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firefly--bright · 2 months ago

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come january. (2)

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern au. part two of this fic.

summary ; to love someone is to know someone, fully, wholly, and jean fulfills this, wholly, knowingly.

warnings ; badly written smut, MDNI. ive never written smut before so its probably going to be bad. please tread carefully. literally the most vanilla sex u can ever imagine. too wordy.

a/n ; as said before ive never done this before and i really dont think writing smut is my forte with my writing style? but. i've had ideas and i just wanted to explore the idea of writing it. as practice. or wtv. so if you dont like it pls feel free to not interact at all OR leave a constructive criticism in my askbox/messages.

taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable

again, MDNI. any and all minors who interact with this post will be blocked! this is a direct part two of this post, so reading it within context would be better :D

masterlist is in pinned post! ✿ enter my taglist! ✿

middle tile art creda to @yuka-levi on twt!

Everything happens. Universes are created, ended, made again. Strings – thick, usually unbreaking and strong, snap apart when his lips are on yours and you lose everything you ever thought you might had in him. And it belongs there, you think, because it feels right.

You pull apart, breaths heavy, hearts lighter, burrowed in each other's chests so deeply that it would take a skilled surgeon to replace them again. Your smile is still present on your face, gentle, whole, and your smile makes him smile even if his eyes are closed. There's a distance pop followed by a big bright flash of beautiful golden and you open your eyes, turning to the source. Fireworks. Another one, farther away, flashes out in all its glory, looking like the birth of a star. Jean’s head rests on your shoulder, his hands cupping your cheek, not taking his eyes away from you, watching the light dance on your features, lighting the tip of your nose and side of your cheek, kissing the corner where your ear meets your jaw because he finally can. Because he wants to, because he finds himself present there, with you and against you.

You inhale as his kisses spread further down your neck, your heart beating with the numerous fireworks in the sky only for you to realise that the new year was here and he was by your side, on your side just as he was supposed to be. You turned and his kisses trailed to the apple of your cheeks, to where your smile met your eyes.

“jean.” You said, your voice overlapping the boom of the firework, and jean hummed, his lips resting on your forehead, unmoving and you could feel his own soft smile on your skin. His hands cup your jaw, and yours lay on his cheek, guiding his eyes to meet yours again.

“happy new year.” You say, and he swallows the sound of your voice, proving your existence to be heard and seen. “happy new year.” He echoes, proving his own life, breathing it into you. “I love you.” your smile turns softer. You echo back, “I love you too, jean.” You thumb rests on his cheek, his eyes fluttering close, brows furrowing slightly, his breath on yours, and he thinks about how his name has always been yours to say, thinking briefly about changing his name so that no one but you could say it, utter himself into his being.

But he doesn’t because you’ll have him as he is, and his lips are on yours again because he wants to taste how it feels like to be. You lean back with the force of his lips, humming shortly into him, goosebumps covering your skin as his hand grazes over your thigh, keeping you in your reality, locking you into a promise, into a routine that he wouldn’t change. You loose focus, his eyelashes feel nice against yours, his hands feel warm on you, his hair feels so soft under your hands and he feels twice more real than anything ever has and ever could. He kisses you with soft force, wanting you to know that you still have choice, but knowing you’d choose him. Over and over again.

His tongue mingles with yours, no hesitance behind his teeth, nothing that could make him reluctant. Second nature. Muscle memory. You allow him just the same, a small noise escaping your throat not in disagreement but with just the opposite. His hand leaves your thigh to support you as you lean further back, unable to hold yourself up for longer. You pull back, his lips still following your every move.

“we should- we...inside?” you ask, loosing coherence, but jean catches the meaning you throw away so easily. He nods against yours, and you feel your noses bump.

climbing down is muscle memory. Second nature. Routine, whatever you want to call it, but the moonlight at hushed words that were exchanged made it become more of a shrine of itself that it really was. Like always, like all the times before this one where you were less hidden but also less seen, jean helps you down. you climb with your feelings in your throat, your love spilling everywhere you'd touch, which makes you grab his hand with even more fervor as he helps you down, slipping in the room from the ledge.

