100%. I Am Extremely Introverted And Interacting This Way Is One Of The Only Ways I Socialize. I Appreciate

Psst.

Hey, come closer.

Under the rocks.

I have wisdom to impart to you.

The only rules to writing are the ones you set for yourself, so do it however makes you happy.

I've got two types

Like there is an equal opportunity for each of these men to drive me straight into Pound Town and I cannot explain that

Me: it'll come to me after some thought.

Me after some thought:

I REFUSE to accept this as canon. Nope. The League deserve better than the ending they got.

the thought of spinner alone in his cell haunts me. do yall think he wakes up on that shitty prison bed, so similar to the ones he slept on while on the run, and in the time between waking and remembering where he is, subconsciously listens for the sounds of the league as they wake up too?

I can be shaped by more than the things that hurt me

Just read your hound dog fic and God DAMN! It is so good (presentation Michael when my hands find your neck)

Aahhh a fellow hound dog stan!!! Thank you anon for also wanting that dawg in you 🙏 Mic's just got such shit disturber energy, he has to fulfill that primal need to scream

Can we please talk about why there isn't more smut of Twice? Like, he is built, for one. Total hunk. Weird as hell too which is just my type. But he's also an actual sweetheart who I can see being a very generous lover.

I bet he'd be shy at first, probably a little surprised you were pursuing him. He can be pretty dense when it comes to things like this so you had to make the first move. But when you lift his mask to pull him down into a kiss, it doesn't take him long to succumb to that primal hunger, and he's manhandling you as he pushes you up onto the counter, doesn't even care if someone walks in.

God is he so fucking eager to have you in his hands like this. You've got him about to bust in his pants with the way you're moaning into his mouth, how you're begging him to touch you. Anything you want, he's not denying you whatever you ask for, so he lets his hands map out each and every curve of your body, relishes in the way you shiver when his fingertips bite into your flesh.

"Here?" There's a shake to his voice as he asks this, rubbing the ache between your thighs, "You want it here, too?"

Obviously, this man is a switch. He aims to please so whatever you want that day he's doing it. He's just as happy to bend you over his bed and fuck your wet little cunt raw as he is to have you riding his face and calling him a good boy. All he wants is for you to fall apart, say his name, let him make you cum as many times as you'll allow him to.

You'll be riding him, using him as you please, and he's whimpering underneath you as you tighten around him like a vice.

One second he's a mess, all fucked-out and moaning, "please, fuck--mmmff--keep going, just like that," and the next thing you know, he's bucking up into you until he's on top, tossing your legs over his shoulders as he grits, "you thought I was done with you, princess? Gonna have you taking my cock 'til I'm shooting blanks,"

Reblog if you stand against order, civilization, and goodness itself

BEST FRIENDS & BAD IDEAS

♡ — jean kirstein x f!reader

Big aspirations and even bigger dildos—in which a poorly thought out plan makes it incredibly hard to act like your feelings for Jean Kirstein are platonic. Not when they’re anything but. And especially not when you’re half naked in his lap.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.7k

prompt — cockwarming, creampie

additional content — NSFW, 18+, best friends to lovers speed run, dildo use, implied masturbation, unprotected p in v, praise kink, jean kirstein’s big dick

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” Jean growls, and his low, rough tone sends you off-kilter, shoving you headfirst over the precarious edge you’ve been foolishly dangling from.

In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

–

In the long list of questionable decisions you’ve made today, one of the first catalysts guaranteeing inevitable disaster was your lack of foresight to lock your bedroom door before stripping off your shorts and underwear and preparing to lower yourself down onto the ridiculously large dildo that had been delivered in an even more comically large Amazon box this morning. 

Your best friend of many years and college roommate, Jean Kirstein, came home just as your makeshift “stand”—you’d hastily attached the suction cup at the base of the dildo to the last clean plate in the cabinet for lack of a better surface—went flying across the rug, ripping the few inches you’d manage to ease down onto right out of your lube-slick channel. You’d hit the floor with a thud, growling in frustration. This, understandably, had the unfortunate effect of attracting the concern of said roommate, who swiftly burst into your room as if you were in the middle of being robbed. 

