#watch me try to keep up and fail

[oftenlyshitposting]

wolfwren week day I | sparring + "are you following me?"

sabine hasn't been going out of her apartment much, as of late. she knows she really should, but she doesn't want to. the past couple of weeks have been rough; college and family wise. ahsoka and hera stops by every now and then, checking up on her.

well, more on ahsoka barging in with her spare keys, while hera actually knocks on her front door.

ahsoka and hera lives just across of her apartment, right on the same floor, just on the other wing. sabine, despite having dealt with ahsoka's multiple tresspassing offense the past weeks, is grateful for their close proximity to each other.

sabine doesn't think she can be truly alone now.

sabine rolls in her bed, huffing an exhausted sigh. she'd been awake since her alarm rung at nine, counting only about four or five hours of sleep. the little analog clock on her bedside drawer displays it's a little over twelve now, and she really should get up to eat something. preferably something solid.

her doorknob clacks, and sabine sighs a weak chuckle as ahsoka's voice echoes in, "oye, mija!!"

"aquí, 'soka," sabine drawls, half shouting as she stays slumped face down. she hears ahsoka locking the door and tossing the keys to her key bowls, and the unmistakeable sound of plastic brushing against fabric as ahsoka walks over to her room.

"dios, sabine," ahsoka sighed, sabine guessed from watching the current state she is in right now. or, her room, could be either or both. sabine felt the edge of her bed dipped, then ahsoka's hand on her back.

sabine hums against her pillow. "don't look at me with that look on your face, ahsoka."

"what look, 'bine?"

sabine shifts to lift her face slightly, side eyeing the older woman. "that look. like i need to be coddled."

ahsoka laughs, shaking her head. "i never thought you should. i know you don't." she pats sabine's back, gentle but firm enough as she says, "but, i am worried about you, mija. so is hera."

"don't worry, 'm fine." sabine drops her face back into her pillow. she knows that ahsoka knows she's lying straight through her teeth. ahsoka can't really be lied to, anyways. sabine is stalling.

ahsoka doesn't say anything, sighing. sabine guesses she has the usual sad-ish smile on her face. the bed creaks, and suddenly she felt ahsoka plopping on her back, making her groan at the sudden additional weight. sabine tries to get up, but ahsoka doesn't budge, only laughing at her attempt.

"ahsoka! what the hell are you doing?" sabine yells, falling back with a heavy 'oof'. "get off me!"

"i'm giving you a hug."

sabine grunts. "no, the fuck you're not! you're squashing me!"

ahsoka shifts, and for a second of false hope, sabine thought she was getting up from her. instead, ahsoka puts her entire bodyweight sabine, making the purple haired girl sink lower to the bed under her. "this is how i hug if you won't stop moping."

"gah! how the hell does hera deal with this?"

ahsoka hums, crossing her arm comfortably. "well, she doesn't mope, so she wouldn't know."

sabine grunts, struggling to rolling over so she wouldn't be on her stomach. she manages to partially shift her position to her side, glaring down at ahsoka. the older woman smirks back at sabine, whose face is flushed and hair wild from the struggle.

sabine shoves ahsoka away frustratedly. "you're pressing on my organs, you shit! ow!" she yelled, feeling mild pain when ahsoka's head is pressing below her ribs. "i think that's my fucking pancreas!"

ahsoka glares unimpressedly at sabine's dramatics. "like you know where your pancreas is, mija."

"it's–" sabine heaves through pushing ahsoka away, only to fall off from the bed ungracefully upside down, "wherever the fuck you just decided to squash." when ahsoka snickers from above the bed, sabine glares at her. "i'm gonna tell hera you bullied me today."

"snitch." ahsoka huffs, as she smacks sabine's legs on her bed as she gets up, walking out. "c'mon, let's eat. i brought your favourite."

sabine's head perks up. "spicy wonton soup?"

ahsoka shot her a look. "no. shrimp jibaritos."

sabine groans, and ahsoka merely shakes her head with a laugh as she exits sabine's room. sabine gets up from her awkward position, head spinning slightly. she sighs, stretching her aching limbs and back as she taps on a button. her curtains drew open, allowing sunlight to enter through her giant windows into her room.

she walks to her bathroom to freshen herself up, trying to ignore the tired eyes reflected on the mirror. when she gets out of her room, ahsoka is already sat on her couch, the tv set on a random channel, while murley sits on the armrest as the orange tabby cat gets lazy pats and scratches from her. the food is already sprawled on her coffee table, and sabine smiles a little.

sabine sat next to ahsoka, reaching over to grab the takeout drink, sipping it slowly. she mutters a small 'thanks', which ahsoka returns with a small hum. she eats in a comfortable silence, munching as she absentmindedly watches the tv. she can feel ahsoka eyeing her from the side, probably wondering the right time to ask her what's going on.

"tristan called me a few days ago," sabine starts, still half munching on the crispy jibarito. ahsoka tilts her head slightly towards her, silently indicating she's all ears. sabine sighs, before continuing, "the kid is trying his best, but my parents–well, my mom, really–doesn't even see it. mom said he doesn't want it enough, and still insists i should be the one to take over the company. i don't even fucking want it; i never did."

ahsoka's face remains neutral, but her eyes exhibits something akin to a mix of pity and sadness. she doesn't say much other than, "i'm still here," to encourage sabine to continue on with whatever she needs to tell ahsoka.

"tristan is literally doing exactly what i did, going to business school while taking so much responsibility in the company. he does it willingly." sabine exhales with her eyes shut, calming down her brewing emotional turmoils. "he's doing so much, but my parents stays blind to what he wants and ignoring what i don't want."

sabine threw her head back against the backrest of her couch, her half-eaten jibarito still sat in her hands. talking about her family always makes her lose her apetite and will to do anything. on worse days, sabine teeters on the edge of returning home and does whatever her mother tells her to do, just to stop all the problems and be done with it. but, sabine knows that's exactly what her mother wants.

for sabine to give up running and living her life.

"sorry about the sudden rant," sabine sniffs humourlessly, attempting to lighten up the mood.

ahsoka shook, merely placing a gentle hand on sabine's shoulder in a way sabine known as comforting. "you're alright, mija. you know what you're doing. i'm here to listen to you, and be there for you when you need me."

sabine's lips tugs to a small smile, nodding. ahsoka is right, as always. it gets overwhelming for her to deal with this on her own, having ahsoka and hera as her closest supports makes her more confident in tackling her problems. to have them to listen to her, is something sabine will always be grateful of.

