#Jean kirschtein fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ppushable · 4 months ago

Text

two ibuprofen

jean kirschtein x gn!reader / oneshot / wc: 7.3k

part 1 of rose tinted hours

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Sunday morning. What's the best way to spend a Sunday morning?

Craned over the plaguefest of the guy I'm dating-not-dating, trying to shove two ibuprofen down his throat?

(It works the second time.)

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ao3 tags:

ok here we go / Alternate Universe - College/University / Sickfic / Sick Character / Fluff / Kissing / Alternate Universe - Modern Setting / Texting / Vomiting / Not at the same time / Winter / gender neutral reader / i dont know how to make tea / mentions of sanrio / mentions of bagged milk / slight angst? i guess? if you squint? / reiner texts like a boomer and im sorry / POV First Person / Present Tense

i live in a special part of canada so excuse the bagged milk. (just kidding bagged is better)

reader is gn! if anything seems off please lmk. (do that if the text names are confusing too!)

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Bzzz.

The darkness and warm comfort of sleep cracks as my eyes peel open to the vibration of my phone. My blurry wall is bathed in orange light and the cold draft coming in from the open window carries the swoons and trills of birdsong. Pretty…

Holy shit I have class I’ll be late—

With effort, I blink until the shapes around me become clean and defined. Am I late? Sunlight on the ruffles of my quilt like a Renaissance painting. Coats and bags hanging from the hooks on the back of my bedroom door. Clothes from the night before, still on the ground from when I dropped them there, dead-tired. My phone buzzes again, causing an internal jolt that spurs me to snatch it off the nightstand and expel the charger in one swift movement.

mr. handsome: emergency alert! 🚨 alert! god-level threat!

mr. handsome: One image attachment

Oh, it’s a message from Connie.

Oh, it’s 8:19 AM.

Oh, it’s a Sunday.

The glowing numbers on the screen indicate the next minute and I toss the phone somewhere on the bed before re-curling myself into my nice warm quilt in this nice cool morning. Sorry, Connie, the grocery run to 7-11 for more sushi will have to be done by someone else. This is probably the happiest I’ll be all day, provided I stay sleepy enough not to feel guilty for doing nothing. The world goes black.

Bzzz.

This time, my eyes peel open on their own.

Fine, Connie, you win.

Trying to ignore the bitter taste of morning in my mouth, I grope for my phone and lift it above my head.

sashacado: BAHAHAH GOOD LUCK WITH THAT ONE BALDY

Another message pops up.

mr. handsome (replying to @/sashacado): 🖕

mikachu: you need to get out of there, connie. like rn.

lainah: Run while you still can! LOL! 🤣

Although the last text pains me on a metaphysical scale, I open up the groupchat. It’s getting fishy now: first of all, Connie’s never up this early, least of all on a weekend; secondly, he said ‘god level threat’ (which is apparently the worst level of threat), and third, Mikasa rarely speaks in the groupchat. Sure, she lurks, but she only ever emerges when something big is happening.

Some more people are active now and I have to scroll up to find Connie’s image.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Blurry and off-centre as the picture might be, it clearly depicts the ugliest green-and-white striped couch I ever laid my eyes on (“It’s an antique!” Connie had argued) that belongs to Connie and Jean’s shared dorm in which the latter of the two is curled up in (yet he still scrapes the armrests with the top of his head and toes). Littering the stained carpet around him — they prefer eating on the couch than on an actual table, so spills are inevitable — are wads of crumpled-up tissues. To really top it off is the Cars blanket that Jean won at a festival that’s seemingly in the process of being violently torn from his form, clinging to the armrest closest to the camera and pulling beyond. A message banner pops down from the top of the screen.

jean: i’m fine. and give me my fucking blanket back. i can hear you giggling from your bedroom. connie.

grammar police: connie give his blanket back

lainah: Haha!

grammar police: i swear things like this only happen when I’m gone

Right, Marco usually goes home for the weekends.

ymi: Lmfao that thing prolly gave you a disease in the first place

ymi: Have u even washed it once

mr. handsome: cut the ccrap Ymir we wash it more than you wash ur hair

sashacado: LMAOOO

ymi: At least I have hair

sashacado: AGAHAHH CONNIE

grammar police: you guys

grammar police: missing the point here

mr. handsome (replying to @/ymi): and its sad cuz mine is still better than youres

mr. handsome: like girl tf is up with the shaved sides

mr handsome: jojo siwa looking ass

sashacado: LMAOOOOO CONNIE EAT HER UP

Smiling, I return to the main chat screen.

ymi: Count your fucking days springer

ymi: At least I still have a girl

grammar police (replying to @/mr. handsome): ^yours

mr. handsome: ok nerd

grammar police: I’m taking away your Netflix

mr. handsome: I sincerely apoligize for my words.

grammar police: it’s the effort I guess

grammar police: back to Jean though

jean: i told u im prrfectly fine. just give ne back my blanket i’ll sleep it off

grammar police: do I need to come back to campus for the weekend?

mikachu: im stopping by the store. can grab some medicine

jean: ffs IM FINE GIVE ME MY BLANKET CONNIE OR IM TELLING THEM ABOUT THE GRATER THING

grammar police: Jean you need some medicine at least. I heard there’s a nasty flu going around and you’d be the type of person to catch it

grammar police: did you call your mom? I can call her if you want

jean: IM

jean: FINE

jean (replying to @/grammar police): DO NOT DO THAT

Poor Jean. He doesn’t have anyone to take care of him. Connie’s a mild germaphobe, believe it or not, at least when it comes to sickness (he nearly went crazy during Covid) and is probably keeping a safe distance from his roommate. And it’s not like any of his other friends are willing (or able) to help out, with Marco out of town. He doesn’t have any siblings here; the closest relative he has might be his mother all the way back in Trost. Not even a significant other.

Well. I mean.

There’s me.

But we’re technically not dating. Not yet. We’re still trying to figure things out — hell, I don’t even know if he likes me back.

Well, okay, there was that time we kissed. But it’s just a kiss. And it was an end-of the year party, and everyone was feeling it. And it’s January now and we haven’t done it again so it’s nothing. It’s nothing!

But that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at my foundations like a tiny, evil beaver.

Wow. So you’re willing to let a guy suffer just because you’re unsure? Now that’s selfish. While you’re sitting here muttering to yourself he’s probably burning with fever and wishing he were dead. Real classy.

Shut the fuck up, beaver. It’s weird to just barge into someone’s house like that. And we don’t know each other that well.

You’ve known each other for a long time. He’s sick. At least take care of him. You don’t need to be his lover or whatever. Just be a good friend, huh?

I guess…

And you know Connie, too, don’t you? You’ll be doing him a big favour by getting this plaguefest out of his living room. He needs to finish off Breaking Bad so he can look at the memes without being spoiled. You’re not helping dear old Connie out, either.

Fuck, you do have a point.

Besides, everyone knows what happened between you and Jean at the Christmas party. They’re probably waiting on you to—

With great effort I manage to unfocus my eyes to see if anyone mentioned me but Connie and Jean have devolved into another stupid somewhat one-sided argument. So they aren’t saying anything outright. But they’re probably thinking it.

They’re definitely thinking it.

Okay, that’s enough from you.

I swipe off the groupchat to see all of my chats and open up my DM with Jean — right near the top — and start typing.

me: hey. sorry if this is weird, but i wanted to check on you bc ur really sick apparently

No, that won’t do. I purge the message.

me: hey fuckass. did you go out without a coat again? do i need to come and take care of

No, not that, either. Hopefully he isn’t looking at our messages or else he’d see me typing like an idiot. I tap the side of my phone as I think, stringing together ideas and words and different ways he could perceive me based on how I put them together.

I go back to the main groupchat.

me: @/jean @/mr. handsome im coming over. be there in 15

me: also @/mikachu could you pick up some lozenges and cough syrup? ty i’ll pay u back <3

I zone out at the screen until someone starts typing and throw the phone down on the bed again before scanning the ground for something wearable. Goodbye, sweet air and Renaissance scene and birdsong. After assembling myself and brushing my teeth, I check the mirror attached to the back of the shared bathroom door that Sasha decorated with some Sanrio stickers from Amazon. She had a phase.

Matching socks, jeans, campus sweatshirt, T-shirt underneath big enough to splay out underneath like a fan. Hair a mess. Face a mess. Good enough. It’s not like Jean will look much better. It’s not like I care that much about how I look around him.

I pull the door aside and collect my belongings — phone, bag, coat — before whisking through the door, full sail for Connie’s res building. I hit the stairwell running.

Do I know how to take care of sick people? I mean, more or less. It’ll be fine. All you have to do is feed them and make sure they don’t puke all over themselves. Right?

On the way I stop by one of the cafeteria atriums, one of the smaller ones I frequent for its souped-up coffee counter with every additive known to man. I scan the containers on the counter — milk, cream, nutmeg — until I find the packets of honey and shove one into my bag while trying not to look guilty to the few people that dot the room. I more than paid for it just by attending.

Now on the main floor by the parking lot, I struggle to untangle my keys from the mess in my bag and, without looking, push the unlock for my car. It beeps faithfully in the same place I left it and I hurry to the sound like a moth to flame.

It’s a smallish car that’s starting to rust near the top. I open the drivers’ door and toss my bag in the passenger seat before throwing myself in and shutting the door, shutting out the world, disturbing the rubber Kuromi keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. My breath comes out steamy. The car comes to life on the third try — best to let it warm up a bit before I go.

Inhale, exhale. I open up the groupchat.

jean: you will do no such thing

jean: @/me

mr. handsome: so THATS what it takes for u to finally visit

mr. handsome: ive been keeping it nice and clean just for u 😙

mr. handsome: until mr covid came and ruined it

mikachu (replying to @/me): dw about it babes xx

sashacado: mika get me chocolate

mikachu: maybe. driving

Mikasa and I, weirdly enough, were the first to get our full licenses. A smile pulls at my face and I duck down to look at my lap. Jean had nearly begged us to give him driving lessons, and of course, I agreed. Days of close calls, driving under the speed limit, getting honked at, constantly checking the mirrors, nearly rear-ending people at stop signs, elbows touching on the armrest…

Of course, now Jean can drive without a hitch. Maybe not good enough yet that I’d sleep while he does it, but that’s a personal thing.

I almost put my phone down before noticing I have a few more private messages.

jean: seriously you dont have to come. im fine

jean: its acc not a big deal

jean: i had colds like this before. im not ur responsibility

Something about that last line stings. I guess he’s right, technically. We’re not that close. Who am I kidding?

But I already announced to the world what I’m going to do. And I already decided on it.

me: im coming whether you like it or not. watch connie for me

When I can’t see my breath anymore I start driving.

Stohess is a big campus. And while I’m not a huge fan of carbon emissions, I’m also not a fan of 20-minute walks in blistering, dry cold (or wet cold, for that matter). Also, I don’t want to keep Jean waiting. The eco society is going to kill me.

I pull in to the all-too-familiar parking spot, the one Jean pulled into a hundred times in preparation for his driving test in his new, expensive car his parents bought him because “he was doing so good with his driving!”

He’d thanked me profusely for helping him out, which, in hindsight, was mildly out of character for a broody, arrogant guy like him.

But then again, so was kissing me at that party. Not so much the kissing part. Just the me part. And the gentle-tight way he held me, the way he looked into my eyes…

I suck in a sharp breath. But I’m doing this as a friend. Not because of whatever we might be. If Connie was the one who got sick, I’d be here, too.

Steeling my nerves, I take my bag with an iron grip and make for the dorm.

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The door is already open when I arrive, propped open by a deflated volleyball. Weird. Some music that sounds like it was taken straight from Fast and Furious plays from inside. Knowing Connie, it probably is.

Nothing stirs when I open the door, but it is a pretty quiet door. The living room is right in front of me, ugly antique couch and all, but it’s completely empty. I didn’t walk into the wrong room, did I?

“Connie? Jean?” I slip off my shoes — Connie is insistent (I think shoes in the house is a crime anyway) — and creep through the dorm. “You guys?“

My voice rings through. Nothing. Peals of dread condense in my stomach and I pick up the pace, nearly barreling to a stop in front of the bathroom. I knock; first on the bathroom, then Jean’s bedroom. Connie left his door open.

“Jean? You in there?”

No response.

“I’m gonna— I’m opening the door, okay?”

And without time to think about what might be on the other side, I twist the knob and push.

Nothing. I even look behind the shower curtains.

Who even closes an empty bathroom?

Next is Jean’s room, but it’s also empty.

Where the hell are they?

I check my phone again and text the group chat.

me: @/mr. handsome @/jean where are you guys?

Waiting…

lainah: Gym

What.

me: are you sure.

lainah: One image attachment

Sure enough.

I should have noticed when his parking spot was empty.

me: dont let them leave. omw now

Sasha starts typing something but I throw my phone in the bag. I should have known they’d pull some bullshit like this. Well, not they. He. Something blistering and boiling threatens to spill over within me, but I take a deep breath. I’ll deal with him when I get there.

Jean’s a smart man, but not when he’s being stubborn.

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The car ride, despite being short, gave me a chance to cool my nerves.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I grip the steering wheel in front of the gym. It’s fine. And step out.

Anytime Fitness is a strange and marvellous place full of people you might not see anywhere else. I don’t care about them. I scan the machines and see Reiner on the treadmill, and he meets my eyes a moment after. He nods in a different direction and I follow his gaze until I see the unmistakable bronze and shaved hair combination. I mouth a thank you and he smiles.

I must look completely out of place here, weaving between sweaty and half-naked bodies in my coat and jeans like I have a demon on my tail until I’m standing behind the chest press.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Connie’s saying and by the way Jean grunts it’s definitely not the first time.

“Let it go. I’m fine, and I’m going to the gym like I always do.” Jean’s voice is thick and nasal. “Buzz off.”

“Look, I already left the house with you. I can’t let you die here.”

“I said I’m fine—”

At the end of Jean’s rep, I slip the pin out of the weights. Jean nearly lunges over as the heaviness suddenly decreases.

Both look at me.

Connie looks normal. Jean is already slick with sweat, hair askew, red-nosed, with a slight wheeze lining his breath as he sits on the edge of the seat. Not normal. Not fine.

“Jean. My car. Now.” I point at Connie. “You take his back.”

A slight smile cracks his visage and that’s all I see before whipping around like an army man and making my way out.

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There’s a lot of things I could be saying, but I don’t, because there’s too much. So we drive home in silence.

Now that we’re closer, I can really hear the struggle with Jean’s every breath, the occasional cough, the mucous-laced sniffs, as much as he might try to hide it. He just sits there, going on his phone, staring out the window, until:

“Pull over.”

And his eyes are closed, head tilted up, pained look on his sweat drenched-face. I move to the side of the door without question and he scrabbles for the handle — I unlock it for him — before opening the door and half-falling over as he pukes.

I pinch my lip between my teeth and look the other way as the smell hits right after. Fine my ass.

Ever since I was young, the sound of heaving has always unsettled me. Even fake gags. Like it flips a switch in my heart to induce a sudden thrill of terror as if someone horror-movie screamed. And yeah, it’s just throwing up, but I hate it.

My heart races as he unloads again and I just want to plug my ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t sit here.

When the coast is clear I hop out and walk around the back. Jean is squatting on the pavement right before it hits the grass where his vomit lays, poking up through the stiff shoots. Though we’re outside, the smell is even worse. I try not to look at it as I hand Jean a bottle of water and set a stack of napkins I filched from Wendy’s on the passenger seat beside him.

“Thank—” he manages to croak out before pitching over again.

He’s been growing out his hair. I guess I didn’t notice it before, but now it’s long enough to get in his face in this position.

I gather the strands in my hands — soft as that day before the turn of the year — and hold them on the crown of his head as he retches.

When he’s done, I consider rolling down the windows, but decide against it.

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Jean hardly notices when I pull in (again). Weirdly enough, his car still isn’t here — either Connie drives like a grandpa or he’s gone off somewhere.

“Jean.”

He inhales through his mouth, sucking up the new, pukey scent of my car, and opens his door with half-lidded eyes, leaning hard. It bumps against the campus van I’m parked beside and I cringe. Parked too close. He’s in no state to stand up on his own, let alone walk.

“Let me help you.”

He grunts in something like disagreement and I shut my door on him, going around the back again. Soiled napkins are shoved into the door storage and the water bottle is half-empty and crushed on the floor. Well. I offer a hand and after some hesitation he takes it, clasping my shoulder, and when I help him stand the added weight nearly crushes me. Jean is big, maybe not muscular like Reiner, but tall. Even through my coat and his too-thin sweater he radiates heat and he grunts a sickly air into my ear as he finds his footing. There’s barely enough room for the both of us between the car and the van so I shuffle us sideways, around the other side of the car and to the front. I gently lower Jean so he leans against the hood.

“Wait here.”

He doesn’t object as I shut the passenger door and lock the car before going back and offering my shoulder once again and I nearly fall over once again and we huddle together into the building. He’s never this quiet. Never so agreeable. Never so willing to take the help that’s offered to him.

This is a side of Jean I’ve never seen before. A side that I surely was never meant to see.

I swallow thickly and shuffle our bodies forward so I can push the button for the elevator. His head bumps against mine as it droops but he quickly straightens. “Sorry. Sorry.” His voice is gravelly and small, so small, as if it came from another person entirely.

I stare at the side of his face, but he’s focussed on something far away. “You’re okay, Jean.”

The elevator dings open and we go in. Seventh floor button. The door rolls shut.

Beep. Our knees buckle as the elevator accelerates and the screen above the button panel indicates that it’s going up. It usually smells of antiseptic unless it’s been raining.

Beep. The elevator’s always been slow which is why most people take the stairs instead. Connie calls it the ‘hellevator’ because he swears it almost dropped him once.

Beep. Jean’s trying to steady himself; hold himself up.

