#tile shower base

[simonz-angel]

shower time w/ simon n his pretty lil roommate

water beats down at his shoulders, scorching drops pelting down the arch of his arms, down the rippling muscles of his chest. soap lingers on his skin as his hand words quick strokes over his cock, head falling back to let water run through his hair and over his flushed face.

on the other side of the shower curtain there you are, he can barely see the silhouette of your body, can barely make out the soft of your voice. but fuckkkk the mere outline of your plush curves had him in some fuckin trance.

“ugh, i still don’t understand why they couldn’t just come over and watch a movie with us.” you’re speaking of your friends, painting your lips in a cherry, explosive red as you get ready to go out to the bar together. but simon couldn’t focus on anything except the emphasis of us. good god.

he presses his free hand to the striking cold shower tiles, lip stung between his teeth as he chokes back his guttural noises. his stomach rising, flexing and pulling back suddenly taut against his organs, breath ragged.

“si?” you chirp, and he can hear the click of your heels at the edge of the curtain. he can see the slightly sliver of your soft, thick legs. fuck fuck fuck. “would you tell me if i look good in this.”

and he abides, folding his back to the shower wall, hips reeled forward to keep working his hand. and when the beads of water strike his cock, he’s in shambles, jaw dropping and eyes rolling, barely concealing his reaction when his neck rolls and his head hits the cool tile.

his eyes scan you, your sweet dress cuts down into your breasts, accentuating em in a way that they spill into his face. it cuts into the plush of your waist, silhouetting your figure sweetly. and when his eyes drop to your legs, his cock spurts.

“so?” you giggle, giving him a lil spin, before you’re popping a hip in question. “how do i look?”

and simon chuckles to himself, pulling his lip between his teeth to hide the whimper that works itself up his goddamn throat.

“y-you look beautiful, babe.” he chokes slightly, desperate to lick the tang of your red lip off, to have it ringed round the base of him. n his head rolls back, low eyes looking down your dress as he mumbles, “one more spin for me?”

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ “ONE’S IN MY THROAT, ONE’S IN MY SOUL”

✩ ˛˚ . Tw - Nanami x reader x Toji, established poly relationship, shower sex. Not proofread.

The hot spray of the shower beats down on your back, but it didn’t do a single thing to soothe the ache in your muscles. Nanami’s hips were slapping into you from behind, gentle but still aggressive— keeping your spine arched and your toes barely brushing the tile because of him. He held you up so easily, thick hands cupping your waist like he’d molded you just for this.

“Doing so well, my love,” he murmured, nudging the head of his cock deeper into your slick heat, stretching you with the slow, measured rolls of his hips. “Taking me so good. Just like that”.

Toji is in front of you, one fist tangled in your wet hair, the other braced on the fogged-up tile. His cock was thick and mean in your mouth, leaky tip bumping your throat each time he shoved forward, groaning through gritted teeth like he was mad at you for how good it felt.

He didn’t care about easing you in— he used your throat like he fucking owned it like it was only ever made for him and his cock.

“You hear that, huh?” he sneered, grinding his hips forward until your nose bumped his pelvis. Your eyes watered. “He’s talking to you like you’re some sweet little angel, meanwhile your fucking mouth’s choking on my cock”.

Nanami groaned behind you, soft but strained. “Toji—”

“What?” Toji shot back, keeping your head pinned tight with his strong grip as his abs flexed. “She loves it. She’s making those pathetic noises, clenching around you like a horny little slut. Don’t pretend she’s not”.

You whimpered, your fingers scrabbling weakly against Toji’s muscled thigh for some type of purchase. Nanami’s cock dragged slowly and deep inside you, soothing the sting of Toji’s cruelty with every patient thrust. His thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, voice reverent. “Let him be mean. You’re doing amazing”

Toji clicked his tongue and pulled out just enough for you to gasp, then shoved back in roughly with a deep laugh. “Yeah, you like it when I treat you like a toy, huh? Fucking greedy mouth. Always acting shy around me, then sucking my dick like this”.

Nanami was losing rhythm now, his own control losing with the way you tightened around him. He slid a hand between your soft thighs, fingers finding your puffy clit and circling with gentle pressure that made your legs twitch.

“Cum for us, darling,” he breathed. “We’ll take good care of you”.

Toji scoffed, panting with sweat beading at his temple even with the water pouring down. “Nah, don’t let her yet. Wanna feel her throat get tighter when she’s desperate— yeah, just like that. Look at her, Kento. Shit, look at that fucking face”.

Warm tears streamed from your eyes as Toji pushed back in, groaning while your throat squeezed around him. Nanami is fucking you deeper and harder now, big hands tightening on your hip with desperation.

“Good girl,” Nanami whispered. “You’re so good to us”.

Toji growled. “She’s a fucking mess. Ruined and sloppy. Just the way I like her”.

Your knees finally buckled. You can already tell that Kento is closed based on how harder he’s fucking you now, he’s usually gentle but when he’s close— his pace quickly increases, and ends up fucking you stupid with mean thrusts.

Nanami caught you before you could slip, keeping you lifted on his girthy cock with one arm under your belly, fingers still playing with your throbbing clit. His rhythm had turned punishing now, thrusts slamming up into you like he’d lost his patience with gentleness.

“She’s close,” he warned lowly, breath hitching with loud groans.

“Course she is,” Toji snapped, pulling his cock free from your mouth, letting it slap against your spit-slick lips. You gasped for air, lips swollen, drool mixed with precum dripping down your chin. “Look at her, fucking crying for it”.

He grabbed your jaw in his hand, squeezing until your cheeks puffed as he stared down at you like a predator. “Beg”.

Your voice was hoarse and whimpery. “P-please!”

“Toji,” Nanami said sharply, but there was a desperate edge in his voice now, as if he was warning him. He was close. They both were.

Toji ignored him. “Tell us whose fucking holes we’re in”.

“Y-yours,” you cried out, tears mixing with the shower water. “Yours—Toji’s mouth, Nanami’s cock—yours, all yours, please—!”

Toji grinned. “Fucking right they are”.

He shoved back into your mouth without warning, fucking your face while Nanami shoved his dick in deep and held it there, grinding hard against your fluttery walls while his tip massages your g-spot. The stretch was unbearable. You weren’t even moving anymore— they were just using you, pushing into you from both ends, chasing their own highs while your body trembled between them.

“Cum for us,” Nanami whispered to you, “Don’t hold back, baby. Let it happen”.

He pinched your clit and rubbed you just right— you couldn’t hold it anymore.

Your whole body clenched up, spasming on his throbbing cock as you came with a cry that got swallowed by Toji’s desperate thrusts. Your thighs shook violently, hands flailing to hold onto anything, but you were suspended— Nanami keeping you up and secured, Toji controlling your head, both of them fucking you through it like you were just a vessel.

“That’s it,” Toji growled, voice husky and rough. “Fucking made for this”.

Nanami gasped, his grip tightening. “I’m—fuck!—I’m going to—”

He came deep inside you, hot and thick load cramming into your poor cunt, he moaned as his head falls back and kept you stuffed on his cock. You felt it, the warmth of it, and the slow pulse of each spurt. It immediately set something off in Toji.

“You better fucking swallow,” he warned you, then shoved his shaft all the way into your mouth and came down your throat, voice breaking with a harsh grunt. “Swallow it, fucking brat— there you go, good little mouth”.

They stayed there for a moment, panting hard with your body limp and used between them.

Nanami finally eased out, hands gentle as he turned you in his arms, letting the water rinse you off. He kissed your forehead, his lips soft and comforting.

“You did so well,” he murmured. “I’ve got you”.

Toji stood back, watching you both with his arms crossed and his chest heaving. His expression was blank for a moment until he reached out, his hard knuckles brushing your cheek.

“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” he muttered, almost smug. “Good”.

Nanami just smiled, pulling you tighter against his wet chest. “We’ll take care of her”.

And they did.

Wrapped you up in towels and warm hands with soft kisses and whispered praise until the next time they decided to ruin you again. (Tonight)

[pierisim]

Hello hello! 

Here is the last part of Stefan's apartment! You will have 28 new items to create the perfect bathroom. There is a lit of clutter and new tiles for the wall and the floor, that you will be able to mix and macth!

I wish you a very good week-end ! 💚

You can find the items by searching for STEFAN or Pierisim in game.

Some items share the same textures so make sure to have the packages finishing by "texture" in your mod folder :)

All base game compatible, except for the shower that requires Discover University.

unmerged and merged version available.

public release: 6th of June

DOWNLOAD

[satoblue]

“HOME SMELLS LIKE YOU” — gojo satoru

before your pregnancy, you couldn’t stand the stench of your husband’s sweat. but now that you’re six months pregnant and satoru’s away — you can’t help but become obsessed with it. | wc: 2.7k

MDNI, f!reader, pregnancy pervert satoru (?), established relationship (married), pregnancy, no p in v but f!receiving oral, pet names, lots and lots of banter, you like to smell his hairy sweaty pits, you also sniff his socks bc you miss him, satoru is stinky, he is so gross ugh (he’s a BOY), based on this talk post of mine. | dividers made by me (it’s the gojo head from the japanese gojo tag on twt/X)

You had always hated the smell of Satoru’s socks.

Loathed it — in fact.

The way they’d be flung around your home like stink bombs the second he walked through the door — once even in the kitchen — used to make your blood boil.

His bag would land on the floor with a thud, announcing his presence. His jacket would fall next to the coat rack (never on it).

And the socks? Oh, the socks would make an unwelcome appearance soon enough.

“Gojo Satoru!” You would hiss his full name, your hands on your hips. “I am not picking those up!”

To which he’d reply — smug grin intact — “But you do such a good job at it, babe.

He’ll throw a sweaty arm around your shoulder, yanking you into a hug — all six sweaty, smug feet of him — and rub his chin into your shoulder like a big dumb cat.

You’d squirm and gag — slap at his back.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly hot, right?” He’d grin, blowing a puff of hot air in your ear for good measure, making you shudder.

“Admit it, you like me filthy.”

The only time you ever tolerated his scent was when he was freshly showered and dripping in cologne. You liked him crisp — clean and citrusy, the husband who put forth his best effort for date nights and wined and dined you in rooftop restaurants.

Not the one who smelled like residual blood, sweat, and testosterone.

But now?

Well…

Now you were six months pregnant and found yourself nuzzling into his hairy armpit while he scrolled on his phone after a jog.

His shirt was still damp, his underarm was a literal swamp, and you... you had your nose pressed against it like it was the most comforting place on earth.

And you didn’t even care.

In fact, you inhaled — deeply.

And at first, you just didn’t mind his sweaty hugs.

You blamed fatigue. Pregnancy was exhausting. You just didn’t have the energy to fight him off.

Then came the subtle shift. You weren’t making him pick up his socks anymore. You’d see them on the floor and step over them. Like some kind of feral animal marking territory — and you let it happen.

Then came the kiss.

He’d gotten home from a particularly long day, clothes soaked through, and you’d leaned in.

Not just leaned in, you inhaled. Like a woman starved for her husband’s musk.

“Mm.” You hummed against his shirt.

“You smell like... you.”

Satoru blinked, surprised as he pulled back. “Is that… a compliment?”

You squeaked something about hormones and waddled away, mortified but… not that much.

And now… here you are.

Alone and standing barefoot on the cool tiles of the laundry room. Your belly is rounding out one of his old, white high school t-shirts.

And in your hand?

One of his filthy, balled up socks.

A crusty monstrosity from god knows which mission. It practically reeks of Satoru. Salty. Musky. Male.

You blink down at it.

God, this is a new low. Like — a type of thing Satoru would do type of low. You should throw it in the wash. You should burn it.

But instead…

You raise it to your nose and slowly and shamefully take a sniff.

When the notes hit your nose, you practically whimper like a pervert.

Because damn it. Damn it, it smells like Satoru. Not just the top layer of man stink, but the part underneath — that warm, grounding scent you have now come to associate with comfort and home and sex and love and—

You are going insane.

He’s been gone for three days. Three! And you miss him so much. His voice and his jokes and the stupid little dances he does behind you while brushing his teeth.

And the sock smells like him. Has that indescribable something your baby apparently adores.

“I am so weird,” you mutter aloud, laughing a little under your breath.

“I agree.”

You freeze, dropping the sock like it’s on fire.

No.

You turn slowly, cheeks going hot with mortification.

And there he is.

Standing in the doorway — hair slightly windblown, uniform clinging to his tall frame. Blindfold still on.

Gojo Satoru. Your husband. Six foot menace.