"thanks, 'soka." sabine leans her head against ahsoka's broad shoulder, resuming her eating.

ahsoka only hums in return.

even when sabine doesn't have much of anyone, she still has ahsoka. the puerto rican woman has always been on sabine's side since she was a teenager; maybe even younger. sabine always looked up to ahsoka, someone like the older sister she never had.

ahsoka left sabine's apartment a few hours after they finished eating and did a bit of cleaning duty. she promised to pick hera up from her workplace, and sabine made a teasing remark that they are going on date night, which ahsoka merely responded with a shake of her head.

sabine had taken a well deserved shower and picked up on some of her college works, keeping her busy past dinnertime. she initially decided against cooking, feeling far too unmotivated for the task. but, she'd taken a look inside her fridge, and, well, some of her groceries are starting to get closer to their perishable dates. sabine ended up whipping a decent stir-fry, fridge cleanout style, and had it while finishing one of her essays.

still feeling remnants of stress lingering in her systems, sabine decided to head to the gym down the block to flush it out of her body for good. considering the last time she worked out was two weeks ago, her body has started to get achey and stiff with lack of active use.

the gym was empty by the time sabine got there, safe for a number of people who are either still working out, or are about to finish. it made sense, given it's already closer towards midnight. sabine drops her items off back at the lockers, and head straight to start her workout regimes.

sabine drowned in the routine, missing the gym slowly emptying, safe for her and another woman. she didn't pay much attention to her, too lost in the rhythm of her exercise and music, assuming it's just the night shift staff. she couldn't help feeling her fleeting gazes reflected on the mirrors, though.

sabine was just finishing up her routine, passing the boxing corner as she walks towards the lockers, when she saw her again. unmistakable bone-white blonde hair that's cropped just above her sturdy shoulders, now tied to a tight little ponytail. her eyes meet with stellar greenish-blue, forming faint crescents as a small smile crept up her lips.

"shin, hey!" sabine calls, widely smiling as she approaches the familiar blonde.

shin gestures a smile wave back at sabine from beside the punching sack, levelling her breaths. "hey, sabine," she returned when sabine is in front of her, "haven't seen you lately."

"yeah," sabine chuckles, "been insanely busy. swamped the whole week in my apartment."

"ah," shin nods understandingly, a wolfish smile on her lips, "that's a shame. the other day, somebody had knocked down the punching bag. i thought it was you again, but unfortunately, it was not."

sabine laughs, head thrown back. "oh, come on. still wouldn't let me live that one down?"

"well, it was an interesting event, no?"

"for you!"

shin's smile broke to a grin, echoed by a deep laugh. "okay, okay. i'll let it slide. for a price."

"oh?" sabine quirked a playful brow, shifting her weight to one hip. "what may that be?"

the blonde trainer presents a pair of boxing gloves at sabine, "spar with me?" with another of her wolfish, lopsided smile.

sabine crowed as she grabs the blue pair of gloves. "alright, you wanna add a little bet?"

"a bet?"

"yeah, y'know," sabine shrugs her shoulders, "just to make it a lil' more fun."

shin places a hand on her hip, interested. "okay, what do you have?"

sabine hummed. she wasn't thinking thoroughly and didn't plan this far out. she should settle for something small and simple. shin was patiently waiting for her, so she replies, "if i win, get the best shawarma down the third block with me."

"shawarma?" shin repeated with a humoured laugh, "this late? really?"

sabine raises her arms, chortling. "hey, it's just the idea on the top of my head!"

"okay, okay. agreed." shin nodded, then quirking a brow at sabine, accent slipping as she ask, "and if i win? what do i get?"

"you tell me! what do you want, gata?"

shin's eyes shift up as she appeared to be thinking, and sabine couldn't really help but find this blonde trainer slash gym staff... strangely endearing.

as shin tilted her head up slightly, sabine can note the myriads of moles scattered on her face like stars. sabine also noticed the sharp slope of shin's jawline, and her high cheekbones that highlights her stellar blue eyes. she likens shin to a pretty porcelain matryoshka in her mind.

shin then decides, "i think if i win, i get to have your number?"

well. that was certainly unexpected for sabine.

"m-my number? you want my number?" sabine flushes, repeating it with barely any eloquency.

"oh, um," shin flusters, appearing awkward, "uh, i'm sorry, i think i was a bit too forward. i thought you... aren't straight. i assumed you liked girls."

sabine's bursted out, "oh! fuck, i do! i love women!" she cringed when she registered what she had just blurted out loud, her brain clicking much too fast. "wait, that's not what i meant. i mean yes, i do like girls because i'm not straight. i was just... not expecting you to ask about my number...?"

shin's ears are dusted in pink, and it really doesn't help sabine to calm herself down. with a shy smile, the blonde replies, "i just figured it'll be easier to find me if you ever need to hit the gym during my shift?"

"i agree," sabine laughs, entertained. "alright then. best of three wins?"

shin had already hopped onto the ring, smiling confidently down at sabine. "sounds good to me."

when they sparred, it's a lot more playful and less intense as their first time. sabine had picked up more of shin's stances and fighting cues, reading her better than the first time. shin is still as acrobatic as always, but sabine managed to keep up with her this time. at some point, just before sabine's muscles gave out, she cornered shin and pinned the blonde by locking her arms and legs with her own.

"wanna yield?"

sabine's lips were right next to shin's exposed ears, her arms locking the blonde's shoulders. they were both breathing heavily, skin to skin close on the boxing ring's mat. sabine noticed shin's face and ears flushed red, but didn't think much of it, assuming it was caused by the heavy breathing from getting locked on top of sabine.

shin, surprisingly, managed to handle herself out of sabine's lock. with a swift motion faster than sabine could've anticipated, shin had reversed their positions, this time pinning sabine down on her stomach with an arm on her back and another above sabine's head. with bated breaths and a triumphant smirk, shin replies, "do you wanna yield?"

sabine's brain is all scrambled; the way shin had pinned her down and the distance from the blonde trainer's lips from her ear aren't helping her form any thoughts or whatsoever. she could only tap her pinned hand on the ring's floor, signalling defeat. only when shin lets her grip go, sabine admits, "i didn't think you'd flip the switch on me. how'd you do it?"

"you had your tricks, i have my own," shin cheekily replies, skipping backwards to grab a water bottle. "you put a good fight, but that's one to one already."

"damn," sabine jumped back to her footings, head tilted in disbelief, "really? that fifth kickflip didn't count as my second point?"

shin laughs, carefully tossing the water at sabine. "unfortunately, no. i didn't yield, did i?"

sabine drinks the water, briefly remembering shin had drank from the same bottle as well, causing her brain to short-circuit momentarily. through her brain-fart she manages, "are you always this stingy?"

"only when i'm sparring with pretty woman." shin shrugs nonchalantly, lifting the bottom edge of her tank to wipe sweat off her face. the motion revealed her toned stomach, which sabine had to fight tooth and nail to not stare for too long.

"um…" sabine began lamely, her mouth definitely haven't caught up with whatever thoughts formed in her lagging brain. she tries again, "so… i guess another stalemate, then?"

"looks like it." shin sighs, a small smile on her lips. "sparring you got me beat, actually. i would love for another round to see which of us could win, but i've got to clock out."

sabine, finally catching her charisma again, cheekily returns, "aw, shame. i'd love to pull your own little trick on you."