Beep. We haven’t been this close together since the party.

Beep. Jean takes an unusually large, wheezy breath and holds it. “Sorry.” His voice is hardly a rumble against my side.

“Why are you sorry?” I ask, quietly.

Beep. “For making you do this.”

Beep. The door retracts and muffled hip-hop fills the air. We walk off the hellevator and stand in front of the dorm. 704. An opaque plastic bag hangs off the handle and I take it in the same hand I hold my bag — thanks, Mikasa.

“You have your key?”

Jean grumbles and taps his pockets, pulling out a key ring. A rubber charm — Badtz-Maru, the little angry penguin — hangs from the ring. Sasha gave all of us one in her Sanrio phase. Keroppi for Connie, Charmy for Mikasa, Pompompurin for Marco, Cinamaroll for Eren, Kuromi for me. I (was forced to) help her choose.

The key retracts and Jean uses his free arm to turn the handle and shoulder the door open. He clears — tries to clear — the phlegm in his throat. “Alexa,” he gurgles. “Alexa, stop.”

The music immediately ceases and we stumble to the couch where Jean unceremoniously drops and tucks his head between the armrest and cushioned back, looking utterly uncomfortable.

“Get up, Jean.”

He sniffs.

“Come on. Bed.” I drop my bags on the coffee table. “Not couch.”

“No.”

“Connie will throw a fit. And so will I.”

“Just—” he tries clearing his throat again— “go.”

“I’m not leaving until you get better.” I blink. No, I’m not leaving him here alone. Why does that surprise me?

“I’m fine. I told you. Done it before. I’ll get better.”

“Done it before?” I giggle falsely. “What, you used to rawdogging colds all by yourself?”

A car passes outside, a familiar rising and falling sound against the unfamiliar silence of the dorm.

“Jean?”

“Go…”

And I swear he’s never sounded so… vulnerable before. Like he’s laid out all his organs on a big table and I’m holding the scalpel. Just waiting for the incision.

A little softer, I tell him, “I’m not going anywhere, Jean.”

And I take the goodie bag and head for the simple kitchen — that is, an inlaid fridge, stove, and pantry cramped behind an island counter with a sink. I hold the electric kettle Reiner got for Jean’s and Connie’s fifth anniversary (he thought they were together at first) under the sink and let it fill to two cups just in case before setting it back and switching it on.

Then I rummage through the drawers and cupboards until I find an old, strangely moist box of tea packets. Yuzu mist or Cheerful Citrus? I opt for the latter.

Tearing open the package, I glance at Jean who still hasn’t moved. The teabag I dump into a printed mug that Jean likes to use.

NUMBER 1 COUGAR

I wonder where he got that.

The kettle clicks off when the water boils and I fill the mug. Oh. Honey would be good. I return to the couch and sift through my bag, shifting my keys in the process. Now Jean stirs.

“Are you leaving?”

“No, Jean.”

I keep rummaging. I know it’s in there. Might be in deep, but—

“Please don’t.”

I pause, emotions — affection? concern? — swirling like particles of tea in water. “Okay, Jean.”

I finish making the tea in silence with an almost-empty bag of milk left in the fridge. How do these boys even survive? All that’s in there are cold cuts and a bag of only bread butts, among some other, strange things. Including a pair of boxers.

“Can you sit up?”

Jean sighs into the cushion and braces against the armrest to push himself into somewhat of a sitting position.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

His eyes cast down. I swallow the silence that suddenly envelops us. Nothing weird. Just a room. I’m just a caretaker. “Come on, Jean.”

“Can— can you help me?”

I fall into the little divot in the couch where Jean sits and let him wrap an arm around my shoulder. “Ready?” I say. “One, two…”

We stumble up and pass through the already-ajar door to Jean’s bedroom and I nearly stop to take a better look. He has blackout curtains, currently drawn, painting the room in a dark blue light except for a thin bar of sunlight from between the curtains that propagates as a glowing line on the carpet. The walls are plastered in posters, sketches, paintings, sketches. Half-finished drawings on his desk and swivel chair and a few on the ground. A small compartment shoved into one corner with every art supply imaginable.

Still taking in the view, I (we) back into the bed, butt-first, and Jean unwraps himself from me.

“You won’t… do anything weird… to me?”

I smile. Conversational, that’s good. “Not unless you want me to.” And I wish I had shut up before the first word even came out of my stupid mouth. Standing, I look over my shoulder. “I’m getting the medicine.”

“Wait. Don’t.”

Under the doorframe now, I pause. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back.” And I go to the goodie bag.

I should just work on keeping my mouth shut. Mikasa had picked out some ibuprofen, NyQuil, and lozenges. Pills should be good. I take the mug and the box and head back.

When I get back Jean’s sitting against the headboard, trying to uncrumple his blanket to get underneath.

“Let me help.”

He watches me then, helpless — Jean fucking Kirschtein, helpless! — as I set down the pills and mug on his glass nightstand and unfold the mess he’s got on the mattress. “Pull your legs up.”

He obeys. I pull the quilt over him.

I try not to stare. “You can put your legs down now.”

He obeys.

“Sit up, Jean. You need more pillows.”

Eyes glued to me, he leans forward so I can take his other pillow to prop him up more comfortably, leaning back when I touch his warm shoulder. Then I take the mug and offer it to him. “Drink some of this.”

Painfully quiet, he takes the mug with both hands and takes a tentative sip, lips curling around the brim of the ceramic to slurp up the soothing drink. He’s doing good. Until he hits a bump and starts sputtering.

Immediately I take the drink as he coughs up whatever went down the wrong way. When he’s done I realize I’ve been rubbing circles into his back so I take my hand off.

My phone buzzes in the living room. Shit.

“I’ll be back.”

Jean stares at his knees under the blanket and doesn’t move when I come back.

sashacado: omg yall

sashacado: theyre gonma be killed💯

armong us: What’s going on?

sashacado: @/lainah what did u do

lainah: One video attachment

sashacado: ONG LMFAOOO

sashacado pinned a message

mr. handsome: @/me im headed to urs with sash for a while. hope thats cool w you and all lmk if u need anything

jägermeister: are u fr leaving those two alone

mr. handsome: well good morning to u too pricness

Deleted message

jägermeister: oh right

sashacado: connor springer delete that message rn @/mr. handsome

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

mr. handsome: ok ok jfc im sorry

sashacado: @/mr. handsome

sashacado: ok good

Whatever the hell they’re up to now.

Jean thrashes slowly and I feel a little guilty for staring down at my phone the whole time. “Are you okay?” I breathe, sticking to his beside like a magnet. “Are you in pain?”

“Hot,” is all he says.

I peel the blanket off. He is hot. Really hot.

Not like that. He’s feverish.

“Can you… help me?”

“Yeah?” I stare at him — help with what? — until he raises his arms over his head.

Oh. A few circuits in my head switch off. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m can help.” Idiot.

Like touching something radioactive I grasp the edge of his sweater and slowly raise it, catching the shirt underneath for a fleeting second before it falls back down. Deep breath. Yes, I am helping out a guy I’m dating-not-dating who I’m definitely not attracted to to take off his clothes in his bedroom in his empty dorm. Because he’s sick. No problem. Because I’m a good friend.

The neckline catches on his jaw and I unhook it, delicately trailing the scruff on his jaw in the process.

And it’s off and on the ground. Holy shit. Jean’s been sweating. And I know all that dampness on his shirt, clinging feebly to his attractive sick form, didn’t come from his 10 minutes at the gym.

He doesn’t lower his arms. Oh, so we’re doing it like this.

Okay.

I come forward again, within earshot to the rattling in Jean’s chest with his every breath, and quite literally peel the thin white shirt off. This time it’s impossible not to touch his incredibly warm and damp body, not to scrape my nails against the softness of his skin, from his waist to his broad shoulders all the way down his arms. Now he puts them down.

I almost forget he still smells like puke.

“My pants…”

Ohoho. No way, buster. You’re on your own. I’m calling Connie. Nooo way.

“Okay, but unbuckle yourself.”

He does without question, fumbling first with his belt, which I help slide off, and then his jeans.

What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing? This sounds like a smut setup. No. I’m just a friend helping out a sick friend, two friends who have never done anything even slightly romantic together.

“Sit up on the edge, okay?”

He heaves his sweaty self to the edge of the bed, palms leaving wet marks on the sheets, and, staring at the ceiling, I grasp at the hem of his pants (skirting his boxers or whatever he’s wearing because I’m not looking) and pull them (he lifts himself at first to help) all the way down. In one smooth movement I turn back around.

“Put your shirt over your… yourself.”

I wait a good few heartbeats before turning back around and lo and behold, he’s done as told. Frankly, it looks even worse now, like he’s lying in bed completely naked with just a shirt covering him. (But that’s only true if I think it’s true!) The jeans I’m still clutching for some reason I deposit on a chair.

“Jean, I’ll be right back, okay?” I wait for a response I should know isn’t coming before going out again, this time in search for a facecloth. Which I do find, shoved in the corner of the linen cabinet. I should be grateful they even have some, but then again, it might’ve been another gift from Reiner they didn’t have the heart to throw away. I rinse it under some cool water and announce my re-entry.

“I’m back. Sit still.” Folding some of the damp cloth over two fingers, I carefully dab at the sweat on his forehead. No, I need to… I pick off some strands of his sandy hair from his face, holding his hair back against his scalp, and try again. Better. “Jean?”

He opens his eyes halfway, and they raise lazily to meet mine. He’s sweaty everywhere and too late I catch myself stroking his head. I wipe his cheek next.

“Drink some tea, okay? I need you to take a pill.”

“Pillk?”

“Yes,” I say encouragingly, like training a puppy. Neck next. “Just a pill.”

He takes in a deep mouth breath. There’s a portrait stuck to the ground on the other side of his bed.

Is that…

“I can’t.”

My eyes snap back and I pause, dabbing at his collarbone. “What’s that?”

He shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if the action took too much effort. “Can’t… swallow. Can’t swallow pills.”

I blink. “You can’t take pills?”

A fleeting smile meets his lips. “Vitamin gummies. Not. Vitamin pills. Might get stuck in m’throat.”

I fold up the cloth into a rectangle and smooth it out onto his forehead. “Just take some tea with it.”

“Tried. No.”

Who knew? For a guy with such a big mouth, he sure has a small esophagus.

“Jean, it’ll make you feel better.”

“No.”

I pop open the box and break open the tinfoil seal to take out a single pill.

“Noo…”

“Jean, you’ll be fine. You’re a big boy now.” And I vow never to speak again.

When I push the little oval against his mouth, I find it won’t open. Jean is breathing laboriously through his 90 percent clogged nostrils.

“Open up.”

He purses his lips, further preventing entry, and I swear he’s smiling a little.

“Very funny. Take your pill. You’re gonna suffocate yourself.”

Still nothing. I pinch his nose. He makes a muffled noise but otherwise doesn’t react.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. At thirty-three I let go. “Are you really willing to kill yourself over a pill?”

“Don’t want. Don’t need.”

“Yeah, and I ‘don’t need’ you choking over your own puke in your sleep.”

“No…”

“Jean.” I feel terrible already for doing it like this. “Try. If you don’t at least try, I’ll leave.”

I bite my lip, awaiting his response. I really shouldn’t have said that. I’m such an asshole. Fuck.

“Okay.”

Deep breath. I push the pill against his bottom lip and the soft tissue yields against my fingers for a moment before he opens. The mug is to his lips not a moment after; he gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing, and the tea in his mouth suddenly explodes out and sprays warmly all over my face.

All. Over.

I peel my eyes open after impact. Jean looks more awake than he did before, and with a discernible expression, too: terror.

Okay. Good!

Slowly, he reaches for the sweat-soaked cloth on his head and offers it to me. I shake my head.

“Be right back.”

Bathroom. Cold water. Cold water against my face. There’s two razors on the sink and the edges of the white surface have some hairs on them. Face hairs, I’m sure. I pray.

If whatever Jean has is contagious, I sure as hell have it now.

I turn the tap off and swipe the water from my face. Great. Okay. I bunch up my now-wet sweater. I can do this.

I re-enter the bedroom. Jean sits up a little straighter now, sipping in small increments. “Sorry.”

I put my sweater on the chair. “It’s okay.”

“I— really—”

“Jean, it’s okay.”

“I’m fine. I’ll get better.” Which is about the most complete sentence he’s said in a while.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere, didn’t I?”

He doesn’t say anything. Almost unconsciously, I gravitate to his bed.

“You already did too much for me.”

“Nonsense.”

“Why do… you do this?”

Now that gets me thinking. Because you’re sick. Because I’m a good friend. Because you’re my guinea pig for Hospitality 101. Maybe all three.

My eyes trace back to the scribbled portrait on the other side of Jean’s bed and I take the cloth from his forehead.

Thousands upon thousands of excuses, and a singular truth.

“Because I like you.”

And I take my time going back to the bathroom.

Cold water. Cold water against my hands.

“Coming in.”

“It wasn’t nothing.” Jean clears his throat, almost inaudible against my beating heart. “Back at the party. Wasn’t… nothing.”

“Wasn’t all that much, either,” I say dryly. Hopefully he doesn’t notice how shaky my hands are. How shaky against his pallid skin.

Jean inhales and I can see the movement through his chest. “No. Wasn’t a lot.” He tilts his head up at a minuscule angle to scan my face, and maybe it’s the perspective, or the weird lighting, but I could swear he’s never looked at me like this before.

Except for that time.

“So I’d…” he swallows. “Like— like to have more.”

For a few seconds, it’s silent. For a few seconds, all that there is are his dim eyes and mine. For a few seconds, we fall into each other and tread water, sinking, fading…

I break our gaze and tremblingly pluck a tissue from a box on the ground; hold it to his nose. “Blow.”

He takes a shaky breath and obeys.

Fold. “Again.”

He shuts his eyes and blows.

“Again.”

He blows until his air gives out. I drop the spent tissue.

“Again?”

He shakes his head.

“Let’s try the pill.”

He nods and stares as I open the foil for a second time and pop the new one in my mouth.

He watches, confused, until a wave of realization seems to hit him.

He stays statue-still as I lean in, put a hand on the headboard on either side of his head.

His heat, like a barrier, raises the hairs on my skin. He cups my jaw. I cradle the side of his neck, and his pulse beats at a million miles a minute. The pill begins to dissolve.

Our mouths barely touch, and I make the final connection.

Jean is tall. Jean is arrogant. Jean will laugh at you when you fall.

But Jean has the softest lips, the sweetest mouth (even when he puked out a buffet no more than half an hour ago). Jean will melt like soft butter under your touch. Jean will accept your tongue, no questions asked, and retaliate with twice the vengeance.

Like I’ve been dreaming of since that brief moment at the party, I let my hand run insouciant through his hair. No eyes watching. No social boundary.

He gasps softly for air and I do the same, pulling his scalp so he tilts to meet me better with a small grunt. God, I fucking love his hair.

Now both of his iron-hot hands are on me, hooking under my shirt, running up and down, claiming every square inch, and I let mine fall from his neck down to his slick chest down to his stomach down to his abs. Other still planted firmly in his hair, pulling, twirling, pulling, and when I tug again Jean squeezes so hard, doubling down, suddenly hungry, suddenly a starving man. Wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me closer, I oblige, hooking a leg onto his bed, between his knees, and my thigh brushes against his still-damp T-shirt, and he groans softly into my mouth—

and swallows with an ulp!

and it’s over.

I stroke his throat as the pill goes down and he stares hollowly at me until it’s gone. I recline and smile.

“Is that enough for you?”

Unblinking, he pulls me down again.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Connie kicks the asphalt with his definitely real Gucci slides. “Are you done?”

“Shh!”

He shoots his friend a withering look — that is, as withering of a look that he can muster.

“This is creepy. And I’m cold. Can we at least—”

Sasha puts down her binoculars and shows him what a real killer glare is. He rolls his eyes and scans his phone. Eren’s sent a message to the matchmaker groupchat.

emo king🖤⛓️: are u sure this plan of urs worked out

emo king🖤⛓️: excuse me if this is harsh, but it’s probably the dumbest shit of ur dumbshit ideas

me: yeah try telling Sash that

sharmin ultra soft: Eren’s right. Chances are Jean puked and turned everyone off

intimidating woman: i think there’s a chance

emo king🖤⛓️: are u fr in on this mikasa

sashami: you guys shh the star coming

Sasha shoots him another look before putting her non-stalker scope away in preparation for the star of the day’s arrival.

“Whad’d I do?”

As far as he knows, Connie is doing everything right. He’d told everyone that he was sleeping over at Sasha’s. (Her idea.) And now it’s Monday, and it’s time for the star’s (code name) first class (and also Sasha’s), and now they’re sitting out in the cold like a couple of dumbasses watching the stairwell windows. (Also her idea.) What the heck?

“I’m going in the car,” Connie grumbles. He doesn’t wait for the inevitable retort and climbs in to the drivers’ seat.

The car. The one silver lining to this whole ordeal. He’d eaten, put his feet up in, and used up every last drop of gas on this baby and Jean couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

But the person coming through the door isn’t their star. It’s Jean. Huh?

Connie pops out of the vehicle and joins up with Sasha.

“Oh— you’re here, too?” Jean’s brow furrows deeper. “What’s going on?”

“Well, hello to you, too,” Connie grins. “Looks like you‘re doing a lot better.”

“No thanks to you lot.”

“Where are you going?” Sasha pipes in, and he knows what’s coming next. She’s using her interviewer voice.

“Just… going to class.” Jean smacks Connie’s shoulder. “Keys?”

He produces them with a flourish and a jangle and the taller takes them, unlocking the car.

Beep beep!

Sasha casually tails him, twisting around to block the driver’s side door.

“Sash.”

“Were you a good host?”

“I mean, I was really sick.”

