jae ☆

he/him, 20, lover of jean, matsuda, rengoku + more!

[matsudashusband]

high key shoutout to my past self for applying for the Michael’s credit card before my credit score dropped 200 points because I wouldn’t be able to have done 100% of the crafts I’ve done lately had it not been for that credit card.

creating is a huge part of me and I’m so glad despite being broke as shit that I can still purchase materials because of this credit card. and to think that I almost closed the damn thing out because I could only use it there.

[pixelburger]

She would

[lenessence]

𖦹 JEAN HEADCANONS ( 18 + )

how would jean act in a modern setting? how would he act as your significant other?

note : i hope u guys like this :) check out the sfw version here as well!!

nav.

INTIMACY !

foreplay: manual sex (fingering, handjobs), oral (eating out, blowjobs), grinding, making out, showering.

what turns him on: sexting randomly / sending explicit or suggestive photos, candles or warm / mood lighting, talking dirty or explaining verbally what the sex will look like, dancing, teasing, touching his skin slowly and softly.

positions (with informational links): riding / the cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, pinned up against the wall, the pickup, face sitting, doggy style, sitting in his lap.

he's 100% a switch, depending on what you want, how he's / you're feeling he'll either top or bottom. he doesn't care as long as he's with you and pleasuring you.

loves to play dirty games. kissing him all over his body and seeing how long he can go without touching you back and vice versa, kissing everytime a word is spoken on a movie or tv show (like a drinking game), etc.

would lick frosting off of em.

light bondage, holding your hands above your head while he thrusts, using his tie around your wrists, etc. always loose enough for you to move if you really wanted to.

he's vocal. grunting, groaning, and moaning. not the type to whine and whimper though (unless he's realllly come apart).

polaroid photos of you in intimate positions he keeps under lock and key, looking at them when he misses you most. not always sexually or to be aroused, but because he loves to see all of you. it makes him feel closer to you when you're far away. he'd be into filming only if you're 110% down with it.

favorite body part is thighs, followed closely by breasts, then ass.

he likes morning sex, like right when the two of you wake up. it's a great way to start his day and always lightens his mood.

most of the time his hand is laced with yours, no matter where he is on your body, holding hands is an extremely intimate and personal thing to him.

he loves using mirrors.

he doesn't like choking or hurting you in a way that could cause damage, but he likes to rest his hand around your throat. pressing down ever so slightly.

genuinely loses his mind when you wear lace or mesh lingerie. a wine red, black, or light pink will make him go completely feral.

constantly praises you, not always with his words but his actions mostly. running his hands through your hair gently, kissing your neck or inner thighs, even just running his hands around your skin, all giving you pleasant touches when you're doing so well.

finds temperature play arousing and exciting. using ice and / or wax around your thighs or chest to ground you in the moment while he pleasures you in another way. he also likes to suck on a piece of ice before giving oral.

he loves playing music during sex, any kind of music. most of the time it's whatever you like at that moment and he'll roll with it, usually matching thrusts with the beat or timing your orgasm(s) with the beat. biased but he'd love listening to cigarettes after sex.

he loves the way tights / stockings look on you. goes absolutely feral if you wear nothing but them.

hair pulling.

he doesn't like public sex. he doesn't like the risk of you being found in an exposed position to what could be a stranger, he likes that your intimate areas are for his eyes only.

although he doesn't like public sex, he does like intimacy in different places around the house. the kitchen, couch, laundry room (with the machines running), office, bathroom, etc.

sex drive is insane, not only does he get aroused extremely easy he has the energy to back it up.

he likes shower sex, but doesn't do it often because he loves more the intimacy of just actually showering with you. as much as he loves your body sexually, he prefers to worship you with comfort activities such as washing you or massaging you.

