⋆ ᴊᴇᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀꜱ ⋆
||ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ|| 18+||ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ||ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|| ꫂ᭪݁ 𑣲Author's note:୭⟢꒰☕︎꒱ⱼ.ₖ This is the first smut that I've ever written, omg. 2.8k words. Silent reader- Her dialogue is up to interpretation.
Jean isn't a man to stun a woman for having desires like a normal human would. Instead, he indulges in them with gentle hands and a hard cock.
If his s/o is exhausted but still wants something at the end of the day, he's got them. More specifically, his fingers do.
On this particular day, Jean was home early from work, His workplace having a fire drill during midday. Instead of informing you, he went straight to business by fixing anything that you’ve been nagging him about for a week.
Jean took great care in taking off his coat and tie, as they were the first gifts he had gotten from you. Two years ago, to be exact, although they look like they were bought yesterday.
Looking up at the living room window, the golden hue from the sun cascaded onto his face, highlighting his hazel eyes and causing his pupils to contract. The intensity of his stare was replaced by a relaxed look as he pushed his hair back in one swift motion. His brows unknitted to give an approachable look, eyes blinking slowly, and a touch of a smile ghosted his face.
Walking up to the bathroom, he stands with his hands on his hips, looking around the cream-tiled space.
“She would love a little bath and massage, huh?” He spun on his heels and made his way downstairs, putting on his apron and a sun hat. Quickly grabbing a basket and some floral snips on the way out.
The walk to his garden was short, but tiresome in the hot sun. Its rays burn marks of affection into his skin, the sun’s way of expressing love.
The first flowers he picked were some lemonade pink tulips, followed by pastel blue peonies, and finally some Potomac Apple blossoms.
To Jean, each flower's colour and length tells a story. One of love, despair, or grief, just to name a few. He believes that a petal has a tale of its own to tell, seeing life differently from the angle it grew from. If only the poor things had mouths.
Prepping the soil for another batch of seeds, he noticed your vehicle pulling up to the garage; surprise flickered across his face.
"Huh? Wonder how she's home so early."
Standing up, he gathered his things and packed up. Taking a deep breath and making his way back over to the deutzia white door of your home. Opening it, he finds you flopping down onto the couch and sprawling out, your head leaning back on the pillows, and both hands covering your face.
"You're home early. Something happened at work?"
“Oh? The sprinklers went off accidentally? Why sulk, though? Isn’t it a good thing?” He walked over to the kitchen, cutting off any withered petals and leaves.
“Jeez, I’m sorry. Didn’t know it wet your report for the month.” He peered over at you from the counter, gauging your reaction. “If you want, I can help you redo it.”
“Alright, just let me know when you’re ready.” He offered, bending down to put up the snips and hat in the bottom drawers.
Standing back up, he washed his hands and chuckled when he gave you a once-over.
“Ya know…You’re kinda cute when you’re all mopey-,” He caught himself. “Oh, wait! Not that you’re not always cute, but I mean you are bu- but- uh you know what I mean.” His face twists to a flushed red. “Forget it… Please.”
The flowers in his hands were all carefully placed into craft paper, wrapped together, and then tied with a pink ribbon. Jean’s hands work meticulously on his newest bouquet, his latest creation. Pouring his full concentration into it as though he doesn’t make one for you weekly.
Letting your hands drop to your sides, you sluggishly turned to the direction of his voice with a wrinkled nose, but before you could question him on why he’s home so early, Jean was nowhere to be seen. All you could hear were his footsteps upstairs for a few moments, then paddling down the stairs again.
“I can suggest some methods of relaxation if you’d like…After giving you this, of course.” He slowly made his way back to you and sat down with a grunt, the woven fabric of the couch sinking beneath his body, making you lean into him just a bit. Perfect enough for him to place his forehead on yours.
“Why do you breathe so hard?” He teased, just to be met with a pillow to the face. You halt your second strike as you notice the bouquet in his hands.
“Welcomed.” He got up and lifted you bridal style.
“I’d say we take you up to a nice soak in the bathtub. Then maybe I’ll help you destress if ya catch my drift.” He winked. Cheeky, isn’t it? “Are you up for it?”
Getting your approval, he nodded, “Good.”
Up the stairs, he makes little jokes and compliments about how beautiful you are and how he couldn’t imagine life without you. A true fawner.
The upstairs hallway was decked with paintings of flowers, friends, random objects, and most importantly, you. Jean simply adored you. Your humor, mind, wittiness, laugh, snores, body, and knew everything bout you down to a T…Before you even met him. Not the other way around.
Pushing open the bathroom door with his foot, he’d set you down onto the carpeted tiles, which were covered in sea-themed mats Hange had gotten for you whilst on a cruise with Moblit and the others.
