it’s been weeks of this — weeks of satoru tenderly trying to lift your frail newborn daughter from your arms, his tall frame hunched over her and his touch agonisingly gentle, only for her to burst out into tears. he just can’t comprehend it!

“it isn’t fair,” he mumbles, slumped over on the couch after yet another failed attempt at picking her up. “i mean, she has my eyes! in fact, she has all my genes, yet she won’t let me pick her up!”

his tone is scandalised, a hint of betrayal seeping into it; but beyond the usual dramatics, there’s a subtle sense of vulnerability in it too. it’s barely there, hidden behind the light-heartedness of his voice so that you almost miss it.

that’s the kind of skill that satoru has mastered by now: being able to feign confidence in the form of borderline obnoxious mock-arrogance. or rather, being able to divert any concerns you may have with a kind of ease and fluidity that’s got to be at least a little bit concerning.

but you don’t miss it this time. not with the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at the floor, lost in thought. not when he looks so worn down, eroded of his usual playful demeanour, an unfamiliar tiredness written all over his body.

you can see the way his shoulders are lowered a fraction in exhaustion from the situation, and even despite his joking demeanour, you both seem to have noticed the way his voice lacked its usual charm earlier.

“hey, toru..” you murmur, sliding onto the couch next to him. your daughter is still clinging to your shirt, having only just been lulled to sleep by you. she’s finally finished bawling her eyes out at the sight of her own father. “don’t be like that…it’s nothing. she’ll grow out of it.”

“no, you don’t get it sweets! she must know something…” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “i mean, whenever she looks at me with those huge blue eyes, it’s like she’s staring right through me. she must know something i don’t!” with that, he drops his head into his hands with a groan.

you’d laugh at the irony of his words if it weren’t for the defeated look on his face. of all things, you’d never expected to hear satoru gojo complaining about the unsettling nature of the piercing-blue eyes that she’d inherited from him. nonetheless, you gently move your free hand to stroke his back, your voice soft as you rub soothing circles.

“hey, no…she’ll come around soon enough.”

“but what if she doesn’t?” he looks up, pouting once more. “what if i’ve done something wrong? maybe i messed up my first impression or something!”

“…toru, don’t be silly, i don’t think newborns care about first impressions.”

he sits up slowly, assessing your words as his eyes fall once more upon the baby in your arms. her snowy eyelashes flutter slightly as she snoozes, tiny hands curled up against her body. one of her chubby cheeks rests against you as she snores, her tiny chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale she takes. tentatively, satoru brings a hand to run over her small leg, fingers running over the soft fabric of the fluffy bear socks on her feet courtesy of his impulse buying.

he snorts sadly at that, remembering the way he had been so excited to spoil her. he’d ran around, desperate to find only the very best for his sweet daughter: bags of baby toys, soft socks, cute baby outfits and pacifiers. he’d spent hours researching the quality of each, scrolling through reviews, diligently ensuring that his daughter would receive only the best — only for her to sob at the mere sight of his face.

it’s a kind of irony satoru can’t bear. because ultimately, in the eyes of the newborn in your arms, he’s no longer satoru gojo. he’s simply…nothing. stripped of being the strongest, stripped of his usual defence mechanism of feigned-confidence, stripped of his ability to win her over with expensive toys and clothes. he’s left vulnerable, stuck with the discomfort of it all. maybe he isn’t cut out for this. maybe he isn’t cut out for fatherhood.

you study his face, frowning at the way his brows are pinched and his features have melted into something much more vulnerable, tired. he looks deep in thought, barely registering the fact that one of his legs is tapping anxiously. he just stays sat there, eyes absentmindedly resting upon your daughter, zoned out.

your heart aches a little. it’s a strange sight, to see your usually-bold husband reduced to this unfamiliar state, hands tensed in his lap like he’s not sure what to do with himself.

so, you decide to take action yourself.

tenderly, you lift your daughter and quietly place her into satoru’s arms, silently willing her not to wake just yet. you’re not quite sure how you or your poor husband will cope if she does — and the idea of having to lull her back to sleep whilst simultaneously looking into satoru’s face of pure disappointment is one you’re not particularly fond of.