"you'll get your chance."

sabine stayed until shin finishes cleaning up and clocking out, walking out the gym with the blonde trainer towards her go-to shawarma place down the block. they exchanged stories, learning more about each other and their day to day's over two chicken shawarmas.

at the end of the night, after parting with shin at a crosswalk, sabine has a new contact in her phone.

and after that, sabine began finding shin in a lot of other places she goes to in the city. all by chance.

tuesday morning, at an indie coffeeshop downtown. sabine was there to grab a cup of coffee and the best (in her opinion) lox bagel within three mile radius. shin was at the counter picking up her order; a cup of honey cinammon tea latte.

(sabine told her the brown-butter croissant would go heavenly well with shin's drink.)

the thrift store two blocks down from sabine's. it was a friday afternoon and sabine was out looking for another heavy flannels because ahsoka doesn't seem like she'd return her (favourite) grey heavy flannels. just as she was heading to the jackets' aisle, she bumps into shin, who was trying out a patchwork denim jacket.

(shin laughs when sabine said that the patchwork denim jacket isn't gay enough for either of them.)

on a wednesday evening, sabine was just riding her bike towards a park, mildly stressed out and in need of a cigarette break. at the smoking area, shin was there, sitting with a lit stick twiddled in her fingers. when the blonde trainer met sabine's gaze, she laughs with a shook of her head.

"didn't think i'd find you in this janky park, too," sabine quipped teasingly, lighting up a stick.

"be honest with me now," shin replies with an equally teasing note, earning a humoured eyebrow raise from sabine, "have you been following me, sabine?"

sabine laughs out loud, head thrown back. "does it really look like i do?"

shin nods her head, taking a drag of her cigarette. "it does. so, are you?"

"i don't even know you smoked too!" sabine refuted, pointing at their lit sticks, smoke rising slowly. she tries her hardest to not stare at the way the damn cigarette sits so prettily in shin's slender finger. she then adds, "i swear, it's like i'm just gonna run into you anywhere."

"okay, fair enough," shin agrees, raising her hands, before cheekily saying, "but to be fair, i am eastern european. we and the balkans chainsmoke like steam trains, you know."

sabine chokes midway dragging her smoke, combusting a choppy laugh-cough. "shin!" when shin only mirrors her laugh, she nudges the blonde's shoulder. "you're ridiculous."

"sorry?" shin offered jokingly. she took the last drag before tossing the stubbed filter to the tray next to her, leaning down to meet sabine's face. "seriously, though. i don't think of you as someone who smoke as well. you okay?"

"yeah..." sabine exhales a huff of smoke, offering a tight-lipped smile back at her, before shrugging unsurely. "i dunno, 'm just been hella stressed. i usually hit this park after riding around at night."

shin shifts closer to sabine. "you ride?"

sabine nods. "custom made triumph."

"wow, you're even more ukrainian than i am."

sabine laughs. "seriously?"

"oh, yeah. definitely." shin flashes a wolfish smirk (and by god, it made sabine's chest race because it's so unreasonably attractive).

"i think it's 'cause i'm gay, shin," sabine joked, which the blonde returned with a humoured chuckle.

"that much, i can see."

"so," sabine began, stubbing her dead stick, lighting another one she fished from the pack beside her, "why am i finding you in this janky ass park? you got something goin' on, hermosa?"

shin shrugs, contemplating. she then sighed, curt and tired. when she spoke, her accent was heavy, "college assignment deadlines catching up on my ass. i've got this... what do you call it? survey-based research paper thing... it's kind of hard to gather the right pool of people to ask. it's just that, really."

"ah," sabine understood, knowing exactly where shin was coming from, "yeah, i feel ya. i had that too for my statistics lecture back in my fourth sem. kicked my ass so bad for a week, 'soka had to search and rescue me from my own apartment."

the frown on shin's face dissipates into a laugh; carefree and sweet kind of chuckle, which doesn't really help much in easing up sabine's stomach butterflies. sabine's cigarette long forgotten, ashes falling softly from where it was lodged between her fingers, opting to study shin's face instead.

shin's greenish-blue eyes meets sabine's.

"qué lindas…" sabine murmured under her breath, not really conscious or mindful about her volume.

shin smiles. "mmm… gracias."

sabine blinks. "you speak spanish?"

"not really, but i have a pair of eyes and a brain."

"i– okay, fair enough."

shin tucks a stray hair behind sabine's ear, sending static down her spine. the blonde's accented voice was barely above a whisper as she says, "як мило."

sabine doesn't understand, but damn.

that did things.

well, shit, sabine thinks.

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL | 1.01

Our practice is relatively young, Miss Page, and we are aggressively pursing new clientele.

[moonviewer]

"I will keep going forward, no matter how hopeless it might seem."

(please do not repost my art and just leave a link to it if you'd like to share instead, thank you!)

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible

[autumnoakes]

hyperfixations really will have you imagining a 2 hour video essay on some white guy video game character huh 😪

[theyonapodcast]

I love the first time Soo-Won supports Lili.

It feels like an overreaction to burst into tears over, essentially, "Go for it," but makes sense when you realize no one takes her seriously.

Her father, Tetora, and even Yona view her as someone in need of protection. They coddle her.

And then here comes Soo-Won, telling her she's capable of making a difference.

That she did make a difference. He acknowledges her strength and believes in her with ease while people closer to her struggle to accept that she's useful.

[jewishcissiekj]

So I've been reading the new Ultimateverse and occasionally reading the LOCG reviews, and honestly, there's so much praise for this line of comics that I don't care for reading most of it, so I tried looking for the more negative reviews for the series. What I found, alongside some actual criticism of the writing and story, was people who were mad that there wasn't enough action. And, like, I honestly get it, these are superhero comics. But the thing is, I never read superhero comics for the action. I don't care about the action. I read superhero comics because my dad once watched Arrow when my brother was in the room, and it snowballed from there. I read comics because I find the characters compelling, and I'm looking to find where they come from and where they're going. I read comics because a long-running narrative over decades fascinates me. I read comics because I want to see the things writers and artists have to say through these superheroes.

I think superhero comics are so interesting because of how different the types of people they attract are. I can't imagine reading a comic to understand how this character is stronger than the next, but so much of superhero discussion revolves around that. I don't think superhero comics and about the action, but ultimately, it's essential to them. It's how they're sold, it's what they live on.

Comics as a medium aren't tied to a particular trope, and have a fantastic range and freedom of space for creation. But so many people are still drawn to superhero comics, not just because, in comparison to non-superhero comics, they flood the American comics market. Maybe it's the intrigue of following a character through different lenses and stories. Maybe it's not true that superhero comics attract that many people (comparatively), and it's just that it seems a lot to me from my point of view.

I think, most of all, I wonder if the superhero aspect of it really matters. And what is the superhero aspect? Is it the strength level of the characters, or is it the idea that someone stronger and better will dedicate themselves to helping the world?