AFTERCARE !

doesn't just help you clean up, but also hangs out with you. you two do a puzzle / board game or watch a movie. cuddling together of course!

he praises you a lot, not only because he wants you to feel good about yourself but also because he's slightly in shock after how amazing you were. it's not compliments per se, he's just thinking out loud.

the two of you stay intimate, but in an emotional way rather than physical. he'll hold you in his arms while you share your favorite moments in your life, moments in your life that were hard, or just whatever's on your mind. regardless of what it may be, he listens and engages in your stories. he also shares things with you, things he's never said out loud before.

you discuss if the sex was good, anything you liked or didn't like and vice versa. it's extremely important to him that you have a good time and try things out that you want to. he's open to whatever you'd want to experiment with.

he loves skin to skin contact, cuddling while topless + listening to your favorite songs in silence. just letting the moment speak for itself.

if you want to shower with him, he will. it's not usually a sexual moment (unless you want it to be). he will lather shampoo and conditioner in your hair, wash your back, and rub your shoulders.

while cuddling, he'll give you massages. rubbing your inner thighs, lower stomach, and back. wherever is aching you afterwards. he loves it when you run your fingers through his hair or rub his back with your nails.

can't keep his hands off of you but not entirely sexually. kisses down your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, laying his head on your chest.

sometimes you force him to do skincare after the shower. he'll be sitting on the edge of the bath tub, hair wrapped up in a towel with a face mask on his skin. he acts all grumpy and aloof about it, but he loves the way his skin feels after (and yours even more).

he gets the munchies after intimacy, he'll make you your favorite snack / meal or a recipe from his mother to comfort you after. you'll cuddle up together and eat while watching a tv show.

𖦹 do not reproduce, distribute, or use my work to train artificial intelligence, all rights reserved.

nav.

[iantosnipple]

And then they kiss

[mumblin]

i think you would have to train jean to eat out correctly. like he’d go in so confident but he’d start losing rhythm super fast and get more scared the longer he’s between your legs. like…he really doesn’t have a clue what to do man he just fought a war do you think he has a clue how hole works let alone a clit.

[matsudashusband]

ello there

you may have noticed a gap in posting on this blog, that was because in march, one of my cats fiona died. well! another one just passed. her name was minnie. I didn’t announce a hiatus last time because fiona’s death hit real hard and while minnie’s passing hasn’t exactly been easy, I feel like I should at least take the time to formally announce a break. we still have 3 cats and they’re all very sick right now, so I have to focus on caring for them.

I will return at an unspecified date, just know I don’t intend on abandoning this blog again.

kindly,

jae

[freaklikeme2]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ MICHAEL JACKSON x fem!reader

synopsisৎ michaels 'odd' obsession with you, his muse, is hidden between the pages of his sketchbook.

porn w/ plot smut 18+ dry-humping inexperienced michael/reader switch!michael size-kink (if you squint) friends with benefits MDNI.

You were always considered an outlier in the earth’s hypothesis. Something to be dealt with rather than accepted. 

You weren’t entirely ‘weird’, but being even slightly outlandish in a family that was all business, networking events, and societies twice your age made you stick out like a sore thumb.

You studied your parents' business partners, trying to understand the scripts they’d write and relay just to sell or be sold something. And when your mind refused to make sense of it, you decided you were okay with always being a step behind.

You were accepting the fact that your unwillingness to alter your oddities would leave you lonely–until him.

The evening you met Michael was clear. Its dim calm blanketed Encino in the type of silence only night could infect busy neighbourhoods with. 

You’d been lost in your novel for hours on end, the book in your clammy palms consuming your attention whole, when a sound managed a miracle and drew you from your thoughts.

Leaking in through your unlatched bedroom window was the even steps of a four-legged animal. You were quick to disregard your story and made for the noise, sticking a head out into the night. Below you, lit by the flickering streetlights, was the silhouette of a boy. 

In his right hand was the leash attached to what you eventually identified as a snowy-white alpaca. 

You couldn’t believe it. Wonder finally spread through you and the ecstasy of it was glorious. 

You raced downstairs and out your front-door ‘till you stood face-to-face with the boy and his companion. 

You asked his name. He asked yours. 

And when you asked of the alpaca's, your hand rubbing at the sensitive spot between his eyes, he was bemused when the beast lowered its head and heaved its way into your chest. 

Louie collided with you and you wobbled, grin drawn eye-to-eye as you found your footing. The animal sniffed your oaky perfume and nestled his snout between your torso. 

