#jean kirschtein au

[bugbeebles]

Bassist Jean!

[heyitsmeyuhh]

The Hardest Part (Jean Kirschtein x Reader)

AN: Hi all, sorry I’ve been MIA; school has been crazy, and I haven’t had hardly any time to work on creative things. I’m still working on Blood and Wine I promise, and eventually I’ll get around to Midnight City. I just wanted to sit down and bust this little short story out because I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently and I didn’t want to lose it. Let me know how you like it (or don’t like it)! I know its cheesy and not super realistic but its fiction, so I did it anyway haha.

Song Inspo: I Don’t Love You / Cancer (both by My Chemical Romance)

WC: ~ 4.7K

Content: Angst, mutual pining.

…

February 4th, 2016

I don’t love you, like I did, yesterday.

His guitar solo was always the highlight of the set (in his so humble opinion). Every person in the building was looking straight at him. Most of the fans were either dancing or gazing at him with lusty eyes. A few men around the periphery were glaring at him like they were jealous that their girlfriends were drooling over the band members. One couple in the stands were making out vigorously. His chest swelled with exhilaration.

And when he looked over, she was watching him, like she always was during his solo. His heart skipped a little and he played with a little more intensity.

She was breathtaking; he had no idea how he hadn’t always seen it. She had always been “just a friend” through the years of knowing each other; she’d come over to his place and they would hang out for hours working on sets, watching the latest episodes of whatever show they were fixated on, and just hanging out talking about anything. That isn’t to say he hadn’t fantasized about having sex with her a time or two. However, more than anything, she was a comfort to him, even when she wasn’t trying. On days he was anxious, she would sit with him, sometimes in complete silence. She would sit close to him while watching a movie, so their knees touched or let him sling his legs over her lap just to feel anchored to something. He could fall asleep with his head in her lap, her fingers stroking his hair gently. Other times when he was excited about something, she was the person he always wanted to tell first.

Tonight, the energy from the crowd was intoxicating, and her eyes were there to steady him again. They glowed like fire and if he didn’t know any better, he would think that she was in love with him. He knew she wasn’t, just wishful thinking; it didn’t stop him from imagining them together.

He hadn’t really considered dating her until he had been rejected by the only other woman in the group last December. Mikasa Ackerman, their drummer, was the definition of sultry; she pulled Jean in like she did with every man. But unfortunately, she was head over heels for Eren, their other lead vocalist. Jean couldn’t imagine why. She was gracious about her rejection and she hadn’t let it affect their friendship; she had just always loved Eren, Jean really never had a chance. The first thing he wanted to do was tell Y/n, to sob over a carton of Ben and Jerry’s like they always do watching some soppy romcom, but a nagging feeling told him to keep this one thing to himself. Y/n had asked if he was feeling okay; she always seemed to know when something was up with him no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Instead, he lied and chalked it up to lack of sleep. After moping for a few days, he had gotten over himself. He was more annoyed at pretty boy Eren for getting all the girls than he was about Mikasa passing him over.

Y/n tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and a jolt rocked through Jean’s spine. Nothing Mikasa had ever done was anything like what Y/n could do to him with just that one look. Jean would give up anything for her to look at him like that all the time. He could admit to himself that he had probably always been in love with Y/n deep down; Mikasa really only caught his eye because she was pretty and mysterious. But after the Mikasa situation, he didn’t really feel like threatening another one of his friendships, let alone the best one he had. He’d gotten off easy with Mikasa, but what were the odds of another rejection ending well? He wouldn’t tempt it. Instead, he resigned himself to memorizing every one of Y/n’s glances, savoring every accidental brush of skin, pretending like she was doing it on purpose, imagining what it would be like to hold her up against his chest.

As his solo ended, Y/n shifted her gaze from him and turned back toward her microphone to finish the song. His eyes lingered on her profile and he drank in the striking way the lights illuminated her features. Jean could live with this, for now at least.

---

February 8th, 2016

Y/n was in Jean’s hotel room like she was most nights on tour. Usually, they would be brainstorming ideas on how to make their sets more interactive and entertaining, but tonight they were settling in for a day off tomorrow. Both were drinking a beer, Y/n sitting at the head of the bed and Jean lying on his side, head toward the TV. He was absentmindedly drawing little shapes along her leg with his hands. Y/n couldn’t help but study those hands, veins tracing their way across the back of his hand like rivers. The skin where he traced tingled and burned, but she stayed as still as possible, as if he were a wild animal that she would scare off if she even moved an inch. His eyes had a distant look and his eyebrows scrunched up like they did when he was chewing on a deep idea.  

She had made the decision to tell Jean tonight about how she felt and let the cards fall where they may. Currently, however, she was distracted with the lines of his shoulders as he leaned on his elbow. His shirt was off, and she could see every muscle ripple as he shifted positions, shoulder tattoos on full display, winding down the natural lines in his arms. She made a mental note not to start drooling yet.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?” He snapped back to the present and looked at her, his golden eyes sparkling in the crappy hotel room lighting.

A wave of apprehension washed over her, and for a moment she chickened out.

“Uh, what do you want to do for dinner?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said sitting up to face her. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know. There was a sushi place down the road that looked kinda good? But I sorta just want to eat in tonight.”

“I’ll call it in and go grab it for us,” Jean decided. He held the ankle he had just been tracing and kissed it before rolling off the bed to grab his phone. Y/n’s heart raced a little, but she regained her composure quickly. Jean had been touchier lately, which gave her the impression that he might like her too, but she couldn’t be sure. If she had her way, he would just ask her himself, so she could save the anxiety she had building up to this.

He brought the phone to his ear and a muffled voice came through on the other end. “The usual?” he asked turning to meet her gaze. Her eyes flickered from his chest back to his eyes and she could feel her cheeks warm a bit. She thought she could see a brief smirk cross his face, but it was gone so fast she couldn’t tell if she had imagined it. Y/n nodded and mouthed a silent thank you as he placed the order. She pretended to turn her attention back to the TV, though Jean’s bare torso was admittedly more interesting than whatever else was on. Once he hung up, he grabbed a shirt and assured Y/n he would be right back.

The minute he left, she let out a breath. She mentally kicked herself for backing down. Her eyes darted to the bedside table where the spare key card lay peeking out of the little check-in folder. She needed a pep talk. She swiped the card from the table and rushed her way over to Mikasa’s room.

Instead Eren answered the door.

“Where’s Mikasa?”

He stood there in some oversized hoodie and gray sweatpants. His hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands of hair around his temples escaping to frame his face. Green eyes pierced her own, but the haze of weed dulled the focus.

“Out. She’s getting her drum set looked at and you know how much of a control freak she is about anyone touching the thing.” He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed casually.

“Shit,” Y/n muttered under her breath. She considered just calling the whole thing off, but she didn’t want to have wasted all that time she spent hyping herself up for this. She may not have the will power to do it again.

“I need a pep talk.” Y/n grabbed Eren’s sleeve and dragged him back into his apartment.

--- Y/n stood breathless in front of the couch, facing the other lead singer in her band.

“Yeah, Jean asked Mikasa out like two months ago. She didn’t tell you?”

The long-haired brunette was looking at her with inquisitive eyes, a lit joint slotted between his fingers. A tightness had formed in her chest like her heart had sunk into her stomach. As a matter of fact, Mikasa hadn’t told her. Quite the opposite actually. Her mind flashed back to a conversation made in hushed tones, the light scent of alcohol on each of their breaths.

“You should just tell him, honestly, or you’re going to be thinking about it forever and nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Plus, I think he might like you.”

Y/n had been basically in love with Jean for like two years now and nothing had happened. Granted nothing happened because she was too afraid to ruin their friendship. She figured that being friends with him and pining over him forever was better than being rejected and ruining the whole relationship and possibly break up the band.

But on New Year’s, she and Mikasa had stolen away during the party to the bathroom, giggling over something that couldn’t have been that funny. Y/n remembered whispering to her, trying to pretend like they hadn’t locked everyone else out of one of the two bathrooms at the house. They had a long conversation and eventually Y/n spilled her guts about her feelings for Jean, but how she couldn’t stand to lose their friendship if her confession went poorly. Drunk confessions were always the most honest; now she realized that she was ignorant to have taken Mikasa’s drunk advice. She had encouraged her whole heartedly to let him know how she felt; after all, Mikasa had made that her resolution too. She was going to kiss Eren at midnight. For some reason, she seemed to have completely omitted this little detail about Jean being in love with her instead.  

“I can’t believe she never told me.” Y/n felt like she needed to sit down. All at once, she was losing the people that were closest to her. Did Mikasa care so little about her that she pushed her into ruining her relationship with Jean? How could Mikasa not have warned her that he wasn’t interested, that he was in love with her instead?

“It was right at the beginning of December. We hadn’t started dating yet and I guess she just told him that she wasn’t interested. Honestly, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.” Eren took a long drag from the joint and puffed some of the smoke into the air between them casually.

“Yeah.” Y/n said half-heartedly. Suddenly she sagged like someone had slung sandbags over her shoulders. All her nervous energy left her body at once and she slumped into the massive couch next to Eren. She remembered that early December was around the time Jean had gone into his little slump. She did everything she could to try to pull him out but she couldn’t figure out what was going on. He wouldn’t leave his room, he didn’t seem to want to eat, and all he wanted to do was lie around the house. He seemed better after about a week, but now she wondered if he’s been trying to distract himself with her all this time.

“Who was I kidding anyway.”

He leaned forward to look at Y/n’s face. “Oh, shit you really do like him. This wasn’t going to be some quick fuck?” His expression was now serious, his mind combatting the haze from the weed. Y/n nodded dejectedly.

“Damn, I’m sorry you had to find out like that.” he huffed, slouching back into the couch next to her. “Well, Mikasa’s taken. Maybe you could still try talking to him.”

She shook her head silently; she couldn’t form words right now without choking down a sob. Instead, she grabbed the blunt from Eren and took a long drag. He looked at her with worry, she didn’t often partake unless there were special circumstances. Y/n didn’t notice and took a second drag before handing it back to him. She could feel time start to slow around her, and for a moment, this whole situation made her giggle; it wasn’t funny, but it was getting more and more ridiculous in her mind. Eren chuckled beside her, though he had no idea why they were laughing.

After what felt like hours, Y/n stood and made her way back to the door without saying a word. Eren remained on the couch but called over his shoulder.

“Hey.” Y/n paused at the door, looking back to meet his knowing eyes. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” She shut the door silently behind her and she drug her feet all the way back to Jean’s room. Y/n swiped the card lazily, letting herself in and immediately walked straight to the bed and flopped face down.

Minutes later, she was awoken from her half-asleep state to hear someone enter the room behind her. She rolled over languidly to see Jean carrying a bag of takeout in one hand, and a single carton of ice cream in the other. His eyebrows furrowed, but there was a small smirk on his face.

“What have you been up to while I was gone? I haven’t been gone more than 45 minutes.” He chuckled a little and set the food on the desk. Y/n didn’t answer, instead she sat up and stared at his back as he organized dinner across the table.