the second the baby is in his arms, satoru tenses up, thrown off-guard for a moment at the sudden action. however he then slowly begins to pull her closer to his chest, arms cradling her more securely now. it’s a bit awkward at first, because for once your poor husband hasn’t had a chance to prepare himself to hold her: no half an hour pep talk in the mirror as usual, no rubbing vanilla baby lotion into his hands before attempting to hold her — after all, apparently the scent of vanilla is soothing to young babies. hours of extensive research and a couple of youtube tutorials on how not to make your newborn daughter cry have taught him that much, at least.

much to his surprise, though, despite his total lack of preparation this time around, she seems to warm up to his touch immediately. despite being fast asleep, she nuzzles her tiny cheek against his chest a little, angling her head just a fraction inwards towards his warmth.

sure, maybe they’re just baby steps, if you can even call them that. but for the first time since his sweet daughter was born, satoru has actually been able to hold her without being subjected to sobs and screams. he tries to fight a tiny smile, and your heart flutters at the sight.

he stays stood there in silence, eyes crinkled in fondness as he peers down at the sleeping girl in his arms, cradling her like she’s precious. and after a few minutes of standing like that, a single, tiny tear begins to form in the corner of his eye, not quite falling yet. it stays there for a few seconds, clinging to soft dove-white lashes before the salty water finally rolls down his face, just barely brushing over the edge of his cheek.

with a tiny sniff, gojo quickly manages to recover his composure, letting his typical confident grin return back onto his features and simultaneously trying to pretend that his eyes aren’t currently going blurry with the threat of fresh, brand-new tears.

“ah— i knew it, so you do like me..!” he chokes out a weak laugh as he addresses the sleeping newborn, his voice half-subdued in a poor attempt at being quiet so as not to wake her. he dramatically crooks his head downwards, his ear right up next to your daughter’s face as though trying to ensure he can hear her better before he speaks up again. “…soo, this means that i’m the favourite parent, right??”

the nerve of him!

a/n: filler post sorry if the writing quality is poor i just wanted to post something💔 the idea came to me thanks to a dad sukuna fic i saw so creds to them!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) taglist: @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @hearts2vivi @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!

“what the hell are you doing?”

“softenin' it,” your husband replied, his voice completely deadpan. he didn’t look up, his face carved into an expression of such absolute, scholarly focus you might have thought he was doing open-heart surgery rather than kneading your ass.

you’d been trying to get some rare peace and quiet, lying face down on the bed half-asleep, when the attack started. toji had the massive, beefy build of a pro athlete, a guy made wholly of dense muscle who had absolutely zero concept of "personal space"

yet, for the last ten minutes, those huge, scarred hands—hands that literally killed people for a living?—had been thoroughly squashing and massaging your ass with the obsessive devotion of a baker molding a piece of sourdough.

“softening it?” you repeated, the mere insanity of it wiping away the last of your drowsiness. “toji, it’s an ass, not a cheap steak. you’ve been doing this for ten minutes. let go.”

he was lying on his stomach right next to your thighs, his nose hovering close over your asscheeks. feeling suddenly frustrated, you planted your forearms on the sheets, trying to crawl away from... whatever he was doing.

and you couldn't even make it an inch.

a heavy, coarse palm slapped down on the small of your back, securing you to the mattress like a literal ton of bricks. when you twisted your neck to glare at him, you see that his stunning profile was pulled into a focused, childish pout. his emerald eyes stayed glued to his work while his other hand went right back to its aggressive squeezing, paying no attention to your feeble protests.

“keep still,” he grumbled, voice getting petulant like a boy refused candy “you’re messin' up the texture.”

“the texture?” a sudden rush of heat hit your cheeks—the result of your annoyance and being vividly aware of how his face was glued to your backside. “i am trying to sleep, you psycho. your hands feel like sandpaper.”

“then don't move and it won't scratch,” he reasoned in a plain tone as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

and yet, there was something weirdly mesmerizing about how engaged he was. he looked almost peaceful sitting there, if you ignored the thick fingers poking at your crack.

finally comprehending it was useless to fight a fatty bitch with two hundred pounds on his body, you collapsed face-first into the pillow, letting out a defeated groan.

“...if i see any bruises, you're gonna pay for it.”

that lazy, almost boyish grin finally shattered his straight face. toji didn't bother lifting his chest or moving back. he just rested his heavy jaw in his free hand, watching your clothed butt devotedly.

