#it's fun to read it's got a good rhythm and voice to it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 9 months ago

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PRIVATE | LN4

an: requested by @bhuijnbhuijn-blog this was so fun to make! it feels to good to make a smau after a few days of straight writing

fc: random girls on pintrest and isabel larosa

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thank you london and thank you to my beloved

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appartment in monaco

You were perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, barefoot, legs dangling as you watched Lando move around the open kitchen. The soft click of cabinet doors and the muted thud of a cereal box landing on the counter are the only sounds, apart from the faint music playing from your speaker. It was your calm playlist, just background noise, a playlist you curated 100% but one Lando pretended he created to wind you up. He didn’t mind—he hummed along sometimes, absentmindedly, just like now. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything, making the moment feel even more private, more intimate.

Lando was shirtless wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It was a version of him few people ever get to see. No fireproof suit, no helmet. No world watching his every move. Here, in this quiet corner of your shared world, he was just... him. And you loved him like this, more than anything.

As he fumbled with the coffee machine, you leant back on your hands, your fingers curling against the cool granite of the counter. The smell of coffee mingled with the lazy warmth of the afternoon. You were both settled into this comfortable rhythm of being together, the kind of domesticity that felt almost foreign when you thought of your lives outside these walls—your career, his racing, the flashing lights and the fans.

But here, it was different.

You’d been thinking about it for a while now. The thought had been on the tip of your tongue for weeks, and today felt like the right time to broach it. Or maybe it was just that the stillness of this moment made you feel brave. You took a breath, voice soft as you broke the quiet.

“I’ve been thinking…” Your words drift into the space between you, casual but with a certain weight that you know will catch his attention. Lando looked over at you, coffee cup in hand, waiting for you to continue. You smiled, trying to keep it light. “Maybe it’s time we go public… on Instagram.”

He froze for a beat, his eyes locking on yours as if he was trying to read your face, gauge how serious you were. Slowly, he set the cup down on the counter, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that meant he was already thinking too much.

“Public?” he repeated, like he was testing the word, feeling it out. His voice was calm, but you could sense the undertone of concern, the hesitation that came with anything that involves exposing more of your lives to the world outside. “You sure about that?”

You nodded, even though you knew he was not just asking for the sake of it. There was more behind his question than the words. It was not just a simple post to him—it was a line you were crossing, a step into a world he was all too familiar with, and not in a good way.

“I am,” you said softly. “We’ve been so careful, keeping things private, but… I don’t want to hide us anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re not a part of each other’s lives.” You watched him as you spoke, searching his face for any sign of agreement, but he was still quiet, arms folded across his chest, his gaze drifting somewhere just past you.

Lando shifted his weight, leaning against the counter, his fingers drumming lightly against the granite, a telltale sign that his mind was working through what you’d just said. After a moment, he sighed, running a hand through his curls, the kind of movement that let you know he was trying to choose his words carefully.

“I get it,” he said finally, his voice softer now, but there was still a trace of reluctance. “But… it’s different for you. Your fans, they’re supportive. You’re already used to the attention. My world… it’s not like that. It can get ugly fast. And once we put it out there, it’s out there. We can’t take it back.”

You slid off the counter and moved toward him, your bare feet silent on the floor. Standing in front of him, you reached for his hands, threading your fingers through his. “I know, love. I know how hard it can be for you. But I’m not asking for some big, dramatic reveal. Just something simple. A photo. Something that feels like us, something quiet.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the protective instinct he’d always had when it came to the life you’d built together versus the part of him that wanted to trust in your strength, in the fact that you could handle it.

“I don’t want them coming after you,” he said quietly, almost more to himself than to you. “I don’t want you to deal with the kind of hate I get.”

Lifting one hand to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb grazed over his skin. “I’ve been in the public eye for years now. I’ve had my share of negativity, too. But we’ve got each other, right? We can handle it. I can handle it.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And I’m tired of hiding something that makes me so happy.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to imagine what it would be like—the backlash, the media storm. But when he opened them again, there was something softer there, a quiet surrender. He still looked hesitant, but there was an acceptance in his expression now, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to trust you on this.

“A photo,” he repeated, his voice almost resigned but not unkind. “Something simple.”

You nodded, your smile growing. “Just one.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you into his arms, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You really want this, huh?” His voice was a little lighter now, though you could still feel the weight of the decision lingering between you.

“I do,” you murmured into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean and warm, like home. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Just something that feels like us. Something honest.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your waist. “Alright,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “But if it all blows up in our faces, you’re the one dealing with the PR disaster.”

You laughed, the sound soft and full of relief. “Deal. I’ll take full responsibility.” You leant up and kissed him, your lips brushing his with a gentleness that said more than words ever could. “Promise.”

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enjoyed the final show of the break, time for austin

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yeah, my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me

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appartment in monaco

It had been a few weeks since you had gone public, and the house felt the same. The kitchen still smelt like coffee in the afternoons, and Lando’s laughter still echoed through the rooms. But outside, in the world that wasn’t contained by these walls, things had shifted.

The first few days after you had posted that picture—a simple, candid shot of you two tangled on the couch, laughing at something neither of you can remember now—felt like a blur. Your Instagram blew up instantly, flooded with comments, some gushing, some not so kind. The had media picked it up, headlines spun their usual stories, and of course, his world—Formula 1, with its intense, relentless scrutiny—had its own opinions. Most of it was harmless, but some of it... wasn’t.

Lando was standing in front of the window, staring out at nothing in particular. You could tell from the way his shoulders were tense, from the way his hand kept moving to rub the back of his neck, that something had been weighing on him. He’d been quieter these last few days, not in the way that shut you out, but in the way that let you know he was overthinking, worrying about things he didn’t need to.

You were sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to scroll through Instagram, but your attention was on him. You watched as he checked his phone again, probably seeing another headline or some new wave of comments. His jaw tightened, and that was when you knew it’s time to say something.

“Lan,” you called out softly, trying to break the tension in the room. “Come over here.”

He hesitated for a second, like he was debating whether to pull you into his worry or let it be, but then he walked over, his feet dragging slightly on the wooden floor. He sank down beside you on the couch, letting out a long, tired breath. His arm came around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you closer, but his mind was clearly somewhere else.

“Talk to me,” you said gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He didn’t meet your eyes at first, he just stared at the floor. “I’ve been seeing some of the comments,” Lando admitted, his voice low, as if he was trying to keep it casual but couldn’t quite manage it. “There’s a lot of hate. A lot of people saying… awful things. About you, about us.” He paused, running his hand through his hair. “I didn’t want this for you.”

You felt his arm tighten around you, like he was trying to protect you from something that was already out there, something he couldn’t control. It broke your heart a little, the way he carried that weight, like he was responsible for every cruel word thrown your way.

You shifted in his arms, turning to face him, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “I know,” you said softly. “But, darling, it’s not getting to me. Not even a little.” You smiled, trying to get him to see the truth in your eyes. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that people are going to say whatever they want. But they don’t matter. You do.”

He finally looked up at you, his brow furrowed, still sceptical. “But some of it’s brutal,” he insisted, his voice tight. “They’re dragging you through the mud just because we went public. I didn’t want you to deal with this part of my life, the ugly part.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and the sound seemed to catch him off guard. “Honestly? I’ve dealt with worse. You should’ve seen the comments I got after that one music video,” you teased lightly, hoping to ease his worry. “But this? This is nothing.”

He didn’t look convinced, but you could see him trying to process what you were saying, like he wanted to believe you but couldn’t quite let go of his own guilt. So, you decided to prove it to him in a way you knew would get through that thick head of his.

With a sly smile, you grabbed your phone and opened Twitter, your fingers moved quickly over the screen as you pulled up your account. He watched you, confused, until you glanced up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it, then you tilted the phone toward him so he could see the tweet you’d just typed out. In bold letters, it read:

"how i sleep knowing i get to sleep with this hunk of a man at night and you don’t "

Below the text was the picture you’d been sitting on for a while—one of him sleeping in the paddock last season.

His eyes widened as he read it, then flicked to the photo. “You’re not serious,” he said, though there’s a laugh hidden in his voice now.

“Oh, I am very serious,” you said, grinning at him as you hovered over the “Tweet” button. “If people want to hate, let them. But I’m going to remind them who I get to come home to every night.”

He stared at you for a second, then shook his head, a small, incredulous smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

You shrugged, your finger tapping the button before he could say another word. “It’s out there now,” you said, holding up the phone in triumph. “Let them come for me.”

He leant back against the couch, running his hands over his face, but you could see the way his shoulders had finally relaxed, the tension ebbing away. He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and it warmed you from the inside out. “You’re actually insane,” he said, pulling you into his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

You looked up at him, beaming. “Sweetheart, they can say whatever they want. It doesn’t change anything. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters.”

For the first time in days, the worry in his eyes faded completely. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his breath warm against your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, the words soft but full of meaning.

“I love you more.”

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haters gunna hate, anyway check out my new song x

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andhumanslovedstories · 11 months ago

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I've been running this writing experiment lately to cut out phrases like "I felt" in my fiction writing. Like I was looking at a sentence in a draft that said, "he felt as if character's eyes were pinning him in place." And then I was like, "well, does he think that or is it true? As a result of this person watching him, he's froze. It's not like a thing, it is that thing."

Oh and "almost"! I'm always going, "He felt almost relieved that it hadn't happened." Well, did he feel better that it didn't happen or didn't he? Or "somewhat", I'm always going, "she felt somewhat perturbed."

And like none of that is wrong, to be clear. I don't know if it'd improve your writing, I don't even know if it'll improve my writing, but I use this sentence structure all the time so every viewpoint is from a voice that thinks about what it thinks, hedges its statements, and offers the same ability for wry little jokes formatted in the exact same way. And I have a lot of writing like that and I think (!) that they're good, but read as a whole, I'm like, "god, they all sound the same." Like there's one melody that I write songs to, so even with different lyrics, it's almost (!) the same song. Something I've been struggling with in regards to my writing and why I've felt so blocked is how boring I found writing my usual way. I'd read something and enjoy the individual parts of it, but then I'd step back and I didn't like the whole. And I got good at this enough at seeing that I didn't like it to do it in real time as I was writing, which as you can imagine didn't improve the process of writing because now I was bored AND dejected about being bored.

There's this sentence-level structure fact that I use unconsciously. A pattern I find easy is short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, long sentence. So I write that. "He [verbed]. He [verbed]. Then he [verbed]. As he [verbed] to his [consequence], he [verbed] that [noun] was [statement of condition]." Which could work, it often does make for a nice rhythm, but it's something I reach for often because it's easier for me.

Just last sentence, I originally typed, "I find it easier for me." But if what I mean is "using this pattern is less effort than another pattern," then it's easier for me. One voice is hedging its bets and the other asserting. Either is fine! But they're different! And, again, GOD you would not believe how many words I've cut out of this paragraph as I write it. I'm so chatty. I love using twelve words when six will do. And that gives my writing a specific tone to my ear.

So if I am bored of that tone, why not try using just the six words? Why be understated? Why be afraid of stronger opinions? So right now with my fiction, I'm experimenting with cutting out as many self-reflective words as I can. Sometime you do need to draw attention to the face that this is the character's interpretation, but like you definitely don't need to do it as much as I naturally want to do it. You don't need to always go out of your way to allow the possibility that the narrative voice is wrong. During editing, I trim the weaker ones (I originally typed, "what I consider the weaker ones" Is that more accurate?). But I think them being there in the first place shifts my language which shifts my character's which shifts my plot. It's sentence structure all the way down!!

(this barely applies to my writing on here, btw. i try to do good but yknow this is a tumblr blog. i'm not trying to get a lit mag to accept it.)

Anyway blah blah (chatty!) the point is I've been trying to write in a way opposite of my interests. Something that doesn't take itself too seriously, that emphasizes EMOTION and ACTION instead of minimizing it, and that clips through scenes at a good pace. Doing this been amazingly fun. I've been having such a good time doing it. I am writing so much because I really enjoy doing it. The process of writing is so fun again.

This post is about two things. One is my new mood stabilizer and therapy day camp. The other is about the benefit of pretending to be MXTX.

#mxtx #w.#b.#the thing about writing scum villain is that you have to write a character so is SO CONFIDENTLY wrong.#sqq needs to be as sure of that he is wrong to the degree with which he is actually wrong #i've used more exclamation points in the last month than i have perhaps in my life. i might in fact have too many exclamation points #but turns out that shit's fun as hell #it's word confetti

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tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

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Tw: cussing, fluff, domestic fluff, did I mention fluff ? Bullying

Part 18

Words of Command - Part 19

The Tower kitchen hums with quiet domestic energy. Sunlight spills across the marble countertops, glinting off sleek appliances.

You’re standing on the cool tile floor, wearing soft linen and humming faintly under your breath as you fill a wicker basket—cloth napkins folded neatly, small jars of jam nestled beside freshly cut fruit, sandwiches stacked with care and wrapped in parchment.

You’re packing a picnic.

Simple.

But the tension in the room is palpable.

Tony leans against the fridge with his arms crossed, watching you like you’re juggling grenades instead of strawberries.

He’s in jeans and a Black Sabbath t-shirt, coffee in hand, but there’s an unmistakable stiffness in his jaw—shoulders taut, foot tapping with an irregular rhythm that gives away his unease.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence with that trademark sarcasm, “I’ve seen some reckless things in my time—myself included—but voluntarily wandering off into a public park with a semi-rehabilitated ex-assassin still clinging to Soviet programming?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Not exactly my idea of a fun lunch date.”

You pause, blinking up at him as you tuck a thermos into the basket. “It’s just Central Park, Tony.”

“It’s just Central Park and James ‘I-killed-a-Kennedy’ Barnes.” He sips his coffee. “And don’t even get me started on our good friend McKenzie. Still trying to figure out how Hydra got their tentacles that deep without anyone noticing. Makes a guy paranoid.”

You sigh softly, placing a hand on the counter. “Bucky’s doing better. He needs sunlight... a break. And so do I.”

Tony gives a gruff sound, half a scoff, half a reluctant grunt of acceptance. He doesn’t like it. But he’s listening.

You glance at him gently. “I’ll be safe.”

“You better be,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it, I’m not exactly dying to add Thumbelina to the ‘Missing in Action’ file.”

You give him a little smile, despite the tension. “I’ll be fine, Tony.”

“No, you’ve got that wounded bird thing that makes every guy with trauma think you’re some kind of emotional hospice.”

He frowns into his coffee. “Barnes is a big question mark, Sunshine. And question marks don’t belong in the middle of a sunny afternoon picnic with apple slices and gingham blankets.”

You nod, understanding, though your fingers still fuss with the basket—adjusting things unnecessarily, buying time.

“I trust him.”

Tony sighs, walking over and taking a long look at the spread. “I know you do. That’s the part that scares me.”

His voice is quieter now. Not biting—protective.

“I’ll keep JARVIS linked to your phone. If anything weird happens—any look, any flicker in his eyes—you call. Don’t hesitate.”

You nod. “You know I will.”

Tony’s eyes soften just slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his spine. “Just… come back, alright? With all your limbs. Preferably unbrainwashed.”

You give his hand a squeeze as you pass by, light and affectionate. “Thanks, Tony.”

He grumbles something about “damn metal-armed super soldiers stealing the help,” but he doesn’t stop you.