Sitting on the edge of the bed of the spare guest room, you catch your breath. Jean stands near the window, supporting himself on it after closing it, trying keeping his own breath controlled, enjoying the view. He cant stop the smile that seems to now find his home on his lips without care. He’d get your lips tattooed on the inside of his ribs if he, carve your name that was always meant to be his into his bones so in the future, after being buried next to you, they’d be in a museum for people to connect the dots themselves.

Seconds pass. They feel like hours, and he leaves his spot on the window, kneeling infront of you, placing one hand beside you and one on your knee, travelling up slowly, finding god in the way your expression shifted so easily and openly infront of him, your breath hitching, leaning down to capture his lips again. Its different this time, if only a little, because the gentle warmth had progressed into a proper temperature, you think, as you rest your hand on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, your other one drawing soft shapes into his back despite the weight of the kiss. His tongue was on yours again, stealing all the words you thought you could speak but giving them their home anyway. Gasping as he pulled away, all control is left to be picked up by the wind as he leans over you, pressing himself onto you, your back hitting the soft mattress gently, his lips touching every part of you that was exposed, kissing the lines of your collarbones, every vein and muscle that was hidden, ashamed under your skin igniting with colours that you didn’t know existed. “jean,”

He hummed on your skin again, his voice cracking. He supported his weight on his arm that held itself next to your head, his eyes closed into you, feeling your own hands everywhere on himself, warmth spreading across his body. His hand lifts your leg up, his hand moving upward, feeling the rest of your body, the parts you hadn’t shown.

“jean, wait-“ you say. He pulls apart instantly, concern clouding his features as he peers at you, his lips still close to yours. speaking takes a lot of control, something you try to seize after everything he’s done to make you forget it exists, “the door.” You mutter, your hand on his jaw. He pauses, glancing at the lock that was left open before, and nods reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go, and you agree, and you’re sure he knows it because your hand is still in his hair as he gets up. You do, too, opting to use the time to pull the zipper of your dress down.

If this was someone else – not that you’d want it to be – you’d have preferred to be more lost in the moment, but this was jean. Your jean, where every moment spent with him was spent lost within it. So you’d take your time because you had it. He wasn’t going anywhere – this was routine. Second nature, and jean turned back around from locking the door, breathing in to calm himself down again despite knowing that his breath was going to quicken, and it did. Or maybe he just lost all of it. All his thoughts stilled, only one ringing out in his ears along with his fastening heartrate, his cheeks red.

You're beautiful. With your clothes now pulled away, leaving you with your undergarments and the dim but present light shrouding your figure, lighting your hair, a small smile playing on your face.

You're beautiful. not that you weren't before but this - closest to divinity, closest to himself. Matching your state, jean decides to join you by removing his vest and the shirt that was underneath all in one swipe, while still taking long strides towards where you sat. his lips found yours as if they had never left, resuming your positions. Your hands find themselves undoing his belt as he presses kisses – soft, beautiful, full of words he couldn’t spell out – unclasping the hook of your bra with one hand, his own hands going down your back, tracing your spine that arched slightly, covered in goosebumps. Not because of the cold but because of how warm his touch was, because you were sure no-one had come close to the amount of softness that he held towards you. his lips were the complete opposite, his kisses fleeting but solid, sloppy but definite, sure of himself, of the fact that he wanted this – you. just you. everything with you.

He pulls away again and you suppress a whine, but he doesn’t go far – just enough to remove his trousers comfortably, throwing them somewhere on the floor along with the rest of his belongings. He doesn’t need them anymore because he has you and he belongs here, with you, more than he belongs with anything else he attaches himself with. Your pupils are blown wide and he sees the admiration in them, smirking when he catches you looking at him, your eyes going over every part of him without so much as an ounce of shame, unabashedly, maybe even a little proud.

He looks like god. His chest, well built moves up and down rapidly, his forearms outlining his veins, the slant of his chest that connected to his shoulders looked the closest to belonging you had ever felt. You shuddered as your eyes went even further down, taking in the contour of his dick, the fabric pulled taught, snapping your eyes to his again. And there lay your favorite view, even after seeing almost everything he had offered with simple actions and simpler existence, his eyes were always your favorite part – lit up but gauging your reaction, glazed over with everything he wanted.