I know I'm being philosophical and annoying about this when, in actuality, I just like asking questions and wondering about things. (And I really don't know how to close this out, either)

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so i took my car in today because i thought it might just need some more brake fluid and although i tried to just look at it myself i couldn't for the life of me figure out which part under the hood was the brake fluid reservoir without having to lean all over my car and get all dirty, so i figured i might just have to pay a service fee and whatever for the fluid itself...

turns out i need all new brake pads !!

ahaha

haha

ha

yay

[fruity-legos]

nova

[narke]

i feel like the more quality tf2tubers really nail the adhd friendly dopamine dump video editing style

[sskk-manifesto]

(´；ω；｀)

[robinsnest2111]

I feel like I didn't make proper use of today. but I got several loads of laundry done and put fresh bedsheets and such on my bed. and that will have to be enough.

[kitteninabunker]

meanboyfriend!toji fucking his innocent virgin girlfriend :3

your ruffled lace socks are on either side of his head as he rolls his hips against your plush ass, thick cock stretching you past your limits. he looks down at your soft belly, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches the way his cock bulges through it. "am i too big for ya' baby?" he coos, there's so much mock softness in his voice it’s almost sickening, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand like he actually gives a damn. "i can see myself inside of ya'."

a choked whimper is all you can manage to respond with, your fingers dig into his muscular arms as he leans over you to steady himself on top of you, caging you in beneath his heavy body. you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel his fat cock sinking itself deeper from the new position, splitting you open and it burns. the stretch forces a high, broken whine from your throat, your walls fluttering helplessly around him.

clinging to his strong arms, your eyes flick nervously to the plushies lined up on your shelf—those innocent little stuffed animals with their glossy plastic eyes all pointed your way. they’re watching.

it makes your face burn hotter.

toji notices. of course he does.

“what is it, princess?” he teases, slowing his thrusts just enough to draw your attention back to the deep ache between your legs. “your little friends seein’ you get fucked for the first time?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, hiding your face in his arm. “d-don’t look at them…” you mumble, humiliated.

he laughs, a low, breathy sound, and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “you’re so fuckin’ cute.”

then he shifts, hips snapping forward, forcing another whine from your throat as your gummy walls flutter around him, trying and failing to accommodate all of him.

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your damp forehead. "does it hurt, baby?"

"n-no... keep going." you huff softly, biting your lip.

you're a mess beneath him, cheeks flushed, sweat sheening your skin, hair sticking to your forehead in damp strands. your lips are kiss-swollen, puffy from the way he's been biting at them. your tits bounce with every sharp thrust, every punishing grind of his hips, pulling ragged cries from your throat.

he knew it was your first time, and he'd actually debated wether he'd be sweet to you, do that cheesy romantic shit he hated, whisper pretty words and take it slow—play the role of the perfect boyfriend only for tonight. or if he should fuck you hard, that would he fuck you so good, so deep, until then only word you could babble was his name. now that he's inside of you, it's starting to feel like a mix of both.

grunting, he hooks his arm under your back and lifts you off of your bed, hugging you against his chest tightly as if you weigh nothing. your arms wrap around his neck, legs locking tight around his waist as he keeps bulling his cock into you, hitting your cervix so hard you swear he's gonna break you.

his breath his hot against your face as he inhales your sweet perfume sharply, furrowing his brows as he keeps fucking you until you start going limp in his arms.

“i’ll love you forever, you hear me?” his voice is rough, almost strained.

a weak, breathless “yeah.” is all you can say.

but toji smirks, knowing you'll remember this for the rest of your life.

[rotspecialist]

sooo I think this is all I'll ever be 😳🙈🙏

[cumironi]

CREAM-OF-THE-CROP CUNT, MAMA

feat, gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. what? just because you are six months pregnant your husband is gonna stop worshipping you? nooooo. . . he became worse, and the idea of making sure you are pregnant (despite the bump) makes them go crazy, especially with your little sweet bump.

trigger/warnings. non-sorcerer, everyone trying to be a gentleman (fails), calling reader “mama,” pussy-drunk behavior, pregnant sex, belly worship, size kink, deep penetration, unprotected vaginal sex, leg-folding position, full nelson vibes, praise kink, possessive language, swearing / explicit language, references to breeding kink (implied), overstimulation, internal ejaculation, cum leaking, soft dom / feral energy blend, emotional intensity, aftercare / caretaking (gentle touches, kisses), power imbalance (older man / younger woman), oral fixation (kissing, belly + knee worship)

GOJO SATORU

“—you’re gonna kill me,” gojo groans, forehead pressed against yours, voice ragged like he’s been running for miles, but really, all he’s been doing is holding himself together—barely—as your legs wrap tighter around his waist and you moan his name like it’s a damn prayer and a curse all at once. “no, seriously, baby, i’m—i’m dying. you’re murdering me with this pussy. it’s a crime. i should call the cops. except i am the fucking cops. i’m the fbi. i’m the law. and you’re under arrest. for being—fuck—for being too hot while pregnant.”

you try to say something, maybe something like “shut up” or “just keep going” or maybe just his name again, but you can’t—you’re too full, too stretched, too wrecked already and he hasn’t even really started yet.

“so tight,” he breathes, like the thought has him hypnotized. “how are you tighter while pregnant? is that a thing? can i google it later? because this is—jesus, baby—this is like heaven. like… like heaven wrapped in velvet wrapped in a vice grip wrapped in the greatest porn i’ve ever watched except it’s real and it’s you and it’s mine.”

he kisses your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts that’s grown fuller over the last few weeks—his obsession. he talks to them like they’re separate beings. he’s lost his mind and he’s made peace with it.

“gonna feed our baby with these,” he mutters, latching onto one nipple like it’s instinct, groaning like the taste of your skin alone could make him cum. “gonna wake up at 3am to help you, promise, swear to god. but only if i get to do this first. every night. every fucking night, sweetheart.”

you whimper, and it makes his whole body stutter, hips rocking deeper, harder, like your sound gives him permission to lose rhythm entirely.

“there it is,” he grins, breathless and boyish, completely wrecked and stupid and so very in love. “that’s the sound. the one that says i’m the best dick you’ve ever had. right? right, baby? tell me. tell me i’m better than anyone you’ve ever let near this sweet pussy.”

you moan, back arching. he whines, literally whines, like your approval is the only thing keeping him alive.

“please—please just say it. tell me i’m your favorite. tell me this cock is your favorite. tell me i ruined you for other men. tell me you forgot what it feels like to walk straight.”

you grab his face and pull him down to kiss you, hard, messy, open-mouthed and wet, your teeth knocking a little and your breath catching when he grinds into that exact spot inside you that makes you cry out his name again, and he groans, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, yes. that’s it, baby. say it again—no, scream it, moan it, tattoo it into my brain. god, i’m so fucking obsessed with you. you don’t even know. you don’t. i think about you 24/7. i check your pregnancy tracker app more than you do. i’m unwell. i’m feral.”

his hips move faster, deeper now, but not rough—he still holds your body like it’s made of glass, one hand bracing under your lower back to tilt your hips just right, the other rubbing slow, firm circles over your clit like he’s trying to make you finish before him and prove a point.