Bucky’s waiting when the elevator doors open, leaning against the wall in a fitted charcoal shirt and dark jeans.

His hair is tied back, metal fingers flexing slightly at his side, expression unreadable until he sees you.

Then—there it is.

The shift.

His shoulders lift. His eyes soften. The lines in his face smooth. “Hey Doll.”

It’s said like a relief. Like a prayer.

His gaze dips to the basket in your hands. “You made all that?”

You smile, nodding. “For us. I thought you could use some time away from steel walls and security scanners.”

His brow furrows slightly. “Stark is letting me go ... outside?”

“He had reservations. But he trusts me. And I trust you.”

Bucky glances down. That hits something in him. He flexes his jaw, nodding once.

“Alright,” he says. “Guess I better make it worth your trust.”

And you don’t miss it—how he gently takes the basket from your hand without being asked, cradling it like it’s more delicate than anything he’s carried before.

You don’t miss the way his flesh hand grazes your shoulder as you step into the elevator together.

Not possessive.

Just present.

The sun is high and soft in the sky, hazed over with faint clouds that make the light gentler. Central Park hums with life—dogs barking, leaves rustling, the distant buzz of traffic beyond the tree line.

The air smells of fresh grass and warm earth. The patch of lawn you’ve chosen is tucked slightly off the path, framed by tall elms and speckled with dandelions.

You lay the checkered blanket down, smoothing the edges. Bucky watches you, kneeling beside the basket, quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“You always move like you think someone’s watching you,” he says, voice low, contemplative. “Like you’re being careful not to bother the air.”

You blink, turning to look at him. “Is that a bad thing?”

He shrugs, offering the ghost of a smile. “No. It’s just… real different from what I’m used to.”

You sit, legs folding neatly underneath you, a hand brushing back a wisp of hair from your face.

“Well… I’m not used to being watched. But you’ve been through a lot more eyes than I have.”

Bucky settles across from you, metal hand bracing against the grass. His fingers curl in, twisting a blade of grass from its root.

He doesn’t look at you directly, but his gaze flickers your way often, like he’s checking to make sure you’re still there.

“I used to watch kids here,” he murmurs. “Back in the day. Sundays after church. Ma’d pack bread and cold sausage, and we’d sit right near that pond.” He gestures to the water in the distance.

“It all looks the same. But I’m different. And they’re gone.”

He falls quiet again, eyes narrowing just slightly—but not in anger.

In memory.

Laughter bubbles over the field, three children sprinting into view. Two boys—no older than eight—and a little girl in pigtails dart past the treeline, chasing each other with a red ball.

Their joy is so pure it cuts through the static in Bucky’s mind like sunlight.

The girl squeals as she runs.

You smile softly. “They’re sweet.”

Bucky’s expression shifts. His eyes don’t leave the children, but there’s something else in them now—yearning.

Wonder.

And the tiniest flicker of grief.

“They’re loud,” he says, but there’s no edge in it.

Then after a beat. “I don’t remember if I sounded like that. That happy. That free.”

You turn toward him, your voice as soft as ever. “I think you did. All kids sound like that”

He looks down, pulling at the thread of the blanket. “I wish I could remember that. I’ve got memories now. Pieces. Sounds. But they’re like torn film reels. Don’t line up right.”

You reach for the thermos, handing him a cup of iced tea with a lemon slice floating on top.

Your fingers brush.

He stills at the contact but doesn’t pull away.

“Still,” you say gently, “you’re making new ones.”

He takes the cup, nods once. “Yeah. With you.”

You lift your cup, in a small celebration. “One picnic at a time.”

That makes him laugh for real.

It’s soft, a little self-conscious, but the sound is genuine—and rare.

The children chase their ball too close to the pond, and one of the boys trips.

Bucky’s body tenses instantly—he leans forward, eyes sharp, scanning the scene like a protective shadow.

His hand twitches, almost like he’s ready to run.

But the little girl helps him up. No harm done.

You place your hand lightly over Bucky’s.

You speak gently. “They’re safe. We’re safe.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. A nod. He stays still—but his fingers turn slightly, just enough to let them curl around yours.

“Just habit,” he mutters.

“I know,” you whisper. “Still… thank you.”

His thumb brushes against the side of your hand.

Tender.

Deliberate.

The sun begins its slow lean westward, casting golden light across the grass.

The air is gentle, rustling through the trees with a lullaby rhythm. You sip your tea and glance over toward the trio of children still playing nearby.

Then the shift happens.

The giggles falter.

You sit upright, sensing the tone change before you can hear the words.

The older of the two boys—taller, lanky—says something sharp.

His friend snickers.

The girl stands stiffly now, small hands clenched. Her smile is gone. She turns away, but the taller boy grabs her wrist.

"Freak," he hisses. “how do you even play if you've got this dumb thing ?”

That's when you both notice.

Her left arm ends in a smooth joint of pale blue plastic and brushed steel, shaped like a forearm and hand. The synthetic fingers twitch involuntarily, like a defense mechanism.

You rise at once, your instincts overriding hesitation. You move with urgency, but no anger—just concern.

Bucky follows silently, the plaid of the picnic blanket falling behind him.

You kneel beside the girl, your voice soft as ever. “Hey, sweetie… you okay?”

She nods, lips trembling. You reach out, not touching yet—just letting her know you’re there. “I saw your arm. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s strong, right?”

Her gaze flicks to you, wary but curious.

Then the boys scoff. “She’s just weird. It’s like a robot arm or something.”

And that’s when Bucky steps forward.

The boys fall silent, eyes widening as they look up—and up—at him.

In the sunlight, the gleam of his metal hand catches like a blade.

His silhouette is imposing, nearly mythic.

But his voice—his voice—is calm, low, thoughtful.

“You think that’s weird?” he says, stepping beside the girl, lowering into a crouch beside her. “Then what do you think this is?”

He slowly rolls up his sleeve, revealing the glinting lines of metal.

The taller boy’s jaw drops. “Whoa… that’s awesome!”

Bucky glances at you for permission—he always does, even now—and you nod.

The girl shifts a little, watching him closely. Bucky holds out his arm to her, letting her see the connection points, the movement of the fingers.

His eyes never leave hers. He softens, his voice a notch above a whisper. “I’ve been called worse than freak. But I’m still here.”

The boys now look sheepish. One of them tries to laugh it off. “We didn’t mean anything bad. Just messing around.”

You level your gaze at them—gentle, but firm. “You don’t have to mean it for it to hurt.”

Bucky doesn’t scold.

He just stands up to his full height. “If you’re gonna mess around, do it with people who want to play. Not someone who already had to fight hard just to be here.”

The silence that follows is thick. Not angry—just heavy with the weight of reality.

The boys eventually walk off, kicking at tufts of grass, their laughter muted.

You crouch beside the girl, who now watches Bucky with wide, bright eyes.

“He’s like me,” she says softly.

“Yeah,” you smile. “He’s a lot like you.”

Bucky kneels again, more carefully this time. “I didn’t always like my arm,” he admits. “Still don’t some days. But I want it to help people... and it's proof we're still here"

The girl nods. A pause.

Then she holds her prosthetic out to Bucky.

He bumps it with a quiet grin. “Nice to meet you, soldier.”

She giggles.

You and Bucky walk side by side. He’s quiet again, but in a different way—reflective, not withdrawn.

You glance sideways at him. “You we're really good with her.”

He watches you for a few beats longer, expression unreadable. Then he says, “She's a kid, she didn't deserve it.”

You look up at him. “Neither did you, Bucky”

The common room has been transformed into a makeshift theater.

Cushions, beanbags, and a worn sectional sofa are pulled in a wide arc facing the screen.

Popcorn bowls, a half-eaten pizza, and several mismatched mugs litter the coffee table.

Someone—probably Sam—dimmed the overhead lights and left only the side lamps glowing faintly along the wall.

You’re curled into the corner of the sectional, legs tucked under you, wrapped in a fleece blanket. Your head rests lightly against the armrest, eyes soft as they scan the room.

Bucky is standing by the far wall with Steve, both holding bottles of soda. Steve laughs at something Bucky mutters, shaking his head with that familiar, affectionate exasperation.

You can’t hear the words, but you can read the smile on Bucky’s lips, the way it tugs a little awkwardly at first and then settles—relaxed, real.

His shoulders aren’t hunched.

His jaw isn’t clenched.

He’s present.

He’s wearing the black long-sleeved Henley you like on him, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the edge of his metal forearm.

The soft hum of casual chatter fills the room. For once, nothing feels dangerous.

Agent Collins enters in fuzzy socks. “Who’s ready for Princess Bride?” He bounces forward, a huge grin on his face, holding a bowl of pretzels like it’s an offering to the gods of social acceptance.

Clint and Natasha are already sitting together on the couch, an unspoken bubble of personal space around them. They aren’t touching—but the proximity says everything.

Collins either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Hey, mind if I squeeze in here?” he says, gesturing at the narrow sliver of couch between them. He tries to wedge himself in, awkward and overeager.

The pretzels slosh precariously in the bowl.

Natasha arches a single brow with the precision of a scalpel. Clint just blinks slowly like he’s calculating how much effort it’ll take to push Collins off the couch.

Before either of them speaks, Tony's voice cuts through the room like a well-aimed arrow dipped in sarcasm.

“Oh, by all means, Collins,” Tony drawls from his leather armchair, one leg casually slung over the other. “Insert yourself between two apex predators. What could possibly go wrong?”

The room stifles a chuckle. Steve coughs into his soda. Sam doesn't bother to hide his laughter.

Collins freezes with a half-sit. “I just thought—”

“No no, don’t let me stop you,” Tony gestures with his drink, smirking. “We always need someone to pull aggro when Natasha inevitably snaps a femur. You volunteering your own?”

Natasha doesn’t say anything—just slowly turns her head to look at Collins with a small, polite smile that’s about 97% threat.

Clint leans in, deadpan. “You should run.”

Collins blinks, realizes he is catastrophically out of his depth, and slowly backs off, returning to a much safer spot on a beanbag near the corner of the room.

Tony raises his glass mockingly. “To survival instincts. Some assembly required.”

Bucky watches with the same utter disbelief you'd expect from a man who spent seventy years being tortured and is now witnessing slapstick in a safe home.

Steve covers his mouth to stifle his laugh. “You okay, Collins?”

Collins looks up, sheepish. “Yes, sir... Captain ... I’m just… excited.”

You smile at them all, heart full. And then Bucky’s eyes find yours.

It’s not just a glance.

It lingers.

His gaze softens the moment it lands on you. There’s a shift in his expression, like your presence pulls something grounded to the surface.

He gives you a small nod—one only you catch—like a question.

You okay?

Need anything?

Want me there?

You answer with a tiny smile and a tilt of your head toward the empty space beside you on the couch.

The gesture is subtle, the kind you'd make to a wary animal—not a command, just an offer.

He hesitates. It’s the kind of pause Bucky always has before engaging with the unfamiliar.

But then, slowly, he walks over.

You shift your legs just enough to give him room. He sits, not close, not far—leaving a respectful distance between you.

The film starts.

You hear Steve snort softly as Inigo Montoya makes his famous threat.

Sam throws popcorn at the screen. Bucky? Bucky watches it like it’s a mission—eyes narrowed, posture upright. You giggle softly at his seriousness.

“Bucky,” you whisper, leaning in. “It’s a comedy.”

He glances at you, lips twitching. “Still a sword fight.”

You smile and let yourself settle back again, your shoulder close to his.

During one of the quieter scenes, he speaks under his breath. “Didn’t think I’d like this. But it’s… kind of nice. Loud, but not bad.”

He glances at you again. “You like these things, huh, Doll?”

You nod, softly. “Feels normal.”

He watches you a moment longer, then looks away before he can fall too deep into your eyes.

He fidgets a bit—his metal fingers tapping against his knee.

Then, as if he can’t stop himself “You looked real pretty today. At the park.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“You always do.”

Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest.

“I’m not supposed to say things like that, right?"

You turn to him, voice even softer than usual. “You’re can think and feel whatever you want, Bucky.”

He finally turns to look at you again. “Yeah? Even about you?”

The air grows still between you. Not heavy—just delicate.

You don’t answer, not directly. But the way your hand rests on the blanket, palm open and just slightly toward him, says enough.

His hand shifts slightly closer.

A beat.

Then he threads his fingers with yours.

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lexiputellas · 4 months ago

Text

Unfinished Business

Part 1

Today’s morning was uneventful. Routine, even. You woke up, got ready, debated between waves or a ponytail, eventually choosing waves. Breakfast was a slow affair, each bite dragging as if delaying the inevitable workday. By the time you arrived at the office, coffee in hand, you had fallen into your usual rhythm—settling in, checking emails, and, most importantly, catching up with the receptionist.

She has a new boyfriend. Or maybe he’s just a lover. She hasn’t quite decided yet, and you, naturally, need to know all the details. Maybe that was your mistake—getting too involved in gossip. If you had been more focused, you might’ve avoided what happened next.

You glance up and see Paige walking into the reception area. It’s been a few weeks since your last encounter, and you had convinced yourself that was the end of it. Apparently not.

She hasn’t spotted you yet. Maybe you should leave.

Shit—she sees you.

You try to read her expression, to gauge what kind of thoughts are running through her head. She turns to the receptionist and speaks first. “I have a meeting with…” She checks her phone. “Ah, my new agent. He should be expecting me.”

Thank God. It’s with your boss, not you.

Then she shifts her attention to you. Your mind races through every possible worst-case scenario, but she just gives you an easy smile and says, “Hi, I’m Paige. And you are?”

You blink. You know she knows exactly who you are. You also know what she’s doing.

“I’m part of the compliance team,” you answer.

Her smirk deepens. “Oh, so you do contracts?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, hope to see you more often.”

You have no words. None at all. You manage a polite excuse and retreat to your office, collapsing into your chair, replaying the entire interaction in your head.

Are you screwed? No. Definitely not. You mean, probably. Just not in the way you’re thinking right now.

You take a deep breath and sip your coffee.

The morning after, you did what any sane person in your situation would do—you told Paige to leave. Well, actually, you demanded it. Were you a little harsh? Probably. Did you regret inviting her over? No. But should you? Absolutely. It wasn’t professional.

With that, your mind drifts to past mistakes.

Do you have unresolved emotional issues? Absolutely. Did you break up with your ex because you thought she was about to propose? Yeah. Yeah, you did. Turns out, you were right—she was planning to propose.

But right now, you need to focus. You take another sip of your coffee, trying to snap yourself out of it.

And that’s when you see Paige again.

You nearly drop your cup.

She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Wow. Didn’t know I was that scary.”

You set your coffee down before you actually spill it. “You’re not. I just… wasn’t expecting you.”

She raises a brow. “Expecting me to find out that you work for this agency?”

You huff out a laugh, rubbing your temples. “I mean, that too, to be fair.”

Paige steps further into your office, casually looking around before meeting your gaze again. “So… what are the chances you’re handling my contract?”

You shake your head. “That would be my boss.”

She grins. “Good. I’d hate for this to be awkward.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Right. Because it’s not awkward already.”

She leans over your desk slightly, lowering her voice just enough to make your pulse jump. “I have a feeling we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to let her get to you. “I guess so.”

She tilts her head. “We should go out.”

You blink. “What?”

“You know, a drink, dinner, something fun.”