He’s in love with Mikasa.

“I’m high,” Y/n said obviously. He chuckled again and nodded knowingly. She stood and pulled another chair up to the desk, attempting to recover the happiness she had felt just hours ago and accepting the fact that this was all their relationship would be. Her heart ached dully in her chest as she stole glances of him as he ate, the lines next to his eyes crinkling when he smiled, tongue occasionally darting out to lick his lips. It was all moving in slow motion, her thoughts drifted through her head like molasses. His eyes, caramel in the dim lighting, glided over her smoothly, and the corners of his mouth drew up.

“Are you tired?” He asked softly. Y/n nodded, and Jean stood, leading her to the bed. He pulled back the sheets and she tucked herself underneath. Jean folded the comforter around her and knelt down, face on level with hers.

“Sleep here tonight,” he stated, not asking.

“Okay,” she whispered. She knew she should have gone back to her room. She knew that this would just make everything hard on her in the morning. But at this point, she couldn’t gather the willpower to take care of her future self. She selfishly wanted to pretend just one more night that things were still normal. That things were going to be okay. “Stay with me?”

Jean smiled softly, his eyes droopy with sleep. “Anything for you,” he whispered back, kissing her forehead. He pulled back the sheets again and slid into the sheets next to her, reaching over to click off the lights. She slotted herself under his arm, head against his chest, drifting off to the sound of his rhythmic heartbeat.  

---

April 30th, 2016

The rounded booth they were at was tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, though the din of the room still reverberated around them. Mikasa was sitting next to Eren, her hand on his knee and his arm slung across the back of the bench seat. Y/n sat between her and Jean, with some of the other people from their team filling in the rest. She was attempting to stay involved in the conversation, but she kept drifting back to her own thoughts every few minutes, needing to be called back by someone when she was asked a question.

Since she woke up the morning after she had spoken to (and smoked with) Eren, she tried everything she could to shake her little crush on Jean. She tried focusing on all the weird idiosyncrasies he had, all the gross habits, all the annoying behaviors. The more she looked for these things, however, the more it highlighted the reasons she had fallen for him in the first place. He looked at her and listened when she spoke about things that made her happy or upset. He opened up to her about his dreams and aspirations even when he was embarrassed or bashful about his ideas. He made her laugh until her stomach hurt. And unfortunately, he always seemed to know when something as bothering her, even when she didn’t quite realize it yet.

Because of this, he had been prying her to open up about why she’s been more distant lately, and it broke her heart even more to keep it from him.

But she couldn’t tell him. She could never tell him. Because there was no point; deep down, he wanted someone else.

“Y/n? Did you want to go to that bar after dinner?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, I think I’m just gonna head back to my room actually.”

“Are you feeling alright? You seem really out of it right now,” Armin, their manager asked, concern radiating from his place across the table.

She could really use some of Eren’s weed right now.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’ve just had a headache all day.” Y/n gave a feeble smile and looked back at the spot on the table that she had been staring at zoning out a moment ago. She felt a soft touch grace her left knee and she flinched away, glancing up to meet Mikasa’s gaze. She had retracted her hand like she’d been stung and looked at Y/n with concern.

Y/n’s eyes flicked from hers to Eren’s, who had noticed the subtle exchange. He looked to Mikasa and back to Y/n with wide eyes, trying to silently apologize. Y/n was also trying to preserve her relationship with Mikasa as much as possible, but the betrayal was slowly picking away at the edges and she was struggling to maintain her composure. She felt like she had lost two of the people closest to her all at once and keeping her emotions off her face was sapping the energy quicker than she could handle.

Her face got hot as she realized everyone at the table had noticed what just happened. They continued their conversation out of courtesy, but their glances gave them away. Suddenly the air felt thick and she felt the room closing in on her.

“I need to get up,” she whispered to Jean. He scrunched his eyebrows, concerned, and he put his hand on her back trying to be comforting, but she straightened up, avoiding the contact. “I’m just getting a little overwhelmed, I need some air.”

He waved his hand so the others on the bench seat could let her out. He too slid out of the seat and offer her his hand. She took it briefly to pull herself upright and walked swiftly to the door. She pushed it open with her shoulder, stepping out into the brisk night and shivered. Her breath came out shaky, tears threatening to spill over her lashes. She took some deep breaths and swallowed down the lump in her throat; she wouldn’t let them fall, not tonight.

As she was trying to compose herself to go back inside, she heard the soft bell above the door of the restaurant. Lifting her head, she expected to see Jean there to ask her what was up with her again, but instead it was Armin, concern written on his face.

“Hey, are you sick? I can take you home if you need?” he asked worriedly.

“I can’t do this anymore, Armin.”

“It’s okay, I can take you back right now.’ He motioned to pull the keys to the car out of his pocket.

“No, I mean I have to quit the band.”

He froze. They stood there in the cold staring at each other. Y/n thought saying that would feel like the right answer, but instead it just filled her with more anxiety.

“Let’s talk about this in the car.”

They walked to the SUV in silence, closing the doors behind them to seal away the chill.

“What’s going on Y/n?”

“I just can’t do this anymore Armin.” She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling of the cab, letting the tears roll back away from the brims of her eyes. She told herself she wouldn’t let them fall tonight.

“What can’t you do anymore? I don’t understand.” She was silent, continuing to stare up.

“Y/n I can’t do anything for you if I don’t know what’s happening,” he repeated gently. Y/n took a big sigh and finally turned to face him.

And then she spilled everything, all the thoughts that have been weighing on her since that night nearly three months ago. Every aching moment she spent with Jean, the betrayal she was desperately trying to ignore, and the futility of her pretending like nothing happened. The tears blurred her vision but remained in place. When she finished, there was a thick pause hanging in the air.  

“I see.” He finally broke the silence. “So, you want out after your last show?”

Y/n nodded.

“Okay. We should tell the others . . .”

“No!” Y/n interrupted, “I can’t tell them. If they know, they’ll try to convince me to stay and I don’t think I have the resolve to say no.”

“So you’re just going to disappear after? Just take off and never tell anyone you we’re leaving?”

“I was going to say goodbye at the show,” Y/n replied meekly. Armin sucked in a small breath.

“You’re going to blindside them then? Right there in front of the entire crowd?”

“I’ve been writing this song,” she whispered. “I think I’ve finally finished it. I was going to play it at the show. I can’t give them the opportunity to talk me out of it, and this will be sort of like my swan song to the fans.”

“What am I supposed to tell the media? What am I supposed to tell the band?”

“Once I’m gone you can tell the band whatever you want. Tell them the truth, an elaborate lie, I don’t care. I just want to be able to leave that show and move on with my life.” She rolled her head to look out the passenger side window. Fog was rolling in as the night deepened.

“You don’t feel like you owe them an explanation?”

Y/n took a deep breath, allowing just one tear to roll down her cheek. “I feel like I owe myself some peace.”

---

May 2nd, 2016

The crowd surged and undulated to the sound of the music coming from the stage. Every eye was on them and girls screamed for the attention of every band member. Two sweaty bras had been thrown on the stage already. This was likely the largest and most energetic crowd they had seen all tour. The audience was riled up for their last event of the circuit; the perfect storm to have one of the most memorable shows of their career.

So why was Jean feeling so uneasy?

He was watching her sing just like he had been doing for the past year or so. The crowd was always captivated by her, even with Eren singing by her side; she buzzed with her own vitality that was hard to take your eyes off of.

Recently, though she seemed to have lost a little bit of her liveliness during her sets. The glow had left her skin, though this was imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t looking, anyone who didn’t know her like he did. Something was wrong, but she faked it well. She had been acting weird the last few months, but when he had tried to ask her if anything was bothering her, she just chalked it up to feeling under the weather. He didn’t believe her, but he wouldn’t push the topic further. In hindsight, he wished he had.

His guitar solo was coming up. She finished her line and he stepped up to play. He looked over, expecting for their eyes to meet on cue, but her gaze never left the crowd. Her expression was muted; there was less life in her eyes than there was before. Jean felt his eyebrows furrow slightly; she had never not looked at him, even since she started acting different. He played on without missing a beat, but his eyes never left her, silently begging for her to just glance at him. Panic rose in his throat; something was definitely wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. No one else seemed to notice anything was off and it made every hair on his body stand on end.

As the music faded, Eren thanked the crowd and Jean hit his cue to bow and exit the stage, but instead of walking off behind him, Y/n stepped up to the front of the stage. She spoke slowly into the microphone.

“I actually have a little something I prepared myself planned for one last song.” Y/n finally looked over to him with a small shine gracing the rims of her eyes, smiling halfheartedly. After a little hesitation, Eren and Mikasa stepped across the stage to where Jean was waiting, looking at him questioningly. As if he knew what was going on; he couldn’t get her to open up about anything lately, he wasn’t in on this surprise. She seated herself at the piano.

A slow ballad shuddered from the instrument, her fingers deftly weaving her way through the song. Jean’s eyes never left her as he listened to her tell a story about the dying author saying goodbye to her family. That rising anxiety only sharpened and continued to drag its way through his chest.

Cause’ the hardest part of this, is leaving you.

A cold stab of fear pierced his heart.

He looked to Eren and Mikasa, who hadn’t figured it out yet, confusion thoroughly gracing their faces. They met his eyes, which seemed to confirm all three of their revelations. Jean was frozen in place, looking back to her, breath caught in his throat. He could see now that the glint in her eyes were tears that had escaped her delicate lashes. Jean could feel his own well up in his eyes, but he wiped it away quickly; he was desperate to see every detail of her clearly.

Her beautiful face was strained, and she kept her eyes on the piano. The crowd was oddly silent; not just because they didn’t know the words, but because they were also puzzled about this solo encore. They were enraptured though, every eye and phone camera fixated only on her.

The song came to a head and finally, after holding out all night, she finally gave him that glance he has been feverishly searching for.

Cause’ the hardest part of this, is leaving you.

The song reverberated through the stadium as it faded, and the crowd roared. She held his gaze, sorrow painting her striking features. Jean couldn’t feel his body. It wasn’t until she spoke again that the stadium truly understood what that song meant. She grabbed the mic and turned to face them.

“Thank you all for all the support and the love. Tonight, was my last show. I love you all.” Her voice was strained, but she held it together enough to give a wave as she left the stage. Jean, Eren, and Mikasa stood there dumbfounded as the lights dimmed and the curtain rolled down from the rafters.

Her figure disappeared behind the corner of the stage.

Jean was frozen. I’m too late.

[daemontargaryenwhore]

He couldn't afford to lose another kid knowing he's going to lose one just for the battle to end.

[g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e]

❥ jean Kirstein ❥⁠ 

Nsfw twitter links.

f! readerJean Kirstein x reader

-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-

-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-❥-

❥Under jean's desk

❥Jean eating you out

❥Sitting on Jean's face

❥Riding jean's face

❥Jean pounding you from behind

❥Jean fucking you in the car

❥Having a threesome with Jean and reiner

❥Size kink with jean

❥Jean earing you out like a starved man

[six-paths-of-jeanmarco]

Art by Suketchi

Posted with permission.