The concern quickly morphed into hysterics as he spotted the giant purple dildo wiggling uselessly a few feet away from where you were lying on your stomach, punching the carpet and yelling at him to get out with as much dignity as you could muster.

“That’s my shirt,” he commented dryly, ignoring your pleas for him to forget everything he had just seen. 

“Well it was in my drawer,” you spat back, trying to push the dildo-plate behind you, although the damage was already done.

Jean leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I have so many questions.”

“Our business hours are between 8 and 5, so you’ll have to call back tomorrow. Sorry,” you said with a dismissive wave, subtly kicking the plate and dildo beneath the bed. 

The suction cup chose that moment to pop off, and all ten inches came rolling back into view right where a bar of sunlight was stretching across the floor from the window. It would have almost looked artsy. 

If it weren’t a fucking dildo.

“I thought you ordered a lamp,” he observed mildly, motioning to the huge cardboard box you’d yet to take out to the recycling bin. 

“I’m gonna order you a fleshlight if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, shoving on a pair of sweatpants.

Jean crinkled his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That thing’s so big, the landlord might start charging us for three tenants if he sees it. Is this a cry for help?”

“I’m trying to prepare myself for seducing Eren at the party Saturday night,” you whisper-yelled, as if anyone else was going to overhear you in your otherwise empty apartment. 

“Jaeger?!” he barked out with a disbelieving laugh. 

“Everyone says he’s huge. I don’t want it to be a disaster.”

“He’s not that fucking big!” he exclaimed incredulously. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can you like, go be somewhere tonight? Go get so high with Conny you forget you saw anything? I’m gonna go try in the bathroom instead.”

“You’re kicking me out of my own apartment so you can shove a giant, sparkly purple dildo inside of yourself imagining it’s Jaeger’s dork ass?”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Jean.”

He groaned. “The bathroom sounds like an even worse idea. You’ll slip, hit your head on something, blood will go everywhere, and we’ll lose the security deposit.”

“Or my plan will work, I’ll get laid this weekend, and you can stop complaining about how grumpy I’ve been lately,” you reasoned matter-of-factly. 

Jean’s hand came to rest on your shoulder as you attempted to push past him to leave the room, aforementioned dildo jiggling menacingly in your hand. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said a little more softly, raising a brow as he cast another look at the offending object.

“I have lube!” you shot back defensively.

Jean glanced up at the ceiling, muttering something about regret under his breath before exhaling, “Let me help you.”

–

In all the years that you’ve known Jean, you’ve done an excellent job at keeping your little crush on him your best kept secret. A secret kept under the most formidable lock and key, buried deep in the depths of your psyche. Tucked away in the very back of a dusty, old cabinet like an expired can of corn. 

Objectively, you know Jean’s handsome. You’re well aware. 

With his intense, hazel eyes—ones that see everything. 

His tall, solid form. 

His sinfully curved, pink lips (and his habit of idly sliding his tongue along the bottom one). 

His long, dexterous fingers—a dangerous thought. 

That fucking mullet he let grow in, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is when he rolls right out of bed and leaves his room looking like a pillow-rumpled supermodel. 

He’s hot, okay?

And sure, you’ve drunkenly kissed at a few parties over the years. Jean’s seen your ass more times than you can count. Definitely your boobs that time he ran into the bathroom to puke while you were showering. Sometimes he has a habit of putting his head on your lap when you’re both on the couch, nudging you till you card your hands through his soft brown hair like a damn dog. 

But it’s always been platonic. 

Friendly. 

Two people who are just very, very comfortable with one another. Comfortable in knowing that neither intends to ruin their stable, solid friendship by carelessly sprinkling feelings into the mix. 

Comfortably going so far as to share the sordid details of your sex lives (or lack thereof, lately) while leaning against the kitchen counter eating take out food without batting an eye—though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to one up him sometimes when you feel that familiar, unwelcome twinge of jealousy yawning awake inside of you.

But this?