You scoff. “No.”

She looks amused. “No?”

You shrug. “I mean, I don’t see why—”

Paige smirks. “Maybe I should ask my agent to put you in my contract, you know, so we see each other really more often.”

That strikes you. No. No, you do not want to be in her contract.

You narrow your eyes. “If I go with you, will you drop this?”

She grins, triumphant. “Well, yes. But only if I choose the place.”

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Just tell me the day, the time, and what I’m supposed to wear—because I’m not going anywhere undressed.”

Paige’s smirk turns downright mischievous. “Tonight.”

You blink. “What?”

She leans against your desk, clearly enjoying this. “I’m picking you up at eight. Wear anything you want. You look hot in anything.” Her gaze flickers over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin heat up.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, I know that. But oblivious as I am, give me a hint.”

She grins. “Something fancy, but not that fancy.”

You groan, already regretting this. “So, cryptic. Great.”

She winks. “See you at eight.”

And just like that, she’s gone, leaving you staring at your coffee, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.

Obs: This is a series, I’m not really good at tumblr, so bare with me! The reader (or OC, still undecided) works in the contracts department of an agency for professional athletes. She doesn’t interact with them directly—she just handles contracts. Meanwhile, Paige has just been drafted to her new team!

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #x reader #uconn x reader

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formulaonecrumbs · 2 months ago

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junie i could use osc irl rn. how about him comforting reader, trying to help keep her pain under control. massaging her hips, arms, sides, thighs, back, stomach, stomach (all things that are hurting after surgery). just trying to let her relax.

-🧸

slow hands

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar comforts reader after surgery with soft touch and care.

warnings: post-surgery recovery, pain management, full-body massage

A/N: i’m so scared my writings getting too repetitive and u’re gonna get bored of it but i’m running out of ways to make these different and fun and stuff 😭😭 i hope u enjoy it regardless. LOVE U ❤️

p.s. that IS a nial horan reference in the title :p

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re barely out of your pain meds haze, body heavy and aching, when oscar settles beside you on the bed with the quietest, gentlest kind of care.

“you okay?” he asks softly, brushing your hair off your forehead. his voice is warm like sunlight, all concern wrapped in love, and you don’t have the energy to do anything but nod.

“hurts,” you mumble, voice small. “everything hurts.”

“i know, baby. i got you,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “just tell me where.”

you take a slow breath, blinking heavy eyes open. “hips. thighs. stomach. back. arms. literally everywhere.”

he gives you the smallest smile—soft and sweet—but there’s nothing teasing in it. “we’ll go one at a time then, yeah?”

he starts with your arms, gentle circles of his thumbs in the muscle, soft pressure, checking your face every few seconds like he’s reading it for pain. he works down to your wrists, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin there. then your thighs—he moves slow, spreading warmth into each sore inch with long, steady strokes.

“just wanna get the tension out of you,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your knee. “you’ve been through so much, baby.”

his hands glide to your stomach, skimming the swollen skin around your incision site without pressing too hard. you flinch slightly, and he pauses. “too much?”

you shake your head, even though your eyes are fluttering closed. “feels nice. just tender.”

he keeps his palms open, broad and warm, rubbing in the most featherlight rhythm, like he’s trying to soothe the hurt straight out of you with love alone. “i hate that you’re in pain,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“but you help,” you whisper back. “you always help.”

his hands move to your hips and sides, rubbing where he knows the cramping hits hardest, working knots of pain away in slow, loving passes. and when he gets to your back, he helps you turn gently, so carefully, like you might break if he moves too quick. he kisses the top of your spine, trails soft fingers along the curve of it.

“i’ll stay right here,” he says. “no matter how long it takes.”

you hum in your throat, drowsy, limp under his touch. “you’re too good to me.”

“not possible,” he says, already tucking the blanket back around you. “you deserve all of this. more than this.”

and he keeps going, hands everywhere you hurt, until the ache starts to dull and you can finally, finally rest. wrapped in warmth, soft love, and oscar’s voice whispering, “sleep, baby. i’ll be right here when you wake up.”

THE END :>

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #op81 fluff #op81 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #supportive oscar piastri #oscar piastri x female oc #oscar piastri boyfriend #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x you #op81 mcl #op81 x you #op81 x y/n #op81 imagine #op81 fic #op81 #pcos awareness

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headcanon-everything · 4 days ago

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Hi! Could you do some headcanons for Jean Loo please?

Sure! I haven't played his route yet but I've seen a good chunk of it from other people and my sister so apologies if something seems too ooc

Jean Loo Headcanons

has HORRIBLE posture

is allergic to something super specific and random. like cayenne or something. idk he just has the vibe of an obscure allergy

youngest child of 3. don't ask me to explain it. it's just the energy.

I heard he wanted to be a marine biologist at some point?? idk if it's canon but it is to me now and he likes to share fun facts

him and Johnny have beef; they argue over who's a better musician ALL the time

actually has a fairly decent singing voice, but only if he's singing in French. in English it's not great and he prefers rapping anyways

also he makes a comment of how he appreciates punk environmentalism; sooo

HAD A PUNK PHASE

it's where he got introduced to rap

also likes to judge outfits from the MAT Gala (the full crew is Jean Loo, Lux, Curt & Rod, Phonecia, and Barry)

((Amir will randomly interject his opinions, but refuses to admit he's part of it))

courtesy of Tony you learn he has a leak; is very grateful if you fix it and is MORE grateful if you never bring it up. ever.

it's canon he has faint freckles!!

I read that someone thought they were acne scars so in my mind he has both

romantic headcanons:

tsundere-ass mfer

will leave you a gift where you'll find it but will deny getting it for you

genuinely appreciates your support of his dreams, just doesn't know how to say it

gets a little insecure sometimes, because he does struggle saying and showing it

general headcanons towards the player:

is the first to start getting in someone's face if they talk bad about you once you're friends

if you're bad at music and rhythm, will take the time to try and teach you

not the most patient teacher but is insistent and wants you to succeed

if you get along, is the aggressive support; will be on your ass to work towards your goals every day and won't take no for an answer bc he wants you to get there

hope these worked for you!! I'll probably have more once I play his route for myself

#date everything headcanons #date everything #date everything x reader #jean loo pissior #jean loo pissior headcanons #i cant believe i had to type out his name jfc

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pretzel-box · 11 months ago

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HII, THIS IS MY FIRST TIME REQUESTING SOMETHING IF IM DOING SOMETHING WRONG FEEL FREE TO DELETE THIS ASK, BUT I WAS WONDERING…. In one of his lines sebastian makes a joke about having cards and such, the later says “ive never played cards actually.. meaning to learn.”. SO WHAT IF, i were to kindly and politely ask for anything that includes gender neutral reader teaching sebastian how to play cards, thank you for reading this in advance :3

UNO!

words: 1,7k

tags: uno, the card game.

authors note: I had too much fun with this and added Uno into the scenario! Sebastian learns everything about the wonderful world of cards.

Years ago, during a weekend at your grandparents' house, your grandpa placed a worn stack of playing cards in your hands and asked if you'd ever played. At the time, you hadn’t—being young and inexperienced—but that was the day you learned. Every time you visited afterward, your grandpa would teach you a new card game, keeping you entertained for hours.

So, when Sebastian mentioned that he had a deck of cards buried somewhere among his tools, junk, and files, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. Excited, you immediately hopped off his tail, which you had been using as a comfy seat, and began rummaging through his things in search of the cards.

“Don’t expect me to play with you,” he huffed, trying to avoid getting pulled into your sudden enthusiasm. He tried to mask his lack of skill by pretending he simply didn’t want to play, but your excitement made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to escape.

Before he knew it, you were sitting in front of him, shuffling the deck with ease, your fingers expertly spreading and reassembling the cards in one fluid motion. The sound of the cards snapping back together caught Sebastian’s attention, and despite his initial reluctance, he found himself watching you with curiosity.

You smiled at him, seeing the interest flicker in his eyes. “Come on, it’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

Sebastian grumbled under his breath but sat down across from you, folding his arms as if to keep up the pretense of disinterest. “Fine. But I’m not going to enjoy this.”

“We’ll see about that,” you teased, dealing out a hand of cards to him. You started with something simple, a basic game that didn’t require too much strategy. As you explained the rules, Sebastian’s brow furrowed in concentration. He kept glancing from the cards to you, trying to piece together what you were saying.

“Wait, so I can only play a card if it matches the suit or the number?” he asked, holding up a card as if it might give him the answer.

You nodded encouragingly. “Exactly. And if you can’t, you draw from the deck until you get something you can play.”

Sebastian stared at his hand, clearly overthinking his next move. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered, his frustration starting to show.

“It will, just keep going,” you assured him, demonstrating a few moves to help him along. Slowly but surely, Sebastian began to understand, though he still looked uncertain with each card he placed down.

But as the game progressed, something surprising happened—Sebastian’s competitive side started to show. His earlier confusion faded as he began to grasp the game’s rhythm, and soon he was playing his cards with more confidence. You noticed the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth whenever he played a particularly good move, and it made you smile in return.

By the second game, Sebastian was leaning forward, more engaged than he would have admitted. “I got it this time,” he said, his voice tinged with unexpected enthusiasm. He played a card that blocked your move, his eyes lighting up as he realized he was starting to get the hang of it.

“Nice move,” you praised, genuinely impressed. Sebastian’s smirk grew, and he gave you a sidelong glance that was almost playful.

“Don’t think I’m going easy on you,” he warned, but there was no real bite in his words. He was enjoying himself, and it showed.

As the games continued, Sebastian’s initial reluctance was replaced with growing excitement. He began to anticipate your moves, even teasing you when he managed to outplay you. The grumpy, stoic man you were used to was momentarily replaced by someone who was genuinely having fun, and it warmed your heart to see him like this.

By the time you reached the fourth game, Sebastian was fully invested. He was still far from a card shark, but he was learning quickly and starting to enjoy the process. After winning a round a rare smile of his made a brief appearance.

“I knew you’d get into it,” you replied, happy to see him loosening up. “Maybe next time I’ll teach you something more challenging.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, the hint of a grin still on his face. “You think I can handle it?”

“I know you can,” you said confidently, shuffling the deck once more. “But first, let’s see if you can win another round.”

And so, the two of you continued playing, the shop filled with the sound of shuffling cards, quiet laughter, and the growing bond between a grumpy fish and his human friend.

Three days had passed since you first taught Sebastian how to play cards, and in that short time, it had become a regular part of your routine. Whenever there was a lull in your mission and you saw his open vent around, you’d pull out the deck, and Sebastian—despite his initial reluctance—would join you, slowly improving with each game. The more you played, the more his gruff exterior seemed to soften, revealing a side of him that was competitive yet surprisingly good-natured.

On the fourth day, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. When you walked into the shop that morning, a mischievous grin spread across your face. Sebastian looked up from his work, his brow furrowing in curiosity when he noticed the new deck of cards in your hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the colorful box with suspicion.

You sauntered over to the table where you usually played, setting the box down with a flourish. You found this in a dumpster around one of the many office rooms. “This,” you said, holding up the deck, “is a game called UNO. I figured since you’ve gotten pretty good at regular cards, it’s time for a new challenge.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, still wary but clearly intrigued. “UNO, huh? Doesn’t sound too tough.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you started to shuffle the cards. “Oh, you have no idea. This game’s a bit different. It’s not just about matching suits and numbers—you’ve got action cards, wild cards, and, of course, the dreaded Draw 4.”

Sebastian watched as you dealt out the cards, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You began to explain the rules, showing him how to match colors or numbers, how to use the action cards to skip turns, reverse the order, or make the other player draw more cards. Sebastian listened intently, nodding along as he picked up the basics. But when you explained the Draw 4 and Wild cards, he gave you a skeptical look.

“So, I can change the color and make you draw four cards?” he asked, holding up the card and studying it closely. “That sounds a little unfair.”

You chuckled, enjoying his reaction. “It’s all part of the strategy. You have to know when to play those cards—and when to save them for later. Trust me, once you get the hang of it, you’ll see why it’s so fun.”

Sebastian wasn’t entirely convinced, but he went along with it, sorting his hand and planning his first move. As the game began, it became clear that this was a whole new level of challenge. The fast-paced nature of UNO, combined with the unexpected twists from action cards, kept him on his non existent toes.

At first, Sebastian struggled with the new mechanics, hesitating as he tried to remember which cards did what. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him concentrate, his usual grumpy expression deepening into a thoughtful frown. But soon, just as with the regular cards, he started to catch on. The competitive spark you’d seen before returned, and before long, Sebastian was playing his cards with growing confidence.

“You’re getting the hang of it once again,” you noted, as he successfully played a Skip card, blocking your turn and earning a satisfied grunt from him.

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Sebastian admitted, though his tone was more grudging than he probably intended. “Still not sure how I feel about that Draw 4, though.”

“You’ll learn to love it,” you teased, winking as you placed down your own Draw 2 card, watching as he groaned and drew two more cards from the deck.

As the game continued, Sebastian started to enjoy himself, even laughing quietly when he managed to reverse the play order right before you could make your move. It was clear that he was getting into the spirit of the game, and the playful banter between the two of you made it even more fun.

By the time you were nearing the end of the game, Sebastian had only a few cards left, his earlier hesitation replaced by determination. But just as he was about to play his second-to-last card, you laid down a Wild Draw 4, changing the color and forcing him to draw four more cards. He stared at the card you’d played, then at the stack he had to draw from, his mouth opening in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though there was no real anger in his voice—just the frustration of someone who was so close to victory but had it snatched away at the last second.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter as you watched him reluctantly pick up the four cards. “Welcome to UNO, Sebastian. Anything can happen.”

He gave you a mock glare, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “This game’s ridiculous,” he grumbled, though you could tell he was already plotting his next move.

Despite the setback, Sebastian managed to hold his own, and when the game finally ended—with you barely winning by a single card—he was already asking for a rematch.

“Again,” he said, shuffling the cards himself this time. “I’m not losing like that twice.”

You grinned, happy to see him so engaged. “You’re on. Just don’t blame me when you end up drawing another four cards.”

As the two of you began the next round, the shop filled once more with the sounds of shuffling cards, playful competition, and the growing camaraderie between you and the man who was quickly becoming more than just a grumpy store owner.

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #uno

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jobeisbae · 1 year ago

Text

jobe bellingham x mom!reader

summary: jobe bellingham and his wife navigate the joyful chaos of daily life with their two-year-old twins, balancing professional commitments and parenting with love and teamwork. From morning wake-ups to bedtime routines, every moment is filled with love, laughter, and a touch of exhaustion.

warnings: none

The day began early, as it always did with two-year-olds. You were awakened by the soft, insistent cries of one of the twins over the baby monitor. Jobe stirred beside you, already reaching for his phone to check the time.

“I’ll get them,” he murmured, planting a quick kiss on your forehead before slipping out of bed.

You stretched, listening to the familiar sounds of Jobe soothing one of the twins, while the other soon joined in the chorus. Smiling, you got up and made your way to the nursery, where Jobe was already changing diapers.

“Good morning, my little loves,” you cooed, lifting your daughter out of her crib. Her giggles were music to your ears, a perfect start to the day.

Jobe handed you a freshly changed son, and you both headed downstairs, twins in tow. Breakfast was a team effort—Jobe prepared the twins’ oatmeal and fruit while you made coffee and toast for yourselves.