“wanna cum in you again,” he growls against your throat, “wanna fill you up more even though you’re already pregnant, like my dumb caveman brain doesn’t understand we already did it. it just wants to do it again, because it likes you like this. likes you glowing, round, leaking—fuck, baby, you’re leaking, i’m gonna go insane—”

“satoru,” you gasp, fingernails digging into his shoulder as your thighs start to tremble, “satoru, i—i’m gonna—”

“yes,” he hisses, pace erratic now, “do it, do it, cum on this cock, make it tight, milk me, baby, do it so good i forget my own damn name—”

you shatter under him with a cry that hits the ceiling, your body pulsing around him so hard he lets out a strangled noise, like he’s not sure if it’s a moan or a sob or both.

he falls apart seconds later, buried deep, coming with a broken gasp of your name and a string of barely intelligible worship like “so good, so pretty, made for me, mine, mine, mine” until he finally collapses onto your chest, heart racing, sweat-slick, and completely, utterly gone.

a long beat of silence passes.

“…you good?” you murmur, stroking his hair.

he doesn’t move. just groans into your neck like he might cry.

“i think i left my soul in your pussy.”

you laugh.

“i’m serious,” he says, lifting his head with that wild, disheveled, utterly sexed-out look he wears so well. “if you don’t name our baby after this pussy i’m gonna be personally offended.”

“you want me to name our child… pussy satoru gojo?”

“well, i mean—middle name at least. or like a secret codename. for the groupchat.”

you sigh, rolling your eyes.

he grins like you’ve just married him.

“love you, baby. love you so much. let’s do it again in like fifteen minutes. or five. i’m stupid. i make bad decisions.”

“clearly.”

“i would literally die if you asked.”

“…fine.”

“i’m naming the second one ‘round two.’”

GETO SUGURU

“you know what you do to me?” geto growls into your mouth, lips slick from kissing, voice thick like smoke and syrup as he thrusts into you again—deep, slow, brutal. “you fuckin’ know what this pussy’s done to me, baby?”

you gasp—louder than you mean to, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around his hips, nails clawing down his shoulders because there’s no logic in your body right now, just raw sensation. he laughs—a dark, low, chest-rumbling sound—and grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, not hard, just enough to keep you right there.

“oh, don’t go dumb on me now,” he coos, filthy and fond and absolutely feral. “we’re just gettin’ started, sweet thing. gotta give me that voice, yeah? lemme hear what my good girl sounds like when she’s pregnant and cockdrunk.”

you whimper, and he moans, like your breath is enough to push him right over the edge.

“that’s it,” he hisses, licking the corner of your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “fuck. fuck, you’re so good like this. all fucked out, all round and soft and warm for me—jesus, this body? i could live inside you. no house. no job. just this pussy, twenty-four-seven. put me on your goddamn lease.”

his hips snap forward hard, and the sound your body makes when he hits bottom is wet, obscene, absolutely unholy.

“listen to that,” he pants, dragging your leg higher over his shoulder, splitting you open wider. “god, you’re so fucking wet, baby—like you like when i fuck you like this. like you want me to ruin you. knock you up again, even though you’re already full.”

he palms your belly—his belly, really—with one big, gentle hand, cupping the firm swell like it’s the most sacred thing in the world. his thumb moves in lazy circles as he rocks into you, slower now, deeper, pressing against every spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“you’re everything,” he says, softer now, reverent in the worst way, like he’s praying to the altar of your body while rearranging your insides. “everything. this body—fuck. your tits are bigger. hips too. got this glow, baby, you know that? like you were made to carry me. to take me. to breed for me.”

you clench around him so hard he stutters, eyes going wide, mouth falling open.

“oh fuck—fuck,” he moans, suddenly undone. “you like that? yeah? you like when i talk about putting a ring on this pussy? you like hearing how ruined i am for you?”

you nod, frantic and breathless, and he kisses you hard—sloppy and hungry—before dragging his lips down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“gonna cum inside,” he growls against your skin. “gonna stuff you full and hold it in with my cock. keep it there. make sure every drop stays in, yeah?”

“suguru—” you cry, already close, voice breaking on his name like it’s the only thing you know anymore.

he fucking shudders.

“say it again,” he gasps. “say my name while i fill you up. say it like you want it.”

“suguru, suguru, i—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“yeah, baby,” he moans, gripping your hips, thrusts rougher now, faster. “cum on it. cum on this dick, show me how good i fucked you, lemme feel this pussy milk me dry—”

you tighten, legs locking around him, and then you're gone—clenching, shaking, falling apart under him while he watches you unravel with this fucking look on his face like you’re a miracle and a sin and the only thing that matters.

he cums right after, hips jerking as he empties into you with a loud, broken sound, like he’s dying and being reborn at the same time.

you nod, dazed. “you’re insane.”

for a long moment, all you hear is your heart racing and his breath—harsh, warm, uneven—ghosting across your skin. then, soft, “you okay?” he whispers, stroking your thigh, still inside you, not even thinking about moving yet.

“mhm,” he grins, kissing your temple. “insane for you. and for that pussy.”

you slap his chest halfheartedly.

he just laughs, still deep in you, still hardening again.

“round two?” he murmurs, voice all wicked sweetness. “or you want me to eat you ‘til you cry first?”

NANAMI KENTO

“i can be patient,” nanami grits out from behind you, voice low and sharp like he’s holding himself together with string and sheer willpower. “i can be—gentle.”

you’re on your side, belly cradled by soft pillows, one leg bent forward over his thigh as he moves behind you, slowly rocking into you like he’s afraid you’ll break if he goes too hard—like he doesn’t already know how filthy you get for him when he’s trying to behave.

and he’s trying. god, he is. his hand’s on your hip, warm and steady. the other one cups under your belly, like he’s shielding you even as he’s pushing deep, deep into you from behind.

“you’re doing so well,” he murmurs, voice hoarse and reverent, brushing kisses to your shoulder. “i don’t want to hurt you. i want to take care of you. i want to make you feel good, not—”

you moan.

just a little. just a soft, breathy “kento—” as your fingers grip the sheets and your hips push back into him.

and that’s it.

the last thread of his control snaps.

he groans—growls, almost—and suddenly he’s pressing forward harder, deeper, his breath catching as he ruts into you like he’s been holding back for weeks.

“fuck,” he grits, forehead pressed to your back. “you’re so goddamn warm. too soft. too tight. i can’t—I’m trying to—shit—”

his grip on your hip tightens, dragging you back against him with every thrust now, and his hand slides from under your belly to your thigh, hiking your leg higher over his hip so he can push in even deeper.

“you feel that?” he groans into your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “feel how deep i am, sweetheart? god—i can’t be gentle when you sound like that. when you feel like this.”

you whimper, back arching, and he moans again—louder this time, raw and low and completely undone.

