complex .

    hence ,   his state of forgone consciousness does not immediately register   alarm   when a presence joins him in the study .   gold experience requiem   does not emerge on its own accord ,   prepared to loosen the threads of reality itself to ensure giorno’s preservation .   his blood does not run cold ,   his body does not tense .   he can feel that it is his father ,   just as he has always felt him there ,   even when he wasn’t .

    never would   giorno giovanna   fall asleep some place other than his heavily secured bedroom back at his estate in napoli ,   or a similar arrangement in some other location where business calls .   never but now ,   for this is an exception   ━━━━   a rarity wherein the exhaustion of his demanding life is allowed to catch up to him   &   whisk him off to rest under the promise that   everything will be okay .   those words hardly sound right ,   grating against his   armored conscience   like a legion of cicadas outside his mother’s old apartment in japan .   but he believes them .   thus ,   he is tucked into his father’s chair ,   half - consumed literature strewn across his lap   &   between his dainty hands ,   less than aware of how   small   he must look there . 

    all too quickly ,   his position changes   ━━━━   almost as if he is   floating ,   but somehow grounded just the same ,   secured against something solid   &   teeming with life ,   despite being cold to the touch ;   treelike ,   he muses .   bewilderment tugs at the edges of somnolence ,   but giorno does not fully awaken .   contrarily ,   he relaxes   more ,   a head of golden hair coming to rest against the unexpectedly plush surface of   whatever holds him .   by the time he recognizes that distinct blend of scents ;   egyptian musk ,   fermented red wine ,   the iron of blood ,   he registers movement carrying him out of the room ,   &   the part of giorno’s brain that is always on realizes what is happening .

    a delicate smile curves lips ever so stoic ,   perpetually trained into an expression of illegible disinterest .   giorno is   warm   against his father’s algid skin ,   &   perhaps it is   him   that transfers the sensation ;   the residual heat giorno carries from the caresses of daylight are the most his father will ever feel the sun without recoiling in pain .

    ease flowers at giorno’s core ,   &   for once ,   he does not recoil when touched ,   either .

[dent-de-leon]

Kingsley possessing both the desire to be as cuddly and affectionate as possible from his time as Molly, but also Lucien's very touch starved, self-isolating tendencies--

[nickmpreg]

truly tho if I'm being honest, I feel like the idea of Denji truly ending up with anyone is really trivial. I like where the manga is going with Asa, that's really cute tbh, but I feel like obsessing over who he should end up with is really dumb because there's a whole point in the story that Denji craves intimacy above all else, not necessarily romance, he's just so stunted in his maturity that he thinks romantic/sexual intimacy is the only one that exists. Himeno, Reze and Makima all intentionally play on that because he's easy to manipulate, which was the point... Meanwhile, Aki and Power give him the love and support he didn't know he was craving, and end up making that dream of Denji's come true even if he didn't realize it at first, because that was the point of their family (even if Makima constructed it). My point is that people like to treat Denji and his love interests as a "will they won't they" situation, but it's really about Denji exploring what he truly wants in his life and ending up on the radar of people who want to take advantage of that vulnerability.

Sorry that was long but this has been On My Mind.

NO EXACTLY ‼️‼️ i LOVE the idea of denji and asa ending up together , they’re more or less the same character ( family’s dead , don’t fit in , secret devil in them , etc ) but ultimately whether or not they do doesn’t matter too much to me . that’s not to say im not rooting for it SO HARD because truthfully they’re adorable and i want to see more of them , but the people who are so hopefully optimistic that we will see denji settle down with a girlfriend / someone to raise his pseudo-sister are completely blindsided . whatever denji’s idea of love is has been permanently altered against his will . bah . fuck you makima

[cerbreus]

Been trying to find a funny and less humiliating way to say I fell down the stairs with a mug of hot water like I'm charlie chaplin playing a 90 yr old retiree yesterday but there really isn't one lmfao

[incoherent-orca]

one of my fave things about sulemio is that the animators tend to not show miorine's eyes when she feels vulnerable. this girl is the queen of repression, she's so closely guarded that she hides it even from the viewer

but everything is in her hands, her actions. it's a deliberate choice why they spend so many frames on just their arms tightening around each other. miorine threw away years of escape attempts to help suletta, stood up to her father for suletta, started a goddamn company on illegal tech for suletta

but in this episode suletta is really all in her impostor syndrome. she feels like dead weight

miorine can't stand by that. in this scene she's essentially telling suletta she's her reason, the most vulnerable she's ever made herself in the series, and she can't look at her. but she also can't help but reach for her, and make suletta understand that she sees her as her partner, an equal

best thing is that she does it in the most tsundere way

suletta: "nobody relies on me, i'm useless 😔"

miorine: "is the light of my fucking life being self-deprecating rn? fuck you. well then now i need you to email me 3 times a day, never lose a mecha duel, clean my room, water my heirloom tomatoes in the greenhouse never let anyone in except you, fucking idiot"

Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - FINALS

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[fantasyhighdreamerz]

"Do you think we're lovers in every universe?" She asked softly watching the clouds above roll by. The grass felt soft, warm against her scaled skin as she traced a heart against the back of his.