Do not repost, edit or use without permission (reblogs are alright). Please support the artist on Instagram and Twitter, and if you can, when their commissions are open.

[twilovesshuake]

Aot Characters: *How they would respond after hearing Y/n say "Will you marry me?"*

Eren [Season 1 to 3]: Hell yeah, I will!

Eren [Season 4]: Does it even matter anymore?. Everything's meaningless in our lives now.

Armin: You complete me. Yes!

Mikasa: Yes, I’ll marry you.

Jean: I wood say yes to you anytime.

Sasha: Yes!. Oh and I want all the food in our wedding.

Connie: Yeah, but will you marry me?

Hange: I do! Wait...I mean, yes!

Levi: Tch, will I marry you? How about you marry me instead?

Erwin: Yes. I’ll be yours eternally.

[savkirschtein]

ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ

modern college au

Jean Kirstein x f!reader

warnings: literally just Jean being infatuated with you…that’s it. College party. Mentions of alcohol, making out, drunkenness, slight stalking.

You were someone who kept to yourself often, not in the sense that you were particularly shy, but it was more so you liked to keep your circle of friends small. It kept your friendships easy to manage, and easy to keep up with. But for your childhood best friend Sasha, that was not the case, what so ever.

Queenie had friends, acquaintances, and plugs, EVERYWHERE.

You and Sasha only got to see each other every once in a while when she was able to come home, due to the fact that she moved away and was enrolled at SSU (Shiganshina University). Meanwhile you, because of some money issues, along with a sprinkle of poorly made decisions in Highschool went straight into Community College after graduating.

The distance was never a problem though, you guys would call each other all the time. And she would keep you up to date on all the crazy things she would be doing, along with all the friends she had made.

Always talking about the same three dudes Connie, Marco, and Jean. Whom she quickly befriended in one of her communications classes.

When you had told her you were going to be able to transfer early, and be enrolled into SSU, she absolutely flipped. So thrilled that her best friend would be able to join and experience all the craziness with her. Talking up and down about how you're going to fit in great with her newfound friends.

You enjoyed hearing all the insane things that she did with them. And more than anything, loved how clearly happy they seemed to make her. As well as how well they treated Sasha (having been skeptical of three guys and their intentions with your best friend). Those feelings quickly being put to rest after Sasha's dozens of stories of them and their many escapades in which they've had to take care of Sasha after one too many drinks.

Learning all of their names and all of their quirks came easy with how much she was around them, and how much she talked of them with you.

Watching from a distance you were able to see some of those moments she would gush about, play out due to Sasha posting on her social medias. Whether it be pictures on Instagram, or videos she would share on her private story on Snapchat.

From those small snip bits that she would share though, someone always seemed to catch your eye. The tall, lean, hot headed one, with the ash brown mullet, always yelling at Sasha and Connie in her snaps.

Jean. Your best friend said his name was.

Sasha talked about the three guys all of the time, and from what she would tell you about Jean, he seemed like a cool guy.

An art major, on the Uni Lacrosse team, who was hot-headed, hilarious, and spontaneous. Stoic exterior but has a heart of gold on the inside…well at least from what you heard from Sasha. Though you didn't know him personally, you had a slight interest to him already.

But what you didn’t know was that slight interest went both ways.

Sasha talked about you ALL. THE. TIME. Not that the boys minded, it was cool to them that she had a loyal best friend, who has stuck around through all of her phases, through all of the years, like you. And as her best friends it clearly meant a lot to Sasha for them to know about you.

And when she did talk of you, she spoke of you, holding you in such high regards. Talking about how hilarious you were, or about how you were one of the most down to earth and genuine people she knew. Hearing how great of a person you were through Sasha, along with the memories she shared, made Jean’s interest in you pique.

Jean felt like he knew you personally with how much he had heard about you. When he and Sasha became friends, he had only ever seen a few old picture of you two, which was from when you guys graduated highschool and some from Sasha’s 18th birthday on her instagram. But other than that not much else, and even if he did want to just check your profile, for science of course, you were private.

And he felt it would be odd and cause a stir of him to ask Sasha to look at her profile, especially since Connie and Marco didn't have such an interest in you to go out of their ways to do the same. Jean felt it would arise questions, which he would much rather dodge rather than succumbing to his own curiosity.

Until Sasha had come back after break from home, and showed him, Connie, and Marco a video of you cussing out, and roasting the shit out of a man. Who was unsolicitedly hitting on another one of your good friends, and making her uncomfortable. Taken when you guys were out, celebrating your birthday at a bar in your guys' hometown.

And for some reason that video had him hooked. From your witty and cunning remarks to the pervert hitting on your friend. To how beautiful you looked in the short, black, satin dress that adorned your body perfectly. Along with how attractive it was that you were so protective of your friends.

And from the pictures Sasha posted from that night of you guys afterwards??? Good lord, Jean went on a little bit of an adventure looking through your instagram account and your pictures after seeing you changed your account to a public one afterwards.

To have a more clear face to put to the person he had heard of so often made him all the more curious to meet you in person. Especially after Sash had finally told him and the other guys that you would be transferring soon.

When you had managed to move into your own small studio apartment just a walk away from the university, Sasha was there already to help you unpack and decorate.

"Give me one reason right now, as to why I SHOULDN’T gauge your eyes out." Sasha holds up an old picture in a plain white frame, from you both on your eighth grade promotion, holding up your diplomas, arms around each other's shoulders. Sasha unfortunately in the picture caught mid sneeze, with you smiling big and bright under her arm.

"It's the only picture I have from that day." You laugh, rolling your eyes at her. Wiping excess dust on the back of your jeans, from the boxes you carried, watching her fake gagging at the precious momento.

"So its your first night as an SSU student..." Sasha tiptoes timidly in her voice, eager to talk about anything else. Then hanging the framed picture on the naked wall. But from the tone in her voice you could tell she was going to try and convince you to do something you probably didn't want to.

"Sash-"

"NOW BEFORE YOU SHUT ME DOWN, THIS COMES WITH A SASHA MADE BREAKFAST AND DINNER INCLUDED." She is quick to cut you off before you can shut her down. You only nod at her with your arms crossed, waiting for her to continue. Slightly influenced at the offer already.

"Well...plead your case then."

"There is a party tonight that I was invited to, and..."

"And you want me to go?" You raise your eyebrow.

"IT WILL BE A DOPE PARTY I-"

"Let’s go then." You say nonchalantly, making Sasha go wide eyed and start screaming in excitement as she shook your shoulders.

From there Sasha had gone to her own apartment to get ready after helping you pick out an outfit, leaving you on your own to go through your own getting ready routine. Picking out jewelry and putting on makeup.

As you were finishing up you get a last minute text from her.

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: IM SO SORRY BB, I HAVE TO HEAD TO THE PARTY NOW I HAVE TO CHECK ON CONNIE, MARCO SAID HE PREGAMED A LIL TOO HARD

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: will you be okay showing up on your own? i have absolutely no problem coming back to pick you up!

After reassuring her multiple times over text, and even more over Facetime that you would be fine, you then leave your apartment on your own.

Following the gps’ directions, you eventually pull up to the packed house with blaring music coming from the inside, people scattered on the outside lawn and packed on the inside.

As you enter you smile at what was laid out before you. The craziness of college life in university was everything Sasha described it to be.

Drunken students letting loose and dancing everywhere. Cheering to more drinks as they hold up their red solo cups. People making out left and right, living every second up before the sun rises that would return them back to their stressful lives as broke college students who had unknown futures.

This aspect of college is what you weren't able to experience fresh out of highschool due to going to a CC. Seeing Sasha get to experience it all and have fun doing it made you so happy for her. But you couldn’t help but feel as if you were missing out on a crucial part of what life is supposed to be as a young adult. And to just stand in the middle of it made it all so real and raw, this was definitely an experience that has been missing all along.

You were so caught up in everything happening around you, that you couldn't feel someone’s eyes burning into your presence from afar.

As soon as you entered the front door, you caught Jean's eye immediately.

The chaos of the party and the people around him subsided. The alcohol clouding his judgement having him buzzed had disappeared, and the sight of you sobered him up immediately. You were really here in the flesh. And looked as beautiful as ever, starry eyed wonder and excitement filling your aura and the space you took up as you were people watching. It only made him hope to be able to catch your attention.

When you had began to weave your way through people, Jean's feet that had him stuck just watching you, immediately uprooted from his place to follow you.

As you were making your way through the house, which was seemingly so much bigger than it looked on the outside, trying to the best of your ability to look for Sasha, you see that you had only reached another dead end.

When you turn around to retrace your steps, your face is immediately met with a warm and hard surface. Your senses begin to be flooded with scents of vanilla, spicy sandalwood, and a note of beer. With hot hands meeting you at your elbows, to steady you from tripping.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry." You say quickly, without taking into account the stranger who you had just ran into. Just as your about to continue your search for Sasha, you feel that the stranger doesn't let you go right away.

Craning your head upwards, you’re met with the eyes of you had just ran into. Taking in light brown orbs with gold inflects of a tall stranger that you immediately recognize to unmistakably be, Jean.

"No that was my bad, are you okay?" He begins searching your eyes genuinely. When his hands drop from your elbows, you relish in whatever warmth was left.

"Oh no I'm alright, are you good?" You ask in return, looking right into his bright eyes, taking note of his beautifully long dark brown lashes. Not at all noticing the tint of pink painting his nose, or how red his ears were turning.

For a moment he doesn't even answer, he just shamelessly looks at you. The buzz giving him more confidence than he would like to admit. Taking in your features, noting in his head how the videos Sasha had shown of you doesn't do nearly as much justice to how breathtaking you are in person. Every picture he had seen of you didn’t capture the amount of beauty you held right in front of him, in this moment.

His eyes travel down your body, looking at how your outfit and your style complimented your figure perfectly. Or how your hair falls and frames your face perfectly, tempting him for a second to reach out and tuck the stray piece behind your ear.

And for a split second you do the same as well, taking note of his perfectly messy mullet, to the silver chain that adorned his neck, and the variety of silver rings, and earrings on his hands and ears. Bringing his outfit of a tight white shirt, and clean cut, black collared Carthartt jacket together. Although the jacket is slightly bigger, you can tell right away how well built he was. From his broad shoulders, or his chest puffing out from his white shirt.

Damn those videos and pictures of him really don't do him justice to him in person.

As you both stand in the middle of the uncrowded hallway, you completely forget where you are and what you were here for. With the lights going into a blur, the loud music fading out, and the only thing you can focus on was him. Almost as if your attention to him was keeping a grip on you to the floor beneath you instead of gravity. And for a split second looking into his fiery eyes, you swear he felt the same?

"I-I'm-" You stutter, trying to rid yourself of the warmth, and the butterflies flooding your stomach. But before you could even collect your words—

"You're Y/N." He finishes your shy introduction for you, revealing his perfectly aligned teeth in a smirk. Noticing your cheeks begin to blush hues of red. In return making him nervous, he then reaches his hand clumsily out to you to shake.