“you’re perfect,” he pants, hips snapping faster. “everything about you. this body—this sweet, wet little cunt—fuck, it’s made for me. even pregnant, you take me so well. better than anyone ever has.”

you choke on a moan and he presses his palm to your belly again, as if the feel of it grounds him.

“i think about you all day,” he confesses, fucking into you now with slow, brutal depth. “about this. about how you sound. about how you feel when i’m inside you, tight and hot and fluttering like you’re made to be full.”

he kisses your shoulder, your neck, his other hand sliding between your legs to find your clit—slow, careful, precise.

“come for me,” he whispers, mouth right against your ear, filthy and tender all at once. “come around me while i’m deep inside you. show me how good i make you feel.”

and you do—shaking, moaning, gasping his name like it’s the only thing you know, and he follows with a desperate groan, spilling into you so deep you feel the warmth spread through your belly, his body trembling against yours.

after, he doesn’t move. just stays inside you, one hand over your womb, the other tangled with yours in the sheets.

“…i was trying to be gentle,” he says quietly, embarrassed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

you hum, sated. “you tried.”

he sighs. “i’ll try again tomorrow.”

pause.

“after round two.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“slow,” toji murmurs, his big hands gripping your hips just barely, letting you grind down on him with shaky control, his cock sheathed inside you and twitching like it’s barely surviving this torture. “take your time, baby. i’m good. i’m—fuck—i’m fine.”

he is not fine.

he’s seated on the couch, thighs spread wide, muscles tense as hell under your legs, back arched ever so slightly, jaw tight. you’re four months pregnant, round and glowing and gorgeous, your belly pressing against his abs as you roll your hips slow and sweet—just like he asked for. like he said he wanted.

and he’s dying.

“look at you,” he groans, eyes glued to the way you take him. “ridin’ me so good. so pretty. so fuckin’ wet. you were always tight, but now? now you’re perfect.”

your hands are on his shoulders, clinging. your breath catches every time your body takes him deeper, and he feels it—feels how warm you are, how your walls squeeze around him like you don’t want him to leave. it’s driving him insane.

“you said slow,” you remind him, voice breaking with a whimper as your rhythm falters.

and that’s his breaking point.

because your voice? shaking, breathless, wanting?

it wrecks him.

“fuck that,” toji snarls suddenly, surging forward, arms wrapping around your back and pulling you flush to his chest. “nah. no. fuck slow. i can’t. you sound like that, and expect me to wait? you’re outta your mind.”

he lifts his hips, thrusting up into you so hard your mouth drops open in a silent moan, hands scrambling for his chest as he sets a brutal pace from underneath.

“you wanted gentle?” he growls against your throat, licking and biting at your skin while he pistons into you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “you’re riding me, baby. i’m not gonna sit here like some saint while this tight fuckin’ pussy squeezes the life outta me.”

you cry out, and he grins, savage and wild and in love with the way your face goes all slack and overwhelmed.

“that’s it,” he pants, one hand gripping your ass, the other sliding between your bodies to rub tight, fast circles over your clit. “gimme that look. gimme those sounds. lemme hear how good i’m fucking my pregnant girl.”

you whine his name, and he loses it.

“say it again,” he groans. “fuckin’ say it, baby. tell me who put this baby in you.”

“you,” you cry, clinging to him, “you did—”

“damn right i did,” he growls, pounding up into you, your belly bouncing slightly between your bodies with each thrust, “and i’ll do it again. and again. keep you pregnant. keep you full. keep you so cockdrunk you forget how to fucking walk.”

your orgasm hits you like a lightning bolt, your whole body spasming in his lap, and he catches you with a moan of pure worship, holding you tight as you milk every drop of his release from him.

“shit, baby,” he pants, hips twitching. “you were made for this. made to take me. made to carry me.”

he collapses back against the couch, pulling you with him, still inside you, cradling your body in his massive arms.

a beat of silence.

“that was you being gentle?” you ask, breathless.

he shrugs, smug. “i didn’t bend you over. that counts.”

you groan.

he kisses your shoulder and mutters, “round two, though? i’m not holdin’ back.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“slow,” he grits out, jaw clenched, breath shaking as he presses his hips flush to your ass, thick cock buried deep and throbbing inside your soaking heat. “we’re going slow, sweetheart. we’re taking our time. i’m not gonna break you.”

he says that, but his hands are already digging into your thighs, thumbs pressed to the crease between your cheeks and your legs like he’s trying to brand you with his grip. you’re four months pregnant, hips rounder, belly starting to show—and you’re on all fours, arms trembling, moaning into the pillow with every slow, too-deep roll of his hips.

“you good?” he mutters, pretending to breathe through it like he’s not the one seconds from blacking out. “you okay, baby?”

you nod, gasping, “yes—yes, ‘kuna—feels so good—”

and that breaks him.

“fuckin’—shit,” he growls, slamming into you with a sharp, wet slap, and you cry out, head dropping, body jolting forward from the force. “don’t say my name like that. don’t moan for me like that and expect me to stay sane.”

he grips your hips hard, pulling you back into every brutal thrust now, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room.

“you were made for this,” he snarls, staring down at the way your body takes him, slick and tight and fluttering around him like you like being used. “look at this greedy little cunt. fuckin’ dripping. goddamn soaking me. you like getting fucked with my baby in you, huh?”

you sob out a moan, and his grin turns feral.

“you want me gentle?” he pants, fucking into you so hard your thighs shake. “or you want me to fuck you like i own you?”

you can’t even answer. you’re too wrecked already, too full, too overwhelmed by the pressure and heat and the way he hits that deep spot inside you like he knows exactly what it does.

“that’s what i thought,” he hisses. “fuckin’ moaning like you need it rough. like you need me to snap. you want it, don’t you? want to be fucked so hard you forget where you are. want to feel me dripping outta you all day like a good little cumdump.”

his hand snakes around your waist, palm spreading over your bump, possessive and so wrong and reverent all at once.

“this?” he mutters, low and filthy in your ear as he leans over your back, “this is mine. you’re mine. and this pussy? fuck, this pussy’s the tightest shit i’ve ever had. i could stay buried in you for hours. days.”

your legs buckle as your orgasm builds, loud and fast and impossible to stop. he feels it.

“there it is,” he growls, fucking into you harder, faster, punishing. “you’re close, huh? gonna cream around me like the perfect little thing you are? let me feel it. let me feel you lose it.”

you shatter—screaming, shaking, convulsing around his cock—and sukuna doesn’t slow down. he snarls, slams into you one last time, and groans as he cums deep, spilling inside you with a raw, broken moan like he’s being torn apart.

he stays there—buried, panting, shaking, his chest pressed to your back, both hands cradling your belly now like he’s apologizing with touch.

then:

“…i was trying to behave,” he mutters, voice raspy, and you wheeze out a laugh.