“Turn around for me.” Slipping his hands down to your waist, he balanced you as you spun too fast, all flustered and roused.
“Relax, will ya.” His hands started unbuttoning your blouse, letting it fall to the floor with a fwump. Unclasping your bra was muscle memory for him now, reaching behind you; clink, that’s on the floor too.
He turned around, throwing the discarded blouse and bra into a laundry basket, then opened the bathroom cupboard, taking out a bath bomb and cocoa butter liquid soap.
In his distraction, you began taking off your skirt, folding it, and putting it in the basket.
He turned his head back to you, a finger in the air, “Nuh uh. Don’t do that. That’s my job.” Right.
“Oh, why? I’m home early because of some emergency fire drill they had. Look, Take this.” He placed the tube in your outstretched hand, bending back down for one of the folded towels.
Standing up, his eyes reached yours, those pretty hands of his starting to pull down your pantyhose and underwear in a slow, tantalizing manner, brushing against your mold on the way down, freeing your legs to his hungry gaze. But of course, he hides such looks from your view, looking up at you with an innocent grin.
The bathtub had been covered with rose petals, the room’s scent overpowered with essential oils and candles. You’d take a wild guess that this is what he went upstairs to do. Jean can never quite understand how high oils can smell after a while, nor how many petals were too much. Nevertheless, it was incredibly adorable.
Jean helped you into the tub, setting up the bathtub caddy with your iPad, a towel, and some wine, which he totally didn’t sneak into the bathroom in his little rendezvous trip.
“What? Can’t I treat my lady to something sweet? It’s not every day that I get you like this.” He says this with your foot being massaged by him on the edge of the tub.
Ridiculous.
The man has your hair in a towel he wrapped for you, and a cucumber mask painted on your face. Perhaps the thought of simply asking never occurred to him, but exploiting a man’s stupidity can be quite beneficial. Especially for you in this moment.
“I’m overdoing it!?” A hand flew to his chest for the dramatics. “How dare you! I mean like…Is it working?” His lips puckered just a bit, trying not to snicker.
“Oh? It is? Well, I hadn’t thought it through this far. So…yay?” His eyes softened, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks as he scooched closer to you.
The sounds of water splashing against the surface of the tub from the tab only seemed to drown out as Jean's hands held your cheeks. Fingers caressing the soft skin of your face in a tender embrace, his nose booping on yours, eyes closed, and tongue seeking permission to enter your mouth.
Pulling back slightly, he broke the kiss, "May I?"
After getting your approval, he glides his warm tongue across your plump bottom lip, taking his time to pry his way into your mouth, ensuring to take a few moments to nibble on your lips. He opens his eyes a bit, watching the expression on your face contort from tense to calm.
The close proximity makes it almost impossible to ignore the feel of his breath tangling with yours. Jean smelt of fresh soil and peonies, the scent mixing with that of the cocoa butter and those stupid candles he lit. Your new bouquet rests against the tub, forcing Jean to move with extra care.
Feeling your heart rate spike, your vision flickers, and the view of Jean slipping from your sight made you keep your eyes closed. What’s the point of keeping your eyes open to see nothing?
The aura from the room no longer corrupts your sense of smell, but rather opens your mind to his presence, composed and gentle. All the stress and worry that once consumed you seeps out of your body like a wet rag, the same way your pussy drips for him.
Finally connecting tongues, he moans into your mouth, sending vibrations down your esophagus and a heat straight to your core. Your hands now tangled in his hair, balling up as if your life depended on it. Unfortunately for you, the bastard is into that shit.
"You're so good to me." Slipped from his lips.
His hand drifts down to your stiffened pecks, gently circling them whilst sucking your tongue. A guilty pleasure of his.
Moving away from your lips, you caught your breath only to feel his mouth on your neck, sucking, biting, and leaving trails of wet, fiery kisses. Wimpy tingles make you pull back for a moment, your nervousness subsiding into newfound playfulness.
Jean couldn't help but huff at that, pulling back to wiggle his eyebrows at you. But that moment is gone as soon as it comes, because he got the bright idea to twist your nipple, taunting you, hoping that you would fall for the bait.
"Why the pout?” Sensing your disappointment and the obvious scowl on your face, He stiffened. “Sorry, can I make it up to you?"
"Yeah? I'll help you out."
Yeah. You took the bait.
He offered you his hand to get out after leaving the tub to drain and putting out the candles. Pulling you up, he wraps a towel around your sodden body, swatting your bum mischievously.
"Go to the bedroom."
Walking behind you, he’s taking off his pants, dropping them into the basket, followed by his shirt and watch flung onto the counter, causing a loud clatter to ring through the room. His back had a few scratch marks and bruises from yours truly. That should be telling you enough.