This is asking too much of your restraint to keep your heart walled off and your mouth clamped shut. In your defense, it was already left in pitiful tatters after grinning-and-bearing it throughout the seven-month-long nightmare that was Jean dating fucking Pieck. 

—

The next phase of your slew of terrible ideas today began with Jean sitting at the head of your bed, back against the wall, holding the dildo between his legs. Like your own personal fucking dildo holder. Grinning like this wasn’t the single most awkward thing the two of you have ever done (save for the time you both fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch and woke up to his accidental boner poking you in the ear—neither of you ever mentioned that again). 

And it would have been totally fine if it worked out like you imagined in your head the moment he pitched it—you sinking down onto the silicone schlong a few times, stuffing in as much as you could while he held it still. Then letting him carry on with his day while you lay there in bed for a little while with it lodged inside of you, getting yourself used to the stretch. Totally fine. 

The reality of the situation was far different, entailing a sticky, slippery mess of lube coating of your hands and a dildo that bent and flopped in every direction as you tried to carefully impale yourself on it while maintaining some sense of dignity. 

You had given up fairly quickly, butting your head against Jean’s collarbone and sighing as you asked if he thought Eren would go slow. 

He was quiet for a moment. 

“…do you trust me?” Jean had asked carefully, like his next suggestion wasn’t going to send you spiraling.

Like “Just sit on my dick, as a friend!” wasn’t the most fucking confusing statement your heart, brain, and vagina had ever heard.

–

Which is how you find yourself in your current predicament, straddling Jean Kirstein’s lap with far more inches of him than you’d realized he’d been keeping tucked away buried to the hilt in the velvety heat between your thighs. Raw, skin-to-fucking-skin, because you’re both in a miserable dry spell with not a single condom to be found between the two of you. And somehow the combination of “known you for half of my life” and “just got tested” and “IUD” sounded better than one of you being tasked with trudging to the pharmacy.

Or, god fucking forbid, going down one floor to ask Conny for one.

Nope. 

You have three days to prepare yourself for whatever may come with Eren, so sitting on your best friend’s intimidatingly large dick sans condom the least of your worries. Even if it feels so incredible you’re literally silently choking on the moan threatening to spill past your lips. 

Even if you fucking swear you heard his breath hitch when the thick head of his cock began to slip past your entrance, stretching you open wide as he breached your damp channel. 

Even if he hardly had to touch himself to get hard for this. 

Even if his gaze darkened when you choked out, “Jean, your dick is huge.”

This was a terrible idea. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

“Doing what?!” you ask, exasperated.

He rests his hands on your waist, “Doing this,” and squeezes firmly, “on my dick.”

“This isn’t even sex,” you tell him, ignoring the way the close proximity of his hazel eyes sets a flurry of emotion stuttering in your chest. “It’s like, cockwarming at best. You can’t come from cockwarming if you’re not even turned on.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know how tight you are?”

“That’s obviously why I was worried about Ere—”

“It’s like this,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your throat. It’s a loose hold, only meant to prove a snarky point, but a spark of arousal seeps through your body anyway at the mere suggestion. His eyes widen a fraction at the traitorous way your walls clamp down on him even harder in response. “What, you into being choked?”

“I’m into a lot of things, Jeanie,” you tell him haughtily, trying to ignore the heat blistering beneath your skin.

“Like dumb idiots named Eren Jaeger?” he counters, making to grab for the tongue you’re currently sticking out at him. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think Jean sounds like he’s jealous. 

Which he definitely isn’t. 

But you poke the bear anyway. 

“What, are you jealous?”

He shifts slightly, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan as your cunt spasms around the pressure from his cock. 

If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, his brow furrows as the corners of his mouth tilt downward slightly. “I just think you deserve better.”

You tug on his earlobe, letting out a weak laugh in an attempt to dispel the sticky, messy feeling of hope trying desperately to cling to the arousal stirring in your gut. “Says the guy who’s currently fucking me.”

Jean scoffs and deadpans, “I thought this wasn’t sex.”

Who are you kidding? Certainly not the tension coiling ruthlessly in your abdomen. 