“I’m—” Taking his much larger hand into yours, with his slender fingers wrapping around your hand. Feeling a variety of rings graze the inside of your palm.

“Jean…” You finish his introduction, as he did you. Which now it was his turn to be shy..so you knew about him too? Just as he was about to speak again, you’re both knocked out of your daze. Literally.

“AGHHH YOU’RE HEREEE!!” Sasha tugs you into a tight embrace, as if she didn’t just see you over two hours ago. The force of her hug making you and Jean let go of each other’s hands. With two tall figures at her side watching her excitement with fond smiles on their faces. One of them then stepping forward after Sash had finally let you go.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Marco.” The tall freckled cutie in the cream t-shirt and brown flannel speaks up. Then stepping forward bashfully, reaching out to shake your hand gently.

As you finish shaking his hand, you avert your attention to the slightly shorter male. Orange fisherman beaning on his head, with a slightly outgrown fade peaking from underneath, wearing an army green crew neck, and silver chain and studs. Whom you immediately recognize to be Sasha’s accomplice.

“You didn’t tell me she was THIS fine in person Sash.” Connie shamelessly checks you out, which earns him a flick to his forehead from Sasha. And a smack upside the back of his head from Jean. Making Marco laugh behind you. While you giggle as well watching the group dynamic.

“WELL seems like you and Jean met already.” Your best friend grins, glad to see that both and Jean seemed to have gotten off on the right foot already. Making you and the semi-stranger look back at each other. Zoning in on him again, as he does you. Exchanging small smiles and nods.

“Well I hope he didn’t annoy you, or leave a bad impression.” Sasha cuts the tension once more unknowingly. Making Jean feel slightly more embarrassed with her choice of words.

“Yeah he can be a bit of an ass sometimes Y/N, so you just gotta be prepared for that.” Connie adds on, just to get a rise out of Jean. Then receiving a glare from him, and a snort out of Marco.

“I swear you two—” Jean despite his flustered state, was still ready to chew out his two knuckle head friends by instinct, before getting cut off.

“I mean he did kind of save me from tripping and eating shit at my first college party so, I’d say he’s alright.” You speak out with a small nod, making Jean’s eyes soften and his voice go quiet, as his full attention reverts to you. His once furrowed brows now relaxed with an airy chuckle coming out. He scratches the back of his neck before hitting you back with a response.

“Well you are pretty “alright” yourself.” Jean retorts, quoting you with his finger quotation marks. Careless and relaxed expression on his face as he only focuses on you. Not breaking eye contact even for a second or letting his smile fall from his face.

His three best friends are quick to take note at how Jean’s demeanor changed at your voice and within your little exchange.

Sasha though being a woman for one, and both of your best friends for two, was able to read you both immediately. Your small shy nods, the way your voice hitched up a small pitch signaling that you were nervous. Jean, trying his best to not look like he had a stick up his ass, the way he scratched his neck.

Of course it could just be coincidence, but Sasha and her bestie intuition never fails.

“Let’s go back I heard they’re about to do beer pong.” Sasha exclaims as she loops her arm with your own, walking before the boys down the hall. Trying to snatch you away in hopes of a bit of debriefing.

Jean is about to catch up, before Marco and Connie pull him back, both giving him knowing looks. He only answers with furrowed brows, waiting for his friends to answer as to why they’re holding him up.

“…you think she’s cute huh.” Connie teases, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek, with his arms crossed to his chest. Marco knowing his best friend well enough, doesn’t even need to say anything to know that Connie wasn’t far off the mark.

“W-What? The hell are you two talking about? We barely just met her.” Jean very quickly responds. Defensive in his tone, a little TOO defensive if you ask. Marco only lets out a small chuckle through his nose because his best friend’s response only proved the theory correct.

“She’s just a friend of a friend. You both are on one. seriously.” Jean pushes past his best friends, quick to brush them off and leave this interrogation behind. All to prevent getting pressed any further with any other RIDICULOUS accusations.

Marco and Connie stand in the hall watching their friend stock off and rush downstairs. Looking back at each other, they both laugh as they haven’t seen Jean act this way in a while.

But really Jean was also trying to do anything to avoid his red ears being seen. As well as get his loudly thumping heart out of earshot from anyone. Swearing that the pounding in his ears from his heart would be able to be heard outwardly by anyone with ears.

You were just a friend of a friend. He had barely just met you in person for the first time. And yet here he was running off at the first signs of being caught in the act of crushing like a school kid.

[missbubblesoda]

from jean’s instagram (2024.10.12)

[wasabi-gumdrop]

i saw this tweet and had very bad thoughts about Jean

[msjaeger]

That Wasn't In The Script (Actor AU)

//// Btw this contains hints to spoilers from the last episode/ chapter 139 so if for some reason you haven't watched it, DO NOT READ!!!!///

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So tell me, guys. How do you guys feel knowing that the Attack on Titan is officially over? Like, that show will forever go down in history!"

Allen, the host of the official Attack on Titan talkshow Attack the Talk, asked your castmates and yourself. You were currently sitting on the stage in between Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschtein, with the rest of your cast, Mikasa Ackermann, Armin Arlert, Connie Springer, Levi Ackermann, Reiner Braun and Annie Leonhart. You could see a few of your old castmates, those who were killed off in meaning, behind the stage watching with smiles on their faces.

"Let's start with you Ms. L/n, shall we?" The audience clapped as you bashfully smiled at Allen. Sure, you were a main character in one of the best fictional TV shows of the century. But you sucked at public speaking. At least acting was really only your castmates and wonderful team watching at the moment.

You cleared your throat before speaking, feeling your friends' eyes on you and giving you supportive looks.

"Well, Allen, this franchise has been part of my entire life. Literally. I started this show when I was about 9 and now I'm 19. So it ending is almost like the end of my childhood, which may seem kind of sad but it was fun while it lasted and I got to meet these wonderful people that I can joyfully call my family." You feel Eren lift his long legs onto your lap and you stop talking and stare at him.

"Get your nasty ass feet off of my dress."

Eren shook his head playfully and gave you a charming smile. "Nah. You said we're family and family lets their family rest their feet on them." You knock his feet off of you.

"Yeah but not when they're wearing a thousand-dollar dress. Let me finish my little speech, Jaeger." Eren held his hands up defensibly, causing the crowd to burst out laughing from the scene of the dynamic between you two.

"As I was saying before bird-boy over here interrupted. It's easy to say that I'll talk to these people outside of the show and end up never speaking to them again like other casts do but it's different. I grew up with these people so throwing them away would be like throwing my childhood away as well."

The crowd clapped at your little speech, along with your castmates. Expect Eren was literally clapping in your ear. "You're so childish, Eren." You chuckle.

"Only for you, L/n." He grins.

"How about... Connie! How do you feel about the show ending?" Allen moves on to hear other, hopefully just as sentimental, speeches.

Connie ponders for a moment, trying to figure how to answer the question as truthfully as possible. He fiddles with his expensive tie before seemingly having his words together.

"At least we won't be drug tested every three months. I'm gonna be fried every day!"

"No fucking way he just said that." You whisper.

The crowd falls into an awkward silence at Connie's... revelation. You watch as Jean smacks the back of his head. "Shut your bald ass up, Springer. We're 19 and 20 so smoking gas is still illegal, dumbfuck." Jean whispers harshly. Connie's face falls.

"Oops."

"Um... I'll just... can we edit this out?" Allen asks nervously. The cameraman shakes his head. "We're live, remember?" Levi lets his face fall into his hands, mumbling profanities to himself.

"Time for Audience Q & A!" Allen changes the subject quickly. That seemed to distract everyone watching in the crowd as people began to raise their hands, hoping to be picked.

Allen hopes down into the crowd and makes his first decision. "You! With the... Y/n x Smiling Titan shirt?" You hear Eren cackle beside you as you elbow him. "Shut it, you howling witch."

A man who looks like he hasn't showered since the premiere of the show and seemed a bit too old to be fixated on a show involving younger kids was chosen. Not to mention he had shipped you with the smiling Titan.

"He looks like a Discord mod," Jean mutters in your ear.

"Jean, that's mean. It may be true but it's mean." Jean rolls his eyes and gives you a cocky grin.

"It's only mean if it's not true."

"This question is for Y/n." The man announced into the microphone. He had a lisp and not the cute and barely noticeable sort that Armin had. Jean and Eren slightly stiffen.

"Let him ask you some weird shit, Y/n. I'll beat his ass on camera." Eren mutters. Jean watched warily as you waited patiently for the man's question.

"Who is your favourite character from the entire show? And why as well." The man's spit sprays into the mic due to how severe his lisp was and Allen visibly winced.

You think for a moment.

"Probably Eren's character." Eren jumps out of his seat and starts acting like a child.

"Boom, she said I'm her favourite. You all can suck my di-" You grab Eren's sleeve and yank him back into his place next to you.

"Sit your grown ass down."

"Sorry."

"Someone please take the boy into his seat." Levi pleads quietly while rubbing his temples. He had dealt with Eren for the past ten years and still couldn't handle his... personality.

"As I was saying. Eren is probably my favourite character because of how tragic he is and what he represents. He wanted freedom so badly that he never realized that he was a slave to it, which is such a great parallel if you think about it. He purposely hurt his friends in order to protect them too, knowing that they'd be the ones to kill him. I could go on for hours about this but we're on a time crunch so I can't." You chuckle nervously. You feel Eren smiling at you widely from your analysis of his character.

The man seemed content with your response and sat down. "Alright, who's next?" A girl raises her hand and Allen seems to think she's normal enough and hands her the mic.

"Hi, my name is Amelia and just want to say that Jean is so fine and that he doesn't look like a horse most days." Eren, Connie and yourself had to stifle laughter as you watched Jean pursed his lips, contemplating how to take that comment. Allen sighs and raises the mic to his lips.

"Please refrain from... whatever that was."

More people asked questions that were surpringly normal and everyone on stage at least answered five times. A little boy, around the age of 9, eventually got the mic and he looked extremely nervous to talk. His mom gave him encouraging words and he took a deep breath.

"H-Hi my name is Jackson. I-I was wondering if I could take a picture with everyone to show everyone at show-and-tell." He asked poliety. Your heart melted at how adorable the little boy was. You wave up him up on stage.

"Of course! Come up here, little man." Jackson broke out into a toothy grin and ran up to the stage as fast as his little legs could carry him. Armin helped him up onto the stage and Jackson's mom came closer to the stage to take the picture.

Jackson stood in front of you and you placed two hands on his shoulder. You smiled and felt someone wrap an arm around your shoulder before the picture was taken. It was Eren.

Jackson, after the picture was taken, turned around and wrapped his arms around your waist. "Thank you so much!" He exclaims. You wrap his arms around him as well, "Of course Jackson. If it's alright with your mom, I would love it if she sent the picture to me.". Jackson's eyes widened.

"Mommy, please send her the picture!".

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:.

As the end of the talk show neared, Allen had returned to his seat and faced the camera.

"As the end of the last Attack the Talk episode nears, I wanted to do something special for the cast. I've gathered everyone going back all the way to season 1 right now and we are going to play a special video we've prepared for today. Everyone, if you could come out."