"Why wouldn't we be?" He sounded deeply sincere as if unable to imagine a world without them together. She smiled feeling herself melt at his tenderness.

Gorgug Thistlespring was far to good to be true.

She was the luckiest woman alive.

^them in another universe btw because yeah I made myself emotional again while thinking about their story line and im crazy an feral an I will scream and cry if I don't talk about them once a day. Oooooo when I make a post about how Yani doesn't know how to deal with how kind his parents are its soooo!!!!!! over for every last one of you she has so many thoughts and feelings !!!!!!!

[theitttgirllelle]

sometimes my heart feels so heavy (probably cause i’m bit of an empath) and I just can’t help but cry when I see good and beautiful people go through things they absolutely do not deserve to go through

[wonbillion]

every time i think about okuyasu and keicho i just

[rumplereids]

kiss, kiss, fall in love.

tags: spencer reid x reader. making out. clothed grinding. what glasses!spencer deserved. a/n: i love whenever the camera angle shows just how FUCKED mgg’s eyesight is lmfao there are some scenes of glasses!spencer where you can see how thick the lenses are… i love him requested?: yep ! thank u so much for the request <3 masterlist. requests are open !

Working as a Technical Analyst for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had its pros and cons. Having your own office was definitely a huge perk. He was only supposed to drop off your daily bagel and coffee. It was an act of service that your beloved boyfriend liked to indulge in. He was only here to make sure you’d eaten breakfast.

Like a ritual, he leans over your shoulder, your cheek turned toward him like second nature, as he gives you a soft, shy kiss.

“Thank you, darling.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs against your cheek, nose digging against your temple he breathes in the scent of you.

Without removing your eyes from your screen, you reach a hand up to give his cheek and jaw a loving caress. Curious fingers brush against plastic frames. You turn your attention to him in awe, “You’re wearing your glasses today!”

“Mhm,” he brings a finger up to fix his frames, almost bashful. “Ran out of contact solution.”

You take his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I love your glasses. You look so handsome, so beautiful.” You grin at the way his cheeks redden.

“Gimme a kiss?”

He eagerly dives in for one. A hand moves to cup the back of your head, tender in his affections. He lavishes attention on your top lip, moans, and then moves his focus to your lower lip. His tongue shy in the heat of your mouth. Spencer lets out another little moan, the sound of his near whimper making you stand.

From cheek to shoulder, you rub your thumb on his skin. You push him down onto the chair, his legs parting on instinct to make place for you. Knees digging against his thigh and hips, you make yourself comfortable on your throne.

“You’re so pretty,” he says up to you. Spencer’s lips are swollen and red, glistening with spit. His eyes are watery and hazy, his glasses fogged from the breath shared between you. His big hands grip your hips so tight you’re sure he’d wrinkle the blouse you picked for the day.

You bend down for another kiss, pressing your hips down at Spencer’s plea. He guides your hips down against his lap, you feel the zipper of his slacks press against the heat of your core. You’re wet, the room is hot, and Spencer’s mouth and tongue move to nip and kiss and lick along your chin and jaw.

As you grind down against his growing bulge, Spencer’s hands move to untuck your blouse from your pants. Gentle hands and curious fingers move beneath the fabric to feel your heated skin against his palm.

A commotion outside your office makes you stop the grind of your hips.

Spencer turns his head to the left, parting his lips from yours, a string of spit keeping you connected. With your foreheads pressed against each other, you put an ear out to listen on the other side of the door. You think you hear the familiar clicks and clacks of Penelope’s heels.

“I think I need to go,” Spencer sounds disappointed. You press a kiss on the corner of his lips.

Running your hands through his hair, you sigh. “Yeah, probably.”

He smiles up at you, eyes heavy-lidded in ecstasy, hands still caressing the skin of your hips.

He loves the feel of your hand in his hair. He loves the soft kiss you give the tip of his nose. He loves the way you fix his glasses, crooked and fogged up from the heat of your kisses. He loves you, and you love him. He feels it now as you smooth down the front of his button-up shirt.

You slowly stand from your place on his lap, fixing your pants that had ridden up and bunched at your thighs from your little session. You notice Spencer doing the same to his own.

He sniffs, standing, two fingers pushing his glasses more firmly up the bridge of his nose.

“One last kiss?”

You smile at his request, finger and thumb reaching forward to pinch his nose.

“You’re so cute.”

He taps his cheek twice in response.

[esote-rika]

Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed. 

Word count:  3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman. 

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating. 

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together. 

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire. 

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest. 

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.” 

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. 

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away. 

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.” 

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk. 

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up. 

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you. 

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk. 

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared. 

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure. 

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling. 

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release. 

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.