“You have actual, proper food, right? Did you feed your dear caretaker?”

“Uh…” he smirks. “Yeah.”

“Is your room clean?”

“It’s fine!”

“Did you sleep together?”

He rolls his eyes and wedges a hand between his car and the girl. “Okay, get out.”

“Answer my question!” Sasha cries as she stumbles back and Jean hops in. Without another word, the car backs out. Jean turns and comes forward so he’s perpendicular to the parking spot before lowering his window.

“Connie! You owe me 20!” And then he’s gone.

Dumbfounded, the boy looks to Sasha, finding her staring at her phone. “What’s wrong? You on your period?”

“Oh, fuck off. Look.”

star: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

star: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

And the mastermind screenshots the fruits of her labour.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

would you look at that. more kissing. *throws tomato* i did 80% of this in one day. no regrets!! (said eren.) (ill shut the fuck up now) i hope you enjoyed! it actually turned out a lot less gross than i originally planned (they were gonna do it with the nyquil ewwwww) but this is fine. right? i never actually kept a pill on my tongue like that for so long so for my sanity's sake let's pretend this is how it all works.

this started out as a oneshot. however,,, i decided to add more parts to it because i'm a sucker. check it out if you like! <3

byebye

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

masterlist part 2 - low tide

#jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #pushable #pushs oneshots

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daydreamvalley · 1 year ago

Text

Jean Kirschtein reimagined in my mind

#jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein headcanons #fanfic aesthetic #james dean #attack on titan #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x reader #aot fanart #eren jaeger #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #aot headcanons #atsv #jean kirschtein smut #jean kirschtein art #aot manga #jean x black reader #eren x black reader

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luna-eclipse2000 · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet Summer Heat

Jean Kirschtein x reader

It’s a warm summer day in the middle of July. It’s beautiful and sunny out. Kids are playing on their lawns, people are at the pool, and just enjoying the heat in general. Except for you. You can’t handle heat at all. You get cold drinks and eat ice cream during the winter. If it’s 25° celsius or higher, you’re not leaving your house until it cools down. No, you prefer to sit inside in the nice air conditioning so you don’t overheat.

Nothing can get you outside in this heat. Not one, single-

Ding.

Your door bell rings. “I’m not expecting anything.” You say to yourself. The bell rings again so you get up and walk over to the door. You look through the little window that’s at the top and see Jean standing there. You feel your heart flutter before quickly opening the door. He’s standing there in his blue button-up short sleeved shirt (one of your personal favourites of his) and a pair on white shorts. He usually leaves his hair down but since it’s hot out, he put it up.

“Hey.” He greets you simply. “Hi. What are you doing here?” You ask. “I, uh, wanted to see if you wanted to hang out.” Jean answers. “Just me?” You ask. “No one else?”

“I asked Sasha, but she’s taking some seafood class with Niccolo.” Jean says. “Connie isn’t picking up. And Mikasa’s hanging out with Eren and Armin.”

“Oh… So I’m a backup?” You say. You meant to say that in your head, but it had other plans. You stand there, feeling like a jerk. “Shit, sorry, that came out wrong.” Jean quickly apologizes. “No, I was always planning on asking you. It’s just that no one else wanted to come.”

“Oh, ok.” You say, feeling slightly less embarrassed. “Um, I’m not sure. Where would we be going?”

“I was thinking down by the water.” Jean answers. “There’s a music festival going on. I thought it’d be fun. There’s live bands, obviously, some food trucks, rides and games.”

You cringe at the thought, but don’t let it show on your face. As you stand in the doorway, you can feel the humidity. “Um…” You say. You’re about to decline his offer, but the look in his eyes clenches your heart. He looks dejected, knowing that you’re about to say no. You can tell that all he wants is to hang out with someone. So against your better judgment… “Sure. Why the hell not?”

His head perks up. “Seriously? You want to go with me?”

You nod. “Yeah, of course! Sounds like fun!” It actually sounds like torture, being around so many sweaty people in the hot sun, but he looks so happy and it’s too late to take it back now. “Let me just get changed and put on sun screen. Come in.”

You stand aside so he can enter. “Thanks.” He says. “Wow. Your house is freezing.”

“Well we’re not in the middle of winter, Jean.” You remind him. “I’d prefer to be cold while inside, not sweating my ass off. I’ll be right back.”

You head upstairs and change into the coolest set of clothes you can find. A pair of cotton shorts. A cotton tank top. And a pair of sandals so you don’t have to wear socks. You head back downstairs and into the kitchen where you take a second to rummage through the junk drawer in order to grab your sunscreen.

“Have you put any sunscreen on?” You ask Jean as he stands by the front door. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He answers. “Do you need any help?”

“Could you do my back?” You request. “Sure.” He says and walks over to you. He takes the bottle of sunscreen from your hand and puts some into his. You move your hair out of the way as he starts to rub the liquid over your exposed skin. His hands move methodically as he focuses on getting every inch of skin so you don’t get burned.

It feels nice to you, almost like a massage. You swear he should’ve been a massage therapist. I mean, his hands are large enough and he certainly has the muscle strength to get out any knots he’d find.

Jean has finished rubbing the sunscreen in for about a minute now but he just wants to savour the feeling of your skin. Sure, it’s a bit sticky now but that doesn’t deter him. He still thinks it’s the softest thing he’s ever touched in his life. Then he finally stops, much to the dismay of both of you. He thinks you were starting to find it weird, but you were honestly starting to fall asleep where you stood.

“Alright. Let’s go.” He says and the quickly turns around. You can’t see it since his back is already to you, but he’s blushing a bit too hard for his liking. You follow him to the door and mentally groan as the humidity hits you like a train. You follow him to his car, which was a hand-me-down from his mom for his 18th birthday, and hop in the front seat.

It takes about ten minutes to get down to the water and another ten before you finally find a parking spot. You weren’t complaining, though, as you let the AC blast in your face. You can hear the loud music from here as you exit the car.

“Alright, where do you wanna go first?” Jean asks.

You shrug. “I dunno. Why don’t you choose? You’ve been here before, right?”

He nods. “Yeah. I came last year when Marco was playing.”

“Oh, really?” You ask as you two start to make your way down to the festival. “I haven’t seen him in forever. Is he playing this year?”

“No, he’s over in Australia doing some charity work.” Jean answers. “Of course Marco would willingly go to a place with spiders as big as my head.” You say. “What, you don’t like spiders?” He asks teasingly, knowing you don’t.

You visibly cringe. “Hell no. I can barely handle little house spiders. Remember when I used to call you over to kill one for me?”

“You mean in the middle of the night when I was finishing off an important project?” He says, remembering the exact moment you’re talking about. “How could I forget you screaming into my ear through the phone and then climbing my back like a goddamn tree?”

“Ok, don’t be so dramatic.” You say, smacking his arm lightly. “I was not screaming.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me.” He says. The crowd on the street gets thicker as you two reach the entrance to the festival. “Wanna go on a ride?”

You look at the area they set up and see a few little rides: A ferris wheel, obviously, a little rollercoaster, one of those gravity rides where the floor drops out, and one that swings like a pendulum. “Yeah, let’s do the pendulum!” You exclaim excitedly. The two of you head over and get into line.

When it’s your turn and you take a seat, you groan at the feeling of sweat under you. “They couldn’t wipe the seats off first? When I stand, everyone’s gonna think I pissed myself.”

“You want me to check to make sure you’re good to walk?” Jean offers. “Sure. Thanks.” You accept. He’s a sneaky bugger, Jean. He’s using this opportunity as an excuse to look at your behind without you getting suspicious. But then he starts to feel like a gross frat boy, taking your trust and running with it. So he shakes his head as the ride starts to move.

The both of you scream and holler in joy at the feeling of swinging high up into the air, and then plunging back down towards the ground. The ride ends about a minute later and Jean does as he offered, but doesn’t take his time like he did with the sunscreen. “You’re fine. Don’t worry.”

You sigh in relief. “Oh, good. Now, c’mon. Let’s go play some games.”

You two immediately head over to all the games set up with cheap, dumb prizes for people to win. Jean doesn’t really care about the prizes. Any time he wins one of these games, he ends up giving it to the person he beat. It just brings out his competitive side which he loves to feel. It’s like a small adrenaline rush.

So as you two sit down at the water shoot game, your friendship basically goes out the window. You’re now his enemy. And enemies need to be conquered. Two more people step up to the game and take the seats beside you. Seeing the determined, smug look in his eyes makes you want to beat him.

“Alright, ready?” The carney says. “Set. Go!”

You aim the water gun right at the centre and quickly start to pull ahead of Jean’s little character. Suddenly, you feel him poke your ribs, causing you to stop pushing the button. You gasp and tart to press the button again. Unfortunately, those few seconds were enough for him to beat you.

“You little cheater!” You scolds playfully. Jean just smiles in response but then stops as he hears the kid beside you start to cry. He gets up from his seat and kneels down in front of the boy. “Hey, kid. Which prize do you want?”

“H-Huh?” The boy asks through his tears. “Which prize?” Jean repeats. “C’mon there has to be one you want, right? I don’t really care for the prizes, so tell the carney which one you want.”

“Um… I’d like that one.” He says as he rubs his eyes. “The orange penguin?” Jean asks as he looks at the prize. “Nice choice.” The carney gets the prize down and hands it to Jean, who then hands it to the boy.

“Alright, James. What do you say?” His mother asks. “Thank you!” The boy says, smiling wide as he hugs his new toy. “No problem, buddy.” Jean says as they walk away.

You feel your heart swell watching the interaction go on. “That was so sweet of you.”

“Ah, well, didn’t want to leave the little man disappointed.” Jean says, brushing off his kindness. He notices the look you’re giving him and looks away with another blush on his face. “Where to next?”

You two wander between the different games until you spot a prize you desperately want. It’s a white polar bear with a blue tie. “Oh, my god, that bear’s so cute!”

“You want it?” He asks. You nod quickly. He walks up to the carney and hands her the money. It’s one of those balloon pop games. The sign says that he only has to pop five in a row to win a medium prize, but he’s determined to show off. He grabs the darts and starts to quickly throw them into each balloon, popping each one as he does. You and the carney are pretty impressed by his aiming.

“I think I deserve two prizes for popping them all.” Jean says smugly before flashing you his signature smug, shit-eating grin. “Uh, yeah. You can say that again.” The carney says. “Which two would you like, sir?”

“Which would you like?” He asks you. You obviously point out the bear, and then you look and see a matching one with a red bowtie instead. “You want both bears?” You nod. “Then both bears you shall have.”

The carney grabs both bears and hands them to you. I tuck the blue tied one under your arm and then hold out the red tied one round him. “What you can’t carry both yourself?” Jean asks. “Need a big strong man to help you?”

“No, I wanted us to have matching bears.” You answer innocently. His heart feels like it’s actually going to explode. You smile up at him as he takes the bear out of your hand. Anyone else who looks at Jean right now would just see him as a gruff, 6’4 man. But he’s pretty sure he’s melting into a puddle from the cuteness.

“You wanna head towards the stage now?” You ask. He nods silently as he holds the bear. As you two walk back out into the sun, you realize that it was probably a bad idea winning the prize so soon. You now had to a carry a fluffy plush in the scorching heat. You almost die just at the realization, and then die again as you feel your hand heat up. You pass by the indoor building where the bathrooms, event space and the regular food stands lives, and want to run into the nice air conditioning.

But you promised Jean to go watch the bands for a bit so you soldier on. The music is good. Some songs make you want to rip your ears off, but others aren’t bad. Typically these types of events are for first time performers and indie bands. You can easily tell who the indie players and who the newbies are. The sun starts to get so hot that you stumble into Jean. He immediately notices how red you look.

“Hey, why don’t we head inside and cool off?” He suggests. You quickly nod and leave your spot to head over to the building. There’s a few people inside waiting for the washrooms and just cooling off in general. Jean runs over to an empty table so no one else claims it. You take a seat and place your bear on the table top. He does too but keeps his eye on you just in case you decide to faint.

He cools down relatively fast. But you still feel boiling. “Goddamn, is it hot in here or is it me?” You ask. “It’s you.” He responds quickly. He didn’t mean for that to come out. His face turns red as the both of you stare at each other. “Uh- I mean, you still look like you’re hot. So I’m just gonna, uh, go grab you some water.” He quickly stands up and rushes over to the vending machine.

He sighs in relief thinking he just saved himself from any awkwardness. You, however, feel a bit sad and a little insecure now. You know that you were reading too much into that. It was pretty obvious that you were still really hot from the hot. And you did ask the question. But you did hope that he thought you looked hot. Or at least pretty. But you’re drenched in sweat so that look’s probably out the window by now.

He returns with the cold water and opens it for you. “Here. You’ll feel better.”

You nod silently and take the bottle from him. The sudden cold on your hot hands causes you to gasp. It feels good. You take a sip and then quickly start to chug it. “Good thing I got that for you.” Jean says when you eventually stop drinking, over half the water is gone. “You were seriously dehydrated. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to keep interrupting your fun.” You answer honestly. “You wouldn’t have interrupted my fun.” Jean says. “I just want to hang out with you. That’s where the fun is.”

You smile, feeling a bit better. But you still have that aching feeling in your stomach over how fast he explained his words. “We’ll stay inside for as long as you want, ok?” Jean says. You nod, taking another sip of water. You both go on your phones. You start playing a game a solitaire to relax mind while he just pretends to be doing something. In reality, he keeps looking at you.

He can see that something’s wrong. You were talking your head off not too long ago about the bad music and which songs you did like. But now you’re oddly silent. Did he do something to set you off? Did he not recover as well as he thought he did? Oh great, now you were feeling embarrassed that he called you hot, the very thing he tried to avoid. He watches as the red flush disappears and is replaced by its normal hue. He swears he can see tears prick at your eyes, but he opts not to say anything in fear of humiliating you further.

He knows he didn’t ask you outright, but he’s viewing this as a date. He thought he was doing so well earlier. He won you prizes, got your heart to melt, showed off his skills, made you laugh it was going great! Then he had to open that stupid horse mouth of his and ruin it all. “You ready to go back out and walk around?” Jean asks. “We can go try some of the food trucks. I hear there’s one that sells gelato.”

You nod silently and put your phone away. He had to make this not-official date better. He couldn’t drop you off at home with you like this. So off to the food trucks you went. You finally find the gelato truck and get in line. “What are you gonna get?” He asks. “I’m thinking of getting salted caramel.”

You hum for a second as your eyes scan the menu board. Some of the items are covered with a Sold Out sign so you have a bit of a limited amount of options. “I’m gonna get lemon blueberry.”

You two get up to the server and you tell him what you want. Jean then quickly adds his orders and pulls out his wallet again. “Jean, I can get my own gelato.” You say. “I have money.”

“I know you do but I asked you to come with me, so I’m paying.” Jean says. You open your mouth to protest again. “Don’t argue with me, it isn’t gonna work.”

So you close your mouth again as Jean hands over the money. “Have a nice day.” The server says as you two walk away with your bowls of gelato clutched between your hands. You two walk around aimlessly while enjoying the sweet treat. You watch as he licks his spoon. You start to wonder what it would feel like for his lips to be on yours. When you realize that you’re getting jealous of a damn treat, you start talking about how his job at the art museum is going.

You chat and joke, but Jean can still sense that something’s off. The sun begins to set a bit so things start cooling off. The crowd thins, which also helps the temperature.

Taking one final bet into fixing what he did, he brings you over to the Ferris wheel. “You like Ferris wheels, right?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah. I like watching the buildings go bigger and smaller.”

You two get up to the front of the line and wait until the red car stops in front of you. A couple gets out and you’re helped in first. Jean quickly slips the operator a bill. “Stop us at the top, please.” He whispers.

The man takes the money and nods as Jean quickly follows after you. He places his bear to his left so that there isn’t a barrier between you two. He watches as your face lights up, completely ignoring his surroundings. The car stops perfectly at the top of the ride giving you the best view of the lake and the city. You look down at all the people walking home from the festival.

“So, you gonna finally tell me what’s wrong?” Jean asks suddenly. You gasp softly and look at him. You thought you were doing such a good job at hiding your feelings. But his eyes tell you that he knows something’s off.

“What- What do you mean?” You stutter. You don’t want to ruin the end of the night by saying anything. It’s vain and a little selfish. “You’ve been acting off since we went inside.” He says. Damn it. He was such a good observer. “I thought you were still just overheated. Then I thought you might be hungry or had low blood sugar. But you’re still off. Did I do something wrong?”

You open your mouth to act dumb again. But he’s got you totally trapped. “I…” He looks at you with concern, determined to fix whatever it is. Determined to make you feel better. You sigh and look back out at the scenery. “You called me hot…” He sighs. He knew it. He knew that slip up made you uncomfortable. “and you didn’t mean it.”

“Huh?” Is all he can say. “You said ‘It’s just you’ when I asked if it was hot inside or if it was just me.” You remind him. “Then you said that you meant that it had to be me because I still looked hot. And then you went and got me water.”

“I thought it was because I had callee you hot.” He asks. “Wait, what?” You ask, looking back at him. “Ah, shit.” He thinks to himself. No back tracking now. “I, um… I did mean to call you hot. But I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I thought it made you uncomfortable so I reiterated what I meant. Why are you upset I didn’t stick to my word?”

“Well…” You fiddle with your fingers nervously. “Because then that means you think I’m attractive, like how I think you’re attractive.” Jean’s heart almost stops at your confession. “I know everyone says you look like a horse, but I don’t. I’ve always thought you were incredibly handsome. So… yeah, I guess that’s it. I just wanted someone to tell me I look nice.”

Jean blinks for a few seconds as the ride begins to turn again. How could you be insecure about yourself? And you’re so insecure that you just want someone to say you look nice? Not stunning or gorgeous? Is the bar really set that low? He figures he needs to get a shovel and dig in order to reach it if the goal is basically just ‘say I look nice’. Now he’s on a mission. No way in hell is he gonna let you go a day without being complimented.