You watched as people you hadn't seen for years entered the stage. People such as Petra, Carla, Marco, Moblit. Everyone. You saw Sasha and Historia, who you hung out with just as much as the rest of the cast but you were still excited to see them.

Everyone gathers in front of the big screen, waiting to see what the crew has prepared for a final goodbye.

"You guys all worked hard, whether you were killed off in the first episode or survived until the very end. You all played a vital role in the story that is Attack on Titan and we all thank you. So we decided to put together a montage, if you will, to share your behind-the-scenes experiences one more time. I really hope you enjoy it."

You turn your attention to the big screen as it begins to play. The first scene was of you, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin as little kids. It was a scene from the very beginning of season 1. You guys were running around the town until you tripped over a loose rock and flew through the air. You still had the scar from the rough landing. You heard the director yell a stammered, "C-Cut! Someone gets the medic!".

The scene cut to the next, where Eren was yelling at Hannes for being a lazy drunk before he stumbled over his words, causing Hannes to burst out laughing. "Cut!"

Blooper after blooper, you watched yourself grow up. And it felt really weird. Nostolgic but extremely weird. There was a scene where Connie and Jean were supposed to be arguing about plans to kill Eren during Season 4 but things turned... odd.

"Bro if you don't watch what you're saying, I might have to dick you down!" Connie screams passionately. Jean scoffs. "You wish you could dick me down the way I dicked your dad down!" Jean screams back.

"Jokes on you, my dad got turned into a Titan!" You stare at Jean, who looks like he is about to run into oncoming traffic. He makes eye contact with you and begins to stammer quietly.

"We were joking, I swear!" He whispers harshly. You pat his bicep. "It's okay, Jean. I support you."

"Go to hell."

The scene shifted into a picture where Jean and Connie were about to be turned into titans in the last episode but instead of having their arms around each other's shoulders, like scripted, their hands rested on each other's asses.

You lean into Jean's shoulder and let out a muffled laugh. "Shut up before I make you bald as Connie." He threatened lowly. "And how would you do that, mate?"

"I'll shave your head in your sleep."

Your eyes widen in horror at his statement. "Please don't! I love my hair." You frown. Jean shrugged and stretched an arm around you and rested his arm. "I'm not an armrest, horsey."

"Fuck off."

The very last scene was when everyone had visited Eren's grave, a sentimental moment in the show.

Okay, not really.

"Bro really had to wipe out 80 percent of the population, huh." Mikasa scoffs beside you. You shake your head. "Right? Like if you're gonna wipe out humanity, do it right. He really let us stop him with only 20 percent left. Weak!" You look down at the grave.

A fork can be seen flying across the camera and hitting you in the head. "What the fuck?!" You screech, searching around for the culprit.

"Stop insulting my character!" Eren yells as he runs into the frame and tackles you. Before you could hit your head on the ground, Eren placed his hand behind your head to make sure you didn't injure your head. But he still had to get payback.

You could hear the director sigh from behind the camera and mumbling about taking a smoke break. Suddenly, Sasha had run into the frame as well and jumped on Mikasa and Connie and you watched as everyone began running around like children, tackling each other and laughing.

The video faded into black and remained blank until two words in white cursive faded into view.

Thank You.

_________-____________--______________---_______________----

Idk how I feel abt this because I've been dead on Tumblr for like a year or smth. But I forced myself to resurrect because Attack on Titan is over and idk what to do with my life anymore😜 anywho lmk if I should make a part two because this is really iffy for me.

[daydreamvalley]

Jean Kirstein as Felix. Just think about it.

[bugbeebles]

This drawing may very well be the death of me (the hair is fun tho)

[firefly--bright]

uh. smth smth aot b99 au living rent free in my head. yeah. jean is busy tn btw he's with ME. thanku

[daemontargaryenwhore]

I feel like Jean has the most patience with Mikasa and waits years to give her all the time to grieve, but inside he always wonders if he isn't enough.

also i think that even after the two get married and have children, Mikasa will always wonder if anyone can ever love her like Eren and she will always love Eren more and Jean will always wonder what if Marco were still alive.

[tacitoru]

"caution! this could get ugly" - eren yeager

Pairing: eren x reader

Summary: It's hard to get into the Christmas spirit when you work through winter break. But when you attend your coworker's annual ugly sweater party in an attempt to get into the holiday spirit, a certain green-eyed line cook is determined to make that a challenge.

Or;

The Chili's!AU Christmas party one-shot no one asked for

wc: 6.6k

Tags: enemies to lovers, coworkers!au

Content warnings: smut, oral ( f receiving), spit play, drug references, eren has big ass hands, minors dni

 my first fic in an anime fandom, pls be gentle! you can't tell me eren doesn't give off headass-but-secretly-softie line cook vibes... you can't tell me he doesn't look like that one guy you wanted to smash that one time at work!

um...happy holidays, y'all!

read on ao3 | masterlist | twt

The lady at table six doesn’t deserve about half of the attitude that she’s getting from you tonight. Besides, it’s not her fault all of the sides to each meal she ordered were wrong. It’s not her fault her appetizer had to be recalled two times because there were onions in the guacamole on both instances when her chips and dip platter arrived at the table. She’s not the one who cooked her husband’s steak well-done instead of medium-rare. Of course not, because as she oh-so considerably informs you over the distressed screams of her high-chair-bound toddler, she would never cook a New York strip steak like that.

But between the chaos of the dinner rush and the mishaps of a particular line cook who seems hell-bent on making your night as difficult as possible, table six and her husband are lucky that you are even able to flash them a drawn smile before stalking off.

The double doors to the kitchen – so lovingly called the heart of the house - are a thin veil between utter mayhem and the generally calm atmosphere of the dining area, never staying for longer than a second as waiters rush to tend to their tables. Stepping into the chaos, several obstacles stand between you and the culprit of your terrible night. Fellow employees swarm the narrow walking space, and you slip by with practiced ease and the occasional apology. You’re almost a little envious as you take note of them – no one else looks as half as pressed as you do tonight. As they should be, it’s only a Tuesday night. Not even the weekend yet. And yet, as you shimmy your way through the back of the house, you can’t help but feel a similar fatigue and exasperation that typically follows a Friday night shift. This only serves to further solidify your resolve as you duck past a team of waiters off to serve a business party.  A long, stainless-steel counter runs the length of the kitchen space, with shelves that reach the ceiling, effectively separating the servers from the cooking staff. Waiters and line cooks take turns sliding completed and returned orders beneath the shelving, and heat lamps attached to the bottom of the last shelf to preserve the food. It is within this space that you all but shove your head beneath the heat lamps to give Eren Jaeger a piece of your mind.

“Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, actually.” Eren, standing idly over the stove top adjacent to you whips around at the sound of your voice. He makes a wry face at the sight of you, hunched over the countertop and under the warm hutch, forced to cram your neck in a certain direction to give Eren the full force of your scowl. For all his nonchalance, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You haven’t come to talk to me since you started your shift.”

You blink once, twice, before all but slamming your head into the shelf above you in an attempt to swipe at Eren across the counter. “Are you – are you fucking joking right now? Are you actually fucking messing with my table’s orders because I didn’t say ‘hi’ when I walked in?” Eren sucks his teeth, pretending to rearrange some condiments in front of him. “You’ve been here for two hours already. It’s polite to greet your seniors. Seems you’ve lost all your manners while you were away at college.”

Right eye twitching at the condescending note in his tone, you rear back, ready to straight up drag him into the walk-in and show him just how polite your fists could be. That thought is quickly sidetracked as a broom handle to the back of the knees sends you stumbling back from the countertop. Your manager stands behind you, arms akimbo, broom in one hand. He pointedly offers you a serving tray.

“Your steak is getting cold.” Stern, curt, and orderly, your night manager is infamous for running a tight ship. But even he, for all his methodology and patience, gets run ragged by the customer service industry. If you thought you were over tonight, Levi looks just about ready to turn in his two weeks.

“What about-,”

“I’ll handle him. Now get back to your other tables before I make you clean the bathrooms.” The night shift manager threatens to strike you with the broom handle again before passing off the tray and pushing you in the right direction.

You spare an accusatory glare at Eren, who watches on in bemusement. Rude bitch, he mouths, wiggling his fingers in a girlish wave.

The rest of the night goes on fairly smoothly. The dinner rush subsides just as quickly as it came. No one asks you to sing the Happy Birthday song. The incident at table six lands you a meager tip, but you grin and bear it. Better than nothing at all. Or worse, change. This seems to be the case for Sasha, a regular dinner shift waitress. She marches through the double doors with a fist full of nickels and dimes courteous of her last table of the night – a group of college students. Cursing under her breath, it’s obvious your coworker is ready to call it a night hide in the back with a basket of rolls until close.

There’s an obvious shift in mood as your team transitions to its closing routine. As Levi thanks the last customers for the night and locks the door behind them, the tension from the day seems to almost melt away instantaneously. Connie, a back-of-the-house member who ends up stuck by the dishwasher most nights, takes the opportunity to hijack the restaurant’s stereo system to blast trap music you only know the chorus to.

Closing, believe it or not, is your favorite part of the job. You take pride in how dutifully you restock, fold cutlery, wipe tables, and somehow always manage to avoid being assigned the task of sweeping the dining areas. You’d rather be caught dead before you struggle with that insolent, brittle plastic broom against an entire night’s worth of grime and dropped food. Instead, when Levi wordlessly hands it off to you this time, you make your way to the back of the house, prepared to bestow this lovely gift to the main antagonist of your shift.

You discover Eren lounging outside the storage shed behind the restaurant, the tell-tale sign of the flicker of a lighter giving him away. And the smell. The heady burn of a Backwood climbs its way up your nostrils as you approach him, languidly smoking half a blunt on the clock.

“Y’know the longer you sit out here, the longer it’s gonna take for us to get the fuck out, right?” Eren greets your matter-of-fact tone with a cloud of smoke, thick and distinct in the crisp winter night air.  You shoot Eren a disapproving look as you approach plastic broom in hand, fully prepared to guilt trip your coworker into taking on your least favorite closing duty. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, aren’t you? You’re so lucky it’s too cold for Levi to come out here and bust your ass himself.”

This isn’t the first time the heart-of-the-house worker had snuck off to light up before joining the clean-up routine. Connie and Eren regularly covered for each other’s smoke breaks, so often that even Levi began to turn a blind eye as long as everyone clocked out on time. The line cooks' routine typically didn’t affect much on your end unless it was a night like this – a night when everyone had plans afterward.

Tonight, there was a holiday party at stake.

“Levi’s got a soft spot for me, you know,” Eren scoffs, taking another drag from the half-smoked blunt. He still has yet to fully face you, perched on a stack of discarded crates and angled away from the kitchen’s back entrance. Tucked away in the shadow of the storage shed, Eren ashes off the corner of the small building. “Besides, even he can’t resist my charm.”

Rolling your eyes, you wave the plastic broom in front of him, threatening to poke him in the ribs when he begins to protest. “Charm won’t save you from sweeping duty tonight. After what your petty ass put me through tonight – here, take it.”