“can’t charge a guy who's broke,” he reminded, his deft fingers continuing their task. “now shut it. 'm not done tenderizing.”

oml hubby!nanamin reminding you to breath during smex!

sorry for such the long hiatus loves :((

“where do you feel me baby? tell me.” you nails dug into the back of the man currently fucking the shit out of you, to the point where you were incoherent. your thighs pressed against your sweat glazed torso, his hips harshly colliding with yours, hitting the deepest and most sensitive spots you have.

“mmm! n-hereeeee!” you weakly moved one of your hands to your womb. he smiles, kissing your lips and then making home on your sensitive neck. where his moans and groans went straight to your ear.

nanami makes LOVE. he never fucks.

he wants you to lose yourself in the pleasure he gives you, always to the point where you’re overstimulated and almost can’t take it.

one thing nanami always noticed was how you don’t breath whenever you guys have sex. it’s not like when you ask him to slightly choke you, or when he shifts his weight on top of you when you guys are in prone bone. it’s whenever you guys are intimate in general, he has to stop and remind you every time :(

“baby, baby. breathhh.” he halts his hips, holding your face so your gaze is only focusing on him. not even a second passed and you’re gasping in and out, tears cradling down your brown cheeks. “there you go baby, there you go..” he slowly picks up his thrusts again, causing you to whine and whimper. trying your best not to fall into the habit of holding your breath again.

“m’gunna cuhmmm n-nana!” — “that’s my good girl. y-yeaa.” the knot in your stomach about to burst. his tip constantly hitting that spot that makes you feel dizzy. “it’s t’much!”

you whined. pushing against nanami’s abdomen, attempting to halt his thrusts for a moment. but he didn’t let up. “uh, uh baby. let out for me, let it out for your nana.” grabbing your wrists, and pinning it above your head.

the knot in your stomach snaps. squirting all over your husbands and thighs, coating them with your essence. it wasn’t too long until nanami reached his high. quickly pulling out and finishing on your stomach.

“did so good for me baby,” he lifted his hand from your wrist, using it to caress the side of your face.

pairing :: kento nanami x reader

the position you have yourself in feels all wrong and the angle is, well, utterly embarrassing. you'd been the one to suggest this in the first place, well written smut online fogging your mind and forcing the request past your lips before you could think about the logistics.

he'd said yes, of course. kento's inability to deny you paired with you being too chicken to back out (plus not wanting to out of sheer curiosity), leaves you in your current predicament.

"I don't think it's rocket science, sweetheart." kento's lying flat on his back beneath you, head propped up on a pillow. being awfully patient despite your prolonged stalling. his fingertips draw the barest shapes on either side of your hips, tapping lightly to get you to move higher. your knees bracket his ribs, heat of your cunt burning into the firm ridges of his stomach. "it's just me. nothing to be shy about." his frame shifts just enough to get close, mouth brushing over yours. "you just sit there like you sit on my lap. and then you move."

"I am sitting." you grumble, settling a little lower, ass right up against the band of his slacks. "being on your lap is different."

fluff

if the grand, terrifying king of curses were an ordinary man, the local villagers would have long since branded him a pathetic, lovesick nuisance and chased him out of the province with pitchforks.

unfortunately for the peace of the mortal realm, he was not an ordinary man, but a four-armed natural disaster currently enduring the spiritual equivalent of a toddler’s temper tantrum because his preferred human refused to look at his latest offering.

uraume stood in the corner of the reception hall, looking three seconds away from crying tears of exhaustion. they had spent the last forty-eight hours tracking down a mythical, glowing lotus that only bloomed on the highest peak of a treacherous northern mountain—a flower said to grant eternal youth or some other useless nonsense—only for sukuna to take it, squint at it, and toss it onto the pile of junk currently swallowing your small living quarters.

“i have nowhere to put this,” you said, gesturing wildly to the mountain of opulence overflowing from your tatami mats. “sukuna, there is a literal hoard of gold coins blocking my sliding door. if there’s a fire, i’ll perish. i’ll be crushed by ancient currency. is that your grand plan? assassination by wealth?”

he didn’t even blink. he was sprawled across his throne, chin resting heavily in his lower left palm, his gaze glued to you with the kind of intense, suffocating focus usually reserved for a scientist studying a microscopic anomaly. if you moved left, his four eyes tracked left. if you breathed a little too loudly, his ears twitched. he looked entirely bored, yet so deeply entangled in your existence that if you suddenly vanished, the sheer force of his withdrawal would probably rip a hole in the fabric of reality.

