Can't touch me, like Gojo—Look good in all my photos
The laughter that bursts from her hits him like sunlight after a storm. It pulls a grin from him just as quickly, the feral edge of his expression softening into something bright and boyish for a heartbeat before it dissolves back into heat on her skin. Gods, he’s missed this—how right everything feels when she’s looking at him like that, wrapped around him like they belong nowhere else, giggling amid heat because the joy is uncontainable.
Her tease about Frey earns a breathy laugh of his own, nipple popping free of his attention. "That’d actually be useful for a lot of reasons," he admits, smiling into the curve of her breast as the thought isn't entirely dismissed. His eyes flash up towards her, features barely visible from this angle, so he rises up further, thumbs still rolling across her skin and down to her hips. "I think you’re at your cap for good ideas for the day."
The shirt comes off with her help, the fabric dragged free between them, and the moment it’s gone he wastes no time reclaiming the contact. His hands return to her like they’d been wandering and finally found their way home, sliding warm and indulgent across her sides and the sleek cut of her abdomen, palms pressing her closer as his mounting erection dips in against the frame of her. He leans down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the feel of skin against skin, the heat of her, the soft sounds she makes for him.
For a few breaths, he lets himself just have this—her warmth, her laughter, the simple, dizzying rightness of it all. Then the urgency creeps back in. He shifts suddenly, pushing up from the couch, the halo of her legs around him bringing her thighs with his retreat before her escapes her grasp. His eyes are nothing but a streak of mischief when he meets her gaze, parting from her only briefly to position himself at the edge of the couch. He leans over the armrest, grasping her toes and tugging her like his day's catch towards him. "C’mere," he says just before hoisting her along, voice low and intent.
The soft sink of the cushions could work, but he doesn't want to fight the plush just to ensure he has her fully in grasp. He wants the leverage of the solid floor and the angle of her rising above the arm, prime for the taking. Flicking the button of her pants apart as he bows down to kiss her naval, his fingers hook in her pants and yank down, panties rolling with. "Unlike the pom poms, the fish has to go," he informs her, mouth tilting sideways into something challenging. "Unless..." one brow kicks up. "Are we still fighting?"
Her tease about Frey earns a breathy laugh of his own, nipple popping free of his attention. "That’d actually be useful for a lot of reasons," he admits, smiling into the curve of her breast as the thought isn't entirely dismissed. His eyes flash up towards her, features barely visible from this angle, so he rises up further, thumbs still rolling across her skin and down to her hips. "I think you’re at your cap for good ideas for the day."
The shirt comes off with her help, the fabric dragged free between them, and the moment it’s gone he wastes no time reclaiming the contact. His hands return to her like they’d been wandering and finally found their way home, sliding warm and indulgent across her sides and the sleek cut of her abdomen, palms pressing her closer as his mounting erection dips in against the frame of her. He leans down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the feel of skin against skin, the heat of her, the soft sounds she makes for him.
For a few breaths, he lets himself just have this—her warmth, her laughter, the simple, dizzying rightness of it all. Then the urgency creeps back in. He shifts suddenly, pushing up from the couch, the halo of her legs around him bringing her thighs with his retreat before her escapes her grasp. His eyes are nothing but a streak of mischief when he meets her gaze, parting from her only briefly to position himself at the edge of the couch. He leans over the armrest, grasping her toes and tugging her like his day's catch towards him. "C’mere," he says just before hoisting her along, voice low and intent.
The soft sink of the cushions could work, but he doesn't want to fight the plush just to ensure he has her fully in grasp. He wants the leverage of the solid floor and the angle of her rising above the arm, prime for the taking. Flicking the button of her pants apart as he bows down to kiss her naval, his fingers hook in her pants and yank down, panties rolling with. "Unlike the pom poms, the fish has to go," he informs her, mouth tilting sideways into something challenging. "Unless..." one brow kicks up. "Are we still fighting?"
Kaisel
Sexy jutsu, I feel like Naruto—Fightin' demons in my head like I'm Itadori
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