“you said ‘slow’ and then folded in thirty seconds.”

“yeah, well,” he grins, cock still twitching inside you, “you were moaning. that’s cheating.”

he kisses your shoulder, pulls out with a groan, and watches his cum spill from you with the most self-satisfied, absolutely feral look you’ve ever seen.

“round two’s gonna be worse,” he promises.

“worse how?”

“i’m not gonna pretend to be nice next time.”

SHIU KONG

“you feel that, mama?” shiu murmurs low, breath thick with smoke as he exhales slowly, cock buried deep inside you from behind, dragging it out slow just to watch your legs shake. “feel how this pussy keeps suckin’ me back in? like she misses me every time i pull out.”

your cheek’s pressed to the desk, fingers curled around the edge, thighs trembling. you try to say something—but he thrusts back in, sharp and deep, and your words turn into a soft, broken moan.

“fuck, yeah,” he grins, watching the way your back arches. “that’s my good girl. takin’ it like a champ even with my baby in your belly. still greedy. still so tight. you got no shame, huh? gettin’ fucked over my desk like this?”

you whimper, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter, his tone dropping deeper.

“god, look at you. four months pregnant and still so fuckin’ sexy. makin’ me obsessed. makin’ me stupid. you know what it does to me when you walk around like this, belly all round, tits all full, smellin’ like sweat and sweetness and mine?”

he grinds his hips forward again, harder now, making your body jolt. you moan his name, voice wrecked, and he smirks around his cigarette.

“there we go,” he breathes. “that’s it, mama. keep callin’ me like that. makes me wanna knock you up all over again, see how many times i can stretch this body before you break.”

he pulls out halfway and slams back in, deep and deliberate, the desk creaking beneath you. you gasp, and his hand slides down your spine, warm and heavy, keeping you flat against the desk.

“y’know,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he fucks you in slow, ruthless strokes, “i tell myself every time i’ll go easy on you. that i’ll be nice, treat my baby mama with respect.”

he laughs, low and wrecked.

“and then you bend over like this, ass up, pussy drippin’ down your thighs, beggin’ for it—an’ suddenly i’m back to being a filthy fuck who can’t stop.”

you cry out as his hips slam into you again, and he moans—loud and shameless.

“you feel that, mama?” he pants. “that’s my cock hitting the back of your fuckin’ throat from the wrong direction. you’re so full right now—goddamn, i can feel you pulse.”

his hand slips down, two fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your knees buckle.

“c’mon, baby,” he urges, voice hoarse and wrecked, “give it to me. let this cock ruin you. let daddy hear how good he’s fuckin’ his perfect little mama.”

you cum with a cry, clenching around him so hard he curses, nearly drops the cigarette, and loses rhythm entirely as he groans, slamming into you once, twice, again—before burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a rough, filthy moan of your name.

he stays there, panting, one hand on your belly, the other sliding up your back to your neck, grounding you both.

then—

“...we’re doin’ this again after you nap,” he mutters, pulling his cigarette back between his lips, grinning like a devil. “mama needs to be real full tonight.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

“that’s it, mama,” higuruma groans, voice low and rough as he presses deep into you, eyes locked on the curve of your stomach where your bodies meet, “just like that. let me in. let me make you feel good.”

your thighs tremble where they rest on his shoulders, and he tightens his grip around your ankles, palms warm and broad, grounding you as he starts to move—slow at first, like he’s savoring every inch of you, every slick drag of your walls squeezing him in.

“fuck,” he breathes, watching your face contort as you gasp, “you’re so tight. how are you still this tight, mama? this pussy was made to milk me.”

you whimper, one hand cradling your belly, the other tangled in the sheets as he rocks into you with long, deep strokes. your bump rises slightly with every thrust, your body pliant and flushed and already soaked from the way he touched you before this even started.

and he adores it.

he adores you.

“look at you,” he mutters, pace growing faster without meaning to, “legs up, belly out, takin’ my cock like a good mama. my perfect mama.”

you moan his name—ragged and helpless—and his eyes darken, hips snapping harder.

“that’s it,” he growls, leaning in until your knees are almost beside your head, his cock reaching so deep now. “say it again. let me hear how good i fuck my mama.”

“hiromi,” you gasp, back arching, “feels so good—too deep—”

he groans—loud, wrecked—and fucks into you harder.

“you can take it,” he hisses, lips grazing your ear, “you’re so strong, baby. carrying our child, takin’ this dick like it’s yours—‘cause it is. this cock belongs to you. every part of me does.”

your eyes roll back as he slams into that perfect spot inside you, over and over, his pace no longer controlled—he’s feral, now, panting and moaning, eyes flicking down to where you’re stretched open around him, cum-slick and pulsing.

“gonna fill you up again,” he whispers, reverent and wild all at once. “stuff you full, even though you’re already carrying mine. fuck, mama—this pussy needs it. she’s beggin’ for it.”

you’re trembling, legs shaking against his shoulders, and he grabs under your knees, folding you further, giving you nowhere to go—just take it, every inch, every praise-dripping thrust.

“cum for me,” he commands, rough and soft all at once. “cum with me inside. let me feel you. let me feel how good this pussy knows her man.”

you cry out as your orgasm hits, tightening around him like a vice, and his whole body shudders.

he groans your name, hips jerking, and spills inside you with a low, desperate moan.

“fuck, mama—fuck. you’re everything.”

he stays buried for a long moment, breathing hard, watching your body twitch beneath him—flushed, used, loved—and then lowers your legs gently, kissing your knees, your belly, your lips.

“did so well,” he whispers. “my mama’s so good for me.”

you hum sleepily, still dazed. “you went crazy.”

he smiles, brushing your hair back from your face.

“i am crazy,” he says, kissing your forehead, “for you.”

[satori-runa]

—Come and love me

Summary: Mr.Crawling has different ways to love you.

Tags: Smut, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Body Worship, Mutual Mastubation, Female reader, fluff, Spoilers for ENDING 04

Words: 1,8k

MDNI, ADULT CONTENT UNDER CUT

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mr. Crawling is someone who craves the comfort of human touch, but he’s always considerate of your boundaries. No matter how much he yearns for affection, he puts your comfort first, often suppressing his own desires to ensure you’re at ease.

Still, he can’t help but get a bit whiny when you return after a long day outside. On the days when you ask him to stay home, he becomes lonely and restless, waiting impatiently for you. He often lies on your bed with his head nestled on your pillow, inhaling your scent to soothe himself until he hears your footsteps approaching the front door.

The moment you step inside and praise him for being well-behaved, he lights up completely. Mr. Crawling has a serious praise kink, and it’s evident. Mr. Crawling is practically addicted to your praise; it’s like his own personal drug. The second you open your mouth and let a sweet, honeyed word slip out, he’s already trembling with delight. He reacts instantly, a visible shiver of pleasure rolling through his body, mouth going wide as he drinks in every syllable. It’s not just about the words themselves but the way you say them—soft and genuine, like you really mean it. It makes him feel so loved, so needed.