With that grin.

“You’re… home early,” you say weakly, unsure if you’re happy to see him at the moment considering.

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p,’ stepping closer into the room. He peels his blindfold up with one hand and rakes his snowy bangs back, revealing his bright blue eyes, already twinkling with mirth.

“Was gonna surprise you. Bring you some yakisoba, rub your feet, make you cry with how thoughtful I am. Real husband of the year stuff.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

“Instead, I find my beautiful wife in the laundry room, looking like a snack and sniffing my sweaty sock like she can’t get enough.” Satoru’s smile widens.

You want to die.

But your lip wobbles instead.

Damn hormones.

“I— I wasn’t— it’s not—” You suck in a breath, voice cracking and face unbelievably hot. “You’ve been gone for days, and I miss you, and everything smells weird and right and you always smell like home now and I know it’s gross but I couldn’t help it—!”

Your voice breaks, eyes filling with tears. You’re pretty sure you’re not making any sense.

The silence is instant.

But before the first droplet can even hit the floor — he’s there.

Satoru’s in front of you in an instant — either teleporting or moving faster than physics allows, it doesn’t matter. You are suddenly in his arms, and he’s cradling you like you’re made of delicate glass.

“No, no, no, baby,” he murmurs gently into your hair. “Don’t cry. Shhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry. That was mean. You’re not weird. You’re not gross. You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

You hiccup into his chest.

“You’re sweaty,” you mumble.

Satoru chuckles, chin dipping and lips brushing your hairline. “You like that now, remember?”

You sniffle, nuzzling in despite yourself. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pout adorably. “I should.”

“But you don’t.” He teases, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me. And you love my socks.”

“Stop talking.”

Satoru flashes you his classic sleazy, toothy grin paired with half lidded eyes that make your tummy flip, sliding a large hand down to cup your belly.

“I’m just saying — you’re allowed to be weird. You’re allowed to like whatever you like. I think it’s cute. Also— kinda hot?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re weird.”

“So is love.” He winks, blue eyes twinkling with innocence.

You groan and swat at his chest — but your hand stills there, breathing him in deeply.

And you don’t pull away. His scent is calming. Like home, safety — and your stupid, beautiful husband. Despite your earlier humiliation, your body relaxes completely against his.

“Do you really think I’m not gross?”

He leans back, tilting his head just enough to see your face, his hands holding your cheeks like they are the most precious thing in the world, eyes impossibly soft.

“Hey. You’re growing a whole human being in there. You could roll in my dirty laundry and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyes well up again — but this time they’re happy tears.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you whisper, voice fragile. He always knows how to break you open and fix you back together in the same breath.

He kisses the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry. You break my heart when you cry.”

You exhale shakily, melting into him.

“I missed you,” you mumble.

“I missed you more.” He tilts his head, lips ghosting over yours. “Let me make it up to you.”

“In the laundry room?”

“Hot.”

You swat him, but your grip stays firm on his shirt.

“Okay, okay,” he grins. “I’ll behave.”

But he won’t. Not really.

Satoru’s hands start to drift.

You bury your face in his neck, greedily breathing in sweat and coconut shampoo. Underneath it all is him — warm and just Satoru.

He shudders.

“Oh,” he gasps. “You are gone, huh?”

“I hate it,” you release a whiny moan, pressing kisses along his throat, and he swallows thickly — Adam’s apple bobbing. “I hate how good you smell. It’s like my body got possessed.”

He laughs, strained and rough, grip tightening around you as he tries to restrain himself from taking you like a primal animal. “Possessed by lust? I like that.”

“You’re not helping,” you breathe.

“I’m not trying to help.”

And then his hands are sliding lower — carefully — from your face, down the curve of your back — until both large, warm palms are cradling the underside of your belly.

“Shit,” he groans softly, more to himself than to you as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

His thumbs stroke over the stretched cotton of his shirt, over where the baby kicks softly beneath your skin. “You’re… so beautiful like this.”

“Satoru…”

He looks up, eyes half lidded, pupils dilated and blue eyes dark. His face is so close to your face it makes your heart jump.

Your cheeks heat once more under his stare, feeling a shiver run through you. Your cunt throbs. He hasn’t even fucked you and you can tell you’re already soaked.

“Every day,” he rasps. “I think I can’t love you more. And then you look like this — swollen with my baby, wrapped in my clothes, snorting my socks like some pervy little freak—”

You try to smack him but he catches your wrist, pecking your knuckles gently before smashing his lips roughly onto yours.

It’s a kiss of pure yearning in a way only the two of you have figured out. He kisses you like he’s been starving. Like three days away from you was three days too long.

It’s rushed. A mess of saliva combined with your whimpers and his growls as he tugs you even closer.

You gasp against his mouth.

“I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

He huffs. “Is that why you’re grinding on my thigh like that?”

And you are.

Shamelessly.

You let out a whimper as he shifts, guiding you onto the laundry counter like you weigh nothing at all.

He buries his face into the slope of your neck, taking an absurd, dramatic inhale — and lets out an exaggerated groan.

Like, obnoxiously.

“Mm. You smell good too. Sweet. Like baby powder.”

You want to laugh, but it catches in your throat when his hand slides beneath the oversized t-shirt you stole from him, caressing your bare skin until you shiver. His palm slides and finds your bare thigh, then under your swollen belly — then lower.

He pauses.

You’re absolutely soaked through your panties.

Satoru raises his eyebrows. “Baby…”

“Don’t,” you whisper, cheeks hot. “Don’t say it.”

He leans in, breath tickling your ear.

“You got this wet from sniffing my sock?”

You slap his shoulder, your voice a half laugh, half groan of embarrassment. “Shut up.”

But he just grins — filthy and boyish. The type that makes your heart skip a beat like a girl with a high school crush.

Your breath stutters in your throat, hands fisting his shirt. “Satoru…”

“I missed you,” he grunts, voice raw. “So much it made me crazy.”

You squirm, impatient. “Satoru—”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispers, soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod dumbly and feverishly, dazed.

He exhales, hard and ragged, like you just punched the air out of his lungs from simply agreeing so easily like that — so willingly.

Then his mouth is everywhere.

Trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, the upper swell of your swollen breasts.

You can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, the tight ache building higher with each hot touch.

And then he’s sinking lower.

He gets on his knees like it’s instinct — like worship — and presses his cheek to the inside of your thigh with a soft sigh.

“Hi, little troublemaker,” he speaks to the baby first, voice quiet but still cheeky. “Hope you’re not listening too closely, ‘cause Daddy’s about to be very inappropriate with Mommy.”

“Satoru!”, you scold, cheeks heating before you gasp, scandalized, as he starts lewdly sniffing the air around your clothed cunt. You try to shut your legs out of embarrassment but it’s no use against his strong grip keeping them wide open.

“You always smell this good when you miss me?” he murmurs, voice low and drunk.

You whimper, thighs twitching. “Don’t be gross.”

“You love it,” he smirks lazily, mouth brushing right against your clothed cunt. You’re soaked. He hasn’t even touched you properly and you’re already trembling for it.

He presses a gentle kiss over your panties, tongue just barely teasing through the soaked cotton and you gasp softly.

Then he peels it to the side and groans at the sight of your sticky, messy hole.

“Oh, baby…”

His blue eyes go so dark with lust they’re nearly black, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs to hold you open for him.

“I forgot how pretty your pussy gets when you’re pregnant,” he groans, voice a little bit awed. “All puffy and wet for me. Fuck. Can I taste you?”

You nod — your voice long gone — and then he’s on you. Tongue dragging a long, lazy stripe through your folds, savoring you.

You cry out, head thrown back, fingers fisting in his hair. He moans against you — deep and guttural — and the vibrations shoot straight through your core making you clench and your eyes roll back.

“Satoru—” you whimper, thighs tightening around his shoulders, and he growls in approval, arms wrapping around your hips to pull you even closer. He devours you like he’s starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that can keep him alive.

Tongue flicking against your clit in steady, practiced circles, suckling softly, then harder — until your legs are shaking and you’re grinding against his mouth with zero shame, bump hitting his head repeatedly with every motion.

Satoru shifts his angle slightly, lips sealing over your clit again while two fingers slide inside you — slow, thick, filling you perfectly.

You nearly scream.

“Oh my— fuck— Satoru—!”

“That’s it,” he coos, voice muffled by your pussy, “Just let go, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”

Your hands are everywhere — grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, the counter edge — anything to keep yourself grounded as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. It’s overwhelming, the kind that leaves your whole body buzzing.

You’re choking on a gasp, crying out his name, back arching and thighs locked around his head like a vice.

He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation — only then easing his mouth away with final kisses to your clit and then the underside of your bump.

Your panties are barely hanging on one leg, and your swollen belly rises and falls with every shaky breath you take.

Satoru wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, standing and cradling your face gently. He strokes your cheeks, brushes your hair back behind your ears, kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“You okay?” he whispers, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

You nod, still dazed. “Better than okay.”

His forehead presses to yours.

“I’ll give you a hundred foot rubs,” he promises. “Ten thousand. Just don’t ever cry because you missed me again. I’ll lose it.”

“You’re such a softie.”

“Only for you.”

“You’re still disgusting.”

He grins. “And you still love me.”

His hands return to your body like they belong there — palming your hips, your waist, your belly — like he can’t get enough of touching you.

And you can’t get enough of the man who drives you crazy and pieces you back together with the same hands that leave his socks on the floor.

Because he’s home. He’s yours.

And you love the way he smells.

Even his socks.

p.s — from that day on, satoru becomes more attentive. he starts leaving his worn shirts on your pillow, knowing it helps you sleep better. he even jokes about bottling his sweat as a perfume. you might just kill him.

[ditzyrafe]

— bsf!rafe jerking off to you in the shower

warnings — masturbation, lewd language

the spray hit rafe's shoulders, hot against his skin, chasing away the lingering chill of the early morning. water sluiced down his chest, tracing paths over the light muscles of his abdomen before disappearing lower. he tipped his head back, letting the water cascade down his lean body. but it wasn't the water filling his thoughts; it was you.

the memory of you, his best friend of ten years — your scent that he still smells on his sheets, just yesterday when he was cuddling up with you in his arms. for you, it had been a casual thing to be so intimate, not thinking anything of it. but for rafe, on the other hand, it was torture. his cock throbbing as you gently brushed against his crotch unknowingly. fuck, just thinking about it was already making him rock hard.

his hand drifted down, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of his stomach. he glanced towards the closed bathroom door, a sliver of paranoia mixing with the heady rush of arousal. empty house. just him and the image of you burned into his brain. that was enough. more than enough. his cock was already thick and heavy, twitching against his abdomen. he wrapped his hand around the length, slick skin gliding under his palm. a low groan rumbled in his chest, swallowed by the drumming water.

he imagined you there, pressed against the cool tile, water plastering your hair to your skin, eyes dark with the same need clawing at his gut. he squeezed the base, his knuckles white against his skin. the thought of your mouth… hot and wet, tracing the head, tongue flicking against the sensitive underside… it sent him in a spiral. he pumped his fist faster, mimicking the rhythm he wanted inside you, the way your hips would buck against his. "ahhh, fuck… yes."

his breath hitched, coming ragged gasps. he could almost feel your hands on him, nails digging lightly into his back, lips whispering filthy promises against his ear. the steam felt like your breath, hot and intimate against his skin. he pictured your face thrown back, mouth open in a silent 'o', taking him deeper. "just like that… take it all, baby."

his own fingers worked faster, chasing the building pressure. he slammed his free hand against the tile, hand stuttering slightly. his hips jerked forward instinctively with each weak stroke, driving his cock into his fist at the vision of you in his head. "god, i bet you'd feel so good."

even the memory, the sheer idea of you, was enough to push him close. his balls tightened, eyebrows knitted together as his high was soon approaching. the groan ripped from his throat this time, raw and unrestrained. “fuck…” he moaned your name. and he could almost hear your answering cries, taking him over the edge as he imagined you looking back at him, eyes blown fully with lust. thick spurts of his release clouded the water swirling around his feet, painting the tile in thick, pearly strokes. his body shuddered, leaning against the wall as the last waves ebbed, leaving him spent and breathless.

and he’d most definitely be calling you over tonight.

taglist ; (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[bowtiepasta]

you’re eating watermelon slices off of shoyo’s kitchen counter in his hoodie while he fixes a broken fan. it’s the middle of summer, and you can’t stop ogling him.

his hair’s grown, messy from humidity. a little darker too, with sun bleached tips soaked up on all the courts he’s played on. there’s a sliver of gauze still taped over his left pinky from yesterday’s serve-receive drills, and the hoodie hanging from your frame smells like that eucalyptus soap he found in a corner store and got obsessed with. says it soothes his sunburns.

speaking of, your eyes trail his shoulders — all freckled and golden from training in the heat, to the lines of his neck, where sweat gathers in hollow places and dips under his collar. he’s got his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth while he concentrates, hands quick but gentle, almost like he’s afraid of hurting the fan more than it already is.