Michael felt he had no other choice than to ask for your company—'Louie says he’s lonely', the boy joked, gently tugging on Louie's bit 'till his snout was 'nodding' in agreement.

When you laughed, Michael swore the stars did too.

And when the boy with the alpaca turned up again the next night, you were quick to be by his side.

This habit soon evolved from strictly late-night walks to being granted access to his home-phone.

Often, if Michael was too preoccupied to visit, you’d simply wait for the chime of your landline. You’d wrap the chord around your finger and fidget as the world around you collapsed.

Warming to one-another came instinctually. It was as though your gut knew you were to be each other’s bandages, the thing to mend the wounds of your shared unconventional lives. 

Conversation flowed, late nights sailed by, and when the time for sleep rolled around, putting a dampener in your babbling proved impossible. 

Months came and left in short intervals as your friendship flowered. You began to understand Michael, and he developed his own deep-seated need to understand you.  

To Michael, your entire existence became light itself. You came into his world like a new star in the night sky—bigger, better, brighter than the sun. Michael was your earth. He turned because you were his reason for a new day. 

You became something he was convinced God endowed to him. A muse wrapped in odd socks and delicate eyes. 

His muse. 

You were in the studio when he needed inspiration. You were thigh-to-thigh with him when a movie resonated around Hayvenhurst's living-room late at night. You were by his side when his father found fault in his talents and were there to hold him if tears lurked in his doe-like brown eyes. 

Your trust was carved into marble and cradled in silk only months after your first meeting. 

With two existences that now move as one, you’re both encased by an unbroken ease of your own making. It’s a foundations built on questions, on answers, and was only finalised when you knew most things about Michael, and he you.

So, the discovery of his aptitude for art had been uncovered long ago—Michael has a fist-full of talent in nearly every hobby he toys with.

But what is new, unseen until now, are his recent drawings. 

They were once stagnant in his A3 sketchbook. Today, they bare themselves to you. 

Some are rendered; some just jottings of things you fight to find reason in. Though what grasps your attention is the lone illustration on the next page. 

Eyes. Wide and glistening, filled with a life you would only ever distinguish in Michael’s—or your own. 

“What d’you think?” His voice is a petal against a pond. 

You can feel Michael eyeing you, trying to get a gauge of the thoughts running laps in that beautiful mind of yours. Your mute as your fingers delicately flip to the next page.  

This one is a collage—outlines of collarbone, the back of a head of hair, a figure beside an assortment of animals homed in Hayvenhurst. 

It’s one vast visual sonnet. And it is all you. 

Your hair. Your collar. Your figure and feet and hands and limbs. 

“Mike, this is…” You swallow your glee and feel it ripen into something sin-like when it reaches your belly. “These are amazing.” 

“You really think so?”

You nod, turning to the next page only to find it bare. 

“Your so talented, I almost think it’s unfair.” You flash him a smirk before he’s huffing out a timid grin, watching the floor when embarrassment turns his cheeks scarlet. 

“That's only' cus’ you’re the subject.” There it is—those conflicting words that battle his body-language. He’s curled in on himself; knees tucked into his chest like he’s shielding his heart. Yet he succeeds in making yours stutter.

You give him a light nudge that has his limbs unfolding onto the floor before he’s returning that same shove. You tumble theatrically, meeting his delighted expression with a scandalized one. 

“Oh, that’s it..” You tuck the sketchbook safely beneath his bed. 

“Girl, you started it!” The words are torn apart by his giggles. 

You lunge at Michael who’s already prepared for the fingers that jab at his ribs.

This breed of touch is habitual between you both. It’s easy to get lost in, normal to forget whose limbs belong to who as they twist and tangle. It’s almost like the parts of you he’d first touched had already been fashioned to his flesh. 

Finally, the battle to uncover the ticklish spot that has him squirming to escape is triumphant.

You get Michael on his back as your knees flank his thin waist. The boy wriggles and writhes, but when his hips meet flush with yours, his entire body stiffens.

You feel something unfamiliar, something alien, perked between his thighs. An inaudible gasp is plucked from your lungs. 