You move a little, trying and failing to relieve the sensation of hot wax dripping down your spine. Instead, you let out a tiny, strangled noise when your throbbing clit presses down against his pelvis, the resulting flood of pleasure setting every nerve ending in your body on fire.

The way he growls out your name through gritted teeth is a warning, but his low tone only serves to stoke the flames licking their way up between your thighs. 

You move again, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“Fuck,” he groans quietly, head hitting the wall behind him with a resounding thud. 

You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, but his hands find their way back to your hips, calloused fingertips pressing directly against your skin as he slides them up beneath your shirt. His shirt. 

The next time you rock against him, his grip on you tightens. And then, you feel it—he tugs you forward. 

You lean further into him, without really meaning to, forehead coming to rest against his. “What are we…”

“Just keep going,” he murmurs. 

He shifts again, sinking down lower so his back is pressed against the mattress, and you realize the angle gives you more purchase to grind down against him when he pulls at your waist, thumbs lazily skimming your hip bones. 

“Jean…” you whisper, not really sure what else you intend to say. 

“I want you to feel good,” he says softly, pushing his hips against you, even though he’s snugly bottomed out. 

It feels so fucking good—

—laying atop Jean while he stares back up at you, pupils clearly dilated in arousal—

—watching his eyes fall shut as you run a hand along the stubble on his jaw—

—knowing he’s well aware the slickness between your legs is no longer from the lube, your cunt gushing with arousal at the feeling of being stuffed deep with his thick cock. 

So you tell yourself you’ll figure the rest out later when you start to shamelessly grind down against him. 

“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” Jean teases when you cough to cover up a gasp.

Your answering moan is nearly a whimper, and Jean’s muscles tense beneath you as he continues to guide your hips. He doesn’t try to pull his cock out from where it’s lodged inside of you, doesn’t start thrusting and fucking up into you. He just lets you chase the clitoral stimulation you so desperately need while you’re cockwarming him, groaning along with you at each needy drag. 

“Good girl, that’s it.”

This is far more intimate than you bargained for, the gentle slide of his hands up your back scraping your heart out bit-by-bit. 

“Holy shit, you don’t know how close I am to coming right now,” he moans in a gravelly, unsteady tone. 

All you can do is whimper his name when the rubber band suddenly snaps in response, your body trembling as a wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you. 

And then Jean’s hands are cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you fiercely as you whine and shudder through your orgasm, moaning into your mouth as you card your fingers through his hair. You can feel his cock throb inside of you, pulsing with need as your tight cunt spasms and contracts, relentlessly squeezing his shaft while you soak him with your release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s groaning, both of you too drunk on pleasure to move when he suddenly climaxes, cock pumping thick, hot ropes of cum deep in your pussy. 

Chests heaving, Jean slowly sits up, forehead falling against your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

After a few minutes of silence, he finally murmurs, “Don’t fuck Jaeger.”

You tilt his head upward, finger resting just below his chin, skimming the stubble that’s there. Too many emotions are swimming in his hazel eyes, more than you can identify—save for one that you recognize with a jolt of clarity. It’s the way you look at him, when he’s not paying attention.

Longing. 

Desire. 

Soft, gentle, unfiltered affection. 

This time, you’re the one to close the distance between your mouths, brushing your lips against his. 

“Who?” you ask, smiling into the kiss. 

Jean chuckles, the sound like warm honey, and he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head. Though you remain seated on his softening length, cum begins to seep from your slick heat, pooling on his balls and abdomen. 

He goes to move, but you don’t budge. “You wanna get cleaned up?”

You shake your head, the corner of your mouth tilting upward with a smirk. “I’m comfortable.”

Jean bites his lower lip, huffing, “My cum’s dripping all over, and I’m two seconds from getting hard again if you keep squeezing down on me like that.”

Feigning a look of innocence, you flex the muscles in your tight, soaked channel one more time for good measure. He chokes, and you grin. 

“Good.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Reposting with the link! :)

Come to me (smut writer) those who are weak and weary (people who never see their favorite characters in things) and I shall give you rest (write about said character pounding you stupid)