Back turned to him, you feel his hands undo your towel, making your breath hitch. His hands leave behind traces of desire and need as you feel the cool air of the room hit your body.
Thud.
There you stand, bare and ready. “Lie down, my love.” He rasped.
Standing there, he looks on and waits patiently for you. Your body seems to glimmer as the lights in the room hit you from all angles and directions. His eyes scan your face, down to your porcelain legs.
He moves over you, kissing from the soles of your feet to your navel, spreading your lush thighs, and cherishing the sight as though it’s his last view of it, thanking whatever deity took the time to craft your beauty.
Jean leaves warm saliva-induced kisses leading up to your puffy folds, whispering sweet nothings to your opening. Rubbing his nose up your slit, his tongue darts out to taste you.
The second his sultry tongue touched your nub, your body jerked up onto his face, eliciting a huff from him. His hands found their way to your hips, keeping you steady and in place.
"Mhm. Need help with that? I'm sure you do."
He comes back up to kiss you, making you taste yourself. Your arousal that coated his tongue now plasters your own lips.
"So impatient."
Reaching over the nightstand for some lube, he squirted some onto his hand, varnishing the fingers he intended to use in your body. He looked down at you, taking note of the way your chest heaved, and breath dragged.
Jean finally makes his way back down to your entrance, spreading your folds with his fingers. He finds your clit and looks up at you, giving you a look of pure greed before inhaling your sweet attar.
Dipping his head, he fattens his tongue on your clit, circling it in languid motions, moving his fingers from your folds to your thighs, parting them wider for better access.
Your legs try to close shut again, trapping his face down to your heat. Would you call it luck if his hands spread them apart again?
"Just one?"
"Two? Gotcha. Just letting you know, that little stunt you just pulled makes you get three."
To prep you, he slid a pillow beneath your hips and leaned back for a moment to admire his work. Sloppy and messy. Coming back over you, he took his fingers to your inviting slickness, running them down to your entrance.
As his fingers slowly eased inside, your hands tightened in the sheets, feeling his thumb brush over your clit, pulling a soft gasp from your lips.
The nails of his fingers lightly grazed your insides, creating a friction of pain and bliss. The thrill of knowing you’re at his mercy, taking a toll on your wits, comfort, and safety, replacing all strains of dignity.
Without any mind to his own arousal, acknowledging the tent in his boxers was a last thought as all focus was on you. The way your eyes rolled back captivated his gaze, a slight leer creeping onto his face.
Feeling the stretch from his fingers, your face sets to a grimace. Biting your lips as he adds another, greeting him with a snug and comforting feeling. Pasting rough pecks to your cheek, his voice groggy and hoarse as he asks, "You feeling okay?"
“I bet you are. Just let me take care of you.” Leaning down, his lips press between the cleavage of your breasts.
Pumping his veiny fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, his lips make their way to your nipple once again, causing you to arch up and whimper into his touch, seeing stars and a heat pulsing through your body.
“What? Too much?” He whined; his mouth still latched onto you.
“Hmm. Well, that’s too bad.”
Your whimpered reply sent Jean into overdrive, something in his brain short-circuiting. His fingers thrusting faster into your quim, curling up to hit that spot that makes you float into the abyss.
The sensation from his works drives your hand up to his sweat-drenched hair, pressing his head down harder to your tit, cutting off his air supply. Oh, how happy this man would be to die in this instant.
Jean notices your words beginning to jumble and sputter, the flutter of your lashes, and the beads of sweat forming on your forehead, doubling his efforts on your cunt. Your body quivering, mouth unable to hold moans, and your hand loosening its death grip on his hair just a bit.
“C’mon, lemme hear it…please.”
Moaning mess? Yeah. That’s you.
Finally popping off your chest, his eyes fixate on the creamy white liquid appearing on his fingers, more spilling out with each pull.
“Close?” Following your nod, his thumb returns to your sensitive bud, pressing on it to send waves of electricity up your nerves.
His lips parted, whispering, “Cum for me, baby.”
A gush of slick cream left your body, making you tremble and holler in pleasure. Your mind engulfed with relief and ecstasy. Catching a whiff of the room’s musky smell and Jeans glossy eyes on yours. You finally brought your hand up to his chest, tracing lazy patterns over the dents and depths of his abs.
Withdrawing his fingers, he brings them up to his lips and licked it clean. A slight smirk grew on his lips.
“You did so well, my love.” Placing a kiss on your forehead.
Not only was his dick now painfully swollen and hard, but it also spewed precum. Leaving a damp spot on his boxers, his free hand reached down to stroke himself through the clothed garment.
“Ready for around two?”
Jean snickered, “Yeah? Well, hop on my dick.” He leaned against the headboard, one arm behind his head. Boxers are already off, his full length on display and standing at attention.
Goodluck.
