Can't touch me, like Gojo—Look good in all my photos
It’s not natural at the start, first attempts and new things rarely are. His arm is stiff, his focus so sharp that his enjoyment threatens to falter even beneath the supple roll of her hips, a thing he’d never thought possible. He swallows again, doubling down on the drive to do this and do it well. Unwilling to shy from it, he searches for points of focus that aren’t so critically hinged on every minuscule adjustment of her neck. Instead, he reaches for what’s familiar, grounding himself in the parts of her that he recognizes, finding comfort in the trust they’ve already built there.
It starts with her hand settling atop his, a guidance that reassures because gods, when has her hand ever led him astray? He lets the feel of her skin pressing in against his palm, warm and known, remind him that they’re building pleasure, honing it to a point. He can feel it humming just there, a pulse that rises into a thunder barreling through her body as the want kicks off and away. The shape of her smile rising above the slope of his thumb and forefinger, it beckons him to ease into the rhythm that’s still there between them, as unchanged as ever. Those same, upturned lips that are slowly parting in a struggle that’s new and familiar all at once. She’s gasped at his hands before, maybe not quite so literally, but they’ve each rendered each other breathless on numerous occasions, and this is just an extension of that. All of this is just a continuation of what they’ve always done. A new line to walk, no different from all the others they’ve tiptoed on.
His arm relaxes by degrees, the tension set there melting into the heat she stokes higher. His grip adjusts subtly against the curve of her throat, fingertips pressing in faintly in response to the way she leans into it. The defiant crack of her gaze above it all, pinning him with something so sure he can find no doubt left, is the same hurricane force he’s always known, drumming up into an even greater tempest. She is not fragile in his hands, he realizes. She is coalescing, and she is wonderful.
”Gods, Flora,” he appraises with newfound awe, an urgency to have her leaning him forward. His mouth grapples with the rise and fall of her chest, his other hand rolling firm and possessive against the curve of her ass across him, stretching her to take more of him every so often. His hips tilt up in time with the inward roll of her her, chasing depth where he can. His breath, though unrestrained, runs ragged as it skips around with every electric jolt her hips rock into him. All the while his thumb strokes up and down the plane of her throat, testing every subtle arch and bend of the vein. She’s never felt so open for him, and he’s finally seeing how special that is. Not afraid, not worried, but utterly and completely with her now, wrapped up in the swell that’s climbing against the gravity that exists just for them.
It starts with her hand settling atop his, a guidance that reassures because gods, when has her hand ever led him astray? He lets the feel of her skin pressing in against his palm, warm and known, remind him that they’re building pleasure, honing it to a point. He can feel it humming just there, a pulse that rises into a thunder barreling through her body as the want kicks off and away. The shape of her smile rising above the slope of his thumb and forefinger, it beckons him to ease into the rhythm that’s still there between them, as unchanged as ever. Those same, upturned lips that are slowly parting in a struggle that’s new and familiar all at once. She’s gasped at his hands before, maybe not quite so literally, but they’ve each rendered each other breathless on numerous occasions, and this is just an extension of that. All of this is just a continuation of what they’ve always done. A new line to walk, no different from all the others they’ve tiptoed on.
His arm relaxes by degrees, the tension set there melting into the heat she stokes higher. His grip adjusts subtly against the curve of her throat, fingertips pressing in faintly in response to the way she leans into it. The defiant crack of her gaze above it all, pinning him with something so sure he can find no doubt left, is the same hurricane force he’s always known, drumming up into an even greater tempest. She is not fragile in his hands, he realizes. She is coalescing, and she is wonderful.
”Gods, Flora,” he appraises with newfound awe, an urgency to have her leaning him forward. His mouth grapples with the rise and fall of her chest, his other hand rolling firm and possessive against the curve of her ass across him, stretching her to take more of him every so often. His hips tilt up in time with the inward roll of her her, chasing depth where he can. His breath, though unrestrained, runs ragged as it skips around with every electric jolt her hips rock into him. All the while his thumb strokes up and down the plane of her throat, testing every subtle arch and bend of the vein. She’s never felt so open for him, and he’s finally seeing how special that is. Not afraid, not worried, but utterly and completely with her now, wrapped up in the swell that’s climbing against the gravity that exists just for them.
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