Eren raises an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in protest when you move to toss the broom handle at him carelessly. He gripes, “I’ve got better things to do than clean up after you.” The blunt in his hand smolders near his fingertips. You pluck it from his hands with little resistance and take a hit, brow crinkling at the taste. Your lungs ache and warm at the sensation.

“Yeah? Yeah, like this?” You wheeze and hope he attributes the water gathering at the corners of your eyes to the cold. “Just get it done, and let’s finish this so we can all get to the party on time.” Eren watches in dismay as you stomp out the remains of his roach.

“Someone’s in a hurry…A Grinch like you, it can’t possibly be the Christmas spirit?” Eren narrowly avoids being jabbed in the ribs again, jumping from his hiding spot when you lunge. He eyes your tense shoulders, nearly hiked up to your ears, and the impatience in your stance. In the years you’ve worked together, your general disdainful demeanor towards him is nothing new, but there’s something else. Something else that leads Eren to believe that the dark flush of your cheeks has little to do with the winter air. He swipes the broom from your grasp, approaching you with a wolfish grin. You instinctively take a step back, a little less confident now with the broom no longer as your barrier. Confronting Eren over kitchen counters, between restaurant booths, and across busy back-of-the-house spaces in the presence of your other coworkers was one thing. But as the young man towers over you, gaze shadowed in the dim glow of the moon and the weak holiday lights haphazardly strewn about the awning around the restaurant, you can’t help but shrink a little under his direct attention.

After a tense moment of silence, Eren relents. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it done. But you owe me a dance later at the party.”

Your stupor was broken, you sputter and gawk up at him, at his audacity. “I- Me? Dance for you? Dream on, slacker. Now, move it. I’ve got tables to wipe down, and I’m not waiting for you to finish sweeping.”

Working at Pepper’s had only meant to be a summertime gig, at first. Looking for a quick way to make some cash before the start of your first year in college, the local Tex-Mex chain restaurant was your least enthusiastic option. A popular location in your small town, it was one of a few dining options that didn’t require you to drive out into the city to enjoy. The idea of running into one of your former high school classmates while donning the company apron and signature red visor, toting a serving tray - or worse, working with one of them - mortified you. But chain restaurants were always hiring, and you needed money fast. Eventually, working the evening shift as a waitress during breaks from school became the norm - until now. Now, as the start of the final spring semester of your undergraduate program approaches, you're left to consider what the next summer will really look like for you once you graduate. Besides, it wasn’t like this was going to be your career, right?

Right?

In your years on staff, Sasha’s ugly sweater party had become an unofficial team bonding event of sorts. No matter how new someone was to the staff or how frequently they were on shift, everyone came to Sasha’s. And everyone came dressed accordingly, or you were turned away at the door. A night of ugly sweaters, spiked eggnog, and best of all, Secret Santa.  Since your freshman year of college, Sasha’s holiday party was always something you could look forward to.

You anxiously eye a little red gift bag from across your coworker’s living room, trying to hide your grimace behind your second glass of wine.

“You look like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off.” The hostess of the night is pretty quick to clock your demeanor. Sasha slides onto the couch next to you, her sweater an egregious display of flashing multicolored lights, silver tinsel, and a giant patch of Rudolph the red nose reindeer sledding down a mountain in sunglasses stitched to her chest.

You force a smile, attempting to play off your nerves. “No bomb, just…Secret Santa jitters, you know?”

“Ah, the classic Secret Santa anxiety.” Your companion watches as your nervous gaze flickers from the gift table to a certain couple in matching argyle sweaters with tiny Christmas trees sewn in between the jacquard diamonds, huddled in the doorway into the kitchen. Sasha’s eyes widen in understanding. “Can I take a wild guess at who you got?”

You realize you’re not-so-subtly glaring at Jean, who’s laughing with his uninvited guest across the room. Jean, your coworker, and former daytime shift waiter. Jean, your friend whom you’ve admired from afar for his kindness and tenacity. Jean, who got promoted to manager at some point while you were away finishing your last fall semester at college and didn’t tell you. Jean, whom you have the worst, most horrendous crush on. You take another sip from your drink to avoid the pitiful look you know is on Sasha’s face. “I just hope he likes what I got him. I mean, we’re not exactly best buddies or anything...”

If Sasha catches the sour note in your voice, she says nothing to acknowledge it. “I’m sure you know him better than you think.”

You can’t help but huff in exasperation. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it? Ever since I switched from dayshift in the fall, ever since I went back to campus, he’s been so distant. I could’ve sworn we were getting somewhere over the summer, but now…” You tip your glass listlessly in the direction of the object of your ire, whose arm is wrapped around none other than Mikasa, a waitress who quit last year but still hangs around some of your coworkers. Apparently.

Everyone comes to Sasha’s Christmas party.

It goes without saying that Jean is with Mikasa now, but your eyes can’t help but linger in his direction anyway. After all, the last time you saw him…

The pool party. That pool house. The surprise that colored his eyes and flushed his cheeks when you kissed him.

You shake off the memory, scowl deepening. The hostess herself leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, spill. What’d you get him?”

You glance around for any eavesdroppers before revealing, “A leather-bound journal. He’s always jotting things down, and I thought it might come in handy.”

Sasha squeezes the hand on your lap not balancing a drink and offers you an encouraging smile. “Not bad! Thoughtful and practical. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You nod, a bit more reassured. “I hope so. It’s just…I really wanted to get him something he’d like, you know?” You watch as Jean presses a doting kiss to Mikasa’s forehead, smiling into her hairline. He has yet to look your way once, except for at your arrival.

Sasha pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry too much. It’s the thought that counts.”

The thought. You scoff. You think you might need a third glass of wine.

As Sasha wanders off to mingle with the other guests, a mix of cashiers and kitchen staff amused with seeing one another outside of shift schedules, your attention is drawn to Eren, who seats himself in the spot that Sasha once occupied with all the languor of someone who didn’t show up to the party sober. It doesn’t take much for him to reveal that he heard most of your previous exchange.

“Secret Santa jitters, huh?” he teases, propping himself up against one arm of the sofa. The line cook wears a dark blue cable knit sweater, with what you think is some horrific reimagining of Bob Ross knitted across his chest. Tiny, tinkling silver bells adorn the hem, glittering as he shifts in his seat. His hair, typically tied up and away from his face during shifts, spills loosely over his shoulders and shags over his eyes. You recall the way he looked at you earlier in the night behind the storage shed and remember his insistence that you dance with him at this party. In the warm lighting from the barrage of Christmas lights that line Sasha’s living room ceiling, he almost looks pretty like this.

You shoot him a look. “What’s it to you, Eren?”

“Just wondering if I made the nice list,” he quips, winking playfully. You make note of the lack of red rimming his eyes. Maybe he is sober then?

“Cute,” you scoff, trying to dismiss the way heat rises to your cheeks at the comment. Maybe you’re the one that needs to sober up. “Now go sweep something or whatever is it you do when you’re not getting high and crashing parties.”

Eren smirks but doesn’t leave. Instead, he nods in the direction of the gift table, of the little red disaster bag that haunts the corner of your eye. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of your generosity?”

You sigh, giving in to the conversation. “Well, the point of Secret Santa is that it’s a secret-,”

“Jean, huh? That’s interesting.” While you sputter at his presumptuousness, Eren’s expression tightens for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

Before you can question his tone – or how the hell he had even overheard you and Sasha, for that matter – Sasha calls for attention announcing the start of the gift exchange. 

You leave Eren on the couch to grab your present, eager to get away from whatever that was. You have enough to be anxious about tonight without Eren Jeager getting into the mix. Unsure how Jean will react to your carefully chosen present, you grip the little red bag a little tighter.

In the end, you don’t even get to witness Jean’s reaction to your gift. All of that tension, all of your worries on the drive here, all of your anxiety leading up to this moment is all for naught. Eren Jeager makes sure of that.

He doesn’t even try to sound remorseful once he spills his wine down the front of your sweater just as you’re about to hand off your gift to your should-be-former crush. You had mustered up the courage to approach Jean, who had finally wrenched himself from Mikasa’s grasp for a brief moment to collect a wrapped parcel of his own. But as soon as you reach out to catch the day shift manager’s attention, your entire body is shifted off-center. Eren collides into your right side, tipping his glass into your chest with little more than a half-assed, “Whoops, my bad.”

You gasp, the force of Eren’s weight and a mix of shock and horror sending you reeling back from Jean. The surrounding partygoers come to a halt, Jean included as he turns to finally take in the sight of you for the first time tonight, mortified and doused in red wine that bleeds through the front of your white cashmere sweater like an open wound. The little red gift bag hangs limply in your hands.

Jean calls your name, voice colored with surprise and concern, but you’re already marching towards the bathroom, eyes stinging, hands shaking, dropping the gift bag somewhere on the way between pushing through little clusters of your coworkers all squeezed into Sasha’s homey apartment.

Much to your relief, the bathroom to the guest bedroom is already unlocked and unoccupied, a temporary haven for you to gather your bearings.

Or so you thought.

It’s not long before Eren finds you, gently knocking on the door with a soft call of your name. You’ve spent the past few minutes fruitlessly dabbing at the stain blossoming on your chest with paper towels and cold water, only succeeding in smearing it into a much larger mess. The snowflakes carefully stitched into the pattern of your sweater begin to take on a faint salmon color, the sight in the mirror only serving to fuel your frustration. Tears well up in your eyes as mortification over the night’s events threaten to overwhelm you, but Eren’s voice startles you into a sense of annoyance. In your panic and haste, you had forgotten to lock the door behind you.

The bathroom door swings open, and you glance up in time to see Eren duck inside, his expression softened with a hint of something you’re too bewildered to decipher. Your heart sinks when you realize Jean doesn’t file in behind him.

“Need some help?” Eren offers, an uncharacteristically sincere tone to his voice.

You shoot him a skeptical look, “Are you being serious right now?”

 Rather than back off when met with your icy demeanor, Eren closes the door behind him. And rather than tell him off when he turns you to face him, nearly bumping heads in the cramped guest bathroom, you both set to work with damp paper towels.

You work in silence, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, the sounds of the party raging on outside. Eren’s touch is gentle, and purposeful as he braces your shoulder with one hand and dabs just under your neckline with the other. A pensive look falls over his face. You wait for an apology that doesn’t come.

Distantly, you hear the Christmas music switch to something with a little more bass and know that Connie has hijacked the speaker. As you dab at the hem of your sweater, convinced that the stain would be a permanent fixture in your sweater at this point, you glance up to notice a smile playing on your intruder’s lips.

You shoot him a withering look, “You think this is funny?”

Eren breaks out into a full-on smirk, impish even, looking a bit more like the line cook you’ve known to antagonize you. He tosses his paper towel in the trash and leans against the bathroom counter, his green eyes fixed on you. For a brief moment, they simmer with spitefulness. “I think it’s a hell of a lot less depressing than watching you openly moon over horse face.”

“Horse face?” You blanch. “You mean Jean-,”

“-Besides, I did you a favor. Now you don’t have to go and be disappointed him.”