“then burn the gold,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that rattled the sake cups on the table. “or use it to pave the dirt road outside. i don’t care what becomes of it, so long as it sits within your line of sight.”

“it’s blocking my view of the garden!” you thrown your hands up, exasperated but entirely unafraid. anyone else would have been flayed alive for raising their voice to him, but you had quickly realized that you held a bizarre, absolute immunity. you could have slapped his face with a wet fish and he would have simply asked if you wanted a larger fish to finish the job. “and what is this? why did you bring me a third cursed spear? i’m just a minor sorcerer, sukuna. i don’t use spears. I barely use a knife to chop vegetables. what am i supposed to do with a weapon that carries a generational curse of bloodlust? stir my soup?”

a tiny, terrifying smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he found your indignation utterly intoxicating. he liked the way your eyes narrowed, the way your voice hit that specific, indignant octave, and the fact that you looked at him—a literal god of calamity—as if he were nothing more than an inconveniently large stray dog that kept dragging dead birds onto your porch.

“it pleases me to give it to you,” he stated plainly, as if that explained the absolute geopolitical chaos he had caused by wiping out an entire clan just to steal their family heirloom. “therefore, you will keep it. put it under your futon.”

“it glows in the dark!” you countered, crossing your arms. “it keeps me awake! and speaking of things i do not want…” you pointed a accusatory finger at a breathtaking, blood-red kimono draped over a nearby chest. the silk was so fine it looked like liquid fire, woven with real gold thread and blessed with protective enchantments that could stop a meteor. “i told you, i’m not wearing that. it looks like it belongs to an empress, and i’m just trying to clean the dust out of my kitchen.”

sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly, a low growl humming in his chest. he didn't like the word ‘no’ from anyone else, but from you, it was a challenge that made his (?) heart thud against his ribs like a trapped bird.

in a blur of movement too fast for human eyes to register, he was off his throne. before you could even register the sudden shift in the room’s air pressure, two large, tattooed arms wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the tatami mats.

“hey—!” you gasped, your protest cut short as he dumped you unceremoniously onto his massive lap, his chest a solid, radiating wall of heat against your back.

“you talk too much,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and sending a sudden, involuntary shiver down your spine.

while his primary set of arms locked you securely against him, pinning your hands down so you couldn’t bat him away, his secondary pair of arms reached out, snagging the heavy red kimono from the chest with effortless grace. he didn’t care that he was wrinkling a priceless historical artifact; he only cared about wrapping you in it like a prized pastry.

“sukuna, let go, you boulder of a man—” you squirmed, your elbows digging into his ribs, but it was like trying to fight a mountain.

“hush,” he commanded, though there was zero venom in it. his lower hands worked with surprising, meticulous gentleness, draping the heavy fabric over your shoulders, smoothing down the lapels, and pulling the rich silk tight against your frame. he was entirely clumsy at normal courtship, treating it like a tactical military conquest, but his devotion was so loud it was practically deafening.

he buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his sharp teeth grazing your skin just enough to leave a tingling sensation but never hard enough to break it. his grip tightened, a desperate, possessive hum vibrating through his muscles.

“you think you have a choice in this?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a dark, velvety timbre that made your stomach do a frantic backflip. “if i must burn down the capital just to find a color that matches your eyes, i will do it by nightfall. you will wear my gifts, you will sit on my lap, and you will allow me to provide for you. do you understand me?”

you let out a soft, defeated sigh, your body naturally melting back against his broad chest despite your earlier complaints. your fingers reached up, resting over his massive forearm, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his pulse.

“you’re entirely ridiculous,” you mumbled, a small, helpless smile finally breaking through your faux annoyance. “the capital has very nice architecture. please leave it alone.”

sukuna let out a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated straight into your bones, his four arms holding you so securely against him that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. “we shall see,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head with a tenderness that would have terrified uraume, entirely content to hold you captive in his arms for the rest of eternity.

a/n: uraume tired of this man’s bs.

‘ perm. tag , @sh0dor1

gojo wakes up with your hand already inside his boxers, your fingers curled lazily around his half-hard cock, stroking him with that slow, sleepy rhythm you know drives him insane before he’s even opened his eyes.

he groans, low and guttural, his hips twitching forward into your palm despite the way his voice drips with exaggerated annoyance. “nngh… seriously?” he mutters, voice rough from sleep, one eye cracking open just enough to glare at you through the messy white strands falling over his face. “it’s… what time is it? too early. you’re doing that thing again.”