With everyone seated around the kitchen table, you and Jobe took turns feeding the twins and stealing bites of your own breakfast. Laughter and tiny messes filled the room, setting a cheerful tone for the day ahead.

After breakfast, Jobe headed out for training, promising to be back by lunchtime. You spent the morning engaging the twins with playtime, storybooks, and a bit of creative chaos. They were particularly fond of building block towers only to knock them down with squeals of delight.

Around mid-morning, you managed to fit in some work, responding to emails and planning content while the twins napped. The house was blissfully quiet for an hour, allowing you to focus.

Jobe returned home just as the twins woke up, their sleepy faces lighting up at the sight of him. “Daddy’s home!” you announced, watching them toddle over to him with outstretched arms.

Lunchtime was another family affair, with sandwiches, fruit, and lots of chatter. Jobe shared stories from his training session while you updated him on the twins’ morning adventures.

After lunch, you both took the twins to the park, enjoying the fresh air and watching them explore the playground. Jobe pushed them on the swings while you captured the precious moments on your phone, memories to cherish forever.

Back home, it was nap time for the twins again. This gave you and Jobe a rare moment of peace. You cuddled on the couch, catching up on a favorite show or simply enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence.

Once the twins woke up, it was time for more play and a bit of screen time with their favorite educational shows. You prepped dinner while Jobe kept them entertained, the house filled with the sounds of playful giggles and the occasional sibling squabble.

Dinner was a lively event, with the twins eagerly trying new foods and sharing their delight with every bite. You and Jobe took turns eating and managing the occasional spill, the routine now a well-practiced dance of parenthood.

After dinner, it was bath time. The twins loved splashing in the tub, and you and Jobe relished the chance to make it a fun, bonding experience. With the twins clean and wrapped in fluffy towels, you headed to their room for storytime.

Jobe read their favorite book while you tucked them in, the soothing rhythm of his voice lulling them into drowsiness. You both kissed them goodnight, watching as they drifted off to sleep.

With the twins finally asleep, you and Jobe retreated to the living room. You shared a quiet, intimate dinner, reflecting on the day and planning for the next. The exhaustion of the day melted away in the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Another successful day,” Jobe said, pulling you close as you settled on the couch.

“Couldn’t do it without you,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

After some much-needed relaxation, you both headed to bed, ready to recharge for another day of joyful chaos with your little ones. As you drifted off to sleep, you felt content, knowing that together, you and Jobe were creating a loving, happy home for your family.

#jobe bellingham x reader #jobe bellingham blurb #jobe bellingham oneshot #jobe bellingham imagine #jude bellingham

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justwhisperingfantasies · 2 months ago

Text

I'm Tellin' Ya

For @chevroletdean 500 celebration!!🎉

Congrats again love! You deserve it!

Warnings: Language, Drinking, Smut, Oral (M. Receiving) Talk of violence,

Summary: Dean's having a bad day, luckily he finds someone to help turn his frown upside down.

Word count: 640-ish

Special thanks to @copperboom82 thank for your beta skills and your support 🫶

"The silver Coin?" Sam asked, reading the sign to the bar out loud when Dean pulled in the parking lot.

Dean shrugged. "What? It's the closet bar to the motel. As along as they have booze and babes I'm down," Dean quipped climbing out of the Impala.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Go, have your fun. I'll meet you back the motel."

"Come on, Sam. You need some fun in your life."

"I'm good," he called back, already walking in the direction of the motel.

Dean shook his head, pushing the front door open. The place was pretty much dead. 'So much for babes,' he thought walking over to the bar.

"What'll it be cowboy?" the bartender asked when he plopped down on a bar stool.

"Whiskey, neat."

The bartender gave him a nod and turned to grab a bottle off the shelf.

"Whiskey, huh?"

Dean’s head turned in the direction the pretty voice came from. He looked her up and down, she was stunning, bright blue eyes and hair to match, that low cut top shirt showing off just the right amount of skin. He knew she wasn't sitting there a second ago, no way he would have missed her.

"You must be having a bad day," she quipped with a smile.

He gave her a smirk back. "You could say that again, sweetheart."

"Hm…" she hummed moving closer. "Any way I could help make it better?"

Dean looked down, his fingers twisting in her blue hair as he started bucking his hips, making her pretty little lips drag up and down the shaft of his cock.

"Fuck… just like that," he breathed, raising his head when the speed of his hips quickened. "You gonna be a good girl and swallow every ounce?"

The vibrations of her muffled mhmm sent shivers down his spine, making him moan again. The music boomed into the bathroom when someone opened the door. Dean flinched, but she didn't care, her head finding a rhythm once his hips stopped.

His hand flew to his mouth, biting down hard as the tension in his spine started to build. He was going to come, in some stranger's mouth, with another stranger in the stall next to him. How the fuck did he even end up in this position?

The thoughts dissipated as her mouth guzzled on the tip of his dick while her hand pumped the shaft. "Fuck..." he mumbled into his head.

Dean let out a light groan when he heard the faucet turn on. "Don't you dare fucking stop," he demanded, his words making her suck harder, stroke faster.

Once he heard the roar of the bass get loud again he let go, coating her throat with his warm seed. "Damn, baby you can sure suck a mean dick," he managed through breath pants.

"So," Sam spoke up once they were away from the police officers at the crime scene. "You wanna tell me what the hell happened to you last night?"

Dean smirked. "Met this chick - oh Sammy, the things she could do with her mouth."

"Please stop talking," Sam snipped, handing his brother a pair of rubber gloves.

"All right, but I'm tellin’ ya-"

"I said please."

"Fine," Dean said with an eye roll. "So, wife goes crazy, bashes her husband's brains in with a sledgehammer."

"And you're still not convinced this is our thing?" Sam questioned.

"People go crazy all the time. Maybe she found his Ashley Madison account," Dean suggested with raised eyebrows.

"Or maybe…" Sam started, running his hand under the mattress, pulling out a hex bag when he found it, "there's a witch involved."

"You got lucky."

"Can't you just admit that some times I'm right?"

"Okay smart one, how do we find this witch?" Dean challenged.

Sam smirked, holding up a thin strand of hair. "Does this look blue to you?"

Dean Tag List:

@nightxcreature @kamisobsessed @perpetualabsurdity @barnes70stark @wonderland2022

@jackles010378 @mqdhvtter @quietgirll75 @nancymc l@hobby27

@madebyhappymeals @hunter-or-the-hunted @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @gardenofeden07 @deansimpalababy @roseblue373 @1313diana @lmg14@aand13b @PhoenixQueen @spnaquakingdom

@amberlthomas @mochminnie @vampieheartz @misatxox@idk6505

@kr804573 @jtink27 @caplanbuckybarnes

#chevroletdean's 500 #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fic #dean smut #spn #spnfandom #sam and dean #dean supernatural #dean spn #supernatural dean #deanwinchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn smut #supernatural smut #drabble #whisper writes

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mimi-cee-genshin · 3 months ago

Text

Denial is Futile: Wanderer x f!reader - Chapter 8

Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Taglist

« Chapter 1 | < Chapter 7

Summary:

What would you do if you were stuck with Wanderer indefinitely?

The cute and sweet guy from the bazaar was brought to your place while unconscious. But when he woke up, you were appalled by the amount of snark he had. Was he even the same person? And now you were stuck with him because he could literally die if he stopped holding your hand. You weren't sure if you could tolerate him any longer. Little did you know he was exactly the type of person you needed in your life.

Other info: Fluff, humor, sfw, enemies to lovers, some hurt/comfort and angst later, character growth, female reader, other characters makes cameo appearances

Words: 3.7k

*****

“Have you not been on a boat before?” asked Wanderer, clicking his tongue. The ship bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the waves. The clouds were gray, and the gentle lull of the boat could easily rock him to sleep, but your yapping kept him wide awake.

“Of course I've been on a boat. How do you think I even got to Sumeru in the first place?” you retorted.

“Hey, Xu Liushi!” Beidou’s booming voice resounded right behind him, causing Wanderer to jolt. “How's the weather looking?” He wished she wouldn't do that.

“No changes in my prediction. We should be good to go,” he replied from the crow’s nest that was right above your heads.

“Alright, keep an eye out,” she yelled back at him, and he sent her a thumbs-up.

Beidou then placed her arms around the two of you as the anchors were lifted onto the boat’s deck.

“Nice to meet you,” she told you. “The name's Beidou. I'm the captain of the Alcor here. Wanderer gave us a hard time last time he was around, but I'm hopeful you're not the type to cause any problems.” Wanderer shrugged her arm off his shoulder.

“What did you do?” you asked him. “You caused trouble?”

Wanderer rolled his eyes and ignored you. Of course you'd assume that.

Beidou let out a bright and hearty laugh. “I'm just pulling your leg,” she said while nudging you. “Why? Were you worried he took our ship hostage just to bag a few pieces of Mora? That'll never happen with this crew. We'd never back down from a fight.”

“Alright…” you looked at him again. “What did you do?”

Wanderer sighed. “Let's just say that alcohol has no effect on me whatsoever. Besides, Beidou is just messing with you to poke fun at me. But it's not like I'd lose to a challenge against the crew anyway,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“There's that fighting spirit,” Beidou laughed again. “It took a while to get that side out of him. He was so lost in thought the last time he was here we thought he went missing in the middle of the sea.”

This was Beidou alright. She continued her small talk with you to make you feel welcome on the ship, so Wanderer turned his attention elsewhere. Kazuha gave him a wave from the other side of the ship while helping a crewmember with some bags. It looked like he was able to make it.

“It's good to see you again,” Kazuha told Wanderer as he placed a hand on his shoulder. When your chat with Beidou came to a pause, he introduced himself to you. “My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he said. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Wanderer is a friend of mine.”

“You have friends?” you asked.

Wanderer groaned. “Just be glad I have enough connections to get us to Inazuma. It's not exactly cheap, you know,” he replied.

A few drops of water landed on the deck, staining the wood to a dark brown. A few of the crewmembers covered their heads before finding shelter but others were used to standing in the rain.

“Well, I hope you're ready for some light showers for now,” Beidou commented. “Xu Liushi says it won't be a full blown storm, but we'll still keep an eye out there during our travel. We've got to haul some goods there and back. You were lucky enough to hitch a ride with us just in time.”

The light drizzle picked up slightly and you inched closer to Wanderer. “Are you seriously using my hat as an umbrella?” he said.

“Isn't that what you're doing? With a hat that large, it'd be a waste not to,” you replied.

He grumbled but tilted his head towards your side without saying a word. But the rain got heavier, so the two of you moved to the back of the boat to where the shelter was. When you got there, Mora-grubber stood in front of the cargo taking inventory of the goods to be traded and a young girl ran up the stairs to give her a message about a few changes to the stock. The voyage proceeded with business as usual and the two of you rested under the shelter.

A few hours passed and now there was no land in sight. Kazuha came by to hand you two some lunch. Wanderer chatted with him for a bit, just filling him in on some unimportant updates like how he ended up being stuck with you. Kazuha chuckled at the situation before being called to another part of the ship.

As he left, Wanderer grumbled. “Why were you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“How do you know Kazuha?” you said as you continued to hold onto his arm. Why did you have to be so close to him?

“Why?” he said dryly. “You interested in him?”

“Are you allergic to answering questions directly?” you retorted.

Wanderer shrugged. “It's not like you answered my question either.”

You sighed. “He seems like a nice guy. I just didn't expect someone like him to consider you a friend.”

He didn't take it as an insult; the thought had crossed his mind as well. “I didn't expect it either,” he said.

Rain continued to drop off the shelter you were under and the occasional bump from the waves swayed the ship. “Did you two know each other when you lived in Inazuma?” you asked.

“You mean when I lived there centuries ago?” he asked.

“Oh… right…” You shifted your eyes away from him. “I assume he's human then?”

“Wow,” Wanderer said. “Seems you got it right this time.”

You didn't snap back like you usually did, yet the look you gave him was the type that would invite one to open up about their ‘feelings’. He didn't care though. You were free to do as you pleased.

Wanderer sighed when you continued to stare at him expectantly. Just what would it take to make you stop? “Do you remember the clans I slaughtered from my memories?” he asked. “Kazuha is a descendent of a man I spared.”

You continued to stare at him, but your brows began to ruffle and then relax before your eyes grew wide. “So he had a connection to that? Did you tell him about it? But then how did you two end up…”

“Becoming friends?” he finished.

It was a long story and he didn't think it was necessary to tell you all the details. He wasn't exactly proud of his past and only shared his memories with you to find a solution to your current dilemma. As a result, he glossed over the guilt and sorrow he felt after learning the truth.

Wanderer had gone back to Inazuma after his memories came back. It wasn't an immediate return, but he eventually did. He was fully prepared to accept what he was due, after all, and he had never considered backing down. So when Wanderer told Kazuha about his past crimes, he told him all of them including his involvement with the delusion factory.

“Kazuha told me to move on from the past,” he spoke with a sigh. “But even after telling him everything I had done, I wasn't satisfied. Did he really have the authority to say that my past crimes were forgiven?”

He knew Kazuha held no bitterness against him, but he was only one of the many that were wronged. How could he make things right with the dead? Even then, none of them fully understood the extent of his sins. Was there really anyone who could free him from his guilt completely?

He let out a breath. “There's no such thing as pure freedom in this world.”

The rain fell a little faster now. He didn't mind it. He wouldn't get sick from this anyway. Even if he stepped out into the rain, it would be a familiar feeling to him.

You grabbed his chin with your hand and squeezed his face between your thumb and fingers.

He smacked you away. “What are you doing?”

You put your hand back on his chin. “No! Only positive thinking!” you exclaimed.

“What the hell?” he said after smacking it again.

“You can't think like that!” you emphatically said.

He rolled his eyes. “What's wrong with you? It's not like thinking positively will change reality, no matter how much you wish you could.”

The rain began to fall harder and you leaned your back against a pillar. “No, it’s not true,” you said with a slight tremble in your voice. The water dripping off the roof increased its pace.

He sighed, turning to the scene of the endless sea with no land in sight. Just how vast was this ocean whose waves could consume in an instant? But a small bird fluttered towards the ship amidst the rain. With the miles of water surrounding the ship, it must have been a miracle for it to get here. It flapped its wings, nearing closer and closer towards you, yet it had escaped your notice. The bird gently hovered over your head, but didn't land on you; it decided to rest on Wanderer’s large hat instead.

Wanderer waved his arm to shoo it away. It ascended from his hat, fluttered about in a circle or two, then perched on his hat yet again. He groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can't believe this,” he said, shooing it again once more. It left his hat but returned yet again, the same result happening after multiple evictions.

While all this was happening, you stared wide-eyed at this strange occurrence and marveled at the persistence of this bird. You finally burst out into laughter. Wanderer stood stupefied at the situation. An insolent bird was adamantly trying to make his hat its home, and now this woman, who was attached to him, was laughing her head off at his annoyance.

“Just let it make its nest on your hat,” you said with a smirk. “I don't think it’ll relent any time soon.”

“Will you quit laughing and just help me?” he said.

“What? ‘I don't take pleasure in other people's suffering,’” you quoted him with a smile.

He rolled his eyes before finally surrendering to this pest. It wasn't worth fighting off this little white bird. Strangely, it was familiar to him, perhaps because it was similar to the charm on his bracelet. Yet he’d never seen this species up close before – only in images. Was it even from this world?