Your face doesn’t drop—glee is still sketched into every wrinkle—but now, with something solid lodged between his jeans and your skirt, every muscle coils beneath your skin. 

The silence is paralysing. 

Michael looks up at you with vast unblinking eyes, his chest rising and falling no longer in the cadence of laughter, but in something you’d both only ever seen fragments of in movies. 

Lust. 

The feel of lust is unfamiliar, consuming, and the throbbing it's buried between your thighs is almost unbearable. 

It sneaks between the fissures of your bodies and has the boy beneath you falling into an unrelenting thirst. It’s like he hasn’t drunk in weeks—like you’re the first and last body of water he’ll ever see.

It drapes around you and pulls tighter than Michael’s boa-constrictor around a neck—and somehow, feels more threatening. 

As you search your reflection in the boys auburn eyes, you wonder whether he feels that pull too.

You test your theory and shift ever so slightly. Not enough to stir up the dust on the carpet, just enough to have Michael shuddering beneath you. 

The view leaves your vision hazed around the edges.

You do it again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. 

Michael mewls. 

Immediately, his scarlet cheeks find shelter beneath his hands. Even though his shame is practically palpable between the cracks in his fingers, his once level legs rise from the floor and bow at the knee. 

He’s urging your hips forward. 

Your eyes slam shut at the sensation of the new angle, stomach dipping when he rolls once and, somehow, seamlessly inserts himself between you.

“Michael…”

Heaven cannot compare to the way his name descends from your tongue. It’s a hymn, something to be reminisced—something to be kept hallowed.

Finally, the boy’s hands expire from his face. 

Embarrassment around you feels… wrong. Like shoving a puzzle piece into an unfitting form and expecting the picture to be whole. 

His digits venture across his collar bones, his stomach, ‘till they reach the place where your thighs are bound around his waist.

You tear your eyes from the sight of enormous hands swallowing your skin and soak in the person below you in his entirety. 

The dark curls caught in the sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead, the unblinking dark masses that are his swollen iris’s—the need to alleviate that incessant stabbing in your stomach becomes fatal.

You move against him in one concentrated, brutal thrust. 

Michael tosses his head back and bites into his bottom lip, a whine pelting past his throat. 

“What’s happening...?” You’ve barely moved yet your lungs already fight for air. 

“Ion’ know…" A buffer, like he's noticed the cliff your both about to fall from, then; "Do it ‘gain, please.” He jumps.

You circle yourself on him this time, testing the delicious current that burrows between your ribs. 

Your name falls from his lips like he’s calling out to a deity rather than a woman. But when Michael’s eyes blink open, that line becomes one big blur. 

With you on top of him, hair framing your jaw and lengthy lashes fluttering each time his dick quivers against you, you're becoming the only thing he believes in.

The thing growing under Michael’s slacks is so stifled, so tender, so full that he finds it impossible to halt his body's instinct to hump up and into yours. 

The movement has you sinking forward as hands grasp at his flannel for balance.

“Feel s’ warm inside...” Michael gasps.  

The first few times you meet his bulge it almost burns, pumping molten lava into the fabric of your panties. His dick swells beneath you and offers only a sample of what it’d feel like buried inside, polluting that space with a venomous hunger.

“T-think I need more, please...” Michael’s pleads to you through the slits in his eyes as your messy pace gradually builds on the already pulsating glides of his hips. 

With each unrestrained jut, the longing which settles into Michael’s glossy skin shoves his usual bashfulness aside. It makes space for the petty need that only ever rises when he’s alone and thrusting into his pillow.

But your body is mountains away from his poor, overworked pillow.  

He can feel your puffy clit through his jeans. Has the privilege of watching your features bend to the will of satisfaction. Listens to your mewling when each ridge of his dick entertains that honeyed spot concealed by a solitary piece of fabric. 

This outshines any sexually fuelled scenario his lurid mind can conjure. 

“D'you feel that heat too? It feel good?” Michael’s winded as each hasty grind breeds broken mewls.

“Yeah, r-real good.” You yelp when he revises the angle of his hips and punches up into you.