“you’re gonna fry,” you say, voice dry from the fruit, “if you keep sitting that close to the window.”

“can’t hear you. think the heat melted my ears.”

you toss a rind at him.

he dodges it easily and grins, wide and sleepy eyed. there’s a tan line on the back of his neck in the exact shape of the necklace he wears to practice. you only know because you helped him peel it off last night when he came home sore and stupid.

you take another bite. the watermelon’s from a street vendor down the block who sells it in hacked-up wedges, ice cold from a blue cooler. you’d walked back barefoot, because your sandals snapped and sho offered to carry them, but ended up forgetting them halfway through a story about some new blocking form he’s trying. the apology came in sugary form.

he grunts when the screw won’t budge, that tendon running down the side of his throat pulling taut. the new mole you didn’t notice until two nights ago, when he’d passed out on your chest after a beach run and a long shower, dances around on his chin.

“fan’s a lost cause,” he mutters, pulling the tool from between his teeth. “might throw it off the balcony.”

“you won’t,” you pop a seedless piece of watermelon into your mouth. “you love that stupid fan.”

“‘s not stupid,” he pouts, “it’s from kageyama.”

you blink. of course it is. a gift from his old partner, lugged across an ocean because it reminded them of a joke only the four of you would still remember.

(them including tsukishima kei, another old teammate, who somehow got dragged into both the trip to brazil, and the mess, completely against his will.)

you swallow your laughter, nudging a sweaty curl off his forehead with your pinky. “you know we’re gonna die in this kitchen, right?”

the cracked plastic base even has a sharpie doodle on it: a lopsided smiley and a thumbs up drawn onto the compartment you open to replace the batteries.

“ever the romantic,” he deadpans, but he leans into your touch anyway, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “at least you’ll be wearing my clothes.”

you grin. “buried in them, actually. put it in my will.”

he snorts, tossing the screwdriver onto the counter beside you and stretching out his arms. big baby. “maybe we should go swimming.”

“after you fix the fan.”

“fan’s dead too, baby.”

you suck the juice off your thumb and look at him, really look at him, bare feet blackened a little at the soles from the tile, right hand smudged with grease from the inside of the motor. there’s a healing blister on his palm. a faint shadow under his eye from waking up too early for runs on the beach.

you lean forward and kiss the corner of his jaw, slow and quiet. “then let’s go die in the ocean instead.”

he smiles like it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.

[heeluvv]

HOT & STEAMY.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ sim jaeyun x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, shower sex, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the warm water cascaded down your body in steady rivulets, each droplet gliding over your skin, tracing delicate paths along your shoulders, down the curve of your spine, and pooling at your feet before disappearing down the drain. the soft hiss of the shower filled the space, the rhythmic pattering of water against tile blending with the occasional deep inhale you took, savoring the comforting heat that enveloped you.

your fingers worked through your hair with practiced ease, massaging the rich lather of soap into your scalp, the scent of fresh citrus and vanilla filling the air. the silky foam spread between your fingers, your nails lightly grazing against your scalp, sending a soothing shiver down your spine. the tension from the day slowly melted away with each gentle circular motion, the warmth of the water only deepening the relaxation sinking into your muscles.

thick steam curled around you, filling the enclosed space and fogging up the glass shower doors, blurring the world outside into a hazy mirage. beads of condensation clung to the smooth surface, dripping down in slow, lazy streaks. the air was heavy with warmth, wrapping around you like a cocoon, each breath deep and indulgent as you let yourself succumb to the simple pleasure of the moment.

the weight of the water pressed against your skin, each droplet adding to the sensation of being thoroughly cleansed, thoroughly undone by the soothing embrace of heat and solitude. it was peaceful, intoxicating even, the kind of comfort that made you wish you could stay under the water forever.

though the tranquility of the moment lingered for just a fleeting second, it was quickly interrupted by the unmistakable presence of your boyfriend. before you could fully process it, jake’s arms wrapped securely around your waist from behind, his touch warm and possessive as he pulled you flush against his chest. the contrast between the slick heat of the water and the solid warmth of his body sent a subtle shiver through you, a quiet gasp catching in your throat as you felt his breath fan across the nape of your neck.

his lips followed soon after, soft yet deliberate, pressing featherlight kisses against your damp skin. each touch of his mouth was slow, teasing, trailing from the delicate curve of your neck down to the base where your shoulders met. the sensation was intoxicating—gentle but intentional, each kiss leaving behind a phantom warmth even as the water cascaded over you both.

his fingers traced lazy circles against your stomach, a stark contrast to the way his lips began to move lower, his kisses turning from innocent pecks to lingering presses, a slight suck here and there. the feeling sent a warmth curling deep in your stomach, different from the comfortable heat of the shower—this was something else entirely, something that made your skin more sensitive, your breathing a little shallower.

the steady rhythm of the water against your skin was soon drowned out by the sound of your own pulse thrumming in your ears, the awareness of him behind you, pressed so close, his hands and mouth working in unison to pull a reaction from you.

"jake…"

his name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath, a quiet plea wrapped in anticipation. he hummed against your collarbone in response, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. he knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn’t about to stop anytime soon.

with swift, unwavering force, jake turns you around, the water cascading between you both as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, your body instinctively pressing against him as his hands come up, threading through your wet hair. his grip tightens at the base of your skull, not painful, but firm enough to remind you that he’s in control, that he wants you exactly where he has you.

his kiss is deep, consuming, his lips molding against yours with practiced ease, each movement fueled by hunger. the slick heat of his mouth sends a shiver rippling down your spine, your knees threatening to give way beneath the intensity of it all. his free hand moves lower, skimming down the curve of your back before settling firmly on your ass, fingers pressing into the wet skin as he squeezes possessively.

a soft, surprised moan escapes you, unintentional, but it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for. he takes full advantage, his tongue slipping past your parted lips, exploring, claiming. he tastes of warmth, of want, of something undeniably intoxicating, and you can’t help but melt into him further.

you try—just for a moment—to fight for control, tilting your head, pressing back into the kiss with the same hunger he’s feeding you, your own tongue meeting his in a silent challenge. but jake is quick to take it away from you, tilting your head further back, deepening the kiss until you’re left breathless, your body whimpering into his mouth, completely at his mercy.

he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your lips as his grip on your hair tightens, holding you there, savoring the way you shudder beneath him. the hot water continues to cascade around you, but the heat between you both is far more overwhelming, spreading like wildfire through every inch of your skin.

the cold tile presses against your back, the contrast against your heated skin sending a shiver down your spine. jake wastes no time, his body crowding against yours, his hands finding your breasts with a possessive grip. his palms are rough, warm, kneading the soft flesh with just enough pressure to have you arching into his touch.

his fingers move with precision, rolling your nipples between them, tugging just hard enough to send sharp jolts of pleasure down to your core. your breath hitches, lips parting as the sensation grows, only for him to retract his hands momentarily—just long enough to deliver a sharp slap against your sensitive peaks.

a gasp catches in your throat, your body instinctively pressing further into him, but he’s relentless. another slap lands, the sting quickly fading into something dangerously pleasurable, the heat blooming across your skin as you shudder against the cold wall behind you.

your hands find purchase on his biceps, fingers digging into the firm muscle as he continues his ministrations, twisting, teasing, pulling you apart with every calculated movement.

his lips wrap around your nipple, the warmth of his tongue soothing the slight sting from before, only to tease again as he flicks over the hardened bud, sucking with a slow, torturous rhythm. the sensation makes you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips before you can even think to hold it back.

he hums against your skin, clearly satisfied by your reaction, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. his teeth graze over the sensitive flesh, a gentle scrape before he bites down just enough to make you jolt, your nails pressing deeper into his skin.

"fuck, jake—"

the sound of your voice, breathless and needy, only seems to spur him on. he moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue swirling, sucking, his hands never leaving your body, touching, owning.

the hot water continues to pour over you both, but the heat between you is far more overwhelming, spreading through your veins, pooling low in your stomach, making it impossible to focus on anything other than him.

"so fucking desperate for me..."

his voice is thick, dripping with amusement, laced with something darker—something possessive—as he flips you over with ease, pressing your front against the cold tile wall. the stark contrast between the chill of the ceramic and the heat of your body sends a shudder rippling through you, your breath hitching as your palms flatten against the slick surface for balance.

jake’s hand comes up to the side of your face, firm but not rough, his fingers splaying over your cheek as he tilts your head just slightly, forcing you to stay pressed against the cool barrier, to feel the helplessness of your position.

his body crowds behind you, the heat of his chest radiating against your back, his breath fanning over the damp skin of your shoulder as he exhales, slow and controlled—too controlled.

his other hand moves with purpose, gripping the base of his cock, stroking himself once, twice, letting the anticipation build.

he drags it against your entrance.

slow, torturous, the thick head sliding between your folds, coating himself in the wetness pooling there, teasing you with every deliberate motion. he doesn’t push in, not yet, just lets it glide along your slit, the pressure perfectly placed, perfectly agonizing.

a whimper escapes you, unbidden, a desperate, needy sound that betrays just how much you want him, how much you need more. your fingers twitch against the tile, gripping at nothing, your hips instinctively shifting back, trying to chase the friction he’s withholding from you.

"yeah? you want it that bad?"

his voice is low, taunting, thick with satisfaction as he watches you squirm beneath him. his cock twitches in his grasp, reacting to the way your body responds to him, the way you’re already trembling, already desperate.

he presses forward just slightly, just enough for you to feel the stretch, to have you gasping, to make your nails scrape against the tile—and then he pulls back, leaving you aching, leaving you whining his name in frustration.

"yes, please, jake—!"

your voice comes out in a breathless plea, raw and desperate, your words tumbling from your lips without hesitation. your hands slide up, palms pressing flat against the cold, slick tile in front of you, seeking something—anything—to hold onto as your body trembles with anticipation.

but jake only chuckles, the sound low, dangerous, vibrating against your ear as he leans in, his breath hot against your damp skin. the contrast of his teasing warmth and the chill of the wall against your front makes you shudder, your entire body sensitive, wound so tight you feel like you might break.

"want my dick so bad, baby?"

his voice is a taunt, a wicked whisper that drips with amusement, thick with satisfaction as he watches you fall apart from just his teasing alone.

his cock drags along your entrance again, slow and deliberate, the swollen head pressing against you just enough to feel the stretch before he pulls away once more, leaving you gasping, leaving you aching.

his free hand trails down your side, fingers ghosting over the curves of your waist before settling on your hip, gripping it firmly, holding you in place. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, barely touching, but it’s enough to make your breath stutter, to send another wave of heat coursing through you.

"say it again, baby," he murmurs, his tone velvety smooth yet commanding, demanding. "tell me how bad you want it."

"yes, jake, please! i want it, ple—"

your plea is cut off, swallowed by a sharp, unrestrained moan as he slams into you without warning. the sudden stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your hands pressing harder against the slick tile in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. your body clenches around him, adjusting to his size, but he doesn’t move right away—just lets you feel him, lets you ache for it.

then, slowly, he pulls out, leaving only the thick tip inside, teasing, tormenting—before thrusting forward again, burying himself to the hilt with a deep, satisfying groan.

"fuck—"

your back arches instinctively, the force of his movements pressing your chest further against the wall, the cool ceramic a stark contrast to the molten heat pooling in your core.

jake keeps his rhythm slow, agonizingly slow, but every thrust is hard, deliberate, his hips snapping against you with enough force to make your breath stutter, to send jolts of pleasure rippling up your spine. each time he pulls out, he makes sure you feel the emptiness, only to push back in hard, filling you completely, stretching you wide as your walls tighten around him.

"o-ohh..."

his groan is deep, guttural, his voice wrecked with pleasure as his head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. his damp hair clings to his forehead, heavy strands shadowing over his dark, hooded eyes, water cascading down his face in shimmering rivulets, trailing down the sharp lines of his jaw, dripping onto his broad shoulders and the sculpted curves of his chest.

his grip tightens on your hips, nails pressing into your skin as he drives into you again, harder this time, faster. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the steamy shower, mixing with the sharp gasps and soft, desperate moans spilling from your lips.