“I always think you look nice.” He confesses. “You look stunning no matter how you dress. Like when you were in your PJs when I came to get you. You looked adorable. And now? You look amazing! You could wear a damn potato sack and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person on the face of the earth. I thought I was being so obvious!”

“Obvious?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. “About what? About how you like the way I look?”

The ride stops so you two are forced to get out. He doesn’t answer right away as he walks to the rope that sections off the pathway and the water. “Not just the way you look.” He says. “You in general. Your laugh. Your personality. Your voice. I love it all.”

“You love me?” You ask, feeling your heart leap with joy. “Of course.” He says, turning to look at you. “I’ve just never mustered up the courage to ask you out. So I kinda… never actually asked anyone else to join me today. I made all those reasons up. I knew today would keep them away from here since it’s so hot. But I guess I never stopped to consider that you’d get overheated, too.”

You smile softly. “Next time, we’re staying inside.”

“Next time?” He asks hopefully. “Well, yeah.” You confirm, gently taking his hand in yours. “This doesn’t technically count as a first date since you didn’t properly ask me. So we still need to have one. I mean, if we’re gonna start going out.”

He swears fireworks start going off. You rub your thumb over the back of his hand, looking down and smiling softly. “Then would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Of course, I would.”

#aot fluff #attack on titan #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein x reader #shingeki no kyojin #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x you #jean x reader #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein x reader fluff

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

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hey! :) if you dont mind doing my request here it is! angst/smutty/fluff where reader fucked up they argue and it was really bad but goes to jean appartment to apologize and they have makeup sex :3 thx u

Pairing: Jean x f!reader

cw: established relationship, language, angst, fluff, smut – daddy kink, PIV sex (doggy style), sex without a condom, cream pie

Author’s Note: WEEEEE my very first Jean fic EVER. Thank you for the request, anon! I had fun writing this one. I hope you like it! 😘

“Jean, what’s wrong? You’ve been quiet the whole car ride.”

He stands beside you in silence, arms crossed, watching you unlock the door to your apartment, brows knit in a tight scowl. You open the door, entering first, hearing him slam it shut, startling you. “What the hell? Seriously, what’s wrong?” You hang your jacket on the coat rack, slipping your shoes off simultaneously.

He looks towards the kitchen, avoiding your gaze. “Nothing.”

You roll your eyes, knowing damn well it’s something. “Please, baby. Just tell me.” Stepping towards him, you wrap your arms around his neck, pouting.

He sighs. “You were flirting with Eren all night.”

The accusation makes you laugh at first. But when he continues to glare, you stop. He’s actually serious. “I was not flirting with Eren.”

“You were. You wouldn’t stop talking to him.”

“We were sitting right next to each other; I didn’t want to be rude,” you defend.

“And he kept touching you, and you just let him. It’s like I wasn’t even there.”

You try to recall how the night transpired. The two of you attended Mikasa’s birthday dinner at a swanky restaurant. The entire gang was there, including Eren, who Jean is always weird about for whatever reason, despite being good friends with him. They’ve known each other since they were kids, always pitted against one another, a constant competition in all aspects of life. Who’s stronger, who’s smarter, who gets the most action. Even as adults, they never grew out of it. Jean always felt bested by Eren, which didn’t help with his insecurities. But the one thing Jean has that Eren doesn’t is you. And maybe that’s the deeper meaning behind why he’s so upset tonight.

It might be the wine from earlier muddling your memory, but you don’t remember Eren touching you. Well, except for his hand on your shoulders, laughing at whatever funny story you were telling him. Or when he brushed his fingers along your neckline to inspect the dainty gold chain Jean gave you as an anniversary gift two years ago. And there was his palm resting on your bare knee underneath the table, slowly creeping up your thigh before your boyfriend had to pull you out of your seat to use the bathroom. In the moment, you weren’t aware that whatever was happening between you and Eren was flirting. Honestly, you’re still unsure, but now that you think about it, you can see why Jean is upset. But being immature and petty, you won’t admit to it. You don’t take his claims seriously, deciding to tease him just a little bit to push his buttons.

You grin, squeezing his cheeks between your hands. “Well, I can’t help it. He’s hot. I wish you weren’t there.”

Immediately, you regret it. It’s a mean joke that preys on his insecurities, and you only realize that now as you see the look on his face. His jaw hangs open, eyes betrayed, staring at you dumbfounded. “Are you serious right now? Why would you say that?” He escapes from your grasp, stomping into the kitchen for a glass of water.

You swallow hard, knowing you fucked up. “Jean, you know I’m kidding. It’s a joke.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he replies sarcastically, chugging his drink.

“Baby, I wasn’t flirting with Eren. Maybe he was flirting with me, but I was definitely not doing it back.”

“Oh, please. You were giggling at all his jokes, batting your fucking eyelashes at him. You were definitely flirting, don’t give me that bullshit.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I think I’m reacting the perfect amount, actually. I mean, how would you feel if I started rubbing my hands all over Christa? Or Mikasa?”

Annoyed, you scoff, muttering, “Like you haven’t already tried.”

His expression worsens into a grimace. “What?”

“Nothing,” you respond, almost certain he understood you.

He stays silent for a moment, letting the situation sink in. Eventually, he murmurs, “Fine. If that’s the way you want it to be, I’m leaving.” He makes his way towards the door, face red with anger.

“Jean.”

“Go ahead and call Eren. Since you didn’t want me there in the first place, you’re free to do whatever you want now. Go fuck him, for all I care.”

“Jean!” You yell out, tears welling in your eyes.