In this moment, Michael’s convinced that anything you feel, he feels two times over. The sentiment is silly—he’s not even sure he believes it—but when his eyes train to the stain tinting his slacks, how can he not?

“Is that…” His words wane before he can finish.

The direction of his eyes leads you to where you're divided by only a few layers of fabric.

Your pussy’s weeping against his jeans. 

“That’s me, Mikey.” You hum at the way his eyes cement themselves to the stain every time it bares itself from beneath your skirt. 

“Didn’t know g-girls could get so wet. Lookit’, jus’ there. Your leakin’ all ova’me—God!” Michael’s fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as his eyes drown beneath a watery gaze. You can’t tell whether he wants to pray or devour you whole. 

You’d let him do both.

After two more merciless strokes, Michael’s palms find the confidence to uncover the flesh of your ass obscured beneath your skirt. He raises the fabric with one bulky hand and kneads your supple cheek with the other, until;

His hands still. Something’s wrong.

You watch his gaze grow bothered as the root of his troubles dawns on you—the fabric of your skirt is disrupting his view between your legs. 

He gathers the front of the material, mumbles, “Hol’ this.”, before passing it to you. “Lean back, please. Use my knee.”

You follow his instructions blindly, fabric in hand as you swing an arm behind you and feel for his leg.

“Yeah, yeah, jus’ like that...” If Michael is anything, it’s a perfectionist. This is a man who knows what he wants and one that’ll do whatever to get it.

 Right now, he wants the uninterrupted image of the expanse of your stomach and front-row seats to the arch in your spine when you seize his thigh for stability.

“Feel–agh! Feel s’ good.” You throw your head back as you work yourself on him, dick twitching when he eyes the tears of sweat dribbling down your clavicles. 

“Don’t stop, please. K-keep movin’ on me like that.” He needs this moment to be infinite. 

Your knee slips and loses its friction to the floor for just a second. The mistake has your swollen clit colliding with the cool silver of his zipper. 

Another moan rips from your pretty pink lips.

“Oh God...!” Michael curses through bared teeth, “Sound so pretty… s’ pretty.” He’s all inexplicit obscenities braided into praises and pleads that sound like poetry.

“Wan’ try this…” Another slur of words you don’t quite catch, but feel when the hand on your ass begins its course over your sea of ribs to the swell of your breasts.

His palm wanders in efforts at finding your nipple above your clothes, but your fervour gets the better of you. 

You snatch his hand into your own–able to hold only a few of his fingers due to their sheer size–and steer it to the hem of your top. You introduce the skin of your unadorned chest to his balmy palm. 

“T-thank you.” Michael keeps you rocking on his bulge with one hand as the other examines the unmapped land.

It takes only a second for his thumb to discover the swell at the centre of your boob. His finger is tender against the bud, circling only once before studying your body's response. 

His touch runs through you like an electric pulse, chest to core, igniting every nerve on the way. 

“Do that again.” You whine through the stutter of your hips. 

“Tha’ was good? Really? I did it right?” Michael purrs when you eagerly nod. 

You shiver as the pad of his thumb teases your nipple again, circles it, tugs. Each swipe shapes another pulse that’s followed by an overpowering ache amid your thighs. 

Your end is threatening you like a waterfall to river rapids. And by the blissed-out expression staining the boy below, you realise his too is an impending danger. 

Suddenly, your world flies forward. 

Michaels managed to heave you toward him by the hand hidden in your shirt. 

For a few instants, you swear he’s about to kiss you. 

His eyes are unmoving from your parted lips, like he’s been waiting all this time to taste them, so close that when your foreheads touch you can smell the mint gum he’d rid of earlier haunting his frenzied breath. 

Yet your lips remain untouched. 

They merely linger inches away from each other, wavering with the rhythm of your bodies.

This is just how you two are. The act of sharing breath, uncaring of where yours starts and his ends, carries a weight beyond that of lips locking.

“C-can’t hol’ it much longer if you keep–ngh–goin’, right there…” He exhales his words into your mouth.

“You’re goin’ to ruin your pants, Michael.” 

The boy can almost—almost—feel a giggle rise in his chest. Only you’d be darling enough to have concern for something so inane. 