The bird cooed and found a comfortable spot on his hat, satisfied with its newfound home. Wanderer grumbled. “Just don't expect anything else from me,” he told the bird. “Alright?”

Yet throughout the rest of the trip, one crewmember after another used the bird for photography practice and took many shots of Wanderer and the infamous bird.

*****

The absence of Sango pearls and pink coral reassured you that you'd be fine here. This was not Watatsumi Island. Instead, you were met with a port as you landed at Ritou.

Night covered the sky as you stepped off the boat and made your way to the city. Your shadows grew long and short from every street light you passed. After arriving at a stall, Wanderer talked to an officer to process your papers to enter the nation of Inazuma.

Across the street, two middle-aged men placed their feet up on a table with their drinks in hand. “It's been a long day,” you overheard one say. “Some of my goods were stolen. It was two months worth of items! I had to pull out money from my savings.”

His friend took another gulp before placing his glass down. “That's a bummer,” he said. “Sometimes I wonder if I should hire my own security worker. The Tenryou Commission is usually on top of things, but they can only do so much.”

Wanderer tugged on your hand and led you further along the street. You weren't sure where he was taking you. You were unfamiliar with this area, but that fact put you at ease.

Nobody would recognize you here.

“We'll rest here,” said Wanderer, handing a bag of coins to the lady at the counter. Inside the inn's reception area, two couches faced each other on one side of the room while the other had a few small tables with a couple of chairs each.

You rubbed your eyes as the two of you walked towards the hallway where the rooms were. It was getting late. But a child ran into you, causing you to stumble. As he looked up at you, his eyes began to fill with tears. He cried some more, then sniffled, before finally wailing in the end. A female worker dropped her blankets and hurried to his side.

“What happened, sweetheart?” she asked him, stroking his head to provide some comfort.

“Mommy,” he cried, wiping his stream of tears but failing. “A thief took my… my…” He then proceeded to cry even harder.

“I… I didn't do anything,” you blurted out, worried she'd think you were the culprit.

“Don't worry about it,” the mother reassured you. “I know it wasn't your fault.” She then told her son, “Come here,” and ushered him into a more private room. The hallway went quiet.

Would he be okay?

“Where do you think you're going?” Wanderer asked you. You paused, looked around the area, and then realized that you had begun to walk towards their room. “He'll be fine,” he said with a grumble.

But the boy's words had bothered you. Was there a thief on these streets? The other men had their items stolen too. You clenched your fist and your nails dug into your palm, but you weren't aware of your anger.

Yet Wanderer noticed. You had clenched your other hand as well, the one wrapped around his.

“Would you just go to sleep already?” he snapped at you as you lay on the floor beside him. “I don't want to be dragging you along to Inazuma City while you're half-awake.”

“Do you think they're still there?” you asked.

“Any normal person would’ve left already,” he grumbled, somehow knowing exactly whom you were referring to.

“Maybe they're not normal…” you added. There was still a possibility they were there. Didn't the mother work here?

“Fine. Go ahead and play hero,” he told you. He lay back down beside you and turned his face away.

“But you need to come with me,” you added. Did he already forget that you were stuck with each other?

He gave no answer.

“Please?” you asked. “Pretty please?”

“Do you really think you can help?” he snapped at you. “Thefts happen all the time.”

“That doesn't mean people shouldn't do anything about it,” you mentioned. Why did you have to be stuck with him of all people?

“Just leave it alone,” he said, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. “Don't get involved.”

You sighed and turned onto your back to face the ceiling. You wanted to listen to him, you told yourself. You shouldn't meddle.

“But it'll just keep happening,” you said in a whisper.

You lay there in silence. In an attempt to divert your attention, you mentally listed out the tasks needed to be done in the morning. If you busied yourself with something more productive, you could forget about the boy’s plight.

Wanderer sighed, stirred, and then groaned in his spot. He finally said with a grumble, “Go check in the morning.”

A smile grew on your lips.

And that was exactly what you did.

You searched through the inn in the morning, asking if anyone had seen the boy you met the night before. Wanderer even described the boy's appearance to multiple people when he thought you weren't getting anywhere. But even after searching through the whole inn, you insisted on searching all of Ritou to find him.

“Just check all of Inazuma at this point,” Wanderer said sarcastically. “Apparently, we have an eternity to do so.”

“But we have to find that thief,” you replied.

He buried his fingers in his hair out of frustration before he finally relented. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Go ahead and find your thief. Why must you be like Niwa?”

“Who's that?” you asked.

He didn't reply. You didn't press the topic either.

It didn't take long for you to find the boy. He was by himself sitting under a table with a toy car and a lollipop just outside the inn. The two of you walked up to him, hand in hand, as the boy continued to play in his imaginary world.

“Hey, kid. You got stuff stolen from you yesterday, right?” Wanderer asked.

“Huh?” The boy peeked his head out from the table to look at him. “How did you know that?”

“Maybe if you didn't have a meltdown after running into her, someone wouldn't be meddling in your business,” Wanderer answered.

You jabbed your elbow into his stomach as a warning to behave. “Did you get hurt by the thief?” you asked the boy. “What did the thief look like?”

He spent the next few minutes describing the person he had seen. The thief had many distinct features, so you concluded that there was no way you couldn't find him.

And you did find him.

Your arm wrapped around his neck as soon as you found the suspect.

“Hey! At least watch the hair–” the thief managed to say. He gripped your arm to loosen your chokehold on him. “And this is so unfair,” he stated. “It's two against one!”

“I haven't done anything,” said Wanderer with a shrug as he continued to hold onto the back of your shirt. You adjusted your grip on the thief, hanging off of his back.

“Boss, what should we do?” his friends said in a panic. The thief tried to shake you off, frustrated that it wasn't working. You weren't letting him go that easily. A criminal couldn't go free.

“Alright, what's going on here?” said a firm voice from behind you. A woman with short dark hair crossed her arms. From her demeanour, she expected a prompt answer.

“Kujou–” the thief managed to choke out. “Please. Help. Me.”

Kujou ordered you to let go of him, but you, not understanding the authority she wielded, didn't immediately comply. But once Wanderer told you who she was, you quickly released the thief.

“Itto, what is the situation here?” Kujou asked the thief.

“Did you see what she did to me? The gal came out of nowhere. It was like she dropped from the sky and –zoom!– she grabbed my neck in an attempt to take me out. But nooo… this oni can't be taken down that easily. I can be plenty fierce if I do say so myself–”

“So why did you attack him?” Kujou asked you after confirming she wouldn't be getting any good information from Itto any time soon.

After a lengthy discussion, you found out it was a misunderstanding.

“I won fair and square and earned those snacks,” Itto stated. “J-just what was this boy accusing me of? He sounds like a sore loser if you ask me.”

“Snacks…?” you asked.

“Ha. You didn't even bother asking the boy what was stolen?” said Wanderer.

“It's not like you checked either,” you retorted, still a bit embarrassed about the situation. “But that middle-aged merchant said he was exhausted from all of his stolen goods so I thought…”

“That issue has already been resolved a week ago,” Kujou explained. “He was likely referring to all the paperwork that needed to be done.”

“B-but… but what about the boy?” you asked. “He said that–”

“He was probably just crying to Mommy about losing and being a pathetic whiner about it,” said Wanderer.

You put your fingers on the bridge of your nose. “Ugh… I messed up,” you told yourself. You shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so quickly.

“Sooo… are we dismissed?” asked Itto.

“Hold it right there.”

You turned around to see a woman with green hair and a black mask covering the lower half of her face.

“Gang bylaw, Article 375: Verbal contracts whereby the resulting outcomes involve edible goods to be handed over as rewards for games, matches, or any other activity that produces a winning party and a losing party are strictly prohibited.”

“Uh oh,” squealed one of Itto's friends.

“Gang bylaw, Article 268: Negotiating goods and services with minors in the absence or permission of their parent or guardian is forbidden.”

“But Shinobu,” protested Itto. “You should've seen how hard I worked for that match. It was the comeback of the century! If you asked me, I deserved that– Ah!” He took a few steps back and put his hands up to shield his face. Shinobu’s glare compelled him to retreat behind you.

She lifted her arms and cracked her knuckles. “Get back here right now!”

“Who brought Shinobu here?” a gang member whispered.

“How did she know we were in Ritou?” another asked.

She held up a handwritten poster with large letters describing an all-inclusive bonfire event hosted by the Arataki Gang.

Wanderer picked up the crouched Itto from behind you and tossed him in front of Shinobu as if he was throwing out a bag of trash. Itto's friends quickly ran off with the oni following closely behind. “Idiots,” said Wanderer.

Yeah, they were idiots alright. You sighed as you watched them continue to run away in the distance. Perhaps it was better that they were idiots. It'd be easier to keep them under control with how often they slipped up. If you were more like them, maybe things would’ve been different.

“Hey.”

You glanced around until you caught sight of Kuki looking directly at you. “Huh? Me?” you said, pointing to yourself.

“I can't quite explain this,” Kuki said, scratching her forehead, “but you should really go to the shrine.”

“Huh?” you said, exchanging glances with Wanderer. You were headed to Tenshukaku even though you were both reluctant to go. A detour to the shrine would set you back on your current plan and your health could continue to deteriorate.

But looking back, it was a good thing you went.

*****

Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying this series so far. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist or just fill out this Google form.

#wanderer x reader #wanderer series #wanderer fanfic #genshin impact wanderer #genshin wanderer #wanderer fluff #wanderer angst #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact series #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfics

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tyongf-nct · 11 months ago

Note

Ooo I hab a smut one!

Roommate beomgyu who catches you off-guard while you are busy watching/masterbating to porn and asks if he could join with a smirk 🤭

Have fun ♡

😩 I died reading this (and writing it)

dynamic: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut, mutual masturbation, watching porn, roommate!beomgyu

Your orgasm shot through you, your scalp tingling as your thighs tighten with pleasure. The video playing on your phone continues in the background, high-pitched moans ringing out as the adult actors on screen continue in their scene. You sigh in satisfaction, barely able to move to pause the video and grab a tissue.

“Having fun?” A familiar voice echoes from the doorway. You jump, head swiveling to see your roommate Beongyu standing suspiciously relaxed in your doorway.

“What the hell!” You shriek, grabbing the sheets to cover your lower half. You were still covered up top, but the thin material of your shirt didn’t stop the peak of your nipples from showing through.

“I think I’ve seen that video before. Good choice,” Beomgyu smirks. You scoff, rolling your eyes before chucking a pillow at him. He dodged it easily, entering your room and plopping himself down on your bed.

“Jesus, can’t a girl get a little privacy around here?”

Beomgyu shrugs, pointing to your open door. “You didn’t even bother to close it before rubbing one out.”

You roll your eyes again, unable to come up with a comeback. Truthfully, you liked the risk of your roommate walking in on you getting yourself off. The fact that he didn’t seem particularly bothered gave you a spark of hope. If anything, he seemed rather cocky about it.

“I…” You trailed off. The smirk turned into a small smile.

“Can I join you?” He asked. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Huh?” Smooth.

“Can I join you? I feel kind of left out, now. I haven’t jerked off since last night, anyway. I’m all tense,” he shrugged carelessly. Your brain short-circuited, that small spark of hope turning into a roaring flame.

“Y-yeah, sure. You can,” you stumbled. Beomgyu grinned, eyebrows raising.

“Really?”

“Yes,” you were more sure, “You can.”

Beomgyu nodded, then moved to sit beside you. A few awkward seconds of clothing removal and seating adjustment later, the two of you were sitting side by side, naked from the waist down, with your phone sitting propped between you. All nerves went out the window, though, when Beomgyu began to stroke his half-hard cock as the video began playing again. You were immediately wet again, your clit pulsing in need as you slid your fingers between your legs. Your eyes strayed from the screen and went to Beomgyu’s hand on his thick cock, watching as his grip slid from base to tip with a sensual rhythm. His breathing stuttered every time his thumb grazed the tip, and your mouth watered as you wondered what the pre-come beading at the slit would taste like.

You dared a glance at his face, flinching when your eyes met. Beomgyu had already been looking at you, watching you, as you got yourself off. The two of you didn’t speak, bringing yourselves pleasure as you watched the other do the same. The audio from the video seemed to fade away, only the sharp intakes of breath and slick sounds of skin on skin ringing through the air. You let your head fall back, eyes glued on Beomgyu as your second orgasm suddenly took over. Your toes curled and your spine tingled, a soft moan escaping when Beomgyu’s cock twitched and the spurt of white come roped in the air and splashed down onto his stomach.

“Fuck,” he groaned tightly, bottom lip enraptured by his teeth. His pupils were dilated and skin flushed as he jerked with his climax. Finally his head fell back on the pillows like yours, dirty hand falling limply to the side.

“Still feeling left out?” You huffed. He laughed loudly, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“No way. Feeling pretty fucking good right now, actually.”

#tyongf-nct #asks #bamtorin #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt #txt smut #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut

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heidi02-mail · 3 months ago

Note

Dancing and having fun in the rain together with ruggle maybe

👉👈

𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆: 𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑹𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒆 𝒙 𝒀/𝒏

. . . Warning: OOC. Y/n no gender, pronoun you/yours. Can be read as a platonic or romantic.

. . . English is not my native language.

. . . A/n: I hope you enjoy it, enjoy your reading!

𝑹𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒆 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒄𝒉𝒊

The rhythmic patter of raindrops hitting the pavement created a serene atmosphere, yet something in the air made it feel like an invitation.

You looked up, watching the sky pouring the endless cascade of rain, dark clouds are spinning over you. Without saying a word, you stepped forward, your legs spanked through the puddles, cool water was absorbed into your shoes.

"Hey, what are you doing?" a voice teased behind you. Turning, you saw Ruggie, his usually laid-back demeanor brightened with curiosity, as if he was already anticipating something.

"You wanna have some fun?" You grinned, holding out your hand. "Come dance with me in the rain."

He blinked, looking you up and down, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "Dance in the rain? Are you serious?"

"Absolutely". You shrugged, your smile became wider. “Now is the time. Let's!"

Raggi hesitated for a moment, but then, as if your enthusiasm was too strong to resist him, he took your hand with a grin.

"Well, I guess it’s not every day I get to be a little reckless."

The two of you started dancing, slipping and laughing in the water, spinning under the rain with no care in the world. His steps were a bit clumsy at first, but as he got into it, he began to move with more ease, his mischievous nature taking over.

The sound of his laughter, mixed with the rhythm of the rain, was infectious, and soon, you were both caught up in a whirlwind of joy. He pulled you close, twirling you with surprising grace.

"You’re not half bad at this," he teased, breathless from the fun. "Guess we’re a pretty good team, huh?"

You chuckled, wiping the raindrops from your face. "I told you. There’s nothing like a little rain to make everything more fun."

Ruggie gave a lazy grin, pulling you into a final spin, and just for that moment, the world around you seemed to disappear—leaving only the rain, the music, and the laughter shared between you.