Your frustration grows, but beneath it, there’s a spark of defiance. You snap at him, “What does it even matter to you, Eren? All night you’ve been on my case; at work, at this party! Whatever I give to Jean – whatever I have or don't have going with Jean is none of your business.”

You feel the tension between you, thick and charged, but the satisfied look on Eren’s face never wavers. He’s lax, head tilted back as he observes you over the bridge of his nose with a gaze that meets yours that could almost be described as bored if not for the hungry something lurking in them. That same look from your closing shift, passing him the broom. He’s not high anymore, you determine, hasn’t been for a while if the intense look expression, and the clarity of his gaze is anything to go by, so you can’t chalk it up to insobriety. You distantly wonder how much more often he’s looked at you like that. For how long? How have you never noticed? It seems so much more apparent like this, outside of work. So much harder to ignore with no metal counters to divide you, and no uniforms to keep up to code.

In your anger, you’ve stepped closer, balling the used towel in one fist and bracing against the counter with the other, half caging in the much taller man against the sink. You don’t realize how close you are, face to face like this, drawn in by the intensity of his eyes. The bathroom feels smaller, the air heavier, and you’re acutely aware of every beat of your heart.

 You mutter, “What the hell is with you?” and he huffs a laugh through his nose, a real smile on his lips as you draw near.

“If only you fucking knew.”

Eren leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a bold move that leaves you momentarily stunned. For a moment, you forget about the chaos of the party outside. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it’s a slow kiss laced with arrogance, a statement of intent. And despite your annoyance, you can’t help the feeling of warmth that floods you. Hands seek each other out in a flurry of movement. The paper towels and spilled wine are forgotten as Eren’s hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer. Eren lets you cage him fully against the bathroom sink, if only to fit one leg between yours and slot his fingers from around your waist to the back of your neck, into your hair with the free hand not holding himself up against the counter.

The kiss is a collision of emotions – frustration, surprise, and an underlying current of something you hadn’t quite acknowledged before and aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to either. Unhurried and messy, you can feel the groan that reverberates through Eren’s chest against your own as you tug his bottom lip between your teeth. He tastes like smoke and red wine and metal. There’s no urgency behind his moments, languid with the way explores your mouth, as if a crowd of people you’ve worked with throughout some of the more formative years of your life aren’t separated from you by a singular door. As if the man you’d sworn you’d come back to try to commit to wasn’t a brisk walking distance away. He kisses you like a lover, and not like a man who has made it his mission to spend every waking moment you’ve had together grating your nerves.

Surprise shocks you at the swipe of his tongue ring against your lower lip. His thumb at your neck strokes along your chin, and your jaw with a touch that’s borderline reverent. A balmy, pleasant feeling unfurls in your chest, thrums in your veins as you allow him to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. Eren’s lips are warm and insistent, and despite the bizarre circumstances, you feel right at home in his grasp.

The sounds of the party outside fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic thud of your heart in your ears.

You’re surprised at how gentle he is. Firm, unrelenting in his touch, sure, but with none of the simmering aggression you’d come to associate him with. Strong, sure hands, slide encircle your hips under your sweater, thumbs dragging across your hip bones at the hem of your jeans. Stoking that smoldering feeling in your chest, a simmering in your low belly. The sensation earns him a gasp, interrupted by his lips.  It takes little convincing for you to remove the sweater altogether, discarding the article of clothing along with it.

You’re rewarded with a pained groan as Eren breaks the kiss long enough to admire you like this, all flush and disheveled from the neck up. His doing. Not Jean’s. He can’t help but feel smug satisfaction, finally having quelled that ugly, nagging feeling that had built up in his chest once he had realized just why you had been so anxious to get to the party tonight. None of that matters now. Eren is too focused on chasing the press of your hips against his. Too focused on the feeling of your lips and the little gasps you make each time he moves to tuck into the crook of your neck instead, teeth finding their way to the pliable skin at the juncture of your bare neck. Too enamored by the way the lust and wine make your eyes hazy and soft on him in a way he wishes you’d look at him during the daytime.

Breaking your gaze, Eren rearranges your legs so that you’re nearly seated on his lap with the way you lean over him against the counter. Eren’s fingertips find their way beneath the hem of your bra, sliding over the seams of your ribcage to trace and then squeeze at the expanse of bare skin there. You sigh into his mouth at the feeling, content to rock in his lap and suck on his tongue until the rough pads of his thumbs swipe over your nipples, rendering you just a little more desperate.

“Oh – oh. Eren, please-,” The little silver bells sewn into the collar of his sweater jingle with every rock of your hips, and you can’t help but snicker against his lips once you notice the sound.

“Let me – here, let me take this shit off.” Eren gives you just enough room to swipe the festive sweater over his head, just enough time to toss it somewhere on the floor before he’s on you again. One large hand palms your rear, the other resting against your collarbones, fingers encircling your throat to guide you back into one more heated kiss, prying your mouth open with his teeth and tongue, rolling yours over his.

Your own wandering hands tangle in his hair as it curtains your face, trace the sinewy lines of his back as you silently wonder if he’s always been this strong.

Eren doesn’t let you wonder for long, managing to scoop up you inside the broom closet-sized confines of the spare bathroom and place you on the closed lid of the toilet, skirt fluttering up to the tops of your thighs with a swift motion.

“Wait, woah-,” You’re so caught off guard by the sudden motion, that you nearly miss Eren stooping down to kneel in front of your place on the toilet, large hands bracketing each of your knees. He leans in, a secret smile gracing his features, green eyes bright with mischief under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I figured, this is the least I can do after ruining your night, right?” As he speaks, his hands hook around the backs of your knees, helping him make room for a space between them.  He takes a second to gauge your reaction, and you belatedly put the pieces together of what he’s asking with a slight shiver. His smile ie earnest, eyes unexpectedly sincere.

You think of putting back on your sweater and going back out there to face Jean. You think of fishing your gift out of whatever unfortunate corner of the room it fell into. Of returning home having achieved little other than embarrassing yourself in front of coworkers and friends.

Your thumb traces Eren’s lower lip, and you realize you’re taking too long to answer. Eren. Line cook Eren. Eren the bane-of-every-night-shift-ever Jeager. After all you’ve said and done, after years of working together, can you come back from something like this?

Eren sits back on his heels and presses a kiss to the soft skin of the inside of your knee. Well, you sigh, stroking a hand through his dark tresses, almost lovingly. The hungry, impish grin you receive when you can only respond with a half-choked “please,” is enough to make your heart stutter in your chest. A win is a win.

Unfortunately for you, there reaches a point where you’re not even sure who’s really winning. Eren eats pussy like he was made for it.

He starts slow, tracing his nose up and down the gusset of your panties like you’re not cramped together in the guest bathroom at your mutual friend’s party. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Gentle touches across the backs of your thighs, the plane of your stomach.

When you start to wiggle with impatience, he bites into the crease between your sex and upper thigh, deep and indulgent enough to make you cry out. He doesn’t care much for your choice in panties – they’re quick to join the rest of the discarded clothes on the floor anyway.

Eren switches your position again, turning you face forward and bent over the toilet so that your hands brace the lid. You fold your arms, pressing your cheek into the bends of your elbows when he encourages you to arch your back further, palm large and warm and sliding down your spine. From where he kneels, he locks one arm around your hips, the other hand bracketing the crease at your asscheek, just at the top of your thigh. You are rendered immobile, vulnerable as he spreads you open to his gaze and laves once between your folds.

“Fuck-!” The exclamation comes out warbled, almost tearful into the crook of your arms. You wiggle your hips in search of more contact, but the touch never comes. Eren’s mouth remains frustratingly out of reach, instead tracing your folds with his thumb. Of course, he doesn’t start right away. Indulges in the way you squirm, half out of impatience, half apprehension.

Complaints earn you a sharp smack! where you’re left wet and wanting. Your knees bow, legs trembling from the shock of the sudden assault on such sensitive nerves.

“Eren,” you bite back a moan. Your antagonist shushes and coos at your anguish, only pausing in his condescension to sink his teeth into the cheek not held in his grasp. The whine that works its way out of you in response is loud enough for him to relent after a moment, playfully admonishing you.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be this fuckin’ noisy?” He mutters, lips ghosting over where you need him most. “So damn uptight and quiet at work until it’s time to chew me out, right? Now look at you.” Embarrassment colors your cheeks at his words, feeling the slick wetness between your thighs you know he must have a plain view of, and you distantly wonder how you allowed this to escalate so quickly.

From your bent position, you think you hear him swallow, mouth working over something that’s decidedly not you until you feel something liquid and warm spatter over your mound. Biting back another moan, you silence the small, nagging part of your brain that seethes at the possibility of him holding this moment over your head in the future. Taking note of the litter of bruises that mark the backs of your thighs, you know the decision you both are making will literally come back to bite you in the ass tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you have to inevitably face him at work again, along with the rest of your coworkers who are no doubt wondering where you’ve been at this point. Eren uses the pads of his thumbs to spread your lips again, brushing a gentle, teasing kiss across your clit and you decide you’ll reconcile with yourself on the matter in the morning.

“Oh fuck, oh god,” you mumble, unable to work up the energy to be irritated when you feel the way he smiles against you.

When Eren finally decides to give in, it comes with a price. His lips seal over the span of your sex, sucking on one fold, then the other before gracing you with a broad stroke across your slit, and you’re a goner.  

“Mm-oh! Oh.”

That price is your sanity and your resolve to stay as quiet as possible.

He devours you, seemingly unable to decide between one pace and another as he eagerly works his tongue into your molten core.  He’s mean. Deliberate. Worst of all, he seems to be enjoying himself. Starting slow, savoring all of your heat and taste on his tongue. Then fast and relentless, flicking devastating strokes across your clit in a motion that leaves you gripping the lid beneath you. Chest heaving in exertion as you attempt to hold back your cries.

Your legs ache and tremble, knees biting into the cool lip of the toilet lid each time Eren presses you forward in his insistence. Eren dips the tip of his tongue into your slit, nose pressed between your folds with a self-satisfied moan, causing you to jerk and keen in his grasp. Your arms squeak across the porcelain when you jostle a little too far out of grasp. The angle he has you bent at presses you up onto your toes. Eren tightens his grasp around your waist. He presses one long digit into your core and you cry out into your elbows.

“Fuck, just-just a little longer, okay? Just gimme a little more, yeah,” he mumbles, deep, raspy, fucked out, and sounding more like an assurance for himself than you.

The finger inside you and the hand at your thigh disappear momentarily, and you wonder if he’s touching himself. The position he has you in means you’d have to crane your neck backward just to catch a glimpse of his lower half. The thought fuels the searing heat in your veins, as does the slick sound of wet skin and the resounding whimper breathed against your core, confirming your suspicions.

“Eren,” you gasp, whimper, locking up at the sight of his free hand palming at the profuse bulge in his jeans, veins popping in his arms at the effort. “Fuck, wait, fuck-!”