“You already dirtied ‘em.” He returns, a flicker of a smile carving his lips as though cognizance fights for a space at the fore-front of his mind. 

But when you grind on him just right and leave yourself to your pleasure, his tongue goes slack in his mouth. 

“You’re the best fren’ for lettin’ me do this...” It’s that familiar silken tone he wears when he speaks to you like you're something he can break. “This is wha’ we should do, right? Help each other—God!—out.”  

“Mhhm…Best, best frie-” You don’t know when it rose—or how long it’d been there—but you feel complete for a few moments, as though your bodies soaking in the sunrise of your relief. No muscle is spared as your body fizzles into the forefront of your orgasm. 

“Y-you cummin’?” When your reply is a hefty head plummeting to the crook of his neck, shadowed by the quake in your clenched thighs, he figures your answer. 

Your climax hits you like a freight-train. It robs you of your vision and stifles everything but the rise and fall of two synchronised sets of lungs. 

“Your cummin’ on me, shit…”

 Tears shadow your waterline when his bulge presses against your gushing clit, bodies so near that your certain Michael’s ribs are woven into yours. Yet the persistent pad of his thumb at your nipple has your spine curling and stuffing any stray gaps.  

You strangle your sobs against Michael’s collar as your hips convulse with the swell of your release. While it wanes, leaving you only with ruined panties and locked-up limbs, you note the weightlessness in the hollow of your abdomen—the source of your orgasm. 

“Wan’ keep goin'. Can I, please..?” 

You try to find the strength to not only say yes to Michael’s plea, but to beg him to use your body ‘till the only thing you feel is him planting his seed between your legs.

Yet you're a drooling, sensitive mess against him. You settle on a nod. 

The boy below revives your pace with his hands entombed into the plush of your thighs, your wilted body the only aid for his throbbing dick. “Thank you, pretty. Oh god, I-I’m s’ close!” 

You ache—God, do you ache—but the filth fleeing Michael’s mouth only feeds the muscles that are jelly beneath your flesh. You fill your lungs with air and rise from his chest with a determined huff. 

The unpolluted need to watch him fall apart blinds your frailty. 

“Wan’ you to come in your jeans, Mikey.” Your sentence is one big slur as each syllable clings on to the next. “I wan’ taste it. Are you gonna be a good friend and let me have a taste?” 

“’Is all for you. O-only eva’ been for you.” Michael nods through a disgruntled whimper.

“So kind n’ pretty… Smell s’ good, too. A-an’ you feel s’  soft ontop o’ me—s-shit, I’m-” The boy's mindless worshipping is devoured by the sharp teeth of his orgasm. 

A gut-wrenching wail leaks from Michael’s wet, flushed lips as brown eyes wane to the back of his head. You watch every moment with broad and enquiring eyes, utterly engrossed in his ecstasy-charged expression—the slack jaw, his brows pinched on his forehead, the doleful, whiny little noises that flee in short bursts. 

Even the way his fingers brace against your skin is sure to leave pretty prints on your soft flesh. Five dainty souvenirs of your devoutness to one-another. 

Michael’s tempo wanes as he uses your overstimulated clit to wring himself dry in his slacks, dick pulsing with each throb, wracking his body ‘till his convulsing settles into tremors. His seed soaks into the head of his boxers, climax staining his eyes and ears with the echo of its might.

After a few attempts at forcing breath back into your lungs, you both wade in the soothed silence of post-orgasm waters.

 Things are still. Things are safe. 

Michael’s beneath you and he’s collecting the pieces of himself he lost between your slick, when; 

His hands rising, reaching for the dishevelled hair atop your head. He loops an orphaned strand around his finger.

Michael's playing with your hair. 

This is something he’d do when he was jaded during a movie and had you near, or on the phone to a producer with you by his side. 

It’s a habit he’s built around the idea that your constant presence nearby is normal. 

Was this where your shared path of oddity led you? To the point of naming a once indescribable sensation as lust?

Michael’s fiddling halts when he catches your movements in a sharpened gaze. He’s too fucked-out to question why your hands meandering lower, lower, ‘till it reaches the indent of dark skin that melts into his briefs. 