“like what you see, beautiful?” he asks, leaning forward again, hovering over you with the same smile. your knees locked against either side of his waist, and you pull him in by the back of his neck to shut him up. “need what I see.” you whispered, your lips spelling it out on his own. He lifted your thigh, giving in.

his hands are everywhere. They're all your know, you're sure your skin could remember every callus and scar on them because of it. One settles on your hip, finally, the other still taking its time roaming on you, claiming its place near your upper thigh. His thumb his feather light, shadowy, whispering against the hem of your underwear, making you gasp. There's a spark in you that threatens to grow into something more, and you don’t know where to put your own hands. One circles his neck, playing with the ends of his hair – something that makes him stutter his movements. Your other hand, however, has plans of its own, carrying itself over to the waistband of his trunks, sliding further down, grazing the outline you had studied before. He grunts next to your ear. He licks his lips, his voice husky when he whispers into your ear, “god, you’re so beautiful.”

Not giving you a chance to reply if you even had one ready, he melts you into putty, his warm lips circling your nipple. Your strings are fraying, and his hand that had been resting on your hips is on your waist now, and you feel your voice calling out to him, pleading.

The spark grows, a knot forming in your core, “want- please, jean-“

“im yours, love.” He rasps, his tongue swirling around, making you gasp. You cupped your hand where it was, his size making another round of shivers run down your spine, his whimper on your breast, your skin soaking every sound as if it would save you from further decomposition, pulling the hem of his underwear down, feeling the size of his cock against you now. The spark evolves itself into something greater and you moan, his hand pushing your underwear aside. Whatever the spark was is now long gone, increasing its size into a fire, consuming your body, making your skin feel hot. He calls out your name, strained, gentle.

Your heart beating was probably the only proof of you being in this moment; the rest of your being had been fully consumed by jean, his lips sucking your neck, feeling your pulse in his mouth, trying with all his might to not give you everything he had, even if he was sure you already had it, drawn out and in front of him. He pulled you closer to him, your thighs hooked around his waist so you could feel him, and he could feel you, ready and wanting and waiting, your whimpers reaching his ears, settling in his chest, making him move, his muscles rippling with effort, all of which you could feel under your trembling fingers, gripping his shoulders with force as he pushed himself into you, filling you completely, slowly, wholly.

Everything opened. Sounds felt a little like they were underwater, and it took you a while to accommodate him, his hips grazing yours, and he was saying something. You exhaled shakily and everything closed again, and you could hear him clearly now, his voice the only thing that could guide you.

“feels..so good, sweetheart-“ he says, his tone being something you hadn’t heard from him before. you like it, enjoy it more than the moment youre caught up against. His voice slinks against your body, deep and uncontrolled because it was with you and for you, his lips nest to the cup of your ear making sure you could feel each syllable at its peaks and lows. “tu es fait pour moi, mon amour.” He rasps. You don’t know what he means, but you can feel it with the way his hands circle your clit. It feels like he’s worshipping you – every part of you being looked at gently, just as you were supposed to, and he feels like prayer to you because his name is the only thing you know how to speak. You repeat it with your eyes fluttering closed, feeling the fire turning, meeting something new.

Your mouth only sings of him. Its muscle memory as he pushes inside you again, guiding your thigh delicately and you want to burrow yourself into him, let him sink into you like he’s doing for the rest of how much ever youre allowed to have. The flame heats you up from the inside, spreading across every part of your body once again and if you’ve felt like this before, this overtakes. You don’t know what to call it – feelings and words other than the moment feel far away and untouched.

you hardly have the time to ask him what it means, lost in the way he feels. Spark. Flame? Youre not sure what it is, hardly sure of what you are either, he’s pushing in you now, grunting softly beside your ear, and whatever that was is growing now, fast. “god, love-“ “jean,” the two of you say at the same time, his voice sending shivers down your warm spine, everything is spinning. This feeling isn’t routine, isn’t something you’ve ever felt before but you welcome it as if it was a part of your own body. He pushes in again, everything builds up and crumbles at the same time. Thoughts are broken, sentences are just strings of words and he fills you, fully. Again. Tightening, beauty that comes close to discomfort only if it weren’t with him. It feels right.