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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

Text

cabin in the woods - eren x reader x jean - 18+!!!

part three of our polyverse woo! i wanted to write something intense for spooky season, but not like, a slasher fic, and you know eren would have the biggest primal play kink ever so here we are. the besties have been in their little poly relationship for a year and this is their anniversary trip <3 (and they're just so cute i need to put them in my pocket). enjoy what @fictional-d-supremacy and i came up with and....i don't even know what else to say. i love this one, prob in my top 3 of all time, i just love poly!erejean <3

pairing: eren jaeger x reader x jean kirschstein

wc: 9.5k (good lord)

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

*deep breath* CWs: primal play (for some people, it may read as dubcon, so please familiarize yourself with what this means, you are responsible for your triggers!), consensual sex, established relationship, use of names (pet, baby, angel, princess, slut, bitch), breeding kink, biting, fingering, oral sex (fem and male receiving), anal play, anal sex, double penetration, mlm (eren and jean are in an established relationship and kiss at one point), degradation, objectification, multiple orgasm, threesome, bi!eren, bi!jean, dirty talk, creampie, polyamory

OKAY now that that's out of the way.....have fun babies!

There’s something about the crisp autumn breeze drifting in through the open windows, twisting through Jean’s Jeep with the same rhythm as the car itself winding up the side of the mountain, that sends a vicious shudder down your spine. You try to roll your window up to fight the chill, but Eren whines from behind you and thuds a heavy boot against your seat in protest.

“You said if I let you have shotgun, we could keep the windows down the whole time.”

“It’s freezing!”

“But I get carsick,” Eren grumbles, glaring at you in the rearview mirror. Jean sighs in a tone that sounds a lot like exasperation, reaching over to turn your heated seat on.

“Better?”

“A little,” you smile softly at him, laying your palm over the warm hand he rests on your knee, “are we almost there?”

“It’s just around this corner,” Jean assures you, hazel eyes flitting back over to the gravelly, curving road. You take a moment to admire him: strong brow, regal, elegant nose, pouty lips that you know to be soft from experience. The simple knowledge that Jean is yours, yours to kiss and touch whenever you want, is enough to send a thrill through you. Your moment of adoration is cut short by Eren throwing his arms over the seat, digging his hands into your shoulders in a rough massage.

“You’re going to love this place, babe,” Eren says behind your ear. The buzzy excitement thrumming through his voice makes a small grin tug at the corner of your mouth; Eren’s moods are contagious more often than not, and he’s been miraculously cheerful all day. “Mama Kirschstein’s got the hook-up.”

“You’re still calling her that?” Jean rolls his eyes, “she’s been telling you to call her Jane for the last eight years.”

“Are you sure she doesn’t mind us coming up?” You eye Jean nervously, reaching up to squeeze one of Eren’s larger hands for reassurance. “I know she had a bit of trouble, y’know…”

“When I told her it was our anniversary, she offered us the house for the weekend. I didn’t even ask,” Jean veers left onto a narrow dirt path, “I know it took her a minute to come around, but she adores you now. I promise.”

“She’s always adored me,” Eren adds unhelpfully, ruffling your beanie and consequently wrecking your hair, “but I guess she was able to find room in her heart for the both of us.”

“Eren, stop it– ugh, thank you. What has got you in such a good mood?” You turn over your shoulder to look at him, practically brimming with energy. Eren’s always despised road trips, yet he’s been the picture of eagerness all day.

“Just excited to spend some time alone in the woods with my two favorite people, what’s so wrong with that?” Eren grins widely at you, sharp canines glinting in the early afternoon light. Something about his smile seems…not insincere, more like overly sincere. It’s not at all out of the realm of possibility for Eren to have some grandiose, ridiculous surprise waiting for you in his suitcase, or for him to simply be bouncing out of his seat in anticipation of all the weekend away, anniversary sex you’re about to have. You chalk it up to one or the other, ignoring the strangely stern look Jean shoots him.

“Oh my god!” You cover your mouth to muffle the excited squeal that comes creeping up your throat upon sight of the cabin. The “cabin” turns out to be an isolated, sprawling home with several wings, beautiful beyond your wildest dreams. Massive slabs of stone make up the columns supporting an overhang that covers a ten-foot-tall door, the garden beds on either side of the walkway have been manicured to perfection, and there’s a winding stone path that leads to the back of the house through a covered walkway that connects the main house to the garage. It’s practically been ripped out of Architectural Digest. “It’s like it’s not even real.”

“Kirschstein money always gets the panties dropping,” Eren scoffs, practically kicking his door open the moment the car rolls to a stop, “I forgot how nice this place was.”

“Shut up,” Jean grumbles, rolling his eyes at Eren before setting his adoring gaze on you, “you like it, princess?”

“I love it,” you gush, jumping out of the car to get a better look, bag forgotten in the trunk. You can hear the boys bickering about luggage somewhere behind you, but all you can focus on is the vast nothingness around you, the sleepy chirping of cicadas in the trees, and the warmly lit home that belongs to you and your two gorgeous boyfriends for the weekend. Who says no one ever had it all?

“Are you excited?” Eren comes charging up behind you, arms encircling your waist and lips pecking every square inch of your neck he can reach.

“I’m so excited,” you giggle, shoving him off so that you can run to Jean and throw your arms around his shoulders, “thank you both so much—oh, we have to call your mom and thank her! Can we? Please?”

“In a bit,” Jean chuckles, scooping you up into his arms so you can wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you want to see the inside first?”

“Yes–”

“I don’t know, Jean,” Eren saunters over, something mischievous flitting over his face that, if you were any less drunk on raw excitement, you would know immediately not to trust, “she may want to get a look at the woods before the sun goes down. What do you say, baby? Wanna go for a hike?”

“Eren,” Jean says, a very thin note of hesitation in his tone that you, in your giddiness, stampede right over.

“Just a quick one, Jean? Is that alright?”

“However long you want, angel,” Eren answers for Jean and smiles at you charmingly, entirely ignoring Jean’s widened eyes.

“Let’s do that,” you whip your wide, happy eyes back to Jean, a pleading grin on your face, “and then you can give me a tour of the inside. I just want to get a few Instagram pictures before we end up not putting clothes on again for the entire weekend.”

Jean smiles at you, some odd combination of endearment and something darker that you can’t quite make out—pity?—crossing his face. “Anything you want. Drop the bags on the porch, Eren? I’ll take her out back.”

Eren’s grin grows impossibly wider, a little glint in his eye. “Be right there.”

After your awkward, giggle-filled struggle to monkey-climb from Jean’s front onto his back without dropping to the ground, Jean, arms hooked firmly under your legs, walks you around the house, identifying little points of interest as he goes. He points out his childhood rope swing, tattered and still dangling from one of the massive oaks in the front yard, a few flower bushes that he remembers helping his mom plant. You can feel the swell of your heart in your chest as Jean walks you through his memories, snorting to himself when he recounts the tale of Eren nearly choking to death trying to hold his breath in the hot tub and growing misty-eyed when he points out his grandparents’ initials carved into a wooden bench in the garden.

You reach a point of the property where the meticulously groomed grass gives way to fallen leaves and patches of barren earth, a visible line between civilization and nature. A small wriggle from you lets Jean know you’re ready to hop down, and he bends at the knee slightly so you can slide off of his back.

“It really is a beautiful property,” you tell him earnestly, “I can’t thank you enough for bringing us here.”

“What’s mine is yours,” Jean, in that heartbreaking way of his, looks down at you like you’re the only thing he could ever want for, “you know that.”

“Still. Thank you.” You have to consciously focus on your breathing; you wonder if Jean knows he has this effect on people, if he knows that the way raw love lays itself bare in his eyes chokes whoever’s in his line of sight.

“It’s as much a gift for me as it is for you,” Jean leans down to nip at your ear, two large hands finding their way around your waist, “I’ve got you both away from work, out in the middle of nowhere, all to myself…”

“Jean!” It comes out as a clunky, airy giggle, half of the letters still jumbled in your throat where the breath is caught. He smirks against your neck, sinking his teeth in here, licking over a sore patch of skin there. The mountain breeze follows in his wake, kissing over the wet spots he leaves behind and raising goosebumps on the back of your neck.

“Getting started without me?” Eren’s voice startles you, makes you jump in Jean’s grip. Jean responds to your flightiness by spinning you on your heels and pressing your back to his chest, arms locked firmly under your breasts and head tucked onto your shoulder.

“We were waiting for you,” you answer, letting your eyes graze over Eren appreciatively as he approaches. As long as you’ve known him, autumn has always looked good on Eren. Something about the decaying colors around him makes his eyes that much more vibrant, the glow of them in the late afternoon sun almost reminding you of a predator at night, tucked behind bushes. Big cozy flannels only make his frame look broader, and the curl of his grown-out bangs around his pink ears makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

“Didn’t look like you were waiting,” Eren eyes Jean in annoyance, but the curl of his lip gives him away.

“She’s still here, isn’t she?” Jean counters, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“Where else would I be?” You laugh, shoving him back from you. Eren and Jean’s eyes meet, some dangerous, tangible glimmer passing between them. “What?”

“Nothing, angel,” Eren whistles, spinning you around yet again and locking your shoulders underneath his arm, beginning to walk you into the woods, “don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“I’m not worried,” you roll your eyes, letting him drag you further into the forest, “you guys are just being weird.”

“Are we?” Jean’s arm comes sneaking around your waist, “I don’t think we are. Do you, Eren?”

“Not at all,” Eren shrugs, pulling out his phone, “looks like we still have two hours til sunset. That seems like enough time for a hike, don’t you think, Jean?”

“Oh, that’s definitely enough time.”

You tilt your head up, a slight scowl indenting your forehead, flitting your eyes between the two of them. They’re hardly paying attention to you, staring at each other in a way that you’re not unfamiliar with. That explains the oddities of their behavior today; typical boys, just excited to jump into bed later. You barely contain another eye roll, instead opting to let them have their teasing fun and focus on the grandiosity of the forest around you.

The canopy is tall, taller than you would have expected; it feels like the dwindling population of leaves above your head is in a different world than the crunch of their fallen comrades under your feet. That pesky breeze is still there, keeping your nerve endings jumpy with the ever-present chill, but the warmth of the colors around you almost makes up for it. Everywhere you look seems to be on fire, yellows and oranges and reds blending the landscape together into a closer approximation to an abstract painting than a scene out of nature.

Easily half an hour ticks by as you stroll, all three of you having fallen into a comfortable, contemplative silence. You don’t miss the way Eren’s hand will occasionally drift from your shoulder to the back of your neck, ghosting over the skin and running through the baby hairs there, making you shiver. Jean follows suit, his arm around your waist slipping a bit low once in a while, palm cupping your ass and squeezing appreciatively. You ignore them both in favor of taking advantage of the beautiful scenery, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t affecting you. That familiar warmth curls in your stomach, molten and hungry, and the tips of your fingers twitch in your pockets, aching to replace the fabric that surrounds them with skin.

Eventually, you all reach a picturesque clearing with a gorgeous overhang, and you see your opportunity.

“Wait, stop right here,” you finally break the silence, squirming in the boys’ arms to snag your phone out of your back pocket, “this is perfect.”

“Instagram time?” Jean tries and fails to keep the bored tone out of his voice.

“We only have, like, five pictures together, and we’ve been together for over a year.”

“That’s not true,” Eren protests, “I have an album full–”

“How many of those pictures are share-able?” You cock a knowing eyebrow at him.

“Um, probably like…two.”

“My point exactly.”

Through a bit of manhandling and arguing over who should hold the phone, you make out with at least three usable selfies (the boys refused to entertain your self-timer idea), which far exceeds the amount of photos you expected to leave this trip with.

“Why don’t you let us take a few of just you?” Jean suggests, reaching for your phone with an honest smile and giving Eren a subtle nudge.

“Really?”

“Sure,” Eren jumps in, nodding and smiling along, “a few pictures of our pretty girl out in the woods on our special trip.”

“And it would be cute for your Instagram, right?” Jean adds, patting you lightly on the bottom.

“Okay,” you agree, too thrilled at their sudden interest in your quest for a nice Instagram post to think too much into the way Eren’s tongue swipes along his bottom lip, the way Jean’s holding your phone so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Just walk out that way, there you go.” You can hear Jean’s voice, with a strange little tremor to it, growing quieter behind you when Eren ushers you off in the opposite direction. You leave your phone with Jean, alternating between a little jog and a walk away from them, moving further into the clearing and keeping your back to the boys.

“Was that cute, or stupid?”

Your nervous giggle echoes in the clearing, the rustling of leaves the only answer you receive. You make a few different poses, feeling a little silly but willing to endure it in the interest of getting a couple of nice photos. You notice the distinct lack of sound around you, how for just a moment, it feels like the universe consists of just you, Eren, and Jean, alone in these woods and miles from any other human. It hits you that that’s not entirely untrue; the last house you’d seen had to have been fifteen minutes before you’d gotten to Jean’s driveway.

You call back to them, wanting at least a little feedback and, honestly, beginning to feel a bit creeped out by the uncharacteristic silence ringing in your ears. “Are they turning out good?”

Nothing.

“What the hell?” you finally whip back around to face them, stomping your foot petulantly, “are you two like, messing with me?”

When you turn to meet them, however, all the fire in your throat dies out as quickly as if a bucket of ice water had been tossed on it.

Jean and Eren are smiling at you, which wouldn’t be too odd of a sight, if it weren’t for the threatening glitter in their eyes, the way Eren’s tilting his head ever so slightly to the right. You’ve never seen an expression like this on either one of them, never seen something so…dangerous cross their faces.

“Run.”

“I’m sorry?” You scrunch your nose at Eren, confused. His smile only grows wider.

“Run.”

“Run?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot,” Jean shakes his head disapprovingly, eyeing you down through the streaks of sunlight bleeding into the clearing.

“Forgot what?” Your words tremble as they make their way out into the still air. They’re your boyfriends, the men that wake you up with feather-light kisses and hoist you onto their shoulders at concerts, so why are your fingers beginning to shake?

“About that little book of yours we found,” Jean answers, cocking his head. “Surely you didn’t think we’d forget, did you?”

“No, I know she remembers,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, bristling under the soothing palm Jean runs over the back of his neck.

The memory hits you like a train. Coming home to find Jean and Eren hunched over a smutty novel of yours, blushing furiously and frowning in concentration. Confronting them only to find out they’d stumbled across the primal play chapter, that they’d noticed that these pages in particular looked a little well-worn. Jean had asked you if you would ever try it, Eren had raised his eyebrows when you admitted that yes, you would absolutely live that fantasy out if given the chance. Your face had burned as you nervously giggled, brushing the idea off in the sense that it was unrealistic to act out such a scenario in the middle of the city.

But you’re not in the city now. You’re in the forest, alone with your two boyfriends who are looking at you like they might rip you to shreds.

“No,” you murmur, so quietly that if the woods weren’t so still and silent, it wouldn’t have reached their ears, “I–I didn’t…I remember.”

“There it is,” Eren says, eyes glinting at you and arousal practically dripping off of his words as they make their way to your ears, “knew you did.”

“Weren’t lying, right? You wouldn’t lie to us, would you, pet?” Jean’s voice is steely and sharp with the implication that you had better not lie to him.

Words are lost on you amidst the thundering of your pulse in your ears, and you simply shake your head back and forth slowly. Some survival instinct from deep in the recesses of your brain tells you not to take your eyes off of them for a second, has every muscle in your body twitching. Despite the uneasy adrenaline coursing through your veins, a firm knot of arousal has taken hold in your lower stomach, simmering and spitting in excitement from the hungry looks on Eren and Jean’s faces.