"you feel so fucking good, baby..."

his voice is barely above a whisper, raw and needy, his words sending another pulse of pleasure through you as he sets an unrelenting pace, fucking into you so deep it leaves you breathless, leaves you completely his.

his hand, once resting on the side of your face, trails downward, his fingers grazing your damp skin before settling at the nape of your neck. the grip he takes is firm, possessive, his fingers tightening just enough to keep you in place, to remind you who’s in control. the dominance in his touch sends a shiver through you, your body instinctively melting into his hold, submitting to the way he owns you in this moment.

your mouth parts, a choked moan slipping past your lips as his thrusts grow more relentless, each one slamming deep, pulling sounds from you that you can’t even contain. the way he moves is devastating—his hips snapping against you with bruising force, his cock stretching you in ways that leave you breathless, every stroke hitting that perfect spot inside you that has your body trembling beneath him.

"fuck—you're gripping me so tight, baby…"

his voice is thick with pleasure, the rough edge in his tone making your stomach coil tighter. his grip on your neck tightens slightly as he leans in, his lips brushing against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

"love this fucking pussy so much… so fucking good for me."

his words send heat surging through your veins, the desperation in his voice matching the ache building deep inside you. his slow, hard thrusts begin to pick up, the deliberate pace giving way to something faster, hungrier. each snap of his hips is rougher than the last, the force of his movements pushing you further against the cold tile, your palms slipping slightly from how unsteady he has you.

your walls flutter around him, gripping him like a vice, and it only seems to spur him on. his head tilts back, water dripping from his soaked hair as he groans deeply, his muscles flexing beneath the hot cascade of the shower, his control slipping with each thrust.

"gonna fuck you so good, baby... make you cum so hard for me."

his promise hangs thick in the air, and with the way he’s driving into you, fucking you like he’s never going to stop, you know he means every word.

"fuck, jake..."

your moan spills out in a breathless cry, raw and trembling, your voice barely able to hold steady as your body quivers against the unyielding tile. the cold surface does little to ground you, your palms pressing flat against it, fingers splayed wide, desperately seeking something to grasp onto as he pounds into you with a force that leaves you completely undone.

his thrusts are relentless now—deeper, harder, faster—each one slamming into you with precision, driving his cock straight into that sweet spot that makes you see stars. the pressure coils inside you, the pleasure rippling through every nerve in your body, making your knees weak, making your entire frame tremble beneath him.

"fuck—look at you, baby," jake groans, his voice husky, thick with lust as his grip on your hips tightens. his fingers dig into your slick skin, holding you steady as he drills into you, each thrust sending another sharp wave of pleasure crashing over you.

your pussy clenches around him involuntarily, gripping him so tight that he stutters in his movements for just a second, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his throat.

"shit—you're squeezing me so fucking tight, baby... fuck—"

his pace doesn’t falter, only grows rougher, his hips slamming into yours, pushing you harder against the tile, the impact reverberating through your body. your thighs quiver uncontrollably, your body shaking from the overwhelming sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, owning you with every single stroke.

"you feel that, baby?" he pants against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as his fingers ghost down your stomach before trailing lower, his touch barely there, but devastating all the same. "this pussy's fucking mine."

the words send another rush of heat straight to your core, the pressure inside you threatening to snap at any second, your body already teetering on the edge of pleasure so intense it feels almost unbearable. and jake knows it—he can feel it, can feel the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body begs for release even as he pushes you further, dragging you closer to the point of no return.

"gonna cum, baby? gonna cum on my dick, huh?"

his voice is strained, thick with lust, each word punctuated by the sharp snap of his hips against yours. his pace is brutal now, relentless, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you trembling against the unforgiving tile. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, his control slipping as he chases the inevitable.

his hands move from your hips, sliding upward, his fingers skimming over your damp skin before finding your breasts. his grip is firm, possessive, squeezing the soft flesh before rolling your nipples between his fingers, sending another rush of heat spiraling through you. the added sensation is too much, your body already teetering on the edge, and you know you can’t hold it in any longer.

"j-jake—fuck, i’m cumming—"

your voice is a breathless cry as the coil inside you snaps, pleasure crashing over you in violent, pulsing waves. your walls clench tight around him, milking his cock, your body shuddering beneath him as your climax wrecks you. your thighs tremble uncontrollably, your nails scraping uselessly against the wet tile as you fall apart completely, your moans echoing through the steam-filled bathroom.

jake groans, his grip tightening as he feels you come undone, his cock twitching inside you at the overwhelming sensation of your pussy squeezing him so perfectly.

"fuck yeah, baby—just like that. so fucking tight when you cum for me."

his rhythm stutters, his movements growing erratic as he chases his own release, the sight of you convulsing around him pushing him over the edge. his breath hitches, a deep, guttural moan spilling from his lips as he slams into you one final time, burying himself as deep as he can before his release bursts inside you.

hot ropes of cum spill into you, filling you completely, his body jerking as he rides out his orgasm. the heat of the moment—of his release, of your bodies pressed together, of the steam swirling around you—seems to make the bathroom even hotter, the water cascading down feeling scalding now, or maybe that’s just the lingering pleasure seeping through your veins, leaving you breathless, boneless, utterly spent.

jake lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against the back of your shoulder, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come down from the high, his hands still gripping your body as if afraid to let go.

"fuck, baby..." he mutters, voice hoarse, "you’re perfect."

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ technically it was more an after shower but i wanted it to happen in the shower so for whoever requested it, i hoped yo enjoyed.

[turkeynotalone]

Powder Room - Transitional Powder Room Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional beige tile and stone tile porcelain tile powder room remodel with raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a two-piece toilet, beige walls, an undermount sink and granite countertops

[caroline-gets-fit]

Master Bath - Bathroom Mid-sized trendy master green tile and stone slab ceramic tile and beige floor bathroom photo with flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, beige walls, a vessel sink, wood countertops and a hinged shower door

[rainrot4me]

Jeff the Killer General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jeff as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw!

Words: 2.6k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- Big isolation guy. He enjoys pestering people or hanging out, but when it comes to personal things like missions or killing sprees, he prefers to be alone. His head’s already loud enough that he doesn’t need to add to it when he’s trying to focus.

- Blunt. Like to the point it’s a drag to even talk to him sometimes. He doesn’t really give a shit about anyone or anything besides himself, so why would he need to hide what he actually wants to say?

- Dangerously short temper. It barely takes one nasty remark or even a hint that you have ill intent towards him before the killer is on your ass. Would rather beat the shit out of you than take the time to reconcile.

- A STARER. Has absolutely no remorse when just boring his eyes into someone, eyes wide and horrifying. He loves to watch every expression as he’s ending someone’s life, every bit of anger or fear, but especially the blank stare in their eyes afterward. You catch his glance all the time, and instead of looking away politely like a normal person would, he just smiles as he glares even harder.

- Loves story based video games that Ben shows him. Life is Strange, Night in the Woods, and What Remains of Edith Finch. Has to play them all in their entirety before he can do anything else, so he’ll be glued to the couch for days.

- Has a difficult time with names, so he comes up with nicknames or terms to make it easier. “Twitch” - Toby, “Sockets” - Jack, or “Glitch” - Ben. Don’t worry, he’ll give you one, too.

- A laugher. When he’s in pain, when he’s sad, when he’s happy, that man is laughing. Choked out dry heaving chuckles or tipsy short airheaded giggles, it doesn’t matter, he will be laughing.

- Terrible sleep paralysis and nightmares keep him up during the night, the most sleep this man will ever get is a little over 3 hours. It really doesn’t help his mood, either.

- The scars on his cheeks used to bleed and get infected so bad he could barely shut his mouth due to the swelling. He would numb it down with pain killers and anything he could find, but it wasn’t until Slender tried to make him into a proxy that they eventually sealed and scarred over, creating wide gashes (weird cryptid powers).

- Thinks about his brother every waking moment. He feels so much pent up regret and sadness concerning Liu, but refuses to search for him or even shed a tear. This sends him into mental breakdown episodes, and sadly, the only relief is just to create more carnage.

- Actually really hates violence unless he’s the one delivering it. Doesn’t like violent movies or music because they romanticize everything he hates about himself. Any media he enjoys is either really bland or really toned down, stuff that won’t trigger him.

- Cuts his own hair, and yes, he’s horrible at it.

- Messed up his appearance to make himself ‘beautiful’, but just ended up so disgusted and ashamed of himself in the long run. When his mental fog gets bad, he’ll just stand in front of the mirror and stare at himself, letting every negative thought wash over. Outside, he’ll brandish it like a weapon, something to get victims to submit. But on the inside, it’s just a nasty reminder.

- Showers only when it gets to the uncomfortable point. He doesn’t have the time or energy or wash himself every day, but when it gets to the point he feels the blood and grime subconsciously, he’ll get over it. Even if he does wash himself, half the time actually in the shower is just letting the water run over him and staring at the tile wall.

- Gets all of his money and random trinkets from victims. Proceeds to spend all that money almost immediately after on a pack of Blue Moons. No orange slice, either.

- Messy, disgusting room. Has no healthy habits of keeping him or his space tidy, so it’s always near disastrous.

- Even though the media and lots of outlets perceive him as this insane maniac killer, those were all big stories from his teenage years. Even though he doesn’t feel like he’s matured, he’s definitely found a happy medium away from spree after spree of slaughter. He still itches to take down a whole neighborhood, but he’s found his ways to cope.

- Very good at hand-to-hand combat. He wields a knife if things get a little rough, but prefers to use his hands to do the dirty work. Makes it feel more personal to him.

- Late-night kitchen demon. You’ll find him rummaging the fridge or making a bowl of cereal in the complete darkness, but he’ll swear up and down it wasn’t him.

- Annoying, painfully so. Hell wrack EJ’s ear off or pester Toby about little things, but he can’t help but get giddy when he sees he’s ticked them off just enough.

- Really agile. Had a thinner build, but muscle definition and tension really adds to the aesthetic. Really defined v-line and hips bones, as well as carved out shoulders and collarbones. Looks like a beefier skeleton, but hot.

- Lip piercings. Snake bites. They’re not healed and they’re not pretty, but he thinks they look badass.

- Scars and jagged pieces of flesh everywhere on his body. They’re either from mission aftermaths, rough targets, or his own doing, but they’re all gnarly and barely healed half of the time. They hurt terribly, but he’s constantly cracked out on painkillers that he doesn’t even care anymore.

- Enjoys the shoegaze music genre. Aldn, Wisp, Elita, Deftones, and surprisingly, The Cardigans and The Cranberries. They remind him of his childhood.

Dating Him/SFW:

- “Baby” “Babe” “Cunt”

- Big words of affirmation guy. He’ll act disgusted and shove you off, rolling his eyes about your sweet words- but in reality, he’s gushing so hard he can’t stand it. Reassurance makes him feel more loved than anything.

- The fastest ‘enemies or lovers’ troupe you’ll ever experience. It’ll only take one face-to-face argument before you both get too close and he’s pulling you in for a rough make out. He’s bad with emotions, what makes you think he wouldn't be bad at reading love/hate signals too.

- HATES to show any sign of weakness or adoration. If you’re laying with him or holding his hand, as soon as someone enters the room he’s shoving you off. It’s not that he doesn’t love you, it’s a deep-rooted fear that someone will use you against him.

- If he’s spent the night in your bed, he will always be gone by the time you’ve woken up. Out of fear of vulnerability, he will only fall asleep after you and wake up before you, otherwise he just won’t stay with you at all.

- He’s like dealing with a little kid. Yes, he’s been through heaps of mental anguish and trauma, but he’s gone through all of that without a hand to hold. In some sad way, he sees something motherly and comforting in you which drives him to latch on and become dependent. It's weird, but so is he.

- Jealousy problems. Big time.

- “He touched you. So I cut his arm off. What is so hard to understand here?”

- Needs to be bossed around. He can and will rot in his bed all day unless you tell him to get up and do something.

- Absolutely melts when you kiss him unprovoked. When he doesn’t force you or tease you into one, but when you decide to kiss his face or hands on your own terms. It’s his favorite thing.

- In his manic brain, he wants something calm, someone who can settle him out. You offer him stability and a chance to unwind and that’s really all he needs.

- As a nervous response, he’ll intentionally push you away if he knows you like him. He holds a lot of regret, so he doesn’t want to drag you along with the rest of his baggage. Will say and do things he knows will hurt your feelings so you leave on your own.

- “And what made you think I’d want you? Because we kissed? Hah! How cute.” Meanwhile, he’s in his room pining himself to shreds.