Your supple fingers sink beneath the thin layer against his crotch, uncovering the tacky, balmy liquid that can only be one thing—your best-friends come. 

Your nails caress his inflamed tip for only a moment, yet the faint connection has Michael sucking in air through his front teeth. His fingers intuitively fly to your wrist and are able to trap it with a single hand.

“You promised I could have a taste.” Your words sound like satin. 

Michael nods dumbly, his brain melting in his skull.

Your fingers circle the leftovers of the slick mess he made before carrying it to your mouth, parting when you lap at the evidence of Michael’s orgasm. 

“How do I taste?” His voice comes out as a whisper before he licks his lips, biting into the bottom one so hard you’re certain he’s broken skin. 

You hum whilst cleaning your finger on your tongue, swallowing his seed. It’s salty, pungent, somewhat saccharine as it oozes down your throat. 

“As sweet as you sound.”

A/N I don't exactly like this BUT! im desperate to post for mj so take it. i will start working on ur requests soon! I don't have a schedule as i am employed so stuff will b released as it's ready! thank you so much for the insane support on my first post, ily all𑁤

[matsudashusband]

it’s not even that I ship reiner and bertholdt but at the same time I picture them in a modern setting as life partners and they live together in an apartment and they always grocery shop together

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[mykirstein]

jean eating you out at night during a mission and tries his best to keep you quiet >__< #NeedThat. nsfw drabble! mdni

“fuck baby, you need to quiet down” jean lifted his head from between your thighs, your juice dripping down from his mouth.

“i’m trying” was all you managed to reply with as he lowered his gaze to your cunt which he had methodically eaten out for the past couple minutes.

you were the only ones in the tent, but it wouldn’t take long before the other scouts from the nearby ones would catch you in the act. after all, you were on a mission. but you can’t help it when you have such a loving boyfriend willing to please you when- and wherever, right?

jean slid his hand up your legs making you shiver. it crept higher until he reached your mouth, whereas you instinctively invited his fingers in. he pressed down on your tongue as his own worked like magic on you, running up and down your folds the way he knew you liked it.

as you felt yourself getting closer, you couldn’t help rocking your hips back and forth, making his nose repeatedly hit your achingly sensitive bud.

sucking on jean’s fingers always helped keeping your volume down, but as you sensed that familiar feeling of release it was definitely a challenge. as you whimpered and swiftly grabbed his hair for support, jean groaned against your pussy and the vibrations sent you over the edge.

he slowed down to help you through the high, his eyes fluttered open and met yours. a small smile of victory appeared on his face as he admired his work — you, perfectly spread out, cum dripping out of you and hair sweatily stuck to your forehead.

jean was the kind of guy to never expect anything in return, and as he laid down behind you he put one hand over you and squeezed you closer to him.

“you did good baby.” was the last thing you heard before the two of you drifted off to sleep.

[matsudashusband]

how jean would love an insecure reader

nsfw 18+ // minors DNI!! // afab reader in mind but gender neutral terms used // thinking like a friends to lovers type situation with these

-hooo boy

-jean has been through the ringer with insecurity, but can’t possibly see what a beautiful god(dess) like you would have to be insecure about

-he would lay you down and sit over top of you, careful not to make you feel intimidated or scared beneath him because he wants to make you feel as comfortable as possible

-“would you allow me to show your body the love that you’ve been lacking in showing yourself?”

-you would probably be really hesitant to, because you weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you trusted jean would take care of you either way.

-“if you’d feel comfortable telling me exactly what you’re insecure about, I can show you why those areas deserve love while I kiss them for you.”

-ugh. he’s such a lover boy.

-ideally he would strip you of your clothes, but if you wanted to keep something on he would work around it. if you wanted the room to be dimly lit, he would be happy to comply as well. he just wants an excuse to kiss you all over awh

-“when was the last time you fed your body a decent meal? no, I’m not talking junk food or low calorie snacks. something that made you feel good?”

-when you can’t remember, jean sighs and continues to kiss all around your stomach, running one hand along all your curves, the other had a firm grip on yours. he’ll promise to cook you something good after.