NSFW (18+)

it was nasty, sheets pulled out from where they had once been neatly tucked in—soft skin dusted with a light sheen of perspiration, head drooping down slightly with each brush of nanami kento's slightly curved length against that gooey spot in your walls making you shudder underneath him.

it'd been what, almost two hours since you'd started, not sure how your body still had enough moisture to be soaked both inside and out, having been flipped from front to back and licked and nipped at from head to toe.

he had you on all fours, knees trembling slightly after a particularly low dip in your stomach. you were struggling to properly keep your head up, moments away from slumping forward completely when the corded muscle of his forearm moved round your side to allow his hand to cup your jaw, right under your neck. his touch was light yet strong enough to tip your head back, easing the tension that had been building in your neck.

his other hand tightened its hold on your waist, voice raspy against the shell of your ear. "just one more for me, okay? you can do that for me, i know you can."

"y-y're just so deeeeep," you groaned, hips moving back anyway, soft plap plap plap each time his hips met your own gradually increasing in speed.

"nothing you haven't done before." he murmured and gently he turned you over, your back now against the mattress and he was still buried up to the hilt inside of you, honey-brown eyes lazy and lidded as he pressed against the lower pudge of your belly.

"you feel me all the way up here?" he pressed a little harder, lips curving up in a small smile at the way you squirmed underneath him. 

"does it feel good?"

his hand snaked back up to your throat, hand just resting over the exposed flesh.

you nodded, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. "soooooo good."

and he chuckled, low rumble vibrating in his chest—hand moving up to squish your cheeks into a soft pout.

"you are so cute like this."

and that's how you knew you looked awful—mascara clinging to your lower lashes, flyaway hairs stuck to the sides of your face, sliver of drool crusting at your chin.

you clenched your jaw when you felt that dip in your stomach, instincitvally moving to inch away from him, but his grip on your waist was tight, pinning you flat against the mattress.

"breathe honey." he reminded you, rubbing soothing circles into the curve of your side. "don't run from it. let me take care of you."

taking satoru's dick for the first time in theory and in practice are two very different extremes. sure you'd felt him from grinding, from holding the weight of him in your palm under the sheets while you two were supposed to be 'watching a movie'. it felt doable for the most part—taking him.

you've heeded all his thinly veiled warnings long enough and tonight of all nights wasn't one where you two could exactly stop at just heavy petting. you'd even laughed at it beforehand, assured him that you could take him for the millionth time.

if you could slap your past self, you would. because now you're barely 2 minutes into him being inside of you. back spread on soft sheets, practically folded in half under satoru. legs slung over his shoulders, panting, practically vibrating from the effort of trying to get used to the sheer size of him.

"fuck—you gotta stop—" his fingers press harder into the undersides of your thighs where he has you held, hips rocking incrementally to get you adjusted to what he's given already. not even halfway in and you're already all noisy. "breathe for me, pretty? so I can give you the rest."

“t-the rest? ” you gasp, voice going embarrassingly high. it feels like he's been pushing in for ages now and now he's telling you that there's more? “that’s not all of it? are you sure?"

"i'm sure, trust me. just a little more." a bit more than a little, but you'd cross that bridge eventually. he presses a kiss to your knee—soft, lingering like he’s trying to ground both you and himself. "you said you could take it."

"i say a lot of things when I'm horny. you know—oh fuck—that!" you snap, voice breaking on the last word. "you're too big. this is all your fault, satoru."

"my fault?" he manages a huff despite the strain in his voice, brows knitted like he's the one struggling here. to be fair, he sort of is. "you said, and I quote—" his hips ease forward by an infinitesimal amount, just enough to have the bulb of him swabbing against your soft insides. it's enough for your jaw to go slack, toes curling near his ears. "—'please just fuck me already'. and to 'stop treating you like glass'." so here he is, not treating you like glass. not holding out on you. large hands press your thighs and knees closer to your chest, his body angled downward to drive into you with short, gentle thrusts.

"I don't even sound like that." you're clawing blindly at the bedding, airy sounds punching out of you like he's owed them.