- Watches you sleep constantly. Doesn’t matter where you are or how far, he will trek through your window or into your bed to watch you snore quietly against your pillow. He likes the vulnerability of it and acting as your ‘protector’, like you have no choice but to rely on him in this state.

- You are the last person Jeff wants to break down in front of, but when it eventually happens, and you’re there with open arms- the killer can barely breathe from how full his heart feels. The feeling of just being able to sob and bury into your shoulder while you rub his back is incomparable.

- Possessive AND protective to a fault. Wants everyone to know you’re his, but at the same time, really enjoys when you flaunt yourself so he can stare down the wandering eyes and really show them who they’d be messing with. Either way, eats it up when you feel good about yourself and safe in him.

- Nasty, terribly toxic relationship. You both bounce off of each other and are constantly arguing, but you both get over it because you’ve grown codependent. There’s nothing ‘casual’ about the two of you, you’re either fuck buddies or desperately clawing at each other for survival. Jeff is an obsessive guy, he either wants everything to do with you or he’ll hide away and tear himself apart over you.

- Jewelry is such a yes for him. If you’re wearing thick earrings or chunky necklaces that brighten your face, he eats it up. He’s such a sucker for silver.

- Does not ask for kisses, he takes them.

- “C’mon baby, I can’t help it. You’re just so fun to mess with.”

- Since he doesn’t sleep much, likes to lay on his back while your head rests on his chest/shoulder. He’ll tangle his fingers through your hair or brush your cheek with his thumb while he stares at you or the ceiling. Even when he has doubts about you loving him, your body always subconsciously shifts towards him while you’re snoozing, and it makes him feel just a little better.

- Fake punches/hits you when he’s bored. Will hold his hands up and box at your face but never making contact, just enough to have you side-eye him. He thinks it’s funny.

- Shoulder kisses.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Can and will touch you inappropriately no matter the circumstances. His rough hands groping your ass or shoving between your thighs to give flirty little touches in front of everyone, his shit-eating grin when you get embarrassed.

- “Stop glaring, sweet cheeks. I know you want me.”

- Will fight to his dying day that he’s a top, but as soon as you even give him a glint of dominance or snap at him, he’s folding so fast. Dominant person, submissive lover.

- Killing machine on the field, pathetic ass bottom in bed. It takes forever to get to that point, but once he’s mentally checked out and half-drooling on the mattress, he’s so pliable and lightheaded he’ll take it with ease. You have to really work for it, but Jeff trusts you/wants it bad enough subconsciously that he’ll force himself to go into a subspace.

- All-time favorite position is laying you out on your back, one leg up on his shoulder while the other is being held down at your side. It really opens you up and gives the nastiest, most lewd noises that have him pussydrunk. Bonus points for reaching a hand in to choke you.

- “And to think you were beggin’ me to stop while your pussy is soaked. I mean, look at you, babe. You’re suckin’ me in somethin’ awful.”

- CHOKING. Either you or him, he gets off on it so bad. Choking you is so satisfying, he loves the resistance and struggle as you gasp for air, face flushed and eyes rolling with his fist around your throat. Meanwhile, if you’re choking him, his body nearly convulses from the pleasure. He loves the lightheadedness and pressure of it, hoarse chuckles as both of your hands grip around his neck and just squeeze. He thinks he could cum just from being strangled.

- “What’s wrong, baby? Lil’ too much? Ah- You’ll get over it, just open up f’me.”

- Hair pulling, strangling, biting, smacking—really anything that’ll cause pain.

- Standing side-by-side in the mirror, his body is littered with nasty cuts and scars while yours is littered with pretty bite marks and hickeys. He loves it.

- Eating you out is so tiring, but it’s all worth it to look up and see your heavy, glassed-over eyes beaming down at him, lips parted as you’re gasping.

- Hard, quick thrusts that have you gasping and yelping. His hips snap against yours rhythmically until you throw your head back, then he leans in close and shifts his knees closer to really speed up. He never has a set pace, but prefers always adjusting to whatever has you making the most noise.

- “C’mon… Louder- Hah- I’m not stoppin’ till you’re cryin’ for it.”

- A bitch fight every time you two get together. Bickering with the other about ‘who can last longer’ or ‘going until you beg for it’ and it irritates the shit out of both of you. Gets you both riled up that you’re more fighting than fucking, but by the end, you’re both dead exhausted and reduced to panting messed laid out on top of each other.

- Refuses to pull out. He can’t get you pregnant, Slender made sure of that (God help if this heathen was allowed to procreate), so it’s either in your cunt, ass, or mouth, nowhere else. Even if he’s jerking himself off, he’ll wait to cum until he can get to you and finish himself out.

- Stands over you and stares hard enough until you’re reduced to your knees, words never even leaving his lips before you’re unbuckling his belt and shifting his jeans down. He’s fought you enough, sometimes you like to just be good for him.

- Pulling him in by his belt >>>>>>>>>

- Eating you out or sucking you off so much that drool leaks from his scars, eyes so hazed and soft as he hums and moans against you.

- “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

- Fucked you with the handle of his knife because you read something about it in a book and wanted to see if it actually felt good. He was weirded out at first, but when he watched you jerking your hips and mumbling for him to fuck you, he’s never fucked his cock in faster while rubbing the blunt of the handle against your drooling clit. Same thing with running the blade against your skin. It just elicits some reaction out of you that he can’t understand, but it turns him on terribly.

- Has a big thing for cop x prisoner roleplay actually.

- “What? Officer, how am I supposed to finger you with these handcuffs, hm? I guess you’ll just have to let me go, yeah? Or do you not want it as bad as your pussy leads me to believe?”

- Really loves fingering you while he’s buried in your ass. Curling his fingers up to make you arch your back just a little more, having your head spinning from the overstimulation… yeah.

- A 2-3 round champion. He’ll never be able to just cum once and be satisfied, regardless if you’re ready to stop or not, he’s forcing his cock back into wherever it was or in a completely different hole and riding himself out to his next orgasm. If he’s not shaking and on the verge of passing out after sex, it wasn’t good enough for him.

- “Jeff, stop! We could get caught!” “Or you could just shut up and take your panties off. You’re soaked, there’s no point in fighting me when I’m already this hard… C’mon, baby, give me your hand or something…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[saphiccarma]

- Cock Warming

Relationships - G!p Natasha x Reader

Summary - Natasha had sent you teasing photos while at work, filling you with the hope of getting fucked when she got home. You were sorely dissapointed to find her watching the soccer game.

Warnings: g!p natasha, bratty reader, mean nat, cock warming, explicit photos sent through text

Wood panels cool beneath your feet, you glide across the house to find your girlfriend. Even with socks on, you can feel the chill in the floor and shiver slightly, picking up your pace. Hair disheveled from your recent nap, you blink away sleep.

Natasha should be home from work now, and based on the soft sound of soccer playing on the TV, she was. Most of the time you greeted her by the front door with a bright smile while giving her a warm hug. It was practically tradition at that point.

The only reason you didn't today was because of a photo she sent you. And normally that wouldn't be a problem. The two of you sent each other photos all the time, sweet and fluffy ones just to say 'I miss you' - all of which got saved to your camera roll, much to Natasha's displeasure.

Out of the blue today, she sent you a photo. No text accompanying it. Sent in the middle of the day, while she was at work none the less, was a picture of her dick.

Based on the tile floors she was in the bathroom, business slacks pooled around her ankles and boxers tugged down. Her shaft was erect, standing upright and the faintest bit of precum leaking from the tip. Hand wrapped around the red and swollen base, Natasha held it upright while snapping a photo with her other hand.

The minute you saw it, you were left dripping, absolutely soaked after just a few moments of staring at it. Just when you were about to touch yourself, to soothe that ache between your thighs, a text comes in.

No touching yourself.

You groaned in frustration, tossing the phone onto the bed and settled for a cold shower. Unlike popular opinion, the cool water did little to calm your needs and only served to make you wish Natasha was here to fuck you stupid in the shower.

When you got out, you found another text waiting for you. This time it was a video, only five seconds long, but enough to make you horny. The camera shook as it was recorded, her hand flying up and down her dick at a pace so fast it was a blur. You could see the muscles in her forearm flexing, her fingers curled around her length.

A white spurt of cum shoots out and coats her veiny, throbbing tip. You can hear a muffled moan in the background, the sound of her ragged breathing before the footage is cut off. You were absolutely aching at this point.

A nap was your best bet to stay obedient and not touch yourself.

Now you wandered into the living room, panties covered in dried arousal, and heart pounding in your chest. Faintly you recognize the soccer game on the TV, but your eyes narrow in on your girlfriend. Red hair flowing over the back of the couch, her head tilted back.

Natasha had her legs spread, one arm thrown back and the other nursing a beer that was already halfway gone. You shuffle into the living room, wearing only an oversized shirt and panties, standing in front of the couch.

"Hi baby," she smiles up at you, taking a sip of the beer, "Have a good day?"

A small frown tugs at the corners of your lips at her casual demeanor, "Yeah. How was work?"

You hover awkwardly by the couch, waiting for her to acknowledge the texts from earlier, to initiate something. Instead, she just shrugs, eyes trained on the television and takes a sip of her beer. Her throat bobs when she swallows.

"The usual."

Anticipation coils tight in your stomach, hot and heavy as you shift on your feet. After a moment of waiting, swaying back and forth, you drop onto her lap. She raises an eyebrow at your boldness when you loop your arms around her neck and pull her in for a kiss.

"I'm trying to watch the game," she murmurs against your lips, pulling away and tilting her head so she can see. You huff in annoyance, glaring at her slightly, "What's wrong darling?"

There's a casual tone of indifference to her words, one that sends a rush of both frustration and arousal through you. It irks you how she can act so unbothered where as you were a flustered mess, cheeks a soft pink and cunt wet.

"Natty," you whine softly, shifting. And then that's when you feel it. The slightest firm length beneath you, pressing up against her leg and straining against the confines of her jeans. A small smirk curves your lips upwards, and you purposefully grind against it.

Natasha's hand snap to your hips, holding you in place, "Stay still."

Her words only spur you on and you begin to rock back and forth at a steady pace, trying not to come off as too desperate. You can see the way her jaw ticks, clenching almost imperceptibly, fingers tightening around her beer bottle.

Your smile widens and you lean in, dipping your head to press soft, open mouthed kisses her collarbone. Her breath hitches, another small thing, and you can feel her cock get harder beneath you.

"I need you," you whisper, voice breaking off into an exaggerated moan. "Please Daddy."

Natasha hummed softly and tapped a finger against your hip. Chest tightening you get off and watch as she sets her drink down on the floor. Shimmying out of her pants and boxers, Natasha frees her cock which springs up and makes your mouth water.

She pats her lap, a silent invitation and you waste no time in stripping your panties off, letting the soaked garment fall the floor. You kick them away before straddling her lap once more, lining yourself up before sinking down on her shaft.

A ragged moan leaves your lips and you tilt your head back slightly in pleasure. Using her shoulders as leverage you begin to bounce up and down, your arousal acting as a natural lubricant. The feeling of her cock sliding against your walls draws out another moan of satisfaction.

The feeling lasts for all of five seconds before her hands are gripping your hips again, holding you still. A frustrated whine leaves your throat as you stare at her in confusion. The corner of her lip is tilted up, the slightest indication she's enjoying this.

Natasha leans forward, grabbing her beer off the floor and taking a sip. Your brows furrow, frowning as you study her face. She's not even looking at you, completely focused on the game and that alone is enough to make you squirm. The small movement from you makes her dig her nails into your hips, eliciting a sharp yelp.

"Daddy..." you whimper, ducking your head to hide it in her neck. She releases your hips and rests her hand on the back of your neck instead, fiddling with the baby hairs.

She hums softly, jerking her hips upwards, "Daddy wants to watch the game." Her breath is warm on your ear as she kisses just below your earlobe, "So you're going to be a good little cocksleeve and warm Daddy up while she watches the game, hm? Then maybe I'll fuck you."

Unease churns in your stomach and you begin to move your head so that you can speak clearly and look at her. But she doesn't let you, instead guiding your face back into the crook of her neck, back into darkness.

With a frustrated huff that was filled with reluctant lust, you shift your hips, inhaling sharply when she swats your bottom.

"Stay still."

You try your best, you really do. For the first few minutes it's relatively easy, stay as still as possible, don't move and whine a lot in hopes she'll give up. She doesn't. Natasha never gives up. The game drones on in the background and you get increasingly bored as time passes.