-“you don’t like the size of your thighs? as long as my head can fit between them, I don’t personally see an issue.”

-he is a thigh man okay.

-doesn’t care if they’re thin or thick, he will lay his head in your lap and beg you to play with his hair regardless.

-he’ll finish strong by going down on you. he’ll ask you nicely if you’d allow him to, but he’ll stress that if you aren’t comfortable with it, he’s fine with that too.

-consent is all around very important to jean, he just wants you to feel comfortable all the time <3

-afterwards, he’d cook you some omurice or a really good grilled cheese (whatever you were in the mood for) and he’d spend the rest of the night holding you and pressing the most loving of kisses to your head :3

[matsudashusband]

Hiii so I have a L x reader request where they have been together for years and no one knew of their relationship but somehow Light found out so he killed her. And like how would L react to that??

unfortunately I don’t really write for L often and haven’t seen death note in some time, I am sorry I cannot fulfill your request 🙏

[japlanta]

DADA

[wanderersboyfriend]

.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ .˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ .˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ❤︎ᩙ.˳˳.⋅ॱ

[mjenthusiast]

actually need him so bad 😭😭😭

[matsudashusband]

yearner jean

I am yearning for my lover so I am taking it out on my favorite 2d himbo

yearner!jean who met you one day by chance, he accidentally bumped into you somewhere and grabbed onto your waist to steady you

yearner!jean who usually went to your work once a week but after running into you, he started coming in a lot more often

yearner!jean who would pester you every day he saw you about not having a favorite flower, “well, then I’ll just have to bring all kinds until you tell me which you like the best!”

yearner!jean who did exactly as he said, would bring you a different bouquet every week until you picked a favorite and from then on, he would bring you those.

yearner!jean who begged you to tell him if there was someone else in your life you were pining for, and if there was he would crawl on his knees begging for you to choose him instead

yearner!jean who would spend his last dime on a flower for you, and even then, would opt to make you paper flowers.

yearner!jean would beg you for a date, yet can’t bring himself to ask you casually for one. however he’d ask would be extravagant and over the top. he’ll do anything to impress you

yearner!jean who is so full of love for you that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he turns to crafting things for you, painting you, drawing you, and annotating books for you. everything circles back to you.

he’s a beggar folks I don’t make the rules!!!

[wanderersboyfriend]

[bambieyedpoet]

arcade date drabble - jean kirstein x f!reader .✦ ݁˖

jean kirstein is good at lot of things, however, claw games are not one of them.

he had been fighting the claw machine for way too long. he stood there with his arms crossed, jaw tight, acting like the thing had personally wronged him. every time the claw slipped, he muttered something under his breath, something rude, or something dramatic.

“you’re taking this way too seriously,” you said.

“i’m not,” he replied, even though he absolutely was. “i’m close. i can feel it.”

he wasn’t close. the claw dropped again, grabbed nothing, and jean let out a noise that was half groan, half disbelief. he dragged a hand through his hair, annoyed because he wanted to impress you and it wasn’t working.

you nudged him aside. “move, let me.”

he stepped back, pretending he didn’t care, even though he watched every tiny movement you made. you lined up the claw, pressed the button, and won the plush in one clean go. jean stared at the claw like it had betrayed him.

“you’re kidding,” he said.

you handed him the toy. “there. sorted.”

he held it awkwardly, cheeks pink. “i was trying to win that for you.”

“i know,” you said. “but you can try again.”

and he did. he slid another coin in, shoulders set, eyes narrowed. this time he didn’t rush. he didn’t overthink. he just focused. the claw dropped, grabbed a small plush near the corner, and somehow finally held on.

the toy fell into the chute with a soft thud. jean froze. then he bent down, picked it up, and turned to you with a proud, dorky yet cocky smile.

“told you i could do it,” he said, holding it out to you.

you took it, brushing his fingers. “good job, hero.”

and then, you left a gentle, romantic kiss on his cheek.

jean’s ears went pink, but he laced his fingers with yours as you walked away, still muttering about “bloody machines” even though he was smiling the whole time. glad he could finally provide and make you happy.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