He doesn’t look at you as he exits the apartment, slamming the door shut without another word.

~~~

Jean sits in his own apartment, sulking on the couch in front of the blank TV. He’s got the remote in his hands but hasn’t bothered pressing any buttons because his mind is reeling over the fight the two of you just had. This might the worse one yet. And he’s not sure how it can be salvaged after what was said.

He’s mad at you for making his insecurities a joke. He’s mad at himself for yelling at you instead of explaining that is actually hurts him deep down. Both of you could have handled the situation better. But, of course, emotions get in the way of logic, causing a bigger mess than necessary.

It’s been almost an hour since he stormed off. He checks his phone for any notifications. Nothing. The urge to call you is strong, but he resists. Maybe he needs a bit more time to collect himself.

The buzzer rings. Heart thumping, he presses the intercom. “Hello?”

“Jean. It’s me.” There are bits of static on the other end, but it’s undoubtedly you. “Can we talk?”

He sighs, relieved and excited to hear you. Without saying anything, he buzzes you in. Within minutes, you’re knocking on his door. When he opens it, he finds you cuddling the Pompompurin plushie he bought for you at the Sanrio store ages ago. Your eyes are swollen from crying, clad in your favorite sweats. Unable to contain himself, he wraps you in his arms, resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry!” you cry out, sobbing into his shirt.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, squeezing you tighter, the plushie suffocating between your bodies. He waddles the two of you into his apartment, kicking the door closed.

“I shouldn’t joke about it. I know how you feel about Eren. It was mean and I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was jealous and insecure, and I was taking it out on you. I know you weren’t flirting with him. I know you’d never do that to me.”

“And I was riling you up on purpose. I shouldn’t have done that. I was being cruel and petty for no reason.”

You finally let go of Pompompurin, tossing it to the floor to embrace your boyfriend fully. The two of you stay in each other’s arms for a while longer. Finally, you peer up at him, sniffling. “I got your shirt all wet.”

“I’m going to take it off soon anyways,” he says playfully, bowing his head to kiss you on the lips.

You giggle into his mouth, kissing him back, tugging lightly at the hem of his t-shirt. He grabs your hand to lead you into the bedroom, stripping off his clothes in record time, boner sprung stiff against his abdomen. You follow, removing all your clothes until you’re naked, laying on his bed, thighs spread wide. He immediately positions himself between your legs, lapping at your clit.

This is how most of your little fights conclude: in the bedroom, having the nastiest makeup sex. Jean continues to slobber all over your pussy, sucking and flicking his tongue on your bud until you’re whimpering for him. He slides his middle finger inside you, curling at the tips. He adds his ring finger in, pumping his digits in and out of your wet slit, mouth still latched on your clit. You come like this, a high-pitched whine escaping your throat as his fucks his fingers inside you, the wet squelches lewd and arousing to your ears. He dribbles his spit on your swollen pussy lips, smearing it around you, getting you extra wet for his cock.

Sliding down the edge of the bed, you turn over to wiggle your ass for him. He smacks it, watching the flesh jiggle upon contact. “This is all mine, right princess?”

Craning your neck to face him, you grin, shaking your ass some more. “All yours, daddy.”

He bites his lip, grabbing your cheeks with both his hands, spreading them. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you so good right now. My little slut is gonna get pounded by this fat cock.”

Your knees tremble with anticipation, eager for him. “Give it to me. You always give it to me so fucking good.”

He slides his cock in smoothly. “I do, huh? I know how to make my baby girl cream all over this cock.” His thrusts are rough and fast, exactly how you like it. “Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good around my cock.”

“Yeah? You like this tight pussy?” You throw your ass back, his dick stuffed in your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

“I love this tight pussy. Fuck,” he curses, gripping your hips tightly as he pounds away at you.

He’s buried so far into your womb, you almost feel it in your belly. “Fuck! Right there!” you whine, hand pressed to your abdomen.

“I give it to you good, huh?” He tightens his grasp on you, railing you harder. The bed squeaks below you noisily. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

You gulp down whatever saliva is gathering in your mouth, wiping away the drool leaking down the corner of your lips. “You’re the best, daddy. The best I’ve ever had.”

“That’s fucking right. You’re so good for me. Such a slut for daddy, fuck.”

He finishes inside you, filling you up with his load. After he pulls out, he watches the cum ooze out of your slit, fingering some of it back in. You turn to lay on your back, face up, smiling at him. He spoons you from behind, sliding his arm around you waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you. I’m sorry about tonight.”

“We’re a little past apologies now, aren’t we?” you joke, interlacing your fingers with his.

He buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your familiar, sweet scent. “I know. Still, I hate it when we fight.”

“Me too,” you respond, snuggling closer to him. “I love you.”

It’s silent for a moment, before he asks, “So, do you really think he’s hot?”

This time, you pretend to fall asleep, a clever smile on your face.

#jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschtein smut #jean smut #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirschtein #jean kirstein #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein x reader #requests #jean requests #aot requests #aot smut #attack on titan smut #aot jean smut #jean Kirstein x you

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zekescherries · 27 days ago

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⋆　cowboy!jean kirsten × bartender!reader

cowboy!jean who's popular in your small town, everywhere he goes; he's recognized.

cowboy!jean who stumbles into your bar, the bar your father passed down to you before his eventual death. but jean's presence changes things, it's no longer chatty and loud. everyone's eyes are on him.

cowboy!jean who just requests a shot, aggressively telling everyone to "fuck off". he hates when others stare at him, even if it's for good reason.

cowboy!jean who can't help but stare at you, analyzing your body language, he kick starts conversation with you and is surprised that someone can actually treat him like a person and not a walking legend.

cowboy!jean who doesn't want to admit it, but you've caught his eye.

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hanjisungslag · 2 years ago

Text

attack on titan headcanons #5

## - kisses

genre - fluff

pairings - aot x reader

word count - 2.9k

warnings - none!

notes - tell me how it’s been half a year since i last posted? i’m crying

- EREN JAEGER

your first kiss was very out of the blue. it was a super intense moment filled with raging emotions from both of you - it happened right after the whole incident of eren turning into a titan, you rushed to his side immediately being the one to go rescue him after you thought you had lost him forever. all you could do as soon as you pulled him out of the steaming titan was hug him. you tightly gripped his shirt, nails digging into his skin so much so that you probably could’ve ripped his clothes. after he gained consciousness again, he pulled away looking at you all teary eyed, but nonetheless those eyes were filled with gratitude. he was so incredibly grateful that he could see you again, so much so that he kissed you, for the first time! it was a kiss to remember, it was like a movie kiss - full of compassion and full of fear that you nearly lost eren but as the kiss came to end, reality hit you both. you guys.. just kissed. for the first time. although the situation eren was in now was bad, you guys were more freaked out that you kissed. (cutie patooties)

-MIKASA ACKERMAN

oh girl. you both wanted to kiss each other for a while but you’re both awkward fucks so it wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon unless someone grew some balls! obviously, mikasa is the most confident out of the two of you but, she’s confident in everything else apart from romance. so you guys were hanging out, and you just did it. out of NOWHERE while you guys were sitting down on a hill soaking in the sun rays, you slapped lips on her. it was a very quick peck on the lips but even just that got mikasa soo flustered :( she was covering her lips in pure shock, she couldn’t even stand to look at you with her face looking like a tomato. after she composed herself, she did it right back at you! and then that obviously led to both of you being extremely flustered. you’ll stick to cheek kisses for now until you both stop blushing over lip kisses.

- ARMIN ARLERT

he wanted to make it super sweet & romantic!! after your third date, this man was like i wanna kiss this mf rn. i wanna SMOTHER THEM IN KISSES! so.. he started to plan it? although he wanted to so bad, he was still super nervous & he felt like having a plan would be his best bet. reiner tried telling him not to plan it out but armin was determined on making your guys’ first kiss like something out of a movie. however, in your daily life this man.. could stop staring at your goddamn lips😭HES STARVING PLEASE. anyways, of course you start to notice this and you’re thinking ‘well.. i mean i wanna kiss him too, so why don’t i just do it?’

2 days before the date.

it’s your guys’ day to go & buy groceries, you’re out and about in town and of course, you stop by the flower stall! while admiring some of the flowers, you guys find yourselves under mistletoe.. and oh my days, armin is freaking out.. like what about his date he had planned? but after he finally looks back down at you and takes one glance, seeing you blushing profusely while looking at him with such pure love in your eyes, how could he resist? you guys go onto share a super sweet kiss and both go home very giddy. (and you forgot the apples so, nice one lovebirds 😒)

- JEAN KIRSTEIN

let me tell you, his mum taught him well! she always told him to be a gentleman to ladies and oh, how he was such a gentleman! you guys were just chilling, hanging out together in the girls empty dorms - he was staying with you since you had injured your ankle (bunking off training for you🤧) anyways, you guys were playing a card game when he thought now would be the perfect time to initiate a kiss.. no training, no one around and no annoying connie! he looked up with a sparkle in his eye while staring at your lil’ concentrated face for a while, he chuckled to himself making you raise your head in confusion & suddenly he just popped the question, so confidently as well (he was terrified though) “y/n, can i kiss you?” YOU WERE TAKEN ABACK, literally.. like pulling away, blinking your eyes, processing what’s happening kinda shit. as soon as you snapped back into reality you gave him a coy nod of the head. the kiss was so tender and romantic, i could sob. he looked away all flustered and you giggled to yourself hiding your face behind your cards. eventually, you both came back down to earth and started getting ready to play again but then jean said “hey, whoever wins gets a kiss” you questioned his logic and said “wait.. but then, whoever loses still gets a kiss?” he scoffed sarcastically and said “okay and?🙄” you giggled, “you’re only saying that so that when you lose, you still get a kiss.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHEN I LOSE??” you laughed hysterically and continued playing. (he did lose btw)

- SASHA BRAUS

it was your turn to make dinner for the corps and of course, sasha had to be there to ‘make sure everything is okay’ in her words smh. so, after putting your blood, sweat and tears into this scrumptious dinner - sasha was right beside you literally DROOLING but, since it was done and everyone was about to eat it anyways, you grab a portion for sasha and she’s literally jumping for joy while you’re putting food on her plate. while (un)patiently waiting she goes to give you a give kiss on the cheek but as she is you turn with the full plate of food in hand and her lips land on yours instead of your cheek… you both freeze. literally frozen for a good 2 minutes EVEN WITH FOOD IN FRONT OF HER?? eventually you both shake your heads, waking yourselves back up into reality and sasha is actually way calmer about this than you are and she’s even the first one to speak “hehe i liked that. you’re a good kisser y/n!” and then you burst into flames because why would she say that?? literally giggling and kicking my feet.

- CONNIE SPRINGER

you and connie had just finished playing board games in his dorm - you guys were just chilling and chit chatting, when you started getting all romantic and cutesy (vile creatures). his hands roamed onto your thighs, arms and hands giving you gentle caresses and you decided this was the perfect moment to kiss him. as his hands laid on your thighs, you brought your hands up to his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. he was very caught off-guard and it took him like two whole minutes to realise what was happening and ACTUALLY kiss you back. after you both pulled away, bro just straight up froze. you had to wave your hand in front of his face and just be like “connie..? connieeee?” and he JUMPED back to life and you jumped too because what the fuck, why did bro jump💀. anyways, he was as red as a tomato!! and you thought it was the cutest thing evaaa. when the other boys started piling into the room, you decided it was time for you to take your leave. connie waved you off by the door with literal love hearts in the eyes.

the next day in the canteen, all the boys were coming up to you patting you on the back almost making you spit your food out saying stuff like “way-hey! good job y/n, heard you kissed connie” you were so flustered like please it’s 8am, you don’t need this right now😭. THEN CONNIE comes strolling in like he owns the fuckin’ place, he’s just so happy & feeling so confident after you kissed him; he wholeheartedly believes he’s a god. and now you get to enjoy the next few days of him trying to get kisses off you 24/7, literally like trying to swat a fly away.

- REINER BRAUN

reiner decided your guys’ spot was not only a casual hangout spot but also, a private and romantic place for you lovebirds. since he confessed there, he thought it’d super sweet & sentimental if you guys had your first kiss there too :).

you stroll up the hill heading to your spot, hand in hand, giggling the whole way there. as you were talking about some gossip you’ve heard, reiner just stares at you in pure admiration. all he wants to do is grab you and kiss you already!! before he can actually initiate anything you turn your head and ask with a silly grin, “why’re you staring at me like that..” he wakes up from his daydream and stares EVEN MORE and eventually, goes onto say “i really want to kiss you right now.” AND OH MY DAYS.. you were so flabbergasted like - he just outright said it, so confidently, so full of passion and lust. you confidently (trying to match the energy) said “well, why don’t you?” and that’s when he gently takes your cheek in his big hand and brings you closer, slowly but surely.. then you kiss. you guys kiss for a very long time, you both want to take in every last second of this moment. as the kiss progresses he pulls you in by your waist, so that you’re even closer to him. you bring your hands up and hold onto his muscular biceps. after a few minutes, you both pull away looking a bit messy and a bit.. sloppy. but you literally couldn’t contain your giggles and shy smile, reiner went on to tease you about it for the rest of the evening.

- ANNIE LEONHART

annie had forced you to come work out with her even though you really weren’t feeling it. you were just feeling super lazy and honestly, your limbs felt like noodles. but nonetheless, you’re there in the training arena ready to work out with your girlfriend. you guys did warm ups which even those, almost killer you and when you go onto actually working out and sparring, oh my god. you were DYING and you kept complaining and whining to annie, who wasn’t having any of it. as you began to do sit ups, you whined once again “ughhh, i don’t wanna do this. i could’ve been sleeping still” you said as your back hit the floor, giving up. annie pulled you right back up, looked you dead in the eyes with a tight grip on your shoulders and said “you’re gonna do this work out, okay?” you wiggled your way out of her grasp, hit the floor again and whined even more “nooOo, annie c’mon! i just want to be done already!” annie just sighed with her hands on her knees, staring at you as you laid there eyes closed, clearly frustrated and upset. she was going to let you go but then had a breakthrough. she said with a sigh “hey. if you do these sit ups now, i’ll give you a kiss everytime as a reward.” WHAT?? DID YOU HEAR THAT CORRECTLY?? you shot up IMMEDIATELY in shock and excitement, you could quite literally feel the adrenaline rushing through your body, “YES OKAY ABSOLUTELY, LETSGOLETSGOLETSGO” you wiggled excitedly at this opportunity “jesus, calm down.. it’s just some kisses.” (deep down, she was shitting herself but the girls got a reputation to keep up) that’s where you guys had your first kiss! although it was only a peck. and there was lots of them. little did annie know though, from this day forward you would refuse to work out UNLESS you got kisses as a reward.

- BERTOLT HOOVER

you were just about to go out with bertolt on a lovely little stroll on a fine summers day but you forgot your bag! and you didn’t have time now, you promised you’d give historia her earrings back in time for her date with ymir but don’t worry, bertolt being the lil’ sweetheart he is, offered to run and grab it for you. so, you both set off in your opposite directions - bertolt found your bag with ease and grabbed it but, as he was picking it up, he hit a vase. YOUR vase.. and it smashed all over your dorm room floor and bertolt just freaked the fuck out. he started getting really sweaty and started heavy breathing, honestly he was having a panic attack. and to make matters worse, you had just opened the door and walked in on this mess. bertolt just looked at you with such genuine fear in this eyes. he felt so so so terrible about breaking your vase that he (very anxiously) started rambling straight away, as soon as you walked in, trying to explain himself and in the midst of it all, you were trying to calm him down and tell him that it’s fine and there’s no need to worry - but he just cannot stop. he just kept going on and on and on, and eventually you just had to do something. you’ve thought about doing it for a while now and it might not be the best time right now but fuck it!! you kissed him. partially because you wanted to but also partially because he needed to shut up, bless him. and goddamn, you REALLY shut him up, bro was in the middle of anaphylactic shock after that. he shook himself off like a dog eventually to regain his composure but he got superrr shy and said he couldn’t go out that day anymore😭. you still dragged him along don’t worry and he eventually got over what happened, not fully but still enough.

- ERWIN SMITH

erwin kissed you the day he asked you out. he thought it’d be the best, most romantic way to set off this new relationship! he also saw no point in waiting to kiss you tbh, especially since you were together now. anyways, soon after asking you to be his s/o and a very long embrace with one another - as you pulled apart, his gaze softened looking deeply into your eyes and asked “may i kiss you?” you were so shocked at his forwardness! first the beautiful meal, then becoming an official couple and now a kiss?! however, no matter in how much shock you were, you were far too entranced in this romantic moment to even hesitate, you said “of course you can” with a sultry smile. you guys had a very classic, romantic kiss just like in old time films. you both chuckled lightly as you pulled away and went off into the night together, having a final glass of wine before you left the restaurant.

- LEVI ACKERMAN

as per usual, levi was locked up in his silly little office but you weren’t having that today. it’s a beautiful summers day with no worries of fighting any titans so you decided to drag him out. now, when i say drag i genuinely mean you DRAGGED him by his stupid e-boy haircut, m’kay. EVENTUALLY.. he started walking by himself and you took him to a café! this way, he can still have his tea but he’s finally not in his office. you both ordered tea and you ordered some sweet treats for you guys as well! levi insisted otherwise but you were determined to have a lovely day out with your boyfriend.. who you haven’t kissed yet. you also decided that not only will today be a super cute date day but ALSO, first kiss day. after staying in the café for hours drinking multiple cups of teas and many yummy treats, it was getting dark and you guys’ legs were aching from sitting for so long - so it was finally time to head home. on this walk home, you began to get very sentimental which is when levi started to act all stoic🙄 in the middle of your sentimental rant, you stopped him in his tracks, held his shoulders and said “don’t hate me when i do this…” AND YOU JUST SLAPPED LIPS ON HIM AHH. you genuinely thought he was gonna push you off him and throw you on the ground BUT HE KISSED YOU BACK? and even pulled you closer to him?? literally what the fuck is happening?? after some time, you both pull away and he said “why would i hate you for that? idiot.” and with that, you guys went off into the night as you giggled at your silly actions.

- HANGE ZOË

hange uh.. you guys have already kissed a lot. hange is veryyy affectionate even when you were friends and was especially more affectionate after they realised they liked you😭. so, because of this you got a lot of cheek kisses and light pecks from hange when you guys were just friends. however, as soon as you agreed to being hange’s s/o, they gave you the biggest fattest smooch eva!! a proper first kiss for a proper couple :). remember how they nearly proposed? and you had to be like “ayo hange, d-don’t propose right now, please…” well after they got back up from being down on one knee, they grabbed you by both your cheeks immediately and kissed you. they kissed you for so long, so passionately like they’ve been craving to kiss you like this, kiss you like they really mean it.

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icysinner · 1 year ago

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all about phones

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

#ID: yall know i love a good smau <3 jus some hcs about their phones cause i’m stalling on writing influenced

warnings: none really, ignore the times i suck at consistency. eren’s momma is very much alive in this #justiceforcarla

characters: eren & jean. (more than likely will do it with connie & armin too tho!)

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

♔ eren.

eren probably has a boring phone if we being real

screen time high as hell but he never answers anyone?

probably has a clear case with stickers

maybe a polaroid of the two of you

lock screen is 100% a picture of the two of you, or just you (usually it’s a picture of you that he took)

posts like nothing on his social medias, probably posts on his story if anything

has a highlight of u because once again.. SIMP

posts the lovey dovey pictures w/ the cute songs.

every picture he takes with you immediately goes to his mom

sends you shows for the two of you to watch all the time

his highest screen time is between facetime and tik tok (both are because of you)

has like a million food apps on his phone because you suck at picking where to eat and he just has a catalog of food to pick from

⟣┄─ ˑ ഒ ˳ 𝆕 ׁ 🪈 ִ ◌ ׁ ܀ 🎺 ִ ੭ ֢

♔ jean.

jean is like mentally attached to his phone

mans probably didn’t even have a case until you bought him one

wallpaper is either the two of you, or you and the dog (the dog he hopes to replace with a baby)