Natasha shifts on the couch, her cock moving inside you and setting all your nerves on fire once more. You inhale sharply, eyes squeezing shut as you fight the urge to move, to roll with it. You're full, yes, stuffed to the brim, but there's no friction. No movement and it's driving you insane.

You're fairly certain she starts to do it on purpose after that, small jerks of her hips that changes the angle of her dick inside you and making your cunt all the more sensitive. Each time is worse than the last. You can feel the pleasure sharper and with every ticking second, you become more and more aware of the feeling of her buried deep inside you.

It gets to the point where if she even breathes too much, you whine and shift your hips. If you even dare to move, she slaps your ass, growls a warning in your ear and takes a swig of her beer. You can hear the game begin to close, the final scores being announced.

Hope begins to bubble in your chest, and you start to rock your hips, eager to get to the reward sooner rather than later. An amused scoff echoes in your ear and Natasha holds you still once more. This time, she grabs your hair after you stop moving and tilts your head back, raising an eyebrow.

"Did I say you could move?" The tone she uses is one of utter disapproval.

You frown and whine softly, "No." You almost forget to tack on a, "Daddy."

"Good, now stay still until the game is over." She guides your face back to her neck, engulfing you in darkness once more.

The game is drawn out to what feels like hours, but you know it's only minutes. You're absolutely aching, dripping wet and stomach tight with anticipation. It almost hurts, almost. But you sure are reaching your end point and you might just take what you want, consequences be dammed.

"Alright baby," she murmurs eventually, letting you sit up, "You want to get fucked?"

You nod eagerly, a soft little whimper leaving your lips as you shift your hips. Instead of giving you what you want, Natasha lifts you up by your armpits, dragging you off her cock. The feeling of being empty has you letting out a chocked sob, nose crinkling in displeasure.

"Go get dressed," She orders, slapping you on the ass as she deposits you on the floor, "We're gonna go for a walk."

[beasangel]

a very bad time

⤷ joel miller x fem!reader

💭“Is now a bad time to tell you I think I’m pregnant?” “Yes!” he shouted back. “Yes, it is! It’s a very bad time!”

Summary: You noticed the signs back at Bill and Frank’s - missed period, morning nausea. You told yourself you'd wait until you found Tommy, until you were somewhere safe. Until Joel was ready. Then Kansas City happened.

bases on this ask PART 2

a/n i might do a part 2 cuz i'm not sure on the ending

joel masterlist main masterlist

The water was hot. Unbelievably, impossibly hot. You let it run down your back in thick, clean streams, soaking your hair, clouding the mirror behind the shower door. You braced your hands on the tile and exhaled through your nose, letting the heat pull the weight from your shoulders.

God Bill and Frank didn’t know how lucky they had had it.

You hadn’t felt this safe in… years. Maybe never.

You closed your eyes when you heard the door creak open. Then the soft shuffle of boots, the rustle of fabric being peeled away. Joel didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. You moved aside, just a little, enough to make room. When he stepped in behind you, his hands settled gently on your hips, grounding and familiar.

Neither of you spoke.

The shower washed over both of you, and for a moment - just a moment - it felt like you could pretend. That you weren’t in the middle of a collapsed world. That there weren’t scars across your backs and graves behind you. That this wasn’t temporary.

Joel leaned his forehead against the back of your neck and breathed in slow, like he was trying to memorise you. You turned, slowly, and pressed your hand to his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady beneath it.

His eyes were soft in that quiet way they only ever were with you.

You kissed him.

Not desperate. Not hurried. Just… steady. Like two people who had nothing left to run from for one goddamn night.

After, you sat in on of the spare rooms, brushing your hair as Joel made his way down stair to Ellie. You lost your self in the repetitive movements and let your mind wander.

You’d met Joel four years ago, on a run north of Boston. You were twenty-five, not long out of the Fireflies, still too idealistic for your own good. You hadn’t learned yet how to read a room, or a face, or a pair of tired eyes the way you could now.

He’d been gruff, cold. The kind of man you gave a wide berth, the kind who’d been burned too many times to let anyone close. But you were stubborn. You made him laugh once by accident and hadn’t shut up about it for a week.

Eventually, he started partnering with you more. Started trusting you. And once that door cracked open, you saw the man behind the steel, the way he carried too much weight, the way he always knew how to get home in the dark. The way he protected without making promises.

It had been a slow fall. But it was a fall all the same.

The world had taken so much already.

Tess. Frank and Bill, you could still feel the aftershock of it all, the emptiness they’d left behind, the letter Joel hadn’t been able to finish reading aloud. The echo of Frank’s handwriting burned behind your eyes.

Joel hadn’t spoken for a time after that.

You shifted slightly, brushing your fingers over your lower stomach. There was a tension there, not pain, just awareness. The same wave of nausea had rolled through you again earlier, faint and unwelcome. And you couldn’t stop counting days, even if you didn’t want to.

You weren’t sure. Not yet. But the thought had rooted itself in your head and wouldn’t let go.

And maybe, maybe, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. After everything. Maybe life finding a way wasn’t always a punishment.

But then you thought of the QZ. Of the kids you saw there, the ones already hardened by ration lines and curfews. Of the smaller ones, silent and too still. You remembered the fear in their eyes, how they flinched at loud noises. You remembered the stories. The trucks.

Your stomach turned.

No. That wasn’t a life. That was survival on a leash.

And Joel… Joel had already lost too much. He still flinched when he saw a girl with Sarah’s hair. Still looked away too quickly. He didn’t talk about her much, but you didn’t need him to, her ghost hovered between every unspoken word. You’d seen it in his eyes, the first time you saw him kill a man, not rage, not even vengeance. Just exhaustion. Loss.

He hadn’t recovered. You weren’t sure he ever could.

And you didn’t want a child, if there even was one, to live in the shadow of someone else’s grief.

…… But does that mean you’d never get the chance to love like that?

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hand down your face.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. You weren’t even sure. It could be nothing.

But the idea… it stayed.

In the morning, the truck waited in the garage, full of supplies, with Ellie already sitting in the backseat. Joel muttered something about seatbelts and kicked the glove box shut with his boot and set off.

You watched the morning light spill across the passing fields and felt the nausea begin to bloom again.

You didn’t say anything.

The hum of the truck filled the silence between you.

Joel had one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window ledge, eyes scanning the road like he didn’t trust it not to disappear beneath the tires. Ellie was in the back, flipping through the pages of a book she’d found upstairs. Something about astronauts. You only half listened.

You stared out the windshield at the endless stretch of cracked pavement, trees blurring past in soft, fading green. The world looked gentler in the early morning light. Like it could pretend, too.

Tommy wasn’t far now. Maybe a week at most. Joel seemed sure of it and he was rarely wrong when it came to that sort of thing.

So maybe that was the answer. You’d find Tommy, get back somewhere safe. There’d be someone who could know, someone who could tell you what was happening with certainty, not this vague dread coiled in your chest.

You rubbed a hand over your lower stomach absently, the motion slow and unconscious.

If it’s real, you thought, we’ll figure it out when we get there.

Because it couldn’t be real, not yet. Not in motion. Not while your life was still full of guns and raiders and infected waiting behind the next turn. You couldn’t carry something fragile through all that. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair.

But the truth was, some part of you was already preparing for the possibility. The way you avoided certain smells as much as you could. The way you carried yourself without realising it. The way your thoughts looped back, again and again, to the same impossible if.

You looked over at Joel.

He hadn’t spoken in a while, jaw set in that familiar way that said he was thinking too hard, probably about the highway, or Tommy, or the weight of what Bill had written.

His profile was etched in sunlight, and for a moment, you thought of what he would say, if he’d look at you like he had back in the QZ when you brought up kids once, half-joking. A flicker of pain in his eyes. Almost anger.

You hadn’t asked again.

You shifted in your seat and forced yourself to look ahead. The road stretched on like it had no end.

Just a few more days. That’s what you told yourself. Then you could stop running. Then you could breathe. Then, maybe, you could be honest.

But not yet.

Not while you were still surviving.

The first gunshot cracked through Kansas city like a lightning strike.

Your body moved on instinct, slamming into the ground behind a rusted-out car as bits of gravel and glass pinged in the air around you. Ellie dropped beside you, panting hard, her fingers digging into your arm.

“Sniper!” Joel growled, already assessing, eyes sharp as glass. “Up in the house. White two-story.”

You could barely hear him over the hammering in your ears. Joel’s face was tight, focused, the same look he wore when something bad was coming. You knew that expression too well.

“I’m gonna flank him,” Joel said, crouching low. “Stay down. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

Before you could argue, he was gone, slipping out into the shadows, his rifle close to his chest.

Your fingers trembled where they gripped the edge of the car door, knees pressed into the rough pavement. Not from fear exactly, (well not just fear) but something heavier. Something you hadn’t said yet. Something you hadn’t let yourself say.

You weren’t panicking. You weren’t thinking this was it. But you were scared of what would happen if one of you got hit. If things got worse. If that little suspicion you’d been pushing down for days became something you’d never get to explain.

Joel had always been steady, solid, even when the world was crumbling around him. And you had always followed, always trusted he’d get you both out of it. But this, this thing inside you, this tiny maybe that had taken root during long nights and longer supply runs, he didn’t know. And that suddenly felt unbearable.

You peeked over the hood. Joel was a dark silhouette now, crouched behind a wrecked pickup across the street, rifle aimed high.

You didn’t want to die not saying it. You didn’t want to die pretending.

So you lifted your head just enough to shout across the street.

“Joel!”

Another shot snapped past your shoulder, and Ellie hissed, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Joel!” you called again, louder. You saw him, just barely, ducking behind a low wall across the road. He turned at the sound of your voice, his face silhouetted by moonlight, alarmed and worried in equal measure.

You hesitated for a second, then blurted out:

“Is now a bad time to tell you I think I’m pregnant?”

Silence.

Even the gunfire seemed to pause.

Joel just stared at you, blinking, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

Then his face contorted. “Yes!” he shouted back. “Yes, it is! It’s a very bad time!”

Another shot exploded into the ground between you, and you ducked back behind the car, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself, chest tight. “What the fuck was that, what did I just do-”

“Are you serious right now?!” Ellie hissed, eyes wide.

“I don’t know!” you snapped, voice breaking.

Ellie looked stunned for a moment, then,  “...Shit.”

There was no time to unpack it. A clicker sprinted head first into the car. You grabbed Ellie's arm and ran, lungs burning, weaving between wreckage and gunfire as Joel’s shots cracked beside you from his perch.

You could barely hear over the noise the shrill cries of the infected and your own blood pounding in your ears.

A child clicker lunged at you, its shrill screech piercing. Before it could reach you, a bullet tore through its skull, sending it sprawling. You turned to see Joel, rifle raised, eyes scanning for threats.

The chaos subsided as the last of the infected fell. Joel rounded the rubble, weaving through the carnage until he reached you. Sweat matted his hair, but his eyes searched yours with unspoken questions.

He reaches you, dropping the riffle to hang around his back, his arms instantly reaching out, holding you as he scans for injuries.

“I’m okay too if you’re wondering.” Ellie calls out, you don’t respond but Joel throws her a harsh glare before continuing his search.

You opened your mouth, attempting to explain, to apologise, but words failed. Instead, Joel pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms encircling you, grounding you amidst the turmoil. You clung to him, the world fading away, leaving only the shared heartbeat between you.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Cold🔥🌧️

i'd like to thank matthew michael murdock for getting me back into writing

Ship: Matt Murdock x Female!Reader

Rating: 18+ (WE'RE BACK BAYBEE)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, sexual situations, foreplay, oral (fem receiving), shower sex, violence, blood, faith, depressive thoughts, angst, cursing, mentions of choking/hanging, DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN SPOILERS

Song: Cold by Annie Lennox

Chk. Kssssssss.

Hot water rained down in pellets of fire against Matt’s skin. Beating on his bruises and cuts, both cleansing and punishing in their nature. Warmth licked along his flesh and cooked him alive. His heart still pounding, jaw clenched, muscles twitching as if ready to pounce. Steam immediately clogged his senses with a pure, fog-like mist. 

Matt had leaned forward, body suspended by his palms braced against the glass wall. His head hung low between his shoulders. Streams of water raced from his slicked hair down his battered chest. Faint traces of crimson leeched into the clear streaks and merged into a puddle around the drain. Swirls of grime and sweat and blood circled the steel grate.

A twinge from the darkening bruise lining his back, a sharp jab of agony, and Matt was yanked back a mere four hours.