You come hard and fast, blood roaring in your ears, fingers gripping the lid with a white-knuckle grip as you squirm in Eren’s grasp. Coming together and falling apart in an overwhelming wave of pleasure that catches you off guard. Eren is quick to catch on, both hands returning to your hips to lock you in an embrace, face pressed into your sex in earnest. You twitch and writhe in his grasp, unable to escape from his relentless assault on your senses. He talks you through it when he can bear to detach his mouth from you, murmuring praises into the heated skin of your thighs. Bliss crackles up your spine and warms you inside out from head to toe.

“Eren, god, please,” you simper, dizzy with your fading arousal, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. To stop? To keep going?

Eren decides for you, pressing one last parting kiss to your mound before getting to his feet. The moments following go about in relative silence. Despite him having been between your legs just seconds ago, you’re quick to feel awkward and aren’t exactly sure what to say. Surprisingly ever the gentleman, Eren helps you rise off the lid and redress and clean on shaky legs. You are slow to stand upright. Unable to meet his eyes as you try to reconstruct your thoughts from mush. He slides your panties back over your hips and trades your ruined sweater for his own.

Eren stops you before you can protest the offer, vehemently against him commuting home at night, in the cold shirtless. “I’ll just take Armin’s jacket,” he reassures you, adjusting the collar of the horrendous Bob Ross fabrication at your neck. The tiny silver bells jingle at his touch, sounding akin to tinkling laughter

Over his shoulder, you take in your appearance in the mirror. You had done your best to right your disheveled makeup and hair, but the bruises on your neck and the obvious wardrobe change were a lost cause. Even if you dipped out of the party now, there was no avoiding being seen. You were going to have some questions to answer in the morning.

Eren catches your contemplative expression and matches one with his own, a little guarded now. Before now, neither of you had been on the best of terms. A history of annoyance and resentment that lasted years brewed between the two of you. But now…

Now as you consider how terrible the night had gone and the embarrassment you’ll face when Jean inevitably picks up that little red bag with his name on it, now as watch Eren wipe leftover slick off the corner of his lip before sucking the offending finger clean, you figure that’s something you can sort out another day.

5 New Messages

hey! I saw what happened w Eren, u alr??

hello??

I got ur present! Txt me when you get home!

hey!!

can we talk?

[captain-hawks]

Band AU Jean banging it out (not on the guitar) in the green room before a show

🥹

-mojogojocasahouse

this was supposed to be a tiny drabble and the plot exploded everywhere against my will!!!!! (band au jean is my weakness, sue me)

jean kirstein x f!reader

It’s probably a bad idea, kneeling on the floor with your brother’s best friend’s dick in your hands.  No, it’s definitely a fucking terrible idea, actually. Because you’ve known Jean nearly half of your life, and now you’re about to give him a hand job in the green room twenty minutes before his band is due to take the stage.

wc: 1.7k

content: 18+, smut, band au!jean, pining, handjob, unprotected sex

In the laundry list of bad ideas you’ve indulged in throughout the course of your life, this one skirts around the edges near the top, an array of sirens going off in your head as the man before you falls back onto the couch cushion you just unceremoniously shoved him onto, lips parted as he stares up at you with a slightly mystified expression.

The man in question being Jean fucking Kirstein.

“Are you su—”

“Jean, please just shut the fuck up,” you plead in a clipped tone, impressed by the way your fingers hardly shake as you undo the button of his jeans and begin to slide down the zipper.

It’s probably a bad idea, kneeling on the floor with your brother’s best friend’s dick in your hands. 

No, it’s definitely a fucking terrible idea, actually. Because you’ve known Jean nearly half of your life, and now you’re about to give him a hand job in the green room twenty minutes before his band is due to take the stage.

But for all of Jean’s unwavering confidence and swagger, he’s been uncharacteristically anxious for days on end, which is no surprise—given that a rep from Shiganshina Records will be at tonight’s show to watch the band’s set and make a final decision on their potential record deal. You can’t blame him.

The last straw was ten minutes ago, when Jean broke a guitar string in frustration and managed to mix up every chord of the opening song as the band ran through their setlist in the green room across the hall. 

Ymir was two seconds from calling Eren to fill in, a threatening look in her eyes as Jean balked in indignation, when you unceremoniously grabbed him by the collar of his black t-shirt and dragged him out the door, searching for an empty room.

Jean had laughed when you told him what you were going to do, a sound that promptly died on his lips when you didn’t join in, mouth twitching downward in a frown as you studiously pointed toward the faded blue couch.

“Reiner wasn’t wrong when he told you to go fuck it out of your system yesterday,” you had shrugged, ignoring the voice of reason fruitlessly screaming to no avail inside of you. The band's drummer had, indeed, smacked Jean upside the head when he managed to mix up the words to the chorus of a song that he wrote, growling that he’d better find a way to calm the hell down in the next twenty four hours.

Clearly, he hadn’t.

You can do this—in like a, detached, haven’t been harboring a secret crush on this devastatingly handsome idiot forever kind of way.

It’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

“Jesus fu—” Jean chokes out when you spit in the palm of your hand, wasting no time in sliding your grip down his thick length. “Marco’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

He’s got one hand tossed over his eyes, head leaning against the back of the couch, but he’s stealing a glance down at you, chest heaving slightly as he fights the urge to buck upward into your touch.

“Marco doesn’t need to know,” you shoot back, ignoring the vague threat of your brother's existence and trying to act cool about the fact that Jean’s big ass dick is somehow even bigger than the sneaking suspicions that have haunted many a filthy dream for you over the years. 

(You’ve heard the way his exes have talked about him—even if you didn’t want to.)

Jean groans, dragging a hand through his hair, and despite the fact that you’re literally holding his cock, you’re even more thrown off kilter by the gratuitous peek at his tattooed stomach as the hem of his shirt gets caught on his watch band. 

You can be cool about this.

You can be so cool about this.

Jean accidentally saw your boobs once in college, and the two of you joked about it later.

You even may have sort of drunkenly half kissed him on New Year’s Eve last year.

So what’s a helpful handjob between friends to calm down the overly keyed up frontman before he’s about to play a very important set? 

“Can I—” Jean’s voice is rough as he leans forward slightly, hand hovering in the air in an aborted gesture. 

And nothing can prepare you for what he’s about to say next.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s more than a little ridiculous, the way your heart suddenly skips a beat in your chest over the earnest look in his eyes.

“You…what?” You ask dumbly, nearly sobering to the ridiculousness of this entire situation as your sentence is punctuated by the slick squelch of his cock sliding against the wet skin of your palm.

“It just…feels better that way,” he trails off, scratching the back of his head, breath catching in his throat when you drag your hand upward toward his shaft’s flushed, leaking head.

Making a split second decision—and accepting that in the grand scheme of things, kissing is almost forgettable compared to a handjob (yeah fucking right)—you climb up beside Jean on the couch in an awkward tangle of limbs.

Except it’s not awkward, not when one of his hands comes up to cup the side of your face, years of calluses from guitar strings leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as his fingertips slide along the curve of your jaw.

Not when the familiar scent of his cologne hits you, warm cedar and citrus invading your senses, the mint flavor of his favorite gum on his lips as his mouth finds yours.

(You nearly forget that you’re supposed to be jerking him off, too caught up in the wrecked way Jean breathes out your name against your lips before licking his way back into your mouth.)

Not even when his length is tugged from your grip as he pulls you into his lap until you’re fully straddling him, the skirt of your sun dress bunched up around your thighs. 

One of your hands is tangled in Jean’s brown hair, and his breath is hot against your skin as he leans into your chest, breathing hard as his lips press into your sternum, one strap of your dress halfway off your shoulder.

“You have no idea,” he breathes out, low and rough, “how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

He—

Oh.

Heat flares in your abdomen, the rapidly dampening slick between your legs a beacon alongside the trembling of your thighs.

Jean slides the strap down the rest of the way, mouthing at the swell of your breasts as the material gives. 

“Marco’s gonna kill me, but I don’t care anymore,” he groans, and you gasp as he takes one of your pert nipples between his hot, wet lips.

Of all the wet dreams about this stupidly attractive man, nothing compares to this—his lust blown pupils as he looks up at you, one thumb dragging across your nipple, his cock achingly hard as it presses insistently up against your arousal-soaked panties

The moan that rumbles through his broad chest and up his throat as you grind down against him.

“I don’t care either,” you murmur, tightening your grip on his hair and tugging his head back, reveling in the filthy groan of arousal he rewards you with as you whisper against his full lips, “Now fuck me, Jean.”

“If you say that again, I’m gonna come,” Jean grunts, one hand squeezing the base of his dick for emphasis as he lets out a ragged breath. 

“Didn’t take you for a premature kind of guy,” you tease, pulling aside your underwear and notching the head of his cock at your entrance.

“No...it's because of how many times I’ve come to the thought of this, sweetheart.” Jean’s hand curls around the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your earlobe as he leans in and rasps, “And how many girls I’ve fucking pretended were you.”

You hardly have time to register the depth of what he’s saying before white-hot pleasure sears through your body as he thrusts his thick cock into your tight, needy channel.

“Jean,” you keen as he kisses you again, heart drumming an erratic beat in your chest, though it’s rivaled by the pace of the quick, repeated snap of Jean’s hips as he thrusts upward into you.

“‘m gonna take my time with you later,” he promises, pausing to take your bottom lip between his teeth, both of you far too aware of the minutes steadily ticking by on the clock mounted above the door, his set time now dangerously close. “If you’ll let me.”

You moan, a line of spit caught between your lips as Jean’s mouth parts from yours, his face a sinful portrait of arousal as he watches you ride his cock like you were made for it, made for him, made for the way he fills you so fucking deeply you can hardly breath.

“Anything, Jean,” you whimper as he leans in to mouth at your breasts again, pleasure sparking and flaring inside of you wildly. “Anything you want.”

Jean’s next thrust steals all the breath from your lungs, your pussy throbbing as his cock punches inside of you, splitting you open with so much pleasure, tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes. 

There’s something almost possessive in the way his hands curl around your hips, his grip tight as he fucks up into you, and the taste of his saliva is dizzying as he murmurs slowly against your mouth, “What I want is to hear every pretty sound these lips can make.”

And then you’re coming hard, your entire body trembling with a torrential downpour of scorching, gushing pleasure as your cunt spasms and contracts around Jean’s shaft.

“Holy fuck,” Jean exhales when you come all over his cock, as you moan and whine while he fucks you through an orgasm so intense, you’re halfway to blacking out.

He follows suit a moment later, pulling his shaft from your wet heat and rapidly stroking himself a few more times until hot, thick ropes of cum spurt all over his fist and your thigh.

You have all of ten seconds to come down from the high of your climaxes when you’re interrupted by aggressive knocking on the door as Ymir shouts, “Kirstein, put your stupid dick away and come get your guitar. Profess your undying love on stage with all those sappy ass songs you wrote. We’re on in five, motherfucker.”

Those songs…are about you?

Jean clocks the dumbfounded look on your face as the two of you frantically try to clean up as quickly as you can. He takes your face in his hands, kissing you pointedly before quietly murmuring, “Yeah, they’re all about you. Every goddamn one."