“We’ll give you a ten second head start,” Eren says, dragging his eyes over your frame and licking at his bottom lip, “just to give you a fighting chance.”

“Sound good?” Jean tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you. You know this is your moment to laugh this whole thing off, to return to the cozy interior of the cabin and put your feet up, have some hot chocolate, be kissed softly and held gently between their two strong bodies. This is Jean giving you an out, if you want it.

“Okay,” you agree, fingers fluttering nervously by your side.

“Good girl,” Jean nods approvingly, clenching and unclenching his fist, “ready?”

You nod back to him, knees shaking under your frame and a cold sweat breaking out over the back of your neck.

“Then fucking run,” Eren growls, grinning feral and wicked in the afternoon sun.

To your own surprise, you turn on your heel almost instantaneously, tearing off into the woods as fast as you can. The boots you’ve decided to wear are certainly not built for speed, but the thick soles are perfect for carrying you over the rough terrain, supporting your ankles and keeping them from twisting as you sprint through the woods.

You veer left, suddenly realizing that everything around you looks…the same. There’s no identifying markers, no path back to the cabin, no way to tell one tree full of decaying leaves from another. It brings you pause, your feet coming to a halt. It strikes you that you hadn’t been paying very close attention during your initial hike through the woods, and that even if you tried, you aren’t sure what direction will lead you back to the cabin. Eren and Jean have actually trapped you out here.

The crushing realization nearly makes your heart stop. You’re unable to suspend your disbelief enough to remember that these are your boyfriends chasing you; the only thought your brain can hold onto is that you’re being chased, and that you need to run.

The thudding of footsteps approaching shakes you out of your realization, has your feet moving at lightning speed the second you hear it. You don’t slow to look over your shoulder to see which one of them it is, just let your feet carry you far away as fast as you can manage. It dawns on you that the feeling coursing through you, bringing warmth to your face, is some unbelievable mixture of fear and arousal.

You can’t tell the color of either feeling apart, can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Maybe they’re bleeding into each other, a symphony of passions ripping their way through every cord of muscle in your body, through every electrified nerve ending as you run away from what you want more than anything in this moment.

The footsteps behind you begin to fade, and as your breathing gets heavier and harsher, you realize you won’t be able to keep this pace; your best shot is running hard in short bursts and stopping to rest in between. You reach another clearing, much smaller than the one you had started out in, and lined with an assortment of bushes and a fallen tree. Just as you hunch over to catch your breath, you hear the return of those stomping footsteps, far behind you, but there all the same. The sharp pain ricocheting through your chest is warning enough to stop you from running again, and your eyes dart around in a panic, finally honing in on an area of the brush that looks thick enough to conceal you in your dark clothing, if you strip out of your light purple flannel.

As the footsteps draw closer, you hurriedly dive into the tangle of leaves and branches of the brush, ripping your flannel off of your arms as you go. You wince at the scrape of thorns and sticks on the soft, bare skin of your arms, but claw your way deeper, crouching down to conceal your body and twirling on your tippy-toes to peer through the leaves into the clearing.

It’s Jean, tall and imposing as he marches into the clearing. His chest is heaving under his shirt, hair mussed from running through the autumn wind. You marvel at him, so large and threatening, eyes blown wide and flicking from one area to another suspiciously, looking. Looking for you.

“Pet?” Jean whirls around, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you hiding from me?”

You don’t dare make a sound, positive that your heart is pounding so hard that if someone looked at your neck, they’d be able to see the frantic push and pull of your pulse through the skin. Jean surveys the area, narrowing his eyes at the brush where you’re hiding, but miraculously, turning his head the other way. You need to keep moving, especially considering that you’re so close to Jean, but with the increasingly small distance between you, there’s no way that you’ll be able to quietly sneak out of the brush. Just as you’re formulating a plan to wait and see which way he runs next, so you can run in the opposite direction, Jean’s eyes catch on something that makes your breath hitch.

“Uh-oh,” Jean exhales, stepping closer to you and crouching, his grin growing darker. When his hand comes back into your line of sight, you nearly gasp, one hand flying to the naked top of your head. He’s holding your beanie, grinning down at it. Hardly another moment passes before Jean’s eyes flicker to you, darkening as soon as you make eye contact through the leaves.

“Shit,” you breathe, scrambling back onto your hands and crawling desperately through the branches and leaves behind you, grimacing as a particularly sharp thorn scratches deep into your cheek.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Jean laughs cruelly, jumping over the fallen tree trunk and towering over you as soon as you’ve escaped the brush. You stumble to your feet, but Jean’s quick, snagging you by the elbow before you can run off.

“Jean, please,” you gasp, looking up at him with wide, panicked eyes. It occurs to you that now that you’ve been caught, you’re not begging to be let go of– you’re begging to be held. Now that you’re so close to him, face to face with the shine of sweat on his collarbones, the rise and fall of his broad chest, your arousal is tangible, pumping through your veins thick like honey. You wet your lips, feeling the source of your panting move from your lungs to your core.

“Oh,” Jean’s bottom lip pushes out, “what’s the matter? Want to be my little princess again, is that it?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod frantically, looking over your shoulder and then Jean’s to see if Eren’s approaching to spoil your plan, “please Jean. Want to be your princess.”

“Aw,” Jean hums thoughtfully, cocking his head and looking down on you with pitying eyes for just long enough that you smile softly in relief, feel a rush of anticipation shoot through you. Unconsciously, you tilt your chin up, expectant and ready for him to catch you in a kiss. In the next instant, he’s gripping your arm even harder, with a jerk that makes your eyes water. “Too bad. You’re not my little princess out here.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, a clammy sweat breaking over your skin. Just as you’re about to plead one last time, Jean gives you a cruel smile.

“Eren! I’ve got her!” Jean shouts into the woods, turning his head over his shoulder to help the sound carry.

“Jean!” Your betrayal and frustration make your voice hoarse. Jean leans in to you, grinning wickedly.

“If I were you, I’d run. He’s not going to be nearly as nice as me.”

You wrench your arm out of his grasp, turning on your heel and darting further into the woods, grimacing at the feel of your wetness soaking through your panties. Jean’s footsteps are quick to catch up with you; or, at least, you think they’re Jean’s. You’re not going to break your stride to chance a look. You can’t outpace him, but you’re small and nimble enough that you think you may be able to outmaneuver him. You zigzag wildly through the trees, and it seems to be working, as Jean’s footsteps grow softer and softer behind you. Your lungs burn and your eyes water viciously, but you don’t dare relinquish the small distance you’ve managed to put between yourself and Jean, forcing your aching muscles to push harder and harder.

Suddenly, you spot it: a treehouse, with a little wooden ladder dangling from the bottom. It sounds like Jean’s footsteps are far enough behind you to afford you plenty of time to scramble up the ladder, at the very least to plan your next move. It wouldn’t be so bad if he saw you, either; the treehouse, as derelict as it may look, affords a nice sheltered spot for Jean to corner you in…

Your feet make the decision before your mind has the chance to catch up, and you’re beelining towards the treehouse, approaching it quickly. When you step on the first rung of the ladder, you feel the porous, rotten wood give a little underneath your weight, but the pounding of footsteps approaching urges you on. You make it two more steps up when one of the treacherous wooden rungs snaps under the pressure.

“Shit!” You squeal, clutching the ladder harder in an attempt not to tumble to the forest floor. You persevere, looking forward to whatever could await you if the boys were to follow you up to the treehouse. Two more steps up and you’re halfway there, but a pair of strong arms lock around your waist and pull you towards the ground with a harsh yank, ripping a yelp from your throat.

“Not a bad try,” you instantly recognize Eren’s voice, but what you don’t recognize is the rasp to it, the gravelly, dark tone, “but you didn’t really think you could run from me, did you?”

You thrash so violently that you think you must have hit him, because he drops you suddenly with a hiss. As soon as your feet hit the ground you take a few blind, wobbly steps in the opposite direction, only to run smack into Jean’s chest. You look up, wide, watery eyes blinking at Jean as your dizzied brain tries to grasp onto what’s at hand. You’re caught. They caught you.

“Going somewhere?” Jean sneers, grabbing you by your wrists and whipping you around to face Eren. The sight you’re greeted with has you squeezing your thighs together, a thick swallow sliding down your throat.

Eren’s eyes are blown wide, the bottomless black of his pupils nearly eclipsing the beautiful green you’re used to admiring. There’s a little sheen of sweat covering him, making him almost glow in the late afternoon light, and the veins in his neck are prominent with his heavy breathing. He runs his tongue over the now-split portion of his lip, courtesy of you, smearing a bit of blood over his mouth, and drags his eyes along every inch of you like he isn’t quite sure where he wants to start.

“I thought I told you to run,” Jean says, hot and taunting against the shell of your ear, “but it didn’t look like you tried very hard. Almost makes me think you wanted to be caught.”

“Of course she did,” Eren answers for you, stepping forward to run a thoughtful thumb across your cheek, making you flinch when he brushes over a cut on your face, “you want to get fucked, don’t you?”

You’re not sure what to do, whether you should nod your head enthusiastically or choke out a stuttered word of confirmation or maybe bite back; you feel frozen, overwhelmed by their looming figures and the fiery hot adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Eren decides for you, rubbing his thumb over your lips, and shoving it into your mouth. A coppery taste washes over your tongue, and you realize it’s your blood, fresh from the cut on your face. You suck his thumb in obediently, let him fishhook his thumb in your cheek, tugging your mouth this way and the other. Eren spits right in your mouth, nearly missing and splattering it all over your chin and cheeks.

“Nasty little bitch,” Eren snarls, shoving his mouth to yours.

What he does to you can barely be described as a kiss; it’s more like Eren devouring you. Teeth clack together, his tongue shoves into your mouth so violently you nearly bite down in your surprise. Eren sucks your tongue into his mouth, groaning low and hungry when you whimper.

“You taste good,” Eren murmurs hurriedly into your mouth, biting harshly on your lip and grinning against you when it makes you whine, “can taste the blood from that cut on your cheek.”

Jean stutters out a groan from behind you, his restraining grip on your wrists tightening. You feel his mouth begin to venture down your neck much like it had before, but his teeth are more demanding as they sink into your soft skin this time, more intent on taking, on marking you. One of Eren’s hands finds its way to your chest, grabbing harshly at your breast through your shirt. The ache of his strong fingers makes your back arch towards him, a breathless gasp leaving your lips.

“Show me,” Eren pants, finally backing away from you and ripping at your tank top, yanking it towards your head. There’s a shiny mixture of saliva and your blood staining his chin pink; shamefully, it makes a fresh rush of heat fly through your body, makes the wetness collecting between your thighs that much more prominent.

“We’re outside–” you try to protest, but a corrective slap to your ass from Jean shuts you up.

“No one’s around,” Jean says, mouth back on your shoulder as soon as Eren’s removed the offending garment from you, “it’s just us.”

“No one’s going to hear you scream,” Eren voices what you’re thinking with a nasty grin, bringing a hand to each of the cups of your bra and gripping the plush fabric hard enough to turn his knuckles white, tearing the connective fabric with a loud rip.

“Eren!” You squeal in surprise, practically jumping in Jean’s arms.

“That’s it,” Eren groans, leaning down and lathing his tongue across a deep cut above your right breast, something you hadn’t noticed in your fearful escape from the bush earlier, “let me fucking hear you.”

Jean’s got your wrists contained in one of his large hands, not minding the swing of your ruined bra around each of your arms, reaching his other hand around your waist to fiddle desperately with the clasp of your jeans.

“Eren,” he says sharply, drawing Eren’s attention to the fact that your pants are still on. Eren smirks.

“Pick her up,” he answers, voice gravelly. Jean lifts you off the ground, your back pressed to his chest, feet dangling in the air. Eren rips both of your boots off, tossing them to the forest floor. Still pissed about your bra, truthfully, you jerk a foot out harsh enough to hurt him if it should make contact, trying to keep your movement spastic enough to make it look like an accident. Eren dodges and looks at you murderously, returning to his full height to grab your chin harshly.

“Did you just try to fucking kick me?” His forehead is pressed nearly to yours, voice low. Busted.

“You tore my bra.” Your voice has none of the conviction you were trying to find in the depths of your chest, coming out breathy and weak. A sound that can only be described as a snarl rips from Eren’s chest.

“Yeah, I fucking did,” Eren smacks your cheek just hard enough to stun you, make sure you’re really listening to him, “we caught you. Understand that? We’re going to do what we want with you because you’re ours. Keep smarting off, and I’ll rip your panties off next and shove ‘em in that bratty mouth of yours. Got it?”

Speechless, you nod desperately, squirming as the heat between your legs begins to grow unbearable, that tacky, sticky arousal surely beginning to leak down your thighs at this point. Eren makes quick work of your jeans and your underwear, hissing appreciatively as your panties stick to the wetness between your thighs.

“You’re so wet, pet,” Jean reaches around to swipe his hand through your folds. That alone is enough to make your knees buckle, make a wanton moan slip out from your lips.

“I–I want– oh.” You try and fail to articulate a sentence, cut off entirely by a loud groan when Eren’s teeth sink into the supple skin of your breast. Eren grins around the mouthful of flesh he holds between his teeth, raising his eyebrows at how riled up you already are.

“Pitiful little thing,” Jean chuckles, voice husky, “look how bad she wants it.”

Jean reaches down and shoves two fingers straight into your slick cunt, ripping a strangled moan out of your throat. Your hips buck into his hand of their own accord, desperate, tinny whines and whimpers leaving your mouth in quick succession. The stretch of Jean’s fingers is so welcome after all the build-up, that you don’t think you could put it into words if you tried. On behalf of your useless mouth, your body makes a great show of trying to show them just how good their attention feels, rolling and rocking into their touch, no matter how harsh.

Eren digs his fingers into the fat of your hips, your thighs, your ass, gripping you close to him and biting into whatever flesh of your upper body that he can reach as hard as he can, surely coming close to drawing blood. They aren’t the type of bites that require suction and the lathing of a tongue to soothe and leave hickeys; no, these are the type of bites that bruise on impact, little purple half-moons of teeth marks decorating your arms, shoulders, and breasts.

Jean coos in your ear approvingly each time your hips cant towards his hand, seeking more and more friction as the knot in your stomach tightens with each curl of his fingers. You can feel him pressing into your lower back, hard and promising, and your pussy flutters around his fingers at the thought of being split open by him, by Eren, by anything more that they’re willing to give you.

“Want to fuck her,” Eren huffs, “she close?”

“She’ll cum soon,” Jean affirms, licking through the shell of your ear delicately. You revel in the way they talk about you as if you’re not here, as if you possess no consciousness worthy of interacting with. You feel stripped of your higher thought processes, reduced into some pathetic, pliant creature only in search of pleasure– and you love it.

“Please,” you attempt to beg, only to be silenced by Eren’s long fingers wrenching their way down your throat.

“Stop talking,” Eren grumbles around a mouthful of your flesh, “pets don’t talk, do they?”

That draws a heady whine from you, your hips twitching forwards into Jean’s hand eagerly, a blatant attempt to pull forth the orgasm that’s been brewing between your hip bones for the last five minutes. Jean chuckles at your struggles, works his fingers just a bit faster.

“Go on,” Jean whispers, “it’s just us out here. Be as loud as you want, pet. We’re going to need you good and wet, so go ahead, cum hard for us.”