jean might actually use his social media ngl

only to post when he travels or when he posts u tho

i’d imagine he’d post his whole album of you if he could but probably prefers the date night pictures

has an album full of pictures of you and him, some of just you

has like a note of all the things you talk about like bags, clothes and things alike so he can buy them

playlists of music you send him, and he has one with all his favorite songs that you’re the cover of

#aot #nya writes #aot x black reader #attack on titan #aot x reader #black writblr #aot fanfiction #jean kirstein #jean x black reader #jean kirschtein fanfiction #aot jean #aot eren #eren x black y/n #jean x y/n #eren x reader #eren headcanons #jean headcanons

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smashboxgirl26 · 2 years ago

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washing machine heart

college student! jean kierschtien x college student! reader a/n: late but for my bby jean's bday bc he's little secret bf <33 (also i know that the song washing machine heart is not implying this scenario at all but i thought it was cute and it's 12 am so i dont care)

It was about three am when you stumbled into the laundromat, immediately blinded by the fluorescent lights (and you could just feel the way they buzzed into your eyebags) with your stupid laundry basket that was filled to the brim tucked under your arm. Your dirty, old converse squeaked across the linoleum floor as the doorbell chimed, alerting the only other guy who was there — tucked in the corner at the table by the washers, hunched over to do his homework — but you couldn’t really find the energy to care about your disturbing presence: not when you hadn’t done your laundry in almost a month and needed a pair of panties for the next day.

You went through the sluggish motions of dumping all your clothes into washer (trying to separate lighter and darker colors but ultimately leaving the couple of white socks that got thrown in with the dark clothes because you just didn’t care at that point) and adding the detergent and softener before plopping yourself down at one of the tables near the front.

You’d made sure to stick your laptop on top of your clothes before you left your dorm so you could try and finish your final project that you’d been procrastinating for way too long; but even as it sat in front of you on the table, you couldn’t really find the will to open it. Not when you’d been sleep deprived for this long.

Instead, you let your eyes wander towards the guy who was sitting at the table across from you, studying the crinkle in his eyebrows as you let yourself stare off into space — only the sound of the washers and dryers running in the background.

Something about his brown eyes and mullet looked familiar, maybe you both took a class together; or you both stayed in the same hall?

Eventually, your eyes landed on the dog bed that was laying on the seat next to him — wrinkling your nose in surprise. You hadn’t seen any dog when you walked in.

But your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of huffing coming from your feet, and you peered down to see a tiny black chihuahua staring back up with needy eyes. As soon as you made eye contact, he jumped up onto your lap and sat down — like he’d picked you to go home with — before pawing at your arm as if he was urging you to pet him.

The guy noticed after a couple seconds, rolling his eyes at the dog as he apologized.

“Ah, sorry about him. Max, c’mere.” He tried to lure Max back with a treat, and when that didn’t work, he stood up from his table to come pick the little dog up. But as soon as he got close, the dog growled from his spot in your lap — and the guy just frowned.

“Hey, what’re you growling for?” you looked to the little dog, who’d now taken to staring up at you with his big, empty looking eyes.

“I've been dog sitting for my sister for the past week,” the guy groaned, watching as Max made himself comfortable again in your lap. “And he doesn’t really like me that much for some reason. How’d you make him so comfortable with you in like, five seconds?”

“I didn’t try to,” you shrugged, just letting out a small laugh. “I guess I’m just the dog whisperer.”

“Lend me some of your powers then,” he shook his head. “Max hasn’t let me touch him all week, let alone coming and sitting in my lap like that.”

“I honestly don’t know why, but dogs have always liked me,” you let your hand fall over Max’s head, letting out a small chuckle as he moved his head under your hand to insinuate for you to keep petting him. “My sister used to get so upset when she realized our dog liked me way more than it liked her.”

“Well, guess I can’t go against fate now can I?” he let out a small smile, watching as Max continued to push for you to give him attention — eventually sitting down at your table and sticking out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Jean, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you reciprocated the action, though Max appeared distressed at your hand leaving his head.

“I feel like I'm taking a class with you or something.” Jean stared off like he was thinking. “You just look really familiar.”

“Do you say that to every girl you meet?” you teased, watching a flustered expression jump up to his face.

“What? I wasn’t — That wasn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” He corrected himself before letting out a small laugh. “I was being serious, I swear.”

“I’m just joking,” you laughed. “I was actually thinking the same thing. What dorn do you live in?”

“Harrison Hall.”

“That’s where I am too.” You couldn’t really help the cutesy little smile that rose up to your (probably exhausted looking) face. “I knew I saw you around there somewhere.”

“I always come here ‘cause the washers and dryers on my floor are basically broken,” Jean let his elbows rest on the table. “I think it’s also cheaper to do it here anyway.”

“That’s the same reason I do it here,” you nodded. “And there’s no parties going on in the background when you’re trying to study and do laundry at the same time.”

“That’s true,” he laughed.

“All right Max,” you turned back to the round eyes staring at you from your lap and patted his head softly. “I’m gonna give you back to your uncle now, so I can finish my project and turn it in.”

Max protested at first when you put him into Jean’s hands, but he seemed to calm down when Jean stroked his ears and placed him back in his bed where he promptly fell asleep.

You sent Jean a small smile before finally opening your laptop, for perhaps the thirtieth time that night, ready to finally finish your conclusion and get your project over with.

You had to stop halfway in between when the washers you used alerted you that your clothes were done and had to be stuffed in the dryer. All of Jean’s clothes were basically done by that point, which he stood at one of tables to fold them — while only one remaining batch tumbled in the dryer. He’d be done soon though, which you were envious of.

When you finally finished your stupid paper, submitted it, and slammed your laptop shut, you looked back to see that there was still a while for your clothes to finish drying; immediately, in your sleep depriven state, you let your head fall to the table to take a short nap while whispering lies about how you’d wake yourself up in five minutes.

It wasn’t until the doorbell chimed once more that you woke up: needing to shield your eyes from the sun coming in through the windows of the little laundromat

You groaned, realizing you had to get your clothes out of the dryer before someone took them out and just dumped them somewhere, but stopped when you noticed them all neatly folded and placed in your laundry basket — sitting right next to you on your table.

On top, though, laid a little sheet of paper with Jean’s number and a smiley face.

#bye this is lowkey bad but i don't care i finished it and now im going to sleep #jean x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #aot x you #aot drabbles #aot x reader #aot jean #snk drabbles #snk fanfiction #snk jean #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean krischtein #keke.writes

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4ttack-ur-heart · 1 year ago

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Jean Hc’s: Masterpiece

Pairing: Jean x reader

Genre: fluff - modern au!

Warnings: none

Summary: Jean does your makeup.

“Hold still, doll.”

Jean sat in front of you on the bed, legs crossed and a brush in his hand. All of your makeup was scattered across the neatly made bed. You kneeled in front of him as he continued to apply various items to your face.

“Stop moving!” He laughed.

A giggle slipped out of your mouth. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, it tickles.”

“Well, hold it in.”

Looking up at him through your mascara-covered lashes, he was concentrated. Very concentrated. The way his eyes creased when fixated on a certain part and the way his tongue poked out of his mouth subconsciously. He had already done your foundation, concealer, powder, brows, and lashes.

“If you keep looking up at me, your mascaras going to rub on your eyelids.” He chastised. Setting down a powder brush, he traded it for your contour.

“It’s not my fault you’re tall.”

You felt the contour stick being applied to your face and the soft beauty blender kneading it in.

It was silent as Jean continued his work. He was very determined to do your makeup better than you.

“How do you know how to do this?” You asked, surprised at his careful and thoughtful movements.

“You know I grew up with my mom, I would watch her do her makeup when she went out with her friends. And then watching you do it all the time. Besides, babe…” He set the beauty blender down and picked up your eyeliner. “I’m an artist.”

“So?” You questioned.

“Sooo, doing your makeup is nothing more than painting a canvas.” He explained and shook the small tube, the little marble inside rattling the mixture. “Now, please. I really need you to hold still.”

“Just in case, I have these.” You handed him a few q-tips you had stored in your bag. Eyeliner was one of your essentials, but definitely not your strong suit. Too many times you had uneven wings or a bulky tip. Nothing a couple swipes of a cotton swab couldn’t fix.

Jean took them from your hand and put the end of one in his mouth. The cotton swab dangled from his lips as he swiped it back and forth like a toothpick.

“(Y/n).” He warned when your head instinctively went to flinch away when the tip of the wand touched your face. Jean frowned at you and used his hand to squeeze your cheeks together, holding you still.

“Stay.”

You felt the wet and cool touch of the wand swipe over the outer corner of your eye and then he applied it to the other eye. A new level of focus crossed his features and his shallow breaths fell on your cheek.

Jean leaned back and moved your face from side to side, examining your face.

“Perfectly even.”

“What?!” You picked up the hand mirror that was next to you and gawked at your reflection. Glancing back and forth between each wing, they were both symmetrical and filled in perfectly. “How the fuck? It takes me 15 minutes to do both eyes and you do them perfectly in under a minute?”

He chuckled and took the q-tip out of his mouth. “Just admit it, babe. You don’t have my skill.”

“Just finish up already.” You rolled your eyes.

Smirking to himself, he waited for your eyeliner to fully dry before picking up your blush and applying it to your cheekbones.

“Are you done yet?” You let out a yawn.

“Careful, you’ll crease everything.”

“Oh my god.”

Jean picked up a lip pencil and traced your lips carefully. He added your lipstick and asked you to rub your lips together to blend it in. His thumb gently swiped over the corner of your lips, wiping off a little smudge.

He opened your highlighter palette and swiped a brush over it before running it gently over your face.

And finally the setting spray.

Jean stared at you with love in his eyes. The way your eye color was enhanced against the black makeup, how the contour structured your facial features, and how the highlight glimmered against your skin tone.

“All done, doll face.” Jean held the mirror up to you.

“Woah, babe!” You took the mirror from him and looked at yourself. Your makeup was neat and precise, almost as if you hired a professional.

It didn’t look cakey or too bold, just the right amount to accentuate your features.

“You like it?” He smiled and leaned an elbow on his knee.

“Yes, I love it! You’re doing my makeup from now on, Mr. Artist.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed kisses along his face.

“Hey, careful.” He warned with a smile, hands gently at your waist to pull you off of him. “Don’t smudge your makeup.”

“Can you do my makeup from now on?” You asked.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure you can afford me.”Jean laughed at your facial expression and started to gather all your makeup into the pouch you had. “Yes, of course I’ll do it. You’re my little masterpiece, doll face.”

————

Tag list: @cullenswife @sad-darksoul

#aot x reader #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschstein #jean x reader #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean x y/n #jean x you #jean x female reader

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moonbeamoclock · 2 years ago

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sleeping in the same bed for the first time: Jean Kirschietn

Jean-bo 💕

in the modern au i always picture him as a frat boy that's built differnt™️

more accepting of all different kinds of people

(he's not perfect in that sense, he still has a lot to learn but he tries his best)

hes unexpectedly shy when you guys are getting ready to sleep together for the first time

like he gets all flustered at the thought of you all soft and sleepy in HIS bed

it's so lovely it makes his chest hurt 🥺

He sleeps in old sweat shorts (no matter the weather) and an even older shirt

but when you come over, he breaks out his nice pajamas (they just don't have holes or as many stains.)

likes to lay side by side with your arms and legs overlapping each other grasping you're hand tightly

in the modern au he sleeps like a log through the night and it's kind of a hassle trying to wake him up because of how soundly he sleeps

canon au he sometimes has nightmares but will try to stay tangled in bed with you

being able to touch and look at you as he's coming off of the adrenaline of the nightmare makes it easier to calm down

when he wakes up he sort of jolts awake and whips his head around to try and figure out where he is and only relaxes after he realizes that you're the one holding on to him

in conclusion, he's a sweepy baby

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ppushable · 3 months ago

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moodboard creds to @firefly--bright tytyty

low tide

jean kirschtein x fem!reader / multichapter / wc: 10.8k

part 2 of rose tinted hours

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

Monday morning and here I am, missing out on my classes, struck with a sore throat and an invisible ax sticking out of my head.

Maybe the only nice thing about today is the man craning over me in the dark, feeding me porridge.

That, and the overly-sweet tea.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

cw: kissing.

there's a soundtrack for this one! completely optional, of course.

queue: ==> new home (slowed), austin farwell ==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3 ==> farewell, erikson jayanto ==> october, adrián berenguer ==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba ==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty ==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The figures in front of the dorm converge in front of Jean’s car as they engage in some sort of conversation. Sasha (I think that’s Sasha) slinks around Jean’s taller form and attaches herself to the side of his car, being scraped off a moment later.

Unsticking myself from the window, I carefully reposition the dark blue curtains so that no light filters through, the simple action causing my head to swim as if filled with honey.

I got Jean’s flu. Which, obviously, is to be expected, considering what happened yesterday. Paired with the fact that we slept together last night.

As in, laid down and fell asleep in the same bed with nothing strange happening in between. Whoever came up with that wording needs to be shot.

Contrarily, Jean is perfectly fine. And despite all the urging that I’ll be fine too and that he shouldn’t skip out on classes, he’d insisted on staying right here.

Not that I’m complaining.

I glance at the red numbers projected onto the corner of the ceiling indicating the time as I sit back so I’m leaning against the wall. 8:28. Almost time for my first class, which I won’t be going to, as so firmly put by Jean before I shooed him away.

“If I come back here and the room’s empty, I’ll make Connie march into Hospitality with a condom pulled over his head with your name written on it.”

He’d do that, too.

Running my hands over Jean’s fleecy Cars blanket, I find and unlock my phone to type a quick message to Sasha.

me: sorry sash,, not coming to hospitality. i got sick :(

me: jeans staying home for me tho. dont wait up <3

Pray she doesn’t get the wrong idea.

sashacado: dw about it!!!

sashacado: 😏

I shut my eyes as the screen induces a sudden wave of dizziness. Alright then. Knowing her, everyone and their mom will know about this before the day ends. I toss the phone somewhere on my bed and it falls to the ground.

Jean, where are you?

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

He nearly barrels into an old lady in the soup aisle. With a profuse apology, he continues half-jogging to the fridges, glancing at the list on his phone.

🖤: onions, rotisserie chicken (should be on sale), chicken broth

🖤: oh also rice. and carrots and mushrooms if u can. plus milk. thats a must

🖤: im trusting u wkth this. if u spend over budget im scalping u personally

🖤: <3

He can’t help the little smile that twinges his mouth with the last text. There it is. The end product of many sleepless nights, wondering if his feelings were, in fact, reciprocated. All in a little text. Less than three. Two dumb symbols he’s dreamed of receiving. It makes his heart feel a little warmer in his chest, a little heavier, like a reverse-Grinchification. The good ending, he can hear Connie saying.

That, or he’s misconstruing the whole thing. That’s definitely possible too! She sends that little symbol to everyone. For all he knows, he probably moved up the friend ranking a little. It probably means nothing at all.

Watching the pill be so carelessly popped into her mouth, that small smile, the look in those eyes. Hands on the headboard. Hand on his body. Hand in his hair—

“Woah! Excuse me, sir—”

And then reality comes shooting back to him like an oncoming bullet train, because nothing snaps Jean out of his happy place like that voice.

“Kirschtein?”

Jean stops in his tracks and slowly turns, somewhat hoping it’s not who he thinks it is yet knowing at the same time. “Jaeger.“

“What the hell are you doing? You can’t run in a grocery store.”

And there he is in the flesh; Eren Jaeger, the hobo-looking microbiology major that for some reasons girls (even stone-cold Mikasa) love to swoon over. Not that he cares, really. What’s more important is the fact that he’s in full customer service garb: plain jeans with lanyard string sticking out of the front pocket, blue vest, retractable name tag.

And Jean can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his chest.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Eren mutters, damn well knowing why.

“What, no ‘hello, sir?’ Aren’t— aren’t you supposed to be asking if I need help finding anything? Sir?” The old lady in the soup aisle is staring at him as he devolves into a full cackle.

Eren’s scowl deepens. “That’s low, Kirschtein, even for you.”

“Stop being such a pissbaby. I’m only laughing because it’s you.”

“Romantic.” Rolling his eyes, Eren shoves his hands into his pockets. “Speaking of which, don’t you have someone waiting for you at your dorm?”

Jean shuts up immediately and blinks. “What?”

“You know, your lover.” He smirks. “Sasha told us all about you two.” He ducks his head to do something on his phone and a second later Jean’s own pings.

aaron yogurt: One image attachment

Raising an eyebrow, Jean moves back against the aisle (away from soup lady’s scrutinizing gaze) before opening it. It’s a screenshot of a groupchat, with the first text being a screenshot from Sasha of what appears to be some texts.

sash: we did it boys

bald idiot: 🔥🔥💯💯‼️🤯🤯🥶🥶🥶🥶

bald idiot: everyone stand up and clap for sasha

sash: ill fucking kill you springer

miks: so are they together now?

sash: UH YEAH DIDNT U READ THE TEXT? JEAN TRANSFERRED HIS SICKNESS. HOW? THEY SLEPT OVERNIGHT IN JEANS DORM. TOGETHR. WITH NOBODY AROUND. ALL MY DOING TYVM. AND NOW THEIR STILL TOGETHEE.

min: That’s inconclusive, Sasha. You can get sick just being near a person.

marc (replying to @/sash): they’re*

marc: besides who would leave Jean there all alone overnight?

me: me

And then the screenshot cuts off.

“Romantic,” Eren drawls.

“Shut up.” Jean makes a mental note to find and perhaps tie Sasha to a rocket.

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows you’re whipped. You’re like a little schoolgirl when it comes to this kind of stuff.” Bringing his fists up to his face, he puts on the stupidest face ever and giggles.

“Fuck off.” Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Jean tries to cover the heat on his face. “Just tell me where the hell you guys put the chicken.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

The sound of the front door unlocking heaves me out of the half-drowsy phase I’ve been simmering in for the last, what… I glance at the ceiling clock again. Half hour?

“Hey! I’m back!” Every word becomes a little louder as Jean barges down the hall, tosses something into Connie’s room, and appears in the doorway.

“What was that?”

“Huh?”

“The thing you put in Connie’s room.”

His shadow pauses. “Just… something for Connie. Is everything okay?”

I smile. “How the hell did you go to the gym like this?”

Plastic crinkles as he sets the bag down on the ground. “Well,” he says, walking closer, “I was thinking of you. And how much you love my really big muscles.”

My smile cracks wider. “Is that so.”

“Mhm.”

“Were you also—”

“Mmm?”

“—thinking about how pissed I would be—”

He inhales.

“—when I found you?”

His lips curve upward, maybe a little to close to mine. “Maybe a little.”

I tap his thick sleeve. “Go take this big thing off.”

He recoils immediately. “As you wish.” And sheds the coat, dumping it against his chair.

“Are you hungry?”

Fixing his sleeve, he shrugs.

“What do—” my voice cracks as it runs dry— “what do you eat when it’s just you and Connie?”

“Cereal. Bread sometimes.”

“I really expected better from you.”

“I’m healthy.”

I let my eyes drag shut. “Your idea of fighting off a cold is… going to the gym.”

“Healthy.”

“You’re a piece of work.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do the— does the window open?”

Clothes rustle. “Yeah. But I’m not opening it.”

“It’s hot.”

And he looks back. “You’re sick.”

“Well, I don’t plan to strip in front of you.”

Jean sighs but it only takes a moment for it to turn into a laugh. “Alright.”

I try to swallow but my throat’s dried up between the time I woke up and now. “I’m getting up.”

“Sure you are.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Aren’t you needy?” he teases. “What do you want? I can get it for you.”

“You’ll burn the dorms down trying to make tea.”

“Since when did you have such little faith in me?”

I crack my eyes open. “Connie told me you tried to stop a grease fire by splashing water on it.”

He’s rolling his eyes. “Your first mistake was believing Connie. He loves to spread misinformation. Especially about me.”

“Okay, Jean.” I shake my hand in his general direction and he takes it, large, warm hand clasping mine. “Pull me up.”

He smiles and leans in to wrap his other arm under my knees, his neck pressing into my face. Muffled, cheap cologne. “What are you doing?”

In one smooth movement, he releases my hand to slide his other arm across my back. Holding me at the anchor points.

“Wait.” Already a sinking feeling drains through my organs. “Jean, wait—”

With a small heave he lugs me off the bed and my arms immediately sling around his neck. “Jean!”

“Hmm?”