Musty. Musty and old, were his first thoughts. The tiles lining the walls of this tunnel were caked in layer after layer of age. Notes of mold, earth, dust, and several other unsavory smells surrounded Matt on all sides. Whistled passed him as he charged down the unused subway tracks.

He grimaced, straightening his posture and dropping his arms. A reluctant shiver rolled up his spine at the change in position. Faint caresses of fatigue laced through the tendons in his calves.

New scents emerged in the path Matt followed. Cortisol, blood beating through a pounding heart, unwashed rags coated in copper-smelling paint. A young man, standing at 5-feet 9-inches. Whispers of countless victims surrounded this person like a dark aura.

Neck cracking, he tilted his head to stretch out the tension hardening his shoulders. The shower pummeled Matt’s sensitive skin. Harsh collisions shifted to soothing blows, massaging sore muscles and strained joints. Matt let out a labored breath. He lifted his head and let the forgiving water run down his face in penitent rivulets.

The chill of the silver chain around his neck was a stark contrast to the comforting warmth wrapping around Matt like a blanket. An ever-present reminder, cradling the simple cross right above where his heart slowed behind his ribs. He moved to glance a touch off the shining metal, fingers gently tremoring, then diverted to rub at his heavy eyelids.

Rage gathered at the base of his skull like a brewing storm. Fiery, explosive, lightning flashing and bathing Matt’s senses in a red blaze. A guttural scream bellowed from between his bared teeth. With a crouch, coiled like a snake, Matt launched himself into the air.

Movement. The creak of the bathroom door. Matt tensed, widening his awareness beyond the fogged glass walls of the shower. Someone had entered the room. They were familiar, close, Matt's own scent followed the new presence like a shadow. He cocked his head as he focused.

Hair tousled and lightly tangled, eyes still drooping from sleep, one of Matt's shirts draped across a shambling frame. A quiet yawn fell from between pursed lips.

Matt let a small smile tug at his features. He turned his head to offer acknowledgement, an understanding that your presence hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Hey," you offered, graveled voice passing through the air like a hand through smoke. More rustling, the sound of cotton rasping against skin, only a trace of Matt's scent left dancing along your skin as the shirt crumpled in a pile on the floor.

The shower door opened with a hiss. Steam roiled in the air and encompassed your body with open arms. You moved to stand behind Matt, every step accompanied by a light splash of water lapping at the soles of your feet.

Gentle fingertips brushed the glaring splotches across Matt's back. His body responded with an involuntary shudder, fists clenching at his sides. A light gasp caught between your teeth.

"Matt..." you whispered under your breath. Your hands glided across the bruises with delicate precision.

The steel, pointed barb shot out of Matt's baton like a bullet. It soared through the air, propelling him forward, before embedding itself in the bricks behind the canvas-covered man with a spray of rubble.

"Hey. Matt? What happened?"

Your palms smoothed around the warmed skin of his waist, embracing him from behind. A soothing breath coasted along the droplets clinging to his back. His hands wrapped around yours, clasped just below his ribs.

"I'm fine, sweetheart," he answered simply. You sighed, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. Matt could feel tendrils of your hair sticking to his skin like vines on an old building.

"You can talk to me, you know," you breathed, the words falling heavy from your lips. You squeezed him tighter as you nuzzled closer against his back. Matt winced, your collarbone digging into a fractured rib.

"Of course I do," he replied.

Matt turned in your arms until he was facing you. Your chests pressed together, breath mingling in the space between you, water cascading in trails and carving highways down your bodies. He ran his fingertips along your arms until he could cup your jaw in his hands.

It was in times like these, when thousands of water drops hit your body in rapid succession, that Matt felt like he could truly see you. Every splash of liquid against the planes of your face illuminated your features like fireworks. The slope of your nose, how your cheekbones rose and fell until they met your jaw line, the crinkle in the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him.

He traced a delicate pattern in the water still clinging to your cheek with his thumb. The crease between your eyebrows deepened the longer Matt went without giving an explanation.

But he didn't feel like giving one.

Fist collided with face as Matt tackled Muse. Blow after blow both thrown and received between the two. Matt would hook a punch over Muse's head, only to dodge a kick to his ribs in the next millisecond. The faint heartbeat echoing from Angela's chest gave Matt a strict deadline. Her slowing pulse echoed inside his head, spurring him on as Muse kneed him in the hip. A dance of blood and death.

"Matt?"

Shoving down the events of last night, he connected your lips to his in a heated kiss. His long fingers tangled in your soaked hair as he tilted your head in just the way he needed. He drew you impossibly closer, tighter, making you pliant beneath his touch. You gasped into his mouth, a noise that was easily swallowed by Matt.

The pads of your fingertips glided up his back in near reverence. As if the lines in your skin spelled worship. Every point of connection between the two of you was Matt's lifeline. His reason for being. The altar he prayed to every evening.

Matt walked you back with every exchanged breath. He lavished in how perfectly you fit together. His tongue tracing the edges of your teeth, his lips brushing against yours, his hands falling from your hair to drift over the warm dew gathering on your arms.

"Matt," you whispered between breaths, voice already dripping with need. He could sense the prologue of your body's symphony. Waves of heat and arousal orchestrated from between your legs floated through the bathroom's haze. A gentle nip under your ear conducted the violins to join the revelry. A touch brushed across your hip beckoned the flutes. Your back resting against the misted glass invited the drums and harps.

Once your body was flush with the glass, Matt began making his journey down. Painting brushstrokes of idolatry along the thin skin under your jaw. Utter adoration flowed from each kiss, each drag of his canines. You are where I can find forgiveness.

"Matt, please," you whined. Your palms found purchase on the swell of his chest, pushing gently, "What- Shit! -What happened? Where did the bruises-"

"Let me have this," he gasped, tearing his mouth from your skin like separating pieces of velcro. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder.

"Matt-"

"I need this. I'll tell you after," he begged softly. Matt willed his pulse to even out with heavy gulps of air as he waited for your response.

A moment. Two. Electricity darted between the water molecules surrounding you like your own solar system. Matt tilted his chin to breathe in the skin at the crook of your neck. His senses zeroed in on you like entering a long tunnel.

God, he could taste how aroused you were. Wave after wave of the scent that was distinctly you overwhelmed the flashes of pain and violence from hours prior. Splashes of blood were coated in a rose-colored hue, screams were muted, pain was temporary. If heaven was real, it was buried within your scent.

"Promise?" you asked tentatively.

Matt pressed a chaste kiss against the hinge of your jaw, "Promise."

You hooked a finger under his chin, angling his face so you could meet his unseeing eyes. There was no forgery in his desperation for you. Every waking moment, every second that passed without you held against him was another mile added to his descent into hell.

"Okay. After," you finally said. That was all the answer Matt needed.

His knees collided with the slick tile, a dull thud ricocheting up his thighs. Supplicant. Hands gripping at your hips like you were this all-encompassing deity. He could practically feel the warmth of your holy radiance evaporating the water still trailing down his back.

The first step in his path to salvation was hooking your knee over his broad shoulder.

You let out a drawn "fuck," as Matt dragged his lips along the inside of your thigh. He could feel the pulse of your blood flowing through the thin skin, how every cell in your body ached for him.

A long drag with the flat of his tongue along your thigh had him groaning against you. He hadn't even reached your folds, his north star, the summit he aspired to, and his eyes were rolling underneath their lids. Another rasping swipe made a shudder roll through his body.

Scraping, pulling fingers wove through his drenched hair. Tugged him higher and higher to that zenith he could never be without. An involuntary hum rumbled deep in his chest. His one and only goal achievable, now that he'd been led to where you needed him most.

Your body beckoned him to drink from you. Practically begged for him to sup of your ambrosia, to feel your arousal flow down his throat. Every pass of his tongue through your cunt guided you both to rapture. Matt clung to your legs like you were his means of survival.

He was addicted to you. That much was painfully obvious. Like any devout to their god, Matt worshipped you. He could lay at your feet and drink from your body's chalice for the rest of his sinful life and never live up to your sanctity.

If Matt was the devil, then you were an angel.

Nothing mattered as much as pleasuring you. Whether it be with his tongue, his scarred hands, or his cock. The world could burn if it meant hearing your breathless moans one last time.

"Matt..."

Even the way you said his name. Like a choir singing the most beautiful hymn. The chords of an organ framed every gasp, every whine that fell from your parted lips. You were rapidly approaching the crest. You stood at the white cliff's edge before a roaring tide, waves crashing over your body like the water from a steaming shower.

Hips rocking in time with his ministrations, thighs squeezing around the crown of his head, fingers pulling at his hair. Strings of blasphemous curses flew from between your clenched teeth. Your head had fallen against the wall, eyes screwed shut, with strands of your hair sticking to the glass in a halo.

One last gentle flick of his tongue against your bundle of nerves and you shattered. Fractals of broken, stained glass rained down over Matt's prostrated body. Currents of ecstasy coursed through your veins. A choked breath caught on your tongue.

Matt reveled in the unbridled swell of pride that filled his chest. He was the one who made you feel this way. He was the one who had you moaning his name. Gone were the flecks of blood coating his skin in a constellation of violence. Gone was the unrepentant fool who entered this shower. He truly, undeniably, felt forgiveness leak from between your thighs and into his waiting mouth.

And he didn't stop.

He kept working at that bundle of nerves, begging for this euphoria to never end. You squirmed as best you could in your position. Back slumped against the glass, held upright by Matt's embodiment of Atlas holding the world.

It wasn't until he felt a gentle prod at his face that he pulled away. He barely moved an inch before he felt the tremor running up your legs. As gracefully as he could, he lowered the leg on his shoulder to the floor.

Your chest heaved with strained breaths. Water, or maybe sweat, beaded on your skin. A shaking hand untangled from Matt's hair and pressed to your forehead.

"H-Holy shit, Matt," you uttered into the steam. A sly smile finally spread across his lips. Ever the devil, was he.

A faint note of copper caught his attention. Sparked bright in his senses like a lens flare. His eyebrows knit together as he focused on the source.

You had bit your lip. Hard enough to draw blood.

Threaded cord wrapped around a sinner's neck. Thrashing limbs, choked and broken pleas, scrabbling boots against concrete. None of it mattered. Matt continued to tighten the noose.

"You okay?" came your panted voice through Matt's churning thoughts.

He squared his shoulders, rising on sore feet. His fingers twitched as his mind fought with itself. Two halves of him barking and snarling at each other like rabid dogs.

"I'll go get dressed. You finish up," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Matt ignored the gnawing guilt in his gut as he stepped out of the shower.

"O-Okay."

The silhouette of your body remained burned in his senses, the brilliant beam to navigate the gathering thunderstorm in his head. How utterly rhapsodic every nerve spiderwebbed through your skin had glowed. And how he'd left you standing vacant and alone in that shower.

He cursed the very fiber of his being. Damned men don't get to delight in otherworldly pleasures. Wicked creatures should remain in the shadows where they belong. The chill of the early-morning air only solidified that line of thought.

Matt was unholy, a scorn to your radiant image. The broken horn on his nightstand, caked in blood and sacrifice, was a constant reminder of how impious he truly was.

As he sat on the bed, devil horn rubbed between his thumb and index finger, all he could think of was how utterly cold he was.

HAPPY SEASON FINALE OF DD:BA!!! what a fucking WILD ride they've taken us on, huh. it has been.... mostly ok!!! i love how matt blew up his life for most of the season, very on brand we love that for him. ep7 happened. it definitely aired. but other than that cold sore in the middle, i've loved the show!! thank GOD it's better than i expected.

also, thank you to the tuna team!!! chatting with y'all is always a highlight of my days, whether it be about the (FAR TOO BRIEF) shower scene or the cinematic beauty that was this show.