“C’mon, what are you waiting for? Fucking cum already.” Eren echoes Jean’s sentiment from your breasts, licking at another smear of blood just under your nipple.

Your body thrashes in their grip, begging for and yet resistant to the overwhelming waves of pleasure wracking through it. Loud squeals escape from your full mouth, even from where Eren’s got your lips stretched wide around three of his bulky fingers.

“Let us see what you can do, pet,” Jean murmurs, thick and warm against your ear, “just for us, come on.”

With one more vicious curl of Jean’s fingers, your back is arching violently, a muffled scream echoing into the canopy of trees around you as your release hits you hard. You can feel the wetness smearing between your thighs, feel the effort Jean’s exerting into keeping you still and in one place as you buck against him. Eren growls in approval and sinks to his knees, biting harshly into your thigh before sucking your clit into his mouth. That only serves to make you fight harder, the overstimulation getting the better of you.

Eren’s only able to lap at the sensitive folds between your legs for a moment before your twitching thighs threaten to knock him in the head, jerking closed of their own accord. Eren chuckles and smacks the inside of your leg a few times, rising to his feet and smirking at you.

“You squirming? Too much?” Eren sneers, gripping your jaw in his hand and forcing you to keep your half-lidded eyes on him. You push against his grip as hard as you can to shake your head no, earning yourself a pleased glimmer amongst the darkened green of his eyes. “More? You want more?”

When you nod frantically, Eren grins so wide his canines wink at you in the setting sun, flits his gaze over your shoulder to meet Jean’s eye.

“Get her on the ground.”

Jean complies, forcing you to your hands and knees in the dirt. Something about being so exposed, bare and open for them in the ground like this, has your blood running hot in an entirely new way. Neither of them have taken so much as their outer layer off, pinning you between them like…like their little pet. You can feel yourself grow even wetter; it may as well be dripping down your thighs at this point. You hear one of them kneeling behind you, can feel the head of a cock swiping through the mess between your legs.

“So fucking wet,” Eren hisses from over your shoulder, grabbing at your hips and kneading the skin. A hand comes to your chin, tilts your head up.

“Open up, pet,” Jean says, biting into his bottom lip. Obediently, you drop your jaw, tongue out, and blink up at him invitingly, more than eager for the weight of him in your mouth. Jean groans at the sight, slipping the tip of his drooling cock onto your tongue. You swipe your tongue over the tip, eyes rolling back at the taste of salt and sweat and Jean. Jean wastes no time in pushing to the back of your throat, tapping your gag reflex.

Any hope you had of suppressing the cough that threatens you when Jean pushes into your throat is ripped away by Eren shoving himself into you from behind, pushing you an inch too far down Jean’s cock and making you retch.

“All stuffed full of cock, aren’t you?” Eren grunts, driving into you and setting a brutal pace off the bat. You’re powerless to do much else besides squeal and whine around Jean’s cock, punctuating your muffled moans with the occasional gag when Jean taps the back of your throat.

Jean spits several times into the palm of his hand, never losing his pace thrusting into your mouth. If you had any more presence of mind, you’d frown up at him questioningly, but any doubts about his intentions are resolved when he leans over you, spreading his spit over your asshole.

“I want to take her too,” Jean says to Eren, who leans down to spit directly on your only unoccupied hole, lubing you up, “get her ready.”

Eren only offers an affirmative grunt, circling your hole a few times before pushing his thumb in up to the hilt; you’d taken them both only last night, so you don’t require all that much prep, but Eren’s thick fingers are a shock all the same. You squeal around Jean, who shushes you and runs his fingers soothingly along the crown of your head. You lean into his gentle touch, only for him to tighten his grip around the tangled wreck of your hair and shove you down onto his cock harder.

“Told you you’re not my princess anymore,” Jean chuckles darkly above you, driving his hips forward to the same rhythm Eren pounds into you from behind, “not out here.”

Eren’s been busying himself preparing your asshole, up to what feels like three fingers, but with the girth of Eren’s hands, you can never be sure. To have every bit of you full and used is an out of body experience; it’s not something you don’t experience regularly with the both of them, but to be taken so brutally out in the open, to be fucked in such an animalistic way, nearly shuts your brain off.

Eren gives you a few final thrusts before pulling himself entirely from you, causing Jean to follow suit and leaving you empty and whining. You’re tugged to your feet before you can even begin to form a sentence to beg for them back, stumbling in the crunchy leaves under your feet. Eren scoops you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep you firmly pressed to him.

His cock drags along the folds between your legs, and he presses his forehead to yours, short, heavy breaths leaving him in huffs.

“Ready, pet?” Eren mutters into your open, waiting mouth, “ready to take what you were made for?”

Before you can offer anything more than a half-hearted plea, Jean is pressing into you, the all-consuming stretch of him rendering you mute. Eren never stops boring his gaze into yours, something sparking and spitting and wanting in his eyes, demanding more from you. He drinks down your squeal of surprise, spreads your ass cheeks open so Jean can get at you deeper, digging into depths you rarely find yourself aware of.

“She’s still so tight,” Jean growls, sinking his teeth into your neck, smiling around the mouthful when you moan wantonly.

“Give him some more, hm?” Eren, forehead still tacky and stuck to yours, grabs for Jean’s hand, angling it under your mouth. Through your desperate little hiccups of pleasure, you understand; you spit into Jean’s hand, opening your mouth so that a thick line of drool can slick his fingers up further. Eren grins, evil and satisfied. “Good job, pet.”

Jean uses the saliva you’ve given him to wet the last few inches of himself, pushing in to the base with a loud groan. You can almost feel the tangible eye contact they exchange; they love to look at each other unraveling when they’re inside you. “Your turn.”

Eren—no, Jean?—digs his fingers into your hips, making you whimper at the thought of the bruises sure to follow his grip, slides his cock into you slowly and forcefully, like he’s proving a point. The stretch of him– no, of both of them inside you, isn’t anything new, but in this setting, after all the build-up? You’re wailing, openly, your cries echoing off the trees as you thrash in their firm hold, overstimulated and overwhelmed and overpleasured all at once.

“Sh, sh,” Jean shushes you sternly, pinning your head back against his shoulder with a firm fist to the nape of your neck, “take it, don’t fight it.”

“Feel so fucking good, pet,” Eren says gruffly, giving a tentative half-thrust and making all of you moan, “like you’re fucking made for taking cock.”

“She is,” Jean coos, beginning to rock into you in the same easy rhythm as Eren, “just look at her. Not one thought behind those pretty eyes.”

He’s right; your eyes have glazed over entirely, mouth hanging ajar as they take and take and take from you. You can feel an orgasm quickly taking shape in the pit of your stomach, wrapping around itself and squeezing, threatening to pull you under. You’re so blissed out you can’t even be sure of what you’re feeling. Full, exposed, primal, half-conscious; all of those words surely would make the list if you could pull any of them to the front of your mind at the moment.

Your thighs are quivering around Eren’s waist, tightening viciously around his hips as they drive into you, suspending you between two walls of hard muscle. You know your cunt follows suit when Eren groans loudly, jaw dropping slightly.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Slutty little thing,” Eren grunts against you, eyes flicking back and forth between you and Jean, “begging to get your cunt filled like a bitch in heat.”

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” Jean practically whispers into your ear, words wrapping around the knot in your stomach and holding it together, “want to get bred, don’t you, pet?”

Eren’s eyes go wide for just a moment, his gaze fixated on Jean. You can feel him pause briefly, twitch inside of you, and then before even a full second has passed, Eren’s determined scowl has twisted his face again, and he’s hammering into you like his life depends on it.

“Is that what you want?” Eren demands of you, eyeing you.

“Tell him,” Jean says to you, like the devil on your shoulder, “tell him how badly you want it. Go on.”

“I–I–” The tears running down your face collect in your mouth, making you hiccup and spit and choke on your words. Eren grabs your face fiercely, forcing you to look at him.

“Say it,” Eren snarls, “tell me you want this slutty pussy stuffed full of cum, our cum.”

“I want your cum,” you whimper pathetically, words stuttering and tripping as they spill from your swollen lips, “want to be full of it, want to get bred.”

“Fuck,” Eren nearly throws his head back, somehow moving his hips faster. Your legs dangle uselessly beside him; every muscle in your body contracts and relaxes wildly as your orgasm sinks its claws into you, threatens to pull you under. The only things tethering you to your body at this point are Eren’s eyes on you, bright and feral, and Jean’s hands around your hips, keeping you in place for them to pound into. You can feel the tidal wave coming up in your throat, your moans and whines growing more and more frantic, your head feeling lighter with each passing moment.

“Such a good girl– good little pet for us,” Jean slurs, hips beginning to falter in their rhythm, “show us how bad you want our cum, let us feel you–fuck–”

“So fucking good,” Eren laughs almost hysterically as you finally snap and cum around them, slapping your face lightly and egging you on, “there she goes.”

Every nerve ending in your body feels like it’s on fire, little shocks of electricity flying down your limbs and making you jerk and flail and contract. You can feel your fingers digging into the skin of Eren’s biceps until they meet something wet and warm, and you know you’ve drawn blood, but you’re spiraling through rapturous pleasure so intensely that you couldn’t release your grip if you tried.

The way you tighten viciously around them has Jean falling over the edge right after you, his hips stuttering and coming to a still pressed against you. He tugs your face to the side, pulling you in for a sloppy, honestly disgusting, kiss, panting heavily into your mouth and mouthing around praises that he’s too spent to fully pronounce. You can feel Eren’s eyes on you both, feel the way his thrusts are starting to grow more frantic. Jean turns your face to meet Eren’s gaze, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Look at her, Eren,” Jean shakes your face a little for emphasis, “needs cum in both her holes, not just one.”

As if to emphasize his statement, Jean pulls out of you, a gush of his cum joining the mess between your legs. Eren throws his head back and groans, nods urgently.

“Said we’d stuff her full, right? Breed her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it, pet?” Jean sneers, landing a smack to your cheek.

“Uh-huh,” you babble mindlessly, body trembling with the force of the aftershocks of your orgasm, “p-please Eren, breed me, I need it–”

“Gonna cum in you,” Eren pants, grabbing your hair so hard you wince, “can you take it? Take all of it ‘til you’re bred and full of me?”

“Yes,” you whimper, nodding against him, “yes, please, I–”

“Give it to her,” Jean’s fisted his hand at the nape of Eren’s neck now, pulling all of you so close that you’re drinking down each other’s breaths, “she’s worked so hard for it, give her what she needs.”

That’s all it takes; Jean’s encouragement has Eren spilling inside you with a lengthy, choked groan. With what little energy you have left, you pepper soft kisses along his neck, knowing how his muscles must be burning with how they’re twitching under his skin. Eren’s fingers are digging into you so hard it hurts, already aching, but you let him cling to you, ride out his orgasm as Jean threads his fingers through the hairs at the base of Eren’s neck soothingly.

You all stay this way for a moment, Jean supporting the majority of your body weight as Eren begins to sag into you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The breeze swirls by, leaving cold kisses on every inch of your bare skin, reminding you that you’re out in the open, making you miss your sweater.

“Guys?” You speak feebly into the crisp air, blinking sleepily.

“Holy shit,” Eren laughs breathlessly into the crook of your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a sticky hug, “that was–”

“Crazy,” Jean agrees with a disbelieving chuckle, helping you down onto your shaky legs.

“I am…very naked.” You point out weakly, swaying on your sore thighs. Jean’s quick to slide an arm around your shoulders and tug you to him, while Eren wrangles his hoodie over his head to offer you.

“There’s not another house for five miles in either direction,” Jean assures you, lifting your arms so that Eren can pull his hoodie over you, “wouldn’t ever let anybody see you like this, you know that.”

“Better?” Eren, still a little winded, tugs the hoodie down around your thighs, looking you over. He swipes a thumb across the cut on your cheek, an impish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “We really roughed you up, didn’t we? I’m sorry, angel.”

“I liked it.” Your eyes are already falling shut; you barely have the energy for a sleepy smile when Eren presses his lips to your hairline. Jean scoops you up into his arms; all the cardio that he does at the gym is making itself known.

“Was it good, princess? Have fun?” Jean murmurs against your forehead.

“So much fun.” You open one eye to see Jean and Eren glance at each other, see the spark of love between them. It comforts you; even amongst the near-constant shivers wracking through your body, the warmth of their presence and the steady rocking of Jean’s steps lull your eyes shut.

“Thank god she ended up running just about to the backyard,” Eren huffs from somewhere to your right, still sounding very much like he hasn’t caught his breath, “I’m fuckin’ beat.”

“It’s because you don’t do enough cardio, bro.” You can hear Jean’s insistent eyebrow raise and visualize Eren’s answering eye roll, chuckling to yourself in Jean’s arms.

“Cardio’s for bitches, I’m bulking right now–”

“Did you listen to anything the team trainer said in college? Honestly–”

“That was three years ago–”

Somewhere amongst their arguing you doze off, letting yourself go limp in Jean’s arms. When you wake again, Jean’s walking you up a flight of stairs, angling you this way and the other to avoid hitting your head on the railing. Jean flits his eyes down towards you and acknowledges your consciousness with a soft smile, carrying you into a bedroom and sitting you on the bed. Wordlessly, Jean and Eren go about their usual routine of cleaning up after a particularly rough session: Jean runs a bath while Eren fetches some antiseptic for the scratches on your face and arms, Eren nearly gets distracted when you start running your fingernails through his hair but Jean gets you both back on track, somehow fitting all three of you in the largest bathtub you’ve ever seen.

Before you know it, you’ve been scrubbed clean, all the grime gone from your skin and the twigs pulled from your hair, and sandwiched between Eren and Jean under a heavy duvet.

“All better, right?” Eren murmurs against your forehead, pressing a kiss to it.

“All better,” you hum, nuzzling into his chest, “but I don’t want to waste the weekend. We’re only here until Sunday– do we really need to nap?”

“I threw dinner into the smoker while Eren was drying you off,” Jean says, words floating over your shoulder from where he’s curled up behind you, “we have at least two hours ‘til it’s cooked through properly.”

“And you need a nap,” Eren grins mischievously, “you had a big afternoon.”

“I’m not the only one,” you giggle up at him, “I heard you wheezing on the walk back.”

Eren scowls, only to have the furrow in his brow smoothed over by Jean’s thumb. You watch in awe as he instantly melts into Jean’s palm, such a volatile man so easily soothed by a gentle touch. As Eren’s mood begins to settle, you feel the atmosphere in the room change; the blankets feel just a bit heavier, the rise and fall of Jean’s chest against your back quells your breathing into the same rhythm, and the circles Eren’s thumb is rubbing into your hip have your eyes beginning to flutter.

“Naps for all three of us,” Jean says, leaving no room for argument, "I set an alarm. I won’t let you sleep through the weekend, I promise."

Something about the warmth and familiarity tucked under the covers with the three of you has your mind ambling on towards sleep, even after your weak attempts to protest. As you drift off, you can hear the quiet, wet noises of Jean and Eren exchanging a goodnight kiss above your head, feel the reassuring squeeze of their arms around your waist, the brush of lips against the nape of your neck, the tip of your nose. There’s a little murmured “I love you” from each of them, and though your mouth wants to form the words to respond, all you’re able to manage is a soft, contented smile as you drift off.

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