“Put me down!” And I would be laughing if not for my throat and the fact that I’m clinging on for dear life.

He looks down at me, still with that smile. “Hmm. No.”

And the way his voice rumbles through his chest into mine as he hums deeply makes me want to explode. I dive my face into the cloth of his sweatshirt, ignoring the strange way my weight is distributed, the chance that something might slip and I’ll fall to my untimely demise.

“You can let go of me.” He starts walking. “I won’t drop you.”

Pushing harder into his chest, I say, “I’m heavy.”

“No, you’re not.” As if to prove himself, he lifts me a few inches higher as he shimmies through what I think is the door. My grip tightens as the pressure on my back and thighs increases. “Okay, you’re choking me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Relax, okay? I’m strong.“

“Jean.”

“Come on, look at me.”

I have to force myself to meet his eyes.

It’s not just about how high up I am, or how heavy I might be, or how intimidatingly good-looking he is (I definitely look like shit). It’s about the power.

Things have changed since yesterday. Now it’s Jean’s turn to take charge. And just like he did, I’ll have to allow that.

==> new home (slowed), austin farwell

“Do you trust me?“

His words hit like boulders against my stomach and his eyes are so wide as they dig into mine, so willing to accept the outcome yet so full of this new, gentle compassion that I’ve never seen before. A willingness. An invitation. An assurance. A desire.

So many sides of Jean I’ve never seen before have been presented to me in the past day and it makes my head so heavy it might snap clean off my neck and roll across the floor with the other boulders like a macabre marble match.

Do I trust him?

With a final squeeze, I let my hands fall to rest on either side of his chest. He smiles, showing a sliver of teeth.

Of course I do.

I watch his face as we go to the makeshift kitchen. “So you want tea?”

Though he can’t see me nod, he should be able to feel it.

“It’s easy, right? I just boil some water, and then. I.” Seemingly unconscious to the action, he worries his upper lip as he thinks. “We’ll get there when we get there.” He looks back down. “Where’s the tea?”

With a stupid grin I point to the cabinet where I found the tea and Jean lifts me to height — fucking lifts me a good five feet into the air — so I can snatch the tea packets. “Put me down! I’ll kill your arms.”

He lowers me back to waist-chest height. “So that’s the tea.”

I set the box on my stomach. “You— you’ve never used it before?”

“Forget I said anything. Now what?”

“Now, we… are you sure you don’t want to put me down?”

He rolls his eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t separate like a chameleon’s. “I’m strong. Let me carry you.”

God I want to shut his smirk up so bad but if I’m in no position to reach up and… I don’t know. I’d do something. Arrogant little prick. “Counter.”

Jean obliges and I take the kettle one-handedly, emptying the old water and adding more, enough for two cups again. “You want some?”

“Is there enough for both of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Hit me.”

I hit the plunger on the kettle. “Mugs.”

So we move like this, a strange, inefficient, two-person machine. I nearly drop one of the cups, all the cabinet doors are left open, and nearly a quarter of the milk got spilled because I cut the hole in the milk bag too big.

But we got it done. Like yesterday, I find myself drawing little circles into his back, and again, I have to stop myself. “Are you sure you don’t want to—”

“No.”

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence.”

“I know what you’re thinking anyway.”

What an asshole. “There’s milk all over the ground.”

“I’ll clean it.”

“I can’t drink my tea if you’re carrying me.”

“I think we have a straw somewhere.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes and I smack his back. “At least let me sit. My legs are going numb.”

“That I can do,” he purrs, every word dripping with smug that lands on my face like hot wax. I want to curl into myself as he swings me like a mannequin, placing me on the couch as if I’m made of cobwebs. “Don’t move.”

I’m going to kill him. Cold air presses in on me and I push myself into the rough fabric in a vain attempt to escape it.

Jean returns with both mugs and offers one to me before sitting down on the other side of the couch and taking a sip, recoiling immediately as if slapped. “Hot!” He puts the mug down and hones in on me. “Don’t drink it yet.”

Rubbing the sides of the cup, I soak in the fleeting warmth it offers me. “I’m thirsty, Jean.”

He blinks, putting his hands up as if suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Uh.” Then he holds them out. “Here.”

Our hands brush as I hand over my beverage. Once, twice, he dips his head forward as if to drink it, purses his lips, and asks, “is it okay if I blow on it?”

I get a little warm inside. “You… don’t have to do that.”

“I’d like to. I mean,” he adds quickly, “if you’re comfortable with that.” Two of his fingers tap the glass in a rhythm known only to himself. I smile a little. Didn’t we literally kiss?

“Okay.”

He flashes me a quick smile in return before puckering and puffing gently, cautiously into the tea, blowing small ripples that lap at the opposite side of the mug but never spill over. I trace a green line on the couch until it disappears over the curve of the back cushion and a shiver abruptly passes through me.

“Jean.”

“Mmm?”

With effort, I wrench myself into a sitting position, spurring him to look over from his delicate task.

“Hey—”

“Sorry. Can I… can I hold you?”

He stops. I stop. “Oh, I— uh.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Of course.”

Hesitantly, my arms snake around his closest to me and I lean my head against his shoulder. Feeling the expansion and contraction of his chest with every forced exhalation.

This feels different from last night. That was a necessity. I mean, I couldn’t leave him all alone; he was in rough shape. Not to mention he didn’t want to be alone. Not that he… terribly influenced my decision. No. I did it because I’m taking care of him and nothing more. Like… inserting a catheter. Strictly a necessity.

As for the pill, well. That’s… well, I’m just kidding myself at this point.

Maybe I am a bit in love with him. Maybe I don’t know what to do with myself around him anymore. Should I lean in for a quick peck? Give him a fist bump? Stroke or tousle his hair?

He likes me back, right? He does, right? I mean, the way he looks at me is… different.

Right?

I close my eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“Mmm.” His little baritone hum, deep in his chest; does he know what it does to me? “Tea first.”

Groggily, I open my eyes as the warm brim of the mug presses against my bottom lip and tilts; I open to let the warm fluid run into my mouth. “Mmmh,” I grunt, and he puts the mug away.

“You were saying?” Jean says softly, landing his closest hand over my shoulder, rubbing in circles with his thumb. I look into his eyes and the acidic words forming on my tongue neutralize right there.

“Tell me a story.”

“Let’s get comfy first.”

I let my head fall onto his arm again but he takes my shoulder and gently pushes me onto my back, hovering over me, silhouetted by the light. “Is your neck okay like this?”

My words are but a whisper. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs as he lies down himself, trapping me between his warm body and the back of the couch. It’s small piece of furniture; Jean’s visible leg hangs over the other armrest and he probably has the other on the ground.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?”

His breath hits my face as he speaks. “It’s okay.”

My eyes trace up the curve of his body, up to his face which is so close to mine we might as well be touching, and he smiles again, and this time I can see how it lights up his entire face; the way his skin stretches, the way his eyes get a little smaller. If I really focus, I can see my own reflection.

“What kind of story do you want?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

Our gazes don’t break as he pauses, and when he speaks, his voice fills the air between us, vibrating every molecule. “When I was a kid, my mom would tell me stories.”

“Mmm-hm.”

“They were always about my dad. And I never really understood why she told me these stories.” He breathes out in amusement. “I’d get so… irritated. Asked her why she always told me stories about the guy that didn’t — doesn’t — even care about us.”

As he speaks, his focus wanders, but always lands back on me. I reach for the arm that rests at his side and pull it in between us. He watches the whole time but doesn’t shrink away.

“And she would always say that the memories they had together were real, even if it didn’t turn out in the end. And I’d tell her he’s just a deadbeat and that she shouldn’t care about him.”

“Mmm.”

“And then I met you.”

I can’t help it. I smile again.

“And then I just… understood. How it’s the little moments you hold on to the most.” And he grins.

“Maybe,” I murmur, swiping my thumbs over his warm, fleshy palms, “it’s the other way around.”

He blinks. “Maybe.”

==> dreamcore, daniel.mp3

I bring his hand up to face level, examine the veins that splay out beautifully under his skin, weaving between tendons, plunging deep into the muscle and bone and fat. “Tell me one of your mom’s stories.”

It takes a moment for him to think. “It was after high school. Their last summer together. He was going into fine arts and she was going to study medicine.”

“Mmm.”

“But that night, long after the sun went down and the birds stopped singing, they were just walking around aimlessly. Nothing to do except enjoy each other’s company, I guess.”

Something shifts in his tone as he lapses into the narrator’s perspective.

“But even though they were spending time together as usual, both were thinking about how one day, very soon, they were going to move to opposite sides of the country and maybe never see each other again.”

“But they did see each other again, right?” His skin burns against mine. “They had you.”

“Well, not exactly.” His hand suddenly gains life, flexing lightly. “That’s the summer I was… conceived.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, I’m not super close with my grandparents.” He purses his lips and now he’s looking at his fingers. “That’s an entire story on its own. Anyway. They were walking together at night, fearless to whatever was in the dark. Only their own futures.

“And while they were walking it suddenly started to rain. My mom said it came out of nowhere, like a bucket of water was poured on their heads. So they did what any other person would do.”

“Go home?”

“Run to the park.”

“Sounds like something you’d do.”

“Shush, you… They ran for the park like their lives depended on it, but they were soaked by the time they got there. So they decided to have a picnic in the pouring rain. And they stayed there until the rain stopped and the birds started singing again.”

“What happened after?”

“Well, by the time she got to that part in the story, I fell asleep.”

I huff lightly. “Finish it for me.”

After some hesitation, he speaks again. “When the birds started singing, they noticed a strange person in the trees. It appeared to be a man in a fedora.”

I crack my eyes open, not realizing they shut in the first place. “A fedora?”

“Fedoras are cool!”

The worst part is, I can imagine him wearing one.

“Stop laughing.”

“Sorry.” Without thinking, I use his hand to cover my mouth. “Continue.”

“The— the man in the — hat — approached the two. And he asked them if they’d seen his notebook anywhere. It was a sketchbook, he said, and he liked to draw birds. They said no, so he kept moving on.

“Truth is, he didn’t use it to draw birds. He liked drawing people.”

I hum.

“People were everywhere, and every one looked so different. Every mark and wrinkle was a testament to their way of life. He’d examine people’s faces for so long, he could see things that others couldn’t. He noticed things that the faces’ owners didn’t.

“He’d bring that little sketchbook everywhere, drawing every face that he saw, beautiful, ugly, short, long. And after a while of doing this, he realized that, despite all faces being slightly different, they were all the same, too. They were all strangers in his life, predictable. Every face followed a… a pattern. He couldn’t quite put it into words.”

I give his hand a small squeeze.

“One day, he went to the cafe. And of course, he brought his sketchbook with him. He sat on a barstool near the corner of the restaurant, right in front of the big window, and started sketching the people walking outside. When the waiter came up and asked what he wanted, he asked for a coffee.

“He didn’t look back up until the waiter returned, and when he looked into her face to say thank you, he noticed something strange.

“It was pretty, the most beautiful face he’d seen in his life, and he’s seen a lot of faces. It wasn’t just her face, though. It was her mannerism, her tone of voice, the way she stirred his drink a little so the grounds and sugar wouldn’t sink all the way to the bottom and the way she asked if there was anything else that she could do for him, as if the question was truly asked out of her heart and not just because she’s getting paid to… this person, at that moment, broke the pattern.”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When I wake up, the Cars blanket is draped over me. Music plays over the sound of the sink running, and if I listen close enough, I can hear Jean humming along. Dishes clash.

“Shit!”

I must have fallen asleep with my mouth open, because now my throat is so dry it takes an effort to swallow. Slowly, I sit up and lean forward to take a sip of (cold) tea, but it doesn’t do much for the wheeze in my lungs. Jean starts singing softly with the chorus.

“And don’t go there ‘cuz you’ll never return…”

Standing there, washing dishes like a maniac and singing. The strands of his voice, like a bobbing needle, weave between the guitar and bass, and at times it’s hard to differentiate them at all, the tangle of melody and tempo. I melt into the sound, dissipating into thin air. Almost forgetting how much harder it became to breathe.

“Then you did something wrong and you said it was great…”

I stand at a snail’s pace — not avoiding the sudden pressure in my head as I do so — and drag myself into the kitchen.

There’s a dishcloth slung over his left shoulder and his hair’s tied up with — I check my wrist — my hairtie. Seemingly careless of his crime, he nods his head slightly with the music, biting his upper lip in concentration. I wouldn’t forgive him if he didn‘t look so…

at ease. Loose?

Happy.

The sink suddenly spits water at him, drenching his already-wet sweatshirt.

“Ugh.” And now he looks up. “Oh.”

I smile as the singer reaches a high note and Jean hurriedly shuts off the tap.

“Alexa, stop. What’re you doing up?” The music cuts and he rushes to my side in an instant, cupping my shoulders as if expecting I’ll collapse. There’s a spoon in his hand and it drips on the ground. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I was sleeping.” His top-knot sticks out and it’s just begging for me to touch it. “You have a… beautiful voice. By the way.”

He eyes the ground, reddening. “Yeah, yeah.”

Without thinking I tap his cheek. “Let’s cook,” I say. “I’m hungry.”

Jean blinks, touching the area of impact. “Cook?” He stirs again when I snatch the dishcloth from his shoulder. “Wait! No, you’re sick!” But I’m already in the kitchen.

“Oh, you… put the groceries away?”

“I’m not a barbarian. Sit down.” He tosses the spoon in the dish strainer. “Let me cook.”

“No, Mr. White.” I clear my painful throat.

“Ha, ha. Sit down, okay? Do you want me to bring a chair over?”

When he touches my shoulder I turn. “Jean, really.” But my voice is small, and it betrays me, the familiar weakness sapping at my muscles and limbs. “If I have to eat another… butt-end almond butter and cheese sandwich I’m really gonna lose it.”

==> farewell, erikson jayanto

His jaw clenches and unclenches. “Okay. Fine. But I’m helping you.”

“In that case.” I use the cloth to wipe up the water around the sink. “Chopping board. Please.”

“On it.”

“Knife?” Cloth hangs over the tap.

“Yep.”

Taking an extra deep breath in an attempt to sever the strings binding down my lungs, I joke, “don’t kill me.”

He takes the utensil in a stabbing pose. “No promises.”

I bat his arm aside, to the counter. “You know how to cut vegetables, right?”

“Yeah, I know how.”

As he rummages in the fridge to make himself useful, I rinse the rice in a definitely overqualified patterned bowl, nearly falling asleep as my hand draws lazy circles in the warm grains. I’m done in time to see him cut up a carrot — attempt to, at least. He sticks the knife in at bizarre angles and intervals, creating weird orange blocks that skid away from the board after every uneven chop.

“Jean.”

“Eh?” His voice is muffled because he’s biting his lip again. It’s painfully obvious that he’s never done this before.

“Did you peel it?”

“I told you, I’m not barbaric.”

I wrap a hand around his left hand — his chopping hand — and lift it above my head. Jean is silent as I push into the space between his body and the counter and put his arm back to lock myself in. He doesn’t budge as I lean heavily back against him. “Like this.” And I grab the backs of his warm hands like computer mice and awkwardly move them into a good position.

His every breath presses against me, chin resting on top of my head, and if I lean just right I can feel his heart race against my back.

And the heat. Maybe it’s just the sickness raising my body temperature, but it burns where we touch.

“Cut.”

He does, muscles and tendons going rigid under my grip as he puts his weight on the blade. The carrot slice rolls away and falls off the counter, but Jean catches it. “Aha.” His voice a vibration in his throat. “See that?” He brandishes it in front of me like a trophy.

“Yes, Jean, very impressive.”

We position ourselves again. Jean lets me set his hand at an angle so the tip of the knife leans down. “Try cutting. At an angle.”

He does, requiring little help from my guiding hand. The carrot slice stays on the cutting board. Amused, I twist to look up at his face.

Jean looks shocked as if I caught him doing something heinous and his skin reddens like he’s just been blasted with four hours of unadultered sunlight. His mouth becomes a smile despite it all. “Ma— uh, magical.”

It’s like this for a few seconds before I turn back to our work. “Let’s finish.”

What are you doing to me?

It turns out Jean is quite the natural; after just a few more tries he can use the knife on his own, and I’m just decoration. If you think about it, cooking is a kind of art. And Jean is good with his hands.

I stick with him, though.

“Any pots?”

“Mmm. We have one under the stove.”

“Another gift from Reiner?”

He scoffs lightly. “That was a one-time thing.”

I reach backwards for his arm and end up tapping his bicep. “Pot.”

He detaches from my back and I suddenly realize how cold the air is — it’s like a warm blanket was thrown off me. I lean against the counter. The pot of choice, a great red thing that looks like it’s never been used before, is plopped on to one of the burners and Jean immediately wraps around me again. Delirious heat.

“Thanks.”

“Now what?”

“This way.” I shuffle us over to the stove, stepping on his feet a few times, and turn the element on. “We put the rice in.”

Jean’s on it, taking the bowl and unceremoniously dumping in the rice.

“Not yet!”

He recoils. “Oh, oops.”

Shit. Knowing it’s going to hurt, I swallow anyway. “It’s okay.” I grin reassuringly, though he can’t see it. “Just need to stir.” Grateful for his presence, I search the drawers for a spatula — a nice wooden one — and hand it to Jean.

“Me?”

“Think you can do it?”

He takes it, grasping the pot handle, and pushes the rice around the pot. “Like this?” he asks, not noticing the jab. Just dripping with innocence. I feel bad.

“Perfect.”

“How long?”

“Until you feel like it’s done.”

His chest undergoes a sudden compression as he huffs and I realize just how much I’m leaning on him. “And how do I know that?”

I shrug.

So Jean stirs.

“Hm?” he says when I nudge him after a while.

“Add the broth now. And carrots.”

He hums. We turn in tandem so he can fetch the former from the fridge and I watch as he pours it slowly.

“That’s enough.”

As Jean inhales deeply his beard scratches my cheek; he’s bringing his head down to my level. I turn to meet his gaze and smile. “What?”

His eyes flutter to my chin and back.

“You want something?”

He doesn’t stop boring into me, swirling something deep in my gut like a witch’s brew. “I dunno.”

“I do.” I tilt my head up at the slightest angle to afford him a better view and his eyes widen. “You want the carrots. In the pot.”

There’s a little tic in his expression. Like he wants to engulf me, pull me deep into himself. But he just breathes, “right.” And dumps the carrots.

Stirring…

“Are you tired?”

“No.” I clear my throat again and it takes a while for the phlegm to go away fully. My feet shuffle back in an attempt to support myself, to no avail. “Bought chicken?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s tear some of it.”

==> october, adrián berenguer

The spatula clicks against the stovetop as Jean puts it down. “Wait.” I turn to meet him, backing against the hard edge of the counter, and the world turns to mush before I gather my bearings. “Wait,” he repeats, softer, putting his hands down on either side of me, locking me in place. “I need to say something.”

“Jean?” Skin turning cold where we once touched. Knees loose. Breath heavy and laboured. I latch onto his gaze and stay there. He is quicksand, sucking me in deeper with no bottom in sight, and I’m powerless to it, to the shifting grains and the lashing wind, the indefinite maelstrom of everything built up and unsaid. Until he says it, and the storm stills.

“What… are we?”

My breath is loud; every one another closer to the answer. The witch’s brew is long since tipped over, seeping its uneasy juices into my bones and muscles and tendons, rendering me feeble and invertebrate.

What are we?

“What do you want… us to be?”

A heartbeat of pause. His voice is soft but confident and takes over my every sense, light filtering into dark, soup into ice, pain into numbness. “More than this. More than what we had before.”

My hands gravitate to cover Jean’s and brush up to rub his forearms, right before the wrists, and I can see the terror that he holds, the possibility of abandonment that he keeps framed up and hung away in a little corner of his mind.

“Like now?”

His eyelids shut, separating us for a few seconds before he opens them again. “No.” And he lowers to my height. “Not like this. I dont— I don’t want any more second-guessing. No more in-betweens. I just— I need to know if we’re together or if we’re just…” He does that thing with his lip again. “I can’t do it anymore. Wondering how close I should be walking beside you, if I should offer you my chair or share it, if— if you’ll ever think of me the same way I think of you.” Despite swallowing, his voice wavers still. “I really think highly of you. I mean, I just— I— sometimes.” The last word is uttered with a small sigh as if he’s accepting defeat.

“Sometimes I feel like you’ve taken me over completely. It sounds stupid, I know, I… When we’re all together, I’m always… thinking about you. If you’ll like this thing. What I should say to make you laugh. God, I love your laugh. There’s just something… about… you… that makes me want to be by your side, and when I’m not, it doesn’t feel right, I didn’t know what right felt like until I met you. When I— I… looking at you just makes me really, really happy, and I’ve never really felt like this before. Never felt so ready to do anything, absolutely anything for a person.” He inhales deeply. “I’m— it’s hard for me to describe how I feel, but in the end I just know.

“I’m in love— I’m in love with you, the way you walk, your voice, the way you’re always looking around, everything that you think is a flaw and… I don’t want to play this game of in-between anymore because this, not knowing how you feel, is killing me. If you— you don’t have to say yes. I just need to know. What are we?”

What are we?

The frame is broken, fallen off its hook, glass shattering on impact as the wooden body collapses and snaps in on itself. Cutting countless tiny holes torn into the fabric guise of courage. Hands trembling against my sides.