[sourszt]

[ 𝟏:𝟐𝟏 𝐩𝐦 | 𝐫𝐞𝐱 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐧 ]

𝐟𝐭. rex “splode” sloan x fem!reader

𝐜𝐰. nsfw, shower sex, quickie, pet names ‘sweet thing’ and ‘pretty girl,’ oral (m!receiving), facial, praise, (in)correct use of powers (blood manipulation), exhibitionism if you squint, rex being soft but also not ?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. this came to me in a vision. i power wrote this last night, knocked out and i’m posting it now. more invincible smuts to come im obsessed w rex and that show. not proofread.

right after a mission, each member of the guardians of the globe had their own way of recollecting themselves.

most of them, decently battered and beaten, would make a brief stop somewhere in the city to give themselves a breather before gathering back at headquarters. the rest would grab a quick shower at headquarters and then head to the lounge area or kitchen to wait for the rest of their team.

you were typically among the former. after taking a decent beating a couple of times a week, you would fly home just to make sure your family was okay. and to reassure them that you were, too. it would only be about half an hour before you’d return to headquarters, which was around the same time as your other teammates.

half an hour of near radio silence within that tower.

near radio silence.

up in the training floor, one shower was still running long after the rest had been abandoned. steam had already condensed onto each bathroom wall and mirror. the sound of rushing water pelting the floor hardly muffled the harmony of stifled cries and grunted curses from that small yet open stall.

somehow, rex sloan had ended up with you in the stall, slinking in when you were all alone to kindly offer to inspect for wounds. you agreed to his oh-so-kind offer, well aware of his malicious intentions, but on the condition that he be quick.

so that was how you wound up pressed to the cold tile wall, back arched and legs spread while rex took you from behind. he was no stranger to your body, knowing exactly where your most sacred spots were and abusing them relentlessly. it nearly brought you to your knees, rex’s hand keeping you upright while the other groped your tit.

“no one’s gonna hear you, sweet thing.” rex husked into your ear, voice strained as he pounded into you. “‘ts just you and me in here.”

you continued to bite at the back of your hand to keep your volume as low as possible when rex’s grip on your hip tightened and he pulled you back into a particularly rough thrust. it caught you off balance for a moment, a surge of pain rocketing through your body, and a pitchy moan tore from your mouth. “fucking christ, rex!”

the man grinned at your whining. “that’s it, keep ‘em comin’,” rex’s other hand snaked around your torso to cup your throat. he yanked you back nearly flush with his chest, groaning at the way your walls clamped around his thick cock. “fu-ckin’ hell. you feel so fuckin’ good around me.”

the new angle let him hit one of those sensitive spots inside of you, and this time you couldn’t quite cover your mouth in time. you weakly grabbed at the hand splayed across your throat but by then you didn’t care about how your cries echoed off of the bathroom walls.

he knew you were reaching your breaking point when he felt that familiar tremble in your thighs underneath his palm. you were already taking him so well, spasming cunt practically swallowing his dick so greedily, but still he persisted.

“do the thing.” he whispered with a smirk playing on his lips.

his rhythm began to die down, telling you that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. as if you’d even tell him no.

you took one of your shaky palms off of the cool tile and reached around to rest it on rex’s waist. it took you a moment to focus as you began concentrating his blood flow down to his cock, gently restricting it at the base. you expanded his blood volume by the slightest percentage, minding the few injuries he sustained during the mission earlier.

rex felt it right away, cock instinctively twitching inside of you. his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his wet hair clinging to your skin; his fingers dug into your plush thigh. you could feel him stopping himself from rutting into you. he hardly had any restraint as he whispered your name so desperately.

“easy.” you instructed. “i need to — fuck — need to focus.”

you were doing anything but that, truthfully. which would’ve been lethal if you didn’t know what you were doing. but alas, this wasn’t the first time.

rex hissed at the same time you did when you felt his cock gently swell inside of you. not enough to be painful, but definitely enough to feel it. the moment you dropped your hand, rex took it as his cue to move.

“fuck,” his voice broke into a soft whine, “so goddamn tight.” he reached between your legs and nudged your thighs apart a little more. “c’mon, sweet thing.”

he moved his hand from your throat to between your shoulders, pushing you down as he pulled out to his swollen tip only to slam his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside of you.

a cry of his name came from you, only egging the arrogant man on. “god, you’re so fuckin’ good for me. aren’t ya?”

you could barely last much longer; that tight, hot coil in your abdomen was steadily unwinding with each of rex’s deep thrusts. you held on to the wall for dear life, your palms sliding against the slick tiles. the weight of rex’s chest against your back made you peer over in time to see his hand envelop yours against the wall, his strong fingers lacing through yours. he kept you upright while he fucked you through your orgasm, mumbling encouragement into your skin.

“that’s it, pretty girl. takin’ me so damn good — fuck!” rex’s grip on your waist began to falter, as did his rhythm, when he realized he wasn’t too far behind you. it didn’t help that your cunt was spasming uncontrollably around him. “come on, i’ve got you.”

the groan in his voice was enough to send you over, head falling forward with a cry of his name. your thighs trembled in his hold and threatened to give out. you hardly managed to keep yourself upright as he continued to pound into you. the stimulation almost became too much to bear, a few tears mixing with the sweat and shower water trailing down your face.

you finally gave out once rex pulled out, body going limp against the wall. rex caught you at the waist and closed the brief gap between you. he buried his face into your neck and pressed soft kisses to your skin. “god, i’ll never get used to that. so fuckin’ perfect.” he mumbled as he turned you around to face him. “do you… mind?” his green eyes shamelessly raked down your body, his still-hard cock twitching in his hand at the sight.

both of your legs were sore beyond belief, and they were sure to get worse after the nap you were bound to take later, but it didn’t stop you from sliding down onto your knees and replacing rex’s hand with your own. your own abilities amazed you; you could hardly wrap both of your hands around his swollen cock, let alone fit it in your mouth.

“fuck” rex groaned, long and low as he braced himself on the wall behind you. it shielded some of the water from splashing into your face, but ran down his body and allowed your hands to pump him with ease. “ju-just like that, christ.” a few stray drops of water running down rex’s red locks fell onto your face as you stared up at him. you made sure not to break eye contact when you took the tip of his cock onto your flattened tongue, easing it past your lips.

one of his hands went to your hair, brushing it out of your face as best as he could before resting his palm at the back of your head. it didn’t guide you nor did it force you to take him further. it encouraged you. you knew that he was already close. it only took you a few skillful bobs of your head and twists of your hands before he started whining. your favorite tell of his that he was about to come.

you inched back enough to take your lips off of his cock and stuck your tongue out, his cum painting it not seconds later. you took it all, gracefully swallowing it before getting back to your feet with his help. he was on you the moment you were, gently pressing you against the wall as he captured you into a deep kiss. not an ounce of concern crossed you, considering you were definitely supposed to be in the lounge by now.

“don’t think that counted as quick, rex.” you said with a smile when he finally pulled away.

“ask me if i give a shit. i hope those a-holes heard us.” rex sassed as he reached for your shampoo bottle. “another wash can’t hurt, right? turn around.”

i love him so much.

[leriexoxo]

SKZ HEADCANONS

Bf! Stray Kids and how they jerk off to you (hyung line)

Maknae Line

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: Requests for ONLY headcanons are open for now. Please note that I prefer to respond to non anonymous requests, cause I’m pretty serious about minors not interacting with me 🧡

——

Bang Chan

He shouldn’t be doing this here. Not in the studio. Not with the door unlocked. But he’s too far gone now.

You’d sent a voice note not even ten minutes ago—your breath hitching as you moaned his name, whispering, “You miss this pussy, don’t you?” He damn near crushed his phone when he heard it. And now?

Now he’s bent over the edge of the desk, pants barely shoved past his thighs, palm slapping against his cock with no rhythm, no control. It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s rage-fueled need—like if he doesn’t cum soon, he’ll lose his fucking mind.

“Fucking hell, baby—look what you do to me,” he pants, spit-slick hand pumping with obscene squelches, cum already dripping from earlier rounds he didn’t clean up.

He spreads it—uses it—moaning into his arm, hips bucking like he’s imagining your throat around him, choking and drooling like a good girl.

“Bet you’re touching yourself too, huh?” he growls, neck veins popping. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked hearing me fall apart like this.”

He grabs the base tight. Holds. Teases himself on the edge. Then snaps—grunting, cursing, gasping your name as cum spills down his cock, over his fist, so much it stains the chair and his shirt.

He doesn’t stop.

Not until his legs shake. Not until he’s wrung dry, dizzy, and smirking like he’s proud of the filth he made.

Lee Know

It’s always methodical. Controlled. Beautiful in the filthiest way.

Minho’s sprawled across fresh sheets, phone resting on his stomach, camera flipped to gallery. He’s not watching porn. He’s watching a video he took—of you, on your knees, tongue dragging up his cock while your eyes stay locked on his. His free hand is already wrapped around himself, slow and steady.

Every stroke matches the way you touched him that night. Down to the rhythm. The tension. The pause before his tip nudged your throat.

“Fucking slut,” he murmurs, a smirk forming as he watches himself grab your hair on-screen. His hand speeds up, wrist twisting, knuckles flushed.

He doesn’t groan. He hisses. Curses under his breath. And just before he finishes, he opens the camera again—records the way his cum shoots over his own hand.

Later, he’ll send it to you. Captioned: This made me think of you. Want a live version next?

Changbin

Absolutely feral. Growly. Always on edge. Like jerking off is a battle he never wins.

He’s in the shower. Steam thick, water scalding. One hand braced against the tile while the other fists his cock like it owes him something. He’s been edging himself since the second he stepped under the spray, breathing ragged, moaning your name like he’s already buried inside you.

“Fuck, I need you—” he grits out, chest heaving.

He can’t slow down. He won’t. His hips grind against his palm, jaw clenched as images flash through his head—your voice when you’re bratty, your thighs wrapped around his waist, the mess you made on his tongue last night.

When he cums, it’s with a sharp grunt and a fist pounding the wall. His legs shake. His cock throbs. And he doesn’t even stop—he keeps going, overstimulating himself until it borders on pain.

It’s never just once with him.

Hyunjin

Erotic. Slow. Like he’s making love to his own damn hand.

He’s naked in bed, candles flickering, silk sheets rustling under him. His phone is propped up on the pillow beside him—FaceTime paused on a screenshot of you in lingerie, mouth open and fingers between your thighs. He bites his lip, lets out the softest moan, and trails his hand down his abs like he’s teasing someone else.

His touch is featherlight at first—just ghosting over his shaft, stroking up and down in lazy, sensual arcs.

“Wish it was your hand,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back.

He talks to himself. Moans softly. Tells you how good you’d feel, how deep he’d go, how bad he wants to hear you cry for him. His back arches when he gets close. Fingers squeeze tighter, wrist moving faster—until he gasps your name like a secret and finishes all over his stomach.

Then he lies there, smiling faintly, hand still twitching on his thigh.

[kisspotion]

college!matt murdock x reader | mutual masturbation... but not how you're thinking! | nsfw

a/n: matt’s kinda a perv in this… but you just sound so beautiful

college!matt fisting his cock in the shower to the same pace he hears you fucking yourself at. he tried to ignore your muffled moans at first, knowing how wrong it was to eavesdrop on his neighbor in the room across the hall. but his exam stress and your airy breaths combined into a painfully hard problem for matt.

it had been so long—too goddamn long—since he'd last had the chance to get off, mock trials and essays taking up any spare time. exhaling a long, slow breath, matt leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cold tile.

were you relieving your stress too? how many fingers were you fucking yourself with? were you wishing someone could be there to help you get off?

"fuck," he groaned at the thought, gripping the base of his cock. his hips jerked forward involuntarily at the sensation. he could hear your teeth pierce your lips as you hold back a whimper. matt sucked in a sharp breath thinking about your lips and how he wish he could feel them, feel the way your heart pounded with pleasure.

“pleasepleaseplease,” he overhears, fist continuing to work along his cock. your pleas combined with the wetness of your cunt hinted at how near your orgasm was. matt steadied himself against the wall with his left hand, ministrations containing with his right. it had been so long since he had last done this.

admittedly, matt didn’t find himself doing this very often. more typically than not, the stimulation was too much for him to feel pleasure. but sometimes, his neighbor across the hall sounds too pretty and fucked out for him to not. and you didn’t even know what you were doing to him.

“oh god,” his grip tightened, bringing him closer to the edge.

he wondered how long you had been touching yourself for before he caught you? what got you so worked up? if he were to just go and knock, would you let him help you?

matt’s chest heaved at the same pace as yours, orgasms approaching in tandem. your fingers grasp against your sheets, his desperately grasping for any stability against the tiles. his eyes squeezed shut, almost in a desperate attempt to imagine how you look while lost in pleasure.

a soft, echoing moan flew from matt’s lips, his head dropping back while his abdomen clenched at his release. cum splatted against the shower walls, washing away with the water and some dripping down his hand. his thumb swiped over the head of his cock, working himself to overstimulation to get this feeling out of his system in case he ever bumps into you leaving his room.

a pang of dizziness overcame him, pairing with his exhaustion. with a groan, matt pushed himself off the wall, leaning into the water stream. as his body began to relax, his ears grew deaf to the drops of water sliding off his warm skin, only hearing the slowness of your breathing and pulse of your heart.

he’d finish off his shower when he could find a thought of his that wasn’t about you.