"mhm. just breathe." he murmurs, voice rumbling low against your skin as he nudges deeper with the next roll of his hips—a slow, steady push, feeding you yet another inch. one hand leaves your thighs to slide up to your stomach, pressing in like he's trying to feel for himself there. "yeah...that's it, let me in.." the same hand settles just above where you're taking him to thumb at your arousal slick clit, your own darting to out the grab at his wrist. to no avail of course, since his thumb just keeps on moving in circle after circle.

“tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?” he whispers, hips tilting just a little deeper. new slick from his teasing helps, sliding deeper with ease. “that's right...all the way. you're doing so well."

it's soft, so sweet and encouraging that you're reaching a hand out to bring him closer to you by the back of his neck. "m'good, 'toru. you're fine."

you can't help but wonder how much more he has left to give, what kind of monstrous beast he's been hiding under his briefs. curiosity gets the better of you, eyes dropping to where you've yet to fully connect.

and boy, do you regret it almost instantly.

it's near obscene. inches of him glistening and buried, folds parted against his girth. even with how long he's been easing in (or how long it feels at least), there's still a gap. his gaze follows yours, nosing gently at your ankle, hand squeezing your thigh. "you okay?"

the glisten of his flesh, the taut flex of his abdomen like he's holding back...no, you're not okay in the slightest.

you can feel your core flutter involuntarily at the sight and god, he feels it too.

“oh fuck,” satoru's voice breaks, forehead tipping down to rest against your forehead. “baby, please don’t do that. i'll...this really won't last long.”

"oops, sorry. sorry."

the bits of soft pink that aren't inside inch in-in-in with every second that passing. it's barely anything left to give, yet, he's being so careful. too careful."

"holy fuck, just do—shit!"

you're arching clean off the bed with the way he suddenly, finally hilts himself inside. bare behind flush to his hips, groomed hairs at his base grazing against your skin.

he’s silent for a moment, breathing slow, forehead still dampened and pressed down against yours. "..okay, I have bad news."

you're a little drunk on him, just lucid enough to manage a small hm, nails scraping through the damp hair at his nape.

"there's...there's a high chance that I'll cum if I move."

even in your state, laughter breaks out of you, the heavy man above you flushing a soft pink from the highs of his cheeks up to his ears. murmuring something about it 'not being that funny' and him 'embarrassing himself here'.

"stay still then." you finally breathe when your laughter dies down just enough, smile all gentle up at him, lips brushing against the sharp point of his nose. "we'll just stay like this all night." the pain had properly eased into a dull, barely there ache at that point—more pleasure than any other feeling. with how he'd taken his time, it'd been almost inevitable.

"can't just not move," he replies through gritted teeth, hips shifting just a hair. enough for you both to feel the heavy drag, the way your walls clench instinctively. "god—I can't not move when you feel like that."

it's endearing in a way, very much flattering. your grin only widens, head lifting to angle your mouth against his with a firm kiss. "i'm close too if that makes you feel any better."

words meant to help only make him whine, throbbing inside you, hips beginning to rock slowly. "you are?"

"mhmm. very close." you let out a strangled sound when his hips angle just right and it's enough for him to give up on pacing himself. his weight crushes your thighs against your chest, pace building. "so just keep moving. please."

the sounds leaving you are a mix of 'ahh's' and calls of his name, all broken, all sending his hips into you a little faster. they stutter as he fucks into you with less and less finesse, 0 rhyme or rhythm just the need to see you cum for him like this. hips slapping against the back of your thighs, paced breaths dually filling the room. "you feel so good. taking me so well." and when his thumb finds your clit again with those same, easy circles? you're a goner. "gonna cum--gonna- oh my god, keep doing that—" he finds that spot from before over and over again like there's a target stuck to it, leaky tip wedging itself right where you need it, pleasure mounting far too quickly. you're crying out at this point, hips angling up into his thrusts. so full it hurts in that perfect, dizzying way.

“fuck, you're gonna make me—”

“shut up and cum,” you choke out. “do it inside. pleaseplease—”

his entire body jolts, pace faltering. you feel him twitch deep inside you before it hits, his hips driving in and out hard—once, twice, and then he’s moaning into your mouth as he spills. he drags you down with him, pressure in your abdomen bursting, unfurling outwards with your release—his name still falling from your lips. helpless sounds that only spur the continued movement of his hips to draw out the pleasure.

you're both shaking, sucking in breaths of air greedily for moments after that. you're still folded like a pretzel, still crushed against his weight. "...that one doesn't count."

"agreed."