he says your name breathily, his voice strained like he’s been thinking about saying it for a longer time than this. “I’m g’nna.. oh,” he says, and his voice is the only thing that you can hold onto beside himself, your hand gripping his hair while the other one roamed in the limited space between his shoulder and toned arms, nails scratch, and scratching his skin just enough to leave light, red marks, that matched the blush on his cheeks. “can i- sh…uh,” he says, making you blink him into focus, a tear rolling down your cheek. Your heart squeezes when his face becomes clearer, his brows knit tight. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely a whisper, only the proof of one. You shake your head gently, your hand freeing itself from his hair and resting on his cheek, thumbing the tear away. “jean… it’s okay, love.” “im, I just… never felt this before?” he explains, or tries to at least, grasping onto the only meaning he could find – you. his hand clasping your thigh. His hand near your head, strands of your hair under his thumb. He breathes, ribs turning putty, heart molding itself around your hand, creating a cast. That’s where it belongs, he thinks. “I know. I haven’t either.” You confirm. Theres two of you now, worlds apart from where everyone else would be, and he looks at you, your eyes holding that sheen on them, cheeks stretched with a small smile and thinks about how unbroken the moment was. No space between your bodies, comfortable unpredictability. His bones hum with familiarity, being this close to you - sending something close to electricity but far more close to divinity into his heart. He nods, kissing the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw. Then your forehead.

“don’t hold back.” You tell him, unafraid. He nods, heart spurring.

Warmth, heat, spreading across your body and he goes a little faster, and you feel him everywhere, deeply, and your noises are only controlled by the barrier of your lips being bit by your teeth, something jean impossible notices, oulling your chin gently by his thumb. “don’t hold back on me either,” he’s so close to you.

So close. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, leaving a mark, his name leaving your mouth, freeing itself from wherever it was within you as if it was a part of you. he says your name just the same, his voice carrying out in the confines of the room, striking a chord only you can hear, only meant for you to understand. Your name has never felt like yours until he’s said it, like this, your back lifting, stomach touching his, and you feel the world collapsing, building. Flame turned into fire turned into smoke, your body shaking, sounds coming from your mouth merging with his and it stays there, unbroken, devouring, overwhelming. He’s out of you in what feeling like an instant but youre sure is slow, caring but time doesn’t make sense to you. the sheets under your legs are soaked, your muscles aching comfortably, unpredictably.

Your chest heaves, up and down, as does his, almost in sync. His strength sways as his body almost collapses onto yours, devouring, overwhelming, the scent of his rundown cologne and sweat and shampoo mixing into yours. devouring, overwhelming.

His lips are on your collarbone. You laugh with the little strength you have and jean drinks it up, a smile etching itself on his pink lips, his skin red. “we should.. do that more often.” You say. Your eyes closed, hand in his hair and he hums, nodding his head slightly, something you feel.

and this continues, becoming more than just a moment in your life, increasing itself into something that becomes your being. His knee bent, getting comfortable, and your thigh rests on his own, feeling his muscles underneath yours, skin to skin. It feels akin to holiness, but gods don’t have skin like you and jean. That’s their curse, you think, because you’d want to be human just to feel something like this again, no space between the two of you, legs entangled, warm, devouring, overwhelming, comfortable. If this was a new routine, you’d appreciate it for all the times to come.

His hand is pinned under your back and he lifts his head from your shoulder, resting It near your head, hair escaping and spilling next to yours. all of your parts meeting his. His eyes look at yours and you want to consume the look in them, something you wish was possible, but then he speaks and you think it is possible because his tone is the same as the way he looks at you – soft. Warm. Shining. “this may be the post nut clarity talking, but you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything that was right in front of me.”

Oh. Okay. He's saying what he wants to say, out of control, chest beating unexpectedly in control. A confession like this, under normal circumstances, would’ve been around in his head for about a week before actually having the bravery to speak it into existence, make it known. But with the prior fact already known – because it was you, of course you’d know – it was easy to say, and with that logic, everything became easy with you. not untethered but the exact opposite, everything was easy because it was connected and all of everything lead to you. always did. You breathe out shakily.

