Can't touch me, like Gojo—Look good in all my photos
Something in her shifts beneath his hands. He feels the subtle change of it, the same way the air collects new weight when it’s gathering something impressive. It's the tremble in every roll of her hips, the way her chest scrapes each breath, the steady tightening of her all around him. It gathers like distant thunder rolling closer, the line of his arm like a balloon string tied around a hurricane, a storm he helped build and now exists in quiet awe of. He watches her with all the devotion of the shore witnessing the sea, greedy for the fierce display of movement and the eventual break of all this pressure.
His hand at her throat is no longer a question, it’s a promise to deliver her the exact edge she needs. He maintains it as a steady bracket of warmth and trust, and as she leans into it further, he finds himself equally tipping in, drawn to the gravity of what she’s creating. Every shiver that passes through her body echoes back into his, repeating until their movements feel one and the same. Each inhale she struggles for is one he extends with a wanting groan, trading air like it’s the last currency in this oblivion she’s dragging them into. Whenever she bears down, his grip tightens in response, grabbing back like keeping hold of each other is the only possible answer left.
When she finally bursts, plummeting from the height she’s sailed into, her throat freed from the necklace of his hand, she is glorious. He catches her collapse without hesitation, shoulder steadying her through the dismantling. His face buries into her neck, mouth pressing hard into her skin, rough and possessive as he breathes in deeply, reclaiming something vital.
The aftermath of her detonation doesn’t leave him untouched. Each sound she makes ripples relentlessly through him, in wicked tempo with the tide of her release. In response, his hands tighten at her hips, fingers digging in as desire flares. He hauls her flush against him, driving upward into her with a wild buck of his hips. He holds himself there after a few, staggering thrusts, buried in the claim of her tremors as though the only way through it is together. Then it takes him too.
His back tightens suddenly, so sharp and stiff it seems certain to snap in half. He leans deeper into her neck, her name a ragged whisper offered to the altar of her body as he tips over, tumbling freely in the undertow of pleasure she’s caught them in. He trembles beneath her, molding himself to the shape of her, to the remnants of her cries and the spaces they’d filled as he strives to hold every bit of her as close as possible before he melts entirely away.
His hand at her throat is no longer a question, it’s a promise to deliver her the exact edge she needs. He maintains it as a steady bracket of warmth and trust, and as she leans into it further, he finds himself equally tipping in, drawn to the gravity of what she’s creating. Every shiver that passes through her body echoes back into his, repeating until their movements feel one and the same. Each inhale she struggles for is one he extends with a wanting groan, trading air like it’s the last currency in this oblivion she’s dragging them into. Whenever she bears down, his grip tightens in response, grabbing back like keeping hold of each other is the only possible answer left.
When she finally bursts, plummeting from the height she’s sailed into, her throat freed from the necklace of his hand, she is glorious. He catches her collapse without hesitation, shoulder steadying her through the dismantling. His face buries into her neck, mouth pressing hard into her skin, rough and possessive as he breathes in deeply, reclaiming something vital.
The aftermath of her detonation doesn’t leave him untouched. Each sound she makes ripples relentlessly through him, in wicked tempo with the tide of her release. In response, his hands tighten at her hips, fingers digging in as desire flares. He hauls her flush against him, driving upward into her with a wild buck of his hips. He holds himself there after a few, staggering thrusts, buried in the claim of her tremors as though the only way through it is together. Then it takes him too.
His back tightens suddenly, so sharp and stiff it seems certain to snap in half. He leans deeper into her neck, her name a ragged whisper offered to the altar of her body as he tips over, tumbling freely in the undertow of pleasure she’s caught them in. He trembles beneath her, molding himself to the shape of her, to the remnants of her cries and the spaces they’d filled as he strives to hold every bit of her as close as possible before he melts entirely away.
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