He can’t hide how badly he wants it, how desperate he is for your approval. Even the smallest bit of praise, like a simple "Good boy," can have him biting his lip, his breath hitching as if you’ve touched him in the most intimate way. The effect is almost comical; his face flushes, and he looks like he’s on cloud nine, squirming slightly like he can’t quite contain himself. He craves it so deeply that he actively seeks it out, doing whatever he can to earn your compliments. Of course he deserves a treat for his good behavior.

The treat he prefers most is one he chose himself. Nothing satisfies him more than when you settle into his lap and cockwarm him, taking him by surprise as you sink down onto his length. The sudden feeling of you enveloping him never fails to draw out a choked gasp, his hips twitching up instinctively as he tries to control himself. He loves this position more than anything—the closeness, the intimacy of it. He holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his arms wrapped tightly around you, clinging as if you might slip away if he lets go. He’s reluctant to release you unless you explicitly ask him to; he’d keep you there forever if he could.

He savors the way your body fits perfectly against his, the softness of your skin against his cooler touch. He buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent, his lips grazing your pulse as he shudders at the feeling of your warmth surrounding his cock.

He tries so hard to stay still, knowing you need this quiet moment of comfort, but it’s almost impossible for him. His hips shift ever so slightly, his cock throbbing inside you, and he can’t help the tiny, desperate movements he makes, even if they’re unintentional.

He can’t keep his hands to himself either. His fingers are restless, wandering across your body like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. He takes moments to worship you, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your shoulders, any spot he can reach. His kisses are soft but hungry, lips parting as he drags his tongue over your skin, tasting the salt of your sweat. He lets out a needy, broken moan as his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He’s inexperienced, a little clumsy with his movements, but the eagerness behind it is undeniable. He’s trying so hard to make you feel good, his breath coming out in hot, ragged pants as he watches your reactions intently.

It’s not always sexual, at least not in the way he intends. Sometimes he just wants to feel you, to savor the heat of your body pressed against his, to revel in the way your warmth spreads through him. He loves the sensation of your skin against his own, the soft give of your flesh under his fingertips. But he can’t help himself; even when he’s just trying to hold you, he ends up teasing you without realizing it. His hips roll up slightly, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your chest. He’s so sensitive, so easily overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him, that every little movement you make drives him wild.

He’s not practiced or skilled, and it shows in the way he fumbles, his touches uncoordinated but full of raw desire. He pinches your nipples a little too hard, a whimper escaping his lips when he realizes it, but instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, mouthing at the swell of your breast like he’s making up for it. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he struggles to keep himself from thrusting up into you. It’s like he can’t decide if he wants to savor the moment or chase after more, and it leaves him caught in this desperate, needy place that only you can pull him out of.

When it comes to mutual masturbation, it’s a different kind of intimacy, one that he’s hesitant about at first but quickly grows to crave. He hates touching himself when he’s alone, but with you, it’s different. You’re right there with him, your hand entwined with his, guiding him through the motions. He watches you, excited and breathless, his own hand trembling as he mirrors your movements. There’s something incredibly intimate about the way you both touch yourselves together, a shared vulnerability that makes his heart race.

He loves it when you talk to him through it, whispering sweet nothings, telling him how good he looks, how well he’s doing. It makes the experience bearable—no, more than that—it makes it beautiful. He’s not embarrassed when he’s with you: he’s not self-conscious or insecure. He’s just caught up in the moment, in the way your bodies move together, the way your breath hitches and syncs up with his.

When your hand finds his, coaxing him to stroke himself while you do the same, he whimpers softly, his fingers twitching against your palm. It’s overwhelming for him, the sensation of his own touch combined with the sight of you doing the same. He can’t stop himself from moaning, a needy, broken sound that escapes his lips as he watches you, completely captivated by the sight. "Me like you." You might whisper, and it takes everything in him to comply, the combination of your voice and your gaze making his whole body tremble.

You can tell how much he loves it by the way he leans into you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he touches himself with your guidance, whimpering in between. He’s panting, mouth open, like he’s too lost in the pleasure to look at anything else. The moment you reach out and wrap your hand around his, helping him stroke himself, he lets out a desperate moan, his entire body shivering as he clutches onto you. He’s a mess, but he’s your mess, completely undone by the shared pleasure and the feeling of your touch.

Mr. Crawling can be so eager when it comes to pleasuring you in return, that it borders on frantic. He doesn’t always take his time—sometimes, when he’s overwhelmed with excitement and craving you desperately, all of his usual patience flies out the window. He’ll drop between your legs, pulling you closer with a roughness that’s uncharacteristic for him, but it’s not out of aggression: it’s pure, unfiltered need. His hands are trembling as they grip your thighs, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. He’s already panting, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, and it makes him that much more impatient.

He dives in without hesitation, his mouth pressing against you hungrily, almost clumsily, as if he can’t bear to wait a second longer. His tongue flicks out, sloppy and uncoordinated at first, but it’s the urgency behind it that makes it so intoxicating. He’s lapping at you like a man starved, the sounds he makes—soft whimpers and desperate groans—filling the room. He’s inexperienced, but there’s something endearing about the way he tries so hard, so eager to please you even if he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing. He’s guided more by instinct than skill, following your reactions like they’re the only thing that matters.

He keeps glancing up at you, his face excited and yet almost pleading, as if he’s searching for reassurance that he’s doing it right. When he sees your pleasure written across your face, it only spurs him on. He loses himself in it, licking at you with a feverish intensity that makes it clear just how badly he needs this. He doesn’t bother with precision: he’s messy, licking you with broad, hurried strokes, his lips sucking at your clit with a desperate fervor. He moans into you, the vibrations sending little shocks of pleasure through your body, and you can tell he’s getting off on this as much as you are.

His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, like he’s afraid you might pull away. He’s whimpering into you, his tongue moving erratically, like he’s trying everything at once, too caught up in his own excitement to settle into any kind of rhythm. It’s overwhelming for him—the taste of you, the feel of your skin under his hands, the sounds you make when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. He’s panting between licks, his mouth never straying far from you, desperate to keep going even when he’s gasping for breath.

He’s a little too rough at times, sucking at your clit with a bit too much pressure, but the enthusiasm in his actions makes it hard to fault him for it. He’s learning from your reactions, his own inexperience showing through in the way he fumbles a bit, but it only adds to the intensity of the moment. When you tug on his hair, moaning out his name, he practically whines, grinding his face into you with renewed fervor. He’s almost overwhelmed by his own need, licking and sucking like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you with his mouth.

If you try to guide him, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging gently to slow him down, he lets out a frustrated, needy sound, shaking his head as if to tell you he doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to pace himself. He’s too lost in the moment, too eager to please, to care about taking his time. He’s devouring you like he’s afraid this is his only chance, like he’s desperate to prove how much he wants you, how much he loves being here, between your legs, giving you everything he can.

.