The answer I want to give him is there, a vibrating and incomprehensible bundle of warmth and devotion and tenderness that is utterly unattainable behind the metal barrier of the spoken word, as much as it beats and bores into the confines of its enclosure. How much longer?

They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. It’s more like a well. Dark, deep, secretive of what lies inside behind its deceptive beautiful adornments.

But if I let myself go, if I allow myself to hang over the stone ledge and slip in to see for myself, despite the fear of hitting the cold, lonely bottom…

My hand cups his cheek and he tilts his head, leaning into it.

“Jean.”

He says my name back, just as tender, twice as fearful, and the unfamiliar frequency twinges a string in my consciousness. I open my mouth.

“How you managed to fall for me is… it’s beyond me. You’re smart, you’re strong, you’re talented… To me, you’re about as attainable as a star.”

He shakes his head tightly but I continue as he inhales to speak, hints of his voice catching the air through his throat.

“You might not think so but you’re… whenever I’m with you I just feel like everything is going to be okay in the end.” My chest burns and my voice falters. “You make me feel safe. When I imagine our future together, I’m— we’re always happy.”

If I wasn’t touching him I would never notice the small nod of gentle encouragement he gives, so much hope piled onto such a tiny movement.

“And it’s been eating away at me, because every time we look at each other I have to wonder— I have to stop and ask myself if you really like me back too.”

His eyes widen. My pulse races through my body; he can probably feel it through my hand. The truth, that’s all it is, comes pouring out unrestricted, a torrent of words tearing through my soul.

“What are we? That’s a silly question. We spend time with each other and care for each other. We share our food and our beds. You passed an important test last month and I brought everyone over with cake to celebrate, and you know my schedule so you always come to the cafe when I’m working.” I puff in amusement. “And it’s when I least expect it, too. We share so many playlists it isn’t even funny anymore, because you influenced my taste in music so much.”

“You’re the one who influenced me,” he says with a small smile.

“Frankly, I’m in love with you, and— and you’re in love with me.” I sway on my feet and put my other hand to his face to steady myself. “We know that now. We know that, so isn’t that enough? We’re two people in love, who act like they’re in love, who know they’re in love… Has anything really changed?” My peripheries go blurry. “Can’t we figure it out from here? No labels?”

“No labels.” A smile is cracking his face, skin pulling beneath my palms as his eyes crinkle, shattering the restrictive veil he wears and painstakingly paints on every morning. “We’re us. You’re right. Nothing’s changed at all. Just two people in love.” His grin widens. “Just… us.”

I smile too, I smile until my face hurts and I start giggling, but Jean is right there with me, unable to help the laughter that rings around his ribcage with a melody that is uniquely his. I let my head drop and he closes the distance between us, pulling me deep into himself, and it’s like an invisible film wrapped around me has been popped for the first time. We’re hugging for the first time. We’re touching for the first time. Unrestricted. Without fear.

Two people in love.

My laughs soon turn into coughs and the illusion is broken. Jean steps back, still pinning me against the counter.

“You want more tea?”

I scan the kitchen. “I don’t suppose Reiner got you guys a microwave?”

“I’ll make more.”

“But—”

“No buts. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say before the clamouring in my mind.

“Go lie down. I’ll finish up here.”

I turn my head up and a string in my neck suddenly starts to burn, halting the action. Stiff neck. I look down at his socks.

“You sure?”

His hands enter the picture and take mine. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? Granny?”

“You know what? Just take me to the gym.”

He hisses through his teeth. “Okay, I get your point. I’m sorry.”

Pot bubbling away in the background, we make it to the bedroom. I roll onto Jean’s criminally soft covers and he drapes the quilt over me, trapping me in my own heat.

“Go to sleep, okay?” His voice is a soft rumble, sandpaper fleece.

“Okay, father.”

“I don’t want to see the lights on when I walk by,” he adds, sternly.

“Or what?”

His dark form pauses, then leans down against my ear. “Sleep.” And he plants his lips against my hot cheek before withdrawing.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

me: @/chismosa

me: sash

me: wya

chismosa: im at the store

me: ??? i thought we were meeting at urs?

chismosa: change of plans! eren said jean came in whilw he was working soo

chismosa: just wait there. shave ur head or sth

chismosa: dont use my razor tho

me: .

me: ur lucky my phones abt to die or i woukd call nd cuss u out

me: im just gonna go back to mine

chismosa: wait

chismosa: cons

me: phobe dying

chismosa: CONNIE NO

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

When the spoon clinks against the bowl my head nearly splits open. My mouth is dry because my nostrils are plugged and everything inside me feels warm and centrifuged. I try to breathe in through my nose, fail, and end up coughing instead.

“Oh—” Jean drops his book— “are you awake?”

“It got worse,” I croak.

He smiles wryly. “Yeah. It’s pretty bad.” The sketchbook on the ground skids under the bed when he kicks it as he stands. “You hungry? Thirsty? Hot?”

I shut my eyes, not daring to move. “Just want to sleep.”

“You should eat something.”

“I don’t wanna puke.”

“You won’t puke.”

“You did.”

“That’s my own fault and you know it.” He reaches for something on the nightstand and produces a bowl. “You should at least try it. Please?” With the disposition of a kid trying to show off a cool drawing that he made.

“You finished making it?” I start to lift my head but Jean lunges forward.

“Wait! Let me.” He reaches over my lap for the pillows on the other side and works on propping them up against my back, chest against my face. Maybe I’ll pass out again.

“Jean?”

“Hm?” He returns to his original position, cradling my back. “Lean back now.”

I do and it’s just like yesterday, except our positions are switched. “Your hair is so pretty.”

“Oh.” A wavering smile takes over him. ��Really?”

==> parfum d’etoiles, ichiko aoba

He leans in when I beckon and lets me brush away the silky-soft strands that fall onto his face, gently pressing them back into the main mass of his hair with the backs of my fingernails. His hair. How long have I dreamed of doing this? Seeing the way it catches the sunlight to flare a molten gold during sluggish fall afternoons at my dorm, how the wind picks up strand after delicate strand as we walk through campus on the way back from the cafe, the way it always sticks to the back of his shirt when he turns his head. Something as unreachable as the reciprocation of my love. And yet… “So beautiful.”

He dips his head a little so I focus on his mini-ponytail—

“Ponytail,” I muse out loud, grinning. “Horseface and ponytail.”

At this he looks up indignantly, undoing all my work. Betrayal weighing on his brow. “You did not.”

“Oh—” my finger, entranced and with a mind of its own, traces his hairline, “—but I did.”

He scoffs as if it’s the only thing he can do and turns his head to the side, not hiding the heat that shows and radiates from his face as I stroke the strands over his ear. He eases down onto his elbows on either side of my body and he plays with his hands on my stomach. My thumb never leaves his skin, tracing his delicately shaved beard from the curve of his jaw down to his chin, and I use this position to pull his face toward me. Feeling his pulse, feeling the way the soft skin under his jaw moves as he swallows, inhales, opens his mouth with a small wet sound and speaks right into me.

“You’re beautiful.”

I want to cry.

Despite feeling like death, despite the mouthbreathing, despite the greasiness of my hair…

Jean’s gaze is unveiled, blazing with all the fondness and revere previously hidden and locked away, an unsurmountable number of words press-printed and bleeding onto millions upon millions of honeyed pages but never bound, never shut away from the sunlight and the sky and the polished wood shelves, blowing, scattering in the wind. I just might wither away under it all if I wasn’t looking back at him with just the same intensity. Locked in a silent competition neither of us will ever win.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Jean,” I say ever so lightly, only forming the shape of his name of his tongue as I exhale.

He blinks a few times and the mattress tilts as he reaches under the frame and pulls up his sketchbook, settling on the edge of the bed. It’s about the size and shape of a placemat, bound in black leather with a stiff metal coil binding it together. He flips through the heavy cream pages with experienced ease, squishing the flesh of the hand that holds it open. I can stare at his hands all day. The hairs that sprout near the wrists, the thick, sturdy fingers, the laced veins that bulge when he brings them down to his side but are always, always visible, the way the skin folds and creases at the joints, the white-hot tendons that decorate his knuckles and poke up when he flexes, the soft and jagged way he cuts the white of his fingernails, the warmth, the padding of his palms. The power that lies dormant in his muscles under every gentle movement. I want them forever to hold and cherish and cuddle. Among other things.

He finally finds the page he’s looking for and he folds the sketchbook in on itself on its metal hinge to flatten it. He taps his fingers against the back, a soft pitter-patter like rain.

“Are you going to show me?”

Face contorting slightly, he says, “it’s not finished.”

“So?”

“It doesn’t… exude you.”

I smile. “Exude?” But he’s lost in his mind, lost in the lines interwoven in shapes and shadow on the page that are supposed to constitute a greater picture.

“Qu’est-ce que…” he mutters, not to me, not to anyone. Without looking he picks up a pencil from the nightstand and lays a few more strokes onto the paper. The graphite scratches the bumpy composite, seemingly at random at first, but Jean’s movements soon fall into a rhythm. Every once in a while his eyes flicker from the page to me and I meet him every time.

I don’t know how long we sit here, soaking in the comfortable silence, but he eventually breaks the illusion by leaning back and swiping the eraser crumbs off. “I don’t like it,” he says with a note of finality.

I’m almost asleep. “Mm— show me.”

“No…”

His face disappears behind my hand, which makes a pinching motion. “Jeaaan.”

He sighs; reluctantly, he offers the whole book to me and stares through the window (curtains still drawn). I flip it over to see and—

I blink away the gunk that doesn’t exist and hold the page back so it catches the dim light from the hallway better. “Did you just do this?”

It’s… me. It’s me in his bed, hair splayed, eyes half-lidded yet still staring through the page, features lit from on one side and bleeding into the shadowy graphite at the other. Pinned up and immortalized in this very moment by his own hands, every stroke with a purpose.

“I know, the composition is off and the lines aren’t harmonizing.”

“Harmonizing? Jean, this is beautiful.”

“Hah?” He clambers to the empty spot beside me so we can both look. “No, look, I messed up right…” he points with the worn-down eraser end of his pencil. “There. And there, and—”

I swat it away. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Don’t you realize how good this looks? I mean—” holding the portrait up next to my own face, I smile. “See?”

“Not the same,” he groans. “Everything’s—”

I stick the side of my finger against his teeth and he recoils into the pillow. “What!” He pries me off, gripping my forearm with virtually no pressure. “What was that for?”

“Whatever you think, I love it.” I clear my throat. “Thank you so much, Jean. I mean it.”

He pauses. “Well, I’m— I’m glad you like it. Expect more.”

“More?”

His eyelids flutter; hesitantly, he takes some of my hair and twirls it in his finger. “I can’t help myself.”

Some of the heat in my core rises to my face, but it’s okay, so I don’t bother turning away.

“One day I’ll get good enough to draw you for real.”

Draw me for real? As far as I’m concerned, he’s always drawing me, conjuring up a little image of me in his mind every time my name is brought up. That’s enough. That’s more than enough.

“Are you ready for soup now?”

“I’m tired. I don’t wanna move.”

“When did I say you have to move?”

It’s easy for him with his stupidly long limbs to climb over me and stand again. He takes the bowl on the nightstand and hooks his chair with his foot, dragging it forward before sitting. “It’s still a bit warm, okay?” he says, stirring the mixture.

“That looks good.”

He looks up briefly to smile. “Thanks. I found a recipe online.”

“You should get into cooking.”

He shrugs and holds up the spoon, bowl close underneath to prevent spillage. “Aah.”

I take it. The metal clicks uncomfortably against my teeth but the food is warm and good. “This is good,” I declare when my mouth is empty. “Do you really not cook that often?”

“Nope. Aah.”

I chew and swallow. “When do I get my pill?”

Jean looks like he’s choking for a second. “Uh— what, do you want it right now?”

“Sooner the better, I guess.”

He blinks, then takes the package of ibuprofen from the nightstand and unwraps a pill, puts the box away, and pinches it in his hand like it’s a precious stone. “Are you sure?”

I raise an eyebrow and hold my hand out. He stares at it, dumbfounded.

“What’s that for?”

“The pill?”

His mouth opens and closes. “Oh.” He gently places the pill onto my waiting palm. “Right.”

“What were you thinking?”

He licks his lips. “Nothing.”

I pop it dry and it hits the back of my throat before disappearing forever. Jean cringes. He’s staring at the ground, knees pushed together to hold the bowl, slightly too big for the chair he’s sitting on.

“Jean.”

“Yeah?” He perks up.

“If you want to kiss me, you can.”

He tenses around the bowl. “No! That’s…” A weak chuckle rolls in his torso. “Uh. Good to— good to know.”

I smile as silence falls between us again and the room teems with potential. He feeds me in silence, gentler with the spoon this time, pushing it against my soft bottom lip and inserting just the right amount not to hit my throat, tilting it up during the exit so my upper lip rides the gentle curve of the metal and scrapes out the meal. Everything with a calculated and smooth movement, as if feeding me is an art.

He really is good with his hands.

Now he has a tissue and holds it up as if asking for permission. I nod; he leans in to wipe some off my face, a soft furrow in his brow, biting his lip. Starting at the corner, pressing into the supple skin and making his way inward, he easily catches the mess, folds the tissue, and does the other side. He finishes off with a small dab and crumples the it, obscuring it completely in his fist. Not moving back.

“Can I have some tea?”

==> i was only temporary 2 u, my head is empty

Silently, he stretches to take a mug off the nightstand, and just like before, pushes the rim against my lip. I tilt back and drink; it’s sweet, almost head-swimmingly so, and liquid smooth.

“Mmh.”

He puts the mug down and one-handedly stashes it back to its spot. Some of the drink had dribbled from the corner of my mouth to my chin and drips onto the sheet, forming a small, dark blotch on the white. When I glance back up, so does Jean, and we lock eyes.

Unreadable.

I don’t notice him get closer until he’s on me, trapping me against the headboard, tracing the path of the tea to the corner of my lips with his own. Not satisfied, he brushes against the other side of my lip and the tip of my nose before stopping at eye level. Taking in a breath before ever so slowly inching forward, sealing off my air. My eyes slip closed.

It’s different this time. He’s hesitant, waiting for me to make the move, so I do, tracing the crescent of his warm, plump lip with my tongue — god, how long have I wanted this? How long have his lips stared back at me? — in an attempt to crack him open, without pattern but with hidden rhythm, just like his pencil. He tastes like overly sweet tea.

His fingers caress my jaw and tangle into my hair as mine do the same, tracing the scrub of his beard, pulling out the hairtie and tossing it before taking the impossibly silken strands in greedy fistfuls, making my blood go loose and coat my guts in something inexplicable that almost makes me lose my focus. The air from his nose tickles my skin and finally he gives, breaking the dam, exploring the surfaces I have to offer as if mapping it out for later with a painful, cautious leisure. Never stopping, always movement: the bristles of his chin occasionally scraping against mine; his hands languidly falling down my neck, pushing me back against the pillows; mine, seizing his collar, pulling as a desperate indication to remove it and to come closer; the dip of the bed as he obliges to the latter, knees locking me in place. As if I would move, despite my racing pulse, despite my heart threatening to slip out of its bony confines and tear my burning lungs—

==> might start singing - sped up, sheldon charlot

The metallic sound of a key grating into the keyhole. Like deer in the headlights we freeze as the key turns, the lock disengages, and the front door swings open.

Jean looks like someone just shot at him; blindly, I swat at the thick muscle between his neck and shoulder until he awkwardly rolls off, ramming into the nightstand with his head in the process. The bowl and mug and clock rattle, nearly drowning out his pained grunt. He lands sitting on the ground and I sit up ramrod straight.

“Jean? That you?”

We peer at each other through the dark, thoughts unspoken, yet still understood. My pulse is on overdrive, for a different reason now.

Connie!

His footsteps get louder as he stomps down the hall; I pull the blanket up (to cover what, exactly?) as Jean shoots onto his feet — slamming his shoulder against the nightstand again — just as his roommate’s shadow fills the doorway to Jean’s room.

“Ugh, you’re gonna kill your eyes, man.” A blinding light pierces as Connie flips a switch. “Can I borrow your charger? I left mine— I left…”

When my eyes adjust, Connie’s staring into me under Jean’s arm. He looks between the two of us as the pieces fall together in his head like a game of jelly Tetris and it’s evident when he figures it out, when all the rows are cleared and the trumpets blare and the screen flashes with confetti, when a grin that’s all too Connie takes over his face. “Oh. You guys have been real naughty while I was gone, huh?”

I start to speak but Jean’s faster. “What are you on about? I was just giving her food.”

Connie raises an eyebrow, skeptical. At the obviously empty bowl, the ruffled covers, our heaving chests and wrinkled clothes, Jean’s hair which is uncharacteristically roughed up and messy and falling all over his eyes. “Yeah.” He smirks at me. “Food.”

Jean swallows.

“Connie,” I say slowly as the last taste of Jean slips away, “you won’t tell Sasha, right?”

“I dunno.” All too gleeful, he leans against the wall, tapping it as if waiting for something. “Will I?”

“You can use Jean’s car for a week if you don’t.”

Said person twitches. “Huh!?”

No stranger to the bargain, Connie narrows his eyes. “A month.”

“Two weeks or no deal.”

“Fine, but I get to decide which days.”

“Wait, when did I—”

“Deal,” I say, cutting Jean off. I shoot him an apologetic look as Connie caws in victory.

“Hell yeah! Suck it!” He points at the owner of said car. “She’s all mine now, Jeanboy!” Then he points at me. “I love you and my lips are sealed forever, okay? This is our little secret. Woo!” He skips down the hallway and picks something up with a jingle before the door opens and shuts and all is quiet.

At a sloth’s pace, Jean reaches for his pants pocket. “My keys aren’t here.”

“I’m sorry, Jean.”

He slumps, leans his butt against the bed, and turns to me like a war widow, voice barely a whisper. “It had to be done.”

“Your car will be fine.” I try to undo some of the damage thoughtlessly wrought upon his hair, smoothing it out. “It’s only two weeks.”

“Knowing Connie, he’s going to spread it out over two years,” he sighs, staring at the wall. “You know he likes to eat in it, right?”

Saying nothing, I keep stroking his hair, tracing my his scalp with my fingertips, and he leans in to my shoulder.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

“Connie?” Sasha says when he pulls up outside the store, hiding her fingers from the bitingly cold air by shoving them in her coat pockets. “What are you doing here?”

“More importantly, what’s he doing in Jean’s car?” Eren adds, in the process of pulling up his hair into a bun. “Did you kill him, Connie?”

“I struck a bargain,” Connie says smugly. “You guys want a ride, or what?”

Sasha blinks. “You saw them together and they agreed to let you use Jean’s car as long as you kept quiet about it.”

“Nuh-uh!” the driver bursts as Eren nods.

“Adds up.”

Connie’s grip around the wheel tightens. He won’t— he can’t let his dream ride slip from his hands so quickly. “Sasha, no! I just let him use— I mean, he let me use his car if I did all his laundry for a month.”

“Really?” his best friend muses.

Frantic, he nods.

She scowls. “Don’t give me that crap, Constance Springer.” Trace puffs of steam appear at her rapid spew of words. “You don’t even know how to do laundry.”

“I do so! I Youtubed it!”

“Bullshit.”

“Woman, nuh uh!”

“Can I go now?” Eren drawls, almost immediately drowned out by their combined bickering. He sighs, putting the finishing touches on his bun, and traces the leafy skyline.

So they really did get together. He didn’t think Jean had it in him. Casually, he taps his pocket, the bunched-up lanyard underneath.

Sasha had grilled him constantly though the store as he did his rounds, even following him to the employee-only area. Hell, she stood outside the bathroom waiting for him when he tried to hide for his break. There was just no escaping her.

“What did he buy?”

“Like, soup stuff.”

“What’s the first thing he said?”

“My name?”

“Did he mention her?”

“No.”

“Do you have a receipt?”

“No.”

And so on and so forth. She asked for Jean’s grocery haul maybe a hundred times, and he answered every time with the same mind-numbing ingredient list. Every. Single. Time.

A small smile lights his face. He didn’t tell her everything, though.

As much as he wanted to mention Jean’s embarrassingly poor attempt to hide the box with his body from Eren’s prying eyes at the checkout, he thought better of it, because then she’d really go off the hook. That, and he wants Jean to owe him. He covers his mouth before the others notice his growing smile at the memory replaying in his mind. Condoms? Really? Does Jean not trust Connie enough to use some of his? More importantly, does he really think he’ll be using them? Truly?

Eager beaver.

“Don’t tell them, okay?” Connie says, already defeated. “Or else they’ll take this car away…”

“Don’t you realize, Connie? It doesn’t matter who I tell because soon enough they’ll be walking around in public holding hands and all that. So your leverage is basically null.”

He stares forlornly at the little Sanrio charm hanging from the rearview mirror. “When did you get so good at this?”

“That’s just common sense.”

Sighing, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “Well,” he says without looking up, “you guys wanna go for a long drive?”

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

writing confession scenes kill me in every physical metaphorical and metaphysical way you can imagine. thats some psychic damage right there. despite that, i love writing

seems we cant escape the inevitable kiss scene! i tried to switch it up this time. not a huge fan of recurring plot and all but i think in circles sometimes. like a dying fruit fly

about that epilogue -- i dont think i'll be employing those for a while. or maybe i will. who knows?

masterlist part 1 - two ibuprofen

#jean kirschtein fanfiction #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein fanfiction #aot fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #pushable #pushs oneshots

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