You kiss the crease between his brows, soothing it permanently, easing his features. You’ve never been good with words. When morning (or better yet, judging by how everything played out right now and how late it was, late afternoon) rolled around, jean was sure to have either a bouquet of flowers or an inexpensive gift with a full-fledged letter sitting on his desk, waiting for him in compensation. Either the letter or a text, you weren’t sure, the plan formulating in your head ass he breathed beside you, his breath fanning the side of your face.

you turn your face to his, opening your eyes again, looking into his. “if I told all of this to last year-me, I would’ve never believed it,”

He smirks. “cant believe you bagged the jean kirstein?” you scoff. “I hated your guts, I would’ve thrown up and asked myself what present-me was even thinking getting with that jean guy.” “oh,” he says, softly, his smirk slipping off his face comically. You laugh a little, shifting to your side to rest comfortably. His body shifts with yours, his hand now on the slight dip of your waist, thumb brushing your stomach.

“but present-me would tell her that I think… youre the most passionate and brave person I’ve ever met. And you make me laugh.” “its no that hard, y’know-“ “just take the compliment.” “yes ma’am.” He says, smiling drowsily, blinking slowly. You could capture his mouth in a kiss right now but you preferred to have it in front of your eyes instead of your lips. For now, of course. The promise of being able to see the same face with the same smile would mean you could kiss his lips and feel his mouth all over again, hundreds of times, like a beautiful predictability. Routine. He clears his throat. “thank you.” he says. You hum, gently, jean feels the vibrations of your voice against the thrum of his heart. He keeps it there.

“what… what else would you tell your past-self about… about that jean guy?” he asks, mainly to hear your voice again, under the guise of forgetting it every time you don’t speak, but really, its because he needs your voice to build the rope that he balances on. His hand reaches your cheek, feeling your words fully. You hum under his touch, thinking. “id tell her that… that jean guy is fucking annoying-“ “name one time ive annoyed you-“ “and pretentious.” “I have never once-“ “d’you remember when we went to that art gallery and you said that you 'loved how the elements juxtaposed each other'?” “…yeah.” “I thought you were just trying to sound smart.” “…I was.” You giggle at his admission. His ears tinge red, unseen because of the dark but not unknown because youre here.

“but I’d tell past-me that that same jean guy also held me when I needed it without asking. Made me laugh when I needed it without asking.” Theres a beat of silence. Jean breathes in, consuming your entirety, and youre okay with it. “that… this jean guy thought that past-me hated him because he was a dick.”

“yeah, I did,” he breathes out a laugh, continuing, “but then he – I – grew used to you. grew to like you. grew because and with you. and now present-me knows that present-you is resilient and patient and stubborn enough to stick with me.” “yeah, I should get an award for that.” “yeah, yeah, I’ll get you one.” He says, pulling you in closer with his arms, burrowing your face in his neck.

The moment would be unbroken. Even if the two of you had gotten up, reluctantly, after a while, under the bursting of fireworks, jean cleaned you up and helped you slip into your clothes again, fixing your appearance best you could. The moment remained unbroken as he held your hand, kissing your knuckles when you reached downstairs, catching sasha dancing with nicolo, connie on the table, marco trying to pry him down but not really wanting it to end, eren hyping him up. mikasa was somewhere behind him, with a small smile on her face as she glanced at you and jean’s interlocked fingers. The moment went unbroken even after the night ended, everyone hungover and piled on the floor of you and sasha’s shared living room even though the latter wasn’t even in her own home (she later texted you, extensively, about what happened with her and nicolo), and jean woke up with a one page (front and back. You tried to keep it under the set word limit in your head but couldn’t) letter and a singular flower (you couldn’t afford to splurge until after your paycheck arrived). The moment remained unbroken even ass connie groaned about his hurting head and jean made fun of him for the same fact, marco glancing between the space – or lack of it – between the two of you as jean stood with an arm around your waist (something he later revealed he was panicking about in, his own words, “I didn’t even think much of it, I just sorta, did it, y’know,” but his eyes wouldn’t look directly at yours and the tips of his ears were red, a telltale lie).

The moment remained unbroken. It always would. Details kept safe, sound, intact, even while you retold it to your closest friends after only some pestering. Even after jean mulled over it on the most important day of his life, playing with his ring, adjusting his suit.

The moment, all the words and anatomy of it, remained unbroken. Beautiful. Holy.

✿

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#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirschstein x reader #aot #jean kirstein x you #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #jean kirschtein #smut #jean x reader smut #jean kirstein x reader smut #jean kirschtein x reader smut #marco bodt #connie springer #sasha braus #mikasa ackerman #eren yeager #armin arlert #modern au

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